Whirlwind - Section 3
By NotTasha

PART 12: RAMBLE

“What the hell do you mean?” John shouted over the radio as he paused in his work at the dart.   Teyla watched him as she continued to pull away the stalks of grain that had been twisted around the downed ship.

“I said… we’re taking down the shield and coming out,” Rodney replied.

“And here I thought you said something stupid,” Sheppard snapped in return.

Rodney sighed.  “Beckett will put the shield back up after we’re out, so everyone will be safe.  I’ve even shown him how to install the backup battery and have reasonable confidence that he can manage it.  I mean, as much confidence as I can have.”

Furious, Sheppard shouted, “There is NO reason for you to go outside of the shield.  I don’t care how much you want to come play with the big boys, Rodney, you need to remain…”

McKay cut him off, saying, “You know that gun you’re enjoying so much? There is, quite possibly, a bigger one out there and we just need to find it.”

Sheppard paused, considering this possibility.  Oh, he thought, this could be good.  “Ronon will get it,” he responded.  “He’s been itching to get his hands on one.”

He heard the Satedan make a quiet ‘heh’ over the airwaves.  The man and his team were still somewhere between their dart and the shield’s dome.  John automatically looked for him in the mix of downed darts, smoke plumes, wrecked buildings and the waving wheat.

The unpleasant humidity made the weather almost unbearable.

“Stay put, McKay,” Sheppard ordered.

“I have to check it out,” Rodney told him.

“Ronon will get it and bring it to you,” Sheppard repeated.  “You are not leaving the…”  He felt his face go hot with anger when he saw the dome disintegrate.  “Rodney!”

“Did I mention it was bigger than the weapon you have?  Should I specify ‘much’ bigger?”

“How much bigger?” Ronon inquired, sounding very interested.

“Not even YOU could carry it,” Rodney replied.

Sheppard considered this.  “What are you thinking it’ll do, McKay?”

“If it is what I believe it is,” And here Rodney paused, and Sheppard wasn’t sure if he was catching his breath or if the jackass was doing it for dramatic purposes.  “I think it could take out the Hive.”

Ronon made another sound, a satisfied sounding utterance, then said happily, “I’ll get it.”

“Someone with the gene needs to activate it,” McKay pointed out.

“Fine,” Sheppard answered.  “I’ll check it out.  This dart isn’t going anywhere for a while.  No telling how long it’s going to take to wake up from that EMP pulse.”

“The dart could reactivate at any moment,” Rodney reminded.

“Or it could take an hour,” Sheppard told him.  “At least that’s what you told us earlier.  Make up your mind and get back under the shield, McKay.  I’m not kidding.”

“Listen…I’ll probably have to…  some work on this thing.”  There was a pause as McKay drew a breath, and Sheppard couldn’t help thinking how tired the man sounded.  His usual quick flowing delivery had slowed to a dribble.  “Some adjustments if nothing else.”

Great, Sheppard thought as he moved away from the dart.  Freaking fabulous.  “You’re not going alone,” Sheppard told him.

“I have Fernando with me,” Rodney responded.  There was a muffled conversation, and McKay sighed, sounding annoyed.  “I mean, I have FERNALD with me, and… apparently Ames.”

“Isn’t Ames the idiot who caused all this?”

“I couldn’t do much about stopping him, Colonel.  The man… the man has legs and just followed us.”

“You couldn’t make him stay?”

“I can hardly walk, Colonel,” McKay responded, a frustrated whine creeping into his voice.  Sheppard frowned at that statement, knowing the truth of it.  “Don’t expect me to strong-arm a man onto a church pew… and make him stay.”

Beckett piped in, saying, “I’ll get him to stay.”  He sounded confident, and downright dangerous.

“Don’t waste your time, Carson!” McKay insisted.  “Stay where you are and we’ll keep moving.”

“I’ll say this again,” Beckett commented, “I don’t like this.  Not one bit.”

“Who said you had to like it?” McKay returned, starting to slur his words a little.  “Someone… with the gene… has to do this.”

“All right then.  I’ll go,” Carson declared.

“Carson, knowing how you get along with tech, I think that might be a very bad idea.” Rodney paused, and then added, “A very, very bad idea.  Did I mention, bad?”

“Ach, but you left me in charge of the shield and this ridiculous battery and that horrid Wraith device is still here.  What am I supposed to do with that if it starts acting up?”

“Christ, Carson!  It won’t do anything!  I’m taking Ames with me so you don’t have to worry about… that freak setting it off.  As for leaving you there to take care of the shield, I had… no choice in the matter. Now, if there was a trained chimp available…”

Sheppard sighed, listening in on the argument.

“Don’t make me come after you, Rodney!  I’ll do it!”

“Carson, you need to… to turn on the… the damn shield.  I need to find the weapon.”

Beckett made a frustrated sound over the radio, and the shield appeared again, forming up from the bottom to close over Beckett and the people of Colo, sealing them in like a snowglobe.

Finally getting a chance, John asked, “So…where is this big gun?  How far do you have to go?”

“We’re nearly there.  It’s just up the street here.”  Rodney seemed to be gasping for breath as he walked.  Sheppard shifted in his place.  Hating this.  Rodney kept rambling, “Well, street might not be the right word for this.  Is it still called a street if the buildings are all gone?  Maybe it’s more of a ‘road’, huh?  Is there a difference between ‘street’ and ‘road’?  A ‘street’ somehow needs building lining it, I think.”

They had too many people outside the safety of the shield already, and Rodney was hardly in any shape to be running around in the open.  And all McKay had for protection was a skinny kid and the guy who traded their city’s greatest asset for a handful of magic beans.

“Ronon?” Sheppard called over the radio.

“I’m on it,” the Satedan responded.

“Bring your team with you.  Keep an eye on him,” Sheppard ordered.

“Yeah,” Ronon replied. That would be enough.  Sheppard knew that Dex wouldn’t let anything happen to their irksome, brilliant friend.

He checked in with Radcliff, ensuring that her team was still doing okay, that their work was progressing, that they were ready for the next attack – for certainly there would be another.

How long would they be able to push back the Wraith and escape unscathed?  They’d been able to fight them so far.  When would this dart perk up again?  Would it be in time to flip the Gate and allow them to go home?  If they were lucky… But, their luck sucked.

Sheppard watched the shimmering shield that protected Beckett and the townspeople, then glanced skyward, wondering when the next attack would commence.

“It is a good plan,” Teyla stated suddenly.

He turned, a little surprised to find her so near.  “Yeah,” he finally stated.  “Can’t hurt to have a jumbo gun.  If we can get that hive deactivated, we’ll finally stand a chance.”

Teyla nodded at his words, but didn’t look convinced that he believed them.  “It is a good plan,” she said again.  “And Rodney will be fine.”  She seemed to say it to convince herself as much as him.

The wind was picking up when the colonel picked up his EMP weapon.  “Let’s just make sure he has a fighting chance when those sons-of-bitches return.”

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PART 13:  TOPPLE

The darts came screaming in again.  Groaning with weariness of the situation, John lifted his EMP gun at another group of five.

He quickly targeted a ship and pulled the trigger.  He tracked the dart as the weapon hesitated annoyingly and then fired.  He’d never stop being amused and amazed at the way the device just shut off the ship, leaving it to stagger and then tumble the ground.

THUD!

He felt the impact as he shifted his position, waiting for the gun to recharge, as the darts screamed overhead.

Teyla covered him, firing upward with her P90.  In the city, not far from the dome, Ronon’s grenade launcher went off, punching a hole in a dart as it circled around in an attempt to strafe the shield.

The ship that followed it laid down a few good shots, but the dome held and the dart twisted out of the way, gone before Ronon could target it.

Near the Gate, Radcliff and her crew were firing at another dart, their P90s doing little to slow the ship.  Apparently the pilots were braver now, or just tired of being peppered.  The ship veered off, but kept returning for more abuse.

Sheppard checked the gauges on the EMP weapon’s display.  Irritated, he found that the gun was still charging.

Sheppard keyed his radio and asked, “How you doing, Radcliff?”

The lieutenant replied, “Holding on, sir.”

“Keep it up,” Sheppard told her.  “Ronon, how are things where you are?”

“We’re still here,” was the Satedan’s response as he knocked out another dart that spun and whined and piled into the ground outside of the town.  The Satedan’s accuracy was impressive, to say the least.

The maddening rain had splattered them for a minute, but it was gone again.  The wind picked up. The weather seemed to be in constant turmoil and Sheppard couldn’t wait to be out of it for good.    But how much longer could they hold out?

Two darts remained from this latest attack, and they slowly circled – keeping their distance, looking a little too much like sharks for Sheppard’s liking.

How long would they keep it up this time? Sheppard thought.

