Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

Prologue

He seriously wasn’t paid enough to deal with a group of weepy aliens who had lost everything to Anubis and who had turned up in Earth’s orbit hoping to make an alliance to kill him only to find that Earth had already taken care of the oily half-ascended snake once and for all.

Thank God for Ancient weapons.

And Thor who had turned up in time to save Jack’s brain.  Jack really did love the little grey naked guy.

Of course, Daniel would probably point out that the scenario was exactly what Jack O’Neill was paid for, especially after the promotion to General.  Daniel was probably right.  Damn it.

Still.

Weepy aliens.

Of the non-humanoid kind.

Jack wasn’t quite sure what they were – giant octopi?  Eight tentacles, squidgy central mass, numerous eyes and a beak.  Sounded like octopi to him except they didn’t apparently need water to breathe. Janet Fraiser’s professional opinion after hours in the infirmary with them had been a rather vague ‘sentient life-form.’  Which, what the hell did that mean?  The doctor sat three seats down in her white lab coat looking as uncomfortable as Jack felt. 

Either way, numerous eyes meant numerous tears.

Jack sent a panicked look toward his Guide beside him.  Samantha Carter’s blue eyes were filled with amusement as she met his gaze.  Wordlessly, he tried to convey she should do something about the weepy aliens, and wordlessly – a raised eyebrow which Jack knew she’d had to have learned from Teal’c who sat on her other side – she conveyed back that he was on his own.

“Uh, ma’am,” Jack cleared his throat noisily hoping to cut through the wailing, “Lady Debreen…perhaps you’d like to take a break and…” he made a gesture meant to convey ‘stop crying and pull yourself together’ but possibly was something rude given the way all of the octopi flashed red on the other side of the table.

“What the General was trying to say,” Daniel jumped in before Jack could say anything else, “was we can break for a while so that you can process the news of Anubis’ defeat in private.”

Jack pointed his finger at Daniel who sat the other side of him.  “Yes.  That.”

Daniel smiled tightly.  “Stop pointing your finger,” he hissed under his breath, “pointing means death in their culture.”

Jack hurriedly dropped his hands to the table and kept them flat.  “Sorry,” he tried a smile.

At least his rudeness had apparently stopped the aliens from weeping. 

Debreen turned to Sam.  “You must find it trying to be surrounded by so many stupid men, although Doctor Jackson shows promise.”

Jack blinked, wondering if he could be bothered to get insulted and decided he really couldn’t.  Sam’s amusement suffused him through their bond; she found it hilarious.

“It’s a cross I have to bear,” replied Sam in a deadpan tone, “but they do have their uses.”

Debreen nodded and motioned at Sam’s barely protruding belly.  “Your mate is good at breeding.”

“Very good,” Jack interjected before Sam could say anything, “very good at breeding.”

Daniel looked like he wanted to face-palm but since hand gestures were clearly a no-no, he was stuck making a constipated face which usually translated into ‘I can’t believe you said that, Jack!’ in every language Daniel knew.  Which was a lot.

Sam, on the other hand, wanted to laugh because she always found Jack’s inappropriateness funny.  Well.  Except for when her father and his symbiote were present.  Then she found him exasperating.  He was lucky she loved him.  Her blue eyes were shining with merriment as they glanced at each other.

Jack smiled softly at her.  He still couldn’t believe she was pregnant.  They’d been not exactly trying but not quite trying in earnest to get pregnant before Anubis’ attack, but they’d gone months without anything.  They were both a bit stunned when their ‘thank God we’re alive’ celebration had resulted in Sam being knocked-up.

“He loves you a great deal,” Debreen noted in her hissy voice, “he is a good mate?”

“The best,” said Sam firmly without taking her eyes off Jack, “I’m very lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one,” said Jack immediately because hadn’t he just been thinking that.

“Indeed,” Teal’c intoned.

“Do you have any other young ones?” asked Debreen. 

Apparently talking about breeding had cheered her right up and the tears had stopped.

Sam smiled.  “We have a number of children between us here at the SGC.”

“That is good,” Debreen said, “it is good you take care of your young.”

Daniel pushed his glasses up his nose.  “Do you have any, uh, young?”

Debreen turned blue.  “Anubis destroyed many of our young but we protected those we could.”

Jack cleared his throat again.  “We’re sorry for your loss.”  He was intimately acquainted with the pain of losing a child and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

“Thank you,” Debreen turned slowly green which seemed to be their primary colour, “you have been very good to us given the circumstances of our arrival.”

Jack fought the urge to raise his hands or to reach for his pen.  “If anyone understands wanting to get rid of Anubis it’s us.  We’ll be happy to assist with the repairs to your ship or to make arrangements to return you through the Stargate to your home.”

All eyes swivelled to the window and the Stargate below.

“We do not use the Stargate,” Debreen said, “the mode of travel is not one which is complimentary to our physiology.”

“Ah,” said Jack, “well, repairs it is.”

“We would be grateful for your assistance,” Debreen said with an inclination of the top of her squishy torso.

Jack smiled brightly.  “No thanks necessary, we’re just pleased you’re not here to invade and wipe us out.”

Debreen clicked her beak.  ““You were not the allies we were seeking but we have a common enemy; I would arrange an alliance with you, O’Neill of Terra.”

“I would be pleased to arrange an alliance with you also, Debreen of, uh…”

“Beeniebreen,” supplied Daniel.

Jack’s eyebrows rose a touch, but he carefully repeated the name.

Daniel leaned forward over the table.  “About the ‘not the allies you were seeking’ part,” he wrinkled his nose, “who were you seeking?”

Debreen’s eyes swivelled towards Daniel.  “We were hoping to ally with the Council of Atlantis.”

“Atlantis?” Daniel repeated urgently.  “You were expecting Atlantis to be on Earth, I mean, Terra?”

“It was its location for many centuries,” Debreen said, “we had hoped the stories of its departure from Terra were not true, especially when our scans revealed the presence of the Ancient gene amongst you.”

Sentinels and Guides, Jack mused.  They had long believed that there was a genetic link.  Sentinels had a dominant Ancient gene whereas Guides had a recessive gene; most humans were born without either.

“You headed to a particular continent,” Daniel continued his questioning, “was that where Atlantis was located in your records?”

“No, Doctor Jackson,” another of the octopi spoke up, “our history speaks of Atlantis as a city of towers floating on the ocean.  It was never a land-based city.”

“Fascinating,” Daniel said.

“Yes, fascinating,” Jack repeated looking at his watch pointedly.

Daniel shot him a glare.  “May I ask why you headed there if you weren’t expecting to find Atlantis?”

“There is an outpost under the ice,” Debreen said, “it would have a record of the city’s destination…”

Daniel practically vibrated with excitement.

“…and we hoped to make the acquaintance of the Atlantean who guards it.”

As far as Jack knew that particular Atlantean was dead; she’d died saving the lives of SG1 years before when Daniel had gone glowy.

“Oh,” Daniel said, “I’m sorry to tell you that Ayiana died.”

“I do not know of this Ayiana, I speak of the guardian who resides on the ice now,” Debreen said.

Jack tensed.  “I’m sorry, you think there’s an Ancient living on Antarctica today?”

“Yes,” Debreen said, “he was the pilot who came to our rescue when we crashed…a Major Sheppard?”

“Oh boy,” commented Sam.

“Indeed,” quipped Jack.  John wasn’t going to like that news at all.

Chapter 1

“Well, this can’t be good.”

Because Jack O’Neill waiting for John in his quarters was definitely not a good thing in John’s eyes. 

For a moment John considered making a run for it, but the sardonic look in Jack’s eyes which told him the General had pretty much guessed what John was thinking, arrested his automatic response.  Instead he sighed heavily and closed the door.

“I’m pleased to see you too, John,” Jack said brightly.  He looked completely relaxed in the only chair in the small room, legs stretched out in front of him, hands folded over his belly. 

“I assume from the civvies this isn’t official business?” asked John, tossing his keys on the desk by the window and shrugging out of the jacket he wore over his flight suit; Antarctica wasn’t the place to go without layers.

“Hmmm,” Jack replied, “it’s official but we can’t talk about it here.”

John rubbed the back of his neck.  “Can I shower first?”

“Yes, shower,” Jack wrinkled his nose and waved him off to the tiny en suite bathroom which came with the officer’s quarters.

John picked out a change of clothes from his meagre selection and dived into the bathroom.  He stripped and jumped in the shower.  The water pressure was bad but even the thin stream of hot water helped ease John’s tension and let him slough away the pressures of the day.  He didn’t linger though, too cognisant of his unexpected guest.

As he dried off, John wondered idly what Jack wanted.  For most of his life Jack had been Uncle Jack, married to his mother’s cousin Sara.  Jack had been John’s childhood hero and inspiration to serve, to fly.  Jack had been a mentor to him and had been a huge support when John coming online had threatened his chosen career in the Air Force. 

John winced as he dragged on the sweats he’d picked up.  He had never truly forgiven the Sentinel and Guide Registry for trying to force him into bonding with a Guide as the only acceptable way they would allow him to join the Air Force Academy and be a pilot.  Luckily, the Sheppards had the money to fight and John’s parents had taken the Registry to court.  They had won a landmark case for Sentinel and Guide rights, with the case ending up in the Supreme Court.  It had been used by advocate groups for years to argue for more rights for Sentinels and Guides. 

Jack had been deployed a lot of the time during the legal battle, but he had still provided John with support and understanding every step of the way.  Once John had joined the Air Force, he had also helped John when the inevitable backlash happened with his COs; with the men and women who served with him.  He knew Jack had stepped in when John had been hauled up on charges for disobeying a direct order to leave their men behind; had gone to bat for him and managed to argue them into a deployment into the Stargate programme, to fly the F302 fighter jets.  John could never repay Jack for any of that. 

