It's Not Easy being an Intergalactic Space Explorer
Chapter 2
Where's John?
The Azeron had kept their promise. A little while ago, Sheppard had woken up on the floor of a dismal cell, a captive of the Wraith worshippers. He only had on his pants and tags (still no boots; damn, he had broken them in just right, too), and his head wound was bandaged but still bleeding. Well, that was the state he was in when the Azeron had 'borrowed' him, wasn't it? They were supposed to return him exactly as they'd found him, and that's exactly what they did. With one exception, though. Now, biting rope instead of the relative comfort of Azeron chains bound him hand and foot.
John tried to pull himself upright, but a wave of nausea quickly convinced him not to. His captors hadn't come for him yet. It was better, for now, to rest and take stock of where he was, than struggle against the rope. His cell was about 8 x 8, with three stone walls and a very sturdy iron-bar door. No obligatory filthy mattress or buckets, though. Hmm…did that mean Sheppard wasn't going to spend much time locked up in here? From his awkward position on the ground, Sheppard could just about see that he was in a corridor made up of several other cells. So, was he in a prison? A military barrack? He wondered why he had been kidnapped. There was no shortage of reasons, of course. But this time around, his intuition was really gnawing away at him. The increase in attacks, the complexity of his abduction – John had a feeling it was all a build-up to something different, big, and undoubtedly bad.
The clang of a key in a lock and the stomp of boots echoed through the corridor. Here we go, thought Sheppard. The door to his cell banged open. Two men yanked him up and began dragging him away. Bootless, John's bare feet scraped painfully across the rough stone floor. He suddenly vomited – the nausea had finally won out – eliciting cruel laughter from his guards. They took him to a large, cold, and windowless room protected by a thick wooden door. Once inside, Sheppard was shoved to his knees. The rope tying his wrists and ankles was then cut off, but before he could try anything he was thrown onto a high-backed metal chair and quickly restrained again, and also gagged. The chair had arms; John noticed with dread that both of his wrists were being secured facing upwards – perfectly positioned for a syringe or an IV – or both. His ankles were bound to the chair legs, and a leather strap held his chest so tight he could hardly breathe. As the two guards finished with him, three other men approached. Two were dressed like Wraith worshippers and the third looked like a doctor. Being tied up, half-naked, and surrounded by bad guys in the glare of what resembled ceiling lights from the 1940s reminded Sheppard of violent WWII or gangster movies. "Bring me the Wraith device, the drugs, the electrodes," the 'doctor' suddenly ordered, looking ominously at John, "and the symbiote."
Much worse than the movies. Crap.
Meanwhile, back on Sil…
Dr. Keller took a minute to stretch her aching back as she surveyed the large, tented triage area outside of the Sil's destroyed Government Center. Five people had been killed – Magistrate Val, three of her Councilpersons, and an Atlantis soldier who had been part of a security detail. It could have been much worse; certainly, it was bad enough. In total, there were about 17 Sil casualties. Teyla and four wounded Atlantis personnel had been taken through the Gate back to the City's infirmary. But Ronon and McKay refused to leave, even though both were seriously injured. Sheppard had not been found in the ruined building. Maybe he had been hurt in the explosion and was wandering somewhere, bleeding and in shock. A few people remembered seeing him outside; Ronon and Rodney, along with a few Marines, were following up on those leads.
McKay really should have been evacuated back to Atlantis with Teyla and the others. He was about to keel over from pain and exhaustion. Ronon's determination to find Sheppard, however, kept him going, and now it looked like the Satedan's efforts were about to pay off. Just before the explosion, a young woman had seen Sheppard outside, talking with a tall, thin man with red hair. When asked why she was so certain it was John, she blushed and said she thought he was handsome but had felt too shy to go talk to him. (McKay's eyes rolled at her comments.) After the bombs went off, she was still in the gardens and happened to see John, who appeared to be unconscious, being carried away by three men she didn't recognize. She assumed he had been injured and that they were helping him. Ronon and McKay's inquiries had failed to locate the red-haired man, but they did learn that he was a high-ranking member of the Magistrate's entourage – and was not at all well-liked.
Ronon's naturally suspicious nature took over at that point. Stargate travel had been prohibited shortly after the attack, in case any of the terrorists tried to flee. But most likely, security forces had not gotten to the Gate fast enough, and any suspects were long gone – including the ones who had taken Sheppard. He had no conclusive proof, but Ronon was virtually certain that John had been kidnapped and that somehow the red-haired man had been involved. His friend's disappearance at the same time as a Wraith Worshipper bombing was not a coincidence.
McKay had come up with a theory which was maybe their best hope, right now, at finding John. The red-haired man probably was a co-conspirator. But, as a prominent figure in the Sil government, he might call too much attention to himself if he disappeared after the attack. They had to find the traitor, and fast. Sheppard could already be dead, but Ronon doubted it. They could have killed John in the explosion, but instead they took him alive. Why?
