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"Backward we traveled to reclaim the day
Before we fell, like Icarus, undone;
All we find are altars in decay
And profane words scrawled black across the sun."
―Sylvia Plath, "Doom of the Exiles," The Collected Poems
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John could feel Guide glaring as he attempted to eat the green paste the Ancients gave him. It was slightly better than an MRE, but John was sure Rodney would've disagreed. Though, maybe he's right, John thought. Cold beef ravioli began to look good as the flavorless paste stuck to the roof of his mouth.
A low growl behind John drew him from his thoughts.
"Look, I'm sorry I've offended you," John said. "I won't call you that anymore if that makes you feel better, okay?" He paused. "How bout Todd instead?"
The Wraith snarled. John grimaced and stole glance towards the main entrance, hoping someone would come.
"Explain how you came by my name."
John sighed. The green paste was proving inedible. He shoved it aside. "You told me."
"I assure you," Guide-not-Guide said, visibly struggling to control his temper, "I have never met you in my life, let alone told you my name."
Despite the buzzing energy field between them John didn't like how Guide seemed to loom over him. The glower was unblinking. As much as John enjoyed poking the metaphorical stick at the metaphorical lion, his survival instincts were reminding him he very much wanted to keep living.
"Look. I'm not from your reality, okay? I traveled here by accident. The other you—the one I know—told me his, uh, your name."
"What?"
"Yeah. This—" John waved a hand, "—is not where I'm from. Or supposed to be."
Guide snorted. "You expect me to believe this paltry explanation?"
"You want to try explaining it, then? I'm all ears," John said.
Guide shook his head and growled again, reminding John of a thwarted wolf. The Wraith began to pace, long hands clenching and unclenching. The man's mouth twitched. The Guide he knew didn't waste his energy on pointless movement. Like Timaeus and Atlantis, he thought suddenly. Everything just seemed off, like looking at everything through a tilted mirror. He decided he disliked alternate realities a lot more than simple time travel. What he wouldn't give to have a holographic Rodney right about now. Or the man himself.
"This is a new trick, a test," Guide muttered. He threw angry glances at John every so often.
"No trick. I'm as much as a prisoner as you."
The Wraith pulled up short and gave John a narrow side-eyed glare. The man resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Well, looks like both are paranoid bastards, no matter the reality.
John stepped as close to the glowing white wall as he dared, eyebrows tingling. "Then how else would you explain how I know your name? Your reaction tells me the Ancients don't know about your telepathic abilities, or if they do, can't access or interpret them." John looked over Guide's arm and jerked his chin towards the Wraith behind him. "If I was one of them, explain to me how I know that's Bonewhite?"
The Wraith in question jerked his head up from where he'd been staring at the floor, eyes wide. John looked over and pointed to the Wraith sitting across the room. "Or that that's Farseer? Or that that's—"
"Stop."
John saw Guide's ashen face and went quiet. When the Wraith went to sit down it was like watching an old oak tree fall. The last time John had seen such dejection was when they were back in Kolya's prison, when the weight of years of imprisonment had stolen all hope from the old Wraith. The same look shadowed Guide's face now, and in that moment every little whisper telling John don't get involved, don't get involved slammed shut.
John mimicked Guide and sat down on the edge of his pallet. "How long have you been here?" he asked, if only to change the topic. Though he kept his voice quiet it felt too loud, too rude in the near-silent bunker. It felt like he was interrupting grief.
Guide stared at some distant point on the floor, expression hidden behind a tangled curtain of hair. "What does it matter to you?"
"If I was an Ancient from this City, not at all," John said. Something pinged inside him. Could the same trick could work twice? He leaned forward, heart picking up. "But if I was a human stranded in this reality and looking for allies to get the hell out, it would matter a great deal."
The grizzled Wraith looked at him, expression as unreadable as a sphinx's.
When Guide continued to say nothing, John pressed on. "I'm going to guess you've been here for a long time, which can only mean you must know the layout of this place, right? Enough to esc—"
"It would not matter." Guide stared back at the floor.
John pulled up short. "What?"
The Wraith growled. "Even if what you say is true and I even if I believed you, even if we physically escaped this wretched place, it would not matter."
Before John could ask what the hell do you mean? the door to the barracks hissed open. Wraith shifted in their cells as five Ancients marched in, three holding stunners. Lorric was among them. They stopped in front of John's cell.
The man remained sitting as the energy field buzzed down.
"Colonel Sheppard. If you would follow us, please," one of the Ancients said.
John glanced around. None of the Wraith directly looked at them. Even Guide had turned away, ignoring the exchange.
