Ok nugget, kick the tires, light the fires,
select Zone 5, tag the bogey
but don't get in a furball.
Don't boresight, check six,
bingo to Mom — Got it?
http://www.tailhook.org/AVSLANG.htm

~*~

Day One

John looks at the tiny screen of the F-302, which shorts and rolls a few times. He waits it out until the targeting viewer comes back online. The rogue virus ship is in the center of the screen, and he has a lock. He fires and tracks the AMRAAM that heads on course, until it suddenly and inexplicably veers off screen and into the sun's corona, missing the target altogether.

John swears softly, and dives after the infected F-302. "Rodney!"

"What just happened? Are you crazy?" Rodney has been holding it together, but his voice edges into a higher register as he takes in John's heading.

"Listen up, I think the virus managed to worm into the active guidance system on the Slammers."

Rodney swears, "Oh, Christ."

The hangar bay was open to vacuum, no way to land, fix the problem and go back out. "Daedalus, the first missile failed to reach its target. I've got one more, and this time I'm going to try to ram it down its throat." Maybe he could initiate the internal radar sensors on the missile if he got close enough. The rogue F-302 seriously reminds John of his particularly tenacious ex-wife.

The reply is broken, but John picks out "..stood... careful..." from the static.

"Sheppard! Bad idea! We've probably already gotten enough radiation to make my hair fall out!" Rodney's hysteria is reaching full-blown proportions.

John coolly ignores the impending breakdown behind him; their very survival depends on this working. "Sorry, Rodney, we have to do this. Just a few more seconds."

"Sheppard, every minute longer we're out here, playing in the sunlight, we're increasing our chances of not surviving this stunt. Have you ever seen anyone who's had too much radiation?"

"Yes, Rodney I have." John distinctly recalls having this conversation on Atlantis. John flips the 302 over, dives on the z-axis and twists in a way that wouldn't be possible in anything John has flown before—including a 'jumper. He thinks 'sweet' just before firing his last missile from a direction that he hopes will catch the rogue off guard. That, more than anything John says, shuts Rodney up.

When it fails to acquire its target and goes the same way as the first, John turns back towards the Daedalus. "This is Sheppard, the mission was no joy, I repeat, no joy. Returning to base."

John lands smoothly in the airless hangar bay and noses the craft as close to the inner door as possible. "Flight, we're home. Any idea how we're going to get out of here?"

"We're working on it. It was worth a try, John." Elizabeth's voice over the radio is sick with disappointment.

John is interrupted before he can apologize for failing to destroy the target. "Brace for impact!"

Klaxons begin to wail, and the Daedalus is hit, shuddering and groaning. John and Rodney are helpless, trapped in their F-302, listening to the damage reports overlapping one another and coming in fast and furious. The hyper-drive is damaged, Hermiod is down, life support systems are offline—status unknown, and crewmen are trying to close bulkhead doors manually to prevent the affected sections from venting their atmosphere out into space.

"This is bad, really bad." Rodney is talking to himself at this point. "I can't do anything out here, mechanical engineering isn't like astrophysics, and I need hands-on, visuals to work with."

Suddenly the sub-light engines are running, John can tell, because he can feel the heavy throbbing through his seat. He can't stand it anymore, he has to know. "What the hell's going on up there?" he shouts into the radio.

Colonel Caldwell gives him a terse sit rep. "The rogue took out our hyper-drive engines, we've sustained serious damage to the life support systems. We've got sub-light engines for the moment, so we're going to try to land on the closest planet so we can effect some repairs."

"Huh," is all Rodney has to say.

John goes tense at the sudden lack of vibration when the sub-light engines go offline again without warning. The ship's intercom is blaring an alarm telling all hands to secure for impact, and Caldwell barks at John over the radio. "Sheppard, take off, get out of there. You're not secured for landing."

"Roger that." He'd jammed the nose of the F-302 in as close to the door as possible, which wasn't the ideal position for a quick getaway. As John turns the craft around, the jet engines are probably damaging everything in his wake, but he can't worry about that right now.

Finally John gets them free, and he takes off. He circles around the Daedalus and assumes the standard fighter escort position, just off her port bow.

Neither John nor Rodney is talking about it; they're both still hoping that the sub-light engines can be restarted and the impending landing can be controlled to some degree. John watches the tiny planet in question as it swiftly grows larger and larger. It's striped in wide swaths of red and green bands surrounding the tiny white poles, and if it weren't for those, he'd say it looked remarkably like Mars. He wonders if the Daedalus has had a chance to determine whether or not they were even going to be able to breathe down there. The green gives John some reassurance that it will be okay.

They lose sight of the Daedalus momentarily as they pass through the wispy clouds at extreme altitude, and the Daedalus' velocity increases geometrically as she falls towards the planet, creating a thin, blue contrail. The heat flare around the Daedalus flashes up in sheets of blue, and all hope of avoiding a crash dies as she arrows towards the red equator.

From his vantage point in the air, the crash is spectacular in the burnished purple light of a sunset. The trajectory is low and long, and there is a brief flash of fire around the ship that flames up blue and red and hot, until Daedalus' high velocity quenches the fire, pushing the air away as it reaches the ground.

The huge ship skips and skids along the ground, leaving behind her a long, dark gouge as spectacular sprays of sand are thrown up around her, along with pieces of the ship that fly off and litter the trail behind her. It seems as if she takes forever to come to stuttering halt, but when John looks at his watch, it has really been only a couple of minutes. He does a slow fly-by of the smoking ship, through the rapidly clearing clouds of dust that obscure the site, judging if he can see the hangar well enough to make the landing, or if he should even try, considering the smoldering, cherry red hull.

John checks his fuel monitor, and it's edging towards the red bars at the bottom end; he decides to land anywhere he can, for if he doesn't they'll crash and burn, too. The dissipating dust cloud reveals that the port hanger bay is buried in sand, and though the right is nominally free, the Daedalus is tilted down at the stern. John could make it—he's done crazier things in aircraft—but because Rodney's in the back seat, he doesn't take the chance.

The sand billows around them, and the 302 does its own hop and skip when John lands a couple of hundred yards away from the Daedalus. They sit for a moment while John takes in the situation; there is a scent of fear-quickened sweat and high-octane fuel in the cockpit, and John can hear the faint patter and hiss of sand landing on the canopy as the dust clears. The temperature in the cockpit is rising fast, and rapidly reaching uncomfortable levels.

The gravity feels higher than normal, but John can't tell if the sick feeling he has in his gut is that or distress. He clamps down on the nausea, promises himself the time to freak out later. He tries to raise the bridge on the radio, but he doesn't get an answer. He undoes his seat restraints to turn around and check on Rodney. "You okay?"

Rodney's eyes are huge and focused on the broken ship. "We are so fucked."

"Yeah. Come on, let's get out of here." John keeps his voice even and light, not even allowing a hint of his horror to bleed through.

"Wait! What if the atmosphere's not viable?" Rodney's voice quavers, he's not nearly as successful at maintaining calm, never been good at hiding his fear.

"Well, pretty soon, we're not going to have any air in here either and if the air out there is bad, then we might as well get it over with quick." John pops the canopy, but he'll never admit to McKay that he's holding his breath.

He takes an exploratory sniff. The air is so hot and dry that it burns the inside of his nose, but not enough to kill the overwhelming, burnt, acrid odor of Daedalus. John can feel the dehydration setting in, the heat has him sweating instantly, and the sunlight is blindingly, brilliantly white. John takes a deep breath, even though it feels like it's searing his lungs, despite the foul smell of the crashed ship. "We're good. You can breathe now, Rodney."

He hears an explosive breath as Rodney noisily sucks in the arid, dusty air and immediately begins coughing and swearing, "Jesus," at the smell.

Ignoring his own hypocrisy, John allows himself a grim smirk at Rodney holding his breath.

Exiting the craft without a ladder takes some care, but it's possible under normal circumstances, though the extra gravity makes this particular exit problematical. "Make sure you stand where it's marked in yellow, don't stand on the wing any further out. Then slide off, like this." John sits down and slides off the trailing edge of the wing. He falls faster than expected, and his landing is awkward and painful. "Piece of cake." He stands up, trying to dust off his hands and pants for a moment before giving it up as a lost cause.

"Sure, if you're some sort of gymnastic monkey," Rodney grumbles. He sits down and turns around to slide off from his stomach, making an ungainly landing in the sand. "Christ, I feel like I've gained fifty pounds." He lies there, looking up into the violet-colored sky.

John shades his eyes with a hand and takes a look around. A sea of sand surrounds them, but there is a distant mountain range already dim with the coming dusk. The sky is definitely purple, and the nascent sunset is painted in glorious shades of violet and lavender. "Nice hopping."

"Very funny." Rodney's tone is sarcastic, but when John sneaks a glance over at Rodney, his tiny crooked smile morphs into a grimace. "Do you suppose they're all dead?"

John shrugs, "Doubt it, radio's probably just damaged from the landing."

"Crash. Not landing." Rodney replies absently; his attention is glued to the Daedalus.

"Right."

By unspoken agreement, they walk the length of the Daedalus to do a visual inspection of the apparent structural damage, in spite of heavy gravity that saps their strength and the hot, dry, dusty air that has Rodney still coughing. There are heat stress fractures, impact fractures, and a sick twist in the still hot hull that is burned with streaks of blue and black.

"Blue." Rodney almost reaches out to touch it, but yanks his hand back.

"What?"

"Blue. There were blue flames, which in a normal oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere reentry would cause red, or orange flares. The blue flames indicate to me that there's something in the atmosphere, and since we're not choking on hydrocarbons—that smell is probably the Daedalus—that leaves me with the suspicion that there's something in the atmosphere. I could guess what that might be, but it would be pure speculation. I have to admit though, I'm already speculating."

"Oh." John cuts off Rodney's science lesson, he's far too miserable to have to deal it with at the moment. He doesn't have to see the other side of the ship; it probably looks the same as this one. John heads for the airlock, but the door is too hot to handle and probably jammed as well. He walks to the open hangar, and stands there contemplating the angle and the probability of being able to land.

Rodney reaches out towards the metal rungs, but jerks his hand back. "It'll take days for the hull to cool down enough to touch."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I don't want to leave the 302 out here, either. Come on."

John gives Rodney a boost up onto the wing, and then Rodney pulls him up. The engines kick up a new cloud of sand, but he's got a good mental image of the target area, and there is plenty of room to land. John angles the F-302 gently into the hangar.

The inner door to the ship's corridors will only open a little more than half way. John easily slides in sideways, but Rodney has to squeeze through. The klaxon is still blaring and people are running through the hallways, their panic stark in the red emergency lighting.

John and Rodney make their way to the bridge where a thin haze of smoke hangs in the air, and an acrid odor of burnt electronics burns their eyes and throats. Colonel Caldwell is trying to direct the chaos while conferring with his XO, Major Randall.

John gets his attention. "Colonel Caldwell."

Caldwell gives them a tight nod. "Sheppard, good to see you made it. What happened out there?"

"The missile wouldn't acquire the target, sir, I think the guidance systems were affected by the virus, too. They certainly acted that way."

Caldwell shakes his head in disgust. "It was a commendable effort, Sheppard." John's still mortified over his failure, but it could be worse—they could be hanging in space, suffocating and waiting for the Wraith to show up for dinner.

Caldwell turns to Rodney, "Dr. McKay, they could probably use your assistance in engineering."

"Going." John guiltily watches Rodney exit the bridge; he's not moving at top speed, and he's listing a little to the left. He hadn't intended on taking Rodney along on a suicide run, it just ended up that way.

"Sheppard." Caldwell interrupts John's worry for Rodney, and hands him a data pad. "Round up the pilots and get me damage reports on the '302s and the hangar bays."

He doesn't have to tell Caldwell just how bad the external damage is, Caldwell is already operating under the assumption they are shipwrecked. Even the slightest fracture would make the Daedalus leak atmosphere like a sieve, and she had already sustained damage before the crash.

Not having to say the words out loud at this moment is a minor blessing.

John commandeers Major Lorne, who was slated to be his XO on Atlantis, to inventory the starboard hanger, and then heads downhill to the port side. They haven't spent much time socializing on board, figuring Atlantis was just a couple of weeks away. It looks like that they'll have plenty of time to get to know each other now.

They are here to stay.

~*~

Caldwell begins the briefing many hours later. "Let's start with the good news. Obviously the atmosphere is breathable; Major Randall reports that recirculating the air on board isn't a power issue due to multiple hull breaches. The water reclamation system is working, but the pumps have been shut down until they can track down and repair a number of leaks. We have all of the supplies that were intended for Atlantis, along with the Daedalus' regular stores. There are at least ten Naquadah generators on board, but conservation should be one of our top priorities.

"The bad news is the sensor array is down, and the sub-light engines are damaged, though it's possible they can be repaired to recharge the ship's batteries. We were able to quickly contain the leaks in the fuel storage tanks, but the lowest levels are off limits until that can be cleaned up. Dr. Sodeburg, what's the situation in the infirmary?"

Sodeburg looks gray with fatigue and grief, as he pushes a data tablet across the table to Caldwell. "That's the casualty list; twenty so far, including eight civilians. There are eighteen more with serious injuries, evenly divided among the crew and passengers. We're doing our best, but several of them could go at any time. Another seventy or so minor injuries. They keep trickling in and Doctors Beckett and Cole have it under control for the moment. Most of the passengers are experiencing panic attacks, though the crew members that are occupied seem to be faring a little better. Hermiod took a massive knock to the head in the crash, and Dr. McKay's in the infirmary with a bit of sunburn, vomiting and complaining about nausea. Colonel Sheppard, how do you feel?"

Dr. Sodeburg's litany is sobering. "I'm fine," John says quietly. The extra weight is taking its toll though, and he's exhausted; they all are.

Sodeburg gives him a brief, appraising glance, "It's possible that McKay's more sensitive to the radiation, and he was already compromised due to the coolant leak."

Caldwell nods as he grimly scans the data tablet. "Thank you, Doctor. Colonel Sheppard?"

"Out of sixteen F-302s in inventory, we're down to six that are immediately operable. The rest are either stuck in the port hangar, a total loss, or can be relegated as hangar queens—spare parts. Of course, there is still one out there. Sir, we need to go after it and shut it down, or we're going to have a worse problem on our hands. "

"Agreed. Put together a flight plan and keep me apprised. Anything else?"

Elizabeth's voice quavers slightly as she broaches the topic of actually being shipwrecked. "We have no idea how long we're going to be here, or if the SGC will be able to mount a rescue, considering the situation there. We need to get a comprehensive list of the talents and skills of everyone on board, the types of things that aren't on their service jackets or CVs. We should also do a little exploration of our surroundings."

John takes that task. "Lorne and I can do a an aerial survey in the morning."

Caldwell brings the briefing to an end quickly. "Dr. Weir, you're in charge of the crew inventory, I'm sure that you're aware that they are going to need some hand holding. Dr. Sodeburg, I'll arrange for a burial detail to report to you as soon as it's possible to leave the ship. We'll meet again tomorrow at the same time."

John leaves the briefing and heads straight for the infirmary. It's crazy with nurses and medics running in and out, every bed and gurney is full, and those not lucky enough to at least get a chair, like Rodney, are huddled in frightened clumps as they wait their turn for attention.

John kneels beside Rodney; he's slumped over and a blanket's been tucked in around him, a cannula stuffed up his nose, wires trailing out of his grimy t-shirt, and he looks rather green around the gills. Rodney opens one eye and scoots to sit up.

"God, Rodney, I'm sorry, I had no idea."

"Me neither, until I threw up inside a console and passed out. It sort of snuck up on me. Hermiod's in a snit—it was his work station."

John tries to get a visual image in his head of the Asgard's expression as his equipment was sullied, but he can't do it. "I can imagine," he lies. "How is the naked one?"

"Astoundingly resilient. Novak is playing nursemaid, nagging him to rest. Hermiod is pissed. Well, more pissed than usual."

"How are you?" John solemnly studies Rodney.

"I feel terrible, but it's not all bad, Dr. Cole is hot." Rodney looks scared but he's obviously trying to gain some semblance of normality as he gives John a weak smirk.

John can't quite bring himself to witty repartee after Dr. Sodeburg's sobering report.

"I heard that." The doctor in question appears next to them and gives Rodney a faint glare. "Let's get these off of you." She reaches inside Rodney's shirt to unclip the leads to the monitor and then closes the valve on the oxygen.

Rodney wrestles the cannula off over his head and hands it to her. "Oh yeah, I think she just teletransports—I never hear her coming."

John holds out his hand to her and introduces himself. "John Sheppard. Pleased to meet you."

Dr. Cole takes his hand and gives it a firm shake. "Paige Cole—likewise." She glances at McKay then Sheppard. "I've released McKay to his quarters, I need the room. Can I trust you to see him there safely?"

Rodney snickers faintly, "I guess your reputation precedes you."

John ignores the smart-ass comment. "Sure, I can do that."

"Thank you, Colonel."

John makes sure that McKay face-plants onto his bed facing uphill and then heads off to his own quarters.

 

Day Two

The events of the day weigh heavily on John and he doesn't sleep well or long. John flops around in his bunk, trying to find the best position so that he's not sleeping with his head downhill, or rolling out of the damn thing. John has a new, sudden sympathy for pregnant women: sudden weight gain, swollen ankles, and the general feeling of being exhausted to the point where it's impossible to sleep.

He lies awake, wrestling with guilt. He feels personally responsible for the almost unbelievable fact that they're shipwrecked on a planet in the Pegasus galaxy. He replays the encounter with the rogue over and over, trying to figure out where he went wrong, what he could've done to prevent this disaster, but the equipment failure was out of his control.

John is already awake when Major Randall comes around to pass out the water-rationing reminder, so he skips the shower and heads to the commissary. It probably didn't work, anyway.

There are a few wary, haggard souls there, with either nowhere else to go, or no wish to be alone. John recognizes a couple of them; Rodney had pointed them out early in the journey from Earth, dividing them into either idiots foisted upon him, or not stupid, but likely to crack under the stress all the same.

At the time John had simply wondered if Rodney had been talking out his ass, but now... he sees that Rodney was right on the money. They eye John warily, and he nods at them pleasantly as he gets some breakfast.

The galley master is used to running a twenty/four seven operation, and so there are sweet rolls, sausage and eggs already out in warming trays. He can hear the sound of clattering pans in the galley. The stomachs of the crew don't know from shipwrecked, and life goes on.

John goes through the nearly empty serving line, and surreptitiously looks around for a table as far from the unhappy scientists as possible. He doesn't even realize that he's made a critical error with the coffee cup until he sets his tray down, and the coffee sloshes over the top. He swears softly and picks up the cup and nearly burns his mouth as he takes a few drinks to reduce the level so it won't spill. He ignores the mean snickers from the peanut gallery as he retrieves some serviettes to sop up the mess.

All annoyances and burned mouth aside, it's still a thrill to eat chicken eggs, pork sausage, coffee and real cream, and he tucks in with relish. The SGC feeds its personnel well when they can, and it's an attitude that John can get behind. 'At least until it runs out' is a familiar refrain in the lexicon of the few Atlantis regulars; the rest are in for a shock as the fresh food supplies begin to peter out.

He's just sipping the last of the cooled coffee, half an eye on the table in the corner, when Lorne joins him. "Morning, Major."

Lorne is about to make the same mistake he had and he snakes a hand out to pick up the cup just as Lorne puts his tray down.

"Oh, of course. Thank you, Colonel." Lorne looks still tired, and there is a worried shadow in his eyes. He takes the cup from John and sips it slowly.

"Not exactly what you expected, is it?"

"Gate teams have been going missing and personnel have been getting stranded at the SGC for years." Lorne is trying to sound confidant, but the shadow in his eyes gives him away. He picks up his fork and begins to eat slowly.

"We spent a long time thinking that we were never going to get home, I guess it's not so difficult for us." John instantly realizes how that sounds, us and them. "No offense, Major."

"None taken, sir."

He pauses to take a bite and swallow. "I understand the Slammers active guidance systems were corrupted by the virus."

"Yeah, we didn't think about that. I figure we could just eliminate the guidance system, fire them on infrared radar instead, and be done with it."

"It will take some skill, and an overpowering force. How many do you want to send up?"

"Betty's still got one missile left," John stops when he sees the strange look that Lorne gives him. "Long story. Anyway, by my count, the rogue still has one missile left, so when the first group goes up, there is a chance it could take out one of us."

"If we take the entire complement at once, then we'll have a better chance of a kill on the first try."

John nods. "Sounds like a plan. You, me, Hobeck, Faraj, Reinholt and Levenson." He stands up, and Lorne begins to stand as well. "Sit, finish your breakfast. I'll go start cleaning up the armaments, and you corral the pilots when you're done."

"Will do, sir." Lorne gives Sheppard a quick salute, and rather than return the gesture, John just nods and leaves the commissary to file a flight plan before heading to the hangar bay.

There is a guard on the still-open door; the Daedalus is listing badly, and none of the exterior doors will slide open or closed. They'll have to find some way to secure these doors or else to post a permanent guard rotation to prevent any unwanted wildlife or visitors crawling in.

It's still hours before dawn, and the hangar is dark and chilly. John walks to the open end, and stands there a moment, looking at the night sky. The stars are very dim, they are on the far edge of the Pegasus galaxy, but mostly they're obscured by a brilliantly colored aurorae. The lights shift and twist on a vast array of colors. He stands there in awe for a moment, before shaking himself out of his reverie.

John flips the light on and shrugs into a pair of coveralls for the warmth. Starting with the aircraft closest to him, he grabs a ladder and a screwdriver and begins his task; remove the shielding, pull the tiny guidance system module out, reinstall the shielding and then move onto the next.

John has only finished two missiles when Lorne, and all of the pilots join him. Soon, they have the six F-302's ready to launch. Out of curiosity, he tries his radio again, and, to his relief, Caldwell answers him immediately. "Colonel, we're ready to do some hunting. I'm taking up all six for the initial attempt. Randall has the flight plan."

"Very good, Sheppard. Stay in touch."

John climbs in and starts his preflight. A radio check confirms that his attack force is ready. The landing signal officer waves them out into the pre-dawn dark, and, one after the other, the 302s take the tricky exit.

The inertial dampeners cancel out the extra gravity, but John hears the engines overworking to compensate. They rocket through the thin shell of atmosphere and into space.

John hopes that the rogue F-302 won't stay hidden for long. "This is Foxtrot Alpha. Spread out, and break radio silence only when you sight the objective."

His reply is a short of chorus of double clicks, signaling an affirmative. They are in pursuit mode.

The target is quickly sighted. "This is Foxtrot Foxtrot. I've got the target in range."

The wing breaks formation to surround the rogue on the x-, y- and z- axis to prevent it from finding an opening to escape. John issues the command to fire, and several of the missiles hit the target, which explodes in an immensely satisfying way as each pilot veers off in a pre-arranged 90-degree turn on their own x-axis to prevent collisions. They are back in standard formation within moments and John clicks over to the command channel. "Caldwell, this is Sheppard, the target is destroyed."

"Good work, Sheppard. Proceed with Dr. Weir's aerial survey."

"Affirmative." Too bad it hadn't been that easy yesterday. John switches his radio to broadcast and lays out the plan to the formation. "Good work. Dr. Weir wants an aerial survey, so let's take a few minutes to get the lay of the land on the way back. Standard mapping formation, lay it out in grids."

The Daedalus had belly-flopped in the center of a strip of desert between two mountain ranges. The desert runs for miles to the north and John only sees desert, desert, and more desert, but Reinholt gets the coordinates of a settlement of some kind in the eastern range, and Hobeck sees one in the west. Levenson reports a canyon two klicks to the south and another mountain range to the extreme far south.

Lorne reports that there is literally nothing near the equator on the opposite side of the planet, no settlements as far as he can see. Hobeck and Faraj have the two poles, both of which appear to be surrounded by shallow seas with nearby forested regions, of which large sections are on fire. They all report various small settlements scattered in the mountains and the plains in a vaguely elliptical zone centering on the desert where the Daedalus lays.

The sighting of two nearby villages, and the confirmation that the planet is suitable for long-term habitation is encouraging. Sunrise begins just after John has landed, and the craft are secured. Standing on the edge of the hangar deck, he reaches out to check the temperature of the exterior hull; cooler but still too hot to be climbing out of the ship.

He marks the time of sunrise on his watch. Night was only ten hours long. The planet is much smaller than Earth or Lantea, and much closer to the sun. Mars is what the place reminds him of, and he can't shake the feeling that Dejah Thoris is going to come strolling around the corner.

John grins to himself and thinks of Rodney. He'll want to hear that. John goes to check on him in his cabin, knocking on the open door once he arrives.

"Glad to see you're up. How do you feel?"

Rodney turns to fix a baleful glare at John. "Better, now that I'm not dying of radiation poisoning, thank you very much."

John shrugs with only a slight tilt of his shoulders. He's already apologized once; Rodney won't thank him for blathering on about it. "You want to get something to eat?"

"I was just on my way down." Rodney doesn't bend down to put on his boots, just shoves his feet into them, leaving them untied.

They walk through the dim, cool corridors, and few people are about. John doesn't know whether the lights are low to preserve the appearance of night, or if they're conserving power. Rodney interrupts his reverie. "So, tell me what's been going on."

"Well, the rogue 302 is finally out of commission. Elizabeth is doing some social experimenting on the crew, and we found two villages; one on either side of us."

"Wait, social experiment?"

"She's taking a survey to find out what talents everyone is hiding."

"Oh well, yes. That makes sense." Rodney doesn't mention Betty; he already knows that it was left transmitting a signal to the Wraith for far too long.

The commissary is far busier now, but the pervasive, sullen atmosphere is still hanging over the room. John doesn't feel too guilty about the second cup of coffee while he sits with Rodney.

"Trying to keep your girlish figure?" Predictably, Rodney has already figured out the problem with liquids and the angle of the ship.

John kind of wishes he'd been there, for the pure, entertainment value. "I had breakfast a couple of hours ago."

Atypically, Rodney doesn't manage to eat much, and, after pushing the rest of it around for few minutes, he gets up and dumps it out. "I suppose I've got a lot of things to do today." He sounds lackluster and depressed, but then who doesn't? They're shipwrecked.

The bridge is nearly empty, save for a few technicians repairing the electronics, and they find Elizabeth in the conference room.

"Rodney, I'm glad to see that you're feeling better." Elizabeth tries for a reassuring smile, but fails miserably.

"I don't know about better, but I am upright and mobile." Rodney shrugs and throws himself into a chair.

Elizabeth admonishes him, "Take it easy, Rodney. I don't want you overextending yourself into a relapse."

Rodney doesn't reply, but his mouth is set in an unhappy twist. John knows that Rodney will come through for them—he always has—but in the end it will be a futile effort, it won't change their situation.

"John, Colonel Caldwell tells me that you've found two villages."

"Hobeck and Reinholt saw them, I was approaching from the north, and all I saw was desert. It got pretty uncomfortable out there yesterday."

"Not to mention the extra weight I seem to have put on overnight," Elizabeth says dryly.

"Yeah." John supposes that they could have found a more miserable place to crash, but not likely.

Elizabeth changes the subject in a fake, bright voice. "Colonel Caldwell says that as soon as the replacement array is up, we can begin putting out a distress signal."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Rodney asks in a suspicious tone.

"What do you mean, Rodney?" Elizabeth tips her head and pins him with an incredulous look. A distress signal was the first, obvious thing to do.

"We know the Wraith AI was transmitting a signal, a Hive ship is probably on its way here even as we speak. A distress beacon is just going to wave a red flag and say 'hi, here we are'." Rodney waves his hands in the air to illustrate his point. "It'll be weeks before Atlantis decides we're missing, and months until the SGC can send another ship to look for us."

"Good point. We should deploy all of the Mark IVs to the hangar bay now."

John raises his eyebrow at that. When did Elizabeth put herself in direct military line of command?

"I think we need to determine if the planet has a gate, and get the hell out of here if we can. When the new array goes up, it should be easy to determine if there's any Naquadah on the planet. I can tie the sensors into the '302s to extend its range."

Elizabeth nods. "Very well, you know what to do."

Rodney stands up, "I'm on it." He leaves the conference room, but he's only walking, not at his normal near run.

Elizabeth gives John a worried look. "Keep an eye on him."

John shrugs and gets up to follow Rodney. There are worse things than scientist-sitting, and he would've been doing it anyway.

~*~

During the wait for the hull to sufficiently cool down so they can climb down the side of the ship, John learns to deal with the ship's angle to gravity.

Mostly it's an annoyance: remembering to fill a cup only two-thirds full or catching the odd implement as it rolls off a table. Walking in the lateral corridors is an exercise in balance, because of the tilt of the ship. The transverse corridors are more strictly uphill and downhill, and John starts to avoid certain ladder hatches, because it feels like he's climbing upside down.

The real problem is with the bunks. He helps Major Randall deal with a rash of requests for reassignment of quarters, because the inhabitants are rolling out of the offending beds.

It takes three more days for the hull to cool down, but the time isn't wasted. John tries to figure out a way to access the F-302s in the port hangar, but the door is permanently jammed shut. It will have to be cut open with a torch after they dig it out of the sand, but the engineering staff laughs his idea; they don't have any thing capable of cutting though the trinium-reinforced hull.

Rodney is still listless, but working alongside the crews that are busy repairing the sub-light engines and other critical systems.

Luckily the upper access hatches aren't jammed closed, and the sensor array goes up without a hitch. The array, even with the F-302's extending its range, doesn't find any trace of Naquadah, or other power source above the low-level background radiation the planet seems to be bathed in. It does detect high levels of several fairly rare elements, some of which are only found in laboratories on Earth. Their presence explains the fires near the poles. While not particularly flammable in and of itself, Lutetium burns very hotly when ignited, allowing fires to rage out of control.

John laughs at Rodney when he geeks out over a mineral, because it doesn't add up to a hill of beans unless they can get off this god-forsaken rock.

~*~

The conference room has become the war room, and Dr. Beckett shows up after he gets the initial report on the sensor data. "I'm concerned about the long term effects of the background radiation, though the ship's hull does still provide some protection even in the condition it's in. I'm going to recommend that we spend as little time outside as possible, at least until Dr. Sodeburg and I have a chance to study the data."

John and Rodney manage to share an incredulous look at the overly cautious request—they've been cooped up in the ship for five days, and there are people living on the planet, but Caldwell frowns and agrees. "I'll send out an all-ship bulletin to ask that every one stay in the ship when possible." Carson nods and leaves them to their meeting.

John clears his throat and puts forth the harebrained scheme he's been contemplating for the last couple of days. "The hyperspace engines on the 302s were proven unstable for long range jumps, but it's theoretically possible to make it to Atlantis if done in a series of short jumps. We could modify one of them to allow for extended range and plot a course that would allow it to make stops along the way."

Rodney soundly berates him. "Are you kidding me? That's a deathtrap, not a rescue mission!"

"But the question is, will it work?" Elizabeth is grasping at whatever straws of hope she can.

Rodney muses for a moment. "Possibly; I did rewrite the protocols for O'Neill to send the gate a few million miles away." John smirks and Rodney rolls right over it. "But it was a completely uncontrolled jump that had a bomb at the end! It would be a miracle if this worked."

"I'd say we're due for a miracle, Rodney," John says dryly.

That stops Rodney short for a second, and the thoughtful expression on his face grows into something else. "I always wanted to get my hands on one of them, but they stopped all research on that part of the 302. Why the manufacturer continued to put the hyper-drive engine on them, I don't know."

John lobs the answer out unthinkingly. "It's cheaper than redesigning them and changing the manufacturing specs."

"Yeah. I'll check with Hermiod and look into the possibility." Rodney grabs his laptop and leaves at low power.

Elizabeth stares at him levelly across from the table, and John can see that she's suddenly shifted her attitude, perhaps figured out John's ulterior motive. "It's a suicide mission, John. When is that going to stop being your best idea?" A pencil is wedged in between a well-used notepad and a half empty cup of cold coffee, to keep it from rolling off the table.

He really doesn't have an answer for that. "Rodney will make it work, Elizabeth."

"Rodney's not well. He shouldn't be out in that heat."

"So, we'll work during the night when it's cool."

She sighs and shakes her head. "It's both a terrible and a good idea. We'll see."

Colonel Caldwell follows John out of the conference room. "We can't afford to go off half cocked, Sheppard. We're stuck here with an extremely limited number of 302s, with a hive ship probably on the way. We'll need those resources sooner than later."

"Colonel, with all due respect, one 302 isn't going to make that much of a difference against a Hive ship." The look on Caldwell's face is angry, and John figures this is still about being passed over for command of Atlantis.

Caldwell snaps, "What do you hope to accomplish with this maneuver?"

John isn't going to give Caldwell the satisfaction of arguing with him; he's not the one looking for a confrontation. "I think if it works, we'll contact Atlantis and advise them what the situation is, Teyla will contact the SGC, and send out our SOS for us. If it fails, we'll know that at least we tried something."

"And let me guess, Colonel, you intend to volunteer for this mission?"

"I had considered that, yes."

Caldwell shouts at him in a furious rage. "This is the reason that the SGC wanted you out of Atlantis, Sheppard. It was only Dr. Weir's threats that got you promoted to retain command of Atlantis. If you do not want to justify every argument against you even being on this ship, then you will find another volunteer. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes sir." John is stunned. That explains Elizabeth's smirk and cryptic remark before the whole mess had begun. He'd known something had happened back at the SGC, but he hadn't suspected that it was Elizabeth's blackmailing that had allowed him to return to Atlantis.

"My apologies, that was uncalled for." Caldwell wipes a hand over his face and takes deep breath. "I'll consider it, Sheppard. Keep me informed."

He's left standing in the corridor with a few curious onlookers when Caldwell turns and walks away. John resolutely turns the other direction and heads downhill. He appreciates that Elizabeth thought she was being loyal, and that he was the only person she wanted for the job, but it was a rotten way to climb rank, and a rotten way to find out.

Never once had he traded on his father's name, even when it could have saved him a hell of a lot of trouble and misery, and he'd always been proud that he could say that his accomplishments – and failures – were his own. Until now, he thinks bitterly.

 

Days Six– Seven

Rodney's work on the Jump To Atlantis project is largely theoretical in the beginning, but after Hermiod's vetted the improvements to the hyper-drive, Rodney insists that John look over the ship designs.

John looks at the work and completely blows his slacker cover by pointing out a mistake in an aerodynamic calculation, at which point he holes up with Rodney in a lab to work on the plans.

~*~

It's been eight days since the crash landing, and when Rodney crashes for the day, John takes a break. He climbs out of the ship through the emergency repair hatch and sits atop the Daedalus, shivering in the early morning chill. The aurora is at full strength, and he watches as it slowly disappears in first flush of the morning.

The marines are out near the bow, still digging graves. No one was cruel enough to make them work during the day, and now they're working fast to make the best of the little chilly night left to them.

John thinks briefly of Atlantis' tiny graveyard on the mainland; it's a shame that a cemetery is often the first mark of a new colony and they'll have their own graveyard here, too, filled with twenty people who died because he had failed. Shipwrecked, because he failed. That it was an unforeseen complication, and that they had been rushed into hiding in the 302 when the hangar was vented, is barely a consolation for the idea that he hadn't managed to take the rogue out. He sits and watches them until it's nearly full dawn. A movement on the horizon catches his eye, a group of people standing on the ridge to the east of the Daedalus.

They're wearing sand-colored clothing that's hard to pick out in the burgeoning light, and then they fade away behind the dune. John wonders if they were a figment of his imagination.

He reports seeing them to Caldwell anyway, "Sir, I just saw a some folks out on the desert, they might be watching us."

"Interesting." Caldwell notes it in the log, and pins John with a hard look. "I haven't seen any request for volunteers for the Jump, Sheppard."

John isn't certain that his presence here even matters, but he keeps his doubts and anger to himself and sends out the request for volunteers, as ordered.

There are three volunteers within hours. Lieutenants Kyle Swenson, Cory Hobeck and James Faraj are the uniform epitome of the best of the best; perfect 0-3 razor cuts, perfect posture and John can almost smell their earnestness and dedication. The SGC doesn't skimp on lieutenants.

 

Day Nine

In the evening Rodney's looking only a little better, but he brushes off Sheppard's inquiry, and they get to work.

The pilots assist in the modifications and they prove to be smart enough that McKay only yells at them occasionally, though it could be that he's still suffering from mild radiation poisoning, the extra gravity or the fact that Hermiod is there, kibbutzing underneath McKay's elbow.

They re-engineer external oxygen tanks that will double the length of time a pilot has air, and add an extra CO2 scrubber that will extend that time even farther.

As a precaution, Dr. Cole helps modify the flight suit for waste evacuation, though it was never intended for long-term wear. She's as short and perfunctory as she was in the infirmary, but the flight suit is as well designed as it can be on short notice. Over the modified suit, she adds a bright red radiation suit from the Atlantis stores, based on Rodney's recent experience. She chuckles humorlessly. "It's probably overkill."

They finally hold the mass funeral at dawn. Nearly everyone on board climbs out of the ship, and gathers in a loose crowd around the mounds of sand, marked with twenty-two stainless steel crosses, bolted together out of ships stores. There are a few tears, but mostly dry-eyed shock still pervades the Daedalus' complement.

Caldwell says a few kind words, and at that moment, John sees the other side of the Colonel. He might not have personally known every single one of the poor folks buried out here, but he's taking each of their deaths as his own, personal loss.

 

Day Ten

Lieutenant Kyle Swenson wins–or loses, depending on your perspective–the short game of Roshambo and takes off just after dusk with a little fanfare and a cheer. Elizabeth thanks him for his bravery and Caldwell gives him the typical SGC send off. "God speed, Lieutenant."

Sheppard runs to the end of the hangar bay to watch him disappear in the fading lavender light, but there is nothing to see but a pink contrail heading towards space. "Good luck, kid."

He scans the western horizon, and there is someone on the ridge—just a single person, standing watch from the high dune in the distance. John reports the sighting to Elizabeth and Colonel Caldwell, "We need to go meet the new neighbors. They're watching us."

 

Day Eleven - Twelve

The discussion of exactly how to go about meeting the local inhabitants is long and vociferous. They hash out whether they should just wait and let them come to the Daedalus, as they are watching the ship every dawn and dusk, or if they should go and visit a settlement. When the final consensus is not to wait, Elizabeth insists on going, even though first contact was always out of her purview in Atlantis.

There is also the argument about which village to visit first, or whether they should do them simultaneously in order to prevent any perception of preference. If they send concurrent envoys, Elizabeth can't be in two places at the same time and she's definite about going, if not to both then at least to one.

John can tell, when he meets Caldwell's eyes, that he wants to acquiesce to Elizabeth's demand, because there really isn't anything else for her to do on the Daedalus. By that standard, John is all for her going and he knows that Elizabeth's got the chops for negotiating; she'd pulled off arguing crazed Genii out of unfinished nukes after all, but the last year has shown him that while first contact can go either way, it's usually downhill pretty fast. Plus it's going to be a long, hard walk across open desert, because the argument about using the 302s to take a short hop across the desert, and the concomitant waste of precious resources has already been settled. There is a finite amount of fuel on board, and there might be Hive ships on the way.

John's ire at Caldwell has cooled in the last few days, and he's making an effort at maintaining a cordial working relationship–the Daedalus is only so big, and they don't have any way to truly escape one another. He nods almost imperceptibly, but Caldwell gets both of the messages implicit in that gesture, and they each back off from their arguments and let Elizabeth make the decision.

The hastily drawn coordinates map for the planet places the west village slightly closer, so that's where they're headed. The plan is to travel as far as they can by night; it's about two hours until dusk. Elizabeth is wearing a light pack with food, water and a basic emergency kit, but Major Lorne, Lieutenant Cadman and Sergeant Rogers are all carrying the heavier packs with the rest of the gear. John is shrugging a heavy pack onto his back when Caldwell arrives at the hangar bay. He's wearing a sour expression on his face, or at least more sour than usual.

"Communications says the hand-held radios should work as far as the village, barring any unforeseen circumstances, so keep in touch."

"Thank you, Colonel. I'm sure we'll be fine," Elizabeth says firmly.

Caldwell glances at John, who replies with a quick lift of his brow.

"And just as a precaution, I have the 302s on standby for an extraction if the situation becomes dire."

John mentally rolls his eyes, but acknowledges Caldwell. "Sounds like a..." Rodney interrupts him, when he squeezes through the hanger bay door.

"Major, I have something for you."

Lorne turns around and looks at Rodney. "Me?"

Rodney has the grace to blush slightly. "Sorry. Sheppard, take this."

"A life signs detector? Where did you get that?" John takes it and automatically checks the display, then tucks it into his vest pocket.

"I took it with me to the SGC. I wanted to... well never mind what I wanted. I thought it might be prudent for you to have with you. We never go on missions without one."

"You wanna change your mind and go with?"

"Even if Dr. Cole would approve it, I'm not really all that fond of trudging through sand."

"Maybe next time, then?" John gives Rodney an evil smirk.

"Right." Rodney looks like he wants to say be careful, good luck, but he turns to Elizabeth instead. "Don't get yourself killed; we need you."

"Thank you, Rodney. I'll try and not get killed." To her credit Elizabeth says it with a straight face, without a trace of amusement. "Take it easy while we're gone."

John sees through Rodney's sarcasm; he looks miserable, as if he really does want to go. "We'll be fine. Hike over there, say hi to the nice villagers and hike back."

Rodney huffs, "Like that's ever worked before," and turns to leave.

John shakes his head. "Okay folks, we need to get this show on the road."

Lorne, Cadman and Rogers head out toward the edge of the hanger bay. Caldwell touches John on the arm to halt him. "Be careful."

"Yes sir, will do." John follows his temporary team out, but Elizabeth is talking with Caldwell in a low voice. He waits for her at the lip; she'll need help getting down even with the light pack she's wearing.

She joins him just a couple of moments later; whatever Caldwell had to say, it wasn't very much. "Shall we?"

"Let's go." Despite the backpack, Elizabeth easily climbs down and out to where the Major is waiting for her. John makes sure she's on the ground before making his way down.

John looks back up at the hangar. "I'm thinking we need a ladder if we're going to do this too many more times."

"Good idea, Colonel. You're in charge of that," Elizabeth orders smartly.

He grins and slides his sunglasses on before looking to the west to get his bearings. "Major, you take point, Cadman and Rogers, you've got the six."

Elizabeth pulls a boonie out of a pocket, jams it on her head and they begin their trek.

John had forgotten how miserable the desert is as a hiking venue. It's searingly hot and the sun is in their eyes. Elizabeth keeps her head down to block her eyes from the light and doesn't talk much. The others are a little too far away for comfortable conversation. He almost misses the constant pissing and moaning that Rodney would subject him to, because usually there was also an interesting conversation sprinkled between the invectives and hyperbole.

He can hear Cadman and Rogers chatting in low enough voices that he can't make out what they're saying. Lorne has his head up, and he's scanning the horizon, but there's nothing but sand and sun in every direction.

After two hours of making sure Elizabeth is hydrated and switching positions to keep it interesting, it's almost dark. They're in a valley, but on the last dune crest, John sees a small group of people at the top of the next hill.

John calls out a halt to his team. "Major, did you see them?"

"Yes sir, sure did." Lorne takes off his hat and wipes the sweat off of his face with it, leaving streaks in the dust. When he takes off his sunglasses to wipe his eyes, he looks like a demented raccoon.

Elizabeth sinks down into the sand, sighing as she goes. "I'll never ever denigrate Rodney's complaints again."

John smiles slightly, but he doesn't say he misses them. "Take a load off. We'll rest here for a few." He taps the ear piece, "Daedalus, this is Sheppard, come in."

The Daedalus' radio tech responds crisply. "Sheppard, this is Daedalus, we read you five by five."

John wonders briefly who else they think would be responding to his call. "We may be about to make first contact, there's a group of locals on the next dune."

The next voice is Colonel Caldwell's. "Understood. How do you want to proceed?"

He glances over to Major Lorne, who gives him a shrug and a careless look as he bites into a power bar. John responds, "We'll proceed as planned, sir. If we meet them now or at the village, it won't make any difference."

"Very well. We'll continue monitoring communications, Caldwell out."

Cadman and Rogers are splitting an MRE and Elizabeth has her canteen in hand. "I don't think I've ever been as happy to see a sunset," she says, almost to herself.

John crouches down next to her. "Are you okay, Elizabeth? Seriously. Because if you're not, we should turn around and go back—I think we're only about a quarter of the way there."

"I think so. It's the sun. It'll be dark soon."

John studies her, since she sounds a little loopy. "Don't let pride get in the way. If you need to stop, just say so. If you need to pee, take Cadman, I don't want you wandering around alone, especially now."

Elizabeth gives John an appraising stare, and he just stares right back at her. She never sees this part of him, because it was so rarely necessary on Atlantis. He's there to make sure she gets taken care of, and making sure that an angry native does not pick her off while she's taking a whiz is part of that job. "Thanks, John, I'll do that."

"Eat something while we rest and drink lots of water." John almost reaches out to pat her on the back, but instead stands abruptly and walks over to Cadman and Rogers.

"Cadman, if Elizabeth makes a pit stop, go with her. I don't want her wandering alone with our new friends up on that ridge."

"Yes sir."

He briefly considers telling Cadman to knock it off with the 'sirs', but it would be like telling her not to breathe. John looks over the group, again wishing that Rodney were with them if only for someone to talk to. He sits down at a point that's equidistant from all of them and pulls out a power bar. Rogers and Lorne pointedly keep their backs to Cadman and Elizabeth as they trudge off in a vain attempt to find a private place in the wide open stretch of desert.

Despite what he'd told Caldwell, John knows there is a choice to be made. Continue on, and meet possible unfriendlies in the dark, or camp out over night, and deal with them in the morning, which would leave them traveling over open desert in the daytime. They didn't have enough water to extend this sojourn beyond a day or so, and John thinks it unlikely that the people waiting for them over the hill will wait all night.

The thin, pale pink slice of the first moon gives the desert a peculiar glow, which brightens as the aurora begins to overtake the moon and dim starlight. When Elizabeth and Cadman return, John isn't in any hurry to start back up, but everyone quietly packs up their trash in preparation to move on. The temperature is dropping rapidly and jackets are coming out of the packs.

The moonlight and sheets of coruscating aurora means they don't have to wear night vision goggles merely to navigate, though everyone but Elizabeth already has them slung around their necks. John moves to the front and takes over point; Lorne falls back to walk next to Elizabeth and John can hear them chatting briefly about the mesmerizing night sky.

There isn't a sign of anyone when they top the ridge. John scans the path ahead through the goggles; nocturnal wildlife abounds, slithering, hopping and running out of their path as John's boots scuffle the sand. It's a good sign; it means there's water somewhere if they have to go so far as to dig a well. John thinks about other deserts he's known and wonders what this one would look like when there's a rainfall.

And so the night goes. Radio checks to make sure they're on the right track, frequent but brief rest stops in deference to Elizabeth, who's never had to run for miles with a hundred pounds strapped to her back. John's many years out of the Academy, but he's had a lot of experience in the last year with that sort of thing. Adrenaline helps, he thinks acidly.

They reach the outskirts of the village well before dawn. There's a high, white, stone wall around the settlement, and the gate is firmly closed, so they fall back and settle in to wait for the dawn. Despite having walked all night, no one wants to sleep, so they wait together in the dark.

 

Day Thirteen

The gates open just as the sky is lightening to the east, and a voice raised in song carries out over the walls. John immediately thinks muezzin; the high-pitched prayer sends a shiver down his back and raises the hair on the back of his neck from too many days spent in Kandahar. He glances over at Elizabeth, who is slack-jawed in rapt attention.

When the prayer is ended, she says in an awed voice, "It's in Ancient."

