The Puppet Master - Part Two of Four

Chapter Thirteen - Brick Walls

"Well if this isn't another fine mess you've got yourself into."

Sheppard sat in an uncomfortable, stiff backed chair in the infirmary, the room empty save for its one patient and the two guards positioned in the doorway. Lieutenants Vaughan and Mukherjee stood at strict attention, their gaze directed intently out into the corridor.

And away from me.

The chair creaked as he shifted within it, trying in vain to find a more comfortable position. His clothes were drying in the warmth of the room, the cloth stiff and awkward against his skin. He ran a hand over his head in an attempt to resurrect his hair, and came away with his fingers covered in sticky gel. Wiped the goo on his pant leg and leant forward, sighing.

"I don't think you’re nuts," he addressed the figure in the bed. Added, thoughtfully: "Well, no more than normal. But then I guess we've all got to be a little whacked to have left Earth."

He didn't receive an answer, and didn't expect one. McKay had woken a few minutes after his arrival in the infirmary but had refused to respond to any pleas from the on-duty nurse or from Beckett, and at Sheppard's voice he had twisted his neck to stare at the opposite wall. Aside from the occasional tug at the cuffs tying him to the bed, the scientist had barely moved.

"There's another explanation," Sheppard continued, confidently. "I've just got to find it. Hell, there's an entire galaxy full of things ready to blow us up, decapitate us, suck the life out of us, shock us and just generally find new ways to mess with our heads. Of course," he added, meaningfully, "it'd be easier if I had your help in this."

No response. If it were not for the slight hitch in the rise and fall of McKay’s chest, Sheppard might have thought him unconscious.

Stubborn, Sheppard thought, and found solace in that thought. A solidly McKay-like emotion he could cling to. Trouble was that, just as he had admitted, he needed the scientist. Needed his thoughts, his leaping from one conclusion to the next, his theories and ideas. At book smarts Sheppard could compete with the best of the geeks – even if he sensibly wouldn’t admit it - but that was a long way from true genius, and he struggled amidst the medical evidence to find an alternative explanation.

Like a needle in a haystack, Sheppard thought, sitting back in his chair. There was no reason to doubt Heightmeyer's diagnosis - no sensible, logical reason.

And the rest...

"It looks bad," he admitted aloud.

Medical files, psychological history, warning signs – was it false hope? Heightmeyer seemed to think so. He saw her quick glances, her pity. Beckett was little help. Torn between the science he believed so passionately in, and the friendship he’d built with McKay, the doctor seemed lost, resigned to an outcome he couldn’t control.

He's trained to think like that, Sheppard reminded himself. To play the odds, to fight until it became inevitable. For himself, there was no giving up. You fought, because if you didn't you were as good as dead. Even when it made no sense at all.

“I know you’d never deliberately hurt Weir. She knows that too.”

Silence. He sat and watched the figure in the bed. Listened to the muffled typing of keys as Carson worked over his computer, to the distant sound of waves, to the quiet chink as McKay tugged on the restraints.

No sense at all, he reminded himself. “Fighting your corner would be a lot easier if you’d talk to me.”

The man in the bed didn’t respond. He gave another, heavy sigh, dropping his head into his hands. Found his fingers sticky once again and cursed, rubbing them across his trousers. “Dammit, McKay! You’re not making this easy!”

He was aware of Beckett looking up from his computer, and he lifted his hand to wave vaguely in the doctor’s direction. “Sorry. No shouting at the patients, I know.”

Leant forward and addressed the bed in a hard toned whisper: “It’s just pretty damn frustrating trying to talk to a brick wall.”

The only response was another chink of the restraints against the railing.

Chapter Fourteen - Conversations with Dead People

“Kate.”

Carson looked up from his computer to offer her a smile. She gave him a nod, appreciating the effort. Knew that it was only a matter of time before the entire city would treat her like an outsider.

“Carson. Is he awake?”

“For a while now. He’s responsive, but he hasn’t said a word.” The man gave a sigh, looking haggard, rubbing a hand over his beard. “I’ve taken some blood, but I’ll leave the rest ‘til tomorrow.”

“You should sleep,” she advised him.

“Aye, probably.” He gestured at the bed. “The Major’s with him.”

McKay was lying on his side, facing away from the Major, large, padded cuffs tying his wrists to the bed rails. Sheppard sat in a hard backed plastic chair, slouched in a position that made her own joints ache in sympathy. He looked up at her approach, gave her a breezy grin that did nothing to mask the hostility in his eyes.

“Here to question the prisoner?”

To an observer the greeting might have seemed jovial, but she frowned, responded: “I want the same as you, Major.”

His grin disappeared, and he pushed back his chair sharply. The legs made a high pitched shriek against the floor. “Which is?”

She ignored his glare, kept her tone cool. “To help Dr McKay.”

Sheppard dropped his head. “Of course.” He gestured at the chair. “Take a seat. Though I should warn you, he won’t speak to anyone.”

“That’s alright.” She sat, waiting as Sheppard lingered.

He patted the bed awkwardly, assured its occupant: “I’ll be back.” Then he turned and headed for the door without once looking back.

Kate waited until he had left before releasing a long breath. “Well,” she said, addressing McKay, “I’m hoping you’ll be a little more vocal with me. You may not believe it but I was telling Major Sheppard the truth, I really am here to help.”

There was an indistinct mumble from the bed, and she leant forward. “I’m sorry?”

“I said,” and he turned his head to stare at her from a pale face and a purple bruise on his chin, “tell me what I have to do to get out of here.”

She inhaled sharply, and nodded. “That’s a fair question.”

“So?”

“So,” and she ticked off on her fingers, “agree to Dr Beckett’s tests, talk to me, talk to the Major, and be patient.”

“I’m talking to you,” he said sullenly, “Isn’t that enough?”

Kate signed, pointedly. “Aside from him being your team leader, he’s also your friend.”

“No, he isn’t.” And McKay tried to roll over, his progress halted by the cuffs as they held back his arms.

Kate doodled on her notebook casually. “Why not?”

“I don’t have to tell you.”

“Yes, you do. Step two in getting out of here.”

“Fine.” He huffed into the pillow. “He’s a liar.”

“What did he lie to you about?”

“Wanting to help me. He thinks he knows me but he doesn’t and I can’t trust him. Not like I’m supposed to.”

“He trusts you,” she responded, mildly.

“Shouldn’t. I’m dangerous.”

She stiffened, wary of treading too far. “I don’t think of you as dangerous.”

“Then you’re an idiot.” He turned back to look at her. “You’ll tell Elizabeth I’m sorry?”

“You can tell her yourself.” She stilled the movement of her pen against the paper. “Since you’ve brought it up, do you want to tell me why you attacked Dr Weir?”

“She was trying to shut me up.” He glanced at her. “They lied, her and Sheppard. Made up a lie to keep me in the city, keep me under their control. But I won’t be locked up. Just wait. I won’t be here long.” And he tugged hard on the restraints to demonstrate. “He said they were my friends,” he continued, absently. “But I don’t listen to him anymore.”

She scribbled on the notebook, ‘voices?’ “Listen to who?”

He shot her a dark look, and again pulled against the restraints. “I’m not stupid,” he snapped. “If I tell you you’ll keep me here forever, or send me back to that box.”

“You said you’d talk to me,” she reprimanded gently.

“Just to get out of here.” His fingers tapped against the railing. “Tell you the answers you want to hear, right? Then you’ll sign me out. You’ll have to. Can’t keep me here forever, not if you think…” and he trailed off.

“We’re not trying to hurt you, Rodney,” Kate said, leaning forward in her seat.

“No, that’s a side-effect, right?” The finger tapping increased in its intensity. “Guinea pigs, that’s the phrase you use. Prod and poke and make me run round a little maze.” He turned his head towards her, eyes glittering. Stuttered: “Th-that’s all it’s ever been. And I know I don’t belong here, but this is the f-first time it’s ever, ever seemed real.”

She remembered his words from their last conversation. “You said you don’t feel you belong here.”

“I don’t belong here,” he corrected. “I don’t. You think you can talk to me and, and pills, right? P-pills and talking and tests and you’ll get him back. Good ‘ol McKay. But there’s no normal and you can’t go back. Not ever.” He looked up at the ceiling. “That’s why I can’t be trusted. D-dangerous.” Then, conversationally: “I’ve killed people.”

Kate paused, laying both pen and paper down on her lap. “Dr Weir is going to be fine,” she assured him, at a guess.

“Not her.” He sounded annoyed.

Another guess. Kate felt she was making blind stabs in the dark. “Gaul and Abrahms. Tomei and –“

“Names,” he interrupted. “Like they’re supposed to mean something.”

“Can we talk about them?”

“You can, if you like.”

She recognised stubbornness, and changed the subject. “Why do you think you’re here, Rodney? In Atlantis?”

“Didn’t have a choice.” He shifted restlessly against the restraints. “Never had one. No one ever asks me what I want. My p-parents –“ And he stopped, pressing his mouth together, and twisting in the bed so he faced the opposite wall.

She winced, but pressed on, intuition overriding her sense of caution. “Tell me about them.”

His response was little more than a whisper, spoken into the pillow. “They never asked me. They were scared of me, always were, keep me apart. Pretend like I’m every other kid. Then he died and they panicked. Like a n-nightmare. They shut me up, locked me away and forgot about me. I’m always being forgotten.” He paused, then burst out with a soft half-sob: “I died…”

Kate shifted nervously in her seat, aware she was losing control over the conversation. “But you’re here. You realise this is real, don’t you?”

“An accident,” he whispered into the mattress. “Trapped for all that time and then an accident and – and it’s not real.” He twisted suddenly back to look at her, insisted: “I’m fine.” His thumb resumed tapping a nervous rhythm against the railings. “Just need some sleep. But hey, that’s normal, right? Everyone’s always busy, there’s always something, y’know…” Broke off and stared at his fingers. Finished: “To do.”

Inwardly Kate sighed. Despite McKay’s willingness to talk to her she felt lost, adrift amidst a jumbled sea of nonsensical phrases. Nothing to help her bring focus to McKay, nothing except emotions – paranoia, anger, self-doubt – but there was an absence of anything concrete. Only assumptions.

“What do you remember about the nanovirus? Was that real?”

He stiffened, right hand clenching and unclenching spasmodically. “I don’t remember.”

“If it was real or –“

“I don’t remember,” he repeated, and tugged on the restraints so hard the bed rattled. “I want out of these things.”

She looked down at his right hand, and the neat white bandage tied around it. “How did you hurt your hand, Rodney?”

He shook his head violently, then started thrashing, kicking at the mattress, twisting his head frantically into the pillows and pulling so hard against the cuffs she was afraid he would hurt himself. “Let me out of here.” And he shouted, a gurgle at the back of his throat: “Let me OUT!”

She rose from her seat, alarmed, turning towards the nurses’ station to see Beckett running. He knocked her shoulder as he brushed past, without apology, shouting orders. Kate stepped back, helpless, watching a nurse plunge a needle into McKay’s arm, listening to Carson’s mantra repeated softly as the man laid his hands on his friend’s chest to restrain him.

“It’s okay. Rodney, it’s okay –“

No, she thought, watching the man in the bed slump back into drugged slumber. Nothing will be okay again.

Chapter Sixteen - Et Tu, John?

They had moved him to a holding cell on the request of Dr Heightmeyer, who had suggested McKay might do better without restraints. But Radek recognised a suicide watch when he saw one. Two guards posted at the door to Rodney’s prison, nameless. He nodded at them as he passed and one returned the gesture, the strict military façade softening into a slight smile. He glanced at the name tag, Cevallos, noting it for future reference.

