RATING: PG - for some swearing
SEASON: Second Season
MAJOR CHARACTERS: Team Fic - McKay, Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla
DISCLAIMERS: The characters, Atlantis, etc, all belong to Sony, MGM, Gecko, Showtime, the Sci-Fi Channel. 
SUMMARY:  The team investigates a planet that used to be safe from the Wraith.  Now, the planet is empty.  The team wants to know what happened.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:  Tipper and GateBiscuit.  They issued me a challenge, giving me five pages from the Worst Case Scenario calendar.  I had to work the five situations into a story.  this is the result.  Blame them.
FEEDBACK: Yes please! comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated.
SPOILERS: Small ones for Home, Condemned, Conversion, 38 Minutes
DATE:  Complete July 29, 2006, some housekeeping done April 20, 2008

Worst Case Scenario
By NotTasha... it couldn't get any worse, right?

CHAPTER 1:  THE FOG

They strode out of the wormhole – Sheppard first, with Teyla and Ronon flanking him.  McKay followed.  The scientist paused for a moment as he stepped clear of the event horizon and he took in their surroundings.  His eyes went wide, and faster than a quick-draw, he had his scanner in his hand and activated it to inspect the misty, heavy air that surrounded them. Fiddling with the controls, he looked beyond his compatriots and took in the sight before them.

“In the briefing,” he started, “did someone mention the…?” and he motioned to the air around them.

“Wasn’t in the report,” Sheppard responded, as he stared into the grayness. “Foggy.”

Teyla smiled and told them, “This area is known for this sort of weather.  It is not uncommon.”

Behind them, the wormhole closed and McKay glanced around, grimacing at the moist-looking air.    “Fog?”  He became intent on his scanner for a moment, jabbing way, and making a pirouette as he brought the device around. “Okay… Fog, yes…  just fog.  Could be worse,” he said, glancing up from the display.  “The fog isn’t … you know… life forms or something.”

Ronon gave him a curious look, but both Teyla and Sheppard let out a sigh of relief.

Sheppard stated, “ I can tolerate fog when it’s just – you know -- fog.”

“Yeah.  Rather not have aliens…” McKay flitted one hand around one side of his head, “In my brain again.  Those fog people creeped me out.” The hand came down to meet the tablet’s screen and he started tapping.

Sheppard scrunched up his face at the memory of the fog people.

“Agreed,” Teyla added and gave Ronon a look that told him she’d explain it later.  The former runner seemed to accept this, having been in similar situations before with this group.

“You’re going to check for energy signatures?” Sheppard asked the scientist who gave him a withering look. “Might be a good idea, to, you know, check.”

“I’m working on it!” McKay snapped, which only made the colonel smile.

Sheppard stared out into the gray weather as McKay worked his computer.  The mist moved, trailing along green hills, exposing little distant houses from time to time, only to cover them up again.  It was like a shell game, John decided, and he almost expected a house to have disappeared when the fog moved on.

There were closer homes, looming out of the mist just in front of them.  He squinted, trying to get a better look.  Yes, houses all around them.  Down a hillside, a town peeped from the blanketing weather.  The fog clung to the structures like clothing.  Everything was quiet.  It was as if the mist had captured all sound and held it tight.

The air had a salty quality to it – they were near the ocean -- a cold sea, no doubt.  Sheppard hoped there’d be no fjords, or glaciers or icebergs.  He’d had enough icebergs for a lifetime in Antarctica.

“So,” Sheppard started, partially to break that odd quiet.  He watched the fog ebb its way through the structures -- creepy.  “What’s the name of this place again?”

“The town is called Nehalem,” Teyla responded, gesturing toward the half-hidden buildings.  “The planet is called Netarts, as is the ocean.  The towns of Wheeler and Meares are nearby, but Nehalem is the center of their commerce.”

“Nehalem is the town that controls the Ring of the Ancestors,” Ronon went on.

“They were prosperous,” Teyla added with a hollow note as she gazed at the emptiness.

“They fished,” Ronon supplied.  He nodded his head toward the green hills.  “They got trees, too.  Lots of them.  Wheeler harvests lumber.  In Meares they raised vegetables and stuff.”  He looked hungry.  “Good sweet vegetables.”

Teyla added, “They invited strangers to join in their good fortune.  Some travelers were allowed to stay.  Others were sent back.”

With a shrug, Ronon dispelled any questions about what determined a stranger’s fate.  “The Nehalems were better than a lot of folk out there that have a good thing.  At least they let some in.  Could have been worse.”

“What’s not to like?” McKay asked hunching his shoulders inside his jacket.  “I mean, it’s moist and it’s foggy and… moist.  It’s the sort of weather that draws people by the thousand, isn’t it?” He sniffled unhappily.  “Think this will burn off by mid day?” he asked hopefully, and began searching his pockets with one hand.  “I certainly hope it burns off.  It’d better, because this is going to chill me to the bone.   I’m going to want a hot bath when I get back to Atlantis.”

“Big baby,” Sheppard muttered under his breath.

“I catch colds easily,” McKay complained as he fixed Sheppard with an unhappy look.  “Why would people want to live in this?”

To that question, Teyla smiled broadly.  “The reason people came to this place,” she told him, “is the reason we are here now.”  She continued with a patient air, as Rodney pulled a wad of tissues from his pocket, “A people can only become prosperous when they are free from the threat of the Wraith.”

“And the Wraith didn’t come here,” Ronon went on, un-holstering his weapon. “Until about a year ago.” He nodded to the surrounding area.  “People came through the Gate and discovered that everyone was gone.  The Wraith had culled every living soul on the planet.”

In response, McKay blew his nose loudly into a tissue.

Sheppard waited, giving McKay an unpleasant look before asking, “You got anything?”

With a shrug, Rodney jammed the used tissue into a pocket.  “No energy signature.  Nothing outside of natural radiation.”

With a tight nod, Sheppard stated, “Let’s move out then.  Try to figure it out.”

They made their way past pretty little houses.  The buildings had an almost ‘Victorian’ feel to them, as if someone had once set up a bunch of dollhouses, painted them in bright colors, and then left them to be eaten up in the gray gloom.

The houses were tall and narrow, festooned with decorative gingerbread, shingled in fish-scale, rounded with cupolas or topped with tiny widows-walks.  Narrow chimneys ran from the roofs.  They were built close together, huddled on the hill with tiny gardens between them.  The hill was so steep that two levels of one house could be accessible from the paved street that ran alongside.

McKay trotted, trying to keep his balance on the steep hill.  Ronon kept his gaze everywhere.  Teyla remained quiet, taking in the sulky sad neighborhood that must have been boisterous once.  Sheppard kept his eyes on his people.

Dormers peered from the rooftops like eyes, watching over the streets.  Teyla gazed back at them, looking in toward what was once a parlor, a child’s room, a reading room. Inside, the houses were dark and lifeless.  Here and there a broken pane was set against the street.  Toppled gardening tools, abandoned toys, open-empty doorways told of a sudden event that took the homeowners.  Bits of stray clothing clung to bushes.  Once well-tended lawns were overgrown and gardens were wild.

They had been rich -- there was no doubt.  Teyla and Ronon had both commented on the renowned seafood from Nehalem.  The people from the planet Netarts were good fishermen, safe from everything except the dangers of the sea – until their luck had run scarce.

There had been families here, whole generations that had grown up without the fear of the Wraith – there’d been fishing dynasties here -- families working together on the boats.  Newcomers, it was said, came and fit into those families.  Their new lives went so well, they never passed through the Gate again, never left the safety of the Netarts sea.  It was all good.

There’d been old people, mothers and fathers and children -- and all of them had disappeared, leaving only the bare bones of the town – the abandoned buildings with the open empty eyes -- to describe the tale.

The town felt hollow, utterly empty.  Teyla wrapped her arms around herself and stepped over a child’s wagon that had been abandoned along the street.  She stifled the need to shiver, feeling the cold air, and wished she’d brought a thicker coat instead of her jacket.

What could be worse than losing an entire planet to the Wraith?  The creatures were cruel beyond measure, and she wondered what the last minutes had been like for these kind people, what horrors had been visited upon them.

She shivered.

Several steps behind, McKay studied the scanner’s screen as he negotiated the steep grade.  Oblivious, he bumped into the battered orange wagon, and with a clatter, it sprang forward, wobbled, and started to roll.

“Ooops,” McKay muttered as the old wagon clangored down the hillside.  The noise ripped into the quiet and Teyla turned sharply, her face severe.  She attempted to stop the little cart with a kick as it came at her, but it was past before she had the chance.  She took a couple of racing steps behind it, but the wagon had picked up speed and went careening down the hillside.

It sped, slicing along a curb, wheeling out across the narrow steep street and back again, clittering, clattering, banging its way through the center of the once silent town, a blur of orange until the fog ate it up.

The foursome watched it disappear, then three sets of eyes turned to McKay as it continued to clatter away.

For a moment, Rodney looked as if he was going to apologize, but the wagon, invisible and far down the hill, ran into something with a BANG.  It quelled his attempt to ask forgiveness, and instead he shrugged and said, “Okay, so it went all the way down.  Big deal!  There’s no one here to care.”

“There are those that DO care,” Teyla answered levelly.  “This was once a community to many people.  What happened to them was unspeakable.  Respect should be shown to the memory.”  And she gazed again toward the empty houses.

Sheppard glanced down the steep street where the wagon had disappeared.  “That was kinda cool,” he commented.  “I mean, if I were a kid here, I would’ve done that a time or two just to see how far it’d go.”

“You’d probably jump in and take a ride with it,” McKay included, using a hand to mimic the downward flight.  “Good luck finding something to slow you down at the bottom.   Probably run face first into a building and splatter your good looks everywhere.”

Sheppard snorted.  “Always the worst case scenario?  I can pilot a wagon.  I’ve done it a few times when I was a kid.  It would be a kick.  Bet I could run that thing all the way to the waterfront.”  

Poking at the scanner again, Rodney went on with the previous idea, “I bet I could have rigged up some brakes, a steering mechanism of some sort.”

“We’d be flying,” Sheppard added.  He looked toward the other members of this team.  Teyla still looked disturbed, her eyes taking on a sharpness as she looked in Rodney’s direction.  The horror suffered by these people was not going to easily leave the Athosian.

Ronon’s attention was elsewhere already, scanning the area to see if the noise had drawn any attention.

Sheppard continued, “I’m betting that the kid who owned the wagon took a few runs down that hill.  The thing was pretty banged up.”  And he paused as a new silence descended on them.  He blinked, realizing the fate of that kid.

