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sga_santaTitle: Shall We Play a Game
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wildcat88
Recipient:kriadydragon
Pairing: Gen
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. More's the pity.
Author's Notes: Many thanks tokristen999 for the beta. All faults mine.
Summary: A mission takes the team to a world obsessed with playing a game. When the leaders learn of John's military background, they offer to discuss trade possibilities if John will participate. What can it hurt? It's only a game.
-o-
John studied the monitor with a frown. "It doesn't make sense, McKay. Why would the commander order his men into the canyon? It's an indefensible position and an obvious ambush site."
McKay peered over his shoulder. "What would you do?"
"See this trail?" John traced the path along the ridge. "Have the men follow it and flank the bad guys."
"I told Zelenka it wouldn't work," McKay grumped, attacking his keyboard with a vengeance.
John hid a smile. "The graphics look good," he offered.
"They should. Harrison spent six months tweaking them." Rodney rolled his eyes. "My niece could have done them faster than that."
John grunted noncommittally as he clicked out of the screen and moved to the next level. "Does the SGC really think this is going to work?"
"Sam says they've had some success." McKay leaned back, stretching his arms high over his head. "Apparently they've been using video games as a recruiting tool for a while. She says they've gotten a few promising scientists and a math geek out of it so far."
"Seems farfetched."
Rodney shrugged. "Almost as farfetched as some random pilot wandering into a secret facility in Antarctica and sitting in the one chair that he shouldn't."
"Jealousy is so unbecoming." John laughed when Rodney flipped him off. "So, what is the SGC looking for with your…" He squinted at the screen. "What are you calling this?"
"War Games. It's meant to evaluate strategic thinking and problem solving."
"While blowing up stuff. Cool."
McKay shook his head. "Is that all you think about?"
"No." John waggled his brows.
"Seriously? What are you, thirteen?"
John groaned when his hip popped as he stood. "Unfortunately not. Besides, you're the one who included explosions in the game."
"Ronon insisted." McKay shut the computers down and grabbed his jacket. "He said it wouldn't be a real battle without it."
John sobered. "He's right. Did you include having the commander make sure his men were a safe distance away as a parameter?"
"Yeah. Sam and General O'Neill sent a list of what they wanted to evaluate."
"Why you?" John followed McKay out of the lab. "Don't you have enough to do?"
"Please," Rodney scoffed. "I have more than enough." They stepped into the transporter then out near the main conference room. "They want to use this one to recruit for Pegasus."
John's brows shot up. "Really?"
McKay waved the conference room doors open and slid into his seat. "Well, not solely for Pegasus, but you have to admit that we face some unique situations here and nothing they have now reflects them."
"So, you included space vampires in there somewhere?"
Rodney grinned. "Level twenty-seven."
Ronon, Teyla, and Keller filed in, followed by Woolsey who took a seat and opened a folder. "Good morning. Let's begin." He turned to Rodney. "What do we know about M4K-837?"
"Not much." McKay turned to the room's main monitor as data filled it. "MALP shows breathable atmosphere and moderate temperature. Radiation levels are within normal ranges."
"Do we know anything about the inhabitants?" Teyla asked.
McKay shook his head. "Nothing in the database about this planet except the address. The MALP picked up an indeterminate number of life signs and an energy signature that I don't recognize."
That got John's attention. "How strong?"
"Hard to say," Rodney replied. "I couldn't pinpoint anything with the MALP, not even directionality. All I can tell you is that some kind of unknown power source is there."
Woolsey cocked a brow. "Anything to be concerned about?"
"It's an alien planet in Pegasus. What do you think?" Rodney met Woolsey's level gaze and held it, finally squirming after a minute. "Fine. As far as I can tell, it's no more dangerous than any other place we've been."
"That's not saying much," John muttered.
Rodney lifted a shoulder. "Could be worse. Could be filled with dinosaurs and volcanoes."
"Could be worse," Ronon said. "Could be infested with Iratus bugs."
John glared at them. "I hate both of you."
Once the mission briefing concluded an hour later, the team headed to the ready room to gear up. Ronon leaned against the wall twirling his blaster – the only gear he needed. John checked the pockets of his fully-supplied vest, standard procedure and a good reminder of where everything was. McKay crammed a few extra candy bars in his vest then strapped his computer tablet to his back while Teyla slipped her knife into her ankle sheath and loaded her handgun and P-90. John grabbed a radio, clipped on his P-90 and followed his team to the gateroom.
They stepped through to a planet much like most of the worlds they had visited - a carpet of green in the midst of a densely wooded forest filled with wildlife chatter. Bright rays from the mid-day sun lit the winding path that disappeared behind a knoll of rock and moss. Ronon and Teyla fanned out, scanning the perimeter, while Rodney studied his scanner. John stretched his senses, but other than a whiff of something long dead and a burbling water source nearby, he didn't detect anything out of the ordinary.
"That energy signature is faint but still there," McKay reported. "However, I can't get a lock on it." He glanced around. "It seems to be everywhere."
"Life signs?" John asked.
"Lots of them."
Ronon's fingers twitched over his blaster. "How many is lots?"
"You know, lots. Lots and lots."
"McKay," John growled.
Rodney shrugged. "The range on this thing is limited and less specific the further out I go. I'd guess somewhere upwards of ten thousand in the immediate vicinity."
"Truly?" Teyla's eyes lit. "Perhaps they will be open to trading with…less populated worlds."
John grimaced at the reminder of the havoc wreaked by Michael and the Replicators. Not to mention the lunatic Asgard. So much suffering inflicted on innocent bystanders. Rarely had John desired to murder someone, but watching the Replicator world implode and Michael plummet from the top of the tower had given him great satisfaction. God help the Asgard if they ever got within his reach.
"Sheppard?"
John shook off the reverie and met Rodney's quizzical gaze. "Yeah. Let's go see how these folks feel about trading."
Teyla took point, followed by Rodney. Ronon fell in step with John on their six.
"You okay?" Ronon asked. "'Cause you look pissed."
"I'm…" John heaved a sigh. "I am pissed," he admitted. "Teyla's people shouldn't have to sell their souls to feed their children."
"Their choice," Ronon replied. "You offered them shelter on Atlantis."
"I knew they wouldn't stay. We tried that once before. They need to see the stars and feel the ground beneath their feet." He flushed at Ronon's smirk. "That's what Halling says."
"Yeah." Ronon lifted his face to the sun and inhaled deeply, holding the breath for a moment then releasing it slowly. "Doesn't change that they chose to go their own way." His eyes flicked ahead to settle on Teyla. "They're tough. They'll make it."
"What about all those other worlds out there that won't?"
Ronon's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. No answer was needed. Several cultures had already become extinct and others would follow, either by dying out or being absorbed or merged into other societies. Ways of life, traditions, languages gone forever. Not something that John Sheppard of Earth would have thought much about, but John Sheppard of Atlantis, brother of Ronon and Teyla, was horrified by it. Ronon spent days searching for bits of his culture, grieving for what was lost, slowly letting go of Sateda – a special kind of pain that John didn't wish on anyone else, especially Teyla. He'd do almost anything to spare her that.