It was a skill he had admired in Carson; the ability to remember faces and to place names, to greet each person passed in the corridor with a smile, to know even a small, insignificant detail. Too much Athosian wine had the doctor admitting his fear of the impersonal, of wanting more than a label to each body bag.

It had been clear from day one that Dr McKay preferred the other option. It had taken weeks before the physicist was able to recall Radek’s own name, and several months before the he referred to his lower rank colleagues as more than: ‘Hey, you.’

That the memory game had accelerated after the deaths of Gaul and Abrahms, had not gone unnoticed.

Perhaps that was Rodney’s mistake, Zelenka worried. Knowing the names of each man and woman taken out by the nanovirus. Perhaps distance and aloofness was better. Perhaps, had McKay stuck to his original prickly wall of personal space, he might not be where he was now.

Which was in the cell once inhabited by the city’s only Wraith prisoner.

Radek wondered whether there was irony in that.

The cell was a long way from any inhabited area of Atlantis, a fact reflected in the state of the room. Power to the air conditioning system was sporadic at best, activated briefly for the Wraith, but not long enough to rid the area of the smell of sea water and stale dust.

Zelenka had found Atlantis to be a cold, unforgiving place upon their arrival, and it had not been the discovery of new technology that had changed his mind, but the glow given by its new inhabitants. A warmth and life that came from less artificial means than the temperature regulators. This did not extend to the city’s lower depths, and the prison cells, areas untouched by sunlight.

Never had he found the city so harsh as in that moment.

McKay sat in the shadows, leaning against the cot that had been positioned within the centre of the cell. Dressed in red hospital scrubs, and with his knees drawn up to his chest, the scientist sat in silence, his head dropped forward, staring at the floor. The only sound was a harsh, unpleasant scraping, and as Zelenka strained to see into the dark he caught a glimpse of movement. Of McKay’s thumb being dragged repeatedly across the back of his right hand, and the slight sound of tearing fabric as the bandages were shredded beneath supple fingers.

“I do not think Carson will be pleased,” he reprimanded softly, trying not to sound as horrified by the act as he felt. A sick feeling, one that had lain in his stomach since Dr Weir had called him into her office, rose into the back of his throat.

The figure in the cell looked up briefly, evidently decided his visitor was uninteresting, and went back to his assault on his hand.

“Let me guess, he’s playing dumb?”

Radek started, turning to see Sheppard stood just inside the doorway. The Major looked haunted, dark rings circling his eyes, the hint of stubble across his cheeks. Faked a grin and a wave, sauntering across the small space to stand beside Zelenka and peer into the cell.

“You’ve always been a stubborn son of a bitch.”

Silence. Zelenka pulled his eyes away from the cell to look at Sheppard. Wondered at his appearance, when he knew from Carson that the Major had spent most of the day in the infirmary, despite, in Carson’s words, ‘Rodney being as stubborn as an ox.’ He watched Sheppard pace across the cell wall before coming to a stop, pushing his hands into his pockets in an attempt at casual relaxation that Zelenka did not buy.

He spoke in a whisper. “I had hoped for something more.”

“You’re not the only one.” The Major shook his head, stepping away from the prison.

“It feels…” and he floundered, searching for an accurate translation of the Czech. “unreal. I cannot believe that it is true and yet Carson, he would not take these steps unless he believed in his actions.”

“He’s the doctor,” Sheppard agreed. “And Heightmeyer, too. The expert witness.”

“Still…” He glanced at the cell, lowered his voice further. “I cannot agree with their diagnosis. It seems…” and he lapsed into a mumble of Czech. “Unbelievable.”

“Ah,” Sheppard said, his voice taking on a strange, singsong-like quality, “But what about all the evidence?”

Radek snorted softly. “You think I do not see? All that they say about McKay can be said about me, also. And more.”

“All that who says?”

He lowered his eyes quickly. “People talk, Major.”

“Right.” Sheppard scowled. “Gossip.”

“Sometimes worse than the truth.” Another glance towards the cell. “But not always.”

“Kavanagh been causing trouble?”

He started picking at the fabric of his sleeve, nervous under Sheppard’s intense gaze. “No. Not towards me. And I am no doormat, Major. Dr Kavanagh is skilled at many things, but in some areas his intelligence is lacking. He will cause no trouble. But he was there, when David was injured. And the weeks before. He makes his own mind, then preaches to others.”

Sheppard cursed under his breath. “Low life.”

“Most do not listen,” Zelenka added, warmly. “More people place their trust in Rodney than he might think.”

“Life at the top, huh?”

He nodded. “I had hoped,” and he looked again towards the cell, “to speak with him about some experiments. Despite everything, he is still the man I know.”

A slight smile crept across Sheppard’s face, a look of appreciation. “Worth a try. You can’t drag him away from a new discovery.”

He returned the smile, quoted: “Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.”

“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.”

They turned. McKay was on his feet, stood next to the nearest cell wall, clasping his injured right hand in his left.

“Shakespeare.” Rodney nodded to himself, rocking gently on his heels. “Stories of murder and madmen.”

“Not all of them,” Sheppard said. Zelenka watched him take several steps towards the cell. “I’m not really a fan of the bard myself, but I’m pretty sure I remember him writing about romance and comedy.”

“Not his best work.” One finger disengaged itself from the clasped hand to wag at them. “Julius Caesar. Lies and betrayal.”

“So I’m Brutus?” The Major’s face darkened. “Not sure I think the comparison is accurate.”

“Who’s behind bars?”

Zelenka winced, as a look of remorse fell across the Major’s face. “For your own well being, Rodney,” he corrected, whilst watching Sheppard’s shoulders slump. “Because we are your friends.”

”Enjoying being in charge?”

He felt himself flush, pushing his glasses up his nose, an action driven by his nerves. “No. It is not a position I would choose to be in. It belongs to you.”

“But they won’t let me back there. Not ever.” The stray finger drew patterns in the air. “How do you do it? Having all this knowledge in your brain. There’s no room for a man to hold the whole universe in his head, and yet I do. And I know you do too. From the smallest particle to strings, great strings, linking everything together. I feel like a god.”

“You often tell us you are one,” Sheppard put in, his voice dry. “And we are mere mortals.”

“No.” The finger wagged again. “Shadows. Dreams. Part of this dream – of my dream, being a god, and flying amongst stars. Can’t see myself for all this science. And you all – tiny, insignificant. I never saw anything like it.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard continued, his voice carrying a note of caution, “well that’s the Pegasus galaxy for you. Like Christmas every day.”

“Christmas.” McKay frowned. “Presents and eating too much. Arguments. Belief in a false god.”

“That’s a discussion better held another day.”

Rodney lifted his chin slightly to look at his visitors. Zelenka had the uncomfortable feeling of being studied, as though he were a specimen under a microscope. “You don’t believe in god?”

“Perhaps,” he suggested warily, “We should talk of other things. I need your knowledge, Rodney. I hoped you could help me with a problem.”

He was aware of Sheppard moving to his side, encouraging him to take a step towards the cell. Saw McKay stiffen but pressed onwards regardless, trusting in Sheppard’s plan for normalcy.

“A problem? Answer man.” McKay shook his head. “But I don’t have the answers.”

“No?” He gave his best breezy smile. “I disagree. You may not be the superman you pretend to be, McKay, but I will give you this – you are preferable to Kavanagh.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard added. “Just think what the guy could be up to while you’re away from the lab.”

“He whines about his computer,” Zelenka added. “It is too slow, it has faults, it breaks down. I will not be able to stop him from stealing yours.”

He paused for a moment, but McKay said nothing. The scientist stood in the cell and swayed slightly, head lowered, chin touching his chest.

“And I can’t break in another geek,” Sheppard added, his tone light and casual, betraying none of the strain shown in his face. “It took long enough to get you house-trained – I don’t have the time to cope with anyone else. No offence,” he added, glancing at Zelenka.

Radek shrugged. “None taken. You, yourself Major, would require some teaching before I would join your team.”

He had the satisfaction of seeing Sheppard’s eyebrows try to bury themselves into his hairline. “Oh, nice.”

“But yes. Rodney has told tales of you and Lieutenant Ford. I am not to be pushed around, and I know you are bossy. Like old maid,” he added, and felt the full glare of Sheppard’s scowl, shortly softened by a grin.

“Mother knows best.”

“Ah, now I see why Rodney complains. But you will not train me, Major. I refuse. McKay, you must return to the team, for who else is there to keep the man in check?” And he turned towards the cell, expecting to hear a sarcastic retort.

It happened so quickly there was no time for him to shout an alarm. One minute McKay was stood, hands clasped, beside the wall of the cell, and the next he had pushed himself forward with his feet and had thrown himself against the forcefield. Sharp white energy crackled and sparked around the man’s body, muscles convulsing. Zelenka started forward, aware of Sheppard crying out, and of the pounding feet of the two guards. A few seconds passed into an eternity before the field shut down, the energy dying with a final loud crackle, releasing its prisoner. McKay slumped against the floor bonelessly.

Chapter Seventeen - Did You Touch Anything?

Beckett had appeared at the head of the team of medics rushing to the prison cell. Sheppard wasn’t surprised at the doctor’s appearance, but he did wonder whether the Scotsman took his own advice, and ever slept in his own bed.

McKay didn’t move. Not while Zelenka was shouting at the guards – in panicked Czech – to open the cell door, not while Sheppard was kneeling beside him, checking his pulse, or tapping on his cheek gently. He didn’t move when Carson arrived, snapping orders and bundling the scientist onto the stretcher Didn’t move during the journey to the infirmary, Sheppard keeping heel every step of the way.

John now sat on the edge of a bed, having been waved off to a safe distance by Carson. He swung his legs impatiently, and watched the scientist not move.

He blocked out the sounds of hushed voices, of the scratch of Heightmeyer’s pen against her ever present notebook, of a soft beeping from the machines monitoring McKay’s heart rate. The presence of the guards, shadows from the cell to the infirmary, was unimportant. Zelenka had stood beside him for a while, wringing his hands in consternation, but after Beckett had assured them both that McKay had done himself no permanent damage, and that the infirmary was becoming too crowded, he’d made his clearly reluctant exit.

Beckett had tried the same trick with Sheppard, but with one look at his hard eyes and tightly pressed mouth, Carson had evidently decided it wasn’t worth the hassle, and now left him alone. Busied himself giving orders and checking vitals and speaking in low tones with Weir.

Which left Sheppard free to watch McKay.

He was the first to see the Canadian’s fingers twitch, and was off the bed immediately. Carson was only just behind, flashing a penlight into Rodney’s eyes and asking him with a professional detachment that belied his eagerness: “Rodney, can you hear me?”

McKay groaned. One hand lifted shakily in a clear attempt to swat at the penlight, only to find itself halted by a restraint. Slowly, the physicist cracked open one eye, and winced.

“Care to turn the lights down before you blind me?”

Carson clucked at a nurse, and several seconds later the light in the room had fallen to an early dusk. Sheppard, now hovering beside the ECG machine, balanced his weight on the balls of his feet, leaning forward to see both blue eyes open.

McKay gave a small gasp, and another wince, then turned his head towards Sheppard. A number of emotions passed across his face; confusion, then relief, then fear.

“Oh crap.” He twitched his legs, his fear turning to horror when they also made the bed restraints chink.

“Take it easy,” Beckett said, in a soothing voice. “You gave us all quite the scare.”

The blue eyes turned to look at the doctor, and Sheppard recognised a plea: “Any chance you could untie me?”

