Per Ardua Ad Astra

by In Defilade

AU Harry pays a high price for booting Voldemort out of his mind at the end of OotP - he is stripped of his magic, but gains something ... other. He starts a new life in the non-magical world, and adapts his skills to join the RAF and later 'The Regiment'. He is assigned to the Atlantis Expedition and, through overcoming adversity, will find a new home and family amongst the stars.

5. 4 - Brave New Worlds - and Galaxies

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, obviously. Otherwise there'd be a sizeable amount of money in my account … nope, nothing yet. Various pieces of dialogue belong to MGM, etc.

Credit: Again, thank you to 'phoenix catcher' for permission to borrow, I highly recommend his story 'Cast between Worlds' if you haven't already found it. Also, thank you to all those that favourited, followed or reviewed so far. So, moving on smartly, here's a massive change…

We're going to Atlantis! – Since I know this is what everyone wants. From now on, we will find out what's happened to Harry over the past six years or so through flashbacks and conversations, details emerging through his relations with other characters. Surface similarities to 'Cast Between Worlds' may be apparent – that story is heavily based, at least initially, in the script of the show itself, and so is 'Per Ardua ad Astra'. It might also be because I think certain scenes are awesome and deserve resurrection – or because there really is no better way to handle the changes in the story brought about by having an extra character.

Italics in the story text are someone's thoughts except when someone is speaking, in which case they are stressing the words for emphasis.

---

Chapter 4 - Brave New Worlds ... and Galaxies

"Although no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending."

Carl Bard

---

July 16th, 2004 - NORAD (Backup) Command Bunker aka Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Station, Colorado Springs.

The USAF staff car drove straight into the tunnel and up to the guard point at the elevator access to what the public believed was NORAD headquarters. The person who got out was decidedly unusual, even for Stargate Command's veteran guards, who could honestly say they had seen far more weird crap than most.

The officer was six foot, dressed in cutting-edge tan-green battledress, with a sky blue rank slide on his chest bearing two thicker dark blue bars at the bottom. Velcro-attached patches adorned his arms: a subdued Union Jack in olive green above a square blue-white-red recognition patch on his left; and a blood type/allergies badge below an unusual shield-shaped white lightning bolt on a black background emblem, with the words 'AFO STORM' written below on his right. A beige-coloured beret with a winged dagger badge partially covered an odd-shaped scar on his forehead ... a scar which extended down over his right eye in a thin red stripe, continuing below it for another two inches – the eye was clearly still functional, judging by how his cold, alert gaze took everything in. Another scar marked his left cheekbone horizontally below the eye.

Having satisfied himself that no threats lurked in the brightly lit tunnel, the soldier turned to the trunk of the car, from where he pulled a long black rifle bag, a camo rucksack and a set of MOLLE body armour. With all this slung over his shoulders, and carrying the armour, he turned to the elevator.

As this curious and rather intimidating figure approached the guard station, accompanied by the Lieutenant who'd driven the car, the security officer reached for the clipboard that held the approved visitor list for this shift.

"Name and ID, please sir."

"Flight Lieutenant Harry Potter. Royal Air Force." He opened out an ID wallet with his right hand.

The guard contained his curiosity and checked the list, then the photo. "Yes sir, you're clear. Full iris scan and palm-print check are inside."

Once the visitor was past, one of guards looked at the one with the clipboard, a sergeant.

"Scary looking dude, that one."

The sergeant snorted. "Ya don't say...what was the first clue? Huge scars on his face, an SAS beret, and toting a bag of guns. Regular Sherlock Holmes, you are. Get back to your patrol, greenhorn."

---

In the conference room of Stargate Command with his gear beside him, Harry stood at the picture window, looking out at the organised chaos of the Atlantis Expedition's preparations. A couple of people were fiddling around with some UGV with a long pincer arm, and others were wrapping towering trolleys of supplies with plastic to keep things secure. The Gate itself was still, but Harry knew he'd get to see it in action for the first time soon.

Off to his left, the door to the General's door opened, and Brigadier O'Neill strode out, accompanied by a Dr Weir. The grey haired general was clearly stressed out but bearing it in good humour – he was coordinating the dispatching of an expedition to another galaxy after all, stress was to be expected.

"Flight Lieutenant, welcome to Stargate Command. First time?"

"Yes, Sir. Doctor." Harry acknowledged Dr Weir with a nod. "I've been briefed about the SGC for about a year; I was slated to be on one of the first British SG teams, but other...things ... came up. I've never actually been here. Or seen the Stargate before."

"It's a rush, believe me." The General grinned, his enthusiasm evident. "I wouldn't have come out of retirement and stayed for seven years and counting if it wasn't."

"I can believe it, sir. The British government has no objection to my deployment on this expedition. After years of hunting Taliban in the mountains it will make a change."

"That it will." Weir glanced at O'Neill. "Not to be rude, General, but why is the Flight Lieutenant special, exactly? I haven't been able to access his full file – the redacted parts were, well ... all of it, actually."

"I'm here because I'm a weapon, Doctor. A force multiplier, so to speak. And because I'm apparently not entirely human according to my DNA."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Remember why you wanted Major Sheppard on the team? Because his ATA strength was above average?" Weir nodded and the General continued, "Flight Lieutenant Potter's ATA strength is several times stronger than Sheppard, the strongest natural carrier we've found in the NATO DNA database. We haven't been able to get him on the Antarctic chair to test it, but he won't have a problem with Ancient technology."

Weir blinked. "That'd make you extremely helpful. But having the ATA gene doesn't make you 'not human'. And what do you mean by 'you're a weapon'?"

"They're both the same answer, Doctor." Harry replied, "Since I can control the atmosphere, create storms, bring down lightning and control tornadoes. Although my ATA strength isn't a certain explanation for that, it's a pretty good one. I'll explain more fully later."

"You're kidding me," Weir smirked disbelievingly, thinking O'Neill was pranking her – something he'd already tried several times ... but, "...wait, you're serious?" She looked the General, who was clearly not joking, then at Harry, clearly sceptical. "The weather?"

"No Doctor, I seem to have developed this amusing habit of coming into classified military bases and spouting crap in front of the commanding officer. Of course I'm serious." Harry's tone was absolutely dry, his expression completely deadpan. "Although for the first part, I understand Senator Kinsey fulfilled the role admirably – at least until his ...unfortunate departure from public office recently."

O'Neill chuckled. "That he did. Glad to see the British are taking an interest." Weir laughed as well, having had to deal with the corrupt jackass in her time as head of the SGC a few months before. Good, that broke the ice.

"The defence of Earth interests us all, sir. As too do the actions of those who try to hinder it. That's pretty much a direct quote from Downing Street, by the way. The PM told me about this mission personally a few days ago, a courtesy I appreciated."

Weir was apparently still curious, though. "What about the rest of your file?"

"I'm an RAF officer, but I've been on attachment to the SAS for just over four years. I'm also one of the highest rated jet and helicopter pilots in the British Armed Forces, although I spend far less time flying than I'd like. I'm an experienced, decorated Special Forces officer, and I've spent pretty much my entire career continuously on deployment."

"General?" Weir wanted O'Neill's opinion. The old soldier was irreverent and often downright juvenile, but Elizabeth knew he was an experienced judge of character, and knew how to read other soldiers well.

"Take him. You won't regret it."

"Okay ... I'm sold. Although you'd better give me a straight answer on the weather thing ASAP." Weir nodded decisively. A good leader, can think on her feet – a good start. "Glad to have you aboard, Flight Lieutenant Potter. Should be journey of a lifetime."

"Yes Ma'am." Weir nodded again and left.

O'Neill wasn't finished. "The military commander of the expedition, Colonel Sumner, isn't happy I added you to the list. He hand-picked everybody else except Sheppard, who Doctor Weir wanted, and ... he's a jar-head."

"Stubborn, sir?"

"Aren't they all? In a good way ... most of the time."

"He'll get over it." Harry shrugged. "His problem, not mine. I don't have to prove myself any more. I'll just kill whatever they tell me too."

"Do that. Weir has overriding authority, though. Don't let the Marines ride roughshod over her before she can prove herself."

"Yes sir."

"Finally, we're giving you a brevet rank in the United States Air Force. You're a Flight Lieutenant, so that makes you a Captain in our structure." O'Neill handed over a small plastic bag containing a variety of rank insignia, either metal bars or embroidered badges. "This is primarily for the benefit of the Marines, to give you a place in the chain of command. The civvies mostly wouldn't know a Flight Lieutenant from a Field Marshall, so they probably won't even notice. I've cleared it with the RAF; you're to be addressed as Captain now. On our side, it actually required an executive order to override our regulations about non-citizens, but that's been taken care of. Any questions?" (1)

"Not at this time, General." The standard response.

"Good. Dismissed, Captain." O'Neill smirked. "Bet that's going to sound odd for a while."

"Adapt and overcome, sir, like always."

---

Five hours later, Harry was standing in a corner of the Gate Room, unnoticed by most despite his unusual uniform. He'd finished giving Weir a more detailed brief on his abilities and training, but hadn't given her any personal information at all, despite her prying.

He'd boxed up his minimal personal possessions; just clothes mostly, with some extra equipment and a very few personal items, for transport in the cargo pallets. He'd spent almost the entire last four years on the move, going from place to place stamping out fires for the British government, and occasionally starting new ones. He didn't have much in the way of a personal life outside the Forces, and his room in the Officer's Mess at Hereford had been spartan in the extreme – not surprising considering how little time he spent there. The one thing he did spend prodigious amounts of his own money on was his personal equipment – also not surprising, considering how much he used it.

The camouflage uniform wasn't standard – given how little time he spent around the 'proper' military, no-one ever dared call him on it. Neither was the rest of his gear - he'd started customising it soon after he started going on independent one-man operations, which rapidly became the norm after 9/11. He carried an Mk. 14 'Enhanced Battle Rifle,' (EBR) – a lightweight Designated Marksman's Rifle with serious stopping power. An SGC standard P-90 was clipped to the side of his rucksack – he'd wanted something with more firepower, but they didn't have room for alternate calibres of ammunition, so he was stuck with the futuristic-looking SMG until he could requisition something heavier out of the armoury they were taking with them. Another custom weapon, a Kimber-model Colt .45 MEUSOC 1911 silenced pistol was riding in a thigh holster above ballistic kevlar kneepads.

Protecting his body was a set of high-grade SOV-3000 'Dragon Skin' body armour - a name that had given him a laugh, when he'd first heard it - also in camouflage with attached pouches for spare magazines, grenades and various other items; the full 'collar' and arm 'wings' were also attached, which bulked him out considerably compared to the Marines who seemed to make up the military contingent. He'd learned the extremely hard way that body armour was only inconvenient until you realised you needed it, by which point it was too late; so now he always wore the full set if it was practical. A helmet was also clipped to the other side from the P-90; he wore his SAS beret since he hated the damn helmet. He'd been through Hell for that coveted sand beret – with a capital H, just to be clear – and was proud to wear it. He'd added the fabric 'H' insignia tabs of his new rank to the outer collar of the armour – the metal ones were on the shirt collar underneath.

Harry noticed Major Sheppard come in, and studiously ignore Colonel Sumner's hostile looks. Nothing gets that man down, not even being shot down in the badlands of Afghanistan. He was about to step forward and re-introduce himself – they'd mutually saved each other's lives in 'The Rockpile' two years before, but Dr Weir interrupted from the metal ramp leading up to the Gate.

"All right, here we go. We are about to try to make a connection. We have been unable to predict exactly how much power this is going to take and we may only get the one chance at this, so if we are able to achieve a stable wormhole, we're not going to risk shutting the gate down. We'll send through the MALP probe, check for viability and go – everything in one shot. Every one of you volunteered for this mission ..."

Sorta. More like I got volunteered. Not that I mind, actually – anywhere'd be better than the Rockpile right now.

Weir seemed to hear his thoughts, and looked over at him as she continued. "You represent over a dozen countries. You are the world's best and brightest. And in light of the adventure we are about to embark on, you are also the bravest..."

Really? I suppose. The Scottish guy looks terrified, but he's going anyway; and that's the true definition of courage.

"...as all of you know, we may never be able to return home. I'd like to offer you all one last chance to withdraw your participation."

Not like I've really got anything to hold me here. Uh-oh, Sumner and Sheppard aren't going to be getting along, judging by that glare. If looks could kill ...

Weir looked pleased no-one backed down, "Begin the dialling sequence." She stepped down, and Harry stepped forward. Time for his surprise entrance.

"Afternoon, Major."

Sheppard did a double-take. "Storm? What the hell are you doing here?"

Harry just looked at him. "Right, right, stupid question. So do I get your real name now, or is that classified still?"

Harry grimaced. "I'd forgotten about that. Flight Lieutenant – pardon me, now Captain Harry Potter, Royal Air Force, on detached duty with the SAS." Harry pointed at the sand-colour beret, a distinctive marker of his unit.

Sheppard's reply was interrupted by Colonel Sumner, who seemed to want to lay down the law but spoke quietly, not wanting to make a scene.

"Let me make myself clear, gentlemen – neither of you are here by my choice."

"Well, sir, I'm sure you'll warm up to me once you get to know me." Sheppard clearly couldn't care less. Harry stayed silent, preferring to avoid riling the touchy colonel if at all possible.

