A/N: Oy, you guys and your reliable ways. Thanks for the guidance that led me to finally being able to see that punk Lorne's visage. I now have a mental picture of him, along with Heightmeyer (finally), so thank ye. And thanks for the many reviews, as always. You people make me want to do the happy dance, but I hate dancing so I'll make Carson do it. Well, forget that, he's threatening me with a syringe. On with the chapter!

Ch. 12

Standoff

" Your grandmother?"

Krissa, back up front, cast a look of mild exasperation over her shoulder. " Yes, Mr. Sheppard. For the third time, yes."

John, leaning against the backboard of the seat, shook his head. " I know, I'm just... Your grandma! Your – what, mom or dad's mother?"

" My mother's mother."

" Okay. Your mom's mom? Jeez, kid. Grandma, as in the lady who's supposed to spoil you with milk and fresh baked cookies?"

Krissa cast another look over her shoulder, this one confused. " Milk and cookies?"

" Milk is a drink. Cookies are a kind of... crunchy pastry thing – Your grandma!"

Krissa sighed, but said nothing.

John kept shaking his head, wondering when and how he'd landed in Stephen King's version of Little Red Riding Hood. It was sick, just sick. The Pegasus Galaxy was full of too many sickos, and John seemed hexed to forever be the one to run into them. The automatic question was how anyone could be twisted enough to kill their own grandchild, and over a stupid contest? But then, John had met Savine. That woman led the sicko parade, with Menk commanding the marching band made up of Genii and Wraith.

John exhaled a shuddering breath. " Your mom's not like Savine, right?" he said by way of changing the subject.

" Oh no, not at all. My mother and uncle were raised by my grandfather. Savine married for money so that she could fund her projects, and had my mother and my uncle to satisfy Grandfather's desire for children. That is what mother told me. She never wanted me around Savine. We're a very honest family, you see, and just because someone is blood does not mean we should have to put up with their cruelty. We don't really consider Savine family, not anymore."

" Gee I wonder why?" John muttered under his breath. Every family had their little flaws, or big ones. John didn't exactly have a tight camaraderie with his own father, but compared to Krissa's situation it was a freakin' picnic.

Better the cold shoulder than dead any day.

John opened his mouth, about to expound on the subject, only to snap it shut with an audible click of teeth. He was pushing it, he knew it. No one wants to be reminded of impending death and the mental instability of a family member. It was time for another change in subject.

John cleared his throat. " So, um, you said you don't make a lot of stops?"

Krissa shook her head, pony-tail wagging. " No, too dangerous until we reach the compound. Especially at night."

John's eyes scanned the twilight dim forest. " Obviously." The clack of branches echoed sharp as a slap. Other than that, had the cart not been moving, John could have heard his own heart beating. The silence was the kind that was supposed to be the herald before the bad. Monster out of the forest, then birds sing. Monster in the forest, then everything living shuts up. Thick, perfect silence that made the creak and squeak of the cart almost deafening. There was no opportunity of warning if anything came – unless John listened really hard for its breathing. Luck of the audible draw if he did.

The solid gray sky made it surreal. John glanced at Krissa in her amber cloak. What was that movie, the one brought in on the Dedaelus, about the village?

Duh, The Village. John was excessively thankful not to be wearing anything red at the moment.

The silence pressed on John like an actual physical entity, and it was scaring the crap out of him.

" Tell me about this contest," he said for the sake of saying something, pushing the entity back.

" Not much more to tell, really," Krissa said. " We must create something, and Divante judges it."

Krissa then turned her upper body enough to see John. " What was Atlantis like? Before the wraith came, I mean. My father told me the wraith destroyed it."

John stifled a wince. Not that he would have to lie about Atlantis since someone else had done the job for him, but it made him squirm having to hold to that lie with the girl who'd saved his life.

" It's um... pretty."

She lifted an eyebrow, and he almost grinned. It was such a very Elizabeth like reaction. McKay brain, Elizabeth personality, Carson bed-side manner – he liked this girl. " Yeah. Lots of technology, floats on water..."

Krissa perked. " Really?"

" Yeah. Used to be underwater 'til we arrived. It was really cool when we got there, too. See, in order to run the place you've gotta have this gene, this deeper blood tie, I guess, to the people you call the Ancestors. Mine was pretty freakin' strong, which is how I ended up on the team heading to the city. The moment I walked in, everything started lighting up. You know what it's like – having an alien city you never even heard of or knew existed wake up for you like it was waiting for you?"

Krissa had her arms folded on the backrest of the seat, and her head resting on her arms with a wistful grin on her face. Her eyes, for once, were void of the melancholia that John found too disconcerting.

