*Here.*
Ember held it out, open to reveal the heavy padding, roughly shaped to fit the tapering cylinder. Quicksilver laid it in place and closed the case over it, cinching the clasps tight. That should protect the ZPM against almost anything, including direct machine gun fire —
*Quicksilver!* That was Wakeful, his tone urgent. *Time to go.*
*Coming,* Quicksilver answered, and together they started for the door.
John waved his team to a halt as they reached the transport chamber, not much liking the idea of what had to come next. They’d never make it down through the maze of corridors blocked by security doors, even if Rodney had left a single path through the maze as an alternate means of escape for himself. That meant this was their way down. The only problem was, the Wraith knew that, too.
It would be nice to be able to send a grenade down ahead of them. All they needed was someone who could hotwire the transport chamber to activate from outside without someone having to touch the map on its back wall. John was pretty sure he’d watched Rodney do that once, but all he could call up was a vivid memory of covering the corridor, saying “Hurry up, McKay,” while Rodney said “Believe me, no one is as committed to our survival here as me.”
It wasn’t going to get better the longer he thought about it. “Let’s do this,” he said, waiting until the airmen and Marines had flattened themselves against the sides of the transport chamber walls before he tagged the screen at the back of the chamber, whipping his P90 around toward the doors in the same movement.
Nothing happened. “Oh, come on,” he said.
“Maybe they shut it down,” one of the Marines volunteered.
“It’s showing as active, and so is the one near the ZPM chamber, but nothing’s happening.” Internal sensors were offline, but the transport chamber map was still obligingly showing him which transport chambers were functional. The maps were just glorified elevator maps, not part of the internal security system, and it looked like Rodney had overlooked shutting them down. Good, John thought; it wasn’t like they’d gotten a lot of other breaks.
The map was showing a transport chamber on the floor above the ZPM room. He nearly punched it, and hesitated, his fingers hovering over the map. He just didn’t buy it. Rodney would have wanted an easy escape route. He wouldn’t have shut down the nearest transport chamber, but he also wouldn’t have wanted security teams transporting in from all over the city.
“Look at that,” he said. “These two transport chambers way down below the ZPM level. “There’s nothing down there Rodney would want.”
“So?”
“So, I’m betting that to get to where we want to go, we have to take a detour. Watch yourselves.” He tapped one of the two transport chambers. Nothing happened, so he tapped the other, and was rewarded by the bright flash of the transporter activating. He swung the muzzle of his P90 up as the doors opened, but the long corridor was empty.
“Now what, sir?” one of the Marines said from behind him.
“Now, I’m betting that the other transport chamber on this level will take us to the one outside the ZPM room.”
“Unless this whole thing is just designed to waste our time,” a young airman said from his other side as they advanced.
“Unless it is,” John said, in a tone that he hoped would discourage further useless speculation on all the ways they could be screwed at the moment. “Trust me, I’m pretty sure I know how Rodney’s mind works.” He reached for his radio. “Radek, what’s your situation?” There was no answer. “Dr. Zelenka, come in.” There was nothing but silence. His hand clenched on the grip of his P90.
They were rounding a corner toward the second transport chamber when John heard the whine of the transport chamber activating. Too slow, he snarled at himself, at the same time that he was diving back behind the corner, trying to get the team behind what little cover there was.
The Wraith wouldn’t be expecting them here, or at least he hoped not, because the element of surprise was about their only advantage. If they came around the corner firing — he could see it all too clearly, rounding the corner already firing, Rodney’s head turning, his body jerking back as the P90 fire tore into him.
“Flashbang,” he mouthed, and someone pressed a stun grenade into his hand. He pulled the pin and tossed it, turning his head away into the crook of his arm, feeling the thunderclap through the soles of his feet and stabbing through his ears. He swung around the corner to see the Wraith staggering back, one of them stumbling to his knees and hopefully getting in the way of the others.
John fired at one of the drones and dodged bolts of blindly aimed stunner fire, marking his targets. Three males, a handful of drones, and there was Rodney, arm thrown over his eyes, holding the ZPM case. “Try to take the rest of them out!” John yelled.
Rodney swung his stunner around, apparently toward the sound of John’s voice, and John dodged again. The drones still seemed dazed, but the other male Wraith were recovering fast, too fast. One of them was firing purposely, though his eyes were streaming, and one of the Marines went down under stunner fire, the smartass airman dragging him back around the corner.
“Rodney!” John shouted. “Damn it, I will shoot you!”
Rodney snarled, baring teeth, his own eyes watering as well, though John thought he was starting to focus on his face. “Don’t you start!”
It sounded like Rodney, too much like Rodney as John aimed. He’d try a leg shot, but he remembered all too well that he hadn’t been able to drop Ford that way, and Rodney looked fully Wraith. If he had to shoot him in the chest…
“Hey, I know you,” Rodney said, squinting at him, and John hesitated. Maybe, just maybe, Rodney was snapping out of it.
“That’s right,” John said. “It’s me.”
“You killed my brother,” Rodney said. “You are going to be so sorry you did that.” He fired, and as John dodged the stunner blast, he saw that the drones were moving again, lunging around the corner toward him. Toward him in particular, apparently. Great. He backed up, firing, trying not to trip over anybody.
One of the drones grabbed the airman who was covering the downed Marine and shook him like a ragdoll, shoving him back against the wall with his hand clawing the man’s chest even as John was firing. Another Marine was down, the Wraith drones piling onto them, trying to force them back against the wall.
The young airman screamed, and John knew he wasn’t going to take the drone down in time. The other Marine still standing grabbed at the drone, pulling it back, and John shot it in the head.
“Sir!” the other airman yelled. The first of the Wraith had reached the transport chamber at the other end of the hall.
“Shoot them!” John yelled back.
“But Dr. McKay — ”
“That’s an order!” The man fired, but he didn’t have a clear shot. He hit one of the other male Wraith, who screamed and shoved Rodney into the transport chamber, throwing himself in after him. One of the males was down, unmoving. The other two made it into the transport chamber as John watched, the doors closing with two drones still on their feet in the hallway.
They went down under a hail of gunfire, and John turned, dropping to one knee beside the fallen airman. He looked like he was years dead, like something you’d find if you dug up a desert grave. Grieg, his name patch said, and John would probably still be thinking of him as that smartass when he had to write the letter home.
“Ah, Jesus,” the other airman said, going to his knees beside Grieg. He’d probably never seen this before. John had seen it plenty of times, enough that his eyes didn’t linger on the man’s face.