"As long as you remember who's giving the orders." Sumner moved away.

Sheppard's wry, "That would be Doctor Weir, right?" tested Harry's ability to maintain a straight face to the maximum. With Sheppard idea of a sense of humour, this is going to be ... interesting. As for the Colonel, this expedition is going to another galaxy for Christ's sake; sending a relentlessly by-the-book officer to command the military contingent is a stupid idea. Sumner doesn't seem like he can even see the edge of the box, let alone think outside of his neat little regulation world. And speaking of rule-followers ...

Harry nodded at Sheppard, and then slipped out through the left hand door, moving up to the Control Room beside Dr Jackson. He looked out of place in full body armour amongst the technicians, but he'd learned several times the hard way that armour was something you wore pretty much all the time, lest you be caught out.

"Dr Jackson. I understand you're the ancient languages expert?"

"Yes. And you are?"

"Flight Lieu – sorry," Harry smirked at O'Neill, standing next to them. "Captain Potter, RAF. I was told to drop this off with you as I left." Harry handed him an envelope. "It's a request from the British government for you to evaluate one of our academics prior to approval for recruitment to the SGC. She's already passed our security checks, but we understand if you," Harry nodded to O'Neill, clearly eavesdropping, "want to run your own."

Jackson took the envelope, and then looked at O'Neill. The General just asked, "Isn't this a little unusual? I mean, the IOA usually coordinates the international representatives."

"Yes, that's true. However, my government doesn't want her here as an observer, but as a full team member like Dr Jackson here. She's field capable, or will be with a little training. She's fluent in several runic and ancient languages, and is presently finishing her doctorate at Cambridge. I'll personally vouch for her – she's an old friend, from my school." Harry looked meaningfully at O'Neill, who he knew was briefed in on magic, and had read Harry's unredacted file. "I can guarantee she will be an extremely productive member of the SGC."

"Ah." O'Neill had clearly got his meaning. "Do it, Daniel. It'll stop you from whining about not going to Atlantis."

"I wasn't whining, Jack, I just think that..." Harry left them to it, flipping a casual salute at O'Neill as he left. He moved back to the Major's as the gate activated, prompting a round of applause.

"Wow." Sheppard sounded amazed, but eyed the vertical puddle of something very water-like sceptically. "Impressive."

"That's all?"

"Well...does it hurt?"

"How would I know?"

Sheppard looked at him. "I assumed you'd done this before."

"Nope. Stargate virgin here."

Sheppard and the Scottish doctor behind them laughed. "Same here." His accent was like McGonagall's, Harry thought. Fortunately, that part of his life no longer hurt to think about. "Doctor Carson Beckett."

"I'm Sheppard, he's ... what was it again? Potter?"

"That's right." Harry started paying attention and put his earpiece in as Sumner started barking out orders.

"Hold on, Colonel." Weir interrupted, putting on her rucksack. "We go through together."

Good for you, Doc.

Harry and Sheppard moved up to the gate after they went though, along with a young black marine with a First Lieutenant's silver bars. Behind them, General O'Neill announced on the speakers, "Expedition team. Move out."

"What's it feel like?" Sheppard asked. Ha, he really is worried about that, isn't he?

The young marine considered the question. "Hurts like hell, sir," he replied with a very serious expression, before grinning broadly and throwing himself backward through the wormhole, rather enthusiastically shouting, "Wa-hoo!"

Harry just shrugged at the Major, who was still apprehensive. "Well, you did ask." Then he himself stepped into the upright puddle and into the freaky green roller-coaster tube to another galaxy. Of course, being demolecularised, Harry didn't actually think that until he stepped out the other side.

---

City of Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy

There, they emerged into a large, high and dark room, lit only by the flickering blue effect of the Stargate playing over the angular metal walls. Immediately opposite was a set of stairs, leading up to a mezzanine level, and depressions to either side in the red-coloured floor. Marines were spreading out in small groups, clearing the area. Behind them, that odd squelching noise heralded the arrival of more expedition members through the Gate, dragging supplies with them.

Lights started to turn on as Sheppard and Harry moved up the stairs, weapons at the ready.

"Who's doing that?" Weir asked behind them. Good bloody question.

"Security teams, any alien contact?" Unlikely; this place is dead. I mean, look at the thousands-of-years-old dead plants. No way are those supposed to be artistic, no matter how alien this place is.

Sheppard went right at the top of the stairs, into a room filled with tables, covered by dust sheets. A scientist – McKay, I think – followed him, lifting up some of the sheets.

Weir's, "Greetings from the Pegasus galaxy; you may cut power to the gate," message back to the SGC was met with silence, but a single bottle rolled out of the Gate along the floor before it shut off. Harry nearly laughed. Champagne? O'Neill's a bit of a joker, it seems, even if it is appropriate. Damn, wish I'd had a CO like him in Afghan.

---

Atlantis heralded more and more incredible discoveries in the next few minutes, as exploration teams pushed out through the alien city. Excited calls on the radio came thick and fast.

"Dr Weir, you have to see this."

"I have a lot of things I have to see – just be careful." Weir ditched her rucksack and turned to Harry, who'd cleared the small space in front of her. "Amazed yet?"

"Just a minute." Harry took a quick glance around, making sure no one was looking, and then reached out with his ability, eyes shifting to black. Weir blinked, took a step back. In the low light she wasn't quite sure her eyes weren't playing tricks, but she could have sworn that...

"Uh...Captain...Harry?"

"I did say this is what happened when I did my thing." Harry was sending out feelers in the air, establishing a connection to the molecules themselves in the immediate area. This was mostly what he used his powers for – producing major storms took time, and attracted attention. The lower-level abilities his power allowed tended to be both more useful and much more subtle. He mapped out the control and gate room, then the corridors...then pushed out.

FUCK!

Harry stumbled, leaning against a pillar for support, as an immense feeling of weight crashed in on him. That's not air, that's water...water under a lot of pressure.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm fine. But...we're under water, I'm certain of it. Took me by surprise, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

Harry glared at her irritatedly. "Yes ma'am, otherwise I wouldn't have said so. Now if we're done with me, the city's under several hundred metres of ocean. At least."

"Okay. Since we aren't flooding, that doesn't seem to be an immediate problem." Weir moved back across the bridge to the control room, where Sheppard and McKay were poking at things. A screen lit up as the Major passed by.

"Wasn't me!"

"Relax, Major." Weir assured him, clearly entranced by the alien city and its wonders. "It's like the entire complex is sensing our presence and coming to life."

"This has got to be the control room. This is obviously their version of a DHD." McKay butted in.

"Oh, obviously." And … Sheppard doesn't have a clue what it is, does he. McKay continued to flit around the other consoles.

"He means dial-home-device." Harry whispered to Sheppard, "The SGC nickname for the Stargate's control panel."

"Thanks...how do you know that?"

Harry smirked. "Got read in on Stargates about a year ago, caught up with the occasional status update on the defence of the planet whenever I was in the office."

"Office? You're not the office type."

"On that we entirely agree, sir."

Weir's radio crackled "Dr Weir, Colonel Sumner, can you come down and meet me please, we're three levels down from you."

---

Once they found the Colonel, who didn't seem pleased his two least favourite people had accompanied Dr Weir down, he led them to a large window, revealing that Atlantis was, in fact, the city of legend. Far overhead, the rippled surface of the ocean glittered, while the city itself stretched off into the hazy depths, possibly for several miles. Weir glanced at Harry for a moment, at the confirmation of his information. Hope she's impressed. Lot more where that came from.

"...fortunately, there's some kind of force field holding back...the water..." McKay trailed off as he reached the window. "Oh, that is impressive isn't it?" No shit, Sherlock. "Dr Beckett has found something you should see."

The others trailed after the Canadian. Harry chose to stay at the window, continuing to focus his abilities outwards. He mentally mapped the city in just a few seconds, beginning with the tower but then room by room, corridor by corridor of the rest of the ... that's odd. That whole pier I'm looking at out there...oh, it's flooded. Crap. Not good. He followed the others, wondering how he could break the news without compromising his secret.

It came to him he caught up to the others, just about to enter the room Beckett was in. "McKay."

"Yes, what?"

Snappish much, doctor?

"Did you check the city shield's integrity?"

"Uh...not yet."

Harry switched to his radio, "Anyone in the control room, this is Captain Potter."

"Grodin here."

"Please check the integrity of the shields holding back the water for me."

"Sure thing, just a moment."

Inside the room, the hologram continued to speak, recounting the defeat of the Ancients of Atlantis at the hands of a terrible enemy, and how they fled to Earth.

"...This city was left to slumber, in the hope that our kind would one day return."

Harry, still outside but listening, caught sight of Dr Grodin making his way down the passage towards them.

"Well, Doctor?"

"Not good. They're collapsing, and the hologram is a major power drain."

Harry stepped aside, letting the Brit step inside to whisper to McKay, who in turn promptly interrupted Beckett's next run through the recording.

"Stop. Turn it off. Power levels throughout the city are dropping like a stone." McKay cut in.

"What does that mean?" Sumner kept his cool, Harry was glad to see.

"That if we don't stop everything we are doing right now, we are dead."

Melodramatic much?

---

Rodney's briefing on the power was also suitably dramatic.

""The force field holding back the ocean has collapsed to its minimum sustainable levels." He pointed to the screen, where sections of the city piers were highlighted already, the flooding Harry had sensed. "Look, you can see here and here, where the shields have already failed and the city flooded." Glad I don't have to explain how I knew that. "It could've happened years ago. This section is likely more protected because of the Stargate."

"What if it fails completely?" Sheppard asked.

"It's a matter of when, not if."

"Colonel Sumner, you need to order your search teams to stop exploring the city immediately." Weir cut in.

Sumner tapped his earpiece."All security teams, fall back to the gate room immediately."

"It's not going to be good enough." McKay was adamant.

Get to the point. Harry asked him straight out, "How much time do we have?"

"It's hard to say, maybe hours, maybe days if we minimize power expenditure." McKay told him.

"What about our own power generators?" Beckett asked.

"We're working on that, but even with our most advanced naquadah power generators, the equations are coming up far short."

"So we need to find more ZPMs." Weir deduced with a sigh.

"That seems unlikely we'd manage that in time, given that the SGC has only ever recovered a few, only one with any juice left," Harry commented.

"How do we do that if we can't search the city?" Sumner asked.

"If there were more here, we'd be able to detect them." McKay told the Colonel rather aggressively.

Solutions, not more problems McKay, Harry was about to say, but then the Gate caught his eye from where he was standing at the railing over the Gate Room.

"How much power does the Stargate use?" Harry asked.

"There is nowhere near enough left to open a wormhole back to Earth." McKay countered.

"Maybe somewhere in this Galaxy?" Sheppard asked, catching on.

"That's relatively easy." McKay muttered, apparently mildly annoyed he hadn't thought of that, moving to the DHD console. "Fortunately, some Ancient technology still uses good old-fashioned push buttons, so we've been able to access the Stargate control system and a library of known gate addresses in the database." A solution, then.

"That's not all, look at this." Grodin was studying the console, and pushed a button. Out in the gate room a blue-white shield came to life over the Stargate.

"Just like the Iris on the Earth Gate." Sumner's expression didn't change, but he was clearly pleased at the defensive capability.

"Using power…using power…using power…" McKay muttered over and over and Grodin turned it off again with a contrite expression.

"Well, at least we don't have to deal with any uninvited guests. Colonel, assemble a team. We need safe harbour, or better still, another power source." Weir ordered with a look at the colonel.

"Lieutenant Ford, gather security teams one and two." Sumner left, still talking on the radio.

"Major, Captain. Go with them."

"Yes ma'am." Harry didn't reply, just nodded and left. He was already beside the active Stargate by the time Grodin and the Marines arrived, since he still wearing his combat gear.

"Colonel." Sumner looked him up and down. His expression clearly conveyed displeasure, though he said nothing.

Oh for god's sake, might as well deal with this now.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the man. "I'm on this expedition because I'm SAS, a trained jet and helo pilot, and because my ATA strength is off the chart. I am not here to screw you over, sir. I'm here because I'm good at killing people and breaking things, and have been doing so for pretty much continuously for four years. That is all, sir."

Well, there are a few other ... minor things ... relatively speaking ...

Sumner seemed relatively satisfied with Harry's blunt statement, despite the near-insubordinate tone. At least, he looks a little less like he has a ramrod up his arse, anyway.Grodin interrupted any reply, though.

"MALP reads full viability, and no immediate signs of activity around the Stargate. But it's pitch black." Sheppard arrived as Harry pulled his NVGs out of a pouch, and Sumner instantly tightened up again, looking up at Weir almost suspiciously. Oh get over yourself. "For now, we're going to use the tried and true system of identifying inbound gate travellers." He handed out identity transmitters as the squad advanced through the Stargate.

---

The planet they reached was indeed dark, as Grodin had said. The landscape – flat grassland with clumps of trees - was lit up in a ghostly green glow through the NVG's, illuminating the Marines spreading out into a patrol line.

Not a minute later, advancing across the open ground, a rustling sound distracted Sheppard and Ford, who went to investigate. Harry, to the left of them in the patrol signalled at the rest to stop.

