Act 3

The deck of the Queen's chamber moved beneath her slightly the moment before the sound began. It was like nothing Vega had ever heard before. A shrill undulating screech that made a grab for both her teeth, and her gut together, and twisted them through the most painful of contortions, like fingernails on a chalkboard.

The Queen swept to her feet, pushing away Vega's hands, pushing away those of her other handmaiden, to hurry down the steps to the floor of her chamber, as the guards and a Wraith commander hurried in.

He was taller even than Todd, almost towering over the Queen as she stood before him, blade tipped fingers resting against his chest. His hair was longer than most as well, and was clasped in a dark leather thong at the base of his skull, to reveal the Wraith characters that wound in an almost serpentine manner around his neck and disappeared beneath the shoulders of his long coat. The characters continued upwards over his jaw line, and up the side of his face, onto his left cheek.

Bodily, he neither moved, nor spoke, only his head moved from one side, to the other, in time with the way the Queen tilted her own as she locked eyes with his. A connection, dark, sensual and dangerously familiar passed between them, and he let out a long, slow breath that sounded to Vega like the angry protest of some huge snake.

After several moments, the Queen demanded, "Where is he now?"

Vega realised that the conversation was for her benefit, and began to suspect that she would be called upon; sent to do the Queen's bidding. From the Queen she felt annoyance, mingled with worry. The commander glanced toward Vega and the other woman in the chamber before answering the Queen.

"We have not yet moved him, my Queen. He was injured in the explosion from the laboratory and is unconscious."

The Queen growled softly. "Have him taken back to his own laboratory," she gestured to Vega then, "and take the girl with you. She can care for him until he wakes and can take care of himself."

"Of course, my Queen," the commander answered, and gestured to two of the guards behind him to come and collect Vega, but the Queen raised a hand, and they stopped moving.

Tilting her head to the side she turned slightly, to barely glance at Vega.

The words echoed around in her head until Vega could think of nothing more. Until of their own volition her feet began to move; carry her toward the Wraith commander and the soldiers. When she reached the soldiers, they took her by the arms and hurried her along unfamiliar corridors, through a never ending maze of twists and turns until she had lost all bearings; all hope of finding her way was gone. The hum of the ship around her changed subtly, and Vega realised they must have left hyperspace. Perhaps the explosion had caused damage to the Hive as well.

As they turned another twist around the tangled thread of corridors, she saw the answer to her supposition very clearly. Parts of the walls lay scattered underfoot, matter oozing from the spaces between, as the Hive was already beginning to repair itself. And there among the debris the fallen figure of a Wraith. Todd.

"You… you're sure—" she swallowed hard, not even wanting to think about being aboard the Hive without Todd being there. She forced herself to finish the question. "You're sure he's still alive."

"He breathes," the Wraith commander told her. "Shallow, but he breathes."

"Right," she said, swallowing again.

"They will bring him to his laboratory," the commander said, speaking of the Wraith soldiers who, even as he did, let go of her arms and moved toward Todd, to lift him from the wreckage around him and begin to carry him back the way they had come.

As they passed her, Vega stood aside and looked at the scorched and bloodied body they carried and wondered how, in the name of everything holy, he could have survived such a thing.

As though he was reading her thoughts, the commander said, "He is Wraith." He chuckled then and said, "You might want to remember that, and be sure that you are careful when he wakes. His first instinct will be to feed and I do not believe that my Queen would wish for it to be upon you. She values your… skills."

**

They summoned him some time after the planet's red dawn, following a night that had once again brought little sleep and even less success in finding a solution to his problem.

At first, the recombinant DNA from the child had helped to replace the bonds between chromosomes, but, after only a few hours, it became clear that the stabilisation was only a temporary one and the cellular degradation had begun again. Simulations he had run, based on the observations he made during the process, had finally provided him with the real possibility of a solution, but it was one which confirmed his earlier thought; that his only course of action to reach that solution was a risky one. He did not like risk. It was the antithesis of every part of him that remained who he was – what he had made of himself.

He paused in dressing to run a hand across his face. Now it began. What few hours he had finally slept had renewed him enough that he could begin moving forward once more. He had too many things to do to delay any longer. He had to complete the modifications to his retrovirus, had to continue his improvements to the Hoffan drug, and now he had to nurture the forming sentience of his new Hive ship.

As he fastened the final buckle on his leather coat, his hand trembled. He made a fist of it and for a moment stared at it as though it had betrayed him; betrayed his nervousness, though there was none here to witness it, except the child.

Thoughts of the child jolted him from the miasma of feeling; of emotion into which he was slipping and with rapid steps he crossed the room toward the door, pausing only to check that the chamber in which the boy was resting was functioning correctly, he left and made his way toward the surface, where his new ship awaited him.

**

"Richard," the woman on the screen addressed him curtly, "It's good to speak with you at last."

"And with you as well," he answered, his hands gripping the edge of the desk on which his computer sat. "I trust you received my report?"

"Indeed," she said, "Most troubling. I don't mind telling you that it's sparked quite the discussion; quite the argument."

"I can imagine. The whole situation hasn't been at all easy," he agreed.

"Yes," she leaned forward, addressing him, via the screen, quite fervently, and said, "Richard, we felt it necessary to convene an emergency meeting of the joint taskforce in response to your report. The IOA, Stargate Command, and the Department of Homeworld Security all felt very strongly about the matter."

Woolsey swallowed hard, expecting the reprimand, the relief of duty at his mishandling of the entire situation, to come at any moment.

When the axe did not fall, he asked, "And what were the committee's findings?"

"Don't worry," she said, astutely reading the concern he tried to keep from his face, "the consensus of opinion is that you're handling the situation very well under the circumstances, and we're eager to assist in any way we can."

Woolsey couldn't help snorting in mild contempt. "Having Colonel Sheppard censured and relieved of military command would be a start," he said.

"Not going to happen, Richard," she warned, "he's far too highly thought of by many in the SGC. General O'Neill for exa—"

"So, what do they expect me to do?" he snapped. "How can you possibly—"

"We mean to pursue the matter with extreme prejudice, and in the meantime prepare a final recommendation for the President," she said, "unless of course matters progress before that time to, shall we say, an untenable situation."

Woolsey shook his head in something approaching disbelief. They were advocating decisive action on the one hand, and tying his hands with political caution on the other.

"I would have thought that my report, to date, would have been proof enough that we're already at that point. With the defection of the Athosian woman, and the infection of the major, we're already vulnerable. Add to that, we're caught between the larger forces of the Wraith and the Hybrids, led by the former Wraith, Michael, and—"

"We're aware of the situation, Richard," she said calmly, over-patient. "The IOA merely… wishes to be certain there's no other solution than the one currently on the table."

"Which is?" he asked.

"You'll be recalled to Earth to receive those orders, Mister Woolsey, should it be deemed necessary."

"And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, the joint taskforce is sending a representative to… assist; to gather more information, and to back you up. I believe you already know each other."

"Oh?"

"Professor Varnerin."

