AUTHOR: Wraithfodder. Feedback welcome!
WARNINGS: Violence, language, icky gross critters and some swearing.
See DAY ONE for disclaimers, copyright and other notes.
DAY TWO
PART 7
Zelenka awoke with a start, as well as with a cramp building up in one leg. He swung himself out of bed, then caught himself before nearly fell off the counter where, just the night before, he'd laid out the sleeping bag. Not Atlantis, but PX8 3H6, a rainforest world where he was presently stranded with Major Sheppard.
"Major?" he called out.
Across the room, a sleeping bag lay near the open door. Now he knew why everything had that odd damp smell, heavy with the scent of moist earth. There was not a single sign of Sheppard. Zelenka called out again, but no answer was forthcoming in the room or the outer dome room. Zelenka looked up, studying the thick glass panels in the ceiling above. He hadn't given them much notice during the night but now he noticed intricate designs etched into the clear substance. He wondered if it was truly glass, or something else of Ancient construct.
Zelenka pulled on his boots. He grabbed his .9mm and crept over to the door. He had no idea what just how well he would do with the gun if he encountered… a foe. The domed area was darker than the room, so he brought out his penlight, which provided tenuous illumination, at best, to the walls beyond. The room was also empty, as it had been the day before, but now, in looking down, he saw that they were not alone. Large pawprints of some cat-like creature sunk into the layer of dirt and leaves. The paws had to be as big as both his fists combined. They padded around the doorframe, but then lead back outside.
Zelenka followed the tracks warily, wondering where Sheppard had gotten off to, or if he'd run into the owner of the pawprints. No, he did not want to think about that. Besides, the major surely would have fired off his gun if that had been the case, and Zelenka was not a heavy sleeper. He would have heard something. He paused a moment as a strange crunching noise could be heard just outside the entranceway. He debated his strategy: go back to the sanctuary of the interior room, or investigate? Curiosity won out.
Gun outstretched in one hand, he crept around the corner into the stark morning light.
"Morning, doc."
Zelenka nearly jumped out of his boots. Sheppard stood to one side of the entrance, casually munching on a PowerBar. The odd noise Zelenka had heard had been Sheppard peeling off the wrapper.
Sheppard's smile evolved into a light frown as he carefully pushed the outstretched gun in Zelenka's hand downward. "It's safe out here." He held up the life signs detector in one hand.
Zelenka cast a worried glance at the dome's interior. "We had a visitor last night. Did you know?"
"Yeah, he hung around for a few hours, got bored and left," said Sheppard nonchalantly. "Don't worry, it's like a housecat. Nocturnal."
"You were awake all night?" Zelenka asked, an eyebrow raised.
"Snuck in a catnap or two along the way," Sheppard winked.
Zelenka resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the bad joke, but instead fixated his gaze on the major's right arm, which sported a large red patch. "Major?" Zelenka nodded curiously at the spot.
Sheppard raised that arm. "This? I have to travel all the way to another galaxy to get poison ivy, and I don't even get poison ivy," he griped. As if suddenly aware of its existence, he scratched at the large spot.
"If you keep that up, it will become infected," advised Zelenka.
Sheppard grimaced at the thought. "Well, you're going to get us off this planet before lunch, so, no worry, right?
Zelenka smiled hesitantly. He wasn't quite as confident as the major in that statement.
PART 8
Over an hour of McKay and Zelenka nitpicking each other's work, as well as added comments from Grodin, Weir, Kavanagh (of all people!) and assorted other technicians who had to get in their two cents worth, and Sheppard was sorely tempted to… to…. Well, he couldn't shoot anyone, nor could he abandon Zelenka and go back to the dome, which he'd now nicknamed Motel Hell for its obvious lack of truly decent accommodations.
"All right, fixed," asserted McKay's confident voice over the radio. Zelenka didn't look as comfortable in that assessment, even though between the two men, they'd agreed they'd done their best to solve the problem.
"Are you sure?" asked Sheppard, making a face as studied the air in front of the gate. He could still visualize the brilliant red burst, like a July 4th fireworks burst, against his retinas.
"Ninety-nine percent," replied McKay. "And that's as sure as I can be back here at Atlantis," he concluded rather dryly. McKay had been aggravated to discover that both Sheppard and Zelenka had actually caught some shut-eye during the evening, while he'd worked away the wee hours trying to figure out the problem. Not that Sheppard had managed much of any sleep with the cat and the blasted itch, but he wasn't going to tell McKay. The scientist sort of thrived on being annoyed. Why deprive him of that joy?
They shut down the gate and reopened it from the planet. Sheppard decided to test it first with something else besides his skull. He settled for tossing a twig through, just in case it bounced back. A rock would have been better, but he could see that rebounding right back into his head. One twig sailed through the air easily, landing far past where they'd seen the field erect. Still a little paranoid after the last time, Sheppard tossed more twigs through, several of which went through the blue vortex.
"Are you done littering?" came McKay's irate voice.
Sheppard ignored him, turning to Zelenka. "We'll give it just one more test. "He took off his earpiece and tossed it to Zelenka. Just in case… couldn't keep frying them. He very carefully reached out to the space where he'd recalled striking the field the first time. Nothing. He tried another inch. Nada. Looking good. One more inch.
Sheppard didn't even have time to pull his finger away as the shield erupted in all its crimson glory.
He figured he'd been knocked out for a minute or so, but when you felt like you'd been fried to the core of every single cell in your body, unconsciousness looked damned good.
Zelenka's concerned voice finally pierced the dark haze that floated lazily around the air above his head. Sounded like the scientist was talking with Weir, and of course, arguing with McKay. He sure as hell hoped that Weir didn't decide to send somebody through the gate to save their butts.
He hurt all over, as though every muscle had been worked over by a professional, or he'd been through a bone-crunching football tackle.
This sucked.
Sheppard struggled to his feet, then tripped and fell face first into a clump of thick moss. He was busy spitting it out of his teeth while Zelenka's voice was going into that Czech-accented overdrive that was accentuating the headache that was currently squeezing away at his temples.
"I'm okay," he managed. Thank God he didn't have Beckett's voice nattering in his ear asking a million questions about his health. Heck, if the field was going to kill him it would have done so already, but he was sure all these repeated shocks couldn't be good for him. He'd had enough Wraith stuns already, but that only hurt momentarily, leaving that nasty pins-and-needles feelings that he just hated. The effects of this force field lasted longer, and felt like the result of a back-alley beating, although at least now his arm didn't itch from the poison ivy. It just plain hurt instead, but oddly enough, that wasn't as irritating.
