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

26. Chapter 23: Exile: Part 1

Chapter Twenty-Three: Exile – Part One

3 years, 46 weeks earlier

"We have a dilemma."

In the Ancient city ship of Atlantis, Dr. Elizabeth Weir leaned over the Command Center's balcony, watching the bustle of activity around the Stargate. Boxes were packed, dollies strapped to the brim, and dozens of cases buckled shut, just-barely-not-overloaded as Atlantis personnel carried, wheeled, and towed precious, non-replaceable baggage and equipment from Earth through the rippling pool of the wormhole's event horizon. A MALP towing an improvised wagon rolled across the floor, vanishing into the gate. A Private with the MALP's controller and a massive hiking backpack followed.

Dr. Weir glanced at McKay and Peter Grodin, who stood by the railing beside her. Major Sheppard was also there, watching the controlled chaos with a critical eye.

"There's a storm coming," she continued. As if on cue, the Gateroom's towering, three-story windows darkened, accompanied by the low rumble of distant thunder. "And while Major Sheppard has found us a temporary berth with the Menarians, there are some of us that won't be staying with them."

Dr. McKay sniffed, "One in particular comes to mind. Who're the rest?"

Weir quirked a sardonic eyebrow, "The team who'll be trying to save the city, of course—"

"Of course," echoed Sheppard.

"—And Dr. Corde's team."

"Dr. Corde?" Peter Grodin scrawled a hasty note, "Why Dr. Corde?"

"Because the ruins his team found are temperate, defensible, and relatively near the Stargate." Dr. Weir gave the group an amused shrug, "They're also embedded in bedrock, halfway up the side of a sheer cliff face."

Sheppard nodded approvingly, "Limited places to run."

"Oh," McKay blinked, "that's actually quite defensible, isn't it?"

"Yes," Weir agreed, "Not enough space for an Alpha site, and the planet itself has certain questionable characteristics, but for a few days, and possibly in the future as a minor, more permanent outpost, it seems serviceable."

Sheppard glanced at the distant ceiling as more thunder rumbled around the floating city, "I don't like sending Steve off without Teyla's wraith sense."

"Teyla isn't back yet," Weir reminded. She'd left hours ago with Lieutenant Ford to meet Dr. Beckett and help organize the evacuation of Athosians from the mainland. "We'll keep Steve here as long as we can, but I'm not willing to endanger our people, or him, for that matter, over a technicality at a time like this."

Rain splattered the tower windows, adding an ominous framework to the glistening Stargate. As thunder rumbled yet again, Major Sheppard held his tongue. The wraith was 50-50 for other wraith showing up when he was off-world so far. But the entire city of Atlantis, (with the exception of the Command Center), was about to turn into a giant bug zapper

Weir turned to Sheppard, "Unless you want him hanging out up here," Elizabeth quirked a sardonic half-smile, "doubling the personnel we endanger while watching McKay manipulate our most vital computer systems."

The Major pretended to consider the idea. Then… "Yeah, no. I prefer shipping him out with the guppies." Even if it meant temporarily risking random wraith showing up unnoticed. He looked at Grodin, "How's that going, by the way?"

Peter glanced through his charts, where he was keeping track of all the minute details of the evacuation, "The bead hunting details successfully separated the two devices that were being desalinated from the laboratory's floor. They've been packaged separately, and loaded into the puddle jumper that we designated for organic technology storage. The tanks with the hard-drive, nutrient fluids, and waste solutions have also been loaded—"

"Good old inertial dampeners," muttered Sheppard.

Grodin smiled, "Yes. It makes transporting liquid much easier." He flipped another page, "One cleaner organism has been switched to lung breathing and transferred to a small shipping crate. The other has also been transferred, but remains in water to continue the desalination process."

Dr. Weir frowned, "That's got to be heavy."

"Yes. But the Ancient levitation sticks that we found in a shipping room last week seem to have no problem moving it."

"I wish we had more of those," Sheppard groused.

"Me, too," added McKay.

"There are still many square miles of city to explore," Peter offered, "I'm sure we'll stumble across more."

"Yeah, well, we have to save the city first." Sheppard peered past Grodin, suspiciously eyeing McKay, "Who the Hell labeled them 'cleaner organisms'?"

Dr. McKay rolled his eyes, "Our marine biologist—"

"Her name's Dr. Moore," Weir reminded.

"—didn't like the word 'fish' because they breath air."

Again with the cleaner fish. A rumble of thunder squelched Major Sheppard's urge to protest the label. They had more important things to do. "McKay, can you wire a puddle jumper's shield to keep things trapped inside the ship, instead of out?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Corde said there's room by the Gate to park the organic tech jumper. If the prisoner acts out, we can stun him, seal the cockpit off, and chuck him inside until the storm's passed."

With a huff of disbelief, McKay pushed back from the railing while lifting a warning finger, "Well, I—I, who am incredibly busy, I might add, making preparations to prevent the city from breaking up—" he quasi-squeaked, "I can't do that!" As Sheppard started to glare, his eyes widened with faraway epiphany, "But I can give instructions to someone who can. I'll get on it." He jogged off, tapping his earpiece.

Dr. Weir watched him go as thunder rumbled once more. "The idea of locking the wraith in a puddle jumper worries me."

Major Sheppard hid a grimace, "Yeah, it's not ideal."

"Do you think he could hot wire it?"

He considered the question, answering slowly, "Steve claims," emphasis on 'claims', "that his experience with Lantean technology is theoretical. Assuming that's true, whether any of his theory extends to practice is up in the air."

Weir gave a wry laugh, "Yes… There are lots of things that I theoretically know how to do but haven't actually tried yet."

A burst of wind sent rain pelting sideways against the Gateroom's upper windows, and Major Sheppard leaned back, watching the shimmering flood-trails uneasily, "Well, with any luck, Steve'll behave and we won't have to find out." Seeing as they'd learned about the storm's approach by accident, luck seemed to be on Atlantis' side this time. Of course, they could always stun him repeatedly, every time he woke up, but Sheppard didn't want to waste their stunners that way. A few of the wraith weapons were finally starting to get low, and they hadn't figured out how to recharge the things yet.

Peter Grodin turned to Dr. Weir, "Shall I make a note to have an evacuation pilot take the storage jumper to Dr. Corde's outpost once the modifications are made?"

"Yes, please. Tell them to park it right by the Gate. That way they can walk back and resume ferrying people."

"As you wish. I will make arrangements." Stepping away, he tapped his earpiece and made his way back to his post at the communication console.

Propping herself on the balustrade, Weir nodded seriously at Major Sheppard, "Go get the prisoner ready. I want him ready to leave the instant Teyla gets back."

"On it." He set a brisk pace for the transporter.

Behind him, Weir looked down at the Gate, watching as Atlantis emptied. Waiting for the evacuation's next reports to come in…

Clattering down the stairs to the holding cell, Major Sheppard hit the alcove at a half-jog and marched towards the cell. "Time for a field trip."

The wraith was sitting in his cell, as he'd been the last couple days, working diligently on a laptop. There were two of the Earth devices with him now. One loaded with brain scans, the other loaded with segments of hybrid code. The wraith switched between them, seemingly at whim, staring for hours at a time without moving. The cell was turning into a damn research lab, and Sergeant Bates wasn't pleased about it.

Not looking up, Steve continued typing, laptop balanced on his knees, back meditatively straight, fingers tapping delicately away. "I've no interest in—"

"No time for games, Steve. This isn't voluntary."

The wraith's face snapped towards him as Sheppard skipped to a stop by the bars. A hiss whispered through the cell as the Major threw a nod over his shoulder at Lieutenant Geerman, "Open the door."

With a snap of leather, Steve slipped the laptop onto the floor and jumped smoothly to his feet, assuming a defensive posture. He retreated a step as the forcefield flashed out of existence. Then another as his guards closed in around Sheppard, transforming the holding cell's entrance into a bristling weapons array.

Steve completed the retreat, backing against the far wall as the horizontal bars slid sideways. He eyed the stunners surrounding Sheppard warily, then straightened, fixing the Major with a bewildered stare and accusing bark, "There is no need to stun me."

"I never said there was."

Sheppard stood carefully still, blocking the door.

When he didn't move, the wraith stepped slowly forward again, coming level with the laptops. "I am your Death." He studied Sheppard intently as he spoke. Then narrowed his eyes, turning away, watching from a sideways vantage. The beads glimmered as he wrapped his hands over his stomach. "Something is happening."

Major Sheppard nodded, "You could say that.

Steve looked up, squinting into the harsh white overhead lights, then casting his gaze into the shadowy corners of the holding area's ceiling, "There's an atmospheric disturbance. Sizable."

The wraith could sense that, huh? Why wasn't he surprised. "Covers a fifth of the damn planet," Sheppard confirmed.

"Raise the shield. Let it pass—"

"Not happening. We're evacuating the city—"

"What!" The pale face snapped back to him, a portrait of shock.

"You heard me. Don't worry. We're coming back once it's done." Sheppard jerked his chin towards the computers, "Grab the laptops. You can work off-world. Anything left in this cell's getting electrocuted."

Steve's olive eyes widened with a disbelieving chuff, then he turned, swiftly dropping into a crouch. Glyphs and rotating brains vanished as he clicked the laptops closed, then he stacked them, precisely matching their grey corners and tucking them under his feeding arm. His ungloved fingers closed gently around the Xex tube, carefully lifting the tiny spray of yellow flowers as he stood. A frown creased the wraith's forehead as he studied the remaining objects on the floor.

The cup of water and small pitcher twinkled in the white light.

"I'm running out of hands, Major Sheppard."

Sheppard shrugged, unconcerned, "Leave it. Those'll be—" plastic, not glass. Crap. The cup and pitcher would definitely melt. Stupid security protocols. "Nevermind, I got 'em." Sheppard didn't feel like chiseling the bubbling, charred remains off the floor. He entered the cell, edging past Steve and scooping them up. "Okay, here's how this works—"

Steve stepped back, letting Sheppard exit again.

"—You're going off-world with your guards—"

Said guards pulled back, letting the Major through and creating a pocket for Steve to enter. The wraith obligingly flowed into it.

"—and a research team," Sheppard continued. He strode briskly for the stairs, and the escort followed, shifting into its usual containment patterns. "You follow Lieutenant Geerman's orders. You do as you're told." Booted footsteps echoed in the stairwell, and the Major raised his voice to stay audible, "You work. You let the researchers work." He glanced back, "There's a portable cell waiting to lock you up if you misbehave, and plenty of stunners to knock you out cold if you try breaking out."

