Elizabeth Weir had seen John Sheppard in many moods, but this kind of hard, cold anger was one she hadn't seen, and could have lived quite happily not seeing.
"Another viral lab," he said quietly, and the menace was simmering below the surface. "And you kept it secret because you thought I was a Goa'uld. Don't you think you were being just a bit too literal with your orders?"
"Possibly also weapons and a ZPM assembly building," Caldwell clarified, ignoring the second part of the comment. "The analysis of the data was, of necessity, terminated before it got that far."
"Here's a thought." The words were measured, precise, getting louder with each syllable. "Let's get someone back analyzing that data. Let's find out exactly where they were, where Rodney was, and what damned bug that damned lab exposed him to!"
She was glad the conference room was relatively soundproof.
"We don't know it was the lab, Colonel. And Atlantis didn't react to him as if he'd been exposed." Caldwell was being as neutral as possible. "He also indicated that the lab itself was set up to initiate lockdown if anything was released."
"Colonel, Rodney's in the infirmary drowning in his own lungs. He got it somewhere, and we are out of options. We have to go back there, right now." The last sentence was addressed to Elizabeth, and she could sense the desperation.
She nodded. "Colonel?"
To his credit, Caldwell didn't hesitate. He tapped his com. "Hermoid, recall the crew. We're heading back."
xxxxxx
With their original wandering course, it had taken five days to get to the base. Directly, and on full power, it had been just hours.
Sheppard had found a corner near Hermoid's station, and settled himself out of the way. Caldwell noticed he'd grown used to Hermoid's appearance, and for his part the Asgard seemed uncommonly placid. In fact, the grey's reaction to McKay's illness had approached honest concern.
The whole ship seemed united by their purpose. Once underway, Caldwell had explained where they were going and why, though the Goa'uld weren't mentioned.
"Colonel Caldwell?"
He looked up. "Yes, Hermoid?"
"We are here, Colonel."
xxxxxx
The two teams split in the centre of the hourglass shaped complex, Radek and his group to the area ID'd as the possible ZPM plant, and Sheppard with Kavanagh and his team to the other area, the labs. Caldwell had joined them, over Hermoid's objection.
"If things do not go as planned, we cannot retrieve you from either lab. They are too well shielded, and neither the rings nor the beam will function. Your only exit is where you enter. It is not sound tactically to have only one exit," Hermoid had concluded, "and the quakes are becoming more severe."
Caldwell had simply nodded. "I'll take that under advisement." he'd said, which both of them knew meant, 'Thanks for the info but I'll do as I please,' but in more formal language.
They proceeded through the glass-walled corridor with caution, hazmat suits rustling. Ahead, Sheppard held up his hand and they stopped just outside a huge double door.
Sheppard opened it.
"Holy cow."
Chapter 8The lab was huge. A main hall stretched for what looked like several hundred meters, with rooms branching off. The structure was similar to Atlantis, but rather than being opaque, the walls separating the smaller rooms were transparent. The odd, reddish light filtering through the bank of windows made the eye slide off edges, around corners. It was hard to see exactly how many sub-labs there were.
A raised gallery was to their right, accessed by two sets of stairs. It appeared to overlook the other labs, and contained a blue-silver bank of consoles that stretched its length.
"You know the man, Sheppard," came Caldwell's voice in his ear. "Can you retrace his steps?"
It took no effort to imagine McKay's reaction to something as obviously Ancient and well-preserved as this. He'd been offworld with the physicist enough times that he could almost see his friend, what he'd have done, what he'd have said.
Aloud, he simply said, "Yes, sir." He scanned the room, stopped, reset the scanner and did another pass, trying to ignore the hiss and pop of the re-breather. The suits were a sensible precaution, though the thought made him furious. If the original team had been outfitted with them...if there had been a full blood screen done on the whole crew when they returned rather than relying on the autodoc results and Atlantis's lockdown protocol...
"Need to know, my ass," he muttered, resetting again.
"Sheppard?" Caldwell said sharply. "Comment?"