“Anyway…” McKay drew out.  “There’s nobody here.”  He gazed at the device in his hand.  “Well, there’s life.  Birds or something.  And a whole mess of something out there,” and he gestured vaguely in the direction of the sea. “Fish, squid, whales,” and he winced at the thought of the leviathans.  “But out there, in those buildings, probably nothing bigger than a mouse.”

Ronon made a soft sound and then muttered, “Don’t think they got them here.”

“What?” McKay asked, turning toward the big man.

“Mice, they don’t got mice.”

“Okay, not ‘mice’ exactly, but every planet has some sort of vermin,” McKay commented.

Ronon shrugged.  “Not every one,” he added.

“Lucky sons of bitches,” Sheppard responded.

Ronon responded with, “Guess their luck ran out.”

Sniffling again, McKay reached for another tissue and daubed at his nose.  “So, let’s keep moving, huh?  Find this anti-Wraith device of theirs.”  Looking irritated, he went on, “Sooner we get out of here the better, because I’m due for one hell of a cold.”

“It didn’t work.” Ronon creased his brow.  “The device that kept away the Wraith.  It didn’t work.  Everyone’s gone.”

Rodney shook his head. “Of course, it worked.  Whatever they had here worked for centuries, didn’t it?”

“But it ultimately failed,” Sheppard completed, cocking his head toward the scientist.

McKay let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, and since it’s just a matter of something ‘failing’, it can probably be revived, and I’m just the guy to do that.  So let’s keep moving and find out whatever they had here.  We can get back to Atlantis, and I can get that hot bath before pneumonia sets in, as I know it will.  Chop chop!”

Sheppard raised an eyebrow at the scientist, watching as he started a strange sideways step down the steep grade.

“And you’re not concerned that there might be something hiding out there in the fog?” Sheppard asked.

The question brought McKay to a standstill.  He looked up at Sheppard with wide eyes, then grabbed for his life sign detector again.  “I’m not picking up anything,” he squeaked.  “Do you think there’s going to be a problem?”

Ronon snorted and started down the hill after the scientist.  “Wraith think everyone’s gone.  No reason for them to be here.”

“Yeah, we got the place to ourselves,” Sheppard stated, passing McKay as he caught up to Ronon.  “What’s the worst that can happen?”

McKay raised a hand to respond to that comment, but Teyla had wordlessly passed him, still looking rather miffed about the ‘wagon’ incident.

With a groan, McKay followed at his own stilted pace.

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CHAPTER 2: HOW TO SEARCH A ROOM USING A TWO-MAN TEAM

The place was damn eerie, Sheppard decided, mostly because the place was also damn familiar.  It looked too much like an ‘Earth’ town of yesteryear.  There were brick buildings with little architectural embellishments – grocery stores, stables, clothing stores and hardware stores -- a town square, a little park in the middle of town, something that looked like a firehouse – and all of it was desperately empty.  Even the ‘livery’, where some sort of horse-like animals were once kept, was barren of life.

The fog wended between the buildings, ghostlike.

The situation made John’s chest tighten a bit as he moved through the empty town, thinking of Earth, wondering if it would be like this if the Wraith ever…

“Look,” McKay said, sounding almost cheerful, “They had a bakery!” And he moved toward the door that hung open.  He made a tsking sound when he found the place bereft of dainties.  “Too bad,” he muttered, standing in the doorway.  “Still…” he paused and looked over his shoulder.  “Where did it all go?”

“Where did what go?” Sheppard asked tiredly.

“The donuts,” McKay responded, “The pies, the little…cakes.”  He furrowed his brow in thought as he glanced around the room.  The glassed in cabinets that once held pastries, now displayed only a few crumbs and empty plates.  The glass was filthy around the bottom, but only dusty otherwise.   A sliding door in back was ajar, showing how something must have entered.

“Whatever raided this place must have been relatively small,” McKay went on.  “No bigger than a cat, judging by the size of the opening.  Didn’t really break anything… just got in and… ate.”

“Not rats though,” Sheppard stated.

McKay shrugged.  “Maybe the rats recovered from the near mass extinction.”  He gazed longingly at the empty bakery case.

“Anything can come back,” Sheppard decided.  After a moment, he commented, “Let’s keep moving,” and, somewhat dejectedly, McKay turned from the bakery and they continued on their way.

They moved onward.  From time to time, they could hear Ronon and Teyla’s quiet conversations in their earpieces – so far the other two had said little.  In fact, the pair had been almost silent in their search – perhaps to make up for the racket that they were forced to endure on the other end of the transmission.

McKay commented as he walked, “It’s a good thing we’re getting regular supplies from the Daedalus, otherwise I’d think about picking up some of the clothing and other things that was left behind in the stores.  Imagine what we’d be wearing now if we didn’t have contact with Earth.  Remember the beige jackets?”

“I didn’t have to wear one.”

“Hmmph.  Well, some of us had to.  It wasn't good.  Alright, forgetting that, everything edible here seems to be gone.  Something went through this town and picked it clean.”

“Yeah,” John replied.

McKay fiddled with his scanner.  He bit his lip a little and mentioned, “There does seem to be some life forms hanging around.  Not much of anything, but… something is out there.”

Sheppard looked up as a seabird with an incredibly wide wingspan soared over them.  “Birds,” he said, pointing upward.

“Yeah,” McKay replied.  “I guess.”

The next business was a clothing store that looked almost untouched, except for a toppled rack at the back of the store.  And after that, a butcher shop was cleaned out – the bones reduced to shards.  The next store tempted McKay.  It appeared to be filled with goods imported from other worlds, so they spent some time messing about in that place, considering that maybe the site had housed the sought-after device – but they found only shelves of knick-knacks, gewgaws and other dust collectors.  They kept moving.

The label they’d applied to the ‘firehouse’ proved, after a closer inspection, to be even more fitting than they first surmised.

“Fuel of some sort,” McKay decided as he looked at the big tanks in the main room.  “For cooking, heating.  Ah!  For the stoves, of course.”

“Of course,” Sheppard echoed.

There was a large cart designed to be pulled by their local ‘horses’, outfitted with further tanks – a delivery vehicle, no doubt.  “Must be a distribution center,” McKay surmised.  “A fuel depot.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard agreed, without sounding as if he’d thought about it much.

The scientist touched the controls on his radio to turn up the volume.  “Teyla, Ronon?  Have you made it to the factory?”

“We are nearly there, Dr McKay,” Teyla responded.  “So far we have found nothing worth recording.  We shall search that building once we finish with the present location.”

“Hmm, well, keep your eyes open when you get there.  It’s probably the most technologically advanced location here.  Most likely it’s a fuel refinery, so be careful.  Probably not petroleum,” McKay said thoughtfully, considering what he’d seen so far and judging the advancement of the people.  “Most likely they process some sort of sugar-rich vegetation – sugar beets, sugar cane.  You said they had sweet vegetables, didn’t you Ronon?”

“Yeah,” the answer seemed almost reluctant, as if Dex suspected he’d be quizzed further on the subject.

Sheppard saved him, asking McKay, “You can make fuel from that?”

With a put upon expression, McKay continued, “Yes.  Ethanol is used for fuel on Earth.  Look, we don’t know what we’re dealing with there, so tread lightly, okay?  It could be rather…”

“Explosive?” Sheppard tried.  “Beets can blow up?”

McKay’s voice had become a little shriller, “We have no idea what sort of properties this substance may or may not have.  Does that mean we can just mess around and pretend that all is safe and hunky-dory?  I don’t think so!  Maybe we should hold off on exploring that building.  Wait until we have a more experienced crew.”

“They can handle it,” Sheppard told him.

Ronon’s voice came over the comm, “We’ll be fine.”

“Perhaps we should bypass the building if it is…” Teyla started.

“No,” Sheppard countered.  “There’s a good chance that the device we’re looking for is in there.  We’re not passing it up.”

McKay turned to Sheppard and asked, “Shouldn’t we be down there?  I mean, I kinda know what I’m looking for.”

Sheppard shook his head, and spoke to the radio, “You and Ronon take care of it, Teyla.”  He raised his gaze to McKay and winked.  “They’ll be careful.”

“We will be careful,” Teyla echoed, sounding as if she was speaking only to placate a jumpy scientist.

“Yeah,” McKay told her.  “I mean, really careful.  That place hasn’t been entered for a year and things might be a bit touchy.”

“They’re aware of that, McKay,” Sheppard said tiredly.

“Could be booby trapped!” McKay insisted.

There was a pause.  “I’ve dealt with such traps before,” Ronon answered tersely.

“My people are also familiar with booby traps,” Teyla added.

“They got it figured out, McKay,” Sheppard commented.

“It doesn’t hurt to offer a little caution when in the presence of inflammables!”  McKay shot back.

“Why do they call it inflammable anyway?” John asked.  “It always makes me think something’s not flammable.”

“Combustible then!”  Rodney almost growled.  “Just, watch out, and be on the lookout for…”

“Anything that might be of Ancient design,” Teyla completed for him.

“Something that doesn’t fit in with the rest,” Ronon continued.  “And boobies.”

After a shocked silence, McKay squeaked, “Just… just be careful.”

“Got it?” Sheppard asked.

“We understand, colonel,” Teyla told him.

“And no burning materials around there, and nothing that’ll give off a spark…” McKay went on, his voice sharp.

“Yeah, we got it,” Ronon added.

John shook his head.  “Okay then, you got it.  Sheppard, out,” and he turned down the volume on his radio a bit to smirk at McKay.  “They got it,” he told him.  “Let’s keep moving.”

“I just wanted to make sure they understood,” McKay added, sounding a little pissy.  “All I needed to make me happy is for them to agree to be careful.”

“That’s all it takes?” Sheppard asked leadingly.

“Yes, people listening to me always makes me happy!”  McKay scowled, turning away to glare out into the street.  Before he stepped through the doorway, he pulled his collar close to his neck and walked into the moist fog.  He let out a sigh, and added, “Okay, that and better weather.  And maybe a nice doughnut or something.”  With a miserable groan, he continued forward, with Sheppard beside him.

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“So,” Ronon started, and nodded toward the factory.  “You in any hurry to get there?”

Teyla raised an eyebrow.  “We will have to search it soon enough,” she told him.

“Yeah, take our time,” Ronon commented as they continued their current search of the harbormaster’s office.  They had divided the room, and started the search back-to-back, searching outward.  They followed a pattern, beginning at floor level and then going over the same area again at furniture level, and then scanning the area further up.  From there, they moved inward, to search around the furniture in the room.

