Work Text:
Puzzles
By Kerr Avon
Chapter 1 - Cave-In
The sun was warm as the waves gently lapped the sand. Major John Sheppard lay on a beach towel soaking up the rays, as kids in swimsuits raced splashingly past. The breeze tanged of sea-salt and ocean spray, just enough to keep it comfortable. Tan girls in bikinis strolled provocatively past as if they knew just how beautiful they were and wanted to flaunt it. Occasionally John would prop up on his elbows to watch the parade; sometimes he would even wink. If he was really lucky, they might wink back…
“Come on, Major, stay with me here.” A man’s voice, painted with worry, interrupted the beach scene. Major John Sheppard groaned and tried to roll over, to go back to the tropical paradise, but the gentle slapping of a hand against his cheek pulled him towards painful awareness instead.
Squinting open his left eye, he peered though the dimness to focus blearily on a slightly pudgy astrophysicist. “This had better be good, McKay,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “I was in the middle of a fabulous dream.” He slowly became aware of some miniature construction worker apparently trying to drill his way out of his skull with a jackhammer.
McKay sat back on his heels, relief washing over his face. “Oh, Thank God. I thought you were…well, never mind.” He turned an intense gaze back to Sheppard, who noticed that the scientist appeared significantly grubbier than was his wont. He opened his other eye as Rodney continued. “Listen, Beckett says that you might have a concussion, and that I’m supposed to keep you awake and quiet. So, I’d appreciate a little assistance on your part.”
The pounding was getting worse and all he wanted to do was to let oblivion take him; better yet, he wouldn’t mind going back to that dream-Kauai…
He was unaware of his eyes drifting closed until McKay slapped him again, this time somewhat harder. His eyes popped open. “Stop that,” he growled warningly.
“Then you have to stay awake.” Rodney’s eyes darted back and forth as he tried to think of something to capture the Major’s attention. As Sheppard’s lids began to lower, he asked urgently, “Major, do you know where we are?”
‘Aw, jeez, why me?’ Taking a deep breath, the pilot glanced about his surroundings hoping for a clue. They appeared to be a stone room that had seen better days. Late-afternoon sunlight filtered in through a jagged defect in the wall about ten feet above them, illuminating a ten-foot by fifteen-foot roughly rectangular enclosure. Boulders and rocky debris were scattered about the floor, and there was dust everywhere. The far wall was covered with carved alien words and diagrams…
“PXS-4J6,” he replied with a sigh.
“And what were we doing here?” Rodney spoke quickly so as to not lose the Major’s concentration.
“McKay…”
“If you don’t want the questions, then stay awake.” Rodney sounded affronted.
Giving up temporarily on the idea of a little nap, Sheppard sighed. “As usual, looking for a ZPM on another God-forsaken hellhole. This time, with earthquakes.”
McKay let loose his breath with a whoosh, then managed a faint smile. “That’ll do.” He keyed his mike, which miraculously still worked. “Carson, he’s awake, knows who he is, where he is, and why he’s here.”
A tinny voice crackled back with a brogue, “That’s good, Rodney. What’s the last thing he remembers?”
McKay turned back to the prostrate soldier. “You heard the doctor; what’s the last thing you remember?”
“The sky falling.”
McKay looked towards the ceiling as if Beckett were there. “You get that?”
“Sounds like he’s oriented, all right. Keep him awake and talking.”
“That’s a lot easier said than done.”
“You’re a genius, so you keep telling us. Think of something. We’re digging as fast as we can, but it’s slow going - the roof keeps trying to cave in on us, and the two of you injured is enough. Beckett out.”
Rodney rolled his eyes in disgust. “Now isn’t that reassuring. Oh, no you don’t!” he exclaimed as the soldier started to waft away. A few firm pats on his cheek had the Major awake, eyes blazing.
“Would you stop that!” he hissed.
McKay thought frantically for ways to keep the Major engaged, then brightened as an idea occurred to him. “Did you ever figure out that last puzzle I sent you?”
John groaned. ‘Not now…’
The day after he’d let it slip that he’d passed the MENSA test, he stopped at his desk on the way to breakfast to find the neat piles of “To Do” OER’s shoved aside, and a note with Rodney’s distinctive scribble displayed prominently in the cleared space. Sighing, Sheppard picked it up, expecting a demand to come and ‘touch something’ immediately. Instead, he read: “Write down the next two numbers in the sequence: 1, 10, 3, 9, 5, 8, 7, 7, 9, 6, ?, ?”. He frowned in confusion, ‘What in the world…?’ The light bulb blinked on. ‘He’s testing me!’ Sheppard grinned. Leave it to Rodney to obsess on how ‘smart’ somebody was when they were three weeks away from becoming Wraith kibbles. He ran the series in his head, then jotted down “11, 5”. Too easy.
The look on Rodney’s face as he casually handed it to him in the Mess Hall a few minutes later had been priceless. He had to give McKay style points for his forced impassivity as the scientist casually asked between mouthfuls, “So, how long did it take you?”
Sheppard shrugged as he sipped his coffee. “Ten or fifteen seconds? I just stopped by my desk on my way here.”
He mentally subtracted ‘cool points’ as McKay choked, requiring Zelenka to pound him on the back as he forcefully coughed up egg-substitute from his trachea. Temporarily giving up on looking nonchalant, Rodney scowled as he caught his breath. He yanked a pen from his pocket and with a determined frown wrote rapidly on his napkin, then thrust it at the pilot.
Bemused, the Major looked at what was written. “Sally likes 225 but not 224; 900 but not 800; 144 but not 145. Does she like 1600 or 1700?”
“Well, that depends,” he drawled, handing the paper back to the astrophysicist. “The easy answer is ‘1600’, because they’re all perfect squares. However, you could make a good case for 1700 as well.”
Rodney’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as Zelenka plucked the paper out of his hand. “How do you figure that?”
“Well, she could simply like numbers in which the sum of the digits plus the number of the digits equals twelve. That would make 1700 correct instead.”
Rodney shook his head in disbelief. “What?”
Zelenka started tapping the paper excitedly. “No, no, he is right! Look here - 2 plus 2 plus 5, then add 3 because of three digits - equals twelve. Nine plus three, again for the three digits in nine hundred, equals twelve. But 1 plus 6 plus 4 is only eleven, while 1 plus 7 plus 4 is twelve!” He peered over his glasses at Sheppard in surprise and murmured, “Brillant.”
Rodney yanked the napkin out of the engineer’s hand. “Let me see that!” Sheppard just smirked as he watched McKay pour over the problem, lips moving as he mumbled to himself. The scientist’s eyes widened as he reached the same conclusion as the Czech. He then raised them to fix Sheppard with a challenging stare. “Granted, you’re good at math. But so was ‘Rain Man’; I’m not excluding the possibility of idiot savant.” Tapping his pen on his upper lip, he stared thoughtfully into space. “Hmmm….let’s see….”
Deciding that he had better things to do than watch Rodney cogitate, the Major scooted back his chair. “Tell ya what; when you come up with something, let me know; meanwhile, I need to meet Teyla for hand-to-hand practice, then see Weir about possible evac sites.” He nodded to the two men. “If you’ll excuse me?”
Rodney waved him off distractedly. “Sure, sure. Find you later,” he muttered as he began scribbling furiously again.
Chapter 2 - The Competition
"Come on, Major. I need you to stay with me here!"
'Huh? Did I fall asleep again?' Sheppard's eyes popped open as he felt Rodney's no-longer-quite -so-gentle slaps impact his cheeks. Aloud, however, he hissed, "Beckett's not likely to approve of the bruises you're giving me, Rodney. Cut it out."
The scientist sat back on his heels, letting his breath out in a loud whoosh. "Yeah, well you've been out cold again for fifteen minutes. Talk to me; Beckett and company are doing a real bang-up job of reaching us an inch at a time, and every time you fade out I don't know if…well, nevermind. I need you to talk to me!"
