The Value of a Memory Is - Part One of Two

Chapter One - Teaser

Meir Yana should have been happy.

The sun was warm against her back and shoulders, brushing a broad stroke of pink across her nose and cheeks. A faint breeze ruffled her hair, and chilled the sweat at the nape of her neck. Trailing sand through her fingers, she lay on the shore of the lake and yawned, blissful in the peaceful environment of her birthplace.

She should have been happy, but she could not shake the gnawing sensation in her gut. There was a familiarity to this place, something dark and twisted to the memory. There were shadows beneath the sun and the wind felt harsh. Trying to shake the sensation, she delved her hand deep into the sand to enjoy the feel of its grains against her skin.

Only to scream, and lift her hand, bloodied and torn from the glass shards beneath her. The sun was gone, and the sky was empty, a deep black devoid of stars. The wind was full of whispers, and her dread turned to terror. Breath stuttering in her chest, she dragged herself to her feet, the glass ripping the skin from her feet. The hisses were louder, whispers that seemed to reverberate deep inside her skull, painfully. She staggered backwards and the trees around her grabbed at her clothes, at her hair, and pulled her inwards. With her fists she fought back, smearing red against the leaves, the scent of copper rich and heavy in the air.

She writhed within the forests embrace, vines breaking free from the dirt to wrap around her ankles and tighten, crushing bone. She screamed, her hands caught by leafy tendrils that forced themselves through her flesh and out, pierced through and through. The hissing grew louder still, but she could not cover her ears, and her screams turned to sobs, her body still pulling spasmodically against the grip of the forest.

Then there was a face, a shimmer in the darkness, pale skin that glowed despite the absence of light, and a smile she could see despite the mask across its face. Teeth, and lust, and warm saliva; it moved through the forest without effort, gliding without touching the glass floor. The vines and roots of the plants pulled away from its touch, withering and dying.

It reached her and bent its head, so she could feel the cold it exuded. Her sobs had become whimpers, and she slumped into the forest, the branches and leaves in her flesh bearing the weight of her body.

Unable to move, she could only watch as the thing bent closer, stretching out its hand towards her chest. Just as its fingers were about to touch her bare skin it paused, its head tilting slightly to the side.

She took a breath.

Its hand plunged down deep, through the thin layer of skin, past the thicker layer of fat and muscle, deeper still until its fingers pressed against her rib cage and she could do nothing but scream. She howled against the darkness as the skin shriveled and dried beneath its touch, as her muscles withered, as cataracts clouded her vision and a deep, deathly cold seeped into her heart and clenched tightly.

It beat feebly for several moments, then stuttered and died.

The cold evaporated with it, and the pain. The hand dissolved and her chest closed up around the wound. The forest pulled back, her skin knitting and healing as though it had never been breached, blood fading from the leaves and dirt beside her. With the support of the forest gone she fell, and closed her blinded eyes…

She opened them after a moment, to sun on her back and shoulders, brushing a broad stroke of pink across her nose and cheeks. A faint breeze ruffled her hair, and chilled the sweat at the nape of her neck. Trailing sand through her fingers, she lay on the shore of her home, and wondered why, when she should be at peace, she felt so afraid.

Chapter Two - Exploration

Sheppard’s first encounter with McKay had felt like an interrogation.

He had sat in the chair with his usual disregard for orders, it had lit up like a Christmas tree beneath him, and McKay had leapt upon him like he was the second coming.

How did it feel, what could he see, was it something he needed to focus on or could he operate it subconsciously?

Describing his connection to Atlantis to someone without the gene was like trying to explain color to a blind person. It just couldn’t be done.

Stepping through the Stargate to an outpost of clearly Ancient origin – he felt it. A prickle at the very back of his mind, a heightened awareness of every sensation, every shiver of arm hair and chilled breath of air. The impression of standing at the edge of a great chasm, and knowing if he took a step forward, he would fly.

John Sheppard stood in the centre of the darkened room, listened to his breathing, and opened his eyes.

“Major?”

A torch swung around in Sheppard’s direction, blazing white spots into his vision. Raising his hands defensively, he yelped. “McKay, watch where you’re putting that thing! You nearly blinded me.”

“Sorry.” The light swung downwards and revealed a pair of feet a few meters from where Sheppard stood. They paced around the floor in a small circle, the dim glow of the life-signs detector bobbing above them. Turning, Sheppard followed a narrow beam of light bouncing about the walls to find Ford on the other end, Teyla beside him and caught in the shadows.

The MALP had revealed a floor, a flash of a DHD and an interesting, if darkened, control panel. It was enough to send both Zelenka and McKay into paroxysms of excitement, pointing to the technology’s clearly Ancient origins and engaging in a quick fire discussion Sheppard didn’t try to keep up with. It was to this that McKay now walked over to, his hands playing across its surface, small clouds rising from where his fingers disturbed the dust.

“Well? You think there’s any life in that thing?”

“Just one minute.” He had it up in half the time, smug expression bathed in blossoming lights and the soft hum from the control panel.

Switching his torch off, Sheppard craned his neck back to look around the room.

The team stood in a small room brightly lit from overhead lights set into the shallow ceiling. The walls and floors were made from a rough marble, a swirl of color providing grip to the ground. The Stargate stood on a raised dais, a series of shallow steps leading down to a semi-circular computer console that flickered under McKay’s touch.

“What’s wrong with it?” Ford asked, curiously.

“New battery perhaps?” McKay rolled his eyes. “I might be a genius but even I need more than thirty seconds, Lieutenant.” His hands moved quickly over the console, and around them the lights rose, dimmed, then rose again.

Sheppard stared at them, willing them to stay on. After a brief flicker they obeyed, and he moved to stand behind McKay, looking over the scientist’s shoulder.

“Do you know what this place is?”

“You mean, more than it being an Ancient outpost?” McKay waved his hand across the Ancient keyboard and a blue display flashed up on the wall opposite. A map, like those seen in Atlantis, showed in neat lines a cross-shaped building divided into rooms and corridors. The largest lay in the south, and something pulsed within its heart, a white undulating circle.

“What is that?” Teyla asked, looking up at the display.

“Power source.” McKay’s eyes widened eagerly. “Could be a ZPM.”

“It doesn’t look very well,” Sheppard observed, looking at the map. One of the t-sections was dimmer than the rest, its shape traced thinly in grey against the dark blue backdrop.

“Hmm.” The scientist moved his hands across the keys, causing the map to shift. It retained its original shape but the outline of the rooms was replaced by a thin cobweb of white lines leading out from the southern core. Towards the Stargate, lying at the centre of the cross, the web seemed brighter, its strands pulsating warmly. Towards the outer, dimmed t-section they faded into black. “Looks like there’s been some structural damage. Power coverage is sporadic, and has failed completely in the eastern wing. The computer seems to have redirected it to the western and northern sections, but with our arrival it had to divert energy here.”

“Hence the flickering,” Sheppard guessed.

“Precisely. It seems to have stabilized for the moment.”

“Anything else?”

“Sensors are picking up some strange readings from the planet’s surface.” The Canadian’s forehead crinkled into a frown.

“Strange as in…” he prompted.

“Strange.” McKay took several paces to his left to study another section of the console. “There’s some sort of atmospheric disturbance. High levels of methane and hydrogen.”

“So not a vacation spot?” Sheppard joked.

“Not unless you want to asphyxiate in a matter of seconds, no.”

“Is it natural?” Ford asked, looking nervously at the display.

“About as natural as any gas planet, yes.”

“And we’re not…” Aiden hesitated. “I mean, the air in here seems…”

McKay sighed, his patented ‘I’m surrounded by idiots’ breath of air. “Lieutenant, if we were in any immediate danger of suffocating I would be the first one dialing up Atlantis. We’re fine. There seems to be a perfectly functioning life support system that isn’t in danger of failing for, oh, another couple of hundred years. Give or take.”

“And yet,” Teyla said softly, “the Ancients have not been here for several thousand.”

“No.” The air smelt musty, and despite the bright lights the room still seemed full of shadows. It reminded Sheppard of first arriving in Atlantis, of the same sense of untouched history – but unlike his new home, here the darkness was not dispelled by their arrival. “McKay, are we in any danger here?”

“No.” The physicist glanced back down at the controls. “As long as power output stays as it is, there won’t be any problems. The system has coped for this long, Major – it’s not about to break down thanks to our arrival.”

“Just thought I’d check.” He leant closer to the scientist, knowing his proximity was royally irritating McKay. “So what is this place?”

McKay huffed loudly, and took a deliberate step to the left. “If you want an answer to that question I suggest you give me some space to work. Go see if you can light something up, alright?”

Sheppard grinned, but moved back. “Sure.” He shifted the straps on his backpack. “Ford, stay here with McKay. Teyla, you’re with me. We’ll go check out the western side of the complex.” He headed to the doorway on the opposite wall to the Stargate, Teyla beside him.

“Be careful.”

He stopped and turned to look back at McKay. The scientist’s head was lowered in deep concentration.

Gaul and Abrams had died only two weeks previously.

John said nothing, but the pack felt a little heavier as he moved out into the corridor.

Chapter Three - The Spirits of '76

If it were not for the atmosphere, Sheppard might have mistaken the main corridor running through the outpost as a stroll through Atlantis. The musty smell of long abandonment lay heavily in the air, mingled with dust and shadows. They passed darkened transporter alcoves which ignored his hardest thoughts, locked rooms which would not open, and others that lay barren and bare, devoid of life. Familiar withered husks perched in each corner, skeletons of past plants. Even the bubbling tanks of green liquid, identical to the ones on Atlantis for which no purpose had yet been found, lay stagnant and still.

Teyla padded silently at his side, her weapon drawn and carried lightly across her chest. The only sound was Sheppard’s own footsteps against the floor, and a distant hum of energy the origin of which he couldn’t place.

“It is too quiet.”

He glanced across at Teyla. “Take out all the people and Atlantis is the same.”

She shook her head. “There it is possible to hear the ocean, the wind outside the city walls. Here the only life is artificial.” She stopped, frowning. “Do you feel that?”

He blinked. “Feel what?”

“Here.” She reached out and took his hand, gently tugging him down to a kneeling position. Bemused, he followed her lead as she pressed his hand to the floor. “What –“

“Shh,” she reprimanded. “What do you feel?”

He sighed, but obeyed. The floor was made of a rock similar to marble and felt cool to the touch. At first he sensed nothing but its smoothness against his fingertips, and he felt increasingly uncomfortable and foolish, with Teyla knelt beside him looking up expectantly. Then, after several more seconds, he felt something.

“What’s that?”

An intense, muffled vibration passed through his fingers to his wrist, sending a fine tremor through his joints.

“There is immense power running beneath us.” Teyla rose, and he followed, wiping dusty hands on his pant legs. “But Doctor McKay said that the power supply is sporadic and this place has been abandoned for thousands of years.”

He followed her line of thought, a knot building in his stomach. “So what is it powering?”

“I do not know.”

Sheppard tensed, and hit the talk button on his radio. “McKay, come in. How are things going?”

The response echoed in the empty corridor. “Oh, peachy, Major. Getting information from this machine is rather like getting blood from a stone but otherwise, fine.”

“I always thought you had a God complex,” Sheppard jibed.

“Hah hah.” There was a slight pause, and the muffled sound of metal against metal. “Even computers aren’t immortal and the constant power fluctuations have done this one some damage.”

“Yeah,” he drawled, “about that. Just how much power are we talking about, McKay? A fully charged ZPM? And what is it powering?”

“All good questions, Major, and if I had the answers I would tell you. But again I’d like to remind you – not God.” There was a thoughtful pause. “A lesser deity, perhaps. Something with a devout following.”

“And my grandma taught me not to worship false idols,” put in Ford, his mutter carrying clearly over the radio.

Sheppard grinned.

“I’d have more answers if I could see the power core.”

He hesitated, glancing at Teyla. “Is the structure stable?”

“Perfectly.”

“And life signs –“

“None have spontaneously burst into existence since the last time I checked, no. Lieutenant Ford will be with me if I run into any ghosts.”

“Alright,” he allowed. “Lieutenant?”

“Yes Major?”

“Stay close to McKay. Don’t allow him to wander off, and watch what he touches, okay?”

“Sit Scooby. Good dog.”

“Hey!” Ford protested.

“Play nicely,” Sheppard scolded, mildly. “Daphne and I will continue exploring the west side.” He flicked the radio off and turned to meet Teyla’s bemused expression.

“This is another Earth expression?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Kind of.”

She gave him a despairing look, then turned away and continued down the corridor. Sheppard gave his 9mm a reassuring pat and followed. They passed a series of rooms, each hidden in the dark and refusing to light, only giving up their secrets when Sheppard cast his torch towards them. Each one had the same lonely feel. An empty laboratory. An office, desk and chair coated in dust.

“I do not like this place,” Teyla admitted, looking about at the shadows. “It feels… abandoned.”

Sheppard moved away from the room and back out into the corridor, continuing their exploration. “So was Atlantis,” he reminded her.

“I know.” He saw her shoulders tense beneath the straps of her pack. “But the Ancients left Atlantis voluntarily. Here it feels as though…” She paused. “I have visited communities decimated by the Wraith. Entire villages taken by Hive ships, their houses empty, ablaze. This feels similar.”

“Ghost towns,” he supplied.

She glanced at him. “Both you and Doctor McKay have used that word.”

He frowned, confused. “What word?”

“Ghost.”

He gave an irrational shiver, and pressed onwards.

The lights were brighter up ahead. Sheppard guessed they were reaching the furthest end of the western section. “Well,” he continued, trying to remain breezy, “we know the Ancients left Atlantis because of the Wraith. And they were bound to have outposts across the Pegasus Galaxy. Maybe they just left this one in a rush.”

“Perhaps.” Teyla didn’t seem convinced.

Ahead the corridor drew to an end. Several large, double doors formed the opposite wall, reaching up to the ceiling, two panes of mottled glass set into their surface. There were lights in the room beyond, a glow that spilled through the glass and splashed color onto the floor.

Sheppard had the sudden, horrible sensation that the outpost had deliberately led them there. He approached the doors and was not surprised when they opened instantly.

Cautiously he stepped inside.

After a long moment, Sheppard’s hand slipped down to his radio. “McKay, Ford? You’re needed at our position. There’s something you have to see.”

Chapter Four - Coffee and Biscuits

“Well?” McKay demanded, wheezing slightly, bending over and bracing his hands against his thighs. “What did you –“ pant, “find?”

Sheppard exchanged a glance with Teyla. The Athosian dropped her head and looked away, to where Ford was standing at smart attention.

“Lieutenant.” Sheppard looked down to Aiden’s hands. “You can put your gun away, Ford.”

Aiden looked confused. “Sir? I thought there were no life signs other than us?”

“There aren’t.” He winced. “Not exactly.”

McKay straightened with difficulty, a scowl on his face. “Could you be a little more ambiguous, Major?

Sheppard gave a grim smile and stepped towards the door.

The room was about the same height as the jumper bay, but longer, the side walls curving around to meet each other, the opposite wall hidden behind a stack of shelves and racks. On every flat surface and stacked against every wall was a stasis chamber – seven foot high, several feet wide, done up in ornate gold and detailed metal.

And each one was occupied.

The room felt cold. Sheppard’s breath formed small puffs of condensation in the air before dissipating. He took a step forward, then another, his legs feeling stiff and awkward beneath him. Even on this, his second entrance, his brain was no closer at comprehending what he saw before him.

“Ancients,” McKay breathed.

Row upon row of them. All adults, from first glance, men and women no younger than Ford, all dressed in simple white robes and sharing the same expression of relaxed contentment. They lay encased in golden metal, a sheet of clear glass separating them from the outside world and giving Sheppard and his team a clear view within each one.

At the centre of the room facing the door stood a wide console and a bank of crystals similar to the ones used in the Atlantis control room. McKay walked over to it, dropping his pack to the floor and running his hands across its surface.

“I guess we know what all the power was for,” Sheppard said.

Teyla nodded. She took a step towards one of the chambers. Its occupant was an elderly man with a shock of unkempt white hair that spread out across the case behind him like a halo. Teyla’s fingers brushed the glass surface delicately. “They have slept for all this time?”

“I’m guessing.” Sheppard glanced towards the scientist. “McKay?”

His surroundings forgotten, McKay seemed intensely fascinated by the workings of the console. He touched a crystal slab at the console’s edge and above him a holographic display flickered into existence. On it was displayed a map of the room, with small Ancient script detailing information about each chamber. Another touch and McKay changed the display to show the workings of a chamber, with signs and symbols Sheppard didn’t understand.

“Amazing,” McKay breathed. “The power needed to keep just one of these chambers operational for this long is astounding.” He looked up at Sheppard, his eyes bright with excitement. “Major, there may be more than one ZPM here.”

“Woah.” Sheppard raised a hand quickly. “I think that whatever the power supply is here, it’s in use.”

The physicist rolled his eyes despairingly. “I’m not suggesting we just rip it out and return to Atlantis with it. But where there is one there may be many. There may even be spares.” He returned his gaze back to the display. “This isn’t the only chamber.”

“There are more?” Ford asked, disbelievingly.

“There’s an identical power output being sent to the northern section. I suspect the eastern section holds the same but…” McKay hesitated, his hands running over the crystals and bringing up image after image, schematics of the outpost and its innards. “It’s dead.”

“Was it populated?” Sheppard asked, curling his fingers around the straps of his pack.

McKay frowned. “I don’t – wait, yes. It was,” he added, deliberately emphasizing the second word. “If it held similar to the numbers in this room, we’re talking – seventy, eighty people?”

“And they are all dead?” Teyla asked. “Would the Ancients not build a safeguard to prevent that?”

“Probably. But…” McKay swept his hand across the console display and frowned, “if there was, it didn’t work.”

“Any reason why?” Sheppard prompted.

“The outpost is ten thousand years old, Major. At this point all bets are off.”

Ford was shaking his head. “I don’t get it. Why stay in stasis for that long?”

The scientist shrugged. “This far down below the planet’s surface, the outpost is immune from Wraith attacks. The computer controls the life support to the chambers and there is enough power to keep them active for thousands of years.”

“But why?” Ford pressed. “Why not go through the ‘gate, leave like the people in Atlantis did?”

“Good question.” Sheppard moved to the chamber nearest the door, propped up against the wall. In it lay a woman of similar age to Teyla, her skin as pale and fragile as china, long blonde hair spilling down past her shoulders. She was, Sheppard thought, quite beautiful, with a well defined jaw line and legs tapering down to slender ankles, fine white cloth folding over the curve of her breasts and falling from her hips. He took a step closer, looking past the glass to the face within, her eyes closed in peaceful sleep.

No. Not peaceful. The look of relaxed contentment he had previously imagined on the faces of the room’s occupants was a lie, easily mistakable on a brief glance. But as he stared at the figure in the chamber he saw fine lines around her eyes, her lips pressed firmly together as though in pain, her hands curled into fists and the nails digging into the skin of her palm.

“McKay,” he began.