He knew though that Jack felt the same about John and his family, because they had been there for Jack in the wake of Charlie’s death; when Jack had come online due to the trauma.  His marriage to cousin Sara had imploded but the family had stuck by Jack, helping him readjust as much as they could. But given John’s new knowledge of the Stargate programme’s origins, sometimes John thought they didn’t do enough.  Jack had to have been, if not consciously suicidal, not in a good mental space to accept that first mission to Abydos.  The good news was that Jack had survived and he was years later enjoying his life with Sam and the rest of SG1.

Which brought John full circle in wondering what had brought Jack to his quarters.

John shook his head and tried to do something with his hair.  He sighed and gave up.  He walked out to face Jack. 

Jack tossed him his jacket.  “Took you long enough.”

“Are we on a schedule?” asked John, shrugging on his jacket.

“Kinda,” Jack said and tapped the earpiece he wore, “Prometheus, we’re ready.”

The flash of dislocation caused by the Asgard beaming technology made John’s stomach churn uncomfortably as all his senses went haywire.  He barely had time to register the assault on his senses before he was back on solid ground – in Jack’s house in Colorado.

A second later he felt Sam buffer him, giving him a moment to reset his senses and settle.

“You couldn’t warn a guy?” asked John, glaring at Jack before he turned to greet Jack’s wife and Guide.  “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey,” Sam said with a warm smile.

John immediately stepped into the hug she offered him.  The only time John regretted not having a Guide of his own was when he saw Jack with Sam.  They were a powerhouse of a couple.

“You OK?” asked Sam as she stepped back. 

“I’m good,” said John before he shot Jack a look.  “Does Lorne know you’ve kidnapped me?”

Jack gave a brisk nod.  “Don’t worry, he knows to watch the kids.”  He gestured for John to stop struggling out of his jacket.  “We’re grilling!”

“Seriously?” John gave a dubious look to the outside where it looked overcast, windy and cold.

Jack followed his gaze and grimaced.  “OK, plan B.” He plucked his cell phone out of a pocket and hit speed dial.  “Daniel, are you and Teal’c anywhere near Lorenzo’s?”

John’s Sentinel senses helped him tune in on the other side of the conversation.

“Why?” Daniel replied.

“Plan B,” declared Jack seriously.

“Pizza it is,” said Daniel dryly. “Usual order?”

“Yeah, and add a large Pepperoni for John, no anchovies,” said Jack.

Daniel agreed and signed off.  Jack ended the call. 

“Can I take my jacket off now?” John asked.

Jack raised an eyebrow.  “I don’t know; can you?”

Sam’s lips twitched into a smile as she dropped a kiss on Jack’s cheek.  “Go get John a beer, Jack.”  She took John’s coat and hung it up on the hooks by the door. 

John sat down on the sofa and accepted the beer which nudged at his shoulder a moment later.  He watched as Jack offered Sam a juice which she accepted with a grimace as she sat down in the nearby chair and pulled her legs up.

“How are things going?” asked John politely, but sincerely. 

“I miss coffee and I miss beer,” Sam complained cheerily, “but it’s worth it.” Her hand strayed protectively to her abdomen.

“Any cravings?” asked John, rubbing a thumb along the label of the beer.

“Not so far, thankfully,” Sam said, “although the baby definitely doesn’t like the smell of eggs.” She made a disgusted face. 

Jack returned with his own beer and sat down at the other end of the sofa near Sam.  “The last time I made scrambled was not pretty.”

“Antarctica treating you OK?” Sam asked with a note of ‘please God let’s change the subject’ to her tone.

John shrugged.  “The squad’s getting a little antsy just performing patrols and delivering scientists to the base.”

“Aha!” proclaimed Jack.  “I knew it!”

“That’s because you’d be bored within a day,” Sam pointed out dryly.

“Less than,” offered John.

Jack shot him a look and wagged his finger at him.  “I still outrank you.”

“Yes, Uncle Jack,” said John brightly. 

Sam chuckled at their by-play and raised her bottle at him.  “You said the squad’s getting antsy; not you?”

John shrugged again.  “I don’t mind patrol.  Lorne’s better than me with people so he takes care of the ferrying to the base and most of the time I just get to fly all day, except for, you know, the paperwork.”

“Ah, paperwork,” said Jack dryly.

John sipped his beer.  Truthfully, if he ignored how it had come about – the whole Earth being invaded by aliens and them killing half the squad – the Antarctica gig was almost perfect, especially since there were no longer any aliens shooting at him.  Which reminded him…

“What happened with the octopus people?” asked John bluntly.

“See,” Jack said, turning to Sam, “someone else thinks they look like octopi!”

Sam rolled her eyes at Jack.  “I’m pretty sure Janet’s report says if they have to be compared with an Earth equivalent, she’d go with giant squid.”

John frowned because he did not see that at all.  “My vote’s going for octopus.”

Jack reached over, offering his beer to tap and John obliged him.

Sam sighed but her twinkling blue eyes gave away she wasn’t too upset about the whole debate.  “Why don’t we all agree they’re cephalopods?”

“What’s the fun in that?” teased Jack.

John wasn’t surprised when Sam rolled her eyes at her husband.  “I take it they’re all OK?  Their ship was a mess.”  He had a suspicion that they hadn’t really flown it before.

“Janet helped a couple of them out with some minor injuries.  We’re working on their ship out at Area 51.  It’s going OK so far.  They’re not as advanced as the Goa’uld or the Asgard but they’ve got a decent propulsion system.”  Sam grinned.  “Radek was thrilled with getting to work on it.”

John smiled at the mention of the Czech engineer.  Radek had helped Sam transform the original X301 design when he’d been assigned to the project, and John had done some testing on the updated F302s during his training in Nevada before he’d formally transferred into the Prometheus squad.  They’d gotten along great and played chess by email.

“How do you like being in charge of the squad?” asked Jack almost idly but John knew Jack didn’t do anything idly.

John shrugged one shoulder and took a sip of his beer as he considered his answer.  “It’s fine.”

“Fine as in not fine?” probed Jack.

John held his gaze.  “Are you asking as General O’Neill, the SGC commander, or as Uncle Jack?”

Jack grimaced and took a gulp of his beer.  “This is why I hate being the Man.”  He sighed and gestured.  “OK, give me the General version.”

“The squad’s bored,” John repeated, “they have too much time to think about what happened in the dog fight with Anubis’ Death Gliders; too much time to think about losing half of the squad, even if they’ve cleared psych.  There’s been some minor squabbles and spats.  Petty stuff but discipline’s fraying and both Lorne and I are walking a fine line between coming down on them and giving them some leeway because it’s a shit situation.”

“Are you sure this is the General version?” asked Jack brusquely, but John could see Jack was already assimilating the report and determining actions.  “You have a plan?”

John nodded.  “Lorne and I figure we’ll do a week of cold weather boot camp week after next.”  He rubbed his thumb over the neck of his beer.  “The base has minimal flights booked.  We’ll rotate the squad through and see if they’re still antsy after trying to survive Antarctica for forty-eight hours with just a basic pack and some warm weather gear.”

“Good call,” agreed Jack.  “I’ll look at scheduling some leave.  There’s no reason why the entire squad needs to stay patrolling and playing at taxi drivers for Weir.”

“That would be appreciated,” John confirmed.  “Some news on the injured would be good too.  There’re too many rumours about who’s in the hospital still, who’s still alive…” he let the point trail away, knowing it had been made.

Jack nodded crisply.  “I’ll get something worked out.”

John allowed himself a small sigh.

“So, if that’s the General version,” Sam said quietly, “what’s the Uncle Jack version?”

“Everything’s fine.” Jack and John chimed in together.

Sam almost choked on her drink but waved Jack off as she recovered herself.  “Seriously,” she complained with a smile, “you guys are too alike.”

“Talking of the injured,” said John, because anything than dwelling on that comment, “any news on Mitchell?”

“I managed to heal a lot of the damage,” Sam replied, “he’s recovering at home in Kansas.”

John tried to ignore the frown on Jack’s face because of the oblique reference to Sam using the abilities she’d gained as a host to the Tok’ra symbiote Jolinar.   He knew the other Sentinel had never forgiven himself for allowing his Guide to be taken as a host.  It had been pure luck that the symbiote had been Tok’ra rather than Goa’uld, and their relationship had been put under a lot of pressure regardless. 

It hadn’t helped that there had been a move to remove both Jack and Sam from field work by one Senator.  Kinsey had claimed that it was proof that Guides shouldn’t be out in the field regardless of whether they had a bond; he’d also pointed out that Sam was only a civilian scientist prior to her bonding.  Luckily, both the then President and General Hammond had stayed stalwart in their support that the pair would remain on SG1 – which reminded John…

“Scuttlebutt is that Mitchell’s asked for SG1,” said John.

Jack just looked amused and he lifted his beer and took a long gulp rather than reply.

“Even if he has we couldn’t tell you, John,” Sam pointed out with another warm smile.

John smiled back.  Her reply was as good as an admission. 

The sound of a car turning into the road caught the edge of his hearing and he tilted his head toward the door. 

“That’s fast,” Jack said with a frown.  He set his beer down and went to get the door.

John watched as Teal’c entered wearing a wide grey hat which covered the gold tattoo which symbolised his status as a First Prime; the Jaffa’s arms were filled with a tower of pizza boxes.  Daniel hurried in behind him with more and a carrier bag swinging in one hand.  Sam hurried over to help assist them and John found himself doing the same.

It meant that in no time at all they were all hunched around Jack’s coffee table eating pizza straight out of the boxes; it was steaming, the cheese stringy and almost too hot.

John swiped his paper napkin over his mouth and went for another slice as he tuned into the argument Jack was having with Daniel over the fact that they’d already ordered pizza before Jack’s call.  Daniel and Teal’c had chosen to sit on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, both of them looking completely at ease in a way that made John wonder if he should be adding some flexibility into his gym work.  John’s lips twitched with humour as Teal’c stepped into the bickering about the pizza order and pointed out that he had made the call as the current SG1 leader.

Jack grumbled under his breath but conceded with a tip of his beer bottle towards Teal’c; Teal’c gave a small bow of his head in return.