Sheppard sighed; he could hear the unspoken worry audibly dripping from McKay's frustrated shout. 'I don't know if…you'll ever wake up again' had been the logical completion of the sentence. The pilot gulped as he imagined Rodney's position; Alone with an injured teammate, medical help tantalizingly close but yet unavailable, an agonizing wait in the near-dark with no company, wondering if your charge…no, your friend was dying…He couldn't put the man through that. They still had those approaching Wraith to face. Together.
Setting his lips in a grim line, he demanded, "Help me sit up."
Rodney sounded worried, "Beckett said to keep you still."
Sheppard schooled his voice to sound reasonable. "McKay, if you want me to stay awake, you'll help me prop up against that boulder." He gestured to a nearby chunk of what until recently had been ceiling. As the astrophysicist reached to hit his comm, the Major hastily added, "And don't ask Beckett; he'll just say 'no'." He smiled as Rodney froze, and would have shaken his head if he hadn't been sure it would explode. "Rodney, Rodney, Rodney…When are you ever going to learn that 'It's easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission.'"
"Old Air Force saying?" McKay inquired, hooking an arm beneath Sheppard's and hoisting him into a more upright posture.
John winced as the jackhammer had babies. "Army, actually."
McKay grunted with the effort, but within a few minutes he had Sheppard firmly propped up where he had requested. Sheppard frowned in concern; there had been something awkward in the scientist's movements…"What's wrong with you?" he finally blurted when he had caught his breath.
McKay looked distinctly uncomfortable. "It's nothing."
Sheppard realized that he was in no shape to pull off 'intimidating, but he gave it a try. "McKay, level with me."
Rodney ducked his head so that John barely heard the muttered, "I think I bruised some ribs."
Sheppard regarded the other man critically. "Bruised?"
Rodney refused to meet his eyes. "Yeah. It's nothing."
Sheppard sighed. He was too tired to deal with this. If Rodney wasn't complaining, it must be serious. He looked as if he had gone three rounds with Teyla, and lost. His mind drifted back to his session with the Athosian leader the day before. He had actually won two out of three rounds, which was unprecedented in his personal experience. Once she had actually accused him of not practicing…and he didn't. Ever. He didn't really have the time, after all. But it was worth a dozen bruises a day just to watch that woman sweat…and he had to admit that his hand-to-hand was improving. Still, he shouldn't have been able to beat her, not yet…
‘I wonder why Teyla’s not as sharp as usual…’ Sheppard was off to grab a quick shower after his workout before heading up to speak to Weir. ‘Probably the fact that she’s spent her whole life in fear of the Wraith, and now they’re on their way here.’ He broke off that thought as he noticed the paper taped prominently to his door. “Rodney, don’t you have anything better to do - like save our asses?” he muttered to himself. He almost tossed it aside as he entered his quarters, then paused. ‘Might be diverting. Give me something to think about in the shower.’ Curiosity getting the upper hand, he opened the folded note.
“The letters from the three words below can be taken apart, unscrambled and merged to form three separate words all of which are synonyms of each other, but not of the original three words. Find them. CLIMBER MONITOR NIECE”
He frowned. OK, not a math question, but pretty much straightforward vocabulary. He pulled his sweaty shirt off over his head. ‘OK, first break it down…two C’s, L, three I’s, two M’s, B, three E’s, two R’s, two N’s, T, two O’s….’ He finished stripping and stepped into the shower. He never ceased to be both grateful and amazed that the Ancients seemed to like them as much as humans did for cleaning themselves as he let the hot water cascade over stiffening muscles. His mind drifted as he ran through combinations in his head. As he stepped out and began to towel off, he muttered, “Belie, moonie…nah. It’s gotta be something McKay would think of…” He pursed his lips and frowned as he pulled on clean trousers, then his face lit up. “Moron! I’ll bet that’s one of them. Still have B,L,T,C,C,M,N,R,I,I,I,E,E,E… ‘idiot’ is out - no D and I’ve used my O’s. ‘Stupid’ won’t work, either. ‘Imbecile’ will, though…That leaves T,C,N,R,E,I… ‘Cretin’! of course!” Grinning and fully dressed, he scribbled the words: “IMBECILE MORON CRETIN” on the bottom of Rodney’s sheet and headed for the astrophysicist’s lab on his way to Weir’s office.
The meeting went pretty much as he had expected; for the most part, the uninhabited planets in the Pegasus Galaxy were uninhabited for a reason. Of course, they still had that list of ZPM planets that the alternate-universe Elizabeth had given them; three out of the five were still left to check out. He was mentally running through their limited options, trying to decide which planet to visit first, when he heard pounding feet behind him.
“Major Sheppard!” came the distinctly accented call. Sighing, he paused and turned around; once Dr. Zelenka wanted you, there was no escape.
Panting, the slight Czech jogged up to the military man and thrust a piece of paper at him. “Doctor McKay…has asked…that I make certain…you receive this note.” He wiped his brow as his breathing steadied.
Unfolding the message, John was somehow unsurprised to discover another puzzle. Irritated, he glared at the engineer and snarled, “Doesn’t Rodney have better things to do than make up riddles, because I know I do!”
Zelenka looked uncomfortable as he shifted from foot to foot. “Actually, yes. He does. That’s why he’s asked for others to help.” He finally raised his eyes to meet Sheppard’s glare and proudly announced, “This one is from me.”
Sheppard’s jaw dropped in amazement. “You mean this is some sort of contest!?!”
Radek grinned cheekily. “Exactly!”
The Major tilted his head in challenge, and smiled. “Well, let’s take a look, shall we?” and read what was on the sheet.
“You have 8 marbles that weigh 1 ounce each, & 1 marble that weighs 1.5 ounces. You are unable to determine which is the heavier marble by looking at them. You have a weighing scale that consists of 2 pans, but the scale is only good for 2 total weighings. How can you determine which marble is the heaviest using the scale, & in 2 weighings?”
He stared up at the ceiling as he thought and squinted one eye. “Let’s see…you’d have to end up with weighing two marbles only in the second weighing…Got it!”
Zelenka’s face was disbelieving as he pouted and crossed his arms. “Then describe it to me.”
Sheppard smirked; this had actually taken some thought. It was easy to do it with three weighings, but two was more of a challenge. “Put three marbles on each tray; if they balance, discard them and weigh two of the remaining three - the heavier one is the one you want. If they weigh the same, then it is the third marble in that group.”
“And if the first groups do not weigh the same?”
“Take the three from the tray that weighed heavier, and eliminate the rest. Then, take two of the three and compare them - the heavier is the one you want. If they weigh the same, then it is the third marble in that group.”
Radek nodded and ran a hand through his unruly hair in defeat. “You are, of course, correct. I will let Rodney know to send the next victim.”
Sheppard’s eyebrows raised at that. “Victim?” he inquired, not certain if he really wanted the answer.
Zelenka chuckled at his response and waggled a finger at him. “I thought that would get your attention. Rodney has issued a dare to the science department; a prize to the first one to ask you a riddle that you cannot answer.”
“Oh he has, has he?” Sheppard was inwardly pretty amused, but tried to project ‘indignant’. ‘Good job, Rodney; nice distraction.’ The Major understood that while the scientists continued to work feverishly on finding a way to protect Atlantis, their subconscious minds perseverated on their impending death. A “Stump the Chump” contest gave them something else to think about, and might actually improve their ability to concentrate on the task at hand. ‘Looks like he took my ‘lessons in leadership’ to heart.’ “What if I answer them all?” he wondered aloud.
“Then I suppose you get the prize.” The engineer stared at him pointedly, “Which is why I said ‘victim’. I am beginning to think that McKay might not be, as he claims, the smartest man on this base.” With that, Zelenka smiled blandly, nodded, and hurried off.
Sheppard felt a familiar quiver of fear dart uneasily about his stomach, which he ruthlessly squashed. Here, in Atlantis, he didn’t have to hide his intellect as he had most of his life. In fact, it was regarded as a good thing to be smart. If they ever got back to Earth he’d have to resort to old habits, but that was looking less and less likely all the time. Right now he’d play this game and help McKay’s team stay focussed; it was the least he could do.
