A/N: Mir'kas for everyone! They'll eat anything but prefer fruit, especially mangoes. Leashes are useless unless they involve a body harness. Cages are useless, period. It'll go great with your Shep clone if you have one.
Ch. 10
Running from the plains to the Daedalus, climbing the ladder, then running from the emergency exit to the medbay left Rodney wheezing, sweating, and with a rather sharp cramp in his ribs. He was focused primarily on his goal of reaching the medbay to fetch the pirate, while simultaneously wracking his aching brain for some kind of a plan. Nothing else mattered, not his wheezing, sweating, cramp, or headache.
The moment he reached the infirmary he slid to a stop. He was at his destination, without a plan, and only steps away from where the pirate was locked up. He wanted to linger, to force himself to plan before escorting the pirate to his comrades. Except Rodney was quite certain that the longer he lingered, the more impatient baldy would get. The more impatient he got, the more he would give into the temptation of shooting Ronon to make his point and speed things along. It wasn't a guarantee, but the fat captain had already shown himself to be trigger happy from the start.
Rodney wiped the sweat tickling down his face using the sleeve of his jacket. The metallic scent of his own sweat and lingering smoke clinging to his clothes stabbed into his nostrils, making breathing an ordeal. He glanced around the near-empty infirmary. He could hear Carson muttering something at the back about Stiles and cultures, and a nurse respond. Everyone else was either on the bridge or spread throughout the ship making minor repairs.
Rodney's gaze swept over John, then did a double take.
John was still laying down, his upper body slightly elevated, and his eyes open in slits.
"Rodney?" Sheppard croaked. He shifted, grunting, and pushed himself up onto his elbows. He looked Rodney over suspiciously. "You coming down with something? Your face is all flushed."
Rodney would have hugged Sheppard if he'd been certain that Sheppard wouldn't have slugged him for it afterwards, or in the least shoved him away. Rodney needed advice – help – and he needed it now from a brain that had a better chance of thinking in a straight line.
Rodney hurried over to John's bedside, and explained the situation at a speed that was rapid even to him. "Baldy and his goons showed up with the recharge device demanding that we bring their man out. They wanted to take you as punishment for knocking their device off but Ronon's taking your place. We know there's an opportunity to help out people taken hostage but I haven't figured out how yet. Maybe give Ronon something like a weapon but I'm pretty sure they're going to search him over so that's out..."
John held up his hand to halt the speedy reiteration. "Wait, wait, wait..." he squinted his eyes, "what?"
John was obviously still groggy, but Rodney didn't have the time or patience to repeat himself. "We need to give Ronon the means to escape. The pirates are going to take him, and I would like to use that to our advantage, but I haven't figured out how yet."
John's body snapped as rigid as it would allow, and his eyes opened wide. "Give him something. A weapon..."
Rodney huffed an impatient breath. "I already said they would just search him over! Probably twice. Look, I don't think we have a lot of time here so any other suggestions that don't involve Ronon getting shot sooner or later would be very helpful right now."
Sheppard didn't seem to be listening. His sights had turned from Rodney to the far end of the infirmary with the closet where the stranded pirate was stashed.
"Don't give it to Ronon," John said. "Just have it where Ronon can reach it."
"What!" Rodney barked. "What do you mean..." He looked in the direction John was looking, wondering if seeing invisible answers on the wall was a superior ATA gene thing only. Rodney's brain was sluggish, petulant, but it eventually ground out the answer that John's more rested brain had drummed out. Rodney's eyebrows shot to his scalp. "Oooooh. But... How are we going to tell him that he needs to pick pirate boy's pocket for the means to get out of this mess?"
John shrugged. "I'm pretty good at being obvious and cryptic at the same time."
Rodney refused to waste time responding with the scathing remark begging to be said. He shook his head vehemently. "Oh no, you're not going out there. Baldy's looking for payback and the moment he sees you then he'll change his mind about taking Ronon, and you're not up for pulling a Steve McQueen.
