So, it's finally finished. I can't believe it. Apologies for the long delay in updating – RL gets in the way.

Huge thanks for Lady Anne for the beta work. I am, as I have said before, a compulsive fiddler and any mistakes remaining are mine and mine alone.

I also wanted to say a really big thank you to everyone who has left (and who will leave) a review – your feedback is greatly appreciated.

Part 11

Radek didn't like to go off world.

There were too many opportunities to get into trouble, too many chances that things could go wrong, too many occasions that stretched his stamina, his nerve and his capabilities to the very limits. Too many situations like this one.

Even with his attention focused on the two data pads in front of him he was acutely aware of everyone else in the room. There was only a few minutes worth of battery left, after that he had nothing to power the signal that was stopping the programme taking its grip on them.

As he focussed on the algorithms and frequency modulations that were keeping him one step ahead of that which was hunting them, a part of his mind speculated detachedly what would happen when the power ran out. Would there be a gradual decrease in signal strength with the hallucinations picking them off one by one as the safe area shrank? Or would there be a total failure with all of them succumbing at once? He gave a little mental shrug and carried on with his work. If McKay didn't find Sheppard and switch this damn programme off he was going to find out soon, very, very soon.

Ford was standing still and straight, almost at parade stance as he scanned the perimeter. He knew that according to the rules the decision he'd made to stay was the wrong one but he knew in his soul it had been right. "We don't leave our people behind," he muttered to himself fiercely. He tried not to think about what was coming next if McKay wasn't successful, he didn't like to leave his life in the hands of others but this was beyond his ken and his control and all he could do was wait. He threw a quick glance over to Teyla and saw the slight furrow in her brow as she stood and watched. He caught her eye briefly, gave her a nod and went back to scouring the perimeter.

Teyla was wondering to herself whether this was the end. She tried not to think of the fierce pain of the hallucination that had gripped her when they first came to the planet. She tried to tell herself that she was not afraid of pain or death and almost succeeded. She just thought it would be unfair for it to end like this. She'd always thought that she would die at the hands of the Wraith fighting rather than at the hands of a malfunctioning Ancient weapon. She'd never really thought of the Ancients as fighters, just as creators, as mythological figures – the bringers of life. Now she knew better. She knew that they had been people like her and like her companions around her. She turned her head slightly and looked again at the tense profile of Ford. She couldn't imagine what he was looking for. If he saw something it would most likely be a hallucination. They were bunched so closely now that she could feel the warmth of Carson Beckett behind her where he knelt on the floor alternating his attention between McKay lying in the dust and the sprawled figure of Sheppard on the control chair.

Carson Beckett had never felt more helpless in his life. He sat on the floor and watched his friends. He didn't know if they were fighting the programme, if they had managed to shut it down, or even if they were suffering in there. And there was nothing he could do to help and so he waited.

"Something's happening!" exclaimed Radek. He threw a look over his shoulder just as McKay sat up.

The Canadian had an expression of offended astonishment on his face as he gasped, "He threw me out. I can't believe it! He actually threw me out. I, I, I, I found him, told him what to do and he threw me out!" Then he sank back down to the floor clutching his head.

--------------------------

Sheppard knew what to do.

"Look, you're in the control chair, you can run this programme, just like the one at Antarctica, it's slightly different and the programme is warped as hell from running for so long but the basic principles are the same. You just need to visualise the control programme, find the main data console and shut it down, module by module. Do you think you can do that?"

Sheppard had nodded.

He was walking along the beach looking for a way out.

"Look, you'll have to manipulate the programme. Create the interface that you need."

He was straining to visualise the control chamber in Atlantis and the chair in Antarctica. All he had to do was to create a firm enough image in his mind and he'd be able to call it up. His mind was distracted – he could feel Amy as she walked along besides him. She was prattling on, asking him questions, pointing out the various items of interest as they progressed along the beach. The voice he heard was the lilting voice of his wife, not a programme and it was so hard not to react, to ignore her, to ignore it.

He couldn't do this, not with her so close so he turned to her and, putting his hands on her shoulders he said, "Hon, I'm just going for a run now, I'll be back in a half hour, OK?"

"OK, just don't be too long," she replied giving him a lazy smile. He gave her cheek one last caress, tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear and leant forward to kiss her. Then, although every muscle was screaming for him to stay, he turned away from her and ran up the beach to the dunes.

He ran and ran through the soft sand until out of breath he stopped and looked back at the tiny figure of Amy alone on the beach. She was walking through the surf, the waves tugging at her legs, the wind blowing her hair into disarray. She waved to him and then bent down to pick something out of the surf.

He stood in the dunes watching her from a distance. He stared at her for a long moment and then closed his eyes, the image of his dead wife crouched down at the edge of the waves imprinted on his mind. She was like a sea-nymph, like Calypso, calling to him, guiding him home. He waited until he was breathing steadily and the image became less distinct, more distant and eventually became a memory.

When he opened his eyes, he was in the control room.

"Well, what do you know, Rodney was right," he said to himself and walked over to the Chair. He stood staring at it for a few moments and then he sat.

"Think of the main console, it might be different from that of the Atlantis control chair but there will be similarities. Go to the main controls and switch this damn thing off."

The display appeared above him and he started to work, identifying each module in sequence and then shutting it down. As he worked he could hear the echoes of the VR around him, could smell the salt in the air but he carried on. The display above him was growing dimmer with just a few more modules to go. He could scarcely believe that it had all been just a programme, a twisted, corrupted programme; it had been such cruelty and yet such joy. The temptation to fall back, to let the programme run again almost overwhelmed him as he remembered reliving what he had lost forever in St Anthony's Hospice, Missouri.

He paused for a moment with eyes closed, tears running down his face finally accepting his loss. Then he looked up and, without a tremor in his voice he spoke.

"End programme."