STARGATE: THOSE LEFT BEHIND (A Transformers / Stargate: Atlantis Crossover)

[Vadrigos]

STARGATE
-----O-----
THOSE LEFT BEHIND

Chapter 1
Today's Problems


​

"This is a bad idea." Sheppard said into his radio, "I mean, like really bad. And I should know, I've had a few." The reply from his friend, Rodney McKay, came back over the device's little speaker with a sarcastic overtone, which was practically standard fare for the Canadian scientist, at least when Dr. Keller wasn't around to moderate him.

"Look at it this way: If you screw up, there'll be no one left to pin the blame on you." Sheppard rolled his eyes.

"Thank you, Mr. Helpful." he shot back, before hunkering down further as the ground shook with the movements of two heavy metal bodies. Through the wall to his left, he could hear the explosions and gunfire on the street outside, mixed with the screams of Langaran citizens.

"Isn't there a better way to take this guy down?" Sheppard whined, "I mean, besides me running up to him and sticking a bomb to his ankles?"

"Come on, Sheppard, it's really not that hard." Lennox wheedled from his spot next to the Colonel. He held up his arm to keep the dust from falling into his eyes as the building shook again. There was a metallic screech from the outside, followed by an awful shrieking like a fax machine in a meat grinder.

"I have an allergy to being stepped on." Sheppard complained.

"We all do!" Lennox retorted, He had to raise his voice because the screams were getting louder as the fight outside moved closer. At that moment Sheppard's radio crackled.

"Sheppard, you need to get out there now! Ironhide can't hold him down any longer. If he gets out and hits the fuel facility, you can kiss the city goodbye!" McKay shouted over the line. Sheppard sighed.

"I'm demanding a vacation after this." he growled, as he picked up the explosive satchel he had been lugging around for the past ten minutes after Kellot, the team demolitions expert, had been brought down by falling masonry. He ran to the building's rear entrance, kicked it open, which was easier than it sounded, given how it was partially detached from its frame, and ran straight out into hell.

The streets of the Kelownan capital were very much like those of New York, circa 1960, at least from John's point of view. The cars, the buildings, even the people, looked like they had been ripped from a early Cold War photograph in a history book. The two giant robots busy duking it out at the far end of the street, however, did not.

"This is Lennox! Colonel Sheppard has the package! If anyone has a shot, take it now! Keep him distracted!" shouted Sheppard's radio. It was almost lost in the calamitous roar of the fight. The shorter of the two robots whose name was Ironhide, was clad in black armor and armed with two guns bigger than the average engine block. He fired twice at his enemy, who sidestepped, then roared and fired a missile from a port on his shoulder. The projectile spiraled upwards and took a chunk out of a building on the Autobot's left, showering him with debris, causing him to drop into a defensive crouch to shield his optics. The Decepticon warrior, appropriately named Ruckus, took the opening to go on the offensive, and lunged forward, his long forearm extending a sharp, sickle-like blade, intending to grab at Ironhide's wrist with his other hand, which was holding a large alien dagger.

Ironhide was quicker though, which allowed him to duck down, and throw himself forward, catching his enemy in a bear-hug and tackling him to the ground. The two struggled as Sheppard ran as fast as he could, hands so sweaty that if it weren't for the rough fabric of the satchel's grip, he would've long ago dropped it. He'd never gotten entirely used to being a part of fights like this. For five years, his enemies had been, if not necessarily as strong as him, then at least the same size as he was. And they'd been trying to eat him, not squash him. One might say that given the end result in either scenario, it shouldn't matter, but it did. To him there was a world of difference in feeling the fear of the hunted prey and feeling the fear of the ant beneath the boot.

As he reached the struggling titans, the green robot slapped a hand to his eye with a roar of pain as the crack of an anti-material rifle resounded through the acoustic canyon of buildings. Ironhide tried to use the distraction to grapple with Ruckus, but he countered with a twist and a roll that got him out from underneath the Autobot weapon specialist. Sheppard skidded to a halt, swearing at the missed opportunity to strap the bomb to his target's head rather than his legs. The massive Decepticon rose up, swiping at Ironhide with his sickle even as he rolled clear, managing to get a hook around his left arm-cannon. He yanked on it hard, cackling madly as he slammed the dagger into Ironhide's adjoining shoulder, then pulled it out and did it again. He shrieked a string of alien gibberish, the private language of the Decepticons.

Before he could make a third attempt, there was a loud clank of bolts disengaging and, much to his attacker's surprise, Ironhide's trapped cannon detached from his arm, freeing it for the Autobot to drive an elbow into his enemy's cruel-looking, angular face. Ruckus stumbled back, smashing into the building behind him as Ironhide pivoted and leaped on him, pounding him with a combination of punches and cannon-fire.

"That's MY cannon, you piece of scrap!" he bellowed. Sheppard was already running. He'd sigh with relief after it was done; right now, he needed to save his breath for not getting killed. As Ruckus recovered, pushing Ironhide back, flinging his own cannon at him to stun him in preparation for another jab with his dagger, Sheppard skidded to a halt between the Decepticon's feet. The pea-green and brown mass of the Cybertronian warrior towered above him, surging with movement that awed and terrified with its fluidity. Sheppard ignored it, focusing on the green sack full of a mix of shaped C-4 charges and thermite canisters he was thankfully still holding. All that was left to do was for Sheppard to hook one of its straps around the sharp protrusions that made up the hydraulics of the Decepticon's legs. Breathing heavily, trying to control his panic, he threw a strap over a likely-looking spur, just as the same spur shifted position, along with the massive leg it was attached to, Ruckus adjusting his stance to a defensive one as Ironhide rolled sideways, firing again and again with his remaining cannon. John felt his bones rattle with every impact, but managed to get the other free strap of the pack full of explosives around another spur. Then he turned and ran, this time back the way he'd come. As he did, he grabbed hold of his radio and hit the call button.

"Ironhide! Back up!" he shouted, then switched the channels and added, "Lennox! Now! NOW!" He dove behind a nearby vehicle, one of the few that had yet to be shredded by the intense droid death-match. As he ducked down, opening his mouth and covering his ears, John saw Ironhide skid down the street towards him, grabbing his lost cannon as he did, before tucking into a protective crouch like John himself.

Then there was a 'THUMP'. The car Sheppard had been using as cover rocked heavily, not enough to overturn, but enough to throw him forward onto the sidewalk. Glass exploded from its windows, and a mist of liquid sunlight sprayed over one side, sizzling like a greasy frying pan as it burned holes in the chassis. A howl of mechanical agony split the air as the shockwave passed, and through eyes partially clouded by dust, Sheppard saw Ruckus, now missing a leg and a half, flop backwards, crashing down in a heap of twisted metal, spasms of pain wracking him. Faintly, he thought he heard Lennox calling him, and he looked down to see his radio, still happily attached to his vest, crackling as the Lieutenant Colonel tried to reach him. Fumbling, fingers shaking and ears ringing slightly, he grabbed the radio and brought it up to his mouth.

"This is Colonel Sheppard to all teams, Tango-One is…mostly neutralized." He said, looking back over at Ruckus. Ironhide was standing again, small melt-marks from flying thermite covering the side of his body that had been facing the explosion. He was approaching the writhing body of his enemy as he reattached his arm-cannon, growling curses in Cybertronian.

"What?!" Lennox demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?!" The ground shook as Ironhide fired two more times and the frantic sounds of metal scraping and banging against pavement ceased.

"Never mind." John said, "What about Tangos Two and Three?" The radio crackled as Lennox contacted the other groups engaged elsewhere in the city.

"Tango Two has also been neutralized. Tango Three…is still pinned, but not for much longer." He finally replied, voice sounding both worried and relieved.

"Well, let's get in there and back them up." Sheppard said, before coughing as the wind blew a cloud of dust into his face. As he hacked and waved to clear the fog of war, the whirring rotors, colliding metal and hissing hydraulics of a Cybertronian engaging in transformation caught his attention. He turned to see Ironhide rolling slowly towards him, now back in his vehicular form of a 2007 GMC Topkick, with thermite scarring on the left side. As the Autobot reached him, he threw open his rear passenger door on the right.

"Get in." the truck's radio growled. Sheppard sighed, clambering up into the truck's cabin. The frightened citizenry who had all run indoors or as far away as they could minutes before were slowly creeping back out. Sheppard pointed at one, a short man in a uniform that mildly resembled the uniform of a British Limey.

"You!" he said, gesturing to him, causing the man to flinch.

"Y-yes?" he said, and Sheppard decided he was probably new to law enforcement, if that was indeed what he was. At least he wasn't pointing his sidearm at Sheppard. That was probably thanks to Ambassador Quinn, he told himself. He'd have to remember to thank him for seeing to it that they had faced a minimum of interference.

"Keep people away from the body. It's radioactive. A disposal team will show up in a bit. For now, get everyone to stay clear!"

The people of Kelowna were advanced enough to know what 'radioactive' meant, thankfully, and the danger that the term entailed. The man gave a hasty salute, then turned back to the civilians and began shouting at them, calling to two other men in uniform's similar to his.

"Jarek, Ilan! Get everyone back! We need to establish a perimeter! Everyone please stay clear! Go back inside!" he hollered, making Sheppard grin. The man knew his stuff. It didn't matter if he was or wasn't law enforcement; he was trooper material. John slammed Ironhide's door closed, just as the one opposite him opened and Lennox hopped in, removing the sling of his rifle from around his neck before slamming the door and patting the dashboard.
"Let's go 'hide." he said, "Fight's not over yet."

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are moving to assist Ratchet." Rodney suddenly declared over Sheppard's radio.

"What?" Lennox growled, "They're supposed to be holding their positions!"

"When I get hold of them, that's all they'll be doing" Ironhide growled.

"Hoo-boy…" Sheppard sighed. This was turning into another long day…

--O--​

On the far side of the Kelownan capital, Ratchet, chief medic of the Autobots, was facing a situation similar to the one Ironhide had just ended. He was in a bad mood. He'd been torn away from his research in his lab on Earth, where he'd been having a rather enjoyable conversation with that Doctor Robert Ulian, who was just about the only human Ratchet felt he could stand talking to for more than ten minutes. For coming from such a primitive species, the man had a way of looking at problems and information that made Ratchet feel like he was back in Iacon's Great Academy, competing with his peers to prove his theses. Now he was here, in the place he least enjoyed being, which was the middle of a fight.

As he dove clear of a fresh hail of micro-missiles from the appropriately-named Barrage, he let out a mental sigh of annoyance. He'd started this war as a pacifist, with nothing but disdain for Ironhide and his ilk, whom he saw as brutes who simply blew up whatever they didn't understand. However, after watching the Decepticons burn so many places he'd once called home, Metroplex, Polyhex, even Iacon, he'd come to appreciate the necessity of combat. That didn't mean he enjoyed it though.

"FIGHT ME, AUTOBOT SCUM!" roared Barrage, "SHOW ME THAT LEGENDARY COURAGE! OR HAVE THE AGES ROBBED YOUR SPARK OF FIRE?!" Ratchet huffed and sprayed the rust-red monster with suppressing fire, prompting the Decepticon to cross his arms for protection and wade through the hail, laughing maniacally. He crashed into Ratchet, knocking him to the ground, seizing his wrists in an effort to pin him.

[Lieutenant Mills, now would be a good time…] he growled over his internal comms. The human didn't bother responding, which Ratchet respected. Instead, there was a series of cracks as the man and his team, who had been waiting behind Ratchet for this moment, opened up with their own fusillade of anti-materiel fire. Barrage roared again, this time in pain - crouching over the Autobot medic as heavy rounds tore through his shoulder and head. He stumbled backwards and scrabbled at his body as the rounds burned holes in him, like a man clawing at mosquitoes.

"Filthy, shrieking vermin!" he growled, as Ratchet somersaulted upright, extending his medical saw, which whined to life with the scream of a perfectly-balanced cutting tool. The Decepticon opened his missile ports, and with his sensitive optics, Ratchet saw that the targeting lasers associated with the Con's integrated micro-rocket launchers were not aimed at him, but behind him.

Ratchet wanted to sneer. Typical Decepticon behavior, ignoring the more immediate threat for the sake of petty revenge. Ratchet fired his autogun at the 'Con's weapon batteries, scattering their' targeting lock. Barrage tried to recover, but before he could, Ratchet's saw dug into his chest. Frantically he pushed it down and away, leaving a gash in his pectoral armor that made him look like a half-opened can. He swung at the medic's head, only to have it blocked by his enemy's left hand, which had retracted its autogun, before Ratchet spun around, his back to the Decepticon, bringing his right elbow up into the monster's face. The clang of metal on metal resonated through the canyon of buildings, once, then twice as Ratchet repeated the maneuver, before spinning the other way and twisting Barrage's right arm behind him, putting the 'Con back in the line of fire for Ratchet's backup. Fresh fire from the Lieutenant peppered Barrage as he reached back with his free arm, trying to grab Ratchet, then shoving backwards when that failed in an effort to hammer him into the buildings to either side. Ratchet was prepared though, and planted his pedes firmly to resist the weight, before burying his saw in the Decepticon's left shoulder.

"RAAGGHH!" cried the overconfident, rocket-happy berserker, apparently forgetting that he had his own weapons. Ratchet couldn't help but wonder where Megatron kept finding these buffoons. He must've been scraping the bottom of the barrel to dredge up this incompetent. Or perhaps it was Starscream. The Seeker Commander had a habit of attracting the lowest members of any skill set who were easily corruptible. Either way, this was proving too easy. It was a curious thing he had realized about himself recently. He still detested violence, but when fighting, he found himself hoping his opponents at least knew what they were doing. Somehow, it was insulting to be reduced to fighting clods like Barrage.

"Courage is unnecessary when a plan will do." he said calmly, "Now, surrender."

"Never!" growled the trapped Decepticon, and opened the missile tubes on his launchers, only to find that they were no longer responding.

"I have disabled your weapon systems," Ratchet explained as the Decepticon redoubled his attempts to break free, causing Ratchet to swing him around and run him face-first into the building on his left. "Your allies are dead. Mine are on their way. Surrender." he repeated.

"I will not!" bellowed the Decepticon, before pushing off from the building and overcoming Ratchet's resistance. Too late, Ratchet realized that he had underestimated his opponent in his haste to beat him. As he crashed up against the opposite building, he lost his hold on Barrage's arm, which pulled free and reached around to his back to disengage a heavy, canister-shot weapon from his back. As he brought it to bear on Ratchet, the sound of roaring engines filled the street as a pair of Corvette Stingrays, one gold, one silver, noticeably out of place with the prodigiously more primitive setting provided by Kelowna, skidded out of an intersection and thundered towards Barrage.

[What's the matter, old man? Can't handle one Decepticon punk?] said Sideswipe over Ratchet's comms, his tone smug, yet welcome as far as the medic was concerned. He took the opportunity to slug the distracted Barrage across the jaw, The 'Con was shocked, and fired his weapon prematurely, embedding a heap of glowing shrapnel in the wall to Ratchet's left, the gun's report so loud it was like a clap of thunder. At that moment, the Corvette-shaped brothers transformed, speeding onwards on their high-mobility pede-replacements like a pair of master roller-skaters. Sideswipe ducked and slid behind Barrage to get on his left, while Sunstreaker didn't stop, preferring to plow into the 'Con, swords extended, knocking him sideways and pinning the hand holding the grip of his weapon to his own chest.

"Autobot sc-" Barrage tried to get out before the duo set on him, slicing and cutting, vaulting over him while circling around him, always out of reach. Ratchet almost felt sorry for the Decepticon. The brothers were precise, dare he say surgical, as they totally dismantled the screaming Decepticon, reducing him to a collection of severed limbs and parts around a split torso with a guttering, flickering Spark. Ratchet decided to finish it and extended his Autogun, before putting a round through the core of the twitching husk.

"Hey!" growled Sunstreaker, "What was that scrap?"

"The fight was over." Ratchet said, "Anything further would be a waste of effort and a show excessive brutality." He glowered at the two young warriors, who glared back.

"He was still moving. That makes him a threat." Sideswipe said.

"Enough." Ratchet snapped, "Our work is done here. We must regroup with Colonel Sheppard and Lieutenant Colonel Lennox." He retracted his weapons, adding emphasis to his command. The duo looked at each other, then retracted their swords grudgingly. Ratchet sighed internally with relief, thankful that the nightmarish scenario which had started to form in his mind from that look had not come to pass.

--O--​

When Ironhide finally reached the rendezvous site, Sheppard was the first out of the Autobot's cab. However, Lennox beat him to the punch for berating the brothers.

"You two," shouted Lennox, "have a lot to learn about following orders!" Behind him, Ironhide split and returned to his bipedal state, crossing his arms with a dangerous look in his optics.

"We-" started Sideswipe, his expression offended and indignant as Lennox cut him off.

"You disobeyed a direct order! I told everyone to stay put unless told otherwise after their target was terminated."

"You went to help Ratchet." growled Sunstreaker, "Don't see why we should just sit on our afts while the Doc has to wait for you to cross half the city to help."

"Are you even hearing what I'm saying?!" Lennox bellowed, "I don't care if you were less than a street away! If someone gives you an order, you follow it!"

"We were just-" Sideswipe started.

"Can it! As of this moment you two are benched the second we get back!" Lennox shouted.

"You can't-" the silver warrior growled.

"If you don't want to listen to him, listen to me." said Ironhide, extending his left cannon, "You two are grounded. That final enough for you?" The brothers shared another look, which made the hairs on the back of John's neck stand up, before backing down and reverting to their vehicle forms, like a pair of wolves kneeling before an alpha. He allowed himself an internal sigh of relief, before his radio clicked twice in an attempt to get his attention. He turned away from the spectacle and walked a short distance from the soldiers, who were packing up their equipment, tending to wounds, or else simply chatting while waiting for orders.

"This is Sheppard. I presume that's you, Rodney?" he said into the receiver. Immediately his friend's harsh, somewhat persistently-accusatory tone responded.

"Who else could it possibly be?" he said. Sheppard opened his mouth to deliver a smart-aleck response in the best tradition of General O'Neill, but Rodney beat him to it.

"Never mind, don't answer that." he growled, "The cleanup crew just left the main bunker. They should be reaching your location in about ten minutes. Look for the black choppers." Sheppard rolled his eyes.
"Are they bringing Neuralyzers?" he replied as wittily as he could.

"No, why? Afraid they're coming to erase your razor-sharp wit?" Rodney retorted.

"Whatever." John sighed, deciding he was too tired to antagonize his friend further, "I'm assuming we've made Ambassador Quinn a happy man?"

"He's bursting with joy. Look, can you just get back here so we can leave?" John grinned, hearing the subtle unease in his friend's tone. Ambassador Jonas Quinn, former member of SG-1 and chief liaison of Langara to her offworld allies, was one of the few people that had the power to make Rodney feel insecure. Sheppard suspected this was because McKay was still nursing a grudge over how, years before, Jonas had helped save Earth from total destruction at the hands of Anubis, after a prior attempt by McKay himself to do the same thing had ended with a dozen servicemen nearly being electrocuted. What probably made it worse was that it had all happened in front of Samantha Carter, who was still to this day an object of Rodney's unrequited lust, and probably the only person alive who he would come close to admitting was smarter than him. Between the shame and jealousy, the event had left the good Doctor McKay with a habit of acting snappish and irritable whenever he was in the same room as Quinn...or at least, more snappish and irritable than usual.

"We'll be on our way as soon as the cleanup team gets here. How are things back at the bunker?" Sheppard asked. There was a pause before his friend responded.

"Everyone's still a bit jumpy." he admitted, "I still don't think they're fully grasping what we just helped them with."

"Hey, if I were them, I'd be pretty shaken up too." Sheppard said, "It's not every day a robot alien warlord sends some of his goons to trash your planet so he can get back at your allies."

"This is the eighth planet Megatron's attacked since the I.O.A. announced its plans about the Galactic Defense Pact." Rodney said, "I seriously doubt it's just about getting back at Earth."

"Probably." Sheppard admitted, "Still, we've given him more to chew on than just about any other planet he's come across, according to Optimus. If I were him, I'd been looking to get even any way I could." There was a long pause.

"Everyone alright?" McKay asked nonchalantly, or probably what he hoped was nonchalantly. Ever since he'd started dating Jennifer Keller, he'd made attempts to be more personable, which when juxtaposed with the baseline crabby, arrogant bastard McKay usually came across as, often left Sheppard reeling. The resulting hiccup in his train of thought was enough to rouse him from his brief reverie.

"Just a few casualties. Lots of sprains, cuts and bruises." he admitted, then added somberly, "Two confirmed casualties." There was another pause in which he was certain he could hear Rodney wincing at the news over the radio.

"Well, medevac teams are coming with the cleanup, so hang in there." the scientist finally said. There was another pause.

"You know it's not your fault." Rodney said.

"It never is." John replied, "Or at least that's what they tell me." He'd been in the armed forces for nearly two and a half decades now, and fighting off-world for almost half that time. He'd seen soldiers die plenty of times, some of them his friends, others whose names he'd never even learned. Ever since he'd been placed in a command position though, that first fateful day in Atlantis, every death had stung even more than it ought to, because the people dying weren't just fellow soldiers, but his soldiers, people who looked to him for guidance. Of course, the melancholy of his mood wasn't random. Over time he'd learned to get past the cost, even though it hurt. Today though, the knowledge that another two men had died under his watch had a special meaning.

"I'll be on the lookout for the choppers. I'll see you back at the bunker. Sheppard out." he said, before clicking the radio off and taking a seat on the nearest bench he could find, his mind full of guilt and memories of a man named Aiden Ford.

--O--​

Invisible, the signal howled across the cosmos, moving at superluminal speeds through subspace, bypassing the radioactive interference of stellar nurseries and pulsars. It was broadband, but tightly encrypted, designed to sound like nothing more than an eddie in the echoes of the Big Bang for those who didn't know what to look for. And so it sang across the yawning void, unnoticed and incomprehensible, passing from the silent shores of Andromeda, where the mighty Asgard had once ruled, to the mysterious glow of Triangulum, where not even the Ancients had walked. It brushed against the edges of the Magellanic Clouds, held in the grip of their great devourer, the Milky Way, where the signal's target awaited, though the sender did not know it. The transmission pierced the dark matter halo of the great belt of stars, rushing from world to world until it at last reached its destination...

In the twisted wreckage of Barrage's body, a small, complex receiver, encased in the dense wiring of his helm, began to pulse…

o
-- ^ --​

A/N: So to be clear, I've been working on this for several years now, on and off. It's already posted on SpaceBattles, but since it isn't getting much attention, I thought I'd give it a shot and post it here (not that I'm writing for the attention, nosiree). This story is a sequel to SAME SIDE, a fic by user Era Yachi over on Fanfiction.net (with their permission). Also, to be perfectly frank, while this crossover draws chiefly upon the stories of the first two Bay movies to cover the Transformers side of things (because i started writing it WAYYYYY back when Revenge of the Fallen came out and I was still a little idiot enticed by such things (still am, kinda)), it also borrows heavily from the lore of Transformers: Prime, because the Bayverse is such an utter shithole. Also, I have read almost none of the supplemental Stargate comics and fiction, and as such, it has no bearing on the content of my story or the plot. I do not own Stargate, or Transformers. These are fictional characters, and any resembles to real world people or places yadda-yadda-yadda...​

All that being said, I hope you find my work enticing enough to comment on. Thanks for reading!​

 

[Vadrigos]

Chapter 2
Home on the Firing Range​

From her seat next to the DHD, Teyla stared idly at the Stargate below. It had been three years, and she still missed the old gate room in the central spire of Atlantis. There at least, the light was natural. The makeshift embarkation room used by the Compound Alliance, which had gone through a number of iterations before reaching its current state, consisted of a heavily-shielded and almost-always sealed aircraft hangar, isolated from the rest of Diego-Garcia airbase, which had served as headquarters for the joint organization since its formation. Atlantis itself now sat about a mile and a half off the coast of the atoll, making it relatively less conspicuous than it had been when it had first arrived, landing barely a few kilometers out from San Francisco Bay.

As she gazed down at the silent ring of metal, she felt someone step up behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder. Her companion was a balding man with black hair beginning to show the faint beginnings of gray and dark-rimmed glasses, all sitting on top of a smartly-pressed and equally-dark suit.

"Mr. Woolsey!" she exclaimed, rising from her seat in surprise, "I was not aware you were here!" He smiled at her, a warm, honest expression of greeting.

"I thought I'd drop in and congratulate our heroes of the hour. It's not often I get out of my office on the West Pier." he remarked. Teyla nodded in understanding. When the CA had been formed, Woolsey had been chosen to help lead the body overseeing its functions. Eventually he had simply taken up residence in one of the outlying towers of Atlantis, as he felt his office in Geneva, where the committee usually met, was simply too far from the action to provide him with an accurate outlook on the trials those he looked out for faced on a daily basis. Secretly, Teyla felt that another part of the reasoning was that he missed the excitement he had been privy to when he'd been in charge of the Expedition, back when Atlantis had still been Earth's first and last major outpost in the Pegasus Galaxy.

"Well you're just in time. Colonel Sheppard and Lieutenant Colonel Lennox called in about twenty minutes ago. They said they were handling the final details of the cleanup and would be returning shortly." she said, before she noticed what the man's body language was saying. He wasn't just here to say hello.

"Is...something amiss?" she asked, looking him up and down. He let out the breath he'd apparently been holding.

"Caught me red-handed." he admitted, "I'm afraid I'm here to deliver some...unusual news,"

"Is it about the Galactic Defense Pact?" she guessed. For the past three months, Woolsey and other visible members of the political machine behind the CA had talked of little else. The agreement was supposed to be the foundation for the creation of a multi-planetary treaty of mutual defense, binding all its members to one another with promises of protection against external threats. It was, according to all Teyla had heard, the first step towards truly picking up the pieces after both the collapse of the Goa'uld Empire and the subsequent invasion by the Ori, both of which had left the galaxy in chaos., Now with the emergent threat of the Lucian Alliance, a criminal organization that had become a major political power almost overnight, and the insidious, lurking danger of the Wraith Hybrids whose arrival had prompted the CA's formation, not to mention the Decepticons, it had been decided that for once, Earth and its allies needed to present a single, unified front

Woolsey sighed, obviously knowing there was no use trying to avoid the issue. Teyla had been trained in the art of diplomacy, first by her position as leader of her people back in the Pegasus Galaxy, then again by her time working with Doctor Elizabeth Weir, the original commander of the Atlantis Expedition.

"Unfortunately. yes." he said, "I'll be giving a speech later today, but I felt I should probably inform Colonel Sheppard and the rest of the leadership personally about what's coming." He frowned worriedly. "Of course the chief problem is that I'll have to make another trip to inform Optimus as well. I couldn't get hold of him by radio before coming." Teyla waved her hand reassuringly.

"He was already on his way. Apparently there has been some disciplinary issues regarding Sideswipe and Sunstreaker." she explained. As if on cue, in the middle of her statement the heavy sound of the hangar's main door sliding open filled the room. She looked past Woolsey, who had already turned around, to the ray of sunlight peeking in as the heavy metal barrier was slid open just enough to admit access to a rumbling Western Star 5700 Custom semi-truck, it's cab and engine block painted with red flames on a blue background. As it passed the threshold, the door rumbled closed again, and the truck approached the metal gantries that had been set up around the gate, in a fashion similar to the arrangement of the old gate room in Atlantis' central spire, with the DHD and main controls set off to the left in a raised position.

Woolsey smiled at the sight of the Autobot leader.

"Ah, good. That'll save me a trip." he said, turning to the metal stairs next to the control station that led back to ground-level. Teyla followed him as the truck came to a stop about thirty-five feet from the doors, then began to reconfigure itself, rising, splitting and unfolding until it had assumed a roughly humanoid shape, or more specifically, the shape of a knight in armor, with heavy pauldrons and leg-guards decorated with the same blue and red designs that had covered the truck. From thirty feet overhead, the magnificently articulated face of Optimus Prime glowered towards the Stargate, metal lips pressed together in a firm, disapproving scowl. Then his white-blue optics spotted Woolsey and his expression softened somewhat.

"Mr. Woolsey, I admit I did not expect to see you here so quickly." he said, still frowning, though not as intensely. Despite Optimus' prior bad experience with politicians, he had found Woolsey at least was one he could trust, even if he wasn't always on the right side of an issue. "Are you here in an official capacity?"

Woolsey, to his credit, did not flinch at being addressed by Optimus, as many politicians tended to. He did, however, straighten his tie and look slightly uneasy.

"I'm afraid so." he responded, before hastily adding, "Though not in regards to what you're probably thinking. I only just heard about this...unrest in the ranks from Mrs. Emmagan." Optimus' gaze did not falter, but he crossed his arms and looked expectant.
"Very well." he said, "Is this an issue that can wait?"

"It could, probably...but it won't take that long, and you especially should be aware, since what I have to say has large consequences for your people as well as mine."
At that moment, Amelia Banks, one of the primary technicians in charge of Stargate Operations, called out from her seat overhead.
"Incoming wormhole!"

With a familiar KA-WOOSH, the empty space in the center of the Stargate's circumference filled radiant energy, bursting outwards to form a column of power three meters tall, before collapsing back to leave only a rippling, blue-white vertical 'puddle' behind. Immediately the puddle was overlaid by a semi-transparent barrier, which crackled to life automatically as the wormhole stabilized.

"That ought to be Colonel Sheppard." Woolsey said, just before Banks declared: "Receiving Colonel Sheppard's IDC!" The force-field iris lowered, and Teyla hurried towards the reception ramp which was already surrounded by a number of CA soldiers, armed and ready should the gate decide to disgorge Decepticons instead of Autobots and their fellow troopers.

The liquid surface of the puddle rippled and a large black GMC Topkick slid through, rolling down the ramp into the space provided for it by the ever-ready soldiers.

"Clear!" called the head of the force, one First Lieutenant Robert Epps, Lennox's second-in-command. He lowered his weapon, along with the other soldiers and the GMC's doors opened to disgorge tired and dirty-looking soldiers. There was much talking as the men congratulated each other and started up conversations, while moving aside so the Topkick, which was actually Ironhide, could pull out and make room for the rest of the Autobots behind him. As he rolled through the space between the high gantries on either side of the gate, he transformed, coming to a stop in front of Optimus, saluting in a fashion similar to a Roman Centurion.

"I'm glad to see you in one piece, old friend. At ease." the Autobot leader commanded. Ironhide nodded and stepped to his commander's side.

"If I had stasis cuffs, I would've used 'em." growled the Autobot weapons specialist, "The little punks need a lesson in discipline if you want my opinion."

"I fear the problem is less easy to diagnose than that. I should not have assigned Sunstreaker to active duty so soon after his return." Optimus said, chiding himself for his mistakes as he usually did. Meanwhile, it was Ratchet's turn to emerge from the Stargate, the puddle making a slick rippling noise like disturbed molasses. Lennox and Sheppard were the first to disembark from the medic's cab, Sheppard gravitating towards Teyla and Woolsey on instinct. Rodney got out close behind and followed, until both were standing by Optimus' feet.

"Optimus." the Colonel said by way of greeting. The Autobot leader returned his greeting with a nod.

"Colonel." he replied, before continuing, "I hope my subordinates did not give you too much trouble."

"I have mixed feelings." Sheppard admitted, "On the one hand, they did, by all accounts, give Ratchet a much-needed hand...but on the other, they disobeyed orders, and while I know I'm not exactly in a position to point fingers…" He trailed off, because he really wasn't in a position to point fingers, and Teyla knew it. Rodney looked like he wanted to add a sarcastic comment but was resisting with some effort.

"It will be dealt with." Optimus replied, saving Sheppard from having to elaborate further, "In the meantime it seems Mr. Woolsey has something to tell us."

"I was going to ask…" Sheppard said, looking over at the man in question, who gave a small smirk. About then, Lennox and Epps trotted over to join the group, with Ratchet close behind, transforming as he moved. He too, saluted Optimus, though with a grunt that suggested it wasn't easy. Unlike Ironhide, Ratchet was not a master of hiding his wounds. What would be the point?

"I will require your testimony later." Optimus said, "But for now, I suggest to go to medical and tend to yourself." He glanced over at Ironhide. "You should accompany him. I'll deal with our disobedient duo myself." Ironhide looked like he wanted to protest, but nodded and transformed, following Ratchet without further comment.

At that moment, a pair of Chevrolet Corvette ZR1's rolled out of the gate in quick succession, one gold, one silver. The pair transformed, becoming Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, who rolled to a halt in front of Optimus. Neither saluted.

There was a long uncomfortable pause, and Teyla got the feeling that she was seeing a scene similar to when she had caught her son Torren doing something he shouldn't and was waiting for an explanation. The pair glowered at their leader in silent, sullen defiance. Surprisingly Teyla thought she could detect disappointment beneath Prime's disapproval. That would be just like him. In the three years she had worked alongside him, he had always held himself responsible for the actions of his soldiers. He was like John in that respect, she reflected.

"This is the third time you have acted contrary to your given orders." Optimus said, his voice as calm as a placid lake. There was a hint of ice to it though, suggesting it was a lake in autumn, "Would you like to explain yourselves?"

"No, sir." the pair replied, their voices bitter and angry. Teyla knew they were twins, like Mudflap and Skids were. She still had yet to fully grasp what that meant for Cybertronians, though it was obvious they shared feelings and thoughts at some level deeper than humans did. There was another long pause. Then Optimus let out a sigh, his hard expression softening into resignation.

"Very well...you leave me no choice." he said. The gold and silver twins stiffened, as if bracing themselves for some harsh punishment, though Teyla knew that was not Prime's way. That didn't mean the consequences of their actions wouldn't sting though.

"I cannot have soldiers who will not follow orders, and who place lives at risk for the sake of personal glory." Optimus said, his tone firm and brooking no disagreement, "You are to report to Ratchet for any medical attention you require, after which you are confined to barracks for the next three quartexes."

"Is that it?" Sunstreaker asked, his voice seething with anger, "Aren't you going to assign us to the little scout's command? That's what you do with all your broken soldiers, isn't it? You push them to the side where they won't cause trouble."

There was a long, shocked silence. No one spoke, or even moved. Even the men near the gate had stopped their chatter. Everyone was wearing either an expression of surprise or unease...everyone except Optimus. His face wore an expression of frosty disapproval. For a moment, Teyla thought he might strike Sunstreaker...but that would not be like Optimus. Not once in all the time she had known him had he lashed out in anger, So when he spoke his next words, she felt her jaw drop.

"Are you broken?" he asked. If the hangar had been silent before, then it might as well have become a vacuum after those words. Optimus hadn't hit Sunstreaker physically. No, he'd done much worse.

"What?" growled the gold Autobot, his hands clenching into fists.

"Are you broken? Is that what you think of yourself? Do you believe you are unfit for duty?" Optimus said, forging ahead with brutal bluntness Teyla had never heard him employ.
"You-" Sunstreaker began, his tone unnerving even his brother, who had not lost his angry expression, but at the same time was showing signs of worry at his counterpart's behavior.
"Because if you are, you must tell me now, or the next time you go out on a mission, any actions you take that result in the endangerment or the loss of your allies lives will be your responsibility, and yours alone."

Now Teyla worried that it would be Sunstreaker who would attack Optimus, and unlike his superior, Sunstreaker did not have a bottomless pool of self-control. Like his silver brother, he was brash, impulsive, not to mention arrogant. More than that though, he often seemed to have what John had termed 'a chip on his shoulder'. He took offense easily, and seemed perpetually insecure, more than someone with his personality type really should be in Teyla's experience.

Of course, she had to admit to herself that she barely knew the Autobot. She hadn't even been there when he'd landed, being on a vacation with Kanaan and Torren at the time. However, what little she had seen of Sunstreaker's behavior reminded her of worryingly of someone else she had known once, who had been 'damaged', as Optimus put it, emotionally, not to mention physically, by experiences on the battlefield. The parallels in their actions, now that she was beginning to see them, were making her very, very uneasy. In fact, this whole confrontation was seeming all too familiar for her liking, bringing to mind one that had taken place in Atlantis' medical center, years ago and a galaxy away. When she felt the metal of the gantry supports on her back, she found that she had unconsciously taken several slow steps backward to distance herself from the standoff...and that she was not alone in doing so. Rodney and Lennox had cautiously moved back, leaving the trio of Autobots in an open space.

For nearly a full two minutes, Sunstreaker stood there, his posture threatening, hands clenching and unclenching as if he wanted to extend his swords and gut Optimus there and then. Suddenly though, Sideswipe raised one hand, then placed it on his brother's shoulder.

"Come on, Streaker, let's go. It's not worth it." he growled. While his tone was not conciliatory, it seemed to snap his golden counterpart out of his internal debate on the pros and cons of mutiny, and he visibly relaxed. The pair slid on their wheel-feet to Optimus' left, the towering Prime turning to keep them both in his field of vision while they rolled past.

"This isn't over." grunted Sideswipe, glowering at his superior, before the two transformed back into their vehicle modes and rolled slowly towards the hangar exit, where light was again shining through from the outside, the doors having already been opened to admit Ratchet and Ironhide. To their credit, nobody started to speak again until the two were well out of sight, speeding across the tarmac to the building that served as the Autobot barracks.

"Whoa." Sheppard finally said, "Someone needs some attitude adjustment."

"I apologize for their behavior." Optimus said, slowly turning back to his human allies, "If I had known the problem was this severe, I would never have allowed them to accompany you Colonel." Teyla released a breath that she been holding without realizing it.

"Is there something we should know about them?" she asked, "I apologize if I seem forward, but-"

"There is no need to apologize." Optimus said, cutting her off, "The fault is mine. Even on Cybertron, those two were never the most reliable of soldiers, but they did their duties when called to. Now though…" Optimus trailed off, before shaking his head in what seemed to be self-deprecation. "I have had my suspicions for some time that Sunstreaker may have been a Decepticon captive at some point in his absence. Ratchet was sure to do a thorough check if he was a plant, but nothing appeared."
"You told us about this." Lennox said, his brow furrowed, "But you said you thought it wasn't a problem."

"I may have been wrong. I thought he was merely held for a brief period...but his behavior of late has me wondering if that is not the case. If he was held for an extended period at a Decepticon detention center, it is likely that the trauma I am now sure he is concealing is far greater than any of us suspect."

"Jesus H. Christ, Optimus!" Lennox groaned, "You're telling us this NOW?"

"As I said, I only had my suspicions. His refusal to discuss his captivity was an issue I have meaning to address, but now I see I may have waited much too long."

"I'll have the guard on the barracks doubled." Sheppard said immediately, earning him a surprised look from Optimus, to which he responded: "I've seen what trauma can lead someone with something to prove to do. I was too occupied and trying not to die to help the last person under my command work through it before he went rogue. I won't let it happen again."At first Optimus looked confused, but then he must've worked out just what he meant, like Teyla had.

"But John," she said, "Sunstreaker is not Ford." She regretted her words immediately, seeing the grimace of painful memories flash across her friend's face like a brief breeze.

"Maybe not." he admitted before she could backpedal, covering up his internal regret with his best mask of commanding seriousness, "But either way, I won't give him the opportunity to do something to do something stupid he'll end up wishing he hadn't. We've got enough of that already." With that he turned back to Woolsey and away from Teyla, showing he was not happy with her bringing up the name of their old teammate.

"Bad idea." muttered Rodney next to her, "He's already annoyed with me because I mentioned him too."

"Avoiding mentioning a source of guilt is not a way to deal with it." she shot back in a low tone as possible, so that it would not be heard by the rest of the group, who were now moving away from the gate as some large trucks pulled through, carrying assorted parts of the Decepticon bodies recovered by cleanup crews from the battle zones on Langara.

"Why is he even like this? I thought he had come to terms with this years ago. We spoke about it when he rescued me from Michael."

"It's pretty recent. I was wondering myself, so I...did some digging." Rodney said, looking rather guilty. Teyla wondered if she should chide him for snooping into their friend's private matters or congratulate him for having the initiative to show deeper concern for John. It always amazed her how much Rodney's relationship with Jennifer Keller was changing him. She brushed aside the disapproving half of herself and gave him a questioning look.

"He's been fighting for years to keep Ford listed as MIA officially, but the family is holding a funeral. They've put it off for years, but they've decided to go through with it recently." Teyla sighed at John's retreating back. She couldn't blame Aiden's family for wanting closure of some kind. There had long been a divide between them and John, who had forever blamed himself for failing to rescue the young man when he'd had the chance. It was what had driven him to search so hard for her when she had been kidnapped by the Wraith Hybrid called Michael, the progenitor of the very beings that had prompted the Compound Alliance's formation, and to not stop until he had rescued her, going so far as to undertake a boarding action onto an enemy ship against orders while bearing wounds from being buried under a collapsing building.

She sighed. Sometimes she worried John was more of a danger to himself than to his enemies. She was proud to follow him, and to call him her friend, but he could be such a fool…

--O--​

If Ratchet had been human, he would've let out a sigh of relief upon entering his med-lab...or at least that's what they called it, anyway. It consisted of little more than a heavily-adapted, over-sized workshop, made to service transport trucks and other light vehicles before the Autobots had taken up residence. The majority of the modifications had been made by Ratchet himself, including the custom-made lifter-beds that could support an Autobot in either vehicle or humanoid form. It wasn't much to look at compared with some of the places the medic had worked back on Cybertron. The Great Academy of Iacon in particular had been possessed of some of the most advanced medical technology and well-trained doctors this side of what the humans called the Virgo Supercluster. Now Ratchet was reduced to working with a mish-mash of ultra-advanced and ultra-primitive methods to care for his patients. As he transformed, Ratchet allowed himself a small smirk. It was business as usual.

"You, on the exam table. I want a look at that shoulder." he said, pointing at Ironhide as the weapons specialist rolled into the chamber behind him and transformed. He grumbled, but obeyed, trudging across the room to one of the six 'beds' that lined the long structure. Ratchet followed, taking care not to exacerbate his own wounds. He ran a quick diagnostic on his medical systems before activating his examination laser, carefully running it over the rent armor and gouged circuitry.

"Rumor has it you detached your cannon during your battle. Funny, I always thought it would take the tidal forces of a black hole to part you from those guns." he said dryly as he went over the device's results internally.

"It was that or let him skewer me. And I did get it back." Ironhide grumbled. Indeed, Ratchet could see the massive barrels of the two weapons beneath the protective casing of his friend's arms, still there as usual. One did have more grit and dirt than the other, however, proving the tale he had heard from the humans riding in his cab on the return journey was true. He pursed his lips.

"Well he certainly managed a number on you regardless." Ratchet resisted the urge to wince as his instruments relayed the data from his laser to his central processors, before extending some of his most frequently-used tools to go to work on the wounded 'Bot. Ironhide had a method of fighting that was simultaneously reckless and efficient. Normally the 'reckless' would cancel out the 'efficient', but not so with Ironhide. He often came away damaged, but his opponents almost never came away at all. Even so, Ratchet could not help but wonder if his friend's luck would someday run out, and it would be his body on the last of the six beds, the one reserved for what counted as 'autopsy' in his field.

As if in response to that thought, the sound of trucks pulling up outside reached his audials, and he glanced over his shoulders to see the trucks carrying the remains of the Decepticons from Langara pulling up outside. He growled in irritation.

"They could have at least waited to until I was done with you." the medic griped, even as he started preparing another workstation for the new arrivals.
"Eh, I'll live." grunted Ironhide, nudging his friend in the direction of the vehicles, "Besides I doubt there's much left to sort through."

After the formation of the Compound Alliance, and the subsequent discovery that the humans they had once written off as primitives who had barely breached their atmosphere were anything but, the Autobots, at Optimus's decision, had relaxed their policy on sharing technologies, at least in part. It had been agreed, after some debate, that any Autobots who fell in battle would be treated as honored soldiers, and be buried at sea. Much like the scout Jazz had been, Primus rest his Spark. Decepticon remains, however, were to be treated as tactical and strategic resources, and would be studied by teams of engineers under Ratchet's supervision. Any weapons recovered would need to pass muster with Optimus and be given allowance before being examined. The same went for any other recovered Cybertronian technology.

"Have you found anything useful yet?" Ironhide twitched as he felt Ratchet apply some basic treatments to help his shoulder mend. "And I meant for us, not for the squishies."
"They prefer if you call them by their names, or at least their species." Ratchet chided, jabbing with his instrument hard enough to make Ironhide flinch. "And no, nothing other than minor improvements to some of our small arms and systems. Most of which, frankly, I'm hesitant to implement."

Personally, Ratchet didn't mind the dissections. The Decepticons had done far, far worse to the Autobots throughout the course of the war. One only needed to look at Arcee or Skids and Mudflap to see proof of that. He did however mind having to watch over the human engineers as they clumsily rummaged around in the enemy cadavers like children playing around in energon pools. The only reason he bore with it was Dr. Ulian, the engineer in charge of monitoring the teams alongside Ratchet. Their talks allowed him to distract himself during the gruesome work. This time though, Dr. Ulian was nowhere to be found, and protocol stated that dissections had to take place within one hour of the delivery of recovered remains.
As he finished his work, Ratchet detached himself from his patient, rolling his optics as Ironhide winced, and stalked over to the trucks. He might as well get the bodies on the beds for when he was ready. He looked back over his shoulder.

"Don't move, or I swear I'll have you'll be lubricating from your kneecaps for the rest of the solar cycle." he growled. Ironhide smirked at the threat, though he knew better than to do other than instructed. Ratchet did not tolerate disobedient patients.

As the yellow and red Autobot approached the trucks, he frowned. Something was wrong. At first he found himself wondering if some of the Kelownan citizens hadn't taken an opportunity to snag bits of the Decepticons for themselves as memorabilia, but he quickly discarded that notion. What little he had seen of Langara suggested it was not a rife with foolhardy 'tourists' as Earth was, and besides, his quick visual exam revealed that everything that was supposed to be present was. So why was he still uneasy? It took a full one-hundred and fifty microseconds for him to realize what we was overlooking.

The engineers and technical personnel unloading the parts gave cries of complaint and protest as Ratchet reached into the bed of the truck carrying Barrage's remains and retrieved the Decepticon's severed head. In the shell of one empty optic, a dim light flickered where there should have been darkness. He turned to the man who had been directing the process, Technical Sergeant Kyle Mallory according to his nametag.

"Sergeant, was there any tampering with the remains?" Ratchet asked.

"I'm not sure what you mean." The man looked a little nervous, and Ratchet suspected he was probably new, given the way his eyes shifted about with the instinctual terror of any being confronted by one much larger than themselves. He gave a patient sigh and did his best to appear non-threatening. It would not do to scare the man without cause.

"I mean no disrespect to you or your subordinates. However, I ask because it appears there is something still functioning in this helm-unit." The man's eyes went wide with alarm.

"You're saying it's still alive?" He asked, looking over at the parts with a newfound fear. Ratchet resisted the urge to roll his optics.

"No. Simply that some part of Barrage's battle-tech appears to still be in working order." He shifted and turned away, waving back to the men, "Never mind. I will deal with it. Continue your work. Use the last three beds for the remains. I will get to them as soon as I can."

He strode back to where Ironhide sat, a mixed look of disgust and curiosity on his face as Ratchet placed the head down on a spare surface and began to disassemble it, carefully, so as not to disturb whatever was still producing light.

"What is it, Ratchet?" Ironhide asked, "Something the matter?" Ratchet shook his head slowly, squinting at the comparatively miniscule device he was slowly uncovering. It was unlikely...but he had to be sure. Eventually he finished and turned the open cranial cavity towards his friend.

"Tell me, does that look like what I think it does?" He asked. Ironhide squinted, his optics refocusing, before widening in amazement.

"No way. No fraggin' way." He swore.

"I thought so." Ratchet said, eyeing the tiny light. It was a fully functional Decepticon military communication unit, something virtually unheard of to be recovered intact. The ages of war on Cybertron had prompted new developments in the field of what the humans termed 'information security'. The Autobots had won several major battles in the early days before Soundwave had instituted his new policy of installing modified subspace communication links, far more sophisticated than the Autobots' own, into all of Megatron's troops. This was to complement his ever-increasingly complex ciphers, which were already becoming nearly impossible for even the finest Autobot minds to crack. Every single one was equipped with a self-destruct mechanism that destroyed the device in case of the owner's termination. However, on rare occasions, the system failed, and the Autobots would be able to tap into the Decepticon information network for a short while. The devices tended to have only a limited usefulness though. They were designed to wear out quickly when removed from their owners, so even if the self-destruct failed, the elements and time would eventually render them useless. No one had ever been able to replicate the technology before it became worthless junk. Already, Ratchet could see the gold wiring connecting the machine to Barrage's central processor starting to corrode.

Ratchet braced himself. Now came the tricky part. Extending his most delicate manipulators, he carefully removed the device, micro-shears snipping the lines that linked it to its deceased master. Pulling it free, he laid the lightning bolt-shaped bit of transparent circuitry and wiring onto a small tray next to Ironhide's bed, causing the weapons specialist to shift away from it, though whether it was out of disgust or fear of damaging the fragile machine, Ratchet couldn't tell.

"There." He muttered, "Now we just need someone to connect this to." He quickly ran through a list of potential candidates. His first thought was Wheelie, the minute Decepticon defector they had acquired after Giza. He was out in Atlantis though, and the amount of time it would take to get him here would be too long. Ratchet reflected morosely that if Wheelie were human, it would've been no trouble. However, it hadn't taken long after the Alliance had formed for them to discover that Autobot physiology did not react well to being 'beamed up' as the humans called it. Even passage through the Stargate was physically taxing for them, without the proper modifications. Otherwise Ratchet would've radioed the Daedalus in its patrol orbit and requested that Colonel Mitchell transport the pesky little 'Con to his medbay. He cycled to the next option, which was Prowl, Optimus' lieutenant, as well as one of the best communications officers they had. He was also unavailable, being stationed at the Alpha Site offworld. Finally he settled on the sole remaining candidate. Ratchet didn't much like the option, but then it was better than nothing. He opened his internal comms and aimed them to the edge of the Alliance's section of Diego-Garcia, specifically the beach opposite the Stargate's hangar.

[Drift?] he asked, [I need your immediate assistance. Could you please come to the medbay? We have something that needs your...expertise.]

o
-- ^ --​

A/N: And that's it! Chapter 2 done!

 

[Vadrigos]

Chapter 3
Bad Moon Rising​

John was tired, he was sore, and above all, he was feeling depressed. These facts all combined to make him a very cranky man, so he prayed Woolsey would forgive him if his impatience slipped into his tone. The confrontation with the Twins hadn't done anything to help his mood either; if anything, it had made it worse.

"So what exactly were you planning to tell us?" He asked. Woolsey reflexively straightened his tie before nodding to himself.

"Right, sorry." He said, before looking around as if checking to see if anyone was paying attention. At the moment, it seemed everyone was doing their best to avoid noticing the group, probably as an aftereffect of the tense standoff from moments ago. Finally the politician fixed his gaze on John with a somewhat grim look.

"I came to tell you that as of tomorrow, Stargate operations will be suspended for...well, the foreseeable future."

There was no response, not at first anyway. Then Lennox blurted out "WHAT!?", causing Woolsey to flinch. He recovered quickly though, clearly having expected the reaction.

"It's not intended to be permanent by any means." He said, in an attempt to mollify his audience.

"How is an indefinite suspension not permanent?!" John asked angrily. Woolsey waved his hands.

"Look, let me explain." he said hurriedly, "You know about the present galactic political situation, yes?" John nodded slowly, pushing back his anger. Woolsey wouldn't spring something like this on them unless there was a damn good reason. Of course, it was unlikely he had a large hand in it. If anything, if the purpose behind it was as selfish as John had come to expect of the Alliance Oversight Association, the reformed version of the I.O.A. born shortly after the Alliance itself, then Woolsey would have fought it tooth and nail. There was no point in blaming him...yet, anyway. He nodded, slowly, folding his arms over his chest. Woolsey sucked in a breath and continued.

"Since the collapse of the System Lords, the galaxy has been in turmoil. The Ori invasion didn't help much either. The fracturing of the Jaffa Nation into its present divided state has left us with a situation somewhere between the end of the Cold War and the early colonial era after the discovery of the Americas. One of the former largest political powers in the galaxy is in shambles, and we now have vast tracts of the Milky Way ruled by warlords hostile to us and most everyone else, not to mention pockets of Ori followers who weren't neutralized by the Ark. Also, we have the Lucian Alliance, the Hybrids and Megatron, all bearing down on us and our allies. Everyone wants to expand, but they're too afraid to do it alone because of the huge number of threats out there."

"Which is why we're forming the Galactic Defense Pact, right?" John said. He knew everything Woolsey had said already, and felt his impatience getting stronger. He really wanted a decent meal, a shower and a nap.

"Correct. The GDP is made up of chiefly the most developed and advanced societies we've encountered so far, as well as the Jaffa splinter factions friendly or at least neutral towards us. A lot of our oldest allies have already agreed to sign on; the Langarans, the Reetou, the Orbanians, etcetera."

"Get to the point." Lennox snapped, "What does this have to do with us?" Woolsey sighed, looking downcast.

"Last week, talks with the chief representatives from the largest planned members reached a sticking point. They had a unanimous demand that they wanted us to meet before becoming signatories." John was suddenly baffled.

"Wait, last week? And we're just hearing now?"

"The AOA has spent the past few weeks trying to come to an agreement on whether or not to accept the proposed demand."

"What did they ask for?" Optimus inquired, looking more curious than his human companions. John braced himself, expecting the worst, like a demand for technology. That was always a popular one. At present, Earth had the fastest, most powerful warships apart from what was left of the Ori invasion forces and their less hostile counterparts, the Republic of Origin, who last he had heard were also applying for membership.

"They want us to go public." Woolsey said.

Dead silence fell. John felt those two words, so full of terrible connotations, reverberating around in his skull.

"Go public?" He said, then realized he'd uttered the words aloud, "Seriously?"

"They were very firm about it. Of all the potential members of the GDP, only Earth and a few other planets still keep the Stargate a secret from the general population. All of those other planets have already drafted plans to go public at urging from their neighbors. The popular consensus seems to be that if a planet cannot give its all to its allies, then it is not ready to expand out into the stars."

"But that's insane!" Lennox blurted out, his eyes looking like they were going to bug out of their skull. Clearly he was as floored by the proposal as John was feeling, "It'd be mass panic! We'd end up destroying ourselves before Megatron ever gets the chance!" Woolsey raised a hand before he could go on.

"This has been pointed out, and given that Earth is in a rather unique situation when it comes to coming clean about the Stargate, the representatives who forwarded the demand have agreed at our counter-condition to provide assistance with the creation a seven year plan to 'ease Earth into greater awareness', as it were." Horrible suspicion gripped John as his brain began overclocking in an attempt to link this new reality to Woolsey's earlier words about suspending operations.

"Wait...does that mean the Alliance is going to get disbanded?" He asked, eyes narrowing. Woolsey shook his head.

"Disbanded? No. Reformed? Very likely. We'll be keeping a lot of the same personnel in. Your experience makes you invaluable. But the plan will likely call for a major reordering of how things are run."

"So we're shutting down the gate while we plan for this?" Lennox asked, still looking very uneasy. John didn't blame him. He'd always known that the secret of the Stargate couldn't stay secret forever, but in his heart, he'd thought he'd be long dead before the day came that the world found out. Now it was looking far more likely he'd either become famous, or extremely infamous, in the suddenly not-distant-enough future.

"Precisely. A lot of the details are up in the air. We won't be abandoning our pre-established investments. The off-world sites will remain active for the foreseeable future. The General Hammond is still cleared for its deep-range, long-term survey mission to the Ida galaxy. The same goes for the Aeneid and its mission to survey the more local dwarf galaxies. But at present, plans are for Earth to reduce its galactic presence until we've got things sorted out at home."

"And if Megatron attacks again?" Lennox growled, "Or the Hybrids? Or the dozen other enemies we're facing right now?" Woolsey nodded in acknowledgement of the man's concerns.
"The AOA is willing to make exceptions for such events, but they made it clear that until further notice, Earth's assistance to her extraterrestrial allies will be...limited."
"I do not believe pursuing isolationist policies is an effective negotiating tactic." Optimus interjected. Woolsey shook his head.

"It's not us, Optimus. It's actually part of the terms of the agreement. We agreed to go public if they help us plan how, and while the plan is being made, Earth takes a more limited stance on military intervention. Humanitarian aid will remain a priority, but the general feeling among the signatories who proposed this is that Earth needs to stop being the galaxy's sole policeman and shield if this is to be an equal relationship."

"So they want us to stop being their crutch?" Sheppard snorted, rolling his eyes. He knew that without his help, Kelowna's capital city would be in flames at this very moment. While the planned members of the GDP were all well-developed civilizations, roughly speaking, not all of them stood on the same tactical or technological level as most of the enemies they'd end up facing if they joined.

"Pardon me, but how is this a good thing?" Asked Teyla from her spot next to Rodney.

"The biggest potential members of the Pact say that reducing Earth's military involvement will prompt other potential members to start relying more on each other than just us. As it stands, Earth commands the most advanced warships in the known universe apart from the Republic of Origin, and has the best technology since the Asgard, bar-none. To put it simply, our planet is like the United States at the height of the Cold War, only with a sea of less martially powerful, but far larger potential opponents and allies to contend with." Our force-projection is off the charts. Everyone wants to be our friend, and calls on us before exerting themselves when it comes to external threats. This means that we hold more political power than any of the potential signatories combined, most of whom have been out there for longer."

"Ok, you lost me." Sheppard said, squinting as if trying to see Woolsey's point.

"Suffice to say, by making us go public while reducing our ability to intervene elsewhere, our friends are hoping to both knock us down a peg for better or worse and help us stay relevant. They want the galaxy to pull together and make itself stronger to dilute the massive advantage we possess, while helping us eliminate one of our biggest weaknesses, which is the veil of secrecy we have to maintain. It's a win-win situation."

"So they want us to stop playing babysitter?" Lennox asked, looking baffled, "I wasn't aware that was where we were…" Woolsey winced at the over-simplification.

"It's a bit more complex, but yes, more or less, that's what they're hoping for." He said cautiously. John shook his head, deciding he'd work out the whole thing later and refocused on what was to him the main point of the argument.

"So we're being grounded?" He remarked glumly. Woolsey gave him that apologetic look again.

"I'm afraid so." He said. Rodney snorted.

"This is nuts. We've been working for years to come up with a way to bring the public into the loop, and we still don't have anything. Hell, it was a miracle that Giza didn't start WWIII!"
"Nevertheless, the AOA intends to make the effort." Woolsey responded. John allowed himself a weak grin.

"I always wondered what it'd take for them to start thinking about going public." He remarked, "Never thought it'd be like this..." Suddenly Optimus spoke.

"Mr. Woolsey, I admit I am pleased to see Earth taking steps to push itself forward. However, I feel it is unwise for Earth to recede from the galactic stage so...suddenly."

"And what about Pegasus?" Rodney interjected, "Are we going to just leave them alone for another seven years?"

Even Sheppard winced at that. It was another deep hole of guilt he always felt perilously close to tumbling down. Nearly a year before the Alliance had been formed, Atlantis had abandoned the Pegasus Galaxy, its home for nearly ten-thousand years, in an effort to stop an advanced Wraith Hive Ship from attacking Earth. The result had been the city becoming stranded on Earth, not because it lacked the power to leave, but because a giant flying city-sized space-ship trying to take off was going to draw more attention than could be handled by even the best misinformation campaign.

Ever since, travel to Pegasus, even by ship, had been sparse. The Pegasus Alpha Site was the sole remaining outpost Earth had in that region of the Local Cluster, and they dialed home once a month for supplies and new information. Rodney had made a hobby of trying to think of ways to safely get the city off-planet without being noticed, but actual results were yet to come of his efforts. Beyond that, the galaxy that John himself had helped plunge into chaos and civil war had been ignored. Oh, the AOA always had a valid excuse, a reason to divert attention from the matter, what with the growing threats in the Milky Way, but the fact remained that Earth had all but abandoned the people of Pegasus to their fates.
Woolsey looked particularly guilty at the physicist's words, but sighed and nodded.

"Pegasus, as ever, remains a secondary concern for the AOA. They feel that only when the situation has settled here in the Milky Way will it be a priority again." Sheppard frowned. He could see Woolsey didn't agree with his peers' outlook, but then he had always been outvoted on the issue. Most of the AOA were concerned only with what was best for Earth. As far as they cared, Pegasus could burn. Earth finally had Atlantis, and hadn't that been the goal of the original Atlantis Expedition? He sighed in annoyance.

"So where does this leave us?" He asked, "Apart from sitting on our hands until Megs tries another terror attack on one of our friends?" Woolsey shrugged.

"Until the plan is sorted out, it's likely you'll be granted a certain amount of leave. Projections put it at taking about six months to draw up, but then, it's being drawn up by a committee…" he admitted, looking a little embarrassed. His pocket buzzed and he pulled out a smartphone, glancing at it.

"I'm sorry. I'll be going into more detail when I make my speech later. I trust you can have everyone there on time? I was planning on around three o'clock."

"Sure." Sheppard said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, "But couldn't you just send an email around?" Woolsey shook his head, turning with smartphone in hand towards the main door.
"I'm afraid the AOA wants me to make an issue of it. They sent me a script." Sheppard sighed in selfish annoyance. He'd really been hoping he'd have time for a nap. Now though he'd have barely enough time to scarf down a snack at the mess hall before being forced to shower and change into his hated dress uniform. This wasn't the first time he'd had a speech sprung on him by his superiors, but he yet to learn to enjoy it. This was a bit out of the blue even for them though...then again, the whole situation was wholly unexpected. The two little words were still rattling around in his head, 'going public'. He sighed, staring at Woolsey's hurriedly retreating back, watching as he flagged down one of the electric transport carts used as taxis on the base and hopped in, headed back towards the base's administrative center.

"I need some coffee." He groaned.

--O--​

From his seat on the edge of the sea, the Autobot called Drift watched waves roll in, crashing slowly and steadily on the beach. He sat cross-legged, swords embedded in the sand beside him like ancient monoliths from a bygone era, alone except for the crabs, which steered clear of him, The sound of the waves crashing on the coast was soothing, and allowed him a sensation of peace he had not often experienced since departing Cybertron. His optics scanned the horizon, skimming over the shimmering collection of spires that made up Atlantis in favor of the empty blue distance.

Drift was relatively new to Earth, having only landed about five months prior. During that short time, he had come to appreciate the similarities between his own world and this alien one. One might think there was very little of Cybertron that could be seen in this soft, bizarre planet he now called home, but it was not so. As the latest wave crested and crashed against the beach, in his mind, he could see the red shores of the Sea of Rust, an ocean not of water, but similar enough in composition for them to behave the same, and replete in iron oxide, giving it a rich, deep crimson hue, somewhere between wine and blood. For a human, the sight might've been unnerving, but for Drift, it was home. Kalis, the great city-state where he had once lived, had been set on the coast of the Sea of Rust, and even from the highest towers, he had always been able to hear it. Many times in his youth, its steady rhythm had lulled him into recharge, almost as though its sound was an eternal promise of protection.

If Drift had been human, he would've sighed. How often he had wished that promise were real. But the Sea had not defended Kalis when the armies of Megatron had rained fire on his home, like they had on Metroplex, Polyhex, Median, Thetacon and so many others. No, his home was gone, and no matter how he tried to relate to it, Earth was but an alien shadow of its beauty. Still, he would take peace where he could find it. Anything to drown out the whispers.

In the depths of his 'meditation', Drift's eyes narrowed. They were never far from his thoughts, those voices. They were made of the cries of those he had betrayed, both before and after his change of allegiance. Once, he had fought for Megatron, believed in his cause, spied for him, lied for him, even killed for him. His service to his former master stretched back even before the official start of the war, when he had been the head-

[Drift?] The voice came over his internal comms, possessed of a certain elderly, impatient tone that allowed the Autobot warrior to immediately identify its owner.

[Yes, Ratchet?] he inquired, annoyed at the interruption of his meditation, but intrigued all the same, since normally Ratchet almost never spoke to him. Truth be told, almost none of the other Autobots spoke to him when given the option. It was a sign of how his time and deeds as a Decepticon, though they were now thousands of years behind him, lingered in their memories, inspiring mistrust for him in their Sparks even now.

[I need your immediate assistance. Could you please come to the medbay? We have something that needs your...expertise.] Ratchet responded. Drift nodded to himself and rose from his seat by the shore. He was impressed that Ratchet had used the word 'please', rather than simply making a gruff demand, as he was wont to. Whatever he needed help with must be quite unique to warrant such a shift in tone. He strode up the sand and transformed, abandoning his pseudo-ronin inspired humanoid protoform and taking on his ground-vehicle mode, so as not to disturb the beach patrols. Normally for the purposes of expediency, he would've taken on his flying form, which resembled a vehicle humans called a 'helicopter', but they disliked it when he took off without providing them with prior notification. It was another feature that set Drift apart from his Autobot brethren, being a 'Triple-Changer'. Most members of his race could only assume two forms: the basic humanoid protoform and whatever shape they had selected as their alternate state. There were other limitations of course. Cybertronian morphology was by no means a simple matter. But the fact remained that there were few like Drift who could take two shapes, land or air, when they so desired. The fact that Megatron was one of their number had done nothing to improve their reputation.

