The dense, leather-encased legs were an ominous sight against the dull blue lighting that leaked in from the corridor. Foster scooted back while hastily shoving the broken buckle into his pocket. The major, reclining against the webby wall as though he were occupying a throne, did not so much as twitch. There was no use moving out of the way, with his right leg injured and the proximity of the wraith.

The bone masks that seemed to float high above the two men were rent with dark rifts and holes, giving them the grisly appearance of deformed skulls.

"Stand." This came from the commander-class wraith who stood in the doorway, his long white hair hanging around his face.

"I would if my favored leg wasn't out of commission," Melbrick stated. "You broke it, you fix it."

"That's right," Foster said. "If you want him to stay conscious you should at least go easy."

"I don't faint," the major reminded him through gritted teeth.

There was a deep growl from the towering wraith leader. "Ssssilence!" He stalked partway into the cell. His thick lips were ugly, drawn back against his teeth. "We are not here to feed at this time; contrary to your beliefs, you are to remain alive for the time being. Count yourselves fortunate while you can. Do not give me reasons to interact with you more than I must."

Foster stared up at the dark cluster of aliens. "I daresay, this is a first."

The commander glared. "You would be wise to do as I say."

One of the drones grabbed Melbrick's collar and slung the man over his shoulder with ease in order to carry him away. Despite his agony, Melbrick sprang into action, bringing his left leg up and around to encircle the neck of his captor. The two of them crashed to the ground while the major gave a yell of pain and triumph. Foster lunged blindly, grabbed at the closest mask, and attempted to wrench it from the drone's face. The other three drones, silent until now, moved like trolls.

Both men were left lying motionless, Foster groaning.

"This is not a sparring session!" snarled the commander, whirling amongst the fallen. "Restrain them!"

The mens' wrists and ankles were hastily bound with wiry, black ropes that were not at all made of animal or synthetic fibers. The commander watched two drones heave the humans over their shoulders and hurry past him into the dimly-lit corridor. "Take them to the lab." He shut the doors, and followed, robes flapping about his knees. "The rest of you, back to your stations!"

Foster put great effort into playing he was completely neutralized. Halfway to their destination, wherever it was, he attempted to reach with his fingers for the weapon that hung on the guard's belt and consequentially, received a swift recompense. When he was able to breathe again, he realized his bruised gut was all the more in want of medical attention. It was no use. Foster allowed himself to dangle heavily over the drone's armored shoulder in an effort to be a tiresome load, but he knew that such a hope was wasted as wraith were so incredibly strong. Foster did not wish to see any more of the moist looking walls and dark patches and the mist churning away beneath him. The blood was rushing to his head and he shut his eyes for the remainder of the journey.

The dizzy spell as he was suddenly heaved upright tested his powers of concentration. Vomiting was not an option. Foster felt his head hit a flat surface and was dimly aware of his restrains being cut. Foster waited while rough hands secured his extremities to whatever he was lying upon. It appeared that Melbrick had most definitely fainted. Despite his vertigo, Foster made a mental note to inform the major of his fainting spell the moment he was able to.

All around, the lab was a haze of indigo, screens, strange lights, and possible torture devices. It was difficult to remember later just when he and the major had been strapped down to the somewhat irregular-looking black body chairs and left under the glare of exam lights. The last thing he remembered was a hand on his collarbone and a strong smell under his nose.

His eyes flew open as if they would never close again. The steamy, organic arena was quite the sight to behold. Foster's bones had stopped aching and he no longer felt as though he were in serious trouble. Of course, any internal bleeding might be spreading and he really ought to have checked for it sooner. But somehow he felt stronger than he ever had before. It was a curious sensation. He turned his head toward Melbrick, laying to his right. It was time to break the news about the fainting.

The major stirred a little. "If you tell anyone back home I passed out you won't live to see another galaxy."

"Right." Foster sighed. "Well, I don't see any IVs, tubes, wiring. Just these stupid things." He flexed his muscles and the cords cut deeper into his elbows. "Looks like we're about to be experimented on."

"Wonder what they're after. This better not be about making more wraith-men, like what happened to McKay."

"Hybrids perhaps? We should ask these guys for the specs."

"I have a feeling I should be the spokesperson this time around."

"Um…"

"Ok. Objection noted. The floor is yours." Melbrick struggled against his bindings.

"Sorry, nothing I can do," Foster said. And he meant it. "Just hold still. We need our strength. Why'd you pull that stunt? You had a fracture, but after those martial arts you probably shattered it; any shard of bone lost in the blood stream could pierce your heart."

"My leg's fine."

"Sorry?"

