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TITLE: Partnership
SUMMARY: John and Teyla under fire to gain a treasure of the Ancients.
CATEGORY: gen, action-adventure, drama
RATING: PG-13
NOTES: More details of the story in Part 1.
Partnership
Part 4
A dozen scenarios spun through his mind. The Combori were replicators. The Combori were allied with the Asurans. The Asurans had ventured out and subdued the Combori...
Then he realised it didn't matter. His weapon was useless, the hostage had become the hostage-taker, and whatever the thing was doing to Teyla had to be stopped.
"What do you want?"
The replicator tilted its head. "I think the question is better phrased, What will you give me?"
"I can't offer you what I don't know you'll accept."
"What is your friend's life worth?"
The answer was easier than John expected. It slid off his tongue without hesitation. "Anything up to my own life."
"The lives of your other friends?"
Yes. No. Yes. It was only a moment's vacillation. "No," he said. "You can have me in exchange for her, but the other two are off the bargaining table."
It was one thing to bargain his own life, but he couldn't exchange the lives of others. Teyla would never stand for it - hadn't stood for it when she levelled the gun at John during his possession by Thalen.
Rationally, John knew he shouldn't bargain his own life away. Purely from a military standpoint, his own knowledge - of Atlantis, of Earth - was more valuable to the Asurans than Teyla could provide.
But the alternative was untenable.
The post-mission sessions with Heightmeyer after the visit to the Asuran planet had explored the areas into which the Asurans had delved. For Teyla, it had been the discovery of her Wraith genetics, a scenario in which the Asurans had agreed to work with the Lanteans, but not with Teyla or anyone associated with her.
In the Asuran-induced scenario, Teyla had said that Elizabeth had left the choice up to her, but she'd said it was clear that they all really wished her to leave. And so she had walked away from her people, away from Atlantis, and away from her team-mates.
At first, John had been angry that she could have believed that of them - of him. Then he stopped and thought about it.
While he'd have liked to believe that they wouldn't dismiss an ally in exchange for a more powerful one, John knew better. Earth had done it before, and sooner or later, Atlantis would have done anything, for the level of technology the Asurans had displayed.
Of course, the deal probably still would have gone sour at the point where the Asurans turned out to be replicators.
"You presume it's possible to walk away from the table at all," the replicator said, smiling slightly. "Your other team-mates are already in the hands of the Combori."
John swallowed hard. They'd been played for fools - and all for the sake of a ZPM. "And the Combori are under your control."
The man inclined his head. "As you believe." He glanced down at Teyla. "Interesting. She possesses...echoes of the Wraith in her body. Yet her spirit is entirely her own - and strong."
Leaps of intuition were Rodney's area; John usually just let the other man have at it. But Rodney wasn't here now, and a thought flitted at the edge of John's consciousness. "She's fighting back."
"She is very strong," the man said, sounding surprised. "And knowledgeable." He held out one hand. "I will accept your exchange, John Sheppard of Atlantis. Your life for hers if you come willing."
It didn't take more than a second for him to answer. "All right. But she's let go first."
The replicator removed his hand from Teyla's stomach, and held it up. "As you see."
John didn't move, didn't take the hand that still remained outstretched in his direction. "Teyla?"
She staggered back, her hand protectively over her stomach, mouth working as though she wanted to vomit. "John," her voice was rough. "it is not what you think..."
"I know," he said. "But I've made an exchange--"
On the periphery of his vision, John saw the replicator lunge and turned to meet the threat - for all the good it did.
He winced as the hand plunged into his head, even though there was no pain. In fact, there was nothing at all; all senses were gone.
Then he heard the ring of stave against stave in a confined space.
Gingerly opening his eyes, John found himself standing by the window of the Atlantis gym as Teyla circled on the mats with an opponent - with the replicator.
Another simulation.
John lunged, intending to take the replicator out of the fight. He stumbled when he passed straight through the thing's body as though it wasn't there - or as though John wasn't.
He nearly stumbled, turned on his toes and carefully moved into the 'engagement zone', waving his hand through the air.
