Tin Man (1/4)

[kristen999]

Title: Tin Man
Rating: PG
Warning: None
Genre: Gen, Drama, H/C
Characters: Rodney, John, Teyla, Ronon, OCs.
Word Count: 30,000-
Summary: Visiting an abandoned outpost leads to some amazing discoveries but with dire consequences. Rodney and the team battle a racing clock as they begin to lose Sheppard a little at a time.

Written for : friendshipper for the secret santa exchange. Prompt at the end.

A/N: This is the story that ate my brain! Rodney also kept wanting to take over the whole damn thing! :D

I wanted to thank vecturist and tridget for answering questions when all my research was leaking out my ears. Another big shout out to sgafan for being my sounding board! A special thank you to coolbreeze1 for the super, wonderful beta!


------

Rodney ran a second diagnostic on the sensors, trusting his overly paranoid sense of self-preservation would keep them from being fried. He scanned the bulging dark orange sun only a mere million miles away, studying the bustling photosphere.

“We in danger of becoming Jiffy Pop?”

“Yes, we are. In fact, I brought butter and salt. Do you prefer Kosher or the Celtic Sea variety?” He heard Sheppard mumbled something about caramel flavored, but he ignored him. “I'm monitoring the sunspots near the equator, but so far, the magnetic fields are within acceptable levels.”

Teyla leaned over to study his laptop. “And you do not believe these flares will begin again?”

“Oh, they're still producing energy, just not enough to interfere with our equipment.” At the crease in her forehead, he flipped around his screen. “Sun flares can last for days, months, or years. In this case, there's no way of knowing how long they've been active. The corona is highly volatile because this star is in the process of becoming a red giant.”

“When's that?” Ronon grunted from the back, the first time he had ceased impersonating a plank of wood in the last three hours.

“Give or take ten or twenty thousand years.”

Ronon made a harrumphing noise and went back to doing…whatever…he did on long boring flights.

“Are these flares in a lull?” Teyla continued.

“In the last twenty days since we received the communication signal, this sun’s been producing B-class flares. Just your everyday low levels of radiation.” Rodney finished arrowing down on the keyboard toward the last report. “After Lorne discovered our mysterious transmission on his way back from...wherever…I searched the Ancient database and found bupkis on this solar system. But...geomagnetic storms are always unpredictable.”

“What he's trying to say is that he doesn't know, but we're going to check things out on the very good chance that the sun's in a down cycle,” Sheppard piped up.

“You might want to return that physics degree you got from Crackerjack's when we get back to Atlantis.”

“I spent a long time collecting those box tops,” Sheppard drawled, bringing up the HUD. “ETA to the planet is ten minutes. All systems are still operational, no random outages or massive catastrophes...yet.”

“Thanks for daring the galaxy to prove you wrong.”

Rodney took a final scan of the mystifying signal. It was fascinating really. How long had it been transmitting? It was broadcasting on an odd low-level frequency wave, and the use of a long-range communication device was evidence of a technologically advanced society. No bear skins or mud huts this time around—barring the equipment wasn't a piece of tech thought to be an antenna to the Gods or something, or there wasn't an inane ritual, ceremony, or dance that needed to be performed to be granted access to study it.

He gazed at the distant sun, envying his teammates unawareness of its awesome power. They had no clue that the atmosphere was heating plasma to tens of millions of kelvins and accelerating electrons, protons, and ions to near the speed of light. It was awesome and scary as shit. All that resulting radiation across the electromagnetic spectrum could increase the ionization of the orbiting planet below, screw up communications, and damage all of their electronics.

In other words, this was a recipe for disaster and everything would be hefted onto his shoulders to pull their asses out of the fire if things went pear-shaped. Grabbing a power-bar, he started munching to stock up on brain energy.

“Honing in on the signal,” Sheppard reported. “Well, waddya know? There appears to be a building hanging out on the surface.” Throwing an accusing look in Rodney's direction, he adjusted their course. “Guess sensors are being more affected than we thought.”

“Weren’t we searching for something to begin with? Besides, hello. Hard X-rays. Just because the solar flares are producing low levels of interference doesn't mean they couldn't be wreaking havoc on our scans. A sun's got a lot of spunk.”

“Spunk? Really, McKay?” Sheppard began their decent and navigated toward a small mountain. “We'll just find a comfy little spot and settle down. Hopefully, there won't be any more surprises.”

Knowing that last jab was made at his expense, Rodney ran another scan, because hidden alien bases pinged on his 'be prepared for anything' radar. Apparently, it perked Ronon right up because he was leaning forward to peer out the windshield. They skirted close to the surface as John did a visual fly-by over kilometers of barren purple rock with scattered shades of rusty red. Rodney's computer confirmed large deposits of hematite and quartz, and an atmosphere composed of higher concentrations of CO2, although the air was still suitable for breathing.

“Just another inhospitable place. Think we should pick out a corner lot?” he asked to a few eye-rolls.

“Are there any life signs?” Teyla asked.

“I'm not showing anything,” Sheppard answered and nodded at Rodney. “You?”

“Nothing. Maybe it’s an automated signal.” Of course Rodney had uttered those words before and had them bite him in the ass.

“Well, we are explorers, so let's explore.” Sheppard landed on a flat stretch of nothing, powered down the jumper, and proceeded to check the safety of all his weapons. “Cautiously, of course.”

“Why doesn't that fill my heart with confidence?” Rodney tugged on the tether to his P-90 and packed his tablet into his rucksack. Eyes glued to his LSD, he whistled as he disembarked down the ramp. “Wow, according to these readings this place is huge. As in hanger bay huge. We're looking at the equivalent of an underground complex the size of a football stadium.”

“American or European?” Sheppard smirked.

Rodney didn't encourage his humor any further by acknowledging it. “This way. I found the source of the signal.” Glancing up, he realized the foothill of the mountain swallowed up all evidence of a facility, except for the large garage door looking thing. Boots crunching beneath their feet, they made it to the front of a thick layer of steel covered by inches of oxidation.

Staring at the mammoth entrance, John quirked an eyebrow at the alien keypad and what appeared to be a note with the combination of symbols needed to open it. “This is new,” he commented, fingers punching in the code and watching in shock when the massive door began opening with a groan.

“All that's missing is a welcome sign.” Rodney studied his LSD. “Still no life signs.”

Ronon twirled his blaster. “Doesn't mean anything.”

Teyla eased it down, back toward the holster. “Let's not invite any hostility.”

Shrugging, Ronon kept the holster strap unfastened.

“Alright, kids. Let's investigate.” John switched on the light attached to his weapon and everyone followed behind him. “Maybe we'll find a factory filled with ZMPs that need adoption.”