A low hiss whispered behind him, "I will endeavor to ensure such eventualities are not needed."'

Cute. "Good. See that you do."

The multi-tonal voice mingled with their footsteps, "What will become of the devices in the flooded lab—"

"Already taken care of. Safely evacuated."

"And the entities I salvaged…?"

Sheppard felt smug for some reason, "They're going with you."

The silence following his comment was pensive.

"I see…" Steve murmured, "That means, the weaker survived."

Taken aback, Sheppard blinked. Right… They never told Steve what had happened with them. "Yup, it's hanging in there." He glanced back. The wraith was watching the Xex tube, making sure no nutrient fluid spilled as they climbed. "You can keep it company, if you like. Keep them both quiet. They get bored easily."

"Understandable, given the small colony size…"

Colony size, huh. Now there was a tidbit.

"What about the tools?"

They poured out of the stairwell, heading towards transporter. Sheppard gave the wraith a knowing look as the first half of the escort went on ahead. "Safely evacuated. Along with the beads. Kept safely apart, so no one can easily steal everything at once."

A pleased hiss was Steve's toothy response.

"Glad you approve."

The transporter swooshed open, and Steve entered with a snort, sidestepping so Major Sheppard could join and activate the location. He poked the map's glowing indicator for the command tower, then turned. The transporter doors wooshed closed, then open again, revealing John Sheppard holding a cup and pitcher of water, standing next to a black-coated wraith, who was looking down sideways at him while holding a tiny vase of yellow flowers and a pair of laptops. It would've made quite a portrait, if any cameras had been around to catch it. Unfortunately, none were.

They stepped out, waited for the rest of the marines, then headed for the command center. Sheppard pointed at the landing of one of the Gateroom's massive stairways. "Wait there until the activity clears. Then move down to the floor."

Lieutenant Geerman nodded, "Yes, Sir."

"There'll be a relief detail joining you." They'd be there for at least an entire day, and that required enough manpower to do shift rotations.

"Understood."

Thunder rumbled and rain pelted the upper windows as Sheppard turned his attention to the wraith. "And Steve…?"

Ivory swayed as Steve cocked his head with a false smile, "Yes, Major Sheppard?"

Again, cute. Sheppard loved being humored. "Be good. Play nice," He poured on the flippancy with a mock warning look, "Don't make me come down there."

Steve narrowed his olive eyes, "Of course not, Major Sheppard."

Major Sheppard held the wraith's smugly innocent gaze long enough for a nice 'I see what you're doing' moment, then spun away, jogging up to the balcony.

Thunder rolled as he rejoined Dr. Weir. Baggage also rolled, sailing into the Gateroom and out through the rippling portal. Personnel came and went through the Gate as they opened, closed, and received wormholes for dozens of loads. The room darkened, clouds thickening with the approaching storm. The jumper loaded with organic tech descended from the ceiling port, landing briefly to take on the wraith's laptops and additional supplies, food and bedding for the security details.

There was a moment of tension as Lieutenant Geerman had the Xex tube forwarded. Steve, straightening up to his full height, shielding the delicate object with his bare palm as he glared daggers down his nose at the marine, who in turn squared his shoulders and deliberately glared daggers back. A pointless posturing match, underscored by increasingly violent spatters of rain.

Private Laris eventually stepped forward, breaking the staring match with an authoritative thrust of her hand, letting her fingers hover by the wraith's wrist until the widened eyes slipped to her instead. Steve's face turned slowly her way. Then, just as slowly, his palm lowered, giving access to the tiny vase.

With deliberate care, Laris relieved Steve of the fragile flowers and passed them with equal care to the soldier waiting to receive them, who proceeded to walk them down to the jumper. On the landing, Steve turned away, watching their progress, one wrist caught casually behind his back, conspicuously shunning Lieutenant Geerman.

"Someone didn't practice diplomacy," Weir murmured. She'd watched the exchange from the balcony with interest.

"Yeah, well, Geerman's not a diplomat," Sheppard pointed out, "And he doesn't need to be." It was mildly concerning that Steve had chosen to rile Geerman in the Gateroom of all places. But the chaos had everyone one edge. Better here than in the ruins, where Sheppard couldn't step in. And he hadn't been needed, so…

The jumper lifted off, reflecting dull shimmers of blue light from the event horizon as it carried the Xex tube and organic computers into the wormhole. The portal sucked closed. Then a minute later fountained open again, and the pilot jogged back on foot, making a beeline for the hangar to man another ship.

Dr. Weir looked up as thunder rumbled once more, this time accompanied by ominous flashes of distant lightning. They were running out of time…

A short while later…

"Teyla and Ford are stranded on the mainland with Beckett."

At the Major's worried announcement, Dr. Weir nodded resolutely. "Send him through."

They strode to the balcony. The Gateroom was empty, save for Lieutenant Geerman's security detail and the wraith. As the chevron's locked, Steve turned, looking up at Weir and Major Sheppard. The wraith had been staring upwards for a while now, a silent, ghostly sentinel, watching the rain and lightning batter the soaring expanses of Ancient windows, watching the city ship darken as evacuation teams stripped Atlantis of every precious Naquadah generator that wasn't needed. The city, falling dark and silent, replaced by increasingly frequent flashes of deadly brilliance and howling winds…

Two stories below the Command Center, the wraith's eyes swept to meet Weir's.

"Why are you here?"

The Stargate exploded outwards, establishing the wormhole to Corde's ruins.

Bracing herself on the balustrade, Weir firmly raised her voice, "That's not your concern."

"We're moving out," Geerman barked.

Ignoring the command, Steve held her gaze without moving, "This is dangerous. Why do you risk yourself?"

She narrowed her eyes, "That's also not your concern."

The wraith's eyes snapped to Sheppard with a multi-tonal bark, "Why do you let her!"

Geerman lifted his stunner. Steve predictably ignored the gesture.

Sheppard moved closer to Weir, "We have our own way of doing things, Steve," Major Sheppard warned, "Now go through the damn gate!"

Steve bared his teeth with an insistent hiss, "You are risking your—your superior needlessly!" The unspoken 'Queen' hung damningly in the Gateroom.

For the love of—

Before the Major could reply, Weir raised a hand, stopping him, "There's no danger to me. If what we try doesn't work, we leave. Simple as that."

Steve met her eyes again, silently. Disbelievingly.

"The worst is still a ways off. We've plenty of extra time padding our plans."

The olive eyes searched Elizabeth Weir's face for a few more seconds before finally lowering with a respectful dip of the wraith's head. He pointedly turned, walking quietly towards the towering Stargate. Event horizon light flickered dully on his swaying coat, casting blue-white shadows over his white hair and pale, lichen skin.

The security escort and their charge vanished into the Stargate. Moments later, the Command Center plunged into darkness as the Gate powered down.

"Well…" Weir pushed back from the balcony, releasing the breath she'd been holding. She gave Sheppard a bemused stare, "That was interesting."

Interesting was an understatement, "I'll say."

The echo of rapid footsteps approached, growing louder.

"Why's it so dark in here?" McKay, babbling a mile a minute, emerged from the the direction of the transporters, followed by Zelenka. "I take it the Gate's off. That means the wraith's gone? Good. Why're we all sitting in the dark? We have lamps for a reason." He spun in place, noting Weir, Sheppard, and Grodin, and the handful of guards Sheppard had picked to stay behind. "Where's Ford? And Beckett?—We've finished everything that I needed help for, minus a few random details—"

Zelenka hastened to one of the consoles, bringing a screen up.

"—Which he's about to take care of." McKay stopped, catching Weir's eye, and took a short, calming breath, ending his mini-report with a hesitant half-smile and hopeful, double thumbs up, "We're almost ready to send the last evacuation wave back."

On M3Q-579, the second to last evacuation wave paused, taking in the view. A warm, spring afternoon, sunny with occasional fluffy clouds drifting by, highlighting the haze-obscured peaks of distant mountaintops.

Mountaintops, that though faded with miles of distance…

…they somehow managed to look down on.

"This is high."

Waiting by the parked puddle jumper, the escort's escort echoed Private Laris's observation with a dry, "Yup. Rocky mountains, and all that."

"It feels like we're on top of the world."

The Stargate was perched on a massive overhang, almost as high as the mountain's peak. Jagged spires thrust intermittently up from the stone, and a rocky path delved down into the rocks, several meters away.

Moving away from the Jumper, which gleamed serenely by the DHD pedestal, Dr. Sheckle made her way through the overhang's scraggly tufts of grass and altitude stunted brush. At a glance from Geerman, she stopped a couple meters from the escort. "We very nearly are. Initial scans show this is the highest mountain on the continent."

Lieutenant Geerman frowned, "Not very practical."

"No," Dr. Sheckle agreed, "But it's uninhabited."

"No practicality needed, then."

"Exactly."

Geerman looked over his shoulder. The wraith stared silently back at him, a picture of calm obedience. After the recent refusal to move, Geerman wasn't impressed. He turned back to Sheckle, "How far's camp?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Let's get walking, people."

They set off, following Sheckle down the path. The way twisted and dipped, winding through an alternating progression of rocky gorges and wide, grass-covered steppes. The gorges seemed chiseled in places, like they'd been carved into bedrock to widen the way. Jagged, moss-covered boulders dotted their edges, hinting at rockfalls in the distant past. In a few places, the gorges were nearly half blocked. The escort navigated those areas like they did the transporter, half out front, and half hanging back with the wraith sandwiched between, pale fingers dragging lightly over the stone.

The steppes, on the other hand, stretched open, a shifting carpet of sturdy, knee-high, yellowy grasses that provided astonishing vistas of the surrounding valleys and hazy, distance-obscured summits before plummeting into mile-long drops of sheer cliff. The path kept well away from the edges, hugging slopes or plunging straight through the steppes' meadowy centers, making unerring beelines for the next rocky gorge-ways.

"I wouldn't want to be caught exposed up here," Geerman muttered.

They were in the middle of a steppe, surrounded by blue sky and waving grass with the mountain's central peak shooting steeply up behind them. Aside from pebbles and the occasional stiff, fibrous stalk, the way was unobstructed.

And perfectly flat.

…

Which made it that much eerier and bizarre when the wraith flung his arm out with a startled chuff and listed sideways, stumbling precariously, like he was teetering on a moving surface. The circle of marines instantly widened by two paces, drawing back to a safe distance while aiming their stunners at Steve, who staggered to a stop.

"Don't even think about it!" Lieutenant Geerman warned.

