Time Immemorial

Chapter 3: Meet and Greet

July 16th
1415 Hours

The two Puddle Jumpers reached the far side of the mainland in just over an hour. Major Sheppard deftly guided his craft in for a soft landing in a small clearing; the trailing PJ touched down fifty yards away.

As a precaution, the two teams parked three clicks away from the intended rendezvous point with Lt. Kirkland. They would walk the rest of the way. Additionally, John had insisted on taking not one but two full squads of marines, one led by Ford, the other by himself. He examined the two groups as they secured the landing zone. At his urging, the eight other marines had armed themselves to the teeth. While intel suggested the new people they were meeting possessed advanced weaponry, that wasn't his primary motive for bolstering the op with firepower. Quite simply, he was going to do everything in his power to avoid a repeat of the Klaan incident. Caught off guard and ill prepared, he had let the Klaans walk them right into a trap under the false pretense of friendship. He had learned his lesson. That was one mistake the major was never going to repeat.

Satisfied he had planned an airtight mission, they had locked, loaded, and took off. But there was one point he hadn't gotten his way on. He sighed as he watched her walk down the Jumper ramp and approach him.

"Try not to look so excited, Major," Elizabeth quipped, noting his disgruntled expression.

"It's not too late for you to head back to Atlantis, you know," he offered, knowing what her response would be.

"John, I let you bring enough firepower to start a world war to an introductory meeting between two cultures," she reasoned calmly, hoping he understood what a poor message that would be sending. "Now I ask that you let me do my job and mediate this first contact."

"All right…" was the unconvinced reply.

She touched his arm lightly and looked into his eyes. "I'll be fine," she said quietly, smiling softly. She knew the true reason behind his worrying and couldn't fault him for it. In fact, she adored him for it. "Besides," Elizabeth said, resuming a normal volume once more, "I was going stir crazy back there. I've been cooped up for over two months now."

Sheppard cleared his throat, momentarily taken by the moment. "I know what you mean," John answered. This was his first real mission, too, since his recovery following the Klaan disaster. He could appreciate her eagerness to get back into the swing of things. He had hoped Elizabeth would have elected to conduct all of her ensuing leadership activities from on base, but he should have guessed. There was no way a spirit so full of adventure and thirst for exploration could be kept locked away.

He gave the marines their pairing assignments and the ten expedition members began their trek toward the rendezvous point.

Captain Ford led the way. The plan was to meet up with Kirkland's team before anything else. Elizabeth walked with John in the middle of the train of marines, some ten yards between them and the nearest pair. As they passed through a deep thicket of trees, she allowed her mind to wander. She knew John fully trusted his life to any one of the military men, yet wouldn't trust hers to anyone but himself. And she wouldn't have it any other way, either. But was that truly a good thing? Their relationship, as fledgling as it was, certainly split her focus – a fact she had been trying her best to ignore. She imagined it did the same for him. He'd still argue his point until the bitter end, but no matter her decision she knew he would follow her to Hell and back – to support her, to save her if needed. His devotion to her, professional and personal, was only bound to drive him down the wrong path one of these days and get him killed. His death would be on her hands, and she didn't know if she could live with that—

"Hey," a voice to her left said. She turned and noticed John studying her, eyebrow raised. "You okay?"

Clearing her throat, she replied, "I'm fine, why?"

He shrugged. "You just haven't said a word since we started walking, that's all."

Elizabeth glanced at her watch and was shocked to see they had already been on the trail for thirty minutes. She shot him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I was just lost in thought."

John nodded. "Daydreaming, huh? About anyone I know?"

She cast him a mock-annoyed look. "Actually, I was thinking how convenient the timing of all this is. Not five minutes after we discover the source of our power troubles, we come across a race of people who just might have the solution? Doesn't that seem a little odd to you?"

"It's a little too coincidental, sure," he agreed as they continued to walk. "But if we're walking into some sort of trap, it's a damn elaborate one. Someone would have to have the ability to remotely manipulate not only our power systems but our line of thinking, to lure us onto the mainland and ambush us in order to… what? Steal a handful of weapons and a couple of Puddle Jumpers that they probably couldn't even fly? I don't buy it."

Elizabeth frowned. It did seem a little far-fetched. Besides, she had no doubt that the honor of damaging their power system went to Kavanagh and Kavanagh alone. Beyond that, anything else was purely by chance. And at least they were adopting a defensive posture from the outset.

"Still," she continued, unable to rationalize the coincidence in her head, "don't you think that these people appearing on the mainland all of a sudden is a little strange? Where have they been all this time?"