Not long at all.  Suddenly, the darts broke formation.  One came back at the Gate. The other made a beeline for the shield.

“Damn it,” Sheppard growled, lifting his weapon to target the ship that rushed toward the town.  Shit!  He lifted the weapon, knowing the shield wouldn’t withstand a pulse from his weapon.

The air erupted with the darts’ weapon fire, accompanied by the throaty boom of Ronon’s grenade launcher.  P90’s barked.  A bright flashes flared from the darts as the attacked both the Gate and the dome.

Sheppard heard shouting over the radio.  Beckett’s voice sounded, trying to keep the people within the dome calm; Ronon barked at his group; Radcliff and Woodward were screaming.

One ship, plugged with holes, skittered, turned and the spun into the ground.  The other, near the Gate, fired, then turned and gained altitude, returning to take another pop at the Gate.

Growling in anger, Sheppard raised the EMP weapon and caught the dart as it came around.  It shuddered as the pulse hit, and went into an uncontrolled glide as it fell, crashing with a KA-whump! John smiled grimly, shaking out the numbness in his arm.

Beckett was calling to the people in the dome, telling them everything was going to be all right.  McKay was complaining and Ronon responding in one word phrases.  Nothing was heard from Radcliff and Woodward.

John turned to Teyla. She stood beside him, tense, clutching her P90, ready to fire if anything came into range.  Her eyes were sharp, and almost cruel.

“Radcliff!  Lieutenant Radcliff?  Woodward?” Sheppard shouted over the radio.  There was no response to his cries.  “Kelley!  Randall!”  And nothing.

Teyla took a step closer.  Gilbert and Clemmon moved in and they stood together, a small group in the open field.

“Damn… damn…” Sheppard cursed.  “Goddamn it.  Ronon?”

“We’re fine,” Ronon responded.

“Beckett?”

“A bit shaken up, but the shield appears to be holding,” Carson said, sounding spent.  “People are calming.  No worse for the wear.”

“Great.”  He gazed in the direction of the downed Gate, where two of his people and two of the Colo had stood their ground.  “We’re going to check on Radcliff and the others,” Sheppard stated, frowning at the weapon in his hands.  Fat lot of good it did when they were out of range.  They started moving toward the Gate.  “How’s McKay coming along with the super weapon?”

An irritated voice joined the others, “McKay is doing the best he can, considering the circumstances.  My assistant dove for cover under the … equipment and doesn’t know a screwdriver from a … scanning device.  I’m doing JUST FINE.”

Sheppard didn’t like the pauses in Rodney’s conversation.  There seemed to be no real strength in the words.  He wanted to tell Ronon to keep an eye on the scientist, but he knew there was no need to voice anything.  He knew Ronon too well.

“He giving you trouble, Ronon?” Sheppard asked instead as he hurried through the field with Teyla and the others behind him.

“Yeah,” Ronon responded.

“I… I am not!”  McKay shot back.  “I’ll have you know that I am … attempting to… to get this… thing… operational again and…” There was a pause and Sheppard halted, looking in the direction of the town.  “…it’s not easy!”

Sheppard recommenced his path, covering the distance to the Gate – double time. “We’ll let you know when we reach the Gate.”

“Ah, Colonel, shouldn’t you be staying by the dart?” McKay asked.

“Shouldn’t you be staying inside the dome?” Sheppard challenged.

“Not if we want to take out the Hive,” he sniped.  “I’m not going to be able to… fix this device from in there. Really, you should stay at the dart in case it regenerates and regains power.”

“I need to check on our people,” Sheppard pointed out.

“Oh,” McKay replied.  “Yeah.  Good idea.”

“Glad you agree.  Sheppard out.”  And they kept moving.

A glance to Teyla told him that she already knew what they’d find.  Her fine features were set like flint, as if she were already preparing herself for the horror.  He felt sorry for Gilbert and Clemmon.  All things considered, he would have preferred to leave them with the dart, but the Colos were ill-prepared to face the Wraith on their own.

“Valeria and Luther are with them,” Gilbert stated breathlessly as he kept up.  “Do you think they’re all right?”

Sheppard didn’t answer.  He kept glancing at the sky, keeping the steady strict pace.  Teyla turned toward Gilbert, her face giving nothing away.

“We can hope,” Clemmon said softly, touching her brother’s arm.

Gilbert huffed, keeping up, but all hope fled from his expression as he quietly stated, “This is awful.  I don’t know how Ames is going to live with himself.”

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PART 14: MOTTLE COLLIE

Sheppard jogged to the Gate, hurrying even though he knew it was too late.

The DHD was visible over the fields of smoldering wheat-like grain.  There was no sign of the people that should have been there as well.  Sheppard increased his speed as they trekked up a slight slope and came to an abrupt halt. He stalled Clemmon and Gilbert with a movement of his arm.

For a moment, he stood there, observing the scene.  Teyla came alongside him, pressing close, but neither looked at each other. 

The wind blew in the wrong direction, otherwise the scent of burned flesh would have reached them first.  Charred, and almost indistinguishable from each other, four bodies lay haphazardly in the blasted area.  All around them, the wheat was burned to stubble.

Nobody spoke immediately as they took in the sobering scene.  The wind kept up, buffeting their backs.

Finally, Clemmon broke the silence, sighing softly, “Oh, Valeria.  Poor Luther.”  She drew a deep breath and then asked, “Why did the Wraith do this?  Why did they ‘kill’?  It’s not like the Wraith to destroy a lifeforce that they might have fed from.”

“They are angry,” Teyla responded softly.  “They did not expect resistance.  They did not expect to take such losses.”

“Revenge,” Sheppard commented, his face kept taut.  “Revenge rarely makes much sense.”

He stepped forward, his movements were quick as he closed the distance to hunch over one body.  The blackened uniform and weapon told him it was one of the Atlaneans.  He found the dogtags, and removed one carefully.  Lt. Kelley Radcliff, he noted as he clutched the identifier.

She liked birds.  On every planet she visited, her eyes were always on the trees or searching the skies for things in flight.  She kept a journal of what she found, drawing surprisingly good renditions of avian life in Pegasus.   He hoped she had a chance to see the black birds of Colo up close.  She probably would have thought they were beautiful.

She told him once about her macaw.  She’d picked it up somewhere, ‘used’.  It would say things like, “Wicked pisser,” and “Swim Faster, Eddie!” and “Iowa Sucks”. She never did figure out where it learned those phrases.

It was a big messy bird that made too much noise, threw its damned seeds everywhere, pooped all over the place, and never let her sleep in on the weekends.  She pined for that bird every day, and drew pictures of anything with wings.

Sheppard straightened, smoothing down the fabric of his uniform and moved to the next form.

Woodward was still clutching his weapon.  Dedicatedly, Sheppard removed his dogtag as well.  Randall was a musician.  He loved brass instruments, especially the trumpet.  He’d been in the Marine Band.  Had played for the President.

He’d been in a garage band in his youth, a band with a ‘kicking horn line’, something along the lines of ‘Tower of Power’.  He had been trying to put together some sort of a group on Atlantis, but could never get the right talents for the type of music he wanted to play.

It didn’t stop him from trying.

Sheppard clutched the two tags as he gazed at his people.  He wished he could give Kelley Radcliff leave to see her parents and that big messy Iowa-hating bird.  Wished Randall Woodward might have been able to put that band together and play the hell out of the music he loved.

He remained near them, standing at attention, wishing he could do more for them.

Gilbert hung back, staring at the bodies of his friends, his eyes wide and sorrowful.  It was Clemmon that stepped forward, pulling off her jacket and draping it over the face of one of the Colo.  She wrapped the jacket around the body, as if she were tucking a child into bed.

“Gilbert,” she called and reached out her hand.

He looked at her, his expression lost.  “What?” he asked hollowly.  “What do you want?”

“Your coat,” she said softly.  “For Luther.”

Gilbert quickly shucked off his jacket and held it out to his sister, but seemed unable to move forward.

Clemmon was forgiving and walked the few steps to reach him.  She paused as she took the jacket.  They shared a glance, and then she turned to the other body and covered its face as well, being careful to secure the fabric against the wind.

That done, she stood back and looked to Sheppard.  “What do we do now?” she asked.

Sheppard had moved closer to the toppled Gate, to see how far the group had progressed.  They’d tunneled under the heavy device, creating a trench and had passed the cables through.  He nodded thoughtfully at their clever thinking.

It looked as if the cabling was complete.  They’d done a good job, harnessing up the Gate and getting it ready for the big flip.  The work looked as if it might actually hold – as if someone had some mechanical skill.  He wondered which of the four had provided the necessary knowledge.  He knew little about them, outside of Radcliff’s love of birds and Woodward’s for his horn. He knew that were good soldiers.

Certainly Valeria and Luther had passions and skills.

He was proud of them.