It took him roughly five minutes at moderate speed to reach the medbay where Ratchet normally could be found. Drift found himself mildly surprised to see that Ironhide was also present, sporting signs of recent repairs. The weapons specialist glowered at him with a special kind of dislike. In addition to his disapproval of Drift's past, he was also not a fan of the fact that Drift was probably the only Autobot on Earth who could defeat him in a sparring match without using any sort of ranged weapon whatsoever.

"Took you long enough." He grunted. Drift ignored the verbal jab and approached Ratchet as he stood over...Drift had to check his optics to make sure they were providing accurate data. When he confirmed they were, he looked up at the medic.

"How did you acquire this?" He asked. He had seen Decepticon military comm units only a few times during his tenure as an Autobot. Each time had been just prior to a major offensive on the part of either side. For one to be here now was a bad, bad omen as far as he was concerned. Ratchet nodded to the pile of junk sitting on one of the nearby medical 'beds'.

"A lucky find from our engagement with Megatron's forces on Langara earlier today. I need you to connect yourself to it and see if there's anything you can tease from it before the thing shorts out."

"What help do you expect of me? I sincerely doubt that even with Soundwave out of the picture, Megatron would resort to using old codes from my time."

"Regardless, you are our resident expert at the moment. Prowl is offworld, and were we to take the time to summon him, by the time he arrived, the device's usefulness will have expired. So please, take this-" the medic commanded, holding up a long transparent fiber-optic wire connected by small clamps to the device, "-and help me before we lose our one chance to gain some kind of major intelligence advantage since we arrived on this mudball."

Drift couldn't really argue. Besides, all he really needed to do was generate a recording for Prowl to pore over. He felt annoyed that Ratchet had decided to heap the responsibility on him, but then, it was a Decepticon device. Who better to interface with it than a former Decepticon? He rolled his optics and took the wire, plugging it into a small port in his audials. Immediately, static backwash filled his processors, and he winced.

"Anything?" Asked the medic. Drift returned his look of impatience with a glower like the one Ironhide had given him before calling up skills he had largely left unused since his defection. To an untrained monitor, the information Drift was receiving would have been unintelligible garbage, mostly echoes of distant civilizations, or indeed the everlasting, energetic chaos of subspace itself. He had been trained to edit those out however. Once, he had possessed one of these devices himself, back when the Decepticon cause had still held meaning for him, when their goal had not been conquest, but order and equality.

Recalling that time, he siphoned out the background noise, the echoes from the birth of the universe, and some said, from the war between Primus and Unicron, waged in the days when galaxies were new, cutting through it like a wall of heavy fog, until the familiar sound of what could only be a Decepticon comms expert's finest work filled his consciousness. It was a mess of coded jargon of which Drift only understood a thimbleful, and he did not trust even that, since Soundwave had a habit of placing misinformation in the most lightly coded layers of his messages. It took him a moment to sift through this second layer of informational detritus to the signals beneath. Just when he thought he had isolated a few useful active links, his mind reeled under the power of a new signal, one so powerful it blotted out every channel the device had access to. He staggered, causing Ratchet to move forwards in alarm, in case he damaged the delicate machine he was linked to. Drift recovered though, and steadied himself with the bed.

"What is it?" Ratchet asked. Drift raised a hand to where the cable linked him to the device.

"A signal. Far more powerful than everything else. It might be a general directive."

"From Megatron?" The medic pressed. Drift shook his head.

"I cannot say, though if so, wherever he is transmitting from is outside this galaxy. The level of power contained within indicates-" he explained, before he realized that the terrible sound was gone and the other channels were active again, a cacophony of many voices rather than one overriding all others. He waited. Ten seconds, then twenty passed. At thirty-five exactly, the thunderous transmission returned, though it found him prepared. He recorded it, segmented it, tried to identify specific wave patterns that might give a clue as to what it meant or who was sending it.

"Indicates what?" Ironhide growled, bringing Drift back. He shook his head.

"It's odd. This code is clearly one of Shockwave's...but far older."

"Can you crack it?" Asked Ratchet.

"No, but the waveform clearly marks it as one of his more complex ciphers. If I had to put a date on it, I would say it dates back to prior to the fall of Cybertron, even before the Battle of Metroplex. I'm no expert, but there's a certain...finesse to it that I recognize from that period."

"But what about its source?" Ratchet asked, "You said extra-galactic. How far out?"

"At least three-million light years." Drift said after taking a moment to check the frequency strength as the message repeated itself. It lasted roughly five seconds, a hyper-compressed burst according to overall wave-form, then paused for thirty-five before again repeating. Drift pondered the meaning of the distance involved. For the past few years, since the death of the Fallen at Giza, what minute amounts of intelligence the Alliance had been able to gather pointed to Megatron having retreated to a distant planet code-named Chaar by the Decepticons, which did not appear in any astronomical charts known to either humans or Autobots. This was an impressive feat, since the latter possessed maps dating back tens of thousands of years and which reached far beyond what humans thought of as the 'Local Cluster' of galaxies. If the signal was indeed coming from Megatron, then it meant that he was actually very close by, galactically speaking.

Even so, something bothered Drift. Megatron, no matter how mad the centuries he'd spent buried in ice had driven him, was not totally insane. He would never betray the location of his center of operations, even on a system as secure as the Decepticon military network, especially since given that Soundwave was supposedly dead at the hands of Colonel Sheppard, who had blown him up in orbit over Earth four years ago, that system was probably far less secure than it had once been. Of course this presumed that Soundwave was actually dead. He'd been reported as such more times than Drift could count back on Cybertron, but he always seemed to pop back up. He frowned. In truth, this whole situation felt a bit like one of his infamous plots. Communications had not been Soundwave's sole skill. As Megatron's master of espionage, he'd cost the Autobots more lives than Starscream ever would.

Drift put aside the suspicion for now. It would not help him find what he was looking for. He instead refocused on the signal itself, generating a mental buffer against its power, while trying to work out a means of triangulating its source. He frowned. Given that he had but one point of reference, it would be next to impossible to work out a precise location...but then, maybe he didn't need to. He concentrated, doing some rough astro-cartographical gymnastics that would've taken a room full of human graduate students about a week, and came up with a solution.

"I can't pinpoint the precise source of the signal. All I can say is that it is coming from a region of space about three million light years away from the Milky Way, from roughly the same direction as the Andromeda Galaxy." Drift said apologetically. He watched Ratchet mull over that information.

"The Andromeda Galaxy is too near to be the source...the only major stellar collective in that rough area would be the Pegasus Galaxy." He said, before clearly realizing the implications of his own words. His optics went wide. Drift acted first, saving what he had recorded of the signal to his drives before disconnecting himself and opening an internal comm channel of his own to Optimus.

[Prime, I have bad news.] he said.

o
-- ^ --​

A/N: So I'm not totally sure about the integrity of this chapter (after all, it's kinda short), but I think that's a good place to cut it. Next up, the excrement hits the windmill, and the IOA (or AOA as they now are) feverishly attempt to obfuscate matters. My hope is that by Chapter 5, we'll be heading back to that lovely place we all know and love: Pegasus.

 

[Vadrigos]

Chapter 4
Ninety-Nine Reasons​

Teyla watched as John moved from one meal station to the next in the base mess hall, before orbiting his way back to the table where she sat. It'd been less than an hour since Woolsey's pronouncement of the AOA's decision to effectively withdraw from galactic affairs. She'd followed him to the mess hall, where they'd found Ronon, already engaged in his midday feast. Rodney had departed for his lab, claiming that he needed to make sure Zelenka, his long-time rival and sometimes friend, wasn't 'messing up his projects' while he'd been away. That left just her, Ronon and John, with the room mostly to themselves save for a few scattered soldiers dining alone or in twos and threes. They all sat two or three tables clear of the Pegasus natives though. Teyla knew it was out of deference to their relationship with Sheppard, who was if not their commanding officer as military co-head of the Compound Alliance, then at least their superior. She suspected Ronon's table manners, or lack thereof, might also have played a role too, though. He ate as he always had; like a man devouring the last meal he might ever have. As John rejoined them he winced at his friend's display of enthusiastic mastication.

"Slow down, Chewie. You're going to choke." He said. Ronon grunted, but lowered the spoonful of mashed potatoes he'd been holding and used a knife to divide its load. Sheppard took the chance to reach for the pepper, before his friend could snatch it away.

"So," Teyla said, "this...change in policy. I take it you don't approve?" There was a paused while Sheppard applied the condiment to his food, before he replaced the shaker and stared at the potatoes as if they were some alien dish with eyeballs in it.

"It's just...hard to describe." He finally said, "I always thought I'd retire in obscurity, just another soldier who did his duty. Now...now I don't know what to think. I don't even know what tomorrow looks like."

"You fear that your world will not react well?" she asked.

"It's more than that. Everything that Woolsey said...I worry about us not being there to fix things if the Hybrids somehow make a comeback, or the Lucians start something. And yes, I do worry. For hundreds of years, people on this planet thought they were special, that this was the only place life existed. We have seven years to get them to be ready to accept that's wrong...and I just don't see how that's possible."

Teyla knew she couldn't fully understand how John was feeling. Her people had always known they were not alone in the universe; the Wraith had made sure of that. Earth and its people though, despite the numerous alien interventions in their history, seemed determined to deny that they were part of a larger universe. She had seen it in their religions, their attitudes, the very way they approached their lives; as if nothing would ever change, that the sky and their world had nothing to do with one another except in terms of weather. She suspected the reason that they had been able to cover up so many near-misses was that the people of Earth needed to believe in their hearts that they were special, the only thinking beings in all the universe, because if they didn't, that would mean facing the truth and taking responsibility for their actions on a scale virtually none of them seemed prepared for.

Now the AOA was proposing to do with that illusion, now and for all time, in the space of seven years. It was mind-boggling. And yet if it wasn't done, then the galaxy would remain a disunified collection of minor powers, all competing with each other over petty, selfish agendas, open to any sufficiently powerful invader.

"It will be...quite a challenge." She said lamely, at a loss for anything else to say.

"I don't know what worries me more actually." Sheppard said, taking a spoonful of potatoes, "The thought of what might happen here when the truth comes out, or the thought of what might happen out there without us. I'm still angry about us abandoning Pegasus. Now it feels like we're being ordered to abandon the Milky Way too." He consumed the white mush, chewing distastefully, eyes full of worry, not really taking pleasure from the meal.

"You are still feeling guilty about abandoning Pegasus?" Teyla asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. She knew John had been among the strongest voices calling for a renewal of activity in her home galaxy.

"I don't think it's fair to put it like that. When we left, they were pulling together while the Wraith were falling apart. But we convinced the Confederation to place their trust in us, then ran off and never called back. Frankly I'm surprised they never came after the Alpha Site, if only out of spite. And it's not just that we abandoned them, it's that we're not even trying to keep a weather eye on things. Intelligence gathering is almost nil, and for all we know, a fleet of experimental Hive Ships could roll in next week because we didn't bother following current events."

There was long pause while John ate some more as Teyla watched.

"But you do feel guilty." She finally said. John swallowed a mouthful of chicken and set down his utensils.

"I know it's not productive, but frankly I don't care. Hell, I fired the shot that pretty much started this mess. The Wraith were sleeping, and then we came and woke them up. This whole nightmare started because we-"

"This started because you did what you had to do." Rono said, speaking for the first time since Teyla had sat down. They both looked over at him. He took another massive mouthful of food and chewed rapidly before swallowing, as though breaking up the food just enough so that his body wouldn't be incapable of processing it.

"You don't believe in leaving people behind. That's part of what makes you strong. Maybe it got you into trouble to begin with, but it's also what keeps getting you out of it." He said. Teyla was quite surprised. Ronon was never really one to produce wisdom like this. That was usually her talent. However, what he'd said seemed more fitting than any platitude she might have produced. She looked back at John, who appeared slightly bug-eyed at the fact that Ronon of all people had just provided therapeutic advice. The big man seemed to realize the odd looks he was being given and raised his eyebrows in questioning.

"What?" He asked, "It's true!"

"No, I know that." John said, "I just didn't expect you to be such a fortune cookie." Ronon grinned.

"Look, I know you, Sheppard. If you hadn't gone back for your people then, you wouldn't be who you are now, and the fact that you can't go back and finish what you started now like you did then is what's killing you. It's killing me too. Back on Sateda, we were always told to never leave behind a live enemy if we could help it. I know this galaxy has its problems, but with the Wraith still out there, and no one watching, I get the feeling we're setting ourselves up to take a fall."

"Yeah, well…" John replied tiredly, "I made that argument more times than I can count, but the AOA doesn't care. They're just worried about Earth, and only Earth. If anything this decision they're making just proves that."

"That's never stopped us before." Ronon pointed out. Teyla tried to think of a plausible counter, but found none, because Ronon was right. She had lost count of the number of times their disobedient behavior had been overlooked because of the results they'd achieved. They'd gotten away with at least as much bad behavior as SG-1 over the course of their time together, mostly because it had helped save lives. Somehow though, she felt that there was no way to truly justify whatever Ronon was implying, not if they actually tried it. The way Woolsey had talked about the deals made regarding the GDP made it sound like the AOA was dancing on eggshells, and that anything that threatened their plan would find life very hard going forward.
It was at this point that John's ear radio, a feature shared by all command personnel on the base, buzzed noticeably and he looked up, putting down his utensils while his eyebrows furrowed.

"Rodney? What is it?" he asked in a low voice, pressing a finger to the small device, essentially little more than a very compact walkie-talkie, with a small dial for adjusting frequencies. There was a pause as he listened to the voice of his physicist friend, little more than a buzz from where Teyla sat. Then his eyes widened.

"Stay where you are, I'll be there in five minutes." he said, hurriedly rising, though not before sparing his unfinished meal a longing look. He glanced at Teyla and Ronon an expression of thoughtfulness flashing across his face like a freight train.

"You might want to join me." he said after two seconds, "It's about Pegasus." No sooner was the last word out, Teyla found herself on her feet, eyes as wide as John's.
"What about Pegasus?" she asked, noticing that Ronon had risen as well, food forgotten. There was another pause as John seemed to fight with himself about how to phrase his answer, then gave up and simply chose bluntness.

"According to Rodney, the Decepticons are there."

--O--​

No further words were spoken until the trio had reached Rodney, a journey that took about fifteen minutes once they had grabbed a Puddlejumper to the city, which accounted for the majority of the trip. Ever since Atlantis had been parked three miles offshore to act as part of the Diego-Garcia facility, passage to and from the two halves of what served as the Alliance's primary base of operations was carried out by the small Ancient exploration craft, four of which had been designated years prior for use as buses, ferrying people, materials and other things between the city and the mainland. Nothing could move things faster than a Puddlejumper, which was why fifteen minutes after the interruption to his meal, John found himself descending into what had once been the Stargate Central Operations area in the heart of Atlantis' tallest spire.The place was mostly used for managing communications these days, and the space where the Stargate had once stood, backed by a magnificent window, was empty.

John felt a pang of nostalgia at the sight. Of course it had been necessary. It was a hassle to get Autobots into the room, and the Atlantis Stargate, being of a relatively newer design than the one at the SGC, had been Earth's new front door, since all incoming wormholes were routed to the superior of the two machines. The gate had been extracted and moved years ago, and John always felt like it had taken a chunk of memory out of the city. For five years, he and his team had strode through that gleaming metal ring to adventure after adventure, the sun at their backs, or sometimes not. He was shaken from the moment of memory by the familiar sound of two voices bickering, one Canadian, one Czech.

"You're joking! This math is ridiculous! What did you do, mash on the keyboard until something that looked relevant came out?" Sheppard winced at the sound of Rodney McKay in full chastising mode.

"Simply because you have a degree in combinatorics does not give you the high ground! You didn't even look at my work for more than twenty seconds!" came the retort. Sheppard immediately recognized Radek Zelenka, Rodney's...well, 'frenemy' was the best word he could think of. The two scientists were forever at each other's throats, though John suspected that secretly they respected each other, but couldn't let it show, partly because Rodney's ego would never let him admit there was anyone better at anything scientific than himself, and partly because Radek knew that if he admitted even the slightest amount of inferiority, he would never hear the end of it. He rolled his eyes.

"Yes, and it only took twenty seconds for me to discover you have no idea what you are doing! You can't triangulate a signal's origin with only one point of reference!" Rodney snarled.
"You can if you factor in the Babai equations!" Radek snapped back.

"Should I come back?" John asked nonchalantly, drawing the two physicists out of their verbal sparring. They both gave each other a glare, then turned back to Sheppard.
"I'd barely gotten back to my lab when I got a call from Optimus." Rodney said, moving to stand next to the main projector screen, which was forever alive with racing lines of Lantean text on a soft blue background. John frowned.

"Can you maybe give me more info?" he asked sarcastically, "I came over here because you said you were receiving a signal from Pegasus, a Decepticon signal. How exactly did you reach that conclusion?"

"Look, suffice to say, Ratchet says he found some sort of very high-tech communications device in the head of one of the bodies we brought back from Langara. It's what they use to receive encrypted transmission from Megatron. Apparently this one didn't self-destruct like they usually do, and he got Drift's help to tap into it."

John frowned at the name of the former Decepticon. When he'd arrived on Earth, Optimus had vouched for his loyalty, but his eternal silence, preference for solitude and lack of meaningful answers to any personal questions he was asked had not helped build John's trust in him.

"Did he manage to get anything?" he asked, circling around one of the trapezoidal control consoles that were the main feature of the room apart from the balcony looking down on the space where the Stargate had been.

"Well, that depends what you mean." Radek interjected, causing Rodney to give him an annoyed look. The Czech steam-rolled over him before he could eject another nasty comment.
"The device has a limited period of usefulness. It started to degrade as soon as it was removed. Drift recorded a number of different messages from different sources, but if they've got anything like what we know about normal Decepticon information security, it might take years to translate them." he explained, before Rodney again cut in.

"Look that's not the important part." he said, tapping on the tablet computer, causing the main viewscreen to change to what looked like a sonic wavelength readout, which then played. Sheppard winced as a loud cacophony of Decepticon speech burst through the room's speakers, before Rodney hurriedly turned down the volume. Radek gave his rival a smug look, but John ignored him as the mess of voices, if you could call them that, was suddenly drowned out by a single, echoing voice, distorted, but obviously Decepticon. The voice spoke for roughly forty-five seconds, then faded, allowing the multitude back. Another thirty-five seconds passed, and then without warning, the voices were again drowned out, the message from before repeating itself. This happened once more before Rodney shut off the recording.

"So it's...what, a distress beacon?" John asked, confused. He knew how to tell Decepticon from Autobot, but that was it. The Cybertronian languages were essentially audible representations of machine code, which to him always sounded like a fax machine in a meat grinder that had been smashed by a dubstep musician.

"Well no, according to Drift, it's not."

"Then what is it?" Teyla asked from behind Sheppard, causing him to look back at her, then at Rodney in expectation. Rodney looked over at Zelenka, and a look of mutual embarrassment flashed between them.

"We don't know." Radek finally admitted, before perking up and adding, "But we know where it's coming from." Hurriedly he took a seat at one of the empty chairs in front of the control consoles and manipulated the crystal keys therein. The sonic wave-form map vanished, and was replaced by a map of the local galactic cluster, with the Milky Way labeled in Lantean at the center. Unlike Cybertronian, John could read Ancient, and understand at least a little. This was why when a red ring formed on the screen, whose edge passed through the Milky Way, he understood the label of the galaxy at the circle's center: Pegasus.

"So let me get this straight:" John said, after eying the diagram for a moment, "You think that there's a Decepticon presence in the Pegasus Galaxy?"

"Well on the edge of it, presumably." Radek said, causing Rodney to scoff and roll his eyes, giving Sheppard a good idea of what they'd been fighting over.

"We can't be sure of the exact position, but it's pretty clear, and it's also likely they want to keep this secret. I mean, according to Optimus, if we hadn't found this communication device, we'd never have even known about this signal."

"So do we think it's Megatron?" John asked, feeling a little lost.

"Possibly, but unlikely. Optimus thinks that if anything, Megatron's still on Chaar."

"But we don't know where Chaar is." John pointed out.

"We said that too, but Optimus says that Megatron would never risk revealing its location, even on a channel like this one." Rodney explained.

"But Rodney, shouldn't we mention-" Radek started.

"I already told you, it's probably a mistake on the sender's part." Rodney said, waving his hand dismissively while looking down at the tablet computer.

"But what if it isn't?" Zelenka pressed, looking worried.

"It's not important anyways, if anything we should be grateful." his Canadian counterpart muttered.

"But we can't be certain of that, Sheppard might-"

"I said it's not important."

"But-"

"Alright, fine!" grumbled Rodney, looking very irritated. John looked back and forth between the two.

"Rodney?" he asked pointedly, putting his hands on his hips. Behind him, Ronon had found a seat by another console and was leaning back in it casually, watching the discussion. He wasn't much for working out things like this. He had said himself long ago, that if you needed someone to be shot, he'd be there with the guns and the know-how, but managing heavy tactical or scientific information was not his specialty. Sheppard swore he could almost see the Satedan's eyes glaze over as Rodney spoke again.

"Look, according to Optimus, when Cybertron fell, everyone scattered searching for the Allspark. He says that over time, lines of communication fractured as well, which is why it's taking so long for everyone to answer the message he sent after Mission City. It could be this signal is from another group of Decepticons, one that's been out of touch for a very long time." Sheppard felt an uncomfortable feeling form in his gut. This certainly didn't sound good.

"Anyone we need to be worried about?" Sheppard wasn't quite as sure as Rodney was about this stroke of luck. Using a very old encryption was just asking for someone to listen in, presuming your enemy already knew how to break it. McKay did have a point that maybe whoever sent it never got the newer encryption, but something still felt off...

"Well, like he said, they've been out of touch for a while, so who knows what's been going on…" Rodney admitted, his sentence not exactly ending so much as trailing off, leaving an opening for dark thoughts to creep in. Sheppard shook his head.

"If Megatron is about to get a bunch of heavy-duty reinforcements, we need to at the very least find out who they are. With the new restrictions from the GDP, and this whole 'going public' thing to worry about, the last thing we need is to get a fresh mess of bad guys on our doorstep looking for their boss." he said, testing his argument aloud while eyeing the far side of the room, which led to a small walkway, beyond which was his office, a glass-walled room with a communications system he was itching to use.

"If there has indeed been a Decepticon incursion in Pegasus, we need to confirm it." Teyla said, adding her own two cents to John's words, "They might've been able to ignore the Wraith, but the Decepticons have proven they can travel between galaxies...if that technology were to fall into Wraith hands…"

"What exactly are you saying?" Ronon finally asked, apparently tired of having everything fly over his head. John felt torn between grimacing and smiling.

"I think we just found our reason." he said, finally allowing a grin to tug at the corners of his mouth, adding under his breath. "Pegasus, here we come."

--O--​

"Absolutely not." said the grim-looking woman on the monitor. Woolsey felt the urge to try and reach through the display and strangle the old bitch. It was a common feeling in his line of work and he'd learned to repress it. It helped when he remembered that once upon a time, he'd been all too like her and the other faces on his screen, obsessed with policy and filled with a firm belief that Earth would always come first, no matter how nonsensical such an attitude proved to be. His time as head of Atlantis had rectified that, but unfortunately the same could not be said of the politicians he was speaking to.

"Secretary Schreck, I realize that it is quite an abrupt request-" he began, but the woman, who served as the present German representative on the AOA's governing council, was having none of it.

"Abrupt indeed, suspiciously so." she stated, "No sooner do we agree to this far-fetched idea of public disclosure and all that such a process entails, which includes reducing Earth's galactic involvement, but a new threat appears, suddenly and out of nowhere, demanding that we commit resources to investigate."

"I concur." stated Secretary Yaozu, the Chinese representative, "This is awfully convenient." He had been among the strongest supporters of the disclosure agreement, unsurprising since China had always chafed under the need to keep the Stargate secret. Of course, Woolsey knew that it was only due to political inexperience that he'd gotten the man's vote. He still thought there was some way China could turn the disclosure to its advantage, which was why his country had opposed the SGC's secrecy in the first place. Woolsey was onto him though, and if all went well, it would stay that way.

"Believe me, my first thoughts were the same, but the data is irrefutable. Much as I may wish to set this aside and focus on the tasks ahead, we cannot ignore the fact that all our plans may be laid to waste because we forgot to check the back door."

"I am not opposed to the idea of an intelligence gathering mission." stated Gildo Benassi, the Italian of the group, "Certainly it cannot hurt to know precisely what, if anything, is going on back in Pegasus. Besides, I feel that we have little to fear. The Decepticons, while they are indeed a sophisticated threat, are nowhere near our technological prowess. If they engage the Wraith, as you suggest, I feel we might simply let them fight it out, at no cost to ourselves."

Again, the urge to throttle his colleague rose in Woolsey, if only for the sheer presumption and arrogance present in his statement. He'd stated several times throughout the meeting that at virtually nothing was known about the Decepticons' objective in Pegasus. As for their strength, that was another bit of icing on the big cake of stupid. The Decepticons, despite everything Optimus had told Earth and what they had seen in combat, remained an unknown quantity. It was easy to gather intelligence on forces like the fractured Jaffa splinter kingdoms and the Lucian Alliance, given that their members were all human, or at least humanoid. The Decepticons were totally alien, and moved outside the normal circles of Milky Way society, hiding in the cracks like bed bugs waiting to come out and bite.

Woolsey sighed. The only mercy was that Galloway, little pissant that he was, was absent. If he hadn't been, Woolsey would've feared for his self-control. He often did when it came to renewing 'the Pegasus Argument', as it had become known in the AOA. Suddenly, an idea struck him.

"I understand that the majority feeling is that a return to Pegasus, whatever the reason, is simply too costly. I realize that you believe it risks putting us in violation of the lines we drew when formulating the recent agreement made regarding the eventual signing of the Galactic Defense Pact." he stated, giving a firm look to each of the small video windows in turn, "I understand you think that whatever possible gains we may find may not justify the costs of another expedition." On the screen, his fellows looked on with smug faces, enjoying his apparent capitulation. But Woolsey hadn't survived this long, and come so far without his own triumphs. "However, I would like to remind everyone of the costs that have been incurred because this committee's predecessors decided that such an isolationist non-intervention approach was the best course of action. The decision to let the Goa'uld simply destroy themselves while we watched from the sidelines was what precipitated the rise of threats such as Apophis, Anubis and Ba'al, individuals that in hindsight, we could have eliminated before they became such threats. The same rings true with the Lucian Alliance and its warlords." The smug looks slowly began to fade at the reminder, yet Woolsey could see they had not yet changed their minds. But he wasn't done yet. "Then there was the issue with the Wraith. While it may have been a matter of resources early on, we allowed the Wraith to run free even after we had established an efficient bridge to Pegasus. Need I remind you that in the last days of Atlantis' presence in Pegasus, we went so far as to align ourselves with a force of Hives that we believed could essentially eliminate the problem for us. Yet here we sit, with the leader of that alliance in stasis beneath me, and very little idea if that same collective of Hives even still exists. That we have allowed our intelligence on the current state of a galaxy whose fate we sealed with the death of that first Queen to reach such pitiful levels is criminal, and worse, foolish in the extreme."

"You criticize a decision you yourself supported, Woolsey." Schreck pointed out coldly, but Woolsey was ready.

"I do not. What I question is why we haven't kept pace with the effects of that decision. Or rather, why we let it get that far. It baffles me that we could simply assume that we could ignore the Wraith Civil War and assume it would never affect us. Am I the only one who remember the original Weir Report?" The reference obviously made many of his colleagues uncomfortable, which pleased Woolsey. He needed to rustle them, make them worried about Pegasus. If he could get them to just the right state of worry and uncertainty, it would all be over.

The report in question of course was a document formulated by Elizabeth Weir, the original head of the Atlantis Expedition. In it she had postulated a series of outcomes to the Wraith Civil War based on what was known of the major political powers in Pegasus and the Milky Way, not to mention the strength of their enemy. The most likely conclusion according to her data had been that once the Wraith had thinned their own population through infighting to a proper extent, they would reorganize, potentially reasserting themselves over the peoples of Pegasus, who by then would've been decimated because of the war, to the point that the gross galactic population would be so low that it would only sustain the Wraith for a few more generations.

As a direct response to this near loss of their food supply, Weir had suggested the Wraith would sink to making the enormous sacrifice of launching a long-term journey to the Milky Way, where upon their arrival, they could potentially exploit the discord and division already present to hide among the various human civilizations, all the while rebuilding their strength. It would be like the original Wraith-Lantean war all over again, with Earth and its allies too occupied by internal disputes to notice the threat growing in the cracks between their borders. Of course, this was not including factions such as the Lucian Alliance, surviving Goa'uld warlords and any other new civilizations making their appearances. Their arrival on the scene had often had Woolsey thinking back to that report, which in itself had seemed unlikely. After all, at the time of its creation, the galaxy had been pulling together after the fall of the System Lords. Chaos had been waning, with threats like the Lucian Alliance seeming of little concern. However, in this post-Ori galaxy, the report's predictions seemed all too possible, and he knew that by mentioning it, he was prompting his opponents to think along similar lines. He waited for the implications of his statement to reach fruition in the minds of the men and women before him, then continued.

"We have been away too long, left too much to chance. Presuming that the Wraith issue would be resolved with Atlantis on Earth was naive. Every time the Wraith have set their sights on the Milky Way, they have come closer and closer to achieving it; The original alliance with Michael's Hive under Dr. Weir, followed by the attack on Midway, and finally the Superhive which required Atlantis to make its transition to Earth. The last incursion all but brought about the formation of this Alliance, bringing us to where we sit today."

"You make a good argument, Richard." Schreck said, looking partly uneasy, though not enough to suggest she was completely convinced, "However, I feel we have enough problems here at home to deal with. We should put our own house in order before dealing with outside issues." There were still a few grunts or words of consent, so Wooley decided to pull out all the stops. He would not allow complacency and arrogance to win the day, not while he still had a voice.

"Before you make your votes, there is one last issue I would like to remind you of." he said, clearing his throat, "In the past decade and a half of Stargate operations, the reactions of those placed to oversee offworld policy largely inconsistent. When Doctor Daniel Jackson returned through the Quantum Mirror found on P3R-233 and warned us that an invasion was imminent, the American administration buried its head in the sand and nearly cost us the planet. Years later, when the Ori were on the march, it took a similar situation to call this council to arms. I beg you not to dismiss this signal as an isolated case, and not to wait for a traveller from some potential future where Megatron rules Earth to be what finally moves us to act. If we cannot respond to crises with alacrity and efficiency, what possible confidence can our allies place in us when it comes to something like Galactic Defense Pact?"

This was the tipping point, he could see it in their eyes. The negotiations for the Galactic Defense Pact had brought out much of the ill-feeling Earth had earned from its allies, and while an agreement had been reached, much of the Council was still smarting over the comments made by various other potential signatories about Earth's habit of waiting till the last second, when the galaxy was on fire and whole civilizations lay in ruins, to intervene and 'save the day'. It was part of what had prompted the devisement of Earth's policy of reduced interference. As Woolsey had explained to Sheppard, the Galaxy needed to learn to be strong, and stop relying on Earth for everything. At the same time though, Woolsey also felt Earth needed to stop putting things off until they reached a point where they alone could solve the issues.

"To conclude, I propose we think of this not as further expenditure, but a chance to demonstrate that Earth can change and adapt. If we take the initiative to resolve this issue before it becomes a true problem, it will win us some extra clout to wield when it comes time to continue negotiations." Woolsey gave a small smile, "After all, given we won't be initiating phase one of the disclosure preparations for at least a year and a half, how can we continue to justify the upkeep costs of such a large body as the Alliance when it's not doing anything beyond putting out brushfires?"

That did it. Woolsey could almost see it as the delegates slid into line with him. Not all of them of course, but more than enough to win a majority. He wanted to laugh, partly with satisfaction, and partly with disdain. The last statement of his conclusion had been the cherry on the cake. Though the present plans for future disclosure had barely reached beyond talks about meetings about committees, one thing everyone was certain of was that to ensure the prevention of a world-wide panic, the defensive forces of Earth would need to modernize and expand themselves considerably, to show the public when the time came that Earth was not unprepared, and could hold its own without having to rely on luck and desperate last-second plans as it had in the past. Until the time came for that process to begin though, the Alliance as it was could not continue to justify its scale, not when it was being told to reduce its activities to such an extent.

It was something else that he had been worrying about when Sheppard had approached him with the information about the Decepticon signal. Woolsey knew that Galloway and those like him would demand for a cut in expenditure, no matter how stupid or short-sighted such an action actually was. The signal was an opportunity to potentially ensure the Alliance would not be prematurely downsized, which was particularly important not just for Earth, but Pegasus too. If the signal proved to be the antecedent to a genuine threat, even if the resulting situation was small, he could use it to prop up his prior arguments and renew efforts to stabilize Pegasus...presuming there was anything left to stabilize.
"Very well." Schreck said, lips still pursed, "You have made your case, Richard."

"The council has heard your proposal to investigate the source of this new signal. Is there a second who will support this?" Benassi asked.

"I second the motion." said Esteban Mokihana, the representative for Portugal.

"Then the motion is carried." Benassi said. Immediately an electronic ballot appeared in Woolsey's inbox.

"Place your votes, ladies and gentlemen." Benassi said. Woolsey sent in his response, then watched as the others did the same. The electronic ballot counter popped up in the corner of the screen, and Woolsey watched with bated breath as the numbers climbed. Finally they tapered off at seventeen in support and four in opposition, with two abstentions. Woolsey was surprised to see that Schreck had cast her vote for him. Perhaps he had misjudged her.

"All votes are in. At a final tally of seventeen yeas and four nays with China and Brazil abstaining, this council authorizes the Alliance to undertake reconnaissance operations to the Pegasus Galaxy to verify the authenticity, source and purpose of the Decepticon signal. Once these are known, the Alliance is authorized to take action to prevent Megatron, or indeed the Wraith, from acquiring any tactical advantage that might be gained from the signal's source." Benassi said, his voice a monotone. Woolsey wanted to sigh with relief, but dared not break his composure.

"Inform Colonel Sheppard he has finally got his wish." Schreck said.

"Since there is no other business, then this emergency session is adjourned. Thank you all for coming." Benassi said, acting as the meeting's coordinator. He nodded to Woolsey, then switched off his feed. One by one, the little video windows winked out. Woolsey looked up from the monitor to where John Sheppard had sat quietly in the corner of the room. As the last window closed, Sheppard grunted.

"Well, that only took seven years." he said sardonically. Woolsey gave him a grimace of empathy. The Colonel was unmoved.

"So this...blank check, let's call it, only lasts until we resolve the Decepticon situation?" he continued.

"It's a start at least. If we can acquire more information about the state of Pegasus under the guise of this mission, potentially we could acquire more leverage to restore operations there to a larger scale."

"Of course they'll never agree to sending Atlantis back there." John muttered. Woolsey rolled his eyes.

"Given that Dr. McKay still hasn't figured out a means to launch the city without tripping every alarm in the Pacific Rim, I feel that's a moot point. Besides, Atlantis was built here. It's needed here."

"It's needed there too." Sheppard argued.

"I'd take the win, Colonel. I can only hope it's a sign of change." Woolsey replied. John grunted, then rose from his chair as his advocate did the same.

"So, now what?" he asked, "We could send a team to the Alpha Site to start trying for a better pinpoint on the signal's source. So far, we've only got authoritative proof that it's in Pegasus' neighborhood, but a galaxy is a big place to search."

"A good start definitely, but I'd like to propose another idea." Woolsey said, undoing his tie a little. It had been cinched up too tightly during the meeting, which meant that it had been adding to his irritation the whole time.

"Really?" Sheppard asked, curious given that Woolsey rarely took part in planning missions like this. The former lawyer nodded, smirking.

"At present, Earth has eight ships. The Sun Tzu is occupied helping the Republic of Origin mop up the last pockets of Ori worshippers still present in their galaxy. The Aeneid and the General Hammond are also have prior engagements, what with their deep-range survey missions to prepare for. The Apollo and Eos are still touring the Milky Way on missions of their own. And of course the Daedalus is out there hunting the Autobot command ship, the Ark, on information from Optimus."

"Which leave the Odyssey and the Marathon, yes. Where is this going?" Sheppard asked, getting impatient.

"Sending a team to the Alpha Site to better triangulate the source of the Decepticon signal is a good start, but given the lack of information, I feel it'd be a good idea to bring some heavy backup. After all, we know from Optimus that while both sides can move between planets and even solar systems at will, they still prefer to use ships, which are faster. In fact they have to use them when it comes to inter-galactic travel. It's simply too efficient not to."

"So you're suggesting the Decepticons might have ships?"

"It makes sense. A ship, or god-forbid, a fleet full of reinforcements seems like something worth alerting Megatron about in the way they are right now." Woolsey said, face suddenly grim. The expression spread to John as he realized what something like that could mean.

In truth, it was a complicated deduction. Like all Cybertronian technology, their ships required Energon to function. At present, it was presumed that both sides of the conflict currently residing in the Milky Way were running low on the vital substance. This was a mutual problem because not only was Energon the equivalent of gasoline for Cybertronians, it was also, roughly speaking, their water supply. John had spoken with Optimus about it in detail. Apparently Cybertronians could live without Energon for long periods, relying on things like solar energy, fossil fuels, or essentially anything that could produce electricity, to survive. In the end though, they all needed it. Once, massive natural wellsprings of it had existed on Cybertron, so productive they had allowed for the existence of many off-world colonies. When the war had started, those wellsprings became like oases in desert warfare. Now, here at the far end of the known universe, both sides had run low, so low in fact that a return trip might actually be impossible.

This was because the powerful Space Bridge Drive technology used by all Cybertronian craft needed Energon proportionate to the distance they were travelling to function. A Space Bridge Drive could put even Asgard hyperdrives to shame, with only the prototype Ancient Wormhole Drive that had brought Atlantis to Earth coming close in terms of speed and sophistication. Yet all that meant nothing when there wasn't enough fuel.

Optimus had ordered Ratchet to start rationing the Autobot's remaining supply of Energon years ago. Despite the Autobot medic's best efforts though, the storage canisters he'd built were always teetering on the brink of depletion. Of course every battle had provided an opportunity to replenish the dwindling stores using leftovers siphoned from the fallen 'Cons and their equipment. It was probably only Megatron's hate and persistence that had kept the Autobots alive this long. But even with these regular infusions, the precious substance remained a rare commodity.

All of this tied back the subject of Megatron due to the fact in all likelihood, he was facing the same scenario. The ships that brought his troops to attack worlds aligned with Earth were transports; small, virtually unarmed and incapable of intergalactic travel because to make a long story short, their gas tanks weren't big enough . They would arrive, drop their cargos of mayhem and death, then flee, their unique transportation system leaving no means to properly track them, unlike conventional hyperdrives. That Megatron had yet to simply try bombing planets from orbit was a good sign that he probably couldn't. The first possible reason for this was that he lacked any ships beyond the transports, which according to Optimus he had likely salvaged from the Decepticon counterpart to the Ark, the Nemesis. The second was that he had the ships, but his reserves had dwindled to where he could only power the transports.

If Megatron were to get ahold of some reinforcements which included actual Decepticon warships, life in the Milky Way would become much, much harder. Even if he could only field a few by the time they'd made the jump to the Milky Way, it would allow him to conduct a blitzkrieg against Earth and her allies that would leave whole planets in smoking ruin. It didn't matter that it would probably take only one of Earth's BC-304s to destroy whatever ships Megatron might send. By the time they arrived, the damage would be done, and the ships would have departed via their untraceable FTL system.

John nodded gloomily. In his mind's eye, he remembered a hologram Optimus had shown him the day the Alliance had been formed depicting the ruins of a world that had tried to first ally with, and then double-cross the Decepticons. It had not been a cheery sight.

"The last thing we need is for Megatron to get new ways to light fires across the Milky Way." he said.

"Agreed. Which is why I insist you take the Odyssey for support." Woolsey said. John nodded again to himself before furrowing his brow.

"Why the Odyssey?" he asked, "Wouldn't the Marathon-" Woolsey cut him off.

"The Marathon is currently Earth's most powerful ship, and one of a kind. You're less likely to ruffle political feathers by taking the Odyssey. Besides, the Odyssey should be more than enough to complete the scouting part of the mission. If it turns out you need more, you'll be equipped with a solid argument for calling in reinforcements."

John nodded, albeit reluctantly. He hated playing politics, but Woolsey had a fair point. There was no point in overreacting to the situation by bringing two ships, one of which was Earth's first genuine Destroyer-class vessel, when one would do. Still, it would've made him feel better.

Until the construction of the Eos, Earth's sole line of defense had consisted of BC-304s, battlecruisers to be less specific. The completion of that vessel had spelled the dawn of a new age for Earth's space navy, one where variety and combined arms were king. The Eos had been Earth's first dedicated carrier. The Aeneid had been the second, to be followed by the Iliad, whose construction had been temporarily suspended in favor of the now soon-to-be-finished Atlas and already-completed the Marathon, both of which could take on a full Wraith battle group single-handedly.

The Odyssey would do, but still, Sheppard would've felt a lot safer knowing that the ship he was riding in on could beat down a force equivalent to the one that had nearly destroyed Atlantis during his first year in Pegasus without the need for outside support. He shrugged. At least with the Odyssey he got Colonel Mitchell. One quarter of the galaxy-saving team that had been SG-1 had to count for something, even if Mitchell had only led that team for half as long as General O'Neill.

"I have some papers to fill out." Woolsey said, patting him on the back, "Let me know when you've chosen who you're going to bring." John smiled.

"Thanks, but I've got a pretty good idea of who's coming already." he chuckled.

o
-- ^ --​

A/N: Thanks everyone for sticking with me so far! I'm a bit iffy about the quality of this chapter, as I'm trying to avoid sinking into the narrative swamp whenever I can. I realize there's a couple lore-dumps, and that's something I try to avoid, but for now it's the best I can do. For now, read, review, and comment!

 

[Vadrigos]

Chapter 5
Posse​

"So long story short, we're finally going back?" Ronon asked. His tone was nonchalant, but Sheppard could see the gleam in his eye. He'd waited years to get back to what he did best, namely killing Wraith. The fight against the Hybrids here in the Milky Way had never really satisfied him. After all, it wasn't the Hybrids who had leveled his homeworld or stuck a tracker in his back and hunted him for sport. Sheppard nodded, though he didn't smile. His reasons for wanting to go back were a bit more sober than revenge, though probably no less personal.

"Yep, Woolsey finally convinced them." he said, then paused before correcting himself, "Well actually he sort of scared them into it. I think a lot of them have been worried about what might be going on in Pegasus for a while now. This Decepticon signal was just the straw that broke the camel's back."

"So when do we leave?" Ronon asked, leaning back in his chair. John glanced over at Teyla, who was sitting next to the big Satedan with a preoccupied expression. He wasn't sure who she was thinking of, but the possibilities were slim.

"Well don't get all excited just yet, big guy. It probably won't be today. At best, we're looking at a three-day prep period. They're stocking the Odyssey for the trip right now. I've still got to choose who to bring. You're both on the short list, and so is Rodney."

"Anyone else?" Ronon asked, shifting from his laid back position to leaning forward. Clearly the padded lounge chair he was in wasn't his favorite. He kept shifting every few minutes, which only added to the aura of suppressed excitement coming off him.

"Well they were amazingly vague about the restrictions for once." Sheppard chuckled, leaning back a little himself, "Plus it's sort of a complicated situation we're walking into. One thing's for certain: we're going to have to bring a couple of Autobots along for the ride, Depending on what we find, we'll probably need their expertise."

"Wait, back up." Ronon said, "Are we going to hunt Decepticons or Wraith?"

"Well officially it's Decepticons, but the mission is going to require we get back in touch with Pegasus as a whole." he answered, before turning to Teyla, "I was hoping you could help out there." Teyla frowned, her expression one of internal conflict and possibly self-loathing.

"I'm afraid I might not be much help, John. My people...we haven't really spoken in years. Since the Alpha Site became more self-sufficient and stopped much of its trading with off-world partners, I haven't kept in touch with New Athos nearly as much as I intended. The last time I spoke with Halling was months ago, and that was by video feed. He seemed unusually withdrawn. I worry that they might feel I am no long one of them, much less their leader."

John grimaced, empathizing with her pain. His guilt over leaving Pegasus to fend for itself was nothing compared to the anguish Teyla dealt with every day over her virtual abandonment of her people. Though all signs seemed to suggest they had gotten along relatively well without her presence according what she had shared from her very infrequent conversations with Halling, her go-between, she had always made it clear that she intended to return to them one day, because more than anything, they were as much part of her family as John had become.

"Well, that's part of the biggest issue we're probably going to face." he admitted, "We left seven years ago, after saying we'd stand and fight beside the people there. Hell, we promised the Confederation to their faces we'd be there when they needed us. But over the course of those seven years, we've withdrawn farther and farther, until we're where we stand now. The Alpha Site can dial Earth for brief periods to make check-ins and relay whatever information they have to offer. Meanwhile the Daedalus makes two round-trips a year to help them stock up on whatever they can't trade for or grow themselves. Apart from that, we're basically isolationists. We're at the absolute minimum of outside contact, which means we've got little to no information about the state of Pegasus as a whole. For all we know, the Wraith could be a vanishing issue."

"Or they could be on the verge of launching for Earth." Teyla warned. Sheppard nodded in agreement.

"The truth is we know nothing. We're pretty much starting from scratch. But we can rely on New Athos. They know us, and we know them. Even if they won't accept you back as leader, they'll still answer your questions." Teyla looked as if she might debate that assertion, but kept her mouth shut. She shrugged.

"I will certainly do what I can. The fact that we still trade with some worlds does give us a foothold to start from, certainly. But I worry about how much ill-feeling we might have generated in the minds of those we abandoned towards ourselves."

"Well, we've got to start somewhere."

"I'm still confused." Ronon said, "What exactly are we going back to do? What's the plan?" Sheppard sighed, because the truth was he hadn't entirely worked out the whole plan himself. Still, he did his best to summarize.

"As it stands, we know this signal came from some Decepticons, probably carrying some serious technology. We know it came from Pegasus. What we don't know is where exactly in Pegasus it came from. The first half of the mission is to gate to the Alpha Site with some specialists and equipment while the Odyssey takes the long way around. They'll work on tracking down the signal using remote methods. Triangulation, subspace mapping, that sort of thing. We, on the other hand, will see if we can't locate it the old-fashioned way. We'll go around asking questions, see if we can't pick up on some signs that there are Decepticons hiding out there."

"I would imagine it would not be hard to locate them in such a manner if they were. News of such beings would travel fast." Teyla pointed out.

"Well, according to Optimus, they're pretty good at hiding out not matter how developed a society is. In fact, the less advanced they are, the easier it generally is for them. There's less ways for them to be detected and more room to hide." Teyla slowly nodded as she considered his words. Sheppard was right. Most civilizations in Pegasus were either concentrated around their planet's Stargate or spread in a loose network of settlements that spiderwebbed out from it. That left plenty of empty room to hide in, especially since none of them had Energon detectors.

"So how are we going to find them then? Between the team we place at the Alpha Site and our own efforts, that still leaves a large amount of ground to cover. Even if there was a sighting, it might not be taken seriously enough to even become a rumor." Teyla said.

"Which is why we're going to try everything." John replied, "Optimus is already picking out three of his people to come along, specialists who can help us track down these 'Cons. Plus he's coming himself." He paused, before continuing in a grudging tone, "And we're bringing Todd." This provoked an immediate reaction from both of his friends. Teyla's eyes widened in disbelief while Ronon's narrowed as he released a growl of displeasure.

"Sheppard, no." he said. John shook his head.

"We need him." he answered.

"No, we don't."

"Alright then, what's your plan for getting information out of the Wraith?" he retorted. Ronon growled, his lips pursed in displeasure. He hated the Wraith to a principle, and whenever Todd was mentioned, it made him very unhappy. This was because Todd was a Wraith, one whose questionable allegiance and undeniable assistance had helped save Atlantis, not to mention Sheppard's life, more than once. This was a double offense in Ronon's book, first for being a Wraith, and second for not behaving like Wraith was supposed to, i.e. singlemindedly sucking the life out of every human they could get their greasy hands on, literally.

"Look, we know from what he told us before we put him in stasis that his alliance of Hives was still strong when he left, and they still thought that Teyla was their queen in absentia. That gives us a big window. The Wraith are the ones with the most space-faring ships in Pegasus. If there is a Decepticon fleet out there, then they are the ones most likely to have seen it."

"A fleet?" Ronon asked, "Hold on, you didn't say anything about a fleet." Sheppard sighed.

"It's just a theory right now, but given the amount of power behind the signal, one of our working theories is that there might be a fleet of fully-functional Decepticon warships out there. And if there are, that's an issue we need to resolve before Megatron claims them." he said. His friends looked at each other, obviously both doing the mental deduction that had led John to his horrifying realization during his talk with Woolsey. He could almost see it when they reached the exact conclusion he had, the shroud of dread and worry lowering over their expressions like a veil.

"Still, John. Todd only commands one alliance. It is entirely possible they might not have seen these ships, if they exist, but that another might have."

"I'm banking on the assumption that if any alliance saw them, they'd let the others know. Even if they're fighting over food, they still have the sense to react to common threats. Todd said they put an APB out for the Vanir after we kicked their little grey asses, so I don't see why it'd be different here." Teyla maintained her skeptical look, while Ronon simply continued to glower, though there was less of an edge to it.

"Alright, John." Teyla finally said, shaking her head, as if she couldn't believe what she was saying. Sheppard looked over hopefully at Ronon.

"I don't need to remind you about how I feel about this, do I?" the Satedan asked gruffly, "He's too dangerous to be trusted."

"That's true of all Wraith. And I don't trust him." Sheppard replied defensively.

"Then why is he still alive?" Ronon asked pointedly, "The last time we had him in our hands, we just let him go, even though he brought a Super-Hive right to your home planet. And when we saw him again, it was with another Hive, also hovering above Earth, getting ready to cull the planet."

"Yeah, but he helped us stop them both times." Sheppard replied, feeling a little slimy for defending what essentially amounted to a super-predator that fed on humans, "Look, I've already talked with Beckett about unfreezing him. The decision's made."

Ronon was having none of it.

"You may think you can use him, Sheppard. But every time we've thought we were using him, it turned out he was using us. How many more times will it take before we stop playing his games?" John had no answer, because Ronon was right. Todd was the Wraith poster child for enlightened self-interest, with 'self-interest' being the key words in that phrase. Every time he had 'teamed up' with Atlantis, it had turned out he was working an alternate agenda, which on many occasions resulted in another addition to John's already long list of near-death experiences. No matter how cheery and friendly he appeared, no matter what help he offered, he was only ever in it for himself. But in spite of this realization, John found himself recalling something he'd heard from Dr. Weir, long, long ago. 'Ambition is like a fire. If you don't use it, it can still be used against you, and if you don't control it, you end up getting burned.'

Todd was self-interested, avaricious and ambitious to boot. His machinations had always been directed towards helping himself. But at the same time, those machinations had often improved things, for the most part, even for Atlantis, his supposed enemy. His efforts to seize control of an alliance of Hives had not only reduced the number of cullings in his section of Pegasus, but also been instrumental in stopping the Asurans, an Ancient-manufactured civilization of intelligent nanomechanical weapons, from wiping all life from the galaxy. In fact, his agreement to allow Dr. Beckett to treat him with a variant of the Hybrid gene therapy developed by the murderous Michael had almost resulted in an end to the Wraith as a threat...almost.

"I'm not saying that he deserves our trust, or that he's not going to play games...but in the end, so long as we have the same interests, we need him, and he needs us."
"And the moment that stops being true, he'll turn on us, like he always does."

"And when does, we'll be ready for it, like we always are." John asserted. Ronon's frown did not diminish, but he receded back into his seat. It was clear he knew there was nothing else to be said. All he could do was wait, and hope the chance arose to end Todd as a threat. After a long silence, Teyla rose from her chair.

"I must go and pack. Kanaan and Torren will need to know where I'm going." she said, eying Sheppard before adding, "I hope this does not backfire on us." As she exited the small lounge, one of many in the Administrative Tower of Atlantis, John muttered to himself under his breath.

"That makes two of us."

--O--​

Optimus stood across from his assembled friends. He'd called together everyone he could on short notice. Ratchet was present, as were Ironhide and Drift. Also present were Mirage, Crosshairs, Beachcomber, Air Raid, First Aid and Hound, though they stood gathered behind the first three. The rest of the remaining Autobots were stationed offworld, like Prowl, or had other tasks elsewhere, like Arcee and Bumblebee.

If he had been human, Optimus would've sighed. There were so few of them now. Even when the war had begun, the Autobots had been at a numerical disadvantage, but here and now, he couldn't help but feel like perhaps this handful of soldiers left to him were all that he had. Every new face that trickled in to join him in his efforts to protect Earth seemed more like a reminder of what had been lost than something to be celebrated. He so wanted to stop this, to end the fighting and just try to protect these precious few lives which remained. But in his Spark, he knew Megatron too well to believe such a fantasy was possible.

"This mission before us is different from those we have so far undertaken..You have all worked admirably to help protect our adopted home, and defend its inhabitants against those that would do them harm. What lies ahead though is a different matter." he said, meeting the optics of each of the Autobots present. In them he saw the same unease, but stolid determination he had always seen, the courage that had carried them through this long war, and which he always prayed would see them beyond it.

"For those of you unaware, during the examination of the remains recovered from Langara earlier today, Ratchet was able to extract a functioning Decepticon communication link. With Drift's aid, he was able to access and monitor the Decepticon military communications network, which allowed him to record this signal." he stated, before transmitting the recording to the assembled Autobots. Before they could ask questions, he continued.

"The transmission was sent with enough force to blanket the entire communications network, and to our knowledge, it is still being sent. While its content is unclear, Drift was able to confirm it as Decepticon in origin, and give us a rough approximation of its source: the Pegasus Galaxy."

Though to the outside observer, the Autobots remained still and stolid, the internal comm chatter between them exploded with commotion. Was that all they knew? Was the communicator still functional? Where in the Pegasus? These were just some of the questions asked, but Optimus was forced to gloss over them, mostly because he didn't have any answers. It wouldn't help to say so however, so he merely continued.

"The amount of energy required to send such a transmission with such speed and on such a wide band suggests that it comes from a large, well-equipped Decepticon force, possibly a surviving fleet or lost dreadnaught. And rest assured, if we heard this signal, then Megatron has as well. It is very likely he is already preparing his own effort to locate its source."
Optimus watched as the faces of his friends and fellow warriors shifted, each expressing their worry or stubborn defiance in their own way. He wished he could reassure them more than he was, but such was the nature of war that nothing was ever certain.

"To this end, I am bringing Ratchet, Drift and Ironhide to accompany me to Pegasus, where we will assist the humans in locating, assessing and eliminating the Decepticon threat. Until I return, Prowl shall assume command. First Aid, you shall handle any medical concerns that arise in Ratchet's absence. And Hound, you will stand in for Ironhide to manage our armaments and supplies."

Instantly, the warriors he had named saluted in recognition of his orders. Optimus nodded in acknowledgement of their salutes.

"Autobots, roll out." With that the group, apart from the three he had chosen, transformed and departed, returning to their duties. Optimus felt the hole in his Spark deepen as he watched them leave. Lately it hadn't been so bad, but his confrontation with Sunstreaker had reopened it, and now it was taking considerable effort not to fall into it and let it close over the top of him.

"You should really stop acting like the weight of the universe is on your shoulders." Ratchet said, approaching him as he turned to walk towards the Autobot barracks. Ironhide and Drift followed, walking at a steady pace as Optimus looked over at his old friend. "It's not healthy. You'll start rusting prematurely." the medic added. Optimus chuckled sadly.
"Sometimes I feel like I already am, old friend." he replied.

The simple truth was that Optimus was tired. The ages of war had never been easy on him, Every lost friend had been a fresh cut, an extra wound, adding to the ache of his Spark, a pain that grew with each atrocity his former brother-in-arms committed. After the loss of the Allspark, his life, which had devolved into a struggle for survival against Megatron, had become a quest, a search. In this he had found purpose, and escaped the devastation the war had caused, even if only in his own mind. Then the Allspark was lost, apparently destroyed, before resurfacing in the form of Sam Witwicky, now somehow possessed by its energies. Thus Optimus had tied his fate to Earth's, certain that by its defense he could redeem himself and somehow still save Cybertron. Then he had died, only to rise again, reanimated by the Matrix of Leadership, the true Matrix, not the ornament that the High Council had given to him when they'd chosen him as the next Prime, a title which by that point had long since become purely ceremonial in nature.

To anyone else, such an occurence would have been an affirming flame, a sign of hope. Yet when he had stood over the body of the Fallen, clutching the shattered remains of the ancient being's Spark, all he had been able to think was 'Why me? After all I've done, all that I've caused, why was I the one it chose to bring back? What makes me worthy?' That question had sat in his mind, gnawing at his processors, and it had only gotten more puzzling and soul-wracking as time went on.

The changes that had followed hadn't helped his self-esteem either. As it turned out, his fears about humanity, their fragility and their fire, had proven to be unfounded. What's more, they had a legacy of their own they were inheriting, just as his had inherited that of the Dynasty of Primes. Suddenly his crusade to defend them from without and within seemed so trivial, so inconsequential. Again, the universe robbed him of purpose, and with no other choice, he was forced to look down at his legs and realize he was knee-deep in ash and rust. His head rang with the cries of a dead world, a world whose death he had taken part in, a world he had called home. The anguish of these truths would probably have crushed a lesser being, but he was Optimus Prime, and so long as his people still needed him, he would carry on, even if he didn't know why.
"You know, none of this is your fault." Ratchet said quietly. Optimus shook his head.

"If only that were true." he said.

"You didn't level Cybertron. Megatron did. You did everything you could to stop him." Ratchet pointed out. They've had this same discussion many times before, since before they left Cybertron. This time however, his words failed to reach his Prime as they had before.

"It is not that, Ratchet. I do not blame myself for fighting back against Megatron or for trying to save our world from the monster he became." he answered, "It is simply that I cannot see a way forward. I look into the end of the rail-tube and the only light I see is fire."

"You, lose hope?" scoffed Ratchet, "Very amusing. What have you done with the real Optimus Prime?" Optimus gave the medic a weak smile.

"If only it were so simple, Ratchet. But consider our situation: we refused the humans any access to our technology, for fear that they would either destroy themselves in their ignorance, or worse develop a newfound lust for power and become like the Decepticons. Now we have learned that they have already defended themselves against threats as great as any that Megatron could have unleashed, using weapons even more advanced than our own. They stand on the cusp of creating a new galactic order, of achieving a peace and level of prosperity that we once held ourselves." Optimus paused as a Jeep rolled past, it's driver calling out a 'Sorry, sir!' as he drove off.

"And while the sun rises on them, it is setting on us. Both sides have been diminished, our numbers scattered to to the far corners of the universe. Energon is dwindling, and the road home is too long to travel without it. Our once great home, Cybertron, is a beacon of development and progress no longer. The Sea of Rust has swallowed everything that stood on its coasts. The great and glittering forests of Tyger Pax are dust on the winds. All that remains is a dead world, with craters where once there stood cities." As they walked, Optimus looked out at the distant ocean, the spires of Atlantis shimmering in a pale imitation of the towers of Polyhex. Another reminder of a lost wonder, another wound he would carry with him always. He continued his stride, and his speech. Ratchet kept pace, his expression growing harder to read as his leader spoke.

"It has been vorns since any of us have heralded the birth of new Sparklings, save those of Megatron, most of whom likely die of starvation regardless even before reaching adolescence. The neutral colonies, those that survive, have cut their ties with both sides. The few with the power to do so have closed their borders, with the rest vanishing entirely from our midst thanks to Starscream. His selfish raids on their Energon reserves to replenish those of his armada has vilified both our factions in the eyes of those who refused to join our war. We are a dying people, Ratchet. The last vestige of hope for our world, for our very species, resides in Sam, a human. That his people have shown us the compassion they have is more than we deserve. Yet even with their help, our chances of survival remain questionable." There was a long pause as Ratchet considered his Prime's words.

"This is what has been weighing on you?" he finally asked. Optimus nodded.

"I do not feel responsible for fighting to defend the future, Ratchet. I feel responsible for the fact that through my actions, I have brought about the death of the future I swore to create and protect."

"Optimus, simply because you cannot see a way forward does not mean one does not exist." Ratchet chided.
"And yet after so many dashed hopes...even I have limits, old friend."

"Why does this come to you now then?" asked Ratchet, "You have suffered more than any of us, Optimus, because you bear the burden of command. Yet here you stand, still fighting."
"Perhaps it is because it is all we have left."

"And perhaps it is because with an end so close in sight, you fear this new arrival will prolong the conflict?" the medic shot back. That gave Optimus pause, and he turned to face the old mech.

"I...don't understand."

Ratchet rolled his optics and huffed irritably.

"Optimus, through all the cycles that we have fought, you were never the one to lose hope. Even when we were forced to leave Cybertron, you never gave up the possibility that we could achieve peace with the Decepticons. You have never bowed to despair, and by Primus you will not begin to do so now." Ratchet slammed his palm against the Prime's shoulder, make his frame shudder. "However, you are right about the humans, and they have a bold new future ahead of them, one of their own making. We both see that they are standing close to the edge of victory over their own darkness, yet all you can think of is your own. Don't you see? Maybe we are dying. Maybe we deserve it. Perhaps that is our punishment from Primus himself for what we let Cybertron become before the War. But that's not for me, or even you to say. What I do know is that if the humans achieve what they seek to accomplish, we may gain what you yourself hoped to find in Earth: a new home. Yes, perhaps we will never attain the glory of our forebears, but isn't peace and a new epoch preferable to clinging to the ways of the old guard? If the old dream is gone, isn't it better to find a new one than spend forever trying to reclaim it?"

Optimus frowned. He wished he had a response, but found he could not muster one, because on some level, Ratchet was right. When the war had begun, it had been between himself and Megatron. Both saw the corruption and suffering plaguing their world. Where Megatron had sought to burn down the old order, Optimus had sought transition. Now after the conflict between them had reached its twilight terminus, there was nothing left for either of them, not even foundations on which to rebuild.

Perhaps Ratchet was right. Perhaps Cybertron would never recover, and the only future for either side was peace or oblivion. Perhaps the Age of Cybertron had ended, and all that could be hoped for was to become part of the Age of Humanity. It stung his pride to consider it, for even he had wanted more than that...but was mutual annihilation an acceptable alternative, especially when it might also mean ending this age of man before it could even begin?

No, he decided. No, he would not let the cinders of yesterday choke the world of tomorrow, even if his people's part in that world was not the one he had envisioned.
"Thank you, Ratchet." he said.

"For what?" the old medic asked, looking confused.

"For being there to kick me in the helm when I needed it." he said, smirking. The old mech gave him a rare grin of his own.

"What else are friends for?"

--O--​

The days that followed passed largely without incident for John. As always, there was the paperwork, which kept him busy for most of the interim, though thankfully it wasn't actually printed on paper anymore. As he worked, wheels turned around him. Teyla took a day off to have one last dinner with her family back on the mainland. Rodney and Zelenka argued almost ceaselessly, though about what John could never tell. It seemed like they switched to a different subject every time he saw them. Both would be coming on the journey, despite their disagreements. Zelenka would be handling the subspace tracking efforts being run out of the Alpha Site while Rodney would do what he had always done and accompany Sheppard in case there was a need for his scientific expertise.

Lennox took the news that he was to be in command until Sheppard's return without fuss. As soon as the forms were signed, he had his close friend and long-time subordinate Epps replace himself as 2IC. John, meanwhile, used his authority to requisition Major Lorne, one of the old crew from the days in Pegasus, to act as his own official second in command on the mission. Lorne, like John, was an old hand in matters pertaining to Pegasus. He knew his way around, which was what John needed. Much as he had come to depend on Lennox and Epps, they were ill-suited for the territory the mission would be heading into. It would be better for everyone to let them stay behind and handle the home turf in case Megatron or Starscream tried something.

Finally the day of departure rolled around, and inevitably Sheppard found himself standing in the exact same spot he had been standing on a certain fateful day four years ago, looking into an all-too-familiar face.

"It's really creepy how peaceful he looks." he commented, staring at the slumbering, nightmarishly-pale visage under the glassy surface of the stasis field.

"Aye, ye've got that right." sympathized Doctor Carson Beckett from his place at the pod controls next to John, "Vitals are stable though, just as we left 'im. There's nothing tae keep 'im in there, although I could probably invent something if ye want to change yer mind." John snorted.

"I wish. But we need him." he replied. Carson gave him a wary, uncertain look, but turned back to his console before anything else could be said. As head of Atlantis' biochemical science division, Beckett had been charged with monitoring Todd's condition as part of his duties. He'd often griped about it, stating he was a doctor, not a prison warden, but he'd done his best to keep the Wraith alive regardless. John wished he could bring him on the mission ahead, but as things stood, he doubted he could justify bringing even more of the leadership of Atlantis along on the trip. Rodney and Zelenka already accounted for the heads of two different research divisions. Requisitioning more would only be tempting fate. Besides, galaxy-wide hunt for giant robots wasn't really the place for a medical researcher.