John remained silent. He, too, thought it was more than a little odd that this culture – whoever they were – had been able to avoid detection by the Atlantis teams' sensors. Granted, the expedition hadn't been able to explore the entire City let alone its neighboring continent, so it was possible these people had just gotten lucky. But John didn't like to rely on luck..

"I don't suppose you would take this – even if I insisted you have it today?" he asked seriously, reaching out.

Elizabeth looked at the object in his hand. It was his 9-millimeter Beretta sidearm. She met his resolute eyes, tried to read him. Something about the way he had asked frightened her, as if he had suddenly been spooked by the prospect of getting involved with these people. And so, despite her loathing for weapons, she accepted the handgun wordlessly and slipped it into the holster of her gray BDU pants. To his credit, she noticed John didn't comment on the action. He knew her past history with guns, some of it too personal for either one of them to recount.

"You know," Dr. Weir said solemnly, looking ahead, "if you had asked me just a few months ago, I would have refused it."

"I know." And I'm sorry for that.

"What are the odds McKay will have the power system back online by the time we get back?" she asked.

John noticed the not-so-subtle change in subject but didn't object "Knowing him? He probably has it all fixed up by now and is tinkering with his new Ancient toy again."

Laughing at the distinct possibility, Dr. Weir replied, "I'm not so sure. We haven't gotten to that dire life threatening moment quite yet. You know how he thrives under pressure…." She trailed off as she noticed he was no longer listening to her.

John's eyes instead were fixed on the front of the group. Up ahead, Ford had stopped suddenly. Sheppard could tell the keen captain was listening for something. The marine turned his head slightly, honing in on whatever sound he had heard in the woods to their left. Yet he had given no hand signals to the remainder of the group, who had also halted, waiting in silence.

Turning his gaze on the location his 2IC had pinpointed, John surveyed the thick brush. He couldn't see anything past the tree line. He trusted the young marine enough, however, to know that something was definitely wrong.

Catching Ford's eye, John signaled to him by touching two fingers to his forehead, then pointing to the woods. Did you see something out there?

Ford received the message but simply looked back into the thicket, unsure. He met his CO's gaze again and signaled with a hand to his ear, his wrist, and again pointed into the woods.

Frowning at the response, John straightened and slowly spun in a circle. He spotted something new, this time to their right.

"What is it?" Elizabeth dared to whisper. "Did Ford find something?"

"Not something, someone," he murmured grimly, staring at his new mark "And I think they found us." He slowly raised his P-90 to his shoulder and looked down its sight toward some unseen foe in the woods. Then, speaking at a normal volume for the first time in minutes, Sheppard simply said, "two, five, and nine – hold fire."

At once, the other eight marines raised their rifles and took aim – at a bunch of trees, as far as Elizabeth could tell – at the group's two o'clock, five o'clock, and nine o'clock positions. The sound of eight P-90s being cocked was enough to make Elizabeth jump. What are they aiming at? she wondered. She couldn't see anything.

They waited for almost a full minute in silence. Nothing stirred. Elizabeth began to wonder if Ford had been mistaken. Then, there – to her far right, almost out of her peripheral vision, a solitary man walked out onto the path they had just traveled. He wielded a metallic rifle that was presently aimed directly at her. She tried to stifle a gasp but was unsuccessful.

The sound was enough to swing John's aim from his three o'clock position to where Dr. Weir was staring. Spotting the large gun in the man's hand, he shrugged his P-90 just a little higher on his shoulder. Then out of the corner of his eye he spotted another similarly armed man – then two more.

Ford tried to keep tabs on the gun-toting newcomers, but there was simply too many advancing out of the woods for him to count. When he had been lucky enough to hear them taking cover in the brush, he had thought there had maybe been four of them. Then the major had spotted several more before alerting the two teams of marines, but Ford doubted that even Sheppard had expected this number. There had to be twelve, thirteen of them, and they were still pouring out onto the trail, weapons at the ready.

Ford's aim bounced nervously from forehead to forehead as each newcomer stepped into the open. There's too just too damn many! "Major!" he shouted down the line of marines, needing orders. "Major, I don't think this is Lieutenant Kirkland's team!"

"I think you're right!" came the reply. "I count five at our four o'clock, two at our eight, and another five at our ten o'clock!"

"I've got four at twelve and four at two, sir! Are these are 'friends'?" he asked tightly.

"Keep your cool, Captain," the major replied steadily, sensing the young man's edginess. "No one fires until I say so, got it?"

Aiden simply nodded, knowing that his CO couldn't see him. Hearing his composed voice did enough to calm Ford down, though. He drew a bead on one of the approaching men, aiming at the bridge of the man's nose, and awaited further orders. Some poor bastard has to get it first – might as well be this guy.