Ahead, Rodney jerked to a halt, head bowed over his scanner. John broke into a jog while Ronon whipped out his blaster and backed toward them.
"What's wrong?" John whispered, gripping his P-90 and scanning the trees and the rocky knoll they had passed.
"Huh," Rodney grunted. "Nothing, I guess." He poked at the scanner then turned in a slow circle. "It went dark for a second, but it seems to be working fine now. Must be a glitch or something."
"Has it ever happened before?" Teyla asked.
"No, but it is over ten thousand years old."
John arched a brow. "Did you change the batteries?"
"Funny." McKay checked the other devices he carried including his tablet. "Everything's working."
"Ronon?" John said.
Ronon pulled his blaster and fired. Red beams singed the air and smacked into a tree, blowing off a branch. "Works fine."
John sent Rodney a pointed look. "Make sure it's charged up or whatever before we leave next time." He lowered the muzzle of his P-90. "Let's go."
Teyla led the way up the steep hill and Ronon and McKay trudged after her. John chuckled to himself, wondering how the two men he was closest to could be so opposite. Rodney complained nonstop while he valiantly tried to keep up with the moderate pace his teammates set. Ronon curled a hand in McKay's collar, keeping him on the path and on his feet.
"John?" Teyla called. "You need to see this."
He hustled to where she was waiting at the crest of the hill. "Wow," he murmured. "McKay?"
"Already on it." Rodney was focused on his scanner. "The energy signature is still all around us." He waved at the sprawl below. "Including down there."
The city reminded John a little of Washington DC – no skyscrapers but a morass of concrete and lights that went on for miles. People milled about on sidewalks and the stoops of homes and shops. Vehicles like square open-air wagons rumbled down narrow streets, belching thick black exhaust that left a thin layer of smog hanging in the air, giving the place a grimy feel which wasn't alleviated by the piles of junk that clogged up the alleyways.
"Looks kind of like Sateda before it fell," Ronon said.
"Let's hope these folks are as friendly as you," John replied.
Ronon snorted but couldn't hide a grin as he started forward. John followed, keeping McKay between them and letting Teyla take their six. As they approached the outskirts of the city, people nodded and waved but didn't seem surprised or concerned at their appearance. They walked for a while, taking in their surroundings. Paint was peeling from the cinder blocks. Metal scrollwork had patches of rust. While the inhabitants were polite, they also had a pinched look as they strode past, their clothes a bit baggy and threadbare.
"This world seems to be in…disrepair," Teyla said.
John grinned at a boy as he raced by. "Noticed that. They're in a hurry, too."
"Sheppard." Ronon bobbed his head to the side. "Take a look at this."
John moved to where Ronon was standing. "What… Oh." He frowned at the flat, rectangular screen with flashing symbols. "What does that say?"
Ronon shrugged. "No idea."
"This language is unfamiliar to me as well," Teyla said.
"It's not a language." Rodney had on his complete focus face – eyes narrowed, brows sharply slanted, mouth twisted. "It's some kind of countdown."
John's pulse sped up. "A countdown to what?"
McKay's lips compressed into a thin white line as he shot John a flat look. "How could I possibly know that?"
"Fine," John conceded. "How long?"
Rodney tilted his head to the side as he studied the display. "About three hours, I think."
"Do you require assistance?" a feminine voice asked from behind.
John whirled, tightening his grip on his weapon but not raising it. A woman about his age, maybe a little older, in a dark green uniform stood at parade rest, gazing calmly at them. John cleared his throat. "Hi. I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard and this is my team – Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan and Doctor Rodney McKay."
She inclined her head, her gray-streaked auburn hair swinging along her jaw line. "Welcome to you. Are you here to participate in The Game?"
"The game?" John parroted. "Um… Teyla, are we here for that?"
Teyla smiled warmly. "We are explorers and traders. We are here to establish relations between our people and yours for our mutual benefit."
The woman blinked at them with a blank expression. "I…see. Perhaps you should speak with Tavar Ushil."
"Great." John put on his most charming smile. "Lead the way."
After a bone-jarring ride in one of the boxes on wheels, she stopped in front of a building that was still impressive even in its shambled state. The woman hopped down, gestured them out, and trotted up the steps to a massive double door covered in chipped blue paint with flecks of dark crimson. She disappeared inside then returned moments later with an entourage.
A tall man with disheveled steel-gray hair separated from the group, tugging at the hem of his rumpled jacket. "I am Ushil, Tavar of Chelqev. Welcome to you."
Teyla nodded in respect and made introductions then asked, "Chelqev is the name of your world?"
"No, Chelqev is the name of this territory. Our world is called Mosal." His eyes flicked over each team member, lingering on their weapons. "You are not from Fomisse."
"We are from Atlantis," Teyla corrected. "We have come to meet you and your people."
"How big is your territory?" Ronon asked.
Teyla's face twitched but her smile didn't falter. "Ronon," she murmured.
But Ushil's chest and sagging jowls puffed out. "From the outer rim to the exchange district."
"Exchange?" Teyla repeated. "Is that where your people trade?"
Ushil nodded. "They are making last minute purchases before The Game begins."
Rodney held up a hand. "What game?"
Ushil's eyes widened in surprise while the people behind him squawked. "You do not know of The Game?"
John stepped forward. "Like she said, we're not from around here. We're here to get to know you, maybe establish trade."
"Trade," Ushil echoed, his bloodshot eyes fixed on John's P-90. "Few traders have come here armed as you are."
"We use our weapons only to defend ourselves," John replied.
"You said you were from Atlantis. Where is that?"
"On another world. We came here through the stargate." At the man's confused look, John added, "The big stone ring in the forest."
"Of course, the gateway." Ushil's gaze traveled over them again, slower, taking in details. "What is your function on Atlantis?"
"Ah, well, you know, a little of this, a little of that," John hedged.
Ushil pinned him with a look. "Is Lieutenant Colonel your title?"
"Yes."
"What does it signify?"
John fought the urge to squirm. Where was this guy going with this? "It's my rank."
An indefinable expression flickered across Ushil's pasty-white face. "You are a warrior, then? Perhaps the leader?"
John squared his shoulders, fed up with the interrogation. "I try to avoid war if at all possible. I'm in charge of the military contingent, but I'm not the leader of Atlantis."
"Wonderful!" Ushil exclaimed, beaming. "Please, come with me. I have something you will find interesting."
Stunned at the unexpected reaction, John glanced toward his team. Rodney had his face buried in his scanner while Ronon was trying to keep an eye on every person surrounding them. Teyla met John's gaze with an arched brow, her stance shouting caution.
John tipped his head in acknowledgement then turned back to Ushil. "I look forward to seeing it."
They followed Ushil through the doors, and his entourage crowded in behind them, murmuring and shooting unreadable looks toward John. Weak yellow lights ringed the tiny entryway and lined the halls branching off in every direction. Ushil headed down a corridor to the right then took a quick left and trotted down a set of stairs to a door that appeared as out of place as Ronon's blaster on Earth.
McKay tripped over John as he strained to get a look at it. "Not Ancient," he said softly, "but these people certainly didn't build it."
