Time Immemorial

Chapter 24: Epiphany

July 17th
0515 Hours

Word had spread of the impending Wraith attack, and though the Atlantis population had been eager to return to their quarters, it was agreed that the safest course of action was to remain in the mess hall. Shuttling the expedition members to the mainland via Jumper was briefly considered, but there wasn't enough power to open the Jumper Bay's roof.

Over the last two hours, the City's remaining power had been completely depleted. Everything from the shield, the Stargate, and the star drive, to the transporters, air circulators, and lights were now completely inoperable. Emergency work lights had been brought in to the cafeteria and other key places. If nothing else, they at least assuaged the trepidation stemming from the pressing blackness.

Ford stood with Bates, Teyla, and Stackhouse in the middle of the mess hall floor. They had just returned from the armory with a handful of weapons and night vision goggles. Ford didn't want to think about having to make a last stand against a Wraith armada in a dark cafeteria. But with no shield, no Gate, and only a handful of able-bodied marines their options were few and far between.

Ford looked around. He'd been successful in shooing some of the injured marines to the infirmary, but only the most critical of cases. If they could still hobble and hold a gun, they'd demanded to stay and fight. Ford had begrudgingly accepted. The truth was they needed all the help they could get. And while he didn't doubt their strength of character, he wasn't comforted to know that the base's civilian population would be defended by a sergeant with one eye bandaged and another with a broken right arm.

"Any news?" Stackhouse asked as he loaded a mag into a P-90.

Ford grabbed another rifle and followed suit. "Not yet. But the major is working on a plan right now."

"And Dr. McKay is trying to salvage power as we speak," Teyla added hopefully.

Bates huffed as he placed a readied pair of NVGs to the side and grabbed the next one. "What's the point? Do you really think that a few guns are going to make a difference against the Wraith? And how many stray watts can McKay possibly scare up - enough to turn on a light bulb?"

"Every bit helps, Sergeant. We must do everything we can."

"And if everything isn't enough?"

Ford continued to prepare the rifles, unwilling to entertain Bates's sour demeanor. "Don't count the major out just yet. He'll think of something."

"Yeah. Sure," Bates mumbled saltily.

Aiden looked up sharply from his work. "He won't let this City fall. I know it."

John absentmindedly wrapped the silver chain of the pocket watch around itself. He curled it into a spiral with his index finger, pushing the links across the desk into a pleasing pattern before destroying it and starting anew. Sitting in Elizabeth's darkened office, he now appreciated how soothing this simple amusement could have been to her. After the constant flurry of activity during the past two hours, he needed a few moments of reprieve.

He looked at the timepiece more carefully. It was stunning - simple, elegant, dependable - much like the woman who had owned it. He vaguely remembered her mentioning the pocket watch had once belonged to her late father.

Her father, Sheppard thought to himself. He wondered what he had been like, and if Elizabeth had taken more after him or her mother. He would have liked to have met them both. With a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he realized that his first and probably only introduction to her family would be in telling her mother that her only daughter had been killed, killed because of his own careless mistakes.

If we even make it through this, he reminded himself. With a wipe of his brow, his thoughts turned to another paternal relationship: his own. He and his father, a well-respected retired full-bird Colonel, had never seen eye-to-eye. What his mother had dismissed as typical teenage rebellion had never subsided over the years, transforming into ugly arguments and rash decisions. John remembered a lot of anger and even more disappointment. Time hadn't yet healed those wounds, for either of them.

And then there was Antigonos and his own son, Kyros. The ending to that relationship had been a tragic one. Kyros had been so young - perhaps old enough to be considered a warrior in the Lacedami culture but certainly far too young to die as one. John accepted direct responsibility for his death. The sting of his own last words to Kyros, unfairly brought about by pain and anger, still echoed in his head.

How such an inherently good person could be born of a truly evil human being John couldn't understand. But he was determined to make the commander pay. He couldn't help but recognize the same youthful naïveté in Kyros that he, too, had once embodied - albeit briefly. What scared him more, though, were the similarities between the boy's father and his own self.

Antigonos had seen those similarities, too, had used them to goad Sheppard. Though he had tried his best to deny them, John was able to no longer. They thought the same way, quick and methodical. They acted similarly in their tactics. The only thing that separated the two leaders was a thin veil of morality which John feared was wearing by the minute.

He could feel a rage burning inside him, permanent in its presence. Is that what Antigonos had seen in him that had convinced him to yield? Had he believed John would make good on his threat to kill him and his soldiers in cold blood? Would I have done it? He knew the answer was 'yes,' and the speed and certainty at which he arrived at it startled him more than anything.