"And if I say no?" John said.
There was a whine of a charged stunner. "We won't ask again."
For a moment John debated getting a few bruises, but instinct told him it wasn't yet to make a stand. He told himself this as he stood up, not wanting to acknowledge how much Guide's abrupt dissent had shaken him. He followed his guards out of the prison barrack and walked all the way up the long, dim tunnel. As he walked he tried to notice any escape hatches or other pull-aways, but the tunnel was smooth. It seemed the only out was through the very tunnel he was walking. He hid a wince, his military training shaking its head at the potential chokepoint.
John was led back into the same lab as before. The woman was waiting for him. This time he was stripped to the waist and was made to lie on one of the beds, the starchy sheets scratchy beneath him. The Wraith already strapped down continued to look blankly at the ceiling, ignoring the newest occupant. Black bands strapped John down and before he knew it there were tubes running from his chest, arms, and neck. What the hell is this? he thought as a low-grade fire began to burn in his veins. Sweat ran down his face as the heat continued its subtle assault. The Ancient woman ignored his discomfort and kept focused on the screen.
"Why are you doing this?" John asked when she leaned close to fiddle with the needle in his neck, clenching his teeth halfway as the fire spiked. He rode out the pain.
"Because the knowledge we can gleam from you may help the generations to come," the woman said. Her voice was beautiful yet distant. It was a clinician's tone. "It may help us unlock the secret to Wraith longevity."
So they're still interested in that, huh? John thought when she left. He stared up at the ceiling. The Ancients' pursuit for eternal life was what started the race of Wraith in the first place. Only, instead of finding immortality for themselves, their human experiments became Wraith. And in that moment of truth, in that defining moment, the Ancients chose to wage war with the nascent species instead of claiming responsibility for their actions.
The Ancients' always seemed as if their minds outraced their hearts, John realized. He closed his eyes. Always performing experiments before understanding the morality, always playing god before ready to accept the consequences. But if he could somehow use that to his advantage, maybe he could find a way to get home. John scoured his mind. He needed a plan that could make this version of Guide trust him. He sighed. What he would've given to hear Teyla's measured advice.
I'm coming, Teyla, he thought.
John didn't know how long he stayed with the med bay. Time fell apart and lost meaning. The occasional sounds of a Wraith escorted from a bed punctuated the lulling hums and beeps of the machinery. John felt neither hunger nor the desire to relieve himself as he lay there, his body floating on constant discomfort. He almost didn't notice the bands releasing and the needles pulling out until Lorric was shaking his arm.
"You're done," the Ancient said.
"Thanks," John croaked, throat coated in sandpaper.
There were only three guards this time when he was escorted back. He hardly remembered any of it, and when he entered the prison barracks most of the Wraith were gone, their energy cages mute. None of it mattered. John collapsed on his cell's hard pallet and fell asleep.
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John woke up to the gray ceiling and stared at it, feeling there was less of him than before. At least when Guide fed on him all those years ago it was eventually given back. There was a low rumble at the edge of his hearing. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, John thought. He turned his head and found Guide studying him with his pale, slitted eyes, something akin to contemplation on that alien face. There was new dust on his shoes from outside.
"One of my men told me they were conducting experiments on you," the Wraith said.
"How did . . .?" John sat up and shivered. He hugged his arms tighter around himself, wishing he had a blanket. He wiped his hand across his forehead and found it was damp with cold sweat. "Oh, right. The telepathy thing."
"Well? What makes you so interesting to them?"
"Besides my winning personality?" John said.
"They said they were looking for something in your blood." Guide leaned in, ignoring the flippancy. His head tilted, alien gaze piercing. "They were treating you as they do us."
As a Wraith.
John looked up, as if searching for camera. The Wraith snorted. "They do not listen to us here."
Oh, right. Ancient arrogance was still strong here too, John realized. He still kept his voice low as he asked, "Then if I tell you, will you tell me why you guys won't try breaking out of here?"
The Wraith leaned away and hissed. "It would be pointless."
"Look, I realize you don't trust me, but what do you got to lose?"
"My life, or worse."
John couldn't help it. He chuckled.
The gloved hand furled and unfurled. "Something amusing?"
"Nothing. Just deja-vu. We had a situation like this once. Well, with the other you. My version of you. Er, besides the point. Look. You told me your name once—"
"Not I. My counterpart did. I have no idea of your trustworthiness."
"Are the experiments proof enough my story's true?" John lifted his shirt and sleeve to show the angry red circles where the Ancient woman pressed needles into him. When the Wraith was unmoved, John gave a growl of his own and said, "Then feed on me. Can't you guys tell if I'm telling the truth or not that way?"