“Or maybe we'll stumble across a factory of T-1000s waiting to kill us.”

“Ever the optimist, McKay.”


----------

Flashlight rays refracted off their misty clouds of breath, and Rodney's shoulders shook from the biting cold. “There is a power source in here; I'm just having problems finding the exact location.”

“Good, maybe we can find a way to kick on the furnace.” Sheppard's light bobbled off walls in tandem with his own shivers, the beam illuminating an upcoming intersection. “I'm not seeing any breadcrumbs to follow. Any guesses?”

“No more of that Mini Mighty Moe stuff,” Ronon growled.

“We took a right in that cavern on M2P-167,” Teyla suggested.

“Isn't that when we ran into that pack of giant dogs?” Ronon asked.

“I do not believe so.” Teyla studied their choice in direction. “I think we discovered that litter of wawas on M2P-167. They were very cute.”

“Were those the neon blue rabbit things?” Sheppard stared about uselessly like a blind mole. “Could use something that glowed in the dark right about now.”

“Yes, that was them,” she smiled.

“Those horrible demon dogs were the size of small horses and it was M3P-191 where they terrorized us,” Rodney corrected. “Remember? They chased everyone up those old petrified trees and Sheppard almost got his foot chewed off.”

“Ruined a good pair of boots,” Sheppard mumbled. “We'll go right again. See where that takes us. Hopefully, McKay can see if we get farther away or closer to whatever is keeping that Radio Free Europe going.”

Shaking his head at their glorious team leader's tactical decision making for scouting out places, Rodney adjusted the perimeters of his LSD. “Huh...I'm reading a much larger power source here. More than enough to keep a—”

Ronon held up a fist and they all stilled and searched for signs of trouble. The big man cocked his head, weapon pointing in the darkness. “Something's coming.”

“Something?” Rodney whispered. With a .45 in one hand, his eyes flicked toward the blank LSD screen in the other. “Still got nada.”

“Doesn't matter,” Ronon warned, angling toward the sound only he could hear.

Sheppard and Teyla's weapons snapped in the same direction as Ronon's. Rodney swore his heart pounded louder than anything in an Edger Allen Poe novel. After several painful beats, he heard a set of footsteps approach. Whatever was making them wasn’t trying to hide their loud, rhythmic gait.

A person morphed out of the darkness, and as he got closer, a 'whoa' escaped Rodney's lips. The rest of his team tensed as the taller-than-Ronon figure was bathed by three sets of light. Rodney's weapon became slippery in his palm and he tightened his grip, swallowing at the...the thing.

Steel blue octagonal metallic plates covered the chest, smaller ones across both arms and legs. Its neck stuck out several inches and turned like a pivot. While the body was humanoid enough, the head was black and oblong, lacking ears or a defined chin. The face was an LED screen with circular eyes and a mouth of hundreds of dots curving into a glowing smile.

It walked like a human, knee and hips joints bending with the soft hiss of hydraulics, mechanical arms out in a semblance of welcome. “I am Ten. How are you today?”

Sheppard kept his P-90 trained on their metallic host. He stared at it with the same unease he would an Asgard or a cosmic killer clown. Trading looks with Teyla and Ronon, he then glanced at Rodney for an opinion.

What did he want him to magically do? Determine if this was an evil Cylon or Twiggy from Buck Rogers with a magical decoder ring?

Rodney shrugged and Sheppard grudgingly lowered his gun, signaling the rest of them to do the same. “Hi. We're uh...all fine. I'm Colonel Sheppard. This is my team, Ronon, Teyla, and Dr. McKay.”

It made long steady eye contact when each of their names was called. “Very pleased to meet you.”

The human quality of the voice was flawless except for a slight harmonic reverb. Over a com, it could be mistaken for someone who spoke English as a second language.

Rodney couldn't decide if they'd just hit the technology lottery or entered the set of 2001: A Space Odyssey. “What did you say your name was again?”

“I am Ten.”

“Ten?” Rodney repeated, incredulous. “Like in Doctor Who?”

Sheppard stifled a cough and Ten blinked rapidly. “I am unfamiliar with Unit Doctor Who.”

Large coils twisted out of the rear of its head and lead into his back, along what would be a human spinal cord. Similar thinner wires snaked out of his neck and slipped under the large chest plate. McKay was awed by the paradox of its sleek dark blue metal body and the Disney-like animated face.

“Well, Ten, it's nice to meet you, too.” Sheppard couldn't have faked his enthusiasm more if he tried, though it was doubtful the android was aware of it. “Are there anymore of you around?”

“I am the only one.” Ten stepped closer, towering over Sheppard by several head lengths, and stared curiously down on him. “I have been waiting for you to arrive.”

“Us specifically?” Sheppard waited for an answer. The android's eyes flickered again, but it didn't verbally respond. “Are you responsible for the communication signal?”

“Yes,” it answered without further explanation.

Teyla approached the metal giant as if dealing with a confused child. “Are you in need of something? Supplies or another type of assistance?”

“Yes!” it answered animatedly. “I would like to provide assistance.” Waving excitedly for them to follow, Ten turned and began walking. “Follow me.”

Keeping his voice low, Sheppard whispered, “Am I the only one detecting a screw loose?”

“It does not appear to be a replicator,” Teyla offered.

“Does it matter?”

Nodding, Sheppard agreed with Ronon. “Based on our spectacular past history with AIs, let's proceed with caution. McKay, keep scanning. I want to know the minute anything hinky comes up.”

“Right. Sprawling mysterious base bombarded by solar flares. Home of an advanced android that I could spend a lifetime studying, who happens to be named after a sci-fi icon and who needs a few tweaks to its personality program. I'll just...” Rodney waved his LSD. “Keep an eye out for anything hinky.”

“Glad we're on the same page,” Sheppard said, taking point.

------

Their host led them to a room stacked with towering equipment that reached to the peak of the ten-meter ceiling. Quickly scanning for harmful radiation or any other abnormal frequencies, Rodney breathed in relief that he still had a slim chance of bearing children.

This was the hub of all the android's activity, with rows of consoles and display screens all monitoring the solar system and the star that threatened to swallow it up in a burst of energy.

In the middle of the stuffed pack-rat room, Rodney watched the android watch them. Perhaps the whole constant staring thing should have pinged hinky, but his mind was filled with paradigms.

How was its artificial neural network set up? Similar to the Bayesian model perhaps? No, that used the expectation maximization algorithm. Maybe the Markov version, since that used filters for prediction during continuous streams of data.

Ohhh, did it simulate natural intelligence or use the elegance of logic and sub-symbolic processing?

“You're drooling, McKay.”

“What?”

Sheppard smirked and Rodney snapped out of his analytical daze.

