Day Three Hundred Fifty

John is treated with scorn, open fury and dark looks from people who believe that they could have gone home; the malevolent emotions feel like a dagger to his heart. He gets it; Jesus, he gets it. He feels bitter and guilty when anyone that shows him the least bit of solidarity is treated to the same lingering, dirty looks and ill treatment.

Elizabeth seems to have forgotten her inspiring speech about victims, and the rumors and gossip flow unchecked. John's never assaulted outright, but the antagonizing snubs and shoulder checks from certain disaffected individuals increase, until Shaaziya is nearly knocked down, Rania in her arms, as they're leaving Headquarters.

John catches her before she stumbles down the stair. "Are you alright?"

Shaaziya, trembling with fear, only shakes her head.

John makes sure that she gets home without any further incidents, but he's angry, more furious than he's ever been. Something has got to give, and it's becoming more obvious to him exactly what that something is—him.

It's late when Rodney finds John at the teahouse many hours later. His face is white with fury and his mouth is a tight slash. He scrapes the chair hard across the stone floor, and plunks down into it, arms crossed.

John waves at Fakih for another glass for Rodney. He's had more than a couple of short glasses of ekal, and he's starting to buzz. "I take it that you heard?"

"Yes. Shaaziya's terrified, and I'm about two seconds from overloading the naquadah generator. She wants to go home, Sheppard."

John gives Rodney a solemn look. "That's probably the best thing to do."

"What are you going to do?" Rodney accepts the tiny glass from the barkeep and takes a sip.

"Something along those lines. I haven't exactly decided, yet."

"I know that it's not your favorite place, and God, I don't really like it much either, but if you wanted to come..."

"Thanks Rodney. I'll think about it." John recalls Laith's warning about the Qaroptimat, and he gives a little shudder. No, Ayse was not where he wanted to end up.

"So. I was hoping that I could, since it's a long walk and we have the baby, if we could you know, get a lift?"

"Of course, Rodney." John is horrified that Rodney thought he had to ask for a ride. "When did you want to leave?"

Rodney thrusts his chin up defiantly, as if he's expecting an argument, "Now. We're done here."

"Okay." John tosses back the last shot. "Let's go."

"I'm too angry right now to talk to her, but Elizabeth will need to know we've bugged out."

"I'll make sure she gets the message."

~*~

It's childish, but John can't think of any better way to impress upon the expedition that they didn't have a superior claim to the uncovered technology of Makhuqat, simply because they were accustomed to having it.

He and Rodney move the puddlejumpers to the south of the city, outside the wall, and cloak them.

John pockets all the remote controls, until he can decide what to do with them, or his point is made.

He helps gather up the few things that they intend to take with them. When they're done, John takes a last look around the room before they slip out into the night and fly away.

John takes the long way, detouring to Halavasan to show Rodney the crater that Makhuqat left. The new slag around the edges shines brightly in the moonlight, the aurora reflects the sharp shards of glass. The deep hole is partially filled with the broken remains of the temple wall that fell in when the foundation flew away. John squats down and picks up a piece of glass, tosses it in. It shatters on landing, the sound weak in the distance. "Damn big hole."

"Nearly two hundred feet."

"Yep." John knows he's delaying the inevitable. Rodney's not really going to be that far away—it shouldn't be any different than the months they'd been separated after the flood, but this is permanent. John feels desperately afraid that he's about to be cut loose from his mooring. Even during the brief time that he'd been distant and avoiding Rodney, he'd still been there. They've been companions through all of their travails since coming to the Pegasus Galaxy, and Rodney is staunch and reassuring in his own unique manner.

Eventually they hear Rania fussing in the puddlejumper. John reluctantly stands and bumps shoulders with Rodney. "We should probably get this over with."

Rodney's eyes glint in Aila's pale light. "You know that if it was just me, I would've stayed."

"I know. Don't worry about it; I'll be fine."

Rodney chuckles, a thick, wet sound. "Right".

"Come on, Shaaziya probably thinks we fell in."

Rania's really crying when they walk up the ramp; deep, heart-wrenching and inconsolable sobs that Shaaziya can't comfort. Rodney immediately sits next to them, slipping his arm behind Shaaziya, and petting Rania.

John automatically reaches for Rania, and Shaaziya hands her off with the particular despair of a new mother unable to soothe her child. He cradles Rania close to his chest, a hand on the back of her head, whispering nonsense as he buries his nose in her fluffy hair. "It's alright, shh."

He stands there clutching Rania with his eyes closed as his bitter tears dampen and mat her hair. She quiets down, but the hiccupping sobs continue unabated. He hears a rustle, the chair squeaks and the jumper powers up. He looks up at Shaaziya, and she nods.

John wipes his eyes on his sleeve, before he takes the second chair in case Rodney needs directions to take them home. As he sits, he's still clutching Rania close to his chest.

 

Day Three Hundred Fifty-One

John steals back into N'vellesem as the eastern sky is beginning to pale, the coming dawn turning the sky behind the Ayse Mountains a dark violet.

Evan is still asleep when John begins to pack quietly. There isn't much, mostly clothing, a few books and his trainers, and it all goes into the knapsack.

"Whatcha doing?"

John startles and whips around. "I thought you were asleep. I was trying not to wake you."

"Yeah, I got that." Evan scrubs a hand over his eyes as he swings his feet out of bed.

John dumps his backpack on the floor and sits on his bed facing Evan. "I took Rodney and his family to Ayse."

"Doesn't surprise me. Flintoff got a thumping for that, by the way."

