Cedarfiction.net - Beyond the Third

Stargate: Atlantis is the property of MGM. All characters and images remain the property of the original copyright holder. No infringement is intended. No revenue is being obtained from copyright material.

Act 1

The uneven terrain made the desperate flight from the trouble all the more difficult. At each hurried step, debris from the impact of blaster fire flew against his exposed skin, reminding him how little the Wraith seemed interested in taking prisoners. Sheppard swore softly and turned once more to let off a stream of bullets behind them, while beside him, the almost reassuring musical trill of Ronon's weapon sounded time and again.

Sheppard remembered from the reconnaissance maps that the south-easterly fork of the gulley, in the valley between the high, shielding rocks, led to more open ground, with greater vegetation cover should they need to lie low, as they would need to, if they could ever put any distance between them and their Wraith pursuers. At that point it seemed unlikely that it would happen.

An almost brutal slap against his arm snapped him back to the moment, away from his dark thoughts. They had to escape. They had no choice. The Intel they carried was far too important, far too precious to allow it to fall into the hands of the Wraith.

"Go!" Ronon growled, repeating the slap and this time pushing him onward towards McKay. It was only a moment later that the big Satedan stepped between him and the Wraith gunfire, giving him cover to hurry and catch up with McKay.

The scientist was running a panicked, weaving path through the boulders that lay strewn about. They made their escape all the more difficult. With each blast, that chipped and shattered the rocks around them, McKay let out another moan or cry. He was clearly terrified.

"Keep going, Rodney," he called trying to sound reassuring. "You're doing fine."

"Trust me," he said a moment later, "once we get out of this gully we're home and dr—"

He broke off as the rocky ground ahead of them suddenly disintegrated in a stinging shower of mud and rocks. In almost the same moment, McKay called his name in alarm, pointing to the high rocks ahead. The rocks either side of the gulley ahead harboured poorly hidden Wraith warriors, just waiting to cut them down.

"I see 'em," he said and swore softly before calling to Ronon. "Back it up, Chewie!"

Then he grabbed McKay by the back of his flack jacket, practically taking the other man's feet from under him as he pulled him back the way they'd come.

McKay let out another yell and threw his arms across his face protectively as the rocky wall beside him became a crumbling, smoking ruin. He felt the reflected heat against his arms and too much of a scientist to be much of a religious man, prayed to every god he could think of, that Ronon and Sheppard could get them out of the hopeless situation they'd gotten themselves into. Again.

"McKay!" Ronon's harsh voice, sounding more than a little irritated, called his name and then a second later the Satedan grabbed his shoulder and all but threw him around the fork in the path.

"We don't have a choice, McKay," he said urgently, "It's this way or we get fried by Wraith." He paused only another second before he added, "Now go!"

Finding his feet, his balance once more, McKay launched himself along the new pathway, remembering very little from his detailed study of the mapping that recon had provided. He couldn't, however, shake the really bad feeling that settled in his gut.

Behind him, as he ran, he could hear the heavy footfalls of Sheppard and Ronon, and the rattling of their Wraith pursuers. He risked glancing back to see if he could ascertain whether their new direction proved any more successful as an escape route. His sense of timing, as always, was perfect… perfectly bad – as the ground beneath his feet gave way. He didn't even have time to cry out a warning to the others before he found himself falling, rolling head over feet down the steep rock strewn incline.

Sheppard grabbed McKay by the shoulder and shoved him back down under the dirt and debris with which they'd covered themselves after sliding, or in McKay's case, falling, down into the ravine.

Above them he could still hear the movement of the Wraith, and from time to time, small stones skittered down like hail over their heads, tapping painfully against the back of his neck.

It would be a while before the Wraith could find a safe way down, and if they could possibly make a quiet escape from the foot of the cliff, unnoticed by their pursuers, they might stand a chance of putting some distance between them and maybe even discover a safe way to lose them once and for all.

As if to answer his thought, just a moment afterwards, Ronon slipped back into the small scrape they'd made and all but whispered, "I think there might be a way."

The whisper sounded uncomfortably loud, and Sheppard felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, certain that the Wraith above would have heard them. Yet he also knew that he could not hush the big Satedan. That sound carried more than anything at all. He tensed and tightened his grip on his P90.

"Anything's got to be better than hiding like a bug in the dirt," McKay hissed, and the irony of the statement caught Sheppard off guard, almost drawing a tense, nearly hysterical outburst from the troubled colonel. Instead he forced himself to confront the reality of their desperate situation.

There were only three of them and they were greatly outnumbered by the Wraith, ammunition was running low and having fallen into this unknown area they were hopelessly lost.

"If we keep to the base of this cliff," Ronon nodded his head backwards indicating the steep incline at their back, "there's a narrow fissure – waterway it looks like – leads away from the area further into the gulley."

"We'll find a way," Ronon said. "It's only a matter of time before those Wraith find a way down here."

Sheppard took a breath, bolstered by Ronon's confidence, he nodded. "These encounters are getting to be too close for my liking."

He sighed and craned his neck so that he could see up to the Wraith guarding the top of the cliff. The timing would need to be perfect. They'd have to wait until the Wraith turned away and move with as little noise as possible. For all that it was the only option they had, it was little option enough.

"It won't be easy," Ronon said, taking the thought from his mind yet again, and Sheppard turned to frown at him.

"What?" Sheppard frowned and matched Ronon's originally slighted tone of voice. "I'm just—"

"When you two have quite finished the old married couple routine," McKay interrupted, and glared pointedly in the direction that Ronon had indicated lay their escape.

"We go one at a time," Sheppard said in answer to McKay, once more looking up at the Wraith. "The closer to the base of this thing the better."

Even as McKay protested, Sheppard watched as the patrolling Wraith overhead began to turn. The movement caused the jagged edge of the cliff above to begin crumbling, raining further debris down on his head, threatening to send the dirt tumbling into his face, his eyes, but he couldn't look away. He had to know the exact moment the Wraith's back would be turned.

