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.

9. 8 - Countdown

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Surprise, surprise.

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

GLOSSARIES (or the 'Codex', for Mass Effect fans ;) The end of each chapter now has a military terms glossary and an Arabic phrase list. If I've used an acronym/technical term – they are marked in BOLD in the text, it's probably there. If not, well, Google's always right!

On previous chapters: I re-read my earlier output and found a myriad of typos and missing full stops and stuff like that – I assume managed to get them lost somewhere between my computer and the server. I spent quite a bit of time correcting them, as well as updating the spelling and breaking up longer sections into extra paragraphs to make it easier to read.

This chapter's pretty lacklustre, which is why it took me so long to publish it. I'm still not happy with it, but here it is.

Thank you to tremerid for citing in his/her review the following very appropriate poem.

---

Chapter 6 – Countdown

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Invictus, by William Earnest Henley

---

August 1st, 2004 – University of Cambridge (Classics Faculty), United Kingdom, Earth.

Cambridge University is the second oldest university in the English speaking world, and the third oldest surviving university in the world, which made it a very appropriate place to study ancient languages and history, in Hermione Granger's opinion. The Classics Department was a very recent bit of construction, a two-story brick and glass building with a well-appointed, if rather compact library dedicated to all things ancient; the main university library, just a hundred metres away, held the majority of the Classics department's books and other resources, but the faculty library was considerably less well-known or utilised, making it an ideal place to spend long days buried in research into ancient cultures.

The once-upon-a-time 'Brightest Witch of her Generation' had decided, without needing much encouragement, to partially follow Harry's route into the Muggle world once her time at Hogwarts was done. His former guardian, the Ministry liaison Jeremy Wilson had come through once again, rushing Hermione through GCSE and A-Level exams that she'd blitzed in even less time than Harry had. She'd always had an analytical mind and prodigious knowledge far beyond other children her age; frankly, she probably would have done well enough to pass on GCSEs even when she was entering Hogwarts at age eleven, and had kept as up-to-date as best she could on sciences and modern languages during the holidays - and for Hermione, the 'best she could' was 'very well' for most people. Unlike her two best friends at Hogwarts, academia was something she not only excelled in but actively enjoyed.

Hence, barely six years after the Final Battle, following a year for the GCSE/A-Levels, three years of undergraduate study and a year long Master's course, she was finishing her (first) doctorate. In the previous five years of university she had learned a large number of classical and ancient languages in record time, including Latin (already learned when at Hogwarts; very useful for spell creation), Attic Greek, Egyptian hieroglyphics, Sanskrit, Hebrew, Aramaic and a half-dozen others, as well as developing a depth of knowledge on their respective cultures' history and society that had her very impressed tutors, all extremely capable academics in their own regard, shaking their heads wondering why theydidn't manage that kind of self-motivation when they were bright-eyed young students.

Unlike Harry, however, she had not completely cut herself off from the magical world. She had a job offer from Gringotts on their cursebreaking department for after she graduated, and had stayed in contact with the survivors of the battle – Neville and Luna primarily, but also with other members of the old DA group. She had continued to exchange letters with Harry intermittently – due to the nature of his new work, sending owls all the way to whatever war zone he was now in was not possible, so they had to use the British Forces Post Office; not the most reliable of intuitions. The occasional phone call from him made it though, as well as one or two visits when he was on leave, although the last of those had been nearly two years before.

She couldn't say she entirely approved of his choices – the Harry she had known at Hogwarts had wanted nothing more than to be 'normal', to avoid all the fame and notoriety and vanish into obscurity; which, Hermione supposed, the latter of which he had managed well enough with the secrecy of the SAS, but the hardened soldier her friend had become was a far cry from what the teenage Harry had meant.

However, she knew why he had gone down that route, and she would never abandon their friendship after what they – and especially Harry – had been through. His 'saving people thing' as she had labelled it all those years ago, was an integral part of who Harry was, and how he defined himself. He would never have been happy working as some Ministry Auror, (too much paperwork, as she'd heard from both Susan and Neville) or some other position in the still-insular but rapidly-modernising Wizarding World. Although she would never believe he had a death wish or anything like that, it was obvious from his quiet determination to give everything he had to his military career he would never be happier than when in the thick of the fight, standing up both for what he believed in and for those who could not do so themselves.

She had, however, found herself doing less and less magic in the last few years though, mostly due to being around non-magicals near-constantly (non-mag being the term replacing the derogatory 'Muggles'). Due to the complete and total destruction of the Pureblood supremacy movement and the quiet relaxation of the Statue of Secrecy, England was a rather safer place for muggleborn wizards and witches to live. As such, she had not warded her student house to hell and back like she would have done if Lucius Malfoy and his ilk still walked the Earth, and therefore was not aware that even as she worked in the library, a mixed team of Aurors and Section M agents were doing a sweep of her house, as part of a high-level background check.

Integration had brought many changes to Magical England – the rest of the Wizarding world was watching in either derision or anticipation to see how the experiment would work out, especially given the complete backwardness magical England's society had been based on before. MI-5's Section M was still running point for Her Majesty's Government, having assured the Ministry, Wizengamot and the ICW that they would not reveal the existence of the magical parallel culture without the results of a referendum proving a majority of wizards and witches wanted it to happen. The Security Service was, fortunately, an organisation that was very good at keeping secrets.

Other changes had come. The Minister for Magic, once a quasi-independent head of state, was now firmly returned to being a cabinet-level position under the Prime Minister, as it had originally been intended. The difference now was that the Minister was required to take a magically binding oath to enforce that subordinate status, which ensured that the PM would be fully informed as to the situation of the magical population, and thereby avoiding the kind of incompetence and cover-up perpetrated by Cornelius Fudge – and if the PM thought the Minister was doing a bad job, he could now fire them. A slight wrinkle in that was that all other ministers were appointees, whereas the magical population directly elected theirs, but that had been smoothed over quickly in a new Constitution, specifically written for Magical Britain, which with no purebloods around to protest was swiftly approved in a rapidly-organised popular vote.

Law enforcement had been altered beyond all recognition as well. The Aurors had always had basic magical forensic tools at their disposal, but the 'scientific method of policing' that underlay the practices of modern non-magical police forces was unheard of – not surprising, considering they mostly hadn't heard of science at all. Section M, no longer restricted to operating on the fringes of wizarding society, had been quick to apply the Security Service's own brand of law enforcement; a rather different model to the norm, as it turned out, since MI-5 were actually an organisation of spies trained as spy-catchers rather than actual police.

Their techniques, combining conventional non-mag policing with the rather darker practices of turning informants, long-term surveillance warrants and strategically-applied blackmail went thorough the remaining Wizarding criminal underworld like a buzzsaw, as the magical criminals had never had to deal with supposed 'law enforcement' who turned out be far more cold-bloodedly relentless, methodical and incorruptible than any Auror except Alastor Moody. The DMLE had watched in amazement as MI-5 operatives broke case after case without even having to use Veritaserum on the suspects – well-applied behavioural analysis and interrogation techniques worked just as well on wizards as it did on KGB agents, if not better – the KGB (now FSB) at least trained their people to resist; the hapless wizards had no chance.

Thus, the mixed squad that was currently breaking into Hermione's house. For security clearances, the British government had a number of different levels of background check, as might be expected. These were imaginatively called 'Security Check' (SC), 'Security Check Enhanced' (SCE) and 'Developed Vetting' (DV). Only the most upstanding, trustworthy agents were assigned to DV work – even if something potentially embarrassing was discovered, the investigating agents never disclosed what they found unless it might be considered professionally compromising for the one being checked; i.e., potential blackmail material for other espionage agencies. If it wasn't, then any embarrassing personal secrets uncovered were just that – personal.

That said, the purpose of the DV check was to dig up every little secret, every possible angle of attack, and at the end, to make sure that the person being checked 'knew thatthey knew' everything – and such, had nothing to fear in revealing that someone else might be trying to blackmail them with the aforementioned secret.

Although the agents didn't know why, they did know they had been ordered, by the PM's office no less, and on the request of the American Embassy, to conduct a variant of a DV check on one Miss Hermione Jane Granger, soon to be PhD, Anthropology and Ancient Languages. Normally, the subject of the check was aware they were being vetted, but not always, and not in this case.

The Aurors had carefully neutralised the basic alarm ward set and magical locks their subject had put up, then watched attentively – since this was part of their new training regime – as the MI-5 security 'vetters' moved carefully through the apartment, taking dozens of photos, and carefully replacing any object they did had to move exactly the way it was. They went through her mail, personal accounts, drawers, books (many, many books), and diary (magically encrypted, but one of the Aurors quickly created a replica to be broken into later by the Unspeakables).

