Chapter 7

Sheppard's first reaction upon seeing Royce was to wonder who'd given a retired fly-boy a chance to do a curiosity tour of Atlantis. The t-shirt that proclaimed VF-151 Vigilantes was a dead giveaway as was the terrifically cool insignia of the skull with the flaming knife stuck between its teeth. So was the baseball cap emblazoned with USS Midway. It begged for someone to ask the guy to recount his life as a squadron pilot being catapulted off the deck in an F-4B Phantom.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt your game. Dr. Weir said you were down here." Royce wandered into the room, seemingly unperturbed that both men were staring at him.

"Sorry, who are you again?" That was Beckett, phrasing the question as politely as possible.

"Good point." Royce dug around in his jacket pocket. "I've got my orders around here somewhere." He patted himself down some more, pulled out a sheet of paper and a plastic ID. "I'm the IOA specialist."

He handed the ID and the paper over to Sheppard, and Sheppard glanced at it and put it down on the bed. There didn't seem much point in checking the orders out. If the guy was undercover, the credentials were hardly going to be real. Although the signature from General Landry looked authentic.

"If you're expecting me to shake your hand, you're going to be waiting a long time," said Sheppard. Might as well start the relationship off on the right foot.

"Don't expect you too. I wouldn't. Especially not under these conditions."

Beckett placed the game on the bed and stood up. He came up to Royce's shoulder, if he was lucky, but God love him, like a hugely determined West Highland Terrier, Beckett got himself between Royce and the bed.

"I'm the CMO of Atlantis and by the way, I'm a civilian, and I don't think you'll be coming anywhere near my patient without the say so from me."

Sheppard held his breath, waiting for this Royce guy to take offense and kill Beckett where he stood. Instead, Royce just laughed and patted Beckett on the shoulder. Somehow, Royce made the gesture patronizing.

"Damn right Dr. Beckett. Normally, I'd have to agree with you but unfortunately for the duration of my visit, Colonel Sheppard falls under my jurisdiction. It's either me or Sheppard gets a court martial."

Beckett, when he wanted to, was excellent at the whole moral indignity thing. "That's outrageous! I'll be filing a formal complaint with Elizabeth and SGC."

"Exactly what I'd do. Doesn't get around the whole problem though, and quite frankly, I'd rather you stuck around to help out. I like to have a medic around as backup but I can go solo if I have too."

Poor Carson gave all the appearance of having a meltdown right where he stood. "I'm going to my office to make a call and I'll be right back. I'll expect you to be gone." He turned to face Sheppard. "I'm going to have a private chat with Elizabeth. If he comes anywhere near you, press the call button."

Royce seemed to be trying hard to hide his amusement. "I'm not going to do anything right now, Dr. Beckett. I'm just here to introduce myself. That's all."

Carson didn't have any choice after that. He left the room, muttering to himself as he went. That left Royce and Sheppard in the same room together.

Royce had his hands shoved casually back into his jacket pockets, body language carefully neutral. Sheppard occupied himself by picking up Beckett's game board and checking out where his one ship was hiding out.

"Should I tell the doctor that on top of having an operative in his infirmary, his patient cheats?"

Sheppard put the board down. "He's sunk anyway. I've still got all of my pieces."

Royce cast around, saw the stool, grabbed it and sat down. Sheppard figured he was trying to reduce the intimidating aspects of looming over the bed.

"Okay, so you don't want me here, I'm not exactly that thrilled to know I'm in another galaxy, although it beat where I was two days ago, hands down. I'm here to help out and I should add that General Landry made it very clear what he would do to me if I stepped over the line."

That wasn't exactly making him feel any better about the guy. Especially a guy who looked like one of his father's poker buddies.

"Should I be worried about the whole stepping over the line thing?"

"Not really. I don't make it a habit when I'm helping out the good guys."

"But no such qualms with the bad guys."

"Not particularly."

"Nice to know you have your ethics sorted out."

Royce didn't let much out at that comment, just shrugged. "Doesn't pay to indulge in a complicated ethical debate in my job. Good guys get the star treatment, bad guys get their asses kicked so the good guys can keep going."

"My father would have loved you," said Sheppard. Because he would have. His father had also been fond of John Wayne movies, although he'd never figured out when he was growing up whether his father liked them for the machismo or because he thought they were funny. The movie Green Berets reduced his father to hysterical laugher every time he watched it.

Why exactly, was he even thinking about his father, of all people, at this particular point in his life?

"Probably not. The brass never did like Black Ops much. All that sneaking around out of their line of sight tends to make them nervous," said Royce.

Sheppard shifted around in the bed, trying to get more comfortable. He'd been lying down too long and it was probably time to get up and at least go for a walk before he turned into an unathletic blob or got deep vein thrombosis or whatever the hell else Carson kept talking about. He thought he should probably pay more attention when Carson talked about medical matters, but mostly he either checked out the pretty nurses, or idly wondered about what they were serving in the cafeteria for lunch.

