"You want to go where?
"M46 2NS. You know, desert world."
Dr. Elizabeth Weir rounded the large triangular table in the meeting room, and sat down to stare at Major Sheppard, who was doing his best to look both guileless and bored. "The world with endless sand, no food supplies, no indigenous life whatsoever. The planet you were at just five days ago and vowed never to visit again? Why would you want to go there now?"
"Target practice."
Weir arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
Sheppard shifted slightly in his chair, assuming a less than official military posture as he picked at a non-existent loose thread on his long-sleeved black shirt. "Well, Teyla is joining the team, and I'd say McKay could probably use a refresher course but I don't think he's handled a P-90 before. There's really no place on Atlantis that we can blast off a P-90 on full auto without ricochet or risking some sort of damage. We could shoot off the lower deck on the water, but there's that's ricochet factor again."
"And how long would this trip take?" said Weir.
Sheppard shrugged his shoulders. "A few hours, just back and forth. We can deal with any maintenance issues here on Atlantis."
"Yes," agreed Weir. "I don't think stripping down a gun on a planet full of sand is a very good idea."
1. TARGET PRACTICE
"I don't know if this is a good idea, sir."
Sheppard made a face at Ford's cautionary statement, readjusting his grip on the heavy item the two men were holding up between themselves. "It's not like anyone will miss it."
“Major, you're ready to proceed.” Grodin's calm British accent echoed over the communications system into the cavernous area that housed both the control center and the Stargate. After a quick overview by the MALP, Sheppard's team got the okay to proceed through the large circle.
"See?" Sheppard smiled as he motioned for the rest of the team, Dr. Rodney McKay and Teyla Emaggen, to enter the gate.
"Major. What is that?"
Weir's voice sliced through the air, over the odd watery noise that the gate itself made. Ford halted instantly, his actions no doubt honed from years of obeying his commanding officer. Sheppard, on the other hand, nearly stumbled as he stopped abruptly, cursing under his breath as he pulled one hand off the wood. He almost got stabbed by a splinter - too late to think about bringing gloves. He assumed an innocent expression and turned around. Weir gazed down on his team from the control area. It wasn't that she looked unhappy or anything. She just had that look that made him wonder if she was tapping her foot like some parent catching the kids doing something they shouldn't.
"It's a target."
With Ford's help, he stood up the piece of wood. Six by three feet, the slab was a bit rough on the edges as it was actually half of a side of a huge crate that had contained supplies for Atlantis. Fortunately part of the equipment they'd brought to this galaxy had contained items such as axes and machetes; all of which had been quite handy to split off the section of crate.
Weir's incredulous expression said it all, and then some.
Sheppard frowned. "What?"
Somebody behind Weir laughed. No, they snickered. The disrespectful attitude was catching as Sheppard caught a few more strains of laughter rippling around the control area. Even Weir seemed hard pressed not to react in the same manner as she studied the hand-drawn figure on the wood.
"Hey, you brought me here for my flying skills," protested Sheppard with a hurt look. "Not my artistic abilities."
Weir finally succumbed to the pressure. "Well, thank God for that, or else we'd all be doomed," she laughed.
"Is everybody a critic?" muttered Sheppard. So what if the figure he'd slapped on the wood was an approximation of the human form? So what if he'd drawn a warped happy face on it?
"Good grief.” McKay came around to study the handiwork. "My cat could have done a better job."
"My other option," Sheppard said as he motioned for Ford to grab the other end of the board, "was to stick you in a flak vest, Rodney, as a target."
"What?" McKay said in horror.
Sheppard grinned in delight. "Just kidding." Heading toward the watery illusion of the gate, he told Weir that they'd return in a couple hours.
2. NOT AS EASY AS IT SEEMS
Sheppard kicked his boot against the base of the first board, which now buried a foot in the deep sand. Ford was busy setting up the second target about twenty feet away. What Weir didn't know wouldn't hurt her, and he figured that she might get a little antsy if she'd known he'd grabbed an entire side of the crate instead of just half. While he realized that their supplies were finite, somehow he didn't see that they would need the wood to re-crate anything, and if they had to resort to burning wood to keep warm, then they'd definitely be in deep trouble.
'Doug' would withstand quite of bit of auto shot action before he'd get knocked down. Sheppard had pushed enough sand up against the backside of the wood to ensure that.
The other target – 'Bob,' which had been carried right behind 'Doug' - would have a much longer lifespan.
"Are we ready yet?"
McKay's annoyed shout carried over the hundred feet of land from the gate to where Sheppard stood. There was no way that Sheppard was going to situate the wood facing near the gate, having heard enough horror stories about broken DHDs and stranded SG teams. Plus there were some great medium-sized dunes of sand right behind the targets to absorb any stray bullets.
Sheppard squinted through his sunglasses at the scientist who was sitting in the shade of the massive circular Stargate. In fact, that was the only shade within a hundred miles of their location, save for miniscule half-inch patches of shade from rocks when the sun went down at dusk. High noon was over, and fortunately the temperatures wouldn't hit past 90 degrees Fahrenheit for the rest of the day. However, they weren't going to stick around for the evening hours. He'd had enough experiences freezing in desert situations in the past that he didn't need to listen to all of Grodin's dire meteorological reports on that topic.
McKay made some impatient hand gesture in the distance, which Sheppard chose to ignore. While the scientist had more than proven his bravery in that debacle with the energy creature, Sheppard was still a little leery about putting a P-90 in the man's hands. A scientist with a gun in hand was scarier than a scientist with a nuclear weapon. Scientists knew about designing missiles, bombs and whatnot, but they didn't go into the field and aim the missile or drop the bomb. The military did. Scientists weren't forced to kill another human being in a kill or be killed situation. Soldiers were. While he knew without a doubt that McKay had been willing to sacrifice himself to save the base, he had no idea if McKay would be able to shoot another person to save himself or the team.
Teyla, on the other hand, he trusted implicitly. Although Sheppard had spent virtually his entire life lead by rules and regulations, he'd also let his gut feelings guide him. That was one of the reasons he was now on an alien world with pumpkin orange sand and light yellow skies that gave everybody a sallow complexion, rather than back on Earth, flying choppers in a battle zone in the Middle East. Teyla's devotion to her people was unwavering, and he felt that she would give the same devotion to being part of his team. He couldn't quantify his feelings in demonstrable actions at this point, but he was going with them. He knew that those instincts aggravated Dr. Weir to some degree, but so be it.
"Ready on my end, sir."
Ford had trudged through the tiny waves of sand and stood a couple feet away. His hands rested on the butt of the P-90 attached to his vest. He wore his ever-present cap and squinted at the gate and the two people standing in the shade. “Think we should have brought along Stackhouse and Markham on this jaunt, sir?”
Those two sergeants had been the first to go on missions in the puddle jumper. Well, first past the initial rescue mission to the Wraith's world. Sheppard wanted the first few trips to be military in origin, just in case they ran into more Wraith. Plus those missions had been a good training exercise for the two men. They would be heading up the second SGA team for off-world missions, and flying a puddle jumper was going to be mandatory in some situations.
“I think the less people in the line of fire, the better,” responded Sheppard.
Ford's devil-may-care grin evaporated. “You don't think they're that bad a shot, do you?”
