Part Eighteen: Cruel to Be Kind

"It's a treatment for psychological trauma. At least I think so."

"We think so," Bryson interjected.

Pushing his glasses back into place on the bridge of his nose, Zelenka bounced on the balls of his feet, renewed now that Rodney was returned and because answers were finally at hand.

"Yes, Dr. Bryson, I am speaking for all of us."

"I see," quipped the younger man. "Sort of the 'Royal I,' as it were. Mind if I clarify things for Dr. Weir?"

Zelenka stepped back with exaggerated deference.

"We…" he looked at Zelenka pointedly, "...have been able to connect the device to an electroencephalogram, which analyzes and quantifies electrical activity in the brain. There is but one person still missing, Dr. Beckett. Here… you see?"

He pointed to one of the many laptop computers in the lab, this one connected to the device via a series of cables.

"You're saying that this is Carson's consciousness?"

Anxiety bled through her composure. Zelenka realized that the past two days had taken a toll on her, and he stepped forward and placed a supportive hand on her arm, pleased that she let him do this. Bryson queried Zelenka with raised brows then dropped them again.

"Dr. Weir," he continued. "We believe that this device triggers the Ancient equivalent of hypnotherapy, allowing patients to relive difficult events in a safe setting, so they can move beyond their trauma. On Earth, there are desensitization techniques that appear to have some therapeutic benefit. The only thing that has greater efficacy is deep meditation, as practiced by yogis and so forth."

Elizabeth walked over to the device. Reaching out, she almost touched it, then drew her hand away.

"The Ancients were experts at practicing meditation. If the deeper meditative states actually provide better results, why not just work for that?" she asked.

"Because it is doubtful that someone dealing with emotional trauma could get to the theta level, what with the symptoms of post-traumatic stress, such as agitation and hyper-vigilance.

"Anyway, that is my assessment of what the device is for. Once the patient's brain is functioning at the alpha level, at 9.375 megahertz to be exact, a split occurs between their bodies and their minds. The walls of the room in which the device was found were coated with a reflective material, presumably to contain the device's influence and prevent triggering the treatment response in everyone in Atlantis. When we took it from the containment area, the device was able to locate and work on everyone in the city who was experiencing the necessary brainwave frequency."

"Why the split?"

Bryson seemed to almost tremble with excitement at what he'd learned. "As you know, emotional states have a profound effect on the body's physiology. There are blood pressure changes, alterations of heart rate and respiration and so forth. Any psychological treatment that focuses on a life-altering event is going to elicit these body responses. If the patient is also recovering from physical injuries, then eliminating the body—for a short time anyway—can allow psychotherapeutic treatment to occur without negatively affecting the patient's healing process.

"The corporeal selves of patients, basically a few pounds of chemicals, once the water is removed, are stored in these small pods, while their consciousnesses are absorbed into the device, where they work out their problems in simulations that seem to them to be really happening. From what Major Lorne and Dr. Steward have told us, the scenarios resembled intense dreaming. We believe that once a patient has sufficiently overcome the major manifestations of their psychological trauma, the brain and body are reunited and the patient wakes up."

The leader of the Atlantis expedition rubbed her face tiredly. "Ronon has been quite the worse for wear once he was returned. I'd say the device actually harmed him."

Bryson grimaced. "Perhaps…" he stopped himself.

"Go on," Elizabeth encouraged.

The young scientist looked around the room, gathering his thoughts together.

Impatient, the diplomat let her composure slip.

"Are you going to hand me a load of crap wrapped up in a bunch of scientific jargon?"

"Well, no! Of course not!"

"Then what?"

He slumped. "I cannot answer all of your questions, Doctor, although God knows I'd like to. Maybe psychiatric patients were supposed to undergo the treatment with a partner or a therapist to guide them through the process. If that were the case, then our people were unescorted. It may have been a mind-blowingly freaky experience for them. And, in Ronon's case in particular, perhaps someone injured about to undergo treatment is supposed to be medicated to prevent them from coming back as Ronon did. He's going to be okay isn't he?"

Zelenka, who had been watching this exchange with great interest, noted that the color in Elizabeth's cheeks faded as her momentary fit of ire ended. Elizabeth wasn't done asking questions, yet, however.

"So they're cured, just like that?"

"Hardly. But they are righted enough to allow more typical forms of treatment to proceed."

"But as far as we know, none of these people was emotionally traumatized."

"Well, Major Lorne and Dr. Steward reappeared quite early on."

Elizabeth smiled. "Yes, they didn't seem disturbed by anything in particular. They seem to have enjoyed each other's company quite a bit."

Oblivious, Bryson nodded. "Yes, and Mr. Dex stayed away longer, presumably to deal with the events surrounding his injury."

Weir's smile melted, Zelenka noticed. He realized that he wanted to coddle Elizabeth, and that she would never allow him license to do so. He chose to refocus the conversation.

"We are awaiting the last person missing. Carson could be returned in the next ten seconds or the next ten hours. It is not possible to tell."

One by one, the pods had darkened. One by one, people had returned to the city. Zelenka was pleased, not just because his fellow Atlanteans appeared to be healthy—if briefly comatose—but because he had been right. Well, he and Bryson. But it was mostly Zelenka's theorizing that was being proven correct. That was always pleasurable. Elizabeth would smile at him and come and lean close to his shoulder while they examined the device together.

…..

