Chapter 17 - Absolution

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The flickering green leaf-light mingled with firelight on the cavern walls in the warm little alcove. Red and green sparked where the light caught flecks of frost. The light danced across the large old framed photograph over his desk, of himself and the mother of his son. Beside the desk, Doctor Black leaned back in a plush chair in front of the warm fireplace, holding a glass of spiced rum in one hand, and a smaller photograph of three young children in the other. His eyes welled with tears at them, and he took another, longer, sip from his rum. All three smiling and laughing. All three with beautiful bright blue eyes. Eve, Adam, and his little Ana reaching for the man behind the camera.

Somewhere in the mansion above a Grandfather Clock struck midnight. Doctor Black didn't look up from the photograph as he heard the gears to the elevator platform begin to grind. The elevator came to a stop, and was followed by soft, measured footfalls approaching the alcove office.

"How is he?" Doctor Black asked when the visitor came to a stop behind his chair.

"He lives. He is surprisingly resilient," Kuznetsov answered in a tone that sounded almost disappointed, "The objects react to him alone, as you predicted."

"Good," Doctor Black answered with a satisfied sigh, "That is excellent."

He tore his eyes away from the small framed photograph long enough give the tall Russian a friendly smile and wave him towards the second chair, "Come, sit and share a drink with me. There is Vodka in that cupboard. It will be cold."

The Russian nodded politely before pouring himself a double Vodka. He downed it and poured himself another before sitting alongside his elderly nemesis. They drank in companionable silence; the former Soviet spy gazing up at the picture of an Orthodox Priest, the scientist gazing down at the photo in his hand.

"Yours?" Kuznetsov asked with a glance at the three children in the photograph.

"They were," Doctor Black leaned towards old enemy to give him a better look, "But alas, none of them survived the process. Of all of them, I thought my little Ana would surely succeed. It was then that I realized that the process that created Meredith was unique." He motioned up to the large hanging picture of himself with Miriam and the seed, "The same energy that entered us and forever altered our future generations remained in him."

Kuznetsov shook his head distastefully, "What else did that cursed object do to you, to cause you to fall so far from your Priesthood?"

"I lost the faith that anything existed beyond this world when my monastery, my home, was burnt to the ground by Soviet heathens with my holy brothers and sisters locked within. I continued to work for the Church out of sheer stubbornness rather than faith." The former priest sneered distastefully at the robes, then turned worshipful eyes to the artefact in the picture, "Then I encountered the Seed of the Tree of Life! You can't know what it was like to experience the first tangible proof of a power beyond this world! Evidence, not of the God who ignored the suffering cries of his children while the Soviets butchered them! Evidence of Lucifer himself! That there truly was an Angel who sought to gift the power of Deity to mankind!"

Kuznetsov frowned faithlessly at the object, "This you believe so fiercely that you would sacrifice so many children? Even your own demon-spawn?"

"There is no progress without sacrifice, however painful it may be that is the truth," Doctor Black answered with an unwavering certainty, "Our success will be our absolution. When Meredith takes the Throne of Heaven it will all be worth it. Humanity has been without a true God for far too long.

Kuznetsov shook his head, "But to have committed such atrocity?"

The former priest turned a bemused look on the master spy, "I should think that you of all people would understand what a man is willing to believe in for the promise of a better world. Would you have joined with me if you did not believe there was at least a chance that all I have told you is true?"

"Ah, but I have nothing left to lose, and therefore nothing to sacrifice," he raised his glass and barked a laugh, "If anything I gain something either way. If all you say is true then I regain all that I have lost. If what you say is not true, then I still have my revenge."

"Spoken like a true agnostic," Doctor Black raised his glass with an amused smile, and they both drank.

Kuznetsov swirled what remained of his glass, "I confess; I am surprised that you would place him in harm's way if he is as rare as you say."

"That is because you lack faith in a higher power," Doctor Black tutted reproachfully.

"What higher power?" Kuznetsov arched an eyebrow at the former priest who had moments ago professed his own loss of faith.