Ushil whispered into a small silver box and the door slid open, revealing a large room filled with flashing panels and dominated by a chair in the center where a squatty little man sat with his eyes closed, breathing evenly. The chair was made of an iridescent substance and glowed a deep purple that lightened then turned red as his breaths sped up.
His eyes flew open and he ripped off a small disc that had been adhered to his temple. "It's still wrong, Morha! We've got less than two hours—"
"Kespre," Ushil interrupted, "we have guests."
Kespre whipped his bald head toward them then hopped out of the chair. "Tavar Ushil, my apologies. I didn't realize. We will be ready in time." He turned to the team. "Welcome to you."
"This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard and his team. He is the military commander of his world." Ushil smiled at John.
"Indeed?" Kespre's eyes flicked over John. "Are you here to participate? We could use—"
"Kespre is our head engineer. He keeps The Game in top condition," Ushil said.
"Could you explain what this game is?" Teyla requested.
"Of course." Ushil dismissed Kespre who climbed back into the chair. "Our people prize competition." He moved toward a bank of monitors. "We found this facility many years ago when we came to this world. The Fomisse territory has one as well. At the solstice, The Game begins. Whoever is in the chair controls the forces of the territory. He guides his people through enemy territory through the interface," he tapped his temple, "with the goal of capturing the enemy's headquarters. We follow the action with these." Ushil held up a pair of glasses then extended them to John. "Would you like to see?"
John took the glasses, turning them over in his hands. Lightweight blue lenses in a charcoal gray frame that was neither plastic nor metal. When his hands tingled, he realized with a jolt that the glasses were warm and vibrating slightly. He held them to the light and peered through the lenses but couldn't see anything.
"There is no action currently," Ushil said, "but you can see what the participants are seeing if you put them on." He slid on a pair and offered others to Teyla, Ronon, and Rodney.
John shot a glance at his team. Rodney was scrutinizing his pair, eying the earpieces and joints. Teyla smiled politely and cradled hers in her hands. Ronon jammed his on his face.
"Cool," he pronounced.
John ran his fingertips over the earpieces but didn't feel any sharp edges or indentations. Taking a deep breath, he put them on.
The lenses became opaque and the city sprang to life before him in glorious color. The stench of rotting garbage and noxious vehicle fumes made his eyes water, and he jumped when a horn honked behind him. The view shifted and blurred until an angry man driving an overloaded wagon came into focus.
"Get out of the way, shelreq!" he shouted, waving a fist. "I have deliveries to make before The Game starts!"
The view bounced to the side then to the ground as the vehicle rumbled by. Suddenly the driver yelped and reached for his head as a rock bounced off it and clattered to the ground. He whirled then paled as he gaped, seemingly at the camera.
"My apologies," he stammered. "I didn't know."
"Go." The voice was in stereo, like it was coming from inside John's head. "Do not make such a mistake again."
The man nodded and raced away. The view shifted again, moving forward at a rapid pace, around corners and down streets. As it eventually passed the cracked window of a building, John caught a glimpse of a man – broad, tall, with matted hair and dusty clothes that could have belonged to Ronon.
John pulled the glasses off and stared at them, feeling suddenly bereft. Why was his heart pounding? Why was the euphoria of a runner's high flooding through him?
"What did you think?" Ushil asked.
"Um… I'm a little confused, I guess," John answered. "You said I seeing through the eyes of a participant. Where is he?"
"He could be anywhere in the city," Ushil replied. "Each participant has been assigned a starting position so I'm sure he was making his way there. The glasses allow you to see them as they make their preparations. The Game decides which one you are following. Your friends are most likely viewing through someone else's eyes."
"Wow," Rodney whispered. His fists were clenched at his side and sweat trickled down his face. "That's…" He swallowed thickly. "Aw, come on." He jerked off the glasses. "Spoilsport."
"What the hell were you watching?" John asked.
McKay flushed scarlet. "Never mind." He turned to Ushil. "Are these picking up some kind of transmission?"
"Yes. The participants wear a disc that broadcasts what they are experiencing, like the one Kespre has."
Rodney poked at the lenses again. "How does it transmit the sounds and smells?"
Ushil smiled apologetically. "I don't know. Kespre would be better suited to answer your questions when he finishes his tests." He turned to John. "Perhaps you would like to be a participant?"
John stroked the glasses, fighting the urge to put them back on. "You mean fight?" He shook his head. "We don't get involved in internal disputes."
Ushil laughed. "There is no dispute. We are simply playing a game."
Rodney had slipped the glasses back on and had stuffed himself in a corner, arms crossed. Teyla was seated, spine rigid, lost in whatever she was seeing, while Ronon leaned against a wall, fist tapping to a beat only he could hear.
"Um, well…" John stuffed the glasses in his pants pocket.
Ushil stepped closer. "We value knowledge, John Sheppard, especially tactics and strategy." His gaze flicked to Teyla. "Perhaps we could offer some of our crops in exchange for your participation."
"What would I have to do?"
"The choice is yours – either control The Game from the chair or join our team in the play zone. But be warned, the Controller for Fomisse is a master strategist. We have won a few battles but have conceded defeat every time." Ushil's eyes gleamed. "We hope for a victory this time."
"Thirty minutes," Kespre announced.
Stunned, John checked his watch. How could that much time have passed? He'd only used the glasses for a few minutes. Hadn't he? When had Kespre moved from the chair to a console? John pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache began to throb behind his right eye.
"So, I just have to move some folks around on a grid to capture some territory?"
Ushil's expression bordered on mania. "Exactly."
"How? I mean, how do I move them?"
"Kespre?" Ushil called.
"The Game will show you how the territory is divided and where all of the participants are," Kespre explained. "Our people are blue; Fomisse's players are green. The goal is to capture the other side's headquarters which will glow brighter than the rest of the territory. Simply study the grid and decide which squad you want to move and where they are going. The Game does the rest."
John fingered the glasses in his pocket, soaking in the enticing warm tingle. "What do the participants do? They are real people, right?"
"The participants are given the instructions on what territory to take and how to get there," Kespre said. "How they do it is up to them. They—"
"They provide us with hours of exhilarating entertainment," Ushil cut in.
"So, they are performers, not soldiers?" John asked.
"As I said, this is a game. We don't have an army." Ushil's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Many participants have developed certain skills over the years, but we have no formal training program."
John's brain seemed to be two steps behind his body and moving too slow to ever catch up, but the one thought that kept returning was the offer of trade. The Athosians were struggling to survive. What was an hour or two of playing a game compared to relieving some of the suffering the horror that was Michael had caused? John had spent more time than that on Rodney's video game project.
"Okay," John said finally. "I'll do that controller thing, but I can't stay long."
"Wonderful!" Ushil exclaimed. "We are happy to take what we can get. Kespre?"
Kespre hesitated, locking gazes with Ushil for a moment, and then he nodded. "Be seated, please."
John rubbed his eye again, wishing away the growing ache, and gripped the arm of the chair. He gasped as a warm vibration raced from his fingers to his shoulder, similar to but more powerful than the glasses. He eased himself into the seat and sighed as a tingle burrowed into the small of his back, danced up his spine and nestled in the base of his skull. God, he felt good. His body shook from the rush of endorphins, and he barely noticed the prick at his temple or the pinch in the crook of his arm as images flooded into his mind – the city, its sectors, the players and observers, nooks, crannies, empty buildings and safe zones. His brain began to sort hiding places from ambush sites, noting the pulsing blue of his players and the throbbing green of the other. As The Game took over all his senses, the room, the people, and his team faded away to nothing.
