The Pegasus Tango

by Meloku

An AU, Save Steve fic. An ancient Atlantian lab yields an interesting artifact while Carson is collaborating with the Hoffans. Rodney and Sheppard decide to try it on their wraith prisoner. Steve/OC/team. Warning: flashbacks and wraith psych exploration

14. Chapter 13: Excursion Part 1

First off:

I apologize profusely for the enormous delay in getting this chapter out! This story is NOT dead!

I've just been busier than than usual, and it's made the writing mindset hard to come by. Now that I'm back in the swing of things, it should come easier. I will do my best to make sure I don't repeat this gap. Hopefully the excessive length of this puppy will appease those of you've been feeling Steve-deprived.

And second off:

As you may or may not have noticed, I am changing the rating of this story. I called it M when I started because I wasn't sure which direction parts mights go, but since then I've decided to keep it within the spirit of the TV show. As such, I will be writing as if it were airing on TV, and the content will, (hopefully), stay within the family-friendly SGA time-slots. I'm sorry if this disappoints anyone, but it's a challenge I've set for myself.

And now, without further ado...

Happy reading! I hope it was worth the wait!

Disclaimer: I still don't own Stargate Atlantis, Steve, and/or any other SGA character. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is strictly not-for-profit. The only things I own are: Dr. Mira Sheckle, The Glove, the plot, and other OC/plot-related bits.

Chapter Thirteen: Excursion – Part One

3 years, 47 and ½ weeks earlier

"Hypothetically speaking. If you had a secret underground base, which you didn't want anyone to know about, would you lock the entrance when you left to run missions on the surface?"

Coat rustling, Steve glanced warily at Dr. McKay and kept walking. "Is there some sort of," his lips twitched with a suspicious chuff, "trick to this question?"

"No! Of course n—" Rodney paused, then jogged to catch up, wearing a sly grin. "Why? Do you think I'm trying to trick you?"

No response. The wraith's wariness visibly increased.

"Why would I do that?" continued Rodney, "No, wait," his grin widened, "Why would I WANT to do that?"

Steve snorted and looked away, eyes darting to his marine escort.

Hiding a smile, Major Sheppard faced forward and pretended he didn't notice.

"Are you accusing me of being deceitful?" McKay's voice had taken on a familiar note of smug triumph.

Quickly repressed disgust flickered on the wraith's mouth. "No."

"Are you sure? 'Cause that's what it sounds like you were implying."

"You are mistaken. Such an implication was not my intention."

"Ah!" Pointing rudely, Dr. McKay put on an expression of feigned indignation and loaded his words with mock-offense, "Are you questioning my verbal competency?!"

Chuffing irritably, Steve shook head and growled, "No!"

"Are you sure? 'Cause that's what it sou—"

"I am NOT questioning your competency."

"Don't interrupt!" The pointed finger shook reprovingly, "Interrupting is disrespectful to the person talking. Is what I'm saying not worth listening to?"

A low hiss emanated from the wraith. Then… "I did not say that."

"Are you sure? 'Cause—"

Unable to hide his amusement any longer, Sheppard chuckled and turned to scan the horizon. The forest concealing M1X-347's abandoned wraith base loomed in the distance. He could see Teyla picking her way through the rocky fields, far ahead, maintaining a comfortable distance between herself and the security escort. Their guides, Dr. Corde and Private Laris, (also unnerved by the wraith), trailed after her, chatting excitedly and occasionally detouring over, (as opposed to around), large boulders.

Wondering how far they'd come, Sheppard looked back. Lieutenant Ford was paralleling him a few yards away, and the hill with the Stargate…

…Was almost as far away as the forest. He pursed his lips, estimating they had, roughly, another forty-five minutes of hiking 'til they reached the base.

"Hah! You're questioning my intelligence now!"

A sharp, defensive chuff, "I assure you that is not the case."

Major Sheppard sighed ruefully. Forty-five more minutes of listening to McKay's absurd comedy routine…

"So you're saying I'm mistaken. Is that it?"

"No."

"So I must have HEARD wrong. You think I'm deaf."

"I did not say that either." A low, growling hiss.

McKay's strident tone abruptly turned cheerful, "I'm sorry. Am I annoying you?"

Sharing a glance with Ford, who gave him a, 'I wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole,' look, Sheppard held his breath and waited for the wraith's reply.

There wasn't one. Sensing the double-edged trap, Steve narrowed his eyes and stalked between the rocks in silence, wisely keeping his mouth shut.

"Oh, so you're ignoring me now."

Sheppard exhaled in relief, thankful McKay hadn't pressed the issue. …Yet.

"I was merely taking time to formulate my response."

"Are you saying I'm impatient?"

As the prisoner deflected this latest accusation, Major Sheppard slowed his pace and pushed through a clump of tall grass, drifting slowly towards Lieutenant Ford. When McKay had first fallen back to walk alongside the security escort, he'd been pleased. He'd thought that, given the impending collaboration, Rodney was taking the initiative and attempting to open up a constructive dialogue with the wraith. Maybe even preparing himself to work in close proximity to the alien…

"You still haven't answered my question, Steve."

A low hiss, "And which question would that be, Dr. McKay?"

A disbelieving laugh, "The one about the underground base, of course."

Or maybe Rodney had decided a restrained, outwardly cooperative, and so far apparently honest, wraith was preferable to the bunch of sneaky, lying, back-stabbing, radioactive Amish warriors they'd so recently discovered…

"You know? For a supposedly intelligent scientist, you can be incredibly slow sometimes. Maybe staying in that cell is sucking out your IQ points…"

But no. Dr. McKay had merely reviewed the security footage of Sheppard making his deal with the prisoner, and had taken notice of the details of its conditions. One in particular had caught his attention. "If you help with the computer without deliberately offending McKay…" Emphasis on 'deliberately.'

Rodney had been trying to catch the wraith in an insult ever since.

This had worried Sheppard at first. Provoking an alien predator that's many times stronger and faster than you is generally a BAD idea, and he'd had no idea how their prisoner would react to the needling. Steve was nothing if not unpredictable.

However… Sheppard's fears had soon been alleviated.

"I am afraid, Dr. McKay, that I must respectfully disagree with your hypothesis."

"Are you saying that I'm wrong?"

"No. I am merely saying that I do not agree. You may believe what you wish."

The wraith was being militantly civil. Nothing McKay said riled him. And his posture, (as far as Sheppard could tell from his relatively limited experience with wraith body language), was open and deferential. (Though definitely not submissive…) He was almost inclined to believe Steve was taking the excessive pestering as a challenge…

"Are you accusing me of being unwilling to face reality!?"

A confused snort. Then… "What?"

Almost inclined. The wary, somewhat hesitant glances being intermittently thrown Sheppard's way suggested the wraith wasn't entirely sure WHAT he was doing with McKay. And some, (like the one being cast his way now, for example), might easily have been construed as silent pleas for intervention.

"You're accusing me of being unrealistic!"

"I assure you, that was not my intention."

Yeah! That look! That silent, unsure look… Like a dog person with a cat in his lap. Unwilling to be rude, but fervently hoping its owner will take it away…

It almost made Sheppard feel sorry for Steve.

"What're you looking at him for?"

"No particular reason…"

Well, tough. Sheppard had no desire to interfere with the deal-imposed, verbal handicap. Yet. Let McKay get a few points in. If it made him feel safer about collaborating, so much the better. Just so long as he didn't succeed in pissing Steve off. Or stray into the abuse zone. Cruel and unusual punishment, and all that…

"You know. It's rude not to look at people when they're talking to you."

"Would you prefer that I stare constantly?"

"No, actually… But you still haven't answered my question!"

Loosely cradling his P-90, Major Sheppard nonchalantly fell into step beside Ford. Offhandedly he asked, "Any sign of man-eating beasts, Lieutenant?"

"Other than Steve, Sir?"

Sheppard pursed his lips, "I don't think Steve really counts as a beast."

Ford shrugged skeptically, "If you say so, Sir."

"I do say so." A beast would've mauled McKay by now.

"In that case, no, Sir."

"Good. I haven't seen any either." Sheppard jerked his head towards the eight marines surrounding the solitary wraith, and the chattering scientist dogging their every step. He lowered his voice, "Have you heard what's going on back there?"

Aiden grinned, "Almost impossible not to, Sir."

Sheppard leaned closer, surreptitiously whispering, "I can't believe Steve's still conscious. Hell, I'd have punched McKay by now."

"Yeah… Me too." Ford quickly added, "With permission, of course."

The Major 'hmmmed' thoughtfully. "You know? If he weren't a giant, life-sucking alien bug… I think, I'd be rather inclined to give it…"

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe not."

A sharp hiss split the early morning air. Steve's calm, multi-tonal voice carried crisply over the grassy, granite-strewn field surrounding M1X-347's Stargate. "To answer your question, Dr. McKay. If I possessed a secret underground base, and wished for it to remain secret, I would lock the entrance when I visited the surface."

"Hah!" Breaking into a wide grin, Rodney brandished his life-signs detector like a flag and jogged to the other side of the wraith's escort. He stared about, announcing triumphantly, "See?! I was right! Even the WRAITH agrees with me!"

Rolling his eyes, Sheppard called back, "Everyone agrees with you, Rodney."

"Yeah," Aiden concurred, "Those guys were careless."

"Ridiculously careless," the Major clarified.

Undeterred, Dr. McKay laughed, "It's funny. You'd think someone smart enough to take us hostage would be smart enough not to be discovered in the first place…" He laughed again, clasped the life-signs detector to his chest, then sobered, "But that's not the point. The point is, the WRAITH agrees with me."

"Of course he agrees with you!" Sheppard was getting irritated. "He's an intelligent being. How'd you expect him to answer?"

"Actually, I do not agree with Dr. McKay."

Eleven startled gazes snapped to the wraith.

Under his captors' scrutiny, Steve narrowed his eyes. His black, facetted shoulders glittered brightly under M1X-347's sun as he deftly picked his way through the knee-high, yellow grass. He hissed softly, "Not entirely, anyway…"

"Excuse me?" spluttered Rodney.