Teyla gave no sign of knowing that John was there. Even when she followed the replicator until John was clearly in her vision, her eyes remained on the replicator, never once flicking to look at John.
So she didn't see him at all. He wasn't here - or he was just a spectator here, not a participant.
"...all I wish is your trust," the replicator was saying as he advanced on Teyla. It had the moves of the fighting style down pat - either taken from Teyla's head, or adopted from John's. Probably Teyla's head - she wasn't putting the replicator on its ass quite enough for it to have been picked up from John.
Still, she wasn't completely on the defensive, lashing out at a high angle that was followed by a low sweep. It almost always worked on John. "Trust is earned."
The move didn't work on the replicator, it blocked her and spun her off the edges of the staves. "As you have good reason to know," it answered.
"As you have seen from my mind," she retorted, circling around.
"You are not like them." It attacked again, aiming solidly for Teyla's midsection. John found himself automatically moving in the blocking pattern to ward off the attack.
"Perhaps not from their world," she said as her staves formed the blocking pattern - far sharper and faster than John's had been. He really didn't practise enough. "But origins are not the same as belonging."
It smiled. "The seed cannot deny its origins."
"And it does not try," Teyla countered. "But if it is planted far from others of its kind, then it lives in harmony, or dies."
"That which is new is not always welcomed."
"What is new should not always be feared." The long cadences of Teyla's voice were shortening slightly as the ripostes went on and she tired out.
A hard knot of frustration was forming in his stomach, watching the fight. John hated being helpless, hated having to watch someone else fight when he was perfectly capable of... Of what? Having your ass kicked? Sheer pragmatism suggested that Teyla was far better qualified for this encounter against the replicator than John.
No matter how much he disliked it.
"Fear is the easy response to the unknown," said the replicator. "Your friend feared me."
And you wonder why?
John followed Teyla as she turned and twisted across the room, evading another attack. She'd dropped back into a defensive pattern, conserving her energies. He wished he could support her somehow - in thought or word or touch.
He couldn't. He could only watch.
"The Colonel is trained to protect," she said.
"And to fear what he does not know and hate it."
Teyla's eyes narrowed. "If you refer to our distrust of you, then we have met others of your making before. They were not inclined to generosity."
"One experience should not be the end of all judgement. Open doors lead many places."
"As the root grows, so the branch." Her attack was unexpected - untelegraphed. John was keeping an eye on her, staying at right angles to both of them, the better to see what was happening.
The replicator smiled. "The sword and the carving knife are both best kept sharp, but they have very different uses."
It was beginning to dawn upon John that this fight between Teyla and the replicator was one of quotations and proverbs, too. Not just physical combat, but an intellectual duel as well. And if Teyla was only just holding her own on the physical front, she was doing pretty well on the intellectual one.
"Both sword and knife are but tools to the hand of the wielder. Intent is in the mind." Her eyes flashed. "Or that which substitutes for it, in your case."
It inclined its head as though in acknowledgement of a score against it. "That which thinks, lives."
"A herenton walks on two legs, but it is not human."
John was looking at the replicator, but saw nothing in its expression to suggest that it was angry at being called sub-human, although it pressed forward in another attack. "If you prick us, do we not bleed?"
In her surprise, Teyla nearly let him through her guard. "That is a quotation from Earth," she managed, only just holding the replicator off. "And since you do not bleed, it does not apply to you." And she stabbed with her staff, shoving the length of wood clear through its body before stepping back.
The replicator dropped one of its own staves and pulled hers out of its chest where it had 'stuck'. A brief all-over body flash and the hole the staff had made closed up. "True." But rather than attacking again, it just stood in the middle of the floor, watching her with a thoughtful expression on its face.
Unseen, unfelt, John went and stood behind Teyla. No point in trying to touch her if he didn't have any substance here, but it felt right to stand behind her.
"Your friend thinks I intend you harm."
"And you do not?"
"He is willing to exchange himself for you."
Teyla hesitated. "He should not."
"No," agreed the replicator. "He should not. And yet he does."
It's a replay, John thought. Of his encounter with Teyla.