That doesn't really set John's mind at ease. "Well, let's go meet the natives—though I doubt they're really native if they pray in Ancient."

Just inside the gate is a market, already full with the bustle of folks trying to get their business done before the heat of the day.

The town is almost pretty. White stone buildings with colorful canopies over the doorways, and the streets are well paved and clean. The problem is with the people.

The villagers stop and stare at them with what can only be suspicion as they try to make contact, but no one speaks to or approaches them as they pass by. John's team wears their game face, smiling pleasantly, saying 'hi there', and nodding as they walk through the market.

It's a little more crowded than most of the places he's visited in Pegasus, but definitely in the medium range between hostile and indifferent. "Usually someone wants to come and introduce themselves as the leader. I guess they don't get very much outside trade."

"Or perhaps they just don't see strangers very often," Elizabeth muses.

"Still, you'd think they would be more curious. We're probably stranger than most." John shakes his head and waves at a child across the plaza; he's slightly relieved to get a wave in return, before the child is yanked indoors.

"I don't recognize any of the language." Elizabeth isn't asking a question, but Major Lorne answers anyway.

"No Stargate."

She shakes her head. "It's too hot, I'm not thinking clearly."

They stop when the market place trails into the town center. There's a small fountain in the center where men and women are filling up large double-handled glass pitchers, or lounging on it while a few children are playing nearby.

The people here give them the same vaguely hostile looks and ignore John's greetings when he briefly catches someone's eyes and introduces himself.

Elizabeth remarks, "The architecture looks familiar--see the shape of the paving stones? They look like some of the decorative features on Atlantis."

"Okay, so they do their morning prayers in Ancient, and they've got the decorating gene. We're still not making contact here. What do you want to do?" John is nominally in charge, but he knows that it's Elizabeth's show.

"We really can't start back until nightfall. Let's wander around some more," she answers in a distracted manner, drinking in the sights and sounds of the town.

John easily agrees. "Sure, but if we can't find anyone to talk to pretty soon, we'll need to find a place to rest, before we start back tonight."

"Agreed."

No one is chasing them off, so they wander around the town for a while longer, but they never get a positive reaction from any of the inhabitants.

They've come full circle. The road they're walking on leads them right back to the market place, and John takes that as a sign that they are done. The sun is high in the sky now, the foot traffic in the market place has slowed to a trickle, and the hustle of the early morning is tamped down under the blinding heat.

"We don't have any idea when they close the gates, and if it's all the same to you, I don't wanna be stuck here over night."

Elizabeth is visibly wilting with exhaustion from the trek, and the heat and discouragement. She only nods.

No one looks particularly peppy or fresh as a daisy. Major Lorne pipes up, "Let's go back to the fountain and fill up the canteens. Maybe swiping some of their water will get us noticed."

"Or killed," John says wryly. "Let's give it a shot." The fountain is deserted in the hot midday sun. They fill up their canteens, and just in case it isn't drinking water, toss in purification tablets, and in case it is drinking water, John forgoes dunking his head into it. They leave the walled town without comment, while Lorne checks in with the Daedalus.

There's still a tiny bit of shade under the western side of the wall, but they'll have to move to the east side after the sun passes the zenith. They rest in fits and starts, chasing the shade until dusk, when they begin the long walk back to their ship in defeat.

 

Day Fourteen

The engineering crew has managed to get a common shower area supplied with water, and after two weeks of sponging off, John is extremely grateful to finally get a real shower. There is a squeegee propped up in the corner of the shower, because the water now puddles in the corner. John dutifully swooshes the water towards the drain, thinking that this was going to be pain in the ass for the foreseeable future.

He manages to sleep for the entire day and at dusk, they meet in the war room to debrief. Caldwell is already there, and Elizabeth and Rodney trail in shortly after John.

Elizabeth starts talking even before she sits down, a measure of her frustration. "I don't get it. They've been watching us for days, yet when we show up, no one even acknowledged that we were there." She's sunburned, and her nose will start peeling soon.

John offers a suggestion, "Maybe we need to go hang out on the ridge and meet the folks that are interested in us. It's obvious they're the only ones."

Rodney stabs at his PDA. "I wish that some of the people we've run into in the past would've ignored us. Good job on not getting killed or inciting a riot, though."

"Thanks, Rodney." John shoots him a sideways glare that Rodney ignores completely.

"We've been keeping track of the sightings. Every dawn, someone is watching from the east, and, at dusk, there's someone on the west." Caldwell doesn't sound happy about being spied upon.

"We should go and meet them," Rodney says in a musing tone, like John hadn't just said it.

"We?"

"Well, eventually Dr. Cole will let me escape her clutches."

"You must be bored, or sicker than we thought." He's teasing Rodney, but secretly pleased that Rodney misses going on missions.

"John, I think you might be right, perhaps this is not spying, but an invitation to meet on neutral ground. I don't know why I didn't think of that before. If the pattern holds, there should be someone on the eastern ridge in the morning."

"Would've saved us a hell of a walk." John is only half teasing; there was a reason he'd joined the Air Force and not the Army.

Caldwell's eyes are merry, and John is pretty sure that he's thinking the same thing. John gives him a small smile in return. All disagreements and disappointments over the naming of the Atlantis' military commander aside, Caldwell's not a bad guy, and there are bridges to be built, not only with the locals.

Rodney starts grumbling, "You would think that with all the walking we do, the SGC would bother to give us some transportation. Hell, sometimes I wish we had even just a bicycle!"

John gives Rodney a sharp nod. "Logistics, Rodney—even a bicycle needs spare parts. Our feet don't need replacing, not often any anyway. Shoes are usually the easiest equipment to replace."

Caldwell adds, "In most military deployments, the troops can buy personal stuff locally, motorbikes, stereos and computers, the like. I guess in the ten years of the program they figured out that the only reliable transport is your feet."

"And you wouldn't want to scare off all the nice villagers, Rodney," Elizabeth teases.

"But I'm not wrong when I say that a jeep or an ATV would be very handy right about now."

John shakes his head; a puddlejumper would be pretty handy right about now. "Not gonna disagree with that."

Elizabeth steers the meeting back on course, "Colonel Caldwell, how are the repairs going? Did anything interesting happen while we were gone?"

Consulting his data pad, Caldwell says bitterly, "Even though we won't ever get this wreck airborne again, Dr. McKay and the crew are working on getting the sub-light engines back online. Life support is separate, though some other ancillary systems, like communications, are currently running off the batteries, which are charged from the sub-lights. They should be ready to test the engines some time today, and if it goes well, I'll set up a schedule to recharge the batteries, or if not, tie them into a generator. The water reclamation system is holding up, but eventually we're going to have to locate some fresh water."

"There was a fountain in the village, so we know there's water, but we'll probably have to dig a well."

"Have you ever dug a well, Colonel?" Rodney scoffs.

John shoots back with a mildly annoyed, "As a matter of fact, I have."

Elizabeth gives John a sly look. "Good, then you'll be in charge of that, too."

"Oh, you are so helping me with that, McKay." John is mildly outraged that he's unwittingly fallen into the accidental trap.

Caldwell continues as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Food isn't a problem, and won't be for quite some time, but again, it's a finite resource."

"With the lack of interest on the locals' part, that might end up being a big problem. We can't exactly start a garden out here, even if we have a well."

"If we're forced to relocate in the future, we'll take that into consideration. We should stay put for the foreseeable future." Elizabeth says it simply. They're not there yet, but it might happen.

"In case we get rescued?" Rodney inquires.

Caldwell answers, "In case the Wraith come. We might be down, but our best defense is still here with the ship."

"How are the weapons systems?" John asks.

Rodney sighs. "Like everything thing else, tied into the sub-light engines."

Elizabeth asks, "Colonel Caldwell, have we heard from Lieutenant Swenson?"

"No, and we didn't really expect to. Because of the radiation, and the planet's magnetic field, our communication range is dramatically reduced, and his first scheduled hop was outside of that. If we hear from him, it's bad news."

"The only way we'll ever know that he got through is when we get rescued." The note of complaint in Rodney's voice is clear.

"If we get rescued, Dr. McKay. That stunt has only a slim chance of working. It's likely that he exploded somewhere in deep space," Caldwell says calmly.

The soft huff of Rodney's sigh is the only sound at the table. They all know that it was a long shot.

Caldwell gives that idea a moment of silence, and then goes on with his briefing. "Inventory controls are in place, and I'd like to ask everyone to voluntarily provide a list of their personal effects, down to the last sock. We might have the one thing we desperately need sitting in someone's cabin."

"I think that's a wise strategy. I'd like to institute a weekly 'town' meeting as a way to help assuage the concerns and fears every one has, and I'm sure there are rumors already circulating about our failed first contact. All of us deserve to know what's happening."

"Dr. Weir, I don't want to burst your bubble, but this situation calls for more discipline, not less. Our safety demands that the chain of command stay in place."

"My objective is to enhance communications and reassure our people, Colonel. I'm not staging a coup, though at some point we're may have to reconsider the organizational structure."

"When that time comes, we'll both know it."

They stare intently at one another for a moment.

"Just because the civilian population is in the minority, you can't expect us to fall in line and be good little soldiers." Rodney crosses his arms and gives Caldwell a glare for good measure.

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm reluctant to go so far as setting up a democracy right away. We need to maintain a familiar structure—most of our population is military, and that leaves them with certain expectations. Town meetings are great, we need to every person to feel like they have a say..."

Elizabeth interrupts him, "You mean know they have a say, Colonel."

Caldwell tips his head slightly in acknowledgment. "But, we need to balance that with familiarity. The military contingent expects the civilians to be outside the chain of command, no one is going to conscript you, Dr. McKay. Balance and familiarity, those are going to keep the bulk of our people feeling safe, and the civilians need to know that there is a place for them, as well." The look on his face says, 'Did I make myself clear?'

"Of course, Colonel; maintain the status quo in the short term, but have an eye on the long term as well."

"As always, Doctor, you have me at a disadvantage." Caldwell smiles briefly, and Elizabeth returns it.

"I doubt that, Colonel. To that end, I think we should devise a work rotation for the civilians, so that everyone is occupied."

Caldwell nods. "You've done the homework on the people skills we have on board. Work with Sheppard and Randall on that."

John nods. "We still need to try and dig out the port hangar."

"Oh, great, I can just see all of the physicists happily digging ditches."

John shrugs. "It needs to be done and they need something to do. Or cross training, too, even if it's only how to properly sharpen a knife or mend torn clothing. Arrange PT for everyone."

"Perhaps circulate the list of the things people can do. Set some terms for bartering those skills," Rodney adds.

This is all old hat to the Atlantis crew; they've spent the last year in isolation, though admittedly with far more to work with and less time to do it in. Caldwell knows this, and he's willing to take their advice to a certain degree.

"I'm sure we all have things to think about. Perhaps we'd like to continue this tomorrow?" Elizabeth stands and reflexively so do John and Caldwell, and a little belatedly, Rodney.

As he walks out of the conference room, Caldwell is next to John. "Colonel, you'll see to meeting the locals in the morning?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well." With that, Colonel Caldwell speeds up to catch Elizabeth as she heads towards the mess.

John slows down, and asks Rodney, "Are you hungry?"

"I ate beforehand. I didn't think I could take a meeting on an empty stomach."

"Yeah. I'll eat later." John never sees it coming when it's him, but it's very obvious that Caldwell is pursuing Elizabeth in his own fashion, and John's willing to give him the space for it. "You holding out on any DVDs?"

Rodney grins. "Come on, I'll show you."

 

Day Fifteen

John's circadian rhythms are solidly on the night-as-day schedule. After spending half the night watching movies with Rodney, he goes to the gym and gets in a workout and then finally makes it to the mess for a meal.

Lorne is there, eating alone, and John approaches the table with his tray. "Mind if I join you, Major?"

"No, sir. Please do."

"Thanks." John attacks the steak and fries, eating methodically until he's half way through, one hand on the tray to keep it from slipping off the table. "So, I'm going up to the eastern ridge in a while, see if we can't make contact with the locals."

"You want some company?"

"You've read my mind, Major."

"I've been thinking, Colonel."

"Hmm. Dangerous."

Lorne's got a slow smile that spreads across his face like the sun rising. "Sure. It seems to me that we really have two sets of locals. We've never seen anyone actually crossing our valley to get to the other town."

Nodding, John agrees. "They get to their respective look-outs and then, no farther."

"Yeah, so it seems to me that we can't necessarily equate our experience with one to the other."

"That sounds reasonable. What do you think about our little failure?"

"Completely different than anything I've ever seen. Back on Earth, usually when we'd roll into town, it was always a big deal. Even at the SGC, we'd get at least get some face time before the shit hit the fan, but I guess the Tau'ri reputation preceded us."

"Back at Atlantis, we've had people hide from us, not even Teyla could flush them out, though usually anyone who walks through the gate in Pegasus is vetted immediately for good or bad. I can't get over just being ignored."

"Stings the ego."

John points at Lorne with his fork. "Exactly. And it's weird."

"I guess in a few hours we'll find out if everyone is like that."

"Yeah. Need to put together a couple of Marines for back up, after breakfast." John knows that he really needs to get down to brass tacks with the two platoons that were to be assigned to Atlantis, but he'll do it person by person. "I want to be out there before sunrise. Damn, we need some better way of keeping track of time here." The bridge crew has a conversion program running, but running to the bridge to check it is an inconvenience at best.

Lorne grimaces. "Yeah. I'll check with Olander, see who's up."

"That's the Staff Sergeant?"

There's that slow smile again. "Colonel, all due respect sir, but you have got to get on the ball. Having an Air Force officer as their military commander was bad enough for them, but stopping in to say hi isn't what the Marines are looking for." John gives Lorne an appraising look, and he starts to backpedal, "No disrespect intended, sir."

"None taken, Major. I'd much rather you speak your mind than have me try and guess what you're thinking. You're my XO, and I'm relying on you to keep me out of trouble."

Lorne gins. "From what I hear, that may be an impossible task, sir."

John chuckles. "Probably. Things aren't going to change fast, but they are going to change. You don't have to 'sir' me all the time, especially when we're not in company."

Lorne nods. "All right then. Sheppard."

"Better. Let's go talk to some Marines."

 

Day Sixteen

The air is still chilly in the pre-dawn hour, and they're sliding into tactical vests and clipping on P90's when Rodney joins them in the hangar bay.

"You coming, McKay?" John asks. He keeps his voice light and faintly disinterested in deference to the two Marines and his XO that are nearby.

"I thought I might." He starts to pull on a vest and slides his precious life signs detector into a pocket, his PDA in another. "Someone has to be the voice of reason in this outfit."

"And that's you?" John asks a little disbelievingly. Rodney is anything but. Brilliant and sarcastic, yes, but reasonable would never be an adjective he'd assign to McKay.

Rodney leans towards Sheppard. "I have to get out of here, Sheppard—even just for a little while. Even if it means subjecting myself to enormous amounts of fatal radiation. I just..."

John interrupts him with a mild, "Okay by me." John turns to the face the team. "To recap for McKay's benefit, we're going to go hang out on the ridge for a little while and see if we can get these people to talk to us."

Elizabeth enters the hangar bay and everyone turns towards her as she says, "You were going to go without me?"

John sighs internally. "Of course not, Dr. Weir. The more the merrier. Grab a vest and let's go."

Elizabeth puts on a vest and heads towards the lip of the hangar bay, walking with Rodney. Despite their reception yesterday, John's sense of danger is nudging him. He raises a hand, makes a clenching fist, and the Marines stop immediately. He turns around. "Everyone look sharp and stick to those two like burrs."

Lorne, Alvarez and Timmons nod. John should have expected this and planned for more backup accordingly, but he's still on the wrong side of the leadership learning curve, even after a whole year of seat-of-his-pants command. "Okay, head out." As they climb out, John switches to a private channel. "Caldwell, this is Sheppard."

"Go Sheppard."

"We're just on our way out, and I've got Dr. Weir and McKay tagging along. Get Sergeant Olander to send me a couple more guys and have them stay back, but available."

"Will do, Sheppard. I'll have them contact you on this frequency."

"Roger that."

John makes the climb down the side of the ship once again, and they all walk towards the eastern ridge in loose group, McKay and Elizabeth at the center with the military circled around them. "Lorne, we have got to get a better method of egress."

"Yes sir. I'll get started on that today."

Delegation is definitely one of the perquisites of being in command. "Olander's sending two more of his guys to join us, they'll check in on channel six, but I want them to stay at the far rear. I don't want to intimidate these people, so have Alvarez and Timmons make their way to the six; you and I will take point."

Lorne nods, and speeds up to catch the two marines. It's only a few minutes later when Cadman pings him on channel six. "Cadman here. I've got Sergeant Lu, and we're tracking about five hundred yards back."

"Roger that. Stay out of sight and monitor the open channel in case we need back up."

"Yes sir."

They haven't been waiting long when they sight the small group of locals approaching them in the dim light. One of them waves an arm in greeting and John raises his arm in return. "This is more like it."

Elizabeth smiles indulgently. "We should have tried this first."

"The major's got a theory about that. He thinks we have two different population groups, maybe these guys are just friendlier."

"I hadn't considered that. What gave him the idea?"

"The fact that we haven't tracked anyone crossing our little section of desert."

Elizabeth looks annoyed that no one bothered to inform her of this piece of information, and possibly that she hadn't thought to ask. "Perhaps they take a route we can't see."

"No one takes the long way around in the desert, Elizabeth. We're smack down in between the two."

The small group of people in flowing robes is getting close enough that they can hear them talking excitedly.

As they approach in the growing dawn, John catalogs them. They are all shorter than the average crew member of the Daedalus, but that population is probably skewed to taller individuals. They're wearing a variety of loose clothing, in shades of white, tan and brown, except for one fellow who's wearing a royal blue hat under a white hood, and the rest are wearing dun-colored head scarves.

Blue Hat, John mentally dubs him, appears to be their leader. Their features are thin and fine, and they are all clean-shaven. Blue Hat, who's rounder and heavier than his companions, has interesting eyes, they're a hazel that's nearly gray, and John's unaccountably reminded of the girl on the front of the National Geographic.

They bow slightly and speak their greetings, and even though it's complete gibberish, it sounds friendly enough.

Elizabeth gives them a small bow in return and says, "Hello, I'm so pleased to meet you."

An expression of confusion spreads among the locals; they really didn't meet many strangers if they honestly expected them to speak the local patois. The head guy tries again, but he uses Ancient this time, in a far more formal manner than before.

Elizabeth grins, and replies very slowly, stumbling over some of the words; they had only a small amount of video with Jack O'Neill speaking Ancient and there was a whole language that they didn't know how to pronounce. There had been so little time to focus on spoken language; translation of Atlantean scientific text had been their priority.

At her words, every one of them drops to their knees and lay their foreheads on the sand, their arms pulled back to meet their ankles. Blue Hat is at the apex of the group, and the rest fall into neat ranks behind him to create a chevron shape. All of them are murmuring in what can only be Ancient.

"Well, that's unexpected," Rodney says in a curious voice. "Elizabeth, here."

She turns her head and sees that Rodney is offering his PDA. When she sees what's on the display, she scolds him. "Rodney, you've been holding out on me."

A look of sharp pain crosses Rodney's face. "It's, uh, something Peter was working on in his spare time. Before. It's not done, I was..."

"Thank you Rodney." She smiles apologetically, understanding what Rodney didn't really say.

Elizabeth gets to her knees and mirrors the obeisance after laying the PDA between her and Blue Hat. John makes a gesture for the rest his group to take a step back. They crouch in the sand and Elizabeth kneels just as long as the villagers.

Eventually the prayer session, or whatever, comes to a close and they all sit up, nearly as one. John smiles and nods, and Blue Hat smiles back at him.

Elizabeth picks up Rodney's PDA from the sand and John glances over to see how he's handling the cavalier treatment of his personal equipment. Rodney looks unhappy, but surprisingly he's not complaining.

Blue Hat takes the PDA from her, and studies it carefully. He hands it back to her and says something. Elizabeth shuffles a little closer and shows him how to scroll the screen and points to it. "Docui." She points to herself, "Elizabeth."

Blue Hat nods furiously. He repeats the word and points to himself, "Anbur," signaling that he understands perfectly.

Elizabeth scrolls through the PDA again and making sure that Anbur is watching, laboriously asks if she can come to visit his town. He smiles widely and makes a gesture back towards the east, then nods furiously, obviously excited by the prospect.

Elizabeth holds up two fingers, "Two diei."

Anbur stands up and speaks freely to his retinue in the first language they'd heard. John is guessing that he's telling them to expect visitors in a couple of days. Anbur touches the PDA and points to his village again, and Elizabeth nods. "I'll make sure to bring it."

"Wait, Elizabeth, give this to him." Rodney unzips his vest and pulls out one of the useless, Ancient tschotchkes from his pocket.

"Just how much stuff did you take back to the SGC, Rodney?"

"Just a few things, examples mostly. I'd forgotten it was in my jacket pocket."

John flexes his eyebrows in response, and Rodney ignores him in favor of stepping forward to watch as Anbur takes the device.

When it dimly lights up, Rodney grins triumphantly. "Yes, I thought so. Not particularly strong, but he definitely has the gene."

Anbur laughs out loud and tries to hand it back to Rodney. He raises his hands, "No, you keep it. It's really hard to make it stay off, and I don't think we want to reveal that much to them yet."

"Good idea, Rodney, though if they have any higher level of Ancient tech, it's going to be hard to avoid." Elizabeth wraps Anbur's hand around the toy and gently pushes his hand back.

Anbur does the formal bow again and Elizabeth replies in kind. With a wave, Anbur and his compatriots turn and head home.

John hears Lorne checking in with the Daedalus, so he waits until Anbur's group is a good distance away, before he turns to follow Elizabeth.

Cadman and Lu are waiting about half way down the slope, and Elizabeth stops. "John?"

"Just in case. I wasn't really expecting to have the two top civilians from Atlantis with us."

"Getting cautious in your old age?"

He gives her an opaque look and shakes his head. "That's not like you, Elizabeth."

"Must be the heat." She looks up, but it's just now warming up from the evening chill.

"Right. Come on, let's get out of the sun."

 

Days Sixteen - Nineteen

The Daedalus goes into a giddy, concerned whirlwind of activity to get Elizabeth ready for her visit to Anbur's village.

Rodney scrounges up a loose PDA, loads Peter's translation program onto it and makes sure there are several fresh batteries to go with it, before giving it to Elizabeth. There are a couple of the crew who are annoyed as hell that they can't use their PDAs, but Rodney steamrolls over their objections with the hard fact that this mission might mean eating and not dying in the near future. He doesn't tell them that his was the first 'spare'.

John spends time with each person that Olander has chosen for the mission, feeling easier once he is sure they understand that the villagers are people and aliens, too. He realizes that he shouldn't have worried; all of them had been seasoned members back at the SGC. The only Marine he specifically requests to go along is Lieutenant Cadman.

Caldwell goes into a subtle funk, snapping and growling at people, but it's not too different from his regular snarl.

Carson puts together a medical emergency kit, and Dr. Cole tries to persuade him that the portable defibrillator is unnecessary, but she loses that battle. Most of the kit is for daily medical care, sunscreen, analgesics, antacids, and muscle relaxers.

Elizabeth is nearly beside herself with excitement. She doesn't sleep at all during the hot day and instead spends hours with the PDA to familiarize herself with the program.

In line with her declaration to keep the crew informed, Elizabeth announces a town hall meeting to take place at just before dusk the day before their departure. The entire crew and passenger manifest, some two hundred and thirty people, gather together in the starboard hangar bay. The 302s have been pushed to the side; those that arrive early find seats among the crates and toolboxes. The rest are forced to stand in the searing heat of the late afternoon. Though this is the only place on the entire ship that's large enough to hold everyone on board, it's still a tight squeeze, and there's a definite odor of stale sweat in the air. The bright light of the open doors leaves faces shadowed and grim.

There is a tension in the air, though they've been keeping it together as much as you can when you've been shipwrecked on a planet without a gate, and the dark current of fear and doubt in the room is almost palpable.

Elizabeth insists that John and Rodney stand with her and Colonel Caldwell. Rodney seems to take this as his due, but John is not exactly sure what part he has to play in her agenda here. Caldwell is the ranking officer, as well as ship's captain, and though John isn't really part of the ship's chain of command, she's adamant that it's important. John knows that Elizabeth is loyal to a fault, and so he's willing to play along.

The lights are on, the crowd is milling about and speaking with each other in low voices, when Elizabeth nods and climbs up onto a box.

"I would like to thank all of you for coming this evening, and I hope that this meeting will aid us in moving forward together.

"We're all scared, and I can't tell you what the future holds for us, only that we have to hold on together, and make the best of what we have here and now. We have each other, and from personal experience, that's our best, most important resource. I'm proud of each and every one of you, for your professionalism and dedication.

"As you probably already know, Lieutenant Swenson volunteered to attempt to reach Atlantis in a modified 302. It's possible that we may never know if he succeeds, but his courage and determination are not in question. Please keep him in your thoughts and prayers.

"While it's true that our initial attempt to establish a relationship with the native peoples of this planet ended in failure, I made successful contact yesterday with one of the inhabitants of the village to the east. The language barrier is thick, but thanks to Dr. McKay we have a tool through which we can learn to communicate with them.

"To that end, tomorrow night we're going to go to their village and cement into place the friendly relations that were established, and continue to build the bridge between our peoples.

"Now, since this is a 'town' meeting, if any of you have questions, we'll do our best to answer them. If you have any suggestions, we'll take those into consideration and try to act on them. Anyone?"

An unidentified voice from the back of the crowd shouts, "Dr. Weir, why are you running the meeting and not Colonel Caldwell?"

Caldwell answers that one and his tone is absent of his capitulation to necessity. "Dr. Weir is uniquely qualified to run a colony, should it come to that. We've fallen into a position where the current military structure may not be viable in the future. Anyone who has a concern that is not directly related to the chain of command or official Daedalus business should feel free to consult with Dr. Weir." There are a few murmurs in the crowd, but no one raises any further objection.

Elizabeth fields many more shouted questions: food and if they plan to implement rationing; medical supplies; what are the chances for a rescue; what were the people like; what was the village like, and more, which she answers or passes onto the appropriate authority.

When it appears that there are no more questions, Elizabeth closes the meeting. "Before I depart tomorrow, I'll post the results of my personnel survey in the mess. Look it over, and keep it in mind when you need something done, or if you have a project in mind. Again, thank you for your time, and have a good evening."

Elizabeth's plan works to some extent, there is a slight reduction of the tension in the room, but it does nothing to ease the haunted fear that's still shadowing most of the crew and passengers. The crowd slowly disburses and Elizabeth's smiling as a few people come up to speak with her and shake her hand, but John still feels like a fifth wheel. Off to her side, McKay is talking with Caldwell about some detail about ship repair, so John drifts towards the open end of the hangar bay. In defiance of Beckett's recommendation, there are a handful of people sitting on the lip, watching a few of the Marines out in the sand toss a football back and forth. Others are just standing around, but several people are watching the western horizon with a peculiar intensity.

John climbs down Lorne's makeshift ladder to see what they're looking at, even though he suspects what it is. A figure is standing at the peak of the ridge, limned by the last of the sunset. On impulse he raises his arm in a wave and surprisingly gets a reaction--a wave in return, though the figure doesn't move any closer. John turns his head to call out to Lorne, but when he looks back towards the setting sun, the person is gone.

Lorne reaches his side. "Sheppard."

"Sorry, Major. I got a wave out of today's watcher, but he's gone now."

"That's interesting. I wish we knew what their damage is."

John shrugs and turns away. He'll tell Elizabeth about it later. "They'll be back. Let's play some football." Beckett couldn't really expect them to stay inside all of the time.

 

Day Twenty

The eastern town doesn't seem that different from its counterpart in the west; it's laid out in a similar fashion, with the market place near the gate and a fountain in the central plaza. It's neat and free of debris if more than a little dusty. The buildings of white stone are one or two stories tall, but stairs carved down into the ground suggest that the first floors may be underground. There are a few straggly trees on the street, but glimpses over stone walls reveal gardens contained within the courtyards.

The main market area is swarming with throngs of people, more than in the other town. There are heavy, wooden carts piled with foodstuffs, pulled by large shaggy buffalo-ish dray animals that snort and honk, and small pack animals resembling donkeys with heavy packs on their backs.

They thread through the crowds making eye contact, and, in return, people wave and smile, and the shopkeepers call out to them. Everyone seems to dress similarly, short capes or long robes over baggy trousers or simple shifts, and all the clothing appears to sport rich, intricate embroidery, and is designed to protect the wearer from the sun.

The main road leads them to the fountain, where Anbur meets them with a large retinue trailing behind him. They all bow at the waist then fold to their knees in a brief genuflection. Elizabeth follows suit, but John isn't that flexible, so he opts to just bow a little. His Marines look at each other, but they follow his lead. It's a little surreal, seeing three Marines in desert camouflage armed to the teeth, bowing at the natives.

Anbur looks pleased and makes a little gesture with his hands and Elizabeth pulls the PDA out of her vest and hands it to him with a smile. He gives a loud belly laugh and he's speaking quickly in the unknown dialect, pulling on Elizabeth's arm. She shoots a smile at John and they obediently follow Anbur to a large building much taller than those around it, perhaps four or five stories, surrounded by a low stone wall. John falls back and surreptitiously activates his headset and reports their status back to the Daedalus.

It's not a home, it's not a library, and it's not a school, but something like all three together. John immediately begins to prowl around the large room, doing recon under the disguise of curiosity.

Delicate screens of brass filigree worked into familiar Ancient designs divide parts of the large airy space, and low, familiar looking sofas form pit groups. Lanterns covered in the same filigree cast pretty blue light and shadows, and there is art everywhere. Statues of stone and metal stand on tables and on the floor, and one particular screen creates an alcove with a huge, towering statue of a man wearing an antiquated form of the same clothing that they've seen everyone wearing. The statue has a solemn face, but there's warmth and humor there, too. As art it's exquisitely done, though the meditating students arrayed at its base speak to another purpose altogether.

One of Anbur's men gently pulls John away, pointing at the statue. "Qaral."

John repeats the word, assuming that it's probably a name, "Qaral," and allows himself to be dragged over to the meeting.

Elizabeth and Anbur are seated on one of the couchettes, having a slow tortuous conversation about quarters and dinner, sounding out words and teaching each other Ancient and English phrases for we have place to sleep, and there is food.

Despite the unfamiliarity of the setting, the dynamic is familiar; hurry up and wait. John slouches back into the settee, keeps an ear on the conversation and gets comfortable as he can while still wearing the P90. He's feeling conflicted about this, good manners would dictate that he leave his weapons at the door in the same way that one might remove one's cap, but Anbur's people are still strangers with an unknown agenda. He's been fooled before, and he isn't planning on appreciably letting his guard down. Cadman, Lu and Timmons are sitting nearby, and they look as uncomfortable as John feels.

There's a bizarre multitude of languages being thrown out. Anbur is learning English while he's teaching Elizabeth the local patois as well as improving her Ancient. John would never admit it, but he's picked up a smattering of Ancient, and hearing Anbur speak the words gives them meaning, a context that had previously eluded him.

He's also getting the drift of the other language. It's clear that Ancient is their religious 'high' language, and daily business is conducted in what John is coming to think of as the 'low' language. It'll take him some time to get fluent enough to wander around town and meet people.

John might as well get something out of the trip. If they are going to be here for a while, they need to be able to get along with the neighbors, and that means speaking the language.

Another aide approaches Anbur, and they hold a brief conversation. Anbur explains to Elizabeth, slowly and in Ancient, and then repeats in English. "We have room."

John uncurls and stands up, and the Marines nearly jump out of their seats. It's been a long night, and they're all tired and edgy. Elizabeth smiles at their eagerness, though she too looks a little worn around the edges.

Anbur leads them upstairs to a room that's clearly a student dormitory that's been hastily evacuated to provide room for guests.

It's a plain room, long and narrow with a large bathing facility at the far end of the room. Six beds line the walls, with an ornate trunk at the foot and a desk situated to the side of each bed. The walls are whitewashed, and broad windows are cut into the thick stone. The glass windows are cranked wide open, and the two sets of shutters are open to allow the bright light and a small breeze to spill into the room.

"Elizabeth, you're going to bunk in here with us?" John poses it as a question but there is only one answer he expects.

"I don't see why not, there's plenty of room." She doesn't look at all concerned about blurring the line between leader and follower, and John appreciates that. He really doesn't want to have to make a scene if Anbur tries to separate Elizabeth into another room. Maybe in a few days he'll feel a little more comfortable, but right now it's still too new, and he feels jittery.

John chooses one of the beds closest to the door, and Timmons gets the one on the other side of the room, with Lu next to him. Elizabeth and Cadman take the beds nearest the bathroom.

All of the packs are dumped on the spare bed, and Anbur waits politely by the door as they settle in and arrange themselves. A few minutes later, several teenagers arrive bearing a portable table, chairs and a heavy tray laden with food and drink.

Elizabeth thanks him in Ancient, and he replies in English. "Refresh. Rest. Safe." Anbur motions to them to sit and partake and gives them a slight bow as he leaves the room.

The teenagers stand at the door and gawk at the strangers, until Anbur returns with a soft curse and a light cuff to shoo the kids away. It's comforting to know that teenagers are the same across two galaxies. John chuckles as he inspects the tray of food. "So you and Anbur seem to be picking up the language pretty quickly."

Elizabeth motions to the Marines who are lounging on their beds. "Come on, have a bite to eat." There is a shuffle of chairs and soon everyone is grazing the food, Ethiopian style.

"Dr. Grodin's database is invaluable, it's taken months off the learning curve, and I don't know what we would have done if they didn't speak any Ancient."

"I'm curious to know how they know Ancient, and who this Qaral guy is."

"Qaral?"

"Oh, there's a statue behind one of screens who I think was introduced as 'Qaral'. There were a few people praying around it."

"Did they seem upset that you went in there?"

"Not really, the guy just pulled me away. I have to admit that they are doing their best to put us at ease." He pauses to chew on a bite of the unleavened bread. "It's like they were surprised to find out that we're strangers, but don't act surprised that we are strangers."

Elizabeth quirks an eyebrow at John with a questioning look.

"Okay, that didn't make sense even to me. Must be the sun." John gives Elizabeth a cocky smirk.

"They were surprised when we were strangers, but not that we were aliens and know a little Ancient."

"Yeah, that works."

The conversation grinds to a halt as they eat. It's obvious to John that Elizabeth is mentally working on a problem, but even so, when she speaks, he gets a small jolt of surprise.

"So, now that we're all here I think I should lay out some ground rules." The Marines stop eating and look at Elizabeth with perfect attention.

"First, you should call me Elizabeth; I think we might be here for a while. Second, I'm sure that you three have first names--I'm going to find out what they are, and I'm going to use them. Third, I need all of you to do your best to learn as much as you can and report even the smallest detail to me - like that statue. Lieutenant, why don't we start with you?"

John nods at the Marines and gives them a look that says 'humor her'; he'll take Elizabeth aside later and explain that the Marines would probably gouge their own eyes out before they'd offer her any disrespect by the familiarity of addressing her by her first name.

Cadman swallows her bite hurriedly. "Laura. I like to blow things up, and I've been known to tap-dance."

That gets a laugh, and the faint tension in the air disappears.

Sergeant Lu goes next. "Chin, Lu Chin. I gave up professional golf to join the Marines."

"And last but not least, me. My mother must've been dropping acid, because Valentine Timmons is my name. Just call me Val."

John grins. "Or was she was a Heinlein fan."

Val gives Sheppard a startled look, as if he's reevaluating him. "Sir, I seriously doubt that."

Elizabeth beams with pleasure. "Val, Chin, Laura. Now that we all know each other a little better, does anyone speak a second language?"

Chin smiles, "Cantonese, actually. English is my second language."

"I think you might be learning a third and fourth here."

"Yes, ma'am, after you learn English and Chinese, it's all downhill from there."

"Laura? How about you?"

"Four years of high school Spanish, but I've forgotten most of it."

"I've found that I always remember more than I thought I did, but the experience should come in handy."

Val didn't need to be asked. "Twelve years of Latin—I went to a Catholic school, and it was a required subject."

"Have you been able to pick up anything by just listening in?

"It sounds a little familiar, and I can guess at what it might mean, but not really, no."

"I believe that you're going to be joining Chin in learning a few new languages."

Val smiled. "Yes ma'am. I'd like that."

"John, how about you?"

John soft-pedals his answer. "I can order a beer and find the bathroom in a handful, but I picked up more than a little Farsi."

"I'm sure that you must also have learned a little Ancient, even if only by osmosis." Elizabeth favors John with a sly smile.

John shifts uncomfortably and avoids Elizabeth's eyes. "Maybe some."

She lets him off the hook. "I'm really looking forward to knowing more about these people."

John muses about their two vastly dissimilar experiences. "I wonder why they seem so friendly while the other village was so indifferent—cold."

"Perhaps Anbur will be able to explain that—or at least his interpretation of it."

"I have a bad feeling about it; I don't want to get caught in the middle of something where we have no idea what's going on," John says.

Elizabeth reassures him, "We'll just have to wait and see."

 

Days Twenty-One - Forty-Two

After a couple of days of meeting with Anbur in the lounge, he invites them to stay longer, and offers to allow them to take regular classes with the students. Elizabeth readily agrees, they have nothing but time.

Colonel Caldwell isn't so sanguine about the plan, but he doesn't overly object, because it presents an opportunity to ingratiate the Expedition with the local population.

They spend a several of weeks learning Ancient along with other students. The Ludahsediat is a religious school, and excerpts from the Avaxqaral, painted onto thick soft paper with tiny brushes, serve as classroom materials and religious texts. Anbur is not at all reticent to explain that the Avaxqaral is a machine left to them by Qaral, the Ancient that had seeded the planet at the time they evacuated the Pegasus galaxy. John thinks Rodney would probably commit murder to get his hands on an Ancient database with skilled human translators.

Elizabeth and Val pick up the Ancient most quickly and move up in the classes, until they are with the oldest students. Chin isn't far behind them, but Laura and John are still sitting with the younger students.

John is learning Peragro from the kids in the class and teaching them English in return. The Ancient is fine, and he's sure that Elizabeth is in heaven learning it, but her agenda is still skewed towards what it will mean if they return to Atlantis.

He's trying to stop thinking in terms of when.

Their carefully adjusted diurnal schedule is rearranged to meet that of the school. Very early morning is reserved for language classes, and at dawn the class stops as the qerato calls the faithful to meet the day, curled down to the floor in prayer. After prayer, they breakfast and then have a few hours of free time to wander around and explore the town, meeting people. At midday they have another meal, and then it's classes of math or science, followed by a rest period in the hottest part of the day.

When the evening call to prayer is through, everyone gathers in the salon with the statue. It's an elective evening gathering, which is conducted exclusively in Ancient for learned discussion on a variety of topics—science, politics, math, or any subject one cares to bring up. It feels like an odd confluence of formal and casual; they lounge around on the sofas and nibble on the trays of snacks like it's a cocktail party, but the language and actual conversation is generally reserved and academic.

John prefers to wander around the town of N'vellesem and explore the territory. It's incredible what the aurora does to the town, the shifting light plays off the white buildings, transforming them into a gorgeous, glowing canvas of colored light.

He soon discovers a public drinking establishment, where the patrons greet him like he's a long lost hero and invite him in for a drink. He has a little of the common tongue under his belt, and John learned long ago that it's not always about the words, which he usually fails at anyway. They buy him rounds of a strong, sweet tea and short glasses of a fiery liquor they call ekal, which he appreciates since he hasn't got a single lamnat, the local coinage, on him.

He mostly sticks to the tea and listens while they talk. It's too fast, and he doesn't understand, but that's fine. The patrons are an even mix of men, and women, who don't appear to be barflies or prostitutes. He asks a few questions in slow halting Peragro, and that amuses them. They answer slowly, as if speaking to a child, but John isn't offended. He doesn't always get the explanation, but it doesn't matter. He's here to interact, make a few friends, and he succeeds; that he picks up more phrases and memorizes a few faces is just the icing on the cake.

Sometimes when he goes to the public teahouse, he'll take Cadman or Lu or Timmons, and on one memorable occasion Elizabeth. She has a far better command of Ancient than Peragro; when she uses Ancient to ask a question every one of them falls to their knees and hugs the floor, which really wasn't her intention. John advises her, "Stick to Peragro, Elizabeth."

John checks in daily with the Daedalus, though nothing interesting is happening there, and Rodney calls a few times to rant about John having all the fun. It would be interesting to see Rodney at the teahouse and John thinks that they'll be coming back again.

~*~

Between John and Anbur, they've each picked up a smattering of languages, and John finds that Anbur's a pretty interesting guy. He has an atrocious, almost juvenile sense of humor and he always laughs at his own jokes, which John finds amusing. Anbur is also a schoolteacher at heart; he loves answering questions and has a deep thirst for knowledge.

Anbur shows John his favorite hobby, an aviary of sorts, with a handful of small raptor-type birds. They're not hooded or leashed, and Anbur uses the birds to start a conversation, asking John all sorts of questions about the Daedalus, their people and customs. John knows that Anbur is using John as a sounding board to compare and contrast whatever Elizabeth has explained. He also knows that under that genial smile lies a quick, sharp intellect; he's probably building a very thorough account of the crew of the Daedalus.

In return, Anbur is willing to answer almost any question John has. He hedges the answer when John's curious that Elizabeth doesn't seem to go to a classroom any more, but is off doing 'special studies'; Elizabeth had been close-mouthed on the subject. John figures that out of all of them, Elizabeth is probably the smartest, and it doesn't surprise him at all that she 'graduated' in a matter of weeks.

Anbur tries to explain the difference between the Peragroilla and the Qaroptimat—the main sects of the two towns, but it's a vast and complicated answer, and John tries to not let his eyes glaze over. If ever he wished that Teyla were here, it would be now. He cuts himself off from that train of thought, no sense in indulging in self-torture.

John does get a better sense of the social geography from his conversations with Anbur. The town they're in, N'vellesem, is mainly composed of the sect Peragroilla, though not exclusively, and they tend to interpret their religious text, the Avaxqaral, the Voice of Qaral, more literally than the followers of Qaroptimatia-the other main sect.

The town to the west of the Daedalus is Ayse, but they are mostly Qaroptimat, whose followers generally rely upon the 'religious' leader's interpretations of the Avaxqaral. Peragroilla and Qaroptimat aren't exactly just religions or tribes, and yet they are.

It's a bad habit, and despite a lifetime of being exposed to foreign cultures, John knows that he's trying to shoehorn the nuances of an alien culture into his somewhat privileged American point of view. A year in the Pegasus galaxy has worn the edges off of that tendency, but he figures if the shoe fits, it works for him.

Day Forty-Three

They're taking advantage of the Ludahsediat's day off, wandering around N'vellesem. Anbur had given them a handful of the tiny, but surprisingly heavy, silver-colored lamnat coins to share and sent them out to shop. The market is busy in the hot morning sun, the tables of wares outside shops are loaded with food, clothing, glassware, and almost anything that can be traded or sold is available. John has explored the town a little bit in the few weeks they've been here, but the market is where all the action is.

Elizabeth is wandering around with Cadman, and ostensibly John is keeping an eye on them, but it's more like asynchronous orbits. He runs into them every few minutes, though he's always aware of what shop they've gone into, and that Timmons and Chin are staying within shouting distance. They are still walking around with their P90s, John's not so far gone that he's ready to give them up, even though the town seems friendly and accommodating.

John stops in front of a music shop where the proprietor's band is giving an impromptu sidewalk concert. The flute recorder things have an odd atonal sound, though the drums are pretty much like any other, a shallow brass bowl with some hide stretched over it. There are a couple of string type instruments too, plucked and bowed, and all of them together make for a harsh, but still compelling, sound.

It's loud enough that John can't hear when the Daedalus calls him on the radio. "Hang on, let me find someplace I can hear you." John quickly jogs to a quieter spot. "Okay, sorry. I'm reading you now."

"Colonel, I'm patching you through to Dr. McKay."

"Standing by." John hears static and then a click and open frequency. "Rodney, what's going on?"

Rodney sounds breathless and excited. "Colonel, we have a visitor. Came running into the volleyball court."

"You have a volleyball court?" John grins to himself as he winds Rodney up a little.

Rodney snaps crossly, "Pay attention, please. I've exhausted my command of conversational Ancient. How much have you learned of the other language?"

"I can order a beer and find the bathroom."

"Naturally. Well, you need to expand on that a little here. I'm going to try to give her the radio. Her name's Shaaziya."

"Sure, I can try, but I'll go back to the school and find Anbur. Elizabeth is at the market with Cadman, and I'm on guard duty."

"Who? What?" Rodney sounds distracted.

"Lieutenant Cadman and Elizabeth are shopping. Hang on." Sheppard calls out, "Timmons! Stick with Dr. Weir and Cadman; I'm going back to the school. Okay, Rodney."

"Shopping? With what?"

"Anbur gave us a little money and shoved us out the door."

"Great. I'm stuck here with the morons, and you're out shopping."

"I'll take you shopping, Rodney. So, are you going to put her on, or not?"

"Right."

John hears Rodney trying to explain the radio to someone, and then only back ground noise before there is a rustling sound. Caldwell comes on the frequency, "Colonel Sheppard, she has the radio, please initiate contact."

He has no earthly idea what to say, and even less idea of how to say it in Peragro. "My name is John Sheppard. Who are you?" He's totally not prepared for the fast rush of a strange dialect; admittedly he's still learning, but he can only pick out a word here and there—he hadn't minimized his comprehension of Peragro to McKay by much. "I am almost there, slow down."

He does manage to get where she's from, Ayse. Shaaziya has a great voice for the radio. The language is kind of musical, and he stops trying to understand and just listens to the fascinating rise and fall of her voice as he waits for Anbur to excuse himself from the classroom.

He's smiling and not at all upset to have been pulled out of class. "Colonel Sheppard, what can I help?"

"Anbur, please translate." Sheppard hands him the radio and ear piece, "Put this on, like this. Her name is Shaaziya and she's from Ayse. I don't understand."

Anbur takes the radio with an immensely pleased expression. Fortunately, Anbur has a far better talent for languages, and he's obviously familiar with her dialect, because they launch into a fast conversation that John doesn't follow at all. Anbur's face grows grim, and he takes the radio off, handing it back to Sheppard and gesturing. "Find Elizabeth, great danger."

John takes off running, shouting into the radio. "Timmons, Cadman, report your position. Where's Elizabeth?" Anbur is right behind him.

Laura comes back with "We're at the cloth merchant."

"Stop what ever you're doing and get her back to the school. Now."

"Roger, we're on our way."

"Timmons, where are you?"

"I've got them in sight, sir. Heading towards the school, Cadman is taking the shortcut just behind the pottery shop."

John heads off to the left to intercept them at the end of the small alleyway a few hundred yards away, and he's got Elizabeth and Cadman in sight. "Anbur, what is going on?"

"The Abnepa of the Qaroptimatia is very unhappy you are studying with us. Elizabeth is target for nixat, to make example because of studying Avaxqaral."

Damn it, John knew he should have worried more about what Elizabeth was doing on her 'special project'.

Just as Anbur's words are spoken, John sees it happen in slow motion; a dart strikes Elizabeth in the neck, and she crumples down to the ground. Timmons is quickest on the shot, and he takes down the assassin, who makes no attempt to escape. John puts on a short burst of speed to make it to Elizabeth's still form.

He should've expected this. Nothing ever happens without having some effect; he just didn't expect it to be attempted murder. John reports to the Daedalus, "Elizabeth is down, we need medical assistance immediately."

