Chapter 10:
All Alone in the Night
The scene around the New Athos Stargate was one of utter bedlam. Crying, screaming, shouting and groaning filled the air, echoing through the trees. Of course, it was hard to see anything since the wormhole had shut down, but flashlights, glow sticks and lanterns had already been broken out and had turned the darkness into something like the night sky, with scattered patches of luminescence speckling the pitch black forest around the inactive ring.
John stared down at the scene with a sense of terrible confusion. It seemed like mere seconds ago, he'd been having dinner, in a quiet universe where things still made sense. Now he was walking down the same trail he'd used earlier into the middle of a refugee camp that had sprouted up in the space of less than an hour. Of course, calling it a camp was an overstatement. He still had no idea how many people had made it out of the Alpha Site, and probably wouldn't until morning, but by the looks of things, it was much less than the base's total complement.
As he reached the bottom of the trail, a figure carrying a set of heavy glow sticks and a fluorescent camping lantern emerged from the the chaos. It took John a moment to identify Lorne under the thick coating of dust and grime covering his face. Again, it seemed like just yesterday John had been talking to him at the mission briefing, all combed and composed.
"Major Lorne." Sheppard said, raising the torch he had brought with him. Behind him, he could hear the rest of his team descending.
"Jesus Christ!" McKay swore as he took in the scattered survivors.
"How bad is it?" John asked, trying to keep his tone level.
"Bad." Lorne said, his eyes empty of shock, but grim with despair, "As you can guess, we don't know how many people or supplies we managed to save, but it's not a lot. They hit us hard and fast."
"Any idea who 'they' are yet?" Sheppard inquired.
"Apart from Decepticons? Nothing specific. Ironhide's out cold and Drift hasn't got anything to contribute." At this point Lorne fell silent as Optimus' red and blue form rolled down the trail, squealing to a halt before transforming.
"Major Lorne, I am glad to see you are safe." he said once the conversion was complete, "I was told there were injuries."
"Yeah…" Lorne said, looking suddenly incredibly uncomfortable.
"Where is Ratchet?" the towering Prime asked, not unkindly, but still managing to make the Major wince and hang his head.
"He...he got taken."
"Taken?" Optimus asked, kneeling suddenly and causing everyone nearby to back away quickly, Lorne included.
"W-we were holding the Stargate, waiting on him. There was a sniper in a gunship of some kind. I didn't see what happened, but I...we think he cornered Ratchet and-" Lorne said, stammering, clearly ashamed and afraid of what the Prime might do. He trailed off, before shaking his head. "The last thing we saw was him being carried into the big ship that blew up the main complex."
For a long moment there was a silence, in which Optimus' face became an unreadable mask. Was he angry? Was he torn with grief? John couldn't say. Then the red and blue colossus stood upright, again causing Lorne to wince slightly.
"You did all you could, Major. I do not blame you." Optimus said. His words were solemn, yet Sheppard was certain he detected a hint of hollowness to them. Before he could be certain, Drift approached from where he'd been standing by the edge of the clearing, next to a broken and battered shape that could only be Ironhide.
"Optimus, Ironhide is badly wounded. I have some medical skill, but he needs a transfusion. Otherwise I doubt he will last the night." the blue Autobot said. Optimus nodded, then glanced at John.
"If you will excuse me, Colonel." he said. John nodded and stepped out of the way as the Prime followed his subordinate into the clearing and away from Lorne, who looked relieved.
"Major, I need you to debrief me." Lorne flinched and quickly turned back to face his commanding officer.
"Yessir. I think you'll want to talk to Zelenka too. He has some stuff you should see." he hurriedly replied. John gave a sharp nod, then looked over his shoulder at the rest of his team.
"Teyla, take Ronon and Rodney and see what you can do to help where you can. We need to get organized, or some of these people probably won't live to see morning."
"But what if we get attacked again?!" Rodney interjected, his voice panicky, "I mean, they found the Alpha Site, which is either an insane coincidence or-"
"Rodney!" John snapped, startling the physicist out of his babbling, "Now is not the time!" The Canadian physicist recoiled as if he'd been struck. John internally chided himself for overreacting, but he was simply not in the mood to put up with what he considered extraneous whining. He couldn't afford decision paralysis, not right now.
"Follow Teyla. Help where you can. I'll come find you after Lorne's explained things to me." Teyla put a hand on Rodney's shoulder as if to emphasize the command, before nodding to John and dragging him off into the scattered lights and shadows, Ronon close behind. As they passed, John refocused on Lorne.
"Alright, now take me to Zelenka."