“No.” Sheppard shook his head. “As long as we stand behind McKay, I think we'll be safe.”
“I think that's a given, sir.”
Sheppard waved for McKay and Teyla to come over to the targets. McKay waved back. “McKay, get over here,” shouted Sheppard. Teyla was already heading their way. McKay grudgingly got up off the sand and proceeded out of the shelter of the soothing shade into the heat of the omnipresent sun.
“Is this going to take long?” McKay asked as soon as he arrived.
“Why?” asked Sheppard. “You have a date?”
“No,” said McKay defensively. He continued to dust grains of sand off his pants. “It's hot. Why did we have to wear these vests? They're black. They absorb heat, at a rate of—“
“We wear them because they're the uniform we're going to wear on off-world missions,” cut in Sheppard. “While I'm sure you've stuffed your pockets with power bars, we carry ammo and supplies, and the P-90 hooks here.” Sheppard pointed toward the zipper clip on his own vest.
“It's uncomfortable and,” said McKay in an abrupt tone, “My pockets are not stuffed with power bars.”
“You're right.” Sheppard studied the bulging vest pockets on the scientist. “You've got chocolate, too.”
McKay glared at him. It was that same intense look Sheppard had seen McKay give some recalcitrant piece of technology the other day.
“Think it will melt in this heat?” said Ford.
Sheppard shrugged. “Nah, we had bars in Afghanistan that could go through a furnace before they even started to stick to the wrapper.”
“These are … interesting … designs.” Teyla was looking at his handiwork and, Sheppard knew, his artistic renderings.
“I think they're early Picasso.” McKay diverted his attention to the board behind Sheppard and gestured dramatically at the face. “See this eye? Well, I think it's an eye. Could be someone just wasn't paying attention as the eyes aren't even on a horizontal line and one is bigger than another and well, these teeth. This wouldn't be any chance be … a Wraith?”
“Yes,” admitted Sheppard.
“Hopefully this didn't take long to draw.” McKay crossed his arms, the beginning of a smirk appearing on his face.
“No, it took about 30 seconds with a magic marker,” said Sheppard, studying the lines. Okay, it wasn't really all that great, but… “Quite honestly, given more time I could draw a much better image as I had that lady Wraith's face just inches from mine not so long ago, and I can tell you for someone who was probably a few hundred years old or something she had a pretty good complexion but her hair looked like she dyed it in raspberry Kool-Aid, she needed major dental work, and her pupils looked just like a cat's, so if we ever go back to Earth, a cat will definitely not be my first choice of pet.” McKay's smirk deflated. “Meanwhile…” Sheppard pointed at three X's drawn on the 'Wraith's' chest. “This is where I shot her through, back to front, and it barely made a dent in her. Of course, she was sucking the life out of Colonel Sumner at the time.
“Anyway, ladies…” Sheppard nodded slightly to Teyla, at the same time dismissing those nasty memories of his encounter with the magenta-headed Wraith. “And … doctor. We're here to learn how to use this weapon against the Wraith. Will it kill them? Don't think so, but we need to make a dent in them so we can get home in one piece, and preferably, at the same age as when we left the base.”
Sheppard waved his hand at Ford. “All yours.”
Ford smiled like a used car salesman ringing up the final sale while he held his weapon up. “What we have here is the FN P-90 submachine gun, a blowback operated, selective fire weapon. It's fed from 50-round magazines made of translucent polymer.” Ford held up the clip. “The P-90 is capable of firing 900 rounds per minute, which is why we carry extra clips in our vests. You can blow a 50-bullet clip in 3.3 seconds at full auto, but the P-90 has a two-stage trigger so you can fire single or full-auto.” He quickly demonstrated that feature.
“The spent cartridges eject downward, so don't wear sandals otherwise you'll toast your toes,” Ford grinned. “The gun also features a day reticle and a low-light reticle optical sight, the latter's for low-light situations and is automatically adjustable. We're using a standard SS190 round, which can go through a car door as well as people, or Wraiths. Once you get the handle of it, you can break down and clean the P-90 in under four minutes. Effective range is 200 meters. Controls are ambidextrous, and the safety's located right below the trigger. We've also got a laser scope, actually we have both visible and infrared, and the optional sound suppressor. Recoil is minimal. Any questions?”
McKay raised his hand. “Yes. Are we ever going to shoot it?”
Sheppard resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes. In fact, we're going to demonstrate the full auto feature now.”
He had the group back up several yards, then motioned to Ford. “Lieutenant, just top off Doug.”
Ford looked from the target to Sheppard. “Isn't this Bob?”
“No.”
“You sure?” Ford looked doubtful.
“Yeah, Bob has four fingers on one hand.”
“Ah.”
“Does it make a difference?” McKay asked.
“Of course,” said Sheppard smoothly. “Different medical plans.”
McKay's mouth just dropped open, but no response was forthcoming, which was precisely what Sheppard wanted. Less talk, the faster this all went, and the quicker they could all get home. He also wanted to get that blasted sand out of his boots. It was a lot grainer than earth sand, and he could feel the granules working through his socks to the skin beneath.
Ford sprayed his P-90 across the top of target. Splinters flew, and Doug's 'head,' severed at the neck, toppled to fall behind the large plank.
“Now, it would be ideal if we could just do that to the Wraith,” said Sheppard, “but they have this tendency to run around and shoot at us. Conceivably you could decapitate a Wraith if you fired long enough but we have to conserve ammo to a degree, plus it would leave any of us too vulnerable.
“Okay, Teyla, give it a shot,” said Sheppard, ignoring the bad pun and the pithy look McKay gave him.
She paid attention as Ford ran over the features again; she knew how to switch off the safety, how the trigger system worked. Sheppard watched her with an astute eye. She held the weapon well, considering how little she'd had the chance to handle it. Ford explained precisely what recoil was as it wouldn't do to have that as a surprise. She took careful aim and fired. Doug spewed off countless tiny splinters and then his upper chest joined his head on the sand.
“Powerful.” Teyla was somewhat astounded at the weapon she held in her hands.
“Oh yeah.” Sheppard smiled broadly. “And this is one of the easiest guns to use. Just aim and spray. Okay, safety back on.”
Sheppard turned his eyes toward McKay, who looked both excited and yet a little apprehensive. Sheppard cocked his head at Ford, who got the hint. Being commander meant not having to do all the dirty work.
Ford began giving instructions to McKay, who had also listened but who, as a scientist, seemed to have endless questions about the operation of the gun. Even Sheppard hadn't had that many questions when he'd had that weapon dumped in front of him for the first time many years ago. It seemed that several long minutes had passed before McKay decided to aim the weapon at what was left of poor Doug. Glancing to his left, Sheppard noticed that even Teyla, who had the patience of a saint, seemed exasperated by the passage of time.
“What part do I aim at?” McKay asked of no one.
“Just cut Doug in half,” said Sheppard. “Think of him as someone who stole a grant from you.”
McKay swung around. “Very funny.”
Sheppard instantly backed away, placing himself in front of Teyla. “Aim the gun DOWN!”
McKay was startled, but quickly obeyed and pointed the weapon down at the sand.
Sheppard stepped forward and brusquely snatched the weapon from the scientist's hand. Thank God the safety was still on. Seeing that gun aimed at him had honestly scared him more than when the Wraith had pinned him to the table like a doomed bug. “Do you realize what could have happened if the safety hadn't been on and you'd pulled the trigger?”