Zelenka was suddenly beside him. Sheppard reached out and grabbed onto the man, then hauled himself into a sitting position. In a few minutes, he knew he'd be capable of standing and walking. That meant he was somewhat trapped there with Zelenka and McKay bickering over his head about what went wrong, and while it was amusing in a perverse manner, it was also increasingly annoying.
"Will you two just knock it off?" he snapped. He was greeted by blissful silence. Good to know people realized he was still among the living. "How much worse can this day get?" he wondered aloud.
A drop of something warm and wet splattered across the back of his neck. Sheppard looked up. "Oh crap."
PART 9
Sheppard had occasionally wondered just what a rain of biblical proportions might look like – that 40 days and 40 nights stuff – and now he knew first-hand. The sky had literally just opened up and dumped an oceanful of water atop both men. Zelenka had screamed out inarticulately and thrown himself protectively over the laptop computer. Sheppard knew the thing was waterproof, and could actually stop a bullet, but he supposed protecting computer equipment just came naturally to scientists. However, even waterproof didn't mean the computer could sit at the bottom of a lake for an extended period of time, and if they didn't move soon, that's where they'd be. The deluge had soaked both men within seconds, so it didn't matter that they hung around for a few more minutes to await the delivery of some dry clothes being tossed through the gate. Sheppard gave silent thanks to whoever had invented the multi-purpose Zip-lock bag.
It was a no-brainer that they were going to be staying another night at the Motel Hell, but at least it was dry, relatively clean, and they could lock out the local wildlife. It was actually fine, except that Sheppard didn't like the idea of a long-term stay. Something just didn't feel right, besides his arm, which, despite a liberal application of cortisone cream that Beckett had tossed through along with the dry clothing, still itched.
Atlantis put in calls every so often with updates on their progress, which amounted pretty much to nothing. Even McKay had to swallow his pride and concede that it was something on the planet that was causing the problem, caustically adding that either Sheppard or Zelenka had to have done something, obviously, since both Teyla and Ford made it through the gate with no problem. They'd also all come to the disturbing conclusion that it was people being prevented from returning. Twigs, rocks, sand. All of that went through the field.
Zelenka was doing his best to find the information in the Ancient database. Half an hour ago, he'd managed to crack into the system. Unlike Atlantis, which came alive at their presence, this system seemed to have some security codes. At least Sheppard wasn't required to touch anything more at Zelenka's command, so he was free to stand around, poking around at other things to see what else might come to life. Like lights. Lights would be nice, but even Ancient batteries could croak after 10,000 years in a rainforest. The portable lanterns were good enough for what they were doing, but they still didn't illuminate the whole room. He didn't much care for dark shadows in corners anymore. More often than not these days, dark shadows held Wraith or other nasty Pegasus Galaxy surprises.
PART 10
"These files are encrypted," complained McKay.
"So it would seem," Zelenka's voice replied from the communications console. "It is not as though you have anything else to do."
Elizabeth watched with interest as McKay's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. She knew how the two scientists were always contradicting each other, as well as shooting off snipes, subtle and not so subtle. Yet this time, she suspected that Major Sheppard's influence had something to do with this latest escalating squabble.
"Excuse me?" McKay replied, loud enough for even Ford and Teyla, who were just coming around the corner of the communications area, to hear the conversation. "I have the burden of keeping this entire city running!"
"Of course," agreed Zelenka very dryly.
Elizabeth heard a noise in the background, one that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Alas, Rodney had heard it, too. "Oh, you find this funny, major?
"Not at all," came Sheppard's voice, and even to those who didn't know him, it wasn't difficult to detect the undercurrent of humor in his voice. "After all, we're stuck here till the problem's fixed."
"Can't say there's much for you to do while Zelenka does all the hard work," McKay muttered.
Sheppard didn't rise to the bait. "Oh heck, I've been looking for the light switch."
"Light switch?" repeated McKay incredulously.
"Yup," said Sheppard. "Everything seems to be Ancient gene activated around here, so till Zelenka needs my magic touch, I'm exploring."
"Be careful what you touch," warned McKay.
"What? You didn't watch the video we sent?" countered Sheppard in a mock hurt voice. "This isn't exactly a suite at the Luxor, you know."
"Hey, major!"
"Ford!"
Elizabeth suppressed a broad smile as both Ford and Teyla very casually took over control of the conversation. McKay muttered something about encryption being child's play, but before departing to his lab, he described to the stranded men just precisely where he was going – to a perfectly climate-controlled room, where he would sit down in a comfortable chair, turn on as many lights as he wished, and get a nice steaming hot refill of that new very delicious coffee substitute they'd recently bartered for.
A noise of disgust echoed back. While Sheppard had no problem with 'roughing it,' Elizabeth didn't think that Dr. Zelenka was very keen on the idea.
The remaining banter was light in tone, and Elizabeth noticed that Sheppard purposefully kept it that way. No mention of being stranded on another planet, except that the wildlife that came out at night was a bit much, so they were stuck at night in the Ancient lab until sunrise. They were experiencing thunderstorms at the moment, which explained the occasional crackle of static over the radio, but it wasn't anything to worry about, offered Sheppard. There really wasn't much to discuss so the topic turned quiet. Elizabeth couldn't hear precisely what Ford and Teyla were whispering to Sheppard as they were off the open comm, so she looked to Grodin for help.
Grodin smiled ever so slightly, arching an eyebrow knowingly as he listened in, since he sat so close to that unit, and many people just tended to ignore him, not realizing just how much he picked up by being quiet. He very casually held up his forefinger and thumb – then pinched them together.
Ah, the pen. Rodney's latest rant on the pen that had derailed him from all gate travel was to have Beckett run a forensic test on it, to look for fingerprints and DNA. Beckett's response? His jaw dropped open wide enough to admit an aircraft carrier and he'd yelled at Rodney, telling him if he kept up his obsession with that stupid pen he'd ship him off to Heightmeyer for counseling.
Before signing off, Sheppard said to call anytime with the breakdown of the downloaded Ancient database. Zelenka was going to continue working on the rest, as he laboriously broke through the security codes on the Ancient computer.
Elizabeth knew that McKay would do just that, even if meant calling Sheppard at three in the morning.
PART 11
Right after he signed off and the connection to Atlantis was severed, Sheppard mentally kicked himself. He should have asked to speak to Beckett. An hour or so after the pain from the force field fiasco had faded, the itch had come back to torment him. But then again, they were stuck in the lab until morning, so it's not like if Beckett sent something else through the gate, he could just go pick it up like going down to a local drugstore.
