Chapter Text
"You do realize," Dr. Keller said nervously, "that there's a chance he won't be able to tell you anything, if this procedure fails."
"We know," Rodney said, "but the deal was extraction first, then information."
Keller nodded toward the waiting room. "But does he know the risks?"
"He understands," Teyla said. "The chance to be free is worth the risk to his life."
Teyla was awfully confident, speaking for a man she had known for hardly more than two days, and had been in hand-to-hand combat with for most of that time. On the other hand, trying to kill somebody was one way to get to know them. Especially since Dex wasn't really the chatty type. And Teyla was good with people; Rodney always trusted her to handle those aspects of missions. This time as much as any other.
Keller studied Dex's x-rays again, craning her neck up at the glowing film. "This sucker's really embedded, right against his spine. I've read up on these implants, but I've never done anything like this."
"Jennifer." Teyla laid her hand on the doctor's arm. "You are the best surgeon the S.G.C. has on call; if anyone can do this, you can."
Keller smiled, a little weakly. "Well, if you say so..."
"Doctor?" The office door opened, and the surgical assistant, already in mask and scrubs, poked her head in.
"Yes, Marie?"
"It's the patient. He's refusing anesthetic, he says he's going to stay awake for the procedure."
"What?" Keller shook her head. "That's crazy, he won't be able to stay still enough—" She followed her nurse out of the room.
Rodney looked at Teyla. "Time to cross fingers?"
Teyla nodded. "And pray."
* * *
Dr. Keller returned a couple of hours later. She'd stripped off her gloves and mask, but there was a little blood spattered on her scrubs. Rodney carefully kept his eyes off the gore, as the doctor reported, "As far as I can determine, it was a complete success. Now the only question is who gets this," and she held up a glass jar containing an ugly black tangle of wires, coated in an unpleasant red slick. More blood.
Rodney swallowed and looked over her shoulder at the tasteful, thankfully black-and-white x-rays. He snapped his fingers at the lab monkey working in the corner, had him bring over the metal box he had prepared. "Put it in here. The thing shouldn't be transmitting now, but just in case, this should shield most of the signal. Then express it to Dr. Zelenka, he should get first crack."
"How is Ronon Dex?" Teyla asked.
Keller stretched and rubbed her neck. "He's in a recovery room, resting comfortably."
"When will he awaken?"
"I don't know." Keller shook his head. "He wouldn't submit to the anesthetic, not even a local. And he managed to keep himself steady for the whole procedure—which, quite frankly, should be physically impossible. Incredible, at any rate. Though he seems like a pretty incredible guy in general...that physique..."
"Yes," Teyla said, with rather more fervent agreement than Rodney really felt was called for.
"But the moment the last of the implant was removed, he passed out. Which did make stitching up his back easier. But he put his body through the wringer; I can't say for sure when he'll wake up."
"If that is the case," Teyla said, heading for the door.
"I'm sorry," Keller started to say, "if you want to go back to your hotel for now, I can let you know when—"
"No need," Rodney said, following his partner. "Knowing this guy, he's awake already."
In fact, Ronon Dex was not only awake, but out of bed and buttoning his shirt when they entered. He turned toward them without any sign of injury, no grimace or hunch to his big shoulders, not even any obvious stiffness. Meeting Teyla's eyes, then Rodney's, then Dr. Keller's behind him, he nodded. "Thanks."
"You're welcome, Ronon," Keller said, sounding flustered.
"Dr. Keller," Teyla said quietly, "if you could give us a moment of privacy."
"Oh, right, of course, Teyla," Keller said, ducking her head, and hurried out, closing the hospital door behind her.
Rodney stepped over to lock it, then reached up to the security camera in the corner and unplugged the lead wire, before taking out his jammer and adjusting it. There were no radio signals being emitted from the room, but better safe than sorry. "Okay, we can talk now."
Dex was looking at his partner. "You're Teyla?"
"Teyla Emmagan," Teyla said, with a smooth bow of her head. "And this is Dr. McKay."
"Dr. Rodney McKay. Pleased to—um, that is—hello," and Rodney stuck out his hand.
Dex took it and shook, squeezing Rodney's fingers with more bruising force than courtesy demanded. "Ronon Dex," he said.
"Yes, yes, we know," Rodney said, shaking out his hand. "Excuse me, but we don't have all day. It's already evening, and we still don't know where Sheppard is, or what ATA is. So, what do you know?"
Dex shook his head. "I don't."
"Oh, now that's helpful!"
Dex arched an eyebrow in Rodney's direction. "You asked for whatever I knew. Didn't specify how much."
Rodney was getting a hunch that they had been played. It was a disagreeably familiar feeling. "You have to know something. Some little hint, a clue, whatever. What exactly did Michael tell you about your target?"
"That he was my target," Dex said, and damn it, he didn't have to look so smug about this, arms folded, smirking down at Rodney and Teyla. Like for some reason he was enjoying himself.
Rodney took a breath and strove for the patience Teyla had attempted to coach him in. Count to ten, inner harmony, blah blah blah. "And what did Michael say about your target? Anything whatsoever—did he warn you about anything? Tell you something about how it was supposed to be handled after you stole it, whether you shouldn't drop it, or put it in a freezer or vacuum, anything?"
Dex thought for a moment. "Probably shouldn't drop it or freeze it," he said. "Since Michael wanted it alive."
"Alive?" Teyla echoed.
"Sheppard's got something alive in that briefcase?" Rodney stared. "A product of genetic engineering? A bioweapon?"
"Not the briefcase," Dex said. "My target was Sheppard. Michael wanted what he had with him, too. But mostly he wanted Sheppard."
"Why the hell would he want Sheppard?" Rodney said. "The guy's a businessman, he doesn't have any scientific training. He didn't invent Project ATA, he just funded it."
"Don't know," Dex said. "But Michael wanted him."
"But you do not know why," Teyla asked.
Dex shook his head.
"If Sheppard was your target," Rodney said, "then why'd you grab me? You asked me about the briefcase—if that wasn't your target, why'd you care?"
Smirk fading, Dex shifted uncomfortably—not as if his back were bothering him, but as if the hospital floor under his boots was uneven. "Wanted to know," he rumbled. "Why he was wanted."
"You wanted to know what Michael wanted with Sheppard," Teyla said, not sounding surprised. "Before you carried out your mission—before you gave Michael an innocent man."