The sound was quickly discovered to be a couple of kids, now terrified at the looming shadowy silhouettes of the two soldiers. Another person appeared, a long-haired, bearded man at least a head taller than Harry, yelling, "Please, they're just playing!"

"Everything okay here, Sheppard?" Clearly the colonel expected otherwise, just because it was the Major.

"Yes sir; just a couple of kids."

The man, probably a father, pointed to himself after gathering his sons in. "Halling."

Sheppard looked confused. "I don't know what that means." Oh, it's not that hard.

"It's his name." Again, the colonel wasn't impressed. And probably never will be with Sheppard. Poor guy's going to have a rough time with the CO riding him the whole time.

"Oh. Halling, it's nice to meet you." Sheppard recovered quickly.

"Are you here to trade?"

"Trade… yes. We're…traders…" Sheppard fumbled it again. Riiiight, very well armed traders, moving in formation, in the middle of the night. Because of the bandits in these parts, obviously.

Halling apparently accepted the explanation, speaking to his kids, telling them off for being out after dark. Then he stood.

"Teyla will wish to meet you. Come."

---

As Halling led them to this Teyla, Harry took up the rear, as two men had been left to guard the gate. This meant he wasn't privy to a conversation between Ford and Sumner that probably would have made him chuckle.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir, I've noticed you have a bit of a problem with Major Sheppard, and the British guy?"

"With Sheppard, my problem is with his record, Lieutenant. I don't like anybody who doesn't follow the proper chain of command."

"Yes, sir. And the Limey ... I mean, Captain Potter?"

"Well, he doesn't really fit in the chain of command at all, so I don't know yet. His file's damn near completely redacted – even his school record, for some reason – so either he really is extremely good, or he's embarrassed or pissed off someone important so much he's been packed off to a different galaxy to get rid of him." The Colonel paused to consider what he'd seen of Potter so far, which wasn't all that much.

Ford snorted. "What, McMurdo was too close?"

"Well, it's probably option number one, considering he's still in the military at all," Sumner decided, "but I don't know him, and I didn't choose him, and that means I don't have a clue how he'll react under fire. He's an unknown quantity ... but he's SAS, so I'll reserve judgement for the time being. Those scars are impressive, but don't mean squat until we know the stories behind them; and those may indicate a screw-up on his part. Also, he may wear an SAS badge, but he's Royal Air Force – that in itself is unusual, if not damn near unique."

"How unique, sir?"

"I haven't met or heard of a single RAF officer who went into the SAS. Although it is possible, if you want to be Special Forces in Britain, the usual route is to join the Royal Marines or the Army and then go into the SBS or SAS respectively. The RAF does have an infantry regiment, but they're hardly 'Special'; just there for base protection, and they're something of a joke to other two services. His personnel file has nothing to indicate why he's different – even his age is redacted. It's like he doesn't even exist, even to the SGC, which is the most secret project in the world."

The village turned out to be just a few hundred metres away in a large clearing, a collection of high, round tents glowing from firelight inside. They kind of look...Mongolian, actually. Harry thought. Yurts, they're called out there. He'd spent a month out there in 2000, observing a Russian bio-chem research installation just the other side of the border, moving around on horseback in local dress with a friendly interpreter. It had been ... peaceful, actually, kind of the calm before the storm when the War on Terror kicked off later that year.

Outside a slightly larger tent, Halling announced "It is Halling; I bring men from away."

---

Inside, Teyla had just sat down to an early breakfast with her people – with no relatives of her own, and as the leader of her tribe, she considered every one of them to be part of her family. At Halling's announcement she smiled: she had travelled off-world frequently to trade, and always enjoyed meeting new people and cultures.

They're probably new. Halling would have announced them by name or tribe if he knew them.

"Enter."

Four men entered behind Halling, and she categorised them instantly as they ducked through the flap: a tallish man with a carefully neutral expression, carrying some kind of weapon – leader, she assessed him instantly; two younger men in the same, all-black attire with friendlier looks – seconds; and a fourth man in different clothing, brown covered with many interlocking swatches of other colours, greens and blacks mostly, with a brown cloth cap with some sort of marking. He also carried a weapon, longer and deadlier looking, but it was his green eyes that caught Teyla's attention, and the way he moved. Like a hunter, always balanced. And the eyes...a warrior, most certainly. A deadly one – who has seen more violence than any of the others, and done it as well. The warrior looked around, taking in everything, and everyone, in a second.

Halling caught her attention. "They wish to trade." His voice clearly conveyed his disbelief.

She was watching the warrior, who just smiled almost imperceptibly, as if he'd heard something funny nobody else would get. Interesting...

The third one in black, taller, with dark hair removed whatever it was that he had on his forehead.

"It's nice to meet you." He was smiling widely, genuinely it seemed. Good sign, probably.

"I am Teyla Emmagan, daughter of Tagan."

"Colonel Marshall Sumner," the older one announced. "Major Sheppard, Lieutenant Ford, and Captain Potter."

So, the Warrior is named. Hello, Captain Potter.

"We have very few specific needs, but –"

"- we do not trade with strangers." Teyla interrupted Sumner. But she was watching the Captain, who met her gaze. He still seemed amused at something, even if he didn't show it obviously.

"Is that a fact?" The slightly aggressive, ominous tone set by the colonel's words was broken by Sheppard's cheerful, "Well, we'll just have to get to know each other then...me? I like Ferris wheels, college football and anything that goes more than two hundred miles per hour."

I have no idea what he just said.

Clearly sensing this, the captain rolled his eyes and spoke, openly amused at his comrade's antics even as the younger one, Ford, muttered something akin to her thoughts in Sheppard's ear.

"Teyla, daughter of Tagan. I am Harry, son of James and Lily. Although Major Sheppard probably doesn't make much sense to you right now, he is correct. Just because we are strangers tonight does not mean we will not be friends tomorrow." The Warrior's voice was low, formal. He didn't quite bow, but he gave a deep nod, as if addressing a valued friend or associate.

Odd how I'm already thinking of him as 'The Warrior' as if it were a title ...

Teyla appreciated the slight formality. The Colonel was apparently already annoyed by her initial refusal, so Captain Potter would probably be easier to deal with, and would be more respectful of her people's culture.

How to make overtures of friendship...

"Each morning, before dawn, our people drink a stout tea; to brace us for the coming day. Will you join us?"

"We would be honoured."

Good answer, Warrior.

---

Harry had been mildly surprised to find that 'Teyla' was in fact a woman. It wasn't an Earth first name, so he'd assumed it was more of a surname-by-occupation – like 'Tailor'. However, the instant he ducked into the tent, it was blindingly clear he'd been wrong. Even if Halling hadn't introduced her immediately, the petite brunette woman dressed in a complex green-and-brown leather overcoat had a presence about her; similar actually to a number of soldiers he'd encountered, true natural leaders who could just walk into a situation and take command without really even thinking about it.

That's what you get for assuming Earth culture applies everywhere. Not everyone's culture is patriarchal – and I've clearly spent too long in the Middle East if I just assumed that.

She seemed particularly interested in him; Harry put it down to his abnormal appearance compared to the other's standard all-black. His camouflage and weaponry was effective, but unfortunately rather distinctive – he had actually earned a nickname amongst the Pashtun tribesmen of Afghanistan, despite the secrecy of his missions. They called him 'Storm-Bringer,' and rumours persisted amongst the Taliban rank and file of a lone 'foreign devil' who showed up in the middle of massive thunderstorms, 'like some prophet of Allah himself' as one captured insurgent had put it. Although initially MI6 assumed his cover was blown – 'Storm-Bringer' was awfully similar to his SAS unit nickname of 'Storm', after all – it quickly became clear it was simply coincidence, which in turn had been good for a laugh with the lads in D Squadron when he got back to England for a few weeks later that year.

Halling's clear suspicion of their cover as 'traders' was good for a slight chuckle as well. Clearly he didn't buy it. Misjudged that one too.

Sheppard's attempt at a friendly overture was amusing, and might actually have worked, if only by making them curious. However, with several years experience of dealing with touchy Afghan tribal and village elders, Harry decided that diplomacy might be served by a little 'hearts and minds'.

Daughter of Tagan...I'm not going to assume again that Tagan is a male or female parent's name, so I'll use both. He didn't think of his parents often any more. At Hogwarts, there'd been so many comments about 'you look like James – but with Lily's eyes' that they had always been returned to the front of his mind eventually. But an intense eighteen months of military training, followed by an exhaustive four years of near-constant missions had forced him to learn to compartmentalise, or lose crucial focus during operations. Operating alone so much, he couldn't afford the slightest mistake, so all personal feelings got shoved to the back of his mind and bottled up.

Well, being formal seemed to work. Let's see where this goes. Doesn't look like they can give us a ZPM, but they might help with shelter for the expedition.

---

A few hours later after sunrise, the goodwill Harry's careful diplomacy and Sheppard's more exuberant enthusiasm had engendered in Teyla and her people was being somewhat tested.

"The City of the Ancestors is not safe." One of the Athosians, a younger man named Toran was protesting the Colonel's plan to investigate some nearby ruins, revealed by the daylight.

"We can handle ourselves." Sumner was unimpressed, but Toran adamantly pressed on.

"The Wraith will come."

"Who are these Wraith?"

Teyla and Toran looked at each other in confusion. Harry and Sheppard had avoided the topic during their conversation, keeping it on happier topics rather than enigmatic potential enemies. "We have never met anyone who did not know."

"Well, you have now."

"If the Wraith have never touched your world you should go back there."

"That...isn't an option, regrettably." Harry spoke up. "We're stranded."

Sheppard nodded. "Bit of a bind. We may need a place to stay for a while."

"Our people have long believed that the Wraith will come if we venture into the old city. But," Teyla temporised, "It is a belief we have not tested for some time."

"And what do you believe, Teyla?" Might be interesting.

Teyla hesitated. "I have visited other worlds; seen other peoples more advanced than us. The Wraith are not a myth, certainly, but neither are they gods. I do not believe they willreturn for certain if we enter the Old City, but neither am I willing to test it. There has been no benefit in tempting fate."

Sumner just walked out, grunting "Gentlemen." How polite, he may as well have slapped her.

Ford and Sheppard followed. Teyla looked at Harry as he picked up his rifle; she was clearly irritated, her jaw tense. "Your leader looks through me as if I were not there." See? Just plain rude. However, when faced with a question you don't want to answer, ask one of your own.

"Do I?" Harry paused in slinging his weapon, looking her straight in the eye. Sincerity goes a long way. Teyla had a speculative look as she considered the question.

"No. But...you see everything, don't you?"

Harry smiled slightly. "I try. Being unobservant gets you killed in my line of work."

"Which is what, exactly?" Oh crap, walked into that one. "I noticed you didn't directly answer that earlier..." she added, watching him carefully. Yeah, because I can't exactly say 'assassin,' can I...

"I'm a soldier. A ... protector of those who cannot protect themselves, I suppose. Excuse me."

Harry ducked out of the tent to find the other officers waiting by the lakeside. "What took so long?"

"Soothing some ruffled feathers, sir; a little hearts and minds will go a long way, Colonel, especially if we end up asking them to help us set up here." Harry stressed the rank slightly while looking him in the eye, subtly indicating Sumner was at fault here without calling him out on it in front of the others. The Marine thought about it, then just nodded nearly imperceptibly. Ford and Sheppard had apparently missed the exchange entirely.

"Well, that city's worth a look regardless. Not to mention the possibility that there are ZPM's there they don't know or care about." Still, the Colonel wasn't going to listen to Teyla.Stubborn, like O'Neill said, even if he can admit he's wrong.

"What if the Wraith are the enemy the Ancient hologram lady's talking about?" Sheppard wondered.

"All the more reason for us to have a defensible position should we have to abandon Atlantis."

Harry spoke up. "If the Wraith did defeat the Ancients, then they must be technologically advanced to some degree. Some kind of long-term perimeter warning system isn't out of the question."

"Seems a little extreme, Captain?"

"Maybe not, sir. If the Wraith took on the Ancients - which couldn't have been a cakewalk - and won, then they must started thinking long-term at some point once they won, watching for any sign of their old enemy – to whom we are related. We really don't know anything about them except that they must exist."

"I suppose...still, we need more information, and we won't get that by sitting around. It's a risk we'll have to take. Captain, since you're getting along with Teyla so well, find out what you can about the Wraith. Major, you're with me in the city; Ford, head back to the Gate to check in with Atlantis; tell them we've made contact with the locals and are checking out the local area."

"Yes sir," all three junior officers spoke at once. Harry rolled his eyes. The military's universal chorus.

Back at the tent, Teyla questioned Harry again as soon as he stepped through the flap. "You truly cannot return to your world?"

"Afraid not. One way trip. We are hoping to find some devices to aid our return home in the City of the Ancestors," Harry spoke carefully, using the Athosian name for the ruins, "but I do not believe we are likely to find any. As for the Wraith...we have never encountered them before. I hoped you could tell me more about them."

"Indeed. Then there is something you should see."

---

As Teyla led Harry out of the camp into the forest, Sheppard and Sumner were heading out the other way around a lake with a squad of marines following. The Colonel had decided this would be a good time to do a little digging for information.