“I, uh. Yes,” replied McKay meekly.
“Besides cutting me in two, you would have killed Teyla as well. Those slugs at this close range go through a human body like a hot knife through butter. Do you understand?” It was cruel to point out the facts so harshly, and he knew his anger was born partly of the shock of being so close to getting killed by accident, but he saw no other way to handle it.
McKay looked suitably cowed, mortified even. Teyla and Ford waited for whatever would come next, which meant it was up to him. Taking a deep breath, Sheppard handed the weapon back to McKay. “Ford, let's try this one more time. McKay, just face forward.”
“I don't know—“
Sheppard cut him off. “McKay, you have to learn how to use it. Just do NOT turn around.”
McKay nodded. It took a minute or so before he got the confidence back to fire the weapon. The target split, but more at a diagonal cut. Which was fine if you wanted to kneecap a Wraith.
Sheppard and Ford took turns in instructing Teyla and McKay on the full auto feature of the weapon. Sheppard finally relaxed and began enjoying it more when he realized his shouting at McKay had worked. The scientist was listening, was keeping the safety on except when he was actually firing, but he was still reticent in using the weapon. It might have been the dressing down, but Sheppard now realized that McKay seemed truly uncomfortable in using the P-90. He decided to break his own training pattern, letting McKay bow out of the how to run and use the gun scenario. It wasn't worth the risk at this point in time, and McKay did know how to use the 9mm in his holster, so he wouldn't be completely defenseless.
Once Doug was nothing more than splinters and kindling scattered across the ripples of sand, Sheppard called the auto firing session to a halt.
Now it was onward to Bob who would, sadly, be shot to pieces, one single bullet at a time.
Looking at his watch, and the drifting sun overhead, he realized they had about two hours left before sunset commenced, and no matter what, they were getting out of there before that happened.
There was no need to get close to Bob. The whole idea of single shot was to shoot from a distance and take out the target. In essence, be a sniper. He didn't expect he'd have to ask Teyla or McKay to perform this grisly task, but as someone said, forearmed is forewarned, or something like that. At least this session was going to be a lot less risky, which is why he saved it for last.
McKay stared at the target. “It does have four fingers.”
“All aliens have four fingers.” Sheppard said simply.
“I have never encountered any race of beings with four fingers.” Teyla gave him a bemused gaze.
“Uh, in cartoons,” corrected Sheppard. “I'll have to show you some when we get back.”
“More of your videos?”
“Yeah, well, we folks from Earth are really fond of videos,” said Sheppard.
“Major, who do you want to go first?”
Ford was eager to blow Bob to bits. Sheppard was sure of that. Plus he'd also noticed the young lieutenant shaking his feet from time to time. The dreaded sand creep. Next time he went to any world with sand he planned to duct tape his pants to his boots.
“Well, I'll take the honors on this one.”
He made sure McKay and Teyla watched carefully as he switched the P-90 to single shot. That was the easy part. The hard part was aiming and hitting the target. He was only thirty feet away, the same distance he realized, as he'd been to the female Wraith when he shot her multiple times. Damn, it was hard to forget the vicious look in her eyes after he'd shot her straight through. He shook off the mental image, then pulled the trigger and one of Bob's eyes suddenly let light through.
“It's just a matter of aiming and pulling the trigger,” said Sheppard. “McKay, just point at his head.”
Both Ford and Sheppard flanked him on either side, just a step behind. Sheppard couldn't help but take that precaution. McKay seemed to be easily distracted, which could be a fatal flaw with a weapon in hand.
McKay pulled the trigger.
“Ouch,” said Ford.
“That is not Bob's head.” Sheppard just gawked at the new hole in the target.
“Well,” said Ford. “It is, uh, never mind.”
McKay lowered his weapon as a look of total disgust swept over his face. “Oh, that is just so gross.”
“Gross?” repeated Sheppard.
“You know exactly what I mean,” said McKay. “I can't believe you said that.”
“I didn't say that,” argued Sheppard. “Ford did.”
“Oh, both your minds are in the gutter.”
“What does his head have to do with McKay shooting the target in the crotch?” asked Teyla.
The question had been very innocent, but Sheppard suddenly became keenly aware of just how much earth slang was tossed about without anybody explaining it to the Athosians. In this case, he was not going to be the one to explain the precise definition of that word. And obviously, judging from the mortified expressions on both McKay and Ford, neither of them was willing to do it either. Had the temperature abruptly gone up a few degrees, or was he actually embarrassed about this mess?
The silence was deafening. Damn, couldn't this planet at least have crickets or high winds? “So.” Teyla's voice broke his thoughts. “I can only assume that head has something to do with the male anatomy. You all have the same self-conscious expressions I have seen on teenage boys in my culture.”
Maybe he should have let McKay shoot him.
“Uh, we can explain this back at base. Maybe Dr. Weir can—“ Oh God, what was he thinking?! Sure, go up to Weir and ask her to explain to Teyla, woman to woman, about certain sexual practices among people from Earth. Oh yeah, that would sit real well with the doctor. Besides the fact that gossip flew like mad on the base, the next thing he knew he'd get called on the carpet for corrupting the morals of alien cultures. Maybe he'd let Beckett explain it. Yeah, it had to do with anatomy. That was medical.
“Oh damn,” said Ford. “I mean, uh, damn, sir.”
Thank god.
Sheppard turned to look at what Ford was upset about. The target had toppled over.
“Doug never did that.”
Ford could read him like a book. It took several minutes, but the younger man had repositioned the target back into the sand and came back.
“Okay, Teyla,” said Sheppard. “Just aim and shoot Bob in the … uh, skull.”
“Yup, skull,” repeated McKay.
“I agree,” said Ford brightly.
“I will aim right between the eyes on his head,” Teyla said with a mirthful quality to her voice.
Damn, she was not going to let them forget.
Bob's other eye vanished. Not quite between the eyes, but a helluva good shot for her first try. Of course, her previous weapons had been spears and bows and arrows, all quite efficient, and all requiring great skill.
Should he let McKay take another stab at it? It couldn't get any worse. Sheppard motioned for the scientist to take another shot. After all, they had at least 45 minutes till they hit their two-hour mark.
Remarkably, the heart shot McKay was aiming for turned Bob into a three-digit cartoon character now. His second shot was a gut shot, which meant while he aimed high, he struck low. Of course, maybe shooting the family jewels off a Wraith might stop them in their tracks. At least you'd be able to hear them scream when you hit them. That is, if they had that particular equipment.
Thud.
Sheppard was interrupted from his bizarre thoughts when he heard Bob topple over again. “Ford…”
“Yes, sir.”
Ford's enthusiasm had definitely dwindled from just a couple hours before. The lieutenant once again stuck the large board into a standing position in the sand and returned.
Sheppard checked his weapon, aimed and… “Oh, for Pete's sake.”
Bob wobbled briefly, then toppled over again.
Ford heaved a tangible sigh of disgust.
“I'll do it,” said Sheppard. “After all, if I could get Doug to stay erect, I can do it with Bob.”