" Special?"

Now John was the one going wistful as he thought back on that day. " Kind of like... I was home." It was something John had never really acknowledged since there had always been the firm belief in the back of his mind that one day the expedition would come to an end and he would have to return to earth. The expedition didn't even have to really end, just circumstances playing out that would permanently ground him or deem him unfit to lead the soldiers protecting the city. But time passed as time does, and that notion had been shoved to the dusty, rarely visited recesses of his mind.

" Do you miss it?" Krissa asked next.

John, without even realizing it, answered her in all utter truth. " Yeah, I do." Vacation time had been a bust. He wanted to go home, bad.

Krissa scrunched her brow. " So, since the city woke up for you... does that make you one of the Ancestors?"

John shrugged and idly scratched the back of his neck. " I have no idea. Related to them, maybe, like a hybrid I guess. I never really understood all that 'some people have the gene more than others' deal. Some of us have the gene, some of us don't, and always at levels. It was kind of an accident I came, really. I just sat in some chair the Ancients had built and..." he slammed his fist into his palm, " bam, here I am."

" What did you do before then?"

" I was a pilot." At her perplexed look he added, " We have machines that fly, and the people who fly them are called pilots."

" Ohhh. Yes, I see. We call them flyers."

John grinned. " Less complicated title, I suppose. But that's what I did, I flew things. Still do, actually, only what I fly now is a lot more fun."

" Wish I could be a 'pilot'. I tried building a glider from scratch – that's what we call our machines – but father wouldn't let me try it out. Which was probably a good thing, since someone stole it and it crashed. I like things that fly."

" Well then I guess it's safe to say you like me, then," he replied with another grin.

Krissa mirrored it. " You saved my life and you're funny, so yes, you're easy to like."

John's eyes, still roving the forest, fell on Bren. The man might have been a robot for all John knew, the way he kept his sights on the road, never jumping in on any of the conversations. Or maybe it was the mandate of servants never to speak. But then John recalled the stern look the old man had given Krissa that led to the confession about Savine. He was above and beyond lowly invisible lackey.

John leaned in toward Krissa and lowered his voice. " Can he hear?"

Krissa darted a glance at the old man. " Who, Bren? Of course. He just can't speak. A childhood sickness took his voice. He speaks with his hands and a typing pad."

John nodded in understanding. " Ah."

" So, what are the flying machines of your world like?" Krissa asked next, beaming and staring in wide-eyed wonder at John. He proceeded to try and explain helicopters, jets, airliners, even hangliders. Somehow that led to hobbies, sports, games. John told her about surfing, and she told him about plain running – like wind surfing only on a board with wheels over short grassland. She'd attempted the sport and ended up with a concussion. John told her of the five times he'd nearly drowned and the one time a shark tried to take his leg and him with it.

Later in the day, Krissa took over steering the cart for Bren so that he could rest. When dusk came, they stopped for a short, fifteen minute break, eating then feeding the two-legged creature Krissa called a vrat. After that, they were off with Bren taking the vrat's reins. Night came, and Krissa gave John a blanket. She moved to the foot of the wagon to sleep, while John remained at the front. When John woke up, he found Krissa steering and Bren asleep at the back.

Not wanting to feel the freeloader, John took a go at steering, which wasn't much of a feat. Little steering was involved since the vrat wasn't too keen on veering toward the woods. The only trouble with the vrat was that it liked to stop and nibble on whatever leaves were in reach, requiring a hard snap of the reins to get it moving.

" You, know," Krissa said, " it is much easier with three to drive. Bren is a healthy man, but he's not as he used to be. He needs to be more rested so he can remain more alert, I keep telling him. But he doesn't like me staying up late."

John smiled. " He the family butler or something?"

" I don't know this term 'butler', but he has worked for my family since my father was my age. He used to manage the household, then became my assistant when I joined the guild. He's very adept in things electronic. It's important to have someone assisting you who knows such things. The complicated systems of some devices don't allow for single mistakes. The navigation systems of a glider, for example..."

For the seventh time since the new day began, John's thoughts shot back to his team, specifically Rodney, because had Rodney been here he'd be trying to find a way to adopt this girl. John hoped like hell the team wasn't being targeted by Savine's Mad Max squad at this very moment.

Krissa's technical ramblings meandered from the intricacies of gliders to the complex theories of stargate travel and the systems of the gates themselves. Her knowledge was astounding in that brain numbing way of which John didn't understand a word, but knew enough to be impressed. This girl really was smart, genius smart, give McKay a run for his money smart.