"The wraith commander healed us."

Foster did a double-take. "He WHAT?" He looked down at his abdomen. No wonder it was no longer hurting.

"Don't know why he didn't do it sooner. We could have been allowed to walk."

"Why would we be healed at all?" Foster said. "That doesn't make sense, a wraith enemy doesn't just dish out the gift of life to prisoners."

"Exactly. Still, I'm not complaining." The major relaxed and looked around. "Yeah, I guess we could be in some serious trouble," he said as he caught sight of neat rows of tools and data crystals.

"Uh yeah…I'm pretty sure those aren't butter knives," Foster said. "Ok…" He wiggled his fingers. "I've still got feeling in them so these ropes or whatever they are can't be all that tight…" He yanked at them hopefully and tried twisting his wrists around. "Arggh!"

"Hurts doesn't it? What was that about saving strength?"

"Honestly," Foster said, as he continued to twist and turn as best he could. "I can't believe we were culled. Are we about to become worshipers? I shudder to think."

"We might be awaiting a surgery without any morphine privileges."

"There's got to be a way out of this," Foster said, relaxing and letting his head flop back.

"We wait for the wraith to return, there's a slight possibility we can get our hands on some of those tools they allegedly wish to dice us with."

"How?" Foster said. "And wraith regenerate, remember? Weapons will be completely useless." He had no time to continue as the huge doors to the lab started to move.

Two tall silhouettes rippling behind the oily, amber windows suddenly changed into a defined black as the doors slid apart. As their long leather robes hid their feet, the wraith seemed to be gliding more than walking, and both the major and the scientist found themselves slightly chilled by the sight. Mist swirled around the long robes and as the blue light hit the faces, Foster stared. The teeth, the heavy brows, the vertical irises in their pools of yellow-green were stonelike, yet full of intelligence. Foster and Melbrick had not been within physical contact with wraith in years. No matter what, the presence of these aliens was always a striking experience.

"Well," rumbled one of the wraith as they came close, "you haven't managed to injure yourselves further." His upper and lower teeth never seemed to touch. "Congratulations."

"Well thank you," Foster said, conversationally, trying not to falter beneath the solid gaze. "We didn't want to spoil things before you get to experiment. What's going on? Why are we here?"

"Save your questions," said the second wraith, his voice grating. He sported a strange bluish tattoo under his right eye. It looked like a scar.

"We haven't much time," said his companion, turning to touch some keys. A screen flickered with new images and white lines, and confusing figures ran up and down.

"What'll we call you?" Foster persisted. "I'm Foster, this grouch is Melbrick."

The wraith at the data screen turned to regard him with a solemn leer. "We do not disclose our names to humans."

"Guess we'll have to take a page out of Sheppard's book," muttered Melbrick before he could stop himself.

"Who is Sheppard?" said the tattooed alien, his long hands folded in front of him.

"Some old dude we know who sheers sheep and sells their hides to balding wraith," said Melbrick. "Know any? I'll give you his card."

"Enough! You are here because there is much that you know and much that we wish to know, so therefore…spare us the trifles," said the other wraith. "What exactly were you doing on that planet we took you from?"

Melbrick closed his eyes thoughtfully. "Give me a year."

"I think not," said the first wraith, turning again to tap some keys. His hair reflected the localized, harsh lighting. He suddenly left the station and approached Foster, his impressive height seeming to grow.

"You look like an Ed to me," said Foster, lifting his chin and trying not to appear uneasy. "As for you, Monsignor Tattoos, you're gonna be Tim. Good with that?"

"Human designations mean nothing to us," said Tim. "You are foolish. Answer the question. Why were you on that planet?"

"I've been on many planets in my time," said Melbrick. "Pick one."

"P6L-266," rumbled Ed dangerously. "I must say I'm impressed, your planetary designations are perhaps less foolish than those you assign to us. You," he said, turning to Tim, "ask the question differently."

Melbrick began to laugh and it turned into a cough. "Ok, I get it, we've just met the backwater brigade."

"There is nothing about the situation that should summon your positive emotions," said Ed, "and it is clear you were never taught to respect those who are far superior to yourselves. Not," he leered, "that you have ever been induced to. One way or another, we will have what we are looking for, so you might as well cooperate. I have no desire to interact with you."

"You guys aren't exactly sociable, are you? You still haven't told us why we were culled in the first place," Foster said.

"Because," said Ed, walking slowly around Foster. "You were in the right place…at the right time. Or should I say, the wrong place?

The scientist could hear the wraith's fingers clutching the headrest behind him, and he did his best to remain motionless.

