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.

7. 6 - City of Wonders, Part 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Credit goes to Phoenix Catcher for letting me borrow some of the ideas behind his story, "Cast Between Worlds," found on this site.

---

Exams are over! And so, to quote the ex-Governator of California, 'I'm back!' Sorry this took a while, RL is bloody hectic at the moment, and this chapter kept getting longer and longer until I found a place that made a good cut off point.

A/N 1: I'm now going to include a small dictionary of the phonetic Arabic I use in the story at the bottom of each chapter – just so you know.

A/N 2: As I said last chapter and will repeat here, I'm aiming for a more detailed narrative of Atlantis than the show. I'm focusing more on the minutiae – Sheppard and co will be off having fun as per the episodes, and Harry will take part whenever some superior firepower is needed (*cough*the Genii*cough*, if you catch my drift.) However, the life of a soldier isn't all Michael Bay-style explosions and battles – there's a lot that happens behind the scenes of a military organisation and operations that make it all happen, and that is part of what I'm trying to capture here. This chapter is the 'setting up' period of the Expedition – initial explorations, training, administration, then the episode "Hide and Seek".

WARNING for language: soldiers swear – usually a lot, and Marines even more. Deal with it.

---

Chapter 5 – City of Wonders, Part 2

"The life of a soldier consists of long periods of boredom punctuated by short moments of extreme terror.'

Various sources

---

Tonight, the dreams came back. Harry wasn't an emotionless robot, some heartless sociopath although he often had to become one on missions. He was a soldier, and when he was on a mission, that mission came first. His relentless, stubborn attitude was exactly why the British government kept him on the payroll - well, that and a few other special talents.

He had long ago come to terms with the violence he visited upon his foes, but it still affected him. He'd seen things, hell he'd done things, committed acts of mass destruction and murder that would have made even Voldemort laugh aloud in giddy delight. He knew what some people thought of him, those with the 'need to know' in the government and in the NATO intelligence community, all REMFs* and paper-pushers who had only seen his file and judged him a monster for the things he'd had to do; but they didn't know him, didn't know what drove him, what demons pushed him to the limit of human endurance, through the rain and snow, heat and cold, bullets and blood. Usually, he kept those demons bottled up until the mission was over and he was home - and as soon as he was, as soon as he let down his guard and dropped out of 'mission mode,' his subconscious always unloaded for one or two horrific nights of relived pain, death and guilt. Apparently, his subconscious had now decided Atlantis was 'safe,' and was unloading - something that conscious Harry would have distinctly disagreed with.

Harry wrenched himself out of the dream, but didn't jerk awake. That kind of thing could have gotten him killed out in the badlands, if the enemy were nearby. He awoke as he had trained himself to, coming to full alertness instantly and without moving. Besides, with a couple of broken ribs the last thing he wanted to do was move erratically. He slept in combat fatigues and a T-shirt, zip-up boots ready by the side of the bed for emergencies. The T-shirt was to cover the various scars and scrapes that marked his body and the large tattoo across his shoulders – he wasn't ashamed of them, but they encouraged people, even strangers, to ask distinctly personal questions that he'd rather not answer.

The slightly glowing hands of his wristwatch indicated he still had an hour before sparring with Teyla. That's going to be interesting. Oh well, no point lying around, it's a brand new day ... in a whole different galaxy ... heh, that's a new one.

Apparently, since Humans were, biologically speaking, basically downgraded Ancients, many aspects of the city were fundamentally similar and suitable for them both – normal dimensions of doors and ceilings, ablutions facilities, cooking equipment, that sort of thing, and the everyday stuff didn't require the Ancient gene to activate or use.

His room was on the Marine level, and would probably stay there for the time being even though three of the other four platoons would move out down into the lower accommodation areas in a few days time. Sheppard, Harry, the senior NCO's and one of Ford's squads would stay in the upper portion's 'headquarters' level, close to the armoury and Stargate Operations so as to be handy to for emergencies.

The room itself was about the same as the one he'd had at Cranwell and the Hereford Mess, a six by five metre room with a set of fairly standard humanoid furnishings – bed, a two-person sofa and low table in the corner, a closet and shelving units, chair and desk, that kind of thing. Although some of the other rooms they'd checked lower down were outfitted in bare-bones, almost sterile chrome metal furniture, his and the other rooms on this level were done in some kind of offworld hardwood, with an incredibly intricate swirling grain pattern of light and dark rings that was a work of art in itself.

A whole segment of one wall, a glass panel about two metres wide opened vertically to reveal a small balcony about two by two metres. It wasn't massive, but it was a welcome relief from the constant interior. Harry didn't exactly suffer really bad claustrophobia, but it did get to him eventually – a legacy of the Dursley's abuse, according to his psych reports. When it did, all he had to deal with was a growing urge to get outside, which was fairly easy to suppress if required.

Harry stood under the shower-head for longer than usual, unashamedly luxuriating in the hot spray. As he'd told the Marines, his time in Afghanistan had been extensive, with very few visits home, and most of his downtime – and quite a bit of that had been recuperating from injuries – had been spent at various bases in the country itself – Kandahar AFB or Camp BASTION, the main British outpost in Helmand province. Decent showers had been few and far between, even in the camps themselves. He'd been out there for ten months out of twelve usually, far more than any other soldier he knew of.

Damned miracle I haven't gone insane from combat fatigue or shell-shock; although, frankly, there's nobody who knows me well enough to say either way ...

Finished with his routine, he changed into workout kit and picked up a long bag that held a variety of practice weapons – he'd brought several of each type, so he could teach or train with other fighters. He was early for the session but since he knew that sleep was now unlikely, Harry settled down to meditate on the practise mats in the gym. Facing away from the door so no one could see his eyes, he 'activated' his 'stormy senses,' as some punster in D Squadron had called them even before the Battle of Hogwarts, and relaxed into the trance. The purpose of the exercise was to 'find his centre' as Hetty, his first teacher had put it; to stabilise his emotions so that his powers didn't lash out when he was feeling angry or depressed.

However, although that had been the original reason, Harry also used the meditation to find equilibrium in everyday life as well – although his version of 'everyday life' was somewhat different to most people. He used it to sort though and discard the chaff, to organise himself for the day or days ahead, to identify and analyse his own gut feelings or misgivings about operations, people or other events in his life.

Half an hour later, at about 0520 he 'felt' someone climbing the stairs from the lower levels. He couldn't 'see' them as such, but in his present state he was far more intimately connected to the very molecules of the air itself than his usual 'monitoring' state. He could 'see' a rough 3-D outline of the approaching person by way of the molecules they displaced by their passage, and so he could tell the visitor was both probably female and about Teyla's height.

---

Teyla paused in the doorway, not particularly surprised to see the Warrior there early. She studied her competition for a moment, noting powerful muscles clearly visible under the black sleeveless top he wore, and yet another scar high on his right bicep, this one short, thicker and more prominent than the others. I wonder where that one came from.

"Good morning, Captain."

"Hi Teyla. Practice weapons are in the bag." He waved one hand at the black bag in the corner. "And call me Harry." As he rose to his feet, she noticed there was a certain amount of stiffness to his movements, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you injured?"

He grimaced slightly. "I might have a few cracked ribs. Nothing too serious."

"Oh no, I am not going to take the blame from Doctor Beckett for making it worse." Teyla shook her head. "That man is terrifying."

Captain Potter started to laugh, and then grimaced again, apparently in pain from the broken bones. "Yeah, so you noticed that already. Most medics seem to be like that."

"Besides, it wouldn't be an honest victory." Teyla smirked at his aggrieved expression, inviting retaliation.

"Just wait until we spar, alz'eyma Emmagan. I'll show you an honest victory," he growled playfully.

"If it makes you feel better, Captain. I was curious about something however ... a doctor is a healer, but why is Rodney McKay also a Doctor?"

"Ah, that's because it's also a kind of catch-all academic title back on Earth, for people who are highly qualified in their scientific fields, not specifically for medicine."

"Oh, I see. So, if we aren't going to spar…" Teyla cocked her head to one side, "do you concede my forfeit?"

"Like hell! You're going to have to try harder than that, Teyla."

"All right. I suppose we'll just have to find something else to do ... like you answering my questions?"

"Okay, fine, since I know you won't give up. I'm not forfeiting, just in case you think so. But we'll do it my way, each with one question in turn."

Teyla grinned, triumphant. That will do. "Very well. You first."

"Oh so generous, Teyla. Hmm ..." He moved to sit one a weight bench near the side of the mats, and waved for her to sit on another. "Let's start with your tribe. I remember you once said that 'we move our hunting camps around.' Are there other groups of Athosians, and are they organised in any way?"

Teyla took a seat, sitting cross-legged on the next bench along, a metre or so away. "Yes, there are now thirteen different clans who call themselves 'Athosians' in this galaxy. We were the first, the 'Primas', the mother tribe, if you will. Although we have moved offworld to avoid the Wraith, the planet where you encountered us is our traditional homeworld, hence the carvings and the ruined city. The other clans live on various other worlds, and use the Stargates to move between empty but liveable planets to avoid the Wraith. I have a fairly good idea of where the others might be as of a few weeks ago, and would like to contact them as soon as possible. They will soon move as a precaution when news of the Wraith's awakening reaches them."

"Shouldn't be a problem with that."

"Thank you. My turn?"

"It is."

He seems braced for something, can't imagine what ...

"Since you have dodged the question before, do you mind if I ask how old you are?"

The Warrior winced. Ah ... not the best topic to choose then. But he answered anyway.

"I'm twenty three. Twenty four at the end of this month."

Spirits! So young, I thought he was at least thirty! "Does Earth have the same length years as we do?"

"That's two questions …" She just gave him a look. Not going to work, Captain. "Pretty much. Most inhabited worlds do, being in the life belt, around similar age stars, so it does has roughly the same orbital length."

Teyla wasn't listening very closely, thoughts running wild with astonishment. He's four years younger than me. About the same age as Lieutenant Ford, who is a fresh-faced novice compared to the Warrior.

She looked up again to find him watching her with a small smile. "Surprised, Teyla?"

"Yes." Teyla had never had a problem being honest, even if it wasn't the most tactful thing to be. "But with anyone else, I would find it hard to credit."

"Why is that? Why would you trust my word?" He gestured to the scars that marred his features. "I'm hardly a friendly-looking person."