Other parts of the background check process included surveillance on the person in question, talking to neighbours, school friends, and eventually close family before a lengthy interview with Miss Granger herself. The check would take a week; more if they found something suspicious, which was not expected in this case. The life story of a twenty-four year old genius could only hold the agents' attention for so long.

---

August 1st, 2004 – City of Atlantis, Lantea, Pegasus Galaxy - Level 3 Dining Hall

"Listen in."

Captain Potter's voice cut through the dining room's low buzz of chatter, which quieted quickly as Marines, scientists and a smattering of Athosians focused on the XO. The large room was pretty full - the department heads and all the various scientists and marines pipped for duty on exploration teams were present, as well as a sizeable fraction of the rest of the military detachment; platoon leaders, platoons sergeants and squad leaders were all here too. It was the late morning of the second day after dealing with the energy entity.

"This briefing will cover the ORBAT of the Atlantis Expedition, as well as the current strategic picture and our own Concept of Operations, laying out defensive procedures, future intentions, current strategic objectives and operational security requirements. Present at this briefing are the expedition command staff, all expedition department heads, all designated recon team members, and other personnel who will fulfil specific responsibilities to be outlined in this briefing. If you don't know why you're here, I'm sure all will become clear shortly"

"First, the Atlantis Reconnaissance Teams. Team personnel were decided by the CO, Doctor Grodin, the First Sergeant, Teyla and myself, so we had a representative for all three groups – military, scientists and Athosians – that will make up the teams. We have done our best to judge your individual and team strengths and weaknesses, and believe the current list constitutes the best mix. Any difficulties or requests for changes, come see me or the First Sergeant. Team callsigns will use the prefix 'Alpha,' followed by the team number. Team leaders use the additional callsign suffix 'Actual.'" Harry looked around to check that was understood. The Marines clearly got it; civilians not so much. "For those unfamiliar with callsigns, I will give an example. Major Sheppard is on Team One, and is the team leader; hence his callsign on the net is now 'Alpha One Actual.' Atlantis itself, as the home base and radio control station, will use the callsign 'Zero'. Other personnel such as Doctor Weir will get their own callsigns to distinguish them; for example, my callsign is 'Storm.' Clear?"

"Out of interest, what is my callsign, Captain?" Weir asked.

"As I've chosen to mostly follow British military tradition on this, ma'am, your callsign is now 'Sunray'." Harry told her.

"Sunray?" Weir sounded slightly incredulous.

"Yes ma'am." Harry held a straight face despite Weir's withering look of disbelief, turning to Saito. "Back me up here, First Sergeant."

The SNCO nodded, also managing to keep a grave and serious demeanour. "Yes, ma'am that is in fact what the Limeys call the most senior person on the net."

"Okay." Weir shrugged. "I'll deal. Guess I'll just have to brighten up everybody's day, huh."

That got a round of laughs, Harry was pleased to see. Morale had been up-and-down a bit with the initial difficulties, but the resolution of the energy entity crisis and the possibility of having access to some extremely advanced medical technology had raised spirits considerably, not least amongst the Marines, who were going to be the most at risk of injury in the field.

"Personnel assignments. AR-1, callsign Alpha One. Team leader, Major John Sheppard with Lieutenant Aiden Ford, Teyla Emmagan and Doctor Rodney McKay. AR-2, callsign Alpha Two, led by Staff Sergeant John Stackhouse, with Dr Andrew Corrigan, Halling Celsus, and Lieutenant Kenji Yamato. AR-3, callsign Alpha Three, led by Staff Sergeant Bradley Bates …"

Harry kept his eyes up and only occasionally looked at his notes, holding his audience's attention. Giving orders or briefings was often both boring and time-consuming, but the British Armed Forces had it down to a fine art by this point. Clear headings and content, hold their eyes without looking down at your notes too much, don't speak in a monotone, don't stutter, emphasise key points, keep them all focused on task to get the information across in an understandable format, and try, try, try to look somewhat enthusiastic about the whole shebang A good set of orders will allow even the most boneheaded squaddie to easily understand the general situation, the plan and his part in it.

In Harry's opinion, it remained to be seen whether or not it would work on room full of multiple PhD's. He had a five-dollar bet with Sheppard that it wouldn't.

"Situation, enemy forces. The Wraith are the primary aggressor. The scientists are still combing the ancient database for intel, but it's going slowly. What we have found relates mostly to their physiology, but not to their strategies, tactics, numerical strength, equipment or weaponry. What we do know is this: they are on average bigger, faster and stronger than you - do not get into close quarter battle unless you have to. One strike from the Hive Queen cracked two of my ribs and that was with cutting-edge body armour on, so do not try your luck unless you have to. We give you guns for a reason; please use them." Some more laughs. Good.

"The Wraith have been observed using shoulder-fired stun weapons that will incapacitate in one hit. Their aircraft, designated 'Darts', have demonstrated a 'culling beam' that will kidnap you and store you in stasis to be fed on and/or interrogated later; do not get caught in it. If you see a Wraith Dart coming in on a straight, low attack run towards you, scatter away to either side of its flight path. The beam doesn't seem to be much wider than three or four metres at ground level, so with good observational skills and situational awareness you should have enough warning to get out of the way. The aforementioned Darts are at least partially vulnerable to 5.56 LMG bullets and higher calibres, and can be destroyed completely with surface-to-air missiles - teams with a perceived high likelihood of encountering them will be issued Stingers in addition to your standard issue AT-4s.

"Historical records indicate the Wraith overcame the Ancient's defences by weight of numbers rather than superior technology, although their tech level is of course above our own. To that end, we are going to take advantage of the Ancient technology we already have to offset that. Four eight man Rapid Reaction Teams have been designated from the Marines not immediately slated for offworld duties, who will, if feasible, deploy through the gate in cloaked jumpers to extract teams in enemy contact that are cut off from the gate. Sergeants Markham, Matthews, Cole and Ramirez, you all have the ATA gene and have been pinged as NCOICs for these rapid reaction teams, and in the next few days you will undertake pilot training in the jumpers with me. One RRT will be on high readiness alert at all times. Given the SGC's record ... I'm expecting at least some action." Harry looked around, to further chuckles from some of the Marine NCOs who were veterans of the programme.

"If I am available, I intend to also deploy with the RRT. If possible, the medical department might want to consider putting together an away team of field medics in case any casualties can't be easily moved from offworld and need treatment on site." Harry looked at Carson, who nodded thoughtfully.

"Lieutenant Morales, I know you're slated for an exploration team but I want to liaise with you about deploying mortar and Javelin teams in the Jumpers as well. Come see me later to brainstorm that." Morales nodded and made a note on his pad.

"Gate defence will be augmented with the emplacement of two M2 Browning HMG's in the gate room this afternoon, with armoured defensive positions to be built up around them to give cover from incoming fire. We are also considering issuing Ancient personal shields to ATA personnel if Dr McKay can get the rest of them to work."

"Going to take a while." McKay grumbled, the 'not eating or drinking' thing still fresh in his mind. "The Ancient's apparently didn't think to leave a charger around."

Weir interrupted for a moment, "Although very useful, the small shields aren't top priority. I'd prefer to get the city shield up first, Rodney." McKay nodded, and Weir looked back at Harry to continue.

"Situation, friendly forces. Although I've already touched on this, I'm going to summarise our resources as of now. Expedition military forces comprise one reinforced USMC Force Recon company organised into three rifle platoons, one weapons platoon and a headquarters group, 175 men in total. There are two hundred twenty seven scientists and ninety six Athosians in the City as well, making for a lovely rounded total of five hundred. Current military hardware includes the heavy weapons we brought, as well as fifteen fully-functional Atlantean ships in the Jumper bay."

"Strategically, our aims are now intelligence gathering and alliance-building, by which I mean making friendly contact with other peoples of the Pegasus galaxy with an eye to friendly relations, hopefully at least trade for food, technology or, possibly, strategic alliances. Teyla and the other Athosians who have volunteered to help us will introduce their respective teams to their offworld friends - also, we'll be reaching out to various other Athosian tribes on other worlds so that Teyla and Halling can pass along news of the Wraith awakening and introduce them to us. Those twelve missions should make a fairly gentle start to our operations here in Pegasus. No enemy contact is expected but don't let your guards down. However, all teams, no matter your primary mission, should keep in mind that our number one objective is the obtaining of a Zero Point Module power source. Should specific intelligence on the location of such an object be discovered, you can expect that it will become our primary objective immediately.