"I was asleep in my bed," Leslie said, wearing hospital scrubs and sitting up in bed.

"So was I," a similarly attired Lorne agreed. "I mean, I was in my bed, alone. Then I was kayaking off the California coast.

"You were?" Steward asked.

"Yeah. It was great. Do you, uh, do sports?"

"Nothing spectacular. Parasailing, rock climbing…"

"Very nice," Elizabeth interrupted. "You can get to know one another later. For the moment, please focus on what happened while you were under the influence of the device.

Lorne let out a breath. "Okay, then we were with Dr. McKay, who was messing about with…" He turned to Steward. "What was he doing?"

"I have no idea," Steward retorted. "He was just, you know, there somehow. After a while, the Major and I…we were talking with each other. Like friends.

"Yes, just like friends."

"Because we are, uh, friendly."

"We're friendly people…" Lorne stammered.

Weir rolled her eyes. "I get it."

The biologist and the major sat in quiet discomfiture. They looked at Weir for direction, seemingly pleading with her to intervene.

"Go on, Major" she ordered, without pity.

"We left Dr. McKay's lab and went to my quarters," Lorne admitted.

Leslie was quick to add, "It was just a dream, Dr. Weir. We were asleep. Or something."

Turning away from the blushing couple, Elizabeth turned to Bryson.

"I think we know everything we need to right about now. Any ideas?"

"Both came out of it, were returned, actually, because the device found nothing to correct."

Elizabeth stood with her arms folded across her chest, trying to get her diplomatic mind around the arcane world of Ancient mental health treatments.

"You mean they don't have any problems? I find that hard to believe."

Leslie had spent most of the morning being visited by friends—mostly male--and reading back issues of "Self" magazine.

Bryson smiled as he gazed at Steward, a flare that Elizabeth noticed quite clearly. She cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. Clearing his throat, Bryson continued. "I had a chance to peek at their medical records. They're more normal than you and me put together."

Bryson chuckled at his own words.

"Speak for yourself," Elizabeth warned, in no mood for levity. "And by the way, the privacy of health records applies in the Pegasus Galaxy the same as in our own."

The two stood staring at one another, Bryson's cheeks red with embarrassment, Elizabeth's pale with concern for her missing CMO.

Elizabeth tapped Zelenka's arm and led him away. Speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, she said, "So Lorne and Steward had a rather interesting experience."

"Yes." Zelenka pondered the floor. "So it seems."

Elizabeth followed Radek's example, and surveyed the grey surface on which they stood.

"Of course, there are any number of things a person can think about as a way of processing experiences. There's the whole Freudian thing, surely, but let's not forget about Jung."

Uncertain what Elizabeth was talking about, half convinced that she was babbling, Zelenka chose to respond with a noncommittal "Oh, definitely. Let's not forget."

"Still," she concluded, "Perhaps Dr. Heightmeyer ought to handle the details. It's really not our place to go…there."

Relieved beyond compare, Zelenka let a small amount of tension escape his shoulders. He wished that Elizabeth would massage his neck, but he'd never think to ask her. Not now, anyway.

…..

"Rodney, please." Zelenka quietly approached McKay, as the Canadian furiously read through notes and examined the device. "You are not well. Better to rest. The device will still be here when you come back."

Since entering the lab, McKay hadn't actually looked at anyone, had not specifically seen them. He was focused on the bit of Ancient technology, on the theories and idea of it, not on the people there.

According to those in the know, McKay had been treated by the device for a little over twelve hours. An eternity. A moment. He was moved from the chair room to the infirmary, where he awoke, intact and unbelievably thirsty.

Once he was properly fed and watered, McKay began looking to get himself out of there, back to his room or his lab or just out away someplace. Kate Heightmeyer dropped by. She pulled shut the flimsy curtain that separated McKay's bed from the others and asked him questions. What did he remember? Who was there with him? Had Dr. Beckett been with him in his reverie?

"Carson? Why do you ask?"

"He disappeared with the others, the same moment that you did, but hasn't returned. It's been almost 18 hours."

Alarmed, McKay rose from the bed and, hospital scrubs and wayward hair be damned, bolted for his lab, where he spent several useless hours trying to pull his wavering thoughts together enough to assist Zelenka.

Zelenka, nice guy though he may have been, had no patience at all for his spaced-out colleague, who could neither fully comprehend the science that had happened in his absence nor apply what he could grasp to the situation at hand.

"You don't understand," McKay tried to communicate. "Carson's still in there. He could be dying! He could be dying…a lot!"

Zelenka gently laid his hand on Rodney's arm. "I know," he said. "Please to put down the device. If you dropped it, maybe Carson would come back okay with his body but his mind…" With that, he stared blankly ahead and made a little cutting motion in front of his face.

Rodney looked on in horror. "Brain dead?"

"Is possible. The device, you will put it down, now." He gently removed the precious object from McKay's hand and placed it on a clean towel that had laid out on the console. Then both men peered at it closely, as if trying to get it to do something by sheer force of will emanating from their capacious brains.

Suddenly, a warm glow lit the device from within, then faded.

McKay stepped back. "Oh, my God! Did we do that?" He touched his forehead, as if energy bolts were streaming from it. "I forgot to ask permission. She's going to be really mad!"

Zelenka turned away from Rodney's cryptic exclamations to look at the city-wide sensor array.

"There!" he shouted, pointing to a new life sign now blinking slowly in the infirmary. "I think we have our doctor back!"