Day Three Hundred-Nineteen
John and Evan's offer to clear out and give Zuhair their house is appreciated, but Shaaziya insists that Zuhair and his complement stay in their house, so Rodney's scientist roommates are evicted and relocated.
John finds it incredibly odd to have Zuhair hanging around the Quarter. For one thing, one of Zuhair's servants is actually a qerato, who insists upon singing the Qaroptimat litanies at dawn and dusk. Dissonant and harsh sounding, it clashes with N'vellesem's qerato's now familiar chant.
He discovers that the population of N'vellesem isn't as homogeneous as they'd believed; a small contingent of Qaroptimatia is flushed from the woodwork, and they tend to come and pray and worship with Zuhair.
John's not certain how he missed them. He should have been a tuning fork, or a dowser, feeling their devotions as he wandered about N'vellesem. When asked, Anbur launches into an explanation.
"Before viat, when Elizabeth was sick, Iqbal said he could not agree to hiding your gifts of Qaral?"
"Vaguely."
"Qaroptimat who hide their faith for protection are known to us as latenter; is part of their way. Peragroilla do not hide, that is why we could not agree to hide you."
"Ah. Thanks." Though it makes John feel better about what he gets from those who don't hide, they've crashed the small space of peace that he's carved out for himself in N'vellesem. He takes it as a challenge and generally manages to stay out of their way.
Shaaziya is happier than he's seen her in some time; she exudes an indefinable peace, though it comes to pass that Zuhair's stay is not as long as Dr. Cole would have liked.
Day Three Hundred Twenty-Two
John's working in the storeroom, storing tools and doing inventory. He's not worried about theft, per se, but they have a finite number of screwdrivers, pliers and other manufactured implements, and it's easy for someone to stuff that kind of thing in their pocket and forget about it.
He looks up as Elizabeth enters the room. "Elizabeth, what's up?"
"Shaaziya's in labor."
Elizabeth gives him a concerned look when John nods and goes back to sorting the pliers. "Okay."
She says in an insistent tone of voice, "Dr. Cole said the dose of magnesium sulfate she'd have to give her to stop it would be harmful, possibly deadly to the baby, so it's time,"
John cuts her off. "I said okay, Elizabeth. What do you want me to do about it?"
"Nothing. I just thought a little concern for your friend might be in order." Elizabeth's lips are pursed together in a straight line.
"Look, I'll finish up here and go hang around the infirmary door in a while. There's nothing else I can do. Me being there now or in thirty minutes, getting upset, or angry or happy, isn't going to change things."
"Fine." Her reply is sharp enough to cut glass as she spits it out.
John throws down the pliers, slams the lid shut on the toolbox as he turns to her and shouts, "Jesus, Elizabeth, what's the deal here? What do you want from me?" Tears are crowding in her eyes; she's trembling slightly, and her arms are crossed, hands clenching her elbows. She's not angry, but upset. "I'm sorry. Just... please stop crying."
She lifts a hand to wipe her eyes. "Yes, nothing to cry about. Everything will be fine," she says, adding an extra sharp twist of sarcasm.
"I'm sure that Cole will do everything she can for Shaaziya and the baby, and we just have to accept that. How's Rodney?"
Elizabeth chokes out a small laugh. "About like me, with a little manic thrown in."
John offers her a genuine smile as he takes a step towards the door. "Yeah, I can imagine. I'll be there in a few."
"Okay. Thanks, John."
He shakes his head at her back as she leaves. He wonders why Elizabeth felt the need to find him, and where the hell is Caldwell?
~*~
Fortunately, the infirmary door is closed when John drags a chair into the hallway to sit next to Elizabeth and wait. She lays her hand on top of his, and he relents, turning it over and squeezing it gently. She should have just told him that she wanted reassurance. They sit like that for a few hours, giving out updates as the crew stops in to check on the progress.
Eventually, Carson pokes his head out. "John, Zuhair's insisting that we fetch Neela."
"I can do that."
"Quickly now, there's a good lad." Carson abruptly closes the door.
John gives Elizabeth a surprised lift of his brow and disentangles his hand as he stands. "Back in a few."
John feels leaden from waiting, and Elizabeth's uncharacteristic outburst. He hadn't even realized that he was susceptible to the emotional resonance of his people; he'd thought it was restricted to faith or devotion of the indigents. He runs to expel his pent up energy, to override and wipe out that peculiar feeling.