"Those marines and scientists not pinged for offworld teams will, of course, continue to explore the City of Atlantis. You will play it safe, people, and don't go touching any strange things you don't yet understand please, if only for my sake." Some chuckles again. "Once again, anything you discover might help us in the fight against the Wraith. If it doesn't kill us all first."

"CSCM, counter-surveillance control measures. Offworld teams will maintain operational security on the location of Atlantis. Do not even mention the city's name, or that we're from a different galaxy except in the most general terms to those you encounter. This city is both our weakest link and our ace in the hole, people. If it is compromised, we'll die, it's as simple as that. We're sitting bare on the surface, with no shield or access to the defence systems at this time. If the Wraith find us here, the best case scenario is that we abandon and destroy the city to prevent the evil space vampires from reaching Earth through the Stargate – and the database has confirmed that this is the only one capable of dialling an intergalactic address, so we'll be stranded in Pegasus anyway. Worst case, we're caught by surprise, we all get fed on, and the Wraith access Earth and the rest of the Milky Way. Neither of those are very good, are they?" A round of shaking of heads. "Good, we're agreed. It's up to you to stay vigilant and deny the Wraith that intel. Do not break OPSEC,whether that is on the radio, talking to offworld contacts or even in your goddamn dreams. Questions?"

"Will the other Athosian tribes be invited back here too, sir?" Bates, paranoid as ever I see. Well, he is the security chief; it's pretty much why he exists.

"Doctor Weir?"

"If they are under threat or believe they will be in the near future, then yes, the offer will be extended." Weir said. Bates looked unhappy, but said nothing further. "I am aware that will put strain on our supplies and internal perimeter but I am not going to pick and choose who we protect. If we need to take the other Athosian clans in, we will." Weir looked at Harry. "I'm adding another key objective, Harry. Locate and scout a few worlds we can use as Alpha and Beta Sites. As you said, while defenceless at present Atlantis is our greatest asset and I would rather not risk it carelessly. If we need to help protect others from the Wraith, we will resettle them offworld if possible."

"Does that mean you will ask us to leave?" Teyla asked, but Weir reassured her smoothly.

"No, Teyla. In light of the early friendship between our peoples, and the fact you and others have volunteered so selflessly to aid us here in Pegasus, the City of the Ancestors will always be open to both your and the other Athosians tribes."

Wow. She is a fast talker, isn't she? That was slick.

Teyla inclined her head in acknowledgement and Weir looked back at Harry once more. "Anything else?"

"Yes, sub-unit missions and tasks, i.e. what you're all going to be doing for your first missions in the next couple of days. Teams one, two, three, five, seven, eight and ten have Athosian members; your first missions will be to do the rounds of other twelve tribes and make friends; Team leaders see me after this to receive your specific mission orders. Teyla will give you a message to give to the other clan leaders since she can't meet all of them right now, although if they request such a meeting we'll set that up in the next week or so. However, at Major Sheppard's request, AR-1 will be heading back this afternoon to the planet the prisoners from Athos were rescued from as their first mission – this mission is considered high risk, so Sergeants Walker and Markham will be reinforcing you. Any teams I haven't mentioned, we are still generating missions out of the database addresses for you at this time, so standby for updated Warning Orders coming at you today and tomorrow morning. Team One, your H-hour is at 1330 hours, succeeding teams to depart at thirty minute intervals. Let's get out there and get busy people, this is what we came to do. That is all."

---

Five minutes before Major Sheppard's departure time, Harry was standing with Lt Morales under the arch of the Stargate, discussing the placement of the Lieutenant's heavies. On Morales advice, they were placing the two on gate defence at different angles from the gate – one M2 Browning HMG on the lower level below the control room windows to fire 'through' any targets and the other up on the balcony rail by the conference room to fire 'over' any protective shields they might bring though.

AR-1 and their two extras appeared from the door under Weir's office, where the equipment/gear room for the offworld teams had been placed, the military guys and Teyla fully tooled-out in the charcoal-on-black military colours and McKay in the scientists' rather unsubtle blue-on-tan. Harry had decided to switch back to his own uniform; it was more comfortable and practical than the Expedition ones, and his saving of Ford and Stackhouse at extreme personal risk as well as the rescue operation the previous week had now earned him the Marines' respect in his leadership and courage; the officers and SNCOs had made it subtly clear the previous evening at dinner he was now 'in', even if he wasn't 'of the Corps'. Wearing his own uniform would be his own subtle reminder to them that he was from a different unit, with a different 'esprit de corps' and background that he was and proud enough of to display openly.

As such, he was dressed in Multicam BDU's with an olive green work belt and thigh holster; the tucked-in combat shirt's sleeves were folded up above the elbow to just below hisTRFs; standard British practice when not winter or indoors. Even though the Multicam was not, technically, the uniform of the British Army, it was his uniform, and in some indefinable way it felt right, more so than the Atlantis ones. He'd always defined himself as being a bit different, a unique individual in an already elite unit; perhaps the elite unit. Call him arrogant, but the distinctive pattern was his way of displaying that bit of pride.

"…that's fine, Hector. I'll talk to Santorini about the mortars, and you shift those fifties up here in the next couple of hours."

"On it, sir." Morales saluted, and Harry returned it although neither was quite up to parade ground standards, before they split up and Harry walked over to the offworld team.

"Ready, boss?"

Sheppard nodded. "Heading up to the hangar. Maybe this time I'll work out how you get the Jumpers to work so well." The Major's ATA strength was just fine to fly and work the Gateships' systems, but Harry knew Sheppard's inner pilot's competitiveness made it irritating for him that he couldn't access the deeper levels of interaction his second-in-command could manage instinctively.

"Hope so, sir. I don't want to be the only person capable of doing that around here. Otherwise I'll be spending all my time running around touching stuff for pushy scientists, and not doing any actual work."

"We're not that bad." McKay huffed. Harry just gave him a neutral look that adequately conveyed his total disbelief.

"Anything else?"

"No sir, that's about it. Good luck and good hunting."

Harry elected to watch AR-1's departure from the walkway between the control room and Weir's office; seeing him leaning on the railing there, the expedition leader came out to join him.

"How's it going?"

Harry grimaced, "You know that feeling, like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop?"

"Oh yes. Like someone's in the process of outwitting me in a negotiation."

"I'm definitely getting that right now." Harry shrugged, rolling his shoulders back. "Only reason I can think of is that SG-1's first, second or indeed third mission didn't exactly go according to plan."

"True. But that doesn't mean the Major's team will automatically get into trouble."

"Perhaps. I suppose I'm just not used to working this … blind. I know Sheppard isn't."

"Meaning …?"

"Meaning that although that gate down there is obviously a fantastic discovery and resource, it limits what we're used to. We've got no satellite coverage, no drones surveillance, none of the tricks that make us Special Forces types damn near omniscient in warfare back on Earth; hell, we can't even get reliable comms with the offworld teams unless the wormhole is open – meaning if they get into trouble and can't reach it to dial out, we can't send them backup until it's way too late." Harry shrugged. "Makes those RRT's I just created a bit redundant. I'm still adjusting to the operational environment, I suppose; it's just that it's a very limiting one."

"The SGC did well enough."

"From one perspective, sure. On the other side of the coin, they got us into a very one sided war and nearly destroyed Earth several times. Sure, they repeatedly pulled miracles out of nowhere, and if Major Carter received a promotion for each time she did so she'd be the President by now, but there were a lot of mistakes made that shouldn't have been."

"I don't mean to be insulting, Captain … but that sounds remarkably like Senator Kinsey."

To her surprise, Harry laughed. "Not quite. It sounds remarkably like what Senator Kinsey said for public consumption, because it was the easiest way to cast doubt on the SGC's efforts. We both know what his real objective was – control over the Gate for his own and his associates' profit."

"True. You should have heard the smack down President Hayes gave him on the hotline when Anubis was in orbit."

"Oh? I knew Kinsey was out, obviously, but not why; what did he do?"

"Claimed he needed to be put on the list to go to the Alpha Site with America's best and brightest; basically, running away."

"Doesn't surprise me, from what I've heard – the PM's opinion of the man was certainly not repeatable in public. What did the POTUS say?"

"He said no, of course. Then when Kinsey threatened him politically he said something along the lines of 'Oh please, I got enough on you to have you shot!', then ordered me to ignore Kinsey and carry on briefing him." Weir chuckled at the memory. "Definitely the highlight of my SGC career, short though it was."

"I'll bet."