It was a thorough procedure, well-practiced and efficient.  They would not be meeting up with McKay later to be berated for forgetting to look behind the desk.  So, they were careful – precise.  And as of yet, had found nothing noteworthy.  They left the office without a word, the nattering of McKay and Sheppard still in their ears over the radio.  They’d learned to tune it out, to not listen.  They turned down their radios and accepted the accompanying noise as just one of the aspects of being with this team.

It was, in a way, comforting.  Sometimes, of course, it was just annoying.   It wasn’t unusual to catch very strange bits of conversation, words that might be thought very offensive if taken in the wrong manner.   Such remarks mostly came from the physicist.  Other times, the discussions just made no sense, and valuable time was wasted trying to discern their meaning.  The colonel usually started those conversations.

Thus, volume control was a wonderful thing on their radios.  As McKay and Sheppard’s voices buzzed, Ronon and Teyla continued on their way.

The buildings were a mix of structures, built onto piers that jutted into the harbor, hosting all manner of seaside business.  Most of the piers were in good repair, but here and there were structures that had been abandoned long ago, leaving the wood to rot to pieces over the water.  They’d been careful as they entered such places, finding more than one with unsafe flooring.  The harbormaster’s office had been in good repair, but the cannery beside it had probably failed a decade earlier.  They walked along it, stepping carefully over the faulty platform.

“We’re not going to find anything here,” Ronon commented, as he studied the dark place.  “Think our best bet is to check out that factory that McKay was all fired up about.”

With a nod, Teyla headed in that direction.  “Perhaps we should not mention ‘fire’ in conjunction with a place such as that.”

The Sedatan laughed.  “You’re not getting as suspicious as them, are you?” he asked.  “They seem to have a lot of problems with the wording of things.”

“No, my people do not believe in such charms,” Teyla responded.  “But I do not wish to press my luck.”  And she smiled over her shoulder at him before facing forward again to move toward the next building.  “Let us be careful of traps.”

Ronon just chuckled and muttered, “Boobies…” under his breath, amused with himself.

The refinery was set further back than the rest of the buildings, fully on land instead of set up on pilings in the harbor.  The fog still hung around the building, obscuring much of it, and denying any hope of the haze ‘burning off’ before afternoon.

The two continued along the decrepit walkway to reach the land and the front entrance. Teyla pulled at her jacket, gazing through the gray moist air that hung everywhere.

It was most uncomfortable weather – not that she would have mentioned that in the presence of Dr. McKay, of course.  There was no reason to give him fodder for further complaints against the fog.  The mist was unpleasant and she couldn’t wait to get back to the warmth of Atlantis, but she wasn’t going to be the one to complain about it.  She sniffled softly, hoping that the sound didn’t carry.

Beside her, Ronon kept a quick pace.  He lifted his chin slightly at her quiet sound, and smiled.  He walked with one thumb jammed into his pocket, the other hand rested on the hilt of his weapon, and turning to her, he asked, “Think we’ll find anything?”

“I would certainly hope so,” she responded, “To make this venture worthwhile.”  And after a moment she added, “What we seek will prove very valuable.”

“Yeah,” Ronon responded, “Anything that keeps the Wraith away is good, right?”  And then regarded her.  “Cold?” he asked.

Realizing that it would do no good to deny it, she adjusted her mic’s volume to ensure that no one could hear, and responded, “Yes.  Very.”

With a snort, Ronon commented, “Let’s find whatever we’re looking for, and get out of here.  Sooner the better.”

Teyla checked her companion’s expression and then smiled quietly to herself.  “You are not fond of this weather either,” she deduced.

With a grimace, Ronon declared, “Makes my hair soggy.”  He gestured to his dreadlocks that seemed to be hanging rather lower than usual.  “Takes forever to dry.  Don’t like it.”

That fact made Teyla feel a little better and she continued at the Satedan’s side toward the building that had interested the scientist.  They approached it slowly, cautiously, wondering about what might possibly meet them.  Ronon was careful at the door, checking it thoroughly, squatting down low to observe the narrow space between the sill and the door, then carefully eyeing all around the doorframe.  Satisfied that nothing was there to trip, he grasped the latch, turned it slowly, and eased the door open.

Neither were quite prepared for what met them – for as the door swung, a pleasantly warm wall of air enfolded them – shocking enough to make both step back as they peered into the heated, but otherwise dim interior of the facility.  They turned to each other in surprise at this development.

CHAPTER 3:  STOAT

Sheppard and McKay left the fuel house and moved up the street to what looked like a tavern.  The open door gave way to what was once a comfortable-looking watering hole.  Yet, it would appear that the last moments spent in this place were anything but comforting.  Chairs were tipped and a table toppled.  People had left this place in a hurry – in one manner or another.

Again, the area behind the bar looked as if some sort of creature had been through there, searching out whatever food products could be found.  They could make out small tracks, smeared and muted and unrecognizable.  Broken kegs lined the floor, showing the strength of whatever had been here.  A large stain covered the floor, but the liquid that had drained was long gone.

“No rats,” McKay muttered.  “So, what did this?  Lemmings?  Marmots?  Badgers?”

“Stoats?” Sheppard added.

“Stoats?” McKay repeated incredulously, getting a raised eyebrow in response from Sheppard.  “When have you ever heard about stoats?”

“Stoats are vicious creatures,” Sheppard explained.  “Big sharp teeth.  They’re ready to attack at any moment.  They’d rip your face off soon as look at you.”  When McKay gave him a strange look, he shrugged, smiling smugly.  “Friend of mine got attacked by one on her birthday.  It hid in her sock drawer.  Jumped right up she was bending over and bit off her nose.  Was never the same after that.”

“You’re making this up,” McKay told him. "Bit her nose off?"

“Ask me how she smelled.”

“No! You’re doing this just to mess with me.”

“Yup.  Oh, and she smelled quite lovely.”

“Stoats?” Annoyed, McKay shook his head and went on, “Something has moved in to take the place of the rats in the food chain.”  McKay shuddered, not liking the idea one bit.  “Could be something even worse than rats.”

“What about a stoat?”

“It’s not a stoat!”

“Might be a really big stoat.”

“It is not a STOAT!  Come on, already!  This could be really bad.”

“What could be worse than that?” Sheppard asked, and then grimaced.  “Forget I said that.”  He raised an eyebrow and asked, “You’re still not getting any life signs, right?”

Regarding the scanner again, McKay responded.  “Fish in the sea, nothing of note on the land.”  He lifted his eyes to meet Sheppard’s.  “I’ll make another check for energy signatures.  I get better range with this,” he said as he pulled out his data-tablet again and tapped away and the screen.  “Wait… wait… I’m picking up something now.” He pressed a hand to his mouth. “Hmmm.”

“What?” Sheppard responded.

“Thermal heat of some sort,” he muttered and glanced toward the waterfront.

“Thermal?  Like a hot spring?  Or someone lit a fire?”

“A fire, I think,” McKay muttered.  “I can’t really tell from these readings.  It’s almost as if it was there all the time, but was blocked until a moment ago.”

“So, something unblocked it?”

“Yeah… something…”

At that news, Sheppard touched his radio.  “Ronon?  Teyla?  Tell me that you activated something-or-other…”

“Colonel,” Teyla responded quickly.  “We have entered the large building.”

“You didn’t find anything … strange,” Sheppard asked.

“Like a furnace or something?” McKay added.

“It’s warm inside,” Ronon answered.  “We’re just starting our search.”

“Warm?” McKay responded.  “Like, how warm?”

“Like there’s a furnace,” Ronon tried.

McKay made a face, and spoke sharply,  “Let me rephrase that.  Does it seem as if the furnace has been active for a while, or did you just start it up somehow?”

“The interior of the building is quite warm,” Teyla cut in.  “Rather pleasantly warm, as if it has been this way for some time.”

“We should get down there,” McKay announced quickly, gathering up his gear.

“Any sign of trouble?”  Sheppard asked.

“It’s quiet,” Ronon’s voice sounded.  “I think someone just left the heat on.”

“All this time?”  McKay responded.  “This could be a very dangerous situation.  It might be a furnace, but the heat might have to do with the production of the fuel.”

“And if it’s just a heater…think about it … they have a pretty big supply of fuel there,” Sheppard surmised.  “Whatever is running, it has everything it needs to keep going.  Probably been on autopilot all this time.”

“We will contact you as soon as we find the source of the heat,” Teyla proclaimed.

“Great,” Sheppard told her.  “Hey, and have you guys seen any animals?”

A pause, and “No, colonel,” from Teyla.  “Do you have a description of a creature?”

McKay was sniffling again, pulling out a tissue to daub at his nose.  “It’s something small.  That’s pretty much all we know.”

“Possibly stoat-like,” Sheppard added, wondering how long it would take Teyla or Ronon to respond to that.

He wasn’t given the chance to time them, as McKay went on to a new subject.  “Hey, and is there any sign of this fog lifting?  I swear it’s wrecking havoc with my sinuses.”

“Perhaps,” Teyla answered, not sounding hopeful.

“Well, it’s gotta,” McKay groused.  “I mean, fog is supposed to burn off during the day, isn’t it?  Because, that’s how I remember it.  Fog in the morning goes away by the afternoon and it’s nice from then on.  Any sign of that?”

“Perhaps,” Teyla responded again.

“OK, just keep going,” Sheppard told her, cutting the weather conversation short.  “Find out what’s in that building.”

“And be careful!”  McKay added.

“Yeah, that, too.  Keep us apprised. Sheppard out.”

McKay frowned severely as he returned the data-tablet to its place. “I really should be heading over there,” he pouted.

“It’s just a boring old furnace,” Sheppard commiserated.  “We’re looking for a ‘wraith-be-gone’.  Much more exciting.”

“In a tavern…” McKay grumbled.

“Hey, some of my favorite places are taverns.  Buck up!  Let’s keep moving.”

And they continued their search through the latest establishment, Sheppard eyeing every cranny of the room and McKay fussing with his scanners.

“Still nothing,” McKay grumbled.  “The only thing I’m picking up is whatever’s heating the refinery, or distillery.  That’s about it for anything worth looking at.”

“There’s a room back here,” Sheppard diverted, easing back a curtain.  A little sunlight streamed into the narrow hallway through a high window on the opposite side of the building.  Filtering through the reddish cloth, the light bathed everything in a pinkish hue, revealing little cubicle-like bedrooms on either side of the hall.