"Nothing you haven't heard before." His tone bordered on insolence. "Sir." He looked up, seeing Caldwell, a few feet away, square his shoulders, framing for a blistering reply - but the scanner chirped and Sheppard held up a hand. "Hold that thought, Sir." He turned, trying to pin down the source. As he'd thought. "Up there." He pointed toward the gallery.
The ground took that moment to shudder, not a full quake, more a motion like a dog trying to shake off a flea. They were able to keep their balance, but the walls groaned, and bits of ceiling rained down.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let's not take longer than we have to!" Caldwell gestured, and the scout team split, moving rapidly.
Kavanagh and his two techs stayed in the doorway, reminding Sheppard of timid children trying to decide if the water was warm enough. It irked him to have the man here, but they didn't need a doctor on this expedition, and Kavanagh had some knowledge of the ways the Ancient labs worked. He had done some pretty thorough research following the previous outbreak on Atlantis with, Sheppard suspected, his own self-preservation in mind. With Zelenka heading the ZPM team, pickings for this part of the expedition were a bit slim – and there was something to be said for familiarity. He knew Kavanagh.
One group worked their way over to the near staircase, and one headed down the parallel hall to the far end. The others waited in silence until the 'All clear' came over the comms, then followed as the teams headed up the stairs.
"Be easier if there was dust," Caldwell said quietly. "Give us a trail."
"The Ancients systems included some sort of static charge that repels dust, at least in areas where their technology would be badly affected by it," Sheppard replied, following the trace. "Makes cleaning that much easier." He grinned tightly, glancing back. "McKay keeps threatening to patent the process, market it on Earth, and make his million. US dollars, of course."
Caldwell didn't exactly grin. Sheppard wasn't certain the man knew how, but his expression relaxed a bit, reminded of the man they were working to save and the pressure that Sheppard was under, and the tension from Sheppard's earlier remark faded.
"Clear!" "Clear!" The two calls came almost simultaneously, and Sheppard beckoned the three scientists to join them, then faded into the background, holding his P90 loosely, standing against the wall, trying hard not to let his mind wander back to Atlantis.
Caldwell peered over one or two shoulders, then joined him.
"Guess I should learn Ancient," he said conversationally.
"The important words, anyway," Sheppard agreed, and Caldwell could feel the effort it took to chat, to banter. "On and Off are good to start with," he added. "Don't Touch, and Danger."
"Did you see anything like that on the panels?"
Sheppard shook his head. "But I didn't look that closely."
Caldwell nodded. "Bet McKay did, though."
Sheppard arrowed a glance at him, but the truth of it was obvious. He pushed away, approached Kavanagh.
"McKay would have taken all your precautions," Caldwell heard him say. "Try thinking beyond them."
"It is a slightly different dialect." Kavanagh's very voice had been enough to make Caldwell dislike the man - something he tried not to do, but he'd also seen the infamous whining videotape.
Still, the doctor was Sheppard's call. The man knew his job, evidently, and Sheppard wasn't going to let personal discord get in the way of doing whatever he could for his friend.
He could respect that.
In his short time on Atlantis, Caldwell had spent more time watching than talking, seeing how the crazy quilt fit together.
Sheppard and Weir were undisputed as leaders, and they got along, friends as far as it went, but there was always a bit of animosity that came from two strong-willed people that had differing opinions. To himself, he admitted he wouldn't have had an easy time of taking over the mission.
McKay and Weir seemed to have a history - they had an amiable give-and-take that spoke of time working together before. Maybe in the Antarctic.
The two aliens he reserved judgement on - Teyla felt like someone trustworthy, but Ronon was simply an unknown quantity.
Everyone else, even Kavanagh, was at the top of their game.
McKay and Sheppard. He grinned slightly, adjusting his weapon. Sheppard and McKay. Got into more trouble and spent more time in the infirmary than any of the others. Argued and spatted and verbally wrestled at every turn, yet it seemed there was no rancor to it, no animosity.