The crumbling edge proved to be their friend, as the Wraith stepped back as he turned, as though fearing he too would tumble to the gully. Sheppard's tense muscles caused a slight tremor in his hand as he signalled to McKay to move, cutting off the scientist's words.

McKay let out a small moan as Sheppard gave the signal, but moved none the less. He pulled himself from under the layer of dirt and stones and half stumbled, half walked, crouching and crablike, closer to the base of the cliff.

He wanted to flatten himself there, cling to the rough surface and let his position obscure him from the sight of the Wraith, but he had to keep moving; had to make the fissure Ronon had described and let that be his hiding place. It was crazy – all too much of a risk, and he wasn't a risk-taker like Sheppard and Ronon. He promised himself that if they ever made it back to Atlantis he was going to take a leaf out of Zelenka's book and simply refuse, as far as possible, to go offworld. It would all end in tears, he just knew it.

Fuelled by his mounting fears his steps quickened, and he ignored the many scrapes to his shoulders from the jagged stones and roots sticking out from the side of the rock wall that was the only guide toward his promised safety. He could hear footsteps behind him, and while rationally he knew they belonged either to Sheppard or Ronon, his overwrought imagination pictured the feeding hand of some ugly, faceless Wraith reaching for him, ready to suck the life out of him. By the time the edge of the fissure came into sight, he was moving almost at a run.

His fear evaporated; turned into mounting indignation as soon as he all but threw himself in between the two edges of the narrow crevice. Water splashed up over the top of his boots and trickled down inside to chill his ankles and toes.

"Oh great!" he moaned, and then hearing someone slip into the fissure behind him, and knowing from the accompanying grunt that it was Ronon's bulk that almost unbalanced him and sent the rest of him tumbling into the freezing water now filling his boots, he turned and snapped sarcastically, "…a narrow fissure – waterway it looks like…You think? Way to go, genius!"

Ronon pushed at his shoulder. "Just get moving, McKay," he said completely lacking in sympathy for his predicament.

McKay moaned and spluttered all but wordlessly for a couple of seconds, trying to force words past his righteous anger, until Sheppard hissed his name and repeated Ronon's command.

"Fine," he muttered, and turning began to move. "Just… if I catch pneumonia from this, don't say I didn't warn you."

Pulling a very sour face he began to move through the ice cold water, bending low at Ronon's insistence and leading them away from immediate danger. That should have been some satisfaction to him, but for some reason he couldn't find it in himself to summon the wherewithal to feel it.

It wasn't long before the crevice in which they made their escape widened and deepened, and they could slow their pace, walk more or less side by side, and most importantly, from McKay's perspective, get out of the chilling water.

"Of course, you realise this is going to chafe," he said as he felt the squelching with each step.

"Better to have chafed feet and still be alive than—" Ronon offered, sounding almost cheerful.

"Yes, thank you… so very little for your nuggets of caveman wisdom," he interrupted, in no mood for Ronon's cheery optimism.

"At least I know when we're on to a good thing," Ronon grumbled back, "don't keep… moaning all the time and—"

"Would you two knock it off," Sheppard cut in. "We did what we had to do, end of."

The three of them walked for some time afterwards in an almost resentful silence. McKay wondered about that, and then worried. Sure they bickered and they fought from time to time, but since Teyla's calming, soothing influence had left the team, the tension was there too much, too often and with no mediation. The constant, intensified pressure from the Wraith, who were like angry wasps, stirred from their nest by the ongoing harrying they were receiving at the hands of Michael and his army, did little to help and with Varnerin and Woolsey breathing down their neck the whole time…

"The Wraith, Michael, Atlantis, Teyla…" McKay shrugged. He had been very careful not to speak of Michael and Teyla closely together.

"So what's little wonder?" Ronon asked, and McKay was relieved that he sounded more himself.

"The tension over everything, we—" he broke off as the widened crevice suddenly became an almost circular pit surrounded by high rock walls. That wasn't the reason for his following exclamation, however. Rather it was the Stargate, standing, almost leaning against one of the rocky walls, and the pedestal standing beside it. "Oh my God, it is here!"

"That's good, right?" Sheppard said, hurrying across to the Gate with McKay. "We can dial the Gate; get the hell back to Atlantis."

"Assuming the Wraith don't have one of the other Gates active, thus preventing the use of this one and— wait a minute," McKay crooned as he looked on what should have been the DHD and frowned.

"What is it?" Sheppard asked, coming to his side, and then astutely noting, "Well that’s not right."

"What gave it away?" McKay said, his former sarcasm returning with all the bells and whistles of his winning charm and personality. "Maybe the singular lack of symbols on the top of the DHD, or was it just the big blue button in the middle, surprisingly not labelled, push me."

"Oh, sure," McKay said, crouching down to pull off the front panel of the device, "it could go anywhere, Wraith hive, pit of boiling lava, Space Gate!"

"I take your point, Rodney," Sheppard said, sounding agitated at McKay's continued sarcasm, "but we may have no other choice. Look around you. You see a way out of here? There's maybe one possible pathway, and if there's anything that gets in our way, we're pretty much screwed. I'm almost out of ammo, and Ronon, while he could probably keep back half a hive, isn't invincible."

McKay pulled out a small device from his pocket, and began unwrapping wires, and trying to attach them to the dialling device even as Sheppard rambled on – only half taking in what the colonel was saying.

"Well you better figure something out, McKay," Sheppard said, "this was your idea after all."

"Oh, so this is all my fault now," he snapped, looking up from what he was doing.

"I didn't say that," Sheppard answered, but McKay suspected it was what he was thinking anyway. He had been rather animated earlier that day.

He'd tried to thank Sheppard for backing him up as they'd hurriedly left the Conference Room. It was then that Sheppard had dropped his bombshell… that while he did agree with Rodney's reasoning for coming to the planet, it was another matter entirely that fuelled his support.