Dex nodded, head ducked, sullen as a six-five toddler.
"Hold on, you kidnapped me to try to get information on Sheppard? Did it occur to you to try asking nicely?"
"Rodney," Teyla reminded him quietly, "we did not try asking. Ronon is no different from us. His questions are our own."
"Except that we don't work for a megalomaniac scheming to take over the world." At least, last he checked they didn't. Though who knew what the hell the I.O.A. actually schemed. He and Teyla were just the expendable labor force.
"I don't work for him either, now," Dex reminded them, and his growl held a note of triumph.
"Yes, and the I.O.A. is going to want to talk to you about that, I'm sure," Rodney said. "If you're as helpful answering their questions about Michael as you have been with our questions, you'll be a big hit. I'd get a good look outside these windows now; it's probably the last sun you'll see for a year."
"Rodney," Teyla said, low and cross.
Dex shrugged. "S'okay," he said, sitting down on the bed. It was high enough that his head was still level with Rodney's. "Didn't expect much else, coming here with you."
Rodney stared at him. "You didn't?"
"Better than having that thing in me," Dex said. "And I was screwed anyway, since I wasn't going to do it. Give Sheppard to Michael."
"You weren't? Why not?"
"Sheppard looked like an okay guy. Didn't deserve it," Dex said, so matter-of-factly that he had to be telling the truth.
"You were planning to refuse Michael's orders, and get the Wraith tracking you again, not to mention pissing off Michael himself, because Sheppard looked 'okay'?" No wonder Teyla bonded so easily with the man; Dex was clearly as insane as she was.
Rodney wondered what it felt like, to be able to live by one's principles with such unconditional equanimity, no hesitation and no regrets. As if life were as straightforward and exact as the physical laws of the universe that he'd left behind a decade ago.
"But you know nothing more about Sheppard?" Teyla asked. "Other than what you observed yourself?"
"Which was that he was 'okay'—did you get any more than that?" Rodney chimed in. "Overhear anything about, say, Project ATA?"
Dex frowned in thought. "Michael said ATA once. Didn't tell me what it meant, though. Never heard Sheppard say it. Or anything else special. He just gambled, mostly. Talked to that Japanese guy on the phone a couple times, arranging meetings. Boring business stuff. That's it."
"'Boring business stuff.' Incredible," Rodney said. "I don't know what we would've done without your awesome breadth of observational skills. You should forget about being a soldier, obviously you were born for espionage."
Dex looked at him for a long second, then deliberately turned toward Teyla. "He always like this?"
To her credit, Teyla didn't crack so much as a hint of a smile, and Rodney ignored the possible sparkle in her eyes. "As a rule, yes."
"Yes, let's make fun of Dr. McKay, since we don't have anything better to do. Except our jobs, of course—you never saw Sheppard go anywhere else? A different casino, another hotel?"
Dex shook his head. "Only the Atlantis."
"You're such a great help, I don't know how we'd have gotten by without you."
Teyla glared at him mildly, then looked to Dex. "Do not mind him. Thank you, Ronon, for what help you have given us."
Dex nodded his head. "No problem. Thank you. For the tracker."
Teyla studied him thoughtfully for a moment. Then she glanced up at the inactive camera in the corner, her expression unreadable. At last she held out her hand. "Rodney," she said quietly. "Give me his weapon."
"What?" Rodney frowned at her. Teyla returned the frown with unruffled composure, and Rodney sighed. "Right." He reached under his jacket, where he had awkwardly tucked the big blaster into the lower strap of his shoulder holster, and pulled out the piece.
Teyla took it and extended it toward Dex. He eyed her questioningly, but accepted his bizarre firearm back, twirling it once as if checking its weight.
"I ask," Teyla said, "that you give us a couple hours, so as to refute the most obvious suspicions."
Dex met her eyes and nodded, silently. He climbed back into the bed, pulled up the covers. "I'll rest now. Doc's orders."
Teyla's smile was brief but sharp. "It is appreciated. Good luck, Ronon Dex."
"You, too," Dex said.
Shaking his head, Rodney glanced Dex over. The blaster was hidden under the bed sheet, and the agents standing guard outside would have no reason to search him, since Rodney and Teyla would be his only visitors. His escape was going to look suspicious no matter what; they'd probably face an inquiry.
Still, Rodney suspected he'd have fewer regrets at the end of it than he would thinking of Dex, with all his strength and stoicism and principles, locked away in the tunnels under Cheyenne Mountain.
Assured that the blaster was out of sight, Rodney plugged the camera back in, waved farewell to Ronon Dex, and walked out of the hospital room, Teyla behind him.
* * *
Landry was not pleased to hear they'd wasted S.G.C.'s medical resources on an investigational dead end. Not that he'd say so to Teyla's face; he knew her history with the Wraith better than Rodney did himself. But his frown got steadily deeper the more they explained about Dex's dearth of useful information. Unless that was because of the mentions of Michael, a name which he didn't care for any more than they did.
He didn't press them about that, though. Nor did he seem particularly cheered by the one bit of data they did have to add. "Whether Dex's target was Sheppard himself, or what he was carrying, is irrelevant."
"Only it might not be," Rodney replied. "If we had some idea what ATA is, maybe we could put together a hypothesis about what Michael was actually after—"
"It doesn't matter," Landry told them. "All that matters is making sure that Michael does not get it. ATA falling into his hands would be as catastrophic as if the G.O.A.U.L.D. got hold of it. As soon as you locate Sheppard, you will eliminate that threat. Is that understood?"
"It's understood," Rodney said. He was proud of how steady his voice was. It wasn't a lie, after all; they certainly comprehended their orders. Regardless of whether they chose to follow them.
And if his eyes shifted when he said it, that hopefully wouldn't show up clearly on Landry's video feed. The satellite connection did occasionally break up the image.
"General Landry," Teyla said, "I may know of a way to find Sheppard."
"You do?" Rodney whispered.
"Go on, Ms. Emmagan."
"You still have the CEO of Kaiba Corporation in custody, do you not?" Teyla said. "Before he was arrested, Sheppard was in contact with him. If Sheppard remains in the Las Vegas area, he may still be trying to arrange a meeting. If Kaiba is released to make such a meeting, and we place a tracking device on Kaiba's person—"
"Then we just follow Kaiba to Sheppard," Rodney said.
