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"And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness."
―Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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I take it all back, John thought as he groaned into his hands. If all he had to deal with were diminishing border disputes and archeological digs, he would be the happiest man in Pegasus. No more adventures after this, especially alternate realities. Or time travel. Just racing toy cars with Rodney and enjoying the years by Teyla's side from this point on. If only these Ancients weren't so, so like Ancients, he thought.
Is that what Lorric had tried to warn John about? The man gnawed on the half-second memory, trying to glean a new perspective. So far it wasn't looking good: his greatest trump card was spent, Oros still not telling him what he needed to know, and Guide was currently a no-show. John scrubbed his face again and looked about the empty barracks.
"Dammit," he said.
He didn't know how long he waited. He scratched at the itchy feeding mark, his mind circling back to what Lorric Do you know what you're doing had said. It was either that or getting stuck with needles til he was bled dry. Even an idiot could tell Oros was hiding something. I need to get the hell outta here, John thought.
He leapt to his feet as the barrack doors opened. Wraith filed in, some dustier than others. Several seemed haggard, their hair brittle and their skin sickly gray. The man watched as the walls glowed white the moment they crossed the thresholds into their cells. Several eyed John, their gloved hands twitching. The man half expected them to lick drooling lips.
At last the Wraith he was looking for appeared. Guide seemed taller than the others, calmer, skin not so tightly stretched over the cheekbones. John thought he saw one or two gaze after Guide in envy. The Wraith himself entered his cell and pretended to straighten his pallet, but the moment the Ancient Overseers left, he rounded on John.
Guide bared his teeth and snarled. "You are responsible for the deaths of hundreds of my brethren!"
John squinted. "Well, technically they were alternate versions—"
"I have seen your true self. You wanted to eradicate us."
"Then clearly you didn't look deep enough," John snapped.
They glared at each other for several heartbeats.
John broke first, rubbing his mouth. "Okay, yes. I did think that. We didn't really have a choice in the beginning. We walked in on Pegasus and found you were killing and terrorizing people. I'm a soldier: I'm supposed to stop the bad guys. But now things are different. You're people. Then, now, tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that."
The Wraith continued to glare for several moments before releasing a low hiss.
John stepped closer to the energy barrier. "The retrovirus ended a war between the Wraith and humans that may've meant the destruction of both our peoples. Maybe that'll do the same here too—if the Ancients here have any decency in them at all, maybe they'll reverse engineer it and give it to the humans of the Pegasus. Then let you guys—"
"Free?" Guide finished dryly.
John winced at the other's dripping skepticism. Yeah, probably not, he thought.
"I saw my counterpart as I fed upon you," the Wraith said, changing the subject. His tone hovered between question and statement. "You regard him in friendship."
John focused on a non-existent spot on his jacket. "Yeah. Well. He can be a stubborn ass sometimes. But he stands my jokes, so that's something."
The Wraith grunted and pulled away. "I have never once encountered friendship between human and Wraith." His eyes narrowed. "Is that why you are willing to go these lengths to free us?"
John shrugged. "You don't leave a man behind," he said, as if it explained everything.
For a long moment all that could be heard was the hum from the energy fields. Then the tattooed Wraith sat down, clawed hands resting on thighs. The tangled hair seemed more disheveled than before.
"I am relieved you are telling the truth, Colonel Sheppard. Our telepathic network and identities are all we have left. The possibility of even that taken away, well . . ." The Wraith blinked slowly. "The alternative would have been too great to bear."
"Yeah, I bet," John said, sitting down as well. "Now can we talk about escape? Layouts? Guard schedules? I don't even know how much time I have left, or how the hell to get home, and this Oros bastard isn't telling me squat."
Guide shifted. "You do not fear the High Councilor?"
"Do you?"
"Not personally," the grizzled Wraith said with an indrawn hiss. "But I fear what he could do to my people."
John nodded. As a soldier and team leader of an expedition, he understood that.
"One of my scientists attempted to escape," the Wraith said. "He killed an Overseer and tried to reach the Stargate. He was caught. I see him every day and there is nothing I can do to relieve his suffering." The glare he shot John could've melted coins. "The same thing will happen to all of us if we attempt this foolishness. We have already tried fighting back. We lost."