“So,” said John, reaching for his third slice of pizza, “why exactly did you kidnap me?”

Daniel looked over at Jack, wide-eyed and blinking.  “You didn’t tell him yet?”

“No, Daniel,” Jack said with mock patience, “I didn’t tell him yet.”

“Why not?” demanded Daniel.  “I mean, it’s important and huge!  How could you not tell him?!”

“Because it’s important and huge!” shot back Jack.

“All the more reason to…”

“Perhaps,” John said, interrupting Daniel’s retort, “someone could just tell me?”

Jack gestured at Daniel who gestured back at Jack and…

“You were named as an Atlantean by the Lady Debreen of Beeniebreen, Major Sheppard,” Teal’c informed him before neatly taking a bite out of the huge pizza slice he held.

John’s own pizza slice drooped in his hand as he started nonplussed back at the Jaffa.  “The octopus lady?”

“I believe Doctor Fraiser has identified them as a distant relationship to the giant squid, Major Sheppard.” Teal’c replied.

Sam beamed at her Jaffa team-mate.

Daniel pushed his glasses up his nose.  “Actually, Janet said they were more like a relation to the Nectocaris pteryx and…”

“Let’s just call them cephalopods and move on, Daniel,” said Jack deliberately not looking over at Sam.

“Could we get back to the octopus lady calling me an Atlantean?” suggested John still confused.  “Because, well, A,” he stressed the A explicitly, “are we talking about Atlantis Atlantis? As in Lost City of Atlantis because isn’t that a…” he slapped a hand over his face.

And, Jesus Christ on a stick – myths and legends.  The SGC had been finding truth in myth and legend for years.

Sam gazed at him sympathetically as he lowered his hand.

“There’s actually a lost city of Atlantis?” John croaked.

“It was need to know,” Jack informed almost apologetically.  The older man sucked some tomato sauce from his thumb and waved his pizza slice at Daniel.  “You’re up.”

Daniel shot Jack an unimpressed look and darted a glance at Sam who immediately took an overly large bite of her pizza.  Daniel turned to Teal’c who had been watching the by-play and the Jaffa deliberately raised his own pizza and stuffed a huge amount into his mouth.  Daniel sighed and pushed a hand through his hair as he turned back to John.

John smirked at him and pointedly took a bite of his own pizza.

The archaeologist shot him an unimpressed look.  “What do you know about Atlantis?”

John swallowed the pizza and washed it down with a gulp of beer.  “Just the usual, I guess.”

“Which is?” prompted Daniel, the tone giving away his early career in academia.

“Atlantis was an ancient advanced city,” John answered dutifully, “it’s legend is mostly in the story told by Plato of Athens repelling an invasion and the Gods submerging the city in the middle of the Atlantic.”

Daniel looked impressed.

“Good to see all that money on your boarding school education was put to good use,” commented Jack.

John refused to sigh because Jack was right.

“OK,” Daniel said, shooting Jack a look which clearly told the other man to shut up, “well, we know Atlantis really did exist thanks to a tablet that was found on Abydos just before Anubis destroyed it.” 

For a second Daniel’s face crumpled in devastation before he rallied.

“I was, uh…”

“Glowy,” supplied Jack.

Daniel glared at Jack again. 

“You did indeed emit a glow of light, Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c said without his expression giving away any kind of amusement.

“I was Ascended,” Daniel waved his hands furiously, “and not the point!”

Sam took pity on her team-mate.  “Daniel was able to read enough of the writing on the tablet to know that it spoke about Atlantis.  He also believed a permanent solution to Anubis could be found there.”

John frowned.  Anubis.  He was the Goa’uld who’d attacked them on the ice who Jack had destroyed with the Ancient weapons.  He’d also read the reports of how Anubis had possessed a Russian astronaut and had ended up taking the SGC hostage before SG1 had fooled him into going through the Stargate to a hostile planet.

“You think we still need a deterrent?” John turned to Jack.

“I do,” Jack repied seriously.  “Anubis is half-Ascended.”

“That wasn’t in the file,” John noted.

“Need to know,” repeated Jack, gesturing with his beer.

“So, Anubis is half-Ascended and most probably still alive and a threat,” said John, his mind swiftly making the connections, “you think there’s a solution on the city of Atlantis and so it’s critical you find it.”

“We thought we had when Jack had the Ancient knowledge again and took us into space, but…” Daniel wrinkled his nose, “that was an outpost and Jack only took us there to get a power module so we could make the command chair at Antarctica work.”

Chair.

John frowned.  The debrief after the fight hadn’t mentioned a chair.  But it had mentioned Ancient drone weapons and John had seen those for himself; the bright yellow blobs of light which streamed up from the ice and took down the rest of the enemy…it had been spectacular and inspiring and…out-of-this-world kind of crazy.

“We’ve known since we discovered the gate there that it was likely Antarctica was an Ancient outpost – it predated the Goa’uld and Ra,” Daniel continued, “that was all confirmed when the scientists there dug up an actual Ancient.”

“Need to know?” John asked sotto voce to Jack.

“Not so much,” Jack grimaced, “just not a fun story.”

John wondered for a moment about pressing it but, as Sam looked a hair’s breadth away from crying, he backed off and waved at Daniel to continue.

“Truthfully, we didn’t know about Atlantis until the tablet,” Daniel said, “we thought the Ancients were the Gate builders – advanced and alien, certainly, one of the four Allied races with the Nox, the Asgard and the Furlings but…we hadn’t connected them to Atlantis.”

“But you did when you got the tablet,” concluded John.

“But we did when we got the tablet,” confirmed Daniel.  “This is where it gets complicated.”

John raised his eyebrows.  “This is where it gets complicated?!”

Daniel wrinkled his nose again and threw a look at Sam which was clearly code for ‘help.’

“When we returned from Abydos we immediately returned to excavating the Antarctica outpost with a small team of scientists,” Sam said briskly, “but we found nothing.”

“We know now that we weren’t digging deep enough,” Daniel added, “I mean, Jack built a whole thing to burn through the ice to get deep enough to get to the Chair.”

“But now we have access,” Sam said, “and we’ve built up the base there because…”

“You still need to find the city of Atlantis,” finished John. 

“We think the command chair is the access point to a large database of knowledge,” Daniel said, “now if we can access it, we think it’s probable that the last destination of Atlantis, where it went after it left Earth, was recorded by the outpost there.”

He got it. 

On one level, he was concerned – he was military sworn to protect and serve, and he was a Sentinel for all that he didn’t seem to have the same drive to protect a particular territory.  John had always put that down to his love of the sky, and the resentment he’d had because being a Sentinel had almost cost him his dream of flying.

On another level, he was really beginning to wonder what Atlantis had to do with him.

Sam sat forward, pushing her pizza box to the side.  “What do you know about Sentinel and Guide genetics and the ATA gene?”

John blew out a breath and wiped his fingers again before answering.  He was beginning to feel like he’d been invited to a pop quiz he hadn’t studied for.  “Sentinel and Guides have a gene which normals don’t.  Recessive expression is the Guide, dominant is Sentinel.”  He recited the standard textbook description by rote.  “But you have to have two dominant genes or two recessives; a combination of both results in a type of Sentinel dormancy.”

“Right,” Sam agreed, her blue eyes lighting up with enthusiasm, “and the ATA?”

“Ancient Technology Activation gene,” John replied, “and all I know is that Jack has it which allowed him to get his head sucked into some Ancient download thing a couple of times.”

“Which for the record I don’t recommend,” said Jack.

“Definitely not recommended,” Sam said with a loving look at her husband.  

Jack reached over and caught hold of her hand.

John cleared his throat.

Sam jolted a little as though coming back to herself and shook her head.  “OK, so early work by a geneticist called Doctor Carson Beckett was able to link Jack’s ATA gene with the Sentinel and Guide gene.  In the study he performed which included all personnel in the Stargate programme at the time, the ATA gene always shows up if the individual is a Sentinel or a Guide.  But it was only active if the dominant Sentinel gene was present too, dormant or active.”  She gestured at Jack as though showing ‘exhibit A.’  “Further studies have shown that the Guides have the ATA as do some baseline humans but it’s not active.”

John frowned again. “So, I have this ATA gene?”

“Yes,” said Jack, “you do.”

“Which is why the octopus lady thought I was an Atlantean?” John hazarded.  His mind was already racing.  “No, if it was just that you wouldn’t have said anything.”

“I might have said something,” claimed Jack.

“No,” John replied firmly, “you really wouldn’t.” He set his beer down. “This is need to know so why do I need to know?”

Sam gestured at him again with her free hand.  “The Beeniens have technology which allows them to scan the entire planet searching for a genetic combination.”

“OK, that’s a little scary,” said John.

“That’s what I said!” Jack looked triumphantly at Daniel and mouthed ‘Wrath of Khan’ at him.

John’s lips twitched.  For all Jack hated sci-fi, he loved old re-runs of Star Trek. 

“Anyway,” said Sam determinedly, “when they scanned the Earth as they approached they were seeking the Atlantean genome…”

“And instead picked up the ATA,” Daniel jumped in, “so you see where we’re going with this?”

No, John really didn’t.  Well, beyond the obvious that the octopus people had potentially picked up on John because he had the ATA thing.  He looked at Daniel blankly before turning to Jack.

“Yes, this is what I’ve had to put up with for the last seven years,” Jack said brightly.

Daniel frowned heavily and looked at Sam.

Sam sighed.  “Your genetics registered at the top of the scale,” she said, “so much so that the Beeniens thought you were Atlantean.”

And now John got it.

He couldn’t exactly not get it because his spirit animal, a lithe beautiful hawk, sat on the table in front of him.

“You want me to sit in the Chair,” John stated.

Jack smiled and lifted his beer in mock celebration.  “We want you to sit in the Chair.”

Chapter 2

The Antarctica base was deep, deep underground, cold and frigid, but it suited Rodney McKay. 