Glancing to Teyla, he noted the stance of the Athosian.  She stood alone, away from the rest, her expression bleak.  Her brow knitted as if she suffered from a headache.

Beckett’s hope-filled voice called over the radio, “Colonel, have you made it to the site?  Are they all right?”

“We’re here,” Sheppard responded to the first question.  Then, after a pause, he added, “They didn’t make it.”

“Oh,” Beckett responded, putting so much sorrow into that word, so much regret.

“Nothing you could have done if you were with us, Doc,” Sheppard tried to soothe as he gazed toward the corpses.  “Nothing anyone could have done.”

“Aye,” was all he said in return.

Sheppard blew out a breath, and asked, “How’s the weapon coming, McKay?”

“Huh?”

The weapon, were you able to get it operational?”

“Yeah, yeah.  I’m just… I was able to … fix it, but it’s going to take a while to fire up.  The power...  It’s not…  It’s not good.”

Sheppard frowned, moving a few steps from the scene, not wanting to linger among the dead.  “What do you mean?”

“This thing takes a lot of power,” McKay told him, his voice quieter than it should be.

His frown deepening, Sheppard asked, “There’s not enough to get it working?”

“Not that,” McKay replied.  “It’s… it’s just that it hasn’t been used in 10,000 years so it’s… it’s going to take a little while to boot up.”

“Sounds like my first computer,” Sheppard stated, listening carefully to his friend’s voice.

“Did I mention power?  It’s a lot of power.”

“Yeah, you said that.”  Sheppard listened carefully to his friend, not liking what he was hearing.

It was Teyla that spoke up beside him, “Do you believe the Wraith will be able to see the power signature from the Hive.”

“Probably not until we’re locked onto them, but when we do, it should light up the hive’s systems … like a Christmas tree.  Ah… oh wait… You probably don’t know… Christmas Tree is a… tree… with lots of lights. Wait… there was one in the Mess last year.  So… it would be like that… well, really just one big light.  Like a spotlight.  More like a spotlight than a Christmas tree.  You know what a spotlight is, don’t you?”

“Rodney?” Sheppard tried to break in.

“Maybe a searchlight is a better analogy.  Remember seeing searchlights when you were a kid…colonel?  Off in the distance?  Always thought that they meant something important…As if there was something great out there… only needed to track it down.  I… I always felt like I needed to be there… to be part of it… but they… the searchlights… they usually were just for the… grand opening of a…  new car dealership or something.  But I wanted to… ah…oh…” The last sound seemed lost in pain.

Sheppard stiffened at the sound, wishing he was there.

“McKay…” Ronon spoke, his voice more concerned than annoyed.

“Right … right.  Yes, the Wraith will know when they’ve been… targeted.”

“Aim fast,” Sheppard told him, grimacing and hating this.

“You do realize there’s a… a... delay, right?”  McKay countered.  “You think it’s a long pause for your… puny little gun.  Think about what it’ll take to… fire this baby.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard said glumly.  “We’ll just have to manage.”

“I can help,” Teyla put in.  She rested a hand on Sheppard’s arm.  Her helpless look was gone.  “I can assist.”

“How?” Sheppard responded, curious.

Teyla looked skyward, and said confidently, “I will distract them.”

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PART 15:  BRAMBLE

“Just install the backup battery,” Beckett muttered as he fussed with device McKay had created.  “Aye, as easy as that.  Just install it and bring the shield back online.  Couldn’t be simpler.”  The bitter edge of his voice was evident.

Around him, the Colo, in their terror, had crowded close, huddled together around the shield device.

He’d been surprised by the wind; he had grown used to being sheltered from it.  The sky seemed dark as he labored on the shield device, and he was grateful for the press of Colo near him – they, at least, created a windbreak.

He gave the nearby Wraith device an unhappy glance, imagining paralytic agents and the awful possibilities if that thing went off.  It had rankled him to have the device with them all this time, but he understood the necessity for it.  Beneath the shield was the safest place for it, but now that there was no dome to protect them.

Of course, if the thing went off, there was probably no safe place anywhere in the vicinity.  They’d all be knocked out and left helpless to the Wraith.

He put that at the back of his mind as he continued working.

His hands were sure and steady as he worked at the fleshy Wraith power source, wincing as he expected a shock for his efforts.  He thought of muscle, nerves and arteries instead of electric wiring.  It made the process more familiar.

The Wraith power source felt ‘dead’ to him as he pulled it free, like an organ that was no longer vital.  He settled it beside him and retrieved the makeshift battery pack.  Thankfully, Rodney had completed the pre-work.

‘Look, it’s so easy even a halfwit could do it,’  Beckett remembered Rodney’s words.  ‘You just need to hook this wire here – and this one will go here.  Connect this over there.  Don’t mix them up.  And do you see these wires?  Do not – I repeat, DO NOT allow these wires to come in contact with any part of the machine except the connections that I’m indicating here and there – but not here.  Do you get it?’

“Yes, Rodney,” Beckett whispered as he recalled the education.  “I get it.”  Dear God, he hoped that annoying astrophysicist would be all right.  The last transmission from Rodney had troubled him deeply.  Now, he knew, they had to get through this -- get through it quickly so that he could get out of here and go check on the irritating man.

He worked quickly, as the wind buffeted his hair, bringing his ‘do to new and strange heights.  He hoped that the Wraith took their bloody time in preparing the darts for attack.  Nervously, he ran the back of a hand through his hair, forcing it down. 

He prayed that he was connecting the device up correctly.

Technology hated him.

The Colo were counting on him to save them.  His friends needed him to get the shield up – to protect the Wraith device -- to protect the Colo so that they wouldn't have to trouble themselves over the natives.  He wouldn’t let them down.

Beckett flinched as he connected another wire, expecting the worst. It would be just like him to blow up this device and set off the other along with it.

One more connection to go.  “Let’s hope this works,” he muttered.

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The Athosian settled herself in the tall grass, folding her legs beneath her.  She took a deep breath and released it slowly as she closed her eyes and opened her mind.

“I will make contact now,” she proclaimed.

“Okay,” Sheppard responded, and took her P90.  He passed it on to Gilbert.  “Be careful,” he told her in a quiet voice.  “Back out if you feel that they’ve discovered you.”

She smiled, just a small wan expression. “I have learned,” she responded.  “I will not make direct contact with the Wraith minds.”

With a frown, the colonel asked, “How you plan to do that?”

Confidently, she told him, “I will link with the hive ship.”

She reached out.  It wasn’t difficult to find the collective intelligence of the Wraith.  It closed in around her like dense bramble.  She felt them, their urgency, their hatred, their lust for destruction.  The darts would not come in fives.  They would attack in force this time.

They were hurrying, readying themselves for a final assault.  She felt the certitude swelling within their consciousness.  They were dedicated to what they felt -- what they knew was right.  They were betrayed.  They would seek vengeance.  They would annihilate everything that stood in their path.

And for a moment, she was caught up in that emotion, feeling the power behind their beliefs, the conviction in their mission.  They had been wronged.  The humans would pay.

She drew in a deep draught of air, feeling their power, their strength in numbers, knowing the perfection of their society.  They worked as one, they lived as one, there was strength in their unity.

A tremble ran through her.  She felt like a creature lost in a vast wood.

She blew out the breath, pushing through their thoughts as one might move through a forest, stepping carefully over moss-velvet earth, slipping past saplings, pressing branches to allow her passage.  She moved quickly and easily through the crush, finding her way without breaking a branch, without severing the smallest leaf from its stem.  She moved, not leaving a trace, not alerting any of them to her presence.

She found her way back to a place she’d known before, flitting past minds that blared orders, sliding past others that echoed the thoughts onward.

She found the command center of the hive, alive with activity.  She located the controls, remembering how they’d responded to her before when she guided a different hive ship home.  She found the heart of the ship itself, ignoring the minds around her.  She found the sensors, and there she waited.

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Ronon studied the controls of the big weapon, recognizing their similarity to the smaller EMP gun that Sheppard carried.  It would be easy to figure out and he smiled at the prospect of firing something so powerful.

He found his target on the display.  The ‘star finder’ might not have been a telescope but it definitely could locate objects in space.

There was no doubting the shape in the display.  The sight of the hive ship made Ronon itch to destroy it.  He rubbed his hands together, as he studied the readouts.

“Teyla’s ready when you are,” Sheppard announced over the radio.

A graph, the most obvious thing on the display, showed mostly green with a segment of red at the top.  “We’re almost there,” Ronon stated, hopefully.

“Great,” Sheppard replied.  “How much longer you think?”

Ronon frowned. How should he know? He glanced down to McKay, in the little alcove.  The scientist could tell him.  Only the constant shuddering revealed Rodney was still alive.

“Ronon?” Sheppard pressed.  “How long?”