"You know, I tried. But I don't remember. I don't think there's anything there." It was a tiny lie.

"You're probably right. I'm just here to confirm that assertion."

Sheppard wondered whether Royce was going to give up and go away anytime soon. "This had better not count as my vacation time."

Royce grinned. "Definitely not. Although, to make up for the fact that neither of us wants to be here, I did break some regs. I snuck two six packs into my luggage."

Sheppard perked up a bit at the news. If Royce was trying to buy his way into his affections, he was making an excellent start.

"Really? What brand?"

"VB and Heineken. The VB is an Aussie favorite. Bit more of a backbone than the US domestics."

"You got Australian beer?"

"I can get anything I like. That's the one small advantage of my job."

Sheppard's brain hatched a plan that wasn't entirely thought the whole way through but seemed to involve drinking Royce's beer before trying to sneak off Atlantis and hiding out until Royce was forced to give up. He figured if he asked the right people, like Ronon and Teyla, they'd have some great places for a slightly paranoid team leader to hide.

"Cans or bottles?" These were important questions for Sheppard, who thought putting beer into cans was akin to putting wine into cardboard casks.

"Bottles of course. Do I look like a heathen?"

This was getting weirder. "You're very accommodating for a guy who specializes in reducing people's brains to oatmeal."

"Bad guys get the oatmeal treatment. Good guys just get dry cleaning."

For some reason, caught unawares by the equally sarcastic reply, he laughed. Laughing at a comment from his supposed tormentor to be wasn't on the agenda. Crap, but this guy was good. Thoughts of figuring out a way to escape flittered through his mind again.

Royce seemed to have his own game plan. Either that or he was telepathic.

"Well, I'm planning on getting a tour of Atlantis before we get started. I was thinking you could show me around."

"When you say, 'get started' when exactly were you planning on that?"

"Tonight. You show me around, we get something to eat. I make sure you don't suddenly depart on me. At some point I dish out the beer ."

There went that particular game plan. "You don't trust me? I thought I was one of the good guys."

"Good guys are just as good as escaping as the bad guys. Had a few prospective customers get spooked and make a run for it. Luckily we found them."

'That's not very comforting."

"Wasn't meant to be." Royce continued to wear an increasingly annoying smile on his face, one that said he wasn't a man to lose his temper easily or often. Sometimes a man in total control was an even scarier prospect. When they did show their hand it was always a calculated move and one to keep their opposition guessing, not to give away any advantage.

They were interrupted by Carson's reappearance. By the scowl on his face, the tête-à-tête with Elizabeth hadn't altered the proposed course of events.

"What did Dr. Weir say?" Royce shifted his attention to Beckett, the same bemused expression on his face.

"She said I was to help in anyway I could but I was quite entitled to remove myself completely from this case."

Carson was so thoroughly pissed off, Sheppard could distinctly see a vein standing out on one of his temples, and Sheppard had never seen that before. Carson may have panicked when thrust into a mission but when it came to medical matters, when there were injured people everywhere, Carson turned into a thoroughly determined human being.

"But of course," responded Royce. "However, I'm guessing that you're going to stick around because that's the type of person you are, Dr. Beckett. A professional with integrity. I admire you for that."

Beckett scowled at him. "I wouldn't take anything you say as a compliment. When did you plan on starting?"

"Tonight. The Colonel and I discussed it. In the interim, he's taking me for a guided tour of Atlantis. Right?"

"Anything for you," Sheppard said and added a mock salute. Then he wondered if he could take Royce in a fight. Royce was large and bulky and would probably knock him flat, but Sheppard was wiry and limber and sometimes it was the wiry guys that could manage to twist their way out of a situation.

Beckett immediately dropped the anger and went back to his primary method of operation. Concern. Sheppard started hauling his ass off the bed, and Carson was there with the usual litany of orders. He'd had his feet tucked under a blanket and with the blanket off, cold air hit them. He wondered if he could get some socks and cut the toes out. Then he could wear those ridiculous flip flops without his feet getting chilly. Then he berated himself mentally for turning into a wimp of late. In Afghanistan he'd spent one afternoon in a tent with a medic when his toes were verging on frostbite and he hadn't thought much of it. A few years in Atlantis and he was pondering socks. At this rate he'd morph into McKay.

"I know I keep telling you this Colonel, but don't over do it. If your heels start to give you any bother, come back here or go and sit down somewhere. I don't want all of our hard work undone."

"Yes, mother."

"That's enough lip out of you, you daft bugger." Beckett's tone said that he wasn't really that upset. He didn't reserve the same kind tone for Royce. "Don't wear him out."

"Didn't plan on it."

Sheppard and Royce headed out of the infirmary together and Sheppard tried to pretend that Royce wasn't sent over to poke around in his brain. Maybe the original feeling that Royce looked like one of his father's poker buddies was the way to go. Just pretend he was here for a visit, that he'd been ordered to show him around and that this anonymous man would go away in a couple of days, go report back that John Sheppard, wayward adolescent and thorn in his father's side, had actually redeemed himself.