"In my reality, you guys won the War. Utterly. Completely beat the Ancients at their own game."
"While we lost ours," Guide growled. He rose abruptly and began to pace his cell.
"Don't be so down. You'll have your chance again at it. Look, I've been noticing the same arrogance and complacency in these guys as I did in our versions. They don't even have surveillance equipment down here! Even better, they don't even have access to your telepathic network." John stood close to the energy wall and locked eyes with the pacing Wraith. "But the day will come when they do. Then you'll lose the one main advantage you have over them. Then what? You'll live out your days until they figure out what keeps you immortal? You think they'll keep you around after that?"
Several Wraith hissed quietly. Guide stopped pacing and stood still, pupils swelling.
"You may've given up, but I haven't," John said.
"You will. They all do."
"I choose not to. My friends—" are coming for me. John's mouth twisted, more rictus than smile. He cleared his throat. "My friends are probably trying to find a way to get me as we speak. But in the meantime I need to help them. And help you too, if you want."
Guide glanced away, towards the Wraith in the cage next to him. There was silence for several long minutes as neither Wraith looked at John.
When John began to think he wouldn't get a response, Guide said aloud, "Each of our gloves have a specific code that must be entered to allow us to feed. Despite what you might think, Overseers do not know those codes."
"Really? But earlier I saw that Overseer do something to it."
Guide was already giving an abortive shake of his head. "They request the code from a centralized hub located in the city's centre and enter what is given without ever gaining knowledge of the code themselves. We would have captured one long ago and tortured the information out if they did. We are never allowed in the acropolis, only Ancients have that right. Only there is where one would find the codes."
John sat back, mulling over this newest complexity to the plan. Last time all what it took to remove the contraption over Guide's hand were two solid hits against the wall. He had no idea how to get to his command hub and he—he shook his head. One step at a time. At least he had the ATA gene. He could figure out the rest as he went.
"Then I need to get to this control hub, find the codes, then get back to you and enter it," John said.
The Wraith frowned. "Only an Ancient may use the code to disengage the glove."
John cleared his throat. "Let's just say I can do that too."
When Guide visibly stiffened, the man said, "It's a long story. Let's just assume I can use the codes." Son of the Ancients. John kept his face blank.
The Wraith growled softly, but gave a relenting nod. "Then, if he is still alive, I ask you to free the Wraith in the cage."
"Him? Isn't he starving?"
"I took my fill from you, yet here you stand," Guide said, giving him an up-down glance. "You have the protection from the retrovirus."
Having a controlled Wraith feed on him was one thing, but an on-death's-door starving one? John was sure it would be an agony worse than anything he'd yet experienced.
"It would hurt," he said with a grimace.
"As much as me breaking your spine?" Guide snapped.
"What makes you think they won't do to you what they're doing to your friend if you kill me? Keep you locked up, starving?"
The grizzled Wraith couldn't quite hide his wince. The one behind him gave a full-body shudder.
"Why him?" John asked when some silence had passed.
"You do not leave a man behind, Colonel Sheppard," Guide said with something caught between snarl and smile.
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John was just barely falling asleep when the barrack doors hissed open and his energy cell shut down. Five guards waited for him outside the threshold. Lorric was missing.
"Colonel Sheppard. If you would come with us."
"See? I'm thinking I'm not," John said, swinging upright. "Not until I speak with Oros and get the answers I need."
One of the guards nodded. "It was the High Councilor himself who requested your presence."
The solider in him tensed as warning bells rang. For a long second John wanted to refuse, eying one of the weapons and wondering if he could reach it in time. As if reading his thoughts the guard in question unholstered the phaser and subtly directed it at him.
"If you would please," the Ancient said.
"Oh. Well. Since you said 'please,'" John replied, getting up with a smile.
As they walked John tried to measure the distance of the tunnel. He was pleased with himself as he recognized the landmarks—if he needed to, he would know how to reach the surface. And if Timaeus was anything like Atlantis, he had a pretty good idea where the centralized hub was. Then again, this is an alternate reality, a little voice said. Locations could be different. If he could get a glimpse at the layout of the city, even for a moment . . . His attention flicked to the walls as they walked closer to Oros' office. He spotted a single map but it was all the way down an opposite hall, too small to make out.