"Varnerin? Reuben Varnerin?" Woolsey couldn't stop the frown from crossing his face.

"The same," she said. "The DHS believe he has the necessary skill set to help… alleviate the problem."

"But I thought he—"

"An unfortunate misunderstanding," she interrupted smoothly, "A senate committee delivered their findings very recently on the subject of the alleged incident and he was cleared of all wrong-doing."

Woolsey's frown deepened. Someone clearly had an agenda, that much was obvious and he did not much relish becoming a part of it. On the other hand, Varnerin did have a reputation for getting things done.

"When can we expect him?" he asked, resolving to take extreme caution where the professor was concerned.

"He'll be arriving, with his team, and his equipment at our next scheduled dial-in," she said. "I'm sure you'll be ready to facilitate all his needs."

**

The closer Michael came to the site, the more he felt the tentative searching put out by the developing consciousness. It was merely the whisper of a touch against his mind, a request for direction, designation, - for contact.

Overnight there had been a massive increase in the mass, and in the structure of the Hive organism, fuelled by the thermal vent over which the foundations of the cradle had been built. The growth was rapid.

Briefly he laid his hand onto the tensile hardness of the support beam that was already wrapped in the spreading bio-polymer. At once, sensing the touch, several tendrils reared up, snake-like, striking toward him.

As if suddenly paralyse the tendrils hung, mid-strike, allowing him ingress toward the cradle he knew lay at the centre of the tangled mass.

When he moved through them, the agile limbs brushed against him, as if testing him; tasting. He kept his breathing steady, even, and accepted the touches.

//At last, you are come.//

The voice wavered between tones, as the consciousness sought to use the unfamiliar vocal cords. At the same time concepts, barely formed, brushed against his mind.

"I have always been here," he answered, his voice like a whip, his telepathic contact with the developing Hive's consciousness, of necessity, harsh – subduing. He felt contrition. "Better," he said, and crouched beside what was left of the girl.

"What is happening to me?" Her eyes snapped open and the voice, her own this time, trembled.

"All is coming to be as it should," he told her, and reached out to almost gently brush back strands of her hair from her chilled face. "Sleep. It will all soon be over."

She sighed at his touch and he tilted his head, watching the tears that began to run from her eyes. Curious, he reached out to touch the wetness. A querying look crossed his face.

"Why?" she asked him after a moment, barely audible.

"Why?" he asked, not understanding which one of many possibilities she was asking.

"Miran," she said, "You were the one that killed him. I know you did. It told me."

"He was your…" Her eyes finally closed and so he stopped speaking.

//She cared for him. His absence hurts.//

"His absence no longer matters," he answered. "His life served the purpose for which it was taken."

//So cold.//

"No. Pragmatic."

//So it is pragmatism for which I am caused to be?//

"Yes. You are needed." He took a breath and let it out as a sigh as he looked at the pale likeness of the girl, Lisstha's, face barely recognisable under the infection of the Hive organism. A momentary and unexpected flurry of sadness touched him and he asked, "She is gone?"

//Her life functions are minimal.//

With another sigh, he nodded. He did not understand his sorrow. He had not felt anything for this girl; had not even known her – not like before…

She rose from the bathing pool, and waited while her remaining handmaiden wrapped the robe around her still dripping body.

=how dare you=

Her countenance was of amusement, however, not of anger, as he immediately reminded her that she had given him leave to enter her presence. She turned and spread her arms, inviting his approach. Her handmaiden backed away as he did – awaiting instruction, he knew.

The closer he came, the more his emotions, his anger, barely held in check, became. He could sense she had known of his feelings for the one she'd chosen, but more than that… that it had been chief among her considerations when she had selected the candidate, from among her handmaidens, to become the new Hive Ship. He had to confess that he understood it to be the logical choice. The woman had been a loyal handmaiden to the Queen, and she was as close to the Wraith female as any – closer even than her Commander, it made sense. Yet…

-you sent her to me-

He slowly lowered himself to one of his knees, his head downturned; his eyes lowered… supplication to the exquisite Queen before him. His breath trembled in and out of his body. In her presence he almost forgot the reason for his anger – the loss of his plaything, a plaything that his Queen had given to him. Almost…

-why?-

He demanded to know the reasons for her choice as he felt her move closer still. The bottom edge of her gauzy robe brushed against his knee, rested over it as she reached forward to cup his chin in her hand, and bring his face up to meet hers. His eyes followed slowly, eventually meeting the burning gold of the Queen's.

Still holding his chin, she waved her remaining handmaiden forward. The girl, younger than the other had been, shook visibly as she came toward the Wraith Queen and her scientist. When she stopped at his side the girl reached forward for the clasp that held his coat closed over his chest.

His hand flashed out, almost a slap, though his fingers closed around the girl's wrist, still demanding an answer from the Queen as to her spiting of him.

=because you are mine=

//She has hurt you.//

An almost burning anger; resentment bordering on hatred flared in his gut. Michael gasped, and blinked, shaking his head and fighting to bring his breathing under control. It was a simple statement, and yet it encompassed so much the Queen had done.

"It was a long time ago," he said at last, "and my retribution is at hand."

//That is what I am for.//

"You will be my flagship," he said. "The time of the Wraith; the reign of the Queen, the arrogance of the Lanteans – all of it… will end."

**

Teyla ran a trembling hand over her face, exhausted by the search, by the constant inability to pick up the thread, even though she had been searching for several days. The list in her pocket grew shorter with each Gate through which she stepped. The possibilities for viable worlds, at least those of which she knew, containing the symbols the hybrid had dialled, were coming to an end.

For a moment she contemplated simply turning around and dialling back to Atlantis. McKay and his computers would help her. They could check every world, find Michael and—

She shook her head, clearing it; banishing the foolish notion that she would receive anything other than vilification from the people on Atlantis – if not from those she had considered her friends, then certainly from those loyal to Woolsey.

"You know, you could do us all a favour; do yourself a favour, really, and tell us what you know about Michael. It would save you a world of hurt. You really think the folks back home are just going to sit you down, give you tea and cookies, and have a nice cosy chat?"

She took a breath, trying not to remember the look of contempt that had been on Hollick's face as he had taken her toward the Gate room.

"No, I am alone," she said into the morning air. "I am alone, and must find you alone."

She turned her back on the Stargate and set off along the cobbled track toward the buildings she could see in the distance. She was cautious, as always, for she did not know much of this world or its people, but the desperation to achieve her aims, to find the thread of a clue that would lead her to Michael was mounting, and quickened her steps, making them perhaps a little less careful than they should have been.

**

After they had carried him to the laboratory, and had laid him on the single cot there, they had left Vega quite alone with Todd. The Commander had brought supplies to within her reach… water, cloths, a knife and a foul smelling liquid, held in a dark glass bottle that she assumed was an antiseptic of some kind – it had that kind of pungent odour – before he too had withdrawn. It was clear that they intended for her to clean him up.