Ronon narrowed his eyes at the display, examining the graph that McKay had been checking earlier.  “It’s got about a fingernail to go.”

“What does that mean?” Sheppard returned sharply.  “How many minutes?”

“I don’t know,” Ronon growled, understanding why McKay would get so upset with the colonel at times.

Something flickered, instantly catching his attention.  Ronon turned in time to see the shield return over the Meeting Hall – much smaller than before.  It sputtered and fuzzed and went away after a moment.

“Hang on, hang on,” Beckett muttered.  “I think that’s it.  Crowd closer everyone.”

Ronon and his group watched as the shield flickered again.

“Almost there,” Beckett declared.

Teyla’s voice came on next, her tone dreamlike and unconnected.  “They are coming,” she announced.

Ronon gritted his teeth, wishing McKay would wake up, wishing the man could tell him what to do.  He returned his gaze to the display and stared at the line of red that remained on the chart.  “Let’s do it,” he declared.

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“Now,” Sheppard ordered, laying a hand on Teyla’s shoulder, hoping she took that as her signal that it was time.

The unmistakable whine of the Wraith darts sounded. Sheppard spun to face them. “Crap!” he hissed as the needlelike ships came through the brackish clouds – a dozen, two dozen, more.  He had no time to count them.

Sheppard lifted his weapon.  “Now, Ronon!  NOW!”

John fired, targeting, not the lead dart in the group, but one that flew slightly above the leader.  The weapon hesitated, as it always did, but he’d learned how to time it.  The weapon made that soft ‘huff’ sound, numbing his arm.  The ship was silenced.  It wobbled then glided directly onto the one below.

The darts collided, smashing down from the sky, taking out another that followed too closely and scattering the rest behind it. 

He chanced a glance toward the city as he picked up his P90 with one hand, leaving the EMP weapon at his feet to recharge.  “Ronon!”

“I hit the trigger!” Ronon insisted.  “It’s making noise.  There are red symbols on the screen.”

The hesitation – that damn hesitation.  Why did the wonder-weapon have to have that half-ass attribute?

Ships screamed closer.  Dammit, dammit.  “Beckett!  Get that damn shield up!” John shouted, just as the mauvey dome re-congealed with a ‘wup’.

“I think that’s it!” Beckett declared.

The shield shuddered for a moment, then held firm just as a pair of darts descended from the clouds.

“Oh… oh…bugger,” Beckett whispered as the darts came right at them.

Sheppard’s expression hardened as he continued firing at the darts that shrieked overhead, kept firing, not daring to look toward the domed shield.  Silently, he prayed for Beckett’s safety.

The concussion rattled the earth as two darts pile-drived directly into the shield.  The ships sparked and shattered, rending the metal and tossing bits and pieces everywhere, sending up smoke and a choking stench.

The dome held.

Thank God, Sheppard thought.  Oh, thank God.

He hoped that Ronon had ducked.  His group was far too close to the collision.  “Ronon?” he called.

From near the EMP cannon, the grenade launcher was firing.

“Ronon!” he tried again.

“What?” Dex snapped.

“Just checking,” Sheppard responded, knowing that they were in no position to chat.   He fired his P90 as another dart whirled above him, and another followed behind, biting off chunks of the vicious machines.

“Beckett!” Sheppard called.  “Report!”

“We’re fine.  We’re all… well and good here,” Beckett breathlessly.  “That was worse than the first time.   I … if I’m reading the displays correctly we’ve lost most of our power with that one blow.  We won’t stand another.”

“Do what you can,” Sheppard responded, knowing that the words were little comfort.

“Aye,” Beckett responded, a halfhearted tone to his voice.

Another arm of the Wraith fleet broke off, and came at them.  Sheppard stood over Teyla, protecting her with the P90, firing everything he had into the ships. Gilbert and Clemmon assisted with their weapons.  Two more darts spewed black smoke as they were driven from the sky.

Ronon knocked out another, but John made a grim face, knowing it was only a matter of time and they’d be done for.

They couldn’t keep this up.  But they wouldn’t stop trying.

“Ronon!” Sheppard shouted again.  “The weapon?  Today would be great!”

Ronon insisted, “It’s preparing.  I can feel it.”

And then, it began to hail.  Hard BB-sized balls came down at them.  Great, just what we need.

Snarling in aggravation, John swiped at his face, as the darts swung closer.  He fired again, and then dropped the P90 to pick up the EMP weapon again.

PART 16:  CHATTER

He wanted to speak. He wanted to help.  But his head felt trapped in a vice, everything spun and his whole world felt wasted and torn.  He couldn’t move.  His body was like lead.

His head felt swollen, his hands unusable.

He felt sick and disoriented, as if he’d been spun on a carnival ride.  He ached.

The Zipper, he thought.  Definitely like he’d just stepped down from the Zipper.  Why did he let those kids convince him to take try that ride?  Thought he could be ‘cool’ like them.  Thought they’d let him hang out with them.  Just a joke.

Oh God… he felt like he was going to throw up.

He was aware of noise all around him, yet hardly understood what it meant.  Not the carnival, he was at least sure of that.

People were shouting.  A series of high whines punctuated the air.  Someone was shooting a gun near him.

Something exploded, something loud.  Things were falling all around.

He licked his lips and tried to turn his head, wincing and failing.  Slowly, he opened his eyes. The diffused light hurt, and he squinted up at a man.  Didn’t recognize him.  The man went away.

Above him, on top of some sort of machine, he could see another man, a big man.  Should know who that is, he thought.  Should know.

Wait… Ronon.  It’s Ronon.  Somehow, that realization made him feel better.

Things flashed through the sky, too quick for his pained eyes to track. What were they?  Silvery fireflies maybe?   The troposphere seemed to be in turmoil.

He was cold.  His head hurt.

The sound hurt his ears.  He wished it would stop.  Then something started hitting him, peppering him, like tiny pebbles.  It hurt too.  He squinted against it -- so many tiny hurts, adding to his already mountainous pile of pain.

The shouting rose in intensity.

When he tried to focus he could see out through a maze of broken things, out into a great field of gold.  He focused on the gold a moment.

But even as the wash of yellow filled his sight, something seemed to destroy it -- a great blackness, a column.  It writhed and danced, undulating.  He watched it, feeling detached and alone.

The column moved, twisting, turning.

He swallowed thickly and watched the thing, watched as the silver fireflies swarmed.

-------------------------------------

Ronon hunched as the darts impacted on the shield.   Dagger-shaped bits of metal strafed him.

Pain flared as shrapnel sliced at his arms, his shoulders, his sides.  Something big came at his face and he barely deflected it with his hand, gaining another bruise for the effort.  All around him, burning and shredded bits of Wraith dart bombarded the group.

Ronon flashed a glance toward Rodney, finding Fernald huddled over him, trying to protect him.  The kid straightened, gasping lightly as he felt the scrapes and cuts on his back and arms.  He gazed at the Satedan, and looked shocked for a moment, then schooled his expression quickly.

Ronon could feel his newly gained wounds oozing, feel the blood that dripped from stinging cuts.  There seemed to be a lot of them.  He had no time to tend them.  

The young Colo quickly stood, lifting his borrowed Beretta in case any of the Wraith dared come near.

Beckett and Sheppard’s voices sounded over the radio.  He listened without hearing them as he lifted his blaster to the sky.  Beside the cannon, Huxley was firing the grenade launcher.

By Ronon’s reckoning, they were nearly out of ammo.  They weren’t going to give up.  Darts still circled.  There was no time to do anything but fight.

Beneath his feet, the whirring of the EMP cannon seemed to increase in volume.  He could feel a numbness reaching for him.

He pulled his blaster from its holster and fired it at the closest of the darts, watching with a grim smile as he took off a good part of the nose, sending the craft spiraling into the dirt.

All around him, broken bits of building and dart littered the ground.  Red letters still scrolled across the EMP weapon’s screen.  What was it doing?  Had he broken it?  Was this all for nothing?

Hail started to fall in hard tiny balls.  With a growl Ronon searched for his next target.  They would know that Ronon Dex had stood here – had fought.  They would remember him.  He aimed.

But the dart suddenly lifted.

Dex frowned, feeling annoyed and denied.  It wasn’t like the Wraith to break off an attack.

He watched, curious, as the hail increased, as ships rose in the atmosphere and, as one, made a charge in the opposite direction.

And then saw it… tornado.  Even miles away, it was huge, and black as death, it tore through the fields.  It roared.

Ronon stood on the control platform for the EMP cannon as the darts went after the twister like bugs after honey.

It didn’t make sense.

And he felt the numbness in his legs as the gauge finally went all green, the red letters went away, and mechanism beneath him seemed to gasp.

He smiled.

------------------------------------------------------

Sheppard fired, alternating between weapons.