"Meredith!" As Doctor Black chuckled the firelight caught the glint of madness in his eyes and transfigured the deceptively Grandfatherly man into a thing of nightmares.

Kuznetsov swallowed the bile suddenly rising in his throat along with the last of his Vodka before standing and walking to the desk. He removed the small ornately carved stone box from his breast pocket and placed it wordlessly on the desk before leaving.

"Pandora's Box," Doctor Black gushed reverently at the thing, "From death springs eternal life. From destruction, creation…"

As the elevator returned Kuznetsov to the surface he sternly reminded himself that he had nothing left to lose, not even a soul.

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"Bloody hell! How did Rodney manage this?!" Carson cursed thickly as he wobbled on the rafter beam and nearly toppled down for the third time. A large arm caught him and settled him back down on the beam, "Thank you Ronon."

"Perhaps we should add some balancing exercises to the routine training on Atlantis?" Teyla suggested as diplomatically as she could while wincing at the hopeless display.

"I'll add it to the list, along with all the exercises the civilians avoid," Sheppard called up from the floor below where he and Mitchell patrolled. As he wandered back and forth through the room he shone a black-light at the floor.

"Doctor McKay was shot here," Vala pointed at the beam directly in front of Beckett. "Then he dangled here for a bit before going over to that beam over there."

Carson shone his black light onto the beam and sighed disappointedly, "No blood here. The spatter likely spread it into the air." He looked in the direction Vala was pointing and frowned further, "How am I supposed to get up there?!"

Vala happily handed her spare grappling gun over to Ronon, who rumbled a thankyou before taking aim, shooting, and taking hold of Carson to swing him over. The Doctor screamed the whole way.

Carson gulped and opened his eyes only when he was again steadied on a beam. Once his heart stopped hammering he frowned at his empty hands, "Oh now I've gone and dropped me equipment!"

"Here," Ronon held out the light and bag in one hand, while rubbing his aching ear with the other. Vala and Teyla landed gracefully behind the Satedan.

"You say Rodney did this?" Carson asked shakily.

"With magnets," Vala confirmed.

"Right, he's definitely not himself," Carson took the light and let Ronon keep the bag for now.

"You okay, Carson?" Sheppard called up to him.

"Aye, fine," Carson waved away the concern and flicked the light back on. He shone it all along the beam towards the shadows until a few small white flecks lit up. "There we go."

He slipped the white mask hanging around his neck over his mouth, took a vial out of his pocket and carefully knelt in front of the spatters. He scraped up the dried blood with a knife and knocked flake by flake into the vial.

"Will that be enough?" Ronon raised his eyebrows at the tiny flecks.

"It might be," Carson answered, "it depends how high the concentration of whatever's in his system is."

"This is where he was standing when he stunned us," Mitchell pointed between two stacks of crates on the lower level of the warehouse.

Sheppard shone his light on the floor, then on the sides of the crates. A hand print lit up on one of the crates, "I've got a little more here."

"Every bit helps," Carson called back down.

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Kavanagh hummed quietly to himself as he clicked through the floorplans of Ba'al's building. His plan to send McKay in to retrieve the gem was coming together nicely. He twirled the cloaking device through his fingers, then sighed as the sound of the sarcophagus opening distracted him.

He stood with a grumble and reached the sarcophagus just in time to push McKay back down, "Did I say you could get out?"

"Oh no no no," the hyperventilating man begged, "please not again."

"Who's in charge?" Kavanagh asked in an exaggeratedly patient tone.

McKay cringed and reluctantly lay back down, "This is a blatant abuse of power."

"Man up, Meredith," Kavanagh practically sung as the sarcophagus doors swung shut and he set it for another few cycles. "You'll need all the strength you can get for your next mission."

He was just settling back down when the rings swooshed to life and Kuznetsov appeared on the platform.

"Mr. Kuznetsov," Kavanagh gushed, "welcome back!"

