DISCLAIMER – I do not own Stargate: Atlantis. It is the intellectual property of MGM/UA and associates. I am making no profit from this story. It is a work of fan fiction only, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Dr. Itzhak Perlman is my original character.

RATING – This story is rated T

ARCHIVE – You have my permission to archive this story if you wish.

A/N – Many thanks to everyone who has been reading & reviewing! I love all those reviews and I am very grateful to those of you who take the time to leave me a comment.

My apologies to those who expected short chapters… Chapter Eleven is a bit longer than the average chapter in this story, and also there are a bunch of end notes, which you may or may not choose to read. Anyway, have fun & enjoy!

I have no beta. Any mistakes you may encounter can be blamed on me.

All Fun And Games

11. Diagnosis

The room was much too quiet.

Carson had never before noticed how frightening silence could be. He'd been nervous when he thought he'd heard the distant sounds of Wraith darts and explosions, and he'd been worried and upset by his friends' irrational behaviour. Now, in the stillness that followed John's activation of the second device, Carson was positively unnerved. He longed for a noise of any kind, but there really were none. Even Radek, who'd been making plenty of noise earlier, had settled down in his hiding place behind Rodney's machine.

From his vantage point, Carson could see Radek, though he wasn't sure the engineer was aware of that. When Carson had last checked on him, Radek had barely acknowledged Carson's presence, and had made absolutely no fuss at all about being examined. When Carson had tried to persuade him to leave the corner, however, that'd been a different story altogether. The idea of leaving his hiding place seemed to terrify Radek beyond reason. In the end, Carson had completely given up trying, instead telling himself the engineer would be fine where he was for the time being.

Carson had checked on Rodney after that. Upon learning that nothing had really changed with the trapped physicist, Carson returned to his spot on the floor next to Itzhak, and tried not to let his hyperactive imagination run away with him. There was enough of that going on in this room already.

The brain was a puzzling thing, Carson mused. Of all the parts in the human body, the brain was the one science understood the least. It wasn't so much the physical aspects of the organ that were perplexing, but the way the brain functioned. The mind and the consciousness were the real mysteries. The mind could trick you into seeing, feeling, hearing things that weren't there. It could make a person believe he was warm and comfortable when his body was actually suffering from hypothermia. It could convince a man he was about to perish when he was, in fact, perfectly fine.

Carson wasn't sure how much time passed while he let himself get lost in his own musings, but he pulled his mind back to the present when he sensed Itzhak beginning to stir beside him. Carson rested his palm on his friend's shoulder. He said Itzhak's name, hoping to elicit any kind of response from the man.

The response he got wasn't the one he'd expected.

Itzhak reacted to Carson's touch as if Carson had struck him instead of merely placing a gentle hand on his arm. Reflexively, he rolled onto his side and curled up in a near-foetal position. The noise he made was something Carson could only describe as a howl of utter agony.

Vaguely wondering why in God's name he'd wished so fervently for a break in the room's silence, Carson resisted the impulse to cover his ears. The last time he'd heard anyone make such a god-awful racket, he'd been treating an unlucky Marine with a severly fractured femur who'd been firmly wedded to the idea that she'd been mortally injured.

"Itzhak!" Carson said loudly.

Itzhak's yelling faded into a ragged entreaty of, "Help me… please, you have to help me."

"I'm right here," Carson said. "Tell me what's the matter."

"He shot me!" Itzhak said. His fingers scrabbled at his shirt, and he gasped out, "You have to do something! Please, don't let me die out here like this. Oh God, please…please…"

"It's okay. I'm going to help you," Carson soothed. "Do you trust me to help you?"

Itzhak gulped air, as if he were struggling to breathe through extreme pain. "Y-yes, I…trust you."

"You're going to be all right," Carson said, as he helped his friend roll onto his back again. "Now, I need you to move your hands and let me see where you're wounded."

Slowly, Itzhak raised his hands. He stared at them with an expression of horror on his face. Carson was certain Itzhak really believed he'd been shot, and he wondered if the man were imagining he saw his own blood covering his fingers and palms. Deciding for the moment that it was better to go along with Itzhak's perception of his circumstances rather than to try to reason with him, Carson lifted his friend's shirt to examine the place where the 'wound' was supposed to be.

What Carson saw made him pull in a quick breath. Judging by the scar on his abdomen, Itzhak had indeed been shot, although the injury had happened a long time ago. The scar was definitely a testament to army field medicine, if Carson had ever seen one.

Carson came to the conclusion this confirmed his theory about Itzhak's hallucinations. The things Itzhak was experiencing now must be at least partially based on his actual memories.

