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11/16/2005: "Struggling to Catch Up"
music: Chatting in the Labsmood: So very very tired
An assortment of several days entries. Will most likely write Ronon out, the more I think of it. Poor guy, I really can't think of much of a role for him in the present either. I guess I just won't think about it and see what comes of it. For once I've got an actual role for Teyla, which is strange...
Word Count from past few days: 1516 (so so sad)
Total Word Count: 14,745
...looks like the fire is dying. I'd really like to finish this story, or at least leap back into the action, but I just have no energy this week between everything. Hopefully watching some of the first season of Atlantis will prop it back up. If I have to, I'll just dedicate one half of December to finishing this insane quest. I will finish, I swear!
Oh yes, and Steve is my hero.
Chapter Five:
Ronon gave Sheppard an odd look, trying to figure out who he was addressing.
“Never mind,” the Colonel waved him off. “Just a saying. It means we’re in deep shit if McKay’s right.”
“If McKay’s right?” Rodney stood up and made a sweeping gesture. “Look around you! We are not in the same place.”
“Then where are we?” Ronon frowned.
“My guess?” McKay crossed his arms and glared at the open area in front of them. “At least ten thousand years in the past.”
“That’s impossible!”
“Afraid not,” Sheppard massaged his forehead. “That statue was there for almost ten thousand years. Same place. If we’re not in the past, and they didn’t decide to pull that statue down in a matter of minutes, then I’ve got no clue.”
“Alternate dimension. Like the quantum mirror,” McKay rubbed his chin. “I don’t think so though. C’mon, Chronos? God of time, I don’t recall any dimension hopping in his job description.”
“I still find that hard to believe,” Ronon mirrored McKay’s stance.
“Believe it or not, it’s what happened.”
Ronon merely raised an eyebrow.
“All right, enough. Let’s finish walking. Maybe Ronon’s right and something just… happened to the statue,” after he said it aloud, the thought that they’d been hurled back ten thousand years into the past sounded a little ludicrous. But so did the thought of a fifty-foot stone statue disappearing without a trace in less than an hour.
As they descended the hill and entered the forest, Sheppard’s mind wandered back to the day that they had found the older, alternate version of Weir. The notion of time travel seemed improbable back then as well, even though he’d read the report of SG-1 time traveling by gate occurrences on at least two occasions. But the way Weir had made it sound, it seemed like Janus had spearheaded the research and design on the time jumper.
Of course the device they’d encountered was nothing close to a jumper. Hopefully they were jumping to big conclusions and there was a reasonable, probable explanation for this.
The foliage around them thickened as they entered the forest itself, the canopy above so dense hardly any light filtered through at all. Ronon’s eyes roamed through the forest line, alert for any danger, or perhaps still analyzing the subtle differences only he could pick up on so well.
Sheppard glances over his shoulder to check on McKay, who had fallen silent again. His eyes were focused on following the footsteps in front of him, but he had the look of a man with many things on his mind.
One of the problems with McKay is that very often, at least in his experience, the man was never wrong. The few times he was stood out with clarity, especially their most recent and most bitter feud. Project Acturus aside, McKay was reliable on being right in his theories and his expertise in Ancient technology. As much as he was denying it outwardly and within, Sheppard had the sinking feeling that McKay was right. And because of that feeling, he was desperately hoping against hope that this was one of those times where his friend was proven wrong.
The trees to his right swayed rather noisily, but he dismissed it as normal forest noise. Ronon’s expression stilled as his eyes darted over to the disturbance. They continued moving, but his shoulders remained rigid.
“We’re about to have company.”
“Right,” Sheppard murmured back. “Ready McKay?”
McKay’s head snapped up and his brow furrowed. “What?”
Sheppard resisted the urge to groan. Fortunately Rodney wasn’t anything near stupid or unobservant, and noticed Ronon’s tense shoulders, and how Sheppard’s hand now cradled the butt of his P-90.
“Yeah,” Rodney whispered quietly.