Caldwell replies crisply, "I'll have one of the doctors in a 302 ASAP."

Anbur pulls the dart out of her and throws it down in disgust. "Must get rememdium, quickly." He easily picks Elizabeth up and rushes through the gathering crowd.

They've been through this before, and John picks up the dart for safekeeping. "Cadman, wait outside the gates for the 302. Someone pick up that guy and follow us," John is still shouting orders as he follows Anbur, who's holding Elizabeth limp in his arms.

 

Day Forty-Three

Anbur simply crashes through the front door of the rememdium, bellowing "Neela!" loudly. A tiny old woman scurries into the foyer almost instantly, takes in the situation and begins firing questions as she leads them into the back room. John has been in the infirmary in Atlantis so many times, he doesn't even have to know the doctor's actual questions; he just gives her the dart.

The room is dim and close; there is barely room enough for the low bed. She points and Anbur lays Elizabeth down gently, then steps to the side. The rememdium squats next to Elizabeth and begins to examine the wound low on her neck, then starts scrabbling around Elizabeth's shirt with its unfamiliar zipper.

John's face is flushing hot and red, but he steps around Anbur to unzip her shirt and lift Elizabeth up slightly to strip it off over her head. He gets a brief smile of thanks as he gives her room to work. The old woman places her hand over Elizabeth's chest, just above the heart. Elizabeth's breath is stuttering, short uneven breaths.

John looks away from the old woman's walnut-dark hand, lying so intimately on Elizabeth, as she chants, almost singing, but he can't see anything happening. "Anbur, what's going on?"

"Neela is healer." Anbur says simply, though it doesn't really answer the question. "Gift of Qaral."

That might be a better answer. John thinks back to the catechisms he's learned over the last three weeks. Qaral was the Ancient who had transplanted the population here, along with his native wife and son, and then disappeared in a flash of light. Mentally, he digs back further into the SGC mission reports for the rest of the information on Ancient healing. "Okay," is all he says.

He checks that Timmons is watching over the injured assassin in the front room before stepping outside into the brilliant, hot street.

"Daedalus, this is Sheppard."

"Go ahead, Sheppard." Caldwell sounds like he's strung too tightly, and is about to snap.

"What's the ETA on the doctor?"

"Dr. Cole left three minutes ago."

"Lieutenant Cadman is waiting for them outside the town's west gate."

"I'll pass that on."

"Anbur's taken Elizabeth to the local healer and she's working on her now. I don't know her status yet. Do you still have Shaaziya with you?" John is hoping that Caldwell didn't immediately throw her into the brig as thanks for her warning, however untimely it was.

"Dr. McKay has her in the conference room, keeping her entertained with an MRE, and she doesn't seem particularly anxious to leave."

"I need to ask her a few questions, but I'll have to check on the logistics from this end." John can hear the high whine of the 302 in the distance, and everyone in the street is excitedly rushing towards the gate. "Dr. Cole is here, I'll report in as soon as we know anything."

"Very good Colonel, Daedalus out."

John keys the radio to get Cadman. "Lieutenant, report."

"We're just inside the gates, sir."

"The rememdium is about two blocks to the north of the fountain, the second street on the left." He pauses to think before he continues; they desperately need the goodwill of N'vellesem, but he has to balance that with Elizabeth's life. With some regret, he orders Cadman, "Do what you have to do to get through the crowd, Lieutenant."

"Roger that, sir. Doesn't seem to be a problem, they're not impeding our progress."

That relieves John as he goes back in to check on Elizabeth. She's still unconscious, and Neela has her hands wrapped around Elizabeth's head, fingers threading through her dark hair, thumbs stroking her cheeks. Neela is still chanting, and Anbur is kneeling at Elizabeth's feet, singing along with Neela; his voice echoes hers in a lower octave.

Going back outside, John waves in the Lieutenant and Dr. Cole; the curious crowd is following them at a respectful distance. John's admiration for them goes up a notch or two.

"Dr. Cole, she's in here."

"Colonel."

"Cadman, stand watch, we don't need the whole village in here." He pulls Dr. Cole into the house. "First, their rememdium, or doctor, might have some Ancient healing gene, are you familiar with that?"

"I've read the pertinent mission files."

John wonders about the raw info dump he'd struggled with for so long. "She may or may not be helping, I don't want to disrupt her if she is."

"Understood, Colonel."

One of them had figured out the rest of the zips; Elizabeth's slacks are open and shoved down, and now Neela's hands are stroking long swaths underneath her underpants, up to her ribs and then back down again.

Anbur is still kneeling, but he's silent now, his lips moving with words of prayer. John crouches down beside Anbur, and speaks to him in a low voice. "Anbur, our rememdium is here, Dr. Cole. Can she examine Elizabeth?"

"Yes. Neela finish quick."

And at that, Neela stops, rearranges Elizabeth's remaining clothing and pulls a light blanket up to her neck. She and Anbur hold a conversation that's so fast John can't follow it, but Anbur gives him the gist of it when they are through. "The poison is strong."

John nods as Anbur pulls him out of the room. Dr. Cole brushes past them, pulling out her stethoscope and kneeling at the low bed to start a physical examination, which oddly takes the same route as Neela's: heart beat, examine the eyes, palpitate the lymph glands under her jaw and then checking for distension of the belly. Elizabeth is still gasping for air, though not as heavily as she was a few minutes earlier. Cole yanks the stethoscope off and snaps, "I need her in the infirmary, like ten minutes ago."

John shoves Elizabeth's shirt into his pocket and carefully picks her up, while Anbur tucks the blanket around her as they turn to go. Neela is at the door and John thanks her as they sweep out of the room.

"Cadman, give the pilot a heads up, we're on our way out."

They're walking at a fast clip, and the crowd easily parts for them. "Lieutenant, make sure that Neela knows the assassin needs looking after, I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Yes Sir."

It's not far, nothing in the small town is very distant, and they soon have Cole in the back seat of the 302 with Elizabeth on her lap, and Lieutenant Faraj is closing the canopy. John shoves the crowd back, away from the hot blast of the engines.

Even with Harrier take-off capabilities, the sand is a problematic runway. Huge, billowing clouds of hot sand and dust are thrown up, scouring everyone in range. John doesn't have to order anyone back; they are running inside the city gates.

John and Anbur watch until they're in the air and are fully away. It hasn't even been twenty minutes. John turns to Anbur. "I must speak to the assassin and Shaaziya, can you return to Daedalus with us?"

"Yes, I will come."

~*~

John gets a little refresher course in history before they start with the assassin from the west. "They are the same but do not believe as same. Qaroptimat follow Son of Qaral as rightful leader after Wilan's death. They wait for blood of Quaralyn to return, blood of Ancestors very important. We follow Doctus as Wilan's chosen, and do not wait for Quaralyn."

John nods, this is all ground he's covered in beginner's theology.

"Qaroptimat believe only the Abnepa or Idon may study Qaral's words, but they have only fragmented remembrance, their Vaxqaralyn. There was much blood spilled for many years, but now steady peace for many hundred generations."

"So we've upset the balance, and they're trying to rectify the situation." John flashes back the evening that Elizabeth had wowed the crowd at the teahouse. Elizabeth's theory that they must travel across the desert out of sight was right on the money; how else would the Qaroptimat know she was studying the Avaxqaral, and how did Shaaziya gain that intelligence?

"Hmm. Just so."

The prisoner is awake and sullen, but Nail answers Anbur's questions; a holy man of knowledge is not to be ignored, regardless of sect. John's supposition turns out to be correct; Elizabeth had been targeted because she was directly studying the Avaxqaral. The rest of them were known to be taking only children's classes from paper transcripts and hand crafted books.

John reports the intelligence to Caldwell and gets a status report on Elizabeth—no change—before they return to the school to gather their belongings. Night is falling rapidly and John is anxious to get back to the Daedalus. He leaves the prisoner in the hands of the N'vellesem with a request that they be able to ask him further questions.

"We are not like Qaroptimat, he will be safe." Anbur looks a little put out that John brings up the possibility of capital punishment.

"I'm sorry, I just had to know." With that, they set out across the moonlit desert. Anbur's retinue is vastly reduced from his original contingent; only Baariq, Dara and Iqbal of the Idon accompany them.

~*~

They're only a few hours into the hike to the Daedalus when John's radio crackles to life, and the comm tech is calling. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Daedalus."

"Sheppard here."

Caldwell answers him. "We have a situation, Colonel. The Daedalus is surrounded by Habibs on the ground. They are armed and presumed dangerous--and we don't have any idea of what their problem is."

"Understood." John bristles at the probably unintended slur. Caldwell isn't that much older, but it's these little things that remind John they're of two separate generations of soldiers. He steadies his voice. "Anbur and a couple of his friends are with us. Can we take them?"

"Possibly, but I'm reluctant to engage and escalate, especially with unarmed civilians under your care."

"I agree. What do you suggest?"

"Hermiod and Dr. McKay are trying to get the Asgard beam working, but we don't have time for any testing."

"Uh, that's not very reassuring."

Rodney interrupts. "It'll be fine, Colonel. Go, Novak." There's a bright, blinding flash that lights up the night sky and Rodney is there in the flesh, looking smug. "And I'll prove it to you." He nods at Anbur and the Idon, who look completely flabbergasted. He taps his radio, "Novak, lock onto my transmitter. There's," he pauses to count, "eight others. You got 'em? Great." He turns to John. "Don't get used to this, Sheppard, Caldwell says it's mission critical only—it takes too much power."

John takes a moment to introduce Rodney. "Anbur, this is Dr. Rodney McKay, our chief scientist. Rodney, this is Anbur, Baariq, Dara and Iqbal. They're sort of the rulers and religious leaders of the Peragroilla of N'vellesem. Anbur's the one that saved Elizabeth."

"Oh, well. Thank you, really. Pleased to meet you. Now, we need to form a small group, but for God's sake don't any one touch each other."

If Rodney's so certain that he'd risk coming out here, who is John to question? He pulls the awed Idon into a small area. "Don't touch, stay apart, okay? We're going to take a little trip." He points at Rodney, who's arranging Cadman, Chin and Brown as an illustration, instructing them to form another ring around the Idon.

"Yes, Sheppard, we understand." Anbur says in a shaky voice, turning to his companions, passing on the instructions.

John and Rodney take their places in the formation. "Do your magic, McKay."

Rodney grins and taps his radio. "Novak, nine to beam aboard at your discretion."

John rolls his eyes and before he can comment, they're in the ring room aboard the Daedalus. "Jesus, Rodney, how long have you been waiting to say that?"

Rodney laughs, "Actually, I didn't even think about it." He kicks a little of the sand they'd brought with them. "Huh, I guess we need to work on that."

They turn around and their guests are on their knees, foreheads to the ground, praying.

Rodney is pulling them up as he chastises them, "Oh, no. No. Don't do that. It's just not dignified!"

"We have never seen such power. There are the tales of the very old transcribed many years after landfall which describe such things." Anbur says it dreamily, as he looks around the ring room. During John's stay in N'vellesem, Anbur has treated all of them with a friendly respect, but now there's a little more reverence in his tone.

John isn't sure he likes it.

He looks away as he radios Caldwell. "We're all aboard, Colonel. Safe and sound."

"Very well, Colonel, please bring your guests to the conference room immediately."

"Yes, sir. Come on, let's go meet the boss."

John and Rodney herd the Idon to the conference room, giving them a mini-tour on the way. They are politely impressed with the Daedalus, despite the uneven floors and her broken state.

Once they arrive at the conference room, John gets his first look at their mysterious benefactor. She has a handsome face, despite the slightly hawkish nose, with pale green eyes, which widen at the sight of Anbur and his retinue. She slides easily from her chair onto her knees, curling in, so that her nose touches her knees with her hands over her eyes.

Anbur speaks to her in a sharp tone of voice, and it looks like she almost flows to her feet, though her eyes are still downcast as she replies.

The conversation continues between them. John isn't nearly good enough to follow it, and he uses the time to watch Rodney. It's a little disheartening to see the expression on Rodney's face; even though he doesn't have any way to communicate with her, John can see that Rodney's already well and truly smitten.

Shaaziya elaborately answers all of their questions, and then Anbur gives them the lowdown.

"Zuhair, the Abnepa of the Qaroptimat, heard of Elizabeth from spies. Has declared nixat."

John tilts his head slightly as he thinks about that. "I'm pretty sure I know what that means, but maybe you can be a little more specific."

"They may openly attack, and you are not safe from deception. Those of your people who study Avaxqaral are forfeit, unclean."

Caldwell interjects a question. "What about Shaaziya, is she in danger, because of what she's done?"

Anbur studies Shaaziya for a moment. He asks her another question, and she shakes her head as she replies, which brings a smile to Anbur's face. "Shaaziya lal Q'yn is in no danger of retribution. Her presence is of no consequence to those who wait. I leave for you decide if she is dangerous."

"Great." John, Rodney and Caldwell each glance at the other, but it's apparent that his meaning is unclear to all of them. John turns back to Anbur. "What does that mean for your people? That you've allowed this to happen?"

"We have means to discuss the matter. This has happened before, do not worry."

John hates that they're responsible for breaking a thousand year old armistice. "Anbur, did you know this would happen? If you let Elizabeth into the database?"

Anbur looks John in the eye, those startling gray eyes hiding nothing. "We do not worship the blood, or wait for the Quaralyn, but as a learned man, how can I ignore such a sign?"

Rodney makes a sarcastic, scoffing sound. "What the hell is a Quaralyn?"

Anbur doesn't take offense at Rodney's denigrating tone, but answers mildly, "The son of Qaral promised to return after his death. The Qaroptimat wait for him."

John should have expected this—how often did an alien space ship crash land on your planet, and said aliens hand over a device that proclaims that they are messengers of your god? "I know this hard to believe, but we aren't who you think we are—we're just like you."

It's going to be impossible to conceal forever the fact that there are ATA gene carriers on board, and in the interest of not having this come back and bite him on the ass later, John decides to lay all of their cards out on the table. "Rodney, do you have any more of those Ancient gadgets?"

"A couple. You don't mean to..."

Colonel Caldwell cuts him off. "Sheppard, do you think that's a wise decision?"

"Yes, I do. We can't sustain a secret of this magnitude for very long, and I think in the interest good relations, we have to be completely honest."

"What would Dr. Weir say?"

"I'm pretty sure she'd back me up on this." Actually, John isn't at all sure. She'd mentioned that this might come up at their initial parlay with Anbur, but they've butted heads over policy more than once in the last year. He intends to take advantage of her absence, especially since she was the one who got them into this mess. Rodney gives him a 'you've got to be kidding' look, but disappears to retrieve a device.

Caldwell doesn't appear to buying it either, though he doesn't prevent John from explaining to Anbur the events of the last year: Stargates and distant Galaxies and the Ancients retreating from the Wraith and Pegasus, and the fact that some of them are also very distant descendants of the Ancestors.

Anbur nods "This is same, the history of Dominat. Qaral must not leave the archepat in city of Ancestors, could no longer protect. Many legends of living with the Ancestors before Dominat."

John recalls his school lessons; they use term archepat to describe their ancestors, to differentiate them from the Ancestors. He thinks that it's pretty amazing that they have such clear records, and it's almost incomprehensible to know that they understand their history so far back into the distant past.

Rodney returns and lays the tschotchke on the table between Anbur and John. Anbur's eyes flicker over to Shaaziya. Though she wasn't capable of following John's story, she will definitely get the full effect of the demonstration. He gives Shaaziya an order, and she stands immediately. "Doctor, please take her."

"What!" Rodney's not used to Anbur's grasp of English, and John translates.

"Rodney, you need to take Shaaziya out of here. Anbur doesn't want her to see this. I agree."

"Oh, right. Well, wait for me, I want to be here." Rodney points at one of the Marines standing guard outside the room. "You, Marine person, come with me."

John glances at Caldwell. "Actually, in the interest of full disclosure, I think we need every one on board with the gene in here."

"I concur." Caldwell calls the OD to round them up them up while Rodney guides Shaaziya out of the room.

They wait a few minutes, and soon Dr. Beckett, Major Lorne, and the other handful of the ATA enabled staff are assembled. Rodney returns from stashing Shaaziya in the mess.

"Anbur. These people all carry what you call the blood of the Ancestors. Very few of us have this, we call it a gene."

"As it is for us."

"Okay. Here goes." John picks up the small device and thinks 'on'; it glows, and there's a small sound, like the refrain from a song. He smiles and asks, "Music box?"

Rodney grins back. "I think so, we really aren't sure."

"Cool." He turns it off and hands it to Rodney who repeats the procedure, though the light and sound are slightly fainter. He hands it off to Beckett who's wearing a faintly queasy expression as he activates it. The device is passed down the line, giving away the relative strength of every individual's ATA gene, until it finally comes back to John. He hands it to Anbur, and it glows dimly, but does not emit sound. Anbur hands it to Baariq, but stays dark. Iqbal and Dara have the gene, but not even as strong as Anbur.

"We are like you, Anbur. We are not to be worshiped, and we aren't Qaral's messengers. It's a coincidence."

"Hmm, very powerful. The fates do not like coincidence." Anbur huddles together with his Idon, and after an extended argument, turns to John. "I see your truth and this may be in your favor with Zuhair. This is very powerful knowledge, you must decide who you may trust. Baariq and Dara say it will be difficult to hide. Iqbal cannot agree to the hiding; it is the way of the Qaroptimat, and is not our way. We will not hide for you, but we will not speak for you. "

Rodney asks, "What does he mean by that?"

"I think they aren't going to go around telling everyone, but we're on our own if we intend to keep this a general secret."

Anbur nods accordingly, and John doesn't like the way that Anbur's looking at him, as if he's reevaluating him from the ground up.

"That's likely the best offer we're going to get, Sheppard." Caldwell dismisses the assembled gene carriers, "Thank you, that will be all for now." He pins John with a serious look. "Colonel, please have the OD assign temporary quarters, I'm sure our guests would like to rest."

Which is colonel-speak for a private 'discussion' in the near future. John only hopes it's after he checks on Elizabeth and a nap. He has Olander assign a female guard for Shaaziya so Rodney can get some rest, and makes sure that Shaaziya knows it's mainly for her protection, though she is restricted to the few public areas of the ship. Anbur and his Idon are also given an escort, and are similarly restricted.

John stops at the infirmary to check on Elizabeth and finds Caldwell already there. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, and he approaches the foot of her bed. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Caldwell stands and puts himself in John's space, just like a drill instructor, not quite chest to chest. "Colonel Sheppard, while I appreciate the fact that you've had some experience with these people, I do not like to be backed into a corner by one of your unilateral decisions. This isn't a colony yet, and I hope that you can remember that there is still a chain of command." His voice is low and he speaks quietly, but there's no doubt about who he thinks is in charge.

John refuses to be intimidated; he's had it out with the best that the Air Force can throw at him. John is aching to slouch down with an insolent look, but it wouldn't accomplish anything other than pissing off Caldwell and exacerbating the situation. "Colonel, did you disagree with anything that I said or my course of action?"

"Not necessarily, but with our main diplomat out of the picture, I take exception to your seat of the pants diplomacy. It hasn't always worked out for you."

He's got a point, and John knows that the last year has only reinforced his natural tendency to take the initiative as he sees fit. Elizabeth has called him on more than once. John nods, "Yes, sir. I'll make every attempt to take this into consideration in the future."

Caldwell steps back a little. "Thank you, Colonel. If you have a moment later, please inquire if Anbur would consider aiding us in parleying with whoever it is that's outside the ship."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to help."

Caldwell nods and leaves the infirmary.

John takes a breath, drags a chair over to Elizabeth's bedside and sits down, just for a little while. She's on a respirator, still pale and unconscious, but the machines attached to her beep at a reassuring pace. He touches her hand briefly, and it's freezing. He risks picking it up because she's not awake, and chafes it lightly, before he rearranges her blanket a little so it covers her hands.

What a mess, and it'd been going so well. This is what he gets for letting his guard down, even a little. Elizabeth's diplomatic nature was both a source of comfort and a sore spot; but she wasn't available to consult, and honestly, Caldwell might have command of the Daedalus, might have coveted Sheppard's appointment to Atlantis, but he hasn't ever had to deal with the insanity of the Pegasus galaxy, though now he might have to learn to take up the slack if Elizabeth doesn't pull through. John's not sure how well he and Caldwell will cooperate, and he's not looking forward to finding that out.

It's not long before Rodney joins him, pulling up his own chair. "Sheppard. You look like hell."

"Thanks." John frowns at him, but quickly gives it up. "Oh, hey, I brought you a present." John digs into his pocket for the little lamnat coins that Anbur had given them. "Here. I didn't have a chance to buy you anything."

Rodney takes the coins and inspects them carefully, hefting them in his palm as if to judge their weight, and rubbing his thumb over the smooth, almost soapy, surface. "Huh. I'll have to run them through the scanner, but this looks like Yttrium, or even Lutetium. The sensor array picked up huge deposits of them--we're pretty sure that's why the gravity is so high." Rodney clenches his hand around the coins and frowns at Elizabeth. "I'm just sorry that Shaaz didn't show up sooner, we could've nipped it in the bud."

John gives Rodney the inscrutable eyebrow, but this time it's obvious what he means.

"Well, it's a long name, and she's always correcting my pronunciation, and well, you know."

"It's fine, Rodney, but I wouldn't get too attached to her. I know she came here to warn us, but we can't just keep her here, and we can't just let her go. We just don't know."

"Yes, I know that, but that isn't a reason to treat her like a criminal."

"I'm not treating her like a criminal. I don't think anyone will try to harm her, I'm just not taking any chances. I don't need any more grief on my hands right now."

Rodney's voice takes on an uncharacteristic tone of compassion. "Really, Sheppard, I understand. I'm just frustrated with the communication gap."

"Yeah. I don't think I ever really grasped how much easier life was with the 'gates."

Carson sticks his head out of the infirmary office. "I thought I heard your dulcet voices."

John wonders how much Carson overheard of his conversation with Caldwell. "How is she, Carson?"

"The poison appears to be chemically similar to cobra venom, it's attacking the acetylcholine receptor sites in her diaphragm, but we've no antivenin for it. By the time we develop one, her system will already have broken down the poison. All we can do keep her ventilated and hydrated, until she's breathing on her own."

Rodney casts a worried glance at the still form on the bed. "But she'll be fine, right?"

"I think so, Rodney; her urine and blood work is showing an increase in the by-products, and thanks to the healer's immediate attention, she never stopped breathing."

"Are we talking brain damage, Doc?" John shivers involuntarily at the idea of dealing with an invalid Elizabeth, slack-jawed and insensible, on top of all the other problems of being stranded.

"Once it's all broken down and flushed out of her system, she should be fine. I've no reason to think there are permanent consequences, but I think a discussion with their healer might be in order."

"I dunno, Neela's pretty old to walk that far, and I think I'd rather have you here."

"This is ridiculous, we're on an Asgard hybrid ship." Rodney storms out of the infirmary, looking intent enough to do murder.

John and Carson just look at each other and shrug.

"How long will it be?"

"It should be a few days on the respirator. When she regains consciousness, we'll see if she's up to breathing on her own. Meanwhile, Colonel, you should get some rest and not in that chair."

"Right, I'll do that." John makes no move to get up, and Carson gives him a firm look. "Oh. I guess I'll check in later."

"You do that, Colonel."

John walks to his cabin, taking a detour by the guest cabins to check in with the Marines in the hallway. "Everything all right here?"

"Yes sir, I think they've all conked out. Not a peep."

"Thanks." John has got to get the hang of talking to the Marines, he sounds so lame. Hartley obviously agrees; he's trying hard not to smirk at John.

In his cabin, John strips and takes a quick shower, then falls into bed. The worry, exhaustion and frustration war with each other for a few minutes, but he eventually falls asleep.

 

Days Forty-Four - Forty-Five

John's awakened out of deep sleep by the klaxon, and a call for all hands on deck over the ship's loudspeakers. He can feel the engines vibrating as he throws on whatever is closest to hand while calling the bridge. "This is Sheppard, what's going on?"

"We've just detected a Wraith ship in orbit, sir. The sensors weren't able to get a reading any sooner."

"Tell Caldwell I'm on my way to the hangar bay." Sheppard cranks down the last knot in his boot and takes off running. The ship is on high alert, and the crew is running from station to station, looking serious and grim and yelling at the lurking civilians to get out of the way.

The hangar is already a hive of activity. The pilots are running preflight, the ground crew is inspecting the armaments and everyone has their assignment well in hand. A few armed Marines are still standing guard, stationed at the open edge of the hangar bay to keep an eye on the Qaroptimat forces outside the ship. The bright sunlight is a shock; John expected it to be dark. He hasn't been asleep for very long, no wonder he still feels exhausted.

Within a few minutes of the alarm the LSO is waving the F-302s out of the hangar, the thundering jet engines throwing out hot blue flames. The Qaroptimat heave themselves to the ground in shock as the jets fly out into the bright sky.

There were more pilots than 302s on-board, and so John wistfully watches the third one take off before he leaves to go to the bridge.

"Rodney, where are you?"

"Busy in the control room, what?"

"Do you need any help?"

"Uh, no?" Rodney kills the discussion when he turns his radio off.

John hits the bridge and finds a place to stand out of the way. They've got the limited sensor readings on the screen, and the darts are screaming out of the Wraith ship. It doesn't look large enough to be a Hive, possibly only a cruiser, but still deadly enough. The out-numbered 302s begin to engage the Wraith darts.

Caldwell stabs the panel on his chair. "McKay! When will the Asgard beam be back online?"

The tech manning communications barks out, "McKay says they're ready to beam the Mark IV out, sir."

Caldwell responds, "At his discretion, Lieutenant. Order the 302s out of the blast range, but continue to engage."

The bridge tech pushes some buttons, and the screen highlights the nuclear warheads shimmering into existence.

McKay's voice comes over the loudspeakers, "It's in position and ready to detonate."

The forward view screen has the relative position of their forces marked in green, and the blast range is a big red circle around the cruiser, like a digital bullseye. Caldwell orders the pilots to evacuate the detonation range; he's cool and collected amidst the fury of technicians and bridge crew working frantically on equipment that's sub-par because of the dust constantly sifting through the fractures in the hull.

When the last of the white 302 dots exits the target area, Caldwell orders, "Initiate detonation."

The dot that represents the nuke blossoms outward like a perverse, deadly flower and then fades to leave behind scattered fragments of radioactive chatter.

The problem is obvious to John. There are a large number of darts still heading towards Dominat, and without a Stargate for them to disappear through, the situation remains grim.

The on-screen display is not lost on Caldwell, either. "Bring the rail guns to bear, let's try to get them out of the air before they land."

'Land war in Asia' briefly, giddily crosses John's mind, and then he's gone, running towards the armory.

"Olander, this is Sheppard, come in."

"Go, Colonel."

"What's the status on the ground troops, Sergeant?"

"I'm about to shove them out the door."

"I'm on my way."

The corridor to the armory is barely controlled chaos. Marines are picking up weapons, ammunition and tactical vests in swift, sure order and running down the tilted halls towards the only exit, the hangar bay. "This is Sheppard—clear the decks in the hangar, the Marines are coming through!"

"Roger that, we're ready for 'em."

John picks up his equipment and heads out. "Bridge, status!"

"They're hitting the atmosphere now."

"Keep me advised."

In the hangar bay, the Marines aren't even bothering with the ladder, but leaping off over the edge into the sand below and then rolling away to clear the landing area for the next wave. "Oh, fuck," and then John is sailing in free fall.

He rolls a few times on landing, and he might have twisted his ankle, but he ignores the pain and hauls ass out from under the Daedalus and into the open sand.

There isn't any sign of the Qaroptimat, they must've bugged out after the 302s took off. John puts on his sunglasses and takes position in the sand, far enough away from the ship to have a clear shot at the bright, lavender sky.

They've brought down Wraith darts like this before; he just hopes that they've drawn the darts to them as the main threat, and that they don't head for N'vellesem, or Ayse even. There hasn't ever been a Wraith culling in their recorded history. Qaral chose Dominat well.

The rail guns begin to fire, tracers trailing blue fire against the purple sky, and darts begin to fall from the sky. Sheppard and a platoon of Marines, seventy men and women in all, fire on those that make it through 302s defense line and the rail guns' barrage.

It goes on for hours, until dusk. The supply officer has crew members running replacement ammunition to the Marines, along with water while the comm tech gives Sheppard a running total of Wraith darts still in the air.

They manage to obliterate the bulk of the darts, and fortunately the culling beams were not in evidence; food is not the Wraith's main objective for the attack.

Any Wraith left standing is bad news, and it's possible that a few have escaped; they could have landed anywhere on the planet. That means that as night falls, they are out on the desert, tracking down downed darts to verify that the occupants have been dispatched.

The night vision goggles give them a measure of equality against the Wraith that appear to be able to see in any light.

It's only as the eastern sky begins to lighten when Sheppard calls back the Marines from their search and destroy mission. Every dart that was within walking range has been double checked, and they're just going to have to find a way to get farther out.

There's nothing more that John would like to do other than get some sleep, but that's not possible. He heads immediately for the bridge and finds that Rodney is already there.

"Ah, Colonel. You're just in time."

"Tell me you have some good news."

"Hermiod and I were tweaking the Asgard beaming protocol when the Wraith showed up. We should be able to beam strike teams at least in line of sight distance now, and get you in range of more Wraith darts."

"How many are there?"

Rodney's good humor disappears. "Maybe fifty."

John resists sighing. "How close are they to either of the towns?"

Caldwell points to the view screen. "They appear to be on heading towards them with all due speed."

"Where do you want the teams for beam out?"

"Any where in the ship will work, but the ring room gives us a better target site."

"I'll call you when the teams are assembled. Can you send them from one wraith signal to another?"

"Essentially." Rodney jerks his head to the side, meaning that John really doesn't need to know the exact particulars.

Caldwell looks up from the data pad that Randall hands him. "We'll keep the 302s in the air, the ground forces will go where the pilots don't have a clear shot."

John really misses flying.

~*~

It's a crush in the corridor outside the ring room, and every one of the assembled soldiers looks tired but determined.

"Heads up! Fire teams of four, you'll be beamed to a distance of a hundred yards of a Wraith life sign. There is no way to know if you'll be in sight of the target, so watch your backs. We'll target those closest to the population centers; the 302s have the targets in open territory. Collateral casualties are to be avoided, but use your judgment." John nods at the first group, headed by Major Lorne, and they crouch back to back on the ring platform. John advises McKay, "Team One is ready."

The four Marines disappear in a flash of white light. The next four take their place and disappear in their turn, again and again until there's only the last four. John steps into position, and gives the order. "Ready."

 

Day Forty-Five - Forty-Seven

It takes almost two days. There are some losses in N'vellesem and Ayse, two Marines are killed, and one 302 is lost in the battle. The Marines dig two more graves, and they double their efforts on digging out the port side hangar. John is sure that they'll find some way to extract the precious, trapped 302s.

The Wraith coming here for the first time is going to cause some fallout among the citizens of Dominat, but Anbur reassures John that tragedy is the 'Will of Qaral', and drops the matter.

The Asgard beam is limited by the fact that they are on the ground: it can't beam them through the planet to the other side, but it isn't necessary; before Anbur leaves to return to N'vellesem, he explains the odd pattern of populations that had been bugging John, why they seem to only use a small portion of the planet. No one lives in the forested zones because of the uncontrollable, dangerous fires, and the huge desert sea on the other side is too dry and empty.

The Daedalus' scanners are limited as well; the data is incomplete because of radiation and magnetic interference, so they don't know if there are Wraith present in the far distant towns.

However, the Wraith didn't use their usual cull/destroy tactics, but had generally seemed to concentrate their efforts on the area surrounding the Daedalus: they are after the hyper-drive and information about the better feeding grounds of Earth. John considers that it could have been worse; the entire population--including them--could have been annihilated.

The discussion of how to approach the problem has Rodney disappearing into a workroom of the Daedalus with Hermiod and Novak, specifically charging John to baby-sit Shaaziya. With the Daedalus no longer surrounded by the Qaroptimat forces, there's no reason to keep her on board, but she's willing to learn and doesn't appear to be anxious to return home.

John kind of likes Shaaziya and he's amused that he got picked for babysitting duty. He teaches her a few English words for things around the ship and makes a little headway with figuring out some the Qaroptimat dialect, which turns out to be vaguely similar to Peragro.

He lets her shadow him when he visits Elizabeth, but there hasn't been any change. The respirator makes her chest rise and fall with a sighing shush-shush sound, and the EKG beeps reassuringly, but Elizabeth is still pale and unmoving. Shaaziya stands back, looking around the infirmary with unconcealed amazement.

It's late evening by the time John is bored with babysitting, so he tracks Rodney down in the lab with Shaaziya in tow. There's no mistaking the look in McKay's eyes when he sees her and he laughs delightedly when she says "Hello, Rodney," in English.

"So, Rodney, whatcha you doing?" John has no reason to be jealous, yet he finds himself feeling unaccountably annoyed at Rodney's moon-eyed expression. He lets his glance slide off Hermiod, who merely gives him a slit-eyed glare. Hermiod's still annoyed by John's naked alien crack.

He doesn't get an answer because the moment that Shaaziya sees Hermiod, she gives a little scream and runs from the room. "Oh crap," John mutters.

They run out after her together and catch up to her when she stops just down the corridor. Rodney croons nonsense to her while patting her hand. He orders John, "Make her understand."

John's eyes grow wide with disbelief. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me! I can barely get lunch, bathroom and sleep across, and you want me to explain benevolent aliens who really aren't gods? And how did you get Caldwell to agree to let her stay, anyway?"

Rodney glares at John like this is his fault. Maybe it is, he hadn't even considered what Shaaziya's reaction might be upon meeting Hermiod. "I, uh, asked. Nicely. I think it shocked him so badly he didn't know what else to say." Rodney pauses for a moment, thinking. "It worked remarkably well," he says wonderingly.

Shaking his head, John tries to explain Hermiod to Shaaziya, but he just doesn't have the words.

"Please, Colonel, allow me." John whips around; he hadn't even heard the sneaky little grey. "Anbur and I had some very enlightening discussions while you were away."

Huh. John makes a 'be my guest' gesture and Rodney soothes Shaaziya, while Hermiod fluently explains his presence on the Daedalus to Shaaziya in what's very likely perfect Qaroptimat.

Shaaziya doesn't sound convinced, she's firing questions at him and Hermiod is defending against her volley, until they apparently come to some understanding.

Hermiod gives them a look that's distinctly supercilious. "If you require any further translation, or would like me to attempt to teach you the language, I'm available at any time." He turns and pads back to the lab, his gait as awkward as ever.

Perhaps Hermiod's feeling as useless as John, but he didn't think that people with brains that big ever got bored; though on the ground, Hermiod's regular job is out the air lock. Metaphorically speaking. "Hermiod."

He stops and turns with the usual, faintly condescending look.

"I think we're going to take Shaaziya to the mess. Would you like to join us?"

Hermiod dips his head in acknowledgment and walks back to them. "Thank you for the invitation, Colonel."

John knows life in the Pegasus galaxy is weird, but there are levels to the weirdness and he doesn't know if this is the first or ninth.

They get a few stares when they enter the mess, but everyone looks away when John gives them the 'I'm a Colonel' glare. He has to look away and not laugh when Hermiod climbs into a hard backed chair, his feet swinging free. Shaaziya takes the seat just across from Hermiod. John tells himself to buck up and sits next to the naked alien. Rodney slides into place next to Shaaziya, with a tray of coffee and water, all three quarters full.

Rodney passes the water to Hermiod and coffee to the rest. "So where were we? Oh, yes. We're building a relay satellite. It'd be a lot simpler if it was just scanning and radio, but I'm sure we can relay the beaming technology, too."

John smiles, but Rodney's attention is on Shaaziya. He drops the smile and stuffs his jealousy down and away; he and Rodney have been nearly joined at the hip since the Expedition arrived on at Atlantis. "Cool. How long?"

Rodney is still smiling when he looks back at John. "Trials are tomorrow, we're tracking down an anomaly in the re-materialization circuit. We used all the spare parts to repair the console, so I have to patch up the old parts for the satellite."

"Uh, that's kind of frightening." John gives Rodney a bug-eyed look that he'd been beamed around by recycled parts.

"Oh, please. The only reason we used the spare parts was expediency, not because the parts were irreparable. You got back from the desert, I think you might remember that."

"Yeah, just a little."

That gets John a good-natured eye roll. "I thought you might. Your sunburn seems to be better."

John waves away his concern. "It's fine."

"Anyway, Carson's already promised me one of his future ATA mice. We'll have someone waiting a little way from the ship and send the mouse through the satellite. Mouse has been promised a full physical post-beaming. If it works, we'll send it up with a 302."

"The mouse?" John asks mildly.

"Idiot," Rodney smiles affectionately. "Anyway, I'll have to do another round of testing when the satellite is in orbit; I don't know how the radiation in the atmosphere is going to affect the signal over distance."

"I, for one, hope that it works out, it would save a whole lot of wear and tear on the feet, not to mention time."

"Yes, well, they say that laziness is the mother of invention. I usually prefer to think it's intelligence."

John gives Rodney a sage nod. "Right."

"Really, I think Dr. Cole is being far too cautious. I'm the best choice to study the database, but I'm not cleared to walk across the desert, even at night."

John quirks his eyebrows at Rodney. "So, it's not laziness, it's conceit. What about the power requirements?"

"The opportunity to study an Ancient database with people who understand and use it daily has immensely important implications for our work on Atlantis. I think Colonel Caldwell is being over cautious in his power consumption figures," Rodney says in an airy way, his hands flailing.

For the moment, John doesn't bring up the Qaroptimat's objection to general study of the Avaxqaral. "You still believe that we're going to get rescued?"

"Eventually, when the SGC has a spare ship to send to Atlantis, they'll come looking for us, whether or not Swenson gets to Atlantis. The satellite will let us extend our scanners so we don't have to continuously send a wraith-attracting distress signal. With the satellite, our chances of getting found increase dramatically."

"You are amazing as always." John means it, really, but he hides the meaning with a twist of sarcasm in his tone.

Rodney glances at Hermiod nervously. "It was a group effort."

John swears that Hermiod's expression is a smile.

"Colonel, I have been considering Lieutenant Swenson's journey. Perhaps it would have been more effective to make a short jump to a planet with a gate, instead of trying to travel all the way to Atlantis?"

He knows that he's got a stunned expression on his face, because Rodney's got the same look on his face as he says, "Why didn't we think of that then?"

"I must confess, at the time, Dr. McKay and I were still not well, and not thinking clearly."

John asks solicitously, "So you're feeling better?"

"I am quite recovered." Hermiod sounds conciliatory, which is a strange sound.

"That's good." He's starting to understand why Novak is alternately afraid of and besotted with Hermiod; under that snotty attitude is a person that could be pretty interesting to talk to, something he learned early on with McKay. No wonder Rodney's been regularly holed up with them.

John is glad that Rodney's found his place in their nascent colony; he just wishes that he wasn't turning into a Marine security officer by default. "Should we campaign to send another 302? We're down to four. Do we even have a gate map?"

"The Daedalus has all of the known Pegasus dialing coordinates stored in the computers."

Rodney looks a little dazed. "I was so intent on Atlantis, I didn't even think of it."

"Dr. McKay, do not 'beat yourself up', as Novak would say. We have no guarantee that the modified hyperspace protocols on Swenson's vessel have worked."

"Yes, true—but still."

"I must return to the laboratory. McKay, please bring Shaaziya, and I will teach her your language as we work. Good day, Colonel." Hermiod slides out of his chair and heads out of the mess.

They watch him leave the dining room, and after he's turned the corner, McKay laughs shortly, more of a snort. "I guess he's forgiven you."

"And I didn't even apologize."

John cuts off Rodney's response with a raised hand, Carson is on the radio. "Colonel, Elizabeth is beginning to wake up."

"Thanks, Doc." He says to the radio, and then lifts his eyes to Rodney. "Elizabeth is waking up." They leave their coffee on the table and Rodney is tugging on Shaaziya's arm in lieu of an explanation that she wouldn't understand anyway.

"Sheppard, I think I'll take Hermiod up on his offer, drop her off at the lab. Elizabeth isn't going to appreciate a crowd."

John agrees with a jerk of his head and he almost flies to the infirmary. Colonel Caldwell is already at Elizabeth's bedside, Carson and Dr. Cole on the other side, checking the monitors and taking her pulse and listening to her chest with a stethoscope.

He stands a few feet away from the foot of the bed, watching as they remove the ventilator tube from the respirator and check to see if she can breath on her own.

Elizabeth takes a few gagging breaths and that's enough-- they hurriedly tip her head back and slide the tube out of her throat, talking her through it. Carson puts a nasal cannula on her and adjusts the oxygen flow while Cole sprays her throat with something. John watches in horror and is gagging in sympathy. Another reason he joined the Air Force.

"Welcome back." Caldwell smiles a little nervously, and touches her hand gently; his attention is completely on her.

Elizabeth tries to reply, but only manages a little croak. She looks terrified and the dark smudges under her eyes make her look pale and washed out as she tracks on Carson as he soothes her with a hand to her arm and a gentle voice.

"Aye, now you probably won't be able to speak for a while, the ventilator does terrible things to the larynx."

Elizabeth takes a shaky breath and sighs. Her large expressive eyes say just how frustrated she is. Rodney blasts into the infirmary. "How is she?!" He loudly asks the room at large. "What did I miss?" he asks John in a lower voice.

John replies in a whisper. "They just took her off the respirator and she can't talk yet."

"Ah. That's good, off the respirator is good."

"I kinda wish I had missed it."

"Ugly?"

"Ever see anyone vomit up a plastic tube?"

"Uh, no. Not really. Why are we whispering?"

Caldwell looks up, and sees Sheppard and McKay lurking against the wall. "Colonel, why don't you brief Dr. Weir?"

John nods, and takes Caldwell's vacated chair.

Caldwell addresses Beckett, "Doctor, keep me informed. I'll be on the bridge."

"I'll do that, Colonel."

"Thank you." Caldwell leaves the infirmary without a backwards glance.

Rodney drags another chair over next to Elizabeth's bed, and John prompts him, "Rodney, why don't you start at the beginning?"

As they briefly piece together the story, Elizabeth's eyes begin to droop, and then starts nods off right about when John's explaining the rememdium.

Carson checks her pulse again; hand on her wrist, despite the constant beep of the machine behind him. "Don't take it personally, she's still suffering some respiratory distress." He cranks up the oxygen a little. "You're welcome to stay, though she'll fade in and out for a while."

 

Day Forty-Eight

In order to allow her throat and larynx to heal, Elizabeth has strict orders to not talk; she uses whatever computer or pad and pencil is at hand to communicate. She never says if her agreement with John's ATA disclosure to the Idon is to merely keep the peace. John stops in several times to keep her updated on the progress of the satellite Rodney's building. The initial inanimate trials were encouraging, and Hermiod and Rodney deem it ready for the mouse trial in short order.

John volunteers to go long and wait for the mouse. Carson insists on accompanying him and they walk a few hundred yards away from the evening games being played under the lovely night sky, far enough to provide a clear target.

"Colonel, I'm going to send through an inanimate object first."

"Roger that, Rodney. We're ready."

"Here goes."

With a flash, Rodney's PDA appears on the sand. "It's here. Hang on." John picks it up, thumbing the power and scrolling through a few screens. "It works fine."

"Yes, well. Do you think I would use it if I didn't trust this completely?"

"Never in a million years."

"I'm going to send over the cage first, then Atom." With that the empty cage appears, and a moment later, the mouse inside the cage, though he falls a few inches to the bottom of the cage. Atom doesn't move, just sits quivering and allows Carson to easily capture him.

"I think he's got a wee bit of shock, but he's all here. I'll just take him in and run a few tests." Carson wanders back to the ship petting and talking to the mouse.

He wonders how Carson can treat his lab rats with such affection, knowing that they'll probably meet with some sticky demise at his own hands. John picks up the cage, then thinks a moment and puts it back down. "Rodney, Carson has Atom, can you take the cage back?"

"Excellent idea. Stand back, you're not in any danger of getting scooped up, but better safe than sorry."

He moves to what could be construed as a safe distance away. "Go."

The cage disappears, and John begins his short walk back to the hangar bay, as he listens to Rodney natters away on the radio. "Well, dependent on Carson's results, I'd say that we're ready to move to the next step, and then we'll launch."

"Sounds good to me. Need to put together an external release system of some kind."

"Sounds like that's just right up your alley, Colonel. Have fun and let me know when it's ready."

"I'll do that. So who's the lucky victim?"

"Ah, we haven't exactly got that finalized. We'll probably ask for a volunteer, lately that seems to be the way things work."

John can hear the nervousness in Rodney's voice. "Rodney?"

"Let's not discuss this over the radio, Colonel."

This turns out to be a very complicated argument with the usual suspects in the conference room, over just which section of the ship's complement to ask for volunteers. They don't want to lose any more Marines, and the scientists, while essentially jobless in the big picture of their exile, were all classified as precious resources, and yet they don't want the 'volunteer' to feel like they are the most useless person on board.

Shaaziya surprises them all. She has been Rodney's shadow for the last week, and no one realizes that she understands that much of their discussion. "I will go."

"What!" Rodney looks horrified at her suggestion.

"I am best choice." Shaaziya's eyes have a mulish expression, and her arms are crossed. Clearly, she's been spending too much time with McKay.

God help him, John shouldn't go there, but...it does make sense. Her offer to aid them is a way for her to ingratiate herself to them in general, but the part of him that's jealous of her speaks. "I think she's got a point, Rodney. If you're willing to send Shaaziya here through, then you must have complete confidence in the satellite," he says in the most innocuous, non-combative tone of voice that he can muster. "Either that, or we just have a random drawing. It might be your lucky day, you might win the lottery."

Despite his mild tone, John's comment gets him a shocked look from every one at the table, including Shaaziya, even though he just backed her up.

Rodney's eyes narrow, and he gives John a venomous glare that lets him know that he really, really hates him right now. "Carson, what about Atom?" he spits out.

Carson speaks in a soothing conciliatory tone, trying to keep the briefing from erupting into something ugly. "Scans, X-rays and blood tests are all within normal ranges. He's fine, I'd say it worked beautifully."

Now Rodney is wearing his determined face, mouth turned down at one corner, lips set in a tight line. "Fine, then let's do it. No time like the present. Colonel, would you mind terribly being at the other end? Carson?"

"Of course, Rodney." Carson briefly shoots a frown at John, and the meeting seems to be over. The conference room empties with more alacrity than normal.

John could have, should've just said 'she's right', but something had driven him to make the spiteful comment. He's going to regret this for a long time, and he's not sure that Rodney will ever forgive him, or if he even should.

Rodney turns to go with a strangely triumphant look, and that worries him, but Rodney escapes before John can collar and question him. Knowing that he's just fucked things up, possibly beyond repair with his stupid jealousy, John takes the hike to the same spot outside the ship and sits down in the sand.

The sunset is spectacular as it always is, vast sheets of every shade of purple imaginable, tinged with gold. He should've waited for Carson, but he just needed a few minutes to himself to ponder his self-inflicted state of affairs.

Rodney has a girlfriend, and while John hasn't resorted to actual cockblocking, it's a close thing. Cadman's making advances towards Carson, Caldwell is openly courting Elizabeth and she seems receptive to his advances. For all that he's the military commander of Atlantis, it means nothing here on Dominat, and he's just alienated the one person that he could call his best friend.

He's maintained a firm distance from everyone but Rodney. The teahouse in N'vellesem was John at his best since Afghanistan; camaraderie with little to no conversation, and everyone went home at the end of the night feeling amused.