"I noticed back on Earth that you're familiar with Captain Potter, Major."

"A little, yes sir." Why, is he on your shitlist too, Colonel?

"What can you tell me about him?"

"Not much – I didn't even know his real name until yesterday."

Sumner blinked. Special Forces didn't exactly advertise themselves, but that level of secrecy seemed unusual. "How did you know him before?"

Major Sheppard decided to be blunt. "You obviously know about that little unauthorised trip I took nine months ago, sir."

"I do."

"Friend of mine, Captain Lyle Holland was shot down in an Apache while providing support to a British prisoner, who had escaped from Taliban and radioed in to HQ about an hour before. He'd retrieved his gear, but was on the run with another PoW, who was badly wounded and unable to walk. I went in solo, and against orders, in a Blackhawk to extract Holland – Higher said it was too hot to get him out at that time, that it would take time to mount a full response – and that the British could extract their own man if they wanted to, that he wasn't our problem. A secondary objective. Low priority."

"That's ... cold." Sumner hadn't been expecting to sympathise with Sheppard, but you never left a man behind; it was an inviolable rule of trust between commanders and subordinates, and a cardinal rule of most Western militaries, that superiors would never abandon those they were responsible for. Breaking it rarely resulted in anything good.

"Yes sir. The British didn't take it too well either, since the aforementioned prisoner had been on a mission for our government when he was captured, and British intelligence suspected he'd been compromised by a mole in the American HQ in Kandahar. Anyway, I was shot down by a lucky shot to the tail rotor, but managed a controlled landing and survived unharmed. I was near Holland's last known, so I made my way to his position, intending to get him out on foot."

"Go on."

"Lyle was wounded. Taliban were all around us, and I couldn't see a decent way out. Then out of nowhere Potter shows up, carrying another British officer who'd clearly been tortured - the two PoWs I mentioned. He was bleeding from that cut that runs over his right eye – so I presume the bastards had tried some 'enhanced interrogation' techniques of their own on him. He identified himself as 'Storm,' and was clearly British, so we cooperated. I wouldn't have gotten out alive without him; neither would have Lyle. We got extracted by an RAF Chinook medevac helo that evening, with a full flight of four British Army Apaches pounding the crap out of everything that moved around us. They were really pissed that we had left one of theirs to die."

"What happened to the other prisoner?"

"Don't know, sir. She was in a really bad way when we landed, and got whisked into the field hospital. I never saw either of them again until Harry introduced himself yesterday."

"Hmmm ... what was he like in combat?"

"Ice-cold."

"Really?"

"Utterly deadly, sir. He carries swords – did you notice that?"

Sumner stopped and looked at Sheppard as if he was joking. "Swords." His voice was flat, disbelieving.

"Yes sir, honest-to-god shortswords. Two of them, about a foot-and-a-half long, parkerized black blades, like a Ka-Bar. Took out a four-man Taliban patrol that was looking for us in absolute silence, in about three seconds flat; scariest goddamn thing I've ever seen. I know it's odd, but he's obviously spec-ops. The Russians train their Spetznaz guys to throw hatchets for Christ's sake; I don't think shortswords are out of the question, sir – and he definitely knows how to use them."

"Hmmm..." That seemed to be the Colonel's default non-committal response. He continued moving, mulling over what he'd just been told.

The Marines behind them had heard every word.

---

Teyla led Harry to a small opening in a cliff face about twelve miles from the village; over the rough terrain, it had taken them several hours to reach it. Fitted stones framed the small rectangular doorway, leading into a low, dark tunnel. Teyla lit a torch with some kind of lighter, and Harry flicked on a right-angle torch clipped to his armour. He'd ditched the rucksack in the village, but still had his rifle on his back, carrying the P-90 – leaving such things around curious kids was never a good idea.

As they rounded the first bend, he spotted a glimmer in the dirt at Teyla's feet as she led the way. Stooping to pick it up on the way past, he swept up a necklace – the glimmer was a small, circular silver pendant in the centre, tied between two leather cords with clasps.

"Seen this before?"

Teyla turned, and Harry held up the necklace. "Why yes, I lost this years ago. How did you...?"

"It was just lying right here, reflecting off the light." Harry was struck by a sudden inspiration. He stepped forward, lifting the pendant to her neck, the torchlight illuminating both their faces with a flickering warm yellow glow. Teyla didn't back away, staring challengingly into his eyes as he swept her auburn hair back off her shoulders and did up the clasp at her nape, the pendant resting just above the laced v-neck of her white linen shirt. Holding her gaze was slightly distracting, but he managed not to fumble it.

Teyla broke the eye contact, looking down while fingering the pendant distractedly. Harry just moved away, wondering what the hell had just happened exactly. I suppose we just had a 'moment', he thought with an inward chuckle. Wasn't expecting that, although ... she's pretty exotic, to say the least. Not going to push my luck, though.

To give Teyla some space, he turned away to flash his torch over the stone carvings in the wall. "Someone's been busy."

---

Teyla was rather surprised at the Captain's audacity, to say the least. She didn't let it show, however, deciding to let this play out. He's interesting, to say the least.

That scar was savage, clearly visible even in the half-light of the torch she carried; scoring a jagged lightning bolt on his forehead before continuing down through his eyebrow. It apparently missed his eye, but began again a half-inch below it, continuing down with a slight outward curve to a point parallel to his mouth. The wound had healed relatively cleanly, with a minimum of scar tissue; just a slightly raised red ridge down his face. The other, just below his left eye, was hidden in shadow.

I bet he has some stories to tell about those, if he ever tells them at all. Such men are often closed off. Potter was clearly a fighter, a man used to living on a dangerous knife-edge, his instincts honed to a razor-fine sense. It was his eyes that gave him away – they were ... experienced, and made him appear far older than she suspected he truly was. Their conversation over the past few hours had revealed surprisingly little about him personally – Sheppard had done most of the talking, eager to make a good impression, while the Captain had remained somewhat mysterious in the background despite being the one to begin the exchange.

She held his gaze for several long seconds, those green eyes intense and direct. Too intense. She looked away, and he moved back, the moment broken. That was ... odd.

---

"The drawings in the caves are extensive. Many must date back thousands of years."

"This represent the destruction of your city out there?" The panel in the stone wall showed trees on the ground, with a large ship of some kind overhead and smaller, kite shaped objects around it that Harry assumed were smaller ones. A kind of conical wire-frame linked the larger ship and the ground, with human figures apparently inside it. A cage? There were others panels too, about three to a wall.

"This drawing far pre-dates that."

"A prophecy?" As the subject of one, Harry was rather more open minded than most on the supernatural, not that he ever let it show. Wouldn't want to ruin my reputation as a hardcase even by Hereford's standards.

"No...I believe it happens again and again. The Wraith allow our kind to grow in numbers, and when that number reaches a certain point they return, to 'cull' their human herd. Sometimes a few hundred years will pass before they awaken again."

Herd? That doesn't sound good.

"We have visited many worlds, and I know of none untouched by the Wraith. The last great holocaust was five generations ago, but still they return in smaller numbers to remind us of their power."

"What exactly did you mean by ... herd?"

Teyla looked surprised he'd asked ... then remembered he really didn't now anything about the Wraith. To her, this was information necessary for basic survival. "They feed on humans."

"You mean ... physically eat?"

"I do not know exactly, but they are the hunters, and we the prey." Oh ... lovely. "Some of us have the ability to sense the Wraith; that gives us warning." Abilities, OK. That I can accept, I suppose. If you live in a glass house, don't throw stones.

Teyla looked back at the entrance, judging the angle of the sun. "We should go, it will be dark by the time we get back."

"Give me a sec ... I want pictures." He pulled out a small camera. "This won't take a minute."

---

The first Harry knew of the attack was when Teyla suddenly stopped in her tracks. Then he heard an odd screeching noise, kind of like ...

There can't possibly be any Formula One cars here...

"What is it?" he asked, unslinging the rifle and securing the P-90. Like hell I'm going up against a bunch of major alien bad guys with a calibre that starts with anything less than a seven.

"Wraith!" Teyla started to run, so Harry followed, keeping up easily despite the armour. Trusting to the darkness to conceal his eyes, he activated his powers and pushed out. He'd been maintaining a low-level connection to the molecules around him for about twenty metres – this he did instinctively now, just a part of his situational awareness. However, he could sense their movement in the air up to two miles away if he focused hard.

We're about a mile and half away from the camp ... three airborne targets, circling and making attack runs at high speed...nothing on the ground but trees. Then he heard bursts of gunfire, the chatter of the lighter P-90's, and the lower-pitched snarl of the LMGs.

"Colonel, they're on the ground! They're all around us!" Finally, he was back in radio range.

"Teyla, what are the Wraiths' tactics?" Harry shifted to his 'combat mode,' boxing up everything but the mission. Protect the team. Save as many locals as possible. Gather data on the Wraith.

Teyla was annoyed with herself, that she was again surprised at the question. They don't know, they're not from here! "They stay in their ships! Do not trust your eyes, the Wraith can make you see things that are not there!" She continued to run full pace, hurdling fallen trees and branches

Telepathy? Not now, wonder about it later.

---

Back at the camp, Sumner was starting to lose his cool. Sheppard was controlling the far side of the perimeter, and all his men were reporting seeing something on the ground, flitting between the trees like ghosts. It fit the name, 'the Wraith', and he still had no real idea what they looked like; the Athosian kid's mask hadn't been much help. He tried to divide his men's fire between ground and air, but they didn't seem to be hitting anything. No way the P-90's are going to make a hole in those fighters, they're far too light, get the AT-4's into action! One of the fighters swooped down, scooping up a knot of running natives in a translucent white beam. What the fuck is that all about?

"Colonel Sumner, this is Storm." The Colonel frowned ... who the hell, oh, Potter's call-sign.

"What you see on the ground is just an illusion – concentrate fire on the ships. Say again, concentrate fire on the ships." Potter's voice was calm, and that professional tone kicked the Colonel back into gear.

"FIRE ON THE SHIPS! FIRE ON THE SHIPS!"

Previously confused and dithering Marines, scanning for targets on the ground, exploded into action, acquiring the ships and firing rapid bursts. They began to switch from cover to cover in pairs, firing on the move, spurred on by the Colonel's urgently shouted order.

Looking around, Sumner spied SSgt Bates, carrying a missile tube. He grabbed the NCO's shoulder, "Snap out of it!"

"But they're everywhere, sir!" The Staff Sergeant was clearly out of his depth, scared witless by the piercing noise of the alien ships, the ghostly images in the trees, and the fires started among the tents. The Colonel caught sight of a fighter making another run straight at them above the treetops.

"Take that thing down!" The authoritative tone, along with a clear indication of a target, got Bates moving again. The Staff Sergeant's snap-shot flew straight up underneath the enemy craft, blowing it into oblivion.

Unfortunately, the triumphant feeling didn't last long.

---

Harry and Teyla were still running full tilt through the forest on the main track, about five hundred metres from the village. Harry picked up one of the circling ships coming in behind them; he turned to look, and decided it was on an attack run – bombs or guns, didn't matter which. "Teyla, cover!"

He dived left just as a bright white cone lanced down from the aircraft, projecting a wide circle on the ground. It missed him by a fraction, but Teyla...

"Teyla?" Harry rolled to his knees, weapon scanning. "TEYLA!"

She can't be that far away ... what was that thing ... wait ... cones - the drawings - with people going up inside the cone ... fuck. She's been captured. What next ... call it in.

Before he could, one of the Marines was on the radio, "Sir, the Colonel's been taken!"

Harry heard Major Sheppard respond, but he was already sprinting for the village again.

"Gate's coming on again; two enemy ships approaching." That was Ford, on guard duty.

Sheppard was right on it. "Let 'em go, they have friendlies on board. Locate the dialling device, burn those symbols into your mind!"

That's a good choice. Can't do anything now, but I am NOT leaving anyone to die, and we'll need the address for prisoner extraction.

As he reached the village, he found Sheppard standing amongst the burning and sparking wreckage of a downed alien ship. And on the ground -

What in God's name is that!

A humanoid forearm was crawling in the dirt. It wasn't attached to anything – just the forearm, from below the elbow.

Sheppard fired two short bursts into the arm, and it stopped moving. They looked at each other, each clearly conveying the same thought. What the fuck?

One of the Athosian kids appeared behind Sheppard, crying for help. Seeing the Major was dealing with the child, Harry ignored them and went searching for his patrol pack. I know I've got an evidence bag in there. As a specialist reconnaissance and infiltration operative, Harry was used to having to 'bag-and-tag' items for later analysis – physical and electronic forensics like fingerprints, DNA and cellphone records played a major part in tracking the opposition players in the War on Terror. He routinely carried heavy-duty ziploc bags with him, as well as the camera he'd used earlier to take photos of the caves. Weir will want to see that thing, and Beckett can tell us more. Also, I need to find that mask the kids were playing with earlier, that's the only thing we've got to go on what they look like.

Twenty minutes later, they'd regrouped with the Marines and gathered the remaining Athosians – about seventy five – and moved back to the Stargate.

---

Emerging in Atlantis, they found the city shaking as if in an earthquake.

