Blood Ties

Chapter two

"I didn't say I was complaining."

"No need," commented Radek Zelenka as John Sheppard slid into the pilot's seat of the puddle jumper. "Rarely are your complaints so understated as to require identification."

"How droll," Rodney McKay snapped in reply. John glanced across at the copilot's seat to see Atlantis's chief scientist direct a withering glare over his shoulder at his colleague. "The intergalactic gate bridge was my design, if you'll recall, and I have no reservations about acknowledging its value. I'm simply pointing out the fact that there are advantages and disadvantages to having ready access to and from Earth. I'm very much in favor of the shortened turnaround time on our supply requests, but the tradeoff is being at the beck and call of any governmental bigwig who wants a report presented in person. They've already got Elizabeth under their thumb for a few days. Was it absolutely critical for them to drag us back as well?"

"Ah," Radek pointed out, "but is it not worth the trouble when you can bring back Colombian dark roast and Cadbury's chocolate each time Stargate Command asks you to drop in?"

"Elizabeth's visit was scheduled ages ago. You know how the IOA loves its biannual reports." John frowned as he ran an eye over the jumper's control panel. "Is it `biannual' or 'biennial'? I never can keep those straight."

Rodney's wordless grumble could have been directed either at John's linguistic failings or at the practices of the International Oversight Advisory; it was impossible to say which. "That in no way explains General Landry's reasons for summoning us," Rodney said. "You could at least have waited until I'd had a mouthful of breakfast. My glucose levels were already severely diminished from pulling yet another all-nighter, and you know how that hampers my ability to function. The glucose, that is. All-nighters are a depressingly frequent occurrence."

John chose not to interrupt his teammate's griping. If he let the others in on his thoughts, he'd end up having to peel Rodney off the ceiling. No sense in getting the perennially excitable scientist any more spun up than he was already.

Of course, it didn't take a rocket scientist to recognize that any situation requiring Atlantis's entire senior staff to leave the city and report to Earth must be pretty damned important.

General Landry had also ordered the other half of his team to check out the planet designated as MM-316, a place that had long since been flagged as inhospitable, for signs of an Ancient lab that Dr. Geisler believed to be there. When John had suggested that, given the slight problem they'd had previously with the prehistoric inhabitants of 316, he would lead the team when he got back from the SGC, Landry had made it abundantly clear that he-or, more alarmingly, the IOA-wasn't inclined to wait that long.

Glancing across the bay at Jumper Two, John saw Major Lorne settling into the pilot's seat, while Teyla and Ronon had just stepped on board with Geisler, who sported a bulky set of sample collection bags slung over his shoulders and a huge grin on his face.

Although John was fully confident in Lome's ability to negotiate the jumper around a T. rex or two on 316, as well as in the rest of the Atlantis crew's ability to look after the city for a few hours, concern for Atlantis or his teammates wasn't what had his insides threatening to stage a revolt. It was the curtness of the communication from the General. Almost two decades in uniform had taught Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard a few things about giving and receiving various types of orders. He'd known straight away that the clipped command to track down Rodney and Radek and report to Earth ASAP foretold nothing good.

At least they wouldn't have to wait long to find out the details. Having acquired three ZPMs after they'd recaptured Atlantis from the Asurans, they could just as easily walk through the gate to the SGC as take a jumper. However, much to Rodney's disappointment, the additional ZPMs had been allocated to the Odyssey and the Antarctic base. In order to make the return trip, they needed a jumper to transfer between the Milky Way and Pegasus gate systems at the midway station.

While Jumper One was powering up under his mental command, John dug one hand into his jacket pocket and tossed Rodney a hoarded Snickers bar. He wasn't in the mood for it, and he could always buy more before the return trip.

The unprompted display of altruism seemed to make Rodney suspicious. His eyes narrowed even as he unwrapped the candy. "What's going on? You know why Landry called us, don't you? Spill it, Sheppard. At a minimum, just tell me that it has nothing to do with nuclear winter, mad cow disease, or an unexpected Canadian civil war."