"No, don't—"

"Wasn't me—some of the Marines thought he needed a serious lesson in courtesy. I just heard about it."

John takes a deep breath, as he captures a lip with his teeth, worrying at it as he considers his explanation. "That's why," he waves in the direction of his pack, "This. I can't let it devolve into a riot, and I can't figure out any way to deal with it, other than getting out."

"John, there's got to be some other way..."

"It's been coming for a long time, Evan. This was just the icing on the cake."

"Yeah. Where are you going?"

"I thought I'd head over to Neela's for a few days. Talk things over with Anbur."

"You want some company?"

"Nah." It's one thing to voluntarily go into exile from exile, but John doesn't think it's fair to ask Evan to do the same, even though he isn't going very far away, yet.

John fully intends to skulk out of the Quarter under the cover of darkness, and dawn is fast approaching. "Well, I'd better go."

Evan stands up as John grabs his pack and heads for the door. "John." They shake hands, and Evan draws him in for a half hug. "Good luck. Don't be a stranger."

"You too."

 

John drops his pack by the open door and greets Neela and Laith. They're in the kitchen, the stout teapot still steaming and steeping as he slides into a chair.

Neela pours a glass of tea and slides it over to him. "You are here very early, Shepherd."

"About that." John toys with his glass, avoiding their eyes. "I wanted," he pauses to re-frame what he needs to say. He looks up, searching their faces for any sign of pity as he continues, "I would like to ask if I could stay here, for a measure of days. The situation in the Quarter is very bad. I had to take Dr. McKay and his family away to Ayse last night."

Neela smiles widely. "Yes, but you must study, learn the ways of healing."

John had known since Rania's birth that he was headed in this direction; otherwise he would have gone to Anbur, or old Fakih at the teahouse. "Okay."

~*~

From his vantage point across the street, John watches Elizabeth leave the Ludahsediat amid the few day students. He waits until she's turned the corner and disappears before he strolls in to find Anbur.

"Hey."

Anbur's still in the classroom, his desk buried with piles of thick, rough paper. "John, please come in."

"I guess Elizabeth told you?" John drags a student chair over and sits in front of Anbur.

"It was mentioned." Anbur watches John, those startling gray eyes taking in everything.

"I came to bring you these." John puts the four remotes on the desk. "They're for the little ships—we call them puddlejumpers. I left them on the south side, outside the city, but you can't see them, they're invisible."

Anbur studies him a few moments, before leaning back in his chair. "Why do you bring me these?"

"You're a fair man, Anbur, and you've been a good friend. These are not ours; they belong to everyone. You should do with them as you see fit."

"So I am your middleman? Neutral party?"

"If you like."

"Hhhm." Anbur picks up on of the remotes and studies it closely. "I should like to see one of these invisible ships." He laughs loudly at his own joke, and John smiles.

"We can do that."

"Very well, let us not wait a moment longer."

As they walk, Anbur picks up the conversation. "Elizabeth is concerned about your, and Dr. McKay's, disappearance."

"There was an incident yesterday, Shaaziya was nearly pushed down. She was badly frightened, and wanted to go home."

"And you?"

"I'm bunking in with Laith. It was time I learned more about this thing, this power."

"It will not remain a secret that you are there, word will spread."

"I didn't expect that it would." John stops; he can see where the wind has pushed the sand against the jumper's landing gear, leaving oddly shaped, low drifts. He takes one of the remotes and shows it to Anbur. "There's only one button, but you just have to think about what you want to happen. Like this."

He points the remote and one of the jumpers shimmers into existence.

Anbur grins widely as John hands him the control. He points it like a sword, eyes squinting in the brilliant afternoon. The 'jumper disappears in a wrinkle of light, and Anbur laughs with delight. "I have studied the Avaxqaral my entire life, I have visited Makhuqat every anam, but this remote, I have never found."

"They were hidden, you had to know it was there to get it. It was probably so common, the Ancients never thought to mention it. We've—we used to run into that a lot on Atlantis. Do it again, and think 'open'."

John leads Anbur up the ramp and into the cloaked jumper, sits at the controls. "Have a seat, and I'll take you out for a spin."

The hatch closes as John takes the ship up, veering away from the city before rocketing towards space. The HUD pops up, and John slightly adjusts his heading.

Anbur watches the view out of the front windshield with rapt attention, leaning forward as if he wants to press his nose against it. Aila is closest at this time of day, so John heads for the small moon to do a quick orbit before heading back to Dominat. As the planet quickly fills the view, Anbur breathes a prayer.

John lets the vista speak for itself. They fly over the vast deserts, craggy mountains, and broad plains of green. There are towns dotting the landscape along the mountains and rivers. He'd understood in only the most superficial way that Dominat had a rich variety of scenery; he'd only seen the desert and the Western mountains for himself.

After they land, John swivels in his seat to face Anbur. "Pretty cool, huh?"

His expression is completely flabbergasted. "I have no words. In a matter of hours, you have given true meaning to my study of the Ancestors, my entire life's work." Anbur's hand caresses the control panel.

"You could learn to fly it, you know—you have the gene."

"I would be forever in your debt, Quaralyn."

 

Day Three Hundred Fifty-Eight

Even though he remembers only vague rudiments of biology, John discovers that he's far too educated to innately heal in the same way as Neela or Laith, and not well educated enough to do otherwise. After the database is a bust, he borrows a book on basic medicine from Carson, via Anbur.

He spends evenings reading by a guttering lamp, days practicing beside Neela or Laith. He runs in the desert in the early morning, stopping by the southern wall where the puddlejumpers have remained parked for a week, still cloaked, and the sand has begun to cling to them, revealing their outlines.

