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"Major, a word."
John followed with some reluctance, already guessing where this was going, and he supposed he was right — though only a civilian with no military experience would even consider abandoning military assets to the enemy. The weight of command seemed to press down on Weir's shoulders as she led him away from the main group, her diplomatic composure barely masking the strain of their impossible situation.
Beyond the simple fact that you didn't need to be a Marine to understand you leave no one behind, they had, as Weir herself had pointed out, no idea what these people were capable of. The Wraith remained an enigma wrapped in nightmare fuel and leaving somebody like Sumner, with so much critical intel about both their location in Pegasus and their origin, was the height of folly.
The Colonel knew about Earth, about the SGC, about their defensive capabilities and weaknesses. He was a walking intelligence goldmine that John couldn't afford to let fall into enemy hands.
Also, fact of the matter: John might be the ranking military officer here, but he had been brought on this mission as a light switch, and Sumner had made that abundantly clear during their brief but pointed interactions. He didn't have access to the current mission data, hadn't been briefed on contingency protocols, hadn't been privy to the strategic discussions that had shaped their approach to this galaxy. He hadn't been looped into the expedition's formal command structure the way the other military officers had, those men and women who'd trained together, planned together, bled together in preparation for this one-way trip. For all that he was a USAF major with a respectable service record, he was no more than a contingency asset with a pulse — the guy who could make Ancient technology work when nobody else could. He needed Sumner's experience, his knowledge, his tactical expertise. Plain and simple.
Still, he needed to convince a civilian, which meant using objective arguments delivered with as much emotional weight as he could afford without crossing the line into insubordination. Weir responded to logic, to carefully presented facts, to appeals to the greater good. She didn't respond well to military posturing or emotional manipulation.
"If we're not gonna do this — and I mean right now — let's just turn tail and pack up. Because they're coming—" His jaw tightened as he spoke, each word measured and deliberate, though his fingers drummed once against his thigh.
"You don't know that." She cut him off, her chin lifting slightly, hands clasping together in front of her as if holding onto something fragile.
"Our people are in the hands of the enemy, Doctor. Do you know what that means?" He paused, letting the implications sink in, watching her face as the reality of their situation crystallized behind her eyes. "It is just a matter of time before the Wraith figure out this is the base of our operation. They'll make our people talk, one way or another."
She interrupted him again, but it felt like a small victory, a crack in her diplomatic armor. "I just need more information. I can't make decisions in a vacuum."
"Then I'll get you more information. Whatever you need, however you need it." He leaned forward slightly, pressing his advantage. "In the meantime, let me organize that rescue. We need to be ready the moment we know where we're going. Every second we delay is another second our people are in enemy hands."
She sighed, the sound carrying the weight of impossible choices and inadequate options. "Very well. But "Listen to me now, Major. I'm not sending more good people, including you, to their deaths. Not without a real plan and a reasonable chance of success.”
She leaned forward slightly, her jaw set. "Do you understand?"
He could only nod, understanding the burden she carried and the fine line she had to walk between hope and responsibility.
Once back inside, he addressed McKay, who was already working at the Ancient console — likely doing exactly what John had asked. “Which one of your people is best at scouring historical data and finding me information on the Wraith ASAP?”
“Huh?” The man glanced up before returning to his work, though not before answering, “Kusanagi. Miko’s the best hacker we have.”
“Thanks.”
And as he had absolutely no idea which of the civilian scientists Kusanagi was, he stopped at the top of the stairs, grabbed a random member of their number, and asked to be pointed in her direction. He was directed toward a petite Asian woman working on a laptop, perched atop a couple of crates and, from all appearances, hard at work despite their current circumstances.
He approached her and waited until she finished tapping whatever she was typing.
She studied him for a moment, then hopped down from her perch. "I help," she said, her accent coloring each word. Her fingers flew across her laptop as she connected it to an unoccupied console, and within seconds her eyes had that distant look of someone completely absorbed in data streams and code.
It took another hour and a half before McKay produced a location. Yet having coordinates did not necessarily mean they had the means to get there— or more accurately, they did, but it was up to John to determine whether he could fly those ships.
And John had yet to find a machine meant to fly that he couldn’t operate. Even if he preferred rotating wings to fixed ones, he was good with anything that left the ground. Add in the whole Ancient gene thing, and it took him little more than ten minutes to determine he could do this.