The wail of an alarm cut him off, a high pitched, insistent siren that emanated from the chamber beside him. The lights of the pod flickered then went out, shrouding the woman in darkness.

Sheppard turned to see McKay staring back at him, a panicked look in his eyes. “What did you touch!”

“Me!” the scientist shot back. “Nothing! Well – nothing I wasn’t familiar with. What about you – you’re stood next to it! What did you think?”

“Nothing,” he retorted, though he thought back quickly – no, nothing, nothing like ‘wake’ or ‘off’ or ‘open’. The computer running the outpost was unfamiliar, but it still handled with the same amount of control.

McKay turned back to the console, his hands frantically hitting crystals. “Power to the chamber Is fluctuating. I’m trying to control the output but I…”

Sheppard never heard the rest of McKay’s explanation. There was the sound of glass shattering under the brutal force of a fist and then suddenly a hand had locked around the side of his throat and had yanked him backwards against the stasis chamber. He choked, scrabbling at his neck futilely, trying to arch back from the broken shards of glass which dug into his shoulders. A scream rent the air, a desperate, inhuman keening that wound deep into his ears, over the sound of the alarm and panicked shouts from his teammates.

Looking upwards, Sheppard saw a pale female hand flail above him, reaching out and grasping at the air. He gasped against the pressure on his throat, gagged and fought but the hand held him with an inhuman strength, the thumb pressing against his windpipe. The edges of his vision started to turn to gray, the color bleaching from his surroundings, and he was aware of a deep throated buzzing in the back of his head that sent vibrations through his skull. He grasped feebly at the hand on his throat, nails digging into flesh, but then the final spurt of adrenaline failed him and he closed his eyes, his legs turning liquid beneath him…

The air beside Sheppard’s right ear suddenly exploded and he felt warm liquid splatter against the side of his face. Almost instantly the grip on his throat relaxed, then fell away – as did he, slumping against the chamber, his knees folding beneath him. Someone grabbed him by the elbow, steadying his descent to the floor. With his knees up to his chest he bent over, dropping his head and gagging, his chest heaving, lungs constricting tightly.

He became aware of a warm hand rubbing gentle circles against his back, and a soft voice beneath the high pitched ringing in his ears. “Deep breaths, Major. Slowly, in and out.”

Obediently John did as he was told, and gradually the heaves lessened to an intense wheezing, and the pain around his chest lessened enough to allow him to speak. “What,” gasp, “happened?”

“Power to the chamber failed. I tried rerouting the supply but there wasn’t time, the computer must have an emergency failsafe.”

Slowly Sheppard lifted his head to see McKay’s feet stood a few meters ahead, then looked up to see the scientist, pale and frightened, wringing his hands in panic.

“It woke her up,” McKay said, then shook his head despairingly. “Just like that. I tried to stop it but…” He broke off, and looked at Sheppard with a strange, detached expression. “Are you alright?”

He took a deep breath and felt it burn against his lungs. “Will be.”

“Good. Good.” The scientist wrapped his arms around himself in a tight hug. “Ah – you have blood on your face.”

Confused, Sheppard lifted two trembling fingers to his cheek. They came away wet and red.

“It is not yours,” Teyla reassured him, her voice a soft rumble against his ear.

“I had to stop her.” Aiden was stood to Sheppard’s right – he could see the younger man’s boots. His voice sounded hesitant, nervous. “She was going to kill you, sir.”

With great difficulty Sheppard managed to lever himself onto his knees, then with Teyla’s hand beneath his arm he rose to an awkward standing position, pressing his back against the wall for support. He turned to look at the chamber – then immediately wished he hadn’t.

The sleeper was dead, her pretty face now a mulch of gray matter and white bone against the inside of the chamber that had held her for thousands of years. One arm still dangled out of the pod, caught on the broken glass ceiling she had punched through.

“You had no choice,” Teyla said softly.

Sheppard dragged his gaze away from the corpse and looked at Ford. “Thanks,” he said, intently.

Aiden hesitated, then nodded. “Are you okay, sir?”

He swallowed convulsively and winced. “Throat hurts. Shoulder too.” He paused. “Teyla…”

She moved a few inches to examine his wounds. “Several shallow cuts, but there is no glass. I believe your pack protected you from the worst.”

“Huh.” He offered both Ford and McKay an empty grin and levered himself off the wall to stand without Teyla’s support. “I’m fine.”

McKay frowned deeply but turned away, back to the console. “We should go back to the Stargate.” His breath hitched, then smoothed out, adopting a distanced, scientific detachment. “I was wrong about the system’s stability. The outpost computer developed a finely balanced network to cope with the gradual failure of its power source and our arrival must have disrupted that. We should go back to the southern section and stay there until we can boost the system.”

“Agreed,” Sheppard said, rubbing his throat and grimacing.

Down the Rabbit Hole

Now they were back in the well lit corridor McKay seemed to have conquered his earlier fears and had relaxed a little. Scanner held loosely in one hand, he weaved a path ahead of the others, looking into the rooms to the left and right of the corridor.

“I’m picking up some unusual energy readings.”

“Gee,” said Sheppard, hating the rasp of his voice, “there’s something new.”

He was ignored. McKay swung dramatically to the right, then back to the left, engrossed in the scanner’s display.

“McKay,” he snapped irritably, his voice hoarse. “If you don’t start walking in a straight line I really will have Ford put a leash on you.”

The scientist snorted, but didn’t lift his head from the scanner. “Always resorting to violence. Typical military mindset.”

“There’s rope in my pack,” Ford volunteered optimistically.

“McKay,” Sheppard growled.

“Alright.” Blue eyes lifted briefly from the scanner to shoot him a glare. “We don’t have to rush.”

“You said…” Ford began, exasperated.

“I know what I said. But the closer we get to the Stargate the stronger the system becomes. This area is almost entirely stable and that gives us an opportunity.” His eyes gleamed. “Just think what we could learn! An abandoned outpost powered by at least one ZPM and the possibility of back-ups, who knows how much technology locked away, and, oh, a couple of hundred Ancients as well!”

“One of whom tried to kill Major Sheppard,” Teyla put in pointedly.

“Yes, well.” He waved a hand dismissively, but dropped it with a guilty look when he caught Sheppard glaring at him. “I’m sure it was just a reflex from being woken too quickly.” His gaze dropped back to the scanner. “Radek will be green when he finds out he missed this. Hell, the entire department…”

“Will geek out over it, I’m sure.”

McKay shot him another pointed look. “They might if we had a better idea of what this outpost is for.”

“You think there’s anything here that could help us fight the Wraith?” Ford asked.

“Could be.”

“Nothing external,” Teyla noted. “If this outpost is shielded by the planet environment, there would be no need to protect it from Wraith attacks.”

“True,” McKay mused. “But there might be other weapons. Maybe some more personal shields. Or chemical weapons…”

A distinctly ill expression crossed Aiden’s face. “Chemical weapons?” he asked, and swallowed. “I think I’ve had enough of the Ancient’s experiments.”

Though his gaze was still buried in the scanner, McKay’s expression flickered, and Sheppard glimpsed both grief and guilt before it was plastered over with a breezy: “Nothing medical, not from what we’ve seen. The layout of the labs suggests something mechanical, not chemical. Of course,” he added, looking purposefully at Sheppard, “if I could have a proper look…”

“McKay,” he growled, warningly.

“Oh come on,” the scientist wheedled. “Give me one good reason why we should pass this all up.”

“Oh,” he retorted, “I don’t know, maybe because one of the inhabitants just tried to strangle me?”

“I can see why that might put you off,” McKay admitted with a lack of grace. “But as long as we avoid accidentally switching off any more stasis chambers we should be fine. Major, this place is a goldmine in terms of discovery and technology.”

“We have not yet found anything of importance,” Teyla pointed out. “The laboratories appear empty.”

“So far. But we’ve only explored a fraction of this place and even if the labs are entirely empty – which I doubt - that still leaves any knowledge in the computer as well as possible power source.”

“But isn’t that powering the stasis chambers?” Ford objected. “We can’t just take it.”

McKay rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t about to suggest mass murder, Lieutenant. But there may be spares. And there is always the solution of waking them up.”

“Not just now,” Sheppard interrupted, rubbing at his throat. It felt sore to the touch and it hurt to swallow, and he knew there would soon be bruises beneath his fingers. “Let’s speak to Elizabeth first.”

“Ah, yes. What exactly are we going to tell her?” McKay was unable to hide the smugness from his expression. “We found an Ancient outpost and a couple of hundred Ancients but we don’t have any real information because we got a little spooked?”

“One of those Ancients is now dead because of our eagerness,” Teyla interrupted, her voice low.

McKay had the sense to back down, his eyes flitting to Ford. “I know,” he admitted, soberly.

Sheppard sighed heavily. Despite his own misgivings – understandable, he felt, under the circumstances – McKay was right. The outpost had more potential than any previous discovery and to return to Atlantis empty handed made little sense. “Alright,” he agreed, slowly. “We’ll explore a couple of rooms. But no more stasis chambers, and I want you to keep a close eye on the power levels.”

McKay made a satisfied noise. “Of course.” His gaze dropped back to the scanner and he resumed his weaving path down the corridor.

His team followed, warily. Teyla moved with caution in every step, gazing at the rooms as they passed.

“I wish we knew why the inhabitants of this base are in stasis.”

“Maybe they’re hiding out from the Wraith,” Aiden suggested. One hand rested gently on the butt of his gun. It had not gone unnoticed by Sheppard that the younger man’s enthusiasm had evaporated after the death of the female Ancient. “This planet is pretty invulnerable.”

“But why would they not return to Earth with the rest?” Teyla said, softly.

Ford shrugged. “Maybe they stayed to be protectors, like Chaya.”

“But they’ve been in stasis all that time,” Sheppard pointed out. “They don’t seem to be protecting anything.”

“Perhaps they did not know of the others leaving,” Teyla suggested. “Or perhaps they chose to simply wait until they returned.”

“Long time to wait.” Sheppard glanced at McKay, but the scientist had disappeared from view, ducking around a corner in the corridor. “Dammit. McKay!”

The scientist had drawn to a stop outside a large, ornate door set into the right wall. Its surface was a golden color, and pretty blues and greens formed a large pane of glass in its centre. McKay was bouncing gently on his heels, and turned to thrust the scanner into Sheppard’s view.

“Do you see that power burst? Something big is in here.”

“More stasis chambers?” Ford asked.

“No, the pattern is wrong for that. But something…” Rodney trailed off, peering at the scanner, then looking up at Sheppard. “A couple of rooms,” he said, then before anyone could protest he hit the panel and the door opened.

The view was spectacular in its emptiness. No bigger than the conference room back at Atlantis, the floors and walls were white, and scored with black lines in a large grid pattern. On the right wall there was a stone bench running along one side, and on the opposite was set a large window elevated several meters off the ground. Whatever lay beyond was shrouded in darkness.

McKay stuck his head through the doorway, glanced briefly at the scanner, then stepped inside. He trotted across to the window whilst his teammates followed, showing more caution.

Sheppard moved to the right and allowed one hand to trace across the surface of the bench. The marble was cool to his touch, but unlike the rest of the base it seemed mysteriously dust free. “What is this?”

McKay hemmed, standing on his tiptoes to peer futilely in at the dark window. “An observation room of some sort. There’s a faint energy signature indicating some heavy duty power cables beneath the floor and…” His explanation trailed off, his gaze lifting to the ceiling. “Huh.”

“Huh? Is that a bad ‘huh’ or a good ‘huh’?”

“Hmm.”

Sheppard rolled his eyes, then pushed back from the bench and followed McKay’s gaze upwards. The scientist was staring with intense interest at the ceiling – specifically, at several oddly shaped funnel devices built into the corners, and a square metal grill at its center. “What are they?”

“I’ll need a closer look.” McKay glanced back at the window. “Whatever is in there should be of use.”

There was a sudden, soft swishing sound. Sheppard turned to see Ford leap back from the left hand wall. One of the white tiles was suddenly moving forward.

“What the hell?”

“I only bumped it!” Aiden protested, taking several steps back.

The tile moved out further, revealing a thick shelf built into the wall at about two feet from the floor. It was both wide and long enough, Sheppard realized, to remind him of only one thing.

“It appears to be a bed,” Teyla said, taking a cautious step towards the shelf. She reached out with one hand and patted the soft mattress.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Sheppard murmured.

Still stood below the window, McKay made a sudden, alarmed noise. “Lieutenant, I don’t know what you just activated but the power input to this room has suddenly increased ten fold…”

It was Teyla’s turn to raise an alarm. “Major!”

Feeling a sudden buzz of adrenaline spiked panic, Sheppard turned in time to see the great, ornate door slide shut. He crossed the room in several strides, but was too late to do anything except pound a fist against its surface. “Dammit!” Turning, he demanded of McKay: “Get it open!”

McKay, suddenly looking a little pale, gave several quick nods. “Right.” Slipping the scanner back into his vest, he moved quickly to the door, his fingers scrabbling at its surface. “I need to get into this control panel. If I can reroute the override switch…”

“Major!” Aiden again, stood with one hand pointing upwards. The metal funnels in the ceiling were suddenly alive, venting a thick white smoke which curled downwards towards the rooms occupants.

Sheppard whirled around to where McKay had managed to lever off the door panel. The scientist’s left hand was up to its elbow in wires. “I’m trying!” he snapped, before John could utter a word. “I…“ A blue shower of sparks erupted from the panel, causing his hand to jerk backwards. “Dammit!”

“Get it open,” Sheppard ordered him, turning to his team. The white fog was descending quickly, leaving the oddly sweet taste of aniseed on his lips. “Teyla, see if you can break the glass of that room. Lieutenant ,” and he gestured towards the funnels with one hand, the other pressing his sleeve over his face.

Aiden nodded, clambering up on the bed quickly. Sheppard did the same, stepping up onto the bench to reach out blindly to the ceiling. There was a funnel just above his head, but it was now lost amidst the smoke. Fumbling, his hand connected with something oddly shaped and metal. The mist was making it hard to think, and his reactions seemed sluggish, his fingers unresponsive.

Below him, Teyla was hammering at the glass with the butt end of her P90, but though the muscles of her arms trembled with the effort it was having little effect.

“Try shooting it!” Aiden called out, before cutting off with a cough, his head and upper torso hidden from Sheppard’s view by the fog.

“No!” McKay called out urgently. “Bad idea! If it’s bullet proof the ricochet could…” He paused, coughing. “Could…”

“McKay!” Sheppard called out, alarmed, hearing the slur in his friend’s voice. There was no response, but after a second he heard the soft sound of a body hitting the floor.

“Major Shep…” Another cough from Aiden, then Sheppard saw a dark figure fall past him. He reached out to try and grab the Lieutenant, only for a wave of dizziness to grip him. He stumbled, lost his footing, and fell into the white.

Tappan Traveler

When John was eight, his father built him a rope swing in the back garden.

A length of strong, sturdy rope looped several times around the thickest branch of an old cherry tree that stood in the centre of the Sheppard’s oversized yard. The other end was tied securely around a tire John’s father had rescued from the dregs of a garage sale.

John loved it. It was his third favorite childhood present, below the bike he had been gifted with for his tenth birthday, and his uncle’s well-beloved collection of Airfix airplane models that hung from the ceiling until he moved out to college.

Now he was twelve years old, and a growth spurt had forced his parents to ban him from the swing. He was too heavy, the tree was too weak, it was too dangerous. Each warning came with a ticked off finger. When the garden was occupied he would obey the command, but if his mother was busy in the front room, and his father was working away, John would sneak out to the back yard and spend a happy hour feeling the breeze against his face.

He was always caught. If not found in the act, then the patch of worn turf and mud beneath the swing was a giveaway. John would receive a strict lecture from his mother, then be back out on the tire only hours later.

His father was away, fighting a war John didn’t understand, and his mother was in the front garden tending to her roses. John, tall and gangly, with skin tanned by the sun and a shock of unruly hair that refused to obey his mother’s clippers, stepped lightly down the garden path until he reached the cherry tree.

Reverently he reached out and touched the bark, rough and gnarled with age. With foresight came certainty – this would be his last ride, the last game. A month from now his mother would sit him down on the couch and tell him, with a soft voice and sad eyes, that she had cancer. Six months later it was just him and his dad, returned from service.

He laced one hand around the rope and curled the other beneath. It rubbed against blisters on his skin, formed through the many months. More evidence to betray his disobedience. With ease he pulled his weight up and laced his long legs around the tire, bending his knees so his feet wouldn’t touch the ground.

The movement caused the tire to swing, and John rocked his body forward, building momentum. His speed started to increase, as did his height, lifting him three or four meters into the air at its peak, dropping him close to the ground in the dip, his shoes scuffing against the mud. The wind whistled past his ears, the branch above him creaked in protest, and John Sheppard closed his eyes and dreamt he was flying.

There was a sudden, very loud snap, and then he was.

Flying through the air, hurtling up for what seemed like several beautifully long seconds, the blue sky beneath him and the ground above, John unlocking his hands from the useless rope and stretching out. Gravity, seeming to remember its responsibility, took hold moments later and he dropped exactly like a bird doesn’t, landing on the sun-baked ground torso first, putting one hand out to cushion the impact. His arm made a horrible noise, the sound of snapping bone, and crumpled beneath him, crushed by his body.

With a supreme effort John managed to roll over and then lay with his back against the grass, panting heavily against the pain and cradling his broken arm to his chest. Dimly he heard his mother scream, but it seemed at a great distance, and oddly unimportant. Disconnectedly Sheppard stared up into the brilliant blue sky and grinned.

“To boldly go where no one has gone before,” Rodney chorused. He kept his voice soft, careful not to disturb the body lying curled against his.

She had fallen asleep before the end of the movie, a chick-flick he had grudgingly allowed her to pick in penance for his late arrival to dinner. With great care he had managed to extricate the television remote from down a crack in the sofa and now rested it gently on his thigh with one hand poised over the volume button.

She stirred a little at the theme music, released a soft sigh, and pressed herself closer into his shoulder. Her arm looped lightly across his waist and McKay could feel the movements of her chest as she breathed.

Her hair tickled his chin and he wriggled his nose ineffectually. Carefully releasing his hold on the remote he lifted his hand and scratched the offended area, then dropped it so his fingers could gently caress her cheek. Her lips moved in a silent whisper of words, then stilled.

Turning his gaze from the television screen, Rodney looked across the room to the remains of a candlelit dinner, and the coat he had thrown so carelessly across the back of a chair. He dropped his eyes to stare at a bulge in the jacket pocket, square shaped and bulky. It had formed an odd, alien weight, knocking uncomfortably against his hip as he had walked back to the lab from the shop, moving quickly to avoid running over his allocated lunch hour.

When she had been in the kitchen fetching the specially prepared, citrus free desert, he had pulled it out. He had rested the item in his hand, closed his fingers over its surface, opened it quickly to catch a glimpse of silver and sparkles. Now or never, he told himself, fight or flight, he whispered. To prove he was everything his mother accused him of not being.