((--))

Rodney was in Kate's office, playing with the executive kinetic toy - Newton's Cradle - that she kept on her desk. He couldn't believe she had one and the toy continually fascinated him, even if it was expressing one of the most fundamental principles of physics that Rodney had understood when he was all of eight. That and the fact that he found the rhythmic clicking of the metal balls soothing.

He fired the metal ball at the end of the row, watched the force being transmitted down the line to the ball at the end.

"Rodney, can you stop playing with that for five minutes and concentrate?"

Kate's mouth was giving her less pain and she'd summoned him to the office to talk over their next plan of action. Rodney was hoping that it involved not having to talk to Sheppard any more about the swamp he was passing off as his conscious mind. Besides, Sheppard was excellent at evasion. Rodney would try to ask a question, Sheppard would change the topic and before he knew it, they'd spent two-hours discussing how exactly Annakin Skywalker got seduced to the dark side so quickly, when there didn't seem to be that much on offer.

"You know, psychology is even more a voodoo science than medicine. I can't believe you talked me into this." He stopped the metal balls in mid-clack and went and sat on the couch.

"Voodoo schmoodoo. If you thought it was completely useless, you wouldn't have turned up here every week since we got to Atlantis."

Caught out. As always. He didn't reply, but decided to change the subject. Kate had been on a slightly short fuse since the punch to her mouth, and he didn't blame her. Still, his geek brain was beginning to wonder if he wasn't in the middle of one large conspiracy that he didn't entirely understand. Something Elizabeth and Kate had been working on together. If he told Kate she would probably accuse him of being paranoid. Again.

"Why did you call me down here anyway? I have some work to do. Cooper's been complaining about that idiotic signal again."

"I thought you said it was random."

"It is. Well, at least it appears to be random. I haven't had enough time to sit down and confirm it. Cooper's too lazy to do the work himself."

"Rodney, weren't you the one that asked Cooper to clear all anomalous traffic through you?"

"Yes."

"Then don't complain when people do as they're told. You can't complain that they won't make independent decisions when you've ordered them not to."

"Okay, fine. I'll stop being mean to Cooper, even though he deserves it."

"That's great. Let me know how it goes."

"Now we've got Cooper figured out, back to the other question. Why am I here?"

"Elizabeth says the interrogation specialist arrived."

That made him pay attention. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Carson said they're wandering around Atlantis. Something about a guided tour. Maybe you should go and accidentally bump into them."

"Are you asking me to spy on them?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm asking. Try and play this one without being obvious."

"Did anyone tell you that you're overly bossy?"

"All the time. Especially when someone's messing around with one of us."

"And by us, you mean anyone in Atlantis?"

"Exactly."

Rodney thought she had a point, but it was odd to realize that they saw themselves less as citizens of planet Earth and more as Atlanteans. They really had come back and inherited the mantle left behind by the Ancients.

((--))

They'd wound up on a balcony, looking out to the ocean and Royce had taken a deep breath, inhaling the unique scent of brine, and water borne life.

"Reminds me of Fiji," said Royce. "A white sand beach and it'd be complete."

Royce dug around in his pockets, pulled out a cigar, and Sheppard didn't even blink. Royce entire demeanor said that he was a cigar smoker. He'd all ready clipped the end off and that seemed to confirm that he'd been planning all of his moves since stepping through the 'gate. He gestured towards Sheppard. "You want one?"

Sheppard shook his head. "No thanks. Never acquired the habit."

"Good thing too. Although I always thought the occasional stogie was slightly less disgusting than a two pack a day habit."

Royce lit up the cigar, took some rapid puffs to get it going. Then he inhaled deeply, blew the smoke out again. The unique smell of cigar tobacco and the sea combined and Sheppard suddenly and inexplicably remembered the last summer vacation his family had. The one before everything had started going wrong. In a run down beach house they'd rented for a month, the sand right outside the door, plenty of other kids running around. He'd made friends the first day he was there. He'd spent most of his days outside, making sand castles, flying kites, trying to catch crabs. In those days packs of unsupervised children could happily roam wherever they wanted to without much fear of anything. He never came back until the sun was starting to merge with the horizon and when he entered, his father was always in the same place. Sitting on the balcony, smoking a cigar, quietly contemplating the darkening sky line and listening to the waves hit the shore.

For a long as he could remember, he'd always wished he could have that time back, even though the adult part of him knew it could never happen again. What was done, was done. The past dead and buried.

Royce was regarding him with a slightly curious look, and he continued to inhale on the cigar, exhaling slowly and appreciatively, even blowing a smoke ring or two.

Sheppard decided he was bored with this particular tourist spot. He glanced at his watch. "We should go. I haven't taken you up into the heat exchange towers yet."

Royce's attentions were focused on the ocean. "Elizabeth probably has a policy against smoking indoors."