“He is not salivating,” Ten stated, then stared at Sheppard. “But you were not speaking of fact.”

“No, it was just...you know? An expression.”

“A symbolic use of words,” it stated.

“Exactly,” Sheppard smiled.

“Yes, I know of these.”

“Fascinating,” Rodney mumbled. “I'm curious. You're not a replicator—our scanners would have picked up on any nanites—so you're mostly mechanical, probably using a kinematic chain for range of motion. How are your actuators, um, your muscles powered? Electrical, chemical, or is it some hybrid of—”

“Actually, we were wondering about the signal that drew us here,” Sheppard interrupted, shooting Rodney a save it for later expression. ”You mentioned waiting for us to arrive.”

Ten rotated its head side to side at them both.

Yeah, definitely using a sophisticated motor.

“I built the beacon to bring others here.”

“Why?” Ronon asked bluntly. “What do you want?”

“To help.”

Rodney eagerly bounced on his heels. “With what?”

“Whatever is needed. I am programmed to perform any task required. To fulfill the purpose of my designers.”

Rodney didn't know if he should spontaneously combust or break into song as he clamped his jaw shut before it fell to the floor.

------

“This is fascinating,” Rodney said for the sixth time. “According to these readings, the core of this system's sun has begun the process of fusing hydrogen and converting it into helium.” Rolling his hand as he spoke he looked up at the gathered team. “Basically, it’s at the beginning stages of collapse, raising its internal temperature and producing all those high level solar flares.”

“And?”

Rodney learned long ago not to roll his eyes in front of Ronon; instead he pulled himself away from years’ worth of data. “It means that this signal has been broadcasting for possibly tens of thousands of years and the bombardment of hard X-rays degraded it to where it was undetectable beyond this solar system.” Turning to glance at the android, he cleared his throat. “I need more time for a more accurate calculation, but I suspect that our friend here has been fruitlessly phoning home for a long time.”

It was a bit unnerving to be speaking of someone or something while it stood there listening.

“So, what you're saying is that this andr—that Ten has been here twiddling his thumbs since perhaps the time of the Ancients?” Sheppard concluded.

Teyla's face softened, her empathy obviously lost on the intended subject. Ronon simply looked bored.

“Give or take.” Now if only he could find a central database and download the rest of those elusive answers to his tablet.

As if the idea of being in a room with a machine that could easily kill them all wasn't tense enough, said android went from stillness to motion with a hydraulic hiss, causing them all to reach for their weapons.

Heedless of everyone's reactions, Ten walked right past them. “It is time to feed Fur.”

It walked gracefully despite mechanical joints supporting hundreds of kilograms. They all followed the technological wonder as it entered an adjoining room filled with heavy-duty green plastic cargo boxes. Lifting open the lid of the nearest one, Ten used a scoop to rummage through a mulch of grains and other foodstuff.

“Looks tasty,” Sheppard commented.

“It is organic matter that fulfills Fur's nutritional needs.” Ten poured the contents into a bowl then pumped water out of a barrel and into a second dish.

They all flinched at a high-pitched shrilling noise that passed for a whistle.

A blob of shaggy brown hair and floppy ears darted out of another room, its hind legs clacking loudly, and ran right into the wall. With a quick shake of its head, the animal bounded over toward dinner.

Teyla squatted to her haunches with a goofy grin. “Is this your pet?”

The dots of Ten’s mouth doubled into an idiotic smile.

Rodney could barely contain his excitement. Not only could it key in on facial cues, but it knew how to reciprocate in kind!

“Fur is my companion.”

Rodney contemplated breaking into a happy dance at those words, but he still valued his dignity.

“And this little guy didn't appear on the life sign's detector?” Sheppard hissed.

There was nothing like a bucket of ice water. “He's what? The size of a cat? With all the—”

“Do not worry for your secondaries' safety,” Ten addressed Sheppard. “Fur is the only biological unit living here.”

“My secondaries?”

“You are the primary, correct?” Ten inquired. “The other Units follow your command.”

Snapping his fingers, Rodney got everyone's attention. “It's monitoring our tells. Facial expressions, body language, vocal inflection. We're like an open book!” Staring at Ronon and Sheppard, he cleared his throat. “Okay, perhaps more like a blank manuscript and a coloring book.”

“You were saying something about this place being abandoned?” Sheppard asked. “Before we commence with the whole helping thing, I'd love to have a look around, you know, just to be sure.”

“I will get the mover.”

Bending down and opening its massive hands, Ten gave two short ear-piercing whistles and the ball of shaggy pelt bounced off the wall again before skittering across the floor into the android's palms. Tucking the animal against its side, the android disappeared down the hall in three quick hissing strides.

“Did you see that?” Rodney beamed. “I bet it can reach speeds of forty-five kilometers per hour.”

Sheppard adjusted the strap of his P-90. “I'm more worried about it returning and deciding we should all be assimilated.”

------

The facility was an encompassing place of nothing. Each empty room was like opening a Christmas present, and instead of getting a cool new toy, it was socks and underwear. They sat on a little flatbed car similar to those annoying vehicles used at airports, Ten driving them around with Fur in his lap.

“It might have been easier for him to tell us nothing was here,” Teyla observed as they rode through another empty chamber.

“But there used to be.” Flipping on his light, Sheppard guided it over the floor. “There are cables that line all four walls. This room's got to be forty by forty. That's a lot of wire.”

“And look at the ceiling,” Rodney observed. “It's been gutted. There used to be a lot of equipment in here.”

“The last six rooms have all been similarly stripped. Bolts in the floor, tons of empty electrical outlets. This outpost used to be a big operation of some sort.” Sheppard scanned the darkness. “There must've been an evacuation, and those living here took everything but the kitchen sink.” Staring at the back of Ten's head, he amended. “Almost everything.”


--------------

What was that old saying? Always save the best for last. McKay's eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets and Sheppard jumped out of their ride before it came to a stop. Ronon looked suitably impressed, which was saying a lot, and Teyla's eyebrows curved into arches.

“Can we get more light?” Sheppard called out, his voice echoing.

“No need to jog!” Rodney yelled, feet pounding to catch up.

Giddy as a teenager at prom, Sheppard circled the first ship, tracing his fingers over the front windshield. The craft was Ancient in origin; there was no mistaking the metallic alloy and the flow of lines and angles of the design. And unlike the boxy aspects of the jumper, the forward section and stern were narrower. Glider-wings replaced the drive-pods and the whole body was a dark steely black.

Damn was it sexy.

Sheppard couldn't keep his hands off it, playing with the small tail. “I bet this is even more maneuverable than the jumper, possibly faster. It's not meant for transportation, the cockpit and rear compartment are too small.”

“It looks meaner,” Rodney remarked.

