Okay, so... After another ridiculously long wait...

(I have an excuses list, if anyone's interested. *starts ticking points off* The lightning Thief came out, so I had to read those books. Then I figured, why not make a bigger dent in my To-Read pile while I'm at it. Then I got sick. Then I procrastinated. Then I... Oh, wait. Here's one some of you guys might actually be interested in. We started playing a Magic the Gathering role-playing game using the 7th Seas mechanics, and the Game Master foolishly asked us to write backgrounds for our characters... I got inspired, and !SHAMELESS PLUG! posted the first chapter of a story called Mirror Storm: A Planeswalker Tale.)

Anyway, back to the Pegasus Tango.

This chapter is, I think, actually longer than the last one. Which is silly, 'cause it was supposed to be shorter. ;)

As per a suggestion, I have added characters to this story's search profile. I went with Steve and Sheppard. (Steve wasn't on the list when I first published it.)

And speaking of first publishing... Wow. I've been working on this for over a year now. It doesn't feel that long. Thank you so much, everyone, for sticking with it. Every review I get inspires me to keep going. I don't always reply in a timely fashion, (or ever, sometimes-sorry if that happened to someone), but I read each and every one multiple times. I'd like to send special thanks to SGA-Seven and Hagfish-plushie for supporting 'The Pegasus Tango' from the beginning. And I'd also like to thank tellie and wildmage_of_galla for their recent, Super-Long reviews! (As wildmage_of_galla noted, I DO accept anonymous reviews now.)

And so, without further ado, I present for your reading pleasure...

(Drum roll please...........) du du du Dummmm...!

The BEAST IN SEQUEL!

Happy reading!

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 Sixteen: Excursion – Part Four

3 years, 47 and ½ weeks earlier

The news of what Major Sheppard and the wraith had discovered hit the infirmary like the deathly calm before a hurricane…

"You found what?"

"You heard me."

"No, I'm pretty sure I didn't." Dr. McKay stared at the air before him, clutching his data pad in a pose of profound disbelief, "'Cause I coulda sworn you just said you foun—" frowning, he shifted his weight and blurted, "Where are you again?"

"A flooded room. Beyond a formerly stuck doorway."

Confusion joined the disbelief, "You're in Paloski's octopus room?"

"I TOLD you. It's not an octopu—"

"No, you said—How did you GET in there anyway!?"

Major Sheppard's sigh was clearly audible. "Like I said. Steve pried it open."

"And you LET him?" McKay squeaked.

Irritation crackled in Sheppard's voice, "I wasn't exactly close enough to STOP him—"

"That's what stunners are for!"

Down in the lab, Sheppard stared at their gooey discovery with exasperation, "Opening a door isn't exactly a stunning offense, Rodney."

"It is when I specifically forbid Zelenka from letting anyone past it yet!"

"Well, maybe you shoulda thought about including that order in your repo—"

Huffing disbelievingly, Dr. McKay cut the Major's annoyed reply off, "Okay, so it was more of a guideline. You didn't have to go IN after he'd opened it!"

"Actually, I did—"

A derisive scoff, "Oh, really?" McKay tapped his foot, stiffening in an accusing, 'I dare you,' pose. "Why?"

Keenly aware that the wraith was angling his sensitive ears his way, Sheppard bristled, "Look. I don't have to explain myself to you! We're here. You're not—"

"Oh, sure! Rub my nose in it, why doncha?!"

"—Do you wanna hear what we found, or would ya prefer to wait 'til the debriefing?"

Rodney snapped his mouth shut.

Sheppard waited a few seconds. Then… "Good. Now, as I was saying, there's a whole, dead—"

"Are you SURE you identified it correctly?"

"—up against the north wall, an—" Sheppard's disembodied voice crackled to an irritated stop as he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure, Rodn—"

"But are you SURE sure?"

"Pretty darn sure." Muted splashing came over the radio as Major Sheppard began moving closer to their find. "It's not like I've never SEEN one before."

"Well, why would one of THOSE be down there?!"

Sarcasm dripped from the earpiece, "Gee! I don't know, McKay. Why do YOU think?"

"It was a rhetorical question!" Dr. McKay growled. Catching Dr. Weir's disapproving glance, he hugged his data pad tighter and tried to think positively. Brightening, his mouth twitched in a hopeful half-grin. "So, do you think it'll fly?"

Sheppard rolled his eyes again, "I told you. It's dead."

"Well, maybe it just looks dead?" Hope springs eternal, right?

A wry laugh came from McKay's radio. "There's 'looks dead,' and there's 'LOOKS dead,' Rodney." The beam of light from Sheppard's P-90's played across the north wall once more. "This definitely LOOKS dead."

McKay fidgeted, stalling in denial, "In what way?"

Miles away from his interrogator, Major Sheppard waded to a stop in the stagnant, black water and ran a hesitantly disgusted palm across the organic space ship's rotting engine casing. The outer layer of liquefying chitin sloughed at his touch, slithering down and plopping off in an erratic cascade of rubbery lumps. He grimaced, wiping his soiled hand on his pants, "Let's just say it strongly resembles its owner…"

"It looks like Elizabeth?"

"NO!!" Sheppard turned his back on the dart in annoyance, "Stop playing dumb, McKay! It's not gonna change things."

"Fine," Rodney huffed, "It's a gooey, rotting skeleton."

"Exactly." Pursing his lips, the Major surveyed the rest of the room, watching with approval as Private Sheere began setting up a trio of Dr. Zelenka's recently delivered, high-wattage, waterproof lamps. A few yards away, Steve paced slowly within the escort's security perimeter, waiting for permission to investigate the hangar's decomposing contents with watchfully alert, yet passively narrowed eyes.

Fidgeting in the infirmary, Dr. McKay ignored the trio of questioning looks coming from Dr. Beckett's workbench and shuffled his feet, "So, what else is in there?"

"Lots of stuff…" Sheppard swept his gaze up to the ceiling as the first lamp switched on. "There's equipment climbing all over the east and south walls. Sorta falling down a bit… Beneath that, there're a couple computer consoles—"

"Like the ones on M1X-347?"

"Yeah, like those. Only gooey. One's a bit bigger, though."

Rodney frowned, "How much bigger?"

Sheppard squinted across the room, estimating. "A few feet wider. Maybe a yard—"

"Okay, okay." McKay waved the detail off, "What else?"

"More equipment-type stuff. Sorta snakes around the base of the walls."

"All the walls?"

"I'd say about three quarters. Nothing where we came in—"

"What does it look like?"

The Major shrugged, "I don't know. Stuff."

Dr. McKay sighed heavily in exasperation, "What KIND of stuff!"

"WRAITH stuff."

"I KNOW that! Duh! What KIND of Wraith stuff?"

Bristling at the rude tone, Sheppard snapped, "SKELETAL Wraith stuff!" He glared daggers at a dead, eel-like thing floating past his knees.

"Oh, that is SO helpful," McKay scoffed.

"Look, Mr. Smarty Pants. Even if it WASN'T rotten, I wouldn't be able to identify this stuff. I've never seen half of it before!"

"Then ask Steve! That's why he's ther—"

"We haven't GOTTEN that far yet."

Knuckles whitening against his data pad, Dr. McKay stiffened rigidly in frustration and blurted, "Well, hurry up!"

Major Sheppard turned back to the dart, giving the defunct vessel a borderline sadistic grin, "Okay. I will. Talk to ya in a few, McKay—"

"What?!"

"—I'm just gonna help Sheere finish setting Zelenka's lights up. Then I'll get right on that for ya—"

"WAIT! SHEPPARD!!"

"—Sheppard out." Sheppard tapped his earpiece off.

In the infirmary, Dr. McKay squeaked in horror and smacked his mike repeatedly, trying to reestablish contact. "McKay to Sheppard! Come in! Come in!!"

To no avail. The tiny speaker stayed stubbornly silent…

Finally realizing it was futile, he dropped his hand in wounded disbelief and turned to Weir, saying in a stunned voice, "That Bastard turned his radio off…"

Atlantis's expedition leader raised an amused eyebrow…

Meanwhile…

With a self-satisfied smirk, Major Sheppard tucked his radio back into his vest pocket and Velcro-ed the flap shut, then spun to face his security team. His inappropriately gleeful handclap echoed through the newly-found hangar.

"All right, people! Let's see what we've got!"

As if on cue, Private Sheere switched the other two lamps on. White light blazed to life, flooding the chitineous structures with a harsh deluge of scalding luminescence.

Sheppard rocked back on his heels and craned his neck, following the stripped bones and dangling, fleshy garlands up into the shadowed heights of the ceiling… Despite the powerful bulbs, he couldn't make out much. Gaze still lifted, he waded over to Sergeant Bates and the escort. Steve stopped pacing as he approached.

"Well…" he announced, "I THINK I can see the roof."

"I'm guessing four, maybe five stories, Sir," Sergeant Bates offered.

That sounded right. "This is a BIG room. Lots of space."

"Lots of space for lots of equipment, Sir—"

A low hiss interrupted the semi-idle exchange. "Major Sheppard…"

Deliberately drawing out his study of the obscured ceiling, Sheppard pursed his lips before meeting the waiting stare. "Ya got something to add, Steve?"

Olive irises vanishing briefly in a slow blink, Steve chuffed softly, "I wish to reiterate your Dr. McKay's desire for haste."

Really? Sheppard raised a mocking eyebrow, "Curiosity getting to ya?"

"Nooo…" another hiss. The wraith's lips pulled further away from his translucent teeth, exaggerating his intake of breath. "I find this atmosphere stifling."

Back to the smell again. The Major understood the complaint. The pervasive stench was nauseating. However, seeing as it was the WRAITH's fault they were currently surrounded by it, he was finding it a bit hard to empathize at the moment. "Perhaps you shoulda thought of that BEFORE jumping into it."

No response. The formerly-relaxed posture tensed.

Sheppard wondered suddenly whether refusing to acknowledge mistakes was a wraith thing or a scientist thing. Given a certain teammate, he was tempted to lean towards scientist… The wraith lifted his chin with a haughty, enigmatic blink, and Sheppard frowned internally. Nah, it was probably just an ego thing… Not that it mattered, really. "Okay. Here's how this goes." He experienced a flash of gratification as Steve obediently cocked his head, listening intently. "I point. You talk. When I'm done pointing, we get the Hell outta Dodge and take a nice, long, hot shower."

Ripples lapped at the wraith's knees and long coat as he froze, considering the one-sided proposal. His olive eyes swept across the equipment. Appraising… Finally he inclined his face slightly, "This arrangement, as I understand it, is acceptable."

Interesting wording… "And how DO you understand it?"

Steve's oval-pupiled eyes widened challengingly at the suspicious tone, "That 'Get the Hell outta Dodge' is equivalent to 'Leave.'"

Surprised, (and a little weirded out), by the creepily accurate mimicking of the slang phrase, Major Sheppard chuckled, "You get a hang of figures of speech fast, I'll give you that." Motioning for the security escort to follow, he waded back towards where they'd come in. Eyeing Steve over his shoulder, he flippantly added, "For the record, it's also equivalent to 'Vamoose,' 'High Tail It,' and 'Skedaddle.'"

A disgusted snort, "Irrelevant information…"

Sheppard shrugged nonchalantly and veered left, heading for the suspected computer skeletons, "Not necessarily."

"I have never heard those terms before."

"Yeah, well. You'd never heard of 'Pressing Your Luck,' either…"

A rattling hiss emanated from the circle of marines, and Steve narrowed his eyes and glanced away, focus shifting to the rotting consoles. "Where do you wish to start?"

Reaching the first gooey terminal, Major Sheppard studied it a moment, wondering at the wraith's quick cooperation. Either he thought they wouldn't find anything useful, or he didn't care if they did because whatever they found would be connected to the glove… Both possibilities suggested lies were unlikely. However, there was always the chance there was something in here he WOULD feel compelled to lie about. If that were the case, would Sheppard be able to tell…?

Best to deal with that when, or if, it happened. "How 'bout this one."

"A computer," Steve's swift reply contained an unmistakable note of derision, which reminded Major Sheppard uncomfortably of Dr. McKay.

He glared at the wraith. "I'm not THAT ignorant, Einstein. What KIND of computer?"

A sharp, amusement-laced, hiss. "A dead one."

Why did Sheppard feel like he'd had this conversation already? "I can SEE that," he snapped, gesturing at the liquefying console, "What KIND of dead computer? Any special purpose? Design clues." His fingers waggled mysteriously over the rotting structure. "Weird… Lumps that aren't usually there…"

Wrapping his forearms over his stomach, Steve caught Sheppard's eye and flashed his teeth in a meaningful smile. His gaze darted pointedly to Sergeant Bates. Then back. "Not that I can see from over here, Major Sheppard."

Right… The wraith was still several yards away. And surrounded…

Sheppard stepped back a pace and motioned for the security escort to open their perimeter, "Well, I guess you'll just have to come closer, then."

Steve stalked slowly to the console, watching impassively as his guards transformed their mobile ring into an agile semi-circle. With a dismissive snort, he flicked his gaze to his target. "I see nothing obviousss…" He circled the skeletal remains. Then moved nearer. Bloated chitin oozed as he circled again, this time dragging his ungloved fingers across it. Muted scraping and powerful ripples told Sheppard the wraith was tracing the shape of the console's base with his boots.

Exhaling an absent chuff, Steve stopped at the terminal's front. "There are no unusual external variations…" Wet squelching filled the air as he reached into a gaping hole that marred the hollowing shell and began performing an INternal examination.

Sheppard grimaced as the wraith's probing hand sank into the putrefying computer innards. His ability to stomach touching the stuff was a mystery.

The leather-clad elbow submerged. More squelching…

Finally Steve straightened. Bits of rot fell from the hard edges of his sleeve's bracer as he shook his forearm clean. "The internal structures are decayed beyond recognition. Any variations that may have existed are gone."

Darn. Nothing to suggest it wasn't a regular computer, then. "I suppose that means it isn't salvageable," Sheppard mused.

Olive eyes flicking to his captor, Steve eyed the Major with his increasingly familiar 'you're an idiot' look. "That assumption is correct."

Was that a note of impatience? "Are ya sure?"

"Yesss…"

Definitely impatience! In retribution for the 'you're an idiot' look, Sheppard decided to play difficult, "But are ya SURE sure?"

The wraith stared, visibly annoyed now…

Sheppard raised a flippant eyebrow.

Abruptly releasing an irritated hiss, Steve spun back to the console, pulled his hair back with his feeding hand, and ran his cheeks over the waterlogged chitin. Then he swung towards Sheppard again, face lifting defiantly. "There is no living tissue remaining in this terminal," he snapped, "It cannot be revived."

Surprised by the display of compliance, the Major grinned mock-approvingly, "Well, if you're THAT sure, I suppose I'll hafta take your word for it."

A pervasive hiss, emphasized by an eerie rattling sound, permeated the air around the wraith as he glared frosty daggers at Atlantis's military leader.

Ooo. Someone was getting testy 'cause of the smell. Resisting a chuckle, Sheppard sobered warningly. "Gotta watch that temper, Steve."

Halting the subtle swaying he'd begun, Steve froze as the security escort's stunners shifted in reminder. The rattling ceased…

"That's better," Sheppard murmured. He made note of the odd behavior.

The hiss faded. Steve took a deep, open-mouthed breath and looked away. His faceted shoulders glittered, lifting and falling with a series of calming exhalations… Then, without warning, he started wading to the next console.

Deciding against antagonizing the prisoner further, Major Sheppard opted not to reprimand him for the assumed liberty, and gave Bates, (who was eyeing his charge critically), an 'it's okay' nod. "Guess we're continuing."

Sergeant Bates nodded, "Yes, Sir…"

Keeping ahead of the silent alien, the Major studied the new skeletal structure. Aside from hole placement and decay coloration, it looked the same as the first. "So," he began conversationally, "what can ya tell me 'bout this one?"

A soft, multi-tonal chuff, "Another computer…"

Déja vue all over again. Sheppard gave the wraith a warning glance.

No response. Exuding a sullen air, Steve dutifully circled the new target, efficiently performing the same examinations. "It is the same as the first," he reported finally, avoiding eye contact, "No anomalies. No living tissue."

"Nothing useful, then."

The wraith shook his hand clean with an absently muttered, "No."

Moving along to the next organic remains, Major Sheppard gave the more promising carcass a squishy tap of hope. "How 'bout this big one?"