"Atlantis has excellent air conditioning. She won't even know."

"Anyone would think you were anxious to get this over and done with."

He shrugged. What he was anxious about was getting off the balcony and away from bitter sweet childhood memories. "I just figured you'd want to be on your way."

It was Royce's turn to shrug. "Not every day I get an opportunity to admire an alien ocean. It's very pretty by the way."

Sheppard nodded, turned away from the sight and headed back inside. He vaguely wondered if perhaps Royce knew more about him than one person should. Wouldn't have been hard to run a background check, do the research, tease out the various strands of his life and for Royce to use it to his advantage. If Royce was anywhere near decent at his job, that would explain the casual clothing, the cigars, the subtle reminders of life back on Earth.

It didn't provide any comfort, and Royce could come along or not. He just wanted to get back to the unexciting décor of Atlantis, where there were virtually no reminders of the life he'd left back on Earth.

((--))

Rodney decided he would be no good as a spy. He'd been unable to locate Sheppard and Royce and he'd spent hours walking around Atlantis trying to find them. His attempts at locating them had consisted of a combination of the Life Signs Detector and asking people. His inquiries usually resulted in the answer, "You just missed 'em". He was sick of traipsing all over the city and he was worn out. It was like being on a freaking mission, forced to run away from hostile aliens or walk for kilometers just to try and find a good route back to the stargate.

He gave up somewhere around eighteen-hundred and decided that if he didn't eat something he was going to fall over in the corridors and that would diminish his status as a highly efficient team leader quite a bit.

Of course, as soon as he hit the cafeteria, there they were. Sheppard was wearing his game face, the one reserved for putting alien psychopaths at ease. The guy sitting opposite him – the one Kate has filled him on – looked like Mr. Retired Every Guy. Teyla was also sitting with them. Every so often she'd cast a baffled glance at both men.

Well, no use running over and looking like bigger dork than he all ready was. He studied the menu instead. The cafeteria staff was trying to skimp on the plastic letters again. Apparently they were now serving 'Mc n Chse'. Maybe the entire place was catching the illiteracy bug. Maybe he should give a lecture on the importance of vowels. Underneath the 'Mc n Chse' menu item was, 'Bef Cssrole'. Dessert was listed as, 'Jell-O'. For Jell-O, they'd actually managed to find two vowels and a hyphen.

There was only so many things a man could stand. Jell-o every night of the week wasn't one of them. It wasn't even like they did anything to it except cut the stuff into cubes. Hadn't they heard of Cool Whip? Hadn't they heard of the pudding alternative? Couldn't they at least put something into the Jell-O? Was it so hard to ask for a little relief in the dessert department?

He shuffled his way up the line, weighed up the brown gelatinous stuff that was supposed to be 'Bef Cssrole' and the white gelatinous stuff that was supposed to be 'Mc n Chse'. He pointed and decided that the white cheesy stuff would be okay.

Then it was the choice of Jell-O. Blue or Yellow. Great. He eyed up the little plastic containers all lined up with their individual servings. Felt a rant coming on. He directed it at the woman standing behind the counter in a white coat. There was a thought – how did anyone qualify for a top secret mission to another galaxy when their primary specialty was opening packets of gelatin and mixing the contents with hot water?

"You would think that since the Air Force made it a point of shipping us to another galaxy with as many modern conveniences as possible, one of those would include a person who was capable of cooking."

The woman in the white coat didn't bother to answer. Instead she pointed down at the line.

"You're holding up the queue."

"I'm holding up the queue because I want to know why every time I come here the dessert choice is semi-transparent."

The woman glared at him. "The marines don't have this problem. They like our cooking."

As if to back her up, someone down the end of the line yelled at him. "Hey, keep it moving up there. I'm hungry!"

The person next to him made a point of tapping his foot. Didn't these people understand that they were as much victims of this total lack of originality as he was?

Sheppard appeared on his left. "What's up McKay?"

"I was just telling this… person…that I was sick of cubed Jell-O."

"That's a good thought McKay, and I'm sure everyone agrees with you, but not right now when a whole herd of SG teams have just come back from a variety of missions. Let them eat before they decide you're an excellent dinner alternative."

Sheppard tugged at his elbow and McKay relented, and let himself be pulled out of the queue. Some sarcastic bastards down the back of the line burst into applause.

"Yeah, that's right. Applaud. You'll be begging for my help next month when you reach Jell-O saturation point!"

Sheppard kept propelling him towards the table and McKay's brain switched back to remembering that he was supposed to be keeping on eye on Sheppard instead of complaining about the dessert. Rodney sat down at the table, put his tray down, watched as the cheese oozed over the side of the compartment in the tray and over into the peas. Peas didn't seem like such a good choice now.

"Dr. Rodney McKay meet Royce." Sheppard gestured to the Mr. Retired Every Guy. Rodney and Royce shook hands.

"Royce. First name, or last name?"

"Just a name," replied Royce smoothly.

