The Body Holographic Part 1

by Leah  & Springwoof 

The little white cottage in the modest seaside suburb of Emmaganville on the Mainland wasn't a place anyone would have envisioned for Rodney McKay's retirement. In fact--nobody had dared to actually voice it at the retirement party, but it was in everyone's eyes--the concept of McKay retiring obviously boggled the mind. At the time, McKay had mentally snorted and rolled his remaining eye. It didn't boggle his mind. And his mind, as always, was the one that counted.

McKay felt a shadow of a grin curl his lip at that thought as he carefully tucked a seedling into the soil of the planter box. The tiny plant was from a strain of seed that Katie Brown (Ancestors rest her soul) had developed thirty years ago. She'd named the plant after him. Pegasus grandiflora mckay would develop into a hardy, compact plant with thin, sparse leaves, but loud, showy flowers, but the plant's real gift was its fruit. The flavor was utterly indescribable in Earth terms, but utterly delicious. The plant's nutrition value was high, and its productivity constant and abundant throughout its growing cycle. Katie had given him both a real tribute and a sarcastic comment on his shortcomings, all in one package. The kicker was that McKay loved the fruit, thought the flowers looked and smelled good, and had faithfully grown at least one plant every year since Katie had proudly presented him with the first seeds. He'd gotten a late start with the planting this year, but there was still time for a plentiful crop before winter.

McKay carefully wiped the dirt off his hands with the rag from his pocket before measuring the plant nutrient compound and pouring it into his watering can. He gave the seedlings a good soak. The wind from the ocean gusted in, stirring the remaining few wisps of his hair and feeling pleasant in the late spring heat. McKay shaded his eye and peered at the cloudless sky and the sparkle of sunlight off the water. He'd have to apply more sunscreen in a little while. With a grunt, he lifted the planter and carried it to its box on the deck railing, where he would eventually be able to see the flowers from any window at the back of the house, all summer and fall, and even into the winter--at least until the first really big storm.

Pleased with his efforts, he gathered up his tools and managed to get the back door open with his elbow. Once inside the house, he finally heard the loud knocking at his front door. It sounded like whoever it was had been knocking for a while. McKay's hearing was not what it once was--too much exposure to too many explosions and too much gunfire without any kind of hearing protection over too many years. The bad hearing didn't much bother him on a day-to-day basis. He played his music too loud, but his neighbors lived far enough away that it didn't bother them. Or, at least, they never complained to him about it.

The notion that he might be intimidating his neighbors without even trying put a smile on his face as he opened the front door.

"Jinto!" he exclaimed. Jinto wasn't a usual visitor. His duties in Atlantis made him a very busy man.

Jinto smiled broadly. "I knew you were home, Doctor Rodney! Your neighbor, Aisha, said to just knock louder." He indicated the house next door with the tilt of his head, and McKay peered around Jinto's shoulder. Indeed, there was Aisha, pulling her yellow shawl around her shoulders in the wind and waving nervously before ducking back into her own house. McKay snorted. Yes, he was becoming a veritable cliché, nosy neighbors and all.

He placed his hands on Jinto's shoulders and brought them forehead-to-forehead in the traditional Athosian greeting. "What brings you to see me, Jinto?"

"May I enter? The wind--"

"Oh, yes, sorry. Come in, come in! Is this an urgent matter, or do you have time for something to eat? Something to drink? Tea?" McKay urged Jinto into the main room of the house, which was a combination of living room, dining room, and kitchen. The cottage had only three rooms; he didn't need much, just the main room, his bedroom, and the guestroom for when his son, Johnny, or other friends from the city came to visit. McKay bustled to move his notes off the table--the book he privately suspected he'd never really get around to finishing.

"Tea would be lovely, Doctor Rodney." Jinto settled gracefully at the table, eyes bright, expression pleased.

No emergency at Atlantis requiring McKay's expertise then. McKay squashed an unwanted combination of disappointment, irritation and relief as he turned and fussed with the tea things.

The tray he finally carried to the table contained not just the tea and condiments, but a plate of dainty lavender-colored Athosian fruit pastries as well. Jinto made a sound of delight and swooped, snatching one up before McKay even had the tray properly settled on the table. McKay smiled, remembering that exact behavior with this particular kind of pastry when Jinto had been a young boy. It was strange to think that Jinto was a grandfather now, several times over.

"Ummm. Delicious, Doctor Rodney! The sneekes are perfect!" Jinto licked his lips and stirred sweetener into his tea as he eyed the stack of pastries again. "Did you make them?" he asked, his attention never wavering from the sneekes.

McKay laughed. "Of course not! Aisha makes a batch every few days and brings some by so that she can check in on me, as Tal Weir has undoubtedly asked her to. At least she's good enough to bring food when she's spying." He waved at the plate. "Please, Jinto, take as many as you like. It's nice to see you enjoy them."

McKay took a sneeke himself to dunk languidly in his tea as he watched Jinto pop two of the small pastries in his mouth, one after the other, and chew with gusto. He took a small, careful bite of his own pastry. He enjoyed the textures of food well enough, but his sense of smell and taste were not what they once were, and he never had much of an appetite these days.

He peered at the sneeke in his hand and smiled in remembrance. "Teyla introduced me to these. She used to like them almost as much as you do, but she could never bake her own. They always came out terrible--burnt, or hard as stones, or too salty, or something."

"Yes, I remember," Jinto agreed. He picked up another sneeke and took a small bite out of it this time, followed by a sip of tea. "My father was a far better baker. He'd save some of our sneekes for Teyla. Old Charin would always bake her some for the midwinter festival." Jinto and McKay shared a smile--still tinged with sadness after all these years, but a smile nonetheless--over memories of Teyla and her delight in these little pastries.

"So, Jinto, what brings you to see me? Not that I don't enjoy your company, but you are a busy man. The city can't spare you to be making social calls on useless old men like me."

A slow shake of the head and a wry eyebrow conveyed all Jinto had to say about the time back when such a comment would have never passed McKay's lips. McKay shrugged in answer. It was true, if blunt. He had made all the valuable contributions he was going to make, scientific or otherwise. His only child was grown. He had outlived most of his original colleagues, a great many of his friends, his wife, and the love of his life, some by several decades. He was just a useless old man now, waiting to die.

Jinto slouched and hooked his elbow over the back of his chair, a gesture copied directly from John Sheppard. McKay's sight dimmed momentarily with the familiar, old--almost comfortable now, really--pain.

"Well." Jinto smiled at him fondly, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "I wouldn't have had to come out here if you didn't insist on not having a communicator in your house. Do you remember what day this is, Doctor Rodney?"

McKay shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Don't tell me Tal Weir wants to trundle me out to the city for another holiday ceremonial thing. I told Elizabeth I was done with those..."

Jinto snickered, then reached out and covered one of McKay's gnarled hands with his own. "Yes, Tal Weir sent me. No, it's nothing so formal. It's your birthday, Doctor Rodney! Your friends want you close so that we can celebrate with you!"

"Ah!" McKay blinked stupidly. He licked his lips. "It's that time again, already? Didn't I just have a birthday?"

"Of course. Last year."

"Oh. Right. Well, obviously it's not that important to me if I didn't even remember. We can probably skip it this year and--"

"Johnny wants you to come." Jinto gave him puppy-dog eyes on Johnny's behalf. "He would have come to get you himself, but he couldn't get away from the labs."

McKay sighed, and resigned himself to attending. He had seldom been able to deny his only child anything he truly wanted. Cara had often chided him for his weakness. The Villana and PerAn both were rather strict with their children. In comparison, both the Tau'ri and Athosians were ridiculously indulgent.

"I suppose they want the full rigmarole? Staying out there overnight and everything?" McKay took the twinkle in Jinto's eyes for assent, and he got up to start packing.

"Everyone will be there," Jinto offered, carrying the tray of tea things to the kitchen counter. "Tal Weir and her Household, Doctor Beckett-Cadman and her Household, several of your Yana clansfolk, the Defender, of course, and..."

The Defender, of course. McKay shrugged off the momentary paralysis over the mention of that name and let Jinto's prattle wash over him as he finished packing his overnight bag and closing up the house for an absence of at least a few days.

At the door, McKay tried to bat away Jinto's hands as they fastened a cloak over his shoulders. "Jinto, stop! It's hot out. It's spring already!"

"The wind is still cold, Doctor Rodney." Jinto smiled indulgently and patted McKay's shoulders after he finished. "You must be careful not to fall ill. We want you with us for many years yet. Here, let me carry your pack."

Knowing better than to argue, McKay let Jinto shoulder his pack. He tugged at the neckline of the cloak as he descended the front steps of the cottage, waving absently to Aisha as she peered out at them from her window. At least he could still navigate stairs with relative ease. All that running for his life on various planets under a variety of gravities had kept his limbs strong and useful. Not even much in the way of arthritis, so far, except for a little in his hands when the weather was damp. His back bothered him fiercely sometimes, but then it always had, and sleeping on the ground as often as he had over the years hadn't helped much.

As it was, he was easily able to keep up with Jinto's energetic stride down to the harbor, where the fishing and pleasure boats were anchored, and where the occasional jumper from the city or the space station would land.

McKay knew he was way past his mental prime. Even if none of his colleagues would admit it to his face, the proof was easy to find. For instance, it was only when the jumper came into view that it occurred to him to ask who the pilot was.

"Why, the Defender, of course," was Jinto's startled reply. "I thought you'd know that he would come for you himself, Doctor Rodney."

The Defender, of course.

***

McKay was pacing.

He was on the balcony outside the briefing room, stalking back and forth alongside the railing, shoulders hunched and fingers twisting anxiously behind his back. It was the middle of the night, very dark and cold in the wind, and McKay was shivering. Not a lot, but enough to make his jaw tremble and his shoulders jitter uncomfortably under his jacket. He'd already zipped it closed at least an hour before, but it was his lightweight one and it wasn't helping much.

He glanced at the doors to go back into the city. It was warm inside, well-lit and out of the wind.

McKay shook his head and kept pacing. He'd be forced inside soon enough, anyway. It was less than four hours before the briefing.

He still had nothing to tell them. No suggestions, no solution--it was like the only thing in his head was an endless repetition of we're screwed, we're screwed, we're screwed.

He turned at the end of the balcony, where the railing curved towards the wall of the building, and started back again. The wind gusted through his hair and he shuddered as it slid down his collar. At this rate he was going to give himself pneumonia, though right now he didn't think he could be rendered any more useless than he already felt. Was. They were all expecting him to pull another Hail Mary out of the air the way he always did, and in less than four hours he was going to have to go in and tell them that no, there was no way to fix this. They were screwed. They were on their own.

Just over sixty-three hours ago they had dialed Earth, like usual, to send their weekly databurst back to Stargate Command. McKay had been ready with his laptop, sitting next to the Canadian sergeant as he dialed the gate, with Weir and Sheppard standing behind them. McKay's mind had been bouncing between two different projects he would rather have been working on, and his latest argument with Zelenka about both of them. He was bored and a little irritated, and even the prospect of amazing and enthralling Colonel Carter yet again with his exploits in the Pegasus galaxy wasn't enough to make him happy he was there, spending all of ten minutes of his precious time updating Earth.

And then the last chevron wouldn't lock.

They'd all thought it was a simple mistake at first, of course. Even the sergeant had just blinked, muttered 'sorry,' and begun dialing again. The nice thing about the consoles of the control room was that, unlike Carter's jury-rigged monstrosity at the SGC, there was no waiting while the computer cleared, or the endless 'chevron-whatever-encoded' while the gate spun and groaned on the other side of the reinforced glass. The sergeant just hit the keys again, more slowly this time, concentrating, and the eighth chevron still wouldn't lock.

The third time it was obvious that something was terribly, terribly wrong. McKay had vetoed a fourth try, apparently doing so loudly enough that Sheppard put his hand on his shoulder and suggested he calm down. McKay had yelled at him that this was really, really not a good time for calm, but he'd felt Sheppard's quiet expectation that he would figure out the problem and solve it, and that got his mind working like nothing else besides imminent death, the way it always did.

Except that there wasn't anything wrong with the console. Or the gate. Or the charge from the ZPM. They had no problem dialing their own Alpha Site, or the world they last visited, or the gate address they chose randomly from the list in the database.

They tried Earth again. Still nothing.

Sheppard had the bright idea to dial Earth's Alpha Site, figuring that at the very least they might have some information on what had happened. The last chevron for that address wouldn't lock, either.

They tried the seat of the Jaffa council, after that. Then P3X-797, the world of light and darkness, because McKay thought he remembered that the locals still kept in contact with Carter's team every so often. They tried Edora, then, where O'Neill had once been stranded--the people there were Earth-friendly, too. Next they tried the last known address of the Tok'Ra. The Nox had made their gate inaccessible a long time ago, so when they couldn't find the Tok'Ra they moved along to the Asgard. They were using power like water at this point, but nobody cared. Nobody even mentioned it.

Nothing, and nothing, and nothing. The only gates that locked were the ones on uninhabited planets. Otherwise they couldn't finish dialing. For every single one.

"I'll go," Sheppard had said at the impromptu briefing, immediately after. "I'll gate to the closest planet we can access with a jumper and fly to Earth from there." He looked so matter-of-fact while he was saying it, like what he was suggesting was even reasonable, that McKay wanted to hit him. McKay clenched his fists under the table instead, happy that they weren't sitting side-by-side.

