It's Not Easy being an Intergalactic Space Explorer

Chapter 1

Meet the Neighbors

Ronon came around slowly. An acrid stench in his nostrils, and the sharp pain of something digging into his back brought him back to reality. "Hey! Is everyone all right?!" he yelled from where he lay amidst the debris. He could barely see. A thick, toxic haze blanketed the decimated room. Grit-filled blood grated across his eyes and blurred much of his sight. Through the ringing in his ears, he thought he heard something. "Sheppard! Teyla! McKay!" No answer. The bombs, at least two, had gone off during the reception and the usual diplomatic niceties that always bored him to tears. Damn Wraith worshippers! He tried to get up, but fell down hard as his leg buckled beneath him. White-hot pain shot through his left thigh – a piece of concrete was imbedded deep into the flesh. Checking his back for wounds, his hand came away soaked in blood. He'd deal with his injuries later, though. Right now, he had to find his friends. They'd been across the room from him – hadn't they? Grimacing, Ronon finally managed to stand. He began limping through the wreckage – and nearly tripped over the body of Magistrate Val. The woman was clearly dead – her skull was crushed on one side where the ceiling had collapsed on her. Where the hell was everybody? Then he heard it – a hard, hacking cough and a moan of pain. He found McKay, bleeding and semi-conscious, partially wedged under the large wooden dining table. The massive piece of furniture had saved him, absorbing the brunt of the concussive force. Teyla, looking very small, was lying next to him, not moving, a large gash on her forehead and her arm jutting out at an unnatural angle. Heedless of his own wounds, Ronon maneuvered her gingerly over his shoulder and stumbled outside through what remained of a wall. Leaving her with the first person he met, he turned to go back for McKay and Sheppard, and anyone who might still be alive. But the blood loss and shock were too much, even for such a big man. He collapsed after only a few steps.

Sheppard was cold – and scared. Any guy realizing that he was chained at the wrists, chest and ankles to a metal table, and that he had been stripped down to just his pants and dog tags would naturally feel that way. The gag and blindfold weren't helping matters, either. Breathe, John, just frickin' breathe. His head hurt. In fact, most of him did. He had come to a few moments ago and had quickly realized he wasn't in the friendly confines of Atlantis' or anybody else's infirmary. But, wherever he was, someone had treated his injuries. He felt some sort of bandage along the back of his head, where his hair was sticky with matted blood. John sighed in both fear and frustration and grunted against the gag, knowing it did little more than let his captors know he was awake and give them a chance to gloat at his helplessness. What the hell had happened? He remembered a loud sound, a hard blow, and then consciousness starting to fade as he was lifted and carried away amidst a cacophony of frantic voices. He had been…off-world, he knew that much. Sheppard was feeling awfully fuzzy at the moment.

(What was the retirement age for intergalactic space explorers? Was he anywhere near it? But then, given his current predicament, he might not live long enough to tap into whatever pension plan SGC had, so…)

OOOKKKAAYYY, Sheppard, try and focus, please? John chastised himself. There had been an explosion – yeah, that was it. He'd been outside talking to someone when – oh, Christ, his team had been in the building that blew up, along with maybe a dozen Sil. Were his friends imprisoned with him now? John couldn't hear anything except the sound of his heart roaring in his ears. He remembered the mission now. They had been on MM2-864 – the planet Sil – which was one of several worlds recently hit by terrorist attacks. That was why they had been meeting with the leader of the Sil, Magistrate Jarina Val, and her Council. Atlantis and the governments of worlds which had already been targeted or who might be next agreed that Wraith worshippers were most likely behind the violence. Traces of Wraith technology and explosives had been detected, and in some instances known cultists had been spotted. And now, this second attack – which had to be the work of the cult. Why had the Sil been victimized again? Oh, shit. Because the Atlantis team had been there. Because he had been there. John realized now that it had been a trap. One of the Magistrate's people – who must have been a spy – had conveniently escorted John outside to the gardens to talk about something, only moments before the bombs went off. It had been an elaborate ruse to capture him alive. Whoever was behind it had been careful to make sure he wasn't killed by the explosion. Sheppard had a vague memory of being led towards a thick stand of flowering trees, distracted by the chattering politician, and then hit hard across the back of the head. The chaos after the attack had allowed the Wraith worshippers to kidnap him with ease.