A few hours passed: long, dull hours. Zelenka was basically obsessed with the Ancient database, like McKay would be, but unlike McKay, he could go for hours at a time without uttering a single word. Definitely dedicated, but it made for a boring time, except when he'd occasionally mutter something under his breath in Czech. Sheppard decided that when he got back to Atlantis, he'd have to dig through the database and find a Czech dictionary. If nothing else, he'd at least know if Zelenka was actually on to something, or just swearing in frustration.
Sheppard was running a finger down one of the many intricate designs on the wall situated between two of the counters. It seemed odd that the Ancients would take the time to put artwork on a wall in what appeared to be some kind of remote outpost, but then again, maybe the Ancients just liked artwork. Most a person would find in a military installation on earth in some backwards area would be a photo calendar, if that.
Yeah, this place needed something - besides light bulbs and a comfortable couch to lie down on. Sheppard stopped his ruminations as he felt a barely perceptible sensation just beneath his finger. It vanished. He studied the lines on the wall. Horizontal, vertical and diagonal, long and short. He retraced the last path his finger took, finding that odd sensation again. The location was precisely at the juncture of several lines. Curious, he pressed his finger firmly on the spot where he felt the sensation.
Several of those lines lit up in a faint lavender color.
"Uh, Dr. Zelenka…"
"I'm busy."
"Not for this, you aren't," countered Sheppard. He pressed his finger at another juncture of lines.
"What is this?" Zelenka was suddenly at his side. The smaller man pushed at the glasses sliding down his nose.
"Beats me." Sheppard kept following the trail, touching, pressing as the lines lit up.
"You are not activating a boobytrap?" pondered Zelenka.
Sheppard opened his mouth to reply, but instead, shook his head. The thought had crossed his mind already, but boobytraps were usually simple and quick. This was taking time and concentration.
He soon ran out of junctures to press, so he stood back, studying the bizarre pattern on the wall, then scratched deeply at his shoulder. It felt like ants were crawling under his skin and it was annoying and creepy.
Zelenka looked around skeptically, even at the ceiling. "Hmm, no lights," he finally commented.
A door abruptly slid open in front of both men.
"Hou," said Zelenka in amazement.
"Uh, yeah," agreed Sheppard after a second. Yup, there had to be a Czech dictionary somewhere on Atlantis. He quietly removed the safety on his P-90, motioning for the scientist to stay behind him. Now in this room, he figured they could encounter boobytraps. He entered cautiously, the light beam on his gun illuminating the far walls in small sections. Out of curiosity, he touched the wall near the door.
"Já tomu nevìøím," exclaimed Zelenka as the room filled with a bright light.
Sheppard didn't care what Zelenka was saying. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
PART 12
Worse than being encrypted, the file was damaged. McKay finished off the dregs of the coffee substitute, grimacing as he looked down into the depths of the mug. A smattering of dark granules remained. Life sucked since the coffee ran out. This new substitute was tepid in comparison. No one knew precisely how to get the proper mixture. Too weak. Too bitter. Too cold. Too hot. He'd kill for a cup of real coffee from even, god forbid, a local supermarket. Except that the Pegasus Galaxy sorely lacked supermarkets, junk food establishments and big box stores.
He stared at the computer screen again, tempted to call up Zelenka and harangue him for sending him that crap, but realized that after several thousand years, and security encryption, they couldn't expect perfection. They were lucky beyond belief that Atlantis herself had responded so graciously to their presence. It was to be expected that not everything would be handed to them on a silver platter.
But in this instance, it was more like being handed a meal on a soggy paper plate. Information was falling through the holes.
He'd modified an algorithm to help break down the code, and it was working, but it required manual intervention every so often. It was slow going, but he was making some sort of progress. He stared at the mug. Empty, except for dark, gritty granules at the bottom. It didn't matter. He needed something to drink. He'd let the computer do its work and he'd get a refill of the 'delicious' brew, and if he had to wake up Sheppard at two a.m., he would. After all, Sheppard had wryly remarked "Anytime."
McKay checked the computer one more time before grabbing his mug. As much as he was annoyed by the extra work, as he actually did have plenty of other things to do now that he was landlocked, he was worried for both Sheppard and Zelenka. They were trapped on a world filled with unknown dangers. Who knew what kind of hungry creatures might prowl around it? It was a rainforest, after all. They had… McKay paused. Um, rainforests had parrots, monkeys… and some sort of predator. He was sure of that. But this was Pegasus. What if the Wraith decided to stop by to do some culling? No. McKay shook the hideous thought from his mind. No, he'd concentrate on just solving the problem that Zelenka couldn't fix and then he'd stand there at the control console, arms crossed in triumph, when the two men dragged their sorry butts through the event horizon.
He only wished he could believe in that scenario.
PART 13
"We could—"
"Lieutenant. For the last time, the answer is no." Weir knew just how much Ford and Teyla were chomping at the bit to return to that planet and help Sheppard and Dr. Zelenka. " The major was adamant that we send no rescue missions, and I agree."
Ford slumped slighted in the chair across from her desk, but then caught himself, and straightened himself back into regulation military posture. An engrained habit, but also something that instilled a bit of confidence.
"And you're both positive that neither the major nor Dr. Zelenka did anything that could have activated the force field?" It was a question that had been fielded time and again but with no useful answer.
Ford shook his head, again, then gazed over at Teyla. "We all followed the major and the doctor through the woods on the same path," said the Athosian. "And we were all were inside the Ancient facility. Even if something was stirred up in the dust that went into the air, we all breathed that same air."
"You think this could be some kind of germ?" questioned Ford. "It could be something as simple as he stepped on something that required the Ancient gene, and that activated the force field."
Weir liked that theory so much better than one which pointed to a biological cause. Even though time had passed since the nanovirus incident, everybody still a tendency to be cautious, more so than before. Five incredibly bright minds, all snuffed out so quickly and in such an awful manner. If Rodney hadn't had the Ancient gene… She shoved that thought aside. It had given her enough nightmares.
"You believe that since the Ancient installation is entirely ATA activated, that the major accidentally set off the field?"
"We've seen stranger things, ma'am," offered Ford.
"It could be a trap," said Teyla solemnly.
That was not what Weir wanted to hear. "Like your necklace?"
"Yes," admitted Teyla with a worried look. A simple piece of jewelry, a remnant from her childhood, which had been innocently returned to her – and then started a chain reaction of terrible events.
"We know that the Wraith are interested in those with the Ancient gene," she explained further. "Could it be possible that a trap was set at the gate, which would allow those with the gene to enter, but not leave."
"Like a roach motel?" muttered Ford.