"Major Sheppard, who are all these people?" Uh-oh, that isn't good.

"Survivors – the settlement was attacked. Some of our men were taken too."

"We are in no position to help anyone right now." Weir told him firmly.

"What the hell's going on?" Sheppard demanded.

"We were about to abandon the city!"

"Well, we can't go back there," Harry cut in.

"Major, Captain – the shield is about to fail, and the ocean is about to come crashing in on us. Do you have any better place for us to go?"

"Jinto?" Sheppard turned to a boy in the group of Athosians, "Do you have another address we can gate to?"

"Yes, many." The boy told Sheppard with a nod.

"He's just a boy." Weir commented. Right, because that always stopped me. Sheppard ignored her as well, dragging the boy towards the stairs.

"I am Jinto!" the kid introduced himself to Weir enthusiastically as he was rushed past. Well, at least he's well mannered even in a crisis.

"She's pleased to meet you," Sheppard growled, not stopping. Clearly not well mannered in a crisis.

As they moved up the stairs, another lurch sent them stumbling. Weir grabbed a tower of equipment to hold herself; Harry just about stayed on his feet, well-balanced enough to stay upright and being used to shifting G-forces. All the jarheads fell over.

You'd think they would be used to the floor moving around, being part of the Navy and all.

"The shield is collapsing!" McKay's panicked shout carried down to them. Harry reached out with his ability, remapping the city as he had done before. The water had taken over quite a few parts...and he felt rather than heard a thunderous roar. To everyone else, it was lost in the confusing wash of sound, but to Harry it was blindingly obvious – he feltevery air molecule in his vicinity suddenly shift downwards as the city rose upwards.

"Hold!" Harry waved at Grodin, who was starting up another dialling sequence. "Hold the gate, we're moving!"

The others quickly realised he was right. A few rather adrenaline-pumping seconds later, light burst into the room from the windows in a riot of colour through the stained glass windows on all sides, the glow sweeping down the windows like they were riding a glass express elevator to, well, Heaven - appropriate for the stained glass really. As Atlantis settled back on the surface, all the lights in the control room switched back on, further illuminating the room. Well, we've got power. But how much...

Harry climbed the stairs even as everyone else clambered to their feet. Weir followed him to the window, taking in the sight of water pouring off the city piers. Out of the murky water, Atlantis was even more incredible than it had been before, a vast expanse of gleaming metal, populated by dozens of chrome and glass spires. There was art in the design, genius really – no two towers were the same, yet it all formed a balanced, matched whole, no buildings that could be called ugly or out of place.

"We were hoping for another day. Looks like we just got a whole lot more than that." Weir commented distractedly, still in awe of the city vista before them. "Let's not waste it."

Harry chose to interpret that rather more literally than she probably meant, by getting straight back to work. "Yes ma'am. Ford, who was in charge of the military contingent while we were away?"

"That would be Lieutenant Kagan, sir."

"Okay. Major Sheppard?"

"Yes, captain?"

"If you'd like to brief Dr Weir on what happened on the planet, I'll get on with re-establishing our perimeter and getting the Expedition back on its footing, and getting the Athosians assigned quarters."

"Sounds good, carry on." Sheppard turned to Weir, who led him away through the control room to the office where she'd talked to Harry when they'd reached Atlantis.

"Ford, get with McKay and give him the gate address the Wraith went to."

Ford hesitated, "I only got six symbols, sir."

Oh hell. "Give them to him anyway, and ask him to come up with a way of determining which of the remaining possibilities is correct. Lieutenant Kagan?"

A marine on the lower level looked up, "Uh ... yes sir?"

"You were in charge while we were off-world?"

"Yes sir."

"Okay. Marines, listen in! We were attacked by the Wraith on the planet; they took several of our people as well as locals, including Colonel Sumner, Sergeant Bates and Corporal Parker; Teyla, Halling and Toran amongst the Athosians along with a couple of others I didn't know." Let the Athosians know we haven't forgotten their people. "That leaves Major Sheppard and myself as the two senior ranking military personnel. We do have most of a gate address that Lieutenant Ford retrieved, so we will mount a rescue mission once we've found where they've been taken."

They're stranded in another galaxy, and they've just lost their CO and senior NCO, so gotta lay on the good news to keep morale up. Harry looked up at the bridge between Weir's 'office' and the Control room to see the Doctor looking pensive, and Sheppard looking mildly impressed at his handling of the marines.

"Kagan, give me a quick run-down on the layout of as much of the city as you've explored."

"Okay sir; we're in the central tower, we've got a hangar for a number of small ships above this room and nothing else. We got about nine levels down before being recalled because of the power issues – there are two staircases on the outer edges of the tower that run down to eight levels below this one where they stop; on that level you have to come inward to a central staircase to go down one more level, then back out to the two outwards staircases to carry on down."

"So... there's a choke-point?" Would be easy to defend from attack, either from the lower tower coming up or from the Stargate going down – smart.

"Yes sir, a reasonably defensible. On those eight floors between us and the choke-point we seem to have three floors of accommodation rooms, enough for a couple of hundred people in a pinch. Apart from that, there's what appears to be a large infirmary, a floor of abandoned labs with a backup control room, several communal recreation and eating areas and a dozen or so empty rooms we think are storage – no amenities or anything, just large empty rooms, a few with shelves." Okay, so we've got medical, accommodation, logistics, and an armoury - very smart, a self-contained command and operations area.

Harry followed the description while comparing it to the mental map he'd built up before – he didn't want to actively reach out with his power in front of the Marines, since the eyes might be a bit obvious.

"Okay. Send a fireteam to re-secure that choke-point and plan to fortify it. It's the only way in and out of the Stargate area and I want it watched twenty four-seven. Who's on logistics?"

"Master Gunnery Sergeant Santorini, sir."

"That's me, sir." The speaker was an older-looking NCO, taller with crew-cut black hair, very unlike Harry's still untidy-looking mop that'd grown out somewhat in Afghanistan.

"Okay Master Gunny, you're on quarters assignment. Both for the expedition members and our new Athosian visitors – some of them are family units, so talk to them and find out about that, and any other requirements they might have – and be polite, they've lost people too. And bear in mind that we will be rescuing a few more people, figure at least dozen or so in addition to our Marines – and it's not out of the realms of possibility we might recover prisoners from raids on other planets." If she's still alive – wait, what? I mean, if they're still alive. "Also, designate each science department for a storage area

"On it, sir." The Marines looked happier now, with something to do, and with someone clearly in authority. Not a bad start on leadership for someone who's operated alone for most of his career.

"Doctor Beckett!" Harry had caught sight of the Scottish medic. "You know about the infirmary a few levels down from here?"

"Aye Captain Potter, I do."

"How soon can you set up your equipment and staff in there?"

"Give me two hours or less, laddie. What's the rush?"

Harry pointed with a thumb over his shoulder to his rucksack. "I've got a Wraith body part I'd like you to analyse – I'll give it to you when you're ready."

Incentives, incentives. Even if they are a bit creepy.

Carson looked surprised, then intrigued. "I'll get right on it." The doctor rushed off to get his people mobilised.

"Department heads?" A number of civilian scientists looked up from conversations. "Organise the personnel in your department, and start moving all this equipment," Harry waved at the stacks of boxes made ready for the evacuation, "after you talk to the Master Gunnery Sergeant," Harry pointed at Santorini, who was sending a marine to reserve some of the storage rooms for military use, "Who will tell you where to put your specific department's equipment. Any questions?" No ... good. "Get to it people."

Harry left the marine officers and NCOs to it, and jogged back up to the control room.

"When can you tell me where the Wraith took Colonel Sumner and the others?" Sheppard was asking McKay.

"Something I'd like know as well," Harry interjected as he entered the control room.

"Even with the six symbols Lieutenant Ford provided, there are still hundreds of permutations – "

"Seven hundred and twenty." Sheppard and Harry spoke over each other. Weir and McKay looked rather surprised. Harry shrugged. "Really good piloting requires rapid maths calculations. End of story."

"Okay...I knew that, of course." Yeah yeah, genius, we get it, get on with it.

"Take away the coordinates you can't get a lock on, and when you find it, send a MALP."

McKay looked surprised again, that he hadn't thought of that, and moved to do so.

"Major, a word." Weir was clearly on the warpath. 'Help', Sheppard mouthed at Harry, who followed them both out onto a balcony just next to the control room.

The view was spectacular, to say the least. Harry leant against the wall by the door, luxuriating in the feeling of being in a truly open space as the other two went to the railing, The cupboard the Dursley's had shoved him into had left him with a latent claustrophobia. It wasn't generally a problem, but occasionally sneaked up on him, so he preferred to be outside if possible – one of the many reasons he vastly preferred being on operations instead of doing paperwork in an office, despite the danger.

"Let me guess." The Major started. "You're not going to let me rescue my people."

"Major, you don't even know if they're alive." Weir was facing away from Harry, and hadn't apparently noticed him.

"You don't leave people in the hands of the enemy. And the fact that we are having this conversation in private means you know damn well that it's wrong, and that it will totally undermine your leadership. As ranking military officer I –"

"Okay, just shut up and listen to me for a moment, alright? Come on, what do we know about the Wraith? One of the few things we do know is that they're the enemy that defeated the Ancients. When we first began to use the Stargate back on Earth, we got in serious trouble, why?"

"I don't need a history lesson," Sheppard told her dismissively. And those who fail to learn from History are doomed to repeat it.

"Because the people in charge didn't consider the ramifications before they acted." Weir told him.

"They took our people! How am I supposed to react?"

"And we are defenceless! You said so yourself!" Weir argued. "How do you know going off on some half-assed rescue mission isn't going to bring them all right back here to our doorstep?"

"Doing nothing isn't an option." Harry spoke up, and Weir spun around, surprised. Sheppard just smirked. "With the colonel and others in the hands of the Wraith, they have our IDCs, which Earth will recognise as well – and it is a matter of time before that information is given up. If they can get to Atlantis, they can get through to Earth. According to Teyla, they feed on humans – not just hunt for amusement or sport, actually feed on - although she didn't know exactly how. Nixing the possibility of a rescue mission this early in the game is tantamount to giving up on the whole expedition – which we can't do because we're stranded."

"I just need more information." Weir was being stubborn. "I mean, maybe we can negotiate a peaceful -"

"Not a chance." Harry interrupted firmly. "They're aggressive, Doctor. We weren't there more than, what, twelve hours before they showed up, and they didn't ask questions – they just opened fire and abducted our people. Besides, what exactly would we offer to an interstellar empire of predatory aliens who feed on us? I for one am not keen on giving up other members of the expedition," Harry let that sink in for a moment, "so we've got nothing to trade, and only force to fall back on. This is why we brought soldiers on this little jaunt, doctor – it's why you brought the Major, and it's definitely why you brought me, so don't deep-six our rescue attempt before we've even had five minutes to plan it."

"I wasn't going to stop you, Captain. I just wanted the Major to slow the hell down and not go off half-cocked. I will not authorise a rescue mission unless I think there is a remote chance of success. I'm not sending more good people to their deaths."

"Yes ma'am, I understand. We won't screw it up. I like being alive."

"Good. Both the Major and yourself, Captain, said that you were only there for a few hours before the Wraith showed up."

"Yes ma'am."

"Is it possible that one of the locals tipped them off? Possibly one you brought back?"

Harry and Sheppard looked at each other. "Possibly," Sheppard said slowly.

"But innocent until proven guilty, ma'am. They're here now; we can't start a witch hunt for a traitor or informant who may not exist. We'd lose their trust, and that's not a good idea."

Weir was interested in that statement. "Why, exactly? I'm not disagreeing, but why is the Athosians' trust so important? They don't seem that special."

"I spoke to Teyla for several hours, ma'am. She's visited a least two dozen different worlds for trade, maybe more. She has contacts and friends out there amongst the human population of Pegasus – such a network may prove invaluable in the future."And because screwing the Athosian's over simply is not the right thing to do.

"We still have to rescue her."

"Which isn't going to get done with us standing here, ma'am." Harry pointed out reasonably.

"Point taken, Captain."

---

"We're receiving visual telemetry."

A MALP had been sent through the Gate identified by Rodney's research as the Wraith's destination. The command team – meaning Weir, the boss; Dr McKay for the scientists, and the Sheppard and Harry as the acting military commander (CO) and acting executive officer (XO) respectively, were peering at laptops that had been set up to interface with the control room's consoles. It had been a few hours since their little debate – the civilians had moved out of the gate room, the science departments were setting up in the spare labs and Carson was analysing the Wraith arm. Harry had just returned from organising the Marines to begin sweeping the levels of the central tower below their new checkpoint.

"I can't see anything ..." Weir said.

"No atmospheric readings at all."

On the screen, crackling with static, something round flashed across the darkness.

"Wait, what was that?"

"Rotate the camera" Rodney ordered.

On the display, the darkness was replaced by a view of the rings of a planet...with the gate hanging in orbit around it. Oh, bugger. That's going to put a wrinkle in the plan.

"Well, there goes that MALP," McKay commented sarcastically.

"It's in space!" Sheppard's voice was incredulous.

"It's in high orbit around a planet on the far side of the galaxy."

"You're sure this is the right address?" Weir asked.

