A/N: Tee-hee! Buckle your seat-belts, kiddies. It's gonna be a bumpy ride. The muses are shoveling mounds of sweets into boxes and shipping them to all those who reviewed.

Ch. 3

All the chaos was going to be the death of John between the ship's shudders sending him lurching into the walls, and a continuous stream of elbows centimeters away from refreshing the cracks in his ribs. It was hard keeping out of the way while trying not to get tossed around like a rag doll. Ronon was an excellent body guard keeping John's body from feeling too much of the brunt, but the ship-rocking explosions were too unpredictable. John still ended up grimacing every random second.

"Colonel, what the hell are you doing here!"

John and Ronon stopped and turned back to see McKay heading toward them at a frantic walk. The ship bucked and everyone not already against a wall was tossed into one.

"I was in the mood for some fresh air," John snapped. "What the hell is going on, McKay?"

"We're under attack," Rodney stated. Ronon lifted an eyebrow at John in a very patronizing 'I told you so' expression.

John scowled. "No duh, McKay. Care to elaborate?"

Rodney scowled back, "Not right now." Then he brushed on by continuing en route to the bridge. John and Ronon followed. On entering the bridge John stepped to the side, pulling Ronon along by the sleeve to avoid impeding the flow of traffic. Rodney could say otherwise all he wanted, but John was far from being an idiot. He was useless in a situation like this, as much as he hated to admit it, and he wasn't about to gum up the works with a crap load of questions everyone was too busy to answer. So he all but melted into the wall to observe.

John could see the port window from where he stood, and the phantasmal white tunnel of hyperspace. A flash of blue-white light thundered across the screen, and the ship shuddered. Electronics sparked, and someone shouted for a fire extinguisher.

"Shields down thirty percent!" Someone shouted.

"We're coming up to the point where we're going to have no choice but drop out of hyperspace!" McKay said from the console on the far left hand side of the bridge. "If those shields get any lower then one more hit's going to cause a chain reaction that'll eventually lead us to disintegrating into atoms."

Another hit, another shudder, and more sparks like a bad Fourth of July show. "Down twenty-six percent!"

"Take us out of hyperspace," Caldwell said, resigned and pissed. The misty tunnel morphed into the star flecked black of open space.

"The bogie's dropped out behind us and is preparing to fire."

"Do we know if their shields are down yet?" Caldwell asked.

"Negative sir."

The said bogie finally made an appearance darting from overhead gaining distance for enough berth to arch around and open fire. It was an odd ship that looked almost stealth bomber in design except for the bridge being concaved between the wings. It also appeared to be slightly smaller than the Daedalus, and definitely a hell of a lot more maneuverable. Daedalus ordinance was exchanged with electric blue spheres of energy from the enemy ship. The enemy ship's shield lit up in aquamarine ripples absorbing the missiles like a sponge soaking water. The blue spheres flashed white off the Daedalus with an impact that sent anyone standing to the floor. Ronon kept his footing better than Sheppard, and caught Sheppard before he met with the floor.

"Shields down ten percent!"

"Damn it!" Caldwell barked. "Get the hyperdrives back on!"

"Can't!" McKay barked back. "They're down, and we barely have enough for sub-light. I don't no what the hell kind of fire power is hitting us, but it's sucking this boat dry of every scrap of power we've got."

"I'm open to suggestions, people!" Caldwell bellowed with a cracking poker face.

Another hit, another rock, and this time Ronon kept hold of John preventing another potential face plant.

"There's a planet five minutes away sir," someone said. "We could use it for cover."

"Do it," Caldwell said. "Engage sublight while we still have them."

The stars outside the port windows blurred as the Daedalus came about heading toward the blue-green Earth like marble hovering alone in a sea of black. John hobbled along the wall, keeping out of the way, to move closer to the window. He stopped beside the console that McKay moved back and forth from. Spheres of electric energy flashed from either side of the ship without ever hitting its mark save for a few skims that vibrated the metal skin.

"They're aim got sucky real fast," John said. Something about it all struck John as uncomfortably off from the run of the mill blow-'em-up attack.

Another direct hit proved him wrong.

