The Pegasus Tango

by Meloku

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

21. Chapter 19: Tactical Error: Part 2

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

My New Year's Resolution is to continue up-dating this story!

Thank you SO much for the reviews that came in after the last chapter. When Life, the Universe, and Everything In It seem to be conspiring to keep me from pursuing creative endeavors, it's nice to know everyone's still there. They were very helpful and inspiring. (Especially Lilo's recent, 'waiting...')

Many thanks go to one of my co-workers, who discovered NaNoWriMo, which got me writing again. (I didn't succeed there, but it catapulted me back into the Pegasus Tango.)

My goal originally was to update on the stroke of midnight, but I didn't quite make it. (For whoever predicted that attempt and gave me this year's first view, I'm sorry. Your faith WAS justified!)

I will mention in my defense, that this year and a half weren't a total literary bust. Last spring I figured out how to use Smashwords, and I'm proud to announce that I've got a free short story and a contemporary fantasy novel available there for e-readers. I've posted links in my profile, (assuming it doesn't edit them out), and if anyone's interested, they could really use reviews. If people like, I can try making a Smashwords coupon for my profile too.

But enough of that!

And now, FINALLY, without further ado...

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 Nineteen: Tactical Error – Part Two

3 years, 47 and ½ weeks earlier

From the balcony overlooking Atlantis's Stargate, Dr. Weir gazed at the hasty scramble of impromptu preparations taking place below her with mixed feelings. Everything about this retrieval mission was happening too quickly.

"I don't like this," she muttered.

Arms crossed sternly beside her, Sergeant Bates nodded minutely in acknowledgement. "We can still call it off, Ma'am."

Frowning, Weir swept her attention from the pile of duffle bags growing on the Gateroom floor over to the circle of security guards stationed by the Stargate. Atlantis's prisoner stood quietly within their perimeter, an island of calm amidst his captors' frenetic activity. He'd arrived barking instructions about various supplies they might need to overcome difficulties in the console's extraction, but since he'd finished, he hadn't said a word. Just surveyed the commotion around him dispassionately.

Watching.

…Waiting.

…

"It all feels too rushed," she murmured.

As if attracted by the scrutiny, the wraith lifted his surveying to the balcony, meeting Dr. Weir's stare. His alien eyes blinked impassively.

A chill trickled down the expedition leader's spine. She was a diplomat. A negotiator. But she couldn't read that enigmatic expression. She didn't know—none of them knew—what that wraith was thinking.

"Just say the word, Ma'am."

"No…" Holding their captive's gaze, Dr. Weir inclined her head deliberately. Steve blinked impassively once more and turned away. Unsure whether that was good or bad, she drew back from the railing. "We're using the same precautions as last time. They'll suffice. There's no point second-guessing ourselves." It was the speed of this mission's planning that was bothering her. Not the plan itself.

"Doctor Weir," Peter Grodin called.

"I'm coming." Thrusting her misgivings aside, Weir strode briskly to the Gateroom's control center. Casting a last, disapproving frown at the wraith, Sergeant Bates swiveled on his heel and followed her to the Stargate's DHD console.

Dr. Grodin rose to meet them. "Jumper Three has returned. They report Teyla is onboard. No problems locating her." Listening a moment with fingers hovering by his earpiece, he looked at Weir questioningly. "They request orders."

Dr. Weir nodded, "Tell them to continue to the Gateroom."

Grodin relayed the command, adding, "We'll load equipment and additional personnel here. Sergeant Bates will brief you. Grodin out."

As he tapped his radio off and lowered his hand, Dr. Weir crossed her arms pensively. "What's our status?"

Peter Grodin glanced at the Stargate, "Dr. Beckett believes the infirmary will be prepared to receive the wraith terminal within the hour."

"And the modifications to Jumper Five?"

"Likewise," Peter Grodin shrugged, "Dr. McKay reports no difficulties with the installation of the winch and guide pulleys. So far."

Satisfied, Dr. Weir gave Grodin a tight, eyebrow-lifting smile, "Sounds like we're in good shape. Let's hope it stays that way." Turning towards the glass-walled hall leading to her office, she tossed back, "Keep me posted."

Sergeant Bates fell into step beside her once more. "The risks may be minimized with the precautions we're taking, but they're still there."

"I'm aware."

"The timeline's too tight."

Weir frowned pensively, "Major Sheppard assures me that it's adequate."

"We've got less than two hours until nightfall," Bates stated firmly, "That leaves no margin for error. If something goes wrong—"

"If something goes wrong," she interrupted, "we withdraw. With or without the terminal." Reaching her office, she turned to her Security Chief reassuringly. "The safety of our people comes first. Always."

Realizing she wasn't going to change her mind, Sergeant Bates backed down. "Yes, Ma'am."

A low humm began resonating through the control tower, and Dr. Weir tensed, glancing quickly towards the Stargate. "Jumper three's coming."

"I'll go meet them." Bates stalked purposefully back the way they'd just come, muttering, "The faster they get out, the faster they get back."

Dryly amused, Weir watched as Lieutenant Ford, who'd just entered the hall, stepped hurriedly out of the annoyed Security Chief's path and waited for him to pass before continuing in to see her.

"What's his problem?" Ford asked as he arrived.

Dr. Weir raised a wry eyebrow. "Same as usual."

"…Right…" Confused, Lieutenant Ford shrugged dismissively and got to the point. "I took the vase—I mean the Xex tube—to the Chemistry Department. Dr. Bingman says she'll have test results on its contents in half an hour."

"So soon?" Weir was pleased.

"That's what they said."

"Excellent. Thank you, Lieutenant. You're dismissed." When Lieutenant Ford didn't immediately go to meet Major Sheppard, like they'd planned, Dr. Weir looked at him expectantly. "Was there something else, Lieutenant?"

Ford shifted his weight self-consciously. "Um… I was just wondering, Ma'am… What's your plan for the Xex tube and its, uh… contents?"

Weir studied the young solidier with concealed surprise, "That, Lieutenant, is entirely dependant upon what those contents turn out to be. Why?"

"Just curious, Ma'am." Ford glanced towards the Stargate as Jumper Three's cylindrical hull emerged from the control tower's ceiling. As the van-sized ship descended into the Gateroom, the personnel waiting for it moved to the walls, hastily tugging duffels and backpacks away from its landing zone. The wraith's security escort tightened its perimeter, then herded their charge into the space under the balcony.

Saluting Weir, Lieutenant Ford quickly left to help load.

The expedition leader watched him depart, then paced to her office's glass wall to track his progress. Below her, Jumper Three landed before the towering ring of Atlantis's Stargate. Its back hatch lowered, and Major Sheppard jogged out from the nearest access hallway to greet Teyla Emmagen as she disembarked.

The Athosian leader was not pleased. Even from thirty meters away, Dr. Weir could see that. She'd explained the situation over the radio, and Teyla had agreed to help for the same reasons as before. She believed in Atlantis and would support their decisions. But Teyla had also voiced the same objections.

Steve was Wraith. Wraith could not be trusted.

On the Gateroom floor, Major Sheppard pulled Teyla aside as Lieutenant Ford grabbed a bag from the pile and entered the Puddle Jumper. The pair held a hurried conversation, a brief recap of the mission. A final chance to withdraw.

Dr. Weir saw the Athosian shake her head. She was in.

"Thank you, Teyla…" Elizabeth whispered. Teyla's ability to set aside her personal feelings was admirable. It was a rare virtue, one which she respected the Athosian greatly for…

Beside the Jumper, Major Sheppard raised an arm, signaling they had a go. A flurry of personnel descended upon the waiting baggage, and within moments it was loaded and secured against expected turbulance. The loaders dispersed as quickly as they'd come, and the prisoner's escort emerged from beneath the balcony.

Crossing her arms, Dr. Weir moved closer to the glass to observe. Their 'guest' stalked smoothly across the Gateroom floor. His long hair and coat swayed, painting a wavy, black and white path across the red tilework. Centered exactly within his guards' circle, the wraith turned his face towards Major Sheppard and Teyla as he passed, then looked forward again, disappearing into the ship without a word.

Releasing a sigh of relief she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Dr. Weir allowed herself to relax slightly. Their prisoner appeared to be behaving. Using Carson's tests on the organic tools as a bribe had been a good idea…

Below her office, Major Sheppard handed Teyla a stun pistol and followed the wraith's escort into the hold. The Athosian hesitated, then joined him, and Jumper Three's ramp rose up with a muffled whir, hiding its passengers from view.

As the back hatch sealed closed, Weir's earpiece crackled to life.

"Dr. Weir, this is Major Sheppard. We're ready."

Even though he couldn't see her, she nodded. "Good. You have a go, Major. Try not to cut it too close."

"We'll be back in an hour. Sheppard out."

Quickly radioing Dr. Grodin, Weir gave him permission to dial the DHD, then turned to watch as a glimmering wormhole geysered to life within the towering ring of Atlantis's Stargate. Orienting itself towards the light, Jumper Three levitated to shoulder height and slowly accelerated. As it moved, all Sergeant Bates's warnings and all the things that could go wrong, began relisting themselves in her mind.

With a renewed sense of foreboding, Elizabeth Weir watched as the Puddle Jumper vanished into the rippling pool of energy.

"Good luck," she murmured.

Meanwhile, on M1X-347…

Beneath the sheltering branches of the tree, the gatherer pressed a last clump of moss into her bag and peeked inside. The Night Glow root was still glowing. Good. She'd packed it well. Now it was time to leave. Pulling the worn drawstrings closed, she knotted them about the clasp and stood while glancing at the surrounding shadows.

Not much daylight remained, but there was ample time to reach the portal. She had left later than this on occasion, but not by much. And not often.

Still, the prize she'd obtained was worth it.

Smiling at her success, the gatherer swung the bag with its precious contents gently onto her shoulder and began hiking quickly towards the forest's edge. The shadows lengthened as she went, heralding the awakening of the great beasts that claimed this world every night. The gatherer had never seen one. Nor did she wish to.

None who did ever lived to speak of it.

Gradually the trees overshadowing her progress thinned. Catching a glimpse of sunset sky through the branches, the gatherer increased her pace. The rocky field around the portal was near. In less than a candle's measure she'd be home. Her children would welcome her with happy cries, and her bondmate would look upon her prize with joy. He'd get the best price for it. Her family's future was secure, for a while, at least.

Bouyed by the anticipation of her success, the gatherer pushed through the underbrush at the edge of the portal's field and broke into a trot. She could see her goal now. The tall hoop of the Ancestors' legacy, perched upon a rocky knoll and, from her vantage point, partially obscured by a sea of waving krull grass.

Suddenly she stopped. The portal was activating. Who would come this late?

Dropping to a crouch, the gatherer concealed herself behind a lichen-encrusted rock and observed the glistening circle of blue light that'd appeared on the hill. Someone had lost their schedule. They would come through, see how late it was, and leave. No one stayed on the Night Beast world when it was this late…

A strange, floating metal cylinder, covered with foreign glyphs emerged from the portal's light and hovered above the grass.

Eyes widening with fear, the gatherer ducked with a muffled a gasp. She knew flying machines. What they did. What they carried. This one was shaped differently, but it didn't matter. She knew what it meant.

The white haired demons had come!

Terror flooded the gatherer's veins. She had to hide! Frantically, she looked about for concealment. The forest was her best chance. If they couldn't fly above her, they couldn't take her. The trees would act as a shield.

Risking a peek over the rock, the gatherer ducked again. It was coming! Coming towards her! She must act! Keeping as low as possible, she fled back into the undergrowth.

01:50:37 until sunset…

Major Sheppard stepped off Jumper Three's ramp into the lush greenery of the forest's edge and looked around critically. A circle of attentive faces, (and one unreadably impassive one), stared back. "Everyone ready?"

Nobody said they weren't.

"We are ready, Major," Teyla Emmagen confirmed.

Beside her, Lieutenant Ford nodded.

"Good." Turning, Sheppard called back into the hatch, "Close her up and get skimming. We'll meet you at the base."

In the cockpit, Marcum and Stackhouse gave quick salutes, "Yes, Sir!"

Controls were toggled, and as the hatch whirred up, Sheppard addressed his ground team again. "Remember! This isn't a jog around your Granny's block. But it's not a sprint either. There's gonna be heavy lifting after this. So pace yourselves." A chorus of, "Yes, Sirs!" echoed his remark. "Alright people. Move out!"