Neela comes as requested, and John returns to the hallway. Caldwell's in the chair next to Elizabeth, saving John from having to snub her; he just couldn't bear to touch her right now. She doesn't seem to be taking much comfort from Caldwell's presence, though; they're obviously still fighting. John just leans against the wall, angled so that he doesn't have to meet her eyes.
Eventually he slides down to the floor, head resting on his arms crossed over his knees. John's done this before, waited for a friend's wife to give birth, but this time, it's quiet, no moaning or yelling.
They wait for hours, the room behind the closed door eerie and silent.
It's very late when Carson joins them in the hall. "John, Rodney's asking for you." The look on his face immediately says 'bad news', so John girds himself for the worst.
The atmosphere in the room is tense. Paige is standing back with her arms crossed and Shaaziya and Zuhair have matching stony expressions. Neela is sitting beside Shaaziya, with her eyes closed and her hand on Shaaziya's belly.
Rodney's openly crying over the tiny scrap in his arms, as he pets and fusses with her minuscule arms and blanket. He looks up at John with an expression of such grief and anguish that it tears through John. Rodney's broadcasting such powerful emotions that they throw John off balance, and tears spring to his eyes in instant empathy.
"She's having a hard time breathing. It was too soon and combined with the drugs...," he says raggedly.
John's seen Rodney through tragedy and terror, but he's never heard the sound of utter defeat in his voice.
"Here, you're her godfather, you probably need to hold her at least once, while she's..." Rodney swallows back his misery. "Well, here."
John accepts the precious, pathetic bundle with trepidation. He cradles her carefully, with her head on the palm of his hand, stroking her thin, damp skin gently with his thumb. The beat of blood in her temple is sluggish; her breaths are uneven and shallow.
He glances up to find Zuhair giving him an expectant look. Neela opens her eyes and just nods once. John closes his eyes, and bites his lip. He's never successfully tapped into the power that Laith insists is there, but remembers the intimate feeling of power flowing into him, Laith's healing touch and Neela's blessing.
He suddenly realizes that's the key, he's never really wanted to do this before, preferring to lock down, push away the pain of tenderness, avoid connecting to another human with such intimacy.
John slows his breaths, shallower and shallower, until they match those of Rodney's baby, concentrating on her need, and his excess of some indefinable force that's been prickling under his skin for months.
He's suddenly, wholly aware of how much power is within him, and the awful possibility that he could swamp her with it. He thinks of a faucet with a faulty washer, dripping slowly, one drop at a time, letting it trickle into her through the hot palm of his hand, his thumb gently stroking her temple.
John feels her stuttering breaths, sees the fragility within her lungs. He imagines repointing a brick wall, repairing the mortar, shoring them until her breathing evens into gentle regular breaths.
He opens his eyes and looks at the tiny miracle balanced on his hand. Her eyes are open and she's staring at him, taking in the brand new world, soaking up what she sees without understanding what it is.
God, he's never really understood the true meaning of childish innocence, but it's right there in her eyes. John's voice is thick with transcendental joy, spilling out of him, manifesting in tears he doesn't bother to wipe away. He croaks, "Hello, Rania. Welcome to the world." He has no idea of why he calls her that, only that the flash of inspiration felt right.
John carefully puts Rania in her mother's arms and escapes. He's so open, all of his walls, his armor and shields are cracked open, all blasted away. He can't bear to be seen; he feels exposed and naked. He barely registers the shocked expressions as he leaves the room, whips past those waiting in the hall, out of the city, out into the desert—the mountains are too close, too cramped, he needs the wide open spaces because the thinks he might just explode with the force of what's inside him.
He runs. The sand is glowing in a riot of colors from the reflected aurora, and the pale pink light of Zieba and Aila, high overhead. He runs until his heart is hammering in his chest, and he's gasping for air.
He trips over his tired feet and face plants in the sand. Rolling onto his back, he scrapes the sand from his eyes and mouth, where it clings to the sweat and tears. He lies there, watching as the moons sink toward the horizon, and the aurora fades into the first glimmerings of dawn, trying to put himself back together, one shard after another, but he's too broken. He knows that he can pretend he's not, but he feels like he'll never be whole again, and that—more than anything—is what scares him the most.