"It's probably not even your real name," said Rodney.

"No, it's probably not," confessed Royce. "So, the indomitable Dr. McKay. You're quite the legend at SGC."

The fork that Rodney had heading towards his mouth stopped in mid flight. A pasta elbow tumbled off and dove back into the cheese sauce. "Really? A legend? Well, I always knew that people were aware of my extreme brilliance, they just weren't prepared to admit it."

"Actually, I thinking along the lines that so far you've topped the chart for the number of employees in two galaxies that had to take stress leave."

"What! That's a lie! Who said that?"

Teyla continued to be puzzled. "What is stress leave?"

"It's when an employee is one step away from a heart attack brought on by job related anxiety," replied Sheppard clearly bemused by Rodney's reaction.

"Who had to take stress leave? I want their names. Is that the time Zelenka went on vacation for two weeks? So I called him Fumbles McStupid – that's hardly stressful. I call him names all the time."

Royce just shook his head, made a zipping gesture. "Sorry. Sworn to secrecy. But General Landry has quite the dossier compiled."

"You're doing this deliberately! I'm a perfectly fair team leader. Sometimes after we've pulled off a really tough mission I let them come into the labs thirty minutes late."

Sheppard had his hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing. Teyla also looked increasingly amused by Rodney's outrage.

Rodney glowered at them all and took some exasperated stabs at the pasta. Royce glanced at his watch. "After Dr. McKay has finished eating, I think we should get this party started."

"Then he'd better eat slowly," shot back Sheppard. Rodney wasn't sure if he was serious or not. Sheppard made a move to get out of his seat. "I'm going to get some coffee. Anyone want some?"

Royce shook his head. "You should probably skip that whole caffeine experience just for now. You can down a couple of cups tomorrow to make up for it."

Sheppard glanced back at the coffee urn, which made terrible coffee but still meant a caffeine buzz, looked over at Royce. McKay didn't think it had exactly been phrased as an order, but everyone knew that's exactly what it was. They could all figure that out. Royce – maybe his first name, maybe not – trumped them all when it came to rank, privileges and whatever else he cared to use.

Sheppard sat down again, pretty much looking like he was considering taking a jab at Royce and to hell with the consequences.

Terrific. Seemed Sheppard and Royce were heading towards some pissing contest. That'd be fun. Mainly because Rodney never saw these little battles of male superiority coming until he was the one being repeatedly punched in the face.

((--))

Carson was greeted by the sight of Royce, Sheppard and Rodney. Rodney had managed to come along for the ride but Royce didn't appear to be thrilled with the idea. In fact, it was the first time Carson had seen Royce even vaguely irritated.

Royce turned to Rodney, who was doing a pretty good imitation of being Sheppard's twin. Every time Sheppard moved, Rodney was hovering within the half meter personal boundary space.

"It's been nice to meet your Dr. McKay but I think we can take it from here."

Rodney shook his head. "Oh. I'm sorry. Didn't I tell you? I think I've got food poisoning. Carson, I imagine I need a total physical."

Carson was pleased. For once in his life Rodney was putting his over reaction to the slightest twinge of pain to good use. "I think that could be arranged." Carson walked over to a gurney, patted it. Rodney hauled himself up on the bed.

Royce let out a breath, regarded the two of them colluding like a couple of idiots. "I wouldn't like to be accused of jeopardizing the health of anyone on this base, so why doesn't Dr. Beckett leave the examination to one of his nurses, and he can come and help me."

Carson tried to assume his totally professional stance. The one that said he was attending to Rodney not because he wanted to, but because he had to. "At the moment Colonel Sheppard is healthy. Triage protocol says that I need to assess Rodney first. It could be serious."

"And it could take hours. Hours and hours." Rodney grinned.

Carson raised an eyebrow. Rodney was certainly getting over enthusiastic. "Aye. But I'm not sure you'd like what I'd have to do for it to take hours and hours."

The grin faded. Royce considered both of them. "Like I said. Have to admire you. But I can do this solo. Your call. You can subject Dr. McKay here to some unnecessary and quite possibly uncomfortable and even painful medical procedures but I'll still be doing the job I came here to do."

The guy was going to play hardball. Okay, so maybe he didn't have much of a choice. Rodney was back to being indignant again.

"Where's Elizabeth? She should be down here."

Carson thought back to his conversation with Elizabeth when Royce had first turned up in his infirmary. She'd tried, but no luck. She'd freely admitted to going into denial, of not wanting to know, or wanting as few people around Atlantis to know as possible. She figured Sheppard was owed some privacy if nothing else. So no, she wasn't coming down to sort this out, or witness the event. Neither was Teyla or Ronon. Carson was the only witness because if they were going to let some stranger take a stroll through Sheppard's psyche, they owed the military leader of Atlantis as much dignity as possible.

"She's not coming down here, Rodney. I'm sorry. She's clear on that point. Maybe you shouldn't be here either upon reflection."