"It's the only one we could get a lock on." McKay confirmed dejectedly.

"Very well." Weir moved to leave. "Shut it down." To Sheppard, as she left, "I'm sorry."

Harry watched this without commenting. This wasn't exactly his area of expertise yet, having only stepped through the Stargate for the first time the day before. Adapt and overcome, hmmm. Think it through ... we have a tactical constraint: the gate is in space, how do we get around that ... spacecraft...

Dr McKay, it turned out, solved the problem for him. "Come with me Major." Harry tagged along, because he was fairly certain where this was going - Kagan had mentioned a 'hangar', and that was where the Canadian led them. In a large octagonal room above Stargate Operations, a squadron of small ships sat on pads arranged around the room in two stories. They were a dark bronze in colour, their sides ribbed with geometrically patterned grooves; the top and sides were slightly curved outwards, while the front and rear ends were slanted backwards, with a ramp at the tail and a wide view-port at the bow.

Inside was a rear cargo section with benches and overhead lockers for equipment; the front section had two seats for pilots with the central console in front and between them, with two passenger seats behind. Sheppard and Harry made their way up to the pilot seats, turning on the console with a touch.

"Think you can fly this thing?"

"Absolutely." Harry saw the other two give him somewhat sceptical looks at this firm declaration. "I can feel this ship already, like I can reach out to it, command it."

And he could. When the console systems activated, he'd suddenly had a rather disorienting peripheral awareness of 'seeing' through the sensors, interfacing with the computer systems in a rapid sequence. Navigation – engines – environmental – hull integrity – Dial-Home-Connection – weapons systems– stealth systems. He could 'read' status reports on all of them – green across the board – and knew instantly that he would be able to get very fine control from this thing by 'reaching' out to it mentally, as well as using the physical controls - a pair of joysticks and manual sliders and dials on the console.

"Give me ten minutes to figure out what this thing can do, and then get Weir." Harry ordered McKay. "We've found ourselves an advantage. Nightstalkers would go nuts over this thing."

"Wait, I didn't know you served with the 160th?"(2) Sheppard was confused. He'd thought Captain Potter was a ground-pounder, forward observer or something. He had a big AFO patch – Advanced Force Operations, basically air strike controllers deployed behind enemy lines – on his right arm proclaiming this to the world.

"No, but I know a lot of guys in the 160th S.O.A.R. – I should, I spent a lot of money on them buying rounds of drinks for pulling my arse of out a few sticky situations in Afghanistan." Harry paused, still studying the little ship. "We've got stealth systems, some weapons, vacuum proof hull ... and it's designed to go through the gate. We got ourselves an infiltration aircraft on steroids."

---

Weir of course had her reservations, but had approved the mission. Those reservations were mostly about the fact that the whole thing would have to be planned on the fly – after they deployed through the gate, with absolutely no intel on the Wraith bar what Dr Beckett had managed to discern from the Wraith arm – which wasn't good. The Wraith possessed an unparalleled biological capability for regeneration, meaning they pretty much lived forever and were, in Carson's words, 'bloody hard to kill.'

She was also worried that she would be without a senior commander if Sheppard, Harry and Ford were killed on the mission. Sheppard reluctantly bowed out, acknowledging that Harry had both skills better suited to the infiltration mission as well as having a superior connection with the Ancient ship. Thus, Harry, Ford, Staff Sergeant Stackhouse and Sergeants Markham, Cole, Smith and Matthews were geared up and settling down in the Ancient ship, waiting for Dr McKay to give them clearance from the control room. Harry had chosen all NCO's for his infiltration team – the last thing he wanted was an inexperienced or trigger-happy soldier tripping an alarm or something.

"Flight, this is Storm. We are go for launch."

"Storm, Flight. I thought we were going with Gateship?" Harry could hear Sheppard scoffing in the background. "Little puddle-jumper like that? Those things aren't 'ships'. Besides that's his call-sign, not the ship, idiot."

"Can't say I care, Flight. You can call it whatever you want."

"Standby." A brief silence. "Fine, Major, whatever. Puddle Jumper, you are clear to launch."

"Dial it up, Lieutenant." Ford started punching buttons.

The hatch covering the hole in the floor of the hangar retracted in a complex iris pattern, six segments retreating into the walls of a short tunnel down into the Gate Room. Harry let the Jumper ride an automatically engaged autopilot sequence down into position in front of the active gate, ending with a pulse from a set of anti-gravity generators in the stairs behind them, pushing them through the wormhole.

---

On the far side, the puddle-jumper soared through space for a few seconds before vanishing into thin air ... or vacuum, which was extremely thin by any measure. From the inside, there was no apparent change, but a heads-up display appeared over the forward view-screen. To Ford's astonishment, the text scrolling in front of him was in English.

"Is that you, sir?"

"Yes. This thing is incredible; it's like its reading my mind. It's displaying everything in English and standard metric units. Must have just taken them right out of my brain, realising that's what I'd understand best." Harry spoke distractedly; he was scanning the planet with a variety of different sensor systems that the little ship carried – all the standard human ones: visual, infra-red, thermographic, radar and LIDAR; but also a number of things he had no direct experience with: radiographic imaging, electromagnetic and gravitational field strengths, and remote spectroscopic chemical analysis amongst others the ship's computer couldn't actually translate for him yet, so probably measured something he had never heard of. It was clearly designed with both military recon and scientific analysis in mind, although probably leaned towards the latter, since it wasn't all that manoeuvrable at high speed.

"Looks like you got the hang of it, sir."

"Oh yes, this thing is a joy to fly."

"How do we find them once we land?"

Even as Harry concentrated on that requirement, a small panel opened on the bulkhead to his left, extending a small white handset, which Harry took and shoved behind a strap on his armour for later examination. Apparently the ship thinks that thing is useful...does it have more? On the dividing wall between the pilots area and cargo compartment, a longer panel retracted, revealing four more of the small white boxes. Both Harry and Ford turned at the sound.

"Apparently that's your answer, Lieutenant. Don't know what they do yet, but give 'em out when we land."

"Yes sir. If you don't mind me asking, sir, what exactly do you do? That uniform and equipment isn't British standard issue."

Harry looked at him, then forward again. "Well, I told Teyla yesterday that I was a 'protector of the innocent.'"

"Aren't we all, sir?"

"Heh ... true. However, it's a politer option than saying 'professional assassin', don't you think?"

"Ah ..." Ford was SF trained himself, although relatively new to the profession, and had met more than a few extremely dangerous soldiers. None had ever actually identified themselves solely as a cold-blooded killer before, preferring terms more along the lines of 'operator' or 'specialist'. Actually calling yourself an assassin rather than some kind of specialist soldier was a whole different level of apparent sociopathy.

"Relax, Ford, I'm kidding. I'm a paramilitary operative. I specialised in solo infiltration missions and long-term deep reconnaissance and surveillance. Spent most of my career working directly for the Secret Intelligence Service or the Prime Minister, almost all of it in Afghanistan with a few jaunts elsewhere."

Ford looked somewhat happier at that.

Harry had quickly discussed revealing his powers to Sheppard and maybe Ford earlier with Dr Weir. However, she still wanted them secret – they were rather unusual powers, not something even a paranoid enemy would ever have a plan to counter without specific intelligence about them. She'd ordered him not to use anything other than a bare minimum for the mission, until they could determine whether or not the Wraith would be able to detect him using them – as an advanced, enigmatic alien race, no-one on Atlantis had any idea what they might be capable of until they could do some digging in the Ancient database.

The heads-up display beeped, and highlighted an area on the planet's surface, with the text 'Wraith Hive' floating next to it. Harry took the Jumper down through the atmosphere, choosing a landing zone roughly a kilometre from the 'hive' beacon, landing with the ramp pointing towards the enemy and leaving the ship cloaked. The Marines spread out in a tight defensive circle, having up-gunned after Beckett dropped his bombshell. Hard to kill? Bring more firepower, the more the merrier. Harry had seven men including himself – three scout pairs and one man to guard the ship, their only way home. One half of each pair had a P-90, while the other carried an M249 LMG. Just in case.

"Move out in pairs." Harry ordered as he moved down the ramp. "Ford, you're with me. Stackhouse with Markham, Cole with Smith. Matthews on guard duty, sorry." The Marine grimaced but nodded. "Stay inside the jumper, at the door. The cloak will cover you even with the hatch open. When you see or hear us coming back, move out of the cloak so we can see you and find the ship."

"Got it, sir." Matthews turned back into the ship and vanished into thin air. Bloody hell, that thing is brilliant.

"Everybody else, infiltrate the Wraith perimeter. Find out whatever those little devices are – tactical sensors of some kind most likely." Harry had activated all of the Ancient PDA things with a touch a minute ago. "Plant as much C4 as you have, try to get it on critical points. I know none of us have any idea what Wraith tech looks like, but look for anything that looks like a critical target – power conduits, generators, that kind of thing. Do not engage the enemy unless fired upon. Ford and I will be pushing deep to locate the hostages, I don't want to have to bust them out while the alarm's going off because one of you had an itchy trigger finger, got it?" The Marines nodded. "All right, three clicks means Ford or I am clear to talk. Move out." Once more unto the breach...

The ground between them and the Wraith base was primarily covered in scrub bushes and dead trees. Once past it, the base turned out to be a massive hill, so presumably the Wraith 'Hive' was underneath it somewhere. They located an opening in a few minutes, which took them down a narrow entrance and into a larger interior tunnel.

Caves. Always fucking caves. I thought I was done with cave fighting when I left Afghanistan.

The Wraith's architecture inside the caves was ... well, alien. It was made of a mixture of metal and a lot of some sort of biological material for the supports and wall covering. The blue ambient lighting and low-lying layer of swirling fog along the floor didn't add to the décor either. It was a veritable rabbit warren, with tunnels, nooks and crannies running off in every direction. If this is a cave system, they must have hollowed out the whole bloody hill. The whole place smelled...stale, too. Stagnant air, like it wasn't used very much.

Heavy, stomping footsteps announced the arrival of a guard – it couldn't be anything else, with that walk. Harry caught sight of the back of an armoured humanoid figure with long white hair, carrying a long weapon in both hands – it was hard to make out much more in the blueish gloom. His silenced P-90, modified with his own components, tracked the guard as it continued down the corridor and around the corner.

"Thought getting in was going to be the hard part." Ford spoke quietly, as he planted a C4 charge. "That's the first one we've seen."

Harry was looking at the screen of the Ancient PDA, watching a blinking square move away from the dot in the centre. "You got yours?"

"Yes sir." Ford took out one of the devices.

"The little squares are apparently Wraith. Little circles are humans. Got a range of about twenty metres at the moment..." Harry fiddled with the controls, guessing since he couldn't read Ancient yet, until he'd widened the field of view significantly. "I've got a cluster of humans about fifty metres further in from here. But I'm not sure if they're on this level, could be below or above us. I've got point."

"Got it, sir."

Ten minutes and three demo charges later, after dodging the occasional patrolling guard, Ford and Harry arrived at the human life signs' location – a large cell, apparently, with some kind of solid web-like bars over the door - and a guard.

---

Teyla was terrified, although she didn't show it. Her people still looked to her for guidance, even in captivity, so she remained strong for them. Her studiously calm demeanour had prevented panic even after Toran was taken. Sumner and his Marines had tried every conceivable way to force open the doors, kick a hole in the walls, anything. But it was all in vain. Next to be taken, the Colonel's quiet dignity as he was led out by the Wraith raised Teyla's opinion of the man considerably.

Halling and Sergeant Bates were still trying to force the door open when she heard the stomping footsteps of the Wraith guard, making a patrol as one of them did every hour or so. Like just about every other time, he stopped at the gate, checking on the food. Beyond the Wraith's bulky form, she caught a flash of something moving down the corridor behind it, but couldn't see whatever it was properly.

Then a sword was rammed through back of the Wraith's neck, emerging through the face-mask about where the mouth would be. The force of the blow slammed the guard forward into the bars as its weapon dropped from suddenly slack hands. The blade was withdrawn, and the alien slid down the bars and to the side, revealing Captain Potter; The Warrior, as she'd named him in her mind.

---

"Captain!"

"Shhhh." Hello, Teyla. Bet you're glad to see us.

"How did you find us?"

"Gotta love the Ancients." Harry peered through the bars. "Where's Colonel Sumner?"

"Taken by the Wraith." Bates was even more grim than usual, which was saying something.

"We do not know where." Teyla added.

"When?"

"Not long."

"Well, that's something." Harry clicked the radio three times.

"Stackhouse, go ahead sir."

"Sit rep, over."

"Both infiltration teams have planted all charges and returned to the transport, sir."

"On my mark, I need a diversion. Detonate the charges, make some noise."

"Yes, sir." Stackhouse sounded pleased, even over the radio. Gotta love the USMC – always looking to blow something up.

"Ford, prepare to breach this door and guide these people out of here. I'll find the Colonel with the life-signs thing. If I'm not back in fifteen, blow the cell and get out of here without me."

"You're the only one who can fly these people out of here, sir." Oh hell. Good point.

"I'll fly us out of here - all of us. I don't leave a man behind, Lieutenant." Been on the receiving end of that myself, and it isn't pleasant. "Fifteen minutes, Ford."