Day Three Hundred Twenty-Three
John lies there in the sand of the desert for hours, his mind roaming, thinking back on every mistake he's ever made, every failure that has caused heartache for anyone who's ever been associated with him: his disappointed father, desperate for John to succeed and make something of himself; Holland, who had died upon the brink of rescue; waking the Wraith and causing a scourge across the entire galaxy; having to look Sumner in the eyes as he shot him dead; failing to take out the rogue 302 on the first try so that the Daedalus was stranded on Dominat; Kyle Swenson, a good kid with a good heart and he's gone, because John didn't take a stand against Caldwell, and worst of all, they're still stuck here, because John couldn't take the pressure of making a difficult decision.
As the searingly hot sun beats down on him, John thinks about getting up, but it seems like too much trouble. He's lethargic, exhausted and thirsty, and now more than any other time, he's run himself into the ground because he couldn't take to the air.
He wonders if this is it, if he's done now; the entire reason he's been returned from the dead is to save a single infant from certain death. He wonders what it meant, storing up and hoarding the devotion of so many to expend it so simply. He recognizes that dynamic immediately; he's merely a transformer station, taking in power in one form and releasing it another.
The sun is high now, merciless and intense, and even if none of it means anything, he's not quite willing to let go that easily. John rolls to his hands and knees, pushing himself into a kneeling position.
The hot wind has erased his tracks and John realizes that he has no idea where he is. He'd blindly run from N'vellesem in the dark, and there are no landmarks in the vast, featureless desert of shifting sand. He manages to get to his feet, and thinks east, at least east. The sand in his eyes scratches as he blinks, and when they begin to water, the tears sting his abused eyes.
He must be farther gone than he realized and he's hallucinating, because that can't be Rodney. The figure trudging through the sand shivers and wavers in the heat shimmering off the desert, though he never disappears. John falls back to the ground in sheer, stark relief; he's never been so glad to see his friend.
He can hear the crackle of the radio in the distance, and Rodney talking into it. "Yeah, I found him. Probably, I can't tell, he's just sitting there. I'll let you know when I know."
John watches through gritty, burning eyes as Rodney approaches, putting away the life signs detector, boonie jammed on his head, and probably the last of his zinc oxide smeared across his nose. "Idiot," is all he says as he lands in the sand next to John and hands him a canteen.
He struggles with the cap, until Rodney takes it away and returns it to him open. John drinks all of it down in swift gulps, feeling the warm water travel down his gullet and curl in his stomach.
Rodney takes John's chin in one hand, and holds him still as he pours water over his face, washing away the sand that's crusted and dried in his eyes. He carefully brushes Johns closed eyes with his thumb, pushing the sand away. "I have more," he says as he pulls out a bandanna and wets it, draping it over John's neck.
"Yeah, thanks." John takes the second canteen and drinks more slowly as he mops his face and neck. Rodney pulls his pack off and digs through it and then hands John a cloth wrapped packet; John's hands tremble as he unwraps a pile of allmas nuts; Rodney's Dominat answer to the power bar. John gives Rodney a weak, tired grin.
He huffs, "Just eat."
John chews a few of the wrenchingly sweet nuts, but it's too much and he vomits all of it in the sand. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he whimpers.
Rodney just shoves sand over the mess. "Right now, you could throw up on me, and I wouldn't care." He hands John a third, open canteen, "Drink slowly." He pulls out the radio. "This is McKay. Uh huh, I don't think he's going anywhere soon. Right, will do." He shoves the radio back in a pocket, digs through the backpack again and pulls out one of the little lean-tos they'd used on the viat. "Couldn't bring the supports, so we'll have to make do." He stands and shakes it out over them, shading the two of them from the sun.
John's painfully aware that he's in trouble. His sunburned skin feels dry and cracked, he's dizzy with nausea and self-loathing, that Rodney had to come rescue him from his own idiocy. Even though it makes him queasy, he forces himself to sip the warm water and nibble on the allmas. It's a while before he gets the nerve to ask, "How's the baby?"
Rodney smiles, and his face lights up with pride and joy. "Rania is, well, it's a... Thank you. It was the best and worst day ever—and we've had a lot of those. Had I not seen it for myself, I would've counted it as voodoo, and I'm still not certain that it wasn't. But you saved my life—my daughter, Sheppard— and then forced me out in the desert to save yours. Again."