John was shoved into a windowless room he'd not been in before. It was large and bare, lighted markings snaking up the rusty walls. A single chair crouched in the centre. It appeared so much like Atlantis' Control chair John did a double-take. The last time he sat in the Control chair it was to help fly Atlantis back to the Pegasus Galaxy. To be so intimately connected to something bigger than himself . . . he shoved back the wave of nostalgia and shook his head.
"Sit," said one of the guards.
John tried to gauge what they wanted by their faces, but each were as blank as the walls behind them. Even the Marines back on Atlantis emoted more.
"Aren't you gonna say 'please' again?" John said.
The guard lifted his weapon. "Sit."
John squared his shoulders. "And if I'd rather stand?"
His jaws snapped together as an energy blast enveloped his body, locking every muscle in an agonizing clench. He toppled over, head slamming on the ground. When the cobwebs cleared from his eyes he was in the chair, bands over his wrists and ankles. He gave a tug. The bands tightened like live snakes until he winced. When John regained control over his tongue he growled,
"You know, a normal chair would've worked just fine."
"When dealing with you, Colonel Sheppard, 'normal' does not quite seem to suffice," High Councilor Oros said as he strode into the room. One of the guards quickly produced a sleek chair and a glass of water for the Ancient. Then all the guards retreated to the walls, standing like wooden posts. Oros sat down in front of John. The man grinned when he realized the Ancient was just out of spitting distance. His grin disappeared as the woman scientist appeared with several workers in tow, each carrying or wheeling some form of medical equipment. One of the workers went to him and began unbuttoning his shirt.
John tried to shrink back in the chair. "Hey, what's the big deal?"
The Ancient didn't respond. The warning bells pealed again when the woman took over and began attaching nodes and wires to several areas on his chest, ribs, and neck. Unable to move John pretended he didn't notice what was happening and kept glaring at the High Councilor.
"I'm not answering a goddamn thing until you answer mine," John said when the woman finally retreated.
"I'd advise you do, Colonel Sheppard. Otherwise you will be fed upon." The High Councilor spoke as placidly as man remarking on the weather. He took a sip of water as the door opened and a Wraith shuffled in. The yellow eyes darted to Oros before resting on John, obvious hunger thinning the pupils.
A sick thrill racing up his stomach. "You really want to do this?"
"You're only a human. Albeit an interesting one, but a human nonetheless. If what you say is true, there are more like you in your reality with this retrovirus. We can always take another. Now, what is the current state of the Pegasus Galaxy in your reality? How much do the Wraith there control?"
"I knew a human like you," John said. "He also thought he was pretty clever using Wraith as you do. In fact, for all your superiority talk, you're not much different than him."
Oros pursed his lips. "Is that so."
"Yeah. And like him, you're probably gonna end up with a bullet in the chest."
The High Councilor leaned back and smiled with his white teeth. He nodded at the Wraith. "You may have your fill. But mind the wires."
A guard stepped to the Wraith and took the gloved hand. It was the same process as before: the guard pressed his hand into the black material for several heartbeats, then released. He must've requested the codes from the centralized hub earlier, or through some internal comm., John thought. He had little time for additional thought as the Wraith strode over and slammed his hand over his bare chest. John let out a strangled shout as the horrible pulling ripped at something deep inside. His soul? Life-force? Whatever it was hurt worse than before than when Guide had fed. He tried to hide his relief when the Wraith's awful hand released. As the man panted to catch his breath he noticed the woman and the other scientists huddling around the machines attached to him.
"Let's begin again," Oros said, drawing John's attention. "Where are the Wraith-controlled territories?"
John's eyes narrowed. "I think I'm starting to understand your obsession with the Wraith immortality. You guys haven't Ascended yet. Otherwise why'd you still be here, on this plane?"
"The location of the Wraith-controlled territories. Please, Colonel Sheppard."
"You guys must be pretty stupid compared to our versions if you haven't even Ascended," John said.
The High Councilor was quiet, expression narrowing. "Bring the next one, please."