"Shields are down! I repeat, shields are down!"

Only to prove him right again when shots flashed off either port side so wide there seemed no point. However, when the Daedalus tried to veer, a shot skimmed and the ship lurched.

"Crap, we're being herded!" John shouted. That got McKay to stop what he was doing and whirl to face John, wide eyed and teetering toward panic.

"Herded? What do you mean herded? Like cattle or like lemmings?"

"Since the out come of neither animal being herded turns out well for 'em, does it really matter? They want us to go to that planet. It's a freakin' trap McKay!"

A trap they were already caught in. The planet loomed up fast, the spitting image of earth except for the shape of the landmasses. The only positive in all this was that whoever these attackers were, they wanted the Daedalus and crew in one piece. Although, after enough years of putting up with the wraith, John was no longer sure if being kept alive was such a good thing. The attacking ship wasn't wraith. However, there could be more than one kind of man-eating alien out there.

There was another hit, a skim that made the ship shudder while remaining in one piece.

"We're about to lose sublight!"

The Daedalus plunged into the atmosphere of the planet that lit up the window in a corona of sun-bright flames. The shields might have been gone, but the dampeners still functioned or everyone would have been pressed up against the wall mashed like human jelly. The ship still jolted and shook forcing everyone to instinctively grab hold of something until the end of the world vibrating stopped. The enemy ship kept firing, making sure the Daedalus maintained course toward the tawny ground that rushed up to meet them. They were landing in a field, miles and miles of rippling gold grass that continued on to the horizon in all directions. The only alternate feature was a section off to the right where rocks and boulders rose up forming a kind of maze.

The Daedalus slowed on approach and set down a lot more gently than it had entered. Everyone released their death grip on whatever they were holding – at the same time another ball of energy skimmed them across the bow. The impact thundered, the ship shook, and people were thrust to the floor. John's chest thudded against the console before Ronon had a chance to catch him. Pain rolled in waves through John's body shoving the breath from his lungs and sending black and gray motes skittering across his vision. Ronon lowered him gently to the floor against the wall.

The bigger man's brow scrunched. "Sheppard?" The funny thing John had come to realize about Ronon was that he wore an expression that was a combination scowl and look of contemplation when he was worried. John waited until the pain descended into a dull ache. He breathed in slowly, carefully, testing the threshold of how far his chest could expand before it locked in a Charlie horse. Then he nodded.

"I'm good."

Ronon nodded back. He took John by the upper arm and helped him to his feet.

Then came the announcement. "We've lost sublight."

John rubbed his still throbbing chest. "Why do I get the feeling that was the purpose for the last hit?"

"Because you're probably right," McKay said, reading over info scrolling up on the screen of the console John was now clinging to. Rodney ran over to another station manned by someone else, then without a word took off down the hall, passing a harried looking Elizabeth along the way.

Since John was the only one not currently moving all over the place, Elizabeth went straight toward him. "Is everyone all right up here?" She stopped and narrowed her eyes at John. "Are you all right?"

John wiped pain-induced sweat from his forehead. "Nothing that isn't already taken care of. What about you?"

Elizabeth took a deep, reaffirming breath. "Bruised but nothing beyond that. What the hell happened? Who was attacking us? Wraith?"

"Didn't look like any wraith ship I've ever seen," Ronon said. "And I've seen them all." He didn't sound particularly proud about it.

"They entered hyperspace right behind us," Caldwell said. He was standing by his chair, and had probably just finished doing a visual sweep assessing the condition of his crew. "No hails, they just started firing. We didn't even have time to send a warning ship wide." The Daedalus commander turned his head. "Report."

"Running diagnostics now, sir," said the male tech. "But I can already tell you that we've lost shields, hyperdrive power, and sublight engines... Sensors."

"So we don't even know if the ship is still out there?" John said.

Caldwell moved over to the console where diagnostics were taking place. "They stayed on our tail all during transition into the planet's atmosphere, and stopped firing when we landed."

John gestured with his casted arm. "See? Like I told McKay – we were herded."

Elizabeth tilted her head slightly to one side. "What do you mean 'herded'?"