"Yes, sir."

---

Five minutes later, Harry heard screams coming from further down the corridor. Sumner. Moving quickly towards the sound, he tucked the handheld Ancient detector into his thigh pocket.

He found himself on a walkway running around a larger room with a central table with two chairs, although a corpse rested in one of them. Sumner was kneeling at the far end, with a Wraith with long red hair, pale skin and a white dress standing over him, torturing him. Ancients called it a Hive. Guess that makes her the Queen. Two guards stood on either side of the table. Harry considered shooting, but abandoned that option. The walkway was mostly covered in a thick metal decorative lattice structure, which would provide good cover but no decent way down into the room...there. Harry spotted a larger gap in the lattice half way round the room, large enough for him to easily get through. He'd have to be careful about this, as it was directly in one of the guard's line of sight.

"Where is this new feeding ground?" The Queen's voice was oddly modulated, and was hoarser and deeper than a humans.

"I ... won't ..." Sumner got out, groaning.

Moving crouched, he crab-walked around to the gap, Sumner's screams continuing to echo throughout the room. Sorry Colonel, but if I screw it up and get killed, you won't thank me either. Once there, he stood, back to the partition, and took a deep breath to calm himself, and reached out with his power. Underground like this he couldn't create lightning, but he could use it to check his surroundings. Wraith on patrol a corridor away, coming this way. Make it quick, before he arrives. Okay, standby ... go.

Pivoting around his cover, the laser sight of Harry's P-90 found the far guard's head. The Wraith saw him and jerked its head up, but didn't have time for anything else before a silenced 5.7mm round blew its' brains out over the floor behind it. The second guard was half-way turned when it followed the first, sprawling sideways at an odd angle against a chair.

Harry glanced at the Queen ... and was both astonished and frankly terrified in a way he hadn't been since Voldemort's possession of him years before. Sumner was ... old. Aged. His hair was now white, with cloudy eyes and reduced musculature. He was also no longer screaming, apparently too weakened. The Wraith Queen removed her hand from his chest, leaving a bloody wound, and hissed at Harry in triumph, baring her teeth in a completely inhuman, animalistic gesture.

He had frozen too long. As he was distracted, the patrolling Wraith had turned the corner and brought its weapon up to fire. Harry didn't have time to shoot back, so he threw himself out the gap, diving full length on the table, landing on his side. There was a distinct breaking sound as he hit, and it wasn't the table. Cracked a few ribs there.

The table, balanced on a central support, overbalanced from his weight and fell over, dumping him on the floor in a shower of fruit bowls and silver wine goblets. From his position lying on the floor, he fired a three round burst through the Queen's chest and scrambled to his feet, crouching behind the minimal cover of the table. The queen was knocked over backwards by the impact, but was still moving.

Tough bitch.

The third guard fired on him from the upper level, hitting the table. Harry turned, laser beam once again lancing out to the target. No time for proper aim. He fired, squeezing off a long burst that threw sparks off the metal walls and walked bullet-holes across the Wraith's chest. This one didn't wear armour of any kind, just a long leather coat, and five or six solid hits threw it back against the wall behind.

Harry stood, turning to cover the Queen once more, who was rising to her feet, the bullet-holes in her chest sealing as he watched. Before he could fire, she moved with inhuman speed, flowing across the distance between them to slam her hand into his chest, apparently trying to do the same to him that she did to Sumner. She shrieked in rage when the blow failed to pierce his armour, and simply threw him onto his back a few metres away, the P-90 knocked out of his hand.

Lost a few more ribs there...no point in using the sidearm if the P-90 wasn't enough...old fashioned way it is.

Harry flipped to his feet, ignoring the pain from his broken ribs, and drew his twin tactical swords from the low-profile holsters on his back. The blades were non-reflective parkerized black, custom-ordered for him by his old Eskrima instructor Daniel Kirkland from a traditional Japanese master sword-smith. They were his most valuable possessions; literally, actually. Quite apart from the emotional attachment, they were valued at tens of thousands of pounds, being genuine, highest quality Japanese , laminated and tempered carbon steel handmade swords, not cheap reproductions made of lower-quality stainless steel. His guardian Jeremy Wilson had helped pay for them, as had the by-that-point knighted Sir Harold Pearce of MI-5, but none of them mentioned the gift until the night they gave them to him, upon his graduation from Special Forces Selection (3). The 22-inch swords – oversized straight fighting knives really – were normally attached handle-down on his back, with a quick-release retaining strap holding them in that opened with a hard jerk, like when drawing the swords in a hurry.

The Queen was taken aback by the appearance of the weapons, surprised anyone would attempt to use such antiques on her, then hissed in triumph again – but her arrogance would be her undoing.

Instead of fighting smart, such as going for one of the guards' weapons lying on the floor, the Wraith Queen slashed out directly at him with metal claws grafted in place of fingernails, no subtlety in her movements despite her incredible speed. However, now he was prepared for both that speed and her unusual strength, Harry wasn't going to be taken by surprise again. He ducked under the blow, and the Queen went right past him, not expecting such agility.

One thrust severed the tendons at the back of her knee as he spun past her. As she fell to one knee, he reversed the sword in his left hand and slammed it through her back right about where the heart would be on a human. Close quarter fights were rarely long, protracted affairs but rather tended to be over almost as soon as they began, especially if one of the fighters made a critical, early mistake – she had, being overconfident, and he had capitalised upon it. The obviously alien physiology of the Wraith aside, they had rib cages and rib cages were presumably evolved to hold and protect vital organs of some kind.

He was correct about the critical area. The Queen screamed in pain, her cries reaching every part of the underground complex. Harry sensed another pair of Wraith soldiers running to her assistance and judged them to be at least ten seconds away. He slid one of the blades home into its scabbard, thumbed the transmit button and ordered, "Light 'em up, Sergeant."

Stackhouse's reply was a rippling series of detonations in the passages along the edge of the complex that the two pairs of marines had infiltrated. Ford had the detonator for the ones they had planted, and wouldn't blow them until the hostages had been extracted out that same route.

Even as the caves rocked from the shock waves Harry yanked his other sword out of the Queen with a twist for extra damage and rolled for cover behind the table once more as she toppled to the ground.

As the two guards entered, Harry popped up from his cover and fired straight at the first target's head, and the Wraith dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. Its' partner caught sight of Harry and returned fire, however, forcing him to duck once more, going prone and rolling out to the right side of the overturned his new position on the floor he surprised the guard, who was no longer aiming at him, and double-tapped it in the chest.

The slow .45 calibre slugs had little effect on the Wraith's body armour, merely knocking it off balance, so Harry followed up with an aimed headshot that put the second guard on the ground with his friend.

As he rose and looked around for his P-90, the Queen spoke.

"You don't know what you have done," she rasped. Harry listened but appeared to ignore her, picking up his second blade and putting it away, securing the retaining strap with his thumb then stepping over to his dropped P-90. "When I die, the others will awaken." She took a shuddering breath – her last. "All of them..."

A high-pitched, but quieter shrieking noise filled the caverns, but it wasn't from the Queen. The ancient device in his pouch started to bleep, increasingly rapidly. When he pulled it out, the screen showed Wraith life signs popping into existence all around him.

But since they aren't right next to me, they must be below ... or above. Glancing up, Harry saw the ceiling coming alight with glowing hexagonal pods. In each segment of every hexagon, a humanoid shadow writhed ... Wraith waking from some kind of stasis. And there were hundreds of pods. In this one, small room.

Not good, not fucking good at all...

As Harry ran with renewed urgency to Sumner's fallen body, his radio crackled.

"Captain, it's Ford. Where are you?"

"Get moving, Lieutenant. I'll be about a minute behind you." Ford didn't reply, but another explosion, closer this time, rocked the caves a few seconds later - breaching the cell door.

The Colonel was still bleeding from the chest wound, but not that badly. However, he was barely breathing and clearly unconscious. Harry knew he'd be slowed down by carrying Sumner, but if the man was still alive he wasn't going to leave him. He quickly pulled the marine commander onto his left shoulder in a fireman's carry, realising at once that the Wraith's torture had removed a vast amount of the man's body mass, presumably in atrophied muscle given his gaunt, shrunken appearance.

With his burden secure on his shoulder, Harry retraced his steps at a run, unwilling to chance getting lost in the warren of dark, spooky tunnels. Although he wasted a few seconds figuring out which passage to take since he obviously couldn't climb back up to the upper level, he was past the hostage's cell in a minute or so – now with a gaping hole in the door-web – and caught up to the larger group as they exited the Hive. Ford was counting them out, and the relief on his face was clear as he caught sight of the Captain double-timing it down the passageway behind them.

"Nice to see you again, sir."

"Likewise, Lieutenant. Halling?"

"Captain?"

"I need you to carry the Colonel while I lead us back." Harry gently lowered the unconscious officer off his shoulder and passed him over. "You're the strongest guy here."

"I will do my best, Captain Potter."

"That's the Colonel? What did they do to him?" Ford was horrified.

"Don't know, Ford. We'll sort it out later. Teyla, there was another body, looked like one of your people."

"That would be Toran, Captain. He is dead?"

"Yes, unfortunately. No time for that - Ford, blow the charges, then take the rear, let's move."

"Yessir!"

Harry led the way at a run as explosions rippled behind them, hurdling fallen trees as they cut back through the dead woods around the Hive. He felt rather than saw Ford and Teyla fall behind to guard the rear, but wasn't worried until he heard the wailing 'Formula 1' noise of the Wraith ships overhead. As he reached the Jumper with the others, Matthews stepped into view toting a LMG. As the sergeant waved the others inside the cloaked ship, Harry switched weapons with him, passing over the P-90.

"I'll give this back in a moment, Sergeant. Incoming enemy fast air, get the rockets out. Don't fire unless compromised." With that, Harry sprinted back the way they'd come. About a hundred metres in, he felt an enemy ship come in at low level, tracking blue energy bolts across the path in front of him, the explosions knocking Ford and Teyla to the ground as they ran for the Jumper. Bracing the weapon against his shoulder, he fired short bursts of fire at the next dart-shaped craft to start an attack run. Definitely the name for it. The Dart peeled off, one wing trailing fire and smoke.

"Thank you, sir." Ford clambered up from the ground. Harry, ever the gentleman despite his brutal appearance, offered his hand to Teyla who accepted his assistance with a small smile.

"No problem, Ford. No time to chat, let's go."

Back at the Jumper, Harry passed Matthews the LMG as he entered the cloaking field. Sergeant Markham looked up from where he was treating Colonel Sumner's chest wound.

"He's alive and I've done my best, sir, but I can't do anything about ..." Markham waved helplessly at the prematurely aged Colonel.

"I know, Sergeant. Best chance for him is to get him back to Beckett ASAP." Harry jumped over the prone officer and slid into the pilots seat even as he 'sank' into the awareness of the ship – that was the only word he could think of that described the connection.

Staying cloaked, he lifted the puddle-jumper off the ground and pushed it to maximum thrust as they blasted out of the atmosphere at a steep angle, the artificial gravity keeping everyone in their seats despite the near-vertical incline. Ford joined him after conferring with the Sergeant for a moment, then Teyla and Halling behind them.

"Everybody okay back there?"

"We are well enough, Captain."

Then the gate came into view, with a swarm of Wraith Darts surrounding the approach ... oh crap. Simple but effective. Harry brought the cloaked jumper to a stop and leaned back, studying the Wraith's formation. They were all facing one way...

"What is wrong?" Halling asked.

"See the Darts?" Harry gestured to the ships. "We're safe as long as they can't see us. However, as soon as the gate activates, they'll start firing blind and blow us away with sheer weight of fire on our run in. It's probably a tactic that's worked for them before."

"Any way around that problem, sir?"

"Well ... I dislike it when the enemy has bigger guns than I do, so ..." Harry reached into the ship's computer, seeking the 'weapons' section he'd seen before. Weapons. Drones, as the Ancient's called them ... can take out multiple targets with a single missile ... oh, hello ...

"So we just sit here and wait for you to come up with a brilliant plan, sir?" Ford joked in the silence, trying to lighten the suddenly depressed mood.

"Yep ... aaand the wait's over. I've got a plan." Harry took the controls again, guiding them around the side of the Wraith formation, out of the line of fire. "They're all lined up, completely stationary. Easy prey. Dial the gate, Lieutenant."

Ford obliged and started punching buttons. As the vortex of boiling pseudo-water boiled out of the ring, the Darts followed the prediction and commenced fire.

Thus, when Harry's jumper uncloaked off to their relative left in space and passing at high speed 'over' above them, instantly extending and firing a rack of drones – a total of four was all Harry believed he could control mentally right now – they were caught completely off guard, and facing the wrong way.

The Ancient drones were precision guided, anti-capital ship missiles. O'Neill's Repository-enhanced precision use of the Drone Chair back on Earth had shown that a grand total of two drones were all that were required to take down a Goa'uld Ha'tak class mothership, a powerful type of warship that had terrorized that galaxy for thousands of years. The drones emitted a extremely high-intensity, high-temperature energy field in a wedge in front of them, melting through nearly all forms of conventional matter and energy shielding. They were also capable of passing completely through the aforementioned 'any form of matter' unharmed and making multiple attack runs before running out of power.