He sighed as he tried to make sense of the symbols that began flashing on the display of his small data device as he connected it to the Gate's DHD. In the end, he supposed it didn't matter what the reason for their coming had been. It was that they were there, and he finally had access to the Gate and its data that was important.

"See what you can figure out, McKay," Sheppard said at last. "Meanwhile, we'll check out an alternate escape route. Radio if you need anything."

McKay mumbled absently that he would, but already he was engrossed in trying to make sense of the telemetry that he was getting from the Gate.

"You really think he can do it?" Ronon asked as he and Sheppard finished the climb up the only path that led out of the valley below.

"Find a way to stop the Wraith from locking us out? I doubt it." Sheppard admitted.

The two of them set off along the track that led away from the gulley. It ran in twists and turns through narrow pathways in the rocks.

"So you really did just come here to pick over what was left of Michael's facility," he said. For a moment he wasn't sure how he should feel about that. He admitted to himself that on many occasions McKay bugged the hell out of him, but that was not a reason to be two-faced enough to allow the scientist to believe there was confidence in him that did not exist.

"It's not that," Ronon said and shook his head. "He's worked damn hard, just like the rest of us to get us all through this. He did his damndest to do right by Teyla when he figured out what had gone on with Kanaan and—"

"Look," Sheppard interrupted, "this isn't about McKay and his abilities. If anyone can figure out a way around this, then it will be McKay, but we have a lot of things to figure out right now, and if we can combine missions like this—"

"You think that if you can give Teyla a way to find her son, she'll come back to us, don't you?" Ronon said. Sheppard sighed softly, and Ronon knew that he was right. "John, you have to give her time."

"And what if it's not enough?" Sheppard asked, so quietly that Ronon almost missed it.

"Well," Sheppard sighed as he spoke, "we'll get this data back to Atlantis and let Keller look it over. Hopefully it'll help with something, even if it doesn't give us the location of the baby, and if it does, well then we can… give it to Teyla and—"

Pain exploded in his side, and stole what breath he had for speaking. Around them the rocks began to move and Ronon cursed himself for the fool he'd allowed himself to be.

A second too late, Sheppard's voice rang out in warning, before the rattle of his weapon began to cut through the fog blanketed over him by the pain. As clarity returned, he snatched up his own weapon and, from point blank range, fired at the Wraith who even now tried to twist the knife he'd used to slash at Ronon's side for a second attack. He fell away, a smoking ruin, and the blade clattered to the ground.

Time and time again he pulled the trigger on his gun, taking out as many of the Wraith that were waiting in ambush; an ambush they'd almost willingly walked right into the thick of.

"Sheppard," he yelled above the sound of weapons' fire, "fall back. There are too many of them!"

As he gave the order, he began to back up himself, still firing, waiting for a chance to turn. The only way they were getting out of it was at a run. As that thought crossed his mind, he heard Sheppard's P90 tattoo falter and then cease and knew in that moment that even at a run, their escape was unlikely. It was as though the rocks themselves were melting and from the molten granite Wraith after Wraith clawed his way to birth.

That dark thought drew his eyes to the narrow neck of rocks through which he was passing, to the dark brown patches, painfully visible against their sides, and to the blinking red light from within the foreign objects haphazardly slapped against their surface. Without another moment's thought to the dangers of turning his back on the enemy, Ronon turned and ran for all he was worth.

Sheppard's urgent, almost panicked voice coming from his radio made McKay all but jump out of his flack jacket. The data device slipped from his hands and clattered to the ground, pulling with it the cable by which it was attached to the dialling circuit of the FDD, as he had named the console – the Fixed Dialling Device.

"Oh great!" he said, sighing as he picked up the device and saw that his decryption program, hastily written, had managed to decipher only the first three symbols. The Gate could lead anywhere. Irritated at the interruption, the tone of Sheppard's voice slipping to the back of his mind, where he stored all the information he deemed unimportant, he keyed his mic. "Not a good idea, Sheppard. I still have no idea where it leads."

"Dial the damn Gate!" Sheppard's voice came back and, barely a second later, the ground lurched, throwing McKay against the pedestal. The sound of a nearby explosion rattled his teeth against his skull.

He needed little more convincing, and all but threw himself against the large blue button at the centre of the smooth topside of the pedestal.

Faster than he would have thought possible the planet's third Gate flash-dialled and the burst of blue seared the air in front of the ring, uncomfortably close to where McKay was standing. He thought he felt the fabric of his jacket begin to melt against his skin before the residual subspace radiation retreated again with the resolution of the stable wormhole.

In the same moment, Sheppard and Ronon came tumbling down the narrow, rocky trail they'd climbed up not too long before, and even before either of them had truly found their balance, began charging for the event horizon as though Lucifer himself were at their heels.

McKay hesitated, still uncertain about trusting where the wormhole led, but as Ronon came closer, and he could more clearly see the spreading bloodstain over the Satedan's side and the front of his shirt, his legs carried him almost of their own volition toward, then into, the shimmering ring of blue.

Sheppard skidded to a halt as he emerged from the event horizon and all but slammed into the broken shell of a Puddle Jumper that appeared to have been abandoned right in the path of the Gate's rush of initialising energy. It had been stripped – cannibalised for whatever parts could be salvaged from it and against the hull were signs of scoring, and scorching from weapons' fire.

"What the—" he breathed as he began to look around, taking in more of the Gate Room.

The area was dark, and looked and felt abandoned, but it wasn't the kind of dark that held the suggestion of a starless night outside, rather the filtered blue light that suggested—

"The city's been submerged," McKay said, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he daren't disturb whatever sleeping ghosts might inhabit this part of the city.

"A hell of a lot more than that – looks like," Ronon rumbled, still leaning on his knees, breathless from the run and from the added pain of his injuries. "This kind of… decay… didn't happen in the few hours that we've been gone, it can't have."

