Hold On
…Chapter Four …
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"Where is he?" Rodney whispered to Teyla yet again without taking his eyes off their guards. He was getting worried for the big man.
Teyla sat perfectly still. From outward appearances it looked like she was really calm; inside she was raging and ready to spring up to attack someone.
Teyla didn't answer him and that itself spoke volumes to Rodney.
When Ronon's restlessness had started to get decidedly dangerous in the mens eyes, one of them suggested to Klen that perhaps if they had removed him from the others, they would remain calm without his violent simmering behaviour perhaps evoking a fight.
Klen understood what his men were trying to tell him, so gave the go ahead for the wounded man to be taken to the Infirmary and then made his way up to the various computers that dotted the command centre, looking for one in particular. One his boss would be very glad to have in his possession.
"Don't touch!" Rodney said without too much thought, and the next thing he knew a fierce pain erupted along his jaw and Teyla was half standing in defence of the scientist.
"Fools. Do not continue to annoy me or you will be manacled like your friend." Klen glared at him from above but nodded for the soldier that had hit him to step aside.
Teyla, not wanting the situation to get out of control until she knew Ronon was safe, sat down and gave Rodney a look as if to say do not cause any more scenes!
Rodney pouted and then winced as he felt the bruise forming on his chin but resigned himself to the fact that Teyla was right. He glanced at Woolsey and they shared a knowing look. The computer that Klen was now taking his time to read the data currently displayed, was one that specifically tracked any Wraith presence or other ships nearing where they were. From his position, Rodney could not see exactly what the man was doing to it, but by the worried expression on Woolsey's face, it didn't look like he was leaving it alone any time soon.
Rodney allowed his eyes to drift to the ground and breathed in and out trying to calm his hammering heart. Ronon had not returned yet, and Sheppard…well, Sheppard was dead.
He had seen it all happen in slow motion. One minute he was trying to understand why he was so weak and couldn't stand up right, and then he saw the turn of the gun from the piercing eyed man, and him aim it at someone further up the stairs.
The bullets began to stream from it and Rodney watched in horror as they sprayed around and into his friend. Half a second later, he screamed out Sheppard's name as, unbelievably and horrifically, he watched him stumble back with the impact and through the glass window and out into the open air of Atlantis. The sound of others shouting Sheppard's name contributed to his sorrow and then he was gone. The sound of his voice went with him and then all he could feel was a pain in his guts that twisted tight and dragged him down until his knees could no longer support his weight and he caught hold of Teyla's elbow beside him for support, but she had fallen to her knees also. He caught sight of her open mouth and the shocked look on her face. If he was not mistaken, it looked like she had just lost everything and more and she couldn't quite believe it. He felt the same way.
Ronon let out an awful wretched cry, and then Rodney could not take it in anymore and watched through a haze as Woolsey, the rest of his team, and the crew of Atlantis were manhandled or stunned into submission. It had happened so fast, so expertly, that Rodney instantly knew this had to have been planned well in advance.
Knowing now they meant business, and even shooting dead the military commander of Atlantis; Rodney presumed they were after more than just a casual takeover of the city. Question was: what? And who were they?
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Pain. That was Sheppard's first feeling upon waking up; and a whole lot of it. He did not think it could be possible for his whole body to hurt as much as it did now. Frightened to move, he kept his eye lids shut and tried to focus instead on the words from the people beside him that seemed to pound in his head over and over.
With the sounds came memories. Memories of flying through the air, of his back connecting with a not so solid wall of glass and of him being pushed into and through it, out and out into the cold open air where his arms flailed about uselessly and his breath whooshed out of his body with the realisation he was freefalling and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The pain of his wounds followed him down and he wondered at why he didn't scream. The pain deserved an orchestra really it was that bad, but it was all so quiet; so final – until …
Sheppard gasped and his eyes opened with the horrific memory. But he was alive; hurt, but alive somehow. The voices soon became recognisable. A very worried Carson was looking down at him and a startled looking Ronon – was that manacled wrists? – was grasping his shoulder in an attempt to keep him grounded.
"Easy now, John. You were re-living some things there I think." Carson held his oxygen mask on.
Now that Sheppard had puzzled out that no, he didn't die after all, he slowly was trying to get to grips with his current situation.
"I. I…" it was too hard to get out the words.
"Take your time, Sheppard." And it was Ronon again, squeezing his shoulder, talking to him, trying to get him to focus, and then he could and he shivered slightly from the shock of it all.