Landry looked doubtful. "But any G.O.A.U.L.D. man would expect a ploy like that."
"Only if Kaiba is indeed G.O.A.U.L.D., and expects that the S.G.C. was behind his arrest," Teyla said. "But if he is not, then he would have no such suspicions. And Kaiba came to Vegas to trade with Sheppard, at Sheppard's bequest, as far as we are aware."
"That doesn't mean he's not G.O.A.U.L.D.—" Landry began.
But Rodney followed his partner's logic. "No, it makes sense—Michael was after Sheppard himself, for whatever reasons, and presumably, G.O.A.U.L.D. would be after him, too. But Kaiba's here for whatever Sheppard has for sale in that briefcase. Otherwise Kaiba would've just grabbed the guy the first time they met. So whatever Kaiba's after, it's not what the G.O.A.U.L.D. want, which means he's probably not G.O.A.U.L.D.."
Landry peered between them. "So you agree with your partner's plan, Dr. McKay?"
"I think it's our best bet," Rodney said.
The general nodded. "All right, then. You're authorized to plant any monitors you deem necessary on Seto Kaiba's person and property. If you get anything, as soon as you get any lead on Sheppard, report in. We can't risk losing him."
"All right." Rodney hesitated, but it was now or never. "General, what is the danger of Project ATA? Why is Sheppard so key to it?"
"You know that's classified, Dr. McKay."
"I know it's the I.O.A.'s project," Rodney said. He'd followed the paper trails, phantom traces though they might have been. The funding for one of Sheppard Power's subsidiaries hadn't come from corporate headquarters at all, but an intricate network of shell companies based in a couple dozen different countries—all member states of the I.O.A..
This wasn't simply a mission to stop a renegade corporation; this involved the I.O.A.'s own client. No wonder they were so touchy.
"You don't have the clearance to know that, Doctor," Landry said darkly.
"Then get us the clearance—we ought to qualify as needing to know, considering our orders."
"Your orders are unrelated to the project."
"General, you've basically ordered us to murder a man because of this project; I'd call that pretty goddamned related!"
Landry's face was as hard as granite. "Doctor, Project ATA represents a significant threat to the safety of this entire planet. That's what you need to know. If that's not enough for you, then you can resign now. Or else you can disobey a direct I.O.A. directive, in which case you know the penalty."
"That will not be necessary, sir." Out of sight of the video camera, Teyla's hand was on Rodney's leg, her fingers digging in, for all her expression as she faced Landry was calm. "I will remind Dr. McKay of our duty."
"See that you do."
Teyla's fingers dug in harder. Rodney felt his eyes dart away, forced himself to meet Landry's gaze as steadily as he could manage. "Sorry, General. Um, sir. You know how much I hate not knowing. Things."
Landry's expression didn't soften, but he leaned back in his chair. "Yes, Dr. McKay, I do. And after this is over, I'll see what I can do. But for now, completing this mission is more important that assuaging your curiosity. Good luck, Doctor, Ms. Emmagan." He signed off.
"Rodney," Teyla said, as the screen went dark.
"I know, I know. I'm sorry." Rodney put his elbows on the edge of his desk, sank his head into his hands. "This is just so..."
"I know," Teyla said quietly.
"We're the good guys, right? The I.O.A.—they're not going to kill an innocent man because they feel like it. They've got reasons. Important reasons. Just because they won't tell us what they are..."
"I do not believe General Landry himself knows what Project ATA is," Teyla remarked.
"Yeah, I'm getting that impression. It's not like the I.O.A. ever liked him much. But still, they're not Michael, right? And they're not G.O.A.U.L.D., and they're not Wraith...they're not trying to rule the world, they're trying to save it. We're saving it, that's what we do. We're the good guys, we're heroes, here. And if we have to get our hands dirty, well, that's the job, isn't it? Can't make an omelet, et cetera."
Sheppard had ridiculous hair, for an egg. He snorted to himself, imagining the man shaved bald. A fate worse than death for him, probably.
Worse than what the S.G.C. intended for him. Rodney ground the heels of his palms into his aching eye sockets. "God, I don't have the constitution for this."
"What do you think, Rodney?" Teyla asked.
"I think..." Rodney dropped his hands and let go a long breath, shoulders slumping. He didn't feel brave or bold; he felt a little sick to his stomach. Like if there were anything else he could say, he would; but he couldn't. "I think that Sheppard looks like an okay guy."
* * *
KaibaCorp's CEO was clever for a businessman. Or else paranoid. The first thing Seto Kaiba did upon walking out of the police station was visit a convenience store, where he bought a disposable cell phone, rather than using the one returned to him, with the undetectable bug Rodney had planted in it.
Without the bug, it took Rodney a few minutes to illegally hack into the local cell tower and tease out Kaiba's new phone from all the other open lines. Teyla, watching out the window of their rental Prius, trained the unidirectional microphone on Kaiba, where he stood by the taxi stand across the street. The traffic noise interfered with the mic's pick-up, but with Teyla's lip-reading ability, she should be able to follow most of the conversation. Now, though, she shook her head. "He's speaking in Japanese."
"It's okay, I've got a fix on the phone, now." They wouldn't be able to eavesdrop, but he would be able to trace Kaiba's calls. "It's to Japan." Probably not Sheppard, then.
The CEO finished his call home, checked his old cell phone and dialed again. The trace was faster, this time. "It's on the same cellular network," Rodney reported.
"He's saying something about a meeting," Teyla said. "A local place—an internet cafe, on Delphinium Avenue. In two hours."
"Midnight's late for a business meet," Rodney remarked, looking up the cafe online.
"Not for a discreet one." Kaiba ended the call, and Teyla lowered the microphone. "Is it worth reporting to the general?"
"He wanted anything." Rodney took out his own cell phone and dialed the direct line to the S.G.C., reported, "We've got a possible meet. Emailing the address now."
"Good," Landry said. "I'm dispatching a containment team. Keep watching Kaiba for now, but rendezvous with them on location at eleven thirty."
Rodney hung up and looked at his partner. "Half past eleven."
"All right," Teyla said. "Do you have Sheppard's location?"
"Coming in now," Rodney said, turning his laptop toward her. The cellular GPS signal resolved at a motel on the outskirts of the city. "Okay, he's off of Route 215."