“Kinda doubt that we’ll find what we’re looking for in this sort of place,” McKay muttered, nodding toward the hallway.

With a chuckle, Sheppard moved forward.  “You never know what you might find.”  And the curtain fell behind him as he moved into the hall.

With a groan, McKay followed, figuring it would be better for them to stay together.  “Really, colonel, what are you planning on finding here?”

John shrugged, glancing into the cribs, little rooms with hardly more than a bed and a small table within.  “It’s the closest I’ve been to gettin’ some in a while.  I wonder how much they charged?”

McKay stepped forward, peering somewhat timidly into the little rooms.  “Please,” he grumbled.  “When have YOU ever had any trouble?”

“Been a while since we came across any ascended chicks,” he returned and grinned when McKay glared at him.

“There’s nothing here,” McKay quickly decided, and spun about, in a hurry to get out.  The toe of his boot rammed against some uneven portion in the floor and he took an awkward step. He shot out a hand to grab a convenient handhold against one wall.  Sheppard stepped forward to grasp Rodney’s elbow and maybe prevent a fall.  It didn’t work.

Because, it was then that the floor dropped out from under them.

88888888888888888888

They moved forward, into the warm interior of the building.  Teyla sighed, glad to be out of the moist weather, but the strangeness of the situation set her on edge.  The sun lit the interior of the building, coming in through high windows, diffused through the misty fog that surrounded the building.

Her eyes darted, seeking out the source of the comfortable warmth that caused this odd sense of unease.

The room was quiet.  The space was large, filled with tubes and pipes, tanks and switches, levers and dials.  There was a large area that appeared to be used for slicing some sort of vegetation, and a lingering sweet scent, so perhaps McKay was right about the location being a distillery of ‘sugar beets’.  There were towers and conveyer belts and tanks.  Teyla didn’t have words to explain the other items she was coming across.

She breathed in deeply, wondering if she could identify the odor and grimaced when she smelled something less pleasant lingering in the air.  She threw Ronon an unhappy look, but the Satedan didn’t seem to notice as he flicked at his damp hair.

She frowned as she scrutinized the first gauge she came across.  Ronon leaned over her shoulder and commented, “Empty.”

Teyla nodded and moved forward, looking at the apparatus attached to the next bit of piping.  “Nothing here seems to be functioning.”

“Still,” Ronon responded.  “Seems like this is a good place to check out.  Bet we find the thing we’re looking for – whatever the Wraith-thing is.”

“I suggest that we first discover the source of the heat,” Teyla told him.  She frowned slightly, moving toward a grating against one wall.  Holding up a hand before the grid, she paused a moment before stating, “There is warm air coming from here.”

“Ventilation system,” Ronon agreed.  “Let’s see if we can find the furnace.”

“Yes,” Teyla stated, looking reluctant to leave the warm spot, but she managed it.  And they kept moving, weaseling their way through the structure as they searched.

Ronon paused as they came around a rather large bit of equipment and narrowed his eyes as he studied the muddy flooring.  “Something’s been in here,” Ronon said, eyeing the trails along the floor – a thick wide mess. “Stinks a bit, too.”

“Ah,” Teyla responded, “So, this is the origin of that scent.”  She looked up at Dex, saying,  “The colonel and Dr. McKay stated that they had seen the sign of some animals in their searching.”

“Think this was left by a ‘stoat’?”

“They seemed to infer that the ‘stoat’ was small in size.”

“Yeah,” Ronon returned, cocking his head at the marks left by the creature.  “Whatever left this trail was big.”

Teyla smiled at him.  “They are not as adept as you at tracking. Perhaps they misread the signs.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty likely.” He glanced up and down the main aisle.  “It’s been around here quite a bit.”

The room was a mass of equipment, most of it in incomprehensible to the two.  Although she would not say it, Teyla rather wished that Dr. McKay had come here to search it in their stead.  If there was any sort of strange ‘wraith deterrent’ here, she doubted that she could find it.  She didn’t understand the equipment she was seeing – but a furnace – maybe that was something she could comprehend.

So, they looked for the source of heat, all the while being careful of where they stepped and what they touched, always on the lookout for trouble – whether it was ‘stoat-like’ or otherwise.  On the plus-side, they were able to enjoy the warm space, protected from the cool and sodden world outside.  It wasn’t half-bad.

“I think the heat’s coming from up ahead,” Ronon proclaimed, pointing to a walled off space.  The mud was smeared in front of the door.

He stepped carefully, finding the muck dried hard. He touched the door and smiled.  “Yeah, it’s hot in here.”  After checking the door carefully, he eased it open to reveal a toasty room, with squat device filling much of the space.  It had a chimney at the top, and was connected to several pipes of varying widths.  Yes, it was definitely what emitted the warmth.

They stood before it, just soaking in the heat.  It felt damn good.

“It appears,” Teyla started, nodding toward a pipe that connected into the device.  “That fuel is feeding the device, coming from this direction.” A little gauge on the line showed activity.  It appears that, when the planet was emptied, nobody bothered to turn off the heat in the building – and the distillery had enough fuel to keep it nicely warmed.

“All this time,” Teyla said softly, “The heat remained on for no one’s benefit.”

“Yeah,” Ronon responded.  “Except us.  We got to enjoy it.  Kind of nice, don’t you think?”

“Yes, nice,” Teyla agreed, enjoying the moment of warmth and peace.  The room was quiet, with only the soft thrum of the furnace.  But that wasn’t quite right, was it?  What was missing?  She furrowed her brow as she tried to …

Teyla let out a little gasp of surprise.  Annoyed with herself for not realizing it sooner, she turned her head, and hurriedly, touched her radio.  “Colonel Sheppard?” she called.  “Doctor McKay?”

Only quiet was returned.

“Sheppard?” Ronon tried as well.  “McKay!”

Nothing still.

Ronon was the first to turn, intent on sprinting out of the furnace room and out of building to seek the colonel and the scientist, but a spine-tingling hiss stopped him in his tracks.  He froze, staring at the lizard that blocked his egress.  It was big, and a brackish greenish brown in color, leathery, fully seven feet long, with a long body, short legs and a wide mouth filled with teeth.  The un-stoat-like kiwanda hissed again and thrashed its tail, showing its rows of yellow-brown teeth and looking damn hungry.

CHAPTER 4:  BUTT BONE

He landed with a bone-jarring WHUMP and before he could clear his head, there was a thump and a click above him, and then just darkness -- utter darkness.

He shook his head, trying to clear it.  What the hell just happened?  It’d all been so damn quick, his mind wasn’t quite ready to deal with it. He was sitting up – that was one plus.  But ow… he wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea at the moment.  With a groan, Sheppard tipped back his head and stared up the darkness above him.  Ow… 

He was sore.  He ached.  His butt hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and his teeth rang from the fall.   Must have gone straight down on his ass.  Damn, damn, damn.  He blinked in the blackness, and without really thinking about it, called, “Rodney?” 

The lack of immediate response got Sheppard moving.  He shifted, and pain went through him.  Damn. Aw crap! He tried to ignore it as he felt about, his hands quickly coming in contact with his companion’s jacket. “McKay!” he called again, giving the man a bit of a shake.

“Huh?” was the intelligent response.  “What…?” and the voice trailed off.

Grasping hold of his P90, John unhooked it from his jacket and turned on the light.  Instantly, the space was bathed in light – revealing what looked like long room with open doorways on either end.  McKay was sprawled out on his back, squinting in the light.  Beneath them, a flimsy little mat apparently had tried to break their fall.

“Hey, McKay, you okay?” Sheppard asked again, not liking the disoriented expression that met him.

“Fell,” Rodney responded quietly.  “Fell through a hole.”  He brought up one hand to touch his forehead and grimaced at the movement.  “Crap.”

“Yeah, crap is right,” John replied, glad to have gotten something out of the man. Since McKay was, at least, talking, he raised the light to examine the ceiling.  Directly above them, in the wood plank ceiling, a rectangular section was hinged and set with some sort of spring-loaded device.  Trapdoor.  Damn.  They’d fallen through a trapdoor!

Why the hell did stuff like this always have to happen to them?

He studied it, trying to figure out how the thing had functioned, how had it opened, and how were they were going to get back through it.

A shuddering breath drew his attention from the deadfall and back to McKay.   The Canadian’s eyes were pinched shut, and his face held taut.

“So, what’s wrong?” Sheppard asked, trying to sound casual.  When McKay didn’t answer immediately, he went on,  “Me, I think I busted my butt.  I came down right on my ass.”  He shuffled back and forth uncomfortably.  “Yeah, that smarts. I probably busted my butt bone or something.”

“Coccyx,” McKay correct.

“No, that’s fine.  And aren’t you getting a bit personal?”

“What?”  McKay blinked at him, looking muddled.

Sheppard realized that the joke had been lost on the otherwise quick-witted scientist.  “What hurts?” he asked, his voice firm.

It took a moment for McKay to form a reply, as he apparently attempted to locate the source of his discomfort.  “My shoulder.”  He moved slightly, stopping with a hiss.  “Yeah, oh yeah.  That really hurts.  I can’t… I don’t think I can move my arm.  Maybe I can…”  He tried, but his left arm only made a small and pathetic jerking movement.  McKay sucked in air.  “God, it hurts when I do that.”

“So, don’t do it,” Sheppard told him, quietly laying a hand on the arm to gently put it into a more comfortable position.  It didn’t ‘look’ broken, but there was no telling what was going on just yet.   “Probably just bruised it,” he tried to assure himself.

McKay looked distraught.  “It hurts all down my arm,” he said softly.

“Yeah, you just whacked your funny bone or something.”

“Not funny at all,” McKay grumbled.  “I think I hit my head.  I think…”  And he reached for the back of his head with his good hand, his face scrunched up with pain.

Sheppard grimaced, knowing that his expression was hidden from the light.  Damn.  “Leave it alone,” Sheppard ordered, bringing the light away from Rodney to shine it at the ceiling again.  It would be a hell of a thing to get back up there with McKay’s injured shoulder.  They’d need help.

He touched his radio.  “Teyla.  Ronon, come in.”  He waited a moment and called again.  “Ronon?  Teyla?  We have a situation.  Come in.”  With a frown, Sheppard turned to McKay and asked him, “Did you read me on your radio?”

Rodney responded with an attempt at a nod.  He sucked in a breath and stopped the movement almost immediately.  “You’re coming in loud and clear.”