Teyla looked confused at the terminology, but it was all too familiar to Weir. You can enter, but you can't leave – ever.
"Then we have to get them off that planet, and fast." Ford leaned forward in his chair. That urgent stance he took when he was ready to run off to defend the base.
"Doctor Zelenka does not have the Ancient gene," said Teyla. "Is it possible he could return? That we have just assumed he is unable to pass through this field?"
That very thought had been running through Weir's mind. If that were true, then she knew without a doubt that the major would send the Czech scientist back to Atlantis, even if he had to do it by force. This theory was something they'd need to broach with the two men – quickly.
"I think—"
McKay's voice abruptly crackled in her earpiece. He sounded agitated.
"Elizabeth, I need you in my lab. NOW."
PART 14
Sheppard pulled a PowerBar out of his pant's cargo pocket and motioned it at Zelenka. "Dinner?" The scientist shook his head, too busy with a rectangular computer panel that was being very uncooperative at the moment.
"Suit yourself," said Sheppard, ripping the foil off the bar. The room was a treasure trove of Ancient technology. Little things, big things, enough Ancient computer stuff that well, if Rodney was here, he'd drop to his knees and beg to take it all back with him to Atlantis. Sheppard had checked the room out first, despite Zelenka's eagerness to begin poking about, as any unforeseen danger had to be routed out. After a while, Sheppard determined that it was safe. Unless they flipped the wrong switch and blew up the planet, of course.
A lot of equipment scattered around the room was similar to what they'd found on Atlantis. Even after months, they were still trying to figure out the purpose of some of it. However, the room was in a state of total disarray, like someone had ransacked the room. A small, blue, half-orb poked out from beneath some trays. It looked like an ordinary paperweight but then again… Sheppard picked it up carefully, then dropped it back on the counter just as quickly.
He stood back as a hologram materialized in the air above the device.
"Dinner and a movie," Sheppard remarked with a grin to Zelenka, who stared curiously at the ghostly two-foot image. Judging by the miserable expression on the face of the man in the image, this was not going to be a comedy.
"If you are viewing this message," the man said, "then I have failed."
Sheppard took another bite out of his bar. "Don't like the looks of this."
"Ssssh!" Zelenka held up a finger in irritation as he stared intently at the image. Shutting up, Sheppard thought to himself. Maybe Zelenka was more like McKay than he'd imagined.
"In a moment, I will go outside to seek Rael, and hope that he has not yet succumbed to the madness. I wish it known to the families of those who have perished on this mission that they had no choice in their deaths, nor decision in their actions."
"Do you mind?" Zelenka shot him a sharp glance.
"What?" Sheppard was confused. Zelenka motioned his head keenly at Sheppard's arm, which Sheppard was scratching rather furiously. He couldn't be making that much noise as his fingernails turned his skin a bright red from the constant abuse. Stupid cortisone cream was probably out of date. And he did not get poison ivy. "Sorry, but this itching is driving me nuts," Sheppard said between clenched teeth.
The holographic figure resumed talking, although as it the moment of silence had been added for dramatic pause. "As the warning stated, there was nothing we could do but protect those we left behind. However, in the event the warning has passed, I have placed, in the third vault, the cure that I hope will save Rael. It is our last hope."
The hologram continued on for another minute, with the unnamed and long dead man giving his love to various family members, then the image winked out of existence.
"What?" muttered Sheppard. "Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi, you're my only hope?"
Zelenka pried his gaze away from the device. "That makes no sense."
"Yeah," agreed Sheppard. "Just what I said. What warning? Talk about your vague last words."
Zelenka chewed nervously on his lips. "It is possible that we disregarded it upon entering."
"We had free access," countered Sheppard. "No big signs flashing Warning, Keep Out, Do Not Enter."
"The Ancients may have been more than subtle," suggested Zelenka.
"Or the local wildlife ate it," pondered Sheppard, thinking about all the signs of animal activity within the open domed area leading to interior rooms. "Or it just fell apart after what, at least 10,000 years?"
"There is that, too," agreed Zelenka.
"We should download this message, send it back to Atlantis," said Sheppard.
Zelenka nodded. "That can be done, but not from here."
"Fine. Put it on a DVD. I'll go to the gate and toss it through."
Zelenka arched an eyebrow dramatically. "You mean, now?"
"Yes."
"Are you forgetting the large carnivorous beasts that lurk outside at night?" reminded the scientist.
"I've got a P-90."
"I think your idea is…" Zelenka stopped as he searched for the right word. "Hare-brained."
"Hare-brained? Excuse me? Where did you--?" Sheppard shook his head. "Never mind. That's McKay's influence."
Zelenka really did look worried. Hell, if he could tackle a Wraith one-on-one, he could take on one big cat. "And you would leave me here?" continued Zelenka. "What if you are devoured?"
"I won't be."
"I believe you would be." Zelenka crossed his arms sternly. "Look at you. All you've done is claw up your arm and shoulder for the last several hours. How will you shoot?"
"I think I can stop for a minute," said Sheppard, perhaps with a bit more sarcasm than necessary. Scientists were such worriers. He went into the main room and grabbed his P-90 off the countertop, then rubbed its barrel against his itching arm. Dammit, maybe Zelenka was right. The itching was non-stop, and worse, it felt like the sensation was creeping into the back of his shoulders. It almost felt like bugs were moving through him, under his skin.
Sheppard carefully opened the door to the dome room, looked out, then shut it quickly. There was a heavy thud on the other side of the door.
"Problem?"
Zelenka had followed him.
"Yeah, bit of a feline problem," Sheppard admitted weakly as he double-checked the door. Definitely shut. A cat – not a big cat – but a huge cat, at least 300 pounds. Not that it was a saber-toothed tiger but damn, it was big! Fortunately it had been too startled to make an immediate leap for the door.
Zelenka made some strange noise that Sheppard deduced was one of triumph, scientific logic over the macho military mentality.
"You know," said Sheppard, putting the P-90 back on the countertop. "Think I'll look for that vault, just in case."
Zelenka had already vanished back into the lab. Sheppard followed, wondering if his incessant scratching would eventually draw blood.
PART 15
"Elizabeth, this is bad. I mean, really bad."
Weir didn't have to look to her left to see just how worried Rodney truly was. He was one of the few men she knew who bared his emotions so easily through his voice. And right now, she could tell he was very scared for his friends.
"You called?" Dr. Beckett's cheerful Scottish accent broke the dour mood in McKay's lab for just a second, until he sat down in the chair at Weir's right and looked at the computer screen that had created such somber expressions on both her and Rodney's faces.
"What is this?"