As he waited for Beckett to complete his preparations, John looked around. There were a dozen security personnel present, arranged in a crescent around the pod and armed with zat'nik'tel pistols. He would've preferred Wraith Stunners, but the remaining ones that Atlantis had been carrying during its return to Earth had burned out long ago, and despite the best efforts of Doctor Lee at Area 51, they had yet to develop a means of properly recharging them. Thus the appropriated Goa'uld weapons would need to serve for the time being. John simply hoped that if things came down to it, no one got trigger-happy. It took two shots from a zat to kill a human. Everyone present knew this. However, they also all knew that Wraith were by nature much more resilient than humans...especially just after they'd fed. Carson finally looked up from his control panel.

"Alright, we're ready." he declared.

"Unfreeze him." John ordered. Carson nodded, though with an expression which said he was having many of the same thoughts as Ronon, who was also present, blaster pistol drawn and aimed at Todd's head. With a few taps on the crystal keyboard, a crackling sound like plastic wrap being crinkled filled the air. Then the smooth barrier protecting the small alcove rippled before receding into its rear, passing right through its occupant.

There was a moment of stillness. Then, like two ancient garage doors opening, eyelids parted and pale orbs with greenish-yellow irises and black, slitted pupils were suddenly staring back at Sheppard. He saw Carson shift uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye. The security team was tensed, clearly just waiting for Todd to lunge forward and try to snag breakfast. As his gaze met Todd's though, he knew that wouldn't be happening. Todd was a predator, but he was a smart one, and patient too. He could afford to wait for an opening.

"Colonel Sheppard." The words jerked John out of his staring match, their gravelly, growling, alien undercurrent briefly startling him after so many years of its absence.

"Todd. You look a little sleepy. Want me to get you some coffee? There's an espresso machine two floors down." Sheppard had always found that sarcasm and being acerbic were the best way to get the upper hand in a conversation with a Wraith. For one thing, it was a good way to get them angry, and when they were angry, they were easier to outsmart. Todd though had become accustomed to his way with words, and so instead gave a small smirk, showing he knew what John was up to.

"That you have decided to awaken me suggests there is a problem that you require my help in solving."

"Possibly. Though that depends on whether or not you can still claim to have a leadership position in your little alliance after four years away. I would think they'd have voted you out by now." John replied. Todd's face became a cool, impassive, if somewhat unhappy, mask.

"Four years, you say?" he asked.

"Give or take a few months. Also, we haven't really stayed in touch with the old country as much as we expected to, so whether or not the Wraith are even still an issue is up in the air." John explained, being sure to pour casual dismissal into every syllable. Todd remained unphased. After a ten second pause in which he scanned the room with his yellow predator's eyes, he nodded.

"I see. But the fact that I am not yet cooling on the floor still implies that you think I might be of some use." he growled, "Of course, being an amicable being, I offer my services...for a price, of course." As he said this, he raised his arms in offering, instantly causing the security team to tense up even further. The clicking and beeping sounds of zat guns being armed, their cobra-like shapes unfolding in their owners' hands, echoed through the room side by side with the lighter click of safeties being taken off tasers. Over it all came the sound of Ronon's gun, it's harsh buzz indicating he too had switched off the safety on his weapon. The Satedan's eyes were narrowed to slits, daring the pale alien vampire to try something.

"If it's food, you can forget about it." John said, not bothering to tell everyone to hold their fire because he wasn't yet sure if they should.

"Oh, not food." Todd replied, lowering his arms to his sides slowly. "Though some proper garments would be a good start." He indicated the standard green jumpsuit he was wearing, the same one he had been forced into after his capture four years ago. John did his best not to break eye contact much as he desperately wanted to.

There was something primal and terribly hypnotic about those eyes, like a snake's, but with more emotion. They were a predator's eyes, hungry, remorseless, but also those of an intelligent being, full of subtle nuances that spoke of hidden agendas and wheels turning in the dark recesses of a crafty mind. The juxtaposition was unsettling, and John found himself wondering if that was how rabbits saw humans. After all, the situation here certainly felt like that was what was happening: two individuals watching each other across the gap in the food chain, waiting to see who would make the first move.

John chided himself internally. He was not the rabbit in this situation...or if he was, he was that killer one from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. He wasn't going to let Todd get the drop on him.

"We can talk about that. So long as you agree to help us do what we need to."

"After which I presume I will be put back in stasis, for the next crisis?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"On whether or not you try and betray us." John answered nonchalantly, "In which case I will shoot you myself, before allowing Ronon to dismember your body." It was barely noticeable, but Todd flinched, glancing over at the Satedan, who gave him a grin very similar to the one that drowning men often saw swimming towards them right before they lost a leg or an arm. However, he quickly recovered, glancing over to Carson, making the Scottish man struggle not to take an involuntary step back.

"I can accept that...but I would like to state my terms before we go any further."

"Do you know what a negotiating position looks like?" John retorted, "Because this isn't one."

"On the contrary." Todd answered, his tone smooth and unflustered, "You need my help. You can kill me if I refuse to give it, certainly, but where does that leave you?"

"You're not getting anything." Ronon growled.

"My price is quite simple:" the Wraith stated, ignoring the big warrior and focusing on John again, "I need copies on all of your notes and research materials regarding the serum used to create the Wraith Hybrids. It has been four years, so I presume you have made progress, yes?"

John's internal alarms immediately began ringing. What possible use could Todd have for that information? Yes, once upon a time he'd agreed to let himself be a test subject for Doctor Jennifer Keller in her efforts to eliminate the Wraiths' need to feed on humans, but that experiment had failed and nearly killed him. What value could he possibly see in it now?

"For what?" he asked, "What do you need it for?" Todd chuckled.

"Let us say that I feel it has many possibilities." he said. Immediately John turned to Ronon.

"Ronon?" he asked.

"Yeah?" the towering Satedan responded, not taking his eyes off his target.

"You think you can find somewhere to shoot him that won't kill him?" The ropy Rastafarian hairstyle Ronon preferred spread out a bit as he shrugged his broad, bronzed shoulders.
"Probably." This caused Todd to roll his eyes in a very human expression of exasperation.

"Before you froze me, I had a month to ponder my situation. You had made it eminently clear that you had no intention of letting me go, and with every day that passed, my hunger grew. I knew you would never let me sate it, so I started trying to think of alternatives. One of them was perfecting the gene therapy Doctor Beckett helped develop, which would eliminate my need to feed altogether."

"But if you took it, the other Wraith wouldn't take you back." John pointed out.

"Unless they took it as well." Todd pointed out. John's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"You want to go through with that old plan?"

"If it means not starving, then yes, I am. And if it works, well, all the better for you and yours, no?"

"Sheppard…" Ronon growled, his voice containing the same warning tone it had held during their discussion two days prior. Obviously he wasn't buying it. But then John had to admit it sounded just self-interested enough to be a 'Todd' kind of plan. Of course it had the first time they had tried it too, but Todd hadn't been their prisoner then...and Sheppard knew better than most how compelling a Wraith's hunger could be as a motivator when paired with the desire to survive. After two straight minutes of silence, he finally let out a sigh.

"Alright, fine...but only after we get back." he said. He swore he could hear Ronon's teeth grinding as a smile spread across Todd's face, revealing his own, very-pointy grin.

"An acceptable arrangement." he said, bowing his head. John saw the movement, reading the condescension in it like an open book. His eyes narrowed, but he put on his best smile.

"Good. But before we go further, I just want to make something clear." he said. Then he walked around the control panel and approached the Wraith, who now looked curious and confused. As he did, he put out his hand in silent command, causing one of the guards to hand his zat to him. Then in one smooth motion, John raised the weapon, activated it, and shot Todd once in the chest.

"Colonel!" Beckett cried, but did not move from his position.

The look of surprise on Todd's face was priceless, to say the least, though somewhat tempered by the furious snarl he released as he collapsed to the floor, twitching and wreathed in little arcs of blue electricity, face contorted with anger.

"Just remember this:" John said, squatting down to look his 'frenemy' in the eye, all the humor gone from his voice, "You betray us again, and I won't stop at one shot."

With that, he rose and turned, handing the weapon back to its owner.

"Get him in restraints. We move out in three hours." he ordered, then marched out the door. As he passed Ronon, the Satedan took his sights off the twitching Todd, his face a mixed mask of schadenfreude and admiration. He holstered his weapon, reengaging the safeties, then followed John out, Beckett close behind.

"Did you ye really have tae shoot 'im?" grumbled the doctor.

"It's just a reminder of how things are. He's been out of the loop, so I thought he could use a refresher course." John said, his voice deadpan.

"I wouldn't have stopped at one." Ronon commented, though his tone was cheery, light-hearted, as it always was when Wraith of any sort were suffering.

"Yeah, well...we still need him."

"I just hope he doesn't hold a grudge." Beckett commented.

"Oh he will...but he'll bide his time. He's dependable like that. Besides, in the end, he knows we have him on a leash. Until he thinks we've dropped it, he'll behave."

"Then fer yer sake, Colonel, I hope ye don't drop it." Beckett said.

o
-- ^ --​

A/N: And there you have it! The band's all back together! The stage is set! I'll admit I'm a little worried I haven't given some people their time in the spotlight, Ronon and McKay definitely need their own scenes, but on the whole, I think I'm handling things well. This has become largely a Sheppard-centric story, I'll admit, but there's sort of a reason for that. Next time, we return to Pegasus, and the real issues start!

 

[Vadrigos]

Chapter 6
Back in Town Again​

Ronon could only vaguely remember his life before being a Runner. The years had turned the wounds he'd suffered, emotional and physical, into scars, some deeper than others. Yet all scars faded, and like his old commanding officer had once said: 'Sometimes scars are good. They serve as a reminder of what we still have, and what we stand to lose.' Ronon's scars had faded, and with them, his memories. Not all of them were good, and some he was happy to have forgotten, but then others, like the taste of the air on his homeworld, the voices of his friends and comrades who had died in his people's futile war against the Wraith, even the feeling of his wife's skin under his fingers, were all precious things he had clung to, even as time and trial had robbed them from him.

As he strode into the Gate room at Sheppard's side, Ronon reflected on this line of thought. In a way, many of his ties to Pegasus had faded with the memories of his home. When he had left that galaxy, he'd left almost nothing of himself behind. His people were nearly extinct. His family, the one that had given him birth at least, had died with Sateda. The holes those facts had left he had filled over time with memories of his new family, the one that had adopted him the day they had taken the tracking chip from his back.

He took a moment to glance over at Sheppard. The Colonel had started out as just another commanding officer, someone to direct him in his quest for revenge. With every new mission and wild adventure through, the line between leader and family had blurred. In time, Ronon had stopped seeing Sheppard as 'the Colonel', and instead come to view him not just as a brother in arms, but as one of his own flesh and blood. Him, Teyla, even Rodney; they'd all been part of a family that went beyond the ties of what world they hailed. Now that family was together again, for what might be one last mission, a journey back into the swirling cauldron of trouble they'd left behind.

He smiled to himself at that thought. It was always interesting, realizing how much in common he shared with the Autobots.

"Alright, everyone listen up!" Sheppard called, checking his P-90, still the weapon of choice for most SG teams when going up against organic targets. Then he adjusted the sling on his shoulder which was attached to his other weapon, a weapon Ronon had come to know and recognize as a heavily modified M4A1 platform, with what Sheppard and the others called the 'Beowulf receiver'. It was built to accept magazines loaded with armor-piercing, discarding sabot rounds, that even to this day still served as Earth's best non-energy weapon answer to Cybertronian armor. The gun itself was coated in a camouflage pattern carrying the colors of woodland, with greens, browns and blacks all present. It warmed Ronon's heart to see his friend prepared for all occasions, though he wondered if he should've gotten one of the weapons himself. Sheppard's next words put that thought to rest.

"In about seven minutes, we're dialing, so if there's something you think you forgot to pack, too bad!" This caused a general chuckle, and John grinned, before becoming more serious. Ronon briefly wondered why before he saw Ironhide enter the converted hangar...with Todd in the rear passenger's seat. He was sandwiched between two fully-armed soldiers, while Major Lorne sat at the wheel, occasionally glancing back over his shoulder to check that the Wraith wasn't up to something.

As Ironhide reached the group of kevlar-coated and heavily armed humans, he grumbled aloud.

"Do I really have to be the one to transport this repulsive creature?" he asked, "He stinks, and I don't say that lightly." Ronon snorted at the comment, but John just glowered, not at Ironhide, but at Todd. There was an invisible exchange between them as their eyes met, but it didn't take a genius to work out what it meant. Around that point, Optimus rolled in behind his weapons specialist, a large gray trailer attached to his form, containing much of the equipment they would need for the operation.

"Perhaps it would be prudent to review the plan, Colonel Sheppard?" he asked, parking alongside the black Topkick as the remaining two members of his group, Drift and Ratchet, pulled to a halt on his right. Sheppard nodded and refocused on the rest of the group.

"Once we arrive at the Alpha Site, Ironhide will take our friend here to the on-site containment area. They have a cell set up for him, since we won't be needing his services right off the bat. Meanwhile, Drift, Zelenka and Ratchet will set up the gear going with them" he said, speaking loud and clear so everyone could hear. Ronon recalled pre-mission briefings he'd had back in the Satedan Defense Forces, back when there had been a Sateda. A scar, to be sure, but a good one, worth hanging on to. Sheppard turned to Optimus, planting his feet firmly in a manner similar to the authoritative stance of Ronon's old drill sergeants.

"While that's happening, Optimus will accompany myself, Teyla, Rodney and Ronon here to New Athos, which I believe is our safest bet for restoring contact with the native populations, given that Halling and his people are probably the least likely to immediately try and lynch us." There were a few half-hearted chuckles, but no real laughter. It wasn't a particularly funny joke, given how likely it was to be true. After seven years of absence with no real efforts to support the battle against the Wraith, the people of Pegasus, or at least those that knew of them, would not be pleased to have them wandering back in asking questions.

That said, no one questioned Sheppard's orders. After a brief pause, he continued.

"While we're doing that, Major Lorne will take another team through to Manaria after we leave. He and his team will try to reestablish contact with the Pegasus Confederation, provided it still exists. They haven't answered our calls, so we're going to try the old fashioned way. Manaria is one of the biggest trading nexuses, as you all no doubt remember, so it's more than likely they'll be able to hook up with someone who knows something."

"Joy, another chance to get pickpocketed." muttered one of the men nearest the front. Ronon choked back a laugh.

"What was that?" John asked sharply, though there was a tiny smirk on his face. The man, a Sergeant Taylor Lasky grinned.

"Looking forward to seeing old friends again, sir!" he replied.

"That's the spirit!" John answered, his smile growing a little, before again falling under his serious mask, "So until those two operations are complete, your orders are to stick around the Alpha Site and try not to get in Zelenka's way. He and his team will be scanning the heavens as best they can. Once Lorne and I get back, we'll hunker down and wait for the Odyssey. They should be already on their way, so it'll be a two-day wait before they get there. After they arrive, we can start expanding operations." With that, John swept his gaze across the assembled Autobots.

"Any questions?" he asked. There was an almost unanimous cry of 'No, sir!' from the human part of the contingent. Even Ronon and Teyla joined in. The scientists simply shook their heads though, while the Autobots said nothing. It was the messy command structure of the Alliance showing through, but not enough to raise any eyebrows. Ronon knew, just like John did, that Optimus was a smart enough leader to hold an equal relationship with anyone who was theoretically in command of him and his Autobots. With this confirmation, Sheppard turned to the control gantry and nodded to Chuck and the rest of the operational crew.

"Dial 'er up!" he called. This seemed to be the signal for everyone to return to what they were doing, which consisted of last minute checks, idle chatter and not much else. Meanwhile, the Stargate began to hum to life, lights racing around its rim, as constellations were illuminated one by one, marking the path back to Pegasus. Normally to reach another world, seven constellations were required, six mapping out the destination, and one for the point of origin. Intergalactic travel, however, required an eighth marker, as well as great deal of extra power. For this reason, heavy cables today connected the Stargate to a small gray box, into which was plugged a large green, yellow and red cylindrical device, one of Atlantis' three ZPMs, or Zero-Point Modules. Ronon had never worked out the details of how they functioned, leaving that to McKay, but it was enough to know that they were power sources created by the Ancestors, so potent in nature that even one was an immensely precious commodity.

Ronon sidled over to Teyla as the moment of fulfillment drew closer.

"Everything go well with Kanaan?" he asked. She smiled at him sadly.

"He says he is overjoyed that we are finally returning. I only wish I could bring him and Torren along." Ronon frowned at the mention of her son. Torren was now eight years old, and already he was caught between two worlds. On the one hand, he had all but grown up on Earth, surrounded by its culture, its people and their beliefs and views. On the other, at home, his parents told him of the distant world from which he truly came, of the ways and traditions that were his true heritage, yet always reminded him that could never share any of this knowledge with anyone from the outside world. It was a terrible burden to place on the boy, to say nothing of what it did to his parents, who had to deal with his often less-than-appreciative reactions to this knowledge, even though they knew it was in his best interests.

"Maybe Woolsey can do something about that. After all, this new plan they have, with going public...and after all, we don't know how long we'll be back in Pegasus. We may end up having to set up base there again." he said, stumbling over his own words. She smiled at him, appreciative but apologetic.

"That's a very sweet dream Ronon, but alas I fear that is all it is." she answered, turning to the Stargate, "I only hope that one day, when my son reunites with his people, they will give him a warmer welcome than the one we are expecting." Ronon opened his mouth, then shut it. There was nothing else to say. This return to Pegasus had ramifications for everyone here, except the Autobots of course. He only hoped that they had the strength to overcome whatever might lie ahead.

At last, with a heavy *KA-WOOSH*, the Stargate opened. Above, Amelia Banks gave the thumbs up to the watching eyes of Colonel Sheppard.

"Wormhole is stable!" she declared.

"Alright everyone, let's roll out!" Sheppard declared, hustling towards the open, shimmering portal. Ronon followed, praying to the Ancestors that Perhaps this time, they would not leave without finishing what they had started.

--O--​

Traveling by Stargate always made Optimus feel a little unwell. When the Alliance had first been formed, it had only taken a couple trips to discover that the devices were not well-designed to dematerialize and rematerialize Energon. Luckily, Doctor McKay had discovered a simple workaround before further use could generate lasting effects. Even so, nothing anyone did could ever quite eliminate the bizarre effects the Stargate had on Cybertronian senses. For a moment, he was rolling forward, up the ramp and into the shining puddle of the event horizon. Then everything went dark and cold. His optics, which he knew could not possibly be receiving anything given his current state, nevertheless showed him a racing star-field. He was riding a coruscating stream of energy, phasing from red to blue, coated in lightning and reaching infinitely upwards into a dense web of light and color. His audials were full of rushing solar wind, the crackle of energy, and for some inexplicable reason, voices. They were faint, distant, almost indistinguishable, and before he could focus on them, he was through, rolling forward onto a dirt path in the middle of a cluster of small, corrugated steel and concrete buildings.

Optimus did his best to recover from the buzzing in his processors left by the journey and slid slowly forward, dragging the heavy trailer behind him and turning as a man in a gray uniform guided him over to a spot apparently set aside for him, with support jacks being rolled into place for the cargo he was pulling. He happily accepted, pulling to the left, before turning himself around and parallel-parking so the waiting workers could uncouple his load while he watched the rest of the team pass through.

Ironhide was next, followed by Drift, then Ratchet. All three displayed the near-invisible signs of the same problems he'd faced in his passage.

[Easy, Autobots. Take positions and unload your cargo. Then attend to your duties. There'll be time for recuperation later.] he transmitted.

[I don't care what the humans say.] Ratchet complained, [I will never get used to that. It's not natural, and no matter what that little man says, it's not like a Space Bridge.] Optimus chuckled over the link, while Ironhide let out a snort of derision.

[Hah, could be worse.] the weapons specialist retorted.

[Not by much.] Ratchet grumbled. With that, the two pulled to the right and parallel-parked themselves on the far side of Optimus to allow their passengers to disembark. Todd was the second-to-last out of Ironhide's backseat, being prodded in the back by his guard's assault rifle. He apparently paid it no mind, though winced slightly at the bright light of noon which was shining down from overhead.

The Alpha Site was a triangular, fenced compound, surrounded by trees and green fields, with the Stargate located about halfway inwards from the point that faced magnetic north. At the center was a squat, hexagonal structure that served as the command building, off of which the majority of other structures branched, including the small, dull and pragmatically ugly edifice that served as the base's brig. Once Todd was again surrounded by guards, who piled out of Ironhide behind him, he was quickly marched in the direction, surrounded by his own hexagon of protection. Optimus watched as he departed. He understood the value of working with your enemies. After all, sometimes it allowed you to turn them into allies. But try as he might, he felt he would never truly grasp the value Colonel Sheppard placed in that strange being. Clearly he trusted him, no matter how loudly he claimed otherwise, but even so, it was like a razor-snake pretending to play nice with a collection of rust-rats. Underneath the layers of civility and cooperation, the eternal predatory intent lurked, buried, but present.

He tried to put the uncomfortable thought out of his mind as Sheppard approached him.

"So Optimus, I wanted to talk to you before we turn around and head back out." he said.

"About what, Colonel?" the Autobot leader inquired. He shifted slightly as the workers behind him finally disconnected the heavy trailer, allowing him to pull forward slightly.
"I'm pretty sure I've talked with the Athosians about you before, and even if I haven't, Teyla definitely has." Sheppard explained, "That said, I'd rather not intimidate them right off the bat. They'll be waiting for us, and I was hoping you could use your holoform to try and lower tensions. They're no strangers to new things but...well, you guys are probably way out of their depth."

Optimus found himself agreeing with the logic. Though they were not often put to use, all Autobots were equipped with advanced holo-emitters that allowed them to project semi-solid 'personas', essentially humanized versions of themselves for camouflage and even limited interaction without revealing the truth of their forms. The system allowed Autobots to better blend in with the native populations of the planets they visited, an important practice as even in those regions where the war was not common knowledge and cause for expulsion by the native population, there were many civilizations that were not prepared for contact with a species other than their own. He briefly reflected on how wrong he had been to once presume that such was true for the humans of Earth.

"I will engage my holo-form, as you request, Colonel. Though if you wish me to remain concealed, I must question the necessity of my coming with you."

"Well you won't stay that way for the whole trip." Sheppard answered, waving a hand placatingly, "Just for the start. I need to get them warmed up to you."

"Very well." Optimus answered. Switching on his projection systems, he materialized the holographic form he had come to prefer, that of a tall, stocky Caucasian man with mildly tanned and lightly wrinkled skin wearing a dark beard and moustache, dressed in denim and a plaid working-shirt. He casually tilted the large cowboy's hat on his faux-head and adjusted the technically-nonexistent glasses on his face.

"Will this be acceptable?" he asked. He'd seen the Colonel flinch when his semi-corporeal disguise had flickered into existence like a glitch on a computer screen, but the man had recovered impeccably.

"That'll be fine." he answered, before turning to the milling group of people, some of whom were unpacking equipment from Optimus' trailer. He scanned the crowd until he spotted what he was looking for and sighed.

"Just a moment." he said, "I'll be right back." With that he stalked off into the milling mass while in front of Optimus, the Stargate finished disgorging the last two members of the expedition and disengaged, the glowing puddle fizzling out. Prime ignored it, trying to focus on the mission ahead. Instead he quickly found his thoughts wandering. It was strange to be so far from the world he had sworn to protect. Of course he had absolute faith in those he had left in charge, as Colonel Sheppard no doubt did. That thought drew his mind to contemplating the Colonel.

Optimus had known him almost as long as he had known Major Lennox now. The man, unlike many of his leaders, had always seemed refreshingly untroubled by Optimus' nature. He'd been respectful where others had not and by and large reminded Optimus of himself in some ways. This return to Pegasus, though, a galaxy he had left in turmoil, seemed to be weighing heavily on him. When he had informed Optimus of the mission, the Autobot leader had detected a note of catharsis to his tone as well as one of guilt, as if he were relieved at being allowed to finally try to make amends to a place he had caused so much pain, yet at the same time knew there was nothing he could do that could ever make up for all of it.

Optimus soon found himself jarred from his meditation on Sheppard's state of mind by the man himself as he returned, virtually dragging Doctor McKay, who looked less than pleased to be removed from whatever he had been doing.

"Alright, looks like we're ready." Sheppard said, opening Optimus' side door and climbing in, before scooting over to the middle seat to make room for Optimus' holoform.
"Everything is in order?" Optimus asked. His human passenger nodded.

"Zelenka and Rodney had a last-minute argument over how to approach the signal mapping. That's all. Lorne will be ready to move out in about twenty minutes." explained Sheppard. Outside, Teyla now stood in front of the Alpha Site's DHD, which had been moved off to the Stargate's right side and which now faced it at a diagonal angle, much like the control center back on Earth, but at ground level. Optimus watched as she punched in the address of New Athos on the heavy, opalescent buttons, before pressing the central button to activate the Stargate once more. With a fresh *KA-WOOSH*, yet another wormhole opened, another watery vortex exploding outwards before collapsing back into a new event horizon. No one present gave it more than a glance, too occupied with their own duties as they were.

[Take care out there, Prime.] Ironhide said, sending the signal equivalent of a pat on the back to his leader, [We'll keep watch until you get back.] Optimus would've smiled if he weren't in vehicle mode.

[I will do my best to return as soon as I can. Just try and make sure Ratchet doesn't lose his patience with the humans.] he answered. There was a pause before the big black Topkick responded, unsettling Optimus.

[It's not him I'm worried about.] At first Optimus was ready to chide his friend for being so clingy, as the humans put it, but it took less that a few nanoseconds for him to realize the comment wasn't about him.

[Drift has done nothing to harm us in all his long years of service to us and our cause.] Optimus retorted, [Even if you don't like him, Ironhide, you could at least show him the courtesy of providing him with the benefit of the doubt.]

[Once a 'Con, always a 'Con.] Ironhide grumbled stolidly. Optimus gave a digital sigh of impatience. He didn't have time for this.

[We'll discuss this further upon my return. Until then, however, I am ordering you not to question Drift's loyalties. We don't have room for grudges or misgivings, not this far from Earth.] Ironhide's answer was delayed, but it was strong enough that it soothed Optimus' worries.

[Understood, Prime.] the old weapons specialist stated.

With that, the conversation was over. Optimus could only hope Ironhide's logic circuits would allow him to overcome his grudge with Drift, or at least suppress it until he was back in command.

"Optimus? We're ready, what's the holdup?" asked Colonel Sheppard. Suddenly the Prime realized his passenger had been trying to get his attention and he'd been ignoring him. He also soon discovered that Doctor McKay had climbed into the Cab beside Sheppard, along with Teyla and Ronon. He shook himself mentally, doing his best to recover his verbal poise.

"Apologies, Colonel." he hastily answered, allowing his holoform to glance over at Ironhide one last time, "I was merely delivering some final orders before our departure." He focused his attention back to the Stargate,

"I am ready." he declared.

"Well, let's not keep the welcoming committee waiting." Sheppard answered, "Their legs are probably getting sore." Optimus chuckled, then pulled out of his parking space, a path having now been cleared through the crowd to allow him passage. Then, without further ado, he plunged once more through the Stargate.

--O--​

While Optimus was making his departure, on the other side of the Alpha Site, Major Evan Lorne was preparing to make his own. Of course, his exit was requiring more preparation than that of his superior. Sheppard was never one to trouble himself with details when delegation was an option. First he had needed to drop Todd off at the Alpha Site's brig, a small almost featureless structure tacked on to the main building. He and his team had led the Wraith into the place, which looked almost like a county jail, with six cells in a two-by-three formation, all of which were concrete on three sides and steel bars on the fourth. None of the cells were occupied, meaning it was little issue to place Todd in his new abode, hands now fastened to his sides by a modified straightjacket to prevent him from grabbing anyone through the bars.

The Wraith had looked mildly appalled at the conditions and the restraints, but said nothing the entire time. Once the cell door closed, he sat down on the bed gave Lorne a bored expression.

"You know, I can get you something to pass the time…" Lorne offered, glancing at the prisoner's pale hands, then the leather straps holding them three inches from his waist. Todd gave him a look that he said he could see the joke and it wasn't funny. Lorne simply shrugged and turned to the cell guard.

"Just remember to stay clear of the bars without two other people present. We don't want to take any chances." he ordered.

"Yessir." the man replied, saluting. Job completed, Lorne glanced over at the Wraith one more time. He'd turned his face towards the wall and was studying it with a tired expression of disinterest. Again, Lorne shrugged, mostly as a sort of physical reassurance to himself that this was no longer his problem, then made his exit. Outside, the rest of his team was waiting.
"So, off to Manaria?" asked his third in command, Robert Macklemore. Lorne nodded.

"Prisoner's stowed. Being in stasis for four years doesn't seem to have improved his sense of humor." he commented. He glanced over at Lieutenant Laura Cadman, his second in command for the mission.

"We packed and ready?" he inquired. She smiled.

"Just waiting for you, sir." she replied. Lorne grinned back. Cadman was one of the old hands who'd been part of the early days of the Atlantis Expedition. After serving her original two year tour in Pegasus, she'd been less than eager to come back. Of course that had been then. When Colonel Sheppard had requisitioned her, she'd been part of the on-site Explosive Ordnance Disposal crew at Diego Garcia. Despite leaving the city during its days in Pegasus, she'd never lost her desire to stay close to the action.

"Well, I'm here now, so let's get moving. Don't want to miss our appointment." he replied. As the quartet shuffled out of the brig and back onto the dirt road that ran throughout the Alpha Site, Cadman drew level with him, checking her P-90.

"So am I the only one thinking that they're going to throw us out as soon as we get there?" she asked.

"That's the best case scenario." Macklemore replied, adjusting his cap on his dark, curly hair, "Personally I think they'll just try and lynch us."

"Come on, where's your optimism, guys?" asked Lorne teasingly. Sergeant Abigail Edgars, the fourth member of the group snorted.

"You're presuming there's even anyone there. No one answered our calls, remember?" she pointed out, "For all we know the place is a ghost town." Lorne glowered back at her over his shoulder.

"You know, cynicism causes cancer." he retorted.

"Only in excess." she responded, not bothering to look him in the eye, instead preferring to check her vest. Lorne rolled his eyes. Well, it wasn't exactly the happiest little family Colonel Sheppard had saddled him with, but at least they knew their stuff. Well, mostly anyway. Macklemore and Edgars trained at the SGC, back in the days when being assigned to Pegasus was actually a possibility. Both had passed their reviews with flying colors, only for the door to be slammed in their faces when Atlantis had to ride to Earth's rescue and soon found itself stuck there. Only Lorne himself and Cadman had actually spent any amount of time in Pegasus.

Tiredly the Major hoped that both his and Cadman's experience would make up for their squadmates' lack thereof. As they turned a corner at a building and the Stargate swung back into view, Lorne had to drag himself to a halt to let Ironhide pass by. He glared at the black GMC Topkick as it rolled down the road, then stopped, turned and left his field of vision. Lorne still had a bone to pick with the Autobot. He'd complained about Todd all the way to the Stargate back on Earth. At first it had been funny, but very soon after it had become tiring and a tad offensive. His comments about the smell in particular seemed to be generalized to include everything organic, even Lorne and his men.

"Whatsamatter?" Cadman asked, seeing his grouchy expression, "He run over your foot or something?" Lorne again rolled his eyes. Cadman's humor was charming...except when it wasn't.

"Come on." he muttered, "Let's go."

The rest of the walk to the gate was silent. The area around the giant metal ring was almost unoccupied when they arrived, the rest of the mission's participants having split off to attend to their own duties. Lorne wished for a Puddle-Jumper, but unfortunately the Alpha Site only had one, and it had been decided it wouldn't be needed for the mission ahead.

It had been years since he'd piloted one of the Ancient craft, and it was an experience he longed to partake in once more. The ones on Earth rarely saw real use any more, since none of the worlds of the Milky Way had Stargates located in orbit, a peculiarity that set some of the worlds of Pegasus apart from the rest of their brethren.

"Dial 'er up." Lorne ordered to Edgars, who saluted and strode over to the DHD. As she punched in the address for Manaria, Lorne found himself thinking about what, if anything, might've changed in his absence. When Atlantis had still been in Pegasus, he had found himself visiting this planet two or three times a month on trading expeditions to make up for any supplies or food shortages they might have been experiencing back in the city. He remembered a woman with a stall who sold some kind of delicious pastry made from a plant not unlike sugarcane. As the Stargate came to life and the wormhole stabilized, he also recalled that he'd never learned her name, and now wondered if she was still there. That was provided, of course, that Macklemore's and Edgars' predictions weren't about to be proven true. He rubbed his neck in mild dread as he stepped through the glowing puddle.

However, as he emerged on the other side, Lorne was pleased to discover no horde of angry villagers with pitchforks and torches or barren wasteland of burnt trees and smoking buildings in the distance. Instead, there was the same lightly-wooded landscape he remembered, with a dirt road running off into the tall trunks, which ended close enough that he could see the green fields beyond. He quickly stepped forward to allow the rest of his team through behind him, and as they emerged, Lorne spotted the wagon, sitting abandoned on the road. Shortly after that, he saw the man and young boy peering out from cover not far from the vehicle. As they emerged, he could see the surprise on their faces. Obviously they had been on their way to leave via the Gate when Lorne and his group dialed in.

Lorne didn't really blame them for hiding. In truth, most people in Pegasus hid in such a situation on principle, since you never knew when the next person to come through was just another trader, or if this time it was the Wraith blocking your best avenue of escape by dialing in from elsewhere while the Darts got ready to descend from a Hive Ship parked in near orbit. As his squad emerged from the wormhole behind him, Lorne lowered his weapon and put on his best friendly smile before waving to the pair on the trail ahead. The boy smiled, sort of, but the man, presumably his father, took one look at Lorne's uniform and gave the Major a cold glare.

"Looks like we're not exactly welcome." Cadman murmured from the corner of her mouth. With a hiss the Stargate shut down behind them, leaving only the twittering of birds and other nature sounds.

"Maybe it's just this one guy." Lorne rationalized.

"Sure." Edgars commented sarcastically behind him.

Lorne frowned as the man beckoned his son to the cart and prodded the donkey-like creature pulling it into motion. As he hopped onto the riding board, he continued to glower at the group. As the wagon drew level with the DHD, the boy, who had joined his father on the wagon, got down and began to dial another sequence of symbols into the inactive device.

"Hi." Lorne said, putting his friendly face back on, hoping to get a reaction. He did, though not by much. The man grunted a greeting, then shifted his gaze, pointedly not-looking at the group as his son finished and the Stargate reactivated. There was a definite air of disgust about the man, which did not diminish as his his son hopped back onto the cart after completing his task.

"Um, hey before you go…" Cadman asked, "We've been trying to contact the Confederation. We're supposed to meet them in town but they haven't...been...answering." The man looked over at Cadman as she spoke with a glare that caused her to trail off. Then without a word he shook the reins on the animal pulling the cart and vanished through the event horizon. As the back end of the wooden contraption disappeared, one of the numerous boxes stacked on it was jostled loose and fell to the ground. Edgars went to retrieve it as the wormhole fizzled shut. As she picked it up, she turned it over and over in her hands.

"Well, that went well." she finally said.

"Guy will probably think we stole that off him when he goes to check." Macklemore pointed out morbidly.

"I wouldn't be surprised." Cadman said, "Man, I knew our rep would be in the toilet but that look…"

"Don't think about it." Lorne ordered, though he too was feeling the mixed guilt and dread the implications of the man's glare had left behind in his heart, "Let's just get to town and see what's what. We can worry about angry civilians later."

"That's presuming they don't start pelting us with garbage when they see us." muttered Edgars. Lorne wanted to reproach her, but found himself unable. The look in the carter's eye had been just short of a promise of murder. The optimist in him wanted to think the man was an isolated case, and maybe he was. But the terrible truth was that Earth had forsaken Pegasus, and all its promises of protection to the many people who had relied on it. Even if there were people who hadn't been affected by that, by some freak chance, the damage to their reputation would be universal. Even in Pegasus, word got around.

He was distracted by the sound of metal on wood. Edgars was trying to pry the package open with her combat knife.

"You know, if he didn't think we robbed him already, he will if he gets that thing back already opened." Macklemore said. Edgars just grunted.

"No worries. I can just patch it up. Might as well see what he was-" she replied, before stopping short when the wooden lid popped open to reveal something decidedly less friendly than the various fruits or possible woodcarvings Lorne had been expecting.

"Whoa." Edgars said, reaching into the box and pulling out a small metal device shaped roughly like an over-sized padlock, complete with a U-shaped protrusion at one end. A closer look however would quickly reveal that it was no mere personal security device. One side had a trio of extremely small, non-LED lights next to a dial, located beneath a spray-pattern of perforations, like those used for a microphone-speaker combination. The opposite side had a metal clip, indicating the device was meant to be attached to a belt or other handy piece of clothing.

"That's Genii-tech." Lorne remarked in surprise, stepping closer, "It's been a while, but I'd know their stuff anywhere."

The Genii were a race of humans who had managed to avoid having their civilization periodically reset by Wraith cullings by concealing their advanced infrastructure underground in a system of caves and bunkers while an Amish-style farmer's paradise on the surface served as a clever charade to hide their true power. Technologically speaking they were almost seventy years behind Earth, but they were resourceful, not to mention treacherous. Lorne could remember all too well the early days when the Atlantis Expedition had been placed at odds with the Genii, who wanted the city's Puddlejumpers as part of a scheme to deliver an arsenal of prototype nuclear weapons to the awakening Wraith armada, and were willing to kidnap, kill and steal to get them.

Of course, before Atlantis had left, things had largely smoothed out between Atlantis and their former rivals, but to say things had been perfect would be a gross overstatement. Lorne immediately found himself recalling how seven years ago, Woolsey, had been forced to bribe them with the promise of increased participation from Atlantis during the fight against the Wraith, to prevent the fledgling Confederation, already largely under Genii influence, from alienating and ostracizing the Expedition and its members. He winced at the thought. It had been a necessary move, given that Atlantis had been firmly grounded in Pegasus. Once it had been moved to Earth though, the whole promise had evaporated like smoke as far as the politicians were concerned.

Lorne ground his teeth in frustration. This box was not a good sign. It should've occurred to him, to all of them really, that with Atlantis out of the picture, the Genii would be in a position to move in and take over as the primary military arm of the Confederation. It was infuriating that nobody had picked up on this, but then given that they hadn't been talking to the Confederation apart from long-distance calls set up once a year via the Alpha Site, there probably hadn't been enough to go on to confirm or deny it.

"Wait, I thought the Genii were spies mostly. Infiltration and sabotage, that sort of thing." Edgars remarked, "If that's the case, why is some random cart-driver carrying a box full of their personal radios?"

"Maybe he was a spy?" suggested Cadman. Lorne shook his head.

"No spy is that clumsy." he stated, stepping forward and squatting down to look at the devices beside his subordinate, "Besides, there's eight of these things. That seems like a bit more than your average spy-cell would need."

"So you're saying he was selling them on the open market?" asked Cadman skeptically, "I dunno about you, but that seems kind of unlikely. From what I remember, the Genii were always pretty picky about who they shared their tech with." Lorne meditated on that fact. Cadman was right, truth be told. Most reports regarding what Earth knew about how the vast Genii intelligence network functioned suggested that the use of things like personal radios and other such sophisticated machinery were limited to either trusted informants and actual spies. The Genii were already reclusive, and the fact that some individuals in Pegasus actively served and worshipped the Wraith only served to justify their paranoia. For such devices to be openly sold raised a host of unpleasant questions for which Lorne had no answers. He shook his head.

"We don't know enough to start making assumptions." he said, then stood up, shouldering his weapon, "Let's get them someplace safe. We can pick them up on the way back. Colonel Sheppard will probably want to see them anyway." Edgars nodded and replaced the radio she was holding in the crate, then shoved the lid back on, doing her best to secure it. Then she rose, holding it in both hands and carried it off to a small patch of trees by the Stargate, where a hollow between some roots and dead leaves served to disguise the container properly.

"There we go." the Sergeant declared, dusting off her hands, then returning to the rest of the group.

"Good, now let's get moving. It's a bit of a walk into town and I'd rather get there before the sun starts setting." Lorne said.

"Yessir." Cadman said, turning to the road. The order having been given, the quartet set off at a brisk walk, leaving the crate and it's suspicious contents behind...but not the questions they had raised.

--O--​

Rodney jolted as the world returned to normal, the usual tunnel of stars being replaced by the interior of Optimus' cab once more as his atoms were reassembled. Somehow, traveling through the gate in a vehicle was always different than when you did it under your own power. He presumed it was the gate itself, working to match his body's velocity with that of the object carrying him upon arrival, but had never bothered to try and find out. As the rest of Optimus' body completed its passage and drew to a halt, Rodney looked out the windscreen. Like a vast majority of planets in Pegasus, New Athos at first sight resembled the wilderness of his native Canada. Tall fir trees and pines were plentiful on all sides, with a dirt footpath serving as the sole evidence apart from the gate and the DHD in front of it that anyone had ever touched the place. He looked over at Sheppard, then at the empty wilderness outside.

"Huh, didn't you say there'd be a welcome party?" he asked perplexedly.

"There was supposed to be, yeah…" John replied. Rodney felt the icy fingers of unease creeping up his back. Usually when things stopped going according to plan, it meant an unfortunate adventure wasn't far off.

"I'd say I have a bad feeling, but then that'd be an unforgivable cliche." Rodney quipped. Sheppard just rolled his eyes.

"Well, you can stay here. I'm going out to take a look around." the Colonel replied.

"Hey, wait, don't you-ack!" Rodney managed before John unbuckled himself and them proceeded to squeeze past the physicist, ignoring his protests. Once he was clear, he opened the passenger-side door of the cab, jumping out onto the ground, leaving behind a flustered McKay, who glowered at him as he looked around. Rodney was tense, the cool air from outside only amplifying the dread flowing through his spine. However, when no one tried to shoot anyone, or for that matter bothered to appear, the sensation began to falter.

"Weird...you'd think-" the physicist started to say when the brush near the trail rustled and a young man in leather and canvas clothing, typical of most Pegasus natives, came jogging down the trail. He was tall and skinny, but with a wiry physique and a long face that looked oddly familiar. He stopped upon seeing the huge red, blue and silver shape parked next to the DHD, his eyes like those of a deer caught in headlights. Next to Rodney, Optimus' holoform shifted in its seat, looking uncomfortable at the awestruck stare the young man was giving him. Then the stranger noticed Sheppard standing at the vehicle's side.

"Colonel Sheppard!" he cried, his tone a mix of joy and caution. There was a brief pause in which the Colonel seemed to examine the boy, who had to be at least twenty-two and probably didn't warrant the term 'boy' anymore. Finally, recognition dawned on his face, as well as in McKay's mind, though it came more slowly to him.

"Jinto, is that you?" John asked, obviously astounded. The young man grinned, though his eyes kept flicking between Optimus and his old friend.

"It's me, yes!" he said, striding forward slowly. John went forward to meet him and they grasped each other's forearms in the traditional greeting. Rodney decided then that he wasn't going to let Sheppard get all the attention, and squirmed out of the cab, Teyla and Ronon close behind. The holoform elected not to join it. Obviously Optimus was waiting for some signal from John that it was ok to say hello.

"Holy crap, man! What have they've been feeding you? Last time I saw you, you were what, this tall?" Sheppard joked as he broke contact, holding his hand up to his own shoulder as a reference.

"Food has been plentiful these past few years. The Confederation has been most helpful in ensuring that all those who stand with them are well cared for." Jinto stated.

Silence fell like an avalanche of feathers. There was a long pause in which Rodney saw a number of expressions on the faces of those around him. Ronon looked confused but wary, while Sheppard's eyebrows seemed to have risen to high they were in danger of merging with his hairline. Teyla, meanwhile, was livid, her face red with anger.

"The...Confederation?" John asked politely, "As in the Pegasus Confederation?" Jinto nodded, clearly puzzled by the reactions he was seeing. McKay sighed.

"Bet there's a long story there." he muttered.

"Whose decision was it to join the Confederation?" Teyla hissed, "And why was I not consulted?"

"You were not present." Jinto said. His words came out harsh and his face was hard as he looked at Teyla, which shocked Rodney, given that she was supposed to be their leader. Of course, how much of a leader could you be from three-million light-years away?

"Hold on. Back up a little." Sheppard said, "What exactly has the Confederation been doing to help?" Jinto frowned.

"They bring food, medical shelter," he explained, then turned his head to his side and lifted a flap of his tunic to reveal a holster whose contents caused Rodney to suck in a sharp breath in surprise, "and weapons."

No one spoke. Rodney, Sheppard, Teyla, Ronon; they all stared in mute dismay at the Genii standard-issue sidearm lodged neatly in the leather holster at Jinto's side.

"I think," John finally managed, "that we need to have a long talk."

o
-- ^ --​

A/N: So sorry it took so long to hammer this one out! I have mixed feelings about that last scene. Hopefully we'll get some better internal dialogue from Rodney in his next shot. Got some other things that need to be addressed as well, but not to worry, Chapter 7 will clear up a lot of questions...though not all of them. >:3

 

[Vadrigos]

Chapter 7
Friends and Foes​

Lorne wiped at the stain on his combat vest. His fingers came away sticky and he shook them in disgust.

"Look on the bright side, sir." Macklemore pointed out, doing his best to deal with his own fashion dilemma, caused by a thick white cream that refused to come off entirely, no matter how much he scraped.

"If there's a silver lining to this cloud, I don't see it, Mack." Lorne replied.

"Well they could have emptied a chamber pot on us instead of just baked goods." Lorne winced at the mental image of himself covered in human waste instead of whatever this syrupy concoction was. Maybe they should've gone to M7G-677. At least there, they could outrun most of their attackers, what with most of them being children. He shook himself and looked over at Cadman, who had come through the attack at the bakery mostly unscathed.

"Well, I guess that is a mercy." she said, her face saying she was having the same thoughts, "That and the fact no one else joined in."

It had all started so innocently. Entry into the town had been easy enough. There'd been plenty of ugly looks aimed at them, or people who made a point of not looking in their direction, but that had been it. It had gone pretty well up until they'd hit the marketplace, specifically when they'd passed the new bakery. Lorne had decided to take a walk past the place where the woman he been thinking of earlier had once had her stall. He'd been shocked to find there was now a building there, surrounded by trays purveying all manner of sweets. The second he'd gotten close though, a little girl had run out the front door and thrown some kind of pie at Edgars. To her credit, she hadn't fired or really reacted at all for that matter, which almost caused Lorne to laugh. Moments later a woman had come out and dragged the girl back inside. It might've ended there, had Lorne not tried to follow and offered to pay for the...whatever it was that had been thrown.

That had triggered a hail of more pastries, thrown by the men running trays set up along the outside of the building. These were obviously ones unfit for sale, as they had had the sweet scent of rot on top of their already quite saccharine smells. They'd beat a hasty retreat, before it could go further, but the message had been clear.

"How much further to the meeting point?" Edgars asked, looking gloomily at her own stained uniform.

"Not much." Lorne replied. It had been a struggle not to get lost. The bakery wasn't the only new building in town. Furthermore, there was the police...or at least Lorne thought they were police. They all wore deep green uniforms with small flat-topped caps that made them stand out from the crowds, which were usually composed of more earthy colors. They also carried guns, large, gray, heavy-barreled weapons that could only have come from the same Genii surplus the man at the Stargate had been peddling from. It was unnerving, like the radios in the box from earlier. The 'police' had also been carrying those as well. Lorne had even seen a couple speak into them during their journey.

All this change was making his headache. He'd hadn't come expecting things to be exactly the same. That was foolish and naive. That said, he hadn't expected so much...progress. Manaria had been a shining example of the medieval technological state of most Pegasus civilizations the last time he'd been here. Now there appeared to be plumbing, police, and even electricity. It was like walking out of a room, then walking back in to discover someone had redone all the wallpaper in the five minutes you'd been away. Lorne swore one way or another, he'd find a way to the bottom of this. He wasn't going to go back to Colonel Sheppard covered in jam and syrup without answers, if only for the sake of his pride.

As the group turned a corner down another street, Lorne found himself reflecting on the nature of his mission. Since Atlantis' withdrawal from Pegasus affairs, contact between Earth and the Confederation had grown sparse. There had been the occasional official request for aid, sent remotely from Manaria, where it had been agreed that the first official embassy would be built. Of course it wasn't an embassy in the traditional sense. The Confederation had more in common with the United Nations than a sovereign country, but for lack of a better term, embassy was what it was. Regardless, the calls were usually dealt with by the Alpha Site's personnel, as they often consisted of humanitarian aid. The calls had decreased in frequency over time, however, to the point that before today, the last official contact between Earth and the Confederation had been six months prior, to request medical aid for the inhabitants of Jenev, a world which had long ago rejected the Expedition's advances when they'd come seeking trade. It had been a statement as to how far the organization's reach must've grown that they could convince a people as isolationist as the Jenevese to accept outside help.

"You know, maybe the Confederation has something to do with all this Genii tech we're seeing." he stated, "They are members after all. And since Pegasus left, they're the ones best equipped to lead a war on the Wraith."

"I don't see it. The Genii hate the Wraith, but they're also self-interested survivalists. They might keep running a war from the shadows, but something like starting an arms race just doesn't seem like them." Cadman answered.

"Well I didn't say it was voluntary. Maybe the other members laid on enough pressure to get them to spill their secrets." Lorne pointed out. There was a silence as the Lieutenant pondered the idea.

"It would make a bit more sense. I mean, I was going to add that the Genii probably don't have the resources to arm the galaxy. But with the increased trade between all these worlds, maybe if you spread the knowledge around enough it could work."

"I'd buy that." Edgars chipped in, "After all, we're already seeing the effects of galacticization." Her superiors looked back at her in bafflement.
"Is that even a word?" Cadman asked. Edgars shrugged, looking sheepish.

"I took a course in transnational migrations at West Point. Globalization is the result of increasing cultural, social and economic interconnectedness, which generally speaking tends to raise the quality of life for all groups involved...or at least it's supposed to."

"And…'galacticization'?" Lorne asked mockingly.

"Don't look at me like that...sir. Besides, I hear General O'Neill uses the term 'cromulent' in his speeches. If he can make up words, so can I." she replied hotly, with a touch of guilt. Macklemore stifled a snort of laughter, making it sound like three pigs colliding.

"Well anyway," Lorne stated, rolling his eyes, "one thing's for sure: the Genii are part of the Confederation, and the Confederation is, to our knowledge, the most widespread and pervasive human organization in Pegasus to date. They may have been small-time when Atlantis pulled up sticks and moved out, but I think we can assume that's not the case anymore."
"Small-time's a light way of putting it." Cadman chuckled, "The way I heard it, they managed to get Woolsey to play by their rules after they arrested Sheppard's team and put them on trial." Lorne rolled his eyes again, remembering the event all too well. It had been the first contact between the Confederation and Earth, though they hadn't called themselves 'the Confederation' at the time. They'd sent a note offering Atlantis membership, and an invitation addressed to Colonel Sheppard and his team. They'd agreed to attend, but upon arriving at the supposed meeting place, they had been been abducted and dragged off to another planet where a kangaroo court had tried to charge them with crimes against the peoples of Pegasus, the biggest of which was the premature awakening of the Wraith. Woolsey had intervened on the team's behalf, and in the end the crisis had been resolved peacefully, but trust between Earth and the emergent coalition had never fully recovered.

At that moment, one of the green-uniformed policemen stepped out of the crowd and approached the group. Lorne instinctively tightened his grip on his weapon. He'd been waiting for another shoe to drop since the bakery. He silently prayed this wasn't it.

"You are from Atlantis." the man said. His left hand was held away from his holster, but not by much. His words were a statement rather than a question, which somehow made Lorne even more nervous.

"Yes. We're here to see the ambassador. You can check with him. We told him we were coming."

"He knows." the man said gruffly, "My men have been looking for you. We were told to escort you to the embassy." He glanced at the smears on Lorne and his team, then smirked in a not very nice way. "I see we are a bit late."

"A bit of a run-in with some very angry bakers." Lorne explained. The man's nasty grin widened.

"If you'll follow me, my men and I will escort you. We'll make sure you don't get into further trouble." he said. As if on cue, eight more green-uniformed men stepped out of the crowd and surrounded Lorne. Already suspicious, but not wanting to press his luck, the Major finally nodded.

"Alright, lead the way…" he said, leaving an opening at the end of the statement.

"Varrenn. Constable Varrenn." the man stated. He nodded to the other men, who formed up around Lorne's team and began to press them forward, towards a tall, trapezoidal building in the distance with a red-tiled roof that set it apart from the mix of thatch, slate and other materials filling what counted for the skyline.

"So, Constable...a lot's changed since we've been gone. Care to fill us in?"

"Ambassador Mathis will answer any questions you have." the tall, grim-faced man replied.

"Well, questions about larger issues, yeah. I was hoping you could tell me about all the new architecture. Last time we were here, that fountain in the marketplace was just a stagnant pool. Now it's got running water. You see my curiosity?" Lorne pressed. Varrenn grunted in impatience.

"I can't give you answers. I'm not privy to how things get built around here." he replied. Lorne shrugged. It was clear the man wanted to be rid of him and his team as soon as possible. It would probably better not to irritate him. Besides, the embassy was already heaving into view as they rounded another corner. Lorne looked down when he heard his boots land on stone. The street near the embassy had been paved with smooth cobbles setting it apart from the hard-packed dirt of the rest of the streets. More civil engineering courtesy of Edgars' 'galacticization' theory, he guessed. He looked up at the tall structure, which had a set of stairs built into one of its four sides. Compared to most embassies Lorne had seen, this one looked almost like a normal building, except for the fact that it loomed over the streets at two stories tall, a rarity in most small towns like this one. There were numerous windows, as well as one or two trees around it in neat plots, like you would find on a side-walk. Varren gestured for Lorne to follow as he approached the stairs.

"Let's hope we finally get some damn answers." Lorne muttered to his team.

"Let's pray they're good ones too." Cadman added.

--O--​

Optimus was unsure of what exactly was going on. Like Sheppard, he'd been expecting more than one person to be present to greet them, though he was not immensely perturbed that this was not the case. Jinto, the newcomer, was not much of a surprise either. While he and the Colonel did not often discuss personal matters, Optimus had been privy to the full mission reports of the original Atlantis Expedition for nearly four years now, so he was well aware of the boy's existence. Even his standoffish behavior towards Teyla was not overtly unexpected. After all, Optimus had been half-expecting it, given some of the reactions certain Autobots had had towards him upon arriving on Earth. A leader who all but abandoned their people tended not to command much respect upon their return, even if that abandonment was not intentional.

All that being said, the news that the Athosians had joined the Pegasus Confederation was a jarring note in the up-until-now predictable medley. Optimus patiently eavesdropped, waiting all the while for Sheppard to indicate that it was alright for his holoform to approach.

"I do not see why you are so surprised." Jinto huffed, "The Confederation's reach has grown far and wide. In the end, our membership was all but a forgone conclusion."
"You did not think to consult me on this?" Teyla all but snarled.

"As I said, you were not here. And the benefits were too great to refuse."

"What benefits?" Rodney asked, snorting. Jinto glowered at the physicist, causing his expression of scorn to quickly melt away.

"When Atlantis left, hopes were high that you would soon return. When you did not, the Confederation stepped in." the young man explained, "Dozens of societies all across the Pegasus had been nearly wiped out by the incessant cullings. The Confederation offered them lands and homes in exchange for citizenship and pledging themselves to the cause of fighting the Wraith. Their desire is to unite all the people of Pegasus, to build an enduring resistance that cannot be defeated by the destruction of one planet or people."

In the depths of his Spark, Optimus felt a newfound respect forming for the Pegasus Confederation. Whether or not Jinto's words were true, it was clear he believed them, and if they were, it meant that the peoples of Pegasus had picked up quite well where Atlantis had left off. Many questions still remained unanswered however. What of the Wraith? There was something in how Jinto had used the word 'had' in his statement about the cullings that made his circuits tingle with suspicion. His mind refocused however, when he saw Jinto step towards him.

"You have your questions, Colonel. But I also have mine." he said, looking over Optimus' vehicle form, "Is this one of the 'Autobots' you spoke of?" Sheppard was obviously caught off guard by having the interrogation, if you could call it that, turned so quickly on its head, but recovered swiftly.

"Yeah, yeah…" he said, stepping up to Jinto's side, looking at the Prime's holoform, "Jinto, this is Optimus Prime. He's the leader of the Autobots." Taking that as a cue, Optimus opened his own side door and let his illusory human self hop down to the ground. Jinto looked back and forth between the holo-form and the big-rig in front of him, then at Sheppard, his face full of bafflement.

"I do not understand." he said, "He does not look much like how I pictured him." The Athosian crossed his arms, looking back to the holoform as it approached. Optimus smiled, or rather, his holoform did so in his stead, and offered his hand in the tradition of Earth, which Jinto shook. As they parted, Optimus bowed his head in respect.

"Do not be confused. This human body you see here is an illusion, a projection. Colonel Sheppard asked that I used it so as not to immediately alarm you." he explained. Jinto's forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows rose.

"You are...not real?" he asked, suspicion clear in his voice, "But you feel...solid!" Optimus nodded, then raised his forearms, hoping his actions would not frighten the young man. Delicately, he allowed one false forearm to pass through the other, his whole form flickering like a glitchy digital image. Jinto flinched and his eyes bugged out in astonishment, but he did not cower. It was likely he had been witness to stranger, and his reaction was refreshing, given how some humans on Earth reacted when he did that little trick.

"You are a spirit?" the Athosian asked, his voice full of awe. Optimus shook his head.

"No. As I said, this body is an illusion. My true form is the vehicle that Colonel Sheppard arrived in." the Prime explained patiently, gesturing towards the flame-coated cab of his body, "Presently it is in concealment mode. Were I to assume my full size, I do not think I would be able to go very far from the gate...at least not without doing severe damage to the treeline." The last part of the statement was a jest, but Optimus quickly caught the nervous nature of the grin he made in response, so he hastily added: "I mean you and your people no harm. I am here at the request of Colonel Sheppard, and would be honored if you would accept me as a guest. There is a matter of some importance that relates to my people which I was hoping to discuss, along with whatever questions the Colonel might have."

Slowly Jinto nodded. The fear was not quite gone, but it had not grown larger, which was as good as he could hope for. He looked back at the dirt path leading into the woods, then back at Optimus' vehicle form.

"I am not sure if we will be able to bring you all the way into our camp...but the path is wide enough that you should be able to come at least to the edge." the boy offered. Optimus was surprised he hadn't simply assumed that he could project his holoform over an indefinite distance. Clearly Jinto was either no fool, or far more accepting of newness than the people of Earth. On some of the less advanced worlds he had visited, the Prime had been attacked with stones and sticks for standing out in his great metal body, regardless of which mode it was in. Perhaps it was a legacy of the advanced civilization Jinto's people had once been part of. Sheppard had told him that despite appearances, the Athosians had been very advanced, once upon a time, before the Wraith had leveled their cities and slaughtered the vast majority of their population.

Optimus bowed his head again in respect.

"Thank you, Jinto." he said, "It is an honor to be welcomed among your people." The young man smiled.

"It is an honor to finally meet you as well, Optimus Prime. Though we have heard little from the Colonel over the years, he has spoken much of you and your people, and the good you have done. The people of Athos would be proud to have you as a guest." Optimus' grin widened.

"Just call me Optimus. There is no need to stand on formality." he replied. The young Athosian nodded, and turned to the rest of the party.

"You are all welcome to come to the village with me. My father has had a feast prepared in your honor. We will do our best to answer whatever questions you have." he declared.
"Great." Ronon said, a classic response from the Satedan, who often treated words as though they were platinum ingots. Sheppard rolled his eyes.

"Lead the way. We'll follow!" he said. Jinto smiled and turned, beckoning the group up the trail.

"This way!" he said. Optimus walked back to his vehicular body and climbed back into the cab. The sound of his engine starting seemed to alarm the young Athosian, but he recovered quite well.

Then, even beneath the rumbling of the faux-motor of his chassis, Optimus heard Sheppard mutter to McKay: "Is it just me, or was that a little too...easy?"

--O--​

The ambassador's office, if you could call it that, was not the lavish chamber Lorne had been expecting. The walls were mostly bare stone, with about three tapestries and a painting. The floor was stone, with square, smooth tiles of varying sizes inlaid into a very basic pattern that almost made Lorne think of linoleum. There was not much furniture either. Two chairs sat in front of a large wooden desk with a polished surface, with a third positioned behind it. There were also what appeared to be filing cabinets as well. It was all very office-like, more befitting of a secretary than someone with any real political clout.

Of course, then there was the screen. It was an antique-looking thing, like some sort of ancient television out of the 50's. In fact he was certain he'd seen something similar at a pawn shop in his hometown. Of course, that one hadn't had the strange alien logo stamped on the side that this one did. It wasn't the Genii seal, which consisted of a three-spoked wheel supported by a pair of horn-like sigils, but a trio of four-pointed stars, joined tip-to-tip in an inverted triangular formation, suggesting it was not made by the infamously deceptive quasi-morlocks. Also present was a keyboard, which had more in common with an electric typewriter, heavy and bulky, taking up most of the desk's center. The devices seemed out of place in the already odd surroundings, which bespoke a mix of mid-1800's industrial revolution machinery and early 1900s developmental aesthetic.

"Huh, didn't expect them to aim for a paperless society so quick." he muttered to Cadman out of the corner of his mouth. As Edgars and Macklemore filed in behind them, two of the guards followed, Varrenn included. He held out his hand.

"Your weapons please? They will be placed in the armory until you leave." he said. Lorne peered past him to the small, white-haired and bespectacled man in the chair behind the desk, who was paying no mind to his guests. The Major was wary of giving up his weapons, especially to this crowd, but then he couldn't go back empty handed. And it wasn't like they were being strip-searched...that was a good sign, right? He shrugged, then raised his P-90, checked the safety to make sure it was on and ejected the magazine. Then he unclipped the gun from his vest and handed it to the nearest guards. He then stashed the ammo in a pouch, which didn't seem to bother Varrenn, who held out his other hand to receive his sidearm, and his knife.

Once they had been fully disarmed, Varrenn approached the little man, looking tired and impatient.

"The visitors from Atlantis, as you requested, Ambassador Mathas." he declared. It was several seconds before the man looked up from his 'keyboard'.

"Ah, good. You are dismissed, Constable." The man's voice was almost as small as he was, and reminded Lorne of his grandfather in his later years, though without the encroaching senility. As if he had heard the thought, the man's eyes focused on Lorne and his team, inspecting them with a sharp gaze that felt like being given a hands-free cavity search. He scowled as he finished, and pointedly did not offer them a chance to sit down. Lorne didn't really blame him, given how sticky he was still feeling. Behind them, the door closed as Varrenn followed the last of his men into the small hallway beyond, and presumably, out of the building.

"You are…" Mathis said, before tapping some keys to produce some text on the bulky screen, "Major Evan Lorne, yes?"

"You know my name?" Lorne asked, shocked. He'd suspected the thing was a computer of some sort, but it looked so clunky as to be laughable. Mathis smirked smugly.

"I know yours at least. Genii High Command had files on all the major members of the Expedition. Of course it's been taking a while to get them all encoded. These old Genii computers are absolute rubbish, especially compared with the new models."

Lorne glanced over at Cadman and saw the same sensation of dismay he was feeling in her face, before turning back to the elderly man.

"I know we've been gone a while, but I have to say, I was not expecting-"

"Such rapid development?" Mathis finished, cutting Lorne off, his smirk untarnished, "Yes, I doubt you did. I don't think anyone was." For a moment, the ambassador glanced at the screen of the computer before pushing his chair back and rising to his feet.

"You know," he said, shuffling out from behind the desk, "when I was assigned to this post two years ago, I believed it was a punishment. 'The Atlanteans will never come back. They have what they wanted.' That's what they all said when I was given this position. I had resigned myself to filing papers on people who it was likely I would never meet." He paused, moving to a small table by the wall Lorne had missed which had a pitcher and a glass atop it. The old man poured himself some water and gulped it down, before turning his smirk back on the Major.

"Yet here you stand." he declared, "And here I am, wondering what could possibly bring you back?" His smirk became a glower and he shuffled to stand between the two chairs in front of his desk. "What is it you want, Atlanteans?"

Lorne had not been expecting the ambassador of all people to be so overtly scornful. The fact that he was he was bespoke how far down the toilet Atlantis had flushed its reputation with its inaction. He cleared his throat.

"I, that is, we-" he fumbled, "We're here about a signal we picked up-" He struggled to recover, but the sharp nature of the ambassador's question had caught him off-guard. He tried to collect himself, then started again.

"I'm here on behalf of my superiors regarding a signal we detected coming from the Pegasus galaxy. It has ties to an enemy which we've been fighting in the Milky Way, and we're worried that it may represent a threat to both of us." he explained, keeping his voice level and calm, while wishing Doctor Weir was there to make up for his poor diplomacy skills.