John ruefully brushes a bit of the sand off before returning to the rememdium.

Anbur is sitting at the table with Neela, waiting for him. "Blessed day to you, Quaralyn."

"Good morning." John grabs a glass and the water pitcher and sits at the table, gulping it down swiftly before pouring another. He drinks the second one more sedately. "Sorry. What brings you here so early?"

"Ah, do not apologize. It is the matter of the little ships. The Idon have reached a decision."

Here it is, the moment of truth that John's been dreading. "Oh?"

"We cannot make such a decision without consulting the other leaders, and at first it was a difficult thing to decide, they are scattered far and wide, and such conferences only take place during viat, when we are all gathered in one place."

John grins, "I see."

"Yes, it was very funny, arguing about the best way to gather the Patern to talk of flying machines. We are not accustomed to thinking of such things."

"So, you want to go and pick them up?"

"Yes. If these 'puddlejumpers' are a resource for all of Dominat as you say, then we must include all in the decision. We must also discuss the House of Makhuqat. Yes. there is much to talk about."

"Neela, may I be excused from lessons today?" John quirks a smile at her; she'd made it clear from the beginning, that Quaralyn or not, he was only an apprentice, and she insisted on a level of decorum that would have been appropriate in boot camp.

"As you will."

"Thank you, Neela. How many people are we talking about?"

"There are nine, including yourself."

"One should do it then. Let me go clean up a bit, and I'll be right with you." John excuses himself and takes the stairs two at a time. He washes down at the basin, swearing at the chilly water when he dunks his head in the deep bowl. He dresses in the least ratty of his Atlantis uniforms, and then presents himself in the kitchen, with damp hair and a grin on his face.

Neela gives him a still-warm khabez filled with roasted meslat, fragrant with kalah and bazin. "Do not think that you will escape today's lessons altogether."

"Of course not." He lifts her right hand and kisses her palm, sharing the slightest trickle of power with her.

"Very good. Journey safely, Quaralyn."

John eats quickly while they walk to the puddlejumpers, licking his fingers clean just as they sit at the control panel. "Okay, where to?"

"Ayse, Halavasan, Tobat first, then we will make our way back through Jasrah, Gadon and Zadiyeh."

"Zadiyeh, that's Tazim? Who's at Jasrah and Gadon?"

"Hmm, Tazim, yes. At Jasrah it is Fatih and Yusrah is in Gadon."

"I'll keep us at very low altitude, and you can give me directions? Or do you want to try?"

"Perhaps another day. I am content to watch."

~*~

In Ayse, John spends a very few minutes getting caught up with Rodney while Anbur talks to Zuhair. The visit is too short, and he leaves with the image of a very bored McKay.

After picking up Qahira in Halavasan, and Maisa in Tobat, John almost skims the earth while Anbur points out landmarks as they whip past, revealing the speed at which they're traveling. The passengers are on the edge of their seats, peering around the bulkhead to watch the view screen, chatting among themselves.

John can't pay attention to them; he's completely focused on maintaining the tight altitude over unfamiliar terrain.

The hard baked, flat ground begins to rise and swell, the tall, thick grass waves in his wake, and a herd of haltar scatter and run madly away from the puddlejumper.

John tops the rise of the land, and the valley below is lush and green. Anbur directs him to follow the river, and he keeps just above the trees clustered along its banks, their limp fronds trailing in the water. As they pass over a thundering waterfall, the city of Gadon appears, spreading away from the river, the ominous smoke over the forest on the other bank a warning to stay away.

A curious crowd gathers as he circles the intended landing zone near the city center. John has to pull up to avoid squashing the children that are dashing across the plaza. He finds a park that's not too far away as an alternate LZ.

The smell of humidity assaults him as they disembark. He can feel his skin soak up the moisture, and he breathes in the exotic atmosphere, the smell of ever-present smoke in the air.

The streets of Gadon are narrow and crooked, the houses low and constructed of wood and turf. The Patern chat with the crowd of people following them; John can't make out most of the conversation, the dialect is different from Peragro or Qaroptimat, so he just lets it wash over him as he watches the people. They tend towards leather in dress, and they're not so deeply tanned, but it's obvious that they're from the same original stock as the people he already knows.

Anbur points out their destination as they turn a corner. It's only slightly larger than the rest of the buildings, set back from the street on a well-kept lawn dotted with flowering gardens behind a low fence.

John starts to fall back, to allow the Patern go ahead of him, but Anbur grips his elbow and keeps John with him. They approach a young woman waiting to greet them from the veranda that stretches across the front of the low temple.

Anbur introduces John to Yusrah in Ancient and then launches into his request. John studies her; she can't be more than thirty, (Earth years, that is.) and her dark hair is pulled up into complicated ringlets that fall past her shoulders to frame her almost too sharp face. She's dressed very plainly in leather trousers and a chamois singlet belted at her waist.

Not once do her pale eyes stray, or look at Anbur as he talks, though she turns her head to face whoever is speaking; John realizes that she's blind, though her eyes are clear. He almost itches with the need to lay his hands upon her and, if possible, heal her. It's purely hubris, surely many have tried before, and obviously they've failed.

Yusrah calls out to one of her Idon, and directs him to have her things packed and to follow them to the park as she lifts her hand.

Anbur nods towards Yusrah, and John puts his hand in hers. She takes it, and slides her grasp up his arm to his elbow as he leads her back to the 'jumper. She asks him in Ancient, "So, you are the mysterious stranger who has become the Quaralyn. The viat returned from Makhuqat with many stories of your folk."