Rodney got off the gurney, sputtered, and then regained his composure. "Okay, fine. I don't have food poisoning. But I don't see why I can't just sit here. Can't I do that? It's not like I'm cluttering up the place. It's empty."

Carson gave Royce a pleading look, and Royce seemed to relent.

"Okay, Dr. McKay, you can sit out here. We might need your help anyway. Can't hurt to have the smartest guy in two galaxies hanging around." He winked at Rodney.

"Hah! See! They admitted it!" Rodney was half way to doing a victory dance when Royce headed for Sheppard's room, Sheppard reluctantly in tow, Carson trailing behind.

As they traipsed into the room together Carson realized the emotions he was feeling were familiar. He felt like he was paying a visit to Carl Shaw and Carl had found a cavity. Yes, this was just a like a visit to the friendly dentist.

((--))

They stepped inside the room and Carson just about fell over. A suitcase lay to one side, unzipped, and empty. Two marines placing equipment into position. Richard was standing over at the bench, going through a list of ampoules, lined up in order, drawing up a long line of syringes with the drugs. He was working off a sheet on the bench.

Sheppard tensed up and gave the impression that he was about to bolt. Royce moved in behind him, took an arm and propelled him towards the bed. Carson, in the interim, went to talk to Richard.

"What's going on?"

"Sorry Dr. Beckett. He said he'd make sure I got kicked out of SGC if I didn't help."

"Lad, that's never going to happen."

"I did some stuff when I was a kid, Dr. Beckett. He said he could make sure Dr. Weir and General Landry got an update."

Carson gave him a pat on the shoulder, because he couldn't think of anything else to do and because the last thing he wanted was for Richard to make a mistake while he was drawing up the specified dosages. Instead, Carson availed himself of the opportunity to take a peek at the drug sheet. There was very few drugs that he recognized on the list and that disturbed him.

He turned back to Royce who had managed to guide a hugely reluctant Sheppard onto the bed. The way Royce was fussing, his gestures could have been mistaken for actual concern. He was making sure the pilot was comfortable. Adjusting the foam around his back, making sure the bed was angled correctly so Sheppard was sitting up, putting the foam cushions under his feet, even going to far as to make sure Sheppard was wearing socks and covering him up with a blanket, to the waist.

Carson found himself contemplating if Royce expressed as much concern for all the bad guys he specialized in 'talking' to. Probably not and presumably this was the way Royce gave his conscience a break.

He decided he should make himself busy. The marines, not really having much of a clue what they'd just unpacked, stood around until they were dismissed. Royce turned his attention back to Carson.

"If you could run a peripheral line with a saline lock for me Dr. Beckett, I'd appreciate it."

Richard had finished his job, was standing nervous and pale against the bench, his entire body language making it clear he wanted nothing more to do with events to date. He cast a pleading look at Carson.

"It's all right, lad. You can go. I'll take care of it."

Richard didn't bother to stick around. He promptly left. Carson went back to the bench, opened one of the cupboards underneath it, and pulled out an 18-gauge catheter and a saline lock. It wasn't hard to guess that rather than wind up sticking Sheppard with a continuous round of needles, Royce was going to deliver the drugs with an IV push through the lock. He went back to a nervous Sheppard, placed the equipment on the bed table and snapped on a pair of gloves. Took Sheppard's left hand and started palpitating the back for a vein. He made it a point to insert into the non dominant hand or arm when he could, sparing his patients having to put up with an IV in the hand they normally used for eating and writing.

He caught sight of his usual candidate for a vein, the dorsal venous arch. Despite all of the IVs placed into Sheppard's veins of late, they usually saved this one for later when they needed some obvious access point. He swabbed the area with an alcohol pad, placed a small amount of anesthetizing gel onto the area. Then he placed the hand on the bed, firmly held it, placed the needle against the back of the hand for a few seconds to get the nocioreceptors used to the sensation and firmly pushed the needle into the skin and through to the vein.

It went in easily, and he got blood in the flash chamber signaling he'd made a successful puncture. He stabilized the catheter hub, carefully removed the flash chamber and needle, and placed the saline lock onto the end of the hub. Covered the whole thing in tegaderm dressing. Finally, he grabbed a needle of saline, flushed the lock, checked for any signs of the catheter being situated incorrectly.

"Any pain, Colonel?"

"No."

Beckett observed the lock and vein for another minute, didn't see any signs of swelling, or fluid leakage. "Okay, everything looks good."

Royce was standing over his shoulder, observing. "Thanks for that. I can do them myself, but I do admire the masters. I don't always get it on the first try."

Beckett chose to ignore that statement and shifted his focus to the equipment in the room. "What's next?"

Royce pointed at the various bits of equipment and Carson realized that Royce was explaining their functionality to Sheppard, rather than to him.

"Portable EEG. Developed by the Tokra. Designed for research work and field emergencies and takes only two leads, which I like. We'll use the cardiac monitor that's all ready here. Basically I like to make sure everything's okay while we do this, so I make sure you're hooked up and monitored."

