Gates of Blood: A Stargate Atlantis Finale

Remembering Dean Devlin, Brad Wright, and Robert C. Cooper, just a few of the geniuses behind the Stargate storylines

And for Christopher Heyerdahl, the man behind my favorite Stargate character, and an extraordinary actor who never ceases to amaze me

"Morz, morz, comedath perzibu sannth."

Wraith Ancient

translation -

"Death shall death eat."

"Not all those who wander are lost. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends."

-J. R. R. Tolkien

General George Hammond in a letter to Samantha Carter, not long before he passed away in 2008-

"Where there's a breath, there's a hope… you've said it before, we all have, and we've taken the old saying to heart in the direst of situations… I know it won't strike you as too odd that sometimes hope can be found in a few of those enemies beneath us, and possibly in a few of those above- unlikely allies who become the keys to undoing the death and destruction we're constantly working to put a stop to. I wonder if someday you'll be privileged to see the weaving of all our hands, joined as one throughout the universe, throughout our galaxies, and through the stargates themselves. I hope that you do."

Preface

The Stargate Series from SG-1 to SGA moved me more than many stories have. The idea for a continuation of Stargate Atlantis struck me mere moments after I finished watching the series for the first time. It was during the episodes "Common Ground" and "Infection" – the first encounter with the wraith Todd, and the failure of the wraith gene therapy, respectively – that my original character and pen name Ritha Guider began to exist. (I coined "Ritha" from the word "wraith", before discovering that Ritha is actually a real name, meaning "virtue.")

Days later, within my imagination, Todd spoke what I have titled The Five Myths. I immediately wrote them down. Richard Woolsey was present, listening with rapt attention, Colonel John Sheppard was doing likewise (while seeming slightly, and understandably, confused), and I saw Todd's alter-reality pacing around in a transparent cell. Rodney McKay remarked once again, "This one fancies himself a bit of a poet."

My regrets that there was no resolution to the problem of the wraith were diminished when I realized that an anatomically-harmonic, dual-component coding could allow both races to coexist. I had a long discussion with Drs. Beckett, McKay, and Zelenka about giving up on DNA alterations. Their minds were in mine, and mine was in theirs.

Surrounded by the mists and glows of a hive ship's bridge, I presented my theories to Todd.

Shadows rippled up his face as he paced the command center. "I have begun to believe again that there is no escape. Not this time. Eventually, even resourcefulness can be spent."

"Remind me what you learned from Colonel Sheppard," I said.

Todd glared, and turned away slowly. After a moment, he answered. "Elimination of our options one by one has led to this…unforeseen…possibility." He turned back. "Hmm. You did not disregard the questions I put to the Lanteans of Earth not long ago- 'If the wraith no longer feed, then what would we do? Who…would we be?' Very well, Ritha Guider. But there is nothing to be done unless you initiate the process. The wraith cannot save themselves. We have already tried." He held up his feeding hand. "What did you have in mind?"

"If I may, I shall tell it to you as a riddle. A different kind of ascension. Isn't it worth the effort, if only to see the sky again?"

"Hhh." Todd stared from the shadows. "Perhaps…I have…somewhat…higher expectationsss."

My mind was already weaving the storylines for the redemption of the wraith.

There is one more conflict to be resolved before the wraith and the humans of the Pegasus Galaxy can live in peace. Dialing sequence commencing. Chevron 8 is locked.

Season 1 Episode 1
Year: 2011
Location: Earth

Scarves of snow hissed against lamp posts, swept over rooftops, and sand-blasted the streets of the bustling heart of Virginia's Arlington County. With the Christmas season a mere two weeks away, nearly every shop window and residence bore some type of relevant ornamentation. The amount, or lack, of outdoor lights in windows and on fences and neatly-trimmed bushes, usually indicated the status, the age, or the energy factor of the residents. And on one of the most beautifully decorated regions of the city, at the corner of 10th Street South, there towered the Crystal City Lofts, a six-story brick complex that seemed to continue unto infinity if one stood facing it from the roundabout. One northwestern window on the fourth floor bore a tiny glow, a wounded eye in contrast to the glittering lights in the neighboring windows. The apartment's occupant was probably not well to do, or had a very busy lifestyle. Then again, perhaps he was elderly. Or perhaps…

"…I could say it's because I'm too lazy to bother," the fifty-nine year old man murmured to himself. He put his face closer to the pane and watched the sheaves of snow plummeting from the dark skies. Mingled with the distant rush of traffic, the downbeat of a radio turned up to a hundred decibels grew louder as a car sped by the complex. Lyrics hollered out: "All I want for Christmas is youuu!"

