A/N: The reviews make me grin. Thanks to everyone who's reading and reviewing. I'm going to be increasing updates since I've finished the writing portion of the program, and to eventually have all the chapters up sooner for those waiting to read a completed story.

Ch. 6

This was a bad idea if there ever was one. Not the whole 'get the weapons and take back the ship' scheme. Plans like those couldn't be determined as good or bad until they were over. The bad idea was not staying behind and avoiding ending up as a possible obstacle. But it was an inevitable bad idea, which was small comfort. Sheppard was one of the few who knew the lock codes for the weapons locker. Caldwell had made him one of the lucky minority with access to a crap-load of ordinance ever since that rather nasty business when a Go'auld had played puppet master with Caldwell's body. Before then the Daedalus had relied on a guard to keep the weapons from falling into the wrong hands.

Alien possession was good fuel for paranoia. Strike that, not paranoia. Paranoia was exaggerated caution. Locking the weapons locker with a code was prudent planning after the fact.

John had handed off his gun to someone who could use both hands, and took up position with the other weaponless within the circle of armed marines. He and one other handled the LSDs since two pairs of eyes was better than a single pair. John was liking less and less that they had yet to run into anyone. John's brain screamed trap since that was the only logical conclusion, but it was an almost hesitant warning, because this was the Pegasus galaxy where the rules got tossed out the airlock.

They made it to weapons without any resistance, and the marines moved aside letting John slip in and enter the code. The door slid open and everyone flowed in. P-90s, nine-mils, and zats were grabbed off the racks to be tucked into pockets, waistbands, and clipped to belt loops and tac-vests. John had them stuff as many flash/bangs into their pockets a possible, just for good measure. Armed to the teeth and then some, they flowed back out into the unnaturally silent and empty corridor.

"This is messed up," Lt. Corella mumbled through gritted teeth. "Don't think this asking for trouble, sir, but where the hell are all the bad guys?"

"One weird thing at a time, Lieutenant," John said. "Let's focus on getting everyone free for now." Then they could worry about how sickeningly easy this all was.

SGA

The man who had been thoughtful enough to provide Rodney with a cloth to wrap his head and a wastebasket to puke in was named Carlyle according to the tag stitched to his gray-green fatigues. Sandy-haired, lean – kind of like a younger version of Chuck the gate tech only taller. After Rodney spat lingering chunks from his mouth, he pushed the wastebasket away and returned to looking over the diagnostics. A nifty little easter egg of the Daedalus was the links to helpful suggestions on how to repair the mentioned damage. Rodney ignored those. He didn't need an electronic fix-it manual telling him what to do. Most of the damage was minimal, some of it probably superficial and requiring the replacement of a few wires. All crap Rodney could patch together in his sleep.

Rodney looked up from the Daedalus bridge console at baldy standing on the other side. Since those still trapped in the storage room had made it quite clear that Rodney was top dog when it came to repairs, baldy had given him free reign while everyone else was forced to hang back at the back, guarded by the two lackeys plus two more lackeys.

"The damage isn't too bad," Rodney said. He would have started off with something caustic, but is head felt like a slab of concrete had been dropped on it. He was lucky he'd been able to read what was rolling across the computer screen. "The main problem is you sucked this ship clean of power."

"Power's no problem," baldy said. "Just make the repairs."

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "We're going to need power as part of making the repairs." A bit of a fib – they wouldn't need that much power, but blady didn't need to know that.

Baldy jerked his head in understanding. "All right then. Only enough to do repairs."

Damn.

"Okay, fine, whatever. You'll need people in the engine room, up here, Hermiod's station – naked alien guy. I'll take that. Since you won't let the women participate I'm the only other person here who knows that particular system."

"Does it involve shields?" Baldy asked.

Rodney squinted. His brain was more interested in trying to shut down and end the cracking throb than do what it was supposed to be doing. It took a sluggish moment for him to realize that he probably needed to be extremely interested in baldy's need to have the shields up.

