Vital Lies

Chapter 12

Stackhouse checked the life sign detector. He could see several more bodies lying between the wrecked furnishings, but the detector showed no active life signs in the immediate vicinity. He grabbed his radio unit and contacted Bates.

"Nothing over here. Any luck on your position?"

"Negative. The fire is covering an entire area and it's spreading, I have to turn back." The sergeant didn't mention what they both knew. It was entirely possible that the major had been lying unconscious somewhere near the east wall where the fire was now raging.

"Understood, I'll meet you there."

Stackhouse deactivated the radio and made to turn back, but something drew him towards the bodies scattered in the smoky haze ahead. If Sheppard was among them, then they needed to know. He could feel the acrid smoke burning in his throat, making each breath feel as if he were breathing liquid fire. Dashing forward, he held the collar of his jacket over his mouth and nose to trying to avoid breathing in too much smoke. His flashlight skimmed over the back of a head. Light blue hair. Not Sheppard. He went on, shifted the remnants of a fallen door to get a better look at a body, but the bloodied face that stared up at him was that of a stranger. A series of violent coughs shook him, leaving soldier fighting for air. If Sheppard was here he was dead. Hoping he was wrong, Stackhouse pulled out the life sign detector again, but like before there was no detectable life among the surrounding wreckage. Dejectedly, he turned back and headed for the Gate.

oOo

The medical team was already standing by when they came back through the Gate. Bates and Dr. Winterfield were first, carrying Teyla's limp form between them, setting her down as soon as they had cleared the event horizon. The waiting medics scurried over as Stackhouse and Markham stumbled out of the Gate and collapsed, gasping for breath.

"Major Sheppard?" Grodin asked, searching the group for the missing major.

"Couldn't find him…." Bates managed between gasps. "Smoke's everywhere... we have to go back!"

"Take it easy." Grodin saw that the sergeant was struggling. "Sorry, but I can't send you back. The only place you're going is the infirmary."

He wanted to tell Private Reynolds to get Captain Hanson and his team down to the Gateroom asap, but he couldn't. The risk was too great. He couldn't send another team into a burning building just to find one man. Even if major Sheppard is…was the military commander of the City.

oOo

Someone was shaking Kijen violently, rousing him from a deep, dreamless sleep. He tried to shift away from the hand that was maintaining a ruthless grip on his shoulders.

"Leave me be, 'm coming. Wha's the emergency?" He mumbled half-awake.

"Get up!" A hard voice shouted and yanked on his arms, pulling them together at his back, pinning him face down into the mattress.

He tried to roll over on his side, but the grip on his arms remained solid and unyielding. That got his attention and suddenly he was wide awake. He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of two unfamiliar men. Like Deakon, they were blue skinned.

"What do you want?" He asked, not sure whether he should know these men.

"You! Get up!" The speaker pulled on Kijen's bound arms, forcing him to get off the bed. He stumbled to his feet and the men started to lead him of the room, not bothering to let him dress. Kijen had no choice but to do as they demanded, with his wrists tied behind his back and two against one, he was clearly at a disadvantage.

Coming down the stairs, he could see Deakon crouched over the table, a hand pressed on his neck, blood dripping onto the table. Two more strangers were there, obviously waiting for them. The one standing behind Deakon was holding a knife, looking ready to strike should Deakon make a move.

"Here, that's him."

Kijen was shoved down the final steps and nearly fell to the ground unable to balance himself with hands bound behind his back.

"Good." The oldest of the two new strangers approached him casting an appraising glance. Standing in only his nightclothes, Kijen felt as if he was a horse about to be sold.

"Get him outside and keep quiet." The older man, obviously the leader of the group ordered. "I still have unfinished business with our friend Deakon here."

Kijen resisted. It wasn't as much a conscious choice as instinct not to leave his shelter and the only familiar place. The reaction of his captors was immediate. A quick kick to the back of his right knee dropped him instantly to the hard stone floor. Pain shot up into his shoulders when he was yanked roughly by the arm back to his feet. This time he complied and limped outside.

It was freezing cold. The sky was pre-dawn orange, dust heavy in the air. His thin shirt and shorts provided next to no protection against the night chill. It would be several hours before the temperature rose, but then the heat could quickly become almost unbearable outside.