The columns, usually bubbling with water and filtered light, lay dormant, adding to the eerie silence that spoke of the lifelessness of what should have been a hub of activity in Atlantis. The quiet almost had a personality, like some malevolent ghost, waiting for the opportunity to pounce, injure… possess…

Ronon's words went through Sheppard. He couldn't help but recall the last time something bizarre had awaited him on the other side of a wormhole – his trip into his own future – knowledge of which still haunted him because of all the things that remained as the older McKay had warned him they would.

Sheppard looked around and shivered. He'd never liked that uncomfortable feeling of being stuck in some kind of loop - déjà vu held a particular nightmare for him - but this time he couldn't shake the suspicion that it was going to be worse than any time before.

"Toto," he said softly, looking at what remained of the Puddle Jumper in front of them, "I don't think we're in Kansas any more."

"What… you mean…?" McKay asked, swallowing hard as he apparently caught on to what Sheppard was saying.

"See if you can," Sheppard gestured up the stairs to the Control Room, "access the city's systems; figure out what went on here."

"Right," McKay answered, businesslike. He moved around the side of the wrecked Jumper and headed for the unresponsive steps.

"We're going to get you to the infirmary, find something to help with that wound," Sheppard answered, but Ronon shook his head.

"I've had worse," Ronon said. "I just don't think we should split up until we know what's going on."

"There's a first aid kit in the Conference Room," Ronon told him. "It's good enough."

Sheppard sighed. "All right, just…" he shrugged, and followed Ronon, who was already mounting the stairs toward where McKay was gingerly trying to access the city's main computer.

As he reached the top of the stairs Ronon was momentarily stunned into immobility. He slowly turned his head from one side to the other. He'd seen the Control Room in various states of disarray, but never quite beset by the decay evident there, which McKay's hesitancy at touching the city's computer systems only seemed to underline.

Moving left, he couldn't help but raise a hand to touch the casing on a bank of control panels that were smashed and burned as though some kind of short circuit had ripped through their innards. He tilted his head as he examined them more closely. The smallest scrap of leather was trapped between the casing and one of the circuit boards, and beside his hand the slightest smudge of a bloodstain, dried and fading, caught his eye.

"There was some kind of fight here," he answered. He was slow to take his hand from where it rested as his eyes swept around the rest of the Control Room.

Ronon looked at Sheppard then, uncomprehending. He had completely forgotten his own physical discomfort at the greater disquiet he felt as he saw the Control Room. Sheppard waved the still-wrapped dressing at him and raised an eyebrow. He took the dressing and moved away from his friend.

Sheppard frowned at him as he crossed the room to where the remains of a burned out laptop perched on the corner of one of the control desks, as though someone had begun to clean up, but had not managed very much. Pieces of it… broken components lay scattered where it had obviously bounced across the floor.

"Listen, Ronon," Sheppard said, and sounded as uncomfortable as Ronon as he joined him beside the desk, "whatever happened here is long passed. There's nothing we can do about it now. We just gotta… figure out what happened to us and figure out a way to get back. Perhaps McKay can—"

"Oh no McKay can't," McKay said, coming to join them. He gestured in irritation to the other control desks. "Whatever happened here, someone has rerouted control of all the major systems and access to the city's computers away from here. All I have is what was left in the buffer, and even that's fragmented."

"Oh, yeah," McKay said sarcastically, "that's the best news of all. The main control crystal is missing."

"And as if that isn't enough," McKay went on. "Every single pathway between the DHD and the Gate on every single circuit in the console has been shorted out. If I wanted to disable the Gate, I couldn't have done a better job myself."

If it were not for the panic filling his chest, McKay would have been irritated enough with Ronon to smack the man in the mouth. He thought he'd made it clear with what he'd said how much of a mess they were in, and still Ronon's inherent optimism, as irritating as it was persistent, made him ask, what now?

"Pipe down, McKay," Sheppard told him, and before he could turn the angry irritation the colonel's way, Sheppard put a hand onto his shoulder, gripping him firmly. "Take a breath."

He did. It helped, but not enough, though he did glance Ronon's way in apology before nodding his thanks to Sheppard. The colonel's hand lifted away.

"Whatever it was… it was done deliberately," he explained. "Whatever happened here… whoever did this…"

"…is what we have to find out," Sheppard finished for him. "If we can't immediately access the Gate from here, we need to find another way."

"Maybe," McKay said, feeling a little soothed and comforted by the steady tone in Sheppard's voice. "If I can get enough power to the computers, I can probably download what's left in the buffers, piece together an idea of what happened here and that might… give us some clues."

"Good," Sheppard said, "good. That gives us a fighting chance. Meanwhile, Ronon and I will see what we can find in the Conference Room and… Woolsey's office; maybe even see if we can get up to the Jumper Bay."

"What good would that do," McKay yelped, his fear rising again at the thought of being left alone in the Control Room. As creepy as it was, he expected all of the ghosts of the city's former inhabitants to come leaping out of the walls the minute he was by himself. "Even if you could lower a Jumper into the Gate Room, we couldn't get it through the Gate, not with that wreckage sitting there, we—"

"Right," he said and took in a huge breath. "Figure out what happened, we figure out how to get ourselves home."

"You got it," Sheppard said, and patted him reassuringly on the chest. "We're just down the hall if you need anything."

McKay nodded, and even before the bulk of Ronon moved past him, slapping him companionably on the back of his shoulder, he turned to the first of the computer consoles, and began to attach the memory buffer to his hand-held device. He couldn't help but wish he had his tablet with him. It was no more powerful, but he would have felt better, more effective, with a bigger instrument in his hands.

He couldn't help chuckle at himself a little bit, wondering if that was the computer geek's equivalent of jocks comparing the size of their… towels in the shower. The burgeoning laughter died in his throat, however, when the first of the Wraith characters began to scroll minutely across his screen.

"Oh no," he said aloud, his voice falling. Then without pausing for breath added, "This is so-not-good-SHEPPARD!"