Ford and Teyla consulted their compass, and Steve's escort sprang swiftly into motion. The impromptu expedition surged into the undergrowth. As Jumper Three rose up behind them, Major Sheppard followed, taking the rear guard position with a wryly muttered, "And let's not go spraining any ankles on roots."

They made good time. Tree trunks and rotting logs sailed past. Branches smacked passing shoulders and thighs. Leaf and moss-muffled footsteps filled the still, twilight air. The field with the Stargate was quickly lost behind them.

Despite the circumstances, Sheppard was soon enjoying himself. It was refreshing, traveling through a forest at a brisk jog. No waiting for out-of-shape scientists. No constant stream of Dr. McKay's complaints. Just himself, his men, (and Teyla), and the humming whoosh of Jumper Three skimming the treetops as Marcum and Stackhouse practiced hovering in M1X-347's unpredictable lower atmosphere.

And the wraith, of course.

Drifting strategically to one side, Major Sheppard glanced surreptitiously at their prisoner. Steve was keeping pace, running easily within his escort's circle. His long strides ate the uneven terrain with rhythmic consistency, no flagging or faltering. He showed no sign the exertion was affecting him at all, and there was no doubt in Sheppard's mind the wraith could keep that pace all night without tiring.

The Major briefly fantasized about how nice it would be if McKay had half the alien scientist's stamina. Missions would be SO much easier.

A branch snapped underfoot, and Sheppard stumbled forward to catch himself, inadvertently getting a better view of Steve's face. Startled, he hid a frown and recovered. Had he seen that? Really? Naaah, no way!

Speeding up, Sheppard moved up alongside the security perimeter and stared openly at their captive. He HAD seen it!

Quickly he mentally revised his earlier observation. Steve WAS showing signs of exertion. It was subtle. And if he hadn't spent countless hours in staring matches with their captive, he probably wouldn't have noticed.

The wraith was panting.

Not obviously panting. Just a slight, upward pull of the lips opening the corners of his mouth, and a rapid tremor in the polished straps crossing his chest.

Was panting normal for a jogging wraith? Sheppard had been chased by dozens in the past, and none of them had panted.

Of course, most of them hadn't had visible faces, either…

Pale head bobbing luminescently in the growing gloom, Steve swung his face towards Sheppard, acknowledging the blatant scrutiny. His shadow-widened pupils studied the Major silently. Daringly? Uncaringly?

…Annoyed?

Meh. Sheppard didn't really care. Caught red-handed in his study of their prisoner, he raised his eyebrows flippantly. "You okay, Steve?"

Without missing a stride, Steve dodged a rotting stump and blinked impassively. "Purposeless inqueries into my welfare are atypical of you, Major."

Purposeless, huh? Maybe panting WAS normal.

"I am fine. Are you okay, as well?"

Condescending sarcasm. Cute. Undeterred, Sheppard ignored the mockery and switched the flippancy up a notch.

"You look hot."

Steve's eyes widened in startlement. He closed his mouth, then abruptly opened it again as a burst of repressed panting huffed out. Confusion spread across his face.

Weird reaction. Okaaay. "Am I wrong?"

As the Major watched curiously, Steve looked away, an introspective frown wrinkling his brow. Rustling branches and the jostling of limbs and equipment dominated the atmosphere for several moments.

Finally…

"I am warmer than I would prefer. Though not dangerously so."

All that thinking just for that? Interest piqued by the unexpected seriousness of the wraith's tone, Sheppard veered closer to the escort and feigned nonchalance. "You weren't too warm last time."

Steve hissed softly, "No…"

"But now you are."

Another hiss. "I dislike repeating myself, Major."

"Sorry, my bad." Hmmm… Fifty hours of daylight HAD raised M1X-347's temperature slightly. But not by more than a few degrees. Relatively speaking, it wasn't appreciably warmer than other habitable planets. Or Atlantis, for that matter.

Of course, their prisoner hadn't been jogging earlier.

Ah, screw it. He was probably WAY over thinking this.

As the sound of Marcum and Stackhouse buzzing treetops whooshed overhead again, Major Sheppard shrugged dismissively and looked away with a final, casually quipped, "Want some water?"

The pale face snapped sideways, and Steve stared at him with such a blatant look of all-encompassing disbelief that Sheppard suddenly wondered if he'd sprouted two heads. Resisting the urge to check, he blinked. Innocently. "What?"

An explosive chuff made the marines jogging between him and the wraith tense.

"When, Major," the incredulity in the barking retort was almost palpable, "have you ever seen me drink water?"

Never, actually. When they'd first captured him, Steve had ignored the water Sheppard had ordered put in his cell with as much disdain as he'd ignored the livestock.

"So, that's a, 'No,' then?"

Another disbelieving chuff startled a pair of birds nesting nearby.

Sheppard decided the wraith's reaction to his offer was starting to be a little much. He raised an eyebrow. "Hey. All living things need water."

The oval-pupiled eyes rolled long-sufferingly. "Yesssssss."

"That includes you, ya know."

No response. Steve panted rapidly and dodged a log, all while eyeing the Major with scornful disdain.

"I believe what our prisoner is trying to say," all eyes swept forward as Teyla's no-nonsense voice interrupted the growing tension behind her, "is that Wraith get all the moisture they need to survive from feeding."

That made sense. Though why the wraith hadn't just said so…

Within the circle of marines, Steve narrowed his eyes with a smug grin and hissed, "The female, Teyla, is perceptive."

"Yeah, she's smart, too," Sheppard quipped, watching the Athosian. Teyla's gaze was fixed determinedly on the forest, and the set of her shoulders as she kept pace with Ford suggested she wasn't likely to say anything further.

"Intelligence is usually a prerequisite for perception."

Okay, Sheppard wasn't sure he entirely agreed with that. But he WAS sure that running through a forest, with night falling, on a planet inhabited by man-eating, nocturnal beasts wasn't the best place to discuss complex, and potentially meaningful, topics with their alien prisoner. Better to keep things casually inane.

"Ya know, Steve. You could've just said, 'No thanks. I don't drink.'"

Grin fading, the wraith shot him an exasperated glance, "To do so would have been inaccurate. I am physically capable of ingesting liquid."

"But you DON'T norma—Ah, forget it." Maybe Teyla had the right idea. "Let's just… concentrate on running."

Taking the comment at face value, the wraith narrowed his eyes and looked away.

Concentrate on running they did. The darkness of twilight continued deepening. Insect chirps and birdcalls faded while others gradually took their place. Aside from a startling moment when something loud, (and suspiciously owl-like), hooted directly over Private Sheere's head, their progress through the forest was uneventful.

Uneventful, that is, until Marcum and Stackhouse radioed in to say they were leaving to swap jumpers. Sheppard had barely tapped his earpiece off after acknowledging their exit when Steve stopped dead in his tracks. No slowing. No warning. Just wraith WALL where once there'd been jogging back.

And the footing behind said wall wasn't ideal for stopping.

"WHOA!" Sheere swerved clumsily to the left, slipping down the loose pebbles and leafy detritus of a stream bank. His neighbor, Laris, swerved right and tripped on a wet rock, which sent her splashing to one knee. Major Sheppard, who'd retaken the rearguard, skittered haphazardly along the edge and only managed to avoid landing on Laris by grabbing wildly for a gnarled bush.

The rest of the escort skidded to a surprised halt and whirled back, stunners ready.

"I did NOT authorize a pitstop!" Balance recovered, Sheppard released the bush and cursed silently as he shook his hand out. Damn thing had mini-thorns!

Swearing a blue streak, (not silently), Private Sheere snapped his stunner up and scrambled quickly into place. As he glared daggers at the wraith down the barrel of his weapon, Laris jumped up and hurriedly filled the hole in the security perimeter her tumble had created. When Sheere's foul-mouthed grumbling didn't stop, she grimaced.

Sheppard joined Sheere's glaring party. "What's the big idea, Steve!?"

The wraith didn't answer. Apparently oblivious to the uproar he'd caused, he stood stockstill in the stream. The trickling current tugged at his coat panels, rhythmically animating his night-shrouded silhouette.

"Why are we stopping?" Teyla was not amused. Manner business-like, she strode back to the stream's edge and regarded the scene with disapproval.

"Damned if I know," Sheppard muttered. He jumped down into the shallow water and stalked towards the alert marines.

Lieutenant Ford emerged from the bushes beside Teyla, still consulting his compass. "What's the hold-up?"

As the Major circled Steve, Teyla caught his eye and inclined her head, glancing meaningfully into the forest, "We do not have time for this."

Deliberately echoing her impatience to show agreement, Sheppard nodded brusquely, "My thoughts exactly." He turned on his heel to face the wraith.

Steve didn't acknowledge him. He was staring at his feet.

"Steve?"

No… He was staring at the water. His olive eyes were darting back and forth, fixated on the rippling liquid as if it were the most fascinating sight in the Pegasus Galaxy. And his expression was one of rapt confusion.

It was the same look he'd had earlier, when Sheppard asked if he were hot.

Weird alien bug. Frowning impatiently, Major Sheppard moved closer to the escort and barked, "We're on a schedule, Steve! I did NOT say, 'Stop!'"

The wraith panted rapidly and kept watching, showing no sign that he'd heard.

Sheppard tried a different tact. "It's WATER. We've got plenty back on Atlantis. If you ask nicely, I'm sure Weir'll let you stare at some later."

No response.

The Major glared at their transfixed captive with growing frustration. He was NOT a mind reader. If Steve wouldn't say WHY he'd stopped, that limited Sheppard's options for motivating him to bribery and coercion. And since, well, bribery wasn't a smart precedent to set with the wraith…

Coercion it was.

Steeling for conflict, Sheppard lifted his chin and lowered his voice, "If that filament seed dies, your chance to examine the artifacts dies with it."

Eyes narrowing, Steve closed his mouth and inhaled deeply. He released the breath with a low hiss, then tilted his head slightly and started panting again.

"Ya hear me? I'm not joking, Steve—"

"I've changed my mind."

Struck momentarily dumb, Major Sheppard stared at the wraith with wide-eyed disbelief. He had NOT heard that! "Excuse me?"

Private Laris and the other marines shifted nervously as Steve's ivory head swayed to the left and tilted the other way. He didn't bother repeating himself. He hadn't bothered looking up from the stream either.

Suppressing a flashfire of anger, Sheppard raised warning eyebrows and spoke, slowly and dangerously. "You've changed your mind?"

"Yessssss."

What the Hell?! Not a trace of hesitation! "If you think we're turning around, you've got another think coming!" Sheppard didn't bother hiding how pissed he was now, "That is NOT how this relationship works!" Steve had agreed to extract that console, and he was damn well gonna do it! "You make a deal, you stick to it!" Sheppard would force the wraith to do it. He wasn't sure HOW yet, but—

"What are you getting upset for, Major?" Steve finally looked up. Blinking distractedly, he glanced about at the stunners leveled at him.

Sheppard was livid. What was he—For Pete's sake! "Uh, uh! No way. I am NOT playing games here."

The olive eyes darted accusingly across Sheppard's angry posture, and then snapped to his face, meeting his glare with wary confusion. "Nor am I, Major."

"Coulda fooled me."

Chuffing with annoyed perplexity, Steve angled his body away from Sheppard and studied the scene he'd caused, as if noticing it for the first time. He stilled for an instant. Then looked to his captor with new seriousness. "What is the problem?"

"I'll tell you what the problem is," Sheppard crossed his arms, resisting the urge to throttle. "You drag my people out here after promising to extract a console, then decide you don't feel like it! THAT'S a problem!"

Steve straightened, eyes widening indignantly, "I have done nothing of the sort."

The Major scoffed, doing a passable impression of McKay, "You said you changed your mind."

A sharp hiss, "Reference to something elsssse."

"Really?"

Ignoring the stunners pointed at him, Steve stalked slowly to the edge of his escort's perimeter. He cocked his head and bared translucent teeth, studying his captor intently, "To what did you think I referred?"

Well, that should've been obvious. Starting to get a niggling feeling that something was off, Sheppard humored the wraith. "Your agreement with Atlantis."

The teeth disappeared with a startled chuff, "Why did you think that?"

"'Cause that's what we were talking about!"

Steve blinked in surprise. Then… "We were not!"

Hit by an almost physical bludgeon of consternation, Sheppard suddenly flashed back to the wraith's behavior after they'd stopped. How he'd stared at the water, ignoring everything else. The distracted way he'd looked about after the Major reprimanded him. His apparent confusion followed by the quick turn to seriousness. As if he truly HADN'T noticed the uproar he'd caused. Sheppard had assumed the obliviousness was feigned, but… Now that he thought about it, Steve hadn't responded to a single thing Sheppard said until AFTER his controversial declaration.