Chapter 3 - Aftershocks
John's eyes had once again slid shut of their own volition when he was startled awake by violent shaking. Getting ready to berate his teammate, he glanced at the man only to note that he was several feet away, next to their rucksacks. The scientist's face was frozen in fear as he stared upward towards the ceiling of the rock-hewn cavern. It only took a moment for Sheppard, California boy that he was, to realize that they were experiencing aftershocks from the earthquake that originally took him out. Trying to struggle to his feet, he yelled, "Rodney, get down!"
That seemed to jolt McKay out of his torpor. He lunged for the Major, face converting from fear to worry in a heartbeat. Before he could blink, Sheppard found himself bowled over and manhandled into a crevice formed between the floor and the boulder he'd been leaning against, the astrophysicist wedged in on top of him. Bits of rock began raining down as the shaking continued; Sheppard felt more than heard McKay grunt as a particularly large chunk struck just before things quieted down.
The Major waited a minute for McKay to roll off; when the man made no such move, he began to become alarmed. Keeping the concern out of his tone, he nudged the scientist's shoulder with his free hand. "Hey, McKay. I think it's over. Much as I appreciate the concern, mind getting off of me?"
A queasy feeling settled in the back of his throat when Rodney neither moved nor replied. Using the ceiling chunk for leverage, he gently rolled the other man over onto his back. McKay flopped over bonelessly; if the pilot hadn't clearly seen the other man's chest rise and fall as he breathed, he would have believed him dead.
Examining the unconscious scientist as best he could given the pounding still going on in his own head, he rapidly found the enlarging hematoma on the back of his skull where the roof fragment had struck. "McKay…" It was his turn to slap the scientist for a change. Nothing. Damn, the man was out of it.
Sheppard became aware of the radio squawking for attention. A few minutes of fumbling produced the earphone and mike, which he keyed. "Sheppard here."
"Oh, thank God." Beckett's brogue got thicker with stress. "Major, where is Doctor McKay?"
"I think he was hit by a rock during the aftershock. He's out cold."
"Is he breathing?"
"Yeah, but he's got a heck of a knot on the back of his head."
"We're having problems on this end. Half the tunnel we've cleared caved in again, and tried to take our team with it. It may be a while before we can reach you. Do you have any water?"
Sheppard was confused by the sudden topic changes; his head was swimming. Glancing about, he lit on a canteen and snagged it. Shaking it, he heard the liquid sloshing inside, then keyed the mike again. "That's affirmative."
"Good. Soak a piece of cloth and put it on Rodney's lump, then put another on his forehead." Sheppard did so as quickly as he could. Nothing.
"No reaction."
'Well, try your best. Stay awake yourself, and if Rodney wakes up, try to keep him that way as well." A heavy sigh, then, "We'll try to reach you as quickly as we can."
Sheppard's brows creased. "Well, try to make it soon. Rodney doesn't look so good."
Beckett didn't waste time to reply. This was bad. Now he had two patients that he couldn't reach, both with serious head injuries and at least a concussion. That last aftershock had set them back at least an hour, and he had one man out with a broken wrist and another with a twisted ankle. "That tears it," he muttered. "I need more people to dig; I don't care if the Hive ships are at our front door." With that, he got on the radio to Weir.
As Beckett signed off, Sheppard gulped and put a hand to his own throbbing head. Closing his eyes, he muttered, "Come on, Rodney, don't do this to me. I didn't leave you alone, did I?"
As if in response to his plea, the scientist began to moan. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, he shakily brought his right hand to his forehead. As his hand encountered the damp cloth, his eyes flew open as he exclaimed, "Oh God, I'm bleeding!"
Sheppard batted his hand down. "No, but you got knocked out by falling rock. Welcome to the club. How's it feel?"
"I think my head's about split open like a ripe melon and spill out my very valuable brain all over the floor. I'm sure I have an intracranial hemorrhage. Where's that quack Beckett, anyway?" He groaned and struggled to sit up.
"Trying to get to us. Looks like I get to keep you awake for a change." Sheppard helped the scientist lean against the boulder, then settled in next to him.
McKay snorted derisively. "Like you could stay awake long enough yourself."
"I can stay awake just fine," protested Sheppard indignantly.
"OK, prove it." Rodney squinted at him challengingly, then leaned his head back against the stone.
"I will." He blinked as the room suddenly swam in and out of focus. "I just hope Carson gets here soon." He thought back to the day before when he had last laid eyes on the physician.
After Zelenka's, no more puzzles had appeared until lunchtime when the Chief Medical Officer had joined him. He was wolfing down the tasteless MRE and deciding that PXS-4J6 was the most likely site to find a ZPM or alternatively serve as an Alpha site as Beckett huffed up and noisily plopped down his tray. “Major,” he nodded.
Chewing slowly, Sheppard regarded the new arrival suspiciously. After a few minutes of watching the physician clatter his silverware and slosh his tea uncomfortably, John felt obliged to speak up. “Let me guess; your turn?”
The physician finally looked him in the eye. “Was I that obvious, then?”
John nodded in amusement. “I’m afraid so. Don’t worry; I know who’s behind it. I don’t mind…really.”
“You’re sure? I’m certain that you have other duties…”
Sheppard actually chuckled. “So far it hasn’t been a problem.”
Beckett sighed in relief. “All right, then. I’ll just ask mine out loud, if that’s acceptable.”
John jutted his lower lip and nodded. “Sure, why not?” He gestured expansively at the physician. “Go for it.”
The doctor took a deep breath, “A little girl is in Missouri, and her mother is in California. The little girl is in an accident, & has to be rushed to a nearby hospital. The little girl is the daughter of the nurse who assists her. How is this possible?”
John smiled at his tray and took a sip of coffee. “Two ways, doc. You want the obvious one or the subtle one first?”
Beckett looked truly curious. “How about the obvious one first?”
“Okey dokey.” He spread his hands, “The nurse is her father.”
The Chief Medical Officer snorted. “Right you are, lad. But you said that there was another answer?”
The pilot shrugged. “I lived a couple of months in the town of California, Missouri, which is just outside Jefferson City. So the Mom could be working as a nurse in a hospital in ‘California’ yet still care for her daughter in ‘Missouri’.”
A smile slowly spread across Carson’s face. “Ah wasna’ aware of such a place. You’re correct though - both answers would work. Wait until I tell Rodney!” With that he rose to return his tray. Sheppard finished his coffee in relative peace, then headed to find the astrophysicist himself; they had a planet to search for a ZPM.
Chapter 4 - A Puzzle for McKay
"Hah! I win. I told you that you couldn't stay awake!"
"It's not a competition, McCay." Sheppard had lost track of the number of times he had nodded off, only to be jarred by Rodney's persistent elbow. He was beginning to feel rather guilty about it, despite the fact he had a concussion. McKay had one, too, as well as 'bruised ribs', yet he seemed to have no problem with the wakefulness issue. It didn't help either that the scientist was looking decidedly the worse for wear; his face was pinched and drawn in the tight way that only total exhaustion can cause. Sheppard examined his companion critically. The impact of the stone on the back of his head had caused a nice contra-coup contusion that was beginning to shade his forehead in rainbow varieties of violet. Of course, the color was a nice contrast to the gray tone his skin had taken on, presumably from decreased oxygenation; his breaths were coming in shallow, rapid bursts whenever he wasn't talking, and he was visibly splinting his ribs.
"McKay, you look like shit." The Major wasn't known for his subtlety.
"Thank you so very much for that astute observation. Perhaps that's because I feel like shit." The acid on McKay's words could etch steel. "You could help by just staying conscious for me.”
'Pick your battles wisely' was another old military saying that Sheppard firmly believed. This was a battle he couldn't win, so he wouldn't fight it. Besides, for once the arrogant astrophysicist was right; it would help if he stayed awake. Nodding carefully in agreement, he shifted to sit more upright. "I know, McKay. Help me out here. Talk to me."