John blinked. Sometimes the McKay mind was a very strange place. "I don't know what the hell Landry needs me for," he said. It was the truth; he was pretty sure he'd permanently crossed himself off Landry's Christmas card list when he'd hijacked the jumper to retake Atlantis not so long ago. The General was a pragmatist, but one with a very good memory. "You, on the other hand, he needs because Colonel Carter is tied up with some other big project."

"Excuse me'? Oh, for- You made that up," Rodney accused, jabbing in his direction with the Snickers. "There is no field of study in this galaxy or any other in which I should be considered second fiddle to Samantha Carter. You're just trying to mess with me."

"No, that's just a perk." The jumper's systems were online and fully operational. John knew that, in part because of what the displays were telling him, and in part because the neural feedback he received from the Ancient operating systems of the jumper feltright in a way that he'd never been able to fully articulate.

With a fierce look, Rodney twisted in his seat to face Radek. "What about you?" he demanded around a mouthful. "How'd you get roped into this? Has the SGC taken an inordinate interest in any of your reports lately?"

"They may have requested additional data from one of my ongoing projects," Radek answered vaguely. "I would not want to speculate as to their reasons"

"Which project?"

"One in which you evidently had little interest, since you delegated it to me some time ago."

To John's ears, the normally even-tempered Czech sounded tense. Rodney, of course, was paying no attention to nuance. "Withholding information for petty amusement is beneath you," he snapped. "Was it the generator from P5F- 216? If so, recall that I didn't actually claim it was worthless; I simply prioritized it below about sixteen legitimately vital-"

"I was continuing Carson's research," Radek cut him off with more bite than might have been necessary. "It was his work the SGC wanted. Are you satisfied?"

Out of the comer of his eye, John saw Rodney's supercilious expression freeze. How long would it be before they could talk about Carson and not feel every past tense verb like a sucker punch?

A while longer, at least.

"I see," Rodney replied, his voice half a step above inaudible.

Well, this was a fun-filled way to start the day.

"Jumper One, you are cleared for departure °"

"Copy that," John acknowledged, maneuvering the craft down into Atlantis's gate room. The sooner they got to Earth, the sooner they could sort out all this secrecy and get back to coping with their typical, run of the mill hazards. "We'll try to be home before it gets dark. Jumper Two, try not to get eaten."

Ahint of Lome's dry humor accompanied the reply. "We'll do our best, sir. And good luck."

John appreciated the sentiment; he suspected he'd need more luck than Lome.

The familiar liquid event horizon within the Stargate rippled gently as the jumper eased forward. Although John had long since become conditioned to flying through a gate on one planet and emerging seconds later on a different world, the fact that they could now traverse galaxies separated by three million light years with almost no effort was still a fairly novel experience.

The wormhole deposited them in the Stargate Command gate room smoothly. "Welcome home, Jumper One," greeted Chief Harriman, pokerfaced as ever behind his glasses, from the control room. "The General's waiting for you upstairs."

"Thanks, Chief. I assume our regular parking spot's available?"

"Yes, sir."

Guiding the jumper upward to the bay located above the gate room, John watched the stark concrete walls skim past the windscreen. The bland gray was broken by little more than a metal access ladder and collection of pipes and circuit boxes, reminding him yet again of the many reasons why he preferred Atlantis to the SGC as a duty station. There was a kind of majesty in the Ancient city's graceful lines and sky-lit spaces. The air smelled of clean saltwater instead of air conditioning; he could feel the wind and sun on his face anytime he liked, just by stepping out onto a balcony. Practical or not, the SGC's glorified underground bunker was no place for a pilot.