Teyla studied the electronic map over his shoulder, then pulled the car out into the street. "It should take us less than twenty minutes, in this traffic."
Rodney looked back through the rear windshield. Kaiba was getting into a taxi, heading to his hotel, presumably.
They turned a corner and he was out of sight. Rodney took out his electromag scrambler. "Give me your arm," he said. Teyla obediently held out her right arm. Rodney ran the instrument over it, then his own bicep. "That will null our sub-cu transmitters for now, and I've disabled the car's GPS." He typed rapidly on his laptop, verifying his arrangement. "And that," he said, hitting the final keys, "will show both us and the car parked outside the Venetian, Kaiba-watching, as ordered."
Teyla nodded, steering them down the strip. On either side of the street, Vegas's fluorescents flashed and twinkled in a psychedelic riot of greed and glamour, highlighting her hair in a shifting rainbow, like oil on water. Her hands on the steering wheel were steady, and she didn't blink under the glittering visual assault, her eyes on the road.
Rodney wiped his brow, fiddled with the air conditioning buttons. It was late enough that the desert's daytime heat had evaporated, but even with his jacket off he felt feverish, his palms damp with sweat. "Do you think Dex would've escaped by now?" he asked.
"General Landry did not mention him?"
"No."
"Then maybe he has not."
Or maybe Landry didn't want to tell them if he had. If they were under suspicion...Rodney didn't bother saying anything aloud, not when Teyla already knew. He tucked his elbow against the window, the glass cool through his thin shirt sleeve, leaned his head against his shoulder and watched the frenzied Vegas night flow past.
* * *
The motel was one step up from the place they had taken Dex—it had a pool and color TV, according to the antique sign desolately glimmering over the parking lot. They didn't bother entering the front office, and no one came out to ask them what they were doing. Rodney followed the GPS signal to the fifth door down. He took a deep breath, touched the butt of his Beretta in its holster under his jacket.
"Ready?" he asked into his radio earpiece; "Ready," Teyla murmured back.
Then he knocked on the scratched yellow door, a couple sharp raps, and stood back, square in the eye of the peephole in the middle of the door.
The night was quiet, other than the whoosh of highway traffic and the death-rattles of laboring AC units. He couldn't hear anything through the door, no footsteps, no hurried sounds of packing. Nothing—and then, the jangle of a chain, the slide of a lock, and the door opened.
John Sheppard leaned lankily in the doorway, hip cocked and one arm propping him up against the inner doorframe, looking idly comfortable in worn jeans and a black t-shirt. His eyebrows were drawn up and furrowed, and his hair was in the midst of civil war. "Yeah?" he said.
"Hi," Rodney said. "You, um, remember me?"
Sheppard blinked at him, slow like a sunning lizard. "Yeah," he said, drawing it out.
"Right." Rodney swallowed. "Remember what we said about not being assassins? Well, funny thing...as it turns out, right after that we were ordered to kill you. And we'd like to know why."
Sheppard blinked again. Rodney wondered if he had been drinking. He thought he smelled beer, over the dusty dry must of the desert.
"All right," Sheppard said finally, and stepped back inside to give Rodney room to enter. As he did, Rodney caught the gleam of the entryway light on a black barrel—Sheppard had his pistol in his other hand, behind his back.
Gulping again, he stepped inside the motel room.
"Where's your partner?" Sheppard asked.
"Outside, out there." Rodney waved at the opposite end of the cramped room. "Waiting for you, in case you tried to make a run for it through the bathroom window. If you're not going to try that, I can call her inside."
The corners of Sheppard's mouth twitched. "Okay, I won't try that."
"Very well." Rodney opened the radio link long enough to tell Teyla to come on in, then looked back at Sheppard.
Sheppard had taken the gun out from behind his back. He didn't quite have it aimed at Rodney, but it wasn't lowered, either. His brow was still knitted. "So," he said, "is this how you usually assassinate people? Show up at their motels and ask to come inside?"
"I don't assassinate anyone," Rodney said. "Look at me, seriously, do I look like a professional hitman to you? I'm an electronic surveillance expert, for god's sake. And Teyla—my partner's expertise is infiltration and sabotage. We're spies, not killers. That's why we're here. The S.G.C.'s mandate is pretty broad, but not this broad, not usually. For some reason they're scared shitless of you, and we want to know why."
"I scare them?" Sheppard said. He might have been amused.
"You do—or that does," Rodney said, and he pointed to the corner, where the shiny X-T attaché case was sitting next to the bed. An open can of beer—cheap American swill—was set on top of it. "Whatever you've got in there. Project ATA."
"You know about ATA?" Sheppard asked.
"No," Rodney said. "We don't. Which is the whole point. I don't know how you feel about secret multinational government agents, Sheppard, but whatever you may think, we're not soulless drones, emotionlessly carrying out the clandestine agendas of a shadowy cabal of would-be world dictators. At least," he amended, "we didn't think we were."
Sheppard, unexpectedly, smiled, an easy, ironic grin. "Not what you signed on for?"
Rodney shook his head. "Hardly."
"I hear that."
They both turned their heads at the soft, sharp knock on the door, a distinctive four-beat pattern. "That's my partner," Rodney said, and then, catching a suspicious look in Sheppard's eyes, added, "and she's a spy, but that doesn't mean she's not trained to kill, so you better stop thinking what you're thinking right now."
Sheppard's eyebrows lifted up like they were trying to migrate north for the summer. "What am I thinking?"
"Oh, don't give me that. I know what you are, with the face and the hair and the jeans. I can recognize Captain Kirk, Jr., when I meet him. But Teyla's not an alien princess, so stop it there," Rodney commanded, and opened the door for his partner.
Teyla had her sidearm out, but at Rodney's nod she returned it to her holster and slipped inside, closing the door behind her. "Good evening," she said courteously, nodding to Sheppard.
Sheppard nodded back. "Evening. Welcome to the place, Ms, um—"
"Emmagan. Teyla Emmagan," Teyla said, extending her hand to Sheppard and shaking firmly. "And this is—"
"McKay. Rodney McKay," Rodney said, because he didn't get many better opportunities to say it like that.
Sheppard's brows shot up again, and the line of his lips folded and wriggled. "So, which double-0s are you guys?" he asked dryly. "Five? Six?"
"We're not with British intelligence," Teyla said smoothly. "The S.G.C. is under international jurisdiction."