Soon, Carson is huffing his way across the sand towards his position. John expects him to lay into him with both barrels over his behavior in the conference room, but Carson merely offers him a hand up and a pat on the shoulder. "Aye, Rodney. I'm here. Give it go."

There isn't a response and the flash of light reveals... Rodney, chin tilted up defiantly and arms crossed over his chest. "Yes, you're right, Carson, it works beautifully."

Carson's doesn't look as dumbfounded as John feels, and there's obviously a conspiracy at work here. "What the hell?"

"Well, Sheppard, if we were looking to make a statement about the technology and its apparent safety, who better than I to make the test run?"

John's completely chagrined. He had been this close to offering to be the guinea pig as a gesture of reconciliation, but of course, McKay has beat him to the punch.

Carson doesn't even get the chance to pull out his stethoscope before Rodney activates his radio. "Hermiod, I'm ready to return," and disappears instantly.

"Fuck." That's all he has to say. John walks back to the ship, with Carson at his elbow offering silent support.

 

Day Forty-Nine - Fifty

John avoids Rodney and Shaaziya and anyone else he can conceivably get away with dodging. He modifies one of the missile clamps on a 302 to hold the satellite for launch, and emails McKay that it's ready.

Later in the day, he gets a return email advising that the satellite's been attached to the craft in question, along with the preferred coordinates for release into a geostationary orbit that will achieve the dual aims of extending the sensor arrays' range into deep space and allow immediate access to points beyond the nearby environs.

John is in the hangar bay doing his initial flight prep, when Major Lorne joins him and puts on a flight suit. "Thought I'd go with you."

"Sure, sounds good."

Lorne clears the hangar bay of off duty personnel. They work together, speaking only when the job requires it and eventually they climb in and start the start the preflight. Caldwell gives them a go, and they rocket out of the hangar bay.

John wishes, not for the first time, that air time in the craft wasn't so severely limited due to fuel concerns, because he dearly misses soaring into the open, deep blue, uh, purple sky. If he takes a little extra time in escaping the atmosphere, well Lorne's not going to report him and no one on the Daedalus mentions it.

After flathatting the Daedalus, John points the nose of the craft towards the given coordinates and altitude.

"Daedalus, this is Foxtrot Alpha. How's my aim?"

To his complete surprise, Rodney answers. "Perfect as always, Sheppard. You're in position."

"Roger that. Lorne, you want to do the honors?"

"Yes sir. Releasing the clamp in three, two, one, now."

John executes a precise aileron roll on the y-axis, up and away from the satellite. "Satellite is away."

This time it's the regular comm tech, "Roger that, Foxtrot Alpha. We're receiving telemetry, five by five."

"Returning to base. Foxtrot Alpha, over and out." John brings the 302 to as low a speed as possible, in order to maximize his airtime. "Well, that was a nice distraction."

"I'm just sorry it wasn't longer, sir."

"Lorne, what did I tell you about that?"

"Sorry, sir. It's the plane, causes me to fall back into bad habits."

John can't see Lorne, but he can hear the smile. "You're forgiven."

Lorne sounds dryly amused. "Thank you... sir."

John snorts, and takes the tricky landing in the hangar bay. He's through sulking, Rodney seems to have offered his verbal sword in a Homerian apology, and now John needs to fall on it in an act of honest contrition.

They pack away the 302 and their flight suits, and Lorne throws a sloppy salute in farewell, and heads towards the mouth of the hangar bay. John turns towards the control room.

Rodney, Shaaziya, Hermiod and Novak are shoulder-to-shoulder, peering at a console. Elizabeth and Caldwell are standing at one side, looking on with unfeigned interest.

Shaaziya is wearing a shapeless, uniform overall that's zipped all the way up to the top, and the sleeves are a little too long, but they're not rolled up. She's smiling at Rodney while he explains to her what they're looking at, with minor corrections in Qaroptimat by Hermiod. Novak is making adjustments at the console. It's almost a tranquil, domestic scene and John is reluctant to throw it into discord. He turns to leave, but it's Hermiod that calls him back.

"Colonel. We are examining the data from the satellite, and are preparing for the next phase."

John eases back into the room, coming to rest a few feet away. He's suddenly the focus of every person in the room, and he's desperately regretting his decision to come here, though no one seems to be giving him the evil eye. "Uh, that's good. When?"

"Right now. Carson's waiting outside, and I'm about to initialize the beam and send the cage out to him."

Rodney has never wasted time before when there was an experiment or project, so John isn't sure why he's faintly surprised. "You want me to go out and wait with Carson?"

"Not necessary, Colonel. Okay, Carson?"

"Aye, Rodney. Hurry it up, it's fucking blistering out here."

John is definitely shocked to hear Carson swearing, but he knows how vicious the midday sun is. "You heard the man."

"Going." Rodney punches a few buttons to send the cage away and checks in. "How does it look?"

"It looks fine."

"Put the mouse in the ring. All right--I have him." A few more buttons, and another check. "Carson?"

"Oh." The dismay in Carson's voice is all the answer that they need. "He's dead, Rodney."

Rodney has so few failures that he takes the news particularly hard. "Damn it! I was sure we'd compensated for the magnetic and radiation interference! I'm so sorry, Carson."

Carson chides him, "It was just a mouse. I told you not to name him. I'll let you know the results of the necropsy when I've the results."

Rodney takes a deep breath and sits down in an empty chair. "Colonel Caldwell, we know the telemetry works, and we've got extended sensor data, so I can at report that the power expenditure wasn't a total waste."

"It was worth the expense, Dr. McKay," Caldwell says.

John offers, "And we can still beam over to N'vellesem without the satellite."

Rodney gives John a grateful smile. "That's true."

Elizabeth whispers hoarsely, "Good job anyway. Rodney. Let's meet this evening and discuss our options, and put a few plans into action." She gives Rodney's shoulder a squeeze and a little shake before leaving. Caldwell nods and predictably trots out behind her.

Suddenly, the implications of the dead mouse hit John all at once. "Rodney. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, I know. It was stupid of me to take the bait, but well. I'm sure it's the really bizarre magnetosphere."

John can't take in the horror of the disaster that he'd nearly caused with his spiteful and petty remarks. All of his blood seems to rush to his feet and he feels like he's going to pass out. Faint. Whatever. He slides down the wall he's leaning against and puts his head between his knees. "Christ."

Rodney and Shaaziya rush over to John, and Novak is calling the infirmary. "Man down in the control room, I have a man down!"

"Jesus, no, no, I'm fine. Call the dogs off."

Rodney hurriedly taps the radio in his ear. "This is Dr. McKay, belay that last. We're fine. We're all fine here." He shoots an accusing glare at Novak. "I bet you've always wanted to do that."

Elizabeth rushes back into the control room. "What happened?" she croaks.

Rodney glosses over John's panic attack. "Nothing. Sheppard forgot to eat lunch and Novak panicked."

Novak looks a little sheepish for her outburst and shrugs. "Uh, sorry. Got a little carried away."

Rodney puts his hand on John's shoulder. "Don't ever put Novak on a team, Sheppard. We'd have a catastrophe every ten minutes."

John takes a breath, and then chuckles. "I'll take that under advisement, but you're probably right."

"I usually am. You okay now?" Rodney's voice sounds warm and close. John looks up and they are all looking at him with identical concerned expressions.

"I'm okay, or I will be. Shaaziya, I apologize. What I said was uncalled for, and I was wrong."

She smiles easily. "It was nothing, Sheppard."

Rodney nudges her with his elbow. "Shaaz, the man never apologizes."

"Ah. Apology accepted."

Elizabeth still has a worried look. "John, are you sure you don't want to go to the infirmary?"

"Well I do, but only to check on Carson."

Rodney frowns. "Yeah, come on." He stands and gives John room to get off the floor. "I'm not sure if I want to view an autopsy before or after lunch."

"Didn't say I was going to watch."

"What is an autopsy?" Shaaziya asks curiously.

John smirks at Rodney as he leaves, "Oh, that one's all yours."

Elizabeth falls in beside John. "That was a very honest apology, John."

"I meant it."

She lets the conversation drop as Rodney and Shaaziya catch up. Shaaziya looks faintly ill.

Rodney asks, "Uh, we aren't really going to watch, right?"

"You can if you want, me--I'll pass."

"Right."

They end up hanging about in the corridor until Carson joins them. "It's inconclusive, but there are a few tests that are still running."

Rodney asks, "Inconclusive, how? What do you mean?"

"I believe it was simple heart failure. It might not be the radiation, but just stress related."

"Huh."

"I heard a call for medics to the control room, what happened?"

John waves off the discussion. "Nothing, Doc. Just—nothing."

Carson claps his hands together. "If you say so, John. So, who's up for lunch?"

 

Day Fifty

Lunch is interrupted by an urgent call from the bridge. "Sirs, new sensor data indicates what could be Wraith still on the ground."

There are at least seven Wraith still out there, well out of walking distance, and with the dead mouse on Carson's autopsy table, that means that it's an air support mission. Two teams crowd into the last four F302s, and divide up the targets between them; the first one done takes the last objective.

John takes one 302 with Cadman behind him, and Lorne takes the stick in the other with Timmons. Somewhere in the back of John's mind, this particular group has become John's default team on Dominat. They're familiar with each other and work well together, but John feels an ache of guilt when he thinks about Ford and Teyla.

If John is also feeling slightly guilty that he's glad for this mission, it's only because it's Wraith that's giving him an opportunity to get out and fly; to do something useful.

John wishes that the craft had a trunk; it would make it so convenient to pack all of the extra weaponry, ammunition and C4 that he'd really like to take. It would be nice to have a four seater. Hell, what he'd really rather have is a 'jumper, but a sweet Pave Low would do for this mission, and he'd even settle for an old, lumbering Jolly Green Giant. The F-302 is fun and deadly, but it isn't his ideal for an all-purpose transport craft.

They take off, and this time there's no joy riding. The plan is to get to the first target, take care of the problem and move onto the next. John calculates the distance/fuel ratios, but it's more likely that they'll have to return for ammunition than fuel, especially if it goes FUBAR.

The first two are easy; the targets are still inexplicably in open desert and are quickly dispatched with a pair of AMRAAMs. When they land near the next village, John is expecting mass confusion; he's afraid that they'll have to shoot through a panicked crowd.

It's a relief that the village seems to be nearly deserted, though the LSD shows the locals are mostly hiding in the low mud brick buildings; there are only a few dots moving about on the screen. As they prowl through the wide and dusty dirt roads, in search of the Wraith, there is evidence that a lot of these folks had tried, and failed, to mount a defense. Their dry husks are lying in the street, with long, wicked looking knives still in their hands.

John watches as Lorne pulls the weapon out of the hands of a dead body, and looks at it closely. It's beautiful, with an ornate handle and a razor sharp cutting edge covered in still-tacky Wraith gore. Lorne nods at the mummified man lying on the ground. "Looks like he did some damage."

"I doubt he managed to dispatch it," John snorts.

Lorne gives him a rueful grin. "Right. Maybe they'll let us take one of these back with us."

"Yeah, maybe. We'll pick it up on the way back. It's too fucking hot, and we're already carrying a full load," he says. They're weighted down with ammunition and water, Cadman and Timmons are packing a SMAW and shells, and the higher gravity make their burdens even heavier.

They spread out, walking down the center of the main road, P90s out and prepared, and John is holding the LSD in the hand that's propping up the weapon's muzzle.

He easily finds the Wraith, because it's the only other sign that's doing a door-to-door search, like the town is its own personal cafeteria line. It's bad news, since a newly fed Wraith is harder to kill than a hungry one.

John's language lessons come in handy because he advises the occasional villager that crosses their path to go and hide as they double time it to the target. He must get the words close enough to right, or his voice carries the order, because they scurry out of the way and disappear.

He signals the team to spread out and surround the suspected position of the Wraith. Cadman is across the street, crouching down behind a low wall, with the SMAW on her shoulder, loaded with a high-explosive dual-purpose round. Timmons is carrying the extra shells to reload the rocket launcher, so he's right beside her, alert with his P90 held high and prepared to fire. Lorne is in the narrow alley behind the dwelling, crossing over and coming onto the main street opposite John's position. Even though it's very late afternoon, the sun is still beating down on them, and John feels like he's about to float away on a pool of his own sweat. He can see that the rest of his team's faces are shining and wet in the bright sun. There isn't time to mess with the canteen; the target could appear at any second, and they have to be ready.

The street is quiet except for the screams and roaring inside the house. John's instinct is to burst in and prevent any further feeding, but fighting in close quarters with a Wraith is a bad way to reach old age. Instead, he tries to ignore the sound of his worst nightmares and focus on the next house down, and the one next to it and the one next to it: the ones that won't be serving up victims if they're successful.

It doesn't take long. The drone exits the house still roaring, looking powerful and deadly, and then turns towards Lorne on its quest for overindulgence. John has his P90 set full automatic, and he lets loose a chattering barrage that doesn't stop. The Wraith isn't even hurt, and as it starts to turn toward John. Lorne and Timmons begin firing so that the creature is caught in a triangulation of their weapons fire.

That's Cadman's cue. She stands up, sights, and scores a direct hit when she fires the missile. The HEDP is designed to take out light armored vehicles and concrete barriers, and the Wraith is propelled backwards into the house as the shell explodes.

The explosion bursts the building open, spewing out ballistic bits of brick, furniture, people and wraith parts. Cadman takes a flying rock to the side of her head, and Timmons drops behind the wall to check on her.

People begin to pop their heads out of the houses to see what's going on. John yells at them to stay put while he and Lorne advance inside the house slowly, weapons sighted.

'Inside' is only a couple of remaining stumps of the mud brick walls, and a few small fires are burning, blue and bright. They take a moment to stomp on them; any fire in an environment like this is as deadly as a Wraith. Nothing else remains, just the shattered jumble of someone's former home.

They continue on through to the back, searching for visual verification that the wraith is definitely dead. Lorne stumbles across part of the armored carapace and nudges it with his boot. "Sheppard, what the hell is this?"

The self-destruct mechanism is intact and blinking away. "Fuck! That's a bomb!"

Lorne's eyes instantly grow wide, and they simultaneously drop to the ground and tuck into a roll as it explodes, shrapnel skewering their backs.

The tactical vest's chicken plates mostly protect them, but there are places the vests don't cover. John rolls to his side, and a hand to the back of his neck comes away bloody. There are a few more pieces of shrapnel in his legs and ass, but he's mobile and conscious, so he weakly gets to his knees and crawls over to check on Lorne who was closest to the self-destruct.

Lorne has a nasty head wound that is slowly seeping blood around the embedded shrapnel. "Lorne, buddy, come on." He doesn't respond to John's attempt to rouse him. John keys his radio. "Timmons, Lorne's down. Go roust out a few of the residents and say the word rememdium. Got that?"

"Yes sir, rememdium. Got it."

"If they have one, we're in the courtyard behind the house."

John can hear Timmons in the distance, yelling and pounding on doors. He uses all of the field bandages they're both carrying to try and stem the bleeding. He leaves the piece of shrapnel in place-it'll bleed like a motherfucker if he yanks it out. He takes the risk of moving Lorne, half-dragging, half-carrying his inert body. "Buddy, you have got to go on a diet if I'm going to be carrying your ass around."

He leans against the remains of a wall where there's a little shade, and pulls Lorne up against his chest, John can feel blood dripping down his neck, soaking the back of his t-shirt, and Lorne's blood is dripping down his front. He can't hear Timmons anymore; he's either moved out of range, or help is on the way, and John can only hope that it's the latter.

He taps his radio again. "Cadman, come in, you awake?"

"M'hr shr."

"How you doin'?"

"Th'nk brk m'jw."

"Christ. Can you walk?"

"Shr."

"We're behind the house, I need field dressings—you got any left?"

"Y'shr. 'n m'wy."

John pulls out his canteen and takes a deep drink, then leans his head back on the wall as he closes his eyes. "John Allan Sheppard, you are one stupid fly boy." If he wasn't waking up the wraith or losing team members, he was going out half-assed and half-prepared on a Wraith hunt. OTS never prepared him for leading land assaults, and his on-the-ground training of the last year was a bell curve too high to beat. If it wasn't the Wraith eating his people, they were suffering from self-inflicted collateral damage from their own offensives.

Cadman and Timmons show up at the same time, with a fairly large crowd of scared looking people following them, all talking at the same time and at high speed. John can make out a few words here and there. A middle-aged woman, wearing a scarlet hat kneels next to him and introduces herself as Maisa.

John stretches his vocabulary to the absolute maximum explaining to her that the Wraith was gone, they'd stopped it, but his friend was badly hurt. He isn't even sure that they'll understand the Peragro.

Maisa replies, but he doesn't quite comprehend, he's dizzy and lightheaded with heat and blood loss. He shakes his head—that was a mistake—and answers her with 'don't understand.'

She gives him a small, sad smile and instructs several men who move to pick up Lorne, while Timmons gives John a hand up.

"Colonel, you're bleeding."

"Yeah. Cadman, you got that bandage?"

"Y'shr." He takes the bandage and fumbles it open, but Timmons takes it from him.

"Lean down a little, sir."

John bends at the waist and rests his hands on his knees, letting Timmons press it gently into place and tie the ends off neatly around his throat. It hurts like hell, but John just grits his teeth as he flinches slightly.

Maisa is still standing there when John straightens up. She takes in the state of Sheppard and Cadman, and bids them to follow her with a wave. She obviously understands the situation far better than he understands her.

John stumbles over a rock, and Timmons is there, sliding under his arm and wrapping an arm around his waist. "Come on, sir. We'll get you there."

The rememdium is on the far side of the town. The men that are carrying Lorne have rushed ahead, but Maisa keeps pace with Sheppard.

Once at the rememdium, Maisa cuts through the crowd easily, leading them into the building, pointing at a low sofa. Cadman takes the chair next to the door. John tries to push through to check on Lorne, but Maisa stops him with a hand to his shoulder. "Wait." She tries to guide him over to the sofa, but he's bloody and filthy on the exact side that he normally sits on and he's reluctant to soil the furniture. John leans on the wall for support as he starts to peel out of his vest and shirt, while Timmons make sure he doesn't just keel over.

Maisa puts her head into the back room, speaking swiftly, and if John ever heard an order that was definitely one. A young man quickly appears from the back, carrying a bundle under one arm, and a large carved wooden tray with various glasses, bottles, jars and neatly folded cloths. He sets it down before unrolling the blanket with snap and draping it over the sofa. He speaks in a soft quiet voice that carries far too much authority for his young face, but John gets that he's a rememdium and his name is Laith.

John sighs and bids goodbye to the last shred of his modesty as he unbuckles the thigh holster and his pants, carefully sliding them down before laying face down. He's grateful for the first aid, he really is, but he just doesn't want to know who's removing his boots and pulling the pants the rest of the way off in company. John rests his face in his arm and closes his eyes as the young man starts to unwrap the bandage around his neck.

"Timmons."

"Sir?"

"I think we'll be okay here. Go back to the 302 and give Caldwell a sit-rep. See if they can walk you through patching the mobile radios through the 302. Advise that we're not gonna make our next objective."

"What should I say about Major Lorne?"

He raises his head up and finds Maisa; she's looking at Cadman's face, which is swelling fast and turning an ugly shade of blackish purple. "Maisa. Rememdium? Yes?"

"Yes." She nods, never taking her eyes off Cadman's injury.

He slumps back down onto his arm. "At the moment he's getting first aid, we'll know more in a little while."

"Yes sir. I'll be back before you know it."

"Pace yourself, we're not under attack. Don't die of dehydration."

"Will do, sir."

Laith tugs the chain with John's dog tags out of the way and begins to work on the wound. John can feel the hard carapace shards as Laith pulls them out, and the sting of the sweet smelling unguent as he cleans the wounds. When the hands clasp John's neck, he goes stock-still. It's a sharp sensation, like the tingle of a nine-volt battery to the tongue, only hotter, and it mingles with the pain. Laith is murmuring in Ancient, John recognizes the sound from when Neela was laying hands on Elizabeth.

Soon it's almost too much for him to bear, and John shifts uncomfortably. Laith's hand lifts from his neck, and the relief is almost as agonizing, until he firmly slides his hand down John's back, checking for injuries—John can feel the heat in the hand. When it reaches the waistband of his boxers, Laith warns him with a tap tap, and then he's sliding them down.

It doesn't matter that this is a trained professional, John can feel his face flushing, and he prays that Maisa and Cadman's attention is elsewhere, but there wasn't anything that was going to convince him to look and check. There are some things you should never know about your commanding officer, and his hairy ass is one of them.

The rememdium repeats the process on his backside, and now John's face is well and truly blazing, because it's the most erotic feeling he's had since Chaya and John's glad that he won't have to roll over any time soon. He'd only made vague, intellectual connections about the Gift of Qaral, but suddenly he understands intimately that this is proof of the Ancestor's blood, a direct relationship between these people and the Ancients.

Laith slides his boxers back up and treats the last wound on his calf, then pulls the blanket from the back of the sofa over him. John wraps it around him, and sits up when Laith hands him a glass of water. He touches the back of his neck to find that it's still a wound, but not bleeding and remarkably pain free. He'll check the others later.

Cadman's starting to look glassy-eyed. John realizes that her injury prevents her from drinking anything. He stands, wearing the blanket like a toga. "Cadman, come lay down before you pass out, and I have to pick you up."

"Y'shr."

The rememdium guides her so that she's flat on her back with her feet over the arm, and the injured side of her face is away from the back of the sofa.

John feels bad that she had to wait to last. As he begins to dress, there is a knock on the door. Maisa and Laith look up in surprise, but John quickly yanks his bloody, filthy t-shirt over his head before pulling the door open to find Timmons, looking hot and sweaty. Maisa smiles, and Laith returns his attention to Cadman.

John peers past Timmons into the now dark street, to see an orderly crowd of people standing behind Timmons. "Come in. I gather there's no need to stand on ceremony, everyone looked surprised when you knocked."

"Oh. The radios are patched through, and Colonel Caldwell wants you to report as soon as you're able."

John takes Cadman's chair and pulls his boots on, cranking the laces down tight. "I was just about to look in on the Major." He leans down and picks up his thigh holster, strapping it on with quick, efficient motions. When he straightens, Maisa is standing at the door to the back room, where John presumes Lorne is being treated.

He follows her back into the large, dim room. Another older healer is introduced as Haitham, and John can tell that this is probably Laith's father who's kneeling next to Lorne, holding his head and softly chanting in Ancient.

Lorne is still unconscious, his skin is pasty and covered in sweat, and he's shivering and trembling. John isn't a doctor, but he knows this is a very bad sign. He nods to Maisa, and steps out of the room. He picks up his vest, and yanks the ear piece out of the pocket as he slides it on. "Daedalus, this is Sheppard."

He can hear the static humming from the radiation, and there's a slight delay as the signal travels to the satellite and back down again.

"...ay again...king up." There's a crackle and then the humming noise.

John takes it outside and tries again. "This is Sheppard, over."

"Reading ...by tw.. say ag..."

He comes to a decision, faith healing is a marvelous, wondrous thing, but it doesn't look like its really helping Lorne very much and there's no time to call for a doctor from the Daedalus, who will probably request an immediate evacuation, anyway. He goes back inside. "Cadman, Timmons. I'm going to take Lorne to the Daedalus, and ferry another pilot back. I'm sorry to leave you without any way to really communicate, but Maisa seems to have it figured out."

"I'm sure we'll be fine here, sir." Timmons says for the both of them. Laith is leaning into Cadman's forehead, and his hands are cupping her jaws in manner that suggests the Athosian greeting. She nods minutely.

"You'll be okay?"

Cadman makes an 'mmm' sound, which John is going to have to assume is a yes. "Yeah, okay, a couple of hours tops. Timmons, make sure the gear's secure."

"The SMAW and the last HDEP are already on board. I picked up one of their knives, too. They seemed pretty willing to let me have it."

"Good man. Now I just have to convince Haitham to let me take Lorne."

Timmons raises an eyebrow indicating John's chances.

If explaining the wraith was difficult, making Maisa understand that Lorne needs to go to their rememdium immediately is complicated fusion of words and gestures, but he gets the idea across.

Maisa conveys to Haitham the gist of the conversation, and it's frightening how quickly he agrees. Timmons supplies another field dressing to protect Lorne's injury, and Haitham calls in the men still waiting outside by the door. The nervous crowd is still waiting for news and explanations, and John hopes that they've earned enough credit to be in their favor without an immediate explanation.

At Maisa's instruction, they don't even bother to take Lorne from the bed; six villagers simply pick up it up and head outside. Timmons leads the way and the odd looking convoy follow him through the dark, narrow, dusty streets. It takes all eight of them to carefully manhandle Lorne into the second seat of the aircraft. Everyone is talking excitedly and touching the 302, and John warns them to stay back. Timmons gently pulls them away as John takes off.

He tries the ship's radio, and this time the signal's clear. His portable must have been damaged when he ducked the self-destruct. "Daedalus, this is Sheppard."

"Reading you loud and clear, Colonel."

"I'm inbound with wounded."

"Copy that, Colonel."

He stays in constant radio contact with the comm tech through out the flight, advising Carson of Lorne's condition and getting the skinny on the other team's progress and the teeth-grinding news of their flawless successes.

Beckett and Sodeburg are running towards the craft as he trips the wire. The ground crew is swarming over the wings, and sure hands pull Lorne out and down and Sodeburg disappears with him into the ship. Beckett latches on to the fact that John was also injured and chivvies him to the infirmary.

Hobeck and Faraj are waiting to return for Timmons and Cadman. "Hold that thought, Lieutenant, I'll be right back."

"Not a problem, sir."

John makes for the infirmary at a quick lope. When he arrives, nurses make a grab for his hand and begin to insert an IV as they push him onto an infirmary bed. "Beckett! I don't have time for this!"

Carson raises his head. "You have time if I say so. Tell me what happened and strip."

John knows this is a battle he won't win. He's pulling his shirt off as Rodney skids into the infirmary, looking red and flustered, his hair in complete disarray. "Sheppard! What happened?"

Carson returns and stops him with a hand. "We were just getting to that, Rodney." He pulls John's head down to inspect the wound on the back of his neck.

"Their rememdium did the laying on of hands thing, Lorne was either too much, or it was going to take too long. My injuries weren't too bad, it seemed to work."

"What was that like?"

There's no way that John's going to give anyone a full detailing of that experience, ever. "It was strange, hot and tingly."

Rodney gives Carson a triumphant look. "All medicine is voodoo magic, anyway."

Carson lets John sit back up. "Well, it looks like it's healing fine." He picks up John's shirt and turns it over in his hands. "Looks like you lost a lot of blood, Colonel." He picks up a vacutainer and threads a needle onto it in preparation to take a blood sample.

"He lost a lot a blood, and you're going to take more? That doesn't even make sense," Rodney says incredulously.

Carson only gives Rodney an annoyed look.

John didn't think he lost that much blood. "Most of that is Lorne's. You can't keep me. I'm the only pilot that can even halfway begin to communicate with those people."

"Aye, but I can." Carson pulls the needle out of his arm and instructs, "Press down here," and leans over to the wall and hits the button on the intra-ship comm system. "Colonel Caldwell, Dr. Weir, please come to the infirmary."

"Rodney, we have got to find a better way of getting around this damn planet."

Rodney gives him a supremely annoyed glare. "I know that, Colonel, what do you think I've been doing? Playing tiddlywinks with Hermiod?"

"You bellowed, Carson?" Elizabeth is still croaky, and probably will be for weeks, but she sounds slightly stronger.

"Colonel Sheppard's got a wee bit of a dilemma."

Colonel Caldwell joins them. "What can I do for you, Dr. Beckett?"

Carson nods at John, who decides that he might as well get the whole briefing out of the way now, though he wishes he weren't half naked. He starts at the very beginning, and goes through the whole story again, ending with "So, I had to leave Cadman and Timmons. Laith was looking at her when I left, but we've got an entire village that's probably about one step away from riot and pitchforks over the Wraith. Carson wants to keep me here, but we don't have another pilot that has any chance of communicating with them."

"I'm not certain how much blood the Colonel's lost and I'd prefer to keep him here for observation, not gallivanting about the planet."

"I could go, and see what I can do." Elizabeth offers, but Carson frowns and shoots down the idea.

"I'm not particularly thrilled with the idea of you going either, Elizabeth. I don't want to risk you losing your voice altogether."

John murmurs mostly to himself, "Plus, it would mean sending out another 302." It's important, but the limited fuel reserves have to be considered of paramount importance.

"I have a solution. Send Shaaziya. She's perfectly capable of communicating with them." Rodney's chin is tilted in a dangerous way, and his arms are crossed, telltale signs that he's prepared verbally assault anyone within range, if necessary.

"No offense, Rodney, but do we really want to take that step, to have her pose as the public spokesperson for the Daedalus?" Elizabeth whispers.

"Oh, please," he says truculently. "She's learned more English than either of you have learned Peragro. Having an indigenous liaison is practically SOP for any invading foreign force."

John backs the idea completely. "Despite the fact that we're not invading, I think Rodney's right. She's sharp and personable and not likely to fall into any of the cultural land mines that I would. It says that we're willing to work with them, and that's always a plus."

"Colonel Caldwell? Is this a precedent that we want to set?" Elizabeth deferring to Caldwell is just wrong in John's book.

Caldwell thinks it over for moment. "I have to hold to Beckett's assessment of you and Sheppard. If he's grounded, he can't go. You are barely recuperated, and I'm sure that Hermiod isn't a good third choice. I think the situation calls for it. We have an obligation to those people, but we can't meet it if we can't communicate. Sheppard's as much admitted that he's out of his league with this. We can simply ask her to help us out in this particular instance. If she will."

Elizabeth nods firmly, even though she's just been shot down. "Okay, if she would like to help in this instance, Rodney, we will discuss a permanent arrangement in depth at the first opportunity."

Caldwell nods at John. "I'll contact your team to see if it's a problem if there's a delay." Caldwell turns to Carson, "I want to have a full debriefing as soon as Sheppard's ready, doctor."

"I'll be through with him in a tick."

"Very good," Caldwell says just as he's about to leave the infirmary.

"I hope you feel better soon, John." Elizabeth smiles at him.

John complains, "I don't feel bad!"

"I'm sure you don't. Rodney, I'd like to speak with Shaaziya as soon as possible." She tips her head and leaves as well.

John asks curiously. "Where is Shaaziya, anyway, Rodney? She's almost been your shadow ever since she arrived."

"Uh, well she's... Resting, resting in her quarters."

The dime drops for John. He gives Rodney the eyebrows of doom, and a smirk. "Well, better go 'wake' her up. I've got people on the ground out there."

"Right, I'll just go do that, then." Rodney backs up and then makes his getaway from the infirmary with uncommon speed.

Carson and John share an amused look, confirming John's suspicion. 'That dog', he thinks.

 

Day Fifty-One

"No, you can't see him right now. Dr. Sodeburg is doing a bit of exploratory surgery at the moment, before the major goes in for the MRI. It'll be at least an hour or two. Go take a shower, and, for god's sake, please get something to eat and drink lots of fluids. Otherwise I'll be forced to strap you down with an IV."

With that warning from Carson, John makes his escape from the infirmary to the hangar bay.

Caldwell has assigned Levenson to take Shaaziya, and detailed Faraj to take the second seat intending Shaaziya to sit on Faraj's lap, thus saving the huge expenditure of resources by not sending a second 302.

They did need allies, and while this particular town was too far away to be truly useful, in the long run it was best to be a good neighbor. Their conduct in this situation would no doubt eventually spread through other towns and villages where it would make a difference.

John sees Rodney slink into the hangar, and he can't resist. He saunters over to where Rodney is lurking.

"So...," he drawls evenly.

Rodney flushes the most amazing shade of red. "I'm not talking about this."

"Does Elizabeth know?"

"What part of I'm not talking about this didn't you understand, Sheppard?"

"I'm just saying. Conflict of interest, possible cultural repercussions, and hey, did you at least meet her folks?"

This gets him Rodney's death glare, complete with chin thrust up in the air, his mouth twisted into a lopsided frown. "You're a fine one to talk."

John just shrugs.

"She says that she's estranged from her father, and, well, to be honest, I didn't quite understand the whole situation—not that it's any of your business."

"Hey, I'm your friend, friends talk about these things, right?"

"That's. That's. I don't even know."

"You're welcome. I'm pretty sure everyone knows that she's your girlfriend, Rodney, but I think Elizabeth should know that it's serious. If it is."

Turning his head away, either to avoid John's eyes or to see if Shaaziya and Elizabeth are there yet, Rodney mumbles something almost under his breath.

John's pretty sure he knows what he said but feels driven to make Rodney admit it out loud. “What was that?"

Rodney looks him straight in the eye this time. His expression is one that John's very familiar with, a peculiar combination of terrified and elated. "God, Sheppard, I think it is."

John's been through this before, so he knows how to school his face to hide his reaction. Buddies that he'd served with, saving each other's lives and sharing horrific and wonderful moments, who then finally meet their dream girl, and it's never the same again. Their priorities shift, focus changes, and John suddenly turns into the single guy they want to fix up, so they'll all be in the same boat. Just because it's not a new scenario doesn't make it sting any less. "It's okay Rodney. I get it."

Elizabeth and Shaaziya finally enter the hangar bay, and Shaaziya's back in her own clothing. Rodney gives John a helpless look and takes off, his course designed to meet them half way.

John picks his way through the crowd to find Lieutenant Levenson.

Levenson cuts a sharp salute. "Sir."

"I hear you've drawn the lucky straw to take our liaison pro-tem out."

"Yes sir, that's the plan."

"I imagine this'll be pretty scary for her, first plane ride in a souped-up fighter jet."

"Yee-haw!" Levenson grins.

John can't help but grin too. "See here's the thing, don't scare her so bad that she goes home and starts a war over it. That would be bad."

"I understand sir. I'll fly like my little old grandma drives."

"That's the spirit. Good luck, and be safe."

"Thank you, sir."

His largely ceremonial duties dispensed, John hangs back from where Shaaziya is getting her final briefing from Elizabeth.

Shaaziya's calm, but John can see that she's trembling slightly, although he can't gauge her reaction to know if she's excited or terrified. Rodney doesn't even get a hug goodbye, before Levenson's graciously handing her up into the plane and making sure that she's comfortably wedged in on Faraj's lap. John's never thought of McKay as a particularly restrained person, but the man kept secrets for a living for a very long time, even though he can't lie to save his life. McKay's been barely able to contain himself around Shaaziya, but at the moment he's the very model of self-control.

The crowd moves back and the jet engines fire up, and then the 302 is out into the purple dawn.

John starts to follow Rodney; he doesn't even need to be told that there's going to be a briefing, but Elizabeth stops him.

"We'll hold off and debrief after everyone's home, John."

John glances at Rodney. He has the air of a student that's been called to the Principal's office, and he avoids looking at John.

"Okey-dokey. I'll just be in my quarters."

~*~

A shake of his shoulder wakes John out of a deep sleep. He sits up immediately swinging his feet to the floor. Carson steps back, looking worried. "We couldn't reach you on the radio, and you didn't respond to the call on the tannoy. Are you all right?"

John wipes a hand over his face, and then scratches his chest. "I guess."

Carson takes a hold of his chin and peers into his eyes, then pressing his fingers at the pulse point of John's wrist. After a moment, he says. "You don't normally sleep that heavily. Taking in fluids?"

"Yeah, but I could murder a steak right about now."

"Hmm. Lay down, Colonel. I'd like to check your other injuries." Carson makes a twirling motion with his finger.

John lies down, recalling that feeling as Carson pulls down the elastic, and presses around each of the wounds on his backside, and then moves to the one on his calf. "They look fine, nearly healed, and no infection. I'll advise Steven and Elizabeth to push the briefing back until you've murdered a steak, doctor's orders. If we have one left."

"Thanks, Carson."

"Aye, and then I want you in the infirmary after you've eaten. Your blood tests came back, and your electrolytes were alarmingly low, among other oddities. The heavy sleep could be related to the treatment you received—are you still tired?"

John cracks his neck with a twist of his head as he considers his state. "Actually, I am."

"Good, you can sleep through the IV then. See you in a few."

John realizes that he'd literally fallen into bed. He's still wearing the torn and bloody boxers and desperately needs a shower.

Clean and dressed, he walks to the mess hall. Rodney and Shaaziya are sitting by the dark windows, the remains of a meal spread out between them. John picks up whatever the meal du jour is—alas not steak—and Rodney waves him over.

"Hey, how did it go?" John eats steadily as Shaaziya talks, until he's down to an empty plate.

"Many are dead, and all are frightened that another will come. Maisa is grateful you stopped wraith. She was also impressed that you speak some Peragro, is not easy to learn."

Figures, he thinks. We get the hardest language on the planet to learn first.

"If it is permitted she would like you to return, so they may thank you and your fellows."

Rodney interjects, "Speaking of fellows, Cadman's jaw is going to be fine. Laith managed to glue it together enough so that Carson doesn't have to wire it shut. Lorne's in an induced coma, but Sodeburg thinks that he should be okay, although we won't really know until he's awake."

John knows that he really needs to go back to sleep if his first question to Carson wasn't about his team. He pushes back the empty plate and looks up at Shaaziya. "How was the plane ride?"

She laughs and claps her hands together and then sweeps them wide, disturbingly Rodney-like. "I was flying, like a bird! Very fast bird. I would like to do that again, when I am not so scared. The flight back was best; Raul said it was a 'barrel roll'. I did not want to come down again."

"I know what you mean." John smiles at her, suddenly he has a connection to her that wasn't there before. If John could manage it, he'd fly her to every town on the damn planet, but without a renewable source of fuel, joyrides are out of the question. Damn, but he misses the jumpers!

He stretches his hour to the maximum, and arrives at the infirmary only a few minutes late. He checks on the unconscious Lorne, who's lying on his side, and Cadman is long gone. Carson reassures him that she's already had an IV of electrolytes and has been sent to her quarters. He then proceeds to puncture and prod John, verbally and physically, before attaching the IV bag. "Get some rest, Colonel."

The Daedalus infirmary is smaller than the one on Atlantis and all gunmetal gray; there's nothing to really look at. Lorne's monitors are beeping, but other than that it's quiet. For few minutes John wishes he'd brought his new book, but the lack of sleep in the last week is catching up to him, and he fades out.

 

Day Fifty-Two - Fifty-Four

John wakes up suddenly and all at once takes in his situation. Someone's removed his boots and pulled a blanket over him, and the IV shunt is gone. There's a small bandage taped over the site on the back of his hand. There must be something that the Gift of Qaral did to him, because even at his most exhausted, normally he'd never have slept through something like that. The lights were dimmed; between the twenty-hour days and sleeping like a rock, he's completely and totally unable to tell what time it is, and his watch is useless; he'd neglected to check the time against dawn or dusk.

Now he feels better than he has in weeks, sharper, energized and awake. He folds the blanket, gathers his boots and sits in the chair next to Lorne to tie them on.

The Major looks marginally better, he's got a little color in his face, but he remains unnaturally still. John sits there for a little while, until Dr. Cole sees him when she pokes her head out of the office. She joins him with, "How are you feeling, Colonel?"

"Better, thanks. Much better."

"We're seeing signs of sleep deprivation among the crew, the day's too short, and these people are used to working 18 hour days. Those missing four hours are having a huge effect."

John just nods. He's spent the last year with twenty-eight hour days, and that makes it even harder to adjust. 'What time is it?"

"Does anyone really know what time it is?" she quips.

John grins, "I didn't realize you were quite that old, Dr. Cole."

"Please, I have listened to the radio once or twice. It's about midday. Well, let me do a quick wound check, and then I'll let you go."

John obediently lowers his head, and she pokes and prods at his neck. "It's amazing, really. This is healing with a supernatural speed, and I daresay you won't even have a scar." She lets go of his head, and he looks up. "I assume the others are the same?" She gives him a frank, appraising look.

The tips of John's ears redden, but he replies evenly. "Beckett said they were almost healed, no infection."

"Well, I'll spare you the indignity, then. If you start to have any problems, please don't delay coming in. We were lucky; we have no idea what the bacteria on this planet are like."

"Thanks, I'll do that, Dr. Cole."

"Call me Paige, please. Off you go then, or stay if you like; I think they pushed the briefing back until this evening." Dr. Cole dismisses herself with a nod, and after checking on Lorne's readings, goes back into the office.

John sits with the Major for a few more minutes, but decides that he really has to get up and move around. He's feeling antsy, like he's about to explode out of his skin.

He wanders over to Olander's office to check in. He goes to the bridge, and there are only a few techs on duty. He wanders by the galley, and it's moderately full, sunlight's pouring in through the window, and those tables are empty. Deciding to pass on food at the moment, he takes the hike down to the hangar bay, which is virtually deserted in the blasting heat.

The small gym is nearly full, and none of the treadmills are free, so John decides to hell with it and starts to run through the corridors to burn off this jittery feeling, dodging around the startled people in the busy corridors.

He runs the length of the ship fore and aft on every deck, which takes him the best part of two hours. It's not like Atlantis where there was room to run for hours and never see another person. John briefly wonders why Rodney's not going insane with claustrophobia; John's feeling cramped and unhappy, and if it weren't a zillion degrees outside, he'd go run in the desert.

The irony of not wanting to march to and from N'vellesem and yet missing the opportunity to run freely isn't wasted on John. Right now, he'd happily take that march.

He finishes his run, cleans up and takes his book to the small galley, which is now nearly empty. John grabs a sandwich and some water and takes them out to the hangar bay. The heat is almost unbearable, but the wide-open vista of the desert, stretching out to the horizon, is far preferable to sitting inside.

John had left War & Peace back on Atlantis, but realizing that eventually he was going to finish it, he'd picked up Crime & Punishment as well as The Gulag Archipelago. He had a theme going, and he was sticking to it. He could possibly spend the rest of his life with these books. John mourns the fact that he might not ever get back to Atlantis, but the unfinished War & Peace is the least of those concerns.

He eats his sandwich, thoroughly chewing and measuring the bites, stretching out the meal. He reads his self-allotted pages slowly, and after considering the words, re-reading the pages again.

It's late afternoon, the sun near setting, and people are beginning to climb down the ladder when John finally closes the book. He watches them for a while but doesn't join them as the briefing will start soon.

Rodney startles him, "Ah, Sheppard, there you are."

"Yep, here I am. What's going on?"

"Actually, nothing. It's kind of refreshing, as a change. Dostoevsky?"

John shrugs and deflects the conversation. "Why aren't you going crazy with claustrophobia?"

"I've spent almost my entire adult life in a lab or classroom--this isn't very much different. It's mostly knowing that I can leave whenever I want."

"I can see that. How's the transporter?"

Rodney grins, the 'you're a geek' left unsaid. "Inanimate objects, no problem, but I killed two more mice, so short of retrieving the satellite, it'll probably have to remain that way."

"Still useful, won't have to slog back and forth with trade goods. We can use the regular beam for line of sight, right?"

"Yes, that's true." Rodney glances over at John. "Are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"I think so, but where are we going to find a duck and a hose at this hour?" John smirks.

Rodney rolls his eyes at John, but he's grinning. "Come on, let's go torture ourselves by listening to Elizabeth and Steven belaboring the point for hours on end."

~*~

It's a very long briefing intended to bring everyone up to date.

John gives a blow-by-blow account of the three Wraith that they did manage to take off the map, what happened, and why it went wrong. He also describes in vague terms the healing treatments they received.

Lieutenant Klingenschmitt provides a concise narrative of his team's activities. They took out three by AMMRAM and dispatched one Wraith prior to its entering a village, but the proximity required them to address the matter on the ground. They deployed the HDEP and returned to base. He absolutely does not smirk, for which John is entirely too grateful.

Carson gives a precise, if somewhat edited for confidentiality, version of the injuries sustained by Sheppard's team, and their current medical situation. Lorne's been upgraded to serious, and they are maintaining the medically induced coma, until the swelling is reduced. He declares that Sheppard and Cadman are provisionally fit for light duty but requests that he'd really like to confer and study with one of the native healers, on the theory of their craft.

Rodney goes through the technical details of the satellite, its failures and limitations as well as what it does do successfully-allow them to monitor and scan the nearby space for Wraith or rescuers.

Shaaziya describes the meeting she had with Maisa, and that the citizens of Tobat were extremely grateful for the assistance; the wraith had been terrorizing them for two days, and many had lost their lives. Haitham was sorry that he couldn't do more for the Lorne; Maisa extended an invitation to return at any time, because the villagers would like to thank them properly.

Caldwell gives details of the total fuel and ammunition used, and the current figures on what they have left, which sounds like a lot, but it's absolutely irreplaceable, and they have no guarantees that another Wraith ship won't come check them out. All nonessential flight is prohibited and he's raising the bar for what will be considered essential.

John shares a moue of disappointment with Shaaziya.

Elizabeth's voice is a little better. "Thank you, everyone. Carson's expressed his interest in talking with a healer, and circumstances prevent us from returning to Tobat. I'm sure that we could arrange an outing to N'vellesem to speak with Neela. I would also like to return, and Rodney's made it more than clear that he would like to study the database. Our concern is that this may initiate another incident. Shaaziya, what are your thoughts on that?"

John interrupts Shaaziya. "Sorry, Rodney, the Avaxqaral is out of the question. We absolutely cannot afford to have you under nixat as well."

"There may be a way. I have heard the story of your treatment when you went to Ayse, and it is true that my village does not like strangers. I would introduce you to the Abnepa, and he may give his blessing to you. No more assassin."

John considers how likely that really is, knowing what he does. "If I knew that we weren't going to be attacked immediately, I would go to Ayse, to see if this can be settled peacefully. Is there a healer in Ayse?"

Shaaziya gives Carson an apologetic look. "No, Zainab was burned long ago."

Carson shakes his head slightly. "No matter, I can wait to go to see Neela."

"I would like very much for Dr. McKay to accompany us," Shaaziya says, and it's odd that she refers to him by his title, that must be Elizabeth's suggestion. Rodney looks discomfited, but John thinks that the thought of meeting Shaaziya's father is the probable cause of the expression. He wonders if his little chat with Rodney prompted this move.

"I would like to go as well. I think it's important that we meet and discuss their concerns."

"If we use the Asgard beam to send us there, we'll need to wait until the sub-lights are on; the battery isn't capable of providing the necessary power. Colonel Caldwell allowed me to test the satellite, but in light of our effort to conserve fuel... I know it's not perfect, but there it is."

"Our current fuel stores for the sub-light will last slightly less than two years on the schedule we've implemented to charge the batteries. If we have another Wraith attack, we will have to use the engines to power our defense, and that shortens the estimated time to depletion." Caldwell doesn't have to add that it's very likely the Wraith will be back.

Elizabeth adds, "Conservation is an excellent concept, but we also need to determine ways to supplant technology with more old fashioned skills. We have two years to learn to live like the local population." It's a pronouncement and a timetable. "Any suggestions on how to accomplish that?"

"The easiest way is to integrate ourselves into the existing population. We could set up a whole new town for ourselves, but that's not going to happen in two years."

"We will have to inquire of Anbur, and check with the Qaroptimat to see if they would allow this. I believe that Anbur would agree."

John adds, "But that puts a whole lot of strain on their infrastructure. They might not be able to take all of us in; that was the Manarian's initial objection when we were looking for refuge from the storm."

"I agree. We'll just have to inquire and proceed with negotiations. When is the next scheduled engine start?"

"Not for another month, at least." Caldwell sounds firm on keeping to the timetable.

John shrugs. "I don't mind the trek. I'd rather not just hang around waiting." John is looking forward to getting out and moving.

"It is not a long journey, I have made it many times." Shaaziya glances over at Rodney.

He sighs. "Fine, we can go now, and walk."

"Shaaziya, is there any reason to delay our departure?"

"I do not believe so."