Steve blinked, "I WOULD lock the entrance behind me. However," he lifted his chin, avoiding McKay's clumsy attempt to make eye contact by staring smugly at the looming tree line, "I would also camouflage it."

"I suppose they did do that…" Sheppard muttered.

"They did?" Lieutenant Ford glanced his way, surprised.

"Well, there was this haystack…" He frowned, "More of a hay pile, really—"

"I would fill the area surrounding the entrance with traps—"

"Hey, McKay. You see any traps, yesterday?"

Disgusted, Rodney looked at the Major in confusion, "What? No! Why?"

"Just checking."

"—I would camouflage the traps—"

"You fall IN any traps, yesterday?"

"NO! Did you SEE me fall in a trap yesterday?!"

"Just making sure."

"—And then," Steve announced, "I would place the entire area under surveillance."

Dr. McKay and Major Sheppard just looked at each other.

"I take it that's a no," Ford guessed.

Within his circle of watchful marines, Steve delicately brushed strands of windblown hair out of his face and smoothed the immaculate front of his long coat. Then he clasped his hands behind his back and straightened, exuding an air of satisfied finality.

"Would that be internal or external surveillance?"

Narrowed, olive eyes darted briefly to McKay. "Both."

"What sort of traps?"

A low hiss, "Ones suitable for the terrain and circumsta—"

"Lethal or non-lethal?"

An eerie silence… Steve's pale, alien face swung slowly towards Dr. McKay.

For no reason he could name, Major Sheppard suddenly felt alarm bells going off.

"Well? Which is it?"

The wraith's lips twitched, expelling a soft chuff, "I could hardly interrogate trespassers if I ki—"

"So it's NON-lethal. Huh. Interesting."

The narrowed, olive eyes widened. Sheppard's alarm bells became blaring klaxons as Steve cocked his head, baring his translucent teeth in an amiable smile. "Forgive me if I seem impertinent Dr. McKay—"

Dr. McKay tutted smugly, "I believe I'll reserve my judgment until after the fact."

"—but did you not inform me earlier that interrupting is disrespectful to the person talking?"

"What exactly are you insinuating?"

A low, almost pleasant hiss issued from the wraith, and Major Sheppard winced, willing Rodney to shut up. "I'm insinuating nothing. I merely wished to clarify the meaning of your statement by pointing out—"

"Are you accusing me of being vague?"

Crap! Didn't Rodney recognize that look?!

"—that you have just interrupted me four times."

Adopting an attitude of feigned outrage and poorly hidden triumph, the oblivious scientist glared at Steve indignantly, "Are you saying I'm rude?!"

How could Rodney NOT recognize that look!? Steve had worn it the entire time he was insulting McKay in the holding cell…! How could he NOT RECOGNIZE IT!?!

"Your… insinuation, Dr. McKay. Not mine. I am merely pointing out discrepancies," a short hiss, "between your words and actions."

Tripping over a rock in surprise, McKay stared at the smiling wraith, a combination of disbelief and confusion warring over his face. The victory he was apparently being offered seemed to have frozen his tongue.

"This isn't good, Sir," Ford warned, watching uneasily.

"No," Sheppard agreed, "No, it's not." Why couldn't things be easy?

Tongue thawing, Rodney lowered his voice and said, in a deliberately goading, yet warning, tone, "Are you accusing me of being a hypocrite?"

With a curling, sinuous motion, Steve straightened and drew himself up. His eyes swept over the top of McKay's head, and fastened on Sheppard. He held the Major's gaze for a beat. Then the olive orbs slid slowly down and skewered McKay.

They widened, ever so slightly…

In that instant, the amiable smile vanished as quickly as it'd appeared, and Sheppard knew—Knew with a sense of absolute certainty. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.—That the next word to come out of the wraith's toothy mouth would be, "Yes."

And in the following instant, as Steve inhaled for the purpose of uttering said word, Sheppard realized, with an equal sense of supernatural certainty, that he didn't want to deal with the consequences of the wraith saying, "Yes."

Aw, Hell! "Okay, that's it!" Sheppard angled towards the security escort, trampling a bush in his haste to intercept. "I've had enough of this game. You!" He pointed at Rodney, feeling like he was reprimanding a kid, "Stop baiting the wraith. And you!" His finger swung towards Steve, "Remember our agreement. Stay civil."

Steve backed down, respectfully inclining his head. His eyes narrowed submissively. "Of course, Major Sheppard." Ivory swayed as the chastised prisoner skirted a large rock, deliberately placing it between himself and McKay.

Rodney, however, spluttered indignantly and loudly proclaimed his innocence. "We were just having a friendly conversation!"

"Is THAT what that was? Coulda fooled me."

"What's that supposed to mean!?"

Not dignifying the outburst with a reply, Major Sheppard stalked past the argumentative scientist and strode for the forest with renewed vigor. Lieutenant Ford followed in his wake, trying not to grin at McKay as they passed.

-------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile…

"The data's incredible, Elizabeth!"

Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow, "I should hope so. Dr. Zelenka spent a lot of personal time putting that set-up together."

"Well, 'e did a bang up job o' it." Smiling appreciatively, Carson slipped into the chair facing the expedition leader's desk, "We can see everythin'. Pinpoint the exact moment the signals start affectin' him. Trace reactions and stimuli across various structures o' his brain." He shook his head in wonder, "Ah'll say again. It's bloody incredible. If we had tha' sort o' equipment on Earth—"

"We'd know a lot more about our own brains than we do now." Elizabeth sighed and smiled ruefully. "But, sadly, that is not the case."

"Aye. Tha' ancient machine's the key."

"Even if the Stargate program wasn't classified, we've no way of shipping it back." Atlantis was completely cut off from Earth…

Carson looked alarmed, "Ah would'nae want to if we did. Ah'm goin' to be gettin' a lot o' use from it. Ah intend to guard tha' machine jealously."

Dr. Weir's smile brightened with amusement. "I'll have to keep that in mind." Shifting gears, she clasped her hands over the pile of reports on her desk. "So. What've you got? I'll admit, I wasn't expecting to hear results this quickly."

"They're only preliminary results, really…" Removing a paper from his clipboard, Dr. Beckett passed it to Elizabeth. "It'll take many days, maybe weeks, to analyze everythin'." She glanced at him in surprise. "Ah know. Sounds long." Beckett smiled sheepishly, "We collected a LOT o' data." Clearing his throat, he got down to business, "By observing electrical activity in the prisoner's brain, we've confirmed tha' the artifacts are capable o' emittin' three separate telepathic signals."

"Not two, like the prisoner suspected?"

"No. Definitely three," Carson confirmed, "However, ah will say tha' two o' 'em appear to be closely related."

Dr. Weir 'hmmm'ed thoughtfully, "And do those two do—"

"Wha' Steve told Sheppard they might do?" Carson nodded, "Aye. Assuming our map o' the major functions o' the wraith brain is correct, they do exactly wha' Steve said they would." He paused, leaning forward earnestly, "An' tha' brings up my next point. The similarities between the prisoner's brain an' our own."

"I take it you found a few," Elizabeth guessed.

"More'n a few," Dr. Beckett's enthusiasm bubbled in his voice, "Shape an' size are virtually identical, an' the placement o' sensory processin' is basically the same."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed, "How is that possible? They evolved in a different galaxy. From insects, I believe your reports mentioned."

"Aye, they did. From the Iratus bug. However, all the samples o' wraith tissue we've acquired contain extensive traces o' human DNA." Seeing Dr. Weir frown, Carson quickly continued, "Ah've been explorin' theories to explain the phenomenon. An' ah'm currently leanin' towards one tha' assumes an inherent instability in the structure o' Iratus DNA."

Sitting back in her chair, Dr. Weir pursed her lips, recalling the details of Carson's earlier reports. "You're referring to the idea that Iratus bugs absorb the DNA of their prey into their cells in discrete units instead of digesting it completely."

Carson grinned, "Exactly. An' over time bugs tha' fed on humans acquired human DNA, began expressin' human traits, an' evolved into the wraith."

"And this data supports that theory." It was not a question.

"Strongly. Even just about confirms it." Beckett's fingers tapped excitedly on his clipboard. "In fact, given this new evidence, ah'd go so far as to say tha' our species' large brain capacity is likely the first trait the Iratus stole from us."

"Really?" Elizabeth raised an expectant eyebrow.

Her inquiring look was met by a sincere nod, "Wha' good are opposable thumbs if ye don' possess the intelligence required to use 'em?"

Good point. "What use, indeed…" Filing this information away for future reference, Weir steered away from the looming digression. "So, our prisoner's brain is similar to our own… Does that mean it works similarly?"

"To soon to tell." Dr. Beckett shrugged, "My guess is both yes, an' no."

"Explain, please," Elizabeth pressed, amused by the vagueness.

"While the basic structure o' his brain is the same, the way it's wired is not. Wraith 'ave the same senses as us. But they 'ave others as well. Senses passed down from their Iratus ancestors. We've no way o' tellin', as yet, how incorporatin' those senses into a mammalian brain affects neural processin'. The same goes fer emotion. We've no way o' knowin' which human-derived feelings wraith possess. Either along with, or in place o', the Iratus emotions. They may even be blended—"

"So what you're saying," Dr. Weir interrupted before her mind got tangled in the convoluted web of Carson's explanation, "is that the differences are extensive too."

"Aye," Beckett shrugged ruefully, "At least as extensive as the similarities. 'E's got an entire extra set o' lobes devoted to telepathic processin'. Ah cannot begin to imagine at this point how tha' affects his perceptions. The data suggests they're pervasively, an' intimately, connected to every other part o' his mind."

"And that's just an obvious difference…" Leaning forward again, Elizabeth rested her elbows on the reports and propped her chin on her knuckles, expression pensive. She glanced at Carson, "I assume there are other, subtler ones?"

"Undoubtedly," he confirmed. "Dr. Kaile has flagged several areas o' interest already. An' ah'm sure we'll find others further into our analysis."

"Can you give me an example?"