"Quit speaking in tongues," Foster said.

"You are from Atlantis, are you not?" Tim persisted.

Neither of the men spoke.

"You see, we already know where you are from," Ed hissed. "But I would like to hear it from yourselves. You know the city of the Ancients from the inside out…"

At this point, Melbrick and Foster were distantly aware that something was wrong. They began to struggle again as the word "Ancients" echoed over and over in their minds. Their eyes drooped.

"You have been there for a long…long time," whispered Ed. "You aren't in any danger. Please tell us who you are."

The only sign of life the men gave was gentle twitching.

"Answer!" Ed hissed, bringing up his feeding hand, the fingers contorting into claws.

"I am…I am Major Bryant Melbrick…" The man's struggling had ceased but somewhere behind his closed eyes, he was straining.

"And you," said Ed, slowly turning to Foster.

"Dr. Aaron Foster…" Wasn't he supposed to be keeping his mouth shut? All Foster could think about was the wraith's voice. It filled his mind, his ears, his thoughts…his brain seemed to be severed from his body. He was floating, out somewhere else, perhaps he was back on Atlantis in his room taking a day off…there was no need to worry…

"And your companions?" Ed said, his teeth bared and never touching together.

"No one you would know," murmured Melbrick, jerking his head. The next instant, his eyes had rolled back. "D-Darok. Ritha."

"Ritha," whispered Ed, the syllables seeming to carry in waves, as Tim looked on with half-closed eyes. "Ritha is the female."

"Yes," Melbrick mouthed, now relaxing.

"She is…different."

The men made no further response, and Ed lowered his hand as they passed out.
…

Melbrick awoke looking up at a completely different ceiling and he heard Foster being slapped into consciousness.

"Leave them." The voice was deeper than the others were. "They are strong?"

"Very," came Ed's voice. "But compared to the female, they are as weak as we would normally hope for."

The drones could be heard stalking out the door but it appeared that Ed was waiting at the base of the triple layered steps. Melbrick squinted. His head felt a bit scrambled and he had not been able to resist the commands of that terrible voice that swarmed his thoughts like darts on the prowl. His vision clearing, Melbrick looked down and ahead of him.

White hair catching the light, a seven-foot-tall wraith raised himself elegantly from a throne and stepped forward. "Their leader." He crooked a long finger.

Ed picked up Melbrick like he was a mere child and climbed the steps to place the man at the feet of the warrior.

The warrior crouched and ran a long-nailed finger beneath the man's chin. "Hhhhh," he breathed. "You are not afraid. Not what I was expecting…humans have proven to be full of surprises the past several years."

Tim was standing to the left like some priestly attendant, his eyes still half-closed. However, he never looked away from Melbrick.

"Who's your creepy sidekicks?" Melbrick murmured.

"You are part of a team that comes from the city of the Ancients," hissed the giant wraith before him. "Why were you on that planet?"

Suddenly, Melbrick gave a lurch. He tried to punch the warrior but the wraith was too swift. The major found a feeding hand pressing like a dead weight upon his chest.

"So," the wraith snarled, his baritone voice carrying. "I was right. You are a coward."

"This probably sounds like an age-old question. What you do you want from us?" Melbrick said, struggling. "And why the heck were we healed?"

The wraith leered slowly, and just as slowly, lifted his hand and pressed the fingertips gently upon the major's head. The long nails made tiny rifts through the short hair as the fingers flattened out. Melbrick's buzz-cut did not allow for his hair to be grabbed but his head was successfully raised anyhow. "You feel better, do you not, healed and whole?"

"That should be obvious. Who the heck are you to take prisoners?" Melbrick demanded, trying not to look at the hideous teeth before him. "We aren't at war. I thought you guys were done playing with us as food."

"I am not looking to feed," the wraith said.

"Where's the rest of my team?" Melbrick struggled against the sheer strength of the wraith's huge hand.

"Unfortunately," the wraith said, his hand sliding downward to pinch the major's ear hard. "There is no team left at all."

Melbrick struggled again and tried to look back at Foster. "Where's Darok?"

"Oh," the warrior said, "he is here. He proved very, very useful. But it is surprising you had him on your crew in the first place. His lack of strength was appalling. And your question is timely, it has much to do with why you are here. Shall I show you your crew member?"

Melbrick glared. "He better be unharmed."

The warrior dragged the major up to his throne and there, chained, and hanging from the right armrest, was a shriveled, brown skeleton, papery shreds clinging to the bones. The jaws were agape.

It took all of Melbrick's powers of will not to cry out, struggle, or swear. "Why?"