"You came for us." A simple answer. "I was told by several of my people how you very specifically pointed out to the Marines that it was not just their people missing, but us also, despite having only known us for a matter of hours. You treat us as valued friends and allies; more importantly, you have not lied to us, and have not treated us as interlopers or savages, as I have been occasionally perceived as by other peoples through the Stargate."

"Shokran, Teyla. And I never will." Their eyes met, green into brown. Another promise made.

---

Harry had been expecting more personal questions, and the age thing had come up before, but what really startled him was the honest truth of Teyla's answer.

Trust was a distinctly rare commodity in his line of work. Harry wasn't exactly a spy, but he was the combat version of one – an operative or 'ISTAR asset' in British military parlance, an acronym meaning 'Intelligence, Surveillance, Target Acquisition and Reconnaissance'. He was fairly used to being screwed over by now – no one who spends much time in the military expects everything to go as planned, and Special Forces less than most. Bad intel, greedy local informants, treacherous tribal chiefs, over-ambitious superior officers willing to throw you to the wolves for their own careers; it didn't matter which – at some point or other every operative eventually got burned by betrayal, (although that last one was more of an American problem, since the British spec ops community was a small, tight-knit bunch - the SAS only numbered about five hundred men at peak strength, so word got around quickly of anything suspicious.)

However, on the other hand Harry didn't exactly project 'Trust Me' vibes. He was a heavily scarred, scary looking son of a bitch who was usually bulked out in heavy armour and festooned with numerous pieces of lethal weaponry and explosive ordnance. Having someone just state, flat out to his face that they trusted him, and absolutely mean every word they said was a rather pleasant change. And for Teyla, he decided he could and would reciprocate as much as he could. Even if he'd only known her for a few days, he was not going to let her trust down.

"Next question?"

"I think it's your turn."

"Indeed. Well, since I'm too polite to ask a lady her age …" Harry smiled as Teyla blushed slightly, apparently mildly embarrassed she'd gone straight for the kill on that one. "How did you end up leading your tribe?"

"Well … my parents were the clan leaders when I was born. That is often our way, to have a bonded couple as the leaders." Harry kept his silence, although he assumed bonded meant something parallel to married. "They were … taken, by the Wraith, when I was just a child." She drew a deep breath, clearly still not entirely over it.

---

"I'm sorry to hear that, Teyla." That kind tone is rather at odds with his appearance, as he alluded to earlier. Every time I speak to this man I find new depths.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Harry." He corrected with a smile, which Teyla returned.

"After they were gone," she continued, "The whole tribe pretty much became my family. They all looked out for me, and taught me. I picked up fighting from Halling's mother, Charin, for example. Hunting, tracking, and various other crafts I learned from those families in the village who specialised in such things; our history and traditions; trade with other peoples, that kind of thing."

"They trained you to be a leader."

"Yes, without even realising it. By the time I was twenty or so, I had picked up the basics of every craft we practised and was on good terms with all our main trade contacts and the other clans. I knew every man, woman and child in the tribe, had helped raise most of the kids, played with them. When the previous leaders, one of whom was Charin, prepared to step down, I was rather surprised to find my name suggested in their place very nearly unanimously, despite not being bonded." Teyla shrugged, looking rather sheepish. "I am still not entirely sure how it happened, but I still say Halling had something to do with it."

"Why Halling?"

"I mostly lived with Charin – especially once I started learning Bantos, which took a long time – and Halling was a few years older than me, and became my brother in all but blood." She refocused on Harry. "What about your parents?"

The Warrior – Harry, she corrected herself – looked away. "My parents ... I never knew them. They were murdered when I was only just over a year old."

"Oh ... I'm sorry, Harry."

He flashed her a quick smile. "No need Teyla, you didn't kill them."

Teyla considered asking who did, but dismissed the idea. She didn't want to stir up bad memories for the sake of her curiosity. Harry spoke before she could come up with anything though – and it was his turn.

"What kind of style is Bantos?"

"Style?"

"Well, on Earth, there are a great many varieties of fighting techniques, collectively referred to as martial arts. Different regions tend to have distinctive styles – Japanese, Chinese, Filipino, various others – that emphasise particular approaches to fighting, whether it be defensive, use of weapons, that kind of thing. How does Bantos work?"

"Well ... in that way, I suppose Bantos emphasises improvisation and economy of movement. Using anything to hand to fight back against many enemies as quickly and effectively as possible. Traditional weapons are two clava bantos – fighting sticks, I suppose you would call them, about this long," Teyla held her hands out about two feet apart.

The Captain has an odd gleam in his eye ...

---

"Reeeallly…" Harry drew the word out, barely containing his excitement.

I travel to a different galaxy, and the first person I meet just happens to practice something a bit like Eskrima. Fate, you aren't as much of a bitch as I thought.

He got up and moved to the weapons bag he'd brought up, and rummaged around for a few seconds. "A bit like these?" He held up a pair of yantok, also referred to as rattan batons, after the tough, cheap vine the short staffs were made out of. Teyla's eyes lit up, and he tossed one to her as he came back to his seat, bringing the bag with him.

"Yes … not dissimilar, although these are somewhat lighter than the ones I am used to. You use these?"

"Yes. These are rattan sticks, or yantok if you're feeling technical. They're training weapons for the style I have been learning since I was sixteen, which is called Eskrima."

"Then it seems my victory is not quite as assured as I thought it might be."

"I don't know," Harry demurred, "I'm hardly a Grand Master or anything. You might beat me yet."

"What else do you have in there?"

Harry lifted the bag onto the bench beside him to rummage some more. "Well, I've got practice fighting knives and daggers of various types, like karambits," he withdrew a short, wickedly curved weapon, but Teyla noticed it was clearly not a real blade. "These are practise weapons made out of foam or wood to avoid injury. I've also got tantos, sais and some longer weapons, katanas and collapsible bo staffs, as well." He pulled each out as he named them, laying them on the bench. "I thought I might as well bring them if we were going to be stuck here for a while, so I'll probably train some of the Marines and civilians if they want to. I have a few real versions of the smaller ones locked up in the armoury."

"That is ... quite a collection." Teyla reached out, ran a hand along one of the katanas. "Bantos is … not aggressive, but defensive. It was created for one trained person to be able to protect others against many attackers, and does not have any weapons apart from the staves in it. We have not had the ability to smelt metal of a high enough quality." She looked up, and caught his eye. "Is Earth a violent culture? I mean," her gesture took in the line of weapons on the bench, "all these were developed for a reason, surely."

Harry thought about it for a moment; how best to describe the people of Earth's proficiency with killing each other in a reasonably positive light. "Well ... we didn't have the Wraith to worry about, or any other offworld threat for thousands of years. We developed in isolation, blissfully unaware of the existence of anything beyond our atmosphere. In fact, that is really what allowed us to be as successful as we have been in the previous eight years since we did start travelling through the gate."

"You mean that the dominant race in the galaxy did not destroy your people every time Earth even remotely posed a threat, like the Wraith do to us."

"Exactly. That allowed us to advance to a point where we could at least hold our own, so long as we played to our strengths and their weaknesses." Harry shrugged. "I won't lie to you, Teyla. Earth's history isn't exactly pleasant. Instead of there being just one culture, there are many. Earth is divided up into many different nations, about a hundred and ninety I think, differentiated by language, currency, culture, whatever. Some are tiny, so small you could walk across them in a day. Others are enormous, with populations in the billions. Since we were contained to Earth, these nations competed, for resources and power. We've had plenty of wars, violence and general destruction as a part of that ... competition.

"However, we did well in the Milky Way Galaxy – our home galaxy – once we got out there, because our enemy, the Goa'uld, had been in control for so long they grew complacent, and were more concerned with fighting each other than us. We exploited that. We had no space warships or massive armies to send through the gate, so we relied on small strike teams that fought harder, faster, smarter and more daringly than the enemy. The Goa'uld themselves were sloppy; after ten thousand years of complete dominance, their technology and tactics had stagnated to the point where they were nearly completely incapable of thinking up anything new. Once Stargate Command back on Earth hit their stride, they were running rings around them by being faster, more aggressive and far, far more inventive and adaptable than the bad guys."

Wow, that was a red herring, I just managed to turn a question about Earth into how we beat the Goa'uld.

"Sorry, that got off topic a bit."

---

Teyla was, internally, jubilant – for two reasons. First, she was pleased to have her initial assessment of the Earther's capabilities confirmed; not only could they potentially defeat the Wraith, but they had apparently already dealt with a similar threat at home with almost contemptuous ease. Secondly, she was happy she had managed to get Harry to talk so freely. The Warrior was almost irritatingly reticent with any details, but she pushed down her frustration. His secrets were his own, regardless of her burning curiosity, and if she wanted to learn about him then she'd just have to chip away steadily at his walls. Thus, she decided not to push too much.

"Not at all, Captain. Any information about your world is interesting. So, due to these ... Goa'uld, you have experience fighting enemies like the Wraith?"

"Although I never fought the Goa'uld, I am ... accustomed, unfortunately, to being outnumbered and out-gunned by the enemy, and working through those constraints. However, I often worked alone, which is a very rare situation for one of our soldiers."

"How rare, exactly?"

"Uh … pretty much unique, I think." Harry shrugged, apparently self-conscious. He is uncomfortable with praise, Teyla realised. "We are trained to fight as a team. One man can rarely fight effectively against many."

"But you can?" Teyla was interested, rather than sceptical. "How?"

"I am a ghost." Well, that was vague.

Harry stood, packing away the weapons. "Anyway, it's nearly breakfast, so I should get back to work." He turned back to her, that devilish, almost-imperceptible smirk returning. "I'll let you know when Doctor Beckett clears me for full duty again. Then, we'll see who the ... master ... is." Oooh, I'm not going to let that slide.

"Indeed we will, Harry. Hmm, I will have to think of a new forfeit for you, since we seem to have already had that conversation we both wanted."

"Oh, I'm positively a-quiver with dread, Teyla," was his snarky reply. "Ela al'lekaa."

---

Harry dropped the weapons bag off in his quarters, but didn't bother to change out of his workout kit and went straight down to the dining area on Level 3, not particularly surprised to find he was one of the first there. He was just setting down his tray when Major Sheppard and Doctor Weir walked in, and they joined him a few minutes later with their own.