An unshielded Wraith Dart that could apparently be damaged with a 5.56mm bullet as Harry had just done earlier was frankly a pathetic excuse for a target to use them on, but ...there's no such thing as overkill.

Therefore, with four drones, Harry scored solid hits on every single one of the Wraith Darts guarding the gate – thirteen total – a string of detonations spreading debris in small clouds around their previous stations.

"That's gotta be a record for an RAF pilot; becoming a multiple ace in fifteen seconds flat with three times as many kills scored as weapons fired." Harry muttered as he pulled around for a run at the gate. Sensors had another four Darts accelerating up from the atmosphere, and they'd be just a few seconds behind. "Atlantis, this is Storm. IDC will be transmitted shortly; we have a T1 casualty, repeat T1 casualty. Please have Dr Beckett waiting in the Hangar."

"Storm, Atlantis Base, we copy serious medical emergency. Please transmit recognition code."

"Punch in your code, Lieutenant." Ford tapped keys on the wrist-mounted IDC transmitter as they approached the gate.

"Code received, shield is down. Beckett's on his way."

"We're going too fast."

"Not exactly." Harry didn't bother to explain that the ship had given him an apparently automatic reminder about inertial dampeners in the Gate Room, presumably designed for exactly this situation. "Hang on." The engine pods retracted, and they shot into the wormhole. Behind them, two of the Darts were close enough to follow before the Gate deactivated.

On the far side, their high speed exit was extremely dramatic, de-accelerating from 'bat out of hell' to 'zero' in about five metres, and fortunately the inertial compensator prevented them from becoming paste against the front windscreen.

Great braking distance on this thing.

Harry caught sight of Weir yelling something but he didn't hear it on the radio. He also saw the blue flares across the walls from the gate – apparently some Wraith pilots had just had a rather bad day, running into the shield over the wormhole. The autopilot programme took over again and lifted them back up through the hangar floor opening. Sheppard was standing at the top of the stairs in front of the gate, his relief at their safe return obvious, so Harry flipped him a casual salute and a grin as they vanished upwards.

---

Sumner didn't make it. Despite the best efforts of Beckett and his expert team, the Colonel's body had been reduced to a bare husk, too weak to support life any longer. He hung on long enough to whisper something to Sheppard in the infirmary an hour later. The Major walked out with a sombre expression, one that was repeated in the small contingent of off-duty Marines waiting in the hallway, along with Harry, Doctor Weir and Teyla.

"What'd he say, sir?" Ford asked quietly for the rest of them.

Sheppard looked up. "Kill 'em all. That's what he said."

"Can't say I disagree with that." Weir muttered to herself.

"Not very diplomatic, Doctor." Harry smirked.

"I'm all for diplomacy, Captain, as long as the other party is interested in holding to the terms. Unfortunately, it seems the Wraith literally suck the life out of us, and consider us food, which puts a bit of a crimp in friendly relations, wouldn't you say?"

Weir pushed off the wall she'd been leaning against, and spoke a little louder, since it was obvious the nearby Marines had heard everything. "If Stargate Command beat an entire galaxy filled with parasitic false gods, I don't see any reason we can't put a dent in a horde of space vampires if we're careful and patient about it."

"Bit of a turnaround, actually." Harry said thoughtfully.

"How so, Captain?"

"Back on Earth, we've been fighting a relatively low-tech insurgency with a sledgehammer in Afghanistan and Iraq." Harry shrugged. "I would know; I spent so much time in Afghanistan the Taliban had their own nickname for me. Here, we are basically the insurgents, except we've got this whole city of advanced technology to play with. Here, we can be a scalpel, and a sledgehammer. That makes it a whole different playing field, as you Americans say. Yes, we've lost the Colonel – I won't belittle his sacrifice today – but we haven't lost the war yet, not by a long shot." The Marines seemed somewhat happier with this interpretation, and dispersed back to quarters or duty assignments with higher morale than they had previously had.

---

The command team - Weir, McKay, Sheppard and Harry again, but this time with Teyla as a local ambassador – congregated in the office next to the control room that Dr Weir had appropriated for her own use.

"Was what you said the truth, Captain Potter?" Teyla asked straight out. "Do you have a chance to defeat the Wraith?"

Again, Harry shrugged. "Mostly, Teyla. I'm not going to lie, it won't be easy. I was sugar-coating it a little for the Marines, they needed to hear something very positive after losing their CO. But it is possible. However, from what I heard before icing the Wraith Queen, she was asking the Colonel something like 'Where is this new feeding ground,' which implies he was forced to give up at least some intel about Earth. We have to assume that information was passed on despite her death, as letting the Wraith reach Earth is not an option."

"Earth has a population of at least six billion humans, Teyla." Weir explained to the astonished Athosian.

"So many! But ... you're right, that will be a huge lure for the Wraith, especially now that they've awakened and will require many more victims to feed their soldiers..." Teyla trailed off as the full impact of that thought hit her. The citizens of the Pegasus Galaxy were going to pay a heavy price for this new war.

"This is going to be messy." Sheppard commented quietly. "We can't possibly come close to saving them all."

"I know." Weir sighed, leaned back. "But we can do something, so we will."

---

Teyla was impressed, both at the city – the true City of the Ancestors, so it seemed – and at the impromptu party thrown together by the expedition members. The Earthers – or Earthlings, as they sometimes called themselves, although it seemed to be a joke for some reason – seemed to bounce back quickly, much like her own people; not dwelling on the past but focusing on the future. She could hardly claim to be an expert in military or scientific affairs, but the vast majority of the Expedition's personnel seemed to honest, hard-working and incredibly intelligent; although some of that was down to better education, she was sure. As the Athosians had lived nomadically for generations, on the move to avoid the Wraith, no more than basic education had ever been necessary. Earth, free from the destructive culling of the Wraith, had clearly moved far beyond any other culture she had ever encountered in her extensive trading in her own galaxy. Hopefully her people could start on that road themselves under the protection of Atlantis.

"Gentlemen." Weir was behind her, talking to the three military officers, and carrying a cluster of metal mugs. "I thought the occasion merited this – compliments of General O'Neill."

"Really? I suppose. Cheers." Sheppard didn't sound particularly happy about it. "Doesn't seem like we've made many more friends out there."

"No? Look around you." Weir gestured with her cup to the reunion of Halling and his son Jinto as they stood at the railing, looking out over the city. Teyla decided some positive reinforcement was needed.

"I agree, Major Sheppard." Teyla made her way over to the taller officer with a smile, and placed both hands on his shoulders, lowering her head for a traditional Athosian salutation between friends and family, touching foreheads gently. She didn't expect him to know it, but Halling and Jinto had just done so right in front of him, so he would probably work it out.

She was right. Sheppard seemed perturbed for a moment, and this apparently amused Lieutenant Ford if the slight sniggering was any indication. However, he reciprocated a second later, and she leaned back and looked at the others.

"You have earned both my friendship, and that of my people." She moved to Captain Potter to do the same thing, placing her hand on his shoulders and looking straight into his eyes. "And with our help you will make many more friends." The Warrior – why am I still labelling him that now I know his name – seemed amused, but was quicker on the uptake than Sheppard, and raised his hands to her waist, lowering his head.

A moment later, when they were both leaning back and she was once again looking into his emerald green eyes – their sheer presence and power not marred at all by the savage scars, his mouth quirked in a slight smile.

"Shokran, Teyla." His tone was solemn, as if a promise had been made. I don't know what that means, but it seems appropriate.

"Arabic, Harry?" Weir sounded surprised.

He grimaced. "I have spent a long time in the region. Going native seems to have crept up on me." His eyes darkened, staring off into some memory only he could see, one that seemed to make him go cold and more distant even with him standing with her hands still on his shoulders. He was wearing a green short-sleeved shirt, and even more scars were visible than before, criss-crossing his arms in an intricate pattern of newer, violent red lines layered over the top of older, faded, white ones. "I always liked the language, even if certain other aspects of the culture were more ... reprehensible."

After the others had dispersed a few minutes later, Teyla joined Harry once more where he leaned the railing, looking out at the darkened city, waiting to be explored. They stood in comfortable silence for some seconds before Teyla gave in to her curiosity.

"What does it mean?"

"Shokran?" The Warrior shifted to look at her, that slight smile returning as if he found something amusing no one else could see. "It means 'Thank you.' In this case, thank you for your friendship, Teyla. Such a gift means a lot to me. I don't have many friends." His expression grew distant again, but not cold; a different, less painful memory. "I've led a rather ... solitary existence for the last few years. My whole life, in some ways."

"How old are you, Captain?" He appears far older than he really is, I'm sure of it.

The smile returned. "Why, such a personal question, Lady Emmagan."

Teyla laughed, having come across aristocratic societies in her travels, so she knew what he meant by the title. "I am no Lady, Captain." Then she grimaced internally, the double meanings...

"Well, you have the bearing of one, Teyla." Fortunately the Captain didn't take advantage of her slip, although from the way his smile widened he had seen the opportunity for innuendo. "And call me Harry – I've never bothered to stand on formality before."

"Certainly, Harry. And you didn't answer my question."

"Well ... I have to maintain some aura of mystery, don't I?" Harry pushed off the railing. "I need to get back to work, check on the Marines. Ma'salaama, Teyla. Ela al'lekaa." He paused. "Those are 'goodbye' and 'I'll see you soon,' by the way."

"I very much hope to, Harry." You are ever more intriguing, Warrior. And I do like having a mystery to unravel. In that moment, Teyla decided that she would get to know this man better; this fighter who treated her friendship, so easily given, as a precious gift beyond all recompense. Such nightmares in his eyes when he thinks of the past ... she hesitated for a moment, watching him walk away through the crowd. He may not react well. Some memories should never be revisited. Still ... I will just have to be careful about it.

Halling joined her at the railing, having left his son Jinto and his friend Wex to play somewhere nearby. "He interests you."

"Who?" Teyla feigned ignorance, but Halling had long been a close friend, having become something akin to a big brother and an uncle in one after her parents were taken by the Wraith. She could never get anything past him.

"Captain Potter, Teyla. I am not blind. Or deaf, for that matter. You like him."

"Yes." She admitted. "He came for us, considered our rescue as important as his own men, or so Doctor Weir told me."

"But you want to know more." He is far too perceptive.

"Yes. He interests me. Now stop prying!" She smiled at him to show she wasn't really offended.

Halling laughed, the terror of their recent abduction of the Wraith forgotten. "You know our people, Teyla. They thrive on gossip – and you have ever stood alone. This will cause talk, to say the least."

"I know, I know. And I am resigned to being their entertainment - for the time being."

He grinned and turned to leave. "Well, I will watch you both with interest, Teyla. It should provide some ... amusement, as you say."

Don't they have anything better to do? Teyla fumed good-naturedly to herself as she returned to the party. Of course they don't.

---

Wow, this was a LOT longer than I thought it would be – over twice the length of the previous chapter. This might turn into quite a long story if I keep going in this kind of detail. Please review, I want to know if I'm going into too much detail, as well as anything else you might think – it all helps. Expect slow updates, I've got exams in the near future.

And yes, Harry's former wizarding heritage is the reason for his ATA strength and depth of awareness with the Jumpers. Magic will not form a major part of the story. The focus will still on SGA.

And also, yes I'm aware Teyla might not be aware of the 'Victorian' connotations of being 'a Lady,' (read that in a your poshest, camp-est aristocratic British accent, you'll see what I mean), as she's never been to Earth. But the opportunity for the slight innuendo joke was too good to pass up on, and will probably come up again, as a kind of in-joke between the two of them.

Edit 8-2-2013: Osprey body armour changed to 'Dragon Skin', a prototype Level III set of armour. I was made aware that Osprey was only issued in late 2006, and SGA is in 2004. I couldn't find out when Dragon Skin was invented, but the name was just too cool to pass up on.

---

TRIVIA

(1) I made Harry a USAF Captain – partly because that IS his equivalent rank, but also because there's no easy way to shorten 'Flight Lieutenant', and RAF tradition says that you don't just call them 'Lieutenant', (although 'Flight Lieuy' is a commonly used slang term). Captain is just easier to 'hear' people 'speaking' in dialogue when I'm writing. Plus, it's just cooler than the rather long-winded UK ranks (honestly, 'Group Captain'? – just use colonel and be done with it), and that's kind of what I'm going for – this is entertainment, after all. It's a minor detail – hope it doesn't annoy anyone.

(2) 160th Special Operations Aviation Squadron – an elite United States army helicopter unit that provides aviation support for special operations forces. Its missions include direct attack, infantry assault support and reconnaissance, and are usually conducted at night, at high speeds, low altitudes, and on short notice – ie. bloody dangerous - previous deployments include Mogadishu (Black Hawk Down, which should demonstrate exactly how dangerous). Their motto is 'Death Waits in the Night,' or more officially, 'Night Stalker's Don't Quit,' if you want to be politically correct.

(3) If no-one had already noticed, the character of Sir Harold Pearce, Chief of Section D in MI-5 is lifted from the British TV drama 'Spooks,' known as 'MI-5' in the United States. I didn't watch the show much but came across it again when doing a little side research for this story, and decided to include him because he's awesome – and in the right agency.