"No license to kill?"
"Not usually," Rodney said.
"But I'm the exception." Sheppard's drawl didn't fluctuate, lazy as a cat in a sunny window. He was still holding his gun, however. "And you think it's because of ATA."
"Whatever ATA is," Teyla said, "those who command us believe the danger it poses is great enough that it is worth the life of a man to contain it. Your life, Mr. Sheppard."
Sheppard was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Yeah. I thought it might be something like that."
Tucking his gun in the waistband of his jeans--an excellent way to shoot yourself in some vital area, Rodney thought, but managed to bite his tongue on the admonishment when Teyla elbowed him--Sheppard went to the X-T case. Putting the beer can aside on the battered desk, he set the case on the bed, entered a combination into the lock, then flipped it open. He moved aside a sheath of papers to unclip a small device, sized to be held in one hand. This he handed to Rodney.
Rodney took it, frowned at it uncertainly. It was white, irregularly shaped, with a screen as broad as his palm, about two-thirds the size of the device entire. There were no obvious buttons, and when he poked at the blank screen, nothing happened. "What is it, a remote control?"
"Not really," Sheppard said. He reclaimed the device. This time, though Rodney didn't see him hit any controls, the device glowed to life, the screen lighting up. Sheppard touched the screen and gave it back to him. "There, it's activated for you."
The screen showed a simple, abstract grid. Rodney studied it in confusion. "What am I supposed to do with it?"
"Think about where we are in the solar system," Sheppard said.
"Think about what—" Rodney started to ask, and then stopped, his mouth still open, as the screen extended—no, expanded, the grid rising up to float above the device in a ghostly, three-dimensional image. White circles delineated spheres—the planets, Rodney realized, and there was Earth, where they were, just as he had pictured in his head.
He snuck a glance at Teyla, and saw she was staring, motionless with astonishment, the outlines of the spheres reflecting in her dark eyes. So, not a hallucination. Rodney passed one hand through the image, which wavered around his skin. He felt nothing, no heat, no prickle of static; the diagram was as insubstantial as air. "Holography?"
"Yeah." Sheppard was smirking, the lights from the device's display playing over his face.
"But how do you—" No sooner had Rodney said it then the image changed, the graph expanding again—no, not growing, its size remained constant, not much larger than his head. But the image zoomed in on a single planet—a sketchy map of brighter and darker zones appeared, superimposed on the sphere, marking oceans and continents, and there was North America, the West Coast, outlined in a nighttime satellite view of electric lights. The dense little cluster of lights in the desert's barren darkness would be Vegas, where they were, and now they were close enough to make out city streets—
Stop, Rodney thought, and the image froze like he had pressed pause.
Rodney felt his eyebrows shoot up. "Neural interface?" he demanded.
"Yup," Sheppard confirmed. "A basic one, but it works."
New York City, Rodney thought at the device, and the image moved, the surface of the world rotating over to show the brilliant blot of the city butted against the dark ocean. The S.G.C., and in a second he was looking at Colorado.
"Okay," Rodney said, "this is seriously cool."
"I know, huh?" Sheppard grinned back at him, not a smirk, but a silly, boyish look, far too genuine for his sardonic face.
"This is ATA?" Teyla wasn't smiling.
"Yeah, wait," Rodney said, losing his own smile. "All this panic is over a mental Google Earth? This is awesome, but it's hardly more than a video game."
Sheppard shook his head. "The detector isn't much more than that, no. Which is why I'm selling it to KaibaCorp—I needed the cash, and the technology would be a great addition to their holographic console system. The next generation in video games. I can't wait to play them, myself."
"Yeah, that would be—" Rodney cut himself off, shaking his head. "But even if KaibaCorp's not on the level, I don't get what the I.O.A.'s worried about. If this is all ATA is, then G.O.A.U.L.D. has the technology to match it already."
"I don't know about G.O.A.U.L.D.," Sheppard said. "But the detector's not ATA. This is ATA," and he reached over and took the device from Rodney.
As before, the moment he touched it, the device glowed brighter. At the same time, the holographic image sharpened, from simple outlines to photographic realism, expanding to triple the size. Then, abruptly, it winked out, the device going dark. Sheppard gave it back to Rodney. This time it stayed unlit, no matter how hard he thought at it or poked at the screen.
"Ancient Technology Activation," Sheppard explained. "I have a particular genetic marker—a key, basically, that lets me turn this stuff on and off, and control it."
"Ancient, of course!" Rodney snapped his fingers. "Ancient Enterprises—I knew that's what one of the A's was."
"So without this gene," Teyla said, "a person cannot use this device?"
"You can use it, but you need me to activate it. And other things you can't use, without the gene."
"Let me guess," Rodney said. "Some of these other things, they're a lot more interesting than this little toy. And when I say 'interesting,' I mean in the old Chinese curse way."
"You could say that, yeah," Sheppard said.
"This genetic marker—how many people have it?"
"Some," Sheppard said. He looked uncomfortable. "A few others, not related to me, either, surprisingly enough. Random distribution in the population, as far as anyone can tell."
"And?" Teyla asked. "There is more you have not said."
"I have the strongest expression of the ATA gene," Sheppard said. "That we've found. A few of the...things...I'm about the only one they work with."
"So let me get this straight," Rodney said. "You're the sole living, breathing key for some—what are we talking about? Guns? Bombs? WMDs?"
"Something like that." Sheppard sounded even more profoundly uncomfortable than he looked. "Or more."
Rodney exhaled and looked to his partner. "Well, that explains what Michael wanted with him."
"But not why the S.G.C. would want him dead," Teyla replied.
"I've got a guess there," Sheppard volunteered. "I'm retiring."
"Retiring?"
"Or resigning, whatever you want to call it. I'm abandoning Project ATA. And Sheppard Power along with it, but I haven't really been working with that for a while; that's all Dave's department. But the Ancient technology—I've had enough of it. Not when I don't know what it's being used for, when I don't get a say in how it's getting used. I had enough of that in the Air Force, and I usually trusted the USAF to be trying to do the right thing. These people behind Ancient Enterprises—they wouldn't even give me their names."
"The Institute of Observation and Action," Rodney began. "They're also the ones backing the S.G.C...."
"So they're the ones who sent you to kill me," Sheppard said flatly.
"Um. Yeah, I see your point."
"It makes sense," Teyla said.