"Hello, Capt–," was all Doctor Weir managed to get out before being forced to stifle a large yawn. Sheppard didn't seem too chatty either, and just sat down without saying anything, bleary-eyed.

"Not a morning person I see ma'am, or you sir."

"Just wait until I've had some coffee." Sheppard mumbled.

"The Major and I decided to have at least one meal a day together, for coordination and general 'getting to know each other' purposes." Weir said with a smile. "You're welcome to join us, although I don't think we'll have them at six in the morning again. John here seems a little incoherent at this early hour."

"I'm fine, Elizabeth." Sheppard took a long gulp of black coffee. "Ahhh, now I'm lucid."

"Good to hear it, sir. Wouldn't want you to fall face first into your muesli."

"Anyway..." Weir interrupted, happy to see her two top officers were friends enough to banter with each other already, "Doctor McKay would like more marines available for escort duty today, so his full department can get to work in the labs already discovered in the main tower."

"Done." Sheppard took that answer. "They were busy yesterday setting up the Armoury, stores area and quarters. We've got two of Kagan's squads free today, with one of Morales' squads on Gate duty, that makes a full platoon for escorts while the other two clear other buildings."

"Good. Doctor Grodin wants to start moving people out further down the tower. Although the area above the checkpoint is enough for short term use, it's not designed to hold all of the expedition along with just over a hundred Athosians. Can he start planning that? The actual move won't take place for a couple of days, I understand, until he's worked out who goes where."

"Yes, he can," Harry answered. "All the residential areas in the main tower are cleared and marked on the sketch maps I turned over to him yesterday. I'm sure he'll want to do a walk-around to check for himself. I'd like to keep at least one platoon resident in the part above the checkpoint – speaking of which, we need a better name for that area – but I also don't think we should have the Athosians living in some areas, Earthers in others. We're trying to get friendly with them, and we can't do that with segregation."

"Could it cause friction? I mean, the Marines aren't exactly diplomats." Sheppard asked.

"True, but most are Afghan and Gulf Two veterans, or at least the non-coms are, and they should know the basics of hearts and minds. Fortunately, the Athosians don't seem to have a violently religious minority to deal with, their faith is more pacifistic, along ancestor spirit lines a bit like Shinto." Harry caught Weir giving him an odd look. "What?"

"Your segregation point is valid, but I wasn't seeing this in terms of a 'hearts and minds' campaign, Captain."

"Well, it is one. No, this isn't Afghanistan, and we aren't trying to sort the friendlies from the tangos, but that doesn't mean the Athosians will automatically trust us. They don't know us; we don't know them. Ergo, we're going to have to work at it somewhat. Fortunately, we won't have to deal with the same truly major issues that crop up in Afghanistan, namely that the ISAF Air Forces have an unfortunate tendency to drop large bombs on helpless civilians who have angry relatives, but that doesn't mean it'll be all plain sailing either."

"Hmm." Weir eyed him thoughtfully. "I don't think I've met a soldier before who's so ... sensitive to the diplomatic side."

"Heh ... trust me, after dealing with touchy tribal leaders in various Middle Eastern countries, talking to the Athosians isn't just easy, it's a genuine pleasure." And Teyla's kind of easier on the eyes than some heavily bearded Sheik.

"Okay, in that case, I think we should make you the official point of contact with them." Sheppard looked at Weir. "We've already decided that as the XO, Harry will be staying in the city most of the time so that one of us is here. And Teyla gets along with you, I know."

"Yeah, we've already had a chat this morning."

"Already?" Sheppard checked his watch theatrically. "It's goddamn six in the morning."

"Your point, sir? Oh-six-hundred is the traditional reveille time for the British Army; it wasn't too hard to get up half an hour before."

"Why so early though?"

"Well, we were going to spar at oh-five-thirty, but I've still got cracked ribs. Teyla decided she didn't want to risk the wrath of a certain lairy Scottish doctor of our acquaintance, so we put it off until I'm healed, and instead sat and talked."

"What about?" Weir asked, paying closer attention.

"Oh, the Athosians, her childhood and how she came to be the leader, then martial arts and a bit about Earth. I gave her a quick rundown on the SGC's success against the Goa'uld too, which she seemed happy to hear."

No need to mention the questions she asked me.

"Why so?"

"Well, from her point of view it proves our credentials in kicking major alien arse, sir. Teyla's pretty much staked the future of her tribe by moving them here, even if it's only for a while. If they stay, and the Wraith find out where we are, they die with us. If they leave, and if the Wraith find out they've had close contact with us, they're targets for interrogation – by which I mean 'enhanced feeding,' rather than waterboarding."

"Oh. I hadn't seen it that way."

"I hadn't either until I thought about it on the way down here. Teyla's taking a big risk with us. Back to coordination, however – turns out there are actually thirteen tribes of Athosians, and they move around quite a bit – especially when the Wraith get more active. Teyla wants to contact them ASAP, while she still knows roughly where they are."

"Sure, should make for a few easy first runs."

"Which martial art do you compete in?" Weir asked suddenly.

Waaaay off topic there, doc.

"No competing about it, ma'am. I practice Eskrima, and I use it in combat, not sports competitions." Harry was not particularly surprised that Doctor Weir hadn't noticed the swords he often carried. The black low-profile scabbards were hard to see when strapped along his spine with the handles out of sight, and he hadn't been around the expedition leader much the last couple of days – in fact, he hadn't been up to the control room since returning from the rescue mission. "You interested in learning?"

"Well, yes actually. It occurred to me that I don't really know how to defend myself properly." Weir raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. "You interested in teaching?"

"I brought extra practise equipment to do just that. Teyla's style is similar to mine as well. Give me a couple of weeks or so to heal the ribs and start learning her style and we'll work a time out for teaching."

"I know you haven't actually sparred with her yet, but d'ya think Teyla's any good?" Sheppard asked.

Harry chuckled. "Well, she seemed pretty sure she'd kick my arse. I guess we'll see."

---

For the next week, the Expedition settled into Atlantis without too much trouble. The two air force officers continued their 'campaign' to win the respect of the Marines, patrolling the city and familiarising themselves with the administration, equipment and personalities of the unit.

Most military officers - even Navy or Air Force - are trained in infantry doctrine during Basic, simply because it is one of the simplest ways to teach command and leadership to young officers who then go on to more specialist trades. As such, John Sheppard was a pretty decent infantryman, and his training with 8th Special Forces Squadron had included ground combat as a part of being able to survive if shot down.

However, survival training is not the same as small-unit infantry command, which Harry's years of Special Forces experience gave him much more familiarity with. As such, he had a more realistic appreciation of what the realities of Stargate Operations would be like, as they were mostly going to be infantry-based. Sheppard had already given a general stamp of approval to let Harry start training up a special rapid reaction squad to deploy through the gate, which would be equipped with heavier weapons and would be able to punch considerably above the weight of a normal four man reconnaissance team - Harry would probably end up leading it too, if something else didn't come up.

The 'command breakfast' had become a fixture despite the early hour, as had spending dinner with the Athosians or some of the scientists, most of whom were pretty decent sorts bar the occasional idiot who seemed to think soldiers were a lower form of life. Surprisingly, Rodney McKay - despite the overwhelming aura of arrogance the man carried around - was not one of these types; he just thought everyone was stupid including the other scientists, and his snarky, sarcastic attitude was mildly amusing if it wasn't directed at you. Harry was prepared to put up with a lot from McKay, who'd already sufficiently demonstrated his genius and dedication by working round the clock to programme interfaces for the laptops and tablets that the control room staff now used to work the Atlantean systems.

Fortunately, McKay didn't direct much of his already infamous bad temper at Harry, mostly because the scarred British soldier scared the crap out of him.

The civilian Expedition staff still didn't quite know what to make of him – apart from Sheppard, all the military types were Marines and therefore sort of homogeneous, as groups of personnel from the same, close-knit unit often appear to outsiders. Harry was something of an anomaly to both sides of the expedition - the civilians often judged on looks, so they were mostly terrified of him, and the Marines were similarly mildly scared of him to a lesser degree. The American term for him would be a 'Tier One Operator,' and the members of such units didn't interact all that much with other units' personnel, even those like the Force Recon Marines sent to Atlantis. That said, 'The Regiment's' reputation was enough to be going on with, and Sheppard's friendly but firm attitude meant the Marines were steadily warming up to the 'flyboy' officers.

Most of the city's secondary systems were still offline. Environmental and power distribution were up (although the naquadah generators were not even close to being the equivalent of even a barely-charged ZPM) but city sensors were still inaccessible, as were the city's full schematics or any inventory of equipment or labs. The Ancient Database was, according to those who were working on it, incredibly disorganised, apparently random in its filing system – if it had one at all. The Ancients hadn't ordered their files in any recognisable way, and the boffins were scratching their heads as to how such an obviously technologically advanced and spatially dispersed race had managed without proper information storage, sharing and archiving for literally millenniums worth of research and development, let alone the kind of economic, social, cultural or political data which even Earth already had reams of. The current theory was that some sort of scrambling or other security protocol had been activated before they left the city for the Milky Way – but if so, it had been very, very thorough, and would not be easy to reverse - not to mention it had to be translated.

Harry had spent the first three days of the week with the Marines, clearing towers out in the city, mostly to get them used to the idea he wasn't just sitting in the office. However, once he thought he had driven that home, he started getting involved in all the other minutiae of the duties of being the XO.

---

The position of executive officer is often misunderstood or maligned by those who haven't had the pleasure of the position themselves. On one end of the scale, he could be the holy terror of inexperienced junior officers, a chief inquisitor who seems to spend his waking hours torturing and harassing the unit staff. At the other end of the scale, he might be a complete hermit who remains shackled to a computer in an office next to the CO, surfacing only occasionally for staff meetings or much-needed cups of coffee.

However, the XO is, frankly, the busiest guy in the whole place – his primary duty is to run the unit's day to day affairs – an extremely broad remit, including (amongst other things) logistics, training, personnel administration and security – for which he has to relentlessly supervise the staff to ensure they are doing their duties correctly (and be the whip cracker if they are not) in order to free up the Commanding Officer's time to be dedicated to operational planning and liaising with higher command.