The wraith shook his head, two sharp jerks, like he was trying to clear dizziness, then stared at his guards in unfocused bewilderment. He snapped his face to the right. Then to the left. Then spun to face the way'd they'd come with a sharp chuff. Staring back up the path, he straightened in abrupt shock, regaining his balance as quickly as he'd apparently lost it.

"This planet's magnetic field is unstable!" Steve turned slowly in place, completing a 360 spin before continuing around to face forward again. His eyes skewered Lieutenant Geerman accusingly, "It just completely reversed."

"Yeah, sure. You expect me to believe that?"

Steve's lips twitched, briefly baring his teeth with a short hiss, "Why would I lie about that?"

"Oh, I don't know. To escape, maybe?"

The wraith's eyes rolled with disgust.

"He's right," Private Laris was checking her compass. The tiny needle placed North opposite where it'd been by the jumper. Steve's annoyed eyes snapped to her instead, and she shrugged, "Don't look at me, I didn't do it."

Another eye-roll of disgust.

Geerman lowered his stunner. "Keep moving," he ordered.

Laris and the rest of the escort let their stunners droop, and with an expulsion of disbelief Steve began striding through the grass again. He barely made it five paces before staggering again and dropping abruptly to one knee. He stood slowly and deliberately this time, turning to face the opposite direction as he rose. Then, just as slowly, he turned to face forward again. The wraith's eyes were wide and staring, rimmed with white. His lichen complexion looked a bit paler than before.

"It just resumed its original position."

If it was possible for an immortal, life-sucking alien with supernatural strength and borderline magical regenerative abilities to sound shaken, Steve was managing it.

Lieutenant Geerman frowned, "Hey, man. Don't wig out on me. This is home for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

Steve's eyes widened even further, "You cannot be serious."

Further down the path, Dr. Sheckle watched the exchange curiously. "That's what the Ancients were studying," she offered, "It's why we're here."

With a chuff, Steve looked past Geerman, meeting Sheckle's curiosity with critical intensity, "How often does it happen?"

She shrugged, "Every half hour, or so. The intervals vary, though. We can't reliably predict them yet."

The wraith gave a minute head shake, and he sounded like he was having trouble believing he actually needed to say this, "Environments like this are not safe."

With a small smile, Sheckle spread her hands apologetically, "We've been fine so far."

Snorting with disbelief, Steve returned his attention to Geerman with a calculatedly polite, "I respectfully request differently located accommodations."

"Sorry, not happening."

An annoyed huff, "In the least, I would've appreciated some warning."

Shouldering his stunner, the Lieutenant gestured for the rest of the escort to follow suit, "We weren't aware it was the sort of thing that would require advance notice. Now keep walking." He started walking away. When Steve didn't immediately follow, he turned back, "Unless you prefer to waste time standing here until it happens again. Personally, if I were you, I'd prefer to be in camp for that, sitting comfortably down."

"I am unable to argue with that."

A sour expression washed over the wraith's face, and Steve stepped forward, black leather swishing quietly through yellowed grass. His escort rustled into motion.

The rest of the journey passed uneventfully.

Later that evening…

"Do you think it worked?"

In the Ancient ruins on M3Q-579, Lieutenant Geerman rested his shoulder against the stone wall, stirring his stew. "Three options. One. Everything's fine, they dial us when it's safe to return. Two. Everything's not fine, Atlantis sank with all hands on board, and temporary base camp dials us when they fail at establishing a wormhole. Three. Everything's not fine, they finish evacuating, then dial us to regroup. I'm pretty sure we'd have heard if it is was three by now, so all we can do is wait."

Private Laris dipped some bread into her bowl, soaking the juices up, "So it's fine, or not fine." She took a bite, adding with her mouthful, "…I hate waiting."

"Honestly?" Geerman poked the silver bowl of his spoon towards the far end of the room, "I'm more worried about that."

Following his spoon, Laris solemnly chewed. A plexiglass safety barrier had been erected to keep everyone out of the room with the exposed, sheer-multi-mile drop. The crates of moaning space fish had been placed against it, reinforcing its appearance as a barrier. Dr. Sheckle was sitting by the crates, petting one of the creatures. She'd been intermittently bringing it vegetation and scraps. That wasn't what Geerman was concerned about, though. When they first arrived, the wraith had taken up residence at the far end of the barrier. Both the laptops and Xex tube had already been preset.

Steve was currently sitting crosslegged by the dry crate, less than two meters from Sheckle. And the red-haired scientist didn't care. She kept looking with fascination at the second space fish.

…Which was draped across the wraith's lap.

That's what Geerman didn't like. He knew that scientist look. It was only a matter of time before Sheckle decided to move closer and say 'hi'.

Laris dipped her bread again, "She hasn't done anything risky."

"She's between him and the stunners."

"She's on the other side of a crate."

"He could cross that distance in a blink. Snap her neck."

"Why would he do that?" Taking a bite, Private Laris glanced at the wraith, who was slowly stroking the creature's segmented back, "I don't think he's feeling that great. This shifting fields thing. It's messing with him."

"All the more reason to be careful."

"Eat your food. You're off duty."

Geerman shook his head. And ate.

Unaware that she was an object of discussion, Dr. Mira Sheckle dipped her hand under the floating guppy's trailing whiskers and fed it a potato peel from the compost bucket. Then she glanced at the wraith. It was eerie, seeing the alien up close. She'd seen him briefly on the tour, but everything had been moving quickly. Not really enough time to fully process the experience… The Ancient artifact—how did that evolve, eating through your hand?—the glove's black fingertips slid across the guppy's back.

The armored guppy seemed content. She felt guilty only feeding one, though…

She stole a glance at Steve's face. Light green, dusky-maroon threaded skin, washed pale by the harsh portable lamps. The wraith was staring at the closest laptop, but Sheckle was being watched. Closely. She'd felt it when she came over.

Like Earth predators, he supposedly had heightened senses.

Mira glanced at her bowl of compost scraps. Now that Geerman was off duty, she had a better chance of not getting scolded for talking to him. She turned her head, looking openly at Steve. After a few moments, the olive eyes slipped towards her questioningly. "May I come closer?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed, studying her. Then slid pointedly to his guards before resettling on the laptop. "If you wish…"

Aware of the heightened vigilance growing around her, Dr. Sheckle gave the floating guppy a soft pat and moved around the crate. As she knelt, easing herself onto the smooth stone between the prisoner and the crate, she leaned in a bit to peek at the wraith's research. She paused, bemused. Nope, not expecting that.

Both the laptops were open. …And they were both playing screensavers.

"You're not working?"

Steve watched quietly as Sheckle finished crossing her legs. His chordal voice resonated flatly in the subterranean space. "With the magnetic shifts occurring so frequently, I am unable to concentrate. I will eventually adjust. But for now it remainssss… disconcerting."

"I can imagine," Dr. Sheckle was intrigued.

"Can you…?" The wraith's tone was unreadable.

She shrugged, "Many animals navigate with magnetic fields. It doesn't seem like too much of a stretch to equate field reversals with an inner ear problem. Unless I'm mistaken, it seems to upset your balance."

The olive eyes slipped away. "You are not mistaken." On the guppy's back, amber light glimmered in the glove's beads, casting brief reflections onto the wraith's black coat. He took and released a slow breath. Was he smelling her? "What is this outpost for? Why were the Lanteans studying this place?"

"We don't know yet. Something to do with plate tectonics." Sheckle glanced at the nearest guard. Private Douger didn't tell her to zip it, so… Cool.

White hair brushed the guppy's armored back as Steve quizzically titled his head, "Why are you here? You…" his olive eyes slipped away briefly before abruptly refastening on her, "…are trained in pattern recognition."

The wraith remembered. Also cool. "I'm here to figure out who else to bring. And to brush up on my Ancient. There's a lot of translation to do here."

As Steve's fingers stroked the guppy, it stirred, "And who will you bring?"

Was this a test? Or an indirect attempt to gain information? Mira saw no harm in answering. "A plate tectonics expert. That's the easy one. And a climatologist. Someone good with magnetic fields," Mira considered a bit more, "That'll probably be a astrophysicist, since it's at the planet level." The guppy twisted in Steve's lap, shoving its face towards her. It recognized her voice. Mira resisted the urge to try calming it. "Anything beyond those will depend on what we find in the translations."

"Ooooooooaaaa…"

Oh, that wouldn't do. The other would start crying at this rate. Trying not to wince, Dr. Sheckle reached hesitantly past the suddenly rigidly motionless wraith and placed her palm on its head-plate. "Shhhhh…. You'll wake your friend up. It's too echoy in here." The guppy's whiskery snout nudged up, orienting towards her more fully. "Sorry," she gave Steve an apologetic look, "I've been helping desalinate them."

The wraith narrowed his eyes, glancing at his guards. "It's to be expected."

Dr. Sheckle glanced at them, too. Private Douger had shifted his stunner to a more alert position, and was watching her like a hawk. While he didn't tell her to move away, she was clearly treading on thin ice. Rubbing the guppy she indicated her bowl of scraps with a slow movement. Keep it calm and safe… "Will it eat out of the water?"

"Unlikely…" Steve held perfectly still.

Frowning, Mira pulled out a potato peeling and tried offering it anyway.

The guppy ignored the tidbit.

"More for your friend, then." Which begged a different question, "Will it eventually get hungry enough to eat, or does it need to be put back for feeding?" She hadn't seen either one of them refuse food before. When they decided to dry it out to reduce water weight, they hadn't considered that it might stop eating…

"Its digestive system is going dormant." On the orangey-brown shell, the wraith's fingers slowly began moving again, "It will eventually fall into a hibernation sleep to conserve energy." Steve's lips twitched in a forced half-smile, "It… is not in danger."

There was something about the epic failure of the half-hearted attempt to look reassuring that made Mira want to laugh. She didn't though. "It'll be okay for a couple days, then."

"Yesssss…" The odd half-smile vanished.

Not wanting to push her luck, she put the purply-brown peel back in its bowl and sat back. The guppy's wide snout followed her fingers as far as it could, and when she leaned away, it twitched.

"Moooooaoaaaaaaaooooooaaaoaaaaaaaaoooooo…"

Dr. Sheckle froze.

"It prefers your continued presence," The wraith's tone was neutral.

Praying the other one wouldn't take the cue, she leaned in again, stroking its head. Shouldn't this NOT be a problem, though? She eyed Steve suspiciously, "I was told you're able to quiet them with your mind. You're not doing that?"