John nods and then realizes his mistake with a shake of his head. He stifles the urge to laugh at himself. "Um, I imagine that we are very strange indeed."

"But not as strange the others who fell from the sky."

"No. The Wraith are pretty strange." They've been his nightmare for almost two years now, strange doesn't even begin to cover it.

"Though we were not so misfortunate, we grieve for those afflicted by the... Wraith." She says it as if she's sampling an odd word, rolling it across her tongue. "It is said that your kind brought the Wraith to Dominat."

"Yes, that is true. They attacked us and caused our ship to crash, and then followed us here."

"It is the Will of Qaral, though most unfortunate for us all."

"Yes, it is."

"I should like to hear you speak in your language."

John chuckles, that's a first. "Well, I'm not really sure what to say—the quick red fox jumped over the lazy brown dog?"

"Hmm, it's not very pretty."

"Not generally no, it's very complicated, but sometimes it can be pretty."

He guides her up the short ramp, and she lets go of him, touching the benches and bulkheads, gently sniffing the air in the jumper, before sitting down. "Thank you, Quaralyn. This is very interesting."

"You're welcome." The rest of the party boards and John takes off as they get settled.

The flight to Jasrah is not long. The river splits again and again, turning into long, amethyst lakes. Jasrah is not dissimilar to Gadon, with the exception of long, flat skiffs crowded around the long docks that extend from the shore far into the lake. Zuhair remains behind to sit with Yusrah, and Fatih is summoned from his temple. The air is rife with the sound of water birds, and a breeze blows off the lake, ruffling John's hair. John's suddenly homesick for the lake house of his youth as he breathes in the thick smell of fish and vegetation.

Fatih is ancient, by far the oldest of all the Patern. At first he tries to send a proxy, claiming he's far too crippled to journey far, but the others convince him that it is merely a short walk. Fatih walks with a cane that's finely carved with familiar script, and upon reaching the puddlejumper, eyes it with suspicion. "How does it fly?"

John shrugs. "I don't know if I can explain it, but it does fly."

"I want to see it."

"Okay." He takes the 'jumper up a few hundred feet, circles around once, and then lands. He opens the hatch, and apparently the demonstration was effective, Fatih sits for the flight to Zadiyeh, perched high on the mountaintop in the ranges to the south of N'vellesem.

Tazim is delighted to see them. "My old friend! You look very recovered from the viat. How is your ship? Are you settled and happy?"

"Ship's a disaster. We're settled, but I can't say we're all that happy."

"That is too bad, must be very difficult. This is the little ship, makhuqat'an?"

"Huh. This is it."

"It is all very exciting, no?" Tazim crowds into the back of the puddlejumper, greeting everyone and chattering nonstop.

The western horizon is beginning to deepen towards mauve, and John's stomach growls. It's been a long day; his meslat sandwich a distant memory. He lifts off, and Anbur directs him home.

 

Day Three Hundred Sixty-Two

Diwan, carrying a package, summons John to the Ludahsediat four days later. "Master Anbur says you must wear these before the Council of Patern. Very important, and you must come now."

John shakes out the clothing. There's a fine white under tunic, loose pants and a long robe-like coat with a hood, made of finely embroidered scarlet cloth. "I don't know. It's awfully...bright," he says doubtfully.

"But you must! Master Anbur says."

"If Anbur says, then I guess I have to, huh?"

"It is very beautiful." Diwan touches the jacket and runs his fingertips across the silken thread worked into the fabric at the sleeves, around the collar and the edge of the hood.

John shrugs and cleans up a little, before shrugging into the new finery. "I feel like a hippy. All I need are some love beads."

"What is that?"

"They're, oh never mind. I'm ready."

~*~

The Patern are casually arranged around Anbur's office, and Elizabeth and Caldwell are standing near the door. Anbur is watching him closely, and John schools his face to not betray a single expression. "Elizabeth, Colonel."

Caldwell gives John a doubtful once over, but doesn't meet his eyes or speak. Elizabeth nods and looks away quickly. They're still wearing expedition uniforms, which are slightly frayed and sweat-stained. He understands now why Anbur wanted him in the fancy duds; it makes a statement, and sets him apart from them.

As the eldest, Fatih clears his throat and speaks. "We have spent many days arguing of the fate of the makhuqat'an." His expression hardens. "We have also discussed for many hours the Wraith, and the danger that you have brought to our world.

"The destruction of the House of Makhuqat, and the gifts it has given us are the Will of Qaral. It will take many years, but as Quaralyn, it is yours to see it rebuilt as you decide."

John nods. He destroyed it; he can accept that it should be his responsibility to restore the building, if possible.

"The makhuqat'an are another matter. The Quaralyn has given to us the responsibility for their dispensation, and we have decided thus." Fatih points at John. "One is to be given to Shepherd, for he has much to do, and so that he may travel freely among the people. They will need his presence and guidance." John can barely contain his excitement, and Anbur smiles at him freely.

"Two we will allow the nusquam to use, for even though they have brought us the Wraith, they have also shown us that their intentions are true. You have offered a great defense and prevented awful tragedy. May you continue to be our salvation from such things."

Elizabeth lets out a tiny sigh of relief. John knows that it's going to make a huge difference to them, ease some of the discord among the crews that are tired of the long walk to the Daedalus.

"Three and Four will remain at the disposal of this Council. There is a great change upon our peoples, and we must learn new ways to deal with the upheaval. What say you, Quaralyn?"

"That is fair. Thank you."

"And the nusquam?"