Parking between the jumper found by SG-l a few years back and Jumper Three, which had brought the head of the Atlantis expedition to Earth, John was surprised to see Elizabeth standing with her arms crossed near the metal blast door. Alongside her were General Landry in short-sleeved blues and Richard Woolsey dressed in bureaucratic dullness, which prompted another gut clench. At least two of those three people were supposed to be in Washington reporting to the IOA, an organization that usually didn't tolerate absences or delays. The apprehension that seemed to be radiating from the trio likewise didn't offer John much in the way of reassurance.

As soon as Jumper One's hatch clanged onto the deck, Rodney was out of his seat and striding down the ramp. "We're here, our trip was fine, all's well on Atlantis. Can we move on to some actual explanations, preferably of the rapid and detailed variety?" He gulped down the last of the Snickers bar and looked around for someplace to deposit the wrapper.

"Always a pleasure, Dr. McKay." Landry gave him a tight, closed-mouthed smile and nodded once at John's `better safe than sorry' attention posture. The General turned to the door and ran his card through the lock. Pushing the door open, he led them out. "If you'll all join me in the briefing room, we'll do just that."

The group started down the stairs, where John fell into step beside Elizabeth. "When did you get in from D.C.?" he asked, doing his best to ignore the dingy, featureless walls.

"Two hours ago," she answered quietly. "Shortest and therefore most pleasant 10A meeting I've ever attended-until they told me just what it was that took precedence over their vaunted biannual report "

There was only so much of this crap John could take, even if they were just minutes away from getting answers. With Woolsey walking just ahead of them, he lowered his voice. "Tell me this and put me out of my misery. Is one of us getting fired?"

Elizabeth's expression tightened, but it was still hard to decipher. "I almost wish."

Okay, that didn't bode well.

"I'll feel at least somewhat better when we get word from Atlantis that Major Lorne's mission has been successfully completed," she continued. "Preferably without any of the inhabitants from 316 accompanying the jumper back through the gate."

The fact that Elizabeth had even felt the need to mention that last part was an indication of the urgency of Jumper Two's assignment.

John feigned a cavalier shrug. "Good thing we sent Lome. He's the best dodgeball player on the expedition."

In the briefing room, they found Dr. Daniel Jackson standing by the long rosewood conference table, one hand stuffed in his pocket and the other fiddling with a television remote control. Nothing on the table hinted at the nature of the briefing; no recently discovered Ancient artifacts or ominouslooking files with `Top Secret' stamped across the front, the lack of which just contributed to John's increasing apprehension.

"Dr. Lam checked in a few minutes ago, General," SG-1's resident archeologist reported, offering a nod in greeting to the visitors. "She's just finishing up in the lab and says to start without her since she already knows the basics."

"I have a feeling no one here will object to that." From the head of the table, Landry waved the others into seats. "A rather unusual… situation cropped up a couple of days ago," he announced, making John wonder just what the Stargate program's criteria might be for labeling an issue `unusual'. "In point of fact, it began a while back."

"That's one way of putting it," Jackson said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

"Thanks to Mr. Woolsey here," the General continued, "we're learning some details that are, to put it bluntly, disturbing. Richard, why don't you get us started?"

The only person to stay on his feet, Woolsey stood unnervingly still, as if he expected some kind of shoot-the-messenger situation to arise at any moment. Either that, or he was genuinely troubled by what he was about to say.

"The recording you're going to see was taken by a sleep disorder clinic," he began, indicating one of the room's wallmounted screens. "The patient is my cousin, Mark Payton. He'd been suffering from chronic fatigue for some months and eventually became desperate enough to consult a wellregarded clinic in Virginia. Because the clinic was backed up with patients, the specialist elected to set up an observation camera in Mark's apartment rather than bring him to the sleep lab. One of the nightly recording sessions captured this."

At Woolsey's expectant gaze, Jackson took his cue and pressed a button on the remote. The screen came instantly to life.

Payton's bedroom was ordinary at best, although the green tint of the `night vision' camera gave the whole setup a special cps look. For the first few seconds, John was just watching another man sleep, which was weird enough that he glanced away, only to have his focus snapped back by a movement in the comer of the screen.