Rodney expected a scowl from Sheppard, not a look of melancholy defeat, and it astonished him into momentary speechlessness.
"You're right," John said. He looked back at Rodney. "That'll be up to you, Rodney. Look, Ronon's smart, he knows we're not going to leave him behind let alone empty handed. Just get the message across as best you can. It shouldn't be too hard. Most people tune you out when you go on and on about something."
Rodney gave John his coldest glower. "Gee, thanks."
"But Ronon won't," John continued. "He'll get you no matter how you deliver the message."
"Fine, whatever. So we have a plan, great. Shall we leave him with a zat or 9-mil?"
"Zat and flashbang?"
Rodney slapped his thigh repetitively, his arm thumping against the stunner disk tucked into his pocket. He paused at the contact, and stiffened in a perk of realization. He grinned. "Actually, I have something much better. All I need is a piece of paper, pen, and tape."
SGA
Ronon longed for his gun in a way that hurt, and not because he had so many targets to chose from right in front of him. Something about the stinging scent of distant smoke not intermixed with the spicier scent of cooking food awoke something within him. Something like anger, both primal and controlled. An anger that normally surged through him like fuel during the heat of battle. Strong smoke-scent incited too many memories that made him more tense than he already was. He clenched his fists at his side to keep them in check. He didn't need his gun to inflict some serious damage, he just preferred it when time wasn't playing fair.
Ronon stared at the bald man who stood expressionless and still while his men fidgeted. The bald man was confident. He still believed himself in control, and pretty much was unless Rodney managed to figure something out. Baldy had had his men pat Ronon down. They took the knives hidden where they could be found to distract from the knives not meant to be found. Then they 'frisked' a little more deeply until the knives not meant to be found were found. The edgy marines flanking Ronon had gone slack-jawed about it. Ronon just grinned. He'd pegged these 'pirates' from the start as the kind hiding a plethora of knives (or some other form of small, deadly weaponry) on their own person – some meant to be found to distract from the ones not meant to be found. So they knew what to look for.
For the first time ever in Ronon's life, dating back to when he first joined the Satedan army, he was completely and thoroughly weaponless. Not counting his fists, of course, which helped to hold back feelings of naked vulnerability.
Ronon folded his arms when clenching his fists didn't cut it. The longer he stood there facing the enemy, getting lungfuls of smoke-scent, the more he wanted to hit someone. If Rodney didn't get back soon, Ronon doubted he'd be able to stem the desire for much longer.
Baldy's head shifted upward like an animal catching a sudden sound. Ronon glanced over his shoulder to see Rodney, a marine, and the pirate between them heading their way. Looking back, he saw the bald man smirking, which put another dent in Ronon's self-control.
"Glad to see your priorities in order," the bald man called. "But I suggest you don't come any further. Tell your men to back off and release ours."
Ronon had expected this. No way was the bald man going to let Rodney or anyone else get within distance enough to Ronon in order to drop something into his pocket. Ronon just hoped Rodney or at least one of the soldiers had expected it. Glancing back showed Ronon a very tense and mildly annoyed Rodney, instead of a surprised and rather panicky Rodney. Ronon smiled mentally. Rodney knew.
"Fine," McKay snapped. "I'd like to warn you that we have men hidden in strategic locations with rifles that'll take your head off if you so much as punch Ronon in the face."
The bald man inclined his head. "Completely understandable. We've no reason to hurt your man. We merely wish him out of range of being a distraction."
"Good, because I'd stake my life on him being pretty much defenseless now. I'm sure you picked him clean – hair, sleeves, pockets especially since you can't trust what people carry in their pockets. Maybe you'll want to pick your buddy's pockets too, see what souvenirs he picked up from our ship. No offense but you guys kind of strike me as the type into pick-pocketing."
Ronon narrowed his eyes that were sharp enough to pick up the sweat glittering at where the hairline stopped at the temples on Rodney's face.
"You guys have a lot of pockets," McKay continued. "You could hide a whole freakin' arsenal in there. I'm surprised you didn't take some ship apart, hide the pieces in those pockets. That way you could've just slapped the pieces together and we wouldn't be in this mess."