-O-
Radek stared down at the dirt. The glow of the camping lantern next to him gave the dead leaves and moss an otherworldly look, though his already frazzled mind might've also been partly responsible. He wasn't totally sure how long it had been since the attack on the Alpha Site had started, but it couldn't have been more than forty-five minutes, though retrospective made it seem both shorter and much, much longer. He glanced over at where Dr. Nynke lay, breathing slowly on her stretcher. Her legs were in splints, a rushed, but efficient job, performed by a medic who was now two groups over trying to help salve someone's burns.
Zelenka couldn't help feeling like he was falling down a well into his childhood. His family had raised him in poverty, and it had only been by dint of sheer will that Zelenka had escaped the 'family business' trap that his brother had fallen into with his damn bookshop. Now, sitting in the dark, surrounded by moaning, screaming people he barely knew, he felt closer to the past than ever before. Memories of a cold winter spent in a tent were beginning to resurface. He shuddered, the air seeming to grow chillier than it already was. Of course his sweat-stained clothes weren't helping anything.
Major Lorne strode out of the shadows, followed by Colonel Sheppard. They stopped by Radek, faces grim.
"Doc," Lorne said by way of greeting, "show the Colonel what you showed me." Zelenka felt the shroud of memory lift and nodded fervently, reaching over to the box sitting beside him.
"Y-yes, sorry, one moment" Wrestling with the lid, then turning the box around and trying the other side, prying the top free. "When Major Lorne came back from Manaria, he brought this with him. He told me to check them if there'd been any change between present and previous designs s-so I took them back to my lab..." he explained, stammering in his rush to compose himself while holding up the box, tilting it slightly so the light of the lantern reached its contents.
"Genii radios?" Sheppard asked, his expression confused. Then he took a step back as the physicist delved into the case and pulled the smashed, ruined form of the Insecticon Ratchet had killed out and held it up to the light.
"What the hell is that?" the Colonel demanded, looking extremely perturbed now.
"Ratchet called it an Insecticon." Radek explained, "I didn't get a chance to ask him to clarify, but it was in the box, disguised as one of the radios. As soon as Ratchet got near it, it transformed and tried to attack me."
"Lemme guess; it had a subspace tracking device?" Sheppard sighed. Zelenka gave the Colonel a surprised look at how quickly he had managed to intuit what had happened, but then nodded gloomily.
"The only question is, why?" Lorne said, glowering at the squashed metallic bug, "What could the Decepticons, assuming it's them, hope to gain from infiltrating the Genii?"
"I don't know, but I get the feeling we stepped into a trap made for someone else." John growled, sitting down on a nearby crate of MREs, "Major, tell me the whole story, from the beginning." Lorne nodded and did his best to recount the attack, starting from the moment he'd gotten off the comms with Sheppard at the Stargate and covering everything up to the point that he'd come through the Stargate and reestablished contact with his superior. Throughout the story, Sheppard's face grew darker and more angry, until it a mask of rage.
"Goddamn Decepticons…" he hissed, "Someone's going to pay for this." He shook his head in frustration before looking up at Lorne. "We need to get ourselves organized. I need a count of our resources. I know it's hell to try and count in the dark, but I need to know what and who you were able to save. We need to last until morning, then we-" he started before he paused as a thought struck him.
"Where's Todd?" he asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach growing, "You didn't leave him behind, did you?" Lorne gave him a grim smile.
"He's by the DHD. We tied him to the thing with some spare rope. He's not going anywhere." he said. John snorted, feeling both relieved and annoyed. Part of him couldn't care less if the Wraith had died in the atomic fireball Lorne had left behind, but given he was critical to the mission, it was nice to know he'd managed to survive. Of course that that still left him with the problem of what to do with the alien in the meanwhile. It was just one more thing really, really didn't want to deal with, especially in the middle of the night. He sighed and rubbed his face with both hands in a show of exasperation.
"I'll have someone do a headcount and help tally up what we've got." Lorne said in an effort to reassure his commanding officer. John gave a weary frown.
"Of course, now the Odyssey's going to show up at a nuclear crater in a couple of days and think we're all dead unless we can find a way to contact them." he pointed out. Zelenka winced next to him.
"Don't look at me." he protested when both men did exactly that, "No matter what Rodney might tell you, we can't do anything with what little we managed to drag out of that hell. I'd be surprised if we could even make a basic crystal radio set from this junk."
"Couldn't the Autobots...help or something?" Lorne asked. Zelenka let out a hollow laugh.
"They're going to be occupied with Ironhide. I doubt they'd be interested in lending us parts of themselves to use." Lorne's face fell, but he gave a knowing nod, glancing over his shoulder at where Optimus knelt beside Drift and his injured comrade. Sheppard looked over at the Stargate.