Carson couldn't prevent the tremor than ran the length of his spine when he contemplated the horrors Itzhak must have endured in the service of his country's army. He found it hard to reconcile the image of his friend with that of a muddy, bloody soldier in the kill-or-be-killed arena of war. Itzhak was one of the most compassionate individuals Carson had ever met. He truly loved people, and didn't like to see anyone suffering. Carson couldn't imagine him tramping across some wretched Middle Eastern battleground with a weapon in his hands.

It was little wonder Itzhak rarely spoke about his past, Carson thought. In Carson's opinion, Itzhak was lucky to have survived the experience at all, and he couldn't fault his friend for not wanting to discuss it. Being there must have been a living nightmare for him, and reliving it now could only be worse.

Carson carefully pulled his friend's shirt into place again, and let his gaze move back to the man's face. It was battlefield terror he saw in Itzhak's expression; the look that soldiers got when they were sure they'd die where they'd fallen.

"It looks bad, doesn't it?" Itzhak said.

"No, it's not nearly as bad as you think," Carson told him.

"My parents…they've already lost one son. You can't let me die here. My mother…she…"

"You'll get home to your mother," Carson told him. "Don't you worry about that."

"I can't help it. I don't want to die like this. I don't…" Itzhak closed his eyes. He was quiet for several seconds, and then he began to recite something in Hebrew that sounded almost liturgical to Carson's ears.

Praying, Carson realized. He's praying, because he's really afraid he's going to die. If Carson believed in any sort of deity, he might've started praying, too, that they'd all get out of this dreadful mess they were in. He looked across the room toward John and the second Ancient device. For all their sakes, he hoped the colonel knew what he was doing.

"Twenty-seventh psalm," said a soft voice off to Carson's left.

Startled, Carson turned slightly to see a pale, wide-eyed Radek staring at him. While Carson's attention had been elsewhere, the engineer had emerged from his place in the corner and made his way across the room. Now, he was kneeling on the floor a few metres away from Carson and Itzhak.

"I see you've decided to come out of hiding, Radek," Carson said. "What's this about the twenty-seventh psalm, then?"

"It was dark," Radek whispered. "Over there."

"Of course it was."

"Hurts to breathe…and it's so hot in this place."

"Here, why don't you come and sit by me?" Carson said. Where I can keep an eye on you, he wanted to add, but wisely decided against voicing that particular thought aloud. He beckoned for Radek to join him. "Now, you were telling me about the twenty-seventh psalm. What's that all about?"

"It's what he's saying," Radek said, gesturing at Itzhak. Radek crept so close to Carson's side that Carson had the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of his personal space being invaded. The engineer twisted his fingers together anxiously, and asked, "Is he going to die?"

"No, he isn't going to die," Carson said. "How do you know he's saying the twenty-seventh psalm, Radek? You don't speak Hebrew."

"The writing is on the wall."

"And what writing would that be, son?"

"The writing on the wall in his room," Radek said. "It's a scroll. He showed me once. He always says it when he's afraid."

The longer Carson talked to him Radek began to sound more calm and rational. Encouraged a little by that, Carson decided he needed to keep the engineer's mind focussed on something other than whatever phantom visions and noises had frightened him before.

"Did Itzhak tell you he says the twenty-seventh psalm when he's afraid?"

"Yes. He told me it is very old prayer," Radek said. He was silent for a moment, and then in a bemused tone he declared. "Carson, I think I'm agnostic."

Despite the situation, Carson really wanted to laugh. Maybe the stress of the day was finally getting to him. He somehow managed to keep a straight face when he replied, "That's all right. I don't think agnosticism is a sin."

Radek peered at him, mystified. "Is that a joke?"

Belatedly, Carson realized what he'd said, and discovered that he could no longer contain his laughter. Laughing seemed incongruous with the eeriness of the Ancient room, and the sound of his own voice echoing made Carson feel a little hysterical. He thought he was beginning to understand how Radek and Itzhak felt, because he had a sudden, overwhelming urge to hide in a corner and cover his head.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Rodney thought he might be falling indefinitely.

He had no way of judging the distance, but he felt as though he'd already plunged several thousand metres, straight down through a dense fog. He should have been terrified, but strangely he wasn't. Mostly, he was perplexed, because he thought he should have been falling faster than he was. Apparently, the laws of physics meant nothing in The Game.

He couldn't see anything in the mist, but he was aware that the two children were still with him. He was holding mini-Shadow with one arm. Mini-Radek clung to Rodney's other arm with both hands, oddly weightless despite their downward plunge.

Finally, blessedly, their descent ended, and Rodney found himself landing on a firm, yet thankfully soft, surface. When the environment re-formed, Rodney was back in The Game's original white room, sitting on a bed that looked exactly like the ones in the Infirmary in Atlantis.