"You talk too much," said the bald man. "You know that? Now let my man go before the fire finally reaches my ship with your people still trapped inside. Although if you wish to idle the time with pointless yammering, I'd be happy to oblige. Just let me call the rest of my men so they can join in on the fun." Ronon looked back to see the bald man's hand heading toward the com at his ear.
"Fine!" Rodney barked. "Here, take him. Ronon!"
Ronon looked at McKay. McKay squinted at Ronon.
"Play nice. Don't do anything hasty."
Ronon raised both eyebrows. Rodney was being subtle, and doing a fairly decent job of it. A normal McKay farewell was supposed to involve something insulting and a demand that no one do anything stupid that would get them all killed.
Hands cinched tight around Ronon's bicep to begin dragging him away. The captured pirate was released taking long strides to join his comrades, grinning so broadly Ronon jerked with the need to wipe that smile clean off. He jerked again, dislodging the grips on his arms.
"I can walk," he growled.
"Don't try anything funny, big man," the bald man said.
Ronon gave him a simpering grin. "If I wanted to try something funny, you'd be laughing by now."
Bald man chuckled, while his men tightened their grips on their rifles.
Ronon was shoved forward. He scuffed his boot-toe into the dirt, purposefully causing himself to stumble. His staggering brought him in close enough to the now freed pirate to slip his hand into the man's coat pocket and slip it out with the smooth, flat disk in hand. He slid the disk up into the sleeve of his coat, angling his wrist enough to keep it there. The entire transfer lasted the few seconds during Ronon's passing by of the freed pirate. It would have been faster if the disk had been slightly smaller.
Ronon felt something on the disk's underside, something coarse compared to the disk's slick surface. He tucked his hand into his sleeve and peeled the slip of palm-sized parchment from the disk to clutch loosely in his hand. Pretending to scratch an itch on the side of his face, he read the fast scrawl on the parchment out of the corner of his eye.
'One hour. Good luck.'
SGA
As much as he hated to do so, Rodney left the recharge device with the marines so he could haul ass back to the Daedalus, up the ladder, into the smoke free halls, and back into the med-bay. Rodney skidded to a stop, gasping in lungfuls of air that burned his trachea on the way down. John was sitting on the edge of the bed in stiff expectation, ready to go. Rodney pointed over his shoulder yet couldn't quite talk yet until his lungs had been satisfied.
Rodney wasn't going to wait. "He... I think... I don't know... The message... Clear as I can... Man, I hope... he got it. I said pockets... enough times... to want to... hit myself."
John smiled. "Then he got it." Then dropped it into a frown. "You think an hour'll be enough time?"
Rodney nodded, mopping sweat from his face with his sleeve. "Oh yeah." He felt less winded, but more sore, and would sell his laptop for a drink. "Took the Jolly Rogers about twenty, twenty-five minutes to get over here after you blew their device off. It'll take them about that long to get back. That's about forty minutes in all give or take, and Ronon moves fast when he's in a hurting frame of mind..."
John nodded. "Big, resounding yes, got it. Now get the chair. I want to be ready for my part."
Rodney did as asked, yet when he brought the chair around, he stopped, hesitating just out of Sheppard's reach. "Are you sure there's no one else who can fly around here?"
"Uh... There's one guy, but he has a head injury. Come on, McKay, bring the chair over."
Rodney continued to hesitate. Part of their plan was for John to run interference in an F-302 allowing Ronon and the rest to make a clean break. A fear that had nothing to do with their current situation twisted in Rodney's gut. It was a fear he didn't often feel, or in all honesty tried very hard not to feel. Fear for others – it was hard to except, hard to handle, so for those reasons tended to mutate into anger. It was a helpless fear that was completely useless when compared to the panic that pushed for self-preservation. And there was no getting rid of it unless he managed to convince the thick-headed numb skull of the futility of what they were trying to do – or in other cases (the aftermath) when that same thick-headed numb skull was no longer in danger.