"Hi," he said with a slant of a smile.
Ronon laughed, slapping Carson on the shoulder. "Hey." He replied whilst watching him intently.
Carson grinned down at him. "Am I glad to hear your voice again, lad. I thought perhaps you were going to go out on me there for a while."
Sheppard shook his head. It hurt and he must have groaned because when he opened his eyes from the stabbing pain it had caused, Carson and Ronon were looking at each other again with fear.
"I fell." Sheppard said plainly.
"From a height no less, Colonel, but somehow you managed to grab the net. Do you remember how you did it?"
Sheppard unfortunately did, and his body started to shake with the memory of it all. It had felt so unbelievably real to him at the time; that this was it, the way he was checking out. He remembered thinking that it wasn't fair that not only had he been shot several times, but that the building kept battering the hell out of him on the way down and that he hoped he would pass out soon before the fatal fall reached the bottom of the building, when it would kill him instantly or the water below would break him into several parts before actually drowning him. He had it all going on it seemed…and then – a net!
Somehow - and he remembered the pain of his shoulder objecting - his arm slid into what must have been an extra solid wadding of the net that the scientists had thrown down. His arm already intertwined as his body came crashing back on itself, Sheppard just clutched as tight as he could with his fingers the fine webbing, until with fingers popping out of place and tendons screeching with abuse, his fall was brought short with an almighty whacking noise against the building that shook him to his core and then his head throbbed with the combating pain of his gun-shot wounds in various places in his body. But he hung on somehow, his left leg was one of those to cause a cry of pain, it had been the first to make contact with the building on the way down and was battered on top of the pain of a bullet's path, but his right remained solid and provided all support until he could grip the soaked netting tighter and gather his nerves and breathing until at last he could stand still. His wounded shoulder and arm protested to a sickening beat and the bullet's graze along his head was like fire, so he panted through it.
Now, as Carson continued to look down at him with worry, Sheppard remembered the courageous rescue by the doctor and smiled up at him.
"What is it, son?"
Sheppard groaned through another shock wave that caused him to tightly shut his eyes for a moment, but he grabbed Carson's arm and looked up at him, sweat pouring off him like a stream with the effort. "Th…thank you, Car…son."
Carson felt tears suddenly threaten to fall. "You can thank me … by getting better, okay?" He said, whilst wiping his eyes, but not ashamed to see how much Sheppard's fall and rescue had affected him.
Ronon shifted on his knees which distracted Sheppard. "R'non?"
Ronon lifted his wrists and waggled his manacles. "Seems I upset our intruders enough to have to contain me…slightly!" He winked.
"The man…who…shot me…"
Ronon drew close to hear his rasping voice.
"Colonel, keep quiet and still now." Carson advised.
"No, listen…please."
Carson soaked his lips with some water and Sheppard licked his lips and continued. "…his name is Klen. Works for …a…guy called, um…Stringer…"
Sheppard was getting paler by the minute and blood loss was a severe problem that Carson was trying to manage with all the fluids he was replacing by several I.V.s. Still, the man was incredibly injured, weak and exhausted and really should not be talking. Carson gave him a small amount to drink – to wet his whistle, as he would say with whisky – and allowed him to get out what he wanted to say. Ronon was curious too, anything that could help him out later.
"Go on." Ronon encouraged.
"Stringer got kicked…out, fired from…I.O.A. I met him…couple of times. He was accused…" Sheppard coughed and it brought tears to all their eyes in sympathy. He was so weak and in pain.
"…of stealing artefacts and intel. He…is…extremely wealthy and…a…collector. Seemingly has …every plane the…U.S. military…has produced." He finished speaking for a time. His lips were tight with controlling the pain.
"Did he get together with this Klen guy to purposely overthrow Atlantis do you think?" Ronon looked at Sheppard for an answer, sorry for having to push for more information.
"Poss…possibly. Don't know…Klen, just knew of…him."
"Don't think he knew you either. I heard him telling the other guy that stayed by us, Gillam, to get his men to search for you."
"Don't think this Klen or Stringer guy is going to be best pleased to find out that Klen himself shot you out of the window then!"
"Don't…remind…me, please…Carson."
Carson placed a warm hand round his wrist. To steady him and to take his pulse. "Sorry, lad. That must have been an awful feeling."