The unnatural depth of the Ancient outpost beneath the ground meant only a small number of people were allowed to travel down as far at the outpost itself.  Most of the scientists and Marines remained topside in the labs and outbuildings which had been built straight after the fight with Anubis.

Rodney shivered as he remembered the panic at Area 51.  The whole place had been saturated with people anxious and distraught with fear.

Or having sex in closets.

Which was a panic reaction of a different kind.

Rodney had not had sex in a closet because thanks to the emotional overload he’d had from other people’s fear; he’d been knocked unconscious and put under sedation in the infirmary.  Not for the first time in his life, Rodney wished he hadn’t ended up as a Guide.

Canada was great on Guide rights – much better than the States – but it still preferred its Guides bonded.  His sister Jeannie had been a rising mathematics prodigy when she’d bumped into another student in the hallway of her lecture theatre and met her Sentinel.  The Sentinel in question, Kaleb Miller, had turned out to be a serving member of the Canadian military.  He’d thankfully negotiated for himself and his sister to move into the Canadian space programme rather than active duty, and Rodney liked him for that reason alone; for not destroying his sister’s career, dimming her light.  Kaleb was a good man and Jeannie had been lucky to bump into him, although Rodney would never tell him that.

Rodney had never bumped into his Sentinel and he was beginning to think he never would.

Not that it mattered, Rodney told himself briskly, as he hooked his computer back into the Ancient chair and tried again to get the thing to give up its secrets.  He was fine without a Sentinel.

Except during alien invasions.

Which was totally understandable, Rodney stressed to himself.  Even Jeannie had been affected and she wasn’t that strong on the empathy scale.

As if thoughts of his sister had conjured her up, Jeannie swept into the chair room with her own computer, a stack of folders and a carry-cup of what no doubt was the vile ginger tea she liked.  She was accompanied by a morose looking Carson who dumped his backpack to the side of the table with much less enthusiasm.

“Sorry,” Jeannie said, hurriedly stowing the files and cup on a nearby table, “Carson here got talking to Evan and then we got talking about the kids and…”

Rodney tuned her out.  Jeannie made the commute every day to Antarctica from Canada via the Prometheus and the helicopter ride from McMurdo because of her two kids.  Carson did the same thing except from Scotland and because of his ailing mother.  Rodney didn’t know why they just didn’t stay in the barracks like he did.

Well.  Jeannie did have the kids.  Rodney maybe liked his niece and nephew enough not to completely hate being Uncle Merry – and seriously he was going to kill his sister for that name one day.

“Did you know they found people descended from ancient cephalopods, Rodney?” asked Carson, sitting down beside Rodney.

“I’m allergic to squid,” Rodney replied absently.

“Right,” Carson said, dubiously.

“Oh, he really is allergic to squid,” Jeannie cut in, “his face goes purple and blotchy.”

“Thank you,” Rodney said sarcastically, glaring at his sister who grinned back at him.

Carson patted his shoulder.  “Lucky you don’t have to work with the cephalopod aliens then.”

Truthfully Carson was soothing to Rodney’s Guide gift.  Carson wasn’t a Sentinel because he had one Sentinel gene and not two, but he was generally calm and collected.  If it wasn’t for the fact that he hated the chair and was deathly afraid of it, Rodney would have said he liked working with the other man.

“There are cephalopod aliens?” asked Rodney blankly trying to recall if he’d heard anything about that.

“You weren’t listening again, were you?” Carson sighed in a long-suffering way which Rodney bristled about for a second before conceding maybe Carson had a right to be long-suffering because they had worked together for years.

They’d collaborated before the Stargate programme.  Carson was an expert in Sentinel and Guide genetics and Rodney was a world-renowned expert on Sentinel and Guide psionic energy.  His research focus had been to apply science and logic to the Sentinel and Guide gifts and abilities.  His first thesis had been about the psionic plane and how it was linked with a Guide’s empathic level.  When Carson’s genetic work on Sentinels, Guides and the ATA gene had gotten as far as it could three years before, it had been to Rodney he’d turned.

Rodney had theorised the ATA gene was the ability to actively manipulate psionic energy and they’d actually started to make some good progress.  Carson had been able to access the spirit plane while he was activating a small Ancient device which had been found during the initial Antarctica excavation. 

The answer, Rodney thought, was in the chair.  All they had to do was crack the code.  Luckily Rodney was a genius.

“OK, I’m ready,” Jeannie said as she finally moved to sit next to him on the chair platform and connected her computer to another vacant port they had rigged up to interface to the chair.

Rodney tapped another command and frowned when his programs booted up slowly.

“Radek asked me to look over some data on the alien spaceship,” said Carson, “apparently they have technology which can scan for an entire species based on genetic information.”

Rodney’s head shot up.  “What? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Tell you what, Rodney?” asked Carson.  “I didn’t even know until Radek requested my help, and genetics is my field!”

“Yes, yes,” Rodney said dismissively, “but think about that technology – we could identify all the Sentinels and Guides on Earth and…”

“And do nothing with the information since it would be highly unethical,” pointed out Carson calmly.

Rodney deflated because Carson was right.  Still.  He glared at Carson.  “Why aren’t you sitting in the chair?”

Carson glared back at him.

Jeannie cleared her throat. 

Carson sighed heavily and got to his feet.  He walked to the front of the chair and sat down slowly.

The chair responded to Carson’s gene and lit up, automatically reclining which always had Carson scrambling as his feet lifted up from the ground.

“Think happy thoughts,” Jeannie soothed Carson, “we’ll start with something easy.”

“Nothing about this is easy!” claimed Carson.

“Please,” Rodney sniffed as he set one of his programs running and nodded at the high level of psionic energy he was reading, “You’re sitting in a chair.  How hard can it be?”

Carson opened his mouth to respond but suddenly there was a schematic hologram hovering over the chair.  “Oh, crap.”

The psionic energy was off the charts.  Rodney shifted to have a better look at the hologram.  “Is that a drone?!”

Carson swallowed hard.  “Aye, I think it is.”

Jeannie surged up to place her hand on Carson’s arm.  “Think ‘off,’ Carson.”

“I’m trying!” Carson said, stress bleeding into his voice and turning his Scottish accent thick and heavy.

“Try harder!” ordered Rodney as he began typing furiously, code springing into life across his screen.  At the edge of the platform, his spirit animal shimmered into view.  It was a Cooper’s hawk; female and very vocal.  “Not now, Bonaparte!”

“I cannae hold it!” Carson said horrified.

“Just give me five minutes!” Rodney argued.

“I don’t have five minutes!”

Jeannie looked over Rodney’s shoulder and hummed.  “You’ll need to…”

“I know!”

“And then…”

“What do you think I’m doing?” asked Rodney furiously.

“Oh no,” Carson whispered.

“What do you mean…” Rodney watched as the psionic energy spiked and a drone shot through the floor of the chair room, through the ceiling and up into the rest of the facility.

“That’s…that’s so not good!” Rodney said.  He turned back to his computer and started typing again.

Jeannie abandoned him in favour of urging Carson to think the drone off.

Rodney continued typing.  If he could access the chair’s psionic frequency for the drone he might be able to jam it if he relayed it off the satellite dish on the Prometheus and…

“What the hell happened?!” Elizabeth Weir ran into the chair room and stopped just short of the platform.

Rodney wasn’t surprised to see her; Elizabeth was a pretty hands-on project director. He also wasn’t surprised when Colonel Sumner arrived hot on her heels.

“Doctor Beckett,” Sumner ordered brusquely, “get out of the chair!”

“No, he has to stay in the chair!” Rodney argued.  “I need to use the psionic frequency to jam the drone!”

“Stay in the chair, Carson!” ordered Elizabeth, glaring at Sumner.

“We have a bird in the air that the drone is targeting!” Sumner barked.

Rodney tuned out the rest of their argument and concentrated on finishing his work.  “Got it!” He stabbed the enter button.

The chair immediately flickered as the energy between it and the drone was cut.

Sumner tapped his earpiece.  “I need an update right now!”

Elizabeth stood with her arms crossed over her tight black fleece jacket and stared at Sumner, furious no doubt with his usurping her position again.

Rodney figured they’d either end up in a closet or killing each other.  He really wasn’t sure which way it could go, but he had a hundred dollars riding on killing; Jeannie had opted for the closet.

A muscle in Sumner’s jaw twitched visibly as he listened to the report, but the Marine Colonel finally nodded.  “Good, I’ll be back up top in five.” He gestured at Elizabeth.  “Sheppard managed to evade the drone.  He’ll be landing in ten with the General.  They want us back up top.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and nodded.  “After you,” she said dryly. 

Sumner turned on his heel and began to lead the way out.  Elizabeth followed him, but she paused in the doorway. 

“Good job, Rodney,” Elizabeth said and walked away.

“Can I get out of this chair now?” Carson asked plaintively.

“Hmmm,” Rodney said, his mind already mulling over the news Sumner had let slip. 

He’d often ridden in the helicopter with Major Lorne, but he’d never met the elusive Sheppard.  He assumed Sheppard liked keeping a low profile because of his infamy – either that or he didn’t like being around people, which Rodney could completely understand because it wasn’t like he enjoyed being around people either. 

He suspected it was the latter because it was well-known around the base and McMurdo that Sheppard was a loner; whispers that he was a damaged Sentinel who didn’t feel a connection to any territory.  Rodney figured it was all nonsense because Sheppard had taken his government to court so he could protect and serve as a Sentinel in the way that he wanted; in the air.

Rodney didn’t understand why it wasn’t patently obvious to anyone with a brain that Sheppard’s Sentinel sensibilities were just attached to a wider territory: the sky itself.  But then not everyone had a brain like Rodney’s and Rodney was a genius.  It was obvious to him that threats came from everywhere not just the land.  Rodney was pretty sure there was probably a Sentinel somewhere whose love of the sea took precedent.  Maybe a SEAL.  It wouldn’t surprise him if one of them… 

“Rodney?!” Carson’s shrill voice pierced his rambling thoughts.  “I said can I get out of this damned chair now?”

“Why are you still in the chair?” asked Rodney crossly.