"About what?" McKay sighed in defeat as well. He had outright lied about his ribs; they weren't 'bruised' - he'd bet money on at least one or two being cracked. And while he didn't seem short of breath enough to have punctured his lung, the chest pain still made breathing difficult. His head pounded abominably although not, he suspected, as badly as Sheppard's. From what he could glean from the pilot's somewhat disjointed account, he'd only been out a few minutes. John had lain deathly still for well over an hour, and still seemed unable to stay conscious for more than a few minutes at a time. This weakness in a man he'd watched stay in total control while a life-sucking Wraith prototype was firmly attached to his neck was disheartening. As bad as he felt personally, he was still he 'strong one' in the current situation, and it was terrifying. His heart had caught in his throat as he saw Sheppard struggle towards him during the aftershock; he'd barely managed to shove the soldier to relative safety before Sheppard could be knocked out a second time. If a headache was the price he had to pay to keep the man alive, so be it.
"I don't know. Who do you like best in Atlantis?"
McKay waggled a finger at him. "Oh, no you don't. I don't let my guard down that easily. That is on a need-to-know basis, Major, and you don't need to know!"
"Alright then," replied John placatingly. He actually didn't care what they talked about, as long as it helped him stay awake. "Who do you like least?" He smiled ferally. "I'll bet it's Bates. You hate the way he's treated Teyla and the Athosians."
McKay smiled. "Too bad that couldn't be an official contest question, because you'd be wrong." As Sheppard's eyebrows tried to crawl up into his hairline, McKay hurriedly continued. "Not that I like him, but the man knows his job and does it well, if overly-enthusiastically for my tastes. No, I hate incompetence above all else, and there is only one truly incompetent man on the base…"
Sheppard nodded. "Kavanagh." He smiled to himself as he recalled his conversation with the chemist the previous day…
As he strode down the hall towards McKay's lab, the major felt the disbelieving stare at his back before he actually halted and turned to greet it.
“Can I help you with something, Dr. Kavanagh?” The man had kept a watchful distance ever since John had beaten him in the chess tournament, and had half-convinced himself that Sheppard’s winning had been a series of flukes. Now half the science team was proclaiming the Chief Military Officer some sort of genius. It clearly grated.
Kavanagh silently huffed up and thrust a folded paper scrap at the Major, then crossed his arms defiantly. “I’ve got a problem for you.” He obviously didn’t think Sheppard up to the task of answering his riddle, and stared smugly as the Major unfolded the note.
“What 6-letter word is missing from the following sequence?
Direct
Role
Occidental
Dare
Shadow
Amused”
Sheppard stared at the series for a few moments, searching for a pattern, then smiled as he found it. Oh, it would be a pleasure to wipe that smirk from the chemist’s face.
“The answer is… ‘Answer’,” he replied, handing the note back to the scientist.
“And how did you come by that?” Kavanagh demanded in disbelief.
Sheppard lifted an eyebrow. "Don't you know?"
Kavanagh grimaced. "I'd like to know exactly how you came up with it."
That man needed to get the rod out of his… Sheppard squelched that thought uncompleted. "The middle two letters of one word become the first and last letters of the next. Therefore, the first and last letters of the mystery word are 'a' and 'r'. Since the next word is 'shadow', then the middle letters of the mystery word are 's' and 'w'. A-SW-R; it's pretty easy to fill in the blanks."
With a 'Humph', Kavanagh narrowed his eyes, shot Sheppard a disparaging glare, and hurried off. The Major, watching the retreating figure, just shook his head in disbelief and smiled, then resumed his trip to McKay's lab.
As he entered Rodney held up a hand for silence without looking up from the control console he was working on. "Give me a minute…." He deftly manipulated a tiny screwdriver over a microscopic connection until a particular wire slipped into place with an audible snickt. He puffed out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding, then turned to face his visitor.
"Oh, Major, I have something for you." He rummaged around the components on his desk until, with an 'Aha!', he produced a folded scrap of paper. "Doctor Rasheed sends his regards," he announced, handing over the paper with aplomb.
Sheppard stuffed it into his pocket. "Rodney, I need to speak to you about the mission we've got scheduled for the morning."
McKay waggled a finger. "Ah-ah-ah….Doctor Rasheed can be quite…vindictive." He nodded towards the pocket with the puzzle. "I'd finish that, if I were you.”
Rolling his eyes and grimacing, John pulled out the paper and unfolded it.
"You have a five by five grid, with twenty-five squares. You have three sheep and five wolves. The wolves can move in the grid in any straight line - vertically, horizontally, or diagonally. If a wolf encounters a sheep, it eats it. Place the wolves and sheep on the grid so that you protect all your sheep."
Sheppard looked up into Rodney's bemused face. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. This is a chess problem. The wolves are queens and the sheep pawns." Rodney shrugged expressively.
The Major narrowed his eyes. "All right then." He mentally made a grid and began placing 'wolves'. After a few moments he nodded to himself and turned to the astrophysicist.
"OK, if you label the top row 1 through 5, the next 6 through ten, etc., the wolves would be in positions 2, 3, 11, 16, and 17. The sheep would therefore be at 10, 24, and 25."
McKay jotted the answer onto a grid as Sheppard was speaking , nodding to himself. Sheppard folded his arms and leaned on the doorframe as McKay checked his results, with an 'I told you so' expression plastered on his face.
Rodney finally looked up with narrowed eyes. Without admitting to the correctness of the answer, he demanded, "With your now-obvious problem solving abilities, why don't you ever contribute constructively to solving the problems we keep encountering on this base?"
"I contribute!" John protested.
Rodney snorted. "Right. If it involves potential heroic self-sacrifice, you're all over it. I want to know why you never contribute intellectually. Why aren't you sitting in on our brainstorming sessions?"
Sheppard shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm lazy," he said, as if that explained everything.
Rodney stared at him in disbelief. "You have got to be kidding me! You haven't taken more than a minute or two solving any of the problems given to you. I don't buy 'lazy' from a guy who runs at least two miles daily."
"Running is easy. 'Brainstorming' is not." Sheppard tried to return the conversation to their impending mission. "I didn't come here to discuss my mental prowess; we're heading to PXS-4J6 first thing in the morning to look for a ZPM, and Weir wants a complete rundown at the pre-mission briefing at 0600."
"We don't know much about it, but I'll scan the Ancient records and find out what I can."
Sheppard turned to go. "See you in the morning, then."
"Yeah, sure." Rodney's gaze remained on the Sheppard's back as he strode rapidly down the hall. "'Lazy' my foot. What's the real reason you don't want to use the brains God gave you? You're a puzzle yourself, Major, but I'll figure it out. I just need to define the parameters." With that, he turned to get prepared for the morning.
Chapter 5 - MENSA
"John…please." Sheppard pulled himself to consciousness at the desperation he heard behind the quiet request.
"Damn. Did it again. Sorry, Rodney."
When Dr. McKay didn't answer, Sheppard rolled his head to better see his friend. "Rodney?" The wan physicist lolled his head towards him; if anything he looked worse than before. His eyes now had dark circles beneath them, and his whole body seemed concentrated on the effort of breathing.
"Still here." McKay didn't care for the fuzziness he felt in his thinking processes. His whole world seemed to have narrowed down to keeping both himself and Sheppard awake until Carson could reach them, but he couldn't quite remember why. No matter; he didn't seem to be doing a very good job.
"Talk to me. I seem to be having trouble staying alert," mumbled John.
Rodney cast about his mind and was unable to come up with a riveting topic for conversation. Instead, he blurted out a question that had been eating him for several days. "Major. Why didn't you join MENSA?"
Sheppard was too blurry to censor his words. "You want the long version or the short one?"
McKay waved a hand half-heartedly in the air. "Might as well make it the long version - keep us both awake with any luck."
Sheppard sighed and stared off into the distance. "OK, but this is between you and me."
McKay raised three fingers. "Scout's honor."
Sheppard stared at him suspiciously for a moment, then nodded and took a deep breath. "All right. When I was twelve, Bobby was my best friend…."
"Hey John, wait up!" Bobby came panting up to his dark-haired best friend as school let out for the day.
Bobby Peterson was a skinny, freckled, red-haired boy who could never seem to keep his shirt completely tucked in. He always had a ready smile, a wicked joke, and tended to see the glass as perpetually half-full. While not as physically strong as John, he was always willing to participate in whatever hair-brained scheme the slightly older Sheppard had devised that day. John had met him the first day he'd come to this school, and liked him instantly. Now, he couldn't imagine life without him.