The Wraith blinked. "That would take many years off your life. Perhaps even kill you."
John lowered his voice and moved so close to the energy field he thought he was going to singe his nose hairs. "Not quite. That thing the Ancients are looking for in my blood? It's a retrovirus. Even if you fed on me I wouldn't die."
The Wraith frowned and moved close. "Such a thing exists?"
"It does in my reality."
Guide paused and glanced down at the black glove. "I am hobbled. Even if I accepted your offer, my hand would explode if I ever attempted the process." He gave a full-body shudder, as if the very thought stole the warmth from his bones.
"Then I'll suggest it to the bigwigs and stage a demonstration. I'll choose you to do it. Then you can find out if you trust me so we can escape," John said.
The Wraith pulled back. "You have much faith in this retrovirus."
"Yup. I mean, you were the one who came up with it."
The Wraith blinked again. "I did?"
"Yeah. You and Jennifer—one of my teammates."
The grizzled Wraith frowned. "Jennifer. A human? I created this retrovirus . . . with a human?"
"Crazy, huh."
"Ludicrous. Wraith do not work with humans," Guide sneered, teeth flashing. "We feed on them."
"Yeah, well, in my version we do."
"I find that hard to believe."
John made a show of looking around the prison barracks. "Well, if this was all I knew too, I would be in your shoes. But in my reality, both our people came together and created it."
Guide gazed at him with a particular expression John had never seen before. The man stopped and noticed all the Wraith within earshot were looking at him.
John cleared his throat and turned back to Guide. "The retrovirus was designed to provide humans with an enzyme that reacts with your enzyme during the feeding process. At least, that's how it was explained to me. So no one really needs to die anymore."
"Symbiosis," the Wraith muttered.
John's mouth twitched. "Symbiosis," he remember once saying to Guide, "is when two species benefit from each other. What do we get from you? It would be better for humanity if all the Wraith were dead."
Oh, how Guides' eyes had flashed. "And do you have the wherewithal to do that, John Sheppard? I think not."
"Not yet," Past-John had said.
"Is that what you want, then? Genocide? To utterly destroy a sentient species down to the last one? You are indeed the son of the Ancients, John Sheppard."
John winced, remembering how deeply those last words had cut. 'Son of the Ancients.' John had been called many things in his colourful career, but never a blood-soaked title quite like that one. If only you can see me now, John thought to his Guide, wherever he has.
Though this plan could make this version of Guide trust him, it would be risky. He knew showing the Ancients the retrovirus in action could feed into their greed and result in an outcome more disastrous than the one he was in now. Or maybe not. John perked up. With his blood maybe they could reverse-engineer the retrovirus and help humans all over the Pegasus Galaxy. No one would have to die to feed the Ancients' mistakes. And maybe it'll be my ticket through Oros out of here, he thought.
"Your story sounds more fairytale than truth," the Wraith said, drawing John back to the conversation at hand. The glow had faded from the pale eyes. Guide looked away. "All the same, escape would still not matter."
John wanted to pull his hair out and did his best to keep his voice level. "Why the hell not? Don't you want to leave this place? Don't you want to fight rather than waste away as slaves, or experiments, or whatever the hell you are?"
Guide held up his gloved hand. It seemed denser than it ought to be, remaining matte black despite the white glow of the energy fields. "I cannot feed without permission. No Wraith can. Only an Overseer may remove it with a code. Do you not understand? Starvation would be our only reward!" he snarled.
John had a distinct flashback of Guide years ago in Kolya's cell: "I curse I was not allowed them all!"
"Can't you kill an Overseer and take his code?" John asked, but the Wraith was already shaking his head and growling.
"It does not work that way," Guide said. "If it did, we would have killed all the Overseers long ago." Something in the alien face went dark, like a door closing over a fire. "Some have tried. All failed."
John nodded, thinking of the poor bastard rotting in the cage. "Then how? If it comes on, it has to come off."
Guide paused, staring at him as if trying to peer through to his soul. "If what you say is true and you are indeed stranded here outside your reality, what does any of this matter to you?" he asked, teeth bared.
John was suddenly weary of it all: of the continued paranoia, of the tests, of the seemingly hopeless Wraith. On top of it all, he still needed to find out how he could return home. John scrubbed his face with both hands and leaned against the cold wall. As he looked at the Wraith who was not his Guide but still Guide, it hit him. That's what changed everything, wasn't it? Realizing he was a person and not an it, that Wraith on a whole were a people and not some horrible disease to be wiped out.