Jack O'Neill mumbled to himself. "Fact is, the everlasting, happy-clappy Christmas spirit doesn't like me much. We're divorced two years now come the 25th."

He took another slow swig of beer. The bottle's glass was cold against his fingers. "Warms me on the inside," he murmured to the question that Daniel Jackson wasn't there to ask: "Um…isn't it too cold for that? Wouldn't hot chocolate go down better?"

"Marshmallow world. In your dreams. Eat your heart out, Dean," Jack mumbled, tilting his head to let more beer flow over his tongue. "Hmm." He absently began to add to the smudges on the window with a knuckle. What started as a snowman on the frosty window became a lopsided circle. "I didn't ask them to torch a black pudding, just send me that last communique already and I'll be set for the rest of the year," Jack said. The White House was as silent in the distance as in last week's memo. The snowman's nose gained length. "Took me all night to keep the SGC from being rerouted when bandage-man Strom played his freak dice." Jack drew a frowny face on the snowman. It was indeed a sorry looking sight.

"Make Picasso proud." Jack let the heavy, suede drapes drop to cover the window, and he tugged his house-coat a little closer about his tall frame. He hunched as a shiver ran through his nervous system. He'd started doing that sort of thing frequently in the past couple of years. And it did not make it onto his list of complaints to his healthcare provider. Jack readjusted the crutch that supported his left leg and felt the pressure beneath his armpit lessen.

A single lamp illuminated the well-furnished sitting room and glinted off the edge of framed photograph. The four beaming faces of team SG-1 in happier times looked dim, it had been so long since housecleaning graced Jack's sprawling supply of knick-knacks. The portable radio Jack still kept with him hadn't blared out Leoncavallo in weeks; propped up behind it were sheaves of bills and smudged envelopes that looked suspiciously like boring, business-related documents.

Post-it notes of various colors stuck to the southern wall like wandering stamps. Jack could make out scribbles that were well overdue for the trashcan. "Mail Daniel's Christmas card out early just because" and "Phone Carter a thanks for the H mementos," rubbed shoulders with "Call CS again about tip from the guide, request funding before April or else" and "Sasha's Pizza Parlor sucks, remind T not to bill me".

Listening to the wind howl, Jack took another calm swig. He limped over to click off the lamp and slowly lowered himself onto the sofa cushions. The open laptop's glow made him squint. He pushed the device farther back on the coffee table and drew a cashmere blanket about his shoulders.

He'd spent all day putting off taking a look at the video messages relayed to him the day before. Keying around, he signed in and brought up two transmission files. How innocently they sat there, waiting to be opened like trivial little presents. Did he have to do it? Maybe he could wait until tomorrow. Jack inhaled slowly, letting his finger hover over the touchpad. At length, he tapped once, and Dr. Rodney McKay's file opened.

The reason he started with McKay's was because he didn't want to learn the hard truths first from John Sheppard, who's last report had been a lighthearted rendition of very dark facts and complaints.
The video loaded and the lead physicist of the Atlantis Program appeared, standing in his sleeping quarters, his hair combed and smooth, and his navy-gray T-shirt spotless and nonwrinkled.
"Behold, it is I, Dr. Rodney McKay." The physicist bowed. "Superb in body but considerably ruffled in mind and spirit. And best of all…bug-bite free." McKay sank into his chair and dropped the comic demeanor. "Sir. Ah…first of all…" He leaned forward a little, arms on his knees. "We haven't spoken in a while, a long while, I really wish there was a chance to before we get the city out of Lantea. This is the last message I am sending Earthward. You've already been told that our silence may or may not be permanent."

Jack pursed his lips and maintained his stoic gaze. "You rehearsed that. Now how about the sob story."

McKay scratched his head a little. "The personal junk in this message is classified. The rest isn't. I'll give you some records of my perspective on the recent past and also a few rants before I…probably go out in a blaze of glory doing my daily good deed on some strange world…in this land of darkness and despair. You know." He shrugged.

"I'm going to send him the other story myself," said John Sheppard from someplace offscreen. "Don't blab too much."