Back toward the middle of the line, Sheppard still had his aim trained on the first man to reveal himself. His mistake, the pilot thought. The outpouring of bandits had ceased; he let his peripheral vision recount them, twenty in all. Twenty of them, ten of us. Not good. I thought these guys were supposedly friendly….

The newcomers encircled the Atlantean team, forcing the expedition members to cluster in the center of the path. They stopped advancing a mere dozen feet from the group of ten, but their rifle's remained pointed inward at the smaller party. Each gazed down the barrel of their weapon to find a marine gazing down his rifle right back.

Though they were outnumbered two to one, John did his best to position himself in front of Elizabeth such that she wasn't directly in any of the stranger's line of fire. Satisfied, he studied one of the men's weapons through his P-90's sight. It was slightly longer than his compact assault rifle, and its metallic finish glinted in the afternoon sun. Risking a look to his left, John noticed that one of the other new arrivals sported a handgun-type version of the weapon. Oddly enough, they both seemed to glow faintly with some sort of electrically powered—

"Sir…" Ford said, breaking the unnaturally long silence. They were all now close enough to one another that shouting was unnecessary. "They're just standing there. What do we do?"

John didn't answer him. Instead, he slowly lowered his weapon and eyed the surrounding group for a reaction. Nothing. Their weapons remained pointed at each of his team member's heads.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth whispered, though she was sure all twenty of them could hear her. It seemed appropriate. She was glad that John hadn't ordered his marines to lower their weapons, too.

He had a hunch. Exhaling uncertainly, John put his hands in the air and gingerly took one step away from his group and toward their captors. Elizabeth squelched her words of protest and instead reached for him, but he had already exceeded her grasp.

As soon as his feet had found their new mark, all twenty of the strangers shifted their aim as one to John's chest. At point blank range, he had no doubt that at least half of the group would not miss should they decide to fire on him.

At the sound of the shifting weapons, the marines became skittish, shuffling slightly on their feet. "Sir, I don't know what you're doing, but you want to let us in on this plan of yours?" Ford protested.

"Easy, Ford," the major replied calmly, his words meant for both parties. "No one's shooting anyone." Lowering his arms gradually back to his sides, John listened carefully for any sort of orders to be communicated between the twenty armed visitors. There were none; there had been none, either, when he had stepped toward them, only a razor sharp reaction to a variable. His action, while risky, had answered a very important question.

"Listen, guys," John announced, addressing the twenty. "I think we got off on the wrong foot. Why don't you put your guns down so I can tell my guys to put their guns down, then we can all have a nice chat. Sound good?"

There was no response from the mass, as John expected. He dared to take one more step toward the man directly in front of him so that he now stood only an arm length away from the business end of his rifle. The twenty fluidly shifted their aim to his temple. John noticed how they moved as one, like a school of fish tuned to the senses of one another. It was uncanny. Again, there was some uneasy shifting from the marines behind him, but everyone held their ground.

"Look," he said to the man in front of him, hoping to hell his nervousness wasn't showing. "I know you're not going to shoot me. You know you're not going to shoot me – not without an order from your boss. So how about you contact him, wherever he's hiding, and tell him to get his ass out here so we can start talking like civilized folks?"

"No need," said a new voice over his shoulder. "You can tell him yourself."

While the majority of the expedition crew turned to see who the owner of this new voice was, John hung his head ever-so-slightly, an embarrassed smirk crossing his face. He had no need to guess; he knew it was the leader of these people. And that's why I leave the diplomacy to Elizabeth, he reminded himself.

Turning reluctantly, John saw him saunter from the tree line. One look and the Air Force officer immediately disliked him. Unlike the others, this man carried no weapon. Judging by the arrogant way he strolled toward the group, he obviously thought he didn't need one. His outfit matched those of his people, an odd ensemble that John hadn't noticed until now. He wore a brown tunic that extended to his knees and was cinched at the waist by a simple leather belt. A toughened leather hide had been dyed black and fashioned into a breastplate to protect his entire torso. His forearms and shins were protected with matching, intricately patterned greaves. He was the only one of his people to don an ornamental red cape. By far, John thought the oddest feature of all was the pair of black sandals that were laced up his shins.

As he neared, John noticed the man was approximately his same age and height. His dark black hair was cropped short against his tanned skin and cut straight across his brow. His eyes were an icy blue, framed by sharp, hawkish features. And he was fit, like some sort of gladiator.