Of being capable of something more, something stronger than what he paraded before his fellow scientists. More than brains, more than knowledge.

Now or never.

She shifted again, her left leg pushing gently between his. Rodney moved obediently, their bodies entwining on the sofa, feeling her breath hot against his skin.

Who was he kidding?

He buckled, picked never, and became the coward his sister said he was.

Tomorrow he would take it back to the shop.

Teyla curled into the crook of her father’s arm, and allowed herself a sleepy smile as his fingers gently brushed her hair.

She loved his hands. They were large, dangerous with their strength, but gentle in their ministrations. Calluses ran across the surface of his palm, a result from toiling against wood and sweat beneath the hot, seasonal sun. Thick, raised veins formed a pattern across the back, and when curled against him she would trace her own, soft fingers against them and feel his pulse against her skin.

It had been his hands she had seen first, lying beneath a dense bush amidst the leaves and twigs of the forest floor. They had parted the branches deftly then reached down to pick her up without effort, and pull her, sobbing, to his chest.

Later, he would scold her, and look forbidding, and for a short while, deny her the respect she craved from him. She was too young, he had told her, to go into the forest alone. She had made promises to her mother, and then broken them, and been lost for hours as punishment.

But that was later. That night there were no recriminations, not from her father, whose arms had carried her the whole way back to the village. And not from her mother, who had burst into tears at the sight of them, and held them both in a deep, tight embrace. Teyla had then been whisked off to bathe, change from her torn and muddy clothes, and then been instructed to sit on the bed whilst her mother had carefully brushed her long hair.

For once Teyla had not protested. She sat silently and allowed her mother to tug and pull at the rebellious strands without once raising a note of complaint. And when her mother’s breath had hitched, and the brush’s movements had stilled, Teyla had turned and wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist, and promised brokenly that she would never, ever, run off on her own again.

His grandmother had perfected the call over many years, accenting the ‘d’ and dragging the ‘a’ and ‘I’ into a drawl, the tone rising to a higher pitch on the second syllable. It was casual, familiar, and more reassuring than the fast stutter of his name that scolded and reprimanded.

“Aiden!”

This time it held a note of urgency and impatience. Aiden took the stairs two at a time, his cousin Josh just behind him, their feet pounding on the floorboards.

Josh’s elder sister Marissa stood at the bottom, her arms folded, and looking more and more like Ford’s aunt every day. The eleven years between her and Josh had always given her an inflated sense of superiority, and though both Josh and Aiden were now head and shoulders above her she still took it upon herself to be their grandmother’s spokesperson.

“We were ready to serve ten minutes ago, and you said you would do the table.”

The last part was directed at Josh, fifteen years old and awkwardly insecure. He ducked his head. “I forgot.”

“There’s a surprise.” She shot a glare at Aiden. “What about you?”

“I peeled!” he protested. “Potatoes and carrots!”

“Hmm.” She scowled, turned smartly on her heel, and headed towards the kitchen. “At least you’ve both cleaned up.”

Aiden flashed her a grin, ducking underneath the ceiling and hopping down the last two steps. The den had been turned into a temporary dining area, since the kitchen was too small to hold the whole family. Three tables were covered under two large tablecloths, and an array of mismatching chairs clustered around them. His grandfather was sat at the far end, his hands clasped and resting between his knife and fork.

“Good game?” the older man asked, raising an eyebrow at his grandsons.

Aiden punched Josh on the arm gently, then dropped into a chair. “He beat me. Four out of five.”

Josh flushed, taking a seat beside his cousin. “The third game was luck.”

“Potatoes,” came a declaration from the kitchen. Meredith appeared from the kitchen, oven gloves over her hands to protect her from the heated casserole dish she now placed on the table. A simple white blouse flowed over the slight bump of her stomach. “There’s more in the kitchen.”

“Vegetables.” Aiden’s aunt followed, placing two bowls down before Josh. “You’ll eat at least two kinds,” she told him. “And you’ll like them.”

Aiden watched his cousin screw his face up in a look of disgust, and kicked him sharply under the table.

“Great,” Josh managed.

His mother smiled approvingly, then took up a seat at the opposite end to her father. “There’s sauce already on the table, and there’s a jug of juice cooling in the fridge if you finish that one.”

“Green bean salad,” came a voice from the kitchen, followed by the appearance of Lindsay, Aiden’s younger cousin and Josh’s elder sister. She deposited her cargo onto the table before taking a seat beside Meredith.

“And…” Aiden said expectantly, gripping knife and fork in his fists and holding them upright. Beside him Josh did the same.

“Turkey,” said his grandmother, stepping out of the kitchen in time with Marissa, who held the other side of the basting tray. Together they manhandled the oversized bird to place it before Aiden’s grandfather, then took the remaining seats at the table.

Aiden smiled, watching his grandfather theatrically swipe the carving knife across the sharpener with a flourish. It was a ritual that never changed despite the years, and one Aiden suddenly realized he would miss. He felt a deep, painful ache in his chest, a sensation of both longing and regret, looking around the table at his family.

A week ago he had received official notification of his acceptance onto the Atlantis expedition. Aiden still hadn’t told his family. Waiting for the right moment, he lied to himself. He had spent time away before, trapped in Cheyenne during lockdowns, or on off-world missions to alien worlds, but not like this.

To make a trip to another galaxy, and know the journey was likely to be one-way…

The excitement suddenly died within him, buried under intense pangs of homesickness and longing. He could say no, he could ask for reassignment, explain he had commitments. There were options. He didn’t have to go.

“Wait!” Marissa’s shrill voice cut abruptly through his thoughts. “Salt. We don’t have salt.”

“We can live without salt,” their grandfather said.

“No, no.” She shook her head. “It has to be done right. Aiden, go get it.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown. “What?”

“The salt,” his grandmother said, giving him a broad smile. “Make your cousin happy, Aiden.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “Sure.” Rising from the table, he left the family bickering over the vegetables and headed to the kitchen.

He had told himself this was the right time. They were all together – a rare occasion, and one that was becoming harder and harder to achieve, as his cousins grew older and built families of their own.

But now it came to it, the words would not come, and the folded paper in his pocket felt a dead weight, pulling him down.

He stepped into the kitchen and moved towards the cupboard beside the fridge. Its surface was a tribute to the family: aging photos of his parents in uniform, crude drawings done by his cousins when they were younger, a yellowed and wrinkled school report from Josh’s school. He paused for a moment to touch the edge of his parent’s photo reverently.

“Aiden!”

Meredith’s voice. He turned sharply to send back a retort, but the dining room was gone, as was the kitchen – photos evaporating under his touch, fridge and cupboards gone. He looked down to see the very floor beneath his feet fade, and he was suddenly surrounded by white…

Chapter Seven - What the Hell?

“What the hell just happened?”

McKay’s voice held just the right amount of whine to assure Sheppard that the physicist was completely unharmed. He stared at the absence of a ceiling for a second, feeling an invisible floor beneath his back, and called out cautiously: “Ford? Teyla?”

“Sir.”

“I am here, Major.” A slender hand suddenly thrust itself into his vision. He gripped it firmly and allowed Teyla to help him to his feet. He felt dizzy, and a little nauseous.

“What…” He stopped, then looked around them. “No, correction – where are we?”

There was nothing. Where there should have been walls, or a ceiling, there was merely null, a void that stretched as far as Sheppard could see. He looked to his right, then to his left, then up, but decided to avoid looking down for fear of vertigo.

“We were in that room,” Ford said, slowly. “The one on the Ancient outpost. It was full of smoke and I think I passed out.” He gave an experimental cough. “Maybe we’re dead.”

McKay rolled his eyes. “Right. And this is heaven, I suppose.”

Teyla had a deep frown on her face. “This does not resemble the resting place from the stories of my people. And I do not remember dying.”

Aiden scuffed his left boot against his right, and looked briefly down to the floor. “But, ah - did anyone else have a kind of, um, life flashing before your life moment?”

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Your entire life?”

“Well, just a small part of it. One thing, really. I…” Ford cut off and glanced up at his CO. “For a minute I was – it was like I was back home.”

“A dream,” McKay put in, his tone oddly subdued.

“No. More than a dream.” Teyla took a step forward. “It was as though I was reliving part of my life. It was part of my past, but the details were clear and I truly believed I was there.”

Sheppard looked slowly between his three team members. “Yeah,” he drawled, “I think I know what you’re talking about. I was a kid, out playing in the yard.”

“It was last Thanksgiving,” Aiden explained. “I was gonna tell my family about me leaving.”

“I was also a child,” Teyla said thoughtfully. “My father was comforting me after I had got lost in the forest.”

Sheppard glanced at McKay, who shrugged.

“I was back at my apartment, watching Star Trek.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, but was met with only a steely, determined look in return, and decided not to bother pressing the issue. “So,” he continued, struggling to understand, “we all relive some event from our past and we end up – where?”

“Not the afterlife,” McKay said, pointedly.

Sheppard glared at him. “Some answers would be nice, McKay. Any clue as to what that room did?”

The scientist scowled. “I was a little too busy falling unconscious to make any theories, Major.”

“Ah…” Ford shifted hesitantly, “what’s that?”

He pointed towards the distance where something small and dark was speeding towards them, growing larger and larger against the white. Sheppard took a step back, his hand resting on the butt of his gun, but before he could pull the weapon from its holster the shape was upon them. It resolved itself into a man; a tall, pale skinned, bald man in a long cream robe, who drew to a sudden stop in front of the group.

Dipping his head in greeting the man gave a beatific smile and gestured widely at the emptiness before burying his arms in his sleeves. “Welcome, players. Did you enjoy your prologue?”

Seeing no weapon, Sheppard lowered his hand slowly and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should start by telling us where the hell we are.”

The man gave another eerie smile. “The start. Did you enjoy your prologue?”

Teyla stepped forward, returning the man’s greeting by bowing her head. “We did, thank you. Perhaps you could tell us your name?”

“I am the guide.”

Sheppard shifted his weight between his feet, eyeing the stranger cautiously. “The guide? No name? Something a little more personal?”

“My name is Teyla Emmagan,” Teyla explained, pointing in turn at her team mates. “This is Major Sheppard, Doctor McKay, and Lieutenant Ford. We come from another planet, the city of…”

“I am the guide,” the man repeated, his expression unwavering.

“Yeah,” Sheppard interrupted, “we get it. The guide. Where are we? How did we get here?”

“You are at the start. Every player returns here after finishing a level.”

There was something oddly stilted about the man’s voice, his tone too precise, too formal. John frowned, glancing at his team mates.

McKay stood to his left, his forehead furrowed in deep concentration.

“McKay?”

Suddenly the physicist took a step forward and plunged his arm deep into the stranger’s chest. Choking in surprise, Sheppard tried to grab at McKay’s arm, but stopped when he saw the effect the invasion was having on the guide. The man’s body was flickering, his stomach distorting around McKay’s hand, but the glassy eyes and fixed smile remained.

“Hologram,” McKay declared smugly, waving his arm several times from side to side before removing his hand. The image of the guide shimmered briefly. “Obvious. The AI is pretty basic.”

“AI?” Ford asked, confused, taking a step back.

“Artificial intelligence.” The scientist started to pace around the hologram, examining it with a critical eye. The guide didn’t blink, staring calmly through McKay as though he wasn’t there. “Impressive to look at but not much for responses. I knew the Ancients were experimenting with it, the city’s computer system proves that but…”

“Hold on,” Sheppard interrupted, gesturing at the hologram, “you mean that he - it - is a computer?”

“Did I not just say that?”

“It has intelligence?” Teyla asked, crinkling her forehead.

“Hardly.” McKay came to a stop in front of the guide and stared hard at him. “You’re not real, are you?”

The hologram blinked slowly, then replied: “I am the guide. I will lead you through the game.”

“But you’re not alive?” McKay pressed. “You’re part of the computer.”

“My purpose is to…”

“I get it,” the physicist interrupted, waving a hand dismissively and skimming the surface of the projection. He turned back to his team. “It’s nothing more than coded instructions, a set of responses programmed into the computer and designed to interact with us as though it’s real. But it isn’t particularly sophisticated. I graduated with guys who could cook up something better in their lunch hour.” He paused, and said wistfully, “Some of those programs were pretty effective. There was one titled Chantelle…”

“Firmly under the subject of too much information,” Sheppard interrupted quickly. “Enough Dungeons and Dragons. Hologram or not, I want to know where the hell are we and how do we get back to the ‘gate?”

“You are in the game,” the guide helpfully explained.

“You keep saying that,” he shot back, “but that doesn’t make things any clearer.”

McKay rolled his eyes and stepped in front of Sheppard. “What is the game?” he asked, enunciating clearly.

“The game was designed to entertain the players during their sleep. By using the memories of the participants the game builds a real-time environment with which the players can interact. Each player must use their own skill set to achieve each goal and continue to the next level.”

“Virtual reality,” McKay explained, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. “The computer scans our memories and reconstructs them here.”

Sheppard massaged his arm. “It felt real enough at the time.”

“So this is like that thing in Star Trek?” Aiden asked.

He was answered with a snort. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lieutenant. The holodeck was fantasy, a scientific impossibility.” McKay turned back to the guide. “How is it done?”

“The atmosphere of the game room or chamber is carefully maintained to keep each player in a state of unconscious receptiveness,” the hologram replied, as though reciting from a manual. “Subharmonic frequencies are used to trigger the player’s sensory perceptions.”

“Think less Star Trek, more Keanu Reeves in the Matrix,” McKay summed up succinctly.

Teyla was looking increasingly confused. “So this place is not real? We are still in the locked room, unconscious?”

“And the people in the chambers,” Sheppard continued slowly. “They’re all playing this game too?”

The guide nodded. “The game was designed to entertain them while they wait.”

“While they wait for what?”

“Until the enemy is no longer a threat.”

McKay snapped his fingers triumphantly. “The Wraith.”

The hologram inclined its head. “They wait for the war to be over.”

“But…” Ford began, before a quick hand swipe from Sheppard forced him to close his mouth, sealing his response.

“So,” Sheppard continued smoothly, “how do we exit the game?”

“By completing the game.”

“No, how do we exit now?”

“You must complete the game to exit,” the hologram repeated patiently.

“We do not wish to participate in this game,” Teyla put in, taking a step forward. “We wish to return to the room we were in before.”

“You must complete…”

“Look,” Ford interrupted, “How about you tell us what we have to do to complete the game?”

The hologram fixed him with a delighted smile. “Then you are ready to begin?”

“Is that the only way we’re going to get out of here?” Sheppard demanded.

“You must complete…”

“We get it!” McKay snapped, irritably. “God, my old Commodore was more sophisticated than you.” He paused. “Could be a side-effect of the power fluctuations. I wonder…”

“McKay,” Sheppard growled, taking a deliberate step forward. He turned back to the guide. “You said there were levels, right? Easy to hard?”

The guide nodded.

“Then let’s start easy.”

Teyla’s eyes widened. “Major, are you suggesting we participate in this game?”

“Doesn’t look like we’ve got any choice.” He sighed heavily. “Give Elizabeth a couple of hours without us checking in and she’ll send a recovery team. We just have to put up with this for as long as it takes them to get us out of here.”

She looked doubtful, but nodded. “Very well. Must we play alone?”

“Single or group,” the guide said, “but skill sets cannot be shared.”

“Group,” Sheppard said, without pausing.

The hologram nodded, clapped its hands, and disappeared. The white light that surrounded the team started to dim, filling the space with shadows. Alarmed, Sheppard turned to see Teyla and Ford fading, their outlines growing indistinct, dissolving into twisted silhouettes before vanishing into the black.

“Major!” McKay was panicking, backing away from the darkness that now surrounded them. “What did you do?”

“Me!” Sheppard demanded, struggling to see the physicist in the lessening light. “You said this room was safe! You think this is part of the game?”

McKay opened his mouth to respond, but he had no chance to voice them before he disappeared completely. Sheppard lunged forward, instinct driving him to try and grab the scientist, but the ground suddenly opened up beneath his feet.

With an alarmed cry, he fell.

Chapter Eight - Shame

Something hard and sharp dug into his ribs. Snorting, John opened his eyes and blinked sleepily.

“What?”

“Shush,” scolded a voice. Sheppard turned slowly to see a young girl glaring from the seat beside him.

“Sorry,” he mouthed back, but she ignored him with a swish of her blonde hair. Wary of making another sound, Sheppard started to take in his surroundings.

He was in a classroom, sat behind an uncomfortably small desk, the top resting on his knees. Around twenty identical desks stood in several rows either side of him, and every one was occupied. The audience was young, no more than seventeen or eighteen years old and mostly male, bent over their books or staring forward with bored expressions. The walls were decorated with a number of science themed posters, and there were Bunsen burners and tripods stood about the benches that lined the walls. The floor sloped slightly to the head of the classroom, and it currently made home to a row of four chairs and their three uncomfortable looking occupants, a table bearing something under a white sheet, and a desk, at which McKay stood.

The physicist looked strangely out of place, older than his audience by two decades but wearing the jeans and t-shirt of the younger generation. His expression was twisted into one he normally saved for Kavanagh-patronizing, a regular sport on Atlantis but one rarely played outside of the labs. For the smug, arrogant Rodney McKay, his audience had the same level of intelligence and worth as something he had scraped off his shoe.

“And so the cosmic ray diurnal variation, as observed by neuron monitors and muon telescopes, underwent a dramatic swing in…”

Sheppard experimentally waved at his friend. Several heads turned towards him in confusion, but none belonged to the physicist. An older man dressed in plaid scowled disapprovingly in his direction, then resumed his slouch against the wall. The teacher, he guessed. Sighing, Sheppard leant forward in his seat and searched the class for his missing team mates.

Teyla was sat two rows from the front, looking stiff and uncomfortable. Sheppard considered shouting for her but the teacher was giving him another glare. He toyed briefly with the idea of passing a note to her, then dismissed it as too juvenile. Twisting his head round, he caught a glimpse of Ford, sat on the back row between two ginger boys. The Lieutenant caught his gaze, frowning and mouthing ‘sir?’ at him.

Sheppard shrugged helplessly, turning back to watch McKay.

The physicist was working himself up over his lecture, crackling with energy, the smug expression still fixed on his face. “So we see eighteen that have spectral distributions consistent with debris disks, a possible signature of…”

“Excuse me.” The blonde had raised her hand. McKay stopped talking and raised his head, giving her a scathing look.

“Yes? What?”

“Wouldn’t gaps be undetectable in the spectral energy…”

“Yes,” the physicist snapped back dismissively, “but the features become apparent in visibility amplitude curves.” He sighed despairingly, shuffled his notes, and continued talking. The blonde flushed red and buried her gaze back into her books.

Behind him, the three young men sat on the chairs had gotten to their feet and were clustered around the table, fiddling with the object under the white sheet.

