"Would you be careful with that!" McKay's petulant voice seemed to grow louder rather than softer with fatigue as the evening wore into night. "I spent 6 hours on the bottom of the ocean up to my neck in freezing water because of incompetent boobs not paying attention to what they were doing. I'd rather not do it again." The poor scientist, neither mechanic nor tech specialist merely nodded tiredly and continued tugging on the bolt he'd been working on for the last half hour.

"If he brings that up again, I'm going to dunk him up to his neck into the ground," Ronan whispered crossly to Teyla. They were both standing guard at the jumper's ramp, the group consensus being that one could only stand Rodney for an hour or so at a time. As such, an informal rotation of sorts had worked itself out over the afternoon.

They had wasted some few hours trying to access the drones from the exterior of the ship, trying to route power to open the drive pods, then even attempting brute force to pry them open far enough to reach in. Finally giving up on the easy path, they had begun tearing the ship apart from the inside, every bolt and internal power relay seeming to fight them with deliberate obstacles. At the moment, McKay, Jones and one of the science team were disassembling the panel behind the benches, storage compartments, and part of the floor taken out earlier. Rodney's hope was that once this relay was breeched, the exterior drive pod mechanism would be accessible, the drones tucked within its inner housing.

"RODNEY! You've got to see this!" Teyla turned at the shout to see Jeff Corrigan racing towards the jumper. He had returned to the camp after several hours of sitting at his post near the Ziggurat and had continued to study the text as he rested nearby. At the moment he was waving one of Rodney's hand sensors in the air as he ran.

McKay appeared at the ramp and walked down it to meet Corrigan at the bottom, looking simultaneously interested and annoyed by the interruption in his work.

"What is it?" Teyla asked, not wanting to be left out of any useful information.

"This can't be right." Rodney was poking at the sensor Corrigan had handed to him, and they were both facing the Ziggurat. Either responding to Teyla's question or simply talking to himself out loud he added, "The power readings just jumped off the chart. This thing is ramping up a massive energy pulse."

"Are we in danger?" Teyla went straight to the point, mentally calculating the distance to the forest in case they needed to evacuate their camp…

"Couldn't tell you. Like I said before, I don't think this is the source of the holograms, but maybe it transfers power periodically to the satellites or something…" He trailed off as the top of the magnificent dome seemed to glow brightly for a brief instant and the sensor in Rodney's hand beeped pitifully, as if giving up on even guessing at the power being displayed.

As the dome's light faded, the alcove guarded by the still present holo-soldiers began to glow and a figure emerged as a black silhouette against the light. Squinting, the Atlantians stood frozen in their spots while the figure walked regally up the steps towards them, the light fading behind it.

With a signal to Ronan and the others, Teyla allowed the old man to approach, for once he neared the flicker of their own campfire, they recognized him as the same who had appeared to them before.

"Oh my God. That's it!" breathed Corrigan softly to Rodney, a startling revelation occurring to him as they watched. "It's a portal. The phrase I couldn't translate on the Ziggurat's panel. It has to mean the 'Portal to Sanctuary.'" Rodney ducked his head towards the anthropologist to indicate he had at least heard him out, but then the stranger was among them, staring serenely about, seeming to catch each of them in turn in a keen gaze. There was a long moment of silence.

Teyla at last spoke with firm command, "Where are our friends?"

The Old man seemed almost amused and took a moment longer to scan the group before turning and courteously replying, "You have been informed that a trial is in progress?"

"You told us yourself."

"Ah, yes. I have been sent to judge the trial should your leaders survive. The time of petition is also closing, and I will oversee its end."

Rodney pushed forward, "Where did you come from?" The question seemed odd to Teyla who like the others assumed this was another holographic character.

"From Sanctuary of course."

"Excellent!" Rodney seemed to exude animated relief. "Then you need to know that we don't want to go there ourselves! This is all a misunderstanding like we tried to explain to your digital double. We really, really just want to go home. To Atlantis. Turn off all your little holographic pets and we'll just leave!"