"What about dialing Earth?" he asked, "I mean, I assume you grabbed the crystals from the Alpha Site DHD before evacuating." Lorne grinned and delved into one of his flak jacket's pockets, pulling out a large blue crystal.
"Standard procedure, sir."
"That won't do any good." Zelenka said morosely, "Not enough power in a normal DHD to dial Earth, even for a few microseconds. The Alpha Site had a dozen naquadah generators and it could barely support the six-second activations they used to make their routine reports." Sheppard sighed again, defeated, then glanced down at the box of radios. Suddenly his expression became cautious, as though trying something out in his head before saying it aloud.
"We could always try the Confederation." he finally said. Lorn grimaced.
"That's a bad idea if you don't mind my saying, sir." He looked back over at the huddled Autobots then back at Sheppard, "I told you their ultimatum. I don't think they'd appreciate us coming back so soon after being kicked out, regardless of what kind of shape we're in."
"But won't they think twice about refusing to help in a humanitarian crisis? I mean, it'd make them look bad in front of everyone they still want to bring into the fold!" John countered. Again, Lorne shook his head.
"You weren't there, sir." he said, "If they did refuse us, I honestly can't say anyone would care. We're the next best thing to public enemy number one right now."
"Come on, there's gotta be someone we can turn to!" John complained, looking around at the clearing full of suffering around him.
"Sorry, sir. Apart from the Athosians, I don't think we're in much of a position to ask anyone for anything. Even the worlds we might've helped in the past could potentially have the same hostile attitude by now, or worse. The Confederation's had a lot of time to play up our role in the current situation. Hell, as far as I could make out, one of their biggest selling points to new members was that they wouldn't 'abandon you like Atlantis'."
John felt his anger taking hold and tried to fight it down, but it was hard. They'd arrived in Pegasus this afternoon as a fact-finding mission and before the day was entirely over, they were refugees. To top it off, he couldn't help feeling like it was somehow his fault. Oh, not the Decepticon sneak attack. There was no possible way anyone could've predicted a box off the back of a random cart would contain a dormant tracking device. What did have him feeling guilty was the enmity that Pegasus seemed to have developed towards Earth for their absence, because it was totally deserved. They had made a promise, and then failed to call or even write for almost half a decade as they chased the Hybrids and Decepticons all over the Milky Way. Now the flames of scorn that the Confederation had fanned to build itself up would likely end up costing a few people their lives before the night was over. In impotent anger, he glared over at where the DHD stood, looking somewhat bulky with Todd strapped to it in a sitting position.
Of course he knew there was another option, a way to contact the Odyssey without stooping to sacrificing McKay on some bloody altar or making a suicidal and probably pointless attempt to steal from the Confederation. He knew though that if he took it, it'd leave him in debt to the Wraith...again. There were few things John hated more than owing something to someone that he knew he couldn't trust. It didn't help that Todd would probably eat them all if given the chance. He had to be getting hunger pangs by now after this long out of stasis.
That said, asking him for help still didn't solve the issue that they had an unknown number of wounded and frightened people to see to, and they couldn't rely on the Athosians to suddenly support almost a hundred or more surprise visitors, even for one day. As John saw it, the mission had taken a backseat to surviving long enough to find a way to get rescued by Colonel Mitchell and his ship. Everything else, including the inevitable shredding he would receive at the hands of the AOA when they got wind of this, was secondary.
As he thought this, his gaze wandered over the Autobots and a terrible sense of burden settled onto him. He tried to push it aside, but it was hard. Here he was, focusing solely on the survival of his people, and there was Optimus, watching one friend struggle for life while the knowledge that another was probably already dead crushed him under its cold weight. John could practically feel the despair, as though it were radiating from the Prime in waves, and yet the big Autobot just knelt there, letting Drift run tubes between him and the injured Ironhide in some alien version of a blood transfusion. John fought to keep himself together. If Optimus could keep going, so could he. He'd been in worse situations. He'd lived through attacks by Replicators, Wraith and god-knows what else, and he would be damned if he let this be the thing that broke him. He clung to that desperate battle cry and tried to center himself around it. As he did, his own internal dialogue came back to him, specifically the bit about relying too much on the Athosians.
"Alright, I may have a solution." he said, locking eyes with Lorne, "In the meanwhile, everyone needs to pitch in. Take stock of supplies, and get it in one place, under guard. The last thing we need is some animals making a snack out of our survival materials."
"What about Optimus?" Radek asked thoughtfully, staring over at where the Prime was kneeling beside Ironhide.
"What about him?" John responded, "Look at him. He's busy trying to keep Ironhide among the living."
"We should still ask." Radek insisted, "We don't know how he could help us, or vice versa, until we try and find out."