"Download of part of the Ancient's database at the outpost where Sheppard and Zelenka are stuck," said McKay grimly.
"I'm not liking the look of this." Beckett reached out, grabbed the mouse and began scrolling down the data on the screen. "Oh good lord," he gasped.
"At least now we know what the force field is for." McKay looked depressed.
"Ford. Teyla." Beckett sat upright in near panic, then caught himself. "No, Atlantis herself would have caught wind of anything when they'd returned, but if there's any kind of dormancy period. I'd better isolate them."
"Agreed," said Weir. She waited as he called the infirmary and set those plans in motion.
McKay was reading aloud some of the more alarming passages of text from the screen, but Weir knew he was talking more to himself in the hopes that someone would refute what he was reading.
Unfortunately, no one could.
PART 16
Sheppard had run the hologram a few more times, in the hopes that he could glean some hidden meaning from it, but the repetitive viewings did nothing more than make him depressed and Zelenka… he was willing to bet the Czech was kicking himself for letting Sheppard convince him to come along on the mission. The scientist hadn't laughed at a single joke, even the ones that weren't so lame, in over an hour.
He couldn't take it anymore. He ran his fingers in one deep scrape down the outside of his forearm. Aw, shit…
"There. You've done it. Happy?"
Good grief. Zelenka had said aloud precisely what he'd been thinking. He'd finally drawn blood, albeit nothing terrible, but still, next time they talked with Beckett, he'd have to ask for antibiotics, and then explain why. Damn.
"Actually, yes," Sheppard finally admitted. He reached back and scratched deeply at the space between his shoulder blades but it didn't do any good. Damn itch was staking a claim there now. How the hell had he gotten poison ivy there?
"There is no vault in this room." Zelenka sighed. "Unless it requires the gene."
"Which means I have to keep touching things," muttered Sheppard. Great. How could he touch something if he was too busy scratching? But he shoved aside the thought and started to check out the walls – that's where vaults were usually hidden.
After a while, he could feel eyes on the back of his neck. Turning, he saw Zelenka watching him with an odd mixture of both apprehension and horror. Sheppard wasn't sure what that was about, as the scientist turned away, until he turned back to the wall. He'd been leaving faint but bloody fingerprints all over the wall. His arm looked like some cat had used it as scratching post. Crap. And morning was how far away? He shoved the dismal thought aside. "Well, I can say for certain that there's no vault of any kind in the walls."
Zelenka just uttered an odd noise, and continued working on the laptop, trying to connect into the Ancient database.
Sheppard arched an eyebrow in thought. Why not? They did it on Earth in rare cases. He removed both his boots and socks, then began pacing the room in his bare feet.
"What are you doing?"
"Touch is touch," Sheppard explained to the perplexed scientist. "I'm not crawling around on my hands and knees looking for a safe."
"In the floor?"
"Sure, why not?" Sheppard continued his methodical pacing.
"Why not indeed?" Zelenka replied back, frowning at the recalcitrant computer.
Sheppard almost felt like yelling 'told you so' but instead just stopped in his tracks several minutes later when he felt a slight tremor beneath one foot. He knelt down, and a moment later Zelenka was beside him, and Sheppard placed his palm flat on the smooth floor. The hard surface began to glow red. A second later, a cylindrical container slowly rose from a hidden panel. A pink glow from the underside of its rim illuminated the floor as it came to a stop.
Sheppard and Zelenka stared at it, then at each other. "We might as well," said Zelenka finally.
Okay, fingers, do your stuff. Sheppard touched the side with a finger. Nada. No ATA gene activation there. He wrapped both hands carefully around the slim cylindrical shape. A clicking noise resulted and he pulled his hands away quickly. The side of the object opened.
Zelenka swore. Or at least Sheppard was positive that sharp word was definitely Czech for shit, damn, or something a lot worse.
A clear glass vial was carefully encased in the middle of the cylinder. The top half was broken off, the shards scattered at its base like crystalline snowflakes.
"What if this was a nanovirus?" said Zelenka nervously.
"The odds against that—"
"Please do not tell me the odds."
"That's what Han Solo would say-"
"Major, would you please stop quoting stupid movies!" Zelenka nearly shouted. "This is – this is not a movie!"
"Chill out," Sheppard replied sharply. Damn, what next?
"I would love to 'chill out," Zelenka replied in a more deliberate tone as he went back over the laptop. "But it is 80 degrees in here and—would you please stop that. That constant scratching noise is annoying."
Sheppard broke his gaze from the shattered glass. "Well, I'm sorry but this itching is driving me nuts!" he shot back, more harshly than he'd intended.
"You'll be chewing your arm off next," the scientist muttered caustically under his breath. He banged his digits on to the keyboard so hard Sheppard figured he'd bust the stupid computer.
"Don't think I haven't thought about." The sad truth was that Sheppard had thought about biting himself – only the terrifying vision of the poison ivy itch taking over his mouth and throat had stopped him from doing it.
"Major Sheppard, Dr. Zelenka? This is Atlantis."
"What?" Sheppard snapped at Weir through the radio.
Weir seemed taken aback by his tone. "Major?"
"Is Beckett there?" He didn't care how pissed off he sounded because he was pissed off.
"Beckett here."
"Major," began another voice.
"McKay, shut up," interrupted Sheppard. "Beckett, this damn ointment you gave me for the poison ivy is utterly useless. If you don't send something that actually works, I'm going to go insane from this damned itching!"
Oh well, he got that out of his system. Now he'd get dressed down for acting like a spoiled brat.
Dead silence.
"What?" said Sheppard.
"What?" echoed Zelenka. The scientist tapped at his earpiece to join in on the conversation, and obviously was also listening to what seemed to be dead air.
"Did they hang up?" wondered Sheppard.
"Major." Weir's voice broke the din.
"Sorry," Sheppard immediately apologized. "Look, we found one of those talking holograms—"
"What did it say?" blurted McKay.
"It was sorta vague. Some guy talking about failing, some people were dead, and there was a cure in the vault but we found it and it's a broken glass vial and Zelenka thinks it might be another nanovirus and figures we're doomed to die hideously but if that's the case, you can just ship through a naquadah generator. One EM burst and we're clean. Problem solved."
"John," said Weir.
Oh, oh. First name basis. He shoved down the desire to add on a stupid quip. "Go ahead."
"We've been able to analyze that information you sent us from the database."
"Thank God," murmured Zelenka.
Sheppard scratched at his back again. "Come on, don't keep us waiting. We're dying to know," he added with a grin.
Zelenka frowned and tapped at his earpiece as they were once again greeted with silence.