The old man studied Rodney for a long moment who seemed to grow more self-conscious by the second under the scrutiny. At last he said, "Some who seek are not ready to find. Many have sought the Sanctuary over the eons, but it has been long since the Welcoming Stone arranged a trial. Your people are new to this outpost."

"We're new to this whole damn Galaxy!" Rodney blurted.

"But my people are not." Teyla stepped in. "And yet we have never heard of Sanctuary, nor of this outpost as you call it. I was also scanned by the Welcoming Stone so you know my thoughts as well. You know we mean no harm and wish only to return to the City of the Ancestors." She wasn't exactly sure why she had called Atlantis by the traditional name of her people. Something about the old man felt…ancient. Powerful in a spiritual way, and she had responded with the more formal language of her traditions.

"Your people are known to us," the old man spoke gently, his face warming with a small smile. "You could join your ancestors if you choose, but the Welcoming Stone saw no petition in your thoughts, so you received no invitation. The Time of Petition is still open for a few more hours if you change your mind."

Teyla was unsettled by the stranger's confusing revelation. "If I choose not to make a petition, may I leave?" She felt she needed to explore the boundaries of this unusual place, perhaps find a loophole that could help Sheppard and Weir.

"If you make no personal petition, you link your fate with those you place over you as leaders."

"I want to see them. Can you show me?" Teyla gestured toward the jumper where they had watched their friends race into the forest. This figure was as enigmatic as the previous, although she had picked up Rodney's hint that perhaps this Old Man was in fact someone or something different from the mere image they had seen before. She desperately needed to see that the man she respected above all others, and the woman she had come to admire were still alive and well. In her mind, Rodney's plan was their only real hope for escape and if the strange visitor would not help them, then his only use was to at least show her their progress.

"If you wish, although many find it hard to watch the burdens of others."

"I wish to see them." Teyla repeated with fierce coldness.

"Then you may watch the trial…for a time." The man made no move but narrowing her eyes at him for a moment Teyla decided he would comply and she turned briskly into the now empty jumper. Rodney and Ronan, each with suspicious looks backward over their shoulder followed.

The HUD had come to life again. As if merely displaying a Friday night drama, Sheppard was in view stealthily approaching two alert holo-sentries who were unaware of his presence. Behind the scene, Teyla could just make out a few campfires and tents scattered along a wide riverbank.

Feeling a surge of exhilaration, Sheppard ran through one final check on his weapons, ammunition, what was left of it, and his pocket of C4. It was time. They had to go now before their reserves ran out and they were so tired they would make mistakes. They both needed sleep. Well, more sleep, he corrected as he poked Elizabeth who had dozed off and was leaning against his shoulder, unfazed by the noise and motion of his actions.

They had crept close enough to the bridge and sentry post for John to scout the settlement and formulate a plan, such as it was. To his great relief, he had seen another patrol leave across the bridge "downstream" as he watched, reducing the numbers by 2. That was two fewer to get through at least, and he'd decided to wait a good hour for them to move far enough away from here that they couldn't return to help their comrades when he attacked.

Poking again, he watched Elizabeth startle then yawn and try to pretend she hadn't been sleeping. Endearing as she was, he had little thought for small talk and quickly ran her through the plan, assuring himself that she was really awake and alert enough to get herself where she needed to be. He would be too busy to repeat instructions or answer stubborn questions in the thick of it.

Deciding they were ready, he stood, the thrill peaking as he set out to do what he had to do. Elizabeth stood slowly, and when he turned back one last time to wave her off, he paused at her stern, worried expression and arms-crossed determination. Momentarily annoyed, expecting another argument about "treading lightly" and such, he was surprised when she said with all the command she could muster, "Be careful." The words were frightening in their urgency.