McKay let out a howl of raucous laughter while Ford immediately covered his mouth before he said something to his commanding officer that he'd no doubt regret. Sheppard stopped in his tracks, the very impact of that one word bouncing around in his mind. He smacked himself in the forehead. “Oh god, just shoot me,” he muttered.
“Is that an order, sir?” laughed Ford.
“No, that is not an order,” snapped Sheppard, picking up his pace toward the target that he would set straight in the sand. No, not straight, standing up. Oh god, there wasn't a single word that just didn't sound like a double-entendre from an R-rated movie. And dignity? Wasn't that something a leader was supposed to possess? At this rate, his dignity was vanishing like water down a drain.
The further away he got from his team, the less he thought about it, though. He stared at Bob, watching sand slowly creep through the punched-out eyeholes. Why the hell did the board keep falling over? They'd shot the crap out of Doug and he'd never toppled once. The sand looked the same. Maybe Ford just hadn't packed enough sand behind the wood. Sheppard grabbed the board and pushed it in the coarse sand. Yup, went down into the grains just like Doug did. He shoved some sand up against the back. Nice and solid, like an emergency dam he'd once help assemble out of sandbags around a flooded air force base.
Sheppard was only ten feet from his team when everybody started grinning like idiots and looking past him. Sheppard turned. A few choice expletives went through his mind, but he chose not to utter them aloud. Bob was flat on his back - again.
He already had so much sand in his boots that it didn't matter now. He dug away at the coarse granules with his heel, carving out a trench, then shoved the wood into the sand. He piled even more sand in back of it. Well, screw that. This time he got behind the wood, placed his hands on top and pushed down with all his might. The board abruptly sunk into the sand, leaving it several inches below his head.
What the hell?
Sheppard looked up at Ford, who looked back at him with the same expression of puzzlement – then his entire world exploded to black.
3. BOB BITES BACK
Ford hadn't done very well in covering his own laughter while Major Sheppard stalked back to the prone target with grim determination. Darned if he knew why it kept falling over. The sand was the same everywhere all around them. Just like an endless beach, gentle ripples of tiny grains, which your feet sank into so easily, except that there was no water anywhere. It was really annoying that there they were on Atlantis, surrounded by just so much water, and no one could take a simple swim. But at the rate they were going, they could start their own beach with all the sand that was accumulating in their clothing.
McKay, who had finally stopped laughing after Sheppard's inadvertent 'erect' remark, was standing there with a very smug expression on his face. Ford saw that the target Sheppard had just stood up had fallen over again. Teyla laughed at the miserable expression on Sheppard's face. Ford hadn't realized she had such a nice laugh, but hoped she never laughed at him like that.
The Major went back to the board, this time exhibiting none of the patience he had shown beforehand. Sand flew around his feet as he kicked out a deeper depression in which he jammed the wood down. The Major then placed both hands on top of the board and threw all his weight on to it. Surprisingly, the wood sank down a lot deeper than it ever had before.
“Never did that for me,” said Ford.
McKay stared, his grin evaporating. “Maybe he hit a pocket.”
“Of what?” said Teyla.
“Air?” suggested McKay. “It doesn't look like there'd be any kind of volcanic activity around here.”
Ford gazed curiously at Sheppard, who looked over at him.
All hell broke loose.
The board ejected violently from the sand, striking Sheppard in the jaw and propelling him backward to land spread-eagle in the sand like a broken rag doll.
“MAJOR!” All three team members ran toward Sheppard, desperately trying to reach him before the board, which had landed precariously on its bottom edge, could fall over. Too late. The wood landed with a sickening thud right on top of Sheppard.
Ford and Teyla reached the Major at the same time, yanking the board off him and tossing it aside.
Blood streamed from Sheppard's nose, and there was a raw mark on his chin where he'd been struck. Ford quickly checked for a pulse.
“He's not…?”
Ford looked across at McKay, who had knelt down next to Teyla. Worry etched deep lines into the man's face.
“Got a pulse.” Ford took in a steadying breath.
“What happened?”
“How should I know?” Ford shot back at McKay. He quickly surveyed the surrounding area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary – as ordinary as it could get on an alien planet – and he had no idea what could have caused the board to shoot out of the sand like it had. He diverted his attention back to Sheppard. “Must be a concussion. Hopefully nothing worse.”
“Worse? What? Broken neck? Fractured skull?” worried McKay.
“I have seen much worse,” said Teyla. She began carefully checking Sheppard's neck. “One of our people was once struck by a tawan on a hunt. It lifted him up over its head, threw him 15 feet into a tree, yet he survived with nothing more than a headache and a healthy respect for the animal.”
“Tawan?” said Ford.
“A large animal, four legs, with antlers that stretch across as its head as long as you are tall,” she explained.
“Sounds a like big deer,” said McKay.
“Or moose,” said Ford.
A moan of pain broke the dialogue. “He is awakening,” said Teyla.
“Major?” said Ford hopefully.
Sheppard didn't seem capable of coherent dialogue. During his career, Ford had seen people with concussions so he didn't expect much of any conversation in the first minute, but he did worry that the board's impact could have easily cracked the Major's jaw.
“I can't detect any damage.” Teyla knelt back when Sheppard, still groaning from the pain, put his hands to his battered face.
“Should we move him?” asked McKay.
“I'd rather wait till we know what's wrong,” said Ford.
“Look, I can go back through the gate for help. Get Beckett and a medical team,” McKay suggested quickly. “Or we can put him on the board and, uh….”
Ford shifted his gaze from his prone commander to McKay, who had abruptly stopped talking. He hadn't thought it possible for McKay to look more worried than he had a minute ago, but he was surprised. Following McKay's troubled gaze, all he saw was an endless vista of orange sand.
“What?”
“Where's the board?”
“It's right over—“ Ford stopped. Both he and Teyla had tossed it past Sheppard's feet, landing just a yard away. Now, it was gone.
“Did it sink in the sand?”
McKay turned to Teyla. “Sink? That doesn't make much sense.”
“Neither did what the board did,” she replied sharply.
Ford looked around, his own senses on full alert. Had all the sand drifted in the short time they'd spent next to the Major? Or was there someone else on the planet with them? But where would they hide, and why wouldn't they have seen them? A glint of reflected sunlight struck him in the eyes. He spotted a pair of sunglasses several feet away. He retrieved them, stuffing them in a vest pocket. If there was one thing he knew he'd remember from this incident, it would be watching those glasses fly off the Major's face in a bizarre slow-motion fashion, just twirling up in the air. A friend who had been in a car accident said he'd seen the headlight sheer off his car in just the same manner, as though he'd been trapped in a freeze-frame in a movie.
Sheppard uttered his first lucid word. “Dark.”
“Yes,” replied Teyla. “You have your hands over your eyes.” She gently pulled his hands away, a task easily accomplished, as he was still weak from the shock of the blow. Ford doubted that Sheppard would make it back to the gate under his own power.
Blood from his damaged nose had smeared across half of his face, making him look far worse than before. Opening his eyes, Sheppard just stared blankly at the sky.
“Major. Can you see?” said Ford.
Sheppard squinted, then shut his eyes again.
“Major?” asked Teyla.
“Yellow?”
“Yes, the sky is yellow and the sand is orange and we're on an alien world,” added McKay.
Sheppard groaned at the explanation and put a hand over his eyes again, trailing the blood even further. “Head ... hurts.”