"Someone is in the room with him?" Radek wondered quietly.

Woolsey's jaw twitched. "Mark lived alone."

John had the impression he wanted to add something to that but was intentionally presenting a minimalist case, presumably so that they could judge the situation without any kind of preconceptions.

As the recording continued, a shadowed figure moved across the camera's view. Too slender and lithe to be anything but female, she crawled onto the bed with the sleek movements of a cat and then stopped, poised above the still sleeping Payton. Long straight hair, pale in the unnatural light, hung down in a thick sheet, obscuring her face. A filmy skirt pooled around her legs while she slowly unbuttoned Payton's pajama shirt.

Before the obviously private moment could get any more uncomfortable for the briefing room audience, the woman placed her hand on Payton's chest and threw her head back-and a jolt of recognition pounded through John's veins.

Beside him, Radek muttered something, not one of the scientist's more familiar Czech curses.

For a fraction of a second John could feel the phantom pain of a clawed hand digging into his own chest. Quickly, though, he saw the differences between what he'd endured in Kolya's prison and what was happening on the tape. Payton cried out, his arms thrashing feebly, though he seemed otherwise fixed to the bed… but the expected transformation from middle-aged man to withered octogenarian never took place. The woman-she had to be human, not Wraith-almost appeared to treat him with care. When she'd finished… whatever she was doing, she brushed delicate fingers across his forehead and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on the place where her hand had rested.

Throughout the entire episode, which had lasted two minutes at most, Payton appeared not to have woken. He was still breathing and outwardly unhurt when the woman slipped off the bed and then out of the room.

The recording had ended by the time John noticed his runaway pulse and willed it back under control. That disquieting scene had come a bit too close to some not so well buried personal issues. A covert glance at his colleagues reassured him that Rodney, slack jawed and wide eyed, had missed his momentary freak-out, while Radek shared a distressed, knowing look with Elizabeth. John consciously squared his shoulders when her gaze slipped across to meet his. At the same time, he also felt a flash of suspicious uncertainty. Just who was and wasn't in the loop on this'? And why had he and Rodney been shut out until now'?

In the comer of the room, Woolsey was still staring at the now frozen image on the screen.

Carolyn Lam's arrival broke the surreal silence that had settled over the group. "I apologize for being late," said the SGC's chief of medicine, closing the door behind her. "Judging by the reactions I'm seeing, I'll presume I haven't missed much." She eased into the chair between the General and Jackson.

"Much'?" Radek echoed, his voice a despondent murmur.

"That was no Wraith," John stated, maybe a tad too emphatically. "She didn't look like one, didn't act like one, and sure as hell didn't feed like one-okay, maybe she fed like one, but-"

"Let's not make any unsupported assumptions." Rodney's shell-shocked stare hadn't faded, but his mental gears obviously had started cranking. "It's not completely out of the question that a Wraith could manage to control the pace of its feeding well enough to stop before any observable aging occurred. And recall that some Pegasus cultures actually worship those monsters. How do we know the feeding process isn't…um, gentler when it's undertaken willingly on both sides?"

"Did that guy look willing to you?" retorted John. "Also, in case you missed it, we're not in Pegasus anymore, Toto."

"Fine, then how would you categorize what we just saw?" Rodney demanded with unrestrained tension.

The textbook definition of a nightmare, John was tempted to say. "It was like one of those…I don't know, seductive demon things. What's the name for it? A succubus?"

"A what?" Rodney's eyebrows shot up. "Do I have lowbudget horror movies or videogames to blame for lodging that conceptual tidbit in your brain?"

Jackson was the one to finally break into their debate. "Actually, I believe Colonel Sheppard may be right." He angled the remote toward the television, and the image abruptly vanished.