Sheppard instantly decided he didn’t like them. The tallest reminded him of Kavanagh, with long, straggly brown hair, his eyes small and his fingers long and thin. The other two were shorter and stockier, one bearing a trail of pubescent dark fuzz across his upper lip, and the other clinically obese. Seeming to have finished their interference with the hidden object, the Kavanagh-like replaced the sheet and then wheeled the table across to McKay.

The physicist stepped down from the desk, his face never turning away from the audience. Continuing to talk with the same, superior smugness, he removed the sheet with a flourish, revealing a complicated contraption underneath. Something built of wires and metal spheres and a number of blinking lights. Sheppard had no clue as to its purpose, and the words currently spewing from McKay’s mouth did little to help.

“The brightness of lines relative to the strong continuum, in conjunction with plasma models gives us…”

Inwardly Sheppard groaned. McKay never made the best impression, and John had been ready to despise the man after their first encounter. The intense period of experimentation that preceded their arrival on Atlantis, Sheppard used as McKay’s guinea pig for every Ancient artifact in storage, had eventually led to small talk, then banter, and finally snark. Watching McKay walk into the depths of an energy sucking alien to save a city had sealed the deal. He was a good man, but it took a lot to reveal it.

He figured that McKay’s classmates had never had the same experience. Student McKay was pompous and arrogant, rubbing his genius in the face of every classmate. Most seemed bored by him, dismissive of a lecture they did not want to understand. The others…

Sheppard looked back to his friend. McKay was fiddling with the object, demonstrating one of his complicated points with the aid of a flashing LED. His three compatriots stood at the back, smirking, exchanging subtle glances.

Stood in front of the blackboard, McKay issued a familiar snap-pop movement with his hands, then started manipulating two of the silver spheres together. He was still babbling, talking a mile a minute, a spiel of science terms and seven-syllable words.

Sheppard knew, instantly, what was coming. Hell, if he had known someone as pompous and egocentric as McKay in school, he’d have had the same idea.

The instant the two balls touched they released a flash of white light and the ear-splitting sound of the air cracking. Blue sparks showered between McKay’s hands and the device and he staggered backwards, falling to the floor and landing butt first. His face was bright red and there were streaks of soot across his forehead and cheeks, his t-shirt was singed, and his thinning hair was suddenly defying gravity, stuck up in fine, wavy threads.

The entire class burst into laughter, and unable to stop himself, so did Sheppard.

His friend seemed unharmed, but the smugness was wiped from his face, replaced by a look of anger and intense embarrassment. He staggered to his feet, one hand desperately trying to smooth his hair, and for several seconds he stared out at the crowd, oblivious to the sudden arrival of his teacher.

The scientist’s eyes locked onto John’s, and for a moment the expression of anger flickered, replaced by shame and disappointment. Swept by a sudden wave of guilt, Sheppard stopped laughing, ready to rise from his seat and rescue McKay from the centre of the hysterical maelstrom. But his friend had turned away and was now limping towards the door, his back bowed, ignoring his the mouthed insults from his three classmates.

“Perhaps,” the teacher said loudly, over the noise, “we should continue this another period. Class dismissed.”

Instantly the audience started to move, grabbing their books and nudging sleeping friends. The sound of laughter continued echo loudly, failing to be drowned out by the departing feet. With his access to the aisle now free, Sheppard rose to his feet and headed away from the crowd, towards the front of the classroom. Teyla was ahead of him, ignoring the teacher and pushing past the overweight boy to disappear after McKay.

Sheppard could hear the three boys sniggering as he approached. The Kavanagh-like was busy replacing the sheet on top of the machine, and ignored the dark look shot in his direction.

Ford trotted up beside Sheppard, clearly trying to restrain a grin. “Ouch.”

“Yeah,” he replied, his hand closing around the door handle. It pushed open easily but the school corridor he expected did not appear. The sudden light left retina burns on his eyes, and he blinked away the dark spots.

They were back in the void. Endless white stretched out around them, and when Sheppard turned around it was to find the door he had passed through now free standing, the walls of the classroom gone.

McKay stood several meters away, dressed once more in his uniform. The scorch marks had disappeared but his face was still bright red and he was desperately trying to smooth down his hair. It seemed to be refusing, clinging to the man’s hands from static.

Sheppard smirked, only for Teyla to turn round and give him a dark, unforgiving glare.

“Major.”

“Sorry,” he apologized, but found himself unable to straighten his face.

“Find that amusing, did we?” McKay shot back, scowling.

“Oh come on,” Sheppard pleaded, trying to contain his snorts. “You’ve got to admit, you kind of deserved it, McKay.”

“Oh sure. I’m glad you all had a good laugh.”

“Well,” Ford glanced at Sheppard, sharing a grin, “it was pretty funny.”

"Right," Rodney snarled. "Very funny. I bet you had a good laugh when you stepped over kids like me on your way to the locker room." He turned on his heel and stalked across the white.

"Hey!" Sheppard sobered, stepping forward to try to grab McKay's arm. "Calm down!"

"No," the scientist growled, turning on him, "you hey. You have no idea of what it's like to be the kid everyone kicks, hits, spits on, yells at, or just plain ignores. You've got no clue how it feels to be that kid, and face that every day of your childhood life. Don't try and tell me to calm down." He was shaking with rage, lips drawn back thinly.

Ford put in: "But teachers -"

"Oh, please. You think any teacher likes being outsmarted by an eighth grader?"

Sheppard stepped back, raised his hands. "Alright. Sorry, McKay. We didn't think."

"Yeah," Ford offered, his face drawn in genuine remorse. "We're really sorry."

McKay's face hardened at what he viewed as pity. "Don't be," he snapped. "I was better than them. That's what they saw, and that's why they all hated me." He turned his back on Sheppard and folded his arms defensively over his chest.

Ford took a step towards him, but Sheppard put out a hand, shook his head silently. Whatever demons that last image had brought up in McKay, they were his alone to deal with.

"Major Sheppard." Teyla’s expression still carried the hint of a frown, and her voice was clipped and curt. “Perhaps we should continue.” She walked towards the door. “I believe this is will lead us to the next part of the game.”

He flinched under her gaze. “Right. I’ll go first.”

“No.” She glanced at McKay, who still had his back to them, and then looked back at Sheppard. “I will go.”

“Teyla…”

“For crying out loud,” McKay snapped, turning suddenly, “I realize it was your damn idea to play along with this, but it doesn’t matter who’s going next. Let’s just get on with it.”

Teyla caught Sheppard’s gaze meaningfully for a moment. Then her hand depressed handle and she opened the door wide, blocking his view inside.

He glanced backwards. “McKay, Lieutenant.”

Ford nodded, and McKay turned. He had managed to flatten his hair, but his face was still pinched tight and he did not look at Sheppard, brushing past him to follow Teyla through the door.

Aiden glanced at his superior and grimaced. “I guess an apology isn’t going to cut it.”

“He’ll be fine by the time we get to Atlantis.” Sheppard sighed deeply, and gestured towards the door. “Like he says, let’s just get on with it.”

Chapter Nine - First Step

They were in a forest. Tall, leafy trees towered over them, shifting green light onto the ground below. Clumps of ferns clung to the shade, and birds could be heard calling to each other overhead.

It called home to Teyla. Her body and soul ached for it, a deep longing that Atlantis, in all its glory, could not cure. She knew the forest; every tree, every bush, every dangerous root and treacherous rock.

But it was too perfect. Recreated from memories, the blanks filled in with warm emotion and fondness for a place she had lost. There was something about the landscape that felt odd to her, alien and cold. Even if Teyla had not seen the computer doorway stood beside a large tree, the undercurrent of danger was enough to dispel her hope.

“Teyla, wait.”

She could hear Sheppard hurrying after her, but she did not slow her feet, still angry on McKay’s behalf. The man was arrogant, yes, but he was also a friend, and the two men seemed to have forgotten that.

The Major trotted up beside her, his expression one of remorse. “Look, I’m sorry.”

She shot a dark glance at him. “It is not me you should apologize to.”

Sheppard flushed slightly. “This is a group game. We shouldn’t split up.”

Behind him she could hear the clumsy trek of McKay, snapping twigs and crushing dry leaves under his feet; and Aiden, full of apologies and small jibes designed to get the scientist talking. Softening slightly at the sounds of attrition, Teyla allowed: “Perhaps not. Nevertheless,” and she nodded towards her goal, “this is my memory. I must be the one to complete it.”

Ahead lay the informal arena chosen for all matches. A patch of land had been cleared within the forest, stripped of all plant life until only the red earth remained. Several uprooted trees provided seats to the crowd, when there was one. Most challenges went unseen, training matches between mentor and student. Teyla had spent much of her childhood here, in her younger years watching the older warriors with awe, then later in the circle herself, struggling to match her father’s blows.

Despite the power behind each stroke, he had never struck her. Her father could stop a swing in midair, and though the unreleased energy sent vibrations down his arm and chest, his weapon would not falter.

The skill was the second he had taught her. The first, and the most important, was knowing when to use force, and when to use words.

This would be her first challenge. Few were accepted into the circle but she had worked hard and earned her place amongst the warriors, though females were still rare and she was younger than all of them. This was a chance to prove herself, to achieve all her father hoped for her. To find her place, and be happy there.

“Teyla.”

The cough from Sheppard pulled her unnervingly back into the present. He was looking at her with an expression of concern, and behind him Ford and McKay carried the same quizzical faces.

“What’s going on?”

“The circle ahead of us is where I learnt to fight, Major. My people used it as a training ground, to learn the skills passed down from our predecessors.” She looked ahead and saw several figures stood in the clearing. “Its position changes over the seasons, as the ground is washed away by the rain, but it survives. There is one on the mainland, just as there was one on Athos. I…” Her voice trailed off, her attention drawn to a large man sat on a tree trunk to the right.

His shoulders, the curve of his back, the light of the sun on his hair. His large hands folded in his lap.

“Teyla?”

She blinked hard, against the prickling of sudden tears, and answered only after she had regained control. “My father.”

Aiden glanced ahead, at the figures in the circle. “When was this?”

She offered him a smile. “Too long ago. This is my first fight.”

McKay raised an eyebrow. “There?”

“Students may challenge other students, to prove their worth as warriors, to build respect. It is also an invitation for others to witness a warrior’s new skills.”

They had reached the edge of the clearing, and the men already sat around the circle glanced at her, dipping their heads in greeting. They seemed not to notice her teammates, and her father had not yet turned.

But one man had seen her. He had long, dark hair tied back from his face, and he was taller than Teyla by several hands. Dressed in a simple tunic and pants, he raised his weapons towards her in greeting.

“His name is Terel,” Teyla explained, to Sheppard’s unspoken question. “He is - was - several years older than me when I took him as my challenger, more advanced in his training. Tradition said I should have chosen an equal.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Sheppard said softly, grinning.

She did not return his smile, looking back towards the circle. Her father was now standing, looking towards her, and he met her gaze and smiled.

For a moment Teyla feared she might faint.

“Teyla.” Aiden’s hand was on her arm. “This isn’t real. You don’t have to go through with this.”

“He’s right,” McKay added. “We should be able to quit and go back to the beginning if we want to.”

She shook her head firmly. “No. I want to do this.”

Her father was beckoning her towards the ring, and for a moment she thought she glimpsed her own eyes reflected in his.

“Alright,” Sheppard conceded. “Tell us how we can help.”

“You cannot,” she replied simply, stepping forward into the clearing. Terel came to greet her, his smile belied by the cold behind his eyes.

“Teyla. You have brought an audience.”

She nodded, gesturing at her team mates to sit down on the benches. “As have you,” she replied, looking towards Terel’s friends.

He glanced backwards and nodded. “They are intrigued by your challenge.”

“I am pleased you accepted.”

He nodded, and gave another smile. “With your father as leader of the circle, I could not object.” Then he stepped aside, allowing her to enter the central circle.

It was only now Teyla realized her change of attire, her uniform replaced by the soft folds of her skirt. Her mother had presented her with the gift on the event of her first lesson, giving reason to the long nights spent sewing by the light of the fire. Her weapons were by her side, polished and smooth.

Terel took up his position on the other side of the circle. Her father stepped into the center, inclining his head at the audience; Terel’s entourage sat on one side, and the three Atlanteans took their reluctant seats on a large tree trunk.

“You are all aware of the challenge. Teyla Emmagan has taken Terel Albaran as her opponent, and he has accepted.” He turned his gaze towards Sheppard and his team. “There will be no intervention by the observers. This is between the two challengers.” Then he turned back to the center of the ring and bowed, low.

Teyla tore her gaze away from him as her father took his seat, turning to face Terel. The young man walked the few steps across to greet her. No words were needed, but as Teyla dipped her forehead to touch his, she heard him whisper: “I hope, for your father’s sake, you do not lose too badly.”

His words came from the arrogance of youth, and though Teyla knew better than to be taunted she bristled, moving away a little too quickly.

Behind her, she could hear the hushed voices of her teammates.

“Do you think we get to cheer?”

“I’m not sure this is a cheering occasion, Lieutenant.”

Teyla deliberately blocked their voices out, turning all her attention to her opponent. Terel had his weapons raised at shoulder height in the traditional starting position, but his left foot was positioned a little further back than the right to prepare for a low hit. She adjusted her own position accordingly, and when the call of her father rang out across the clearing, signaling the start, she stepped sideways and easily missed his blow.

She was aware of a quiet, appreciative whistle from Sheppard, and an impressed, soft hmmph noise from her father.

Terel compensated for his failure quickly, seeming angered by her easy deflection of his blow. He was not fast enough to avoid a smart rap across his right shoulder, but as he pulled his weight backwards he swung his hand and clipped Teyla’s hip. It signaled the start of an exchange of blows, fast and furious, with enough strength and speed to leave Teyla breathless, struggling to keep up.

Had she faced him as an adult, as the Athosian leader, she would have no trouble in meeting his every strike. She could have ended this quickly. But here, in the memory of her youth, she was an inexperienced student without a warrior’s past, and her body insisted on obeying the rules of the game. Every swing felt weak, every step sluggish and Terel preyed on her clumsiness. For every one of her failures he seemed improved. The real Terel had been uneasy with his own skin, had acted on thought and logic, not instinct. During a culling it had been his undoing.

The man before her now shared none of his insecurities. Refusing to repeat his earlier mistake, Terel moved fluidly, like an animal. He broke her every defense, countered her every attack, and soon her body bore the marks of his weapon, on her back, shoulder, thigh and calves.

And for every blow, for every unrestrained gasp she heard from McKay or Ford, she felt her father’s scrutiny. She could not remember the moves he had taught her, she could not recall his teachings. It felt as though this were her very first fight, and she had had no training. The Teyla Emmagan of Atlantis struggled to fight back, her mind protesting that this was not how the original challenge had gone, that although she had lost the match she had earned the respect of her fellow warriors. Not this, this beating.

Terel struck out at her left hand, and as she brought her body around to meet the blow he hit her hard with his free weapon, bruising Teyla’s ankles and sending her falling backwards to the ground. She hit the dirt, winded, and before she could move he was astride her, the rough end of his weapon pressing firmly against her throat.

“Enough!”

Her father’s voice. She heard his disappointment beneath the command, and when Terel stepped away from her she glimpsed the younger man’s arrogant smirk.

There was no strong hand to help her up. Not this time. She lay for several seconds staring up at the sky, unable to catch her breath, struggling to come to terms with the violation of her history.

“This is not how things were.”

“Teyla.” Her father again. She rolled onto her front, refusing to express the protests her body made, and pushed herself to her feet.

She was the last one to stand. Terel stood in a circle of his adoring friends, young men she had considered her companions. Behind her, Sheppard and the others were hovering hesitantly, and she heard McKay ask ‘are you alright?’, only to be ignored.

“Teyla.”

Her father was taller than she remembered, but his shoulders dipped beneath the heavy weight, and she knew with painful clarity that she was the cause.

And she had to steel herself against the knowledge that this was not her father, that he was not real, and that she had never been the cause of his shame.

”We should take you to your mother.”

“No.” She tested the inside of her lip gingerly and tasted blood. “I am fine. If there was a rematch…”

“No, Teyla.” His dark eyes looked away to Terel. “You lost poorly. Perhaps your mother’s sister is right, perhaps you are not suited to the warrior life.”

Her aunt, a woman deathly afraid of change, who feared a return of the Wraith behind every council decision. Her father had humored her, but never listened. But this was not her father.

The knowledge did little to hide his disappointing glare, or the insecurity she felt beneath it. “I can do better. Perhaps with more training…”

“Teyla.” His voice held a low growl of warning, a note she had never heard him use on her, that she had only glimpsed during the most aggressive council members. “You have had enough training. I do not wish to see my child fail me again.”

“No,” she protested, “I would not. I…”

“Teyla.” Sheppard’s voice. She ignored him.

Her father looked at her with pity. “Go home, Teyla. Let your mother bind your wounds.” He turned away from her, and she reached out to pull him back.

“Teyla.” Sheppard had his hand on her arm. She tried to shrug it off, but he persisted.

“Father, please.”

His back stiffened under her touch. “Go home.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her chest painfully tight, but she dropped her hand and stepped away. This was her father, recreated from the past, returned to her, and he was ashamed of her…

“Teyla.” The grip squeezed her arm firmly.

Turning, she saw Sheppard staring at her with worry and sympathy in his eyes, a look mirrored by Ford and McKay. “That isn’t…”

“I know.”

Sheppard removed his hand, and she shuddered.

It was an illusion, nothing more. The scorn of Terel, the disappointment from her father, none of it was real.

And yet the shame was almost enough to break her.

“Let’s get out of here,” McKay said, nervously, looking pointedly away from the circle. A door had appeared on the outskirts of the forest, beside a large, dead tree.

She took a deep breath and nodded, refusing to look back at her father.

Aiden went first, giving her a weak, meaningful smile. McKay followed, lingering for several seconds before stepping through the door. Sheppard remained by her side, his hand hovering inches from her elbow, ready to ground her.

“He would be proud of you, Teyla.”

“He was.” Part of her wanted to turn, wanted to plead for her father’s forgiveness, just to earn a few more precious minutes with his ghost. In her childhood there had been no need, she had never failed him. Even in her weaknesses, he had forgiven her. Both he and her mother had been her small world, and when the Wraith had taken both from her, one culling after the next, she had thought there would be no other.

In her grief, she would have given anything to hear her father’s voice once more.

But not this.

“I’m sorry.”

She glanced at Sheppard questioningly.

“I decided we should go on with this charade.”

“No.” Taking a deep breath, Teyla tore herself away from her past and stepped towards the door. “There was no other choice. And this…”

“It wasn’t real,” he repeated.

“No. My father is not that man.”

“Okay.” He looked at her uncertainly. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I am.” She placed her hand against the door for a moment, feeling the cold metal under her skin. It felt more real than the fight, than the power of Terel’s blows or the depth of shame in her father’s voice. She could even feel her bruises fading.

Lifting her head, Teyla offered Sheppard a smile. “Shall we join Lieutenant Ford and Doctor McKay?”

He returned the smile, and pushed open the door. “After you.”