Sheppard saw Beckett glance towards Weir, than back at the bed. Felt sorry for the Scotsman, and put in: “I’m not sure that’d be such a great idea, McKay. Just relax for the minute, okay?”

Rodney pushed his head back into the pillow, tilting his chin to the ceiling to peer upwards. “Major. Good to see you.”

He grinned, despite himself. “You too, Rodney.”

McKay returned the smile, then winced again. Sheppard saw the injured hand twitch against the bed.

Weir took a step closer. She had appeared in the infirmary only minutes after Beckett had roused her, apparently from sleep. Her uniform was rumpled, her jacket undone. The bruise on her neck was slowly turning an ugly shade of purple, Sheppard noticed. Her voice was still painfully hoarse. “Do you remember what happened, Rodney?”

McKay closed his eyes, spoke in a rush of words: “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth. God, if I had - I didn’t, I mean, it wasn’t me, I tried to stop him, I tried –“

The beeping noise from the ECG suddenly increased in speed, and Sheppard saw Beckett shift his feet, turning to mouth an order to one of the nurses. He wasn’t the only one who saw, for McKay was bucking against the bed in a panic, his gaze fixed on the doctor. “Carson, no, just wait, please –“

Sheppard reached out to touch McKay’s shoulder firmly. Heard himself say: “Take it easy. The doc’s here to help.”

McKay shook his head quickly, shrugging off the touch. “No, you don’t understand, you don’t…” Then he broke off, taking a deep breath and dropping back into the bed. “Please,” he finished, weakly.

Beckett, one hand resting on the ECG machine, hesitated, worry etching his features as he studied his friend. “Alright,” he soothed, uncertainly, “but I want you to rest.” He set the needle down, and Sheppard saw McKay relax a fraction. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Rodney swallowed, a slight grimace of pain passing across his face. Reaching out to the table, Sheppard picked up a beaker of ice chips and spooned one into his friend’s mouth, saying nothing at the flush of scarlet across McKay’s cheeks, and only giving a tight nod at the mumbled, grateful: “Thanks.”

“Take your time,” Heightmeyer soothed, and the whole room saw McKay shoot daggers at her.

“I don’t have time,” he snapped, before tearing his gaze away and back to Beckett. “The forcefield.”

Beckett dropped his gaze. “You could have done yourself some real damage, Rodney.”

“It was the only way I could get him to stop.”

There was a sudden flurry of looks exchanged between the two professionals, scepticism and fear. Sheppard tensed, readying himself for further disappointment.

“This voice in your head?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

“Kezan.” McKay swallowed again. “He told me his name.”

“Kezan.” That same neutral tone. His shoulders knotted with painful intensity.

A look of dark anger flashed across McKay’s face. Snapped: “Don’t condescend to me, Major.”

If I didn’t know better…

Sheppard blinked, a slight smile creeping to the edges of his mouth. “Sorry,” he apologised, returning to a normal tone. Patted McKay on the shoulder. “Go on.”

McKay shot him another glare, but it softened after a second. He took a breath. “His name is Kezan. He’s an alien from the planet M4P-278.”

Weir again, her voice scraping over each consonant. “There were no aliens on M4P-278. The planet was dead.”

McKay shook his head, impatiently, and Sheppard felt another piece of himself relax ever so slightly. “Obviously. But not their minds. Not all of them, anyway.” His brows knitted together in pain, his hand twitching again against the sheets.

Beckett was again checking the ECG monitor. “What hurts?”

“My head. Migraine.” Rodney hesitated for a second, then turned to gaze up at the doctor. “Carson, please. I’m alright. Hold off on the drugs.”

Carson frowned, but turned back to the bed, crossing his arms. “Go on.”

“There’s something – someone­­­ – in my head. Has been for days, ever since M4P-278. At first I thought it was just strange dreams, but now –“ One hand stretched out and jerked against the restraints. Sheppard watched him clench his fist in apparent frustration. “He’s in my head,” McKay said, stressing each syllable.

“This Kezan?”

“Yes.” McKay’s eyes turned up towards Weir. “Believe me, I know how crazy I sound and,” and he cut off with a short, gurgled laugh, “that would seem to fit right about now.”

“So,” and Elizabeth cleared her throat awkwardly, “it is Kezan who has been making you –“

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his eyes darting away from her. Sheppard saw a muscle twitching in McKay’s left arm, fine tremors running down to his wrist. “Can’t you stop that?”

Carson pulled an apologetic face. “Side effect of the shock of the forcefield, I’m afraid. It will pass.”

McKay sighed, sounding decidedly exasperated. “It was the only thing I could think of. Not like I could just stick a finger in a plug socket.”

“A good thing,” Sheppard commented.

“Yes, well. I had a theory. I needed to see if it worked. I needed,” and he broke off, clenching the fist of his left arm in an apparent attempt to stop the tremors. “I needed to shut him up. It won’t be permanent. I think it’s something to do with energy – but that’s your voodoo, Carson, not mine. All I know is that for the past week I,” and he stopped, pulling at the restraints on his arm. “Look, just let me out of this thing for five minutes, alright? I’m not about to go for a repeat performance, trust me.”

Trust him. Sheppard glanced from McKay to Carson, who was already half-way through his refusal.

“I’m sorry, Rodney, but –“

“One arm,” he interrupted, receiving a grateful look from McKay. “He’s not going to go anywhere, and even if McKay could do a Houdini, there are guards on the door.”

“I have an itch,” McKay added, offering: “Unless you’d like to do the honours, Carson?”

Beckett’s face pulled into a look of disgust, but the expression was softened by a warmth and sense of relief. “Fine,” he muttered, reaching over to untie the strap around McKay’s left wrist.

Rodney sighed happily, lifting his free hand to scratch at the side of his nose. “You have no idea how much that’s been bugging me,” he said, tilting his head backwards.

Sheppard returned the grin. “I can imagine.”

“Rodney,” Kate interrupted, “tell us about Kezan.”

“Right. Sorry.” McKay shook his head. “I keep getting distracted. I think it’s him, trying to get back.” He scratched his nose a final time, then dropped his hand to lie on his chest. “I don’t know much about him. I know he can look through my thoughts but I can’t get the same grip on his. They’re cluttered, disorganised. They make Zelenka look tidy. He wasn’t born on M4P-278, I know that. And he’s not an Ancient. He’s too scared, for a start.”

Heightmeyer took a step towards the bed, and Sheppard noted with a sense of fury that she was taking notes down on her pad. “What other emotions does this Kezan have, Rodney?”

“He’s confused, angry, mostly terrified.” McKay’s gaze fell on the notepad. Snapped, angrily: “I’m not a bloody lab mouse. Stop treating me like one.”

“Sorry.” She put away the pen, but Sheppard noticed she continued to hold the notebook to her chest.

“What else?” Elizabeth said, taking a step to stand in front of Heightmeyer.

Bitterly: “I know he doesn’t want to leave.”

“How did he get in?” Carson asked.

“Touch anything on the planet you didn’t tell me about?” Sheppard asked, suddenly suspicious.

McKay rolled his eyes, such a familiar gesture that John could almost forget Heightmeyer’s diagnosis, and block out the sound of the restraints against the bed. “Sure, anything I could. Of course not. But I brought something back, a device,” And he shook his head again, closing his eyes for a moment. Opened them and swore. “Dammit.”

“Concentrate,” Elizabeth urged. “You’re saying that this device is how Kezan was able to enter your mind?”

“Yes. I think he was trapped in it. The building was abandoned, forgotten, and he’d been stuck in that thing for all those years. That’s why he’s so scared, he’s terrified he’ll be trapped there again. I remember -” And again he cut off, and it was Sheppard who cursed, watching his friend tense in the bed.

“Rodney.”

“Sorry. It’s hard –“ and he took a breath. “I keep feeling things. Bits and pieces of his memory, nothing substantial but…” and he shivered. “Kezan escaped the first chance he could get, and he’s been in here ever since. I think it took him a while to realise where he was, how –“ And he gasped, and suddenly the stutter was back, filling Sheppard with a sense of dread. “D-dammit! Not yet, n-not yet –“

“McKay!” He made it sound like an order, but belayed that by reaching out and gripping the man’s free hand firmly with his own. He could feel the fine tremors wracking Rodney’s arm travel up his own. “How do we get him out?”

McKay turned his head against the pillow to stare up at Sheppard with desperation. “I don’t know. God, I don’t –“ And he screwed his eyes shut, gripping Sheppard’s hand so tightly his knuckles were white. “I said not yet –“

Beckett had broken away from the bed, snapping orders at a nurse who promptly scurried away. He leant down over the bed, laying one hand over his friend’s forehead.

“Just hold on a second, Rodney –“

“It hurts –“ came back the response, from gritted teeth.

“I guessed that,” Carson soothed, “but don’t worry, in a second –“

Suddenly McKay tore his left hand out of Sheppard’s grip, almost breaking John’s fingers in the process. The fist curved a high, speedy arch across the bed and landed hard against Beckett’s nose. The physician staggered backwards with a yell, clutching at his injured face and knocking into the medical equipment behind him. Elizabeth moved to grab Carson before he could do himself more damage, while Sheppard snatched at McKay’s free hand, managing to grab his wrist and yank the arm downwards.

“I told you!” McKay howled, yanking his arm down with incredible strength, Sheppard barely managing to hold on. “You said you would help me, and you lied, you tricked me, and I won’t let you send me back! No more, won’t let you, I won’t be –“

The petite nurse had returned, along with the two guards. One grabbed McKay’s arm at the elbow, while the other, Cevallos, placed his hands on the physicist’s chest, pressing him down into the mattress. The nurse bent over McKay’s arm, now pinned between Sheppard and Cevallos, and plunged a needle into his flesh.

McKay snapped his head to the side to glare at Sheppard with thunderous eyes, and spat: “I hate you. Liar.”

Then the drug started to take effect, the muscles in McKay’s body relaxing, dropping him against the bed, his eyes rolling back up into his head, the lids closing.

For several seconds the only sound in the room was that of the breathless panting of its occupants.

Carson moved away from Elizabeth’s support, probing his face gently with a hesitant finger. “Not broken, thank god,” he said, though there was crimson on his fingertip.

“Get him restrained,” Sheppard heard Elizabeth order, and it was only when Cevallos, stood beside him, said something that he realised he was still holding onto McKay’s wrist. Slowly, he released his grip and took a step back, watching the guard strap the free hand back to the bed rail.

“Elizabeth –“

She turned to look at him, her face pale, expression tightly controlled. “I know.” She glanced at Carson, who had apparently decided his face would survive, and was now rechecking the equipment around the bed. “As soon as he can be transferred back into the cell below, I want a staff meeting.”

Chapter Eighteen - Apriori Arguments

The room was unusually crowded. Weir sat in the centre, as usual, a picture of control. Carson sat to her left, looking nervous and uncomfortable, shadows beneath his eyes. Sheppard had insisted upon the presence of Teyla and Ford, who had been waiting outside the infirmary with an impatient Zelenka. To his distaste, Heightmeyer sat beside the Czech, still holding her notebook.

He confronted Elizabeth over the psychologist’s presence, to little success.

“Do we need her here?”

He was aware of Kate shifting in her seat uncomfortably, and almost felt bad for her. Almost. The memory of McKay chained to an infirmary bed was too fresh. The idea of them having done this to the physicist and being wrong, too terrible to think of.

“Now more than ever, Major.” Elizabeth’s voice was a roughly edged hush. “We need to determine what is best for Rodney.”

“Getting this damn alien out of his head!”

Heightmeyer had already started shaking her head. “I don’t see how it’s even possible, Major. We’re not talking about the transfer of computer data here. The human mind is an incredibly complex thing, and it’s dynamic energy, something that cannot be captured in any form of mechanical device.”