Even as he called for his friend his eyes remained fixed on the data his mind translated quickly as it scrolled over the display of his hand-held computer, showing him the attempted decryption of the lockout codes on the self-destruct… the ten minute timer.

His calling masked the slight scuff of a footfall on the stairs up from the Gate Room for just long enough for the shadow that fell across the computer desk in the next moment to be an almost life threatening shock.

"We're in trouble!" he called, the panic rising in his voice as he lifted his eyes from the shadow, to gaze in mounting horror at the face of the men facing him… if they could be called men.

He took them in slowly, from the Wraith stunner held in the outstretched hand, travelling over the leather bracer that encircled the wrist, laced and linking the pale, mottled flesh of the hand with the dark brown, homespun fabric of the shirt and tunic that covered his body. It took barely a second for McKay to bring his eyes to meet with the pale irises of the orbs in the veined and sickly-looking skin of the face that bore the twin sensory cavities on a high cheeked, Athosian seeming face.

"John!" McKay almost screamed, still trying to alert Sheppard and Ronon to the danger.

The hybrid tilted his head, as though amused, and then squeezed the trigger on the stunner.

As the crackling, painful heat of the energy blast took root in his chest McKay gasped, and moaned softly, "Why is it always me?"

The numbness spread quickly from his straining heart and lungs to pour lethargy into his limbs, and leaden his senses. The last thing he saw and heard as his legs folded beneath him was the growling, flying brown tiger – its tails whipping the air behind its massive head.

"We're in trouble!" McKay's high pitched cry from the Control Room tore the papers from Sheppard's hands. His own response seemed slow by comparison to Ronon's, and even as he heard Rodney call his first name – a sure sign that it wasn't just the scientist's oversensitive imagination – he watched as Ronon flew the length of the walkway between the office and the Control Room.

He snatched his sidearm from its holster and followed the big Satedan, taking aim at the first of the hybrid soldiers even as the creature pulled the trigger of the stunner he held, and dropped McKay where he stood.

By the time his reflexes had caught up to the horrified surprise that arrested his instinct to pull the trigger, Ronon's flying tackle had taken the hybrid down, and two others were mounting the step behind the first, trying to catch the Satedan warrior in their sights.

Overcoming his inaction, Sheppard shifted his aim, and fired, taking the next of the small group of hybrids, to fall like a toppled skittle, almost taking out those behind him.

The third of the hybrids abandoned his attempt to stun Ronon, instead he threw himself on the struggling bodies, adding to the confusion of limbs and growling ferocity that rolled at the top of the stairs. There was no way that Sheppard could help Ronon now without risk of hitting the man himself. Ronon would have to fend for himself.

As would he, Sheppard reminded himself, ducking aside as a blast from a stunner crackled against the doorframe beside his head. He shifted his aim again, firing off another two rounds to deter the hybrids from advancing any closer toward him. They were relentless. Even with at least one of his rounds taking the leading hybrid in the shoulder, the former human continued onward. It would be only a matter of seconds before they were on top of him.

Ronon was tiring, and the pain from the wound in his side was beginning to slow his movements. Growling savagely, as if the sound would push away such considerations, he sat up, throwing off the hybrid beating at his back, and swung his own fist wildly toward the one he pinned beneath him. His knuckles connected painfully with the hybrid's temple, and the creature stilled beneath him.

He knew he had to move quickly before the other attacker was on him again, or before the third, that he could see from the corner of his eyes, finished crossing the distance between the top of the steps, and where he still straddled the now immobile hybrid.

He heard the one behind him before he felt the impact against his back that sent him sprawling forward, but still he couldn't move quickly enough to avoid the attack. Instead he rolled with the momentum, using the push the hybrid had given him as he connected with his back, to come full turn over his own shoulder and come to one knee facing his attacker.

With a sudden burst of speed, belying the seriousness of the injury to his side, Ronon lashed out to catch the hybrid soldier by the throat, and heave him to the side, but even as he did he found himself face to face with the remaining attacker, and this one was in no way intimidated by the roar that Ronon threw at him, nor by the hand that lashed out to try and knock the Wraith stunner from his hand.

As he ducked under the reaching grasp of one of his hybrid attackers, driving his shoulder into the soldier's belly, Sheppard caught a glimpse of the trouble that beset his friend. Anger flushed through him and he used the strength of it to drive his opponent backwards until the hybrid's thighs connected with the back of the useless DHD console. Still he pushed, even as the hybrid beat against his shoulders and back and the two of them stumbled away from the console, and out onto the balcony, dangerously close to the railings.

As they came into view in the periphery of his vision, Sheppard grabbed at one of the hybrid's legs, at the same time trying to straighten; to lift the hybrid so that he could throw him over the top, even though he knew it would leave him vulnerable to attack from his remaining enemy. The hybrid struggled and kicked against him, grabbing the top of the railing. His knuckles were white as he was holding so tightly; was so desperate to avoid that fate.

The blow came to the back of his neck, spreading pain and rapidly growing numbness both down his body and upward into his head. His vision dimmed, which he decided was just as well, since the last thing he saw was a hybrid's knee heading directly for his face. He barely felt the impact of it. Instead he fell forward against the balcony rail as unconsciousness took a merciful hold of him.

"Sheppard!" Ronon called as he saw his friend fall and for a time he redoubled his efforts against the two hybrids that attempted to subdue him. He caught one of them a glancing blow that sent him reeling backwards, to tumble down the first few steps, and Ronon used the opening it gave him to try and get to his feet, meaning to go to his friend and help him.

He barely made it to one knee before the first of the blasts from the stunner hit him. His felt his muscles contract around the pain, as if to immobilise it; keep it from spreading weakness through his body and growling, continued to try and find his feet. The second and third wave of crackling energy hit him almost simultaneously, sending him staggering backwards to collide with the ruined bank of panels that had first taken his attention.