The XO is also usually the second in command of the unit as well, and so must also be completely up to date with the commander's intent and the tactical situation at any moment during combat, as he is only one well-placed bullet or IED away from having to step up and take control of the whole show with a minimum of disruption. Also, as the Exec is usually the second most experienced officer present he often has to function as the CO's tactical sounding board during operations planning. It is also the XO who has to function as the mentor to new officers, to enable them to understand the unique minutiae of the organisation or sub-unit they are now a part of – and correct their mistakes, which they will almost inevitably make.

That's the short version of the job description, so if that list already seems large, multi-faceted, insanely complex and utterly confusing, that's because the job really is that hard.

Fortunately, Harry didn't have to worry about quite a bit of it. The officers and marines who had been deployed to Atlantis weren't wet-behind-the ears recruits; they almost all had combat experience and glowing reports from previous CO's. In the same way that the science staff very much represented Earth's best, so did the military contingent – there were no troublemakers, incompetents or REMF's allowed in this company. They were Force Recon, hand picked for a special mission – which in their eyes made them the elite of the elite that was Force Recon, which was itself part the elite that they saw USMC as a whole as, and they were damned if they were going to let the Corps down out here in Pegasus, even if no one knew they were here.

As such, the usual mishmash of disciplinary problems, missing equipment, and personnel admin issues like pay, allowances and coordinating leave time that usually made up part of the reasons for any given XO's prematurely receding hairline were not a concern in Pegasus – for example, with nothing to spend it on, their pay was simply being put into their bank accounts back home. Logistics ran very, very smoothly under the veteran supervision of MGS Santorini, and First Sergeant Saito checked in with him every morning to give a rundown on any outstanding issues with the enlisted men whose welfare he was responsible for. 'Top', as the First Sergeant was known as, was like Santorini – an experienced non-com with nearly as many years in the Corps as Harry had been alive - so Harry learned to defer to his advice early on.

From Harry's point of view, this was the kind of spot another XO would dream about. Without many of the petty, minor issues that normally plagued time-strapped 2i/c's, and without any pressure from any higher command looking over his shoulder and second-guessing his decisions, he could afford to rely on and delegate to his extremely efficient NCO's – to a point, at least – and get far more hands on with the rest of his Atlantis-specific duties. One such activity was instructing the Athosians who had volunteered for offworld recon in using Earth weapons. Most would just be taught to use sidearms, but a few – mostly those who had lost direct relations to the Wraith, like Teyla or Halling – wanted to be more proactive and fight directly, which meant giving them above-average proficiency with more powerful weapons. However, before he could do that, he needed to know exactly what they had in the armoury.

The P-90s and other 'everyday' firearms were stored in the large room nearest the stairs on Level 1 so they could be deployed quickly – along with the P-90s, the Marines had brought a vast collection of weaponry. In this one room alone, Harry saw M40 sniper rifles, M249 light machine guns, a limited number of modded-out 5.56mm G36, M4A1 assault rifles and Benelli M4 shotguns, and both 9mm M9 and .45 calibre Heckler & Koch Mk23 sidearms.

There was also a somewhat odd-looking variant of the AR-15 rifle family that he struggled to identify, until Santorini helped him out, naming it as an AR-57, a variant of the M-4 that had been modified to accept both the 5.7mm rounds the P-90s fired, as well as the P-90s unusual top-mounted magazines. The AR-57 was one of the solutions they had found in order not to have to bring too many different types of ammunition – the majority of which was stored on the other side of the floor, only keeping a 'ready-use' stockpile in the main armoury. If there was an accident – which was a whole lot more likely around the guns than in the main magazine – Santorini didn't want their whole ammunition stockpile going up in one almighty bang; an explosion which incidentally would take out a significant fraction of the tower and most of the expedition with it.

And then the MGS had shown him the next room along the corridor.

As he opened the door, Santorini smirked, enjoying the surprise he was about to spring. "The Colonel always said to 'expect the unexpected,' so …" He just trailed off, and waved the new XO inside.

Should probably be the motto of all SGC operations period…Harry thought as he walked in, followed rapidly by bloody hellfire … it's like Aladdin's Cave for the NRA in here.

A marine company had an organic weapons platoon that usually had three M224 60mm mortars, six SMAW anti-armour rockets and six M240B 7.62mm medium MGs, along with a slightly larger amount of manpower to keep the extra weight as mobile as the rest of the company.

However, the Atlantis detachment – actually designated B Company (Force Reconnaissance), 2nd Marine Expeditionary Force, Camp Lejeune – had also, with the usual USMC belief in superior firepower, brought six .50 calibre M2 Browning HMG's, four FGM-148 Javelin anti-armour guidance units and no less than twelve Stinger shoulder-launched surface-to-air missile tubes to complement both the weapons platoon's heavies and the rifle platoons' AT-4 unguided rockets and light support weapons.

This was, to say the least, an insanely large collection of firepower – with an appropriately large amount of ammunition too. If correctly employed would be more than enough to give the small Stargate teams a big tactical edge in hostile contacts, especially with the mobility afforded by the cloaked jumpers. Harry, who was already planning the have reaction team use the stealthy craft, now mentally added the possibility of having the heavy support weapons deployed individually by jumper, which would allow them to be both well dispersed and have their own air support – oh, the possibilities are endless. In the far corner he spotted a row of six .50 sniper rifles and two six-shot M32 40mm grenade launchers.

"Oh, boy, we are going to have so much fun with this."

---

As it turned out, the Athosians were quite proficient in using technology and weapons, even if they no longer had the means or knowledge to replicate such things. Their civilisation had been significantly urbanized and advanced by the time of the Wraith-Lantean War, in which their people were pretty much entirely destroyed in 'The Great Attack,' which the old city on their planet and the carvings Teyla had shown to Harry indicated. However, some remnants of their old technology still survived, like their laser-derived fire-starters, and the Athosians themselves remained aware of what they had lost even if they had been forced into a nomadic hunter-gatherer culture to avoid the Wraith culls. As such, they hadn't had too much trouble picking up the general principles behind Earth firearms operation and use - they certainly didn't believe they were magic.

"This is a FN Herstal P-90 personal defence weapon." Harry was standing in the 25 metre range the Marines had set up, once they'd MacGuyvered a bullet catcher against the back wall, with a rubber curtain and a thick metal wall panel angled downwards into a sand trap, made of soil from the 10,000 year old dead plant pots. Around him were Teyla, Halling and five other Athosians – two men and thee women – who had requested to get special training, and Stackhouse to help out.

"It's a rather unconventional weapon that is designed with a number of features designed to make it more compact and lethal." The matt-black, boxy and futuristic looking firearm was resting, unloaded on the table in front of him. "We covered the internal mechanisms of firearms yesterday when Sergeant Stackhouse demonstrated the M9 – this is fundamentally similar in principle if not in operation or looks. It fires 5.7mm ammunition specially designed to penetrate armour and tumble around inside the target to do more damage." Harry looked around, catching their eyes and holding their attention. "We'll cover cleaning and maintenance later, and teach safety and shooting with it first since that's going to be the important bit for you guys."

A few minutes later, having covered the range safety procedures again, demonstrating how to aim and find the correct eye relief for the optical sight, he put them through the lesson, demonstrating the usual shooting stances, fire modes, reloading, clearing jams and snap shooting. The range had three lanes, so eventually only Teyla was left, having hung back and let the others go first – the others had already dispersed after their time on the range, needing to attend to their families and other business.

Teyla's shooting was pretty damn good for a beginner. The P-90's recoil was reasonable, easy to control, and the small size and light weight of the weapon helped.

"Pretty good, Teyla. Still got some rounds going high, but that'll drop off as you get used to the weapon. Apart from that, just fine. Stackhouse'll run another session tomorrow for all of you, and test the day after that. Then we can start sending teams out properly. However, practice makes perfect, so training doesn't stop just because you're on a team. Especially Sheppard's."

"Why's that?"

Harry grinned. "Because he's a trouble magnet. And because you'll be on what we call the 'flagship' team, like SG-1 back home, the team that led the offensive against the Goa'uld. They got into all sorts of situations they had to talk, shoot or bluff their way out of. I fully expect Major Sheppard's AR-1 to get into all the same misadventures here. It'll probably be quite a wild ride."

"AR-1? You soldiers and these 'acronyms', I can never keep up." Teyla complained with an exasperated look.

"You get used to it." Harry reassured her. "It was going to be 'Atlantis Reconnaissance Team One' in its full version, but we shortened it to 'Atlantis Recon One.'"

"I see. So …" Teyla drew the word out, "How well can you shoot, Captain?"

Harry smirked. Despite asking Teyla to call him Harry, she still used his rank most of the time, so he'd given up correcting her. "Do you want to set a forfeit for this too?"

"Ancestors, no!" Teyla laughed. "I have no doubt that would be rather one sided."

"It might be." Harry agreed, and then eyed the fresh targets they'd just set up downrange before reviewing Teyla's shooting. "Ear defence." He gestured for the Athosian leader and the sergeant to pick up the hearing protection as he flipped up the board in the centre lane. Then he turned to face them once more, unsnapping the safety strap on his thigh holster, and raised his voice somewhat because of the earmuffs.

"Okay, this might be showing off a bit, but ... "

With that, Harry spun around and drew his weapon in the same movement. Although the armoury had brand new Heckler & Koch Mark 23's, a special operations pistol that was procured specifically to replace the Marine Corps' beloved, but ageing Colt .45's, he'd stuck with his MEU-SOC 1911 anyway. It was an old familiar friend to him that had saved his life more than once. He could always get a Mk. 23 later.

Harry's spin ended with him in the 'Weaver' stance. A pistol shooting grip developed for US law enforcement, in the Weaver stance the 'grip' arm - in Harry's case, he was right-handed - is extended, but slightly bent at the elbow and is 'pushed' out. The supporting arm is noticeably bent further downward, and is 'pulled' inwards. The resultant tension in the right wrist is intended to control muzzle recoil to allow for more rapid, aimed follow-up shots. The feet are planted with the dominant side foot to the rear, angled out at 45 degrees, with most of the weight on the forward foot, allowing the rear one to further absorb the recoil, while also enabling rapid changes in movement to manoeuvre both the shooter and the weapon in confined, urban environments.

Harry's sights landed on the left target, and the weapon barked two rapid shots, followed by a slight pause - no more than half a second really - then one more. Two ragged holes appeared in the bull's-eye marked on the outline's chest, and the third in the centre of the forehead - but he didn't stop there. The right-hand target received the same treatment, and the middle one got a double-tap to the head, with only a tiny break between each target - eight shots, all three targets 'dead' in five seconds.