“Oh, no,” John grinned, petting the ship with all the reverence of a prized thoroughbred. “She's a beauty.”

Ten stood next to Ronon, dwarfing him. “It is a fighter ship.”

Sheppard might have imploded in sheer glee. It was hard to tell. Ten smiled.

“Is it operational?” Please, please, say yes, Rodney prayed.

“I do not know. It requires an interface that I do not obtain.”

Oh my God, they'd just won the final round of Jeopardy.

Clapping his hands, Sheppard spun around, a glint in his eye. “I think it’s time we discuss that whole helping thing.”

“If I may, Colonel,” Teyla spoke aloud, her body shivering. “Before we begin a dialogue, perhaps we should ask Ten to turn up the heat?”

-----

The key to getting answers with a machine programmed by logic algorithms was asking direct questions. It was perfect: no commentary, no arguing, just information. Rodney could get used that. Ten was the ultimate wellspring of knowledge, willing and able to answer whatever he wanted to know.

The facility ran off solar power, but the star's activity degraded all outgoing communication signals. Environmental controls were a novelty when your exterior was composed of metal and wire and not flesh and blood.

The outpost had been a black-market research facility during the war between the Wraith and Ancients. A fringe group of scientists and ex-military used the space to manufacture weapons and other pieces of technology. The Ancients created the replicators so it wasn't unheard of that other groups might have made strides in robotics and artificial intelligence. When the star entered the first phase of becoming a red giant, all the radiation compromised the equipment and the researchers were forced to evacuate, taking everything with them.

“Why were you left behind?” Sheppard asked, nibbling on granola bar.

“The designers manufactured Eleven through Twenty-One. Each model was more advanced than my mine. There was only room for them.”

“They couldn't fit one more robot?” Ronon challenged.

“There were weight constrictions,” Ten answered.

Teyla listened, eying the fluffy animal playing at the android's large oval-shaped feet. “What happened?”

“I was set to standby mode with One through Nine, and we were connected to the mainframe. There was enough power to run our maintenance routines so that we could be reactivated if the designers returned. There was a surge; it overloaded my systems, triggering a reboot.”

“And your buddies?” Ten stared at Sheppard and the colonel amended. “Your fellow droids.”

“They were unrepairable. The biological matter of their neural networks was destroyed and the electrical surge overloaded their primary systems.”

“Wait a minute. Your AI is part organic? That's incredible!” Rodney didn't know where to begin. “Where we come from that approach was abandoned years ago. All our current research's been focused on statistics and signal processing. Your artificial neurons, are they—”

“About those fighter ships,” Sheppard interrupted, only caring about things that blew up or went really fast, and steering the conversation back toward those shiny new toys. “Is there any way we could poke around them? We might have the interface you lack to get them running again.”

----

Nothing got the ball rolling on a risky venture like the mention of Ancient fighter ships. Woolsey gave his stamp of approval on the expanded mission under certain conditions, and considering the upcoming docket of missions, the possibility of having new firepower might have the added benefit of expediting things on diplomatic fronts as well. John gave the assembled search teams their instructions, pinning a grid map onto a bulletin board in the middle of their 'control center.'

Before committing time and personnel to this outpost, they were going to damn well ensure its security. Once the place was swept and they confirmed there wasn't an army of robots or a secret underground bunker of hidden bodies, then he'd deem things clear for engineers and researchers to arrive.

Nose buried in his tablet, paying no attention to where he was going, Rodney almost bumped into him. “Be careful where you're standing.”

“I'll try not to be in the way next time,” John drawled.

“A good rule of thumb. Hey, why aren't you out there sniffing around with the other bloodhounds?”

“Because I've got four mixed units of military and civilians, and I don't want to be on the far end of the facility if I'm needed.” He did a quick radio check with the other teams and caught his teammate staring at him. “What?”

“You just don't want to be away from your precious,” Rodney teased with a bad Golem impression.

“The other two ships are in pretty bad shape with severe hull damage. One even has the right wing sheared off. They've seen some hellish fights, but that first one...” he couldn't help the smile. “She's mighty fine.”

“Be sure to wear protection when you go on the first date with her.”

“Just in case you haven't noticed during our six-month absence, the Wraith are in some kind of civil war, the coalition's not faring any better with their own power struggles, and suddenly we have allies who don't trust one another because of a series of attacks from an unknown group.”

“Oh, I forgot all about that. Silly me.”

John released a suffering sigh. Everyone was wound pretty tight. There were about half a dozen treaties hinging on the success of their upcoming mission to M2P-263. A simple signing and toast could slowly turn the tide. If they brokered an alliance with the Goft, then they would gain favor with the Tenniki and so on and so forth.

McKay waved a hand in front of John's face. “You're zoning out again.”

“All I'm saying is a fighter ship or two would be an extra show of force and an easier way to demonstrate to our antsy allies that we can take care of those new raiders who've been terrorizing people of late.”

“Because the puddle jumpers are such yesterday's model.”

It was bad enough leaving Pegasus without warning, but during their absence, political chaos had boiled over, and in the meantime, a heavily armed set of thugs had started terrorizing worlds.

Irritated, he glanced at the whiteboard, searching the list of teams for a certain physicist’s name. “Didn't I assign you to Teyla's team?”

“Nope, I told you not to,” McKay smiled smugly. “I've been busy discussing cybernetics with our host.”

McKay only reached these levels of enthusiasm when a new Marvel movie came out or Jennie sent him a package of Jamaican Blue coffee. John didn't get it. “You're one of the foremost experts on the replicators. Hell, you built Fran. Isn't Ten a bit low-tech for you?”

“Are you kidding me? Metropolis, THX1138, The Iron Giant—”

“C-3PO.”

McKay rolled his eyes, his voice almost reminiscent. “We’re talking about my childhood dreams. Not the perfection of replicators and their ‘we're better than humans’ attitude, but a real-life android. It's like I'm standing at the crossroads between the likes of Robbie the Robot and Data.”

John was surprised by his friend's candor. Like himself, McKay was a door not a window to his personal life, especially anything to do with childhood memories or fascinations. “Calm down. I know whatcha mean.” He smiled. “It does look kind of like something out of the Iron Man comic books.”

“Are you kidding me? First off, Iron Man wasn't blue and he didn't have an LED screen for a face.”

Sighing, John shook his head. “Did you happen to learn anything new about—”

“Hold that thought.” Rodney tapped his ear piece. “Yeah?....Okay. Seriously? For the love of...alright. I'll meet you there.” Eyes blazing, he shook his head. “Zelenka tripped over something and hurt his knee. They need me to replace him.”

Before John could utter 'go', Rodney shuffled off to meet up with Team Three. Doing a quick scan of assignments, John erased Radek's name off the whiteboard and scribbled in McKay's.

