The Puppet Master
Chapter Sixteen - Et Tu, John?
They had moved him to a holding cell on the request of Dr Heightmeyer, who had suggested McKay might do better without restraints. But Radek recognised a suicide watch when he saw one. Two guards posted at the door to Rodney's prison, nameless. He nodded at them as he passed and one returned the gesture, the strict military façade softening into a slight smile. He glanced at the name tag, Cevallos, noting it for future reference.
It was a skill he had admired in Carson; the ability to remember faces and to place names, to greet each person passed in the corridor with a smile, to know even a small, insignificant detail. Too much Athosian wine had the doctor admitting his fear of the impersonal, of wanting more than a label to each body bag.
It had been clear from day one that Dr McKay preferred the other option. It had taken weeks before the physicist was able to recall Radek's own name, and several months before the he referred to his lower rank colleagues as more than: 'Hey, you.'
That the memory game had accelerated after the deaths of Gaul and Abrahms, had not gone unnoticed.
Perhaps that was Rodney's mistake, Zelenka worried. Knowing the names of each man and woman taken out by the nanovirus. Perhaps distance and aloofness was better. Perhaps, had McKay stuck to his original prickly wall of personal space, he might not be where he was now.
Which was in the cell once inhabited by the city's only Wraith prisoner.
Radek wondered whether there was irony in that.
The cell was a long way from any inhabited area of Atlantis, a fact reflected in the state of the room. Power to the air conditioning system was sporadic at best, activated briefly for the Wraith, but not long enough to rid the area of the smell of sea water and stale dust.
Zelenka had found Atlantis to be a cold, unforgiving place upon their arrival, and it had not been the discovery of new technology that had changed his mind, but the glow given by its new inhabitants. A warmth and life that came from less artificial means than the temperature regulators. This did not extend to the city's lower depths, and the prison cells, areas untouched by sunlight.
Never had he found the city so harsh as in that moment.
McKay sat in the shadows, leaning against the cot that had been positioned within the centre of the cell. Dressed in red hospital scrubs, and with his knees drawn up to his chest, the scientist sat in silence, his head dropped forward, staring at the floor. The only sound was a harsh, unpleasant scraping, and as Zelenka strained to see into the dark he caught a glimpse of movement. Of McKay's thumb being dragged repeatedly across the back of his right hand, and the slight sound of tearing fabric as the bandages were shredded beneath supple fingers.
"I do not think Carson will be pleased," he reprimanded softly, trying not to sound as horrified by the act as he felt. A sick feeling, one that had lain in his stomach since Dr Weir had called him into her office, rose into the back of his throat.
The figure in the cell looked up briefly, evidently decided his visitor was uninteresting, and went back to his assault on his hand.
"Let me guess, he's playing dumb?"
Radek started, turning to see Sheppard stood just inside the doorway. The Major looked haunted, dark rings circling his eyes, the hint of stubble across his cheeks. Faked a grin and a wave, sauntering across the small space to stand beside Zelenka and peer into the cell.
"You've always been a stubborn son of a bitch."
Silence. Zelenka pulled his eyes away from the cell to look at Sheppard. Wondered at his appearance, when he knew from Carson that the Major had spent most of the day in the infirmary, despite, in Carson's words, 'Rodney being as stubborn as an ox.' He watched Sheppard pace across the cell wall before coming to a stop, pushing his hands into his pockets in an attempt at casual relaxation that Zelenka did not buy.
He spoke in a whisper. "I had hoped for something more."
"You're not the only one." The Major shook his head, stepping away from the prison.
"It feels…" and he floundered, searching for an accurate translation of the Czech. "unreal. I cannot believe that it is true and yet Carson, he would not take these steps unless he believed in his actions."
"He's the doctor," Sheppard agreed. "And Heightmeyer, too. The expert witness."
"Still…" He glanced at the cell, lowered his voice further. "I cannot agree with their diagnosis. It seems…" and he lapsed into a mumble of Czech. "Unbelievable."
"Ah," Sheppard said, his voice taking on a strange, singsong-like quality, "But what about all the evidence?"
Radek snorted softly. "You think I do not see? All that they say about McKay can be said about me, also. And more."
"All that who says?"
He lowered his eyes quickly. "People talk, Major."
"Right." Sheppard scowled. "Gossip."
"Sometimes worse than the truth." Another glance towards the cell. "But not always."
"Kavanagh been causing trouble?"
He started picking at the fabric of his sleeve, nervous under Sheppard's intense gaze. "No. Not towards me. And I am no doormat, Major. Dr Kavanagh is skilled at many things, but in some areas his intelligence is lacking. He will cause no trouble. But he was there, when David was injured. And the weeks before. He makes his own mind, then preaches to others."