Even as he thought this, something changed in Teyla's stance, a slow-growing understanding. "You are not like them."
"I am not. I was made for this planet and this purpose alone." The replicator tilted its head. "Your friend has agreed to the exchange."
"Do not accept--"
"It isn't your choice, but mine."
"No--" Teyla's protest was cut off as she vanished, and the room blurred around John, spinning around a point that was midway between him and the replicator.
He felt nauseous for a moment, physically sick - or as physically sick as he could be in his head. And when the spinning stopped, he stood in the middle of the Atlantis gateroom.
Everything seemed normal - ordinary. The marines patrolled their areas, the murmur of the control room techs was underpinned by the clickety-tap of their keystrokes as they worked at their statistics and programs, and he could hear Elizabeth's voice filtering down from her office as she negated someone's request for more equipment, personnel, or a foosball table.
Ordinary, except that nobody batted an eyelash at his appearance in the middle of the gateroom without so much as a wormhole to bring him here, or the white-clad man standing beside him, looking around with the interest of a child seeing Disneyland for the first time.
"I never saw the city of the Makers," said the replicator, finally addressing John. "It was much spoken of among the first derivation - they admired it, I think, and wished to build something of that kind themselves."
"They succeeded." His voice sounded strange, a little strangled, as though he'd been silent a long time.
"So I see from your memories and those of your friends." The replicator turned around, his expression full of wonder. "I see why they wished to rebuild in its likeness. Most of the second derivation weren't given to see it - only those who served in the city."
A touch on John's arm made him turn sharply, but it was only Teyla. "John."
"Hey. He hesitated before resting his hand on her shoulders, testing her solidity. "You're actually here."
"You should not have made the exchange."
It had seemed right at the time. Now, facing her, he felt...abashed. The decision was made and he'd choose it all over again, but beneath the clarity of her gaze, he felt stripped. "It was the right thing to do."
"And I appreciate it," she answered. "But still..." Her gaze flickered beyond him to the replicator. "Why are we here?"
The replicator turned from his study of the gateroom. "I have served the Makers for a thousand generations of these people, yet I have never seen Atlantis."
John glanced at Teyla. "This isn't Atlantis. It's just simulation in our minds."
It smiled. "I know. And yet, even to see it through your eyes, to feel the city as you do..." There was a kind of wonder in its voice. John refused to let himself be swayed by it. For all he knew, this could be a trick.
"Do you have a name? Something by which we may call you?"
It turned to Teyla, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "I thank you. My name is Combor."
John did a double-take. "The Combori called themselves after you?"
"You are the reason for their existence," said Teyla.
Combor's smile was wry. "You have good instincts, Teyla of Athos. Yes. I am Combor of the second derviation of what you term 'replicators'. The Asurans were the first derivation, created to fight the Wraith. When they took on human form, the Makers created myself and others like me - the second derivation. We served while the Asurans fought."
A warrior class and a servant class. And the warrior class had rebelled, resulting in their attempted destruction. "You don't have the aggression programming?"
"Nor the subspace transmission capabilities," said Combor. "I have...other gifts."
"Other gifts like what?"
"The treasure of the Ancestors," Teyla said, leaping into the conversation. She looked from Combor to John and back to Combor, her eyes large and surprised. "You do not keep the treasure, you are the treasure."
That got John's attention. It was one thing to have to go through a replicator to get the 'Ancient treasure', quite another to inherit a replicator. "Whoa. Wait a minute there! I thought we were getting a ZPM."
"You presumed you were getting a ZPM," Combor said, amused by John's protest. "Before they left this galaxy, the Makers left a number of my kind stationed in outposts. No more than one to an outpost, and each with a mission. We were to wait for their return, or, failing that, to carry out our duty." Once again he looked up at the vaulted ceiling of the gateroom. "I do not know how many of them have succeeded in their duty, or how many of them self-terminated when captured by the Wraith..."
"You cannot fight back?"
"Not against the Wraith," Combor said. "As the first derivation were programmed with aggression, we were programmed to die rather than betray our knowledge to the enemy.