The gravel pricked his feet as they pushed him towards a brown vehicle parked near the house. It reminded Kijen of a truck, but he had no idea what a truck was or where he had ever seen one. One of his captors moved ahead to the back of the vehicle, untying some sort of tarp covering the back. For a split second, an image flashed in Kijen's mind, a street and many vehicles like this in different colours against a green landscape.

"Get in there." The man pointed to the interior of the truck.

Inside, it was dark and not much warmer. The cold easily seeped in. They secured the tarp from the outside again, trapping him inside, thankfully leaving his feet untied and free to move around the interior of the truck. It took a moment before his eyes adjusted to the low levels of light inside before he could make out the outlines of two wooden crates and two larger canisters. He'd just gotten to his feet when the vehicle suddenly started moving on the bumpy dirt road. To his surprise the noise of the engine was almost familiar.

He scuttled with his back to the tarp to get into a comfortable position. His shoulders had begun to ache from his arms being twisted into the unusual position behind his back, the cold already seeping into his skin through thin clothing. He desperately wanted to wrap his arms around himself trying to preserve a meagre amount of warmth, but all he could do was curl up as closely as he could, trying to preserve body heat.

oOo

Rodney came to consciousness disoriented and hazy. His head felt like his brain had been stuffed with cotton wool. He blinked a few times, trying to bring his surroundings into focus and found himself in a spacious room, not the cell he had been in before. At least, he didn't think it was, his memories were somewhat blurred. The last thing McKay could recall was being interrogated by one of the Ymanhin. They'd drugged him that would explain the fuzzy feeling inside his head.

He slid off the bed, testing his legs carefully at first, satisfied when they were steady enough, then staggered over to the sink on the opposite wall. He felt significantly better after splashing liberal amounts of cold water over his face and lower arms. The room was dominated by a large worktable in the middle of the room, one wall occupied by a narrow, iron frame bed and a large cupboard. On the other side of the sink was a basic shower, consisting of a showerhead over a drain hole and a toilet.

The walls showed evidence of multiple layers of paint that had been applied on top of each other and were now slowly peeling off. It didn't look like the room had been used in a while; dust gathered on surfaces and cobwebs in the corners.

Rodney felt a twinge at his right ankle but ignored it and walked over to the cupboard. The twinge returned with vengeance and turned into a stabbing pain, shooting up his leg, his knee buckling under his weight. The physicist slid to the floor, rested a moment to recover before pulling up his pant leg. Instead of an injury, he saw a thin, black anklet embedded in his skin. It was hardly two millimetres thick, but deeply pressed into his reddened skin. He gingerly reached out to touch it, but shrank back as soon as he had made contact. The touch had provoked a flare-up of intense pain, driving a spike of agony up his side. Rodney panicked and didn't notice the door opening. By the time he became aware of her presence, she was standing behind him.

"I see it is working."

He whirled around. The pain was suddenly gone. He was looking at a middle aged Ymanhin woman. She was dressed in dark blue uniform like clothes. In her hand, she was a small device. Rodney had the sinking feeling that the little object was connect to the sudden pain he'd experienced.

"I'm Maje. I'll be supervising you. Come with me."

The little demonstration didn't leave much question as to how the supervision would be carried out. McKay had many questions, but thought better than to ask at the moment. He followed Maje along the corridor, silently trying to memorize the turns they made. The pair stepped out into a huge hall, the sight making Rodney stop on the spot. The hall housed a gigantic ship, its design reminding Rodney of the Puddle Jumpers on a much larger scale.

"It is a ship of the people that you call Ancients. We found it over four hundred years ago on the bottom of the Kintarin Sea. It wasn't until we met your people that we realized what it was, that we had found and why we had never managed to initialize its systems despite our best efforts."

Rodney frowned. It didn't make sense. Even if the Ymanhin had made the connection between their technology and the ship they had found, the Atlantians had been very careful not to mention anything about the gene to the Ymanhin. But then he remembered Sjel's report. The traitor. Someone had known a lot about them, including about the gene. The same people who'd grabbed John and Carson. So it had been about the gene. They needed them for their genes, to activate or test something. But what did they want from him now?

TBC