Chapter Ten - The Yard

Even as a young child, Aiden Ford was wise enough to understand that the very bottom of his grandparent’s yard was a dangerous place to be.

They had a long, wide plot of land at the back of their shambling house. More than enough to satisfy the needs of a young boy and his best friend. Aiden and Tom spent most of their free time there, building forts against invaders – usually Aiden’s three cousins – fighting pirates, winning Super Leagues, floating paper boats in the stream that ran along the back.

But across the stream lay another patch of land, between the yard and the field beyond. An area overgrown with weeds, where grass towered above young Aiden’s head, where nettles and poison ivy grew with wild abandon. There was an abandoned car tire and an empty kerosene barrel, and a warning from his grandparents to never cross the line because it was too far from the house, and they could not be seen.

The two friends would take it as a challenge, daring each other to cross into forbidden territory, usually earning themselves a verbal lashing from Aiden’s grandmother and a week without television as a result. As the boys grew older their excursions became less frequent. New interests called them. For Tom, his extra two years drew him to bikes, and girls, and time spent from under the watchful eyes of any adult. For the younger Aiden, it meant exploring the field beyond the yard with his friends, and playing baseball, and weekend jobs.

When Aiden was fourteen, his uncle decided that the time had come, that the jungle, since abandoned by even its most ardent of explorers, was now overdue for a massacre. His father in-law wanted a vegetable plot, a hobby to entertain him past retirement and his grandchildren’s increasing independence.

At twenty five years old, Aiden stood in the home of his childhood, looked out across the yard, and saw the jungle with a sense of dread.

His uncle stood amongst the bushes, half hidden by leaves, his broad shoulders slightly bowed. Aiden could hear the sound of a blade hitting wood, of an axe blade against a forest.

He frowned, confused. Something felt odd about the scene, something other than his own advanced age or the presence of his team mates behind him. The breeze was still, but Aiden was certain that in original events, it had been windy. The surrounding area was eerily quiet, devoid of the usual sounds of birds and nearby car engines, and the excited screams of neighborhood children.

“Lieutenant?”

Sheppard stood on the steps of the porch, looking at his second-in-command questioningly.

“It’s, ah…” Aiden hesitated, glancing back towards his uncle. He was beginning to feel distinctly sick. “It’s my home, sir. My grandparents’ house.”

McKay had sauntered across to a wooden table and was examining a jug of lemonade with a strangely disgusted expression. “What are we doing here?” he asked, sniffing a glass and grimacing.

Ford turned away from them, back to the methodical sounds of his uncle’s axe tearing down the overgrown jungle. “It’s, ah…”

There was the distant sound of a plane as it sped, silver and glimmering, across the blue sky. Inside he could hear his grandmother singing to herself as she worked in the kitchen.

“Aiden,” Teyla prompted, gently, taking a step towards him.

His uncle’s axe had paused, the garden suddenly silent. Ford could see the older man’s silhouette amongst the undergrowth, could see him stand still for a long, drawn out moment before crumpling suddenly to the ground.

Instantly Aiden tore across the yard, team mates and mission forgotten. He was vaguely aware of a frightened: “Lieutenant!” from Teyla, but had he wanted to stop, his body wouldn’t allow it. Eleven year old Aiden Ford, caught completely up in the memory of his youth, running across the garden, stumbling over his grandmother’s precious lilies, crushing white petals into the mud.

She would never replace him. Eventually his grandfather covered the bed with concrete and built a barbeque over it.

He crossed the edge of the garden and started to force his way through the undergrowth, pushing back branches and ripping away handfuls of leaves. The plants grew up around him, seeming taller and denser than they ever had when he was a child, thorns scratching at his bare hands, the ground thick with intertwined roots that grabbed at his feet.

His uncle was on the floor, curled into a fetal position beside the pile of chopped branches. The axe lay a few inches from his outstretched hand. Aiden dropped to his knees beside the man, reaching out with shaking hands to turn his uncle over, knowing he was dead, knowing there was nothing he could do.

A strangled gasp prompted him to leap back a foot, stumbling backwards over a fallen log. His uncle was twitching spasmodically, white faced, neck veins bulging, his mouth open and swollen tongue lolling as he struggled for every breath - dying. Slowly, painfully, and awake, and oh god, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Clutched in his grandfather’s arms in the hospital waiting room, he’d been promised it was quick. “His heart just gave out.” Dead before his nephew had ever reached him.

Not - not gasping pitifully, his eyes rolling around in his head before fixing themselves on Aiden with a keen desperation that ripped at the boy, lips struggling to form around a breath, a word, a plea…

Help me.

And eleven year old Aiden, unable to move, frozen to the spot, unable to grasp the lie he was witnessing.

His uncle’s gasps started to stutter, disintegrating into strangled wheezes. His chest heaved once, twice, three times before stilling.

His eyes continued to stare at Aiden long after the man’s heart stopped beating.

Pushing himself backwards in a desperate, hasty attempt to get away, Aiden stumbled and fell back against the ground. He choked a breath and pressed his arm over his eyes, burying his face into his hands.

“Aiden.”

A warm hand touched his shoulder. He ignored it.

“Aiden,” Teyla repeated, her voice strained and urgent. “This is not real.”

He shuddered, but was able to remove his hands. Teyla crouched beside him, her eyes bright and wide, her face oddly pale. His gaze drifted past her shoulder to the patch of ground behind her, to where the corpse of his uncle lay.

The space was empty.

“Lieutenant.”

A shudder rolled through him, but he managed to drag his gaze back to meet Sheppard’s. The Major stood stiffly beside Teyla, his jaw clenched tight.

“It wasn’t…” Aiden paused, struggling to form words. “It didn’t happen like this.”

“It’s part of the game.” McKay stood on the edge of the undergrowth. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, his gaze flitting to cast Aiden a sympathetic look before returning to study the ground.

“It doesn’t feel like a game.”

“No, well…” The scientist’s voice trailed off. “I don’t know what this thing is,” he admitted, ruefully.

“Nightmares,” Sheppard said softly. “Ford, you going to be okay?”

He nodded, grimly, although his body seemed reluctant and sluggish. “Yes sir.”

“We should move,” Teyla said softly, her hand lingering on Aiden’s shoulder before she moved, standing up. He followed, accepting her offered hand to help him up.

“I think this part’s over.” Sheppard gestured back towards the garden, where a door had materialized in the middle of the lawn. The Major gave a macabre grin. “My turn.”

“Major.” Ford licked his lips, his throat dry. “You don’t have to.”

“As much as I’d like there to be an exit, I don’t see one.” Sheppard turned, moving through the undergrowth towards the door. “Let’s just get on with this.”

McKay winced, pausing to glance at Ford. “You’re, ah… you’re alright, Lieutenant?”

“Yeah.” Aiden cleared his throat and tried for a more confident answer. “It isn’t real, right?”

“Right.” The scientist turned, about to follow Sheppard.

Aiden swallowed, and spoke quickly. “Doc?”

McKay glanced at him.

“Sorry. For before.”

He received a careless, awkward shrug and an uncomfortable cough in response. “Yes, well, I think it all becomes pretty meaningless in here.”

“Meaningless.” Glancing back to the empty ground Aiden saw his uncle’s axe, still lying where it had fallen. “Yeah. Right.”

Chapter Eleven - History of 404

Despite differences across space and culture, on Earth or in Pegasus, certain facts seem universal. One was the smell and style of a hospital corridor. Clean lines and polished floors, the walls painted in a wash of nauseating green, the ceiling a clinical white. A janitor stood at the far end, pushing a gray mop, and an elderly gentlemen in a thick brown sweater dozed on a plastic chair. There was constant background noise, like the distant waves on a beach. Hushed voices and the muffled hum of machines. And there was the smell, of bleach and starch and sickness.

One hospital looked very much like another, so Sheppard figured he could be forgiven for forgetting the name of this one. He assumed it was his memory; even if hadn’t, logically, been his turn, there was a deep, itching sensation in his gut, a sense of dread. He’d seen too many hospitals in his past, both as a visitor and as a patient, and this one failed to stick in his mind.

Until he saw the brightly painted emblem decorating a pane of frosted glass set into a door.

His feet stopped so suddenly McKay walked into him.

“What?” The scientist rubbed his elbow, looking aggrieved. “What is it?”

A passing nurse, her hair a premature gray and her eyes a muted blue, scowled at McKay and raised a finger to her lips. The scientist grimaced, but lowered his voice obediently.

“Where are we?”

“Hospital,” Sheppard replied, his answer clipped and terse.

“I can see that, Captain Obvious. Where on Earth are we?”

“Seattle.” His feet refused to move. There were dark things in his past, things that haunted him on sleepless nights, things he would choose to forget. But not like this. Nothing buried so deep.

He shouldn’t remember it, not in this detail, but he did. The pitying, sorrowful looks of the nurses, the patronizing tone of the counselor. The sour smell of illness even after being scrubbed from the floor. Her weakness…

Hell, even the room number. The room two doors down on the left. The room to which he was now being drawn, inexorably, unable to stop himself.

“Major?”

With a painful effort Sheppard wrenched his feet around, tripped, and stumbled into a wall, panting heavily. Ford was looking at him with trepidation, the younger man glancing up the corridor as though trying to imagine what it was his superior feared.

Her pale face, the bruises under her eyes, the bones beneath the skin. The wires and bags and monitors and lies. Him, thirteen years old and wanting to bury himself into her arms and never, ever let go. His father’s hand on his shoulder…

Sheppard leapt back a foot at the touch and McKay snatched his hand back.

“Sorry, sorry,” the physicist blustered, pinning the offensive hand under his other arm. “Just, ah - are you alright?”

“Yes.” He pressed his back against the wall, cold seeping through the thin cloth of his shirt, chilling his shoulders. His father had insisted on him dressing smartly for every visit, because he wanted to keep things as normal as possible - which was a lie, because when had John ever willingly worn a shirt, or his smart black pants.

“Because you don’t look so good,” McKay pressed.

“I’m fine,” he retorted, sharply. Pressing a hand against the wall Sheppard levered himself upright, forcing himself to turn towards his team. His efforts had only partial success, his gaze wandering back to the room.

His attention had not gone unnoticed. “Who is in there?” Teyla asked softly, her voice full of compassion.

He swallowed, his mouth dry. “My mother.”

He was aware of Ford’s expression softening, of a strange mix of pity and anger flickering across McKay’s face.

“This isn’t a game. If it were, you’d think this damn computer would pick something more fun.”

“Yeah.” Sheppard drew a hand across his eyes. “My first football game. My tenth birthday. The first time I went up in a jet. I think this thing’s more twisted than that.”

McKay shook his head, starting to pace around a small spot on the clean floor. “I don’t get it. Why would the Ancients invent something like this? Unless it’s a side-effect of the power surges causing corruption in the files but this is so specific and…”

“What is there to know?” Sheppard snapped roughly. “It’s screwed up, I get that.” He glanced back towards the room, taking one faltering step forwards.

“She died,” Teyla said, softly. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“It was a long time ago, Lieutenant.” And now a damn computer game was denying him the comfortable distance time had brought him.

“How old were you?” Teyla asked.

”Thirteen.” He took another step towards the room, his own body betraying him. The sick feeling in his stomach was growing, and his hands were clenched into fists, his nails digging into the flesh of his palm.

McKay stepped into his line of sight, looking pale but determined. “You don’t have to play along.”

“I’m not.” He gritted his teeth together but was unable to stop another step forward. “Unfortunately the rest of me seems to have other ideas.”

Rodney wrapped one hand around Sheppard’s forearm. “We still seem to have control.”

“Lucky you.” He tried to pull his gaze away from the door and back to McKay, with little result.

McKay’s grip on his arm tightened. “We can stay out here.”

“He’s right, sir.” Ford took up position beside McKay. “Even if we can’t exit we don’t have to go along with this. We just wait here until Atlantis sends a team to get us out of here.”

“Yeah.” Sheppard swallowed, his throat like sandpaper. Behind Ford the corridor was shifting, the walls melting and changing shape, the door dragging itself closer. “I’m not sure that’s going to work.”

Teyla had noticed the same, her eyes wide as she called out a warning. “Lieutenant.”

The janitor had disappeared, absorbed into the green of the walls. The door was shimmering as it drew closer, and Sheppard could make out silhouettes; a bed, a chair, a trolley. A large, male figure sat on the chair and in the bed…

“No!”

With a wrench he pulled himself free of McKay’s grip, his body screaming at him in protest, as though every part of his body was trying to tear itself apart. The feeling lasted barely a second but it was enough to knock the breath from his chest and he staggered backwards. The hospital corridor disappeared, vanishing behind a sudden bloom of white.

“Dammit!” He scrubbed a hand through his hair and pulled away from his team, desperate for privacy but denied it by the void. Breathless, he pressed his hands to his knees, swallowing bile and trying not to throw up.

An image haunted him, a flash of skeletal hands and a grim, bloody smile, a glimpse snatched just before his jerk out of the game.

Not his mother. Not, he repeated, not his mother. A monster. A nightmare.

“Sir?” Ford sounded at his youngest, uncertain and afraid. “Are you alright?”

He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. “Not really, no, Lieutenant.” He had the overwhelming urge to hide under his blanket, as though he were six years old and the bogeyman were out to get him.

“Uh, Major?”

“Not now, McKay.”

“Major.”

Reluctantly he turned, forcing himself to stand straight. The hologram stood before them, still dressed in the cream robes of before, but now wearing an oddly confused expression on its face.

“Why did you exit?”

Sheppard struggled against the urge to throw a punch, knowing it would be useless and worse, do nothing to alleviate his mood. “Why? You think you can take us down this little nightmare trip down memory lane, twist everything, and then you ask why we might not want to?”

The hologram frowned. “This was your past.”

“No,” Aiden retorted. “It wasn’t like that.”

“This is the challenge of the game.”

“This isn’t a game,” Sheppard snapped, his voice rising to a yell. “It’s our lives!”

“You have to complete the level…”

“No!”

“Major.” McKay was still pale, but there was a determined jut to his chin. The scientist eyed the hologram. “Why did the Ancients create this place?”

The hologram turned and offered him a bright smile. “I do not understand.”

“The people who created this game,” McKay explained, gesturing violently with his hands. “Why? What was its original purpose?”

“It entertains the players.”

“This is not entertainment,” Teyla objected.

The hologram tilted its head to one side, “The original statement for the game’s purpose?”

“God, it’s like trying to talk to a pocket calculator. Yes,” McKay repeated patiently, “the original statement.”

“It was created as a training program.”

Sheppard blinked, his anger dissipating suddenly. “A training program for what?”

“It trained the players against enemy attacks.”

“The Wraith?” Ford asked.

“Yes.”

McKay snapped his fingers enthusiastically. “I should have known. A training program. Of course! Using virtual reality to help the Ancients learn how to fight the Wraith.”

“Like a battle simulation?”

“Exactly.”

“But none of the memories shown to us so far involved the Wraith,” Teyla said, frowning.

“Worse than that,” Ford muttered, softly.

“No.” McKay hesitated. “But I’m right, right?”

The guide inclined its head in a nod. “Yes. The computer uses the memories of the players to build an environment in which the enemy can be studied.”

“Why use mission reports when you can access the memories of the survivors, huh? It makes sense.” Sheppard felt a swell of anger, remembering a flash of bones and skin. “But this wasn’t like that.”

“No.” McKay started to pace, his hands gesticulating wildly. “But when the Ancients decided to hide out here they probably changed the program. Changed its code to keep them occupied whilst in stasis.”

“Why would they not simply sleep?” Teyla pressed.

“Sure, that would keep power usage down, but they probably didn’t figure they’d be kept in stasis this long.” The physicist snorted derisively. “It’s entertainment.”

“But let me guess,” Sheppard said slowly, “something’s gone wrong.” He clenched his hand into a fist, then uncurled his fingers slowly.

McKay turned to the hologram, his face animated. “There must be some sort of internal diagnostic function. Something to allow a user to fix the game from within.”

“You don’t think the Ancients would have tried that?” Ford objected.

“Probably, but it doesn’t hurt to look.”

The guide frowned. “You are a technician?”

Rolling his eyes, McKay nodded. “Yes, yes. Whatever.”

Hesitating, the guide gave McKay an appraising look, then raised one arm and swept it across the horizon to his left. There appeared a green wall of light three meters across, stretching from the space beneath their feet to the invisible ceiling above them, where it arced away and disappeared into a point. On the wall scrolled black letters, the language of the Ancients, moving at a speed tracked by McKay’s eager eyes.

Sheppard stepped up to the wall cautiously. Placing a hand towards its surface he felt it vibrate minutely, the tremors running up his arm. It was a fraction of a centimeter thick and transparent. When he stepped around the back Sheppard could see the scrolling letters from behind.

“This is the diagnostic?” Teyla asked.

“It’s the computer code which created the program, the instructions designed by the Ancients to build this game.” McKay took a step closer to the wall, tilting his head back to follow the lines of text up into the ceiling. “Typical Ancient construction however. Incredibly detailed but containing numerous redundancies.” He pointed at a long phrase on the left hand side of the wall as it scrolled upwards. “This piece, for example, tells the machine what to do if…”

“McKay,” Sheppard growled, walking back around to the front of the wall. “How do we know this is accurate?”

McKay glanced at the hologram. “It’s not sophisticated enough to lie to me.”

“No offence doc, but are you sure?” Ford eyed the hologram. “What if this AI’s gone nuts, isn’t that possible?”

“No,” the scientist replied, dismissively. “You’re ascribing human characteristics to a collection of binary information. Lying would require thought, and this abacus isn’t displaying any.”

Sheppard found himself glancing at the hologram, but the guide still wore the same fixed expression, staring obliviously through McKay. “So what can you find out?”

“Give me a minute, Major.” McKay waved at the hologram. “Show me the interchange between this program and the training simulation.”

The text on the wall flickered and briefly disappeared, replaced a second later by a new, fresh set of letters. McKay hummed and hawed his way through it, muttering softly to himself as he read, while Sheppard grew increasingly impatient.

“Oh, no, no. That’s not right. And here… what sort of patch job is that supposed to be?”

“McKay,” Sheppard interrupted, warningly.

“I’ve seen high school projects with more sophisticated… oh, wait, that explains that particular hole but what about…”

“McKay!”

With a disgruntled snort the scientist straightened and glared at Sheppard. “Do you honestly expect me to have the answers at my fingertips every time?”

“No.” Sheppard flashed him a bitter grin. “Just this time. Get on with it.”

The reply was a huff, and a reluctant: “Fine. It looks like this game was built on the basic outline of the battle simulation. But the Ancients must have hidden themselves away in a rush, because the job is patchy and clumsy, and the power shorts haven’t helped.”

“That would affect the program?” Teyla asked.

“It’s like an Earth computer. If the system crashes, or power goes down without warning, then there’s a danger of information being lost, of the hard drive being damaged. The more often the system crashes, the more damage the hard drive gets, until the corruption starts to spread even when the rest of the computer is functioning fine. In this case…” He gestured back towards the wall, “corruption is attacking the base code of the program. I’m sure when the Ancients originally booted it up it worked perfectly, and all they got to experience were a few happy Hallmark memories. But it looks like the two sets of instructions started to overlap and contradict each other, and when the system tried to compensate it created this.”