This replicator will self-destruct in five seconds, John thought, but didn't say. He hadn't gotten around to showing Teyla Get Smart although she'd seen Inspector Gadget and Mission Impossible. "Okay, so...you have information about the Ancients? And...we've won you?"
Combor smiled. "In a manner of speaking."
"And what manner might that be?" Teyla beat John to the question - although she'd phrased it very differently. She seemed suspicious of this setup as well. It was good to know that her gut reactions were matching his.
"When the Makers determined that they would leave this galaxy, they couldn't take everything with them - nor did they wish to. On the possibility that they might have to return - that their new home might prove as inhospitable as the old - they left outposts, guarded by cultures, manned by others like me."
John exchanged a glance with Teyla, and knew she was thinking of the Ancient outposts whose addresses had been given them by the Elizabeth from the other universe. "We've seen a few."
None of the addresses had resulted in any significant finds; other than the children's moon, there'd been two sets of ruins, one entirely barren planet, and one culture who had regressed into barbarism to the point where they mistrusted anything coming through the Stargate and attempted to kill the team that came through. That planet was now blocked from the Atlantis dialling system.
"While the Combori set up these trials to test those seeking the treasures of the Makers, I was always to be the ultimate judge of whether or not those who came were worthy of the treasure."
"Hence this trip into our minds," Teyla said.
"Hence this."
"So," John asked, a slow-growing anticipation welling up from his belly, "how'd we do?" Pesonally, he though they hadn't done too badly until they encountered Combor - and no-one had said anything about going head-to-head - or, in this case, head-to-hand - with a replicator.
Combor's smile was wry. "There are transmission devices set up around the arena - images only, no sound. The Combori are pleased with your progress through the arena - both the way you work together, and your individual gifts. They approved of your willingness to let your other team-mates undertake their challenges, and they're pleased at the partnership between you and Teyla - two from different worlds working together."
John glanced at Teyla, but she hadn't inferred anything unusual from Combor's words.
"That is what the Combori think," Teyla noted. "You have not given your opinion."
The replicator's smile deepened. "Like your own people, the Combori revere the Makers. And the Makers were gracious to them in some few ways and arbitrary in many others."
Oh, yeah, this sounded familiar. "Then your close-cousins the Asurans had the attitude down pat."
"They imitated the Makers in more than just form. And you will understand me when I say that the Makers are not all that the Combori remember them to be."
Teyla had tensed. "And so running the Combori arena is purposeless?"
"Not purposeless," said Combor. "I had the opportunity to see how you interacted in more...fluid scenarios...the chance to see what you are made of. And it gave me the opportunity to enter your mind and test your thoughts."
"Like now."
"Like now," Combor agreed.
"And?"
"And in many things, your people carry the Makers' marks - not just in the gene, but in your behaviour, your attitude to others." Dark eyes held a sombre knowledge in them as he met John's gaze. "You are more like them than you would wish to acknowledge."
John grimaced. It wasn't quite the appraisal he'd been hoping for.
Still, it seemed that Combor wasn't finished. "I was created to determine the heirs to the devices of the Makers. I was created to use my own judgement on this matter. You have woken the Wraith, but you've stayed to fight them. Your people don't trust Teyla, but you ally with her and her people nevertheless." Combor waved a hand at the gateroom, "Your expedition lives as though it were still on Earth, but for the aliens among you."
John glanced at Teyla. She was watching Combor with a very thoughtful expression. "And?"
"The children of the Combori don't always so closely resemble their parents," said the replicator easily. "I imagine the children of Earth - and the Makers - are the same. You've your faults and failings - some of which you know, and some of which you don't - and your merits and strengths. But, on the whole, there is hope that you will achieve what the Makers did not - a way to end the Wraith. And possibly a way to stop the first derivation from carrying out their vengeance on the Makers."
"You do not feel their anger at what was done to the Asurans, then?"
Combor hesitated, then shrugged. "I was not made for their purpose - they were made to destroy the Wraith, and in the end, their anger and antagonism was their end - will be their end." He seemed more sad about it than anything else. "And my purpose is ended."