"No." The oval pupils slid down, wandering over the guppy, "It would be…" the wraith's smooth features crinkled with a delicate frown, "cruel to lead them to expect telepathic assurance when those who take care of them are unable to provide it."

"Cruel?"

Not answering, Steve looked fully at her with condescendingly narrowed eyes, "What interest is it to you, when you can't hear them?"

Mira stared, taken aback by the undertone of scorn layering the question. She hardened her gaze, "First answer this. Why are you holding it?"

"It was in distress." The disapproval in the multi-tonal voice was unmistakable, "Unable to move properly. Unable to see where it was being taken. Left alone."

She internally winced, "It was scared." They'd brought the dry box down first. Apparently the wet box hadn't been placed close enough afterwards. They'd both been wailing when she came inside. She thought she'd calmed it down properly, but what he'd just said suggested it'd still been upset. "You heard it crying."

No reply. The narrowed eyes stared, waiting.

Fine. She sighed, "Just because we can't hear them telepathically, doesn't mean we don't want them to be comfortable. I'm sorry." The accusing eyes vanished behind a white curtain as Steve averted his face. "We're still learning how to take care of them."

"I was not looking for an apology."

Oh, really? "What were you looking for, then?"

No response. The glove's beads glimmered amber spotlights on the guppy's back as Steve took a deep breath.

Mira threw his words back at him, "What's your interest? If you only help them because their distress is unpleasant, why make them like that?" The guppies were artificial organisms, after all. "Is that the only reason to help something?"

The pale face swung back towards her. Silent. Appraising…

Sensing her next question might backfire, Mira pressed recklessly on, reviewing his description of the guppy's distress. Unable to move, unable to see. Left alone. "What's it like, being separated from your hive?"

The olive eyes widened, showing their whites, and Steve bared his teeth with a low hiss. But it abruptly cut off as he winced, screwing his eyes shut. His upper body swayed, and he faced forward. Then he began rhythmically rolling his chin, extending his cheeks out and up, tracing mirrored, diminishing crescent arcs. After a few moments, the tuning motions stopped. Ivory hair rippled against ebony-faceted epaulets as he gave his head a final shake before reopening his eyes. He stared long-sufferingly ahead.

Mira glanced at the guards. Private Douger was checking his compass. When Steve showed no signs of hissing, she asked, "Was that the magnetic field?"

"Yes."

When the wraith first arrived, he'd been standing up and doing a slow spin each time it happened. "You were turning to reorient yourself before. Why did you stop?"

Cocking his head, Steve resumed stroking the guppy. His reply was both disgusted and resigned, "Because if I continue to do that, I won't adequately adjust. This way is ultimately faster and more permanent."

"And how long will it take? To adjust?"

The wraith's eyes wandered from his gloved fingers on the orangey-brown back to Dr. Sheckle's, where they rested on the ridged head plate, "If I understand the timing… Longer than we'll be here."

She internally winced again. "That's unfortunate."

"I agree…"

The conversation, such as it was, fizzled. It didn't feel right, bringing her controversial question up, and Steve seemed content to simply… stare at her fingers.

She wondered if he was still dizzy.

"Alright, let's break this cozy tête à tête up."

Straightening his shoulders, the wraith cocked his head and sent a toothy, false smile over his shoulder, "Good evening, Lieutenant Geerman."

"Nah, not working. Doctor Sheckle?" She looked up at the marine, who was looming behind her, holding a half-eaten roll. "I think you should retire to your tent. This isn't a corporate, HR-bonding retreat."

Mira indicated the guppy, "But the—"

"Leave it."

"It'll start wailing."

Geerman didn't budge, "Let it wail."

With a soft hiss, Steve dipped his chin, catching her eye, "I will watch them."

She frowned, remembering his cruelty comment, "Are you sure?"

He dipped his chin again.

Sighing, Mira looked at the guppy, giving it a final rub on its shelly head. Then froze briefly, noticing—Steve's ungloved palm was resting on his thigh, by the guppy's snout. I.e. Very close to her. Feeling rebellious, she decided to give Geerman something actually substantial to worry to about. "Alright. I'll leave the bowl." Before she could second guess herself, Mira slipped her fingers off the guppy and onto the heavy bracer covering the wraith's wrist, giving it a brief, but firmly gentle, squeeze.

Steve went rigid in shock, staring sideways at her.

"Just a friendly gesture of reassurance." With a calm smile, she slowly and deliberately removed her hand.

The wraith continued to stare. He expelled a sharp chuff of air. Then widened his eyes even further, eyeing her up and down, "You people are insane."

The lieutenant was glowering, "For once I agree with him. Go to bed, Doc."

She obediently stood, conspicuously leaving the bowl of scraps on the floor.

"Moooooaaaaaaaaooooooaaaaaaaaaoooooo—

Geerman made an exasperated noise, "Oh, for the love of—"

"hiiiiiiisssssssssss…" Steve's low hiss took on a soft, eerily clicking rattle, and the guppy instantly silenced. It swung its face towards the wraith's waist and twisted, squirming its muscular body and fluttering fins, trying to push itself over the leather coat's buckles and straps. Steve's bare fingers caught it as fell sideways, then helped lift it, pressing it firmly against his upper ribs. The guppy stilled. A moment later, a fast, higher pitched rattling joined the wraith's lower vibration.

A few feet away, there was a splash, and the guppy in the crate began rattling in response. Its sound was even lower, muted and distorted by water and plastic.

It sounded like whale clicks.

The strange chorus echoed through the stony room, making the hairs on Dr. Sheckle's neck stand on end. She shot Geerman a sly grin, "They're not wailing."

Geerman wasn't amused. "Bed. Now."

Raising her hands in retreat, Dr. Sheckle left.

The next day…

The wraith…

…couldn't walk in a straight line.

Overseeing the return of their evacuated personnel, Major Sheppard leaned out over Atlantis's Gateroom balcony and watched the erratically weaving black coat with perplexed consternation. Steve had barely made it two steps out of the Gate's event horizon when he stumbled and began listing back and forth like a drunken sailor. And the weirdest part was, the wraith's guards had barely reacted!

"Hey!" Sheppard called down.

Steve's face snapped up, then listed sideways in a white and black flutter as he overbalanced.

Sheppard stared disbelievingly, "What the Hell's the matter with you?!"

"Hiiiiiisssssssssssss!" The angry noise dissipated unimpressively in the towering Gateroom. Stopping, Steve swayed and glared at him, managing not to fall over this time. He barked accusingly, "I spent the last day adjusting to an unstable magnetic field that shifts at erratic intervals! Now I must readjust to one that stays where it should!" As if illustrating the point, he swayed again, (despite standing still), and just barely caught himself, snapping, "I am not pleased with my recent accommodations!"

Oh, really? Understatement much? "I can see that!"

"Hiiiiiiiiiissssssssss!"

Skeptically amused, the Major looked at Lieutenant Geerman, who nodded. So it wasn't a show, then. Interesting.

"Your disapproval is noted," Sheppard magnanimously acknowledged.

Steve's translucent teeth bared in disgust. He looked like he was about to say something more, but Geerman waved him forward.

"The sooner you get back, the sooner you can sleep it off."

With a growling hiss, the wraith turned a quick, stumbling circle and started moving again. Sheppard watched the escort disappear under the balcony with bemusement. That was definitely something he didn't see every day.

"I shouldn't be laughing." Beside him, Dr. Weir moved a step closer along the balcony, one arm crossed and one hand lightly covering her mouth, obscuring a smile.

Sheppard shrugged a shoulder, "Go ahead and laugh. It's funny as Hell." He shot her a sideways, cautionary smirk, "Just wait 'til he's out of ear shot."

"Oh, of course." Weir's expression turned pensive as they waited for the sounds of the transporter to activate. After a few discrete moments she said, "I think we might need to look a bit closer at M3Q-579."

"Yeah, me too." The Major looked past Dr. Weir to where Rodney was fiddling with his badly tied bandage. (He'd tied it over the top of his jacket, and though the blood wasn't showing, it probably wasn't actually helping much. McKay was proud of it, though. And he'd tied it himself. That's what mattered, right?) Sheppard tried catching his eye, but McKay was focused on the white gauze. "I also think we need to have a discussion with Beckett and Bates about magnetic grenades."

Proving he'd been listening, McKay looked up, horrified. "You're just trying to find new ways to destroy our equipment, aren't you?"

Sheppard wasn't terribly concerned, "Hey, if it sends wraith reeling over like bowling pins, I don't mind sacrificing a few computers to save a dozen or so lives."

"Except for the fact that we can't replace them because we still can't contact Earth!"

"Relax," Sheppard waved the concern off, "They'd go into our last resort bags." He cast about for a reassuring excuse. (He was actually very taken with the idea.) "We can make," he hunted for the right word, "…Protocols."

Weir raised an eyebrow, "Protocols, hmm?"

McKay wasn't mollified, "Protocols that involve turning every tiniest thing off before actually using them! We're talking miniature EMF bombs!"

"Exactly."

"I think this idea should be explored," Lifting a hand to forestall Rodney's protests, Elizabeth looked fondly at her senior command team, "But I also think we should do that exploring when we're not all exhausted from repelling an invasion."

Suddenly looking tired, Dr. McKay nodded, "I second that. I actually like the idea, too, but I'm kinda… arguing on autopilot…"

"Yeah," Sheppard gave Weir a meaningful look, "I'm just glad we're all here, and able to argue about it at all." He'd thought she was dead once. And Kolya had threatened to kill her for real, after revealing she was still alive.

Weir's expression softened, "Me too."

He held her eyes for a moment. Then looked past her at McKay again, glancing pointedly at the bandage, "How bad is that?"

"…I'm not sure," Rodney admitted. He grimaced, remembering, "It was designed for maximum pain. …Not maximum damage."

Torturing, Genii bastards. Major Sheppard was not pleased with that particular society of Pegasus humans. No. He was decidedly not pleased at all.

"Carson knows, though. I'm on the triage list."

Yeah, McKay had mentioned that earlier.

Weir gave Dr. McKay's unharmed wrist a reassuring squeeze, and the three of them looked back down at the Stargate, where the last of M3Q-579's personnel were hauling the last of their equipment out of the wormhole. As Dr. Corde came through, the marine with him raised an arm while tapping her earpiece.

Behind them, Peter Grodin's familiar voice called, "That's the last of the evacuation teams."

With a satisfied nod, Weir glanced over her shoulder, smiling, "Shut it down."

The rippling blue light filling the Gateroom vanished.