"Are you sure?" Rodney pressed, leaning in on the handles of the chair.
Sheppard frowned severely. "Yes I'm sure. So stop screwing around, we don't have a lot of time here."
Instead of moving forward, Rodney pulled back a little. "Why not just send men on foot to provide cover?"
"Because we don't know if the pirates already have patrols spread out to take down anyone who comes on foot. And if they're as paranoid as I think they are, then they do. And I'm not putting more people at risk."
"And, what, you don't count as more people?"
John's scathing expression was acidic. "McKay!"
"Oh don't even McKay me, Colonel! If you haven't noticed you're pretty unfit for duty yourself. You get shot down and manage to eject before you die, then you're stranded out there. If those pirates get their hands on you, you're dead, no questions asked and no ultimatums. I know you find some kind of sick thrill out of putting your ass on the line..."
"What!" John squeaked.
"But I think you should really reconsider this one and come up with an alternative, because I think I speak for all of us when I say we're pretty sick and tired of the close calls that, one of these days, are going to end rather unpleasantly. I mean, seriously, Colonel, it's like you have a death wish or something."
Rodney didn't know exactly what it was he was trying to say, to get across. He did, however, know exactly where it was coming from. They'd already had their quota of close calls with that death march taking up the majority. Sheppard wasn't even recovered from that, and here he was ready to fling himself head first into potential death. This wasn't supposed to be happening. John was supposed to be sprawled out unconscious on a bed, or rolling his eyes during another of Carson's check ups. He was supposed to be resting! He was not supposed to be taking off into the wild blue yonder to go annoy the big bad pirates.
He was not supposed to be making Rodney go all nauseas with concern.
And yet Rodney already knew that John was going to do this, because John was right – they didn't have time and they couldn't risk more people. There was a chance the pirate's little canons didn't work, which meant Sheppard would be safer in an F-302 than any marine trying to lay cover fire on the ground. If the canons did work, Sheppard needed only his wits rather than his body to dodge the return fire. When it came to flying, if Sheppard had wings, he'd never touch the ground.
All that didn't matter since Rodney's fear wouldn't let it. He steeled himself for the backlash that he knew was coming. Emotions played like a kaleidescope on John's face – shock, anger, insult, and to Rodney's surprise, hurt and fear.
"I don't have a death wish," John said thickly. "I'm just doing what needs to be done. I'm doing my damn job."
Those few words packed a punch that Rodney's rant hadn't even skimmed. Rodney's fear remained present only to be kicked down a peg by an influx of guilt. Rodney tended toward accusations while venting. When John got hurt, blame went to the ones who hurt him, and Sheppard himself. John always made the easier target when Rodney needed someone to blame, because he was right there within earshot for Rodney to rage against. Sometimes Sheppard took it, sometimes he didn't. Sometimes Rodney apologized later, and sometimes he stuck it out, holding himself in the right.
He'd never truly realized, until that exact moment, how ungrateful it sounded. 'You idiot, how dare you take that bullet meant for me. Next time, let me die so I don't have to watch you almost die.' Yeah, something along those lines was what it all came down to. It was a complete oxymoron in that it was both self-sacrificing and selfish. This was why Rodney didn't like emotions in general; too damn complicated, sometimes to a rather disturbing degree.
Rodney cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at Sheppard. "Sorry," he mumbled. "It's just... You shouldn't have to do this I guess is really... What I'm trying to say."
"McKay," John said softly. Rodney looked up. John's features were lax. The anger was gone, along with the shock and the hurt. The fear lingered like a wallflower standing in a shadowy corner. Sheppard wasn't trying to hide it, just keeping a tighter hold on it. Rodney had seen that same kind of fear mixed with resolve so many times he'd forgotten that what he was seeing did indeed involve fear. Half the time, he took what was really extreme self control as fearlessness.
"It's cool," John finished, and grinned nervously. "My heart isn't exactly pounding because I'm looking forward to this. Let's just go, get it over with. The sooner the better. Right now I just want my people back. But I also want to live to see them come back. Crap, Rodney, I already almost side-swiped death. I sure as hell don't want to do it again."