Sheppard's mouth quirked. "Are you telling me that things don't always go okay?"

"Things usually go without a hitch. But I'm not going to lie to you. I've had the occasional session go bad, usually it's a drug interaction. Very rare. I've only had it happen twice."

"Nice to know you're Mr. Safety Conscious."

"As to this other device…" Royce pointed at something that looked like a laptop but clearly wasn't. He picked up a small adhesive pad. It looked like the adhesive pads used for the cardiac monitor but smaller. "The original prototype was found by SG-1. It's used to retrieve and store memories. It can also be used in allowing other's to experience those memories. As Cameron Mitchell found out. Some of our techs, plus a little help from the Asgard allowed us to slim the key technology right down. It allows me know to determine if a memory is intact or goes into a dead end."

Sheppard was trying hard to appear calm, maybe even casual, but Carson could see by the way his hands were griping the edge of the sheets that what he really wanted to do was run. And Carson didn't blame him. Carson busied himself by reattaching Sheppard back up to the cardiac monitor. Sheppard sighed as he was covered in adhesive pads again.

"I hate these things. When is someone going to invent a way to remove them that doesn't involve having to peel them off in a shower or bath?"

Carson kept his voice light. "Alcohol does the same thing if you want to try it out."

"I'd prefer not having them at all. You know, of all the stuff in the infirmary that drives me crazy, for some reason it's the adhesive."

Carson gave him a pat on the shoulder. "We all have our crosses to carry, although I would think you'd be more unhappy with the Foley."

"I'll let you in on a secret. I've been unconscious every time you've inserted one, so all I know is that it's like the ultimate Homer Simpson dream. I get to lie in bed all day, watch DVDs, and take a leak without having to move." Sheppard delivered his speech with a completely deadpan expression.

Carson couldn't help laughing and Sheppard let out a snicker or two. At this point in time Beckett would take any joke to stop himself from contemplating what they were both getting into.

Royce went back to the bench, brought back a tray of syringes. Sheppard audibly gulped when he saw them. They were color coded, arranged in sequence so that Royce didn't mix them up.

"This looks daunting but if its any consolation after the first injection, you should be feeling no pain." Royce took the first syringe and slowly and carefully injected the contents at a measured rate.

As a doctor, the one thing Carson abhorred was ignorance. He wanted to know exactly what Royce was injecting. "What was that?"

"Close analogy to sodium amtyl but takes longer to metabolize. It's also more effective at lowering inhibition rates. He'll feel like he's had six shots of alcohol in quick succession. More so with the second one. It's got a nice double whammy because it bumps up the serotonin rate a little. He'll be feeling very cozy."

"There had better not be any rebound effects."

"Minimal. He'll be a down for a couple of days and then he'll bounce back." Royce injected the contents of the second syringe as methodically as the first, making sure the rate of infusion was slow and steady, and took place over a minute.

As he injected Sheppard he lowered his voice and turned to Beckett. "From now on Dr. Beckett, I'd ask you to be extremely careful in what you say or do. He's going to be in an extremely receptive state and he could misinterpret anything you say or worse he's going to pick it up to build a false memory and I don't need that. If you could hook him up to the EEG, I'd appreciate it."

The syringe emptied, Royce took both of the empty syringes over to the sharps container and disposed of them. It took Carson that long to hook up the only two leads onto Sheppard's temple and turn on the machine. It immediately got some good solid alpha waves, SMR, beta and gamma. Royce turned his attention to Sheppard who was beginning to get a goofy expression on his face. He eyelids were also half closed.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?"

Sheppard grinned, held out his arms. "Fantastic! What's in that stuff?"

"Some Go'auld enhanced pharmaceuticals," said Royce.

"Crap, you should sell this stuff. You'd make a fortune." Sheppard saw Carson, waved at him. "Carson, guess what? I think I'm stoned."

Beckett couldn't think of anything else to do, since he was out of the driver's seat. He glanced at Royce, who nodded his okay. "Yes, Colonel, I think you are a wee bit stoned."

"I am! Really. High as a kite. This is great. Oh. Hey, this isn't addictive or anything, is it? I mean it's Go'auld and everything."

Royce shook his head, adopted a light, jovial tone. "No, not in the slightest. You'll be feeling perfectly normal after this. The Tokra have worked on making it completely harmless."

"Hey, that's good. Wow. This is great. Did I say that all ready? Feel free to keep me like this for a while. Hours, possibly days."

Sheppard's grin hadn't disappeared at all, and to add to that he listed slightly to one side. He made an uncoordinated attempt to prop himself back up. "How come Carson's head is twice as big as it normally is? He looks like he's a Thunderbird. Rodney made me watch Thunderbirds. All the Canadians and Brits are into it. That and Dr. Who. I don't get the attraction of watching puppets with really big heads in a TV show from the sixties but the machines are cool. I like Thunderbird One."