Steve's sullen attitude vanished as the marines stretched their perimeter to encompass the extra-wide console. "Interesting…" He studied the rotting structure a moment. Then he traced its large base a few times, starting and stopping in erratic spurts that sent his leather coat splashing and clinging to his knees. Satisfied hisses filled the air. Then his ungloved fingers plunged into five carefully chosen parts of the liquefying interior. Five distinctly disappointed, (and probably decay-induced), snorts followed.

Keeping well out of the way, Major Sheppard leaned over and watched the wraith's slender hand probe a sixth spot through one of the decay-corroded holes in the sea-ravaged casing. "Learning anything, Steve?"

"Yesss… I beli—" A sixth disappointed snort. The goo-coated forearm withdrew with a loud Slourp! followed by a hiss of displeasure.

"Care to elaborate on that?" Sheppard pressed wryly.

"I believe your Dr. Zelenka will wish to hear my assessment of this terminal."

"Zelenka?" Sheppard looked around. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Dr. Zelenka since he deposited the lights on the sand-cliff by the formerly-stuck doors…

"He will be here soon," the wraith chuffed, "I hear him in the outer corridor."

A muffled splash emanated from the room's entrance.

Right on cue… The Major eyed Steve surreptitiously as a muffled string of Czech preceded their guide's return. Just how good WERE the wraith's ears?

"I am back!" Zelenka sounded winded, "Did I miss anything?"

"Not yet. Steve was just abo—" Sheppard's thoughts on the acuteness of wraith hearing vanished as he caught sight of the physicist. He stared.

Several members of the marine escort stared too.

Safe from the icy touch of the fetid, rot-infused water, Zelenka's legs were encased in a thigh-high pair of pea-green, waterproof, rubber boots.

Unimpressed, Steve cocked his head with a curious chuff and began running his cheeks past the more intact sections of the over-sized computer's shell.

Emerging from the doorway, Dr. Zelenka paused to take in his surroundings. He noted the skeletal dart with a startled, "Oh. You were right. That is not octopus…"

"No, it's not," Sheppard called.

Zelenka tore his eyes from the decaying ship and followed the Major's voice. Spotting the escort, he waded over to them. Jealous gazes scrutinized his approach. He slowed as he noticed the attention. "Why is everybody looking at me?

Major Sheppard kept his voice deliberately neutral. "Nice boots."

Zelenka fidgeted uncomfortably. "Uh, yes. They are…"

"Where'd ya get 'em?"

"I borrowed them from Biology department?" Realizing the reason for the envious stares directed his way, the physicist hurried to explain, "They have a few more. I can get them, have them sent down. But everyone was wet already. I figured—"

Sheppard cut the apologetic babbling off with a regretful grin. "No worries, Radek. It's too late for us to use 'em anyway." He jerked his head towards the console, "Take a look. Steve was just about to tell us what this is." He frowned. Then corrected himself with a disgusted grimace, "What it WAS…"

"Really?" Nervousness forgotten, Dr. Zelenka moved to the end of the marine's semi-circle and watched the wraith's continuing examination with interest.

When Steve showed no sign of stopping his cheek-sweeps, Sheppard cleared his throat. "Well, Steve. Zelenka's here now. Ready to tell us what ya got?"

A low hiss issued from the intent alien, "Yesss…"

Silence stretched…

Major Sheppard cleared his throat again, "So, in the interest of hurrying—WHICH I know you want to do—What was it?"

Pushing his ivory hair back, Steve finally straightened. "A more powerful computer. Probably designed for running complex simulations—"

"All dead?" Sheppard interrupted.

"Yesss. No living tissue." With a dismissive chuff, Steve's olive eyes narrowed and slid to Dr. Zelenka. "It possesses several network branches, which were likely connected to subsidiary terminals." He flicked his gaze to the two smaller computer shells he'd examined, and three others they hadn't gotten to yet. "They would've been used for writing programs and generating variables for the primary terminal. And possibly… for analyzing data from minor experiments…"

Fascinated, Dr. Zelenka rubbed his chin, "So, the other wraith may have designed the glove here?"

Steve refocused on him with a short nod, "Its organic components. Yesss…"

"And those components' compatibility with the Ancients' technology?"

Hissing softly, Steve glanced away with a slow blink, "Possibly… With their memory and processing capabilities destroyed, it is impossible to know."

Zelenka grimaced ruefully, "Yes, of course. You are speculating."

"Let's not forget, we've got fifty other ANCIENT rooms where stuff was being done," Sheppard pointed out. "I'm guessing they were probably involved in that."

The physicist chuckled sheepishly, "Fifty is an exaggeration, but—"

A sharp chuff cut him. "As you said, this is speculation," Steve was staring at the next subsidiary terminal, "As such, it can be indulged anywhere—"

"And by 'anywhere,' you mean someplace that smells better," Sheppard guessed.

The wraith ignored the comment. "—And it will be more productive if we possess all the information currently available to us."

"In other words," Sheppard caught Zelenka's eye, "he wants to keep going."

An annoyed chuff echoed through the huge room.

Zelenka lifted his hands agreeably, "By all means. Let us continue. I wish to know more too." He lowered his voice, murmuring, "And get away from fish smell…"

Steve stalked through the fetid water, and the sidetracked lab tour continued. The other small computers were rotted through, like the first two. Steve circled them impatiently, following token internal examinations with cursory passes of his cheeks. After the third, he straightened with a displeased hiss, "These will yield nothing."

"What about that stuff, up there?" Major Sheppard was eyeing the soaring walls. There were patterns in the decay clinging to the ancient metal. Orderly lines and unnatural right angles. Rectangles and regularly shaped, geometric deposits of rot-infused chitin. Despite the tattered, seaweed-tangled appearance, there was a definite method to the moldering, algae-slicked chaos that loomed over them…

The wraith's ivory hair swayed across the black leather of his coat as he swung his face up and swept a penetrating stare across the massive expanse of decomposing bio-clutter. "Support infrastructure," Steve hissed. Snorting dismissively, he shot Sheppard a disinterested glance and began splashing towards a cluster of irregularly shaped pedestals. "Nutrient distribution and recycling systems for powering this equipment. And for regulating its health…" Beads glimmered on his wrist as Steve regarded the wall once more and sent his feeding hand arcing towards the far corner of the room in a casually elegant wave. "I see evidence of incubation support as well."

"Incubation?" Major Sheppard eyed the distant decay skeptically. It didn't look any different from the rest of the mess. "Ya mean for growing things?"

"Yesss…" A note of disdain entered the multi-tonal voice. "These devices did not spontaneously spring into existence, Major."

Touchy… "I never said they did."

Trailing behind the security escort, Dr. Zelenka frowned curiously, "But they could have been transported…?"

A short, negative chuff, "Some, perhapsss. But not all. The majority appears to have been grown specifically to fit this room…"

Zelenka stopped and idly scratched at his thinning hair, eyes snapping thoughtfully to the hulking shape of the skeletal dart. "So, that ship's dematerializer…"

Steve angled his face towards the physicist approvingly, "Was likely used to bring vital equipment here. Equipment capable of producing everything else."

Interesting. Sheppard studied the wraith seriously. "And how likely," he inquired, "is that 'vital equipment' to still be around?"

Steve's olive eyes slid to him, "If it was returned to storage after its use…?" Oval pupils flicked to the ruined dart meaningfully, "Then it is gone. Irretrievably."

"And if not?" Sheppard pressed.

Hissing softly, Steve looked past him dismissively. "I will know it if I see it."

"Really? Ya sound pretty sure of that."

An equally dismissive chuff, "It will be unmistakable."

Cocky today, aren't we? Major Sheppard resisted the urge to laugh at their prisoner's self-assurance. True, he was in his element with the whole organic technology thing, but he was working with corpses here. Unless he was a forensic scientist, (which Sheppard highly doubted), it was practically a given he'd be baffled soon.

Mirroring the arrogant posture, the Major turned to the pockmarked chitin pedestal they'd just reached. "Oh. Well. In that case, let's play 'Point and Tell' again."

He pointed to the gooey, rot-smeared thing.

Steve snorted and waded over to it, "Some sort of analyzer." Running his ungloved hand over the algae-coated, octagonal surface, he tested the shell. His fingers slipped easily through the weakened sides of the bowl-shaped cavity set in its top. Pale lips twitching in a quickly hidden grimace, he withdrew with a wet squelch. "It is rotten, as well," Steve hissed. Leaning down, he swept his cheeks past the carcass, as usual, taking great care to keep his hair from touching it. "No life…"

"What sort of analyzer?" Dr. Zelenka asked, having just caught up.

An absent hiss stirred the air as Steve studied the blackened lumps and oval dips framing the bowl's rim. "I cannot be certain. Its controls are decayed beyond recognition, and the formation is unfamiliar to me…" His olive eyes narrowed thoughtfully, "Given its origins, it may be a custom design."

Sheppard felt a flash of smugness at the timely appearance of his predicted bafflement. "So you don't know, exactly."

"No…" The wraith gave no sign of being discomfited by the admission.

"Surely you have a guess?"

At the flip tone, Steve stiffened. His oval pupils snapped to the Major suspiciously. "If you desire such an assessment, I can provide one."

Not expecting the sudden wariness, Sheppard feigned innocence, "Provide away."

Steve studied him a moment, eyes darting up and down the carefully non-threatening posture while his brow furrowed delicately in confusion. Finally his gaze returned to the controls. "It is a molecular analyzer of some sort."

"A molecular analyzer," Sheppard murmured. That didn't sound like it'd narrowed things down much. "Is that the best ya can do?"

"With any reasonable degree of certainty, yesss…"

The Major glanced at Zelenka with a smirk, "Yeah, well. Half the point of guessing is to stretch BEYOND a reasonable degree of certainty."

A guarded blink… "You will not hold me responsible for faulty assumptions made based on my," Steve chuffed distastefully, "'guess'… should it prove inaccurate?"

Wide-eyed, Dr. Zelenka shook his head, "No, of course not."

Sheppard hid a frown, "That's why it's called a guess."

Steve's face angled towards his captor slightly, but his focus remained fastened on the controls. "And your Queen will be made aware of this assurance?"

Again with the whole 'Queen' thing. "I told you. Dr. Weir's not a Queen."

"Your superior, then. She will be made aware."

Major Sheppard let irritation harden his voice. "Sure, why not? Dr. Weir will be made aware that people who treat guesses as infallible fact are idiots."

Ivory hair rippled as Steve expelled an uneasy snort. Then…

"Acceptable." Gloved fingers hooking long, silky strands behind his ears, the wraith swung away from the defunct analyzer and moved deeper into the cluster. "The design leads me to suspect the device was capable of monitoring, and possibly manipulating, various aspects of organic micro-circuitry."

Micro-circuitry… That made sense given the specialty of the hive the organic tools supposedly came from. Sheppard shoved a belly-up, eel-like thing aside with his knee and waded after Steve. Behind him, Sergeant Bates expanded the escort's half-circle so it encompassed the entire length of the group of pedestals. Hesitating beside Private Sheere, Zelenka muttered anxiously in Czech, and then followed.

"What sort of 'aspects' are we talking about?" Sheppard asked.

Steve's lean form paused by the next pedestal. His olive eyes caught the Major's questioningly, and Sheppard belatedly pointed at it. "I don't know…"

"You don't know? Or you don't wanna guess?"

Hissing softly, Steve focused on the carcass. "I do not know. Micro-circuitry is not my specialty. And the clues I would normally use to deduce that are gone…" He began feeling the decaying shell, testing it like he had the other. "This is a molecular analyzer as well." He performed a quick cheek sweep. "Also dead."

"No more details?" Sheppard eyed the thing dubiously.

"No more than the first," Steve confirmed.

"Leave it be, then." No use wasting time in this stench…

The tour continued, weaving a path through the cluster, nudging unidentifiable, floating things aside, and halting at each skeletal protrusion. With increasingly apparent frustration, the wraith labeled each stop a dead, molecular analyzer and stalked on to the next, leaving a trail of agitatedly splashing ripples in his wake.

Peering into the seventh, octagon-framed sink, Major Sheppard finally got annoyed. "These things all look the same!" he complained.

Studying the sixth console, Dr. Zelenka murmured agreement, "In appearance, they do seem to be identical. The basic shape and basin sizes are all the same—"

"There are subtle differences in the layout of the controls," Steve hissed.

"Really? Coulda fooled me." Sheppard was seriously considering skipping the last few. He stabbed his finger towards rotting sink number eight.

"I assure you, Major. I do not deceive…"

"Ah! I see!" Zelenka peered excitedly at the holes where his analyzer's controls had once been, "We should photograph these for easy comparison."

"Whatever floats your boat," Sheppard grumbled, "Just don't drop the camera."

A knowing, unconcerned chuckle, "I will call for one with waterproof casing."

"You do that…"

"This one is dead too." Having followed the pointed digit, the wraith had stalked impatiently ahead and was already moving towards number nine.

While Zelenka radioed for his camera, Sheppard jogged to catch up. The fetid liquid splashed chillingly against his thighs, soaking more of his pants. Great. This tour had turned out GREAT. He was SO looking forward to the final shower stop.

He shoved his sarcastic irritation down. "Another analyzer?"

"Yesss…" Steve paused barely long enough to perform cheek passes, "As is this one. It is dead as well." He swept away, splashing towards rotting sink ten.

Dead. Dead. "Everything down here's dead." Sheppard paused, suddenly realizing something, "Hey! Aren't you gonna poke it, at least?!"

A derisive, disgust-ridden snort burst from the wraith. "To what purpose!? Its inner workings are liquefied—"

"But how can ya tell without—"

"It's aura of rot is the same!" Steve swung towards the Major, hissing agitatedly while raising his ungloved hand. The escort's stunners lifted warningly as his goo-slicked, visibly discolored fingers flexed. "I tire of touching this, this… This Death!" Olive eyes darting aside, Steve expelled an explosive, barking chuff.

Well. THAT was unexpected!

AND amusing…

"A little ironic, don't ya think?" Major Sheppard observed dryly, "Considering you survive by sucking the life outta things with your hands?"

Steve inhaled a deep, open-mouthed breath, "That was not the word I meant."

Sheppard had kinda figured that. "Then what did you mean?" He raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently while the wraith calmed himself.

Closing his eyes, Steve exhaled a long hiss. Then… "What I meant is unimportant. What IS relevant is this fact," He lifted his gloved fingers to his face and curled his neck from side to side, drawing the orifices on his cheeks past the dark material restraining his feeding slit. "These are the only parts of my anatomy that are necessary for determining whether something is dead, or alive."

Now THAT was a useful tidbit to know. "Interesting…"

Oval-pupiled eyes snapping open, the wraith curled his gloved forearm across his stomach with a snort and looked away. "No doubt your Carson will be fascinated."

Was that an invitation? Sheppard gestured for the marines to relax. "All right, Steve. Ya don't have to touch it if ya don't want to. Just don't miss anything."

"I will endeavor not to," Steve murmured. Turning, he resumed his annoyed splashing towards rotting sink ten…

…Which got the same diagnosis as nine. "Another dead analyzer…"

As did eleven… "An analyzer. Dead."

And twelve. "The same."

Major Sheppard was frowning by this point. That'd been testy outburst two, and they weren't finding squat that couldn't be found later. Given the wraith's obvious discomfort, taking a break might be smart. Split the investigation in half. Make two trips. Maybe come back AFTER the muck was pumped out… Heck, the stuff was already rotting away. Letting it dry out a few more days wouldn't hurt.

And that shower was seeming awfully inviting.

…Plus, his feet were getting cold. "Hey, Steve," Sheppard kept his tone deliberately nonchalant, "Maybe we should stop for today. Ya know, get cleaned up. Wash that Death off your hand…"

With a rattling hiss that everyone, (except Zelenka), recognized from testy outburst one, Steve descended on the last pedestal in a flurry of determinedly flapping leather. "No!" a multi-tonal chuff punctuated the bark, "I will not return to this place until after your subordinates have cleaned it. We will finish—"

The eerie noise ceased as abruptly as it'd started, and Steve's eyes widened. "I recognize this." Leaning down, he swept his cheeks across the pocked shell framing the pedestal's controls. "It is dead as well. But I can accurately identify it…" He straightened, gaze flicking to Sheppard disdainfully, "Without guessing."