Soft hissing joints and the sound of metal on concrete announced the android’s arrival. It was like a video game come to life with its sleek body armor and wires. John kept waiting for it to pull out a giant raygun. The eyes and mouth, bright lights against the black computer screen, appeared to be 3-D. Sheppard verified the two marines following Ten around were hanging out a few meters away before he acknowledged the android with a nod.

“Unit Sheppard,” it spoke.

“Just Sheppard.”

Hundreds of tiny dots formed a brilliant U shape at him. John didn't know what to make of it yet. Ten had invited their teams to inspect the whole facility and continued offering to help in any capacity, including allowing them to repair the fighter ships and keeping them if they worked. It had a pet for heaven's sake, one it carried around with him all the time like a baby.

The animal's face and ears were covered by braids of shaggy brown hair. John saw its little pink tongue dart out from time to time, but it seemed content where the android held it against its chest, waving a paw at one of the wires around the android’s neck. He cleared his throat. “I'm curious. You said you've been living here all alone for some time. Thousands of years.”

“Yes.”

“Where'd ya get Fur?”

“From Fur's mother unit.”

He'd forgotten about going with the direct approach. “We calibrated our sensors and they detect Fur, but no other life forms. Is he the last one?”

“Yes,” it nodded. “Fur's mother and father units are no longer functioning.”

In other words, dead. But there was something nagging John. “And you got them from...?”

“The designers had animal companions. They left six with me. Fur was produced from their units.”

John had a hard time fathoming that little nugget. “You've been inbreeding your pets this whole time?” Ten titled its head downward, extending its neck a few inches, eyes blinking on and off like a strobe. John knew it was trying to understand his question, so he went with a yes-or-no statement. “All of your pets have been produced from the previous ones?”

“Yes.” Its head straightened and tilted to the side in a humanesque manner. “Do you feel this is in error?”

“No.” Crap. How did John explain this? “I mean, it happens in the wild all the time. But using the same you know... same family… over and over again—I'm not a scientist, but doesn't that cause medical problems?”

Ten stroked his companion’s fuzzy head with fingers that could easily crush its skull. “Yes. Degradation of the immunological system, respiratory system, and heart function. Deformity of the...”

John tuned out all the health issues, not really wanting the whole inventory. Ten might've gone on all day if he didn't interrupt. “And Fur?”

It put the little guy down, and it was the first time John had noticed the animal's mechanical back legs, tiny wires disappearing into its coat. “I have repaired the spinal, digestive, and autonomic malfunctions. His higher brain routines were inoperable, but I help with all of his needs.”

John was both impressed and sickly horrified. Mainly horrified.

For the first time, Ten's mouth became a flat line of light, his normally circular eyes almond shaped. “Why does this upset you?”

He was walking down a tricky moral path. Knowing that the android monitored his facial expression, John smiled. “If Fur is happy, I'm sure that's good enough.”

Ten stared at him, eyes flashing, then scooped up his pet with one quick motion, the android stood to its full imposing height. “You are not engaged in an active task. Do you wish to inspect the inside of the fighter ship some more?”

A rush of adrenaline spiked through him. Teams weren't scheduled for a check-in for another thirty minutes and John had his radio. “Hell, yeah.”

His preliminary examination of the interior had been brief but enough to warrant their investigation. Any pilot worth his wings could tell quite a bit about a ship from the outside and a scan of the cockpit, but he'd been jonesing for a more thorough review of the flight instruments and onboard computers.

Ten waited for John, his furry buddy curled in a ball in one hand, and easily forced open the three-hundred pound hatch. The ship was without power and John entered, feeling around with his hands toward the forward compartment.

Two bright beams illuminated the rest of the way for him, and with a quick backward glance, John noticed two spotlights that came out of the clavicle area of the android. “Thanks.”

Keeping its head ducked so it wouldn't smack the ceiling, Ten followed behind and stood right outside the cockpit where it would have a hard time fitting easily. “Are you a pilot of many ships?”

Sliding into a leather seat that felt tailor made for him, John curled his hands around the yoke. “You could say that.”

“And this is your primary function?”

“One of them, but it's the one I love the most.” Smiling, he rubbed his fingers across the panel, studying the dormant screens and the extra control panels, imagining all the cool shit they might control. “I can't wait to see her powered up.”

“Her?”

He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Figure of speech.”

“I have reviewed the mechanics of flight, but I have not been in any type of orbit.”

“Really?” John turned around in his seat. “Well, if we can get this bird operational, I'll take you up with me.”

“You will?”

“Of course.” John shook his head, appalled. “Studying until your eyes bleed is still nothing compared to the real thing. Trust me.”

His radio squawked in his ear and John taped his com, the words static. “Col-- can you---r'd---us...we've....g..it...”

“Come again, over,” John responded. Getting the same gobbledygook, he spoke over the muffled voice. “You're breaking up. Give me a second. I might be somewhere with interference.”

He stood quickly, the abrupt action spooking Fur. All John saw was the animal leaping away from Ten with a high-pitched squeal. John tried side stepping the pet and Ten tried grabbing the frazzled critter with its giant hands, his mounted spotlights blinding John.

It was a comedy of errors, because John zigged when he should have zagged and he lost his balance or tripped or something. All he knew was the sharp pain of his temple cracking against the side of the ship and the ringing in his ears.

---

Rodney came running when he heard the frantic bursts of panic over the radio. It'd only been twenty minutes since he'd talked to Sheppard. Teyla was ahead, outpacing him in ridiculous fashion. They weren't far from the hanger, and by the time they both arrived, he spotted Sheppard seemingly in tact and busy keeping a team of marines at bay.

“Like I said, false alarm,” Sheppard said, waving for them to stand down. “There was a mishap and I hit my head.”

Teyla took Sheppard's elbow and led him toward a chair, the large android hovering close by to the dismay of the antsy jarheads. “Are you alright, John?” she asked, running her hands through his hair and pausing when he winced. “Sorry.”

“I'm fine. We were inside the ship, and when I stood too quickly, it scared the fuzz ball. I tripped over a few things and smacked my skull.” Glaring at the marines, he added, “It was my own fault.”

Clattering feet signaled Ronon's arrival, gun in hand. Several more marines followed.

“Would everyone just calm down?” Sheppard implored and rubbed at his head. “Please.”

“Would you try not to brain yourself the moment I turn my back on you?” Rodney demanded.

“Everyone get back to your search grid.” When no one moved, Sheppard growled, “Now.”

Those without the capability of individual thought complied. Sheppard's team did not.

“Are you sure you do not need to be examined? Dr. Fowler is here. She could—”

“I'm good,” Sheppard assured Teyla. “I just smacked my head.”