Rodney nodded, and finally pushed the wheelchair within Sheppard's reach. He locked it, and watched tersely as John transferred himself from the bed to the chair. He then unlocked and wheeled it around to head out. Sherbet leaped from the bed and bounded on ahead of them.
"Where the bloody-hell are you takin' the Colonel, Rodney?"
Rodney peered over his shoulder at Carson standing with arms folded and scowling.
"To do his job," Rodney replied, and picked up speed making it out the door before Carson could protest.
SGA
They made a quick detour to John's room in order to grab his jacket since he was going to be airborne longer, then rushed straight to the hanger bay. John's little nap had actually done wonders for his body. He was no longer being weighed down by fatigue and aches, and his feet had numbed enough for him to get up out of the chair without assistance. John was starting to suspect a certain Scottish doctor brandishing a needle full of certain pain meds had contributed to his current pain tolerance.
"What if Ronon didn't get the message?" Rodney babbled. John began the ascent up the metal ladder, and Rodney followed to ensure John didn't do any sudden backward tumbles. "Or what if they caught him with that stunner device? They're gonna know something's up."
John slipped into the cockpit one leg at a time. "Then it's a good thing I think ahead. That fire's not going to let them waste time trekking back and forth just to yell at us. They're still going to start escorting people over. And a distraction is still a distraction. Me flying over should be enough to throw any guards off guard giving someone the chance to grab a weapon or two. But trust, me, Rodney, this is Ronon we're talking about. He got your message."
John settled into the seat and tugged the helmet on, tightening the strap under his jaw. If it had been anyone else being relied on to start a jail break, then John would have been worried. The thing about Ronon was that he was a soldier pretty much twenty-four seven, and a practical super soldier when crap hit the fan. He would know that John and Rodney, even just Rodney in the least, would cook up a plan to get them out of all this. He would know they would use every last resource available down to pocket lint and the inane babbling of a high-strung physicist. So he would know to be ready for it.
John checked his watch. "This isn't the time to start rethinking things, Rodney." Not that he would have minded it if Rodney happened to come up with something better. John was always open to suggestions – if suggestions led somewhere fast. They didn't have time to waste on 'possible' alternatives.
John still had a half hour to kill, so killed it checking systems over and over. Rodney remained hovering on the ladder, watching what could be the equivalent of John fidgeting. The nervous staring was making John tense. Any more unease and John's already knotted gut was going to implode.
"Rodney," he said. "Why don't you go muster the reinforcements to head on outside and get ready to lay cover fire."
"I thought you didn't want to send any more people into harm's way?"
"It's not sending more people into harm's way. I don't want you to hustle them off to the pirates, I just want them where they can pick off any strays trying to pick our people off as they run. Just have them waiting outside the ship. And if you could add the bonus of getting the transporters up and running, that would be even better."
Rodney nodded jerkily. "Yeah, right, good idea. I'll do that."
They both fell silent. Rodney continued to both nod and watch John go through a system's check for a third time. John paused and sat back, waiting. Rodney had stopped nodding but continued to watch.
"Rodney," John said.
"Huh?" Rodney's forehead creased, then smoothed. "Oh, you mean now?"
"Now would be good."
Rodney gave John a sharp nod. "Right." He clamored down the ladder, taking the wheelchair with him as he hurried from the bay. John sealed the cockpit, then just sat there, going through a few simple breathing exercises to settle his coiling stomach. There was always a little trepidation for the sake of the self when it came to going into dangerous situations, but most of John's trepidation was for everyone else. There was a chance a few people were going to get killed during the escape, but if John could prevent that, then he would with everything he had and then some.
If he lived through it, even better. John was just as much sick of the close calls as everyone else if not more so. Definitely more so, actually, since it was his body that ended up suffering the aftermath. He just wanted to get their people back, fly back to the Daedalus without a scratch, and crash into a nice warm bed for the duration of the trip.