He'd seen a yelling match over a security procedure in the science labs won by Sheppard in a staff meeting during which everyone else had sat as if struck dumb - he was grateful he'd sat on his impulse to separate the two - the argument and meeting over, McKay had said "Lunch?" to a passing Sheppard, who had grinned, nodded, and replied, "Give me an hour."
The ground shook again, harder this time, and his comm chirped.
"Caldwell."
"Be ready to leave soon," Zelenka said shortly. "Quakes are from here. Subspace containment on ZPM lab is failing. Bad explosion coming."
"Understood. Take your team back at your discretion. We'll speed it up."
He clicked off. "Kavanagh!"
"We've got it narrowed down to the right lab, we just need the sample."
"Make it fast."
Kavanagh paused at the top of the stairs. "I may need a hand."
"I'll go." Sheppard pushed off the wall. "May I suggest the rest of you scram?"
xxxxxx
Even Caldwell had seen the logic. As Sheppard followed Kavanagh, he heard the communication between the others and Daedelus.
"Colonel. Time is not more than minutes," Zelenka cautioned.
They staggered as the ground heaved, and several walls shattered.
"Understood." He followed in Kavanagh's wake as the doctor made for a console. It had a tube extruded from the top, and Kavanagh fitted a cap-like device on the tip of it, pushing a button.
"Drills tiny holes, retrieves the sample, then seals it." Kavanagh said, and Sheppard knew it was as much to keep panic at bay as anything.
They clutched the edge, holding on as the quake came again, cracking the ceiling and floor. The tube shook, but did not break. Not yet.
"Doc..."
"Just a moment more." They stared at the light, blinking steadily red.
And it turned green.
Kavanagh pulled it off, tucked it in his vest, and nodded.
"Good," Sheppard said. "Run!"
xxxxxx
They ran, staggered, fell, and ran again. Made it into the hall, and stopped in dismay.
The access to the central room was gone. Most of the roof had fallen in and the door was completely blocked.
"Hermoid! Can you get a lock?" He reported the situation.
"Not yet. Move as close as you can to the door. Can you get outside?"
Sheppard eyed the walls. The heavy glass-like material had cracked, but was not broken.
"No. Keep tracking us, we're moving closer."
The rumbling was continuous now, and they staggered and wove their way through the heap of rubble.
"I can read you," from the Asgard coincided with Radek's cry of, "It's going!"
Instinctively, Sheppard grabbed Kavanagh, pushed him to the ground, and crouched, curling over him. He heard the explosion, felt the first wave of heat and something plucking at his back. Debris rained over him, something hit him on the head, and then the disorientation of the beam.
And that was all.
Chapter 9The ceiling was different.
Sheppard stared at the featureless white surface, and was startled when feet appeared.
"Colonel?"
It was the ship doctor's voice, what was his name…
A face appeared, someone bending over to peer up at him. He realized, with a start, that he was looking through a hole in a bed, lying face down, and the person looking up at him had a mask on.
"You were injured in the blast, Colonel. You'll be fine, though, just a mild concussion. And some cuts on your back. We're stitching you up now, Sir. Are you in any pain?"
He shook his head, or tried to, but his face was pressed into an oval and he suspected he looked ridiculous.
"Good. Doctor Kavanagh told me to tell you that he had scanned and transmitted the information on the virus. We are a couple hours out from Atlantis, and we'll turn you over to Doctor Beckett upon our arrival."
He felt a twinge, grimaced. "Ow."
The face disappeared, reappeared. "Found a couple of fairly deep ones, Sir. I think we'd best put you to sleep for the rest."
He thought about objecting, but by then something warm was spreading through his veins, and he drifted off in mid, "But..".
xxxxxx
It was like he'd never known a time when it was easy to breathe.
He concentrated on each breath like he'd once concentrated on his physics homework, and even that thought threatened to send him back into the dreams…he fought the pull and forced his eyes open.
There were voices nearby. Concentrating, he could hear their discussion.
"…threw himself over Kavanagh…saved the samples…"
He listened harder.
"I heard he was on the table almost the entire trip back."