Carson pipes up. "I'd like you to wait a day or two, I'm still monitoring Colonel Sheppard. Aye, I think he's probably fine, but I'd like to see more normalized test results, before he goes hiking across the desert where I can't get at him."

"Keep us advised, and we'll schedule our departure based on your advice."

 

Day Fifty-Five

It only takes a day or so to make the arrangements to depart for Ayse, and Carson releases John for the journey with a sigh.

Shaaziya dons the clothing she'd arrived in and enough food and water for several days is packed, despite Shaaziya's insistence that they will be received and well treated.

Rodney's manfully holding back his usual tirade about walking and the waste of time; all he has is time, there's no choice and he might be trying to impress Shaaz, who sets a quick pace. They walk in pairs, Shaaziya unerringly in the lead, with Rodney at her elbow, Elizabeth following behind and John a few steps away from her. Rogers and Alvarez are staggered at the rear.

John eventually takes pity on Elizabeth and Rodney, neither of whom allow their pride to be the one that cries uncle. "Whoa, Shaaziya. I could use a break."

"My apology, I did not realize." Shaaziya stops and easily kneels in the sand.

Elizabeth collapses to the ground in a controlled fall, whispering, "Thank you."

The first moon is nowhere to be found, the second moon is already sinking low on the horizon, but desert is lit with the shifting rainbow of the aurora. Rodney's face is red from exertion even though it's quite chilly, a typical desert night.

Everyone is pulling out their canteens and as they rest, Elizabeth takes the opportunity to ask, "Shaaziya, tell me about Qaroptimat, and how it differs from Peragroilla." John knows what Elizabeth is doing, they had independently received an explanation from Anbur.

There's doubt in her voice. "I believed completely in everything the Abnepa taught, but now I see things outside his teachings. I was afraid to know that he is wrong.

"I broke tradition and left the temple before my training was complete, because Zuhair could not answer my questions. When I came to see the star that fell from the sky, and roared in the desert, Zuhair listened to my stories of the strange building that had suddenly appeared, and that there were men in it. I came to watch many times. I heard the quiet words that there was nixat, because the ones who traveled to N'vellesem had seen the Avaxqaral, when we have never had it. I could not let my father start war, break the peace of a hundred lifetimes."

John and Elizabeth share a shocked look in the dim light--Shaaziya's father was the one that declared nixat against Elizabeth?

Elizabeth's voice doesn't reveal her surprise, and she says evenly. "I'm sorry, Shaaziya, I didn't know. This must be very difficult for you."

"Perhaps. Initiates must leave the temple for one anam; I only left before my time. Zuhair will say I am, precocious?"

Rodney answers the question in her voice, "Yes, that's the word. So when you return to the temple, what will happen?"

"I return as a visitor. I must not stay. If I understand and wish to become Abnepa, it will be at the end of annum. Come, let us go now."

They pick themselves up out of the sand, and trudge on through the night, though at a slightly slower pace than before.

The reception at Ayse isn't very different than their first trip; most people still give them menacing looks, and it isn't hard to remember that they are under nixat. However, Shaaziya's inundated by greetings and well wishers, hugs from girlfriends, and respectful greetings from men and boys. The old women chastise her and give sly looks at John and Rodney, who are standing near enough to Shaaziya to be meaningful; Timmons and Alvarez are standing back a little, keeping an eye on the group as whole.

Shaaziya talks excitedly to her friends for a moment before clapping her hands and moving on. The entourage they've gathered trails after them in the street, and soon they are at the temple gates. "You must go through Arch of Qaralyn alone."

"I wonder if it's like airport security." Rodney's pulling a scanner from his pocket and John wonders about how much stuff he'd really taken to Earth. "Low level power, I wonder how they're generating it, we might be able to copy it."

"The blood of Qaralyn will not be hidden." Shaaziya says it like a prayer.

John steps back a little farther, drawing Elizabeth with him. "So, here's our chance to make a big splash."

"You were right, we weren't going to be able to hide it."

"I guess the difference is recognizing the gene or worshipping it."

"Shaaziya doesn't know, does she?"

"Rodney took her to the mess while we had the rest of the meeting."

Elizabeth pulls Rodney aside. "Does Shaaziya know that you and John have the gene?"

"Oh please! That's completely unfair! Like I would tell her, after John made such a production of me getting her out of the room. I've worked in top secret facilities, Elizabeth."

"That's not what I said, she's lived aboard for almost a month, and it's possible she found out some other way. You are the one that's spent the most time with her."

"I locked up all the goodies after the meeting, and there's no other Ancient tech on the Daedalus. She can't possibly know."

John thinks of asking him what her reaction will be when the gate lights up, but Rodney's normally not the best judge of character, and now that he's intimately involved, he's definitely got a conflict of interest going. Though John would never say that out loud, or at least not until it was absolutely necessary. "Well, I think it's only fair that we give her some warning, since we're about to be outed anyway."

"I agree."

Shaaziya looks like she doesn't quite believe their explanation that they might have the Blood of Qaralyn, but nods anyway.

Rodney's the first to go through the gate, the gentle bong and flash of light steals his attention, and he's concentrating on the readings. "It's definitely Ancient." He follows the reading to the inside wall, and begins investigating. Shaaziya is completely floored by the fact that Rodney has the gene.

The arch is dark and silent as Elizabeth walks through.

Shaaziya gets a curious look on her face when she gets a faint light and a gentle sound as she passes under the arch, and Elizabeth and John are the only ones that see her confusion. Rodney is completely oblivious as he studies a section of the wall next to arch.

Shaaziya walks back and forth under the arch a few times, getting the same result every time.

Elizabeth asks in a kindly voice, "Shaaziya, has this ever happened to you before?"

"No never. I am one of the many that do not carry the Blood."

Elizabeth and John stare at each other across the short distance with matching 'oh, shit' expressions.

John walks through the gate, and it's like Disneyland at night. The arch flares brightly, and the previously gentle bong is loud and insistent. Every head in the vicinity swivels towards him, and John suddenly finds that the paving stones are really interesting, and hey look, knees.

The strength of the arch's reaction to John has the attention of the temple elders, who begin pouring out into the courtyard.

It's when they see Elizabeth that all hell breaks loose.

One of the temple elders yells at the top of his lungs and the crowd rushes toward Elizabeth at top speed with knives drawn, similar to the one that they had picked up in Tobat.

Shaaziya is screaming at the top of her lungs; she looks shocked at the confrontation. Timmons and Alvarez run through the gate, P90's firing above the crowd as John roughly grabs Elizabeth, thinking, 'oh, this was a really bad idea!' when a knife intended for Elizabeth strikes him instead, embedding itself down to the hilt. It was a lucky shot in the side, between the ribs and under his arm, and it hurts like a motherfucker.

Yeah. This was a really, really bad idea. It was a perfect hit, and John has to sort of admire the skill and strength that it takes to inflict the sort of damage he's taken. He falls to his knees, gasping for breath, and it's not that the pandemonium has really ended, it's worse than ever, but it's that John stops hearing it.

Rodney gets into his face, he's shouting, but John can't really hear it over the pain that's radiating out from his chest, overriding any other external stimuli. His skewered heart is failing, still trying to pump blood but the knife hilt prevents it from pouring onto the ground. No, instead it's filling up in his lungs and chest cavity, and things are getting light and floaty fast. John's world tilts as Rodney leans him into his lap, hands scrabbling uselessly at the knife that is solidly embedded in John's side.

John is sure there's some kind of commotion going on around him, but he's really not paying attention. He knows this feeling, he's had it before, but it's so slow this time—not a swift jolt to the heart, but a sluggish, oozing, petering out.

John tries to say something, but he can't get a breath, the wicked pain is stealing it away. He coughs up a brilliant, scarlet froth instead, and the last thing he sees is the look of utter horror on Rodney's face.

 

Day Fifty-Eight

John wakes up.

For an instant that doesn't seem too unusual, but then the memory of the look on Rodney's face just before John died in his arms slams into him. He lies there for a moment, breathing raggedly, trying to remember after, but it's no good; he was dead. Could a rememdium have healed him quickly enough to counteract the fatal injury? No, Shaaziya had said Ayse didn't have a healer.

If this is the afterlife, it isn't one he'd have pictured, so maybe he didn't actually die. The bed is soft, and the linen sheets and coverings are sun-bleached and finely woven, but it's just a regular bed.

John stretches his arms out and finds that he's dressed in a long white shift, with chevrons that he was used to seeing in Atlantis, embroidered in white.

He sits up, looking around with a curious dread pressing down on him, and he pushes it back. The small room has a large window at one end, spilling brilliant sunlight through the filigreed brass shutters that create a latticework of sun, and shade and color that spills across the worn carpet on the floor. The whitewashed walls are plain and bare, and his uniform is neatly folded on a chair by the door, with his boots below.

He stands experimentally and when that's successful, strips off the robe and looks at his side. There's not a mark on him, the knife wound is completely gone, no scar, or even a dimple where it should have been. He feels the back of his neck and the faint remnant of the shrapnel cut is gone. He twists around to check his ass, but he's never really been that flexible, so he resorts to running his fingers over the place where the gash had been. He leans down, and the backs of his legs are clear. Even the various scars from the past are gone; faint thin scars that crisscrossed his left arm from a run-in with his grandmother's rose bushes are gone. A puckered scar from a bullet on his thigh is completely erased and the skin is smooth. The traced line of his appendectomy surgery is missing, too.

John raises a hand to his nose, and the faint bump isn't there; his nose hadn't been perfectly straight since that game against Fremont in '78. "What the hell?" He realizes that he's about to seriously lose control and he can't do that—he doesn't even know where he is. John stands naked in the center of the room, breathing heavily through his nose, until he can push the terror back, down, scrunch it up and toss it away.

Three steps take him to the chair and he begins to dress. Everything is clean, not a trace of blood on them, and the t-shirt has been repaired; fine, even stitches close the tear made by the knife. He can feel the small lump of the mending when puts his arm down. His sidearm is missing, but the thigh holster is there, and he straps it on for comfort. He checks his watch. It stopped at 09:00, but he buckles it on just the same. The door isn't locked, so he opens it.

There's a guard outside. John nonchalantly slides out into the corridor. The guard stands and points down the hall, and John shrugs and heads in the direction indicated.

At the far end of the hallway is an open door and the guard steers John into what's clearly a sitting room or lounge. Rodney and Shaaziya are sitting together, heads bent over a heavy book. John takes two steps inside the door and hangs there uncertainly. "Hey guys, what's going on?" He hates that there's a trace of a quaver in his voice and he swallows thickly.

He takes in the tableau in single snapshots, it's too much to assimilate all at once: Shaaziya's eyes snap towards him, her mouth open, then Rodney standing with his fists clenched, striding towards him, Shaaziya's sharp, bright cry of fear slicing through him like another knife.

Rodney stops in the middle of the room, torn between John and Shaaziya's keening cries, looking back and forth between them. She hasn't moved; her eyes are wide and she's panting with fright. "Shaaziya?" As John says her name, she falls to the ground, eyes covered and forehead to her knees, and she begins to pray under her breath in a high, anxious tone.

John can't hear what she's saying, only that her voice is high and wobbly, like she's crying. He has no idea what is going on, but her reaction to him even being in the room is causing his own incipient panic to ratchet farther up.

John turns to Rodney, who's still fettered by indecision in the middle of the room. "Rodney, what the hell happened?" It doesn't matter how ruthlessly John tries to smother it, his voice is shaky and weak.

That breaks Rodney loose, and he gets in John's face, so close that he can smell Rodney's sour breath and see the fear jagged and ugly in his eyes. "What happened? You died in my arms, and then one of Zuhair's men dragged your body away, and it's been three fucking days, and we've been locked up in here, and no one would tell us anything except that they're going to execute Elizabeth." Rodney gives him a sharp jab in the chest. "You tell me what happened!"

John can't help it, he takes a step backwards, away from Rodney's fury, and Rodney follows him. "I don't know, Rodney! I woke up a few minutes ago in a room down the hall, good as new, and I mean really new."

This distracts Rodney, and he pins John with that peculiar, intense gaze that's usually reserved for new and exciting technology. "What, what do you mean?"

"No scars. Not even the ones I had before. Look at this." John lifts his t-shirt, and points to his side.

"There's nothing there." The surprise softens Rodney's voice into curiosity.

John's angered by this, and his voice hardens. "I know that, Rodney! What is going on?"

Rodney's staring at John's unblemished skin, shaking his head and backing away. "Oh. Of course. I should have known it would be you."

He gives Rodney a questioning look, but he turns away from John with his mouth set in a hard frown. He goes to Shaaziya, kneels down beside her and puts his hand on her back, rubbing back and forth to try and calm her down. "Hey, hey, what's this all about? Come on now; its just Sheppard."

John watches them for a moment, wanting to grab Rodney up of the floor and make him explain. He's got to get out of here and figure out what hell has happened in the last few days. The guard is still at the door, watching the scene with a cool, dispassionate calm. Either he has no idea that John was struck down dead, (unlikely, considering the bedlam that had erupted in the temple courtyard.) or he knows something that they don't. John's probably not going to wring it out of him with his pidgin Qaroptimat, and his translator is in the middle of a nervous break down.

There is one word that everyone who's involved will recognize though. John gets in his face and growls, "Elizabeth."

The calm, collected face of the guard doesn't even twitch as he nods.

"Rodney. Rodney! He's going to take us to see Elizabeth."

Rodney looks up at him. "She thinks you're their Hidden One. The reincarnation of Quaralyn." Unexpectedly, the look on Rodney's face isn't one of disbelief.

"That's ridiculous," John snaps. Was it possible?

Rodney ignores John's outburst, and he leans back over Shaaziya. "Come on, sweetheart, get up."

She allows him to pull her to a sitting position, and he wipes her cheeks with a brush of his fingertips. "That's better. Come on, stand up." Rodney gets to his feet and gives her a hand up, and then he hugs her, speaking softly into her hair as he presses a kiss to the side of her face.

Rodney releases her but keeps her hand in his and sighs as he turns to John. "Okay, lets go."

They follow the guard, down the corridor and several flights of stone stairs. It's not obvious where the light is coming from, but it's not dark. At the bottom of the stairs, the guard unlocks a door. John uses the distraction to ask Rodney, "What about Rogers and Alvarez?"

"I don't know. They could be anywhere. No one will tell us anything."

The guard locks the door behind them and leads them down yet another oddly lit corridor. John's starting to have his doubts about Shaaziya's role in all of this. Sure, she was obviously shocked by John's reappearance, and according to Rodney's assertion, her relationship with Zuhair is questionable at best; but it doesn't necessarily negate the possibility of colluding in some plot of Zuhair's. She may have had orders to bring them to Ayse from the very beginning.

It doesn't make sense, though. Shaaziya warned them of the first assassination attempt, sounded naively honest when she thought that talking to the Abnepa would solve their problem, and the look on her face as the attack began was one of fear and confusion. He doesn't have any proof one way or the other, but he's going to keep an open mind.

Their guard greets Elizabeth's guard with a shout. They argue back and forth for a minute, until Elizabeth's guard gives them a look that plainly says 'it's your life,' like Elizabeth was some hardened criminal. He opens the door, and they sweep past him before he can change his mind.

"John! You're all right!" she starts toward him to give him a hug, but stops short of actually touching him. John flinches slightly at the thump of the door closing behind them.

John gives her a small smile. "Yeah, I feel fine. Do you know what's going on?"

"No, actually I don't. I was hoping you could tell me."

"Apparently you're going on trial tomorrow, and they plan to execute you afterwards." Rodney snorts,"Trial."

"Oh, is that all?" Elizabeth shoots back with an acid tone.

"I'm sure they'll serve lunch afterwards, but I have no idea if you'll enjoy it or not, seeing as how you're going to be dead!"

"I hope it doesn't come to that. Shaaziya, can you..." Elizabeth stops as she finally looks at her. "Shaaziya, what's the matter? We'll be fine, we've had worse scrapes than this."

Shaaziya doesn't answer Elizabeth. Her face is turned down, but even so John can see that she's white as a sheet and trembling.

Rodney clears his throat. "It's Sheppard. Well, I don't know that you saw, you were already being carted away, but he. He, well uhm, sort of died."

"What do you mean, 'sort of died?'" Elizabeth frowns as she takes in the information.

"I mean, skewered through by a knife, coughing up a lung, dead! Expired!" Rodney is yelling now and his hands are flailing in the air.

Elizabeth turns to John; her eyes are wide with surprise. "Really?"

The walk to the jail cell's given John a chance to regain some perspective. They're in a bind and he can't afford to be distracted by his own panic and distress, because Elizabeth is in mortal peril. Again. He casually answers, "Apparently."

"I, well. Ah, that's extraordinary!" Elizabeth eyebrows climb high and she looks at John with the same assessing look that Rodney had given him earlier.

Rodney agrees, "Tell me about it. I spent the last two days trying to scrub his blood off of me, trying to forget the look on his face."

She says doubtfully, "Is it possible that they have a rememdium after all?" Elizabeth glances at Sheppard with a calculating look and then at Rodney. They share a significant glance, but neither one wants to be the one to say it.

"Possible, but I doubt it. I don't think there was anything anyone could've done."

"Well, right now, I don't think we should worry about it. I'm fine," John lowers his voice in case the guards are listening in, "but we do have to figure out how to get you out of here. Did you see what happened to Rogers or Alvarez?"

"I didn't even know that you'd been injured. They picked me up and carried me down here, and I've not had a single visitor since. Rodney, where have you been?"

"We've been under house arrest, on the third floor. No one told us anything, either."

John glances at Shaaziya. "There's only one person that can tell us anything, and that's Zuhair."

Elizabeth swallows hard. "I doubt he'll come to see me, and even if he did, I'm probably not the best emissary in this case. You'll have to talk to him."

"Okay, I'm going to go find Zuhair and see if we can't come to some agreement that doesn't involve you getting executed."

"Alright. Let me know what you can. Thank you, John."

"Sure. Well be back."

John bangs on the door with the side of his fist. "Hey, we want out!" He can hear the locks turning as he watches Rodney give Elizabeth a graceless pat on the shoulder.

The door opens and they leave Elizabeth alone in her cell, with a death threat hanging over her head.

~*~

The guard allows them to go to Zuhair's office, but his door is locked, and no one is answering it. John can hear people talking inside, but shouting and banging on the door proves futile. "Shaaziya, what's going on?"

She still refuses to look at John, but at least she answers him. "They are preparing for tomorrow, purifying and praying. They will do this, until it is time."

"So, no chance of getting in there?"

"I do not believe so."

"Ask the guard if he knows where my men are."

She asks the guard in sharp querulous words, and he replies with a deference that surprises John.

"They were released immediately after Elizabeth was captured."

John and Rodney exchange relieved glances. Well, that was something.

"They were given a message, that to interfere would be to cause immediate death to all that are still alive."

Rodney asks, "Shaaz, was it written? Verbal? Why didn't he tell us this the last two hundred times we asked? "

She queries the guard at length. "Yes, it was written. He only answers, because the Quaralyn wished to know."

Rodney glares at him, but John ignores him, and stares at the guard directly. "Ask him to get my radio, I want to have it."

The guard nods at her request, and scurries off to get the radio. "Now, that's more like it." John turns and smiles at Rodney.

Rodney rolls his eyes, "You're going to be insufferable."

"Hey, like you wouldn't do the same."

The guard hands him his radio, and John thanks him as he puts the ear piece on. "Let's not do this in the hallway."

They return to the room where John had found Rodney and Shaaziya. She gives the guard an order, and he disappears. "Daedalus, this is Sheppard, come in."

"This is Caldwell, what the hell is going on over there? Rogers said he thought you were dead, and I've got both platoons armed and camped outside the city."

"That's good to know. You might have them hold off until we can be in a position to protect Elizabeth—the rumor is that were supposed to all be killed if you attack."

"Hermiod translated the message for me. What are your intentions?"

"Can you get a lock on Elizabeth?"

"No, there's some interference, we're not reading any of you."

"The buildings must have some natural shielding, I doubt that they're advanced enough to do this on purpose." Rodney sighs. "I thought they were just being cheap and not running the sub-lights."

John gives him the 'oh, is that it' look. "Shaaziya, where do you think they'll have the trial?"

"The Judgment hall, across the courtyard."

"Are there any tunnels? Underground passages?"

She smiles slightly, but her eyes are still averted. "No, the guilty must walk among the accusers."

"Colonel, you need to be prepared to beam Elizabeth away the minute you get a lock on her sub-cu. I have it on good authority that she'll be outside the building that's probably blocking the signal. Keep monitoring, I don't know if they'll try to pull a fast one and take her out ahead of schedule."

"What about the rest of you?"

"Yeah, take Rodney too, just in case. There'll be too many to pick Shaaziya out of the crowd, and I have a feeling that I'm not in any danger. I'm going to need her, in any case."

"Very well Colonel. You only have to make it outside the city gates, our forces are already in position."

Rodney looks mutinous and determined. "I should stay with you, you'll need back up."

"Thanks, but I'd much rather have you out of danger as soon as possible. Like I said, I doubt that she and I will be in any danger."

John asks through Shaaziya for the guard to return the rest of their gear, and he complies with the same alacrity he's shown in the last few minutes. John considers trying to blaze their way out, but there are too many locked doors and guards between Elizabeth and freedom, and there are other considerations to take into account.

It's already dark when the guard returns, bearing a tray of food and drink. John's not very hungry, he's too anxious to eat. Rodney's reaction to stress is to eat, and he quickly plows through the meal. Shaaziya nibbles, but clearly she's eating only out of duty.

John's been thinking. He leaves Rodney to the tray and gets the guard to take him back to Elizabeth. He obliquely advises Elizabeth of the plan, and verifies that her transmitter hasn't been removed. He stays for a while to keep her company, but neither one has very much to say.

When he returns to the lounge, the lights are dimmed, Rodney's arm is around Shaaziya's shoulder as she leans against his chest, though neither one is sleeping, just sitting together in the half-light.

John sits in a chair, and puts his feet up on the low table, arms crossed over his chest.

They quietly wait until dawn, reflecting on mayhem, and murder and mysteries.

 

Day Fifty-Nine

The guard brings them breakfast, but even Rodney's too keyed up to eat. John checks the magazine in his P90 and snaps it to his vest, checks his sidearm to make sure it has a full clip. Rodney follows suit, checking the clip and safety with smooth, confidant motions and sliding it home into his thigh holster. Rodney locks his gaze on John's, and they're thinking the same thing: hoping this won't come to a firefight, but preparing for one all the same.

They walk to the entrance, but before leaving the building, John contacts the Caldwell. "This is Sheppard, come in Daedalus."

"Colonel, I need a sit-rep."

"We're about to walk out of the building. Elizabeth's not here yet, and I don't want to tip my hand. Can you get a lock on Rodney?" John waves Rodney out to the top of the stairs and follows him out.

There's a slight pause, "We have him."

"Good, make sure that you beam her and Rodney away at the same time."

"Colonel, are you outside the building?"

"As a matter of fact, I am."

"Were not picking up your signal at all."

Huh. He hadn't even bothered to check that, because the plan hadn't called for it. John is briefly grateful that the building is shielded, that they hadn't beamed everyone else away, leaving him behind because they thought he was dead. "Roger that, Colonel, I'll explain later. I'll contact you when Elizabeth is on her way outside."

"Sergeant Olander is on channel three, standing by for your orders."

John checks with the Sergeant, and advises him to be prepared to rush the temple if the beam out plan fails.

From their vantage point at the top of the stairs, they watch the congregation swell. The Arch is busy, and John can hear it sounding off as people trail through single file. John's curious about the prevalence of the ATA in the crowd; Anbur had made it clear that it was fairly uncommon, as had Shaaziya. He's starting to get a clearer picture of the split between the two, and he wonders how many other sub sects there are across Dominat.

It's obvious that a lot of these people were in attendance at the fiasco a few days ago. John's getting some uneasy looks and people are talking to each other and pointing at him. John smiles and nods, but that only elevates the concern they're showing.

When the crowd turns into a sea of people filling up the courtyard and sloshing out of the Arch, Zuhair and his Abnepa make their entrance. He stares at John's little group standing off to the side, but John's not going to be scared away from his position.

Zuhair begins to address the crowd, and Shaaziya translates for them in a low voice. John listens to her as he watches the crowd, Zuhair and his Abnepa.

Zuhair's speech is filled with rhetoric and philosophical lambasting of the Peragroilla for allowing the uninitiated and apostate nusqua to view freely that which should be prohibited to them. He portrays Elizabeth as an archfiend bent on destroying their way of life, and the entire city that fell from the sky as the primum mobile, the reason that the ancient enemy came to punish them, when they had never come before.

It goes on for some time, and a lot of it's not wrong, just twisted, and some of the historical references to the holy wars of the past go over John's head. Zuhair's invective is getting more creative, and it seems to be whipping the crowd into a writhing frenzy.

If Elizabeth has to walk through that crush, she won't even make it half way across the courtyard; they'll probably rip her limb from limb or stone her to death, before she makes to the Judgment Hall. John's praying that the Daedalus can get a lock on her as promised. If they can't, it's going get ugly fast, with terrible consequences for their future if they have to blaze their way out in a firefight.

When Zuhair has the crowd at its zenith of madness, he makes a sign, and Elizabeth is dragged out. She's heavily chained hand and foot; it's difficult for her to walk, and the men at her sides are half carrying her, but her head is held up high, with a defiant expression on her face.

John turns slightly away from the crowd and signals the Daedalus, "Now would be great."

He takes a deep breath that he didn't realize that he was holding when Elizabeth and Rodney disappear in what must appear to the Ayse as a lightning strike, and the crowd freezes in shock and awe.

John isn't given a chance to exercise his less-than-adequate oratory skills, because Shaaziya immediately steps in front of Zuhair and speaks to the silent, frozen crowd. He's pretty sure that he knows what she's saying, because some of the crowd, the ones that had recognized John earlier, fall to their knees in obeisance. She continues until the mass of people parts, leaving an open path to the courtyard. She turns and smiles, eyes cast down. "Come, we leave now."

They walk down the stairs, and John's willing Zuhair to know when he's lost the battle and not launch an attack from behind. As Shaaziya passes under the Arch of Qaralyn, it gives the same faint, gentle reaction.

When John passes through, it goes crazy. The light and sound are a hundred times stronger than before; almost deafening every one and blinding anyone whose eyes aren't turned aside. Ears ringing, John turns to look behind him. Anyone who wasn't already pressing their forehead to the ground falls down and performs the ritual genuflection.

John looks across the courtyard to the temple stairs and Zuhair's is the only one left standing, a calculating look on his face. Their eyes meet, but he's nodding slightly, accepting his defeat.

It's not far to the city gates. The people in the town who didn't see what happened are wearing the vaguely hostile expression that John expects, and no one attempts to stop them from leaving. He taps his radio, "Daedalus, this is Sheppard. We're out of the compound and almost to the gates."

"Good to hear, Sheppard." Rodney's voice is a relief. "Engineering is getting Elizabeth out of the manacles."

"That's great, Rodney."

"Since we're running the sub-lights, we're going to beam you guys back. No point in walking if you don't have to."

"Thanks, I wasn't looking forward to hiking back in the daylight."

"Let me know when you're ready, and I'll bring you home."

~*~

The corridor outside the ring room is busy with returning Marines and crew standing around and gawking. Rumor flies at hyper-speed here; so many have little to do with their time that the boredom drives them to glom onto the least bit of excitement. John's about to turn towards the conference room when a hand falls on his shoulder; he turns and comes face to face with Carson, a concerned expression on his face. "No you don't, Colonel. I heard something very disturbing, and the only place you're going is the infirmary."

"I'm fine, Doc. Really. I need to..."

"Elizabeth's already there, and Steven's with her, aye and Rodney and Shaaziya, too."

John gives in, handing his P90 and tac vest to the nearest marine before following Carson. He's beginning to really hate the infirmary, it seems like all he ever does is cool his heels there when he's fine.

Carson hands him a set of green scrubs to change into. "I plan to run every single test and scan I have at my disposal, so you'd best get comfortable, Colonel."

He strips in the lavatory, and realizing that it's been days, takes a quick shower before putting on the scrubs. He takes a more thorough inventory of the changes as he cleans. On the wrist that normally sports a wristband, the hair isn't rubbed away from the constant wear. His skin seems to glide over muscle, as if the fat underneath has been melted away, and the tiny love handles he'd secretly despaired over are gone. Well, that's a plus. He takes a close look in the mirror, the scar on his neck from the Iratus bug is gone, and yes, his nose is straight again and the tiny crows feet around his eyes and his gray hairs are missing, too. Not that he really misses them.

Clean and attired, John takes the bed next to Elizabeth. She's hooked up to an IV and eating lunch, and Caldwell is sprawled comfortably in the chair next to her.

John takes a breath, but Caldwell interrupts him. "Save it Sheppard. We'll talk about all of this later." He sounds tired, and John thinks that he's probably worn a deep path on the deck of the bridge during the last four days.

"Okay." John watches the scene that's playing out a few beds away. Carson's drawing blood from Shaaziya, and Rodney is hovering. He'd forgotten about that little problem until the Arch reminded him when Shaaziya left the temple. She's sitting with her back to him, but he can see the interplay of expressions on Rodney's face. He looks terribly pleased with himself; Carson's smiling as he gently teases Rodney.

He'd thought that Rodney would be completely ape-shit insane about the possibility of impending fatherhood, but he guesses that they've had a few days to talk about it while he'd been, well what ever he'd been. John knows, though he's shying away from the idea.

John has to admit to himself that the scene a few beds away is kind of sweet. Rodney's remarkably transparent; there are very few things that don't show on the surface and an air of loneliness had always drifted about him as he threw himself into his work. Now he looks happy, glowing with a level of serene bliss—not ZPM happy with all the manic excitement that entails.

He's glad for Rodney in a lot of ways, but if they ever get rescued--well, there's heartbreak on the horizon.

Carson gives Shaaziya a pat on the shoulder, before he hands the samples to a nurse and threads his way through the beds towards John.

"So, John, I hear you've had a pretty exciting weekend."

"That's one way of putting it."

"Before I go mad with the testing, tell me what your physical symptoms are?"

"Besides the fact that I'm not dead?"

"Aye, I can see that, lad."

"I don't have any scars, not old ones or new ones. There's no trace of the knife wound." John lifts his left arm and points to his ribs, "And I can't feel where my nose was broken. My gray hair is gone."

Carson takes John's face in one hand and turns it back and forth while palpitating the nose, feeling for the lump. "I don't see any sign of it. But other than that you feel fine?" He says this last with a hint of sarcasm.

John chuckles. "Yeah, I feel fine."

"Hmm, interesting. Any memory gaps, other than the last couple of days?"

"Well, there's that weekend in Bangkok, but I couldn't remember that before."

Carson smiles, "I have one or two of those, myself. You look a little thinner in the face." He lifts John's arm up and gently pinches the underside, and then lifts the scrub top to do the same where the love handles used to be. "Definite fat loss, I'll wager your body mass index is down considerably, but that could just be from running back and forth across the desert. You've been under a great deal of stress, both could account for the loss."

Carson's hands move upwards to gently pull his eyelids apart, leaning in to get a closer look. "The sclera is perfectly normal, which is to say unusual. There's a certain amount of discoloration that occurs as we age. Open wide."

The tongue depressor comes out and Carson peers down John's throat. "That's very interesting." He turns away to pull the privacy curtains, "Hop on the scale, I'll be going over ye with a fine-toothed comb." He looks over to Rodney, who's watching with unabashed curiosity. "Go on, Rodney. He doesn't need you peering over my shoulder."

Rodney rolls his eyes and manages a vaguely contrite look at the same time. John thinks that's amazing.

Elizabeth's IV is empty, and Carson takes a moment to let her go with the usual warnings, leaving the infirmary empty except for the two of them.

Then John spends the next few hours getting prodded, poked, weighed, scanned, x-rayed and punctured. He gives up a urine sample and suffers trough the indignity of a prostate exam. He's never been so thoroughly touched in his entire life.

Carson snaps off the latex gloves and tosses them into the trash. "I wasn't able to get a feces sample, when was the last time you had a decent meal?"

John colors in a faint rush of embarrassment. "Before I left for Ayse. I was too keyed up to eat yesterday, and before that, well. You know."

Carson gives him a look of pure exasperation. "And I wonder why you're thinner. Get dressed and have a seat—you're going to eat right here in front of my eyes, so I can see every bite."

"Come on, Carson, I'm perfectly capable of going down to the mess hall."

"Sure you are, but the question is, would you make it there? Or would you get distracted and pulled away? No, no question about it, you're staying right here."

"That only happens when there's a crisis, Carson, you know that. Why don't you come with me?"

"Because I have about a hundred tests to run and results to compile. Sit. Call Rodney if you want some company."

John thinks about that and decides he'll forgo the pleasure. It would be nice, but he's already tired of dealing with Shaaziya's averted face. "Nah, that's fine, I'm sure he's busy."

Carson nods thoughtfully and leaves John to get dressed while he orders up the required meal.

John retrieves his uniform from the washroom and decides that it's a little too ripe, so he stays in the scrubs.

When he returns to his bed and the airman delivers two trays to John, he snaps. "Carson, for God's sake, I can't eat all of this!"

Carson sticks his head out of the office. "Yes, I know, be there in a moment."

He joins John a few moments later, sitting down and pulling his tray close. "So, tell me all about what happened."

 

Day Sixty

Carson calls John back to the infirmary, and gets the missing sample. "Come in and have a seat. I want to go over what I've found so far." He looks tired, as if he'd stayed awake all day. "Did you sleep well? No disturbing dreams, or nightmares?"

John drapes himself over the side chair as Carson retrieves the data, disguising the fact that he's nervous. "Not really. I ran the decks, read for a while, watched a few movies. I wasn't sleepy."

Carson frowns. "Describe how you felt."

"Really awake, energetic. Honestly, I haven't felt this great in a long time."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me. If it weren't so bloody painful, I'd be tempted to do a bone marrow aspiration—but it's not necessary."

"Thanks, and I'll pass."

Carson looks up from the screen, smiling. "Aye, it would only be to assuage my curiosity, and despite Rodney's assertions, I'm not that cruel. So, here's what I've found, and some of it's quite surprising."

Carson goes through the results of each test, detailing what's changed. John's got his tonsils and appendix back, there's no indication of where he'd broken his arm when he jumped off the roof at age ten, or of the various other broken bones and ribs that John's accrued in a lifetime in the service, and in the Pegasus galaxy. His BMI is down more than three days can account for, but Carson's already considered that.

"What does all of this mean?"

"It's like you have a brand new body. There's no sign of decay in the nuclei, or abnormal morphology in the lamin-A or aging wrinkles in the mitochondria, but the removed organs mysteriously reappearing, aye-thats a big one."

John knows what this is leading up to, but he just wants to hear it out loud. "And the conclusion?"

Carson sighs. "I think its a strong indicator for ascension and descension—though no one witnessed anything of the sort. Chaya's exam records are back on Atlantis, and the Daedalus just doesn't hold too much in the way of medical research on the subject. The facts as they are merely support that its a strong possibility."

"I thought you might say that." John thinks that Zuhair might have some answers about what had happened, but they aren't talking to him at the moment. "I noticed that their ATA detector seemed to react more strongly afterwards."

"It's possible, but I can't lay my hands on data for comparison, but from memory it does seem as if you have more active ATA genes." Carson pauses and studies John. "You know that I'm required to give Elizabeth and Caldwell a report. The question is, are you really John Sheppard?"

It hadn't occurred to John that his actual existence was being questioned. "I'm still me, Doc."

"The genetic profile suggests that, yes, but I lack any definitive comparison and certain sections seem to fall outside the parameters of normal. The ATA gene, for example. You're you, you're just more you, I think."

"So what are you going to tell them?"

"A guarded yes, based on the fact that I simply don't have all the information at hand, and I'm making comparisons from memory. This is just the physical construct, John, a person is more than just a body."

John nods. "Well, you gotta do what you gotta do."

"We'll do our best to keep this private, but certain people are probably going to put two and two together—if he hasn't already—when he gets his head out of the clouds."

"I just hope it stays there a while."

"To be honest, I haven't even run her test yet. Yours was a far more interesting case."

John slaps his hands on his knees and stands. "Thanks, Carson."

"You're welcome, John. If you continue to have trouble sleeping, come and see me. And eat."

"Yes, mum. You too." John gives Carson a smirk as he leaves the infirmary.

 

Day Sixty-One - Eighty -Eight

Colonel Caldwell's response to the fiasco is to heighten security. No one is to leave the ship alone at any time or go any further than one hundred yards. All expeditions to Ayse or N'vellesem have been denied in advance, which leaves John stuck on the Daedalus.

Life on-board settles into an uneasy routine. People buzz through the corridors, handling whatever make-work or research can be thrown at them, but they're beginning to resent the lock down. The only exception to the rule is those who volunteer to continue to excavate the port side hangar.

John notes the ambivalent feelings about his change; even with Carson's assurances, there is whispered gossip about him, some wonder if he's really who he says he is. And it's not that they don't trust him, per se, there's just a question and although no one doubts the answer to his face—the uncertainty is in their eyes when they think he's not looking, the curious glances, or the way that almost everyone goes out of their way to not touch him.

The Marines and Daedalus crew members aren't quite as thrown by the extraordinary turn of events, it's the civilians with too little to do that are main culprits in whispering ugly rumors. They begin to go out of their way to avoid him altogether, which suits John just fine.

He doesn't want to deal with any of the rumor and innuendo, so John runs. He's given up running in the ship, seeing people twist and contort to avoid contact hurts more than he'll ever give them the satisfaction of seeing.

John breaks Caldwell's sanctions and runs alone in the desert, sometimes north past the little graveyard that could have been his final resting place, occasionally towards N'vellesem, but never to the west, towards Ayse.

South leads to jagged hills, and rocks, and the shifting sand turns to hard, gravelly scrabble, perfect for running. John doesn't push Caldwell about the ban, and Caldwell doesn't call him on the running, because the only good thing to come out of the fiasco is a little peace. The scanners are still vigilant for Wraith-sign, but the other inhabitants of Dominat have left them alone for weeks.

John visits Evan occasionally, trying to time his visits for when he's not surrounded by other visitors, though it proves to be difficult as the affable Major is quite popular and well liked. After Lorne's released from the infirmary, it's almost impossible for John to find a moment when Evan's alone, and he just lets it go. The Major doesn't need his company.

It's equally difficult to catch Rodney alone; he and Shaaziya are thoroughly besotted with one another, and John wouldn't dream of asking Rodney to lose Shaaziya for a few hours. The change in her attitude whenever John is around is getting tiresome, and it makes him angry.

John's just a little angry with Elizabeth, too. She'd taken unilateral action and studied Dominat's most sacred texts despite the possibility of the consequences, and John's the one that paid the price for her decision. He goes out of his way to avoid socializing with her, but it's hardly noticed, she and Caldwell are spending more time together than might be construed as completely necessary for the two de facto leaders of their shipwrecked colony.

Détente all around.

Out of boredom, John thinks it's probably time to think about digging a well, and despite the fact that he'd told Rodney that he'd dug one, he's never located one himself. John's black Irish grandmother had dowsed it with a twisted coat hangar. He's already got enough trouble on board; he's not going to resort to improbable medieval witchcraft and add to his woes.

John checks Elizabeth's list on the mess hall door, but no one's mentioned finding or digging wells as a skill. Rodney could probably offer some interesting solution but John doesn't want to deal with Shaaziya. Hermiod is one of the few on board whose attitude hasn't been affected by his debacle in Ayse, so John consults with him; he's probably got an ace or two up his nonexistent sleeve. Hermiod easily finds a way to scan both the stars and the sand.

They locate a couple of possibilities, though none of them are particularly convenient. John's not looking forward to digging that deep to find that the water's not drinkable, which is the point of the whole exercise.

"Can't we just beam it out, when the engines are on?"

Hermiod gets a gleam in his eyes. "It is not a long term solution, but we may certainly test if it is potable in this manner."

"That's perfect. I'll have Caldwell add it to the list." Since the sub-lights are only run once a month, if a project requires extra power, it has to be added it to 'The List', and Elizabeth and Caldwell prioritize the requests based on their relative necessity.

John doesn't have very many people to turn to at the moment and Hermiod is a refreshing change from his isolation. "So, Hermiod, what have you been doing to keep busy?"

"Ah, that is an interesting question. I have been compiling the data gathered from the sensor readings."

"Oh, what have you come up with?"

"This planet has a wealth of mineralogical oddities. The gravity indicates there is a large percentage of an extremely heavy metal in the core, and we have located large deposits of Yttrium and Lutetium on or near the surface. I intend to obtain samples to determine the exact composition of the mantle, in conjunction with obtaining your water samples."

"Lutetium? Isn't that man made? Won't the Yttrium poison the water?"

"Perhaps on Earth the purest forms are created, but the planet appears duplicate the laboratory conditions and the inhabitants of this planet do not appear to have been affected by their presence."

"I guess that's good to know."

Hermiod gives John a long, flat stare. "Very good to know."

~*~

John pokes around the workshops, store rooms and computer databases, but the Daedalus isn't equipped for well-digging and John's engineering skills are slanted towards fast, powerful and airborne; a well is none of those things. John's pretty sure he knows where he can get the information and assistance he needs, but that avenue's been barred to him. It'll be a couple of weeks before the batteries are slated for recharge and the boredom is really killing him.

Deciding that détente isn't all that it's cracked up to be, John tracks Elizabeth down in the officer's mess one evening. She's watching the glorious sunset through the window, and he slides into a chair across from her.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Just going over some notes for the next town meeting."

"How's that going?"

"It's difficult, I don't want to crush their hopes of getting rescued, but we have a boatload of people that are bored stiff. Any plans we make towards integration might threaten the precarious peace, and Steven's reluctant to attempt to reengage."

"Uh huh. Yeah, about that."

Elizabeth's holding back a smile, but her eyes are laughing. "Yes?"

John leans forward, his voice earnest and pleading. "I could really use some help from someone who's dug a well, and I was thinking of heading over to N'vellesem, check in with our old buddy Anbur."

"I wondered how long it was going to take. I certainly don't have any objection, Steven's the one you'll have to convince. I haven't been able to."

He sighs, unsurprised that Elizabeth knows him well enough to expect this. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

"Did you expect anything else?"

"No, not really." John stands and leans on the chair as he pushes it under the table. "See you later."

Caldwell haunts the bridge like Faulkenburg, with nowhere to go on the seas of sand. He's wearing away a few more microns off the deck, when John approaches him. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sheppard, what can I do for you?"

"Let's take a walk."

Caldwell gives John a curious look, but follows him off the bridge.

John leads him to the conference room, and motions for him to sit. Shutting the door, John sits down across from him. "It's about the well. It's more than just the well, but I'll get to that in a minute. I have to go to N'vellesem, and consult with Anbur to see if I can get some local help."

"Do you think that's really wise, Colonel? Considering the trouble the last trip caused?"

"See that's the thing. If we're permanently stranded here, we can't afford to shut out possible allies, until we're forced to crawl to them on bended knee. We never got to the point where we figured out if there's anything that we have that they could use, and that's critical intelligence we can only get by engaging them in a dialog." John doesn't like the smirk that Caldwell's giving him.

"I understand your point, Sheppard, but my primary goal is to keep us safe." The smirk disappears, and is replaced with a challenging look. "I would think that you, of all people, would identify with that."

The entire crew is trapped and it's only a matter of time before someone starts wielding a knife to cut their way out of the web and John is always up to a challenge. "I do, but here's the thing, eventually being kept prisoner is going to cause someone to snap and go crazy. We can't afford to stay shut in and not take the risk."

Caldwell outright smiles at him. "You've been talking with Elizabeth."

"Well, I did find out what her position was, but no, we haven't been developing secret strategies."

"You've almost got her speech down word for word."

"We've been doing this for a while now, it isn't really new. You win some, you lose some, she'd retreat and I'd force an advance. I think that Anbur's proven himself to be someone that we can work with, and we have to pursue that possibility."

"Exactly what do you propose?"

"Just a short jaunt into town, say hi to Anbur and see if he knows of anyone that might be willing to help dig a well. If there is, then we find out what we can trade for it."

"I'll consider it, Sheppard. That's all I'm willing to do at the moment."

"Fair enough. Thank you."

Caldwell nods and returns to the bridge, and John's left with his frustration as company.

 

Day Eighty-Nine

The next day, John's surprised when Major Lorne joins him in the hangar bay, as he prepares for his run. "What's up? How are you feeling?"

"If I stay inside this ship one more day, I'm going to pull a Charles Whitfield." Lorne looks grim, still pale from many weeks of recovery, and his brutally short hair only serves to heighten the impression of someone on the edge of something dark.

He has to ask; only because Carson would kill him if he took Lorne out for a run, and it killed the Major after all that had been done to get him well again. "You cleared by medical?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. Let's go."

They take the route to the south through the canyons, and John lets Lorne set the pace. Neither of them makes any conversation, and that's fine with John. He's glad to have the company and pleased to discover that Lorne's just as willing to thumb his nose at authority.

Lorne keeps up the pace, but he starts to look peaked and white around the eyes with the effort. John takes pity on him, turning around even though he's barely broken a sweat. "Baby steps, Lorne."

He stops and leans over, hands on his knees and breathing heavily. "Yeah."

"Tomorrow?"

"Sounds good to me."

 

Day Ninety - Ninety-Three

The next morning, it's Lorne and Cadman. The day after that it's Alvarez and Timmons too, and the day after that it seems like nearly a whole damn platoon. John's secretly buoyed by this, though he'd never show it to anyone that was looking. He knows that they're just looking for an excuse to get off the ship, but it could be a sign of acceptance. He's trying not to read too much into it.

John lets Olander hustle them into formation behind him and takes off at double time pace for a long, hard run.

This is the day that everything changes, again. When the company is RTB, there's three locals waiting outside on the south side of the ship. John spots them, and raises his hand in a clenched fist, and the Marines instantly come to a halt. All of them have a sidearm, and there's a whole more of 'us' than 'them', so John's not too worried. "Stay here, wait for my signal, I'll go check out what they want. Lorne?"

Lorne threads his way through the company to join him, and they set off at a walk. As they close the distance, John can see that one of them is Anbur; his bright blue hat is unmistakable.

And Zuhair.

He tamps down his anger and, if he were to admit it to himself, fear as they approach the ship. John greets Anbur in Peragro, but Anbur takes pity on him and replies in English.

"John, pleasure to see you. I am glad you are well."

"Doing great." He shoots a no-thanks-to-you look at Zuhair, before returning his attention to Anbur. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"We only arrived." Anbur glances at Lorne, and John smoothly takes up the introductions.

"Major Lorne, this is Anbur from N'vellesem and Zuhair, of Ayse. I'm afraid I don't know him." John points at the third man.

"That is Tazim, of the Kadiani. Major Lorne." Anbur gives Lorne a little bow, and Lorne returns it without taking his eyes off of Zuhair.

Okay, so Kadiani, that's interesting, and partially answers one of John's questions, if it isn't the name of a town. "What can I do for you?"

"We come with invitation. The season for viat is upon us, you must journey and heal."

John shakes his head slightly. "Might have a problem with that." He turns and signals Olander to bring the Marines forward. "Sergeant, send a couple of guys in to get Caldwell and Weir to the hangar, and warn them that Anbur, Zuhair and Tazim are here to talk."

While Olander is sorting it out, John turns to the delegation, "Let's go inside." John motions towards the ladder and Anbur scrambles up after Lorne and the Marines, with Zuhair and Tazim following him. John is last up. The Marines on guard duty in the hangar give the ensemble a wary look, but stay alert and prepared from their positions.