Sheppard cursed under his breath. "Low life."
"Most do not listen," Zelenka added, warmly. "More people place their trust in Rodney than he might think."
"Life at the top, huh?"
He nodded. "I had hoped," and he looked again towards the cell, "to speak with him about some experiments. Despite everything, he is still the man I know."
A slight smile crept across Sheppard's face, a look of appreciation. "Worth a try. You can't drag him away from a new discovery."
He returned the smile, quoted: "Though this be madness, yet there is method in it."
"The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool."
They turned. McKay was on his feet, stood next to the nearest cell wall, clasping his injured right hand in his left.
"Shakespeare." Rodney nodded to himself, rocking gently on his heels. "Stories of murder and madmen."
"Not all of them," Sheppard said. Zelenka watched him take several steps towards the cell. "I'm not really a fan of the bard myself, but I'm pretty sure I remember him writing about romance and comedy."
"Not his best work." One finger disengaged itself from the clasped hand to wag at them. "Julius Caesar. Lies and betrayal."
"So I'm Brutus?" The Major's face darkened. "Not sure I think the comparison is accurate."
"Who's behind bars?"
Zelenka winced, as a look of remorse fell across the Major's face. "For your own well being, Rodney," he corrected, whilst watching Sheppard's shoulders slump. "Because we are your friends."
"Enjoying being in charge?"
He felt himself flush, pushing his glasses up his nose, an action driven by his nerves. "No. It is not a position I would choose to be in. It belongs to you."
"But they won't let me back there. Not ever." The stray finger drew patterns in the air. "How do you do it? Having all this knowledge in your brain. There's no room for a man to hold the whole universe in his head, and yet I do. And I know you do too. From the smallest particle to strings, great strings, linking everything together. I feel like a god."
"You often tell us you are one," Sheppard put in, his voice dry. "And we are mere mortals."
"No." The finger wagged again. "Shadows. Dreams. Part of this dream – of my dream, being a god, and flying amongst stars. Can't see myself for all this science. And you all – tiny, insignificant. I never saw anything like it."
"Yeah," Sheppard continued, his voice carrying a note of caution, "well that's the Pegasus galaxy for you. Like Christmas every day."
"Christmas." McKay frowned. "Presents and eating too much. Arguments. Belief in a false god."
"That's a discussion better held another day."
Rodney lifted his chin slightly to look at his visitors. Zelenka had the uncomfortable feeling of being studied, as though he were a specimen under a microscope. "You don't believe in god?"
"Perhaps," he suggested warily, "We should talk of other things. I need your knowledge, Rodney. I hoped you could help me with a problem."
He was aware of Sheppard moving to his side, encouraging him to take a step towards the cell. Saw McKay stiffen but pressed onwards regardless, trusting in Sheppard's plan for normalcy.
"A problem? Answer man." McKay shook his head. "But I don't have the answers."
"No?" He gave his best breezy smile. "I disagree. You may not be the superman you pretend to be, McKay, but I will give you this – you are preferable to Kavanagh."
"Yeah," Sheppard added. "Just think what the guy could be up to while you're away from the lab."
"He whines about his computer," Zelenka added. "It is too slow, it has faults, it breaks down. I will not be able to stop him from stealing yours."
He paused for a moment, but McKay said nothing. The scientist stood in the cell and swayed slightly, head lowered, chin touching his chest.
"And I can't break in another geek," Sheppard added, his tone light and casual, betraying none of the strain shown in his face. "It took long enough to get you house-trained – I don't have the time to cope with anyone else. No offence," he added, glancing at Zelenka.
Radek shrugged. "None taken. You, yourself Major, would require some teaching before I would join your team."
He had the satisfaction of seeing Sheppard's eyebrows try to bury themselves into his hairline. "Oh, nice."
"But yes. Rodney has told tales of you and Lieutenant Ford. I am not to be pushed around, and I know you are bossy. Like old maid," he added, and felt the full glare of Sheppard's scowl, shortly softened by a grin.
"Mother knows best."
"Ah, now I see why Rodney complains. But you will not train me, Major. I refuse. McKay, you must return to the team, for who else is there to keep the man in check?" And he turned towards the cell, expecting to hear a sarcastic retort.
It happened so quickly there was no time for him to shout an alarm. One minute McKay was stood, hands clasped, beside the wall of the cell, and the next he had pushed himself forward with his feet and had thrown himself against the forcefield. Sharp white energy crackled and sparked around the man's body, muscles convulsing. Zelenka started forward, aware of Sheppard crying out, and of the pounding feet of the two guards. A few seconds passed into an eternity before the field shut down, the energy dying with a final loud crackle, releasing its prisoner. McKay slumped against the floor bonelessly.