My God. The wraith was more like McKay than he'd realized. Rocking back on his heels with the force of his epiphany, Major Sheppard stared at Steve with undisguised disbelief. "You weren't even listening to me, were you!?"

Steve bristled at his accusing tone and backed off a pace. His chin lifted defensively, "I was aware that you were speaking."

"But you weren't paying attention!"

Olive eyes skewered Sheppard as if he were a distasteful bug.

An instant later Steve angled his face away, disdainful gaze sweeping to his escort's still-leveled stunners. "It is possible that my," he expelled a low, reluctant-sounding hiss, "diligence… in interpretation was lacking."

And THAT was closer to an apology than Sheppard had expected to get. He opted to meet it with magnanimity. "Yeah, well. Don't let it happen again."

A panting, non-committal snort.

"So what the Hell WERE you referring to?" It hadn't escaped Sheppard's notice that they STILL didn't know why they'd stopped. He gestured for Private Sheere, Laris and the rest of the marines to stand down.

As the weapons surrounding him finally lowered, Steve smoothed his coat, inhaled deeply, and began eyeing the stream with fascination again, as if the confrontation had never occurred. "As I was saying," he absently murmured, "I have changed my mind about whether I will take your suggestion."

"And which suggestion was that?" Sheppard didn't remember making any.

Tucking loose hair delicately behind his ears, Steve dropped to a crouch and swept his fingers through the glistening currents. "You asked if I wanted water."

That'd been HOW long ago? Five minutes? Ten?

"I believe…" Lifting his dripping fingers to his face, Steve closed his eyes and inhaled with relish. He swept his cheeks past them, "I will try a drink."

NOW he wanted a drink! After all the grief he'd given Sheppard for suggesting it in the first place. "It took ya THAT long to decide?"

The wraith's expression shifted to one of confusion, and he opened his eyes, studying his fingers with bafflement, "It has occurred to me that I might be thirsty."

"MIGHT be?" It took great effort on Major Sheppard's part to not sound irritated, "Shouldn't you know?" This situation was ridiculous.

A scornful, sidelong glance darted his way. "My kind do not experience the sensation often, Major." On that condescending note, Steve dipped his ungloved hand into the glistening water and drank.

Meanwhile, above the stream…

The gatherer had never seen a white haired demon drink before. She'd never heard one speak. Never seen one feed. Nor did she care to. Ever.

Yet she had no choice.

Far above the stream, she clutched the branches that had become her hiding place and tried to quell the terror rising in her breast. She was trapped. The demon and its worshipers were directly below.

"You're telling me, you forgot what it feels like to be thirsty?!"

A blood-chilling hiss filtered up from the streambed, and the gatherer pressed her body closer to the rough bark of the tree. Silently she beseeched the Ancestors for protection. A little longer. Just a little longer. Night was falling. The demon would leave before the beasts came. She might still reach the portal.

The gatherer was far from the clearing. She'd run downwind to hide her scent, moving deep into the forest. Then she'd followed the stream, using its blessed water as a road to hide her tracks. She should've been safe. She'd taken every precaution. But unfortunate Fate had brought the demon's guards blundering into her path.

For a hundredth time, the gatherer thanked the Ancestors for their obliviousness.

"Ya gotta admit. That's a bit careless."

The voice of death, whispering among the swaying branches, made the gatherer cringe in fear. "I fail to see the cause of your amusement." Another hiss poisoned the air. The evil sound penetrated her bones, freezing them to the marrow.

Quelling a rush of panic, the gatherer watched with terrified eyes as the demon's worshipers milled below her. Let them not see. Blessed Ancestor's let their obliviousness continue! The branch she'd used to climb up here hung low over the stream, but in her panicking haste to hide, she'd broken it. If they stepped on the drowned twigs—If they SAW the tree's ravaged foliage…!

The normally comforting weight of her bag and its precious burden suddenly dragged at her shoulder like a rock, and the gatherer tightened her grip on it. Pain blossomed in her palm. She'd torn her nails on the climb up. Now they tore her.

A female worshipper stepped into view below her.

"Major Sheppard, the sun is setting. We must keep moving."

Yes, keep moving! The gatherer almost gasped with relief at those drifting words. They might yet pass her by!

The male voice she'd been hearing answered. "I'm with ya. Here."

A harsh, barely audible ripping noise followed, and a black dot hurtled across the stream. Like a snake striking, the white haired demon snatched it from the air.

"And this isssss…?"

"It's water. Drink it on the way."

The nightmare apparition swept to its feet. "Very well."

The gatherer held her breath as the demon and its swarm of human protectors exited the water and vanished from sight. For several long minutes she waited without moving, watching the foliage on stream banks. Making sure it was safe.

Finally the lengthening shadows forced her to be satisfied. She edged her way to the tree's trunk and climbed down, whispering gratitude for its protection the entire way. As her feet splashed into the water, a tremor of weakness assaulted her. The white haired demon had stood here. Its feet had displaced the pebbles her feet touched. The water swirling around her ankles had dampened its clothes.

Yet she lived.

She hugged herself, willing the strength to reach the portal to return to her limbs. She lived and she must keep it that way. Her family was depending on her!

Unbidden, the memory of the demon's face at it drank flashed before her. It would haunt her to her dying days. She'd never been that close to one!

Yet she lived!

Giddy with a sudden mixture of fear and relief, the gatherer resettled her bag on her shoulder and darted downstream. She would move away from this spot to hide her tracks, then circle back towards the portal. When the demon returned to its flying machine, she'd lie in wait while it left, then use the portal herself.

She would survive this. She would live to speak of what she'd seen.

And what she'd heard…

One word the worshipers had spoken was etched in the gatherer's mind like fire. It stayed with her as she ran, repeating over and over. Like a curse.

Atlantis.

She'd heard that word whispered among the villages lately. She'd heard it whispered in the marketplaces of a dozen worlds. She'd heard it whispered with awe. She'd heard it whispered with hope.

The gatherer had even started to believe in the word herself.

Atlantis.

…

Now it filled her with terror.

01:37:23 until sunset…

The extraction of the console went smoother than Major Sheppard and Dr. Weir had expected. The retrieval team arrived at the ravaged base on schedule, (despite Steve's pit stop), did a quick scout of the surrounding area, and jogged down the steep ridge overlooking the dug-up entrance with a minimum of slippage.

Ignoring the Frisbee-sized furballs tumble-weeding in the cool, twilight breeze, Sheppard and Teyla surveyed the torn ground as they approached.

"If anyone DID stop by," muttered Sheppard, "they didn't clean for us." The place still looked like a gnawed on, churned up mess.

Eyeing the excessively aerated earth and leaf litter seriously, the Athosian shook her head, "I do not see any new tracks."

Lieutenant Ford glanced about, clearly wondering how she could tell.

Behind him, within the circle of marines, Steve lifted his chin with a jerk and scented the air. "I detect no sign of recent activity," he hissed.

A metallic shiiinngg issued from the wraith's gloved hand as he spun the cap down on Major Sheppard's water bottle, and Private Sheere ducked with a curse as a deft wrist flick sent the dark canister missiling past his head.

Nonchalantly catching the bottle like the pro he was, Sheppard nodded in agreement. The place looked like Hell, but it didn't look any worse than before. "Don't give my people a reason to shoot you, Steve. At the moment, I kinda need you conscious." Which, of course, was why the wraith had done it. Ignoring the smug smirk his comment evoked, Sheppard tucked the water bottle back into its Velcro pocket, (it was significantly lighter than when it'd come out), and addressed the group.

"We stick to the plan. Get in. Extract the console. Get out."

"Yes, Sir," Lieutenant Ford murmured.

Various members of the escort echoed him.

"Okay." Hefting his P-90, Sheppard switched its mounted light on and swung the bright beam into the ruined maw of the base. "Lights on. We're going in."

The interior was just as decimated and deserted as before. Quick checks showed nothing had changed in the small rooms branching off the main corridor, and wary kicks failed to dislodge curious space furries from the mossy 'nest' that'd been wedged between the control room's broken pillars. Considering the entire space stank of apex predator, Sheppard didn't find this surprising. But one couldn't be too careful.

Satisfied nothing lethal or spooky was hiding in the shredded membranes, he swung his P-90's beam over the consoles.

Still nothing. The savaged remains lay motionlessly on the clawed floor. Trailing her light along the far wall, Teyla circled towards the toppled shapes and walked among them. She checked each individually, then caught Sheppard's eye and shook her head.

Good. Time to get down to business.

"We're clear," Major Sheppard announced.

Like a well-oiled machine, the escort poured from the hallway and descended upon the pool of stagnant goo surrounding the target console. They split to either side, skirting the carcass's edges, then doubled their perimeter's radius so Steve would have unimpeded access. Not wasting time, the wraith splashed to the terminal and began examining it with deft caresses and quick passes of his cheeks.

"How's it look?"

With an absent chuff, Steve fisted his ungloved hand and plunged it into the goo, striking the floor with a squelching thunk. "The deterioration has progressed as predicted."

Sheppard nodded, "Meaning the filaments are alive."

Vibrations shuddered beneath the marines' boots as Steve jerked a shard of floor free and tossed it aside, already reaching for more. "The seed remains viable, yessss."

Not a wasted trip. Good. Signaling Lieutenant Ford, Major Sheppard unshouldered his pack and unwrapped the bundle of double-layered plastic wrap and tourniquets that had been dubbed acceptable synthetic tissue patches earlier. In the event those failed, a package of hand towels and duct tape was available.

Ford dropped his duffel, (which contained significantly more sophisticated tools that hopefully wouldn't be needed yet), by Sheppard's knee, then jogged out with Sheere to watch for beasts. Splashes and the sound of chitin shattering filled the air as the methodical dismantling of the floor surrounding the console continued. Two thirds of the way around, the wraith paused to scrutinize his work. The pool's level had dropped as stale nutrient fluid rushed to fill spaces beneath the gaps, and deep claw gashes were visible in the terminal's base. Hissing softly, Steve pushed against the console. The top of the organic computer swayed. Chitin creaked in protest.

Frowning slightly, Sheppard fished out his knife. Steve was gonna ask for it any secon—

CRACK!

The wraith's body tensed in a sharp shove that shattered the remaining chitin while levering the console's pedestal into the air. "Your blade, Major Sheppard." Deftly twisting his forearm, Steve rolled the terminal along his black sleeve so it settled into the groove between his neck and glittering epaulet. The control panel dipped towards his back, lifting the pedestal higher and exposing shreds of membrane and clusters of tautly stretched organic tubes tangled within a chaotic mass of ragged tissues.

Steve's ungloved arm stretched out, fingers spreading imperiously.

Blade. Right. Reversing his TAC knife, Major Sheppard slapped its hilt into the wraith's waiting palm with a flip, "Don't cut youself."

Steve snorted disdainfully, "An unlikely eventuality."

"Yeah, well…" Sheppard watched the wraith grip the knife in his gloved fist and slip its curved tip out between his fingers. That just didn't look safe. If McKay were here, he'd be complaining about the Ancient fabric again.

"The synthetic patches, Major."

Tourniquets and plastic wrap time. Ignoring the sour tang of stale goo as it soaked his knees in a lukewarm sploosh, Major Sheppard crouched by Steve's side and began passing him lengths of flaccid yellow tubing. With businesslike efficiency, Steve looped each tourniquet around an organic tube in the console's base and began methodically tightening their fasteners, strangling the vessels one by one. Finished with that, he began severing them below the tourniquets, scrutinizing each wound for drips before snagging a finger around and slicing through the next. The process continued for a minute or two, then the ravaged pedestal bobbed up with a last slice.

With an absent chuff, Steve angled his body forward to conteract the released tension as he eyed the orange vessel he'd just cut. "Initial excision is complete."

Major Sheppard scooted sideways as Steve swung the pedestal away from its hole and deposited it by the pool. The damaged chitin crackled in protest at the uneven weight distribution as the wraith bent to dip his hands into its innards, sorting through the goo-slicked tourniquets. "Adjusting nutrient flow for transport," Steve barked, "The synthetic membranes, Major."

Shoving the remaining tourniquets into his duffel, Sheppard quickly repositioned himself by the wraith's side and yanked out the Cling Wrap. "How much 'synthetic membrane' do ya want?" It was really hard not to laugh saying that.

Steve's ungloved hand shot up, thumb and index finger extended. "Two sections, this width."

Eyeballing the space between the pale digits, Sheppard tugged out four inches of staticy plastic, then paused. "Including your claws?"