As they wait for a few minutes for Caldwell and Elizabeth to join them, John keeps a peripheral eye on Zuhair as he coolly takes in the hangar and openly watches Tazim, who seems genuinely excited and in awe to be aboard the Daedalus.

Tazim is short, thin and wiry, with dark eyes and a wide smile half full of rotten teeth under an impressive nose. On his head is a plaid scarf knotted into place; his finely woven white shirt and baggy trousers are covered with a long, black, hooded cape that sweeps his feet. He's smiling and chattering away to Anbur and Zuhair. Zuhair is only listening with half an ear, but Anbur is replying with gusto and animation.

Caldwell and Elizabeth arrive with an escort of six Marines; his expression is dark and forbidding, and, to her credit, Elizabeth doesn't appear to be the least bit intimidated by the presence of Zuhair. Rodney and an unhappy looking Shaaziya trail in behind them, and Rodney is glued to her side.

Anbur meets Elizabeth halfway across the hangar deck with a deep bow and a brief embrace, taking her hand to lead her over to Zuhair and Tazim. John shakes his head at Caldwell, who looks ready to blow a gasket.

"Elizabeth, my friend Tazim of the Kadiani from Zadiyeh. Am afraid you know Zuhair of less pleasant times."

Elizabeth nods at Zuhair curtly, but gives Tazim a short bow, and greets him Ancient. This delights Tazim, and they have a short conversation, while Anbur looks at them fondly. Zuhair is impassive, and John recognizes the mask for what it is.

"Perhaps we should find a more comfortable venue?" Elizabeth doesn't look at Steven or John as she leads the way towards the conference room.

John stops Caldwell at the hangar door. "I'm going to change."

Caldwell nods and peels off after Elizabeth.

John turns to Lorne. "If you want, meet me at the conference room in a few, this should be interesting."

"Will do, sir."

After a very cursory shower, John finds Lorne already waiting for him, grinning as he opens the conference room door.

Anbur and Tazim smile broadly, Caldwell and Zuhair are scowling at each other, Elizabeth's back is to the door; he really must speak to her about that.

There are only two empty seats, one between Anbur and Caldwell and the other between Elizabeth and Shaaziya. He knows that he's probably making some arcane political statement in the seating arrangement, but John doesn't have the strength or mental energy to deal with Shaaziya and her averted eyes, so he leaves that one for Lorne and sits next to Anbur.

Anbur clasps a hand on John's shoulder and gives it a slight squeeze. It surprises John, but the fact that Anbur isn't widely skirting his airspace leaves John feeling relieved.

Anbur looks around the table. "Now we begin. Much has happened, yes?"

"You could put it that way," John drawls.

"Very bad, but is past. There is much talk between us," Anbur waves his hand at Zuhair and Tazim, "and others. We are chosen to delegate, because Shepherd must take the viat." The conversation drags a little, because Anbur translates for Zuhair and Tazim. They agree to this with various degrees of enthusiasm, Tazim is eager, and Zuhair reluctant.

"What is this 'viat', and why must John do it?" Elizabeth's in full formal negotiating mode, her hands clasped together on the table as she leans slightly towards the delegation.

"The viat is journey, to holy shrine that all share. It is a time of peace and healing between peoples and self. It is necessary for the Quaralyn."

John knows what Anbur's referring to, based on what Shaaziya had said back in Ayse, but he doesn't know if Rodney had divulged that particular information.

Elizabeth quirks her head to the side and asks, "Quaralyn?"

"Ah." Anbur discusses this with Elizabeth in Ancient, and John meets Rodney's eyes over the table and nods. Rodney is very good at secrets when he isn't being threatened with a knife.

Elizabeth provides a brief summary of the conversation. "Anbur says this is a doctrine that the Peragroilla reject, but the Qaroptimatia and the Zadiyeh hold as a basic tenant, that the Quaralyn is the return of the son of Qaral to human form. Not that I think you're the Second Coming, but even we have questions about what happened--"

John's interested in taking the trip, but it's the religious baggage he has a problem with. "Well, I kind of reject that philosophy myself."

Anbur lays his hand on John's arm. "You must not. I doubt but I can see." Anbur stops in frustration, and waves at Elizabeth.

"This is huge, John, very huge. Anbur believes this is an opportunity for us to leverage our way into their society, not as nusquam, but as an accepted faction."

"So, it's time to 'take one for the team'?"

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"What happens when they find out that I'm just John Sheppard, popcorn colonel, fly boy?" John's sort of resigned to the fact that he's not going to win this one, but he has to at least give the impression of a struggle for his own sanity.

"That's the marvelous thing about faith." Elizabeth smiles, and it's awful, a bright, shark-like smile full of potential exploitation.

John leans back into his chair and frowns. "I'm not sure I like this side of you, Elizabeth."

Until now, Caldwell's been watching and listening intently with a dyspeptic expression. "For what it's worth, I agree with Elizabeth. We've been given an advantage, and we have to use it."

It's when Shaaziya looks him straight in the eye, with an expression of completely unguarded hope that John accepts defeat. "It is too late, it has already happened, whether you accept it or not."

"I have a question." Caldwell's still angry, which has pretty common lately. "What about this nixat that Zuhair declared? According to all reports, he seemed pretty intractable on the subject."

Elizabeth boldly asks Zuhair directly in Ancient; her tone of voice is mild, but there's a challenging look in her eyes.

Zuhair responds in kind. He speaks at length, his voice flat and toneless, his mask of indifference still firmly in place.

Elizabeth translates as he speaks. "He says the nixat has been rescinded, under pressure from the Council of Patern. Terms are that nusquam—that's us—cannot view the database directly, except under certain conditions." Elizabeth colors slightly, and Anbur nods once when she glances over at him. "But I'll go over that in more detail later. Anyone who meets these conditions is free to study. This is a compromise between the Peragroilla and Qaroptimat, the Kadiani are neutral on the subject."

"What's the problem with the database?" Lorne asks.

"It goes back to the beginnings of Dominat—it's very complicated, but the high point is that Peragroilla believe that all are free to study and learn from it directly, but Qaroptimat hold that only Qaralyn, Qaral's son, was authorized to dispense the knowledge, and only the initiated may study and teach from his translation."

Anbur adds, "Many wars, much killing for long time, but we held peace for a hundred lifetimes. Cost too high to start again."

"This agreement is a codicil to that treaty, and Zuhair apologizes for his unilateral action." Elizabeth pauses as if she has something to add to that, but decides against it.

Caldwell snorts. "I don't think it's going to be that easy, once that ball gets rolling it's difficult to stop. I'm still not satisfied that we're not under fire."

John disagrees, "I'm not sure the ball ever really got rolling, outside of a few people. When we were in Ayse, most of the people simply ignored us and none of them made any threatening moves—other than Zuhair and his group."

"Just so. There was talk after monsters fell from sky. That your people brought plague to us, a punishment for Elizabeth. You fought them and won, that is known, and many grateful people. All were shocked when John was killed and returned from the dead; there was much fear and vengeance was expected, your great power is known."

John asks the question that's been simmering on the back burner for weeks. "Anbur, ask Zuhair if there were any witnesses to what happened to me."

"This has been questioned, none have spoken. Your body was set aside for one day according to custom. When they returned for the burning, you were as you are now."

John's only reply is a quick shrug of his eyebrows.

"This is the reason for taking viat. Progress has been made, and must continue to glue relations of your people to ours."

When Anbur put it that way, there was only one answer. John looks at Colonel Caldwell and he nods, though he doesn't look thrilled with the prospect despite his agreement. "I'll go, but I'm not going to be any damn religious leader."

Anbur gives his shoulder another of those warm squeezes. "You only accept—they believe."

"So can I take anyone, or do I have to do this alone?"

"No, not alone at all. Viat is time for family, for friends. Everyone is welcome."

Elizabeth gets down to the brass tacks. "When does this start, and how long can we expect to be gone?"

John's not surprised that Elizabeth intends to go, but Caldwell looks taken aback.

Anbur smiles. "Many will begin in ten days; that is best. Some rush and be done in twenty. I think twice that?"

"It's not like we have anywhere else to go." Elizabeth smiles at Anbur, and he laughs.

"Wherever you go, there you are." John says it barely under his breath, but Rodney catches it.

"Careful, Sheppard, your roots are showing. I'd like to go."

John nods thoughtfully. "I'd like that."

"I think it's an excellent opportunity. I'd like to make the offer to whoever wants the a chance to join you, John."

Caldwell jumps in. "I'd prefer that we set a figure on that group, Dr. Weir. We have no idea what they're going to encounter, and I think it'd be a better idea to have a carefully selected group."

Anbur stands up. "We will leave and allow discussion freely. Only requirement none must carry weapons, except small knife for cooking."

"What happens if the Wraith return?" Rodney asks suspiciously.

"Will of Qaral." Zuhair and Tazim nod solemnly when Anbur translates.

John chuckles. "That'll cut down the RSVP list."

"We'll have a strategy in place before you leave, Colonel." Caldwell meets John's eyes as they stand, and John knows that he's already making contingency plans.

 

Day Ninety-Five - One Hundred-Three

There are a lot of the Daedalus crew who think it might be fun to get out, but most are dissuaded by the idea of an extended walk across the desert and back. It comes down to John, Rodney, Shaaziya, Elizabeth, Paige Cole, Lorne, Cadman, Timmons, and Chin. Rodney's harassing the guys in the machine shop as they assemble what's essentially a solar powered wagon.

Elizabeth grills Shaaziya on what to expect, and John makes his plans accordingly. Without weapons, their main concern is feeding ten people, and Rodney or Elizabeth dropping dead of heat exhaustion—hence Dr. Cole—since they've been ill and or sedentary since Landing Day (no one wanted to call it Crash Day). John implements a forced regimen for them, walking and running in the daylight hours, increasing the time by large increments each day.

The rest of the crew is just pleased that Caldwell loosens the security restrictions, and they're free to explore the environs again. Some enterprising soul has lifted a camera intended for Atlantis, and the crew goes crazy taking pictures of the desert and the bizarre purple sky.

It begins a few days before they're scheduled to leave. John and his running gang find small groups of colorfully dressed people, praying in the sand beside the ship, when they return from their run. When the viator catch sight of John, they whisper among themselves and prostrate a little more fully.

"John?" Elizabeth's got just enough energy left to throw a quirked eyebrow at him.

"Damn, Sheppard. I hope you use your powers for good, not evil." Lorne slaps him on the back and heads up the ladder.

"Shut up, it's not funny." John starts up the ladder after him.

Rodney wheezes as he climbs up. "Oh, I beg to differ, it's hilarious. John Sheppard, religious icon."

Lorne grins and wipes away a nonexistent tear. "Oh, Little John's all grown up!" They all laugh or merely smile depending on how exhausted they are, and John puts on his most aggrieved expression.

He welcomes the humorous teasing, though. "I have no idea how they plan to get anywhere if they have to do that every time they see me."

Cadman yells up from the bottom of the ladder. "Maybe they'll put you in a disguise—unveil the secret weapon at the holy shrine. Maybe you'll have to make a speech! Better start brushing up your Ancient, sir."

John's more than a little mortified at the idea. "Damn it, you don't think..."

Lorne's still smiling, though a little more sympathetically. "Dunno, wouldn't put it past them."

"What the hell have I got myself into?"

Elizabeth aborts a move to pat him on the shoulder. "I wouldn't worry about it; what'd Anbur say? 'You accept, they believe?' I don't think they care what you think. Just don't start taking your press too seriously, John."

John shakes his head. "Yeah, right. No chance of that."

Lorne snickers. "See you later."

"Later."

While everyone else heads towards cool showers and horizontal surfaces, John watches the pilgrims as he considers once again, the weirdness of the Pegasus galaxy.

 

Day One Hundred-Three

Rodney's supervising the Marines he's co-opted into hauling the wagon off the hangar bay. With the normal offloading crane on the port side buried deep in the sand, he's rigged a makeshift pulley to lower it down to the sand for a trial run.

It's an ugly thing, but as Rodney points out, function over form, and he's only had a few days to cobble it together. It's ingenious, a flat bed to distribute the weight, and upright staves to lash on the cargo. The solar panel lies on top of the load attached to the small battery powered engine on the front. In case the mechanics crap out, there's also a pull handle, and the tires from a hangar queen provide traction even in the sand.

It's fun to play with. There's a remote control, and John watches with amusement as Rodney piles people on board to check the load limitations. Cadman manages to coax Rodney onto it, and as she ramps it up to a surprising top speed, John nearly wets himself laughing as Rodney screams for her to stop.

When she takes pity on him and brings the cart to a halt, John worries for a second that Rodney's about to launch an attack, but he's grinning when he rolls off into the sand.

 

Day One Hundred-Four

Anbur appears at the ship, accompanied by all of the Ludahsediat's older students, the three Idon—Baariq, Dara and Iqbal, and a pack of the draft animals that resemble a cross between a donkey and a camel, loaded to capacity with bundles and barrels.

Fortunately, none of the students seem particularly excited about John's status as Quaralyn; they know him from his school days and that gives him a small measure of relief as he greets Anbur with a hand shake. "Anbur, how are you?"

"I am well. Are you prepared?"

"As much as we'll ever be, I guess."

"Good! I have bought for you three mesla, very sturdy. Carry your burden for the viat."

John had had his doubts about Rodney's wagon and the terrain; so having an alternative is attractive. "Thanks, that'll be great. What do we feed them?"

"All is prepared. I am your benefactor, yes? Those that have been before care for those who are new. Custom to feed those that journey along the way."

"Okay, sounds good." John starts recalculating his provisions list.

"I have brought map for Colonel, he is staying?"

"Yeah, he's staying."

"Is sad, but next year, hmm?"

John's still vaguely holding out hope for a rescue, but he keeps that to himself. "Yeah, next time," he says as he nods. "So, who's up for a tour?"

Anbur hollers out instructions and some of the kids stake out the mesla in the ship's shade, and they all clamber aboard the Daedalus. John leads them inside, and the scene is surreal and chaotic. Anbur heads off to find Caldwell, and John is left to play tour guide.

He shanghais Cadman, Lorne and Timmons and divides the tour into smaller, more manageable groups. John takes Lorne and they head upwards, talking about the ship. He's pretty sure they don't really understand his lecture, but the students are still interested and appreciative.

Elizabeth finds him at the hatch, letting the kids climb out topsides. "Hey. I heard we had guests."

"Yeah, kind of surprised me, too."

"It's a good idea, I'm glad we've been given the opportunity to reciprocate Anbur's generosity. I've arranged for dinner with the galley staff. I think we'll probably do something on the hangar deck." Elizabeth's brittle smile is pasted on, and she has the frantic air of a new housewife whose husband's just told her that not just the boss, but also the whole damned board of directors, are coming for dinner, and all she has in the pantry are three cans of pork and beans.

"I was thinking we'd let them camp out in the hangar tonight, so they could say they slept in a space ship." John pauses, looking at her. "It's a kid thing. It'll be alright, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth gives out a short, strangled laugh. "I know, but I feel like we have to impress on them that we're not just some penniless itinerants with nothing to offer."

"I'm pretty sure Anbur knows that already. He'll appreciate the gesture."

"Yes, I understand that, but I fear that what we have to give them in return for food and shelter may be too esoteric and intangible." She watches the chaos around them, chattering kids of all ages climbing up and down the ladder and yelling at each other through the hatch. "You don't think they'll hurt themselves up there?"

He's glad for the change of topic, because in a way they are 'penniless itinerants', and he's sure Elizabeth doesn't want to hear his theories on social integration. "Nah. Lorne's up there to make sure they don't jump off."

Her eyes widen in surprise. "Are they likely to?"

John just smiles.

"Ah, I see. Well. It'll probably be a couple of hours."

"We'll be there."

Dinner was just the usual fare, with the last of the fresh food bulked out with reconstituted dry stores. The food service crew takes the whole thing in stride; serving tables are set up buffet style, and the entire crew and the Peragroilla viator picnic in the lazy heat of the late afternoon. After a few quick conversations and calculations, Elizabeth urges Anbur to also invite the few pilgrims that have arrived to join them.

After dinner, the Marines start up the usual game and corral the students into playing. Some of the kids run to explore the growing hole on the port side, and John's reminded of a huge family reunion. The language barrier doesn't seem to be a problem, and every one appears to be enjoying the break in the stifling monotony. The students are beside themselves with excitement, though they make lousy volleyball players.

John finds Rodney sitting on the edge of the hangar bay, watching Shaaziya learning to serve. "Looks like she's having fun. Why aren't you out there?"

Rodney scoffs. "Right. Why aren't you? This should be right up your alley."

"This is about high school isn't it?" John and Rodney share a small sad smile over the lost Aidan Ford.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." Rodney says in a prim voice.

"Come on, McKay, let's go play some volley ball." John prods at Rodney until he relents, and they join the game in progress. The court is crowded, and Rodney rarely even has a chance at the ball, but no one cares or is counting.

Eventually it's too dark to play and they're planning for an early morning departure, so the improvised affair comes to a dragging halt. The Idon see to the students and their bedding, and the Daedalus settles back into routine.

 

Day One Hundred-Five

It's very early, when John is awakened by a knock on the door to his quarters. It's been a month since he stopped taking the radio to bed. He sits up bolt awake instantly, and pads over to open the door, revealing Corporal Frostman.

Frostman steps over the threshold as John starts hunting for his pants. "There's another group that's joined the Peragro, sir."

John scrubs a hand across his face. "They're not hostile I take it?"

"No sir, they just started to camp out on the west side. I thought you'd want to know."

"Thank you, Corporal. Did you send someone to Dr. Weir or Colonel Caldwell?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Okay. Don't bother, I'll check on it, no sense in all of us getting out of bed."

"Yes sir." Frostman snaps a sharp salute, as if he hadn't just watched his commanding officer zip his fly.

"Let's go." John's taken to going barefoot on-board to save wear and tear on his boots, but he grabs his sidearm and straps it on as a matter of habit that he's not willing to change.

The new arrivals number only ten or so. They've simply staked out their few mesla, and are already nested into the sand, wrapped in their robes and apparently asleep by the time John climbs down the ladder to check out the situation.

The viator that have been stopping at the Daedalus for the last couple of days have all been very peaceful and respectful so far, and John's willing to return the favor and not wake them up. He hadn't needed to get out of bed for this, but he's glad that Frostman's first thought had been him, not Caldwell.

John's not sure what being the Quaralyn is going to entail, but he's not willing to be shut out of his only foothold on the Daedalus, because of a little thing like dying and not staying dead; he's been there, done that. He's still working on how he's going to hold that together as the second coming of Qaral's son, or whatever he is.

He claps a hand on Frostman's shoulder. "Good job, Corporal. Let me know if anything else happens."

"Will do, sir. Good night."

"'Night, Frostman."

John pads on dusty feet back to his quarters, puts his weapon away and falls haphazardly back onto the bed.

~*~

It's not even dawn when John's up and meeting the band of viator that had arrived in the night. It turns out to be Tazim, and a few other Zadiyeh who will travel with them. John and Anbur join them as they make the sweet tea that John learned to like in the N'vellesem tavern over small fires of dried mesla dung. They're breakfasting on the hard flat bread he didn't like so much—it was too much like the crappy wheat bread flats that came in the MREs and tasted like cardboard.

After breakfast, the rest of John's group are up and about, and they begin to pack their belongings onto the smelly, shaggy meslas, which have cantankerous dispositions, but by all accounts, are well suited to the environment.

Rodney's applying another layer of sunscreen, and he's got a smear of zinc oxide on his nose and under his eyes. Tazim is vastly interested, watching the process. He asks in perfectly understandable Peragro, "what is he doing?"

John explains that Rodney's got a problem with the sun, and Tazim nods and holds up a finger before he rushes away to dig into his belongings on a mesla that keeps trying to sidle away from him. John and Rodney shrug at each other.

A few minutes later, he's back, gesturing at the boonie that's jammed onto Rodney's head and pointing at the black and white plaid cloth in his hand. John questions Tazim before turning to Rodney, "He wants to trade for your hat."

"But I need it, I'm going to fry to a crisp!"

"Do us both a favor and just go with it, Rodney."

Rodney sighs heavily as he pulls off the brain sponge and gives it to Tazim.

Tazim takes it and drops it to the ground as he shakes out the checked cloth and floats it over Rodney's head, and then deftly ties it on in complicated knots, similar to his own.

Rodney touches it and then pulls it more firmly down on his head. "Okay, so this is cool."

Tazim shows him how to tuck the long edge up so that his face is covered, and then surprises both of them with "Yes?"

Rodney grins. "Yes!"

"Come on, Ned." John takes a slow spin and sees that everyone is ready and waiting, or saying their farewells. He's surprised to catch Caldwell hugging Elizabeth good-bye.

He's even more surprised when Caldwell sees him and waves them over. "Colonel?"

Elizabeth yanks the end of Rodney's scarf gently. "Looking good there, McKay."

"Tazim thought it would be useful, and I'm sure that I cut quite the figure of sartorial splendor." Rodney strikes a pose and holds it, and gets a laugh for his effort.

Caldwell's smiling and shaking his head. "Good luck, Sheppard. You've got everything you need?"

"I think we're set. Rodney, you got all the toys you wanted to bring?"

Rodney gives him a flat look. "I have all of the tools I think might be necessary, yes. Along with a thousand power bars."

John grins. "Now we know why you needed the cart. Yep, we've got food, water and the necessary tools."

"I'm still highly uncomfortable with the idea that you're going unarmed."

"Well, if the Wraith come, you'll send out the rescue squad. We've got our radios, and you know where we're going. Anbur and Tazim seem to think we'll be fine otherwise."

Caldwell shakes John's hand and then Rodney's. "Be safe, and take care. Let us know how you're doing."

"Scheduled radio checks at dusk." John hesitates and then goes for broke. "Got it, Dad. We'll have the car back in the garage in a few weeks."

Caldwell gives him a wry look, but he takes the kidding in good humor. "Thanks, Sheppard. We'll talk to you tonight, then."

"Alright kids, we've got the car keys, let's gas it up and go." John turns and joins Anbur, with Rodney and Elizabeth right behind him.

"And we begin." Anbur whistles, and they move out towards the west in a procession of ones and twos. He starts the pace slowly and some of the younger students race up and down the line, visiting with their classmates and chattering. John and Elizabeth walk side by side, Rodney's fallen back to where Shaaziya is leading one of the mesla.

After an hour or so of determinedly not thinking about traveling westward, John says out of the blue, "You know, we have nine people."

"What do you mean?"

He gives her an expectant look, "The Nine, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth bumps him with her shoulder. "And you call Rodney the geek."

"I'm just sayin'. Let's hope that we don't find Shelob along the way."

Elizabeth laughs, "Ex vestri labiae ut deus audite."from your lips to god's hearing

Anbur slows a little, until he's next to Elizabeth. "Indeed. What is Shelob?"

"It's from a story, a giant spider, very nasty."

"We have many stories to tell one another."

"Yeah, but I'd probably better stick with Nightmare on Elm Street."

Anbur nods. "Ut sulum suus mos."to each his custom

John nudges Elizabeth, but she shakes her head. "No, I think I'll let you figure it out on your own. You need the practice."

"Yes, practice, very good." Anbur falls into the role of teacher and begins to put John through his paces, drilling him on declensions and tenses until, he calls a halt for rest.

John takes the opportunity to walk down the line and check on everyone, nodding at familiar faces and waving at Tazim. Paige is sitting with her eyes closed near Lorne and Cadman, who're sharing a canteen and sitting with their backs to the cart. "Every one okay?"

Lorne favors John with a slow smile. "It's a grape. We should do this every day. Oh, wait we have."

John smiles and nods then moves on to find Rodney munching on a power bar next to Shaaziya who's already asleep in the sand, their heads in the shade of a mesla. He gives Rodney's foot a nudge. "How're you doing?"

"M'fine. Hot, tired, sweaty, how did you think I was doing?"

"That's about right, actually. It's not too late to back out."

"No, I don't think so, Sheppard. I wouldn't miss this for the world." Rodney sneers the last sarcastically, but John knows that he really wouldn't; Rodney's been out in the field too long to be happy with only puttering around in the lab. Plus, there's the whole thing with living up to Shaaziya's expectations.

"Well, drink up." Rodney lifts his canteen in his other hand, and John leaves him to it.

Timmons and Chin are pulling up the rear and hauling on the leads of their recalcitrant mesla. "You okay with those things?"

Timmons answers far too cheerfully for the heat. "Sure, we're just getting acquainted. I'll have them eating out of my hand before you know it." Chin gives him a dark stare.

Cadman snorts. "Yeah, just wait 'til Hollywood here gets a good look at those teeth. I doubt he'll put his hand anywhere near 'em."

"Bad?" John questions.

Chin slaps the mesla closest to him "This one's already tried to take a bite out of my ass." He turns around and sure enough, there's a tear in the backside of his BDU's.

"You want to trade out, just ask."

"Nah, we're fine. Lu's just bitching." Timmons gives the Sergeant a little shove.

"Okay, take a load off, and drink up."

"Will do, sir."

Duty dispensed, John flops down in the sand and pulls out his canteen. It's just barely to the hottest part of the day, but John can't tell if it's just that he's more used to the heat now, or if it's just not as hot. "Anbur, is there a change of seasons?"

"Hmm?"

"Does it get cooler for part of the year?"

"Ah, the rains will come, perhaps before we return?"

"That's good to know." John makes a mental note to mention that to Caldwell at the evening radio check, thinks about the position of the Daedalus and the rock formation to the south. "Bad floods?"

"Some anam very bad. Rarely they come not."

"We're in a bad place, aren't we?"

"Just so."

He definitely needs to warn Caldwell, although they can't do anything except batten down the hatches and pray like hell.

They linger in the sand for a while longer until Anbur stands, and slowly every one rises and prepares to walk. "We will rest again for longer next time."

The hot sun is sucking the will out of everyone, and no one is making an effort to talk. John falls into the zone, one foot in front of the other, blinking the sweat from his eyes. The only sounds are the shush-shush of the brisk wind blowing across the tops of the dunes, and the noise of their feet as they trudge along, people breathing regularly.

It's a good place to stop thinking, concentrate only on movement and the desert. John thinks 'poisonous' when he spots snake tracks winding down the leeward slopes of the dunes, though it's only a guess, based on past experience.

The afternoon rest finally comes. A handful of large, open tents go up with ease, and a few folks are starting to brew tea over small, elaborate burners worked in familiar etching and designs.

Others are napping in the shade, while Baariq and Dara gather students for a lesson; viat is no reason to call a halt to learning. John does his rounds again to make sure that everyone is okay. Timmons is sound asleep under the shade of the cart; Cadman and Chin are leaning over the shoulders of their fellow students from N'vellesem in the front row. Rodney's nearby and listening in, while Shaaziya and Elizabeth are resting in the back of the tent. John skirts around the students and finds a shady spot near Rodney, then murmurs along in English as the lesson is read aloud.

"You're pretty good at this, Sheppard. I didn't expect that."

John starts, "Nobody expects..."

"The Spanish Inquisition!" Rodney finishes. "No really. You learned a lot in N'vellesem."

"Guess so. It was kind of sink or swim. Anbur found it easier to learn English."

Rodney flicks him on the back of the head. "Just take the compliment, Sheppard. It's not like I pass them out indiscriminately."

"Yeah, you must be ready to pop, I haven't heard you tear up anyone in weeks."

"Huh. Not much point in it, is there?"

"You mean people are suddenly not stupid?"

"There's no pressure, it doesn't really matter any more, does it?"

"Bored?"

"To tears some days. I'm rebuilding some of my papers from scratch, so it's actually pretty nice to just think theoretically for change, and not have someone die if I don't pull an answer out of my ass."

John grins from behind his shades. "Oh, is that where you keep them?"

"Yes, yes. Where all crappy ideas come from." Rodney snorts.

"They saved our asses a few times."

"You wonder what they're doing in Atlantis?"

"Nope," John says in a bald-faced lie.

"Yeah, me either. I'd go insane thinking of the mess that Zelenka is making."

John shoots Rodney a 'yeah, right' look from behind his shades, but they let their lies drop. He goes back to following the lesson, translating the words for Rodney.

Long after the lesson is complete, Tazim finds them laying side by side on a heavy felt carpet in the shade. He says the only English word he's learned so far, "Yes?" When John sits up, Tazim launches into the rest of his sentence in Peragro.

John pokes Rodney before he stands. "Hey, he wants us to have lunch with him."

"Do I have to move?"

"Probably."

Grumbling, Rodney gets up and checks that Shaaziya is still asleep, and then they trail after Tazim to his tent. Tazim introduces them to the few of the Zadiyeh that are waiting, and begins to serve the meal himself.

John guesses that it's a big deal, and thanks Tazim in Peragro and instructs Rodney, "Say ze'omlat kavela." He tastes the food first, even though he's pretty sure that these people have never heard of citrus fruit.

Rodney parrots the words back perfectly, and after John gives him the okay, Tazim takes pleasure in Rodney's obvious relish of the food. It's a rice-like dish with meat and rich spices, and a tiny cup of the ekal, the liquor that's like drinking fire.

"Be careful of that, it'll kick your ass."

Rodney sips it carefully, and then sets it aside. "Uhm, right, I think I'll pass. I'll never get anywhere if I'm falling down drunk."

John tosses his back and swallows with a grimace. "Lightweight."

"You want mine?"

"Not a chance."

Allmas, a small, chewy nut, follows the rice-like dish, and it's so sweet that John's throat actually spasms as he tries to swallow it. Tazim hands him the ever-present tea to wash it down. "Thanks", he gasps.

Rodney looks uncertain, and John warns him, "Don't eat it all at once—you'll probably go into insulin shock."

He nibbles on it, and nods. "It's good, I like it."

John tells Tazim, and he laughs loudly before popping one into his mouth and vigorously chewing it. Tazim explains that it's local to Zadiyeh and is a highly prized holiday treat everywhere else. He pulls them into conversation, mostly questions about where they're from, and is it true that it's the city of Qaral.

John mostly acts as translator for Rodney, who has quite a lot to say about Atlantis. Tazim's fascinated by Rodney's descriptions, and John sometimes lacks the words, but Rodney's hands tell the story when John can't, in between tiny sips of the ekal and tea. They spend the afternoon resting and chatting, teaching each other words and phrases. John likes Tazim. He's not as formal as Anbur, and he wields his wit like a sharp knife.

He's all about rumor and scuttlebutt, too; John gets to hear some of the rumors that have made their way to Zadiyeh, and Tazim gives him the opportunity for a rebuttal. The thing is, sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction, and John feels like he just has to let the rumors stand on their own.

After a few hours, the sun is nearly to the horizon, and Tazim tells them that it will soon be time to leave. John and Rodney thank Tazim again for his hospitality, and drag themselves out into the fading light. Rodney goes to look for Shaaziya and to grab a jacket for the coming evening.

Everyone seems more energetic than they'd been a few hours before. Tents are being drawn, squeaking mesla are being watered as packs are tightened on again, people are shouting over the din. John stops and takes it in. The sun in his eyes limns the mountaintops to the west in a haloed silhouette; the sunset paints the scene in hazy colors of purple, and bronze and magenta.

Suddenly John feels the vast historical significance of this ritual; that these people have been taking this route, this journey for longer than Earth's been civilized. Ancient was a concept that he'd never truly appreciated, even on Atlantis, for the city might be ten thousand years old, but it was also brilliantly new, and clever and interesting. These people—or their ancestors—had literally walked on Atlantis, among the Ancients themselves, eons ago, and they were a direct, living link to his city on the sea.

A fierce, sharp pain of homesickness strikes him as he watches the scene through a film of tears. Sure, he's missed Atlantis, worried about those that were left behind on their own. He'd been anxious to return when he was stuck in the misery of complicated negotiations in the SGC and in the boredom of weeks of subspace travel. He's felt lost, and unaccountable, and guilty and confused since the crash, and, until this moment, he's avoided really thinking about what he's lost. Now, maybe he can think about that, because he's been given something that might fill that void, a place he'd have never chosen, but it could be someplace he could call home.

John stands there just breathing; afraid to break the tenuous spell and afraid that he's permanently lost in it, until Elizabeth approaches him.

"John? They're almost ready to go."

He swallows hard to clear the lump in his throat, and keeps his face turned away from her. "Yeah, I'll be right there." He's not himself—boy, is he not himself.

"I'll have Major Lorne do the radio check," and then she leaves him to regain his equilibrium. He surreptitiously wipes his eyes under his sunglasses, and drags his hand across his thighs to hide away the evidence. When the column starts to move in the dim, chill starlight, John takes a deep breath and resumes his place.

 

Day One Hundred-Six

It's easier to travel at night, and the pace quickens, as everyone is rested and eager to stay warm with exertion. Rodney takes great glee in the scientific explanation of the aurora, and Anbur peppers Rodney with questions for hours, translating for Iqbal and Dara.

John doesn't understand this planet at all. These people are bright and intelligent, have a good knowledge of math and some science, have sharply maintained political skills, and yet they don't appear to have developed, or retained, any appreciable level of technology. Judging only by two towns is statistically unsound, but they don't seem to have very large populations, either. He listens to Rodney wowing the crowd as he mulls over the dichotomous nature of Dominat.

They don't stop again until they reach the gates of Ayse at dawn. The gates are closed, and like before, most simply sleep nested in the sand with their robes pulled in around them, huddled together, or with a smelly mesla for warmth.

John finds that his eyes keep sliding back to the gate, remembering in vivid detail the bloom of pain, feeling that sharp blade slicing into him and the terror of drowning in his own blood, the last glimpse of Rodney hovering over him, his own horror mirrored in those blue eyes. He's been ignoring it, shying away it. He'd been dead once before, but he'd returned as his same, essential self. Returning from the dead this time was far scarier. He'd died and come back as something else. He didn't want to be someone's Frankenstein's monster, hated that it set him apart.

When Lorne finds him and hands him a blanket; John forces himself to walk away, to shove back the memories and ignore them again. He trails after the Major; they've been so scattered all day that he probably needs to hang out with them, pretending that the feeling he would never call fear, rumbling in him deep and low, doesn't exist.

He positions himself with his back to the town and eyes to the sky, and while his team nestles in around him, John watches over them as they sleep.

~*~

The qerato's voice, calling the worthy to prayer, to rise up and meet the dawn, sends a shiver down John's spine, leaving him ill at ease and troubled. Rodney avoids meeting John's eyes, and his shoulders are round and taut with apprehension. Elizabeth looks as uncomfortable as he feels, but Shaaziya—she's humming along and smiling. She's not heard the qerato for many days; for her it's a joy and comfort.

John stuffs his blanket into the pack of one of the mesla, he's about to have that long-awaited freak out, and all he knows is that he can't do it here, in front of them. "I need to go talk to Anbur," he says stiffly as he quickly walks away. He wishes that he could walk away from the qerato, away from the sight of the now open gates and the town of Ayse brilliantly lit by the fast rising sun.

He's shaking by the time he finds Anbur flapping the dust from his robes. "Greetings of the day to you, John."

"Morning. Uh, do you have a minute, I mean can I talk to you?"

"Yes, what help can I give you?"

"I don't think I can do this."

"The viat?" Anbur gives him a curious look.

"No, that's fine, I just. Anbur, I died. I was murdered there," he points toward the city and yells, "I can't do this!" It's not really the horrific murder, but John can't voice his other fear out loud, not yet.

Anbur nods sadly, and he lays his arm across John's shoulder, gripping his arm. "Come, walk. Tell me," he says in a soft voice as he leads John away from the throng of waking people.

It's a measure of John's distress that he accepts Anbur's embrace, and he shakily spills out the details of his last visit to Ayse in Peragro and English as Anbur encourages him. He finally runs down with a whisper, "How can I go back?" John wants to be that guy again, the light colonel with the laconic demeanor, the easy going pilot with a lazy grin—he does not want to be whatever he is now.

Turning John, Anbur grasps both of his arms, staring at John with those sharp gray eyes, and he can't look away. "This is why the viat. You lead the viat, healing for not only your people, is for you. No hiding, is difficult to heal, learn to live is pain, but there is pleasure, hmm? Pass the pain and embrace all that comes. Forgive them and forgive yourself, you cannot go back and you cannot stand still. Only forward."

John's shivering in the still, cool air. "I think you just told me to buck up." He puts on a sardonic smile, "It was a joke."

Anbur shakes his head. "I do not have words for your need, John. Perhaps there are none, your pain is great and old, but you have strength. If you cannot do this now, it will only wait for you, hmm?"

"We call it putting off the inevitable." John takes a deep breath, "So, going forward."

"Yes, you have many to stand at your side, some with troubles also. Ego steti vobis."I stand with you

"Ego steti vobis. Right."

"You are okay?"

"No, but I will be."

"Come, we will eat, and you will see."

Anbur maintains his hold on John's arm, until they return to where John's team is camped out. John kneels down in the sand and accepts the peanut butter sandwich Elizabeth hands to him. She begins to make another for Anbur and asks in a deceptively mild voice, "So what's the plan for today?"

John swallows. "I think I have to go into town. You and Rodney should too, probably."

Rodney gives him a look filled with uncertainty. "Really? Shaaziya's already gone in, and I uh..."

"Yeah, think so." John doesn't look up from the sandwich in his hand, tearing another bite off the edge.

"Well, I'm going with you," Lorne says, and John looks up, and the rest of them are nodding, looking serious.

Anbur grasps John's shoulder and squeezes it as if to say 'I told you so.' "Tonight we leave, but we may go to Ayse as we wish today."

Elizabeth hands Anbur his sandwich. "We should go right after breakfast, and rest this afternoon."

John just nods. "Do we have anything to drink? This peanut butter is killing me here."

"Tazim brought us some tea."

"That'd be great," he says. He thinks 'I'd rather have some ekal,' but the tea is hot and sweet, and its warmth spreads through him. "This is a hundred times better than that Athosian bark stuff we had to drink."

There's short, surprised pause at the mention, and then Rodney gets it. "God, yes. It's almost better than coffee."

Anbur waves his sandwich. "I like your coffee very much."

"Rodney lives on it." Elizabeth quirks an eyebrow at Rodney, who ignores her ribbing.

"Hmm, maybe not so much. This is interesting, but difficult to eat."

"Mom used to tell me it would stick to my ribs," Lorne ventures.

Cadman laughs, "And everything else, too. I hope that's the last of it because I hate peanut butter."

"But you ate two of them!" Rodney sounds incredulous.

She gives him a playful shove. "Duh, McKay, so did you—it's what's for breakfast."

Elizabeth apologizes, "I'm sorry, Laura, but I think we've packed at least a couple more jars."

Rodney snaps his fingers. "Hey! I bet we could trade it to Tazim for some of that rice stuff."

John listens quietly as they discuss the trade possibilities, gathering strength from those that stand with him. He washes a second sandwich down with tea as they talk, and when he's ready he stands up. "Let's do this. Is our stuff going to be okay out here, Anbur?"

Anbur whistles loudly and waves at Sabat, one of the older students from Elizabeth's class. He dredges up few lammincia and presses it into her hands, whereupon she climbs up onto the cart grinning and kicking her heels against the side. "Sabat will stay until you return."

Everyone who had studied in N'vellesem knows her well; Sabat's aptitude in class was exceeded only by her skill as the class clown, often landing her in trouble. John gives her a quick smile and proceeds to kick himself that he hadn't thought of that as they walk towards the gates of Ayse.

The town hasn't changed. The people shopping in the market ignore them as before, but those few that bother to watch as they walk through take note of Idon of the N'vellesem, and their outright rudeness is abated. The fountain is crowded in the cooler morning sun, and again only a few children are seen amongst the adults.

Paige has been virtually silent until now, taking in the experience. "Anbur, please don't take offense, but I'm surprised at the lack of obvious disease, and the low number of children. You said that you brought all of the children from school?"

"Yes, all but the smallest."

"That's not very many."

"Rememdium heal the sick, but only some children born each anam. This is reason for our peace."

She nods. "Is it a low conception rate or a high spontaneous abortion rate?"

Anbur gives her a blank look, and Elizabeth explains her question in Ancient. "Hmm, yes, many with child, but perhaps half born at time? Has always been this way on Dominat."

"I understand." Paige glances at Rodney, who's staring at her with a stricken expression. "I have a theory."

"It's the higher gravity. Or the ambient radiation, oh! The high concentration of heavy metals—ten thousand years evolution-wise, I would have thought some adjustment..."

She firmly interrupts Rodney, "I'd like very much to speak with the rememdium before we leave today."

Anbur gives her a confused look. "So sad, Zainab was burned years ago, none to take her place here. Neela travels, but she is old."

No one comments, because they now know that there's no way a rememdium could've healed John.

John wonders if N'vellesem could someday soon be in the same position as Ayse, if this is a cycle, or if Dominat is about to have a serious medical crisis. He thinks about Laith in Tobat, and if he might be willing to relocate, or if Maisa would firmly hold onto her replacement rememdium, considering Haitham's age.

Paige speaks quietly to Anbur and then pulls John and Elizabeth aside to walk well behind the rest of the team. Anbur keeps Rodney moving and out of the conversation. "I'm recommending that Shaaziya go back to the Daedalus, and I should go back with her," she says in a low voice that won't carry forward.

"I not disagreeing, but I'm sure that Carson's perfectly capable of dealing with this."

"To be frank Elizabeth, Carson's a geneticist, and I'll be consulting with him in that regard, but I've been doing Shaaziya's OB check ups, and I seriously doubt that she'd allow him that liberty."

John can't entirely erase the plaintive tone of his voice. "Rodney'll insist on going with you."

Paige pins John down with a level stare. "That's entirely up to Dr. McKay, but I personally think she may need his support sooner than later."

"That bad?"

"I have no idea, Colonel, which is why we need to return to the ship. There's no way you want to deal with the risks and consequences of a spontaneous abortion while traveling on foot without access to advanced medical facilities."

"Do you think she'll go?" Elizabeth asks.

"I'm positive. This child is incredibly important to her, and she's gotten it into her head that it's more than just her baby."

John says slowly, "She may be right."

"What are you saying?"

"We already know that her child has the ATA gene; didn't Rodney tell you?" John doesn't look at Paige; his gaze is drawn to the archway. He swallows down the sick feeling as he sees the courtyard beyond.

"No, what are you talking about?"

John points up at the imposing gateway to the temple. "This, the Arch of Qaralyn."

 

Day One Hundred-Six

"Color me confused, but what's this got to do with anything?" Paige crosses her arms and gives John a challenging look.

Anbur is gently guiding Rodney towards the Arch, while Rodney keeps looking over his shoulder at John. He gives Rodney a quick thumbs-up. "Just watch." Anbur breaks the rules with impunity and ushers Rodney through the Arch, it flashes brightly and the bell-like gong sounds.

"Wow." Paige eyes the Arch with a quizzical look on her face.

"It's Ancient tech. Whether or not it was originally intended to be a gene detector, that's how they're using it. The ATA gene is pretty important to the Qaroptimat."

"And?"

Elizabeth answers. "Shaaziya swears that she doesn't have the gene, and yet now she lights the Arch. It's how we figured out she was pregnant to begin with."

"Interesting. You saw it?"

"John, as well. Rodney was too busy futzing with the scanner to notice."

"Very interesting. Shaaziya didn't tell me any of this. I wonder why she was so secretive."

They watch as the rest of the team enters the temple courtyard; Lorne lights the arch as brightly as Anbur and Rodney combined.

"I wouldn't know." John stands stock still for a moment, as he considers crossing under the Arch. Shaaziya wasn't the only one with a secret. If he walks through, he'll give his away; there are too many here that saw the Arch's before effect, and none that have seen the after effect. Elizabeth and Paige take their turn under the silent arch, leaving John alone outside the temple walls.

"Well, here goes nothing." John saunters through as if he doesn't care, and when the Arch nearly explodes with light and sound, his face slides into a calculatedly innocent 'Did I do that?' expression.

No one moves or speaks; the strength of the Arch's reaction effectively stuns everyone in the vicinity into stillness. The Arch has called the temple's Abnepa out, John sees them gathering at the top of the stairs; Shaaziya's standing with them. They begin their descent as Rodney recovers from the shock. "Sheppard, what the hell just happened?"

John just shrugs. "You got me, Rodney."

"I thought Carson was being particularly cryptic when he said that you were just more you, so this is what he meant..."

John turns away as his team begins babbling to one another. Anbur touches John very lightly on the shoulder. "Now I understand, Zuhair too willing to give away the nixat. This is some of your fear, yes?"

John pitches his voice low. "Yeah." He is not looking at the flagstones, not looking for evidence of the moment he changed.

"Very frightening. Too much to know."

"Yeah, that's about right."

"You accept, they believe—very good advice I give to you."

"If it was only that easy."

Zuhair reaches them, stops a few short steps away from John and then folds to his knees, holding the obeisance for a long count. Every Qaroptimat in the vicinity does likewise, including Shaaziya.

The act of deference makes John terribly uncomfortable and it's as if he can sense the wave of devotion shimmering around him. John's about to shiver out of his skin, it feels like he's covered in ants. The sensation fades to a vague itch as they stand, but he can feel the potential in the air.

John thought he'd known what Zuhair's mask was concealing on board the Daedalus, but now that it's gone, it reveals only a scary devotion. "Exspectata recipero templum hospitium, John Shepherd." Zuhair welcomes him with a low bow, but he doesn't avoid John's eyes like Shaaziya does.

"Morning." John's reluctant to say more, afraid he'll scream and rant and rave, 'What have you done to me!' but the only threat here is to his sanity.

Zuhair turns to Elizabeth, "Dr. Weir, exspectata."

Anbur steps in smoothly and deals with Zuhair, while John exchanges a dumbfounded look with Elizabeth and Rodney. He's sort of wondering when the ax is going to fall, but Zuhair's visible sincerity is hard to put aside.

"Come, we will rest. A meal will be served." Anbur lays a hand on John's back, holding it there as they walk across the broad plaza.

John misses the comforting weight of his sidearm more than ever, but he deliberately follows Zuhair. As he passes by, John watches Rodney greet Shaaziya with a furtive kiss as they hug and fall in behind John as they walk towards the temple stairs.

Zuhair leads them to his private study, bids them to sit, rest and be comfortable, and then leaves the room. As John slides into the room almost sideways, he glances at the door he'd ineffectively banged on. He feels like a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs, and he knows he has got to get a grip.

The room is nothing like he expected. It's not a large room; the walls are plain, and whitewashed and a faded, old threadbare carpet covers the floor. The windows bear the familiar filigreed shutters, filtering the sun into patterned shadows across the room. Heavy books, bound in leather, are stacked on every flat surface, and thick sheets of soft paper, pots of ink and brushes are on a table that serves as a desk.

Surprisingly, Tazim is already there. The team finds places to sit among the low sofas, chairs and tables, and there are a few large pillows on the floor for lounging. A corner of the room is screened from view, but John's pretty sure he knows what's behind it, a statue of Qaral, or probably his son, Qaralyn. He does not go look at it. John sits in a chair near Tazim and watches his team. They look as uncomfortable as he feels, though his ants-all-over feeling is now a low, ebbing pulse that throbs in time with his heartbeat.

Tazim pours a glass of tea from a battered pot of chased brass, and John recognizes it, Tazim's own from lunch yesterday. Tazim sips from the glass and then offers it to John. He takes it, grateful for the reassuring gesture as Tazim begins to pour and pass out tea for everyone. It's obvious to John that this get-together was engineered from the beginning. No one wants to break the silence, and they drink Tazim's tea in the cool, quiet morning.

They don't wait very long; soon Zuhair bustles into the room, followed by servers bearing large trays heaped with steaming food. John's itchy feeling ramps up again. Damp towels are provided for their hands as the trays are placed on the tables, and then the servers collect the towels and bow their way out of the room backwards.