"Of course you will," he said, his mouth bleeding sarcasm like acid, trying to bludgeon Sheppard with words because he couldn't use his fists. "Because, leaving aside the horrific power drain of sending you through the gate, you are so completely expendable that you would naturally be the first choice to fly into a galaxy-wide Armageddon with no hope of getting back! Why don't you go now? I'm sure Major Lorne will be thrilled to take over your position, as soon as we never hear from you again."

But inside, he was chanting don't go don't go don't go until it felt like the words were screaming in his head, like everyone else could hear them. And maybe some of that showed on his face, because Sheppard's head snapped around to glare at him, his mouth opening, and then he said nothing, turning away as if he were ashamed.

"We don't know that it's...'Armageddon', Rodney," Weir said with her typical 'maybe it's not actually as bad as it looks' calm. She rode right over McKay's snapped 'of course we do!' to add, "but I agree that we shouldn't send anyone to the Milky Way Galaxy without having a better idea of what's happening, at least." The we definitely shouldn't send you, was implicit in the way she looked pointedly at Sheppard, and McKay was grateful for that.

"We've all been up for..." Weir had to look at her watch; McKay couldn't remember the last time he'd left the control room. "Twenty hours, give or take." She took a breath, and McKay could practically feel the exhaustion and anxiety seeping out of her on her exhale. Her tiny smile was horrible with forced hope. "I think what we need most right now is some sleep, to let us gain perspective. We'll meet back here in ten hours." And McKay was the one who got the pointed look when she said 'perspective' (which was so unfair, because damn it, he was right), but she went on before McKay could defend himself. "I expect some possible courses of action that don't involve one-way trips through a wormhole."

She said something after that about keeping the terrible news confined to as few people as possible until they 'knew for certain' that the Milky Way was inaccessible, as if that wasn't already obvious. McKay nodded, not really listening, and murmured about agreeing and understanding, and they all ignored the fact that all the soldiers guarding the gate (Spanish now, though he remembered that the first group had been Russians, when everything went to hell) and the technicians at the consoles and the guy who had brought the coffee and sandwiches would likely tell everyone they knew what had happened, and ten hours from now Weir would probably be dealing with mass panic.