"We agree, and thank you for your consideration. The council is most generous and wise." Elizabeth bows, but Caldwell only tips his head.

John bristles almost imperceptibly at his discourtesy to the Council. It shows how little Caldwell understands or cares that they live as well as they do by the sufferance of these leaders. John suddenly realizes how much his perception of them has changed.

Fatih holds out a remote and motions Elizabeth forward. She takes it, and is dismissed. "That is all, you may go."

John turns to follow Elizabeth and Caldwell out, but Anbur calls him back. "John, a moment?"

"Sure." He ambles over, grinning widely. Someone has been paying attention, and there are deep pockets in his robe, his hands are jammed into them.

"This one is yours."

John takes the remote and shakes Anbur's hand. "Thank you, it was more than I had hoped for."

"I do not know why you would think so. It was obvious to us that it must be."

John's only reply is a quick lift of his brow. He looks around the room, the Patern are still talking to each other, not paying attention to them. "Who's going to get the other two jumpers—do I need to give them flying lessons?"

"Yusrah has no need for flying. Fatih and Maisa do not possess the gene, and Tazim is content to walk, he would not like to be cooped up in a little box. Qahira would like to learn once, to say that she has flown a makhuqat'an, but does not want the responsibility should the Wraith come."

That leaves Anbur and Zuhair, and John has a little flare of hope, that perhaps Rodney won't be so isolated. "What about their people? The 'jumper's are a pretty useful tool."

"And also a very potent symbol; none should like to give that power to any other, for fear of losing their own. We have been settled in our ways for thousands of anam, and while change is coming, it is best to let it happen slowly, hmm?"

"Okay," he replies slowly. It wasn't the reaction he was expecting, but it made sense. "When do they want to go home?"

"Tomorrow, perhaps the next day. Tonight we rest. Perhaps you would join us for a meal?"

 

Day Three Hundred Ninety-Two

"There is little more I can teach you, Quaralyn. The power you possess will overcome any lack of finesse, and that you will learn through practice."

"I'm through? I had thought it might take longer."

Neela laughs. "Longer? Before coming here, you took many months of Laith's time in learning to overcome your fear. That was your most difficult hurdle; my task was simple."

John wouldn't say it was simple, or easy, but the last month does seem brief, in retrospect. "Thank you, Neela, for the gift of your time."

"It was a pleasure. And I think there are many things that you must go and do now, do not linger upon the doorstep of an old woman."

John takes her hands and kisses the palm of each with a little swell of affection. "It was my pleasure, as well."

 

Day Three Hundred Ninety-Six

Makhuqat's crater is more impressive in the bright daylight; it's deep as expected and lined with glittering glass and tumbled stone.

Evan ventures a solution. "I dunno, maybe you could just park the ship down in the hole and build a roof over it."

Rodney gives him a disbelieving look. "Great, let's just put their single best technological tool in the bottom of a future lake bed, shall we?"

They glare at each other behind John's back, which he ignores. "You think it'll turn into a lake?"

"It's a hole in the ground, and lined with glass and it does rain. I'm not a geologist—why didn't you bring Petrov? He'd probably be thrilled to get out of town."

"That's not a bad idea." It would, he thought, be a nice gesture of solidarity and build a bridge between the expedition and Dominat. "Come on, we need to move Makhuqat back here, the rains will be coming soon."

 

Day Four Hundred Twenty Five - Five Hundred Fifty

The House of Makhuqat was more than a building; it was an intricate piece of technology far beyond the current abilities of any one on Dominat, save the nusquam.

John hasn't approached Elizabeth or Caldwell directly, but has allowed Anbur and Rodney to negotiate for the use of the scientists languishing in the Quarter; predictably, they are all eager to do something useful—or what they consider useful. John just smirks.

Rodney bitches and pisses about John shanghaiing him to figure out how it worked, but he cheerfully shows up every day with a boatload of engineers to oversee the dismantling of the remaining temple walls in order to scavenge parts and possibly manufacture replacements for what's been destroyed. John's thrilled that Rodney has at least this to occupy his mind, and glad that he's got Rodney on the job—no one else could figure it out.

Zuhair invokes the right of marriage on Rodney's behalf, and, at last, Rodney's wallowing in joy as he digs through the database, with his father-in-law and wife by his side, searching for any technical details on the solar-radiation collectors.

John's main contribution is vetting the final design, pointing out that the new stones could be moved from the quarry to the site by makhuqat'an, and occasionally playing referee between the scientists, traditional architects and stone masons as they hammer out the plans for the new House. So much of his time is spent in overseeing the rebuilding of the temple that John's given in to necessity and moved to Halavasan.

 

John makes a few forays out into Dominat, mainly to keep the Patern apprised of the progress on rebuilding the House of Makhuqat, and Yusrah and Fatih send John home with the makhuqat'an filled with meat, fish and grain to supply the ever growing assembly.

Many of the Marines volunteer to relocate temporarily to the site, to take down the old building and help to construct the replacement, and John enjoys their company. They're entirely respectful and glad to be doing something productive, and they get along well with the native craftsmen who've moved to Makhuqat as well. Anyone who shows up on viat is immediately put to work, and they cheerfully pitch in where they can, cooking, fetching or any other task they're given.

 

Day Six Hundred Sixteen

As he dresses, John can hear the puddlejumpers whine overhead; they're a little early. He's got to eventually find some local equivalent to running shoes; the sole of one has separated and flaps as he runs headlong down the narrow trail to where he keeps the makhuqat'an.