Olive eyes darted distractedly at him before returning to their task. "Excluding."

"Right." Major Sheppard added another half inch instead of two. Ripping it off on the built in metal teeth, he draped it over Steve's extended finger and squeaked the second sheet out. "How many more of these do ya need?"

Selecting two severed tubes of similar color and thickness, Steve pressed their ends together and stretched the Cling Wrap around them, sealing them together the same way he'd recirculated the hard drive's nutrient supply. "Assuming they are adequate for the task…" The second sheet slipped from Sheppard's hand and joined the first. The wraith began loosening the tourniquets on either side of the wrap. When no leaks appeared, a pleased hiss whispered through the room. "Another six should suffice."

"Six it is." Sheppard returned to tugging plastic out.

After attaching three more pairs of tubes to each other, Steve withdrew his hands from the cluster of tourniquet-tipped tentacles and wiped them off while rising smoothly to his feet. "The console's life support functions have been temporarily stabilized." Black coat panels creaked and dripped as he stepped around the console's base and dropped into a crouch by the dead control panel. The amber beads ringing the glove's wristband glimmered as they disappeared into a gash in the computer's side. "It will survive in this state long enough for the seed's extraction."

Signaling the escort to prepare for departure, Major Sheppard shoved the Cling Wrap box into his duffel and zipped it closed, watching their captive's new probing curiously. "Watcha doin' now?"

The wraith hissed distractedly, "Making sure no serious internal injuries exist that could present problems during transport."

"And are ya finding any?" Sheppard shouldered his duffel and reached down again, adding Ford's bag to his load with a grunt.

"No more than expected."

"So we can go, then?"

Slipping his feeding hand from the wound with a wet squelch, Steve closed his eyes and passed his cheeks over the damply dripping glove, inhaling deeply. After a few seconds, he nodded sharply and rose smartly to his feet while inclining his pale face curtly towards Sheppard. His olive eyes blinked resolutely, "Yes, Major. We can go."

"Excellent." Turning, Sheppard tapped his earpiece and exited the escort's perimeter so they could get at the pedestal. "Ford, Sheere. We're coming out."

Abandoning her silent vigil by the toppled carcasses, Teyla skirted the stagnant puddle. Ford's reply crackled in his ear as she strode to meet him.

"Ready when you are, Sir," Ford replied.

Meanwhile, at the clearing's edge…

No, no, no! Not again. Not again!

The gatherer's breath caught quickly in her throat. Her pulsed raced in panic as she skidded to a frantic stop and dove behind a rock. The Ancestors' Ring was activating. Again. Again! The word pulsed horror in time with her heart, pushing fear through her veins as surely as it pushed blood. What were the demons doing!

She was trapped again. Trapped!

Cradling her precious bag, the gatherer crept sideways until she could peek around the rock and see the Ring. Another ship, identical to the first, hovered before the glowing pool.

A sob of terror whimpered its escape. She'd watched them leave. Why had they returned! Why!? It wasn't safe! The sunlight faded!

And she was an easy target. Trapped. Exposed on the grassy plain because she'd believed them gone. No cover near. Only rocks and plants. Nowhere to hide.

Had they seen her when they left? Had they waited, knowing she'd leave the forest's shade if she thought them gone? Cowering at the thought, the gatherer pressed her belly low into the stiff grass and wormed closer to the lichen-smeared stone. Brittle patches crumbled against her cheek. Tears of despair burned her eyes.

In her blurry gaze, the white-haired demon's ship slowly turned. Turned. Kept turning. Its glyph-inscribed nose pointed her way.

The gatherer's eyes squeezed shut. Not here. Only grass. Pebbles. Insects. No one of interest. No prey. No food. Keep turning.

The humm of the ship's passage leadened the air, pressing down upon her until she thought her ears would burst. Then, unexpectedly…

…it lightened.

The gatherer gasped and sat up. With disbelieving relief, she turned and saw it. The ship. Flying up, towards the trees. It had not passed directly above, but to one side, and it wasn't coming back for her. Not yet.

She was safe. Another chance to survive.

Hastily the gatherer pushed herself up and flung clumsily forward, tripping and stumbling, barely managing to prevent her fragile cargo from swinging into rocks. If she survived, she'd find this spot again one day and bless it for saving her.

She raced through the grass, panicked breathing echoing harshly in her ears. The Ring loomed in the distance, out of reach on its hill. She MUST get there. Faster! Legs burning, the gatherer doubled her efforts. Her side screamed protest. She mustn't stop. The white-haired demons would return, but she couldn't predict when, and sunset was close. So close. Waiting for their departure was suicide.

The tall grass rustled around her, rippling the gatherer's frantic path through the rocky field for all to see. Clearly visible. A dark speck traversing a sea of yellow. So horribly exposed, she shuddered at the thought of viewing herself from above. Like demons could. They'd find her easily if they turned back now.

She hadn't much time.

She mustn't be here when they returned!

01:13:07 until sunset…

Frowning at the lengthening shadows slowly creeping down the debris-strewn ridge to engulf the base's entrance, Major Sheppard stepped to one side of the gaping hole and tapped his radio. "Sheppard here. Go ahead, Rodney."

As his radio crackled to life, Lieutenant Ford and Private Sheere emerged beside him walking sideways, laden with the lower half of the console. The fasteners on the unsealed tubes' tourniquets swayed and clinked, knocking together with each step.

"I'm in Jumper five, with Marcum and Stackhouse. They made the switch."

Hello obvious. "Good. So you're NOT on foot."

McKay's confusion was audible. "Why would—Nevermind. The winch I installed is ready to go. We're on our way to your location."

"Don't take any detours, now."

"Funny—OW! Watch what you're doing!"

Wincing at the exclamation, Sheppard glanced uneasily at the sky as the sounds of a commotion filtered into his ear, "You okay up there?"

"No, I'm not Ok—Yes," McKay's change in tone told Sheppard that first bit hadn't been directed at him. "Yes, we are. It's a little bumpy up here."

That would be the lower atmosphere's turbulence. "Well, fly lower, then."

Dr. McKay snorted. "Any lower and we'll hit treeto—OOF! Fly lower! Lower!" his voice squeaked, "I don't care! Break a twig or two! Geez!"

Major Sheppard glanced at the branches above, willing the Jumper's cylindrical belly to appear, "McKay? How far away are ya?"

"'Cause Sheppard said so!"

Well, if they were over trees, they couldn't be too far. Seeing Steve and the last of his escort emerge from the base, Sheppard caught Ford's eye and pointed at a relatively clear patch of ground several meters from the ridge. "Set it there." There were slightly fewer branches above that area.

"Yes, Sir." Ford and the three marines helping him maneuvered the heavy console to the space he'd indicated. The battered pedestal sank deeply into the claw-churned earth as they gently tipped it. "Easy does it…"

Surrounded by his diminished escort, Steve hissed warningly and barked, "Careful, humans. The seals are fragile."

Focused on the dangling ends of organic vessels by his hand, Lieutenant Ford nodded. "Don't worry, I got it. We're not going all the way."

Another hiss. Steve narrowed his eyes in displeasure, watching Ford's awkward protection of the seals like a hawk. "It should not be set down."

"Yeah, well," the Lieutenant's shoulder lifted in a half-shrug, "Next time you can carry it."

A derisive snort. "To do so would not be a burden to me."

"Take it up with the Major, then."

Not interested in being drawn into an argument just now, Sheppard grimaced. "Alright, knock it off." Not waiting to see if they listened, he tapped his radio again. "Sheppard to McKay. Got an ETA?"

"Yes, YES, we do," McKay still sounded agitated, "Less than a minute."

Excellent. "We're on schedule," Sheppard glanced at the console. Lieutenant Ford had it balanced in the loam at a forty-five degree angle. Private Sheere knelt by his feet, dutifully keeping the three seals clean. "Already waiting for ya."

"In that case, you should be able to see us right about… Now!"

Right on cue, Jumper Five's metallic nose drifted into view between a pair of swaying branches. Coming up beside Sheppard, Teyla let her P-90 drift lazily in a waiting position as she lifted her face to the ship. "I will not regret leaving this place."

"Me neither," Sheppard offered, glancing her way.

Teyla caught his eye seriously for a moment, "We came here very late. None of my people would dare venturing to this world during this hour."

Resisting the urge to point out that Teyla's people didn't have jumpers, Major Sheppard found himself unwillingly picturing monstrous predators strong enough to create the huge gashes in the rocks and trees they'd seen. He frowned, "Well, don't worry. I don't plan on coming back at this hour. Ever."

Teyla's chocolate eyes searched his face, weighing the Major's commitment to that statement, then swung back to the jumper. After a short pause, the Athosian's brow crinkled in delicate bemusement. "Is… Dr. McKay waving to us?"

Sheppard looked and snorted. Stackhouse had tilted Jumper five's nose down to squeeze between some branches, and McKay's silhouette was distinctly visible through the front windshield. He was, indeed, waving. "Rodney really should be sitting down," Sheppard muttered. The inertial dampeners were good, but they had their limits.

"Maybe he is counting on the branches holding the ship steady for him," suggested Teyla.

"Maybe." Sheppard highly doubted it, though. Given the recent complaints, it was more likely the physicist's ego being counted on. As they watched, McKay's silhouette vanished into the rear compartment. A second later, Jumper Five's nose pulled sharply back to level, cutting off the view of its interior. Ever so slowly, the silvery ship began to rotate in place, positioning its rear hatch above them.

The Major tapped his radio. "Lookin' good, Stackhouse."

The Jumper stopped turning as Marcum replied, "We'll be glad when you're up here, Sir." A hydrolic hiss followed by low whirring filtered down through the leaves as the hatch's seal released. Twigs and branches cracked as its ramp lowered, raining vegetative debris down through the canopy.

Shielding his eyes from the plummeting foliage, Major Sheppard sidestepped out of range as a particularly loud snapping exploded in the trees above them. Alarmed by the noise, Teyla quickly followed him. "What was that?"

"Just a branch, Sir. We caught an engine pod earlier."

The ramp opening must've pushed them harder into it. "Well, get those ropes down before you deforest the place!"

Dr. McKay's voice crackled in his ear, "Already on it!

A pair of snakey black ropes sailed ungracefully out from the puddle jumper's ramp, only to snag flippantly in the canopy. "Oh, for the love of…!" A stream of muttered griping assaulted the Major's ear as McKay yanked them up and tried again. Three attempts later, the thin cords finally managed to whip and slither their way to the ground. Ripped leaves and bits of twig fluttered about their dangling ends.

Ignoring the leafy drizzle, Major Sheppard moved in and grasped them, giving each cord a testing yank. The tough climbing line stretched and held.

"Okay," Gesturing for Teyla to join him, Sheppard looped a rope behind his waist and started tying knots, "I go up. Then you. Then Laris." He shot Private Laris a look to make sure she'd heard, and the young marine glanced at him with a nod. Noting the exchange, Steve scrutinized the dangling ropes distastefully before returning his critical gaze to Lieutenant Ford and the precariously tilted console.

Teyla listened attentively as Sheppard began twisting the cord into an improvised harness. "Once I take the controls, Marcum and Stackhouse can help cover Steve."

"He will come up next?"

"Yup," the Major gave a curt nod, "Three stunners above. Three below." Best they could do with four people on the terminal. (McKay didn't make the count). "After he's up, the rest of the escort follows."

Shadows played across the Athosian's hair as she inclined her face in understanding. "And then the console."

Sheppard nodded, "Then we haul it up."

"It will be crowded…"

He shrugged. For this mission's last leg, it couldn't be helped. "I prefer to think of it as getting to know my neighbors better."

A smile tugged Teyla's lips.

Finished with his last knot and loop, Major Sheppard clicked his TAC vest's carabiners onto the rope for safety and surrendered his weight to Jumper Five. The twisted cords of his harness caught and held. "Alright! Haul me up!"

In Jumper Five's rear compartment, a metallic growl filled the air as McKay threw a switch. Several stories below, Sheppard's feet lifted smoothly from the ground.

Teyla watched his boots float up, into the branches, then turned her attention to the second rope and Private Laris, who'd offered to help tie her knots.

Meanwhile, back in the clearing…

Almost there…! Stumbling with fatigue, the gatherer caught herself on a low rock and paused, panting to catch her breath. The hill of the Ancestor's Ring loomed above, beckoning with tantalizingly promise. Freedom. Safety. Home.

…Safety.