Sheppard abruptly felt very unnerved by the dead air. "Elizabeth, please don't tell me that was a poor choice of words."
"Very," came McKay's quiet reply.
"Just what the hell is going on?"
"To put it bluntly, we think you walked into an Ancient biological warfare facility," said McKay.
"Nanovirus?" Zelenka's voice was too quiet.
"I wish," said McKay.
Sheppard clenched his jaw, doing his best to keep the rising fear out of his voice and off his face. He had to. Zelenka looked pale, like he was going to pass out. Not too long ago, the scientist had spent several incredibly tense hours trapped in the bowels of Atlantis, waiting for his head to implode from a nanovirus-induced aneurysm. This had to be a nasty repeat of that event.
"Beckett, what we are looking at?"
"According to the notes, which are unfortunately sorely incomplete, the Ancients were experimenting with a biological means to eradicate the Wraith," replied Beckett. "Something went wrong."
"No kidding," snorted Zelenka, which earned him a smile from Sheppard.
"The symptoms begin with an itching sensation that escalates until—"
"Death?" ventured Sheppard darkly.
"Until the victims go insane," finished Beckett. "And then, er, die."
Sheppard unconsciously scratched at his arm, then looked at Zelenka, who, this time said nothing. "How long do we have?"
"According to these notes, less than three days from development of the symptoms."
Three days? Shit, that meant they had maybe a day or two left to live?
"Is it bad?" Beckett sounded so sympathetic it made his teeth hurt.
"Feels like I've got bugs crawling under skin and no matter how much I scratch, it doesn't help. What is it, a virus?"
"A parasite," came Beckett's grim response.
Sheppard couldn't keep the revulsion off his face or out of his voice. "You mean I do have bugs crawling under my skin?"
"Nasty little critters," added Beckett.
"Thanks a lot," shot back Sheppard.
"Sorry," apologized Beckett.
Sheppard stared at his arm. If they were parasites, then they were damn tiny things as he didn't see anything crawling around in the blood on his arm. Guess it didn't matter how much damage he did to his skin now.
"Can we kill it?" asked Zelenka.
"That's the rub," sighed Beckett, and Sheppard could visualize the man's worried expression. "We don't know and neither did the Ancients, at least not in time to be of any help. Of the six expedition members, one went missing, presumably killed by one of the large carnivores on the planet."
"Yeah, nice kitty," muttered Sheppard, recalling the vivid green eyes of the massive cat that had stared back at him in the dome room.
"One wasn't accounted for—"
"Probably hologram-man," guessed Sheppard.
"Three were suicides, and one was, um, killed," he finished. Heavy silence permeated the air as everybody digested the hard facts. "Major?"
"What do you want me to say?" began Sheppard. "I'm really not thrilled with the thought that this itching is going to drive me insane enough to that I'd kill myself or –" He abruptly stopped as he uneasily stared at Zelenka. He drew in a steadying breath. "Well, that's not going to happen," he said firmly. "What are our options?"
"The force field was put in place to keep any infection from leaving," spoke up McKay. "Hence, your 'rebound' when you tried to go through. And no, we're still trying to figure out how they rigged it as it doesn't seem to be connected to the DHD itself, and… even if you get back to Atlantis, the base's automatic defense system would lock up the base, and well, we've been there, done that," finished McKay sourly.
"We can send—" began Beckett.
"Nobody else comes here," Sheppard retorted in a tone that brooked no argument.
"I wasn't suggesting that, son," said Beckett, a hint of annoyance cutting through his reply. "I'm getting together equipment and medicines to send through. We'll have 'em ready within twenty minutes."
"Make that five hours." Sheppard looked at his watch. "We can't leave this place till sunrise. Hmm, don't forget to add something for itching that actually works."
"Working on it," said Beckett.
"We need to find the rest of that database." McKay's sarcastic tone was gone, replaced by one of unconcealed worry. "It was definitely incomplete. There might be an answer to all this… somewhere."
"Maybe the guy died before he could finish it," muttered Sheppard, wondering if it was possible to scratch himself down to the bone.
"That kind of defeatist attitude won't get you anywhere," shot back McKay.
Stupid thing to say, Sheppard realized. Sitting back on Atlantis and waiting was in some respect, worse than actually being stuck in the mess. "Teyla? Ford?"
"In isolation," replied Beckett. "But so far they're shown nary a sign of any kind of infection, plus Atlantis herself would have shut up tighter than a clam with tetanus if she'd detected a contagion."
"Good to hear," said Sheppard, then added, "On the no signs things. Just keep the sticks away from Teyla or she'll pry open the doors."
"Can you think of anything you two did that Teyla and Ford didn't do?" Beckett asked. "Did you touch anything?"
A derisive snort. Definitely McKay. "Well, that's a stupid question."
Zelenka shot a questioning look at Sheppard. "Is he always like this on missions?"
"You don't know half of it," Sheppard remarked, noticing with dismay that Zelenka was scratching at a red spot on his own wrist. Damn! "Look," he said into his radio. "We're going to see what we can dig up at this end. Give us a call in an hour. Sheppard out."
"Now what?" came Zelenka's worried question.
Sheppard began pacing the room again, but this time with a driven purpose. "I'm hoping that what we found wasn't vault number three. Why don't you get cracking on finding that the rest of that file?"
Zelenka nodded.
PART 17
"Rodney, you've got to get more information out of that file."
McKay's eyes narrowed as he felt his blood pressure soar and his shoulders tense. He swiveled around on his chair in front of the computer and glared at the Scottish physician who sat beside him. "Really? I thought I'd just dig up 10 or 20 per cent of the data because I'm out of sorts being stuck dealing with centuries-old encrypted and corrupted information while my friends are half a galaxy away on some primitive planet, dying," he snapped.
Beckett stared at him, half in surprise at the outburst, the other half, in sorrowful resignation.
"Sorry," McKay apologized quickly. "It's just that… I've been working on this information since it arrived. It's been hours, and it's damaged and maybe if I had more time, but…" He rubbed a palm tensely against his forehead and then looked straight at Beckett. "But they don't have the time."
Beckett didn't nod, but McKay could see that the doctor felt just as badly as he did at their helplessness. "And I could care less about the force field," continued McKay. "Even if we could remove it, they couldn't…"
"That image." Beckett pointed at a small graphic on the computer screen. "Any chance of enlarging that?"
Thankful for something constructive to do, McKay went instantly to work at doing just that. Even the images were encrypted – no simple double-click and enlarge as with earth-based software programs – but after ten minutes, and employing an algorithm he'd created, the image abruptly filled the entire computer screen.