Jeannie immediately moved to assist Carson and the chair fell into darkness as Carson got upright.  Carson stumbled and Jeannie supported him as he walked over to the edge of the platform and sat down heavily.

“I shot a drone!” said Carson shakily.

“It’s fine,” said Rodney, dismissing Carson’s horror, “I shut it down.”

“I’m not sitting in that chair again!” Carson proclaimed, thrusting a finger at it.  “You’ll need to get someone else!”

Rodney opened his mouth to argue but Jeannie shot him a look.

“Why don’t I take you topside and we’ll get some fresh air?” suggested Jeannie soothingly.  A moment later she had Carson bundled away and Rodney was left alone with his spirit animal who was perched on the back of the chair.

Rodney felt the weight of Bonaparte’s disapproval.  “Don’t give me that look!”  He just wasn’t good with people.  He never had been.

He sat back down and started to review the data he’d collected.  A moment later he was immersed in the numbers, forgetting about Carson and Jeannie in one breath, and the news of Sheppard escorting in a General in another.

Rodney frowned at the data.  It didn’t make any sense.  The psionic energy between the chair and the drone had been jammed but something else had influenced the drone into shut down.

His computer hadn’t picked anything up from the chair which meant it had to come from an outside source.  Rodney frowned.  If the psionic energy between the chair and the drone didn’t control the drone than what did control the drone?  Maybe the psionic energy between the drone and whoever was sitting in the chair…

That was possible.

Rodney snapped his fingers rapidly as his mind filled with the theory.  He pulled up the data he’d taken when Major Lorne had consented to get in the chair.

Yes.

There it was: the psionic energy frequency was different.  The readings were steadier; they didn’t spike or dip with Lorne as they had with Carson.  But then Lorne was a full Sentinel.

But Carson’s ATA gene was scientifically stronger than Lorne’s…

Or was it?

Rodney started to pull up older files for both men; tests taken during Ancient device testing…maybe, maybe…

There.

It was the same. 

Lorne showed a steady pulse of psionic energy; it wasn’t as strong as Carson’s, but it only fluctuated a little as though there was a better valve controlling the energy flow.  Carson’s psionic energy was wildly spiking one moment, dipping to almost nothing the next.  Theoretically he was stronger than Lorne except…how were they really measuring strength?  Lorne had more control.  It was likely that two Sentinel genes was creating a valve of some kind, some way of controlling the flow of the psionic energy!

And, Rodney thought excitedly, this was huge.  Because whatever had stopped the drone had to have been a psionic energy which had overpowered Carson which meant…

The only person with a known gene stronger than Carson’s was O’Neill and hadn’t Sumner said something about Sheppard bringing in a General?

But if O’Neill’s gene was stronger than Carson and he was controlling the psionic energy…

Rodney lurched to his feet.  He needed to get O’Neill in the chair.  He could take readings straight away and prove his theory and…

“Rodney, come in.”

Rodney froze as Elizabeth’s voice sounded in his ear.  He sighed and tapped the earpiece.  “Rodney, here.”

“Please join us in the main conference room,” Elizabeth said. 

He rolled his eyes because she might have phrased it as a request, but it was clearly an order.  “Why?”

“Your expertise is needed,” Elizabeth said tersely. 

Which meant she’d gotten into another pissing match with Sumner.  Rodney sighed and tapped his earpiece.  “There’d better be coffee.  On my way.”

He unplugged his laptop and closed it.  He started walking briskly back through the hewn-out corridors of ice to the elevator.

Someone had clearly notified the elevator security because the metal basket was already waiting for him.  He nodded at the young airman and got into the death trap.  He deliberately looked up as the elevator lurched into operation and began its climb to the surface.

The elevator stopped in the main entrance of the base structure inside the changing area just inside the front doors.  It allowed people to change clothing before entering or exiting the building.  Rodney absently noted the increased guard on the doors which led to the rest of the main structure.  He took a moment to zip up the orange fleece he wore right to the top – the buildings at the surface were always colder than the structures underneath which were insulated by the ice.

He nodded at the guards as he slid his badge through the reader and the doors unlocked allowing him entry.  The building wasn’t very large; conference rooms were set to the back; a mess hall to the right, and the left held the offices of the base command including Weir and Sumner.  There were no facilities; a toilet and shower block had been built not far away but it always meant a trudge through the snow and the cold air outside.

Rodney made his way through the corridor to the conference rooms.  The main conference room was right next to Elizabeth’s office.  He nodded at yet more guards and showed his ID.  One of the young officers knocked sharply on the door and opened it to allow Rodney entry. 

He walked in briskly and frowned when he saw Jeannie and Carson already sat at the long oblong table with several others.  Carson looked miserable and Jeannie was glaring at the other side of the table; that decided where Rodney was going to sit.  He slid into a seat next to his sister.

Elizabeth gave him a tight smile of welcome from her place at the head of the table and gestured across the table to the two military men sat across from Rodney along with Jackson and a bald man in a suit with thick glasses.  “Rodney, you know General O’Neill and Doctor Jackson; this is Richard Woolsey, a representative from the International Oversight Committee.”  Of course, Sumner didn’t need an introduction.

Rodney nodded at Woolsey and turned to O’Neill.  “Since you’re here it would be a good opportunity to get you in the chair.  I think I’ve made a breakthrough and…”

“Rodney,” Elizabeth broke in sternly, “if we can focus for a moment on why we’ve called you in?”

Rodney’s lips twisted unhappily but he blew out a breath and nodded.  Jeannie slid a cup of coffee his way and he picked up the paper cup filled with the hot brew carefully.

“General,” Elizabeth turned back to O’Neill, “now we have everyone here, if you could explain.”

O’Neill didn’t look particularly happy at the order and Rodney wondered briefly where Sam was before he remembered she’d gotten herself knocked-up. 

“Three days ago, an alien spaceship crashed two klicks west of McMurdo.  The aliens had scanned Earth and were attempting to make contact with an individual they believed to be Atlantean,” O’Neill said briskly.  “They wanted to make an alliance against Anubis.”

Rodney’s mind leaped ahead.  “Are these the cephalopod people?  Carson said they had a way to scan for genetic matches.”

“Right,” said Jackson stepping in, “and that’s what they did.”

“So, they were scanning for an expression of the ATA gene?” asked Rodney, mostly for confirmation because he couldn’t see how they could mistake anyone for an Atlantean otherwise.

“The strongest expression of the gene they could find on Earth,” Jackson confirmed.

“But we’re not a genetic match for the Ancients,” Carson chipped in, “even those of us with the ATA gene cannot be mistaken for Ancients.”

“We’ve done some preliminary testing with the data they released to us,” Jackson said, “there are a combination of factors involved but the match they made was the closest combination they could get without finding, you know, an actual Ancient.”

“So likely a direct descendent who managed to retain aspects of core Ancient DNA,” stated Carson in disbelief. 

“Very likely,” agreed Jackson, blinking across the table as though he hadn’t expected them to make the same leap of logic.

“Good Lord,” said Carson, almost vibrating in his seat with excitement.

Rodney couldn’t blame him.  The find of someone who was close enough to the Ancients that he’d fooled an alien scan meant that he and Carson potentially had someone who would be able to take their research to the next level.  On top of the discovery he’d just made, Rodney was almost having a good day.

Rodney put his coffee down and gestured across the table.  “Wait – you said the cephalopods found this Ancient guy here in Antarctica?”

“Yes,” O’Neill said, speaking before Jackson could reply.

“Who?” asked Rodney brusquely.

“Major Sheppard,” Woolsey replied with a touch of pomposity. 

Rodney’s eyebrows shot up.  “Sheppard as in Sheppard?”  His mind was already jumping to the next deduction.  He pierced O’Neill with an intent gaze.  “What happened out there with the drone?”

Carson flinched as O’Neill’s eyes darted to him before he turned back to Rodney.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean what happened?” Rodney gestured impatiently.  “I didn’t shut the drone down.”

Daniel and O’Neill exchanged a pointed look.

Elizabeth shifted, leaning forward over the table and clasping her hands.  “I thought you jammed the frequency, Rodney.”

“I did,” Rodney confirmed, “but that wasn’t enough to shut down the drone.  The data shows that the chair isn’t controlling the drone; the occupant of the chair is and frankly we know how bad Carson is at control.”

Jeannie punched Rodney’s arm.

“Ow!” Rodney glared at her. 

“It’s alright, lass,” Carson said morosely, “it’s not like he’s wrong.”

Daniel and Jack were clearly communicating through eyebrow Morse code and Rodney was done with it.

He glared at them both.  “Carson didn’t stop the drone, and I didn’t stop the drone, so what happened?”

Woolsey glanced over at O’Neill and Jackson hesitantly.  It was clear he knew something, but he seemed uncertain about what to say.

O’Neill sighed and leaned back.  “It was probably the Major who stopped the drone.”

“We evaded it for a while,” Jackson explained, “and Sheppard got us down on the ice.  We all got out and then…it was headed right for us, but John suddenly got up and…” he made a weird hand gesture, “and it dropped out of the sky.”

“He overpowered Carson’s tether to it and took control once it was in range,” Rodney theorised.

Daniel shrugged and nudged his glasses back up his nose.  “Which makes sense if his genetics are as close to the Ancients as we can get without Ascending.”

Rodney nodded swiftly, his heart racing with excitement.  If Sheppard had that kind of strength, if he had enough control…  “We need to get him in the chair.”

“That’s why we’re here and,” said O’Neill, “first on the agenda is…”

“Then what are we waiting for?” asked Rodney, cutting in.  He looked at Elizabeth.  “Where’s Sheppard?”

Elizabeth held up a hand.  “Hold on, Rodney.  I have concerns about the safety of the base and about the possible dangers to Major Sheppard.  The General also wants some assurances that it’s safe.  That’s why we’ve asked you, Jeannie and Carson to join us.”