"Where is he?" Kuznetsov stepped from the platform and turned immediately to the closed sarcophagus, "is he still healing?"

"Uh, well," Kavanagh hesitated, "Not exactly. I ordered him to get in and stay in."

"Why?" Kuznetsov asked with surprise.

"He's annoying," Kavanagh shrugged, "and he kept blaming me for his failure. It's not my fault he couldn't handle one little Goa'uld. Also I figured he'd need all the power-ups he could get before I sent him into Ba'al's office building."

"You were going to send him directly to Ba'al?" Kuznetsov asked incredulously. "Open this thing now."

Without hesitation Kavanagh rushed to comply. As the lid of the sarcophagus swung open frantic murmuring spilled out, 'Wideopenspaceswideopenfieldbigwidewide….'

"Open your eyes," Kuznetsov commanded the panicking man and pulled him into a sitting position, "and breathe normally."

"I'm trying," McKay struggled to comply but only seemed to panic more as his breathing hastened.

Kuznetsov pulled him the rest of the way out of the sarcophagus, "Calculate Pi."

"3.141592653589793238462643383," the panicking man's breathing gradually slowed with each number.

"Ha," Kuznetsov crowed proudly, "I once had a scientist friend who was afraid of heights. This worked for him as well."

"279502884197169399375105820"

He left the scientist to the calming exercise and turned his attention again to the other scientist, "Now, Kavanagh, tell me what happened."

"974944592307816406286"

Kavanagh gulped, "we retrieved the tablet easily with my plan, but then McKay lost the gem."

"208998628034825342117067"

"To Ba'al?" Kuznetsov guessed, given the ill-fated intention to next assault Ba'al's building.

"98214808651328230664709"

Kuznetsov realized belatedly that the enslaved man, if ordered to, would likely keep reciting Pi until he either lost his voice or died of thirst, "Demon, stop."

"To one of his henchmen," McKay lowered his head and answered the question that had been directed at Kavanagh. He cringed and waited for Kuznetsov's wrath.

"You did well to escape with your life," Kuznetsov looked at McKay and felt a twinge of regret. No man chooses their father, and yet all men suffer under their fathers sins.

"I did?" McKay looked up with relief.

Kavanagh appeared at his side with a competitive lift of his chin, "I've located Ba'al's main office in New York. Street camera's showed the Goa'uld entering that building. The gem is probably in a safe there."

"Good," Kuznetsov rested an encouraging hand on Kavanagh's shoulder. The two men reminded him of boys competing for a favourite Uncles attention, "for now it is enough that we know it is in Ba'al's possession."

McKay's relief was replaced with dismay, "We're not going after it?!"

The need to possess all of the artifacts, to learn their secrets, to complete himself, all welled in Rodney's chest at once. He closed his eyes against the overwhelming want and the fear that Kuznetsov might order him away from it, "I need it."

"Ha!" Kuznetsov delighted in the response and draped an approving arm around Rodney, "Fear not, my eager little demon. He will be expecting us now and you have left too recent an impression on the people of New York. We will bide our time and press onwards to the cup."

"The Cup of Jamshid," the words were a breath of relief, "where is it?"

"This I do not know, and you must learn," Kuznetsov gave him a clap on the back and shoved a heavy bag into his arms, "I am assured that these books will get you started. Your skill in languages should prove most useful."

The hand on his back sent a wave of fear and nausea quaking through McKay as the memory of another hand assaulted him. But no, this was different. He wanted to be here, didn't he?

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The Smithsonian Archives smelled of dust and paper. Rows upon rows of paper files and cardboard boxes held knowledge too vast and obscure to be of interest to the general public but a treasure trove to the scholars and doctorate researchers seeking new perspectives or a breakthrough.

An archivist with thick glasses and hair pulled up in a tight bun clucked regretfully at her computer screen, "I'm sorry sir, that isn't available at this time."

"Okay, well how about Wescon's Original Treaties on Cultural Misappropriation and the Holy War?" Daniel asked after yet another book on his quite long list.