They fell silent as the little bronze aircraft floated down from the hangar and boosted through the gate. Harry couldn't shake that ominous feeling. He had pointed out the Sheppard that the mission to the Wraith world was dangerous even with a cloaked jumper – the Darts could just be waiting on the other side of the gate, they could be ambushed on the surface, and so on. But both officers knew a follow-up recon was required – it was the only place they knew the Wraith had a permanent base, and they needed up-to-date intel badly; the usual risk vs. reward dilemma. Sheppard wasn't going to push his luck though; trying to physically infiltrate the Hive just a week after they'd accidentally awoken every Wraith in the place was a sure-fire way to get caught, or 'bumped' in British army slang, so he'd acknowledged the smart thing was to stay outside and observe.

Well, I can't do anything for them just standing around.

---

A few hours later, Harry was feeling somewhat happier, despite the lingering gut feeling that something was going wrong somewhere. He and the MGS had been poking around the Jumper bay for several hours, and had found it to be almost suspiciously well arranged for their purpose.

The room was a large, two story octagon, with two Jumpers stacked vertically on each wall except the one on which the entry door was, where there was only one craft, on the upper level – the 'upstairs' ones were accessible from a balcony that ran around the room, with oblong protrusions that the Jumpers fit onto exactly with no gap or rail around the edge. They had found that at the rear of each Jumper was a small room; more of an oversized broom closet, really, but very convenient for the loading ramp of each vehicle.

Santorini estimated each room would each fit a mortar or other heavy weapon with enough ammunition for a reasonably long firefight, though not an extended battle – which they weren't intending on engaging in anyway. The placement of the rooms would allow rapid loading/unloading of the Jumpers, and the internal benches would easily hold the 60mm rounds or Javelin tubes, with some cargo netting to hold them in place.

His improved mood was dampened by the insistent wailing of the incoming wormhole alarm. He decided to ignore it for the time being; it was Sergeant Cole's watch down in the control room, Weir's office was five metres away from it, and there was no point micromanaging if it was just one of the teams returning early, so he carried on discussing possible tactical options for deploying the mortars with Santorini. The MGS had been a weapons platoon sergeant earlier in his career, and was thus intimately familiar with the capabilities – and limitations – of the weapons systems in his armoury. However, Harry was no longer able to ignore the alarm when he heard Kato Wong, one of the control room techs, contact the infirmary about a medical emergency on the city command net, so they both left it there and went downstairs.

The radio network they'd set up had different frequencies for different divisions of the expedition. The Marines had their usual encrypted squad/platoon/company nets, except the company level was linked to the control room rather than directly to Major Sheppard, since he might be offworld. The scientists had their own general frequency, and one for priority messages between the heads of department and Stargate Operations; the control room could also broadcast on all of them simultaneously for general emergency messages.

Offworld transmissions had to be sent via the much more powerful radio sets in the control room that had been dedicated to the task for two reasons: one, they had better encryption and therefore more secure – theoretically – and two, they could get much better omni-directional transmission strength through the narrow aperture of the Stargate, which had a tendency to 'channel' lower power radio waves in whatever direction the active Gate was pointing. Harry had not heard the initial emergency call because he wasn't linked into the bigger offworld radio sets, something he might have to rectify; or at least get the techs to call him as well as the medics.

He arrived in the control room to find Weir standing by Wong at the communications desk, Sergeant Cole just behind them. "Sitrep." It wasn't a question, and Cole snapped a report off immediately.

"Major Sheppard has an unknown alien insect attached to his neck, they can't get it off and need medical assistance."

"ETA?"

"One minute, sir. Doctor Beckett's on his way up."

"Aaand this is why I wanted an offworld medical team." Harry muttered. "We're bringing them back here, ma'am?" Weir nodded, unhappy but with no choice. "Okay. Sergeant, get a fireteam from the duty squad to quarantine the Jumper Bay." Cole nodded and left.

"Zero, Jumper Alpha One on final approach." There was nothing worth replying with, so they waited.

And waited.

"Shouldn't they be through by now?" Weir eventually asked.

The technician shrugged. "Stargate's still active. All indications are that they should have come through."

"Jumper One, this is …" Weir glared at Harry for a moment, "Sunray. What's your status?" Harry smirked at her still-aggrieved expression, and pulled out his notebook. Rule One of being an officer: 'Your job is complicated. Carry a notepad and write things down, or it will remain that way.'

Ford replied, "Jumper One, good to hear your voice. The four of us are still here, but Walker and Markham are still in the forward section."

Well that was clear as mud. He nearly rolled his eyes at Ford's less than helpful report, but that would have been unprofessional.

Weir clearly thought the same. "Say again?"

"Ma'am, Jumper One is lodged in the Stargate. Teyla, Dr McKay and myself are in the rear compartment with the Major, he's in bad shape. Walker and Markham are in the forward section."

"How did that happen?"

"We think it was one of the engine pods that got caught, but there's no way to be sure."

"If I understand you correctly, you won't be able to access the flight controls?"

McKay interrupted with a panicked rant, but Weir shut him down sharply, and Ford continued his report.

AR-1 had been unable to identify the Hive from orbit as the rescue party had, so they returned to the same landing coordinates as before and approached on foot to get a closer look. When they reached the sizeable mountainside overgrown with trees that had been the Wraith Hive, it was to find it … gone. As in replaced by a massive, hundred-metre wide crater. Before they could do much more than wonder what the hell, a small party of Wraith had opened fire on them. Rodney again interrupted though, pointing out they only had thirty eight minutes remaining.

"Wait, why thirty-eight minutes?"

"Because that's the maximum amount of time a Stargate can remain active in non-relativistic conditions." McKay was ranting, but somewhat more under control. "It's one of the more immutable laws of wormhole physics, and OH MY, look at the time, now it's more like thirty-five minutes, are we all caught up?"

"All right, I get it. What do you need?"

McKay's reply was simple, and from a man as egotistical as the Canadian scientist could be, incredibly revealing.

"Help."

"All right, let me put Kavanagh, Grodin and Simpson in a room, see what they can come up with."

"That's good, and the Czech, the Czech whose name I can never remember."

"Dr Zelenka?"

"Yeah, that's him. We're working it at our end."

"Anything else?"

"That's it, we'll call you. Thank you." Harry didn't bother to suppress the eye-rolling urge this time. Being rude really doesn't help.

Carson arrived out of breath and confused. "Where's my patient?"

"There's been a problem," Weir grabbed him and dragged him out of the room, giving orders over her shoulder as she went. "Keep a channel open with them at all times, and someone turn that damn alarm off!"

Only one channel? There's a reason we have modern radios. Harry leaned over Wong's comms desk, and jacked his headset into one of the spare larger sets. "McKay, stay on channel one and keep working on the Jumper; Lieutenant, switch to channel two and continue your sitrep."

"Yes sir." Harry fiddled with the keypad for a moment. "Carry on, Ford."

"Wait one, sir, the Major's awake."

There was a minute's silence. I hate this. I hate not being the one at risk. I hate not being able to save someone who's all of fifteen metres away ... subjectively, anyway. I can only hope she – they, make it through this, because there's nothing I can do to help with this one.

"Back on, sir."

"How is he?"

"Conscious and talking, sir, I'll take that as a good sign."

"Roger that. Carry on with the sitrep, Lieutenant."

"Yes sir. After the ambush, the Major was covering the rear as we returned to the Jumper. We got split up, and he ran into a kind of massive spider-web thing which the bug was attached to. We went back, killed the Wraith pursuers and tried various things to get it off, but nothing worked, so we came back to the Jumper, but we took some fire on take-off, at least three solid hits, which is probably what damaged the pods."

A massive web? Please let there not be fucking Acromantulas in the Pegasus Galaxy; that might be too much weirdness to deal with.

"Anything else intel-wise?"

"No sir, that's about it."

"You got a camera?"

"Yes sir, standard kit."

"Good. Get it out and get some quick images before starting treatment. I know that's rather cold, but everything is intel."

"Yes sir, I copy. Wait one."

Again, a short silence. "All done sir."

"Okay. Beckett just got here, describe the Major's condition to him and work on a treatment."

Harry handed off to Beckett, and listened for a few minutes as the CMO and Ford went through everything available on the Jumper and started going through possible treatment options before giving up and heading out to find Weir to see how her scientists were getting on. The director was just coming back from the conference room, clearly stressed.

"Anything?"

"Kavanagh!" The always-polite diplomat hissed the name with such vitriol Harry was momentarily taken aback. "The idiot's more concerned with his own survival than the team's."

"Wait, why? In what way could he possibly be in danger?"

"Apparently there's a one-in-a-million chance of some kind of blowback through the gate connection if Rodney accidentally blows the engines up; I was so enraged by that point I wasn't really listening."

"If I shot him, would that help?"

Weir blinked, then chuckled tiredly. "Thanks. I needed that." She eyed him, cautiously. "You were joking, right?"