It was unlikely, then, that the rest of his team had been taken. The cultists had only wanted to snare one particular prize. His friends could now be badly injured, or dead. For the time being, Sheppard might be completely on his own.

John's hands were tightly restrained against his sides. He struggled against the shackles but soon stopped when blood began trickling across his skin. No use accidentally slicing open his veins or dislocating his wrists. He had to try and escape, of course, but jailers usually had the advantage when chains were involved, and when their captive was blindfolded. John had no idea who, or how many men might be watching. He didn't think anyone was in the room with him, but he knew that somewhere nearby his captors were taking great pleasure in his mounting anxiety. It was a ploy that John was all too familiar with, and he refused to yield to it. He turned his attention to trying to make sense of what was going on. The sophistication of this plan – and of the attacks on the other planets – surprised Sheppard. Frankly, he had always been puzzled by how little trouble the Wraith worshippers caused. Maybe they had done more damage in the past; after all, John had only lived in Pegasus for a few years, whereas the Wraith had inspired a crazed following over the course of thousands of years. In John's experience, Wraith worshippers were certainly dangerous, but were a threat he encountered infrequently. His team had tangled with the cult before, of course – they had nearly lost Ronon to them on one mission. But Sheppard had never seen them so organized, so deadly, so visible – almost as if they were saying, 'Hey, remember us? Did you forget we still live here? We haven't forgotten about you.' Because of the uptick in violence, Atlantis had been busy lately. Several of their allies wanted help investigating attacks and soothing frayed nerves. The meeting with Magistrate Val was just one of many that Sheppard had attended in the past few weeks. Now, with this latest bombing, the Wraith worshippers had upped the ante. If John could get himself out of his current mess, he swore that their attack would not go unanswered.

Sheppard's train of thought was suddenly interrupted – he was no longer alone. Someone – make that several someones – were now with him. Where had they come from? Had they been in the room all along? The air seemed virtually undisturbed by their motion. The sound of footsteps susurrated eerily across the floor. In unnerving silence, his captors surrounded John. He flinched involuntarily when one of them removed his blindfold. The room was dimly lit. Once Sheppard's eyes adjusted to the faint light, the five or six people he saw were…unlike any he had met before. As far as he could tell they were humanoid, of average height, slender and with long dark hair and pale skin. Their clothing – tunics and trousers – appeared simple, darkly colored and unadorned. He couldn't make out if they were men or women. What he could see were violet-colored eyes, bright with glints of silver, staring down at him.

Uh, these people weren't Wraith Worshippers, were they…?

Impatient for some answers, John began mumbling through the gag only to have his feeble attempt to communicate cut off as his throat suddenly constricted and a stabbing pain erupted behind his eyes. At the same time, he 'heard' someone speaking to him – in his mind.

"Please do not attempt speech or any other form of vocalization, Colonel Sheppard," ordered one of the aliens, "or I must continue to inflict physical discomfort upon you. The frequencies at which your utterances vibrate cause us great pain. Therefore, we will communicate telepathically with you, and the gag will remain in place."

"Uh, okay…sounds good to me," thought John, not wanting to piss off an alien who could send instantaneous migraines pounding through his skull. "So, uh, where am I, why am I chained to a table and probably suffering from yet another concussion – and where are my clothes? I really liked those boots and it's a pain in the ass to requisition another pair, so…"

Ouch! John winced, as the stabbing pain behind his eyeballs increased. Whoever they were, his captors had no appreciation for sarcasm – and how much he relied on it to mask his fear.

"Okay, okay, I'll behave!" Sheppard conceded. Almost immediately, the pain faded away.