“Ronon.  Teyla.  Respond.”  The colonel waited a moment longer before he cursed.  With more effort than it should have taken, John struggled to his feet.  God, he’d never make fun of anyone who’d busted their butt bone.  It hurt like crazy.  He heard McKay try his radio as well, calling out for Teyla and Ronon, but there was no response.

“Great,” Sheppard grumbled, shifting from foot to foot.  Ow and ow.  He reached one arm, finding the ceiling a good foot beyond his reach.  Even that stretch hurt.   “Great,” he said again.

Unable to go up, he turned the light in one direction and then another.  He frowned as he gazed through a doorway.  There was a room on the other side, and beyond that, another doorway with another room.  It seemed to go on and on, like some sort of mirrored illusion.

There was another mat in the next room – and the next – probably under other trap doors.  One of those might be easier to reach than this one, because, if he had to be honest with himself, Sheppard really didn’t want to try climbing at that moment, not without the help of Ronon and Teyla on the other side.

“Think they’re okay?” McKay asked.  Sheppard looked down at his feet, taking in Rodney’s anxious expression.  “They could have fallen into something, too.  Might be in trouble.  We should probably…” He made a movement as if to sit up.  “Gah!”

“Just keep quiet a minute,” Sheppard said calmly, knowing that if McKay was seriously injured, time was at a premium. “I’m going to check things out.  See if I can’t find another way out.  There’s got to be something.  Maybe the structure of this place is blocking transmission. Possible?”

“Yeah, possible.”

“You got a flashlight, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think.” McKay answered, making a feeble attempt with his right hand to reach a pocket on the left side of his jacket.

With a sigh, Sheppard made the valiant journey to one knee and fussed around with McKay’s jacket pockets until he came up with a flashlight.  He turned it on and put it in Rodney’s good hand.  “So you’re gonna be okay for a minute, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Sheppard nodded reassuringly.  “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, sure,” McKay agreed, clutching the flashlight.  “I’ll be fine, here ... alone.”

With a struggle, John made it to his feet again, doing his darnedest to stifle any groans.  Broken… definitely snapped his butt bone in two.  It had jiggered his whole spine.  He walked stiffly to the next door without looking back.  “Just keep still until I get back.”

“Colonel!”

“What?”

“Be careful, but, you know, find something.  Okay?”

“Yeah.” He paused at the next doorway and shone the light inside, to reveal another room exactly like the one they were in: a mat on the floor, a door on both ends, and a trap door above.  He stepped slowly into the room, cautious, hopeful that he wasn’t going to fall through another trap and into a lower level.  That’d be just his luck.

When he reached the mat, he toed it, finding it just as hard and unforgiving as the one that had been their cushion.

“Probably used to be a lot more soft,” McKay said from the other room, obviously watching him. “I’m thinking that, over time, they… ow…."  He gasped, and Sheppard could hear Rodney fussing about behind him.  "Okay… the … straw or … ah… whatever is…ow… oh… oh… not so good.  Okay.”

Sheppard turned and looked back toward McKay.  The physicist had managed to sit himself upright and was clinging to his left arm, trying to hold it close to him and juggle the flashlight at the same time.

“Why don’t they make flashlights easier to hold!” McKay bitched breathlessly.  “Especially when one of your arms are broken.”

“Come on, McKay.  You probably just dislocated something.  I’ll pop it back in place if you want.  Just means I’ll have to wrench your arm about a bit. I'd just have to find the socket and jam it into place.  It makes this really weird popping sound.  Sometimes it takes a while to get forced into the joint correctly.”

McKay became quiet at that comment.  Sheppard could hear a soft muttering coming from him.  “It’s okay,” he finally uttered.  “I’m fine.”

“Great.  Now, stop moving around, you idiot.”

“We shouldn’t get separated,” McKay told him.

Sheppard sighed as he regarded his friend.  McKay certainly didn't look good.  Damn, he'd better find help fast.  “I’m going to be coming back!  Just let me look around a bit, okay?  Stay there.  Keep quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” McKay responded.  “It was just hard laying on my back, you know?  It hurt.  I thought it might be better sitting up, but… oooo!”

“Keep quiet!” Sheppard hissed as he moved forward, feeling the ache of every step.  He could find no other exit and saw no means of reaching the trap door above them.  He moved onward, hoping that the next room might prove more accommodating.

“Colonel,” McKay called again as he made it to the next door.

“I’m just checking it out!” Sheppard snapped as he pressed a hand to the open door.  He swung it back and forth thoughtfully, wondering.  And he smiled.  “Hey!  I think I got an idea.”  He glanced back through the rooms to McKay.  “We get enough doors off their hinges and we can build something that could reach the trapdoor.

“What? Without a hammer or nails or anything?”

“Build it like a house of cards. It’ll be easy,” Sheppard decided.

“Yeah, right,” McKay responded sulkily as he held onto his hurt arm.  “House of cards?  Those things come down, you know.”

“We’ll manage it,” Sheppard said, grinning, damn glad he’d come up with an answer regarding their escape.   He was feeling better almost immediately.  Maybe his ass wasn’t broken.  “Hey, and there’s a chair in this room.  Cool.  We can use that.”

“Oh great, a chair.  You can’t even sit down with your broken butt.”

“Yeah, but we can stand on it to get out,"  And he frowned as he noted the state of the seat.  He rather doubted it would hold any weight.  “Look, we get this put together and we can find out what happened with Teyla and Ronon, okay?”

“Okay, okay, okay.”  There was a pause as the scientist pondered.  “We could use the mats to brace the structure a bit, keep it from collapsing.  It might work,” McKay conceded.  “I think I can engineer something.”

“Good,” Sheppard responded.

“Don’t know how safe it would be though.”

“It’ll be safe enough!  I’m going to check a bit further.”

“Don’t go too far!” McKay called.

“I’m not!  You can still see me, for Christ’ sake.  Don’t get all unglued!” Sheppard remarked, finding yet another room exactly like the others.  No chair though.  No way out either.  Damn.

“You’re getting too far.”

“McKay!  Just calm down.  Come on, wouldn’t you rather go out a door instead of climbing up on top of a bunch of … doors?”

“Yeah, well…”

“Hang on,” Sheppard said having to shout now.  “I’ll check out one more, then come back and check the other way, okay?”

“Okay,” McKay answered quietly, sitting alone in the first room.

“What the hell was going on in here?” John asked, his voice raised.  “Was this how they got rid of the Wraith?  Dropped them on their asses and kicked them off the planet?”

“Most likely these were Shanghai Tunnels,” McKay called back.

“What?”

“Portland, Oregon, turn of the century, ah previous century,” McKay explained.  “They used to have a thriving market in slave labor.  An able-bodied man would enter a tavern, have a drink or two.  The next thing he knew, he’d be dropped through the floor and toted through tunnels to the waterfront and conscripted to a ship for a journey to Asia.  Went on for decades.  Probably one of these trap doors in each of the businesses on the main drag.”

“You think that’s what they did that here?” Sheppard asked as he looked through the narrow room for any hope of help.

“To work on their fishing fleet?” McKay returned.  “That seems, odd, doesn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t want to work on a fishing boat,” Sheppard told him, “I mean, first there’s the seasickness, but then you have to deal with all the… fish.”  He paused, listening.

“Yeah, who’d want that?”

“Shhh!” Sheppard uttered and flung up a hand for silence.

“There are worse jobs in the world,” McKay went on, oblivious.  “Okay, they say that Alaskan Crab Fishermen have the deadliest jobs on Earth, but they have nothing on us, do they?  When do they start rating jobs on other planets?”

“McKay!”

“I think coal mining is right up there too for deadliest occupation.  That would totally suck.  I mean, underground…in the cold… the dark with only a little flashlight…” his voice became a little hollow.

“McKay! Quiet!  Now!”

“I’m just sayin’, because I’m alone here and…”

“Shut your…”

“Look, you really should come back this way because I think it would be better for both of us.”

“SHUT UP!” Sheppard snapped.  In the silence that followed, John listened.  There was a strange scratching sound, a chattering, scrabbling that made his hair stand up on end.

Slowly, he approached the doorway and shone the light into the next room and felt the pit of his stomach drop as he stared into the scene.  The room was filled with spidery lobster-creatures, greenish, bluish things, with beady black eyes.  Not stoats, they moved too much like insects, shuttling across the floor, turning, clattering about on too many legs, heading like an army in his direction.

And suddenly McKay’s last comment didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

CHAPTER 5: HOW TO FEND OFF AN ALLIGATOR

In a fluid motion Ronon moved.  His long jacket billowed as he spun, drawing his weapon and stepping out from the confining furnace room.  Placing himself into a low stance, as he brought the weapon to bear on the hissing beast.

It was a big son-of-a-bitch, Ronon realized, but it would be no match to the Satedan and his weapon of choice.  He moved to get a better position.

The kiwanda spat, showing dagger-like teeth.

“Ronon!” Teyla’s voice cut through the air.  “Do not fire!”

Dex didn’t lift his gaze from the creature.  The two predators regarded each other, looking for weakness.  Ronon aimed between the creature’s urine-colored eyes.

“Ronon!” Teyla’s voice cut like a knife.  “Remember where we are!  If you fire your weapon…”

Ronon cursed, realizing their explosive situation, and without another word, he holstered the gun and flung himself to the left, rolling on one shoulder to land on his feet.  Immediately, the creature pursued, lunging at him.  Teyla went to the right.

Keeping his hands free, Ronon darted further to the left, trying to distract it, to confuse it long enough to allow an opening.  He made a false charge, to gauge its reaction.  The lizard parried his movements easily, returning his attempts with snapping teeth.

It moved toward him again, damn fast.

Dodging, Dex put a bank of pipes between himself and the creature.  The kiwanda surged toward him, stopping short of running head-on into the barrier. Whipping its head about, it hissed in anger, and scrabbled backward for another attempt.

As Ronon danced with the creature, Teyla looked about frantically for a suitable weapon – something that wouldn’t blow up – something that could damage that thick skin.  She spotted a heavy wrench sitting atop one of the tanks – too far away.  She regarded the creature a moment, finding it entranced with Ronon’s movements, and took a chance.

She darted toward the tank.  The kiwanda, sensing her movement, lunged after her.  It galloped, almost matching the Athosian’s graceful sprint with its slithering, undulating, sickening motion.

She ran, feeling the creature at her heels, hearing the clattering of its filthy nails across the floor, the heavy ‘heh heh heh’ of its breathing.  She wouldn’t make it, she realized.  Its breath was hot on the backs of her legs.  In desperation, she leaped, hand reaching for the tank.