"Where've you been, John? You've been like….missing or something all day!"
Sheppard shot him a deprecating grin. "Awwww, Mr. Donaldson had a bunch of guys take some test; sent Dad home a permission slip and everything."
Bobby pulled out a pack of gum, took a piece, then offered one to John. "I wasn't asked to take any test. How come you got stuck?"
John unwrapped his gum and stuffed it in his mouth, then chewed violently. He didn't even mind that it was Spearmint, which he usually hated. Scuffing the sidewalk with his Nikes, he sent a pebble sailing, to impact loudly against the nearby wooden fence. "Oh, Donaldson made everybody he thinks is 'smart' take it…some brainiac club or something he wants us to join if we pass."
The redhead nearly choked on his laughter, "And he thinks that you're smart?"
"I beat Jeremy Johnson in the school chess tournament," John protested defensively.
"Yeah!" agreed Bobby enthusiastically. "You showed that jerk a thing or two; heck, you beat the whole school." He was inordinately proud of his buddy's achievement, and threw a congenial arm around his neck. "Still, that just means you're good at chess."
John blushed and ducked his head. "Well, I'm kinda good at math, and puzzles and stuff too, you know?"
"Sure, your brain's so big your head's gonna explode any minute now!" To demonstrate his point, Bobby ran his knuckles back and forth over the top of Sheppard's skull.
"Hey! You're messing up my hair!"
Bobby started giggling. "I don't see how you can tell! You always look like a scarecrow, hair all sticking up."
"Why you…!" A merry chase ensued which ended with a friendly wrestling match on Mrs. Simpson's front lawn. Afterwards, they lay panting on the ground, grass stains on their clothes, and tried to guess what the passing clouds looked like to each other.
When they finally continued the trek home, Bobby suddenly became serious. "Hey, I may not be smart, but if you get into this club…"
"Don't worry, you'll always be my best friend…retard!" John playfully called out as he sprinted off.
"What did you call me?" Bobby was on his heels in an instant, as twelve-year-old best friends usually are.
"That's very poignant, but what does it have to do with anything?" Rodney's native impatience overrode his pain receptors temporarily.
Sheppard glared at him. "You're the one that wanted the long version."
"Long version, sure, but not 'The Iliad'!"
"The 'test' was the MENSA test you were asking about," grated John. "And I apparently got a good enough score to be invited to join the organization. There was some recruitment party my Dad and I were invited to, and we got all dressed up and drove to this huge house in a ritzy part of town. They even had some guy parking the cars." He paused.
"And?' Rodney prompted when he showed no signs of continuing.
"Oh, well Dad seemed real uncomfortable that night. At the time I thought he was afraid I'd embarrass him, but now that I look back on it as an adult…"
"When did you become an adult?" Rodney interjected.
As if there had been no interruption, John continued, "I think he was afraid of embarrassing me. All the adults were sipping Merlot and comparing their IQ's - I doubt that Dad even knew what his IQ was, much less was interested in how it compared to others. It had no meaning in daily life."
"So you didn't join MENSA because you were afraid of embarrassing your Dad?" Rodney was incredulous.
"No, although it might have contributed a little to the decision. I ran into a couple of classmates that night; bookworms, teacher's pets - you know, the 'know it all', pocket-protector crowd. I mean, Jeremy Johnson even carried a briefcase to school instead of a backpack!"
It was McKay's turn to growl, "I carried a briefcase to school, too."
John waved a hand towards him. "My point exactly." He grinned to let Rodney know that he was teasing, then went on with his story.
His father had been whisked off to join the adult conversation, leaving John on his own. At a loss for what else to do, he wandered over to the refreshment table, self-consciously smoothing his hair. Picking up a saucer, he noticed that it was real china, rather than the plastic they used at home for parties. Selecting some cheese squares with little toothpicks, he was placing them on the dish when a voice smugly commented, "Look what the cat drug in, everybody. I need to send that Persian back; he has no taste at all!"
Whirling, John found himself face-to-face with three of the most obnoxious 'brains' in class. Jeremy Johnson, whose house it turned out they were in, was actually wearing a tuxedo, while Justin Freemont wore a three-piece suit with a pocket watch. Still, Melanie Graham's appearance made him choke; she was in a formal gown with her hair piled up on her head like some movie starlet, rings cascading down her back. John was embarrassed for her; for crying out loud, they were twelve! She didn't even have boobs yet, and the coke-bottom glasses belied the glamour of the outfit. He managed to stifle a giggle at the appearance of the three of them, putting on his 'I'm so cool I'll give you freezer-burn' mask.
"Jeremy." He smiled and extended a hand. "Been practicing your chess game recently?"
The boy with the slicked-back hair snarled and pointedly ignored the outstretched hand. John shrugged and dropped it.
"How did you get here, Sheppard? Copy Jeremy's test?" The shorter boy tried his best to be intimidating, but, since he was a good six inches shorter, John just thought he was pathetic.
"Right…." The sarcasm literally dripped off his words. "I was so desperate to get to this shin-dig and eat these…cute…little cheese cubes that I copied his test word for word."
The tension was broken by the sudden appearance of Mr. Donaldson, who put a friendly hand on both John and Jeremy's shoulders. "Don't let John kid you, boys; he didn't need to cheat. He got the best score in the class." Spying someone he wanted to speak to, the math teacher excused himself and hurried off.
There was nothing left to say. The boys glared at each other, then simultaneously whirled and stalked off in different directions.
"That's just…pathetic." Rodney commented. "Not all MENSA groups are like that. It's supposed to be a group to exchange challenging ideas and mental stimulation, not some sort of 'IQ contest'."
"Hey, I was twelve. All I knew was that I hated the members of that chapter. Dad had left the decision of whether or not to join up to me; I said 'no'."
Rodney took a deep breath. "Our Atlantis chapter is different…"
"Is Kavanagh a member?" John challenged.
Rodney shifted uncomfortably and mumbled, "Yes."
John raised an eyebrow. "I rest my case."
Chapter 6 - Help Yourself
"Carson, where the heck are you?" John awakened this time to the sound of McKay having a hysterical fit on the radio. "I can't keep the Major awake for more than a few minutes at a time!"
"Keep your shirt on, Rodney. We've got more help from Atlantis, and we're working as fast as we can, but it's slow going, what with shoring up the walls against the cave-ins and all. It would go a lot faster if we could stay off the radio." Beckett was not a particularly subtle man when under stress.
"Fine. I'll shut up…for now. Just…hurry. McKay out." The scientist hung his head in defeat and closed his eyes.
Sheppard decided that it was time to speak up. "Hey, Rodney. You worried about me?" He shot the man what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
McKay wasn't in the mood for joking. "As a matter of fact, yes." He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Beckett doesn't seem any closer to getting us out of here than he did four hours ago."
Sheppard silently considered their situation. Swinging his flashlight about the chamber, he went over its details. They were in a roughly square room, thirty by twenty feet, which seemed to have been carved from a preexisting cave. The roof was about 18 feet above them, and irregularly textured. The 'floor' was littered with rocks and boulders of varying sizes, and appeared to slope away from the now-obliterated entrance tunnel through which they came. The walls were literally covered with engravings, like on Athos, depicting Wraith ships, cullings, and methods used by the natives to try and survive. However, nothing about any ZPMs.
"What are you doing?" McKay tiredly sighed.
"Well," John winced and lowered his voice, "if Beckett is having such trouble getting to us, maybe we should try to reach him."
"Hello? Entrance sealed up?"
"Yeah, but this place looks like it existed before people did; they just enlarged a cave that was already here." He began to struggle to his feet.
"Beckett said that you were supposed to stay still!" Rodney was at his side in a heartbeat, putting a supportive arm around his shoulders.
"That was when he thought he'd be here quickly." He blinked rapidly several times to clear the spots from his eyes, and intentionally ignored the way the drumming in his head had crescendoed. "Come on. You and I both know that the sooner we get medical care, the better off we'll be."
Rodney grimaced in assent. At this rate, 'God helps those who help themselves' certainly seemed to apply. "What do you suggest?" he muttered.