John knows this peeved/relieved tone, and he's grateful that Rodney's not asking all the questions that John can't answer. "You don't have to call her that, you know."
"Oh no. It was made quite clear to me that I do. Not that I mind, it's a very pretty name, but it's the Quaralyn's prerogative, apparently."
John grimaces, "Uh, I didn't realize."
"Sheppard, she's alive because of you—if you called her Dogshit, I wouldn't care. Well, maybe I would."
John chuckles. "If I'd done that, you'd have probably left me out in the desert."
"No, I'd be out here to kick your ass." Rodney unexpectedly touches John's face. "You're not sweating. Do you feel lightheaded? Dizzy? When was the last time you peed? Christ." He's back on the radio, "McKay here, get me Carson. Then Paige, I don't care, Elizabeth, he's got heat stroke." Rodney pins him with a glare. "Well, go on, can you pee? Can you even stand up to pee? If you say you're fine, I will take you down. Not that it would take much."
John returns the glare with interest, but crawls out of the shade and manages to urinate a weak, dribbling stream. He judges the height and angle of the sun. Couple more hours to sundown. He hadn't realized how long he'd lain in a daze, out in the sun.
Back under the shelter, he asks, "How long did it take you to find me?"
"Nearly six hours. Keep drinking; short of an IV it's all we can do. Hopefully Evan will find us soon. He's got more water."
It's already dusk before Evan shows up, and they start the long walk back to N'vellesem, John carefully propped in between the two of them.
Day Three Hundred Twenty-Four - Three Hundred Thirty-One
The days after Rania's birth are a tribulation. Carson keeps him in the infirmary for a couple of days, and by the time he's released, the rumors of what had happened are flying thick and fast. John's used to being watched. People have always let their eyes linger on him, but the return of the open staring and the whispers is difficult to take. His shattered defenses make him excruciatingly aware of the ugly, emotional currents swirling around him, and they leave him uneasy and feeling sick.
There's a definite divide among the Quarter, between the seasoned SGC personnel, who've seen and done extraordinary things, and those who were slated as new recruits for Atlantis. The latter are generally bitter and unhappy that they've left Earth for an adventure in the City of The Ancients, but were marooned en route in a hellhole. After the viat, and during the few months of their inhabitation of The Quarter, the gap between the two had lessened and been slightly smoothed over, but this incident has broken it wide open again. His cover of being one of them has been completely blown. He's not, and hasn't been for a while, even though he's still just John Sheppard.
He can't quite reconcile those two things, so John does what he's always done best. He retreats; spending afternoons with Rania, while Rodney and Shaaziya rest and recuperate, and evenings with Laith, lately returned from Ayse. John's capabilities grow by leaps and bounds every day.
The tension among the work crew is unbearable, so he just stops showing up.
The third day of his strike, Elizabeth knocks on his door. "John, we need to talk."
"Elizabeth." He mentally sighs as he puts his book aside. "Come in, have a seat."
She perches on the edge of the chair, hands folded in her lap.
"What can I do for you?"
"Let me start by saying that I'm sorry."
"Okay." John wonders if Elizabeth really understands what she put into motion so long ago, with her decision to study the Avaxqaral.
"I haven't managed this very well, but I'm working on it. We were away so long, and then busy with surviving, that I haven't taken the time deal with the larger, overall issues."
He's truly curious. "Okay. What's the big picture?"
"You're still one of us, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, and I think that fact is being overlooked, gotten lost. I can't even imagine what you've gone through, but we have a responsibility to make sure that you have our respect. Your position as the Quaralyn demands that we respect that, for if we don't, we lose the respect of everyone else on this planet."
So she doesn't really get it. "Whoa, Elizabeth—"
"No, let me finish. You're also the victim here, and blaming you is tantamount to blaming a rape victim for culpability. That's what's going on, and I intend to put an end to it."
"Huh." John hadn't thought about it in exactly those terms, but he has a secret that Elizabeth doesn't know, and that does make him guilty. Guilty as hell, and that trumps all of Elizabeth's assumed culpability on his behalf.
"I also don't care about the work crew. It's basically make work, to give everyone a goal and to keep them occupied. I do care that you're hiding away, and avoiding dealing with people. It gives the appearance that you're accepting the blame that some seem to want to assign to you. Don't be their scapegoat."