"Hmm...I see." Mathis finally said, adjusting his spectacles, "And how does this affect us?" His tone was dismissive, making it clear he didn't think much of the veracity of Lorne's words. The Major turned to Edgars, who was already pulling off her pack and unzipping it. It'd already been searched out in the hall by the guards, but the contents were undamaged and that was what mattered. Lorne pulled free the manila folders, containing documents prepared by the AOA and translated into known Pegasus languages regarding the existence of Decepticons, the Autobots, Megatron, Optimus Prime, and above all, the signal Ratchet had detected and what it might mean. Patiently, Mathis took them, then placed them on the desk, not even bothering to open them.

"Is that all?" he asked. Lorne felt a rising urge to smack that smug look off his face. Being angry at Atlantis was one thing, but this little bureaucrat was not going to stand there and treat Lorne like some kind of lackey. Plus, the anger at their treatment that had been building all day since his arrival was starting to crest over the levees of his patience. As the ambassador turned and shuffled back around the desk to his chair, Lorne took a step towards Mathis.

"Well, actually we were hoping you could provide some information on what's been happening while we've been away." The ambassador fluttered his hand dismissively, pulling the documents towards him as he sat down.

"I would've thought the ren'je pastry would've told you all you needed to know." he replied. Lorne felt his face grow hot.

"I meant on a larger scale. Who's running the fight against the Wraith?"

"More to the point, why are the Genii handing out their technology like candy?" Edgars butted in. Lorne gave her a hard stare, but she looked back unrepentant. Mathis, meanwhile, did not seem to be moved, though he had looked up from the documents. The smug smile, however, had somehow gotten broader.

"Yes, I suppose that would confuse you." he remarked, the precursor of a sneer forming on his face, but not quite maturing all the way, "The Genii are no concern of yours. Their beneficence and progressive reforms were what kept us afloat and united when you abandoned us. While you sent handfuls of supplies and aide, the Genii became our backbone, and their doctrine of expansion is what brought us to where we stand today.

Lorne was struck by how the man did not once mention the Wraith. It was unusual, given how the Confederation had been formed chiefly to help fight the life-sucking aliens.
"What do you mean, 'doctrines of expansion'?" he asked, his voice full of irritation "Has the Confederation started forcing people to join?" Mathis snorted.

The sneer was full-grown now, full of disdain and disgust. "It it may surprise you to learn that we are not children, Major. The Confederation promotes growth and development among its members. Technology is shared freely among all member worlds, which is more than you ever did. And because it is shared freely, new worlds flock to us, not only out of their desires to share in this new wealth, but to add their own strengths to the cause."

So that explained it...at least some of it. Lorne could see a rough web of events taking shape in his head. Without Atlantis, the Genii had stepped in, to fill the gap. They'd always made no secret of their desire to return to their former glory, and with their already rigid and rule-bound society, they made the perfect backbone for a new united Confederation military. Of course, their numbers couldn't totally replace the training, technology, and above all, sheer luck the expedition had possessed when it came to fighting the Wraith. Luck wasn't something you could buy, and training was shaped by experience, which the Genii probably didn't have much of when it came to fighting a galaxy-wide war. So technology would've been the great equalizer.

Of course that was the simplistic version. Just the idea that sharing and thereby spreading technology was something Lorne didn't think he ever would've suspected from the secretive underground society. Being as insular as they were, such a collectivist outlook was a shocking about face from their usual hoarding behavior. Then again, maybe the situation had grown desperate enough for even the Genii to worry about the continued survival of humanity as a whole in Pegasus. But even all this new information left many, many new questions.
"So the Genii are leading the fight against the Wraith?" Lorne asked. Mathis rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by having to entertain this group of fools who thought they could waltz back in after seven years of broken promises and pretend like nothing had happened.

"The Wraith are a dwindling issue. What matters now is cleaning up the mess you and yours made." he huffed.

That got Lorne's attention like nothing else had so far.

"What do you mean, 'dwindling issue'?" he demanded.

"You didn't care then. Why should you now?" Mathis snorted, leaning back further into his chair. Lorne took four swift strides and slammed his hands down on the desk, making the Ambassador jump. He had had enough.

"Listen, buddy," he snarled, "you can hate us all you want, but it won't change anything! We left, yes, and that's caused you a lot of problems, I get that! But being an asshole about it won't undo what's already done!" The ambassador narrowed his eyes at Lorne, a cold gleam present in them that wasn't before. Apart from that, he hadn't moved a hair after flinching when Lorne smacked the desk. Slowly, he composed himself, shuffling the papers and folders as if nothing had happened, then he rose from his chair.

"You want to know what happened while you were gone, Major? Fine. I'll tell you. And then you're going to leave, and stop bothering me and my superiors. We don't want your help. We don't need it." he said, his tone as deadly as the crack of an unstable icicle. Lorne took his hands off the desk and backed up, sitting down in the nearby chair. He knew he'd made a serious diplomatic blunder, but the man's words made it clear that the already poor relationship between his bosses and Earth wasn't likely to change any time soon. Besides, he wanted to watch him squirm as he got jam on his furniture, the prick.

"Fine, talk. Then we'll go." he said. As Lorne sat, Cadman came to stand behind him. A quick glance confirmed his suspicions of how little she approved of his actions. He'd deal with the repercussions of this disaster later. Right now, he wanted answers. Besides, if the mission had been a SNAFU from the get-go, the least he could do was try and come back with something to prove it hadn't been a total waste of time.

Mathis tapped his keyboard, causing the image on the screen to change from a slightly blurred gray-white and black collection of text to some images. Then he tapped a button on the side and switched it off, before focusing on Lorne, distaste clear on his face.

"When you left, the Genii stepped in. They helped pick up where you had left off as best they could. Of course, without your technology, there was only so much they could do. So they devised the Ladon Agreement."

"Which did what?" Lorne asked. Mathis' lips pursed and his eyes, already narrowed, shrunk to slits of irritation.

"It allowed for the creation of all you see around you. The day the Agreement was signed, the old Confederation of loosely allied sovereign powers, all bickering and biting at each other, ceased to exist, and a newer, stronger one was born. Scientific knowledge was spread far and wide, washing away old superstitions in favor of pragmatism. Where it was applied, societies flourished. Our membership grew as well, with societies that had been driven to the brink of extinction by culling being brought into the fold, resettled on worlds with land to spare."
"So you basically just decided to modernize? Sorry if I don't see how that turns the Wraith from a galaxy-eating scourge into a 'dwindling issue'." Lorne scoffed. He knew he was pushing his luck, but then it was clearly too weak to move on its own. He wanted answers, not a history lesson. Mathis gave him a frosty glare.

"The Wraith are a dwindling issue, Major," he said, and Lorne had seldom heard a word sprayed with so much venom, "because the Wraith are going back to sleep."

--O--​

The trek to the Athosian encampment was a brisk and quiet one. As they walked along between the trees, Sheppard repeatedly found himself wondering if he should drift back and try to talk to Teyla. She had spent the walk fuming at the back of the group, next to Optimus, who was weaving through the trees with an uncanny grace for such a large vehicle. On the one hand, he felt sorry for her, and could only imagine how it must feel to have been sidelined by her own people. On the other, with a twinge of guilt, he found himself wondering what exactly she had expected. Any organization or society that could not readily rely on its leader's swift and prompt response to crises, or even their presence, usually ended up choosing a new leader entirely. That they hadn't yet spoke to how much respect they had for Teyla, even if they'd still made decisions in her absence.

Just as he had made up his mind to have a talk with her, the sound of voices reached John's ears, along with that of wood being chopped, fire crackling and shoes on leaves and dirt. Slowly, the Athosian village slid into view amidst the trees, tall trunks parting and thinning as they grew closer. Drab tents, some the size of small houses, seemed to grow up out of the forest, their presence only fully becoming apparent once the group had come within fifty meters or so. Long before that, John saw the people, dressed in browns, blacks and other earthy colors typical of Pegasus fashion, moving about amidst the structures. Many had gathered to form a small crowd near the place where the dirt road passed between two small tents and entered the settlement, whose edges were only loosely defined.

It was all a very familiar sight to John. Once, the Athosians had been a powerful and advanced society, but centuries, or possibly even millennia ago, the Wraith had culled them so fiercely that what stood before him was all that remained. Of course they had been far more numerous before meeting the Atlantis Expedition. The guilt of that thought settled down across John's shoulders like a yoke, making the happy smile he put on for the crowd hard to maintain.

"Hiya folks!" he said jovially, as a young woman emerged from the group to stand before Jinto.

"Is everything alright, Jinto?" she asked, causing the young man to beam.

"Yes, all is well Yara. Is my father still in his tent?"

"He is here." said a louder, older voice. John's attention was refocused as the crowd parted and three people stepped forward. John only really recognized one of the three faces, but it was one he knew well.

"Halling! Nice to see you!" John called, and was encouraged by the warm smile the man gave him. Halling's relationship with the Expedition and its members had never been as smooth as John would've liked, but clearly Atlantis' absence hadn't totally ruined the friendship between the Athosians and Earth. John also noted quite quickly that he had a Genii sidearm, just like Jinto. In fact, there seemed to be quite a few people with such weapons. One was even carrying one of the triple-barreled rifles that he'd seen Genii soldiers wielding on occasion back in the old days. According to Ronon, it was a design they had likely pilfered from the ruins of his homeworld, Sateda, though what mattered was that they were all holstered, or in the rifle's case, slung on the bearer's back with a sling.

John approached Halling and glanced at the two people standing on either side of him. One was an middle-aged woman who was showing the first signs of wrinkles and greying hair, while the other was a man with long hair like the style that Halling himself had used to wear, before he'd shaved himself bald, a decision he had apparently stuck with. The Colonel stretched out his arm and Halling took it in the traditional greeting, grasping at his elbow while John did the same.

"It has been many days." Halling declared.

"Too many." John agreed, "It's good to see you again."

"And you as well Colonel. I received your message, and I promise that we will do all we can to answer any questions you might have, but before we do, I must ask why you bring this…" He trailed off and gestured at Optimus, whose holoform had again jumped down from the cab and was striding forward. Jinto intercepted him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"This is the one the Colonel spoke of, father." he said, his tone full of excitement, "This is Optimus Prime." Optimus took the chance to offer his illusory arm to Halling in order to mimic John's actions. Halling complied, but wore the same look of confusion his son had before the details had been explained.

"It is an honor to meet you...but I must ask why you have brought this machine." Halling said.

"It is not a machine father. It is his true form." Jinto explained. When the confusion persisted, Sheppard found himself compelled to cut in and try to simplify. The full explanation could wait.

"Just think of the guy in front of you as...well, sort of a puppet. We thought it'd be easier if he did this than showing up in his usual shape. We didn't want to scare you." John's words seemed to cause some consternation, with shocked mutterings flowing through the assembled villagers in a susurrus. However, after a few whispered words amongst his associates, Halling nodded.

"I will not pretend to understand, but we welcome you nonetheless. Of course, we hope it will not cause too much trouble if your...true form remains here at the edge of the village?" he asked. John looked to the holoform for a response, which nodded, smiling.

"That is understandable. This form can move about within a radius of around a hundred meters from my body. There will be no trouble, I assure you." This caused Halling's smile to cautiously return, before it slipped away again as Teyla stepped forward with a look in her eye saying that while Optimus might not want trouble, she was not going to be so easy to placate.

"Halling." she said calmly.

"Teyla Emmagan." he replied. Both their voices were calm and collected, but while behind Teyla's expression of cool indifference there boiled a dark storm cloud of anger, Halling's gaze betrayed only a sad disappointment mixed with frustration.

"I hear things have been busy while I have been away."

"They have indeed. Many things have occurred." John looked back and forth between the two. In the privacy of his head, the idea of having a chat with Teyla was rapidly turning into one of pulling her aside before she lost her temper and spoiled their welcome. However, the argument he was expecting did not erupt. Instead, Teyla merely extended her arm, which Halling shook.

"It has been many days." she said flatly.

"Indeed." Halling agreed. With that they parted, and Sheppard breathed a sigh of relief, which he then almost choked on as Halling turned back to him.

"We have prepared a feast in the main tent, enough for your team and the council." he declared, then looked over at Optimus, "There is place for you as well. To be honest, we were not sure what to expect, given the Colonel's stories and the tales Teyla related to us." Optimus smiled apologetically.

"I have no doubt that the meal is delicious, but unfortunately I cannot consume your form of nourishment, much as I may wish to." he explained. Halling bowed his head in understanding.
"There is no need to apologize. We are happy to entertain the leader of such a great and noble people. The Colonel in particular has spoken highly of you and your warriors." Optimus returned the head-bow.

"And I too, am honored, to be the guest of such an understanding and compassionate people." he replied. There was a pause, before Halling turned to the rest of the crowd.

"The people of Atlantis will be dining with the council. If you are not part of that arrangement, then there is still a harvest to bring in and work to be done!" he declared. This seemed to be the signal the largely silent crowd had been waiting for. The latest novelty having been seen, and with the reminder that there were things to still do having been given, they dispersed, men and women returning to the tasks they had abandoned, with children running to their parents. One or two started towards Optimus' vehicular form, but were quickly intercepted by their scolding mothers. Sheppard briefly wondered if Optimus might've been alright with being a jungle gym for a bunch of five year olds, but put it out of his mind as Halling spoke again.
"Before we retire to the feast, allow me to introduce my fellow council members. This is Anri, daughter of Astra, and Helven son of Ikos. They have helped me tend to our people's needs in the absence of a traditional leader."

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but why not just pick a new one?" Rodney asked, before quickly backpedaling verbally at Halling's appalled look, "I mean, I just...it makes more sense, right?"

"It would not be proper." Halling said firmly, "Teyla is still our leader, even in her absence. If she had died, then we would have elected a new leader, but until that time, she is still our leader." John glanced over at Teyla as Halling spoke. Her concealed anger seemed to diminish at his words, but still remained. Maybe he wouldn't need to have a chat with her, but then it always paid to play it safe. Anri gestured towards the large tent near the center of the messy grouping of dwellings.

"If you would care to follow, the feast is waiting. We will attempt to answer your questions afterwards."

"Thank god, I'm starving." Rodney muttered, causing John to give him a sharp glance. The physicist responded to with an expression bereft of even an ounce of shame. Rodney never apologized when food was involved. Sheppard rolled his eyes and turned back to the elderly woman."

"We'd be delighted." he said.

As the group, sans Autobot and plus holoform, began to walk towards the tent, Ronon shuffled to the front to stride next to Halling.

"Hey, uh, I don't mean to pry, but I get the feeling that we're...well, not totally welcome." he said. Halling nodded in understanding while Sheppard gave him a confused look, wondering what the Satedan had picked up on that he hadn't before realizing he hadn't given the crowd or the expressions they might have been wearing much attention.

"Your return is being viewed as a good omen by some, but many others feel it is a sign of fresh misery yet to come."

"Understandable, given what's happened so far." Rodney mumbled, so low that probably only John caught it.

"It is of no concern. You are safe here; you have our word on that." Helven said. For some reason, his statement made John glance at the Genii sidearm he was carrying. Apparently the man took John's silence for continued doubt, so he went on speaking.

"It's nothing personal, you understand. Everyone's just still a little jumpy since the cullings stopped."

If John had been an Autobot, his engine would have stalled. His brain certainly did, that much was certain. It took a moment for the full content of that statement to trickle into his brain and start setting off implications like fireworks in his skull.

"The cullings have...stopped?" Teyla asked, her tone carrying the dismay John was already feeling. Helven grinned, showing a smile missing one canine, and chuckled lightly.

"Forgive me, that's probably an overstatement. I doubt they've stopped everywhere. But yes, here and on the neighboring worlds? Most certainly. There has not been a culling for almost a year and a half. In fact, word throughout the Confederation is that the Wraith are going back to sleep."

"That's…" John started, then faltered, unsure of what to say next. Everything he might've used as a response seemed to pale in comparison to the enormity of that statement. McKay finally saved him the trouble with one of his classic, dismissive quips.

"That's impossible." the physicist said. This only caused Helven to chuckle again.

"There are many who feel the same, Doctor McKay, but it is a divisive issue."

"Helven speaks the truth." Halling commented, seeming slightly offended at having to defend his associate, "There have been no cullings for fourteen months. Some say it is merely a prelude to something new. Others believe the great war between Hives has ended, and the survivors are preparing to enter hibernation once more."

"Wow…" John said. It was all he could manage. The idea that the enormous Wraith civil war and its consequences that Woolsey had used to help leverage the AOA delegates might be nearing its end was so vast and unexpected that he was having trouble just fitting it into his head.

"Is there evidence to support either idea?" Rodney asked. He was not one for ideas without proof, and was not afraid to show it. As they reached the large tent and Halling pulled aside the flap to allow them entrance.

"As I have said, no worlds we have contact with have been culled in fourteen months. If you are looking for more solid evidence, you would need to seek out someone with a wider range of contacts that us." he said. Rodney to his credit, merely looked unimpressed, rather than responding with an acerbic comment like he had in the old days. Not for the first time, John was glad to see his friend's relationship with Dr. Keller was paying off for his people skills.

"I would like to hear more of the Confederation." Optimus said as he passed into the tent. Inside, a long wooden table sat on a woven rug with backless chairs arranged around it. In front of each seat was a steaming bowl of brown soup that made John think of gumbo, with a touch of spicy cinnamon. There were various other dishes as well, ready to be dined on, though not as many as you might've found on certain other worlds. The Athosians were reserved, even in celebration. You had to be, in a life as hard as theirs. As they entered, he saw a conveniently placed wicker basket, and glanced over to Halling.

"Hey, you mind if we put down the guns here? It's kind of hard to eat with these things on." Halling chuckled.

"By all means. You may retrieve them afterwards." Nodding thanks, Sheppard relieved himself of everything except his knife and sidearm, as did Teyla and Rodney. Ronon, of course, surrendered all his visible weapons as well, apart from his pistol. Visible was the key word though. Sheppard knew for a fact he never went anywhere without twelve concealed knives on his person, and that was just the ones he knew about.

"What in particular do you wish to know?" Helven inquired as the rest of the group entered behind the holoform, who politely passed his bowl to the left as he sat down at one end of the table.

"I know only what the Colonel has told me; that they are, or were, a loose union of planets dedicated to joining forces, both against the threat of the Wraith and for the betterment of all their members. I also know that the Genii were among its founding members, as well as the Manarians." Optimus explained. The elderly man nodded as he took a seat next to the other end of the table.

"Then there is much you do not know." he said, pausing to blow lightly on the broth of the soup while everyone else took their seats. When this was done, he continued. "The Confederation started as a loose coalition of worlds, to ease trade and unite against the Wraith. Its economic influence spread quickly after it established and agreed-upon standard for trade and pricing of goods."

"And now?" Sheppard asked, taking a seat in front of his own bowl of soup.

"Now...things are different. Very different."

--O--​

Lorne's head was spinning. The assertion Mathas had made about the Wraith returning to hibernation was still ringing in his ears, but that had been just the first shell in a rain of explosive revelations. As he sat on the steps outside the so-called diplomatic office he looked to his squad.

"So let me get this straight:" Macklemore said, "We leave, and suddenly they decide to form...what, the United League of Planets?"

"Actually the way he described it sounds more like the Roman Senate." Edgars commented. Macklemore looked at her curiously, causing her to shrug. "I studied political history as a hobby. It's fun seeing how humanity screws up over and over." she said. Macklemore snorted.

"Yeah, a real riot." he said. Edgar's expression said she would not be apologizing for her interests. Lorne ignored them both.

"I think we're missing the point here." Lorne finally said.

"And what's that?" the red-headed lieutenant asked.

"The Genii are basically in charge of Pegasus."

"Well, them and the Travelers." Edgars pointed out. Lorne nodded, conceding that point.

Mathas' explanation of recent history had painted a picture of a galaxy left in chaos by Atlantis' departure. Shortly after the city had rushed off to stop a Wraith invasion of Earth, the Genii had stepped into the political shoes they'd left behind, using their influence to dominate the Confederation's ruling council. Their immediate first step had been to push through the Ladon Agreement, forged with the backing of the most developed planets in the original coalition, which reformed the loose economic and military coalition that the old Confederation had actually been into something approaching a representative democracy. Under this new system, any planets which were less developed than the signatories of the Agreement that were already either part of or seeking to join the Confederation were to be annexed while retaining partial sovereignty. They would retain their right to self-govern, however should the territory they were a part of be called upon by their neighbors, then they were to answer with all they could muster. Examples of such aid would be the support armed assistance in the event of a Wraith attack or supplying surplus crops to a less fortunate group in case of famine at reduced costs.

Of course, the Genii were not unreasonable in their conditions or actions. Forcing any of the worlds not included in the Agreement to participate would've meant a costly period of near-anarchy at best and the collapse of the Confederation in the worst case scenario. Everything was to be done with the consent of native populations, and those societies that acquiesced were to be parceled out evenly among the signatories to divide the burden and benefits of administration equally. Furthermore, as a way of appeasing the annexed nations that might've have felt cheated about the apparent trade-off, the signatories were also treaty bound to share knowledge, technology and resources with the worlds they were charged with to provide an overall improvement of the quality of life. Mathis hadn't been specific on how the Genii had managed to keep their fellow signatories from reneging on their oaths, but it didn't take a genius to work out that their wetworks division, which was feared across the galaxy, was probably working overtime throughout the whole process.

Initially the change prompted resentment from those not slated as part of the Agreement. This was expected, and the Genii had moved swiftly to provide proof of their sincerity. Over the course of six months, working with the other participants named in the document, they'd transformed a few key, backwards planets into rapidly growing economic centers. Word soon spread and shortly afterwards, planets began lining up to join. However, Lorne, while being no student of geopolitics, or whatever you might call this whole mind-boggling scenario, was smart enough to see that such a situation could not possibly last. Sooner or later, such a vast concentration of power in the hands of the Genii, even if it wasn't official, would start breeding discontent. However, Mathas had quickly quashed that concern when revealing the next phase of the Genii's plot: mass industrialization.

For generations, the greater portion of Genii had lived underground, their true technological prowess concealed by their idyllic front as simple farmers. With the restructuring, they'd abandoned this tactic, and moved large portions of their people, supplemented by immigrants from worlds devastated by cullings, to the surface. This was quickly justified by the construction of huge factories to churn out vast amounts of goods, including arms and military hardware, which soon flooded offworld markets. Of course, this sudden new focus also ended up balancing the scales, as the Genii began importing more and more food to feed their enormous workforce, which soon placed them at the mercy of their fellow signatories of the Agreement, and thus stabilized the political landscape.

Lorne had to hand it to the Genii. By reorganizing the balance of power, they'd sparked a galaxy-wide industrial revolution, or at least a renaissance, which would grow unstoppably, no matter how many worlds were culled. Progress was a fire, and the Genii had doused Pegasus in gasoline. Of course, just as he'd thought Mathas was winding down, the old man had dropped another bombshell on him and revealed that shortly after the new arrangement had settled into place about four years ago, another player had stepped onto the galactic stage, one whose mere existence again threatened to upset the scales: the Union of Lemnos.

This new nation as it turned out, was headed by another 'old friend' of Atlantis, the Travelers. Apparently the formerly nomadic space dwellers had recovered from their last attempt to establish a planetary colony in a big way. Mathas had stated that they had sent an emissary to the Confederate Council roughly three years after Atlantis had left, claiming they had set up on Lemnos, a 'fortress world' formerly belonging to the Ancients.

Lorne had gotten a little fuzzy by that point in the explanation due to the overwhelming shock the information was causing him, but apparently the planet had been slated to be part of a massive line of defense, similar to the Maginot Line of France, during the original Wraith-Ancient war, as a means to curb the Wraiths' expansion into Lantean space. Not only was it protected by a high-radiation nebula that rendered most of the Wraith's organic technology at serious risk should they attempt a protracted siege, but it had unfinished war infrastructure left by the Ancients that could be exploited and expanded on. Of course, the Union had not given any information as to why such a valuable location was left not only intact, but largely operational by their accounts.

The Travelers had rediscovered and claimed the planet about a year after Atlantis had left, and shortly after settling in, had started building their own alliance, drawing on those worlds the Confederation's influence had not yet reached to expand its workforce, gaining their allegiance with the same promises the Confederation had used. Upon encountering the expanding sphere of influence of their competitor, they'd sent an emissary to strike up a deal, on the basis that both powers hated the Wraith, and the life-sucking aliens had to be exterminated if anyone in Pegasus was ever to really achieve their potential. Unsurprisingly, this argument had been enough of a foundation for a compromise to form.

The Travelers, despite being more technologically advanced, were late to the party in terms of getting people to join them, which meant a smaller workforce, which meant a greater cost in time when it came to building new ships. Meanwhile, the Genii and company were salivating at the chance to build actual starships to fight the Wraith on their own terms. Such an advantage would allow the Confederation's militarization policy to go from emphasizing defense and attrition to advocating actual offense and pre-emptive strikes.

Everyone could see the benefits to both sides, so after much negotiation the Union was absorbed wholesale as another Confederation 'territory', headed by the Travelers, who entered as a fellow signatory of the Ladon Agreement. Their admittance into the alliance allowed them to annex and draw on far more manpower and resources than they ever could've hoped for alone. Those worlds whose loyalty they'd already possessed under the Union were placed under their jurisdiction, just like with the other Confederation demesnes. To wrap it all up, the end result was that the Genii, Travelers and a few key other worlds were essentially in charge of a new, massive political, economic and military alliance, bent on the singular goal of eradicating the Wraith...at least until fourteen months ago.

The sudden, yet steady decline in cullings across the galaxy had quickly come to the attention of the Confederation government through its newfound space power and intelligence networks, and immediately resulted in a huge political wedge being driven between certain factions. Those factions had eventually coalesced into two main groups: those who thought the decline signalled an end to hostilities between the Hives and a return to the old, cyclical system of hibernation and feeding, and those who thought a scenario all-too-similar the one proposed in the Weir Report was on the horizon. This last part had been relayed in very partisan tones. Mathas was quick to make his opinion clear, asserting with vehement insistence that the Wraith were going back to sleep. When Lorne had tried to point out the flaws in his logic, he'd finally ejected the squad from his office.

As he sat on the stone steps, brain caught in the swirling maelstrom of information he'd just received, all Lorne could think was that when he got back he was going to see to it that whatever IOA asshole who had made it their job to keep Earth out of Pegasus affairs was fired, preferably from the barrel of a cannon. On the one hand, he was pleased to learn that in Atlantis' absence, the peoples of Pegasus had not simply run around like chickens with their heads cut off. On the other, he was deeply worried about what having the Genii in ascendancy might mean for Pegasus' future. Ladon and his people might have the best in mind for Pegasus, but that didn't mean he wouldn't eventually turn down the path of his predecessor Cowen who had tried to use his people's' newly developed nuclear weapons to force other worlds under his banner. Lorne reflected on the irony that Ladon had managed to essentially do just that anyway, but without the mushroom clouds and screaming.

"So now what do we do?" Cadman asked, "Obviously Colonel Sheppard's going to want to hear all this. I don't think the Athosians will be able to give him as many of the details as we can."

"Probably." Lorne agreed, standing up and pushing his shock aside. There would be time to process everything later. The pastry from earlier that he hadn't managed to remove was drying and making him uncomfortable, so he focused on that, and made getting rid of it his objective. Everything else would follow after.

"I'd love a nice hot shower, but I don't know if they've gotten as far as that particular feature of indoor plumbing yet. Plus, I don't want to stay in this town longer than necessary. People don't like us, and I'm not in the mood to check into an inn and wake up tomorrow with all of our boots having been stolen."

"That's assuming they don't slit our throats in our sleep." Edgars commented, cleaning her nails.

"Edgars, do you have a boyfriend?" Lorne asked.

"Girlfriend, sir." she replied, not looking up. Lorne stumbled mentally, his snarky retort aborted by the inconveniences of fate.

"Whatever, let's go." he said. As he turned towards the general direction of the Stargate, Varrenn stepped forward. The Constable had been waiting at the foot of the stairs when the squad had emerged from Mathas' office, and had remained silent the whole time while his men returned their weapons.

"I will escort you. I would rather you not trigger any altercations before you leave. It makes for less paperwork."

"That's awfully kind of you." Lorne snorted. Varrenn's face betrayed no offense in response to his sarcasm. There was a pause however, before he spoke again.

"I would have you know that because you and your people, my father is alive, as is much of my family." Lorne's eyebrows rose in interest.

"Really?" he asked.

"My father was Orin, friend of Teyla Emmagan. She and your warrior John Sheppard warned him of the Wraiths' coming, when they were preparing to attack you for the first time many years ago, and needed to harvest food for their voyage." he explained.

"So does that mean you don't hate us?" Lorne asked. Varrenn flinched, but did not show any expression apart from a small frown.

"No. I cannot forgive the way your people abandoned our galaxy, after causing so much pain...but I recognize that you are not all bad people. If it were not for you, I would've died long ago."
"You know, a lot of us wanted to come back." Lorne said.

"Then why didn't you?"

"We had problems of our own back home."

"And these problems...they existed before you returned to your galaxy?"

"Some of them, yes.?" Lorne admitted. He didn't like where this was going. Varrenn smirked.

"Did they threaten your world directly?" he pressed.

"Not all of them, no. But-" Lorne tried.

"Did you create these problems yourself, or were they already in existence?"

"Look, I don't think you're being fair. You don't even know what kind of problems we had to face!" Lorne said hotly.

"You're right, I don't." Varrenn admitted, "But I do know what kind of problems we had to face here." His face was grim. Lorne had no answer for that. He sighed and shook his head.
"You cannot save everyone." Varrenn said, "I understand that. But you stopped trying to save anyone. And that, I cannot forgive."

Lorne wanted to tell the man it wasn't his fault, that like everyone in the Expedition, he'd been obeying the orders of his superiors. But when had that ever mattered? Sure, Lorne was no hot-shot like Colonel Sheppard, who'd flipped the IOA the bird more times than he could count, but he'd had a choice, and he'd chosen the Milky Way, even though it had been facing far, far less turmoil than Pegasus likely had. The pockets of leftover Ori worshippers, the Lucian Alliance, the Hybrids, hell, even Megatron and his band of merry bad bots had all paled in comparison to the vast and horrific scale of the Wraith civil war that had been raging in their absence.

"Come with me. Evening will be setting in soon." Varrenn said, turning his back to the squad. As he strode off towards the road out of town, Lorne watched his back recede into the dwindling crowds and wondered if Atlantis would ever be able to fix this mess they'd made, or if they were doomed from the moment Sheppard had pulled the trigger on that first Wraith Queen, twelve years ago.

o
-- ^ --​

A/N: Sorry for taking so long on this chapter. I'm still uncertain about that huge lore dump at the end, but I think the scene with Lorne and Varrenn that followed was a good means to balance it out. Of course, the real issue is that there's still a ton of stuff to address. It's likely the next chapter will be the one where we FINALLY get back to the Transformers and their side of things. It's going to be in a big way too. So brace yerself and hold onto your afts!

 

[Vadrigos]

Chapter 8
Calm ​

John stared into the embers of the dying campfire. Dinner had been long and full of facts. John generally dealt better with facts on a full stomach, but some of the things he'd learned were still making his gut churn. On the log opposite him, Optimus' holoform sat patiently. It was odd, but the projection seemed to remain illuminated exactly as though it were still daylight, even though the sun was quickly sinking, its light shooting bright red and pink shafts between the tall trees. John put it down to the technology involved. Another poke at the fire shot sparks up into the air.

"You seem...pensive." the Autobot commented, "I would imagine you would be pleased to know the people of this galaxy have managed so well in your absence."

"I am. But we could've avoided them hating us if we'd come back sooner. Hell, we could've even helped." John answered. He knitted his eyebrows in confusion.

"You haven't seen Rodney, have you?" he asked, "After that dinner I was expecting him to demand we go to Lemnos." Optimus chuckled.

"Doctor McKay appears to have slipped into what you humans call a 'food coma'. He ate twice as much as Specialist Dex, which is fascinating considering his smaller size." John laughed.

"Yeah, that's Rodney." he snickered, "He's always had a big appetite." A long, awkward pause followed, before Optimus spoke again.

"Colonel, I hesitate to ask, but what can you tell me of Aiden Ford?"

John froze, then slowly put down the stick he'd been using as a poker.

"Why?" he asked. He didn't want to think about this, much less talk about it. He'd been able to forget about it for two blissful days while planning and preparing for this mission.

"Ah, I see I have upset you." Optimus said flatly. John checked himself and his tone. Optimus had nothing to do with his personal failures. There was no call to get snippy with him about asking a simple question.

"No it's alright." he answered, picking up the poker and prodding the fire again, "I'm just wondering why you're interested." Optimus seemed to hesitate, waiting for a signal that it was safe to continue, then finally answered.

"Mrs. Emmagan mentioned him after Mr. Woolsey informed us of the AOA's plans in the wake of the Langara mission. She said his family was hosting a funeral, given that he'd been missing in action for so long." John felt his face flush, but quickly tried to stamp down on his anger. Optimus, being an Autobot and therefore impossible to fool with normal human conversational techniques, raised an illusory eyebrow. "In her defense, I do not think she considered my superior auditory receptors when she spoke." he said. John nodded.

"Ford...Ford isn't dead. I know it sounds like denial, and maybe it is. Maybe I've held off on marking him as KIA because I don't want to acknowledge my mistakes."

"You have spoken of him in the past." Optimus said, "I did not inquire, since it seemed to be a personal matter. However now that we are here, I feel it might help us...relate...as officers." John gave a grim smile, the flames illuminating his face eerily.

"Hah, you're kidding right?" he said, unable to keep sarcasm in, "Relate? I respect you Optimus, I really do. But how can we possibly relate on this?" John shook his head in disgust. "I mean, you've probably lost more friends than I've ever had. You've had to make decisions on a scale I can't even comprehend. You sacrificed your world to stop Megatron from taking over the universe...how can we relate?" Optimus looked taken aback at the statement. John was a little confused at that. It wasn't the reaction he'd expected.

On a certain level, while John sympathized with Optimus and the Autobots as fellow soldiers, and even as people, there was just such a vast difference of scale between them, not in size, but in depth and time. Optimus had freely admitted he was several thousand years old. He'd been a young archaeologist digging for treasure on what amounted to a university grant before Ra had ordered the building of the pyramids on Earth to cover the Fallen's sun-killer device. How could someone that old relate to a human. It would be like trying to have a heart-to-heart conversation with a mayfly.

"I suppose that you are right." Optimus finally said, "I cannot relate to you. I cannot know the trials and burdens you have faced. But consider this, Colonel. For my people life is long, and the events that transpire around us are like the crackling of embers. We burn slow, while you outshine us. In your brief lives, I have seen your people hold more heartbreak, love, tragedy and laughter than even I can imagine, made all the more precious because for you, time is fleeting." The Autobot gave a sad smile.

"Tell me, is it wrong for the elderly to try and understand youth?" he said. John sat, stunned by the Autobot's words. His head, still resounding with the after-echoes of the conversation held at dinner, was silent as he tried to process the Prime's argument. Finding he could not refute it, he sagged back onto his log seat.

"You know, in a way, coming back here is almost like a memorial to him. Ford, that is. We came to find an answer to one problem, but we've landed in a fresh batch that spawned while we were gone. Cleaning this up would be like honoring his memory. Finishing the fight." John said, "I just hope we get the chance. Maybe with this new info, the AOA will see the logic in putting more effort into fixing Pegasus again." He looked up from the fire and saw Optimus wearing a sympathetic smile. He laughed. "I know, it's a bit of a longshot. But hope springs eternal, y'know?" Optimus laughed as well.

"I do indeed." he chuckled. John stood up, looking at the sinking sun and handed the grip of the poker to the Prime.

"I'd better go talk to Halling about spending the night. Would be kind of rude to just drop in for dinner and a chat. I get the feeling there's more to know than one meal can hold."
"On that note, if you are thinking of speaking with Mrs. Emmagan, I would advise against it." Optimus commented, taking hold of the poker and using it to prod some life into the dwindling embers. When he saw John's surprised eyebrows, he smiled warmly.

"Teyla may feel she had been betrayed by her people for their actions in her absence, but I feel that Halling might be better suited to convince her otherwise than any one of us." he explained, staring back into the flames, "Her anger is irrational, and there are few humans I have met who are better at handling such emotions than Teyla Emmagan. In the end, she will realize that her people acted as best they could with the utmost respect for her in her absence. That they have not replaced her is a sign of how much she means to them. All she needs is time to realize that."

"You're saying she needs to handle this on her own?" John said, slightly affronted at being given unsolicited advice on how to deal with his team, before realizing it wasn't unsolicited, just friendly. He almost laughed when he realized he'd nearly fallen into the same trap as Teyla.

"More or less." John smirked.

"Well, like I said, got things to do." he said, "I'll check in with her at least." There was a twinkle in the Autobot leader's eye as he glanced at John, which seemed to say that he knew John's thoughts and forgave him. After all, humans burned bright and hot.

--O--​

The day was going rather poorly for Radek. On the one hand, he was here, back in Pegasus, which for him was a plus. Truthfully, he was supposed to be back in Prague right now on vacation, though by his definition, spending a week helping his brother sort through a new shipment of books for his shop did not count as time off. On the other though, he'd been sitting in this damn makeshift lab with no luck for six hours, not including time off for coffee. Outside, the yellow and red form of Ratchet sat idle, though in fact he was anything but. Across from Zelenka, the Autobot's grizzled, white-haired holoform gazed patiently at the trio of laptops arrayed before him, contrasting Radek's measly one, singular computer screen. Cables ran down from the machines to a bank of servers the mission's signal-tracking team had commandeered for their efforts to locate the source of the mysterious Decepticon transmission.

"Perhaps if we-" the Czech began trying to break the wall of silence that had descended in the past hour. Ratchet's holoform merely held up a hand to indicate he was not interested. It was irksome to Zelenka, almost as much as when McKay did it, except the Canadian did it because he was a rogantní namyšlený mizera who thought he was Hawking's rightful heir. Ratchet just did it because he was concentrating. Radek sighed and rose from his seat.

"If you require a break, Dr. Zelenka, by all means, do not let me stop you." the holoform said, not looking up from the screen. Radek frowned at him.
"You don't actually need us for this, do you?" he said.

"On the contrary, your initial help was much appreciated." Ratchet replied, still not looking up from the screens. This surprised Zelenka, but also made him suspicious. You'd think if he meant it he'd say it while looking him in the eye. Still, he could detect no sarcasm in the Autobot's tone. Perhaps all his time working with Rodney was making him paranoid, given how the only time Rodney seemed capable of complimenting his fellow scientists was under threat of imminent death.

"Really?" he finally asked. The Autobot actually looked up at this with a casual smile, something he did not often wear.

"I am not a physicist by any measure, Dr. Zelenka. While I dabbled in such things during my early years at the Great Academy, I was, as you might say, never one for the numbers. Medicine was my area of interest. Without you, I doubt I would've gotten this far."

"You think you can keep going while I go get lunch?" Radek asked, feeling a little better. It was refreshing to get respect for his work that wasn't grudging.
"Very likely; yes." the medic said.

"Děkuji. I'll be back in bit." Radek said. As he turned to the door however, a loud *KAWOOSH* echoed off the buildings outside, instinctually filling him with a jolt of adrenaline. He quickly relaxed when no alarm followed.

"That should be Major Lorne." he said, "I may as well go and let him know our progress in person." Ratchet nodded.

"I will remain here and continue." he said. Zelenka quickly nodded back and grabbed a coat from a rack by the door. The sun was still high in the sky, but it was autumn weather outside, and Radek got enough cold wind in his homeland as it was. He shucked the garment on and made his exit. After that, a brisk walk brought him to the corner of the base where the Stargate resided. No one seemed to be out and about for the most part. Everyone was busy indoors. He passed two of the Jeeps that had brought the task force through on his way to the gate, both loaded with supplies they were ferrying about, but that was all. It was interesting, considering all the fuss the mysterious signal had generated, to see how little was actually going on at the Alpha Site regarding its investigation. The majority of the work was concentrated under the pentagonal roof of the communications hub that Radek had just left. It was no radio observatory, but then it didn't need to be. Subspace was the preferred method of faster-than-light communication, even for the Decepticons it seemed.

Radek shook himself and rubbed his hands together as he turned the last corner and began proceeding down the main 'boulevard' ran from the Stargate to the command center. As he drew closer to the still-active gate, what he saw standing in front of it made him smile and made up for all the hours of boredom he'd just endured.

"Major!" The call got Lorne's attention, causing him to look away from his team as he'd been speaking to them. He glanced back to them and made a few more cursory comments Zelenka couldn't hear, then dismissed them. As they passed, Radek took a moment to revel in the grumpy looks on their faces.

"Doctor Zelenka." Lorne said as the Czech drew level with him, "I'm going to assume that smile on your face is because you're happy to see me, and not because of what we're covered in." Zelenka repressed a chuckle, trying to eliminate all traces of amusement from his expression and not succeeding very well. He and Lorne faced each other for about twenty seconds before the man rolled his eyes and reached down to pick up the wooden box sitting on the ground next to him.

"This is revenge for that time we took you to M7G-677 and the kids gave you a makeover, isn't it."

"Perhaps just a little." Radek admitted, "I thought I'd come inform you of our progress. I was about to grab something from the mess hall when you arrived."

"I thought they'd be closed right now." the Major said, starting to walk towards the barracks and beckoning Zelenka to follow.

"They're serving a late lunch." Radek explained, moving to keep pace.

"Well, anyway, how goes it?" the Major asked. The sun made the parts of his face still partially caked with whatever had been thrown at him look shiny and greasy. When he caught Radek looking he rolled his eyes again and pursed his lips.

"Some of the locals took offense to our presence. So they served us some pastries." he explained. Radek found himself caught between sadness at the fact that Atlantis' reputation had indeed sunk into the ground as many had feared, and laughing at the absurdity of the situation. He pushed the laughter back down again and focused on his objective.

"Right, well, anyway…" he said, doing his best to avoid looking at the sticky stains covering his technical superior, "Between the team we brought and Ratchet, we've managed to set up the equipment we brought and start scanning. It's not easy, given the Alpha Site's arrays aren't as sensitive as Atlantis' were, but we're making progress. And with a second point of reference, between here and Earth, we should be able to track down the signal's point of origin in...well, six months, if we're lucky." He rubbed his own head, unable to avoid staring at the confectionery matted into Lorne's hair. A sensation of sympathetic stickiness was creeping into his own scalp.

"That soon?" Lorne replied sarcastically, "Great. Well I'll let Colonel Sheppard know once I've had a chance to wash. Also, I need you to help with a couple things."
"Yes?" Radek asked, looking curiously at the box the Major was holding to distract himself from his hair.

"First, I need you to lend me a techie who can set up a room for recording so I can make a preliminary report to the AOA. Sheppard will probably ask me to anyway, and the next scheduled dial-out for status exchange is tonight at oh-eight-hundred hours."

"I'll send someone over. What else?" Radek asked. Lorne stopped, turned and hefted the box he was carrying. Zelenka quickly spotted his intention and held up his hands to receive it, trying to get avoid getting smeared with jam in the process. As Lorne released it, Radek grabbed the top, which appeared to be loose, and pulled it up. Inside were a set of Genii radios, though they seemed slightly different from the ones he'd seen during his previous time in Pegasus.

"What are these?" he asked.

"That's what I'm hoping you can tell me." Lorne said, dusting his hands off, "They fell off the back of a cart that was about to go through the gate before we arrived. According to what I've learned, the Genii are pumping out tons of fresh equipment, or at least distributing their old stockpiles. I want you to check the database and compare these to the ones we've seen in the past; check if they've made any improvements, you know?" Radek's eyebrows rose at Lorne's words, but he refrained from inquiring further. No doubt they'd all be briefed eventually on what the Major had learned. He did feel compelled to ask one question though.

"Was the mission a success? Did they know anything?" Lorne shook his head.

"If they did, they weren't interested in sharing. They told us about the way things are, then gave us the boot. They kept the files we brought, but I don't even know if that damned ambassador plans to inform his leaders." Radek's face fell.

"What a shame." he said. Lorne snorted.

"Their loss."

"You don't actually mean that." Radek said. Lorne sighed.

"No, not really. Look, I'm going to get a shower. You go ahead and take those radios and give them a look-see after lunch. I'll expect that assistant as soon as you can spare them." he said, then picked up the pace, leaving Radek alone in the middle of the road. Looking down at the contents of the box, the Czech physicist felt a bit of remorse drip through his soul. While he understood on a logical level that the suffering that had befallen Pegasus was not entirely Atlantis' fault, they had all played a big part in helping foment it, however indirectly. He hadn't gone offworld as often as Rodney or Sheppard or Lorne, but he had never been under any illusions that the galaxy around him was in pain, and it was because they had come seeking the legacy of the Ancients. It was a heavy responsibility, and in those first years under Dr. Weir, it had weighed heavily on them all. Radek had managed to push it aside for a while when Atlantis had returned to Earth, and his work had turned to finding the means of stopping Megatron and the Hybrids and whatever other terrors the Milky Way held for his homeworld, but being here again was bringing it all back. He turned and began to walk back to the communications center. He might as well drop these things off first. Perhaps food would help ease his thoughts.

--O--​

In the dark void of space, the hunter sat on the bronze-colored command-throne of his ship. After almost two cycles of inactivity, he was beginning to wonder if his plan had been as foolproof as he had hoped. He ran back over its details in his mind. Yes, it was a long-shot on the surface, but with his resources, there was no reason it shouldn't be working. Then again, given its scope, he'd always known patience would be key. He leaned back and watched the stars. Normally his cold indifference served him well, but here it was being strained. The last time he'd undertaken a contract that had lasted this long, it hadn't ended well.

The hunter laced his fingers before him, brooding as he stared through the segmented observation port in front of him. A sudden hiss and groan of metal told him someone had entered the bridge. The heavy, methodical tread that followed bespoke an underlying lack of imagination, an owner who approached problems with single-minded efficiency. A servitor-drone then, bringing his regular nourishment. Normally he worked alone. If he had to operate as part of a team, he did his best to pick a role that allowed him to remain as independent as possible. It was safer that way; less chance of becoming entangled in the competing ambitions that thrived in his field of expertise. He prided himself on his reputation and skill, honed over many years and many, many pursuits.

Now though, sitting in the midst of his greatest undertaking in nearly a hundred cycles, here he was, commander of his own ship and crew. Any other person in his line of work would've been overjoyed, but he knew better. His ability to distance himself and look at things as they really were was what had landed him this job in the first place. It gave him the foresight to see that in truth; that the ship was little more than a refurbished relic and the help it came with was made of mindless automatons, and that ultimately, both were as much a leash as a toolkit to aid him. His employer might pay well, but he did not believe in trust. That was alright though, because the hunter didn't believe in trust either.

As the drone approached and set down the plate with its decanter of blue fluid on a nearby table, he rose, striding across the chamber while the machine made its exit at the same plodding pace it had entered with. He grabbed the bottle by its decorative throat and strode back to the chair. He leaned on it and took a long swig of the glowing cyan substance within. Energy flowed through him as he was revitalized, and he circled back around to the rear of the throne, tapping a few segments of its structure. With a hiss and some electronic noises, it rose, split, and reshaped itself, its many parts reconfiguring into a wedge-shaped control console that then brought up a large holographic display, refracted by the main viewport. He checked the board for signs of life, for anything that might suggest his plan was bearing fruit. It was a daily ritual, and served as his sole amusement apart from spending time checking the ship, modifying its hidden sections and secret compartments to better suit his needs.

When small red dot on the galactic map and its accompanying shrill alarm appeared, he retained his hold on the decanter, which he gently set down on another nearby pedestal. He did not get surprised. He surprised others, often before killing them. He tapped on a few of the hovering holographic controls in front of him, magnifying the red dot so the star cluster it was part of filled the room. The transmitter could not provide specific details as to the solar system it occupied, but it could provide precise coordinates by broadcasting its position. A cruel smile spread across the hunter's face. The signal indicated the presence of three confirmed Energon signatures in its vicinity. He briefly wondered why there were not more, but put it aside. He had a target at last. He would work out the details when he began to stalk his prey in earnest.

Manipulated the controls more precisely now, he activated the vessel's engines, then began charging the space-bridge drive. His excitement was tempered by a sense of minor disappointment. If his suspicions were correct, this would be anything but a fair fight. His smile slipped and became a smug smirk. He hadn't gotten this far in life by picking a fair fight. By the time his prey saw his face, their life was already over.

As he input the coordinates, the hunter spoke, simultaneously conveying his vocal passcode.

"The stars shine, the wind blows...and the strong prey on the weak." he said. A confirmation light flashed green, and deep in the deck beneath him, powerful and ancient machines whirred and rumbled to life.

"To the hunt." he said, raising the decanter as he finished, his restless Spark eager for prey.

--O--
​

Ronon hadn't expected to get much sleep after what he had heard at dinner. The idea that the Wraith were going back to sleep didn't sit well with him for some reason. As a Runner, he'd dedicated his life to surviving them, then as a member of Atlantis, to hunting them. If they were going back to sleep, what did that mean for him and those like him? That concern didn't just include other Runners, but people whose worlds had been destroyed, left homeless because they had tried to fight back.

A hundred thoughts warred for his attention as he sat on the cot that had been provided for him. Outside the tent, he could hear Sheppard talking with Lorne over the radio. He could only hear one side of the conversation, but it seemed a lot of what the Athosians had told them was either being confirmed or elaborated on by the Major. Teyla was nowhere to be found, though he suspected she was having a conversation with Halling. Once or twice he was certain he'd heard her voice raised in heated argument from a tent two flaps down. He didn't blame her. She had a lot of issues to come to terms with in regards to her people right now.

That thought made him turn to his own people. When Sateda had fallen, roughly three-hundred civilians and soldiers had survived, not including himself, fleeing through the Stargate to an allied world. He hadn't been all that involved in their goings on, even after finding out about their existence. His life as a Runner had made it hard to come back to civilization as it was. Still, with Teyla's relationship to her people now at the forefront of his thoughts, he couldn't help pondering what this new system the Confederation had established could mean for his people. Would they be absorbed, becoming just a province on one of many increasingly industrialised worlds; their culture and history fated to fade away in the face of the new melting pot? He'd heard Dr. Daniel Jackson talk about it back on Earth; how small populations eventually merged into large ones, retaining some parts of their identity, but sacrificing most to a greater whole. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

And what about Sateda itself? Was it still being watched? Would it be safe to go back someday? Again, his feelings tore at him. The idea that he might see his homeworld rebuilt was empowering, but at the same time saddening. It could never be the world it had once been, of course; not for him. There was too much pain in its silent streets; too much loss in its broken buildings and empty cities.

At that moment the tent's flap pulled aside and Teyla entered. Her face was a reddish hue in the light of the kerosene lamp hanging at the apex of the four-sided ceiling, though Ronon suspected that in a better light, she would've retained the color anyway. She strode over and sat down on the cot next to his. After a long pause, Ronon decided to break the ice.

"So...everything alright?"

"It will be…" she replied, taking off her boots.

"You're still in charge?" Ronon asked. Teyla sighed.

"Yes. It's just...I don't know what I was expecting. It took a while for me to accept they made the choice they did, but I have." she said. When she failed to go on, Ronon pressed on.
"But…?" he asked. His friend did not return his gaze, but her face went through a cascade of expressions. Usually she was good at controlling what feelings she showed, given her experience as a diplomat. Here though, that training seemed irrelevant.

"I did speak with them, even if it wasn't very often. Not once did they hint at...well, this." she said, gesturing wildly as if to encompass everything they'd learned since returning to Pegasus, "I don't know who to blame more; myself for not being involved enough, or the AOA for so thoroughly abandoning things here."

"You can't blame yourself."

"Yes I can." Teyla snapped, "A leader whose heart is not with her people is no leader at all. I abandoned them. That they even still think of me as a figure to admire is more than I deserve."
"Kanaan and Torren are your people. You fought in the Milky Way to protect them." Ronon pointed out.

"A leader's duty is to all her people." Teyla countered.

"So what, you're thinking of moving back to Pegasus?" Ronon asked.

"I don't know. I might. Given all that has happened, all we have learned...I cannot help but feel I have been shirking my responsibilities." There was a long pause as Ronon watched his friend remove her gear, placing her flak jacket under her cot.

"Y'know, I don't know what it's like to be a leader. On Sateda, I led a squad, but we were more like brothers and sisters than a fighting unit. After that well...I learned how to take care of myself, and only myself. Even here, after all the years of fighting with you guys, I've never thought of myself as a person you wanted to put in charge of anything…" Ronon said, doing his best to frame his thoughts despite his inexperience in the subject. Teyla stared as he spoke, and he found himself lacing his fingers together, not feeling comfortable under the scrutiny, even when it was so light. "You and Sheppard...well, you in particular, you've always been better at knowing what's best; at keeping things together. I don't think you should blame yourself for all this. You couldn't have known. Between the AOA keeping us busy in the Milky Way and pulling out of Pegasus' affairs, there's no way you could've known. And if you're angry that your people didn't tell you about everything, maybe it's because they knew you had to be focused on what you were doing where you were." Ronon shrugged, "Like I said, I'm not a leader. I don't know the right or wrong way to look at this. All I can tell you is what I think." After another long silence, in which he let his gaze sink to his knees, Ronon waited for some kind of rebuke or dismissal. When none came, he looked back up and saw Teyla was smiling.

"You are a good friend, Ronon. I know we all often let it go without saying, but I feel you deserve to hear it." Ronon grinned sheepishly.

"So are you still going to stay?" he asked. Teyla frowned, though not at him.

"I do not know. Perhaps." she said, looking at her own knees, "Now that I know what is going on, I feel my people will need me. Depending on what happens, I may at least ask for leave to remain here for a while."

"If you need to, do it. I know that Sheppard would say the same. You've always been fighting two wars; one for us and one for your people. Everyone needs a break." Ronon said, "We'll be here when you get back." Teyla smiled and hugged him, surprising the big Satedan. He patted her gently on the back, still unused to this kind of physical intimacy even after all this time. He was almost glad when Sheppard threw open the flap and Teyla pulled away, turning to face him. John looked back and forth between them then appeared to decide he didn't want to know.

"Things seem to be under control at the Alpha Site. Tomorrow we'll head back and see if we can't get more information from somewhere else. The Odyssey should arrive the day after tomorrow probably, so we'll just keep doing what we're doing until they get here." he said, looking at his watch. It was a pointless act given how the time of day varied wildly between worlds even if the number of hours generally didn't. Right now it was probably still set for time according to the Alpha Site, or perhaps even Earth, assuming he hadn't adjusted it.
"So we sleep on it?" Ronon asked.

"Yep." Sheppard replied, striding over to the empty cot across from Rodney, taking off his own flak jacket as he did. Once he'd organized and put away his gear just as Teyla had, he sighed heavily and sank back onto the cot.

"What about Optimus?" Ronon asked after a moment.

"He's going into recharge. I warned him to watch out or the kids might turn him into a jungle gym. He just laughed." Ronon grinned nervously, partly amused and partly terrified at the thought of how the Autobot leader might react to being approached by a bunch of children out past their bedtime. He didn't doubt that Optimus would never hurt them...but any kids that tried to scratch something into his sides would be in for an unpleasant surprise.

--O--​

Ratchet looked up from his work at the sound of the door opening to admit Doctor Zelenka. Puzzled, he looked the Czech scientist up and down with his holographic eyes.
"Doctor, I believe you said you were taking a break for repast. However my sensors detect no evidence of this." he said, leaving the statement hanging as an implied question. The physicist gave him a reproachful stare, which Ratchet ignored. He knew humans did not like it when he confronted them with information concerning their health habits which he had acquired by use of his extremely sensitive scanning equipment. He'd never quite figured out why, though his two standing theories were that it was a reminder of their fragile mortality which they seemed obsessed with ignoring, or it was from envy of his superior capabilities. Either way, it didn't much matter, because the look soon passed as Radek hefted a large wooden crate onto a nearby metal table.

"Major Lorne brought this back from Manaria." he stated, opening the top and beginning to unpack small, grey metal devices which looked oddly familiar. A quick shuffle through his internalized memory banks allowed Ratchet to identify them as portable shortwave radios, of Genii manufacture, no less. He sniffed, or at least his holoform made the illusion of having made the gesture.

"What's the point of bringing them back here?" he asked. Radek glanced over and shrugged.

"The Major wanted me to compare them to records of previous models, see if there'd been any change in the design. You don't need to bother yourself with it. I'll take care of it when I get back." Ratchet nodded cursorily, and turned back to his work, ready to put the whole thing out of his mind when he noticed the odd smell. It wasn't something a human nose could have detected by any stretch of the imagination, but Ratchet's sensors would've put the best bloodhound's olfactory capabilities to shame. It was an odd, sharp scent that seemed oddly familiar, with a metallic note to it, though not any metal known by human science. He looked back out the window at his real body, wondering if his detection system was picking up his own cyber-biology and needed recalibrating, but quickly dismissed that with evidence provided by a diagnostic. Drift was out patrolling the perimeter until such time as he might be needed, while Ironhide was amusing himself with human antics using his holoform in the base's mess hall, both well out of range. Besides, the smell wasn't of a true Cybertronian. No, it had something more...feral to it. His gaze drifted over to the radios, which Zelenka had lined up neatly on the table next to their box. The physicist noticed his interest and looked at him in confusion.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. Ratchet did not answer, but slowly began to approach the radios, causing Radek to back away cautiously. The Autobot's holoform paused about a foot from the table. The scent was strongest here...but how could it be here at all? His memory was flashing images to him of his life before the war, of a silvery, swollen metallic growth he'd been found in a disused corner of one of the buildings at the Great Academy, of the whirr of thousands of tiny ornithopter-wings and the stench of hydrocarbons. Ratchet scrutinized the rows of devices, wishing he could use his actual body instead of this fake one. And then, one of the small boxes shifted ever so slightly.

Ratchet's arm lashed out, but the device, now moving on its own, seemed to jump backwards, the false shell splitting apart as it tumbled out of reach while long, thin insectile legs sprouted from its sides. In seconds, the boxy Genii device had changed shape, no longer a mere radio. "Co te sakra!?" Ratchet heard Radek shout as the unveiled Insecticon shrieked viciously and tried to scamper away, tiny transparent wire and crystalline wings whirring as it made to take flight. Ratchet swore in Cybertronian and lunged across the table, trying to grab it, but the thing was already airborne, tiny evil compound eyes glittering as it extended a buzzing drill-like stinger and hurled itself at the human. In the background, Ratchet could hear other scientists dropping their work, some screaming in shock. He didn't care. He reoriented his holoform and tried to grab the thing again as Zelenka fell backwards, the Insecticon getting tangled in his glasses as it tried to land on his face. The Czech swore and swatted at the creature, which drew back for another strike just as a calculated grab by Ratchet caught it. The medic then brought it around and slammed it down on the table it had lifted off from with all the strength his holoform could muster. Behind him, a still-cursing Radek struggled to retrieve and don his glasses.

"Sladké matka zdravého rozumu!" he gasped, stumbling to his feet, "What was that!?"

"Insecticon." Ratchet said, keeping his hand down, before raising the creature up and banging it down a few more times until it's thin wire legs stopped twitching. Then he let go. Sticky internal fluids and coagulated lubricants clinging to his false fingers gave the illusion of having smashed an organic bug rather than a Cybertronian one.

"B-but how-" Radek started looking back and forth between Ratchet and the crushed bug.

"The smell. No matter how well the disguise, even if you can't pick up the rad signature all Cybertronian life-forms have a distinct odor. It's the living metal, mixed with trace Energon. You wouldn't have noticed it, but I did." he explained.

"What was it doing disguised as a radio though?!" Zelenka almost shouted. Ratchet could see the signs of shock taking form, but held back from stepping in when another three scientists rushed forward to do it for him. As they fussed around the physicist, one, a female, came over to look at the smashed Insecticon."

"What is that?" she asked curiously. Ratchet grumbled. Optimus may have relaxed his hold on sharing technology and knowledge, but the information available to most humans regarding Cybertronian mechano-biology was limited at best. Some time he really needed to talk with his friend about organizing seminars or something.

"A better question," he replied, "is what is it doing here?" Carefully he peeled a shattered wing from his holographic thumb. He needed to examine this thing with his own tools, not this half-blind hand-puppet made of photons. He was just about to ask the scientist for a bag or some other kind of container when a sizzle in the mess of components that had been the Insecticon drew his attention. He looked down and saw, fastened to its tiny, fizzled-out proto-Spark, something he was not expecting. A cold dread began to build in him as he did his best to retrieve the broken component. Holding it up to the light and swept it with his sensors, he felt the heartbeat of his observer quicken.
"What? What is it?" she asked fervently, her expression growing increasingly worried.

"It's a subspace tracking device." he said, feeling like a frozen hand had gripped his Spark, "And it's still active."

--O--​

In high orbit over the Alpha Site, space rippled and swirled, then erupted as a short-lived wormhole formed, spitting out a bronze and ebony behemoth in a flash of Cherenkov radiation. Deep in the bowels of the newly arrived ship, the hunter allowed himself a cold smile.

The trap was sprung. Now it was time to collect his prize.

o
-- ^ --​

A/N: So in the process of writing the next chapter I discovered I'd made a small continuity error in terms of how things go down and how long they should take. I don't think it'll be a huge issue, but if any of you spot it, please let me know if you think of a better way to fix it. Also, I know now that the Pegasus alliance was never officially given the title of Confederation, given it started as a coalition, but I don't think that's too much of an issue in terms of lore-farts. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next time, we get to some good, meaty action!

 

[Vadrigos]

Chapter 9
Prey​

Lorne was quick when it came to mundane things. After speaking with Zelenka, it took him all of ten minutes to reach the barracks, stow his equipment, find his assigned locker for his stay, wash, dress in something less sticky, then get his stuff back. He also took thirty seconds to acquire an earpiece radio, special equipment meant for use by the senior personnel. After that, he took a quick detour back to the Stargate to contact Colonel Sheppard and share details on what he'd learned, which took another eight minutes. He'd just closed the wormhole when he realized the little black device in his ear he'd been using to speak with Sheppard was clicking frantically, indicating someone wanted to talk with him, badly by the sounds of it. He quickly tuned it to the appropriate channel and soon the voice of Zelenka emerged from the little speaker.

"Major, Major are you there?" the man asked. Perplexed, Lorne stepped away from the DHD, pressing a hand to his ear to improve the sound quality.

"Zelenka? What is it? Did you find something about those radios?"

"Oh díky bohu, I thought you might not be connected to the base network yet and I'd have to come find you." the Czech said, and for the first time Lorne realized there was panic in his voice, "Listen, you need to come to the communications building right now. We have a very, very serious problem."

"What kind of problem?" Lorne asked, beginning to walk slowly towards the aforementioned building. He'd barely gone six feet when the loudspeakers mounted at the corners of some of the buildings began to wail a blood-chilling siren note. Lorne instinctively clamped his hands over his ears, which meant that as whirling red alert lights began to flash through the windows of every structure, he was still able to hear Zelenka's response.

"That kind of problem!!" the physicist declared. Lorne didn't need to be told more. He was running now. All prior banal thoughts of things like his planned meeting with the civilian administrator to discuss the long-term details of the task force's stay and recording a message for the A.O.A. before nightfall had vanished utterly. This was because the siren was an air-raid siren, and out here in the Pegasus Galaxy, that meant only one thing: Wraith. He got about halfway to the comms building before he saw them: six fiery streaks in the sky, roaring down at steep angles. Suddenly the siren gave an electric burp and cut out, and some of the loudspeakers actually burst, spitting sparks. All the lights around Lorne went out as his hair stood on end like he'd been rubbing his feet on the world's biggest carpet.

Shock and confusion filled the Major's mind. There was no doubt as to what had just happened; the Alpha Site had been hit by an electromagnetic pulse. The Wraith didn't use EMPs. Most of the human societies they preyed on were nowhere near advanced enough to warrant it. In the distance he heard a bellow of anger and the sound of an Autobot transforming. Suddenly Ironhide was there, black and silver head looming just above the buildings.

"Scrap!!!" he roared, extending both arm-cannons, "Incoming!" Doors were bursting open as personnel hurried to their posts. Standard procedure in the event of a Wraith attack on the Alpha Site was to secure the Stargate and open a wormhole before the Wraith could, thereby ensuring an easy evacuation route. Meanwhile the base's self-destruct would be armed, ensuring nothing would remain for the alien vampires to scavenge. Three railgun emplacements around the triangular perimeter would act as a distraction for any Darts, while other personnel were to take up positions and assist in any way possible to speed the evacuation.

Lorne knew though that they were not prepared. Oh, he had no doubt that everyone knew their jobs and could do them to the very best of their ability. They wouldn't be out here otherwise. No, he knew they weren't ready, because the attackers weren't Wraith. The fireballs were maneuvering now, changing course. Four seemed to grow, and as Lorne squinted, he saw it was because they were spreading open wings like diving birds of prey. Just like raptors, they braked, turned, swooped off and began to circle the perimeter. Their exact shape apart from the wings was hard to make out through the residual heat and smoke of their descent, but they looked somewhat like B-2 bombers with long, pointed tails and an indentation where their cockpit should've been. As they screamed through the heavens with a sound like A-10 Warthogs doing a flyby, they opened fire, strafing the buildings with heavy tracer rounds that ate through the concrete like blows from a jackhammer.