He hadn't slept, of course. Not that, in the end, it had done any good. And in--oh, hey, about three hours--everyone would be looking at him, expecting him to know what to do now, and he wouldn't be able to tell them anything.

~~~

McKay smacked his palm against the pad next to Sheppard's door, hard enough to hurt. The door slid open and he was inside before he registered the darkness. The only light was from the clear, square tubes threading up the walls, the liquid inside casting the room into soft green shadows, as if Atlantis was still under the ocean.

Sheppard snapped up as soon as the door opened, throwing his blanket back and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

McKay stopped, holding his hands up, palms out. He was a little concerned that Sheppard was going to launch himself at him. "Whoa, whoa! It's okay, It's me! I'm sorry. I didn't know you were sleeping."

"Rodney?" Sheppard blinked at him--McKay could just make out Sheppard's eyes in the green light. He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head a little as if trying to rattle the last bit of sleep out of it. His voice sounded muzzy, but McKay could still hear the confusion in it, and the tiny bit of annoyance. "Why didn't you think I'd be sleeping?"

Because I wasn't, McKay thought, but that hadn't been great reasoning, in retrospect. "I'm sorry," he said. "I think I lost track of the time."

"S'okay," Sheppard said, yawning. He rubbed his hand over his face. "I don't think I've been asleep very long. What time is it, anyway?"

McKay checked his watch. "About four-thirty AM," he said. "I really didn't mean to wake you."

"That's okay, really," Sheppard said. But he yawned again, and McKay tried not to wince from the guilt. Sheppard blinked a few more times, obviously pulling himself into full alertness. "What is it?"

"I've got nothing," McKay said. He clenched his hands at his sides, because he really wanted to bury his face in them. He was suddenly so tired that all he wanted to do was crawl next to Sheppard on the bed and sleep, but he couldn't do that. There wasn't time. He had to come up with something.

"I've got nothing," he said again. He hated that his voice sounded helpless and weak, telegraphed so much of what he felt. "I can't..." He heaved in a breath, closing his eyes. "There's no way to contact Earth that we haven't already tried. No way to go there and get back here. I can't figure it out." He shook his head, feeling almost stunned at his failure. "I've got nothing."

"I was thinking, maybe we could put a hyperdrive engine on one of the jumpers--could we do that?" Sheppard asked, like he was offering a gift, and it was awful having to answer him.

"No," McKay said. His eyes were still closed, but he could practically feel Sheppard's disappointment. He shook his head. "I could fix a hyperdrive, if we had one, but we don't have the materials to actually make one from scratch. And hyperdrives are scarily unstable on small craft, anyway." He knew that from his own experience at the SGC, when he had to rewrite code so that then-Colonel O'Neill could ostensibly kill himself for the good of humanity. "There's no guarantee that you wouldn't actually end up inside a star or something."

"Oh," Sheppard said, quietly.

"Yeah," McKay said. He let his hands unclench--they were beginning to hurt--and opened his eyes. The green light pooled out along the floor, eerie and beautiful.

"Maybe the Daedalus will contact us," Sheppard said.

"Maybe," McKay said. The ship was due to arrive in a little more than two weeks, but that was only if it had ever left Earth in the first place. And it had been scheduled to leave two days before they'd tried to dial the SGC.

They both knew they would never hear from the Daedalus again.

The silence stretched out. He could hear Sheppard breathing.

"I should go," McKay said. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Come here," Sheppard said. And he lay back down on the bed, obviously waiting for him.

McKay didn't even hesitate before he crossed the room, shucking his jacket as he went. He undid his boots and toed them off, then stretched out next to Sheppard so that they were lying face-to-face. The beds in Atlantis were annoyingly narrow, but they were both used to it--they'd slept like this more times than McKay could count.

McKay felt something inside relax ever so slightly, like it was suddenly easier to breathe.

"It's going to be okay, Rodney," Sheppard said. They were so close together that Sheppard's features were blurring. His breath touched McKay's face when he spoke.

"No, it's not," McKay said. "It's not going to be okay. There's no way it can be okay." He tried to pull back, angry now, but Sheppard had his arms around him and he couldn't. "The Milky Way Galaxy is gone. Earth is gone. Or, or even if it's still there, something so terrible has happened that it's affected the entire Stargate system, and that's almost the same thing." He shook his head, bumping it against the mattress. "Don't try to tell me it's going to be okay! It's not okay!" And he was sure the wetness in his eyes was from fury, not grief or despair, but when Sheppard pulled him still closer, he let him, and when Sheppard kissed him, long and slow and like comfort, McKay kissed him back.

"I know," Sheppard said quietly, when they pulled apart.

"My cat's dead," McKay said. It was stupid. Jeannie was dead too--everyone he had ever known on Earth was probably dead--but his cat was the only thing he could think about. His cat made it somehow real.

"I know," Sheppard said again.

"It's all gone," McKay said.

"I know," Sheppard said, and held him in the dark.

***

"Rodney." Sheppard knew the hologram's lips were moving, forming the name, but he heard it through the intercom on McKay's desk, his voice manufactured by Atlantis. He had no lungs to speak with; he was made of light.

He hadn't lost the terror of that, not even in the week since he'd seen McKay in the infirmary and nearly destroyed it. Without the physiological aspects to give the emotion shape, it was like a constant chain-saw whine in the back of his head, loud and alien and raw. He wondered if it would ever go away, or if he would just have to get used to it; barely-controlled fear forever in his head. Like having form but no substance, or speaking without lungs.

There was still plenty of daylight and the sun was pouring through the windows into the room, casting a cheery glow on the framed degrees and awards, the tangled bed sheets and the pile of laundry in a forlorn heap of grays and olives and blues in one corner. The brightness seemed to emphasize the white of the gauze bandage covering McKay's destroyed eye, and the one on the other side of his face, near enough to the eye socket that Sheppard knew Beckett had thought McKay might lose that eye as well. As it was the skin around McKay's remaining eye was swollen nearly black with bruising, with only a thin slit for McKay to see out of. The tiny visible part of McKay's eye was dark from the blood that had collected there too.

"I locked my door for a reason." McKay barely moved his head enough to glance at Sheppard, but his tone was venomous. "Or is invading people's privacy part of your programming? John wouldn't do that, by the way." His words slurred slightly, the effects of exhaustion, injury and what he'd been drinking.

McKay was sitting at his desk. He had been staring out the window, taking long gulps of a large glass full of whisky, when Sheppard had appeared. It was his fourth--Sheppard had been watching him for awhile, before he'd formed the hologram.

"I would if I was worried about someone," Sheppard said. "...Or if Elizabeth told me to do it. She's worried about you, too, Rodney. We all are."

McKay just snorted and took another drink. He was flushed and sweating, which could have been just from the alcohol, but the room was almost unbearably hot. Sheppard used Atlantis to lower the temperature, thinking about calling Beckett, wondering if McKay had a fever. All he could tell with Atlantis' infrared sensors was that McKay's core temperature was hot, but he didn't know if it was abnormally high. "What are you doing? You just got out of the infirmary."

"What does it look like I'm doing?" McKay snapped. He raised the glass to his lips in a badly shaking hand and finished it in two quick swallows. He immediately grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck and poured more into the glass. He spilled nearly half of it in jerking splashes.

"Flirting with alcohol poisoning," Sheppard said. He took a few steps closer to the desk. His hologram made no noise as it moved, and Sheppard felt nothing. He still had no idea how he could move at all and not feel it. Wasn't that like being paralyzed? But this body still did exactly what he wanted it to, like he was inhabiting it.

He stopped himself when he realized he'd been going to grab the bottle from McKay's hand. He couldn't do that anymore.

"If you must know," McKay said, sounding weary now. "I'm having a wake for Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard." He took another drink, holding the glass so tightly Sheppard wondered if it would crack, then set it down on the desk with exaggerated care. "Someone has to," he said softly.

"I'm not dead," Sheppard said.

"Elizabeth told me to... 'Get over myself,' I think. Though of course she said it much more kindly than that. Diplomatically," McKay said, ignoring Sheppard. "There are apparently too many people who really did die to waste my energy mourning for someone who didn't. Think that's denial?" He pushed at his glass with his thumb, making it turn so that the amber liquid caught the light. "I think that's denial," he continued, agreeing with himself. "I think she knows he's dead and just can't bear to admit it." He gave a miserably humorless smirk and picked up the glass again. He drank from it, then wiped his upper lip. "I'm the only one who can admit it. Just me." He sighed, slow and drawn-out. "You didn't get to go to the funeral, or internment, or whatever," McKay said, staring resolutely at the liquid in his glass as if Sheppard wasn't even in the room. "It was kind of awkward, actually--everyone trying to say nice things about a body when they're all so fucking certain the rest of you is still alive and well." He smirked again. "It ended up feeling a little bit like when you're a kid and find a dead mouse on the sidewalk and bring it home and ask your mom to help you bury it. And your mom does because she loves you even though you're a weird, stupid kid, and it ends up being stilted and horrible. Not that you ever did that," he amended. "John did, I think," McKay said musingly. He was tilting the glass back and forth a little, making the whiskey sparkle in the light. "He seems the type to want to bury strange animals--hopelessly sentimental. Seemed the type," he corrected himself. "Seemed." McKay yanked the glass up to his lips, drinking almost frantically.

"You have to stop this," Sheppard said, feeling helpless, desperate. "You're going to make yourself sick." He alerted Beckett, sending a warning message in his own voice directly to the doctor's earpiece. He hated doing that--it felt somehow like he was betraying McKay--but McKay was overheated, probably dehydrated, certainly too weak to force his body to handle this kind of punishment.

"Shut up," McKay said mildly. "Reminiscing here." He put the glass back on the desk, using both hands to make sure it didn't tip. "We never talked about our childhoods much, actually," he said. "No reason to, I guess. Mine's basically pain and humiliation until I started university. Don't know about John's. Probably just as bad." He swallowed, and it looked like it hurt. "Wish I'd asked him, now."

"I'm here," Sheppard said. He wanted to shake McKay, wanted to smash his hand down on the table, throw something across the room, anything to break through and make McKay see him, recognize him. But he couldn't. "I'll tell you anything. Anything you want."

And McKay did look at him: a slow, bleary tracking of his head. "His memories wouldn't mean anything, coming from you."

"God damn it, Rodney! They're mine!" The synthesized voice sounded far, far too calm, somehow, carrying only hints of the volcanic despair Sheppard was feeling. It was almost like McKay was the one who was dead--Sheppard was right there in the room, and he couldn't get to him.

McKay spun in his chair so he was looking at Sheppard face-on, his expression contorted with rage. "You call me 'Dr. McKay' or 'Sir'. Got it? You do not call me by my first name. John Sheppard got to do that. Not you."

"I am John Sheppard!"

The door to McKay's quarters suddenly slammed open, so fast it gave a mechanical, screeching whine. McKay flinched visibly, then reeled, blinking heavily with his remaining eye.

"Sorry!" Sheppard said immediately, easing the door shut again. "I'm sorry."

But McKay was already shouting, not listening. "Shut up!" McKay grabbed the bottle off his desk and threw it one motion. It missed Sheppard by at least an arm's length and smashed into the framed PhD certificate from Northeastern University, shattering the bottle and the frame. "John is dead! He is dead, and you are nothing! You get that? You finally get that?" McKay was standing now, vibrating with anger, hunched forward like he was preparing for a fight. "You are an algorithm, you are pieces of code, you are some Ancient's idea of a sad, pathetic joke, but you are not John. John is dead! He is dead! HE IS DEAD!" The glass followed the bottle, in a wider, wilder arc that came nowhere near Sheppard but splintered against the wall above McKay's bed. McKay scooped up his laptop after that, tried to throw it too, but he stumbled before it could leave his hands, and it just ended up falling to the floor as McKay dropped heavily to his knees.

Sheppard darted forward, automatically reaching for him. And of course the holographic hands went right through.

McKay cringed, though Sheppard knew he felt nothing. But McKay didn't move after that. Sheppard didn't know if he even could or not. He checked Beckett's whereabouts, gratified to see that he was almost at McKay's quarters.

"Get out," McKay said. His breath was short, rough gasps, his hands in trembling fists against his thighs. "Get out."

Sheppard turned his hologram off. There was nothing else he could do.

***

"And you're sure you can do this," Weir said to Beckett. "Because if you can't..." She took a breath, closed her eyes when she exhaled, and for just a fraction of a second Sheppard could see the stress she was under, the weight of it in the shift of her shoulders, and then Weir looked up and she was all cool lines of command. "We should join the evacuees at the Alpha site now."

"As I said, my people will not evacuate, Doctor Weir," Halling said, interrupting whatever Beckett was going to answer, and Sheppard blinked, startled--again--to see the man at the conference table instead of Teyla. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it.

He was still just trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she was dead.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider, Halling?" Weir asked, though Sheppard was sure that it was as much for diplomacy's sake as because she honestly thought Halling would. "There are fifteen Hive ships on their way here in less than six hours. If they find Atlantis destroyed, the first place they'll look for us is the Mainland." Her tone was strangely gentle. "You must know your people won't survive."

Halling nodded gravely, and the gesture made Sheppard miss Teyla so much it was like a physical pain. A tiny hiss of sound make him look across the table to where McKay was sitting next to Ronon, but McKay had turned his head away.

Ronon's face was like stone.

"We are aware of the risk, Doctor Weir," Halling said. "But we are staying."

"What?" McKay burst out. Sheppard couldn't blame him, though he didn't say anything himself. "You do know that there are fifteen Hive ships on the way here, right? And that if..."--he glanced at Beckett, and the fragile-looking Villana sitting next to him--"When we have to evacuate, there will be nothing here to distract the Wraith from the Mainland? Your people are going to be fast-food for what--a zillion Wraith?"

"It has already been established that there will not be time for enough return trips from the Mainland to evacuate more than half the Athosians in any case, Doctor McKay," Halling said.

"So that means if you can't all go, none of you will?" McKay looked horrified. "You're going to die! Your entire people! Everyone!"

"Rodney," Weir admonished.

"Am I wrong?" Rodney asked. His eyes were caught somewhere between amazement and fury. "He's condemning his own people to death, Elizabeth! Teyla would never--"

"Rodney!" And this time Weir was all but shouting.

McKay shut his mouth, and Sheppard saw his jaw clenching until it looked like it had to hurt. McKay's eyes were like the blue points of knives, but he didn't speak again.

Halling's eyes hardened, an uncomfortably harsh change for his normally kind face. "Teyla is with the Ancestors," he said simply. "And as I told Doctor Weir the first time the Wraith were approaching, there is no place in this galaxy that is safe, so long as the Wraith hunger. We are weary of running. Our last stand will be here, in the city of the Ancestors."

"Our Earth Friends will destroy the city when they leave it," Shil Yana said quietly. She glanced at Weir, as if for confirmation, and Weir gave her a tiny, solemn nod.

Halling already knew that, of course.

"No," Halling said, staring straight at Weir. "Teyla may have agreed to that, the last time, but I do not. The Athosians do not. We will not allow you to destroy the city."

Sheppard watched Weir's features tighten with a kind of tired fascination. They didn't have time for this and she knew it. He was about to say as much when she spoke again.

"As both myself and Doctor McKay have pointed out," Weir said, "there are fifteen Hive ships on their way here. Even if I could concede to your wishes, the Wraith plan to annihilate Atlantis. There will be nothing left for you to defend."

"So you say," Halling said, and his tone made it obvious that he didn't believe her. "We hold that the Ancestors will return before that happens."

"I do not think that happened last time," Zelenka said with mild sarcasm, before McKay could.

"This is wasting time," Ronon said, finally speaking. His voice was like tumbling gravel. "If they want to stay, let them." He shrugged. "Less mouths to feed at the Alpha site." He was still wearing the same shirt he'd been in when he carried Teyla's body through the gate. Sheppard could see the dark red, like rust, that started over his heart and soaked all the way down.

Weir shot him a quelling glare, but Ronon just looked steadily back.

"Look," Beckett said suddenly, sounding both anxious and exasperated, "if the gene therapy works, and if Aren Lev Nent's people can use it to contact the Wraith the way Teyla could, no one will have to evacuate."

"That's a lot of 'ifs'," Sheppard said.

"Aye," Beckett said simply. "But right now it's the best chance we've got."

"We are fairly confident that Teyla's Wraith genes will allow us to convince the Wraith to go back into hibernation," Aren Lev Nent said. The Villana's voice was soft and subdued, the same way all the few telepathic Villana spoke, as if they were constantly trying to keep everyone's voices down. It made it that much more impossible to tell if Aren was male or female.

"Great, voodoo science and telepathy will save the day," McKay muttered. "Why am I not overflowing with optimism here?" He bent his head, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand, and Sheppard could practically feel his tension from across the room.

"Certain or not, Rodney, it's the best and only chance we have," Weir said, looking at all of them. "And right now I'm willing to take it." She looked back at Beckett and Aren. "How long will you need?"

Beckett looked like that was precisely the question he was hoping she wouldn't ask. "At least four days to isolate Teyla's Wraith genes and create a proper virus carrier for them." He didn't mention that the genetic material would be coming from Teyla's corpse. He didn't have to. "And the necessary testing--"

"--We've got two days," McKay snapped. "Maybe two and a half before the shield fails completely under the onslaught of that number of ships. Probably less if they do that kamikaze thing with the darts again."

Beckett looked stricken. "I can't make it work in less time!"

"Well, what do you expect me to do, Carson?" Rodney shot back, "Ask the Wraith if they wouldn't mind not shooting at us while..." He trailed off, then suddenly blinked and held up his index finger. "Wait," he said, then stood, turning to Zelenka. "Meet me in the room with the control chair in half an hour." He grabbed up his laptop, striding out of the room. "If you'll excuse us, Elizabeth," he said, "I need the Colonel to help me with something."

Sheppard's eyebrows rose, then he stood. "Elizabeth?"

She nodded. "Go. The briefing's adjourned. Rodney," she called after him, since he was already nearly out of the room, being closely followed by Zelenka, "keep me apprised."

"Apprised, right." Rodney lifted a hand to show he'd heard, then disappeared through the door.

Sheppard hustled after him, feeling the tiniest stir of hope.

It was weird, not having a body anymore. Had he given it any thought (and he was emphatically doing his best not to think about it), Sheppard would have guessed that he would miss his senses most. But he could see through the myriad of Atlantis' optical sensors and cameras (for security and otherwise), and hear through the auditory sensors and the comm chatter (and even, in a way, through the IM of Atlantis' intranet, if he concentrated his attention there).

He could 'hear' Zelenka reporting to Dr. Weir in the main conference room, which had become a communications hub during the crisis. Zelenka had just reported the impact on the chair room and answered Weir's frantic questions with, "I can't tell. The sensors may be damaged in that area. Or...there may be no life signs. I am sorry, Elizabeth. I will attempt to reroute the shield controls to this workstation."

Sheppard heard Weir order Major Lorne to send a search party to the chair room to find out the extent of the damage. He watched Weir's grim face, watched Zelenka jump as Pol Osri--the PerAn chief enforcer who had attached himself like a silent, hulking shadow to Dr. Weir these last few days--touched his shoulder before shoving a cup of coffee-like-beverage into his hand. Sheppard absently followed the progress of Zelenka's little program, trying to wrest control of the shield away from the no-longer-functioning chair.

The comm system allowed Sheppard to hear Major Lorne reporting that Lieutenant Cadman's team had found the chair room in rubble--luckily no Wraith had transported in yet--and had called for medical backup. The medteam had extracted Doctor McKay, badly injured, and had found Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard's dead body.

Sheppard watched Weir's face blanch and heard her breath still at the news, and listened to the utter silence from Lorne's end that meant the Major was holding his breath as well. A few beats later, Weir's voice barely wavered as she exhaled and said, in a flat voice, "Well, then, Major, it looks like we'll have to...do our best to carry on."

Sheppard found time strangely stretched out. He could think faster now than he ever could before, and he could think of many hundreds of things simultaneously, if he tried. But that was in his head--wherever his head was, now. In the real world, the lag between thought and action seemed very, very long.

So while protecting Atlantis by using his new abilities to keep control of the shield and maximize its efficiency was relatively easy, requiring only a fraction of his attention, and the actual decision to contact Weir and reassure her that he was still around was made fairly quickly, waiting around to have the opportunity to speak to her alone seemed to take forever. He finally decided that he wasn't going to get that opening, seeing as Atlantis was still in crisis-mode, and Weir was the communications epicenter. Sheppard took his chance when Weir was momentarily left alone with Zelenka and Osri.

Elizabeth. He IM'ed on her computer screen. It's John Sheppard. Don't panic, but I'm not really dead. Damn. She wasn't looking at the screen.

He tried Zelenka next. Dr. Zelenka. Hey, Radek. It's Sheppard! I'm not dead. I've been uploaded into Atlantis somehow. Tell Elizabeth to look at her computer screen.

Zelenka read the message, then looked angrier than Sheppard ever remembered seeing. Ha. Ha. Very funny, Zelenka typed into his IM client. Stop with sick jokes, whoever you are, and let me get back to critical saving-Atlantis activities. If McKay finds out who you are, he will personally remove your balls, BTW. And don't think I won't help him!

Okay, Zelenka wouldn't be any help. Sheppard concentrated on Elizabeth's currently ongoing conversation over the comm. Of course, the comm!

"My apologies, Shil Yana, please allow me to interrupt for a moment. Elizabeth? It's John Sheppard."

"John?" Weir shot up out of her chair, her eyes wide and unseeing, all her attention focused on the voice coming out of her comm. Sheppard felt like an odd kind of voyeur, watching her like that. "John! I was told you were dead."

"I'm not dead yet," Sheppard said, trying to reassure her. "I'm feeling better."

"Oh, so you don't want to go on the cart?" A thin, brittle thread of humor wove into Weir's relieved voice, as she lobbed the Monty Python back at him.

"I feel fine," Sheppard agreed. "I think I'll go for a walk. Or rather, I'd like you to go for a walk."

"Where, John?" asked Weir, her voice even and reasonable. Sheppard greatly admired her calm, especially under the circumstances.

"Doctor Weir," interrupted Zelenka. "I have been unable to assume control over the shields. Something anomalous is interfering with my program to take control from the chair room. This should not be possible. I am a better programmer than Rodney, even though he will not admit it--"

"Elizabeth. Ask Dr. Zelenka if the shield is protecting Atlantis from the kamikaze darts."

Weir repeated Sheppard's question. Both of Zelenka's eyebrows climbed his forehead as he studied the readout on his laptop's screen and nodded slowly. "Jak? How is this possible?"

"Tell him I'm doing it, Elizabeth. The IM from before wasn't a sick joke. Look on your computer screen. I've been...uploaded into Atlantis, somehow.

"Really?" Weir's voice sounded intrigued. "Something like that happened at the SGC, if I remember correctly. General O'Neil's consciousness was briefly uploaded into an Asgard ship..."

"Hey, cool!" Suddenly, Sheppard didn't feel so freakish anymore. "So, when we get back into contact with Earth, they'll be able to fix this."

"Sure, when we get back into contact with Earth." Weir was agreeing with him, but her flat tone told Sheppard what she thought of the chances of that happening anytime soon.

"Well, until then, being this way is mighty useful," Sheppard said, resolutely cheerful. "Zelenka, take a look at the power consumption levels on your computer screen. What do you think? I'm being way more efficient with the power distribution for the shields than we could be before. We might be able to get another day or two out of them, right?"

"I believe you are correct." Zelenka was studying the data with a little frown grooving his forehead. He looked up, eyes searching the ceiling. "Colonel Sheppard, please forgive me for doubting you earlier."

"No problem, Radek. Look, I know you're busy, but if you and Elizabeth have just a minute, I'd like to show you something."

"Of course, John." Weir was already stepping away from her desk. She glanced at Osri.

"It's okay for Pol Osri to come as well, Elizabeth. I don't mind, if he doesn't. Hey, Osri!"

"Sheppard." Osri nodded, looking around the room as if he could spot Sheppard's ghost. "I am pleased that you are not dead."

"Oh, me too!" Sheppard agreed enthusiastically. "Listen, Elizabeth, Radek. Do you remember the holograph room from when we first came to Atlantis?"

"With the hologram of the Ancient woman, yes?" Zelenka nodded.

"Right! Meet me there. Sheppard out."

Of course, he wasn't really 'out' in any real way. He could still see/hear/sense them, as he was aware of everyone in the city, even as he concentrated on making his idea work. He was aware of Weir's party as they made their way to the holograph room, and of Major Lorne, Halling, and Shil Yana as they joined Weir and she explained the situation to them.

And of McKay, being prepped for surgery in the infirmary. But that was another thing he wasn't going to think about.

"You don't mind, do you, John?" Weir said quietly into her comm, perhaps realizing more about Sheppard's situation than he'd given her credit for.

"Of course not, Elizabeth," Sheppard murmured into her ear. "The more, the merrier. It will help convince them faster, and we can all get over how weird it is and start using it to our advantage." Especially since it was only temporary. He was sure of that.

The group entered the holograph room and paused just inside the doorway. Sheppard brought up the lights dimly within the room. Inside the space where the Ancient woman's hologram had once welcomed the first exploration team from Earth to Atlantis, a softly glowing blue hologram of Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard stood, dressed in his usual fatigues and black t-shirt. Sheppard checked the hologram's details from the room's video monitors: wristband and watch on each wrist, cow-licked hair standing straight up as per usual, hands on his hips, and one eyebrow raised, smirk firmly in place. Perfect.

Hologram Sheppard spread his arms wide. "What do you think?" His voice came over all their headsets, but it matched the movement of his blue, holographic lips. Sheppard found the hologram almost ridiculously easy to manipulate to reflect his thoughts and expressions.

"Later on, after we're out of crisis mode, I can activate the other holographic projectors--they're all over Atlantis," he told them. "It will be easier for most people to interact with me if they have something to look at." Hologram Sheppard peered down at one pale blue arm and frowned thoughtfully. "I can actually make it so I'll look more realistic, but that would use up a bit more power than I'm comfortable squandering right now."

"S-Sir? Colonel?" Lorne's eyes were very wide.

"Hiya, Major," Hologram Sheppard waved nonchalantly. "Listen, Major, Dr. Weir tells me the SGC had something like this happen with General O'Neil and an Asgard ship."

"Oh," Lorne blinked a moment. "Yeah, they did, actually. I guess we can't let SG-1 trump Atlantis on the Strange-O-Meter, can we?" He grinned suddenly.

Hologram Sheppard grinned in return and rocked back and forth on his heels.

Halling's words seemed to burst out of him. "Our prayers! The Ancestors be praised! You have come back, Sheppard--come back to defend the city of the Ancestors from the Wraith."

"Well, I'll definitely try to do that, Halling," Sheppard said, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.

"I am pleased that the Ancestors have granted you this boon, Sheppard," Shil Yana intoned gravely, spoiling the pompousness of the statement with a sweet smile.

Sheppard had the hologram smile at her, feeling a little weird. They were all treating him so formally, like he was somehow special, now. It wasn't like he was Superman, all of a sudden. He was the same as he'd always been, just... in a new environment.

He allowed the holographic face to twitch into a frown as his attention was caught by something. "Listen--Zelenka, Lorne, make sure power usage throughout the city is strictly limited to emergency systems only. This," with a wave of a holographic hand, he indicated the glowing blue body, "has got to go for now. It's taking too much juice. But I'm still around, okay? I haven't abandoned you. I won't abandon you."

"We understand, John," Weir said gravely. Zelenka nodded, clutching his laptop to his chest. Next to him, Pol Osri frowned gravely and inclined his head.

Lorne straightened to attention and saluted. "Sir!"

Hologram Sheppard nodded and saluted in return.

"Defender of Atlantis, we depend on you," Shil Yana told him. "Our Friends," she glanced at the others, "we believe in you."

"Ancestors, we remember you," Halling added, arms raised, and Shil nodded.

"Amen," said Zelenka softly. Sheppard had the hologram gave a thumbs-up before the Defender of Atlantis winked out of their sight.

***

"I swear to God Webber--"

"Weswen, Sir."

"--Whatever, that if you don't stop singing 'So This Is Christmas' under your breath right now, I'm going to plant a bomb in your quarters and rig it to explode the next time you jerk off."

Webber/Weswen stopped his murmured crooning with an abruptness that was wholly satisfying, but the other one--Lem Zharna if he remembered correctly, which he probably didn't--just grinned like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, though McKay doubted he knew precisely what 'jerk off' meant. Well, it was easy enough to guess.

"Is he always like that?" Lem asked Ronon.

Ronon, who had been pushing through the thick snow with the truculent air of a wet cat, didn't even glance Lem's way before he answered.

"Nope. Sometimes he's worse."

Succinct as always. McKay had to smile.

Weswen, possibly to distract himself before he started singing again, clapped his mittened hands together and shivered theatrically. "Damn, it's cold!" he said. Gouts of steam gusted out of his mouth with every word. The four of them were covered head-to-toe in PerAn winter campaign military gear, so white and bulky that McKay privately thought they looked like angry snowmen. The black of their P-90s and packs stood out in almost painful relief against the white-on-white of their uniforms against the snow, and McKay found his eye constantly fastening on Ronon's backpack, despite how often he wrenched it away to his scanner or the horizon. Luckily the sky was overcast and grey, or he thought they might all risk becoming snow-blind.

Of course, the overcast sky meant they risked being trapped in a blizzard, but their destination wasn't all that far, and they had more than enough supplies to last the night or even longer, if necessary. Ronon had promised. Several times.

McKay thought about saying something like, 'thank you so much for pointing that out--it's really cold, huh?' Or, 'wow, you Marines are observant! I'm so glad you came along!' Or possibly even threatening Weswen with some kind of bodily harm if he didn't just shut up for a few minutes. But it was damn cold. Cold enough that McKay was worried that talking too much would crack the enamel on his teeth, despite the thick scarf that was wrapped up to his ears. Besides, it was rough going, slogging through the almost thigh-high snow, and it was probably better to just save his breath.

If it had been Sheppard, though, McKay would have said something anyway, despite the temperature and the effort--and for sure Sheppard would have remarked on how cold it was, probably several times--but McKay didn't know the two soldiers whom Ronon had chosen for this mission. He had no idea if Weswen was purposely baiting him or just being stupid. Snapping at him wouldn't have been any fun.

So McKay just grunted steam out into the ice-laden air and didn't say anything, his eye on the black jut of Ronon's back as McKay trudged after him through the snow, occasionally telling him which direction to take when Ronon looked over his shoulder at him.

Ronon didn't say anything either. Not that that had ever been unusual for him.

McKay didn't leave Atlantis much anymore, not as much as he would have liked, but whenever he joined Ronon's team, the other two members were always different. McKay never asked, but he was certain it was because Ronon didn't want to commit to any other team-members, as if having a new, permanent group of four would be somehow disloyal to the team they had been. When Teyla was alive, and Sheppard...

Well, Ronon thought Sheppard was still alive, just unable to leave the city. But still. If Ronon couldn't have Teyla and Sheppard with him, McKay figured, he wasn't going to choose anyone else.

McKay supposed he should think that was stupid.

"How much farther, Doctor McKay?" Lem asked. He was wearing goggles under his white, PerAn toque, and with his scarf covering the rest of his face he was completely unrecognizable. The only reason McKay didn't mistake him for Weswen was the PerAn accent.

"Not far now," McKay muttered. He smiled to himself, though of course there was no way in hell Lem could have ever gotten the reference, and probably would have been too young to anyway, even if he'd been born in Canada instead of an entirely different galaxy. "We're close," he said, more loudly. He gestured at Ronon with his chin, though the two soldiers probably couldn't see it. "According to this," he hefted his scanner and waggled it, "it should just be over the next rise--"

"I think it is," Ronon said. But McKay was too busy blinking to answer him.

"Wow," Weswen said. "That's big."

Lem stepped up beside McKay, his head jerking woodenly as he nodded. He said something too low for McKay to hear, but was probably filthy.

"I thought it was going to be in the mountain," McKay said quietly.

It was the mountain. The place they had come here to find was an entire mountain--seemingly endless spires of metal and glass, rising like the fingers of gods out of the perfect white of the snow.