Teyla was impressed, but also knew she had no real context to place it in except her own, admittedly novice experience over the past couple of days. That context, however, was rapidly provided by the training sergeant standing beside her.

"Fucking hell." Stackhouse muttered. "I thought I was a good shot, but …" He trailed off when he saw Teyla glance at him in surprise. "Uh, sorry."

Teyla wasn't sure what he was apologising for, but just nodded and looked back to the Captain, who was scrutinising the targets.

"Oops. Nearly missed that one." The bullet hole in the right-hand target's head was an inch or two off centre. He turned back to face them, and caught Stackhouse's mildly awestruck look. "What?"

"Missed, sir?" The NCO started to laugh. "I'm the best pistol marksman in the company, sir, and I'm not even close to that level. Eight kill-shots at three targets in five seconds at twenty-five metres ..." He shook his head.

"That is particularly difficult?" Teyla asked.

"Definitely. I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it."

"Well ..." Harry shrugged.

"Just remind me not to get on your bad side, sir. Or challenge you to a shooting competition."

"Indeed." Teyla agreed. "Speaking of our other little wager ... has Doctor Beckett cleared you yet, Harry?"

"No, I'll see him again tomorrow morning. I'll come and find you if he does and we'll work out a time."

"Excellent. I look forward to it." Teyla left with more formal half-bow, more of a deep nod. She'd done it a few times before, so Harry assumed it was an Athosian custom.

"What wager would that be, sir?" asked Stackhouse, now replacing the targets again as Harry gathered up the spent casings for reloading.

"Oh, just a bet that she could kick my arse at hand-to-hand." Harry said distractedly as he crouched to peer under the range tables.

Stackhouse blinked, looked at him. "She any good?"

"Maybe, maybe not, guess I'll find out. I'll tell you one thing though, Sergeant. Don't underestimate her, or the other Athosians. Their civilisation was even more advanced than Earth before the Wraith totalled it, and they still retain quite a bit of knowledge and skills."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir. And pass it along."

---

The next morning, Harry was back in the infirmary once more, sitting and waiting for Carson to finish with McKay. In the meantime, the conversation between the two was becoming rather amusing.

"I'm so surprised you're so eager to volunteer for this, Rodney." Apparently the Canadian had been adamant he'd be the first to receive the ATA trial retro-virus gene-therapy Beckett had been developing to give the gene to those who weren't born with it naturally. I wonder if Carson could give magical abilities to people like that, Harry mused as he watched.

"You know me, always eager to help." McKay was fairly bouncing with excitement, a stark contrast to the phlegmatic Scottish doctor who was tapping at his elbow vein.

"Right." Carson tone conveyed a whole truckload of disbelief with a single word. "So do you have any questions about the process, I mean you are a scientist."

"I'm sorry, medicine is about as much a science as, I don't know, voodoo?" McKay's casual dismissal was less than pleasing to the medic - a genius in his own right - who glared at him as he continued. "All I need to know is that it will allow me to use ancient technology like you, Major Sheppard or," he indicated Harry, sitting two beds over, "Captain Potter."

"Yes, hopefully. You are the first human trial." Uh-oh. I know that tone. Carson's decided to have some fun. Harry had quickly learned the Scottish doctor's relatively dour professional demeanour concealed a rather pointed, sarcastic wit that could be hilariously well-timed. Rodney clearly picked up on something, too.

"Uh ... why now? We need as many people with the gene as we could get ..." The physicist trailed off as Carson brandished a large, ominous and very pointy syringe.

"Well, actually, without proper FDA approval it'd be virtually impossible to do something like this on Earth ..." Catching McKay's increasingly panicked expression, Carson gave him what Harry assumed was supposed to be a reassuring smile – which really, really wasn't. "Let's just say it's legal here in the Pegasus Galaxy." With that, he made to push the injector into his patient's arm, but McKay pulled away.

"Wait, so it's completely safe?"

Carson shrugged. "Well, as far as experimental gene therapy goes. I am manipulatin' your DNA ... here we go." He leaned over again.

"Waitwaitwait, maybe you should ... tell me more?"

Carson sighed exasperatedly, and began lecturing. "We believe Ancient Technology Activation, or ATA is caused by a single gene that's always on, instructing various cells in the body to create a series of enzymes that interact with the skin, nervous system and the brain. In this case we'll be using a mouse retrovirus to deliver the missing gene to your cells."

"A mouse?"

Another sigh. "It's been deactivated." The doctor's look clearly conveyed a more sarcastic message: 'no, you're not going to turn into a rodent you idiot.'

With that, he stuck the syringe in Rodney's arm with no warning.

"Are there any si-de ef-fects?" McKay's voice became higher pitched with each syllable.

With his victim – err, patient – now beyond the point of no return, Carson really let rip. "Headache, dry mouth … the irresistible urge to run in a small wheel ..."

"Ah, that's very amusing." McKay was obviously not.

"I thought so." Carson unwrapped the surgical strap around the Canadian's upper arm. "Now, Captain Potter, how are you doing?"

"Great, now let me out of here." Harry glanced at McKay, "Before our esteemed Head of Science decides to go looking for cheese." The doctor laughed while McKay grumped.

"Oh, very funny."

"What is that thing?" Harry pointed with his chin at the little device McKay was clutching tightly.

"Oh, just something the Ancient's were experimenting on."

"Do you know what it is?"

"Pretty sure, yeah."

"Hmm." Harry gave him a look. "Don't screw around with the tech, Doc. Even innocuous things can kill you if you don't understand them."

"I know what I'm doing." McKay shot over his shoulder as he left the infirmary.

"Well, Harry it looks like you're fit for duty." Carson said after removing the bindings on his ribcage and doing whatever doctors did, which for some reason included shining a light in his eyes. Don't know why they bother to do that every single bloody time, it's not like my head or eyes were injured. "Let me get an x-ray to check and then you can go."

"Whoopee." Harry deadpanned. "With my usual luck, I'll be back here tomorrow."

"Oh don't be so depressed, Captain. You're in an alien city in a different galaxy! Live a little!"

Harry smiled at him. "So, am I fit to go back to full duty?"

"Yes. It was only a few cracked ribs, they're healed. Don't throw yourself around too much though, they're still weaker than normal. And don't climb any more seventy story skyscrapers!" Carson shook his finger at him. "I heard about that!"

Harry grinned unrepentantly, but capitulated ... for the moment. "Got it, doc."

---

Harry spent the rest of the morning with an injured Peter Grodin, whose hand had apparently had an unfortunate impact with an Ancient personal shield device – the thing McKay had been clutching. They had just finished sorting out the new accommodation plan – the Marine area in particular was becoming a little unpleasant, despite their best efforts – when Harry's earpiece crackled.

"Captain Potter, Doctor Grodin, this is the Control Room. Command meeting requested by Doctor Weir, ASAP."

Harry grimaced. "Control Room this is Storm, I'm with Grodin, copy that. Oscar mike, out."** Got to get the control room to follow radio procedure, it's getting ridiculous. He turned to Grodin, who was already picking up his tablet and standing. "Any ideas?"

"Rodney finished coding the self-destruct yesterday evening, we were going to input the codes and lock them down today."

"Ah, all right. Let's go, I think we've got this wrapped up."

On the way up to the control room, Harry finally ran into Teyla, for whom he had been keeping an eye out for all morning. He split off to talk to her, waving Grodin to go on ahead.

"Maasa el'khair, Teyla. Doctor Beckett's cleared me for practice again, so ... tomorrow? Same time as before?"

"Certainly, Captain. I look forward to my victory." Teyla had regained her bravado somewhat over the last week, upping the stakes in their little game. "I'll reveal the forfeit tomorrow."

"Okay, I'll see you then, or at dinner probably."

By the time Harry trooped into the control room, Grodin was sitting at a laptop on the main console, with the other upper level staff – Weir, Sheppard, Ford as the military third in command, McKay and the other department heads – gathered around.

"The self destruct requires two separate codes. Each code is unique, and each person here will be required to memorize their code."

"Well don't bother giving me one." McKay muttered. Harry frowned slightly.

"Why not, Doctor McKay?"

"Oh, just because I'm a dead man walking." McKay pointed to a small glowing green jewel-thing attached to his chest – the shield generator. "I can't eat or drink because of this, the shield won't let anything past. Anything."

"Ah. Well. I'm usually above this, but ... I told you so."

McKay's irate glare just slid off Harry's smirk like water off a duck's feathers.

Weir got them back on point. "This is the only Stargate in Pegasus that can dial Earth that we know of. This makes it our last line of defence, and we simply cannot let them gain control of this complex."

"If both codes are entered, the naquadah generator will overload in about twenty seconds."

"Are we sure it will do enough damage?" Ford asked.

"Ever seen a twenty kiloton nuclear explosion?"

Ah, there's the old snarky McKay we all know and ... put up with.

"I have." Sheppard looked around at the odd looks he was getting. "Not up close."

Harry cocked his head over to one side and looked at Sheppard speculatively. "Was that the thing in Yemen?"

"Yeah ... what, were you there?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. If I told you, I'd have to kill you." Sheppard rolled his eyes, and Harry relented. "If you were the C-SAR pilot with the callsign Guardian Two One who pulled me and Scarecrow out of that miserable hole in the earth, then yes."***

"Ah, no, I was flying Guardian Two Two, the backup bird. Still, that was you on the ground?"

Harry grimaced, "Yeah. Me and a few US Marines, survivors of the team that went in first. Quite possibly the most hair-raising six hours of my life, that was."

Weir interrupted his reminiscence then. "What are you two talking about? There haven't been any nuclear weapons going off on Earth, I'm sure somebody would have noticed."

"I am not at liberty to neither confirm nor deny such an event, ma'am." Harry told her. Sheppard rolled his eyes.

"We're about three million light-years from home, Harry. I think we can drop a few hints."