Jesus, I'm becoming just like him, John thought to himself. Alone, bitter, having lost someone... He didn't envy Antigonos, and he didn't sympathize. But he couldn't help but feel that a similar path, his own descent into madness, had been laid for him and he hadn't enough rudder to change course. He was turning into a monster.

Pushing the pocket watch away with certitude, John's eyes fell on the remaining contents of Elizabeth's desk. Her laptop blinked, awaiting its owner's return. There were several decorative bowls from cultures he couldn't identify, a wooden box, and a small statue of four seated figures with hands adjoined. Some of the objects had toppled from the oxygen canister's blast earlier that day. He righted them with tender care.

His gaze then found the Athosian jar he had given her for her birthday several months ago. Picking it up reverently, he remembered her face when he'd presented it to her: a mix of joyful surprise, humble gratitude, and flat out suspicion of how in the hell he had discovered it had been her birthday.

"Mum's the word," he had teased playfully.

He put the jar down, eager to cast away the memory. His fingers found his sidearm. As he weighed it in his hands he began to think of the people they had lost in the last twelve hours. In addition to the now seven people the commander had touted killing, a recon team had found two more marines brutally gunned down in a hallway. In a short time, barring a miracle, there was a high probability the lives of the rest would be viciously and painfully drained, along with those of the civilians they defended.

And for what? John thought as he looked at the final item he had brought with him: the ascension device. For a vendetta we had no part in? For this? He looked at the object's glass facade, gleaming even in the room's faint emergency lighting. It seemed to mock him, a glistening beacon even in the dimmest of situations. He wondered how Antigonos would react if he were to smash it to pieces on the floor.

"John, you can beat these guys."

No. I can't. I'm sorry.

John flicked his Beretta's safety off, then on, then off again, staring out into space as he repeated the action. He'd been living on borrowed time since February 19th, 2002, the day he failed to rescue his friend and fellow pilot Captain Leonard Holland from a crash site in Afghanistan. Two weeks before that he'd lost Mitch and Dex. At some point his death would catch up to him, a debt to be paid, an obligation. Maybe those who already died were the lucky ones.

A polite knock on the door frame snapped him out of his reverie. McKay stood with tablet in hand.

"Here for closure?" Rodney asked delicately.

John shook his head and put the gun down on the desk. "Inspiration. You know, I never really appreciated how hard her job was until I sat down in this chair a few minutes ago."

Rodney simply nodded, letting his friend talk, but it appeared the major had said all he was going to say on the matter. He looked around, observing how disarrayed the office was. The firefight from hours earlier had blown out the window overlooking the Gate Room, leaving shards of glass littered on the floor that crunched under his feet. Papers were strewn about, some burnt to a cinder; a bench was overturned. No one had had the time to clean up yet.

Rodney then noted how tired Sheppard looked. There were bags under his red-rimmed eyes; his face had an unhealthy luster. He looked like he had aged ten years in the last two hours.

"I see Carson's struck again," the Canadian said to break the silence. A weary "hmm?" and an arched eyebrow was his only reply. McKay motioned to John's re-bandaged bicep and the sutures above his eye.

"Oh," John finally recalled, touching a finger to his left brow. "Yeah, I couldn't fend him off any longer." Though he required further medical attention, John had kept the doctor from seeing the full extent of his injuries. They would have to wait. "I guess he got you, too."

Rodney shrugged, patting the bandage on his head. "I've had worse. I just really hope the knock to the head still leaves me with at least a few more brain cells than Kavanagh. Talk about a tragedy." He was pleased to see the comment brought a small smirk to his teammate's face.

"Hey, um, listen," Rodney continued. "I never said thanks for, you know, not letting me get shot in the head. My ego would like to think it was an easy choice, but I can't imagine it actually was. So... thanks."

Looking at the scientist, John didn't have the heart to tell him it had been the wrong call. It had be born of guilt and fear, not logic and reason. While he was glad he'd been able to save his friend's life, the price had been too great. It was only through a minor miracle that Antigonos hadn't cashed in.

"You're welcome," John mumbled uncomfortably. "So what's the word?"

"Well, 'dismal' would be an appropriate one. The power from the eleven Lacedami ships won't be enough to do much of anything in the City, even if I could find a way to transfer it out of the Ravens and jump start our grid."

John merely gave a noncommittal grunt, already anticipating the news. Rodney's idea had been a good one, but in the end had fallen just short.

"How long until the Wraith cruisers reach orbit?" Sheppard asked dully.

Rodney suspected that John already knew the answer to that question down to the minute, but he obliged anyway. "Just over an hour from now," he stated as dispassionately as he could, but he was sure the fear was evident in his voice. "What about you? How are things progressing?"