“This isn’t a battle simulation,” Sheppard pointed out.

“No, but it plays by similar rules. It scans our thoughts and recreates our memories, just like the game was intended to, but it then changes events to present a…” He paused, speaking the words distastefully, “a challenge.”

There was a small pause.

“So,” Ford grimaced, “this is going to get harder.”

“The system assesses each player or group in terms of their skill set and provides an environment in which to challenge them,” the hologram explained helpfully. “After each completed task the player or group moves on to the next challenge. The increasing difficulty of each task means the player or group must acquire new skill sets…”

“We get it,” Sheppard snapped. “But we’re not playing, you got that?”

“You must complete the game to exit.”

“Enough with the broken record act.”

“You must play the game if…”

“No,” he interrupted, turning his back on the guide and addressing his team. “We stay here. It won’t let us out, then fine, but that doesn’t mean we have to play along with it.”

“Oh, right.” McKay sighed heavily, folding his arms. “Of course, why didn’t the Ancients think of that? We’ll just wait for Atlantis to rescue us.”

Sheppard glared at him. “Unless you want to go back down the rabbit hole?”

“Hardly. But I’m not sure we have a choice.” The scientist looked towards the hologram. “Do we?”

“Each player is required to complete the game before exiting,” the guide answered. “If a player decides to pause the game the system will reset to default.”

“Default?” Teyla glanced between the hologram and McKay. “What does it mean?”

“Oh, I dunno…” McKay gestured out to the white. “That?”

Sheppard following his hand, expecting to see nothing but more void. But there was something, a horizon, a thin dark line that was growing rapidly as it drew closer. The air was darkening, the green wall of information flickering several times before disappearing. A shade of blue started to creep across the ceiling, rough concrete forming under his feet. Taking an instinctive step backwards, Sheppard turned towards the hologram in time to see the guide vanish.

“Major!”

Alarmed, he spun round on his heel and saw Teyla stumble, supported by McKay. Rodney turned a frightened gaze upon him before they both suddenly disappeared, sucked up into the burst of color around them. Details were forming in the horizon, its wall meeting the sky and blending seamlessly into one.

Grass to the left of him, concrete beneath his feet, blue sky overhead and the sound of engine noise.

Sheppard turned, bewildered, desperately looking for Ford.

A firm hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.

“So, Johnny? You ready for this?”

Chapter Twelve - Fast and Furious

Tyler grinned at John, slapping the side of the car enthusiastically. His fingers left sweaty imprints on the yellow metal. “You with me, Johnny?”

“Huh?” Sheppard blinked dumbly, and looked down at the car. Silver wheels, a new paint job, and sleek curves hiding an impossibly powerful engine. “Yeah.”

“Because you spaced out for a second there.”

“Sorry.”

Tyler Edwards, older than the seventeen year old Sheppard by three years, although his ID said five. Tall and beefy, with a flush of bleached blonde hair that contrasted sharply with his oddly pink skin. Sheppard’s father disapproved of the boy, and had banned his son from seeing him - which was exactly the reason why John found himself at the freeway.

He didn’t even like Tyler. The boy was obnoxious, rude, arrogant, and stupid. He’d gained his college place through his one talent, football, and upon graduation would be appointed into an overpaid managerial position with his father’s firm, paid for demeaning everyone beneath him. He was dead before he was thirty, killed in a speed boat accident whilst holidaying in Miami.

Tyler grinned, slapped the roof of the car a second time, and then dropped smoothly into the driver’s seat.

The freeway was empty. It had been completed a week previously, but it was another two before its grand opening. The smooth, unmarked concrete stretched out before John, bordered on either side by a slope of fresh green turf, hiding the track from the view of any passing cop car. Security was non-existent, but even driving through the plastic fencing gave Sheppard a small thrill.

“Johnny.”

Eric McGinley, Sheppard’s best friend at the time, if John could have called what they had friendship. Eric was the same age as John, and with the same reckless desire for excitement. They hung out together, the two of them amidst a group of the same, meeting up to compare cars or to try and sneak into clubs.

Tyler, as the oldest, was the leader, but there was tension between him and Sheppard. John had grown into his height, and wore his body with new confidence, impressing girls easily with his boyish smile and teasing flirtation. Tyler relied on his money, and resented the younger boy’s careless attraction to the fairer sex.

John knew this, but it hadn’t stopped him from pushing his luck. It was at one of the clubs, loitering by a table with the girl Tyler had been watching all night, that he’d stepped over the line. The group had been looking to him, laughing at his jokes, listening to his exaggerated tales of conquests, and for a brief moment, he had stolen Tyler’s place.

In a way, he’d been relieved at the challenge. John wasn’t stupid; in an all-out fight, he’d have been the loser, crushed by Tyler’s weight and strength. But speed - that, he excelled at.

The car, a sleek, beautiful red, was the end result of months of part time work, and the sacrifice of his grades. Sheppard had earned every cent himself when his father, agreeing to the purchase, had shown him a catalogue of family friendly, safe vehicles.

“You getting in or what?”

Eric was in the passenger side of John’s car, a grin on his face. He slapped the driver’s seat and waited impatiently as a dazed Sheppard got in.

“Tyler’s such an idiot. Like he can beat you on the road.”

“Yeah.” Sheppard tried to look casual as he glanced behind him to the empty back seat, then turned to peer through the low windscreen.

“You looking for someone?”

There was a small gaggle of people stood on the verge beside the road. He recognized most of them, and could remember the names of half; old friends and faces he had forgotten. They looked towards the two cars eagerly, several of the boys shouting insults and dares.

Sheppard had no chance to wonder where his teammates were. Eric tossed him the car keys. Caught by surprise, John fumbled the catch and they fell into his lap.

“Nervous, Johnny?”

“Me?” his younger self replied cockily. “Never.”

And it was all too easy to fall into familiar patterns. The over confident, stubborn, arrogant Johnny Sheppard, desperate to prove himself. Tatty jeans and scuffed leather jacket, messy, dark hair threatening to fall over his eyes.

He brushed back an errant strand with one hair. When a younger John had threatened to shave it close, his mother had run her fingers through it, and told him she liked it long. Then she’d died, and he’d kept the length, a concession to her memory.

His father hated it, of course. Told him that if he wanted to join the military, he needed to lose the vanity. It was simpler for his father to blame invented failures than to acknowledge his son’s grief, or his own.

Unable to stop himself, John’s hand lifted the keys to the ignition and turned. The engine roared to life eagerly, more enthusiastic about the race than its driver. Eric howled in pleasure, leaning out of the passenger window and hollering to the girls standing on the verge: “You take a good look, ladies!”

Two of them blew exaggerated, stage school kisses towards the car, then turned to each other and giggled. Eric grinned appreciatively before turning back to John, nodding at the audience.

“I think they like us.”

“Me,” the younger Sheppard corrected. “They like me, Eric. Don’t delude yourself.”

“Hey, you and Tyler aren’t the only studs.”

“Please, McGinley. Control yourself. Remember who’s driving.” John depressed the accelerator with one foot by a fraction, and felt the car hum beneath him.

In the opposite lane, Tyler had his car purring, and was now leaning out of his window soaking up some love from an adoring blonde. Seeing Sheppard was ready, he slapped the girl across the back of her short skirt and pulled back into position, both hands on the wheel.

Without moving his body, he turned his head and eyed John. “You ready, Johnny?”

There was a threat beneath the false warmth, a coldness and malice that was not missed by either John or Eric. Temporarily lost for words, Sheppard was saved by a growl from Eric.

“Let’s make this a good game, Edwards.”

The words cut through the memory sharply. As though waking suddenly from a deep sleep, Sheppard started, his body tensing and his eyes looking forward past the windscreen to the crowd. He still couldn’t see the others, but at the far end of the track he could make out the distant silhouettes of more onlookers, those who had chosen to wait out at the finishing line.

He thought back to how this had ended. Tyler had cheated, but so had he, using sneaky quick turns and slides to the left in an attempt to force the other boy to swerve, or slow down. The cordoned off road was less than two miles long, but an unfinished intersection at either end created a loop around which the boys had to make five passes. It was on the fifth and final pass that Tyler would make his mistake. Attempting a tricky maneuver that involved a sudden, sharp turn of the wheels into the other lane whilst on the intersection, his car would skid on an unexpectedly slippery patch of tarmac and slide into the side of Sheppard’s. With both vehicles separated from the road, John remembered a brief period of dizzying colors and the squealing of tires before a sharp, sudden jolt had thrown him forward in his seat, leaving bruises across his chest that would not fade for weeks. The soft grass of the verge had saved both boys from serious injury, but not John from a tense stand-off with his father.

“Hey, you want him to gain the lead or what?”

Sheppard blinked, turning his attention back to the present. Despite his consciousness vacationing, his body had apparently acted of its own will, responding to the scream of ‘Go!’ from Mark Dealer, stood on the sidelines. The two cars were rattling along the freeway at increasing speed, Tyler effortlessly taking the lead. Sheppard could feel the thrum of the engine, the vibrations moving through the steering wheel clutched in his hands, up through his arms to reverberate around his chest. Unbidden, his foot pressed harder on the accelerator, his hand moving the gears obediently.

Eric whooped, leaning out of the window to feel the rushing wind. “This is more like it! Get the speed up, man. If he wins we’ll never live it down.”

The crash had totaled one side of John’s beautiful car, making it impossible to hide the incident from his father. After returning home, two stern looking cops in tow, Sheppard had prepared himself for arguments, another yelling match. He had been left to wait in the front room whilst his father took the officers into the kitchen. He had pressed himself to the door to hear and had only caught snatches of soft voices. Twenty minutes later his father said goodbye to the cops, then turned from the front door to his son.

“Do you want some dinner?”

John had blinked stupidly at his father, astonished by the question. “Dad?”

“I imagine you’re hungry. There’s some chicken salad in the fridge and the remains of the casserole from Wednesday. I’m going to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow.” And then his father had moved away, to the staircase, leaving his confused son stood in the hallway.

Sheppard could still remember the sadness in his father’s eyes, and the sense of incredible shame and guilt.

“Come on, Johnny! We’re almost level. Let’s open her up, see what she can really do!”

The car engine revved noisily, drowning out the rest of Eric’s delight. Sheppard could see Tyler’s car only meters away, and to their left, and he forced his own vehicle to go faster, to pull up alongside the older boy. He could see Tyler in the driver’s seat, glancing towards his opponent quickly, and he glimpsed worry, and anger.

After the crash Sheppard had quietly sold the car to a nearby auto repair shop, for half the money he had originally paid for it less the amount needed to fix the damage. He had bought a second hand, gas friendly replacement that he hated. He returned to college, improved his grades, and spent another year living with the silent specter of his father before moving out into a place of his own.

Both cars had smoothly navigated the first turn, although Tyler’s larger, bulkier vehicle had lost its speed at the intersection and now Sheppard was pulling into the front. The thrill of the memory was beginning to affect him; nothing could beat the adrenaline rush of an F16 at full throttle, or the unexpected grace of a puddle jumper, but for pure, raw power, a car chase appealed to the teenage John he had buried for so long. The vehicle roared under his touch, the wheels obeying every wrench of his hands, gas burning away and leaving streaks on the new tarmac. Eric’s enthusiasm was infectious; John grinned, leaning forward in his seat as though willing the car to go faster, to increase those precious few inches between himself and Tyler. Not to just win, but to beat him, to taste satisfied glory.

He was already at the second intersection, pulling the wheel to the far right to drag the tires into a sharp turn, the effort tearing at the muscles in his arms. It was then that he made his mistake. At such a speed even John’s nimbler vehicle couldn’t cope with the turn, failing to follow the road and instead heading for the opposite embankment. Desperately John yanked the steering wheel further around to the right, struggling to pull the car back into the turn but despite his efforts the tires slipped on an unexpected oily patch of tarmac and skidded. Having lost control of the car all Sheppard could do was watch the side of Tyler’s car speed closer until…

In the brief second before the crunch, Sheppard heard somebody scream. He thought it sounded like Ford.

The front of the car clipped the side of Tyler’s, sending the other boy careening into the verge. The vehicle seemed to groan, the force and angle of the collision sending the car into a roll, landing roof first onto the ground with an ear-splitting peal of thunder. Sheppard felt every bone in his body rattle, pain bursting across his chest from where the belt strapped him into his seat, his head jolted so hard he heard his neck crack. The car juddered as velocity dragged it across the tarmac, slowing, then finally stopping, bumping into the low metal barrier of the road.

For several moments the only sound was Sheppard’s own heavy panting.

He seemed miraculously uninjured, aside from some aches from his abused ribs. He flexed his fingers experimentally, then his toes, satisfying himself that he was unharmed, then tried to peer through the front window. The windscreen had cracked through the force of the car’s landing, and Sheppard could see the ground above him, and the brilliant blue sky below.

“Sir.”

The voice beside him was croaky, its owner breathing with harsh, stuttered gasps. Carefully Sheppard turned his head to look towards Eric…

To find Ford sat in his place.

The young lieutenant was ashen, suspended upside down in the car by the seat belt still secured around his chest. He was wearing the thin t-shirt and jeans Eric had been sporting a few moments earlier, and Sheppard could see an odd, sharp bump of ribs through the thin cloth. Aiden was struggling to catch his breath, and as he uttered another soft, gurgling: “Major,” Sheppard glimpsed blood staining his teeth.

“Oh crap.” John fumbled at his own belt, desperation causing his fingers to fumble. “Lieutenant, stay still, okay? I’m gonna get us both out of here.”

“You….” Ford closed his eyes tightly, his face taut with pain. “You crashed.”

Sheppard hesitated, his breath catching over the accusation in Aiden’s voice. “It was an accident.”

“No.” The younger man dragged another, strangled gasp of air into his lungs, blood tricking into his hair. “You… screwed up.” Another gasp, and then he added unnervingly: “Sir.”

“No.” Sheppard tugged hard on the seatbelt catch but the force of the impact seemed to have jammed the metal. “This wasn’t how this went! Eric didn’t…” He stumbled over the words, clamped his mouth over the unspoken ‘die’ and corrected: “he wasn’t badly hurt.”

“Major…”

“It was a couple of scratches, a dent in the car!” He was yelling now, fear and frustration fuelling his rage, ripping at the seatbelt futilely and shouting at the game around him. “He walked away from it, we both did, you hear me?”

“Your fault.” Aiden coughed, broken ribs pressing against his t-shirt. “He was right.”

Sheppard didn’t ask who, didn’t need to. Temporarily giving up with the belt he tried pushing himself over to the open window, screaming for help across the tarmac. But he couldn’t see the crowd, he couldn’t see Tyler’s car in the verge, he could only see the blue sky and hear the dying breaths of his second, of…

“I thought…” Aiden paused, swallowing convulsively, his lips stained red.

“No,” John told him, ordered him, his hands once more struggling with his seatbelt. “Just hold on, Lieutenant.”

“I thought…” and Ford turned a terrible, accusing look on Sheppard, “you would… get us home.”

For the briefest of seconds, Sheppard froze.

The catch suddenly gave way beneath his fingers, releasing him from the seat. Sheppard dropped suddenly, hitting his head hard against the ceiling. Darkness claimed him.

Chapter Thirteen - Secret Track

“Hello?”

A perfectly manicured lawn bordered by roses provided a picturesque front to the house. A wide pebbled driveway, home to two cars and a girl’s bike, curved up from the suburban street to the door - a dark, wooden affair, set with a cheerily fake pane of colored glass. It pushed aside easily beneath McKay’s hand, allowing light to fall on polished floor boards and pale cream walls. Several paintings hung on the walls; a rocky landscape, a vase, a hunting party. Between them, at a slight angle, hung an aging family photo. A stiff-backed, middle-aged man in a suit, a woman with shoulder pads and an expensive perm, a teenage girl with a familiar, defiant jut to her chin and a ten year old boy, pudgy and sickly looking. All four stared out from the photo with expressionless eyes, oblivious to being an object of study.

For the first time in almost twenty years, Rodney McKay was home.

He paused before moving off the door mat, looking from his boots to the shoe rack purposefully placed in the space to his left. Habit had him bent down, fingers on his laces before he realized what he was doing and stopped.

Straightening, McKay looked around the empty hallway and ventured, reluctantly: “Mom?”

There was no reply, much to his intense relief. Trying a different tack, he called: “Major? Lieutenant Ford? Teyla?”

Then, desperate: “Jeannie?”

Nothing. He hadn’t expected one to the latter; his sister had left home six years before he had, and as far as he was aware had not been back since. But he expected his teammates to answer.

“Huh.” He tried the front door, hoping to exit but finding it locked. “So much for group playing.”

The hallway opened out into an open plan living room and kitchen area. The sofa was cream, matching the walls, and a completely unsuitable color for a young boy and his variety of science experiments.

Sometimes Rodney had thought his mother had deliberately designed the house to ensnare him. It wasn’t his fault that in his attempt to build a bottle rocket, he had accidentally destroyed an entire shelf of her beloved glass animals; it was his mother’s for deciding the den was a suitable place to display them. And if she hadn’t wanted him to use the den, then she shouldn’t have banned him from the kitchen.

Eventually, in a fit of frustration, she had sent him down to the basement armed with a broom and the promise that if he cleaned it up, and ensured all his experiments stayed in the one room, he was free to do whatever he liked down there. She could close the door on him, and the sounds of her protégé son building his first nuclear bomb could be hidden from her judgmental, supercilious friends.

During the end of his parent’s relationship, during the worst of their fights, Rodney would hide down there. He could shut the door so the sounds of their voices were muffled, and bury himself in an experiment, and pretend to himself that it didn’t matter, that it didn’t hurt.

The kitchen was empty, but a kettle stood on the countertop and was coming to a boil, whistling brightly. McKay approached it cautiously, wincing when it automatically flicked off. He looked out across the sink to the kitchen window and beyond, to a deserted garden. The charred remains of something that had once been a tree house clung to an overgrown oak, and he could make out the form of a small black cat making good use of his mother’s rock garden.

He had always liked cats.

A sudden thumping sound from the upstairs caused him to jump. Turning, Rodney left the kitchen behind and headed back through the living room to the stairs.

“Mom?”

No reply. He paused nervously at the foot of the stairs, one hand clutching the banisters tightly. The house was silent, eerily so, and McKay couldn’t repress a convulsive shudder as he started to climb the stairs.

“Oh, this is so not fun. Damn Ancients. Supposed to be all knowing and all powerful and yet they can’t even program a damn computer game…”

Another loud thump uttered from somewhere to his left, prompting McKay to yelp and freeze halfway up the staircase. After a long pause he managed to force his body up the remaining steps, though his heart was thundering in his chest and he could feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat.