But it was Caldwell who answered. "If they wanted us dead, they had plenty of chances. They wanted us here, on this world."

"So," John said, "either they're wraith worshiping bounty hunters looking to bring us in, or... I don't know, scavengers? Space pirates?"

Ronon's brow furrowed. "Space pirates?"

John shook his head. "Like those guys from that movie we watched yesterday... only in fighter ships rather than boats. If they are Jack Sparrow in space then we're going to want to be ready for a siege." He shifted, sending a shudder of pain from his right foot up his leg. "They're going to figure out a way onto the Daedalus by one means or another."

"Unless they have beaming technology, they're going to have one hell of a time trying," Caldwell stated with the kind of underlining confidence Murphy's Law had a field day with. John kept his wince internal.

"It wouldn't hurt to take precautions," Elizabeth reasoned. For once Caldwell didn't react to Elizabeth's well meant intentions with masked exasperation. Whatever he was reading on the diagnostics had him nicely distracted.

"Procedures already have my men armed and ready. The rest is left up to what our attackers have planned for us."

John straightened and was about to leave with every intention of grabbing his fire arm and strapping it on, just in case. He hadn't even moved a foot when Elizabeth snagged him by the arm.

"Maybe you should sit down," she said, studying his face. "You don't look so good."

John shrugged helplessly. "Getting bumped around like a pinball will do that to you. Just... not in my quarters. If something happens I don't want to end up trapped in there." He'd had a nightmare about that his first return trip on the Daedalus. The door refuses to open, screams sounded outside, and the air slowly ran out until just at the point of suffocation when he bolted awake, hyperventilating. Before that, he'd had a nightmare of a regular earth door being jammed, oxygen running low, etc. etc. Proof positive that Atlantis had spoiled him paranoid with its mentally activated systems. Think, therefore, it happens. Crap he missed that.

Elizabeth exhaled an uneasy breath. "I don't blame you. Let's go to the mess. I doubt we'll be getting in anybody's way there."

More than missing opening doors with the mind, John also missed being useful. He followed Elizabeth from the bridge, Ronon trailing, and shoved back the escalating shame of being not only an invalid, but also a potential liability. He could shoot a nine-mil just fine, it was ducking and covering that might be an issue.

SGA

Rodney was in hell. The Daedalus was in a position that could use his expertise to help, and he was still freakin' useless. Diagnostics popped up on the console screen calmly stating the same message of power failure, power failure and – oh yeah – power failure. And all to the systems they really, really needed at the moment, barring life support, door, and toilet functions. Primary systems and back up for primarys had deserted them while backup for secondary and life support hummed merrily away.

Not that Rodney was complaining about the power for life support as he would rather not die of asphyxiation. But neither did he want his atoms scattered across an unknown planet when that alien ship decided now was the time to finish what it had started.

They didn't even have the damn external sensors.

"If I didn't know any better," Rodney said as he attempted to reroute several secondary systems to see if it might, at least, give a little push to the shields. It couldn't even produce a hiccup. The Shield's power was honest to goodness non-existent. "I would say that those blasts were designed not to blow things up, but to wipe clean the very power that would be extremely useful right now." He squinted thoughtfully. "Which is odd since power bursts like the ones that hit us would create a surge leading to a catastrophic overload, not a drain in power."

"Not if the blasts were meant to absorb power," came Hermiod's monotone, infuriatingly calm voice. "Or to create small, incremental surges that forced large consumptions of power leading to a complete power drain. Such weapons exist, and I am reading of power failure more than structural damage."

"So long story short," McKay said, straightening and puffing out a defeated breath, "they crippled us."

"Precisely," replied Hermiod.

McKay didn't take his eyes off the flashes of info as the computers continued assessing the Daedalus' damage. More like couldn't take his eyes off. He could never understand why the brain insisted on staring at useless things to find potential answers. Growing frustration finally got him to tear his gaze away and land it on the ever stoic Asgard. "Any suggestions?"

"Rerouting power, as you are already doing."

"But it's not working."

"Not yet. It will take time."