"Now. Let's get some rest."

The next morning…

"Your Dr. McKay has been injured."

The observation whispered curiously as Major Sheppard approached the cell. The wraith had already stood up, sweeping smoothly to his feet as Sheppard entered, showing no hint of his previous precariousness.

"Noticed that, did you?" Why wasn't he surprised that the white gauze waving like a signal flag every time McKay raised his arm had given the attack away?

"I was off-balance. Not blinded." Steve leaned close to the horizontal bars, peering into his captor's face, "The room smelled like blood." The olive eyes swept Sheppard critically, from mussy hair to standard issue boots and back up, scouring his arms and his sides, and finally sliding questioningly to his face.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't mine." Was the wraith concerned, or simply probing for weakness?

Steve's nostrils flared, and he breathed deeply, as if verifying the truth of Sheppard's claim by scent. The beads on his feeding wrist glimmered… After a moment, Steve expelled the used air with a querulous chuff, "Some sort of rival, attempting to take advantage of the situation?"

Sheppard considered the question. That a confrontation had taken place apparently couldn't be hidden. But there was no need for the wraith to know how close to disaster they'd come. And the wraith likely knew he wouldn't get actual details, seeing as how he'd chosen a broad brushstroke inquiry. Yep, Sheppard could talk in broad brushstrokes, too. He thought about the Geniis' manipulative arrogance and technological inferiority… Then he schooled his tone to a calm neutral laced with a tiny hint of superiority, "More like someone who thought they qualified as a rival, while not understanding what the situation actually was."

"Ahhhhhhh…" exhaling in vicarious satisfaction, Steve showed his teeth with a wide smirk, "I assume that they understand now?"

"You could say that."

A low, satisfied hiss…

Huh. Their 'guest' was surprisingly pleased with Atlantis's victory. "I'm glad you approve, Steve," Sheppard flippantly quipped, "If you're gonna be caught by Humans, might as well be the Best Humans, right?"

Instead of turning snarky, the wraith chuckled, "I admit… it does allow me to feel…" he glanced briefly away, tilting his head, "less incompetent." A pair of lichen fingers floated up into view, translucent talons held a few millimeters apart, "By a slight bit."

That… was actually funny. Letting the wraith see his amusement, Sheppard lay his hands on one of the lower bars and leaned against the cell. Aside from letting his fingers alight on the grey metal near his chin, Steve stayed where he was, watching. Time to get down to business. "Now," he started, "I assume you didn't ask me to come down just so you could comment on McKay's bandaid." The wraith had apparently started asking to see Sheppard as soon a he stopped falling over.

"No…" Steve's thin goatees twitched perilously close to the invisible forcefield as he spoke, "I wish to comment on something else." The satisfied smile vanished into straight-faced seriousness. "The planet you sent me to. It is not safe."

"You just don't want to go there again."

"Correct. I do not want to go there. It's uncomfortable—"

Sheppard wanted to laugh, "You're illustrating my point—"

"—And it is also not safe."

He frowned, amused, "Are it being uncomfortable and it not being safe two separate things, then? 'Cause I'm a little confused—"

Steve rolled his eyes with a disgusted snort, "Whether I find it comfortable or not is irrelevant!" He calmed his voice, adding, "It's unsafe."

Faced with this bizarrely cryptic adamancy, Sheppard decided to humor him, "Okay. Why isn't it safe?"

The wraith blinked, like he'd just said something idiotic. "Because," he bit out, "it isn't."

Say what, now? "Excuse me?"

Still peering sideways between the horizontal bars, the olive eyes were at a baffled loss, "It—it isn't!"

"Well, what's wrong with it?!" Sheppard wasn't sure whether to laugh or get angry.

"I don't know! It—" Unexpectedly agitated, Steve poked his face up, peering briefly at Sheppard from between the next pair of higher bars before dropping back down, as if a better angle might've helped, "It… Isn't safe!"

"Steve? Are you expecting me to just take your word for it?"

The wraith glanced away, eyes darting in confusion, "I don't understand where this speaking fails—"

Well, crap. They'd hit one of the damn language barriers. Sheppard tried a different tack, "Why isn't—No, HOW do you know it's not safe?" This was in danger of turning into some weird Pegasus Galaxy Abbott & Costello routine.

Steve expelled a lungful of air in a frustrated huff, "Because… It… doesn't," he cut off, discarding, considering, weighing, choosing, casting aside? The Major swore he saw an entire dictionary pass through the oval-pupiled eyes before he finally blurted, "…FEEL… safe!" On the bar, his claws scritched painful gauge-lines as his fingers tensed.

…

Feel safe? Really? How many centuries had wraith been using this language? Major Sheppard resisted an urge to sigh. While he appreciated the effort Steve had made while so glaringly failing to elaborate, Atlantis needed more to go on than that. "So," he kept his tone carefully polite, "we're supposed to abandon an Ancient research station, before figuring out what it's for, because of your feelings?"

Steve froze, apparently finally realizing how ridiculous he sounded. His olive eyes blinked. Then he snarled, "I don't even know why I'm attempting to assist you!"

"Steve—"

"Hiiiiiiisssssssss!" Steve's ungloved fingers darted out, smacking the forcefield by Sheppard's face with an angrily impotent Zap!

Whoa! Wraith tantrum! "Not cool!"

With another hiss, Steve pushed off from the bars, whirling away in a flare of ebony and flash-fluttering white. The snap of leather and pattering of hair mingled with an irate surge of rattling as the wraith stalked a tight circle, finally stopping a few feet from his original position. His face angled towards Sheppard, but he didn't look at him, instead keeping his eyes militantly fixed on the wall beyond his cell, somewhere low down, between the motionless knees of two silent guards.

The Ancient glove's amber beads glimmered and flickered as he spoke, "What you do on that planet is not my concern. I care nothing for it." Exhaling tension, Steve cocked his head slightly, adding, "Aside from not wishing to return."

Another long, slow exhalation.

Then silence…

Apparently the tantrum was over.

Major Sheppard leaned back against the bar, hoping to re-break the ice, "Are we cool, then?"

Baring his teeth briefly, Steve rolled his eyes with obligatory disgust, finally glancing at him, "I have no idea what that means."

Fair enough, Earth terminology and all that. Sheppard shrugged, "Ya know," he kept his voice casual, "We seemed to be having a… companionable discussion before."

The wraith looked fully towards him again, "We can continue to do so." Extremely toothy, condescending grin, "What do you wish to discuss?"

Ignoring the mocking tone, Sheppard let his weight rest easily on his palms, against the smooth metal. "Well, for starters… was there something else you called me down here for?" For the sake of 'companionable discussion,' he hoped there was.

Haloed in white light, Steve drifted to the forcefield and bent in, "Actually…" His gloved and ungloved fingers ghosted across the grey bars as he tilted his face, resuming his former horizontal peering, "I have a preference to express…"

Interesting word choice. "Express away."

The olive eyes blinked seriously, pupils widening in the bar's shadow, "I wish you to convey a preference to Dr. Weir. If such a time comes that Atlantis is taken from you, while I am down here… I would prefer to be released to fight, or continue my research elsewhere… rather than changing hands as a trophy of war."

That was heavier than he'd expected. "I'll convey that request."

The wraith searched his face. "Not every Human has the intelligence needed to even open this door… Or the willingness to listen," the Ancient glove slipped along the shadows by the wraith's chin. Steve's eyes darted to it meaningfully, "as I explain what this does…"

Yeah, Pegasus Galaxy Humans were a lot less likely to listen to a trapped wraith than an Earth Human would be. Major Sheppard nodded, matching Steve's seriousness. Before the Genii attack, he hadn't thought it was something Atlantis needed to consider. But now… Well… Magnetic grenades weren't the only reason to be making new protocols. "We wouldn't leave you to die here. I'll discuss it with Dr. Weir."

Steve dipped his face, breath fogging the bar, "You have my gratitude in this."

The wraith sounded like he meant it, too.

"You're welcome." The Major waited until Steve met his gaze again. "Was there anything else?"

The oval-pupiled eyes blinked, "Yes…" Steve's multi-tonal voice turned hesitantly querulous, "May… I have the vessel of water returned?"

"What?" Sheppard leaned sideways, looking past Steve's glittering shoulder and white hair. Two laptops and the Xex tube rested neatly on the cell floor. But the pitcher—Right! He'd left it in Weir's office. Since it hadn't officially evacuated, it hadn't returned with everything! "Oh."

Oops.

"Yeah, we can do that. That was my fault." The fighting started, and everything just, well… "Sorry. I was kinda distracted."

Ivory whispered and swayed as the wraith's chin dipped magnanimously, "Understandable…"

Damn Genii bastards.

"What is this?" Sounding both perplexed and amused, Dr. Weir lifted the data-pad Sergeant Bates had passed her and turned it around, displaying a photograph from the ruins on M3Q-579. As she did, faces turned and expressions shifted, showing various degrees of bafflement, disbelief, and curiosity.

Having seen this during Geerman's debriefing, Major Sheppard grinned, "That…" he held a hand out, and Weir passed it to him. The picture began making a slow circuit around the conference table as he continued, "is a picture of a sleeping wraith with a sleeping space guppy draped over his chest."

"I can see that," the expedition leader raised an eyebrow, "I suppose a more pertinent question would be, how did it happen?"

The data-pad paused its journey as it reached Teyla. The Athosian studied it with unwilling fascination, "I would never have imagined a wraith doing this…"

Major Sheppard swiveled his chair a bit, "Apparently the guppy was unhappy. I told Steve he could help keep 'em quiet."

Dr. McKay wasn't amused, "He was supposed to be working."

Teyla passed the data-pad to Carson, who let out a small laugh, "Oh, now 'at's lovely." Beside him, McKay's eyes widened in disbelief. Noticing, Carson turned the tablet towards the physicist, "Ye 'ave ta admit, 'at's a bit sweet."

"In a deadly, alien bug kind of way!" McKay stared at Beckett with chagrin, "No! Not in the slightest!"

"Ah, well. To each 'is own," Beckett looked at the picture again.

Beside Bates, Lieutenant Ford fidgeted, "I think its sweet." McKay's dismayed disapproval landed on him next, "What? The guppies like cuddling."

"And how would you know?!"

Ford shrugged, "Dr. Moore asked me to play with them."

Unable to resist, Sheppard innocently added, "I guess they're just alien cuddlefish."

"Oh, please—"

"Gentlemen," Weir raised an eyebrow, "let's stay focused."