Cruelly, she was jerked backward, landing hard on her knees and down on her stomach.  She expected the sensation of teeth ripping into flesh and shattering the bones of her feet, but as she turned her head in that direction, she saw the thing had caught merely the cloth of her pant leg.

The kiwanda seemed as surprised as she was for a moment, then it wrenched its head powerfully, jerking her and slamming her against the wall, almost hard enough to knock the breath out of her.

The concussion freed her, and she scrambled to her feet, and darted to one side before it charged again.  Trapped between the wall and the tank, she met the yellow eyes of the lizard, knowing that if her gaze strayed for a moment, it would be on her.

She braced herself, preparing to leap the moment it thrust itself forward.

And in a rush, Ronon attacked the thing, bellyflopping onto its back and grasping it around the neck to wrench its head off.   The problem was, the thing had a neck like iron.

The kiwanda twisted against his attempts with a frustrated, angry roar, confused.  Ronon was on the creature, sending up his own roar as he straddled it, wrapping his hands around the thing’s massive neck and pulling for all he was worth.

Furious, the kiwanda hurled itself about, colliding into one set of pipes and then another, fervently attempting to rid itself of the human.  The jaw snapped like a trap.  Ronon held on, squeezing at the lizard’s neck, determined to throttle the monster and put an end to it, even as the creature beat him black and blue.

Teyla grasped the formidable-looking wrench and turned to the fracas.  She bounded back and forth, trying to get a good angle at the thing as it battered the room with her companion.  She couldn’t find a way to clobber the kiwanda without risking belting Dex as well.

Ronon gave up on trying to twist off the beast's head – its armored flesh provided too much protection.  He reached for his sword as he clung to the bucking monstrosity.

It thrashed, it gyrated, it banged its passenger to-and-fro.  The room rang with the ferocity of the movements, as the creature hissed and growled.

Teyla lifted the wrench above her head as Ronon brought the sword around to hack off the thing’s head.  Clinging with only one arm, he had no ability to protect himself from the next savage collision with the pipes.

Teyla sucked in a despairing breath as the thing slammed the Satetan, knocking the man senseless and sending the sword clattering off into some corner of the room.

Ronon’s head rang, and he let out only a little moan as his grip released and he slipped from the creature.  At the same moment, Teyla brought the wrench around, slamming it into the snout of the huge lizard.

Stunned, the creature paused, looking a little stupid.  Its jaw dropped and its yellow-black eyes stared off.  It made a pathetic little grunt, and Teyla brought the wrench around again with all her might, swiping the thing across its nose again.  The kiwanda’s head snapped to one side with the blow.

It staggered away, leaving Ronon’s unmoving form.  Knocked silly, it fumbled in an attempt to escape, and tangled into a wide cloth that draped one of the machines.  It fought, unthinkingly, trying to get out, but only managed to wrap itself further in the cloth.

Teyla showed it no mercy.  She darted into position, and lifted the tool again, slamming it over and over into the thick head of the creature, aiming for its nostrils, its eyes, targeting what was most vulnerable.

It rolled, almost coming clear of the cloth, but there was no way to escape the attack of the human.  It thrashed, its tail whipping about dangerously.

The Athosian followed it everywhere, sledging the wrench with all her might as she skipped over its flailing tail.  The lizard wobbled, its head bobbing, its mouth hanging open, and Teyla gave it one final terrific clout.

The thing collapsed, letting out a long, final sigh.  After all its frantic movement, it became perfectly still -- a strange goo oozing from the corners of its eyes and from its nostrils, and dripping out of its long toothy mouth.

Panting, Teyla stood, clenching the heavy wrench in one hand.  Her body felt electric from the tussle, and she watched it, ready for another movement, any sigh of life.  The kiwanda revealed no breath and after a moment she conceded that the thing was dead.

It looked silly, and a little pitiful, half-wrapped in the cloth.  But she’d give the caped kiwanda no room for compassion, and, warily, her eyes hardly left it as she moved back toward Ronon.

The man hadn’t moved.  He lay limp and bruised, half curled on his side beside one of the large of pipes.  She crouched at his side, and called softly,  “Ronon.  Ronon, answer me.”

But the man could not respond.  She felt his face and his neck with one hand, as she gripped the big bloodied wrench with her other.  Her gaze remained on the downed lizard.  Ronon’s heart still beat and she released a sigh of relief. 

The kiwanda was dead.  She could only hope that there was only one lizard to contend with, but she couldn’t be certain.  There may be more hiding in the warm recesses of the distillery.

“Ronon,” she called softly.  “We must leave this place.”  She cupped his chin in her hand and said distinctly, “Ronon, you must wake up.”

But Ronon didn’t move.  She was quiet beside him, her ears intent, trying to discern if another kiwanda was scrambling around in the building.  The only things she heard were Ronon’s quiet breathing, and the thrum of the furnace behind her, and something else.  She frowned, trying to identify what the ‘dip dip dip’ might be.

She turned, attempting to locate its origin, and her eyes focused upon the pipes that had taken so much abuse. At first, she only registered the thick dripping of liquid, forming a puddle at the base of the cracked pipe, but the dripping seemed to increase in speed, and a strange scent became more prevalent, overpowering the stink of the kiwanda and sweaty Satedan.

“Ronon,” she said again, her voice urgent.  Carefully, she set down the wrench and glanced to the furnace, noting the distance between it and the growing puddle of ethanol.  “Ronon, we must leave, NOW!”

But Ronon didn’t move, and the dripping of escaping fuel only increased.

CHAPTER 6: HOW TO BLOCKADE A DOOR THAT OPENS IN

They came at him – the lobster creatures that looked far too much like bugs. They charged in a rush of feelers and legs, and claws that nipped at the air.  One of the sons-of-bitches must have had a rocket up its tail because it almost flew across the room at him.

Sheppard slammed the door shut, startled to find it spring back at him, following a sickening crunching sound as the lobster met its end.  He shined his flashlight down at the nestucca’s cracked body that writhed in the doorway, blocking it.  Its exoskeleton was busted down the center, revealing oozy white flesh and greenish goop within.  Legs flailed ghoulishly.  Bits of brain were mashed in the doorway. 

He stepped back as the creature’s brethren flowed in.  The chittering creatures enveloped the dying one, setting in to dine before the death throes finished, forming a huge clot in the doorway as others simply surged onward – their little insect minds set on another dainty dish.

The door swung wide and John spun, savagely kicking at the nearest spidery-things as they scrabbled at his feet.  Persistent as hell, they weren’t to be dissuaded by a simple smashing.   He stepped away, coming down on the tail of one of them.  Lobster goo spurted across his leg.

He nearly slipped and fought for his footing on the spilled spooge as more the lobster creatures scurried after him – clicking and clattering.  As he swung the flashlight about, it illuminated ghoulish moments – bobbing eyestalks, snapping pinchers snapped, nattering legs, flapping tail parts.  Their movements made a horrible sound, like typewriters, like chicken-bones breaking, like cartoon rabbits chewing at carrots.

“Colonel?”  Rodney’s alarmed voice called from a couple of rooms away.  “Colonel?”

They were damn fast, and swarming all around him, grabbing at his pants legs.  The flashlight only provided iffy light, leaving too much in shadow.  Sheppard let out a shout as little legs poked him, as mandibles clattered, and pinchers clung.  One of them dove at him, somehow gaining enough altitude to strike him in the stomach.  It dug its weird legs into the fabric of his jacket and attempted to climb.

With a gasp of disgust, Sheppard grasped it with one hand and flung the creature into a wall others tried to clamber up his leg.

Ferociously, Sheppard kicked, freeing himself from most of them instantly. But even as he wrenched one free, another took its place.   He slung the P90 over his shoulder, diverting the light unhelpfully upward.  Using both hands, he grabbed at the creatures, pitching them in any direction, smacking the foul things into the walls.  One of the more of the adventurous creatures hung on, getting a bit of a ride on his foot before it slipped a bit and got stomped.

The sensation of giant bug squishing under one’s foot was not the sort of thing John relished.  He struggled away, slipping in the goo, stumbling, trying to keep moving without falling, for he knew, if he were to go down in this mob, he would never see the light of day again.

And it wouldn’t help his aching ass any.

“I’m trying…” McKay was saying in the next room, but Sheppard had no time to listen.  “I’m coming…but… I…”

Finally finding his footing, Sheppard took flight, running with the insect-like things right behind him.  He caught the chair with one hand and swung it at the marauding nestuccas, flinging them helter-skelter, smashing, and braining, and de-legging those who dared wiggle anything in his direction.

“You bastards!” he shouted.  “Die!  Die!  Die!”

“Colonel?  What’s happening?”

“I’m killing them!”

“Oh.”

He killed them, but he couldn’t stop them.  Even as he crowned and slaughtered and split dozens of the creatures, dozens rushed forward to replace them.  They swarmed, looking like a wave in a horrible, buggy sea.  Some would stop to feast on the dead, but that left all the others hungry – jealous and angry!

“Sheppard?” Rodney called again, his voice tight, as if he spoke through clenched teeth.

There was no time for explaining, no time for reassuring or offering advice.  The flashlight caught freakish images.  Eyestalks baubled and seemed to wink at him.  Pinchers gnashed in his direction.  Little creepy feet crept and skittered.  They kept coming, moving like freaks, climbing over the tops of each other in their haste to suck out his eyeballs.

Still swiping the chair around, he snapped off a few of those weirdo eyes, bent legs backwards and smashed off heads.  Sheppard moved backward, making it to the next door with a little buffer-space behind him, and slammed the door.  With a grunt, he rammed his shoulder against it for good measure.  It didn’t latch.  The door would not stay shut.

Crap… oh crap.

In the next room, he could hear Rodney’s plaintive question, “What’s happening?  What’s going on?”

“Bugs!”  Sheppard got out.  “Lots and lots of bugs!”   He could hear them on the other side of the door, clattering and chittering, colliding with the door.  Beneath his shoulder, the door shuddered with the force of their impacts.  He pulled his head back, realizing that he could hear them almost at his head level – were they climbing the door?  Were they building a mountain out of their own bodies to get higher?

Oh God, what a freak show!

Sheppard let out a groan.  They were going to break the door down!  He glanced at the brain-bedecked chair, still clutched in his hand, and quickly jammed it under the doorknob.  For good measure, he gave it a kick to ensure that it was wedged tightly between the knob and the floor.