****
"Sheppard?"
John's eyes fluttered open at the hesitant whisper. McKay hovered inches from his face, eyes huge in a dirty face that hadn't been shaven in quite a while.
"Oh, thank God. I thought you were dead."
John worked his jaw, but no words would come out.
"Don't try to talk," McKay said. "We're on the Daedalus, about two hours out from Atlantis, and before you ask, I'm fine and so are Ronon and Teyla. A little beat up, but," Rodney's face twisted in anger, "in better condition than you. They're sleeping in the next room." He held up a cup. "Water?"
John tried to nod.
"No, no. Don't move either." He held the cup to John's lips. "Small sips. It's been a while."
John shivered as the cold liquid seeped over his parched tongue and down his throat. His stomach constricted when the water hit it, and when he coughed involuntarily, Rodney yanked the cup away.
"More," John mouthed.
"Give it a chance to settle," McKay replied. "Believe me, you really don't want it to come back up." He pulled his chair close. "The doctor will be back in a minute. What do you remember?"
John's brows drew together at the lack of memory. "Sat in a chair," he finally whispered.
"You've really got to stop doing that." Rodney sighed. "That was over a month ago, John."
"Can't be."
Rodney offered the cup again. "I'm afraid so," he said as John took another sip. "I know it doesn't seem possible, but Caldwell says Atlantis lost contact with us forty-two days ago. They came to the planet, but they couldn't get through the shield that was protecting the city. I guess it's some kind of safeguard for when The Game is in session which is actually rather fascinating and might explain why my equipment blinked out if we crossed the—"
"McKay."
"Oh, right. Sorry. Anyway, I don't know how long I watched The Game – for quite a while because several battles happened before I got taken."
John frowned. "Taken?"
"Yeah. One minute I'm watching a horde of crazy people beat each other to death; the next I'm running for my life down an alleyway with Ronon and Teyla." McKay sagged in his seat. "I thought it was a really cool VR until I was part of it. I was making mental notes on how to improve the game I was making for Sam. Then they yanked my glasses off, slapped some disc on my head, and tossed me into the street in the middle of one of those insane free-for-alls. We didn't have any other choice but to run."
"Where was I?"
Rodney raked his fingers through his hair. "We think you were controlling The Game. The Daedalus located your sub-cu transmitter in a different part of the city from us." He glanced up, emotion shining in his eyes. "You don't remember anything?"
John shook his head.
"You were strapped down and had needles in your arms." Rodney swallowed thickly, looking a little green. "The nurses bandaged the ligature marks on your wrists and ankles, but you can see the track marks from the IVs. The doctor thinks they used some kind of nutrient drip to keep you alive."
John blinked at Rodney, trying to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. He'd been strapped in a chair for a month? Why couldn't he remember? He struggled to sit up, willed his arms to push him up, but nothing happened. Why wouldn't his body respond to his commands? His breath caught in his throat. Was he paralyzed?
"Easy, Sheppard."
Rodney gripped his shoulders, and he felt it. He felt the bandages on his wrists, the sheet over his body, the catheter, the IVs, the pulse ox clip. He closed his eyes and concentrated, heaving a sigh when he felt the bed rail against the sole of his foot. Not paralyzed then.
"What's wrong with me?"
"Ah, Colonel, good to see you back with us." The CMO of the Daedalus strode in and eyed Rodney with a frown. "Doctor McKay, I thought you were headed to the shower and the Mess."
Rodney drew to his full height and stared down his nose at the doctor. "I told you yesterday I would go when Sheppard woke up."
"Well, he's awake."
Rodney's chin jerked up as he folded his arms over his chest. "Powerful observation skills you have there. Did they teach you that in medical school?"
"McKay," John said.
Rodney glanced down, gnawing on his bottom lip, fear flicking in his eyes. "I'm not sure…"
"I'm not going anywhere, Rodney. Go get cleaned up."
McKay nodded and trudged out the door. A minute later, while the doctor was checking John's vitals, Ronon walked in. His jaw tightened when he saw John then he plastered on a grin and dropped into Rodney's chair.
"Hey."
John offered a wan smile as exhaustion suddenly crushed him. "Hey, big guy. How are you?"
Ronon had a bandage on his forehead and his hand was splinted and wrapped. "Fine. You?"
"Not sure yet." John turned his gaze to the doctor. "What's the verdict?"
The doctor held up a finger while he finished annotating John's chart, and then he looked up. "You're alive and will recover fully which is the most important part. That being said, you are malnourished, your muscles have atrophied from disuse over the last few weeks, and you are suffering from some kind of neurological shock that I've never seen before."
"Is that why I can't remember anything?"
The doctor shrugged. "Maybe. All of your team had symptoms, but yours were much worse. It could be that as your brain reverts to normal your memory will return."
"Why can't I move?"
"That's the muscle atrophy. Doctor Keller will know more, but I'd estimate that you've lost between ten and fifteen percent of your muscle mass, and about thirty pounds altogether. You have a vitamin deficiency, and your bones may be a bit more brittle than usual. We'll need to monitor your blood pressure as your body readjusts to being upright. You have some bed sores that need care, and we'll have to reintroduce your body to food."
John sighed. "Don't hold anything back."
The doctor smiled in sympathy. "I haven't even gotten to the sleep cycle and balance issues or the need for physical therapy." He patted John's arm. "What I'm trying to say, Colonel, is that you're not going to bounce back right away. It's going to take some time for you to fully recover, and you need to recognize that." He glanced at Ronon. "All of you."
Ronon spread his hands. "What?"
"Let's just say that your drive to get back on your feet fast is well known. Do what you're capable of, but recognize your limits. If you push too far, you could really hurt yourself. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," John said.
The doctor stared at Ronon until he nodded in agreement. "Good," the doctor said. "Get some rest, Colonel. You'll be home soon."
John's lids slid closed on their own accord, and he forced them open to look at Ronon. "Give it to me straight."
"You look like hell. That straight enough?"
John huffed a laugh. "I guess so. What really happened?"
Ronon shook his head. "Not sure. I lost track of time, but we were in the fight for several days, maybe even a couple of weeks."
"A couple of weeks? What did you survive on?"
"Whatever we could find." Ronon shrugged. "Running was sort of like this. Eat when you can; sleep when you can. McKay got over digging through the garbage for food after the first two days. One of us slept while the other two stood watch."
"Unbelievable."
"Seems like the whole city was the battleground so sometimes we'd go days without seeing or hearing any of the fighting, but when we did…" Ronon leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "It was brutal, Sheppard. I've seen a lot of battles, but those people…" He stared down at his hands. "We avoided as much of the fighting as we could, but sometimes we had to." He clenched his fists and scraped them down his pants legs. "We were trying to get to you."
"You stayed alive. That's all that matters," John whispered as sleep tugged at him. "Good job not dying."
Ronon chuckled. John smiled and let sleep take him.
