Sheppard managed to open his eyes fully, but they were bright and unfocused. “Welcome back, sir,” Ford smiled. “You freaked us out a little back there.”
There was a faint response, but it was hardly more than a groan. The Lieutenant’s grin faltered. “You remember what’s going on, right? And who you are, and all that?”
The ensuing pause was unnerving enough to them all that Rodney broke in. “For the love of God, Major, just give us something to demonstrate that your brains aren’t running out your ears.”
After another beat of silence, the reply came, weak but unequivocal. “Shut up, Rodney.”
Ford smirked. “He remembers, all right.”
The healer lifted a gnarled hand. Sheppard’s eyes followed the motion, but with a sluggish delay. Seemingly satisfied with that result, the healer withdrew a small bottle from a pouch at his belt and helped the Major to drink its contents before easing his head back to the pillow. “Rest now,” he said kindly.
Sheppard looked inclined to obey, but momentarily fixed a disoriented gaze on Ford. “We safe?” he murmured.
Ford’s flinch most likely went unnoticed by his CO. “We’re on it, sir.”
The swiftness with which Sheppard sank back into oblivion bothered Rodney. “What was in that stuff you just gave him?”
“The potion will allow him to sleep through the night,” the old man replied, returning the bottle to his pouch.
“What?” Rodney snapped at him. “You gave him something to sleep at a time like this? We need him awake and alert—”
“You are of the Chosen.” The healer stood and stared at Rodney from beneath a pair of fuzzy white eyebrows. “It rests with you to decide what must be done. But I warn you that forcing him to wake now will only confuse him and delay healing. If you seek his counsel, then you must wait until morning.”
While he had never been much of a champion of the medical profession, Rodney wasn’t about to grant a glorified witch doctor the same deference Carson Beckett had earned. “And you’re convinced that’s prudent based on a five-second exam and some hand-waving?”
“Dr McKay,” Teyla said, her tone carrying a familiar admonition.
“Not this time, Teyla.” He watched the healer step back with a slight bow, unruffled. The old man’s composure only heightened Rodney’s anxiety. “I’m willing to respect their ways up to a point, but the Major could have intracranial bleeding for all that guy knows. Not to mention the fact that we could do with a little tactical advice here!”
“Athosian healers have developed many treatments without the benefit of sophisticated equipment,” she countered, her features carved in stone. “These people did manage to survive for many generations without our assistance.”
“Noted, but I’ll once again point out that current conditions make it improbable that they’ll survive for many generations more without our assistance.”
“I must take my leave,” the old man announced. “There are many who are more gravely injured than this Chosen, and Dalera has commanded that all should be treated equally.”
“Guys,” Ford said quietly, flicking his gaze toward the foot of the bed. Lisera had returned, flanked by two older women holding buckets and cloths.
“It does not serve Major Sheppard well to remain covered in oil,” said one of the women hesitantly, her discomfort surely caused by the tension humming between the team members. “With your permission?”
After a moment, Rodney realized that she was looking to him for a go-ahead. “Sure, yeah. Just, ah, understand that our people aren’t too fond of being unclothed in front of others, all right?”
The women looked at him oddly, while Lisera blushed a little and ducked her head. Rodney made a mental note to mock Sheppard later for sleeping through his sponge bath.
Now he just had to ensure that he’d get that chance. “Anyone have any information on the status of the North Channel?” Rodney asked the room in general, turning back to the problem at hand.
“Word comes from West Bridge that the oil is flowing as strongly as ever,” one of the townspeople answered promptly. “It continues to feed the flames.”
The unqualified success of his previous plan gave him far less satisfaction than it had earlier, since major modifications were now required. “All right. We need to flow more oil into the South Channel. I need—” Rodney snapped his fingers repeatedly, trying to recall the name of the engineer, but then he remembered that the man was dead. That memory gave him pause. Artos had saved his life. “The men who walked the boom across the channel,” he said in a subdued voice. Clearing his throat of something that seemed to have caught there, he added, “They’ll have to lengthen it.”
“I will locate them and set them to work,” Yann determined.
“What, while I wait here and babysit the Major? I’m sure it won’t shock you to learn that my trust doesn’t run that deep. I’m going out to supervise. This is too important.”
“Go ahead,” Ford said, folding his arms across his P-90. “I’m going out to do some recon on the Wraith positions. Like it or not, we can’t do without intel.”
“Have it your way,” Rodney retorted, tired of arguing. The Lieutenant appeared fixated on his role of playing commando. So be it. “Take that previously mentioned contingent of guards, and do me the favor of remembering my dissent if you should happen to get yourself killed.”
“Four men only. Any more and we risk being heard.”
“I will accompany Lieutenant Ford.” Teyla checked the clip of her P-90. “We will also need a Gene to operate the transport.”
“I can go,” Peryn chimed in, stepping away from where he’d been hovering near Lisera.
“No,” Ford started to say, but Rodney cut him off with a wave.
“Take him. He’s quicker and more maneuverable than just about everyone else around here.” The idea of sending someone who was hardly more than a child off to face the Wraith struck a dark chord in his mind, but again, options were limited. Besides, if the Wraith broke through into the Citadel, it was only a matter of time before they were all dead. “Do what you have to do, and we’ll meet back here.”
Checking his collection of Shields one more time, Rodney picked up his weapon and spared another glance toward Sheppard. We ’ll meet back here, he repeated to himself.
The two groups made their way downstairs and out into the streets. The glow from the fire along the entire North Channel was marginally reassuring, but the desperate expressions of the evacuees inside the dimly lit Sanctuary Hall was not. Eyes peered out of bloody, dust-covered faces. It felt to Rodney as if they were claiming pieces of him, or the desired outcome, for themselves. He swallowed and cringed. He didn’t want to be here. In fact, he just wanted to lie down and sleep. This wasn’t his job; it was the Major’s. But the faces urged him on, pushing him from behind, crowding him until he was almost relieved to escape into the transport.
That’s when he noticed the gaggle of children trailing in his wake. “When did I become the Pied Piper?” His recollection of the outcome of that particular Grimms’ tale was that things had not ended well for the children. At Yann’s blank look, Rodney rolled his eyes. “Go back,” he told the kids, attempting to brush them off. “Seriously, get lost! You can’t help me, and you’re better off in the Station.”
“We’d rather go,” one little girl informed him almost cheerfully. It was the same child that had been carelessly tossed against him by Balzar’s clone.
“I’m sorry, did I miss the part where I asked what you’d rather do?”
“Give it up, Doc,” Ford called from inside the transport. “They’ve bailed us out more than once already.”
“Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed,” Rodney sighed. Looking up at his teammates preparing to depart, he could only offer a feeble, “Good luck.”
“To you as well,” Teyla replied.
The doors closed on them, and Rodney jerked away from the little girl, who’d somehow taken an interest in his fingers. “The moment any one of you asks me for chocolate, I’m calling the whole thing off.”