Shaken, Sumner stared at her. She did not know what he had expected from the Wraith, but their brutal inhumanity seemed to have shocked this hardened warrior. Perhaps he had expected to be treated as a worthy opponent, as an equal. She shook her head, “They have no need to explain themselves.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice mingling with Toran’s fading screams. “I got that.”
It had actually taken less time than Rodney McKay had anticipated to work through all seven hundred and twenty combinations to find the one that locked and opened. In truth, he was feeling pretty pleased with himself. Not that anyone had offered a ‘congratulations’ or a ‘good job, Rodney’. But when did they ever? It had been the fate of many a genius, he supposed, to go unrecognized during their own lifetime.
Nevertheless, he’d done what had to be done and now stood ready to launch a MALP to assess the possibility of mounting a rescue mission for Colonel Sumner and the others. Frankly – and he wouldn’t say this out loud – he thought it was an incredibly bad idea. Whatever these Wraith were, they’d been powerful enough to defeat an entire galaxy of Ancients. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Sheppard and a couple of his gung-ho friends expected to be able to do against them. But, conversely, he had a pretty graphic image of what the Wraith would do once they discovered that Atlantis was open for business again.
Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do or die. Sighing, McKay started the MALP moving and, with Weir and Sheppard at his side, watched it crawl through the open wormhole and disappear. He turned immediately to the visual telemetry screen. It switched from digital noise to black – which was odd.
“We’re receiving visual telemetry,” the technician reported, sounding confused.
“I can’t see anything,” Weir pointed out, presumably just in case the rest of them had failed to notice the fact that the screen was entirely blank.
Impatiently, McKay bent closer. “There are no atmospheric readings at all.” Which made no sense unless— A flare of light passed across the screen.
“What was that?” Sheppard asked.
“Rotate the camera,” McKay told the technician. If he was right about this… The camera slowly revolved, and suddenly the black screen was full of light; a planet floated majestically below it. The Stargate was in orbit. “Well,” McKay sighed irritably, “that MALP is gone.”
A long silence followed as the implications of what they were seeing sank in. Sheppard was the first to speak. “It’s in space.”
Ten points for stating the blindingly obvious! “In high orbit over a planet on the far side of the galaxy,” McKay added, just so they knew all the facts.
Weir glanced at him, her head cocked. “How can you be sure that’s the right address?”
He shrugged. “It’s the only one that we got a lock on.”
“Very well,” she said, and he wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. “Shut it down.” The look she cast at Sheppard might have been an apology or regret, then she walked out of the control room.
Stewing in frustration, the Major just stared as the Stargate shut down. Crazy as it was – as he was, in all probability – the man actually wanted to go out there and get his friends back. Sheppard was admirable, McKay supposed. Insane, but admirable. For a moment Rodney deliberated what to do next. He couldn’t help thinking that keeping their collective head down was definitely the wisest strategy in regard to the Wraith, but in the end it wasn’t his decision. Praying he wasn’t going to regret it, he said, “Come with me, Major.”
It didn’t take them long to get there, and McKay adamantly refused to answer any of Sheppard’s irritating questions on the way down. Part of him enjoyed the sense of power and part of him enjoyed the chance to say ‘Ta da!’ When they got to their destination McKay stopped outside the doors and grinned before waving Sheppard ahead of him.
With one last, skeptical look, the Major walked past him and through a set of double doors that hissed open as they approached. “McKay,” he growled, “I swear, if this is—” He stopped, eyes going wide and a smile of pure delight cracking his face.
They stood in an enormous room that stretched up and up so high you almost couldn’t see the ceiling. All around them, like locomotives stored in a giant roundhouse, were six shuttle-sized space ships. Sheppard looked like a kid on Christmas morning, and McKay practically had to tug on his sleeve to get him moving. “Come on, we can go inside one.”