Muttering about bad puns, Rodney grudgingly subsided.

Sergeant Bates surveyed the room, "According to Geerman's team, the prisoner wasn't feeling well. Douger overheard him tell Dr. Sheckle that he was unable to concentrate." At a gesture from Bates, Dr. Beckett handed the data-pad over. The Security Chief flipped open a new window, "Private Douger also recorded this."

The sound of a wraith and two guppies rattling emanated from the pad.

Dr. McKay shivered, "Well, that's disturbing."

"It apparently continued for several hours."

Lieutenant Ford stared, "The entire evacuation site? They had to listen to this for hours?"

"Until the prisoner fell asleep," confirmed Bates.

"And despite the weirdness," Major Sheppard offered, "Dr. Corde and several marines reported sleeping surprisingly well."

Teyla Emmagen frowned slightly, closing her eyes, "There is something oddly relaxing about this noise. I'm not sure what it is…" Sitting forward, she looked questioningly at Beckett, who nodded.

"Aye. It's a different frequency profile than when the prisoner's angry at us." Beckett glanced at Weir, "An' while tha's fascinatin' in itself, wha's more fascinatin' is tha', when we ran the recordin' past several people who were present, they all separately agreed sommat's missing. Ah suspect the sound may 'ave a telepathic component, like the shadow projections."

That kinda made sense… Major Sheppard nodded, "I always feel like that noise is… bigger than the room that it's in."

"Yeah," agreed Ford, "it always sounds echoy, even when—"

"—there's nothing for it to echo off," Sheppard finished.

"Yeah. Exactly."

Dr. Weir raised an eyebrow, "Sounds like it's worth investigating."

"Aye," Dr. Beckett nodded, "It's on the list for the next brain scan. Assumin' o' course, tha' 'e agrees to another one." The Scotsman gave a small shrug, "Anyhoo, Dr. Sheckle said Steve was reluctant to comfort the guppies wi' telepathy directly, because their human 'andlers can't do 'at. Apparently, 'e did this instead."

"On that note," interrupted Bates, "I'd like to recommend keeping Dr. Sheckle away from the prisoner."

"Oh, I don't know," Sheppard quipped, "From what I hear, they got along pretty well." They'd discussed this earlier, and, as usual, agreed to disagree.

The Security Chief wasn't going down without a fight. "Her awareness of personal safety is lacking," he retorted.

Sensing she'd be soon making a decision, Dr. Weir steepled her fingers, watching the exchange between her military commander and security expert with interest.

Unconcerned, Sheppard swiveled his chair, "Seems to me she came out okay."

Sergeant Bates scowled, "She touched his arm, Major."

"What?!" squeaked McKay, "Why!? When did this happen?"

Bates shook his head in disgust, "Right before the rattling started."

Major Sheppard raised his hands calmingly, and gave everyone context, "Lieutenant Geerman apparently annoyed Dr. Sheckle by sending her to bed even though she was helping Steve keep the guppies quiet. So… she decided to annoy him back by touching the deadly alien predator to prove nothing would happen."

Teyla Emmagen frowned.

Carson looked baffled, "Seriously?"

Sheppard nodded. All the reports had agreed. (Including the science department's debrief of Dr. Sheckle. She apparently willingly admitted it.) "What can I say? Grown adults just don't like being sent to bed."

"I see…" Weir hid her amusement and instead let her previously raised eyebrow skyrocket higher, "And how did our prisoner react?"

"He said she was nuts," stated Bates, "And I'm inclined to agree."

"Actually," corrected Sheppard, "he implied that our people are ALL insane."

The expedition leader pursed her lips, "From his perspective, I would imagine that seems true." She studied the table, considering the dilemma, then glanced at her military commander, "You seem in favor of leniency, Major. I thought you'd be against something like this? I thought we'd all agreed we needed to be more careful?"

Yeah, about that… Sheppard internally winced, "I did agree. And I do." He looked seriously at his teammates, "What I'm saying here is, it might be interesting to see what comes out of Steve's mouth when he's not hooked up to instruments, or fulfilling his end of an agreement." He let his gaze rest on Weir, "No strings attached, low stakes interaction." He nodded to Bates, "Now, I'm not saying we should go out and ask for volunteer buddies, or anything. Just, if a situation like the evacuation arises, I see no reason to discourage safe and supervised contact prematurely. Doctors Corde and Sheckle have already met the prisoner twice. It makes more sense to keep her on the short list than it does to kick her off and potentially expose additional personnel."

Sergeant Bates shook his head, annoyed, "With all due respect? That last part's the only part of your argument that I don't disagree with. Sir."

"See? He doesn't entirely disagree with me."

"If it were up to me, there wouldn't even be a short list."

"Who else is on this hypothetical short list?" Weir asked, "I just want to make sure it hasn't unwittingly expanded."

It actually was a short list. Major Sheppard nodded, "Everyone in this room, his guards," he glanced at Beckett, "Doctors Kaile and Morgan," his glaze slipped to McKay, "and… Dr. Zelenka." Zelenka had technically only met with Steve once, but he was working on the glove project, so more encounters were pretty much inevitable. (As far as Sheppard was concerned, Carson's random techs and the flooded lab's other two Fish Finders didn't count. There hadn't really been conversation there.)

Weir studied her fingers… then looked up. "Keep her on the list. For now. I see no reason to restrict his contacts for reasons outside his control." She sat back, extending a hand towards McKay, "Now, tell me about M3Q-579's magnetic field problems."

Dr, McKay rolled his eyes, "It's not a problem, per say. It's what the Ancient's were studying." He waved his fingers past each other and back again, illustrating a field reversal, "The planet's magnetic field flip-flops."

"And our prisoner doesn't like it," Dr. Weir observed.

"No," Sheppard confirmed, "he say's it's unsafe." He glanced around the table apologetically, "He won't say WHY it's unsafe, though. He's just… very adamant about it." In a hissy tantrum sort of way, "I don't think he knows how to explain it."

"That's odd," Weir looked curiously to Beckett, "Our people have been fine, though, right?"

"Oh, aye," Carson confirmed, "Everyone's peachy." The infirmary was making sure all personnel who stayed on M3Q-579 for more than a couple hours were receiving physicals. He looked at Sheppard, intrigued, "It's possible tha' our guest is experiencin' an instinctive repulsion. 'E's very sensitive to magnetic fields." Carson turned back to Elizabeth, "Humans who are exposed to poorly shielded electrical work can report inexplicable feelin's o' impendin' doom. It could be tha' sort o' thing."

Teyla Emmagen was skeptical, "You think it's all in the prisoner's head?"

"Not necessarily," Carson explained, "Ah imagine the feelin' would 'ave an evolutionary advantage. It simply may not be applicable on M3Q-579."

"You mean like, don't build a hive or hibernate on unstable planets?" Lieutenant Ford asked, "That sort of thing?"

"Aye, exactly."

"Well, M3Q-579's stable," McKay said, "From the little we've translated so far, the outpost has been around for at least fifteen thousand years."

Major Sheppard's eyes popped, "Fifteen thousand? That's from before the war!"

"Exactly. It's stable."

"Yes, it is," Weir mused, "Still… evolutionary advantages are advantages for a reason." She turned to Rodney, "Just to be safe, lets bump M3Q-579's files to the top of our translation list. If the Ancients were studying it BECAUSE it's unsafe, I'd like to know sooner rather than later."

"Will do," McKay tapped his data-pad, "and done. Translation list updated."

"Thank you. Now… was there anything else?"

Swiveling his chair, Sheppard cleared his throat, "Steve wants you to take his presence into consideration in the event of another invasion."

"Ok…" Weir's hands folded expectantly, "How so?"

Sheppard glanced around the table, watching everyone's reactions, "He wants to be turned loose." Seeing Sergeant Bates frown, he quickly added, "Either to fight or leave, he didn't seem too care which. He just—"

"Doesn't want to end up as our enemy's prisoner," Weir guessed.

Sheppard nodded, "Better the devil ya know, and all that."

"That's understandable. After all, he's built a relationship with us."

McKay scoffed, "And I'm sure the fact that we're able to manipulate Ancient technology and help figure out how the glove works has nothing to do with it."

Weir smiled ruefully, "Oh, I'm sure that's also a factor."

"Yeah," Sheppard agreed, "and he also didn't like the idea of being held hostage by people who can't figure out how to open the cell up."

Lieutenant Ford suddenly looked ill, "I hadn't even considered that."

Disgusted, Sergeant Bates shook his head, "I'd hope anyone able to take the city would at least also be capable of that."

"As would I," agreed Teyla, then she added, "And I'm personally not sure I can provide a quick answer as to my preference."

"Ah'll provide mine," Carson didn't hesitate, "Ah'm fer lettin' 'im out. 'E's a sittin' duck in there. There's a lot o' hatred fer wraith—Justified, believe me, ah know it's justified—but ah couldn't sanction leavin' 'im helpless fer target practice."

Sheppard experienced an internal 'ouch' moment, "Imagine if they figured out how to drop the forcefield WITHOUT opening the door—"

Ford visibly paled, "I've actually been trying NOT to think about that, Sir."

Weir splayed her fingers out before her upon the conference table with an air of finality, "Alright, let's end this discussion before we enter unpleasant territory. You can tell the prisoner, Steve, that the matter's under advisement. Anyone who'd like to share their thoughts with me privately is welcome to do so. Now, I'll ask again. Is there anything else—"

"Magnetic grenades!" Sheppard shot his hand up.

"No!—"

"—Yes!"

Sergeant Bates and Dr. Beckett stared at each other in disbelief. Everyone else watched them curiously. Surprisingly, the 'yes' had come from Atlantis' medical expert. Feeling naughty for some reason, the Major dropped his hand.

Beckett recovered first, blinking perplexity, "Shouldn't our answers 'ave been reversed, there?"

"Looks like I'm more concerned about short-circuiting equipment than you are with short-circuiting patients, Doctor," Bates was darkly amused.

Hurt, Carson's jaw dropped reproachfully, "Now, see 'ere. Tha's not fair."

"Just calling it like I see it."

Carson shook his head, "It's a humane, demobilizin' alternative to explosives with no permanent health dangers. Ah see no reason—"

"It'll destroy electronic components that we can't easily replace—"

"Tha's better 'an losin' a limb. Or bein' fed on."

Sergeant Bates glowered at Sheppard, "If not handled properly, it could cripple communications in the field. Research the tech all you want. I acknowledge its potential. Especially on hive ships. But until we have viable options for protecting equipment from human error, I will not sign off on deploying it. We're too vulnerable."