Dr. Beckett indicated the paper he'd passed her earlier. "Ah listed a few in my overview." An excited glint entered his eyes, "But since ye asked, our prisoner's self-awareness, an' control over his mind, are both quite remarkable." Warming to the topic, he continued eagerly, "The meditation data's particularly impressive. Ah'd like to study it in more detail. Maybe run a second experiment, specifically focu—"

"Let's finish the current study before we start planning others." Smiling to soften the reprimand, Elizabeth retrieved and quickly scanned Beckett's paper. Her eyes widened as she read the first line. "I completely forgot. You said you confirmed the presence of three signals. What does the third do?"

"Oh, sorry. Ah must've jumped ahead o' myself." Carson leaned back in his chair, resting the clipboard in his lap, "The third signal suppresses impulse control."

Elizabeth grimaced, "Sounds nasty."

"Very nasty. Especially considerin' the predatory instincts our subject undoubtedly possesses."

"Good thing he's well fed," Dr. Weir smiled at her joke, then turned serious, meshing this new information with what she knew of the first two signals. "So the artifacts sense a wraith and start broadcasting. They make him want to touch them. They stop him from questioning 'why' he wants to touch them. And, finally, when he experiences the urge to do so, they prevent him from stopping himself."

Carson nodded, "Tha' about sums it up."

Frowning skeptically, Elizabeth raised a perplexed eyebrow. "Doesn't that strike you as a bit overkill? We're talking about what is, basically, a pair of pliers."

"Aye, tha' thought has occurred to me." Paper rustled as Dr. Beckett clasped his hands on his clipboard, regarding the expedition leader seriously, "An' it leads me to suspect tha' these tools are more important than we originally thought. Their capabilities may extend far beyond wha' any o' us, includin' our prisoner, predicted."

Dr. Weir eyed her chief medical doctor appraisingly. "You're getting at something, Carson…"

He smiled sheepishly, "Is it tha' obvious?"

She smiled back, nodding for him to continue.

"Right. Ah suppose it is." Knowing the controversial nature of what he was about to suggest, Carson cleared his throat once more. "Ah want to perform a second study. Scan Steve in the presence o' the tools again."

Elizabeth was confused. "I thought you said last night that the signals' cumulative effects make it too dangerous to do another study like that?"

"Only if his mind is open, and the signals are present."

"Would his mind BE open?"

Carson nodded, "For part o' it, aye."

"Then I assume the signals won't be present."

"No, they'll be present. But only for a brief period. Then they'll go away."

Wary now, Dr. Weir skewered Carson with a suspicious stare. "And why," she pressed, "would the signals suddenly go away?"

Taking a deep breath, Dr. Beckett squared his shoulders and confidently met Elizabeth's penetrating, chocolate eyes. "'Cause they won't need to attract a host anymore. Ah want to study Steve while he's lettin' the organic tools feed."

-------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile…

"Why is this planet not a barren wasteland?"

Dr. Corde, who'd taken it upon himself to explain M1X-347's predator problem to the wraith, glanced from the clawed boulder they'd discovered to the circle of marines. Framed by watchful human faces, the prisoner blinked expectantly at him. "Actually, that's a fascinating question. There shouldn't be any life here."

A few feet away, Major Sheppard skeptically pushed a branch out of his face, saying, "Really? Coulda fooled me…"

The scientist ignored the comment. "Because of the exceptionally long day and night cycles, this world should alternate between blazing desert and frigid tundra conditions. This temperate forest we're walking through shouldn't exist."

Dappled shadows shifted across Steve's hair as he tilted his head, "Yet, it does..."

"Indeed it does." Dr. Corde looked up, taking in the leafy canopy that shouldn't have existed above them. "According to Atlantis's database, there's a bizarre, but regular, wobble in this planet's axis. This wobble, combined with the planet's natural tendency towards uneven heat distribution—"

"He's referring to a habitable world's three standard environments," interrupted Dr. McKay, for the marines' benefit, "Ice caps, equator, and temperate zones."

"—has, over time, created a complex system of powerful currents in the upper atmosphere. These currents redistribute the planet's heat energy, warming the planet at night while simultaneously cooling it during the day."

"Sorta like an air conditioner…" Sheppard murmured.

McKay snorted, "A massive, planet-wide air conditioner, yes."

Plucking a twig from the shade-loving bush by his knee, Dr. Corde rolled the sprig of yellow flowers between his fingers. "The end result, as everyone can see, is a surprisingly even, and unexpectedly stable, temperature distribution. It really is quite amazing." Looking at Steve, Corde stepped closer to the escort. He glanced at the nearest marines, one of whom was Private Laris, before leaning towards the captive conspiratorially. Steve tilted his face the other way, chuffing quizzically. "Believe it or not, where we're standing, on any other world, would be a polar ice cap."

A soft hiss filtered through the trees as Steve blinked. "I see…"

"A polar ice cap?" Major Sheppard stared at the verdant greenery with consternation. "Really? Doesn't look like one."

"Did you hear any part of what he just said?"

"Yeah, Rodney. I heard all of it." Frowning, Sheppard examined their surroundings with new interest. The air currents he'd known about. They made it too dangerous to bring a jumper. (Not that they could've landed in the dense forest anyway.) But the arctic part… That he hadn't heard. "So…" he drifted towards Dr. Corde, hoping to draw the scientist's attention away from the wraith. Their party had pulled together upon entering the reduced visibility of the trees, and unlike Teyla, Corde had quickly overcome his fear of being near the captive. His hesitant overtures had received favorable responses, and he was now acting comfortable near the wraith. TOO comfortable, in Sheppard's opinion. The man was too damn friendly for his own good. "What happens if this planet-wide air conditioner breaks down?"

Flowers lowering, Corde turned to Major Sheppard in surprise. "It's not going to break down. The prevailing weather patterns are completely stable."

"And how do we know that?"

"'Cause the ancient database says so," Dr. McKay interrupted. Following Sheppard, he sighed long-sufferingly, "Look, this planet's been this way for millions of years. Maybe billions. How else could all these temperate-zone species have evolved?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sheppard mused, "maybe they evolved in the temperate zone. And then, once the climate changed, migrated."

Rodney opened his mouth, and snapped it shut, fidgeting.

"I suppose that's possible," he finally admitted.

A familiar, multi-tonal voice cut smoothly over the reluctant admission. "Such occurrences after extreme climate shifts are common."

Rounding on the source of the voice, Dr. McKay shot its owner an annoyed glare. Within the circle of marines, Steve narrowed his eyes and looked away, leather rustling.

Sheppard suppressed a groan. Even with the civility agreement, they were needling each other… Or, rather, Steve was needling Rodney. Every other thing he said aggravated the scientist. And whether it was intentional or not, (Sheppard suspected it was), there was nothing he could do about it. The wraith was still being excessively polite and inoffensive. He hadn't DONE anything. (Except for that time Sheppard had stopped them, but that didn't count. McKay had had it coming.) Perversely, however, it was the very act of NOT doing anything that was pissing Rodney off. Steve HAD to have figured that out. And if there was one thing Sheppard had learned during the weeks before they'd found the glove, it was that the wraith was extremely skilled at being passive-aggressive. He elevated the behavior to an art form.

And McKay was making it so easy…

…Maybe Sheppard shouldn't have stopped them… It was possible Steve had interpreted his intervention as a called bluff, instead of irritated laziness…

The crackling of twigs and the soft swish of displaced branches drew everyone's attention, and Major Sheppard turned, thankful for the distraction.

"'Bout time," he quipped, seeing Teyla and Lieutenant Ford emerge from the shadowy underbrush, "I was starting to think something ate ya."

"Not yet, Sir."

"Well, there's always next time." Shooting a warning glance at McKay, who sighed heavily before grudgingly NOT resuming his glaring, Sheppard meandered towards his returning team members. "So, what've we got?"

Teyla's eyes ran over the group, lingering briefly on Dr. Corde and the wraith. Frowning slightly, she nodded back the way they'd come, "The tracks do not turn in the direction of the base, as we'd feared. Whatever made them moved further east."

Sheppard smiled at the Athosian, "I love good news." He looked over his shoulder, at the marines, "Don't we love good news?" A chorus of 'Yes, Sirs' met his words. "And ya know what?" He spun on his heel, decisively facing the route to the wraith base. "East is a great direction. Let's go north."

Ford grinned, and Teyla looked amused. "Yes, Sir. North it is."

The Lieutenant fell into step behind Sheppard, and the security escort solidified its formation, waiting for the prisoner. At a sharp look from Mckay, Dr. Corde jumped slightly. Absently passing the sprig of flowers to Private Laris, he hastened to catch up as his superior followed Sheppard towards the underbrush.

A low hiss sounded. "Female!"

Several of the marines, including Laris, looked at the wraith. Staring intently beyond his circle of captors, Steve hissed again, ignoring them. His oval-pupiled eyes were fixed on Teyla, who was moving ahead to take point.

Feeling the scrutiny, the Pegasus native stopped.

Behind her, Sheppard paused warily. Aside from their brief gathering in the Gateroom, this was the closest Teyla had been to the wraith since his capture. Steve had made no move to address her then, and she'd entered the Stargate first, and had been scouting ever since. She hadn't actually interacted with him yet…

Another hiss, louder, more insistent.

Squaring her shoulders, the Athosian woman turned to face the prisoner, caramel hair swinging resolutely. She met his unblinking stare defiantly.

"My name is Teyla Emmagen," Teyla stated coldly.

"Teyla…" Steve rolled the word around, as if testing it, and cocked his head with a hiss, watching her.

A frown furrowed her brow. "Yes."

The wraith's green eyes slipped closed for a moment, then opened again. "You were present during my capture."

"How observant," Dr. McKay muttered. Sheppard hushed him with a glare as Teyla raised an eyebrow.

"That is correct," she confirmed coolly.