Sheppard's Latest Predicament…
As Sheppard had feared, the doctor began setting up two IV bags and also brought out a syringe filled with an amber-colored liquid. The doctor knew John was bursting with questions behind his gag and obliged him by answering a few.
"One of these intravenous medicines, Colonel, will keep you mildly sedated. The other will keep you hydrated and will also provide a port should I need to administer further medications. The syringe contains a potent cocktail of immuno-suppressant drugs." Noticing that John looked confused, he clarified what he'd just said, "Anti-rejection drugs, Sheppard, to ensure the procedure serves it purpose and doesn't kill you instead."
Sheppard knew that anti-rejection drugs were given to patients who received organ transplants. Oh, god. What were they going to put inside of him?
The doctor injected him in the neck with the syringe, and at the same time started the drip on the IV bag filled with the sedative. John quickly began to feel drowsy but he didn't lose consciousness. The doctor then picked up a glass jar filled with a murky green liquid and a small, wriggling…thing. He reached in with a pair of forceps and removed what looked, in size and texture, like a very large raw clam. It was a mottled-gray color and had a soft rounded section about the size of a Brussels sprout attached to some sort of stalk that was about 4 inches long and ¼ inch thick. Before John could start to comprehend how disgusting-looking it was, the two guards suddenly tore off his gag and began to pry open his mouth.
No, no, NO! Steamed clams with drawn butter, he'd eat those anytime, but not this look-alike monstrosity.
Sheppard fought as hard as he could, but the sedative had made him too dopey. They got his mouth open and dropped the thing down his throat. They held his jaw tightly closed until he was forced to swallow, and also to keep him from throwing up. John felt the creature slide sickeningly down his esophagus and settle in a cold lump in his stomach. When the guards took their hands off of him and he was allowed to talk, he asked one simple question. "What will it do to me?"
The doctor was more than happy to answer him. "We learned what it can do quite by accident. Last year, a group of our people visiting a new world got temporarily stranded by a storm. The organism infested their camp during the night and managed to get into the mouths of three men. When morning came…well, what this symbiote does, Sheppard, is amazing…and it has proven extremely valuable to our cause. We've been studying its biology for months but we're still not completely sure how it works – autopsies on subjects who didn't survive ingestion of the creature have been very helpful, however."
"If this procedure is successful, Sheppard, then in about 6 hours the symbiote will have taken complete control over your physical and mental states. Put simply, it will have access to your every thought, memory,…..and secret. At that point, my colleagues," the doctor gestured at the two Wraith cultists, "and I will start to speak with the symbiote. Your identity, as John Sheppard, will be suppressed as long as the organism is inside of you. You will not be able to resist."
This was very, very bad, thought John gloomily. First the Azerons, now this creature. At this rate, he wouldn't have anything left in his mind worth going after.
"You're probably wondering why some subjects haven't survived," continued the doctor. John definitely was. "The organism secretes some very complex and powerful toxins to maintain its symbiotic relationship. For some individuals, these substances have proven incompatible with human life. You've been given the anti-rejection drugs to keep the creature – and you, its host – alive long enough for us to learn what we want. Which is, in your case, everything we and the Wraith will need to access your City, your technology, and your homeworld – Earth. You will betray your people, Colonel, and will be responsible for the destruction of countless worlds."
With that thoroughly depressing statement, the doctor turned again to Sheppard's IV containing the sedative. He increased the drip pace. "You will now be kept heavily sedated until the symbiote reaches full integration. Then you'll be awakened and we can get started."
The sedative was working incredibly fast. "Wait a minute, wait!" John desperately cried out. He had to learn as much as he could before he passed out. He knew what the Goa'uld symbiote was capable of; was this creature similar? With his words starting to slur he quickly asked, "If I survive the next few hours, are you going to keep this thing in me indefinitely? Can you take the damn thing out – preferably without killing me?"
"We will still have a use for you, Colonel Sheppard," the doctor replied, "after the interrogation is complete. Since you most likely will always be at risk of dying from the toxins, we eventually will remove the organism."
That was the answer John needed to hear. If they gave him back control over his own mind, then he still had a chance to fight and keep them from ever using the knowledge they stole.
Clinging to that bit of hope, John drifted into deep unconsciousness. The doctor then motioned to the two Wraith worshippers to release Sheppard from the chair. "Secure him to the examination table exactly as you've been instructed," he ordered, "and set up the electrodes and the Wraith device on the instrument cart. Have they been calibrated for use on humans?" They nodded 'yes.' "Alright, let's get to work. I'll tolerate no mistakes and no delays. We have an awful lot to do before we have to wake him up."
TBC….Aren't cliff-hangers fun? Please take just a minute to review. Thank you!