Adjusting the Night Glow root's bag with a quick tug, she lurched forward, upwards, tripping and slipping. Growing darkness hid pits and bumps. Shadows clutched her feet, knotting grass into ankle-grasping tangles. Night belonged to the Beasts, and the Darkness that was their herald bid her wait for them.

The gatherer refused its call. She pushed onwards. Upwards. The Ring of the Ancestors was close. So close! Almost there!

A painful cramp lanced through her side, and the gatherer cried out, but kept going. The gray shape of the altar neared. She'd rest there. Not before. And only long enough to open the portal. Hugging her side, she jogged up the slope.

Black spots were dancing along the edges of her vision when her overheated fingers finally grasped cool metal. The gatherer collapsed against the altar, panting with relief and gasping great gulps of air. One cloth-wrapped hand pressed her cramped side, urging the pain to depart as she willed the darkness dulling her eyes to retreat.

The constellations dotting the altar's surface swam before her. The gatherer stared at them in frustration, silenting ordering them to still. The first stars…

There! She selected them, and a rush of relief filled her as the familiar orange glow sprang into existence beneath her fingertips. She was here. Really here. Really doing this. Going home! With renewed confidence, the gatherer's hand darted across the altar, pressing stars. One by one the lights of home lit at her touch.

Light flared. The Ring of the Ancestors hummed.

She blinked in confusion. Blue lights flickered across her fingers where they hovered above the last stars. She had not pressed them—

NO!

Eyes widening in horror, the gatherer looked up in time to see the last star blare to life on the Ring's edge. The Ancestor's doorway geysered open.

NO! She flung herself sideways, scrambling to circle the Ring before whoever was coming saw her. Behind it was cover, but the instant it closed, she'd be visible.

Please don't look back!

A familiar, ear-splitting whine exploded above the hill as the gatherer threw herself into the grass and covered her head. Go away! Don't look back!

A second whine exploded, joining the first.

The gatherer squeezed her eyes shut and prayed as the bone-chilling sounds saturated the hills. Icy terror flooded her veins.

Above the plains, deaf to her silent pleas…

…twin shadows of Death flew into the growing Night.

00:57:43 until sunset…

"Watch where you're poking that!"

"Don't worry, I got it."

"No, you don—"

CRACK!

Eyes glued to the screen showing Jumper Five's position relative to M1X-347's surface, Major Sheppard winced at the splintering noise, but stayed focused on the glowing turbulence chart that overlaid his display.

"I told you…!"

"Look. You want to take over?"

A brief silence greeted Lieutenant Ford's distance-muffled comment.

"Didn't think so."

Not quite so muffled, Dr. McKay squeaked indignantly, "And what's that supposed to mean?!"

An annoyed hiss whispered through Jumper Five's rear compartment, followed by Steve's multi-tonal bark, "It is gaining momentum again."

"I see it. Don't worry."

"You keep saying that," McKay huffed musingly, "Yet you keep breaking things." A short pause. "Why's he looking at me like that?"

"Why do you think I'm looking at you like this?"

To Sheppard's relief, Teyla finally chose to intervene. "I believe, Dr. McKay, that Lieutenant Ford is doing the best he can. It is only branches that have broken so far. The console itself is unharmed."

Unharmed, of course, being a relative term. A gust of wind lit the overlay covering his display, and Major Sheppard tightened his grip on the crystal controls. "Turbulence coming!" Concentrating on the force vectors, he pictured the treetops surrounding them and willed the Jumper to compensate.

Branches and foliage scraped along the ship's sides and tapped its roof, swaying with the rising wind. Suspended forty feet below the rear ramp, the organic console caught the breeze that managed to filter through the foliage and listed slightly, like a drunkenly dragged, raggedly tattered, Frankensteinian kite.

Dangling forty feet down beside the console, Lieutenant Ford wrapped an arm around its pedestal and stuck his three-pronged stick out, trying to brace it against a nearby branch to counteract the listing. The improvised tool, (pruned from one of the trees a few minutes earlier), slipped across the bark, then lodged in a V and held.

Peering out from the Jumper's back, Dr. McKay watched as Ford's legs stretched and twisted, wresting leverage from his abdomen and harness. "I would SO break my back doing that," he muttered, grimacing.

Watching from the other side of Jumper Five's rear hatch, Teyla glanced at McKay, "Let us hope he does not do so."

Neurotically double-checking the carabiners fastening his TAC vest to the Jumper's storage rack for the hundredth time, McKay waved her off with an unconcerned, "Meh, Marines are trained for it."

From his alert position covering Steve by the winch, Private Sheere shot the physicist a dirty look. "We do NOT train for that."

An absent snort, "It's classic emergency air-lift stuff."

"'Air-lift,' as in Air-craft. That means Airforce."

"Well, it's a good thing we have an Airforce pilot," Sheppard groused. He tore his eyes from the fading turbulence on his screen long enough to steal a frustratingly uninformative glance over his shoulder. "How's it going back there?"

Crouched on the open ramp, Steve tracked the console's changing trajectory below the ship with calculating eyes. "The path is clear," he hissed.

"Good," Sheppard nodded, "You've got some calm, McKay. Get her up."

"On it!" McKay signaled Private Marcum, who manned the winch. The marine quickly released the emergency stop, which they'd activated so Ford could control the console's swinging. With a growling whirr, the tire-sized spools began to turn, slowly reeling the computer in like an unwieldy fish. Attached to the secondary spool, Lieutenant Ford kicked from branch to branch as he rose, alternately extending his stick as a prod and holding it out like a shield to protect the exposed seals and tubes of the pedestal's base. Displaced twigs and swathes of foliage slapped at Ford's body and scrabbled along the console's chitin shell as they squeezed upwards.

"Thirty feet left," Dr. McKay announced.

"A large obstruction approaches," Steve barked, "You must slow their ascent!"

"I can handle it," Ford called.

Torn between Ford's claim and the wraith's assessment, Dr. McKay peered indecisively into the growing gloom, trying to judge the distances.

Spotting the problem, (a large branch that looked much closer to Jumper Five than it actually was), Teyla abruptly straightened. "The prisoner is right," she signaled Marcum, who reached for the brake again.

"Too late!" Launching himself up with a rattling hiss, the wraith grabbed the line that led to the pulley McKay had installed above the hatchway and used it to support his weight as he leaned out over the deadly drop. His black-gloved hand snagged the console's rope and yanked, setting a slowly swelling pendulum motion into effect.

"What are you—Oh, Shit!" Ford scrambled to wedge himself and his stick between the console and the swiftly approaching branch. The tough wood, which had seemed flexible a second earlier, refused to yield when he pushed it.

"Let go of the rope!" McKay squeaked.

"Not yet!" Steve barked. His pale face snapped towards Sheere, who'd grabbed hold of the storage rack when he moved. "Do not touch that!"

For an instant Private Sheere froze, his fingers just iches from the line that tethered the wraith's waist to the ship. With a glare, he started moving again.

"I'm okay! We're okay!" Spitting leaves, Lieutenant Ford unplastered himself from the console and fended the twigs away from its base. The computer had altered course, its new trajectory swinging it slightly under the ship. The full brunt of impact had been avoided. "Man, now I know how being hit by a windshield wiper feels."

"Stop, stop, stop!" McKay gestured frustratedly at Marcum, who threw the brake again. "We've got swing to correct."

"Get back in the ship!" Sheere gave Steve's rope a warning tug.

With a disdainful sniff, Steve reversed his yank into a push and used the resulting force to propel him back to a stable, upright position. Releasing the rope, he smoothed his coat while regarding Sheere with undisguised disgust.

Below Jumper Five, the speed of the terminal's swinging noticably slowed.

"We would be done by now if I had been allowed to assist."

"Well, you weren't," Sheppard called. Having the wraith dangling below the ship with miles of forest to hide in if he decided to slice the rope and bolt was NOT an approved prisoner handling technique. A haughty, exasperated chuff protested his reminder, but Sheppard ignored it. "What's left, McKay?"

Rodney eyed the markings on the winch's rope, "Twenty feet, give or take an inch."

Almost three quarters done, "Good. Let's wrap this u—"

"WRAITH!" Teyla's urgent shout shattered the crowded chaos of Jumper Five's rear compartment as she launched herself from the hatchway, lunging towards Private Sheere and the winch. As the Athosian snatched the pistol stunner from his startled grasp, Steve rose from his newly resumed, crouching vigil and turned, drawing breath to speak while fixing Teyla with a look of perplexed annoyance.

"What—" With a startled chuff, the wraith's eyes widened and shot up, tracking astonishment across the ceiling. As his face lifted to follow, Teyla jerked the stunner up, and a bolt of blueish-white energy exploded from its silvery muzzle, striking Steve in the chest, outlining his dark form with a nimbus of crackling, disruptive radiance. The wraith's body tensed, then toppled, clattering onto the open ramp in a stiff collapse.

As Private Sheere scrambled for Steve's tether, Teyla stepped over the wraith's legs and sent a second energy bolt whizzing into him. Watching to make sure his disoriented gaze lapsed into unconsciousness, she then whirled to face the pilot compartment. "Major Sheppard!" she yelled, "They are coming!"

Swearing a mental blue streak, Major Sheppard stared at the pair of incoming dots that'd appeared on his screen with consternation. This was NOT happening! "Get Lieutenant Ford up here!" With a thought, he activated the Jumper's shield.

"What about the console?" McKay called.

"Forget the console!" Ford was a sitting duck, "We'll reel it in later!"

"But the branches—"

"I know!" They might have to cut their loses, "Sheere! Laris! Secure our prisoner!" Shit, shit, SHIT! The darts were flying straight at them.

"The prisoner is unconscious," Teyla called.

"Good!"

Lashing Steve's limp wrists behind his back, Sheere tugged him roughly off the ramp and helped Laris lock him to the starboard bench. As the nearest escort marines knelt to assist, a few feet away Marcum released the brake on Ford's line.

As the powerful winch reeled him in, Ford's startled voice preceded him into the jumper, "Whoa! Slow, slow—tree! Face—Mmffl!" Thwack! Slap! "Phffahhh! Ick!" The Lieutenant's hands shot into view at the ramp's edge, and two marines grabbed his arms and hauled him onboard while Marcum killed the power behind them.

Scrambling to his feet, Ford took in the wraith's stunned form and glanced towards the pilot seats with a confused, "What'd I miss?"

"We've got incoming!" Sheppard barked.

"But the computer's still—"

"I know!"

McKay grabbed Ford's arm, "Did you stop the swing?"

"Yeah, but," Frowning at McKay's hand, Ford looked at Sheppard again, "There's too many branches. It'll get caught."

Focused on the incoming dots, the Major shrugged dismissively, "Can't get caught if we don't move."

Dr. McKay turned to Sheppard in alarm, "Why won't we move!?'"

Nodding at Stackhouse in the co-pilot's seat, Sheppard activated the Jumper's silent-running mode. "'Cause they'll see us."

"Then make us invisible!" McKay squeaked.

"We ARE invisible!"

"Then why—"

Sheppard cut him off with a hard stare, "The darts are using our flight path. They're gonna pass directly overhead. If we leave now—"

"They'll see the displaced branches," McKay finished in dismay. "Not to mention the computer dangling—" Fumbling for the port bench, he plopped onto it with a shocked, "—Oh God, why now?"

"That's exactly," continued Sheppard, "what I want to know. Now get up here and take some readings."

"Right, right…" Scrambling for his datapad, Dr. McKay lurched up again and squeezed between the winch and the blockade of knees lining the walls. As he hooked his pad's crystal probe into the puddle jumper's sensor displays, Stackhouse scooted out of the co-pilot's seat to make room. "Anything in particular you want?"

"Signals, power fluctuations." McKay's fingers were already typing as Major Sheppard fixed the incoming glowing dots with a glare of grim determination. "…Anything that might've called them here."

Meanwhile, back in the clearing…

The blue light filtering through the grass flickered then vanished with a sucking Fwoomp! The gatherer trembled in fear. The portal was closed. Her cover, gone.

But the terrifying whine continued to fade.

The demons weren't staying!

Answered prayers freezing in her throat, the gatherer whipped her hands to the earth and rolled to one side, frantically darting her gaze across the sky and the surrounding hilltop. Grass waved in a rising breeze. The sun dipped into the forest.

Against that brilliant, sinking orb, the demons' silhouettes shrank with distance.

She was alone! Launching herself up, the gatherer flung herself through the Ring and raced for the altar. No waiting! Enough hiding! She'd used three lifetimes of luck.