~~~

McKay had been sure that they would need some kind of special code to get in, or that the entrance would be booby-trapped, or buried under kilometers of ice. Something--anything--that would make it impossible, or at least exceedingly difficult. When Lem, taking point, just walked right up to the outer wall and stood there as it simply slid aside, McKay felt disappointed, almost betrayed. Somehow the ease of the whole thing lessened the significance, the weight of the moment.

"Huh," grunted Ronon, as Weswen swore much more vociferously than Lem had. McKay watched Lem walk into the cavernous entranceway, his P-90 carefully pointed. Ronon went in afterwards, gun drawn, then McKay, Weswen following behind.

The room--God, it was like a cathedral--lit up like a sun as soon as Lem stepped across the threshold.

McKay turned around and around, staring up at the ceiling, so far above them that it seemed to replace the sky. It was bright gold, delicately rounded. McKay couldn't help thinking that it was like they were looking up at the inside of an egg, and he wondered if there was any significance to that.

"This place goes on forever," Weswen breathed. He had opened his parka, and was unwinding his scarf. His toque was already off, as were his goggles. McKay blinked, looking at him. He had become so used to the anonymous white that he'd almost forgotten that any of them had real bodies under the snowsuits, or faces. When Weswen smiled he looked so much like Ford it was startling.

"Where're the ZPMs?" Ronon asked, all purpose and no wonder, as usual.

McKay scowled at him, though it was halfhearted. Ronon was right--it would take lifetimes to look around this place, and they hadn't come here just to explore. All the same, McKay glanced wistfully at the banks of consoles he might never even get to look at, before marching over to the nearest one, shedding layers of winter gear as he went. When he was down to his snow pants and sweater, he touched the console experimentally, gratified when it lit up under his palms. He scanned the Ancient text on the screen then guessed his way through a few commands before pulling up a blueprint for the facility.

"Here," he said, pointing at the screen. His mouth stretched into a slow, wide smile. "The ZPMs are here."

"Cool," Weswen said.

"What is this place?" Lem asked. He'd come up to the console, on the other side of Weswen. He'd also removed his gear, and his brown hair was sticking up all over from pulling off his toque. It made McKay a little sad. Lem was staring at the console as if he'd be able to understand the Ancient, if he just looked at the symbols long enough. "It's the size of Atlantis."

"I think it's similar to our city," McKay agreed, nodding as he studied the intersecting lines of the diagram. "We already know that the Ancients built more than one Atlantis-type city ship, so it's conceivable that they had other cities based on different designs. But, ah, I don't think this is just a city," he added, studying the screen.

"Yeah?" Ronon said, now standing next to McKay. McKay glanced at him to see him shaking out his dreadlocks, scattering drops of melted snow from where the toque hadn't covered them completely. McKay wasn't sure if Ronon really cared or not about what McKay had said. "What is it?"

"Well," McKay said, pointing at the screen, "most of it is a city. It's just that some of it is for...other things."

"Like what?" Ronon asked. He seemed as interested in taking off his parka as in McKay's answer.

McKay sighed inwardly. Sheppard would have been beside himself with curiosity by now. He probably would have told McKay to stop with the theatrics already and get on with it. And then McKay would have made a great show of annoyance at being rushed, and Sheppard would...

It didn't matter. Sheppard wasn't there.

"It's a factory," McKay said dully, feeling almost none of the enthusiasm of just a moment before. He pointed at the screen, to a different area from where he had just indicated. "It takes up the majority of the structure, here." He touched the screen where he'd shown Lem the ZPMs. "That's just a storage area."

"Pretty big," Ronon said, his eyes traveling over the display.

"If it's a factory," Lem said, crowding Weswen, "what does it make? Spaceships?"

The question was so stupid that it had McKay smiling again, at least a little.

Sheppard would have asked something like that, just to rile him. For a moment it was almost like he was there, instead of the two soldiers McKay barely knew. McKay could practically imagine it--Sheppard looking over McKay's shoulder, hiding his delight in sarcasm and purposely-dumb questions, while McKay retorted that he knew Sheppard would light up once they found the weapons.

"It's Pavlovian," McKay said quietly, because it almost worked in response to Lem's idiocy, and because he would have said it to Sheppard.

Lem just stared at him, so McKay gave him a mild glower, then pointed at the much-smaller storage area again. "No, it does not make spaceships," he said. "It makes those." He tapped the screen for emphasis. Don't play dumb, Colonel. I know you could have joined MENSA. "We're in a factory that makes ZPMs."

***

McKay sat on one of the examination tables in the infirmary, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. A nurse was stitching up his shoulder, where a piece of shrapnel had sliced him while he'd been trying to protect Teyla--he hadn't even felt it at the time. The nurse had given him some kind of injection, right into the wound, and he'd barely felt that, either.

He thought he might be in a little bit of shock.

The others--Beckett and what was left of McKay's team--were elsewhere in the infirmary. Ronon and Sheppard would need medical exams, which was standard practice for all teams returning from off-world. The prisoners too. McKay had already seen the two men who had been captured with Sora being escorted away by a pair of grim-faced Marines. He supposed it made sense to take care of the prisoners first, get them out of the way.

McKay was hoping that Beckett was doing the checkups for Ronon and Sheppard now, though, before he looked after Sora, gave her any painkillers for her smashed jaw. He supposed that was cruel.

