Chapter 11
Seconds crawled by without apparent change, then Sheppard's body shuddered as if trying to pull back from something. Looking at the Major's face McKay could see a tense frown creep over his features and to his dismay, even as he watched, a thin dribble of blood trickled slowly from one nostril.
o0o
Ocean, vast and relentless washed about him.
The sense of warmth and comfort was gone as if it had never been, and like a drowning man he struggled for a surface that perhaps, was not even there. Pain no longer remote crawled and seared down every artery and vein.
He would have screamed if he could only work out how.
It would have been so easy to let go, to sink into blissful oblivion, but he had always been stubborn and he and pain were old acquaintances. He knew he could let it win, or if he could still muster the strength and determination, he could bend it to his will, use it to hone his focus.
The ocean stilled and pulled back, fusing with the shapeless dark that bounded his consciousness. The tide of pain wavered and ebbed.
Before his eyes a tiny, slowly rotating architectural image of a structure rippled into being, a domed room with a Chair at its innermost point. While he looked on, it grew; layers of newer structure accreting on the old; millennia rushing by as he watched raking towers growing as if organic things, and sideways extensions reaching away from the old core gradually crystallising into the familiar shapes of Atlantis' piers.
In his mind he saw countless motes and lines of colour fill out the structure: reds, blues, greens, and other colours he had never before seen and could not name. On some level he knew all of them, their meaning and significance.
He tried to think, to remember, but the knowledge skittered away untapped.
A dull ache deep in his chest demanded attention. The image of the structure blurred, colours merged and bleached into nothingness. By sheer force of will he wrenched it back into focus.
INSTRUCTIONS?
Without language or script, the word settled easily into the forefront of his mind. He thought about how he might best convey his wishes.
The ache in his chest solidified into an inexorable pressure, becoming ever heavier, and spreading down his left arm. On some level he dimly recognised it as a bad sign. The focus on the image wavered again.
Fear for his friends crept into his thoughts, fear that he might not after all be able to do this, fear that without the refuge of Atlantis they would not long survive against the Wraith. Like he used the pain, he used the fear to give him the strength to drag the image back into focus.
As he did so a second image flickered into existence before him: a translucent oval marked by the shape of a human palm.
In his mind he reached out to touch it. He felt no sense of contact, but at his touch the oval flared briefly and vanished. Beyond it the image of the City shimmered once as if viewed through heat haze. Threads of light sped across it and through it, almost too fast to follow, highlighting and connecting location after location. The threads of light coalesced at a single point somewhere deep in the City where they swirled and faded.
INSTRUCTIONS RECEIVED.
The words pushed their way through into his mind, shaking his fierce concentration.
Theease of it startled him. That's it? As simple as that?
INSTRUCTIONS RECEIVED AND IMPLEMENTED. PRESENT SECURITY CONDITION RESET TO LEVEL ONE - NORMAL.
Relief washed over him. The images before him blurred, fragmented and vanished. This time he did not fight it. He had done what he intended, and that was enough. Strands of empty greyness seeped into his mind and he fell.
o0o
McKay watched helplessly as the blood trickled down Sheppard's face. The Major's breath came in shallow, irregular gasps as if he was fighting for every breath of air.
A change in pitch of the sound from the Naquada generator and the faint tang of burning in the air dragged his attention from Sheppard's plight. The monitor gauges on the generator were all solidly in the red and warning lights were flashing with insistent urgency. For an instant McKay regretted his decision to disconnect the audible alarms, only to decide a second later that given the output level he had required from the generator, they would probably have been more distraction than use.
Having little choice in the matter he lunged forward, lifted and twisted the main shutdown on the generator. Immediately the pitch of the whine dropped down the register and within seconds faded into silence. Just as quickly the flashing of the warning lights slowed and stopped and McKay smiled in relief.
The smile lasted until he looked at the Chair. The overstrung tension in Sheppard's body was gone; the Major lay unmoving in the Chair in an abandoned sprawl. But what immediately seized McKay's attention was the now far more noticeable smell of burning accompanied by a thin plume of smoke rising from somewhere within the Chair's bulk.