"It makes sense," Rodney said, "but it's not exactly—they must have thought he was going over to G.O.A.U.L.D. Because of the KaibaCorp connection, even though they were wrong about it. If we tell them he's..." There ought to be some way to convince them that Sheppard was on the level, that he wouldn't be bought or tempted over to the wrong side; there must be some way to prove it to them.
Unless they already knew, but one man's life wasn't worth the risk...
Sheppard looked between them. "This I.O.A. you work for—do you trust them?"
"They're a government organization," Rodney said automatically, "what do I look like, a complete moron?"
"No," Teyla said, which was not automatic; Rodney stared at her. His partner gazed back, certain as ever, even now.
Especially now, Rodney thought. Which was good, because one of them should be. "No," he echoed his partner, swallowing to keep his throat from cracking with the dryness of the conditioned air. "And we're not working for them, either, anymore. That's why we're here."
"An ambush is being arranged, at your meeting with Mr. Kaiba tonight," Teyla told Sheppard. "We would advise that you skip that rendezvous."
Sheppard gave her a long, measuring look. Then he smiled. It was a relaxed look, not his technophile's grin; not exactly friendly, but sincere, surprisingly suited to his mouth and complemented by the lines bracketing the corners of his eyes. "Sounds like good advice."
Nice to know you're not a complete moron, either, Rodney was going to say, but before he could, the door was kicked down, the smash of shattering glass sounded in the bathroom, and half a dozen agents in black S.G.C. bodysuits swarmed the motel room.
* * *
The agents were in riot gear, visored helmets covering half their faces, but Rodney thought he recognized a few of the chins, and the voices shouting at them to stay still and put their hands up sounded familiar. He couldn't come up with names for any of them, even racking his memory, but he was pretty sure he'd met them before. The S.G.C. wasn't that big.
And the agents definitely knew them, considering that no less than four of them encircled Teyla, keeping a wary distance while aiming their automatics at her head and torso. That left two to contain Sheppard, backing him against the wall. One of that pair waved his MP5 at Rodney in a desultory way, verified that his hands were above his head, and returned his attention to Sheppard.
Seeing Rodney standing back, out of range, like he wasn't a threat, Sheppard narrowed his eyes, glaring a question.
Rodney shook his head hard in denial. A denial that there was no reason for Sheppard to believe—but Sheppard shrugged and stopped glaring, mouth slanting in what might have been a wryly sympathetic smirk, if the situation had been a bit less desperate. Really, it was hardly the time for smirking.
Taking a step back, into the corner between the bed and wall, Rodney turned until his right arm was out of sight, and slowly and stealthily lowered it, reaching under his blazer for his Beretta—
"McKay!" snapped one of the men surrounding Teyla, and he swung up his shotgun, pinning Rodney in its sights like a butterfly on a board.
"Not moving!" Rodney squeaked, hastily putting up his hand again. "Really, really, not, I swear!"
They made Teyla kneel on the ground, relieved her of her two sidearms and her bantos rods. They took Sheppard's and Rodney's guns as well, and then backed off. "Clear," the strike force leader spoke into his radio, pushing up his visor. Him, Rodney knew—a gruff robot of a man, a stereotypical professional soldier, weathered, chiseled features and rock-hard body and mind alike. His name was Winter, or Summer, something like that.
The S.G.C.'s reliance on military personnel had always irked Rodney. "You do realize we're on the same side," he said snappishly, glaring at his fellow agents, who had yet to lower their guns. "This is some sort of misunderstanding, Captain—"
"Colonel," Winter corrected, irritably. "And no misunderstanding, McKay. Our orders were to contain everyone we found here."
"If you would contact General Landry, Colonel," Teyla began.
"General Landry issued the orders, Emmagan," the colonel said. "He wanted you found. You two, and Sheppard."
"And you weren't that difficult to locate," said the tallest of the other agents, taking off his helmet. "Merely a matter of following your GPS trace, through the echo response packets." He sneered at Rodney.
"Kavanagh?" Rodney stared at the man in abject horror. "Kavanagh, you tracked my computer?"
"I tweaked Dr. Carter's tracing program," Kavanagh said smugly.
Rodney relaxed. "Oh, of course, Sam's program," he said, mollified. "That explains it. Damn it, I should've thought of that."
"Yes, you should have," Kavanagh said, sounding cranky.
"Get that," Colonel Winter said, gesturing to the X-T case on the bed—it was locked up again, Rodney realized. Sheppard or Teyla must have closed it when the strike team entered. One of the other agents picked up the case as the colonel said, "We're taking you all in. The general wants to question you two about the escape of a prisoner earlier this evening."
"Would that be Ronon Dex?" Teyla asked, no hint as to her feelings on the matter in her level tone.
The colonel didn't answer, his grim jaw firm enough to crack nuts, as he marched them out of the motel room. Rodney, for his part, had to swallow an irrational surge of accomplishment. Maybe they'd screwed up this, but they'd gotten Dex out of it, at least.
And they hadn't shot Sheppard yet, either. With the containment team here, Landry probably had decided it was better to take him in. They could probably get some use out of him, and his magic gene, willingly or not. And who cared if G.O.A.U.L.D. might use the same tactics? It wasn't like Sheppard knew anyone in the S.G.C. to argue for his rights...
Rodney glanced over at Sheppard. He was lagging behind, limping slightly—had he gotten injured during the strike?
No, Rodney realized, he had fallen back in order to get in step with the agent carrying the silver attaché case. The case with the ATA-activated equipment—Rodney suddenly found himself wondering what other toys Sheppard had in there, besides the one he had shared.
When Rodney looked to his other side, he met Teyla's eyes, her dark gaze cool and steady under the harsh lights of the cheap motel's walk. She didn't glance to Sheppard; she didn't have to. Her nod was slight, but enough.
Rodney drew a deep breath. "So where are you taking us?" he asked, loud enough that his voice echoed across the motel's parking lot. "To Colorado? Or perhaps down to Area 51, that'd be closer, and there are state-of-the-art interrogation facilities there, some of our best technology—"
"Dr. McKay!" Colonel Winter growled in warning.