So much for Operation: Warm Sheppard's Feet Up. "Okay… What is it?"

Tracing the decaying bowl with the silvery tips of his finger guards, the wraith refocused on the device. "A molecular tissue analyzer. Designed for testing the functionality and health of recently grown micro-circuitry components."

Sheppard waded over too it, "Sorta like a systems check?"

"Yesss…" Steve's eyes strayed across the stagnant water, to the next set of skeletally protruding structures. "And quality control," he murmured. A curious chuff, "No doubt its close proximity to the incubation chambers is no accident…"

"Incubation chambers?" Splashing over, safe and dry in his pea green, rubber boots, Dr. Zelenka looked towards the nearby remains. "Those are incubators?"

"WERE incubators," Sheppard corrected.

The physicist stared, "There are a lot of them."

"Yesss…" Frustration forgotten, Steve hissed absently and began drifting over to the new targets. "Several different typesss…"

Several DOZENS of several different types. Major Sheppard shot the quality control station a final, accusing glance and carried on. At least they didn't have to explore all the innards. That should speed things along…

And speed things it did. Unlike the analyzers, the incubators were aligned in a neat row. All their captive life-detector needed to do was dip his glittery shoulders on his way past and peer closely while announcing his verdict.

Which was dead. Invariably, and emphatically, dead.

After the first few, Steve stopped bothering to say the word and just started talking about them in the past tense. "These were for growing micro-circuitry."

Sheppard and Zelenka studied the indicated incubators. They were as wide as the small computer consoles, but deeper. Each had the skeletal, rib-like remains of a beach ball-sized ovoid mounted above its rotting control panel.

"What? All of them?" Sheppard asked. There were at least six.

The wraith's ivory hair rippled with a barely perceptible nod, "All of them of this size, yesss…" White light from the waterproof lamps glistened inkily in Steve's wake as he glided further down the row. "And these were for growing specialized components. Nonstandard control elements. Analyzer modules…"

Dr. Zelenka tapped his chin, comparing the structures curiously. They looked very similar. "May I assume it is the dimensions of this, uh…" he gestured at the ribbing curving over a station, "Chamber? That you're using to determine the unit's function?"

Steve dipped his face towards the next incubator. "Yes, mostly… The nourishment pods are the clearest indicatorsss…"

"Nourishment pods," Sheppard murmured. It sounded like a grade 'B' horror flick term. Incubator machines. Pod people… Cocoons.

"But, again, there are variations in controls." A razor-sharp, silvery tool tip traced an irregular hole in the incubator's shell, "Here, for instance…"

Major Sheppard raised an eyebrow. It didn't look any different from the other holes. Though he had to admit, the 'nourishment pod' was a bit bigger…

The wraith glided on, and Zelenka scratched an 'X' in the decay by the hole, marking it for cataloguing when the camera arrived.

"More custom component incubators…"

Wading alongside the remains with the escort as he kept the captive covered, Sergeant Bates observed, "Sounds like there was a lot of customizing going on."

The comment elicited a disdainful chuff. "Not unexpected considering the uniqueness of the end product." Ignoring Bates's frown, Steve paused by the next skeleton. "This was capable of growing hard-drives and neural filament seeds."

Another interesting term. Neural filament seeds… Sheppard's other eyebrow lifted, "You mean like what the hard-drive upstairs is expelling?"

Steve ran his cheeks over the unit before answering. "That is correct."

"So this once grew brain stuff…" The Major eyed the hard-drive incubators as he passed. The nourishment pods had increased in size again. In fact, that seemed to be a trend. Every new group was capable of growing bigger things…

"These were used for growing nutrient regulation systems."

And that confirmed ANOTHER thing he'd noticed. Nutrient regulation, (as he knew from recent experience), was necessary for hard-drive survival. "Call me crazy," Sheppard quipped, "but I'm guessing the stuff at the end of this line is the oldest."

Steve turned, long coat swishing in the stagnant liquid. He studied his captor appraisingly and then nodded. "Your deduction is accurate, Major. Each of these has been necessary for the development of devices we've already passed."

"But not for ones we haven't gotten to yet."

A softly hissed, "No…"

"So we're getting close to your, 'I'll know it when I see it,' stuff."

Chuffing in protest of the mocking tone, Steve narrowed his eyes and continued down the line, without answering.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sheppard grinned.

The wraith snorted derisively and recommenced passing his cheeks over incubators. The nourishment pods were even bigger now, over a yard in diameter. "Your amusement at my expense is both incomprehensible and unwarranted."

Surprised by the unexpected segue, Major Sheppard shrugged, "Well… I gotta find something down here to keep my mind off the smell."

"And finding humor where there is none is your diversion of choice?"

"I suppose ya could say that."

The pale lips twitched, "And is it working?"

Exchanging an amused glance with Private Laris, Sheppard considered the question a second. If he was truthful…? Yes. Should he BE truthful? Probably not.

"Nah, not really."

Steve snorted and examined the nearest pod, hooking his hair primly behind one ear as he scrutinized it. "Then I would prefer if you ceased doing so. These were internal systems incubators, capable of producing a wide variety of tissue configurations—"

"And they don't like unwarranted humor?"

An annoyed hiss, "Seeing as they are dead, they have no preference."

Sheppard couldn't resist, "But if they were alive…?"

A splash reverberated through the massive, decay-filled room as the wraith rounded on him, olive eyes flashing with vexation. "Then they would still have no preference!" Steve snapped. The escort's stunners clattered up warningly, and he cocked his head, regarding them challengingly, "This conversation is pointless!"

"Really?" Feigning startled innocence, Major Sheppard helpfully offered, "Well, if it's so pointless, maybe you should stop participating in it?"

An incredulous, oval-pupiled blink…

"See? Just like that. It's easy." The Major braced himself, aware that he was potentially flirting with 'testy outburst three,' but instead of the expected sneer and rattling hiss, Steve abruptly whirled away in disgust.

"This foolishness is a waste of time."

Was it, now? Somewhat amazed that he'd gotten away with the banter, Sheppard tried one last jab. "You're the one stopping to complain about it."

No response. The wraith's focus had already returned to the dead devices. "The units beyond these were used to create this room's support infrastructure."

Taking the blatant cue, Sheppard glanced up at the messy tangle of kelp and decay clinging to the walls. He remembered the earlier references to nutrient distribution and recycling systems. "Making it possible to build all the other stuff we've seen."

"Yesss…" Steve's coat swished dismissively passed the 'internal systems' incubators as he waded further down the line. "Their capabilities were limited."

"Meaning they were more specialized?"

"That is correct."

The pods of the last few stations were shaped differently from the others. Long and thin, instead of spherical. Touching for the first time since his Death complaint, Steve ran his ungloved hand across the ribs of a long, horseshoe-shape, dislodging seaweed and partially desiccated lumps of rotten shell. "Tissue cultivators for grafting…" he murmured. His stained fingers slipped to the controls, brushing a patch of bluish-black carapace clean. "It is not as extensively corrupted as the others," he performed a slow, lingering cheek sweep, and frowned. "But it is still dead…"

Dr. Zelenka sloshed to the cultivator as Steve moved away. "Are you suggesting this device survived immersion longer?"

A noncommittal chuff met the question. "I suggest nothing. I am merely observing facts. That device died later than the others."

Zelenka stared at the skeletal, horseshoe trough thoughtfully, "Perhaps as a result of an emergency resource allocation program…?"

A sharp, ivory-rippling nod, "Undoubtedly, that was—" Freezing abruptly, Steve hissed loudly and then snapped his chin up. The orifices on his cheeks widened.

Wondering what he'd sensed, Major Sheppard stopped and watched warily as the wraith swayed his face from side to side. "Anything we should know about, Steve?"

A breathy exhalation whispered through Steve's translucent teeth. "I am not sure…" He reached for the next device, testing the shell and thrusting the quivering slits framing his nose towards it with renewed enthusiasm. "This was a membrane generator, for supporting grafts and effecting repairs. Like the tissue cultivator, it died later."

"Definitely a triage protocol," Zelenka murmured.

"Yesss…"

Deciding to let the lack of a substantial answer go, (for now), Sheppard studied the generator. Its pod was tall, straight, and thin. And deep. Several yards deep. He could easily imagine it strung with large sheets of tautly stretched, pulsating, yellowy membranes, like the one Steve had cut from M1X-347's dying computer…

Paralleled by his escort, the wraith splashed on, already examining the next incubator. An air of palpable anticipation emanated from the alien as he scraped his ungloved claws and finger guards across its controls. Its rib-frame pods were small and numerous. "An undifferentiated cell incubator." Cocking his head, Steve paused a second before adding, "For creating what your Carson calls 'Stem cells.' It survived longer as well. Significantly longer, in fact."

"But it's still dead," Sheppard pointed out.

"Yesss…" A rattling hiss, (deeply satisfied instead of blatantly hostile), permeated the air as the wraith's glittering eyes fastened on the Major intently. "However, something in here is not. Of that, I am certain now."

Sheppard blinked in surprise, but Steve was already turning away, engrossed in sweeping his cheeks over every square inch of the remaining equipment.

"I cannot pinpoint its location exactly yet, but the signs are unmistakable." Steve's multi-tonal mutter hissed excitedly, "One of these stations is still alive."

Intrigued but skeptical, Major Sheppard studied the nearby skeletons with renewed interest. Their shells did appear to be more intact, (fewer gaping holes and hollow parts), but they were still riddled with gooey patches of decay. "Are ya sure you're not just sensing a crab or something?" Sheppard was pretty sure he'd felt things scuttle across his boots a few times. The fish in here might've suffocated in the sludge, but relatives of Zelenka's octi-crab could probably survive a bit longer…

An absently dismissive snort squelched that notion, "I can tell the difference between animal life and technological viability, Major. The two are quite distinctive." Hair pressed tightly to his chest, Steve was bent double, examining a low, circular device. Its top barely protruded from the rippling surface, but dozens of skeletal ducts radiated from the water around it, snaking towards the walls and curling to nearby remains.

"A nutrient distribution hub. Dead within, but possessing a salvageable external casing." Not bothering to straighten, Steve continued down the row while Sheppard rapped the hub with his knuckles. Algae and debris squished as the shell thunked hollowly. It didn't give like other bits the Major had tested.

"A distribution hub?" Zelenka joined him in tapping the object. "We are beyond the incubators, then…?"

"Light years beyond," Sheppard confirmed.

"If this is truly salvageable," Zelenka offered, "perhaps Carson will wish to transplant the hard-drive?"

"Either that or make a giant Frisbee," Sheppard quipped. "It's certainly shaped right for it. Perfectly round… A little big, though."

The physicist chuckled, "I do not think I could lif—"

An insistent hiss cut them off. "This was a nutrient regulation system." The wraith was tracing a complex tangle of seaweed-clad, tubular conduits. Reaching a fanning cluster at its end, he swept his cheeks to the next device without pause. "This was the nutrient mixing station." His face lifted briefly, ghosting past one of the towering structure's skeletal, two-story ribs. "Though its observation membranes have decayed, its casing is firm. There may be viable marrow trapped within this support."

Sheppard wasn't impressed. "Marrow? That's the life you were talking about?" How the Hell was THAT useful? "I'm disappointed, Steve."

A disdainful snort. "You are also jumping to conclusions, Major."

"Good. 'Cause it would've been ANTI-climactic if I wasn't."

Steve rolled his olive eyes in disgust. "The marrow, if it exists, can be cultured and used to revive the framework of this laboratory's entire support infrastructure."

Really? All that from marrow? "So you're saying it's NOT anticlimactic."

No response. The wraith had reached the end of the nutrient mixer and was brushing goo off the last device in the row. As Sheppard watched, the glittering shoulders dipped and a pleased hiss whispered across the stagnant water.

Curling deftly against the dark shell, (without touching it), Steve smiled widely and spoke. His smooth voice was rich with satisfaction. "This device was—" Eyes snapping to Sheppard, he inclined his face slightly, deliberately correcting himself, "ISSSS… the purification and filtration unit of a nutrient regulator."

"IS?" Hiding his sudden curiosity, Sheppard feigned bored enlightenment and waded over to investigate, "So this is the living stuff you sniffed earlier."

An annoyed chuff, "I did not sniff it."

"Detected, then."

Steve looked away, dismissively ignoring his captor. His ungloved fingers fluttered over the surviving filtration unit's shell. "The external controls suffered extensive sodium corrosion during immersion. However, I see signs of recent regeneration, as well. It's preservation capabilities are taxed, but intact."

At the wraith's words, Dr. Zelenka splashed excitedly towards the device. "You're saying, it is trying to fix itself?"

"Yesss. And it is succeeding. For now…" Arm bracing on the intact casing, Steve leaned sharply forward and peered into the organic machine's interior.

Realizing it was hollow, Sheppard raised an intrigued eyebrow, stepped closer to the chest-high object, and mirrored the wraith's action. The inside was flooded with liquid to the same level as the rest of the room, though the stuff was clearer and cleaner looking. The shadowy shapes of intake and outflow ports dotted a maze-like network of shallow barriers and partitions. There were membranes and odd growths scattered throughout it, too. (Sheppard didn't bother speculating on their purpose.)

Leaning closer, the Major glanced at Steve, who was studying the tissue formations intently. "So what's the verdict? Will it recover from being fish bait?"

The alien's pale brow furrowed delicately. "Only if properly tended."

Zelenka joined Sheppard, squinting over his shoulder, "But you said it's succeeding? What is the difficulty—"

"Its filters have deteriorated." Beads glimmering, the wraith stretched his gloved feeding hand down into the maze, indicating a blackened, slime-slicked mass of tissue. Unlike its orangey, blue-mottled neighbors, it looked decidedly unhealthy. "They were not designed to accommodate the high sodium concentrations present in seawater."

"But the water's receded a lot," Sheppard mused. "It's been sifting the same stuff for a few months." (Since Atlantis resurfaced.) "Shouldn't that help?"

Steve gave a short, negative snort. "The relief is too late. They've been operating beyond capacity for many years. Their regenerative capabilities cannot keep up."

"So they're slowly dying…" he frowned. "And when the filters go—"

"The unit is already exhibiting several indicators of impending failure."

"Right…" Given their surroundings, that wasn't terribly surprising. "But you know how to fix it?" Sheppard prodded. Beside him, Zelenka perked up hopefully.

Withdrawing, Steve hissed softly and began circling the unit, "Yesss… Though I am not inclined to do so given the current, distasteful atmosphere."

Dr. Zelenka jumped in as the Major's frown deepened. "If you tell me what to do, our people can take care of it. Now. Before room is drained."

Pausing in his examination of a large bulge protruding from one side of the purifier, the wraith considered Zelenka appraisingly. He nodded, "Very well…" Splashing softly, he stepped around the seaweed-dotted shell and approached the physicist carefully. Under Sheppard's and the escort's wary gaze, he averted his face non-threateningly and sank into a half-crouch, cautiously extending his ungloved hand to disrupt the ripples lapping at the machine's base. "There is an outflow port," his fingers vanished briefly beneath the glistening surface, less than an arm's length from Zelenka's knees, "Here. Flush the unit with distilled water until the discharge is steady and clear."

"We get the picture," Sergeant Bates warned, "Now back off slowly."

"Easy, Sergeant," Sheppard murmured. The wraith was too close, yes. But he WAS doing what Zelenka had asked…

Straightening gracefully, Steve glanced at Bates and obediently complied, retreating back to the bulge he'd been studying. He absently traced its shell as he continued, "There is an intake valve on the opposite side. It must be blocked or redirected, to prevent the unit from taking in further nutrients before it has repaired itself." Steve turned his head aside, deliberately sweeping his focus across the entire, cavernous room. "All the liquid in this space can be converted to usable nutrient solutions by this purifier. However, your people must desalinate it first."

Zelenka brightened, "That will not be a problem. Desalination is easy."

The olive eyes fixed on him intently. A soft, skeptical chuff, "Desalination without the loss of desirable compounds and trace elements?"

"That uh, will complicate things, yes. But not prohibitively—"

"Piece of cake." Dilated, oval-pupils snapped to Sheppard's face, and he shrugged. "Salt removal's our specialty." Atlantis was equipped with massive desalination plants, designed to provide fresh water for an entire city. He was sure Rodney could whip something up from that.

Steve blinked, "You are confident in this?"

Sheppard smiled innocently, "Completely."