McKay ignored him. "We're all used to the diversity in histories over here, but I don't like how things are starting to really…drag out. They get…darker…the wraith…are growing stronger. Okay, so much for the doom and gloom. In case you're wondering I am capable of completing my statements right now because John can't stop me. But my having complete control over the mic didn't stop him from elbowing me just now. As you can see..."

McKay reached over and tried to haul Sheppard back into view.

Sheppard pulled himself free. "Now that you mention it, will you help me fix my bike chain? I think there's a loose link and without your intervention, I don't know if we'll survive our next war."
McKay smirked. "He's reading his little book about football for the hundredth and perhaps the last time in his life. I told him this morning to please not be an a* and he said d, my language needs a little rehab. I censured the slang so you could play word games. Fill in the blanks with alternate letters and come up with new names for the wraith."
Jack nodded slowly. "Ok. How many points can I get for 'Damn Asshole'?"

"I know John already filled you in on the 2009 fiasco after we shot down the superhive over Earth, but like I already mentioned, I'm including my commentary here because I don't feel like writing memoirs. Bad things always happen to them. My primary beef with the wraith is because they destroyed Midway. Ahem. Briefly: I figured we'd have a nice, cushy ride back to the Pegasus Galaxy after spending two, semi-exciting months drifting around in Frisco Bay, but of course we didn't get the nice, cushy ride. We got zonked by a pile of alter-reality garbage and called out by another version of Todd and his idiotic hive ships. I've lost head-hair over problems before, but this was different. I want a toupee."

Sheppard mumbled from off-screen. "You hate those!"

"I hate bald more."

"You wear one of those things, your Christmas present's gonna be a buzzsaw."

"You're ruining the moment," McKay muttered out the side of his mouth. He smiled at the camera. "Anyway, we know you were duly informed that Todd decided to morph into some kind of Ironman-dude in order to save the city back in 2009. But my take on it, you missed. Besides his being in a hurry to save Atlantis, our Johnny-boy here took the chance that he could beat Todd again, and almost got himself killed. Honestly, it was actually about John playing Captain America and Todd becoming Ironman. He can be just as much of a show-off as the next guy, and he lived up to unexpectations. That's a word. Feel free to inform Dr. Jackson about it for the dictionary he's still writing. Sue him if he doesn't credit me.

McKay leaned forward. "I will never miss the wild anguish of those final, dire moments in which I was desperately dialing our best-bet location in the main-reality Pegasus Galaxy to see if we could connect with a physical spot that doesn't exist in the alter-reality. I had this classic theme stuck in my head. You know the epic-style music that accompanies scenes like, "We're doing this, we're actually doing this; the villain's got that last upper hand, Spiderman's screaming down from the rooftops, slow motion hype, cars shattering, and the audience is yelping, 'Down in front, just forget the fricken' popcorn, Brad!' I remember spinning in a dark rift and Carson firing a lot of drone weapons. The onslaught introduced itself to the evil hives and they got married."

Sheppard stuck his face into view. "He sweated so much that the chevrons were rusted in place. Melodrama. I really miss that stuff. It keeps us humble."

McKay angled the camera away. "You are excused from the room. Just go, ok? Geez louis!"

"I thought you liked outtakes because they turn out better than when your acting's not losing its fight with reality." The sound of sniggering was followed by a door gliding shut.

McKay folded his arms and leaned back comfortably. "If you do see us again, sir, you might not recognize us. Either because I'll be irrevocably bald and John's hair will be gray and patchy, or because we'll be dead. It's been absolutely crazy here. There's a lot I don't know how to say." McKay sighed. "It was my honor serving with you as much as it's been an honor to be part of the Stargate Program, and… We're so mixed up with this hell of a wraith queen and I can't put two and two together about how she managed to make spaghetti out of the Alliance. My time's taken up with the Hoffan drug again. It could turn out well; it might be a disaster. Wish us luck and…" McKay leaned forward a little and continued to fold and unfold his hands as they lay slack against his knees. "They say hope never fails, but usually…it's the…more challenging third virtue that supersedes our best wishes and dreams. No, I'm not pulling a 'Dr. Jackson'. We seriously miss having you backing us up over here. In person." McKay's eyebrows were still gently knit, and his blue eyes were clear and penetrating. "Don't get yourself beat up by the morons at the Pentagon."
He paused. "I'll be seeing you." A little smile lit his face with a refined blend of long-suffering and cheer. "Jack."

The video faded out.

O'Neill exited the file. "Ok, I'm used to it." He opened the file from Sheppard.