Swearing Lorne raced for cover. He had to get to Zelenka. In the lane across from him, he heard Ironhide spitting curses in Cybertronian, just as the larger of the two remaining falling objects braked and broke off, revealing itself as a huge craft with a swept-forward wing design with dozens of thruster nozzles and even more guns. The ship seemed to be geared for aerial fire support more than its smaller brethren, because second after slowing, it began to hover, kept aloft by its many blazing thrusters as its guns began to lay waste to the base. Far off, a spray of white fire speared into the heavens. Someone had reached one of the railgun platforms. The salvo managed to tag one of the smaller craft, which flashed and spun out of control. For a moment Lorne though it had gone down, but then he realized what he'd seen: the flicker of a shield.

The craft that had been hit righted itself, swooped away, then came back in a narrow arc, aimed at the source of the railgun fire. Rather than strafe it however, the craft did something else entirely. The wings, wide and straight like knives, folded back into the main body, which split, dozens of metal pieces detaching and reconfiguring in an all-too-familiar pattern.

The half-transformed Cybertronian plowed into the unseen gun emplacement in a ball of fire, the shockwave blowing out windows across half the base. Lorne felt himself picked up and thrown, which would've winded him if he hadn't stuck the landing and rolled. Coughing, smoke filling his lungs while broken plate glass rained down, the Major watched in horror as the Cybertronian, now fully transformed, emerged from the pillar of smoke, shields crackling. It leaped up, jets affixed to its shoulders propelling it, allowing it to land atop the nearest building still standing, then fired.

--O--​

Radek's head was ringing, his vision blurred. He could hear several voices, one of which was shouting. Hands that felt somehow without real substance hauled him to his feet and he found himself facing Ratchet's holoform.

"Doctor Zelenka! Are you well enough to move?" he said, drowning out everything else. He didn't shout, instead he seemed to have simply increased the volume of the projection's voice by a good three- or four-hundred percent. Radek nodded shakily, trying to straighten his glasses, only to find one lens was cracked from his fall after the shockwave had hit.

"Good. We cannot remain here. Communications is a likely next target. We must get to the Stargate." Zelenka nodded again. Then a realization struck him and he turned to the work table where the shattered Insecticon still lay. He rushed over and scooped the thing up, along with some of the radios, then heaved them into the box they'd come in, before slamming the lid.

"What are you doing?" Ratchet asked.

"Did you remove the tracking device?" Radek asked.

"I have. What-" the Autobot began, looking puzzled and slightly annoyed, which made Radek want to laugh, given how incongruous a reaction it was for the situation.
"We need evidence. Proof. And we need to study this. If there was one of these, there might be more!" Radek declared, hefting the box in his arm. Ratchet did not protest further, but simply nodded and gestured to the door.

"I have parked myself outside. When you emerge, I will cover your escape, though I suggest you do so soon. One of the craft is targeting the building." he explained. Radek needed no further prompting. He looked over the room.

"Doctor Zelenka!" called a voice from nearby. Radek whirled and saw to his horror that all was not well. Of the five other people who had been in the lab, two were dead. One, Dr. Frantziska, who had helped hook the equipment the task force had brought into the machines occupying the building, had slipped and by freakish chance, brained herself on the corner of one of the heavy stainless steel lab tables. Another Dr. Lammert, was partially splattered over one wall, his remains aligned with the stippling of holes along one section of ceiling and wall created by the heavy rounds of whatever was raining fire on the base. The other two survivors, Doctors Fabian and Ante, were struggling to lift a fallen server bank off the legs of their surviving, albeit apparently concussed co-worker, Dr. Nynke.

"Čubčí syn!" Radek cursed. Fabian looked at him imploringly. Radek started to approach, but Ratchet stepped past him, moving quickly. The holoform, which had no real mass, but didn't seem to care, grabbed the server bank with both hands and heaved. Zelenka noted with surprise that the Autobot's illusory face showed strain as he single-handedly moved the immensely heavy stack of computer parts. Did it really take effort on his part? Or was it just one more social nicety to be mimicked to avoid frightening his human colleagues?
"Doctor Zelenka, hurry outside. My vehicle form contains a stretcher. You will need it." the Autobot commanded. There was no room for discussion in his voice. Radek had seen this before, in Dr. Carson Beckett, back when he'd been in charge of the Atlantis infirmary. It was the attitude of a healer concerned only with his patient. Radek, knowing better than to disobey, turned and ran, pausing to drop the box on a nearby table.

As the short Czech physicist shouldered the door open, trying to keep his glasses on his face,the chaos outside hit him full force. One quick look took everything in. Three alien fighter craft, shaped like flying broad-headed arrows, were pounding away at the base with the help of a far larger one that looked like a flying fortress. A crash nearby pulled his attention to his left, where he saw Ironhide locked in a hand-to-hand and gun-to-gun struggle with a red-eyed, somewhat spindly-looking Transformer of about the same height as himself.
"Doctor!" came Ratchet's booming voice, and Zelenka wrenched himself away from the spectacle to face Ratchet's yellow and red shape, parked mere meters from the door. Parts of his vehicle form were retracted to expose a variety of guns that were firing every time Ironhide's opponent left himself open to attack. Radek raced forward, just as a hatch popped and a white, collapsible stretcher was ejected from the Autobot's side.

"Hurry!" commanded the Autobot medic. Zelenka grabbed the stretcher and turned to see someone come racing out of the growing haze of dust and smoke covering the base. Instinctively Radek raised the stretcher to fend off the potential attacker, remembering once when he'd been a boy in Czechoslovakia how a political protest had spiralled out of control, people turning to looting and rioting for hours before the police regained control.

"Whoa, hey! Doc, it's me!" shouted the figure. Radek shifted his glasses suspiciously, then realized it was Major Lorne.

"Major! Thank god!" Radek shouted over the din, "Doctor Nynke is hurt! We need to get her out!" As he spoke, behind him, Ratchet cast off his disguise and transformed fully, extending his medical saw with a whining shriek before charging into the fray. As Zelenka watched over his shoulder, Ironhide pinned his writhing attacker against a building in a shower of debris. The Decepticon, for surely that was what it had to be, raised and arm and transformed one hand into a hook-like appendage, which it buried in Ironhide's back before headbutting him, then kneeing him in an effort to get him off. Every time it struck the Autobot, Zelenka saw with horror the shimmering flash of a shield. The connotations of that fact were not good in any way.

"Come on!" Lorne shouted, grabbing Radek's shoulder and racing for the door while the titans duked it out. Zelenka followed.

"Major, listen I must tell you-" he began, mouth running on autopilot.

"Not now!" the man replied. The shrieking sound of one of the smaller fighter-craft drew near and the Czech looked up in terror to see it was coming in for a strafing run.

"Look out!" he cried, bulling his way forward and shoving Lorne through the door and down on his chest and the steady thumping of the craft's guns filled his ears. Stone chips and metal fragments spat into the air in a cloud of dust. The huge rounds punched fresh holes in the structure of the building, missing the duo by inches. From outside can a flurry of explosions as Ironhide fired his cannons, their huge reports unmistakable even over the thunderous din. Radek struggled back to his feet, Lorne following.

"Come on!" Lorne said, looking back at the damaged wall and door behind them, "We need to move!" Radek nodded vigorously and hastily unfolded the stretcher, prompting Lorne to grab the far end. Together they struggled over the debris of the lab, smashed electronics crunching underfoot like bones while wires sparked overhead, showering them in sparks. Doctors Fabian and Ante rushed forward to help until Lorne gestured for them to stay put. Finally they drew level with the injured Dr. Nynke, whose mouth was flapping open and closed without making a sound, as if she were in so much pain that screams alone would not suffice.

"Get your arms under her!" Lorne commanded the two men, "On the count of three! One...two… thre-" As he said three, another booming shockwave rumbled through the room and more rubble fell from the ceiling, though thankfully not right on them. The two scientists ignored it and heaved, shifting their injured colleague atop the stretcher.

"Good!" Lorne shouted, the sound of battle making it harder and harder for him to be heard, "Now take over! Zelenka, follow me!" As Lorne and Radek turned over the handles of the stretcher to the two doctors, the Czech rushed to grab the box he had abandoned.

"What are you doing!?" Lorne shouted as an earth-shaking explosion caused them all to stumble. Not far away, possibly right next door given how much dust suddenly blew in the broken windows, a building rumbled and collapsed.

"I'll explain later!" Radek shouted back, hurrying over with the box under his arm. Lorne shook his head in bewilderment, then refocused on the door, through which light still shone despite all the damage.

"Let's go! We need to get to the gate!" he ordered.

"Will it still be working!?" asked Doctor Ante, worry playing over his dust-shrouded face as he held the rear of the stretcher.

"We got hit with an EMP, but the Stargate has backups linked to the DHD! They should be immune!"

"Won't they be expecting us to go that way though!?" Ante pressed, shifting his weight from one leg to another in a nervous little dance before a groan from Nynke caused him to stop.
"If they were Wraith, they might! But these aren't Wraith...I don't know how much they know! We have to try though!" Lorne answered, "Come on! Stay right behind me! Keep her head steady as you can and keep up!" He dropped to a crouch, pulling out his sidearm, for all the good it would do, and advanced towards the door, waving for the others to follow. Moving as one, they retraced the Major's steps back through the wreckage of the lab and out the door. No sooner were they out, but a fresh blast nearly threw them off their feet. Radek looked back just in time to see fire fill the lab as an ominous groan came from the whole building's infrastructure.

"GO!" roared Lorne, and they ran, dust choking the air as half the comms building collapsed behind them, rubble spilling outwards in a torrent of dust and smoke. As they fled, Radek found himself wishing he had taken that vacation with his brother after all. Sorting books might be boring but at least it didn't involve being shot at.

--O--​

Above the growing pall of smoke and ruin, the hunter stared down from his gunship, which circled the edge of the battle while the automated attack craft did their work. His previous excitement at finally returning to the hunt had now been replaced by puzzlement. It had only taken a couple quartexes to determine that these were not his intended prey. Yes, he had anticipated the presence of the human vermin, but they seemed less well-armed than he had expected. Furthermore, the two targets being engaged by one of the smaller drones were not part of his contract. Engaging his helm's advanced image-recognition systems, he switched to infrared to bypass the growing cloud of dust and homed in on the pair of Autobots fighting the transformed drone to a standstill. The built-in link to his ship's database quickly provided him with an ID match based on a brief overview of their fighting styles, armament and body profiles.

The hunter's grin returned. These were not his intended prey, but they were no less valuable...if he did this right, anyway. A quick check displayed the bounties on both, which only made him smile wider. Reaching into the canopy of the gunship, he unclipped the enormous rifle stowed there, its bulk unfolding and elongating as he brought it down. As he swung it around to point out the open side of the gunship's rear compartment, automated systems linked the weapon up with a supportive harness that extended from the framework of the vessel preemptively, connecting the lengthy weapon in a set of recoil-absorbing and aim-stabilizing tethers. Green eyes gleaming with anticipation, the hunter ordered the autopilot to bring him in closer, activating the optical link for his helm's HUD to the weapon's scope.

--O--​

Drift was on the outskirts of the Alpha Site's perimeter when the ships had descended. It had taken him about five micro-cycles to identify them for what they were: heavily-modified Decepticon interceptor drones. If he had been outside his vehicle form, he would've grimaced. The last time he had seen things like those, Starscream had been using them to raze Cormukan to dust during the last hours of the war on Cybertron. He had little time to reminisce though, because no sooner had he ID'ed them, they opened fire. Cursing, he had struggled to find a place to take cover while the panicking humans fled towards the Stargate. He had called out to those nearby, urging them to seek cover and stay out of the open. Most listened, but more than a few ignored him, only to be turned into paste by strafing runs. He'd taken shelter in the shadow of a large storage building, located on the east side of the complex, which seemed to be relatively ignored by the attacking drones.

The heavier assault craft focused its fire on the main structure at the core of the Site, shredding it with a persistent hail of fire, along with anyone inside or trying to get out. Drift wondered if the humans had managed to arm the self-destruct. He had been briefed on the protocols, but could not recall if the explosive device the humans had in place was hardened against EMPs. Then again, humans seemed to love keeping the controls for their nuclear fission devices as low-tech as possible, so perhaps it had been spared. Either way, it didn't matter. Drift knew that one way or another, in about twenty minutes, the entire Alpha Site and everyone in it would be a smoking ruin. A swooping interceptor fired a barrage of missiles into the base's fuel depot, causing an enormous fireball to erupt at one corner of the triangular perimeter. Thick black smoke began to fill the air as Drift struggled to simultaneously evaluate his armaments, locate his allies and prevent anyone else from getting killed. He looked down, and saw six men and women pressed up against the same wall as him, looking up at him. He focused on one; redheaded, her follicles still dripping water from a recent exterior cleansing. Her nametag read 'Cadman'. She was one of three of the six that were carrying weapons, and her tags identified her as the highest-ranking of all those present.

"Lieutenant!" he asked, "Can you lead these people to safety?"

"Maybe. Can you provide covering fire?" she called up. Drift turned, peeking over the lip of the building's roof. In the distance he could see the signs of Ironhide and Ratchet engaging one of the drones. He had quickly worked out from the way one of the things had obliterated one of the base's railgun emplacements that they had a protective energy barrier of some kind, though how strong it was remained to be seen. Drift silently wished he had more experience fighting opponents with such a device. On Cybertron, shields were rare, not like here in these galaxies once ruled by the Ancients. Their creation was a lost art, one of many his home Kalis had pursued until its destruction. If these drones had them, it could mean any number of things, none of them good.

"Everything alright!?" Drift flinched and realized he was ignoring the Lieutenant's question. He looked down again.

"Hardly. I have no weapons for a ground-to-air battle, and I am unsure how effective I would be against these machines in direct combat." he replied. Suddenly a thought struck him.
"Where is the nearest railgun battery?" he asked. He knew those at least were hardened against EMP, as the brief stream of fire from the one destroyed by the drone which had Ratchet and Ironhide occupied had proved. If he could just reach one…

"One hundred meters that way!" Cadman shouted as a drone screamed overhead, swooping around for another strafing run, this one aimed at the base's barracks, which were thankfully already empty, "But we'll never make it! The instant we power up, we'll get ripped to shreds!"

Drift frowned. The human was right. The guns were designed to be active and armed before the enemy even entered the atmosphere. The speed of this attack had caught them all off-guard. Still, they had to try.

"I will do my best to shield you. If we can force another of them to the ground or attract their attention away from destroying the rest of the base, it will give others a better chance to escape." he said, "How many are needed to operate the weapon?"

"Two people." Cadman answered, ducking down as enormous tracer rounds cut into the building across from their hiding spot. Drift nodded.

"I suggest you pick someone to lead those of this group not equipped with weapons to the Stargate, and bring the other with you. I will do my best to keep their attention away from you." he said. Just then, a shriek of tearing metal caused Drift to peek back over the building's roof. He saw to his delight, Ironhide, the drone caught in a bear-hug as Ratchet held it by the collar. The brief flickers of light indicating its shields were active were no longer present, and as he watched, Ratchet gutted the squirming machine with his medical saw, ripping out its pseudo-Spark and tossing it as far as he could. The limp husk sagged, before being tossed aside. Drift almost cheered, when a resounding boom echoed across the complex. Ironhide was thrown back, and to his horror, Drift saw a gaping hole blasted in his shoulder, rendering one of his arms all but useless. A roar of fury and pain resounded through the dust-filled air as Drift stepped away from the wall, trying to find the source of the shot.

"What, what happened?!" Cadman shouted up. Drift ignored her, sweeping his optics from horizon to horizon until he saw the gunship, the sixth member of the group of attacking craft, and the only one that as yet had not joined in reducing the base to rubble. He focused his optics, trying to see inside the compartment. As he did, the craft banked and turned in mid-air, affording the Autobot the view of a long, needle-nosed barrel protruding from the side, hooked into support straps. Drift recognized the weapon immediately as the Cybertronian equivalent of a sniper rifle, though humans would've probably classified it as an anti-tank weapon. He felt the Energon drain from his facial articulators, before his Spark hardened with resolve.

"Change of plans, Lieutenant." he said, looking down, "Send the rest of the group away, but we have a new target." He pointed at the circling craft. "We need to bring down that gunship."

"Why!?" Cadman demanded. Drift smirked.

"Because if I'm right, whoever's onboard is controlling these drones. Bring him down and we may be able to force them to regroup automatically." The woman looked at him as if she wanted to ask him to explain, but then she shook her head.

"Alright, fine." she said, then glanced over at one of the two members of the group against the wall, "Yancy! You get these three out of here. Edgars, you're with me!"

"Sir, yes sir!" cried the two soldiers. Drift nodded, then looked back towards the main building just in time to see a huge section collapse in a rising column of smoke and ash. Fires were burning in the distance, spreading this way, both from the destroyed railgun emplacement and the fuel depot. A quick crash of a door being kicked in caused Drift to glance over at the door in the wall they'd all been pressed against. Yancy had forced it open, and was hustling the other unarmed members of the band through. With luck, the structure would provide a bit of cover from the shrapnel and smoke while they made for the Stargate.

Once they were out of sight, Cadman glanced up at him, then looked over at Edgars, who was checking her weapon.

"You ready, Sergeant?" she asked. In response, the other woman took the safety off her gun. It was one of the special ones, made for fighting Decepticons...or at least distracting them.

"As I can be, sir!" she replied. Cadman nodded, then turned back to Drift.

"Lead the way!"

--O--​

Ironhide struggled to stand, his damaged shoulder sending arcs of pain through his sensory receptors. Ratchet stood to his side, draping the carcass of the downed drone over himself in an attempt to thwart the sniper. It didn't help. As Ironhide struggled to find cover, a second thunderous *BOOM* ripped across the sky and the medic cried out.
"Ratchet!" Ironhide bellowed, before a spray of tracers from the biggest of the five remaining craft raked the ground between the two Autobots, driving them apart. Ratchet slumped, a large hole now evident in the left side of his torso.

"COWARDS!" roared Ironhide, firing desperately up at the big ship, hoping to drive it off. Instead the huge craft turned, trying to bring its forward-mounted weapons to bear on the duo, backing its bulk up over the smoking ruin of the command center. Ironhide dived away, looking for shelter in the shadow of a machine shop that hadn't yet been leveled. Another shot ignited a welding torch of pain in his lower left leg. He swore vigorously in Cybertronian. Ironhide hated snipers on principle, but this one had the gall to toy with them. As he ducked out of the crosshairs of the big assault ship, he tried to collect himself.

[Ratchet! Are you still functional?] he broadcast over his integrated comms.

[As much as it is possible to be. I'll try and patch the wound, but our cover won't last long.] the wounded medic replied. Ironhide shook his head.
[We're on a deadline regardless. I looked at the schematics of the base before we arrived. Even with that EMP, the self-destruct device is still viable, and given our luck, probably already active.]

[So what's the plan?] asked Ratchet, as concrete chunks clanged off Ironhide's helm, the big ship having decided it was easier to demolish his cover rather than force him out of it.
[The humans are already moving for the Stargate. Grab what supplies you can carry and try to assist any wounded. Set internal timers for fifteen minutes, but be through the gate in ten. I'd rather not take any chances.]

[What about Drift?] Ratchet asked. Ironhide grunted irritably. His instincts were to blame the attack on the defector, but he knew Optimus would not approve. Besides, there was no evidence, which didn't mean some wouldn't eventually turn up. Regardless of what his leader preached, he would never be caught dead placing his full trust in the 'bot. Still, he had to try. He sighed then pinged the ex-Con's communicator.

[Drift! Status report!] he demanded. As if on cue, another of the sleek fighters dropped from the sky, transforming as it fell. It did not land near Ironhide however, instead making impact on the east side of the base.

[I am attempting to get one of the railgun emplacements up and running to cover the evacuation.]

[Any contact from the civilian director?] Ironhide quizzed.

[None. I estimate at least a third of the surviving personnel have evacuated by now. None of the craft appear to be covering the approach to the Stargate.] Drift answered. Ironhide frowned, then grimaced as a missile slammed into the building across from him. He suspected that of the two-hundred and thirty-six personnel stationed at the Alpha Site, at least a full third or more had to be dead or beyond help under the rubble. If Drift was right, that meant nearly one-hundred people were still trying to get to the Stargate, give or take a few bodies. This didn't include the task force itself, which had been composed of thirty people including Sheppard's team, Ratchet, Drift, Optimus and Ironhide himself, not to mention-
A horrible thought gripped the big black Autobot as he dodged out of cover to tag one of the drones as it did a flyby, sending it spinning into a barrel roll before righting itself neatly. The Wraith prisoner was still locked in the brig, and given how resilient he had been told they were compared to humans, likely still alive. He was tempted to let the thought slide away into nothingness, but the creature had been designated part of the plan to track down the source of the Decepticon signal. He doubted Optimus would approve should he ignore the chance to rescue him, even if he was a parasitic predator. He might be able to pretend the alien had been killed in the assault, but while he did not doubt he could lie to Colonel Sheppard, he could not lie to his Prime. Grinding his dentes with irritation, he focused on the comms again.

[Do your best to cover the retreat. If the position becomes untenable, abandon it and move to the Stargate. Grab any supplies you can carry as you go.]
[What will you be doing?] Ratchet asked.

[Rescuing someone I'd rather not.] the weapons specialist replied grimly.

--O--​

The hunter wheeled his gunship around for another pass, exhilaration flowing through him. He hadn't had this much fun in dozens of cycles. Casually, he noted that the shrieking human pests who had not yet perished were trying to group together and brave the fire of his drones to reach the planet's Trans-Stellar Ground Bridge. He had encountered such devices on other planets in this galaxy before, and it was likely their sole means of escape. His sensors had detected no signs of an infrastructure to support any kind of spaceflight, which helped support his hypothesis. The question was would the Autobots use it too? He worked his way through a complex network of implications and details while attempting to line up the next shot. The situation was rapidly evolving, and he was struggling to stay abreast of it while tipping the scales in his favor.

The presence of the Autobots, specifically these Autobots in particular, suggested that their leader was somewhere in this galaxy. If the hunter could snare him and deliver him to his present employer, it would make the payday for his originally-intended targets pale in comparison. Idly he instructed two of the surviving drones to target the human survivors. There was no need to let too many of them escape. Plus, it would anger the Autobots, and angry prey were easy to read and predict. The sensors tracking the movements of the disgusting creatures flickered as twelve of their heat signatures winked out under a downpour of destruction.

Allowing himself a small smile of amusement, the hunter refocused again. Based on their association with these humans, given the chance, the Autobots would likely use the Stargate to escape. The fact that his tracker was no longer transmitting suggested they had worked things out fairly quickly. Once they were beyond the portal, he would be unable to follow them. If he had been prone to such unnecessary tics, the hunter would've shaken his head in frustration. It was all too complicated. Best to take what he could get now, and sort out the details later. There would be plenty of time to plan once these three were in the hold. Preferably it would be alive...but dead would do as well.

Without warning, a spray of high-velocity ferromagnetic slugs shot up from one of the previously-defunct defense emplacements. It seemed the humans were not so easily disarmed.. Still, it had taken them far longer to muster any kind of retaliation than even he had thought. He instructed the third drone, already engaging the third, unwounded Autobot, to destroy the emplacement, just as it opened fire on the heavy assault craft. The hunter sneered as the bolts pinged off the vessel's shields, which were far stronger than those of the drones. For a moment, he was tempted to instruct the all the craft to disable their shields, just to improve the odds for his quarry. But then that would be foolish. You never gave your prey a chance. A true hunter always stacked the odds, even if it wasn't very fun.

Smiling grimly, he ordered the assault ship to load its missile tubes with incendiary rockets. The Autobots were clearly working to protect and help the humans as they evacuated. The one defending the gun emplacement from the drone was proof enough of that. If he was any judge, and he was usually a very good one, they would wait until the last moment to escape themselves, that moment being when the last of the humans had fled. Well, there was no reason why he should have to wait for that. He gave the order to fire. The missiles shot out, winding drunkenly through the sky before plunging down on the hapless organics and their defenders. Huge plumes of flame erupted as their impacts sprayed volatile flammable chemicals across the landscape, turning a good chunk of the base into a vision of hell.

--O--​

Drift parried a vicious downstroke from the drone's compact hand-axe, which buzzed against his own longsword, blades flashing like arc welders. He took the chance to put a few rounds in with his machine pistol, which the soldier's barrier easily repelled. He checked his mental countdown and noted he had ten minutes left before the Alpha Site was incinerated, presuming it was correct and it wasn't more or less than that. That was the thing about estimation: it was never any comfort.

The drone kicked at Drift, who dodged sideways and swiped at the outstretched leg. The blade did not cut the mindless warrior, but did manage to overbalance it. It fell over backwards, only to propel itself upright again with its shoulder-mounted jets. Drift had been expecting this, and its rising face was quickly met by his metal fist, knocking it back down. Nearby, Cadman was screaming human curse words as she fired at whatever target seemed best. Thankfully the guns were already shielded against strong magnetic fields, given their function, meaning the EMP had done little to truly damage them apart from forcing them into emergency shutdown. They were independently powered too, meaning even with the power plant in flames, they could still fight back.

The shockwave from the impact of the incendiary missiles staggered both combatants. Drift recovered first, and made a vicious thrust at the drone, which glanced off its shield. The drone lunged, trying to tackle him, but he rolled with the attack, causing the machine to crash down atop the concrete roof of the hexagonal bunker surrounding the embedded railgun. As it rose, the weapon swivelled around and fired at point blank into its upper back. The shield flickered, sparked, then popped like a soap bubble. Strong as it was, even it could not withstand such damage. The gun was rated to punch holes in the hulls of Wraith Hive Ships. It had no problem with the drone. The machine screamed, then fell silent as its upper body and head were ripped apart. Its burning form crashed back on the weapon's barrel. Cadman swore and jumped clear. Drift grabbed her and dive-rolled away, the human shrieking in shock as the weapon went up in a fireball. Depositing his charge, who immediately started patting herself down as if expecting to be full of holes Drift looked back at the gun. That plan had lasted all of two minutes. A brief thermal survey informed him there were no survivors in the immediate vicinity. He looked down at Cadman as punched the air.

"Yes! Take that you piece of crap!"

"It's 'piece of scrap'." Drift corrected idly. She looked up at him, baffled.

"What?" The Autobot shook his head as Edgars, who had been taking cover near the gun's targeting array, jogged over, partially covered in soot."

"Jesus, Sergeant are you ok?" Cadman asked, rushing over.

"A little singed, sir." the woman answered, coughing violently. The dust filling the air was getting worse and worse. The smoke from the ruined gun didn't help anything either.
"The fires are spreading." Drift stated, fighting to get an image of the battlefield through the debris and flame. Ironhide's plan was rapidly disintegrating. Drift could not even get a lock on the weapons specialist's location. The heavy assault craft loomed over the destruction, its engines rumbling enough to make Drift's armor resonate in kind. He shook his head.

"Lieutenant Cadman, we must secure the Stargate. I estimate that if the self-destruct has been armed as protocol dictates, we have seven minutes to escape before everything here is destroyed.

"Think we can make it?" asked the redhead, squinting into the distance.

"I do not know." Drift said. Given the devastation being wrought on the Alpha Site, he doubted that many humans were still alive or in any shape to reach the Stargate. Optimus would frown on abandoning them, but he also would probably agree there was no point in their all being vaporized together.

"Have you been able to reach Major Lorne?" Drift asked, crouching as a drone soared overhead, searching for prey, yet apparently ignoring them.

"My last contact with him was just before I hooked up with you. He said he and Doctor Zelenka were making a run for the gate, and they'd try to hold it as long as they could.

"Then we will add our firepower to his."

"Do we have a plan?" Edgars asked.

"My plan is to hold the gate until Ironhide and Ratchet can reach it." Drift said.

"Good plan." the Sergeant said sarcastically.

"There is nothing we can do for any other survivors who might be trapped, not in the time window we have left." Drift stated flatly. Edgars looked like she wanted to protest. So did Cadman Drift didn't blame either of them. He was a pragmatist, but it didn't stop him from smarting at the idea of leaving allies behind to die. Finally Cadman seemed to relent.

"Alright. Fine, let's go. No point in us all blowing up together."

Drift nodded, and hoped he would not live to regret the decision.

--O--​

Ironhide reached the Alpha Site brig and was annoyed to discover it was already abandoned. He supposed he couldn't blame them. He was already working against his own self-interest by rescuing this squishy vampire as far as he was concerned. Why should the humans stick around to defend him? Still, it stung his sense of duty to see soldiers desert their posts...or maybe he was reading it the wrong way? Perhaps they'd been ordered to leave Todd behind? It didn't matter to Ironhide. He ran a thermal scan of the interior, indicating the presence of one life-form; his target. The brig itself was squat, rectangular, and little more than a series of cells buried in the ground with an enclosed room above and a set of stairs leading down to them. Not being one for careful extractions, Ironhide grasped the closest handholds he could find and pulled on the structure's northern wall, which featured its main entrance.

Another *BOOM* echoed across the landscape and the combat specialist instinctively ducked. However, when he detected no impact near him, he returned to his task while opening a channel to Ratchet.

[Status report!] he ordered. The gruff tones of the medic came back tinged with pain.

[Still functional. I've located and retrieved as many survivors as I think I'll find within our time window. I'm proceeding back to the gate, but our sniper seems to have picked me out as a favored target.] he explained. Ironhide bellowed with effort as a huge chunk of masonry came free and opened up the interior of the brig, allowing him to see inside. He could see the Wraith in his cell, pressed up against the closest load-bearing wall, and was happy to see the vile parasite was more than a little terrified due to his entrance.
[Just get to the gate. I'll be right behind you. Try to stick to whatever cover is still standing.] he commanded his friend.

"Stand back." he then ordered Todd, causing the Wraith to press himself further into the concrete as the Autobot warrior extended a small, specialized micro-gun designed to fire non-lethal payloads...or at least non-lethal to Cybertronians anyway. He targeted the cell door lock on Todd's cell and tried to steady himself as he aimed through the opening he'd created. He fired, and with a *CLANG*, the round punched through the lock and into the concrete floor, causing the alien contained in the cell to hiss with shock and anger. Ironhide didn't apologize, instead choosing to kick in the brig's main door.

"Come on!" he ordered the captive Wraith, who wasted no time pushing past the ruined barrier that had been keeping him in and struggling up the steps to the entrance, an exercise that would've made Ironhide laugh had they not been in such a hurry. The modified straightjacket holding Todd's arms to his sides made his movement awkward and maintaining his balanced difficult while moving at speed. The Autobot looked over his shoulder warily as his target exited the building. No drones were nearby, but in the distance, the remaining two were converging on the last railgun platform, no doubt to ensure it did not become another threat.

"Now what, machine?" the Wraith asked, staring up Ironhide with a grouchy expression. Ironhide glowered down at the pale creature and briefly wondered if Optimus would really care if he squashed this pest. The obvious answer was 'yes', because Sheppard said they needed him, and Optimus agreed with Sheppard, even if Ironhide generally trusted Lennox more than the Colonel.

"Now we leave. The base is being evacuated." Ironhide stated.

"And you came back for me? Without being ordered?" the Wraith chuckled darkly, "I'm almost touched."

"Don't push it, parasite." the Autobot growled, then transformed into his vehicle mode, throwing open one of the rear passenger doors. "Get in. I can't be bothered to wait for you to keep pace when you're staggering around on those useless legs." he ordered. Todd frowned, but did as he was told. As he closed the door, an explosion from the far side of the complex signalled the end of the last railgun.

[Drift, status report!] Ironhide commanded as he revved his engine and drove towards the gate, skidding around or through any obstacles that presented themselves, much to his passenger's chagrin.

[I have almost reached the Stargate. Stand by.] he replied. The weapons specialist was not amused. Almost as if on cue, one of the drones appeared to take notice of him and circled around to come in behind him, flying low for a strafing run.

[Stargate is secure. Major Lorne is here, and is organizing survivors to carry supplies through as they arrive. Destination has been set for the Athosian settlement where Colonel Sheppard is currently located.] Drift said as massive bullets rattled down like hail, chasing Ironhide as he swerved back and forth to disrupt his pursuer's aim. His passenger hissed, clinging to the seat belt harness, which he had not fastened as his arm restraints would not allow him the freedom of motion to do so. Ironhide took some small pleasure in annoying the Wraith as he hurtled through a patch of burning oil from a nearby machine shop.

[Take up position and assist him. Ratchet and I are inbound. Inform the Major that we must leave as soon as we are able. Presuming the self-destruct is armed, we have approximately five minutes before detonation.]

[Understood.] Drift replied. Ironhide increased his speed and Todd howled with anger. The Autobot ignored him. He'd deal with the creature in the fullness of time. Right now he just had to get off this accursed planet.

--O--​

The hunter smiled as the drones destroyed the last of the railguns. It wasn't that they'd posed a threat; it was simply that this whole hunt had already proven to be full of surprises, and he wasn't in the mood for more. He checked his scanner readouts. Human lifesigns were dwindling across the base as the fires lit by his missiles spread. Only a handful of life-signatures remained active outside the vicinity of the Ground Bridge. As a result, the Autobots had begun to congregate around the device. One was already nearby, and another was soon to arrive. Presently he was harassing the third with fire from his sniper rifle in an effort to thwart any attempts to rescue stray humans. He didn't doubt that sooner rather than later, his target would give up and join his brethren.

The hunter frowned as he gazed down the sights of his weapon yet again. He was currently running a great risk, allowing his prey to stand so close to a potential means of escape. It was only by virtue of their blind idealism and refusal to abandon the human vermin that they had not left already. As he cut down another pathetic fleshling, he decided he was not about to push his luck further. He was rather proud of how he'd managed to adapt to the information-sparse scenario he'd dropped into, but that was no excuse for leaving things up to chance when the catch was so close.

The hunter steeled himself. No more fun and games. Now it was time to do the job and get paid.

--O--​

Ratchet was, to put it in human terms, very, very sore. So far the sniper hadn't managed to hit him dead on again, but more than a few shots had grazed his armor in his efforts to rescue who and what he could from the demolished structures around him. More than once, bullets he thought were meant for him seemed to miss on purpose and hit the people he was saving, filling him with a deep and visceral rage. It was like the piece of tin was toying with him, like a turbofox with a datamouse. He'd faced his share of sick and twisted Decepticon personalities in his time, but this was was something special.

With the timer having reached critical levels, Ratchet finally gave up on finding anyone else and turned towards the Stargate. As he did, a roar of engines prompted him to look skywards. One of the drones had locked on and was racing towards him, guns blazing. Ratchet, already in vehicle mode, gunned his engines and burned rubber towards the promise of escape. Bullets rained down, most striking the ground around him. Ratchet turned a corner, locking his brakes and drifting around the bend to escape the drone's trajectory, and was astonished to realize that it was already pulling out of its run, screaming skywards and looping around. Before the niggling suspicion in the back of his sub-processors could grow, however, Ratchet noticed the big ship was turning, bringing itself to bear on the Stargate.

[Ironhide, have you reached the Stargate?] the medic asked quickly, accelerating and swerving to deter any more strafing runs.

[I've just arrived. What is it?] the weapons specialist replied. Ratchet tried to keep his tone calm, but it was difficult, given the amount of firepower that was now starting to bear down on his friend's position.

[Get the humans out of here. The big ship-] he began.

[Scrap!] Ironhide cursed, [I see it.]

[We can't fight that kind of firepower, not here and now. Get the humans out before that thing decides to fire more incendiaries. There's no way we can protect them if it tries.]

[Alright, fine. I-AAGHH-] Ironhide's response was cut off with another *BOOM*, and Ratchet's Spark skipped a beat, then another as he realized he couldn't see the gunship anymore.

[Ironhide!] he called desperately.

[SLAG! The son of a glitch snuck up behind us. How-AGHHH!] Another *BOOM*, another scream of pain. Then another familiar voice filled the channel.

[Ratchet, it's Drift. Ironhide is alive, but he's incapacitated. That last shot took off his right arm, cannon and all. The humans are moving out, estimate another thirty seconds before everyone left is through the gate. What do you suggest?] Ratchet increased his speed, red-lining his motors.

[Try to drag Ironhide into cover. If he protests, tell him to stow it, or he answers to me. Try to cover the humans' escape once he's safe. Then drag him through.]
[And you?] Drift asked. Ratchet checked his timer. Three and a half minutes left.

[Don't worry about me. I'm almost ther-] he began.

Out of nowhere, a missile streaked out of the sky and smashed into the ground in front of Ratchet. As he swerved to avoid it, the medic rolled, transforming as he did, the boxes and parcels he'd had those he rescued strap to him or store in him coming free as he transformed, before he crashed into a wall with enough force to crack it down the middle. He groaned, helm ringing, the sound of Drift's voice filling his ears.

[Ratchet? Ratchet? What happened?] Drift demanded, before the dull rumble of thrusters filled the medic's audio receptors.

One of the drones, perhaps the very one that had been chasing him, appeared overhead as Ratchet struggled to his feet, transforming and landing in front of him with an earthshaking thud. Ratchet took aim with his burst-cannon, but it was swatted aside by the drone, which converted its hand into a hooked appendage like the one which had attacked Ironhide had used. It swung this up under Ratchet's breastplate and dragged him forward, swinging him sideways and spinning him around to deposit him on his back. Various scattered packages split open and were crushed as the dazed Autobot came down. The drone pulled its hook free and replaced it with a heavy metal foot, pinning Ratchet. The medic extended his saw and slashed at the limb, but it simply rebounded off the machine's defensive barrier. Already wounded and leaking Energon, Ratchet struggled to find the strength to fight back. As he attacked the underside of the drone's thigh, it brought its foot up and smashed it down on his most prominent injury, where the sniper had first hit him. He screamed with pain and tried to shoot it in the face, which stunned it, causing it to stagger back. Ratchet rolled, took aim and fired again, driving his attacker back. He checked the countdown; two minutes, forty-five seconds. He pushed himself to his knees, and turned in time to see the gunship bearing the sniper rumble into position behind him. The figure behind the massive weapon was dark and faceless. A gleaming black mask covered his features, but he was clearly Cybertronian. Ratchet swore as the long barrel of the rifle retracted and seemed to split, reshaping itself into a new weapon.
[Ratchet!] shouted Drift over the link. The Autobot medic grinned weakly.

[Go.] he ordered. Then a series of charges fired around the barrel of the newly transformed weapon. A web of cables attached to small spiked spheres flew out, wrapping around Ratchet like barbed wire. A jolt of agony coursed through his processors, and he collapsed, senseless to the dirt.

--O--​

The hunter chuckled beneath his helm, then directed the drones to transport the prisoner to the heavy assault ship, before instructing the gunship's systems to take him to the rest of his prey. The hunt was almost finished.

"One down…" he muttered to himself.

--O--​

Drift saw the gunship swing low over the smouldering complex. As the medic's final order croaked through the comms, he knew it was too late. The timer had hit one minute and fifty seconds. Behind him Lorne stood by the active Stargate.

"Let's go!" the human shouted, barely audible over the din. Drift watched, frozen in horror as the two remaining drones rose from the rubble, a large, misshapen package held between them by two cables.

"RATCHET!!!" Ironhide roared as the pair of murderous machines hooked up with the heavy assault craft, which opened a section of its hull to allow the drones to drop their cargo into its bulk. Drift felt a hollow space open in his Spark as the package vanished into the monstrosity. How would he explain this to Optimus? How could he tell his leader that one of his oldest friends was no in enemy hands? No sooner had the supporting wires been cut, the craft that had been carrying the captive medic swung around and came screaming towards the gate.

"NOW!!!" Lorne bellowed. Behind him, the last few human soldiers that had been hanging on taking potshots with their puny weapons dove through the gate. One minute and fourteen seconds. Drift's survival instincts were strong, and Ratchet's final order still resonated in his helm, quickly drowning out the cacophony of self-loathing and defeat that had briefly gripped him. There was nothing to be done. The gunship roared towards them, outpacing the drones, which took up positions at either side. Drift wrapped his arms around Ironhide, who was lying on his back, half propped up by the stump of one of his right arm while firing with the other spitting curses and insults at the oncoming attackers. The weapons specialist whipped his gaze away to stare in shock at Drift as he was dragged bodily towards the gate. Then he tried to struggle.

"LET GO!" he roared, before breaking into a bout of violent coughing. Glowing blue Energon emerged from his metal lips like blood, mixed with a slurry of lubricants. Drift ignored his demand and kept pulling. The old soldier was too injured to make much of a fight out of it, but his optics glared daggers, switching back and forth between the approaching ships and his unwanted savior. Drift didn't blame him. Behind them, Lorne gave them both a panicky look, before glancing up at the ships.

"COME ON!" he screamed as the two Autobots drew nearer and nearer, though nowhere near as fast as the gunship or its drones. Forty seconds left. As he drew in reach of the Stargate, Drift turned and looked over his shoulder at Lorne.

"GO!" he commanded. Lorne looked affronted, but then their eyes met for an instant, and the invisible plea passed between man and machine like electricity. Drift didn't particularly like or dislike most humans, but right now he had no desire to make things worse than they already were. Lorne was a vital component of Sheppard's command, and Sheppard was Optimus' ally. Ratchet and those that had already died were already weights on Drift's Spark. He didn't need anymore. Nodding, then giving one more glance towards the ships, Lorne stepped backwards through the gate, just as Drift put his foot down five meters from the event horizon. Twenty-six seconds left.

"LET ME GO YOU DAMNED TRAI-" Ironhide screamed, but was cut off as Drift swung his weight and heaved the angry old soldier through the shimmering portal, with some minor clangs as his angular body glanced off the inner edges of the ring in some places. Drift transformed, shifting to vehicle mode in the space of a few seconds as rounds began to rain down around him. The sound of the drones transforming filled his ears as he gunned his engine, throwing himself towards the Stargate as the mental countdown hit six seconds, and he wondered briefly whether or not his estimate might be off...

--O--​

The hunter snarled as the most wounded member of his trio of targets was flung into the flickering liquid-like surface of the Ground Bridge's event horizon. So much for a perfect score. Still, it wasn't too late to get two out of three. He brought his sights to rest on the hood of his remaining target's vehicle form. As his finger tightened on the trigger, his helm suddenly flickered, as if in reaction to either a sudden bright light or an enormous electromagnetic surge-

--O--​

The Alpha Site's self-destruct was rated for a twenty-kiloton yield with minimal fallout afterwards, more than enough to incinerate ninety-six percent of the complex with no remains. As it triggered, plutonium atoms in the machine's core were crushed by the controlled detonation of a high-explosive shell, squeezed until they split and released the untold energy within. A ball of atomic fire burst into existence three stories under the ruins of the main structure, obliterating it and everything within. In an instant, air was sucked inwards and upwards, drawing smoke and dust into a terrible testament to mankind's contribution to the absurd. The shockwave swatted the heavy assault ship like a fly, sending it spinning through the sky...but not out of control. The shields held against the onslaught, protecting its precious cargo, even as it plowed into the ground on the far side of a stony ridge, nearly three miles from the blast.

The gunship was less fortunate. While it easily outlasted the drones, its shields could not entirely protect it. The explosion catapulted the smaller ship over the same ridge as its bigger brother, where it smashed into the ground, rolling and shaking, VTOL engines tearing free and exploding before the main chassis slid to a stop in a field of scorched flowers. Behind and above, the mushroom cloud rose over all, blanketing the crater where the Alpha Site had been in a radioactive shadow. The Stargate was the last thing to come to rest, plummeting from the heavens to impact against the stone ridge, smoking, but undamaged.

--O--​

For a long time, nothing except the fire and the growing pall of the death-cloud moved in the place where the Alpha Site had been. Then, with an angry snarl and a clang of metal, the hunter emerged from the smoking wreck of the gunship. He stared up at the rising brown mass of dust and smoke, before his face twisted into a cold smile. He laughed, voice cruel and gravelly in the scorched silence of the newborn nuclear wasteland. Then he began his march to the crash site of the other ship. True, he was still angry he'd let those other two slip away, but so long as he had something to show for this, it'd be well worth it.

And who knew? Perhaps once his employer was through with his catch, he'd have enough to go on to make tracking down the rest all the more easy. He smiled at that thought, the idea making the pain of his wounds that much less severe. He sneered up at the rising cloud. Sooner or later, their luck would run out, and when it did, he'd be there to remind them why Lockdown was a name to be feared by all with a price on their heads.

"Enjoy your freedom while it lasts." he muttered, "This hunt is just getting started."

o
-- ^ --​

A/N: So this is one of my longest chapter so far, and to be honest, one of the ones I'm least confident in. Battle scenes are fun to imagine, but can be such a pain to write. I won't spoil what happens next, but I will say that this won't be the last time we see Lockdown. For now though, we'll be going back to Sheppard and Co. mostly, Things just went very, very wrong for them, so let's see how they deal with that.

 

[Vadrigos]

Chapter 10:
All Alone in the Night​

The scene around the New Athos Stargate was one of utter bedlam. Crying, screaming, shouting and groaning filled the air, echoing through the trees. Of course, it was hard to see anything since the wormhole had shut down, but flashlights, glow sticks and lanterns had already been broken out and had turned the darkness into something like the night sky, with scattered patches of luminescence speckling the pitch black forest around the inactive ring.

John stared down at the scene with a sense of terrible confusion. It seemed like mere seconds ago, he'd been having dinner, in a quiet universe where things still made sense. Now he was walking down the same trail he'd used earlier into the middle of a refugee camp that had sprouted up in the space of less than an hour. Of course, calling it a camp was an overstatement. He still had no idea how many people had made it out of the Alpha Site, and probably wouldn't until morning, but by the looks of things, it was much less than the base's total complement.

As he reached the bottom of the trail, a figure carrying a set of heavy glow sticks and a fluorescent camping lantern emerged from the the chaos. It took John a moment to identify Lorne under the thick coating of dust and grime covering his face. Again, it seemed like just yesterday John had been talking to him at the mission briefing, all combed and composed.

"Major Lorne." Sheppard said, raising the torch he had brought with him. Behind him, he could hear the rest of his team descending.

"Jesus Christ!" McKay swore as he took in the scattered survivors.

"How bad is it?" John asked, trying to keep his tone level.

"Bad." Lorne said, his eyes empty of shock, but grim with despair, "As you can guess, we don't know how many people or supplies we managed to save, but it's not a lot. They hit us hard and fast."

"Any idea who 'they' are yet?" Sheppard inquired.

"Apart from Decepticons? Nothing specific. Ironhide's out cold and Drift hasn't got anything to contribute." At this point Lorne fell silent as Optimus' red and blue form rolled down the trail, squealing to a halt before transforming.

"Major Lorne, I am glad to see you are safe." he said once the conversion was complete, "I was told there were injuries."

"Yeah…" Lorne said, looking suddenly incredibly uncomfortable.

"Where is Ratchet?" the towering Prime asked, not unkindly, but still managing to make the Major wince and hang his head.

"He...he got taken."

"Taken?" Optimus asked, kneeling suddenly and causing everyone nearby to back away quickly, Lorne included.

"W-we were holding the Stargate, waiting on him. There was a sniper in a gunship of some kind. I didn't see what happened, but I...we think he cornered Ratchet and-" Lorne said, stammering, clearly ashamed and afraid of what the Prime might do. He trailed off, before shaking his head. "The last thing we saw was him being carried into the big ship that blew up the main complex."

For a long moment there was a silence, in which Optimus' face became an unreadable mask. Was he angry? Was he torn with grief? John couldn't say. Then the red and blue colossus stood upright, again causing Lorne to wince slightly.

"You did all you could, Major. I do not blame you." Optimus said. His words were solemn, yet Sheppard was certain he detected a hint of hollowness to them. Before he could be certain, Drift approached from where he'd been standing by the edge of the clearing, next to a broken and battered shape that could only be Ironhide.

"Optimus, Ironhide is badly wounded. I have some medical skill, but he needs a transfusion. Otherwise I doubt he will last the night." the blue Autobot said. Optimus nodded, then glanced at John.

"If you will excuse me, Colonel." he said. John nodded and stepped out of the way as the Prime followed his subordinate into the clearing and away from Lorne, who looked relieved.
"Major, I need you to debrief me." Lorne flinched and quickly turned back to face his commanding officer.

"Yessir. I think you'll want to talk to Zelenka too. He has some stuff you should see." he hurriedly replied. John gave a sharp nod, then looked over his shoulder at the rest of his team.
"Teyla, take Ronon and Rodney and see what you can do to help where you can. We need to get organized, or some of these people probably won't live to see morning."

"But what if we get attacked again?!" Rodney interjected, his voice panicky, "I mean, they found the Alpha Site, which is either an insane coincidence or-"

"Rodney!" John snapped, startling the physicist out of his babbling, "Now is not the time!" The Canadian physicist recoiled as if he'd been struck. John internally chided himself for overreacting, but he was simply not in the mood to put up with what he considered extraneous whining. He couldn't afford decision paralysis, not right now.

"Follow Teyla. Help where you can. I'll come find you after Lorne's explained things to me." Teyla put a hand on Rodney's shoulder as if to emphasize the command, before nodding to John and dragging him off into the scattered lights and shadows, Ronon close behind. As they passed, John refocused on Lorne.

"Alright, now take me to Zelenka."

--O--​

Radek stared down at the dirt. The glow of the camping lantern next to him gave the dead leaves and moss an otherworldly look, though his already frazzled mind might've also been partly responsible. He wasn't totally sure how long it had been since the attack on the Alpha Site had started, but it couldn't have been more than forty-five minutes, though retrospective made it seem both shorter and much, much longer. He glanced over at where Dr. Nynke lay, breathing slowly on her stretcher. Her legs were in splints, a rushed, but efficient job, performed by a medic who was now two groups over trying to help salve someone's burns.

Zelenka couldn't help feeling like he was falling down a well into his childhood. His family had raised him in poverty, and it had only been by dint of sheer will that Zelenka had escaped the 'family business' trap that his brother had fallen into with his damn bookshop. Now, sitting in the dark, surrounded by moaning, screaming people he barely knew, he felt closer to the past than ever before. Memories of a cold winter spent in a tent were beginning to resurface. He shuddered, the air seeming to grow chillier than it already was. Of course his sweat-stained clothes weren't helping anything.

Major Lorne strode out of the shadows, followed by Colonel Sheppard. They stopped by Radek, faces grim.

"Doc," Lorne said by way of greeting, "show the Colonel what you showed me." Zelenka felt the shroud of memory lift and nodded fervently, reaching over to the box sitting beside him.
"Y-yes, sorry, one moment" Wrestling with the lid, then turning the box around and trying the other side, prying the top free. "When Major Lorne came back from Manaria, he brought this with him. He told me to check them if there'd been any change between present and previous designs s-so I took them back to my lab..." he explained, stammering in his rush to compose himself while holding up the box, tilting it slightly so the light of the lantern reached its contents.

"Genii radios?" Sheppard asked, his expression confused. Then he took a step back as the physicist delved into the case and pulled the smashed, ruined form of the Insecticon Ratchet had killed out and held it up to the light.

"What the hell is that?" the Colonel demanded, looking extremely perturbed now.

"Ratchet called it an Insecticon." Radek explained, "I didn't get a chance to ask him to clarify, but it was in the box, disguised as one of the radios. As soon as Ratchet got near it, it transformed and tried to attack me."

"Lemme guess; it had a subspace tracking device?" Sheppard sighed. Zelenka gave the Colonel a surprised look at how quickly he had managed to intuit what had happened, but then nodded gloomily.

"The only question is, why?" Lorne said, glowering at the squashed metallic bug, "What could the Decepticons, assuming it's them, hope to gain from infiltrating the Genii?"

"I don't know, but I get the feeling we stepped into a trap made for someone else." John growled, sitting down on a nearby crate of MREs, "Major, tell me the whole story, from the beginning." Lorne nodded and did his best to recount the attack, starting from the moment he'd gotten off the comms with Sheppard at the Stargate and covering everything up to the point that he'd come through the Stargate and reestablished contact with his superior. Throughout the story, Sheppard's face grew darker and more angry, until it a mask of rage.

"Goddamn Decepticons…" he hissed, "Someone's going to pay for this." He shook his head in frustration before looking up at Lorne. "We need to get ourselves organized. I need a count of our resources. I know it's hell to try and count in the dark, but I need to know what and who you were able to save. We need to last until morning, then we-" he started before he paused as a thought struck him.

"Where's Todd?" he asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach growing, "You didn't leave him behind, did you?" Lorne gave him a grim smile.

"He's by the DHD. We tied him to the thing with some spare rope. He's not going anywhere." he said. John snorted, feeling both relieved and annoyed. Part of him couldn't care less if the Wraith had died in the atomic fireball Lorne had left behind, but given he was critical to the mission, it was nice to know he'd managed to survive. Of course that that still left him with the problem of what to do with the alien in the meanwhile. It was just one more thing really, really didn't want to deal with, especially in the middle of the night. He sighed and rubbed his face with both hands in a show of exasperation.

"I'll have someone do a headcount and help tally up what we've got." Lorne said in an effort to reassure his commanding officer. John gave a weary frown.

"Of course, now the Odyssey's going to show up at a nuclear crater in a couple of days and think we're all dead unless we can find a way to contact them." he pointed out. Zelenka winced next to him.

"Don't look at me." he protested when both men did exactly that, "No matter what Rodney might tell you, we can't do anything with what little we managed to drag out of that hell. I'd be surprised if we could even make a basic crystal radio set from this junk."

"Couldn't the Autobots...help or something?" Lorne asked. Zelenka let out a hollow laugh.

"They're going to be occupied with Ironhide. I doubt they'd be interested in lending us parts of themselves to use." Lorne's face fell, but he gave a knowing nod, glancing over his shoulder at where Optimus knelt beside Drift and his injured comrade. Sheppard looked over at the Stargate.

"What about dialing Earth?" he asked, "I mean, I assume you grabbed the crystals from the Alpha Site DHD before evacuating." Lorne grinned and delved into one of his flak jacket's pockets, pulling out a large blue crystal.

"Standard procedure, sir."

"That won't do any good." Zelenka said morosely, "Not enough power in a normal DHD to dial Earth, even for a few microseconds. The Alpha Site had a dozen naquadah generators and it could barely support the six-second activations they used to make their routine reports." Sheppard sighed again, defeated, then glanced down at the box of radios. Suddenly his expression became cautious, as though trying something out in his head before saying it aloud.

"We could always try the Confederation." he finally said. Lorn grimaced.

"That's a bad idea if you don't mind my saying, sir." He looked back over at the huddled Autobots then back at Sheppard, "I told you their ultimatum. I don't think they'd appreciate us coming back so soon after being kicked out, regardless of what kind of shape we're in."

"But won't they think twice about refusing to help in a humanitarian crisis? I mean, it'd make them look bad in front of everyone they still want to bring into the fold!" John countered. Again, Lorne shook his head.

"You weren't there, sir." he said, "If they did refuse us, I honestly can't say anyone would care. We're the next best thing to public enemy number one right now."

"Come on, there's gotta be someone we can turn to!" John complained, looking around at the clearing full of suffering around him.

"Sorry, sir. Apart from the Athosians, I don't think we're in much of a position to ask anyone for anything. Even the worlds we might've helped in the past could potentially have the same hostile attitude by now, or worse. The Confederation's had a lot of time to play up our role in the current situation. Hell, as far as I could make out, one of their biggest selling points to new members was that they wouldn't 'abandon you like Atlantis'."

John felt his anger taking hold and tried to fight it down, but it was hard. They'd arrived in Pegasus this afternoon as a fact-finding mission and before the day was entirely over, they were refugees. To top it off, he couldn't help feeling like it was somehow his fault. Oh, not the Decepticon sneak attack. There was no possible way anyone could've predicted a box off the back of a random cart would contain a dormant tracking device. What did have him feeling guilty was the enmity that Pegasus seemed to have developed towards Earth for their absence, because it was totally deserved. They had made a promise, and then failed to call or even write for almost half a decade as they chased the Hybrids and Decepticons all over the Milky Way. Now the flames of scorn that the Confederation had fanned to build itself up would likely end up costing a few people their lives before the night was over. In impotent anger, he glared over at where the DHD stood, looking somewhat bulky with Todd strapped to it in a sitting position.

Of course he knew there was another option, a way to contact the Odyssey without stooping to sacrificing McKay on some bloody altar or making a suicidal and probably pointless attempt to steal from the Confederation. He knew though that if he took it, it'd leave him in debt to the Wraith...again. There were few things John hated more than owing something to someone that he knew he couldn't trust. It didn't help that Todd would probably eat them all if given the chance. He had to be getting hunger pangs by now after this long out of stasis.
That said, asking him for help still didn't solve the issue that they had an unknown number of wounded and frightened people to see to, and they couldn't rely on the Athosians to suddenly support almost a hundred or more surprise visitors, even for one day. As John saw it, the mission had taken a backseat to surviving long enough to find a way to get rescued by Colonel Mitchell and his ship. Everything else, including the inevitable shredding he would receive at the hands of the AOA when they got wind of this, was secondary.

As he thought this, his gaze wandered over the Autobots and a terrible sense of burden settled onto him. He tried to push it aside, but it was hard. Here he was, focusing solely on the survival of his people, and there was Optimus, watching one friend struggle for life while the knowledge that another was probably already dead crushed him under its cold weight. John could practically feel the despair, as though it were radiating from the Prime in waves, and yet the big Autobot just knelt there, letting Drift run tubes between him and the injured Ironhide in some alien version of a blood transfusion. John fought to keep himself together. If Optimus could keep going, so could he. He'd been in worse situations. He'd lived through attacks by Replicators, Wraith and god-knows what else, and he would be damned if he let this be the thing that broke him. He clung to that desperate battle cry and tried to center himself around it. As he did, his own internal dialogue came back to him, specifically the bit about relying too much on the Athosians.

"Alright, I may have a solution." he said, locking eyes with Lorne, "In the meanwhile, everyone needs to pitch in. Take stock of supplies, and get it in one place, under guard. The last thing we need is some animals making a snack out of our survival materials."

"What about Optimus?" Radek asked thoughtfully, staring over at where the Prime was kneeling beside Ironhide.

"What about him?" John responded, "Look at him. He's busy trying to keep Ironhide among the living."

"We should still ask." Radek insisted, "We don't know how he could help us, or vice versa, until we try and find out."

"I'll leave that to you then." John said, rolling his eyes to show just what he thought of the idea. Radek, if he noticed in the sharp glare of the camping lantern, ignored it.
"If you don't mind my asking, what's your plan, sir?" Lorne inquired, surveying the camp again.

"I'm going to ask for a little help from my friends…" John said, then added in a tired and reluctant tone, "and a little more from our...frenemies."

--O--​

Optimus kneeled beside Ironhide, observing the subtle motions of his weapons specialist's frame that indicated he was somewhere between recharge and stasis lock. He had retracted the armor plating around his thigh to allow for the connection of a kind of self-pumping intravenous drip to be run from his own body to Ironhides's, filling his friend with enough liquid life to stave off true stasis lock. Meanwhile, Drift was hard at work with a completely insufficient set of Cybertronian medical instruments trying to staunch the flow of lubricants and leaking Energon transfer lines where big black Autobot had lost his arm. He winced just looking at the wound. His long periods of working with Ratchet had taught him to identify the causes of various injuries with more forensic care than the average soldier, and to his optics, some of the wounds Ironhide was bearing were consistent with both a hand-to-hand struggle, while others, the point of dismemberment in particular, resembled impacts from a high-velocity railgun.

The Prime gritted his dentes. The thought of Ratchet only served to remind of the direness of the situation. His sole true medic was either dead or in the clutches of an unknown adversary. Meanwhile, Ironhide was incapacitated, and without the proper tools to repair him, would remain so for a very long time, presuming he even managed to survive the night. He watched as his own Energon supplies dwindled while Drift struggled to cope. Optimus knew he could probably do a better job than the former Decepticon, but given his bigger mass, he alone of the pair of them could afford to lose much in the way of Energon and still be fit for service. It was a cruel, dispassionate equation that brooked no argument. Optimus swore that whoever had done this and thus forced him to make such a decision would pay, dearly.

Eventually Drift seemed to slow, as did the leakages. The blue 'bot stepped back, letting out an artificial exhalation of relative relief.

"I've staunched all the wounds I could. I don't have the instruments to repair all the damage, but I can promise he won't get any worse." he said, turning to Optimus.
"How long can he last like this before stasis lock sets in?" the Prime asked. His processors were feeling strained, as though they were operating on too little energy, which they were.
"I'm no medic. He could shut down at any minute, but he's tough. I imagine he'll last at least few weeks if we pool both our Energon rations." Drift admitted, looking anxiously at the insensate warrior.

"And if we are not rescued?" Optimus asked, knowing the answer, but needing to hear it, if for no other reason than to curb his own frantic imaginings.

"Stasis lock will set in, and then without Energon, his Spark will go dark, like yours did when...when Megatron-" Drift said, hesitant to bring up such traumatic events for his leader.
"Killed me?" Optimus asked. He nodded. "Yes, I know what stasis lock is."

The truth was that Cybertronians were hard to kill. They aged and died like most other life-forms, but in a far different manner. They could be blasted, burned, melted and maimed, but so long as their Sparks survived, and remained fueled, their minds endured. It was what had allowed Ratchet to save and restore Arcee after Giza, despite all three of her separate forms being damaged beyond repair.

All Sparks burned out eventually though; nothing in the universe ever truly beat entropy. Despite their superior ability to endure bodily harm, they were mortal, like everyone else. More than that, their Sparks, for all their durability, shared much in common with the fragility of the human brain. Without sufficient Energon, a Cybertronian's Spark would slowly sacrifice the chassis to preserve the core. The longer they went without refueling, the more wear and tear they faced. Rust and decay were common, and in advanced cases, the Spark itself began to deteriorate, like a grey matter starved of oxygen.

Inevitably, if Ironhide ran out of Energon, he'd become like Jetfire, the old Seeker Optimus had met during the battle against the Fallen; little more than a museum piece, degraded and trapped in a living death that would last until his last drop of Energon was expended. After that he would be truly gone, and what that meant in this day and age, with the Allspark no longer there to act as a bastion against the fear of true oblivion, Optimus could not fathom.

The Prime stared down at his fallen friend, a sense of failure clouding his thoughts. How had it come to this? What had his people done to deserve so much suffering? If Ratchet had been there, he would've told Optimus not to blame himself, but he wasn't. Staring into the darkened optics of his friend, Optimus wondered how many more would die because he and Megatron could not settle their differences. Cybertron was already gone. Would it take the extinction of their whole species for one of them to admit they were wrong?

"I know that look." Drift said, disrupting Optimus' thoughts, "Trust me. I've seen it in the mirror." He gave Optimus a wan smile. "You think this is your fault. Let me tell you a truth I have learned from experience, Optimus: the universe doesn't care about who's at fault for what. There's enough guilt to go around without grabbing for more." Optimus stared at the former Decepticon as he stowed his medical tools and turned to face his leader.

"I know I'm the last person to talk about feeling guilty." he continued, "After all, how could my mistakes compare to yours?" Immediately Optimus felt anger stir in his Spark, and glared at Drift, ready to call him out for insubordination, though he knew it was only to mask his own feelings. The defector beat him to it however.

"I lost my home long before you, Optimus. Like you, it was because of choices I made. To this day, I'm still not sure I chose correctly. But all we can do is live with the decisions we've made. To do otherwise would be the act of a fool, and you are no fool."

Drift frowned and looked down at Ironhide.

"The biggest difference between us is that I have no one left to forgive my mistakes. You do. And so for what it's worth, whatever happens, I forgive you. I don't know how much that will mean, coming from someone like me, but I hope it's worth something." he said. He looked up and locked optics with Optimus. "After all," he finished, "you probably deserve it more than me."

Optimus was dumbstruck. He was among the few that knew the whole truth of Drift's history. He knew, had always known, that it was guilt that had compelled him to join Optimus' cause. During all his encounters with the ex-Decepticon, however, he'd never heard him speak as he just had.

"You would forgive me?" he asked, slowly, "Even when my sins so outweigh your own?"

"The scale of our mistakes is not what makes them terrible. It's that we make them and learn nothing." Drift said, "I learned my lesson almost too late. You still have time though."

"And what lesson is that?"

"That you are not alone. That no matter how great the evil, there is still some way back to the light. It may be long, and lined with carbon thorn-wire, but it is there, if only you look for it." Drift reassured. Optimus shook his head.

"I wish I could, Drift. I wish I could see it. But I don't." Drift smiled.

"You walk it every day, Prime. You just need to stop looking at your pedes so much." Optimus almost laughed at that...almost. Around this point he noticed that someone was approaching them.

"Doctor Zelenka?" Optimus asked as his optics focused on the figure behind the glaring fluorescent lantern glare, "Is there something you need?"

"I...I wanted to ask if there was anything you could do to contribute. I don't honestly know if there is." the little physicist said, stammering. He looked down at his own feet, making Optimus smile just a little. "Truthfully I just needed to...to get away." the Czech admitted, his eyes flicking up to Ironhide's resting figure to Optimus, to Drift, then back to Optimus. "It's just, I've been in a lot of situations with Atlantis...and I've never seen it this bad…" He glanced over his shoulder briefly, then looked at Optimus with a pleading expression. In turn, Optimus looked over to Drift.

"Does he need more Energon?" he asked, nodding towards Ironhide. Drift looked over at the recumbent Autobot, then shook his head.