John thought furiously. "Well, natural caves frequently have side-tunnels." He gingerly made his way over to the nearest wall. "Given that this was probably a shelter from the Wraith, I suspect the natives might have hidden any such passageways as back-up shelters in case this place were discovered. With any luck, they might even have an emergency exit." He began to feel along the wall from as far up as he could reach to just about knee level.
Rodney found himself agreeing mentally. 'Makes sense. But how do we find it?' he mused. He moved up to stand beside the pilot, shining his flashlight on the areas that John was examining.
John continued as if reading Rodney's mind, "Well, first off, try to think like they would. If I were hiding an exit…I'd make it where it wasn't obvious, but could be reached quickly…and I sure wouldn't put it at Wraith eye-level."
Despite the pounding in his own skull, Rodney dropped to his hands and knees. Crawling behind Sheppard, he examined the wall from the floor to just above where the soldier had checked, making certain to overlap search patterns.
John suddenly stopped. "Do you feel that?" he asked urgently.
McKay was confused, but ready to act. "What, is it another aftershock?" He looked nervously around for the nearest shelter.
"No, no…there it is again." He spat on his index finger and held it up. "I definitely felt a draft…and it seems to be coming…from that direction." He pointed further to their left, in the direction they had been heading.
"Here, I have a lighter." Using a nearby boulder for support, Rodney managed to push himself to his feet. He then dug around in a pocket for a few moments before producing a Bic disposable.
"Thanks." John took it and flicked it on. Holding it first at shoulder height, thy both noted a gentle intermittent wavering of the fire. Slowly he moved it, first down, then up. Moving in the direction that seemed to produce the greatest deflection of the flame, the men soon reached the adjacent wall.
"The breeze seems to be stronger as one moves higher," commented McKay.
"I agree," John said, staring up at the wall they had reached. Flicking off the lighter, he turned on his flashlight again and directed it into the crevasses above his head.
"There!" exclaimed Rodney. "Go back." As John complied, he added, "A little more to your left…that's it. Can you see anything right there?"
Sheppard peered at the spot Rodney indicated. "I think so…it seems blacker there than on the surrounding cave wall."
"I'll bet that's the source of your draft. Whether or not it's a way out remains to be seen."
"Give me a boost," demanded Sheppard.
"You sure you're up to this?" asked McKay dubiously.
John pursed his lips grimly. "I don't think either one of us is up to this, but we can't just sit here without trying something." He pointed to a nearby boulder that stood about shoulder height. "If I can get to the top of that, I should be able to make it the rest of the way without any problem. If nothing else, I should be able to see if there's a tunnel."
McKay nodded unhappily and linked his fingertips. "All right, but take it easy. Remember my bruised ribs!" Truth be told, he was more concerned about Sheppard falling and hitting his head again, but he certainly wasn't going to admit that aloud.
"No problem." It was rather awkward, but after a few minutes Sheppard managed to reach the top of the boulder. He paused to catch his breath and let the gray edges recede from his vision, then shined his flashlight at the darker spot they had noticed from the ground. "Bingo," he mumbled, then turned to look down at McKay's anxious visage.
"Looks like we have a winner. It isn't very wide, but I can't see to the back of it. Give me your hand and I'll help you up."
Rodney jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll go get the packs."
It was an indication of the severity of his head injury that John had forgotten the rucksacks. Considering it, he didn't think they'd be able to drag them along given the shape they were in. "Nah, leave 'em. Just grab the canteens, some rope, and a couple of Power Bars. We can send Ford or somebody back for our stuff after we get out."
Rodney was relieved. He wasn't sure he could get up onto the boulder himself, much less hoist up their equipment. He hurried to get the requested items, rummaged about for a bit, then returned.
"OK, I'm ready," he called out. John lay on his stomach and reached out both hands, grasping Rodney's and pulling. For his own part, McKay gasped as his ribs reminded him of their status as 'broken', but stubbornly hung on, scrabbling with his feet for purchase as he slowly inched up. The rock his right foot had rested on suddenly gave way, slamming him against the boulder with an 'Oomph'. Stars exploded in his skull as his ribs once again protested their abuse, grinding jaggedly against each other. Somehow he managed to keep his grip as he wheezed desperately for breath. He slowly became aware of Sheppard calling his name, and asking if he were all right.
"Still here," he groaned. Miraculously, he had managed to not slip back down the side; it wasn't very far to the cave floor, but it would have been incredibly disheartening. "Let's…try again…shall we?"
A few minutes later, he and John lay side-by-side on top, panting. As they slowly recovered, Rodney groaned, sat up, and stared at the tunnel just ahead. It was a tunnel, and there was a definite breeze coming from its opening. He stood and clambered up the more gentle slope to its mouth. If they crawled on their hands and knees single-file, they could get through.
Calling back over his shoulder, he asked, "Shall we call Beckett and tell him what we're doing?"
So close it made him jump, John's voice replied, "Of course not. Remember? 'It's easier to ask forgiveness..'"
"Than ask permission." Rodney, staring straight ahead, gulped. "Right. Do you want to go first, or shall I?"
He turned to find the Major tying one end of the rope around his waist. "Let me. I've had more experience climbing."
John handed the other end of the rope to Rodney, who secured it around his own waist. The pilot next latched his flashlight to his LBE so that both hands were free, and shouldered his way into the tunnel. McKay followed closely behind.
The tunnel sloped slowly upwards for about twenty-five yards, then widened to where the two men could stand again without difficulty. Clambering to their feet, both men sighed in relief.
"Thank God," muttered Rodney. Beaming his flashlight further down the corridor, he unconsciously lowered his voice. "It's still sloping up. What do you think?"
"I think…it's still sloping up. That's a good sign…"
Rodney swung his flashlight around; something in the sound of John's voice was…wrong. He found the man leaning forward, hands braced on knees, panting. His face was covered in sweat and looked two shades too pale.
"Hey, you want to take a break?" he asked solicitously. Heaven knew he could use one himself.
"Actually, I think I…" He broke off the sentence to whirl around and vomit onto the floor of the crawlspace they just emerged from. Rodney, unsure as to how to help, settled on steadying the man's shoulders as he lost whatever little his stomach contained, and then dry heaved for a few minutes. When he finally finished, McKay silently handed him a canteen. Sheppard gratefully rinsed his mouth thoroughly and spat it onto the floor as well.
Staring down at the mess, Rodney commented, "Well, let's hope we don't have to go back that way." He couldn't think of anything else to say.
Even he knew that vomiting was not a good sign with a head injury, but there was nothing to be done for it. John seemed set against contacting the Atlantis physician. Still, Rodney was more anxious than ever to suffer Beckett's disapproving glare.
Chapter 7 - Rescue
"Rodney, I've got to sit down for a few minutes."
McKay, who'd been essentially establishing their pace since John had vomited, came to a halt and worriedly examined his friend. John's eyes were focussed inwards; he'd stumbled so often during the last fifteen minutes that McKay was actually helping him stay upright with a surreptitious hand on the pilot's elbow. As far as he could figure, they'd been steadily climbing at about the same angle of attack that they had used descending into the cavern. While that had only taken half an hour or so, their progress was much slower now with their injuries, not to mention the uphill climb. Still, he calculated that they must be relatively near the surface. Of course, that assumed that this wasn't just a dead end.
Gently lowering Sheppard to the scrabble on the tunnel floor, he watched as the man leaned his head back against the cool stone wall and closed his eyes. His black mop of hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and his pallid face had a sheen as well, causing his dark eyelashes to stand out in stark contrast. His breathing was shallow and ragged, and his muscles seemed to tremble even at rest.
"That's it; I don't care what you say, I'm calling Beckett." When Sheppard didn't reply, little wings of alarm began to beat in Rodney's throat. 'Oh, this can't be good.'
"Carson, can you hear me? Come in." The scientist keyed the mike without ever looking away from the pilot whose head now lolled to the side. "Carson?" No answer.
"Damn. Must be too shielded in this tunnel." McKay chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip as he considered his options, staring at the once-again-unconscious soldier. 'Sheppard's right about one thing - we both need medical help, and need it now.'