Ignoring the tense entanglement of U.S. Marines and his own people, the leader of the newcomers strode right through the circle of gun-wielding men and straight up to Sheppard. "I am here," he greeted expectantly. He matched Sheppard's cool stare. "Now what would you 'civilized folks' like to discuss?"

John eyed the new adversary with an amused grin. A challenge. Here was one cocky son-of-a-bitch John was going to thoroughly enjoy putting in his place—

"How about we all put our weapons away so that we can begin proper introductions?" Elizabeth interrupted, stepping out from the crowd and sparing her military commander any further embarrassment.

With the sudden motion, two of the foreign soldiers trained their weapons on Elizabeth. Instinctually, John stepped back to shield her. Seeing this, their leader almost indiscernibly frowned, but as soon as the expression was made it was gone. However, the action did convey the Atlantis team's disadvantages: numbers, yes, but also their commitment to one another. John knew it, Elizabeth knew it, and now their leader did as well. After a tense moment, the commander signaled for the two men aiming their rifles at Dr. Weir to lower their weapons.

John exhaled a lungful of air he hadn't realized he had been holding. While two had laid down their arms, there were eighteen more that were still awaiting orders to riddle his team with holes. He needed to show their hand first. Turning to his squads, the major nodded. "Stand down."

Wordlessly, the marines lowered their P-90s. The remaining adversaries' weapons soon followed. While the strangers showed no change in their impassive demeanor, everyone from the Atlantis team breathed just a little easier once everyone's weapons had been stowed.

But the commander wasn't done quite done yet. Suddenly grabbing John's wrist, he twisted it upward such that his watch was eye level.

"This," the leader demanded, pointing to the time keeping device, "is this Lantean technology?"

Struggling against the uncomfortable position, John managed to use his good arm to wave off Ford, who was getting ready to take aim once again. "No," he finally answered, annoyed. "It's Casio. And ow." Seeing the doubtful look in the man's eyes, he knew there was no tactful way out of this one. "Can I have my arm back, please?" he asked before irritably wrenching it clear of the man's grasp. Weird, he thought, rubbing his wrist and looking to Elizabeth for confirmation.

But Dr. Weir had already been absorbed into the conversation. "What makes you think we possess Lantean technology?"

The man paused and looked at Dr. Weir, as if seeing her for the first time. He studied her, seemingly baffled by her presence, and returned his disapproving gaze to the major. He addressed John as if it had been he whom had asked the question, ignoring Elizabeth completely.

"We saw your ships land a short time ago. We have also seen several devices your other teammates possess. All are Lantean technology – do not attempt to claim otherwise."

Nodding, John replied, "Okay, you caught us: we have Lantean technology. But let me get this straight: you knew we were coming, you knew we were part of Lt. Kirkland's team, and you still decided to ambush us?"

"Major…" Elizabeth warned, sensing his growing irritation.

"Where are the lieutenant and his team, anyway?" accused John.

"Your people are safe, awaiting your arrival at our encampment."

"Great, because we'd very much like to speak with them," replied John, his voice dripping with condescension. "If that's okay with you, of course."

"Of course," came the equally derisive reply. "But I do not deal with people I do not know – and I will only deal with your leader."

Putting his hands on his hips, John just sighed, not caring if they saw. This could take a while. Luckily, Elizabeth quickly came to the rescue. She stepped forward, wearing a polite smile mastered from years of practiced treaty brokering.

"Hello," she greeted, extending her hand. "My name's Dr. Elizabeth Weir, leader of our people."

Once more, the stranger seemed befuddled by this woman speaking to him. He refused her hand. "You?" he demanded. "You command these people?"

"Command, yes. Whether they listen or not is another matter," she quipped.

"But you are a—"

"A woman, yes," Elizabeth replied levelly, long accustomed to dealing with chauvinist, male-dominated societies. As an American diplomat - an American woman diplomat - she had experienced her fair share of intolerance, discrimination, and even threats abroad, sometimes from the very people she had been sent to represent. She had never thought much of it, chalking it up to thousands of years of cultural customs ingrained into societies, as much a part of the nation as the very dirt on which it was founded. She didn't like it, but she respected the ways of foreign cultures. Most importantly, she never let it get in the way of doing her job.

After evaluating her for a moment longer, the man was still plainly mystified. He looked Sheppard's way for an explanation. He clearly did not want to conduct business with a mere woman. John suddenly felt as if he had become this man's favorite person in the world. The pilot had no pity for him.

"You heard the lady," John said with a satisfied shrug.

"This is unacceptable," the newcomer protested. "You let a woman order you about—?"