“You got hit pretty hard, sir.”
“What?”
“That board you named Bob shot right out of the ground like a piece of bread ejected from a toaster,” said McKay.
There was dead silence for a moment. Ford realized that was a pretty accurate description of what had happened, although he wouldn't have put it that way.
“Who's Bob?” moaned Sheppard. “And why'd he hit me with a toaster?”
McKay shook his head in mock disgust. “Well, there's a few million brain cells gone.”
“Give him a break, doctor.” Ford began checking through his vest for any medical supplies, which was basically antiseptic packs and Band-Aids. All pretty worthless in this situation. “Have you ever been concussed?”
“No.”
“One is often confused after a blow to the head,” added Teyla. She shifted her position, using her body to cast a shadow over Sheppard. A good idea, Ford realized, as the sun's heat would just escalate Sheppard's misery.
Ford might have been worried at the bizarre remark if hadn't known about concussions and that, even when Sheppard was fully alert, he'd already made strange remarks. Comments like that had definitely irritated Colonel Sumner, left some of the career military personnel on the base wondering just who was in command, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary.
However, McKay had made sense. That wood would make a decent stretcher. Lying prone, even if he was being carried, was the best way to get the Major back to base with a minimum of misery, or inflicting more injury.
“Teyla,” said Ford. “Keep an eye on the Major.” She nodded. “McKay, you're with me. We need to find that board.”
“And where do you think it is?”
“Under the sand.” Ford couldn't understand how any person could maintain such a degree of sarcasm all the time, but McKay could do it. It seemed to be his normal personality. Pushing that thought aside, Ford continued poking around in the sand. It couldn't be buried that deep. He noticed McKay wasn't helping.
“Doctor?” he said in best authoritative tone.
“While I realize that we've done no scientific surveys on this world, because the first excursion was purely military, we have no idea of what lies underneath the surface.” McKay crossed his arms across his chest in a less than defiant gesture. “I don't think it's very smart to stick a hand into whatever sent that board flying.”
“You said something about volcanic activity?” Ford found a small rock. Not at all useful, unless he wanted to toss it at McKay's head to knock some common sense into him.
“Well, yes, in some instances you could hit a vent of superheated steam, like a geyser, and that could have propelled the board.”
“The Major doesn't have any burns,” noted Ford. “So that discounts your geyser theory. I've seen Old Faithful.”
McKay stared down at the sand, seemingly reconsidering his position on helping. “And that leaves us with … what?”
Ford's hand wrapped around another small rock, but just beneath he felt … “Found it!” Ford crowed triumphantly as he hefted the board out from underneath several inches of sand.
“Must be some abnormal sand shifts around here,” surmised McKay, grabbing the other side of the board.
The two men began to drag the board when Ford yelped in pain. The wood was ripped from his hands, leaving several nasty splinters in its wake. It maintained its upright position, pulled several feet away as though something invisible was dragging it and then, with a thundering crack, split into two separate pieces.
“Not steam.” McKay's panicked voice filled the air.
Ford watched anxiously as the two pieces of wood almost seemed to dance with each other, moving forward, then back, then away. One piece violently submerged in a golden shower of sand, while the other pulled in the opposite direction, moving quickly, and deeper into the fine grains, almost like a shark fin immersing into an ocean's wave, until it disappeared from sight. “We're leaving,” said Ford.
“I'm perfectly fine with that,” agreed McKay quickly.
Ford knelt next to Sheppard. “He's unchanged,” said Teyla. She cast a worried glance at the distance between them and the Stargate. “Do you have any idea what creatures might be beneath the sand?”
Creatures. Teyla had nailed it right on the head. It wasn't volcanic vents, steam geysers, or any geologic abnormality that had done what they'd just witnessed. Ford knew for a fact now that something resided beneath the surface, and it wasn't such a far-fetched idea that once it was done playing with the board, that it might decide people would be fun to rip in half as well.
“Not a one,” Ford replied to Teyla. He hated to do what had to be done next. “Sir, you're going to have to get up.”
“No.” Sheppard made a feeble attempt to swat Ford's hand away when the lieutenant reached for his shoulder.
“Teyla, grab his other shoulder,” ordered Ford. Teyla complied, bringing Sheppard's left arm over her shoulder. Sheppard felt like dead weight, which made sense as he wasn't helping much in the effort. They'd just gotten him to his knees when Sheppard turned deathly pale, elicited a loud groan and pitched face forward into the sand.
“Major!” Teyla was first to roll Sheppard over on his side. Sand stuck to his bloodied face as he coughed blood from his mouth.
“Don't move…sick,” he said.
Ford couldn't help think that Sheppard looked like a roadkill found alongside a highway. The orange sand adhered to the blood made it look as though someone had taken a cheese grater to the man's face. Ford could feel slick wetness on his own neck from where Sheppard's bloodied hand had passed by. He just hoped that the Major didn't decide to throw up. So far he hadn't, but his pasty complexion definitely screamed that he was nauseous.
Ford gently rolled Sheppard onto his back. “Sorry, we've got to move you, sir. Once we get back to Atlantis, Dr. Beckett will give you a nice soft bed.”
Sheppard managed to open his eyes, staring at Ford with a glazed expression. “You've been shot.”
“Uh, no, sir,” replied Ford. “That's your blood. From your hand.”
Sheppard stared in confusion at his own blood-slicked hand. “McKay shot me?”
“I didn't shoot you!” protested McKay. “You got smacked in the head with a board.”
“Major, what is the last thing you remember?” asked Teyla.
Sheppard shut his eyes, which seemed to alleviate some of his misery. “McKay… P-90… aimed at me.”
“That was over half an hour ago,” pointed out McKay.
“Amnesia,” Ford said, wondering if McKay had paid any attention in the first aid course all the scientists had had to take before going to Atlantis. “Common in concussions. McKay, just keep an eye out for .. for whatever's out there.”
“That's what I have been doing!”
“Does he have to talk so loud?”
Ford gave Sheppard a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “No, Major, the doctor does not have to talk that loud.” He made sure McKay caught his disapproving eye on that last statement. McKay just turned away and went back to anxiously surveying the landscape.
“Okay, Teyla, let's try it again.”
“Wood, wood,” repeated McKay in worry
Sheppard groaned and rolled over, covering his head with an arm.
Ford and Teyla stood up, their rapt attention focused on a triangular edge of wood that scored its way through the sand not ten feet from them. It did look like a shark fin as it cut quickly but erratically through the dunes that undulated from whatever was pushing the wood forward. It vanished again.
Ford quickly checked his P-90 and took off the safety. “Dr. McKay.” The scientist turned around, startled to see Ford grasping his gun in a combat-ready mode. “Help get the Major on his feet. If whatever that is out there tries something, I'll shoot it.”
“What if it grabs one of us and pulls us under?” said McKay.
Then they'd be in really serious trouble, thought Ford, although he was not about to voice that sentiment. For now, the creatures hadn't shown any overt hostile action toward them. Knocking out Sheppard might have been a defensive reaction to a perceived threat. The wood, well, he wasn't even going to begin to guess, but if that wood hit one of them in the feet while they made their way back to the gate, that could definitely be dangerous.
There was nothing he could see that was an impediment to the gate, and that was the problem. While there was no place for any enemies to hide, there were also no rocks or boulders that could have been handy to climb on top of if they needed to seek safety.