"I'm sorry sir," the wide eyed archivist shook her head in disbelief, "that one is signed out as well and it's our only copy. Is it possible that someone else is involved in the same research as you?"

"I'm beginning to suspect as much," Daniel agreed. He looked suspiciously over his shoulder at the people searching through rows of files and books. It was surprisingly busy for Boxing Day. Then again, the school holidays were often the only time Professors had a chance to work on their own research. He turned back to her and showed her the entire list, "Do these look familiar?"

"Oh yes, I believe they do. Those have all been signed out by a Doctor Octavius," the archivist nodded, "Is he a colleague?"

"No, I haven't heard of him," Daniel looked around again, "Maybe he'd be willing to collaborate though. May I ask which room he's using?"

"Maybe!" the archivist smiled optimistically. "He seemed nice. He's using study room number twelve on the second level."

"Thank you," Daniel smiled back and headed for the elevator. As soon as the doors slid shut he pulled out his phone and dialled Colonel Mitchell, "Hi. No I haven't found anything yet. I'm still at the Smithsonian Archives and something strange is going on. All the books and papers I want are already signed out. Yes, that's pretty unusual. It's probably nothing…"

He hushed his voice as he left the elevator and walked down the glass hall overlooking the archives below on one side, and clear walled study rooms on the other "of course I came alone. It's the Smithsonian Archives. I come here all the time. Anyway, the guy who's somehow doing exactly the same research is Doctor Octavius. I've never heard of him… what do you mean a comic book? There are probably lots of people with that name!"

A curator Daniel was familiar with walked by with another staff member. Daniel ducked his head too late to avoid being noticed.

"Hello Doctor Jackson!" the curator greeted him with more amusement than respect as he passed.

"Who's that?" the staff member asked quietly.

"He's the fellow who thinks the pyramids were built by aliens. He's been coming here for years, working on his ridiculous theories," the curator answered a little too loudly.

Daniel kept walking. He stoically reminded himself the Stargate program went public that curator and others like him would be eating humble pie, if not in their lifetimes then in future history books and then for the rest of time. "No," he assured his now irate team leader, "I definitely do not need you to come punch anyone in the face."

Daniel slowed as he reached the study room and froze when he saw who was inside. Doctor McKay bent over the study table, jotting notes. Several photocopied maps and diagrams hung on the walls. The man was completely lost in focus.

Daniel slowly backed up until he was out of sight again then released the breath he was holding and whispered into the phone, "It's Doctor McKay. He's here. He's Octavius."

As luck would have it that was the moment when McKay decided he needed a break. He left the room and turned down the hall, trying to unwrap a granola bar with shaking hands. He was so intent on the struggle that he nearly collided into Daniel, who stood there gaping for a moment before pocketing his phone with the line still open.

The unopened granola bar fell to the floor as McKay backed away quickly then stood still as a gently swaying tree, waiting for Daniel to make the first move while his eyes darted around the hall, down to the main floor, behind Daniel to the elevator. He was calculating his exit strategy.

Daniel watched him. The swaying... the shaking hands… the granola bar, the hypoglycaemic scientist must have forgotten to eat while he was studying. McKay took another step away.

"Wait," Daniel blurted. He just needed to stall McKay until the others arrived.

"Doctor McKay, just wait," Daniel held up his hands and addressed the other scientist "I'm unarmed and alone. I just want to talk."

McKay tilted his head and smiled sarcastically, "You really think that I don't know you're stalling?"

He turned and strode away from Daniel at as quick a pace as he could without drawing attention from Smithsonian patrons or staff.

Daniel quickly picked up the granola bar and followed close behind McKay, "Just tell me why you're doing this."

"Leave me alone, Doctor Jackson," McKay hissed over his tremoring shoulder. "I don't want to have to hurt you."

"Are you doing this because of Doctor Black?" Daniel persisted. He hastily opened the granola bar and held it out over McKay's shoulder. "Sam and I are working on a way to prosecute him. You don't have to do this alone. We're on your side."