…And if not? He'd sick Carson's 'Chemistry lads' on the problem…

Tilting his face reflectively, the wraith trailed his ungloved hand across the igloo-shaped casing by his waist and slipped around to the opposite side of the purifier. "In that case, treating the liquid from this area is your first priority."

As opposed to treating liquid from OTHER areas, (which were all connected to each other). Ummm… Can we say, diffusion? "And why would that be?"

"The liquid here will be easier to digest." Steve seemed unperturbed by the question. "There is a secondary outflow, allowing unpurified solutions to be re-filtered."

"Really?" Sheppard pursed his lips, hiding confusion. Admittedly, he wasn't a scientist, but he was pretty sure diffusion should've redistributed any predigested stuff.

"Yesss…" Catching Zelenka's eye, Steve tapped the edge of the tank. "Dr. Zelenka. The intake valve is below the waterline, beneath this point."

"Wait a moment. I will come see." Zelenka hastily waded to the purifier's front.

The wraith watched patiently as he skirted the tank.

Still feeling like he was missing something, Major Sheppard began wading around the bulge, circling the device in the other direction, hoping to see something enlightening. In the process, he tripped over the source of his confusion. A muted splash and surprised exclamation in Czech told him Zelenka had also found it.

"Careful, Radek. There's a wall."

A flustered incomprehensible mutter. "I know. I just discover it."

Sheppard studied the wall. It was a low, blackish blue shell formation, barely protruding from the water's surface, and it blended with the murky water quite effectively, which explained why he hadn't noticed it before. The thin structure, (maybe half a foot wide), extended from both the bulge's base and the purifier's front, where Zelenka had hit it, and the two branches connected to two sides of the room's infrastructure, enclosing a sizable portion of floor space. Its height prevented liquid exchange with the unenclosed area. And explained the wraith's reasoning.

(How he'd managed to traverse it without breaking stride or giving any physical indication whatsoever that it was there, remained beyond comprehesion, though.)

"Hey, Steve," Sheppard called, "What's this barrier for?"

No response. Steve was focused on Zelenka, who'd crossed the wall and was approaching timidly in his envy-spawning, peagreen boots. The wraith touched the purifier again. "Here. The secondary outflow is located directly above it."

Stepping into the enclosed area, Sheppard looked down, mildly surprised. The water felt cleaner. It looked clearer, too. AND was noticeably thinner. He didn't feel like he was wading through a mucky, miring sludge as much.

Still icy cold, though…

He turned a slow 360 , wondering if there were any other differences. "Hey, Steve. I asked you a question."

No response. The wraith was now leaning over the purifier's edge, pointing out valves from the inside while Zelenka peered interestedly at them.

Unimpressed by the mild display of defiance, Sheppard sidled over to the seemingly engrossed alien and joined in the peering. Outwardly serious, he loaded his voice with flippancy, "Something change in there during the last thirty seconds?"

Frowning, Zelenka glanced up, "I do not believe so. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Sheppard quipped, "You two just seem… awfully fascinated all of a sudden." Steve's olive eyes snapped to Sheppard's, and he added, quickly and meaningfully, "To the exclusion of the rest of us…"

A brief staring match ensued, during which the Major suddenly appreciated how close those olive eyes actually were. And how tall their owner was…

Outside the enclosure, (decidedly dissatisfied with the lax attitude both the scientist and his superior had begun displaying with the prisoner), Sergeant Bates made a fast series of hand gestures. The six-marine escort spread out and splashed over the wall, establishing a perimeter around the occupied side of the filtration unit.

Belatedly recognizing the wraith's inadvisable proximity, Dr. Zelenka retreated a few steps as Private Laris moved to cover him.

Body motionless, Steve's gaze snapped to the departing scientist with an unreadable snort, then darted across the marines, noting their protective deployment expressionlessly. He watched for a long moment… Once the movement and splashing had ceased, his eyes narrowed and slid back to Sheppard. His lips twitched with an imperceptible chuff, and he inclined his face slightly.

"It is the remains of a tank," Steve replied.

A tank? Really? Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "That's a pretty big tank."

"Yesss…" the wraith gestured up at the walls, at the room's decaying infrastructure, "Its rim would've reached that point."

Now that Sheppard knew to look for it, he could pick out a vaguely defined formation in the kelp-dripping chaos… It was more than two stories high.

"What sort of tank?" he inquired.

"A holding tank. For converting raw materials into usable nutrient sources."

Sheppard paused, thinking. Usable nutrient sources meant food for living computers, which in turn meant the raw materials needed to consist of those nutrients. And where did one find nutrients? …Nahhh. It HAD to be more complicated than that… He glanced at the captive, "Are you telling me this was a giant composter?"

A short, confirming nod, "That is correct, Major."

Okay, maybe it wasn't more complicated. "Let me get this straight. Your computers are powered by waste materials."

"Organic waste materials," Steve corrected, "Yes. Though under those circumstances, they can hardly be classified as waste."

Touché. Sheppard glanced about, not entirely feigning being impressed, "You guys—Wraith, I mean—are very practical, aren't you?"

A derisive snort, "I am not interested in discussing my species's technological philosophies with you, Major Sheppard. The atmosphere is hardly conducive."

"But you WOULD be willing to discuss them somewhere else?"

Steve bared his teeth in a falsely amiable smile, "Unlikely…"

Worth a try, anyway… Sheppard shrugged unconcernedly, "Well, in that case, let's play some more 'Point and Tell.' Haven't done that in a while."

"Very well." The wraith blinked his narrowed eyes expectantly.

Turning on his heel, Major Sheppard pointed at the igloo-shaped bulge protruding from the back of the purifier's base. "What's that growth?"

Steve didn't even look. "A heavily shielded hard-drive case."

A few yards away, Dr. Zelenka startled. "This filtration device contains a working computer?"

"Yes." Steve's oval pupils slid past his escort's perimeter, to the distant, skeletal dart. "This is the unit that was transported by that ship's dematerializer. The one capable of producing this entire laboratory. It contains the processing power and memory required to store all the schematics, DNA maps, and regulation programs needed to facilitate the growth of each piece of equipment here."

"So it's a databank?" Sheppard clarified.

White hair rippled with a sharp nod. "Its abilities will be adequate for such purposes, yes."

Excited, Zelenka interjected, "But they might be more than that?"

The wraith chuffed noncommittally, and the Major gave the bright-eyed physicist a curious frown. "Meaning…?"

Zelenka addressed Steve, "If this unit's function is databank, might it not also serve as the laboratory's, uh… backup?"

Back up? As in the redundant copying and saving of every experiment that'd ever been done here? Hiding his surprise, Sheppard eyed the prisoner carefully.

Steve tilted his head with a guarded hiss, "Perhaps…"

"Care to elaborate on that?"

The olive eyes darted to the purifier's degraded control panel. "The hard-drive has become isolated to protect it from corrosion. I cannot determine the extent of the unit's capabilities until it has finished regenerating its external interfaces."

Dr. Zelenka moved to the controls, "It will do that on its own?"

"If properly tended, yesss…"

"Meaning we're back to flushing it with distilled water," Sheppard guessed.

Another rippling nod, "That will be the most efficient way to speed its recovery…"

Major Sheppard crossed his arms and regarded the deceptively nondescript organic formations thoughtfully. "Anything else we should know about this? You know, other hidden properties? Organic details I might not think to ask about?"

A barking laugh echoed in the rotting laboratory like a rifle shot as Steve jerked his head up. His marine escort tensed uneasily, and the sound morphed into a musical chuckle. The pale face swung towards Sheppard disbelievingly. "You would trust a prisoner enough to expect an honest answer to such a non-specific, unverifiable inquiry?"

Sheppard pretended to consider the question seriously. Then…

"In the interest of being truthful with each other… Not particularly, no."

More disbelieving chuckling. "Yet you ask anyway!?"

Unsettled, the Major met Steve's blatantly incredulous stare warily. "Yes, I did. I do. And if you don't answer, I'll ask you again. Is that a problem?"

Steve drew his lips back and shook his head, releasing an open-mouthed hiss, "No, Major Sheppard, it is not. From MY perspective." He chuckled again.

Sheppard hid a frown. There was something off about the wraith's tone. It seemed edgy… Almost frantic. If he were human, Sheppard would've classified it as slightly unhinged. Or perhaps desperately frustrated…

But the wraith wasn't human. And Major Sheppard didn't intend to make the mistake of treating him like he was. Not with him out of the cell, at any rate.

He eyed the wraith coldly. "Care to share what's so funny? Steve?"

"You are, Major." Like a switch being flicked, the strange mirth vanished as abruptly as it'd appeared. Steve's eyes burned into Sheppard's. "I do not believe you comprehend how badly I wish to leave this place." His words bit out venomously, "Should I choose deception as a means of facilitating our departure, you would have no way of knowing. Yet you persist in dragging this experience out."

The beads ringing the wraith's wrist glimmered, and the Major's expression hardened. "Are you threatening to start lying?"

"Perhaps I already have, Major."

Sheppard glared, "What's THAT supposed to mean?"

Facing him fully, Steve leaned towards him, cheeks twitching with a condescending chuff, "I could've lied about every device in this room."

Crap! He'd misjudged the power of the stench. Thrusting aside his misgivings, Sheppard schooled his voice to a dangerous calm. "And did you? Lie?"

Steve straightened with an explosive snort, "No!" His scathing, chordal tone dripped absurdity, "And therein lies the irony of the situation!"

"Good! 'Cause I was under the impression," Sheppard snapped, "that YOU wanted to know what these things were just as much as WE do."

Eyes squeezing shut, the wraith took a deep, open-mouthed breath. "Not everything needs to be revealed at once, Major Sheppard. Not every avenue needs to be considered NOW, at this instant—"

"AH! WHAT THE??!!!"

Stunners clattered, and Sheppard spun towards the shout. At the security perimeter's edge, Private Sheere was backing hastily away from the group, alertly panning his weapon across the glistening surface of the water.

"What's the matter, Sheere?"

"Something just swam past my leg!"

The nearest marines whipped their attention to the murky fluid.

Recovering, Sergeant Bates strode quickly to the Private. "What sort of something?" he demanded.

"I don't know!" Startling at each ripple, Sheere scanned the fetid liquid feverishly, "A big something!"

Bates glowered at the restrained panic tinging his voice, "Get a grip, soldier!"

"Yeah," Sheppard quipped, "No need to get excited."

"Yes, Sir! Sorry, Sir!" Not lowering his guard, Sheere's movements became more methodical, losing their frenetic, random quality.

"It can't be too big," the Major added, positively, "The door was only open a crack." All the dead fish he'd seen floating in here were either long and skinny or flounder flat. "It was probably an eel or something."

Watching the futile seach anxiously, Dr. Zelenka worriedly muttered, "Unless it came in small, then grew big."

"Not helping, Radek."

"Sorry," Zelenka paused… "Might it have been a crab?"

"It was definitely swimming," Private Sheere said.

"Maybe a swimming crab?" the Czech started to say more, but stopped. He glanced at Sheppard. "Um… This might not be a timely question, but… Why is, whatever it is, still alive…?"

Bates turned to Zelenka warily, "What's your point, Doctor?"

"Well, uh… Everything else that was trapped here is dead—"

"Not entirely true," Sheppard interrupted, "I thought I felt some things crawl across my boots earlier."

"Crustaceans, yes. But no fish. Nothing swimming."

Sheppard glanced at Steve. The wraith had regained his composure and was watching Private Sheere's predicament curiously. "Its probably the tank's fault."

"What?" Zelenka looked at the low wall, confused.

"You heard Steve," Sheppard shrugged, "The water's cleaner here. Things probably survive longer."

"I suppose that's reasonable…"

Beside Sheere, Sergeant Bates broke off his scanning to regard his superior meaningfully, "I think it would be wise to get out of this tank, Sir."

The Major nodded, "Just what I was thinking… Okay, let's—"

"That will not be necessary." Nine pairs of eyes snapped to the prisoner suspiciously. Steve was craning his neck, watching the water beyond the legs of his escort intently. His focus darted across the stagnant, muck-marred surface purposefully. "The entity he has encountered is relatively harmless."

"Relatively," Sheppard echoed. Somehow that didn't inspire confidence…

"You know what this thing is?" Sergeant Bates challenged.

No response. Steve continued staring at the surrounding water with rapt attentiveness. A low splash sounded. His face whipped towards the noise, zeroing in on it instantly. Following their charge's gaze, the marines shifted uneasily.

A rippling disturbance with no visible source appeared.

Sheppard frowned as it quickly vanished, sending wavelets lapping at the wall. "Okay… I think we're done. Everyone outta the jaccuzi—"

Letting out a squeak, Private Laris jumped aside, "It's over here!"

A marine across the semi-circle from her gasped and leapt back, "Here!"

"No! Over here!"

A flurry of chaos engulfed the escort. Splashing echoed in the lab as the submerged creature knocked shins and nudged knees, slipping among the startled marines like a ghost. Stunners flailed. Curses flew. Feet kicked. The water, (already opaque), churned violently, making it impossible to tell where it would strike next.

Flopping spray peppered the Major's thigh and the water around his right leg displaced with the thing's passage. Something heavy struck his calf, sending him staggering. It felt like a sideways tail swipe. "Damn! It's strong!"

Beside him, Steve hissed in frustration, "Tell your subordinates to hold still, Major. They are confusing it!"

Best plan he'd heard all day. "Everybody freeze! That's an order!"

The marines all froze. Zelenka clung to the purifier, muttering nervously in Czech. Within the security perimeter, a small, (yet powerful), wake surfaced and vanished as the water calmed. It surfaced again, stroking in a circle. Then dove.

With a soft sploosh, the disturbance reappeared, closer to the purification unit.

Tense silence settled over the group as it vanished once more. Unperturbed, the wraith stared at the area around the fading glimmers of motion, eyes narrowing intently.

Another sploosh… A silky rushing sound, like someone slowly pouring a cup of water into a tub. The accompanying displacement was even closer to the unit.

And closer, Sheppard also noted, to the wraith…

"Steve," he said warningly, "Are you talking to it?" Beckett's preliminary had suggested a large visual component to the alien's telepathy, and he was doing a lot of staring. (Not that this was unusual.) "'Cause if you are, I'd like to know wha—"

SPLOOSH! Something flopped, smacking wetly against the wraith's coat.

Quick as lightning, Steve dropped to a crouch and plunged his hand into the water, sweeping it sideways with an eager hiss. He straightened just as quickly, deftly jerking his arm up. Sheppard's eyes popped as a large, orangey-brown shape burst from the liquid, following the wraith's bracer in a large, wetly glittering arc.

The dramatic sight reminded him vaguely of a dolphin show. Except the 'dolphin' didn't return to the water afterwards. The wraith had hooked two of his fingers in its gills. It flopped, then hung there, dangling precariously, showering raindrops.

"What the Hell is that?!" Private Sheere snapped.

Wiping the startled surprise off his face, Major Sheppard watched with interest as Steve, (predictably ignoring Sheere), raised his arm higher and began turning his catch about, examining the thing with a smugly clinical smirk. It looked, for all the world, like a two foot long, armored catfish. Complete with long, trailing whiskers. Its shell was segemented for agility, smeared with faint, fuzzily brown spots, and its body, which smoothed into a sleek, tapered tail, was easily as thick as the Major's thigh. As it rotated, he saw its blunt-lipped mouth was wide and thin like a catfish's, too.

"What is it?" Dr. Zelenka edged closer cautiously, sounding awed.

Steve twisted his wrist to examine the armored catfish's back, and Sheppard got a perfect view of its underbelly. Which was a pale, unarmored yellowy-orange.

The fish-thing thrashed once, almost lazily.

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, "You heard Zelenka. What is it?"

Apparently satisfied, Steve lowered his catch slightly and turned it back so its belly was facing him. He hissed softly as it thrashed again. "It is," he made an odd noise, somewhere between a growl and a barking cough. Then he continued, "An artificial organism designed to hasten the breakdown of organic material." Catching Sheppard's eye, Steve glanced over one of his coat's glittering epaulets, meaningfully shifting his focus to the purification device. "No doubt, the unit has been birthing them in an attempt to improve the quality of its nutrient supply."

"Birthing them?" Sheppard pointed at the purifier disbelievingly, "You're telling me that thing's growing space fish?"

The artificial organism whipped its tail about vigorously a few times, and the olive eyes blinked patiently at him. "Yes, Major. I would imagine it is producing another as we speak."