Sheppard's eyes were drooping again. "Sleep, Sheppard." Ronon instructed and then looked at Carson with panic. "He can do that right, with his head wound."
"In these circumstances, there is nothing else I can do for him Ronon, but I will need to wake him up periodically to check that he is doing okay."
They both turned to look at Sheppard and he was indeed sleeping again. If you could call it that. His eyes were constantly darting under his pale lids and Carson suddenly developed vertigo at the thought of Sheppard slamming out of the window and falling down like that.
Checking his vitals with Ronon watching, Carson turned to look at the ex-runner. "Teyla, Rodney and the others will be frantic with worry."
"I know and now I have disappeared as well - as far as they know."
"Ronon, you are hurt as well. You stay with him and I will see what's going on and then make my way back to you."
"No chance, doc. They know you were supposed to be with me. If you show up, they will want to know where I went, and besides they will find out that some of their men is missing pretty soon too I would imagine."
Carson finally nodded. "Well, we have to think of something."
"I wonder what this Stringer guy wants."
"Aye. I wonder if he will be happy when he finds out the Colonel is 'dead'!"
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"He's what?"
The bringer of the news wished the floor would open so he could escape Stringer's wrath.
"The Colonel, Sir…he was kill…"
"I heard you the first time! What the hell happened?"
"Sir, it was an accident I believe. He was shot and killed…"
"Who?"
"Sir?"
"Who the hell killed him? Keep up would you?"
"Sir, I believe Klen killed him by accident."
Stringer's fingers curled into the palm of his hands, and he would have struck the younger man under his command out of pure rage if the youngster hadn't seen it heading that way and had retreated out of range back towards the office door.
Instead he glared at him and tried to slow his breathing. This was not what he wanted to happen. He did not want people killed, and especially the highest ranking military officer in Atlantis. No, unobtainable treasures he adored and collected, but not through the deaths of others did he want to reach these aims.
Damn!
"There had better be no more deaths." He seemed to mumble more to himself. "I will speak to Klen myself later…and the mission, have the items been acquired?"
"Sir, the computer has been uploaded so the main objective should be acquired very soon. The others requests have been located and are in the process of being brought to the gate room ready for departure."
"Good. Good. At least that is something."
"Sir?"
Stringer detected the dread in the voice and turned away from the man lest he beat him to a pulp just for the hell of it, such was his mood. What was coming his way now?
"Report."
"We have missing men."
"Missing?" Still refusing to turn around.
"They were to escort an unruly Atlantean back to the gate room from the Infirmary where he was being treated for a head wound, but neither they nor the prisoner ever returned."
Stringer lost it. He pounced on the young man at such a speed he never saw it coming. He was bodily lifted off the ground until his feet dangled in the air and he felt his back pressed against the solid wooden door. He had never felt such fear as he did now as he looked down on Stringer's face, gone a purple shade.
Stringer held him up, fist clenched for the longest minute until he released the man and he slid to the ground.
"We will find them." He quickly thought to placate his boss.
Quietly Stringer stepped back from him. "You will never find them. The job needs speeded up before this Atlantean, who seems resourceful, brings trouble and tries to spoil my plans. Report back to Klen…no ask for Gillam, tell him what I have just said, and tell him he is in command now."
"Sir!"
The room came to blessed silence again when the young man left, but Stringer just kept staring at the closed door. He honestly had not wanted anyone killed, and he was furious now. He especially did not want Lt. Colonel John Sheppard killed. He may have failed in his attempts to remain working for the I.O.A and realise all his chances of stealing whatever took his fancy, but on the few occasions when he still held the position, most talk had been about Sheppard and he had always secretly admired the maverick spirit he seemed to possess. He was truly sorry that Klen had killed him. He would have survived the intrusion otherwise; as they all would if they just kept their heads down. He was not as greedy as to think he could take on the whole of Atlantis – although the thought of owning that would have been a delight to say the least, and he had no desire for it to be destroyed, although his men were free to threaten such like.
The object of his, though, would soon be in his grasp. He had paid his men well to obtain it for him; the two whom he had placed on Atlantis to gather the necessary information would receive a nice bonus for their work.
All would soon be in order, just how he liked it.
Shame, though, that perhaps some would have to be sacrificed in the end for him to achieve his wish if this project was starting to have holes in it. Whether it was his men, or the Atlanteans, it was all the same to him really. His goal was to have something that nobody else had on Earth.
And it was finally time to own it.
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TO BE CONTINUED …