Now he only needed to see if Kusanagi had anything for him.
The ships alone had already been enough to convince Weir, but additional intel could only help.
“So they alternate? One queen stays awake to keep watch while the rest sleep?”
“Yes. And if you destroy the one who’s awake, then you wake them all. The whole reason for the system is that Pegasus cannot sustain the current Wraith population.” She looked at him seriously. “So whatever you do, Major, you cannot kill any female you meet on that ship.”
He could feel the frustration mounting when McKay cleared his throat behind him. “We’ve got two Zat’nik’tels in the weapons crates. You should take one.”
“What the hell is a Zat whatever?”
“Zat’niktel. They’re Goa’uld weaponry. One shot renders the target unconscious. The second kills them, and a third disintegrates the body—”
“Hm. The Goa’uld… those are the mind-flayers-like aliens, right?”
At that, both McKay and Kusanagi seemed to freeze as they stared at him. Then McKay snorted, shaking his head. “First the maths, and now Dungeons & Dragons. Careful, Major, or I’ll start thinking you’re a geek under all that fluffy hair.”
John couldn’t help the self-conscious way he ruffled said fluffy hair. Still, he replied, “I like to think of myself as more of a nerd, thank you very much. Anyway, do we actually have one of those here?”
McKay nodded. “We only have two, mind, so don’t lose them.”
“Yeah, okay.” John nodded, then turned back toward Kusanagi. “Anything else?”
“Not much. If there is an organization to this, it’s one beyond me. That I got this much is already a miracle. You know they feed on us. You know you cannot destroy that ship or kill their queen. That’s all I’ve got.”
“Then that’s all we’ll get. Thank you, doctors. I’ve got a rescue to launch.”
“Alright, boys.” John then threw a sardonic look at Teldy behind him. “And girls. Get ready to go.”
Once all his people were secured, he opened the comm. “Flight, this is… Puddle Jumper One. Ready to launch.”
McKay’s voice came through the channel. “This is Flight. I thought we agreed on Gateship?”
With a smirk, John replied, “Negative, Flight.”
“Stand by.”
John exchanged an amused look with Lieutenant Ford at his side, who had been the one to give him the name McKay decided on. McKay might have discovered the thing, but he wasn’t the one flying it, which meant he didn’t get the final say.
After a moment, the comm crackled again and the scientist's irritated voice sounded again. “Fine. Puddle Jumper, you are clear to launch.”
And just like that, they were gone. Ford dialed the gate, and they went through, emerging into the vastness of space. It took John very little time to realize the extent of the harmony between the Puddle Jumper and his thoughts.
Within minutes he had access to a life-sign detector to use during the operation, along with detailed trajectory information for the landing. It took barely any time after that before they were on the surface, and John began giving his marching orders.
He left half the team behind to secure the Jumper, including Sergeant Markham, so they would still have a way out should the worst come to pass. The Marine might not have been a pilot, but he was one of the few with a sufficiently advanced version of the gene that actual piloting experience was not entirely necessary. It would have been preferable certainly, but that was why it remained the fallback plan.
Had he not had Kusanagi’s intel, he would probably have taken only one backup.
As it was, he needed all the eyes at his back he could get to move in and out without destroying the ship—which would otherwise have been his plan. Teldy carried the second Zat, just in case.
They had barely entered the Wraith ship when Sergeant Anderson remarked, “Not much security, is there?”
The team exchanged glances. John didn't like the implications, but he had a pretty good idea why. “They have no threat opposing them in Pegasus. What would they even need to defend themselves from?”
Teldy snorted. “Well, sir, how about we give them a reason to start, eh?”
“I couldn’t agree more with you, Captain.”
The grin they exchanged was positively bloodthirsty.
With little more discussion, he took point and began directing them through the alien ship, heading toward the largest human cluster showing on the detector in his handheld device.
It took them some time, as John tried to avoid any non-human life signs along their route, but better safe than sorry.
Anderson once again broke the silence among them. “Is it me, or are there no females among them?”
“Hm. Well, according to Kusanagi, they have a queen, and frankly look like a cross between Marilyn Manson and some kind of bug. So maybe the only female would be the queen? Like bees…”
Ford shrugged. “It’s as good an explanation as any, although I’m pretty sure there are non-queen bees in a hive.”
“How would I know? Let’s pipe down and leave that discussion to the eggheads back at home base, huh? Besides, we’re there.”