“We're ready.”
Ford turned at Teyla's voice. McKay and Teyla had managed to get the Major to his feet. “Just follow me,” said Ford. “Whoever gets to the gate first, dial.”
Ford took the lead, his P-90 aimed down at the sand. In a way, he almost wished the pieces of wood would surface – at least then he'd know the creatures' location. He forced himself to tune out the muddled conversation he heard behind him. The Major definitely wanted to stop, lie down and curl up into a ball until the pain went away. Ford couldn't blame him on that account. McKay was busy trying to be helpful, but his constant assessment of how many feet they'd traversed, and how many were left, was grating, to say the least.
4. SO CLOSE, YET SO FAR
Teyla had no idea how long a school bus was, or what it was, but McKay was prattling on about how they'd covered the length of one bus and had at least three if not four more buses to go before they reached the safety of the gate.
She knew that the incessant talking was the scientist's way of dealing with the anxiety that seemed to hover over him like a lingering storm cloud, so she was able to ignore it, but Sheppard couldn't.
“McKay…”
The scientist seemed to brighten up. “Yes, Major?”
“Shut up.”
McKay was crestfallen, and somewhat insulted. Perhaps he had a witty or acerbic remark right on the tip of his tongue, but it died, whether because he realized he was annoying Sheppard or he understood the disapproving expression Teyla directed at him.
“Shutting up,” he murmured.
At least the sun was now setting. The massive Stargate cast a lengthy shadow into the sand and, and with the setting sun was coming cooler temperatures. Teyla estimated they could be at the gate within several minutes, or longer, depending on the Major's condition.
McKay let out a pained scream. He immediately toppled to the right, landing on his backside with a thud as he grasped one foot in both hands.
With his main support gone, Sheppard lost his tenuous balance and pitched forward, dragging Teyla down with him.
Ford rushed over to McKay's side.
“It got my foot!”
With one hand still on his gun, his attention mostly focused on the wood that had surfaced and struck McKay, Ford grabbed the scientist by the ankle and quickly scrutinized the damaged appendage.
“You'll live,” said Ford. “Get up.”
McKay sat up, still clutching his bruised foot. “It hurts. What do you need? A traumatic amputation?”
“Yes.” Ford's blunt response killed any further response from McKay. The young lieutenant quickly spun around as the wedge of wood circled his and McKay's position. It then scored through the sand between Teyla and Sheppard. She instinctively backed away, watching the piece, wondering where the other one was hiding.
Sheppard seemed to realize the danger of the situation, or at least he knew that lying face down in the sand was a very bad idea. He struggled to his feet and staggered forward – in the wrong direction.
Teyla moved to grab him but again was frustrated as the wood came between the two people. This time she witnessed a strange brown crest break the sand a yard away from the wood. The spiny ridge reminded her of some lizards back on Athos. All her experience with reptiles included the fact that they had sharp teeth and ate animals.
“Major. Left, you need to bear left,” she called out.
Sheppard paused, but his course correction still had him heading off an angle away from the gate.
“Major, ten o'clock,” instructed Ford.
Remarkably, Teyla saw Sheppard alter his course and aim toward the Stargate.
“You got it. Keep going,” said Ford, hauling McKay to his feet.
Both pieces of wood were now visible. One triangular wedge skirted perilously in front of Sheppard's feet and, for a moment, Teyla held her breath in dreaded anticipation of another disaster.
Sheppard kept moving, slowly but methodically. Teyla realized that he was walking blind toward the gate. He'd barely had his eyes open since the accident, and the hesitant manner in how he pushed his feet through the sand was dead giveaway.
It was only a matter of time before he fell again.
Teyla jumped over the wood as it went past again. Sheppard began to falter just as Teyla reached him. She felt him lean his weight into her as she wrapped her right arm securely around his waist and pulled his left arm over her shoulder.
“Teyla,” he murmured.
“Yes, I'm here.” She'd been correct. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face masked with pain. A fine sheen of perspiration covered those parts of his face that weren't smeared with blood or sand.
“Knew it.” Sheppard stumbled slightly but she caught him, feeling his unsteadiness translate through his body to hers.
“You smell a lot better than McKay,” he added.
Teyla arched an eyebrow in bemusement. What any of them smelled like was the last thing on her mind, and how Sheppard could smell much of anything over the sickly sweet coppery smell of his own blood mystified her.
“Thank you, Major.”
“Where are they?”
“The creatures, or Dr. McKay and Lt. Ford? They are just behind us.”
“Uh… Bob and Doug.”
Which meant, the creatures. “They are nearby but not visible at the moment.” She was puzzled at how Sheppard's people felt compelled to name things. She had no idea of the significance of those names, or if they were chosen at random. She only knew from gossip that filtered quickly through the Atlantis base that Sheppard had quickly overridden McKay's naming of Gate Ship One, choosing the odd name of name of Puddle Jumper instead.
“You two okay?” Ford's voice intruded on her thoughts.
Teyla turned her head very slightly. Ford and McKay were almost ten feet behind her. The scientist was limping but did not require assistance, and from the looks of it, Ford would not offer any help unless the need was urgent.
“We are fine, lieutenant,” she replied. “I believe the creatures are reptilian.”
“Like a… snake?” came McKay's alarmed response.
“I do not know,” said Teyla. “I saw only a portion of it surface in the sand. Judging from the distance between it and the piece of wood, I would estimate that the creature is perhaps ten feet in length.”
“Don't like snakes, doctor?” asked Ford.
“Snakes are fine,” replied McKay, his apprehensive gaze sweeping the sands constantly. “It's just that they can get big. Very big.”
“I believe these creatures are playing with us,” said Teyla. The sanctuary of the gate did not seem very far away, except now she felt Sheppard begin to drag his feet.
“Oh yeah, I've seen what 'playing' is.” McKay nervously twitched away from a dune of sand, but nothing surfaced. “Cleo did that a lot with mice.”
“Cleo?” asked Ford.
“My cat. She was a very good mouser.”
“Your apartment had mice?” said Ford.
“Yes.” McKay seemed aggravated by that suggestion. “That's what I told my landlord, too.”
Sheppard collapsed to his knees. Teyla realized it was futile to try to keep him going so she eased him gently onto his back in one of the large waves of sand.
“Just a minute,” he said weakly. “Everything's… spinning.”
“For a moment,” agreed Teyla, feeling bad at how awful he looked and no doubt felt. She watched him cross an arm over his head to block out the blinding light of the setting sun. At least the bleeding had subsided, but he was still a gory mess from all the smeared blood. She only hoped that it looked worse than it appeared to be.
Ford came up behind her, followed quickly by a hobbling McKay. “Is he okay?”
Teyla looked up. “He requires some rest.”
“We really can't afford to stop,” Ford said, a tinge of regret in his voice. She knew the young lieutenant hated to prod on his commander like this. The concern was etched clearly in his face.
“The gate's only what, twenty feet away?” McKay bent down, trying to massage his bruised foot through the boot. “Let's just drag him.”
“No way… can walk,” Sheppard said, though not very convincingly.