“How can you be sure?” he challenged. “A year ago I’d have told you that travelling to another galaxy was impossible, but here we are. This universe contains some pretty amazing things.”

Gently: “Major…”

“No.” He turned to her, forcefully. “Elizabeth, I realise what I’m saying is real science-fiction here, but I also know that one of the smartest guys in this entire galaxy is strapped to a bed in that room telling me that it’s possible!”

Beckett winced. “Major, McKay’s not exactly been the most coherent person these past few days.”

“I know.” Sheppard took a breath, released it slowly. “I know that, doc’. But for the first time in a week I’ve felt like the guy I’ve been talking to has been the same guy I’ve known since Antarctica. For once, Rodney sounded like Rodney.”

“And then he attacked Doctor Beckett,” Heightmeyer said, stiffly.

“This Kezan did,” he snapped. Glanced towards Weir. “Come on, Elizabeth. This is McKay, we’re talking about. He’d never intentionally hurt another member of this expedition.”

“No.” Elizabeth’s fingers were slowly rubbing the wound on her neck. “Not intentionally.”

“Which just proves that McKay isn’t in control.”

“But not by what means.” She sighed, dropping her hands to the table. “Major, believe me, I would love for there to be an alternative explanation.” Her gaze flicked downwards, and for a moment Sheppard could see pain in her eyes, a sense of vulnerable hurt. “The person who attacked me was not the Rodney McKay I know.” Then back up, the mask firmly in place: “But my duty to this city means that I must be certain of any conclusion before taking action on it.”

He drew a hand through his hair, ruffling unruly spikes. “I know.” Paused. “Look, if I’m wrong, then we can go back to doping him and locking him up. But if I’m right, and we do nothing….” He stopped, again draw back to the memory of McKay huddled on the floor of the cell, deliberately cutting into the skin of his own hand.

Weir had pressed her lips into a thin line, her head ducked, obviously thinking along the same path. After a moment she looked up and across at Beckett, her shoulders stiff, eyes impossible to read. “Is it even remotely possible, Carson?”

He was already shaking his head doubtfully. “I don’t see how.”

Sheppard turned to Teyla, hopeful. “Heard of anything like this?”

The Athosian shook her head, slowly. “I am sorry, Major. Nothing of this nature has ever been heard of by my people. I find it hard to believe that one body could contain the minds of others.”

“There may be a more medically based explanation,” Kate broke in. “The possibility of Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

“Multiple personality disorder,” Carson explained, glancing at Kate. “But I wouldn’t be so quick to make the diagnosis.”

“Nevertheless,” she continued, focussing her gaze on Weir, “it’s a real possibility, particularly given that it’s closely related to Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. The deaths of Drs Gaul and Abrahm, the effects of the nanovirus -”

“Which we’ve discussed before,” Carson broke in, his voice tinged with nervousness.

The knot in Sheppard’s shoulders was growing with painful intensity. Snapped: “You’re just worried that your original diagnosis will be wrong, that you’ve shut him up in that cell for the wrong reasons.”

Kate visibly paled, and he suddenly regretted his words. “I realise you’re concerned for Dr McKay,” she said, her voice tight, “but you have to understand I’m approaching this from a medical view, Major. The symptoms fit the explanation.”

“I thought doctors weren’t supposed to have apriori theories,” he shot back. “You choose a conclusion then pick the circumstances to fit.”

“Major!” Elizabeth had pushed her seat back, her back ramrod straight and her eyes glaring at Sheppard. “May I remind you that at this stage there is no definitive explanation behind Dr McKay’s actions. Dr Heightmeyer has her theory, and you have yours. It’s a matter of deciding who is right. Now,” and she sat forward, directing her comments at the table, “if we could state what we do know.”

Sheppard forced himself to take a deep breath, reigning in his anger. “We know this started after the mission to M4P-278.”

“Not necessarily,” Kate broke in, still pale, but determined.

“Fine,” he returned, aware of his voice sounding hard. “Then it accelerated after the mission.” He turned to Weir. “Hasn’t the SGC experienced anything like this before?”

Weir frowned, folding her hands neatly on the table top. “I’ve read as many of their past mission reports as I had the time to, Major. But I don’t remember anything of this nature.”

“There was that mind swap thing,” Ford said, suddenly. He became the object of five stares, and shuffled. “I wasn’t there for the details, but it was talked about on base, one of those SG-1 legends, you know?”

“A mind swapping device?” Teyla prompted, frowning.

“Yeah.” Ford hesitated, anxious over the details. “SG-1 met this alien inventor guy on a planet and he tricked Doctor Jackson into touching one of his machines. Next thing you know, this alien was walking around in Doctor Jackson’s body while Jackson was in the infirmary trapped in the alien’s.”

Zelenka, his presence forgotten by Sheppard, suddenly spoke up from his end of the table. “A machine was able to do this?”

Ford nodded eagerly. “Yeah. I guess it’s in Area 51 now.” He shrugged, helplessly. “I can’t remember a lot about it, but it’ll be in the records.”

“But is not Dr McKay sharing his mind with that of the alien?” Teyla asked. “The two of them within one?”

“So he claims,” Carson said. He looked tired, fresh lines edging his eyes and mouth. “I wouldn’t have said even swapping minds between bodies was possible, but sharing them?”

“Could you test for that?”

“I could do a PET scan,” he admitted, then paused. Added, with great reluctance: “I’m not sure what that would prove. I’m not even sure what I should be looking for.”

“But it would have to show up?” Ford asked.

Carson splayed his hands against the table helplessly. “I don’t know, lad. Two brainwaves in one brain? I would guess that something would show up but to be honest, this is outside my area of expertise. I might see nothing, particularly if McKay is completely subdued by Kezan.”

“Except after experiencing the shock of the forcefield,” Teyla put in.

“Aye, true. It’s something to be considered.” Another worried frown. “Of course, if nothing shows up…”

“Then it supports the idea that this ‘Kezan’ is part of McKay’s delusion,” Kate finished.

“In either case.” Elizabeth continued, “I have to be concerned for Rodney’s safety, and the security of the city.”

“Restraints?” Teyla asked, concerned.

“I hope it won’t come to that.”

Sheppard’s jaw clenched uncomfortably. “You’re keeping McKay in the cell?”

She looked apologetic, but firm. “I know this is difficult, Major, but it’s the best thing for Rodney. Whatever the cause of his condition.”

“If Doctor McKay can hear us,” Teyla said, thoughtfully, “Could we not tell him we’re trying to help him?”

Elizabeth was already shaking her head. “If it’s the case that Rodney is sharing his mind with someone else then we need to keep this amongst us. There can’t be any hint that we’re treating this as anything other than a medical illness in case this Kezan finds out. We have no way of knowing what he’s capable of doing to Rodney.”

Sheppard shivered. It was something he’d considered, the question of what McKay was experiencing, trapped in his own body, and whether Kezan could do real harm to the scientist’s own mind. Whether Kezan could wipe the physicist out completely.

Aiden was looking in alarm at Carson, evidently in more surprise than Sheppard. “You think he could harm McKay?”

“No idea,” Carson answered, adding quickly: “And I wouldn’t like to guess either way. Elizabeth is right, we have to hide this from him as best we can.”

Weir sighed, deeply. “We also need to look at causes. Major, you saw nothing on the planet that would help us?”

He shrugged. “The place was in ruins. McKay said it was probably used as some lab but the equipment was too badly damaged to be salvable.”

“And no indications as to the race who built it?”

Another shift of his shoulders. “It wasn’t Wraith or Ancient. And whoever it was, they abandoned it hundreds of years ago.”

There was a sudden flurry of Czech from the other end of the table. “The device,” Zelenka burbled, excitedly. “The, ah, object from M4P-278. Rodney said it is responsible for his current state, yes? Major Sheppard, you did not pick it up?”

Sheppard frowned, glancing from Ford and Teyla to the Czech. “No. McKay’s the only one who touched it.”

“Ah, yes, Rodney, he is possessive about his finds. No one may come near until he has decided on its lack of interest.” He clucked disapprovingly. “I tell him he is selfish. I am sure, as a child, he never shared his toys.”

“I thought you had no clear idea of what the device did,” Elizabeth interjected, neatly cutting Radek off mid-babble. “If the device had this power wouldn’t that be clearer? And weren’t you working on it with Dr McKay? You must have handled the device yourself.”

“True, yes, but –“ and Zelenka held one, slightly trembling finger up in the air, “I have a theory.” Then he dropped his hand, muttering to himself. “Only a theory. But it makes sense – more, certainly, than the alternative – and yet –“ He lifted his head and looked resolutely at Weir. “I request permission to return to my lab, accompanied by Major Sheppard.”

Sheppard could see Elizabeth’s eyebrows raise in an echo of his own. “Then you believe there may be something in Rodney’s claim that the device did this to him?”

Zelenka nodded, his head bobbing up and down furiously. “Yes. Possibly. It is worth looking, no?”

Sheppard shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling a glimmer of hope. “Permission to leave?” he said, forcing himself to be formal.

Elizabeth looked at him, and nodded. “Permission granted.”

Zelenka was on his feet immediately, not waiting for Sheppard to follow as he rushed out of the door. John rose quickly, and with an apologetic wave to Elizabeth he was out in the corridor, chasing after the scientist. He was aware of voices behind him, of Heightmeyer once again raising her concerns but he shut the sounds out, running after the Czech as he scurried along the corridor.

“Woah, hold up! Mind telling me what this theory of yours is?”

Zelenka was striding down the corridor at speed, heedless of the strange looks he was getting from passersby. His hand gesticulated as he talked, and he frequently lapsed into Czech, words overlapping each other. “The place on the planet, it looked like a laboratory, correct?”

“Long abandoned,” Sheppard objected.

“As was this city, Major. Time means nothing.”

“But it was ruined. McKay said it would be a wasted effort trying to power up the computer. If we’d gone any further the ceiling might have collapsed.”

“But he saw this device,” Zelenka said, turning a corner so quickly he almost walked into a wall. “The only one not damaged.”

“You think this was a deliberate trap?” Sheppard guessed, mouth dry.

Two fingers snapped irritably. “No, an accident. But it seems odd, no, that Rodney starts behaving so strangely after his contact with this device. He talks of himself as though – just as you said, Major, as though McKay is not himself. As though he is someone else. And this device, used for data storage,” he dissolved into more mutters, picking up his pace and not slowing even when they reached the entrance to McKay’s lab.

The doors opened just in time to stop the Czech from walking into them. He strode over to McKay’s laptop, where it sat on a bench, the spinning logo of Atlantis displayed on its screen. Zelenka swiped at the mouse and the screensaver disappeared, replaced by a log-in box. The scientist’s hands flew over the keyboard and a second later the box was replaced by the familiar Stargate OS.

Sheppard whistled appreciatively. “You know McKay’s passwords?”

“Mm,” came back the non-committal response, Zelenka concentrating on his search of McKay’s hard drive.

“I think I’ve underestimated you.”

“Quite probably. Ah!” He uttered a short, satisfied exclamation, having apparently found what he was looking for. Pushing himself away from the desk he trotted across to a door adjoining the lab. “Our storage room,” he said, by way of an explanation, punching a short code into the lock beside the door. It opened obediently, and Sheppard followed the Czech in.

They were surrounded by the Atlantean version of filing cabinets, alien but no more interesting. Tall, featureless white cabinets with a number of drawers and shelves. About a third of the surfaces contained some kind of object – McKay’s personal shield, a life-signs detector, even a Wraith stunner stood leaning against a wall, though it was damaged beyond repair. Each bore a neat little label in a handwriting other than McKay’s, and tied on with string.