Colonel Sheppard, his biceps conspicuous against the cuffs of his smart, black T-shirt, was surrounded by Lantean wall patterns and intricate window panes.

"Oh yeah, remind me you've got the personal, five-star resort," murmured Jack.

Sheppard leaned forward a little. He seemed to be unsure how to begin, and did not look directly at the camera. Twenty seconds went by as he scratched his head a little.

"Speak, master," Jack murmured.

Sheppard finally held up his heavily-bandaged left arm. "You're probably wondering about this… no, they aren't burial cloths. I owe a wraith a pound of bullets. Took doc hours to fix me up."

Jack winced a little. "I know the feeling…"

Sheppard smiled a little. "I didn't really feel like starting this off with something to make your teeth itch, you know like, 'congratulations on your retirement from the SGC, sir,' or 'how do you like the Pentagon? Do you fish in the Potomac when you get the chance?' Stuffy old etiquette belongs to another time and place. My opinion." He shrugged. "I could be wrong."

Jack let his near-empty beer bottle dangle from his fingers. "Tell that to a guy named Strom."

"I'm really sorry we couldn't be back on Earth for the ceremonies. And I didn't want to forget to thank you for the mementos." Sheppard folded his hands and let them dangle between his knees. "I'll cut to the chase. Not that you exactly need me to… I got together hard copies from my personal records to send to you as reading material. For your entertainment. Some stuff about the fiascos over the past couple years. A lot of fine print that you'll probably find relatable. Good stuff." He slowly rubbed his injured arm. "You know what's coming, sir. We leave for Aldeni shortly. We're still trying to get the Alliance patched back up and that queen we're going to have to put in check eventually sure is being Little Miss America."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Primaries just don't think you're their type, huh?"

"You don't want to hear the fundamental details for the seventieth time. Someday I'll have the chance to cut into the fat of our strategies and the outcomes." He shrugged. "If I don't come back in a box."

"You do, I'll have Daniel dig you up and make you talk," Jack said to the screen.

"I spent a lot of time looking over the updates on the George Hammond. I wouldn't mind being around to watch the finish work; sorry to miss out. But you'll be one of the guys boarding her on her maiden voyage, right? Do it. Because I said you have to." Sheppard smiled a little, and shook his head. "Anyhow, these…new wraith…I'm not too excited about our chances resting so much on one of the old ones. He's…not the kind of guy I put my faith in every day. Maybe every other month. If I feel like it."

Jack's stoic gaze did not waver.

Sheppard continued. "I have a favor to ask of you. For all of us." He paused.

"Is it exciting?" Jack murmured.

"If it's not too much trouble, would you make some time to visit General Hammond's gravesite again? Maybe around the same time as we lift off from Lantea. You know."

Jack briefly lowered his gaze. An image of General Hammond lying stiff and silent on the floor of his headquarters flashed through his mind. The carpet beneath Jack's feet looked suddenly dim and far away. "You know I'll do it, even if you didn't ask, John."

Sheppard leaned back in his chair. "If we ever open the iris again, we'll be only too glad to give you another tour. One that's more fun. We've just got some housecleaning to do first. And maybe when this is all over, you can hit Todd for me, and…I'll take pictures."

A little smile tugged at a corner of Jack's mouth.

"Kidding," Sheppard said. "Sort of. We owe him, big time." He shrugged. "Sir, take care of yourself. Please, give my best to Teal'c. I sent a farewell to Colonel Carter as well." Sheppard glanced away a little. "Having you in on the action back in the day wasn't so bad." Sheppard pursed his lips gently as he leaned over to end the transmission. "It was an honor, as usual. I hope we do it again one fine day when this is all over." He held his position a moment longer. "Jack." Sheppard smiled and nodded. And the video faded out.

The dancing pinpoints in Jack's solemn eyes faded to blue as the screen's desktop reappeared.

So there it was, the thing was actually finalized. He had pretended to be professionally unconcerned while he discussed with his subordinates of Homeworld Command the possibility of breaking contact with Atlantis. Nor had he wanted to believe Teal'c's update and had told him so: "Don't tell me Junior finally got around to dictating."

Commander Richard Woolsey was not going to talk to Earth again until who knew when. Jack blinked a few times and leaned away to lie down on his side. Lifting one arm, he rested it on his forehead as he breathed gently, steadily in the darkness. "Take care of yourself, Colonel," he murmured. "Rodney."