Steve's multi-toned voice lifted thoughtfully. "This is the first time I have seen you since that day…"

Shooting the Major a puzzled glance, Teyla stepped closer to the security escort. Shadows dappled her toffee-skinned shoulders as she moved across the mossy ground. The wraith straightened, pale face tilting the other way as he watched the small, but deceptively strong, woman advance. Halting by a clawed rock, a few arm lengths from Private Laris, Teyla studied the prisoner in expectant silence, waiting…

Just as silently, Steve studied her back.

Sheppard was suddenly, and uneasily, reminded of the wraith's capture. The black-coated predator looming over his teammate, ready to feed. He'd had Teyla completely at his mercy. Yet now their positions were reversed… (Except for the feeding part, of course. And Teyla didn't have the authority to kill him.)

"What is this? A staring contest?" McKay griped.

"So it would appear." Glancing briefly at Rodney, the Athosian refocused on white-haired alien staring down at her. Her dark eyes bored into his. "Was there something in particular you wished to discuss with me?"

Narrowing his eyes, Steve expelled a soft chuff of air. "No." He leaned towards her, baring his translucent teeth, "For now, I merely wished to take a closer look at you."

Teyla lifted her chin. "Then we are done here." Turning on her heel, the Athosian strode back into the underbrush, efficiently retaking her point position. She nodded to Dr. Corde as she passed, "If you'd be so kind as to resume guiding me?"

Casting a regretful glance at the wraith, Corde hastened after her. "Of course! We're almost there. It should be just beyond the next high ridge."

Behind them, glancing from Teyla, to Steve, and back, Dr. McKay waved his life-signs detector about in bewilderment, "What the Hell was that?"

Slipping past the scientist, Lieutenant Ford shrugged, "Beats me." He pushed a branch up, holding it so Rodney could pass, "At least they didn't insult each other."

McKay followed indignantly, "What exactly are you insinuating?"

"Nothing," Aiden grinned, "Absolutely, nothing."

"Why do I NOT believe you?"

As his bickering teammates moved further into the shadowy forest, Major Sheppard hung back, waiting for the security escort. "Let's move out, people."

Nodding, Private Laris passed the sprig of flowers Corde had given her to Lieutenant Geerman and started forward. Geerman eyed the yellow buds in confusion before hastily handing them off to Private Sheere, who in turn, rolled his eyes in disgust and tossed them aside, like he'd done with every other piece of random vegetation Dr. Corde had passed them. Also following the established pattern, Steve snapped out his feeding hand and snatched the flowers before they hit the ground.

Giving a disdainful snort as the marines in the rear urged him forward, the wraith lifted the sprig for examination and started walking.

Sheppard watched the prisoner study his acquisition with interest. First Steve swept his cheek past the specimen. (Not the specimen past his cheek. That would've been too easy. The flowers, bizarrely enough, remained stationary.) The delicate, sinuous motion was promptly repeated with the wraith's other cheek. Then, exhaling past his teeth, the sensory orifices on either side of his nose widened slightly and Steve swung his face frontward, deeply inhaling the flowers' scent.

Apparently finding the aroma acceptable, Steve eyed the tiny petals critically and started to inhale again. He paused mid-breath, noting Sheppard's scrutiny.

The Major stared innocently, "Don't mind me."

An amused hiss. "You find my actions intriguing?"

"Not really. It's just, I've seen plenty of forests before. It gets a little boring watching the same thing all the time."

"I see…" The wraith's olive eyes held Sheppard's a moment, then slid forward, gazing after the distant forms of Dr. McKay and Lieutenant Ford. Corde and Teyla were barely visible, slim figures fleetingly appearing between tree trunks. Steve snorted softly. Ivory swayed and black coat panels flapped as he smoothly ducked a low-hanging branch. "The one you call Teyla is not pleased by my presence."

Wondering at the comment, Sheppard shrugged indifferently, "Well, seeing as your relatives have already eaten several of her relatives, that's not terribly surprising."

Steve chuckled darkly, causing several marines to glance uneasily at him. The yellow flowers rotated as he rolled their stem through gloved fingers. After a pause, he continued, "She does not approve of your methods for handling me."

Major Sheppard sidestepped a clump of gnarled roots and turned his tone deliberately flip, "That's just 'cause she doesn't know you the way I do." Which was true. Teyla's people had had a lot more encounters with wraith than the Earth humans. And those experiences were all negative. He frowned, blue eyes darting to the captive suspiciously, "Why the sudden interest in Teyla?"

Ignoring the warning note, Steve tilted his head and expelled a sharp chuff, decisively meeting Sheppard's gaze. "In the future," he hissed, "you would be wise to heed her advice when dealing with others of my kind."

The Major's frown deepened at the implication, and he raised his eyebrows, staring at the wraith challengingly. "But not when dealing with you?"

Lips drawing back in a brief smile, Steve narrowed his eyes with a snort and looked away, apparently declining to answer.

Well that was just great. Sheppard stared at the enigmatic prisoner with vexation. No one in the universe should have the right to make cryptic comments like that!

"You realize that if I'd heeded her advice, you wouldn't be here right now?"

Another snort, equally unreadable.

Sheppard fumed inwardly, wondering what new psychological tactic the wraith was employing. Was he actively advising Sheppard NOT to trust him? Or was he serious about the 'others' distinction? Had they established an understanding solid enough to support such a distinction? Or was Steve offering intelligence as an indirect apology for upsetting Rodney? Of course, there was always the possibility that the comment was deliberately designed to confuse… In which case, it was working.

Grimacing, Major Sheppard decided to drop the matter. They were here for computers, not mind games.

The quiet stillness of M1X-347's forest was suddenly broken by the static crackling of nine radios. "Major Sheppard, this is Teyla. Come in, please."

Quickening his pace, Sheppard dodged a rock and tapped his earpiece, concerned by the urgency in the Athosian's voice, "Go ahead, Teyla."

"Dr. Corde and I have reached the base. There has been a disturbance here."

Steve's oval-pupils slid towards Sheppard with interest.

The Major ignored the scrutiny, "What sort of disturbance?"

"From our position, I can see tracks and claw marks," Teyla replied, "Among other recent signs of predator activity."

"How recent?"

The Athosian paused, "I would guess, within the last several hours. Possibly as late as early dawn." There was another pause, punctuated by muffled whispering. Teyla spoke again, "Dr. Corde wishes to tell you that he is not picking up any life-signs."

That was a plus, at least. Sheppard pursed his lips, "Alright. Teyla, I want you and Dr. Corde to stay where you are. We'll catch up in a minute."

"Acknowledged, Major."

"Don't let Rodney enter the base 'til I get there."

An indignant, "Hey!" squeaked in the trees ahead of them.

"Understood. We will be waiting."

Sheppard's radio crackled into silence as he turned to the wraith and his security escort. "Okay! Sounds like we got a setback. Let's pick up the pace, people!"

They'd barely jogged a stride when static burst from Sheppard's earpiece once more. It was Dr. Corde this time. "Major Sheppard, I thought it might be important to note that the signs of predator activity we're seeing are extensive."

"How extensive?"

There was short pause, decidedly void of whispering. Then…

"Very extensive."

Steve snorted beside them, and, feeling an unexpected urge to strangle the uninformative scientist, Sheppard suddenly understood how Sergeant Bates felt.

"Specifics, Doctor!"

-------------------------------------------------

A minute later…

Extensive was an understatement. Tracks littered the gully, churning the rich forest loam into a treacherous expanse of green-flecked mud. Splintered sticks and shredded leaf debris coated everything in view. Bark swayed in the air, dangling from over-hanging branches in tattered strips. Every decently sized tree trunk in sight had been heavily clawed, and loosened stones lay willy-nilly like marbles, hunching dejectedly where they'd landed during the excesses of the night.

As for the abandoned wraith base… Well…

Peering down at the facility from atop a thickly wooded ridge, Sheppard experienced an ill twinge of foreboding. The partially buried entrance had been almost completely dug up, and according to Rodney, the energy readings were fading.

"I swear it didn't look like this the last time I was here!"

Dr. Corde was taking the setback very personally. Sheppard supposed it was understandable. The base had been SGA-2's first big discovery.

"I'm sure no one is blaming you for this, Doctor," Teyla said firmly, but reassuringly. "Accidents happen. We cannot predict everything."

"I know! But—" Corde smacked his knee and ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly put out. "It's aggravating!"

"At least it's still there," Lieutenant Ford interjected, trying to look on the bright side. "Last time WE returned to a wraith base, it was nothing but a crater."

"What YOU found was a hive ship. This is different."

Sheppard tuned his teammates' voices out, hastily surveying options. Retreat without investigation wasn't one of them. He tapped his radio.

"Lieutenant Cadman, this is Major Sheppard."

"Go ahead, Sir."

"We've hit a snag. I need you to dial the Gate."

The female Lieutenant's cheery tone turned serious, "I'm on it, Sir. Do you require back up?"

Scanning the ransacked gully, Major Sheppard shook his head, "Not yet. A backhoe, now… That's another story."

In the rocky field, standing by the DHD, Lieutenant Cadman frowned, "Sir?"

"Never mind. Get dialing, Lieutenant."

"Right away, Sir. Cadman out."

Kneeling in the brush beside the Major, Dr. McKay looked up from his life-signs detector, whispering urgently, "Sheppard, if we're going in there, we've got to go now. And I mean 'NOW.' As in, this instant!"

Sheppard shot him a reproving glance, "Hold your horses, Rodney."

"I will NOT hold my horses!" spluttered McKay, "That base is losing power. At this rate, the terminal will die before we get there. Heck, it might already be dead."

Unimpressed by the outburst, (he'd heard similar doomsday claims designed to get the physics department new toys before), Major Sheppard gave McKay a 'no nonsense' look. "And if it IS dead," he explained in an exaggeratedly reasonable fashion, "We'll just have Steve revive it for us. That's what he's here for. Remember?"

Dr. McKay shot the security escort, which was stationed a few meters away along the ridge, a nervous glance. "What if he won't do it?"

"He'll do it."

"I know you SAY that," McKay protested, "but what if he won't?"