He just wanted to rest.
John forced the need to the far, far corner of his mind. Just thinking about it had started another wave of lassitude that he couldn't afford to deal with right now. He checked his watch, and decided that now was as good a time as any to head out.
Chances were highly favorable that Ronon wasn't going to wait the whole hour.
SGA
The going was fast, rushed, with good reason. Another advantage for the picking. It made Ronon's guards too preoccupied to notice that he was literally hiding something up his sleeve. Ronon didn't underestimate them. He never underestimated the enemy, even the ones coming across as complete idiots. People, creatures, everything that breathed, walked, and thought, were unpredictable. Had the impending prairie fire not been a factor, Ronon was certain his little 'ace' (as Sheppard might put it) would have been confiscated by now.
No worries then either. It just meant that Ronon's purpose would end up being a little harder, and a lot more hands on.
The path through the maze of rocks slowed progress even with the pace increased almost to a trot. Ronon marked their closing proximity by the increasing haze in the sky, and the sharp, stinging scent of smoke. The rock maze eventually opened up back into the field, but the distant raging fire that Ronon assumed should have been seen by now was blocked by the pirate ship. They hurried up a ramp lowered from the ship's under belly, pungent air shifting to less pungent though still smoke-flavored. The interior was dim compared to the blinding radiance of the outside. The ship's lighting was soft, all cool colors of aquamarine and light green. Oxygen scrubbers hummed as they philtered out the smoke from outside turning it somewhat sweet and tolerable.
When that prairie fire finally hit, suffocation wasn't going to be the immediate problem. First the ship's skin would heat up, the heat would increase until systems began to short out – systems such as life support. The scrubbers would stop working, and smoke would leak in through the vents that gathered air from the outside when planet-side.
The same thing would happen to the Daedalus. There was a good chance the scrubbers would continue working, but the increase of heat could damage other vital systems. Then there was all that combustible energy source contained in both ships. Whether liquid fuel or something more solid, Rodney had explained once to Ronon why machines sometimes exploded when blasted in the right spot. power and fuel sources were itchy and unstable that way, some more than others.
"Even A ZPM will go kablooie if handled wrong or over heated. No different from an overload," he'd said. McKay liked to explain things, even if he sounded impatient about it.
Ronon turned his mind from ships exploding then melting down into a solid piece of metal, to the pirate ship's interior. It wasn't all that different from the Daedalus except for the lighting and the clutter. Lots and lots of clutter; pieces of tech butchered for parts or tossed aside having no use. Parts were piled along the walls, under consoles, and bits and pieces were scattered across the floor. These pirates were slobs.
The section of ship they entered was huge, with smatterings of consoles, a ladder in the center leading to an upper deck, two doors on the right and two on the left. The little party separated with the bald man and several of his underlings heading right. Ronon and three guards moved left, into the right-hand door that opened up into a wide corridor with grated flooring. They turned right again, through another door into another hall, only this one with more doors on either side.
Doors with small viewing windows. Through several of the windows, Ronon caught sight of people – people pacing, sitting, lying on the floor (hopefully because they were tired). People dressed in the uniforms of the Daedalus crew, or the clothes of marines.
Ronon allowed himself a smile. Then he let his knees go weak to crumple to the floor with a thud and ringing metal. He switched on the device as he had seen McKay do, and allowed it to slide out of his sleeve. The device whined, a pirate tugged at Ronon's arm yelling at him to get up, then the thread-thin beam of light shot up and the pulse shot out. It didn't go far, no more than four feet, which was all the distance that was needed with the guards trying to pack in on Ronon. The floor rang and vibrated when bodies crumpled all around him.
Ronon smirked and pushed himself to his feet, kicking the now depleted stunner disk to the side. He searched the men, grabbing rifles, an X-ray LSD, and – surprise, surprise to make Ronon beam even wider – his own gun, along with a few nine-mils, zats, and a P-90. All Ronon could say was thank goodness for greed. He turned to the nearest door, charged his weapon, and blasted the lock panel into a smoking hole. There was a beep and the door popped open. Ronon stuck his head inside to see people – marines and crew – scrambling off the floor.