Her hands flew across the altar's buttons, depressing home's familiar constellations with cloth-muffled pats and slaps. She was leaving. Now. And never would she come to the Night Beast world this late again! It wasn't worth it!

Even a Night Glow Root as large as the one she carried…

The last constellation flared at her touch, and the gatherer grabbed the altar's dome with desperate relief. The stars framing the Ancestor's Ring blazed to life, showering her with blue light. For half a second, she bathed in its promised safety, allowing the idea of survival to flourish under its radiance. Then the portal opened.

Barely waiting for the deadly geyser to subside, the gatherer pushed herself from the altar and ran, relief singing through her blood and in her thoughts.

She lived. She lived!

Hope buoyed her steps. She'd seen a demon and its worshipers. Yet she lived. She'd seen their deadly ships up close. Yet she lived.

Yes, she lived. And after she delivered her precious cargo to her mate—

The cool ripple of illusory water engulfed the gatherer's hand as it reached before her into the Ancestor's doorway.

—She would speak of what she'd seen.

The gatherer's slim form vanished into the rippling light, and with a loud Fwoomp! the doorway closed once more.

Silence descended upon the deserted hilltop.

00:53:32 until sunset…

"There's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," McKay confirmed. The physicist's gaze jumped determinedly across the jumper's sensor displays as his fingers darted over the charts and graphs on his datapad. "The base is dormant. No power readings."

"And the terminal—"

"Dead as a doornail."

Except for the brain stuff. Concentrating on keeping Jumper Five perfectly still, Sheppard started to protest. "But the neur—"

McKay cut him off. "Don't bother," he gestured vaguely at the walls without looking up, "Even the trees have stronger life signs."

That was good. "They're masking it."

"Yes.

"So, we're safe," Sheppard pressed.

"I just said—" with a hushed sigh, Dr. McKay stopped long enough to roll his eyes long-sufferingly, "Yes. We're safe." Glancing into the rear compartment, which was full of tense marines and unconscious wraith, he paused and frowned. "Relatively speaking." Abruptly refocusing, he shook his head dismissively, "My point is, if something gives us away, it won't be a power reading."

"Right…" A barrage of turbulence lit the screen and Major Sheppard quickly double-checked the shape of the branch pocket he'd wedged their ride into. Careful, careful… Move with the trees. Don't get hit. Hitting meant 'non-wind created movement,' and 'non-wind created movement' was suspicious.

"Nobody here but us chickens…" he murmured.

Having moved to the passenger seat behind him, Teyla lifted her eyes ceilingward and whispered, "I would ask what a chicken is, but I am more concerned with what we're hiding from." As if punctuating her statement, the mosquito whine of dart engines, which'd permeated the jumper during the last few minutes, rose sharply in volume as one of the wraith ships buzzed the base again. Widening slightly, her dark eyes swept worriedly to Major Sheppard, "You are sure they can't see us?"

He shot her a brief, but reassuring, half-smile, "Pretty sure."

"This jumper's invisible," Dr. McKay stated, "and the computer's obscured by four stories of dense foliage. Not to mention the light's fad—" frowning, he raised his voice abruptly, "They're scanning again."

"Scanning the base," Sheppard clarified.

"Yes."

"And they won't see us," Teyla prodded.

"More like can't," McKay absently elaborated. His fingers darted across the datapad, "The jumper's invisibility shield has a dampening effect on all power sources contained within it—"

"NOT that we shouldn't maintain radio silence," Sheppard added.

"—So even if they did manage, by some miraculous coincidence, to successfully scan us, they wouldn't get anything."

"But the computer—"

McKay cut Teyla off with an impatient, "It's outside the shield, yes, but it's powerless. Worse case scenario, it shows up as an abnormally large pine cone."

"Which would be impressive, considering the trees are all deciduous."

Confused for an instant, Rodney glanced up, "What?"

The Major played innocent.

Understanding dawned. "Oh. Funny. Har har. I am SO not laughing."

As McKay shot Sheppard a dirty look, Lieutenant Ford, who was keeping watch at the rear hatch, glanced down along the rope into the concealing chaos of waving greenery and muttered, "That's some pine cone."

Filtering in through the surrounding leaves, the whine of the darts' engines abruptly increased as the second ship came about to follow the first. The threatening sound built and swelled, vibrating through Jumper Five's metal walls. Shoulders and backs stiffened as renewed tension crackled through the security escort.

"Whoa, Shhh! Shush!" Dr. McKay's arm shot up, clumsily signaling for silence. The dim flutter of reflected light glimmered weakly into the open hatch. "It's not scanning. The energy's—"

Teyla's hand clapped over his mouth, stifling his report.

McKay's blue eyes stared at her indignantly, then widened with fear as she inclined her head towards the viewscreen where Sheppard had called a new display up.

Against the calming ocean of Jumper Five's azure sensor backdrop, a pair of brilliant life signs glimmered.

Two wraith… Standing in the forest beneath them.

Meanwhile, back on Atlantis…

Trying not to think about how the away team was fast approaching their first check-in, Dr. Weir clasped her hands together and refocused on the report lying on her desk. "You're sure about this?"

The slightly portly, blue-clad scientist sitting across from her nodded. "Absolutely. I ran it twice, just to make sure. That's why it's late."

Dr. Weir let a perplexed frown tug at her lips, "So, it's the same, then."

"Aside from the one variance, yes. Exactly."

But that meant… With a shake of her head, Dr. Weir replaced her frown with a professionally ambiguous eyebrow raise and gave Dr. Bingman a grateful smile. "Thank you, Patricia. You've given me a lot to think about."

The perpetually disheveled chemist beamed, "You are most welcome, Dr. Weir."

"And I want you to know, I appreciate your coming to deliver the report yourself."

A happy shrug, "It was the least I could do after delaying for more tests." Absently mussing her dirty-blonde curls, Dr. Bingman stood with a bounce and headed with a jaunty step for the door. "If you need anything else, I'll be in the infirmary, helping Beckett mix the new compounds that wraith ordered."

"I'll let you know if I do," rising politely, Dr. Weir moved around her desk and saw Dr. Bingham out. "Please keep up your good work."

As her office door closed behind the excited chemist, Dr. Weir retrieved the analysis of the Xex tube's liquid contents and leafed through it again. Her gaze slid thoughtfully across the graphs and points of interest Bingham had highlighted, before finally coming to rest on a spike that conspicuously deviated from the line beneath it.

Aside from the variance…

"What is our involuntary guest playing at…" she murmured.

Tapping her earpiece, Dr. Weir drifted towards her office's glass wall and looked out over Atlantis's Gateroom while she spoke. "Carson, this is Weir."

"Beckett 'ere. Wha' can ah do for ye, Elizabeth?"

"I have the results of Dr. Bingman's analysis of that liquid."

Several floors down, in the infirmary, Dr. Beckett paused his double-checking of the instruments needed for the neural filament seed's extraction and focused on his radio with interest. "'An' wha' did the chemistry lass find?"

Weir's gaze traveled over the Stargate with bemusement, "It's an exact match to our hard-drive's nutrient bath."

Brows lifting, Beckett laid a scalpel back in its tray, "Exact, ye say?"

"Down to the unique fingerprints of individual compounds."

"But tha' means 'e—"

Elizabeth's chin lifted, "Swiped it while he was mixing it. Yes." One more thing their prisoner had smuggled into his cell…

Dr. Beckett turned towards the nearby nutrient tanks and eyed the serenely floating hard-drive speculatively. "Well, tha' fluid's 'armless."

"I'm aware." It wasn't water from the shower, but from what Dr. Weir understood, it might as well be…

Carson thought for a moment, then brightened, "At tha' point, Steve 'ad just acquired those flowers. Wha' if e' swiped it for 'em?"

Dr. Weir frowned, "What do you mean?"

Beckett shrugged, "Tha' fluid is designed to sustain life. It's an all-purpose nutrient bath. Plant cells, or animal, it can sustain both."

"You're saying, he took it specifically to keep the flowers alive?"

"Ah cannot think o' a better solution for puttin' me Mum's posies in. It'd keep 'em alive fer a month. Maybe even indefinitely."

Mulling that over, Dr. Weir moved away from the glass wall and walked back to her desk. "There was one minor discrepancy in Bingman's analysis."

As Dr. Weir lifted Bingman's report again, Dr. Beckett turned back to his instrument tray, intrigued. "An' wha's tha'?"

"The Xex compound is higher than it should be."

"'E did use the Xex tube for the vase…" Carson shook his head, puzzled. The compound was water-soluble. "'Ow much 'igher?"

"More than ten times higher," Weir stated. She scanned the incriminating spike again, "Between twelve and eleven."

"Tha' makes no sense," Carson frowned, "'E 'ad plenty o' time to rinse tha' tube out. Why would'nae 'e?"

"I was hoping you could help answer that," Dr. Weir's unseen smile was wry.

"Well, tha' Xex compound is basically inert. A 'armless trace element. In larger amounts, it should'nae affect anythin' much."

Promising… "And our guest knew that?"

"Undoubtably," confirmed Carson.

"I suppose," Weir continued, extrapolating along his line of reasoning, "that would bring the lack of rinsing down to laziness on his part."

Eyeing his tray, Dr. Beckett paused with a renewed frown, "Ah suppose tha' would."

"And that's…" she trailed off, prodding grimly with silence.

Beckett got the picture almost instantly. "Not like 'im at all. Ah get ye. Everythin' ah've observed about our guest says e's precise an' methodical."

"Which means," Weir offered, "he's either deliberately trying to confuse us—"

"Or 'e's expectin' the Xex to do somethin'," Carson finished.

"My thoughts exactly." Closing Bingman's report, Elizabeth let it slip onto her desk, then turned and propped her hip against the sturdy surface. She folded her arms, asking, "In your opinion, which do you think it is?"

"Ye want my opinion?"

"Yes. You've expressed some strong ones recently. I value them."

"Oh. Well, in tha' case…" Adjusting his lab coat, Carson thought quietly for a moment. Then… "Given our recent discussions, the inert nature o' Xex, an' our guest's recent activities, Ah think 'e's tryin' to confuse us. E' wants a reaction. Every li'le thin' we do tells 'im somethin'. Changin' the Xex is an unknown variable. E' wants to see 'ow we 'andle it. If we ask 'im about it. If we don' ask. Both tell 'im somethin'."

"So he's playing mind games with us."

"Beggin' yer pardon, Elizabeth, but e's been doin' tha' ever since 'e first got 'ere."

"Believe me, I know." The wraith WAS a mind game. Sighing mentally, Dr. Weir made a decision. "Alright. Thank you, Doctor. You've been most helpful."

Recognizing the dismissal in her tone, Dr. Beckett reached for the next instruments on his tray and started double-checking again. "Glad to be o' service."

"Weir out."

Tapping her radio off, Atlantis's expedition leader rubbed her chin thoughtfully before tapping it on again.

"Sergeant Bates, this is Dr. Weir."

"Bates here. What can I do for you, Ma'am?"

"You're in the Chemistry lab, right?" After Jumper Five left, he'd taken over guarding the wraith's contraband.

"Yes, Ma'am. Dr. Bingman left to deliver her report a while ago."

"I got it."

"I see." When Weir didn't reply immediately, Bates asked, "Shall I dispose of the Xex tube, Ma'am?"

The Security Chief would love getting a, 'yes,' to that. She could tell. "No. Put it back in the cell." If the wraith wanted to play mind games, Atlantis could play, too. "And Sergeant?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Major Sheppard had Lieutenant Geerman put a mark on the floor."

"He did," Bates confirmed, "We can put the tube back so the prisoner never knows it went missing."

Staring unseeingly at her office door, Dr. Weir's eyes narrowed with determination. "That won't be necessary. Take the mark up. Put the Xex tube as far away from it as possible."

"Ma'am?"

Steel entered Weir's voice. "I want him to know we moved it."

"Yes, Ma'am." Regarding the twinkling Xex tube with a grim half-smirk, Sergeant Bates yanked off the gloves he'd used to mask his scent earlier and reclaimed the sparkling mini-vase with an air of detached professionalism.

00:52:49 until sunset…

Flashing the handsign equivalent of, "Shut up as if your life depends on it, because it does," Major Sheppard studied the deadly glowing lifesigns with an ambivalent grimace. Apparently darts could drop people off as easily as they sucked people up. AND they didn't have to park for it.

Good to know… Too bad they hadn't discovered it under more favorable circumstances. Silence had just become their greatest ally.