Zelenka was muttering beneath his breath as he scanned row after row of objects. Uttering a small, triumphant noise his hand closed on a drawer, two down and three across, pulling it open.

His expression immediately dropped away into one of shock, and Sheppard heard him curse. “Of course. I should have guessed.”

“What?” he asked, moving to stand beside the Czech. “Is it missing?”

“No,” Zelenka said, bitterly. “It is there. Every piece of it.”

Sheppard, with a growing sense of dread, leant over the drawer to peer inside. On a rectangular metal tray sat the device – or rather, the parts of it. Metal squares, wires, unidentifiable chips of silver. Only then did he remember the jigsaw of technology McKay had been disassembling earlier, and from what Sheppard could tell, the physicist had done a good job of it. There was even a white label tied to one of the pieces.

The room and its contents dropping away, his insides knitting in apprehension of the answer he knew he would receive, Sheppard asked: “Can you fix it?”

Zelenka raised his head, looking miserable. “No, Major. I will never be able to put that back together again. I have no idea of where to even begin.”

Chapter Nineteen - Smushed

Zelenka appeared awkward and uncomfortable under the standard military jacket, looking rather like a kid on his first day of school, dressed in the cast-offs of his older and larger brother. He kept running a finger beneath the collar of his shirt, whilst the other hand seemed to be intent on hovering a good three inches over the butt of his P90.

Ford jostled him gently with one elbow, and the Czech yelped. “Lieutenant!”

“Sorry.” The younger man looked genuinely stricken. “You shouldn’t be so jumpy, y’know. This is a simple mission.”

Zelenka nodded several times, his head bobbing, but his eyes kept darting towards the Stargate. “Yes. Of course. In and out, yes?”

“It’s not like you haven’t been off-world before,” Sheppard pointed out, readjusting the straps of his pack.

“Ah, true, but your team, I –“ and Radek drifted, his cheeks flushing. “You have a reputation.”

“A reputation?” Sheppard raised his eyebrows. “Care to elaborate on that, Doctor?”

“You attract trouble, like honeypot to bee.” The scientist’s hands danced in the air. “You say this planet is abandoned, but how can you be sure? They could be hiding. Hibernating. And I have seen your record. Carson, he has an entire drawer for your woes. I do not wish there to be a folder with my own name!”

“And here I was thinking we were a legend for our heroics.” He grinned at the unfortunate Czech. “Relax, Radek. We’ve already been to the planet, we know what to expect – and that’s zip all. The detector showed no life signs at all. There were no footsteps in the sand, nothing like that. The planet is next to dead.”

Zelenka squinted at him doubtfully through his glasses, muttering softly to himself. “Dinosaurs, perhaps. Or ferocious lions, maybe, hungry for meat. Fresh meat. European meat. I should not be risking myself on this.” As he turned towards the ‘gate Sheppard saw the Czech’s shoulders, bowed slightly, and not due to the weight of his pack.

His grin faded. The sudden bout of paranoia was nothing more than a cover, and a feeble one at that. No better than Sheppard’s own front of bravado, but it wasn’t the planet he was scared of.

To return empty handed, however…

“Major Sheppard, is your team ready?”

He turned to see Elizabeth stood on the staircase, Beckett beside her. The doctor looked even worse than he had in the briefing. Upon waking in the cell, McKay had apparently burst into a screaming fit that had only ended when an anxious nurse had threatened him with a return to the restraints. His fit of rebellion did not pass, however, and Sheppard heard that Carson himself had been the one to receive a final, desperate lashing. He could just see several dark stains on the Scotsman’s shirt, testament to the refused food thrown across the small space.

The weight of his task suddenly bore down upon him and Sheppard turned away, concentrating on the ‘gate as it burst into life. The brilliance of the event horizon scored patterns across his retina.

“We are good to go, Atlantis.”

He took several steps towards the ‘gate, following Teyla and Zelenka, before Elizabeth’s voice rang out across the control room.

“John – we’ll be waiting.”

He stepped through the ‘gate.

The planet was as they had left it. Rain had not graced its surface for thousands of years, according to Teyla’s guess, and the ground was baked hard and barren of all life. Great cracks ran through the rock, some several metres wide, and within bubbled molten lava, hot grey sludge moving in a listless current. On their first visit to the planet the team had gathered around one such pool, gazing in fascination at the movement of the rock and the glimpses of fiery orange briefly revealed from under the magma’s cooler exterior.

Ford had spent several minutes explaining to Teyla what a lava lamp was, and exactly why humans found them so absorbing.

Sheppard now ignored the pools, walking past heedless of their strange beauty. Paid no attention to the great geysers of hot steam released from the earth at irregular intervals, carrying with it the stench of rotten eggs. They passed the pool in which Ford and Teyla had paddled, and the large formation of rock which Aiden had claimed resembled a Wraith hive ship.

“So do you know what you’re looking for?” Ford asked, conversationally, walking beside the Czech.

Zelenka moved his head in a non-committal manner. “Yes and no. Rodney, he took recordings of what he found. A camcorder. I watched his film.”

“Ford’s film,” Sheppard said casually, keeping at their tail and allowing Teyla to take the lead. “He’s our self-appointed director.”

“Ah,” and Zelenka turned to nod appreciatively at the younger man, “nice technique.”

“Thanks. Always wanted to be the next Scorsese.”

“The next what?” Teyla enquired, looking briefly back over her shoulder.

“Martin Scorsese. Very famous film director back on Earth. You remember watching Goodfellas, a couple of weeks ago?”

“Ah.” She nodded sagely. “Yes, I remember. And in the recordings of Doctor McKay, did you see something which will help him?”

“Perhaps.” The scientist rolled his shoulders under the weight of his pack. “The device Rodney says transferred Kezan into his body was a memory storage device. The tape from this planet showed some kind of laboratory, and what appear to be computer consoles. I hope something there will tell me what the device was originally used for.”

“You have a theory,” Sheppard guessed.

Zelenka glanced at him, then looked away. “Perhaps. The device, it is like a, ah –“ he paused, hands tugging at the straps of his pack. “A floppy disk, a CD-ROM. It contains data only, but not the means for removing it.”

“And you hope the lab can tell you more?”

He received an enthusiastic head bob in response. “I hope, yes.”

What was left of the laboratory stood against a shallow cliff at the valley edge, about ten minutes walk from the Stargate. Partly built from the rock itself, it was about thirty metres in length and four in height, though the roof sloped upwards into the cliff face to stand ten metres at its highest. It was once an impressive building, but its walls now crumbled, in places nothing more than piles of rubble, and its white colour was bleached the same yellow as the surrounding rock.

Sheppard ducked under the low entrance, still tailing Zelenka. The Czech stood in the centre of the room, his head tilted back, taking in the equipment around him.

“Most impressive. Not Ancient, certainly. Fascinating. I had wondered whether races in the Pegasus galaxy were all of lesser ability but now perhaps, I am not sure.”

“Doc,” Ford reminded, with little subtlety.

“Sorry.” Zelenka trotted across to the nearest console. “These are the computers?”

“I’m guessing.” Sheppard walked up to stand behind the Czech.

The room was lined with a number of large, metal boxes, their surfaces covered in dull lights and cracked display screens. The tallest stood at over eight meters high, whilst the smaller, waist-level ones were arranged in rows at the centre of the room. All looked long dead, The banks nearest the far wall were half hidden under a rock fall, their seams open and wires spread like innards across the floor. To their left once stood a row of shelves, now fallen, their contents lying in pieces on the floor. Most were damaged, or buried under rock and rubble, but a few were still recognisable as being the same devices as the one brought back from McKay after their first visit.

“Lieutenant,” Zelenka directed, “I will need three or four, please. The least damaged.”

Ford nodded, crossing over to retrieve several of the metal balls.

“Careful with them,” Sheppard warned, needlessly since Aiden was already opening his pack and pulling out a pair of gloves.

“I believe there is one side to the device which allows energy transference,” Zelenka told them. “If you only touch the shiny squares you should be fine.”

Ford pulled his face into a frown. “Should be?”

Radek waved at him absently. “Go. They all seem to be broken, I do not believe there is much danger.”

“If they are broken,” Teyla asked, from her position near the door, “then why do we need them?”

“They may help me in reconstructing the original.” Zelenka glanced at the objects Ford was carefully placing in his pack. Said, sorrowfully: “Although I fear they may be too damaged to help.”

Ford weighed one of the devices in one hand. Half its casing was missing, and a deep crack ran through the remaining metal.

Sheppard turned away, back to the console. Thick dust layered its surface, but there were fingerprints in the dirt where someone had attempted to clean the metal.

McKay’s fingerprints.

He forced his gaze back up to stare at the Czech. “What are we looking for?”

“Something which will help us learn what this place was for.”

“And do you have an idea as to where we might find that?”

“I have studied McKay’s notes,” Zelenka replied, running his hands beneath the edge of the console. “He theorized that these machines are only extra limbs to a central core, protected deeper within the walls.” He retrieved one arm to point at a large pile of rubble in the right hand corner of the room. “There the larger cables lead, suggesting a power supply. Destroyed. And there,” and the finger swung to point at the opposite corner, and the largest metal box, “is the computer heart.” Dropping his arm, he trotted across to the box, stumbling over the larger pieces of rubble which littered the floor.

“You think anything useful has survived this long?” Sheppard asked, following him.

“Ah.” Two fingers wagged in his direction. “You see, in the movies, when the bad guys, they want to destroy a computer? They hit it with a bat, yes, or they knock it to the floor. The screen explodes and whumpf!” His hands made an expressive burst. “We are supposed to think that all the information has been wiped out. But in real life it is not that easy. It is hard to destroy a computer’s memory. Acid, perhaps, or intense heat. And the Atlantean computers, even worse.” He dropped to his knees, scuffling closer to the belly of the largest console. “I believe,” as he prised open one of the large, metal panels at its base, “that it is universal rule.”

“Woah,” Sheppard put a hand out warningly, “be careful. One false move and this whole place could come down.”

Zelenka rolled onto his back and wriggled underneath the console, one hand waving at Sheppard. “Yes, yes. You worse than old maid.”

“Ri-ight.” He placed a hand on the surface of the console and felt it tremble with small vibrations. “Just be careful. Atlantis has already lost one scientist, it can’t afford…”

He stopped, the words dying unspoken. Beneath him, the sounds of Zelenka dismantling the console suddenly ceased. A ruffled looking Czech face poked itself from under the machine innards to look at him with a serious expression and an oddly penetrating gaze.

“You have not lost anybody, Major. You will not lose anyone.” Then he disappeared back beneath the computer. “Unless, of course, I am smushed to fine paste by this monstrosity. There seems much that is obsolete.” And there was a suddenly thump as a large lump of partially melted material dropped from within the machine to the floor.

Sheppard kicked it away with his foot, and felt another tremor run through the console. “Ah, Doc, that’s possibly not a great joke to make. Mind hurrying it up?”

Ford looked up from where he was sealing his pack. “Trouble, sir?”

“I think the mountain’s ready to come to Muhammad.” He glanced at the younger man. “Take Teyla and move to a safe distance, Lieutenant.”

Ford nodded, briskly, shouldering his pack and heading to the door. “Don’t leave it to the last second, sir,” he advised, before ducking beneath the doorway and disappearing outside.

“You hear that?” Sheppard directed his comment at the legs sticking out from under the console. “No playing the hero. If this rock decides to move, then so do we.”

“Almost there.”