Mildly irritated, Sheppard deliberately raised his voice, "If we get inside and the computer happens to be inoperable, I'm sure STEVE," meaningful emphasis on 'Steve,' "will be happy to bring it online for us." Before Rodney could reply, he leaned past a tree trunk and stared at the wraith. "Isn't that right, STEVE?"

Crouched motionlessly within the circle of marines, (a defensive pose he'd adopted instantly upon catching sight of the destruction), Steve tore his gaze from the ravaged landscape and reluctantly met Sheppard's pointed stare. "If such a thing is within my capabilities…" He looked back down, lips twitching as he expelled an uncertain chuff. "Yessss…" he finally hissed.

Good enough. Sheppard turned to Rodney. "See? What'd I tell you?"

"That wasn't exactly a glowing endorsement!" McKay exclaimed, "Nor, if I might add, did it inspire confidence!"

"Whatever happens, happens, Rodney. Safety first. That's the way it goes."

"Oh, for the love of—"

The group's radios crackled thankfully to life. "Major Sheppard, this is Cadman."

Eyeing McKay warningly, he tapped his earpiece, "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"Wormhole established, Sir. I've got Atlantis for you."

"Patch me through."

"Yes, Sir."

There was a blurt of soft static. Then… "Major Sheppard, this is Weir. I hear you have a snag."

Sheppard refocused on the churned ground before the base. "You heard right. M1X-347's predators found our target last night. The facility's a mess."

He could almost hear Dr. Weir's concerned frown. "The terminal…?"

"Haven't gotten that far. Normally I'd prefer to scout the area—"

"A wise precaution."

"—but Dr. McKay thinks the base's power is failing. He wants in. Now."

"Do you agree with his assessment?"

Pausing, Sheppard allowed his tone to waffle uncertainly, "Well… It's more a matter of the company I'm keeping at the moment…" Which was code for: Can I take the risk even though I've still got the wraith?

"You want permission to proceed without back up." I.e. Message received.

"That about sums it up, yeah."

Dr. Weir was silent for a moment. "Are the predators still in the area?"

The Major shook his head. "Haven't seen any. Life signs are negative. There're a few tufts of fur, though."

"A few, face-sized tufts," McKay muttered, watching a grayish fur ball sail across the muddy loam. It was the size of a tumbleweed…

"Are we SURE," Dr. Weir pressed, "that they only come out at night?"

Having listened to the entire conversation, Teyla Emmagen finally reached for her earpiece. "Dr. Weir, it's Teyla. If I may have permission to speak?"

"Of course, Teyla. Proceed."

She glanced at Sheppard, "My people have been visiting this planet for generations. And we've had dealings with other people who have as well. Never have we seen, or heard a story, of a beast venturing from its lair during the day."

"I see." There was a pregnant silence as the expedition leader mulled the Athosian's assurance around. Then… "Alright. You have a go, Major. Keep a close eye on our guest. I'm putting Sergeant Bates in a jumper on standby."

"Hopefully they won't have to try flying it."

"Indeed. Good luck, Major."

"Sheppard out."

The radio crackled off.

Major Sheppard pursed his lips, thinking about the planet's air currents. "I suppose if they stay low, they could make it to the tree line…"

"Yes, yes. That's well and good," McKay spewed, "The extreme turbulence is up high." He waved his life-signs detector impatiently, "Can we GO now? In the time you and Elizabeth spent talking, the base's power levels dropped thirty percent."

"That much?" McKay glared in exasperation, and Sheppard sobered, "Yes, Rodney. We can go now." He turned to Teyla. "Teyla, you're with me." He pointed at McKay, "You're with Ford. Corde? Geerman?" Sheppard leaned past the tree trunk and surveyed the security escort. The wraith stared motionlessly at the base as the eight marines expectantly looked to their commander. "Follow with Steve on my signal."

Lieutenant Geerman nodded, "Yes, Sir."

"All right," echoed Dr. Corde.

Readying his P-90, Major Sheppard rose to a crouch, pushed aside the bushy plant he'd been peering through, and crested the ridge. With a rustle of leaves, Teyla followed. They descended into the gully, one eye trained on the treacherously steep footing, the other scanning, alert for danger. Lieutenant Ford started after them, providing cover support while avoiding the twigs and debris kicked up by Dr. McKay, who clumsily slipped and slithered down the slope above him. As they neared the bottom, the ground began to give underfoot, switching from spongy leaf-litter to a squishy mud-like texture. Lacking real mud's moisture content, however, the excessively aerated earth and pebbles slid easily off their boots.

"It's like wading through potting soil," McKay grumbled, stumbling in the loosened ground, "only flecked with green instead of white…"

Lieutenant Ford motioned for him to be quiet.

McKay rolled his eyes, "Fine."

Jogging warily along the gully's track-churned bed, Sheppard and Teyla examined the base's torn-up entrance as they approached. Several meters of domed wall, (previously buried), had been exposed, as had the ravaged doorframe, (previously partially buried). Great piles of earth and fat chunks of fuzzy moss were heaped haphazardly around the gaping hole that'd once been a doorway. Nudging a chitin splinter with his boot, Sheppard eyed the dirty, tumbled vegetation for a moment, then glanced up, "Something tells me… That's all supposed to be up there…"

Teyla raised an eyebrow, "This destruction is… Impressive." She flicked her P-90's lamp on, "I confess, I do not have high hopes as to what we'll find inside."

"I don't blame ya," muttered Sheppard. Meeting the Athosian's gaze meaningfully, he gave Ford a 'wait for the All Clear' sign, and switched his own weapon's lamp on. "Let's see what those man-eating beasts left us."

He darted into the dark, violently-widened gap, followed quickly by Teyla. Darkness engulfed them. Their rapid footfalls echoed erratically in the confined space. Chitin and twigs crunched unevenly underfoot. The dead walls suddenly gave way to a pair of passages, and Sheppard and Teyla spun away from each other, one going left, one going right. Both swinging P-90's in sharp arcs to cover the new territory. Each passage led to an empty, medium-sized room. White light flickered across emaciated organic supports and desiccated membranes, illuminating a decorator's nightmare of deep, arm-long gouges and shredding, horror-movie claw marks.

No beasts.

In less than thirty seconds, they were back where they'd diverged.

"Empty room," Sheppard stated.

"I found the same."

They continued down the entry hall, soon finding the control center. The decorator's nightmare was worse there. Emaciated wraith terminals, covered with so many gashes they looked like worried dog bones, lay everywhere, listing and toppled, trailing leathery, empty veins. One rested by a ragged hole, apparently dug up by its roots. The P-90s' lamps revealed dirty tracks coating the pitted floor, and a heap of flattened moss wedged between two support columns. Several large tufts of matted, greyish tan fur huddled in the room's gash-ridden nooks and corners.

Scanning the shadowy space for danger, Sheppard and Teyla made a beeline for the central console that was their goal, methodically sweeping the area behind it.

Again, no beasts…

But there was goo. Lots of goo…

That couldn't be a good sign.

Eyeing the glistening puddle by his feet, Major Sheppard glanced at Teyla meaningfully and tapped his earpiece, "All clear, Lieutenant."

"On our way, Sir."

"And tell McKay to double-time it. We've got a leak."

As the sounds of Dr. McKay complaining about the vagueness of his 'leak' comment began dribbling in from the darkened hall, Sheppard made a decision. "Lieutenant Geerman, this is Sheppard. Bring the wraith."

"Understood, Sir."

As the radio crackled off, he muttered, "I think we're gonna need him sooner rather than later…"

Growing louder, McKay's strident protest echoed into the ransacked control room. "What'd you send for HIM for?! I haven't even seen it yet!"

Major Sheppard shrugged and stared at the console, calling over his shoulder, "Oh, let's just say I had a hunch…"

"He had a hunch. Wonderful. That's jus—Ow!" The sound of the grumbling scientist tripping over something thudded in the passage, and Rodney stumbled into the room, followed closely by Ford. As Teyla raised a concerned eyebrow, he squeaked indignantly, "What? You couldn't have cleared the rubble a bit?"

"Pebble removal isn't exactly high on our priority list, Rodney."

Glaring at Sheppard in the dimness, McKay spluttered, "That was NOT a peb—" he caught sight of the console behind the Major. His eyes widened in disbelief, "What the Hell happened to that?!"

Seeing Sheppard give Rodney a 'don't be an idiot' look, Teyla simply stated, "The predators." Pulling a pocket lantern out of her TAC vest, she switched it on.

White light illuminated the terminal. It was heavily damaged. Chunks had been clawed, (or perhaps gnawed), from its oval surface. Clear, viscous goo oozed from deep gouges in its chitin casing. Its twin touch pads were marred with shallow gashes. And its supporting pedestal… Didn't look terribly supportive. It was cracked and split, showing glimpses of orange tissue, a throbbing, amber glow, and yellowed membranes. One crack was dribbling a pale, rose-tinted liquid. Several others oozed the clear goo.

They could actually see the stuff welling up, pulsing from the lesions and flowing down the pedestal's sides to swell the widening puddle by Sheppard's feet.

There was an oddly blood-like rhythm to the expulsion…

Lieutenant Ford grimaced, "What is that stuff?"

Lifting a boot, Sheppard poked the pool with his toe, sending ripples glistening towards the pedestal's base, "Something that's supposed to be INside the console…"

"Awww…" Dr. McKay groaned and hurried to the computer. He bent to examine it, whining, "Why'd this have to happen NOW?"

-------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile…

Outside the facility, Dr. Corde was wondering the same thing, but for a different reason. "What I don't understand," he protested, slipping down the steep slope, "is why now? The wildlife left this place alone for years. Why suddenly dig it up?"

At the front of the security escort, by Lieutenant Geerman, Private Laris shrugged, "Maybe they needed a new nest?"

Corde shook some dirt off his life-signs detector, "But why here? Why now?"

"How should I know?"

"It just doesn't make sense…"

Within the circle of marines, Steve snorted dismissively. "Given the circumstances, a coincidence is unlikely."

"Exactly!" Corde agreed, "But what triggered it?"