"Maybe." Harry deadpanned. There was a tiny little part of him – okay, so quite a large part of him – that did want to shoot Kavanagh. Repeatedly. At least with McKay, the arrogance was tolerable because he really was as smart as he said he was. Kavanagh wasn't even close to McKay's level of smarts, but had an even bigger ego.

"Oh-kay." Weir still wasn't sure, but Halling distracted both of them as she turned to leave.

"Dr Weir?" The tall Athosian was carrying a tray with what looked like incense burners, and was followed by at least half-a-dozen other members of the tribe.

"I'm sorry, I don't have time right now."

"Neither do those people trapped on the ship of the Ancestors." Weir sighed, and turned back to Halling, but Harry waved his hand.

"I do. Go on, boss."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm not a physicist or a medic last I checked, and there's nothing to shoot, so yeah, I have time. We're down to less than twenty-five minutes, get going." Harry gave her a little push, to which she nodded and left.

"Sorry, Halling, you're going to have to settle for me. What can I do for you?"

"Amongst our people, there is a ritual prayer which is said when it is known Death is upon them."

"I wouldn't call it a certainty just yet."

"I'm told it is all but inevitable."

"Good news travels fast, I see. Halling, if I had accepted any sort of 'fate' as inevitable, I should have died years ago." If Dumbledore's plan had gone through like he originally expected, I would have died years ago. Bloody prophecies.

"Perhaps. But it is important that Teyla be allowed to prepare for death. Knowing the time and place of one's end is a … a very rare thing amongst our people, because of the Wraith. It is a simple rite; it will not take more than a few moments."

"Does it require Teyla's involvement directly?" Harry gestured at the Gate. "Because..."

"Not necessarily, but it is preferred."

"So ... radio contact is okay?" Halling nodded.

Harry mulled it over for a few seconds. "Okay. I'm going to ask Teyla if she wants to – it could be she's occupied on the other side, they're still trying to save Major Sheppard from the thing on his neck. If not right now, we can try again later. Besides, they might pull through. That okay?"

"Yes, Captain. Thank you for listening. Dr Weir did not seem so amenable."

"She's just rather busy. Certain arrogant bastards aren't helping." Harry added under his breath, just loud enough for the Athosian to hear, assuming a deceptively bland look as an unsuspecting Kavanagh as the tall, rail-thin, bespectacled American scientist in question strode across the stairs landing into the control room. "Come on."

Halling handed the tray off to one of the others, and followed Harry up. The techs were all distracted by the brewing confrontation between Kavanagh and Dr Weir on the far side, but Harry ignored it; Kavanagh was a lightweight, and Weir was more than capable of ripping him to shreds without his help. Harry waited a few seconds for a lull in the chatter between Lieutenant Ford and Doctor Beckett, now patched in from the Infirmary – the LT was trying various substances from the Jumper's onboard supplies to try and get the leech to drop off.

"Teyla this is Storm. Switch to channel three, Halling's got a personal message."

"Understood, Captain." A few seconds silence. "What is it, fratrem meum?"

"Transiens Vitae, Teyla." Halling answered. There was a several long seconds of silence.

"I see. Captain, has Halling explained the ceremony to you?"

"Other than it was short and rather important, not in any specific detail."

"Understood. Halling, frater, I appreciate your concern for my spirit, and should we still be trapped in here a few minutes before the wormhole's time limit is up, then we will do the ritual. I am not quite ready to give up just yet, not on my own life or the others'. Besides," Teyla was clearly smiling now, despite the situation, "I have yet to beat the Captain senseless."

Halling and Harry glanced at each other, both smiling slightly as the tension was broken. "Al'zeyma," Harry told her, "you know that isn't going to happen anytime soon."

"So you say, Harry. I need to get back to the Major."

"Understood. Storm out." Harry flicked the spare radio back to standby, just in time to hear the tail end of Weir's verbal smack-down – and boy, was it worth it.

"If you waste one more minute that could be used to help the people trapped on that ship because of your ego, I promise you I will dial the coordinates of a very lonely planet where you can be as self-important as you wanna be." Oh wow, incorrect grammar from Dr Weir? She IS pissed, isn't she? Wasn't sure she had it in her, to be honest.

Kavanagh blustered. "You wouldn't do that."

Harry called out across the room, drawing all eyes away from the scientist who was just digging a bigger hole for himself. "Yes she will, Kavanagh. And if you're very lucky, I won't kneecap you before kicking your worthless arse through the event horizon."

"You wouldn't do that!" Now the man just sounded desperate.

"Yeah?" Harry smiled – it was a distinctly predatory one, as he put a hand on his sidearm and flicked off the retaining strap. "Do I look like a diplomat, Doctor? Make my fucking day."

Weir followed that up with a curt, "Get back to work," directed at Kavanagh, before retreating to her office, presumably to let her frustrations out somewhere privately rather than scream in fury at the scientist in front of her subordinates. Which would be unprofessional, if probably rather satisfying.

Kavanagh left in a hurry, avoiding Harry's glare like it would set him on fire. Actually, a lightning bolt would do that, amongst other things … tempting, but no. We might need him … if only to trade him to the Wraith.

"Sorry you had to see that," he said to Halling. "But Kavanagh needed it."

"Teyla was right. You are dangerous."

"What?"

Halling pointed at his sidearm, riding in the thigh holster. "She told me what Sergeant Stackhouse said about your shooting skills. 'Dangerous' was the word she used."

"Hmm." Harry didn't know quite what to say to that. He was dangerous, no doubt … and for some reason, he wasn't happy Teyla might be scared of him. Analyse it later.

"I will wait until five minutes before the time limit, Captain. Then I will need your help to set the link to Teyla up."

"I'll be here," Harry sent him a reassuring smile, "although I fully intend to rescue them before that point."

"Harry!" Weir called out from her office doorway, marching quickly back across the bridge.

"Director?"

"It just occurred to me, your affinity for interfacing with Ancient technology goes deeper than everyone else's – could you head up to the Jumper Bay and help Zelenka, he's working on one of them."

"On it, ma'am."

---

Harry found Zelenka standing on a box in the rear compartment of one of the Jumpers, poking at a opened access panel and cursing creatively in Czech, which made him slightly regret not having learned the language at some point – the diatribe probably would have been highly informative.

"Doctor Zelenka?"

The engineer jumped, banging his head on the ceiling. "Do prdele!"

"Do I want to know what that means?"

Radek rubbed the back of his head. "No. What do you want, Captain? I'm short on time as you know."

"I know; Doctor Weir asked me to come and use my super-duper ATA gene in helping you figure out how to retract the engine pods."

"Ty vole. I should have thought of that." Zelenka waved at the flight controls. "I've got the tablet jacked into the ships computer systems, which has helped me narrow down the control run for the engine hydraulics gear to this panel. If you could try to access the right subroutine in the programming, I might be able to get a little closer."

"Sure."

Harry moved round the precariously balanced scientist and settled into the left-hand seat in the front, placing his hands on the twin joysticks. The Ancients apparently believed in redundancy, or maybe preferred the old fashioned way sometimes, because although Harry could actually control the ship with his mind (and he assumed the designers could to) it was easier to use the manual flight controls while using his mental connection to interface with the sensors – concentrating on both flying and scanning at the same time was rather tiring, he'd found on the rescue mission.

Navigation – engines – environmental – hull integrity – Dial-Home-Connection – weapons systems– stealth systems

"Is that you, Captain?" Zelenka tapped furiously at his tablet

"Possibly … what's happening?"

"The ship's computer started running system checks."

"Then yes, that was me."

"Oh, okay. That's fine. Just keep doing what you're doing, look for the retraction sequence controls and I'll trace your interaction with the system from here."

"Got it."

Engines – start/stop – y/n?

N! N! Goddammit, don't start the engines in here!

There was a pause; to Harry, jacked directly into the system, it felt brief but was apparent. To Zelenka, it was only microseconds, so he didn't notice.

Pilot query – y/n?

Does it actually know I want to ask it a question? Odd.

Zelenka made a surprised sounding noise.

"What?"

"Nothing, that last bit was just … curiously intuitive. Unexpected. Carry on ... in fact, try explaining precisely what we want and asking for help. Maybe it'll understand."

Harry concentrated on the ship again. Hardware fault on Gateship One – Engine retraction failed – cause: battle damage – flight compartment inaccessible – request information for manual retraction.

Another momentary pause. Query understood – Engine hydraulics control run can be located in the cargo compartment – left side – upper panel three – crystal board five-alpha – circuit two – connect and apply low voltage charge to trigger retraction.

"Got all that, Doctor?"

"Yes, yes."

Zelenka sent the data on to the stranded crew, and Harry pulled back from the ship, still a little weirded out at the sensation of linking directly into the machine.