A tiny lump rose in his throat. He was all too familiar with that tiny lump. A strangely oil-and-water style mission rested on the shoulders of the newly-minted colonel. Sheppard had hung up his lieutenant-colonel stripes the very same week Jack found himself in a drab conversation about something known as retirement papers and said his farewells to the warm and familiar guts of Cheyenne Mountain.

"Luke, I'm shutting the power down," Jack muttered, letting the beer-bottle thud onto the carpet. "No parties, no hand-shakes, no drinking till midnight, no fishing…a million lives at stake, and all I get is, 'Sir, you've earned a rest. Have a great holiday season.' So I sprained all the muscles in my butt falling in an icy parking lot. Big deal. The recon teams are taking up suicide, and all the SGC sends my way is 'Merry Christmas.'"

He stared up at the ceiling bathed in a faint blue haze emanating from his laptop screen. He was back in the halls and corridors of the SGC…laying aside the rank of Brigadier General…facing Daniel Jackson's grim and staring blue eyes…watching Sam board the Daedalus with the inspection teams before the ship was set to return to the Pegasus galaxy for Lantean defense. He could see Teal'c's stoic dark eyes and the lights of the general's former office reflected in his bald head.

Jack reached again for the laptop and brought up the records Sheppard had included. "Might as well check if he's lying about this being entertainment." And he began to read:

- Lieutenant-Colonel John Sheppard's layman's perspective of 2009-

"Atlantis hung around in Frisco Bay for about five weeks after we downed the Superhive. And we got to hang around for the first time in five years. While we were there, I actually got Ronan to watch Star Wars. His commentary the entire time drove Rodney to distraction.

"The IOA played its usual cards and requested to have our captive wraith ally Todd placed in its custody for experimental purposes. Mr. Woolsey informed it that such an exchange was impossible – "not on my watch"- and certain people tried to insist that in order to protect themselves further from the wraith after such a close call from the superhive, they needed a test subject for the expanse of their knowledge. They weren't likely to have such an opportunity ever again. Bureaucrats.

"They hadn't really seen for themselves what they'd be up against. Then they ordered Woolsey to hand Todd over. He insisted that they understand the word "no", and we owe it to Colonel Carter's quick thinking…and negotiating…that Woolsey was not relieved of command. She also replayed for certain people a video of the wraith we used to call Steve (he was killed in one of our experimental tests by accident a few years ago).

"Certain people" spent time debating about what it would mean to bear the responsibility of handling an elite wraith, especially one as shrewd as Todd. The only way for them to cut him open on a surgical table in the first place would be by killing him. Not an option.

"Woolsey gave the organizations we answer to as much information as was necessary, while in under five seconds Carson and I reached the unanimous decision to put Todd in stasis, partly to keep him alive and out of reach of the IOA until we could return him to Pegasus, and most importantly, to keep everyone else from being turned into wraith chow. I enjoyed the response from the White House. "There is nothing to discuss." In other words, "We don't want to know."

"Todd saw things our way, but took subtle pains to remind me that he'd saved my planet and expected me to let him go free at the first opportunity. I was really tempted to leave him in suspense about whether or not we'd actually ever get back to Pegasus.

"He didn't gripe as much as when he last objected to being in custody under our terms. He did insist on have his wraith armor returned to him at once. Carson told him, "Forget it. We need something to bargain with if you get any more ideas. And we're not cramming you inside a stasis pod attired like that, you won't fit."

"Todd's eye-roll was "priceless", in Rodney's opinion. We didn't have time to fool around, Todd's energy needed to be preserved. We left him in his "ridiculous outfit." Carson had already hidden his subspace transmitter in the science lab.

"I didn't have an answer to Todd's question to me: "Is there going to be a next time?" But I thought about it. Even while he was in stasis, it felt like he could still reach us. I visited the pod a couple of times with Teyla. I don't know why. Maybe it was nice for me to see him silenced and behind closed doors for two seconds.

Teyla told me, "It's not over, John."

And I said, "Don't encourage him."

"The Daedalus wasn't scheduled to return to the Pegasus Galaxy for at least a couple months because of the damage it sustained after what the superhive did to it. Once we were set to leave, we took advantage of a fine midnight, eased the City out of the Pacific, and took off for Pegasus with the Chair in my hands this time.