"I'm just curious," Rodney said, not lowering his voice. "I don't have that much experience with interrogation, on either side of the table, but I've read the reports on the latest pentothal iteration, and putting aside the rarer side-effects—and possible allergic reactions, of course, which I always have to be careful about—it doesn't sound like a half-bad way to spend an evening—"
The colonel stopped walking and swung around on his heel. "McKay, if you don't shut up—"
Rodney was at the wrong angle to see Sheppard, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Teyla shift her weight—almost unnoticeably, but she rocked onto the balls of her feet, ready for action, and that was all the warning he needed.
Rodney dropped to the ground, just as every light in the motel winked out, like one hell of a fuse had been blown, plunging them into briefly blinding darkness.
Before his eyes adjusted to the night, he heard gunfire, deafeningly close. Kavanagh panicking, he'd bet his laptop—but there were no cries over it; no one had been hit. To his right, where Teyla had been walking, he heard the whump of fist meeting flesh, and a gasp and a thud—someone hitting the ground, too heavy to be his partner.
Reaching out, Rodney's grasping hand found the low railing along the walk. He was clambering over it when a shadowy figure grabbed his wrist and twisted back, forcing him to an awkward, painful crouch. "McKay," Colonel Winter snarled, and Rodney felt a cold, hard circle press against his temple. "Emmagan!" the colonel shouted. "I've got a gun to your partner's big brains—stop Sheppard, now, if you don't want them splattered!"
"Splattered?" Rodney sputtered, too shocked to remember to be scared of the gun to his head. "You could've gone for something slightly less stomach-turning—"
The lights blinked on again, as suddenly as they had gone out. Rodney squinted against them. He saw Teyla standing a few feet away, with two of the agents groaning at her feet. A few feet behind her stood Sheppard—he had reclaimed his briefcase, and apparently had used it to club a third agent. But now he was standing as stock-still as Teyla, though no one had a gun on him, that Rodney could see. The fourth man had his shotgun aimed at Teyla, and Kavanagh was just standing there, blinking like an emu that had taken a blow to the head.
And yet Sheppard wasn't going anywhere, just standing there holding his X-T case and glaring at the colonel.
"All right," the colonel said. "Lieutenant, take that briefcase back—"
Out of nowhere, a corona of red light surrounded the lieutenant—a flash that winked out the next second, and the man collapsed in a limp heap.
"What—" The colonel snapped around, staring out across the parking lot. He took his gun from Rodney's head to fire a warning shot into the darkness. Before he could get off a second shot, or Teyla could make a move, the red light flashed again, and the colonel dropped to the walkway, heavily as a sack of wet cement.
Teyla met Rodney's eyes, her brows raised in a silent question, then swung around toward Kavanagh.
Kavanagh looked at her, looked at the other five agents sprawled on the walkway. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he folded over like a piece of overcooked spaghetti, joining his fellow agents on the ground.
Sheppard gaped at him, then shut his open mouth and nudged the lieutenant with his shoe. "He's still breathing," he remarked.
"His blaster must have been set to stun," Rodney said. His heart was pounding fit to match a hummingbird's, so fast he felt giddy; he had to fight the insane urge to laugh out loud. Adrenaline.
Brakes squealed on the parking lot's pavement as a black Jeep pulled up beside the walkway. Ronon Dex stuck his head out of the driver's side window. "You guys going to get in, or what?" he asked.
* * *
Rodney had always thought Teyla's driving skills left something to be desired in terms of safety, if not expediency. He had changed his mind in the last ten miles. His partner was a perfectly adequate wheelwoman. Ronon Dex, on the other hand, drove like a freaking maniac.
Sitting in the Jeep's backseat next to Sheppard, Rodney wrapped his arms protectively over his laptop. He hadn't taken the time to retrieve it from their rental before their getaway just to have it smashed to bits during their inevitable high-speed collision. He didn't dare turn it on until he had a chance to manually disable the wireless and make sure there were no S.G.C. bugs implanted in the hardware—Kavanagh might've been telling the truth of how they were traced; but then, he might've simply been trying to get one over on Rodney.
In the front seat, Teyla asked, "So you found us by following the S.G.C. agents from the hospital?"
Dex nodded.
"But why were you following them at all?" Rodney demanded. "Not that we're not grateful for the save, but why didn't you just get the hell out of there, once you got away?"
"Knew they'd be after me," Dex said. "One way to run is to hunt your hunters. Then you know where they are."
"Guess you would know something about running," Rodney allowed. Seven years he'd survived the Wraith—how many had he hunted, Rodney wondered?
"Besides," Dex went on, "figured you guys could use the help. You didn't seem too good at this."
"We didn't—what!" Rodney squawked. "We captured you, might I remind you, with your own blaster, not to mention we did find Sheppard, and—"
"Thank you, Ronon," Teyla said solemnly. "We are grateful."
"No problem," Dex said, turning his head toward her.
"The road," Rodney reminded hurriedly, "for the love of god, will you please watch the highway that is currently passing under us at close to ninety miles an hour, and may I remind you again that the last thing we need now is to be pulled over for speeding—"
"This is the desert, McKay." He thought he saw the gleam of Dex's teeth in the shadows. "No patrol cars this time of night."
True, the road was empty. There were no streetlights, here, just the gray ribbon of the highway winding through the desert's formless darkness, and the velvet black sky curving down to meet it, scintillating with stars. That stellar display was almost as bright as Vegas behind them, but quieter, and far more profound.
"So now what?" Rodney asked. "Where are we going, what do we do now?"
"Well, now that you mention it," Sheppard's lazy drawl carried over the Jeep's rumbling engine. "I don't have much cash on me now, but I've still got this," and he tapped his fingers on the metal X-T case balanced on his knees.
"Yes," Rodney was reminded. "And what do you have in there, anyway—the lights going out like that at the hotel, you did that? With a mental command?"
"Yeah, that was me," Sheppard said. "I planted a little EMP generator in the fusebox when I got the motel room. In case I needed it."
"The fire alarm at the hotel, when you escaped from us," Teyla said. "That was you as well?"
It was too dark for Rodney to see Sheppard's face clearly, but he would bet two blue chips that he was smirking. "Guilty as charged."
Dollars to donuts one of his devices had erased him from the Atlantis's security cameras, too. "So," Rodney said, "we can, what, go into the bank-robbing business with your magic toys?"
"Huh," Sheppard said. "Actually, that'd be pretty awesome. But I was thinking of selling the tech to KaibaCorp, like I came here to do. I know your S.G.C. guys will be watching Seto Kaiba, but I've got a contact number for his vice president—his little brother, I think—and we can set something up. And once I have the cash, I can get down to business."