The stairs led to a wide landing and several doors. To his right lay his and Jeannie’s rooms. His was shut, and plastered over with a sharp ‘keep out’ sign, but his sister’s was open and he glimpsed a flash of pink walls and fluffy cushions. Straight ahead was the guest room, and to the left lay the bathroom and his parent’s room.

It was from this room that there issued another, dull thump. McKay approached it slowly, drawing his gun from its holster, and wishing desperately that one of his teammates was with him.

Cautiously, and with a slight tremble, his free hand reached out and pushed down the door handle. His mind rebelled, demanding his body had better damn well listen to reason and stop this right now, because it was quite clearly insane to be walking in the direction of the thumping, and he had seen enough horror movies to know that this approach never ended well.

His body refused to obey. The door creaked ominously on its hinges as it swung open.

The curtains were drawn; McKay’s first clue that something was wrong. Facing the front street, his parent’s room was gifted with natural light for most of the day, making it a pleasant, if a little stuffy, environment. The bed was pushed close to the outside wall and separated only by a small bedside cabinet, allowing his mother a perfect position to survey the neighborhood without having to get up in the morning. A large wardrobe stood on the nearest wall, housing racks of his mother’s overpriced designer clothes and his father’s expensively tailored suits. Numerous cosmetic products covered the surface of a small dresser, several bottles of perfume and shampoo hiding a single photo frame containing the only shot of his parent’s wedding that Rodney had ever seen.

A full length mirror hung on the wall beside the dresser, and gave McKay a view of the woman sat on the floor, leaning up against the opposite side of the bed. She was staring up at the curtains, and didn’t move as McKay entered.

“Jeannie?”

Her dark hair was streaked with white, and as McKay moved around the bed he caught a glimpse of pale, papery skin. “You’ve changed.”

“Oka..ay.” He paused uncertainly. “How are you?”

“You really want to get out there.”

“Um…” He frowned, and took another step towards the bed. “It’s been a while. I meant to write to you…”

“I’m impressed.” Her voice was rougher than he remembered, weaker, but her words touched something within him, something dark.

Slowly McKay stepped around the corner of the bed, getting his first proper look at his sister.

She was aged, hideously. Jeannie was seven years older than him, a rebellious eighteen year old when he had last seen her in the flesh, and in her early thirties in the last photo. He had, in the brief pauses between his work, thought of how the ten years might have changed her. Whether she had followed their mother, and hidden behind make-up and hair dye, or whether she had given in gracefully, like their great aunt, plump and healthy with warm eyes behind the wrinkles.

But not like this. Not even in nightmares.

Skeletal thin, skin mere tissue, hanging from her bones in swathes of gray, translucent cloth. Her white hair hung around her face, hiding her eyes. Her slender legs were drawn up to her rib cage, long hands resting limply in her lap. She coughed, and McKay could hear the breath rattle.

There was a bloody handprint on her chest.

“You want in the fight.”

“What?” He shook his head, confused, dropping to his knees beside her. “Look, Jeannie… it’ll be alright. Oh god… it’ll be alright.”

“No.” She laughed, bitterly, a twisted hiss of air between her lips. “Rodney, it’s okay.”

He shivered involuntarily, forcing himself to reach out and take one of her fragile hands in his, cradling it gently. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never replied to your letters, I know I forgot Christmas cards, but I…”

She curled one finger around his thumb and squeezed weakly. “You and I both know I’m not going to make it.”

“Stop it.” His mouth was dry, his brain acting on autopilot. “You’re getting stronger by the minute.”

And then it hit him.

“I’m dying, Rodney. I can feel it.”

Gaul. He tried to recoil, to escape the false shadow of his sister but his body refused, frozen to the spot on the carpet beside her. Sun trickled into the room through a gap in the curtains, and failed to warm the air.

“Stop it.” He swallowed hard, feeling his sister’s thready pulse beneath his fingers. “

“I’m not getting better. I’m getting worse.”

“No.” He closed his eyes briefly, willing the vision to be over, praying that when he opened them she’d be gone, that he could jerk back out of the game and return to the safe white.

His sister was silent.

Panicking, Rodney opened his eyes, tugging on her hand firmly. She uttered a soft gasp and stirred, resisting his touch, the movement grounding him.

“Oh, thank god. I thought…”

Slowly she lifted her face towards him, the white hair falling away to reveal white, milky eyes.

His voice broke on a whisper: “Jeannie…”

Blindly she reached out to him with her free hand, her entire arm trembling with the effort. He caught her fingers and encased her hand in his, moving closer. She was icy cold, her breath stuttering in her chest.

“Go, Rodney.”

“No.”

”You want to.”

“No,” he repeated, desperately, massaging her hands with his fingers, just as he’d done for Gaul, just as he’d done so Brendan could lift the…

There was a sound from somewhere outside the room, coming from the outer hallway. A voice that sounded a lot like Teyla. McKay froze, listening intently, Jeannie cocking her head to search out the sound.

“You hear that?” he asked her, nervously.

She shook her head. “No.”

“I thought I heard something. Maybe…”

“No.”

He turned back to his sister, still absently rubbing her hands with his fingers. “Can you move?”

She gave another laugh, and despite the frailty of her voice it still sounded like her, the laughter he had heard from behind a door when she’d been in her room with friends, the laughter they’d shared on the rare movie nights, sat before a film by their absentee mother. “I’m not going anywhere.”

McKay paused, torn, glancing between Jeannie and the bedroom door. She pushed at him feebly with her hands, pressing against his chest.

“Go, Rodney. Save the day.”

He dropped her hands gently, glancing back at the door before finally, slowly getting to his feet, leaning on the wall for support. The sound from outside seemed louder, clearly Teyla, and although he couldn’t make out any words she sounded frightened.

Teyla was never scared.

“If I had a radio…” His hand rose to pat his blank cheek. “No, of course not. But it’s okay - if Teyla’s there, then maybe Sheppard and Ford are too, and we can figure out a way of getting out of here. We can get you to Carson. Although…” He paused, filled with self-doubt. “If there’s a Wraith, what chance do we have? If Teyla can’t fight it then how can I?” He took a faltering step towards the door, his hand slipping down to grasp at his gun holster. “I was hoping to be strong enough but I…”

The sound of a gun reverberated around the small room, muffled by fabrics. It was followed by a soft, strangled moan.

“Oh… god.”

Slowly he turned, his hand still twitching at the empty holster. His gun, his gun, his sister, Jeannie… Blood on his parent’s duvet, pooling on the pristine carpet, blank, lifeless eyes…

There was a twitch in the curtains. McKay turned quickly, ripping his gaze away from the bed, breath caught in his throat, turning in time to see the curtains pull apart and brilliant white light spill in through the window, blinding him…

Chapter Fourteen - Home

Aiden had spent most of his childhood in a street where the houses were all as old as the families raised in them. His grandmother’s house played home to three generations of Fords and it wasn’t the only one in the block to do so.

On the corner stood Mrs Cooper’s; a low roofed bungalow with a sweeping porch overgrown with ivy and creeping roses. She would sit on its steps and watch the rest of the neighborhood go by, dragging on a thin, dark brown cigarette, her fingers stained yellow. Hers was always the last house Aiden and Josh visited during Halloween, the younger boy’s hand clutched in the firm hold of his cousin’s. The elderly lady treated all children visiting her home as royalty, replacements for her own, grown up offspring who had left the nest years earlier and only grudgingly reappeared at Christmas. She would gift the two boys with more candy than they could carry, and ignoring their grandmother’s warnings they would take the entire horde home to bed, and gorge themselves sick on it.

When Aiden was older he performed various small gardening duties for the old lady, trimming her hedges, cutting her lawn, and emptying her gutter. But it had been two years since he had last seen Mrs Cooper, and it seemed no one had taken over his chores. The porch was empty, overgrown with bramble that spilt up and over the front fence from the border. The lawn was wild and untamed, knee-high in places and riddled with moss in others. Paint was slowly peeling from the front door, baked and cracking in the summer heat.

Frowning, Aiden moved onwards down the street, making a mental note to ask his grandmother what had become of the warm, elderly lady.

Beside Mrs Cooper lived the Stuarts. Their eldest son, Nathan, had been in the same class as Aiden and before he had followed in his father’s footsteps, training to become a doctor, Nathan had been good friends with Aiden. There was still a dint in the Stuart’s lawn where the enthusiastic pitcher, Nathan, had ground his feet theatrically into the dirt. There were still burn marks on the white trunk of the ash tree, where the boys had pinned a Catherine Wheel several July the 4ths earlier. Mr. Stuart was known for throwing a huge barbeque every year, inviting family, friends, and neighbors, and if Ford concentrated he could still taste Mrs Stuart’s baked corn on the cob, dripping with butter.

The house now stood empty. The front window was smashed and the door hung in splinters. Sat on the driveway, the large family car was covered by a layer of mulch, its paint faded, its metal rusting. Walking past the property Aiden considered a closer look, but his feet had other intentions.

Past Mr. Davenport’s house, its windows and doors boarded up, its high fence battered and broken. The man had seemingly despised everybody, resentful of the fact that he was being forced to share a street with other people. People with children, and dogs, and lawnmowers. No ball or Frisbee had ever returned from the man’s garden and Aiden had serious worries for his cousin Marissa’s rabbit, who had disappeared under a hole in the fence and had never been seen again.

Then the Connors, another family with two daughters, one of whom Aiden had dated for several months in high school… then Mr. and Mrs Chase, an older couple with a grown up daughter…then Aiden was running, past the empty and abandoned houses, past the broken windows and peeling paint to…

Home.

Compared to other houses on the block it seemed relatively untouched. If it hadn’t been for the door, left open and creaking in the wind, or the odd, dark mark marring the neat brickwork, Aiden could almost delude himself into thinking everything was normal.

It was not the same inside. A trail of clothes was strewn from the top of the stairs downwards to the hallway below, and an open suitcase lay at Aiden’s feet. He recognized several t-shirts as belonging to Josh, and a skirt that had been Meredith’s. Several family photos had fallen from the wall and now glass shards littered the carpet. He walked across them carefully, treading slivers into the rug, and stepped into the living room.

The place was a disaster. A bookshelf had been tipped over, its contents scattered across the floor. The glass coffee table, his grandmother’s pride and joy, was shattered, what looked like blood pooling around some of the pieces. The curtains had been torn from the rails, and there were holes in the plaster of the walls. A crate sat on the sofa, filled with canned food and cereal.

Increasingly afraid, Aiden moved back out into the hallway and into the opposite room, the den. Here the furniture had been pushed back to the walls to create space on the floor. His family seemed to be in the middle of packing, boxes of food and suitcases piled unevenly against the couch.

His grandfather’s car keys sat on the desk, beneath the green table lamp that had been an anniversary present from his aunt and uncle. Aiden stared at them, shivering, fighting to quell a tide of fear and panic.

He failed. Turning sharply, he left the den behind, pounding up the stairs, treading on his cousin’s clothes. “Grandma? Meredith?”

Into his grandparent’s bedroom, where the sheets had been torn from the bed, the mattress stripped and bare. “Grandpa?”

Out and into the room shared by Meredith and Marissa, where the wardrobe lay open and bare, hangers scattered across the floor. A bottle of shampoo had been knocked from a table and now lay in a pool of congealing goop.

His heart hammering in his chest, Aiden pushed himself off the door frame and headed past his aunt’s room – in disarray – past the bathroom, where the medicine cabinet hung awkwardly from the wall, its contents in the sink – to the room he shared with Josh. Basketball posters covered one wall of the room, and the calendar of girls his grandmother had vehemently disapproved of still hung on the back of the door. A backpack lay on the bed, neatly strapped up and overfull.

“Josh?”

There was a quaver to his voice. Dragging his gaze away from the empty room, Aiden turned back to the landing and surveyed the rest of the house.

It was quiet. His home was never quiet, too full of people, of laugher and arguments and family, not pulled apart, destroyed in the midst of a desperate flight.

There was a large, circular scorch mark on the wallpaper above the stairs. Aiden stared at it for several long seconds, recognition igniting a creeping sense of dread.

A sound from outside pulled him back into the bedroom, to the window that overlooked the street. A repetitive drumming, growing in volume, the sound of armored feet against the tarmac. A dozen Jaffa marched in perfect formation down the road, staff weapons in their hands. Their leader, dressed in the strange, animal shaped helmet Aiden had only seen twice before, strode before them. His head moved to the left and right as though looking for something.

Or someone. Aiden froze, his fingers still curled around the curtain.

His last thoughts were ones of realization, of horror and despair.

Oh god, they’re dead, they’re all…

The leading Jaffa looked up to Aiden’s window, his red eyes meeting the human’s gaze, any expression hidden behind the mask.

Aiden couldn’t move, his body in a state of shock, his mind bound into a crazed denial, no, no, it’s not possible, it’s not been that long, why did I…

He had known the threat to the Milky Way, but left the mission to defend Earth in favor of new frontiers. Leaving his family to be protected by others, that protection failing, his family enslaved or dead…

Casually the Jaffa warrior lifted his staff weapon, aiming it towards the window. In the few seconds before the trigger was pulled, Aiden thought he heard the voice of his grandmother, of the promise she had gently pressed from him.

Come home safe, Aiden.

Then a pulse of hot weapons fire took out the window, and Aiden heard nothing else for a long while.

Chapter Fifteen - Catch That Rabbit

Screams.

She could still hear them, alone in her room in Atlantis, above the sound of the ocean, the wind outside, distant voices in the corridor. The cries of her people, her family, men and women she had shared her young life with, children she played with.

She knew every name, knew every face. Knew their blood, as her ancestors had known.

And now she cowered in a ditch at the side of a field with the flames of her village lighting the night sky, and heard whispers of the dead calling to her.

There was the memory of fighting, of resisting, of turning to face the figures in white. But it was a dream, a hope, and she should have known not to hold any. She hid in the shadows in fear, a child, alone.

A dart shot overhead, the air pressure forcing her back against the ditch wall, into the mud. Its cry rang out across the valley, a brilliant, shimmering beam sweeping across the earth, claiming lives with pause, without prejudice. The old, and the infirm, the ones who could not run, and the ones who had stayed behind to try and protect them.

Everyone was dead, and she walked with ghosts.

She heard footsteps. Shadows were running towards her, hidden figures towering above her, and she shivered and pressed into the mud in the hope that it would swallow her whole. That it might entomb her, protect her from those ready to take her soul. Her body shuddered uncontrollably, so hard the muscles ached, her teeth clamped together, her eyes closed tight. Her breath caught in her chest and her heart hammered against her ribs as she felt pale hands reach out to her and she wanted to howl –

“Teyla.”

She jerked away violently, lashing out blindly with one arm and catching something warm and soft with her fist. Something that yelped, and uttered an unfamiliar word.

“Jesus! Oh, Christ, Teyla…”

“Teyla.” Another voice, and warm breath before her. She opened her eyes a crack and saw feet, and legs, and dark skin reaching out to hers. Familiar eyes and a weak, but well meaning smile.

“Aiden.” She took his proffered hand but made no attempt to rise, looking to where Sheppard stood, almost doubled over, his face bright red. She frowned, confused, then realized with shame why he moaned. “Major Sheppard –“

One hand waved at her, whilst the other gripped Doctor McKay’s shoulder tightly. “I’m fine,” came back a mumble, “just, ah, scratch the kids, okay?”

Aiden pulled her to her feet, but continued to hold her hand for a moment longer than was necessary, squeezing gently. He leaned forward on his toes to glance over the top of the ditch, then ducked back. “Wraith.”

She found her voice, though it was dry and scratched. “It is the village I spent my childhood in. The day…” And then she paused, unable to voice her fears, and changed tack. “Where did you come from?”

“Hell,” McKay muttered. His face was pale in the dim light of the moon, his thoughts clearly far from the ditch in which they hid. One of his hands patted Sheppard’s shoulder in a subconscious effort of comfort.

“Home,” Aiden said, his voice uneven. “Least I think so. I was back on Earth and…” He paused, looking away to the muddy floor. Teyla pressed her free hand over his, encasing his fingers, feeling him tremble under her touch.

“It was not Earth. Just as this…” She looked up as another dart raged through the night sky, “this is not Athos.”

“It felt like it.” He took a shaky breath, and she could feel his efforts to reclaim his strength. “There were Jaffa there, and one of them shot me. Everything went white and then I woke up here.”

“The same happened to me,” McKay offered. “Not the, ah, the Jaffa bit. But I was… somewhere else.” His face was pinched tight, struggling not to betray any emotion. “There was a flash of light and then I woke up under the trees over there, next to Lieutenant Ford.”

“So you weren’t in the car crash.” Sheppard had managed to uncurl his body a fraction, though his face was still a lurid red and his voice was tight with pain. He looked at Ford – no, Teyla realized, the Major was drinking in the sight of the younger man, looking over every inch keenly. “You weren’t injured.”

“Car crash?” Aiden shook his head. “No, sir. And I’m fine. Just… I’d quite like for this to be over, now.”

“Yes, well…” McKay cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I’m not sure that’s going to happen any time soon.”

Sheppard pushed himself away from the scientist’s support and leant his hips against the ditch wall, his hands on his knees. “You’re always the purveyor of doom and gloom, Rodney.”

“Someone has to be.”

“Go on,” Teyla encouraged him, anxious for something to take her mind off the screams still emanating from her village. Her body twitched, anxious to move, and she had to struggle to maintain control.

“These flashbacks, for want of a better word, they’re only lasting a few minutes at a time. I figure we can only have been in the game a period of an hour, maybe less, which means there’s still a good long period of playing time until Elizabeth decides to send a rescue party.”

Sheppard was already shaking his head. “We are not going through any more of this.”

“We clearly have little choice. We can’t leave the game of our own will. We can’t refuse to play, because the machine can control everything we see and hear. And…” the scientist’s hands twitched nervously. “I’m not sure we can wait for a rescue team.”

“No argument here, doc,” Aiden said, glancing over the side of the ditch to the village. “I don’t want to keep doing this.”

“And this is such a picnic for me.” McKay sighed, heavily. “That’s not what I meant, Lieutenant. The power distribution in the outpost was already uneven. Understandable, really, since it’s been operating for ten thousand years or more without maintenance. Our arrival disrupted the fine balance the computer created.”

“Which we already know,” Sheppard said, impatiently. “That’s why the stasis chamber failed.”

One finger wagged at Sheppard. “Not necessarily. I’ve been thinking about the AI that controls this place, and I have to figure that it’s not contained to the game system.” The scientist furrowed his brow, his voice strengthening as he became consumed by his thoughts. “To control both the stasis chambers and the room we found, it must be tied into the outpost’s systems as a whole, able to control the power, life support, etc. Given that’s almost certainly the case, it seems likely that the reason the chamber before failed isn’t because the system overloaded, it’s because the computer actively chose to cut power to that area.”

“So what?” Ford asked. “You’re telling us the computer went nuts?”

McKay rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a computer, it can only do what it’s programmed to do.”

“I do not believe the Ancients programmed their machine to do this,” Teyla said, pointedly.

The scientist scrunched his face up into a frown. “No.” He glanced at Sheppard. “You ever read I Robot?”