"I'll leave that to you then." John said, rolling his eyes to show just what he thought of the idea. Radek, if he noticed in the sharp glare of the camping lantern, ignored it.
"If you don't mind my asking, what's your plan, sir?" Lorne inquired, surveying the camp again.
"I'm going to ask for a little help from my friends…" John said, then added in a tired and reluctant tone, "and a little more from our...frenemies."
-O-
Optimus kneeled beside Ironhide, observing the subtle motions of his weapons specialist's frame that indicated he was somewhere between recharge and stasis lock. He had retracted the armor plating around his thigh to allow for the connection of a kind of self-pumping intravenous drip to be run from his own body to Ironhides's, filling his friend with enough liquid life to stave off true stasis lock. Meanwhile, Drift was hard at work with a completely insufficient set of Cybertronian medical instruments trying to staunch the flow of lubricants and leaking Energon transfer lines where big black Autobot had lost his arm. He winced just looking at the wound. His long periods of working with Ratchet had taught him to identify the causes of various injuries with more forensic care than the average soldier, and to his optics, some of the wounds Ironhide was bearing were consistent with both a hand-to-hand struggle, while others, the point of dismemberment in particular, resembled impacts from a high-velocity railgun.
The Prime gritted his dentes. The thought of Ratchet only served to remind of the direness of the situation. His sole true medic was either dead or in the clutches of an unknown adversary. Meanwhile, Ironhide was incapacitated, and without the proper tools to repair him, would remain so for a very long time, presuming he even managed to survive the night. He watched as his own Energon supplies dwindled while Drift struggled to cope. Optimus knew he could probably do a better job than the former Decepticon, but given his bigger mass, he alone of the pair of them could afford to lose much in the way of Energon and still be fit for service. It was a cruel, dispassionate equation that brooked no argument. Optimus swore that whoever had done this and thus forced him to make such a decision would pay, dearly.
Eventually Drift seemed to slow, as did the leakages. The blue 'bot stepped back, letting out an artificial exhalation of relative relief.
"I've staunched all the wounds I could. I don't have the instruments to repair all the damage, but I can promise he won't get any worse." he said, turning to Optimus.
"How long can he last like this before stasis lock sets in?" the Prime asked. His processors were feeling strained, as though they were operating on too little energy, which they were.
"I'm no medic. He could shut down at any minute, but he's tough. I imagine he'll last at least few weeks if we pool both our Energon rations." Drift admitted, looking anxiously at the insensate warrior.
"And if we are not rescued?" Optimus asked, knowing the answer, but needing to hear it, if for no other reason than to curb his own frantic imaginings.
"Stasis lock will set in, and then without Energon, his Spark will go dark, like yours did when...when Megatron-" Drift said, hesitant to bring up such traumatic events for his leader.
"Killed me?" Optimus asked. He nodded. "Yes, I know what stasis lock is."
The truth was that Cybertronians were hard to kill. They aged and died like most other life-forms, but in a far different manner. They could be blasted, burned, melted and maimed, but so long as their Sparks survived, and remained fueled, their minds endured. It was what had allowed Ratchet to save and restore Arcee after Giza, despite all three of her separate forms being damaged beyond repair.
All Sparks burned out eventually though; nothing in the universe ever truly beat entropy. Despite their superior ability to endure bodily harm, they were mortal, like everyone else. More than that, their Sparks, for all their durability, shared much in common with the fragility of the human brain. Without sufficient Energon, a Cybertronian's Spark would slowly sacrifice the chassis to preserve the core. The longer they went without refueling, the more wear and tear they faced. Rust and decay were common, and in advanced cases, the Spark itself began to deteriorate, like a grey matter starved of oxygen.
Inevitably, if Ironhide ran out of Energon, he'd become like Jetfire, the old Seeker Optimus had met during the battle against the Fallen; little more than a museum piece, degraded and trapped in a living death that would last until his last drop of Energon was expended. After that he would be truly gone, and what that meant in this day and age, with the Allspark no longer there to act as a bastion against the fear of true oblivion, Optimus could not fathom.
The Prime stared down at his fallen friend, a sense of failure clouding his thoughts. How had it come to this? What had his people done to deserve so much suffering? If Ratchet had been there, he would've told Optimus not to blame himself, but he wasn't. Staring into the darkened optics of his friend, Optimus wondered how many more would die because he and Megatron could not settle their differences. Cybertron was already gone. Would it take the extinction of their whole species for one of them to admit they were wrong?