"I should remain here, in case anything happens...but I think he'll be alright without you for now, Prime." Optimus nodded, then stood, removing the intravenous cable from himself and Ironhide carefully, ensuring the devices at either end had time to automatically apply sealant. Before it was reeled back into Optimus' thigh, allowing armor plating to snap back into place.

"Where do you need me?" the last Prime asked.

--O--​

Teyla heard John coming before she saw him. Of course, it was hard, especially over the muffled screams of her present patient. Across from her, Ronon was helping to hold him down while the real medic, a young nurse from the Alpha Site infirmary, twisted his dislocated ankle back into place. Finally she seemed to get it where she wanted.

"On three." she announced, looking at Teyla and Ronon, then giving a stern look at her charge, who had a mouthful of torn shirt to keep him from biting his own tongue.

"Three!" she cried abruptly, and with a horrible wet cracking sound, made a final twist. Her patient howled, spasming against Ronon and Teyla's grip with the kind of strength only pain could create. Then he sagged back onto his stretcher. Quickly Teyla reached out to check his pulse, and was relieved to find it was strong, Then she looked up to see John standing behind Ronon with a grimace of sympathetic pain on his face.

"What is it, John?" she asked, standing up as the nurse began to fit a cast on the ankle using a roll of medical tape.

"I have a favor I need to ask. It involves you, Ronon...and your people." he said, his words hesitant Teyla stood, letting the medic get on with her work.

"You know I am happy to provide whatever help I can if it saves some of these lives...but John, my people and I…" She trailed off, letting the silence do the work words could not.

"I know, I know." he said, sighing and looking over at the rest of the camp briefly, before switching his gaze back to her. "But the fact is that you're still their leader, and we're going to need that if we want to survive until the Odyssey gets here." Teyla gave him a questioning stare.

"What exactly do you need me to do?" she asked, crossing her arms. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, though she knew she was lying to herself. His stance and expression said it all.
"Your people are part of the Confederation. If they're as serious as they seem to be about helping their members, then they'll have to listen to you if you ask for supplies."

"You want me to lie?" she asked, suddenly feeling a bit incensed, "If I lie to them and they find out, it could damage my people's standing with them."

"All I know is that if we send Lorne back to ask for help, they're more likely to spit in his face than so much as bargain. If you make this about your people, we might have a chance. You don't have to lie. Just tell them that your people need supplies to help our people." Teyla frowned.

"John, even if that works, I have no doubt they will find a way to use it to put my people in debt to them."

"Once we get out of this, I'll do everything in my power to make sure that whatever price they ask gets paid, even if it's the last thing I do before they transfer me out of the program for this mess." Teyla blanched at Sheppard's promise.

"The AOA can't possibly blame this-" she began. Sheppard snorted.

"Oh trust me, they'll find a way. At the very least, I'm going to get removed from command of Atlantis. Even Woolsey won't be able to keep me out of hot water this time."

"But you had nothing to do with it!" Teyla exclaimed, anger filling her heart, mostly because she knew that John was right. He might be exaggerating a little of course. There was no way they could feasibly charge him with anything, and the AOA advised the Alliance leadership, rather than controlling it, but Teyla knew how politics worked well enough to know that as figurehead of this operation, John would be 'bad juju', as he once had put it, and very probably suffer some kind of harsh penalty just to satisfy the need for someone to blame. There was a long pause as they stood facing one another while behind Teyla, the nurse finished her work and looked up at Ronon.

"I'm done here. You going to help with the next one?" she asked, looking from him to Teyla, who looked over her shoulder apologetically.

"Go on without me. I'll be behind you." she admonished. The nurse simply nodded, giving Ronon another look before a subtle shake of the head made it clear he wasn't moving either. She shook her own head, stood, grabbed her medical kit and moved on.

"Look, I just need you to try. If they still say no, nothing's lost right?" John cajoled. Teyla shook her head.

"No, I suppose not." she admitted, "They've always known we've been associated with Atlantis. It's not exactly a secret." She sighed before continuing. "I will need to speak with Halling to clarify our exact status in the Confederation. While my people seem to have retained their sovereignty in regards to keeping me as their leader, I don't doubt based on your earlier description we have to answer to some higher authority. Once I find out which one it is, I will contact them and let you know how it turns out."

"I'm going with you." Ronon said, causing both of them to look at him. He shrugged. 'To the meeting, I mean. I'm going with you. You're going to need a bodyguard." he clarified, then added, "Besides, I might as well find out where my people fit in this new order...if at all." John looked unconvinced, but finally nodded.

"Alright. Just try and have a plan by morning. Meanwhile, I have to go speak to our 'guest'." he grumbled, glancing over at the DHD. Then he looked back at Teyla. "I'll see you in a bit. Keep up the good work." Then he stalked off in the direction of Todd. Teyla watched him go before turning herself and following the nurse, Ronon close behind.

"He sounds tired." Ronon observed. Teyla rolled her eyes before a glance at Ronon told her that wasn't precisely what he'd meant.

"He's stressed. Between the mission, this disaster and the decision last week about Aiden-" she admitted.

"I know." Ronon interrupted, glancing over his shoulder, "He was already feeling guilty...and now this happens." He frowned. "He's got a bad habit." he said, then saw Teyla's confusion and clarified "He feels guilty about things he has no control over. It's like he's torturing himself all the time. I don't get how he doesn't just accept it and move on."

"That's just it, Ronon." Teyla said, looking sadly at her friend as he stood beside the DHD and the captive Wraith, "He doesn't know how, just like he can't surrender." This caused Ronon to look back in the same direction with a thoughtful expression.

"Funny. Never thought that kind of stubbornness could be a bad thing." he remarked.

--O--​

John glowered as he approached the sitting Wraith, who looked up with an expression of mild disinterest as he drew close.

"Ah, Colonel. To what do I owe the pleasure? Surely you must have a lot of other things to be thinking about." he remarked.

"Shut up." John answered, leaning against one of the horn-like protrusions of the DHD, "This isn't a joke."

"I never said it was." the pale-skinned alien remarked. His skin looked sickly and almost rotted under the light of the fluorescent lamps nearby, making him resemble a fresh corpse even more than usual. His predatory yellow gaze drifted across the clearing and settled over where Optimus now stood. He nodded in the Prime's direction, or more specifically, in Ironhide's.
"That one saved me. I wonder why?" he asked in a pondering tone, "Was it out of loyalty to you? Or do they really believe that all life is worth preserving?"

"Maybe he just thought you'd be more use alive than dead." John responded, "Now's your chance to prove whether or not he was right." Lazily, Todd shifted his gaze back to the Colonel, one eyebrow raised in intrigue.

"Oh? And what can I provide you? It seems to me this mission of yours is over, and with it, my chances of getting the reward I asked for...assuming of course you ever intended to honor that promise." He shook his head. John pressed down his boiling anger at the Wraith's casual manner. The real question was what he hoped to gain by acting like this. He must know it was bringing John's anger to a boil. Perhaps it was as simple as a cat swatting at something to see how it reacted? No, that was too easy. Mentally, Sheppard collected himself.

"I know you didn't do this. There's no way you could have. And you're stuck in the same boat as us. But there is a difference, and that difference is that you have nothing to contribute, making you dead weight, and more than that, a threat. So long as you're out of stasis, I know you're looking to feed. Hell, you're probably starving right now." John explained patiently, before kneeling down to put his face about a foot from Todd's," So here's the deal: you're going to think real hard about what you can do to contribute, and maybe I won't just accidentally vaporize you while dialing for Teyla's little mission to help us get supplies."

John watched as Todd's eyes narrowed in annoyance. He smiled a patient, predatory smile, one that the Wraith would have no trouble understanding. With a huff, the white-haired vampire turned his face away.

"There may be something that can help." he admitted, "You wish to contact your ship to let it know you are not dead, yes?"

"Standard protocol is for the Odyssey to send a coded signal to the Alpha Site upon entering Pegasus to confirm they're in signal range. When they get no acknowledgement, they'll investigate. I need a means of letting them know where to go to pick us up." John confirmed. Todd seemed to think about this, then nodded.

"Well then, it would seem luck is on your side." he said, turning to give John a grin of his own, "There is a...facility, a sort of message post I maintained during the time I still had control of an alliance of Hives. I used to to exchange messages with certain...endeavours, projects that I could not afford to have discovered, even by my own people.It contains a coded transmitter designed specifically to contact the outposts where the operations were taking place. With a little work from Doctor McKay however, I'm sure we could retool it for your purposes."

"What makes you think it's still secure?" John asked, glaring at the predatory alien. Todd rolled his eyes, clearly disappointed that Sheppard seemed to think he was stupid enough to let something like this slip away.

"Only I knew the location. I traveled through two different Stargates by Dart every time I visited it, and when I did so, it was always under the pretense of visiting another Hive. It is secure." he reassured.

"After seven years?" John pressed. For a moment, doubt passed across Todd's face, and he seemed to consider the situation. Eventually though, he nodded.

"Yes. I would stake my life on it." he said.

"I'll hold you to that." John said, settling back on his haunches, then standing up. "We leave in the morning. I'd send someone to bring you dinner, but I doubt we have anything in the MREs that you'd like." Again, Todd rolled his eyes, clearly unamused by what he considered a lame joke.

"Could you at least bring me something to read?" he asked using the same irreverent tone Sheppard had. John snorted.

"I'll get right on that." he grunted, then turned and walked away. Behind him, Todd settled back against the cold surface on the DHD, staring up at the looming shape of the Stargate. It was going to be a long night.

--O--​

When the sun rose on the encampment around the Stargate, it was to fifteen more dead bodies. The medics had done the best they could, but without surgical tools some of the wounded had proven impossible to care for beyond pain management. As if that weren't enough, it turned out that there weren't enough antibiotics in the supplies the survivors had rescued, and a eight more people had developed infections, all of which could be fatal without help.

With this in mind, Teyla hefted the sack she'd filled with what little she'd felt she'd need for the journey and stepped up to the front of Halling's tent. She'd decided to wait until morning to talk to him regarding her plans in the hopes that some sleep might do them both good. Truth be told, she hadn't gotten much, being busy with aiding the nurses for most of the evening. She hadn't needed to, and had been told as much, but Teyla had always been dedicated to helping those in need, and like it or not, the people of Earth and Atlantis were as much a part of her as her own family, even if she didn't know all their names.

Brushing back the folds of the canvas flap, she stepped into the waiting household beyond. Halling's tent was about half the size of the dining tent from the previous day, making it not much larger than any of the others around it. Inside, a thick roll-up carpet served as a floor, while a pair of cots stood up against one wall. Halling, In a corner sat a small ancestral shrine, indicated that despite the passage of time, Halling's pious nature had not waned. She smiled, feeling it was good to know that some things apparently never changed.

"What can I do for you, Teyla?" asked the tent's owner. He was sitting on the edge of one of the cots. By the dark circles under his eyes, she could tell he hadn't slept well either.
"I need to know what our present status is with the Coalition." she said, "I have been asked by Colonel Sheppard to request aid from them on the behalf of our people, so that we might better help them." She watched his face for a reaction, but found none, or at least not the one she'd been expecting. Overall he simply looked pensive.

"Our people are a...special case. When it came time to parcel out territories, we were slated to fall under the administration of Manaria. However, because we are, in their words, a nomadic people, we are not subject to as much micro-management." he said, looking down at his shoes. Apparently he'd been lacing them up when she'd entered, and began to do so again as he spoke. "They have always been very fair. Two years ago we had a bad harvest and not all of us would've made it through the winter that followed without the surplus grain they provided. In exchange, they asked for us to provide them with labor to help work their harvest the following year.

"So our relationship is based on trade more than anything?" Teyla tried to clarify. Halling gave a shrug.

"As far as this new order is concerned, those who do not live in towns or mine ore are of little use to the greater cause. They will help us, if we ask, but they will want something in exchange. Most of the time it is labor. Whatever their ultimate goal is, they always need fresh hands to help with the smaller things." He paused as he finished lacing up one boot, then looked up at her, queer look in his eye.

"Is it like this on Earth?" he asked, "I have heard the stories the people of Atlantis told during the time we lived with them, and the messages you sent us while you were away. It seems so strange, all these towns that were once divided being brought together for a higher cause, answering to leaders they trust with their future even though they might never speak to them…" Teyla wasn't sure whether to treat the question as a barb or an honest inquiry. Perhaps she feared the first because of the guilt she still carried, despite Ronon's words the previous night. She pushed the thought away and focused on her objective. Shrugging she looked back out of the tent flap at the bustling encampment.

"I would say yes...but the people of Earth have so many means of staying in contact even over vast distances that I feel they may not think as we do." she reflected, "Still, I cannot deny that I see similarities, especially after having been exposed to their histories."

"So you think we might one day become them?" Halling asked, lacing up his other boot. Again, Teyla shrugged.

"I cannot say." she answered. She had to admit it was an interesting conversation, but she would need to have it later, when lives were not at stake. "What do you think they would do if I were to ask them for enough supplies to keep the people from the Alpha Site alive for the next two or three days?" Again, she watched his face, but it betrayed nothing.

"You plan to ask this yourself, as leader of the Athosians?"

"I do. I do not think they'd accept me if I tried to come to them as an emissary of Atlantis." Halling nodded, finishing the other boot.

"A wise choice. One thing that all the major Confederation worlds have in common is a venomous attitude towards Atlantis. Still, it is well known that you associate with them, and their leaders know you have not been with us for some time. This might bias them against helping you."

"But you think it could work?" she pressed. Halling looked up from his boots, and folded his fingers on his lap.

"Perhaps. When we signed the documents for entry, we agreed as a people. I...acted as your representative." Again, Teyla forced aside her feelings and focused on the issue at hand.
"Who would I need to speak to? Who did you speak to when the harvest failed?"

"We went to the embassy on Manaria. They have an office to deal with people who fall under the 'nomadic' category." Teyla shuddered.

"Is the bureaucracy really that developed?" she asked. Halling smiled wanly.

"It is. It makes me miss the days when you simply had to find a landowner in need of farm hands." he said. Despite their background, the Athosians were no strangers to the idea of excessive officiation. They traded with so many worlds that it was almost impossible to avoid. Of course some worlds had always had more of it than others, but now Teyla imagined it had to be spreading like a plague of paperwork across the galaxy. The thought made her both disgusted and amused, and helped her temporarily forget whatever anger she felt about her people's decisions.

"Was there a line?" she asked. Halling shook his head. Teyla smiled. "Good. I'll need you to come with me. You've been through this before, so you know what to expect better than I do." Halling frowned.

"I have duties...but they can wait. Do you know what you're going to tell them if they ask for justification, or for that matter, a price?" he asked.

"A good leader knows the value of truth." Teyla answered, a quote from her father that she knew Halling was also aware of. He chuckled, then stood, taking his coat where it had lain folded and waiting by the cot.

"Lead on, daughter of Tagan." he said. Teyla smiled and stepped back out, her friend close behind, while in the distant back of her mind, her guilt and anger curled up in a ball and gnashed its teeth, gone but not forgotten.

o
-- ^ --​

A/N: So that's a good place to pause for a minute, methinks. This chapter took a long time to finally get out, what with the latests semester coming to a close and finally getting myself a holiday job. At least I now have money coming in at the time of this writing, but I want to apologize to everyone who waited so long for this. I swore to myself that this story would be one I'd finish, and I'm going to, even if it kills me. Anyways, next chapter, things will get a little complex as perspectives divide again and we follow our beloved bots and gate-travelers to separate destinations.

 

[Vadrigos]

Chapter 11
Shadow Play​

Rodney Mckay was adverse to early mornings. Given the choice, he'd happily doze until around nine or ten o'clock. Unfortunately, choice was a luxury in these dire straits. Thus he'd levered himself off his surprisingly comfy cot at the sound of the timer on his digital watch, the closest thing to an alarm clock he had, and proceeded to dress, eat, then gear up and lumber towards the clearing around the Stargate in a sort of haze. As he approached the edge of the ridge leading down into the treeless basin, he saw Sheppard speaking with Lorne, dark circles still marking both their eyes from lack of sleep due to the previous evening's events. Idly, the physicist wished in vain for an espresso, or even just a caffeine pill. Almost like a zombie, Rodney lumbered up to the pair, causing, John to turn from the conversation he was having with the Major to face the grumpy Canadian.

"You said you wanted to see me first thing in the morning?" he asked. John looked him up and down.

"Yeah, though I figured you'd be better rested. You look awful."

"Pot, meet kettle." Rodney retorted in a practiced verbal riposte that was his trademark on occasions like this. It was especially bad when he was being denied his extra two hours, like he was now. He folded his arms and squinted irritably at the Colonel. John shrugged off the barb and looked over his shoulder to Lorne.

"We'll finish up later. Check in with Greene. She and her group should've finished their inventory by now. Once we leave, you're in charge." he ordered. Lorne nodded, then loped off at a sullen pace. Rodney noticed that the man looked even more grim than he would've expected someone to be on this occasion.

"Who crapped in his corn flakes?" he asked. Sheppard rolled his eyes.

"I promoted him to Lieutenant Colonel." he replied, walking down the hill and back into the main camp.

"Oh." Rodney said, suddenly feeling a little sorry for the former Major, before the confusion hit and he felt compelled to ask: "Wait, you can do that?" John nodded.

"It's a valid field promotion. Everyone else of that rank is dead or incapacitated right now, and we need structure if we're going to survive until the day after tomorrow."

"Oh." Rodney repeated, again feeling the twinge of pity. Lorne, like many members of the Alliance's field operations branch, Sheppard included, would do anything in their power to avoid reaching the inevitable rank of General, like Jack O'Neill had. It was a terrible thing to be exposed to the vast and innumerable wonders of the universe, only to end up shackled to a desk job because you were so good at dealing with them. Of course, despite his empathy, Rodney couldn't help but count himself lucky that at least he didn't need to keep dodging promotions like his military friends.

As they descended the ridge, Rodney took a moment to appreciate how the place had changed since the previous evening. The various and sundry boxes of supplies had been stacked up in a large and orderly heap, A few collapsible military tents had sprung up like square and rectangular green mushrooms. The largest ones stood to the left of the gate relative to their path, and stuck out thanks to the large red and white cross on their sides, made from the remains of an empty medical kit's storage case. While the majority of the camp was largely silent, the medical tent was able to produce enough noise to fill in the empty space. Even from here, Rodney could hear the groans and weeping of the wounded. He shuddered involuntarily.

"How many people are left?" he asked.

"Ninety-six at last count. Twenty-six are still wounded, mostly burns or broken bones. The majority of the most heavily wounded died last night." John answered gloomily. Rodney stared quietly at the tent as they walked past it, unable to think of anything to say in response. As the pair of dark green structures receded behind them, he shook himself.

"So what's our plan?" he asked John, trying to dispel his discomfort with distraction.

"Todd is going to take us to a little place he knows that should help us contact the Odyssey. I need you to come along and help with the technical details." he answered, not turning his head.

"Wait, Todd!??" Rodney exclaimed, "You want to put our hopes in him!? Again?!! That's a terrible idea! In fact it's so terrible I'm not sure I have a word for how terrible it really is!"
"It's that or ask the Confederation, and given how little they seem to think of us right now, I doubt they'd lift a finger to help even if we were the last people in Pegasus. As it is, I'm having to send Teyla to speak with them on our behalf to request supplies that'll technically be earmarked for her people, not us." Rodney wanted to protest, but John's logic was unassailable. Still, he kept trying doggedly, determined not to put his fate in the hands of someone who would, given the chance, reduce him to a desiccated pile of skin and bones.
"What about Larrin and the Travelers? Can't we contact them?" John shook his head.

"The Travelers are part of the Confederation now. Besides, we presently have no direct means of getting their attention, not without a ship. We'd have to go through the diplomatic channels, which is something I'm less than eager to do after hearing how they treated Lorne."

"What about-" Rodney tried, but Sheppard cut him off before he could get further.

"Rodney, believe me when I say that I hate this with every fiber of my being. I'm as sick of sticking my hand out to him only to get bitten as you are, but right now, we don't have a lot of options. We have a very small window in which to get the Odyssey's attention, and Todd's offer is the quickest way to do it. I need you to help. Now can I count on you? Or should I get Radek?" Rodney flushed. He knew what John was doing, exploiting his ego to get his cooperation. He would never let Radek take his place, not if it meant him getting most of the credit for helping him save them all. Despite his newfound empathy, Rodney was still reflexively selfish and egotistical, and while he'd made strides in becoming less so, Sheppard's comment pushed all his buttons in ways he simply couldn't stand.

"Yeah, right. Last time he worked with anything organic, he fried half the systems in his lab!" he retorted. He could tell by Sheppard's expression as he glanced back over his shoulder at him that he knew that he'd gotten to him, even if Rodney himself knew that. He gave a sly grin and strode towards the DHD, where several armed personnel stood guard.

"Edgars." he said by way of greeting to the senior officer of the group. The woman's hazel eyes never left Todd's reptilian slits, but she nodded in acknowledgement.

"Morning, sir." she said, glowering at the passive Wraith, who was gazing into the middle distance with eyes half-lidded, looking for all the world like a cat gazing through a window, hoping for something interesting to turn up. His gaze lazily slid towards John as he entered his field of vision. Rodney shuddered, his spine picking up on the alien predator's presence through his other senses and reflexively telling him to run in the opposite direction, lest he end up as dinner.

"Is he behaving?"

"He's not trying to escape if that's what you mean." Edgar's grumbled, "Hasn't really moved much since I came on duty. I'd say he was sleeping, but we both know Wraith don't actually sleep." She said this last part with an acidic and insincere smile at Todd, who returned it with the faintest hint of a smirk. Sheppard glared at him, and immediately the expression vanished. Then he turned to Edgars.

"You're coming with me." he said, pointing his finger at the other members of the group, "All of you. I need you to back me up. I'd take more, but everyone else is tending to the wounded, maintaining the perimeter or maintaining the camp. We've got ninety-six people who need rescuing, us included," As one, the soldiers nodded, standing at attention. Edgars did not assume the same stance, but Sheppard could've cared less about formalities at the moment.

"So I'm sure word has already gotten around, but in case you need to hear it from me, here's the plan:" John announced, pausing to clear his throat before continuing. "Our 'friend' here, after realizing he's stuck in this sinking boat with us, has generously offered his help. He knows of a facility which, with the right modifications, could be used to contact the Odyssey. He's going to take us there so we can do just that. Dr. Mckay will accompany us to assist with the technical aspect." Again, John paused before speaking, taking the time to examine the faces of the men and women he was bringing with him. "Some of you might think this is a bad idea. In response to any protests you might have, let me say that I've already thought of them. If it were just our lives riding on this, I'd ditch him in a heartbeat, but it's not." he declared, causing Todd to snort with derision, making everyone present with a gun tense oh-so-slightly. Sheppard glossed over the Wraith's expression of scorn and plunged ahead. "Our lives and the lives of everyone here depend on us succeeding. I've said before that we don't leave people behind. Well now it's our job to make sure that when the Odyssey gets here, we're not left behind." he finished. No one except perhaps Rodney noticed the slight tremble in his hands at those final words. The physicist wisely chose not to comment, even after John dismissed the guards, admonishing them to pack quickly.

"A good speech." Rodney almost jumped out of his skin, his head snapping around to see that Teyla had appeared at his left during the course of the speech.

"Geez, could you be anymore quiet?!" he complained. A light smile of amusement was the Athosian's only response. Close behind her, Ronon and Halling were striding up to join the group.

"I wish you safe travels, but I suspect we'll all need a bit more than a blessing to get out of this." she said to John. The Colonel shrugged.

"All I can say is we won't come back without results." he answered. In the space that followed, Rodney glanced between Halling and Todd. Neither appeared to have noticed the other's presence. No, actually that wasn't true. He could see Halling's eye twitch towards the captive Wraith, after which they narrowed oh-so-slightly. However, he remained silent. Sheppard must've seen his expression, because he glanced over at Todd.

"Don't worry. We keep him on a leash." he said, half-jokingly. This did not appear to soothe Halling's mood.

"I won't ask what he's doing here. All I ask is that you make sure he doesn't bring the rest of his kind here." he said, his voice deadpan and calm, belying the disgust he must've been feeling. Fear and revulsion went hand in hand when it came to the relation between the Wraith and those they had preyed on for the past ten-thousand years or so. Rodney was impressed that he didn't try something nastier. It showed a lot of self-restraint.

"With any luck he'll be out of your hair before we are." Sheppard answered, glancing at the seated predator, who rolled his slitted eyes at the very obvious hidden message in John's words. With that, Teyla stepped over to the DHD and began to dial Manaria. Rodney sidled over to her while John approached Ronon.

"So you think this might work?" he asked, keeping his tone low, "I mean, getting help for us?" Teyla sighed ruefully.

"At this point, I cannot say anything except that I will try." she answered.

"Well if you do get them to lend you some stuff, can you try and get some painkillers? I dunno if they'd have them, but my sciatica is playing up again after a night on that cot." he said. She gave him a look that was equal parts humor and exasperation.

"Yes, Rodney, I will ask them for some." she chuckled, her sarcasm obvious, but playful.

"I'm serious!" Rodney pouted, unable to help himself.

"So am I." she answered, sounding slightly more serious, "Besides, I'm sure you're not the only person in need of some pain relief." Rodney paused then looked back over his shoulder at the medical tents.

"Oh, right." he said, feeling a little stupid and even more ashamed. He felt Jennifer's gaze on him, even from millions of lightyears away, and silently chastised his own selfishness. Teyla patted him companionably.

"I wish you the best of fortune. We're counting on you Rodney." she said, before pushing the large activation button. With a *KAWOOSH*, the Stargate surged to life, its trademark column of water exploding out, then retracting back into the largely smooth surface of an active wormhole. She strode towards it, adjusting the strap of the bag over her shoulder. Halling followed close behind, before stepping ahead of her through the portal. John patted Ronon on the back twice, and Rodney realized they'd been talking at the same time he'd been speaking with Teyla.

"Stay safe, big guy." John said, causing the big Satedan to chuckle.

"You too, Sheppard." he answered, then strode towards the gate. Teyla gave Rodney a final glance, along with John, then stepped through the shimmering event horizon, followed by Ronon. After another twenty seconds, the rippling surface gave a hiss and dispersed into nothingness, just as the rest of the team of guards, including Edgars, began to turn up. To Rodney's surprise, One of them handed a large pack to Rodney with a grunt, almost knocking the physicist over.

"Hey! What the-" he began to protest, before the man explained.

"Doctor Zelenka told me to give this to you." he stated, then walked over to join up with the other men. Confused, Rodney hurriedly opened the bag and saw that it contained a tablet computer, a basic science kit, and a note. 'THIS IS ALL WE HAVE.' the spidery handwriting on the slip of notepaper declared. Mckay felt his stomach sink He had no doubt that John had asked in advance for Radek to scrounge up whatever equipment they might need for the mission prior to meeting with Rodney. To discover that this was what he had to work with cut a hole deep into the physicist's confidence about their potential success. Still, he would not have been Rodney Mckay if his endless supply of insouciance hadn't risen to fill the gap. He had helped repair an Ancient warship on the verge of being destroyed by a giant supervolcano. Compared to that reconfiguring a communication system for interstellar broadcast was child's play...though given the Wraith used organic components, it'd be nasty, sticky child's play. Caught between disgust and egotism, Rodney almost didn't notice as Todd was unchained from the DHD, with every gun present pointed at him as he slowly stood up, an impressive feat given the straitjacket he was still wearing prevented him from using his hands. For a brief moment, he made eye contact with Sheppard, then looked away, a very, very small grin touching the corner of his pale, thin lips.

"Something funny?" Rodney inquired as he stepped up next to the alien. Behind them, Edgars stepped up to the DHD and began to input the address of the planet Todd had promised held the answer to their problems. Rodney had been there when John had forced the Wraith to scrape the symbols in the dirt with his feet, being unwilling to allow even the slightest amount of leeway for Todd to try anything. It had been a little petty to be honest, but then after all the 'adventures' Todd had visited upon the Expedition back in the day, Rodney included, the physicist hadn't been much inclined to protest.

"Many things amuse me, Doctor McKay. This situation is not among them, I assure you." the alien vampire answered, his smirk never diminishing, "When this is over, all I can hope is that your leader will honor our agreement..." Rodney unsure of how to respond, nodded, then looked back to Colonel Sheppard. As Edgars hit the final button, John caught his eye, and an unspoken promise passed between them. Roughly translated, it could've been worded thusly: 'If we get captured again, I'm blaming you.'

--O--​

The walk from the Stargate to the center of government on Manaria took Teyla and her companions roughly twenty minutes, most of which was spent winding their way through the busy streets. Teyla took note of the various changes Lorne had described in his report to Sheppard, and marveled at how quickly it had all come. In the few years she had been absent, the place had changed so drastically that once-familiar landmarks were hard to pick out. There was much more stone in the architecture, and the wrought-iron lamp-posts Lorne had mentioned felt like intruders from another universe on the newly-cobbled streets. She could not help but think of the images from the history books she'd read on Earth The whole place reminded her unnervingly of an image of pre-World War I France.

The biggest shock was the town hall, though Teyla was suddenly no longer certain that it deserved such a name. As she stood in the four-story shadow of the angular structure, she looked up at it with a sense that the ground under her feet was shifting. As she stared, mouth slightly open and turbulent feelings rushing through her, a term spoken by Dr. Daniel Jackson during one of their infrequent encounters came to her: 'the march of progress'. Throughout history, humanity had strove to better itself and its condition. Those that resisted this were crushed under the wheels of history with the rest of the old, plowed under to make room for the new. This process continued even in the harshest of conditions, and while it might stall now and then, it never truly stopped. Suddenly her people's decision to join the Confederation came to her in a new light. When faced with this looming and titanic change, how could one not be a part of it? More than that, how could one not want to be a part of it? Wasn't it better to build something and lose it than to never build at all? The Wraith had smothered the ambition of Pegasus' human inhabitants for millennia, but now, in their waning hour, humanity's spirit waxed strong.

"Huh...it's bigger than I remember." Teyla tore her eyes of the building to glance over to her side. Ronon was standing there, grinning his best grin, obviously amused at how awestruck she was. She elbowed him softly, returning his smile.

"It is." she admitted, looking back at it. She turned her eyes to Halling. He was looking at the structure too, though with less amazement and more indifference. He'd obviously seen it before, so it was only logical the wonder would've worn off after a while.

"I feel I owe you an apology." she said. His expression grew confused, an eyebrow arching in inquiry. Teyla sighed. "I had no idea the galaxy had changed so much. It is one thing to be told, and another to see it for yourself. Now that I have, I admit that I had no right to begrudge you or our people for joining." This seemed to amuse Halling.
"We both seek the best tomorrow for our people, Teyla. I simply did what I felt you would've done in my place."

"Perhaps...still, there is much to be wary of in joining with such a vast power…"

"Teyla Emmagan!!"

The cry was so unexpected that it took Teyla to realize it had actually been directed at her. Her head whipped around to spot the source. Quick as she was Ronon was faster. His arm blurred and his pistol spun from its holster with a crackle as it activated. Several people screamed and dove for cover.

"Ronon!" Teyla grabbed his hand and dragged the barrel of the energy weapon down as she realized who was speaking, though when her heart at last slowed enough for her to distinguish individual beats, she found herself questioning whether she'd done the right thing. There was an awkward pause before the owner of the voice spoke again. He was a tall, balding individual, dressed in blue and grey, and wore a chain around his neck supporting a badge of office.

"Should I be concerned?" he asked, maintaining a nonchalant expression despite having come within a hair's breadth of being shot. He looked over at Ronon, the left corner of his lips rising in a smug smile. "I would advise against shooting me. If you did, the legal fees alone would leave your grandchildren in poverty."

"What do you want, Smeadon?" Teyla growled. Ronon looked over at her.

"Wait, Smeadon? Isn't he-"

"Yes. That one." she answered, then tightened her grip as she felt Ronon's arm instinctively try to rise again.

"It's good to see the years have not diminished your memory of me…" the old man sneered, "As for what I want, well...that's none of your concern." He strode closer as people began to pick themselves up, the standoff having become the center of attention, much to Teyla's chagrin.

"Then why did you call out to me?" she asked. The elderly landowner strode closer, his casual walk defying Ronon to try again, which he almost did. Luckily Teyla's hand kept his gun in place.

"I was merely surprised to see you again! After all, it has been quite a long time…" Teyla fought the urge to smear the spy's face over the cobbles. It had been almost a decade since she'd dealt with the man. This was because during the first year the Atlantis Expedition had been stranded in Pegasus, they'd placed their trust in him during a crisis, only to have him leak information to the Genii that they'd used to try and storm the city. Needless to say, while the attempt had been foiled, she'd never spoken to him again after that.

"What's with the badge?" Ronon grunted, nodding towards the gold and silver emblem hanging from around the man's neck. The spy's smirk grew wider in response.

"You've been away for a while so you obviously wouldn't know…" he said, his tone almost gloating, "I'm the official head of the Resource Allocation Committee for the Manarian Assembly."

Teyla's heart turned to stone and sank, as did her faith in the Confederation. It was as if the universe had decided one cruel joke was not enough for the week, and so had inflicted this on her.

"I see…" she said, her words trailing off, prompting Smeadon to smile again.

"Is there a problem?" he asked innocently, causing Ronon to again tighten his grip on his pistol.

"No, no problem. In fact we came here to request resources and aid." Teyla said, plastering her most artificial smile on as quickly as she could.

"Ah! Excellent! Follow me then. I'm sure I can assist you!" he chuckled, beckoning them towards the building a head. He turned and began to stride towards it, before pausing and looking back over his shoulder.

"Oh, but you will need to relinquish your weapons at the door." he added, as if it were merely an afterthought. Teyla swore she could hear Ronon grinding his teeth. Slowly she took her hand off his arm and began to follow the accursed man. Halling sidled up next to her, and when she looked, she saw he was as surprised as she was disgusted.

"I think should apologize…" he said.

"You could have told me I'd be dealing with Smeadon!" she hissed vehemently.

"I did not know!" he hissed back as they began to ascend the steps to the large doors, where Smeadon now waited with a beatific smile of pure, petty malevolence. "He was one of four candidates for the position the last time I was here. My contacts stated it was unlikely he would win the vote!"

"Well obviously he did." Teyla grunted, "Now we'll have to cope."

"I could shoot him." Ronon suggested.

"That wouldn't fix anything." Teyla sighed.

"It'd feel good." the Satedan retorted.

"The bullets from those six guards wouldn't." Teyla answered, silencing the trigger-happy ex-Runner. She nodded towards the men in question. Their uniforms were tan, and they all carried triple-barreled shotguns of Genii manufacture. Even Ronon couldn't possibly hope to stun all of them before they shot him. Teyla shook herself, breaking away from that train of thought. No, much as she wished, violence would not get her anywhere. Then again, given what she now faced, what would?

--O--​

The first thing John did on emerging from the Stargate was drop to a crouch and raise his P-90. There'd been no MALP to send in order to check the destination, so he'd been expecting the worst from the moment he stepped through the event horizon. A dull, rocky landscape greeted his eyes with only greenish-purple lichen clinging to the stones to indicate there was anything alive. No Wraith drones popped out of cover with stunners, and no booby traps triggered. One by one, the soldiers he'd requisitioned for the mission emerged from the portal behind him with a series of sticky noises. John had always wondered why disturbing the event horizon of an active wormhole generated those molasses-like sounds. Probably there was a really good scientific reason that only Rodney knew or understood. At the moment, all it did was cause his stomach churn more than his nerves were already making it. The men and women behind him took up similar positions to his own, dashing and dropping into cover in expectation of an ambush. Todd was the last to come through, escorted by Edgars, who dragged him into the shadow of a particularly large boulder that sat like a mushroom by the DHD, the pristine lichen on its surface suggesting no one had touched it in a long time.
After a tense pause, Sheppard felt satisfied and secure enough to shout 'Clear!', prompting the rest of the group to lower their weapons to a position that still left them ready to snap up at a moment's notice.

"I'm wounded that you still don't trust me." Todd quipped, his face impassive save for a tiny smirk in the corner of his pale lips.

"If I wound you, you'll know it." John grunted, stalking forward to stand next to Edgars.

"If someone shoots at us, don't shoot back until you've shot him first." he ordered.

"Yes sir." the female Sergeant replied, her tone suggesting it was an act she'd relish. With that she grabbed him and pushed him out in front of the group. The Wraith stumbled, but was quick to recover his balance. He huffed in irritation, but then turned his back to the group, nodding into the distance.

"The outpost is about a kilometer in that direction." he said, jerking his head in a seemingly arbitrary direction. John stared out at the barren landscape. In the distance, the faint sound of waves crashing suggested they were near a body of water, as did the gray skies and thin veil of fog that suffused the air. It didn't inhibit vision completely at any distance, but served to generate a sensation that a veil of wool had been stretched to extreme transparency across the world.

"You pick the nicest places to bring me to." he grumbled to the Wraith. He tried not to breathe in too deeply. There was something heavy and soggy about the air that he didn't like.
"The atmosphere has a high moisture content that makes it easier to conceal a surface-base. This is the closest you'll ever see to a clear day here." Todd replied.

"Hmph, could've told us that part in advance." McKay grumbled. He was shivering in the damp air.

"I thought you were Canadian? You can't be THAT cold." John joked, trying to lighten his own mood, but only succeeding in making Rodney look annoyed.

"What, you think I go jogging in the winter? In weather like this, I stay in bed with a cup of cocoa. What about you, Colonel Kilgore? Why aren't you cold?" he shot back. John rolled his eyes.

"Come on. Let's get going, we've got some hiking to do."

"Oh joy. Nothing like a nice forced march to get the blood pumping, right? We'll probably build some character too! How about that!"

"Shut up, Rodney." John sighed. He knew he shouldn't have antagonized the man, but it wasn't like he wouldn't have complained regardless. If Rodney was really a champion at anything, it was whining. He'd gotten better about it over the years, but in stressful situations it tended to emerge like a nervous twitch, and John wasn't sure he could think of a situation they'd gone through in the past four years that was more stressful than the one they were currently in. They were cut off from Earth, low on supplies, friends and intelligence, and being hunted by an unseen enemy whose objectives and capabilities were unknown. John allowed himself a grim little smile as he trudged over the rocky and hard-packed dirt. It was just like old times...but with giant robots.

The walk took place in silence except for McKay noisily huffing into his clasped hands to warm them now and then. John almost missed the facility when it came into view, though in his defense it was an easy thing to do. The organic-looking edifice was much smaller than most Wraith surface installations John had seen in the past, and its exterior matched the grey color palette of the rest of the planet almost exactly. It looked almost innocuous, perched atop a small hill like an odd rock formation, save for the dim yellowish lights it was emitting from nodes in the pylons supporting its dome-shaped bulk. From its apex, a series of spikes protruded like the spines of an antenna farm.

"We have arrived. I recommend you follow my footsteps exactly from hereon." Todd stated.

"Why?" John asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

"Because the area around the base is rigged with pressure-sensitive fragmentation explosives." the Wraith answered. Rodney beat John to voicing his confusion.

"You have landmines!? Since when?! And why!?" the Canadian physicist almost shrieked. John glowered at Todd, waiting for an answer. The Wraith seemed to take a moment to think over his answer before giving it. When he did, it was in hesitant tones, as if he were almost ashamed of his words.

"When I first began my rise through the ranks, I quickly came to the realization that fighting my own people for control was not the same as culling yours. Stunners are useful, but your projectile weapons and explosives offer an element of finality they do not."

John thought on this for a while, the wind whistling constantly over the fungus-matted rock-strewn landscape. It made sense, after a fashion. Especially in a place like this, which you didn't want your political enemies to know about. If someone were to find it, stun-bombs would be less of a barrier to someone that wanted to get in than getting their legs blown off. Still...

"Where did you get them?" John asked, looking over at the straightjacketed vampire. He merely shrugged.

"You've heard of the Hoffans?" he asked, looking out towards the waiting outpost.

"Yes…" John answered, again suspecting he knew where this was going.

"I learned of their destruction not long after you returned me to my people. The planet had been mostly picked clean by scavengers, but there was a large quantity of unspent munitions in one of their bunkers that I helped myself to." He said it as casually as if he were talking about going shopping at a grocery store, but that didn't change the fact that Todd was discussing what essentially amounted to grave robbing. The Hoffans were a people who had attempted to make themselves immune to the Wraiths' feeding process, apparently ignoring the fact that all this would achieve was to prompt the Wraith to exterminate them rather than risk their immunity spreading. Among the many dark holes of guilt in his soul, John still maintained one for his decision to lend Atlantis' help to the Hoffans in perfecting their 'secret weapon'. He fumed, wanting to chastise the pale-skinned alien but knowing he had no moral grounds to do so. It was a futile feeling, and it was becoming a familiar one lately.

"Alright, but if anyone explodes-" he grunted.

"Yes, yes, you'll shoot me. Second verse, same as the first." the Wraith spat distastefully. There was an awkward pause before he realized he was being stared at.

"Second verse-?" Rodney started.

"It's not like you gave me anything to do for those months before I entered stasis besides stare at that bizarre entertainment-box your planet seems to be infatuated with." he grunted, rolling his eyes. There was a snigger from one of the soldiers.

"It's called a television, Todd." John said feeling a smirk of amusement growing on his lips. The Wraith glowered.

"Are you interested in being rescued or not? We can stand here all night, though I suspect you might not enjoy the weather that comes with it." he huffed. He stomped off towards the base of the hill where the communications facility was perched, while behind him John struggled not to laugh. The unexpected funny moment was a welcome break from the tension they'd been dealing with since before they'd arrived, and for a moment it seemed like things might turn out alright. Before their morale could improve further though, a roll of thunder boomed across the sky, rattling them out of their fragile good mood.

Then it started to rain.

--O--​

The interior of the Manarian Hall of Governance reflected the exterior's increased size. The entrance hall featured a large desk, where a small line of people waited in front of a well-dressed man working at a primitive-looking computer. Teyla stared at the device for a moment, its presence feeling so out of place in the still relatively rustic society she'd just passed through that it felt like an intrusion from another universe. It was one thing to make cobbled streets and lamp posts, and quite another to have informational devices such as personal computers. It had to be from one of the other, more advanced Pegasus societies. It was a fair assumption given the increased amount of non-native decorations garnering the chamber. She recognized tapestries from Trictinia on the walls and a few bone sculptures from Levanna mounted on ornately-carved tables set next to plush chairs, some of which had people in them.

Near the back of the room a pair of guards stood by a pair of doors. As she approached, Halling and Ronon close behind, the man at the desk looked up from his screen, grabbed some forms from a drawer, then handed them to the elderly but astute-looking woman at the head of the line. She took them, then stepped around the desk and towards the doors, which the guards opened to reveal a hall lined with doors beyond. As she stepped through, she caught sight of Smeadon, then saw Teyla and her group. She cocked an eyebrow as if in interest, but didn't stop as she passed through the doors and into the hall behind, before disappearing as the guards closed up the wood-paneled passage behind her.

"If you'll wait just a moment…" Smeadon said, looking back over his shoulder with an imperious expression. Teyla felt her guts clench in anger, but kept her calm, pausing to the right of the large desk. Some of the people in the chairs and the line gave her party an annoyed look. Perhaps they had appointments with the former spy and were angry she was being allowed to cut ahead. Teyla amended her thought to 'potentially former spy'. There was no way to know if Smeadon was or wasn't still in service to the Genii. It was entirely possible he'd left their service in the decade or so since she'd had any contact with him. Again, she cursed the AOA for not maintaining a greater exchange of information between Earth and the Confederation.

As Teyla watched, Smeadon strode up to the guard on the right side of the doors and began to speak with him in a low tone. She couldn't hear what was said, but the guard looked back and forth between her group and Smeadon several times. He asked a couple of questions by the sound of his tone, which Smeadon responded to by waving his hands in the universal gesture that indicated the dismissal of that which was not important. The guard looked at Teyla's group again, eyes full of worry, especially when they landed on Ronon, who was still seething over having his pistol and many of his hidden knives taken away. However, then he seemed to shrug and tapped his partner's shoulder. Together they opened the door and performed an odd salute, where they wrapped their hands around their inner elbows as if mimicking the common Pegasus greeting. Smeadon gave them a smirk and turned back to Teyla.

"This way please. I have a busy schedule, so I would like to address your concerns as soon as possible." he said, his tone again bringing Teyla's temper to a boil. Still,she kept her expressing happy and cooperative. She'd negotiated with worse than Smeadon in her life. She was not about to be outplayed by him in a game of diplomacy. She stepped forward, beckoning to Ronon and Halling to follow. However, Smeadon pointed at the big Satedan and made an expression of distaste.

"Not him." he commanded. Ronon twitched, his eyes darkening.

"What?" he asked, his tone low and threatening.

"If you have come to barter for resources, Teyla, then it should only be Athosians that are involved. Halling is welcome, but your...bodyguard is not." the bureaucrat explained, a faux-apologetic look on his face. Ronon took a step forward, his features contorting in anger.

"Where she goes, I go!" he growled. Smeadon shook his head sadly.

"Not here, I'm afraid."

"You would be." he snarled.Smeadon merely smirked.

"If you continue in this abrasive manner, you will be removed from the premises. I assure you that Teyla will come to no harm while in my company." As he spoke, he checked his nails, indicating subtly that he was quite confident that even if Ronon were to attack him, it would be the last thing he did. Teyla eyed the guards on either side of the door and saw they had tensed up, hands hovering over their pistol holsters, which were loaded with old-fashioned Genii sidearms.

"Ronon, please," Teyla said softly, turning to her friend and placing a hand on his upper arm, "let me deal with this." He looked at her, and she could see the anger and protectiveness in his eyes. It made her ashamed to have to do this, but right now Smeadon had her at a disadvantage, and the only move she had left was to concede. Ronon must've seen this in her pleading expression, because he slowly backed down, reverting to a state of broodiness that only just covered up a promise of violence should anything go wrong.

"I'll wait out here." he grunted, stepping back and locating an empty chair. He glowered at Smeadon, who just smiled back in his smug way, before turning his eyes to Teyla again.
"As I said, let us make haste." Teyla smiled back and followed him through the doors.

The hallway beyond was empty of people save for the occasional man or woman in a grey and black clerk's uniform, carrying stacks of paper and folders. About twenty feet from the entrance, the passage split into a T-junction. Smeadon took a left, then paused at a niche covered by a collapsible metal grille with a mirror on the back wall and a strange lever to the right. He undid the catch on the grille and ushered them in, then stepped in behind them, closing the grille. Teyla didn't need Rodney's intellect to tell her this was an elevator, a fact confirmed when Smeadon pushed the lever up and the niche began to rise with a squeaking, hissing noise. Again, she marveled at the progress which seemed to have swept the galaxy in her absence, before being jolted from her thoughts as they came to a stop at the third floor.

"I see you are not surprised by the ascending lift…" he remarked, undoing the catch on this level's metal grille and pulling it aside, "Many people who see it for the first time think it's some kind of magic. In truth it's merely powered by steam from the building's boiler."

"It is amazing." Teyla replied blandly, "Though I will admit it's not the first time I've seen such a device."

"Ah, yes." Smeadon remarked, "No doubt there were much greater wonders in Atlantis." He said the city's name with just the barest hint of scorn, but it was there, like poison in a sugar-rich pastry. Teyla's spirits sunk. She didn't need the diplomatic skills of her old friend Dr. Weir to know that Smeadon knew, or at least suspected, that she wasn't here for her people's benefit. Quite likely he had assumed it on principle upon seeing her and hearing why she had come. Teyla had been gone a long time, and her absence had no doubt only strengthened her connection in the minds of those who knew her to Atlantis and the perceived betrayal they had committed.

As she and Halling were led to the man's office, only a scant few feet from the elevator, her mind raced, trying to find a way out of this situation with what she had come to get, only to fail in every potential scenario she could think up. Still, she was going to try. She owed it to her friends.

The ex-spy's office was neither opulent nor spartan, but somewhere in between. A desk supporting a small clockwork fan and a computer like the one at the reception desk downstairs sat in front of the rear wall, which included a small fireplace, currently unlit. The walls to either side were lined with shelves interspersed with filing cabinets. There were two chairs, one in front of the desk, one behind. It reminded Teyla of the lawyer's office she'd had to visit to get her citizenship on Earth, but with a more anachronistic twist. Halling stepped out in front of her and offered her the visitor's seat while Smeadon took his place behind the desk. Two electric lampshades flanked him, and he reached over to each in turn to switch them on, before settling his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers together.

"Now, what is it you need?" he asked, his 'helpful' smile taking on a sly undertone. Teyla took a deep breath. Now her battle really began…

--O--​

Despite John's worries, the trek up the hill did not cause anyone to lose a limb. The group of soldiers followed Todd at a steady pace in single file. In the fog and the downpour, Sheppard noticed that Rodney was muttering to himself, to low to make out any words, but enough that he could hear it. He was also shaking slightly, though whether that was from nerves or the cold, John couldn't decide. At last,they reached the foot of the bizarre organic outpost, where a door that looked as though it had been made from a ribcage waited for them. The downpour had grown so heavy that a veritable torrent of water flowed down off the section of the roof that stretched out over the area in front of the strange, ossified entrance like a thin waterfall. The gravel from before had turned mostly to mud. Everyone, Todd included, was drenched from head to toe. Even if any ponchos had survived from the Alpha Site, there wouldn't have been time to unpack and put them on before the water soaked in regardless.

"Just when I thought this day couldn't get worse…" Rodney declared, stepping through the sheet of water in front of the overhang, emerging miserable and dripping like the rest of the group into the relative dry space beneath.

Meanwhile, Todd stood stolidly beside the door as if awaiting further instructions. John looked from the sealed aperture to the pale alien, then back again.

"What, did you forget the door code?" he joked. Todd narrowed his eyes.

"The system requires a biometric reading to allow access. DNA, combined with a palm-print-" he explained. Sheppard raised a finger.

"Ooh, no. No." he said firmly, "I know where you're going, so let me stop you right there-" Todd rolled his eyes.

"You could try and bypass it by cutting off my hand, but I doubt it would work. And if you did, well...I think I'd be justified in denying you my help. Also, this is not the only security measure you will need my help to overcome. I built this place to be one of my best-kept secrets. Do you really think I'd be satisfied with a few explosives and a well-placed door?" He snorted in derision, tilting his head back slightly to sneer at John, which almost got the overstressed Colonel to pull the trigger on his P-90 out of sheer spite. In the end though, he sighed, glared at the Wraith, then glanced over at Edgars.

"You know the drill." he said wearily, "He tries something…"

"I gotcha." the Sergeant replied, shouldering her own weapon and gesturing for the rest of the team to do likewise. Rodney hastily stepped out of the line of fire, looking at them like they were all insane. John didn't blame him. Maybe this was crazy, but right now, after yesterday and today, he wasn't feeling very sane regardless. He stepped up to Todd, grabbed him by his straightjacket, then glared into his slitted eyes.

"Which hand?" he asked. The reptilian gaze became slightly confused, before comprehension of John's question caused them to light up. Todd smirked and nodded to his left, causing John to relax a little. At least it wasn't his feeding hand. He undid the leather straps, then stepped back, out of reach as the Wraith looked down at his free limb, then shook it twice as if trying to restore circulation. He smirked again, then turned to the door. He pressed his pale hand to a section of the base's exterior that looked slightly more moist than the rest. There was a sticky sound, then a humming as the pad glowed yellow. Two seconds later, there was a squelching, grinding noise as the door split in half, the 'ribs' folding back to admit the group. Beyond, a dark chamber awaited, and something like dry-ice fog rolled out to mix with the mist around them.

John took the first step inside, followed closely by Edgars. Todd was nudged in by three different gun barrels, followed closely by McKay and the rest of the group. All of them flicked on their vest-mounted flashlights, revealing more of the same ribbed organic architecture. John did his best not to inhale too deeply. All Wraith habitats, be they ships or bases, smelled of the same thing: death. It was a feature that tended to define them. Idly John wondered if there were any human 'snacks' cocooned in some hidden room, trapped in suspended animation until a visitor decided he was hungry. He pushed the idea from his head. He had bigger things to deal with. Once they had contact with the Odyssey, everything would be different. A chill ran down his spine, but a quick check revealed it was the rain dripping down his neck from his hair.

"The control room is that way." Todd gestured down the dark hall, which was slowly lighting up with an odd bioluminescence, projected by large nodes in the curved ceiling. It gave everything around the group a bluish tint, disguising the greens, grays and purples of the structure.

"Good. Rodney, you ready?" John asked.

"Is it too late to say this is a bad idea?" the physicist quipped.

"You said that already." John commented, looking back over his shoulder.

"I think it bears saying again." Rodney answered. John snorted.

"Let's move." he commanded. As one, the team advanced down the long, bony hall towards the end, where a door much like the one at the entrance awaited. It couldn't have been more than thirty or forty meters long, but the tension made it feel like an eternity. John eyed the other doors, the ones set on the sides of the passage every fifteen or so feet, with suspicion as he passed them. However, none burst open to reveal recently-awakened Drones or other booby traps. By the time the exit was in reach, John was beginning to feel disappointed. He was certain he should've been betrayed by now. That was usually how it worked when it came to Todd. Then again, so far the Wraith had been nothing but helpful, if a bit acerbic as well. He watched as the alien vampire stepped forward and pressed his free hand to another slick interface-surface, causing the next door to open. At the same time, the one they'd just passed through closed, and John glared at the Wraith.

"A simple precaution. Given how long this may take, I'm certain you'd rather be in here than out there...especially now that it's raining." John wanted to argue with the explanation, but he had a gut feeling that given what he'd seen so far of the surface, it was probably a good idea...probably. Still…

"Rodney, once you get in, can you get control of all the doors?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder again.

"Probably." McKay replied, before John's glare caused him to clear his throat and backpedal."Definitely. I meant definitely." he corrected himself.

"Better." Turning back to Todd, John shouldered his P-90. "I'm sure you understand." he said, in his best faux-apologetic voice. This didn't seem to phase the Wraith, who merely smiled a shark's smile.

"Completely." he replied, as the lights beyond the door glowed into life, revealing a large circular chamber with an array of knobbly-looking organic consoles and flickering screens projected on cascades of mist. Todd turned his gaze to Rodney who tensed almost unnoticeably at being the subject of attention for such a predatory being.

"Let us begin, Doctor. I'm sure you're as eager to get this over with as I am."

--O-- ​

Optimus woke from recharge to find Drift sitting cross legged nearby. The ex-Decepticon had one of his enormous katanas out, which almost made Optimus transform on instinct until he saw that he was patiently sharpening it with some sort of whetstone that resembled fulgurite, but given the use it was being put to, must've been anything but. Upon seeing this, Optimus chose to transform anyway, but at a more leisurely rate. Once he'd shed his disguise, he sat down in front of the blue-armored warrior, crossing his own legs to mirror his subordinate.

"You're awake. Good." Drift observed, not looking up from his work, "I hope you rested better than I." He continued to drag the stone along the blade, making a low metallic scraping noise. Optimus watched the movement, transfixed, but shook his head with a dour expression.

"Unfortunately not. My dreams are troubled...but then they almost always are." he replied. He looked to his left, gazing out on the encampment that had sprung up around the Athosian Stargate. He felt the melancholy he'd experienced before leaving Earth returning. Again, he found himself questioning his actions, his depression increasing when his gaze swept over the still form of Ironhide. He took comfort in the fact that the wounds his old friend was still sporting were no longer leaking Energon or lubricants, and decided it would be better to distract himself from his failures rather than wallow in them. Ratchet wouldn't have wanted that...didn't want that, he corrected himself. He looked back to Drift, then to the sword and the stone.
"What is that?" he asked, pointing to the rock in curiosity. Drift smiled a sad smile.

"A bit of material from the ruins of Kalis." he answered, "It long ago ceased to be radioactive, but it has never worn out."

"Would that the city it came from still stood..." Optimus said sympathetically, "I regret never getting the chance to see your home before it's fall."

"And I regret never getting the chance to see Iacon, my friend." Drift answered, continuing to sharpen the blade, "I regret a great many things. But that is the nature of war." He paused in his work and looked over at Ironhide. "My people...we had a story...a fable," he began, optics taking on a distant look, "a tale from the days of the Dynasty, some say."

"Tell me." Optimus said, "I feel useless as it is, so tell me." He almost added 'and distract us both from our demons.', but knew better. He was one of the few that knew Drift's full history, specifically of his deeds when he had been head of Kalis' Royal Guard. There was no need to make either of them more morose, not here and now.

Drift nodded, then looked back to his work.

"The version I heard was told to me by Skyfire. He was my commander when I still served the Decepticons…when I thought they still had honor." Again, the blue defector shook his head, then dragged the stone over the sword's edge once more. "In it, Volant Prime, the progenitor of all Seekers, is busy exploring the Eshems Nebula one day when she happens upon a world where two halves of a society stand on the brink of war. Both call upon her to help them destroy the other, each citing various atrocities the other has committed. So great is their anger that they have built a massive wall between their two nations; a monument to fear and ignorance." Optimus nodded, laying his hands on his knees and leaning back a little on a tree, which creaked, but did not move. He'd heard many stories about the original Thirteen. Just as humans had their own religious parables, so did Cybertronians; just another in the long string of features they shared.

Of course there were differences too. Cybertronians had never waged wars over the interpretation of religious texts, except possibly with words. Optimus chuckled as the memory of some of the more wild theological debates he'd witnessed while working as Alpha Trion's pupil in Iacon came back to him. Things could get very heated, especially when the two sides involved were young and full of the kind of certainty that only desperation to impress could provide. However, the Prime quickly found himself recalled from his theater of recollection by Drift's words.

"She goes to both parties, and bids that they meet her at a point on one of their planet's moons. She promises each the power to destroy the other, if they can convince her of the rightness of their cause. So they come, arriving at the meeting place she's set, and there, she gives them an audience, making sure to hear both sides fairly."

"And which does she choose?" Optimus inquired, feeling just for a moment like the student he once had been all those millennia ago. He had learned the ways of war from Storm Jet, but in his Spark, he would always be a scholar, and the tale was speaking to that part of him in a way few things had for a long, long time.

"She gives each leader a box, with two buttons inside, attached to the weapons of her ship, the Knight's Terminus; enough to level the entire surface of the planet. One of the buttons will fire the weapons at the enemy of the user; the other will destroy the wall. Neither is labeled. Furthermore, the Prime explains that if one side chooses peace and the other war, the destruction of the wall will allow for the ash and soot from the destroyed side to smother the surviving one. Thus, the only choice is peace, or annihilation."

Optimus reeled at the turn of events. What Drift was describing was an almost monstrous deed, far from what he had expected to hear in a story about Volant Prime, who supposedly had stopped genocides in their tracks with a single speech. Then again, this was a story from Kalis, whose people were known for pragmatism almost as much as they were for their art. Perhaps this was a reflection of their ideals; a spin on an old tale to personalize it for their Sparklings. As considered this, the stone scraped across the blade again while the old warrior went on.

"Of course, the leaders of both sides are incensed, accusing the Prime of deception, of lying to them. She answers 'I have not lied. I have found both sides worthy of life. Furthermore, I have stripped away the division between you. Here, there are no illusions, no walls, no lies or ignorance. What stands before you is a model of every petty conflict I have ever witnessed. One side kills the other and takes what they have. The other kills them and takes it back. On and on and on...and every time, all that is required to prevent it is that both sides sit down and talk,'. The two leaders look at her in confusion, asking her why she has done this, and she answers 'Because the future is uncertain. Because death is the only true equalizer. And because the universe is vast, and in it all we have is one another.'."

Drift frowned and looked up from his sword.

"I trust you understand what she meant?" he asked. Optimus nodded.

"As much as anyone can truly understand the old tales. As I understand it, she was reminding them that victory is not eternal, and that we are greater than the laws of conflict that govern the universe, because we can refuse to participate...can choose a nobler path." The Prime nodded, crossing his arms. "A good story, worthy of remembrance." he said, "I will have to transcribe it someday...how does it end?"

"There are two versions I have heard." Drift admitted, holding the katana's edge up to the light, "In one, the leaders back down, and agree to broker peace. They ask Volant Prime to be their neutral party at the negotiations. When she finally leaves, the two nations are working together to break down the wall themselves."

"And the other?" Optimus asked, knowing he probably wouldn't like the answer, but feeling compelled to inquire anyway.

"Both leaders press buttons at random. One accidentally chooses to destroy the wall, while the other destroys his enemy. Volant Prime sends them back to share the fate of their people. The ash of the destruction triggers an ice age, and most of the survivors die. Those that remain live with the legend, and take steps not to repeat the mistakes of their forebears."

Optimus tapped his chin with a metal finger. On the whole, it wasn't as bad as he'd been expecting. Then again, the goal of the fable was obviously to inspire hope, one way or another. Still…

"Do you tell me this because you feel we might be living with the results of such a choice?" he asked Drift. The azure warrior shrugged.

"There are parallels, certainly. But it is not the same with us. In the second version of the story, the leaders made peace on their deathbeds, recognizing in their final moments the mistakes that had cost their people so much. This war between you and Megatron though...I fear it will not have so happy an ending."

Optimus considered his words in silence. Something about them suggested that Drift's mindset was not what he'd thought it was. He'd always seen the ex-Decepticon as a soldier who'd seen the light and come to understand that freedom was the right of all sentient beings...but what if he hadn't? What if he'd joined not because he wanted to defend ideals...but simply because he wanted the killing to stop? Optimus' immediate inclination was to reject the thought. Drift had served loyally, defending dozens of worlds, if not more, from the scourge of Megatron's followers. However, those words...and the story that preceded them…

Optimus found himself recalling the day Drift had offered his services to him. He'd told him of what he'd done, how he'd been forced to make a horrible butcherous choice that, in the end, had done nothing to prevent the senseless destruction of his home. He'd looked into azure warrior's eyes and seen what he'd thought was conviction and regret. He'd thought he was simply seeking redemption, like the others who had tossed aside Megatron's cause, sometimes for similar reasons. Had he misinterpreted him?

Doubts swarmed about Optimus' mind, and it was only the sound of metal on metal that brought him back to reality as Drift sheathed his sword.

"I have always felt that the moral of the story is that a true warrior fights for peace, both to keep it and create it." he said, standing slowly and turning towards Ironhide, "I cannot say where the path we are on will take us. I can only hope that someday, it will take us out of the shadow of war, and into the light."

"Tell me," Optimus found himself asking, unsure why he was doing so, "if you thought killing me would bring peace, would you do it?" Drift's retreating back froze. Slowly, he turned, and Optimus now saw how tired he looked.

"I have killed too many friends." he said sadly, shaking his head, "Killing one more would achieve nothing." Then he walked away, leaving Optimus full of uncertainty and another unvoiced question: 'Would Drift kill me if he thought it would save our species?'

--O--​

About an hour into the negotiations, Ronon was getting restless. It wasn't just that Teyla hadn't returned yet. He'd never been very good at waiting. He was the sort of person who always took the initiative, who always struck first because he'd learned that was the best way to make sure you lived long enough to strike again. He'd started pacing, which got him nervous glances from most of the people nearby, then sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs, before standing up and pacing some more. He'd thought about cutting through the line in front of the receptionist's desk to ask her where Teyla was, but had resisted because he knew how angry it would make her if she found out he'd made a scene and possibly cost her everything she'd worked for. He decided to sit down again, this time choosing a spot by the door so he could get a better view of the room and all its occupants.

After picking a chair that looked the least likely ruin his posture with an excess of cushions, Ronon took a seat and began to observe the comings and goings. The length of the line in front of the desk grew and shrank as the minutes trudged by. Some people took the same option as Ronon, finding a chair or couch to sit on until the line seemed short enough to warrant their attention. It seemed like a poorly designed system, and Ronon couldn't help but remember the time Sheppard had helped him get a ID to ease his life on Earth. While the whole thing had been a test of Ronon's patience like few other things ever had been before or since, at least there they had a more reasonable system with the patrons taking numbered tickets and waiting to be called on. Here, it seemed much more haphazard, with whoever came first getting served first.

It was around the end of the second hour than Ronon began to doze off. He tried to keep himself awake by trying to figure out how many different ways he could take down the guards and get out alive in his head, but soon fell short due to the reality that he didn't know nearly enough of the buildings layout or potential opposition to make it an interesting exercise. Slowly but surely, he felt his eyelids getting heavier, and cushions getting unreasonably soft for some reason. He sagged sideways-

-and was jerked awake by someone giving him a hard prod in the shoulder. Immediately he defaulted to his combat instincts and went for his gun, only to find it wasn't there. Clamping down on his panic, he prepared to vault from the chair and face his attacker when suddenly a familiar voice cut through the adrenaline.

"Lookin' for this?" Ronon focused and realized that his gun was being offered to him butt-first. He stared at the hand holding it, then let his eyes run up the attached arm to its owner.
"Solen?!" he exclaimed. The bald, battle-scarred Satedan grinned down at him.

"I knew better than to try and wake you while you were still armed." he said playfully, Ronon grinned and took the pistol from him, holstering it before grabbing his outstretched arm and pulling himself up. The two men engaged in a bear-hug, laughing, slapping each other's shoulders.

"Never thought I'd see you again, buddy!" Solen declared, "Glad I was wrong!"