He lifted his chin, raising his voice as though he spoke to a large crowd, although none of the 'personnel' in the simulated gateroom had given any of them a second glance. "My work is done. The guardianship is complete!"
On cue, Atlantis began dissolving around them, blurring like a chalk painting in the rain, the blues and greens of the gateroom bleeding to bright gold sand and the vividly blue sky above them in the arena.
Teyla's hand rested on his shoulder, strong fingers warm through the material of his shirt. She squeezed once and let go, turning around to look for Combor.
Around them, the arena was deserted. Oh, the bodies of the white ninjas they'd shot down during the firefight remained, but Combor had vanished.
As Teyla moved away, John took a step forward, and paused.
Something lay in the sand at John's feet, shaped roughly like a ZPM, but in hues of blue and green, rather than the usual reds and yellows.
"What is that?" Teyla asked as John crouched down in front of the not-ZPM and drew air into his lungs that tasted of sun and sand, then blew it out.
"The treasure of the Ancients," John said with certainty. He glanced up at Teyla, squinting at the intensity of the sky behind her.
"And Combor himself?"
John hesitated, then reached out to pick up the thing. It was cool in his hand, and quite light although unwieldy in the length and girth of it, but the Ancient gene in his body could feel the subtle hum of something happening inside the device, like tiny nanites were falling into a final configuration from which they'd never again move. "I think this is Combor."
Even as he spoke, he felt the hum die and knew it was over.
They gazed at the device for a long moment.
"His purpose was ended," Teyla said to herself before she looked up at John. "So we have won?"
It took him a moment to find the words, simple as they were. "I think that's a yes."
- tbc -
Part 5
NOTES: Just the epilogue to go!
SUMMARY: John and Teyla under fire to gain a treasure of the Ancients.
CATEGORY: gen, action-adventure, drama
RATING: PG-13
NOTES: More details of the story in Part 1.
Part 4
A dozen scenarios spun through his mind. The Combori were replicators. The Combori were allied with the Asurans. The Asurans had ventured out and subdued the Combori...
Then he realised it didn't matter. His weapon was useless, the hostage had become the hostage-taker, and whatever the thing was doing to Teyla had to be stopped.
"What do you want?"
The replicator tilted its head. "I think the question is better phrased, What will you give me?"
"I can't offer you what I don't know you'll accept."
"What is your friend's life worth?"
The answer was easier than John expected. It slid off his tongue without hesitation. "Anything up to my own life."
"The lives of your other friends?"
Yes. No. Yes. It was only a moment's vacillation. "No," he said. "You can have me in exchange for her, but the other two are off the bargaining table."
It was one thing to bargain his own life, but he couldn't exchange the lives of others. Teyla would never stand for it - hadn't stood for it when she levelled the gun at John during his possession by Thalen.
Rationally, John knew he shouldn't bargain his own life away. Purely from a military standpoint, his own knowledge - of Atlantis, of Earth - was more valuable to the Asurans than Teyla could provide.
But the alternative was untenable.
The post-mission sessions with Heightmeyer after the visit to the Asuran planet had explored the areas into which the Asurans had delved. For Teyla, it had been the discovery of her Wraith genetics, a scenario in which the Asurans had agreed to work with the Lanteans, but not with Teyla or anyone associated with her.
In the Asuran-induced scenario, Teyla had said that Elizabeth had left the choice up to her, but she'd said it was clear that they all really wished her to leave. And so she had walked away from her people, away from Atlantis, and away from her team-mates.
At first, John had been angry that she could have believed that of them - of him. Then he stopped and thought about it.
While he'd have liked to believe that they wouldn't dismiss an ally in exchange for a more powerful one, John knew better. Earth had done it before, and sooner or later, Atlantis would have done anything, for the level of technology the Asurans had displayed.
Of course, the deal probably still would have gone sour at the point where the Asurans turned out to be replicators.
"You presume it's possible to walk away from the table at all," the replicator said, smiling slightly. "Your other team-mates are already in the hands of the Combori."