****
( Shall We Play a Game - Part 2 of 2 )
Author:
wildcat88Recipient:
kriadydragonPairing: Gen
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. More's the pity.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to
kristen999 for the beta. All faults mine.Summary: A mission takes the team to a world obsessed with playing a game. When the leaders learn of John's military background, they offer to discuss trade possibilities if John will participate. What can it hurt? It's only a game.
-o-
John studied the monitor with a frown. "It doesn't make sense, McKay. Why would the commander order his men into the canyon? It's an indefensible position and an obvious ambush site."
McKay peered over his shoulder. "What would you do?"
"See this trail?" John traced the path along the ridge. "Have the men follow it and flank the bad guys."
"I told Zelenka it wouldn't work," McKay grumped, attacking his keyboard with a vengeance.
John hid a smile. "The graphics look good," he offered.
"They should. Harrison spent six months tweaking them." Rodney rolled his eyes. "My niece could have done them faster than that."
John grunted noncommittally as he clicked out of the screen and moved to the next level. "Does the SGC really think this is going to work?"
"Sam says they've had some success." McKay leaned back, stretching his arms high over his head. "Apparently they've been using video games as a recruiting tool for a while. She says they've gotten a few promising scientists and a math geek out of it so far."
"Seems farfetched."
Rodney shrugged. "Almost as farfetched as some random pilot wandering into a secret facility in Antarctica and sitting in the one chair that he shouldn't."
"Jealousy is so unbecoming." John laughed when Rodney flipped him off. "So, what is the SGC looking for with your…" He squinted at the screen. "What are you calling this?"
"War Games. It's meant to evaluate strategic thinking and problem solving."
"While blowing up stuff. Cool."
McKay shook his head. "Is that all you think about?"
"No." John waggled his brows.
"Seriously? What are you, thirteen?"
John groaned when his hip popped as he stood. "Unfortunately not. Besides, you're the one who included explosions in the game."
"Ronon insisted." McKay shut the computers down and grabbed his jacket. "He said it wouldn't be a real battle without it."
John sobered. "He's right. Did you include having the commander make sure his men were a safe distance away as a parameter?"
"Yeah. Sam and General O'Neill sent a list of what they wanted to evaluate."
"Why you?" John followed McKay out of the lab. "Don't you have enough to do?"
"Please," Rodney scoffed. "I have more than enough." They stepped into the transporter then out near the main conference room. "They want to use this one to recruit for Pegasus."
John's brows shot up. "Really?"
McKay waved the conference room doors open and slid into his seat. "Well, not solely for Pegasus, but you have to admit that we face some unique situations here and nothing they have now reflects them."
"So, you included space vampires in there somewhere?"
Rodney grinned. "Level twenty-seven."
Ronon, Teyla, and Keller filed in, followed by Woolsey who took a seat and opened a folder. "Good morning. Let's begin." He turned to Rodney. "What do we know about M4K-837?"
"Not much." McKay turned to the room's main monitor as data filled it. "MALP shows breathable atmosphere and moderate temperature. Radiation levels are within normal ranges."
"Do we know anything about the inhabitants?" Teyla asked.
McKay shook his head. "Nothing in the database about this planet except the address. The MALP picked up an indeterminate number of life signs and an energy signature that I don't recognize."
That got John's attention. "How strong?"
"Hard to say," Rodney replied. "I couldn't pinpoint anything with the MALP, not even directionality. All I can tell you is that some kind of unknown power source is there."
Woolsey cocked a brow. "Anything to be concerned about?"
"It's an alien planet in Pegasus. What do you think?" Rodney met Woolsey's level gaze and held it, finally squirming after a minute. "Fine. As far as I can tell, it's no more dangerous than any other place we've been."
"That's not saying much," John muttered.
Rodney lifted a shoulder. "Could be worse. Could be filled with dinosaurs and volcanoes."
"Could be worse," Ronon said. "Could be infested with Iratus bugs."
John glared at them. "I hate both of you."
Once the mission briefing concluded an hour later, the team headed to the ready room to gear up. Ronon leaned against the wall twirling his blaster – the only gear he needed. John checked the pockets of his fully-supplied vest, standard procedure and a good reminder of where everything was. McKay crammed a few extra candy bars in his vest then strapped his computer tablet to his back while Teyla slipped her knife into her ankle sheath and loaded her handgun and P-90. John grabbed a radio, clipped on his P-90 and followed his team to the gateroom.
They stepped through to a planet much like most of the worlds they had visited - a carpet of green in the midst of a densely wooded forest filled with wildlife chatter. Bright rays from the mid-day sun lit the winding path that disappeared behind a knoll of rock and moss. Ronon and Teyla fanned out, scanning the perimeter, while Rodney studied his scanner. John stretched his senses, but other than a whiff of something long dead and a burbling water source nearby, he didn't detect anything out of the ordinary.
"That energy signature is faint but still there," McKay reported. "However, I can't get a lock on it." He glanced around. "It seems to be everywhere."
"Life signs?" John asked.
"Lots of them."
Ronon's fingers twitched over his blaster. "How many is lots?"
"You know, lots. Lots and lots."
"McKay," John growled.
Rodney shrugged. "The range on this thing is limited and less specific the further out I go. I'd guess somewhere upwards of ten thousand in the immediate vicinity."
"Truly?" Teyla's eyes lit. "Perhaps they will be open to trading with…less populated worlds."
John grimaced at the reminder of the havoc wreaked by Michael and the Replicators. Not to mention the lunatic Asgard. So much suffering inflicted on innocent bystanders. Rarely had John desired to murder someone, but watching the Replicator world implode and Michael plummet from the top of the tower had given him great satisfaction. God help the Asgard if they ever got within his reach.
"Sheppard?"
John shook off the reverie and met Rodney's quizzical gaze. "Yeah. Let's go see how these folks feel about trading."
Teyla took point, followed by Rodney. Ronon fell in step with John on their six.
"You okay?" Ronon asked. "'Cause you look pissed."
"I'm…" John heaved a sigh. "I am pissed," he admitted. "Teyla's people shouldn't have to sell their souls to feed their children."
"Their choice," Ronon replied. "You offered them shelter on Atlantis."
"I knew they wouldn't stay. We tried that once before. They need to see the stars and feel the ground beneath their feet." He flushed at Ronon's smirk. "That's what Halling says."
"Yeah." Ronon lifted his face to the sun and inhaled deeply, holding the breath for a moment then releasing it slowly. "Doesn't change that they chose to go their own way." His eyes flicked ahead to settle on Teyla. "They're tough. They'll make it."
"What about all those other worlds out there that won't?"
Ronon's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. No answer was needed. Several cultures had already become extinct and others would follow, either by dying out or being absorbed or merged into other societies. Ways of life, traditions, languages gone forever. Not something that John Sheppard of Earth would have thought much about, but John Sheppard of Atlantis, brother of Ronon and Teyla, was horrified by it. Ronon spent days searching for bits of his culture, grieving for what was lost, slowly letting go of Sateda – a special kind of pain that John didn't wish on anyone else, especially Teyla. He'd do almost anything to spare her that.
Ahead, Rodney jerked to a halt, head bowed over his scanner. John broke into a jog while Ronon whipped out his blaster and backed toward them.
