It's Not Easy being an Intergalactic Space Explorer

Chapter 4

With His Back Up Against the Wall…

Even the Azeron, with all of their psychic abilities, might not have been able to find the entity known as John Sheppard. His consciousness still existed in the body now possessed by the symbiote, a spark of light buried deep in the human's mind. The light flared and faded, flared and faded, but never completely blinked out. John was still in there, tethered to the real world, but he was very far away. The symbiote's control over him was virtually absolute.

At least, that's what the creature believed.

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Richard Woolsey stood on the balcony in the Atlantis evening air, grasped the railings tightly, and took a deep, calming breath. He had just returned from the infirmary where he had been checking on McKay, Ronon, and Teyla. They had been seriously hurt, but their injuries were not life-threatening, thank god. Teyla had been the unluckiest – her arm was broken in two places, her shoulder had been dislocated, and the large gash on her head had caused a minor concussion. She was extremely worried about John. Unfortunately, she had noticed nothing unusual in the time leading up to the attack. Ronon and McKay had somehow survived their experience with Aric Greth. The force of the explosion which obliterated the traitor had thrown them against some furniture, aggravating their existing injuries but not causing many new ones. Ronon was kicking himself over what had happened and wanted to return to the planet immediately to resume the hunt for Sheppard. Keller and Woolsey had adamantly refused to let him leave – Ronon was ignoring the fact that his leg was now infected and he could actually hardly walk on it. Richard was very concerned about what was going on. Sheppard was missing, and the rest of his team had nearly been killed. Their best lead for finding him was dead. Woolsey was appealing to their allies for any intelligence they might have on Wraith worshipper strongholds, and a security team on Sil, led by Major Lorne, was re-interviewing the witnesses. Another team was searching Greth's home and government office. Woolsey had the best resources in the galaxy at his disposal, but so far they had generated meager results. The trail to find Sheppard, and the terrorists, was growing colder by the hour.

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The symbiote stretched its limbs and shook its head, testing out its new shape and adapting to the flood of thoughts and emotions that was surging through it. This organic construct known as 'human' was biologically and mentally much more complex than those creatures typically inhabited by the symbiote's race. It was challenging…and intoxicating…to occupy this form. The symbiote was eager to delve deeper into the mind and body of this 'Sheppard.' A sound in the room, however, pulled its attention from exploring its new internal environment to confronting the outside world. Other humans were with it now and wished to communicate.

"What do we call you?" asked the doctor. 'Sheppard' was fully aware of his surroundings and was sitting up on the examination table. The doctor hadn't had any difficulty waking John up and his vitals were stable. His body was tolerating the symbiote within acceptable parameters – so far.

"My kind does not have the concept of a name in a way that you would understand. I can use the one that previously identified this form, or I can select another that this creature's memory says is a common name of Earth human males." replied the symbiote.

The doctor thought it might feel odd to call it 'John.' It was decidedly not Sheppard. "Please choose another name," the doctor instructed.

The symbiote paused a moment and then replied, "My name will be Christopher."

"Alright, 'Christopher.' Let's get you some clothes and get to work. You do understand, from Sheppard's memories, why you are here?"

'Christopher' nodded. "I do, doctor. This mind is teeming with knowledge. Your people will have no difficulty meeting your objectives in your war against the Lanteans, once I reveal Sheppard's secrets to you."

"You're not having any…ethical conflicts…about what you are helping us to do?" asked the doctor. He had never had problems before getting his test subjects to do whatever he asked. He had theorized that, like some baby birds and animals, the symbiotes were loyal because they had imprinted themselves on to him. This situation might be different, however. What he required this symbiote to do could lead to destruction and death on a galactic scale.

The answer he got put his fears completely to rest. "I will assist you in any way you wish," said the symbiote. "Please do not be concerned. My role here is to be a conduit to this man's mind and body. I do not make, or consider, judgments."

The doctor smiled then, and reached for his notebook. His theory had been correct.

The symbiote smiled as well. If the human wished 'Christopher' to comply, then 'Christopher' would – until it no longer served the symbiote's purposes. The wealth of knowledge in Sheppard's mind was tremendous. The symbiote would not allow it to be exploited solely by these 'Wraith worshippers' and their 'Masters.'

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Sheppard was floating. He felt no connection to a physical body. Wherever he was, he knew he shouldn't be there, he knew that an imposter had invaded his mind. He pushed his consciousness as far to the surface as he could, desperate to reassert his will. It was during these moments of strength that everything around him grew bright and he became aware with devastating clarity of how badly he was being betrayed. Gate addresses. Alpha and beta sites. The space coordinates of Atlantis – and of Earth. But just as quickly, the symbiote would seize the advantage again, and crush John down into a dark, dark place.

But, it didn't have to be this way. His enemy's victory was not assured. Memories of violet and silver-colored eyes, of the somber faces of the Azeron, flitted through that frightening darkness, buoying John and keeping him from completely slipping away. The Azeron had said they would leave John to whatever his fate might be. They would not interfere. But they had interfered, whether accidentally or not, just by refusing to help. By pointing out how alone he was, they had inspired John to make god-damn sure he would never stay that way. As they had said, his death wasn't yet a certainty, just a cold, logical possibility. No matter what was thrown at him, Sheppard now realized that, in the end, he could be the sole determiner of his fate. But first, he needed to be the sole owner of his mind.

How could Sheppard get rid of the symbiote? He could hope that, as the doctor warned, his body wouldn't be able to tolerate the toxins and he would start to die. Then, the doctor would have to remove the symbiote, right?

Or…Oh, god. An incredible idea was forming in John's consciousness. At the same time, he struggled to find a way to shield it from the symbiote's attention. Why desperately pray for something beyond his control, when he already had the means to destroy the symbiote himself – his own immune system. That was why the doctor had been pumping him full of anti-rejection drugs. Without them, wouldn't John's white blood cells attack the symbiote, treat it like a hostile invader – which it most certainly was – assault it like it was bacteria or a virus? Sheppard understood enough about basic human biology to know he was right. That was sometimes the reason organ transplants failed – the body couldn't tolerate the foreign tissue.

Whether the symbiote poisoned John, or John's own body tried to kill it, the end result would be the same. The doctor would be forced to take the damn thing out. But with so many drugs flooding his system, and since he was just a consciousness without a body, how could Sheppard jump-start the cells that could save his life? He couldn't just ask the symbiote to go to the medicine cabinet and help him out.

The Azeron knew how. In their meanderings through Sheppard's mind and body, they had reached into many corners. They had seen that there was more to his inheritance from the Ancients than the ATA gene – much more. They had found hidden traits inside his DNA, dormant genes which had not yet been triggered. The Azeron themselves couldn't act upon what they knew, but they made sure to leave a 'door' of sorts to this discovery open in John's mind, just waiting for him to stop by and take a look.

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The doctor and his colleagues had been interviewing the symbiote for hours. 'Christopher' had been completely cooperative. What they were learning from him was incredible. But all of a sudden, he stopped talking. "Are you all right, Christopher?" the doctor asked worriedly. He was not. The symbiote had gone pale, was laboring to breathe, and was sweating profusely. It clutched at its chest and abdomen and fell to the floor, unconscious.

Alarms on the equipment which monitored Sheppard's health began to shriek.

The symbiote was starting to fail and would have to be extracted immediately.

John had found the door that would save him and had walked right on through.

TBC…..More surprises, and chapters, to follow. This will end up being the most complicated story I've written so far in fan fiction. Please review, it just takes a second...Thanks!