As he toppled forwards he thought he vaguely heard his shirt ripping, and thought, ironically, about the strip of leather he had seen trapped between the casing and the burned out circuit boards.

Sheppard moaned, and covered his face with his arm as he surfaced into consciousness and the light stabbed into his already aching head. He tasted blood in his mouth and tried hard to resist the gag reflex as it trickled down the back of his throat. Slowly he rolled to his side and concentrated hard on clearing his mouth of the unpleasant taste.

"When they told me who it was that they had found in the former Control Room, I did not believe them."

The voice was clipped, and Sheppard felt he should have known the speaker. He sounded strangely familiar and yet, at the same time did not remind him of any one person. He moved his arm away from his face and squinted until he could make out the figure in front of him, and blinked as he forced his eyes to focus more fully.

The man stood with his back to Sheppard in front of one of the huge windows that looked out into the watery depths that covered the city. The face that was reflected back at Sheppard held the same mix of the familiar and unfamiliar and he almost growled as he tried to catch a name that he was sure should have been on the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah, well," he said at last, "when you're as surprising as I obviously am, you get that a lot."

The man at the window turned, and nodded to unseen guards who appeared at Sheppard's side a moment later and hooked him by the arms to lift him to his feet. They held him until he was steady, and at another nod from the man with whom Sheppard was now, more or less, face to face, stepped back and assumed their positions as guards.

"Colonel Sheppard," the man greeted him. "I am certain that those who knew you would say that you do not change."

Sheppard looked him over before answering. He was a young man – Sheppard put him in his mid to late twenties – with light to mid-brown hair that was neatly groomed and relatively short compared to his obvious underlings. His skin was just on the coffee side of pale cream, and his jaw line held a strength that spoke of inherited resolve. The lips that moved when he spoke were neither miserly, nor too full, but underlined the resolve that Sheppard knew he saw in the youthful face; a face that hid an age of wisdom in the tightness of the jaw and the angles of the high cheeks and square temples.

The most striking – and also the most disturbing – thing about the man though was his eyes. While their pupils were the rounded shape of the humans of the Pegasus galaxy, the colour was the yellow-gold of the Wraith.

The young man spread his arms to either side of himself, a gesture that was, to Sheppard, uncomfortably familiar. Sheppard's belly turned a somersault inside of him, adding to the already sick feeling he had from the pounding in his head.

"Should I turn full circle for you, John?" the man asked. "You truly do not know who I am, do you?"

"Well, I—" Sheppard started, meaning to try and bluff a little longer until he could pull some kind of confirmation for his suspicions from the interactions between them.

"—and now that we know one another, I must decide what is to happen to you." Nethaiye finished.

"Well," Sheppard said taking a step closer and, trying to sound companionable, continued, "you could try letting us all go… for your mother's sake and all tha—"

Nethaiye's eyes flashed brightly in anger and he raised his voice as he snapped, "After what my mother did to my father; her attempt to murder him, you would do well not to mention her in my presence if you wish to continue living!"

"Oh-kay," Sheppard almost sang, stepping back hurriedly. "You certainly inherited daddy's temper, that's for sure."

In that single demonstration of loss of control, Nethaiye had solidified all the fears in Sheppard's mind. Nethaiye, son of some kind of twisted union between Teyla and Michael – however it had been brought about, it was wrong – as an adult stood before him and was in control of Atlantis. How much worse could it get?

"What would you know of my father?" Nethaiye asked bitterly. "You never understood him. You never even tried."

"Look, kid," Sheppard began, spreading his hands in what he hoped was a placatory gesture.

"All right – all right – my bad," Sheppard said soothingly. "You said people that knew me…"

"Ah, my dear Colonel, of course you do not know – how would you?" Nethaiye began by way of an answer. "You… Doctor McKay… and Ronon Dex…"

Sheppard swallowed, he had a terrible sinking feeling coming over him once more at the way in which a slow, sarcastic smile was spreading over the, clearly unstable, young man's face.

"I'm afraid that none of you survived the events that led to our liberation of the city of Atlantis, and the people of the Pegasus galaxy, from the cruelty of your kind," Nethaiye said.

"Well," Nethaiye said and glanced at Ronon. Sheppard followed the direction of his gaze, watching for a moment as the big Satedan began to stir, finally shaking off the effects of the Wraith stunners. "It was never actually confirmed in his case, but… no one has seen or heard from him since."

"Doesn't mean I'm dead," Ronon mumbled, and Sheppard couldn't help but wonder just how much he'd heard.

"I'd hate to be the one to burst your bubble, Ronon, but I'm rather afraid that it likely does." Nethaiye said, tilting his head in a very wraithlike gesture that made Sheppard's blood run cold.

"All right, look," he said, trying to put on a braver face than he felt. "Enough with the gloating already, I never liked it in your dad, what makes you think I'm going to tolerate it in you?"

"Not so much," Sheppard lied and then asked, "I would like to know what you're going to do with us though."

"That's rather out of my hands, John," Nethaiye answered almost apologetically. "I've already sent for my father. He'll be the one to decide."

"Great," Sheppard put on an exaggerated smile. "Family reunion… just what we need."

"At least this time you are here to witness it," Nethaiye said with an icy smile on his face.

"By the time the city fell, you were long since dead and gone," Nethaiye said, shaking his head.

Sheppard staggered, spluttering incomprehensibly as Ronon managed to come to his knees beside him. He was too weak from blood loss and, Sheppard supposed, from the pain of his injury, to come to his feet. The news of his own premature passing though, continued to weaken his resolve, almost driving him to his knees beside his friend.

"Those you left behind you were fools," Nethaiye said, his eyes glazing a little in memory, "Even Te—even my mother underestimated father in the end…"

"The Dart had swept her up almost before she realised it was on top of her. We simply materialised our army into key areas of Atlantis. The city was already reeling from the former attack. My father's plan worked perfectly – just as he said it would. There were pockets of resistance… for a time… but nothing that ever amounted to much, even when my mother made her escape with some of them." Nethaiye said.