Teyla--Teyla's body--was still lying on the gurney the med team had used to take her from the gate room, back when they had still thought that she could somehow be saved. Even McKay, who had sung to Teyla as she choked and bled and died, had stood there, breathless with hope, as Beckett's team had intubated her, and started CPR. But Teyla hadn't come back.

"Almost finished, Dr. McKay," the nurse said.

McKay nodded, feeling the nurse's touch on his back to still him. It was strange, being aware of the needle going through his skin, the suture thread pulling after it, but only as pressure, without any pain to go with it. All of him felt like that, really: pressure, but no pain. The grief hadn't set in yet, it was too new.

Teyla had been alive less than half an hour ago. And now she wasn't. She had been smart, and graceful, and strong, and funny, and kind, and dangerous, and beautiful, and all that had happened was that they had stepped through the gate to a supposedly friendly planet and now her blood was soaking his clothes, had stained his hands, and she was nothing anymore. Gone.

They had put a white sheet over her. Part of it was turning red.

"Rodney."

McKay lifted his face to look up at Dr. Weir. "Elizabeth," he acknowledged. He felt infinitely weary, he realized, like he could just keel over and sleep on the hard table, shirtless, blood-covered and all.

"John told me you tried to help her," Weir said, as if it wasn't obvious, with Teyla's blood still on his hands.

But McKay just nodded, too tired and numb to snap at her, to say anything.

"John and Ronon are fine," Weir added, as if that wasn't obvious, too. Because McKay had seen them, right after the firefight. He was the only one who had been hit with anything. Besides Teyla.

"Physically, anyway," McKay said. He had seen both their faces, after all, seen Ronon backhand Sora like the blow had been a mercy. And Sheppard's eyes, so full of frozen rage they had barely seemed human.

And maybe Sora deserved to die for that--not just for Teyla's loss, but for what was replacing it.

"I don't even know why she did it," he blurted. He had his hands gripped around the edge of the table now. "I mean, we'd just stepped through the gate! We'd just stepped through! Teyla didn't even know Sora was there." He was sure his eyes were too wide, like a child's, begging Weir for answers he knew she couldn't possibly have. But he couldn't help it--he had never been good at controlling or hiding his emotions. "Teyla saved her life! Why would Sora do that?"

"I don't know, Rodney," Weir said. She was rubbing her forehead, a small motion with the fingers of her right hand. "Maybe it was revenge. Maybe she never stopped blaming Teyla for the death of her father."

"Revenge," McKay said, like he'd never heard the word before. It made no sense to him. He couldn't imagine hating anyone that much. Sora was willing to die, so long as Teyla died first. God, Sora had gotten what she wanted then, hadn't she? He wondered if she was happy.

"They're all insane," McKay whispered. "They're all fucking insane."

Weir didn't answer him. But really, what could she say to that, he knew. What the hell could she say?

The sudden shout from the other end of the infirmary made him and Weir snap up at the same time. The nurse jumped, yanking on the thread, and the jolt of it almost hurt.

Help me! Get her over! Turn her over!

Weir and McKay shared their shocked astonishment, then Weir started jogging towards Beckett's voice.

McKay slid off the table to follow her, but was caught short by the tight pull in his shoulder.

"Wait!" The nurse said. She was leaning over the table, arm outstretched and still holding the needle in a pair of forceps. "I'm not finished yet!"

"Let go!" McKay snarled at her. He gestured sharply in the direction Weir had just gone. "They need help! Let go!" He gave a violent shrug of his shoulder anyway, and heard the nurse yelp. He felt something that might have been a tear in his skin, maybe from too-tight thread, and then definitely what were forceps dangling against his back, but he didn't care. All he could think of was that maybe Sora had somehow smuggled back a weapon--a bomb or something--and if he didn't go now and turn it off or diffuse it, almost everyone else he cared about was going to die.

So he ran, with no shirt and unfinished stitches and a thread and needle and forceps dangling down his back. And he burst into the main examination room and saw Sheppard and Ronon and one of the Marines holding Sora face-down on the MRI table, and she was still struggling--which was amazing--trying to shout even though her jaw was broken. And what McKay could make out of her slurring, pain and rage-mottled words was that yes, this was all about revenge--revenge for her father, revenge for Kolya, and Cowen--and that she was glad she was going to kill them all.

And then Beckett started slicing into her back, and Sora's voice slid up into incoherent screaming, and Weir tried to shout over Sora, to insist that Beckett stop, that he give Sora something for pain, and Sheppard shouted back that they didn't have time, and then Sora finally fainted and Beckett was holding up a small, blood-streaked device that had been sutured into Sora's back.

And Sheppard looked at Beckett who nodded and said, "yes, that's like the one I pulled out of Ronon."

And McKay watched, fists clenched around Teyla's blood, as Weir gasped, and Beckett dropped the device onto the floor like it was burning and stomped on it, smashing it with his heel. But it was too late, it was already too late. Sora had been inside the city for at least an hour...

He tapped his radio, and his hand was shaking.

"Radek?" McKay said, and then had to swallow, because his voice was too small. "Radek, I need you to check the deep-space sensors. Now."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" McKay bellowed angrily as Pol Osri's men literally dragged him out of his lab and down the hall. He twisted in their arms, but there were four of them, and they were too strong. He flung a look over his shoulder behind him. Dr. Kusanagi peered worriedly at him around the edge of door of the lab, hand over her mouth. Dr. Simpson was talking urgently with someone over her comm. Rodney hoped she was getting help for him.

"Silence, McKay," barked the tall, craggy-faced PerAn man--Pol Nartis or Narfus or something, one of Osri's cousins--leading the way in front of McKay and his escort. "We are simply Enforcing the will of Tal Weir," Pol N-whatever informed him. "It was her command that you flouted when you assisted Lorne in the planning of this venture. We merely take you into custody to await your punishment."

"Oh," McKay sneered. "So you're insane, then. Right! I'll put it in small words so that your deranged, itty-bitty mind can comprehend. Let. Me. Go! You have no authority to--"

"I said SILENCE!" Pol roared, as he turned and raised his arm to backhand McKay. McKay hated himself for his cowardice, but he shrank away anyway, as far as the crushing grips of his captors would allow. It hadn't been long enough since... that day, for the bruising to completely fade. His face was still tender, and bandages still swathed the place where his left eye had been. He flinched in anticipation of pain.

Only the blow never landed. A flash of green light coordinated perfectly with Pol's howl of pain, and the shouts of the escort as all four men were flung off him simultaneously. McKay swayed for a moment, regaining his balance, then straightened cautiously to face Pol N-whoever's glare as the man cradled his hand to his chest.

"What?" McKay demanded. "I didn't do that."

"No. I did."

McKay's vision grayed for a moment as Sheppard's voice--the Defender's voice now--came over all their headsets. Suddenly the hologram of the Defender, looking just as Sheppard had in the days before his death, appeared in the hall with them. The hologram put its hands on its hips and glowered. "You are not to harm Doctor McKay, Pol Narthus. I forbid it."

Pol Narthus and his goons all bowed to the hologram, hands (Pol's possibly broken) over their hearts. "My ap-pologies, D-defender," stammered Pol. "It was--Osri said--McKay has defied the will of Tal Weir!" That last part was almost a wail.

"And you're allowed to escort him into custody for Elizabeth to deal with," said the hologram, voice reasonable, but face grim. "But you are not ever to harm him. You are not even to touch him, do you understand?" The hologram's eyes narrowed, glaring at Pol Narthus.

The PerAn bowed again, more deeply. "We understand and obey, Defender."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" demanded McKay, suddenly out of patience with it all.

"Saving your butt, Rodney," the hologram smirked.

"Okay, okay, Dr. McKay," it placated immediately, obviously aware of McKay's rising blood pressure, perhaps because of the redness McKay was sure it could see in his face, or the throbbing of the vein in his temple. "Look, McKay," it said. "I've complied with your wishes. I've stayed away. I haven't even monitored you. And look what's happened. You've been conspiring against Elizabeth, and these guys were gonna beat the shit out of you for opening your big mouth again. If Simpson hadn't thought to call me--"

McKay found himself shaking and sputtering, jabbing his finger at the hologram. "Stop. Stop right there! I am not, and never have been, conspiring against Elizabeth Weir! What the hell is going on around here? Is everybody completely insane? I am peacefully doing my work--very important work, I might add--when these goons come and drag me out of my lab--"

The hologram folded its arms across its chest and tilted its head. "Oh? The ordnance Lorne used? Did it manufacture itself? And it was somebody else who helped Lorne plan that strike against the Yu-lash and the Genii that he and his troops are on right now? Which Elizabeth didn't authorize, and you know it. She's spitting mad, McKay! I wouldn't be surprised if she has you thrown in the brig for a month and cuts out your desserts for a year. Dammit, Ro—McKay--!"

Despite himself, McKay snorted, temper suddenly assuaged. "I seriously doubt she would resort to something so ridiculous. And I was assisting in a legitimate request from the military head of Atlantis. Elizabeth herself put him in charge."

"Even you don't believe that bullshit, McKay," the hologram accused. Suddenly, it tilted its head, as if it was really listening to something. The verisimilitude was actually very good. "Okay, Lorne's team is coming back through the gate. I better make sure nobody mistreats them either. Listen, McKay, do me--no, do Elizabeth--a favor, and let Pol Narthus and his friends here escort you to the brig. If you go relatively quietly, Elizabeth and I will try to get this straightened out."

"Yes, fine," McKay waved a hand, scowling. "But I want somebody to explain to me this whole Tal business, and why these PerAn feel like they have the right to haul me out of my own lab. And--!" He held up an imperious finger. "And, what did you do to get them to release me, anyway?"

The hologram grinned, and McKay felt another stab of yearning to see that expression on the real Sheppard's face--just once more, just once. "Remember the personal shield? That was just a portable model, for going off-world. It turns out that Atlantis can do the same thing, if I ask her nicely. I'm going to leave it on you for a little while, to make sure that you're safe while these fine gentlemen escort you to the brig."

The hologram turned to Pol Narthus and his men, frowning impressively. "You can take him along, now. Remember, though, he's under my personal protection. Both Dr. Weir and I would be extremely displeased if he came to the least harm."

The PerAn bowed. "As you will, Defender," said Pol Narthus, echoed by the other PerAn.

The hologram nodded, then waved to McKay. "I'll see you in a little while, McKay!"

"Wait! What about--" McKay sighed as the hologram popped out of sight. That was certainly a conversation-stopper. He knew that the Defender-program could be accessed from anywhere in Atlantis and, in fact, that he could hold a conversation with it over his comm. But that would feel too much like talking to the real John Sheppard. McKay sighed again and looked around at his now-subdued escort. He snapped his fingers at them impatiently. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

He had to suppress a snicker as two of them instinctively reached to take his arms again and the green flare of the shield indicated that he really was untouchable. He shook his head at them. "Stop being idiots. You, and you," he pointed. "Go get my laptop and my notes. Dr. Simpson will know what I need. I might as well get some work done while this ridiculous charade plays out. Well? What are you waiting for? Go, go!" He made shooing motions at the men.

They looked uncertainly between him and Pol Narthus before nodding jerkily and dashing back in the direction of the lab. McKay turned and faced Pol, waving an arm in invitation. "After you." Pol nodded to him, cradling his hand to his chest as he took the lead down the hall.

His remaining escort surrounding him, Rodney McKay strode, chin up, towards the brig.

~~~

"It's not fair," Ronon growled, pacing restlessly up and down the hall. "I should be in there with them."

"Don't tell me you want to be in the brig, Ronon." Sheppard shook his head, placing his hologram in Ronon's path. Although theoretically he could have walked right through, Ronon stopped short. He was quite good at helping maintain the illusion that Sheppard was still physically present. Sheppard understood that it was Ronon's way of showing respect and consideration, and he appreciated it, but he wasn't above using it when necessary.

"I was there, too! I helped plan the strike. I helped carry it out. It was just as much my responsibility as theirs," Ronon said stubbornly.

"Well, I'm glad that the PerAn don't hold you responsible and that you're out here helping me figure out a way to get McKay and Lorne out of this mess, instead of being in the mess with them."

Ronon reluctantly nodded his agreement and sighed as he leaned on the wall of the corridor. "It's just...Sheppard, this is not the kind of mess I'm much help with. This is a talking kind of mess." Ronon scrunched his forehead pitifully.

"Yeah, I know. It's not exactly my area of expertise, either," Sheppard agreed, mirroring Ronon's posture against the opposite side of the corridor. "This would normally be the kind of thing I'd hand off to Elizabeth, only this time Elizabeth's part of the problem. I'm not sure what's going on with the PerAn and all this Tal crap, but it's obviously really important to them, and it's freaking her out."

Ronon raised an eyebrow. "And if Weir isn't any help?"

"Well, then, ordinarily my instinct would've had me asking..." Sheppard grimaced, unable to finish the sentence.

Ronon swallowed. "I miss Teyla, too." His hand curled into a fist and he looked away.

Sheppard looked away as well, letting Ronon have a moment. His hologram frowned as he did a quick status check of all the inhabited areas of Atlantis with his sensors, including the inside of the interrogation room, where Weir was managing to be civil, even if she was stiff with anger, and McKay was at least indulging in mulish silence rather than ranting. Looking at Lorne's stone face and McKay's mutinous scowl, Sheppard didn't think the answer lay in that room. Everyone there was completely convinced that they were in the right, and nobody would budge. Sheppard also didn't like the restlessness and the comments he was overhearing from the PerAn all over Atlantis. He and Weir had perhaps erred in welcoming quite so many of them into the city.

"We need somebody else," said Ronon suddenly. "We don't have Teyla anymore, and Weir is no good to us right now. We need somebody else. Somebody who can talk to the PerAn for us."

Sheppard nodded rapidly. "I'll go get Shil Yana!"

"Get Zelenka, too," Ronon advised. "The PerAn respect him for getting their kids out of the dart. And Weir listens to him."

Sheppard bounced on his holographic toes, hands on hips. "Yes! And McKay listens to him, too. Or at least, Radek browbeats him and makes him listen."

"Go on." Ronon grinned wickedly. "I'll make sure nobody steals McKay out of here."

Sheppard snorted. "I'm sure all of Atlantis will hear about it if somebody tries to take Rodney somewhere he doesn't want to go." With one last grin and nod towards Ronon, he allowed his hologram to fade out as he set about corralling both Zelenka and the head of the Yana clan.