Suddenly grinning, he impulsively took two buoyant steps nearer to briskly kiss her forehead, his lips lingering a moment longer than he had intended when he felt her tremble under his touch. Feeling butterflies of a different sort, he backed off abruptly, watching her for a long moment. Finally he just whispered, "Let's go."

The first part of the operation went like clockwork. The two forward sentries went down without ever knowing he had been there. The next two, running to investigate the commotion also went down, and Sheppard made it to the encampment's doorstep before being challenged again. One soldier appeared out of a tent, weapon raised, and John, barely noticing in time, clipped his arm. The last guard who had been frantically scrambling around the campsite, caught unawares, froze when he was suddenly confronted with Sheppard's P-90 inches from his face.

So far so good. Sheppard began to zip tie the last soldier, but thought better of it hearing a moan from the man whose arm he had wounded. Instead, he bound both their legs, and left the one to care for the other as best they could. Rummaging through the camp, he had half a mind to steal some food and more than half a mind to gather some extra firepower. He was disappointed on both points finding so supplies, no water, no food at all. The most promising container he opened contained only blankets and air.

The only weapons he uncovered were the primitive handguns he had seen most of the enemy soldiers carrying or the small-caliber single-round rifles. In disgust, he gathered all he could find and dumped them into the river. They weren't worth their weight to carry, not as long as he had his P-90 and still a clip and a half full of bullets. He had really been hoping to get his hands on one of those automatics they'd shot at him earlier in the day…

Finally finished with his search, and feeling decidedly perplexed by the lack of provisions, he looked to the spot where Elizabeth was to have been. His heart raced until he saw her wave weakly from behind a boulder and smiling more broadly than he should have, he called out, "Go on, get over the bridge and wait somewhere under cover. I'll be there soon!"

Finishing his check of the camp, he paused by the two bound soldiers before stepping onto the span himself, curiosity getting the best of him. "Who are you? Where are the rest of my people?" The enemy soldiers barely responded, looking back at John with eerie blank looks. Unsettled, John decided he hadn't expected an answer anyway, so he went on.

Briefly checking that Elizabeth had made it across, he studied the concrete-like stone structure as he walked. The water rushing by underneath his feet was deep and silent, but he could sense that beneath the gentle surface ripples, there was a powerfully restless current. He leaned over the low railing to understand how the bridge was supported. The middle of the span was the weakest, he decided, and blowing it out would leave a gap from pylon to pylon, at least too wide to jump, hopefully too wide to cross at all. Pleased, he set to work deploying the C4, crouching on one knee as he concentrated.

Then, things began to go wrong. Elizabeth's voice screaming "John, watch out!" jerked him out of his task just as the first bullet whizzed by, sparking on the stone ground nearby. No fewer than 5 more soldiers were approaching the bridge from the encampment, one sporting a bandage around his arm, all holding weapons and firing. Sheppard rolled as more sparks flashed brightly in the dark and returned fire, causing them to scatter for cover at the far end.

He glanced at his line of explosives, quickly calculating. Not enough, he thought. Not enough to be sure the span will fail. Setting his P-90 down, he frantically worked to set out one more charge. When the enemy fire seemed to pick up, he scattered them again with a sloppy sweep. He had the cover of dark working for him, he hoped. "One more second, one more second," he chanted as he finished the wiring.

For an instant he felt relief wash over him. As he rose to dash away and blow the place to kingdom-come from the safety of the other side, a single bullet finally found it's mark, tearing into his exposed side as he was twisting, his feet not quite under him yet, and his vest hitched up by the motion. The surprise and pain threw him down into a kind of clumsy roll. Using the momentum of his fall, he managed to roll on over and back onto his feet, stumbling, catching himself by his hands and standing yet again, hunched against the agony spreading through his belly.