And indeed, after the last turn they found themselves standing in front of the prison holding their allies and missing personnel.
The moment they were spotted, both Teyla and Halling stepped toward the bars, even as Teldy put away her sidearm to install a small charge on the door.
“Major Sheppard, how did you find us?”
“Is my son alive?”
“Jinto is fine. I took him and the rest of your people with me when we evacuated Athos.”
He could see the relief plainly on both Athosian leaders’ faces. Still, he took a moment to look around the prisoners. “The Colonel?”
Teyla’s expression grew solemn as she replied, “He was taken somewhere. It has not been that long”
Hell.
Still, he waited until the cage was opened before shifting his attention. “Ford, take Stackhouse, Miller, and Mackenzie with you and escort them back to the ship. If we’re not back in half an hour, go home.”
“Sir?! We can’t leave you behind. You’re our pilot, besides.”
“That’s why Markham stayed in the Puddle Jumper. Don’t argue with me, kid. Get moving.”
John could see the lieutenant’s reluctance to obey. Yet Ford was a Marine through and through, so, however reluctantly, he complied.
Once the larger group had left them, John turned toward Teldy, who looked just as determined as he was to find their CO. And so they continued following the life detector’s indications.
It took them far too long to even get close to where they had taken the colonel. About two turns away, they heard the man’s agonized scream echoing through the corridors.
Without even looking at each other, they broke into a run in that direction, hoping to reach him in time.
Even with Sumner’s very audible suffering guiding them, they still took the time to reach higher ground, both for the strategic advantage and the clearer view it offered.
From there John could see the colonel, bare-chested and looking twice his age, and what could only be the Queen towering over him. One hand was pressed against his chest, obviously feeding.
He didn’t hesitate, trusting Teldy to have his back as he armed the Zat and fired at her, dropping her instantly, then immediately firing at the two males also in the room.
Even as he did so, he heard the distinctive crack of a Zat behind him—Teldy’s—firing twice. He wasted no time, not knowing how long the weapon would keep the Wraith down, and hurried into the room, passing the dead Wraith Teldy had protected him from.
The second they entered, John made a beeline for Sumner, even as Teldy fired twice more into each of the males, effectively eliminating the evidence—if one discounted the unconscious Queen.
“Sir!”
Hoping like hell they had arrived in time, John approached the colonel.
Teldy’s voice came from behind him, clipped and businesslike. “Is he dead?”
“Unconscious. She was touching him when I dropped her. I’ll carry him. Take point.”
“Yes, sir!”
The way back toward the ship’s exit felt excruciatingly slow, but they didn’t have much choice, just the two of them. They had to be careful, especially since they couldn’t risk blowing the whole thing up.
Halfway through, he turned to Teldy. “You think you can place some charges to give us a good distraction without compromising the integrity of the ship and destroying it?”
If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought he’d just offered her the gift of her dreams.
“Thought you’d never ask, sir.”
To John, it felt like a miracle that they managed to make it back toward their entry point without drawing too much attention, all the while Teldy placing C4 charges along their route.
They did encounter some Wraith, but managed to kill them before they could be noticed. John didn’t believe their luck would hold out, and yet they arrived at their entry point with all their pieces still attached. The alarm had long been ringing, but they got off the ship before it lifted off.
“Markham, status?”
The sergeant’s voice came through clearly, as calm as ever. “RAS, sir. All rescuees accounted for. Just waiting on you.”
“Cloaked?”
“Yes, sir.”
“On our way. Teldy, the moment we’re out of range, make it rain.”
“Sir!”
And that’s what she did. It spoke to her mastery of her craft that the moment the C4 detonated, the ship behind them shuddered from the force, crashing back down from the few feet it had managed to lift off—yet it did not blow apart entirely.
After what felt like an eternity, the Jumper was close by, and he reached out mentally to confirm its position. They were about two feet from it when the rear hatch opened and they rushed inside, adding to the already cramped feeling within. Yet better cramped than dead.
He laid the colonel down, feeling as though he could finally breathe. “Miller! Take care of him.”
He didn’t even wait to see whether their field medic obeyed before making his way toward the front and taking Markham’s place in the pilot seat.
"Operation Merry-Go-Round, Markham."
"Yes, sir." The sergeant's fingers flew across the tablet McKay had given him, coordinates appearing on screen as they approached the gate. Two Wraith fighters circled like vultures, but Markham dialed anyway.