“What dangers to Major Sheppard?” asked Carson before Rodney could get past his shocked spluttering to form words.  “There should be no difference between my sitting in the chair and the Major sitting in the chair.  In fact, if his genetic make-up is the similar enough to an Ancient he may find it a more comfortable experience than I do!”

“A view which I know the IOC supports,” Woolsey added.

Elizabeth’s expression soured but she held her ground.  “We don’t know the effect of someone with a stronger genetic profile sitting in the chair.  Yes, it could open-up the database but what if it just downloads it into the Major’s head?  We know from your experience, General, that we can’t cope with the Ancient knowledge in our minds.”

“But it’s true that Jack has sat in the chair since with the Asgard on standby and nothing happened,” Jackson pointed out.  “He wasn’t able to get past the surface access to the drone systems which we think he probably granted when he was, uh, fighting Anubis.”

“I agree with Doctor Jackson,” Carson said briskly, “the Ancient knowledge devices the General has used before only required presence of the ATA gene to activate and begin the download.  They were, if you forgive the expression, blunt instruments.  Our studies have shown no kind of interface or ability for the user to affect the device, unlike the chair where clearly there is an interface between the user and the chair.”

“He’s right,” Jeannie said, “the two devices work in very different ways.”

“If,” said Rodney, stabbing a finger across the table, “if Sheppard can get past the main security to access the rest of the chair, and that’s a big if, genetic lottery notwithstanding, he’ll have to initiate a download into his own brain to replicate what the Ancient knowledge device does, which as Carson and Jeannie have already said, is highly unlikely given the two devices are different.  If he has as much control as we suspect from getting the drone to stop, he should be able to stop any kind of download from happening anyway.”

O’Neill exchanged another glance with Jackson but he nodded.  “So, we think this will be safe for Sheppard?”

“Yes!”

“I’m not convinced.”

Rodney glowered at Elizabeth as they had both spoken out loud at the same time.

“Rodney’s right, Elizabeth,” Carson said.

Rodney shot a look of gratitude towards his friend. 

“Well,” O’Neill cleared his throat, “I think we have our answer.”

“As project director, I cannot allow Major Sheppard being allowed access to the chair until we have further assurances that it’s safe to do so,” Elizabeth said firmly. 

Her jaw was set at a stubborn angle which Rodney recognised all too well from every other occasion when she’d decided against something Rodney wanted.  He felt his frustration ramp up to a hundred and he wasn’t surprised when his spirit animal showed up, her presence given away by the flap of wings behind him.  He took a calming breath.

“Elizabeth…” Jackson began passionately.

“I’m sorry, Daniel,” Elizabeth said, “but that’s my final decision.”

“You do get there is a strategic imperative in our war against Anubis to get Sheppard into that chair?” Sumner argued.  “You wanted assurances from your people,” his hand wave incorporated Rodney’s side of the table, “it was safe and they’ve provided them.”

Rodney wasn’t sure how he felt ending up on the same side of the argument as Sumner.

“And risking one man’s life is not an acceptable risk to me,” Elizabeth shot back, “even if it is to the military.”  She looked over at O’Neill.  “If you wish to lodge a complaint through the IOC, General, you can do, but until then my decision stands.”

“Actually, that won’t be necessary,” Woolsey said.  He opened the briefcase which had been placed flat on the table beside him and drew out a thin folder stamped confidential.  “This is a letter from the IOC giving me authority to overrule your decision if I felt it was necessary.”  Woolsey met Elizabeth’s furious gaze directly.

Elizabeth all but snatched the file out of Woolsey’s hand and looked at the letter briefly.  She breathed out slowly, but Rodney felt the strength of her anger batter-up against his shield anyway. 

“It seems I have no choice,” Elizabeth said stiffly.  “I’m assuming you’ll want to do this now?”

O’Neill looked apologetic for a second, but he nodded sharply.

“Where is Major Sheppard?” asked Rodney, frowning.  It seemed a little obtuse to have discussed the risks to Sheppard without him being in the room.

“Outside,” O’Neill said, “he was checking the helicopter over.”  His eyes flickered to the side of Rodney and he frowned.  “Why’s Sheppard’s hawk sitting on the back of your chair?”

“That’s not Sheppard’s hawk,” Rodney said, turning to check on Bonaparte, “that’s…” his eyes landed on the peregrine falcon perched on his chair, “that’s not Bonaparte.”

“You called your hawk after a French Emperor?” questioned Jackson.

“No,” said Rodney absently, “after Charles Lucien Bonaparte who described the first Cooper’s hawk.” He pointed a wary finger at the bird behind him.  “This is Sheppard’s spirit animal?”

“Yes,” O’Neill confirmed.

“Why is it sitting on my chair?” asked Rodney.

“I think,” O’Neill said sarcastically, “I think I asked you first.”

The ground beneath them began to tremble.

“What’s going on?!” asked Elizabeth as the table shook and the drinks slopped over the edges of their cups and onto the surface.

Rodney looked at the falcon who blinked back at him.  Rodney swore and leaped out of his chair, grabbing his laptop automatically. 

“We have to get to the chair room! Sheppard’s in the chair!”

Chapter 3

Truthfully, Jack had been fine with Elizabeth’s expressed desire to get some advice from McKay and Beckett on whether it was safe for John to actually sit in the chair, and the fear that even though the experts had claimed it was fine something had gone badly wrong anyway (since the base was shaking badly), worried at him as he ran for the elevator with Daniel and the others hot on his heels. 

Jack liked John. 

Jack might even feel some affection for the skinny kid who’d followed him around with hero worship shining from his face, and who’d grown up to be one hell of an Air Force officer.  John was a good man and Jack wasn’t keen on the idea of John sitting down in the chair, and the chair springing some kind of trap like the Ancient head-sucky thing. 

Ancient devices always had something sucky about them as far as Jack was concerned.

So.

Getting some reassurance that John wasn’t going to end up getting his brain overwritten?  Sounded just fine to Jack.

The elevator door clanged shut and they all staggered as it lurched into action.  Jack fidgeted and refocused on his previous train of thought.

Elizabeth was just doing her job even if Marshall hadn’t looked impressed.  But then Jack wasn’t unaware that the military commander of Base Antarctica and Elizabeth had a clash of the Titans going on.  Elizabeth was an anti-military libertarian who believed diplomacy worked, and she liked being in charge; Marshall was an old-fashioned Marine who believed that while diplomacy had its place, something things just needed to be killed hard, oh; and he liked being in charge.

If Jack had had any say, and he hadn’t since he’d been frozen at the time of Marshall’s appointment, he would have argued against it.  Marshall was a good Marine, but he was lousy fit for a role which needed to work closely with civilians and scientists.  He was too rigid.  He was also the only choice of commander available in the immediate aftermath of Anubis attack with the right level of clearance and understanding to take charge of security at the base.  Jack understood Hammond had had limited options. 

Regardless, Marshall might not have been a problem if Elizabeth hadn’t been appointed as project director.

If Jack had had any say in Elizabeth’s appointment, and he hadn’t since he’d been rescuing his wife from Replicators on the Asgard’s new home planet, he would have argued against it.  He liked Elizabeth.  She hadn’t done a bad job when she’d been unceremoniously thrown into the chaos of the SGC to take charge with the change of Presidency.  She’d handled Kinsey like a pro and she’d even ended up advocating for SG1’s plan.  But, she wasn’t a great fit for someone who was going to have to work closely with the military, even if she had the international creds to work with the IOC.

Which was the rub.

Because the position didn’t report into the SGC or Homeworld Security; it reported into the IOC. 

She’d been nominated by the President because Henry Hayes had wanted to acknowledge Elizabeth’s contributions during the attack and subsequent Goa’uld fencing.  Jack understood that.  He even believed wholeheartedly that Elizabeth deserved some credit and deserved to have an acknowledgement of her effort.  But he hadn’t agreed with the President’s decision and all the President had done when Jack complained was grin and inform Jack he was being promoted to General.

Which sucked.

Because Jack had to be The Man.

Except that it was also good because it turned out Sam was pregnant and Jack moving to a desk job would mean they could have something resembling a normal life to bring up a kid.

Anyway, he thought as he waited for the elevator to reach the end of its slow descent, he hadn’t had any say in either appointment, but he was beginning to think he needed to have a talk with George Hammond about at least changing Marshall out because it wasn’t like they could do anything about Elizabeth since she didn’t fall under the SGC command.  The whole base was actually under the auspice of the Antarctica agreement and fell under the oversight part of the IOC. Hence the need for Woolsey to tag along.

Jack hadn’t liked Woolsey tagging along because it was Woolsey.

He might have, maybe, almost certainly not forgiven Woolsey for dragging SG1 through the coals after the doc had almost died in a rescue mission after the team there had been ambushed by Anubis.  It had been a close-run thing.  Jack had been injured himself in the same incident and Sam had almost gone feral; she’d dropped the attackers with a blast of empathic rage – something which they’d later realised had saved Janet’s life as she’d only caught a glancing blow because the Jaffa’s aim had been thrown when Sam’s rage had rendered him unconscious.  Sam had ultimately been cleared by the Registry but Jack still resented that they’d investigated at all.

Jack truly hadn’t expected for Woolsey to override Elizabeth.

Which meant he found himself a little conflicted since he didn’t really want to end up on the same side of an argument as Woolsey, but Elizabeth had made it damned difficult when she hadn’t even taken the advice of her own people.

Of course, the shaking base indicated Elizabeth might have been right about continuing to use caution before sticking John in the chair.

At least Woolsey had had the sense to stay behind.  Or maybe they hadn’t waited for him to catch up.

Jack was just pleased he wasn’t in the elevator when it shook a little sending some in the basket to cling tighter to the railing.  McKay, Jack noticed was desperately trying to do something with his computer.

Jack wondered briefly what he was doing. 

McKay was an ass – SG1 had learned that first-hand when he’d tried to undermine Sam’s evidence of Teal’c’s existence on the spirit plane when the Jaffa had gotten trapped in the Stargate’s crystals.  But that had probably been more Simmons than McKay in truth.  The Sentinel and Guide scientist had come through for them when they’d worked together to stop the Stargate blowing up a couple of years before.  Jack might not like McKay but he respected his work.