"I know that look." Drift said, disrupting Optimus' thoughts, "Trust me. I've seen it in the mirror." He gave Optimus a wan smile. "You think this is your fault. Let me tell you a truth I have learned from experience, Optimus: the universe doesn't care about who's at fault for what. There's enough guilt to go around without grabbing for more." Optimus stared at the former Decepticon as he stowed his medical tools and turned to face his leader.
"I know I'm the last person to talk about feeling guilty." he continued, "After all, how could my mistakes compare to yours?" Immediately Optimus felt anger stir in his Spark, and glared at Drift, ready to call him out for insubordination, though he knew it was only to mask his own feelings. The defector beat him to it however.
"I lost my home long before you, Optimus. Like you, it was because of choices I made. To this day, I'm still not sure I chose correctly. But all we can do is live with the decisions we've made. To do otherwise would be the act of a fool, and you are no fool."
Drift frowned and looked down at Ironhide.
"The biggest difference between us is that I have no one left to forgive my mistakes. You do. And so for what it's worth, whatever happens, I forgive you. I don't know how much that will mean, coming from someone like me, but I hope it's worth something." he said. He looked up and locked optics with Optimus. "After all," he finished, "you probably deserve it more than me."
Optimus was dumbstruck. He was among the few that knew the whole truth of Drift's history. He knew, had always known, that it was guilt that had compelled him to join Optimus' cause. During all his encounters with the ex-Decepticon, however, he'd never heard him speak as he just had.
"You would forgive me?" he asked, slowly, "Even when my sins so outweigh your own?"
"The scale of our mistakes is not what makes them terrible. It's that we make them and learn nothing." Drift said, "I learned my lesson almost too late. You still have time though."
"And what lesson is that?"
"That you are not alone. That no matter how great the evil, there is still some way back to the light. It may be long, and lined with carbon thorn-wire, but it is there, if only you look for it." Drift reassured. Optimus shook his head.
"I wish I could, Drift. I wish I could see it. But I don't." Drift smiled.
"You walk it every day, Prime. You just need to stop looking at your pedes so much." Optimus almost laughed at that...almost. Around this point he noticed that someone was approaching them.
"Doctor Zelenka?" Optimus asked as his optics focused on the figure behind the glaring fluorescent lantern glare, "Is there something you need?"
"I...I wanted to ask if there was anything you could do to contribute. I don't honestly know if there is." the little physicist said, stammering. He looked down at his own feet, making Optimus smile just a little. "Truthfully I just needed to...to get away." the Czech admitted, his eyes flicking up to Ironhide's resting figure to Optimus, to Drift, then back to Optimus. "It's just, I've been in a lot of situations with Atlantis...and I've never seen it this bad…" He glanced over his shoulder briefly, then looked at Optimus with a pleading expression. In turn, Optimus looked over to Drift.
"Does he need more Energon?" he asked, nodding towards Ironhide. Drift looked over at the recumbent Autobot, then shook his head.
"I should remain here, in case anything happens...but I think he'll be alright without you for now, Prime." Optimus nodded, then stood, removing the intravenous cable from himself and Ironhide carefully, ensuring the devices at either end had time to automatically apply sealant. Before it was reeled back into Optimus' thigh, allowing armor plating to snap back into place.
"Where do you need me?" the last Prime asked.
-O-
Teyla heard John coming before she saw him. Of course, it was hard, especially over the muffled screams of her present patient. Across from her, Ronon was helping to hold him down while the real medic, a young nurse from the Alpha Site infirmary, twisted his dislocated ankle back into place. Finally she seemed to get it where she wanted.
"On three." she announced, looking at Teyla and Ronon, then giving a stern look at her charge, who had a mouthful of torn shirt to keep him from biting his own tongue.
"Three!" she cried abruptly, and with a horrible wet cracking sound, made a final twist. Her patient howled, spasming against Ronon and Teyla's grip with the kind of strength only pain could create. Then he sagged back onto his stretcher. Quickly Teyla reached out to check his pulse, and was relieved to find it was strong, Then she looked up to see John standing behind Ronon with a grimace of sympathetic pain on his face.
"What is it, John?" she asked, standing up as the nurse began to fit a cast on the ankle using a roll of medical tape.
"I have a favor I need to ask. It involves you, Ronon...and your people." he said, his words hesitant Teyla stood, letting the medic get on with her work.
"You know I am happy to provide whatever help I can if it saves some of these lives...but John, my people and I…" She trailed off, letting the silence do the work words could not.
"I know, I know." he said, sighing and looking over at the rest of the camp briefly, before switching his gaze back to her. "But the fact is that you're still their leader, and we're going to need that if we want to survive until the Odyssey gets here." Teyla gave him a questioning stare.
"What exactly do you need me to do?" she asked, crossing her arms. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, though she knew she was lying to herself. His stance and expression said it all.
