Orsus Comitas

AN: I didn't get a clone, but I did get a nice scarf. Yay!

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Chapter Six

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Moya, Pilot's Den (16 arns, 3315 microts after contact)

D'Argo didn't even hear the sound of the pulse rifles until he was flung onto the ground and saw the bright flashes through the corners of his eyes. On pure instinct, he grabbed the nearest DRD husk and clutched it to his chest. He tried to make himself as small and protected as possible as a full-scale battle erupted on both ends of the bridge.

He felt someone grab his arm and haul him to his feet. It was one of the 'Kavian strangers—the big one with the shaggy hair. Even before his feet touched the ground, D'Argo was off like a shot towards the charred door of the den. He crouched there, still clinging to his dead DRD and watching the encounter with wide, fear-filled eyes.

Two of the big Wraith guys bellowed as they were shot right off the edge of the platform. They weren't dead—but unless they could breathe through bat droppings, they probably would be soon. The boy gleefully cheered to himself. He still thought the strangers were evil, but at least they were being useful.

Shock rage anger fear sorrow pain worry helpless chaos

It all flashed through him like a bunch of Mag'arki cards being shuffled around in someone's hands. Even though he forced it out again, he felt his heart pounding in his chest after it went away. Terrified, he looked back at the battle—

Then the leader of the Wraith fired a shot from his own blue-energy gun. It hit the female of the group on her shoulder and she fall back with a cry of surprise.

That made the others angrier.

It was one against four now. Obviously the weird blue alien with his ugly white hair didn't think it was smart to stay there and get shot like his friends. Abandoning the last two of the uglier ones—the third was already on the ground with his chest melted in several places—to their fate, the skinny Wraith leapt off the edge of the platform…and landed on the lower level of Pilot's den, where he promptly disappeared. The leader of the 'Kavians—Sheppard?—leaned over the edge, as if he wanted to after the alien. By now, the last of the hulking brutes had been shot into the empty void.

Now all that remain was D'Argo, the strangers, a single bluish-grey corpse and a very wounded Pilot. Everyone seemed to have forgotten he was there, and he tried to listen to the bits of conversation they were having…but his ears still hurt from all the noise. D'Argo dropped the husk of the DRD, with an apologetic wince, and inched forward along the bridge to try and get into earshot. He had to hear them. He had to prove that they were here to hurt Moya!

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Moya, Pilot's Den (16 arns, 3567 microts after contact)

Not for the first time, John Sheppard wished he had started counting the number of Wraith he took down from day one. If he'd know he would be doing it this often, he would have starting keeping track. Unlike some members of his team, though, a track record in death-bringing didn't appeal to him so much. It was just too damned bad Todd got away. Now they were screwed for certain—he'd send for more Wraith from the cruiser, or worse.

Hopefully, they still wanted this ship alive. If not, it would only take a couple of seconds for them to blow it apart.

"You alright, McKay?" He tossed the question over like a baseball, since it really wasn't his sport and it was something that just came naturally after a battle.

"Fine. No, make that a symbolic 'fine'. My brain and my fingers are intact, if that's what you mean. Which we all know it is."

"Sheppard," said Ronon bluntly. "That alien thing doesn't look good."

It took only an instant for the colonel to look over and spot the less-than-delicate evidence of the Wraith's feast. Blackish-purple blood trickled from the deep punctures in the ship's pilot's armored chest. He'd never have believed it until now, but the Wraith was obviously expanding their menu to include large, crustacean-like aliens and their biological, space-faring ship counterparts. The pilot made long, painful wheezing sounds that were quite obviously and tremendously wrong.

"This is bad," Sheppard growled, starting forward.

"Stop!" shouted D'Argo. The boy ran past the colonel, giving him a pointless shove to his legs. In a single bound, he climbed onto Pilot's workstation and stood between the alien and Sheppard's team. He glared at them. "You've hurt him enough! Stay away from us!"

"What—" McKay protested with a 'huh' of irate disbelief. "We didn't have anything to do with this, you ungrateful, little twer—

"Rodney. Shut up." The colonel's tone was peaked in warning. It worked. The scientist rolled his eyes and gave up his point.

Sheppard glanced over at the sorry panorama in the middle of the large chamber and stepped over to where Teyla lay half-sprawled gripping her numbed shoulder. "It did not strike true," she promised with a slight shake to her voice. "I will be fine."

But the sound of running, pounding footsteps outside the door of the colossal chamber drew everyone's attention to John Crichton and his wife as they came stampeding through. There was not a moment wasted before Crichton whipped out his pulse rifle and pointed it at the Atlantis team leader. Aeryn also drew a pulse pistol and aimed it at Ronon, who was already aiming at Chrichton. There was a definite standoff.

"Dad!" The boy flung himself at the commander, ignorant of the tensions between the adults. Crichton grimaced a little, ruffling the back of his son's hair. D'Argo looked up at him, frantic, "I can't wake Pilot up, Dad. The bad aliens did something bad to him, and then Moya started to go crazy, and then these guys showed up and killed the ugly monsters, but the one that did all the talking ran away—

"Slow down, Gonzalez," said Crichton, training his eye on Sheppard's face. "What did you do?"