"What's wrong?" John whispered, gripping his P-90 and scanning the trees and the rocky knoll they had passed.
"Huh," Rodney grunted. "Nothing, I guess." He poked at the scanner then turned in a slow circle. "It went dark for a second, but it seems to be working fine now. Must be a glitch or something."
"Has it ever happened before?" Teyla asked.
"No, but it is over ten thousand years old."
John arched a brow. "Did you change the batteries?"
"Funny." McKay checked the other devices he carried including his tablet. "Everything's working."
"Ronon?" John said.
Ronon pulled his blaster and fired. Red beams singed the air and smacked into a tree, blowing off a branch. "Works fine."
John sent Rodney a pointed look. "Make sure it's charged up or whatever before we leave next time." He lowered the muzzle of his P-90. "Let's go."
Teyla led the way up the steep hill and Ronon and McKay trudged after her. John chuckled to himself, wondering how the two men he was closest to could be so opposite. Rodney complained nonstop while he valiantly tried to keep up with the moderate pace his teammates set. Ronon curled a hand in McKay's collar, keeping him on the path and on his feet.
"John?" Teyla called. "You need to see this."
He hustled to where she was waiting at the crest of the hill. "Wow," he murmured. "McKay?"
"Already on it." Rodney was focused on his scanner. "The energy signature is still all around us." He waved at the sprawl below. "Including down there."
The city reminded John a little of Washington DC – no skyscrapers but a morass of concrete and lights that went on for miles. People milled about on sidewalks and the stoops of homes and shops. Vehicles like square open-air wagons rumbled down narrow streets, belching thick black exhaust that left a thin layer of smog hanging in the air, giving the place a grimy feel which wasn't alleviated by the piles of junk that clogged up the alleyways.
"Looks kind of like Sateda before it fell," Ronon said.
"Let's hope these folks are as friendly as you," John replied.
Ronon snorted but couldn't hide a grin as he started forward. John followed, keeping McKay between them and letting Teyla take their six. As they approached the outskirts of the city, people nodded and waved but didn't seem surprised or concerned at their appearance. They walked for a while, taking in their surroundings. Paint was peeling from the cinder blocks. Metal scrollwork had patches of rust. While the inhabitants were polite, they also had a pinched look as they strode past, their clothes a bit baggy and threadbare.
"This world seems to be in…disrepair," Teyla said.
John grinned at a boy as he raced by. "Noticed that. They're in a hurry, too."
"Sheppard." Ronon bobbed his head to the side. "Take a look at this."
John moved to where Ronon was standing. "What… Oh." He frowned at the flat, rectangular screen with flashing symbols. "What does that say?"
Ronon shrugged. "No idea."
"This language is unfamiliar to me as well," Teyla said.
"It's not a language." Rodney had on his complete focus face – eyes narrowed, brows sharply slanted, mouth twisted. "It's some kind of countdown."
John's pulse sped up. "A countdown to what?"
McKay's lips compressed into a thin white line as he shot John a flat look. "How could I possibly know that?"
"Fine," John conceded. "How long?"
Rodney tilted his head to the side as he studied the display. "About three hours, I think."
"Do you require assistance?" a feminine voice asked from behind.
John whirled, tightening his grip on his weapon but not raising it. A woman about his age, maybe a little older, in a dark green uniform stood at parade rest, gazing calmly at them. John cleared his throat. "Hi. I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard and this is my team – Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan and Doctor Rodney McKay."
She inclined her head, her gray-streaked auburn hair swinging along her jaw line. "Welcome to you. Are you here to participate in The Game?"
"The game?" John parroted. "Um… Teyla, are we here for that?"
Teyla smiled warmly. "We are explorers and traders. We are here to establish relations between our people and yours for our mutual benefit."
The woman blinked at them with a blank expression. "I…see. Perhaps you should speak with Tavar Ushil."
"Great." John put on his most charming smile. "Lead the way."
After a bone-jarring ride in one of the boxes on wheels, she stopped in front of a building that was still impressive even in its shambled state. The woman hopped down, gestured them out, and trotted up the steps to a massive double door covered in chipped blue paint with flecks of dark crimson. She disappeared inside then returned moments later with an entourage.
A tall man with disheveled steel-gray hair separated from the group, tugging at the hem of his rumpled jacket. "I am Ushil, Tavar of Chelqev. Welcome to you."
Teyla nodded in respect and made introductions then asked, "Chelqev is the name of your world?"
"No, Chelqev is the name of this territory. Our world is called Mosal." His eyes flicked over each team member, lingering on their weapons. "You are not from Fomisse."
"We are from Atlantis," Teyla corrected. "We have come to meet you and your people."
"How big is your territory?" Ronon asked.
Teyla's face twitched but her smile didn't falter. "Ronon," she murmured.
But Ushil's chest and sagging jowls puffed out. "From the outer rim to the exchange district."
"Exchange?" Teyla repeated. "Is that where your people trade?"
Ushil nodded. "They are making last minute purchases before The Game begins."
Rodney held up a hand. "What game?"
Ushil's eyes widened in surprise while the people behind him squawked. "You do not know of The Game?"
John stepped forward. "Like she said, we're not from around here. We're here to get to know you, maybe establish trade."
"Trade," Ushil echoed, his bloodshot eyes fixed on John's P-90. "Few traders have come here armed as you are."
"We use our weapons only to defend ourselves," John replied.
"You said you were from Atlantis. Where is that?"
"On another world. We came here through the stargate." At the man's confused look, John added, "The big stone ring in the forest."
"Of course, the gateway." Ushil's gaze traveled over them again, slower, taking in details. "What is your function on Atlantis?"
"Ah, well, you know, a little of this, a little of that," John hedged.
Ushil pinned him with a look. "Is Lieutenant Colonel your title?"
"Yes."
"What does it signify?"
John fought the urge to squirm. Where was this guy going with this? "It's my rank."
An indefinable expression flickered across Ushil's pasty-white face. "You are a warrior, then? Perhaps the leader?"
John squared his shoulders, fed up with the interrogation. "I try to avoid war if at all possible. I'm in charge of the military contingent, but I'm not the leader of Atlantis."
"Wonderful!" Ushil exclaimed, beaming. "Please, come with me. I have something you will find interesting."
Stunned at the unexpected reaction, John glanced toward his team. Rodney had his face buried in his scanner while Ronon was trying to keep an eye on every person surrounding them. Teyla met John's gaze with an arched brow, her stance shouting caution.
John tipped his head in acknowledgement then turned back to Ushil. "I look forward to seeing it."
They followed Ushil through the doors, and his entourage crowded in behind them, murmuring and shooting unreadable looks toward John. Weak yellow lights ringed the tiny entryway and lined the halls branching off in every direction. Ushil headed down a corridor to the right then took a quick left and trotted down a set of stairs to a door that appeared as out of place as Ronon's blaster on Earth.
McKay tripped over John as he strained to get a look at it. "Not Ancient," he said softly, "but these people certainly didn't build it."
Ushil whispered into a small silver box and the door slid open, revealing a large room filled with flashing panels and dominated by a chair in the center where a squatty little man sat with his eyes closed, breathing evenly. The chair was made of an iridescent substance and glowed a deep purple that lightened then turned red as his breaths sped up.