Rodney drummed his fingers on his hips. "Time we don't have." It was all starting to piss McKay off. Damaged engines and shields they could deal with – replace a few parts, weld a few wires, and viola. Power drains were a little more complicated in that they'd never really happened before – at least not to the engines, and not like this. From what McKay had read on the diagnostic readouts, the ship had plenty of fuel just... no power. Kind of like having a car battery that died. All that was needed was the right charge – something stronger than rerouting secondary power, apparently, since that hadn't done squat when Rodney had tried it. Secondary backups weren't strong enough. To get at least ten percent of the shields, they might have to forgo lights and most of the computer systems while being careful not to take anything from life support.

Besides pissing Rodney off, it was also scaring the hell out of him.

Then epiphany smiled on Rodney, urging him into snapping his fingers rapidly. "The F-302s. Maybe we can scrape some power out of them."

Runnels formed in the Asgard's brow. "It is possible. Although may I caution that the ships may be needed should we be attacked again. Repowering the shields would only hold the enemy off for so long before they were drained again."

Rodney glared impatiently at Hermiod. "Well it's at least worth a try, especially if we can get shields and engines. Crap, do you have to be such a pessimist?"

"I am merely pointing out..."

Rodney waved in dismissal as he started heading off toward the bay. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." He glanced over his shoulder. "Novak, you're with me."

Novak hiccuped, nodded, and followed hurriedly after.

SGA

John had his shoes off and his feet propped up on the plastic chair across from him. He had his head tilted forward, chin touching chest, in a light doze. Ronon shifted from the adjacent seat in a scrape of boots and shriek of metal legs across a metal floor. Neither one of them liked to be idle – useless – but John was the only one currently devoid of the energy to care. He needed to conserve what little he had left for the confrontation with Beckett. The usually gentle doc wasn't going to buy the excuse that the Daedalus had beaten the crap out of his already battered patient. Sheppard wasn't going to put up with being called a 'bloody idiot' for getting out of a room he could have easily been trapped in. Probably a pitiful excuse but one he would stick with. There was modicum of truth enough in it. Atlantis had had its share of jammed doors to make just about everyone a closet claustrophobic.

John heard the click of Ronon checking the power on his gun. "How do we know the bad guys aren't burrowing their way in now?" He'd taken to using 'bad guys' rather than 'enemies', John thought, because the big guy secretly believed it sounded cooler. Either that or the man went for style without even realizing it. He'd been using 'cool' and on occasion 'bitchin' as though they'd always been a part of his repertoire.

Which was why John was careful about what swear words he used around the Satedan.

"We don't," John muttered. "They make the first move, we wait."

"I hate waiting."

"Then I need to teach you a little time passing game know as solitaire."

The whispering sigh of a door opening prompted John to crack an eye open. Beckett strolled purposefully toward him, expression dead-pan but a little tight. John did him the kindness of opening both eyes rather than pretending to be asleep. He smiled at the Scottish physician.

"What's up, doc?"

"My foot up your arse if you insist on being cheeky with me."

"Then it's my lucky day. I'm too tired to piss anyone off."

Carson knelt by the chair where John's feet were resting. "Aye? And who's fault would that be? What were you bloody thinking...?"

John leaned forward. "That a walk from my quarters to the bridge wasn't supposed to hurt so damn much." Then he leaned back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I'm not the sitting still type when it comes to an emergency. And – if you wanna know the truth – I was a little freaked by all the shakes going off the Richter scale. I used to live in California, doc. So saying, I developed a minor phobia to the ground shimmying under my feet."

Carson yanked John's socks off. "Yes, well," he mumbled. "You're just bloody lucky you're still standing." It was a truce. It didn't matter anyone's origins – to have one's entire world start shaking to pieces was scary as sin. John was pretty sure Carson had experienced his own little panic attack that had sent him straight to the infirmary at the ready. Controlled panic did that. Carson and John had a grasp over fear enough to go all business rather than all out insane. Although in John's case, it usually meant the sacrifice of his health if he was still recovering from the last crisis.