"Any reason in particular why shields first? Planning on uninvited guests dropping in?"

Please not wraith, please not wraith, please not wraith...

Baldy's lips pulled upward in a dry smile. "You'll see. Shields first. That's all that'll be getting full power until the engines are back on."

Curiosity and suspicion flitted away when Rodney's head tried to split in two for no reason. "Fine, whatever. Shields it is. And yes they can be handled from there."

Baldy's smile broadened in a pleased way, and he waved his hand toward the bridge entrance. "After you then."

Rodney pushed away from the console, staggered, and would have dropped to the floor if Carlyle hadn't caught his arm. He continued to hold on as they followed the rest of the captives out the door.

"You don't look so good, Dr. McKay," Carlyle whispered.

"Then it's a good thing we don't have mirrors," Rodney groused. "Or I would have been obliged to respond with a pithy remark concerning pointing out the obvious."

Rodney sacrificed is equilibrium for a glance over his shoulder at baldy since he didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. Baldy's hand was at his ear, and his head partly down. Rodney knew that look. Baldy was talking into an ear-attached com device. He saw baldy's lips moving but couldn't hear what he was saying, but had the impression it wasn't good the way the bald man's facial muscles kept twitching, especially around the jaw.

When baldy's gaze returned to the upright position, McKay returned his own gaze to the forefront position. Something was up, and because baldy didn't look happy about it, Rodney would take that as a good thing – for now.

SGA

Since they didn't have an exact location on the others, they went back to the beginning and the storage closet that had acted as their prison. The sudden halt was so unanimous it kept everyone from running into each other.

The spot of floor once occupied by a trussed up pirate was missing said pirate. John's eyes went immediately to his LSD. Except for their little group, the corridor was completely empty all the way to the turn. Sheppard had been wrong; now was the time to worry about how easy this was.

"Okay, this is getting freaky," he said.

Sgt. Baxter, a short but stocky African American woman, glanced briefly and nervously back at him. "What now, sir?" The tone of her question wasn't the usual conveyance of double meaning that became so second nature to anyone military – asking whether or not John wanted her to go after the pirate. It was strained, like the faces surrounding John glancing uneasily around. People were scared – at the ready, but scared.

John tucked the LSD under his arm to free up his hand so he could rub his tried, aching face. "All right, first off we're not going to freak. Second, we're sticking with the plan. The more the merrier. So let's go."

Except he wasn't sure where to go. Sherbet, on the other hand, seemed to have the right idea. If the little fur-ball could find him easy, then McKay would be a cake-walk for the runt. John ended up at the front leading the rest to where ever Sherbet headed. Around the corner then down another corridor to the left. John had never realized just how massive the Daedalus was on the inside. A practical labyrinth, although that could be fraying nerves distorting his perceptions.

A new white dot moved onto the LSD screen just as John reached the turn into the next corridor. John stopped and held up his casted arm for the rest to do the same.

"Flash-bang time," he said. John stepped back to allow a male marine with a left arm wrapped to the elbow in gauze step forward and send a grenade clattering down the corridor. Everyone turned away covering their ears seconds before the lightning-like explosion lit up the hall.

"Go now!" John shouted. The marines charged down the hall with Lt. Baxter in the lead, keeping up the cacophony to confuse. There was a bark for a weapon to be dropped, gun-shots, then absolute silence.

"All clear!" Baxter called. John led the unarmed into the hall acrid smelling and misty with lingering smoke. The storage room door was already open, and the single guard bleeding from a hole in his chest and stomach was being dragged to the other side of the wall making room for the men to step out. Ronon was the first, followed by two male marines and then Col. Caldwell whose gaze went straight to Sheppard.

"Report," he said. John would have bristled at the command at any other time – namely if this were Atlantis and John were in top physical condition. But this wasn't Atlantis, this wasn't his command, and his body was acting rather pissy at the moment, so he was actually relieved at the sudden shift in authority.