Mini-Shadow, who had mercifully stopped sobbing, remained nestled comfortably in Rodney's arms. The toddler clutched a small plush toy that resembled a green dog. The real Shadow had a toy just like that, and Rodney wondered where the simulated one had come from. He certainly hadn't imagined it for her. Of course, he wasn't aware of having imagined most of the things he'd encountered so far in The Game, so maybe he had created Shadow's favourite toy subconsciously. He shook his head. Right this minute, he thought he was really beginning to understand the meaning of the phrase 'bad trip'.

Mini-Radek perched next to Rodney on the bed with his feet dangling over the edge. The little Czech peered expectantly at him, as if he might be waiting for praise. Rodney refused to take the hint.

"This is the diagnostic program?" Rodney said.

"Yes," said mini-Radek.

"How does it work?"

The boy pointed to the far wall, where an Atlantis-style door was beginning to take shape. "Look over there," he said. "You'll see."

Rodney looked. No sooner had the door solidified than it slid open. For a moment nothing happened, and then Rodney heard footsteps. A small boy with tousled brown hair and wide blue eyes peeked around the edge of the doorway.

"That's just great," Rodney muttered. "Another kid."

Mini-Radek beckoned to the shy little boy in the doorway. "Come in," he said, "Rodney needs your help."

When the kid stepped into the room, Rodney wanted to scream. The boy appeared to be the same age as mini-Radek, and he was dressed in the uniform of Atlantis' medical staff. He was wearing a white lab coat as well, but unlike his well-fitted uniform, the coat seemed to have been swiped from the closet of some unsuspecting grown-up doctor. The boy's hands were hidden in the too-long sleeves, and the hem of the lab coat trailed on the floor.

"This is so not happening," Rodney said. He addressed the little fellow in the outsized lab coat. "Please don't tell me you're Carson."

"You're really good at guessing games, Rodney," the boy said in a cheerful little voice with a Scottish brogue. "I am Carson. A representation of the person you know as Carson, at least. Now, what seems to be the trouble?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me," Rodney said. "You are the diagnostic program, aren't you?"

"Aye, I am," mini-Carson said.

With a flip of his lab-coat-concealed hand, he made a stepping stool materialize next to the bed where Rodney sat with the other children. Mini-Carson hitched up his lab coat and climbed onto the stool. The added height put him at Rodney's eye level which, in Rodney's opinion, was highly unnerving.

"Are you even qualified to diagnose anything?"

"Of course I'm qualified," mini-Carson said. "It's not voodoo I'm practicing here, you know."

Rodney snorted. "Don't expect me to believe that."

"Believe what you like," said mini-Carson. "Your belief has no effect on what's true and what's not. Now, why don't you tell me what's troubling you, Rodney? We'll see if we can get it sorted."

"This is ridiculous!" Rodney said. "You're a diagnostic program, for crying out loud! You're supposed to tell me what the problem is, and how I can fix it. I want to exit The Game, but I can't seem to do it, and now Radek says there's something wrong with The Game itself."

Rodney watched, utterly astounded, as mini-Carson pushed up the sleeves of his lab coat and placed a forefinger to his chin in a thoughtful gesture.

"Hmm…"

"How is this helping?" Rodney demanded.

"Be patient, Rodney," mini-Radek said. "The Game is a complex device."

"The device is malfunctioning," mini-Carson said. "That's why you can't exit The Game. There's something else—"

He hopped down from the stepping stool. Like magic, a life-sized version of the game device appeared a few metres from the bed on which Rodney and his small friends rested. Mini-Carson waved at the machine, and the metallic side panel disappeared, revealing dozens of crystals inside.

Rodney climbed off the bed. He set mini-Shadow down carefully and went to join mini-Carson beside the representation of the device.

"How can I be seeing this?" Rodney asked. "I've never looked inside this device before."

"I know," mini-Carson said. "You're not creating this image. It's part of the diagnostic program. Look."

Mini-Carson crouched next to the open panel. He pointed with a slender finger. Rodney's gaze followed where the boy was pointing. What he saw was a blank space in the neat rows of crystals; a blank space where, presumably, another crystal should have been.

"Oh no," Rodney said.

"One of the control crystals has been removed," mini-Carson said, confirming Rodney's inference. "It's affecting the functionality of the device."

"Oh no. No, no, no, no…" Rodney shook his head in denial, even though he knew exactly what must have happened. "Radek—"

"What?" came the voice of the small boy on the bed.

"Not you!" Rodney said. "I'm talking about the real Radek. He had to be the one who removed that crystal. I swear, if I ever get out of here, I'm going to kick his incompetent a—"

"Rodney," mini-Carson interjected. "There's something else you might like to know."

"What?" Rodney demanded.

"Another player has entered The Game."