Gilbert proved to be a pro with the P90, and Clemmon, with only a rifle, was as accurate as any marksman on their team.  They had been able to keep the darts at bay, but the Wraith wouldn’t stop.

Teyla sat at his feet, her back arched, her face taut, as she held her contact with the Hive ship.

The Wraith had grown progressively bolder, coming at them as steadily as the hail that pelted down.

How long would it take for that damn EMP cannon to fire?

Teyla remained quiet in spite of the pummeling by the pea-sized hail, her face drawn up in a grimace as she stayed in contact with the hive’s systems, hiding the power signature of the big gun.

She made a soft sound, little more than a sigh, a gasp.

He chanced only a glance at her, seeing her expression change slightly.  She looked almost – pleased with herself.

And he gazed back up at the sky, the darts made a beeline across the sky.

He heard the roar, and spun.  His eyes widened in surprise.

For a moment he had a flashback of Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton and flying cows.  A goddamn tornado!  It had to be a F-5  - the biggest and the meanest of the breed.  The tornado, even at a distance, was freaking huge.  It chewed up the fields, throwing up a cloud of dust and dirt and golden wheat-like grass.

He found himself almost unable to breathe as he took in the sight.

The tornado carved through the distant fields like a dreadnought in the Atlantic.

The darts crossed the miles in a flash, heading into the whirlwind as if they might be capable of fighting it.  They dove at the twister, striking into its outer surface, just to be tossed higgledy-piggledy in all directions.

The ships were spun and pitched ass over teakettle, sent spiraling into the ground.  The tornado tossed them like toys.

Sheppard ducked as one out-of-control ship was zinged over their heads to impact far behind them.

And the ships kept up their pointless attack.

Sheppard puzzled at the inanity of the Wraith that dared fight a tornado.  They kept driving toward it, firing into it, knocking out their own ships in the chaos.  More darts filling the sky, replacing those that were knocked asunder.

But darts kept coming.  More of them, filling the sky.

Shit… Sheppard thought, raising the weapon again.  God, would there be no end to them?

And then, it happened.  He felt it, like a punch to the sternum.  He gasped, and shook his head.  What the hell?  He glanced at the EMP gun in his hand and realized what had happened.  Quietly, invisibly, the EMP cannon – that big beautiful gun… had finally fired!

And then he saw the effect.  The remaining ships cut off their attack.  They spun about and headed straight upward, gaining altitude, in a hell-bent-for-leather attempt to return to the hive.

Then, mid-air, they all stopped, their noses still pointing skyward for a moment, before they tipped over like bi-planes performing the hammer-head stunt, and all plummeted.

“I think it fired,” Ronon stated over the radio.  And then he laughed, adding, "Cool."

All around them, the Wraith darts fell, diving into the ground, exploding like fireworks as they hit. 

The tornado, weakened by its battle with the darts, came apart. The funnel broke, the clouds parted, leaving a series of dust devils that spun into nothing, leaving the sky alone.

Sheppard let out a breath, glancing to Clemmon and Gilbert, who looked shaken, but whole.  He placed a hand on Teyla’s shoulder and smiled at her as she blinked and looked up at him.

“Fight the tornado?” he asked her.

She smiled, and then closed her eyes as if still trying to clear her mind.  “They were confused by its appearance.  I simply gave them the suggestion that it hid an incredible weapon.  They had to destroy it, at all costs.”

“Good idea,” Sheppard told her.  He offered her a hand, and she stood, shakily.  “Let’s check with the others.  And, it’s time we got that Gate flipped, don’t you think?”

------------------------------------------

Beckett brought down the shield with a sigh of relief, and did a quick check of the people around him.  The Colo were shocked, huddling together in clusters, but unscathed.

Oh, thank God, he thought.  He would haven’t been able to handle it if anything had happened to these people while they were under his care.  And he smiled slightly in relief, proud of himself for accomplishing it.  The wretched Wraith device still stood, unmarred and un-deployed.  Thank God, he thought again.

Now, he just wanted to get his group back together.  They were too spread out.

But first, Carson moved to Albion, glad to find her awake.

“It looks like that did it,” Beckett declared, nodding up to the sky that remained cloudy, but seemed far less threatening than only moments earlier.

“Thank you,” she said softly.  “To you and the others.  Thank you.  There’s so much…”  But she paused, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say more.

Carson nodded in response.  “I’ll be back in a moment,” he told her as he grabbed his bag.  “I need to check on Rodney -- blasted fool, running off to play on giant guns when he can hardly walk at all.  I’ll be back before you even miss me.”

As he turned to leave their protected space, he was struck by the difference between the area that had been beneath the dome, and that which had been without.  Where he stood was clean and relatively orderly.  But, just a step beyond was cratered, littered with debris, bits of Wraith and their darts, hail, smashed up buildings – and acrid smoke.  It was like a different world.

They’d been so lucky.  Well, it wasn’t all luck was it?  They had damn fine people on their side.

He was about to cross into the debris when he noted the activity in the street – a small group heading toward him.

Ronon was in the lead, moving quickly and carrying Rodney like a child.  Huxley hustled beside him, acting as if he wanted to help, but Ronon was giving him no opportunity.  Three of the Colo followed behind.  Ames was gone.

They were all bloodied and bruised in some way or another.  Ronon’s face and arms were streaked with red as he clutched Rodney to his chest and continued moving at his hurried pace as if he was afraid of slowing down for a moment.

The Colo in Ronon’s party broke into a run when they saw the rest of their people.  Beckett registered them rushing past him, heard the joyful shouts, recognized the sounds of people embracing one another.  It was the noise of relief and release – people who thought they might never see their loved ones again.

Beckett stumbled forward getting clear of the first ring of debris.  “Ronon!” he shouted, “Here, son, let me give you a hand.”

Ronon just grunted, and said curtly, “I got him.”  He moved with relative ease as he stepped over the broken remains of darts and buildings, carrying McKay so that the scientist’s head rested on his shoulder.  Rodney’s eyes remained shut, his face lax in spite of the indignity of being hauled around, once again, like a bag of laundry.

Huxley followed them, looking chagrinned at his inability to do anything, but appeared ready to help catch Ronon’s burden if his great strength ever gave out.

It didn’t.

Once he was within the safe circle of the Meeting Hall, Ronon shuffled McKay to the nearest bench and, panting from the exertion, gently settled the scientist, being especially careful of his head.  He stepped back immediately to let Beckett in.

“What happened?” Beckett asked urgently.

Ronon was still catching his breath, so Huxley spoke, “He was disoriented, and collapsed while on that big gun.  Ronon barely caught him.  He could’ve taken one hell of a fall.”

“I wouldn’t have let him fall,” Ronon asserted.

“Well, yeah,” Huxley confirmed quickly with a nod, as one who didn’t dare argue.  “Dr. McKay was out of it.  He was shaking earlier.  Still sort of shivering now.  Can’t say much more about his current condition because…” and he looked up at Ronon.  “… Specialist Dex didn’t give me a chance to check him over.”

“Needed to get him to you,” Ronon declared setting his gaze on Beckett and crossing his arms over his chest.  “You would help him.”

Beckett sighed, always amazed at Ronon’s unswerving faith in him.

With help, Carson was able to get Rodney out of the coat, muttering as he saw the state of the bandages hidden under the cloth.  “Oh, Rodney,” he sighed.  “If I knew you were going to do this, I’d never’ve leant you the jacket.”

Beckett checked Rodney as the Colo put up a commotion around them, asking repeatedly if the attack was over, if they were safe now.  Beckett didn’t listen, too busy with his task, doing what he could to bring the bleeding back under control.

Ronon didn’t seem to care about anything the Colo had to say, intent on watching the sky.  There was no telling if the weapon had completely shut down the hive, and Ronon wasn’t going to abandon his task.  He stayed near Beckett and McKay.

It was left to Huxley to assuage the Colos’ anxiety.  Carson, too busy to listen, heard only the Private’s tone and wondered if Huxley realized he sounded as if he were talking to little children.

Finally, with the chattering of the mob dying down, Carson sat back on his heels and gazed up to Ronon.  “As far as I can tell, he’s mostly exhausted, but he’s probably suffering from blood loss, dehydration, and God help us, a bit of hypoglycemia.  I don’t think he’s been able to keep down a bite.”  He inclined his head toward the dressing.  “I've done what I could with the bandages.  I daren't remove what's already there, but I've added what I could.  It'd be best if I don't disturb the wound if I don't have to.  We might have to resort to tearing cloth into strips and boiling it if we need more.”  He sighed, and added, “Now, I just need him to be still.  I need to get him hydrated and he could probably stand a transfusion.  With his concussion, I fear we may be facing something worse, and there’s only so much I can do for him here,” Beckett said, frustration filling his voice.  “We need Atlantis.”