How life was much simpler before. Shoot bad guy. Kill bad guy. End of story.
"The Guide I remember wasn't a quitter," John said, standing up. "Even with the odds stacked against him. Feed on me. You will see my story is true. Then we find out how to take those glove things off. Then . . ." Then I go home, John thought. Something in his gut told him freeing this Guide was tied to finding a way back to his time. His jaw tightened. He only hoped he was right and not making a grave mistake.
You don't leave people behind.
Guide was quiet for a long moment, regarding him. He then turned to the Wraith behind him. Not a word passed between them, yet at one point the other Wraith shook his head with a growl. Guide seemed to press the other with a long, pointed stare. When the other Wraith dropped his gaze, Guide turned to John and said with a stretched leer that seemed all teeth,
"If this is a trick and you are indeed an agent of this wretched city, know I will rip your guts from your chest and stuff them down your throat, my fate be damned."
"And if I'm not?" John pressed.
"Then I shall make my decision then," the Wraith said, sinking back.
John nodded. It was the best he could hope for. One step at a time, he thought, settling back on his own pallet.
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John was already standing when the guards came for him.
"Tell that lady she can put away her needles," he said when they stood in front of his cell. "And tell Oros I want to talk. It's about what he's looking for."
Lorric pushed his way to the front and turned to one of the guards. "Inform the High Councilor," he said to her. He nodded to the other two. "Go check on cell 632-A. Overseer Talloc reported an insecure grid over there." When they hesitated, he nodded. "Go on. Be quick."
John watched as the last two guards pulled away, their boots clumping on the hard floor. "What—"
Lorric pushed himself close. "Do you know what you're doing?" he asked, voice pitched low.
John squinted at him. "You know something I don't?"
When the Ancient's pockmarked face tightened, John hissed, "If you do, then help me."
Lorric's mouth opened. Then he pulled away as the woman guard returned.
She eyed John briefly, then turned to Lorric. "The High Councilor says he'll see him," she said.
Lorric nodded. "Good."
They waited until the two other guards returned before leaving. Lorric didn't speak to John again as they left the prison barracks, keeping ahead of the escort. John stared at the back of the Ancient's head, wondering if he being an idiot and walking into a self-made trap. He wished Rodney was here to snap sense into him. He could picture the man now, whining and squawking but when backed to the wall somehow found the clever solution. He couldn't help but smile. Ronon would've suggested breaking out long ago. Probably would have already. The smile disappeared when John's thoughts turned to Teyla. The good cheer evaporated. The man hunched his shoulders against another internal chill and tried to ignore the sinking feeling the way home was slipping out of reach.
By the time John reached the bright, lighted room, he already wanted to put ten bullets in Oros' chest.
"Ah, Colonel Sheppard. I've been told you wanted to speak to me," the Ancient said. He wore a pale blue uniform, the cloth form-fitting and tossing highlights. He snapped the book he was reading closed and stood up. The woman scientist stood behind him, her hair like spun fire. John felt his upper lip curl. The entire scene felt staged. Lorric's strange words whispered again his ears but he pushed through them. This was his only chance to get Guide to trust him. And maybe get home.
"Let's just get right down to it," John said, leaving the escort to stand in front of the High Councilor. Oros waved the guards off as they tried to stop him. "You want to know what's in my blood? Fine. I'll show you. But then you tell me how the hell I get home."
Oros smiled. "You stand as if on a position to bargain from, Colonel Sheppard. If I wanted to, I could take all of your secrets by force."
John's grin was insincere. "You could try."
Oros laughter was soft and cultured. John found it hated it almost as much as he had hated Koyla's.
"Of course, that will not be necessary. We are all civilized here," the High Councilor said, slightly bowing. "I am not blind to the fact you wish to return to your time. I will agree to your terms, Colonel, but after you satisfy my questions. You have my word."
"Fine," John said. He knew when he was held by the balls. He straightened. "Then if you must know, it's a retrovirus."
"A retrovirus?" Oros turned to the woman, who nodded once.
"That falls in line with our preliminary research," she said. She looked at John. "How was this created?"
"We isolated the Wraith enzyme we needed to counteract the affects of the feeding process."
"Supremely curious," Oros said. His eyebrows rose. "You humans accomplished this feat?"
"Yup." John rocked on his heels. No need telling him the retrovirus was the fruit of human and Wraith efforts to save the Pegasus Galaxy.
"Why?"
John blinked. A sudden curl of anger struck him. "What do you mean, 'why'?"