~~~

Elizabeth Weir stared at her folded hands on the conference room table and frowned. "Forgive me, but I really don't know if I want to be this Tal person, Shil Yana. It sounds very much like a dictatorship. Those don't tend to work out very well, in my people's experience."

Shil Yana tilted her head thoughtfully. "I am afraid your wishes in the matter are irrelevant, Tal Weir. In retrospect, it is obvious. You are the Lady of Atlantis. I am only surprised I did not realize from the very first. Forgive me. Perhaps it was your crisis, or the fact that you are not PerAn yourself."

"It took us time to recognize as well, Shil Yana," Pol Osri said in a conciliatory manner.

"And if I choose not to be this Tal?" Weir asked carefully.

Osri shrugged, a pained look on his face. "Then you will be killed, and a new Tal will be chosen." All around the edges of the conference room, the PerAn enforcers straightened to attention apprehensively.

Sheppard couldn't help the rage that brought every light in the room to glaring brightness. Right this moment he was starting to be damned tired of Pol Osri and his high-handed ways, and his damned threats and manhandling of Sheppard's people. With difficulty, he dimmed the lights for the benefit of everyone shielding their eyes. He couldn't quite calm himself enough to bring the hologram's light levels within normal parameters, though, and he continued to glow more brightly than normal. "You've gotta know I'm not about to let that happen, Pol Osri. Your cousin should have told you by now. I won't permit my people to be harmed."

Osri bowed his head. "It was never my intention to offend you, Defender. The thought of harming Elizabeth Weir sickens me beyond the telling. But the people need their Tal. They need someone to lead them."

"Our people will never accept one of your leaders," Lorne said forbiddingly, folding his arms against his chest.

"Are you kidding? Of course we won't be following the orders of some barbarians who march in here and--OW!" McKay glared at Beckett with his remaining eye.

"And help save us all, Rodney," Beckett said pleasantly, nodding at Shil Yana. He steepled his hands and frowned. "But Rodney's right, you know. Our people will not follow anyone who does away with Doctor Weir."

"If Doctor Weir is killed, my people will not permit you to take over the city of the Ancestors," Halling intoned implacably.

"I won't take orders from anyone else," Sheppard felt he had to emphasize. "And you'll find that the city itself will be damned difficult to control."

Osri, appearing increasingly distressed, looked over beseechingly at Shil Yana for help.

She spread her hands. "I agree, my Friends. We are all agreed. The PerAn wish no other leader. We all want no other leader. Elizabeth Weir is the Lady of Atlantis, the Tal of all our people." Shil gave a beseeching look of her own towards Weir. "If only she will accept the responsibility."

"If...if I accept this position..." Weir held up a hand to forestall any comments. "...I want to know all the duties and responsibilities it entails. And...and the pitfalls, Osri. I want to know what will happen to Doctor McKay and Major Lorne, Shil Yana, if it turns out I am this Tal after all."

Osri and Shil exchanged glances. "The Tal is a position of both secular and spiritual authority among the PerAn, Doctor Weir," Shil explained. "The Tal is the chosen leader of her, or his, people. In times of need, the Tal decides who eats and who goes hungry. In times of sickness, the Tal decides who gets medicine first. The Tal makes all the hard decisions, for the benefit of the people, and of necessity has the power to have those decisions enforced. The Tal's will is sacrosanct. To flaunt the will of the Tal is to betray the people. Punishment for that betrayal is harsh indeed."

"You said the Tal is important to the PerAn, Shil Yana, yes? What about your people?" Zelenka inquired.

Shil smiled at him. "Oh, long ago my people decided to follow the leadership of the PerAn and turn to the Tal as well, Doctor Zelenka. Else, our clansfolk could never agree on how best to work together, and would not tolerate one clan being elevated in power over another."

"You haven't answered my question!" Weir's voice was harsh, riveting the attention of everyone in the room. "What will happen to my people here if I become your Tal?" Her eyes shifted to McKay and Lorne. "I still have a serious discussion planned for you gentlemen, but I certainly don't want your death or imprisonment as a consequence of your recent activities."

Zelenka carefully covered Weir's hand on the conference room table with his own. "But your question has been answered, Elizabeth," he said earnestly. "The PerAn consider you their Tal. The Villana consider you their Tal as well. Those of us from Earth--the Tau'ri as we are sometimes called--and perhaps even our Athosian Friends, you are our leader also, no?"

He turned to look at Shil Yana and Pol Osri, glasses reflecting the light of Sheppard's hologram. "There must be times when the Tal's will is misinterpreted, maybe? What we call 'an honest mistake'. Or sometimes maybe the Tal decides to overlook an error?"

Both Osri and Shil Yana suddenly relaxed, smiling. "Oh, yes." Pol Osri nodded vigorously. "At any time, the Tal may show Her Mercy. Anyone can beg her forgiveness and mercy, and it is often granted. Once Mercy is granted, the fault is forgiven, and can never be punished again."

At once, Major Lorne stood up and came to attention. "Permission to speak, Doctor Weir?"

Weir frowned. "Permission granted, of course, Major."

Lorne bowed, hand over his heart, as Sheppard knew Lorne had seen the PerAn do. "Tal Weir, I beg your Mercy and clemency for my recent actions. Please forgive me."

"Of course I forgive you! Don't be ridiculous, sit down!" Weir snorted. Sheppard grinned despite himself, as did many others in the room. Weir had sounded just like McKay in that moment. She huffed, causing Zelenka to cover his mouth in amusement. Nick Lorne sat down slowly, a glint in his eye.

McKay stood up and began to bow himself, hand over heart. "Elizabeth, may I--"

"Oh, please, Rodney, yes! Of course, you too." Weir sketched an invisible cross in the air in front of him. "Te absolvo. There! You're both forgiven. Go and sin no more!" She turned to Pol Osri and Shil Yana. "Have I been 'sacrosanct' enough? Is that good enough for you? Are they safe?"

Osri sat up, nodding slowly and looking bewildered by the nervous tittering of some of the Tau'ri. "Of course, Tal Weir, your Mercy is yours to give."

Weir's frown quelled everyone in the room. "I haven't decided if I'm going to go through with this yet. I'll want a thorough briefing from both of you, Shil Yana, Pol Osri, about what this entails. We'll want a city-wide announcement--and a notice to the Athosians of course, Halling. And then some kind of election or consensus of some kind, and..."

As Weir waded into the waters of procedure, Sheppard found he couldn't keep a relieved smile from adorning his hologram's face. An instinct made him focus on McKay, turn both sensors and hologram to catch the hint of an answering relieved smile that hitched up a corner of McKay's mouth. The first smile he'd seen on McKay's face since... Sheppard's mind slid away from that thought as he concentrated on returning McKay's smile. Both of them, in accord, for this briefest of moments. Maybe things weren't all that bad after all.

***

"Oh great, trees again," McKay complained. "I'm so tired of all these planets that look like British Columbia."

"I do not know this world, 'British Columbia'," said Teyla. "But do you not prefer trees to desert worlds, or the world you and Colonel Sheppard named 'Hoth'?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"But trees mean we have to park the Jumper by the gate," Ronon said smugly. "And McKay hates to walk."

"Just wait one minute! That is completely unfair--"

"Focus on the positive, Rodney," said Sheppard, maneuvering the Puddle Jumper to a sheltered position near the treeline. "Remember those energy readings the MALP picked up? The ones you were all excited about?"

"We need to investigate those energy readings right away, Colonel," said McKay, gathering his gear eagerly. "It could be advanced technology, or possibly even a ZPM."

"However, there is also a road leading from the Ancestors' Ring, and it goes to a village only a short walk from here," Teyla reminded them. "We should also investigate the trading opportunities of this world. Atlantis needs new food."