"Damn right you were wrong!" Ronon chuckled. Solen was a special friend, in that he was a Satedan like Ronon, and not just Satedan, but ex-military. They'd known each other long before their people had been reduced to refugees when their world was purged for resisting the feeding cycle of the Wraith. While Ronon had been captured, Solen had helped lead almost three-hundred civilians off-world in an effort to preserve what remained of their society. They looked each other over, each checking for new scars, a testament to their continuing fight, before settling back into a more relaxed demeanor.

"What are you doing here?" Ronon asked, looking first towards the inner door behind the desk, then the bigger one that lead outside just as it opened to admit another visitor. He frowned, noting the light was much more orange than when he'd arrived. How long had he slept?

"I should ask the same!" retorted his friend, "We all heard you'd run off with Atlantis!" Ronon cringed a little at the words. They weren't said in an accusing manner, but they made his heart ache, and he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he should've stayed and helped his people. Then the memories of the years spent fighting alongside Sheppard, Teyla, Lennox and all the rest came rushing in and he drowned his doubts beneath the tide. He'd never abandoned his people. Besides, they didn't need him like Teyla's needed her. He shrugged.

"Been busy. Things to hunt, bad guys to shoot..." he admitted. Solen grinned.

"Well I'd love to hear about it! I'm sure the great Ronon Dex has a few stories to tell about life beyond the galaxy! Unfortunately it'll have to wait. My employer's busy over there. I can only stick around for a bit." He thrust his thumb over his shoulder and Ronon looked past him to see that the line in front of the desk had all but vanished, save for a tall woman with greying red hair, an ironic trait that matched the color scheme of her uniform, which resembled that of a Genii officer. Ronon looked back to his friend in confusion.

"You're working for the Genii?" he grunted, his good mood starting to diminish.

"Well yeah! A lot of us are! Been a lot of call for Satedans lately. The galaxy's overflowing with the cry for people who know their way around logistics and are good at freelance work. Of course, you can guess which of those I'm filling in for." the bald Satedan answered, looking baffled by Ronon's sudden grim reaction, "Haven't you heard? They're working with the Travelers, building an army to fight the Wraith across the galaxy!" Ronon frowned, looking from his friend to the woman.

"Last I heard the Wraith were getting tired of killing each other and crawling back into their pods..." he said doubtfully, causing Solen to burst out laughing, so loudly that both the receptionist and the woman in grey looked over to them, along with the few other remaining occupants of the room.

"Oh Ronon, buddy!" Solen cackled, "Hah! You should know better than to listen to rumors like that!"

"I haven't heard-" Ronon tried. Solen held up a finger and wagged it.

"Oh there's plenty who believe that crap, but trust me! The Genii know better!" he countered, then added in a mutter: "Well, most of them at least." He shook his head. "No, no they're not going anywhere...and even if they are, we'll hunt down whatever holes they hide in and burn 'em out! That's why I'm with 'em. Ever since the Confederation got its act together, they've been calling for any people with prior military experience to serve as teachers. They're hoping to put together a code of strategies. Battle plans, tactics, that sort of stuff, y'know? A handbook for everyone, from the soldiers to the generals. Plus, you need guys like me to teach all these farmers and fishermen how to REALLY fight a war!" He continued laughing, and Ronon noticed a few people around the room were glaring at him for his boisterous words. His 'employer' was not among them however. Ronon nodded towards her.

"Who's she?" he asked. Solen looked over his shoulder, his tone suddenly becoming evasive.

"Oh, right! She's...well...I'm not really supposed to talk about that. Let's just say she's working for a very special branch of the combined armed forces. Name of Natashii. I got pulled off training recruits on Sirea to be her body-guard. Not sure why, but then-"

"Mr. Sincha!" The voice was clear, hard and cold, bespeaking an owner who was used to having her commands obeyed. Consequently it wasn't hard to work out its source. Ronon looked over at the elderly red-headed woman, who had left the desk and was now approaching with a gait that somehow seemed both menacing and clipped, the legs moving as though they were fighting the urge to march. It was the sign of an old soldier, and it filled Ronon with intrigue.

"I wasn't aware I authorized you to speak to civilians." she said, her tone still frigid, but with enough curiosity in it to imply that she wasn't completely furious...yet. To his credit, Solen did not stammer or fumble, and turned to face the Genii commander, if that was what she was. Ronon was beginning to suspect it might not be so. Genii allowed women into their military, but to his knowledge, most of them were kept at a relatively low rank. However, he was prepared to dismiss his suspicions on the basis that perhaps the new unity of worlds had caused a rethinking of certain traditions...for now.

Then he noticed the odd pin on her left breast. It didn't resemble any rank Ronon had ever seen on a Genii officer. In fact it looked somewhat familiar. He struggled to try and pin down exactly why this was so, but Solen interrupted his train of thought.

"This isn't a civilian ma'am. This is Ronon Dex. He's an old friend and a former comrade. We served together on Sateda." Solen explained, standing to attention, hands clasped behind his back. The woman looked over at Ronon, an eyebrow raised, though whether in respect or disinterest, Ronon couldn't say. She extended an arm, which he took at the elbow as she did the same.

"Commander Natashii Divala, of the Confederate Fleet." she said by way of greeting, staring into him with eyes like chips of onyx.

"Ronon Dex." Ronon answered, He was surprised at himself, but then not too much. Something about the woman's demeanor was triggering instincts drilled into him during his earliest military training. something that no one from Earth, not even Sheppard, had ever managed to invoke. "Formerly Specialist Dex of the Satedan Armed Forces. First Commander of Third company, Alpha battalion." The commander nodded, clearly approving of his words.

"You have quite a legend about you, Specialist Dex. Even I have heard of the Runner who joined Atlantis." she said, looking him up and down, "You'd have made a fine candidate for my program."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, suddenly suspicious. Natashii replied with a grim smile.

"Solen and I have been together for less than a week. However he has done much to prove he is a loyal and worthy bodyguard. His people's reputation for honor has also improved my initial view of him, which was that of an undisciplined drunkard assigned to me as a joke." Solen winced at that, and Ronon had to fight to keep a straight face. Solen usually looked like that whenever he wasn't on the battlefield. The man had a taste for alcohol that matched his hunger for Wraith blood. Ignoring her bodyguard's reaction Natashii continued. "Given how much he trusts you, and your background, I will take it on faith that neither he nor you will betray my confidence." she stated, before drawing in a breath and smoothing the front of her uniform as a prelude to her next words. "I am part of a program set up by the military that, among other...objectives, aims to locate and liberate any Runners from their enslavement to the Wraith."

Ronon's eyes almost bugged out, and it took all his self-control not to let shock take over his face. He stared at the red-headed officer for a few seconds, before finally regaining control of his tongue to voice one of the countless questions running around in his head like frightened birds.

"You...what?" The shock resulting in a rather uncharacteristic, and if Sheppard had witnessed it, hilarious response. The former Satedan officer quickly recomposing himself further and tried again. "Um...why?" Only to fail utterly. Commander Divala smiled again, an expression that felt somehow foreboding on her battle-weathered face.

"We aim to create an army to combat the Wraith. As one of our ancestors who saved our people once said, 'In order to destroy your enemy, you must know your enemy'. And while much information has been gleaned regarding the nature of the Wraith now that information is at last flowing freely between worlds, it is not enough, and worse, it is not what we need."

"And what do you need?" Ronon asked, feeling a little stupid, but asking regardless, his snark returning half-bore. In the back of his mind, her words hit a small pocket of suspicion that had started with the odd pin and caused it to grow, though again, he remained unsure why. The commander's gaze hardened making her dark irises look even more cold.

"How to find them. How to hunt them. How to fight them and kill them. There is no one who knows more of these things than Runners." she said, as though stating a basic truth of life, with as much weight as a person commenting on the weather. Again, Ronon found himself shocked. He looked to Solen, who seemed as surprised as he was to learn this, then back to the commander.

"You're serious?" he asked. Ronon suspected that had she not been concerned for her image of consummate professionalism, she would've rolled her eyes in irritation.

"As a bullet wound. Specialist Dex, I realize that you already have other loyalties to think about, but I hope you will not take it amiss if I offer you a place in my program. You'd have the respect of your colleagues, you can be certain. Even among the Runners, your name is legendary. We could use people like you. Your experience in fighting the Wraith would be beyond value, both to me and the Confederation as a whole." she replied.

Ronon found himself falling into the black abyss of Divala's gaze. On the one hand, his people, and the galaxy they were part of, called out to him to join them in their struggle, promising that it wouldn't be like before, that this time, the struggle would not end in slaughter, that this time it would end in victory. On the other, his friends, the people who had saved him from an existence trapped in motion, never able to stand still, never able to interact with others because if he did, the Wraith would kill them as punishment. He stood between them, on one side the mission he'd come here to help accomplish; on the other, the war that was to come. For a long time he drifted there, caught between the tides of loyalty, of duty and friendship. Finally, he answered.

"I'll think about it." he said. Divala's face fell a little, indicating she knew what he actually meant.

"There's nothing I can say to help you decide?" she asked, looking only mildly crestfallen. She seemed as though she'd been prepared for his answer, and was now merely going through the motions of being thorough. He shook his head.

"Well, I can hardly ask a man to abandon his friends." she said regretfully. "The offer still stands however, Specialist Dex, should you ever change your mind. Or, Ancestors willing, the relations between the Confederation and your...compatriots, should change." Ronon caught on to what she was implying: if Earth became more involved with the Confederation, he could easily do what she asked and still remain part of the Atlantis Expedition. A long shot if there ever was one, from what he understood, which wasn't much. He remembered Teyla's words about her responsibility to her people, and wondered whether or not her decision to stay would compel him to join her. They were both from Pegasus, and while Sheppard and McKay doubtless felt responsible for everything that had happened, that was happening, they could never truly understand the weight hey and Teyla bore.

"Maybe…maybe not." With that he offered an arm to the officer as a parting gesture. When she took it, they grasped each other's firmly, but when she went to pull away, Ronon didn't let go. Instead he tightened his grip, and pulled her forward. To any onlooker, it looked as though they were simply embracing, ut Solen sucked in a sharp breath, immediately recognizing it for what it really was: a public, but subtle interrogation. To her credit, Divala didn't make so much as a sound, only grabbing onto Ronon to further sell the charade, a reaction that surprised both Satedans.

Moving in close, Ronon whispered, "Are you Genii?" He squeezed tightly, making sure to get his point across. Divala at first shook her head, Ronon grunting in approval until she suddenly nodded. He squeezed again, the intent obvious: explain.

"Not for them...but I answer to them. To the Confederate Senate. The Genii hold influence over most of it."

"But who do you work for?" he repeated. There was the tiniest of shrugs.

"Chairman Ladon. He still feels a debt to Atlantis, even if they are unpopular. It is common knowledge that he strongly desires to repay it, even as he tries to urge our people to go to war with the Wraith. It is a decision for which he faces strong opposition, I'm sure you've heard."

"I've heard." Ronon answered. Even for someone as politically inept as he was it didn't take a genius to work out what the conflicting messages Lorne and Solen had given meant. As for Ladon...well, he wasn't sure what to make of that. The man had become leader of the Genii by playing Atlantis and his predecessor against each other, very nearly at the expense of the lives of Sheppard and his team.

"Can I show you something that might help?" Divala whispered, breaking Ronon's train of thought. He glanced over at Solen, who was standing frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Ronon really hoped that his friend wouldn't take it personally if this went poorly. He nodded slightly, glancing over to the line of people, which had reformed in the commander's absence. No one was looking their way. He nodded, just enough for her to notice.

Wincing slightly, she raised her free hand, making sure to keep it in view as she reached towards her collar. She paused for a moment, waiting for approval. When Ronon nodded, she reached in and slowly pulled out two sets of what he recognized as dog tags; the first was obviously Genii. He had killed enough of them to recognize one when he say it, but the other was completely new to him, made of some sort of bronze-colored metal that tickled the lump of suspicion in his brain with its familiarity. Divala glanced over at Solen, prompting Ronon to look, and hanging from his friend's neck were an identical pair of tags, hanging alongside his Satedan tags. "My loyalty is to the Confederation and Chairman first, and the Genii second. If you are ever betrayed, it will not be by my hands, or the Chairman's."

Ronon thought about this statement, considering whether or not to trust it. Ladon didn't owe Atlantis anything as far as his ascent to power was concerned. They'd been pawns in that little game. However, they had helped save his sister's life. Furthermore, Sheppard had endured torture to spare his miserable hide when the sadistic Acastus Kolya, a holdover from the old regime, tried to force Atlantis to tear him down. Yes, Ladon owed them...and more than that, he'd always come through for them, loathe as Ronon was to admit it. He was a dishonorable snake, but he kept his word...which meant that he could trust this woman...probably.

Slowly, he eased his grip and they parted, Divala rubbing her throat gently. She gave him a reproachful look, but it wasn't as severe as he'd expected. He'd fully expected her to tell Solen to kill him, not that Ronon thought his friend would've obeyed, but still, it was a good sign.

"Now if you're quite done with the theatrics…" she muttered, "was there a reason for all that?" Ronon drew in a breath, steeling himself for this next bit. He was amazed that his plan, if you could even call it that, was working, and truth be told, he was making most of it up moment by moment. Still, he'd grabbed the bull, and his choices were either hang on, or get thrown and trampled.

"I have...information. Something you need to know. I'm willing to share...but I need an exchange." he said. Divala's eyes narrowed, her lips becoming a thin line, but she nodded sharply.

"Name your price, then tell me. If I think the information is of equal worth, then you have a deal."

"Well that all depends on whether or not you believe me." he grunted. Her lips pulled upwards in a smirk.

"Try me."

--O--
​

The work to repurpose the Wraith outpost was slow going. For hours, Sheppard and the other members of the team found themselves called on to hold and retrieve various things, mostly sticky, slimy interface tendrils which the Wraith used in place of cabling. Those who weren't busy doing this took up positions around the round room, standing on guard at the three visible exits. The chamber was shaped like a very shallow bowl, with two rows of control consoles arranged in a rough circle at the center. Wide, shallow steps led down to the bony-looking pedestals, around which waterfalls of fog spilled down from a central protrusion in the ceiling, diverted into segments by bony extrusions. These formed the main displays of the control panels, with their glowing buttons projected on surfaces that looked like raw skin stretched between claw-like branches.

In this 'ring of power' John stood watch as Rodney paced back and forth between the devices, directing work, though his gaze mostly rested on Todd, who stood hunched over one panel in particular, occasionally making his own requests. Despite the obvious 'ick' factor involved, John found himself wishing he knew more about Wraith technology, if only so he could check Todd's work. Even with Rodney doing just that, he didn't feel safe. As if he'd sensed his thoughts, John heard the yellow-eyed predator let out a sigh of irritation.
"This would go much, much faster if I had use of both my hands." he stated.

"Not a chance." John answered flatly. This was the third time in twenty minutes the Wraith had made such a complaint and John was wondering if it was a tactic to try and erode his patience. If so, it was working.

"He does have a point." Rodney said, appearing at Sheppard's elbow so suddenly he almost reached for his sidearm.

"Don't do that!" he growled. The physicist simply answered with a smug grin. John rolled his eyes then nodded towards the alien, who looked uncomfortable dressed in the one-piece blue jumpsuit he'd been wearing since his release from stasis. "How much longer?" he asked. Rodney shrugged.

"Honestly? Maybe another three or four hours. Five, if you want to make sure that only the Odyssey will be able to hear us and not every Wraith ship in the galaxy." John ground his teeth in frustration, but nodded.

"And if we were to give him his other hand?" he asked, keeping his volume low so only Rodney could hear.

"Well he does know more about the systems here than I do. The design isn't standard, not that anything really is with Wraith-tech. I still have no idea where half these conduits he's having me pull out even go…" John suppressed the urge to let out his own little sigh. Part of him hoped that at least some of Rodney's estimate was fudged, as the physicist had a terrible habit of exaggerating the odds he faced so when he did solve a problem, he looked all the more a hero. It was annoying, but so long as he got results, John had never complained...much. Still, something told him that this time, the diagnosis was genuine.

"Dr. McKay, if you could please adjust the bandwidth again?"the Wraith requested. Rodney gave John a knowing look and hurried over to the control panel the pale-skinned predator was perusing.

"Uh, doc?" asked Corporal Quentin, standing nearby and holding a pair of nasty-looking fleshy 'ropes', one in each hand, "Should I put these down now or-"

"Only if you want us to start over." McKay snapped, not looking up. His hands flew over the controls, albeit in a way that made it look as if he were hesitant about making every keystroke, his face grimacing as his fingers brushed the wet-looking icons. Finally he nodded.

"Alright, bring the left one over here." he said. Quentin looked back and forth between the two equally-unappealing 'cables'. He looked like he was fighting not to throw up. Rodney looked up from his work and saw his expression.

"Your left, Corporal! YOUR left!" he snapped, not an ounce of sympathy in his tone. When Rodney worked, he was often snappish, but working near Todd only seemed to exacerbate the condition. Sheppard's eyes drifted back to the Wraith as his free hand swept over the 'panel' in front of him, causing one set of controls to be replaced by another, like swiping the screen on a smartphone. He tapped a few of the new characters, which opened boxes of alien symbols. Deciding enough was enough, John sauntered over to the alien vampire and peered over his shoulder.

"Anything interesting?" he asked in his best smart-aleck tone. His pale-skinned target grunted.

"I am ensuring the system updates I wrote for our transmission to work have taken effect." he answered, apparently unperturbed. He swept his hand again and a square of symbols flickered and distorted, before closing and disappearing. Todd growled, through his pitch suggested it was in approval.

"Good news?" Sheppard pressed. He saw McKay shoot him an annoyed look, clearly displeased he was distracting his work partner. John ignored him.

"For the most part yes. The updates have taken hold and the antennae have been reconfigured. Now Dr. McKay needs to provide me with the message he wishes to send and specify the bandwidth-" the Wraith said, his voice deadpan. John realized that his efforts to annoy Todd were having no effect and so he turned away with another sigh. At almost the same moment, one of the larger fog-screens popped up a box with a string of red symbols, causing Rodney to groan.

"What? What is it?" John asked. Red in any technological context was generally bad in his experience.

"Not enough power." Rodney whined, "The bandwidth we'd be using in combination with the scale of the transmission means it's too much for the damn generators."
"Not necessarily." Todd interjected, "If I removed the safety limiters-"

"Yes...yes!" Rodney said, his face brightening up, before it suddenly sagged again.

"Would either of you like to tell me what is going on?" John growled.

"Someone would need to enter the generator room and manually disengage the safeties. This outpost is very spartan in design. I made it so that when it was built, no one would suspect the resources being siphoned off to grow it."

"Which means?" John pressed. Todd snarled in frustration, but shook himself, turning away from the console he'd been hovering over to look at Sheppard.

"Many systems that would otherwise be automated are not. The antennas were adjustable from the interior because it's safer than trying to climb on the roof and do it by hand with the frequent rain, wind and lighting this planet has, but the generator safeties are not. I never suspected there'd be a need for such a large power surge."

"So your secret base was built on a budget." John growled, "Where does this leave " Todd stared at him, then shifted his gaze to Rodney, whose face was paler than usual in the weird lights of the various projection systems.

"Someone would have to go in an disengage the safeties manually. Provided the place doesn't explode right off the bat, they'd have to stay there too, which means a lot of radiation. Wraith power cores are basically organic fusion reactors. It's cleaner than a nuclear power plant, I'll grant you but still…" He trailed off, giving John a worried look. Todd just huffed.

"I will do it."

"And why would we let you?" John asked. Rage, sudden and sharp, contorted Todd's features, lasting for just an instant before he got it under control, pressing it down into a sort of grim frustration, which bled over into his next words.

"Because, Sheppard, I am not you. I am Wraith, and more likely to survive extended radiation exposure than you. And because you will never willingly risk these people's lives when another option is available."

"You're pretty weak right now." John countered, "Starving, even. If you do go in there, there's a decent chance you'll die anyway. And if you do die, who's going to distribute that retrovirus?" He wasn't sure why he was saying these things, and by the looks of it, neither were Rodney and Quentin. He paused for a moment, questioning his own motivation. If Ronon had been here, he would've sacrificed Todd without a further thought...but then John wasn't Ronon. The Wraith chuckled.

"A noble sentiment Sheppard...but take my word for it when I say that radiation is pleasant compared to starvation as a choice of ending one's life. As for the retrovirus...I trust that Dr. Keller will find a way to make it work, someday."

John was speechless, not least because out of all the many, MANY ways of Todd dying he'd imagined, many of which had come in the past few hours, he'd never expected anything like this; a noble sacrifice, like Spock walking into the Enterprise's reactor. And it didn't even have the decency to come with the same urgency. He was risking death so John could send a damn message, not to keep the base from exploding. It was...anti-climactic to say the least.

And the worst part was, there was nothing he could say. There were no words that wouldn't seem contrived or pointless because he wasn't sure if he'd really mean them. Their relationship, which had started as unwilling torturer and even less willing victim in Kolya's dungeon all those years ago, had forever been a hazy, uncertain one. There had been alliances, and there had been betrayals, in almost equal number, but now, standing here, John realized the reason he felt this way was because for all the suspicion and dislike he'd accumulated towards Todd, he'd never respected him any less as an adversary. Behind the predatory features and alien gaze, he knew there lurked not a demon, like so many Wraith he'd encountered throughout his time in Pegasus, but a man whose sole goals had only ever been survival and a better tomorrow.

Without thinking, he stretched out his hand, causing Quentin, McKay and even Todd himself to look at him as if he were insane. He ignored them all, focusing on the Wraith's eyes.
"For what it's worth...I'd rather you didn't have to die like this." he said. The Wraith stared at him, before a smile and an odd chuckle overtook him. He stretched out his own hand, and John was certain everyone in the room tensed as he took it and shook it, expecting at any moment for him to become dinner, regardless of how tight the straps were on Todd's feeding hand. Finally he released it and stepped back.

"There are still many things you do not know about Wraith, Sheppard." Todd chuckled, "But if this is our last meeting, then know that for my part, I wish you good luck." He turned back to the console, then tapped a few buttons. He then made a shooing motion towards McKay and Quentin, who were still near the center of the room. As they stepped back, the fog on the floor boiled and erupted as a spiral staircase big enough for a single purpose formed, steps lowering into position like a spring extending. Todd walked down it until he was about halfway in, then looked back at Sheppard.

"In case I do not survive, there is a map of the minefield in the main databank. I have marked it for Dr. McKay. Once the transmission is sent, I suggest you do not remain longer than necessary." he said. Then he turned to McKay.

"As for you Doctor," he said, accentuating McKay's title with a dash of sarcasm, "if I should die, when you see Doctor Keller again, please tell her that I would appreciate it if she finished the work on the retrovirus. Whatever you might think of me, and my objectives, they have only ever been those of a pragmatist. So I ask you to do the logical thing and free my people from their ceaseless hunger...if only because is is ALSO the right thing."

With that, he descended deeper, and vanished from sight. A few seconds later,the stairway closed behind him. John looked over at Rodney, who was wearing an expression he suspected matched his own. Fear, confusion, respect; they all boiled together on the physicist's face like the soupy fog on the floor.

"Well...let's do this." Sheppard stated. Rodney jerked as if snapping out of a nightmare.

"Right...right!" he said, looking around until he spotted his tablet and scooping it up. He tapped its surface, hurriedly pulling up a fresh display with a set of meters indicating what John assumed to be power consumption. He then shoved it towards Quentin, who took it with a baffled expression.

"What am I-" he began, but Rodney interrupted.

"Just hold it." he commanded, then scampered over to the biggest of the control consoles.

There was a long pause, followed by soft beeping sound as one of the fog-screens changed its display to show a series of meters identical to the ones on Rodney's tablet. A window with a small icon appeared next to the display, and Todd's voice suddenly resounded from overhead.

"Dr. McKay, I am disabling the safety systems and adjusting the power plant's output. I can guarantee you one minute of reasonably safe operation before the reaction triggers a meltdown and we-"

"Explode, yes, thank you!" Rodney replied, jabbing another incomprehensible icon on one of the panels, presumable in order to respond, "Don't shut anything down just yet. Just get everything in position. We still need to prepare the message." He then turned to John. "What do you want it to say?"

"Save our asses?" John quipped, trying to cover his current emotional turmoil with sarcasm. It was a trait he and Rodney had in common sometimes. Rodney glowered at him, prompting him to roll his eyes in response. "Can't it just be a voice-message?" he asked, only for the physicist to shake his head.

"Not using this system. It's designed for highly encrypted data reception and transmission. It doesn't do voice-recording."

"Damn." John muttered, thinking quickly, "Well, I was hoping a video message would be enough to convince Mitchell this isn't a Wraith trick, given we're using Wraith tech. The Odyssey's bound to pick up on the discrepancy…especially since the Alpha Site didn't have a subspace transmitter system more complicated than a telegram-machine."

"We could try Morse code…" Rodney suggested uncertainly. Sheppard snorted, but conceded it was probably a decent idea. No one else in the galaxy was likely to have a similar system. Hopefully it's uniqueness would be enough to catch Colonel Mitchell's attention. He delved into one of the many pockets on his tac-vest and fished out his copy of the SGC Field Operations Manual. It was a compact little booklet about the size of a cell-phone, with directions for tasks ranging from the exotic, like dialing the gate manually, to the mundane, in this case, a small index of morse code on page sixty-five. It was printed on waterproof material, which was just as well since John still hadn't fully dried out after the drenching approach to the base. Flipping it open, he approached the consoles as Rodney did something arcane and incomprehensible to the sticky surfaces, bringing up a new window on the fog-screens and causing a small red sigil in the nearest pad to him to glow briefly. He pointed to it as Sheppard came within reach.

"Tap that to generate the morse signals. When you're done, tell me, and I'll give Todd the go-ahead." he explained. John winced as he reached out and jabbed the crimson icon, causing a tone to start playing from the unseen speakers. Nodding in satisfaction, he released the button, then held up his manual, wondering how else today could possibly go wrong...

--O--​

It was all Teyla could do to hold back tears. She was no child of course. She'd known going into the 'negotiation' that she was unlikely to succeed. Still, she'd given it her all...and as it turned out, her all hadn't been enough. As the heavy wooden doors clicked shut behind her, sealing away the smug grin of Smeadon and his false platitudes, she looked around for Ronon. She found him sitting in a chair near the exit, wearing an expression of mixed apprehension and consternation, which quickly grew into anger at seeing her face and the defeated expression she was wearing.

"So?" he asked, obviously knowing the news she brought, but wanting to hear it from her own mouth.

"There will be no help from the Confederation. Not from Manaria, at least."

"Give me ten minutes with Smeadon and we'll see about that." he growled, rising from his seat and reaching for what was probably one of his countless hidden knives. She laid a hand on his arm to stay his wrath.

"It would do no good." she said. Should she tell him? She looked into his eyes and felt the guilt well up inside her. The truth was, Smeadon hadn't flat out refused, though somehow that would've been better. No, instead he'd offered all the supplies she wanted...in exchange for a labor deal that would've made her people little more than slaves for five harvests to come. The Athosians could not bear that burden, not with their hunter-gatherer lifestyle being what it was. The absolute worst part had been the temptation to take it. Her loyalty to her friends was still strong, and she'd been gone for so long….it was a shocking reminder at how separated she'd become from her people. She might've taken it, were it not for Halling standing by her side, keeping her divided instincts in check. She decided to keep silent. It was her issue, between her and her people. Unlike many of the problems she'd faced in the past, having her friends help her might just make it worse...or would it?

Her doubts were disrupted by Halling, who cast an angry glance back over his shoulder at the front desk as he spoke.

"Would that it were so easy, Ronon Dex. I must admit, after the way he spoke to both of us, I would not mind seeing him brought low. Unfortunately Teyla is right. We cannot simply remove him. In all likelihood, the Genii would seek retaliation."

"You think he's still working for them?" Ronon asked, looking to the willowy man curiously.

"I would not bet my life on it...but it is too easy to imagine. Regardless, I have never heard of anyone leaving the employ of the Genii...at least not 'feet-first', as Colonel Sheppard would say."

"There is nothing to be done. Our only hope is to try and convince one of the other member worlds to help. What of the Belkans?" Teyla tried. Halling shook his head.

"It is winter on Belkan. The markets will be closed, and it is an even bet as to whether or not the officials there will be any more accommodating. Besides, I'm sure Smeadon is already spreading the word to make sure any attempt we make to find help is thwarted at every level. A man who seeks power the way he does tends to accumulate pawns everywhere."

"I...might have something." The sudden remark from Ronon made Teyla wonder if her ears were deceiving her. Given how exhausted she felt, it wasn't entirely impossible. Still, the tone in his voice suggested it was more than an auditory hallucination, and at this point, she'd take anything, just to try and scrub the memory of that worm smiling at her from across his desk.
"What is it?" she asked. Ronon shifted his feet. She might've said he looked nervous, except that Ronon was never nervous...or at least he never appeared nervous.

"Solen was here." he finally said, looking around as if checking to see if anyone was listening. It seemed rather silly, since the lounge was virtually empty apart from the receptionist, but it just made Teyla more unsettled.

"Solen Sincha?" she asked, "Your friend from Sateda."

'Yeah. He came in while you were haggling with Smeadon. Said he was working as a bodyguard. He introduced me to his charge."

"Ronon-" Teyla began, a mix of apprehension and irritation filling her stomach, like butterflies in a pit of acid. The negotiation with Smeadon had left her nerves raw, and so for Ronon to be so uncharacteristically cagey was rattling her and upsetting her at the same time.

"Look, I...had a talk with her. Said her name was Natashii Divala. She dressed sort of like a Genii, but there was something off about her. She said she was recruiting Runners to help train soldiers for the Confederation's army. Offered me a position."

"What did you say?" Teyla asked, dread gripping her heart like a hand made of icicles.

"I said I had better things to do. But listen, I managed to interrogate her-" The color must've drained from Teyla's face, because quickly Ronon waved his hands placatingly.

"Quietly. No one noticed." he clarified, "I was able to get some information out of her. Suffice to say, she works for Ladon. Directly for Ladon. There's some kind of political thing going on inside the Confederation, and the Genii are part of it. Solen said the Wraith aren't going back to sleep. He called it a rumor."

"He would be the first I've heard to do so." Halling interjected, "Everyone I've traded with for the past year has said it's the truth." Ronon glared, but continued talking.
"Look, I told her about our situation...and I managed to get her word that she'd help us."

There was a long, uneasy pause, in which Teyla stared blankly at Ronon, his words echoing around inside her head while she mentally ran around trying to stop them from shattering what little composure she had left. She was caught between rage and terror, swinging back and forth, unsure whether to feel betrayed or utterly confused. As it was, she had to fight not to try and break his nose or fall over in shock. He'd let a total stranger, a possible enemy, know that the forces of Atlantis were holed up on her people's planet with a large number of wounded, ripe for the slaughter.

And yet, she reminded herself, this was Ronon she was talking to. She couldn't count the number of times he'd saved her life, or helped her through a time of dire need. He might not appear very smart on the outside, but like John and even General O'Neill, he had hidden depths and a certain amount of cunning. Finally, when her seesawing emotions had achieved some sort of balance again, she sucked in a deep, calming breath.

"You trust her?" she asked. He winced, the implications of her statement obvious.

"No, but I trust Solen to gut her if she turns on us." he answered. Teyla nodded. That was more like him. She crossed her arms.

"Tell me the whole story." she commanded. He did, doing his best to avoid leaving out any details. Outside, the sun continued to sink into darkness, visible through the large windows at either side of the exit. When he'd finished, she sat down, pouring over the information in her mind. Halling sat beside her, with Ronon resuming the seat they'd found him in.

"I trust your judgement, Ronon. You spoke to her as one soldier to another, and I'd be a fool to discount that kind of respect and the honor that goes with it. Still, I'm worried this might not turn out as well as you think." she finally said, struggling to keep the edge she felt she was pressed against out of her voice.

"I know, but like you said, we both knew Smeadon was never going to play along." he responded, "At least this way there's a chance it might work out alright." Teyla tried to find fault with his reasoning, but failed. She was too tired. As she sat mired in mental exhaustion, a part of Ronon's account drifted to the surface of her muddied mind as it fought to resist snapping under the new tension his gamble had brought.
"The symbol she was wearing...could you draw it?" she asked, reaching into her own coat and withdrawing a small pad and pencil. The Satedan looked and her in confusion but she pushed the items towards him anyways.
"Please." she pressed. Deciding not to argue, Ronon picked up the paper and stylus, then did his best to sketch out the symbol. He had to make two attempts, scrunching up the first ones and tossing them over the back of the chair into the corner, to the apparent annoyance of the receptionist. Finally he pushed the paper towards her, along with the stubby pencil. She stared at the icon for a long time, long enough that Halling got worried enough to speak up.

"What is it?" he asked, "Is it something you've seen in your travels?"

"No…" Teyla said darkly, "But I have seen something like it. I only hope that Optimus and Drift can tell me I am wrong..."

"What do the Autobots have to do with it?" Ronon asked in confusion.

"Nothing...but the Decepticons?" she intoned, eyes heavy with suspicion, "As I said, I hope I am wrong."

--O--​

As John released the controls for the makeshift Morse device, he checked over the series of dots and dashes he'd created on the fog-screen in front of him. Of course they weren't actual dots and dashes, but rather Wraith iconography that served the same purpose. He examined it, checking against his field manual for mistakes. He didn't want to get ignored and listed as K.I.A. by the bastards back in the AOA because of a typo.

"Is everything in readiness?" asked a querulous Todd over the chamber's speakers, "It's rather stuffy down here."

"And I thought McKay complained a lot." John muttered to himself.

"What was that?" snapped the physicist.

"Nothing. Yeah, we're green." John hastily replied, checking his authentication code one last time before snapping the field manual closed and replacing it in his vest. He turned to Rodney and jerked his head in affirmation. "Light it up." he ordered. The pale Canadian immediately looked back down at the control panel in front of him, his expression stating clearly that he wasn't going to let go of the jab John had taken at him and there'd be a reckoning later. This just made the Colonel roll his eyes and walk over to peer at the hovering, ethereal display linked to the organic 'buttons' over Rodney's shoulder. Despite this irritating maneuver, he found himself ignored as Rodney performed the final arcane programming tweaks to allow for transmission.

"Alright," he finally said, tapping a button in the left corner of the slick membrane, "Go ahead Todd."

"Releasing reactor safeties." declared the Wraith. Immediately, an odd static sensation filled the room, and the hair on John's neck stood on end. The fog-screens flickered briefly, and the lights seemed to glow brighter.

"We need to maintain output for a good thirty seconds, otherwise we risk not reaching the Odyssey. It's a matter of timing and bandwidth." he declared, his voice fraught with tension. John didn't blame him. This was the only real shot they had at avoiding a complete mess and maybe even spending the rest of their lives in Pegasus. That thought brought a sudden recollection of standing in front of the Stargate at the SGC, on the first day of the Expedition's mission. They'd all embarked on what could've been a one-way trip, even him. He couldn't help but wonder if it had been because he was excited or because he wanted to get away from Earth and all the bad memories it held, especially after his time in Afghanistan. Now here he was, trying desperately to phone home. Was he running away again, this time from all the problems he'd caused in Pegasus? It was an odd question, and for a moment, a lump of guilt with the mass of a black hole threatened to tear him open from the inside, dropping through his throat into his stomach where it rested like a black hole.

"Dr. McKay?" Todd inquired, and amidst his own self-recrimination, John thought he detected a note of pain in the alien's voice.

"Beginning transmission...now!" the physicist declared jabbing another button on his tablet's screen. The whole room lit up even brighter, and the strange electric tension built to the point that John almost felt nauseous. He hoped desperately that the radiation shielding around the base's power plant was not faulty and that this feeling was not a sign he was going to die in agony.

Then, in what seemed like no time at all, the lights faded as Rodney pressed the same button again, cutting off the transmission. Hastily he jabbed the first button he'd pressed opening a channel to Todd.

"Re-engage the safeties! Do it now!" he commanded, sounding a little panicky. John could see why. The power gauge on the tablet Quentin was holding had turned into a series of bright red bars, and a small temperature meter in the lower right corner he hadn't noticed was flashing white. As soon as the words had escaped his friend's mouth though, John squinted as the glow of the lights around the chamber suddenly faded, growing dimmer and dimmer. They only stopped when it seemed like they were about to go out. Even the screens on the waterfalls of mist around him seemed faint and almost nonexistent.

"What is it? What happened?" John demanded, "I thought he was just going to re-engage the safeties, not shut the reactor down!"

"Looks like he had to. We were this close to system failure." Rodney said, his voice and gaze distant as he looked up from the controls, "If he hadn't...we'd all be a greasy mushroom cloud right now."

John's fear, which he'd managed to cover up after Todd's descent into the fog with his focus on the mission, surged back. He shoved McKay aside and pressed the 'talk' button, even as the physicist reeled from the sudden and violent reaction.

"Todd, Todd pick up the damn phone!" he commanded. There was a sound from the speakers overhead, like labored breathing, heavy and whistling. It almost reminded John of air being pumped through a hose full filled with holes. It was the sound of a person in great, great pain, still familiar despite the divide between Wraith and human as species. John wasn't sure what to do. Despite the forewarnings and odd goodbye, on some level, he'd never actually expected to stand there listening as his...ally lay below, dying by inches. Then, in a bubbling, strained tone, Todd spoke.

"Sheppard? Is that...you? It almost...sounds like...you...care." There was a violent bout of coughing, before the Wraith spoke again, thick with a liquid noise like phlegm, except that John knew it wasn't phlegm. He'd seen what happened when you died of radiation. Even though he couldn't see Todd, he could imagine him on the floor, spitting up bits of his organs, probably covered in burns, and still burning from within as his DNA was shredded.

"I've left...emergency power. Don't come down...highly rad...radio...active." More coughing, or was it laughing? "I suppose...this...is the end. Good luck...Colonel...Sheppard."

There was a click...and then only silence remained. Rodney looked down at the spot where the steps to the reactor had been, his face full of shock and horror. It seemed like John, he too had expected Todd to survive. Even now it seemed unreal; a galaxy without Todd? What did that even look like?

"Check the life-signs detectors." John commanded, staring down at the same spot as Rodney, "If he's dead. I want to know. Hell, get me a camera view."

"The Wraith don't have cameras, John." Rodney said.

"I DON'T CARE!" John roared. The physicist, indeed everyone in the room, flinched away from the Colonel at the outburst. Panting, Sheppard struggled to regain his composure. "Just check." he said finally, his tone wavering despite his efforts, "Just check, and then, when you confirm that the message was sent, we'll go."

John stared at Rodney, who stared back like a deer in headlights, before looking to Edgars, then to Quentin, who returned stoic, yet subtly unnerved expressions. Rodney reached down to the controls and tapped a few more icons, pulling up a map of the base on the nearest screen. The general shape was of mound with a starfish on the underside. In the center of the starfish, beneath the mound, was a cylinder...and it was completely red.

"I can't get a clear reading." Rodney finally said, "It's either too little power or too much radiation. But the thermometer and Geiger counter all mark that place as unlivable." The physicist looked up again and back to John. "If he's there...he's dead."

"Well…" John said, not satisfied, but unsure of what else to say, "I guess that's that." Rodney nodded hesitantly, then quickly refocused on the organic panel next to him.

"The doors still work, and the lights...but barely. Everything I'm seeing in the logs says our transmission was successful. The logs are partly corrupted though, So I can't say if it was a clean one."

"There's nothing else we can do?" John asked, glancing down to the empty space in the room's center that now felt like the hidden steps to a mausoleum. Rodney shook his head. "Let's go then. No sense in waiting around." He strode towards the door they'd entered by. Every footfall was muffled by the fog, yet seemed sharp in John's senses. The rest of the squad was hesitant to follow, but as he reached the room's edge, they finally picked themselves up and gathered to him, Edgars in the lead.

"What about this place?" Rodney asked, taking his tablet back from Quentin and scampering up the steps after disconnecting the device from the fleshy tendrils it had been hooked to. John looked back over his shoulder, taking in the dome above and the faint, flickering lights one last time.

"Leave it." he said after a moment's hesitation, "Maybe we'll be back this way. There's bound to be something worth looking over. But it's no use to us now." He looked back at Rodney as he pushed his way to the front of the group, then shook his head. "Just let it be."

As the group proceeded down the dark tunnel to the pouring rain outside, John tried to assess his feelings. Todd was gone. He tried saying it in his head, but when he did, it didn't sound as final as he would've liked. There was a space after those words, a dark yawning chasm that he was afraid to fill, because all the options just made the statement as hollow as he felt. For years, he'd played a game of betrayal and counter-betrayal with the Wraith, both of them only trying to play their cards as best they could. But now the game was over.

John had won...and he hated it.

--O--​

In the darkness of the reactor core, he waited, clamping down on the pain with expert skill born of tens of thousands of years of experience. He waited until the flickering screens indicated that the facility was empty and he was, at last, alone.

The Wraith called 'Todd' looked down in the faint glow of the illumination nodes at the burn mark on his chest. He'd pressed a high-powered conductor tendril to it to help sell his 'dying moments'. Even now, it still stung, but it was nothing like some of the wounds he'd suffered over his long, long life. On a scale of one to ten, this barely rated a 'six'. He grinned in triumph all the same. McKay, for all his pride, or perhaps because of it, had been easy enough to fool. He'd never once suspected that there might be an alternate locus of control in the reactor chamber. After all, why should the power core serve as a second control room, especially in a base this small? They'd all swallowed it; hook, line and sinker.

He growled at that, then chuckled. It was really fascinating how much his time with the humans, and Sheppard in particular, had affected him. In truth, he actually felt remorse, something he seldom ever felt, for deceiving the Colonel. But he knew that this had been the only option. At least now, Sheppard would probably be rescued, and he'd be able to return to his people. That thought too, interested him. He'd had a chance to end the game, to simply corrupt the entire message and leave the humans with nothing, but he hadn't. Why?

He grunted, pushing himself upright using the knobbly control pedestal as a crutch. He didn't have time to reflect on such things. He needed to move now, while the emergency capacitors still had enough energy to transmit a distress call to his brethren. It had been a struggle hiding everything he'd been doing from McKay, he had to admit, but then he'd helped design this outpost.

As if to highlight this, he staggered over to a space on the wall, then pressed a knobbly lump that resembled every single other knobbly lump in the semi-spherical room, except that this one caused a hidden maintenance passage to slide open. Dropping to his knees, Todd crawled in, hand still clutched to his side. He needed to feed soon. Sheppard had been right about him starving. He struggled down the narrow duct to the end, which dropped him into another, much smaller room with niches set into the walls containing equipment and large, human-sized cocoons backlit by faint yellow light. The closest human approximation to the chamber's function would've been a panic room, a place to wait until help arrived. And help WOULD arrive; Todd had seen to that. Using the reactor room's controls, he'd formulated and sent his own signal on a secondary bandwidth that McKay had missed, hiding it in the energy surge of Sheppard's transmission. It was a message to a very specific, very special Hive, one that he knew he could count on even after all this time away.

Todd slid himself out of the passage and onto the floor of the room, coughing violently at the disturbed dust. The pods were already starting to squirm sluggishly. The power loss meant that stasis functions had been compromised. Once again, the Wraith forced himself upright and struggled towards the wriggling packages. Then he reached out, and with a snarl, began to feed.

As the screams of the preserved humans in the pods echoed through the room one by one, Todd felt no satisfaction. Unlike so many of his brothers, he did not find joy in the suffering of his prey. They were a means to an end, like Sheppard had been, even like the Hive he had called on for rescue. Since he had hatched, Todd had only ever valued one thing above all else: survival. And yet, as he took his fill, he could not help but wonder: Why then did he feel guilty about betraying Sheppard?

o
-- ^ --
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A/N: HOLY SHIT this is like the longest chapter yet and DAMN did it take forever to write! Sorry to everyone who was kept waiting, but I've been MUCHO distracted with real life issues. Lots of good and bad things have happened, and overall, it's just been a struggle to kick myself to write in the midst of all this exhausting drama. Still, I hope I piqued your interest, because we've still got a hell of a ways to go before this is all over. If I had to judge, I'd hope to say we're about a fifth of the way into the story, and soon a lot of big revelations will be happening. It is my hope that by the end, you'll all be totally hyped for a sequel, since I'm quite sure that writing all the way to the end will be an exhausting experience and I'll need the damn motivation. XD On the bright side, I feel I've REALLY improved in terms of character development skills and just general plot design. Let me know where you think I can improve, because man, at this point I just love hearing that people cared enough to read this drivel. XD

 

[Vadrigos]

Chapter 12:
Face of the Enemy​

When Ratchet exited recharge, the first thing he did was run a full systems diagnostic. His internal check-up immediately returned an all-clear, which severely conflicted with his final memories, which were already streaming back. The image of the strange figure holding the net-gun that had knocked him senseless burned bright in his processors, and a growing sensation of fear mixed with relief overtook him. He wasn't dead, or in stasis lock, which was good, but odds were high that also meant he was a captive. He got the first evidence of his being correct when he opened his optics to see the same, dark face from before, this time backlit by six blinding lamps, characteristic of a repair bay...or a torture chamber.

"There you are." the dark figure said, its voice rough and tinged with irritation, "And here I thought I'd need to wait until you were awake to deliver you." Ratchet glowered up at him. He was Cybertronian; that much was glaringly obvious thanks to his weathered mechanical visage, but his piercing green eyes set him apart from the majority of his species. He also lacked much of the physical modification most Decepticons chose to undergo to help improve their physical menace. He looked...almost human, particularly with his thin, cruel lips, which were pursed in a look of what almost seemed like casual indifference.

"Delivered to whom?" the medic demanded. The lips twitched up at the corner, and the face drew back out of sight. Ratchet was left to squint into the bright glow above before he felt himself being lifted, the whir of mechanized arms filling the chamber. The whining and clicking of more servos heralded his elevation to a standing position. As he was set on his feet, he looked around, neck gyros feeling strangely sore, in time to see multi-jointed armatures retracting from his joints and torso.

Choosing to take the opportunity to exercise his newfound freedom of movement, Ratchet took a quick visual survey of himself and found that his prior injuries had been expertly treated. This immediately caused him to eye the retreating arms with suspicion. Not even the most complex techno-medicinal systems could treat Cybertronian physiology without conscious guidance. It was one thing to fix a human, given how they only ever stayed in one shape. It was another thing entirely to try and comprehend the vast and polymorphic intricacies of a Cybertronian body. Oh sure, it might LOOK simple on the surface, as he'd explained to Lennox, Sheppard and the rest of the humans many times over, but the reality was anything but.

As if in answer to his thoughts, a second figure stepped into view, also Cybertronian, and very obviously Decepticon. The angular look of his chassis and red optics were unmistakable, and as he looked up from a holographic display floating over his crooked forearm, he gave the medic a smile full of cruel glee. Moments later, the pain Ratchet had been expecting to wake up to suddenly arrived in the form of a violent stab of heat that seemed to cut through his spine down to his very Spark. He dropped to his knees with a cry of surprise, his reflexive attempt to reach back and try and remove the source of his agony being arrested by two heavy cuffs that were rapidly assembled around his wrists. Shaking, Ratchet collapsed to all fours, cursing in every dialect he could think of. The Decepticon ignored him, speaking in a hissing, arrogant tone.

"I have just disabled your T-Cog, old man. Do not attempt to change modes. It can be repaired, but that is up for-" the red-eyed fiend gloated, before the green-eyed one cut him off.

"Enough. You've done your job. Go wait in the hangar." There was a huff of irritation, but moments later, the sounds of a body shifting forms and retreating from the room met Ratchet's audials, and the heat in his back receded enough for him to attempt standing. Before he could, however, he was dragged upright and pushed forwards. He staggered, looking over his shoulder in anger as he caught himself.

"Who are you?" he demanded, "Answer me!"

"Let me give you a hint." the apparently-unaligned bot replied, "Grimlock, Chromia, Strafe, Motorbreath, Breakdown, Skylynx, Sunstreaker...:" He continued to list off names, some Autobot, others Decepticon, but all of which had one thing in common. Ratchet felt fear creep into his Spark, overriding his anger and pain. He knew who he was looking at, though until today he'd only heard his name. A memory of Optimus lying on the ground in the middle of Iacon, a sniper's slug embedded in his Spark's outer casing surged to the fore as he said it aloud.
"Lockdown." The green-eyed devil smiled a small, cruel smile.

"And here I thought I might've finally met someone who hadn't heard of me. Speaking of which, how is your Prime by the way? Still in good health?" he replied snidely.

"All the better for your asking." Ratchet shot back haughtily, doing his best to cover his dread. If this infamous bounty hunter was in Pegasus, and armed with the technology and firepower he'd seen at play in the battle for the Alpha Site, then the scrap heap had already hit the air exchange. He tried to compose himself before being shoved again. He took the hint and began moving, the hunter's hand on his shoulder guiding him to a heavy segmented door.

"That's good." the bounty hunter answered gruffly, his little smile not going anywhere past his lips, "It'd be a shame if he were to die and put a damper on my business." Ratchet's own facial features curled in a sneer as the door split apart with a hiss to reveal a long, poorly-lit corridor. Drones stood to either side of the entrance, weapons ready. Indeed, there seemed to be an entire honor guard waiting for Ratchet and his captor. The Decepticon from earlier was nowhere to be found, save for the skid-marks left by his exit on the metal floor.

"So, you caught me. I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me what you're doing here, in this galaxy?" Ratchet asked casually, stepping forward and into the midst of the blank-faced drones. Lockdown stayed close behind, and at some unspoken command of his, the whole formation began to march. Another prod in the back prompted Ratchet to keep moving, which he did, his hopes of escape dwindling with every new sight and sound.

"Doing what I do best: hunting. I've got a rather big contract right now, and my employer, as you can see, has pulled out all the stops to make sure I'm properly equipped. Granted, I usually work best alone, but with a hunt like this one, well...let's just say I appreciate the extra tools."

"I assume it was you who planted the modified Insecticon?" Ratchet tried. He'd already worked out a few things on his own, including that he was on a ship (because how else could Lockdown have arrived?), and that Lockdown's arrival had been an accident. Medic he might be, but the old Autobot was no fool. You didn't set a steeljaw trap to catch a turbofox. The tiny tracking device mixed in with the Genii radios had obviously been meant for someone else, and it had only been bad luck that had led the bounty hunter to the Alpha Site.

"Correct. Though no doubt you've worked out that you were not the target." Lockdown replied, causing Ratchet to automatically roll his optics, before widening them in fear as a second group of drones passed through an intersection in the corridor ahead. As they filed past, he decided to take escape off the table for now. Having his T-Cog disabled severely limited his physical abilities both in and out of combat. That, combined with the unknown technological capabilities and numerical advantage of these strange drones, and the stories about the lengths Lockdown was liable to go to in order to prevent his 'payday' from escaping, and overall, playing the long game seemed the best choice for now. There were too many unknowns, and too little real data for rash action. His first goal had to be to rectify that. The only real question was how far he could press Lockdown before he decided to clam up...and if he could master his own fear long enough to keep his mental processes in order. Sunstreaker kept popping up in his memory, along with the ugly wounds he'd been forced to treat after his initial arrival. The many scars his chassis bore hovered in Ratchet's mind, along with all the others he'd seen on those whom he had helped rescue from Decepticon captivity. Arcee-

"Step aboard." commanded the arrogant voice of his captor. Ratchet saw that without his noticing, the slight curve of the long, long corridor and it's inefficient lighting had concealed an elevator, with room enough for himself, the bounty hunter and six drones, who had already taken positions around the edges. Ratchet did as he was told, struggling to think of questions while his time continued to dwindle. Lockdown entered the hexagonal chamber, which sealed with barely a sound, then tapped one pede twice. With a heavy clank, a sensation of angular descent filled Ratchet's senses, like the chamber was sliding down and forwards.
"Is this a new ship then?" Ratchet inquired. It wasn't exactly the most relevant question he could've picked, but it was all he could think of. Amidst his sea of worries, he hadn't been able to help noticing that overall, the vessel seemed oddly clean, and more than that, alien. There was the heavy industrial architecture that all Cybertronian vessels shared, yes, but there was also a great deal of curvature and geometric simplicity in the design as well. Decepticon architecture tended to favor cutting edges and an overall predatory look, both hallmarks of the city-state of Kaon. That was certainly present here, but it was overlaid onto a lot of very basic shapes indicating a mind engrossed with mechanical precision.

"Depends what you mean by 'new'." Lockdown chuckled, "My employer didn't build it just for me, certainly. He's not much into shipbuilding anymore." If Ratchet didn't know better, he'd think that Lockdown knew what he was thinking, and was stringing him along. The breadcrumbs of information in that statement made it seem like he was teasing the medic, aware that he wanted to know the full scope of the strange situation he'd stumbled into, but unwilling to divulge its precise dimensions.

"The shipyards of Cybertron can't possibly-" Ratchet tried, pulling on the most obvious string, but Lockdown cut him off.

"Oh, haven't you heard?" he cut in, crossing his arms and quirking his lips in that cruel smile of his again, "Cybertron is dead."

There was a long pause in which Ratchet considered a number of possible responses, ranging from 'Pull the other one and I'll whistle a parade march.' to 'You're lying.', then decided they all sounded stupid and settled for 'Explain.' His immediate reply was a low, grim chuckle that sent chills down his chassis' spine.
"I suppose it's only natural you'd be so uninformed, here at the aft-end of the universe." the bounty hunter observed, the chamber's descent continuing onwards around them, "I'll give you the short version since we're pressed for time." Idly, the brutish bot flexed the knuckles of his hands, creating a clicking sound similar to a human cracking their knuckles.

"I'm waiting…" Ratchet declared, annoyed his captor's need to toy with him.
"Roughly around the time your glorious leader shot the Allspark into space, the Energon wells began to dry up…" Lockdown stated, ignoring the irritation in the old medic's voice, "Of course they didn't realize it until most members of both sides had rushed off to track down the Cube. By the time anyone realized what was going on, it was too little, too late. Communication lines were in tatters. The neutral colonies had closed their borders." The green-eyed devil punctuated the final statement with a snort of derision before going on, indicating precisely what he thought of their behavior. "Anyone who could raided what little was left and abandoned the planet. There's no one left there now, as far as I've heard anyway. I haven't been back that way for dozens of vorns."

Ratchet felt his Spark trembling with horror at the bounty hunter's words. The sheer scope of the cataclysm was almost too much to bear. He'd always known that Cybertron's fate was questionable, and that without the Allspark, rebuilding would be next to impossible, yet he'd always assumed that in some way, life might go on, that perhaps the planet, spared from the full scale of the ravages of war, might recover over time. At the same time though, another part of him had also known that the price for the disconnection of the Allspark from its home would have dire consequences even the greatest scholars could not foresee. He shuddered, wanting desperately to believe the honorless scum was lying, but unable to convince himself it was so. His mind spun, the weight of the information seemingly weighing him down, only for him to realize it was actually the elevator slowing its progress as it approached its destination.

"Here we are." Lockdown announced gruffly, shoving his captive forward again as the doors opened, pushing Ratchet between the drones and out onto a vast stretch of bronze-colored deck-plating. Around the area, various small craft, including ones like those that had attacked the Alpha Site, sat inert, awaiting purpose. Drones moved between them, performing various meaningless tasks, or at least meaningless to Ratchet, while on either side, the curve of the walls stretched away, its shape roughly rendering the room roughly ovoid, like the outline of an egg. The wide end of the chamber's curvature was set with massive hangar doors, one of which was open. In front of it waited a large dropship, identical to the one Lockdown had used to bring Ratchet down. Idly Ratchet wondered if it was the same dropship. He still had no idea what had occurred after his capture, though it seemed as though he had been the only one to be caught. He thanked Primus for such small mercies as he was marched towards to waiting vessel, alongside which stood the moody Decepticon from earlier, looking annoyed.

"Took you long enough." the cretinous bot snapped as Ratchet, Lockdown and the attendant drone escorts drew level with the craft, the autonomous guards fanning out behind them to form a semicircle between the hunter, his prey and the rest of the hangar.

"Quiet." Lockdown replied, his tone as dismissive of the irritant as his body language. Ratchet took some small pleasure in watching the angry 'con fume as Lockdown waved his hand towards the craft, causing the sides to unfold into boarding ramps for its interior.

"If you continue with this flippant behavior I will-" the Decepticon finally began to say as Lockdown languidly strolled past, before the bounty hunter cut him off by backhanding him across the face, sending him crashing to the deck.

"I answer to your master," Lockdown grunted, "not you. The only reason I allowed you aboard was to let you perform repairs on my bounty and check him for trackers." He stalked past the fallen, cursing lackey, gesturing for the drones to close in behind Ratchet and press him towards the waiting cargo bay of the dropship. As he stepped aboard, Lockdown turned, glowering at the angry Flatline, who was furiously returning himself to the upright position, mouth already open to deliver some scathing retort. Lockdown didn't give him a chance.

"You can take another shuttle. I don't want your servile stink rubbing off on me." he growled. Then he tapped a control, causing the doors to slide shut on the nearly apoplectic Decepticon.

"Flatline...the name is familiar." Ratchet quipped, his fear somewhat mitigated by the amusement of watching Lockdown's casual disregard for the Decepticon that had temporarily robbed him of his T-Cog.

"You don't know him?" Lockdown inquired, "Funny, he never seems to shut up about you…" Ratchet racked his memory banks for some trace of the name, though when recognition finally came, he wished it hadn't. Flatline was the name of the Decepticon that had tortured and experimented on Arcee before her escape and arrival at Earth. He'd left her a broken thing, and even though Ratchet had made her whole physically again after Giza, he doubted anyone would ever be able to properly fix what he'd done to her spirit.

"I do, actually." he finally replied, "Though last I heard, he was still in the general vicinity of Cybertron, pulling wings off Insecticons."

"Well whatever scrap you have between you, leave me out of it." the bounty hunter replied, dispelling any notion of camaraderie the spat might've generated, "I'm here to get paid, not put up with vendettas."

Before Ratchet could reply, a heavy clunk and whine of engines signaled that the dropship was lifting off. Gravity shifted briefly before thrusters fired up, and the craft's systems compensated, returning the old medics pedes to the floor. Simulated views of the exterior appeared on either side of the crew bay, partly blocked by the six drones standing to either side of Ratchet and his captor, but not enough that the Autobot couldn't see what they showed.

As the dropship withdrew from the bay doors, he got his first look at the scale of Lockdown's craft. It was big; very big. As it drew further and further away, Ratchet tried to estimate its size and settled on something in the vicinity of at least a square kilometer, possibly more. In Cybertronian terms, that put it at about the size of a heavy frigate, or a missile boat. However, it didn't resemble any craft Ratchet had ever seen, at least not completely. The ultimate shape was roughly hexagonal, but stretched, with a broad sloped fin-like structure down the center of its dorsal structure. The forward segment was identified by a pincer-shaped gap, out of which they were now flying. As the dropship turned to orient itself, he got one more quick look at the craft, which combined elements of both Cybertronian and alien, and wondered at who could've possibly built it. The shipyards of Cybertron had been major points of contention during the later days of the war, when both sides had struggled for orbital superiority. As a result, what little remained of their species' spacepower was valuable, and far too precious to waste as a gift to a lowlife like Lockdown.

As the huge craft disappeared from sight, something else rose to replace it. Ratchet's Spark sank as the visage of an enormous gas giant loomed into view, obliterating his hopes that he might at least be in the same system as the Alpha Site. Bands of greenish-purple striped the bloated sphere like some kind of pox, quickly growing more nuanced and denser the closer they grew. For a moment Ratchet thought they might actually be flying into the swirling belts of gas, before they leveled out and something else again filled the horizon through the exterior image.
"Who exactly is your employer?" Ratchet didn't realize he'd asked the question until Lockdown spoke up in response, his green optic staring coldly out into the colder vacuum.

"You mean you haven't worked it out?" He snorted, glancing sideways at Ratchet, his gaze making the cuffs around his wrist actuators ache as he longed to remove them and wipe the smirk from the bastard's face. He nodded towards the growing expanse of the gas giant.

"It doesn't matter. You'll find out soon." he growled. As if called by his words, a dozen drones suddenly appeared, travelling at speeds far greater than any human craft could accomplish. Their thrusters burned hard, and moving in eerie unison, they formed a tight-knit helix around the dropship, locking it in a targeted web of weapons. Lockdown growled in annoyance, before a voice, smooth as oil, yet full of the promise of violence, emerged from the craft's internal speakers.

"State your intent." it said coldly.

"This is Lockdown. I have a delivery to make." declared the bounty hunter, his expression indicating he'd been expecting this, but still considered it a waste of time. There was a pause, presumably as the fighters checked the craft's identification transmitter code and the encryption key of Lockdown's response. Finally the drones broke their formation and formed a new one, made to defend rather than destroy.

"Automated flight mode has been engaged. You will be transported to a pre-designated hangar. Do not attempt to alter course."

"Get on with it." snarled Lockdown. The response was an amused chuckle that sounded like a chainsaw with its teeth stuck in a rather nasty piece of tinfoil. The progress of the dropship slowed slightly, but continued towards its destination. Ratchet was tempted to comment on the irony of the situation, given his captor's treatment of Flatline, but fell silent as he saw just where the ship was headed.

It started as little more than a dot, hovering high above the churning cyclones of the gas giant, but grew bigger very, very quickly. As it did, its precise features became more distinct. From a distance it had looked somewhat like a pen, cylindrical in outline, with a large bulge in the upper portion that tapered down to a point. As the dropship came ever-closer though, it became clear it was actually three conjoined strips, arranged in a triangular fashion about a central core. From around that central axis, long spines and fins protruded, giving the thing the look of a massive space-port tower floating freely in the void above the unfathomable maelstrom of hypersonic winds beneath. With every second the approach continued, the structure grew in size, and Ratchet began to marvel at the sheer scale of it. How big was it? Twenty kilometers? Thirty? More? It was bigger than anything he'd ever seen. Bigger than the Ark, bigger than the Nemesis!

Like Lockdown's ship, it featured an exterior design that mixed Cybertronian and alien aesthetics, though it was impossible to miss the thousands of weapons bristling from every spare surface. He swore he could feel them tracking their dropship, or more specifically, tracking him, their unseen targeting beams like laser eyes trained on his position. It was about then that Ratchet noticed shapes moving around the titanic construct, and with a few more seconds to focus, realized they were ships; some relatively small like Lockdown's, others far, far bigger, easily carrier or dreadnought class. He counted thirty, maybe forty before the face of the colossus swallowed his perspective and became all he could see.

"What...is this?" he asked, his voice full of awe and dread. Lockdown's tone was flat, one of rigid self-control and just a twinge of impatience.

"Your new home." He sniffed artificially as the dropship picked out an aperture on the inner surface of one of the behemoth's protruding axial spines, then gravitated towards it. As it grew closer, it split and opened like a mouth preparing to devour the tiny craft. In his primal horror, Ratchet thought he could see figures scuttling about around and inside the yawning aperture, like scraplets on the carcass of some impossibly vast creature dragged from the bowels of the mines of Kaon. Slowly, the dropship eased its way into the waiting landing bay and settled down with a clank that seemed horribly final, the sound of a guillotine's blade slamming home. The exterior displays fizzled out one by one, leaving the drones, Ratchet and his captor in momentary darkness, before purple and red light flooded the cabin as the sides of the dropship split open to disgorge its cargo. Beyond was a hangar much like the one they had just left, full of dormant drones, idle spacecraft and thrumming activity thanks to maintenance bots. As hunter and medic disembarked, a harsh, grating voice and full of venom echoed between the parked spacecraft filling the cavernous space.

"Bounty hunter!" bellowed the unseen speaker. Ratchet glanced over in time to see Lockdown roll his green optics while striding down the ramp. The source of the voice soon became apparent, as a sharp-angled Decepticon stomped out from amidst the churning chaos of the chamber's automated occupants. At his sides were two long, thick rectangular blades with heavy grips and cutting teeth like those of a chainsaw. As he approached, Ratchet noted how his clawed digits pawed at the handles of the weapons, as though he longed to employ them against Lockdown, or possibly just anything that got in his way. As it was, he swatted a hovering welder-bot out of his way as he drew in striking distance of the bounty hunter. For his part, the green-eyed soldier of fortune hardly flinched in the face of the towering and extremely angry Decepticon, staring up into his optics with a disaffected demeanour.

"Blitzwing," he said by way of greeting, the name rolling off his vocalizer like coagulated lubricant. "What have I done to annoy you now?" Ratchet's eyes narrowed at the name; it was another he had a history with, albeit not as much as Flatline. He knew the Tri-Former of old as a psychopathic ex-con who had joined the Decepticons in exchange for a pardon. His ability to assume three forms instead of the usual two made him something of an anomaly, even amongst the many and varied 'races' of Cybertron...like one of those amphibians on Earth that could switch gender at will. Ratchet allowed himself a small smile at imagining the former criminal as a small wart-covered toad, before the monster's index finger jerked in his direction, his movements jittery like a human who had imbibed too much caffeine.

"HE is not part of your target list! When the Commander hired you, he paid you a considerable sum to ensure your loyalty!"