No response. The scientist glanced at the wraith, then stumbled as his foot sank to its ankle in the loosened 'potting soil' of the gully's bottom. He pulled it out, muttering, "The ground was a lot firmer last time…"

Concentrating on the terrain, the marines slogged determinedly through the churned earth with Dr. Corde stumbling beside them. Unhindered by the obstacle, Steve moved with his customary grace, slinking and weaving in a variation of the defensive stance he'd adopted atop the ridge. The eight marines tightened their circle, unconsciously responding to his wary posture…

When they reached the facility's entrance, Steve abruptly straightened. His sharp hiss, accompanied by the snap of leather, sent eight stunners clattering up.

Chuffing quietly, the wraith ignored the threat and scented the air. His gloved feeding hand stretched out, wrist beads glimmering, and he swayed towards the ravaged doorway, pausing only when the blunt tip of a stunner nudged his chest. Staring down at Private Sheere, Steve waited until Lieutenant Geerman signaled the marine to back off. Then he drifted to the wall, testing the doorframe's shattered chitin with his fingers.

"Did you find something?" Corde was watching Steve's behavior with interest.

The wraith snorted. Ivory strands caught in clinging deposits of moss and dirt as he brushed his cheek past the splintering bluish-black shell, "This place is dead…"

"Not all of it," Dr. Corde protested, "The computer—"

Steve reared back, nostrils flaring. His olive eyes swept to Geerman, then skewered Dr. Corde accusingly, "This world's predators consider humans prey?"

"Among other things," Corde uneasily confirmed. According to the Athosians, they ate anything that moved. "They're apex predators…"

"Your people left their scent all over this place," Steve hissed, "That is undoubtedly what attracted them. This outcome should've been expected."

Dr. Corde frowned, perplexed, "But they left it alone after your kind left. Wouldn't they find wraith scent as appetizing as human?"

Running his feeding hand over the frame, the wraith bared his teeth and chuffed dismissively, "The remains of a camouflage generator are here. By the time it failed, any traces my kind left would've long since dissipated."

Lieutenant Geerman's curiosity was peaked, "A camouflage generator?"

The captive's expression turned closed and neutral. "It is irreparable."

"But are they common?"

No response.

The Lieutenant and Private Laris exchanged glances.

"Wait a minute," Dr. Corde was regarding the wraith thoughtfully, "Are you saying there could be facilities like this anywhere? That we could walk right by them?"

Olive eyes narrowed impassively, "I am saying nothing."

"What do they do, exactly? The generators?"

Ignoring the scientist, the alien stepped further into the entrance, forcing his escort to move into the shadows. They began switching their P-90s' lamps on.

"Wait, Steve—" A sharp snort cut Dr. Corde off.

Steve stopped, silhouetted in the darkened entryway, slender frame held rigidly straight. As his captors watched, the sensory orifices on his cheeks twitched, and he scented the air once more. "What… is this smell…?" He inhaled deeply.

Dr. Corde fidgeted eagerly, "Do you recognize it?"

Eyes widening, Steve hissed in dismay and peered down the corridor. At the same time, the groups' radios crackled to life. "Geerman, this is Sheppard. What's the hold up, Lieutenant? We need that wraith now. McKay says the terminal's dying."

"Understood, Major." The escort surged forward.

The wraith was already moving.

-------------------------------------------------

A minute later…

Spears of light spilled from dark passageway into the facility's control room, heralding Lieutenant Geerman's arrival. Kneeling by the puddle, Dr. McKay looked up from the cracked pedestal, distressed impatience contorting his face.

"What took you so long!?" he squeaked, "We sent for you ages ago!"

"Please," Sheppard scoffed, "It was barely two minutes."

"Well, it was two minutes too long! This thing's oozing out! I can't stop it!"

Passing his lamp to Lieutenant Ford, who was crouching by Rodney, Major Sheppard stood to meet the escort as it jogged into the room. Stalking quickly in their midst, Steve halted crisply as his captors resumed their circle formation. Nodding to Geerman, Sheppard addressed the wraith. "Can you fix it?"

Glancing at Dr. Corde, who'd almost run into Private Sheere, Steve met the Major's eyes. Then he looked past him, taking in the mangled console and expanding puddle. He expelled a sharp chuff of disbelief. "Fix that?" he barked.

Sheppard raised a flippant eyebrow, "No. The other, invisible terminal."

A shocked snort echoed in the room as Steve's oval pupils swept across the damage. He scented the air. Nostrils flaring, he bared his teeth with a frown and cocked his head. "If I fix this," a dubious hiss, "I will get to see the flooded lab?"

"Consider it a new condition of the tour."

For an instant, the wraith went rigidly still, processing the new arrangement. Then he surged forward, striding urgently for the computer.

Taken by surprise, his escort scurried to keep up. Almost overtaken by their charge, Geerman and Laris parted to provide access to the console. Likewise startled, Dr. McKay and Lieutenant Ford scrambled to their feet and backed away, unwilling to be caught within the advancing marines' mobile perimeter. As they withdrew, Teyla retreated to the moss-packed support columns, where she could observe from a distance.

Steve's black boots splashed wetly in the puddle as, with a smooth, swooping motion, he dropped into a crouch by the pedestal. Leather coat panels rustled, trailing their stiff edges in the clear liquid as he examined the cracks. His feeding hand ran gently along the splintered chitin, pressing, testing… Finding the spot where the trickling discharge was rose-tinted instead of colorless… With a snort, Steve dropped to his knees and lifted his fingers to his face, brushing the glove's damp pads across his cheek.

He closed his eyes, wincing. "These wounds are fatal."

"Fatal?!" Alarmed, Dr. McKay peered anxiously around Lieutenant Geerman's shoulders, "How can they be 'fatal?' It's a computer!—"

"A living comput—"

"—Stabilize the power, or something!"

Hissing, the wraith spun his face to McKay, turning so quickly, his hair whipped the pedestal with moist, ivory smacks. "Even if I had the resources for such extensive repairs," he snapped, "There is not enough time to effect them. It is dying."

"Can't we just resuscitate after it's fixed?"

In lieu of answering, Steve hissed again and refocused on the cracks, lips twitching with a derisive chuff. "Major Sheppard…" He cocked his head without looking up, "Is data salvage an acceptable substitute for repair?"

Major Sheppard frowned and edged forward, slipping into the security circle. He eyed the wraith skeptically. "Is it really that bad?"

A sharply hissed, "Yesss."

"Hmmm…" The Major eyed the console. The damage was, outwardly, impressive. Outwardly. Having no experience with this sort of thing, he had nothing to base his decision on but Steve's word, and for a hostage, 'data salvage' could easily disguise 'data sabotage.' Which left him at the now, all-too-familiar question of, 'How committed was the wraith to cooperating in exchange for information on the glove?'

"Make your decision quickly, Major," Steve's multi-tonal voice was urgent, "Or salvage will no longer be an option."

"Sheppard," The worry on Dr. McKay's face as he consulted his life-signs detector echoed the wraith's tone, "Power levels are under 10 percent."

Sheppard's eyes bored into the back of Steve's head. Bottom line was, Atlantis needed this computer. Whether sabotaged or not, wraith technology of any sort was invaluable for study purposes. Any good data they might get was a bonus.

"Salvage is fine by me. Do it."

"As you wish, Major Sheppard." The black form elegantly unfurled from its kneeling crouch, and Steve sprang smoothly to his feet while stepping closer to the console. He delicately placed his palms on its pitted touch pads, and a pair of orangey-brown branches slid haltingly up out of the terminal's back with a wet schlucking sound. Reaching shoulder-level, they swung jerkily apart and locked into place, stretching a ragged, yellowish-black membrane between them. Steve narrowed his eyes, and flurry of blocky, grey characters, reminiscent of Ancient, began scrolling rapidly up the organic screen, as if through smoke. A displeased hiss whispered into the room.

Dr. McKay pushed forward, almost crossing the security line. "What are you doing?" He was staring at the scrolling characters in fascination. It was the same language they gotten off the Genii's stolen Wraith 'thumb' drive.

"Running a diagnostic," Steve's reply was clipped and short. Distracted.

Unimpressed, McKay impatiently squeaked, "Why? We already know it's dying!"

No response.

"Just extract the hard-drive!—"

Steve snorted irritably, exasperation tingeing his tone, "I cannot do so safely without first pinpointing internal injuries. Prioritization in this operat—" Static fuzzed the ragged membrane. The wraith's olive eyes widened as the display's scrolling characters flared yellowy-white and were distorted by an erratic deluge of subdued, snaking, organic colors. Everything winked out.

Concerned, Sheppard frowned, "What happe—"

An urgent chuff cut him off. "This terminal no longer has sufficient power to sustain visual interface." Steve bowed his head, oval pupils vanishing behind a swinging, ivory curtain and closing eyelids, "Attempting mental interface."

Unaccustomed to feeling useless, Dr. McKay edged closer, causing Sheppard to grab his arm with a restraining hand. "What do you mean, 'attemp—'"

Steve jerked his face up with a snort and reared back, snatching his palms off the touch pads as if burned. Startled by the sudden movement, Major Sheppard dragged McKay away, forcefully pulling the valuable scientist out of the captive's circle.

"Ow!" McKay protested, "Was that really necessary?!"

Ignoring him, Sheppard stared at the wraith, "What the Hell was that?!"

"Hello! You can let go of me now…"

Eyes still closed, Steve shook his head, wincing, "Telepathic feedback." He hissed, a jittering, shaky sound, "It is no longer capable of sustaining an interface." He swayed. Leather scraped across chitin as he stumbled forward.

"Are you okay?" Releasing McKay, Sheppard started forward as the wraith caught himself on the console's edge. He looked distinctly unsteady…

"I am fine. It is merely a momentary dizziness." Olive eyes blinking open, Steve glanced at his captor and lowered himself to his knees. He shook his head once more.

"Are you SURE you're alright?"

An annoyed hiss. "Whether I am or not is irrelevant. The terminal is going into shock. I must—"

Dr. McKay's jaw dropped disbelievingly, "Shock?! What is this? Surgery?"