"That is why you are restrained, Colonel, and why your speech and vision are impaired. We require your complete attention." As John nodded obediently, the alien continued. "We are called Azeron. This is our home – a galaxy unknown to your race, or any of the other races who inhabit your 'milky way' and 'pegasus.' It is as impossible for you to escape as it is for those you call 'team-mates' to rescue you."

Ignoring, with great effort, the implication of what his captor had just said – that he was apparently very alone, at their mercy, and therefore very screwed, John asked, "What do you want?" He was feeling actually more curious and intrigued about, than frightened by, these aliens. A third galaxy? Wait – hadn't he seen a reference to something about that in SGC reports, that the Ancients may have gone further than anyone realized?

The alien who had removed the blindfold answered him. He leaned down and peered deeply into John's eyes. "No, Colonel, we are not connected to those you know as Ancients or Wraith. We are unlike anything that you, or any other humanoid life form, have ever encountered. We seldom interact with those outside of our race. Count yourself – John Sheppard of Atlantis and Earth – among the few Outsiders who have merited our interest."

It took John a moment to find his voice, er, his thoughts and manage to reply. Fear was starting to infuse his initial curiosity. "I'm sorry, I don't understand…you kidnapped me, er, I mean, you had the Wraith worshippers grab me and deliver me to you…so what do you….?"

This time a different captor 'spoke' to him. An older-looking alien emerged from the gloom and stood at John's left. He rested his hand on John's shoulder and gazed at him seriously. "We did not 'grab' you, Colonel, at least not initially. Your foe on the planet Sil did that, using the explosion as a diversion to facilitate your abduction, with the intention of harming and probably killing you. We, for our part, have, in effect, 'borrowed' you from your enemies. When we are done here, you will be returned to your imprisonment and your fate."

"Uh, what?! You rescued me from the Wraith worshippers – why, I have no idea, but apparently you need me – so why send me back to them?"

"I apologize, Colonel," John's captor quickly replied. "I have not explained this to you adequately. We have not rescued you, but merely pulled you from your timeline, from the point at which you are lying semi-conscious, injured, bound, and imprisoned in a cell on a most unpleasant planet. Later, we will return you to that exact moment in time. You will, by the way, remember us and most of what will happen here. Your enemies, however, will not be aware that you were ever gone from their custody because, for them, the passage of time will never have been disrupted."

"What?! Are you serious?" John 'yelled.' "You're going to turn me over to some crazies who are probably going to torture me to death? If you really can manipulate time, can't you send me back a little sooner – say, before the bombs go off and people get hurt? Before I get kidnapped?"

"I said your enemies took you with the intention of harming you," countered the alien. "Upon analysis, this seems to be the most logical reason why you would be kidnapped. Considering the nature of your enemy, your death is the outcome with the highest probability of occurring. I think you would agree with our reasoning?" (John did, unfortunately.) "However," his captor added, "your death is just one possibility. What happens once we send you back is not yet a certainty. It is not, as you say, 'written in stone.' The explosion, however, is a certainty and has already occurred. We will not return you in time to stop it."

"Will not, or cannot?" John probed.

The other man ignored him and instead reiterated his own position. "You must determine your fate as a prisoner of the cultists without our help. The same rule applies to your people's galaxy-wide conflict against the Wraith and their followers. We are highly vested in its resolution, but our race cannot interfere."

"What do you mean by that?!" John had never felt so exasperated at anyone– except maybe McKay. "Do you want us to win, or them? What in god's name are you getting at, can you pl…."

John never finished his question. His captor placed his hands firmly on Sheppard's forehead. His body was instantly paralyzed, while pain exploded inside his skull as if 100 wraith queens were clawing at his deepest secrets. The agony faded in moments, but was then replaced by the oddest sensation. John felt as if everything he was and knew, every facet of his mind that defined him, was being picked up and considered in the same way a beach-comber's fingers might take the measure of pebbles and shells. Against such an onslaught, Sheppard didn't know how, or if, he could resist.

TBC….I hope this sounds intriguing! I have a few ideas that I've wanted to try and weave together into an interesting story. Stay tuned…