His eyes flew open and he ripped off a small disc that had been adhered to his temple. "It's still wrong, Morha! We've got less than two hours—"
"Kespre," Ushil interrupted, "we have guests."
Kespre whipped his bald head toward them then hopped out of the chair. "Tavar Ushil, my apologies. I didn't realize. We will be ready in time." He turned to the team. "Welcome to you."
"This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard and his team. He is the military commander of his world." Ushil smiled at John.
"Indeed?" Kespre's eyes flicked over John. "Are you here to participate? We could use—"
"Kespre is our head engineer. He keeps The Game in top condition," Ushil said.
"Could you explain what this game is?" Teyla requested.
"Of course." Ushil dismissed Kespre who climbed back into the chair. "Our people prize competition." He moved toward a bank of monitors. "We found this facility many years ago when we came to this world. The Fomisse territory has one as well. At the solstice, The Game begins. Whoever is in the chair controls the forces of the territory. He guides his people through enemy territory through the interface," he tapped his temple, "with the goal of capturing the enemy's headquarters. We follow the action with these." Ushil held up a pair of glasses then extended them to John. "Would you like to see?"
John took the glasses, turning them over in his hands. Lightweight blue lenses in a charcoal gray frame that was neither plastic nor metal. When his hands tingled, he realized with a jolt that the glasses were warm and vibrating slightly. He held them to the light and peered through the lenses but couldn't see anything.
"There is no action currently," Ushil said, "but you can see what the participants are seeing if you put them on." He slid on a pair and offered others to Teyla, Ronon, and Rodney.
John shot a glance at his team. Rodney was scrutinizing his pair, eying the earpieces and joints. Teyla smiled politely and cradled hers in her hands. Ronon jammed his on his face.
"Cool," he pronounced.
John ran his fingertips over the earpieces but didn't feel any sharp edges or indentations. Taking a deep breath, he put them on.
The lenses became opaque and the city sprang to life before him in glorious color. The stench of rotting garbage and noxious vehicle fumes made his eyes water, and he jumped when a horn honked behind him. The view shifted and blurred until an angry man driving an overloaded wagon came into focus.
"Get out of the way, shelreq!" he shouted, waving a fist. "I have deliveries to make before The Game starts!"
The view bounced to the side then to the ground as the vehicle rumbled by. Suddenly the driver yelped and reached for his head as a rock bounced off it and clattered to the ground. He whirled then paled as he gaped, seemingly at the camera.
"My apologies," he stammered. "I didn't know."
"Go." The voice was in stereo, like it was coming from inside John's head. "Do not make such a mistake again."
The man nodded and raced away. The view shifted again, moving forward at a rapid pace, around corners and down streets. As it eventually passed the cracked window of a building, John caught a glimpse of a man – broad, tall, with matted hair and dusty clothes that could have belonged to Ronon.
John pulled the glasses off and stared at them, feeling suddenly bereft. Why was his heart pounding? Why was the euphoria of a runner's high flooding through him?
"What did you think?" Ushil asked.
"Um… I'm a little confused, I guess," John answered. "You said I seeing through the eyes of a participant. Where is he?"
"He could be anywhere in the city," Ushil replied. "Each participant has been assigned a starting position so I'm sure he was making his way there. The glasses allow you to see them as they make their preparations. The Game decides which one you are following. Your friends are most likely viewing through someone else's eyes."
"Wow," Rodney whispered. His fists were clenched at his side and sweat trickled down his face. "That's…" He swallowed thickly. "Aw, come on." He jerked off the glasses. "Spoilsport."
"What the hell were you watching?" John asked.
McKay flushed scarlet. "Never mind." He turned to Ushil. "Are these picking up some kind of transmission?"
"Yes. The participants wear a disc that broadcasts what they are experiencing, like the one Kespre has."
Rodney poked at the lenses again. "How does it transmit the sounds and smells?"
Ushil smiled apologetically. "I don't know. Kespre would be better suited to answer your questions when he finishes his tests." He turned to John. "Perhaps you would like to be a participant?"
John stroked the glasses, fighting the urge to put them back on. "You mean fight?" He shook his head. "We don't get involved in internal disputes."
Ushil laughed. "There is no dispute. We are simply playing a game."
Rodney had slipped the glasses back on and had stuffed himself in a corner, arms crossed. Teyla was seated, spine rigid, lost in whatever she was seeing, while Ronon leaned against a wall, fist tapping to a beat only he could hear.
"Um, well…" John stuffed the glasses in his pants pocket.
Ushil stepped closer. "We value knowledge, John Sheppard, especially tactics and strategy." His gaze flicked to Teyla. "Perhaps we could offer some of our crops in exchange for your participation."
"What would I have to do?"
"The choice is yours – either control The Game from the chair or join our team in the play zone. But be warned, the Controller for Fomisse is a master strategist. We have won a few battles but have conceded defeat every time." Ushil's eyes gleamed. "We hope for a victory this time."
"Thirty minutes," Kespre announced.
Stunned, John checked his watch. How could that much time have passed? He'd only used the glasses for a few minutes. Hadn't he? When had Kespre moved from the chair to a console? John pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache began to throb behind his right eye.
"So, I just have to move some folks around on a grid to capture some territory?"
Ushil's expression bordered on mania. "Exactly."
"How? I mean, how do I move them?"
"Kespre?" Ushil called.
"The Game will show you how the territory is divided and where all of the participants are," Kespre explained. "Our people are blue; Fomisse's players are green. The goal is to capture the other side's headquarters which will glow brighter than the rest of the territory. Simply study the grid and decide which squad you want to move and where they are going. The Game does the rest."
John fingered the glasses in his pocket, soaking in the enticing warm tingle. "What do the participants do? They are real people, right?"
"The participants are given the instructions on what territory to take and how to get there," Kespre said. "How they do it is up to them. They—"
"They provide us with hours of exhilarating entertainment," Ushil cut in.
"So, they are performers, not soldiers?" John asked.
"As I said, this is a game. We don't have an army." Ushil's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Many participants have developed certain skills over the years, but we have no formal training program."
John's brain seemed to be two steps behind his body and moving too slow to ever catch up, but the one thought that kept returning was the offer of trade. The Athosians were struggling to survive. What was an hour or two of playing a game compared to relieving some of the suffering the horror that was Michael had caused? John had spent more time than that on Rodney's video game project.
"Okay," John said finally. "I'll do that controller thing, but I can't stay long."
"Wonderful!" Ushil exclaimed. "We are happy to take what we can get. Kespre?"
Kespre hesitated, locking gazes with Ushil for a moment, and then he nodded. "Be seated, please."
John rubbed his eye again, wishing away the growing ache, and gripped the arm of the chair. He gasped as a warm vibration raced from his fingers to his shoulder, similar to but more powerful than the glasses. He eased himself into the seat and sighed as a tingle burrowed into the small of his back, danced up his spine and nestled in the base of his skull. God, he felt good. His body shook from the rush of endorphins, and he barely noticed the prick at his temple or the pinch in the crook of his arm as images flooded into his mind – the city, its sectors, the players and observers, nooks, crannies, empty buildings and safe zones. His brain began to sort hiding places from ambush sites, noting the pulsing blue of his players and the throbbing green of the other. As The Game took over all his senses, the room, the people, and his team faded away to nothing.