“Sheppard’s fixing the Gate,” Ronon mentioned, his eyes still scanning.

“Only a matter of time and we’ll be home.  Couldn’t be soon enough for me.”

“He wouldn’t wake up,” Ronon proclaimed unhappily.  “I tried to wake him.”

“Aye,” Beckett responded sadly.  He rested hand against Rodney’s cheek for a moment, hating that he didn’t have a means of looking into that thick skull and into that incredible brain to assure himself that everything was going to be all right.   He could feel the chill in the man’s skin. 

“Daft man,” he whispered.  “You just about did yourself in this time.”

Rodney shivered.

There was a shuffle, and Beckett looked up.  Ronon held the quilt that Rodney had been using earlier – with the bright yellow and white design.  Carson took it with a grateful smile and spread it over the scientist.

“Now, let me take a look at you, Ronon.  Seems you’re a little worse for wear.”

Ronon shrugged.  “It’s not bad,” he declared.  “Couple of scrapes.  I don’t need anything.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Beckett declared.

With a narrow gaze, Ronon regarded him.  “Not necessary.”

“Now, Ronon,” Beckett said, a sharpness entering his voice.  “Do you doubt what I know?  You’re bleeding.  I can fix it.  Don't be an idiot.  Sit down here, next to Rodney, right now, or I swear I'll make you.”

Ronon raised his chin a moment, but did as he was told, sitting beside Rodney’s head.  

"Good," Beckett proclaimed.  He made a gesture toward Huxley, commenting, "I'll have a look at the rest of your lot when I'm done, but it looks like you received the worst of it, Ronon."

Ronon just grunted as he let Beckett checkout his cuts and bruises, the damage that the flying bits of Wraith had done.  The doctor did his work in silence as Ronon kept watch on the room, the sky, and occasionally glancing to McKay.

"How was it?" Beckett asked softly.

Ronon crinkled his brow.  "How was what?"

The doctor smiled slightly. "Firing that big gun."

To that, Ronon gave a nod.  "I liked it."

Quietly, someone cleared their throat nearby, and asked, “Ames?” 

Ronon and Beckett turned to find Albion on the next bench, she was half sitting in her attempt to see the Satedan.

“Lass, you’ll need to sit back,” Beckett told her firmly.  “You’ve been through an awful trauma and it’d be best if you…”

“Ames?” Albion asked again, her eyes on Ronon.  “He didn’t come back with you.”

Ronon turned, and stared forward as Beckett probed at a nasty laceration across his biceps.  “Didn’t make it,” he said finally, knowing that she would persist until she knew his fate.

“Oh,” she said softly, settling back on the bench.  For a moment or two, she was silent, and Beckett was left to his work, stitching up Ronon’s cuts as the Satedan kept stoically silent.  Then, in an almost dreamlike voice, she said, “It’s for the best.”

Beckett glanced to Ronon, seeing a satisfied expression.  Obviously the Satedan agreed with her pronouncement.

She continued in the same quiet voice, “The Wraith found us out in the fields.  Ames, Alleman and Zearing were with me as we surveyed the lands.  The Wraith surprised us.  They fed on us.  We didn’t stand a chance.”  Her voice had a hollow tone to it.  “We were dying. I remember, I remember, looking to the others, my friends, my dear friends, and seeing the terror of what they’d done to us.  I knew that we would soon be gone, but at least we’d be together.  Death was coming.”

“The Wraith came back at us, and I knew it was the end.  One touched Ames, and in my mind I said ‘goodbye’ to him.  But … but… the creature gave him back his life  – he was restored.  Ames was euphoric!”

She took a slow breath, and stated, “He begged them to restore me, he told them I was the governor of the town, that I was necessary, that they could have anything they wanted if they would return me to life.  The Wraith asked for the power source in trade, as proof that we trusted them.  They promised never to hurt us again if we would give them the device.”

Beckett continued his quiet work.  Ronon didn’t make a sound as his wounds were closed. 

Albion continued to speak, quietly, staring up at the open sky above the bench.  “Ames went to the town and returned with the power-source. He'd  promised the council that the Wraith would provide life to all.  We would be like the Ancestors.”

She closed her eyes, her voice a quiet whisper, “The Wraith came at us.  They went first to Alleman, and I was joyful, thinking he would be saved next, but they took him, took his life, reduced him to dust.  I wanted to scream, but it was as if my throat was closed.  Next was Zearing and I wanted to shout my sorrow.  And I was next.”

She drew a deep, shuddering breath and said, “I was resigned to go – to join Zearing and Alleman.  I would be with them and I wouldn’t be afraid.  The Wraith, that horrible beast, touched me.  I could feel my skin crawl.  Then it came.  It was a rush of power, of energy, of life.”  She held up her hands, as if she were remembering the sensation.  “It overpowered me, like a dozen sensations at once.  It was like a drug, but bitter, so bitter.”

“They took Zearing and Alleman.”   Her breath hitched.  “They took what was left of their lives to give me back mine.  And then, when that was done, they revealed the second part of their bargain.” She looked toward Beckett and Ronon.  “Give you up, or they’d take back what they’d given us.”

She sat up again, painfully, slowly, to look at Ronon.  “I am sorry.  I am so sorry.”  She eased herself down again and continued to look at the sky.

Ronon said nothing, but Beckett, sitting beside him, noted a strangely inscrutable expression cross the man’s face.  He wasn't sure that Ronon believed the woman.  Instead of offering the woman any sign of sympathy, the Satedan turned to Rodney, and laid a hand quietly on him, as if to assure himself that the scientist was still with them.

PART 17:  THWAP

John Sheppard loved to fly.

He loved flying more than just about anything.  Put him in the seat of an aircraft and he was happy.  He’d flown Wraith darts before.  He knew what he was getting into, but it didn’t stop him from being creeped out by the craft.

The ship just wasn’t “right”.

He still liked the flying part though.

There was little time to think about it.  Certainly, some of the Wraith in the fallen darts survived their crashes.  Most of the ships in the final attack had fallen far from them, but a dedicated Wraith could cross the distance quickly.

It was only a matter of time before the Hive was able to awaken from the EMP Pulse, repair itself, and go back into action.  Of course, if they were lucky, the wraith would suffocate without life support -- or maybe the ship would burn up if it was drawn toward the planet's gravity.  That would be cool.

So, there was little room for messing around.  He sent up a thank you to Radcliff and Woodward, Luther and Valeria for getting the Gate prepped so quickly.  The sooner they all left this ruined planet, the better.  He had to bring his people home.

‘Their’ dart had shaken off its stupor by the time he reached it again.  He jumped into the pilot seat, lowered the hood and was airborne in seconds.  Teyla was at the Gate by the time he reached it, looking a little wan.  Communicating with the Wraith always left her played-out and she moved with a muddled expression.

He landed long enough for Teyla and the Colo to attach the cables to the dart as best they could.

Would this even work?  How heavy did McKay say the Gate was?  Something about ‘damn heavy’ and ‘elephants’.  It would be one hell of a grunt.

So, once Teyla and the others were satisfied with the attachment, Sheppard told them to  “Step back.  In fact, why don’t you step WAY back?  Why don’t you jog toward the town a bit?”  He had nightmare visions of cables snapping, of friends cut in two, of the giant Gate rolling like a penny for miles.

Once they were clear, he activated the dart’s controls and said, “Here we go.”

He lifted off easily enough, but once the dart felt the weight at the ends of the cables, the engines fought.  He could hear the struggle, feel the ship tremble and curse at him.  The stressed materials screamed bloody murder as he pressed the ship upward.  The cables sang under stress.

“One end is lifting,” Teyla declared over the radio.

The dart pitched, the front dipping as he forced the ship upward.  He fought it, bringing it level.  The ship seemed to shriek at him, spewing hatred, but he jammed the controls upward, giving it no leeway.  Everything vibrated around him.

“John?” Teyla called anxiously.  “John, are you certain the ship will withstand this?”

It must have been making a hell of a sound from outside, too, he realized.

“John,” Teyla called again.  “It's destroying the ship!  Will you be safe?”

“I don’t give a crap if this destroys the ship.”  And at the moment, he didn’t quite care if he was safe either.  They had no time for pussyfooting around.  They needed to get Rodney back to Atlantis -- they needed to get everyone off the planet.  Any moment, they’d be overcome with Wraith. He was not going to leave his people stuck in this mess.  “All I want to do is…”  He put more power to the ship.  It wailed and shimmied in distress.  “… flip the damn GATE.”

Another burst of power and he felt the Gate come fully upright beneath him.  It rested for a moment on its edge, but the dart, maxed out on power, and without the full weight of the Gate holding it back, surged forward, slinging the Gate with it.

With wide eyes and a second from impact, John fought the controls, bringing the nose of the dart up just as the ship and the Gate belly-flopped into the ground with a THWAP.