He heard the clatter of metal against metal, and a stifled curse from the Czech. Then a groan, borne of the rock itself. Slab moving against slab, causing the walls and ground to shake and fresh rubble to dislodge itself from the ceiling.

“Zelenka –“

“I hear. One moment –“ There was another clatter, Sheppard almost slipping into full blown panic mode when the entire console shifted one inch to the left. The ceiling it supported creaked loudly, and a boulder the size of his head suddenly dropped from above, narrowly missing Sheppard’s shoulder.

Then another rattle, and a multitude of groans as suddenly the entire cliff face started to move, taking the lab with it. A crack opened up in the floor between Sheppard’s feet, one side dropping several centimetres, enough to shift the console diagonally. He heard a short, alarmed cry, and ignoring the great burst of steam venting from the crack and warming his thighs, Sheppard dropped to his knees and grabbed the Czech by both ankles.

“Time’s up, Radek! We’re getting out of here!”

Then he pulled hard, dragging the startled scientist out from under the console just as the ground shifted further and the machine’s bottom fell from beneath itself. Zelenka’s muttering ceased as soon as he saw the mound of rock now lying where his torso had once been.

“Ah.”

Sheppard glanced down at him. A shallow cut ran from the Czech’s eyebrow to his forehead, blood welling within the wound, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. Two white hands clutched a large, silver square, about the size of a lunch tray.

“That it?”

Radek nodded, his face pale. There was another groan from the rock, and a second boulder danced down from the ceiling. “We should go, yes?”

“Yes.” And Sheppard reached down and grabbed the man’s hand, hauling him to his feet. As the building shuddered and groaned around them, they ran for the door, small rocks and larger boulders dropping around them. One gave Sheppard’s shoulder a glancing blow, another rolled beneath his feet and threatened to trip him up. With one hand in the small of the Czech’s back he pushed Zelenka through the doorway and tumbled after him, as the entire back wall of the laboratory shifted several meters downwards and was submerged in an avalanche of rock.

The pair stood, panting, as a cloud of dust rose from the still shifting debris.

Zelenka clutched the computer hard drive with a tight grip. “Let us hope,” he said, breathlessly, “that this is all we need.” And he shot a glance at Ford, his eyes glimmering behind his glasses. “It would take a long time for you to dig the room out, yes, Lieutenant?”

Chapter Twenty -Deception

There was a knot between his shoulder blades, a kink he couldn't quite reach. Carson cricked his neck and winced at the tiny spasm of pain produced. Blinked heavy lids over dry eyes, struggling to focus on the lines of text that swam across the computer screen.

He had tried sleeping, aware of his own inner angel nagging and scolding, an echo of his mother. Get some sleep, things will look better in the morning. Things always look better in the morning. A lie, one he hadn't believed before school and one he mocked now. His quarters seemed hostile, and when he closed his eyes he was met by a reminder of his own words.

"You think he could harm McKay?"

"No idea."

Another deception. He had theories, imaginings, worst case scenarios. This was new, uncertain ground and his mind was more than capable of filling the blanks in with nightmares. And it was McKay, the most present man he'd ever met. Infuriating, frequently, arrogant, usually, smart mouthed, inevitably, but always there, in every sense of the word. And now he was trapped in a space of his own, and Carson couldn't see a way to bring him out.

One hand reached out and clasped the mug of what passed as Athosian coffee. Thick, syrupy consistency and the colour of chocolate. Bitter to the throat, grainy on the tongue and leaving a stinging aftertaste.

"Carson?"

He turned too quickly, the infirmary threatening to slip away from him and he grabbed the bench to wait out the wave of dizziness.

Elizabeth moved quickly, pressing one hand firmly against his back, holding him in place. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

He started to shake his head, then thought better of it when spots danced in front of his eyes. "Just startled, that's all." Scrubbed a hand across his face, his beard scratching and tugging at his skin. "Sit down."

She took the stool beside his, placing a sheaf of papers on the bench top. Sounded as tired as he felt. "You should get some sleep."

"So should you," he returned, pointedly.

She grimaced. "It's been a long week."

"Aye. I haven't felt like this since I was a med student." He yawned, jaw audibly popping. "What I wouldn't give for a can of Red Bull and a Mars Bar."

Elizabeth pulled a face. "Sounds disgusting, and very unhealthy."

"Oh, yes, but the sugar rush was wonderful. Though don't tell Rodney I said so." He straightened with effort, looking over his visitor with care. She was pale, though she hid her exhaustion better than he, hair neatly curled and uniform crisp. The grey in her face and the lines around her eyes contrasted sharply with the clean image. Her neck was still marked by McKay's fingers, now in the complementary colours of mauve and purple. "How's the throat?"

"Much better." He gave her his best doctor look, and she crumpled, admitted: "It still hurts to swallow."

"That should pass in the next couple of days. I can give you some aspirin if it's troubling you."

"No, thank you." She leant a little over the bench top. "How's it coming?"

He released a long, low breath between his teeth. "You'd think given the amount of information recorded by Stargate Command they would provide a decent search programme."

"You would think. I tried a search of file contents for some key words but after the first hour I decided to quit." She pushed the papers across to the elbow. "Still, I think I may have found something of use."

He raised an eyebrow. "I hope so, because I'm coming up blank."

"No success with Lieutenant Ford's suggestion?"

"Sadly, no. The device only acts as a conduit to transfer information, the..." his hand gestured vaguely as he struggled for the right word, "the essence of the two minds using it. There still need to be two brains to act as receivers."

"The Lieutenant will be disappointed." She pointed towards the papers. "Tell me what you think."

Obediently he opened the folder to find several neatly stapled printouts: mission reports, medical results, blood tests, ECG results.

"Two missions," she said, watching him closely. "The first details an encounter SG-1 had with the inventions of Machello."

"He was the alien who swapped minds with Dr Jackson?"

"Yes. He created a device designed to kill a Go'auld symbiote whilst it was within a host's body. Dr Jackson became infected with one, but without a symbiote to attack the invention had some unfortunate side-effects."

He skimmed a report signed by a name he was now familiar with. "Dr Frasier diagnosed him with schizophrenia." His eyebrows lifted, and he looked across at Elizabeth. "Sounds very familiar. But none of the tests I've run so far have produced any sign of a foreign body within McKay."

She nodded, grimly, and tapped the second batch of papers. "Go on to the next."

He picked up the second bundle and started to read as she recounted the details aloud.

"The SGC dialled a wormhole to a planet populated by living energy, similar to an artificial intelligence. After first building a super computer under Cheyenne mountain, one of the entities entered the mind of Samantha Carter."

He continued reading, adrenaline spiking, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. "The Major was completely subjugated by the alien."

"So it seems. Daniel Jackson attempted to negotiate with the alien and when that failed ..."

"She was shot with a ..." He paused, squinting at the paperwork. "Now that's too many apostrophes for one small word to have."

"A 'zat gun," she abbreviated, helpfully.

"I'm guessing we didn't bring any to Atlantis?"

"No." She sat back in her chair, placing her hands on the bench top and lacing her fingers. "Is it useful?"

He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a tinny voice coming from Elizabeth's hip.

"Dr Weir? Major Sheppard's team are back."

He saw her nod, touching her radio. "I'll be right there." Rising, she glanced at the papers, briefly placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's hope Dr Zelenka has found something useful."

"Aye," he returned, and for the first time in days found himself not having to cover a sense of despondency. Returned his gaze to the mission report in front of him, picked up the sheet, and continued reading.

Chapter Twenty One - Pots and Kettles

Sheppard had bowled through the gate brimming with an energy and optimism he’d been missing, borne not only by the adrenaline rush from his near death experience, but also from the signs of hope glimmering behind the Czech’s glasses. Radek seemed unbothered by his own injury, brushing it off as minor when Weir asked, and insisting he return to his lab to investigate the device further. Demanded Carson’s presence, with the pointed adjoiner that since he was injured, he could ‘kill the two birds with one rock.’

“How long?”

He hummed, and ahhed, then admitted: “I am not sure. Two hours, perhaps three – if the machine is undamaged. Powering it should be simple – relatively - but connecting it to the computers of Atlantis, less so.”

It took five. Sheppard used the first three showering and sleeping and then, when Zelenka still hadn’t called, the final two talking to McKay.

Talking to him. The person in the cell had resumed his earlier policy of stubborn silence. Crouched in the dark beside the cot, knees to his chest, rocking.

Sheppard was trying not to let this bother him. Decided to treat McKay like a coma patient, reasoning that even if his friend couldn’t respond there was a good chance he could still hear what was being said to him. Small talk, jibes of American-Canadian differences, city gossip.

Refused to acknowledge his inability to stare at the figure in the cage, or to meet his friend’s dark glare.

“Kavanagh’s got his panties in a twist about what happened to Ashcroft. I feel sorry for Dave. He’s become the poster child in Kavanagh’s campaign to get to the top of the heap – not that I’d worry about it. Zelenka might look pretty meek but I’m telling you, he’s like a terrier when protecting his turf.” He drifted, distracted by the cell bars and the slight scuffling sound of hospital scrubs against the hard floor of Atlantis. Had to force himself to continue, a physical effort: “I wouldn’t worry. Despite any power trips the doc’ isn’t likely to take over your post. And nobody much likes Kavanagh. I swear, if the man wasn’t –“

“John.”

The first time was so quiet he almost missed it. Looked across to see McKay’s head lowered, chin tucked to his chest and arms hugging his knees. He was ready to dismiss it as a trick of his imagination, about to launch back into his discussion of the deviousness of certain pony tailed scientists when – again.

A soft whisper and McKay lifted a pale face towards him. “John, please.”

He swallowed hard, and took a step towards the bars. “Hey.”

“I’m not insane.”

He was aware of his hands clenching, and stuffed his fists into his jacket pockets. “Never said you were.”

“Then let me out.”

“Can’t do that, McKay. Not until we’ve fixed whatever’s wrong with you.”

The physicist shook his head violently, a rolling motion in his shoulders. “I keep blacking out, and when I wake up – I forget where I am. For a minute – then it all rushes back.” Looked up with clear blue eyes to stare at him. “If I could go back to the lab, maybe I could –“

“Zelenka’s already on it,” he said, and hated the soothing tone his voice took, mimicking Heightmeyer. “Just sit tight and –“

“And wait?” He scooted backwards, bumping against the cot. “In here? Like a prisoner?”

“That’s not what –“

Another interruption. “That’s exactly what this is. I’m not stupid. You don’t believe me.” Then a burst of violent energy, and the double finger snap, the slap of hand against palm that seemed out of place, disjointed. “I told you the truth, John. If I could find a way to prove it to you –“

“To prove what?” he said, casually.

“That I –“ and another shake of his head, and then McKay rose awkwardly, nervous energy and jerky limbs, levering himself up and off the bed to take a step across the cell. “I’m sane.”

Sheppard forced himself to meet his friend’s gaze. Lied: “I know that.”

“Then let me out.”

And his mouth parted, lips forming around a reassurance that he couldn’t give. Closed and forced it down, turning away from the cell. “I can’t do that.”

“Please.”

“Rodney –“

“Please, John.”

He turned back to see McKay stood in the centre of the cell, shivering, a flush in his cheeks and his shoulders hunched. The cell Steve had taunted him from. Harsh light and deep shadows.

And one hand, careful fingers tugging and pulling at the skin of the other.

He swallowed, tasting bile. “No.”

He heard Kezan’s quick intake of breath, and the sound of a single footstep. Saw the man straighten, chin tilting up slightly.

“I did what she asked. And I’m pretending for you. Making like it’s all okay. But still, I wake up and here I am.” He paused, staring at Sheppard darkly. “It won’t ever be like it was.”

