"So help me god, if he's not in his office, I'm going to kill him. He won't have to worry about Carson's physical, because he'll be dead." Col. John Sheppard, one pissed off man, turned to his companion as he hesitated before McKay's lab. "You're looking at a man who's about to be incarcerated for murder in the first degree. I suppose that doesn't offend you in any way."

"I was just wondering which weapon you would use," Ronon remarked calmly.

Sheppard's eyes narrowed. He couldn't figure the man out. No one had any right to be that laid back after running from the Wraith for so many years. Maybe he had to keep his emotions so close to him that he decided the best course of action was to simply throw them away. No, not right, he'd seen the man laugh, and it was one hell of a scary thing. Sheppard jerked his hand over the panel that controlled the door mechanism. It slid open.

And the lab was empty.

Shit.

"Gun or sword?" Ronon asked.

"Bare hands."

"I know a technique that renders a man insensible and kills him slowly."

Sheppard allowed himself a look of consternation. "You serious?"

"You want me to show you?"

"You really think I want to kill McKay?"

"Sure, why not?" Ronon gave a non-committal, one shouldered shrug.

"You really don't like the man, do you?"

"I like him fine."

"Then what is all this about?"

Again Ronon shrugged. "You tell me."

"I – just forget it. Maybe he's eating."

"We've checked."

"And we'll check again! He's not answering his radio, he's not scheduled for downtime, he's supposed to be in Weir's office and she isn't happy! And who has to hear about it?" He pointed prominently to his chest.

Ronon was about to reply when the radio in John's ear chirped. He sighed. "Sheppard."

"John?" Elizabeth's voice carried a hint of anxiety, which alarmed him. "Have you seen Dr. Beckett?"

"No, I haven't. Ronon, you seen Carson?" Ronon shook his head and keyed his own radio as Sheppard once again addressed Elizabeth. "He's not in the infirmary? No, wait, scratch that." Stupid question, and Ronon's smirk wasn't helping.

"No one has seen him for the past hour. We can't find him anywhere."

Okay, now this was getting a bit strange. Ronon stepped closer to John as his attention focused. "It isn't like him to just disappear," he said quietly to the colonel. "Dr. McKay I can see taking off, but not Beckett."

John fingered his radio. "Listen, Elizabeth, I can't find Rodney anywhere either. I don't suppose they got it in their heads to go exploring or something."

"Without the ability to communicate? That doesn't sound like them."

"True. Something could have come up, I guess." It was lame. Those two would never just go rambling off to explore the city without contacting Weir and harnessing an army; both were too paranoid for their own good.

"I want people looking for them. Is that understood?"

What Sheppard was beginning to understand, was that the situation was taking on a more dangerous flavor. It really was out of character for both men to just vanish, and with the odd things that had been happening since, well, their initial arrival on Atlantis, it was best not to take chances. "Right. I'll keep you informed."

"Likewise. Good luck."

It sounded like he was officially embarking on a mission. For all he knew, he was.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The sound was just on the other side of the wall.

Both men had long since closed their eyes.

There was a loud thump and a sharp cry, not one of the killing sort, but of intense pain. Carson opened his eyes slowly, and spotted a female, lying prone on the floor.

That wasn't possible.

He nudged Rodney, who opened his eyes, and stared. The woman had pushed up onto her palms, with a look of total distrust fixed on the two men. Her faded blond hair hung in tangles around her face, her clothes were grungy and tattered. Her eyes were dark with fear, and anger. Carson guessed her to be slightly older than himself. He dared a step forward, and stopped as she sprang to her feet, ready to attack. "Wait, wait, it's okay! It's okay, I'm a friend. My name is Carson, I'm not going to hurt you." He held his hands out defenselessly, taking careful steps across the unmarked floor. "Do you understand?"

She stared, shifting her weight slightly from one foot to the other, fighting the apparent instinct to run. But run where?

"I really would like to know where you came from," Carson pressed. "I mean, there are no doors or openings of any kind, unless you created one."

She reached out behind her for the wall, and pressed back against it, her eyes darting from Carson's to Rodney's. "What do you mean?" she asked in a low voice.

"We – we just woke up here. We don't know," he raised his brows as he looked around the room, "where we are, or how things operate."

She was breathing heavily, more from anxiety than exertion. "I - I don't know how long I've been here."

"Did you wake up here too?"

She hesitated, still gauging her new companions, and nodded.

Carson nodded back, sensing Rodney at his shoulder. "She's in extreme shock," he muttered, "I can't see anything physically wrong with her to cause it."

"That doesn't bode well," Rodney responded as he crossed his arms. She tensed, watching him, and he noticed. He let his arms fall to his side, not wanting to appear threatening, or dominant. He has a suspicion that, whatever made the woman nervous, posturing wouldn't help the situation. She studied him closely, and he used the opportunity to take a step towards her. It was followed by a large, fast step back as she tried to become one with the wall. He gestured to Carson. "I'll just let him do the talking, then, okay? He's got that smooth voice that the girls seem to love." He offered a disarming smile, which was shunned. His head hung, but not before stealing a glance at Beckett.