For a long time, she sat on the floor beside the workbench, away from the unconscious Wraith, and did nothing… trying to make sense of what her life had become. She sighed, feeling hot and uncomfortable. She couldn't bring her thoughts to order and so finally turned her attention to the injured Wraith, and could not help but wonder where she was to start. She had never done anything other than a brief course in field medicine – a requirement for her captaincy. But whatever injuries he might have sustained, she suspected would be far in excess of her ability to treat, plus, and it was no small realisation, he might look like her – aside from the greenish skin, the sharp teeth, yellow eyes and, she could not forget, the ability to suck the life out of her with a single touch, if he so desired… or needed – but…

She backed away again, and took in a deep breath. He was unconscious and if she was honest, her fear of angering the Queen by not taking care of her scientist was greater than that of said scientist waking up only to feed on her. Her hands trembled as she reached for the clasps on Todd's leather coat.

It took her a moment to understand the mechanism of them and be able to get them to unfasten, and as she released each of them she kept a close watch on his face for any sign of waking.

She couldn't help but wince as she carefully peeled aside the ruined coat, nor thinking that it was a good thing that he was still unconscious. The burns covered much of his upper chest, and there were pieces of shrapnel embedded in his abdomen.

"None of which you can do anything about unless you get him out of his shirt," she said aloud, beginning to feel unnerved by the solitude, and in the realisation of what she was doing. She snatched her hand away from the immobile Wraith. "What the hell are you doing, girl?"

She took another breath, glancing around. She was stuck. The ship was huge, even if she could get out of the room, and she doubted the Commander would have left it unlocked, then where would she go? With a heavy sigh, she returned her attention to Todd, and this time took up a knife and began to cut the already torn shirt, and peel that away from the wounds.

It took several moments before she could steady her hands enough to think about picking up a cloth and cleaning the blood away. Soon after, she could see to begin carefully taking out the biggest of the pieces embedded in his abdomen. She worked carefully, and after several moments, as he still had not woken, curiosity began to tickle at the back of her conscious mind. Instead of keeping her eyes fixed on the shrapnel she was removing, she began to let her eyes take in the surrounding skin, and after a little while more, finally swept her eyes over Todd's body.

He wasn't the first Wraith she'd seen in any state of undress. Having bathed the Queen on several occasions, she had seen her completely naked, but she couldn't help but begin to think of him in human terms. Even with the burns and the lacerations, and the pieces of Hive ship still embedded in his torso, his body was well muscled, toned and shapely. And green… she reminded herself.

They kept themselves so covered, these males, that to see him like this was somewhat of a revelation. She didn't know quite what she would have expected otherwise, but he seemed—

His eyes snapped open, almost glowing in madness, and he took in a massive, laboured breath. Before she could move away his hands reached out, faster than she had ever seen anyone move, and closed, one around her wrist, the other around her throat, cutting off her air.

Her free hand reached up in sudden panicked desperation to try and pry herself free, at the same time pulling against his restraining grasp around her wrist.

"Todd!" she gasped, "Todd, stop!"

After only another moment she began to see small flecks of light floating in front of her eyes. She began to feel light headed, and could hear nothing but the sound of her blood rushing through her ears.

"Todd!"

**

Teyla leaned against the countertop, watching the coming and going in the inn. She did not announce herself to the innkeeper, not yet, preferring to try and get a measure of the people into whose life she was intruding in her personal and desperate search.

They seemed to be an ordinary enough people, engaging in their business, talking and drinking together, eating, relaxing… it did not at all occur to her that they seemed to be overly relaxed, that it seemed peaceful there. If it had, she might have been more watchful, more wary.

"Something I can help you with?" the innkeeper came behind her and spoke softly to her, drawing her attention away from the scene in front of her.

She turned, and fixed what she hoped was a bright smile onto her face, "Yes," she said quietly, "I am looking for some people… perhaps you can help me."

"I see a lot of people come through here," he said, somewhat coldly.

"Of course you do," she said, trying to remain calm in the face of his reticence. "You would remember these people. They have markings on their faces, pale eyes—"

The proprietor frowned, and she stopped speaking at once, beginning to feel uncomfortable; beginning to tense, perhaps to realise that everything was not as it seemed.

"Those kinds of people don't come around here," he said darkly.

Slowly she began to reach for the knife she carried, every pour in her body screaming danger.

"Don't!" a new voice, this one behind her, said curtly. "It would be ill advised. You're outnumbered, and none here want to see you hurt."

She spun around, trying to put herself into a space as she did, to face the speaker, but his words to her had been truthful. As she had been speaking to the proprietor of the inn, several of the men that had been sitting drinking, or conversing by the fire in the hearth, had left their places to come closer, to encircle her.

"Put the knife down, Lantean," the man said calmly.

Instead, Teyla dropped into a crouch. She shifted the knife in her hand to defend against any man that began to move against her. It was a losing battle, and she knew that before she began it. Still she had to try.

At first they came at her singly, or in pairs, and fell away from her with bloodied hands, or gashes to their arms for the pleasure of underestimating her. Still, as fast as she beat them back, another came to fill up the space she had made, cutting off any hope she had of escaping them.

As if they finally tired of toying with her, four of them came at her, one from each side, all reaching for her, lashing out. She lunged with the knife, and at the same time lashed out with her free hand to block an incoming blow. Spinning, she shifted her balance to kick at the third of them, driving him back, but when she stepped forward, to follow through with the attack, hands grabbed her from behind, tipping her backwards.

Her neck jarred, and pain exploded from the side of her skull, as one of the men holding her brought her head down hard on the edge of the counter. The room blurred, and the voices rang in her ears as her legs began to fold beneath her.

Semi-conscious and fading fast, she heard the proprietor speaking, but for a moment could not understand his words. She felt him push several of the others away from her. She tried to struggle, to get free, but two of the men leaned down and grabbed her arms, restraining her… holding her down.

"Take her to the basement," a voice said. "Lock her up with the others until we can inform them we have one of the Lanteans here."

**

Flat against the side of one of the buildings, Sheppard keyed his headset mic. "Team Two, report."

"Moving into position now, sir." The voice of the team leader was calm, efficient.

"Watch your positions," Sheppard ordered. "Last thing we need is for them to see us coming and trigger whatever failsafe Michael has in place."

"Understood," the team leader confirmed. "Team two, stand ready on the colonel's mark."

Sheppard glanced at Ronon as the big Satedan all but threw himself into place beside him.

"I count twelve hybrids – one on the roof of each building, seven on the ground. Probably more inside," he rumbled quietly.

"Michael?" Sheppard asked. He didn't really believe they could be so lucky as to find him so soon in their assaults against those of his facilities they had managed to identify.

Ronon shook his head. "Not unless he's inside."

Sheppard nodded.

How does it feel, Colonel Sheppard…?

"All teams, this is Sheppard, three, two, one – mark!"

Ronon was the first out of cover. He rolled around the side of the building that sheltered him. Sheppard followed but seconds later and both men came face to face with a surprised hybrid. In one smooth motion, Ronon grabbed the soldier's arm and smashed him across the face with his forearm. The hybrid staggered backwards, right into the stream of bullets from Sheppard's P90.