OW!  Damn… damn… butt bone.  He’d almost forgotten.  He staggered backward, the muscles of his gluteus maximus clenched tight in hopes that would help.  It didn’t.  OW…

As he stepped away, slipping and sliding, the door shimmied and the lobsters kept up their attack.  He turned, catching sight of Rodney in the next room.  Illuminated in the light of his own flashlight, the man had managed to struggle partially upright.  He was on one knee, in the classic ‘genuflection’ position, slumped forward, one arm clenched to his stomach so that he looked as if he were praying.  He gasped, continuing his attempt to get to his feet.  His face was sweaty with the effort this had taken.

Sheppard waddled the few unbalanced steps to the final doorway, careful of the guts stuck to his feet, and once he was in, he kicked the door shut with enough force to make his ass want to smack him.

Goddamn, that hurt.

Just to spite him, the door wobbled open. With a despairing groan, Sheppard tried it again, with a little less force. No, the door would not stay shut. 

“Bugs?  What kind of bugs?” McKay asked, a note of terror in his voice.

“Remember those lobster things that Teyla told us about?” Sheppard mentioned as he reached Rodney.

“Yeah.”

“They can survive out of water,” Sheppard spat.

“Oh…” Rodney looked toward the door, his expression uncertain.  He blinked, and then stated, “I think we figured out what moved up the food chain to replace the rats.”

With a dissatisfied sound, Sheppard muttered, “I would have preferred rats, I think.”  He lowered his light from the door.  “Damn it, McKay!  Why didn’t they show up on your scanner?”

McKay felt about and groaned.  “Lost it,” he mumbled.

“Lost what?”

With an ashamed expression, McKay explained, “The life signs detector.  Must have dropped it in the fall.”

Sheppard had not time to search for it.  “We got to go.” 

“Yeah, figured as much.”

“Think you can get moving?  I mean, because if you’d rather stay here … you’re not allergic to seafood, are you?”  He nodded toward the shut door.  “‘Cause that’ll put a rash on you that you’d never forget.”

McKay looked up at Sheppard.  “You’re walking awful funny,” he stated.

With a scowl, Sheppard scraped one boot bottom across the mat, and then the other.  “It’s bad enough I gotta try to run when my butt should be in a sling, the least I can hope for is to keep from falling on it again.”  Satisfied that he was relatively safe from sliding, he asked, “You ready to get out of here?”

McKay looked disgusted as he gazed at the mess Sheppard had left on the mat. “Do you know how you’re going to get out?”

“No.”  Sheppard glanced back to the shut door, listening to the sound of thousands of lobsters trying to chew through a wooden door in the next room.  How long would it take for them to get through the first one?  And then through the one after that?   “I just know we’re not going THAT way.”

“Seems like a reasonable plan,” McKay responded.

With a wince and a grimace, Sheppard tugged at the physicist, feeling the pull in rather uncomfortable places.

Rodney tottered dangerously once he was upright, leaning on Sheppard and uttering a quiet, “Oh.”  He slumped, his face going a little slack.  “I think I need to lie down.”

For a moment, Sheppard held up Rodney’s weight.  “Not now, McKay,” Sheppard gritted through his teeth as he held up his friend.  If they only had a few minutes, he could give the scientist a moment to get his bearings.  “We’re going.  Now. Come on, don’t be a pain in my ass.  I can’t stand another one right now.”

“Might not… might not have a choice.”  Rodney licked his lips, and held tightly to his hurt arm.  “Oh God, I don’t feel so good.”  He continued to lean against Sheppard, squeezing his eyes shut.

Sheppard held the dizzy physicist steady, wishing he could do something more to help him.  “We have to move, now,” he stated, keeping any sympathy from his voice.  "And I need the mat."

Rodney nodded, wincing at the movement.  “Okay,” he agreed quietly, as he stumbled a step or two away from John to carry his own weight and to step clear of the mat.  He blinked, confused.

Sheppard made the painful journey to bend down and reach one corner of the mat.  He set down the P90 and let it illuminate his work from that angle.

“That’s the last door,” McKay stated, and Sheppard looked over his shoulder to see what Rodney was talking about.  The light showed that they would be going through one more doorway and after that, a long hallway opened up.

“Yeah, so I’d better get this one secured.”  Sheppard tugged at the mat, doing his best not to groan in pain as he attempted to pull it toward the door.  Oh God, this wasn’t going to work.

“Might work better if you roll it… like a carpet,” McKay suggested, standing unsteadily to one side.

“Yeah, right,” Sheppard responded, moving to the other side of the mat.  He started moving it, bringing up one end and rolling the thing toward the door.  McKay offered what help he could by lighting the way.  Sheppard had it shoved against the door relatively quickly.

Not satisfied, but knowing he had no other means of locking out the creatures, Sheppard turned and made his way back to McKay.  He leaned, without bending too much, to pick up Rodney’s pack, and slung it onto his back.

He led, grasping McKay by the elbow of his good arm.  Rodney tottered valiantly alongside, closing his eyes as he fought to keep upright.

CHAPTER 7:  HOW TO CARRY SOMEONE WHO IS PASSED OUT

Teyla was out of her depth.  She knew how to fight the Wraith.  She could put up a tent up in moments.  She understood how to plow a field and how to cultivate crops.  She was a skilled negotiator and could easily find the mood of a room and exploit it.  She could uncover half-hidden emotions, ferret out passions, and discover truths.  She could draw conversation out of the most reticent tribal leader, and knew how to quell the endless blathering of the most animated scientists.  She was a good leader.  She could even kill a kiwanda with a wrench.

Ethanol producing facilities, on the other hand, were something entirely different.

She studied the situation, examining levers and knobs, trying to find a way to stop the steady flow of fuel.  Timidly, she touched one device, unsure.  She had to do something – and quick.  Biting her lip, she tried one handle and then another.

But the levers affected nothing.  Big, wheel-like stopcocks turned reluctantly without result – the dripping continued. Frantically, she looked about, determined to find some means of shutting down the flow, but it was all terribly unfamiliar to her – the web of pipes and valves did not speak her language, and Teyla, who was so skilled in negotiation, was left feeling deaf and dumb.

Her heart beat frantically as she realized just how dangerous her situation had become.  And still, neither Colonel Sheppard nor Dr. McKay answered the radio.

She glanced to the furnace, wondering if she could snuff it out, quickly, without causing any further trouble, but the controls were foreign to her.  She couldn’t tell if the gadgets surrounding it would increase or decrease the flow, open the flue wide, or dump its load onto the floor of the distillery.

Quickly, she returned to the puddle and studied it a moment.  If she could stop the dripping, maybe there was something she could do to keep it from reaching the furnace.  A grate in the floor caught her eye – a drain!  If she could only reroute the flow…

She reached for the cloth that had enwrapped the kiwanda.  Giving it a mighty tug, she flipped the creature out of it and twisted the long cloths into a sort of rope.  Once she’d rapidly completed that task, she positioned the rope to hem in the spill.  But there wasn’t enough.  She grabbed whatever loose pieces of metal she could find, and used them to further dam in the growing puddle.

The fuel dripping from the pipe continued relentlessly, increasing in volume.  Teyla held her breath, watching.  The drain was too far away – the floor improperly sloped. Her attempt to keep the puddle contained wouldn’t work, she realized.  Already her dam was letting liquid through.

The puddle increased in all directions, deepening as it went.  Quite likely, it would reach the drain at the same time it found the furnace.

It wasn’t going to work.

She glanced to Ronon’s formidable form and let out a sigh.

Returning to him, Teyla called his name, slapping his face without receiving a response.  There was only one thing she could do.  It was not going to be easy.

Carefully yet quickly, she rolled Ronon onto his back, and arranged his legs so that they bent at the knee.  Then, she sat him upright and paused a moment, studying his face.

“Ronon?” she tried again. “Please, Ronon. Ronon!”

But the man didn’t wake.  Bracing his back with one arm, leaning his head against her shoulder, she looped her other arm beneath his knees.

She prepared herself, getting into a squat, and breathing deeply.  She was proud of her strength, of her fitness, and now, more than ever, she was glad she had this resource to back her.  One last deep breath, and she pressed herself upright, pulling the big Satedan up with her.

Muscles screamed, but she did not stop, she willed herself to succeed.  She strained, straightening her legs as she pulled the man to her chest.

The upward momentum allowed her to shift him.  With a grunt, she settled the unconscious man over her shoulder in what the Atlantean’s would call a “fireman’s carry”.  She quickly reached one hand to steady herself against the wall.

He was heavy – and tall.  Doubled over her shoulder, he draped, his fingers nearly touching the ground behind her.

She took a moment to ensure she’d found her balance, and then, wrapping her arms around his legs, she staggered forward, neatly avoiding the dead kiwanda and heading toward the door.  Ronon’s sword still glinted in one corner, but she couldn’t afford stopping or stooping for it – and she rather doubted she could handle any extra weight.

Ronon would have to visit a market in the near future and find another one.

His mass was over her center of gravity – carrying him in this fashion would require little more than forward movement – but that didn’t stop her from feeling every ounce of his weight.  She had once found the Satedan’s heavily muscled frame rather appealing – right now, she wished he was a little less impressive.

She clomped, making her way through the forest of pipes and tanks as quickly as her failing legs would allow.  The route turned one way, and then another.  She sucked in breath, forcing herself onward as the sweat ran down her back.  With the heat of the room, the exercise, and the added warmth of the Satedan, she felt stifled, almost as if she were suffocating.

“Ronon,” she groaned softly.  “Perhaps it would be best if you did not consume quite so many waffles and hash-browns at breakfast time.”

He offered no response.

Her feet didn’t stop moving.  Her spine felt compressed, as if it would snap at any moment, as if it would be squashed into dust.  But she would not drop him.  No, she’d die first.

She resisted the urge to rest a hand here and there, to brace herself, to allow a breather – because any delay would bring her to her knees.  She had to get out all in one rush – or they’d both be forfeit.

She came around the end of another large tank, and the door was in sight.  She let out a grateful exclamation as she continued her stilted pace.  “Ronon, we will make it!” she encouraged.

The Satedan said nothing.

Closer, closer, she was almost there.  She was so determined to reach that spot, she couldn’t slow and collided noisily with the door.  She winced in sympathy as Ronon got the worst of it.  For a moment, she pressed their weight against it, leaning and allowing herself the chance to catch her breath.  Then, she fumbled free a hand and grasped the latch, turning it.

The door swung open and she staggered out into the fog.