"I take this to mean you have avoided the retrovirus. Or," he said as it dawned on him, "you have come up with a way to counter it."

"Very astute," the warrior said. "So far, the effects are temporary, and some of us did not respond well to the transition. Ritha Guider may hold the last few keys we require. But she is not to remain here, she is being kept for a far greater purpose. We can afford to wait."

"What do you mean? She'll never give you anything," Melbrick said.

"You forget our powers over the human mind," snarled Thirith. "So human it is…to err. You trespassed upon the beacon planet, but…we do not regret it. You made a very timely appearance."

"Oh, so you're not upset Atlanteans showed up? Great." Trying not to look at Darok's remains, and with his heart slamming in his throat, Melbrick glared calmly at the wraith. "Where is Ritha?"

"She is safe. Safe, as safe can be."

"In stasis?"

"For now."

"How? You guys only use those pods for yourselves."

"We have engineered a modification that will allow a human to be sustained by the exact same fluids that are exchanged throughout the ship."

Melbrick tried not to gag or think about the consequences to the human body the fluids could have.

"But at regular intervals," the wraith went on, "she is being permitted to feel the full effects of the thirst that only a human being knows. It will weaken her mind. And then we will take from it all that is necessary. It's a delicate process."

"Why would you do this?" Melbrick said. "The retrovirus was supposed to benefit both races. And it has begun, it was well under way. What have you guys got against never having to worry about a dwindling food supply?"

"Our human worshipers are dwindling."

"Oh, don't give me that," Melbrick said. "I'm guessing you have far bigger plans. You dared to provoke Atlantis."

"Ahh, your anger is soooo unbounded," said the wraith, his teeth bared. "Almost…amusing. Well, what do you think? Or shall I see it by extracting it from your mind?" He leered widely.

Melbrick was dragged so close to the hideous face that he squinted and a couple of involuntary tears stung the corners of his eyes. The teeth filled his vision. He gasped against the grip that held his throat.

"Hhhhhh," the wraith laughed, whirling and dropping the man down the stairs. "If you thought I was going to snap your neck for your impudence you are mistaken again. Death would have been a welcome escape, I understand. But I still have a use for you. Take him away! Leave the other."

"I'm not going anywhere," Melbrick spat, lunging sloppily and punching Ed in the face. A brawl ensued and the wraith inevitably won, pinning the major beneath his knees.

Melbrick spat against the rough floor. "You won't win!"

"You will make an extraordinary worshiper," said the harsh whisper. "We are fortunate to have discovered you. Come. You have…much to learn. And so…little…time."

Goldra turned away to assume his throne and told Tim, "Bring me the spare."

…

Sheppard gently fingered his beer can. He hadn't spoken a word after he and McKay had seated themselves at a card table in the lounge, and after the first few swigs had only given about ten percent of his attention to the physicist's jabbering about codes and frequencies and possibilities regarding the retroviral blueprints. Was McKay really still talking? That was a silly question. With no idea just how much time the work break had taken up thus far, Sheppard was vaguely aware of his own eyes drooping as his brain still worked to catch up to the fact that Ritha was not exactly an ordinary human being. He jerked suddenly.

"Yoohoo!" McKay was waving a hand. "Earth to Sheppard."

"Huh. Sorry. I'm a bit overworked I guess." Sheppard lowered his head into his hands.

"We've been up for hours," McKay agreed. "I bet you missed my entire explanation of Ritha's understanding of the blueprints. I've been talking to myself."

"You do it all the time anyhow. Can't say I regret missing out, unless your treatise and a half had something to do with finding AR-6."

"You were never the science whiz." McKay took another swig. "Mm, aren't you thirsty?"

Sheppard dangled his beer can between his thumb and forefinger. "Can't you tell? Or weren't you paying attention?"

"Oh." McKay checked his watch. "Your turn. What did you find so interesting in that diary?"

"How do you know I found anything interesting?"

"Because you've been somewhere else," McKay said. "Come on, I'm curious. Ritha had to have written some good stuff for her to hide that data so carefully."

There was a long silence. Sheppard avoided his friend's eyes; after all these years, he felt completely at odds about what to say. Not even Rodney should know what he'd found in Ritha's journals; in fact, especially not Rodney. He visualized confiding in Teyla the uncomfortable truths about Ritha. How would that go? Sheppard shook his head at the notion. He wished he could tell Ronan just to see the man's reaction.

"Um, John, you embody the word confused. Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm just…thinking."

McKay smiled. "You've been bitten by the snoopy bug and you're feeling the guilt. It's a lot to process."

"No I'm not. And I'll take that over an Iratus any day."