Ronon's count proved to be low. As the gun battle started, reinforcements came running from the outlying buildings to join in the defence of the facility. The air in the compound was filled with the percussive ring of gunfire and the answering electronic fizzle of the hybrids' blasters. From all quarters the cries of men and hybrids echoed as they fell.

"Fall back!" The leader of the hybrids gathered his remaining soldiers and began a retreat toward the large building at the centre of the compound. "Defend the laboratory!"

Sheppard growled, seeing Lorne – unconscious and changing; Teyla, weeping in his arms for the loss of her son… How does it feel…? He tapped his earpiece once more to activate the mic. "All units, this is Sheppard, take them down!"

**

The feral expression faded from Todd's face as comprehension flooded into his yellow eyes. Vega all but fell over him as he suddenly let go. She gasped for breath, supporting herself on her hand, which fell against his shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled at her, his voice revealing his pain.

"What am… I doing?" she gasped, trying to straighten up, but finding herself still trembling and weakened from lack of oxygen. He raised his hands, closed his fingers around her upper arms to help her.

"I assume that you were sent to tend my wounds," he said, "surely you were warned—" He stopped as she pulled away and shivered, and he rumbled a small chuckle in the back of his throat. "I can see that you were."

"Yeah," she coughed a little, rubbing at her throat, "The Jolly Green Giant did mention something about you needing to feed when you woke up."

"And yet still you took the risk in order to…?" he raised an eyebrow in query, inviting her to enlighten him by finishing the sentence.

"I was told to take care of you; clean you up," she said, wrapping her arms around herself at the expression on his face.

**

He tilted his head as she pulled away, and tried to sit up a little. He could see to his own injuries, he did not need assistance now that he was conscious. Mentally he cursed the architect of the hidden device, a failsafe, he was sure, and it did not take much imagination for him to decide on the identity of the one responsible.

Gathering himself to try and rise, he tightened every muscle to keep himself from trembling from the pain that came, not only from his injuries, but from the burning of his need to feed.

"Oh no, Mister!" The woman pushed her warm hand against his shoulder to encourage him to lie back, and then reached for a nearby bowl of water, and the cloth within, intending, he was sure, to clean the cuts and burns on his body. He could smell the antiseptic that laced the water.

The sting of the liquid was a welcome, additional pain that cleared his mind enough for the movement at the side of the room to register in his consciousness. He found himself curious at the near silent approach of the mutated creature that had escaped its containment. His agile mind put together the circumstances by which it had escaped. Power must have been disrupted during the explosion, but it had taken the creature some time to realise that its route to freedom lay open to it.

Vega's hand came to rest against the side of his stomach… her touch startled him, and he almost glared at her.

"Sorry… sorry," she said, "but it has to come out. It—"

"You will wish to move," he said, starting to sit up.

"Oh no you don't," she told him again, pressing her hand against his shoulder to keep him in place.

"Seriously," he rumbled.

Silently it came closer, reaching out its club-like hand toward the young human woman. For just a moment, he felt a brief flurry of temptation to allow the creature to reach her. Scientific curiosity had replaced his former revulsion. Would it try to feed, as its Iratus bug characteristics would suggest, or would it simply give way to the baser instincts to kill?

"Listen," she insisted, slapping at his hand as he tried to lift her restraining grasp away from his shoulder, "Her Royal Wraithness said I had to—"

"You have to move."

"No way, buster."

With no more time for further persuasion, and using what reserves of strength he still possessed, he swept his arm in an arc and all but threw Vega across the room.

**

The impact against the workbench knocked the air from her lungs and she lay, stunned for a moment, unable to get up. She trembled as a creature that looked as though it could once have been a man, but now looked mutated and swollen, reached forward into the space where, but a second before, she had been sitting, ministering to Todd.

Todd snatched up the knife she'd been using and, faster than she imagined was possible for someone with injuries such as his, sprang toward the creature. It raised its club-like hand to try and defend against the vicious slashing attack, but Todd reversed the direction of the knife and trust upwards towards the creature's throat.

He roared as the two of them fell to the floor together, and for a moment neither moved, and a terrible silence, punctuated only by the pounding of her heart in her ears, fell over the laboratory.

"Todd?" She finally called his name softly, as she crept closer to the tangled pile of limbs. A soft moan, barely audible, even as she came closer, made her pounding heart beat even faster, and she reached out to push at the mutated thing that topped the pile of body parts. Eventually the creature rolled away, and she was able to reach and, with great difficulty, turn Todd face up once more, ending up all but pulling him across her knees as she tried to move his near dead weight.

"—check," he barely breathed, slipping toward unconsciousness again.

"Don't you dare die on me, you idiot Wraith!" she snapped, and then ran a trembling hand through her hair, as she looked around for something, some way to summon help. Though the thought terrified her, she knew that if he were to survive this, he would need to feed, and soon – and if she were to survive being in this place, she would need his help. "So help me, Alicia Vega," she said to herself, "If you die because of this, I'm so going to kill you."

Taking a breath, she shook him slightly, trying to rouse him enough that she thought he would hear her. "Listen, Todd, I'm not sure quite how this works, but… you're in a bad way and—" her breathing quickened as she picked up his hand and tried to bring it to rest against the top of her chest, "—ah hell, just… try not to kill me, huh?"

**

Keller took the information she printed to her desk and sat for a long time staring at the telltale pattern and position of the three specific base pairs. As if she did not believe the evidence before her, she spread the previous results over the top of her desk as well and spent many minutes staring at the two in comparison.

She was waiting for Rodney. Killing time before she had to kill the hope she knew the scientist had, that it was all some terrible mistake.

"Jennifer," she jumped and looked up at McKay as he came to her side and put a hand onto her shoulder. She hadn't heard him come in.

"Rodney, I—" she sighed, and almost hurriedly started to clear her desk of the various sheets of the results.

"You... have the results, I see," he said, gesturing to the papers and the PCRs in her hands.

"Yeah, I do," she told him softly. "I was very thorough, Rodney…"

He sighed. "But the results were still the same."

"I'm sorry," she said, "I don't know what to tell you. I even ran Kanaan's DNA against Lorne's hybridised DNA to be able to remove those chains and nucleotides from the sample. I mean, he had to have used his own DNA in the creation of the hybrids, right?"

"I'd say it's pretty much a given, yeah," Rodney agreed, and slowly sank into a chair. "Teyla… I— she— Michael—"

Keller raised her eyebrow, waiting for the actual question. When it didn't come, she said, "We have no way of knowing what Michael did when she was his prisoner, Rodney."

"Make your best guess, Doctor," he said bitterly, with not some small hint of repulsion in his voice. "What does this mean as far as Teyla is concerned?"

Keller shook her head.

"I'm not going there, Rodney," she snapped. "This is manipulation, plain and simple. What it means for Teyla is that we have to find her, before anyone else… and before she finds Michael."