"Oh, that is gross," McKay sputtered.
The image had to have been created off an electron microscope, or the Ancients version of such equipment. McKay could still recall when as a youth, he'd seen an electron photograph of a lowly dust mite. It had looked as ugly as sin, but compared to the alien image on the computer screen, that dust mite now looked like cute fluffy kitten. The alien parasite was hideous. That was the only word that could accurately describe a visual that not even a mother could love. The parasite was oblong in shape, and its mouth – if Rodney was interpreting it correctly – had rows upon rows of serrated teeth. The damn thing looked armor-plated as well, if that was even possible, and sported at least a dozen nasty claws from short, stubby appendages. The thought that hundreds if not thousands of those things were crawling around inside of both Sheppard and Zelenka made him nauseous.
Fortunately, a noise at the door distracted him. Branford, a lanky young man with hair that he probably hadn't cut since he left earth and was now touching his shoulders, came into the room. One of Beckett's junior doctors.
"Is that it?" The young man sounded excited as he viewed the appalling parasite. That eagerness rankled McKay, but he held his tongue.
"Afraid so." Beckett frowned as he regarded the image with as much distaste as Rodney. "I've never seen anything like it, although parasitology is not my specialty." He looked up at Branford, and McKay felt he was missing something. "You?"
The physician squinted. He removed a pair of wire-rim glasses from his lab coat pocket and put them on. "Those protuberances remind me a thorny-headed worm parasite, but no, I've never seen anything like it, at least not on earth, and I've been studying parasites for twenty years."
McKay arched an eyebrow in suspicion at that comment, as the man didn't look over 30 years old.
"I've been studying parasites since I was kid," clarified Branford when he noticed McKay's incredulous stare. "But we have no idea of the purpose of this creature. From what I can gather from the information we have, its progression is astounding, but we don't know its cycle, if it's symbiotic in any respect to the host, or its sole purpose is to consume the--"
"Must you?" Rodney nearly shouted. "Can't you just find a way to kill these things before they kill Sheppard and Zelenka?"
"Without knowing what it is, no," said Branford.
"We have anti-parasitical medicines on hand that we're going to ship through the gate," said Beckett.
"But?" pushed McKay.
"We have no idea if they'll have any effect on this creature," replied Beckett. "Some of the medication could make the major and Dr. Zelenka as sick as a dog."
"But it wouldn't kill them?"
"No."
"Thank god for small favors," McKay muttered darkly as he turned back to the computer, clicking on the mouse to get rid of the awful magnified parasite photo. He wondered if that if he tweaked the algorithm just a little, if he might not get more out of the file. He had to do something. He couldn't help but dwell on the fact that he'd sent the algorithm to Zelenka, so they could read the data back on the planet. Data that wasn't going to help with the force field, that didn't give them any real information on the parasite, but did give them graphic details of how the Ancient expedition had, one by one, killed themselves in a gruesome method that was readily available to both men.
"Rodney, are we still in contact with the major and Dr. Zelenka?"
McKay looked up, torn away from his dismal thoughts. "Uh yes." He tapped the radio near him.
"Major?" said Beckett.
Silence greeted them.
Worry swamped McKay. "Major?" he said loudly into the radio, realizing that his concern was lacing his words, but he didn't care.
"What?" replied Sheppard sharply.
"Testy," muttered Beckett, but then he asked. "How are you feeling?"
"Well, that's a stupid question," shot back Sheppard. And indeed, McKay knew it was, too. "God, I feel like… like it's 1992."
Beckett and McKay shared a horrified glance. Was the major going insane already?
"Uh," began Beckett, but fortunately Sheppard continued talking. "Did a stopover in Missouri, visited a friend there and got devoured by chiggers in his backyard. Damned things ate holes in both ankles and it itched for weeks, but these things…"
"Major?" asked McKay hesitantly.
"They're like chiggers on steroids!" blurted out Sheppard. "What is it with the bugs in this galaxy? Why are they always trying to suck the life out of me?"
The last sentence sounded like a whine, something Sheppard never did, and before he could stop himself, McKay laughed. He caught himself, mortified at his response but it was too late. Both Beckett and Branford gawked at him in revulsion. McKay's jaw dropped but he didn't know what to say, how to apologize. He had a bad habit of laughing at inappropriate things while under stress, but—Beckett placed a hand reassuringly on his arm. Perhaps the physician understood that particular quirk as McKay had certainly been a patient enough times under Beckett's care and he must have acted like that before but just didn't remember. Branford just shook his head, appearing disgusted.
Sheppard hadn't said a thing. He either hadn't heard it or didn't care.
"Chiggers are the larval form of a specific family of mites, which are in a way related to ticks," said Branford, "and the itching they leave behind is caused by their saliva, which contains a powerful digestive enzyme that dissolves—"
"They're going to dissolve my brain?" Sheppard sounded alarmed, to say the least. McKay put his head in his hands as the major's worried voice continued. "No wonder those Ancient scientists fried themselves in the gate."
"Major," said Beckett quickly. "That's not the way to think—"
"Think?" His words crackled harshly over the speakers. "How can I think? Haven't slept since I left Atlantis. Concentration is going to become an Olympic event at the rate this itching is taking over."
McKay felt his stomach clench. For Sheppard to admit that, it had to be bad.
"No, no, just… screw it," Sheppard's tone was harsh. "Call back if you've actually got something."
"Major?" McKay nearly shouted into the radio, but Sheppard must have pulled the plug, quite literally, and taken off his earpiece.
Zelenka's voice echoed over the radio a moment later, only nobody understood it as he was saying something irate in Czech. However, a moment later he seemed to catch himself. "Do you have any news, or are you just calling to tell us the time?" finished the scientist sourly.
"Radek," McKay said very evenly. "What is going on there?"
"Besides your telling the major his brain will be turned to mush by some alien parasite, and by the way, my brain will follow not shortly thereafter?" sniped the scientist.
"You've got it, too?" McKay said in a horrified whisper.
"Of course, I do, Rodney." Zelenka sighed, sounding very tired. "It is nowhere near as intense as what the major is experiencing, but the itching makes it very difficult to concentrate, but at least I have something to do. There is nothing the major can do but wait and it is trying."
"Where is he now?"
"In the other room," Zelenka answered, then he lowered his voice to an almost conspiratorial whisper. "Isn't there anything you can do? I'm working on the files here but there is much encryption and so much damage. I fear they have left much of their work incomplete, to the point that there may be nothing left to discover."
McKay didn't have to look at Beckett to know what the other man was thinking. "You don't think the major would do anything rash, do you?"