He felt the impact in his bones, in every sinew of his body.  His ears rang and for a moment or two, the world dimmed.  His teeth hurt.  He couldn’t breathe.

“John!  John!”

Ow… yeah… hurt.  He felt crushed. He gasped again, the wind knocked out of him.

“John!”

He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his head.  He gagged and choked as he finally was able to draw in a lungful of air.  Smoke, thick foul smoke filled the cockpit.

He struggled to breathe.  The cockpit felt distorted, as if it had folded in on him.  Blindly, he felt about, and reached for the cabin release, and blowing the top off the maligned craft.

Fresh air reached him, but he coughed as the smoke kept billowing.  He struggled, trying to free himself.  The ship was mashed, deformed, and on fire – whether it was from the impact or the cruel use, Sheppard couldn’t be sure.  He just knew that he was having a hell of a time getting out, and that the flames were getting closer.

Hands reached for him.  Through the simmering clouds of smoke, he saw Teyla’s concerned face.  She grasped his arms and tugged. He twisted his foot one-way and flexed a leg and suddenly he could feel himself coming free. He crawled, working his way out of the mess.

Teyla pulled again, and he flopped out of the ship, falling almost on top of her as they collapsed into the bent wheat.  Clemmon and Gilbert were suddenly there, offering help, getting them to their feet and way from the shattered dart.  Sheppard hobbled, feeling aches and hurts all through his body.

Once out of the stench of the smoke, he turned.

The Gate didn’t look that much different.  It still lay flat on the ground, but this time, the chevrons were visible.  It faced a prefect concave copy of itself, indented into the soil.  

He’d managed it.

All they needed to do was detach the cables that connected it to the broken dart and wire it into the DHD to power it.  Might take some doing, but the hard part was over.

With a sigh of relief, Sheppard looked to Teyla and found her smiling at him.

“Time to get the hell out of here,” John declared, thankful and goddamn glad.  He couldn’t wait to get back with his team, make sure that they were all okay.  "Let's get everyone moving."

“How will we walk through the wormhole,” she asked and gestured to the strange position of the Gate.  “How will we do it without injuring …” she paused, taking in John’s appearance, “… without further injuring ourselves and the others.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” John told her, rolling one shoulder -- stopping quickly as the ache took control.  “We’ll work something out.”

------------------------------------------------------

The klaxon sounded as the chevrons illuminated on the stargate.  “Off-world activation,” the Canadian technician declared, and then a grin his face as he declared, “It’s Colonel Sheppard’s IDC!”

A happy chatter rose up around her in the gateroom.

Weir spun to face the event horizon, feeling a mountain of stress fall from her shoulders. Thank you, she thought.  Thank you.

She signaled to Chuck to lower the shield as she touched her radio.  “Colonel?” she called, worried and relieved at the same time. “We were unable to make contact.  What happened?”

“Had a bit of a problem with the Gate,” John drawled over the radio.

She smiled, grateful to hear him.  “Is that all?” she asked.

“Tornadoes, buildings falling on certain scientists, really big guns, Wraith, paralytic agents… that sort of thing.”

Weir stiffened, and asked, “Is everyone all right?”

There was a pause.  “We lost Radcliff and Woodward,” he said, his voice betraying his hurt even as he kept the words even.

Elizabeth sighed at the news, feeling a sorrow sweep over her. “Understood,” she said softly.

“And McKay’s a lot worse for the wear.  He’ll need the infirmary.  Hell, most of us will need a visit.” He sounded infinitely tired.

Weir nodded to Chuck, and the technician sent the message through to the infirmary.  A medical team would be there in a matter of moments.  “We’re ready,” Weir told him.

“Great.  We’re coming home,” Sheppard announced. “Ah, might be a bit unconventional.”

Weir frowned at the statement, and then looked in disbelief as Teyla came through the event horizon, rolling on her side and down the to the first step.  She stopped herself quickly and stood, looking toward Weir with a smile.  She looked a little battered, scratched and disheveled, but otherwise well – except for the crease of her forehead that told of a weariness.

She stepped out of the way for Beckett, who came through the same way.

Beckett climbed to his knees and called over the radio, “All right then, we’re through.  Send him over, nice and easy now.”

Rodney was the next one to roll through the opening.  He’d gone no further than a few inches before Teyla and Beckett, caught him.

Weir furrowed her brow, concerned.  McKay, bandaged and bruised, feebly lifted a hand as they maneuvered him.  The Marines in the gate room edged forward to help and they gingerly moved him out of the way.

“Careful... careful..." Beckett ordered the men as they helped move the scientist.  "Hang on there, Rodney," he told the bloodied and beaten man as they settled him out of the way.

"Rodney?" Weir called, astounded.  The scientist looked as if a house had been dropped on him.  She looked toward Beckett, alarmed.  "We have people on the way, Carson," she told him.

The doctor nodded gratefully and gave her a quiet smile, seeming glad to simply be back on familiar turf.  He gave Rodney a soft pat on the arm and the man made a quiet murmur.

"We are ready," Teyla announced.

Ronon came through next, followed by a cascade of tumbling packs and gear.  The Satedan was scraped, cut and bruised – with fresh bandages coming a little undone after his unconventional means of entering the gateroom.  He made a quick job of clearing the obstacles.  Then, he stood, a grim look on his face as he approached the event horizon.  "Done," he said over the radio.

“We’re sending them through,” Sheppard announced.

Weir watched in fascination, wondering what was going to happen next.  Her silent question was sadly answered when a form came through, wrapped in a quilt.  Ronon quickly caught the body, easing it down the steps.  When the Marine guards moved forward to help, Ronon gave them a sharp shake of the head to make them back off, and he placed the body on the opposite side of the gate from Rodney.

Beckett was talking to his people over the radio, issuing orders on what he needed when they arrived.

The Satedan glanced up to Weir before he returned to his place at the event horizon.  He touched his radio.  “Okay.” And the second body rolled in, wrapped in what must have once been a pretty wall hanging.  He eased the second body down to where the Marines stood near the first.

That done, Ronon announced, “We’re clear.”

Huxley rolled through, followed by Sheppard.  John stopped himself quickly and stood, with some effort as he cradled a strange looking weapon in his arms.  He glanced at McKay and the rest of his people, before turning to Weir and stating, “That was different.”

The two stood – Huxley cut and battered – Sheppard with healing scrapes, but standing as if every muscle in his body hurt.

Weir’s face screwed up in confusion.  “Why…?” she started.

Sheppard lifted a hand.  “Gate was on its back.”

“And, should I ask, how in did you manage to knock a stargate on its back?” Weir asked, exasperated.

“Hey!  Why do you think it was us?” Sheppard asked.  “Haven’t you ever heard of natural disasters?”

Weir cocked her head and gave him that look.

“Okay, so we were the ones that knocked it on its back, but don’t blame us for how it fell the first time!” Sheppard declared.

“And so, you rolled through?” Weir prompted.

“Once we figured out where the ‘bottom’ of the ring was, we thought the easiest way to go through was to lay down on the face of the Gate and roll over the edge and into the wormhole.”  Sheppard jammed thumb at Ronon, wobbling slightly at that movement.  “He wanted to take a run and jump.  You know, a cannonball.  Figured we saved him some broken bones with our idea.  Worked.”

Ronon shrugged and looked annoyed.

“And you were sure this would work?” Weir stated, not sounding convinced, watching as Beckett checked over his patient.

“We tried it out on the Colo first,” Sheppard explained smugly.  “Needed to get them off the planet because, in spite of everything, they didn’t deserve to be Wraith kibble.  We let one of the use a radio and started rolling them through.”  He smiled, pleased with himself.  “Sent them to a planet of their choice.  Radioed them to make sure we were using a good angle and that no one was dropping from the top of the Gate or something.  Figure we can pick up the radio later.”

With a sigh, he continued “Didn’t really have a lot of time to waste.  What with the Wraith about to come back at any moment, and the C4 about to go off.” When Weir raised her eyebrows, he explained, “Had to dispose of a couple things.  Make sure the Wraith didn’t get their hands on them.”

Beckett stood, stating, “And I’ll need to be checking in on some of the Colo, they’re still under my care.”

Weir nodded, "We'll send a team," she stated as she looked over the doctor.  The man was exhausted.  "You're going to get some rest."

Carson looked ready to fight her, but instead conceded with an, "Aye."

Returning her gaze to John, Weir wondered about the device in his grasp, but decided that she would ask more questions later.  They all looked like hell.  This wasn't the time for further questioning.

With a clatter and a bustle of activity, a gurney and a couple wheelchairs arrived with the medical teams. Under Beckett’s supervision, Rodney was quickly and carefully lifted to the first transport.