"What business?" Rodney asked. "Sheppard Power?"
"Not exactly," Sheppard said. "My brother's cut me off, pretty much—hence me needing the capital from KaibaCorp. Dave wasn't too interested in funding a private investigation into government agencies. But I wanted to know just who was paying for Project ATA, and where they got this technology, and exactly what they want to do with it. And after tonight—yeah, I definitely want to know."
"Yes," Teyla said quietly. "As do I."
"Glad to hear you say that," Sheppard says. "Because once I have the money to hire people, I'm thinking that my investigation could use a couple experts in espionage. An infiltration and sabotage specialist, and a guy who can handle electronic surveillance. Would you happen to know anyone like that?"
"Maybe," Rodney said. Two of the S.G.C.'s own agents, investigating their own organization—oh, he and Teyla were going to be very popular. Infamous, even.
The adrenaline must still be in his system, because there should be a knot of dread in his stomach the size of Cheyenne Mountain, but he couldn't feel it over the heady rush of anticipation. He hadn't felt like this since his first time in the field on his own, backing Teyla up on one of their early missions. His shot had gone wide, but it had saved her life anyway. It had been the first time he'd realized that even without his science, he might yet accomplish something worthwhile.
"Hey, Sheppard," Dex said from the driver's seat up front. "You think you'll need a bodyguard?"
"I might," Sheppard said. "Or a driver. What was your name?"
"Ronon Dex."
"Ronon Dex," Sheppard said thoughtfully. "That red light, that stunned those soldiers—that was your gun, Ronon?"
"Blaster," Rodney corrected.
"Yeah," Dex said. "That's mine. Got a kill setting, too."
Considering Rodney had thus far had three conversations total with John Sheppard, it was amazing how easy it was to hear the grin in his voice. "Cool."
Epilogue
Rodney entered the motel room to find Teyla on her back on the floor, her mouth bloody, and Ronon towering over her, grinning like a demented barbarian with his huge hands folded into fists. "Don't move!" Rodney snapped, reaching for his gun under his jacket.
"Rodney, wait," Teyla said, rolling smoothly onto her feet like a cat and pressing her fingers to her cut lip to staunch the blood. "We were only sparring."
"Sparring," Rodney said, reluctantly letting go of his Beretta. "Right." He looked between them. "Isn't it a little odd that a week ago you were fighting for real, and now you're beating each other up for fun?" He pointed one index finger at Ronon's chest. "You, did you ever even apologize for trying to kill her? A couple of times?"
Both Teyla and Ronon blinked at him. "No," Ronon said finally.
"Why would he?" Teyla asked.
Rodney sighed. "Never mind. Where's Sheppard?"
"Here." Sheppard came out of the bathroom, in the usual jeans and t-shirt but barefoot, and toweling off his hair. "You got lunch?"
When he lowered the towel, Rodney saw the bruise under his left eye. It wasn't quite blackened, but almost. He groaned. "You, too?"
"Teyla knows some sweet moves," Sheppard said cheerfully.
"I'm surrounded by lunatics."
"Yeah, hungry ones," Ronon said, and swiped the McDonald's bags out of his hands. Sheppard made a grab for them, but Ronon held them up high, out of reach.
Rodney had gotten used to this routine in the past few days, and had already eaten a hamburger to stave off hypoglycemia. Ignoring the erstwhile five-year-olds, he sat on the closer bed. Teyla took a seat on the other side of the bed, leaned in toward him. "Rodney?" she asked. "Is anything wrong?"
"No," Rodney said. "Or—I don't know. I was accosted on the way back from McDonald's."
"You were what?" Sheppard demanded, going from five-year-old idiot to forty-year-old businessman cum soldier in half a second. Rodney was getting used to that, too.
"Accosted," he said. "Or—something. There were these two old guys in suits who wanted to talk to me—I figured them for Mormons, this close to Utah, but it wasn't religion they were pushing."
"So what was it?" Ronon asked, dropping the fast food bags on the bedspread.
"They said," Rodney frowned, "that they knew about me. Us. That we were 'available.' And they wanted to know if we were looking for work. They said they were representatives of an international organization that might have use for our skills."
"G.O.A.U.L.D.?" Teyla asked carefully.
"I don't think so, they didn't seem the type. They gave me their names—one of them was Polish or Czech or something, I can't remember it. The other man was going by a pseudonym so completely ridiculous I couldn't forget it."
"What was it?"
Rodney thought for a moment. "...Shit. I forget. What was it? Something Skywalker—Charlemagne? Genghis Khan? It was some conqueror like that...anyway, they said they'd contact us again later, see what we thought."
"Interesting," Teyla said, taking out a box of McNuggets from one bag and rooting around for the BBQ sauce. "I received an email forwarded from Dr. Keller this morning. She had been contacted by a colleague she studied with in Australia, who asked Jennifer to send her message along to me. I did not entirely follow her request, but it made oblique reference to an organization called the Agency, which is recruiting now."
"Now that you mention it," Sheppard said, "yesterday I got a call from General O'Neill—I met him in the Air Force. Never was under his command, but I know he's trustworthy. He said he had a cousin who could hook us up with this group, the Phoenix Foundation."
"Know a guy," Ronon said around a mouthful of French fries. "Mike, in Florida. He says if we're going freelance to let him know. He's thinking maybe of starting a union."
"A union?"
Teyla bit a McNugget in half, thoughtfully. "I have also heard of an organization in Vancouver," she mentioned.
"Oh, yeah," Sheppard said, "and Kaiba's brother told me there's a group based in Japan—something about a flower shop? I told him we're not assassins, though."
"...Maybe we do need a union," Rodney said.
"Maybe." Sheppard shrugged. "Still. We've got a job now, but it's nice to have options." He took out one of the strawberry milkshakes, raised it to the ceiling fan. "To options."
"To options," Rodney echoed, lifting up the other milkshake.
Ronon grunted and toasted with the carton of fries.
Teyla took out the bottle of iced tea and raised it as well. "To options," she said, "and to choices, and making the right choice."
"Yeah," Sheppard said. "Here's to hoping we can figure it out which one that is," and he slurped his milkshake.
Teyla met Rodney's eyes across the bed, and smiled. "I think we already have."