Oh, they have so totally got to meet. Yes, McKay would definitely be considering having children after meeting her.

Unable to help himself, John told her of the time he and his team got stuck in the gate, and the iratus bug trying to suck the life out of him. Of course, conversation took another journey, and he ended up talking about nearly becoming a bug himself.

Krissa paled at that. The look of wonder and excitement was gone, and a blank, unreadable mask replaced it. " You, um, you were nearly transformed?"

" Nearly, but no dice. A cure was thrown together... last minute." He grimaced at the recollection of it, then peered at Krissa. " You all right?"

Krissa nodded and swallowed. " It's just... Savine – that's her interest. Bio-structure. The recreation of living tissue into something else."

John did a double take at Krissa. " Recreation? What do you mean recreation?"

Krissa screwed her mouth in concentration. " I'm – not really sure. She deals in living things, but I've never seen her work, or the by products of it. I just heard things, such as this plant she created or something – out of two different plants. It's a flower, very beautiful, but sprays poison in your face if you get too close. My cousin told me of it. Said Savine once had a greenhouse full of such plants. My cousin would spy on her to see if something could be found to use against her to put her away for good. Savine, however," Krissa sighed, " she's clever."

The vrat tugged on the reins, going for a shrub growing on the side of the road. John snapped the reins, and the sound cracked through the dead-quiet woods. He cringed at the reverberations.

" So she's a genetisist," he said.

" If that is what you call those who deal with living things, then yes. I think some of the stories I heard are just rumor, though."

" What stories?"

Krissa shrugged. " About experiments, I'm not sure. They vary a lot."

John looked at Krissa dubiously, then back at the road.

Freakin' female Frankenstein? Wouldn't hold it past the old bat. It was the last thing John wanted to deal with – someone with a god complex. It was hard enough to handle in McKay.

Then again, maybe she only focused her research on plants. Frankenstein as a botanist – that didn't sound any better.

Night came, and John was curled in the back of the wagon, this time at the foot with Krissa huddled behind the seat. John was getting used to sleeping through a rough ride. Dreams snaked there way in, killing time, letting his body heal.

John was running – running, running, running, half naked, cold, hungry, hurting, screaming. They were behind him, breathing on his bare back, hot breath rolling down susceptible flesh like flames. Mathers was shouting from the darkness.

" They'll kill you, sir. You can't outrun them."

He passed Culs, and the man grinned. " Liked ya, Master Sheppard. Liked ya I did."

A howl...

John jerked awake and sat up, panting, shaking, and wet with sweat. The howl was lingering again. He couldn't see anything past the swinging light of the flaccid lamp. He did see Krissa's face, pale in the wan light, eyes wide. She was staring beyond the wagon into the wall of black that was all around them. John glanced at Bren and saw a rifle lying across his lap. John reached beneath a gunny sack for his P-90.

" What's going on?" he whispered.

Krissa shivered and hunched into her blanket. " Things of the forest," she whispered back. Then looked at him in wide-eyed, child like fright. " We'll be all right. We're on the road."

There was no conviction in her voice, just a poor attempt at self-easement. John brought his gun closer and held it tight.

" Are you all right?" Krissa asked. John's head jerked around to stare at her incomprehensibly.

" Huh?"

" Are you all right? You were, um, mumbling in your sleep... and shaking. You're still shaking."

John looked down at his unsteady hands. " Oh. Bad dream."

" Oh," she said. That one simple word held oceans of understanding. Both fell silent, listening beyond the clatter of the wagon to the quiet, and watching the darkness.

SGASGASGASGA

Morning was an unfriendly presence, more gray with breezes escalating into pushy high winds. John, in the back, could smell rain, which was about time. Not that he had wanted it to rain, not while they were out in the open, but having storm clouds overhead for days without so much as a drop had felt unnatural to him. Normalcy was becoming a luxury, a much deprived luxury.

Became that way the moment I sat in that chair.

John felt the first cold kiss of rain on his cheekbone. Actually, more like spittle. The next drop took its sweet time. First drizzle, then the deluge would follow, but John was assuming. He wasn't exactly up to speed on Sriot's weather patterns.

John heard Krissa gasp. " We're here, look!"

John straightened, peering between the two seated occupants. The trees lining the road like the walls of a corridor ended at courtyard of cobblestone with a dead fountain dead center and an immaculate front entrance filling every modicum of John's view.