He took a deep breath and finally nodded. "Sorry, I just—"

"I know, I know," she flicked the file he now held in his hand, "You see parts of the picture, not the whole. Just remember that."

"But on his ship—"

Keller shook her head, "Still parts of the picture. I can't believe you're playing into this, Rodney. This is Teyla."

Rodney shook his head, becoming more agitated as the words started to fall from him, "You said it yourself, Jennifer. This is Michael. And if he can mess with her mind enough that she forgets an entire – what was it – four weeks? Five - longer? What the hell else could he—"

"No!" Keller suddenly ripped the file from his hand and took out one of the PCRs. With a pen from her desk tidy she drew a large black circle around a set of markers, all but spitting, "Kanaan!" as she did.

Rodney snatched the pen from her hand, drawing a large black line over her palm as he did and drew a square around another set of markers. "Then what the hell is that!"

**

The captive woman turned and, all but herded forward by her hybrid guard, brought the child back to him. He took the baby from her carefully, and then gave her a curt nod, and another to the hybrid, toward the door. He would not begin until he was alone.

The child in his arms mewled at him as he held him and he tilted his head as he looked down at the child. The boy's eyes seemed to be looking back at him, though he was sure that it was his imagination. Almost as a test, he passed a hand from one side to the other between where the child lay in the crook of his arm, and his own chest. The baby turned his head to track the movement. Michael raised an eyebrow. It seemed he still had much to learn about the infant's development.

The boy yawned, and brought his fist to his mouth. Michael sighed. It would be many more hours before he could sleep. He had work to do and he could not allow sentiment to get in the way. Quickly, strengthening his resolve, he turned and approached his workbench, where he laid the boy into the containment unit already standing open.

His hand faltered slightly as he reached toward the tray of instruments, for the needle with which he would extract the material necessary for his work.

Her eyes became awash. He saw, as well as felt, her fear, her anger, even before it came into her eyes and she looked away. He felt a momentary stab of his own pain, deep in his gut, and reached to cup the side of her face in his hand, to make her look at him again. He had to reassure her, tell her the truth of this child, and his importance, "I will not harm him. Why can't you just accept that?"

Making rapid calculations in his head, he moved beyond the instruments, to pick up a vial and a small syringe. He had made a promise to her in his own way – and he intended to keep it. The anaesthetic would keep pain from the child, and he would ensure the boy's safety throughout the procedure, and afterwards, while he recovered. So long as the material he harvested was sufficient to achieve his work, the small delay would not matter overmuch.

The boy whimpered as he administered the drug. Moved his arms and legs as if in protest at the treatment, but soon the movements slowed, and stopped as the anaesthetic took hold. Quickly he took the necessary steps to ensure the continued health of the unconscious child, before returning to his place beside the tray of instruments. Now, he was ready to begin.

**

Her head turned against the cobbled floor, where they had thrown her. Her hand flailed out, and slapped against the dampened ground beneath her.

Beginning to drift toward consciousness, awareness, she moaned softly, flooding with sensations at the memory…

"Michael…" she murmured. "No… please you—"

She took a long breath, her eyelids fluttering. Wakefulness still evaded her, still lapped at her like teasing waves. She needed to wake… knew she was dreaming, but did not awaken.

"No!" she moved as though fighting hands that held her. "—son, please…stop! You're killing him!"

"…Queen…? Stop… you're—" she gasped, and almost arched her back off the floor with all that was flooding through her.

She sobbed aloud, pressing her hands against herself, one on her chest, the other arm wrapped around her belly, her hand against her side.

"Michael," she moaned, and opened her eyes into the darkness of the basement. "Michael…"

"You would do well to forget that name… if their masters come for you." Out of the darkness a voice sounded, soft and urgent.

She sat up suddenly, scrambled to her knees and peered in the direction from which the voice came. It was not the voice of a hybrid… it carried too much life, and did not have the barely detectable Wraith undertones.

"Who are you?" she demanded, "How do you know him?"

**

"Colonel Sheppard," Woolsey greeted them the moment they stepped through the Gate. "Welcome back. How is it going?"

"Well," he said, starting to surrender his weapons to the ordnance officer who had come to collect them. "I wouldn't say it was all plain sailing, but we managed to take out another one. Still no sign of Michael, or the baby, in any of 'em though."

"How many is that? Five?" Woolsey asked.

"Seven," Sheppard corrected, "Not including M4G-584, the one he took out himself?"

"Still, eight facilities destroyed," Woolsey shook his head, "he's got to be feeling that by now."

Sheppard shrugged. He really didn't want to get into a discussion with Woolsey. He was tired. He was hungry, and he desperately needed a shower.

"Look," he said, "If there's nothing urgent… I've been off world for three days now. I'd like to go clean up a little. Get a little shut-eye…"

"Of course," Woolsey blinked, and then smiled. "I just wanted to be sure and congratulate you on a job well done."

Sheppard nodded, "Thanks." he said a little wryly, and began to move away. As he did, Ronon came to his side and slapped his chest, nodding toward the corridor leading away from the Gate Room, where McKay was hovering in the shadows. He sighed. No doubt more problems.

"Sheppard," McKay greeted him in a softly urgent voice as he and Ronon reached the scientist's hiding place.

"McKay," he returned the greeting.

"I need to talk to you," McKay said.

"Fine, well then," Sheppard did not stop moving, "talk."

"Not here," McKay made a grab for his arm, pulling him to a halt. "Somewhere private."

"Look, Rodney, can't it wait, I—"

"No," McKay said sharply. "It's about Teyla… and the baby."

Sheppard frowned, his tiredness suddenly evaporating. How does it feel, Colonel Sheppard, to know…? "What about them?" he asked.

"Not here," McKay squeaked, as if he'd just suggested the most idiotic thing in the world.

"Whatever it is, McKay," Ronon growled, "You better tell us, right now!"

Sheppard looked around him urgently, taking his bearings, trying to locate a room they could use. "Come with me," he said suddenly, and grabbed McKay's arm, all but dragging the surprised scientist along behind him, as he approached the nearby storage room. Once inside, he finally let go of McKay and asked, "All right, McKay, what's going on?"

McKay looked between him and Ronon, and the grim line of McKay's mouth did not fill Sheppard with confidence.

"We have to find Teyla," McKay told him, "wherever she is, whatever happens, we have to find Teyla before Michael, or the Wraith, or—we just have to find her."

"Well, that's not as easy as it sounds. She doesn't want to be found. She doesn't want to be trapped here, doing nothing to find her son while Woolsey keeps her locked up and under surveillance and—"

"You don't understand." McKay shook his head urgently.

"No, Rodney, I don't," Sheppard agreed. "Supposing you tell us why it's so urgent we find her."

McKay sighed, and looked at him as though he'd been cornered. "When we brought Teyla back to Atlantis from Michael's facility on M7S-445, Doctor Keller took blood and tissue samples."

"Standard medical protocol," Sheppard said, "of course she did. Especially since Teyla had just recently given birth, I'm sure she wanted to make sure that everything was all right, she—"

"She found something," Ronon surmised, folding his arms and taking a step closer to McKay.