"You mean there're more of those things?" interrupted Bates.

Steve fixed the Security Chief with an unreadable stare, which the Sergeant returned coldly. Finally he snorted. "Unlikely."

"But if it's been making them ever since the lab flooded?"

The wraith shifted his stance, punctuating the move with a quick, negative headshake. "They are not designed to live in saltwater." He stretched his arm out, holding the armored catfish away from him as it thrashed energetically. "This one is relatively young. It has not yet succumbed to sodium poisoning."

Droplets sprayed as the whip-like body gyrated once. Sheppard watched it sympathetically, "So we're gonna find lots of dead ones."

"Also unlikely," Steve chuffed absently, with disinterest, "They're bred to eat their dead. Among other things."

"How do they breakdown organic material?" Zelenka inquired, intrigued.

The wraith's reply was swift and succinct, "They eat and excrete it."

Murmurs of disgust came from the watching security escort as the thing began writhing and thrashing vigorously. Apparently unconcerned by the behavior, Steve twisted and turned his fingers, preventing it from freeing itself.

Unphased, Sheppard nodded, "Kinda like an earthworm."

"Exactly, Major."

A strange bubbling noise issued from the armored fish's gills.

"Um… Is it okay for you to be holding it out of the water like that?" Dr. Zelenka was watching the flailing creature worriedly. It was thrashing constantly now, flapping its wide fins while frantically whipping its tail about, contorting its lithe body in an increasingly panicked and desperate fashion. "It looks like it is suffocating."

Steve narrowed his eyes dismissively, "I am not harming it."

"But it has gills," Zelenka pressed, "It can't breath—"

As if on cue, the thing spasmed violently. A torrent of fetid water, heralded by a retching, burbling noise, burst from its gill flaps, showering Steve's arm and coat. Weaker spurts, accompanied by equally disturbing burbles, followed. Then it shuddered one last time and went limp. Obviously expecting this, Steve lowered his arm and nonchalantly draped the thing over his gloved forearm as a wet wheeze issued from its fluttering gills. "It is equipped with lungs for ease of hibernation storage."

Fascinated, Sheppard eyed the blunt, wedge-nosed face docily hanging over Steve's bracer with morbid intensity. It was pointing right at him, mouth gaping spasmodically with every gasping breath it took. Just like a fish out of water. (Which, technically, it was.) "Weird…" he muttered. Ford was gonna LOVE it…

"Not weird, Major. Practical."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, "I thought you didn't wanna discuss that?"

Resting his ungloved hand idly on the smooth-shelled back, the wraith glanced at the Major smugly, then abruptly turned and waded towards the edge of the security perimeter, clearly signaling his loss of interest in the subject.

Behind him, Sheppard looked at the purifier, then shrugged. "Guess we're done here." After the last outburst, he wasn't inclined to press his luck much. (Though there WAS one last thing he wanted to check.) He gave the signal, and at a nod from Sergeant Bates, Dr. Zelenka and the security escort began moving out of the defunct tank. Steve followed, wading smoothly through the murky liquid, and Sheppard took up the rear, taking care to avoid the trailing coat as he watched the still-gasping fish thing.

"…" A high-pitched, wheezing moan issued from the armored catfish as they reached the low wall. For the first time since it'd started breathing air, it twitched slightly.

Frozen in the act of stepping over the obstacle, Steve retreated a pace and looked back. He tilted his head, regarding the nearly empty corner curiously.

Also pausing, Sheppard copied the act, "Whatcha doing Steve?"

"A moment, Major." The wraith stared at the water for a long second, scanning the isolated pool methodically… Suddenly his eyes widened in surprise. His multi-tonal reply carried a note of disbelief, "There is another…"

Sheppard glanced at Bates, "I thought ya said there wouldn't be anymore?"

"No, I claimed it was unlikely." Backtracking without permission, Steve moved further into the tank. He stood very still, waiting… After what seemed like an eternity to Sheppard's freezing toes, a faint splash disturbed the surface. Hissing softly, the wraith waded towards it. After another eternity, the new fish thing splooshed and floundered across the black leather floating around the alien's knees. Steve scooped it up, hoisting it by the gills as quickly and skillfully as the first. It hung from his fingers limply, and he held it at arm's length, examining it as he slowly walked back to the group.

"That one does not look healthy," Zelenka murmured, watching.

Sheppard privately agreed. The new arrival's fleshy parts were thin and emaciated, and it had bruise-like black spots on its shell that flexed as its body swung. It struggled weakly, lashing its tail with pathetic, ineffective twitches, and took a much longer time expelling the water from its lungs. When it finally succeeded, it moaned piteously. Frowning, Steve studied it with concern as it shuddered from tip to tail. Then he draped it carefully over his arm, gently laying it alongside the first.

It wheezed a few times, and began moaning with every gasp.

The other one promptly began moaning in response.

Sheppard inwardly winced. The eerie chorus was making the hair on his neck stand on end, and neither fish thing showed any signs of stopping soon. "That sounds gonna get annoying quick," he muttered.

Sergeant Bates eyed the thin one disapprovingly, "What's wrong with it?"

"Sodium poisoning," Dr. Zelenka guessed.

Splaying his ungloved fingers across the sick creature's back, Steve nodded absently in confirmation, "It is weak. Like the purifier, it possesses regenerative capabilities, but it must be desalinated to use them." He hissed softly, dipping his cheeks towards his wailing burden. First one, then the other, quieted at the attention. Satisfied, he lifted his face pensively, "I am not certain it will survive the process…"

"Since when are we desalinating them?" Sergeant Bates challenged.

The wraith's eyes flicked to Bates unreadably before settling on Zelenka. "To do so would be wise if you intend to supply this equipment," his oval-pupils darted to Sheppard, "Or the other hard-drive… With a steady supply of nutrients."

Sensing from the Security Chief's growing glower that he'd get an unpleasant earful later if he let the conversation continue in this presumptive fashion, the Major decided to intervene. "Desalination's all well and good, but this seems like one of those subjects that can be addressed in a more comfortable location. Preferably a drier one."

Steve narrowed his eyes and stepped over the low wall, looking towards the room's exit with eager relief. "I have no objection to postponement."

Neither did anyone else. As soon as it became apparent the decision was unanimous, the wraith began crowding the edge of his escort's perimeter, urging the marines impatiently towards the yawning shadows of the archway.

Amused, Sheppard let the captive's assumption that they were finally done stand for a few mischievous moments. Then…

"Not so fast! We've still got one stop left."

Jerking to splashing, hair-fanning halt, the black-clad, fish-burdened wraith spun to face his captor, who'd extracted himself from the escort and was striding jauntily through the stagnant water, receding into the blackness that engulfed the far side of the room. WHICH contained the one thing the wraith hadn't personally examined yet…

An annoyed chuff echoed through the decay-filled lab, and at the irritated sound, the distant figure of Atlantis's military commander stopped and turned.

Grinning roguishly, Major Sheppard whipped his arm up and pointed at the looming mass of the skeletal dart.

Not moving, Steve blinked at his captor disbelievingly.

"You cannot be serious!" he barked.

Meanwhile…

"This is SO not fair!"

Up in Atlantis's infirmary, Dr. McKay waved his datapad frustratedly and continued pacing agitatedly in front of Dr. Beckett's workbench.

"What've I DONE to deserve this?!"

Ever since Sheppard turned his radio off, the snubbed scientist had been insufferable, schizophrenically alternating between showering the absent Major with petty vindictives and excitedly speculating on the ramifications of the 'Octopus Room's' contents. Now he was taking a break from both to rage at the injustice of it all.

The datapad waved again. "It ALWAYS happens to me!"

Sitting beside Dr. Beckett, who was ignoring McKay as best he could while busily preparing slides of the hard-drive's rejected neural filament fragments, Dr. Weir regarded the aggravated display of petulance with dry amusment.

Suddenly McKay rounded on her. "Every single time I turn my back," he accused, "something interesting happens!"

Elizabeth frowned, "I'm sure it's not that bad, Ro—"

"Yes, it IS! It IS that bad!" Conveniently forgetting everything that regularly happened when he WAS directly involved, McKay stopped pacing and huffed, "Case in point," he brandished the datapad, gesturing in resigned exasperation, "I leave Zelenka alone with the wraith for FIVE MINUTES and he finds a DART! A DART!!"

"It was a little more than five minutes, Rodne—"

Dr. McKay cut Weir off with a self-deprecating laugh, "That's an entire, alien SPACESHIP!?! Where's the justice in that?!"

The expedition leader directed a rueful look at Teyla, who'd temporarily postponed her departure for the mainland in light of the interesting developments that'd occurred. The Athosian replied with a sympathetic half-smile and a barely perceptible lift of her shoulders that said she understood Elizabeth's patient humoring.

Caught up in his rant, McKay didn't notice the exchange. "It doesn't make sense!" he squeaked, "My karma can't possibly be this bad!"

"Perhaps, Dr. McKay," Teyla offered, remembering her experiences on bead-hunting duty, "you should consider what you are avoiding more than what you—"

"What I'm AVOIDING is the discovery of the century!"

Patience wearing thin, Dr. Weir frowned warningly, "Atlantis was the discovery of the century, Rodney. Unless I'm mistaken, you were very present for that."

Missing the hint, McKay rolled his eyes. "Oh, please! You know what I meant!"

"Yes, I do." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, "And I'm with Teyla on this. I think it would be wise if you made an effort to see the donut instead of its hole."

The word 'donut' stopped Dr. McKay in his tracks. "Donuts?" Comedic hopefulness transformed his countenance as he focused on Elizabeth animatedly, "What was that about donuts? 'Cause I haven't seen a real donut in this place for months. We ran out in the first week. If there're any left—Frozen, stale, I don't care what condition—I want them—Providing they're not lemon filled, of course."

Startled by the unexpected segue, Dr. Weir failed to suppress a laugh.

McKay's face fell in horror. "Oh my God. They're lemon-filled, aren't they?"

She stifled another laugh, "You're missing my point—"

"This is just my luck! There's an honest to God DONUT left in the Pegasus Galaxy, but I can't eat it 'cause it'll kill me! That's a perfect example—"

"There aren't any donuts, Rodney—"

"—of what I've been talking abou—" Freezing mid-rant, McKay stared at Weir with an accusingly dropped jaw, "What do you mean, there's no donut!?!"

Grinning apologetically, she shook her head, "I never said there wa—"

"No, no! I distinctly caught something about donuts and donut holes!"

A radio crackled. "Dr. Weir, this is Major Sheppard."

Elizabeth tapped her earpiece, grateful for the interruption in the conversation's growing absurdity. "Major Sheppard. I trust you have a status report for me?"

"Yes, I do." Muted splashing came over the connection. "Is McKay still there?"

She glanced at McKay, who looked distinctly put out. "He is."

"Good. 'Cause he's gonna wanna hear this."

Not waiting for Dr. Weir's signal, McKay was already fumbling with his earpiece, eager to join the connection. "What the Hell'd you hang up on me for?!"

"You're not allowed to interrupt this time," Sheppard warned.

Teyla and Weir exchanged an amused glance at McKay's irritated huff.

"Fine!" The physicist's voice went all businesslike, "What've you got?"

Major Sheppard replied cheerfully, "Space guppies!"

"Space guppies?" McKay blinked in confusion, "What are space guppies?"

"Please elaborate, Major," Elizabeth said, raising an eyebrow.

Down in the flooded hangar, Sheppard turned away from Steve, (who was approaching the dart angrily), and grinned, "Don't mind if I do. Long story short, we took Steve around the room, and he identified all the wraith tech. for us. Zelenka will share the exact details with McKay later, but my understanding is that this place was some sort of self-contained production and research laboratory."

"Do we know what kind of research and production?" Dr. Weir inquired.

Dr. McKay sighed long-sufferingly, "Glove related, obviously…"

Sheppard ignored the mutter, "According to Steve, the equipment's pretty heavy on the micro-circuitry side of things."

"Definitely glove related."

Weir frowned, "Hush, Rodney…"

"Anyway," Sheppard continued, "turns out one of the machines, a pretty important one at that, is still alive. AND its been producing artificial lifeforms to clean its nutrient supply. They look like fish, sorta the aquatic equivalent of earthworms."

"Hence the term 'space guppy,'" Elizabeth guessed.

"Yeah. Steve managed to salvage a pair." The Major paused, frowning, and shot an uncertain glance at the dart, "We're gonna… I don't know…" he shrugged, "Do SOMEthing with them after this. Steve hasn't said what yet."

"I see…" Elizabeth murmured. When Sheppard didn't volunteer more information immediately, she pressed, "Have you anything else to report?"

"Nothing pressing. We're gonna check out the dart and storm the showers before the debriefing—" Sheppard cut off at a sudden thought, "Oh! Ya might wanna get Beckett involved here. There's lots of incubating and tissue stuff going on. AND according to Steve, the water—I use that term loosely, by the way—is full of the nutrients he needs to keep the other hard-drive going—"

"Whoa, whoa!" cut in McKay, "What do you mean, 'other' hard-drive?"

"Did I say 'other' hard-drive?"

Rodney gave a short, sarcastic laugh, "Yes, you did."

"Oh." Sheppard feigned surprise, "Well, I probably said that 'cause there's another one down here. In the machine that's still running."

"You're kidding me."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, "Are you serious, Major?"

"Yeah, I'm serious. We can't access it 'cause it's isolated to protect it from decay, but Steve says there's a slim—and I mean SLIM—chance that it might contain back-up files from the lab—"

"THAT'S IT!" McKay's outburst made Dr. Beckett, Teyla, and Elizabeth jump, and in the flooded hangar, Sheppard winced. "I'M going DOWN there!!" Blue eyes sparkling with excitement, McKay rounded on Dr. Weir with a righteously brandished finger. "YOU can't stop me this time. There's a LIVE, Wraith, database. AND working, organic machinery. Those take precedence over every trivial project I'm working on up here. SO! You're reassigning me! Right now! This instant!"

Dr. Weir stared at him silently.

"Or else!"

The expedition leader's eyebrows lifted, "Or else what, Rodney?"

"Yeah, Rodney," Sheppard's disembodied voice quipped, "Or else what?"

McKay faltered, suddenly realizing how childish he sounded. His free hand dropped to his datapad and began fidgeting anxiously. He glanced awkwardly away, then, unwilling to concede total defeat, mustered his resolve enough to finish lamely, "I'm gonna start… seriously… questioning your judgement."

"Seriously…?" Dr. Weir echoed.

McKay sniffed, stubborn, yet impotently insincere, "Yes. Seriously."

"I see…" She regarded him impassively, waiting until the out-of-line scientist began to squirm under the implied disapproval of her inscrutable stare…

Rodney cracked in less than five seconds. "Okay, perhaps I should rephrase that. I would highly RECOMMEND reassign—"

Dr. Weir nodded decisively, "Go ahead, Rodney."

"—ment of myself and additional personnel to the draining of this la—What?" The frantic babble ground to a halt as abruptly as it'd started. "I can go?"

"Yes."

McKay's eyes darted to the exit disbelievingly, "Just like that?"

She nodded again, amused, "Uh-huh."

"You're sure?" he verified, "'Cause I don't want to force—"

"Completely." A wry, (and possibly slightly indulgent), smile touched Elizabeth's lips, "I'm fully capable of reevaluating past decisions in light of new information. And, in this situation, I agree with you. You should take a look."

"Oh." McKay blinked, stunned by his easy victory, "That's all right, then." His thumb jerked hesitantly towards the infirmary's door. "I'll, uh… just be going now."

"Good luck, Rodney."

Stumbling over chairs in his haste, McKay scrambled to his commandeered workstation, exchanged his datapad for an identical-looking one, grabbed the 'wraith-talker' life-signs detector, and bolted for the exit. Dr. Weir and Teyla watched his clumsy departure with amusement, and as the doors closed, Carson sighed in relief.

"Thank God. Ah thought he'd never go."

Elizabeth tapped her earpiece, "Did you hear that, Major?"

"Every word," Sheppard confirmed, "I'll leave Zelenka down here for him."

"You're not staying?"

"Nope. My toes are freezing, and Steve's already thrown several fits over the smell. We're almost done here."

"Very well." Dr. Weir brushed some hair back, "Finish your exploring and warm your feet up, Major. That's an order. I'll see you at the debriefing."

"Yes, Ma'am. Sheppard out."

The radio crackled into silence.