"As good as can be expected, I guess, considering the Wraith are coming, I only have twenty or so able-bodied marines, a handful of small arms, and a few dozen Ancient drone weapons but no power to use them. The infirmary is overloaded, it's so dark I can't see where I'm walking, I've got sixty extremely dangerous hostiles to babysit..." He trailed off, noticing Rodney turning pale. "Sorry, McKay. I'm sure you don't need to hear this right now. Like you said, I've had worse."

Rodney gulped and forced himself to focus. "Right. And just when we were starting to get the upper hand."

"No kidding."

"Please tell me you have a plan."

"Yeah. Don't die."

The Canadian gulped. "Wonderful," he squeaked. "Hey, you don't think the Wraith showing up was part of the Lacedami's plan, do you?"

"No, I don't think so. Antigonos hates the Wraith as much as we do, maybe more, and he's definitely not dumb enough to take them on alone. If he called them here to destroy us he would have flown the coop ASAP."

"What, are you an Antigonos expert now?"

"It's what I would have done." John felt the implication of his statement hang of over him like a sickly pall.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing Radek was able to keep the ascension device hidden for as long as he did. If they would have gotten that, too..."

John nodded to the object sitting atop the desk. "They almost did. How much damage do you think this thing could actually do?"

"Who knows? But it is Ancient, and they did tend to do everything big. Don't forget that it's the follow-on to the energy entity project we found right after we got here, and look how much damage that caused."

"Do you think it would have worked?"

"Hypothetically, yes. But I wasn't able to fix it completely before our friends showed up. I'm not sure the interface works properly."

"Do you think you could bypass that?"

Rodney frowned. "I don't understand."

"You know, jump start the ascension process."

For the first time, McKay noticed the Beretta on the desk. His eyes jumped back and forth between it, the device, and John, comprehending but disbelieving of the dark answer he found there.

"Major," he began deliberately, "I know things are bad, but this is insanity. You can't force ascension by committing suicide - it doesn't work that way."

"Whoa, wait a minute, I never said anything-"

"You didn't have to! I see that look in your eye and I don't like it. I don't ever want to see that look again, I mean it."

"What, you got a better idea?"

McKay faltered. "Well... no, but-"

"Then just consider the possibility-"

"I will not! Will you listen to yourself? We barely know how this device works and you want to go trifling with it at the expense of your life? What makes you think you can ascend just because you want to - that the device will even work?"

"What makes you think that it won't?"

"Major, listen to me. I believe it is possible to calculate the scientific means of achieving ascension, a task I was hoping this device could aid me with. But as much as it pains me to admit it, there is some innumerable... esoteric - for lack of a better term - component to it that you cannot fake or circumvent. One has to release one's burdens, acknowledge one's faults in spite of having done one's best. Now I'm going to go out on a limb and bet that you haven't done that since Elizabeth died."

John narrowed his eyes. "She has nothing to do with this."

"Like hell she doesn't. Can we please just talk about this?

"Talk about what, exactly? How dead she still is?"

"Her death is killing you — can't you see that? Don't go using my device to feed some twisted, unfounded guilt trip. You're stuck with all the rest of us, buster, right here in the land of the living until this thing is over. If you want to ascend, you're going to have to do it without my help, the old fashioned way: when you're wise, old and gray, and not a minute sooner. No cheating."

"I'm not looking to cheat."

"Ha! And I'm William Shatner," Rodney bit back.

"But I was sort of hoping that thing would help me skip over that whole metaphysical part."

"Yes, and I think it's supposed to if it's fully operational, but that's one hell of an assumption to stake your life on."

"What, you're suddenly a believer now? I thought you were the genius that could fix anything. I thought you didn't buy this mystical hocus-pocus, Rodney."

"I didn't. I mean, I don't! I just don't want to lose a friend if I'm... wrong."

"I thought you were never wrong-"

"Oh, spare me your satire, just once. That wasn't an easy thing for me to say, okay? Look, I don't pretend to understand all of it yet, but what I can say with confidence is that dying does not guarantee you ascension, not even with this thing."

"Dammit, Rodney, too many people have died today already, and in a little over an hour a lot more are going to! I'm supposed to have a plan, but I don't, okay? I don't know what else to do! I have to try this!"

"No, you don't!"

"Then if not me, who? I'm sure as hell not going to let anyone else try."

"Will you clean out your ears, you stubborn American... troglodyte! No one is going to try! I told you, I don't know enough about the thing other than the interface doesn't work properly!"

"Then fix it!"

"No. I won't let you go on a suicide mission. Not this time."

"It wouldn't be my first."