John looks away; he's conflicted, wants to put all of this on her cavalier decision, but he is accepting the blame; he deserves it, though she doesn't understand why, and he can't tell her. They're both angry and upset, and it's upsetting the fragile balance he's finally struck. He can't look at her, lest he shatter once more.
"I think, and Anbur agrees, that you should go back to the Ludahsediat."
He thinks about that for a moment, recalling those few weeks of almost blissful, settled peace amid the chaos of being shipwrecked. "I could do that."
"Good. You begin tomorrow, class starts early."
John chuckles wanly. "Yeah, I remember."
Day Three Hundred Thirty-Two - Three Hundred Forty Five
'Class' turns out to be unfettered access to the Avaxqaral. John discovers that as Anbur's 'wife', Elizabeth can study the database without fear of repercussions; it's strictly a business relationship, though they are obviously great friends.
He and Elizabeth spend days combing through the database, finding subjects that interest them, or in John's case, that could have strategic value. John also gets the data tablet from Rodney and downloads the ship's logs from Makhuqat into a hidden section of the database that only he has access to. There are still many thousands of years of data to vet.
It's quiet and comfortable. Anbur spends time every day answering questions and discussing what they've learned, and Elizabeth is sworn to secrecy about John's facility with Ancient, though it's hardly a secret anymore.
John's still putting himself back together; he's not sure that he'll ever be the same, for various values of sameness. He's already changed, but this brief measure of peace gives him the space he needs. He can feel the edges of his broken shell, the changes within himself, and he knows that it's only a matter of time, before he peels away the flaking crust to complete his transformation.
When he tires of sitting and reading, he slips into the back of a class, or takes a walk. N'vellesem isn't Atlantis, never will be, but there's a sense of home and acceptance here that he's grateful for as he walks through the market, returning the sunny smiles and greetings of his fellow townspeople.
Day Three Hundred Forty-Five
One afternoon, after 'class' is released for the day, John's browsing the few shops still open for the afternoon. He hears his name being shouted from across the bazaar and he jogs to meet Evan halfway. "What's going on?"
"Wraith, sir. Hive ship's in orbit, and the darts are coming."
His decision is made in an instant; he has no other choice. The few 302s left have a limited supply of fuel that hasn't been contaminated by the flood, and the Daedalus is still under repairs. "Come on." They take off at a dead run.
The scene at Headquarters is chaos. Virtually everyone is crowded around the building, jamming the doorways with worried expressions as they babble their fear to their companions.
John roughly shoves his way through the mob, not caring who's in his way. Evan is right behind him, like a ship behind a cutter in an ice flow. The office is even more packed, filled with marines and off duty pilots trying to get beamed over to the Daedalus.
Rodney, Elizabeth and Caldwell are at the heart of it, sorting through people and assigning them priority.
"Rodney, you have to get me to that ship." John ignores Caldwell and Elizabeth's questions, intently focusing on Rodney.
He shakes his head. "Can't beam you that far, Colonel, you know that."
"Then get me to the Daedalus." John wills Rodney to understand the plan without blowing it wide open.
Rodney gets it, and he nods nervously, "Yeah, good plan."
"I'm going with you, sir." Evan's right at John's shoulder, with a firm, serious expression on his face.
John gives him a questioning look.
"Sir, it was obvious that something happened in Makhuqat, and whatever it is that you're about to do, you probably can't do it alone."
He's right, and John knows it. He could probably use an entire crew, but he's already planning on taking one of the 302s out of the immediate battle, and they have none to spare. "Yeah, come on."
Rodney shouts down the cacophony in the room. "Everyone that's not in the first group, get out of here. You, and you, out. You just got preempted." Rodney yanks a radio off the charger and hands it to John. "Good luck."
John and Evan step into the ring, and Rodney thumbs his radio. "Hermiod, go."
The room dissolves and resolves into the ring room aboard the Daedalus. Evan's already moving. "There's a hangar queen they put back together that'll fly, but just barely."
They run out of the ring room and slide down ladders in access hatches, nearly skidding off the end of the hangar bay in a controlled fall. One 302 is already in the air, streaking toward space.
Evan points to a broken down craft at the edge of the makeshift runway, and the LSO yells, "Sir! There's no missiles on this one!"