Everyone is standing around the ramps of the three 'jumpers. Evan's doing his best to translate between the Marines, engineers and scientists of the expedition, and the stonemasons from N'vellesem, Ayse and Zadiyeh. Hobeck, Faraj, Cadman and Timmons are listening with matching expressions of bemusement as they stand in the jumper next to crates of C4.

Today is the big day. Now it's time to start quarrying the stones for the walls. He'll check in on them and be available for consultations, but John intends to stand back and let the experts do their job.

"Hey, how's it going?" John shakes Evan's hand, waves to the Marines and greets the stonemasons with "Ze'omlat Dei."

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Neela passed on a message, asking if you could come to N'vellesem. Seems like a lot of people are catching whatever it is that has Beckett and Cole up to their elbows in patients."

There's no question. John knows what his duty is, and he'll go immediately, but the exciting stuff is going on here, and he's disappointed that he'll miss it. Cadman and Timmons speak Peragro with as much facility as John, and Evan is fast catching up, so he's not worried that they'll blow anyone up. "I guess I'll leave you to it, then. I probably won't have a chance to check the logs until late, if at all, but I'll leave the flight recorder running just in case."

"Yeah, one thing—I think Sabat might have caught it, she, uh, spends a lot of time in the Quarter."

John nods. "I'll make sure I look in on her, or send for her."

"Thanks, I really appreciate it."

"Don't worry about it, I'll take care of her." John's glad that Evan has finally succumbed to Sabat's steady campaign, though his affection for her was never really in question. "You guys have fun and be careful. Cadman's been briefed by Petrov on the mineral content of the rock, but it's still dangerous."

"It's okay, John, we have it under control here. Good luck."

"You too, I'll check in."

"Later, Sheppard."

John knows when he's being dismissed, and he boards the makhuqat'an and heads for N'vellesem.

~*~

When John arrives, the rememdium's house is in an uproar. Neela chivies Laith off to rest, and sets John to work in his place. She lays her hand on his as she monitors John's progress with a few of the easy cases, before leaving him to work on his own.

Laila from the school kitchens is there, keeping the healers hydrated and fed, and managing the flow of patients that never seems to end. John asks her to send one of the students to track down Sabat and have her come in for a check-up.

Neela takes a rest after Laith, and Laila passes John the patients with more and more advanced symptoms. He learns from each one, applying the lessons to the next. Sabat comes in, and she's barely ill. John works on her for a few minutes, and urges her to stay home for a few days.

 

Day Six Hundred Seventeen

John's not even sure how long they've been at it; it could have been days, when Laila ushers in Carson along with a bite to eat and a glass of sweet, strong tea. John's famished, and he immediately starts in on the fragrant stew, gulping down the scalding tea. "Hey, Carson, what's going on?"

"I came to ask a favor of you."

"Sure, have a seat; what can I do for you? How's things in the Quarter?" John has a moment of dissonance, thinking that their roles are about to be reversed, with Carson as his patient.

"We're mostly keeping up, but I believe that I've found ground zero for the epidemic."

"Really? Who?"

"Hermiod. I've just come from the Daedalus. He thought it was a symptom of something else, didn't think to mention it. I didn't know, until Novak called me out this morning."

"No shit?"

"Aye. It's taken months to jump transspecies, which is why the SARS seems to be so virulent—no one has any defense against it."

"You said he thought it was something else?"

"Yes. The reason the Hermiod's insisted on holing up in the Daedalus is that it gives him a bit of protection from the ambient radiation; his little cloned body is just too sensitive to this particular form of radiation."

John feels horrible, he's barely thought of Hermiod, and how it must be for him. While he's been out exploring and learning about their new world, Hermiod had been cooped up in the wrecked vessel, claiming that he was the one perfectly suited to maintaining their sky watch. "What can I do?"

"If you could see your way clear to go to him, maybe you'll be able to do something for him. I'm out of options, there's nothing I can do."

"I'll try, but this," John holds out his hands palms up, "is, well—I don't know. Sympathetic?"

"It's bloody well magic, from what I can see."

~*~

John hasn't been inside the Daedalus since his return from the viat. The corridors are dark and difficult to traverse because of the sharp angle at which she's resting. There's a dank, foul odor in the air, and John tries to breath through his mouth as much a possible. Carson's flashlight bounces off the bulkheads and deck, revealing a few tracks in the dust that has collected on the decks and bulkheads.

"The poor thing was still at his station when I arrived. I moved him to the infirmary for a bit of comfort."

The lights are on in the infirmary, spilling out into the corridor and casting shadows across the corners. Lindsay Novak is sitting in a chair pulled close to the bed, talking and hiccupping quietly. Hermiod is curled up on his side in a nest of sheets and blankets, and to his dismay, John discovers that Hermiod is the source of the awful smell. John gives Carson a look of horror and draws him back into the dark corridor. He whispers, "What is that smell? How can no one have noticed this?"

"Radiation—it's been rotting him away all this time, though it's probably just gotten to this point in the last few weeks. The crews have been reduced in size since we have the jumpers and they tend to work solely from the bridge. Kleinman and Novak are the only two Hermiod hasn't managed to scare off completely. Dave's last shift was two weeks ago, and Lindsay just arrived this morning. It's likely that the rest thought the odor was just the ship in general."

John recalls his own initial reaction to the alien, and wonders how much of that was just him, and how much was his response to Hermiod's superior attitude and standoffish behavior. He shakes his head as he walks away. John can't afford to wallow in guilt and fury over the debacle at the moment, but he plans on melting down later. He takes a deep breath and enters the infirmary.

"Colonel Sheppard, thank god you're here, it's awful, I can't believe..."