His breath caught at the back of his throat, and he forced himself to meet Kezan’s gaze, returning the stare for a long moment. The only sound a soft panting. Then he turned, ripping himself away and moving towards the door on autopilot. Forcing his feet to slow, though part of him wanted to break out into a run – and just keep going, head across the city and let the pounding of his muscles cleanse him of this particular nightmare. Ignored the scream from the cell behind him, alien in its distance.

“You can’t keep me shut in here!”

Sheppard managed to reach the safety of the transporter before his restraint broke. So did the unlucky control panel.

“Major Sheppard, come in please.”

He hit the call button his radio with one hand, and sucked on the knuckles of the other. Tasted copper. “Sheppard here.”

“You’re wanted in Doctor McKay’s lab, sir. Doctor Weir has called a staff meeting.”

He rubbed his bruised hands against his jacket. “Understood. I’ll be right there.”

Then he took a moment to stand in the safety of the transporter, breathing quickly, and trying not to think about the voice in his head.

“John –“

From the look of McKay’s lab he was almost the last to arrive, and without an available seat. Shifted some papers from a lab bench and hopped up, an errant Ford joining him several moments later.

Zelenka stood at the head of the room, where he had set up a projector screen. To his left sat the computer drive retrieved from MX-478, amidst a nest of wires and metal, adapters cobbled from a mix of Earth and Ancient equipment. It was emitting a loud, slightly unsteady hum. The Japanese girl he had startled previously hovered over the machine, scanner in one hand, her hands fluttering over the wires as

though they were a form of delicate origami. She kept whispering to Zelenka, who in return waved his own hands and nodded reassuringly.

Sheppard wasn't convinced.

Carson and Elizabeth sat on stools to the right of the projector screen, with Teyla standing beside them. Elizabeth had turned at his entrance, and nodded to him.

"I hope you've had some sleep, Major."

"Some," he breezed. Restrained himself from pointing out the hobo beard Carson was cultivating, or the shadows under Elizabeth's own eyes.

Even Kate's permanent mask of perkiness seemed to be slipping. She stood, awkwardly, at the opposite corner to Elizabeth, and Sheppard was satisfied to notice that she no longer carried her notebook. Then felt guilty, noting the way she glanced nervously, regretfully towards him when she thought he wasn't looking.

"This is when we get to prove her wrong," Ford said, sat beside him.

"It's not about that," Sheppard said, still watching her. "She's only saying what she thinks, and she is supposed to be the expert."

Ford frowned, but nodded. "I guess," he admitted, reluctantly.

"She's only done what she thinks is best for McKay."

Another nod, but Aiden looked unconvinced. Sheppard turned away, back to the hard drive wired up to the Atlantean computer.

"I like her", McKay had said, when a post-breakfast table discussion had turned to the evils of compulsory psychological testing.

"I'm sure she's lovely," Sheppard had agreed, and it would have been hard for him to say anything else. All blonde hair and long legs and perfection.

“You just have that typical military attitude towards everyone in the medical profession.”

“I like Carson,” he had protested.

“I’ll remind you of that the next time you have to go for a medical.”

“Pot and kettle, Rodney.”

He met Kate’s gaze across the lab, and nodded at her. Not quite a smile, but an acknowledgement that was returned, gratefully.

The buzzing sound from the machine was growing louder, prompting a panicked flurry of activity from the Japanese woman. After several directions from Zelenka it dropped back to the moderate hum of before, but the Czech was busy fussing with his glasses, and his companion seemed even more nervous than before.

“Dr Zelenka?” Elizabeth, her tone deliberate. “I take it that contraption of yours is designed to interface Atlantis’ systems with that of the alien computer?”

He nodded eagerly, glancing at his assistant. “Yes. Dr Kusanagi has been good enough to help me.”

She offered a brief, timid smile before ducking back under the equipment.

A mutter from Beckett, just audible. “Here’s one I prepared earlier.”

He received several confused looks. Aiden nudged a little closer to Sheppard and whispered: “What?”

He shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I was thinking along the lines of ‘and now over to my lovely assistant.’”

Ford grinned, then immediately sobered when he realized Weir was looking at them with her best, scolding headmistress expression.

“Is this safe?” Kate asked, eyeing the machine doubtfully.

“Completely,” the Czech assured her. Then corrected: “Almost completely. I am a little worried as to how the city’s systems will handle the new information, there is some risk of corruption – but my test runs showed no problems.”

With this complete lack of assurance he turned away, directing Kusanagi in a soft voice. She nodded and started flipping various switches and crystals on the cobbled together interface. After several seconds the projected image, which until now had been nothing more than a blank blue screen, flickered and flipped to black. After another moment words started to appear, an alien text in white font unfamiliar to Sheppard.

Weir was quicker. “That looks like Ancient.”

“But it is not,” Teyla said, frowning. “I can understand some words and recognize many characters but together they make little sense.”

“It is a dialect.” Kusanagi spoke in little more than a whisper, words buried into the floor as she dug her chin into her chest. Turned a delicate shade of pink when the rest of the room turned towards her.

“A dialect,” Beckett repeated, encouragingly.

She nodded to the floor. “An early off shoot of what became Ancient. Many of the characters are visually similar but bear different meanings.”

“Aside from being an excellent programmer, Miko is also an amateur linguist,” Zelenka explained, beaming, and placing his hand on the nervous woman’s shoulder. “She has been writing a translation program for Ancient to English and has adapted it for this purpose.”

“This is a much simpler form,” she explained, to Zelenka’s shoulder. “Much easier to use, though it is filled with many errors.”

“You should be kinder on yourself. It is very impressive system.”

“So can it translate this?” Ford asked, gesturing up at the screen.

Zelenka nodded, turning to his laptop. His hands darted about the keys in an echo of McKay’s. After several moments the projector screen cleared, and more words appeared in the place of the old. Then an image, a strange symbol above a photo.

“Kezan,” Zelenka said, triumphantly.

He looked no older than Ford. An olive complexion and large green eyes above a long nose, a shock of untidy brown hair and a slight point to his chin.

“He’s real?” Kate said, startled.

“I knew it,” Sheppard said, with a tight grin. “Of course he’s real.”

“Quite.” Zelenka glanced over his shoulder at the image behind him. “Or he was. He died.”

“He’s dead?” Sheppard repeated, staring at the photo. Barely more than a boy.

“Oh yes. I –“ Radek broke off, looking towards Kusanagi.

“Nine hundred years ago,” she told the light fixture.

“So McKay’s being possessed by a ghost?” Ford asked, disbelievingly.

“Not exactly, Lieutenant.” Carson gestured at Zelenka’s contraption, and the hard drive buried within it. “It seems that thing holds all the medical records of what its owners were doing on the planet.”

“Medical records?” Teyla asked.

“Aye. Kezan was a patient of theirs, it seems. They were studying him. Or, ah, well, not exactly him –“

“A copy,” Zelenka explained. “They had the ability to take a person’s mind and download it, like you would a CD. These were then stored on the, ah, the little balls that Lieutenant Ford so kindly retrieved for me.”

“But it looks like they could never get a perfect copy,” Beckett continued. “There were flaws in the system, bits missing.”

“And not just that.” Radek laid a hand on the hard drive. “This also suffers from imperfections. The information has degraded – yes, that is to be expected – but the programming, it is, ah –“

“It has holes,” Kusanagi supplied, meekly. “The creator of this system was not familiar with the computer language he used to make it.”

Elizabeth was frowning, deeply. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Another flush, as Kusanagi’s ears turned scarlet. “It as though you, Dr Weir, were to use a book on computer script to create a programme, without knowing the language on which it is based. You would follow the instructions, but have no deeper understanding. As though you created a poem in Japanese by choosing characters from a dictionary.” Long fingers danced in the air as she repeated: “Holes.”

“I do not believe this technology was native to whoever used it,” Zelenka continued. “It is a mix of all – some Ancient, some I do not recognise. There are many flaws, many errors. It would not surprise me to learn the scientists had abandoned their project due to its failure.”

“Or due to the Wraith,” Teyla pointed out.

“True.”

“But what was their project?” Sheppard asked. “Not that the cultural lesson isn’t interesting, but is there anything in there to help McKay?”

“From what we can tell,” Carson said, shooting a glance at Sheppard, “the purpose of the laboratory was to study the human brain and all its conditions. Instead of using live subjects, they would create a copy and run it through tests.”

“What sort of tests?” Kate asked.

“Simulations,” Zelenka answered. “As though the patient was an AI in an artificial reality.”

”Amazing,” she breathed, oblivious to the dark look Sheppard shot her. “And Kezan was one such patient?”

“So it seems.” Beckett squinted at the projector screen. “From what Radek’s shown me so far, it seems scans were taken when a patient turned twenty-two. There are a number of files on Kezan’s medical history which I’ll need to look over with Kate, but from what I can tell he was already exhibiting early symptoms of schizophrenia and manic depression. Then with everything else…” And he paused.

Teyla’s voice was soft. “To be trapped for hundreds of years.”

Ford glanced from Teyla back to Beckett, then up at the projector screen. “But it’s only like a disc, right? Just information!”

“Energy,” Kate supplied. “Neurons firing in the right places. And yes, information. Contained in an organic brain or a piece of sophisticated technology, it amounts to the same.” She had paled, one hand picking at the cuff of her sleeve. “It’s impossible to imagine.” She looked up, suddenly. “What happened to the original Kezan?”

“He killed himself,” Zelenka said, and there was a curious lack of inflection to his voice. “Two months after the scan.”

“And he knows.”

“Doctor?”

Kate’s jaw clenched. “Nothing I can say for definite,” she said, tightly. “I will need to look at the files.”

“A pretty crappy existence,” Sheppard said, slightly impatiently. He might have felt sympathy, or horror at Kezan’s existence, but he was still caught up in the shadows of the cell, and the plea from within. “But can we remember that he invaded McKay’s head? How do we get him out?”

Zelenka and Carson exchanged an uncomfortable look. The Scot spoke first.

“The device SG-1 retrieved from the inventor Machello was little help.” He shot an apologetic look at Ford. “I’m afraid even if the scientists in Area 51 had been able to discover how it worked, I doubt it would apply in this case.”

“And we could not build one of our own,” Zelenka added.

“But,” Carson interrupted, before Sheppard’s shoulders could slump, “while we were searching the SGC files Dr Weir found something else that might help us.” He pulled a file from behind him, opening at a folded page and reading. “Several years ago a MALP was sent to an alien planet that was the home for a civilisation of non-corporeal beings. One transferred itself into the SGC computer and from there, into the brain of Major Carter. The medical report says that Major Carter’s consciousness remained in a small portion of her mind while the entity was able to control her body.”

“So how’d they get it out?” Sheppard demanded.

Another exchange of uncomfortable looks. “We’re not sure,” Zelenka admitted, “but we believe it may involve electricity.”

Weir raised her eyes from the file. “Electricity?”

“Yes.” Carson sighed heavily. “The entity refused to leave Major Carter’s body until Colonel O’Neill threatened its home world. It then appeared to flee, transferring energy into the SGC computer just before it was shot twice, with a zat gun.”

“The Major’s consciousness had been uploaded into the SGC mainframe,” Zelenka continued, “And the entity was dead.”

“Then Doctor Frasier was able to return the Major’s consciousness back to her body.” Carson hesitated. “She almost died, but it did work.”

“Then can we not do the same for Doctor McKay?” Teyla questioned. “The machines of Atlantis are vast, and I assume more than capable of containing his essence.”