"We managed to escape – obviously – Elizabeth and the rest of your crew are hold up safe in the rec room, and the only hostile we've encountered so far beyond our own guard is your guard. Oh, and our guard mysteriously vanished after we tied him up... with wire, lots and lots of wire. Not to sound pessimistic but so far this has all been too damn easy." John searched the suddenly crowded hall and storage room for familiar faces, especially one face in particular. "Where's Rodney?"

Ronon, after checking the magazine of his newly procured 9-mil, looked up at John. "The bald guy took him and a couple of others to make repairs."

"Does anyone know where?"

Ronon shrugged. "They were just taken, could be anywhere now."

John looked down at Sherbet standing rigidly beside John's right foot, tail flopping and nose in the air sniffing. "Well I think I know how to find him." It was a fight not to go rushing off after Rodney that very second. Eager as John had been to relent command, it wasn't easy giving up the freedom that came with calling the shots. If this were Atlantis he would have been gone in a heartbeat. Since it wasn't, he was reduced to offering suggestions on what to do and hope Caldwell agreed to them.

John looked up at the Colonel. "We need a game plan, sir."

Caldwell nodded sagely. "That we do. Since you armed us, I think we're as ready as we're going to get to take back the ship. I say we act now, divide into groups of five and split up to search the ship. You said you could find McKay, Colonel, then you take a group and find him. Once we have the rest of our people and our ship back, we meet at the rec-room and go from there."

It was a half-assed, last minute plan, but what heat-of-the-moment, way in over their heads plan wasn't? John nodded and swallowed trying to moisten his drying throat. "Good plan sir."

"And one we need to act on now. Take who you want with you and go. The longer we stand around in one spot the more open we are to an ambush. Spread out, they won't be able to take us all at once."

John had already realized that particular wisdom of the plan before Caldwell had pointed it out, but not everyone would have realized right off the bat.

"Ronon," John said, "Baxter, Anderson, and Moor, you guys are with me."

Anderson and Moor had to push through the rest to get to John. They were Atlantis men, or would be for the duration until they returned to earth. They stepped away from the mass plugging the hall so Caldwell had less bodies to deal with as he began dividing everyone up. Ronon handed John a gun he'd grabbed from someone. John checked the clip then tucked the weapon into his belt.

"What's the plan?" Ronon asked.

John gestured loosely at Sherbet. "Follow him. He found me, he'll find Rodney. But we go slow, and don't act unless I say so or self-defense is inevitable."

"Colonel?"

John looked up to see Carson pushing through the masses until breaking free and heading toward John's make-shift team. "Colonel, before you go, I need to know. The others, how are they?"

"Stiles is feeling like hell," John said. "Other than that, everyone's good. But it might not be a bad idea if you got a team to escort you to 'em. I told Elizabeth not to open the door for anyone unless she knew them, and she could probably use an update before she starts ripping her hair out from stress."

Carson nodded. "Aye, not a bad idea." He then looked John up and down, and stepped in to lean forward enough to speak low for only John to hear. "And you? How're you holding up, lad?"

John smiled wearily at him. He wasn't going to waste the much needed energy to hide anything from Beckett. "Still standing. I'll be honest with you, doc, I feel like crap, but the headache isn't as bad as it was. If things stay easy as they have been, this should be a walk in the park, so no need for any spiels about over exerting myself."

The struggle not to break into that very spiel was wide open on Carson's face the way his brow furrowed and lips pressed into a straight line. John held his breath waiting for Carson to drop the bomb in the form of an order sending John with the team that would head to the rec room. John was painfully aware he was broadcasting the discomfort. His tired body was aching too much to let him conceal it, but the joint pains, foot pain, and head-throbbing were still at a tolerable level. Cheers to high pain thresholds.

"Look, doc, I'd love to drop into the nearest chair and crash but I'm kind of the only one Sherbet'll listen to and Sherbet's the only one who can find Rodney. And we need Rodney fixing things because we said so, not the bad guys."