"Yeah, that's fine—won't need 'em." The ground crew pulls over scaffolding to the craft, and they climb aboard. Evan takes second seat, and John does a quick preflight as he starts the craft, noting which systems are down, and that there's barely enough fuel to get them where they're going. "Radar's out, so we're gonna fly blind."
The flagman signals that they're clear, and John pours on the gas. It rolls sluggishly in the soft sand, and he can barely see for the billowing, dirty clouds of dust they're kicking up.
John pulls up the nose and fires the afterburners to get them in the air. He stays at low altitude, relying on VFR, hoping to stay out of the way of any firefights that could prevent them from getting to their destination.
He might get lost on the ground, but in the air John knows exactly where they're going. He adjusts his heading as they cross over the mountain range, keeping an eye out for landmarks.
Compared to weeks of journeying on foot, they arrive at Makhuqat in the blink of an eye. John lands the 302 at the edge of the plateau, and there's a few, last viator hanging around the temple.
He yells at them to head for Halavasan, that the building is about to explode as they make for the door to the temple. He doesn't wait to see if they're running; they'll get the message once things start to rock and roll.
The door slides open easily, and John can hear the mental chorus of the 'jumpers 'welcome, welcome' as they swerve towards the control room.
"Holy crap, Sheppard. I knew something was up, but what the hell is this?"
John's already stationed at the main control panel, starting the engines that grumble after ten thousand years of immobility. "It's Qaral's ship, the one that brought their ancestors here. Take this panel, engine levels and power. There's a spare ZPM if it looks bad."
Evan takes control of the monitor. "No wonder McKay was pissed at you. Will it fly?"
"We think so, the systems checked out, but there's really only one way to find out." He's pretty sure that the temple isn't directly on top of the ship, and that all they have to do is escape out from underneath hundreds of tons of sand and earth and rocks.
Makhuqat shudders and groans, and the pitch of the engine's whine screams higher and higher as they struggle to free the ship from its underground prison. "The temperature around the hull is heating up, the engine exhaust is melting the sand, but that makes it more fluid. I just hope that it doesn't melt the hull."
Finally, they explode free in a massive burst of flaming glass and air, the temple sinking and falling over into the crater of melting sand. John finds the intra-ship communications system and turns it on. "Take over here. Thrusters, altitude, attitude, roll, pitch and yaw," he says as he points out the controls. "I'm going to the chair, see if we can take that fucker out."
Evan calls out as John reaches the chair room. "We can't break atmo, there's a hull breach."
John races to the engine room, and manages to close the open hatch. "What's the reading now?"
"No good, we're still venting."
"See if you can close off the bulkheads, seal off those sections, I'm going back to the chair."
John sits down and reclines back, but he gets the answer before Evan finds the controls. "It's no good, the hull's leaking like a sieve. Just keep us breathing, Lorne."
"Yes sir, leveling off."
As John connects to the ship's defense systems, a holographic display shimmers into view overhead. It's many orders higher than a gun slaved to a helmet, but it doesn't take John long to take control and begin loosing the drones towards the hive ship, and the darts that are swarming the planet.
The Hive is shielded, obviously word had gotten out that there is resistance from the herd on Dominat. John concentrates on wielding an overpowering force against the enemy ship.
Evan advises him in a clipped, business-like voice. "We've got three bogey's headed our way."
"I've got them." John's eyes are fixed on the holograph above him. "See if you can hail the Daedalus, I don't want them to mistake us for enemy combatants."
"Where is, oh. Daedalus, this is Major Lorne aboard the Makhuqat, our position is, crap what does that say?"
The radio tech replies, completely bewildered. "This is Daedalus, Major Lorne, we have something on radar. What is that?"
"Roger, Long story, but that's our vessel. Advising that we're unable to gain altitude above uh, wait- yeah, seven kilometers. Will maintain this course for four minutes, then initiate grid pattern Delta Zero."
"Roger that. We'll tell our boys to stay out of your way. Daedalus out."
Evan leaves the comm open to the chatter channel, and then executes a ninety-degree turn to starboard right on schedule. They can hear Caldwell's insistent hailing, bellowing questions that they don't have time to answer.