"Your people are part of the Confederation. If they're as serious as they seem to be about helping their members, then they'll have to listen to you if you ask for supplies."
"You want me to lie?" she asked, suddenly feeling a bit incensed, "If I lie to them and they find out, it could damage my people's standing with them."
"All I know is that if we send Lorne back to ask for help, they're more likely to spit in his face than so much as bargain. If you make this about your people, we might have a chance. You don't have to lie. Just tell them that your people need supplies to help our people." Teyla frowned.
"John, even if that works, I have no doubt they will find a way to use it to put my people in debt to them."
"Once we get out of this, I'll do everything in my power to make sure that whatever price they ask gets paid, even if it's the last thing I do before they transfer me out of the program for this mess." Teyla blanched at Sheppard's promise.
"The AOA can't possibly blame this-" she began. Sheppard snorted.
"Oh trust me, they'll find a way. At the very least, I'm going to get removed from command of Atlantis. Even Woolsey won't be able to keep me out of hot water this time."
"But you had nothing to do with it!" Teyla exclaimed, anger filling her heart, mostly because she knew that John was right. He might be exaggerating a little of course. There was no way they could feasibly charge him with anything, and the AOA advised the Alliance leadership, rather than controlling it, but Teyla knew how politics worked well enough to know that as figurehead of this operation, John would be 'bad juju', as he once had put it, and very probably suffer some kind of harsh penalty just to satisfy the need for someone to blame. There was a long pause as they stood facing one another while behind Teyla, the nurse finished her work and looked up at Ronon.
"I'm done here. You going to help with the next one?" she asked, looking from him to Teyla, who looked over her shoulder apologetically.
"Go on without me. I'll be behind you." she admonished. The nurse simply nodded, giving Ronon another look before a subtle shake of the head made it clear he wasn't moving either. She shook her own head, stood, grabbed her medical kit and moved on.
"Look, I just need you to try. If they still say no, nothing's lost right?" John cajoled. Teyla shook her head.
"No, I suppose not." she admitted, "They've always known we've been associated with Atlantis. It's not exactly a secret." She sighed before continuing. "I will need to speak with Halling to clarify our exact status in the Confederation. While my people seem to have retained their sovereignty in regards to keeping me as their leader, I don't doubt based on your earlier description we have to answer to some higher authority. Once I find out which one it is, I will contact them and let you know how it turns out."
"I'm going with you." Ronon said, causing both of them to look at him. He shrugged. 'To the meeting, I mean. I'm going with you. You're going to need a bodyguard." he clarified, then added, "Besides, I might as well find out where my people fit in this new order...if at all." John looked unconvinced, but finally nodded.
"Alright. Just try and have a plan by morning. Meanwhile, I have to go speak to our 'guest'." he grumbled, glancing over at the DHD. Then he looked back at Teyla. "I'll see you in a bit. Keep up the good work." Then he stalked off in the direction of Todd. Teyla watched him go before turning herself and following the nurse, Ronon close behind.
"He sounds tired." Ronon observed. Teyla rolled her eyes before a glance at Ronon told her that wasn't precisely what he'd meant.
"He's stressed. Between the mission, this disaster and the decision last week about Aiden-" she admitted.
"I know." Ronon interrupted, glancing over his shoulder, "He was already feeling guilty...and now this happens." He frowned. "He's got a bad habit." he said, then saw Teyla's confusion and clarified "He feels guilty about things he has no control over. It's like he's torturing himself all the time. I don't get how he doesn't just accept it and move on."
"That's just it, Ronon." Teyla said, looking sadly at her friend as he stood beside the DHD and the captive Wraith, "He doesn't know how, just like he can't surrender." This caused Ronon to look back in the same direction with a thoughtful expression.
"Funny. Never thought that kind of stubbornness could be a bad thing." he remarked.
-O-
John glowered as he approached the sitting Wraith, who looked up with an expression of mild disinterest as he drew close.
"Ah, Colonel. To what do I owe the pleasure? Surely you must have a lot of other things to be thinking about." he remarked.
"Shut up." John answered, leaning against one of the horn-like protrusions of the DHD, "This isn't a joke."
"I never said it was." the pale-skinned alien remarked. His skin looked sickly and almost rotted under the light of the fluorescent lamps nearby, making him resemble a fresh corpse even more than usual. His predatory yellow gaze drifted across the clearing and settled over where Optimus now stood. He nodded in the Prime's direction, or more specifically, in Ironhide's.
"That one saved me. I wonder why?" he asked in a pondering tone, "Was it out of loyalty to you? Or do they really believe that all life is worth preserving?"