"I find it hard to believe that everyone in Atlantis simply rolled over and played dead," Ronon growled. "Not even for Michael."

"So you're trying to tell me," Sheppard said sarcastically as the arrival of a figure in the doorway interrupted Nethaiye's tale, "that it was because of Teyla that the city fell. That she sold out?"

"That is your interpretation, Colonel Sheppard, not mine," Nethaiye answered and held out his hand toward the one waiting in the doorway.

"Jennifer?" Sheppard blinked, feeling at first relieved, and then profoundly disturbed when Nethaiye pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. It was a demonstration of ownership, of possession as he publically ran his hands over some of the more intimate spaces of her body as they kissed, bending her backwards in his arms, before pulling back and steadying her until she caught her breath.

"One of our guests needs your help, Jennifer. He's hurt." Nethaiye said, and nodded toward Ronon.

"Of course," she said, and turned a smile that almost telegraphed her shame in Ronon and Sheppard's direction. "Have them bring him to the infirmary. I'll see to it there."

"I'll have them bring your medical kit," Nethaiye answered. "You'll see to it here."

"All right," Jennifer agreed, and moved toward Ronon to begin a gentle examination of the wound.

"In the meantime, Colonel," Nethaiye said, "Much as I'd like to stay and entertain you; catch you up with city-wide news, there are things I must attend to."

He nodded to the hybrid guards, and without a word passing between them the guards came forwards. One of them took Sheppard's arm and began to lead him from the room. Two others grabbed the still unconscious McKay, and began to drag him along after them.

"Here," Sheppard crouched down beside McKay and held the flask of water out to him. "It isn't much, but it'll wash the sour taste out of your mouth."

"What, you don't recognise Atlantis' brig from the inside?" Sheppard said, only half way kidding. He sighed and looked around at the slatted bars, the glowing force field. "Don't suppose you… got something up your sleeve you can use to get us out of here?"

"Of course I do," McKay said, handing back the flask and exaggeratedly patting the sleeves of his jacket. "No wait… crap, I left it in my other coat."

"Wait a minute, our Keller?" McKay started to get to his feet, accepting Sheppard's hand when he offered it.

"Long story short: Michael took over the city, Nethaiye's in charge, we're dead. Now you know as much as I do." Sheppard reeled off, his words clipped.

"But I don't—" McKay started, but Sheppard held up a hand suddenly, cutting him off, as he heard footsteps approaching, and the unmistakable sound of growling as Ronon appeared, being manhandled.

Both Sheppard and McKay moved closer to the middle of the cell as the force field deactivated and the door slid aside.

The four hybrids struggling with Ronon all but threw him into the cell, keeping weapons trained on him all the time as the door closed behind them. Even when the door was closed they jumped back as Ronon rushed the bars and all but roared at them. He didn't even seem to care when the force field reactivated almost around him.

"Take it easy, Chewie," Sheppard said, putting a hand onto Ronon's arm. He didn't cease his display until the hybrid guards were well out of sight.

"She's like a little… lap dog or something!" Ronon growled and stalked away, pacing.

"There are a lot of things about this place that are screwed up," Sheppard said. "You manage to find out anything else about what happened here?"

Ronon shook his head. "We didn't really get the chance to talk. He had a hybrid standing over us the whole time."

Sheppard sighed. "One thing's for sure – we need to get the hell out of here before Michael arrives, or we are seriously screwed!"

"Would someone please tell me what the hell's going on?" McKay cut in, making chopping motions with his hand in the space between Sheppard and Ronon.

"When we came through the Gate we got thrown into some kind of… parallel universe, it looks like," Ronon said.

"Thank you, genius," McKay snapped, "I managed to work that out all by myself. And here Michael took over Atlantis; seems like Teyla's boy is all grown up, and he said we're all dead."

"Seems like you know pretty much everything to me," Ronon shrugged. "Unless you count the fact that Jennifer's in some kind of twisted relationship with—"

"Would you two stop… fixating on that," Sheppard said, peering out of the cell and into the hallway, "and start trying to figure out a way to get out of here, and back to our own reality before the big bad wolf gets here?"

"There isn't a way out of here," McKay snapped. "These cells can hold Wraith and all manner of other things safely without any chance of escape. The Ancients designed them that way."

"Well I, for one, don't still want to be here when Michael arrives?" Sheppard countered.

"Well, I don't either," McKay said, "but short of one of his hybrids coming to let us out, I don't see any way around it."

Jennifer Keller hadn't felt such doubts in a long time… almost three years, as a matter of fact – ever since Michael's army had taken the city and all hope had flown with the realisation that with Sheppard gone, McKay dead and Ronon missing – for she refused to acknowledge that he too was dead – there was little hope for them ever getting it back. So, when Lorne, Teyla and the few other marines and Athosians that remained had made their desperate fight, and then flight for freedom, she had stayed behind.

At first it was fear that had driven the decision, and later her compassion and her adherence to the oaths she'd taken as a doctor had convinced her that it had been the right decision.

Michael's hybrids were tough, there was no denying that, but in the escalating battle with the Wraith, and certainly after the appearance of the Wraith Alliance, injuries had been many, and severe. Just because they were hybrids and in Michael's army didn't mean they deserved less than the best medical care, so she applied herself to giving that and thereby brought her attention to the one left in charge of the city as Michael continued to expand his empire: Nethaiye.

It had seemed… strange at first, almost a little creepy to realise that the man – she could not afford to think of him as anything else – that had taken her as his plaything should, in truth, only have been a babe in arms. Then it became obvious that he was not, in fact, the child that Teyla had carried at all, but a clone of that child, whose development had been accelerated so that he now stood among them as a man.

On the nights when darkness gripped her in its maw one of the questions that always assaulted her was what had Michael done with the real Nethaiye?