The place was huge, like a castle, but the structure was – to John's slight discomfort – very Fall of the House of Usher; exceedingly Victorian, made of gray brick, with dark gabled roofs, arched windows, and some sort of deep green ivy snaking up most of the walls. John shivered. He was only looking at the front of the house – a scratch on the surface – and it was making him go cold. Dark windows like empty eye sockets gave off the impression that no one resided in this place. The weed choked fountain added to his notions, along with the dead lawn and lack of any kind of valet waiting in ready to park the wagon.

" Oh, it's so big," Krissa breathed in awe, but John caught her shrinking back ever so subtly, as though trying not to. John had to fight not to do the same. This place was of the kind that would have rooms within rooms, hidden rooms, tower rooms, secret passageways, and the only way to get around was to have the blueprints handy.

The vrat's claws clicked on the cobblestone. Bren steered it around the fountain and onto a narrow paved path hugging the walls of the mammoth house with trees reflected black in the empty windows. Windows gave way to blank wall, and the path turned gently into a large entry way leading into another courtyard with a massive stable ahead and another on the right.

Here there be life, John thought. There were people about, very few, as well as... What the hell are those? They walked like humans – sort of – dressed human, but there was nothing human about them. Creatures, plain and simple, the biggest roughly four feet tall, and all varying in physical description. Some were hairy, others scaled. A few had tails, or horns, or even wings, cat-like faces, dog-like faces, bird-like faces, lizard-like faces. It was like someone had taken every living creature, put them in a blender, hit liquify, and sat back to watch the result. Some of the creatures he couldn't even place a known animal to.

The creatures were all over the place tending to animals, hitching them, unhitching them, getting feed, dragging luggage through a door at the side of the house.

" What are those things?" John asked. To his alarm, Krissa appeared just as perplexed and inching toward fascinated.

" I don't know. I've never seen creatures like them before."

Bren steered the wagon to the stable across from the entrance. A silver clad figure emerged from the side entrance of that stable, and John didn't need to see the face to know to duck. A blanket was thrown over him immediately after.

" Stay down, don't move!" Krissa whispered. Then, a moment later...

" Grandmother Savine..."

" Don't call me that, child! Where is he!"

" Who Savine?"

John took shallow breaths, and suddenly despised the fact that he was so tall. He just couldn't curl small enough. There were three heartbeats of silence before Savine spoke again. John could picture the condescending look simulating her words.

" Do you really think I'm that stupid, Krissa? Apparently, you do, which isn't saying all that much about your supposed intelligence. I know you, Krissa. That man tried to attack me, girl. Vice left him wounded on the side of the road. Very wounded. You wouldn't have rode passed him without stopping to help. You're always stopping to help even when it's a dead insect stuck to your wagon wheel. You wouldn't have left that man to die. And if he's with you then hand him over. He's dangerous and needs to be dealt with."

" That man was already dead when we found him. We buried him."

" Impossible! You wouldn't have stayed long enough to bury him even in a shallow grave. You have his body..."

John heard the rapid crunch of footsteps growing closer, and his heart beat faster with each step. Grab of the hair, twist of the neck, and that's all it would take for Savine to finish him off. John doubted either Krissa or Bren would be able to stop super freak grandma in time. John wrapped his hand around the grip of his 9 mil and carefully slid it from the thigh holster.

" Savine!" Krissa called with an authority that rocked John. " Whether we chose to bring a body for a proper burial is our business! You left him to die, so by right he's ours to do with as we please. So just back off!"

John clamped his mouth tight to keep from laughing out loud and cheering Krissa on. The girl would have made Teyla proud, and Ronon grin.

There was silence, then...

" Vice!"

Krissa shouted in protest. The blanket was ripped off Sheppard, and in the same instant he brought up his 9 mil to point it directly at Vlad the Impaler's face. The guy's brows lifted, and that's as far as he went in terms of surprise.

John winked. " Howdy Vice."

" I knew it!" Savine screamed. " You lying little...!" John looked over his shoulder in time to see Savine advancing on Krissa. Bren brought up his rifle, and John snatched his P-90 from under the gunny sack and stood up – 9-mil on Vice, P-90 on Savine. Savine stopped cold in her tracks, hatred sparking like dynamite in her eyes and her lips curling as though trying to bare fangs that weren't there.

" Down girl," John warned. It felt indescribably wonderful being able to point a weapon at super witch and her thug. Her second goon, the spiky haired one, had hold of the vrat's reins. The third was on the other side of the wagon, pointing a stunner at John. Bren, however – with John keeping Savine and Vice covered – altered his aim toward goon three. Krissa had her own small gun out pointed at the goon holding the vrat, and the goon returned the favor by aiming at Bren. Standoff time.

John had a feeling the competition had officially begun.

SGASGASGASGA

A/N: Now that was a fun cliffhanger.