That seemed to snap Woolsey out of his fixated daze, because he turned from the screen and, visibly taking control of himself, spoke up. "This tape was made four months ago. Less than a week later, Mark died in that apartment when the dry cleaning store downstairs went up in an electrical fire. I found the tape just recently among some boxes from Mark's office at the Pentagon. When I called the sleep clinic, the patient coordinator explained the reason for the recordings and shrugged off the `anomalous' night as a prank. She very politely informed me what the fee would be for returning the camera late."

A sardonic smirk flicked across his features and quickly vanished as his gaze strayed to the wide windows overlooking the gate room. "After that, I made the call I should have made in the first place. We had Mark's body exhumed and flown here, where General Landry volunteered his medical staff for a full autopsy."

"The fire did mask the actual cause of death." Dr. Lam clasped her hands on top of a plastic file folder she'd placed on the table. "It couldn't mask the residual traces of the Wraith feeding enzyme."

John made an effort not to flinch. A Wraith on Earth. Impossible-yet, even before that thought had fully formed, he reminded himself that the word `impossible' had disappeared from his vocabulary the day he'd flown General O'Neill to the Ancient outpost in Antarctica.

Woolsey might not have been one of John's favorite people, but the guy had lost family, and that entitled him to some consideration. Landry took over, subtly motioning Woolsey toward a seat. "It gets worse. Last night, one of our medical technicians, Logan Cabal, came home to find his wife, Jamie, murdered. He recognized signs of a Wraith attack and called for an SGC response team, but the smoke alarm had already activated and neighbors had called 911."

"Surely the military can play some type of national security trump card on the local cops when necessary," said Rodney, the end of his statement sounding more like a query.

"It's not quite that straightforward," Landry answered ruefully. "These killings are hardly typical, and they've attracted some attention."

"They'? How would the actual circumstances of Payton's death be known?"

"Not Payton. Others °"

John barely had time to process that startling new detail before Jackson reached over to slip the file out from under Lam's hands and rifle through it. Without looking up, he explained, "The FBI and local law enforcement are investigating Jamie Cabal's death as a bizarre ritual sacrifice. I spoke to the Bureau's profiler at the scene, and she informed me of a number of similar murders, including two prior incidents in Colorado Springs within the last month."

"Implying that some of the murders took place elsewhere." Elizabeth's poised demeanor showed signs of cracking at last.

Jackson nodded. "The first case was in L.A. in late 2001. Similar cases have been reported by Interpol, Australian Federal Police, and New Zealand Police. Unfortunately, because the fire is a central part of the M.O., we have no way of determining the actual number of victims."

Which meant that they probably were dealing with more than one Wraith. This day just kept getting better.

"In spite of what television has led most people to believe, a full autopsy isn't standard procedure," Lam pointed out, and for once even the cool, unflappable doctor seemed a mite edgy. "In fact it's a fairly rare occurrence. When a coroner sees significant burns-to the point where some victims were almost incinerated-it's not hard to misinterpret the deaths as being fire-related."

"If the tape of Payton is anything to go by, the victims may not always have been killed immediately," said Jackson. "For all we know, some might have had multiple encounters before the final act."

"Mark suffered from nightmares off and on for much of his life," Woolsey admitted. "He learned to live with them, but then he was diagnosed with chronic fatigue." A spasm of guilt crossed his face. "When we were teenagers I used to tease him because he always described the nightmare in the same way. A woman coming to him in the night, straddling his chest, touching him…" His eyes strayed back to the nowdark screen.

"It's a common enough dream, more so among pubescent boys, for obvious reasons," Lam reassured him. "You can't blame yourself for not recognizing it as something more significant."

John lifted his boot in anticipation of needing to shut Rodney up, but the scientist apparently had enough sense to keep any details of his own adolescent dreams to himself.

Finally locating the page he'd been searching for, Jackson tugged it from the file and set it down on the table's dark leather inlay. "This symbol has been a common factor in all the known crime scenes. The FBI's theory is that it's the emblem of a cult whose members kill with some form of yetto-be identified toxin."