McKay made a scoffing noise, but snatched the bar and stuffed it down.

By the time they approached the stairwell McKay looked better. Daniel reached out and placed a hand on McKay's arm to delay him from going further, "if you come back now we might be able to smooth things over with Area 51 and the CIA."

He let out a small 'meep' of surprise as McKay hauled him into the stairwell. When the door clicked shut, McKay rounded on him with a sneer, "I'm never going back. You people need to get used to the idea that I don't work for you anymore. Take that message back to Stargate Command for me, along with the fact that you no longer have anything that I need, so if you leave me alone, I'll leave you alone."

"You must know they'll never let you get away with keeping all that alien technology," Daniel tried to reason with him, "Even the artefacts. It's too dangerous."

McKay smirked haughtily at that, "Do I seem like I need their permission?"

Daniel frowned at the exaggerated bravado and confidence, "How many times have you used the sarcophagus?"

"I don't actually know," McKay giggled manically and shrugged as he turned to jog up the stairs, "haven't had the opportunity to count. I'm afraid that if I ask it might sound like I was arguing. Do you think it would? Did you know it has a setting for double or triple cycles? You don't even have to wake up between uses! So best case scenario, four, worst case scenario, twelve."

In the blink of an eye the manic giggle turned to fidgeting worry as the sarcophagus drugged scientist fretted, "That's bad, isn't it? It sounds bad."

Daniel panted as he followed McKay up the stairs. Judging from the way McKay wasn't out of breath in the slightest the number was probably closer to twelve. What's more, the way McKay was answering his questions it was as though he was trying to give whatever information he could get away with… like every other person he'd ever questioned who was infected with Nish'ta. "McKay wait, is someone using the sarcophagus on you?"

"God, you people are thick," McKay moaned and skipped easily up the stairs, "Of course someone else is using it on me. Hello? I'm claustrophobic? You think I'd willingly get into one of those techno-coffins unless I was bleeding to death or dying of radiation poisoning?"

He paused and frowned desolately down at Daniel, meeting his eyes for the first time. "You know what? I've had a really bad week."

"Doctor McKay, please slow down and try to focus," Daniel pleaded breathlessly. "Who are you working for? Who puts you in the sarcophagus?"

A flash of light at the bottom of the stairs, followed by another at the top, put an end to their conversation.

"Daniel!?" Mitchell yelled up from bottom of the multistory stairwell.

"McKay?!" Sheppard called up to him, "Rodney, buddy, I don't know what's going on. So, why don't you come down here and explain it to me?"

But McKay's turned his attention to the two who had appeared at the top. He was lucky there wasn't room to beam down more… or maybe they were underestimating him again. All of them were raising their weapons.

"Wait, wait, I'm getting through to him!" Daniel hollered to the approaching SG Teams.

McKay used the momentary hesitation to duck behind Daniel and pull the fire alarm. In moments people flooded onto the staircase below them and down towards Mitchell and Sheppard, effectively removing them from the equation. The two above them quickly put away their ZAT guns before a civilian could see the alien weaponry.

One of the broad shouldered military men at the top of the stairs held out his empty hands as he slowly came down the stairs, "Doctor McKay. We're not going to hurt you. We just need you to come quietly. It's over."

As the bulky soldier stepped closer Freeman's disembodied voice echoed in Rodney's ears, "You ain't never gonna beat me in a fight."

"O-okay… if that's how it's gonna be," Rodney gulped, raised his fists and stood ready. "I might not be able to beat you in a fair fight..."

The officer actually looked up at his colleague with a smirk before closing in on Rodney. Daniel and the remaining soldier frowned in surprise and confusion as the large man suddenly stiffened and tipped over.

"But I don't fight fair," Rodney finished with a self-satisfied grin as two wires released from his watch and sprung against the limp soldier.