Snorting, the wraith leaned into the pedestal, "The two are not dissimilar, Doctor." The orifices on his pale cheeks quivered as he brushed his face past a large expanse of unbroken chitin, "I will be extracting living tissue from this unit."

"Aww," McKay groaned, "I SO did not need to hear that."

Behind him, Lieutenant Ford shuffled his feet, adding a grimacing, "Same here."

A ripple of agreement swept the security escort, culminating in Dr. Corde thoughtfully tapping his chin and announcing, "That's an interesting analogy. If we go a step further, taking into account the role and purpose a hard-drive fulfills, we could actually narrow it down more specifically. To say… Maybe—"

"Brain surgery?" Ford guessed.

Corde snapped his fingers, "Exactly!"

"I think I'm going to be sick," someone muttered.

"Okay. Knock it off, people," Sheppard warned, seeing McKay pale. "It's computer surgery. Leave it at that."

"Why do YOU always get to name things?" Rodney ungratefully spluttered.

"Because, Rodney, I don't su—"

"I need a knife." The urgent, multi-tonal bark echoed in the room as everyone instantly stopped talking. All eyes fixed on the wraith. Steve lay on one hip, curled partly around the pedestal in a haphazard splay of dampening black leather. His left hand worked furiously, methodically scoring a large section of formerly-undamaged shell with the razor-edged tips of his fore- and index fingers' metallic finger guards.

Clear ooze welled from the shallow incisions as Major Sheppard stared down at the wraith. Had he heard right? The captive was asking for a knife? "Excuse me?"

"A knife," Steve hissed, without looking, "Preferably one with a curved tip."

The security escort shifted uneasily. Sheppard didn't blame them. "What do you need a knife for?"

A sharp, distinctly frustrated sounding chuff, "I no longer possess the tools necessary for extracting this hard-drive efficiently."

Sheppard frowned, "You've already got two blades." Two too many…

"And a third would speed my progress considerably." Apparently having recovered his equilibrium, Steve uncurled from his project with lithe grace and rolled to his knees. Ripples glistened across the dark puddle as his oval pupils peered urgently into the Major's face. "Speed in this operation is essential. The hard-drive's external shell has been compromised. It must be extracted and patched immediately."

Sheppard didn't hide his skepticism, "And a third blade will help you do that."

The wraith tilted his face sharply, eyes widening, "I do not have time to discuss this." Drawing hastily back, he slipped beneath the console and resumed working, snapping irritably, "What would I gain from possessing a knife, Major?"

"Oh, I don't know. A weapon, maybe?"

The wet noise of chitin being sliced was punctuated with a disgusted hiss, "I could only kill one of you before my guards stunned me." A derisive snort burst from the pedestal, "Such action would only ensure my swift death."

It was a good point. The Major fingered the sheath holding his standard issue, TAC knife. (A curved tip, just like the wraith wanted…) He pursed his lips and paced around the console, trying to determine if it was really needed.

Still scoring, Steve deliberately ignored his presence.

Reaching the lifeless display, Major Sheppard stopped and raised a curious eyebrow. Despite not being involved in the repairs, Steve's feeding hand was… Busy. Its fingers flexed spasmodically, clenching the glove's padded fingertips ineffectually against the terminal's shell in a series of quickly aborted twitches, the rhythm of which, oddly enough, seemed to be connected to his left hand.

The movement almost looked reflexive…

An epiphany struck. The wraith was accustomed to manipulating organic technology with BOTH hands. He was operating under a severe handicap. And if the skills were deeply ingrained, which they appeared to be…

Well… His frustration made perfect sense. As did the request.

Unsheathing his TAC knife, Sheppard dropped to his knees and reversed it, shoving the handle into the wraith's view. "Just don't kill anyone with it."

Steve froze, glancing at his captor. He held Sheppard's gaze, then nodded imperceptibly and grasped the proffered handle. "A wise decision…" Propelled by a deft flick, the blade inverted with a twist, stopping so its glittering edge rested against the wraith's thickly padded palm. He gripped it firmly.

Behind the Major, Dr. McKay saw the sharpened metal bite the irreplaceable fabric, and startled, "Whoa, there! Easy on the glove!"

A dismissive snort, "This material is stronger than it appears." Sliding the knife between his fingers, Steve adjusted it so the curved tip thrust out from his first two knuckles like a claw, "I assure you, Dr. McKay, that it will not be damaged."

"But the knif—"

"He's right, McKay," Lieutenant Ford shrugged, "He already put it on. If it can survive that, it can survive anything."

Recalling the frantic assault following the glove's activation, (which had almost certainly involved finger guards), McKay subsided with a grudging, "Yeah, well… Just be careful with it…"

"That is entirely within my intentions." Testing his grip, Steve plunged the improvised tool into the console's base. He yanked it free and repeated the action, this time bracing the blade's hilt against the inside of his wrist. As it withdrew, dripping, from the casing, he gave a satisfied hiss, "Acceptable…"

"Glad you like it," Sheppard quipped.

Hissing distractedly, the wraith returned to his task, carving the pedestal with powerful strokes guided by unsettling precision. The marines of his security escort watched his improved progress with varying degrees of trepidation and respect. The difference was… Impressive, to say the least… Within seconds, the scored chitin had separated from the console, tearing loose with a wet shloooouuuck. Steve pried it out, severing the stringy connective tissue clinging to it with skilled finger swipes before casting it carelessly aside. As the bluish-black rectangle hit the shallow puddle with a thunking splash, he leaned closer to examine the new access panel, gently running the side of his ungloved palm down the freshly revealed expanse of unblemished, softly glowing, yellow membrane. A pleased hiss infiltrated the room as the amber light pulsed, dimming and brightening in response to the pressure of his hand.

"We are in luck," Steve announced, "This tissue is still healthy."

Dr. McKay peered over his shoulder, "Is it part of the hard-drive?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

Not answering, the wraith rolled to his feet and splashed around the terminal, dropping to his knees in a quick swirl of fanning hair and rustling leather.

McKay huffed exasperatedly and followed. "More importantly," he clarified loudly, "Why do we care?"

A soggy CRACK! rent the air as Steve's gloved fist impacted a heavily damaged part of the pedestal. "Because, Doctor McKay," the fist readied for another blow, "we cannot stabilize the hard-drive without it." CRACK! Chitin splintered, caving into the casing's interior with a sickening crunch reminiscent of breaking bones. Liquid burst from the wound, spurting from a spidery array of jagged fissures. Ignoring the leaks, Steve tore at the weakened shell, violently slicing and snapping large chunks free.

Major Sheppard winced as the stuff spattered the wraith's face. "Okay, this is getting a little disgusting."

"At least it's not blood," Dr. Corde unhelpfully pointed out.

Lieutenant Ford eyed the expanding pool at their feet uneasily, "This is only a guess. But something tells me, it might as well be…"

"Thank you," Sheppard smiled with mock-pleasantness, "But I did not need to know that."

Grimacing at the image Ford conjured, Dr. McKay watched the assault on the console with nauseous curiosity, "What is that stuff…? By the way?"

Surprisingly, Steve actually gave a straight answer, "A harmless nutrient solution." He hissed, wrenching at a particularly large chunk, "One which you will be required to duplicate upon our return to Atlantis."

"Nutrient solu—" McKay laughed in dismay at the idea, "No, no, no. See, I'm a physicist. 'Nutrient' is a voodoo term. Voodoo means Carson—"

"Delegate the task as you see fit. It is necessary for the drive's survival."

At the wraith's dismissive tone, Rodney bristled, "I didn't say I couldn't—"

"Nor did I," a loud chuff, also dismissive, "You consistently infer far more from my words than I intend…" Following a quick slice of the knife-talon, the shell under Steve's hands split with a soggy crunch. Liquid poured from the gap like an un-dammed river, surging over his knees and into the lowest folds of his coat. "It is most vexing."

At the admission, the physicist smiled triumphantly, "So I WAS annoying you!"

Hissing sharply, Steve thrust his arms into the dripping hole he'd created, "There is no time for games, Doctor McKay. I am about to extract the hard-drive. Use the Lantean device you carry to monitor the power levels."

"Oh!" As the wraith's sleeves disappeared into the console's glowing interior with a moist squelch, Dr. McKay fumbled with his neglected life-signs detector, "Power's at less than five percent. Still dropping…"

"Inform me if the drop becomes precipitous." Eyes narrowing, Steve pressed one cheek to the pedestal, above the opening, and fell silent. Wet slicing noises, muffled by layers of chitin and spongy tissue, issued from the gap. Liquid pulsed down the casing, welling out from around his elbows in irregular waves of glistening sap.

A surge of fluid gushed to the floor as Steve withdrew his ungloved hand and reinserted it, angling his finger guards upward.

"Four percent," Dr. McKay announced, "Decline is holding steady."

An absently expelled chuff, "As expected…" More muffled slicing.

Intrigued, yet mildly repulsed by the display, (it sounded disturbingly like the wraith was filleting raw meat), Major Sheppard moved closer. The security circle tightened vigilantly around him. Necks craned for a better view…

Nothing. The wraith was working entirely by feel. They couldn't see anything…

Yet…

Nutrient solution flooded over the glove as Steve pulled his feeding hand out, "I have finished severing the drive's suspension—" The clear liquid pouring from his fingers suddenly flushed pink.

"That can't be good," Sheppard muttered.

"Power levels are starting to drop exponentially!" McKay cried.

With a dismayed hiss, the knife splashed into the puddle. Steve's hands plunged back into the pedestal, "The damage is worse than predicted," he barked.

"What does pink mean?" Sheppard demanded.

"Who cares!?" squeaked McKay, "Do something!"

Translucent teeth bared urgently, "The drive's shell is punctured in multiple locations. It can no longer maintain the internal pressure required for efficient nutrient exchange." Rolling to his toes, the wraith reached deeper into the terminal.

"So patch it!" McKay spluttered.

"I intend to," The glove reemerged, fingers locked around a dully glowing organic tube. Giving the flaccid, dusky rose tissue a sharp yank, Steve pulled it from casing.

"Three percent!"