"No, but it'd be your last, you can be damn sure of that."

John was losing the argument to logic and he knew it. The two men faced each other squarely, John seated behind Elizabeth's desk and Rodney standing opposed, each still unwilling to back down.

"Find another way," McKay pressed.

Folding his arms, irritated more than anything, the major eventually acquiesced. "Fine."

"Fine," McKay echoed, snatching the device distrustfully from the desk and stuffing it into his jacket pocket. He slumped heavily into the guest chair, glad the tiff had concluded.

The two sat in stiff silence for several minutes, like two brothers who had just brawled, though neither could remember who started it, who was at fault, or what the beef was about in the first place. Like most masculine squabbles, forgiveness was implicit in the silence.

Finally, John sought to break the tension. He asked impishly, "'Troglodyte?'"

McKay snuffed out an embarrassed laugh. "Yeah. It was the only insult I could think of. It means something along the lines of 'caveman.'"

"I knew what it meant."

"No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't. But seriously, your insults need some work. That one was a mouthful."

McKay thought a moment about something clearly of great importance, his brow pinched in contemplation. Resolutely, he maintained a forward-looking gaze and announced, "That's what she said. Times two."

John maintained an equal stoicism, debated the merit of the joke, and shrugged dispassionately. "Not bad."

"That's what she said?"

"Nope, you blew it there."

A pause. "That's-"

"Third time isn't a charm, McKay."

"Right. Sorry."

After a few moments more of silence, despite himself, John found himself chuckling softly. How absurd the terrible jokes were at a time like this. His laughter only grew as McKay joined in, the mirth infectious - perhaps because it came at a time like this. He could only imagine how crazy they must have sounded to any passersby. They must think we've lost it, that we've cracked under the pressure. Maybe I have cracked under the pressure.

Rodney let the laughter subside. "So," he began awkwardly, "are we, uh, good?"

Rolling his eyes, the major answered, "McKay, we were never not good."

"Right." The scientist paused expectantly. "I was just hoping to hear you say it—"

"Yeah, McKay," John answered, hiding behind false irritation. "We're good."

"Good."

"And thank you," Sheppard added quickly, before his machismo could chase away the sentiment. "For giving a damn."

"Just returning the favor," he grumbled, relieved the personal moment was coming to a close. He eyed the surrounding darkness, his mind already onto the next problem. "You know, I remember this one time I went camping..."

"You went camping," John repeated dubiously.

"Car camping, yes, once. As a kid. My sister, Jeannie, loved it. I... did not. There were too many animals roaming about."

"Yeah, you tend to find those outdoors."

"Anyway, after the fourth mosquito bite I decided it wasn't for me. So I walked from our tent through the pitch black - terrified the whole time, mind you - back to my parent's station wagon, locked myself in, and hunkered down for the rest of the night. This situation sort of reminds me of that." He frowned thoughtfully. "Except we weren't all killed by life-sucking aliens at the end of that trip."

John wasn't getting the connection. "So you slept the rest of the night in the car?"

"Oh, hell no. What part of 'too many animals roaming about' did you not understand? I brought my Game Boy. Well, this was actually my own design years before the clowns at Nintendo came out with the Game Boy, but you get the idea. I stayed up all night playing that thing," Rodney said wistfully.

"You know, most people go camping in the wilderness to escape technology, McKay."

"An artifice I will never understand."

"I'm surprised the thing lasted the whole night - and you can skip the that's-what-she-said joke this time."

"I brought a portable power supply for it."

John snickered. "So not only did you bring a Game Boy with you, already defeating the purpose of camping, but you also brought an external power supply just in case the thing died and you were forced to mingle with nature again."

McKay shrugged nonchalantly. "I came prepared-"

"Holy crap," John said suddenly, leaping to his feet behind Elizabeth's desk.

"What?" Rodney defended, standing himself. "You camp your way, I camp mine, okay?"

"McKay, you're a genius!"

"Well, yes, but-"

"I should have known Antigonos was too smart for that..." John muttered to himself.

Frowning, Rodney answered, "Now you're not making any sense. What are you on about?"

"I can't believe I didn't see it earlier," Sheppard continued, oblivious to his teammate. He smacked his forehead and grinned. "I'm such an idiot!"

"Major, I'm the only genius on base allowed to make Eureka-worthy revelations without explanation. Will you please tell me what on Earth is going on?"

The major seemed to see Rodney again. "McKay, I need you to get Teyla and Ford and meet me back here in fifteen minutes, got it?"

"Okay..." Rodney answered cautiously, watching Sheppard practically sprint out of the office. "Where are you going?"

"To get us some answers!"

TBC