"But it was too good to last, right? We had to wake Todd – again – (note the recurring theme here). I got thrown out of the Chair because the city was suddenly suspended between our own reality and the alter-reality that had given us cause to race back to Earth in the first place. We couldn't move Atlantis out of a slowly growing rift the size of a solar system, and besides the puzzle of trying to figure out what caused the glitch in hyperspace, a nasty attack from a fleet headed by another wraith super-hive was holding our attention.

"Communications were established between Atlantis and the mothership, and who should we come face to face with on the transmission screen but yours truly, an alter-ego-version of Todd, demanding our surrender. We woke the "our-reality" Todd.

"Woolsey's first words to him were: "We have a situation."

"We explained what was going on - Todd definitely thought we were kidding - and then we introduced him to the other Todd. Despite the problems we faced, I looked forward to seeing his reaction.

Our-reality Todd was floored. 'What parlor tricks have you conjured up against me, John Sheppard?'

"Once he got over it, he proceeded to try negotiating with his other-reality self. I thought that might go well for all of us.

"It didn't.

"Either out of an earnest desire to be helpful or because he wasn't thinking clearly, Woolsey informed Todd that he probably just didn't know himself well enough. I think Todd considered breaking Mr. Woolsey's head off, but he passed up the notion and asked if Woolsey had ever "thought to assess himself once in a while for a change", implying that our commander is unable to grasp the concept of tact.

"Todd was still in his prison garb when we escorted him to the bridge, and at his request Beckett returned his original armor to him while we tried to figure out what we were supposed to do about getting back to our reality. McKay and Zelenka pitched a few shameful fits uncovering the fact that our passage through hyperspace had glitched due to the signal rift from the alter-reality's interference in an open pocket in the space-time continuum. Some crappy anomaly had created a bigger rift. The signal punched a hole. There. Dumbing it down, that's basically what happened. The rift between realities is a black expanse, like a branch-off between two tubes. I didn't understand all the science-y, supernatural-y foofaraw they yammered at me, I just had to trust they knew what they were talking about.
"There was, I admit, some mention about the Quantum Mirror. I won't tell Dr. Jackson.

"McKay suggested that if we initiated a massive detonation at the right moment after dialing a point in our Pegasus Galaxy, with someone employing the Chair, the rift could, in theory, be mended by the energy surge and we would be ricocheted back to where we belong. Something like that. Reminder; I'm not the space nerd here. Piercing the barrier between realities creates problems. Understatement of the year.

"We needed to figure out if there were any physical locations and gates in our Pegasus Galaxy that did not exist in the other one, and that took some doing. We decided to board the other-Todd's super-hive and get the star charts and addresses from his gate system for comparison. Yep, that's right. He had a stargate. That was good news, in a way. If we could overload the gate, that might seal the rift just fine, like using a welding technique. One of our most dangerous plans to date.

"McKay figured one way part of the plan might work was if our-reality Todd accompanied him and I to the mothership and talked to the other Todd in person as a diversionary tactic. The infiltration had to take place while the ships were stuck in the rift, otherwise there could be serious complications with space-time. Hypothetically, the glitch could expand further, or fluctuate and temporarily repair a part of itself and we'd be sucked into one or the other reality, so we had to move fast.

"Todd gave us a distrustful glare. Hey, we knew he already had the same ideas we did. With a bow to all of us (and with a sigh – actually, a growl to rival some others I've heard), he headed for the jumpers.

"This was not my idea of a welcome-home party," he said.

"I told him, "You have high expectations, for a wraith."

"The options were very simple: if Todd did nothing, we would all be blasted or crushed, lost to time and space, and the other- Todd might even make it to earth once he figured out how to lurch free of the glitch. Naturally our-reality Todd was willing to try anything to at least save his own neck. But it was unusual that he offered no objections or deals this time. He knew he didn't have the time or the option to bother with the customary bartering.

"He took off with a fighter squadron and hijack teams which included Rodney and myself. We entered the mothership, found the gate, and ended up in a brutal hand-to-hand fight with the other Todd while Atlantis started neutralizing the hives and attempted to drive them closer to one another so Carson could fire a heck ton of drones at the right moment. We wished we could push them back into their reality. Simpler option. But if they knew Earth there, they might be able to reach and recognize our-Earth. We also couldn't be sure if the other-reality Todd had the same ideas we did about a detonation.

"None of it was on my list of coolest ways to die."