Reaching a decision, he gently levered Sheppard supine. Next he shrugged out of his own jacket, folded it up, and gently slipped it beneath the Major's head. Propping one of the canteens next to him, and digging out a couple of power bars, he stood up and inspected his work. "Don't worry, Major, I'll be back soon with help." Turning on his heel, he continued on uphill.
About a hundred yards farther, the inky blackness of the tunnel seemed grayer somehow. At first, Rodney thought his eyes were playing tricks, but as he continued to trudge forward, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other, he became certain that the light was increasing. Flicking off the flashlight, he let out a whoop; it was sunlight!
Exhaustion, broken ribs, and pounding head suddenly forgotten, the scientist broke into a trot. One final corner, and a small opening appeared in the wall ahead, through which the late afternoon light came streaming in. It was possibly large enough wiggle through if he had to, but, given his rib fractures, he'd prefer that the Atlantis people widen it a bit. Staring out the defect, he tried to get his bearings. He could hear voices talking somewhere below him, but couldn't see where they were coming from.
Suddenly remembering his radio, he keyed the mike. "Beckett, can you hear me now?" He recalled a rather inane cellular phone commercial campaign, and suppressed a hysterical giggle.
"Rodney! Where've ye bin? We've been trying to call ye. Bates says it's too unstable; we're gonna have to find another way in."
"Yes, well, that's what I wanted to tell you. We've found a side tunnel. I'm at the entrance right now."
"Where?"
"I can hear you somewhere below me, but can't see you. The entrance itself is too small for me to get out."
"Give us a yell, then. We'll follow your voice."
Rodney turned off his mike so as not to deafen the physician, then began to shout at the top of his lungs. Within minutes he spied figures approaching in Atlantis uniforms, both military and medical. "Over here!" he cried, waving an arm out the hole.
Bates reached him first. "If you'll stand back, sir, we'll get you out of here."
Rodney's legs went rubber with relief, and he sagged against the far wall. 'We're finally going back to Atlantis.' His eyes flew open. "Major Sheppard!"
"What about the Major, Rodney?" asked Beckett from somewhere behind the soldiers wielding the pickaxes and shovels.
McKay pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "He passed out about a hundred yards back. I'll wait for you there."
"Passed out?!" Beckett exclaimed. "Rodney, what do you mean…"
"It's no good, sir," interrupted the security chief. "He's already left."
By the time McKay got back to Sheppard, the pilot was beginning to stir and moan. Hastily opening a canteen, Rodney produced a handkerchief and soaked it with water, subsequently placing it on the Major's forehead. John's eyes fluttered open, still unfocussed.
"McKay?" he whispered. "Where…?"
"Don't worry, Major, help is on the way. Beckett and company will be here as soon as they can get the opening wide enough for a stretcher."
Sheppard nodded minutely and closed his eyes again, slipping back into unconsciousness. McKay sat silent vigil until he heard footsteps rapidly approaching. "Over here!" he called, even though he hadn't seen any branches to the tunnel.
The footsteps pounded up, and McKay found himself unceremoniously pushed to the side as Beckett and the orderlies knelt beside the downed soldier.
"Major, I need you to open your eyes," Beckett instructed. John did so, and Carson flashed a penlight into them, then away. Apparently satisfied with the results, he held up a finger. "Now I want you to follow my finger with your eyes only…"
The basic neuro exam continued while an IV was being established, vital signs taken, and a stretcher brought in. A second team led by Dr. Lawrence began repeating the exam with Rodney.
"All right, let's get them out of here," Dr. Beckett was firm. "The rest of this can wait until we're back on Atlantis."
"Wait a minute; our packs are back there," objected Major Sheppard.
"We will retrieve them for you," Teyla had appeared from seemingly nowhere, gesturing to herself and Ford. The pair was covered with dirt, grime, and rock fragments from their attempts to dig out the trapped men, marred by small rivulets of sweat that had tracked unnoticed down their faces and necks. Sheppard had never seen such a beautiful sight. He had been quietly fearful that the two had been trapped in the cave-in and the information had been withheld.
"Thanks." He shot them a grateful smile as the stretcher-bearers hauled him past, then closed his eyes again.
McKay, who had only momentarily considered declining the stretcher-ride, smiled weakly as well. "Be careful of the mess on the floor where the tunnel narrows," he warned, then closed his eyes as well. Teyla and Ford exchanged glances, shrugged, and headed in the other direction to retrieve the packs.
Chapter 8 – A Final Puzzle
A slow, steady beep…beep…beep… was the first thing he really became aware of after the rescue team had him lifted onto the rough comfort of the canvas stretcher. Oh, there were snatches of other memories - sensations, really - the occasional jolting as one or more stretcher-bearers hit rough terrain, a cool stream flowing up his arm from the IV, the roller-coaster 'go back and get my stomach' sensation of Gate travel, the worried murmurs of friends on Atlantis…
The crisp, clean, antiseptic smell was his next perception. 'Med lab…I'm in the Med lab.' Sheppard groaned. 'Not again!'
It took a few minutes, but as he lay there with his eyes closed, savoring the fresh sheets and the cool air wafting over him, scraps of memory began to return. They had been fruitlessly looking for signs of a ZPM; the roof had caved in during an earthquake, knocking him out for a few hours; he and McKay had found an alternate exit when Atlantis had problems reaching them; his headache had worsened to the point where he had thrown up; …and then, not much. He suspected, from the scraps he did recall, that he had passed out again, but the next thing he clearly recalled was Beckett and his abominable light.
His eyes flew open. 'McKay!' The last interaction he recalled were some soothing words about help coming…'Is Rodney safe?'
As if he were psychic, McKay's voice suddenly resonated from nearby. "Carson, that's patently ridiculous. Just give me some pain pills and let me get back to work. I've already lost way too much time as it is."
Carson's reply was lower, but still audible. "Rodney, be reasonable…"
"Carson, the Wraith are less than three weeks away, or had you forgotten? Without a ZPM, our best shot is for me to come up with something brilliant, and I can't do that while lying in the infirmary being 'observed'!"
"Rodney, you've got three fractured ribs and a concussion; you need to take it easy, and I know better than to think you'll do that in your lab." Beckett sounded exasperated.
Rodney heard it, too, and backed off a bit. "Look," he began more reasonably, "Zelenka will be with me the whole time; if I start acting strange, he can call you."
"Well…on one condition. You'll sleep here tonight."
Rodney's tone became smug. "I promise that I will sleep nowhere else for the next twenty-four hours."
Sheppard couldn't help but comment at that point. "Ask him if he plans on sleeping at all, doc."
Beckett and his recalcitrant patient both moved over to Sheppard's bedside. "Ach, you're finally awake. Do ye know where ye are, then?" Beckett's strained brogue spoke of long, worried hours in the infirmary.
"Med lab," Sheppard replied shortly. "How's Rodney?" he asked, glancing over at the astrophysicist. For his part, McKay crossed his arms and scowled.
"I'd say you're alert and oriented. Other than exhausted, three fractured ribs, and a mild post-concussive syndrome, McKay's fine." Beckett was quietly reassuring, and the Major released breath he'd been unaware he'd been holding.
McKay seemed vaguely gratified at his concern. Still, the scientist had looked better; although temporarily sporting a jaunty smile at Sheppard's return to consciousness, it seemed frayed at the edges, and the fine lines and shadows beneath his eyes bespoke of the exhaustion Beckett mentioned. He was clearly splinting one side, most likely protecting his ribs, and his breathing was shallow as well. It was obvious why Beckett wanted to keep him under medical observation.
"I'm serious, doc. Unless you specify a time to be back here, he won't be."
Beckett turned towards McKay, who interjected defensively, "Hey, I promised not to sleep anywhere else."
Carson's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Nay, but the Major's right. Ye never said that you would sleep."
McKay pursed his lips as if he'd just eaten a lemon. "Fine," he spat, "I'll be back at eleven, OK?"
"Make it ten and you have a deal."
"Carson…."
The physician held firm. "Ten, or you'll stay here."
McKay rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. Ten it is."