Carson kept his hands visible. "Look, I know you're confused and scared. So are we. But I think we can help each other, you just have to trust us. We won't hurt you. Please. . ." he was standing before her now, and she was looking at him steadily, one shoulder braced against the wall. He eyes took in everything about him, including his head wound, which she studied with some apprehension.

He touched it gently. "I think it happened when we arrived. I really don't know."

She seemed to understand his confusion. She reached out for his hand.

He pulled her gently to the middle of the room as she looked around, surveying the area. "This one isn't like the others," she said quietly, "this one is lighter."

"There are other rooms?" Rodney asked. He shouldered himself from the wall he had retreated to after noting the timidness that she fought to disguise.

"Yes. They're much darker."

"How many?"

"I-I don't know. I've been in five."

"You don't remember how you got here, do you?" Carson asked quietly.

"No."

Rodney sighed and returned to his wall. "I saw a movie like this once," he muttered.

"How interesting for you," Carson mumbled. "Miss . . . look, can you tell us your name? I feel right odd talking like this without it."

She almost smiled, which wasn't surprising, because Beckett knew how, and when, to turn on the charm. "Lenore."

"Hello, Lenore. I'm Carson, and this," he gestured behind him, "is Rodney. Where are you from?"

She was easing into his presence. "Eron."

"Eron," he turned back to Rodney, who just shook his head, "I'm not familiar with that planet."

She frowned. "What are you talking about? It's the town I'm from." A laugh escaped her. "Not familiar with the planet?"

Carson glanced at Rodney, who was now glaring at him. It hadn't occurred to him that there might be places in the galaxy unaccustomed to interstellar, or interplanetary, travel. "Right. It was a joke."

Lenore merely smirked and walked away from him. She still seemed ill at ease, but her openness was encouraging.

Rodney was back to rubbing the walls, examining the round curves where corners should be. "How did you get in here? In this room, I mean."

"You haven't figured it out?"

He turned, looking miffed. "No, unfortunately we woke up shortly before you arrived. Otherwise I'd of had us out of here by now."

"Rodney. . ."

"Well, she asked!"

"A little decorum, eh?" Carson shook his head and turned to Lenore. "What did you figure out?"

"The walls aren't solid, not all of the time. You can move through them. It's hard, it's like really thick jelly that you might get caught in." Her eyes were raised, looking at the ceiling above them.

"A mosquito in amber, huh? Carson, a word?" Rodney signaled for him to approach, and faced the wall, turning him towards it as well. "There's something strange about her."

"Rodney, she's obviously been under a great deal of stress. Now in most cases. . ."

"I do have some rudimentary knowledge of psychology. I'm not totally inept." His tone was exceptionally sarcastic, and Carson was on the verge of walking away, but felt a hand on his arm. "Jelly."

"What?"

"Listen to her! Does she talk like she's from another planet?"

"Rodney, we've come across cultures that resemble our own. Some resemble more foreign earth cultures. If we are all descended from the same race, wouldn't it stand to reason that there would be similarities?"

He folded his arms. "And I suppose the English language is the mother tongue of the Ancients?"

"No, of course not!"

"Carson, have you noticed that we seem to have more diversity on our own station than in the entire Pegasus galaxy?"

"We've had to use translators with some races."

"We use translators on earth! We're in another god damn galaxy! Where's all the exotic speech?"

"Rodney, now really isn't the time to argue linguistics."

"We aren't arguing linguistics. We are arguing the very real fact that we shouldn't be able to understand everything that is said out here! We shouldn't understand any of it!"

"Then someone secretly put a bloody babblefish in our ear when we weren't looking!" Carson turned suddenly to find Lenore staring at them.

They stood there, sheepishly.

Lenore merely gave a nod and retreated to the wall opposite them, folding her arms protectively across her chest and sliding her back down the wall. She sat quietly.

"Way to go, Carson," Rodney muttered, facing the wall once again.

"And just what did I do?"

"You wouldn't shut up, as usual!"

"And you're Mr. Sensitivity, are you?"

"Look, just try to shut up, just for a second." Rodney was running out of energy to argue. He was feeling the tightness of the space he was trapped in. "Lenore said these walls turn to jelly."

"Which you jumped on. . ."

"Not what I meant. I wonder how long we have to wait for it to happen again." He turned to Lenore. "Do you know how often the walls change?"

She shook her head. "No. But it shimmers just before, like a ripple. The you can force your way through, but you have to do it quickly."

"Why?" Carson asked before thinking. He looked at the wall, imagining it loosening, then reforming, and winced. "Oh. Right then."

"So," Rodney sighed and took a seat, "we just have to wait for a shimmery thing."

Carson nodded. "It would seems so." He sat beside Rodney, across from Lenore. She stared at the floor, peeking up only on occasion.

It was going to be a long wait.