"Look," said the colonel, lowering his own alien weapon in an act of ridiculous surrender. "All we did was come to the kid's rescue, okay? We figured the Wraith would come here, and turns out we were right." There was a slight betrayal of anxiety on his face. "I'm sorry about your pilot, but we kind of did get here as fast as we could."

"Oh, shut up." Aeryn leapt across the narrow bridge, dropping her pistol in the process. She climbed over Pilot's bulkhead and swung her legs around, seizing the large alien's head in her hands. "Pilot? Pilot, wake up. Come on, you have to open your eyes and talk to Moya…please, Pilot."

There was a tremor in the walls of the surrounding chamber. Everyone present, with the exception of D'Argo, looked around with intensity, expecting another one of the Leviathan's worried tantrums. When nothing more happened, the even more bothersome standoff continued.

"We…" Sheppard squinted his eyes a little, finding it hard to believe he was actually using this bargaining chip. But they couldn't just stand there all day, waiting for the Wraith to attack again. "Look, it goes without saying that we know a lot more about the Wraith upstairs than you do. We have a working ship, and a lot of people waiting for us back home. If you let me, I'll radio back and ask for backup—

"Right, and something in my brain's telling me you're full of a lot of frelling—!" Realization that his son was right there made Crichton stop, and relax a little. "Lies," he finished quaintly. "Full of them, I'm talking full tank, double D, unhappy nappy-time lies, and I'm getting a little cranky now, Colonel Sheppard. So back the hell off so we can take care of Pilot!"

Sheppard had no objections. He gave a stern nod to the standing members of his team, who followed suit when he stepped back to let the boy's parents through. Immediately, Aeryn lowered her pistol and ran towards Pilot, vaulting into his seat with cat-like agility.

She put her hands on either side of his face and tilted it towards her. "Pilot," she said slowly. "Moya needs you. We need you. Now we can't find out what's wrong until you open your eyes and tell us."

Whether it was the traces of his DNA in her body that made a connection, or the pleading tone of her voice, Pilot just cracked open his large, yellow eyes. When they saw her, he let out a long, airy groan. "Officerrr…Sun…"

"That's right. I know it hurts right now, but you need to tell us if something's wrong with Moya. The Wraith that did this to you…can any of the DRDs find him?"

The large alien blinked sleepily and said, "Moya is…fine…no…no DRDs available. So much…pain…"

A twinge of guilt entered Sheppard's brain. A few minutes ago he'd seriously considered making this entire ship explode in an effort to keep Earth safe from the Wraith, and in most cases that was entirely fair. So why did he feel like a complete jerk standing around in a mess he himself had partially made? Damn, the Wraith sucked.

On the other hand, now wasn't really the time to be complaining about the Wraith. Hell, this wasn't even his galaxy, but for some reason he felt responsible for this insane, rag-tag bunch of aliens getting mixed up in the business of life-sucking sociopaths. Until now, he didn't even consider that the Wraith might be able to feed off of other sentient life forms. How many non-human aliens did he run into in an average day, anyway?

The pilot's breathing was sounding less labored now, but he still appeared ready to fall unconscious any moment. Before he went charging headlong into the weirdly shaped corridors of this shp in pursuit of one of the most annoying Wraith he'd ever had the decency to let live…he really had to offer.

"Listen, uh…Crichton," he said with a tone he hoped was convincing. "Apparently we're from the same planet. So I was thinking, maybe you could trust us this once and let me get in touch with my people. They're back on Atlantis, waiting for us to dial in and tell them we're okay…y'know, so mom and dad don't worry."

"Why would I even think of letting you do that?" snapped Crichton, waving his weapon. Strangely, he didn't seem to be aiming it at anyone anymore.

"I'm not saying it's gonna be a big help or anything, but we've got a great doctor and a lot of marines who'd like to shake your hand. I might even convince them to send the Daedalus, which would solve our Wraith cruiser problem."

To his surprise, the supposedly semi-insane commander grinned, much to McKay's discomfort. Sheppard noticed the scientist's face blanch a little as Crichton spoke. "'Our' problem. Oh you are, pee are oh bee ell ee em. Funny, this doesn't seem like a fraternity to me, Colonel Sheppard. To me, this is still your problem, so you'd better call whatever bake sale buddies you've got hiding behind that fancy Air Force title of yours to do something about your problem. And this is just a friendly suggestion from your friendly neighbourhood Crichton!"

Sheppard's team blinked in near unison at his outburst. Fidgeting a little, the commander finally lowered his pulse rifle, and swore in another language. The word 'frell' was beginning to insult Sheppard a little. But just a little.

He lowered his own P90 and nodded at Teyla. "Teyla, you and Rodney head back to the jumper. Go back to the gate and have them send Beckett and Lorne's team over. Another jumper'd be nice…just make sure to cloak. You know. Wraith ship." He glanced over to Ronon next. "Chewy, you're with me. If we can't use the ship to find him, I'm gonna need those handy Runner tricks of yours to track down our buddy Todd."