Beckett beamed at him as if he were an infant who'd just taken its first steps. "All right, then. I'll just go and get some Percocet for you. I'll be right back." He hurried off, leaving McKay and Sheppard staring at each other.
Sheppard was amused. McKay was not. "Couldn't you have stayed unconscious for five more minutes? I would have slipped that past him, I'm sure of it."
It was the Major's turn to be serious. "Rodney, this is your life we're talking about."
"Precisely. And I don't want to waste what little time I have left sleeping."
Sheppard tried to reason with the scientist. "You'll be a lot more efficient after a good night's rest."
"That's an old wives' tale." McKay began pacing back and forth. 'Pain killers, coffee, and maybe some mild stimulants and I'll be right as rain."
"Come on, Rodney, I feel like I could sleep a week! I ache in places I never knew I had. You have got to feel at least as bad."
McKay nodded in that impatient way that was almost his trademark. "Yes, yes, but I have things to do. Things that only I can do. That trumps how I feel any day of the week."
"McKay…"
"Here you go, Rodney." Beckett returned bearing medication. "This'll hold you until tonight. But I expect to see you promptly at 10 p.m."
"Yes, yes." The scientist dry-swallowed two of the proffered tablets, then turned to head towards the door. Before exiting, however, his hand wandered into his pocket and he withdrew a crumpled piece of paper. Turning back to where the Major was already falling asleep, he smoothed it out and thrust it at the recumbent soldier. "Hey, I retrieved this for you. You accidentally left it behind in the cave. Must've fallen out of your pocket."
John picked up the scrap and stared at it in disbelief. "You brought me another puzzle?" he asked in amazement.
"No, the same puzzle," Rodney corrected. "The last one I gave you. Dr. Chao would be heartbroken if you didn't try to solve hers, but lost it instead."
John stared at the man incredulously. "McKay, I'm concussed here!"
"Nevertheless…" Rodney jerked his chin towards the puzzle. "Give it a try when you're feeling better." With that he turned and plodded out the door.
John fell asleep within minutes of McKay leaving, unexamined riddle clutched in his hand. Beckett came in regularly, woke him up, asked him the same questions (Who are you? Where are you? What year is it? etc) to check his neuro status, then let him sleep again. McKay, Ford, and Teyla would drop by intermittently, but he mostly found out from Beckett later, as they hadn’t wanted to disturb him. By the time he awoke the next morning, he actually felt pretty good; he still had a heck of a headache, but it seemed…manageable, somehow.
“How are we doing this morning?,” asked Beckett as he came to check again on his VIP patient. John suspected that he’d had more rest than the physician over the last 24 hours; Beckett was rumpled, hair mussed, and clothes that had clearly been slept in. Add a five-o’clock shadow that a sixteen-year-old would call a beard, and the doctor made a sorry sight.
“My name is John Sheppard, I’m in the infirmary on Atlantis, and the Wraith are less than three weeks away.”
“Well, we’re certainly chipper this A.M.! Remembering the mental status checks, are we?”
Sheppard tilted his head. “I remember them just fine. Whether we do is another story – you kept asking the same questions over and over and over…”
Beckett chuckled. “That’s so old it’s got moss growing on it’s north side.”
“Why do doctors refer to ‘we’ instead of the correct pronoun, either ‘I’ or ‘you’?”
Beckett considered the question for a moment, then shrugged. “I honestly haven’t a clue. Just sounds right, I suppose.”
Sheppard snorted, “To you maybe…” His stomach took that moment to announce its displeasure at its state of emptiness. Sheppard looked at the doctor, “Hey, I’m starving. Any chance I’ll be allowed real food for breakfast?”
“Music to my ears, lad. I’ll send someone to the mess hall to fetch you something.” As he turned to go, a thought occurred to him, and he gestured to the bedside table. “Oh, and McKay wanted me to remind you about some puzzle – it’s sitting there.”
As Beckett wandered off, John incredulously picked up the paper. Unfolding it, he read the contents for the first time:
“Erase one of the following letters, and yet keep all the letters in the English alphabet:
T E G D B
C R W F S
V X Q P L
M O I U K
J H Y A Z N”
‘Huh? Each letter appears only once…how do you erase one and yet keep it? Unless…’ he thought furiously for a moment. ‘Unless, by erasing a letter, you make the whole pattern take on the appearance of that letter.’ Scanning the grid, he grinned. “’Q’ it is!” He held a pen poised over the problem, ready to put action to word, when an alternate plan occurred to him.
Now, he’d enjoyed the puzzles as much as the scientists seemed to love making them, but as Rodney had pointed out, they had very little time left to work on the more urgent Wraith problem facing them. As Chief Military Officer, the draws on his time in particular were going to be massive; he didn’t want to worry about ‘offending’ anyone when he had priorities other than solving their challenge. After the Wraith…if they survived…he’d gladly solve all the riddles they wanted. In the meantime, something Rodney said the other day nagged at him; something about not contributing intellectually to solving the problems on the base. He squirmed uncomfortably as he admitted to himself, ‘He wasn’t too far off with the ‘If it involves potential heroic self-sacrifice, you're all over it’ comment, either. Maybe it’s time I did use my brain…’
He sighed and set down the puzzle without writing out the solution. He’d tell McKay that he couldn’t solve it. Chao was a really sweet girl and, unless he missed his guess, had a crush on Rodney a mile wide. It wouldn’t hurt her standing in McKay’s eyes to be the one who ‘stumped the chump’. Later, if he was still around, he could blame it on his concussion and the games could start anew. In the meantime, he’d have gracefully gotten off the hook and could devote his energy to more pressing problems.
Grinning, he carefully placed his hands behind his head. ‘Besides…I wonder what ‘reward’ he has for her…’ A few moments of self-indulgent fantasy ensued, to be interrupted when both McKay and breakfast arrived simultaneously.
“Hey, Rodney.” Sheppard commented between mouthfuls of egg. “Sleep well?”
Rodney scowled at him and snatched a muffin off his tray. “How could I, with Beckett coming by every two hours and asking the same inane questions over and over again?”
“That’s mine, by the way,” commented Sheppard in an effort to deter further theft of food from his tray. “Yeah, the questions got a little old after a while, didn’t they?”
Rodney grabbed a piece of toast next. “I gave up on sleep altogether about 5 this morning and headed to my lab. I’d like to know why Carson insisted that I ‘sleep’ here if he had no plans on letting me do so?”
Sheppard was glad that whoever had acquired his breakfast had been generous, because anything that could be picked up without a fork was rapidly disappearing into the maw that was McKay. “I see you’re feeling better, though.”
Rodney nodded around a mouthful of toast. “Yes, well, I’m working on formulas to try and get that chair up and running. So far nothing, but I’ve got a few ideas to bounce off Zelenka.”
Sheppard tried to sound casual as he suggested, “Well, if you’d like to run anything by me…I’d be glad to help.”
Rodney’s eyebrows climbed into his receding hairline. Swallowing his current bolus of breakfast, he squelched his instinctive denial and instead nodded. “I may just take you up on that.” Catching sight of Chao’s puzzle, he rapidly changed the subject. “So, how long did it take you to solve that one?”
The pilot shrugged. “I didn’t.”
McKay’s eyebrows disappeared completely as he snatched the paper. Reading it through, then studying the picture for a moment, he looked up incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”
Sheppard crossed his fingers and prayed to the God of Acting. “Nope. Couldn’t figure it out. Guess Chao’s your winner.”
McKay blinked at him in surprise. “Huh. Who’d have thought…I figured, the way you tend to work outside the box, you’d have no problem thinking outside it.” More to himself than to Sheppard, he muttered, “Now I have to come up with a prize of some sort…”
Sheppard winked at him and smiled. “I’m sure you’ll think of something…appropriate.”
Rodney paused as he was reaching for the last muffin, glanced at Sheppard in confusion, then carefully shrugged so as to not irritate his ribs. “I’m sure I will,” he replied, which only served to make Sheppard grin wider. ‘I may never understand that man,’ he decided, and continued breakfast. The puzzle that was ‘John Sheppard’ would have to wait for another day.
The End