Daniel was peering over McKay’s shoulder at the screen and so was McKay’s sister.  “You’re trying to remote access the chair?”

McKay didn’t bother replying.

“That won’t work,” said Jeannie, “try resetting the algorithm and…”

The elevator clattered to a full stop.

The guard hurriedly raised the gate and Jack dived out of the basket and ran for the chair room.  He slid and slipped along the icy corridors as the base trembled again.

He entered the chair room at a full run and came to an abrupt halt by the platform. 

John was in the chair.

It was fully reclined and lit up with a blue glow.

A young Marine office, Ford, hovered by the side of the chair anxiously. 

Jack ignored him in favour of yelling at John.  “I told you not to touch anything!”

John’s peregrine falcon perched on the back of the chair next to a smaller bird.  Jack figured it was McKay’s.

John glanced over at him, nerves rampant in his hazel chameleon gaze.  “I just sat down!”

“I’m sorry, sir!” Ford blurted out.  “This is my fault!  I forgot to warn the Major that the chair was The Chair, and I didn’t realise he had the gene and…”

“Enough, Lieutenant,” Marshall cut in, “exit the chair room and guard the entry!  No-one else gets in while we get this contained.”

“Yes, sir,” Ford immediately followed his orders and left.

Jack opened to his mouth to order John out of the chair and…

Rodney suddenly stepped past him and onto the platform.  “Think of the solar system, Major.”

A hologram appeared above the chair; the ground stopped shaking.

“Did I do that?” asked John wonderingly.

“Yeah, kid,” Jack agreed with a hint of relief, “you did that.”

“Keep focusing on the hologram, Major,” Rodney said, an edge of nerves in his voice which Jack could hear under the attempt to remain calm.

“I can do that,” John said.

“Good, great, I’m going to plug my computer in and see what’s going on, just keep focusing on the hologram,” Rodney said, “but just don’t zone.”

“No zoning,” John repeated dryly, “got it.”

Rodney approached the chair cautiously, but Jack sighed because Daniel was already walking up to stand next to the hologram.  He caught Marshall’s silent signal that the Marine was going to check on the base and assess if any damage had been done.

“This is incredible,” Daniel said, his voice filled with awe.

“The names are in Ancient,” remarked Elizabeth, wonder coating every word.

The hologram wavered for a moment and a second later the names were in English.

“OK,” John said blinking at the image, “universal translator; that’s cool.”

“These are the Ancient names,” Elizabeth reached up as though to touch the hologram but her hand hovered close to it.  “First, Second…”

“They weren’t the most imaginative race, were they?” commented Daniel.

“I think simplicity can be poetic,” Elizabeth countered.

Jack ignored the debate and the pretty picture.  He went to stand beside the chair, ignoring the gaggle of scientists who had gathered around Rodney on the other side.

“So, you sat in the chair,” Jack said conversationally.

“Yeah,” John murmured, “sorry about that.”

Jack hummed under his breath.  He figured John had known exactly what he was doing – the kid had always been a smart-ass. 

“Luckily for you it turns out the experts don’t think it’s going to fry your brain,” Jack said conversationally.

John’s eyes widened a fraction.  “Right.  Good to know.”

“Of course, we didn’t consider whether you could bring the entire base down sitting in the chair,” Jack continued.

John shrugged – which was impressive given his reclined position.  The image of the solar system changed to one of a small tower and buildings shaped like a starfish around it.  The structure was surrounded by a dome.  

“Is that…”

“I don’t believe this!” McKay surged to his feet.  “He’s in the database!” He stared at John.  “It’s like the firewall doesn’t even exist for you!”

“We have access to the database?” asked Elizabeth sharply.

“Yes, it’s all here!” McKay said, gesturing up at the hologram.

“This is a…design,” Daniel said, peering at the Atlantean text, “it’s a small city – a tower, municipal buildings, schools…” he pointed at a far corner.

“So, this is Atlantis?” asked Jack bluntly.

Daniel shook his head, still absorbed in the image.  “No, this is this outpost.  It’s called Terra Prima.” 

McKay stepped up to the chair on the other side of John.  “Think of Atlantis, Major.”

The hologram swirled away and reappeared.  Jack took in the greater size of the starfish; the multiple towers and buildings. 

“Atlantis,” murmured Elizabeth, wide-eyed as she stared up at the image of the city.

“Oh my God,” McKay muttered.  “Where is it?”

John frowned, his brow creasing.  Text formed along the bottom of the image.  Eight gate symbols. 

“That can’t be right,” Jeannie said, “a gate address is seven symbols; six points in space and the seventh the point of origin.”

“Within this galaxy,” Daniel said, excitedly, “what if this is long distance – like long distance?”

“You mean China?” teased Jack irreverently.

Daniel shot him a look but shrugged.  “Same principle,” he said, “what if the eight symbol is a different galaxy?”

The image swirled again and a map of stars appeared.

“Pegasus,” said McKay, “that’s the Pegasus galaxy.”

“So…on the way to China?” asked Jack sarcastically.

McKay gave him an unimpressed look.  “Pegasus is the closest galaxy to us, I mean,” he gestured excitedly with his laptop, “it’s fantastically far away, but closer than the Asgard galaxy probably, maybe.  It would probably take us weeks to get there in the Prometheus using the drive we have right now but when the Daedalus is done with the integrated Asgard technology…we’re looking at…well, weeks but less time than right now.”

“But we don’t need a ship,” argued Daniel, “we can use the Stargate.”

“Are you kidding me?” shot back McKay.  “Do you even know how much power we would need to dial an eight symbol address?”

Jeannie moved up to stand next to her brother.  “Not to mention we would completely need to rewrite Sam’s program to enable the gate to dial the eighth symbol.”

“Well, that’s easy,” McKay commented, “we’d just need to reconfigure the program…”

“And allow for the power differential,” asserted Jeannie, “not to mention…”

McKay waved a hand at his sister.  “Yes, yes, we’d have to…”

“Ah-ah!” Jack made a slashing motion in the air.  He glared at the gathered scientists.  “Does someone want to bottom line this for me?”

Daniel crossed his arms over his chest and met Jack’s gaze.  “We could go to Atlantis.”

He almost missed Beckett sidling up to John on McKay’s side.  “How are you feeling, Major?”

“A little hungry,” John said lightly, “but I’m good.”

“No discomfort?” probed Beckett delicately.  “Your senses aren’t troubling you?”

John shook his head.  “I’m good,” he said, “besides Orange Guy is kind of anchoring me.”

“I am?”

“He is?”

Jack wasn’t sure who was more surprised McKay or the doctor.  He was slightly surprised himself.  “Really?” he asked John, “McKay’s anchoring you?”

John gave another shrug.  “He’s shielding me.”

“I am?”

“He is?”

McKay glared at Beckett.  “Will you stop saying that!” He turned to John and it was probably the first time Jack had ever seen the Sentinel and Guide specialist at all hesitant.  “I’m shielding you?”

“Yes,” John said, tilting his head to look at McKay with a frown, “you didn’t realise?”

McKay opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again before he sighed and glanced up at the two spirit animals perched on the chair.  “I, uh, must have reached out,” he made a weird abortive gesture toward John, “instinctively?” His voice went up at the end of the sentence giving away his own uncertainty on what had happened.

John frowned and a tiny shudder went through the ground.

“Hologram!” McKay said loudly.  “Focus on the hologram!”

John hurriedly turned his gaze up to the picture.  It wavered and changed again back to the solar system.

“I think that’s enough for today,” said Beckett firmly.  “Using the chair takes a lot of energy.  I’d advise using caution.”

“I would agree,” Elizabeth chimed in, “as much as it would be tempting to continue exploring the database we have the critical information we need at this point.”  Her direct gaze met Jack’s with a touch of a challenge in their depths.  “Determining how to get to Atlantis is clearly going to take some time and we need to assess the stress not just on Major Sheppard but also on the rest of the structure.  If the outpost is going to vibrate every time the Major accesses the chair’s information, we should look into reinforcing the building.”

“This database is our best chance against Anubis, Jack,” said Daniel, not quite in opposition to Weir but with enough pleading in his undertone that Jack knew Daniel’s guilt about Abydos was rearing its head again.

“OK, campers,” Jack said brightly, “let’s pack it up and head upstairs.  We need to reconvene.”  He turned to John.  “You think you can disconnect OK?”

John gave a nod.  A moment later the hologram winked out and the chair righted itself as John shut it down.

McKay tapped something on his computer and his lips twisted.  “Great,” he muttered, “the firewall is back in place.”

“General,” Beckett said firmly, “I’d like to examine the Major and assess the impact to his senses and health.”

“Go ahead, Carson,” Elizabeth said sharply. 

Jack gave a small nod to John who glanced over in his direction.  “Get checked out, Major.  That’s an order.”

John grimaced.  He stood up and suddenly swayed, lurching awkwardly and almost over-balancing. 

Jack immediately reached out to stabilise him and absently noticed how McKay reached out before catching himself and pulling back.  It was bad form to touch a Sentinel unless permission had been given beforehand.

“Head rush,” John said as he eased away from Jack’s hold.

“Humour me, Major,” Jack said tersely.  He kept hold of John as Beckett led the way back through to the elevator.  He was aware the others were following in their wake. 

Jack held onto John as the elevator rattled upwards and he ignored the looks John was sneaking at a flustered McKay.  He definitely ignored the looks McKay was sneaking right back.

The main infirmary was set up in one of the outbuildings with its own power generator and quarantine area.  The SGC’s experience with the Ancient virus that had almost cost SG1 their lives had determined to keep it separate from main operations.  But there was a small exam room in the base structure near to the conference room.

Beckett ushered Jack and John through the door, subtly barring entry to the others.  Jack helped John over to the exam table and stepped back as John hoisted himself up to sit.