The other soldier approached more quickly, hoping to catch McKay off guard. Rodney tried to get out of the way but tripped over the bulky unconscious man. He instinctively tried to catch himself on the charging man. The result was a clumsy half turn that compounded the other man's momentum and propelled him into the wall.

"Ooooh!" Rodney exclaimed, "That's what Ronon meant!"

The soldier bounced off the wall, blinked a few times, then collapsed unconscious onto his colleague.

Rodney winced at the bruise already forming around the soldiers broken nose, "Sorry!"

Daniel looked down at the two prone soldiers and renewed his determination to make no threatening moves. He held up both his hands, "I still just want to talk."

"You mean stall," Rodney corrected and hurried up the remaining stairs without further hesitation. He clicked his heels and left a trail of fluid behind him.

Daniel followed close to his side, careful to avoid touching any of the fluid, "You don't really want to be doing this."

"Resorting to a mind-trick?" Rodney quipped and pushed the door to the roof open. "Because yes I do, and no, credits won't do fine."

The door slammed shut in Daniel's confused face. Was that a culture reference? He was really falling behind on Movie culture since joining the Stargate Program…

Daniel hurried to push it open and follow, but the door was stuck at the bottom. Daniel looked down and saw some of the fluid seeping under the frame. It was some kind of glue. He shouldered the door as hard as he could and it flew open, taking the floorboard with it. He was just in time to see the final ring drop around McKay and whisk him away.

"Daniel!" Mitchell called up to him. He and Sheppard had finally made it through the crowd of evacuating civilians and ran up the stairs to join him.

"Rodney, don't run!" Sheppard called desperately after him as he bound up the stairs.

"No no wait!" Daniel called out to them too late. Their shoes fused to the stairs. Sheppard caught himself on the railing, but Mitchell fell. His face landed sideways onto the fluid covered tiles…He pressed his hands against the stairs to push himself up...

"I'm stuck…" Mitchell mumbled into the wall.

"Ow," the first two soldiers groaned and slowly sat up, one cradling his nose.

"Sir… the fire department will be here soon," the other soldier stuck to the stairs warned. Explaining the presence of military armed with alien technology and glued to the floor of the Smithsonian might prove awkward.

"McKay's research," Daniel blurted. He slid down the banister passed the soldiers, avoiding the glue covered floor entirely, and hurried back down to the second floor.

"Uh…, a little help here?" Mitchell asked.

The soldier standing beside him crouched with his army knife and quickly began chiselling around the floor tiles.

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The small infirmary on the Daedalus was quite crowded. Sheppard stood out of the way while Doctor Kent made note of the three injuries. He and Daniel had been triaged to the end of the line as they appeared totally unharmed. Daniel seemed content enough to wait as he'd claimed a spare bed as a desk and was pouring through McKay's research. Sheppard just leaned against the wall, lost in thought… maybe sulking a little. Rodney had totally ignored him. He didn't know what he had expected to happen when he finally caught up to McKay… but he hadn't thought he would run. Not from his family. Not from him.

"Oh ya…" the Daedalus Doctor winced as he gently prodded the soldier's nose, "it's definitely broken."

"I don't think he meant to," Daniel glanced up from McKay's notes, "He apologised."

"He broke the guys nose and then he apologised?" Mitchell mumbled around the large square floor tile still stuck to the side of his face, "…that is so Canadian."

"What the hell is he playing at, anyway?" the broken nosed soldier griped nasally, "He can't run forever. He must know we're going to catch him."

"The order to bring him in unharmed is starting to feel a little unfair," Mitchell tried to flex one of his hands, shook it in the hope that the tile might just fall off, then sighed.

The electrocuted officer scratched at the two puffy burn marks on the side of his neck, "I call dibs on shooting him."

"Get locked in a shipping container for two days, then you can call dibs," Mitchell joked distastefully.

The broken-nosed soldier frowned at the Colonel sulking in the corner and made a poor attempt at cheering him up, "Look on the bright side, Sheppard. Maybe now you can get a less irritating scientist for your team!"