Carson still looked ready to argue, was struggling with it, and it prodded John with a lot of guilt. John was injured, for crying out loud, and it was against Beckett's very DNA to let someone who was injured to traipse off where he could very well get injured some more. The good doc had been through enough hell from the last incident that had dumped John into the infirmary.

"After that," John said, "you can duct tape me to a..." he was about to say bed but didn't like the implications, especially with a bunch of marines standing within ear-shot, "chair, if it'll make you feel better."

Carson sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I understand what you have to do, lad, I just don't like it. Just go already before I change my mind."

John nodded his thanks and apology. "I'll play it safe, doc, I promise. I'd like to heal before I get hurt again." With that said, he turned and nudged Sherbet in the haunch with the toe of his sock-covered foot. "Where's Rodney, Sherb? Go find Rodney!"

Sherbet squeaked and bounded off trailing his leash after. John led the way at a fast gimp down the hall with his temporary team following.

SGA

Rodney was stalling for time, because that's what he'd become accustomed to doing when forced at gunpoint to make repairs. He checked, rechecked, and rechecked diagnostics again, pretending to be unable to locate the exact wires that needed to be repaired when he'd known from the start where they were (too charred to miss). He would fix them, eventually, maybe after an hour or so which he assumed was time enough for someone somewhere to make an escape. Or repair them when the escape was accomplished and rescue, or a massively useful distraction, followed after.

It was kind of like a cheesy little kids game – don't let the nosy adults see what you're up to. Kind of scary how habituated Rodney had become to sneaking around armed lunatics' backs.

Even scarier than that, Rodney had the sickeningly certain gut feeling that he should have been caught by now. Carlyle knew what he was up to and played along flawlessly, spouting pointless technical jargon on why this needed to be done and that replaced. Rodney nodded mumbling uh-huh, I see, and could you do yadda, yadda, yadda for me. As Rodney pretended, he kept a subtle (at least he hoped it was subtle) eye on baldy.

Baldy had other matters on his mind, that was the only reason Rodney hadn't been found out yet. He kept moving away from the console to the back out of earshot so he could mutter into his com. The tense look on baldy's face was lifting Rodney's hopes against his better judgment. Something was definitely up. Rodney would probably have to stall for two hours.

One of baldy's thugs entered the room and the two men talked in the shadows for a moment until baldy left and the thug took up the watch. Thug two came in seconds after to provide back up. Both were fidgety, and wouldn't stop wandering. Rodney crouched behind the console in front of an open panel spilling wires, and Carlyle joined him.

"Something's up," Carlyle said.

"Oh yeah? What tipped you off? The fact that cue-ball left or that neither one of us has a bullet through our brains yet? Of course something's up!" Rodney hissed. "Just... keep doing what we're doing. Which means don't do anything that'll get the two stooges to put a bullet in our heads."

Rodney didn't trust easy when it came to others making fully functional repairs, and didn't trust at all when it came to relying on others for his own survival – except when it was Sheppard, or Ronon, even Teyla, since their lives depended just as much on him as his life did on them. He supposed it was the real definition of team work: I'll save your ass if you save mine. Okay, the harsher definition. There were times when the others hadn't had to save Rodney, and vice-versa. Rodney had meant it when he'd told Ronon and Teyla that he and Sheppard were in the habit of saving eachother's lives. Sometimes they even saved eachother's lives at the exact same time. Today could be one of those times, but Rodney was pretty sure it was Sheppard's turn to do the life-saving.

Beyond his team, there was no trust. Some had valiantly sacrificed themselves ensuring that Rodney lived, and others went hot-headed and stupid thinking they were saving the day when in fact they were only making the situation worse. Humanity in general was too unpredictable to jump to positive conclusions about anyone. Thus, a lack of trust.

Rodney kept the thugs out of the corner of his eye whenever he stood up. The men remained tense but had stopped wandering. They were watching Rodney with an unwavering intensity that was making Rodney less hopeful. These men didn't seem worried, just on excessive guard. Whatever was going on could very well just be on their end and nothing concerning a prisoner escape. Crap, Rodney hoped that wasn't the case.