"Was waiting for you to say that," Ronon grunted, powering up his pistol with one hand.

Sheppard noticed that Crichton was staring him down. "Now," he said. "Let's start over. My name's John Sheppard, and this is my team, whose names you already know. Welcome to the Pegasus Galaxy."

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Moya, Tier Six (17 arns, 611 microts after contact)

The temporary agreement made by both parties involved one simple rule: one member of Sheppard's team would stay with Crichton and Aeryn Sun at all times. It was a rule that was promptly broken, after McKay and Teyla left to get backup from Atlantis and Ronon found himself running through one weird corridor after another looking for a Wraith who literally had a million places to hide. Crichton stayed with his wife and kid in the pilot's den, which made Ronon uncomfortable. From what he gathered, that was the control room, or whatever. They could just vent him and Sheppard into space whenever they felt like it.

Then again, that giant alien didn't stay conscious for very long. Ronon wondered how much the Wraith had drained—not that he had much experience, but it looked like an alien that lived a long time. Unfortunately, that meant the Wraith they were hunting down was going to be extremely hard to kill.

He jogged through one of the ship's tiers behind Sheppard, glancing at every corner and shadow for traces of movement. Suddenly, 'Moya' shuddered violently around them, accompanied by a groaning sound that made the floor vibrate. When it was over, his team leader swung his head around to look at him.

"Do you get the feeling it's watching us?" he asked, almost conversationally. They didn't stop, but Ronon was more than happy to offer up his opinion.

"If it is, I just hope it knows we're on its side by now," he replied. They rounded a corner and met another branch, that looped over to the left. They chose it. "We kinda did let its pilot get fed on by a Wraith."

"I don't really think it's anybody's fault that the Wraith showed up. I mean, this thing's gotta be giving off some massive signals to the nearby systems, right?"

"McKay'd know. Ask him later."

The inside of the living ship had a peculiar smell, he noticed after a while. It was a little like the scent of a large reptile combined with an almost earth-like mossy smell. If someone had left their leather coat sitting in the rain for a few days, this is what it would probably smell like after it got ruined. Bottom line was, it wasn't a bad like a Wraith ship. The fact that it was being ventilated clearly meant that the ship was designed for people to live in. When he first got here, it was like he'd been swallowed by an enormous monster. Now it felt as though the living spaceship wanted to make its inhabitants happy.

All of this unusual thought was shattered when Sheppard came to a dead halt, his P90 raised at a target in front of them. Instantly, Ronon brought his blaster up. A gentle thud came from just around the bend and a shadow briefly flashed over the wall.

The moment the shape came bursting into view, Ronon fired. The hot energy blast seared the wall—the grey-and-white blur made a startled yowling sound and jumped into the air. Before he could fire off a second round, it struck him that the creature he was trying to kill wasn't Wraith.

Whatever it was, it was clinging to the ribbed wall of the corridor, bristling and hissing at them. It was small and mostly shaped like a feline rather than a human, but its fur was too long to matter. The creature had no clothes on—the fur was thick enough to cover anything that might have been indecent—but the face of it was roughly feminine and human-like, if wrinkled with its flat nose. Its triangle ears were flattened and its teeth bared ferociously.

"Who orrrrr what arrrre you?" she snapped with a throaty and not very attractive voice. It was a voice that sounded like it belonged somewhere between the age of fifty and sixty…maybe. "Why arrrre you trrresspassing in Gala's territory! Bad males! Evil males!"

"Uh…" Sheppard slowly put the nose of his P90 down. "S-Sorry. I guess."

"You guess! He guesses! Chrrrrichton knows 'dis is my tier! All mine! You turrrn away now and leave! Go otherrrr way!"

"Okay, okay, no problem," the colonel said quickly, taking a surrendering step backwards. He nudged Ronon, hard. Ronon begrudgingly lowered his weapon. "We didn't know. But before we go, can we ask you an important question?"

Her sharp pupils stared him down. "Hurrrry up! I not carrre!"

"Have you seen a scary alien in black leather come this way recently?"

'Gala' hissed. "No! Bye-bye now!"

"Sheppard…" Ronon growled.

"I know," the colonel shot back under his breath. "Pretend we didn't go this way. This chalks up to a whole new level of strange things I'd rather not remember seeing on this ship."

"Fair enough." The Satedan powered down his blaster and turned away to leave. If only McKay were here…the amusement he'd get seeing his face after this would make this all worth it. He tagged behind his team leader until they reached the branch in the tier they had come to earlier.

"Ronon?"

"Yeah?"

"Was there a hole in that wall over there a minute ago?"

A pinprick of confusion followed Ronon's eyes to the spot where Sheppard pointed. Three feet from the ground, about four ribs away, there was a glistening, raw-looking indent about the size of a human head sunken into the tissue of the corridor wall. It looked…well, sick. Not burnt from weapons fire, but like it was starting to disintegrate.

"…No."

Then, as if on cue, a discoloured blob of 'ship flesh' plummeted from the ceiling and landed right on Sheppard's shoulder. The colonel glanced at it incredulously, and his eyes slowly traveled upwards.

"Ah, frell."