As a welcome stillness finally settled over the infirmary, Dr. Beckett finished dropping the coverslip onto the slide he'd been preparing and spoke, "Forgive me for sayin' so, but there's a reason the infirmary's normally kept separate from other departments. We value our peace an' quiet greatly. An' ah don' think Rodney understands tha'. Ah'm seriously thinkin' o' relocatin' 'im…"

Meanwhile…

"So, will it fly?"

Olive eyes, glittering with distant lamplight, stared at the Major frostily.

"Didn't think so. What about the future? Can ya fix it?"

More frosty glittering.

"That bad, huh?" Sheppard made an exaggerated show of breaking eye contact and critically surveying the dart. "I suppose it DOES need a little body work…"

No response. Steve was a fish-laden statue, a shadowy freeze-frame boring silent, thought-chilling holes in his captor's turned head.

Deliberately not looking, Major Sheppard resisted the urge to sigh. There was no better word for it. The wraith was throwing a hissy fit. …Make no mistake, he wasn't shouting, or snarling, or spewing insults. And there was no actual hissing involved, (surprisingly). But every detail of the wraith's being, from the rigid set of his thin shoulders and the ramrod spear of his spine, to his unblinking glare and the tense curl of his fingers as they lay, unmoving, on the space guppies' shells, screamed temper tantrum.

He looked almost as pissed as when they'd brought the masked wraith in… Only this time the anger was DEFINITELY directed at Sheppard.

"Ya know, Steve. I betcha we coulda been done by now."

A rasping hiss scoured the skeletal dart as Steve drew his lips back further and expelled a harsh chuff, pointedly emphasizing his open-mouthed breath. "It is DEAD."

"Aw, c'mon. You haven't sniffed it yet."

"I have not 'sniffed' anything in here!"

Ignoring the correction, Sheppard hardened his tone and turned to the irate alien seriously. "Look, Steve. Humor me on this. Then we can get outta here."

The wraith's eyes widened challengingly.

Growing impatient, Sheppard met the arrogant glare with equally defiant stubbornness and stated, "You WANT to get outta here."

Silence… Tension crackled in the air…

Then Steve abruptly whirled away with a growling snarl and began striding swiftly along the sides of the ship. Arms full of armored space guppies, he dipped his face to the gooey carcass and began rhythmically jerking his head back, chuffing disgustedly each time his hair accidentally touched the rotting chitin.

Recalling the fastidiousness with which the wraith had kept the ivory strands clean until now, Major Sheppard almost felt sorry for him. But only almost. The growing attitude problem was severely dampening his empathy at the moment.

Reinforcing that dampening, Steve stalked around the dart's fleshless, kelp-draped nose with a series of unnecessarily violent splashes, obviously designed to annoy the marines tailing him. The soldiers endured the spatterings of smelly drops stoically, steadfastly refusing to rise to the bait, and Sheppard frowned at the passive-aggressive display. It was a bit… well… childish, as Elizabeth would say. Irrational, even. Not what he'd come to expect from the wraith at all…

Of course, he hadn't deliberately tried Steve's patience like this before, either. Not under circumstances that were physically uncomfortable, anyway…

Sheppard rubbed his chin, contemplating that idea. It was entirely possible that, (with a few notable exceptions, like the 'look at me!' incident), the wraith hadn't actually been truly pissed at his captors before. Annoyed, yes. Exasperated, yes. But angry enough to lose his temper and affect his judgement for a period…?

Something told him the answer was a resounding 'No!'

Which in turn begged the question: What, (aside from the smell), made this experience so different from the others?

Frown deepening, Sheppard made a mental note to bring the matter up with Teyla and Elizabeth later. They were always good for a useful insight or two, and—

SPLASH!!!

Jerked out of his reverie, the Major spun towards the dart's cockpit. Inky, shadow-dilated pupils glittered from the decay. Steve had stopped, frozen, on the other side of the ship. The petulant fury emanating from the wraith's rigid body as he skewered Sheppard with a renewal of his frosty glare was almost palpable.

Sensing that ignoring the angry overture would result in more than a splash, Sheppard held the eye contact and took a step closer.

Silence… The livid glare continued.

Okay… Apparently the wraith wanted more. Suppressing a flash of wary amusement, Sheppard raised a mocking eyebrow in acknowledgement.

Again. Silence…

Then an abrupt blink.

"What do you hope to gain from this?" Steve spat.

Sheppard gave a nonchalant shrug as the wraith angrily tilted his head. "Well," he quipped, moving another step closer, "I was kinda hoping to gain myself a dart. Having one to practice on would be handy, if I ever wanna try flying 'em."

Steve's expression blanked. The suddenly deadpan stare was made all the more eloquent by the fact that it was reaching the Major through a gaping hole in the ship.

"Look, I know it's a long shot. I'm not stupid," a sharp chuff punctuated Sheppard's comment, "And I'm not expecting you to work miracles."

"What ARE you expecting? What can you possibly see that in any way REMOTELY suggests any part of this vessel might be salvageable?"

Epiphany niggled as the pale face tilted the other way. On impulse, Major Sheppard explained instead of forcing the wraith back on task. "It's like you said," leaning forward, he jerked his thumb towards the incubators, "Over there. About the marrow being viable." The olive eyes flicked in the direction he'd indicated. When they returned, he continued. "I was thinking, if we could find a pocket of viable marrow in this ship, we might be able to regrow it from scratch. Seeing how you suggested the incubators could be regrown after the purifier regenerates…"

Studying his captor's carefully open pose, Steve sank his glittering shoulders towards the hole, "Have you any idea how LONG such a project would take?"

Sheppard shrugged again, "I'm a fan of long term projects."

Teeth baring briefly, Steve drew back and closed his eyes, inhaling a long, open-mouthed breath. Tension bled from his frame as he slowly released it. "I understand."

"You do?" The epiphany niggling at the Major's thoughts surfaced fully, banishing the confusion created by the wraith's statement. Steve had thought their investigation of the dart was an inconsiderate whim. He hadn't expected Sheppard to have a reasonable motivation. Which meant, (in a way), the wraith had just given his captor the benefit of the doubt by asking the Major to explain himself.

Either that or he'd been trying to expose a malicious ploy…

Deciding he preferred the benefit of the doubt theory, Sheppard mentally congratulated himself for solving the mystery of Steve's fury without help. "Well, that's good," he quipped, "I'm glad you've achieved enlightenment."

Anger vanishing mercurially, Steve fixed the Major with a purposefully conciliatory, narrow-eyed stare. "If I can prove to you quickly that the viable cells you hope to find do not exist, will you consent to leave immediately?"

Another bargain, huh? The terms were certainly appealing… Holding Steve's gaze, Sheppard nodded seriously. "If your proof is satisfactory, I don't see why not."

"Done!" With an ivory flash and black swirl, Steve disappeared from view.

The marines following him dashed past the hole, and Sheppard spun to face the dart's rear. Barely a second later, the wraith emerged from behind the ship's engine casing and slid to a wave-making halt. Catching Sheppard's eye, his olive irises shot meaningfully to the stubby, wing-shaped stabilization strut by his knees.

"This structure is part of the vessel's main support network. It stretches throughout the ship's framework, and is heavily reinforced to withstand atmospheric maneuvering. If any cells have survived, they would be in this system." Steve's focus snapped back to Sheppard. "Do you accept this information?"

Amused by the rapid, matter-of-fact tone, Sheppard nodded, "Sounds reasonable."

"Good." With that, Steve lifted his ungloved hand from the space guppies' armored backs and whipped it down at the skeletal strut.

The deceptive ease of the movement belied the destruction it caused. The bruise-colored chitin, weakened by a century of decay, shattered like a broken eggshell, and almost immediately a thick, viscous liquid began pouring from the wound. Unlike an eggwhite, however, this liquid wasn't a healthy clear. It was tar black, and poured erratically, splattering lumpily out of the jagged opening like curdled milk.

Steve's fingers, which had barely slowed from the impact, swerved aside, deftly avoiding nauseating flood, and returned quickly to the space guppies. Stepping smoothly aside, Steve turned to face his captor. A disdainful grimace twisted his lips as a fresh wave of stomach-churning stench choked the air.

"Are you satisfied, Major?"

Wiping the shocked surprise off his face, Sheppard tore his gaze from the foul waterfall and looked at the expectant wraith with decisively understated ambiguity.

"Damn," he stated simply.

That was one of the most disgusting things he'd ever seen—OR smelled. And given the fetidness of their surroundings, that was saying something. Holding a hand up to his nose, Major Sheppard spun on his heel and headed for the exit.

"So much for THAT idea…"

Meanwhile…

"Our unwillin' guest was tellin' the truth. It's definitely neural tissue."

Pulling back from the microscope, Dr. Beckett moved to one side so his companions could view the close-up of the hard-drive's expelled neural filament fibers. Dr. Weir stepped in for a quick peek. Eyeing the stringy, fragmenting cells, she decided to take the medical expert at his word and made room for Teyla to take a turn.

"So it's neural," Dr. Weir echoed. She crossed her arms, turning to Beckett questioningly, "Does that change anything for us? Or for the hard-drive?"

Carson frowned musingly and gave a little headshake as he watched the Athosian peer curiously into the microscope. "Ah can't say for certain. Not yet."

His reply held an ominous ring that neither woman missed.

"But…?" Elizabeth pressed. In the chair beside her, Teyla glanced up.

Sighing softly, Carson gave them a mildly reproachful look, and then reluctantly admitted, "There's a distinct possibility tha' Rodney's plan might be effected."

Involuntarily, Dr. Weir's gaze shifted to the datapad and crystal interface rod lying on McKay's abandoned workstation. "And which plan would that be?"

"His 'Point an' Poke' plan."

"Ahhh… That one."

"Aye. Tha' one." Retrieving his clipboard, Dr. Beckett paced over to the hard-drive's tanks. "Ah told Rodney from the start, it might not be tha' simple."

"Why am I not surprised?" Threading her way between lab counters and equipment, Dr. Weir traversed the infirmary after him. Behind her, Teyla Emmagen looked one last time into the microscope, and then followed.

"So," Elizabeth announced, stopping beside Beckett at the waste tank, "What is the terrible wrench that'll be foiling Rodney's ingenius scheme this time?"

"Well, if my suspicions are correct, it's the entire design o' the technology."

"Really?" That would certainly make McKay's day…

Moving around to the other side of the ash-spewing tentacle, Teyla looked at Carson inquiringly. "In what way is the design a problem?"

He indicated the black silt slowly accumulating on the tank's bottom. "It's 'cause o' the neural tissue. An' the fact tha' its comin' out o' the drive's shell. For thin strands like tha' to be effective, a complex network is required. An' given the amount bein' expelled, ah suspect tha' network is both extensive an' intimately entwined with wha'ever organs the hard-drive possesses."

Confused, Teyla smiled apologetically, "I'm not sure I understand…?"

"I think I might," Dr. Weir offered. "Rodney's plan is to find the hard-drive's access point and plug a lifesigns detector into it. If I'm understanding Dr. Beckett correctly, he's saying the hard-drive doesn't have a single access point."

She and Teyla both looked to Carson to see if she was correct.

He nodded, "Tha's exactly wha' I'm saying. It's got hundreds o' minor access points instead. None o' which are o' any use on their own."

"And Rodney can only poke one at a time," Dr. Weir added wryly.

"Not to mention tha' those points are all encased within its shell."

Teyla's dark eyes brightened with amused revelation. "That would certainly make touching them difficult…"

"Aye. Near impossible." Studying the floating drive, Dr. Beckett frowned worriedly, "He'd 'ave to basically reinjure it. Ah doubt tha' would be wise."

"No, I'd imagine not," Dr. Weir murmured. Eyebrows lifting, she followed his gaze pensively. "Do you have an alternative to Dr. McKay's plan?"

Carson shook his head, "Not yet. But ah'm getting' a sneakin' suspicion tha' wha'ever solution we find will 'ave to be organic in nature."

"As in involving more Wraith technology."

"Aye. Tha' will likely be easiest…"

At Carson's words, Teyla Emmagen furrowed her brow and looked down at her hands, troubled. "Meaning you intend to rely on the prisoner once more."

Dr. Weir glanced across the tanks at her. "He IS a useful resource, in that regard," she reminded.

Teyla frowned, and Carson glanced at her ruefully, "Ah take it, ye don' approve?"

The Athosian hesitated. "It's not that I do not approve. It's more…" Caramel hair waving, she shook her head and started over. "I understand his value to Atlantis. But he is Wraith. I am wary of anyone becoming more deeply involved with him."

"Especially yourself."

Teyla's startled eyes snapped to Dr. Weir in momentary surprise, and the expedition leader smiled slightly to show she meant no offense.

"You are still uncomfortable around him," Elizabeth observed.

Not having heard Teyla's feelings on the wraith before, Dr. Beckett glanced between the two women curiously as a brief silence permeated the infirmary.

"Less so today than before yesterday, perhaps," Teyla admitted after a moment, "But, yes. His presence remains…" a diplomatic pause, "…unsettling."

"Unsettlin'. Tha's a pleasant way o' puttin' it."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement before continuing, "And that reminds me of something else I wanted to ask."

Sensing his presence was no longer needed, Dr. Beckett jotted down his newest observations on the neural filament expulsion and tactfully excused himself. "Ah think ah'll go check on the Chemistry lads. If the water in tha' lab's full o' nutrients, like Major Sheppard says, they'll be wantin' to analyze it soon."

"Good idea, Carson," Dr. Weir smiled. "I endorse it fully."

"Ah'll be seein' ye later, then." Carson glanced at Teyla, "If ah don' see ye before ye leave, 'ave a nice trip. Ah'm sure yer people will be 'appy to see ye."

Teyla inclined her head respectfully, "Thank you, Carson."

The two leaders watched him leave, and then Teyla looked to Dr. Weir expectantly. Not wanting to delay her further, Elizabeth went straight to the point.

"Dr. Corde said our guest singled you out unexpectedly, in the forest?"

"Ah…" The Athosian nodded in understanding, "That is correct. He recognized me from his capture. He claimed he wanted to take a closer look at me."

"I see. And do you believe him?"

Resting one hand lightly on the waste tank's edge, Teyla thought a moment, and then shrugged. "His behavior gave me no reason to doubt the assertion…"

Elizabeth held her gaze intently. "Are you sure?"

Not certain what Dr. Weir was implying, Teyla twisted her full lips in a mild frown, "As sure as I can be when attempting to predict the thoughts of Wraith."

"He showed no signs," Weir pressed, "No hints. No indication at all that he was aware of your—"

"Ah!" Closing her eyes, Teyla nodded, finally understanding, "That he was aware of my gift." She smiled ruefully and recalled the encounter, examining the brief exchange in detail… "No. He gave no sign of noticing it."

It was Dr. Weir's turn to frown, "You believe his curiosity was genuine."

"Yes." Before Weir could ask her to explain, Teyla elaborated, "Of all the expedition members who were present during his capture, I am the only one he has not seen on a regular basis. Under those circumstances, his curiosity is justified."

"I see." Elizabeth's frown changed to a relieved smile, "Thank you, Teyla. I wished to make certain we haven't lost your telepathic advantage."

"An understandable worry, Dr. Weir. Rest assured, I am confident that he remains unaware of my ability to sense his presence."

"For now."

Teyla Emmagen considered Elizabeth's ominous addendum with a feeling of uneasy premonition. "Yes," she conceded eventually. "For now…"

Meanwhile…

After scaling the sand cliff at the rotting lab's entrance, (an endeavor that was neither easy nor clean), Major Sheppard and the security escort traded Steve's space guppies to the Fish Finders for Zelenka's camera, and then headed eagerly for the showers, (minus the presence of their excited tour guide). They had a few delays. Steve insisted on sticking his head out the first 'Sergeant Bates-approved' hole in the outer wall they passed. And while he, "cleansed the oppressive fog from his sinuses," the Fish Finders peppered him with questions about Atlantis's new pets.

"They must be placed in freshwater," the wraith hissed, (his face was turned away, still poking halfway out the hole), "And they must be kept separate for a time. Until the weak one has finished regenerating."

Shifting her grip on her heavy burden, Dr. Moore, looked at the limp, wheezing creature in her arms interestedly, "Why is that?"

Steve's olive eyes slid to the blond Marine Biologist incuriously, "Its water must be changed more frequently. And the stronger may accidentally injure it, once its strength has recovered."