“In which time your brain could have swollen up to the size of a balloon,” Rodney huffed, arms crossed in front of him.

“Then you can pop it,” Sheppard challenged.

“If you keel over, you owe me dessert for a week.”

“If I keel over, it won't matter. But if makes you feel better, I’ll have Fowler check me out.”

Rodney didn't have a snappy retort and stared up at Ten's big, glowing blue eyes. “If you think this is an example of normal human behavior, just erase this from memory, because it’s not.”


--

After five hours of poking through empty rooms and verifying that not even tumbleweeds were present, Rodney finally plopped down in the folding chair and nearly toppled over. “Oh, for crying out...”

“Are you alright?” Teyla asked as she pulled her ponytail free.

Adjusting how his ass sat in the chair, he settled his tablet on the card table and peeled away the wrapper of his MRE. “Fine, if you call this lawn chair a real piece of furniture. The manufacture is probably subsidized by chiropractors.”

Sliding in the chair next to him, Teyla pondered the dinner selection and grabbed the third MRE. “Shouldn't you take a short break? Certainly, you are tired after our search.”

Spreading a layer of cherry jelly on his cracker, he took a giant bite and dusted the crumbs from his keyboard. “Walking aimlessly around an abandoned outpost doesn't require much thought.”

“Maybe I'll sign you up for double duty on the next shift.”

“Oh, please.” Rodney peered up at Sheppard as he straddled the chair across from him. “My multitasking skills run circles around anything you throw at me. But,” he held up a finger, “I don't think you want to spend the next thousands years here, so may I suggest you leave me off the next round of scut duty so I can properly analyze the solar activity before we all become permanent guests.”

“And what's the possibility of that happening?” Sheppard demanded.

Tabbing down at the latest data, he shrugged. “Won't know until I utilize Ten's equipment. Unless I take a jumper out to do a scan.”

Tearing into the MRE, Sheppard waved a fork at him. “You just want a chance to dig around that lab.”

“Maybe. But you have your toys, I have mine. Besides, anything I gleam from here can only help us in the future.”

“You have a point,” Sheppard agreed, plowing his fork into the instant mashed potatoes.

Ronon grabbed the remaining chair, scraping the legs across the floor, and flashed him a smile when Rodney glared at him. Snagging two MREs, he started digging in without further comment. A working dinner was nothing new; Rodney solved some of his toughest problem when simultaneously refueling his brain. Although if he wanted true peace and quiet, joining in a team meal wasn't a suitable environment.

“Where is Ten?” Teyla broke the silence that had settled.

“He mentioned feeding Fur.” Sheppard shoveled more food into his mouth and proceeded to answer despite the fact. “I sent one of the marines to keep an eye on him just in case.”

Sipping a bottle of water, Teyla licked away a drop from her bottom lip. “You do not trust him?”

“There are many levels of trust.” Sheppard pushed his meal away, slouching back in his chair in a way that shouldn't be possible. “Do I think he's going to kill us all? No. But I prefer being cautious. I'd rather go slowly. Knowing what he's been doing for thousands of years would be helpful.”

There was a loud clearing of the throat and Rodney looked up to see the team staring back at him. Damn, he hated when that happened. “What?”

“You have spent the most time with him.”

Hitting save, Rodney closed down his work to glare at Sheppard. “Honestly, it's not the easiest thing in the world to pry specific information from him. Once he starts talking on a subject, it's hard to get him steered back to a single one.”

Ronon smirked. “Sounds a lot like you.”

“You're a laugh riot.” Inspecting his choice of fruit, Rodney popped a grape into his mouth. Sourness overwhelmed taste buds and he spat it out. Wiping his lips with a napkin, he felt an air of impatience boil up around him. “I don't know much. He cleans a lot.”

“Cleans?”

“Yes, Colonel. A very foreign concept for a guy who throws everything in a closet in his quarters.”

“Stop breaking into my room.”

Rodney resisted throwing the rest of his grapes at the man. “There's not a single layer of dust in this entire outpost. Actually, this whole place is pretty hypoallergenic.”

“McKay.”

“The water table of this planet is hundreds of kilometers down,” Rodney explained. “He's constructed a number of drilling platforms to tap it, but without the proper diamond drill bits, it takes months to reach the needed levels. The repair and maintenance is unimaginable.”

“To keep his pets alive?” Ronon asked unconvinced.

“Impressive, huh?”

Because really? Did anyone understand the scope of such accomplishments? Rodney had a hard time fathoming it himself.

“That is very,” Teyla searched for the right word, “dedicated.”

“All part of his programming,” Rodney rebuked quickly. “He was built like most machines—to serve his creators.”

“Fur isn't his creator,” she pointed out.

“No, but the fuzz bucket is his responsibility, and keeping an animal alive here takes immense problem solving,” Rodney found himself defending. “Not to mention all the data he's gathered on the solar system. He’s explored and mapped out this entire hemisphere. He even terraformed the land to grow food. Again, for his pets over the years.”

Ronon snagged Sheppard's leftovers. “That’s it?”

“Well, I'm not sure.”

Teyla shook her head at Rodney. “I could not imagine living in such solitude. Perhaps being a machine is a blessing.”

“Yeah, and I thought being stuck in a jumper for two weeks was a nightmare.” If only Rodney could scrub those memories from his brain.

“You had other people there,” Ronon reminded him. “I once went six months without talking to another human.” The big guy rarely stared off into space, his food-laden fork hovering in midair. “It bothered me a lot for a while. Then the few times I ventured out toward a population long enough to speak to anyone, the Wraith would cull that town. So, I avoided them at all costs.”

Rodney didn't know what words to use at a time like this. Thank goodness Teyla did.

“That must have been very lonely.”

Ronon shrugged, snapping out of his reverie. “It kept people alive. You get used to it.” Teyla squeezed his hand, the big man smiled at her gesture of kindness.

“When I was little, there were many times where I was separated from my family, not more than a few days at a time during hunting or long travels. When Michael took my people, I felt incredibly isolated. Even though I was surrounded by my team and those on Atlantis, it was like I was trapped.”

“When I was exiled to Siberia, I was forced to work with people who only spoke Russian,” Rodney growled indignantly. “Of course, when they screwed things up, which was more often than not, suddenly they spoke fluent English when they came begging me for help.” No wonder working on the chair in the Antarctic had been like a vacation compared to his previous accommodations.

With the wet wool blanket draped over them all, Rodney wasn't about to let Sheppard off the hook. “Let me guess, McMurdo was the lowest pit of loneliness for you?”

“No,” Sheppard drawled, obviously not in the mood to discuss it.

“Seriously? What's lonelier than being a taxi service for a bunch of geeks?” Rodney pressed.