John concentrates on the Hive, but spares attention to take down any dart stupid enough to tangle with the drones. Eventually the Hive explodes in a very satisfying manner, and he directs his full concentration on the darts, which are going down in flames, right and left.
After all the visible darts are dispatched, Evan swings into an orbital pattern to search for strays. A couple of darts have already landed, and while John destroys the darts, they track the coordinates for a search and destroy mission when they ascertain that there are Wraith on the ground.
John joins Evan in the control room. "Daedalus, this is Sheppard."
"Daedalus here. Go Colonel."
"Sending coordinates to you of possible Wraith incursions. What's the complement of Marines on-site?"
"Data is coming in now. Olander and two fire teams are here and ready to deploy, sir."
"Good, clear the decks. We'll land in ten, and have Olander get them ready to scramble. Is Hobeck back yet?
"I'm tracking Foxtrot Alpha, landing in six minutes."
"Tell him to not get too comfortable, and to meet me at the Makhuqat when we land."
"Roger that. Foxtrot Alpha, the party is not over. Stand by for Colonel Sheppard as he lands."
"Is Dr. McKay on-board?"
"No sir, he's still at headquarters."
"Patch me through, please."
"Yes sir."
John hears the crackle of abused electronics and the comm tech clearing the channel. "Sheppard!"
"McKay, I need another jumper pilot, and two more Marine fire teams."
"It worked?"
"Yeah, but we sort of broke the ship. You up to ferrying Marines?"
"Yes, but..."
"Great, I'll pick everyone up outside the gate in thirty. Get moving, McKay. Sheppard out." John cuts off Rodney's squawk. "Okay, so how do we land this thing?"
Evan gives John a sideways glance, and then his eyes flicker back to the board.
"Just kidding, Major. Sort of."
They manage to put the Makhuqat in the LZ several hundred yards from the Daedalus with a mere, jarring thump. John meets Olander and Hobeck halfway to the Daedalus. He tasks Olander with making sure that each of the puddlejumpers is stocked with extra ammunition and weapons and then drags the pilot back to Makhuqat. "Come on Lieutenant, time to get a quick flying lesson."
John gives Hobeck and Lorne a quick run down of the puddlejumper controls, instructs them to stay with the 'jumpers, and then sends them on their way with four-man teams that are armed to the teeth.
He takes one of the last two puddlejumpers on the short hop to N'vellesem, landing smoothly just outside the main gate to the town. John lowers the hatch; McKay's first up the ramp, and he immediately takes the copilot seat, followed closely by eight Marines who squeeze into the back. John raises the hatch and takes off, speeding back to the Daedalus.
"Okay, what do you mean, you 'sort of broke the ship'?"
"It was buried for centuries, Rodney. It was hard to break loose."
"We thought that might happen."
"Yeah. I downloaded the coordinates in your 'jumper to where your team's going. You just need to fly them there, don't get in their way. Stay in the jumper with the hatch closed."
"I'm just the taxi driver." Rodney sounds unaccountably happy about flying marines into hand-to-hand battle with Wraith. John glances at him, and Rodney's grinning. "Puddlejumpers."
"Damn straight." John can't help but grin, too: he's flying.
They land between the two ships. John chivvies Rodney and his team off to the other puddlejumper, and helps Olander and the Marines to load the materiel in the back. He takes off again, checking in with the other 'jumpers to make sure they're copacetic.
Once they've reached their objective, John grabs the remote from the cubby that opens with a thought, suits up and heads out after his team.
Dusk is falling fast, but fortunately this Wraith is easy to track without a life signs detector. They just have to follow the path of his victims, John counts six already. This guy is going to be a bitch to kill.
Fortunately, their tactics work this time without any serious injuries, making sure that its self-destruct goes off before they check out the destroyed house. John takes a moment to verify with the residents that this was the only Wraith in town, before heading off to their next objective.
The puddlejumper sensors find a lot more downed Wraith than they'd figured on, and so it goes, all night.
Day Three Hundred Forty-Seven
By dawn the next day, the puddlejumpers are circling the entire planet in a coordinated search pattern, but no more Wraith are found. John is elated, he's flying, and they have successfully fended off a Wraith attack, all without injury or loss.
Hobeck, Lorne and their teams are already on the ground when John lands. They greet John's team with laughter and backslapping, and a cheer goes up as Rodney lands with all the grace of a goony bird.