That and the prevailing winds…

Shooting a suspicious glance over his shoulder at their prisoner's motionless form, Major Sheppard double-checked the Jumper's weather readouts. The base was upwind. Good. Even at ground level, their scent would be carried away from Steve's bloodhound relatives. Assuming the Jumper's shield didn't block it already.

Okay, smell wasn't an issue, then.

Unless they'd leaked a trail of the stinky pink stuff Steve had smelled from OUTSIDE the base.

…

No point worrying about that now. They'd know sooner or later.

What WAS worth worrying about was how these new wraith would react to finding an entire computer missing. The gaping hole and muck pool in the center of the floor wasn't easy to miss. And if the goons they'd sent to investigate were half as perceptive as Steve, they'd be able to tell that some wounds were recent.

On the other hand, if they were as averse to touching 'Death' as Atlantis's captive, they might not stick their hands in the goo to find the surgically sliced tentacles. (The stagnant stuff was decidedly less inviting than last time.) On the surface, the console's removal looked anything but precise. Steve had torn the floor up in uneven chunks, using brute strength to save time, just like the beasts. If they were lucky, the wraith would see the carnage and assume the beasts made off with the living console because it was the only thing left in the place that smelled tasty.

The sudden image of a giant, saber-toothed space dog burying the organic pedestal like a bone invaded Sheppard's mind, and he suppressed a snort.

That was NOT an appropriate reaction. Focus!

…

Man, but Sheppard hated waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop…

Breathless suspense thickened the air in Jumper Five as Major Sheppard and the extraction team watched the wraith dots pace across the forest floor towards the ravaged base. As they reached the dug-up entrance, the sinister lights paused. As they did, the scratching of twigs across metal whispered into the ship.

Damn! Switching to the turbulence readout, Sheppard quickly compensated for the drift, then flipped back to the lifesigns.

They were moving deeper into the base.

Phew. The Major mentally cursed himself. That'd been careless. They couldn't afford mistakes. If the wraith heard them…

He WASN'T interested in cleaning up that mess.

A warning red glow appeared in the upper left corner of the viewscreen. Icy apprehension flooded Sheppard's veins. A countdown. Three digits and a blinking colon. Deliberately repressing the sinking horror trying to take root in his gut, the Major looked towards Rodney in the co-pilot's seat.

Dr. McKay's expression mirrored Sheppard's growing dread. His gaze met Sheppard's anxiously, blue eyes widening with unvoiced panic.

Less than a minute until they were due back.

Less than a minute until Atlantis started wondering what was up.

Less than a minute until Elizabeth dialed in and unwittingly blew their cover by asking for a status report.

Breaking away from Rodney's gaze before his own anxiety became visible, Sheppard double-checked the turbulence chart and surveyed the rest of the jumper. Lieutenant Ford stood sentinel at the hatch, gripping the line and thumbing his TAC knife, ready to slash the console free. An arm's-length away, Teyla aimed Sheere's stunner at Steve's head, prepared to shoot the instant she sensed signs of recovery.

Both held their poses in complete and utter silence.

Both watched him, trusting him to keep them safe by making the right call. As did everyone else in the ship. Twelve pairs of questioning eyes waiting for orders, quietly trusting Sheppard to get everyone out of this mess.

Racking his brain for anything that could get them out of this safely other than waiting, (there really WAS no better option than stealth), Major Sheppard frowned and turned back to the viewscreen just in time to see the countdown hit zero.

A soft, quickly smothered squeak escaped from the co-pilot's seat.

As the three red digits began flashing an ominous lightshow across his face, Sheppard gripped Jumper Five's controls and prepared to fly. Playing out various scenarios in his head, he silently willed Dr. Weir and Sergeant Bates to give them time.

Meanwhile, back on Atlantis…

"Shall I dial M1X-347?"

In the upper level of the Gate Room, Dr. Weir thumbed her chin thoughtfully as she paced a slow, apprehensive circle behind Atlantis's DHD console. The extraction team was overdue.

"Dr. Weir?" Peter Grodin glanced at her quizzically.

The expedition leader frowned. Normal operating procedure didn't apply. This mission's timeline was too tight.

Standing by the railing, Sergeant Bates watched Dr. Weir pacing behind Grodin's chair with a steely gaze, "Ma'am, the away team is overdue."

"I'm aware, Sergeant." Not stopping her pacing, Weir glanced at him disapprovingly. Bates had argued for immediate mission termination after the one-hour mark. Sheppard had wanted status reports and re-evaluation.

In the interest of a timely departure, a concrete compromise on the issue had been neglected. That decision was left to Weir's discretion. And she fully intended to exercise it. She'd had an hour to consider their options.

Stopping her pacing, Dr. Weir faced her Security Chief. "Prep Jumper Three again. Put a team on standby and wait for my signal."

"Yes, Ma'am." Sergeant Bates tapped his earpiece to give the order, then looked skeptically at Weir, taking in her determined expression with concern. "May I ask if we're going after them?"

Quirking an eyebrow at the unsubtle questioning of her judgement, Dr. Weir turned back to the Stargate, "You may, Sergeant. And the answer is, not yet."

"But, Ma'am—"

"They have ten minutes."

Frowning slightly, Bates shook his head, "With all due respect—"

Cutting him off with a warning stare, Weir laid a hand on Grodin's chair and looked back at the Gate. "If Sheppard ran into beast trouble, the best thing we can do is to keep their escape route clear. With the Jumper's shield, they can hide indefinitely, but the atmosphere's turbulence prevents them from taking refuge in the sky. Plus, M1X-347's Stargate is exposed on a hill. If they make a run for the Gate and we cut them off by dialing in first, they could be left at the mercy of whatever's chasing them."

"And if it's not beasts," Bates challenged, "If it's prisoner trouble—"

"That's what Jumper Three's for." Catching the Security Chief's eye, Dr. Weir gave him a look that clearly said the subject was no longer open for discussion. "Ten minutes, Sergeant. That's all I want. Then we fly to the rescue."

Acknowledging her logic, Bates acquiesced with a grudging nod. "Yes, Ma'am."

00:44:37 until sunset…

The wraith were leaving! Staring at the viewscreen as if he could manipulate the intruders, Sheppard fiercely willed the idly drifting dots to quicken their exit.

"C'mon you bastards," he muttered, "get outta there."

In the co-pilot's seat, Dr. McKay flinched at his words. They were the first that'd been spoken since he flashed the quiet signal.

"C'mon…"

Flinching again, McKay leaned towards the pilot's seat and whisper-hissed, "I don't think muttering at them's gonna help us."

"Yeah, well, it's helping me," Sheppard whispered back. Shooting the flustered scientist a glance, he sighed and reluctantly quieted. McKay was right. Once the wraith got outside, silence became golden again.

But, dammit, they weren't outside yet! He glared accusingly at the lifesigns. According to the Jumper's timer, which had started a negative count after the angry zeros expired, the wraith had been milling about in the base for eight minutes. Sheppard could see Elizabeth giving them a fiver cushion. He could see her giving a ten.

Fifteen, however, was out of the question.

C'mon! Move your buggy butts!

The whine of circling darts, which'd been a constant background noise since the drop off, swelled to an abrupt crescendo, and in Jumper Five's back, the marine escort fidgeted and rechecked weapons, faces lifting with renewed alertness.

In the pilot's compartment, Major Sheppard inched forward on his seat. As if the noise were a cue, the lifesigns had ceased their lazy moseying and were making swift beelines towards the exit. They'd be outside in moments.

He shot a hand up, flashing freeze and silence signals. The soft squirming and restless rustlings that'd begun coming back ceased.

Once more, a tense stillness thickened the atmosphere. The dots were outside. The dots were together. Moving in unison. The dots…

VEEEEEMMMMOOOOUUIIIIIIINNNN! The dart that'd dropped the wraith off buzzed the base, whizzing over treetops, almost directly overhead.

…The dots were gone! Yes!

With an ear-splitting whine, the second dart wheeled in the sky behind the first and followed, zipping over the Jumper's roof and kicking up a wake of displaced branches in the canopy's wind-tossed greenery.

The Puddle Jumper bucked as the dart's close passage slammed turbulence against them, and Major Sheppard swore, struggling with the controls.

"Look, look, look!" Rodney was pointing with excitedly at the screen, which showed the wraith ships shooting like bullets for the Gate. "Going, going…"

The flash of Gate activation lit on the display, and the pulsing icons representing the enemy ships vanished. An instant later, the Gate activation blinked off.

"GONE!" yelped Dr. McKay, "Yes! We can go, now, right?"

Annoyed by the hopeful statement of the obvious, Sheppard snapped, "I still wanna know why they came here in the first place."

"Who cares! Just get us out of here!"

"It's not that easy. We've still got a computer dangling from our—"

Ford cut him off. "Do you want me to cut it loose, Sir?"

"NO!" Like Hell was Sheppard leaving the thing after going through that. "We're taking it. Get it up here."

"But the predators," McKay pressed, "We've barely forty minutes left."

Lieutenant Ford was already lowering himself out the back. "There's one last tangle of branches. Then we're clear."

"Nocturnal means active at night. Not 'automatically wakes up when the sun hits the horizon!' What if some of them are early risers?!"

"We're in a flying machine, Rodney."

"What if they can jump?!"

"Then I'll dodge them!" Sheppard shot McKay an exasperated glance, "If you're that worried, you can start scanning for over-sized life signs."

"Over-sized lifesigns. Right." With a new task to focus on, Dr. McKay zeroed in on his datapad with almost disturbingly sudden, hyper-focused silence.

"Teyla, how's Steve?"

"The prisoner is still unconscious," Teyla reported, glancing up from the unconscious wraith. "Sheere and I have seen no signs of recovery."

Maximizing the turbulence display, Sheppard nodded. That was expected. They'd stunned Steve enough early on to have a good idea of how long it'd take him to wake up. "We've got time there." With any luck, the wraith would revive in the infirmary, just in time to help Beckett with the extraction.

The whining humm of Marcum restarting the winch filled the jumper, and a few seconds later the sound of breaking branches began filtering up from beneath them.

Concentrating on holding them steady, Major Sheppard frowned.

"I don't suppose anyone thought to pack tree trimmers in this ship?"

Back on Atlantis…

"Unscheduled off-world activation! It's Sheppard's IDC!"

Standing vigil at the balcony, Dr. Weir closed her eyes with relief and, for the first time since the Major had radioed in, allowed herself to smile. "Lower the shield."

"Lowering shield now." Dr. Grodin reached across the Ancient controls, and in the Gate room below, the iridescent field blocking the Stargate flickered out of existence.

"Shield lowered," Grodin announced, "Major, you are clear to enter."

A few seconds later, the cylindrical shape of Jumper Five emerged from the glistening blue energy pool and slowly rotated its rear hatch towards the balcony. Half a dozen marines jumped from the open ramp—Open!?

Dr. Weir lifted an eyebrow in surprise as the soldiers, who were supposedly the prisoner's escort, caught the computer dangling from the hatch's recently-installed ceiling pulley and carefully lowered it until it was cradled horizontally in their arms. As they did, the Puddle Jumper finished its descent and another pair, who looked suspiciously like Marcum and Stackhouse, jogged out to unwind the black ropes tethering it to the winch. As soon as the computer was free, all eight marines hefted its organic carapace and began carrying it to the infirmary, looking for all the world like a ceremonial military guard escorting a funerary coffin.

Heading briskly for the stairs, the expedition leader narrowed her eyes suspiciously as Dr. McKay jogged out of the jumper after the procession, followed by Teyla, who slowly back out while keeping a stunner aimed into the ship.

Clearly Sheppard had neglected to mention some of the details of the circumstances surrounding the 'laying low' they'd been doing.

"We need a stretcher, here!"

"Why do you need a stretcher," Weir demanded. Reaching the landing, she jogged down the last flight of stairs and met Sheppard as he came down the ramp.

"Steve's unconscious," Sheppard offhandedly replied.

That had NOT been in the status report. As the sound of squeaking wheels approached, Weir's eyes widened with accusing indignation, "And why is he unconscious, Major?"

Moving aside for the gurney to wheel between them, Sheppard had the good graces, at least, to look guilty. "We kinda had to stun him to hide from the darts."

Horror replaced the indignation in Weir's eyes, "What darts?!"

"They came to investigate the base."

"We thought you were hiding from beasts!"

"Yeah, about that…" Making a small, noncommittal 'um' sound, Major Sheppard managed to look almost, but not quite, sheepish. "I never actually said they were beasts."

"You certainly implied it."

"Would you have let us wait the extra minute to untangle the console from Ford's branch maze?"

"Of course not!" Dr. Weir glared, "They might've come back."