Teyla heard a derisive snort from behind her. No doubt Dr. McKay's critical assessment of Major Sheppard's rather exhausted condition. “I will—“ Teyla stopped abruptly in her thoughts, her eyes drawn to movement underneath the sand just to the right of Sheppard's head. Behind her, she heard the smooth sound Ford's .9mm Beretta being withdrawn from its holster. Even she knew that a P-90 at this close a range might risk serious damage to Sheppard even if the bullet didn't strike him directly.
A conical lump of something brown surfaced just inches to the side of Sheppard's head. Granules of orange sand slid off the tight ridges of scales that undulated and then opened, exposing the tapered nostrils of the strange creature. Sheppard's eyes opened abruptly. It wasn't that he seemed aware of the creature's presence, Teyla realized, but that he'd heard the subtle click of Ford removing the safety on his Beretta.
“Ford?” Sheppard croaked worriedly, staring uneasily at the gun's muzzle.
“Teyla, just grab his vest,” Ford instructed, aiming his weapon unerringly at the creature's snout. Teyla did as instructed, gripping both her hands firmly into the front of the Major's black vest and firmly planting one foot into the sand near his shoulder. She knew precisely what Ford was planning, even if the Major seemed somewhat confused. “When I tell you to, yank him up.” Teyla nodded.
The tip of a thick blue tongue slithered out of the snout, moving about slowly as it tested the air. They could all see ridges of sharp serrated white teeth to either side of the tongue.
“It's going to bite his head off!” McKay yelled in warning.
The tongue and snout tipped ominously in Sheppard's direction. “Now!” ordered Ford. Teyla yanked Sheppard up just as the creature dove in the direction where he'd just lain. A flurry of sand cascaded everywhere as the reptile's body dove back underneath, its long tail whipping snakelike as it vanished into the sand.
Teyla barely noticed that Ford had held back firing his weapon as she was too busy holding onto Sheppard, who in turn was clinging to her with a strength neither thought he possessed at that point. A fine tremor coursed through his body as he laid his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily as he fought against the nausea caused from the rapid movement. “Gonna be sick…” he coughed. Teyla immediately let him bend over. After a moment, the heaving subsided. “This planet sucks,” he ground out.
“Oh, you just noticed?” said McKay sarcastically. He kept his Beretta aimed out at the desert just in case the reptilian creatures surfaced again, which didn't take long. Several feet of sand rippled unnaturally a few yards away. “Can we go?” he implored. Sand erupted in another section behind them. They were being surrounded again, like Indians circling the doomed wagon train in an old western movie.
“Teyla, grab the Major and get to the gate,” Ford said. He caught the jittery scientist's attention. “McKay, stay with them and keep your gun out. I'll draw the creatures away.”
Teyla nodded. Once again she slung one of Sheppard's arms over her shoulder and helped Sheppard to his feet. Ford was already distancing himself from the trio, kicking a foot into the sand in the hopes that his more strenuous vibrations would draw the creatures away in the same manner that a dying fish's struggles attracted a shark. The tactic worked amazingly well. Ripples of undulating sand headed in his direction. “Go!” he shouted.
The trip to the gate wasn't very far, but the allure of three people going in that direction was too much for one of the creatures to resist. It broke off from chasing circles around Ford. Within seconds, McKay let out a yelp as a brown snout erupted underneath him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He fired a shot that sunk harmlessly into the sand.
“Don't shoot your foot off!” warned Ford from a distance. “Get to the gate!”
McKay did just that, running in a convoluted zigzag course that no doubt confused the creature.
Teyla was just a yard from the DHD when the creature that had attacked McKay struck her in the ankle. She instantly released her grip on Sheppard, who was propelled forward just by sheer momentum. As she scrabbled to her feet, she saw Sheppard stumble over the base of curved stones that surrounded the DHD. He landed nearly face first on the array of alien symbols that composed the DHD's round face. Teyla needed to dial out, but couldn't do it with him clinging to the top. To her surprise – but also relief - Sheppard just slid off the DHD to land in a heap on the sand.
Teyla quickly dialed up Atlantis. The blue vortex opened with a sharp retort. “Lieutenant!” she shouted.
Ford stopped his in tracks, if only for a few seconds, to punch in his ident code. “Go!”
“Doctor, please help.” Teyla grabbed Sheppard by the top of his vest, and McKay did likewise on the other shoulder. The two of them dragged the Major across what Teyla felt were the longest ten feet she'd ever crossed, before they entered the sanctuary of the event horizon.
5. HOME
Sheppard didn't realize just how much gate travel messed with a human body until he came through the gate with a concussion. Although Teyla and McKay had dragged him across the event horizon like some piece of old camping gear, he'd instantly pulled away from their grasp upon arriving on the other side. He just wanted to be flat on his back and not moving. Anything but moving, so his head would just stop spinning like some out-of-control circus ride.
“We need a medic!” yelled McKay.
Argh. That much was obvious, Sheppard thought through the haze of pain that had his head in a vise. Did McKay have to be so damned loud about it?
There were more voices, all of them colliding into each other like a New York City traffic jam, all of them way too loud, and McKay was once again protesting that he hadn't shot Sheppard. At this rate, Sheppard might just shoot the scientist himself to shut the man up. Even the pounding of the feet of people running up to help him seemed to reverberate through the flooring into his skull. He knew Teyla was kneeling beside him; he could feel her hand on his shoulder. Ford's command to shut down the gate echoed in his head, and he was never so grateful to hear the gate shut down. Didn't anybody ever notice it had a weird hum to it?
Beckett's voice shushed the rest of the talking, including Weir. The physician began asking questions about how Sheppard felt, which could be summed up in just one word: he felt like crap. His head felt like Jason from Halloween had wedged an axe right into the top of it, his jaw felt like a boxer had slammed him across the mat, and worse, he had a ton of sand down his shorts from being dragged across the dunes. He winced sharply, batting away the doctor's hand when a light was shone into his eyes.
“It's not my eyes, it's my head,” complained Sheppard.
“I'll be the judge of that,” Beckett shot back, giving his personnel the go-ahead to lift the battered pilot onto the gurney. As they took him away, Sheppard could feel every tiny bump the gurney hit on the smooth surface of the gate room. “Needs inertial dampeners,” he muttered to himself.
“Definite concussion,” Beckett told the others with a shake of his head.
6. THE BRIEFING
Elizabeth Weir kept her hands folded in front of herself, on top of the smooth surface of the large triangular conference table. It was a natural act, but one that had also taken years of perfection - to show not a single iota of discomfort or irritation while conducting diplomatic sessions. In some way, this mission briefing was very similar to any of the truces that she had helped negotiate during her career on Earth. Only instead of dealing with heads of states, she was faced with the incongruent emotions of the three people seated around the table.
While Dr. Beckett had dealt with Major Sheppard's injuries in the infirmary, she'd been able to debrief his team. Their emotions had run high, but their descriptions basically all come to the same conclusion: that a simple trip to an unpopulated world had turned into an unmitigated disaster that fortunately hadn't yielded any fatalities, but they'd come close.
Ford was still a bit wired but controlled after the situation. She'd been very pleased at how he'd handled the incident. He'd brought the whole team back, basically in one piece if not a little bit battered. Teyla had delivered the calmest version of the events that had occurred. Rodney, on the other hand, was a bundle of conflicting emotions and nerves: dismay that he'd come close to shooting Sheppard on their first trip off-world, and she knew, worry that it could be his last mission if that's what Sheppard ultimately decided.