McKay smiled a little more and leaned back, waiting.

At last, Sheppard could stand the strain no longer. "Rodney, stop looking at me like that, will you?"

"Hm? Like what?"

"That knowing expression. Don't tell me you can read my thoughts too."

"I am forced to admit that I thankfully cannot."

Sheppard leaned on the table. "Just between us, I think it would be best for everyone if I keep Ritha's journal content a secret."

"Oh." McKay cocked his head. "You sure about that? I mean, you can confide in me anytime."

"Trust me, this journal fell into the right hands, and later I'm going to put it back where it came from and no one's allowed to touch it."

"Ok, the torture begins, you hit pay dirt. Ritha's not going to blow up the galaxy, is she?"

Sheppard shook his head and smirked. He figured the galaxy probably would blow up in a sense if McKay could see what he had learned about Ritha that day.

"Ok," McKay said. "Just…forget I asked. All that suspense and what do I get?"

Sheppard looked down at his folded arms. He had hoped to avoid this; it was not often that he withheld information from McKay, but he knew this was one of those times he would, no matter how much he desired to confide in McKay. He realized with a cold, swift feeling that he was seriously considering withholding the information from Woolsey himself. "Can't say I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I get it," McKay said. "Guessing none of what you read will help much with our search for AR-6."

Sheppard shrugged.

"Great. Well, at least we can cross that off the list."

"Stop being the good sport and let it out," Sheppard said. "You really want a look at those pages and my silence is riling you up."

"Look, can we stop with the accusatory tones?" McKay pointed. "I'm stuck in the science lab and you're in the lounge with a journal of secrets, what do you expect me to feel like? And you've been enjoying every minute. The least you can do is give me a hint or two. Can't hurt."

Sheppard maintained his gaze. "I didn't enjoy anything."

"You," McKay said, pointing and leaning back in his chair, "are a hard man."

"Oh gee I'm sorry. Whatever."

"You are also a silver-tongued liar. But good try."

"Nice try yourself. That's not going to get me to talk," Sheppard said. "Hey, by the way, how did that story about your sister go again?"

"I don't have to give you that info if you won't tell me what you read."

"Look, just forget about it," Sheppard said. "Sorry I mentioned it."

"Ritha's not going to find out about this. That's the whole thrill of it. And you're under orders, remember? My sister said she'd skin me alive if she ever caught me again reading through her love notes about her now-husband who I totally hated when I first met him but don't anymore, obviously, it's been what, years?"

Sheppard's growing smirk had frozen on his face.

"John," McKay said, "I don't mind admitting this, after this long, I've got to come clean."

"The jury's all ears."

McKay leaned forward and took another swig of beer. "Well…I hacked her laptop and typed in my sister's journal, under the heading, "All Full of Himself."

"Somehow I find that ironic."

"It was a scientific treatise on the folly of men who think too much of their good looks."

Sheppard winced.

"There is a scientifically proven reason…"

"Rodney."

"What?"

"Let's finish our work, I hate sitting around like this."

"Oh, like you have been for the past three and a half hours? I've only just gotten comfortable, that lab isn't forgiving."

"Time passes when you're having fun."

"Oh for crying out loud," McKay said, sounding tormented. "Sure you don't need an interpreter?"

"I'm sure." Sheppard smirked. "You just worry about what you're good at."

"Funny you should say that since I'm the guy who actually spent his formative years on daring missions," McKay said, snatching up his beer can and taking a last drink. "Fine. Refuse my meticulously honed skillset on reading between the lines."

"Maybe you should get some sleep," Sheppard said.

"How can I when you're reading that thing?"

Sheppard returned to his armchair and made a great show of settling himself comfortably, turning on his tablet, and focusing intensely on the screen. He looked up to see McKay still standing near the table.

"Have some pity on a desperate man. My lips are sealed."

Sheppard continued to stare at the screen. "Yeah, so are mine, Rodney."

"Ok, fine," McKay said, putting up his arms and looking around. "So I'm going to be kept in the dark by my best friend..."

"Rodney..." Sheppard tried not to laugh.

"No, no, never mind, I'm not complaining, I'm not going to pry. Hey, you keep your secrets and I'll keep mine. It's all good."

Sheppard leaned his head on his fingertips and watching the scientist leaving the room.

"It's ok, what do I know, I'm just the scientist," McKay was still talking to himself. "My sister better be proud of me..."

When McKay's voice had faded out, Sheppard smiled again, shaking his head, and returned to reading the last pages of the journal.

And far, far away, Ritha Guider's eyes flew open and the tentacles of a stasis pod detached from her shoulder blades.