John swallowed hard. They'd been played for fools - and all for the sake of a ZPM. "And the Combori are under your control."
The man inclined his head. "As you believe." He glanced down at Teyla. "Interesting. She possesses...echoes of the Wraith in her body. Yet her spirit is entirely her own - and strong."
Leaps of intuition were Rodney's area; John usually just let the other man have at it. But Rodney wasn't here now, and a thought flitted at the edge of John's consciousness. "She's fighting back."
"She is very strong," the man said, sounding surprised. "And knowledgeable." He held out one hand. "I will accept your exchange, John Sheppard of Atlantis. Your life for hers if you come willing."
It didn't take more than a second for him to answer. "All right. But she's let go first."
The replicator removed his hand from Teyla's stomach, and held it up. "As you see."
John didn't move, didn't take the hand that still remained outstretched in his direction. "Teyla?"
She staggered back, her hand protectively over her stomach, mouth working as though she wanted to vomit. "John," her voice was rough. "it is not what you think..."
"I know," he said. "But I've made an exchange--"
On the periphery of his vision, John saw the replicator lunge and turned to meet the threat - for all the good it did.
He winced as the hand plunged into his head, even though there was no pain. In fact, there was nothing at all; all senses were gone.
Then he heard the ring of stave against stave in a confined space.
Gingerly opening his eyes, John found himself standing by the window of the Atlantis gym as Teyla circled on the mats with an opponent - with the replicator.
Another simulation.
John lunged, intending to take the replicator out of the fight. He stumbled when he passed straight through the thing's body as though it wasn't there - or as though John wasn't.
He nearly stumbled, turned on his toes and carefully moved into the 'engagement zone', waving his hand through the air.
Teyla gave no sign of knowing that John was there. Even when she followed the replicator until John was clearly in her vision, her eyes remained on the replicator, never once flicking to look at John.
So she didn't see him at all. He wasn't here - or he was just a spectator here, not a participant.
"...all I wish is your trust," the replicator was saying as he advanced on Teyla. It had the moves of the fighting style down pat - either taken from Teyla's head, or adopted from John's. Probably Teyla's head - she wasn't putting the replicator on its ass quite enough for it to have been picked up from John.
Still, she wasn't completely on the defensive, lashing out at a high angle that was followed by a low sweep. It almost always worked on John. "Trust is earned."
The move didn't work on the replicator, it blocked her and spun her off the edges of the staves. "As you have good reason to know," it answered.
"As you have seen from my mind," she retorted, circling around.
"You are not like them." It attacked again, aiming solidly for Teyla's midsection. John found himself automatically moving in the blocking pattern to ward off the attack.
"Perhaps not from their world," she said as her staves formed the blocking pattern - far sharper and faster than John's had been. He really didn't practise enough. "But origins are not the same as belonging."
It smiled. "The seed cannot deny its origins."
"And it does not try," Teyla countered. "But if it is planted far from others of its kind, then it lives in harmony, or dies."
"That which is new is not always welcomed."
"What is new should not always be feared." The long cadences of Teyla's voice were shortening slightly as the ripostes went on and she tired out.
A hard knot of frustration was forming in his stomach, watching the fight. John hated being helpless, hated having to watch someone else fight when he was perfectly capable of... Of what? Having your ass kicked? Sheer pragmatism suggested that Teyla was far better qualified for this encounter against the replicator than John.
No matter how much he disliked it.
"Fear is the easy response to the unknown," said the replicator. "Your friend feared me."
And you wonder why?
John followed Teyla as she turned and twisted across the room, evading another attack. She'd dropped back into a defensive pattern, conserving her energies. He wished he could support her somehow - in thought or word or touch.
He couldn't. He could only watch.
"The Colonel is trained to protect," she said.
"And to fear what he does not know and hate it."
Teyla's eyes narrowed. "If you refer to our distrust of you, then we have met others of your making before. They were not inclined to generosity."
"One experience should not be the end of all judgement. Open doors lead many places."
"As the root grows, so the branch." Her attack was unexpected - untelegraphed. John was keeping an eye on her, staying at right angles to both of them, the better to see what was happening.