Royce interrupted. "It's perfectly normal and it's going to pass in a few minutes. Some times people experience small distortions when the drug is first administered."

"Cool." This time Sheppard fell over onto his side. "Oops."

Royce and Carson went to his aid and got him back into a sitting position. Although he was still intelligible, Carson could detect a slurred quality to Sheppard's voice.

Royce in the interim was pulling up a stool, signaled Beckett to step back. Feeling like a peeping Tom, Beckett decided to busy himself by monitoring the EEG for any signs of abnormality in the brain waves. Not that there should be, but at least it kept his mind off just how incredibly vulnerable Sheppard was in this state.

"Okay, Colonel," Royce began but was interrupted.

"You can call me John. Really. 'Cause that's my name. First name. Unlike yourself, Royce. Just Royce. Could be a first name, or a last name. Or a middle name. I bet no one thought of that."

Royce smiled at him. "Sure. John, why don't we get started. I'm just going to hook you up to that device we talked about and ask you some questions. Okay?"

"Sure. It doesn't hurt does it? I hate that shit."

"No, it doesn't hurt." Royce placed the patches on Sheppard's forehead. Sheppard reached up with a hand, felt along his hairline.

"I'm covered. Does this come off in the shower?"

"Actually, it's very easy to remove. I can take it off after we finish."

"Yay! 'Cause the other stuff just never comes off. Carson, you have to remember to ask Royce about the sticky stuff on these things. Maybe you could use it. Sort of like Post-It notes for cardiac monitors."

"Aye. I'll remember to do that." Carson didn't look up from the screen because there it was again. The first time he'd seen it, just a few seconds ago, he thought he was just looking at the typical artifacts that contaminated any EEG reading. But there it was again. A definite peak. It wasn't normal and it was sticking out on the beta like a sore thumb. Normally he wouldn't have noticed it, but Sheppard's beta had become rhythmic, after the drugs have been used. The peak didn't fit in.

Royce was continuing his questioning of Sheppard. "Why don't you tell me about the best Christmas present you ever got?"

"Easy. That's the bike I got when I was eight."

Carson continued to stare at the strange peak. It seemed like it was random but it couldn't be because that type of signal just didn't belong in someone's brain waves.

"Can you describe the bike to me?" Royce was ignoring Carson, concentrating instead on the colors flowing across the laptop screen.

"Sure. A Schwinn. BMX. It was red. I think Dad bought it for me to make up for making us move four times in a year."

Carson tore himself from the EEG screen, looked around to see if there was anything that allowed the signal to be printed to tape. Found a button, got the readings printed. He cleared his throat and got Royce's attention.

Royce gave him a dirty look but broke him attention away from Sheppard. "That sounds like a good bike."

"It was. It was good. I rode it around the base. There were some hills out the back I could practice on. Drove my mother nuts."

Sheppard happily rambled on about the bike while Royce moved Carson out of earshot. "This had better be important Dr. Beckett." Royce was whispering.

Carson showed him the tape. "Has anyone ever displayed this type of pattern before?"

Royce frowned, took the tape. "No. Never seen it before."

"I'm going to see if I can't make heads or tails of it. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Beckett headed for the door. Sheppard called after him. "Hey, Carson! Where're you going?"

"Just popping out for a wee break. Back soon."

This seemed to disappoint Sheppard. "You don't like me any more."

"I like you. I just need to have a bathroom break. That's all."

"Oh. Okay!" He was back to his artificially chipper mood in seven seconds flat. It was spooking Carson and quite frankly, having a good excuse to temporarily escape was a relief.

He headed out the door, back into the main infirmary, found himself instantly cornered by a hugely concerned Rodney.

"What's going on? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, Rodney. In fact he's more than fine. He's terrific." Carson clutched the paper, looked at it again. "I've got to go and do some research."

Rodney of course, was never going to take that as an answer of any sort, especially when he was being ignored. "Let me see that."

The paper was snatched from his hands before he could do anything. Rodney checked the patterns over for a few seconds and then his eyes widened.

"Oh, crap."

"What do you mean by that?" Carson did not like the way Rodney was heading for the exit as fast as he could. Carson ran after him. "Rodney! Can you please explain what you mean by 'oh crap'?"

Rodney slammed to a halt, shoved the paper under Beckett's nose.

"I've seen that signal before. It was in the traffic anomalies report that Cooper shipped to me."

"What? I don't understand."

"We monitor all the comms traffic going out of - and coming into - Atlantis and try to rough it up just in case some pesky aliens are trying to find us. It disguises the traffic so that it appears to be random. This same signal started appearing right after Sheppard came back. I thought it was just being generated by the algorithm."

"And?"

"And if this is popping up in what you're loosely referring to as Sheppard's brain waves, then that means this isn't random. And that means someone is transmitting a deliberate signal out of Atlantis. Presumably a homing signal. At the moment, that someone appears to be Sheppard."

((--))