He pushed the photo across the table toward Rodney and John: one large aqua ring inside another, pierced by an elongated triangle. The drawing-or more precisely, spray-painting-was rough and simple, but John hazarded a guess. "A Stargate?"

"And a Wraith Dart," Rodney finished, slowly slumping forward until he could drop his head into his hands.

"We managed to get the authority to perform the Cabal autopsy here," said Lam, reclaiming her file from Jackson. "Waiting on the results is what kept me from getting to this meeting sooner. There were some minor variations in the chemical composition of the enzyme, which I'll be investigating further, but I can confirm that Jamie Cabal was indeed killed by a Wraith attack."

John had almost managed to forget that Radek was present until the scientist spoke up. "We may be able to account for the differences," he began. "Since the-"

"General'?" The respectful yet firm hail drew everyone's attention to Chief Harriman, who had entered the briefing room via Landry's office. "Sir, sorry to interrupt. At least two news stations are reporting that a body was recovered from a fire in a local apartment complex last night. They've gotten word that the coroner's office is doing an autopsy."

Spinning his chair toward Lam, Rodney demanded, "Didn't you say the body from last night's attack is here? Are we now saying that there were two of these murders in one night?"

Harriman clasped his hands behind his back. "General, the reporters are speculating about a potential arsonist serial killer in Colorado Springs."

If anything could have darkened Landry's features further, that information had done the trick. "We were afraid something like this might occur," he said, half to himself. "Just not so soon."

Somewhere amid all this mess, beneath the obvious terror associated with the notion of Earth-based Wraith hiding under the proverbial bed, there had to be a `how' and a 'why'. Although John didn't have the first clue where to look, he was starting to get the idea that finding those answers was about to become his primary goal in life. For that, he needed to get the rest of his team here-a thought that brought the M1M316 mission back to center stage. Just what had Carson been working on?

"The Stargate program needs to assess and eliminate this threat. We can't rely on law enforcement."

Surprisingly, that assertion came from Woolsey. Whether it was due to his recent ordeal on Atlantis or Payton's murder, the IOA's lackey seemed to have grown a backbone, along with some common sense.

Woolsey's gaze moved over Elizabeth, John, Rodney, and Radek in turn. "You're here because you know more about the Wraith than anyone else on this planet. I suggest you get down to the county morgue and find out whatever you can, as quickly as you can."

While the task sounded like a good starting point on Earth, John didn't report to Woolsey. Furthermore, nothing in the discussion had yet told him how the Isla Nubla of the Pegasus Galaxy figured into this. He cast a questioning look at the head of the table. "General'? What about the rest of my team?"

Landry was looking at Lam, who was gathering up the contents of the file. "All in good time, Colonel. Carolyn?"

"We're ready," she said, pushing her chair back.

"Go," Landry ordered, standing up and signaling for Woolsey to join him in his office. "The FBI profiler appears to be the most knowledgeable person about the method of the killings. Get whatever you can from her without compromising classified information on our end."

"That'll be a challenge, won't it?" Rodney trailed the General as far as his office door. "Pumping her for information when we can't give her any in return? I would think an FBI agent would have an acceptable security clearance."

With one hand on the handle of his office door, Landry replied, "Not high enough for blanket access to the Stargate program. We'll reassess her need to know after you've spent some time with her." On this topic, the SGC commander was immovable. "Dr. Weir will brief you on the cover story on the drive there. Colonel-" his gaze met John's- "you'll accompany Dr. Lam and her team. I'll have the necessary paperwork in place by the time you get there."

"Yes, sir," John replied automatically, only to shake his head once they were outside the briefing room and the door was closed. "We can try to play cloak and dagger with this for a while, but it won't be easy," he told the remaining group. "We don't honestly expect to be able to withhold the truth from this profiler for very long when we've got Wraith coming out of the woodwork everywhere, do we?"

"That depends on what the truth actually is." Jackson exchanged a glance with Radek and Elizabeth, and John got the familiar sense that he was still behind the power curve.