Sheppard raised a hand to forestall McKay's automatic protest. "Easy, there, guys. Maybe we can do both at the same time. After all, if there's advanced technology, we'll need someone here's permission to do anything with it." He shut down the Jumper. "Okay, everybody out. I'm going to set the cloak, so remember where we parked."

~~~

"Your weapons, please," the uniformed man demanded pleasantly. He wore a navy-colored uniform jacket with polished metal buttons that matched his pants, with an intricately pleated and immaculately pressed white shirt underneath, and brightly polished black boots. He was tall and craggy-faced, with closely clipped dark hair under his hat. Since a troop of the similarly-uniformed local constabulary had Sheppard's team surrounded--he'd heard the townspeople refer to them as 'enforcers'--with their large projectile weapons aimed steadily at the 'Lanteans, Sheppard didn't see the point in resisting.

The 'village' his team had walked into had turned out to be a moderate-sized town. The houses and businesses were mostly brick and stucco, the streets paved in cobblestones with gaslight lamps on the corners. The town looked clean and pleasantly prosperous, and the people appeared to be at a surprisingly industrialized level of development. Sheppard reflected ruefully that the Pegasus Galaxy had certainly increased his appreciation for indoor plumbing and electricity. Their group had easily been identified as strangers by the local populace--it seemed that walking around heavily armed wasn't a common occurrence here.

"We are peaceful traders," Teyla told the enforcer, giving up her P-90 at Sheppard's nod. Ronon reluctantly gave up his sword at Sheppard's firm look, and prepared to give up his blaster as well. Behind Ronon, Sheppard could see the storekeeper who had sent her assistant running for the enforcers when she saw his team. She folded her arms over her ample chest and continued to watch them suspiciously from the doorway of her bakery.

"Your weapons will be returned to you when you depart," the chief enforcer assured them. "If you wish to trade, we will take you to see the Calendor, Yom Digras. He arranges all trade with outsiders for Hamachtown."

The enforcers firmly but politely escorted the team to a large municipal-looking building, to await an audience with Calendor Yom Digras.

Time slowed to a crawl as they sat in the Calendor's office. Teyla and the officials engaged in interminable, earnest pleasantries, while the rest of the team tried not to fall asleep. Ronon sat up straight, looking alert and stoic, but Sheppard saw the telltale tapping of his fingertips against his leg, counting...something. Minutes? Music in his head? Sheppard had always wondered, never asked. Poor McKay was squirming. He'd probably much rather be following up on his energy readings, which surprisingly hadn't originated from the town, as would have been more logical, but from the uninhabited woods that surrounded the town.

"Look, I agree that you and Teyla need to pursue the trade angle. I certainly want to keep eating. In the interests of efficiency, though, would you find out if Ronon and I can go take a little hike into the woods?" McKay whispered to Sheppard, in a manner he probably thought was discreet. "Ronon can protect me while I check out those readings, and we can probably wrap this all up and be home in time for dinner. What do you say?"

Sheppard didn't say anything, but gave McKay a single, sharp shake of his head. He made sure they shared eye contact, then deliberately looked over at Calendor Yom and raised his eyebrows. McKay followed his gaze, and gulped when he saw that the man--tall, muscular, and rather imposing--was glaring at them, blue eyes blazing beneath bushy eyebrows.

"I'm afraid we must forbid you entrance to the forest, honored guests," he intoned, his fierce expression at odds with his words. "The forest is sacred, and for strangers to walk there would be most offensive to us."

Sheppard saw McKay's lips move, forming 'But!' He gave a tiny shake of his head again, and McKay stopped before he actually voiced the word.

"We understand, Calendor Yom," Sheppard told him gravely, after one more speaking glance at McKay. "We certainly don't want to offend your people."

Next to him, McKay sighed in distress, but wisely said nothing.

"Very well. Thank you for your understanding, Colonel Sheppard." The Calendor turned to Teyla. "And we shall certainly consider your proposition for trade, Teyla Emmagan. However, at this time, the PerAn trade only with our Friends and other close allies. If you will leave us the information to contact you, we will certainly do so should this situation change."

"But, honored Calendor..." began Teyla.

The Calendor stood, and the other officials in the room stood. Therefore, Sheppard's team stood as well.

"Thank you, honored guests, for your visit. May the Ancestors grant you good fortune," said Yom Digras, clearly dismissing them.

"Thank you for your time, Calendor," said Teyla, with a regretful little incline of her head. "We certainly hope that you will reconsider your position. May we return again at some future time to petition for trade and an exchange of knowledge?"

"If you wish," said Yom Digras. "Speak to my assistant to schedule a date for your next visit." He was already turning to the paperwork on his desk.

What Sheppard was beginning to consider 'their' enforcers escorted the team out of the building and through the town. McKay scowled the whole time, but obeyed Sheppard's 'save it for later' look and didn't voice his complaints.

They were halfway down the road to the Stargate, still under an escort of enforcers, when two little children ran from the edge of the woods onto the road. "Papa, Papa!" called the taller one, fair-haired and perhaps six years old. A dark-haired smaller child toddled in the first child's wake.

The enforcers at once transformed from a faceless, disciplined force into individuals. One of the men knelt down and opened his arms for the children who were obviously his. The troop's commander scowled forbiddingly and approached his man. "Cal Pinurst, you know this is not permitted!"

"I knew there was something strange," muttered Ronon.

"What do you mean?" asked Sheppard.

McKay snapped his fingers and pointed at the children. "You're right, Ronon! I didn't see one little brat in the whole town."

"They are correct, Colonel," Teyla said wonderingly. "There were no children to be seen at all. I did not think they feared strangers that much..."

The rest of the troop guarded Sheppard's team, and tried to avert their eyes from their commander chewing out his soldier, who sheltered his children in his arms and stuttered apologies.

Teyla went still. "I sense Wraith," she said.

In the distance, the Stargate activated, and suddenly darts screamed overhead.

***

"Doctor Zelenka," Sheppard said quietly. "Do you have a minute?"

He'd kept his voice quiet on purpose, because of the late hour and the fact that Zelenka was alone in the lab, but the scientist startled anyway, nearly falling off his stool. One flailing arm struck the empty mug near his elbow, and it skittered off the table. Sheppard automatically reached to grab it and the mug fell through his hand. It was one of the metal ones, though, so it just clinked and bounced along the floor.

Zelenka swore sharply in Czech, then turned to face Sheppard with one hand over his heart. "My apologies, Defender," he said, sounding a little breathless. "I did not know you were there."

"No, I'm the one who should be apologizing," Sheppard said. He grinned, trying to put Zelenka at ease. "I keep forgetting how easy it is to sneak up on people like this." He didn't have footsteps anymore. Only his voice made any kind of sound, and even that didn't actually come from his hologram, but from the nearest communications device to his position. No wonder Zelenka had been frightened--it must have sounded like Sheppard had crept up behind him and spoken right in his ear.

Zelenka just waved a hand dismissively. "Not your fault." He stood and pushed his laptop to the side, a gesture that Sheppard appreciated. McKay would never have done that, even when he had wanted Sheppard around him. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Yeah," Sheppard said. He resisted the urge to cross the arms of his hologram protectively, forced himself to keep his gaze steady on Zelenka's kind face. "McKay doesn't think I'm real," he said.

Admitting it out loud felt almost petty. Playground stuff--Rodney doesn't like me anymore--but that didn't stop the surge of fear he felt at just saying the words, at the silence that seemed to stretch out forever while Zelenka looked at him and didn't speak, like he was trying to find the gentlest way of saying that yes, McKay was right.

It occurred to Sheppard, stupidly, belatedly, that he had no idea what he would do if that happened.

"You mean," Zelenka said, just before Sheppard was going to tell him to forget it, it didn't matter, "you are asking if he is correct, no? If you are actual Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, or just...reproduction of him?"

"Yes," Sheppard said. His voice sounded small and weak to him, even diminished as it was by the comm in Zelenka's ear. Sheppard realized he had formed his hands into tight fists, though of course he couldn't feel them.

"Right. Yes," Zelenka said, nodding. He gave Sheppard a small smile. "I would ask you to take a seat, but that would be pointless." Sheppard smiled back, feeling self-conscious, but it was pointless. Climbing onto one of the lab stools in holographic form was just ridiculous--Zelenka didn't care if he did or not, and it wasn't like Sheppard could ever be tired.

Zelenka took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose with the ball of his thumb and then put them back on. "So," he said on a breath. "I think you are one of three things.

"One is simple computer program--billions of lines of code, perhaps. Probably billions. But built just to mimic life, mimic John Sheppard, based on what Atlantis uploaded from him. We say something, and the program reacts as Sheppard would, learning as it goes, adapting to our expectations. Very perceptive, very advanced AI, but there is no..." He broke off, making a face, an abortive gesture. "No soul. All mask." He waved a hand in front of his face. "Just surface, empty reactions." He smiled again, a sad smile this time, and gave a little shrug. "No real Defender, no Colonel Sheppard. Just, hologram that looks and sounds like him. No person underneath."

"I'm here. I'm inside, here," Sheppard said. He couldn't make himself ask if that was what Zelenka believed, that all he was consisted of words and contoured photons and mechanical lies. He couldn't bear the idea that McKay believed it. That would be worse than being dead. "This is me."

"Of course," Zelenka said, and his quick, casually dismissive nod was one of the sweetest things Sheppard had seen in his entire life. "It makes only sense. The Ancients would not have gone to such trouble to create something like that. It is a waste of effort. If they only needed a sophisticated AI to run the city properly, there would have been one when we arrived, no reason to make one now and pretend it is a real person. So," he continued, tapping two fingers on the tabletop. "Second possibility. That you are not program based on Sheppard, but a copy of Sheppard. Perhaps this is also program, but if so, then the billions of lines of code do not mimic you, but recreate you." He made a circle with one hand next to his eye. "Distinct algorithms replacing neurons, chemical interactions, so on. But," he said, as Sheppard was beginning to smile again, "We have problem." The fingers of his other hand were still on the table, and now he looked at them, obviously considering. They traced a random pattern--well, maybe not a random one, but something Sheppard didn't recognize. "You are familiar with the Fax machines that all offices used to have, yes? The best way to send documents before the internet became popular?"

"Sure," Sheppard said, making his hologram nod. He added the next sentence before Zelenka could, because he knew exactly what Zelenka was going to say. He just didn't want to think what it meant. "They didn't work very well."

"The first ones, not, yes," Zelenka said. "The later ones, they did." He was nodding again, agreeing with himself. "Excellent copies, impossible to tell from the original. But," he said, and when he looked up at Sheppard his expression was apologetic, like he knew Sheppard had anticipated what he would say. "But the copies are not the original. Just as good, maybe in some ways better, even. But not original. Not exactly the same."

Sheppard kept nodding, slow and measured and with dawning horror. "That--that's what Rodney thinks, isn't it? That...I'm not the same anymore. I'm not really John Sheppard."

"Yes," Zelenka said gently, kindly. "I am sure that is what he thinks."

He'd known it, of course. Of course he had. McKay had made it more than obvious what he thought of Sheppard, what he thought Sheppard was. But to know that there was a reason behind it, something--God, something plausible...

"Is it true?" Sheppard asked, and his artificially-created voice sounded mechanical and thin and strange. "Is that it? Is that what I am now?"

A facsimile. Not real.

"That leads us to third option," Zelenka said briskly, as if he wanted to ignore what he'd just said as quickly as possible, as if that could somehow take away the chance it might be true. "That you are still original John Sheppard--that your mind has been uploaded into Atlantis whole, complete. That you are still you, the same, merely in another form." His smile reappeared, widened. "I have imagined this, sometimes." His hands spread out, striking out metaphorical distance in the air. "Kilometers, acres of crystals. Each one holding millions of bites of information, each one making up a tiny piece of a man." He shook his head in what looked like almost grudging wonder. "Such technology. It is as a miracle."

"The Asgard could do that," Sheppard said.

"Yes," Zelenka agreed, but his smile spread into a grin. "But they are aliens. The Ancients became us. That counts for more, I think."

Sheppard couldn't help smiling back. Acres of crystals, each one making him him. The same. Real.

"Is that what you think I am?" It was still terrible to make himself ask.

Zelenka's grin faded, and Sheppard felt something close to terror, but Zelenka only looked thoughtful. Not apologetic again, not sad. "I think," he said, "that what you are asking is the wrong question."

Sheppard waited.

"Tell me," Zelenka said. "You are talking to me now--how do you know I am not a computer program myself?" He tapped his forehead with his first finger. "How do you know I have a mind in here, that there is a person responding to you? Not just, robot, perhaps. Or," he smiled. "Or hologram."

Sheppard smirked back obligingly, though he didn't feel like it. "It's because..." he trailed off, considering it. His hologram blinked, because Sheppard would have. "I don't know," he said. "I guess...I guess I just assume it."

"Of course," Zelenka said knowingly, as if that was only the answer he'd expected. "You do not know. You can not know. Maybe the Villana telepaths can, but even then, it could be a trick--the robot could be designed to pretend to have thoughts, yes? Why not?--But you assume. That is what we all do, that is only thing we can do."

"You're saying..." Sheppard tried. "I'm real because, you believe I am?"

Zelenka nodded, pleased. "Yes. Just as I am real because you believe I am so. That is how it works." He shrugged. "You talk and move like John Sheppard, why should I think you are not?"

"What if you're wrong?" Sheppard asked. He didn't even want to think about it, but he couldn't not. It was in every one of McKay's narrowed glares, every cutting word, every time McKay avoided him, refused to even acknowledge his presence. It had been going on for weeks. "What if I'm really not...Sheppard?"

"Then you are closest thing we have to him," Zelenka said quickly, easily. "More important, you are closest thing you have to him. You believe you are real, yes?"

"Yes," Sheppard said. No matter what McKay did, or said, or didn't, Sheppard believed it. He had to.

"Then there is nothing to worry about," Zelenka said crisply. "You think you are Colonel Sheppard, and I think you are Colonel Sheppard--there is no problem with this. And if you are not actually Sheppard, I have no way to know it. So it is moot."

"Thank you," Sheppard said. He wished he could sound more enthusiastic, but it wasn't enough, wasn't definite. "You could find out, though, for certain, couldn't you?" He asked. "I mean, if I'm crystals--"

"They would have to be somewhere, physically. Yes," Zelenka said. He raised his eyebrows. "In a city the size of Manhattan. You would have much better luck to find it than me."

"You could find the computer program."

Zelenka titled his head slightly. "Possibly, yes. But it would probably take the rest of my life, to find one program in millions." He smiled. "Ancients were not big on useful search engines."

Sheppard returned his smile, not sure if he was more disappointed than relieved. He wondered if Zelenka was exaggerating the difficulty of finding him, even in a computer the size of Atlantis'. Maybe Zelenka didn't want to force Sheppard to confront the certainty of what he was. Maybe he thought he was being kind.

"Right," Sheppard said. He spread his smile a little wider, gesturing at Zelenka's laptop with a flick of his chin. "I should let you get back to that. You've wasted enough time talking to a hologram."

"Wait," Zelenka said, before Sheppard could fade. "You did not ask me last question."

Sheppard looked at Zelenka curiously. He'd asked him everything he'd gone there to ask. "What?"

"The last question," Zelenka said, and his voice had become gentle again. "Why Rodney does not think you are real, if I do, if everyone else in Atlantis does."

Sheppard was privately uncertain whether everyone else in Atlantis accepted him as the same man who had gone into the chair room, but McKay was the only one who had ever said he didn't to Sheppard's face. "I thought I had."

"No." Zelenka shook his head. "You asked if you were real. You did not ask why he thinks you are not."

"Okay," Sheppard said. He didn't ask why Zelenka thought he would know. In some ways Zelenka knew McKay better than Sheppard ever had. "Why doesn't he think I'm real, then, since you do?"

"He is not willing to believe it," Zelenka said, as if that was somehow a revelation.

"I know," Sheppard said. That was why he had come here tonight, after all, tried to convince himself that knowing one way or the other would be for the best, even if it meant he wasn't actually anyone. "So, why?"

Now Zelenka's smile was rueful. "Tell me, Defender," he said. "What is better--to believe in something and be told you are wrong, or to not believe in something, and be told you are right?"

"I don't know," Sheppard said.

"Rodney does," said Zelenka.

***

"Oh, my!" Weir exclaimed as their group entered the Citadel of the Ancestors, as the Villana called it. "It looks just like--"

"It does, doesn't it?" Sheppard nodded knowingly, having seen it all before on the Renfest planet, as he and McKay privately called it. The central tower they entered looked just like the control tower in Atlantis, down to the stained-glass windows the Ancients were so fond of. It lacked only the Stargate, which was located just down the road from this Ancient citadel.

Sheppard looked around him. This citadel was not decorated in the pseudo-medieval frippery of the Renfest planet's tower, and it didn't have the Tau'ri trappings that Sheppard was suddenly aware had crept into the command tower of Atlantis. Instead, it was pure Ancient, in a way that was both hauntingly familiar and utterly alien. Damn, they even had living versions of the stupid dead potted plants Atlantis had been littered with when the Expedition's first wave had discovered the city at the bottom of the ocean. The botanists that Lorne's team escorted through the Gate on occasion would go bug-wild here, seeing as they had lovingly collected every scrap of dead Ancient-potted-plant they could find and had glowered at the cavalier treatment of them.

Among the gleaming Ancient wonders, the Villana seemed drab and dull, sparrows in quarters designed for peacocks. It wasn't just the floppy, sexless and muted clothing they all wore, or how they all seemed to strive for resolute androgyny. It was in the way they glided around, quiet and subdued, and the way they all spoke softly and moderately, like they had all gone to a super strict school for librarians. In contrast, the PerAn who had entered the citadel with the Atlantis delegation moved and spoke like a group of schoolchildren at a museum: loud and boisterous, and then suddenly hushing, as if remembering where they were. You could tell the groups apart at a glance, too. The PerAn dressed simply, but not drably. They seemed to prefer brighter colors, too--although you needed to count black and white as colors--but at least they were bright whites, and deep blacks, and enlivened with the occasional touches of bottle green or blood red. And, best of all in Sheppard's opinion, many of their clothes were at least fitted, if not terribly differentiated according to gender, so that at least most of the time you could tell if someone was male or female by just looking at them.

A noticeably female PerAn came up to them, her dark green vest and the white shirt under it not hiding the generous curves of her breasts. She bowed her head. "Welcome to the Citadel of the Ancestors, Doctor Weir, Colonel Sheppard. I am Kel Mara. I greet you in the name of Yom Digras, the Calendor of Hamachtown, and of the Speaker of the Citadel, Danl Talene of the Talene clan."

Danl was a Villana, then--Sheppard had already learned that the Villana were really big on clan names. Sheppard sighed inwardly, wondering if there was any hope in guessing if Danl would be a guy or a woman.

Weir nodded in return. "Hello, Kel Mara. It's nice to meet you. I assume you're here to take us to the meeting?"

"I am. Most of your people and ours are already assembled, Doctor Weir." Kel Mara smiled and gestured. "Up the stairs, please. I am instructed to inform you that one of the advisors in attendance will be a Villana Truthteller."

"A Truthteller?" asked Weir, as they followed Kel up the stairs.

"Some of the Villana are telepaths, Elizabeth," Sheppard warned her.

"Yes," Kel agreed pleasantly. "We are honored to employ Aren Lev Nent for this task. Aren is one of the more powerful telepaths of the talented Lev clan."

"Isn't that a bit..." Weir appeared to be looking for a diplomatic way to phrase her objection. "Intrusive?"

"Oh!" Kel appeared startled. "Oh, no. Lev Nent would not enter your mind without your permission. Of course not. The Truthteller is only present to sense falsehood and secrets, and to point out when either party is dissembling, or hiding something."

Weir stopped at the landing, thinking. "Thank you for your warning, Kel Mara. You must understand that we are unused to telepaths, and they unnerve us somewhat." She turned to Sheppard. "John, I think I'd like you and Rodney to sit this meeting out. I can get along with Major Lorne, Doctor Zelenka, and Teyla to advise me." She raised a hand when Sheppard opened his mouth to object. "I'd rather not have the entire command staff in the room with a telepath." Weir turned to Kel. "It's not that we don't trust your people, Kel Mara, or that we intend to deceive you in any way. But my staff carry a variety of secrets in their minds that I'm not comfortable sharing until we know your people much better."

Kel Mara made a conciliatory gesture. "As you wish, Doctor Weir. It is the objective of this meeting for our people to arrange to be Friends. When we are Friends, all will be well. This way."

They left Sheppard standing on the landing as they made their way to the large conference room, which was already filling with people. Moments after they entered, a rather disgruntled McKay emerged. He glanced over his shoulder at the room as he left it, frowning.

Sheppard joined him. "Kicked you out, huh?"

"Yes," McKay said sourly. "And Zelenka gets to stay and play 'scientific advisor' to Elizabeth. His ego is soaring higher than a kite after yesterday and last night already. He's going to be insufferable."

Sheppard clapped him companionably on the shoulder, taking a moment to squeeze the back of McKay's neck as well.

"Elizabeth doesn't want the whole command staff in there with a telepath." He consoled McKay. "She's afraid that the 'Truthteller' will lift all our security information from our minds."

McKay raised a startled eyebrow. "But doesn't she know they don't do that?"

Sheppard shook his head, looking down the stairs to the little groups of Villana clustered around, chatting quietly among themselves. "One of the PerAn told her the Truthtellers don't do that, but Elizabeth was uncomfortable anyway." He shrugged. "It's not like she had a chance to meet them, the way we did."

"That's true," McKay said. "Not, ah, that meeting one made me feel hugely more comfortable around them, though..."

"All the better that we're not with the others, then," Sheppard said. He ignored McKay's groused reply and looped an arm over his shoulders, feeling the happiest he remembered being since the gate to Earth hadn't formed its expected wormhole.

"Come on, Rodney," he said. "Let's go find Ronon and see what trouble we can get into."

"He's probably with Pol Osri." McKay was still grumbling, but he allowed himself to be tugged along. "I think they're discussing that poetry they both like. What were the odds? Conan liking poetry of all things..."