The forest seemed to part around them, and suddenly the three men were surrounded by about twelve individuals, all armed with various weapons from clubs, to swords, and one or two held a weapon on par with Ronon’s gun. Sheppard hefted his P-90 to bear on those in front of him, feeling Ronon’s large frame meeting one shoulder, and by the raised height of his shoulder he was sure the Satedan had drawn his weapon as well. There was a long moment where his other shoulder remained open to space, before he felt McKay stumble back into it. Where Ronon’s movements were smooth and agile, McKay’s were almost clumsy and slow. He was afraid it was about time to start dragging the scientist back into mandated self-defense and firearms training. Finally he felt Rodney pull the nine millimeter from its holster.
During all of this he eyed all of his attackers in sight, trying to gauge if any of them were trigger happy enough to try and shoot. No one moved a muscle though.
“Well, what do we have here?” A commanding, definitely masculine, voice echoed from the darkness of the woods. “A couple of wandering Deimos.”
“No,” it was someone from McKay’s field of view, feminine by the sound of it. “Humans sir.”
A figure stepped out of the shadows, indiscernible from the darkness. “Humans? From the North?”
“No,” someone else answered, this one sounding from Ronon’s side, “they don’t look like anyone from here.”
“That’s interesting.” The figure stepped in closer, a slat of sunlight slashing across his face, illuminating a long ugly scar that ran from one ear to the opposite cheek.
Sheppard nudged Ronon in the shoulder, who nudged McKay, and the group shifted so that Sheppard was completely facing the figure. “What’s going on here? Who are you people?”
“That’s what we should be asking you. You came from the city of the dead.”
“The city of the dead?” McKay echoed. “Don’t tell me we warped into the middle of some bad Dawn of the Dead remake?”
“McKay,” Sheppard muttered.
“All right,” McKay forged on, despite Sheppard’s warning tone, “here’s the deal. We need you all to just step aside and put your puny weapons down so we can walk our way back to the gate and get in contact with some people of technological prowess. See, no offense intended, but you guys probably aren’t so up-to-date on the minute details of quantum physics to understand how to reboot a chrono—”
“What the hell is he blathering on about?” The shadowed man asked Sheppard.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” the Colonel shrugged. “He does this all the time.”
“Seems awfully inconvenient.”
“You have no idea,” Sheppard rolled his eyes. “By the way, since you asked, the name’s John Sheppard, Lieutenant Colonel of the United States Airforce.”
“Good to meet you John Sheppard. I am *InsertNameHere. Where is this ‘United States’. I have never heard of such a planet.”
“Well, it’s a long way from here, and by long I mean both physically and probably otherwise.”
INH didn’t seem to understand.
“Whatever. Look, we’re not here to harm you, and our coming here is by no means intentional, or harmful.”
“Lay down your weapons.”
At the command of their leader, everyone did so.
“We do not wish to make enemies, it is just you come to us under suspicious circumstances, and these are not good times, as I’m sure you know.”
“Well,” Sheppard, having dropped his P-90, rubbed his head. “I’ve heard that before, but maybe you can make sure we’re on the same page.”
INH cocked his head to the side. “Where do you come from where you don’t know of the Deimos, or the Siege of Atlantis?”
“Told you!” McKay hissed to Ronon.
“Well, um, that’s probably too complicated to explain, but yeah, we’ve heard of it. We just hear a lot of things, you see,” John spoke louder, hoping to drown out his bickering teammates.
“I see,” INH didn’t seem to buy it, but he didn’t deny it in front of everyone either. “You should come with us. It is not safe out here. The Deimos find anyone wandering the areas beyond the forests.”
“Hey, no arguments from us,” Sheppard shrugged. “Lead the way.”
* * * * *
The flash of light had caught her off guard, but the disappearance of her teammates had sent Teyla into a state of near panic that she had not felt since her father was sucked up by a Wraith ship. She had looked for them in the surrounding area to no avail, but had soon come to the conclusion that the device that Colonel Sheppard had activated was responsible for their disappearance.
She was running for all she was worth for the Stargate, knowing that only those on Atlantis would be able to save her friends. She could warn them of the Wraith, defend them against oncoming attackers, and even spy on Wraith communications for them, but when it came to Ancient technology, Teyla knew she was of no use to her team.
Her heart pounded in her ears, her breath came in short ragged gasps, but she would not stop. She took the shortest route, cutting through the village, leaving their guide to the city gasping for breath on the ground, trying to explain what happened.