An irregularly-shaped, dimly pulsing ovoid issued from hole with a wet Shluck! Tubing trailed from the hole after it, and as the mysterious pink liquid rained into the puddle, dribbling from claret-red gashes in the object's luminous hide, the wraith gathered the dripping thing into his arms.

Dr. McKay gaped at it in disbelief, "THAT'S the hard drive?"

"Yesssss…" Steve probed a wound, testing the flow of fluid welling from it.

"It looks like an Adam's Family football!"

"I'm guessing those holes aren't supposed to be there," Sheppard observed.

"No…" Clamping his feeding hand over the thumb-sized fissures, the wraith lunged around the pedestal. Hard drive clutched tightly to his chest, he dove for the improvised access panel with a hiss. Splashing to his knees before it, he began cutting slices from the exposed membrane with his finger guards. The metal tools flashed and scissored, twisting in a series of deft movements that left the material hanging in flaps.

"I thought we were keeping that?" Lieutenant Ford muttered.

Watching intently, Major Sheppard shrugged, "Meh…"

Dr. McKay's panicky voice rose urgently, "Two percent!"

"Running out of time, Steve."

"I am aware, Major Sheppard," With a final swipe, the wraith severed a flap completely. Catching it one-handed, he spread it over the damaged shell and pulled it tight, skillfully stretching the thin tissue so it clung to the drive's exterior like Cling Wrap. Cutting down a new flap, he added a second layer. Then a third.

"Power decline is stabilizing," McKay announced.

Steve felt along the taut membranes, caressing spots where they throbbed rhythmically with the expulsion of fluid from the wounds beneath. Pausing over a large one, he expelled a soft chuff of air and sliced more yellow tissue down. As the fourth layer was added, Dr. McKay lowered his life-signs detector with relief.

"Holding steady at one point five percent!"

"One point five…" Teyla's quiet tone dissipated the tense atmosphere that'd engulfed the room, "That is not very much."

Major Sheppard looked over his shoulder in surprise. Teyla was standing just outside the security circle. It seemed her curiosity had overcome her desire to avoid the prisoner. "No," he agreed, "it's really not."

She furrowed her brow and glanced at the kneeling wraith, idly shifting her P-90, "Will it be enough to survive the trip to Atlantis?"

Steve paused, then turned his head slightly, observing the Athosian out of the corners of his eyes. He snorted unreadably, "The number means nothing." His olive gaze swept back to the drive, "It is the rate of change that's important."

Teyla frowned, "You did not answer my question."

A low hiss, "No…" Ivory hair swung down, obscuring the wraith's inscrutable expression as he brushed his cheeks along the patched shell, saying, "I did not…"

Dr. McKay glared worriedly at the alien, "Well, will it survive or not?"

Another hiss, "That depends…"

"Depends on what?" Sheppard demanded, annoyed.

Reaching into the console, Steve deftly sliced a fifth strip of membrane, "The speed with which we return to Atlantis," he wrapped it loosely around his gloved thumb, adding, "And your kind's ability to accurately follow instructions."

"Oh, well, shouldn't be a problem then."

"We shall see, Major…"

Exasperated by the cagey dramatics, Sheppard rolled his eyes to the ceiling and tapped his radio, "Lieutenant Cadman, this is Sheppard."

"Go ahead, Sir."

"I need you to dial Atlantis again. Tell Dr. Weir we need the jumper."

Concern tinted the tinny reply, "Everything okay, Sir?"

The Major nodded, "Yeah, but we're gonna be leaving quick. Found some time sensitive wraith tech. Tell Weir we'll meet the jumper at the edge of the woods."

"Anything else to relay, Sir?"

Poking Sheppard's arm to get his attention, Dr. McKay wiggled his fingers and mouthed the word, 'voodoo.' Sheppard raised an eyebrow, "Tell her to have Carson standing by with a biology team. Steve's got a recipe for them to concoct."

Lieutenant Cadman sounded confused, "A recipe, Sir?"

"Long story." And the wraith hadn't explained yet…

"Anything else?"

He shook his head, "That's it. Get dialing, Lieutenant. Sheppard out."

As the Major tapped his radio off, Steve looked up from the hard drive. His pale face turned towards his captor expectantly, "Are you prepared to leave?"

Major Sheppard surveyed the room, cradling his P-90, "Anyone else got anything they wanna do here?"

Lieutenant Geerman and the escort marines shook their heads.

"No, Sir," added Lieutenant Ford.

"I will be glad to leave this place," Teyla admitted.

Rodney pointed at the tube-trailing, Adam's Family football nestled in the wraith's arms, "Everything I'M interested in is going with us. So… No."

Seeing Dr. Corde second McKay's assertion, albeit with obvious reluctance, Sheppard returned his attention to the prisoner. "Yes, Steve. We're prepared to leave."

Steve's translucent teeth bared with a soft chuff. "Now…?"

"Yes, Steve. Now."

The olive eyes narrowed, "Then I will finish." With a rustle of leather, he moved back around the pedestal, stopping by the hole he'd punched earlier.

McKay huffed squeakily in disbelief, "What? You're not done yet?!"

Sheppard pointed at the dusky, organic tubes emerging from the hard drive's tapered ends, "It's still connected to the terminal, Rodney."

Following the snaky tentacles through the puddle with his eyes, McKay snapped his mouth shut with a shortly muttered, "So it is."

"Not very observant today, are you?"

The scientist glared, "Not everyone can notice everything all the—"

A dripping splash cut McKay off. Steve had retrieved Major Sheppard's Tac knife from the pool. As they watched, he lifted the drive by one of its tentacles and trimmed the flaccid tissue above his gloved fist with a quick slice. Holding the severed length of tubing above his head, (there was about a foot and a half left), the wraith balanced the hard drive on one knee and brought the intact tentacle up.

"Aw, no. It's oozing pink again," McKay groaned. He whipped his life-signs detector out.

Sheppard winced. The severed tube WAS oozing pink. Not very much. Just a weak dribble. Gravity was keeping the stuff in place. But if Steve dropped it…

Or unpinched it…

"One point four nine percent. One point four eight…"

Hell, if he even breathed on it wrong…

"One point four seven…"

Shifting both tubes to his ungloved hand, Steve severed the connected tentacle and dropped the knife. His oval pupils fixed on the raw ends, staring intently as he carefully unwound the yellow tissue he'd cut earlier from his gloved thumb.

"One point four six. One point four five…"

His olive eyes slipped closed.

"One point four four."

The wraith took a deep breath and released it, exhaling with excruciating slowness…

"One point four three…"

Another breath…

"What the heck is he doing?! One point four two!"

Steve's eyes abruptly snapped open. With a feat of manual dexterity destined to leave everyone watching eternally perplexed, he flipped the tubes' ends down with his left hand, pressed them together with his fingers, and held them in place, all while wrapping them tightly with the membrane in his right hand. A surge of pink escaped, rushing down his ungloved wrist to dye his lichen skin briefly brown.

Steve snorted and flicked it off, already examining the new seal.

Crouching to retrieve his knife, Major Sheppard peered over the wraith's shoulder, impressed, "Not bad…" With the membrane in place, the tubes looked like a single, continuous loop, "How long will that hold?"

"It will not. This is merely a temporary transport measure."

"The drop appears to be stabilizing at one point zero three—"

"It will not stabilize," Steve hissed. His coat panels splashed through the pool, sweeping glistening ripples across its dark surface as he rose smoothly to his feet, "The hard drive must be placed in a nutrient bath as soon as possible."

McKay huffed, dismayed, "What do you— Why won't it stabilize?!"

Ignoring McKay, Steve gathered the tentacle loop up, coiled it over the drive with his feeding hand, and turned away from the dying terminal, stalking quickly for the exit.

At a signal from the Major, the escorts' stunners brought him to a sharp halt.

"Answer the question, Steve," Sheppard ordered.

Rearing to his full height, the wraith straightened rigidly, eyes darting between his captors and the door. An irate hiss swept the room, "I have created a closed circuit to re-circulate the unit's nutrients. The supply will soon be used up. When concentrations reach critical levels, it will begin to starve. Then it will enter toxic shock and die."

Dr. Corde's eyes widened in surprise, "Toxic shock?"

An impatient chuff, "Yesss. It is re-circulating waste nutrients."

"What is toxic shock?" Teyla asked.

"It's re-eating everything it excretes," Corde explained worriedly, "The build-up of waste will eventually poison it. Like suffocating on a ship with no life-support."

Another hiss stopped Teyla's reply. "Also, the tissue patches do not create a perfect seal. They are already beginning to dry out. Soon they will deteriorate."

Major Sheppard pursed his lips, eyeing the hard drive closely. Now that the wraith mentioned it, there WERE dark patches spreading under the membranes. And he could see pink beading on the edges of the tentacle patch.

"So you're saying, we should hurry."

A multi-tonal growl rattled in Steve's throat as he rounded on Sheppard, "This hard drive is literally bleeding to death as we speak."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, "I take it that's a 'Yes'?"

Steve blinked once. Then his eyes widened challengingly, "If you delay further, I will refuse to be held responsible for its demise." A soft hiss, accompanied by a triumphantly lifting chin, "I state this for the benefit of your Queen."

Major Sheppard stared at the captive disbelievingly for a moment.

Then an explosive laugh burst from his chest.

Startled, Steve drew back and chuffed, blinking bewilderedly as the Major spun on his heel and headed for the exit. A confused hiss, "I don't understand."

"That's alright, Steve. Ya don't have to," Still chuckling, Sheppard wiped his eyes and readied his P-90. Then he raised an arm to signal the escort to move out, calling, "You heard the wraith. Her Majesty, Dr. Weir is waiting for us."

The wraith watched, perplexed, as stifled amusement ushered him from the room.

-------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! Please review! Again, things I'm working on specifically are: 1. Maintaining a Season 1 feel in the flashback chapters. 2. Keeping the regulars in character.

As we're getting further into the plot, I'll now add a three to this list.

3. Making the new and different, (and/or bizarre), things that happen seem realistic and believable.