Oh crap, Rodney thought. It has to be Sheppard. Rodney had a sudden impulse to bang his head against a wall. It'd be just like Sheppard to come charging in, even though he didn't have a clue what he was getting himself into. Rodney had horrific visions of his would-be rescuer getting trapped in The Game right along with him.

This was not, in Rodney's considerable estimation, an encouraging turn of events.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Gradually, the floating sensation started to fade and John began to wake up. A soft hum filled his ears and he felt the device's contact points gently pull away from his forehead and temples. John still felt relaxed and pleasantly warm in the moments before he opened his eyes.

When he finally did raise his eyelids and step away from the machine, he was relieved to notice that he was back in the Ancient room. He took a second to stretch his arms and his back muscles before turning around to look for his friends.

Rodney was still attached to his own machine. Across the room, Carson, Radek and Itzhak were clustered together in a tight group. Itzhak was awake again. He seemed to be in pain, and John had the fleeting thought that he'd probably have been better off if he were still unconscious. Radek was kneeling beside Itzhak, watching over him with an intensity that left John with the impression the engineer was afraid to look away from his friend, even for a second. With some degree of worry, John observed that Carson didn't look much better than the other two. The Scottish doctor sat with his elbows on his knees and his face hidden behind his hands.

John started across the room toward the group, calling out tentatively, "Hey, Carson?"

Carson jolted upright, obviously surprised. He scrambled to his feet and hurried to meet John halfway. "Colonel, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," John said. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, a wee bit stressed, I'd say." Carson nodded in the direction of Itzhak and Radek. "I'm fine otherwise. Haven't been hearing or seeing anything out of the ordinary, at any rate. I take it you didn't have any luck figuring out how to free Rodney?"

"I'm still working on that," John told him. "I found out something important while I was in The Game, and I thought I'd better exit and tell you about it before I go back in there for Rodney."

"You're going back in?"

"Yeah."

Carson gave him a dubious look. "Is that advisable?"

"It's what I'm doing," said John, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Carson must've gotten the hint, because he didn't protest any further. Instead he asked, "What did you learn, then?"

"This room isn't full of toys and games like we originally thought," John told him. "These things are weapons."

Carson stared at him in alarm. "Weapons?"

"Yes, and the device Rodney's stuck in is a training simulator for soldiers that's masquerading as a virtual reality game."

"Good Lord," Carson said.

"There's more," John said. "I have a theory about what's happening to Radek and Dr. P, too."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not, but I'm telling you anyway. I think the Ancient Rubik's Cube has something to do with what's wrong with them."

"Radek said the cube isn't a weapon."

"I know. Maybe the other cubes he found weren't dangerous, but I think this one is. I mean, it'd be just like the Ancients to hide a weapon in something ordinary, like a combination lock. Maybe it's got some kind of poison on it, or something."

"If the cube contained a toxin, we'd all be ill," said Carson. "We all handled it."

"Yeah, but they were the only two who played with it," John said, waving an arm in Itzhak and Radek's direction. "Look, Carson, you need to get both of them out of here, right now."

"What about you and Rodney?"

"I'll worry about me and Rodney," John said.

"I'm not leaving you here."

"Okay, you can come back in if you want to, but you need to get Radek and Dr. P out of this room. I'll help you take them out to the corridor, and then you can call for help and stay with them until somebody comes. After that, what you do is your choice," John said, and added, "I'd feel better if you went to the Infirmary with them, though."

John could tell Carson was wavering. He thought he understood how the doctor felt. It was tough to choose who to give help to, when everybody seemed to need it. The reality of this situation, however, was that there was really nothing to be done for John and Rodney while they were attached to the devices, while Itzhak and Radek were in obvious need of immediate attention. Still, John wasn't about to tell Carson what to do. The doctor was intelligent enough to figure out what should be done.

Carson looked from the two men on the floor, to Rodney, and then back again. "All right," he said finally. "If you think you can manage alone for a bit, I expect I really ought to stay with them, but I'm going to make certain somebody comes down here to watch out for you."

TBC
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A/N #2 – The text of the twenty-seventh psalm (in English) for anyone who's interested, can be found here:
http(colon slash slash)www(dot)bartleby(dot)com(slash)108(slash)19(slash)27(dot)html
It's the King James Version, but that's the one I most often use, just because I love the language forms of early modern English. Yah…you know I'm still a linguist deep down inside. -smiles-

A/N #3 – Well…after writing this chapter, it occurred to me that maybe Dr. Perlman needs a story of his own. I didn't realize how much backstory I had for him, just based on the character sheet I made when I came up with his character for my other WIP. Of course, I'm not sure how Atlantis-related his story would be. I'd have to think about that. lol…imagine the MarySue fic… btw, does anybody else think it's weird that male MarySues are still called MarySues? (a boy named MarySue? lmao!) /end aimless rambling