"Time to go," he said.
Everyone was all smiles as they filed out, clapping Ronon on the shoulder then taking whatever weapon he handed to them. He shot out the panel to the other occupied cells, and the halls became packed with the bodies of crew and soldiers. Caldwell he found in the third cell, and Dr. Weir the fourth. He passed off the P-90 to Caldwell.
"How did you...?" Caldwell began to ask.
Ronon shook his head. "No time, this way." He led the masses from the cramped hall into the wider corridor, letting a marine next to him handle the X-ray LSD. When they came to the door that would lead into the larger chamber, the marine thrust out an arm, stopping Ronon.
"Whoa, hold up. We've got two bogies just outside this door."
Ronon nodded. "Thanks," then burst through the sliding door, firing off his stunner at the bewildered crew men. Red enveloped them and they dropped like boneless sacks onto the floor.
The way was clear. The ramp to the outside, however, was closed. Ronon pointed at that section of floor with his gun. "We need to get that open."
The Daedalus technicians were already on it, spreading throughout the room looking over consoles and along the walls. Someone must have hit the right something when there was a clunk, and the floor opened up as the ramp lowered down. Ronon turned to everyone following close behind.
"We can't go yet. But when I tell you to run, you run, no questions asked."
Caldwell squinted thoughtfully. "What are we waiting for?"
Ronon just smiled. "You'll see."
SGA
If it was shields everyone wanted, then it was shields everyone was going to get, and just as soon as Rodney figured out how the recharge device worked.. He had had it dragged to Hermiod's little section of the Daedalus, and now he and the Asgard were looking the device over, trying to determine what was plugged into where.
There was a panel at the top, and a coil of cable that could be pulled out to any needed length. The end of the coil didn't exactly look like it could be plugged into anything. If anything, it reminded Rodney of the pads on a heart monitor, albeit about a hand-span in size.
"Okay, this is weird," Rodney muttered.
"Perhaps you do not 'plug it in', as you suggested," said Hermiod. "Perhaps you merely place it over what needs to be recharged, such as the engines."
"Or the controls for the shields," Rodney said, and gnawed pensively on his lip. He looked up at Hermiod. "Which we could do from here, right? That way we can kill two birds with one stone and have shields and the transporters running."
"The transporters may take time. They sustained more damage than the shields. Whatever drained the power did not react well with the transporters, and the transporter systems have over loaded. Alvin Carlyle is attempting to repair them now.
Alvin. The poor man's parents had named him after a damn singing chipmunk.
Rodney unwound the cable, wrapping it around his arm to keep it unwound. "Nothing can be simple, can it?"
"It seems not," said Hermiod, and Rodney thought he caught a mild tone of irony and a little regret in the Asgard's voice.
As Rodney tugged and hauled the cable around to Hermiod's console, his gaze passed over the room for no reason in particular except to look at something else. Carlye was all over the place making the needed repairs to the transporters, two marines stood guard by the door, and Hermiod was preoccupied with studying the recharger.
Something seemed to be missing. Rodney stiffened.
"Okay, where the hell did Sherbet go?"
SGA
John gave the pirate ship wide berth, waiting for the signal from Ronon while avoiding any defensive fire. Smoke rose like a solid black wall from a floor glowing with hell fire uncomfortably close to the pirate ship. John gave that wide berth as well, but couldn't all together avoid it. The wind kept shifting sending black plumes and tendrils rolling across the cock-pit window. Just looking at it made John's lungs tighten in a cringe.
A small squeak of a yeep almost pulled John's gaze from the window and he rolled his eyes in sudden frustration.
"Sherbet! What the hell!"
He heard the tap of tiny claws clamoring over John's seat, then a slight weight on his shoulder. Sherbet's bright body dropped into his lap, trailing the leash after.