Beckett had allowed everybody see Sheppard briefly after the physician had run a battery of tests to make sure there wasn't any hidden damage, but it had all come down to a concussion, and luckily, not a serious one with any long-term repercussions. However, Sheppard had a whopper of a headache and it showed in his irritable attitude toward any and all visitors. He'd deferred practically the entire debriefing to Ford, and then cut off any further questions with “headache, want quiet, dark. Go away.” Since Beckett was in charge, he'd simply shooed everybody away for the benefit of his patient. And that had been it for the rest of the day.
Everyone now looked up from the table as Sheppard quietly entered the conference room. He was in his long-sleeved black shirt and blue jeans since he was temporarily off duty until Beckett decided he was well enough to go off-world again. Judging from the miserable expression that burned in his normally bright eyes, it would be several days at least before he went back on duty. Sheppard sat down slowly, readjusting the ice pack he held to one side of his face.
McKay winced as he got a glance of the nearly day-old vivid purplish-green discoloration that ran up from one side of Sheppard's jaw to where it ended at a slightly puffy and blackened eye. To everybody, except perhaps Teyla, the Major looked like he'd been in a barroom brawl and lost.
Teyla studied the Major with a worried glance. “How are you feeling, Major?”
Sheppard, who had shut his eyes upon sitting down, cracked one bleary eye open to a slit. “There wasn't any liquor involved in this headache, was there?” he asked hopefully.
Weir let the tiniest of smiles play across her lips. “No, I'm afraid not, Major.”
“Damned shame.” He dumped the ice pack on the table. “Should have at least had some fun to go with this misery. This is going to last for days.”
“It is?” Ford said uneasily.
“Got concussed in a chopper crash a few years back. Been there, done that, you know?” Sheppard massaged his temples very carefully. “So after we're done here, I'm going back to my quarters to suffer in peace. If anybody bothers me, I'll shoot 'em.”
Which they all knew was an idle threat, although Weir did see McKay gulp a little nervously. Teyla had explained to Weir that when McKay had accidentally pointed a loaded P-90 directly at Sheppard, the Major had been rather upset about it. However, that part of the incident had apparently been wiped from the Major's mind by the blow. When he'd looked at the reports Elizabeth had brought by the infirmary earlier that morning, Sheppard had appeared mostly blank when questioned about it. Carson had explained about concussions and retrograde amnesia. Usually when a person lost consciousness, they lost some time as well, and for the Major, it had been about half an hour. “But,” Carson had said matter-of-factly, “who would want to remember being beaten up by a board named Bob?”
That remark had been perversely amusing, but Weir couldn't help but recall how apprehensive she'd felt when Teyla and Rodney had first dragged Sheppard through the event horizon. All the blood had been alarming, but in the end, it had turned out to be basically superficial: a bloody nose, a small cut on his chin, and a larger cut where his teeth had sliced alongside the inside of his cheek, which also explained the slightly puffy look to that side of his face. Add to that some nasty bruising where Sheppard, who had put his hands on top the board, had basically punched himself in the face when the board had ejected from the ground.
Weir flashed a warm smile at the Major, but its intent was unable to pierce the shell of suffering that cocooned Sheppard. “Well, Major, you read the reports and I know you wanted to add something to the mission debriefing,” she began. “We'll make this quick.”
Sheppard started to nod, but obviously thought better of that action. “Yeah. Um, McKay…”
“What?” McKay said abruptly, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, wait, I'm off the team, right? It was an accident, you know,” he said. “It wasn't like I was going to shoot you.”
“Rodney,” began Weir.
“Well, I wasn't,” he said quietly.
Both Ford and Teyla watched the repartee between the two men with unease.
“If anything will get you booted from the team,” warned Sheppard. “It was your lamebrain idea to drag me.”
Weir knew precisely why Sheppard had hated that having been done to him. It had nothing to do with the action but that all the sand his uniform had scooped up had also gone down it, scratching his backside.
“You couldn't even walk,” continued McKay.
“Gentlemen,” interrupted Weir. Sheppard maintained his miserable countenance while McKay just sat back in his seat, a dejected look marring his features.
“You're not off the team, Rodney,” said Sheppard after a pause. “It's just going to be a little while before we give you a P-90.”
McKay brightened instantly, obviously not at all bothered by being denied the use of the powerful weapon. “Really?”
“Ford will give you further instruction,” continued Sheppard.
“I will?” Ford said dismally.
“One of the perks of command,” said Sheppard with the smallest hint of a smile. “I can delegate.”
Ford didn't look very pleased, but McKay didn't seem to notice. Teyla just seemed to be happy not to be included in the conversation or future training session.
“In the meantime,” Sheppard produced an item from behind him. Weir surmised he'd had it tucked in the back of his jeans when he'd entered the room. He quietly slid the small rectangular item down the table where it stopped within a foot of the scientist, who stared covetously at it like a child just being handed the proverbial key to the candy store.
“You're giving him the life signs detector?” Ford asked, a tinge of envy in his voice.
“Every jumper has one,” clarified Sheppard. “Just don't break it, McKay. They don't grow on trees.”
McKay snatched it quickly, lest Sheppard change his mind. Weir nodded imperceptibly at Sheppard. He just shrugged as if the gesture was nothing, but Weir knew how much it meant to Rodney, who'd been thrilled to have been picked for Sheppard's team in the first place. She could see that both Ford and Teyla were also relieved that the team, pulled together only so recently, would remain intact and had survived this hurdle.
Sheppard stood up. He carefully reapplied the ice pack to his bruised face. “Um, don't bother me till…” He squinted at his watch. “The weekend.”
Weir nodded in acknowledgement as he left the room. McKay, suddenly realizing that his benefactor had gone, called out, “Thank you, Major!”
“Not so loud,” filtered back Sheppard's irate voice from beyond the door.
McKay nearly yelled back his apology, but seemed to think better about aggravating the situation and Sheppard's headache. “This device is just incredible,” he remarked, aiming it at Weir and the others. “I've got to find out how this works. If we can backwards engineer it—“
“Hey,” interrupted Ford. “The Major said not to break it.”
“I'd put it back together.” McKay frowned.
“Rodney,” warned Weir.
“Fine, fine,” he muttered, although not altogether convincingly.
“I believe this briefing is now concluded.” Weir stood up, noticing that everybody seemed very relieved to hear those words. “Agreed?” All heads nodded, although McKay seemed to do it just as a mindless action. He was back to being utterly fascinated with a new bit of Ancient technology that until now, Sheppard had kept away from the scientist.
As they all dispersed from the briefing – Teyla to check on the displaced Athosians who now compromised half of the Atlantis' population, Ford to most likely determine a safe place for target practice, and Rodney to play with his new toy – Weir came out into the control area and smiled. The hustle of the civilians and soldiers performing their daily tasks was a welcome sound to her ears. She honestly hadn't known what to expect when she'd taken on the Herculean task of leading the expedition – certainly not the rising of Atlantis from the ocean's depth, or the omnipresent danger of the newly encountered Wraith – yet it was all a challenge she would undertake again in a minute. She knew that their fortune could change as rapidly as the weather, but for the time being, they would persevere, despite the few bumps along the way.
THE END
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