"I agree with Bates," nodded McKay, "on restricting deployment."

"No testing it in the city," Dr. Weir wasn't terribly thrilled with the potential experimental fallout, "That's my condition for researching it."

Sheppard opened his mouth to protest—

"And no testing it on our prisoner, either."

Drat. His mouth snapped innocently shut. Ah, well. Steve probably wouldn't've agreed to it anyway.

"Until we find a good testing site that doesn't involve half hour flights to the mainland," Dr. McKay tapped a finger on the table irritably, "This will NOT be high on the Physics Department's priority list. Just so we're all aware of that."

"Understood," Weir acknowledged.

A few chairs away, Teyla Emmagen added, "For my part, I am perfectly content to continue getting used to using your 'flash bangs'. There is no need to rush."

"Well, I was worried it would be an outright 'no'," Sheppard admitted, "so I'm not picky." Starting the research was all he actually wanted. Once the grenades physically existed… Then they could figure out the logistics of field testing.

"Alright, for the third time, is there anything else?" Dr. Weir gazed at her senior leadership team. Expectant silence… "Then this daily check-in is concluded. Thank you, everyone. Good luck with your work today. And… You are dismissed."

As everyone got up and filed out, Major Sheppard followed Elizabeth to her office. Noticing, she raised a curious eyebrow and paused in the doorway.

"Hey, is that pitcher I left still in there?"

"Ahhhh," Weir's brown eyes widened in revelation, "I was wondering who left it." She stepped in, gesturing to her desk. The plastic still-lifes were sitting by a bowl of glittering orange glove beads. "Did it come with a cup?"

"Yup," He'd left them on the glass table by the office entrance, but whoever replaced the Penny Jar had apparently displaced them. "May I?"

"Go ahead," Weir moved aside, gazing out the window as Major Sheppard retrieved them, "I hadn't gotten around to relocating them yet."

Tucking the pitcher in the crook of his arm, he fingered the smooth plastic. He should probably refresh the water in the cafeteria… Not expecting anyone to be behind him, he almost bumped into McKay as he turned to leave. The pitcher splashed with the sudden jerk, and Sheppard's free hand shot up, catching the drops.

Dr. McKay stared at the water, belatedly shielding his data-pad.

Seeing his dismay, Sheppard quipped, "McKay? Were you following me?"

"Oh, um, no," he tore his eyes from the pitcher, "Just wanted to get some input from Elizabeth on the Ancient aspects of the hybrid glove programming—Why are you carrying that?"

Sheppard shrugged, "Just wanted to return these to Steve. Ya know. So he doesn't get thirsty."

The physicist blinked, confused, "Those are Steve's?"

"Yeah," he was about to crack a joke about wraith thirst and consuming realities, but Weir was suddenly at his elbow with her palm out in a 'hold' motion.

"Wait. I'd rather send those to the kitchen for cleaning." Her tone was unreadable, but firm, "Please give our prisoner a new set."

Sheppard heard warning bells, "Why? It's his glass, isn't it?"

"Yes—"

"Oh, my God. Bug germs," McKay squeaked, horrified, "Please tell me you didn't drink from it."

"No, I didn't—but it was sitting in my office during the invasion." Her lips curled ruefully as she crossed her arms, "Before we went to the grounding station, Augusta Kolya decided to assert his ownership of Atlantis by taking a sip."

Sheppard eyed the cup distastefully, resisting the urge to set it back down and wipe his hands on his pants. No way in Hell was he giving Steve that. "I'm glad you told me that, Elizabeth. I'd be… very embarrassed to accidentally serve our guest some contaminated water."

A smile was spreading slowly across McKay's face as he looked at Weir, "Something about what you just said gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, even though I'm pretty sure it shouldn't."

Weir 'hmmmmed' thoughtfully. "Yes. It is a bit… satisfying."

It kinda was, actually. That warm fuzzy feeling was in danger of making Sheppard grin, "So…" he mused, looking at the glass with renewed appreciation, "Augusta Kolya drank wraith spit."

"Assuming wraith produce spit," McKay hastily added, "I don't think Carso—"

"Let's pretend they do," Weir interrupted, "It's more fun that way."

"I agree," Sheppard nodded.

The three of them shared a conspiratorial, post-invasion, warm fuzzy moment. (If they really wanted to know the truth, they could always ask Steve later.)

"O' course Wraith produce spit," Carson stared at McKay, baffled by the physicist's question, "They 'ave mouths, don' they?"

"Yes, but they don't eat—"

"Tha' doesn' mean their tongue an' mucus membranes don' need to stay moisturized." With a white lab-coated flutter, Beckett turned back to the tank holding the organic hard-drive, "An' ah'll 'ave ye know, Steve drools on 'is pillow when 'e's unconscious, just like everyone else."

"Wait, Steve drools? How do yo—"

"Ye forget 'ow many times we stunned 'im before tryin' the glove out."

"Oh, right." McKay hid a tiny fist-pump when Carson wasn't looking, then moved closer to peer through the plexiglass. "So, what am I looking at?"

Floating sedately in the rose-tinted nutrient fluid, a thin tendril of nearly invisible translucent tissue waved softly as the surrounding bulge of the still-developing intake valve's soon-to-be outer flap pulsed rhythmically.

"Looks kinda like a sea anemone," muttered McKay, "Only there's only one tentacle…"

"Tha' there's the neural tissue." Carson traced a line along the tank's surface, following the intake tube back to the drive's shell, "The filament seed's regeneratin' it's neural network, an' it's sendin' a shoot back along the supply, lookin' for an interface. Tha' shoot is wha' we can now see."

McKay peered at the barely visible thread, "So that's the thing that I'm eventually connecting to."

"Aye. Eventually bein' the operative word." Beckett slipped his hands into his coat pockets, "According to Steve, when it doesn' find an interface, it'll grow into a new filament seed an' send out another shoot. Tha' process will continue until it encounters an interface. Meanwhile, this first connectin' filament will begin to thicken an grow—"

"Turning into a sort of connecting cable," McKay guessed.

Beckett nodded, "An' this connectin' cable will undergo a final maturation process."

"And that's when I'm allowed to poke it."

Carson sighed, "Aye, Rodney, tha's when you can try pokin' it. But only if the drive's shell an' the the two pressure regulation valves are done regeneratin'"

"Right, right," McKay waved the reminder off, "How do we know when the cable's mature?" He rolled the word 'mature' around like it was quaint.

"It will take on phosphorescent properties, an' its outer wall's inner veins will become clearly visible."

"Huh… Healthy neural cables glow," The physicist frowned thoughtfully, "I wonder if that's what I poked on the Genii's hive ship. That thing was huge, though, compared to this."

Not having been present for Rodney's door-opening attempt, Carson gave a little shrug, "Ah imagine there's lots o' types o' neural filaments, dependin' on the infrastructure involved."

"Well, I hope so. Otherwise it's going to be a long wait—longer than it already is, I mean," McKay amended. "And… how is the shell doing?"

"Oh, it's doin' alright," he leaned over the tank, looking down on the floating ovoid, "The smallest cracks 'ave hardened over, an' the large wounds are shrinkin'. Slowly, mind ye. The edges o' the damage 'ave put on a few millimeters o' growth."

"Millimeters," Rodney wasn't impressed.

"Considerin' how close to death it was, ah think millimeters is pretty good. Though ah admit, 'ah've no way o' knowin' wha' the ideal rate is."

"Well," McKay peered at the tiny filament skeptically, "I'm… sure you're doing your best."

Bemused by the contradictory display of curious dismissiveness, Beckett shook his head, "Oh, we are. An' ah appreciate the check-in. Is there anythin' else ah can do for ye, Rodney?"

He glanced hopefully up, "That depends. How's your wraith?"

Carson considered the question seriously, "Aside from a bit o' hissin' an' a couple o' theories on body language, it's basically nonexistent."

"Hmph, just like everyone else, then."

"Ye could always ask Steve—"

"Steve's already working on it. I was hoping to render him obsolete."

Beckett frowned disapprovingly.

Not noticing, McKay continued, "While that's supremely unlikely, however, knowing wraith would actually help me translate the Ancient aspects. They're welded so tightly together that both languages' basic structures are needed to untangle them."

"If tha's true, Steve's probably runnin' into the same problem."

"Yes, well…" McKay fidgeted uncomfortably, "Seeing as he hasn't complained yet, it's entirely possibly that he knows basic Ancient."

"Oh." Is this what the problem was. Dr. Beckett tried not to grin, "Don' worry, Rodney. Ah'm sure ye'll find a way ta never fall obsolete."

"What?" Mckay straightened indignantly, "I'm not—"

"It's alright. Ah won' tell anyone."

"I'm not a linguist."

In Atlantis's holding cell, the wraith Sheppard had named Steve placed a laptop by the door of his cage and peered out at his guards. "If you could bring this to one of your kind who speaks Lantean…?" Pale fingers fluttered lightly over the horizontal bars as the wraith slowly wove from side to side, slipping his gaze from one marine to another. "Perhaps… Dr. McKay? Perhaps—" he cut off with a snort, turning away.

"I'm not sure how to proceed. Any input as to where the errors are—Or what they might be… would be appreciated."

With a low hiss, Atlantis's prisoner retreated to the far end of his cell, turned his back on the door, and closed his eyes…

Waiting…

The guards exchanged glances. Then Private Laris radioed Sergeant Bates, requesting permission. A minute later, the laptop was removed and on its way upstairs.

With a satisfied glimmer of amber, the wraith Sheppard had named Steve settled comfortably onto the floor by the Xex tube and took a sip of water from his new cup. Then he re-woke the second laptop with a translucent claw and resumed working.

"You know how M3Q-579 has records going back fifteen thousand years?"

In the ruin's main chamber, Dr. Corde stepped away from the globe of crystal that was both the Ancient device's sensor array and interface. "I think I just tripled that."

Dr. Torre looked up in surprise from the collapsible table where she'd been analyzing one of the recently extracted readings, "Are you serious?"

Corde held his data-pad up proudly and brought it over, "There's a series of partitions in its memory system. I think they're physically isolated from each other. We accessed one before. I just managed to get into a second."

Taking the proffered pad, Torre examined the rudimentary partition-map with interest, asking, "How many are there?"

"I'm not sure yet," Corde turned back, watching the crystal's low, pulsing glow with fascination, "But it looks like there might be a couple dozen."

"That's a long time to collect data…"

"It explains the pedestal's durability, though," Corde turned back with a shrug.