Rodney's team pours out of the 'jumper, and the Marines head for the ready room aboard the Daedalus.
"I'm going to check on Rodney, see what the hold up is." John points a thumb in the direction of the 'jumper.
"Sure. Catch you later." Evan gives Cory another pat on the shoulder and leaves it there, pushing him towards the Daedalus.
The interior of the 'jumper is still cool, the lights are off and Rodney is sitting in the pilot's chair, hands on the controls as he stares at the HUD, scrolling through pages of data and schematics.
John slouches next to him, swinging around to face Rodney. "What's up?"
"I was just thinking about Atlantis. Wondering how they're doing, if Swenson ever made it there."
It's better to not think about Atlantis; better to not think of all the disasters that could befall their city on the sea, or the heavy cost of losing Daedalus and her precious cargo of people and supplies. "Yeah."
Rodney quickly shuts down the HUD, and leaves the ship. John follows him out, closing the hatch behind them.
~*~
"I'm extremely disappointed by your unilateral decision to keep the Makhuqat a secret, that you didn't trust us to be able to reach a reasonable accommodation and consensus in the matter." Elizabeth's hands are clenched together on the table. Caldwell is beside her, the first sign of their solidarity that John's seen since Caldwell's arrival in N'vellesem.
The door opens behind John and Rodney throws himself into the chair next to him, openly daring them to throw him out with a truculent glare.
Caldwell gives him a frosty look. "Dr. McKay, as much as I'm sure we'd appreciate your point of view, this is none of your business."
"The hell it's not. I was there; I agreed that it would be our dirty little secret."
"Very well, Doctor. Perhaps you can explain; Colonel Sheppard hasn't been particularly forthcoming."
Rodney gives John an incredulous look. "No, of course he hasn't."
John gives Rodney a vague lift of a shoulder. There's nothing that he can say that's going to change their minds; he'd seen this coming, no matter how he handled it. They probably have every right to doubt his judgment.
"Do you have any idea of who Sheppard is?" Rodney's question is almost conversational as he leans forward in his chair towards Caldwell.
"I had thought that he was a valued member of our expedition, an Air Force officer with certain expectations of loyalty and duty." Caldwell pins John with a cool stare, and John knows, he knows, he's pissing off Caldwell as he returns the stare without flinching.
As if he can't bear to remain still, Rodney almost leaps out of his chair, arms waving. "No! I was right, you don't have a clue, even though all of this has happened right under your nose!"
John growls in a low voice. "Rodney, I don't think you're helping."
"What? You think that I'm just going to let you sit there and take this? Let them accuse you and not say a word in your own defense? No, this is wrong." Rodney stops and leans over the table, hands flat and voice low. "You were all for exploiting John, insisting that it was to your advantage for him to go to Makhuqat, pretend and playact as your tool in manipulating the beliefs of these people. Well, guess what—that plan backfired. The viat was hell for him, for all of us; we had to watch him suffering, absolutely miserable the entire time. Elizabeth, I can't believe that you'd conveniently forget that, as you sit here piously raking him over the coals for doing exactly what you expected: become the Quaralyn, and everything that entails."
Elizabeth eyes are cast down, hands still and tightly clasped together. Caldwell is staring at Rodney, his face twisted in a sour, furious expression. "Perhaps if the Colonel had seen fit to inform us of the ship's existence Doctor, we wouldn't be here having this discussion."
Rodney nearly implodes with the effort to contain his fury. "Oh, what?! Now you're suggesting that we had the right to destroy a religious monument, steal the power source for their single most important historical artifact? The basis of every religious conviction? Wreak havoc with an entire planet's delicately balanced peace, just because we were a little homesick? That any technology is ours for the taking, because we understand it better? How American of you—its no wonder he couldn't tell you!"
Elizabeth hotly defends her position, "We don't know that, Rodney. I don't know, because we were never given the opportunity to have that discussion!"
"I can't believe this, you two can't even decide what you're mad about; how the hell were you going to make a decision for all of Dominat?" He shakes his head in pure disbelief, and then stomps to the door.
Rodney turns back to Elizabeth. "It wasn't your discussion to have, Elizabeth. John is the second coming to these people, and that gives him the right to make that decision." Rodney leaves the door open when he walks out.
John figures that's as good a sign as any, and he leaves without looking back.
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