"I have not deviated from the terms of my contract." Lockdown grunted, his face remaining impassive, while Blitzwing's twisted into a mask of rage. Then, without warning, it untwisted, its expression smoothing and hardening into a cold veneer of business-like focus. When he spoke again, his voice lacked the fury it had previously contained, and seemed as disinterested as Lockdown.

"Apologies, you are correct." the Decepticon stated flatly, "However, I would still ask why you brought him here." He once again pointed to Ratchet, who was trying to work out what in the Pit had just happened. Lockdown's mouth quirked up at the corner in a tiny smug smile.

"Better." he stated, "As for him, well, I doubt anyone else is going to pay as highly as your Commander for Optimus Prime's pocket medic." Blitzwing turned his red optics (which were now a somewhat brighter and sharper crimson Ratchet noticed) onto Lockdown's charge, scanning him in more ways than one. Then they widened slightly, a tiny tell that Ratchet's identity had finally struck him.

"You could've told us precisely who he was." the Decepticon complained mildly, turning back to Lockdown, before looking past him to his ship. "Where is Flatline?" he inquired, "He was supposed to return with you." Lockdown shrugged.

"He tested my patience. Now I'm testing his. I don't doubt he'll be back aboard soon."

"I see…" Blitzwing growled, his claws scraping over the handle as his eyes flickered briefly between darker and lighter shades of red. Ratchet struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. Something was clearly wrong with the Decepticon, yet Lockdown seemed totally unphased by it, whatever it was. It was just another in a long line of questions that were quickly beginning to overwhelm his patience.

"Would you care to enlighten me as to how you came into possession of such an...esteemed individual? Our records indicate he is not even supposed to be in this galaxy. Also, I would very much like to know why you decided to take time out of your busy schedule to capture him instead of focusing on your contract." Blitzwing stated, leaning forward slightly, his facial servos reconfiguring his mouth into a cold, humorless smile, "After all, you may not have broken the terms, but the Commander is paying you a great deal...and you know how he feels about delays." Lockdown sneered, then opened a section of his chestplate that served as a storage space and retrieved a data-chip about the size of a commercial human computer's motherboard. Holding it between two fingers, he lifted it up between him and the looming Decepticon.

"A complete record of my capture of the target, from initial detection to my securing him aboard my ship." he explained, "I'm sure it will answer any questions you still have." Blitzwing reached out for the device, only for Lockdown to move it out of reach, rolling it along his knuckles like a stage magician, causing the light of the Decepticon's optics to shift to a deeper red again and his face to fill with fresh rage.

"Give it to me!" he snarled, only for Lockdown to step back and extend a pistol from his arm, still holding the chip out of reach.

"It's for your master, not you." he stated firmly, "After he sees it, I suspect he'll want to renegotiate some of the contract."

"Give. It. To. ME!" Blitzwing repeated, stepping forward and pulling one of the huge chainsaw machetes free, its teeth roaring to life. Ratchet noticed how the various automatons that had been working around the place seemed to have retreated, as if aware of the chaos that was about to erupt. Blitzwing took another step forward, arm raised as Lockdown dropped his aim in preparation to shoot the Decepticon in the knee joints. Before he could however, there was a thunderous crack and flash, sending the enraged and unstable Tri-Former flying into the hull of a nearby assault bomber. Lockdown stared at the space where the menacing behemoth lay, then traced his gaze back towards the apparent source of the shot. Ratchet, unbending from the protective crouch he'd dropped into as a response to the shot, did the same...and felt his Spark freeze in his chest.

The source of the cannon-blast was a massive battle-tank, with armor of such a deep purple it could've been mistaken for black. It was easily three or four times the size of any human-manufactured vehicle and its barrel arced and crackled with energy. Slowly, it rattled forward, treads clattering as it rolled over the metal deck, coming to a stop about fifteen meters from Lockdown. In the corner of his mind not overwhelmed with terror, Ratchet noticed that while the bounty hunter's cool and collected attitude had never slipped an inch while facing the unstable Blitzwing, it now seemed to have begun to fail him. There was a trace of unease as he watched the motions of the deadly behemoth.

For his part, upon recovering and spotting his attacker, Blitzwing struggled to rise, his eyes shifting in color again turning an even deeper red than they had during his rage.

"Commander! I had no idea you-" he began, his voice absurdly happy and light. The tank cut him off with a second shot, dropping him to the deck like a heap of junk, twitching and writhing as arcs of electricity coursed over his body. Then he fell still. There was a brief pause filled only by the sound of machines continuing their work amidst the other craft on the hangar deck, before the tank's barrel retracted partially into its turret. Then it began to transform. The heavy struts that held its treads fanned out, the treads themselves splitting and reconfiguring to form segments of legs, arms and torso plates. The massive gun shifted to the right, attaching itself to one of the newly-formed limbs as, with a horrendous chorus of creaks and groans, a humanoid form took shape from the multitude of moving parts.

Finally, the delicate dance of components was complete, and the violet-armored titan they had created stepped forward, not looming over Lockdown like Blitzwing had, but keeping him in his shadow, his single red cyclopean optic focusing down on him like a surgical laser as his forty-five foot frame towered above both hunter and prey.

"Lockdown." the giant stated, its voice metallic and passionless. It wasn't quite agendered, but it was extremely mechanical, flat and utterly devoid of emotion of any kind.

"Shockwave." Lockdown replied, his own voice betraying his nervousness in the presence of this monster among monsters. Ratchet simply stared up at the colossus, mouth agape. When Blitzwing had mentioned a Commander, he had mentally run through a potential checklist of possible candidates while the deranged Decepticon had bickered with his employer's associate. Never in a million vorns had he dreamed that the title might belong to this...fiend. Before he could gather his wits, the red gaze shifted to hover over him, and the old healer's thoughts deserted him like a pack of scraplets under a floodlight.

"Ratchet." The word was a statement of recognition rather than any real greeting. It was well known that social niceties were superfluous to Megatron's Left Hand, just like mercy, love, and anything else that flew in the face of logic. The crimson gaze lingered over the Autobot, who felt his many cycles weighing him down like steel ingots as he fought not to instinctively cower beneath it. After a few more moments it shifted away, back to Lockdown, and Ratchet looked up again, not realizing he'd almost bent double in the glow of that awful stare. Without a word, the giant Decepticon stretched out a heavily-armored hand, into which Lockdown placed the data-chip. He then opened a port in the side of his head and plugged it into a small opening. For a brief instant, the Decepticon's eye flickered and dimmed as he analyzed the chip's contents, then refocused as he extracted the device.

"Optimus is here." he stated, his body language and tone unphased by the new information. Without moving his optic, he tucked the chip into his one of his own storage compartments, then stepped back. "We must renegotiate our deal, particularly in light of this new information." Lockdown let out a snort of false humor.

"I thought you'd say that." he replied, before nodding to the incapacitated Blitzwing. "What about the rabid steeljaw?"

"I will assign Flatline to deal with him." Shockwave declared, not bothering to look towards his crumpled underling, "Clearly he requires further adjustment. "

"I'd put him down." Lockdown growled, "No point in keeping a lunatic like that around."

"Even broken things have their uses." Shockwave retorted, with nary a sign that the bounty hunter's opinion had offended him. "This is unimportant. What matters is that the Prime is here, in this galaxy. My calculations show his presence will complicate matters. We must both accelerate our work if we are to outpace his inevitable interference."

"What about this one? What about the deal?" demanded Lockdown, crossing his arms across his chestplate and glowering up at the senior Decepticon. There was a momentary pause as Shockwave tilted his head back, suggesting he was considering something, before returning his eye to the bounty hunter.

"The highest average standing bounty for the capture of Ratchet is fifty million units. If delivered alive, it is seventy-five million. I will have them gather and sent to your craft in short order. In the meantime, I am altering the contract. If you locate Optimus, do not pursue him. Do not confront him either. Monitor his progress, and report it to me. Your primary objective remains the recovery of the targets previously listed in our prior agreement, and the items they absconded with. Once they have been retrieved, and my objectives completed, you may pursue him at your leisure...but not before."

The words were dictated out like instructions from programmer to a computer, and with about as much leniency. For all its mechanical overtones, Shockwave's voice made it clear that any deviation from the contract would be met with punishment, possibly something in line with whatever he had done to Blitzwing. Specifics were unnecessary. His reputation as Megatron's chief science officer was enough. It was what made him different from his master. Ratchet feared Megatron; perhaps not as much as he once had, but enough that the idea of facing the Decepticon leader send shivers down his chassis' spine. Shockwave though…

Long ago, the city-state of Pellechrome had tried to declare neutrality, and offered itself as a haven for soldiers from both sides seeking to escape the conflict. The polity had been a crucial trading center between Kaon and Kalis, and its new allegiance had generated a weak spot in the Decepticon line of defense. Infuriated by this haven for defectors, Megatron had turned to the merciless scientist for an answer. In response, Shockwave had devised a resonance beacon designed to attract digger-bots from deep within the structure of Cybertron. The great beasts were usually harmless, living off the waste minerals rejected from the smelting plants of the planet's great forges. The only people they had ever posed a threat to were miners, and even then, only ones who tried to mine too much from a seam at once, attracting the creatures with the overwhelming scent of unprocessed ore.
Shockwave had used the beacon to manipulate the creatures into undermining the entire city, collapsing it into an unrecognizable wreck within a fortnight before the Autobots had managed to negate the device's effect. Decepticon strike troops had stormed the ruins, killing and driving out all survivors, before handily converting the wreckage into a string of new and heavily-armed fortresses that had rendered the defense line impenetrable. Most of those who escaped the carnage fled to Metrotitan, a satellite settlement of Metroplex, unwittingly mixing with infiltrators who had proceeded to spike the city's Energon supply with Tox-En, a derivative of the life-giving substance that accelerated corrosion and degradation in those who consumed it.

Three months later, the guns of the fortresses that had once been the glittering spires of Pellechrome had shelled Metrotitan in advance of a Decepticon assault that the inhabitants had been too weak to stop. Those not slaughtered outright were sent to die as slaves in the mines of Kaon. And all of it was thanks to Shockwave.

Megatron inspired fear. Shockwave inspired dread. He believed in logic, and when logic conflicted with conscience, logic won. He was not a zealot, per se. He was just efficient, in the same way a combine harvester was efficient, if you gave said harvester the brain of Joseph Mengele and the tactical skills of Erwin Rommel.
It was Lockdown's grunt of assent that eventually broke Ratchet out of his horrified reflection on how much Shockwave actually seemed to resemble the two human historical figures. He nodded, his subtle unease gone in the light of his chance to return to his hunt.

"I'll do as you say. No hunting the Prime. But if he somehow joins forces with the targets…"

"Then it would be acceptable to contravene my orders. If he joins with the targets, he places himself in direct opposition to my objectives, and becomes a threat to the future prosperity of Cybertron." Shockwave stated, "Until then, however, do not approach or engage."

"Could I expect a bonus should it become necessary?" Lockdown inquired, a sly grin crossing his face. Ratchet winced, marveling at how this cruel being could find the fire to haggle with something like Shockwave. The walking tank once again paused, his gaze flickering as he seemed to ponder a response, then nodded.

"A thirty-percent increase would be acceptable...provided the Prime is delivered ALIVE. Lord Megatron will not accept anything else." Lockdown stuck his metal chin out in defiance.

"Ten percent if he's dead. Forty if he's alive."

"Unacceptable. If the Prime is killed, my calculations indicate Lord Megatron will likely terminate you in response. Thirty percent if brought in alive. There will be no payment if he is killed."

Lockdown snarled, but then stepped back and huffed.

"Fine, thirty percent. I'll see what I can do." he growled, turning his back on the purple giant. "In the meantime, I'd best get back to work. I'll depart when you send over the payment for this one." he declared, pointing to Ratchet as he stepped aboard his dropship.

"It will be done." Shockwave intoned as the bounty hunter turned to face his employer once more. The unaligned malcontent sneered at the red-eyed tyrant as his guard drones filed into the craft behind him, while others stood from their dormancy around the hangar and assembled to replace them around Ratchet.

"Good hunting." Ratchet spat. It was all he could think to say as the ramps rose to hide the green-eyed piece of scrap and the engines of the dropship began to power up. He wasn't sure, but he suspected he heard Lockdown laugh just as the thrusters roared to life, and the hangar opened to permit his exit, leaving the old Autobot healer alone with the looming nightmare that now held him captive. The red glow of Shockwave's gaze centered on him again, leaving him feeling small and afraid, yet determined. He had been in enemy hands before. Whatever the one-eyed monster wanted from him, it would not be taken easily.

"Greetings, Ratchet." Shockwave stated. There was no judgement in his tone, which made the old medic even more uneasy. Any other Decepticon would've been gloating or openly expressing whatever grudge they held against the Autobots by now. The fact that the towering goliath had used his name instead of simply 'Autobot scum' was further reason for worry.

"You know my name?" he tried, the words being all he could think of, "I'm surprised."

"You are among Optimus Prime's closest allies. Where he goes, probability favors that you will follow. I make it a point to know my enemies." Shockwave stated. Ratchet wished that at the very least, the Decepticon had been equipped with a more standard set of humanoid features. Like many other members of Megatron's movement, the scientist had modified his body and faceplate, though in his case the work was less for the purpose of enhancing menace and more for...well, no one knew really. As it stood, the giant's visage, with its sole red optic and oddly insectile jaw segments might as well have been as unreadable as the masked sigil that was the icon of his people. It only served to make Ratchet even more nervous, a state that got worse as the mad inventor took two heavy steps towards him, placing the medic even further in his shadow.

"Your capture was unexpected, yet for the survival of our people, serendipitous." the megalithic madman stated, cocking his helm slightly to one side before continuing, "If you are expecting me to kill you, you need not waste your time. You are measurably more valuable alive than dead."

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't know anything of value." Ratchet retorted, "I'm just Optimus' chief medical officer. I could tell you how much Energon he consumes on a daily basis, but if you're expecting me to give you his location, or anything else about my people, you'll be wasting your time as well." He shrugged, doing his best to make the gesture as nonchalant as possible, in the hopes it would disguise his screamingly-obvious bluff. He didn't have much hope it would, not with Shockwave, but it was worth a try regardless. The red eye of his cyclopean captor roved over his own features, clearly reading him like a book. Expecting to be struck for his lie, Decepticons begin great believers in corporal punishment, Ratchet braced himself.

However, Shockwave did not hit him, or even raise his hand. He merely tilted his helm in the other direction slowly. Ratchet wondered if the giant was trying to construct a map of his body language. Given Shockwave's usual mechanical approach to most problems, it wasn't too far-fetched. Then, without warning, the Decepticon scientist simply nodded.

"I know that you are lying," he stated flatly, "but I do not care." He waved his hand in dismissal, causing the Autobot medic to flinch, before noticing that his guards had all moved away, forming a loose ring around him and Shockwave. "It is not my intention that we should address each other as enemies...not when our species can no longer afford it."

The words entered Ratchet's audials, but might as well have been in some unknown dialect for all the sense they made to him. He tilted his head forward, raising the rims of his optics in a manner similar to human eyebrows.

"Our...species?" he repeated, a fresh swell of confusion welling up inside him. As he spoke, Shockwave's gaze temporarily lifted from his. The scientist made a gesture to someone, or something behind Ratchet, prompting the medic to look over his shoulder. His quick glance revealed that multi-wheeled cargo-hauler drones had assembled around Blitzwing and were preparing to drag him away. Shockwave's light hand motion was all the confirmation they had needed apparently, because even as Ratchet saw them, they were beginning to move, the sound of the lunatic's powerless body scraping across the deck quickly becoming lost in the general buzz of drones at work all over the room. This triviality dealt with, the Decepticon commander refocused on his prisoner.

"Yes, OUR species. Autobot and Decepticon can no longer afford to remain divided. Our populations have dwindled steadily since the loss of the Allspark at Tyger Pax. The neutral colonies have sealed their borders thanks to Starscream's undirected hostility in his pursuit of the Cube. And in case you were unaware, our planet has ceased its natural production of Energon." The explanation rolled over Ratchet like an earth-mover, every statement layering fresh torment upon him, mostly because he could not help but feel complicit in each of those tragedies. He was a healer, and always had been. It was only necessity that had made him take the path of a warrior. Shockwave continued, his tone unchanging even as he continued to elaborate on the dire nature of the scenario. "Thanks to the damage this war has caused, our race is reviled by dozens, if not hundreds of space-faring species who should be in awe of us. We are scattered across the entirety of the galactic supercluster, our lines of communication in tatters, leaving us divided even from our respective allies. We have lost everything, including our home planet. Under these conditions, any other species would have long ago perished, and ours still might...unless another path is chosen."

"You're asking...to make peace?" Ratchet asked. The question sounded alien, even to him. How could there be peace? After all that had happened, how could there ever be peace?

"No. I am asking for a return to symbiosis." Shockwave said, then paused, seeming to consider his next words carefully, "There can never be forgiveness...but the survival of our race now depends on a return to cooperation. To that end...I am requesting your assistance."

The silence that followed might've been termed vacuous, given how it seemed to suck all the sound out of Ratchet's consciousness. Around him, the various mindless machines continued their labors uninterrupted, but between him and his captor, there was an utter absence of speech. The pause went on for a full minute...then two. Ratchet was at a loss. It was as if a chasm had opened in his mind and swallowed all the questions he'd been compiling, leaving only the divide. How could he offer his assistance, to this monster most of all? No matter how kindly and gently the request was made, how could he honor it, knowing the nature of the one who had made it?

And yet, he was a healer, honor-bound by his oath to the spirit of Sentinel Prime, who it was said had helped found the practice of medicine among Cybertronians in the days before the fall of the Dynasty. No matter what else he did, or what those who came under his care might do, his task was to fix that which was broken. He stared up into the red light, uncertainty filling his Spark.

"You want...my help." he finally said, indicating himself with both hands.
"To save our people. Both our peoples." Shockwave confirmed. Ratchet looked down at his hands, then around at the hangar, then everywhere except the self-proclaimed scientist in front of him; the monster who had once implanted fusion warheads into Autobot prisoners as part of a false flag operation and who had executed all the defenders of Polyhex after a few had tried to break the terms of their surrender. Finally, he looked up into that sanguine beam and nodded.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked. Shockwave's face changed not one iota, but Ratchet imagined that somewhere behind the veneer of logic and cold 'perfection', the Decepticon was smiling.

"Follow me. I will explain everything." he commanded, then turned and resumed his vehicle mode, rolling back the way he had come. As Ratchet followed, the drones guarding him maintained their distance, while in his Spark, fresh turmoil began to brew. Atop the sea of chaotic emotions, one sentence was buoyed and repeated over and over:

'Dear Primus, please let this be worth it…'

o
-- ^ --​

A/N: So that was a rather short chapter, I know; but it's one I've been hoping to get out for a while now! I wouldn't call Shockwave the chief antagonist just yet. My goal is that this will be a more morally-grey story than Reign of Unicron, which when I get my lazy ass around to writing it, will be more in the vein of a classic good vs evil tale. Meanwhile, the plot thickens! Oh, and if you're wondering, yes, I changed the continuity a bit (though to be fair it was a mess in any case. All you need to know is that Same Side (the story preceding this) and all future titles from me take place in a world where Dark of the Moon never happened, as well as a lot of the background IDW comic stuff. My lore is more reliant on the Transformers: Prime continuity because frankly, that stuff reads like it actually was put together in a meaningful manner. So yeah, Shockwave is around, and being devious. I honestly really like him as a villain because he has the power to be so much more complex than even Megatron. Is he a sociopath by choice? Or is he just 'built that way'? What secrets lie behind that cyclopean gaze? X3 The only villain who could potentially be even more fascinating would be Soundwave, and sadly he got blown up in Same Side (though don't count on him staying dead, not after Megs proved that death is only the beginning. ). Anyways, hope you enjoyed it! In the meanwhile, leave your thoughts, constructive criticism and reviews for me! It helps me write!

 

[Vadrigos]

Chapter 13
Friends in Strange Places​

When John stepped back onto New Athos, he immediately noticed that someone had arranged wooden boxes around the DHD to serve as cover, with cargo netting draped between them. From behind this makeshift barricade, the barrels of half a dozen assault carbines protruded like the points of spears.

"Clear!" came the voice of Lorne from behind the DHD, the Lieutenant Colonel rising and motioning for the other soldiers to do the same while lowering their weapons.

"Ma- Lieutenant," Sheppard asked, catching himself before he could contradict his own field promotion, "what's going on? You said there was some trouble before we came through?"

"Sort of, sir." the ex-Major replied, looking both sheepish and uncertain, "No violence, but...well, Teyla and Ronon got back about an hour ago, and given you were supposed to be back before them..." He looked over at John, still dripping from the torrential rainstorm he'd just hiked through as if to ask what had taken him so long.

"We were busy marching through mud." John answered reproachfully to the unspoken question, glowering at him, "Otherwise we would've been here sooner."

"Ah." Lorne seemed lost for a moment, but quickly recovered, "Well anyway, it's good to see you're alright, sir. I wouldn't want to have to be promoted again." John rolled his eyes.

"Yes; that would be a tragedy." he grated. The Lieutenant Colonel just smiled, then looked past him and frowned.

"Uh...sir, where's the prisoner?" he asked nervously.

"He's dead." John said flatly. Lorne's face went blank.

"I see...so the mission was a failure?" he asked, tone grim as the slate-gray clouds that seemed to have taken up position over the camp. Tangentially, part of John prayed that didn't mean it was about to rain. After the hike back to the Stargate, he'd had his fill of rain and then some.

"No, at least not according to Rodney. We got the signal sent. Now we wait for a reply."

"Then Todd-" Lorne began, confusion spreading over his face. John waved a dripping hand.

"Forget about it, Evan." he said, using the man's first name in the hopes that it would prevent further questions, "What about Teyla and Ronon? Are they alright?" The Lieutenant Colonel's face twisted even further in confusion, then straightened out as he visibly put aside the matter of the missing Wraith and tried to refocus. After all, the death had happened on John's watch, not his. It was just one more thing the AOA was going to roast him for.

"They're fine, sir." he answered, "Though they have some very weird stories to tell."

"Did they succeed?" John pressed, hoping that maybe his costly success meant his luck, that all their luck, was finally turning around.

"It's...complicated." Lorne replied apologetically. He nodded towards moderately-sized heap of boxes that represented what remained of their supplies. Ronon was sitting on top of one of the large ones, eating a plastic-wrapped sandwich with a look of displeasure. "You'll need to talk with them about it."

John sighed, then turned to Lorne.

"First, get me some towels." he ordered. The Lieutenant Colonel smiled.

"Yessir." he chuckled.

--O--​

About twenty minutes later, Ronon looked up from his dissatisfying meal to see a much drier John Sheppard marching towards him. Finishing the meager meal off (which tasted like sand and tea-leaves in any case), the former Runner hopped down off his seat. For a moment, the two stood there looking at each other in silence.

"You look awful." Ronon finally said. John let out a snort of laughter.
"Better than I did five minutes ago at least." he joked. Despite the attempt at humor, Ronon could tell something was troubling him, and he didn't need a brain like McKay's to figure out what.

"So...Todd?"

"He's dead. Locked himself in the reactor chamber to make sure we had enough power to transmit." John replied, his expression taking on a stormy cast. For a moment, silence once again reigned. Ronon had never understood his friend's odd relationship with the Wraith. Maybe being partly turned into one had left a mark on his soul somehow, or perhaps it was the time he'd spent sharing a cell block with the creature. After watching his planet burn and spending seven years being hunted, Ronon could never do anything but hate the Wraith, yet here his friend seemed almost mournful. It was baffling.

"Did you see the body?" Ronon inquired. John shook his head. Ronon frowned. "Then I wouldn't call him dead yet."

"I heard him die." John countered. Ronon just shook his head.

"He's Wraith. They don't commit suicide, not for humans, and they don't go into something blindly." Now it was John's turn to shake his head.

"He's gone either way. Not much we can do now except wait for the Odyssey." he replied, before looking Ronon squarely in the eye, "Speaking of which, Lorne says you succeeded with the supply issue." Ronon immediately felt his guts tighten. He'd been dreading this. Teyla had been more understanding than he could've hoped for, but now he had to tell his friend and superior that he'd taken a risk with all of their lives by trusting in a Genii.

True, Natashii Divala did not strike him as being like most Genii, but even with that fancy set of tags and the strange patch on her uniform, she answered to Ladon, however tangentially He started to explain, hesitantly at first, but eventually the words came pouring out like a stream coming undammed during a monsoon. All the while, Sheppard's face remained remarkably composed. Ronon did his best to sound sincere and honest, hoping desperately his friend would understand. Even so, he could see the sparks of betrayal flying behind the Colonel's eyes. Finally he reached the end of his tale and leaned back on the boxes behind him. There was yet another awkward pause.

"So...uh...you're angry, right?" the ex-Runner tried awkwardly.

"I'm not sure what I am Ronon." John replied, sagging back, and Ronon realized that in his worries about his friend's possible rage, he'd overlooked his obvious exhaustion. Whether or not this meant he was in the mood to be understanding however was still completely up in the air. Ronon couldn't help but think how during his own martial training, he'd reserved any bad news for his instructor until after he was too worn out to pummel his student further. Sure, sometimes it'd worked, but it often also meant he just beat Ronon twice as hard the following day in the sparring circle. John put his hands to his face and dragged them down, sucking in a long breath.

"Christ, why can't anything ever be easy!" he groaned, before lowering his hands his hips and looking back up at his Satedan friend.

"You trusted her...even though she's working for Ladon?"

"I trusted her in spite of that." Ronon clarified, "She's a soldier. An old soldier too. If she can help, she will. Plus there was something...I don't know. I'm not sure I can put it in words."

"What?" Sheppard snapped. Ronon shook his head.

"I don't think the Genii care about us anymore. At least not like they used to. With the Travelers on their side, they've got spaceships. Sure, they're not Jumpers, but then after as long as we've been away, I'll bet they think the city is never coming back. And with everything that's going on...I don't know."

"They could still take hostages, Ronon." John growled, "If they still want our technology, they'll find a way to get it."

"Probably...but right now I think that they believe they've got bigger problems. With all the work they've put into building up the Confederation, I don't think they'll just drop everything." Ronon shrugged, "I don't know Sheppard. I can't talk to people like Teyla, or plan wars or read thoughts. All I can say is that I think she'll come through for us."

Again, the ugly pause. In it, Ronon could feel the gap between him and his friend, formed by this risk, and the struggle both of them were making to close it. He knew John trusted him like he trusted John, but the scale of the gamble Ronon had taken was big, bigger than any he'd taken in a long while. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, John relaxed, shaking his head once more. He held out his hand.

"You said Teyla had you draw a picture of this symbol Natashii was wearing." he said, "Have you still got it?"

"She made a copy of her own, so yeah." Ronon answered, reaching into his pant's pockets in relief. He fished out the crinkled, folded slip of paper and handed it to the Colonel, who unfolded it and examined it carefully. As he did, Ronon watched his face, his struggle to understand written in the wrinkle of his brow. Eventually he held it up to the gray skies, turning it.

"Is it just me…" he said slowly, "or does this look like-"

"What?" Ronon asked, curiosity growing. Teyla had refused to voice her suspicions after glimpsing the odd icons, and despite wracking his brain for similarities, Ronon had largely come up blank.

"Well the Genii flag is that triple-pointed gear-shape with the two curved sword-things on the sides." John observed, "This looks like the Autobot symbol…"

"But with the Decepticon mask?"

Both men flinched in surprise, John's head whipping around like a weather-cock until he spotted Teyla, who had apparently come up behind him without either him or Ronon noticing. He glared irritably at her, though Ronon chuckled before his humor was sucked away by the dour look on both his friends' faces.

"I just got back from speaking with Optimus." Teyla explained looking back over her shoulder briefly towards the galactically out-of-place cars in the corner of the clearing. "He confirmed my fears. The image is a fusion of both factions' sigils. The lines and shapes were too precise for it to be otherwise, he said."

"But what does that mean?" John pressed, "I mean, are the Genii working for the Decepticons?" Ronon felt thunderclouds filling his heart at that suggestion and its implications. Teyla shook her head though, offering a ray of light.

"He says it's unlikely. Remember, most Decepticons consider working with organics as beneath them. Even those that do tend to use a proxy. Remember Starscream and Storm Jet?" she pointed out, holding up her own piece of paper, with a much neater rendition of the odd icon on it than Ronon's. John nodded at her words, as did Ronon, both remembering the Decepticon second-in-command's plot to use the Wraith to his advantage and the events that had brought the Alliance into existence. There was a long, long pause after this, longer that all the others put together. In the midst of this grim silence, Rodney emerged from the milling bodies around the camp and wandered over.

"Hey guys. I just came back to grab seconds. One sandwich is-" he started, moving towards the box of wrapped and packaged MREs Ronon was leaning on before the ex-Runner reached out and stopped him.

"We're on rationing, remember?" he said firmly. The physicist backed up with an expression of mixed apology and frustration.

"Right, right. I knew that." he said, before spotting the paper in John's hand and sidling up to look at it over his shoulder.

"Hey, doesn't that look like the Autobot-" he began after a moment.

"Yes, Rodney. We know. I spoke with Optimus." Teyla interrupted, her tone calm but indicating that shutting up would probably be for the best. McKay's mouth opened, then closed. It didn't open again. Meanwhile, Sheppard looked back and forth between the two versions of the symbol, shaking his head, before finally sighing in frustration.

"We don't know enough. Part of me wants to say 'splinter faction', and another wants to say maybe the Genii are working for the 'Cons and don't know it. But there's just too many blanks and not enough facts. Until we know more, we'll have to be careful."

His words were punctuated by the sudden *KAWOOSH* of the Stargate activating, casting a flickering silver light over the whole camp yet again.

"Unscheduled offworld activation!" bellowed someone. Instantly, the guards Lorne had set around the DHD and the associated empty boxes spun in place, dropping to a knee and taking up firing positions. John turned and ran, dropping the paper on the dirt. Ronon followed, hand reaching for his own energy pistol, undoing the holster's safety strap and spinning the long-barreled gun into position in one smooth motion. All four of the team dashed up to join the waiting soldiers in time to see something small, white and angular pop through the shimmering event horizon, soar a few feet with a rustling noise, then come to rest in the dirt with a loopy spiraling path of descent. Then, without ceremony, the wormhole disconnected with a hiss of static. Again, there was another of those damned awkward pauses, this one the strangest of all. Together, Ronon, Teyla, Rodney, John, and everyone else present stared down blankly at the folded paper airplane, as odd and out of place as the two and a half aliens disguised as vehicles in the corner of the camp.

"Clear!" shouted Lorne, causing the soldiers to lower their weapons, some visibly trembling in the progress. It had clearly taken a lot of effort for them not to open fire when the little contraption had come through. Now it sat demurely on the dirt, apparently awaiting...something. John took the initiative, vaulting over the box in front of him. Under his breath, Ronon heard him mutter: "If this is another time-travel thing…"

The rest of the statement was lost as the ex-Runner watched his superior stride forward, bend over and retrieve the crude folded 'aircraft'. He turned it over in his hands, then appeared to notice something, causing him to quickly unfold it.

"Huh…" he grunted, looking it over. Ronon crossed the barricade and joined him, not needing to look over Sheppard's shoulder as look down at the paper in his hands. As Sheppard's reaction had suggested, there was writing on it; specifically, Genii writing. Ronon knew enough of most major Pegasus languages to read some of the text, but like the Colonel, he deferred to Teyla when she approached. John handed her the paper, causing her to fold up her copy of the mystery sigil and tuck it away before grasping the new sheet of stationary. Her eyes flicked over the characters quickly, while her brows knotted in concern.

"Well, what does it say?" John asked.

"It's an invitation…" Teyla started, as if not sure she could believe what she was reading, "And an explanation." She turned and looked up at Ronon. "It also says it's from Natashii Divala of the Confederate Fleet."

"Wait, back up." Rodney said, looking confused, "Who?" As Teyla read on, John quickly recounted Ronon's story in a half-whisper to make sure his friend knew what was being discussed. As he explained, Rodney's natural scowl deepened, and by the end he looked ready to turn on Ronon before Teyla's voice cut him off.

"It says she has managed to authorize the transfer of some supplies from an operation on-" She trailed off as she read further.

"What?" Sheppard pressed. Like Ronon and Rodney, his eyes were wide with surprise and anticipation. Even Ronon was shocked. He hadn't expected a reply so soon! Perhaps in a day, or a few more hours at the very least, if at all, but now?! Teyla turned the paper around an indicated a line of text with a finger. Most of the symbols followed the basic pattern of the Genii alphabet, but seven stood out as abstract, matching symbols found chiefly in one place throughout Pegasus; on the ring of the Stargate.

"That address looks familiar…" Rodney noted, "I swear I've seen it before."

"I thought you remembered the address of every planet you've ever been to."

"Not this one...or at least I've never been there more than once…" Rodney fumbled, trying to excuse himself from the trap of his own hubris. Teyla simply smirked and turned the paper back around to finish reading.

"She says that technically the operation is there to survey the planet for expansion of farming to help meet increasing grain productions, but that in reality they're scouting the area for use as a forward base in the region."

"Okay, now am I the only one who finds it really suspicious that the Genii are suddenly being so friendly and open about their secret plans?"

"Divala isn't Genii." Ronon countered.

"But she answers to them." McKay rebuffed.

"To the Confederate Senate, of which the Genii are part." Teyla sighed.

"You mean which they run." Rodney sneered. He crossed his arms, but said nothing else, obviously waiting for Teyla to finish.

"She also says she wants the exchange to be discrete, and that we are to dress as grain traders. Apparently the idea of helping us using what should be military resources would be...unpopular."

"Now that I can understand." Sheppard grunted, "We'll probably need to borrow some clothes. Also, a wagon...and a thistle."

"For what?" Rodney asked, confused. John smirked.

"If we're dressed as farmers we want to look the part, right?" There was a moment of silence in which a massive gap of cultural misunderstanding yawned open before Rodney simply scowled at John.

"That's not funny." he growled.

"Whatever." John retorted.

"If I could be allowed to finish?" Teyla asked testily. John waved for her to go on. She gave him a scowl of her own, then continued.

"She also says she will send someone from her operation who is familiar with Atlantis to make the exchange. She-" Teyla broke off mid-sentence, eyes zipping back and forth as if re-reading the same sentence several times to make sure she had actually seen what she thought she had. When she spoke again, it was with a confused, halting tone, like she couldn't believe the words even when they were spoken aloud. "She says...that he will have something...a gesture of good faith...which will help save your wounded metal friend...and an offer of his own."

"She what!?" McKay choked, before rounding on Ronon, "How much did you tell them!?"

"It's not like it's anything new." Ronon said defensively, "Lorne gave them our files on the Transformers, right?"

"Yes, but he didn't tell them we had an injured one here! If they want that technology-" Rodney spluttered.

"Rodney, enough." John snapped.

"How can you possibly be okay with this!?" demanded the physicist, whirling on his friend, "You know the Genii are all about stealing technology!"

"I said that's enough!" Sheppard shouted, stunning the physicist back into silence. Before he could open his mouth to continue his tirade, John turned back to Teyla. "Is there anything else?" he asked. Teyla shook her head, looking a little startled at John's outburst, though not as much as Rodney. Ronon could tell that she saw just as he did that John's mood was dangerously unbalanced. Leaving Earth under the cloud of bad news generated by learning of the decision made by Ford's family had done little to leave him in a happy state of mind, though he'd covered it up well. Now with everything that had happened since, that mask was slipping, and no one wanted to be there when it finally came all the way off.

"Alright." John said, nodding in response to Teyla's unspoken answer, "I'm going to go grab some fresh people to come with us. Teyla, I need you and Ronon to gather up those clothes and that cart I mentioned. We need to act fast on this. We've still got a day and time to spare before the Odyssey arrives to pick us up, presuming it gets our signal. We need to make sure everyone here that can lives to see that."

"What about the special offer?" Ronon inquired. The way the note had phrased that particular bit of information had made him uncomfortable. Truth be told, all of this was making him uncomfortable now that the initial shock of the sudden payoff for his gambit had worn away. Doubts were swarming him, like they always did when dealing with anything connected to the Genii. John simply shook his head.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Presuming it doesn't catch fire as we're crossing it." McKay groused under his breath. If Sheppard heard him, he didn't show it, instead choosing to simply wave his hand in dismissal.

"You have your jobs. Go. I'll meet you back here in an hour and a half." he commanded, pausing to check his watch. For a moment, Teyla looked like she wanted to voice her own concerns, mouth opening in preparation to speak, but Ronon circled around and dropped a hand on her shoulder. As she looked back at him, the ex-Runner nodded to his superior.

"We'll be here." he grunted, then nodded up the trail leading to the Athosian settlement while glancing at Teyla, who stared back at him with an uncertain expression. Finally she nodded as well, and together they moved away, leaving Rodney and John together, as they departed, the physicist spoke up again.

"And what about me? Am I seriously the only one here who thinks this is a bad plan?" he hissed.

"No, but you're welcome to stay here." John replied, turning and starting to walk away. Caught off guard, McKay scurried to keep up.

"You're making it awfully tempting!" he snapped.

"If you're worried they'll try and capture you, all you need to do is say so." John said in mock confusion. Rodney made a scoffing noise as the two left earshot, rendering the Canadian's reply inaudible and leaving Ronon and Teyla to travel on in relative silence.

"Ronon...this is get out of hand." Teyla finally said as they reached the edge of the camp. The Satedan turned to stare at her in confusion.

"I don't-" he started, before she cut him off with a placating shake of her head, before glancing over her shoulder towards John and Rodney, now barely visible between the tents and moving bodies of the camp's inhabitants.

"Not your decision. You did what you thought was right. It's just this situation…" she said, her tone worried. She held up the remains of the paper airplane, still clutched in her right hand, shaking it and gesturing at the whole camp. "Ever since we returned to Pegasus, things have just gotten more and more complicated, not to mention dangerous and out of control." She sighed, looking away from the camp and back to the paper. "We're all under a lot of stress...and I think it's affecting John in particular."

"I have no idea what you're talking about…" Ronon said bluntly, before realizing his blaster was still out of its holster and making a move to put it away. He tried to hide the motion, but Teyla spotted it and locked eyes with him.

"I'm not saying it's just him that's under a lot of stress." she said lightly, clearly trying to gloss over the ex-Runner's absent-minded moment, "But you recall how I mentioned that he was dealing with the decision made by Ford's family before we came here?" Ronon stared straight ahead, hoping his friend wouldn't notice the blank stare he was wearing as he wracked his brains for any memory of what she was talking about. Unfortunately it proved ineffective, as she nudged him hard in the side.

"What was that for!?" he complained, trying his best to look offended but instead ending up feeling and looking even more guilty. Teyla glowered at him and shook her head.

"You are a master of many things Ronon, but hiding your emotions is not one of them."

"Yeah, well…" he grumbled, "we can't all be-"

"My point is," Teyla said, rolling right over his retort, "John was suffering from a lot of guilt about things that happened here in Pegasus just before we left, and now that we're here, and everything's going wrong, I think it may be affecting him more than he wants to admit."

"What makes you say that?" Ronon asked, putting more spring into his step, not wanting to get nudged again. When he noticed Teyla was not keeping pace, he turned around and saw her standing on the trail, looking back over her shoulder with a wistful expression.

"He was rather quick to leap on the opportunity presented by that note...and after everything that's happened, I can't help but wonder if it's simple determination...or desperation."

--O--​

In their designated corner of the camp, Optimus and Drift idled in their vehicle form, quietly mulling over the image that Teyla Emmagan had shown them on the scrap of paper. Theoretically, this was to try and suss out the potential meaning of the strange icon, but for Optimus it was mostly to avoid facing the fact that one of his oldest friends was quietly dying less than twenty meters away...and there was nothing he could do. He quashed that thought before it could grow further. He'd gone through the cycle of questioning his own worth as a leader more times than Cybertron had orbited its parent star, and it had never amounted to anything of worth.

The mysterious icon was not helping matters. The lack of information regarding its origins and potential meaning only added to the Prime's stress, especially with the knowledge that it had come from a source that had no reasonable right to have any connection with it. The vast majority of Decepticons would rather die than collaborate with any organic species. More than that, they respected strength, and while the Wraith would repulse them as much as they did Optimus, they would be more likely to align themselves (if indeed they felt the need to) with them, rather than the Confederation, a power that for the most part was only just entering the era of spaceflight.

<When you look at it...what do you feel?> Optimus inquired over his private channel to Drift, seeking distraction from his own thoughts in the chance to investigate someone else's. The former Decepticon answered slowly, and with considerable trepidation, as if putting considerable thought into his answer.

<Uncertainty. Instinct leads me to view anything that bears the mask of the Fallen is a worthy target of suspicion.>

<And yet the Fallen was a Prime...once.> Optimus pointed out, grabbing into the implied 'but' left unspoken but present in his subordinate's tone. The blue-shelled Autobot gave a metaphorical shrug indicated by a change in his sensation through the private channel.

<And Megatron was once a noble leader bent on correcting the rotted institutions that once made him a slave in Kaon. Without context, it is just a symbol.>

<Yet you so quickly deride it as an icon of mistrust.> Optimus countered.

<Instinct leads me to see it as such.> Drift restated.

<Yet you harbor doubt. If you set aside your instinct, what does your Spark tell you?> Optimus replied. He'd honed his skills of reasoning and debate under Alpha Trion, and his own Spark was telling him that he'd be a fool not to investigate this subject further. There was a very long pause in which one could almost hear the circuits firing as Drift tried to compose a conclusion that he could voice in a comprehensible manner. Finally he responded, the trepidation twice as strong as before.

<You once said of humans that there was more to them than met the eye. Everything we have learned of them in our time together has only reinforced this. From their division comes unity, and from their simplicity emerges ingenuity. Speaking from a purely evolutionary perspective, it is wise to hide your true strength, and few species we have encountered do this as well as humans.> he proclaimed, his slow speech indicating he was building his argument even as he presented it to his superior, <This symbol...I feel it represents that hidden strength. In my service to Megatron, I learned all too well that behind the mask we wore as his followers was an empty purpose, a dream of empire as hollow as every word to come out of Starscream's mouth. Yet in my service to you, I have also seen the cost of fighting for ideals over all else...and the cost that comes with it.>

<An interesting theory…> Optimus admitted, <So you would say that this...icon is a reflection of what the humans are? A union of Decepticon and Autobot?>

<Perhaps. But the fact is that this icon cannot possibly be of their own devising...not unless they somehow recovered remnants of technology from both sides.>

<A not entirely-implausible idea.> Optimus reminded him, <Both sides have lost track of a fair amount of their strength over the millennia.>

<And yet the humans of this galaxy, this Confederation, are under heavy influence from these Genii. Given the developmental state of this offshoot of the species, the idea of nationalism, even when bound together against a common threat like the Wraith, would remain strong. They would not adopt such alien symbols unless there were some other force compelling them to do so. No, more likely their imagery would center around the human form, not a mix of two emblems from an unknown race.>

<So you think there might be collaboration?> Optimus pressed, his worries growing.
<Not between humans and Decepticons...but perhaps between humans and neutrals.>

Optimus paused in his own cogitation at Drift's suggestion. The neutral colonies, according to intelligence brought to Earth by Prowl, had almost unanimously closed their borders as a result of both sides conducting sporadic raids on their Energon stockpiles in an attempt to restock themselves while seeking the Cube. Now, with lines of communication shattered and in disarray all the way from Earth to Cybertron, any contact with the colonies was little more than a pipe dream. Could something have happened there? Could some new order, some third faction perhaps, have formed amidst the dwindling skirmishes between Autobot and Decepticon?

Optimus rolled this possibility about in his mind, struggling to find a way to make it fit what few facts they had. Unfortunately the only answers he could devise were pure speculation. Eventually he gave up and let out a crackle of static over his cabin radio like a sort of electronic sigh, causing the few humans nearby to look up briefly before turning back to their work when nothing else emerged.

<There's too little information. We can theorize all we want...but until we know more, all we have is this symbol.>

<Tell me, Optimus…> Drift suddenly asked in the silence that followed, <This war has gone on for so long...do you have any idea what peace might look like?> For a long time, the two Autobots sat silently, cabs facing out into the camp as they watched the humans who had pledged to fight alongside them continued their own struggles to survive.

<No…> Optimus finally said, <I don't.>

<Neither do I.> Drift answered, <But perhaps…>

<What?> the Prime inquired when the azure warrior failed to finish his sentence.
<Nothing…> he replied, <I suppose time will tell…> Optimus wanted to ask further, but was wise enough to realize when silence was merited. Time would indeed tell. He just hoped whatever it was it told, it was a better answer to Drift's question than the one he'd given.

--O--​

By the time everything was finally in place for the mission to the address detailed in the odd bit of air-mail, John found that despite everything, he had no doubts or questions left about whether he was doing the right thing. If he was worried about anything, it was that he wasn't quite sure why he wasn't worried. Every ounce of his accumulated experience dealing with situations like this one was telling him that he was about to take an enormous risk trusting a body that he knew next to nothing about. To be honest, it wasn't the first time he'd done such a thing; His first brief alliance with Todd had been like that.

The thought of the missing Wraith was like a poke to the ribs of the sleeping dragon of guilt John could feel even now, coiled around his stomach. It squeezed briefly, before he threw his back into another effort to suppress it. He didn't have time to wallow in misery. His team needed him in the present, not the past, however recent. With a creak, the large wooden wagon he'd been riding gently jolted to a stop, followed shortly by the second following it. Not for the first time, he silently reminded himself to thank Teyla and Halling for managing to drum up not one, but two carts; a vital necessity if they were going to be transporting very much cargo.

As he hopped down off the riding board, the horse pulling the medieval-looking conveyance looked back at him and snorted, then turned away as if dismissing him as unimportant. The act left Sheppard feeling somehow snubbed, but he ignored it since Rodney wasn't far off, and scratching himself so furiously he looked like he was trying to rip his loaned outfit off.

"Haven't they ever heard of fabric softener!?" he complained mildly, shifting his efforts from his left hip to his right shoulder.

"You know they render their own soap, right?" John said casually.

"Out of what?! Itching powder? Seriously, this feels like it's a size too small!" the physicist griped. John knew he didn't mean it. Rodney's natural defense to a dire situation was to complain, just like John's was to engage in banter and pester the man because it helped him avoid the stress they felt regarding the monumentally stupid things they so often found themselves doing. In the midst of his efforts, the physicist glanced over to lock eyes with Sheppard.

"No thistle?" he commented. John grinned.

"Nah, the only thing they had like that was this sort of grass that Teyla says they use for treating toothaches. I have a feeling that I'd like to keep feeling my mouth for duration of this."

"Wait, seriously?" Rodney asked, suddenly seeming to forget his discomfort, "Aspirin grass?" John grimaced.

"More like Aspirin chewing tobacco." he clarified, "It turns your teeth green." Rodney frowned, though John couldn't tell if it was with disappointment or disgust. Before the conversation could go further, Cadman, whom John had selected to replace Edgars as his supporting officer for this mission, rounded the cart, looking nervous at being denied her P-90, or any other weapons besides a combat knife and hidden Beretta.

"Do we have a plan once we're there, sir?" she demanded, stopping just short of doing the same antsy dance McKay was already affecting.

"I went through the note with Teyla to double-check." John replied, pulling the document from his belt-pouch, made of the same material as his borrowed pants, which appeared to have been stitched during a time before pockets had become a thing. He waved it, then unfolded and flipped it over to reveal where he'd written her translation on the back.

"We show up, follow the path to the field where they're doing their digging and soil testing. Our contact is supposed to be there."

"No code of recognition?" Cadman pressed, narrowing her eyes.

"It just says that he'll recognize us, and we'll recognize him." John answered. The Sergeant chewed over this information in silence, glaring at the paper, before finally responding.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" she asked.

"Denied." John said flatly, causing his subordinate's eyes to narrow further. He folded up the letter and stowed it away, shaking his head. "I know this is a questionable decision at best; but hey, if we get captured and survive, you could end up with my job." he stated, his tone sarcastic, but containing a hint of an edge. Fortunately, Cadman appeared to pick up on it and said nothing in response, even when John added in a mutter: "It's not like I'll be keeping it after this anyways…" With that dark comment hanging in the air, the Colonel turned to Rodney, jerking his head in the direction of the DHD.

"Dial us up." he ordered, "We're wasting daylight."

--O--​

For his part, Rodney McKay was also far from pleased with his friend's decision. As he stepped through the puddle and out onto the destination planet, he found himself compelled to scratch a fresh itch on his lower back, and once again wished that disguises were unnecessary, or at least ones that required he wear something that had probably been cleaned with a rock and some scented animal fat. He quickly refocused, moving forward and to the side to allow passage for the carts coming behind. In front, three fresh recruits from the ranks of the Alpha Site survivors were holstering their sidearms, having gone ahead to clear the way.

"Well...guess that could've been worse." Rodney said aloud, before realizing he'd said it and cursing himself. At least one of the scouts heard him say it too, because he shot him a dirty look over his shoulder that made the Canadian cringe slightly. After trying his best to shake the sense of impending doom off, McKay looked around at the planet they were now standing on. It was, like most worlds colonized by the Ancients, a startling mirror of the great outdoors in his home country, with lots of pine trees and untouched greenery...except this greenery HAD been touched, and somewhat recently by the looks of it. The Stargate stood in the middle of a field of tall grass, but around its mouth and the DHD, the plant-life had been thoroughly trampled by what had to be a whole lot of booted feet coming and going. As if this weren't proof enough of human habitation, the trail of stomped stalks led off and away, moving in a precise line towards a large clump of trees where three thin wispy trails of smoke rose into the heavens like fuzzy wool strings being dropped from the sky.

"Still might be a trap." grumbled a gruff voice behind Rodney, who flinched, spinning to find Ronon standing behind him in his traveling coat. He grinned at the physicist, who scowled back. They both knew he really hated it when the Satedan snuck up on him, which of course had only ever encouraged him to do it more.

"And you're smiling...why?" he countered, scratching the back of his neck in a brief frenzy, like a rabbit or cat.

"Because it's nice day." Ronon answered, pushing past his physicist friend and out into the greenery, "And it'd be a waste to let worrying too much keep you from enjoying it."

"That's a nice philosophy." McKay muttered, unable to think of anything appropriately biting to shoot back. He was still angry the big oaf had gone and taken this risk without consulting anyone. Generally if someone was going to make an incredibly risky and stupid diplomatic gamble, Rodney would have bet on Sheppard, and the fact that this time it was Ronon just felt...wrong.

"Come on! Let's move up! Make some room!" Sheppard's voice cried out, cutting through the chatter beginning to grow between the various 'grain traders' arriving through the gate and pressing them to get the two carts in a position to take on goods. The Colonel had picked ten extra people in all, including Lieutenant Cadman, who Rodney had been doing his best to keep at arm's length. He just prayed that the woman never got in the same room as Jennifer. He didn't need the two women who knew him better than anyone else joining forces, especially since one had spent several days trapped as a voice in his head. A shudder raced up his spine as he ran to catch up with the former Runner, glancing as casually as he could towards the red-headed woman, who noticed his gaze and winked. Rodney looked away so quickly he worried he might've given himself whiplash.

"Alright! Everyone who signed up to haul crates, you stay here!" John ordered, before thrusting a thumb towards the smoke, "My team will go investigate. If we're not back in twenty minutes, or you start hearing gunfire, you LEAVE. I'm not going to risk any more lives."

Rodney opened his mouth to complain about being excluded from that statement, then thought better of it. Now was not the time. Maybe later, when they were inevitably trapped and surrounded by Genii guards in a cell. Yes, that would be better. He rolled his eyes and moved out of the midst of the group to stand by Ronon, Teyla and John.

"Understood, sir." Cadman replied, giving a light salute that could've easily been mistaken as brushing off some flies. Rodney realized that both officers were acting in a professional manner, yet with a different tone. It took him a second to grasp that they were maintaining the outward illusion of being professional merchants for anyone who might be watching, while elegantly maintaining the chain of command all the while.

"Alright. We'll be back in a few." Sheppard declared, then spun on his heel, waving for the rest of his team to follow. Rodney stood in the middle, between Teyla and Ronon, and told himself it was sound logic. After all, if Genii were going to try and capture them, they'd be after him, for his dearth of scientific wisdom...unless of course they were getting wisdom from another source already, one with red optics and a drive to conquer the known universe. That thought made him shudder. Decepticons were the last thing he wanted to face right now, especially since the few high-caliber weapons that the survivors still had which were used for fighting them had all been left back at camp.

His mind churning with dark possibilities, Rodney found his thoughts drawn back to the address of the planet they now stood on. He was certain he'd seen it before, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out where. Every time he tried, his memory became an amber haze in which two burly men tried to keep him from going somewhere, at which point he miraculously punched their lights out. It was like trying to recall a dream and being limited to recalling the last thing you'd been doing before waking up. There was no context there; only the two men and an overwhelming feeling of betrayal mixed with animal terror. He shuddered again.
"Are you well, Rodney?" Teyla asked as they reached the edge of the trees, "You keep shivering."

"I'm just...cold." he blurted out, not wanting to let his weakness show. Teyla looked up at the clear blue sky, lit by a sun approaching the afternoon, then back down at him with an expression that said exactly how much she bought his excuse. Fortunately though, he was saved from embarrassment when disaster finally reared it's ugly head.

"Halt!" bellowed a voice from the trees. Instantly, the group came to a stop, hands hovering with the intent of reaching for their weapons, but waiting for further information before making a decision. The source of the call was quickly revealed as two men dressed in a mix of the grey uniforms worn by Genii troops and black combat vests with an added bonus of light-looking purplish-black body armor. Both carried what looked like pump-action drum-fed shotguns on speed-slings made of the same material as their armor, and neither looked like they had any sense of humor whatsoever. Thankfully they weren't aiming their weapons at the group (not yet, anyway), and bore the expressions of men who were just doing their jobs.

"What are you doing here?" asked one of the two, looking them over with a suspicious eye, "This area is being surveyed for settlement and expansion by the Confederation Sub-Council of Agriculture. You're trespassing. Or didn't you see the sign by the Ring of the Ancestors?"

For a long moment, confused silence reigned. Thankfully, before the two soldiers could do anything drastic, Teyla cut in with remarkable smoothness and sincerity.
"Sign? We were told there was grain to be traded for here…" she replied. Instantly the second soldier sighed and looked at his partner.

"It's those damn cabbits." he growled, "I told the chief he should let us set traps!" The first soldier rolled his eyes with a tired expression and relaxed his stance, apparently not noticing when the group did the same.

"Look, Miss…" he said, trailing off and looking like he was expecting a name.

"Tagan." Teyla supplied, using her father's name.

"Tagan." finished the soldier, apparently not aware the name a male one in Athosian, "Look, Miss Tagan, I understand what you might've been told, but there won't be any grain here for months, if at all. The survey is still in progress. If you need to know more, the government hall on Nulesia can supply details. Until then-"

"I'm sorry," Teyla cut in, interrupting the man, "We were told to come here by Natahsii Divala." The words might as well have been a lightning bolt. Both men suddenly snapped to attention, looking nervous.

"A-ah...well that explains it." he stammered. The mention of the admiral's name seemed to have filled him with the kind of worry Rodney saw in some low-ranking soldiers who had been given orders they didn't understand, but had to carry out anyways. From his spot behind Ronon, the physicist watched as the two men looked at each other nervously, then back at the group. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was like watching an Abbot and Costello routine.

That thought resonated through his brain with an uncanny echo. Again, the amber haze rose up, and through it, McKay saw himself punching two faceless men with a strength he shouldn't have possessed. In front of him, in the real world, the taller of the two soldiers shuffled his feet and cleared his throat.

"If you'll just follow me, miss, your contact is this way. You're expected." He shouldered his weapon, using its attached strap to swing it behind him and out of the way, before waving deeper into the woods. For a moment no one moved, leaving the armored man standing looking expectant at Rodney and the rest of his team. This time it was John who broke the silence, leading the way forward.

"Thank you, Mister…" he said, trailing off in the same fashion the soldier had.

"Dibbuk. Corporal Dibbuk." the man offered.

"Well, thank you, Corporal. I'll be sure to mention you to your superiors." Sheppard replied. Rodney noticed that the Colonel didn't say exactly what he planned to say about the man, which kept him nervous. Rodney recognized the tactic because John had used it on him many times, much to his chagrin. A man nervous about his career was less likely to ask questions to endanger it. This was good for the survivors of the Alpha Site at least. Given how much this little secret transfer of goods was circumventing what had to be standard operating procedure, it paid to make sure no one raised any alarms until after they had left, carts and all.

Dibbuk was quick to get out in front of John before he got far, giving him a nervous-but-helpful smile before gesturing for the rest of them to follow. Meanwhile, the man's partner took up the rear, placing himself at the back of the party. Rodney fell into step with Teyla at the center of the moving column as the group wound their way deeper into the forest. All the while, McKay kept an eye trained on their guide's armored back.

"What do you think that is?" he whispered, gesturing as casually as he could at the man's outfit, "It doesn't look like normal Genii gear."

"They're with the Confederation…" Teyla mused quietly, "The Travelers are also part of the Confederation. And we know they are working to build a combined military force..."

Rodney narrowed his eyes at this. In the midst of the chaotic mess that his life had become in these past few days, his efforts to understand the measures the Confederation were taking to fight back the Wraith had been down quite a ways on his list of priorities. Now that he was being treated to a first-hand glimpse of how far the Confederation was going with pursuing its goals, it was enough to give him pause for thought.

Quietly, he scoffed at himself. What did it matter? Body armor wouldn't beat the Wraith, not in a serious fight. Only space-power could do that, and while the vampiric aliens didn't seem to be replenishing their lost vessels, they still had a whole hell of a lot more than the Genii and Travelers ever would. He'd start believing they had a chance when they took down their first Hive Ship, and not before.

McKay's grim thoughts were disrupted when the trees suddenly came to an end, leaving him and his friends standing at the edge of a clearing with eight large tents arranged around a lane of trampled grasses. At first glance, it looked much like any other nomadic settlement, despite the military uniformity of the tents themselves. However the illusion was upset when Rodney spotted the trio of men standing some distance from the camp, using a tripod-mounted device that resembled a surveyor's level. Twenty feet from them, another group of seven men were digging, dressed in grey uniforms with rolled-up sleeves and legs. Also present and impossible to miss were more soldiers, some holding positions at the edge of the clearing, others patrolling in twos and threes. They were all armed, mostly with the same pump-action shotguns as Dibbuk and his partner, but others with small, compact weapons that looked like sub-machine guns. Before McKay could take in anything else, one of the soldiers walking the central lane between the tents turned, spotted them and began to march over at speed. Rodney noticed Ronon tensing in the corner of his vision, and prayed the Satedan wouldn't start anything, and moreover, that there wouldn't be a need for it.

"Corporal!" the man bellowed, his voice serious and disapproving. Rodney didn't need to see Dibbuk wince and stiffen to know the man was his superior. He was tall, with heavily-tanned skin and eyes that said the only reason he wasn't pulling out his gun and shooting them all was that he wanted to make sure Dibbuk understood the reason for his displeasure first. He came to a stop less than a foot from the unfortunate soldier, his weapon pointed at the ground, but gripped in both hands, ready to be snapped up into firing position.

"Would you like to explain to me why you and Sidonius are escorting unauthorized personnel into a restricted site?"

"Sir! They stated they had authorization from Admiral Divala, sir!"

"And did you request written confirmation? For that matter, did you contact me to inform me they had arrived?!" thundered the dark-skinned man, eyes bulging with an almost theatrical anger. Rodney almost winced at Dibbuk's reaction, his obvious realization of his horrendous breach of protocol playing out over his face in a manner similar to a melting glacier; a spectacular, crashing moment of horror and despair as he realized just how deeply he had screwed up.

"Sir, no sir!" he cried, standing to attention as hard as he could, as if it would somehow make up for his failure. The dark-skinned man's eyes narrowed, his voice becoming a hiss.

"I see…" His eyes flicked back and forth between the Corporal and his partner at the back of the line, who was looking just as nervous. "Both of you are on latrine-digging duty for the remainder of our stay here. Meanwhile, I'll discuss your lack of forethought with the Leftenant. You'd best pray to the Ancestors that he's in a forgiving mood. Otherwise he might decide that digging holes is all you're good for. After all, you certainly managed to dig yourself into one with your actions today!"

Rodney had to resist the urge to smirk at the spectacle of the poor man getting chewed out. It was something he'd seen more than once during his time working with the U.S. military, but to see it replicated in an environment so far removed from what he normally associated with the concept was oddly amusing. He didn't have to fight for long though, because once he had finished with berating his subordinate, the dark-skinned man turned to Rodney and his group.

"I assume you have written proof that you are here on the Admiral's authority?" he demanded, extending a hand. John was quick to retrieve the invitation from his belt-pouch, unfolding it so that the signature was evident. He handed it to the grim-faced officer, who examined it cursorily, then passed it back.

"It looks legitimate, but you'll need to run it past the Leftenant. He's in the main tent." he said, his voice less severe, but no less suspicious. Then he turned to Dibbuk, his scowl deepening. "You will escort them to the command tent, then report to me for your reassignment." he growled, before stalking off, circling around towards the men with the tripod. Rodney noticed that they were working more feverishly now, with one scribbling hastily on a clipboard. Had they been watching? Rodney hoped they fared better than the Corporal, who was still standing where he'd been left, a look of misery covering his features.

"Sorry about that." Sheppard said, looking surprisingly apologetic. Dibbuk shook his head.

"Follow me." he said, then began to trudge towards the largest of the tents. The rest of the distance was covered in silence, save for the continuing clanking and shovelling noises coming from the men at work. There were two more guards at the entrance flap, both of whom smirked at Sidonius and Dibbuk, but said nothing as the group entered.

The interior of the cloth-walled building reminded Rodney greatly of the tent they'd had dinner in on their first night back in New Athos, except nowhere near as pretty. There was a carpet covering the grass that reigned freely outside, but unlike the decorative flooring the Athosians enjoyed, this one was pure grey, with a red Genii logo stamped on it. Rodney wondered why so much of the equipment he'd seen was marked with the logo of just one Confederation member. Obviously, the Genii had chief control of the manufacturing capabilities (and probably a whole lot besides), but shouldn't they be encouraging unity through the use of some shared symbol? It seemed odd, and briefly, the physicist wondered if he'd ever find out the answer, or if was doomed to remain a mystery, just like so much that had changed since their return to Pegasus.

At the center of the rectangular space stood a table, collapsible the looks of it, with metal legs and a top supporting a mess of papers, some maps and a cup holding some fancy-looking fountain pens. There were two men behind the table. The first was an extremely tall and thin, clad in a light-gray dress-uniform that made the physicist think darkly of the outfits worn by the Imperial officers in Star Wars, and with a nose that resembled a tomahawk in-flight. The impression was so strong that when he looked up from the assorted documents on the surface beneath him, McKay briefly found himself compelled to duck. The other-

Rodney had never been good with faces. On more than one occasion, he'd called his lab assistants by the wrong names. He'd excused himself on the basis that they were boring, interchangeable, and usually just got in the way, but deep inside he knew better. This face however, stood out like a flaming brand in his memory. In the churning whirlpool of the Canadian physicist's mind, the amber-hued image of himself punching two men with strength he shouldn't have possessed was replaced by a different one; of a man with a golden armband who lived on the run, who had kidnapped Jennifer to help save a girl he barely knew.

He looked different, certainly. There were more scars for one thing, to say nothing of his new mode of dress; his outfit set him apart even from the new, armor-clad warriors outside. It was composed of some kind of black bodysuit whose surface was detailed with human musculature, on top of which a set of asymmetrical armor was layered like exoskeletal protrusions. The costume also included various large pouches, some of which hung across his chest in a bandolier. The whole thing looked lightweight but versatile, offering protection while maintaining agility and flexibility. In short, it was a mirror of the man wearing it.

"Ah, our visitors!" the axe-faced man said, his face all nervous smiles, "I am Leftenant Spectis. This is Operator Kiryk. You have proof of your authorization?"

In the silence that followed, the clatter of the patient and efficient digging work outside contrasted sharply with the turmoil filling Rodney's head.

"It's alright, Leftenant." Kiryk finally said, "I'll vouch for them. For now, I think it'd be good if you left us alone. We have things to discuss."

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A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long. Honestly I'm not all that pleased with it. The scenes drag on, and there's a lot of 'talking head' moments. That said, I do like writing banter, and FUCKING YAY, big reveal at the end there! I always felt Kiryk, like some other characters, got the short end of the stick from the writers. His character always struck me as ripe for development, much like Ronon, but with his own set of past mistakes and woes.

Regardless, I will be torturing myself and you after this, since my next chapter will focus on Todd. He has a role of his own to play in the story, and it's about time I laid some hints to that end. That said, his parts will be fewer and farther between, since his role is a bit more tangential than say, that of Ratchet's life as a prisoner of Shockwave. Lockdown will get some snippets too, though right now he's more a secondary villain than anything (which isn't to say he won't have his own role. I try not to waste things). Of course I'm just bursting at the seams with ideas, but alas, if I want the results to be good, I have to limit myself. One of the biggest skills a writer can have is picking an idea and sticking with it until it's done. A good way to do this is to take any good ideas that don't fit or which might distract you and save them for a later date, which is what I'm doing. Anywho, read, review, comment and lavish me with praise...or scorn. Whichever.