"Radek?"

"Yes?"

"How … intuitive would you say this thing's computer is?"

"Well … by Earth standards, it might be AI level or close to it, probably."

"What's the definition of artificial intelligence?"

"Officially? Uh, a computer capable of performing tasks that normally require sentient, human intelligence, like true visual perception, flawless voice recognition, decision-making based on changing data, that kind of thing."

"So it doesn't require personality? Voice, individuality, that kind of thing?"

"No, not officially. Of course, most science fiction AI's are like that, because it's hard to sell computer code on screen when you could have Lexa Doig." Zelenka grinned, while still typing. "But look, here we are in an alien city in a different galaxy." He looked up suddenly. "Why, you think this thing is actually an AI?"

"No, but the speed of it's response to the rather odd question we just put to it got me thinking, that's all." Harry stretched. "You think we'll find AI's here? Like, perhaps they need ZPM's to be active?"

"Well, we've found no references to AIs in the Ancient Database, but even the Asgard admit they've only scratched the surface of the Ancient's knowledge – and they've had access to it for thousands of years." Zelenka tapped his chin thoughtfully. "It would be hard to run such a technology-based city like Atlantis without massive computer support. It's capable of spaceflight, and has weapons systems, environmental systems, hydroponics, probably industrial capacity too even if we haven't found it yet. So no, it wouldn't surprise me to find an AI somewhere. Probably not in the puddle jumpers though."

"True. Anyway, call me back if there's another problem I can help with."

---

Predictably, there was, but not something he could help Zelenka with. With fifteen minutes remaining, the Jumper's engines were now retracted but the ship was stuck in the gate due to Newton's First Law; inertia. The Jumper was stationary – ergo, without an outside force or source of thrust acting on it, it still couldn't complete the transition.

Ten minutes.

Nine. Sheppard's insane idea to deal with the creature attached to his own neck went ahead; using a portable defibrillator to stop his heart, fooling the leech-thing – which apparently bore some similarity to the Wraith, although Harry hadn't been listening to that part – into thinking it's 'prey' was dead, at which point it dropped off, and Ford attempted to restart the Major's heart.

Eight. No joy. Teyla dragged the Major through the event horizon to keep him in suspended animation, leaving Ford and McKay.

Seven. Harry joined Halling where the Athosians were sitting on the steps in front of the Gate.

"You heard?"

"I did." Halling confirmed. "Teyla is no longer available."

"Yeah." Harry sat in silence for a few seconds. "Tell me about Transiens Vitae? The Passing of Life, if I translated it right."

"Why now? You seemed rather against the idea before."

"Before, I had something I could do to bring them home. Now I have time. I'm interested." Harry shrugged.

"As I said, it is a simple rite, to be done with little warning. There is a short prayer, and the incense burner is a kind of moveable shrine as you would think of it. When we settle down for longer periods we build small stone altars, fanum, but these suffice for when we are moving around, or for more private prayers. There is a longer version called a Ring Ceremony, for those who are lucky enough to live to die of old age. The whole tribe is usually involved in those." Halling smiled, despite the situation. "It is my hope many more of our people will reach that ceremony under your protection, Captain."

"Not just mine, Halling."

"True. But you are the one the Athosians will probably look to amongst your people for reassurance, rather than Doctor Weir. Teyla said she explained why."

"Because of the rescue?"

Halling nodded. "That, and other reasons." But they were interrupted before Harry could ask him what he meant.

Kavanagh redeemed himself – somewhat – by figuring out how to push the Jumper through the wormhole; opening the rear hatch. The momentary exposure to vacuum wouldn't kill the crew provided they were pushed through the wormhole quickly enough, and the air rushing out would generate enough thrust to do that.

Benevolently, Harry decided he wouldn't kneecap Kavanagh after all – but he'd still like to kick him offworld.

---

Since the bug had been blown out the hatch into vacuum, quarantine was lifted. Ford was first out of the Jumper, suffering the aftereffects of the momentary vacuum exposure but clearly happy to be alive, giving them a 'thumbs up' and a shaky grin from behind the oxygen mask as he was wheeled out. Harry followed Weir in after the Lieutenant was out of the way.

It took Beckett several more harrowing tries with the defibrillator to revive Sheppard, but the insane plan worked – in the end. Weir sat on one of the bench seats, although it was more of a controlled collapse in relief. Teyla stood from where she had been cross-legged at the Major's side, and stepped over him towards Harry, putting her hands on his shoulders inviting an Athosian greeting. Harry reciprocated, putting his hands on her waist and touching their foreheads together. Then he realised she was shaking; either from the effects of adrenaline or shock, he wasn't sure. For her, it had been only thirty seconds or so since they 'killed' Sheppard, rather than the five or six minutes it had been for him.

"Hey." He spoke softly, and pulled back to look at her. "You're safe, Teyla, you finished the mission and you made it back. Live to fight another day."

Her hands tightened on his shoulders, but she looked up and smiled. "I suppose. Is that how you manage this ... this ..." Words failed her.

"Shaking? Just adrenaline. It'll pass."

Her eyes searched his for reassurance, and apparently found some measure of what she was looking for, since she relaxed and moved aside to let the medical team out.

---

Jungle.

Thick, stifling, and utterly black, so dark under the canopy it almost had texture.

Water.

The infiltration, wading through waist deep swamp, their advance reduced to a crawl to avoid tripping on the roots of the gnarled mangroves that surrounded them.

Waiting.

The tedium of surveillance, watching for days, then weeks as negotiations went back and forth, back and forth, with the lives of a dozen captured British and local soldiers in the hands of a band of psychopathic drug dealers claiming to be 'rebels'.

Sound.

The crackle of gunfire. Heavier, slower thumping of stolen heavy machine guns and mortars opening up on the Paras diversionary assault from the south. The screaming of the wounded. The shouts of the hostages, leading us to their building.

Wind.

The downdraft of helicopters overhead, blowing the shanty town's corrugated iron shacks apart as D Squadron fast-ropes in. A small, intense storm is on the western horizon. It is not of natural origin, but no-one will be able to tell.

Fear.

Wild-eyed men charge our squad's line, wielding machetes and high on their own products, believing themselves protected by superstitions and 'amulets'. Some have guns, but most of them were drawn off by the Paras a few minutes ago. Now it's just the dregs between us and the objective, but even human wave attacks work if there's enough of them, and only a few of us.

Pain.

A deep cut to my cheek, as I just avoid being decapitated. A few minutes later, a zipping noise like an angry hornet and a sharp pain in my arm announces the slightly-too-close passage of a bullet. It is not incapacitating – I drop the shooter with my return shots, and carry on for a few minutes before the medic binds it up.

Heat.

The tropical late summer is already scorching; near the fires, it is unbearable. Burning houses, thatched roofs set ablaze by grenades or fire from the gunships. The Lynxes are circling like buzzards, hammering away at some target on the other side of the village. The tracers of their machine guns lance out like lasers, heavy calibre bullets chewing up the ground, houses and enemies alike.

Adrenaline.

We jump as wreckage shifts; a civilian, wide-eyed with terror, pokes his head out. Relax. Pull him, then his family out. The linguist tells them where to go, two men to escort.

Scent.

Phosphorous and cordite on the air. The metallic bite of blood. The horrific stench of burning human flesh.

Light.

Bright West African sunshine, a pure blue sky mocking the horrors below. The reflection from the blade of a knife. Laser sights dancing across the wreckage as we sweep the remains of the village, responding to resistance with overwhelming force.

Blood.

The floor of the Chinook is awash with it, from extracting casualties and enemy corpses. The river, brown with silt, now has a maroon tint at the banks.

Thunder.

The 'storm' is sweeping in, buffeting the helo as we finally pull out. I have to stay awake, control the maelstrom for maximum impact.

By morning, the whole site will be sufficiently mangled no-one should ever determine what really happened.

What we did. What we can never tell the world. The hostages were rescued. That's all they will care about. No one wants to know what we have to do to keep them safe. If the truth came out ...

So much blood.

Did we do the right thing?

I don't know.

Maybe …

Maybe I never will.

Harry's eyes snapped open to the darkness of his room in Atlantis. The balcony was open, a slight warm breeze stirring the curtains. He liked feeling open air when he slept.

He knew from experience he wouldn't get back to sleep.

Oh-three-thirty. Going to be a long day.

Feeling restless, he made his way through the dark corridors – the lighting was set not to activate at this time of night unless switched on manually.

He was more comfortable in the dark anyway. The sources of his demons were the things that walked or happened brazenly under the sun – 'Uncle' Vernon, Voldemort, his missions – not imaginary 'things in the night'; in fact to many people, he would be one of those 'things' himself.