She gave out a sigh as the refreshing mist surrounded her.  All she wanted to do was set down her burden and rest, but they weren’t free of danger yet – the fuel tanks would go up like a bomb if the fuel failed to meet the drain, if it met the furnace instead.

Resolutely, she fixed her eyes on a brick building and made her way toward it.  If she could just get behind it, put it between the approaching explosion and themselves, they might have a chance.  From there, she might be able to contact the others – to warn them.  But oh, it was so far.

Her strength was failing.  Her legs were trembling with the effort of carrying her companion.  Sweat began to drip into her eyes again, in spite of the cool air.  “Keep going,” she told herself.  “Continue moving.”

So intent was she on the building, she almost tripped over a shape that blocked her path.  She staggered to get around it; the change in direction was nearly enough to topple them both.  But, as she focused on the thing, she smiled.

She halted, laughing slightly at the sight, allowing a small thank you to clumsy, pissy physicists as she came alongside the orange child’s wagon that had rammed into a post.  It took a kick to get it properly situated and then she did her best to settle Ronon into its bed.

CHAPTER 8:  INTERPLANETARY HOUSE OF WRAITH

“So,” McKay started as he walked unsteadily beside Sheppard.  “Why didn’t you shoot them?”

Sheppard let out a long-suffering sigh as he moved stiffly along, holding the light of the P90 before them. “You ever try to shoot a couple hundred lobster that are coming at you full speed?  I swear, some of those suckers could fly.”

“Can’t say that I’ve dealt with that… exactly,” McKay responded.  “Bugs… you were calling them bugs.  When they were all amassed in that room, did it look anything like that cave with the iratus creatures?”

Sheppard winced, unnoticed, at the reminder.

Rodney went on,  “There were a lot of iratus bugs in that cave, too, let me tell ya.   I don’t like caves to begin with, but that was one heck of a freak show.  They were scurrying up and down and everywhere.  Creepy.  Yeah, that’s the word for it.  Was it like that?  You remember that cave?”

“Not clearly,” Sheppard answered truthfully, pausing to get a good look at his friend.  McKay’s eyes had an unfocused quality to them.  Sheppard doubted Rodney would have been able to keep a straight course without his constant corrections, and he didn’t believe that the physicist was 100% with him.

“I wonder if they’re more of a ‘crab’ than a ‘lobster’,” McKay went on.  “They have the best Dungeness in the Pacific Northwest, you know that?  There’s this place on Vancouver Island that makes this chowder. Little hole in the wall place.  It was good -- very good.  Some places put too much pepper in it, too much spice, but this one place had the knack of how to make it nice and…”

“Bland?”

“Bland?  No, I wouldn’t say that.  They just let the natural flavors come through.  Kept it simple.”

“Sounds like ‘bland’ to me.  Anyway, these things looked like lobsters to me.  I’m stickin’ with that.”

“Lots and lots of bugs,” Rodney went back to his previous track.

“I hate bugs,” Sheppard commented.

“I don’t care much for bugs either.  Allergies.  I have a severe allergic reactions to bees and fire ants.”

“Fire ants?”

Shuddering, McKay said quietly, “Don’t ask.”  He kept moving, clutching his arm.  “Don’t care for caves either.  Are we in a cave?”

“Tunnel,” Sheppard corrected.  The rooms had given way to a long featureless tunnel and they currently trod their way along it, looking for the way out – for certainly there was a means of getting out of this place – this tunnel had to end somewhere.   Sheppard directed his flashlight into the darkness ahead of them.

From time to time Sheppard had tried his radio, but had received no response from either Teyla or Ronon.  Something was blocking the signal, he determined, not wanting to believe that anything had happened to his other teammates.

Would Teyla and Ronon have gone looking for them once the radio contact ended?  Yes, of course.  Would they have found the trapdoors?  Probably.  He let out a groan, hoping that they hadn’t fallen as well, that he hadn’t managed to trap his friends in with the voracious nestuccas.  If either of them were caught, they’d have a hell of a time getting through without getting pinched to bits.

He’d just have to hope that the others had better sense than the two of them.  He glanced to McKay, watching his uneven, uncertain tread.

“So, what do you think the deal is with those trap doors?”  Sheppard asked, to keep McKay talking.

“Remember that planet where the people sacrificed their convicts to the Wraith?”

“How could I forget it,” Sheppard replied.  When McKay didn’t respond, John gave him a quick glance to ensure that the Canadian was okay.

McKay looked back at him with an annoyed expression.  “Think about it,” Rodney went on.

Sheppard paused and the two trod onward for a moment as John kept hand on Rodney, steering him.  After consideration, Sheppard stated, “The Nehalems had visitors coming in all the time, didn’t they?  Newcomers came here, looking for a sanctuary.  Some stayed, and nobody ever heard from them again.”

“Yeah,” McKay commented.  “I’m thinking that there was no ‘Wraith repelling device’.  I think they had a Wraith attracting device -- a buffet to keep the Wraith happy, and a steady stream of visitors, happy to hang around until feeding time.”

Sheppard let out a breath.  “They gave up the newcomers to the Wraith?  Kept the Wraith well fed with strangers while keeping their own people off the menu?”

“And the Wraith got a steady diet,” McKay responded.  “The Nehalem’s would just wait until the right dupe goes into the right hallway and they’d drop them right into this pit.  They’d herd them up this tunnel and the poor suckers end up at the Interplanetary House of Wraith.  – a Grand Slam breakfast.”

“Denny’s,” John corrected.  “Denny’s has the Grand Slam.”

“It’s all the same.”  McKay dipped his head.  “Do the people who run IHOP honestly think they have an international flavor?"

"International enough for me.  They have blintzes.”

“Blintzes?”

"And pigs in a blanket.”  Sheppard smiled at that thought. “And bacon.  Well, they all have bacon, but how could it be breakfast without it?”

“Mmmm,” was all McKay could say.

Sheppard came to a halt.  He stared down the tunnel and then at McKay who continued doggedly on his path as he slipped from the colonel’s easy grip.  “Where does this tunnel lead?” Sheppard asked.

McKay told him, “Back toward the Gate, I’d think.”  He stumbled to a stop and looked at the colonel.  In the illumination of the flashlight, Rodney looked pale and unsteady.  “Do you think there’s a Wraith waiting there, right now?  Do you?  Might be a whole mob of them.  Might have even made reservations.”

“What?  No.  I’m betting this was a strictly ‘take out’ operation.”

“What if it isn’t?  What if the Wraith dined in?  They might have vacationed here, staying at a bread and breakfast sort of place.”

“Bed.”

“What?”

“You said ‘bread and breakfast’.  It should be ‘bed’.”

“I said ‘bread?” McKay asked and he shook his head, annoyed with himself.  “Well obviously, I meant ‘bed’.  You’re an ass for pointing that out.”

Sheppard responded, “Biggest brain in the galaxy should be able to keep that straight.”

Snottily, Rodney added, “Biggest brain in TWO galaxies!  And, bite me!  I've been struck upon the head!”

“I seem to remember you making similar fun of me earlier.”

“What?  When?”

“Wraith deportment?  I remember you finding some amusement when I used the wrong word.”

McKay snorted.  “I was actually funny with my comments.  You… you’re just… pointing out my errors.  Ass!”

Sheppard chuckled, and assured, “Teyla would’ve sensed if there were any hangers-on, any Wraith still waiting for room service.”

McKay blinked, trying to force his addled mind to come up with a response.  “But WE can’t communicate with anyone above ground.  Maybe something in this tunnel blocks all kinds of signals, including Teyla’s Wraith-watch.”

“Okay, but why would they be housing Wraith here?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe they keep them as pets.”  McKay swayed as he spoke.  “They can go a long time without feeding.  It’s the latest craze, sort of like the Netarts version of a pet rock, or a pet tarantula.”  He paused, before continuing with, “Why would someone want to keep a spider anyway?  I mean, can you legally call something a ‘pet’ if you can’t pet it?”  He made a face.  “You can’t hold it, can you? Okay, you can hold a big spider – pet it even -- name it ‘Cuddles’ and travel everywhere with it?”

“Seems kinda freakish to me.”

“And then there’s snakes.  Lots of people keep snakes as pets.  I don’t understand it.”

“Rodney…”

“Snakes?”

“Okay, we need to…”

“And turtles?  Why would anyone want to keep turtles?  Salmonella isn’t fun and games!”

“McKay…”

“Turtles!  Probably the least appreciative of all the reptiles.  You feed them, clean their tanks, give them fresh water -- take care of them, and do they care?  Do they show you any form of gratitude in return?  No, all you get is grief.  I swear…if those bastards could speak, every word out of their mouths would be some sort of…”

“Rodney, focus!  Would a Wraith still be here, after all this time?”

“Oh,” McKay paused, his mouth forming an ‘O’ as he thought.  “I don’t think time is an issue with them.  Okay, Let’s say there wasn’t any Wraith on the planet when we got here.  Who’s to say that there isn’t one here now?  Maybe a dinner gong rang somewhere, or a sign lit up saying, soup’s on?  There could be a dozen of them waiting on the other end of this tunnel, smacking their lips – or, ah, fingers -- and putting on bibs, getting ready for a feast.  Would they wear bibs?   Where would they wear them, their wrists? Anyway, I don’t think we should keep going this way.”

“McKay,” Sheppard said sternly.  “We either keep walking in this direction, or…” He glanced back in the direction they’d come, hoping that he didn’t hear the sound of a door splintering.  “… get nibbled. pinchered and snipped to death by a couple thousand nestuccas.  I’m telling you now, I don’t want to die by lobster.”

“Crabs,” McKay corrected. He chuckled lightly and said, “You had an attack of the crabs!  That’d explain why you’re walking like that.” When Sheppard glared at him, Rodney added quickly, “I’m just sayin’…”

“I wouldn’t talk about who’s walking funny right now,” John returned, noting the wobbly gait of his friend.  “But look we don’t have a choice.  Either we head in this direction or nothing.”  Sheppard did his best not to waddle as he caught up with Rodney.

“We could just stop.”  There was a plaintive tone to this statement.  It was obvious that McKay was moving on borrowed time at that moment.

“We can’t stop,” Sheppard countered.  “We have to get out.  We don’t know what happened with Ronon and Teyla.  They could be in the same sort of trouble.”  Sheppard pointed the light into the depths of the tunnel.  “Our best bet is to keep moving.”

McKay sighed, nodded, and they kept moving.

Continue to Chapter 9

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