Sheppard turned his head from them and sulked all the more deeply.

Mitchell reached over and slapped the broken-nosed soldier in the back of the head, "Sorry, Colonel."

"Yeah, sorry," the solder apologised nasally.

"Actually," Daniel frowned at the three casualties unsympathetically then looked to McKay's miserable team leader, "Now that I've talked to him I think Caldwell is right about him being under mind control."

Sheppard perked up at that, "Really?" He strode over to the archaeologist and looked down at McKay's notes with renewed interest, "What did he say to you?"

"It was more like how he was saying it." Daniel struggled to find the words to explain, "In the past we've seen that Goa'uld programming works on the conscious mind, but the subconscious remains free and tends to try to work around the programming. It was like he subconsciously wanted to give me as much information as he could without defying whoever is giving him orders. Also, he wasn't hostile. Not really."

"Not hostile?!" the broken-nosed and electrocuted soldier repeated in unison.

"I still want to shoot him," the electrocuted officer declared with a scowl. When the others frowned at him he amended, "just a little… like in an arm or a leg."

"Which is why you're off the team," Caldwell stepped into the infirmary and folded his arms.

"Sir!" the military men all stood and saluted.

"Ow," Mitchell winced as his saluting hand struck the tile and pushed his face back. He settled for standing at attention.

"Doctor Jackson," Caldwell pointedly ignored the three ridiculous looking soldiers, "Did you learn anything from all those documents had us beam up and basically steal from the Smithsonian?"

"Yes," Daniel nodded, "it looks like the cup is in the Vatican. Or at least McKay has come to that conclusion. From the maps he was studying I'd say he's planning another infiltration."

"Of the Vatican?" Caldwell repeated, impatiently. "Of course the Vatican! He went for the CIA and Area 51 so why not the Vatican? And since we caught him in the act of planning it he'll have upped his schedule."

He moved to the wall and impatiently flipped on the comms, "Caldwell to engineering, Colonel Carter how close are we to getting those scanners upgraded?"

'About twenty minutes,' the voice of Colonel Carter answered, 'why?'

"We need to catch McKay, preferably before he ZAT's the Pope," Caldwell explained shortly, "Novak, prepare to move us into orbit over Rome."

'The Pope?!' Carter repeated.

*Hiccup!?* Novak replied.

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The medical lab in Cheyanne Mountain was silent. Carefully, and holding his breath even though he was wearing a mask, Beckett used an eyedropper to drip laboratory pristine distilled water into the vial of dried blood.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Behind him, Ronon released a disgruntled sigh, "You know, science is a lot more interesting in the movies."

Beckett rolled his eyes skyward, "You don't have to wait right here."

He turned his attention back to the vial.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

"There's lots of blinking lights and dramatic music…" Ronon added, "McKay uses more blinking lights… and holograms. You should have him add something for you."

"Blinking lights on a sample vial and eyedropper?" Carson exclaimed impatiently, "Stop being so daft. I'm trying to concentrate."

Drip. Drip. Drip. Swish….Drip. Drip.

The water turned red as the blood flakes dissolved and mingled with it.

"Are you done yet?" Ronon leaned over his shoulder and peered at the vial.

"Movie science has explosions…"

"Ronon, perhaps you would like to join me in meditation while we wait?" Teyla opened her eyes and asked from her cross legged position on a nearby chair. "I believe the work will go more quickly if you permit him to concentrate."

"Aye," Beckett agreed, "And if you don't leave me in peace you might get to experience an explosion of another kind."

He stoppered the vial and swished it some more. The red deepened.

"Here we go," Doctor Lam announced as she wheeled a powerful looking microscope over to Beckett's work station.

"Thank you, luv," Beckett unsealed the vial and used a fresh eyedropper to deposit a few drops onto a petri dish.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip…

On the fourth drip Ronon turned away and summoned what very little patience he had left to remain silent. McKay was out there being hunted down by his own people while they tried to prove his innocence using a science that was literally as slow as dripping water!