"Maybe he just thought you'd be more use alive than dead." John responded, "Now's your chance to prove whether or not he was right." Lazily, Todd shifted his gaze back to the Colonel, one eyebrow raised in intrigue.
"Oh? And what can I provide you? It seems to me this mission of yours is over, and with it, my chances of getting the reward I asked for...assuming of course you ever intended to honor that promise." He shook his head. John pressed down his boiling anger at the Wraith's casual manner. The real question was what he hoped to gain by acting like this. He must know it was bringing John's anger to a boil. Perhaps it was as simple as a cat swatting at something to see how it reacted? No, that was too easy. Mentally, Sheppard collected himself.
"I know you didn't do this. There's no way you could have. And you're stuck in the same boat as us. But there is a difference, and that difference is that you have nothing to contribute, making you dead weight, and more than that, a threat. So long as you're out of stasis, I know you're looking to feed. Hell, you're probably starving right now." John explained patiently, before kneeling down to put his face about a foot from Todd's," So here's the deal: you're going to think real hard about what you can do to contribute, and maybe I won't just accidentally vaporize you while dialing for Teyla's little mission to help us get supplies."
John watched as Todd's eyes narrowed in annoyance. He smiled a patient, predatory smile, one that the Wraith would have no trouble understanding. With a huff, the white-haired vampire turned his face away.
"There may be something that can help." he admitted, "You wish to contact your ship to let it know you are not dead, yes?"
"Standard protocol is for the Odyssey to send a coded signal to the Alpha Site upon entering Pegasus to confirm they're in signal range. When they get no acknowledgement, they'll investigate. I need a means of letting them know where to go to pick us up." John confirmed. Todd seemed to think about this, then nodded.
"Well then, it would seem luck is on your side." he said, turning to give John a grin of his own, "There is a...facility, a sort of message post I maintained during the time I still had control of an alliance of Hives. I used to to exchange messages with certain...endeavours, projects that I could not afford to have discovered, even by my own contains a coded transmitter designed specifically to contact the outposts where the operations were taking place. With a little work from Doctor McKay however, I'm sure we could retool it for your purposes."
"What makes you think it's still secure?" John asked, glaring at the predatory alien. Todd rolled his eyes, clearly disappointed that Sheppard seemed to think he was stupid enough to let something like this slip away.
"Only I knew the location. I traveled through two different Stargates by Dart every time I visited it, and when I did so, it was always under the pretense of visiting another Hive. It is secure." he reassured,
"After seven years?" John pressed. For a moment, doubt passed across Todd's face, and he seemed to consider the situation. Eventually though, he nodded.
"Yes. I would stake my life on it." he said.
"I'll hold you to that." John said, settling back on his haunches, then standing up. "We leave in the morning. I'd send someone to bring you dinner, but I doubt we have anything in the MREs that you'd like." Again, Todd rolled his eyes, clearly unamused by what he considered a lame joke.
"Could you at least bring me something to read?" he asked using the same irreverent tone Sheppard had. John snorted.
"I'll get right on that." he grunted, then turned and walked away. Behind him, Todd settled back against the cold surface on the DHD, staring up at the looming shape of the Stargate. It was going to be a long night.
-O-
When the sun rose on the encampment around the Stargate, it was to fifteen more dead bodies. The medics had done the best they could, but without surgical tools some of the wounded had proven impossible to care for beyond pain management. As if that weren't enough, it turned out that there weren't enough antibiotics in the supplies the survivors had rescued, and a eight more people had developed infections, all of which could be fatal without help.
With this in mind, Teyla hefted the sack she'd filled with what little she'd felt she'd need for the journey and stepped up to the front of Halling's tent. She'd decided to wait until morning to talk to him regarding her plans in the hopes that some sleep might do them both good. Truth be told, she hadn't gotten much, being busy with aiding the nurses for most of the evening. She hadn't needed to, and had been told as much, but Teyla had always been dedicated to helping those in need, and like it or not, the people of Earth and Atlantis were as much a part of her as her own family, even if she didn't know all their names.
Brushing back the folds of the canvas flap, she stepped into the waiting household beyond. Halling's tent was about half the size of the dining tent from the previous day, making it not much larger than any of the others around it. Inside, a thick roll-up carpet served as a floor, while a pair of cots stood up against one wall. Halling, In a corner sat a small ancestral shrine, indicated that despite the passage of time, Halling's pious nature had not waned. She smiled, feeling it was good to know that some things apparently never changed.
"What can I do for you, Teyla?" asked the tent's owner. He was sitting on the edge of one of the cots. By the dark circles under his eyes, she could tell he hadn't slept well either.