The Major shrugged as if her answer explained everything. "Well, I thought the risk of that happening was minimal."

"And I'd prefer if we'd made that decision together."

"There wasn't time," Sheppard gave another shrug, "besides, everything turned out fine. We're safe. The Jumper's safe. The neural filament seed's safe—"

Jerking a thumb over her shoulder, Weir cut him off with a curt, "The debriefing room. Now." Catching sight of McKay trotting down the ramp ahead of the wraith-laden gurney, she snagged her Chief Scientist with a sharp, "You too, Rodney."

"But I—"

"Carson can't do anything until the prisoner wakes up." Dr. Weir eyed the unconscious, black-clad alien pointedly as the infirmary techs and the last two remaining members of Steve's escort wheeled past. "Before that happens," she continued, "I want to know every last detail of everything that happened out there."

Turning Sheere's commandeered stunner over to the marines coming out to unload the Jumper, Teyla Emmagen pushed her caramel hair back and joined them, taking in Dr. Weir's unamused expression with a cautiously appraising eye.

"Major Sheppard…" the Athosian hesitantly observed, "has told you about the darts."

Raising an eyebrow, Dr. Weir turned on her heel and spearheaded their trip to the debriefing room. "He has."

"I have something to tell you as well," Teyla continued, following.

"Lieutenant Ford," Major Sheppard exclaimed with a slight squeak. He nonchalantly cleared his throat before adding, "We're being debriefed."

Belatedly sensing the tension outside the ship, Ford quickly unhooked his harness and shrugged out of it, then hastened down the ramp, apologetically handing off the tangled nylon to the clean-up team as he passed. "Yes, Sir."

As they all trooped up the stairs, Sheppard imprudently quipped, "We DID actually see a beast, though."

Weir was not amused. "Oh, you did, did you."

"Yeah. A couple sorta chased us towards the Gate."

A few minutes later, in Atlantis's infirmary…

"He's waking up."

"Oh, thank God. Ah 'aven't the foggiest idea o' wha' to do 'ere."

Breaking off his examination of the pedestal's ravaged base, Dr. Beckett tucked the seal he'd been peering at back in the hole and turned his attention to his unconscious patient. Steve's lithe form stirred as he approached, shifting blackly across the white sheets of the rolling bed that his escort had parked by the hard-drive's tanks.

"Steve," Slipping hesitantly through the wall of escort marines surrounding the wraith, Beckett edged towards the head of the cot, so he had an unobstructed view of Steve's face. "Steve, it's Carson. Can ye 'ear me?"

The pale eyelids fluttered.

"Ah need ye to wake up. The seals are startin' to leak."

A shaky hiss whispered through the infirmary, and the wraith's olive eyes blinked open and darted disorientedly about, oval pupils shrinking to pin pricks in the bright light.

"Steve," Carson pressed, "Ah need instructions."

"The female…" the breathy rasp was slurred, its diction dulled by the neuro-inhibiting effects of the stunner.

The female? Not sure he'd heard correctly, Beckett's brow wrinkled in confusion, "Ah'm sorry?"

Steve's eyes flickered unfocusedly across the room, fastening with some difficulty on the nutrient tanks. "Where is she…?"

He must be missing something. Carson caught the wraith's attention with a small wave, then waited patiently until a glimmer of recognition dawned. "Where's who?"

Not finding the gentle tone and simple question as calming as Beckett had intended, Steve hissed and jerked his arms, weakly flexing unresponsive muscles.

"The female, Teylaaaa…"

Definitely missing something. "Teyla's fine." Beckett would've known if someone was hurt. "Did somehin' 'appen to 'er?"

"Hiisssssss…!" Snarling, Steve shoved himself onto his side. Orange reflected across the crisply pressed sheets under his ebony chest as his feeding hand curled and twitched within the glove. "Where is sssshhhhheeee…?"

Not acceptable. Hardening his voice, Dr. Beckett frowned. "Teyla's where'abouts are not yer concern. Yer 'ere fer the filament seed."

A frustrated hiss split the air.

"Ah don' know wha' 'appened on tha' planet," Beckett continued, "an' right now, Ah don' care." He pointed at the hard-drive, "This is our job. If ye wan' to examine those tools wi' me, ye'll 'elp extract tha' seed. It's as simple as tha'."

"AH!" Falling back against the cot, Steve snarled again and began rhythmically tensing and relaxing the muscles in each limb, barking, "It is NOT simple!"

Recognizing the recovery tactic from when they'd been stunning the wraith regularly, early in his capture, Dr. Beckett edged back a step, towards the security perimeter, saying, "Ah'm afraid it is."

Another bloodcurdling hiss chilled the infirmary air.

Carson was decidedly unimpressed, "Ah'm gonna pretend Ah didn' 'ear tha'."

"Where is Major Sheppard," Steve growled.

"Tha's not yer concern either—"

An irate rattling cut him off. "I said nothing. Tell him, I said nothing."

Beckett blinked, "Nothin' to who?"

Steve's olive eyes skewered Carson, momentarily freezing him with their intensity. "The Otherssssss…" A multi-tonal hiss reverberated through his words, swelling and fading before rising in an earnest bark, "I shared no information!"

With a sinking feeling, Dr. Beckett glanced at the escort marines, "Wha' Others? Wha''s 'e talkin' about?"

Privates Sheere and Laris exchanged looks, both drawing breath to explain.

A desperate chuff cut them off. "There was no time!" Tensing, Steve levered himself up, almost reaching a sitting position, "Tell Sheppard… I had no time—The female!" With a gasp, he collapsed again. As the cot squeaked under the impact, Steve swiveled his face jerkily towards Beckett. "She can confirm," he panted. A frustrated snarl twisted his pale features as he tried and failed to rise again, "She musssst!"

Oh, but Carson didn't like the sound of that.

Pulling out the Athosian puzzle game that he'd sent for when he learned the wraith was stunned, Dr. Beckett handed the delicate collection of intricately carved twigs to Laris, who accepted the pieces with a quizzical frown.

"Take this." Beckett nodded towards the panting wraith, "As soon as 'e can manipulate it wi'out breakin' it, call me. Ah've got some leaks to patch."

"Yes, Sir," Laris nodded, "Understood."

Turning on his heel, Carson slipped out of the security perimeter and strode briskly for the pedestal. As he felt Steve's accusing stare follow him across the infirmary, the Scotsman silently added, 'An' some calls to make.'

Meanwhile…

"Let's make sure I have this straight."

Hands clasped before her, Dr. Weir rested her elbows on the debriefing room table and leaned forward, looking at her recently chastised away team with keen eyes. The disbelief in her voice was undisguised. "You're saying Teyla sensed the darts approaching BEFORE our prisoner did."

Swiveling his chair a bit, Major Sheppard nodded.

Knowing her military commander had been staring at a screen when their 'guest' was shot, Dr. Weir gave him a skeptical brow lift and directed her gaze at McKay.

Still miffed at being kept from the infirmary, Dr. McKay huffed, "I was busy helping Ford. I didn't see the whole thing."

"But you saw more than Major Sheppard," pressed Weir.

McKay snorted, "Everyone saw more than Sheppard. He was flying."

"I didn't," interrupted Lieutenant Ford. "I was dangling under the ship, stuck in branches."

"You weren't stuck—"

"Might as well have been."

Ignoring Ford's mutter, Teyla Emmagen squared her shoulders and addressed Dr. Weir. "If a corroboration is what you're looking for, you should speak with Private Sheere. He was beside me when I stunned the prisoner. He will confirm what I saw."

Weir had already decided to question Sheere. "I believe I'll do that." Nodding respectfully to show Teyla that no suspicion had been intended, she added, "In fact, after this debriefing's over, I'm going to meet with the entire security escort."

Sheppard suppressed a grimace, "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes, in this case it is."

"Since when?" McKay was fidgeting impatiently, "Why can't you just take her word for it? Social genius, I'm not. But Teyla—"

"Because he is Wraith, Rodney," Teyla interrupted.

Confused, Dr. McKay froze briefly, then stared at her, clearly baffled by her deflection of his support. Finally he blurted, "You said he looked surprised."

"He did," the Athosian quietly, but firmly, confirmed. "And, in my opinion, before he sensed the darts, he thought I was addressing him."

"But that matches what I saw!" Jumping excitedly on his point, McKay rounded in exasperation on Weir, "That's confirmation right there. We have consensus—"

"Dr. Weir is right to demand this."

"Hey, I'm defending you here!" McKay squeaked.

"You really need to pick your battles better," muttered Sheppard. In the chair beside him, Lieutenant Ford suppressed a snicker.

"I do not need defending," a note of annoyance crept into Teyla's voice, "I need certainty. And in this matter, that is something we can't have. He is Wraith."

Dr. McKay threw his hands up in defeat, "I hadn't noticed."

A moment of quiet amusement followed that comment, and Dr. Weir surveyed McKay pointedly before taking the opportunity to elaborate. "No matter how well we think we're reading our prisoner," she stated, "we can't be certain we're correct. Dr. Heightmeyer agrees with me." McKay rolled his eyes, and she raised her voice, "Which is why," Weir let her gaze land on Sheppard next, "I want as many people's opinions on this matter as possible. That includes all members of the security escort."

Major Sheppard shrugged, "Sounds good to me. I like second opinions."

As Weir's scrutiny shifted to him next, Lieutenant Ford quickly agreed. "I was dangling in trees, Ma'am. Second opinions are all I got."

"Indeed," Weir murmured.

"Dr. Weir, if I may?"

Sensing that the proverbial elephant in the room was finally going to be discussed, Dr. Weir unclasped her hands and graciously inclined her head, "By all means."

"Thank you." Leaning forward from her usual straight-backed position, Teyla rested a hand earnestly upon the table as she addressed the group, "There is something about this situation that we have neglected to discuss."

"And that is…?" McKay groused.

Teyla silenced him with a glance, "Our prisoner's reaction to my ability."

McKay's annoyed posture instantly morphed into alarm, "You think he noticed?"

As Major Sheppard swiveled his chair while affecting air of long-suffering tolerance, Teyla Emmagen closed her eyes and thought back, remembering the instant before her first stun blast struck. The tingling jerk of the stunner as their prisoner's eyes shot back to her face. Then the glowing energy bolt illuminating an expression of epiphantic understanding coupled with almost comic disbelief.

"He knows." The Athosian leader's pronouncement settled among the debriefing room's occupants like an ominous prophesy of doom. Teyla's chocolate eyes opened once more, their sparkling depths laden with sincere regret, "I must apologize. In retrospect, it may have been wiser to stun him before warning everyone. It was habit."

Sheppard leaned towards her, "You did the right thing. If I'd raised our shield a second later, they might've seen us." That wasn't empty reassurance. The Jumper would've been the only energy signal for miles.

"But I lost our advantage. He will not be surprised again."

"No, no, you can't be sure of that," McKay was shaking his head, "Like you said, he's Wraith. Wraith sense Wraith. Humans don't sense Wraith—except for you, of course—He's got no reason to suspect you weren't acting on Sheppard's signal."

As Teyla opened her mouth to object, Dr. Weir's earpiece crackled. "Dr. Weir? It's Beckett. Ah need a word wi' ye."

Sensing trouble in the doctor's tone, Weir tapped a switch and routed Beckett's signal into the gray speaker box that Grodin had recently installed in the table.

"Carson, this is Weir. You're on speaker."

Emanating from the new device, Beckett's tinny voice sounded relieved. "Oh, good. Ah can talk wi' everyone. Steve's awake, an' 'e's talkin' strange."

Weir frowned and glanced at Sheppard, "How so?"

"'E keeps askin' for Teyla an' the Major."

Wincing inwardly, Sheppard broke from her gaze with a grimace.

"'E's ignorin' the filament seed. Ah've got the leaks under control, but 'e won' 'elp. Just keeps repeatin' tha' 'e didn' share anythin'."

At Beckett's words, the members of SGA-1 looked up at each other with varying degrees of relief and surprise, and as the quiet stretched, Lieutenant Ford voiced everyone's unasked question with a whispered, "Do you think it's true?"

Who knows? Sheppard answered with a noncommittal shrug.

"Elizabeth, wha' should ah do? As neurosurgeries go, this one's shapin' into a bust."

"Don't worry, Carson. I'm coming down." Having made her decision, Dr. Weir spun her chair sideways and pushed herself to her feet. "Tell Steve that I'll be speaking with him personally."

---

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

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

(My sincerest apologies for this year and a half delay! I'm trying my hardest not to repeat it.)