"Why not kill the Wraith instead of making it easier to thrive?" the Ancient said, as if driving home an academic point. "Or better yet, subdue them as a slave force? Or learn from them—surely you humans must be curious in so much more than simply surviving?"
Son of the Ancients. Guide's insult stung again. "We decided that route was best to end the war," John said with a tight smile. "And so far, it's been working."
"Mm." The Ancient's regard was at once piercing and unfocused. He stroked his upper lip with a long finger, as if deep in thought.
John cleared his throat. "And I would like to demonstrate it."
The stroking finger went still. "A demonstration?" he said. Though his expression was politely curious, his black of his eyes glittered.
"Here. Now," John said.
"And what do you need for this demonstration?" Oros asked.
"A Wraith." John added quickly, "The one next to me in the cells. Uh, the one with the tattoo on his face."
"Oh? And the reason for that being?"
John shrugged. "He looks like he'd be gentle?"
The High Councilor laughed. Lorric leaned in his ear and after a moment of whispers Oros nodded and regarded John again. "Ah, yes. Number 207. Model worker. I have no objections, if you don't," he said, turning to the woman.
"That is adequate," she said.
It took nearly half hour before Guide was led into the room. At the first beam of light the Wraith hissed quietly, eyes squinting shut. Then the expression smoothed and became a no-look. John watched the Wraith survey the room with the same unhurried, oddly menacing command his version often did. Maybe he'd been the only one to notice it because no Ancient reached for their weapon, no one called for reinforcement. Could they not see? Blind no matter what the alternate reality, John thought.
Oros waved the Wraith forward. John had the unpleasant jolt of deja-vu and worked to ignore it. Koyla's gone, he scolded himself. This is completely different. But as Guide loomed over him, feeding hand tented, he wasn't so sure.
"You may take your fill," Oros said to the Wraith.
The Wraith's eyes went wide. His pupils were thin in the sunlight. "My fill, sir?"
"Yes. Of course, we'll stop you if it appear this is nothing but a creative, albeit agonizing suicide attempt on Lt. Colonel Sheppard's part."
John watched as Lorric went over and, without any regard for personal safety, reached for Guide's feeding hand. The Wraith was stoic as he gave it to him, standing like a stone as the Ancient pressed several fingers against the black material. Only when Lorric stepped back did the Wraith clench his fist and breathe deeply. The pale eyes snapped to John.
Let's get this over with, the man thought with a grimace, opening his shirt so enough of his chest showed.
He barely had uncoupled the last button when Guide's hand slammed against him. Only the fierce grip kept John from falling backwards, but even then the man rocked on his heels. The Wraith fed with the finesse of an interrogator, ripping through memory and emotions with little regard. John bared it the best he could, grunting every so often when the terrible pulling became too much. For one horrible, horrible second he thought the retrovirus wasn't strong enough, that it would give out, that he would die in this unfamiliar place and end up in little pieces on the Ancient woman's table and he would never see Rodney or Ronon or Teyla again—
The hand released. John pitched to his hands and knees, pain spiking as he hit the ground. He reflexively glanced down at his chest and saw the bleeding slit there. At least you could've cleaned that up, he thought to Guide sourly. He didn't even try to stand, his legs like rubber left out in the sun. He rested on his knees instead, feeling he'd just run the breath of Atlantis. He looked up at the Wraith who gazed back at him with a tight, unreadable expression.
"Remarkable," Oros breathed.
John kept looking at Guide as he panted. "Now, we talk."
Guide's eyes narrowed.
"Yes, yes. But can it be done again?" Oros asked as the Wraith was led away.
"What?"
"What you just did. Can it be repeated?" the Ancient said. He looked at the woman.
John wiped sweat from his brow and frowned. He still didn't trust himself to stand. "Yes? But I wouldn't suggest that."
"How often?"
No one of the Atlantis expedition had been fed on in rapid session. Jennifer had forbid it, but John had heard through whispers other Wraith had tried testing the retrovirus to destruction. Ten times. He could survive up to ten times before pushing daisies. Or was it eight?
"Four times at once," John said.
"You have given me much to think about," the Ancient said, still looking at the woman. She was already typing something on her tablet. "I must get my thoughts in order. You and I will speak later, I promise."
John knew when he was getting the runaround. "Listen," he snarled. "A deal's a deal. You gave me your word!"
But Oros was already waving at the Overseers. They surrounded John as one. John tried to fight back, but the roughness of the feeding made him feel he was struggling underwater. Then there was a sharp pain in his neck, and he knew no more.
…
TBC