"Fine." Harry shrugged again. "It was only about five or six kilotons, not twenty, by the way Major, a stolen Russian suitcase bomb. To put that in context, Hiroshima was about sixteen Kay-Tees. It was in the hands of a Jihadist group who were storing it for security down the bottom of a heavily-defended old mine up in the mountains, proper fucking badlands, surrounded by warlords and Sharia law extremist types. I was in Afghanistan at the time, and got thrown on a plane to go get it back, but the Marines were closer and responded first. They got pinned down and took casualties after getting inside the mine, so I bailed them out we went deeper to get the weapon. Some prick set a timer on it though, and although I'm a passably trained in defusing bombs, a nuke rigged with booby traps is well out of my league, so we left it and got the hell out of that mine right sharpish. About ten minutes later, we were just embarking into the evac chopper when the bomb went off. It was a long way underground, so the fallout was contained and only a small part of the usual fireball reached the surface. I think it was covered up as an old underground ammo dump being accidentally set off. The Yemeni government was a little pissed off at us, to say the least, but they went along with it. Too embarrassing to admit they have a terrorist problem publicly even though everybody already knows." Harry rolled his eyes. "Politics."

"I'm sorry ..." Ford looked disbelieving. "How did nobody see that?"

"Amazing what people will ignore, if they don't want to believe what they see. As I said, the explosion was mostly sealed up down an old mine which is now completely caved in, obviously. The seismologists registered an earthquake, but out in the mountains the only people to see it were us and ..." Harry paused for dramatic effect, and delivered the punchline with a perfectly straight face, "... shepherds, apparently."

His commanding officer groaned while Weir and some of the other civilians chuckled. "Oh god ... Harry, keep puns like that to yourself from now on."

"Ah, you're such a killjoy, boss."

"No, it's just the CO's prerogative to make crappy jokes which you all have to laugh at. That's a new SOP by the way, make a note."**** Sheppard said in his best 'official' voice. Ford apparently couldn't decide whether to laugh or just shake his head in disbelief at both his new boss' irreverence.

Very different command style to Sumner, that's for sure. Going to take the Marines a while to get used to it. Hell, it's going to take me a while to get used to it, and I wasn't even working for the guy for months or years beforehand.

Levity over, Sheppard changed gears. "Don't you think we should tell Teyla about this?"

"We aren't?" Harry asked Weir, who looked a bit uncomfortable.

"We still have no idea if it was one of her people who brought the Wraith down on you on their planet."

"I trust Teyla," Sheppard protested immediately. Harry knew he'd asked Teyla to join his prospective team 'AR-1' just the evening before.

"And so do I, but I don't know her people. I just want some time to get to know them better."

---

Harry knew that the relative peace of the last few days had been too good to be true. He was awoken from a dreamless sleep by Major Sheppard, who started giving orders in a calm but urgent tone even before the door had slid fully into the walls.

"Jinto's missing. Teams of two, floor to floor sweep, start with the Jumpers. Full gear."

Then he was gone, off up the corridor with a panicking Wex and worried Halling in hot pursuit – well, as fast a pursuit as a ten year old and man on crutches could manage.

Harry had already started storing a ready-set of gear in his room. He threw on the Dragon armour – screw blending with the Marines, the Level III protection rig was better than those light armour tac-vests the SGC had supplied, capable of stopping steel-core 7.62 AK-47 rounds at anything more than five metres. It was pre-loaded with a standard CQB loadout for a quick response time to emergencies in the City itself, and had five full P-90 mags, four for his 1911, and two each of fragmentation, flash-bang and smoke grenades, as well as a few small blocks of C4 for breaching. With that over his Atlantis uniform, he slid the radio earpiece on as he sat down to put on his boots.

"Control Room, this is Storm. Who is the officer of the watch?"

"Markham here, sir."

"Sergeant, this is Storm. We have a missing Athosian kid. Ford's platoon is on ready alert, get one of the gate guard squad down there to kick the rest of 'em out of bed, get full gear on and wait in the armoury area. I'll get Ford. Acknowledge over."

"Copy that, missing kid, wake up first platoon, full gear, wait for orders, Markham out."

It's great to have good subordinates.

Grodin's new accommodation plan had been put into effect a few days before, as the upper levels was getting crowded. There were 165 Marines, two hundred and forty five scientists and about a hundred Athosians – over five hundred people crammed into an area probably designed to fit two hundred comfortably, and maybe three hundred at worst – now, every member of the expedition had their own room, and there had been enough larger suites for the Athosian's various family units. Harry's room hadn't moved, but three of the Marine platoons had moved further down the tower into rooms interspersed with the Athosians and scientists. Their officers and the four company NCOs had remained in the upper tower where they could be easily reached, as had one of Ford's squads.

"Ford, you on the net?" No response. Oh well, he's in the next corridor over anyway.

Those floors that had been designed for living quarters had clearly been off a template – no two levels were the same, but they were all similar. A ring of rooms ran around the perimeter of the tower, accessed by a corridor that went all the way round and had the staircases at each end. Crossing the middle were two corridors with doors to the interior rooms with no windows, and where they met in the middle a large pillar, presumably the structural core of the tower, barred the way, preventing direct line of sight the length of the corridor. On some floors the interior spaces had been removed to make way for communal areas, or had more specialist functions like the kitchen and dining level, which took up half a floor, or the family suites lower down. On the Marine level, the interior rooms were all storerooms.

As such, Ford's room was on the far side of the tower. He too had clearly been asleep. Harry relayed the orders, then caught up to Major Sheppard at the stairs. The CO had grabbed his own set of tactical gear.

"He isn't in any of the living quarters." Teyla arrived with Halling, clearly worried but keeping it controlled. Harry was pleased to find his assessment of her leadership skills accurate so far, but just nodded at her.

"I'm coming with you." Halling's tone clearly brooked no argument, but Sheppard tried anyway.

"You going to be all right on that leg?"

Halling just glared, more in indignation than anger really. "He's my son." Unsaid was the implied 'duh.'

Sheppard shrugged, and turned to Harry. "Who's platoon is it tonight?"

"Ford. He's up, got the orders."

"Good. Coordinate from the control room, I'll go with Halling downstairs. See what you can do with the city systems, they've got to have something relevant. Begin coordinating the search from up there."

"On it."

As Harry left them to it, the lights dimmed. After stopping in at the Armoury to pick up a P-90, he double timed up to the control room where he found Weir, Grodin and McKay ... shutting off the Stargate? What the hell? Why was it active? He nodded at Markham, who was standing over by the door to the Gate Room.

"What the hell is going on?" Weir demanded, echoing his thoughts.

Grodin shrugged. "I don't know, nothing like this has happened before."

"We've only been here for a few days." McKay interjected. "Some of this stuff is pretty old. It's that, or there really are ghosts."

Um ... not going to correct his assumption on that.

The radio crackled. "Control Room, this is Sheppard. Lights just went out, over."

"Major, we're experiencing some technical malfunctions." Weir answered, then turned and saw Harry.

"Captain, how goes the search for Jinto?"

"Mobilising the duty platoon now. Would take a lot less time if city internal sensors were working."

"We don't have nearly enough power to fire those up," McKay replied while focusing on another console.

"Well, how about not all at once?"

McKay spun around. "That wouldn't ... actually, it might work. Going to take a while to adjust the sensors though."

Good to see he can see past his initial rejection of an idea just because he didn't think of it.

"Do it." Weir ordered. Teyla arrived and pulled the doctor outside for a chat while Harry moved over to Grodin to ask about the sensors in more detail. The Brit scientist was far less egotistical than McKay and, consequently, considerably easier to work with.

Weir called to him from the stairs outside half a minute later, so he left Peter to it and went to see what the new crisis was. Teyla and Weir were standing there along with a young brunette Athosian girl whose name he wasn't sure of.

"Marta here," Weir gestured to the girl, "thinks she saw a Shadow, like a wraith projection -" Harry's eyes widened in surprise. Here? "- but Teyla doesn't sense them. I'm still concerned."

"How reliable is that sense?" Harry directed the question to Teyla, who shrugged helplessly.

"It worked a few days ago during the attack on Athos. Other than that, I have only encountered the Wraith a few times before, so I have not had much practice."

"Hmmm." Harry looked away for a few seconds, thinking. "Well, it's not a threat we can ignore anyway We should lock down the newly occupied area lower down the tower; get the rest of the company up and running."

"Do it."

"Markham!" Harry called back into the control room. The Sergeant looked up from where he was checking a laptop.

"Sir!"

"Double time it down to the living areas, take half the guard squad with you to assist. Get the rest of the company up and stood to, normal loadout, a-sap. Wake the officers and senior NCO's first – Ford's already out looking for Jinto – and get them up here ASAP for briefing. Tell them we have a possible Wraith presence in the city, which should light a fire under them."

Markham nodded, and then disappeared back into the control room to go to the staircase while talking on the radio. Harry had ordered all the rooms of the newly occupied areas to have tags with the occupants' names and occupations written on them, so it would be easy to find all the Marines quickly.

Harry tapped the 'push to talk' button. "Major Sheppard, this is Storm. Message, over."

"Storm, Sheppard. Send, over." Nice to hear someone does it properly round here.

"Message follows: possible Wraith presence in the city. Civvie reported sighting something like a Wraith projection. Full company mobilisation under-way Recommend you pull back to occupied areas, over."

"Copy that, Storm. Establish a perimeter on the floor below the lowest one we've occupied so far, then start a search grid for Jinto and any hostiles inside the zone. I'm on the way back to the Control Room with Halling. Interrogative, where was the sighting? Over."

Doh! Should have asked that.

"Wait one on that." Harry turned to Marta. "Where did you see it?"

"I was wandering a few floors below our rooms; Dr Grodin said they were on Level Twenty when he showed our family the new quarters down there."

"Sheppard, Storm. Sighting was somewhere around Level Twenty-two. Will set up a perimeter on Twenty-one."

"Affirmative on that. We're on twenty-one right now, on the way up. Out."

Harry waited on the stairs for the marine command elements to arrive, while Weir went back into the control room. He was trying to calculate how much time it would take to re-clear the twenty levels they had occupied.

"Does Doctor Weir trust me?"

Harry blinked, and looked at Teyla, surprised at the rather abrupt question. "Uh ... what?" was his intelligent reply.

"Does Doctor Weir trust me?" Teyla asked again, in a slightly less demanding tone than before.

"Yes. Why ask?"