McKay looked down, "Doctor Keller found strong traces of… Wraith DNA in the samples, especially in those…" he paused, and when he finished the sentence, Sheppard realised he had been trying to be subtle, "… that bore relevance to the baby."

"Okay," Sheppard said slowly, drawing out the word, not entirely following the direction of McKay's concern. "But… Teyla has Wraith DNA in her genetic make-up anyway and..."

"…Kanaan has—had 'the gift' too," Ronon cut in, "wouldn't that—?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then what do you mean, Rodney?" Sheppard said, becoming irritated with dancing around the issue.

McKay sighed again, and a pained expression crossed his face as he blurted out, "Keller found elements of Michael's DNA in the blood samples."

A strange buzzing started in Sheppard's ears, and through it he heard Ronon rumble angrily, "What do you mean 'elements of Michael's DNA'? What are you saying?"

"Are you trying to tell me that Michael may have been trying to turn Teyla and the baby into those… things?" Sheppard cut in. "That that's why she can't remember anything, because he's making her into one of his—"

"The RNA strands are similar to those found in both Lorne's and Kanaan's hybridised DNA, yes," Rodney started, "but—"

He approached a grizzly looking scene in the middle of the warehouse room; a table, clearly meant for experimentation on a person, and Wraith equipment nearby. As he turned back to face the others, Ronon was looking through equipment on a nearby bench. The Satedan picked something up from a metal tray.

"Sheppard," he said, and held up a syringe, containing traces of a luminous green fluid, with a long needle attached. It could only have been used for injecting into one place.

"You think Teyla?" McKay asked, horrified.

Bile rose in his throat, and anger tinged his words as he replied, "No, I don't think so, and you don't think so."

"No way, McKay!" Sheppard raised his voice as he stepped, in menace, toward the scientist, a thought that was darker still wrapping itself around his tortured memory. How does it feel, Colonel Sheppard, to know that it's me she calls for in the dead of night; me she reaches for when she's in need…

"—but we won't know until we find Teyla and the baby!" McKay yelped, raising his hands defensively.

"Then you better find a way to tell us where she is," he growled, and turned away, hurt and angry at the doubts suddenly coursing through him.

**

Michael let out a long slow breath as he checked the readings on the child's monitors once more. He had suffered no harm during the harvesting of the cells. He reached out and almost tenderly smoothed a hand over the dressing on the child's hip, and sighed again.

He closed his eyes, leaning against the chamber. Soon indeed… he would need to act; would need to give his hybrid lieutenants their final instructions; would need to gather his courage, face his fears and bring his past and present together in order to secure his future.

"What is it?" he demanded of the hybrid that waited behind him.

"Reports. We have finished securing the Wraith research facility you instructed us to subdue."

"Good, most timely," he said, glancing once again at the child. "Continue."

"We have received subspace alarms from several of our facilities, and… a strange signal has been detected from the Elder's Hive."

Frowning, he turned and almost snatched the Wraith tablet from the hands of his lieutenant. His eyes moved rapidly over the text, searching out the locations and recalling the uses to which each of the compromised facilities had been put. Silently, he cursed the Lanteans, and Sheppard in particular, though he had expected nothing less. When he reached the report of the signal from the Elder Hive he could not help but chuckle.

"So, he thinks he can better me," he said softly.

"Sir?" the hybrid asked in confusion.

"No matter," he shook his head, pulling himself away from thoughts of revenge, of future action. Time enough for that later, once the next phase of his plan was completed. "Prepare my cruiser for immediate departure. There are matters I must attend to."

He handed back the tablet and watched as the hybrid lieutenant went to carry out his orders. Very soon everything would be in place. His Hive would be ready; his hybrids perfected, and the truth of many things would come to be known. Why then did he feel such restlessness – such self doubt? He knew it was merely a product of his inactivity, and of the delays and setbacks he had suffered recently. Once he was underway again, even with all the factors he could not control, the doubts would fade and he would be himself again, and yet…

Absently he reached out a hand to bring his fingertips to rest over the soft skin of the sleeping child.

"Teyla…" he whispered softly.

**

She grabbed the little man, her fellow prisoner, who had revealed by his words that he was of a mindset sympathetic to Michael and his aims, by the scruff of his neck and pulled him closer. "You will tell me," Teyla growled.

"To what end?" he pushed against her wrists as she bunched his shirt still tighter against his neck and he started to see stars. "Even if I did tell you the location, what good would it do you? We're both prisoners here, and soon the Wraith will get here—"

"Then you had better tell me quickly," she said dangerously, "or you will wish that it is only the Wraith you have to fear."

**

She had not realised that she had fallen asleep until the touch woke her. Startled, she jerked upright, away from where her head rested beside Todd's hand, and half turned to find the Queen standing over her. The Elder Wraith's head tilted to one side as she regarded her.

"I have disturbed your rest," the Queen said quietly, her voice was almost gentle, as was her mood, as Vega felt the near warmth she projected. "I merely came to check on the condition of my scientist, and find that my handmaiden has… cared for him so well that she has exhausted herself."

Vega stood and backed away from Todd's side, lowering her eyes, the proper, respectful position a handmaiden should adopt before her Queen, as Todd had instructed her.

"Forgive me, My Queen, I—" she stammered.

"Really?" the Queen took a step forward and cupped Vega's chin in the palm of her hand, the sharp blades on her fingertips curled away from the skin of her face. "Your Queen? Then you have accepted me at last?"

She felt suddenly dizzy as the Queen's gaze bore into her. Her head pounded and nausea gripped her as she realised she couldn't catch her breath. When the Queen let her go only a moment later, she staggered backwards, and grabbed at the wall for support.

"I understand there was an incident with the hybrid creature?" the Queen sat on the side of Todd's cot, and uncovered him enough to inspect his healing wounds. Vega did not move. She dare not. While it had been she that had dressed the wounds, the truth of his rapid healing, and the restorative sleep in which he still lay, had been in the fact of his feeding, which in spite of her moment of insanity, in all but giving herself to him, had not been upon her. "You may speak."

"It escaped. He killed it." She took a shuddering breath and added, "I nearly lost him when he did."

The Queen turned her head then, to regard Vega coolly. "But you did not," she said, and rose to come and stand before Vega again, "And in that did not fail me. You remind me of someone."

Vega tensed as the Queen raised a deadly hand, but gently ran the backs of her fingers down her cheek in a soft caress.

"She was my handmaiden, many millennia ago. She served me well, as you have done, and cared for one whom— I sense your question. Ask it."

"What happened to her?" she asked in spite of herself.

The Queen tipped her head to the left, looking about her, and then to the right, as if listening for some sound that Vega could not hear.

"She serves me still," the Queen said, in a sing-song voice.

"I don't—"

"Of course you do not," the Queen turned her gaze to Todd once more, as she spoke to Vega. "For your services, you may have the freedom of the Hive. Do not betray my generosity… girl. My scientist still needs your care. Submit to his every need, only…" she swayed her head to the side again, fixing Vega with an intense look, "remember… he is mine. Do not seek to change that."