"Sherbet, buddy, as smart as you are one would think you'd develop some common sense by now. You are really pushing it, pal." John unzipped his jacket enough to gather Sherbet one handed and stuff him inside. He zipped it up stopping just a few inches below his throat. As expected, Sherbet poked his head out resting it on his tiny paws. Sherbet could never resist a ride in someone's jacket, like a baby kangaroo. It had made John wonder if the species were marsupials.
Another swing around the pirate ship, and John saw a red flash like crimson lightening flying across the ground from under the ship. Three pirates came running out of the rock maze. One went down when another red pulse hit him square in the chest.
"All righty then," John said, making a sharp arc. "Hang on, Sherb, we're going in."
Sherbet yeeped. John hit the button on the controls and sent a volley into the ground several feet in front of the two remaining pirates. The pirates skidded to a stop and scrambled back. John turned, circling around the ship, and sent a few blasts across the concaved nose of the vessel.
John grinned. "Eat my photons, small heads."
The response was the pirate ship sending two crackling balls of blue energy at John's ship. John flipped the ship onto its side passing clean between the two shots. John let loose a lung-vibrating howl of exhilaration, and Sherbet yeeped in agitation.
SGA
Ronon shuffled back when two blasts tore up the ground outside the ship. When the dust settled, Ronon looked back and waved at the others gathered at the ramp.
"Move out!" he bellowed. He hopped from the ramp moving out of the way for everyone to clamor down and tear off across the grass. Marines spread out, taking point around those not armed, returning fire at the two remaining guards trying to shoot at them. Ronon saw one pirate go now in a gurgling death cry. The other lost his nerve and ran into the safety of the maze. Ronon ran ahead to lead the way through the maze, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve. The haze in the air had thickened, and trickled into his lungs tickling the sensitive membrane. He coughed, and heard more coughing behind him.
"Keep going!" he called. "Keep moving!" It wasn't for the sake of motivation, but as a life-line for anyone who started veering in the wrong direction. It was getting harder to see, and harder to breathe. Glancing back, the wind cleared the smoke enough for Ronon to see white-blue blasts exchanged with plain white blasts. He heard the whine of the F-302, and saw it flash in and out of the smoke darkening the sky.
Then the rocks closed in around them, blocking his view of Sheppard's ship.
SGA
John spun, tilted, and veered, swinging around again and again until he was certain every last person had made it deep into the maze. John sent another blast over the ship. He didn't want to hit it and give the pirates even more incentive to take the Daedalus. John killed when he had to, and felt he didn't have to. If the pirates wanted to survive the fire, they could just move their ship. If their engines were too depleted, then John wasn't giving them a chance to run until the Daedalus crew was back in control.
John initiated a barrel roll to avoid another blast of energy. He righted the F-302, then steered the ship up and around in a back-flip that brought him straight in toward the bridge. He sent another blast over the bow and turned away.
Good enough, he supposed. Time to head back. John turned with the intent to return home. He saw a flash of blue-white out of the corner of his eye, then felt the F-302 shudder and shake. All systems went dead, and the F-302 whined down.
"Son of a bitch!" John snarled. He'd been sucker-punched. All power was gone, and he was swiftly losing altitude with the ground racing up to kiss him good-bye. John reached back, wrapping one hand around one eject handle and squeezed his casted arm behind the other. "Hang on, Sherb!" he cried, then pulled. Everything became a blur of smoky sky and Gs forcing his head down and trying to snap his neck. John gritted his teeth against buffeting winds and gravity working against him. He rose, and for a moment, less than a breath, he was weightless. Then his stomach tried to shoot up into his throat to cuddle with his heart when he began to plummet, the wind whistling past his ears. He heard, over the wind and the pounding blood in his ears, Sherbet shrieking and high-pitched yowl of terror. John wrapped his good around across his chest, pinning Sherbet to him.
His whole body jerked when the parachute finally deployed, and the plummet became a gentle decent – right in the clear space between the pirate ship and the prairie fire.
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TBC...
A/N: No way was I going to make this easy for him. Chapter 11 and the epilogue will be posted sometime tonight, maybe late. Nasty whumping ahead.