On bare feet, he padded down to the mess, moving soundlessly by instinct and training. When he reached the open door, he noticed a figure sitting on one of the couches over by the big picture windows, the bright moonlight haloing clearly feminine auburn hair. Although he'd rather have been alone, he took a longer look and realised it was probably Teyla. Filling two plastic glasses with orange juice, he approached the couches from behind.

---

Teyla had just been sitting. No purpose, no thoughts running through her head, just sitting there staring out across the incredible, mythical City that had suddenly become her home.

Then a hand intruded into her field of vision, holding a glass of some colourful fruit juice. She jumped, but took it and looked over her shoulder. For some reason, the fact it was Harry didn't surprise her. She was mildly annoyed at herself for letting him sneak up on her like that. The man moves like a damn cat.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Deep thoughts?" He moved to sit on one of the other couches.

"None at all, actually. Or too many."

"Ah. So, trouble sleeping then?"

"Well … yes." Teyla tucked her legs underneath herself, unconsciously more relaxed and comfortable in his presence. "You as well." It wasn't a question.

"Yep." They were silent for a few seconds.

"Want to talk about it?"

Teyla raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you?"

He smiled crookedly. "Fair point."

The silence was longer this time, but was not an awkward one. Teyla took the opportunity to watch the Warrior, as his attention was on the City. The bright light of a nearly full moon threw the scar over his right eye into sharp relief, the dark line striking on his skin. While in daylight he always seemed somewhat weathered and older than he appeared, the pure, pearlescent moonlight hid all that.

Eventually Teyla broke the quiet. A question had been burning at her since she had calmed down from the adrenaline of the earlier crisis.

"Is this what being a soldier is like?" Harry looked at her, raised a questioning eyebrow. "The … terror, when the Wraith ambushed us. The helplessness, when the Major dying slowly right in front of me, with everything we tried just hurting him more until we had to kill him to save him. Rodney was breaking down, giving up, until Ford got him moving again. You all seem so …"

"Fearless? Brave? Steadfast?" His mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "It's an act. Everyone is terrified when the bullets start flying, or people start getting hurt; anyone who tells you otherwise, that says they weren't ever scared in combat is lying. Or perhaps, too arrogant or stupid to understand the danger they were in."

"So … if you are all faking it …" Harry chuckled, but she went on, "then why do it? Why do you fight?"

"Courage is not the absence of fear, but deciding that something else is more important than fear."

"Wise words once again, Captain."

He smirked. "Not mine, just borrowed."

"So … does it get easier? I … I am not sure if …"

"If you can keep this up?"

She nodded, eyes down.

"Everyone is different. Some deal with it well, others completely fall apart. Most fall between the two, of course. Are you having second thoughts?"

Harry looked at her, and she felt almost pinned under his gaze. "There's a reason our militaries are volunteer only except in times of crisis, Teyla. Not everyone can handle the strain. There's no shame in that."

"Do you think I am one of them?"

He shrugged. "No, I think you can hack it. But it isn't what I believe that matters. If you don't believe in yourself or what you fight for, then you won't be able to. Does that help?"

"… Yes. Although the nightmares were … unsettling. I hope they don't come back."

"Don't we all."

"Do you have them?" Obviously he does, great question Teyla. Fantastic sensitivity.

"Yes."

"May I ask what of?" Stop pushing! It's none of your concern! Teyla backpedalled, cursing her overabundant curiosity. "Actually, I'm sorry; I have no right to ask."

The Warrior – no longer Harry – looked at her measuringly. She'd noticed this before, noticed an imperceptible shift in his mood like this, when he stopped being 'Harry', the charming, usually rather amusing and considerate peacemaker and switched, locking down his shields and shuttering his emotions, becoming completely unreadable; now she realised it usually happened whenever she asked something too personal. That's going to make this hard.

To her surprise however, he did answer.

"My first official mission in the Special Forces. Slightly under four years ago, now. It was called Operation Barras, a prisoner-extraction mission in Sierra Leone. The plan seemed utterly insane; we called it 'Operation Certain Death.'" He grimaced. "It turned out well, officially anyway. All the hostages rescued, with minimal casualties compared to the projected ones." He stared off out the window again for several seconds before turning back.

"It's where I got this." He pointed at the scar under his left eye. "And this." He pulled up the sleeve of his t-shirt to show the thick scar on his upper right arm.

"What were they from?"

"The second was a bullet graze, towards the end of the fight. Just unlucky, a wild shot. The first was ... a very lucky escape. Bastard nearly cut my head off with a machete."

"Why was the mission so dangerous?"

"It was hostage rescue – those are always dicey at the best of times. The hostage-takers were a bunch of rebels-slash-drug dealers who called themselves the 'West Side Boys'. They were insane; frequently drunk on palm wine, high on narcotics or both at the same time, and they believed in all kinds of occult crap, that if they wore magical amulets our bullets would bounce off them." He shook his head. "They – they were fearless. Remember what I said, that people can be too stupid or gung-ho to understand the danger?"

"Yes."

"Well, the West Side Boys simply didn't comprehend the danger at all; because they were too drunk or stoned on drugs to realise they'd been hit by our fire, sometimes multiple times. I was inexperienced, back then; oh, I was a physically tough, well trained, and well equipped soldier, and had some combat experience, but the sight of wild-eyed, screaming, machete-wielding thugs charging us, some missing an arm or with holes blown clear through their abdomen without having noticed was nearly too much for me. I was still fighting, still firing, but … lost my situational awareness. I had tunnel vision – it's not uncommon in situations like that. All I saw was what was down the sights of my rifle, gunning down one incoherently screaming berserker after another. One guy came at us from the side, through a hut right next to me. He took a wild slash at my neck; I just managed to jerk my head out of the way, and the tip of the blade caught my cheek."

He gestured to the scar. "It was pretty bad. The blow had enough force to throw me on the ground, and I dropped my rifle in the mud. The guy next to me got a shot off, straight into the tango at point blank range, but he just staggered back a bit, too juiced to even notice. Then my partner's gun jammed, and the bad guy was still alive and armed, and we weren't issued sidearms for that battle – too much weight. I had to go hand-to-hand with a knife, against a guy with a foot-and-a-half long machete that could split my skull in two in one blow. It was … messy, though he didn't manage to cut me. That's partly why I carry those swords, so that if I run out of ammo, I always have the bigger knife."

"And the rest of the mission?"

"Was also messy." He sighed, closed his eyes briefly, and slumped back into the sofa. I don't think I've ever seen him so vulnerable – even unconscious in the infirmary.

"Officially, twenty five West Side Boys were killed and their leader captured. Unofficially, we had orders to break them as a fighting force, to make sure they never recovered, and never troubled their nation ever again. I'm not sure how many we killed, but it was more than two hundred."

Teyla wasn't sure what to make of that. "Why the lie?"

"Politics. Those kinds of massive enemy casualties didn't 'look good' for the Prime Minister; he ordered the mission as part of a 'peacekeeping' operation. Publically, it was a rescue mission, and we'd already extracted the hostages, so sticking around after that to slaughter hundreds of people supposedly 'wasn't fair,' even if they were the enemy. The British Armed Forces are, in my humble opinion," he winked, humour showing through again momentarily, "the finest military in the world; apparently, to some people, that means we have to lower ourselves to the enemy's capabilities – if we don't, we are decried as murderers by certain parts of the media, eager for sensational stories and to portray us in a bad light, even if what they spout are basically lies. It's not an attitude I've ever put up with, but ..." Harry shrugged. "People are stupid that way sometimes. Too often, they never question what they're told. Especially if they've never been in combat, felt what you felt today. I still haven't decided if we did the right thing that day in Sierra Leone four years ago, but I have to live with it either way. That doesn't mean I want anyone second guessing my decisions."

He fell silent, a brooding quiet rather different to the ones before.

"Yours is not to reason why?" Teyla asked with a slight smile.

He looked at her. "Sometimes. Where did you hear that phrase?"

"One of the marines, grumbling about something a few days ago."

"Heh. Probably my fault then. The XO always gets blamed for everything." With that, 'Harry' was returned to the forefront.

Problem was … now she wasn't sure which one was the 'real' man. Oh well. Either way, he's still my friend. If I offend him, I'm sure it won't be a permanent thing. Well, I'm relatively sure … better to make this a little more light-hearted.

"You do realise I did not understand quite a bit of that story."

His lips quirked slightly. "It was a bit of a rant at the end. Anything in particular?"

"Media?"

"Organisations that spread news. The better ones try to be impartial, but everyone has their opinion. News organisations frequently reflect the opinions of those who own them."