**

It was a place of ghosts for him. The remnants of his former life waited around every corner to smother him in memory and angry regret, but of all places, it was here he was most likely to succeed in the necessary next steps on his journey toward his goal. He was not foolish enough to think that he could use the facility for long. As soon as the Wraith detected its use they would likely dispatch a cruiser to investigate and he would once more be embroiled in battle. By then, however, it would all be done, the serum would be produced and he could leave this place of painful memory, return to his more hidden facilities and administer the serum to his hybrids, and to those still awaiting hybridisation. With the flaws finally worked out on all but the most important of the issues that still faced him he was free to move forward, to move on.

"Michael, why are you doing this…?" she laid her hand on his arm as he moved to rise. For a moment he looked at its softly tanned appearance, felt the warmth of it as something other than restraint.

"All these worlds," he began softly, "filled with people, busying themselves with their pathetic lives. They come and they go, they live and they die and the galaxy is no better for it. But your son – your son will be an instrument of change…"

His hybrids would be as strong as he could make them, and it would be time for the final step in his plan to finally bring a kind of peace to this blighted galaxy.

He turned the corner into the narrow corridor that led to the laboratory. It was a journey he had taken many times. It had been his demesne… though he doubted it would be as he had left it.

With a sigh he tried to banish the thoughts. He lived in a different world now; lived a different life, one that of necessity followed its current path… and in the end, when he was done, things would be the better for it and yet… he could not help but remember its beginnings…

The culture was dividing exactly as he had said it would, why the other doubted was beyond his understanding. With this compound injected into the neurones of the developing Hives…

An unfamiliar touch nagged against the back of his mind… Wraith, and yet, not Wraith… curious, he answered the touch, and all but faltered in surprise…one lived… after all the time between their inception and the efforts made in their eradication…?

Concentrating a little more, to find the way to mask himself from this individual so that he could observe them, he found the mind – a female mind – an almost comforting place to be… he melted back into the shadows.

She was smaller than he, supple and strong, he could tell simply by the way she moved…and as humans went, he supposed she was attractive…

"I know that you are here," she said coldly, "show yourself – coward."

So… she could feel him but still could not see what he did not wish for her to see. Her mind was untrained, but by no means weak. She fascinated him. Slowly he stepped out of the shadows; approached on silent feet until he stood behind her. Then he spoke.

"I don't know whether to congratulate you on finding my laboratory, or to feed on you to ensure your silence." She froze, the tension extending into her mind as well as her muscles. After a moment longer, he said, "Put down the weapon."

She denied him, and he opened his mind to hers again to push a little.

"You have no need of it."

-No need of it- -no need- -need-

In spite of everything, her mind responded to his, the tension in it fading to allow him further ingress…

"You are not like the others," he said. Deliberately sensual, he glided his fingers downward from her shoulders, along the length of her arms to her hands, pushing with his mind to open her fingers; to let the weapon she carried drop to the ground. "There. Much better."

"Let go of me!" she demanded, and she pulled against his hands, where he still covered her fingers with his own.

He leaned down to whisper against the side of her neck. "I will admit, when first I sensed you, I was surprised to discover that any of your kind still lived. I thought you had all been eradicated, either by my own kind or by yours. Either way, it is… interesting to see the result of it all made flesh."

"Take your hands off me," she snarled at him, her defiance excited him.

"Make me."

-Make me- -make me- - make me-

Suddenly she spun away from him and, twisting his hand, she pulled him closer. Then her balance shifted and she brought her knee upward toward his middle. He felt the move before she even began it and bent one knee beneath him, turning to take the blow against his hip. At the same time, he released the hand he held, and quickly brought his arm across to defend against the blow she aimed at him.

Using the momentum of the block, she turned an agile somersault over his left shoulder and landed behind him. He came fully to his knee and turned quickly. She was good, but he sought to test her further. He came at her, pulling no punches, moving so quickly he knew she fought to keep up with him, barely blocking the blows he made, and giving ground with each – but still she managed.

"Good," he murmured, hardly out of breath. Step by step he brought her closer to the bulkhead wall until she had nowhere left to go. He knew he could not let her live, even as fascinated with her as he was, but there was no reason that her destruction had to be a wasteful one… or in fact unpleasant… for either of them. Her eyes darted one way and then another, trying to find an opening, to make an attack of her own. He encouraged her, telegraphing an opening that was not really there. She lashed out suddenly. Easily he caught her wrist and pressed her against the wall, stepping forward to do so with the whole of him. His fingers grazed her wrist, and then passed over her palm to entwine with hers; hold her in place as he pushed his right hand against her chest.

A rage… a burning sensation deep inside of him cut him from his memories, stealing his breath, and almost bringing him to his knees. He caught himself on the side of one of the workbenches in the room, cursed himself. He had left himself open, vulnerable and careless in his fatigue; his desire for swift completion his downfall.

=how dare you!= =dare you!= =dare!=

Two of his hybrid soldiers came to his side, frowning at him in concern. He waved them away urgently.

"We must take the equipment we came to use and leave quickly!" he snapped, taking a breath.

"But—"

"She knows we are here!"

Around him his hybrids bustled into action. He kept his place, his knuckles white with effort as he gripped the side of the bench, his mind locked with hers, keeping her from any other thought, from any other action…

He growled, summoning all his anger against her intrusion, and in that rage overturned the bench on that he gripped, sending glass and other equipment to shatter against the hard floor, and his hybrids scurrying away so as not to be caught within his wrath.

**

She snarled, and lashed out blindly, narrowly missing her Commander who reached for her in concern.

"My Queen…"

She gasped, her eyes flashing open, and hissed angrily at him, until he stepped back and dropped to his knees in submission.

"Forgive me," he craved.

She took another breath and calmed. She could not allow the Renegade she sought to raise her temper so much. She knew that by the time she could dispatch any to the location from which she had felt him, he would be long gone. A wasted journey, chasing shadows, would do little for the confidence of those beneath her.

"It is nothing, my Commander," she purred and rose from her place to bring him to his feet before her, and to assure him of her attention.

"We have intercepted a transmission, my Queen. One in which I believe you will be interested," he told her.

She breathed against the back of his neck, sliding her hands over and around him, the anger of before turning to the desire of now. It had been too long… and though it must, or necessity, remain a while still, she teased herself with the notion of it.

"One of our non-subordinate Hives… was contacted by their human servants… within their feeding grounds." He clearly struggled to give the report under the teasing ministrations she bestowed. "The report was of a human woman… she… enquired of the soldiers belonging to the Abomination."

At his words, however, all thought of teasing ceased.

"Take us to that location. Subdue that Hive." she ordered.

"At once, My Queen,"

**

She hadn't gone far on her first foray out into the ship. It felt to her that with each twist and turn of the corridors she was getting more and more lost, further and further away from any hope of safety, should anything happen. Nor did she wish to accidentally stumble on one of those storage chambers she'd heard existed inside the Hive ships, where the Wraith stored their human food for later consumption.