Teyla looked away, now slightly embarrassed at her outburst. "It just seems like … like she ignores what my people could do to help. Not with this situation, exactly, but more generally. Like she thinks us useless, but is too polite to say it."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He hadn't been aware of any tension between Teyla and the director, but then his presence hadn't been required at most of the routine staff meetings and briefings that the heads of department, Weir and Teyla usually went to in order to keep up with everything. Harry knew Sheppard had to go to them, and trusted his new CO to tell him anything important. Which apparently he hadn't, or he hadn't noticed.

Although there was that whole conversation Weir and Sheppard had when we programmed the self-destruct codes. But Teyla didn't hear that, did she? No ... must have been something else.

"We have concerns." Harry began, then realised this might be a mistake, but proceeded anyway. "The Wraith attack coming so soon after our own arrival on your home planet could have just been coincidence, but we aren't assuming anything."

"So you think I or one of my people is a traitor?" Teyla was getting angry now. Harry couldn't blame her really; he hadn't exactly broached the topic very well.

Definitely a mistake to bring this up.

"No." Harry met Teyla's eyes, trying to convey his absolute sincerity. "What I meant was that we cannot discount the possibility. We're new to this galaxy; we have no idea what the Wraith are capable of. In my opinion, they knew we were there, on your planet. The attack was too closely timed to mean anything else. However, we don't know," Harry deliberately stressed that part, "how they knew. It could have been a spy satellite, or sensors on the Stargate, or around your camp, or in the old city. But," Harry held up a finger to stop Teyla from replying just yet, "it could also have been an informant. Again, we don't know, if that is the case, why they did so. It could be they didn't even know they betrayed us all, Teyla, that the Wraith have some kind of remote control over their actions. They've already displayed the ability to influence our minds, these shadows," Harry gestured at Marta, still standing below Teyla on the steps, "they project to distract us."

Now certainly isn't the best time to point out Teyla herself can sense the presence of the Wraith remotely, which unfortunately is something rather too similar for comfort.

Teyla seemed mollified somewhat, but still annoyed. "So you don't know if you can trust us. Is that what you're saying?"

"Unfortunately, yes, although we would very much like to, alz'eyma. We simply don't know enough about the Wraith, so we had to consider the worst possible scenario." Harry sighed. "You told me you trusted me, Teyla, a few mornings ago. I don't deceive or lie to my friends. Don't take that trust away now the going gets difficult. You can trust me."

Teyla locked gazes with him for several seconds, and then nodded sharply. "I do, Captain. I do. But you should be aware that accusing someone of working for the Wraith is a most grievous insult to an Athosian; the most grievous, actually. If you had done so directly just then, you would not have had to wait until the morning for your sparring match."

Harry couldn't quite stop the smirk that softened the savage scars on his face. Teyla was standing a few steps above him, and the glare that she had delivered combined with her posture – straight back, head held high – brought to mind the 'Lady' title he'd jokingly bestowed upon her a few days before.

She really is like a noble, not some god-damned pure-blood supremacist aristocrat but the real deal, the true leaders who dragged the peoples of Earth to civilisation and order whether they liked it or not. Of course, the fact she's kinda exotic-looking brings another word to mind as well, Amazon. Heh, that definitely fits.

"I see. I'll keep that in mind." Harry was diverted by the arrival of various officers and NCOs from Level 1, minus Santorini, who was still issuing weapons. Teyla drew Marta aside, and Harry addressed the Marines clustered around the base of the stairs.

"We've got a potential Wraith threat. Marta over there reports seeing a 'shadow', something like what the Wraith projected to us on the ground on Athos." There were mutterings at that, so Harry pressed on. "I want fire-team strength security details on both staircases at Level Twenty-One, checking into the Control Room watch officer every fifteen minutes. Ford, is your platoon done drawing weapons yet?"

"In a moment, sir."

"Good, make it the first of your squads that gears up. Everyone else starts a sweep of the occupied areas of the tower, from the Hangar on down to Level Twenty, same leapfrogging procedure we've been using all week. Got it?"

"Aye sir." Ah, the Marine chorus, gotta love it.

"Alright, let's be about it, people. Let's get this done." As the Marines dispersed, Sheppard and Halling appeared from behind the conference room, making for the control room. Teyla moved to help Halling, who really didn't need it to Harry's eyes; that man made crutches look like a speed sport. He followed them into the Control Room.

Sheppard jerked his head to indicate that Weir and McKay should have a quick O-group.

"Harry, sit-rep."

"Securing access to control tower and living quarters within five mikes sir, and commencing a full sweep, also by that time." Harry had slid into 'mission mode', now, reverting from the relatively easy-going officer he was in normal day-to-day situations to the cold, hyper-competent operator Sheppard had previously experienced him as when they had crossed paths in Afghanistan. The humour was gone, replaced by an emotionless, professional poker face.

"Good."

"Two more Athosians have reported seeing the 'shadow'," Weir chipped in.

"You know, I don't get that," Sheppard said. "That means the Wraith would be here."

"You don't think so?"

"I don't think they want to just scare us ... when they decide to come, they'll start blowing the crap out of this place with ships."

"So what, the Athosians are just seeing things?"

"There's plenty of other stuff in this city, Doctor." Harry spoke up, indicating the glowing shield unit that was still attached to McKay's chest.

"Tell me about it." The Canadian muttered.

Teyla, who had been talking quietly to Halling, approached their impromptu conference. "Halling wishes to speak to Jinto."

As Weir and McKay set that up, Sheppard pulled Harry over. "I want you to go get hands on with the search. There's no point either of us being here. Once this little pow-wow is over, I'll join you shortly."

"Got it, boss." Harry gave a quick salute and left down the back stairs, just as Halling started calling for Jinto. As he moved down the stairs, he checked to see he was alone before activating his power and 'refreshing' his situational awareness.

Generally he couldn't do this very often, due to the blindingly obvious change of his eyes from green to inky black, but now that he had the chance he pushed out his 'awareness' as quickly as he could. He could only generally 'sense' molecules based on nitrogen, oxygen and hydrogen – the first two made up 99% of an Earth-normal breathable atmosphere, and the latter two combined into water, which was how he had been able to sense the ocean when they arrived. This meant his 'sixth-sense' spatial awareness had to go around walls and objects, but could slip under or around most windows and doors, which were rarely fully airtight even in Atlantis unless the environmental protocols went active - they had a rubber seal around the edge that extended when that went online. He could also sense, and manipulate, the positive-negative charge of the air molecules, which was a major part of his 'storm creation' abilities.

It took a few seconds to re-map the tower, tracking all the moving humanoid 'outlines' inside the perimeter, trying to estimate which might not be Expedition members. Then his senses ran into something, and he nearly fell down the next few steps out of sheer shock, and his tendrils of awareness recoiled in instinctive response, backing away from the surprise.

What the fuck was that! 'That', to his 'inner eye,' was a cloud of super-negative-charged particles, a hole in the air which he could feel moving along a corridor in on one of the lower levels. The Trelawney reference was not lost on him, and usually gave him a moment of humour; now, however wasn't the time.

He stopped where he was, on the landing outside Level 2, and fiddled with his radio for a few seconds. The AN/PRC-148 was a bulkier type than the normal personal radios, and was referred to as the MBITR, or Multi-Band Inter-Team Radio. On Atlantis it was issued to squad leaders and higher, and was looked a bit like a slightly thinner but elongated 'brick' mobile phone with a small screen and keypad, which could be clipped to a belt. Like most modern tactical or blue-light service software-defined radios, it was capable of 'point-to-point' calls, or 'privacy calls' where one user could call another directly without every other user on the net hearing as well. For these calls, each individual radio unit had a specific ID number, and Harry could 'dial' Weir's personal one. Radio waves weren't great to use in an all-metal structure, but they worked well enough.

Upstairs, Dr Weir would be hearing a quiet tone in her headset, not unlike a phone, until she pressed the transmit button. "Yes, this is Weir."

"Doctor Weir, this is Captain Potter. This concerns my abilities so you might want some privacy."

Harry could hear Halling's voice now, both in the headset and on the PA, saying something in Athosian, or maybe Ancient – the former was based on the latter, and it could be quite hard to tell them apart, since they both basically sounded like Latin. Weir didn't reply, but moved away until he couldn't hear Halling through the radio any more.

"Go ahead, Captain."

"It isn't the Wraith, Doctor. No time to explain, but there's some kind of energy creature moving around on Level Seven, above the checkpoints. No idea how it got past the guards there, but it's well inside our perimeter, and the rest of the company are only just starting from the Hangar bay looking for any potential Wraith, as well as Jinto. Going to take me a few minutes to get down there, so can you check with Grodin to see if he's finished that sensor bypass I asked for earlier, it'd be a good way to avoid explaining how you know about it if you see what I mean."

"Understood, Captain. I'll ask him now."

---

Up in the control room, Doctor Weir was distracted for a few seconds by Rodney's fainting, which also diverted attention from her little cloak-and-dagger radio call. After checking to see Major Sheppard was dealing with that crisis, she just shook her head and moved over to Radek Zelenka's desk, where the Czech engineer had taken over from Peter Grodin after the British scientist went to physically check on one of the naquadah generators.

"Radek, did Peter finish the sensor program he was working on?"

The mildly hyperactive scientist looked up from his laptop, "Yes, yes he did. Do you want me to start it up?"

Weir nodded. "Yes. Can it distinguish between say, Jinto and a Wraith?"

Zelenka shrugged, and reflexively pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Well, no. The sensors can detect all energy signatures which include life signs, but cannot as far as we know distinguish between human and Wraith, for example. It can detect the difference between something like a naquadah generator and a human though."

It'll have to do. "That's fine. Check the control tower first then."

"Certainly, certainly, it will take a few minutes to set up." Zelenka turned back to his laptop, while Weir turned to see Sheppard helping carry McKay down to the infirmary. The Major noticed her looking and rolled his eyes rather eloquently. Then she just stood talking quietly to Teyla and Halling while waiting for more information. The Marines were searching for Jinto – well, and a non-existent Wraith, but she couldn't do anything about that just yet – and there wasn't anything she could do to help with that without the sensors up anyway.

"Ty vole!" Zelenka said something in Czech. Weir wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but from the tone it was probably unrepeatable. "There's something really odd here, Doctor Weir. I've got some kind of powerful but small energy signature moving up the stairs to level seven."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Well, it isn't a humanoid life form, because I'm detecting just under five hundred signals within normal life sign parameters. Look here –" Zelenka pointed to one of the Ancient screens they'd gotten working, which showed a map of the tower from the side, in 3D and with a floor plan – right now looking at Level Seven, as Radek had said. A nebulous red blob was leaving the stairwell and moving along the floor – it was split into several bigger recreation areas, apparently for larger gatherings or parties, so with everyone not a Marine still mostly asleep, it was fortunately empty.