"What in the world were they studying for so long?"

Distorted by echos, a voice called from the ruin's entrance, "Something to do with tectonic plate movements." A few moments later, Dr. Sheckle walked in, hauling a protective carrying case. She set it on the smooth stone next to Torre's work space, "I've got the portable spectrometer you asked for."

"Wonderful!" Excitedly returning Corde's data-pad, Dr. Torre clicked the hard-case's buckles open and began carefully extracting equipment, "Let's find out what this 'apparently more than one hundred thousand years old' sensor array's actually made of."

Surprised, Dr. Sheckle blinked, "What did I miss?"

Corde threw her a grin, "A whole lot and also… very little."

She laughed, "Story of my life, then."

"This is utter gibberish."

Unable to resist, Major Sheppard childishly quipped, "You're utter gibberish."

Ignoring the remark, McKay sputtered at the laptop that'd been unceremoniously placed before him in bafflement, "What the Hell am I looking at?"

"Steve's first attempt."

Hands planted on the work bench on either side of the computer of contention, McKay peered incredulously at the glowing screen, "Attempt at what? Writing wraith poetry?"

Sheppard glanced nonchalantly around at the banks of blinking server lights, "I don't know," he shrugged, "It didn't come with instructions."

"Well, it's a complete hodgepodge," McKay groused, "Barely two coherent words of Ancient strung together in a row—Why'd you even bother showing it to me?!"

"'Cause Steve said to!" Major Sheppard was indignant, "'Cause I don't read either language! I—I can count in Ancient. That's it. I've been trying my best, but I don't exactly have lots of free time for studying."

Heaving an exasperated sigh, McKay clicked between windows and started scrolling, "Did Steve say what he was doing?"

"No. He told his guards he wanted input on what the errors were and where they might be."

Eyes fixed on the shifting screen, Dr. McKay shook his head, "How about, everything, everywhere. Just take it back, tell him that."

"I don't think that's the kind of feedback he's looking for."

"Yeah, well—" McKay froze, then scrolled back, "What? What's thi—This is new code! What's he—Oh, no, he's not, he's—Oh, no, yes, he is." McKay's face fell. "Well, that's doomed to failure."

Totally lost, Sheppard stared at the mass of wraith characters glowing on the laptop's screen. "What? What'd he do?"

"Instead of figuring out how the code works in small chunks, he's writing an algorithm to try analyzing it all at once. And he's apparently attempting to check the algorithm's accuracy by having it translate the wraith characters into their Ancient equivalents—Which won't work!" McKay scolded the laptop, "Because even if the characters have linguistic equivalents, there's no guarantee the hybrid program's actually using them that way! In fact, it's incredibly more likely that it's not!"

…Yeah, that explanation went over Sheppard's head. Or maybe around. Possibly even under. "So, he's writing a wraith to Ancient translation program?"

"Partly, only partly—" McKay's window switching paused briefly, "When you say it that way, you almost make it sound useful."

"Well, it must be useful to him," Sheppard shrugged.

"Now, why would that be…" Dr. McKay had gone pensively still, "What is he thinking? How's he's actually using that part?"

Glancing at the banks of twinkling lights again, Major Sheppard resisted the urge to suggest that McKay should ask Steve directly.

"What would I do with an Ancient to wraith translation component?" McKay muttered. "Maybe a structural comparison? Conceptual?"

"Say what, now?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet." With an intrigued frown, McKay shut the laptop and handed it back, "Look. I've no idea what Steve's attempting. We didn't agree on a game plan for analysis yet. We're still brainstorming." He gave the closed lid an affectionate tap, then gestured to his other computers, "Normally I'd be happy to try troubleshooting it, but I'm kinda busy trying to figure my half of the equation out." Turning back to his work bench, McKay waved Sheppard away with a two-handed shooing motion, adding, "Go show it to Elizabeth."

Feeling like an errand boy, Sheppard stared at the laptop in annoyance.

McKay shooed him away again, "It's one-to-one translation. That's her forte."

"Fine." Wishing he knew more Ancient, Sheppard spun on his heel, then meandered sedately away. He lingered hopefully in the lab's doorway… When McKay didn't suddenly change his mind and ask for it back, he picked up the pace and left.

"What is this?"

Sheppard fingered the bowl of overflow beads as Dr. Weir studied the laptop, "It's Steve's first attempt at analyzing that hybrid code. He wants feedback."

She frowned, confused, "McKay—"

"Said it was translation feedback, and you're better for it."

"I see…" Elizabeth leaned on her elbows, scrolling with interest, "Well, without knowing wraith, I can't really check it accurately… I can write down some places where the output's obviously wrong and where the errors seem consistent, though. Or where certain types of errors seem similar."

That already sounded way more useful than the whole lot of nothing McKay had offered. "I don't think he's looking for a red mark-up. I think he's looking in general."

"Well, general's all I have to offer. So hopefully you're right."

The Major looked at her eagerly, "I'll just leave it with you, then?"

Weir nodded, "I'll work on it when I have time."

"Good enough for me." Free of the unexpected delivery route that Sergeant Bate's knock at his office had slingshot him into, Major Sheppard headed into the Gateroom. As he jogged down the grand staircase leading to the main floor, Peter Grodin's voice drifted from the Command Center.

"Unscheduled off-world activation."

He stopped, instantly alert. The room filled with blue light as the wormhole fountained into existence.

"Receiving Teyla Emmagen's IDC."

What? Teyla had left after the meeting earlier. She'd only been gone a few hours.

The Gate's shield flickered off, and a few moments later Teyla walked quickly through, followed by the tall form of Halling, a young girl, and three other Athosians that were vaguely familiar. Sheppard must've seen them around the city before they settled the mainland. He finished jogging down the steps. "Teyla, why're you back so soon?"

"Major Sheppard," she moved to meet him, then stopped as a pair of small arms latched onto her leg. "Shhhhhh," Teyla dropped to one knee, drawing the child into her arms. The young girl's face was streaked with tears. "It will be all right. Halling?"

With a worried nod, Halling knelt, "Come here, Veena." He gently transferred the child's grasp to his tunic. She whimpered quietly as he stood, picking her up.

"What's the matter?" Sheppard watched Veena bury her face in Halling's shirt. The kid looked utterly despondent.

"Veena is feeling very lonely at the moment," Teyla's voice held a deep sadness.

"Is something wrong?" Weir had come to the balcony to investigate.

The group of Athosians looked up, meeting her gaze with mixed expressions of concern and trepidation.

With a weary sigh, Teyla nodded, "We have a problem. The Kiivarians have broken off trade relations. I must speak with you and Major Sheppard. Urgently."

Seeing a look of understanding pass between the two leaders, Sheppard began to suspect he was missing something.

"Understood," Weir said, "Please, come up to my office."

Halling nodded as Teyla looked to him, "I will take care of Veena."

"Thank you, Halling." Giving Veena a soft touch, Teyla turned away.

Major Sheppard followed her up the stairs, and into Elizabeth's office. Then he watched with surprise as Dr. Weir closed the door, "You two know something I don't?"

Weir frowned pensively as it clicked shut, "Possibly. Teyla?"

"It is as I feared," the Athosian met her gaze seriously, "The rumor exists, and it is spreading very quickly."

"A rumor?" Sheppard was confused, "What rumor?"

"That Atlantis is allied with Wraith."

"What?" he shot Weir an accusing stare, "Why haven't I heard of this?"

"Because," Weir gave him a 'don't over-react' look, "it only came to my attention recently, and Teyla and I weren't sure if it was made up by bullying children yet."

Teyla nodded in apologetic agreement, "This is the first time it has been encountered by adults. We were hoping it was the product of over active imaginations."

"But it's not," Sheppard guessed.

"No."

He gave Teyla his full attention, "So what happened?"

"A Tale Weaver visited Kiivar two nights ago." Seeing his and Dr. Weir's confusion, Teyla explained, "Weavers make their living by telling stories, and by carrying messages between worlds. They are often enlisted to spread urgent news, such as political shifts and cullings. They brought this rumor as news." Teyla looked out Weir's window, indicating the girl, "Veena lost both her parents during the culling. Some of her family's closest friends are on Kiivar. They told her… that if Athos doesn't break ties with Atlantis, they will no longer welcome her."

Sheppard was horrified, "That's cruel. She's just a little kid."

"Never the less, it is their way." The Athosian crossed her arms, regarding the two Earth humans gravely, "It is the way of many peoples to cut ties with worlds that become associated with Wraith. It is deemed… unsavory. And dishonorable. It is also not safe to do business with them. They will betray anyone if the Wraith will it. Regardless of treaties, or trade agreements."

"Nothing's safe anymore," muttered Sheppard.

Ignoring the inappropriate joke, Weir leaned against her desk, "So, what's the scope of the rumor?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet," Teyla sighed, "But it involves Atlantis serving Wraith and protecting them—"

"Where the Hell did that come from!" Sheppard wasn't amused.

"—I'm as baffled as you, Major. My people stand to lose much from this." Teyla's eyes flashed with indignation as she took a calming breath before turning to face Weir, "I have managed to arrange a meeting with the Tale Weaver. Two days from now, on a different world. In the meantime, Kiivar's leaders wish to visit Atlantis in order to ascertain that I speak truly when I say you are not Wraith friends." Teyla sighed, "It is their condition for not immediately cutting off ties with every Athosian."

Sheppard and Weir exchanged looks.

After a moment, the Major's lip twitched distastefully, "Sounds like… we're going to be giving a tour."

Weir winced, muttering, "I hate PR campaigns."

He fastened his gaze on the bowl of glittering orange beads, "Ya know, I was stationed in Antarctica for a reason."

Dr. Weir winced again, "Sorry, John."

"Oh, don't worry," he quipped, "I blame Steve. This is his fault. I'm not sure how, but—"

"I take it this means, you'll allow it?" Teyla was glancing between them.

The expedition leader hastened to reassure her, "Yes, of course. We need to fix this as soon as possible. I'll talk to Bates," Weir gave Sheppard a nod, "get a security recommendation for diplomatic guests—"

Sheppard nodded approvingly back.

"—and then you can take our proposition to Kiivar. With any luck, Veena will be playing with her friends again before your meeting with the Tale Weaver."

He wanted to kick himself for suggesting it, but Major Sheppard opened his mouth anyway, "We should… probably extend invitations to any other people you know that this… Tale Weaver might've talked to."

Teyla was nodding before he'd finished speaking, "When I speak with her, I will try to find out where she's been."