"Makes sense…"

Breaking off his resentful eyeing of the wraith's coat, (Steve had leapt agily ONTO the sand cliff and was therefore the only one NOT caked with grit from the knees down), Major Sheppard shot the armored catfish Dr. Kovskii was cradling a disbelieving stare. "Ya mean that thing's supposed to be even STRONGER than it is?"

Wind whipped away the multi-tonal resonance of the captive's voice as he pushed his pale face fully into the cracked wall once more. "I believe I just said that. Its vigor is greatly reduced from what it should be…"

Greatly reduced?! "It almost knocked me over just by swimming past me!"

A dismissive snort, "Then be grateful you are not all wet."

"What do they eat?" Dr. Moore asked.

Leather creaked as Steve altered his stance slightly. The ivory waterfall of his hair swayed between his shoulders as he took and released a deep breath before answering. "Anything and everything organic. With a few exceptions."

"They're basically living compost heaps," Sheppard quipped.

"Interesting…" With the pair of cream cheese containers tucked carefully under one arm, Dr. Sheckle had leaned towards Moore and was softly touching the wheezing space guppy's nearest fin. She grinned as the orangey-brown membrane fanned and fluttered in response. "How do we know if they're hungry?"

"They will attempt to eat or leave their containment cells."

"And will they succeed?"

Another snort. "That depends on the materials used to confine them."

"In other words, we should stuff 'em in steel lock boxes," Sheppard interjected.

The wraith withdrew from the air-giving crack just enough to shoot Major Sheppard a dirty look. "Such an environment would not be beneficial to their mental health." As if punctuating his assertion, the wheezing guppy moaned mournfully.

Dr. Sheckle drew back in surprise.

"I think you should stop touching it, Ma'am," Sergeant Bates warned.

The one in Dr. Kovskii's arms let out a quavering wail in answer, and Steve slipped down from the drying sand-drift he'd been perched on and paced to the edge of his escort's perimeter. Looming over the marines, he peered at the noisy creatures intently. Like before, first one, then the other, quieted under his gaze.

"Okay," Sheppard frowned, "Now I KNOW you're talking to them."

Dr. Kovskii startled, "Wait. These are TALKING fish?"

"Their intelligence is limited," Steve murmured, still peering, "They cannot talk like you or I, but they possess rudimentary psychic abilities—"

The Major grinned. Psychic space fish. Carson was gonna have a field day!

"—Primitive communication is therefore possible."

"Telepathic communication, you mean," Dr. Sheckle clarified. She looked meaningfully at Dr. Moore, "That doesn't help us humans interact with them."

Moore turned towards the wraith inquiringly, "Will this be a problem?"

The oval pupils darted to her consideringly. "No… They are obedient and peaceful organisms, designed to be handled." Hissing softly, Steve cocked his head and flicked his narrowed eyes among the Fish Finders and their now-quiet burdens. "However, they must be trained to accept humans as caretakers."

"Training?" Private Sheere scoffed, (the young marine was still miffed at the space guppies for startling him), "How do you train a fish?"

"More importantly," interrupted Sheppard, "Why do we need to?"

The wraith blinked at his captor condescendingly, "Would you prefer they attempt to consume the fingers of the subordinates feeding them?"

Sergeant Bates glowered accusingly, "You just said they were peaceful. Designed to be handled."

Expelling a chuff, Steve rolled his eyes in disgust, "They are designed to be handled by my kind. We are far more resilient than you."

"And you can say, 'No! Bad fish!' telepathically," Sheppard added.

"Yesss…"

"So how DO we train them?" Dr. Moore pressed.

The wraith's attention snapped back to the three expectant scientists. "By handling them frequently until they exhibit acceptable behavior." He indicated the weak one with a delicate finger wave. "For that one, maintaining physical contact throughout the desalination process will likely suffice." His olive gaze darted to Dr. Kovskii, "For the other, you may have to exercise more…" a thoughtful chuff and sharp head tilt.

"More what?" Kovskii asked when he didn't continue.

"Creativity…" Steve finished.

"And what," Sheppard interjected warily, "does that mean?"

The pale face turned towards him, suddenly a picture of toothily feigned innocence. "I do not know, Major Sheppard. I am not an animal trainer."

Right… The Major eyed the prisoner with exaggerated skepticism, clearly conveying his lack of satisfaction with that answer.

Steve blinked innocently, "Did I not just say they must exercise creativity?" Chuffing softly, he tilted his head the other way, "I can hardly be expected to predict the products of Human thought processes under such circumstances."

Cute. Very cute. Sheppard raised an unamused eyebrow, (to which Steve narrowed his eyes smugly in response), and then turned to Bates. "I think this 'Q & A''s over, Sergeant. Let's move out."

"Wait," Dr. Moore called, "Is there anything else we should know?"

Not looking at her, Steve swung to face the corridor, silently supporting his captor's desire to continue. "Keep them in close proximity to each other," he instructed. "If they become separated by too much distance, they will become distressed."

"Distressed?" Dr. Sheckle echoed, "How will we tell—"

"They'll start wailing," Sheppard added impatiently, remembering how the big one had cried when they tried taking it out alone. He jerked his thumb at the waiting alien, "And you don't want that, 'cause he won't be available to calm them down."

Dr.'s Moore and Kovskii quickly stepped closer to each other.

"Okay!" Sheppard announced, "Showers, here we come."

The security escort gladly lurched into motion and once more began heading out of the flooded lab's 'messy' section. The Fish Finders trailed after them for a while before splitting off in the sand-free corridors to gather help in constructing a 'suitable environment' for the space guppies. They passed the stasis room, and the door with the extra security crystal slot, and threaded through the zigzagging hallways of the meticulously catalogued support labs without delay. Then, on their way up the, (in Sheppard's opinion), ridiculously long stairwell providing access to the building, the doggedly trudging procession almost literally ran into McKay.

"Whoa!" Rounding a bend, Rodney jerked his pellmell descent to a halt and stumbled quickly out of Major Sheppard's way. "Way to give a guy a heart attack!"

"Sorry, Rodney," Sheppard wasn't sorry in the slightest, "You should try keeping to the right next time."

McKay brushed the advice off, "The left's a shorter distance to trave—" He squeaked in dismay as the Major squeezed by without stopping, "Wait! Where're you going!?"

"The showers," Sheppard called over his shoulder, "Where else?"

"But what about—" intimidated by the inexhorable, synchronized marching of Sergeant Bates and the security escort, McKay hastily backed into the landing's far corner, "What about the Wraith stuff!"

"Zelenka's still down there. He can tell ya everything ya need to know."

McKay scoffed disbelievingly, "Somehow I doubt that." He hugged his datapad protectively as the marines started filing past, "What if I need to ask Stev—"

"He'll be in the showers, too."

"But—"

"Nice pants, Dr. McKay," Sergeant Bates commented dryly on his way by.

"THANK you!" McKay grinned. He'd somehow one-upped Dr. Zelenka's peagreen, thigh-high boots by finding a pair of chest-high, rubber fishing waders. "I thought it was a clever idea mysel—" the physicist's face fell as he caught sight of Private Sheere's wry smirk. "Oh, yes," McKay snarked, "Rubber pants are humorous. Ha, ha. Very funny. At least I won't come out soaked to the bone. Unlike you!"

Sheppard's voiced echoed down the stairs, "Now, McKay. Play nice."

"Tell that to your goon squad!"

"I take offense at that remark," Private Laris muttered as she passed.

Huffing, Rodney rolled his eyes and snapped an insincere, "Sorry."

Steve stepped onto the landing. The clatter of booted footfalls instantly dominated the stark confines of the stairwell as Dr. McKay fell silent. He fidgeted nervously as the dark form of the wraith stalked to the next flight of stairs without acknowledging his presence. The quiet continued as the rear guard followed. Then a relieved sighed echoed up the steps behind the escort.

The sigh was quickly replaced by a loud, "Ew! You guys stink!"

"That's why we're going to the showers," Sheppard yelled.

McKay didn't seem to notice, "It's like something died behind a fridge! And—My God! You left a trail of sand! You're still leaving it—Do you realize how long it'll take to clean this up? Who's gonna do that!?" With a squeak of dismay, McKay scurried to the bottom of the flight he'd just come down and yelled up, "Don't you DARE track this stuff into the transporters! Do you hear?! Don't you DARE DO THAT!!!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Sheppard muttered, grinning.

"Did you HEAR THAT?! SHEPPARD!" With an exasperated exclamation of disgust, Dr. McKay's voice trailed into distant incoherency.

Fifteen minutes later, Major Sheppard relished a flash of malicious glee as he stepped into the transporter closet WITHOUT brushing his pants off first.

He stepped out of it, into Atlantis's central tower, with the glee significantly reduced by Private Laris's prediction of Dr. Weir's reaction to the mess.

"Maybe it won't get spread about too much," he murmured, unconvincingly.

"We can hope for that, Sir."

Oh, well. At least sweeping up trails of fishy grit would be an amusing, temporary alternative to spud peeling duty…

The transporter swhooshed open again, regurgitating Steve and Sergeant Bates's half of the security escort, and the procession was off again. There was a noticeably eager spring in everyone's step as they neared the showers. Recognizing his surroundings from previous visits, Steve broke off his haughty scrutinizing of the corridors and began crowding the heels of the leading marines, urging them to move faster. Not objecting to the notion, Sheppard gladly quickened their pace.

When they reached the ancient archway leading to their goal, the wraith disappeared into the Men's branch without complaint and, following a protocol that'd been established after he first requested a bath from Carson two weeks earlier, stalked straight to the farthest shower fixture and pulled the curtain over it.

Major Sheppard tapped his radio as the sound of running water filled the room. "Lieutenant Ford, this is Sheppard."

"Major Sheppard, this is Ford. Go ahead, Sir."

"We're ready for that relief escort I ordered."

In a waiting room, a couple levels away, Lieutenant Ford glanced at his companions and nodded. "Right away, Sir. We'll be there in a few."

"Much obliged, Lieutenant. Sheppard out." The radio crackled off, and the Major turned to Sergeant Bates. "Everyone ready out here?"

The Security Chief regarded him seriously, "Yes, Sir. You yell, we run."

"Invade's more like it," Sheppard muttered, handing off his P-90.

Bates accepted the weapon with a stoic deadpan and watched as his superior headed to the closest shower fixture. "However you want to put it, Sir."

"I like invade. Invading showers is funnier."

Chin dipping in sardonic agreement, Sergeant Bates watched Sheppard pull his own curtain, and then stationed himself by one corner of it. Other marines adopted similar guard positions, and the women moved to cover the entrance.

The plan was this: Sheppard and the wraith get clean first while waiting for Ford's fresh escort. Then, while everyone else is showering, Sheppard deposits said wraith in his cell and goes to report to Dr. Weir. The only tricky part of operation, 'Get Everyone Clean as Fast as Humanly, (or Wraithily), Possible,' was the design of the Ancient public showers. It was one long room, with only opaque curtains separating different personnel areas, and half those areas had to be walked through in order to reach ones deeper in. While the versatility this provided was a plus, safety-wise it wasn't exactly ideal for having a captive and his captor shower together.

Sheppard eyed the stretching expanse of drain-dotted floor that separated him from Steve's curtain. Privacy central it was definitely not, but the drapery-maze DID allow for easy manipulation of the space. And the distance was more than adequate for grabbing his pistol stunner out of the soap-dish and getting off a few shots.

Still…

He would've much preferred solidly tiled wall partitions…

Oh, well. What they had was what they had. Shrugging his shoulders philosophically, Major Sheppard switched the water on and began to strip. Steam billowed up around him, clinging to the ceiling and adding to the growing cloud already drifting from the wraith's area. Sand and rotting fish goo raced across the white slope beneath his feet, releasing last gasp spurts of stink before disappearing down the drains. Sighing in satisfaction as the hot water returned life to his icy toes, Sheppard tossed his filthy boots aside and grabbed a blue-splashed bottle from a nearby shelf.

The smell of chemical cleanser added to the humid mix as he lathered up.

Barely seconds after the first bubbles formed, a soft snort came from the distant curtain. "What is that scent called?"

Steve's multi-tonal voice resonated oddly in the enclosed space, and Sheppard frowned, needing a moment to interpret the new sound. He wiped bubbles from his forehead and sniffed. "Which scent?"

"The cleansing agent you are using."

Rinsing his face, Sheppard looked more closely at the generic bottle he was holding. Unsurprisingly, it smelled nothing like its name. "It's marked 'Rain.'"

The pattering splatter of something being squeegeed was followed by a disgusted chuff. "Its designation bears no resemblance to its actual attributes."

The Major grinned, spitting water, "Yeah, that's typical of these things."

A short silence. Then… "Which others do you possess?"

Suspecting where this was going, Sheppard glanced over at the shelf and poked the cluster of bottles, spinning them in place with hollow, plastic clatters. "Let's see. I've got 'Spring Air,' 'Midnight Breeze,' 'Evergreen,' an—Oo! These look good," he edged his tone with excited sarcasm, "'Tutti Fruiti' and 'Winter Wonderland.'"

More silence. "Arbitrary labels tell me nothing, Major."

"Right." The wraith couldn't read English. Duh. Sheppard thought a second. Deciding to try a quick test, he squeezed drops of each onto his palms, mushed them up, and waved them in Steve's direction. He heard a long inhalation.

"I possess these as well." The sounds of activity in Steve's area ceased a moment. "Are they the only options available to us?"

Picturing the wraith waiting on his answer with eerie, stock-still seriousness, Sheppard flicked his gaze to a metallic purple bottle that glimmered wetly behind the others. "There's non-scented stuff. I could roll you some, if you want."

A soft hiss, "That will not be necessary. I have tried the scentless already. It is of inferior quality, inadequate to the task."

Really? The Major's eyebrow lifted in amusement. So it wasn't McKay's imagination.

"…And it is not truly scentless."

Sheppard lathered up again, "No surprise there. What's wrong with the others?"

The curtain at the far end of the room swished, and Steve gave an insistent snort as the pattern of falling water changed. "Their excessive chemical aroma is repugnant."

Ouch. "They're not THAT bad…"

"Are there no other cleansers available?" Steve pressed.

"None that I'm aware of." (Not that he kept track of Atlantis's shampoo inventory.) Raising his voice, the Major looked towards the shadowy blob that was Sergeant Bates. "Hey, Bates. We got any other soaps hanging around?"

"What type of soaps do you want, Sir?"

"Ones that smell different from what we've got already."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, Sir. Lots of soap to choose from on Atlantis." The dry humor in the dark-eyed Security Chief's voice was audible as he deliberately played dense. "Shampoo? Hand soap? Dish soap? …Laundry soap?"

Sheppard peered closer at his 'Rain' bottle, "Says here, it's 'body cleanser'…"

"Body cleanser?" Shaking his head with mild exasperation, Sergeant Bates looked at the ceiling long-sufferingly, "I don't recall any other 'body cleanser' flavors, Sir."

"Whatcha see is what we got?"

"That's usually how it works."

"Sorry, Steve. No new scents he—"

Private Laris's voice echoed from the Men's branch entrance, interrupting him. "There're a few more, Sir."

"There are?" Not expecting that, Sheppard blinked in surprise, then thrust his face under water as bubbles tried to slip into his eyes. "Why haven't I seen 'em before?"

"They're in the Women's showers. Should I fetch them, Sir?"

Couldn't hurt. "Sure, why not." Now he was curious…

Laris's jogging footsteps faded into the distance. When they returned a minute later, a chorus of muted exclamations heralded the arrival of her offerings.

"What the Hell is this?"

"Where'd you get these?"

"I didn't know we had this stuff."

"Get that away from me. It smells like a damn Jolly Rancher."

Relieving Laris of her burden, Sergeant Bates opened the curtain a crack and handed the bottles to Major Sheppard, one by one. The nude military commander tucked them under his arm, reading the labels with an increasing feeling of having been cheated.

"'Mint Julip,' 'Organic Rose Garden,' 'Organic Citrus Blossom'…" He snapped an accusing stare at the pearly beige curtain as a hot pink bottle poked through. He'd never seen ANY of these before! "How'd you get these, Private?" quickly he rephrased that, "Correction, how'd the WOMEN'S showers get these?"

In the hallway, Laris shrugged, "They were deemed 'unmanly' by the guys on duty when we unpacked."