John launched the Jumper skyward, cutting through space toward the event horizon.
The wormhole swallowed them whole—one Wraith fighter slipping through before the gate snapped shut. Markham's hands were already moving, punching in the next destination. John's jaw clenched as he pictured weapons that weren't there, wished for firepower they didn't have…
A drone streaked from the Jumper's belly, turning the pursuing ship into scattered debris.
The gate kawooshed open. John shot through before the Wraith fragments had even started to drift.
Five more jumps. Five more gates swallowing them and spitting them out elsewhere. Each time, Markham's fingers found new coordinates while John's hands guided them through another event horizon.
Finally, familiar symbols appeared on the tablet and Markham took them home.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Atlantis. Please remain seated until the Jumper has come to a complete stop. We hope you had a pleasant flight with us and hope to see you again aboard Air Atlantis. This is Major Sheppard wishing you a great day."
Tired chuckles rippled through the cabin. Behind him, Miller's hands didn't stop moving—checking pulse, adjusting the oxygen flow, monitoring for signs of shock, keeping pressure on the worst of the bleeding. His jaw was set, all his focus narrowed to one task: keeping the colonel alive long enough for Beckett to work miracles.
But the city's spires stretched below them, silver in the afternoon light.
Upon awakening, Marshall Sumner was very confused—mostly because he had not expected to wake again. I should be dead. He was not even sure when he had passed out, for the last thing he remembered was pain: agonizing, all-encompassing pain.
Thinking on it, he was still very much in pain, the likes of which he had never felt. Not in intensity, for the pain caused by the female Wraith had been far worse. No—this was something deeper, as if every one of his cells wanted to make itself known. Like my body's trying to tear itself apart from the inside.
Beyond that, his current location was also a source of confusion. If I had to guess... judging by the mixture of alien and Earth technology around him, he would say he was back on Atlantis. Had he been rescued, then? But how is that possible? If so, was the city not supposed to sink? And yet sunlight filtered through the windows. So perhaps not Atlantis after all.
Nothing makes sense right now. Suffice it to say that neither his condition nor his surroundings lent themselves to clearing his confusion.
Fortunately, he was apparently not alone.
“Colonel, you’re awake. Thank God!”
Marshall didn’t dare turn his head to see the speaker, but he recognized Dr. Beckett’s distinct Irish brogue. So Atlantis, definitely.
He took as deep a breath as his rattling lungs would allow before trying to speak. “Doc—” he managed, only to be painfully interrupted by a fit of coughing.
“Now don’t talk, laddie. Here, have some ice chips, it’ll help.” And the doc indeed gave him some, although from where they had appeared Marshall had no idea.
Once he had gathered his breath again, he realized the doctor had not wasted any time auscultating him now that he was awake. So he let him, taking the time to gather his thoughts. But at this point he needed to speak to Dr. Weir—and to whoever had been in charge of the military while he had been a prisoner.
“Who—who led the rescue mission?”
Beckett gave him a considering look, but swiftly relented. The man having worked with the American military long enough to know how stubborn they could be.
“Major Sheppard did. You’ll be wanting to speak with the lad, I’d wager. And Dr. Weir as well, aye?”
He simply nodded, saving his strength. He would need it, of that he was sure.
God above, Sheppard?!
But as the doc continued examining him, he felt himself drifting off again. Hell, but he was exhausted.
When he came to, he wasn’t alone. Sheppard was sitting beside him, a tablet and stylus in hand, focused on whatever he was reading.
He tried to speak but managed only an indistinct sound. The major must have heard it, because he lifted his head and came to attention the moment he realized Marshall was awake, the tablet clattering onto the chair as he stood.
Marshall had to clear his throat twice before he could manage the order. “At ease, Major. Sit down.”
The man obeyed but remained silent.
“Tell me about the rescue, Major.”
“Yes, sir. The moment I had the green light from Dr. Weir, I met the team I selected in the Puddle Jumper bay. They are—”
And as the story uncoiled from the younger officer, Marshall had to admit, if only to himself, that he was impressed by the Chair Force’s decisions during the mission, save perhaps for leaving the female alive. She knew of Earth, after all. Letting that kind of intelligence fall into enemy hands could prove problematic.
When he said as much, Sheppard slowly shook his head before replying.