"Hey, you wanted the boss," John reminded him, now genuinely aggravated. "Dr. Weir is it, and she's the best there is. If you've got a problem with that then tell us now so we can all go home."

"I don't believe you've told us your name yet," Elizabeth prompted, trying desperately to keep the situation from exploding.

Eyeing the two Atlantis leaders, the man seemed to be considering whether any further contact with this insubordinate pair was worth his time. Finally, he begrudgingly announced, "I am Antigonos, commander of the Lacedami people."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Commander Antigonos," Elizabeth said carefully. "I hope we can move past our rocky beginning and form a relationship that can benefit both of our peoples. But first, with your permission, I'd like to speak with Lt. Kirkland and his team."

After a moment of deliberation, Antigonos nodded. "This way," he grumbled, and began leading half of his men down the pathway. The other ten fell in behind, with most of the Atlantis team merged in the middle.

"Ford," the major ordered as they began to depart, "take five of our guys and fall back to the Jumpers. We'll radio you when we're on our way back."

"You got it, sir," the captain replied. He broke off with five marines and headed back in the opposite direction.

After the now four Atlantis team members had allowed themselves to be escorted for several minutes, John finally broke the silence. "If you were worried about a repeat of the Klaan incident, I think we're in good shape," he informed Elizabeth in a hushed tone.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, at least we know we hate these guys right off the bat."

She gave a tense chuckle and kept her eyes on the path ahead. "There doesn't seem to be any subtleties to these people, does there? I just have to remind myself that we can't let differences in personality or culture preclude a potentially valuable partnership."

"Right," he said, eyeing her as she spoke. She looked edgy. It was slight, and he was sure that he was probably the only one that noticed, but for the normally composed Dr. Weir it went miles to speak to her state of mind. There was something about that Antigonos guy that must have ruffled her – and not just the chauvinist thing; he was sure she could handle that. "How are you holding up?" he asked.

Finally looking his way, she nodded tightly. "Just fine, why?"

He shrugged nonchalantly and nodded to her side. "I was just wondering: why the kung-fu grip on the gun?"

Looking down at her thigh holster, she noticed her hand was firmly clenched around the handgun's grip. Her knuckles had turned white. She couldn't even recall having reached for it. It must have been during the tense turmoil following the ambush.

"You want me to take that back?" John asked softly, concerned.

Nodding, she pulled the weapon from its holster and attempted to release her grip on it, but her hand was locked. She had to use her other hand to pry her fingers open one by one. Elizabeth quickly handed it back to Sheppard, thankful to be free of the burden.

After holstering it, John looked back to her. "You did good," he reassured. "You didn't even need to use it. I count that as a win."

She opened her mouth to speak, a troubled expression on her face, but quickly shut it again as one of the Lacedami men approached. Straton, she had heard one of the men call him. Elizabeth guessed he was Antigonos' muscle. He was huge – at least 6'6" tall. And if the commander was fit, this guy was a titan. He looked like he could rip someone apart with his pinky. A series of scars ran vertically on the left side of his face. She noticed that while the muscles on the opposite side of his face expressed emotion normally, this side remained inanimate, most likely paralyzed from some past trauma. He struck quite the menacing appearance.

"Is that one of your weapons?" Straton posed in a baritone voice.

"One of them," John replied, patting his sidearm in its holster. "But this guy," he said, pointing to the P-90 clipped to the front of his vest, "this guy is the real deal. It can fire 900 rounds per minute, single shot or burst, semi-automatic or automatic modes. Even at 600 feet away the bullet will still hit you at Mach 2. That'll sting you pretty good."

Straton just nodded, unfamiliar with the Earth-based statistics. "Is it Lantean technology?"

John exchanged looks with Elizabeth. There was that question again. "No, it's not. What about that?" John wondered, looking at the metallic rifle in the giant's hands. There was definitely some sort of electric power source.

"This," Straton said, deciding how to best qualify the gun's capability, "this can kill you with one shot." And with that, he simply strode back to his group.

"Oh," was all that John was able to say. That's comforting.

Before he could ponder Straton's words any longer, the large group stepped out into a sizable clearing. Sprawled out before him were dozens of huts, tents, and clusters of people. Smoke billowed into the air from a great bonfire in the center of the area. The clang of metal on metal reached his ears from what appeared to be a makeshift forgery.

They had reached the Lacedami encampment.

TBC

Author's note:

Hey, guys! Your friendly author here. I hope you are enjoying the story so far. Best get comfy because it's a long one! The good news is that it's already 99% written! I therefore plan on keeping the twice-weekly updates going.

I would appreciate it if you could drop a review if something strikes you as good or bad! Always trying to improve. :)