The cockpit was small, allowing just enough room for pilot and co-pilot. McKay had been inside a couple of times before everything had gone to hell, but of course he hadn’t been able to make the damn thing work. So he watched with interest – and not a little jealousy – as Sheppard slid into the pilot’s chair as if he’d been born to sit there. After a moment he reached forward and touched the controls; the cockpit responded instantly. The lights flicked on and, with a low hum, the whole ship came to life.
“Think you can fly it?” McKay asked.
Sheppard threw him a grin. “What say we find out?”
The truth was, and Elizabeth Weir was slightly ashamed of the fact, but the truth was that she had been relieved when they’d discovered it was impossible to mount a rescue. It had taken the decision out of her hands and, as much as she understood and shared Major Sheppard’s desire to bring their people home, she still had grave doubts about the wisdom of launching an attack against an enemy capable of defeating the Ancients.
But for now the point was moot; there was no way they could reach the Wraith planet. She was afraid that Sheppard had sensed her relief, that she’d seen a tinge of recrimination in his eyes before she’d left the control room, and perhaps she needed to talk with him about that. She needed him on her side, and if he doubted that she was one hundred percent behind him and his men, then the trust they needed to develop wouldn’t flourish. And without trust… Well, out here they had no one but each other to rely on. She’d talk to him later, she decided, perhaps over dinner in the makeshift mess. Informally. At the moment, however, she had other matters to deal with – the most pressing of which being a call from Dr. Carson Beckett regarding the Wraith body-part Sheppard had recovered from the downed ship earlier in the day.
Beckett had set up his lab and infirmary in one of the many empty chambers close to the gate room. The equipment they’d brought from Earth looked incongruous among the soft lines and elegant proportions of Ancient design, but at the same time they looked reassuringly familiar. It was an odd juxtaposition, Weir thought as she stepped inside.
The doctor was working at one of the benches and glanced up at her approach. She smiled, “Doctor, what was it you wanted me to see?”
Nodding her over, she realized with a grimace that he was still working on the Wraith’s arm. It was huge, its fingers – or were they claws? – twice the size of her own, its skin a sickly green. But Beckett was oblivious to her slightly squeamish reaction and began talking excitedly. “These cells have none of the normal human proteins that inhibit regeneration,” he told her, manipulating the creature’s arm. “That gives them an incredible ability to regenerate.”
Regenerate? She didn’t like the sound of that. “What about what Major Sheppard saw?” An arm, crawling across the dirt all by itself. Like something out of a bad B-movie…
Beckett nodded. “As far as independent behavior goes,” he explained, “I’d say that any movement he saw was caused by a residual command language in the severed nerve endings.”
Okay…As long as he understood it. “Anything else?”
For a moment Beckett didn’t answer, looking at her as if trying to judge how she would react to what he had to say. It unnerved her a little, but she lifted her chin, which he took as a sign to continue. “The being this arm came from? I could hazard a good guess that it was very, very old.”
Weir felt a chill run down her spine. “How old?”
“As long as the cells are properly nourished,” Beckett said, “I don’t see one of these life forms ever dyin
g of natural ageing the way we do.” He paused, then said, “And they’d be bloody hard to kill.”
An all-but-immortal enemy? “I don’t like the sound of that.”
He nodded. “I don’t blame you.”
She was about to ask if he had any suggestions about effective methods of killing these things when her radio crackled and McKay’s excited voice started babbling through the static. There was something he needed to her to see, urgently, and no amount of questioning could get him to divulge what exactly he’d discovered. Apparently it would spoil the ‘surprise’. She toyed with the idea of making it an order, but decided that a certain informality with her senior staff probably yielded more than stern discipline. And so, with a nod of thanks to Beckett, she made her way up to one of the higher levels of the city. She hadn’t been this way before, and was beginning to fear she’d gotten herself lost when McKay’s head popped out between the panels of a double door. He waved at her. “Over here!”
Drawing closer she could hear a strange, whining sound. An engine, perhaps? McKay looked triumphant as he led her into a massive, round room. The noise was louder in here, almost deafening, but still she couldn’t see the source. “What is that sound?” she shouted.