“Thank you, General,” said Beckett formally, “if you wouldn’t mind waiting outside…”

“It’s fine, Doc,” John said, “General O’Neill can stay.”

Beckett raised his eyebrows but to his credit he just got on with the job. 

Jack hovered.

He knew he was hovering, but he hovered anyway.

John was an Air Force Major but Jack’s heart was too tied up with the kid who’d simply wanted to fly.  He waited impatiently as John answered Beckett’s questions; no, he wasn’t feeling dizzy; yes, he did feel a touch tired; no, he didn’t have any problem with his senses; yes, he was hungry; no, he had no inclination to start speaking Ancient…

Beckett finally ended the exam with a portable MRI scan of John’s body and brain.  Once that was done, Beckett seemed satisfied everything was in order.

“My main prescription is to get your blood sugar up; I’m going to get you a sandwich from the mess and some juice,” Beckett said crisply.  “Any preferences?”

“Turkey, if they have it and apple juice, please,” John replied.

“Stay here.”

Jack watched as Beckett bustled out to pick up the food and drink.  He leaned back against the exam table and nudged John who had resumed a sitting position.

“You OK, kid?”

“I’m good,” John said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“For the record,” Jack said dryly, “this is the reason why you should have waited to sit in the chair.”

John made an over-exaggerated wince, but he nodded.  “I should have waited for the all-clear,” he accepted.  “I just…”

“Got impatient?” suggested Jack archly.

John shook his head before he paused and nodded.  “Yes, but…” he fidgeted with the wristband he wore, “when Ford was showing me the room, there was this…this pull to the chair?  Like it was calling for me.” He sighed.  “Then Perry showed up and…I figured if he was telling me to sit in the chair it was probably OK.”

Jack’s training meant his frown was inward rather than on his face but he wasn’t happy to hear John had felt pulled to the chair and his spirit animal was involved.  His own spirit animal of a large grey wolf had a tendency to drag Jack into trouble.  Like the whole uprising against Ra.  Or convincing Jack to stick his head in the Ancient-sucky thing the first time.  And the second time.  Since John had been steered by his own spirit animal there wasn’t much of an argument Jack could make about what John had done.

“How much did the chair show you?” asked Jack conversationally, even as his heart pounded.  There was a memory, vague and fuzzy hovering on the edge of his mind; a calling through space.

“Enough,” said John tersely, but his eyes met Jack’s with understanding.  “She’s waiting for us.”

“Waiting for you,” corrected Jack.

John rubbed the back of his neck again but gave a nod.  “How much did…”

“Enough,” said Jack, “enough to know it wasn’t me she needed.”  He sighed and rocked back on his heels.  “I don’t remember much just…that she was waiting for her Sentinel.”

John grimaced but he nodded.

“And you’re the one she was waiting for,” Jack concluded.

John sighed heavily.  “I’ve never felt the pull to a territory before,” he said quietly, “it’s always been the sky for me.  But when she reached out…”

“You felt it,” Jack said.

John gave another nod.  “It’s not going to be easy, is it?  Getting them to let me go?”

It was going to be the opposite of easy.  John had just proven he could access the entire database; the chair responded to him in a way it didn’t for anyone else with the gene.  His use of the technology was intuitive and it didn’t involve anyone having to get their head sucked.  John had just made himself the most valuable military asset on Earth.  Not to mention that John was unbonded.  There would be people who wouldn’t want to allow an unbonded Sentinel on a mission to another galaxy.

Jack sighed.  “Let’s tackle one problem at a time.  We don’t even know if we can get there yet.”

John nodded again.

“So,” Jack said, changing the subject, “McKay?” He arched an eyebrow.  “Seriously?”

The tips of John’s ears turned bright red. 

“I don’t…” John bit his lip, chewing on it in a way that spoke more about the boy he’d been than the man he was.  “He helped.”

“If you say so,” Jack teased.

John shot him a chiding look but there was a hint of panic about his eyes that Jack remembered very well from when he had looked up and seen Sam.  It was heart-stopping and exhilarating and…the best thing which had ever happened to him.  McKay might not have been the Guide that Jack would have chosen for John, but then he wasn’t certain John would ever have considered bonding with a Guide if one hadn’t been presented to him on a platter.

Before Jack could tease John some more, Beckett arrived back with the food.  Jack left John to eat and paused outside the room when his hearing picked up on a voice which sounded very much like his wife.

The open door of a side conference room made Jack’s job fairly easy.  He sauntered in and found Daniel with the McKay siblings talking to Sam on a laptop they were all hunched around.  Jack noticed the whiteboard behind them was filled with scribbles.

Jack stuck his hands in his pockets as he worked his way through the dense equations.  He wasn’t as smart as the others in the room but he wasn’t an idiot either. 

“Anybody want to tell me why you’re working out how much power it will take to dial an eight symbol address?”

The immediate fall of silence was gratifying.

Jack hid his grin.  He could imagine the furious looks which would be exchanged as they determined who was going to answer him.  He wasn’t at all surprised when the voice he heard was Sam’s.

“We’re determining if it’s possible to dial Atlantis directly,” Sam reported briskly.

Jack hummed and turned around.  He raised one scarred eyebrow.  “And?”

“And it can be done but it would use all the remaining power in the ZPM,” Sam informed him calmly.

It was one of the things he loved about her; her ability to stay focused and assured even under fire.

“Right,” Jack said, “so that’s a no then.”

Daniel bristled beside him, arms going up defensively to hug his torso.  “Jack…”

“Ah!” Jack held up one finger in front of Daniel’s face.  “Don’t Jack me.  You’re telling me that the only way to power the gate to get to Atlantis is to use the one power source we have for the chair which is our best line of defence against any invading force from space.” He held Daniel’s gaze.  “That’s what you’re telling me, right?”

Daniel glared back at him.

McKay stirred beside him and raised his hand. 

Jack unwillingly looked away from Daniel.  “What?”

“What if we could power the chair another way?” asked McKay. 

Jack felt Sam’s excitement bloom over their bond.

“The new…”

“Naquadria generator,” finished McKay turning back to the laptop.  “That’s what I was thinking!”

“We’d have to do some trial runs and we’d need to ensure that we’d be able to fire the weapons not just use the chair but…”

Jack broke into Sam’s spiel.  “Bottom line, Sam?”

Sam’s blue eyes met his.  “Bottom line, we could power the chair with the generator.  It’s a more sustainable power source for the chair over time anyway.  And if we can power the chair with the generator, then…”

“We could use the ZPM to travel to Atlantis,” Daniel completed excitedly.

Sam nodded.  “Yes, but we’ll need to run tests, simulations and…”

“We could go to Atlantis,” said McKay with wide-eyed awe. 

Jack sighed as McKay’s head snapped towards where John stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching his Guide with chameleon eyes.

Epilogue

John raised his eyes to the sky and breathed in the salty air of the alien ocean.  The sky was turning purple, night falling.  There was a hint of orange on the horizon where the first sun bled into the sea.  The second sun hung low a faint pale yellow in the distance.

He felt Rodney’s approach long before his Guide appeared on the balcony beside him.  Rodney practically vibrated with tiredness.  He mirrored John, resting his hands lightly on the railing and looking outward.  But their shoulders were pressed hard against each other, a silent support.

Rodney didn’t ask how he was and John was grateful for that. Of course, Rodney knew.  He was John’s Guide; he would always know John’s feelings.

Rodney pressed against him for a long moment.  “You know there was nothing else you could have done.”

John breathed in and let the breath out slowly.  “I know.” 

Shooting Lieutenant Ford had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do even if every breath of his body told John it had been a mercy.  He and the Marine Lieutenant had enjoyed a good working partnership in the months since John had sat in the chair and John was going to miss him.

“They want to eat us,” said John quietly.

Rodney pressed against him again.  “So, we won’t let them.”

John pressed back a moment, taking the offered comfort.  He sighed and turned around, looking back to gaze at the tower in front of him.  He gazed up at it and felt…at home.  The faint vibration of welcome and protection in the back of his mind should have been worrying but it wasn’t; it was Atlantis and he was her Sentinel just as much as Rodney was her Guide.

“Elizabeth was looking for you,” Rodney said.

John glanced at his Guide questioningly.  They hadn’t had the easiest of relationships with Elizabeth.  Elizabeth was the Expedition’s Ambassador because the IOC had acquiesced to a military commander, or rather a Sentinel and Guide pair, being the Expedition Leaders.  That was John and Rodney. 

“Bets on whether she’s going to make a play for our jobs,” John said lightly.

“No bet,” Rodney teased back, “although really I don’t why she wants it.  I mean, it’s people complaining or whining or sobbing – and why do they think sobbing is an acceptable way to deal with vampiric aliens and people being transported away by vampiric aliens…”

“To be fair, Sergeant Bates is just very in touch with his emotions,” joked John.

“…and then there’s the paperwork which is just as horrendous as you’d expect and you have yours waiting for you in your office…”

“I have an office?” asked John faintly horrified.

“…plus Carson was yabbering on about medical supplies and something to do with genetic hybrids with the Athosians- I think he has a crush on their leader?  The woman who looks like a Warrior Princess?  Which OK, who doesn’t have a crush on her but frankly I stopped listening to Carson because hello?  Trying to get the power up, and the shield, and making sure we don’t all die horrible deaths.” Rodney finished.

“Sounds horrible,” John said leaning into his Guide.  Somehow Rodney’s rant had eased John’s fears, the uncertainty which churned inside of him.

“Horrible,” said Rodney, “and yet, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Me either,” said John.

They gazed at each a long moment.  John closed the distance and kissed his Guide softly.  Rodney pressed back just as gently.  John rested his forehead against Rodney. 

“We should go inside,” Rodney said quietly, “do leader-y things.”

“In a minute,” promised John. 

Their spirit animals landed on the railing beside them and John took a final look at the sinking suns and the alien sky.  Atlantis hummed in the back of his head.

Rodney pressed into him again.  “When you’re ready, Sentinel.”

John took a deep breath and looked over at Rodney.  “Let’s go, Guide.”   

fin.