“While I was waiting for Dr. Weir’s go-ahead for the mission, I had one of the scientists look for any intel the Ancients might have had on the Wraith. Dr. Kusanagi couldn’t access much with the limited time we had, but she did find out a few things. First—and most relevant in our case—the Wraith have a hive mind. What one knows, the others will soon enough.”
He paused then. “In the end, leaving her alive wasn’t so much mercy as it was strategy. Had she died, the thousands of other Wraith hives asleep as we speak would have awakened.”
Marshall felt his thoughts go blank for a second, the weight of that single word hitting him like a physical blow. "Thousands?"
The major nodded tightly, his expression grim as he shifted slightly in his chair. "We can't be sure, sir. The Ancients left this galaxy ten thousand years ago, and their records aren't exactly comprehensive when it comes to current Wraith populations. That number is an extrapolation, as far as Kusanagi could determine, based on their knowledge of the enemy's reproductive cycles and the capacity of this galaxy to sustain them over the millennia."
He shrugged slightly, the gesture carrying the weight of uncertainty that had become all too familiar since their arrival in Pegasus. "So I suppose we could be wrong. Could be hundreds, could be tens of thousands. But considering how smart the whole species is supposed to be, I'm willing to take their word for it for now. Just like I did when it came to the Queen who was interrogating you, sir."
Marshall absorbed this information, the implications were staggering, but there would be time to process them later. "Thank you, Major. Your report's already submitted?"
Sheppard nodded crisply. "Yes, sir. Full debrief's in the system, including Dr. Kusanagi's preliminary findings on the Ancient database entries."
"Then you can go." Marshall settled back against his pillows, already feeling the exhaustion creeping back in. "If you see Dr. Weir, tell her I'd like to speak with her. I'll call you back when I have a better idea of my condition and the state of the expedition."
"Yes, sir."
"Dismissed, Major."
"Sir." Sheppard rose from his chair with military precision.
And with a final salute—sharp and respectful despite the informal setting of the infirmary—Sheppard left him to his decidedly dark thoughts.
Thousands of Wraith, Marshall thought grimly. Forty million light years from home with no way to call for help, no reinforcements that could possibly arrive in time, no backup plan beyond the resources already scattered throughout Pegasus. The weight of that isolation pressed down on him like a physical thing, heavier than any injury the Wraith Queen's interrogation had inflicted.
It had been a few days since he woke up, his body screaming for relief that would never come. A few hours after his talk with Sheppard, he had found himself contemplating the morphine pump fitted to his arm when he noticed Dr. Beckett approaching.
The man wore his usual nervous expression, but Marshall could not help thinking there was something new beneath it. He supposed he was right, for the conversation that followed had the unmistakable weight of a final death knell.
Three days earlier —
“Colonel, I think— that is, I know we need to talk.”
“Sit, Doctor. The news won’t be any better for waiting.”
“Right… aye.” The doctor took an inordinate amount of time performing the simple task of sitting down. Marshall remained silent. At this point he had a fairly good idea of what was coming, and while he wasn’t eager to hear it, he wasn’t one to hide from the truth.
“Right,” Beckett repeated once seated. Then he muttered under his breath, “That’s why I told Dr. Weir I wasn’t meant for this post.”
Marshall couldn’t help but agree. That had been one of the reasons he had argued against the choice. Biro would probably have handled this better.
“Get on with it, Doc. Things won’t improve by stalling.”
“Colonel…” Beckett took a deep breath. “According to your records you are forty-four years old. Nevertheless, the draining from that Wraith has left you with the physiology of an eighty-year-old man. And not a robust one either, I’m afraid.”
He paused before continuing.
“The human body isn’t built to endure such rapid aging in so short a time, and it shows. Multiple organs are showing signs of systemic failure or decline—your heart, your renal system, your respiratory tract. Some of your joints are worn beyond repair.”
Another pause.
“Normally, as these conditions appear gradually throughout a person’s life, we address them with surgeries and medications as they arise. We can arrange some of the procedures you require, but not all of them. Either because we lack the necessary supplies—for instance, the hip replacement or the pacemaker you urgently need—or because the surgery itself would place too much strain on your already compromised system.”
He cleared his throat.
“As for medications… well, this mission simply isn’t equipped for geriatric care. We cannot properly care for you in the long term.”
A long silence followed as both men contemplated the flood of information the doctor had released.