Weir tapped the transmit button. "Captain Potter, this is Doctor Weir, we have detected an anomalous energy reading on Level Seven, please check it out, over."

"Storm copies, Level Seven, unknown energy signature. On my way, out."

---

Ten minutes later, Harry was getting mildly annoyed. He'd sprinted down the stairs to Level Seven, and reached it just as the energy thing decided now would be a good time to go up the other stairwell. It'd been moving fairly slowly up until that point, so he'd expected to catch up to it a few levels above. However, the thing decided now would be a good time to start disobeying the laws of gravity, and shot straight up the middle of the stairwell, leaving him well behind. Harry was in very, very good shape, but having to run up a dozen or more floors in full armour and gear plus his weapons which weighed nearly twenty-five kilos was just plain irritating. Now, he'd caught up somewhat, with Weir replying to his requests for updates on the thing's position in order to cover for his extrasensory knowledge.

I'm back where I bloody started. He burst through the door with his weapon raised onto Level 2 - the infirmary level - where he abruptly stopped. Major Sheppard and Doc Grodin were standing in the darkened hallway looking into one of the designated naquadah generator rooms with utterly bewildered expressions. When he too peered in, Harry really couldn't blame them.

A cloud of ... blackness ... was surrounding the generator, almost entirely obscuring the usually glowing device from view. What the fuck is that! Harry exchanged a glance with Sheppard, and then they both moved back without needing any words, pushing Grodin behind them.

"Uh ... Control Room, this is Sheppard ... please could you remotely shut down Generator Two, over."

"Say again, Major?"

"Remotely shut down Generator Two, now."

"Copy that. Standby."

The hum of the generator suddenly stopped, and the cloud of darkness waited a few seconds before sliding out of the room and back to the staircase, where it promptly shot off down to a lower level. The lights flickered back on.

"Want me to follow it again?" Harry asked, still a little out of breath.

"We can track it, right?"

"Yep."

"Then no. I don't want anyone getting that close to that thing again." Sheppard shook his head. "That was weird."

"Yep." Less so for me, but still pretty odd, to be sure.

"Let's go back to the Control Room." Sheppard keyed the radio. "All Marines, negative on Wraith presence, say again negative on Wraith. The tango is ... err, something else. Continue searching for Jinto. If you come across a cloud of ... well, a cloud of darkness, avoid contact and report in. Standby for further information on the target, Sheppard out."

---

After briefing Weir – with McKay making the rather disturbing observation that this thing might attack humans if they didn't let it feed on the generators – she started to address the Expedition over the PA, but Jinto interrupted, his disembodied voice suddenly appearing in the Control Room. Harry just shook his head at Sheppard when the CO looked around as if he might find the Athosian kid in the room. Jinto's directions led them to a closet that turned out to be a teleportation device, which in turn delivered the Major and McKay to a lab on the north-east pier.

"We've got Jinto, he's okay." Sheppard reported. The others sighed and smiled in relief.

"I'm going to go check in with Ford." Harry said quietly to Weir. "He's on generator-watching duty one level up from here."

"Sure thing, Captain. Let's hope McKay can figure out a way to get rid of this thing."

Grodin had been playing 'hide the generator' with the energy entity for the last half-hour, after the incident outside the infirmary. He was running the 'darkness' around in circles, shutting off generators just as it got to them. Ford and Stackhouse were pulling observation duty on one of them, visually confirming the entity's passage each time. However ...

"I hope this thing isn't getting pissed at us." Harry said quietly to Ford as they hung around in the next corridor over.

"Lieutenant, I'm tracking the entity heading your way." Grodin announced on the radio. "You might want to get out of the hall you're standing in."

"Roger that." Ford mock-glared at Harry as they turned back. "Thanks for jinxing us, sir."

"Hey!" Harry protested, but he was grinning slightly anyway. It was a good sign that Ford was cracking jokes at him – it meant the Lieutenant, at least, was becoming more accepting of Harry's presence as the new XO.

Reading between the lines of Aiden Ford's personnel file had indicated, to Harry at least, that Colonel Sumner had regarded the young 1st Lieutenant as something of a protégé, and had been the first personnel request the late CO had made after being handed the Atlantis assignment. Ford, in turn, had clearly had immense respect – bordering on hero worship, if you were being uncharitable – for the experienced, no-nonsense colonel. Even though Sumner had been less than welcoming to him and Sheppard, Harry could admit that Sumner had been an impressive officer who got good results from his people; the unit was a tight-knit group, with every single Marine always giving 110%, carrying out their duties and drills with a level of precision Harry had rarely encountered before outside the SAS. In fact, they were so well integrated as a unit that often hand signals or just simple glances were all the Atlantis Marines required to coordinate with each other at the squad level.

However, this encouraging development was soon put out of his mind, for as they approached the next door, it slid into place, trapping them in the corridor.

"Err, this is Ford, the bulkhead just blocked our way. There's no panel on the wall, no way to open it that I can see."

"Roger that." Grodin responded. Weir immediately followed with just "McKay?"

"We didn't touch anything." The head scientist replied indignantly from a lab which they had discovered had some something to do with the creature. "It could be the entity causing random malfunctions. Proximity to that large an energy disturbance could cause the Ancient technology to go haywire."

Less is more, dammit, he could have said that in half the time.

"Captain, Lieutenant, double back and try the door on the East side of the hall." Weir ordered.

Dutifully, they doubled back, but ...

"This door won't open either." Harry announced.

"Pull open the console on the wall." McKay again. "What do you see."

"Three crystals, vertically arranged."

Harry didn't hear McKay's response, as he'd just put his fingers on the slightly blue-glowing crystals, and was suddenly aware of something else, just like in the Jumpers. Information flashed across his mind in a microsecond, much less complex than the flight computers of the gate craft. Level Three alert triggered – local lockdown initiated – override – yes/no – authorisation required -

Harry felt like screaming 'I don't have bloody authorisation, open the bloody door' … and surprisingly, the door seemed to recognise this. Local sensor net accessed – unknown contact – energy construct – threat level – highest – imminent danger to inhabitants – confirm override emergency code 25993 – door opening –

Stackhouse dived through as the door was still moving, but Ford waited just a little too long, apparently waiting for Harry to go first. Too bloody noble – Hermione would say that's my shtick, which I'm about to prove again for some idiotic reason.

Harry spun left, grabbed Ford by both shoulders of his tac-vest and threw him bodily on top of the Staff Sergeant. He was about to step forward himself, but the darkness got to him first.

Aiden Ford was already berating himself for freezing up by the time he landed on top of the training sergeant. He turned around the check the situation, and thank the Captain who hadn't fro- ... What in the name of ...

Stackhouse and Ford were treated to the horrifying sight of their XO stood locked in the doorway, just a metre away. Tendrils of almost solid darkness were wrapped around his neck and joints, head thrown back and mouth open in a silent scream, with eyes no longer green but an endless, obsidian black. As they watched, arcs of electricity began jumping between points on his clothing, and smoke started to rise from the under the armour vest.

It lasted maybe ten or fifteen seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Eventually, the darkness withdrew, and the XO collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Report!" That was the Major, snapping the lieutenant out of his daze.

"Man down! The XO is down! I need a corpsman here, now!"

---

Ahhhhh, a cliffie! I'm evil, I know. But frankly, anyone familiar with the show knows there's a lot more to go yet, and frankly what kind of author would kill of the main character in Chapter 5. It's not too hard to work out that Harry will survive! (mostly...{evil laugh}).

As usual, any mistakes are mine. If anyone spots any inconsistencies, plot holes, typos, factual mistakes, etc., PLEASE do tell me; I will listen, check or research the right answer and correct the text. Also REVIEW – they rock my world, they really do, honest. PLEASE REVIEW!

For example, I've recently learned Osprey armour was only issued to British forces in 2006 (SGA starts in July '04), so I've retroactively edited Chapter 4's reference to it as well as the earlier drafts of this chapter, replacing it with the awesomely named - and story-appropriate! - 'Dragon Skin' armour, a cutting edge – and somewhat controversial – armour set reportedly used by US Special Forces and other SF units.

One final A/N: Yes, I'm aware a nuke has never gone off in Yemen. Roll with it. Government cover-ups are everywhere, man! Get a tinfoil hat! (This is Stargate after all, which is pretty much the ultimate fictional conspiracy really, involving a dozen nations and thousands of personnel. Move over Dan Brown, you ain't got nothing on Brad Wight!)

TRIVIA

* REMF - Vietnam era slang for Rear Echelon Mother Fucker - basically the guys who did jobs which never put them in danger. It kind of caught on, now everyone uses it to describe uniformed personnel who never see combat but think they know about it anyway - basically, me!

Macguyvered - an obvious Actor Allusion I hope, to SG-1's O'Neill, played by Richard Dean Anderson who played MacGuyver for a very long time.

**Oscar Mike – NATO phonetic alphabet words for the letters O and M, often used as shorthand for saying 'on the move,' particularly if you're American! We Brits don't often use that kind of Hollywood-eque crap since real-life soldiering is deadly serious, and not a Michael Bay movie or Call of Duty, but I decided I was going as much for cool as well as 'realistic' with this story.

***C-SAR - Combat Search and Rescue, also known as 'crazy insane people,' who fly at dangerously low level at very high speeds in nearly unarmed transport helos to rescue beleaguered special forces teams behind enemy lines - usually at night, just to make it that much harder. 'Scarecrow' is a shout out to Matthew Reilly's character 'Captain Shane Schofield', the most badass SOB in the history of military thrillers, even if he does push the believability envelope just a little bit far!

**** SOP - Standard Operating Procedure - a list of things or rules the CO/XO/squad leader etc expect to be done, followed or observed by the people under their command. Sometimes written down, sometimes not. Eventually, they just become 'the way you do things.'

Transliterated Arabic dictionary

Shokran – Thank you

Afwan – You're welcome

Ma'salaama – goodbye

Ela al'lekaa – I'll see you soon

Maasa el'khair – Good morning

alz'eyma – Leader, feminine

Aasifa – apology, feminine