“I...” Sheppard scowled. “It was...”

Rodney hated the need for the dramatic. “Are you sure you don't have a head injury? How many fingers am I holding up?” he questioned, thrusting his hand in front of Sheppard's face.

“Forget it,” the man growled.

“No, no, no. We all had show and tell. It's only fair that you share.”

“You're right. It was McMurdo. The place sucked.” Standing, Sheppard pushed in his chair. “I have to check in with the security patrols, then I'm getting some shut-eye 'till 0400 when Lorne takes over.”

Sheppard was barely out of earshot before Teyla gave Rodney the look that caused both fear and guilt. “You should not have pushed the subject.”

“Come on. I know Sheppard safeguards his past like he does gate codes, but it doesn't mean he can't try on occasion.”

Okay, now Ronon was giving him the same damn look.

With dinner finished, everyone got up to do their own thing, leaving Rodney the choice of catching up with Colonel Sulk or going another round of twenty questions with the walking technological miracle.

The quest for knowledge was too strong. He'd show up at Sheppard's quarters with a beer and the two of them could kill a few hours playing Star Craft when they got back to Atlantis.

------

The astronomic instruments were an impressive smorgasbord of other alien technologies and Ancient tech. Deeks of archeology would be all about getting his greedy mitts on this stuff, but he'd have to wait—like in never. The data wasn't promising; the sun's photosphere was giving off B6 to C1 waves and seriously threatening the timetable of the mission.

Speaking of, after a few hours of the discussion of neural pathways, his companion was quietly pecking away at a counsel.

“What are you doing?”

Without turning, Ten replied, “I am writing.”

“Really?” Curious, he wandered over and glanced at the overhead screen, staring with disbelief. “Is that poetry?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Creativity wasn't something one could program.

Pivoting its oblong head around, bright blue eyes shrunk to marbles before growing back to normal. “Would you give your opinion?”

No, no, no, Rodney wasn't a fan of art. “Poems are not my thing. Got a failing grade for my haiku, but I had mad limerick skills that my professor found no appreciation for.” Ten smiled blankly, waiting, and Rodney clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Alright then. Let's see what we’ve got here.”

The room is empty
I stand inside
It is not
I stand outside
Nothing
I stand

Fur enters
I stand
The room is not empty
Fur leaves
I stand

I stand
In the room
I stand

—Ten




“Well...um...technically it's fine.”

“Can you quantify your opinion?”

Rodney would rather play one of Ronon's sadistic Satedan games. “As in give it a score out of one to five?”

“One to one thousand would be a more beneficial assessment.”

Ya think? “Um, sure. I mean…I'm not a literary expert and academics weren’t ever my thing.”

Producing a filament out of the tip of its finger, Ten inserted the wire connection into the console. “I will produce the first hundred for your review.”

Gulping, Rodney stared at the screen. “The first hundred?”

The astronomical console started beeping and Rodney nearly ran into Ten in his hurry to get over there. His first thought was thank goodness, saved by the bell. Then he studied the readouts and scrambled for his radio.

----

Sheppard rounded the corner, weapon at the ready, screeching to a halt before he collided with the rest of his expecting team. Ronon waited for their team leader to finish catching his breath from his sprint across the outpost. “Gonna tell us what’s wrong now?”

Rodney didn't beat around the bush. “We have to evacuate.”

“What? Why?” Sheppard demanded, lowering his P-90 and looking all the world like he needed a nap.

“I don't have time to teach a course on the physics of solar flares,” Rodney snapped in exasperation. “Look. According to all indications, we're about to experience X-class waves and we need to be long gone before that happens.”

“But there were only B-class ones when we arrived,” Teyla pointed out.

“Yes, yes, but didn't I say such activity is unpredictable?” Rodney countered. “I'm thinking this little window for our visit is much smaller than first estimated.”

“You don't say?” Sheppard growled. “What type of danger are we in?”

Thank goodness he'd never considered teaching, because Rodney didn't have the patience for questions. “This system's sun started producing C-class waves, which are going to make navigating the jumper tricky, but I'm sure Colonel ‘I Can Fly Anything’ won't sweat it. The real crisis is that we're a couple of days away from experiencing M-class waves, and according to the data I started reviewing, this solar system has been bombarded by X-class waves for the last few decades. We're definitely in a lull to another giant buildup.”

“I'm guessing those are bad?”

Rodney didn't take Sheppard's sarcastic bait. “Each class has a peak flux ten times greater than the preceding one. An M2 flare is twice as powerful as an M1 flare and four times more powerful than a C5 flare. You do the math. We're talking about peak fluxes at 10 to the fourth power. Get it?”

His typical lackadaisical approach to life aside, Sheppard was no dummy. The man was thirty credit hours away from a PhD in Aeronautics, a fact Rodney found out by accident when he was bored one day.

The colonel mentally shifted gears, and all previous signs of tiredness vanished as he spoke. “I'll start an evac of our people. You said we're not in immediate danger?”

“No, this isn't our usual run for our lives with three minutes left. A star doesn't work that way. We safely have around thirty-six hours, but anything over would be pushing it.”

Nodding, Sheppard looked longingly at the hanger bay. “Could we get one of the fighter ships operational by then?

“Are you certifiable?” Rodney's voice jumped an octave. “No, not even with full crews working night and day. We don't even know the first thing that's wrong with them.”

“The Daedalus,” Teyla spoke. “She was supposed to return to Earth two days ago, but it was delayed.”

Snapping his fingers, Rodney beamed. “You're a genius.”

“Our engineers could transport her into the hanger bay,” Sheppard grinned. “Caldwell's gonna love landing on the surface.”

“Will we be able to join you?”

The question caught them all off guard, and they turned toward the android, Fur's tail happily tapping against one of Ten’s giant octangular chest plates.

“Um...maybe we should call a time-out?” Sheppard suggested. “Perhaps you could double-check McKay's calculations about our time frame?”

“Hey?” Rodney squawked.

“I already—”

“A triple check would be useful in this situation,” Sheppard told the android.

“I will go over them one more time,” Ten replied.

It was the first time Rodney had ever seen the android's mouth in a lax smile.

Sheppard watched Ten leave, waiting for the hissing hydraulics to fade to nothing before addressing the team, eyes falling specifically on Rodney. “There's no way he can come with us.”

“Why? Do you know the advances we could make with—”

“He's a security risk.”

God, why was the man so damn logical the one time Rodney wanted him to ignore reason. “You’ve completed a threat assessment, certainly—”

“A partial threat assessment for our direction here. Not as a guest on Atlantis.”

“Will you stop interrupting me? Thank you.” Sheppard glared and Rodney lifted his chin in defiance. “It's not like he's gonna go all Terminator on us.”