Besides which, she didn't feel so good. The headache that had developed following her last meeting with the Queen had remained, pounding away behind her eyes, and her limbs felt heavy. And with the way she was trembling with cold she thought it likely that she was running a temperature. It was hardly any surprise to her that she'd caught a chill, wearing so little on a ship like this.

Slowly she made her way back to Todd's laboratory. While she didn't expect he'd be able to produce a bottle of Tylenol, as the resident scientist on the Hive ship, he was still the best candidate for being able to make her feel better – if he was even awake yet.

He wasn't.

She sighed, and started looking at the jars and vials on the top of his workbench. She took the stopper out of one and took an incautious breath, inhaling the scent of it. Her eyes instantly ran with tears, her throat burned and she felt the room swimming even more than it had been before. Quickly she replaced the stopper and, deciding it was probably a dangerous exercise anyway, found a place to sit and wait for Todd to wake, resting her head in her hands as she did.

Something startled her awake and she turned, almost falling from the stool on which she was sitting in her haste to turn around. He stood a little way from her, watching her silently for a long while before he spoke.

"Alicia," he said softly, "thank you."

Perhaps it was his use of her first name that made her blush, and with the blush the aching in her head increased tenfold, and she shivered. With an effort she pushed away the discomfort.

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

He tilted his head, "I was not so far gone that I did not know what you tried to do."

"Yeah, well," she started, the words coming out broken, her sentence fragmented, "Don't… get any… funny ideas from it, I—" She stopped when he looked at her in confusion. "She said I should— and you—You don't, do you? I mean… Wraith don't—"

"If you completed a sentence I might know what it is you are trying to ask," he said with amusement in his voice.

"You know damn well what I mean," she snapped, embarrassment making her angry. "She implied that if you wanted to, I should—"

"Ah," he interrupted nonchalantly, understanding registering on his face, "she sent you to my bed."

He took a step toward her and, slipping from the stool she backed up a step. "I told you," she said, "Don't… get… any—"

Her rapid movement sent the room spinning around her. Suddenly there were a dozen Todds all coming at her from different directions. She tried to avoid them all but her legs felt like water under her and she was sure the sound she could hear was the whimper she felt in the back of her throat.

One of his arms slipped around her waist, supportively, and it burned against her skin, bringing another whimper from her suddenly parched throat. Far from trying to push him away, she reached up and clung to the front of his shirt as his other hand came to rest at the side of her neck.

"How long have you been feeling like this?" he asked, worry more than evident in his voice. She wanted to answer, but she realised how tired she was, and closed her eyes. "Alicia, look at me!"

"Hmm?" she opened her eyes and looked up at him. "Todd, I don't feel well."

"How long?" he repeated, and she felt her feet leave the floor as he lifted her and began to carry her across the room.

"I don't know," she let her head fall against his shoulder, "An hour… maybe…. two…?"

"Did anyone else see you like this?" he asked in the same way.

She frowned in confusion, lifting her head again to try and see him. "What? No, I… I don't think so, I—" She broke off when she saw where he was taking her, and started to struggle weakly in his arms, "Oh no, you… just because she said you could, I—"

**

He set her down then, held her in place on his cot. He would hold her until she exhausted her struggles against him if necessary. "Alicia Vega, listen to me, you are sick. I think I can help you, but you must stop fighting me."

"You think you can help?" she stopped struggling and made a grab for his shirt instead, "What do you mean, you… think?"

"Before you were sent to us, the one you call Michael infected you with the Hoffan Protein. I have been working to perfect a cure for the disease, but I cannot be certain that it will be effective."

He saw fear and understanding enter her face as his words finally got through to her.

"Please…" She made another attempt to reach for him, but he caught her hand, and pressed it back down against the top of the bed as he covered her with a blanket. If he could administer his treatment, and it took effect before any other saw her, then all would not yet be lost. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and, for just a moment, a feeling of sympathy began to stir inside him. "Help me… I'm going to die…?"

He pushed aside the feeling. If she died, then it meant that he had failed, and if he failed in this, then the chances of his own survival became little more than slim.

"Not if I can help it," he assured her.

**

"Remember," Sheppard said to the team as they assembled after coming through the Gate. "These are Wraith Worshippers, they're likely to shoot first, ask questions later. The communication McKay intercepted says they have a woman captive, she was here asking about Michael's people. It's likely Teyla. We go in, we find her, get her out, and come home. Questions?" He looked around as the marines, and Ronon, shook their heads. He didn't expect there would have been questions. It was fairly straightforward after all. "All right, now, we don't have much time. The message has already been sent to the Wraith, so… we're on the clock here. Let's move out."

A movement at the side of the cobbled road caught his attention, a flash of colour among the green of the foliage and he realised, too late, that they had been overheard. The native broke cover a moment later and took off at a sprint toward the nearby village.

"Stop that man!" he ordered. "No weapons."

One of the marines launched himself after the local, who, after only a moment or two, veered off toward a wooded hillside. If he made the woods, the chances were that he would never keep up with him. The local knew the terrain and would be able to double back and make his way to the village to warn them. He sighed. They would just have to keep him busy for long enough that they could reach the village first.

"You two," he pointed to two of the remaining team, "Head off after Staube, the rest of you, with me." he sighed again and, kicking at a rock in frustration, snapped, "Damn it! Is there anything else that could go wrong today?"

**

"Incoming wormhole," Banks said calmly. "It's SGC, Sir."

"Lower the shield," Woolsey ordered and started down the steps toward the floor of the Gate Room.

The man that stepped through the Gate was tall, and dark, and not at all handsome. His face was scarred on the one side, and the story was that one of his former patients had covered him with gasoline and set him on fire. His blue eyes were completely devoid of warmth as he swept his gaze around the Gate Room, and the dark suit that he wore only accentuated the impression of a brooding, crow-like presence.

Behind him, members of his team began to emerge from the wormhole, carrying boxes, or pushing larger crates on wheels. There were five of them, all fully laden.

Finally Reuben Varnerin finished his inspection of the environment and turned his gaze Woolsey's way.

"Richard Woolsey," he greeted the man, and though he sounded glad, and held out his hand for the requisite handshake, the coldness in his eyes did not change.

"Professor Varnerin," Woolsey said, shaking the man by the hand and gesturing toward the interior of the city. "Welcome to Atlantis."

"Hmm," the man answered as the wormhole disengaged behind him. "I will need assistance interfacing my equipment with the city's power and information systems."

"Of course. I'll have Doctor McKa—"

"No!" Varnerin's voice was like a bullet. "The Czech… what is his name… Zelenka? He will do."

Woolsey blinked, "All right," he said slowly, "But Doctor McKay is—"

"Didn't you hear me, Richard? I said Zelenka would be fine." he said slowly, then raised an eyebrow expectantly. "My area?"

"Of course," Woolsey shook his head, caught completely off guard, and started to move toward the corridor that led to the laboratories that had been allocated to the professor. "This way, please."