"Oh no, no, no… definitely not good," he muttered. For a moment he fidgeted, trying to decide on a course of action, then events took a hand and narrowed his options as he heard the distinctive crackle from deep within the Chair of a crystal fracturing.
Heedless of the tearing pain from his sprained ankle that protested the sudden movement, he grabbed for the Major and in a single convulsive heave dragged him clear of the Chair. He stumbled backwards, and unable to keep his balance or his footing in the slick mud, all he could do was try to direct their fall as far away from the Chair and platform as possible.
The two crashed to the ground some ten feet from the Chair. McKay glanced back, saw more smoke, denser now, pouring from the open panel at the base of the Chair, heard a rattle, a high tremolo from deep in the platform, faint at first but increasing in volume, and knew he had run out of time. Unable to get further away, he threw himself to the ground over Sheppard's insensible form, protecting him as best he could against the explosion he was sure was coming.
Whether it was by design, the peril honed instincts of an inveterate experimenter, or just by sheer dumb luck they hit the ground a fraction of a second before the Chair exploded. The analytical part of McKay's mind – the part often at odds with the pragmatist in him – catalogued the explosion, and decided that as such things went, it was almost subdued: more a sudden burn out than a true concussive blast. Then analysis was all but forgotten as superheated fragments of the Chair rained down on him. He winced and yelped, flinching away from one impact into another. He heard them hiss as they tumbled away and were quenched in the chill mud.
In less than a minute the worst was over. Behind them all that remained of the Chair was a broken, smouldering shell. A slight movement next to him compelled his attention. "Major?" he said, the word little more than an asthmatic gasp. There was no response. He sat up, leaned over him and gently shook his shoulder, calling out more loudly, "Major!"
Slowly, as if waking from a coma, Sheppard blinked a couple of times, then frowned trying to focus on McKay's face only inches from his own. "Hey, Rodney," he croaked, "you might want to give me some space. People will talk."
McKay snorted in relieved amusement, the snort made to slip into perhaps slightly hysterical laughter only to overtaken by a bout of coughing that had him curling up to try to ease the pain in his chest. He spat out phlegm, oblivious, unlike Sheppard, to the rust coloured specks embedded in it. He coughed again, took a swig of water and looked at the Major. "After all this, I really hope it worked," he said.
His eyes on the shattered remnants of the Chair, Sheppard nodded slowly. "Oh yeah. Don't want to do that again." He paused a few seconds, catching his breath. "I don't remember the details too well, but I think it worked." With far more effort than it should have taken, he pushed himself to his feet, swayed there a few moments then abruptly sat back down, both hands clutching his side. "Ah, remind me not to do that again any time soon," he gasped.
McKay half staggered, half crawled over to lean against the nearest wall. "So, now what? Even if it didn't work, you're not going to be able to walk out of here," he paused as if considering something else: "and I sure as Hell can't carry you. What say we just wait here? If it did work, I figure Elizabeth's sure to send someone after us when they discover the City's not going to sink. If not… Either way, shouldn't take too long." He gestured wearily towards the Naquada generator. "I suppose if they're coming, they can home in on that."
Moving carefully, his arm pulled tight against his side, Sheppard made his way to where McKay had propped himself up against the wall. He pulled over a good sized panel blown off the Chair when it had exploded and sat down on it. After a few seconds, McKay shrugged and joined him. It was better than sitting in the mud.
"You know, I like that plan Rodney," Sheppard murmured, leaning back against the wall before slumping gently against McKay, finally giving in to the pain and exhaustion he had spent the past hours determinedly ignoring. "That's a good plan… And whatever happens, one way or another, it's definitely been interesting."
"Yeah. No question there…"
o0o
Many hours later, following the faint but distinctive signal of the quiescent Naquada generator, Lieutenant Ford and Teyla, heading a Search and Rescue team sent out on Weir's order finally found the two of them there: both mud covered, bloodied, unconscious, and still propped up against each other for mutual support.
o0o