"I need to know what our present status is with the Coalition." she said, "I have been asked by Colonel Sheppard to request aid from them on the behalf of our people, so that we might better help them." She watched his face for a reaction, but found none, or at least not the one she'd been expecting. Overall he simply looked pensive.
"Our people are a...special case. When it came time to parcel out territories, we were slated to fall under the administration of Manaria. However, because we are, in their words, a nomadic people, we are not subject to as much micro-management." he said, looking down at his shoes. Apparently he'd been lacing them up when she'd entered, and began to do so again as he spoke. "They have always been very fair. Two years ago we had a bad harvest and not all of us would've made it through the winter that followed without the surplus grain they provided. In exchange, they asked for us to provide them with labor to help work their harvest the following year.
"So our relationship is based on trade more than anything?" Teyla tried to clarify. Halling gave a shrug.
"As far as this new order is concerned, those who do not live in towns or mine ore are of little use to the greater cause. They will help us, if we ask, but they will want something in exchange. Most of the time it is labor. Whatever their ultimate goal is, they always need fresh hands to help with the smaller things." He paused as he finished lacing up one boot, then looked up at her, queer look in his eye.
"Is it like this on Earth?" he asked, "I have heard the stories the people of Atlantis told during the time we lived with them, and the messages you sent us while you were away. It seems so strange, all these towns that were once divided being brought together for a higher cause, answering to leaders they trust with their future even though they might never speak to them…" Teyla wasn't sure whether to treat the question as a barb or an honest inquiry. Perhaps she feared the first because of the guilt she still carried, despite Ronon's words the previous night. She pushed the thought away and focused on her objective. Shrugging she looked back out of the tent flap at the bustling encampment.
"I would say yes...but the people of Earth have so many means of staying in contact even over vast distances that I feel they may not think as we do." she reflected, "Still, I cannot deny that I see similarities, especially after having been exposed to their histories."
"So you think we might one day become them?" Halling asked, lacing up his other boot. Again, Teyla shrugged.
"I cannot say." she answered. She had to admit it was an interesting conversation, but she would need to have it later, when lives were not at stake. "What do you think they would do if I were to ask them for enough supplies to keep the people from the Alpha Site alive for the next two or three days?" Again, she watched his face, but it betrayed nothing.
"You plan to ask this yourself, as leader of the Athosians?"
"I do. I do not think they'd accept me if I tried to come to them as an emissary of Atlantis." Halling nodded, finishing the other boot.
"A wise choice. One thing that all the major Confederation worlds have in common is a venomous attitude towards Atlantis. Still, it is well known that you associate with them, and their leaders know you have not been with us for some time. This might bias them against helping you."
"But you think it could work?" she pressed. Halling looked up from his boots, and folded his fingers on his lap.
"Perhaps. When we signed the documents for entry, we agreed as a people. I...acted as your representative." Again, Teyla forced aside her feelings and focused on the issue at hand.
"Who would I need to speak to? Who did you speak to when the harvest failed?"
"We went to the embassy on Manaria. They have an office to deal with people who fall under the 'nomadic' category." Teyla shuddered.
"Is the bureaucracy really that developed?" she asked. Halling smiled wanly.
"It is. It makes me miss the days when you simply had to find a landowner in need of farm hands." he said. Despite their background, the Athosians were no strangers to the idea of excessive officiation. They traded with so many worlds that it was almost impossible to avoid. Of course some worlds had always had more of it than others, but now Teyla imagined it had to be spreading like a plague of paperwork across the galaxy. The thought made her both disgusted and amused, and helped her temporarily forget whatever anger she felt about her people's decisions.
"Was there a line?" she asked. Halling shook his head. Teyla smiled. "Good. I'll need you to come with me. You've been through this before, so you know what to expect better than I do." Halling frowned.
"I have duties...but they can wait. Do you know what you're going to tell them if they ask for justification, or for that matter, a price?" he asked.
"A good leader knows the value of truth." Teyla answered, a quote from her father that she knew Halling was also aware of. He chuckled, then stood, taking his coat where it had lain folded and waiting by the cot.
"Lead on, daughter of Tagan." he said. Teyla smiled and stepped back out, her friend close behind, while in the distant back of her mind, her guilt and anger curled up in a ball and gnashed its teeth, gone but not forgotten.
o
A/N: So that's a good place to pause for a minute, methinks. This chapter took a long time to finally get out, what with the latests semester coming to a close and finally getting myself a holiday job. At least I now have money coming in at the time of this writing, but I want to apologize to everyone who waited so long for this. I swore to myself that this story would be one I'd finish, and I'm going to, even if it kills me. Anyways, next chapter, things will get a little complex as perspectives divide again and we follow our beloved bots and gate-travelers to separate destinations.