A new Wraith was brought. This one took less time than the other reaching for John, the alien face a mask of hunger. This time John's screams filled the room and seemed to hang there long after the Wraith disengaged and was led away. As John tried to shake the pain away he suddenly remembered when he was a kid he touched the stovetop at his parents' house. The ache he carried in his fingers for days afterward seemed to haunt him, except now it was deep within his chest. Burning. He was being burned alive without a fire.
"Don't you want this to end, Colonel Sheppard? Just tell me the state of the Pegasus Galaxy. How many others like you reside there?"
"Pretty funny, isn't it?" John said, panting. "You guys literally have a hard time getting up."
Oros smiled faintly. There was nothing friendly about it. "I would start talking if I were you, Colonel. You're reaching your limit soon."
"I'd say the same of you," John said, not blinking despite the stinging sweat dripping in his eyes. "How the hell do I get home."
A third Wraith was brought in and, like the others, thrust his feeding hand against John and fed long and deeply. John's throat felt raw from his shouts. In Kolya's prison at least he had three hours between feedings. Here he had three minutes. He listed in the chair and forced himself to sit upright.
"If I were you I would start saying anything, even a morsel, to stop the pain," the High Councilor said. He watched the man over steepled fingers.
"How do I get home," John said, spitting bloody saliva aside. Huh. Must've bit my tongue at some point, he thought dully.
"I will tell you if you answer my questions."
"No." He felt he could just float away. He was surprised he wasn't disappearing already. "I've been down that road. You're telling me how to get home first."
Oros blinked slowly. His lips thinned. "Bring the next Wraith," he said.
A fourth Wraith was brought in, gloved hand clenched. With a start John recognized the Wraith as the one he used to call Kenny—Bonewhite, he thought. The Wraith hesitated only for a moment, yellow eyes flicking to his. Feed on Oros, John thought to the Wraith. Feed on him, feed on him, feed—
But the Wraith fitted his hand over the bleeding slits where the others fed before and began to pull. John could feel the Wraith search his memories as Guide had done, rifling through his emotions as one went through files in a cabinet. John tried to bite back his cries but the pain grew too great, too raw. At one point he could only writhe in mute agony, jaws clenched. When the Wraith at last removed the hand John was embarrassed to find tears in his eyes. The Wraith above him flashed him the same unreadable look as Guide had. It was gone before it could fully form.
"As expected, you weren't telling the whole truth," the High Councilor said as the Wraith was led away. "Despite the fourth feeding, here you are. It seems, Colonel Sheppard, you are just another untrustworthy human."
John laughed. It was little more than a wheeze. "Untrustworthy? You should look in the mirror. You still haven't even told me how to get home."
A muscle in the High Councilor's jaw jumped before the smooth mask of calm resumed. He took a long sip of water before setting the glass down again and saying, "The truth is, there is no way home for you."
It was like a Wraith was feeding on him again, the coldness seeping deep in his bones. John forced himself to maintain eye contact with the Ancient.
Oros leaned forward. "To put it plainly, the window between realities have already shifted. It fluctuates each time, and since it has been so long since we've traveled to your reality, we didn't have the necessary calculations available to mark the new window parameters. We won't be able to cross again for several of your decades. You have my apologies."
"And when were you planning on telling me that?" John barely heard himself say. His heartbeat was very loud in his ears.
"In truth, never. I believe hope is a better drink to swallow than bitter truth. I can make your life comfortable here if you answer my questions. I understand the Ancient-Wraith War has ended for you, but how? How did the Wraith win the War in your reality?"
Enough of John remained for him to say, "I'm done answering your questions." Teyla, a dim part of him thought. He closed his eyes.
"Then you will continue to aid our efforts in other ways," the High Councilor said, almost gently.
Another Wraith was brought in, then another. John almost didn't feel them. He could feel himself sinking. The feeling in his hands and feet were gone. The chair was gone. He was gone. At one point he thought there was a hand on his chest. Or was it on his forehead?
"Sir, his vitals are fluctuating rapidly," a beautiful voice said. It sounded miles away. "By my approximations he will be dead in two more feedings, possibly three. Do you wish you continue?"
There was a distant reply, but John was already floating into a sea of gray and knew no more.
…
TBC