Feet and chest were what Carson focused on, and if he wasn't pissed before he was now when he lifted John's shirt with one hand and tugged the pressure bandages enough to see the beginnings of a rather vicious looking bruise. If it hadn't been for the current chaos keeping the mess relatively empty, John would have protested more loudly to having his shirt yanked off, the bandages with it, giving Carson easier access to his flanks and the bruise that was starting to look a little like Florida on its side. A few pokes and prods, and Carson declared John the same as he had been before.

"Nothing feels broken but I'd like to snap some X-rays to see if the healing breaks have turned into cracks. So suit up and let's get this show on the road."

Carson tossed John his shirt. No matter how irate the Scott, he wasn't one to stand by and let others suffer, so helped John into his shirt when he couldn't even get it over his head. He even handled John's socks when John yelped bending over to put them on. His high tolerance for pain also included delayed reactions to it. Come morning, he knew he wouldn't be able to move – if they survived that long.

Ronon was the one who helped John to his feet. Healthy or sickly, it always bugged John how easily the bigger man could pull him up. Carson led the way out of the mess, Ronon following after, and John gimping in between.

"You know, if it's any consolation," John said, "I have no intentions of stepping off the ship with guns blazing if it comes down to that."

"Good to hear," Carson said.

"Now, the bad guys coming onto the ship with their own guns blazing is another matter. I have a right to defend myself."

"As long as you do so sitting down."

John snorted, choking on a laugh. He wondered if they should worry how easy it was making light of a possibly dangerous situation. Heightmeyer would call it coping through humor. John called it disturbing. He didn't deny that they were all worried. Ronon kept checking over his gun, and even John knew his own heart rate was a little above the norm.

SGA

Caldwell stood before the port windows staring out over the amber ocean of rippling grass. It was beautiful, relaxing, almost hypnotic, but Steven wasn't in a position to be able to enjoy it. If anything, the attempt at calming his nerves ended up agitating him further. A whole thirty minutes had passed since the enemy ship had forced them to touch down, and the damn thing had yet to make a reappearance.

"Do we have external sensors yet?" Caldwell called without turning.

"Not yet, sir. Dr. McKay is attempting to cobble power from several of the F302s but says the power isn't building up as it should. It just drains again. He isn't sure why but he is looking into it."

Caldwell nodded. "Good. Keep me informed if he discovers anything." Normally he wouldn't have left it at that. He had questions, too many, actually, starting with why the hell the power keeps draining, and where the hell their attackers were.

Something felt incredibly wrong. All attacks had a pattern of either seek and destroy, or seek and take. The enemy should have been bombarding the Daedalus, forcing their way on at most. At least, the enemy ship should have been circling them, or landing close by. Without external sensors it was too easy to assume that the bogie had gone, and Caldwell wasn't a man who assumed.

This wasn't a redundant feeling. Something was wrong beyond what was already apparently wrong, and it was making Steven increasingly nervous.

SGA

"What's the point of X-rays?" John said. "I'm already bandaged up so it's not like there's really anything else you can do, right?" He was being curious, not complaining, but doubted Carson realized this.

"I'm playing it safe, Colonel. That's why. Any new injury I'm unaware of could lead to future complications should any other injuries occur."

John nodded sagely. "Good point."

A flash of light out of John's peripheral got him to turn his head to see Ronon stopped in the middle of the corridor, looking back. John stopped as well.

"Someone take your picture, big guy?" he said.

"Is that what that flash was?" was Ronon's reply before he started moving again.

John shrugged. "Well it definitely wasn't Hermiod playing with the beaming technology. Not with the power down."

Ronon grunted and John thought it sounded a rather uncomfortable grunt. "That little gray guy is... strange. I've never met a race that doesn't wear clothes."

John chuckled softly. "You get used to it."

They were almost to the infirmary, just turning into it now, when another flash - blue-white – skittered out of the corner of John's eyes. Numb shot through his body, slamming into his mind. His last conscious thought was the sickening rush of falling.

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

TBC...

A/N: Why, what's this? Another cliffhanger. My, my, they are persistent. But no worries, I will not leave you hanging. The next part to come tomorrow, since we're all well aware of the agony that is waiting. Plus, in terms of writing, I'm so to the end I feel safe to increase updates.

And you ask, where was Sherbet? You shall see, you shall see. Not for a bit, though.