"They were picking glass out of his back, stitching him up. From what I heard, it was like sewing hamburger."
"Poor guy. He has that hero streak a mile wide, doesn't he?"
It was the ICU tech, talking to someone. Hero streak a mile wide?
He gasped, knowing exactly who it was, and one of the monitors started chirping.
Severn appeared at his bedside, smiling reassuringly.
"You're awake." she said. "That's good. How are you feeling?"
He disregarded the question. "Sheppard."
She glanced over at someone he couldn't see, guiltily.
"I'm sorry, Doctor. I didn't know you could hear."
Growing more agitated, he insisted. "Sheppard?"
"Colonel Sheppard was injured retrieving a sample from one of the planets you visited. Doctor Beckett thinks it might be what infected you."
There was only one planet with anything that would need a sample. He couldn't help the fear. If they'd gone there, and something had gone wrong…
Another monitor started to beep unhappily, and Severn realized she'd left out the most important information.
"Doctor, Colonel Sheppard will be fine. Doctor Hoffman is meeting the Daedelus as we speak, and the surgeon on the ship believes the scarring will be minimal."
He managed to get his breathing under control a bit, and one monitor quieted.
"Certain?" he demanded.
"Yes, Doctor McKay. I am certain. Doctor Hoffman is certain, which is more important. Now please, Sir, calm down. Someone will be in shortly to see you."
He nodded, closed his eyes, concentrating again on his breathing.
Still, though, voices. "…worried about someone else…"
"They're tight, that team. Like SG1."
The comparison pleased him. It made it, somehow, a bit easier. SG1 always triumphed, and they would too.
xxxxxx
"There's no match."
Bewildered, Beckett pushed back from the scope, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.
"What?" Biro leaned over. "Oh, damn. Oh, damn. There's no chance there was an error in the transmission of the scan?"
"No. It was a clean feed. We saw and recorded exactly what they saw and recorded. This isn't the same virus. It's not even close."
She looked, stunned, at Beckett. "What now?"
"I don't know, I really don't." He sat a moment, then scrubbed his face and stood.
"We treat the symptoms, and watch Rodney like a hawk."
Biro nodded. "You?"
He couldn't restrain a sigh. "I have a few people to talk to."
xxxxxx
They convened, by unspoken agreement, in the infirmary at Sheppard's bedside. He was on his side, still groggy from the drugs. Weir, Teyla and Dex were with him, and Caldwell had just arrived when Beckett entered.
He saw their expectant faces. There was no easy way to say it.
"It's not the same virus."
The faces were white, golden, dark, but the expression of shock was universal.
"What?"
"If it wasn't that, what was it?"
Weir and Caldwell spoke as one, and he sighed. "I'll tell you what we know," he said, looking at Sheppard, whose face had tightened at the news.
"The reason it didn't trigger the lockdown is because, as far as we can see, it isn't communicable. We took blood samples and tried to infect mice, and nothing happened. That put us on the track of something that was designed, mapped to affect only one person at a time. Which led us by past experience to a nanovirus. We brought in the pulse generator and exposed Rodney to an EMP. It had no effect."
He rubbed his nose. "The problem is, a lot of viruses act by taking over healthy cells. Usually antibodies develop, but we can't see anything specific here. We got lucky, though, with a sample of tissue from the lung; there were a fair number of what looked like nanobots that had not activated and were free-floating. From that, we took the tissue and ran several sets of tests, looking for differences between different sets of cells, assuming not every cell could have been infected, and assuming there were a limited number of the nanobots, two assumptions I based on our previous experience. I ordered a complete set of tests. They'll be back shortly."
"And what about McKay?" Sheppard's voice was gravelly.
"We're treating the symptoms. We believe if we move him into a hyperbaric chamber it may delay the effect - it's not just causing a fluid buildup, in addition it's acting like carbon monoxide, binding to the haemoglobin and making it impossible for it to carry oxygen. The chamber is a treatment that's hotly debated, but I've honestly run out of alternatives."
There was a pause. "I want to see him."
It was Sheppard. He knew it would be.