John ruthlessly pushes the sensation out of his mind; he cannot live like this. Instead he concentrates on the meal. It's similar to those they'd had in N'vellesem, huge wheels of flat bread heaped with stewed meats and vegetables, and one of them is Tazim's spicy rice.

Tazim deftly tears a piece of the bread from the edge and scoops a bite with it, transporting it to his mouth without spilling so much as a drop. Anbur does the same with the second tray of stew, and Zuhair repeats it with the third and last. John gets the message, if there's going to be a betrayal, it won't be from poisoned food and drink. All of John's people are looking to him for their cue, and he tips his head towards the food, reaching for the nearest tray.

He's not so coordinated as Tazim, never got the hang of not spilling, so John holds one hand underneath to catch the drips. Everyone digs in at that point, despite the peanut butter sandwiches.

Rodney's the one that can't contain himself, "Oh god, real food. Ze'omlat kavela, thank you."

Tazim beams at Rodney's pleasure, and remarks on it.

John translates almost automatically, "He says basically, that our pleasure is his, and that is thanks enough."

"Is this what you were going on about yesterday?" Elizabeth asks.

"Yes, I could live on this. I might even consider learning how to make it."

"Whoa, McKay, you're ruining my image of you, stop!" Cadman grins at him as she pops a bite into her mouth.

Elizabeth fully breaks the ice and speaks to Zuhair, and he tentatively smiles in return. It's Shaaziya's smile, or it's rather that she has Zuhair's smile. Conversations begin to buzz in a multitude of languages, everyone intent on trying to ignore the vast hurts of the recent past.

They're still there though, in the background like the proverbial pink elephant. It's a deep, festering wound in John's soul and a single meal isn't going to engender the kind of forgiveness he'll require to absolve Zuhair of his crime. John's not sure what will be enough, or what form it might take. He can only get through each minute as it comes.

A thread of conversation pulls John out of his thoughts. "...about the students, Baariq and Dara?"

"They enjoy the same. Many in Ayse will take in viator and provide them with food, as custom."

"That means we've left Sabat out there without lunch? We should bring some of this to her." Elizabeth switches to Ancient and informs Zuhair of the quandary and he assures her that no one has been left hungry.

The servers come to remove the trays and leave in their place a small tray of the chokingly sweet allmas nuts. John passes and says "Too sweet," when Tazim eyes him.

He watches as Anbur passes them up, but Zuhair greedily snags two and eats them with the same relish as Tazim. John figures it's the equivalent of fruitcake—you like it or you don't. His team tries them out, and they're pretty evenly divided into the two groups.

The conversation goes on in fits and starts, but John's not paying attention. He's physically and emotionally exhausted and he has no desire to try and rest under this particular roof, and he's not sure that that he could rest in this place. He's horrified by the idea that Zuhair will put him in the room that he'd awakened in last time.

John stands up abruptly. "I need to go and check up on Sabat. Ze'omlat kavela, thank you for the meal, it was very nice."

Anbur fixes him with an apprising look. "I will stay, watch. They are safe."

"I was hoping that you'd say that. Look, I appreciate everything, Anbur," John's voice goes ragged and unsteady, "but I've just about had all of the healing that I can take right now."

"Just so." Anbur tips his head slightly towards the door.

Lorne gets up from his pillow on the floor. "I think I'll go with the Colonel." He bows to their hosts and thanks them with a flair that surprises John.

"Are you alright?" Elizabeth asks. He can hear the uncertainty in her voice. John looks around and sees various expressions of surprise and concern.

He hates that he's so transparent; his normal Joe Cool guise is in tatters, leaving him feeling naked and defenseless. He pulls the remaining shreds together with an, "I'm fine," and leaves his team behind.

Lorne's right behind him, coming abreast as John pauses at the top of the temple stairs. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

He glances at Lorne before sliding on his sunglasses. The formality surprises John; he thought they'd gotten past it. John says, "Sure," even though he knows that Lorne's about to read him the riot act for bailing. God knows he deserves it.

"Everyone on the Daedalus was really afraid of you when you came back, because you acted like nothing had happened. They weren't sure that you were human, because if it had been them? They'd be terrified."

John's hiding behind his sunglasses, and all he says is, "Huh," as he starts down the stairs. He'd thought that he'd been reassuring, trying to behave as normally as possible; that no one wanted to see a commanding officer have a melt down, but once again he's proven wrong.

The midday sun is vicious, the flagstones of the courtyard are reflecting the light and heat and it's going to be a bitch to find a shady place to sleep. John stops short of the Qaralyn Arch. "You don't have to come with me."

"I know."

"Thanks, though."

Lorne tries out his phrase. "Ze'omlat kavela."

John bumps his shoulder. "The food is blessed?"

"You're kidding me."

"Nope." John walks under the arch, signaling to one and all that the Quaralyn has left the temple.

~*~

True to Zuhair's word, there's already a water jug and an empty plate next to Sabat as she studies in the shade of a tent. John tells her she can go now, but she declines. He shrugs and drops down onto the rug beside her. Lorne sits on her other side, and John falls asleep to the sound of lessons being recited aloud.

John drags awake in the late afternoon. Sabat is gone, but Lorne is still there, looking over a practice book. John sits up and scrubs a hand over his hair and face.

Lorne looks at him closely. "Hey. Feel better?"

"Yeah." He thinks about it for a moment. "Definitely."

Lorne tosses an MRE at him, and John catches it. "It was McKay's turn to cook."

John smiles as he tears the top off the bag and pours out the contents onto the carpet. "I wonder what we'll do when Rodney trades it all away."

"Probably say thank you."

"Yeah. Where is everyone?"

"McKay's still at the temple with Shaaziya, the rest are around here somewhere. They showed up about an hour ago."

"Why is he still there?"

"Rumor has it that he had a big row with Shaaziya, and that he'll catch up later." Lorne's knowing look adds the unsaid 'after a round of wild makeup sex.'

"I see." John's not hungry. He shoves everything back into the MRE bag and stands up. "We should start packing up."

"Anbur said we're not leaving until late, there's a send off party in the works for tonight. If we want to take a bath, he'll make the arrangements. I know I could use one."

"You didn't have to stay, you know."

Lorne gives him a wide smile. "Sure I did. Don't worry about it," he holds up a lesson book, "Sabat scrounged up the Peragro version of Dick and Jane, and she got me all the way though their alphabet."

"Cool. Check in yet?" John looks around the camp, thinking that it'll be dark soon.

"Elizabeth took care of it." Lorne is eying him carefully.

John's starting to feel seriously coddled. He briefly considers calling again anyway, but decides that it's not immediately critical. "Next time, we need to make sure that Caldwell knows that the rains are coming, and the Daedalus is sitting in a riverbed."

"Crap. What time frame are we looking at?"

"Anbur was a little vague, couple of weeks, or maybe a couple of months. I don't think there's anything they can do about it, but being prepared is better than nothing."

"Yeah, okay. I'll remember that."

John glances up at the sky. "Anyway, I guess we should find Anbur and see about that bath."

"Best idea I've heard all day."

They pick up fresh clothing, and Anbur leads them back into town, not to the temple but to a public bathhouse, and after paying a few lammincia to the attendant for the towels and soap, leaves them to their ablutions.

John's avoiding the sunset today, so they scrub clean with the pungent soft soap under an interesting, shower-like affair, and then lounge in the hot, faintly sulphuric water for what seems like hours. The day's sleep, and the bath leave John feeling almost normal again.

It's fully dark when they emerge from the bathhouse. Neither of the moons, Zieba or Aila, has shown its face, and the stars are brighter than John has ever seen them on Dominat, though they are still a dim wash of light across the sky underneath the twisting sheets of color that seem brighter than ever.

John can hear the cacophony of a party in full swing floating in from the desert, and as they pass through the gates of Ayse, John shuddering minutely with relief, the sound resolves into music and laughter.

The small mesla dung fires burn bright, blue and hot, and it seems like all of Ayse is at the camp. John thinks it's good to know that they aren't sour and standoffish all of the time.

"Looks like quite the party," Lorne remarks.

"Yeah, who knew they had it in them?"

Lorne gives his head a shake in the dim light. "Not me, sir."

John shakes his head, "Just give it a rest and call me John." He didn't feel very comfortable with the courtesies due his rank out here in the desert, not with the uncertainty roiling in his gut.

"Sure, John. Nice to meet you." Evan flashes John a wide grin that's barely visible in the dim starlight.

John chuckles, "Fair enough. Evan."

Flasks are being passed around the spectators, probably more ekal, while a large number of people are dancing among the fires. The music's provided by a handful of students on borrowed instruments, and Timmons has a harmonica cupped in his hands, doing a creditable job of catching the tune.

Anbur has Elizabeth on her feet, and he's teaching her the complicated steps to the dance in progress, but she's having a hard time keeping up. The band keeps upping the tempo and laughing when Elizabeth glares at them.

Someone's provided a number of chairs and carpets, but John just chooses a patch of sand on the outskirts to watch. Lorne sits next to him for a few minutes, until Sabat swings by and steals him away for a dance. Lorne humors her, like an uncle with a favored niece, and he shoots John a sheepish grin as she drags him off.

Cadman and Lu are doing their own thing, a perverted version of the hora and laughing about it, probably because neither of them actually know the dance. Shaaziya has Rodney doing an energetic, if somewhat graceless, version of what Anbur is trying to teach Elizabeth, and John smiles at the way Rodney's throwing himself into it.

John's not anxious to draw any attention to himself, doesn't want to ruin his relaxed glow with the creepy-crawly sensation when people worship him, because how stupid and insane is that?

If he thinks back, if this had been a regular mission with his regular team from Atlantis, he would've been in the thick of it—dancing with the pretty girls and talking with their hosts and possibly even drinking a little so as to not disappoint whoever he was trying to impress into trading or an alliance. Rodney would be the one sulking by the fire, muttering about a waste of time, or any number of his other voluminous complaints while John cajoled him into playing nice with the natives.

This feeling of wanting to hide, to avoid confrontation or engagement, is new, and he doesn't like it. He always has a bit of reserve, but generally he's a pretty outgoing guy. He resents the role that he's been thrust into and hates feeling off base and uncertain.

John eventually gets chilled from sitting so far from the fire and retrieves his jacket from the cart, fending off invitations to drink or dance. A cool wind is blowing down from the mountains, and John sits in the lee of the tent and waits for the festivities to be over.

It's late when the Ayse begin to pack up their chairs and extinguish fires, and the viator prepare to continue on their journey. Some of the townspeople wait to see them off, waving and yelling. Paige and Shaaziya are in that group, and John lets his glance slide away as Rodney gives Shaaziya a definitely not-public good bye kiss. John had completely forgotten that they were staying behind, and that lapse stings; he wonders if they'll walk back, who will escort them or if Caldwell will allow the use of precious resources to come and pick them up in a 302.

Zuhair is at the front with Anbur, Tazim and Elizabeth, so John's straggling at the end of the line, waiting for Rodney. He catches up and reassures John that Zuhair's ordered an escort for them back to the Daedalus, and as they begin their journey west, sticks close by John for the rest of the night.

There was a time, not so very long ago that John had wished for Rodney's company, and the way he could fill the silence. He knows that he's the one that pulled away, forcing the distance between them, telling himself that Rodney needed the time with Shaaziya during the first rush of passion. He feels a little betrayed by Rodney abandoning him for his one true love, and now that she's not here, John's the fall back, and it's irrational, but it pisses him off.

John's hasn't completely divorced himself from reality; he can hear that Rodney's sick and aching with worry, but he just doesn't want to hear about it right now, so he doesn't answer except in grunts and the occasional 'uh-huh'.

Ayse is at the edge of the mountains, and to the west there are tall, rocky canyons that seem to grow straight up out of the sand. They thread their way through red arroyos turned black by the shadows cast by Aila's pale light.

The cart engine suddenly whines down and goes silent as they are squeezing through a narrow spot one at a time.

John and his team stand on either end of the cart, and Rodney climbs over the back to kneel down in front of it, pulling the housing off and poking around, checking connections with a tiny flashlight. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" He stands up and gives a tire a vicious kick.

"Didn't plan on traveling at night?"

"No, I did, but the batteries are dead, because the charger shorted out. This should've been good for at least ten hours!"

"Can you fix it?"

"In the dark, without tools or spare parts?"

"Right." John picks up the handle and pulls, but it takes all of them, pushing and shoving and pulling, to heave the heavy cart out of the narrow passage.

It's one thing to carry a pack and walk, but John simply couldn't see dragging the cart for another hour or two, much less ten or fourteen days. "Sorry, Rodney, we're going to have to do this the old fashioned way."

"No, I'm sorry that it didn't work better."

"Good idea, though." John glances up and sees that the rest of the viator is pulling away. "Cadman, take a quick hike up front, tell Elizabeth we have a problem."

Cadman's already off at a quick jog. "You got it, sir."

"We'll leave it here, pack up every thing we can and leave the rest. We can pick it up on the way back, or have Caldwell send someone out for it." John starts to unpack the cart as he orders Timmons, "Drag those mesla over here."

Timmons brings the mesla, while Lu pitches in with John and Rodney, sorting their stuff into 'gotta have' and 'maybe' piles. Cadman returns with Anbur and Elizabeth.

"Ah, I see." Anbur calls out instructions to Basim and Muaz to bring more mesla and begins to pack in the extra stuff.

It only takes an hour to rearrange and redistribute their belongings, and drag the cart to a wider spot in the trail. The absence of the electric motor's low hum is shocking; John hadn't realized that it was that noisy.

The high canyon walls whisper their passage, breathy echoes bouncing back and forth as they slowly thread their way through, until it's finally too dark to see.

Both Aila and Zieba have set for the night, and the aurora's light doesn't quite reach down into the bottom, so they stop in the shadows of the high canyon walls. They huddle together with the mesla for warmth and wait for morning.

 

Day One Hundred-Seven

The lowland canyons at the edge of the desert give way to broad, rock-strewn paths in the foothills of the mountains.

John is still riding the wave of his freak-out in Ayse. He didn't want this; he didn't ask to be the Quaralyn. His somber mood leaves him taciturn and short, and Rodney tries several conversational gambits in an effort to draw John out, but John doesn't take the bait.

By midday, Rodney is tired of John's failure to communicate, so he's at the front with Elizabeth. She's in full diplomatic mode, wisely using the time with Zuhair to forge a mutually beneficial relationship. Tazim's fascinated with Elizabeth, and her short-sleeved shirt.

Behind him, Sabat is doing her best to flirt with Evan, who is doing his best to be charming and yet still keep her at arm's length without hurting her feelings.

Cadman, Lu and Timmons are taking pictures and horsing around with each other and the kids, who obviously idolize them. John can hear them cracking jokes and joshing each other. The students are still absolutely thrilled to be out on the road, and the endless walking hasn't yet put a dent in their boundless energy.

After a short rest stop, John ends up near the center of the viator, behind Rodney and Evan.

"I would guess that Sabat is only a year or two younger than Shaaziya."

Lorne gives Rodney a disgusted look, "McKay, you are such a cradle robber!"

McKay reddens. "Shaaziya is over twenty, that's what she told me."

"Whatever lets you sleep at night-oh, wait. Right," Lorne snickers.

John can see Rodney's neck flush with embarrassment as he insists, "Even if you recalculate her age into Earth years, she's still an adult at the age of consent. Besides, she was afraid I thought she was too old."

"Huh. Recalculate the years? I musta missed that memo, how do you figure that?"

"The satellite—using sensor array, we calculated the sidereal year. It's just two hundred sixty point two sixty five days..." Rodney trails off into explaining the formula, and John tunes it out.

God, even Rodney was starting to acclimatize and had formed a relationship. John looks to the front of their convoy as they head into a bend in the trail; Elizabeth is up front, doing her best to schmooze with Zuhair and fend off Tazim's admittedly charming advances.

He looks back, and Cadman, Lu and Timmons are coaxing the mesla along, chatting with the kids who have attached themselves to the Marines. In fact, everyone is occupied in conversation. Except him.

John just pulls into himself a little more, trudging along with his head down.

 

Day One Hundred-Eight

The narrow trail begins to wind upwards, and John notes that the hard climb has cut down on the conversation; no one has extra breath to waste on talking. They walk steadily with few breaks, until darkness falls. The narrow path opens up on a small meadow spotted with tiny purple flowers and a shallow brook running through it. The air is sweet with the scent of flowers, and the mesla grumble and snatch at the tough, grayish grass, shaking their heads at the clouds of vicious insects that swarm around them and sting their noses.

The bugs seem to be mostly attracted to the mesla, though everyone is slapping and swearing at the sharp bites when they are attacked. Anbur decides they'll stop for the night, and when John gives Anbur a dubious look, reassures him that the insects will disappear after dark.

John gets out his jacket and yanks the collar up close around his neck, even though it's still too warm.

They've got a bit of room to spread out, and John throws himself into helping set up camp for the evening, raising the tents with their odd, folding tent poles, and refilling canteens and water barrels from the tiny trickle of a stream. The mesla are relieved of their burdens and staked out a good distance from the camp, and there is the clatter and clink of pans and glass as fires are started, and a meal is assembled.

Elizabeth tosses in an armful of MREs and power bars as a treat for those who aren't familiar with them, and a godsend to those of the Expedition. The steady diet of rich, fatty stews of grain and dried meat has had them reaching for the Pepto-Bismol tablets, and occasionally frantically looking for a quiet place to relieve themselves.

To John's utter relief, Anbur's prediction is born out, and the flies disappear as soon as it's dark.

The night sky in the mountains, though clearer than the desert, still sports only a dim wash of stars, and the aurora is more vivid than ever. Rodney had explained the reason for this in one of his long, drawn out science lessons on the trail, but John had tuned him out, and he wasn't going to go back and ask for the explanation.

Duty dispensed, John sits by the tiny blue fire. It's cold enough that he considers retrieving his sleeping bag and wrapping up in that, too.

The camp chatters and rustles around him, while he stares at the incredible display in the heavens, eating when Anbur thrusts a bowl into his hands with a friendly pat on the shoulder.

After dinner, Lorne has the first-aid kit open, passing out Tylenol, calamine lotion, antibiotic ointment and Band-Aids and making sure that Rodney and Elizabeth's blistered feet are clean and dry, and that no one else requires first aid. John takes a couple of bandages when offered, but he doesn't feel like injecting himself into the cozy, domestic scene.

It has only taken four days for the Expedition and the locals to bond together through the common experience, changing from two disparate groups with vastly differing customs into a cohesive family group, but John doesn't feel particularly sociable. Lorne doesn't seem to mind that John's not very talkative, and sits next to him with his bowl.

He's still mulling over his various experiences in Ayse, but especially the last one. The itchy ant feeling has almost completely dissipated, and his freak out has eased down a few notches, but the episode has left him feeling uneasy and wary.

 

Day One Hundred-Nine - One Hundred-Twelve

John falls into the rhythm of the journey. Walk all day and, at night, either camp out, or take advantage of the facilities offered by the next village. The village is so small that it doesn't even have a name, and John is pleased to discover that the villagers don't seem to give him the dreaded itchy feeling.

The viator still have to camp out, but they are treated kindly; offered food and water in return for news and gossip.

They leave the nameless, wide spot in the road behind and continue their journey upwards, towards the sky and the tall, forbidding peaks that loom over them.

 

Day One Hundred-Thirteen

He didn't think he'd slept very well, the effects of the high, thin air disturbing his rest, but upon awaking, John discovers that it has snowed overnight; just a light layer that quickly disappears in the hot sun, but the melt-water makes the narrow path slippery and treacherous. The viator trudge grimly upward, and the thinner air at the high altitude has them struggling to breathe.

John has sunburns on his sunburns, and his feet are blistered raw and sore, his thighs and calves are straining and complaining at the constantly upward journey. He looks into the far distance above, and they are still miles and miles away from the top of the pass.

Basim, the youngest student, is already suffering from altitude sickness, and a mesla's pack is redistributed so that he can ride. Timmons walks next to Basim, to keep him upright, and Cadman hovers close, exhorting him to drink more water.

One good thing about the extreme exertion is that it has shut Rodney up. John appreciates that he's the smartest man in the galaxy, but dear god, is there nothing he won't pontificate upon?

He is worried about Rodney though, he's red in the face from more than the multiple sunburns he's sustained despite his sunblock, and John can hear him wheezing heavily while doggedly putting one foot in front of the other.

They are all in the same condition, even Anbur. John is pissed that Anbur had made light of the difficulty of the mountain passage, but Anbur probably hadn't wanted to scare them off, though if he'd known ahead of time he would have made room for an oxygen tank.

Late that night they finally reach the village of Akhlatan, and the town's people throw open their doors. Basim is hustled off to be cared for, though the town has no healer, they are familiar with the mountain sickness and have ways to deal with it.

The opportunity to bathe in the chilly stream is welcome by everyone. John is surprised when Sabat strips down among the men without hesitation and wades into the shallow, freezing water. Elizabeth and Cadman shrug at each other and follow Sabat's lead. John carefully turns his back to shuck off his clothing. He thinks it's too cold for anything but a quick wash, but the boys play in it, splashing and fighting. Surprisingly, Zuhair is in the thick of the mock battle, grinning and laughing.

Dinner is simple but festive. The food is plain and precious bottles of ekal are brought out to share. Lorne puts the last jar of peanut butter out and encourages everyone to try it, and when the last bit is scraped from the bottom of the canister, he and Cadman cheer and do a complicated version of a high five.

John's dogged refusal to talk leaves everyone, especially Rodney, confused and upset. John knows it's a problem, but he's struggling to deal with the fact that the rumor of his resurrection has preceded them; indeed it seems that hardly a single person on the planet hasn't heard. The villagers, all of them, want something from him. Usually it's just to stand near him and, appallingly, to breathe the same air while he eats.

Some of them are worse than others, and his creepy-crawly feeling flares when they breathlessly adore the Quaralyn, to John's ever increasing agitation. Sabat, Lorne and Elizabeth do their best to run interference against the attentions of the more insistent devotees, and John is quietly, deeply grateful.

Under Anbur's unhappy watch, John withdraws further and further away, pulling in as he struggles with his unwanted, undeserved, notoriety.

 

Day One Hundred-Fifteen

The days and nights begin to meld together: struggle along the path worn down into the rocks and dirt from the passage of man and beast over the untold thousands of anam, camp out at night, or partake of the hospitality offered by the villages that are strung out along their path, like beads on an unseen string.

They are well past the tree line, and as they cling to the narrow trail carved into the broad white cliffs, the panorama that spreads out below is breathtaking.

The pass over the mountains is still many days ahead of them, and John doesn't look forward to it, just keeps putting one foot in front of the other. Anbur maintains a slow pace, not only to allow them to acclimatize to the altitude, but because this particular passage is dangerous.

They travel in single file, stretched out along the rutted pathway, almost brushing against the cliff wall, away from the crumbling edge of the deep cliff to the left. The flies are back; there must be more of those purple flowers nearby.

John is behind a mesla that's led by Muaz, when the mesla suddenly shies away from a biting fly and squeaks loudly, stumbling over the loose rocks near the crumbling edge that begins to break away under its weight.

Muaz tries to rein the creature in, away from the disintegrating rim of the trail, but it's instantly obvious to John what is about to happen. He grabs onto Muaz and holds him tightly, and yanks the lead out of his hand just as the struggling mesla gives a last terrified squeak and plunges over the edge, falling into the deep ravine below. John carefully peers over the edge, but the poor thing has already disappeared from view, though he can hear its body crashing down the slope, bouncing off trees and rocks.

Everyone stops, and questions are being shouted out, passed down the line from one person to the next. John holds the trembling boy close and asks, "Are you okay?"

"Master Anbur will be so angry with me!" Muaz starts to cry, and shudder.

"No, you're safe—that's what matters." John shouts out, "It was a mesla, we lost a mesla!"

John hopes that they reach a stopping point soon, because now he's shaking with how close it had been, that they could have lost more than a mesla.

Lorne puts a hand on John's shoulder pushes him up against the inside wall and hands him a canteen, then deftly extracts Muaz from John's tight grasp. "Here, are you okay?"

"Son of a bitch, that was close." John turns the canteen up and drinks, trying to remember what that mesla was carrying. "I'm okay." John passes the word up the line that everyone is okay, and that they're ready to start moving again.

Everyone hugs the wall a little closer, as they begin to move.

 

Day One Hundred-Sixteen - One Hundred-Eighteen

The pass over the mountains is visible now, and they continue their steady progress at a snail's pace. Most of them have slowly acclimatized to the altitude, but Rodney and Elizabeth, already at risk because of their various respiratory issues of the last few months, are exhibiting symptoms of respiratory distress, headaches and fatigue.

Anbur stops when they reach a suitable camping spot, and brews a strong tisane from the bag of herbs that the Ahklatani homeopath had given him. They've all been taking a little of the medicine at morning and at night in their regular tea, but the concoction that he makes them drink now is thick and bitter. He insists that Rodney and Elizabeth chew on the strained leaves.

Elizabeth looks white as a sheet, but Rodney is red in the face from the small capillaries that have broken along his cheeks and nose. They are both coughing, though neither has reached the point of producing any fluid, the worst sign of altitude sickness, because it means that there's actual damage to the lungs, and serious medical intervention is required. John doesn't want to let it get to that point.

He kneels in front of Elizabeth, as she nibbles the soggy herbs. "There isn't anywhere for a 302 to land. We should turn around and go back, Elizabeth."

"No, we need to do this, you need to do this. We'll go on."

"If I have to go on, that doesn't necessarily mean that you have to. You and Rodney could go back to the last village, and wait. I'm sure they'd be fine with it, and I'll send Cadman with you."

"I'd rather try and go on. It's important that we complete the pilgrimage, it's not just a healing journey for you, but a rite of passage for all of us." She holds up the empty cup. "This does seem to help."

John shakes his head. "Well, it was worth a shot."

"I appreciate the thought, John. Thank you."

While they've only ever broken into the regular first aid kit, Paige had left her medical kit behind. "Lorne, figure out where Cole's emergency kit is, we must have something in there." He knows it's here somewhere; they'd done a pretty thorough inventory after the mesla went over the cliff.

"I'm on it." John and Evan dig through the packs of four or five mesla before Evan unearths the aluminum case. He brings it to John and they dig through it, looking for anything that will help.

Rodney rolls over and glares at them. "Injectable steroids, Sheppard. That's what you're looking for. And Acetazolamide, though we should have been taking that for a while for it to really work properly, it should help."

"If you knew that, why didn't you say anything sooner?" Of all the times for Rodney to lose his natural state of hypochondria.

Rodney just shrugs and resolutely puts his head down, chewing vigorously. John wonders if it's because Rodney has something to prove to Zuhair, trying to impress Shaaziya's father. He slowly shakes his head at the new, and improved Rodney's back.

In the morning, Rodney and Elizabeth both swear that they're good to go. They both seem okay, if a little high. It's kind of funny, but John inquires about the nature of the trail ahead, and Anbur thinks it will be fine, no more precipitous ledges. They decide to go ahead; the pass over the mountains is just a day or two away.

 

Day One Hundred-Twenty

They arrive at the small hamlet of Halavasan in the early afternoon. Though its barely a few streets carved into the side of the mountain, it's swarming with a second group of partying viator, who buzz and whisper that the Quaralyn is among their ranks as they settle down for the night, too tired and exhausted to stay up and socialize.

Despite the minimal contact, the other viator give John the worst case of the itchy ants he's experienced so far, and everyone but him heaves a sigh of relief when Anbur declares they will stay for an extra day.

Feeling vaguely uneasy, he asks Anbur what it will be like at their destination.

"Many people from many places come together at this time, perhaps a thousand? Time for meeting old friends, making new friends, doing business."

This doesn't reassure John; he should have realized this sooner. If he's getting this feeling with only thirty or so devotees worshiping him, what is it going to be like with a thousand or more people?

Whatever progress he's made at struggling his way out of his funk vanishes into the thin air, and he slips away from the village. He desperately needs some alone time to fathom what all of this means.

~*~

John's sitting alone at the fire long after the camp is quiet and most everyone else has sacked out. He's staring up at the mesmerizing aurora; it looks close enough to reach out and touch.

He startles a little when Anbur sits down next to him and says simply, "John, I am sorry."

"For what?" John looks at him. His afternoon apart hasn't really solved anything. He's finally come to the frightening realization of how huge this is, the thing that he's become. He's the fucking Quaralyn.

"Too soon for you I think. Opportunity was too great to ignore. I hoped to build Dr. Weir's bridge, but you are paying the cost."

"I dunno, some days are better than others. For what it's worth, I don't think you were wrong—if this is going to help us in the long run, then I can deal with it." John shrugs. "Not much I can do about it, anyway."

"So this is what is meant, take one for the team?"

"Yep."

Anbur nods. "I wish you peace, John. You hold apart, even from those that you should not. Allow them to carry your burden with you."

Rodney was never his confidante, and he's got his own set of issues he's dealing with; John's not sure that he really has anyone he can unload all of this onto. Suddenly, it's all too much to bear; John takes a deep breath through his nose, and exhales hard as he tosses the stick away. "I just. I don't have the words. I can't say it, or explain." He absently touches his chest, giving away so much with that tiny gesture. He crosses his arms and tucks his traitorous hands away, pulling his knees up close to his chest breathing deeply and evenly, as he tries to regain even the smallest scraps of equilibrium.

Anbur gently lays his hand on John's back, rubbing in small aimless circles. "Yes, too much, I think."

They sit together quietly, the sounds of night washing over and around them, until the fire dies down to ashy embers. Anbur stands and stretches. "Go and sleep. We will talk again in the morning. Is easier, hmm?"

John clears his throat but makes no move to get up. "Sure. Good night, Anbur."

It's hours later when John goes to find his sleeping bag, which is missing from where he'd stashed it. He quietly searches around for it, and finds that Evan and Rodney have scrunched it between them. It's a sign that Anbur has probably had a powwow with them while he was out wandering and thinking.

John's just tired and upset enough that he gives in, doesn't snatch it up and stalk away. It's difficult, but he manages to shimmy into it without waking up either of them.

Or so he thought. When he rolls onto his side, Rodney's awake and intently watching him in the faint moonlight, his face alive with vivid flashes of colored light.

"I'm not even going to ask if you're okay, because you're patently not 'fine', haven't been for weeks, but all you'll do is lie about it." Rodney whispers.

"Go to sleep, Rodney." John rolls over towards Evan, who is either truly asleep or doing a great impression.

"Fine. I'll do that." Rodney makes a big production of flouncing around in his sleeping bag, and when he's done, he's almost spooned together behind John.

John freezes. "Rodney, the hell?"

"Body heat. Shut up and go to sleep."

To be fair, it is cold, but John waits until Rodney's softly snoring before he relaxes and snuggles a fraction closer into the comfort.

 

Day One Hundred Twenty-One

When John wakes up, Evan's huddled in close, too; the temperature has dropped again. It's not yet dawn, and John's not getting out without waking them up, so he resigns himself and goes back to sleep, pulling the sleeping bag a little farther over his head.

The second time he awakens, it's to the bright light of midmorning. Rodney's gone, but Evan is sitting on his rolled up sleeping bag, sipping hot tea. "Hey."

John rubs his eyes with one hand as he sits nestled in his sleeping bag, "Morning."

"Turned a little cold last night. Anbur says it'll warm up though."

"Mmm." John isn't quite coherent; he still feels worn out and achy from the two weeks of climbing and walking. He glances around to see that the rest of the camp is up and moving around restlessly. Rodney's coming back with two glasses of tea.

"Here." Rodney thrusts one of the glasses towards John.

"What's going on?" John doesn't mean the tea; with his free hand he makes a circular motion.

Just as Evan says, "Nothing", Rodney says, "This is about you not being fine."

John opens his mouth, but Rodney interrupts him before he can make a sound.

"Don't even. You've been freaked out ever since Ayse; do you think we're blind? Elizabeth's worried, and Anbur is about to call the whole thing off, turn around and go home."

"That's why we're hanging out here today," Evan adds. He looks John in the eye, but John can't tell if he's disappointed or not.

"He can't do that, what about everyone else?" Despite his fragile state of mind, he knows that Elizabeth had been correct in her assessment of how important it is that they complete this pilgrimage.

"Baariq and Tazim will take the kids on to wherever it is that we're going, but if you don't snap out of this funk, it's over, because we're not going to let you drag your ass back to the Daedalus alone." Rodney looks conflicted, as if he's anxious to return to Shaaziya but just as anxious to finish the viat. "He said we could try again next year."

They are so close, and John's not looking forward to repeating the experiences of the trip up here any time soon. "Jesus, it's not that bad. I'm okay! What is it with everyone suddenly? I didn't turn into a wilting flower when I was fucking resurrected!" John's shouting now, shoving the sleeping bag away, reaching for his boots and finding a place to put down the glass all at the same time.

"Whoa, whoa! Give me that, you're gonna break it." Evan grabs for the tea glass, and Rodney drags the other boot out from under the sleeping bag.

John extricates himself and shoves his feet into the boots without bothering to tie them. As he storms away, Evan calls out to him, "Hey!"

John turns and catches the tossed jacket with his face. Evan and Rodney are grinning, and John suddenly realizes that they've wound him up on purpose. "When I get back, I'm going to kick your ass."

"Sure, Sheppard. You can try." Evan rolls his eyes at Rodney.

John jams his arms into the sleeves, shrugging into the jacket and pulling it close around him as he dodges some of the viator, who are leaving. Anbur and Elizabeth are sitting outside a tent, in the sun but out of the wind.

Elizabeth gives him a bright smile. "Good morning, John. Sleep well?"

"Fine," he snaps. "What's this I hear that you're going to send us back to the Daedalus?"

Anbur looks up at him, "Is a possibility; I am concerned." He has a solemn look on his face, without a single trace of mirth.

"It's not a possibility as far as I'm concerned. So I'm a little upset, big deal. Look, you said this was important, not just for us, so I want you to know that I'll get over the bug up my ass."

"Okay."

"That's it? Okay?" The fight goes out of John.

"Yes. Tomorrow we will continue viat. Is perhaps only another three days to Makhuqat? It will be only more of same, hmm?"

"Good." John stalks away, angry that he's just been played. He's never been a terribly introspective person, but things have changed for him over and over again, forcing him to dig a little deeper each time. He figures that by now, he's in the Marianas Trench.

Rodney and Evan catch up and fall in beside him. "Still going to kick my ass?" Evan asks in an all too cheery tone.

"Probably. When you're asleep, so, you know—don't." John replies darkly.

"Come on, Sheppard. It's guaranteed to work every time. You mope until you get mad, and then you do something about it."

John eyes Rodney.

"What, just because I generally ignore people's feelings doesn't mean that I don't know they have them. It's like any good experiment: observation to develop a hypothesis, and then use the hypothesis to quantitatively predict the results of new observations."

"Is that right?"

"Yes. Don't say I'm wrong, because I'm not."

John swivels his glare to Evan, "What do you think?"

Evan answers carefully. "I'm not sure what he just said, but I guess you needed a kick in the pants."

"Maybe I was already mad, did you think about that?"

"Please, I've seen you angry, and you weren't, that was you, moping." Rodney doesn't tell him to get over it, but drops a bomb instead. "Anbur's got a ZedPM."

"What?" They've been on the planet for months, and the surprises just keep rolling in.

"Yeah, I didn't pick it up, maybe it's completely drained, but still, a ZedPM."

"Why does he have it?"

"Something to do with Makhuqat, part of the viat. I couldn't get him to tell me anything more. Patience, my ass."

John can imagine how that conversation went. "How did you figure out he's got one?"

"Saw it when I was watching them put up his tent last night, keeps it rolled up in it and stores it inside when the tent's up."

~*~

Anbur refuses to answer any questions about the ZPM. He gives them a small mysterious smile and shoos them away, leaving Rodney rather furious. John steers him away from the camp and towards the little town.

Rodney seethes, "What does he think I'm going to do? Contaminate his precious holy icon? Break it?"

John's pretty annoyed with Anbur too, for being the one that probably set him up this morning, but he realizes that it was his way of finding out how important this journey was to John.

He'd understood political importance of this trip on an intellectual level, had resigned himself to it early on, but John's surprised to find that it's become personally important, as well. Sure, no one wants to be sent home for being a crybaby (or lack of crying; John's still not clear what reaction Anbur's expecting from him), and sure, having a goal and attaining it is second nature to him, but the possibility, the hope of some personal reconciliation has taken hold of John. He trusts Anbur enough to accept that when it's all over, the viat will have some significant meaning.

"I dunno, Rodney. What would you do if you got your hands on it? Run your life signs detector all over it?"

Rodney huffs at that, "It's the principle. I'm a scientist and a ZedPM has been my Holy Grail for the last year."

John smiles. "Listen to yourself—you're on a religious trek, and you're complaining that someone has a relic they won't let you play with? Forget about it, it's probably dead." In the back of his mind though, he's recalling the database in N'vellesem, and the odd light in the corridors under the temple at Ayse.

Rodney's glaring at him when Cadman catches up to them. "Sir, we're going to take a hike, heard there were some ruins up there." She points up the side of the mountain.

Rodney's glare turns into his 'you're insane' look. "We've been on a forced march for two weeks, so when we get a day off you go hiking?"

John doesn't think that it had been anything like a forced march, but he agrees with Rodney, though he's slightly more polite. "Have fun?"

She shrugs. "Lorne? Up for a run up the mountainside?"

Evan smiles, the one that John would classify as his 'make nice with the crazy natives' smile. "Uh, no, I'll pass."

"Suit yourself, sir." Laura mutters something that sounds a lot like 'chair force' under her breath as she turns away.

John retaliates with 'ground pounder' and when he looks at Evan, they break out laughing. "Run up a mountainside?"

They reach the town, and spend a while poking around. The other group of viator are gone, and now the town seems almost deserted. There's an old woman baking khabez on a flat stone, and it looks like she's been at it a while, from the tall stack of flat bread next to her. She offers up the one that's just come off the stone to John as she entreats him, "Come sit for a moment."

She's wearing a purple hat that's similar in style to Anbur's, and John pauses, and the only feeling that he gets from her is a warm, honeyed glow, and that intrigues him. He thanks her in Peragro and joins her across from the baking stone. Evan and Rodney sit down beside him, giving her their thanks as the three of them tear into the crisp, steamy bread.

"You speak Peragro." she asks as she pats a fresh ball of dough onto the stone.

John swallows quickly. "I do, A little. It's not very good."

"A little is enough." She smiles, showing a wide lack of teeth. "I am known as Qahira."

"I'm John Sheppard, this is Rodney McKay and Evan Lorne." John points at them as he speaks. "Guys, this is Qahira."

They wave a little and greet her as they munch on the khabez.

"I was born in N'vellesem, but it has been many years since my last visit." Qahira pokes at the bread on the stone.

John's not exactly sure what to say so he nods and translates for Evan and Rodney. "Says she's from N'vellesem."

Evan asks, "Why did she come to Halavasan?" and John repeats his question.

"I came on viat, same as you, and fell in love. What other reason should there be? Perhaps you will do the same."

John smiles at this. "I don't think so, but Rodney's got a girl friend already. Him? Who knows?"

"Who knows, yes, this is right." Qahira deftly flips the khabez over, using her fingertips. "You have such pretty teeth, were they like this before you became the Quaralyn?"

John chuckles, she reminds him of his crazy Aunt Ella. "Yes, I look very much like I did before."

"That is good, I'm glad the Quaralyn is handsome. It would be shame if he were an ugly old man."

Rodney pokes John. "What are you two talking about?"

"My teeth."

"Figures. Hey, ask her about where we're going." Anbur's been close-mouthed about their destination, and it's been eating Rodney alive.

"He wants to know about our destination."

"Makhuqat? Except for the temple, it's nothing but a pile of rocks."

"So why there? Why does everyone go there?"

Qahira seems to think about that for a moment as she flips the flat bread off the stone and onto the waiting pile, and then pats down another ball of dough on the hot stone. "It is the tradition. Most people only go once, but the devout travel every anam."

"She says it's a temple, and a pile of rocks, and mostly folks only go once."

John watches as Rodney nods slowly, like he's adding data to the hypothesis in his head. He's about to ask 'what?' when Qahira asks him the sixty four thousand dollar question.

"What is it like to be the Quaralyn?" Her head is tipped to the side, keeping an eye on both John and the bread.

John has to consider his answer, but he still comes up blank. "It's difficult to say. I guess strange is the only word I have."

"It is said, 'For he who is Quaralyn will know the devotion of his followers.'"

"Huh, where does it say that?"

Qahira flips the bread over. "The Vaxqaralyn. I studied the ways of the Qaroptimat at Ludahsediat in N'vellesem. Is it true?"

"I guess that's what it is. I don't like it."

"Is difficult to be adored. As a young woman I had to learn to be adored by my husband. You must learn to be adored. Once you give in, it can be very rewarding." Qahira gave John a sly smile. "But perhaps not the same way."

That makes John laugh out loud. "Hopefully not the same."

Rodney and Evan are looking at John as if he's lost his mind. "What did she say?"

"Nothing, I'll tell you later."

Qahira tests the bread, pulls it off the stone and wraps it and several other large, flat loaves in a separate cloth and hands the package to John. "For your meal, and now, I must go and feed my adoring husband."

"Ze'omlat kavela, Qahira." John stands and helps her to her feet, and she takes advantage of the opportunity and pats his face. "So pretty," she says, ambling off.

"What was that all about?" Rodney asks.

"She was just flirting with me."

Rodney rolls his eyes. "Of course she was."

Evan gives him a playful punch on the arm. "If you're going to pull, you should shoot for someone a little younger."

"It's like a compulsion, Evan, and there's no accounting for taste." Rodney shakes his head.

John ignores them. "Let's take these back and have some lunch."

A large pot of thick, spicy stew is simmering on the fire, and Qahira's gift of fresh bread is well received. John grabs a bowl and tears off a piece, and moves a little ways off from the fire, and soon, Rodney and Evan sit next to him.

John thinks about calling them on their tactics, telling them to knock it off, that he doesn't need babysitting, but it is comforting. He decides to allow himself to accept it.

Rodney is eating fast and methodically, head down, and not talking, a sign that he's thinking hard and fast.

John lets him ruminate for a while as they eat, but eventually curiosity gets the best of him. "Whatcha thinking about, Rodney?"

"The ZedPM, what else?"

John gives him a shrug of the eyebrows.

"What did Qahira say exactly about Makhuqat?"

"That it was a pile of rocks, most people only go once but there are some who go every year. Why?"

"Just trying to figure out why someone would trek across the desert with it."

"What if it's just something they do?"

"What if it's not?"

"Well, we don't know that, do we? Doesn't look like Anbur's going to tell us, and we'll get there eventually."

"We're only about three days out," Evan adds.

"So, we'll find out soon enough."

"Yeah, three days."

"Try not to let it tear you up."

"Look who's talking, Mr. Mope-For-A-Week."

Amazingly, John's rescued from a conversation he doesn't want to have by an unlikely hero—Sabat. "Come, we race the mesla."

"Okay, this I have to see."

"Give me your bowl, I'll take care of 'em and be there in a minute." Evan reaches out and plucks the bowl from John's hand.

Sabat looks faintly disappointed, but chivvies John and Rodney up and over to the open field, looking over her shoulder to make sure that Evan is following along.

Most of the town and all of Anbur's viat are gathered around the lea, and there's a seething mass of the mesla at the other end. Baariq appears to be the race master and he waves John over. John gives Elizabeth the evil eye when she gives him a little push, before loping across the short field.

The mesla know something is up, and they aren't happy about it. They're pulling at their leads and squeaking in annoyance, but the designated mesla wranglers for the race are yanking on the leads and lining them up.

Baariq assigns John one at center post. John recognizes it as Donna, the one that's prone to biting. Dara gives him a leg up, and then hands him the lead, holding onto the halter. John tries to find a comfortable position, but it's just too bony. John's got a bad feeling about this, although he doesn't have too long to worry about it.

Apparently horse racing is the same in any galaxy; Baariq starts the race with a downward slash of a white cloth. Dara gives Donna a hard slap on her furry hindquarters, and she jounces off after the others.

John nearly falls off; there's no saddle; the odd gait is miserable to ride, and her sharp spine is as awful as he thought it would be. Donna's a little short, and John's got to pull his legs up to keep them from dragging the ground. He bounces along trying to give her a kick in the flanks, but his legs are too long, and he nearly causes himself to fall off. He's not the only one having some trouble; Gadon is still back at the starting line kicking and screaming at his mesla as it calmly grabs a tuft of the tough, grayish turf.

Fortunately, the course is short. John finishes the race by falling off just as Donna crosses the line. Everyone is laughing and smiling, but Elizabeth and Rodney are holding each other up, helpless with laughter, and Evan smiles evilly as he holds up a camera and grabs Donna's lead as she trots by. He pulls something out of his pocket and gives it to her, deftly avoiding the teeth.

John hauls himself up off the ground, and hollers to Baariq. 'We go again?'

Baariq is laughing so hard he can barely answer. "Yes, again," he huffs between bouts of hilarity.

"Good." John limps over to Evan and takes the camera. "You're up," he says in his best command voice. John leans over and whispers into to Evan's ear. "Then Rodney and Elizabeth."

This cracks Evan up, and he gleefully drags Donna to the starting line. He actually does pretty well, coming in second to Suha, the youngest and smallest. He leaps off Donna with a flourish.

John eyes him suspiciously. "You've done this before."

"Not with mesla, obviously."

"Obviously.

John hands the camera to Elizabeth, grabs Rodney and drags him to the starting line. "Oh, nononono, I can't do this, I've never been on a horse. Not that these are horses, but the same principle..."

"Sure you can, Rodney!" John and Evan haul Rodney into place, and he does his best to look terrified, but his smile is giving him away. Donna tries to take a piece out of Evan but he swings out of the way just in time.

Baariq starts the race, and John gives Donna a firm whack to get her started.

It's the funniest thing that he's seen in a long time. Rodney is yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs, holding on for dear life as Donna trots lazily across the field. She's easily dead last, and the only reason that she's moving forward at all is that Elizabeth is holding out an allmas as encouragement.

"Come on, McKay, give her a kick!"

Rodney flails around trying to urge Donna onwards, but she's not going to take any more, and in a move that would make donkeys in any galaxy proud, bucks Rodney off her back and runs towards the treat.

Rodney lies still on the ground and John rushes over to check on him. "Rodney, you okay, buddy?"

He opens one eye and gives John the ultimate death glare. "Why, yes, I'm fine," Rodney's sarcasm is in full bloom. "I was just humiliated by a smelly pack animal, and I'm lying on the ground wondering if I've broken anything, if I'll ever be able to walk again, or if I'm going to have to live out the rest of my days as a cripple in Halavasan. Why wouldn't I be fine?" Evan and Elizabeth join them during Rodney's tirade.

"Besides the humiliation."

"I know why they don't ride the mesla."

John snickers and holds out a hand to Rodney, and pulls him to his feet. "Ya think?"

"Yes, Sheppard, really. "

~*~

That evening another caravan of viator arrives in Halavasan, and there's more of the usual evening festivities. John's burden isn't so heavy, and he lets himself enjoy the party this time, partly to assuage Anbur's concern, though mostly because he doesn't get the itchy ants feeling from these people, it's more like Qahira's warm glow. He doesn't know what the difference is, or why the students from the Ludahsediat don't even register. He concedes that maybe that they knew him before, whereas the others only see him as Quaralyn.

 

Day One Hundred Twenty-Two - One Hundred Twenty-Three

The extra day's rest leaves John energized and recharged, despite the lingering hangover from too much ekal. He'd decided to retreat to his fall back position of laconic disregard of any meaning that might be construed from the events of the previous night.

Rodney and Evan are willing to let his recent behavior slide; they spent the next three days of walking with good-humored conversation and arguing. Evan's not a geek, and he shakes his head in disbelief over the range of topics that John and Rodney choose to discuss.