Realizing he had dropped the P-90, and cursing the loss, he drew his 9mil. Finally stable enough to turn and fire he shot a few rounds. The enemy group had begun a determined charge, and he managed to drop the leader, the barrage of return fire driving him further towards the far shore. He had to blow it, he thought. He didn't know if he was far enough yet, but it didn't matter any more. Reaching for the remote detonator, clumsy with shock and fatigue, he finally fumbled it out of its pocket, pressed the button…

A whoosh of sound and a fireball of light shattered the fragile darkness. Sheppard didn't see the remaining soldiers flung back from the blast, having been nearly on top of the charges as they blew. He was too busy slipping and sliding on hands, toes and knees as the stone beneath him groaned and crumbled. Scrambling for every inch, he felt his foot falling, heard the splash of rock into cold water…

Panting, he lay on his chest, and waited for the rest of the bridge to drop out beneath him.
"Stop it! Stop this!" Rodney was screaming, more furious than he had ever been in his life. Sheppard's team, his friends, watched in horror as the firefight on the bridge and the spectacular explosion that drove him to the edge of the river unfolded. They saw him thrown down as he took fire and in gasping silence urged him along every inch to escape the crumbling chasm opening up under his feet. Teyla was physically restraining Ronan from snapping the neck of the old man, standing just inside the jumper as they watched on the HUD.

Advancing on the old man himself, Rodney continued to vent his rage, "Who do you think you are? What can this possibly prove to you except some sick sense of superiority?"

The stranger seemed neither concerned by nor afraid of the hostility pouring in on him, but his voice and eyes seemed sympathetic as he replied, "Some who seek are not ready to find Sanctuary. I warned you it is difficult to watch a trial…"

"We. Don't. Want. To find. Your stupid sanctuary!" Rodney was trembling with frustration and fear for his friend. "What kind of hypocrite tests for peace and tranquility with machine guns anyway? If this is what your precious Sanctuary stands for, then I don't think much of it or you!"

"The trial is created from the minds of those who petition the Welcoming Stone. The trial is not only for our benefit, but for yours as well." The man went on as if he didn't expect them to understand, but felt compelled to explain anyway, "Every being has infinite freedom of infinite choice. What you see is not our doing, but their own. We have merely learned to observe and analyze the data..."

Rodney snorted, "Infinite choice. What kind of choice is it to be driven into the wilderness with a hole in your stomach!" He choked out the last as the implications of his words sunk in. Somewhere out there, Sheppard was hurt, dying maybe. "What price is your data worth…how many lives?"

"It is your own price you pay." And with that the stranger walked down the ramp and around the jumper. When Ronan raced past, breaking free of Teyla at last and whipped around the corner, the old man was gone.

The explosion drove Elizabeth to her knees, hands over her ears, eyes tightly squeezed shut. Still blinking from the flash, she squinted into the dust and debris from where she had been watching the firefight, frantically searching for John, calling loudly and not caring who could hear her. As if a curtain were being pulled away, a cloud of dust blew off, and there he was; lying face down and perfectly still at the very edge of the massive gap in the bridge he had just created.

Not caring or even thinking about the stability of the bridge, she raced to him and dropped into a crouch close to his head. He was so still, one leg dangling out over empty space. "John, get up. Get away from the edge." Her voice quavered as she spoke. Moving around to his side, as close to the still-crumbling edge as she dared, she tugged gently at his arm, and he finally began to move.

A glimpse of motion out of the corner of her eye drew her gaze to the far side of the river where more soldiers were amassing, preparing to cross their side of the bridge as far as they could go. More insistent, she tugged harder and pleaded, "John, there are more of them, please get up. We have to go." He reached out blindly and she grabbed his arm to heave him upright, and hung on to pull him off the bridge. When they reached the road and the enemy eventually opened fire again, he shrugged off her help and with a reassuringly annoying shove, pushed her in front of him as he had done so many times before.

They jogged on for perhaps another mile, when a gradual change in John's gait drew her full attention to the man behind who had guided her so far through so much. The soft sounds of his footsteps were becoming uneven shuffling scuffs of sole against stone. Listening more closely, she heard instead of steady controlled breathing, soft shallow panting interrupted now and then by a gasping hitch. Stark fear shivered through her like an ice cube dripping down her back and she slowed down to let him draw even with her. Still half expecting him to shove her on faster again, she was shocked to instead see him holding his arm unnaturally close to his side, his face obviously pale and sweaty even in the dim starlight.