~~~

"They say that we're Friends now, and want to move to Atlantis and live with us." Weir sounded dazed. She and the others had finally stumbled out of the conference room, many hours later.

All the Atlantis contingent looked pleased, if somewhat shell-shocked.

"What? All of them?" McKay's eyebrows climbed his forehead.

Weir shook her head bemusedly. "Um, no, Rodney. But, quite a few of them, anyway. Several Clans of Villana and a great many Households of PerAn."

"The Villana have dwelled in this citadel for many thousands of years, Rodney," said Teyla, head tilted to the side. "It seems that all the Villana--and many of the PerAn--possess the gene of the Ancestors, as Colonel Sheppard does, and they all have the ability to manipulate the technology of the Ancestors."

"They can all read Ancient, Rodney!" Zelenka tugged on McKay's arm excitedly. "And they actually understand much of the technology. How often have we come across this in Pegasus?"

"Huh." McKay's forehead furrowed before his eyes lit with speculation. "I wonder if they know the location of any ZPMs? Did you ask if--"

...And he was lost in an excited discussion and speculation with his fellow scientist. Sheppard shook his head.

"So, we're getting new neighbors, huh?" he asked, turning to Lorne.

"Yes, Sir." Lorne looked uncomfortable, scratching the back of his head and shifting slightly on his feet. "I'm sorry we didn't consult you, Sir. Doctor Weir seemed to feel it was okay, and you--"

"I wasn't there, Major. You were. I trust your assessment of the situation," Sheppard said. Lorne nodded and appeared to relax.

"So...how many of them are we talking about?" Sheppard strove to sound casual about it.

Lorne looked nervous again. "Uh, Sir. Quite a few. They may even outnumber us. They wanted to help 'fortify the city of the Ancestors', they said. I think most of the Villana who are coming are scientists, and most of the PerAn who are coming are soldiers. They agreed to serve under your command, Sir."

"Oh. Well, that's good, at least. So glad I haven't been replaced yet." Sheppard couldn't quite keep the snap out of his voice.

"Their citadel is crumbling, John," Weir said, probably sensing that Sheppard wasn't as far onboard with this as she, Lorne and Zelenka appeared to be. "They've been able to keep their losses to the Wraith at a minimum by hiding most of the population in the citadel during attacks, but unlike the other planet we discovered with an Atlantis-like city, the Villana and PerAn are fully aware that their ZPM is almost depleted, and they're down to a handful of drones." She looked Sheppard in the eye. "Shil Yana told me that they won't survive another culling."

We can't abandon them. Weir didn't have to say it.

"They're experts on defensive technology, sir," Lorne put in quickly. "And they want to bring everything they've discovered with them to Atlantis. They're developing this shield that will leach away the kinetic energy of projectile weapons--"

"Elizabeth," Sheppard said, cutting Lorne off. "Have you thought of how we're going to feed these many people?" He ran his fingers through his hair, wishing now he'd been in the meeting. What Weir and Lorne were telling him sounded like it could be really, really good--but the strain on their already-dwindling resources could be disastrous. He just hoped Weir hadn't lost sight of that, caught up as she obviously was in the heady possibility of having a city full of technologically-advanced allies who could use Ancient technology and were willing to do so on their behalf.

"Don't worry, John," Weir said easily, like this had already been completely dealt with. And really, it probably had. "They're going to send along provisions as well. The PerAn are excellent farmers and herders, as well as soldiers. It won't solve our problems, but it will certainly help." Weir patted his arm absently as she looked into the crowd at the bottom of the stairs. "Excuse me, please, gentlemen." She quickly descended. Sheppard saw her begin a conversation with Shil Yana. McKay and Zelenka were off to the side, engaged in a hand-waving discussion with several Villana he didn't recognize.

Next to him, Lorne stood at parade rest, silent and unhappy-looking. Sheppard had just told him he trusted his judgment. He couldn't take that back almost instantaneously, wary though he still felt about all of this.

Maybe it was just too new, too sudden. Sheppard had to admit he had never been one to take easily to change. His uncertainty about abandoning the life he'd known at McMurdo--no matter how bleak--had come close to costing him Atlantis, and McKay. He'd tried to be more accepting of the myriad of daily uncertainties his life had thrown at him since then, but as much as he led from the front, he'd never been one to leap into the unknown with open arms. And inviting some hundreds of near-strangers into the most important city in the galaxy was pretty damn unknown, no matter how genuinely good the Villana and PerAn appeared to be.

Sheppard straightened, made himself smile and nod at Lorne, who smiled back gratefully. Sheppard trusted Weir, and Lorne, and Zelenka, and if they were all enthusiastic about this, he could probably afford to be, too. It was just another change, that was all. And one for the better. He could get used to it.

On his other side, Teyla raised a thoughtful eyebrow. Sheppard sighed. He could just see a discussion about another attempt to integrate some Athosians into the Atlantean populace looming on the horizon.

And oh, look, there came Ronon, bounding up the stairs, with his new best poetry discussion-friend, Pol Osri, at his side.

"Sheppard!" Ronon greeted him, grinning fiercely. "Osri says he's moving with his family to Atlantis!"

Sheppard suppressed another sigh and smiled his best smile at his new neighbor.

***

"Will I like school, Papa?" Johnny's feet lightly kicked his father's kidneys and his fingers played with the collar of McKay's jacket as they strode down the hallway. Well, McKay strode. Johnny McKay rode in the jostling, but secure confines of the kiddypack on McKay's back. Johnny apparently was enjoying the opportunities to play with his father's clothes, his hair, and whatever tools his little fingers could reach.

And his little fingers could reach a surprising number of things while McKay carried him around. That too-close scare in the lab yesterday had apparently been the last straw that broke Cara's back. She and McKay had had the 'talk' McKay had, until now, successfully been putting off for weeks. It had resulted in Johnny's first day of school today, at the tender age of 40 months.

McKay put on an extra burst of speed to reach the transporter a kindly soul was holding for him. He remembered when he'd never had to wait for any of the transporters, since they'd never been busy. He remembered when he had known, at least by sight, each and every individual in Atlantis.

"Thanks," he muttered to the woman, PerAn by the looks of her, nodding gratefully. She smiled shyly at him and pressed the destination code nearest the south pier.

"Of course you'll like school, Kiddo," McKay assured his son, as he stabbed at his destination on the transporter pad. The woman gathered her packages and exited the transporter, to be replaced by a tall, gawky, young Athosian man.

"Good morning, Doctor McKay. Good morning, young McKay. Blessings of the Ancestors upon you." The young man nodded at them.

McKay blinked. What was his name? What?

"Good morning, Wallen," Johnny responded politely, as his mother had taught him.

McKay gratefully followed his child's lead. "Blessings of the Ancestors to you. As well. Ah, Wallen," he said awkwardly.

A moment later, they reached their stop and exited, McKay sending a jerky little wave Wallen's way as he moved rapidly down the corridor, out of sight.

"Where do I know him from?" McKay muttered to himself.

"Wallen cuts hair, Papa," Johnny reminded him. "Remember when he cut my hair? I didn't cry because I'm a big boy now and big boys don't cry if it doesn't hurt. And cutting hair doesn't hurt, because it's just follicles and they don't have nerves to hurt with. And why will I like school, Papa?"

"Because you'll have something called a 'teacher', whose job it will be to answer all those questions you ask. All. Day. Long." They had finally reached the door to the suite designated as classrooms for the nursery school. McKay pressed the signals on the pad that would announce their presence.

Shahyaan Tia nan Dex answered the door, her face breaking into a sunny smile as soon as she saw McKay. "Doctor Rodney! Welcome. Who have you brought us today?" Ronon's wife was a tiny woman with huge, liquid brown eyes and a warmth that melted even McKay's habitual prickliness.

He bent to kiss her cheek, smiling proudly at her. Cara had spoken to her last night, so Shahyaan knew they were coming, and her prattle was just that. Normally McKay had no patience for this kind of chitchat, but Shahyaan had always been able to charm him. "My brilliant son, Shah'. Cara convinced me that he needs to join the school and not just hang around with either of us all day. And he's just convinced me that he needs a teacher."

Johnny waved at her, suddenly silent and shy.

"My day is bright then, a McKay in my school at last." Shahyaan grinned and guided McKay to a couch where he could sit and divest himself of the kiddypack, and Johnny.

"Greetings, Johnny Yana McKay! Welcome to the Peter Grodin nursery school. We have friends for you to meet, and games to play, and many things to learn." Shahyaan smiled gently at Johnny, who still clung to his father, thumb in his mouth. "And whenever you wish, we can call your mother or father to come play with you for a little while, or even to take you home if you need it."

The thumb popped out of Johnny's mouth. "Mama says when a Yana enters school, he works hard to learn all he can, so that he honors his clan and his House and his family. Mama says this is my job now, like she and Papa have their jobs, and I am not to interrupt them for trivial matters." The thumb went firmly back in his mouth.

Shahyaan and McKay exchanged frowns. "Hey, Kiddo," McKay tugged on his son's arm until the thumb came out of his mouth again. He put an arm around Johnny's back to hold him close, holding that damp little fist in