“All what?”

“Please,” Rodney scoffed at Sheppard's confused expression. “I know you think he's about to bust out an I'll be back.”

Sheppard bristled. “I have no idea what you're—”

“He's not a replicator,” Rodney implored.

Sensing the growing tension in the air, Teyla turned to Rodney. “You said he was programmed to help humans?”

“Yes.”

“Could he have a directive that prevents him from harming anyone?”

She had a valid question, one he wished he could guarantee a hundred percent. “I don't know. I'd have to study his programming code and it's much less sophisticated than the replicators, not to mention that his brain is constructed with organic matter which only—”

“The fact of the matter is...” Sheppard paused sheepishly at cutting Rodney off again. “We simply don't have time to analyze this.”

“We're just going to leave him for another thousand years? Perhaps he'll grow a rock garden to talk to since his genetically degraded pet's lifespan is probably at, hmm, let me see....”

“Look, McKay. I feel sorry for it.”

“We have been calling him a he for the last day now,” Teyla interjected and looked to their silent teammate for his thoughts.

Ronon shrugged. “Don't ask me. I don't trust computers.”

Rodney knew Sheppard was being all military, but deep inside, he had a soft spot for sob stories. Ten might be nothing but a machine to the colonel, but even Sheppard hated the idea of leaving the android behind in a virtual prison for possibly years. “Don't you think we could use his expertise in getting that fighter ship running? Even you said that having those around would help reinforce our prowess.” He had him hooked. Sheppard was avoiding eye contact. “Didn't you promise you'd take him up in the air? You said something about it over breakfast.”

He felt dirty at stooping so low, but Sheppard faltered and Rodney could smell the sweet taste of victory. “It would be like Luke taking R2 up for a ride.”

“Don't push your luck.”

“I'm not pushing anything,” he replied innocently.

Rodney had Sheppard at checkmate. He just didn't know it yet.

----------

Advising Woolsey and Caldwell of their current predicament and need of assistance didn't require too much arm wrestling, especially when John used every opportunity to mention the words Ancient fighter ships. The Daedalus did an extraction and their engineers gladly handled the equipment transfer. The whole taking on an additional passenger required a lot more convincing, and he stuck McKay on the com to bludgeon them into submission.

Seven hours later, his teams and said fighter ships were safely on board, as was one android and his furry pal. Ten was under guard and John safely avoided the bridge, away from Caldwell's scowl. Granted, they were the same rank now after John's promotion a few months ago on Earth, but that didn't change the fact that a colonel of his ship was forced to taxi their asses and a potential threat back to Atlantis.

His and McKay's post-mission check up was completed first so they could have a private discussion with Woolsey before the regular debriefing, ruining John's hopes of a clean getaway to the mess hall, a shower, then his bed. All in that order.

McKay fidgeted next to him, and a headache that had been slowly gnawing away at the back of his skull decided to dig its feet in. “You can sit you know,” he hissed at him.

“You're standing,” McKay hissed back.

“Because if I sit down, I might not get up again.” John had never gotten his scheduled shut-eye at the outpost before the countdown to killer solar rays had begun.

“I hate these types of summons,” McKay complained. “Reminds me of being hauled to the principal’s office.”

“Since when were you ever sent to the principal’s?”

“Hello? I almost blew up my high school chem lab. I was technically in middle school, but Timmy Foster dared me to—”

John quirked an eyebrow. “You blew up a lab?”

“I said almost,” McKay wagged his finger. “There's a difference. And don't tell me that you didn't see your fair share of the principal during your pre-fly boy days. I bet you were a real hell-raiser.”

He quirked the ends of his lips. “Maybe.” John frowned because he'd done some really stupid crap in school, but he couldn't think past his headache of a single story to top McKay's.

His musings were interrupted by Woolsey's entrance. Their boss rounded his desk and leaned back in his leather chair before resting his gaze on them. “So, explain to me again why we have a seven foot android in our jumper bay.”

----------

Having anticipated security concerns, John had worked out protocols with McKay during their ride on the Daedalus. Ten was under constant guard and confined to an area of the jumper bay locked behind a giant electromagnetic field that could short out the android's systems if he walked past it, while allowing him to work on the fighter ships with the engineers until further notice. Add in a tracking device and a gentle reminder that Todd had once been a guest, and they'd been dismissed along with a preliminary report due in the morning.

Having freshly showered, John pulled on some sweats and a fresh t-shirt. Feeling drained but not ready for bed quite yet, he grabbed a beer from his mini-fridge and snagged his laptop, adjusting his pillow to lean against it. Powering his computer on, he moused over his favorite movie files, trying to decide what to veg out to. He paused on the most viewed queue, his eyes glossing over.

Top Gun
Speed
Star Wars
Terminator
Die Hard
Spiderman
Enter the Dragon
Gladiator
Hard Boiled
Aliens
Men in Black
The Matrix


After staring blankly at his collection, he cursed McKay for screwing around with his computer. He didn't recognize half the movies there and he wasn't in any mood for practical jokes.

Closing his eyes, he rolled the mouse around and clicked on Aliens to see if it was any good.

---

Sleeping in was a rare occurrence, but there wasn't a mission on the docket and there’d been a six-hour lag between Atlantis and the outpost. He missed his run with Ronon, cruising through the mess for a late breakfast and swallowing his oatmeal and waffles while reading over the previous night's security reports.

He still had to type up something for Woolsey, then join Lorne later to review the marine captain rotations and assign personnel for the fighter ship detail to match up with the science departments. And ugh. They had to make headway on their strategy for locating the raider groups. Once that stupid treaty was signed this week, it would lay the groundwork for getting eyes and ears on the ground.

But first, it was time to get his ass kicked, or in other words, spar with Ronon. He'd promised to undergo more conditioning since their return to Pegasus seven months ago, and John was already behind on the aggressive regiment. Getting his clothes together to work-out, he paused, kneading a sudden band of tension at his temples.

Drawing a deep breath, he made a quick trip to his medicine cabinet for a few aspirin as the pain grew worse.
--


Ronon was warming up when John entered the gym. Of course Ronon's version of loosening muscles was beating on a heavy bag. Stretching, John began a few calisthenics to get the blood pumping, shedding his surroundings to get into the proper zone to spar.

Bending his left leg on the bench, he momentary flashed to another gym reeking of sweat and dirty socks and a large man with a high and tight yelling at him.

“Hey, Sheppard?”

Snapping out of it, John found Ronon shaking his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Just got lost for a second.”

Stepping back, Ronon gave him the once over and handed John a banto's stick. “You need to focus.”

Accepting the stick, John rolled his shoulders and followed Ronon to the mat. “No problem.”

He really should have listened.

---


“Chapter Two”