"Please don't use that word."
"What?"
"Rash," said Zelenka. "It just makes me think about itching, and itching makes me scratch and then I am unable to concentrate…" The scientist released a long sigh borne of frustration. "No, I do not think that the major would do anything. He is dealing with it… in his own way."
McKay didn't like the sound of Zelenka's explanation, nor the tone in which the words were delivered.
"Radek, what do you--?"
"Rodney, not now," interrupted Zelenka. "I do hate to agree with the major, but unless you have some relative information to share, I must get back to work, and as you have noticed, Major Sheppard doesn't wish to converse at this moment."
"Understood," said Beckett. "We'll call back in an hour, just to check in, if you don't mind?"
"No, that will be fine," said Zelenka. "Signing off."
McKay stared incredulously at the doctor. "What did you do that for?"
"Because there is nothing we can do right now except to get together medications that might do them some good," countered Beckett. "If nothing else, delay the progression of the parasite."
"Until what?" McKay stared morosely at the words on the screen in front of him, text that just taunted him at how useless he was in dealing with this disaster. "Until they do reach the head and then…" McKay clenched his hands helplessly in front of himself, hoping that something could be done before the parasites got that far.
PART 18
Normally Sheppard would have felt regret or least a little guilt at snapping at McKay and tossing off his earpiece, but as the minutes rapidly went by, it was becoming more alarmingly apparent that they just might truly die. Part of him wished that McKay was on the planet, that he might crack the database quicker, find something to get them out of this mess, but another part of him was glad the scientist was back at Atlantis because if they did die, Atlantis needed McKay more than it did Zelenka, and that bleak realization did make him feel guilty - that he was assigning value over who was worth more in the long run. And he hated himself for that. Hated that he knew Zelenka would go through precisely the agony that he was experiencing, and that he probably wouldn't be alive to offer support when Zelenka's condition got really bad.
He slid down against the wall of the outer room, realizing that he was probably leaving a blood trail behind him as he sat down on the floor. He'd been gouging away viciously at his back for a while now, knew he'd torn the skin but didn't care, and an irrational part of his mind hoped that the parasites would flow out of him along with the blood. Beckett would no doubt have something caustic to say to that theory.
He tried to think, go over what they knew. There had be to be something in the data they'd torn from the files that could help them.
One of the original expedition members, a scientist named… hell, he couldn't remember the man's name, but he'd been well liked by his colleagues and had left behind a family, had been the first to get infected and within two days, broke free of his colleague's well-intentioned restraints and ran to the gate, dialed home, and then stepped right into the path of the vortex when it materialized. He'd been incinerated on the spot, leaving behind a pair of boots and some smoking feet. A day later, the next infected scientist had probably thought, wow, gee, this was much better than just ripping himself apart before his brain went to mush, so he'd fried himself in the gate as well. Then hologram-man, who'd been writing up the report, feared for the safety of the rest of his people, probably back on Atlantis, and had erected the force field. He'd done so rather hastily, and in case he died before the others did, he left behind no clues as to how he'd done it. But there were constraints to the force field. It still left several feet of vortex capable of being utilized for a means for which it had not been designed.
It was reading the text about the third victim that sent a horrifying chill through Sheppard and, for a brief moment, he'd thought Zelenka was going to start hyperventilating or panicking like McKay had briefly done during that wraith bug incident in the jumper. The third victim lasted longer, to the point that the parasites invaded his head. They'd reached the eyes, or at least the eye sockets. Someone had described that the man's eyes were 'rimmed with the red of madness'. The itching and pain had been so unbearable that the man had eventually… Sheppard still couldn't conceive that anybody, except someone high on an awful hallucinogen, could have … clawed out his own eyes.
Or maybe he could. The itching in his shoulder and back had progressed past annoying and painful to the point he just wanted to be left alone to deal with it his way, and he knew those methods were freaking out Zelenka. He could partially alleviate the itching in his arm by slamming his arm against the wall. It hurt like hell, left bizarre splats of blood against the wall, but the itching died down for a while. It was more difficult to do the same to his back, so he just scratched deeply, even using the butt of his .9mm pistol, but still he could sense the parasites, all the time, moving inexorably toward his head.
When Zelenka had walked in on him with pistol in hand, the man had gone pale and silent, and it took Sheppard a moment to realize that the shocked scientist had thought he'd been ready to put a bullet in his head to end it all, but that was the last thought on his mind. He'd seen what guns did to heads; nasty and not always fatal.
The gate method would be far more preferable if he ever became so desperate that – Sheppard abruptly stopped his dire musings and opened his bleary eyes, staring across the room at the door that led to the dome room and the outside. The gate… when he'd hit that accursed force field… it could… It might work.
He noticed Zelenka quietly enter the room. The scientist had that same worried expression on his face that now seemed permanently etched into his features. Worry that the files were encrypted, that they were hours away from going nuts and a day or so away from death, and on top of that, worry that Sheppard was going to off himself since he had so many weapons on him.
"I'm just scratching." Sheppard was surprised at how stressed his voice came out, like he was pinned down by two dozen Wraith with nowhere to go – not that he wasn't tense from the situation.
"Are you…?" Zelenka coughed nervously. "What I mean is—"
"Still here," Sheppard replied between clenched teeth. "Not going anywhere." At least not yet, at least not until sunrise when he was seriously thinking about the gate and the reprieve it offered, but if he told Zelenka... No, he'd just add that guilt to the ever-increasing layer he was busy building like the Sears Tower. "Any words of wisdom from Atlantis, or the database from hell?"
Zelenka shook his head in regret. "I have the computer running tests, trying to break the encryption."
"Damned shame they were so paranoid." Sheppard wanted so badly to just pound the gun butt into his back, but couldn't do that with Zelenka there.
"Not so much paranoid as cautious." Zelenka sounded regretful. "If the Ancients had discovered a biological method that worked against the Wraith, it would be wise to not have it easily accessible to the Wraith should they have discovered this outpost."
Sheppard heard a beep in the other room and Zelenka quickly apologized, then vanished from sight. Oddly enough, the noise reminded him of a kitchen timer. Popcorn's done. Damn, he was going to miss popcorn. Heck, he already did. When that last batch had been devoured, it felt like he'd lost an old friend. Teyla had no idea just what popcorn meant to Earth folk, for to her, it was just food, and he got the impression, not the greatest of food either.
He pressed the pistol butt deeper into the muscles at the top of his sore back, wishing that hours would pass by more quickly. Hoping that he'd last long enough to even see the sun's morning rays.
Next up, the third day, and it's downhill from there.