Rodney blinked blearily as he stared up at Beckett, seeming more asleep than awake. He smiled crookedly, perhaps recognizing the ceiling of Atlantis, then a panicked look crossed his face and he fought, trying to sit up.  “Wait, wait,” he rasped.

“It’s all right, Rodney,” Beckett said softly, pressing him back down.  “Calm down.”

“But…” McKay started, “Where’s…”

“We’re here,” Sheppard told him, stepping close enough for Rodney to see him.  “We made it back, Rodney.  Teyla and Ronon, too.”  He patted his friend lightly on the chest, and McKay’s eyes closed as he drifted back to sleep.

With a nod, Beckett directed his staff, and the gurney was wheeled away, back toward the infirmary.

When Sheppard and Ronon tried to follow, Beckett cut them off quickly and pointed to the two wheelchairs.  “You boys are getting a ride today,” he explained, his voice even and uncompromising.

“I can walk,” Sheppard declared.

“After you tangled with a tornado and then crashed a dart straight into the ground?  I think not,” Beckett countered. 

Weir gasped, asking, “What did you say?”

Sheppard waved away her concern.  “It’s nothing,” he told her.  “Nothing.”

Beckett kept talking.  “Colonel, you’re hardly steady on your feet and I won’t have you breaking bones on your way to the infirmary.  And don’t YOU try to get out of it!” he said, turning on Ronon. “After carryin' Rodney over half the planet, and all my work stitching you back to together, you’re getting a ride.”

Sheppard looked to Ronon, expecting a fight, but the big man knew better.  There was no point in combating Beckett in anything medical. The doctor always won.  The Satedan, like a well trained dog, settled into one of the chairs without another word.

Looking a little disgusted, Sheppard took the other, settling the gun in his lap.

Huxley stepped closer to Beckett.  “What about me?” he asked, holding his arms so that the worst of his scrapes were hidden.

“Son,” Beckett said with a smile. “You can walk.”

With that, the medic gave Sheppard a triumphant smile and started toward the infirmary.

Beckett turned, taking in the Athosian, who stood with her head bowed and her brow furrowed, the scrapes from her early encounter with the tornado were still visible.  “Teyla, lass, you’re coming, too.  I’ll give you something for that headache.  Everyone, now.”

Beckett started to the infirmary, with Teyla beside him and the two wheelchairs following, leaving Weir with the rest of the Gate Room staff to wonder what the hell just happened.

------------------------------------

John moved carefully through the corridors of Atlantis, feeling the strained muscles and aches from the crash landing, the lashing from the earlier encounter with the tornado.  All he wanted to do was sit in his quarters and relax -- and maybe take in a movie.

After all they’d been through, he figured he deserved it.  They’d discovered a powerful new weapon, defeated a Wraith Hive and its complement of darts, righted and flattened a Gate.

It was a pity they had to blow up the EMP Cannon, but they couldn’t allow it to fall into the hands of the Wraith.  He lost no sleep over blowing up the Wraith canister  – timers were helpful things, indeed.  With any luck, whatever was in that bomb would knock out the Wraith too – probably not, but they could always hope.

Yes, time to sit back and relax. 

The thing was, he realized that he could just as easily accomplish this goal in another location.  So he moved through the hallway, counting the steps, feeling every one of his bruises, until he reached the quarters that connected to the main lab.

McKay would enjoy ' The Blues Brothers'.  And, it would probably be better if the astrophysicist had company.  Someone should keep an eye on him if he was recovering from a head wound, right?

Beckett had been able to get a CT scan for McKay and checking him over with the Ancients’ scanners.  The CMO was finally relieved to discover no permanent damage – nothing that a few meds, bed rest, a pint or two of blood, sufficient hydration and a good meal couldn’t solve.   So, after keeping him for a day in the infirmary, and finding him coherent and irritated, the newly re-patched physicist was allowed to return to his room if he behaved himself.

Someone should check to make sure, Sheppard reasoned.

Sheppard lifted his hand to activate the chime at the door, but frowned when he heard a booming laugh and strange music.  With a mental nudge, he opened the door.

Apparently, he wasn’t the first one to come up with this idea.

McKay was sitting up in bed, on top of the covers, with a bunch of pillows shoved behind him to cushion his back and head.  He was still a little too pale, still bandaged and bruised, but infinitely better than he'd been on the planet.  Rodney’s expression pinched, showing annoyance that someone had opened his door, but the aggrieved expression melted when he realized who it was.

He offered Sheppard only a tilt of the head.  John accepted that as his invitation.

Ronon had pulled the desk chair up beside Rodney and was using the bed for his footrest.  McKay didn’t look too happy about having Ronon’s boots beside him.  Teyla had moved another chair into the room – by the look of the seat, it was the one that usually occupied the hall outside of McKay’s quarters – and she sat with her legs curled under her.  Somehow, she'd managed to get her hands on some popcorn.  She held it in her lap as she smiled up at Sheppard.

Ronon and McKay were both bandaged and bruised.  Teyla still looked rather spent. The movie continued to play on McKay’s laptop on the nearby desk.

Ronon laughed again, boisterously, and Sheppard caught a glimpse of flying monkeys tearing apart a scarecrow.

When Sheppard gave McKay a strange look, the scientist jabbed at thumb in Ronon’s direction.  “His choice,” he said long-sufferingly.

Sheppard held up his DVD.  “It's 106 miles to Chicago, we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark and we're wearing sunglasses.”

Ronon looked away from the screen long enough to check the cover of the movie.  “We’re on a mission from God!” he quoted seriously, and returned his attention to the laptop’s screen where a strange man/animal and a tin creature were smashing bits of straw back into the scarecrow.  He laughed again.

Sheppard shook his head and moved further into Rodney's room.  He still looked sick, Sheppard realized.  He still had a headache no doubt, and and hadn't regained any of his boundless energy.  With Teyla and Ronon sitting on either side of the bed, he also appeared rather trapped in place.  Sheppard grinned.

"Hey," he said, remembering.  He pulled something from his pocket and pitched it at the scientist.

Rodney fumbled it at his chest, frowning as he tried to read the box. "Toothpaste?"

"You said you were out," Sheppard responded.  "We wouldn't want you to walk around here and not be minty fresh."  He gave McKay's feet a thwap, forcing the man to move them over, and Sheppard found a place at the foot of the bed.  

Rodney grumbled and set the tube of toothpaste on his bedside table.

Teyla, looking more relaxed than she had since she connected with the Wraith, handed Sheppard a bowl of popcorn after he was settled.  He took a handful and shoved the bowl at Ronon.

“Hey,” McKay cried.  “What about me?  I’m the one that’s really hurt.  The rest of you got off easy.”

Ronon took a massive handful of popcorn and pushed the bowl back at Sheppard who grabbed more, and finally, with a look of reluctance, passed it over to Rodney.

The Canadian took the bowl, with a scowl, and settled it on his lap, determined to keep it in his possession for a while.

He looked better, John realized -- still pale and a bit unsteady.  Beckett had ordered him to take it easy for the next few days – which for McKay usually meant he would try to work 12 hour days instead of the regular 16 to 20 hours.

It was a rarity that Rodney would simply remain in his room without some sort of project to keep him occupied.

Sheppard gazed at Teyla and Ronon, knowing why they’d come here, understanding why the laptop was currently being used for ‘movie night’.  He recognized that Teyla had brought a DVD, too.  “The Princess Bride” was tucked beside her, to wait its turn.

Ronon laughed again as the Wicked Witch of the West’s green face filled the screen and Teyla smiled, amused at how much the Satedan enjoyed the show.  McKay did his best to bogart the bowl of popcorn, but Teyla was able to free it from his grasp with little more than a smile.

And Sheppard knew the real reason why they’d all ended up here.  It wasn’t just duty to their friend.  It was just nice to be together, without doom hanging over their heads.  It was nice to be home.  There was no place like it.

Sheppard settled back, cozying closer to McKay’s feet to annoy him, to make him give up an inch or two of space.  McKay complained.  Ronon told him to stuff it – he was trying to watch the movie.

It was good.  It was rather nice.

The door chimed and opened, revealing Beckett with what looked like a pizza.  He stood, stunned, in the doorway.  “Oh,” he stated.  “I didn’t know you had company.”

McKay looked flustered.  “I didn’t invite them,” he grumbled.

“We don’t need an invitation,” Sheppard stated.  “What’s yours is ours.”  And he stood and reached out toward Beckett’s pizza, taking it from his care.  How did Carson get his hands on one of those when it wasn’t even pizza night in the Mess?

Carson smiled, looking rather happy, and joined the party, dragging another of the hallway chairs into the room – filling what spare space was left.  Ronon laughed at the poor plight of Dorothy.

They tore into the pizza and the movie played on.

Artwork by Helix Nebula

THE END

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