“Rodney’s ego?” Sheppard joked, only for his humour to abruptly die at the look shared by Carson and Zelenka. Sober: “I’m guessing that’s a no?”

“Not exactly,” Carson admitted.

Elizabeth leaned forward, her elbows on the table top. “You mentioned electricity?”

“Yes.” Another sigh. “Doctor Frasier theorized that the entity deliberately sent Major Carter’s mind to the SGC in an attempt to protect its world. It would have continued to exist in Major Carter’s brain had the zat gun blasts not killed it.”

“Then we do the same for McKay,” Sheppard guessed.

“No, Major.” Carson looked suddenly haggard, one hand rubbing at the stubble across his chin. “Major Carter’s mind only survived the effects of the zat because she had already been expelled willingly by the alien entity. From all we’ve seen so far, Kezan is not going to leave without a fight, and we can’t risk trying the same level of treatment without risking irreversible damage to Rodney.”

“However,” Zelenka continued, “We believe a smaller dose of energy may disrupt the entity’s control long enough for…” He hesitated, picking at the skin on his thumb nervously, “to give Rodney temporary control.”

“What are we talking about here?” Weir asked, her voice pinched with concern.

“An electrical pulse sent directly into Rodney’s brain.”

Sheppard almost leapt up from the bench. “What?” he demanded. “Shock therapy? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Beckett wouldn’t look at him. “I don’t like the term, but yes, that’s essentially what this comes down to.”

Elizabeth had paled, though her expression was tightly controlled. “How much are we talking?”

“A number of controlled bursts.” Beckett raised his head to look at her. “Electroconvulsive therapy is an approved method of treating depression.” Glanced at Sheppard. “I’m not about to subject Rodney to any medieval torture technique.”

A sigh. Sheppard’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry, Doc.” Tried to amend: “I know you’re only doing your job. It’s just -”

Carson’s response was cold, tiredness and concern for his friend creeping into his voice. “I’m doing what I believe is best for Rodney, Major.”

“And how long will this effect last?” Teyla asked.

Another exchange of looks, that Sheppard was growing increasingly tired of. “I’m not sure,” Carson admitted.

“Then is it worth it?” he shot back, regretting his volume when he saw Beckett flinch.

“I believe so,” Zelenka interrupted, breaking the tension. “The truth is that despite all Rodney’s boasts, he is the better man to solve this problem. I still have only basic idea of how to reconstruct the device, or how to put Kezan back within it. If McKay is aware of Kezan’s actions then he will have seen its dismantling.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Ford asked.

“Kezan has displayed awareness of McKay’s thoughts,” Carson replied. “It’s likely that it works both ways.”

“But will Kezan not then realise what we are attempting to do?” Teyla asked.

“He didn’t seem to remember when McKay gained control after the shock of the forcefield,” Kate said, thoughtfully. “It seems that electricity separates their consciousness, allowing one personality to come to the fore over the other.”

Elizabeth looked down at the papers before her, then back up at Carson.

“What risks does this carry?”

Another flinch. “It would be painful. Usually the patient is given anaesthetic before the procedure but given the circumstances I’m not sure whether even a muscle relaxant might not interfere with the process.” He hesitated, spoke reluctantly: “There are also a few potential side-effects. Memory loss, epileptic fits, brain damage –“

“Brain damage?” Sheppard was once again struggling to remain in his seat.

“There is a link between ECT and damage to the frontal lobes of the brain.” Beckett’s voice had steeled, as though he were reciting a medical journal. “Attention disorders, reduced attention span, loss of arithmetic and geometry knowledge, aphasia –“

Teyla looked confused.

“The inability to communicate or understand a language, written or spoken,” Carson clarified. “It’s common amongst stroke patients although in ECT studies the nature of the aphasia has –“

“Brain damage,” Sheppard repeated, dully.

“It’s a possibility.”

Elizabeth was staring at the folder blankly. Spoke softly. “This isn’t an easy decision. Not for any of us.” She looked up at Beckett. “I want full details on the method and effects of this treatment.”

He nodded, avoiding Sheppard’s gaze.

“Doctor Zelenka, I need you and your team to continue examining the device. If there’s another way of removing Kezan then I want to find it.”

The Czech nodded, but looked doubtful, turning away to examine the hard drive.

“If we decide to go ahead with this, how long would it take you to set it up?”

Carson’s shoulders moved in a small shrug. “I have all the equipment needed, but I’ll need to prepare a room.”

“Then tomorrow morning. We all need some sleep.” And Elizabeth gave him a pointed look. “You included, Carson.”

He nodded, and yawned, but Sheppard wasn’t convinced.

“And until then?” Teyla asked.

He spoke up for Elizabeth, his mouth dry, the floor dropping away. “We keep McKay in the dark. We still can’t tell him what we’re doing.”

“So,” and Ford looked from Sheppard to Carson with wide eyes, “we just put him in the infirmary and –“

“It’s an accepted form of treatment,” Kate said, echoing Carson’s words. “We can assure him of that.”

“Kezan will fight it,” Teyla warned.

“Aye.” Carson released a long, heavy sigh. “Almost certainly.”

“And McKay won’t know what we’re really trying to do,” Aiden continued, and Sheppard wished the Lieutenant would stop.

“We’ll get him back,” he said, firmly. “Permanently.”

He just wondered what it would cost.

Chapter Twenty Two - Chilli Sauce

Sheppard sat outside the cell, his back to the wall, butt slowly numbing on the cold floor. McKay lay on the cot, his arm draped across his face, chest rising and falling peacefully, oblivious to being an object of study. If John hadn’t known better, he might presume it was just another night, just another mission.

The bars of the cell soon cut that daydream short.

It had been Rodney in the bed. That familiar spark, that same snark. Dripping with prickly sarcasm, even when strapped to a cot and drugged.

He could trust that moment, he could put his faith in it more than he could ever have in Heightmeyer’s diagnosis.

“We keep McKay in the dark…”

Now there was proof – proof of McKay’s sanity, and of Kate’s mistake, and yet his hands were just as tied as they had been before. When John had pulled Zelenka out from under the collapsing cliff face, and first seen the alien device clutched in the Czech’s arms he had thought things would get easier.

Weren’t they supposed to?

He thought of Kezan, and the face staring out from the projector screen, and wondered which of them was dreaming. Or whether either could.

“McKay?”

There was no reply. Sheppard muttered, ‘typical,’ under his breath and shifted his thighs, trying to stifle the pins and needles creeping down his shins and feet.

He had stopped Elizabeth in the lab, after the others had left. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

She had sighed, hands smoothing creases in her uniform carefully. “No, Major, I’m not sure. But it’s not a decision I’m about to take lightly.”

“You heard what Beckett said –“

She bristled, straightening her back and setting her shoulders. “Yes, I did. I was in the room with you, John. I don’t know what you think I’m going to do but it isn’t to play rock paper scissors.” Then she had turned, ready to leave Sheppard with his anger.

He immediately regretted his words. “Elizabeth, I’m sorry. It’s just –“

His touch on her shoulder caused her to turn back. “This is Rodney,” she had finished for him, with a sigh. “I know. Aside from his importance and value to the future of Atlantis – he’s a friend.” Her eyes shone for a second, wetly, then disappeared with a firm blink. “That’s why we have to do all we can to help him.”

“Zelenka’s not going to come up with a plan B,” he told her.

“No, probably not.” She took a breath, and squared her shoulders. “In which case the decision has been made for me.”

“I know. It’s just –“

He felt a gentle hand on his arm. “If it were you, what would you want me to do?”

“Rhetorical question,” he replied, simply.

“Exactly.” And she had smiled, sadly. “Get some sleep, John.”

It wasn’t that easy. Elizabeth knew it, just as he did, and he knew the decision would haunt her. Despite his attempts at playing Zelenka’s ‘old maid,’ advising Elizabeth to take her own advice, he knew she would spend the night awake and alone at her office desk. Or stood at the balcony, looking out across the waves, as though the ocean could give up the answers.

And he couldn’t protest, because here he was, freezing his bones in the basement of Atlantis when he should have been sleeping, wrapped snugly in warm blankets and in a room that smelt of something other than stale dust and death.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

A rhetorical question. He recalled the list of side-effects Beckett had reeled off, and rubbing fingers beneath his eyes he felt shadows that echoed the doctor’s own.

“Ironic, huh? The one guy who could make sense of all this and you can’t even talk to me.” Then, softly: “We need you, McKay.”

Dropping his head, Sheppard eased one hand up to the back of his neck and massaged the skin, wincing. “If you were sat here, and I was in that cell, I’d want you to do it.” Whispered: “Except you’re not sat here.”

“Major?”

Teyla stood in the doorway, her hand resting on the wall, looking down on him with an expression of concern. “You should be sleeping.”

“So should you,” he pointed out.

Dropping to the floor, Teyla took up a position beside Sheppard, folding her legs beneath her. She followed his gaze into the cell, and onto its sleeping occupant. “You worry for him.”

“Someone’s got to.” Gave her a smile he didn’t feel. “He’s the best person to fix the city every time something goes wrong.”

“And he is our friend.”

He glanced at her, seeing fine lines where there was normally smoothness. “Yeah.” He moved slightly towards her, their shoulders bumping gently, and was rewarded with a smile.

“We have been through worse.”

“When?” he prompted.

She lifted one hand and started raising her fingers. One,“When the energy cloud escaped into the city,” two, “when you were deceived by an alien race into believing you had returned to Earth,” three, “when the Genii tried to take Atlantis…”

“Fair point –“

Four: “When Lieutenant Kershaw introduced us to his family chilli recipe…”

“Ouch.” He gave an exaggerated wince. “I’d rather forget that one.”

“And yet we survived,” she said, with a warm smile.

“The chilli sauce? Barely.” He sank back against the wall, and flexed his toes within his boots. “You’re right. We’ve been through worse.”

“Doctor Heightmeyer initially feared Dr McKay’s condition would be permanent. We now have a way to aid him.” She turned her head to look at him with deep brown eyes. “There is always hope. That is how my people continue to escape the Wraith, and it is how we will help our friend.”

He considered her thoughtfully for a moment, studying her face and the way the dim light cast shadows across her cheeks.

“Hey.”

Two heads looked up simultaneously to see Ford, stood awkwardly above them, looking at McKay. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said, shrugging, dropping down to sit next to Teyla’s other side.

“It’s going around.” Sheppard shifted up a couple of inches to give Aiden room, and waited for Teyla to follow. After several moments more of uncomfortable shuffling the three found suitable positions and sat, watching the cell.

“You think this is going to work?” Ford asked, in a low voice.

“Yup,” Sheppard said, with fake bravado. “It’s not like McKay to be out of action for long.”

“Still…” His face twisted, obviously thinking about Carson’s words. “It’s pretty risky.”

“And we’re not the sort to take risks,” Sheppard joked. It felt feeble. He glanced at Aiden, and asked him the same question as Elizabeth had posed to him. “What if it was you?”

Ford pursed his lips, then admitted: “I guess I’d want you to do everything you could.”

“Right.” He nodded, firmly. “Then that’s what we do.”

Teyla jostled Aiden gently with one elbow. “We have been through worse.”

“So she keeps reminding me,” Sheppard added, warmly. “Remember the chilli sauce?”

“Ouch.” Ford clutched at his stomach and gave an exaggerated groan. “I still have nightmares.”

“If we can survive that,” Teyla said meaningfully…

“We can survive anything,” Sheppard finished.

The three sat in companiable silence for a minute.

Ford broke the silence. “You know, if Doctor McKay wakes up and sees us here, he’s going to be seriously wigged out.”

Part Three of Four