McKay’s triumph crumbled into confusion. “I don’t…” He turned in a perplexed circle, looking for something. “It was right there. Major?”
Suddenly, literally out of nowhere, a ship appeared, hovering right in the middle of the room. It was small and compact, almost like a car, and sitting in the cockpit was one very amused Major John Sheppard, who lifted his hand in a cocky wave.
McKay harrumphed, his thunder pretty well stolen, and Weir just stared. They’d found a ship, and from its size and shape, a ship designed to fly through a Stargate. She’d say one thing for Major Sheppard, he didn’t give up easily. Unfortunately, this just made her decision that much harder.
Even through the cockpit window, Sheppard had seen the mixed feelings on Dr. Weir’s face. Sure, she’d been impressed – who wouldn’t be? – but he’d recognized the doubt there, too, and the concern. The ball was back in her court, and she had to make a choice. While he brought the ship down to the ground, killed the engines, and made his way back outside, he considered how best to handle her. He knew for a fact that if she didn’t mount a rescue attempt, her leadership of this mission would be fatally flawed. People needed to know that someone had their backs, that if the worst came to the worst someone would be there to cover their collective ass.
No one gets left behind.
But if Weir appeared willing to sacrifice Colonel Sumner on the very first engagement with the enemy, she’d be undermining the confidence of every single man and woman on the base. It would be a disaster, and he had to make her see that. As he came around to the front of the ship she smiled at him and nodded toward the corridor – an invitation to walk and talk. They were silent at first, both aware that their discussion had to remain between themselves. Sheppard didn’t know Rodney McKay very well, but the guy had the look of a gossip. At last, however, the shuttle bay was far behind and they were alone in the vastness of the ancient city.
He glanced over at her as they walked, taking in her pursed lips and the worry lines on her forehead. Quietly he said, “You wanted a tactical advantage?”
Weir blew out a short breath. “Assuming for a moment that you can fly that thing—”
“It’s in my genes.”
She smiled slightly, against her will by the look of it. “There’s still a huge leap between being able to fly that craft and pulling off a rescue.”
“Fine,” he shrugged. “Call it a reconnaissance. At the very least, we need to know what kind of forces they have and whether our position’s been compromised.” At the very least, we need to look as if we’re doing something.
She slowed and cut him an astute glance. “And if you determine that our people are still alive?”
“I’ll do the right thing.”
There was a long, hanging moment of silence. Sheppard felt as if the entire mission were in the balance, as if this single decision would determine the success or failure of everything they wanted to accomplish in Pegasus. He found himself holding his breath.
“Okay, Major Sheppard,” she said at last. “Go.”
He was gone.
It didn’t get much better than this, Aiden Ford thought as he made his way through the six fully geared-up and armed SOs seated in the back of the Gateship. He’d been through the Stargate countless times, but he’d never been into space before. Space! Never in his wildest childhood dreams had he imagined this moment, flying an alien space ship through a galaxy far, far away… Perhaps he should pinch himself, just to make sure he wasn’t back home and dreaming.
Major Sheppard was already in the pilot’s seat, and as Ford slipped into the chair next to him he reported, “Gateship One is ready to go, sir.”
“Gateship?” The Major winced. “No, no, no, that’s all wrong.”
Ford frowned, a little crestfallen. “It’s a ship that goes through the gate,” he explained. “Gateship One.”
“A little puddle jumper like this?” Sheppard laughed.
“Dr. McKay thought it was cool.”
From the cockeyed smile, Ford guessed that McKay’s approval didn’t carry a lot of weight with the Major. “Okay,” Sheppard said. “It’s official. You don’t get to name anything. Ever.” He reached for the communications controls. “Flight, this is Puddle Jumper. We’re go to launch.”
Puddle Jumper? What the hell kind of a name was that for a ship?
After a moment, McKay’s voice came over the speaker. He sounded irritated – more irritated than usual. “Ah, this is Flight. I thought we were going with Gateship.”