Marshall finally broke it.
“So what does that mean for me? How long do I have?”
“Ah, lad…” Beckett looked down at his hands. “For now, with the resources we have, I’d say six to eight months."
Marshall felt his breath stall at the information. Six months, Lord preserves him, that was less than a full tour of duty. Still the doctor continued,
"I’ve informed the biologists what to look out for, and if we find it we may be able to synthesize some of the drugs you need. Dr. McKay has also prioritized researching healing devices through the Ancient database with Dr. Kusanagi.”
He hesitated.
“We are not giving up on healing you, Colonel…”
As the man trailed off, Marshall finished the thought for him.
“But those are still long shots.”
“Aye. They are.”
“How active can I be in the time I’ve got?”
“Not much. Once you’ve recovered as much as you can, I’ll restrict you to desk duty. You’ll need to follow a careful diet and stay on your medication regimen. But the field… the field is a thing of the past for you.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“I’m sorry, laddie.”
“Can I—”
Marshall had to clear his suddenly obstructed throat, feeling despair rising like a tide.
“Can I be alone for a bit, Doc?”
“Of course.”
Beckett rose, squeezed his hand gently, and left him to come to terms with the end of his life as he knew it.
Marshall did not even have the luxury of taking his time to absorb that conversation. Barely a day later he had to speak with Dr. Weir.
A lesser man might have said, To hell with it—why bother? I’ll be dead before I ever see Earth again.
But Marshall was a man of duty. A Marine through and through. He had sworn an oath, and he would uphold it to the end.
So regardless of the logistics, he had to have that conversation with Weir—whether either of them wanted it or not.
The discussion had been uncomfortable, even hostile at times, yet ultimately productive.
So he would take that as a victory.
Two days earlier
Elisabeth Weir stood at the foot of his bed, her posture rigid. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then: "Colonel, glad to see you awake."
Marshall lifted his head from the dense report he had been reading, the pages filled with supply manifests and personnel assessments that blurred together after hours of concentration.
He might be confined to the healing ward indefinitely, his days stretching into endless cycles of monitoring and enforced rest, but there was still work to be done. There was always work to be done.
He nodded slowly, setting the report aside on the bedside table. "Doctor Weir."
"Do you have time now?" she asked, hands tightening slightly where they gripped the railing. "Both Major Sheppard and Captain Teldy told me you wanted to speak with me. About something important, they implied."
"Yes, although I expected you yesterday," Marshall replied, watching her carefully. "Are you avoiding me, Doctor?"
She stiffened slightly at the accusation. "Why would I? No, there is simply quite a lot of work demanding my attention. The city doesn't run itself, Colonel, and with current circumstances being what they are—"
"Well, I suppose it's a good thing then that I can relieve you of some of that burden," Marshall interrupted, his voice steady despite the weariness that clung to him like a second skin.
Weir's eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"As I couldn't talk to you, I read, a lot. The reports from both the rescue team, and from Doctors Beckett, McKay and Kusanagi of the last few days." Marshall studied her face, noting how her jaw tightened at the mention of the reports. She knew exactly what damning evidence they contained. "If even half of what I read is accurate, you know exactly what I mean."
She glared at him, the weight of her mistakes hanging between them like a loaded weapon, before turning her head away. "You cannot even stand on your feet Colonel, and you want to assume command of the expedition?" As if my physical limitations somehow absolve her of responsibility.
He strived to remain calm, because it really wasn't about him, or her for that matter. "My physical capacity doesn't change the facts Doctor. Pegasus is as a whole a warzone. Atlantis cannot support us as it is. We need resources we don't have more than we need scientific exploration. Whether you want to or not, whether I can physically do so or not, does not change that I will, as per the charter we all signed, assume operational command of this expedition."
She once again turned towards him, and if looks could kill, she'd have put him out of his misery.
"And how will you do that from your infirmary bed Colonel?"
"I won't, at least not indefinitely. And I don't exist in a vacuum, that's why the chain of command is a thing. I'll remain behind, take care of operational security and decision, Sheppard will be our field commander, and , as per the charter, you will remain in charge of the scientists, and of course you are still our ambassador, should we ever meet peaceful people in this galaxy, such as the Athosians."
When she chose silence over accepting the reality of their situation, he tried to catch her off guard, knowing the implication would sting. "Or would you have preferred Sheppard let me die? Maybe as he wasn't aware of our protocol he'd have let you in charge? Is that why you didn't want him to mount a rescue then?"