"Aha!" Carson crowed, "there's the little buggers!"

"Oh wow," Doctor Lam frowned into the microscope, "That's a lot. Why would they use that much?"

"Maybe they don't know what they're doing?" Carson shrugged, "I don't care. The point is it's there and we have to tell General Landry now."

"What did you find?" Ronon asked tensely.

"Nish'ta," Carson grinned, "It's bacterial and it's the best form we could have hoped for. All you have to do to kill it is electrocute him. Any old ZAT gun will do. Then he's free!"

Ronon grinned and lifted Carson into a bear hug, "I knew it!"

"Might want to zap him twice," Lam still frowned into the microscope, "I've never seen a concentration this high. Uh oh…" She pulled her head back and quickly put a lid on the petri dish. "It's still alive."

Carson extricated himself from Ronon and turned back to her, concerned, "They were inert a moment ago."

"That is not inert. That is ert," she stepped back from the microscope to let him have a look.

"Bloody hell," Carson cursed at the moving and multiplying bacteria in the dish. "Oh wait… they're dying again. Still, that's a might worrying."

He pulled back and let Doctor Lam look again, "The higher concentration must be slightly more resilient. We need send a containment unit to everywhere that McKay might have bled, and destroy any samples the police collected from New York."

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Caldwell rapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his chair. He checked his watch. It had been ten minutes since he last checked in with engineering. Coordinates were laid in. But he didn't want to risk approaching the Goa'uld ship before he had a means to track its movements. He intended to catch whoever was controlling McKay off guard, if possible. He checked his watch again, another minute had passed.

He stood and strode from the bridge. O'Neill stuck his tongue in his cheek and followed him, "Hold up, Stephen."

Caldwell slowed and moved to allow O'Neill to walk beside him.

"You know," O'Neill lowered his voice so only Caldwell could hear, "You're losing some of that stoic unfeeling cool that we've all come to rely on."

Caldwell glanced at him with a single raised brow, awaiting further explanation.

"What I mean is," O'Neill leaned a little closer, "You seem a little invested."

Caldwell turned his eyes forward irritably, "My orders were to deliver McKay to Vancouver. I have yet to complete those orders as it appears he was taken while we were transferring him."

O'Neill furrowed his brows at him before decidedly declaring, "Nope, I'm not buying it. Want to know what my theory is?"

Caldwell said nothing O'Neill took that as a yes, "I think you've adopted a favourite pet scientist."

Caldwell rolled his eyes.

"Mine is Carter," O'Neill continued, "and I suppose Daniel if you count Archaeologists. Carter is lower maintenance. With Daniel you have to remember to feed him and water him, take him out for exercise…"

"They're not puppies," Caldwell finally muttered.

"Mine are better," O'Neill baited.

"McKay can calculate course trajectory, speed, and exact destination point for a drive jump in in his head within thirty seconds," Caldwell took the bait.

"Mine have saved the planet," O'Neill bragged.

Caldwell hesitated, "mine's saved several civilizations."

"Mine haven't blown up a solar system," O'Neill sing-songed then lowered his voice as they passed some crew, "And you totally just admitted to adopting McKay!"

Caldwell folded his arms and looked irritated, "Three-fifths."

"Relax, Stephen," O'Neill gripped his shoulder, "we'll get him back."

Caldwell slowed and turned to him, "You believe he's being controlled?"

"I trust your judgement," O'Neill shrugged. "It would be pretty stupid to have you in charge of one of Earth's few interstellar ships if I didn't."

"General, Colonel!" Sheppard hollered down the hall as he jogged up to meet them. They came to a stop outside the doors to engineering, "They found nish'ta in McKay's blood. A lot of it."

"Score one for the wizened General," O'Neill gloated.

But Caldwell was already moving to the wall comm and switching it to ship wide, "Attention all crew. It has now been confirmed that Doctor McKay has been infected with nish'ta. This is now a rescue mission. I know you will conduct yourselves accordingly."

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