"The British? Clearly something to do with your humble opinions …"

He gave a short laugh. "Oh yes. Didn't I mention that before? When I said there were many nations on the face of Earth?"

"Not which one you came from. I gathered the coloured patches your people wear have something to do with them, and that all the Marines – John as well – come from America, so I suppose Peter Grodin is also from Britain?"

"Yes he is. It's an island nation off the coast of the European continent, population about sixty million or so."

Teyla was not surprised at the number, given what she knew about Earth, but it still awed her that so many could live on one world. The largest group of humans she knew of in Pegasus couldn't have numbered more than thirty thousand or so, which previously had seemed like a massive number. Her own clan was about a hundred and fifty, still recovering from the last culling. The Athosians as a people were about seventeen hundred.

Unless the Wraith have already found them. Teyla knew the three other 'outreach' missions had been successful, and the other tribes would be contacted in the next few days, but she feared that some would have been culled already.

Don't think about that. Ask him something else.

"So how did you end up in the military?" There. Was that subtle enough?

---

I hate having to lie to her.

Wait. I said I wouldn't, during that conversation when we postponed sparring. Well, it could be interpreted differently, but that's what I meant. I keep my word, even if it's harder.

Just play it vague.

"I went to military-run school when I was fifteen," Harry said carefully. "That didn't require me to join the armed forces, but I chose to do so. I love flying, so I opted to join the Royal Air Force, which operates Britain's military aircraft. I was trained as a pilot originally, and I'm a damn good one, but I'm even better on the ground. I went through Special Forces selection and training immediately after flying training, and have spent the four years since then working with the British Army."

"Do you miss flying?" That was not a question Harry had expected.

"I did a bit, up until coming to Atlantis. Obviously the Jumpers are fantastic from my point of view, although they're not as much fun as our aircraft. Almost too steady, too safe to fly."

"Can something be 'too safe'?" Teyla demanded incredulously.

"Well … jets are rather fragile, but much more exhilarating to fly … if you're a good pilot. If you're not, well, it'd be pretty terrifying."

"And what makes you a good pilot, hmm? Do I detect a slight hint of arrogance there?"

Harry grinned. "Highest marks ever in training and on my requalification exams, thank you Teyla, so I have a right to be arrogant."

"Hmm. So, you're a better fighter on the ground than you are a pilot?" Teyla raised an eyebrow, but Harry could tell she was teasing, taking a mock-haughty tone. "And if you had the highest marks as a pilot … well, that's quite a claim, Captain. I will require some convincing."

"Teyla, I already beat you, remember?"

"Hmm. Someday soon though, you will not. And then …"

"And then I will tell you what the tattoo says." Harry sighed. "Your apparently insatiable curiosity aside, why exactly does that interest you?"

She blinked, surprised at the sudden swerve of the conversation.

---

Caught.

"I find … it … interesting, Harry." That isn't true. Dodging around the truth will only annoy him.

Teyla took a breath, then amended her statement.

"I find you interesting."

"I'm ... flattered?"

Teyla could feel herself blushing furiously, and hoped her darker skin concealed it in the moonlight.

"You are a man of contradictions, Harry. You wield blades, when you have guns. You lead a life centred around violence, but would probably prefer to use words to resolve conflict. Sometimes you hide your emotions, lock down your walls, but other times I see you laugh and play with children." Teyla shrugged, keenly aware of his steady, unreadable gaze, knowing she was committed now.

"I want to understand you, to truly get to know you; the real you, not the cold emotionless mask you project when something gets too personal, but the man who loves speaking Arabic, the man who revels in a challenge. The man who treated my friendship as a valued gift. My … sahiibi." She stumbled over the word slightly, eliciting a slight smile from him, which she hoped was a good sign.

"Are you so sure which one's the mask, Teyla?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"I'm not." He stared into the glass. "I'm not the same person I was a few years ago. I've run myself into a brick wall, attempting an impossible task. I thought that by joining the military I could save people ... continue to save people, really. But no matter how hard I try, I could never, will never be able to save everyone. Colonel Sumner, for example. A few minutes earlier, and he'd still be alive."

Teyla opened her mouth to say it wasn't his fault, but he interrupted her. "I know that I couldn't save him, that there was no way to know I needed to be faster, to get to him quicker ... but it feels like a failure nonetheless. That's why I push myself so hard, and that's how I've always seen my job; not as a life-taker, but a life-saver, and every single person I lose when I come so close to saving them feels like a personal defeat, regardless of the circumstances."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Asking questions." Teyla hoped she had not pushed too hard, but she had laid it all out now. If he asked, she would stop.

He was silent for a long time. The seconds slipped by, and her anxiety built. Then he abruptly drained the glass and spoke.

"No." He shrugged again. "I've barely known you a week yet here I am, spilling my secrets to you."

Teyla blinked. "I'm ... surprised you find that a good thing."

He gave her a slight smile. "I've never met anyone less judgemental than you, Teyla. There's just something about you, you're ... easy to trust. If you want to get to know me, maybe it's time I let some of my demons out, if you really want to know them. That said," He stood up to leave, "I won't always answer your questions. Some stuff is secret, some stuff is personal."

Teyla caught his arm as he moved past her seat. "Sharing might lessen the burden."

He stopped, looked down at her for a long moment before placing his hand over hers. "Perhaps. Regardless, they're mine to bear. People lost, mistakes made, lessons learned. I move on, push myself further, harder and faster, so that next time, I won't lose someone. I won't hide who I am from you. Don't be surprised if it shocks you. Or ... or disgusts you."

Then he was gone into the shadows, leaving Teyla alone with her thoughts once more, although now they dwelled not on the day's events, but on her Warrior.

---

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!

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Notes

As requested by one reviewer, there will be more Hermione scenes at various points from now on, charting her own course in getting to Atlantis. They won't be every chapter, but they'll crop up fairly regularly as she spends the next year or so at the SGC getting up to speed on alien languages with Dr Jackson.

I've taken liberties with names. Athosian surnames – since Teyla has one, I assume they all do – from now will unless otherwise named be mostly Latin words relating to them somehow. For example, Halling is now 'Halling Celsus,' which means 'Tall.' Not especially imaginative, but it works.

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Military Terms

ORBAT: ORder of BATtle, the structure/organisation/chain of command of a military unit of any size.
SUNRAY – This actually is the old-style (WWII and Cold War period) British term for the Commanding Officer on the radio net, allegedly because someone thought the message 'SUNRAY is on his way to your location' would 'brighten up' the recipient's day (typical Whitehall sense of humour – for those that don't know, Whitehall is the British version of the Pentagon, the offices of the Ministry of Defence). SUNRAY isn't used any more, because it's too well known to other militaries now and is therefore unsecure because of modern interception technology – telling the enemy where your commander is would be like sending out a written, engraved invitation to get him blown to shit with artillery.
NCOIC – Non-Commissioned Officer In Charge.
SNCO – Senior Non Commissioned Officer
OPSEC – Operational Security
CWS – Crew Served Weapons
TRFs – Tactical Recognition Flashes, small but distinctively coloured patches used to determine corps/unit membership in the field when the person needing to be ID'd obviously isn't wearing their beret (with service/regimental/corps cap badge) or stable belt, which is a traditional British Army clothing item in the regimental/corps colours intended to brighten up otherwise boringly drab camo/barrack dress uniforms when not in the field (the SAS one is Royal Blue, as are most other UK Special Forces units.)
POTUS – President of the United States
SITREP – SITuation REPort
CMO – Chief Medical Officer
Paras – short-hand for the Parachute Regiment, the British Army's elite maroon-beret air-assault infantry.
OP BARRAS – did indeed happen, September 2000. Look it up on Google. And yes, the troops involved called it 'Certain Death.' It's one of the SAS's more well-known operations, if only for the sheer ballsiness of the raid.

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Transliterated Arabic dictionary

Pronunciation varies between national/regional dialects; capital letters for pronunciation stress/emphasis as I think it is; advice welcome.

shokran – Thank you (SHO-kran)
afwan – You're welcome (AF-wan)
ma'salaama – goodbye (mah-sal-AA-ma)
ela al'lekaa – I'll see you soon (eh-la al-LEH-ka)
maasa el'khair – good morning (mAA-sa el-Kair)
al'zeyma – leader, (feminine) (al-ZEY-ma)
aasifa – apology, (feminine) (ah-HASi-fa)
sadiiqi – friend, (feminine) (sa-DEE-kee)
sahiibi – friend, (masculine) (sah-HEE-bee)
muharib – warrior, (masculine) (mu-HAR-ib)

Athosian phrases
Fratrem meum – brother of mine.
Transiens Vitae – Passing of Life