"I would never—"
"Then work with me!"
He had to stop as his temper rising also had his breath rattling in his diminished lungs. Damn it. Even his anger was rationed now.
"You know this was always a possibility, we both hoped it wouldn't happen, but the reality doesn't care for our fantasy. This is happening Doctor, as per article 8, section C of the expedition charter, from today until the threat of the Wraith has been eliminated, Operational command of all missions falls to the military leader, whether that's me or Sheppard. That includes base security —internal and external—, defense planning and implementation, threat assessment and response, resources allocation for defense/tactical needs, rules of engagement, mission authorization and veto power and personnel assignments for military operations."
After another bout of silence, she said, "So, this is a coup then?"
He knew the sigh he heaved then was tired, but this woman made him feel as old as he looked, "You know the charter as well as I do Doctor, you are still the civilian authority here. Command of civilian personnel in all non-military matters remain yours. So do scientific research priorities —when not conflicting with military needs—, diplomatic relations and first contact protocols, of course your Ambassador role with allied populations, all quality of life issues for expedition, and Administrative functions"
She looked resigned then, her shoulders sagging slightly as the weight of the situation settled over her like a heavy cloak. "You're not leaving me much of a choice here, Colonel."
"Pegasus isn't leaving either of us a choice, Doctor," he replied, his voice carrying an edge of weariness that came from more than just physical exhaustion. "You honestly think I'm eager to shoulder this burden? That I want to run this three-ring circus?"
There was a pause, pregnant with unspoken tension, before she asked quietly, "Don't you?"
With those final words hanging in the air between them like an accusation—sharp and cutting despite their soft delivery—she stood up from her chair with deliberate slowness, each movement precise and controlled. The soft scrape of chair legs against the infirmary floor seemed unnaturally loud in the tense silence. Without another word she turned and walked toward the entrance of the healing ward, her footsteps echoing through the medical bay with quiet finality.
He had not seen Dr. Weir since that confrontation. All their communications had been conducted through the internal messaging system, strictly professional and entirely devoid of anything that could remotely be called personal.
Not that their interactions had ever been particularly informal before, but now, if anything, they had become even more rigid.
Marshall was pulled from his brooding by the quiet clearing of a throat. When he looked up, he realized that Sheppard had arrived while he was lost in thought and was now standing at attention before him. As he ordered the man at ease, he absently wondered how long the Major had been standing there, waiting.
He really was off his game.
“Please take a seat, Major.”
The man nodded and obeyed, though he remained stiff even once seated.
Marshall took his time observing him, the Major’s picture-perfect posture contrasting sharply with his haircut, just this side of too long to be properly regulation. It was no longer difficult for him to see that the man seemed to take a certain quiet pride in defying expectations.
“First, Major Sheppard, I’d like to thank you. You saved my life, and you rescued all but one of those who were taken. You did so despite the clear disapproval of your command chain, and despite our own less-than-ideal relationship.
“You also showed great mettle during that operation, and an impressive strategic mind. So, Major—thank you.”
He let the words settle between them for a moment. Sheppard looked completely thrown by the overture, though he nevertheless nodded.
“It was the only thing I could have done, sir.”
Marshall shook his head slightly.
“It wasn’t. That’s precisely my point.”
He paused, studying the younger officer for another moment before continuing.
“Regardless, now that I’ve said my piece… let’s talk. You and I.”
Marshall waited until Sheppard nodded before continuing.
“We didn’t get off on the right foot, Major. That’s on me as much as you. The fact of the matter is that we’re on our own out here, without any certain backup for at least another year, in the middle of a war zone, with barely seventy soldiers—and among them only four officers. We do not have the privilege of remaining at odds, not when you are the second-highest ranked officer on this expedition.”
He paused, letting the words settle before finishing.
“I need to be able to trust you, Major, just as you need to know you can trust me. So let’s talk about that black mark on your record.”
Sheppard looked briefly taken aback before his expression closed again. Impressive, as much as it was sad, Marshall noted. The accompanying words made it infuriating as well.
“Everything was in my file, sir. I’m not sure what else there is to discuss.”
Marshall heaved a sigh.
The truth of the matter was that Dr. Weir had insisted on Sheppard. While Marshall had received the younger officer’s heavily redacted file—and could have requested the uncensored version at any point—he had never bothered.