"We need to find shelter, and rest for the night," he said, achieving most of his usual commanding tone. He was either trying to hide something from her, or he was genuinely focused on their surroundings, because he wouldn't meet her eyes as he went on, "I remember more rocky terrain on this side of the river. We should leave the road and just walk a bit 'til we find a place like last night…" His voice trailed off and he changed direction towards the deep forest.

"John?" she stopped altogether, managing to pack worried concern and a knowing command into the single syllable.

Sighing, he turned back, quirked a half-grin and clearly trying to deflect the worry replied lightly, "I took some fire. I'll patch it up when we stop."

"You're injured?" despite his attempt, her apprehension was growing and her gaze kept drifting to the arm pressed into his abdomen.

"Yeah, that's what I mean by 'I took some fire.'" His voice was soft with weary resignation and an amusement she didn't understand. With Elizabeth watching him warily, he led her into the dark forest and true to his memory, they soon found a jagged hill of jutting rock and boulders. Once Elizabeth found and cleared out a shelter, she took over and pushed a grumbling John down into the soft earth and pine needles to lean against the rock. He lay back panting, looking thoroughly disgusted by the fussing and only grudgingly accepted the canteen of water she forced into his hands.

Holding her flashlight in her mouth, she next rummaged through her pockets and pulled out every medical item she could find. She was pleased by the surprisingly thorough first-aid kit that emerged, and finally asked, "Where were you hurt?" even as she was reaching for the zipper on his vest.

"Took a bullet on the bridge. Left side," was all he would say, beginning to close his eyes against a pain that seemed to be growing quickly, evident in the furrow of his brow and tension in his shoulders. Clearly the adrenaline of the firefight and their flight from the bridge was wearing off, and John was beginning to feel the full effect of his wound. Wounds, she corrected, also making a note to examine the trickle of dried blood she saw trailing just under his hairline.

Finished with the vest, she unzipped his jacket and pulled it apart to reveal a sticky wet spot just below his ribcage. It was lucky his shirt was black, she thought, swallowing hard. And that it was dark. All that blood…

Readying some gauze, she peeled the shirt away, pushing it further up his chest and wiped around the small but oozing wound. Just one she noticed… no exit wound. He grunted softly at the touch, but clenching his hands tightly he made no other sound or sudden movement. Next she could only shake out a pressure bandage and press the absorbent pad firmly against his side, praying it would stop the bleeding. She knew the force had to be excruciating on his damaged insides, but still John stayed silent.

Unable to bear his rigid suffering, she offered, her own voice choking, "There's morphine in the first aid kit… let me give you…"

"No," he whispered hoarsely. "It makes me loopy. I need to stay alert."

"John Sheppard, you are loopy 24/7," she whispered, falling into her habit of teasing him when he was being stubborn. She was glad for the faint smile the jibe brought to his lips. "And in this matter I outrank you," she added, jabbing the single-use field dose into his shoulder.

He frowned, feeling the prick, then already weak from exhaustion and blood loss, he relaxed and sagged slowly to one side as the narcotic pushed him into unconsciousness. Elizabeth caught his head and gently lowered it to the ground, desperately hoping she was doing the right thing. She brushed her fingers lightly through the stray strands of dark hair along his forehead, feeling for the source of the blood along his temple. When she found the small insignificant lump of fresh scab she was relieved, and her fingers lingered on his face a moment longer as she whispered, "Rest, John. We'll go home tomorrow…"

As she turned back to check and continue pressure on his side if needed, she paused a moment to pick up a fresh pad of gauze from her hastily dumped pile of supplies. Freezing as she reached out, she suddenly found herself fiercely dashing away hot tears. The 9 mil sat carefully positioned next to the bandages.