"Dr. Novak, could you give me a few minutes here?"

She scrambles out of the chair. "Oh! Sure, of course, I'll just go, do something." She hiccups as leaves.

"Hey, Hermiod? You awake?" John picks up the chair and moves it closer to the bed.

Hermiod opens his huge, black eyes and blinks once to clear runny fluid away. "John Sheppard. I am awake." He struggles to sit up, but John lays a hand on his thin, cool shoulder and gently holds him down.

"It's alright, you don't have to get up. I just came to see you. You're not doing so good, I hear."

Hermiod doesn't resist, and closes his eyes again. "I am sorry. I have never been 'sick' before, and thought the symptoms were only a matter of the radiation."

"But why didn't you tell anyone about the radiation?"

"There was no point in adding to anyone's burdens, and I had no desire to be pitied."

"That's... logical."

"Naturally."

John's still struggling to rectify his own tendency to pull away, and his almost terrifying intimate connection with people; the healing, and the way he draws strength and comfort from them. "If you were home, with your own people, would you do the same thing?"

Hermiod snorts and replies acidly, "If I were among my own, I would not be sick; my consciousness would be stored, until I could transfer into a new body. It has been so for more millennia than you can possibly imagine."

"So no Asgard has ever... passed on?"

"Many were lost in battle with the Replicators, and more were lost when we could not power the containers with their consciousnesses. But not—like this."

John vividly remembers dying, the sudden realization that this was going to be it, but he can't imagine knowing for months in advance, living with the understanding. "It's pretty scary," he says as Hermiod sighs.

"Yes."

John is astonished by the world of wearied pain in that single word. "I'd like to try and help you."

"You may try." There's no mistaking the resignation in his voice.

John curls his hand over Hermiod's tiny ribcage, ignoring the suppurating sores on his skin, and slowly sinks into him. His technique is mostly visualizing an ailment, and how it contrasts from normal, but Hermiod is so different, that John's assaulted by a dizzy sense of synthetic cubism. He has no comparison to know what's wrong with the picture. He withdraws slowly, but leaves his hand where it is, as a gesture of comfort. "I'm sorry."

"I did not expect success."

"I can stay, if you want."

"I find that prospect... appealing. Would you aid me to complete one, last task?"

"Of course, Hermiod. What do you want me to do?"

 

Day Six Hundred Nineteen

Hermiod's death strikes John hard, because it was completely senseless. They could've tied a couple of the naquadah generators into the Daedalus' shields, and he would have had years more. They wouldn't have missed those generators at all. Hermiod had known this, and he'd kept the information to himself, because, in the end, what was a handful of years to a being that had lived, in one form or another, for untold millennia?

John lets Novak cry on his shoulder for a while, before asking if the there's a way to automate the scanning and transmit the data to N'vellesem; she sniffs and hiccups as she scrubs at the damp spot on his robe and thinks.

"Yes, that's possible," she says in a wobbly voice.

Novak gets rest of the small crew to work on the project, and John makes sure that Carson is already planning to quarantine the ship before gathering up the things that he needs.

He has to go as far as Gadon to get a sufficient quantity of wood, and he hops over the North Sea to get a small quantity of the soft, silvery Lutetium to take back for Hermiod's funeral pyre. John checks with Novak to make sure that his plan will work; he doesn't want to trust just a regular fire to thoroughly incinerate the deadly disease in Hermiod's small corpse, nor does he want to contaminate the makhuqat'an by carrying him off into space.

John wraps a small amount of pliable C4 around the lump of volatile metal, guessing at how much it will take to ignite the Lutetium; it will burn, and burn hot, but he doesn't have a convenient lightning strike at hand.

The initial explosion is huge and messy, but the hot, blue fire is started, and John carefully adds Hermiod and the wood to the flames. He sits in the hot sun, tending the fire, until Hermiod is nothing but a pile of smoking ash.

 

Day Six Hundred Twenty Five

John grimly pitches in, stripping the last of the usable goods from the Daedalus, and piling them outside for the nusquam to ferry back at their leisure. When Novak's crew has the signal set, and the Quarter is picking it up on the radio, he gives all of them a quick check up to make sure that they're not going to reinfect the town.

It's been days, and when he calls Elizabeth to update her on the situation, he's still shaking at the total waste.

John dumps all of his anger onto her. Part of him is still furious that she'd blithely set him on this course, used him and then had the gall to call him onto the carpet when he stopped being her tool. He pours out every bit of acrimonious hurt and blame, never letting her get a word in his furious diatribe.

He gets it all out of his system, lets it all go. He's needed to do this for a long time, and though he knows that Elizabeth was blameless for Hermiod's circumstances and death, fair or not, she was a convenient scapegoat.

John stops at Halavasan to gather up some clean clothes, and to check on the week's progress at Makhuqat. He watches as a 'jumper lands, and the stone it carries is rolled neatly into place. Between the newly quarried stones and the dismantled pieces, the quick skill of the stonemasons have the short wall already completed with the first row of smooth, white stones, and another crew is reattaching the remains of the solar technology that recharges Makhuqat's ZPM's.

John does a quick check of every one at both the site and the quarry; some of the scientists and engineers are living in the Quarter, and he wants to make sure that no one's carrying or spreading the SARS.

Rodney had claimed that he needed a day at home with his family, and he wasn't on site. John gives Faraj a thumbs-up as the 'jumper rises into the air, before he takes off towards Ayse.

The broad, flat courtyard is a perfect landing zone, and by now every one knows to stay away as the makhuqat'an lands. John runs up the temple stairs. Landing inside the Arch of Qaralyn allows him to bypass it, and not make such a fuss and racket upon arrival.