Weir had wanted the Major included because of his gene. Once Marshall had seen the black mark, he had not considered it worth fighting over. He had never intended to include Sheppard in the formal chain of command anyway.
Obviously that attitude had come back to bite him.
So he did the only thing left to do and told the truth. If anything, Sheppard deserved that much.
“I haven’t read it. You were brought here as a scientific asset, here on my sufferance and Dr. Weir’s insistence. I didn’t bother requesting the unredacted version. That was my mistake, and I apologize.”
He held the younger man’s gaze.
“Will you tell me what I missed?”Marshall didn’t know how long they remained like that afterward, locked in place and silent as Sheppard searched for the words. Whatever it was he was looking for, the younger man eventually found it, and the whole sorry tale came spilling out.
About a paper-pushing colonel with too much influence. About a squad command had left behind despite having both the intelligence and the time to help them. About the decision to disobey orders, and another to take a bird that maintenance had not yet inspected so that no other officer would be implicated.
About a rescue mission that turned into more disaster than anything else.
About bringing back only one man when five had left.
About crashing and losing the last of the survivors.
About walking back in shame, having lost both men and equipment.
Marshall did not know what angered him more: the certainty that he would probably have been right there with the kid in that helicopter if he had been deployed there, or the knowledge that a good officer’s entire career—and likely his mental health—had been destroyed by an incompetent who had no business leading troops in theater.
Either way, it was infuriating.
“You were shafted, Sheppard. And whether I live long enough to go back home or not, I’ll make sure something is done to clean your record. Hell, the General did exactly what you did and saved the damn planet. The only difference is that he managed to come back successful. That—and the asshat who gave the original order didn’t have a grandfather among the Joint Chiefs.”
“I— Thank you, sir. I’ve made my peace with it, you know. Besides, as long as I can fly, I’ll be content.”
“Well, I don’t care. Letting that lie goes against everything I believe in.”
Then, because he could see Sheppard about to open his mouth and argue further, he changed the subject with absolutely no subtlety.
“Anyway, you may not be aware of this, but this is a civilian expedition only up to a point. There is an entire article in the charter outlining the various circumstances under which—and the extent to which—the military can assume command. Being in a war zone is obviously one of them. As of two days ago, I have operational command of this entire shit-show.”
He paused briefly before finishing.
“Congratulations, Major. You’re now my second-in-command.”
That certainly shut him up. Marshall mentally patted himself on the back for a job well done while he let Sheppard absorb his words.
“What— what does that mean exactly, sir? Does Doctor Beckett know when you’ll be back on your feet?”
Marshall's hands clenched against the bedding. He took a measured breath before responding.
“Never. I’m dying, and there is nothing we can do with our current resources.”
He paused, noticing the immediate contrition in his subordinate’s expression, but continued nonetheless.
“He doesn’t believe I’ll live long enough to return home. From here on, my command will be entirely administrative. You will be my legs, Major. You are effectively the field commander of this expedition.”
“Oh— I’m sorry, sir.”
“Stop looking guilty, Sheppard. I could be dead already. At least this way I can prepare you properly for your inevitable command. Starting with homework.”
Marshall grabbed his tablet and quickly sent the message he had prepared, forwarding the entire data package his new second-in-command would now need to master. All the documents Sheppard should have had access to from the beginning, had Marshall not been a stubborn ass before leaving Earth: mission protocols, tactical doctrines, rules of engagement, contingency plans, chain-of-command procedures, emergency protocols.
“Read fast and read well. I’ll trust you to do so and come back to me if you have any questions or suggestions. I need you ready to take over, Major. And that could be tomorrow or six months from now.”
Sheppard looked more than a little overwhelmed, but he nodded gamely, so Marshall continued.
“Your first order will be to establish an Alpha Site. We need a security layer between Atlantis and, well… everything.”
Marshall held the younger officer’s gaze.
“We’re in this together, Major. For however long I’ve got. Whether you want it or not, in six months you will be the head of the military contingent here, and I need you prepared. More importantly, you need yourself prepared. Take advantage of whatever time I’ve got left and get yourself ready. This galaxy is obviously out to get us. You will make our planet proud and show it no mercy. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good. Dismissed.”
“Sir!”
Sheppard snapped off a sharp salute before turning to leave, already carrying the weight of the hardest assignment of his life.