Grabbing the pink bottle, Sheppard made a mental note to check the duty roster records. The names WERE a bit froo-froo, but still! "This is quality stuff, here."

"That's why none of the women present at the time protested."

"Sneaky…" he rolled the hot pink cylinder across his palm, "What've we got this time? Cherry Jubilee? Nope. 'Watermelon.'"

"Don't bother with that, Sir," Laris called from her reclaimed post, "It's nasty."

Sheppard waved it's lime-green top under his nose and made a face. It did indeed smell like a Jolly Rancher. "Why'd you bring it, then?"

"In the hopes that it won't come back."

"I see… Good job, Soldier. These'll do nicely." Squishing the four bottles securely against his side, Sheppard grabbed his pistol stunner and approached the far curtain cautiously. "Here ya go, Steve." He crouched, lifted a corner of the filmy material, and rolled the fancy body cleansers through, glimpsing the wraith's coat lying, meticulously folded, by a drain as he did so. "Four new scents to try." Keeping the stunner trained on the thin wall, he retreated slowly to his own shower, making unnecessary noise to let the wraith know he was moving away.

Nothing sinster happened. The curtain swayed as soft clacks indicated the bottles were being retrieved, and barely audible chuffs hinted at their review.

"This one is acceptable," Steve announced.

A delicate floral aroma permeated the air, filling the room with the light smell of freshly cut flowers as the sounds of washing resumed.

Relaxing, Major Sheppard put the pistol stunner back in his soap-dish and continued cleaning himself. "Glad ya like it."

A dismissive chuff, "It is the least offensive of the available options."

Whatever. Sheppard rolled his eyes and concentrated on scouring the stubbornly clinging fish stink off his legs and feet. The stuff did NOT want to come off…

But, eventually, it did. With LOTS of scrubbing. By the time it was gone, the room had filled, floor to ceiling, with steam, Lieutenant Ford had switched places with Sergeant Bates, and the old escort had gratefully departed. Finally satisfied that he was cleaner than he'd been BEFORE he entered the flooded lab, Major Sheppard rinsed the 'Rain' out of his hair and turned his water off. The sounds of washing continued to emanate from the wraith's corner as he toweled dry. "You almost done, Steve?"

An absent hiss permeated the steam. "Nearly, Major. I will let you know."

"'Cause Ford brought some dry clothes for ya."

"That will not be necessary," Steve sounded amused, "The drying apparatus in this unit is adequate for such purposes, and my own garments will be clean shortly."

"You're doing LAUNDRY over there?"

Water splattered against the curtain in response.

No wonder he was taking so long. Sheppard eyed the narrow alcove by his shower fixture. Each washing space had one. But though the science teams HAD identified them as drying machines, he hadn't used them yet. They just seemed… sketchy somehow. High tech sci-fi devices were cool, but he preferred good old fashioned, fluffy towels to full-body blow dryers. …Or whatever they did…

Grabbing the clean clothes he'd stashed in the alcove before the tour, Sheppard got dressed as he waited for the wraith to finish. It was a long wait. He gave Ford a rundown of their gooey findings in the hangar, and tightened his bootlaces, all the while looking towards the wraith's curtain consideringly. Steve had exhibited a rapid and extreme improvement in mood since leaving the lab… There was a question he'd been itching to ask the wraith, and now might be a good time for getting answers.

"Why'd ya do it, Steve?" Sheppard nonchalantly quipped.

The squeegeeing and scrubbing sounds paused. "Do what, Major Sheppard?"

"You know," he explained casually, "Going on ahead. Running off without waiting for permission."

No response. The scrubing resumed, and Steve was silent so long, Sheppard resigned himself to never attaining enlightenment.

Oh, well. It'd been a nice thought, anyway—

The water abruptly switched off. "Tell me, Major Sheppard," Steve's voice echoed loudly in the resulting quiet, "What would you have done had I not?"

That was easy. He'd have put the wraith back in his cell and scheduled an investigation later. "We'll never know, now. Will we?"

A haughty snort, "I will tell you. You would have searched the area at your leisure. And upon doing so, you would have sent for me."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow as the low hum of the wraith's drying alcove kicked in. "So you were trying to save time. That's very considerate of you." Especially considering he'd lost an opportunity to bargain for new concessions.

"In the meantime, Major," Steve continued as if he hadn't spoken, "the few organisms and viable devices still surviving would've continued to deteriorate."

Ahhh. There was the real reason. "You were worried stuff would die."

The imprint of a hand appeared on the distant curtain as Steve hissed softly, "Given the potential benefits at stake, I could not risk leaving their survival in the hands of scientists demonstrably ignorant of the time sensitive nature of such things."

Sheppard resisted a chuckle, "We're not THAT ignorant."

"Are you not?" The thin material concealing the wraith rippled and swayed in a manner that suggested he was pacing behind it. "Can you guarantee the room would've been searched immediately if I had acted otherwise?"

The Major paused. "Maybe not immediately," he admitted.

"Today, then? Tonight?" Steve hissed and the evidence of his pacing stilled once more. "Tomorrow perhaps? What about next week? The odor was quite unpleasant. And there's still so much work to be done excavating more hospitable areas."

"All right, all right," Sheppard groused, "You've made your point." Standing up, he pulled his curtain open, nodded to Lieutenant Ford, and leaned against a dry wall, crossing his arms lackadaisically. "You know, you could've informed us of the 'time sensitive nature' of the project. We ARE open to constructive input."

A stretching silence. Then… "Yes. I could have."

The smug tone spoke volumes on the wraith's opinion of that option, and Sheppard mentally amended the comment with, 'But it was more fun this way.'

"But you CHOSE not to," he said out loud.

The dryer clicked off. The slippery rustling of cloth replaced it, followed by the hollow clicking of clasps and harsh flap of stiff leather. "Suspect my motives as you like, Major." Steve chuffed absently, "My actions will ultimately be proven beneficial."

"Oh. Well," Sheppard loaded the mockery on, "in THAT case it's all right."

A derisive snort. Silver tool-tips emerged from the curtain's edge, and the flexible material rushed open with a metallic Schinnng!, revealing the wraith, fully clothed. Steve turned towards his captors, neck bowing sideways. He'd taken out the thin ponytail that usually held his bangs out of his eyes and was running his gloved fingers through his wet hair, like a comb. An actual brush, (planted in the showers earlier), lay, discarded, on a pile of rumpled towels behind him.

Retrieving his stunner from the soap-dish, Sheppard eyed the wraith with concealed amusement. "Not a fan of human grooming implements?"

Steve ignored the question. Still finger-combing, he crossed the expanse of condensation-slicked floor that separated him from the fresh escort. His oval-pupiled eyes, which remained fixed on Major Sheppard thoughout the approach, narrowed sedately as he stopped. "I am prepared to return to my cell."

Sheppard studied the deceptively amiable smile that accompanied the calm statement. Just to be annoying, he studied the rest of prisoner, too. The wraith's black, spiderwebbed pants, lower coat, pointy shoes, and left bracer were spotless, completely devoid of any remnants of the muck that'd coated them. They looked as fresh and pressed as when he'd first been captured. (Minus the blood stains, of course.)

He feigned being impressed, "You really WERE doing laundry."

A patient, olive blink. Steve, tilting his face the other way, continued combing.

"Well… If you're sure you're ready." Turning to Lieutenant Ford without waiting for a response, Sheppard nodded, "Let's get a move on. Shower time's over."

They moved out. The journey to the cell level proceeded without incident, and within a matter of minutes, the Major was deactivating the forcefield and watching with careful detachment as the Zest-Fully-Clean wraith peered curiously through the gliding door. Testing the air, the flower-scented alien paused on the threshold until the bars finished opening, then stalked inside as the security escort released him.

He circled the flat, blackish-silver rectangle that'd been placed in his cage while he was gone warily.

"It's a computer," Sheppard offered, after the door slid closed.

Steve's olive eyes snapped to his captor in a sidelong, querilous glance.

"It's loaded with Carson's results from your brain experiment," he explained. "The good Doctor hasn't finished analyzing it yet, of course. But he said to tell you he's open to any insights you can provide." Sheppard shrugged and leaned against the horizontal bars earnestly. "See, Steve. We keep our promises here on Atlantis."

The wraith's lips twitched with a noncommittal chuff.

"Oh!" he pushed back as if just remembering something, "There's some video footage of the flooded lab on it, too. It's a bit old, but… Meh. Better than nothing."

Not moving, Steve blinked with a barely audible snort.

"Have fun, Steve." Grinning flippantly, Sheppard headed for the cell's exit alcove, clapping Ford on the shoulder as he passed. "He's in your hands, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Sir. We're on top of it."

"Good to hear."

Watching Sheppard from the narrowed corners of his eyes, Steve stood motionlessly as he mounted the stairs beyond the alcove. His unreadable gaze stayed fixed on the exit until the Major's boots disappeared from view. Then he circled the laptop once more and dropped into a crouch to examine it.

A few minutes later…

Dr. Weir looked up from the folder she was contemplating filing as Major Sheppard entered her office. Her eyebrows lifted at the jaunty spring in his step.

"I take it, it went well down there?"

He flopped lazily into the chair across from her. "You know how it is. There's something… Uplifting about being clean after getting dumped in a cess pit."

"I see." Elizabeth set the folder down and leaned forward as Sheppard propped his arms on her desk. "And how did our prisoner take it?"

"Which part? The being clean? Or the getting dumped in a cess pit?"

"Both."

"Well," Sheppard began, "he seemed to enjoy the first part. Ya know, the stuff we actually HAD planned. And he WANTED to go in the cess pit, at first…" He grinned at Weir mischieviously, "But then I made him play 'Point and Tell' in it."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, "I'm guessing that didn't go over so well?"

"Hated every second," he confirmed. "Got pretty testy about it, too. But he's happy now that he's clean again. And ya know what? Deep down, I think he secretly enjoyed some of it."

Dr. Weir stared at her military commander skeptically.

Sheppard turned serious, "Okay, maybe not. But he DID understand the importance of doing it. AND agreed with it."

"You're sure about that?"

He nodded. "Positive. Believe me. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to budge him. He HATED the smell in there." Pausing, Sheppard frowned a bit, "From some of the things he said earlier, I think it might've partially blinded him…"

Elizabeth's eyes widened mildly in surprise, "Blinded?"

"Yeah," Sheppard wiggled his fingers spookily, "He was going on about a 'fog' metaphor during the tour. And not being able to study things properly."

"Carson's preliminary report did indicate his olfactory receptors may be significantly more sensitive than ours," she murmured.

"Yeah. He sniffs things a lot, too."

"I noticed."

Catching her amused look, Major Sheppard shrugged a bit, "I only mention it 'cause if I'm right, stink bombs might be something useful to look into."

Elizabeth stared at him again.

"I'm thinking diversionary tactics," he elaborated.

"I don't know, Major," she frowned. "From what you just said, it sounds more like stink bombs will only make them madder."

"Yeah, well… That's why it needs looking into first."

"I see…" propping her elbows on her desk, Elizabeth tapped her chin, "Did you discover anything new after your last check in?"

"Not really. Steve had a little tantrum. We resolved it." He lowered his voice, quickly adding, "Then we raided the women's showers for organic bodywashes."

Elizabeth jerked back, shocked, "What?!"

"Nothing," Sheppard cleared his throat, swallowing the urge to reply, 'Yeah, It was a real bonding experience.' Instead he quipped, "Dart's a lost cause, though."

Dr. Weir eyed him suspiciously, but didn't press the issue. "Really…?"

"Yeah. See, it's like this…" He started explaining about the black goo and the abrupt resolution of Steve's tantrum.

Down by the holding cell, Lieutenant Ford craned his neck and took a step to the left, trying to see around the prisoner's light-bathed shoulders…

When it didn't work, he frowned uneasily.

He looked to the left and right, glancing at his fellow guards. They returned his worried gaze from various points along the shadowed walls, acknowledging him with uneasy glances of their own, and a young marine stationed by the alcove's entrance, nodded confirmingly, as if to say, 'No, it's NOT your imagination.'

Lieutenant Ford nodded back, steeling himself to leave his post.

Something was wrong. The prisoner was acting… Oddly. Not BAD oddly, but just… ODD oddly…

After Major Sheppard left, he'd occupied himself with the laptop. Examining it from every angle. Opening and booting it up. Toying with the touch pad and scrolling through the files it contained. THAT Ford had expected. He'd predicted it, even.

But then, a minute ago, the wraith had stopped.

…

He was just sitting there, facing it. There was nothing playing on its screen. No video, or brain scan playback… The wraith's blue-washed hair and black-clad back were perfectly still, but Ford had definitely heard the folds of his heavy coat shift several times, despite the apparent lack of movement. Couple that with little scraping sounds intermittently issuing from the cell, and the Lieutenant was forced to grudgingly conclude the wraith was fiddling with something in his lap.

…

There shouldn't have BEEN anything else for him to fiddle with.

Ho, boy…

Taking a deep breath, Lieutenant Ford nodded one last time to solidify his resolve and strode purposefully to the bars.

Steve continued doing… whatever he was doing…

"Uh, Steve…?"

No response.

Frown deepening, Ford moved along the bars until he could see past the wraith's shoulders. His shifting point of view slowly revealed Steve's knees. Then the corner of coat panel resting in his lap. A flash of yellow obscured by damp ivory.

Then the wraith's hands…

…

Baffled, and incredibly confused, Lieutenant Ford stopped and stared a moment.

Uh… Why?

Steve's olive irises swept to the young marine leisurely, before dismissively flicking back to their task.

Swallowing a consternated accusation, Ford shot his fellow guards a 'Who the Hell knows' look and reached up to tap his radio.

'Why' was NOT his department…

Up in Dr. Weir's office, the expedition leader clasped her hands behind her, turning away from her view of the Gateroom with amusement. "I see… And did you learn anything else new about our guest?" she inquired, "Aside from his aversion to strong odors and an apparent affinity for fish…?"

"Sure! I learned lots of things."

Pushing lazily to his feet, Sheppard hooked his thumbs in his pockets and joined her at the floor-length window. He looked down at the Stargate and began listing seriously, "For one, I don't understand Wraith humor."

"Not terribly surprising there…"

"And two. His preference for organic extends beyond technology."

Elizabeth pursed her lips thoughtfully, "I take it that's where the shower raiding comes in?"

Sheppard strategically declined confirming that. "Three, those holes on his cheeks act as some sort of built in life-detector—"

"That should tweak Carson's interest…"

"—And four," Sheppard continued, recalling Steve's response when Zelenka asked what the space guppies were, "The Wraith language is unpronounceable."

Taken aback, Dr. Weir stopped him. "Wait. Are you saying he actually spoke Wraith to you?"

"Yup. Told us what the space guppies are called." The Major grimaced distastefully, "Sounded like a cat hocking up a hairball."

"Not designed for human vocal chords, I take it?"

"Not by a long shot." Sheppard rocked back on his heels, thinking about whether he'd learned anything else arbitrarily useless but interesting. He brightened. "Oh, yeah!" he wagged a finger at Weir emphatically, "He doesn't like touching Death."

She raised an eyebrow… "Ironic coming from a species that sucks the life out—"

"—Of things with his hands. Yeah, I mentioned that."

"And how did he respond?"

Sheppard shrugged, "He claimed that wasn't what he'd meant."

Elizabeth hooked her hair behind her ears, returned to her desk, and tapped the file. It was a psychology report. "Sounds like you ran into one of Heightmeyer's language barriers. Carson hit a few too. Maybe I should keep this out longer…"

"Probably not a bad idea." Not keen on discussing alien language psychology at the moment, Sheppard cast about for a less intense subject. "Speaking of Carson. We gave Steve the laptop the infirmary prepared. That should occupy him for a while."

"Yes," Dr. Weir grinned, "Dr. Beckett mentioned that was ready. He—" Cutting off, she frowned suddenly. "That reminds me. Carson's analyzing the hard-drive's neural filaments. He thinks there may be a problem with—"

The Major's radio crackled.

"Lieutenant Ford to Major Sheppard."

Gesturing for him to answer, Dr. Weir waited patiently while he tapped his earpiece. Sheppard did so with a frown, knowing the Lieutenant was still on wraith-guarding duty. "This is Sheppard. Go ahead, Ford."

Lieutenant Ford's reply sounded both hesitant and weirded out.

"Uh, Sir?… I think I found Carson's missing Xex tube…"

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.