He startles Muntasir as he takes the stairs two at a time. "Quaralyn!" He bows lows as he asks, "How may I serve you?"

John shakes his head. "I am looking for Dr. McKay."

"Ah, he is in his office just now."

"Thank you." John takes the stairs up to the third floor, and taps lightly on the door.

"What!" Rodney yells.

John opens the door, "Is that any way to greet the Quaralyn?"

"Sheppard. Get in here and close the door. I swear, I tell them I'm not to be disturbed, and what happens? It's a parade ground!"

"No, really! Tell me how you feel, McKay—don't bottle it up." John sprawls on the sofa.

Rodney gives John a crooked grin. "So, what can I do for you?"

"It's more like what I have for you." John sits up and digs a data pad out of his deep pocket, turning it over in hands. "I don't think it's common knowledge. Carson knows of course, but." John takes a deep breath. "Hermiod was not—well, it's the radiation. He was dying of radiation poisoning, and he got sick. The mold and mildew from the flood, well it mutated, and he caught some respiratory thing."

"Oh no."

"Yeah. There wasn't anything Carson or I could do for him except be there."

"Oh God, Hermiod's dead?" Rodney puts his face in his hands, elbows propped on the table.

Rodney treats almost every one poorly, and the smarter they are, the more adversarial he gets. John's seen it over and over, but he also sees that Rodney respects those other big brains, and Hermiod, his brain was definitely something that McKay respected, despite their sniping and snarking. "He left something for you." John leans over and pushes it onto the table.

Rodney wipes his face with his hands, sniffs quietly and swallows as he picks up the data pad. He turns it on and scrolls through it, his jaw dropping until he's open mouthed with shock. "Do you know what this is?"

John nods. "I helped him put it together."

"It's the key to everything he's had locked away on that workstation of his."

"Yeah. He said if anyone could use it, it would be you."

"Christ."

"There's a problem, though."

"What?"

"Hermiod's respiratory thing finally jumped over, and people are catching it. There have been a few deaths, so they put the scanners on automatic and routed an alarm back to the Quarter. The Daedalus has been quarantined, off limits for the foreseeable future."

Rodney throws the data pad down and leans back in his chair, elbow on the arm, and he rubs his forehead as he slumps down, looking at the data pad on the desk. "So, you're telling me that I have the key to everything, and I can't go get it?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Rodney."

"Not your fault, Sheppard, though I have been known to shoot the occasional messenger." He sits up, sliding the data pad into a drawer and locking it. "I'll just have to deal with it later." Rodney looks at the clock on the shelf. "It's nearly dinner time; you want to stay?"

"Love to." John needs this, a few hours of normality with the closest thing he has to family.

As usual, they eat at the low table in the study. John's tickling Rania and laughing when she giggles.

"Sheppard, you're going to make her throw up, stop."

"But she likes it!" John sits her upright on his lap as Shaaziya breezes in.

"Quaralyn." She sits in the chair next to Rodney, and he takes her hand and gives it a little kiss.

"You know, I used to be Sheppard. I know it's complicated, but when we're here—just us, could I not be the Quaralyn?"

Rodney gives her the look that says 'I told you'.

"I will try. Sheppard." She gives him a faint smile.

The servants enter the study, and after things are arranged, they start to back out of the room, nearly crawling.

John's through, he can't take any more of the bowing and scraping. He's never liked it, and the ire has been building for months, and. "Stop."

Every one of them halts instantly, their eyes cast down. "Here is how it is going to be from now on. You are going to stand up." When they shift their glances looking to see if the others are doing it, John says, "I mean it. Stand up."

They stand up as one. "Okay, now look at me."

It takes a moment for them to obey but they do. "I appreciate that you think you're offering me some great honor, but it's not necessary. In the future, you will walk in and out of here upright, and you will not bow or abase yourselves in front of me. Understand?"

They nod wordlessly. "Okay then."

When they leave, they're backing out and bowing low.

John sighs. "I guess that's going to take some reinforcement."

 

Day Six Hundred Twenty-Eight - Eight Hundred Seventy-One

After a few days in Ayse of making sure that the epidemic hasn't spread, John takes off and heads out in his makhuqat'an, on a trip that's part epidemic containment and part Grand Tour. He falls into a routine that he follows for a full anam; he'll stay in a place for a handful of days, healing when needed and getting acquainted with the people and landscapes. He appreciates that there's always someone thrilled to feed him or provide him with a bed.

Occasionally he'll camp out in the makhuqat'an, sleeping bag arranged so that he can see the stars in the sky, especially if someone providing him with a bed means that they intend to go without.

He stops in Ayse to visit with Rodney, Rania and Shaaziya for a day or two, and then back to his cottage in Halavasan to spend some time working at the Temple, and sleep in his own bed, where there's always clean linens and freshly prepared food waiting for him. After a day or two, he takes off again, the draw of the land and people too strong to ignore.

There's nothing he needs that isn't given to him freely, and in return John learns what he has to give is valuable to everyone, though he's never so far gone that he believes himself. He discovers that while the Qaroptimat are unique in the depth of their devotions, he's sensitive to the sympathetic vibrations of everyone.

It puts his misery in the Quarter into context, and he understands that eventually he'll have to learn to deal with it, because the people from the Quarter are still his people - that single, taut thread that ties his past and his future together.

John still feels weak and shattered when he even thinks of returning to the Quarter though, so he puts it out of his mind, and revels in both his duty and his freedom.

 

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