Sheppard rolled his eyes. “Negative, flight.”
“Standby…” said McKay. In the background his voice drifted just within range of the mic. “It’s a ship that goes through the gate!” After a beat he huffed, “Fine.” Then he came back properly over the speakers. “Puddle Jumper, you’re clear for launch.”
Sheppard’s grin said ‘about time’. Placing his hands on the controls he brought the ship to life. “Dial it up, Lieutenant.”
The gate symbols were still indelibly imprinted into his mind, and Ford inputted them quickly into the small DHD device mounted between himself and Sheppard. As he did so the ship lifted into the air, hovering as the turntable beneath it twirled open like the iris back at Stargate Command. Slowly, with a grace no human-built aircraft could ever manage, the Puddle Jumper sank through the opening and into the gate room below. Through the cockpit window Ford could see Dr. Weir and Dr. McKay watching in open-mouthed astonishment as the ship descended and hovered before the open wormhole.
Weir’s voice came over the radio. “Be safe.”
Sheppard didn’t answer, but Ford caught the smile that twitched his lips just before the engines roared and the ship accelerated through the wormhole. They were going so fast the ice-cold trip was over almost before it had begun and suddenly they shot out into black space, the blue-white planet glistening like a jewel before them. It looked beautiful, breathtaking, just like the pictures of Earth from the Shuttle back home. Stupidly, he wished he’d brought a camera. His dad would have loved this…
Something rippled across the window, and he realized that Major Sheppard had engaged the ship’s stealth mode. Ford glanced over at him. “Looks like you’ve got the hang of it.”
“I tell you what, Lieutenant,” Sheppard said, failing to hide the awe in his voice. “I know a few fighter pilots who’d kill to fly this thing…it’s like it reads your mind.”
Without warning a heads-up display appeared, focusing on a target on the surface of the planet below. Startled, Ford said, “Did you do that?”
“I was just wonderin’ where we go from here.”
“So that would be a yes.” Awesome! Of course, once they were on the ground and didn’t have the ship to do the thinking for them, things might not go so
smoothly. “How do we find them once we land?”
The Major nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that too.” All of a sudden a small PDA unit on the cockpit wall next to Sheppard began to glow. Cautiously he pulled it off and studied it, exchanging an astonished glance with Ford. After a moment he said, “Now I’m thinking of a turkey sandwich…” He looked around expectantly, but nothing happened.
“Worth a try,” said Ford.
Shrugging his agreement, Sheppard pocketed the PDA and took the ship down low over the hostile, alien world.
Far below them, deep in the Wraith hive, Teyla sat in silence. There was no way to measure the time down here in the unending darkness, but Toran’s screams had stopped long ago and no one had spoken since he had been taken. Teyla knew with a certainty as final as death that she would not see him again, just as she would never again see her mother. Across the pen Colonel Sumner sat with a rigid back, locked in frustration. He had tried to force the door, to pry open the bars with his bare hands, but escape was impossible. She could have told him as much, but Teyla knew he would not believe her and she suspected that the attempt helped him deal with the terror they all felt. It hovered in the air like the dank smell of death that surrounded them, and its chill was as deathly as ice. Fear could kill you, she’d seen it happen. She’d seen people freeze in terror, watching and doing nothing as the Wraith beam swept down and took them away.
But not her, not Teyla Emmagan. She would never succumb to fear, she would never give the Wraith that satisfaction. They might kill her, but they would not make her bend or tremble.
A scuff of feet took them all to alert, a burst of adrenaline pumping hard through her blood as the Wraith returned. This time, when it stepped into the pen the creature’s dead eyes locked onto Colonel Sumner. He met the lifeless gaze with a defiance Teyla hoped to match when they came for her. They stared at each other, the Wraith and Sumner, and it felt like forever before the creature turned and left the cell. It had not laid a hand on the Colonel, yet he knew what he must do. With one parting look at his men he followed the Wraith to his death.
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