She'd seen what he was capable of, and it terrified her to think of it. She had seen him act with ruthless determination; with a cold, clinical detachment to the consideration of life, or to the pain his actions were causing. Under his orders, she had been forced to participate in experiments and treatments the nature of which were vicious and brutal, and expected to display the same clinical detachment in order to complete her work. She could not – not ever – it was against her nature, and while, behind his back, she tried to mitigate the pain and suffering, often taking the long route to reach a solution to the problems his experiments sought to conquer, she would never dare try to do so to his face; in his presence. Michael terrified her.

Nethaiye, on the other hand – so long as he was not in one of his periodic rages – was gentle enough with her, and treated her well. The rages, she had come to realise, were a product of his creation; of some imbalance in his neurochemistry. They did not last, and she usually found ways to avoid his company when they were upon him. In the three years she had lived among the 'enemy' she had learned well the best way to survive, but now everything had been turned on its head.

It had taken a single look into Ronon's eyes to remind her of everything they'd had – everything they'd shared – and everything they'd lost with Michael's coming. It had brought back the hurried goodbye, the ache of loss, and the fear and anger at being left behind to serve under the tyranny of a monster while she waited in vain for his return; for freedom. It had made a lie of her surrender – her acquiescence to contentment in Nethaiye's bed, and even though he was not her Ronon, and they were not her McKay and Sheppard, she knew she had to do what she could to save them.

She slowed her pacing as she heard Nethaiye's footsteps coming closer to the lab. She could do this. She knew him well enough to say the right things, to bend him, even just a little, to her wishes; to plant the seed inside him that would cause him to consider his actions carefully where they were concerned.

She crossed the room and fit herself into his arms, and couldn't help but melt into the kiss he gave to her, deep and powerful as it was. He knew her intimately – knew those things that brought her the most pleasure, and so caused her to give in equal measure. She took a breath as the kiss ended; using the air to strengthen the weakness in her knees and to banish the trembling need he kindled inside of her. She could not allow herself to be distracted.

"Haven't I told you that's dangerous?" he teased, running his fingers over the curve of her breast.

"Always for you, Jennifer," he said, and crossed the room to the window, to use the back of his raised hand to move the blinds aside so that he could stare out into the murky blue of the ocean beyond the shield.

She turned to face him and took another breath to bolster her courage before she said, "Sheppard and the others—"

"When have I ever done otherwise," he asked, without turning away from the window.

"Did you give them a chance to do otherwise?" she asked, "From what I understand you sent in the hybrids, stunners blazing, didn't even try to approach them peacefully… talk to them."

"They consider this their city, Jennifer; my father and our people the usurpers," Nethaiye said. She thought he sounded a little subdued.

"But they need not," she said. "If you could… demonstrate the strides we've made against the Wraith; show them the peaceful settlements that we protect… I'm sure that Sheppard would see the value in that, he isn't stupid and he knows that change sometimes comes with a period of unrest."

"I'll admit that Ronon will be harder to convince, but… in time, I'm sure they'd come around and with Sheppard's influence," she moved a few more steps closer and started to reach for him, "It wouldn't even be that hard."

"Yes. They're an asset, Nethaiye," she stressed, "but not if Michael gets his hands on them. You know what he'll do to them."

Jennifer flinched, and closed her eyes. Every muscle tensed and her blood thickened and froze in her veins as Michael's voice sounded from the doorway. She tried to shrink inside of herself as his footsteps came closer, ceasing just behind her.

"Turn around," he said in a measured voice. She turned slowly, visibly trembling. "Answer me."

"Father," Nethaiye said softly, and after a moment she felt the agonising vice inside her mind slacken as he let go and Nethaiye said a soft, "Thank you."

She knew, however, that it would not be the last of it. In the next instant the back of Michael's left hand caught her a powerful blow to the side of her face that sent her sprawling to the floor.

"Where are they?" he demanded of Nethaiye a moment later, leaving her to crawl away into the obscurity of the shadows in the corner of the lab.

The two hybrid soldiers pushed him into the small room and Sheppard did not miss the irony of the place in which Michael had elected to meet with him. It was here, after he had helped them to defeat the Hive, that they placed him under guard until they decided to give him the retrovirus again.

The Wraith-Human hybrid stood at the window, looking out. His back was to the door, and to Sheppard, but he could clearly see Michael's face reflected in the mirror the blue-dark glass had become in the underwater environment. He couldn't help but compare what he saw with the last time he saw their Michael, when they'd fought – essentially over Teyla.

He looked strong, healthy. His reflection held none of the telltale signs of fatigue he had seen in the Michael back home – not that the fatigue had slowed him at all, Sheppard recalled, but still…

Michael took a breath, and then spoke. "I've given a great deal of consideration to the course of action I mean to take regarding you and your friends, Colonel Sheppard."

"This is the part where you're going to tell me that you're going to help us find a way back to our reality, right?" Sheppard said, a little uneasy at the tone in Michael's voice. It was clipped, expressionless – not at all what he expected.

"Sure you can. You just… give us a Jumper and send us on our way," Sheppard said.

"I can't do that, because I cannot risk that you might never find a way to repeat the accident that happened with the portal in your reality in this one and reverse your journey. I cannot allow you to jeopardise all that I have worked for by interfering in the affairs of this reality as you did in your own." He took another deep breath. "So I am left with a choice – you… are left with a choice."

Sheppard couldn't help but shiver as Michael turned slowly to face him. The gold of his eyes skewered him to the spot, and even without saying the words out aloud, Sheppard understood the choice that Michael laid before him.

This website is owned and operated by Eirian Phillips and all original works herein are © Eirian Phillips 2008. Stargate: Atlantis is the property of MGM. All characters and images remain the property of the original copyright holder. No infringement is intended. This website is for entertainment purposes only and no revenue is being obtained from copyright material. Everything here reflects a sincere love and respect for the material included and a desire to bring such quality storytelling to the attention of readers. Disclaimer ends.