The steep trail heads almost straight down, and by the end of the second day down from Halavasan, John's toes are bruised from the force of the downhill walk. When he peels out of his boots by the fireside to check, it looks like he might lose a toenail.

 

Day One Hundred Twenty-Four

Anbur catches John after the last rest stop as they begin the final leg of the journey and guides John to the front of the caravan. Tazim and Zuhair fall back to give them some privacy. "You enjoyed yourself very greatly the last night in Halavasan, I think."

It's been a couple of days, and John has gained some perspective. "Yes, yes, I did."

"What was the cause of this difference?"

John doesn't answer immediately, and Anbur is willing to wait as they pick their way down the side of the mountain. The trail from Halavasan to Makhuqat is downhill, and the irony of that isn't lost on John. "Did I ever tell you about what happened in Ayse? When we stopped there?"

"Some, perhaps, but not all, I think."

John nods as he pauses to gather his thoughts. "At lunch in Zuhair's temple, and maybe a little before, I got this feeling, like itchy ants," He hasn't seen any ants here, so he starts again. "Okay, it was a feeling that I was getting from the Qaroptimat, a very uncomfortable feeling. It was worst when they would worship me, but it was there the whole time. My skin would crawl with the vibration in the air."

Frowning, Anbur prods him. "And so?"

"Well, it disappeared when we left, but it came back when we'd stop in a village."

Anbur just nods.

"Then, in Halavasan, I noticed that I would get a different feeling from some people, it was warm and glowy—a very nice feeling. Qahira was the one where I noticed it most."

"Hmm, I see." Anbur gives John an appraising look. "Who does not give you these 'feelings?'"

"The nusquam, of course. You and the rest of the viator from the school."

This time it's Anbur who's silent. He doesn't speak again until the trail is nearly flat again and there's a sharp turn ahead. Anbur turns around, and Rodney's right there. The excitement is rolling off of him in waves. "Patience, Dr. McKay.

Rodney flaps his hands in the air. "Whatever."

Anbur smiles and then nods as he begins to recite a passage from the Avaxqaral, It's one that every one knows, it's the first one taught to children as their first prayer.

Everyone that knows the passage joins in, and John recites it under his breath.

Once they've made the turn in the trail, a broad, flat plateau stretches out ahead, filled with people and tents and mesla. A fine layer of dust hangs in the air with so many feet on the ground, and it's noisy; a babbling cacophony of squeaking meslas and people talking and shouting, all the languages melding together into a common tongue.

At the center of this is a building, tall and white and built of stone, obviously not only ancient, but Ancient—it's not exactly the central spire of Atlantis, but close, very close.

 

Day One Hundred Twenty-Four

John's homesickness flares up when he sees the building. He's nearly nauseous with the heartache of missing Teyla, and Ford, and the others they left behind—even the city herself. Rodney's at his elbow, and John gives him a sideways glance, it's obvious that he feels the same way. Elizabeth is the only other one in their party that would share this emotion, but she's farther back. John tugs Rodney's elbow, and they step aside to wait for her to catch up.

The look on her face as she rounds the bend is priceless. "Oh!" she says, as her face lights up.

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

The three of them stand, just looking at it from afar, until the last of the caravan passes, and they tag along at the end.

The various encampments are laid out along a grid, with wide paths between the tents, and the occasional, vague, tumble-down outlines of buildings, the remnants of an old settlement.

They wind through the crowd, and along the way the people watch John curiously. The viator that had passed them at Halavasan had spread the news of his imminent arrival. A few that recognize him kneel in the sand, and, as he passes by, John can feel the vibrations, although, at present, it's the warm, sweet feeling that he thinks he could get to like a lot.

"That's just something that I don't think I'll ever get used to, Sheppard." Rodney waves his hand at the people genuflecting to John.

"It's kind of embarrassing, actually." John shrugs a little. "I don't think it has very much to do with me, to tell you the truth." He's afraid to tell them exactly how it feels; that they'll think he's begun to believe his own press and stage an intervention.

"I suspect that it's going to get worse as the news spreads," Elizabeth remarks quietly.

"Probably." John's saved from the rest of that conversation as the caravan stops, and the routine of unpacking and putting up tents begins.

They're camped right at the foot of the building, so the mesla are hobbled and left free to roam the plateau, which is bounded by the mountains to their back, the stream from Halavasan to the south and steep inclines to the east.

After a sharing a brief meal with their immediate neighbors, Anbur pulls out the mysterious package that's been driving Rodney crazy. Iqbal and Dara stand to join him, and Anbur turns to Rodney. "Dr. McKay?"

Rodney's up like a flash to gather up his instruments, and Anbur nods at John. "You must come; no one will question a guest of the Quaralyn in the House of Makhuqat."

There's remarkably little ceremony. No one is paying any attention to them as Anbur waves his hand across the sensor, and they enter the building.

John's not exactly sure what he expected from the appearance of the exterior, but the interior seems to be an exact duplicate of the corridors of Atlantis, minus the glass windows to the sea. John's pinged by something quasi-sentient, similar to the request for instructions he gets from the puddle jumpers as they walk through the corridors. "Are you getting that, Rodney?"

Rodney's concentration is on his scanner. "What's that?" He asks.

"It feels like a puddle jumper."

"Yeah, I think this is a spaceship."

"Yes, Dr. McKay, this is the ship that brought our people to this world."

John thinks about the legend of Qaral, and how he disappeared in a flash of light. He'd incorrectly assumed that was a metaphor for getting beamed up.

Anbur is talking softly to Dara and Iqbal in Ancient as they approach a door, and Dara and Iqbal practice opening and closing it in turn. The room is similar in appearance to the power station in Atlantis, with a roughly triangular pedestal in the center.

The Idon gather around a console to one side, and Anbur is issuing instructions. Dara presses a few keys, and another ZPM slides out. Iqbal takes it, but Rodney interrupts him. "May I?"

"Please investigate as you wish, Dr. McKay," Anbur says, and Iqbal hands him the device.

"It's not like ours; the power signature is different. Could be because it's fully charged... Anbur. This is recharging the ZedPM?"

Dara is sliding the one Anbur brought with them into the empty slot on the console. "Yes, Dr. McKay. We bring Qaral's Power to Makhuqat on the fifth anam to prepare it for use. Makhuqat requires power as well, and so we provide for him."

Rodney hands the ZPM back to Iqbal and pulls his laptop out and plugs it into the console, then crawls underneath to remove the panel to attach more leads to the laptop. "Okay let's fire this up, and see what we've got."

At the confused look on Anbur's face, John says dryly, "Go ahead, he's just watching." Anbur continues to instruct Dara as he pushes the translucent keys.

The five of them are huddled around the console, and Rodney's watching both Dara and his laptop. "It's very slow, like a trickle charger. Comparing the power frequencies, I'd say that it probably takes a couple of years for the cycle to complete."

"The Avaxqaral is less in its appetites than Makhuqat, we return with his leavings."

"Ah. The database, of course, rotating the batteries on a fifteen year cycle, unless there are more?" Rodney moves about the compartment, lighting up consoles, tapping out queries. "The whole building is one giant collector for solar and radiation power."

"Makhuqat's home took many years to build."

John's curious. "Why is the database so far from the ship?"

Anbur shrugs. "The first war of Ascension, after Wilan. Doctus was his Chosen; Qaralyn argued it was his right as son of Qaral."

It's enough of a non-answer that John's about to ask for a clarification, but Anbur interrupts his next question. "You and Dr. McKay must go to see the rest of Makhuqat."

John's willing to let his question go in favor of a tour. "C'mon McKay."

Rodney taps a few last keys on the laptop, checks the console that it's attached to, and turns around.

~*~

The entire ship is thickly coated in dust, and their footprints obscure the faint trail of past explorations as they wander through the corridors, poking their heads into workrooms and labs. The fine grit has worked down under the keys in the control room, and though the monitors work, the displays are distorted with static.

The feeling of familiarity is strong, and the welcoming, mental ping is steady in John's head as they investigate the bare, crew's quarters, the occupant's furnishings and belongings long gone.

The engine room is filthy with sand; there are tiny piles underneath an overhead hatch that's not sealed shut. The positive results from a display have Rodney giving John a meaningful look. John raises his eyebrows and nods slightly.

Leaving the engine room, they find the small bay with four puddle jumpers huddled together. John releases the rear hatch with a rush of stale air and sits in the pilot's chair. The heads up display pops up almost before he can ask, with a grid that shows the relative position of Makhuqat, and temple overhead.

John's almost overcome by the need for flight, and another hot rush of homesickness. At that, the display changes to a star chart with coordinates, navigational headings and a course marked in red. Atlantis.

It would take months in a puddle jumper, if not years, though it would be journey of only a day or two for Makhuqat.

John forces the display to snap off, and he jerks out of the chair and leaves the puddle jumper. The answer is right there; they have the solution to their problem, but it would tear apart the entire fabric of Dominat. In a few short months, he's become familiar with the tenuous balance between the people and their communities, though John suspects that their presence has upset the equilibrium anyway.

Rodney closes the 'jumper's hatch and catches up; John is almost running to get out, to get away from the possibility. Anbur knew, the tracks in the dust were aged and faint, but he must've explored Makhuqat, and he knew.

Maybe it was an invitation to take what they needed; as Quaralyn, no one would question his actions, they would kneel and murmur 'Will of Qaral' as he flew away with their precious relic and the source of power for their mostly holy text.

Makhuqat is ten thousand years old, and has been buried for most of that time; it's a distinct possibility that the ship's in the same state as the Daedalus. It would have to be unburied, the temple above torn down and reduced to dust, which would also rend asunder the point of contact for the many, scattered communities. The single source of advanced power on the entire planet would be destroyed, and Dominat would lose the most important link to their past as the last ZPM died.

John stops suddenly a few feet short of the recharging room, and grabs Rodney by the shoulders. "You absolutely cannot tell anyone about this, about Makhuqat," he says in a fierce, low voice.

"Sheppard, we can go home."

"Maybe, but think—what will happen here, when we're gone? Do you think Shaaziya's just going to pick up and go, leaving everything she's known behind? Are you willing to destroy an entire civilization? Because I've done that, Rodney; I don't think I can do it again."

Rodney's face falls and his mouth twists into a grim slant.

"That's what I thought. This is not ours. Our need does not outweigh the cost to these people."

"But, the puddlejumpers—we could use them."

"God, yes, I know. But they're obviously a secret—how do we extract them without the existence of the ship becoming common knowledge? What will it do to every person on the Daedalus, knowing that this is right here? We just have to think first."

"So you're what, making a unilateral decision for every person on this planet?"

"It's not that simple."

Rodney frowns and pulls out of John's grasp. "Well, you're wrong."

"Rodney," he cries in anguish. John feels heavy with the weight of the power to change the course of civilization just within his grasp.

~*~

"What about the ZPM, Rodney?" Elizabeth asks over the fire at dinner.

"I can't believe that we walked through the mountains to watch a ridiculous ritual with a useless piece of junk."

Elizabeth frowns at the insult, but it's purely a McKayism. "Rodney," she says, more than a hint of reproach in her voice.

John offers Rodney a tiny smile of mollification, but Rodney's not looking at him.

Anbur puts on a good act of annoyance. "Dr. McKay, you are nusqua and do not understand."

He stands abruptly and pins John with an angry glare. "Yes, you're right, I just don't get it. At all. Good night."

As they watch him leave, Elizabeth apologizes. "Anbur, I'm so sorry, please forgive Rodney for his bluntness."

"It is his way." Anbur catches John's eye with a brief speculative glance.

John nods once, saying nothing. It could go either way with McKay, and only time would tell.

 

Day One Hundred Twenty-Five

The next day is difficult. Rodney's avoiding him, and so John takes Cadman up on the offer of a hike with her usual posse, and Evan joins them as well. No one mentions last night's disagreement with McKay, and for that, John is grateful.

They spend the day exploring the edges of the plateau and the trails that lead up and down from the site. They also gather a sizable group of children that follow them around, and eventually they organize them into a game that's a combination of hide-and-seek and tag.

When they return to camp, Rodney's nowhere to be found. John picks at dinner and lurks near Anbur's tent until he's alone.

"I have to ask," he says in a low voice. "Why did you show me Makhuqat?"

"It is important, yes?" For the first time in their acquaintance Anbur's uncomfortable and uncertain, and that makes John feel uneasy.

"Yeah, I get that."

"As leader of Peragroilla, I must not believe, but as a man, very conflicted. I do not want to admit we have been wrong for fourteen thousand anam, and yet cannot ignore what I see."

John feels his anchor slipping. If Anbur, who had told him so firmly to 'accept and not believe', is having a crisis of faith, where does that leave him? "I'm still just John Sheppard." He has to whisper, if he raises his voice, he's afraid it might be a scream.

"Just so, but there is more, hmm? If you are Quaralyn, then you must know all."

"But what am I supposed to do with this knowledge?"

"I cannot tell you. Is for you to decide." Anbur's face has no trace of his normal geniality or mirth, only a look of exquisite sorrow that pierces John like a knife to the heart.

John closes his eyes and takes a handful of deep breaths in an effort to stave off the mother of all panic attacks, and he feels Anbur's arm across his back, pulling him into a comforting embrace.

He didn't ask for this. When he'd raised the rifle at Colonel Sumner, he'd had at least some idea of the consequences. This, he had no inkling, no choice at all, and he's barely figured out how to deal with simply being different, much less how to handle the fate of an entire planet. "I don't think I can do this, Anbur."

"I am sorry, John."

 

Day One Hundred Twenty-Six

The next morning, John's up and out early. He's lost in thought as he prowls through the tent town. A handful of fellow viator are awake, freshening cook fires and making tea. They nod at him in greeting; some smile and others are solemn, but he barely sees them. He's exhausted, sleep has evaded him completely, and his eyes are gritty, burning with unshed tears. He doesn't have any more idea of what to do now than he had last night, when Anbur had slammed him with the anvil of responsibility.

John looks up when Rodney calls out to him, huffing down the street at a slight jog.

"Rodney." John greets him cautiously, not certain of exactly where they stand, and he definitely doesn't want to get into it with him right now.

"I need you to escort me to Makhuqat, I mean Anbur said I could go back but not alone, and that you had to go with me. He wouldn't. I think he thinks that we need to make up. I'm still mad, very upset, but we wouldn't let that get in the way of a little exploration and-"

John cracks a faint smile and holds up his hand. "Whoa, McKay. No need to apologize."

Rodney gives him an indignant look. "It wasn't really an apology, I just hoped that we could look beyond our disagreement."

He wasn't mad at Rodney, couldn't imagine what it would take for Rodney to really piss him off, but what Rodney wanted was part of the burden that Anbur had laid at his feet; a burden that John was reluctant to pick up. "Yeah. So what's up?"

"We need to determine the complete status of Makhuqat, appearances can be deceiving, so there's no sense in arguing over a course of action if it's not even possible."

There's a tiny flare of hope that the problem will suddenly become a moot point. "Makes sense. What did Anbur say about that?"

"We didn't actually talk about it."

No surprise there. John bites his lower lip absently as he looks at the tents around him, thinking. He desperately wants to go back inside the ship, wants to find out that Makhuqat is a wreck just like every other space ship on the planet. Desperately wants get in and break away, and fly home. "Yeah. Give me a few to catch up with every one first."

John and Rodney make as discreet an exit as possible after breakfast; John had been unwilling to discuss their plans in the open. Once they're inside the Ancient spaceship, he asks, "So what did you want to do?"

Rodney nods down the corridor. "The bridge first. I want to try to access the ship logs, and you can go through those while I look at various components, and figure out where to start first."

"You know those logs are probably in Ancient."

Rodney just gives John a flat stare and hands him a data pad. "Then all that schooling will come in handy, won't it?"

John shrugs his eyebrows in return. Someone one must have been talking, or rather Rodney grilled someone to death. Their viat is crammed with students and teachers; it could have been anyone.

The problem with mechanical logs is that they don't know when to quit. A human would have long ago stopped bothering to type in the equivalent of 'condition same', but the automatic logging function just kept going. It takes John what seems like hours to scroll back to the beginning, and thank God the Ancient's data storage formats are incredibly complex, because the log starts from the day the ship was activated.

John settles in to read, grateful for the distraction from his circular thoughts.

Rodney methodically takes a turn at every station, figuring out what each one does, occasionally backtracking or darting over to another console. He talks to himself, and John listens in what he likes to think of as Rodney-mode: blah blah blah, DANGER blah blah, replying when necessary and occasionally reading an entry aloud to Rodney.

The Makhuqat had been a very old ship, on the verge of an Ancient scrap heap when Qaral had commandeered it for the relocation. Every event was carefully detailed in a combination of automatic logging functions and human entries—Wraith battles and exploration expeditions, crew related incidents. John downloads what he can about the Wraith and a few of the exploration notes to the data pad, because he's still hoping that the SGC will swoop in and that they'll get off this rock, take him away from the whole mess.

Rodney drops an MRE in John's lap and sits down next to him. "You about done?"

John looks at him. "There's fifteen thousand years of entries, Rodney."

"Well, I guess you're ready for a break? You've been sitting there for almost seven hours."

John stands and stretches. He hadn't realized that it had been that long. He inspects the MRE and goes for the crackers and peanut butter. "It'll take years to go through all of this. What did you find?"

Rodney answers casually. "I don't know if it's space-worthy, but it will definitely fly except for the fact that it's buried under a building, which could be a problem. If it were up to me, we would at least take a test run."

"Rodney." John's absolutely torn; he'd love to get out of here and go home, but was a ride home in a used space ship worth the irreparable damage to the entirety of Dominat?

"I see your point, I really do—but my point is that we're meant for bigger things than just wasting away here. The whole galaxy is in danger, Atlantis is still the gateway to Earth, sure we left it hidden, but that's only going to fool the Wraith for so long—make that two galaxies in danger—so if we were to weigh the cost of languishing here on this backwater against all of that, I don't see that there's any other choice."

"Yeah," John replied tightly. He doesn't feel certain enough of his voice to continue. Rodney's played the guilt card, and John hates that Rodney knows him so well. There has to be some way to balance the needs of Dominat against that of the entire galaxy—of two galaxies.

They can't just take off and go now; there are people literally camped right on top of Makhuqat, not to mention a huge structure over the top of it. They'd have to come back after the viat season was over. "Do you think that two people could handle the ship?"

It was hard to look at Rodney, the anticipatory gleam in his eyes was almost blinding. "I can do better than that; the chair is basically the emergency control room. All of the essential controls are tied in to it. I press this, and it's all up to you." He taps the key, and then looks John in the eyes. "We should check it out."

John swallows thickly; his throat is tight, and there's a bloom of pressure in his chest. He looks away from Rodney. "We should."

There's a world of difference between accidentally starting a galactic culling with a single gunshot and purposefully contemplating steps to create a planet-wide disaster.

~*~

When John emerges from Makhuqat, the familiar buzz of devotion is so intense that he nearly stumbles back down the stairs. Rodney grabs him by the arm and steadies him. "You okay? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'll explain later."

It's dark and the tent city is lit with thousands of blue cooking fires. The parties they'd had on their journey pale in comparison to the revelries in progress all round them. It seems like everyone is on the move, visiting other camps and catching up with old friends.

Their campsite is packed with people drinking ekal and tea, talking, and laughing and watching the dancers around the fire. John's already feeling a little high, but he accepts a glass of ekal anyway and throws it back, letting go of the hard knot of worry in his stomach, letting go of all the concern and uncertainty that he's carrying, has always carried with him, and falls into the absolute joy that's washing over him.

The feeling is impossible to contain; he feels like he's bursting out of his skin and simply cannot remain stationary. John throws himself into the crowd that's dancing by the fire, automatically matching the complicated steps, losing himself in the ecstasy of motion.

 

Day One Hundred Twenty-Seven

When John awakens, it's to a pounding headache, a sour taste in his mouth and an extremely delicate stomach. The sun is not yet up, and the camp is quiet in the dim, pre-dawn light. He covers his eyes with an arm. He doesn't remember how much he had to drink, though he imagines it was a lot. Most of the night is lost in a haze of alcohol and devotional buzz, and he hurts all over. Dancing yourself into oblivion uses different muscles than hiking for weeks; as he extricates himself from the sleeping bag, he feels like he's been run over by a truck. A pair of feet appear next to him, and he peeks out from under his arm.

Evan is standing over him with a grim look, tea glass in one hand and a canteen in the other. "You had a good time last night."

"Did I?" John sits up, accepts the canteen and drinks most of it down in one go.

"It certainly looked like it." Evan hands John a couple of Tylenol and the tea. "This should help. The Daedalus called a few minutes ago, and the rains have finally started. We should go back soon, maybe even tonight. Anbur says if we push hard we can be back in a week."

"Crap." He knew this was coming; it was only a matter of when. John thinks of Makhuqat, and how easy it would be to fly back in a few minutes, but the reasons that they didn't just take off yesterday are still valid this morning; there's too many people and getting there almost immediately wouldn't make any difference, anyway.

"That's about the size of it. Caldwell said only the lowest level was flooded so far. Oh, Anbur said there was someone who wants to say hi to you."

John doubts that's exactly what Anbur said. "Give me a minute, and I'll be right there." He puts on his boots and carefully walks to the latrines, quietly accepting the bowing and scraping people as he passes by them. John has a sudden, weird sympathy for rock stars.

When he returns to the central area of their camp, John discovers that Maisa is sitting at the fire chatting with Anbur, Elizabeth and Evan. The rest of their crew is probably still sleeping off the ekal. His Peragro has improved tremendously since the disaster at Tobat, and he greets her. "Welcome, Maisa." The way rumors seem to fly ahead of him; he's not surprised that she's flabbergasted by his presence. It isn't a good look for her.

"Good day to the Quaralyn." To her credit she remains sitting and merely nods deeply, rather than throwing herself in the sand.

"Just Sheppard. I apologize that I was prevented from returning to Tobat myself."

"No matter, we are all grateful to you for ridding us of the monster." She shakes her head slightly and glances at Anbur, who is watching with undisguised interest.

John sighs internally. He might get a rush from the devotions of the adoring masses, but his state of being is a huge obstacle between him and most individuals, except for those who had known him before that dreadful day in the temple courtyard at Ayse; he'd hoped that Maisa would remember who he actually was: the fly boy that marched with trouble on the ground. He gives her a flirty grin and sits down by the fire, while inquiring after the few people in Tobat that he remembered.

"Haitham is at home, his wife is near to term though Laith is here. He will want to see you." She instructs Diwan, one of the schoolboys that is lingering near the fire, where to find her camp and to bring back the rememdium.

That reminds John of his long forgotten scheme. "Would Laith consider coming to N'vellesem? Our rememdium is very old, and Ayse has none."

Elizabeth looks shocked at the way John phrases his request, the easy way he's co-opted the role of leader. To be honest, so is he. John takes a sideways glance at Anbur to get his reaction, but Anbur has a wide grin. He nods at John to continue.

"It is the will of the Quaralyn." Maisa covers her face with both hands and bows her head, causing John to flash back to Shaaziya in the parlor in Ayse's temple.

"No. It is only a request. Not an order."

At that Maisa gives him a look, as if it couldn't possibly be within the realms of reality for Laith to refuse a request from the Quaralyn. John gives it up as a lost cause and shrugs.

If possible, Anbur's smile is even wider, nearly splitting his face. John's vaguely understood that he's been shepherded towards this point, this role, by Anbur since the meeting on the Daedalus, but everything suddenly crystallizes in this moment. John tips his head at Anbur, acknowledging the role, and the power that comes with it. He carefully doesn't look at Elizabeth.

Diwan and Laith break the moment, and John introduces the rememdium. "Everyone, this is Laith, one of the healers from Tobat, Laith, I'd like you to meet Elizabeth Weir, our leader, Evan Lorne, you remember him, he was the one with the head wound."

"I am pleased to see you doing so well, Evan Lorne. My father and I were most concerned for you."

Evan shakes Laith's hand, and John translates for him, "Thank you, I'm not sure that I'd be here without you and your father."

"It is our pleasure." Laith lifts a hand. "May I?"

Evan looks surprised, but agrees, "Uh, sure."

Laith cups the back of Evan's head with his left hand, his right along Evan's jaw and closes his eyes. Evan begins to fidget and squirm slightly, and John keeps his eyes front and center, he knows intimately exactly what this is doing to Evan, doesn't need or want to check the results.

The minutes seem to stretch out, thick and syrupy, but it's an illusion. Laith drops his hands, and Evan sighs in relief.

John doesn't translate what Laith says; it's too much like doctor-patient confidentiality. He'll tell Evan later when they're alone, but it's probably not necessary.

Evan grins widely, "Wow, thank you."

Laith smiles back and bows slightly, before he turns to John. "And now you?"

"Somebody go wake up Cadman, don't want her to miss her post-mission check up." Evan chuckles as he leaves to drag her out of her sleeping bag. "Go ahead." Laith stands in front of him, one hand on the back of his neck, and the other resting just on top of the curve of his ass. The near-embrace, and the low grip feel shockingly intimate in this open space with other people watching. John gives Elizabeth a wry look, a lift of his brow and a half smile, and then drops his face to hide his reaction.

It's the same remembered feeling, hot hands tingling and teasing him through his clothing. His face begins to flush with the memory, but Laith drops his hands quickly. "Forgive me, I did not know," Laith whispers quietly in his ear.

He whips his head up and pins Laith with a firm look. "Didn't know what?"

Laith is surprised at the question, "You truly do not know?"

"If I did, would I be asking?" John's just a little angry and a lot frustrated, every time he turns around, there's someone who knows a secret that he doesn't, and it's usually about him.

"We speak of this later," Laith says firmly, nodding towards the small crowd, just as Evan arrives with the Lieutenant in tow. Her eyes are wide with surprise that John would be open enough to allow this intimacy here, but she doesn't say anything.

John can feel the tips of his ears burn as he recalls her watching, probably avidly, him getting his hairy ass fondled and healed. "Cadman, you remember Laith, from Tobat?"

"Sure. Good to see you again." She stands in front of Laith, up close, and he takes her face in both hands. Their eyes are closed, and Cadman is faintly smirking.

Laith holds on for only a moment. "You have healed very well."

"I didn't have to have my jaw wired shut for months, so thank you for that."

They smile at each other, neither stepping back from the bubble of personal space, until Maisa clears her throat. "Laith, the Quaralyn requests that you join him in N'vellesem, for Neela is old, and Zainab is burned."

He doesn't hesitate, just flows to his knees and presses his forehead into the sand at John's feet. "It is done."

John's eyebrows nearly reach his hairline in surprise. "We, uh, we're leaving, returning to the Daedalus today."

Laith stands up and gives John an appraising look. "Then I must go prepare for my departure. I will return shortly."

"And I will go to hasten his preparations and compose a message for his father. It was a pleasure to meet our vir again; thank you for your courage." With that Maisa whirls off in a flurry of robes.

John wants to call after her, that they weren't heroes in any sense of the word, they were just doing what had to be done, and they'd actually done a piss-poor job of it, but she's already gone.

~*~

Laith re-appears, followed by a single, decrepit-looking mesla with his few belongings piled on; his arrival goes almost unnoticed in the commotion of dividing up the mesla and sorting out who's returning now or staying, packing up tents and packs and eating a hurried meal. Anbur insists on traveling with them as guide; Zuhair and Tazim, along with the Idon and the rest of their motley viator will stay with the students at Makhuqat and then take them home.

They can't travel through the treacherous mountain passes at night, but plan to get as far as possible while it's still daylight. Sheppard checks in with Caldwell as they set camp for the night, and the water is still rising, now two levels are flooded, including the precious fuel tanks.

 

Day One Hundred Twenty-Eight - One Hundred Forty-Four

Rodney and Elizabeth have acclimatized to the high altitude, and without the school kids they manage to maintain a brisk pace on the journey home. It's mostly downhill, stopping to rest only at night, when it's too dangerous to walk in the dark, and up and moving before dawn every day. The reports from the Daedalus are more frightening every day, especially when Caldwell grimly reports that their graveyard is gone. The flood has washed the rotting corpses out of their resting place, and they're floating downstream or hanging up in the wreck of the Daedalus as if this final indignity couldn't drag them away.

They've spent weeks traveling by foot, and by now even Rodney is well conditioned enough to take the punishing march without complaint. Their concern for their compatriots, and their dismay over the plight of the beleaguered Daedalus, spurs them to greater speed.

John uses their aggressive pace, and the futility of rushing back, to forget about his problems for a while, concentrating on moving as fast as possible. He'd thought that things couldn't get any worse, but once again, he's been proven wrong.

 

Day One Hundred Forty-Four

The broad, desert valley between Ayse and N'vellesem is completely transformed by the rainfall. The barren sand is covered in grass that is growing so fast you can almost see it; the air is thick and sweet with the scent of the masses of blooms that carpet the ground. All around them are the pesky flies, and flocks of small, brown birds swoop in to catch them. The desert animals that had been so scarce and shy before ignore them as the various rodents and reptiles run rampant across the fields, eating and mating; too busy to pay attention to the raptors soaring overhead, taking in their share of the ephemeral bounty. The mesla are more stubborn than ever, they want to stop and graze, and it requires constant attention to keep them moving.

It's incredibly beautiful, but John's too tired and focused on getting to the ship to pay too much attention. Cadman has the digital camera out, and John briefly wonders how many batteries and flash cards she'd managed to bring with her.

No one says a word as they reach the crest of the last dune, and pause to catch their first glance of the Daedalus. The force of the flood has turned it around, now lying east to west, tilted at a crazy angle and half-submerged in the middle of a purple lake.

John already knows the exact condition of both ship and crew. He's had regular updates from Caldwell as they force marched across the mountains and desert, but seeing it is a visceral punch in the gut.

There are tents and tarp-covered 302s planted in neat rows along the water's shore, and he can see a few people scurrying around, looking uncannily like the mice and hares in the verdant fields. The funeral pyre on the far shore for those bodies that have been recovered is still smoking, rising up and away in the brisk wind.

He knows his presence here wouldn't have made a bit of difference, and yet he still feels a small knot of guilt for having taken off on the viat. Seeing the Daedalus further wrecked, and knowing that maybe there is a way out of this, is a torturous hope of the very worst kind.

John can't allow himself to think about that idea, not yet. "C'mon," he says, but the mesla are completely intractable, and no amount of slapping, tugging or pushing will get them to stop eating and move again.

Anbur advises John, "Leave them. They will follow at their own pace."

"Good enough for me." John takes off down the hill at a fast clip, stumbling a little as his foot catches on an unseen vine. He's been walking across sand and rock since they crashed; abundant verdure now seems strange and alien. Fortunately, either no one noticed, or they're being unaccountably polite. Right, they didn't see it.

John thinks it's mildly ironic that they've left one tent city for another. The camp is crazy, with people gathering around them as they approach. The Daedalus hid people well, and the only time he's seen most of them at once had been at Elizabeth's town hall meetings. Cadman, Timmons and Lu disappear with the Marines, Evan drifts off in the company of the 302 pilots, Caldwell and Elizabeth head towards whatever tent is the makeshift HQ, and Rodney and Shaaziya are enjoying a rather bracing reunion, his hand resting on her belly.

John stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Laith and Anbur at the center of the hubbub for a moment, and then half-turns towards Laith with his best impassive face, "Let me show you around, while I figure it out." He starts towards the Daedalus and the lake. He asks Anbur, "Does this happen every time?"

"Yes, but never so deep."

"You can see where the ship plowed through when we crashed," he says, pointing to the south. In the intervening months the deep trench had filled in with blowing sand, but the water had found it again. The far shore is teeming with speckled, brown birds hunting in the shallow water, and, looking down, John can see the surface of the water rippling with thousands of squirming insect larvae and tadpole-like things darting around underneath. Laith kneels down in the shallows and captures one, poking at it curiously.

It's definitely the cool season; the temperature's mild compared to the intense burning heat he's almost become accustomed to. "How long will it stay?"

Anbur shrugs. "It is usually a matter of days, but this is too much, I do not know."

"Huh." John locates an unused tent stake and drives it down into the wet sand at the shoreline.

The light is changing; dusk is close at hand. The evening breeze plays with the water, bringing up tiny waves that lap gently at the shore. It's a remarkable sight, so much open water, the blooming hills and the comparatively vast amounts of wildlife where just weeks ago there was only a scorched, dry desert.

John turns his attention to the Daedalus. The bow is a few yards from shore and Evan's ladder is lashed on to it. He wades into the hip-deep water, manfully ignoring the fact that that there have been rotting corpses floating in it and climbs to the top, walking along the length of the ship to take in the view.

It's still too surreal to comprehend just how much this is going to change the lives of the shipwrecked crew; they'd clung to the ship, trying to maintain some semblance of familiarity in the face of catastrophe, but to no avail. John knew that eventually they were going to have to assimilate into the indigenous population—a slow, orderly infiltration, but he'd imagined that time was years into the future.

In the distance, John can see their abandoned mesla slowly grazing their way towards the ship. Caldwell and Elizabeth are at the shore, talking to Anbur and Laith, but they're too far away for him to hear their conversation. Rodney and Shaaziya are conspicuously absent among the new arrivals that are wandering towards the lake. The rest of the Daedalus' crew are meandering about the tent town with lazy intent, or sitting and watching the coming sunset. It's a population at loose ends, scientists and engineers without tools or equipment, just waiting for the future to drag them into a semi-primitive state where their skills will be essentially irrelevant.

John's burning dilemma is thrown into sharper focus by this revelation. Taking Makhuqat's theoretical space-worthiness into account, he possibly has the means to solve their problem, but he's straddling the divide between the needs of a couple of hundred nusquam and the ten-thousand year old beliefs and culture of an entire planet; that he's seen as the reincarnation of a revered leader, given the power to irrevocably shift the hard-won balance on Dominat, doesn't give him any confidence.

He'd made a similar decision before, though without any knowledge of its full impact, and he doesn't know if he can take action with the full, conscious understanding of the consequences; especially now that, in many ways, he's become the embodiment of those ancient beliefs.

As a cadet, the Air Force had drilled into him the standards of duty, service, and honor, and more than once he'd been burned by the reality of the dichotomy in the practical applications of obedience to duty and personal honor. He knows Rodney would laugh his ass off, but sometimes John wishes he could be someone who could just stop thinking and let another make the decisions, but he hasn't been that guy in a long time.

Caldwell's making his way up the ladder, followed by Elizabeth, Anbur and Laith. John's halfway to the hatch, and he waits for them to catch up.

"...It's going be virtually impossible to live aboard even after the water subsides. The engine room is probably a complete loss. The batteries are still dry, but we have no way to recharge them. We'll have to reserve power for emergencies until the naquadah generators can be interfaced in the bypass."

Elizabeth is nodding, and Anbur quietly translating Caldwell's conversation for Laith.

John suddenly realizes there's one person conspicuous by his absence. "Where's Hermiod?"

Caldwell greets John with a nod. "He's still aboard, manning the scanning and communications station. Said the heat and humidity isn't a problem for him, and he doesn't care if it's dark until we get power restored."

"Okay. I don't understand, once we get the generators in, we can run life support."

"I can tell you've never had a house that flooded. The muck that'll be left behind when the water's gone will be impossible to completely clean out. The spores from the mold are possibly toxic, according to the good doctors. It was their suggestion we vacate—there isn't any way to throw open the doors, and the recirculation would just contaminate the upper levels, too."

John doesn't take offense; it's true that he's never had the misfortune of a flood and Atlantis' dark, dank lower levels had never proved an issue. "Not to mention the yaw and lateral pitch, it's got to be listing at least forty degrees to the port stern. We were lucky when it crashed that it wasn't worse."

Evan's climbing topside and joining them now, though the rest of the crew assembled on the shorelines stays put. "Looks pretty bad."

Elizabeth glances at Evan, her eyes are shadowed and her mouth is set in a thin frown. "Yes, yes it is."

Anbur speaks softly in the falling dark. "You must come to N'vellesem."

"Thank you, Anbur. We were afraid to ask before, thinking that so many would be a burden," says Elizabeth.

"No, we are fewer now, there are places, homes of families who have gone to the Ancestors. You have protected us from the Wraith, it is our duty now to comfort you."

John glances at Caldwell; it's difficult to fully see his expression before the full rising of Zieba, the mother moon, but he doesn't imagine the tears that glint in the dim starlight.

Caldwell runs a hand over his face, but his voice is steady. "So be it."

 

Day One Hundred Forty-Five - One Hundred Sixty-Six

It's a logistical nightmare, is what it is.

Though the port hanger is no longer buried, the MALPS intended for Atlantis are still trapped behind the jammed door, and everything in the hangar is flooded. Once the lake subsides, they can blast the doors open and then reevaluate that option, but in the meantime, Rodney and the engineers cobble together a few carts, like the one they'd abandoned in the mountain pass after Ayse, to carry a limited amount of equipment. A couple of the naquadah generators are scheduled to go on the first trip, but the rest of their capacity is filled by committee approval based on the absolute necessity. The fat, overfed mesla are pressed back into duty, and a platoon of Marines are conscripted to carry the packs that are too heavy for the civilians.

The Daedalus, despite her current predicament, still scans the skies and space for Wraith and rescue. They need people to stay aboard to repair and rehabilitate as much of those necessary functions as possible: tie the naquadah generators in to bypass the drowned engines, siphon water out of the fuel tanks for their remaining 302s, and handle the thousands of other issues and tasks.

To that end, crews are set to remain on board for thirty days, and then relief crews will rotate in from N'vellesem. The 302's are inextricably tied to the Daedalus, and the pilots are divvied up into shifts, as are the medical staff and marines. Each rotation will be in charge of returning the carts to the Daedalus and the crews standing down are to pack up the next round of necessities that will turn N'vellesem into home.

John often catches Rodney staring at him thoughtfully. He steadfastly doesn't think about how simple, how easy this would be if they had just one of the 'jumpers from Makhuqat, but even in the wake of this latest disaster, he's not ready to make that momentous decision.

Elizabeth has gone ahead with Anbur and Laith to organize housing. Rodney elects to stay behind with the first crew to oversee the installation of the naquadah generators. Caldwell will stay with the ship and oversee the other repair crews, and Dr. Sodeburg draws the short straw from the medical staff. John is designated the officer in charge in N'vellesem and is tasked with leading the first convoy across to N'vellesem.

Two weeks into the commotion of arranging, packing and organizing, the rest of the viator return from Makhuqat. Zuhair and Tazim unload their belongings and offer the use of their mesla, which are gratefully assigned to some of the slightly-less-necessary, but-would-be-great-to-have paraphernalia.

Timmons makes an offhand remark about 'Daedalus Lake', and the name sticks. The stake John planted is now a few feet from the shore, the green hills are starting to brown in the rising heat, and the flowers are long gone. Winter, it seems, is an extremely short-lived season.

~*~

John's convoy departs at dusk to crawl their way across the nearly dead meadow under the bright, watchful eye of the daughter moon Aila, peering down at them through a curtain of light.

After the viat, this journey from Daedalus to N'vellesem feels easy compared to those early, hot slogs across the desert. It's a matter of hours, not days or weeks, and their pace is fixed by the speed of the electric carts and the mesla.

 

Day One Hundred Sixty-Seven

The eastern horizon is lightening up, turning the sky a pearly, gray-lavender when John catches brief snatches of the qerato, calling everyone to morning prayer on the rising wind. They've made pretty good time, considering the speed of the carts, and they must be closer than he thought. At the top of the next rolling dune, he's surprised at the how far away N'vellesem is; a pretty white town nestled at the foothills of the mountains. John has a strong urge to pick up speed and hurry, but he forces himself to maintain the steady pace.

Elizabeth is waiting for the convoy at the city gates. The section of town that they've been given to use is in the northeast quadrant of N'vellesem, perhaps a twenty-minute walk from the fountain in the square.

Anbur hadn't been exaggerating when he told them there was space available; their new quarters are two streets of abandoned homes that run parallel to the city wall. As N'vellesem's population had declined over the last century, the inhabitants had moved towards the center of town, abandoning entire neighborhoods.

As they walk down the empty street, Elizabeth points out the smallest house near the middle of the block. "I thought that one would be a good headquarters. I think we'll still need a central operations building, and there's room for an infirmary."

John nods. Not that they need a defensible position, but he automatically evaluates the two streets' suitability as a compound; it's part of his duties, but also a necessary habit that has become an ingrained response due to his time in the Pegasus galaxy. It will have to do. "How are we going to handle the housing assignments?"

"I made a tentative list, but everyone is free to migrate as their tastes and roommate compatibility dictate."

He pokes his head into the closest building, "It's a lot cleaner than I expected."

"The townsfolk pitched in to clean, make some repairs, and brought in cast off furnishings, but there's still a long way to go before the homes are more than just inhabitable."

The gesture is appreciated, and it gives them a much better start than John had expected when they were considering their options after crashing into the planet.

It feels comfortable and familiar, working with Elizabeth to set up a community. Everyone is drafted to some chore; clean and paint, or assist the technicians and engineers in setting up the naquadah generator in the headquarters and wire it for electricity. They make plans to eventually strip the Daedalus of all non-essential wiring to provide power to the entire neighborhood, and possibly to other parts of town as repayment for taking them in.

 

Day One Hundred Seventy-Seven

John's taking a break, half napping in the afternoon shade of the courtyard, when he senses someone sit down next to him. He cracks an eye open and is surprised to see Laith settling down beside him. "Hey."

"Greetings of the day, Shepherd."

"And to you. How are you settling in?"

"I miss my home, but it is to be expected."

"I know what you mean."

"I come here today, to speak of that which we did not discuss in Makhuqat."

John straightens up. "Okay. What is it?" It's been incredibly peaceful just doing whatever chore's assigned to him, and he's been busy enough that he hasn't had to think about things.

"I have learned much, though it be rumor only. First, I would like it very if you would tell me of your time in Ayse."

John grimaces and rubs a hand over his gritty neck. He would kill for an honest-to-god shower.

"It is important that I understand completely," Laith reassures him in a gentle tone. "Otherwise I would not cause you this difficulty."

"All right." Laith hasn't given John any reason to mistrust him, and outside of the Daedalus command staff, no one has ever asked him straight out for details. It's kind of a relief to tell Laith the whole sordid story, the ways that he'd changed, and even the sensations that he'd experienced during the viat.

All the while, Laith is nodding with a solemn expression, taking it in without question. John ends the story in Makhuqat, where he'd finally come to some acceptance of whatever this whole Quaralyn thing is, "So Anbur was right; I just have to accept. It is everyone else who believes."

"Perhaps it is best that you are under the protection of the Peragroilla, the Qaroptimat and Kadiani are more fervent in their beliefs, and you would be, perhaps, forced into service as godhead."

"Amen to that." John shudders, he can well imagine how things could've ended if they hadn't escaped from Ayse.

"But I also think the Peragroilla do not urge you to fully explore what you have become. It is this which I must speak of."

"Speak plainly, Laith. I am tired of riddles and puzzles," John snaps.

"Very well. I have laid my hands upon you twice. The first, you were merely an injured man, and I did for you what I could. The second, I discovered that you have great powers, healing of others is only the smallest of these."

John frowns. "What?"

"How do you think that we know who is to be trained as a healer? One so gifted can sense the potential in another, even in one so small as a newborn infant."

"Huh. I hadn't thought about it at all."

"But now you know. You are stronger than my father, Neela, or any other that I have touched. This is a very great gift, but you have a responsibility to learn to control and use it."

"Crap." John is getting sick of finding another pothole to stumble into.

"I ask that you learn to control these powers within you, for remaining untrained is always dangerous for the gifted."

"How?"

"Without outlet, this will eat you from the inside, burning ever brighter, until you are consumed."

"Is that a wife's tale, a story to frighten children?" John asks waspishly.

Laith laughs, an infectious sort of laugh that has John smiling. "No, it is well-documented in the Avaxqaral. I am sure that Anbur is merely biding his time, until you are prepared to hear, but I do not think he truly understands your extreme potential."

John thinks back to the first few weeks after the escape from the temple, and feeling like he was about to burst out of his skin, the thrum and hum of something unidentifiable running through him like a wild current. It's not gone, it never went away, he only learned to ignore and sublimate the sensation. He lays his forehead on arms propped across his knees, and breathes deeply. Will this never end? Why him? Why didn't he just die like any other good soldier on the battlefield?

Laith lays a hand on his shoulder, but it's cool and gentle. "When you are ready." The hand is withdrawn, and John hears the swish of robes on the sandy flagstones as Laith retreats.

 

Day One Hundred Seventy-Eight - Two Hundred Twenty-Seven

The first teams rotate in and out in a flurry as the latest residents of N'vellesem familiarize themselves and settle into their new homes.

Some of the residents with the necessary language skills and no business on the Daedalus, find minimal employment in the shops, or apprentice themselves in the local trades, though most work on the plans for improvements to N'vellesem and their neighborhood.

Everyone is occupied for the moment, but once the Quarter is complete, or they get bored with the rote of daily labor, they'll be unhappy and possibly up to trouble. John makes a mental note of the likely suspects and urges Elizabeth to find ways to keep them entertained.

John falls into the daily patterns of the locals. Up well before dawn, work on what ever chore needs to be done until the hottest part of the afternoon and then nap until the evening, which is reserved for conversation and discussion through out the town.

Those that work are invited to the salons of the homes of their employers; the Ludahsediat is open for those that wish to join in, or there are the far more informal gatherings by the cool rush of the fountain and in the teahouse that John favors.

He uses the flow of people coming and going from the Quarter for these evenings out as cover to meet with Laith in secret, to assuage Laith's obvious concern. John spends futile hours attempting to get in touch with his inner healer. John's not a fool; he knows that if anyone figures out what he's trying to do, it will reopen the gap between him and the crew of the Daedalus, senior officer or not. He's not convinced that Laith is right, but he doesn't actually have that much to do in the evenings. Rodney's still at the ship, and John's other usual suspects for hanging out with are all caught up in the evening's affairs.

Not every evening is taken up with lessons, though. Occasionally John talks Laith into giving it a rest, so they can hang out in the teahouse, talking and drinking ekal with the locals. Evan joins them occasionally, when he's in town and not otherwise engaged for the evening.

 

Day Two Hundred Twenty-Eight

Rodney finally rotates in and proclaims that he's staying in town, until after their child is born. Camping out has become too uncomfortable for Shaaziya, and he's not leaving her. The Daedalus' infirmary is better equipped, but N'vellesem is a cleaner, healthier environment. Cole works some deal with Beckett and Sodeburg to remain in town with Shaaziya, as she's reached a critical point in her confinement.

John's glad that Rodney's in town to relieve the monotony of the day's work. The best part is the rare circumstance when he talks Rodney into going to the teahouse one night, along with Laith. John couldn't pay for better entertainment.

Case in point.

After three glasses of ekal in quick succession, Rodney blurts out, "I think I have to ask Shaaziya to marry me. I mean, I want to, despite whatever might happen later, and there's an obvious deadline, but I don't know what I have to do, talk to her father? I don't care, Zuhair still scares the crap out of me."

"I think you're asking the wrong guy." John turns to Laith, "Hey. You're living with some girl, she's going to have a baby—what's the right way to ask if you should get married?"

Rodney yelps, "Sheppard!"

Laith just laughs. "You are already married. No need to ask!"

The look on Rodney's face is priceless. "Did he just say what I thought he said?"

"If you think he said you're already married, then yep." John throws back his glass of ekal and gives him an evil grin.

"How can I be married and not know it?" Rodney looks totally bewildered.

"Life's a bitch, McKay, although it does cut way down on the premarital sex problem. I guess I'm off the hook for the bachelor party, then?"

Rodney just glowers at John as he stands up. "Well, I guess