Sheppard shrugged. “I heard they were making a movie.”

McKay gave another eye roll. “Heathen. If you’d bothered to look up from your football game, you’d know about the three laws of robotics. Asimov used various stories to explore the ways a computer could act in accordance with the laws but that looked like it was contradicting them. He…”

The sound of a cry, twisted beyond any human origin, rang out through the night air and curtailed the physicist’s explanation. McKay paled, turning his gaze away from Teyla.

The Major flinched, looking briefly up to the sky before turning back to McKay and uttering an exaggerated grown. “McKay, if there’s a point, would you mind getting to it?”

Teyla cut in, desperate to ignore the sounds of the culling, and the twitching of her muscles in fear. “Perhaps you might tell us what these three laws are.”

“Fine.” He held up one hand and lifted one finger. It trembled slightly in the moonlight. “Firstly, a robot cannot injure a human or allow harm to come to a human, Second,” and he ticked off another finger, and swallowed the quaver in his throat, “a robot must obey an order given to it by a human unless it contravenes the first law. Thirdly…”

Sheppard waved a hand. “Does this have a point, McKay?”

“Yes,” the scientist retorted. “Look, it’s possible the Ancients programmed their own computers with something similar. I always thought it was possible, given the fail safes put on the city.”

“And that green doohickey,” Ford added.

“And that.” McKay glanced about the ditch. “It would make sense that they applied the same rules to an artificial intelligence they created.”

“But it does not seem to have worked,” Teyla objected. “The computer is not protecting those trapped within it.”

One finger rose into the air. “Ah. Very true, but I think I know why that is. This computer was programmed to do things, correct? To sustain the lives of the people within it. The Ancients designed the system to protect them during their sleep, but they didn’t expect it to take this long. When power started to fail the computer was faced with two possible outcomes: if it did nothing then chances were that supply to the chambers would fail at an unpredictable rate, leading to multiple deaths. The alternative was to shut down some areas and channel the power to others.”

“So it chooses to sacrifice one life to protect the others,” Sheppard finished, his expression grim.

“One life, or eighty.” McKay gave a thin, humorless smile. “The eastern wing should have held as many stasis chambers as the one we saw, but power had gone completely in that area. Somehow I don’t think that was a mistake.”

Aiden’s voice was dry and nervous. “So what effect are we causing to the system?”

“Probably a big one. My scans showed that this room used a lot more power than just one of those chambers.”

“So why does it not simply switch off?” Teyla asked.

The scientist hesitated, a rare look of doubt appearing on his face. “I’m not sure, It still might although if hasn’t already…” He spread his fingers expressively. “I don’t know. I have an idea but my biggest concern is where it’s going to draw power from to keep the game going.”

“Other chambers,” Aiden suggested.

“Possibly.” McKay grimaced. “Or the Stargate itself.”

“Meaning that even if we get out of this game, we can’t dial Atlantis.” Sheppard rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “And neither can any team sent to rescue us.”

“Precisely.” McKay shrugged. “Of course, it’s only a theory. I have others.”

“Such as?”

“Well…” He cleared his throat. “The increasing fluctuations in the system could cause a spike big enough to drain all the stasis chambers of power and, ah, fry everybody here.” He winced. “Not that we’d be aware of it, of course, because we’d still be trapped in the game, but our bodies would be little more than KFC.”

Teyla didn’t know the reference, but she understood the sick expression on Aiden’s face. “The computer has fail safes…”

“It’s ten thousand years old. It’s unpredictable.” The scientist frowned deeply, tilting his head to one side. “Of course, if I’m right then…”

A shrill scream suddenly rent the air to their left. Teyla was jolted back into the memory, hearing the sounds of people running, shouting to each other, crying. Turning away from her teammates she leant up and over the ditch, peering across the muddy field.

The village was entirely aflame now, bright yellow and orange illuminating the sky. She could still see shadows moving within, twisted and ruined figures destroyed by fire, or by Wraith. Several darts hovered overhead, black outlines against the sky, and a solitary beam picked off the survivors one by one.

But this was not how it had happened. Not such destruction. The Wraith had come, but not in such numbers, and had not taken so many. The village, its buildings and structure, had remained despite the loss of life. They had survived.

“Teyla…”

She flinched, turning her head to see Sheppard, lying in the dirt beside her. McKay and Aiden still hid in the ditch, the young lieutenant taking up the rear and looking out into the fields behind them, the scientist stood pressed into the far corner, now silent.

“Teyla,” Sheppard repeated, softly.

She looked away, back to the remains of her home, towards the uneven road that curved away from the village. A crowd of several dozen people made its way along the trail, the leaders running, the back supporting a few stumbling stragglers.

“This is a lie,” she said, softly, more for herself than to convince Sheppard. “The Wraith did not destroy my people.”

“I know,” he whispered, watching the pitifully small group draw closer.

“And yet…” She dug her fingers into the dirt, hoping to find solace in the earth. “This is too real.” Straining to see through the dim light, Teyla could make out faces, memories resurrected and now running along the path towards them. Halling led the way, his youth granting him agility. At the back Brelan and Karet, identifiable by the distinctive red in their hair, aided the weakest. They were brothers, separated by barely a year, and inseparable even in their deaths.

And in the middle, her arm looped around the waist of an elderly woman with long, white hair…

“What is it?” Sheppard placed his hand on her arm. “Teyla?”

“My mother.” She shook her head, hoping that when she lifted her gaze the memory would have ended.

It hadn’t. The group was moving closer, back lit by the flames consuming the village. Twisting, Teyla could follow the line of the path towards the outline of the hill beyond, and she knew that behind that lay the Stargate. To the left lay the caves, the only sanctuary to her people, the only thing that had saved them in the past.

So why were they heading to the ‘gate?

She looked back towards the group, torn by her desire to help her people, and the voice of reason in her head which repeated, this isn’t real, this isn’t real.

Her body decided for her. Breaking free of Sheppard’s hold, Teyla pushed herself out of the ditch and started to run across the field, ignoring her team mate’s alarm. The surviving villagers seemed oblivious, both to her fast approach and the shimmer of white which moved in the forest behind them.

Wraith, Teyla realized, feeling sick. She drew extra power to her legs to try and gain speed, but the muddy field blocked her attempts, and as she struggled to free each footstep the earth made a loud, sucking sound as it tried to claim them.

“Teyla!”

Sheppard appeared to her left, Ford and McKay close behind. All three men were armed, Ford carrying his P90 in his hands.

“Wait.”

She shook her head. “They are going the wrong way. The Wraith will have dialed the Stargate, making it impossible to escape. The caves have always been our hiding place - I do not understand why they do not go there.”

“Because this isn’t real,” Sheppard repeated, insistently.

“No.” She glanced back towards the group. “And yet I cannot leave them.”

“Teyla…”

“Please, Major.” Teyla could see her mother stumble, drawn down by the weight of the woman she supported. “I have to do this.”

He took a deep breath, then released it as a sigh. “Alright. But we’re backing you up.”

Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she nodded. “There are Wraith in the trees, following them.”

“I see them,” Ford offered, looking towards the forest through a pair of binoculars. “At least four.”

“Four?” McKay squeaked.

“We’re just protecting the group,” Sheppard cut in, sharply. “We may not have to take them on.”

McKay’s expression clearly communicated his disbelief. “And do you have any clue as to what happens if we die in here? Because I don’t.”

Ford lifted his hand and gave a weak wave. “Shot by a staff weapon.”

The scientist gave a grudging nod. “Still…”

Fear and anger welled inside Teyla, forcing her to snap: “If you do not wish to help me, Dr McKay, then stay behind.” Then she pulled up her feet from the mud and broke out into a run, fighting against the mud to reach her people.

She was aware of Sheppard, of Aiden and McKay following a second later, but their presence was unimportant in the plight of her people. Only one dart remained over the village; the other two circled the outskirts, picking off the survivors. They had not yet spotted the handful escaping towards the Stargate, but Teyla knew it was only a matter of minutes.

Halling spotted her first, his quick gesture towards the small group bringing them to a shambling stop. “Where did you come from?”

She glanced towards the flames, then at the forest to their left. “I was hiding until I saw you. I bring friends.”

Halling gave Sheppard, Ford and McKay a cursory glance, then turned towards the crowd and called out: “Teyla is returned to us.”

“Teyla.” Her mother moved through the small group, leaving the elderly lady to the care of a teenage boy. She grasped her daughter by both arms, pulling her close, dipping her forehead forward.

Teyla allowed the touch to linger longer than was necessary, drinking in the soft, herbal smell of the soap her mother used to wash her hair, the warmth of her mother’s fingers against her skin, the sound of her breath, the feel of it brushing against Teyla’s cheek.

“I thought that you were lost.”

She swallowed tears and broke away, the effort physically painful. “As did I, you. You head towards the Stargate?”

Halling nodded, running one hand over his head to brush long, dark blonde hair out of his face. “We must abandon Athos. The Wraith have destroyed everything.”

She shook her head quickly. “The way will be blocked, they will have dialed in to prevent our escape.”

“You do not know that,” he shot back. “Others have gone ahead of us to safety.”

“Then they are likely dead too.”

“You should listen to her,” Sheppard broke in, warningly. “It’s the truth.”

Teyla’s mother looked across from her daughter towards the strangers. “You have seen this?”

“Yes,” the Major lied, convincingly. “We’ve come from there.”

“Then where do we go?” Halling demanded. “Should we simply hand ourselves over willingly, like cattle?”

Teyla had forgotten this earlier incarnation of her friend. The younger Halling had been obnoxious and arrogant, believing he deserved the place of future Athosian leader, and not the younger Teyla. Time spent with his wife had softened him, the birth of Jinto shaping him into the strong, centered man Teyla knew and trusted.

“You must go to the caves,” she explained, “to hide there and wait for this to be over.”

“That way leads back to the village,” the man insisted. “It is madness, Teyla. They will find us.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But that way there is hope. If we remain out in the open the darts will find us.”

“Major,” Aiden interrupted, sharply. In one hand he held the binoculars, and the other he used to point towards the forest. “We have to move.”

Teyla allowed herself to feel the whisper of Wraith voices, glancing towards their origin. Shadows moved through the trees, the shimmer of visions and lies.

“We head to the caves,” her mother declared, strongly.

Halling shook his head. “You are not the leader of our people.”

“No,” the older woman snapped back, “but my husband was, and my daughter will be. You will listen to her.”

The man hesitated, briefly, glancing between Teyla and the group of people cowering behind him. “As you wish,” he acquiesced, eventually, stepping aside to allow Teyla to assume his position at the head of the group.

“Great.” Sheppard hefted the weapon in his arms deliberately. “Then let’s go.”

Teyla moved with certainty towards the village. She could smell ash and smoke, and beneath that the putrid scent of flesh. Hot air filled her lungs and burnt her throat, growing in power as they approached. Movement was slow, and she was quiet, keeping close to her mother. Sheppard moved easily beside her, looking towards the hills, while Halling had fallen to the rear, keeping look-out with Aiden.

The group was small, no more than twenty people. Five, broad shouldered men protected either side, casting glances up into the forest. Several supported weaker members, the elderly, the injured. Several women held the hands of frightened, weeping children, and one cradled a baby to her chest, half buried beneath swathes of cloth.

None carried any belongings save for the clothes on their backs.

“What happened?” Teyla asked, softly, looking towards her mother. “Why are there so few of you?”

“We stayed behind, to save those who could not move alone. The strongest went ahead,” her mother explained. Her expression darkened. “I do not know whether they made it through the Stargate.”

“They may be at the caves already,” Sheppard suggested.

Teyla’s glance was shared by her mother. “Perhaps,” she allowed, despite her doubt.

He raised an eyebrow pointedly, an unspoken reminder: this isn’t real. She looked away, and towards her mother, her hand seeking the older woman’s wrist in the dark.

Her mother turned deep eyes towards her daughter. “Teyla?”

“I do not wish to lose you,” she whispered, feeling her mother’s pulse beat quickly beneath her fingertips.

This was not real, but she was finding it harder and harder to believe that.

“Major!”

Aiden had his gun aimed towards the trees, where silver shadows moved quickly towards the group, dropping down the slope at speed. Alarmed, Teyla picked up the pace, aware of the struggles of the people behind her.

“Quickly,” she called out. “The caves are not far.”

They were approaching the outskirts of the village, smoke hanging thick and heavy in the air. Hearing gunfire, Teyla glanced behind her and saw Aiden and McKay firing at two Wraith which had appeared behind them. One fell and did not move again, but the second was joined by a third, firing a stunner bolt that clipped the shoulder of Brelan. He fell with a cry, and was immediately hauled over the shoulder of his brother.

Turning forward, she was aware of the air shifting, glimmering with light and shadow. Fighting the instinct to flee she pushed through the illusion, warning the others: “Ignore all you see. The Wraith will try to trick you into leaving the path.”

She heard a sob, and the explosion of a stunner bolt hitting the earth.

“Listen to my daughter,” her mother urged, loudly. “Our aim is to reach the caves. Concentrate on that.”

Teyla led the group around the village outskirts, hoping the smoke and flames would hide the group from the overhead darts. She was aware of the minds of the Wraith, growing louder and denser, and beneath them the cries of injured, dying Athosians trapped in the burning buildings.

“We should help them,” Halling insisted, moving to her side.

She shook her head, her tongue thick and throat clogged. “If we try then we will all be killed.”

There was more gunfire from behind the group, and another Wraith fell. The two remaining soldiers chased after the group, and she heard McKay scream as weapons fire threatened to clip him. Another body fell to her left, the white haired woman Teyla’s mother had been supporting. She heard weakened bones crunch against the impact and flinched. In less than a second Halling had scooped the woman up and over his shoulder, but Teyla was suddenly aware that, given her age and injuries, there was little point.

Without medical care the woman would likely die, even if they reached the caves.

But she would not be alone, and in the caves, Teyla had promised there would be hope.

“Last one down!” Ford exclaimed triumphantly, and she took this as confirmation of her belief, feeling the whole group stand a little straighter as the last Wraith fell.

There was a scream from her right, and Teyla whipped her head around to see a figure emerge from a burning tent. No longer male or female, it was a barely human shape of black skin and flame, arms flailing, legs driving it across the ground, sparks and ash clouding it in a strange, eerie halo. It lurched towards the group, and Teyla was aware of sobs, of disbelieving cries, of men and women cowering in fear.

The figure stopped and stood, swaying, its disfigured face turning to face Teyla, its mouth opening, dripping with blood and melted flesh and flame, releasing a long, strangled howl.

A single bullet from Sheppard’s gun curtailed the cry abruptly. The figure crumpled to the earth, no longer anything but fuel for an all consuming fire. Teyla swallowed against bile and glanced at the Major, seeing his grim expression and black eyes.

“Which way?” he demanded, his voice flat.

She struggled to find her voice, turning away from what once had been a person. “To the north, less than a kilometer from here.”

He nodded sharply and picked his pace up, forcing the group onwards. The brief morale boost provided by the dead Wraith had evaporated as quickly as it had come and now the survivors moved silently, save for weeping and the cries of the baby.

The air shrieked above them, and looking upwards Teyla saw a Wraith dart shoot across the sky, a transporter beam sweeping across the village. Ducking to her right she led the group away, concentrating on the hills that loomed before her.

It had provided sanctuary to her people throughout their history, allowing Athos to survive despite the loss of some of its people. Teyla could remember hiding in the caves as a child, staring blindly into the darkness, hearing the same rattle of Wraith darts in the sky above, her hand clutched in her mothers in the same way as it was now.

“Dammit!” Sheppard swore sharply, turning his gun upwards and firing off a round into the night. A dart flashed through the sky, a mere silhouette of black against the stars, blurred by smoke and flame. “We’ve been spotted!”

“Into the forest!” Teyla urged, sharpening her right turn and taking her people up a slope. The journey would be longer, she realized, and harder on those weaker members of the party, but the Wraith would find it harder to pick them off through the trees.

It seemed this had been expected. She was aware of their minds before she saw them, a sudden swelling of voices in her head, an alien coldness that remained indefinable, coiling itself around her spine.

The first, a tall, skinny figure with lank hair, grabbed a teenager who was stumbling towards the back. The boy screamed as he died, his hands scrabbling at his chest even as the skin shriveled and shrank back over his bones. Teyla ploughed onwards, though his loss tore at her, releasing her hold on her mother’s hand to raise her own weapon.

She turned it on a second Wraith who appeared from over a hill. Its body fell down the slope and rolled out of sight, its arms and legs continuing to twitch despite six bullets in its torso.

Two more appeared to her left. A stunner took down another survivor, and an older man with a peppery beard fell at the Wraith’s feet. Forcing herself to continue, Teyla fired several more shots at the alien, but was unable to prevent its comrade from leaning down over the body of the man and planting its hand firmly against his chest.

“Teyla!”

Turning, Teyla saw a beam appear through the trees, speeding towards the centre of the group. Karet disappeared, his brother Brelan still slung over his shoulder. A second later and two more Athosians had joined them, the group growing smaller and more hysterical. Desperate, Teyla sought out her mother, catching a glimpse of familiar eyes and dark hair, forgetting the reminder of Sheppard, forgetting the alarmed cry of Halling as another two Wraith appeared on the path before them.

“Teyla!”

Her mother was helping a younger girl to her feet, pulling her upwards and dragging her back onto the path. Teyla saw the Wraith beam change direction, heard the shift of wind and subtle tonal difference in the voices of the aliens inside her mind.

The warning was not enough. Teyla reached out with one hand, but the distance was too great, and before she could do anything her mother and the younger girl were caught in the wave of brilliant silver.

She caught a glimpse of her mother’s face, strong and defiant despite her fear, lit by the eerie light of the beam. And then she was gone.

“Teyla!”

Sheppard’s repeated warning came too late. Turning, Teyla was aware of cold breath and a hand on her shoulder, and then a sudden weight pressing against her chest. She staggered backwards, a sharp, painful chill spreading quickly across her ribcage, her breath frozen within her lungs. The Wraith smiled, teeth glittering, its hair framing its face as it bent over her, its fingers spread flat across her skin.

Distantly, she was aware of someone calling her, and of gunfire. Then the pressure in her chest was gone, the Wraith dropping away. She fell, her body numb and unaware of the jolt when she hit the ground.

“Teyla!” Doctor McKay’s panicked face appeared above her, his breath coming in short gasps, his skin an ill-looking white in the moonlight. She could not feel his hands on her, but she was aware of her vision shifting, of her body being lifted and supported by something behind her.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He repeated the mantra several times, and she could see his hands frantically rubbing hers, as though somehow this would ease the pain crushing her throat and ribs. “This isn’t real. It’s a game, remember?”

She tried to speak, tried to tell him he couldn’t remember, but her mouth seemed unwilling to move and her vision was darkening. She could no longer hear McKay, but through the gloom she saw him speak to her, saw him mouth a desperate plea: not like this, god, not like this.

And then she couldn’t see him at all.

Part Two of Two