"Via transmission, Woolsey watched the wraith commanders battle hand-to-hand. At first we thought Todd was going to feed on the other Todd, but our wraith ally didn't dare risk sucking energy from another reality's being, especially not from his own self. Rodney and I were trying to overload the gate in order to create the local repairs to the rift, and ended up stopping the other-Todd from stabbing our-Todd in the neck by blasting him. Other-Todd tried to stab me instead. Our-Todd promptly broke other-Todd's neck (he's good at that move), turned the mothership in the direction of the rift boundary it had breached, and we started the overload sequence after Zelenka told us he was ready for it. The hijack teams blasted their way off the hive with the wraith in pursuit and Major Lorne nearly lost his life. There were a lot of heroes that day.

"Amazingly, Todd had not been affected by killing his other self because there was no splicing of life-lines. We were entirely independent because of the rift's containment field. We got back to Atlantis safe and sound well before the detonations took place. Zelenka had successfully dialed a point in Pegasus that did not correspond to a locale in the other reality and interfaced the information with our original destination coordinates while drawing all possible power from the ZPMs.

"Our original wormhole was still intact, but it had been compromised because the interfering signal from the other Earth reached the other-Todd's hives. We fell out of alignment via a crossover, like two tubes merging, and we were in limbo, so to speak. Talk about ironic. Our timing was critical in line with the gate's explosion and before the wormholes decayed. Zelenka hollered a bunch of times that the rate was incalculable. (Shut up, Scotty.) On his signal, Beckett gave the Chair everything he had, and we were blown back into hyperspace like a charm. The warp shattered, and we found the City in the empty Doranda System of our own reality.

"In short, everything worked out in the end, otherwise I wouldn't be here to gripe about it. The shock wave from the alter-reality gate hadn't followed us into the galaxy because we were out of the rift before it happened. It created an extinction event, again, meaning the rift was fully sealed. Zelenka took a week off after that venture and binge-ate all things junk food and watched movies until his eyes were frozen open. Rodney swears he'll never criticize Zelenka again… yeah sure.

"I have to admit it was kind of satisfying to see Todd actually sweating and staggering when we got back to Atlantis. It made up for a lot of his past transgressions I've had to put up with. He fell flat on the floor of the gate-room, and we put him back in the stasis pod.

"After we settled back on Lantea, we let him go. I even bothered to shake his hand (since he offered it), and he commented: "It would be wonderful, sometime, to just…have you all for dinner."
"Oddly enough, we accepted. The fruit surplus he'd stolen from the Athosians wasn't bad. We found out about the thievery after we'd eaten, and I told him that we weren't cool with him stealing. Todd's response?

"I pulled it off a common tree, Sheppard. It offered no objections. In my opinion, neither should you."

"I gave up, but definitely informed him that I have nothing in common with trees.
"He told me my humorous side is branching out.

His certainly isn't…"

Jack's eyelids drooped little by little, and his hand threatened to slide off the laptop console. And although he eventually succumbed to the call of a doze, parts of his memory were awakening as they had not done for nearly a year. Clouds of stars soared behind his eyelids. Tunnels and blue lasers and ancient artifacts that usually made his brain scramble and gave Daniel Jackson cause to stay up all night flooded his semi-conscious. He found himself watching Carter's short, blond hair drag over the cold surface of of a Nacquada generator while she worked on a difficult system…Daniel's obsession with being polite to potential adversaries…the third death roar of Apophis was distant thunder…the shades of Osiris' wicked eyes blinked…worms of olive sheen arched and flailed and chewed their way into helpless throats…

Long ago Asgardian words returned in full force as distant echoes, rending the atmospheres of countless worlds and burning imperceptibly in the event horizons of a thousand stargates. "You have already taken the first steps toward becoming the Fifth Race."

Jack's lips were slack, and yet his brow bore a wrinkle that showed only when he was in deep contemplation. The tiny warning beep of the laptop's low battery punctuated the midnight hour.

"Open the iris..." whispered a voice.

The seventh chevron of Earth's address pressed deep lines into his outstretched palm. There were hovering pyramids…a diversity of alien forms reaching up for a helping hand...ruby-red eyes embedded in the heads of brass cobras and boring into an eternity of chevrons that flew out of a crystal skull…

"What was…I thinking…" Jack mumbled in his sleep. "Wasn't crazy. It's never been proven. Didn't need to be. Not that anyone asked..." He rolled over toward the back of the couch and pressed his face into the pillows. "Mmmff." He exhaled. "Pentagon has only five chevrons. Anyone with half a brain can see that it's not a proper…stargate."