Rodney crouched to check his PC tablet. Something had spiked, a small power surge, probably a hiccup from a fritzing system. Nothing to worry about but something to note for later if it tried to increase. It was an odd surge that seemed to pulse from a point somewhere about center of the ship and radiating out until fading away, lasting seconds making it easy to miss. But since it had nothing to do with the shields, Rodney ignored it.

SGA

John was having an increasingly difficult time keeping up, and Sherbet was speeding up, which meant they were probably closing in on Rodney. John clenched his jaw against the pain shooting up his leg – especially his right, dominant leg – and poured his concentration in watching the LSD. So when the new dot drifted in onto the screen, his sudden stop was more a stumbling jolt that forced Ronon to catch him before he crumpled. Even in that tid-bit of chaos John managed to get his fist up and halt the others. He then held up a single finger, only to change that to two fingers when another dot joined the first, then a third finger for the third dot. John's jaw went slack. A fourth dot, then a fifth all clustered on either side of the T-junction at the end of the hall.

"A team wouldn't have ended up in this sector that fast, would they have?" John asked.

The answer was shrugs and bewildered looks. John tapped his com.

"Col. Caldwell?"

"Caldwell here."

"This is Sheppard, do you know if any teams headed..."

A bullet ricocheted off the wall to John's left and he instinctively ducked. "Never mind!" he screamed into the com. The small team divided jumping for cover into the nearest rooms on either side – John and Ronon on the right, the rest on the left. Bullets skidded off the walls, floors and doors too close for comfort. John and the rest exchanged fire forcing the hostiles to duck back around the walls.

"A distraction would be nice!" John shouted above the ear-ringing explosions of exchange fire. Anderson fished a grenade from his pocket – a flashbang – pulled the pin and sent it skittering down the corridor. They ducked away before the flash, and didn't wait for the smoke to clear when they charged forward firing, John and Baxter holding back to lay cover fire if it came down to a retreat.

Ronon was in the lead and darting into the right hand corridor. There was a flash of red followed by the heavy thud of a body. A P-90 ripped loose and a man screamed.

"All clear!" Anderson called. John and Baxter emerged from the cover of the rooms to join the rest. Ronon had a man down in the right corridor, and another man was lying in a growing puddle of blood on the left. The rest were nowhere to be seen.

"They must have taken off when they saw the grenade coming," Moor said. He nudged the dead man in the foot. "These guys must have been too slow or were laying cover fire."

"Did you see where the other three went?" John asked. The three men shook their heads no.

John limped closer to the dead body and winced crouching down to search the man's clothes for com devices and hidden weapons. He pulled a small, flat disk from one of the pockets of the ragged tan coat and set it aside carefully. Next he found a box of bullets that looked more the type for a 9-mil than a rifle, except longer, thinner, and black. After that pocket was emptied, he searched the second pocket, removing a hand-held device like a flatter LSD with a satiny obsidian frame that felt like glass against John's fingers. He was mesmerized by the neon green screen in combination wonder and horror.

Skeletons, the screen depicted skeletons as seen from above in a corridor like the one that surrounded them now. Two Skeletons standing, one crouching, another sprawled on the floor, and a tiny four-legged animal. John heard someone approach from behind and another, taller skeleton joined the rest. Just to prove John's automatic assumption, he held out his casted arm straight. The crouching skeleton mimicked. The quality of the picture was so clear, so perfect, the human frames snow white against the dark green, that John could see the hair-thin fracture in the arm between the wrist and the elbow, and more of the same in certain ribs.

"Ho-ly crap," John breathed. The taller skeleton crouched down beside Sheppard's in tandem with Ronon doing the same. John tilted the screen enough for the Satedan to see.

"We're being watched," John said.

Ronon's right eyebrow lifted high. "Weird."

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

TBC...

A/N: The new, improved and icky LSD - the X-ray LSD. Available now where ever LSDs can be found.