"Sheppard?"
John's eyes fluttered open at the hesitant whisper. McKay hovered inches from his face, eyes huge in a dirty face that hadn't been shaven in quite a while.
"Oh, thank God. I thought you were dead."
John worked his jaw, but no words would come out.
"Don't try to talk," McKay said. "We're on the Daedalus, about two hours out from Atlantis, and before you ask, I'm fine and so are Ronon and Teyla. A little beat up, but," Rodney's face twisted in anger, "in better condition than you. They're sleeping in the next room." He held up a cup. "Water?"
John tried to nod.
"No, no. Don't move either." He held the cup to John's lips. "Small sips. It's been a while."
John shivered as the cold liquid seeped over his parched tongue and down his throat. His stomach constricted when the water hit it, and when he coughed involuntarily, Rodney yanked the cup away.
"More," John mouthed.
"Give it a chance to settle," McKay replied. "Believe me, you really don't want it to come back up." He pulled his chair close. "The doctor will be back in a minute. What do you remember?"
John's brows drew together at the lack of memory. "Sat in a chair," he finally whispered.
"You've really got to stop doing that." Rodney sighed. "That was over a month ago, John."
"Can't be."
Rodney offered the cup again. "I'm afraid so," he said as John took another sip. "I know it doesn't seem possible, but Caldwell says Atlantis lost contact with us forty-two days ago. They came to the planet, but they couldn't get through the shield that was protecting the city. I guess it's some kind of safeguard for when The Game is in session which is actually rather fascinating and might explain why my equipment blinked out if we crossed the—"
"McKay."
"Oh, right. Sorry. Anyway, I don't know how long I watched The Game – for quite a while because several battles happened before I got taken."
John frowned. "Taken?"
"Yeah. One minute I'm watching a horde of crazy people beat each other to death; the next I'm running for my life down an alleyway with Ronon and Teyla." McKay sagged in his seat. "I thought it was a really cool VR until I was part of it. I was making mental notes on how to improve the game I was making for Sam. Then they yanked my glasses off, slapped some disc on my head, and tossed me into the street in the middle of one of those insane free-for-alls. We didn't have any other choice but to run."
"Where was I?"
Rodney raked his fingers through his hair. "We think you were controlling The Game. The Daedalus located your sub-cu transmitter in a different part of the city from us." He glanced up, emotion shining in his eyes. "You don't remember anything?"
John shook his head.
"You were strapped down and had needles in your arms." Rodney swallowed thickly, looking a little green. "The nurses bandaged the ligature marks on your wrists and ankles, but you can see the track marks from the IVs. The doctor thinks they used some kind of nutrient drip to keep you alive."
John blinked at Rodney, trying to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. He'd been strapped in a chair for a month? Why couldn't he remember? He struggled to sit up, willed his arms to push him up, but nothing happened. Why wouldn't his body respond to his commands? His breath caught in his throat. Was he paralyzed?
"Easy, Sheppard."
Rodney gripped his shoulders, and he felt it. He felt the bandages on his wrists, the sheet over his body, the catheter, the IVs, the pulse ox clip. He closed his eyes and concentrated, heaving a sigh when he felt the bed rail against the sole of his foot. Not paralyzed then.
"What's wrong with me?"
"Ah, Colonel, good to see you back with us." The CMO of the Daedalus strode in and eyed Rodney with a frown. "Doctor McKay, I thought you were headed to the shower and the Mess."
Rodney drew to his full height and stared down his nose at the doctor. "I told you yesterday I would go when Sheppard woke up."
"Well, he's awake."
Rodney's chin jerked up as he folded his arms over his chest. "Powerful observation skills you have there. Did they teach you that in medical school?"
"McKay," John said.
Rodney glanced down, gnawing on his bottom lip, fear flicking in his eyes. "I'm not sure…"
"I'm not going anywhere, Rodney. Go get cleaned up."
McKay nodded and trudged out the door. A minute later, while the doctor was checking John's vitals, Ronon walked in. His jaw tightened when he saw John then he plastered on a grin and dropped into Rodney's chair.
"Hey."
John offered a wan smile as exhaustion suddenly crushed him. "Hey, big guy. How are you?"
Ronon had a bandage on his forehead and his hand was splinted and wrapped. "Fine. You?"
"Not sure yet." John turned his gaze to the doctor. "What's the verdict?"
The doctor held up a finger while he finished annotating John's chart, and then he looked up. "You're alive and will recover fully which is the most important part. That being said, you are malnourished, your muscles have atrophied from disuse over the last few weeks, and you are suffering from some kind of neurological shock that I've never seen before."
"Is that why I can't remember anything?"
The doctor shrugged. "Maybe. All of your team had symptoms, but yours were much worse. It could be that as your brain reverts to normal your memory will return."
"Why can't I move?"
"That's the muscle atrophy. Doctor Keller will know more, but I'd estimate that you've lost between ten and fifteen percent of your muscle mass, and about thirty pounds altogether. You have a vitamin deficiency, and your bones may be a bit more brittle than usual. We'll need to monitor your blood pressure as your body readjusts to being upright. You have some bed sores that need care, and we'll have to reintroduce your body to food."
John sighed. "Don't hold anything back."
The doctor smiled in sympathy. "I haven't even gotten to the sleep cycle and balance issues or the need for physical therapy." He patted John's arm. "What I'm trying to say, Colonel, is that you're not going to bounce back right away. It's going to take some time for you to fully recover, and you need to recognize that." He glanced at Ronon. "All of you."
Ronon spread his hands. "What?"
"Let's just say that your drive to get back on your feet fast is well known. Do what you're capable of, but recognize your limits. If you push too far, you could really hurt yourself. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," John said.
The doctor stared at Ronon until he nodded in agreement. "Good," the doctor said. "Get some rest, Colonel. You'll be home soon."
John's lids slid closed on their own accord, and he forced them open to look at Ronon. "Give it to me straight."
"You look like hell. That straight enough?"
John huffed a laugh. "I guess so. What really happened?"
Ronon shook his head. "Not sure. I lost track of time, but we were in the fight for several days, maybe even a couple of weeks."
"A couple of weeks? What did you survive on?"
"Whatever we could find." Ronon shrugged. "Running was sort of like this. Eat when you can; sleep when you can. McKay got over digging through the garbage for food after the first two days. One of us slept while the other two stood watch."
"Unbelievable."
"Seems like the whole city was the battleground so sometimes we'd go days without seeing or hearing any of the fighting, but when we did…" Ronon leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "It was brutal, Sheppard. I've seen a lot of battles, but those people…" He stared down at his hands. "We avoided as much of the fighting as we could, but sometimes we had to." He clenched his fists and scraped them down his pants legs. "We were trying to get to you."
"You stayed alive. That's all that matters," John whispered as sleep tugged at him. "Good job not dying."
Ronon chuckled. John smiled and let sleep take him.
( Shall We Play a Game - Part 2 of 2 )
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