The replicator smiled. "The sword and the carving knife are both best kept sharp, but they have very different uses."
It was beginning to dawn upon John that this fight between Teyla and the replicator was one of quotations and proverbs, too. Not just physical combat, but an intellectual duel as well. And if Teyla was only just holding her own on the physical front, she was doing pretty well on the intellectual one.
"Both sword and knife are but tools to the hand of the wielder. Intent is in the mind." Her eyes flashed. "Or that which substitutes for it, in your case."
It inclined its head as though in acknowledgement of a score against it. "That which thinks, lives."
"A herenton walks on two legs, but it is not human."
John was looking at the replicator, but saw nothing in its expression to suggest that it was angry at being called sub-human, although it pressed forward in another attack. "If you prick us, do we not bleed?"
In her surprise, Teyla nearly let him through her guard. "That is a quotation from Earth," she managed, only just holding the replicator off. "And since you do not bleed, it does not apply to you." And she stabbed with her staff, shoving the length of wood clear through its body before stepping back.
The replicator dropped one of its own staves and pulled hers out of its chest where it had 'stuck'. A brief all-over body flash and the hole the staff had made closed up. "True." But rather than attacking again, it just stood in the middle of the floor, watching her with a thoughtful expression on its face.
Unseen, unfelt, John went and stood behind Teyla. No point in trying to touch her if he didn't have any substance here, but it felt right to stand behind her.
"Your friend thinks I intend you harm."
"And you do not?"
"He is willing to exchange himself for you."
Teyla hesitated. "He should not."
"No," agreed the replicator. "He should not. And yet he does."
It's a replay, John thought. Of his encounter with Teyla.
Even as he thought this, something changed in Teyla's stance, a slow-growing understanding. "You are not like them."
"I am not. I was made for this planet and this purpose alone." The replicator tilted its head. "Your friend has agreed to the exchange."
"Do not accept--"
"It isn't your choice, but mine."
"No--" Teyla's protest was cut off as she vanished, and the room blurred around John, spinning around a point that was midway between him and the replicator.
He felt nauseous for a moment, physically sick - or as physically sick as he could be in his head. And when the spinning stopped, he stood in the middle of the Atlantis gateroom.
Everything seemed normal - ordinary. The marines patrolled their areas, the murmur of the control room techs was underpinned by the clickety-tap of their keystrokes as they worked at their statistics and programs, and he could hear Elizabeth's voice filtering down from her office as she negated someone's request for more equipment, personnel, or a foosball table.
Ordinary, except that nobody batted an eyelash at his appearance in the middle of the gateroom without so much as a wormhole to bring him here, or the white-clad man standing beside him, looking around with the interest of a child seeing Disneyland for the first time.
"I never saw the city of the Makers," said the replicator, finally addressing John. "It was much spoken of among the first derivation - they admired it, I think, and wished to build something of that kind themselves."
"They succeeded." His voice sounded strange, a little strangled, as though he'd been silent a long time.
"So I see from your memories and those of your friends." The replicator turned around, his expression full of wonder. "I see why they wished to rebuild in its likeness. Most of the second derivation weren't given to see it - only those who served in the city."
A touch on John's arm made him turn sharply, but it was only Teyla. "John."
"Hey. He hesitated before resting his hand on her shoulders, testing her solidity. "You're actually here."
"You should not have made the exchange."
It had seemed right at the time. Now, facing her, he felt...abashed. The decision was made and he'd choose it all over again, but beneath the clarity of her gaze, he felt stripped. "It was the right thing to do."
"And I appreciate it," she answered. "But still..." Her gaze flickered beyond him to the replicator. "Why are we here?"
The replicator turned from his study of the gateroom. "I have served the Makers for a thousand generations of these people, yet I have never seen Atlantis."
John glanced at Teyla. "This isn't Atlantis. It's just simulation in our minds."
It smiled. "I know. And yet, even to see it through your eyes, to feel the city as you do..." There was a kind of wonder in its voice. John refused to let himself be swayed by it. For all he knew, this could be a trick.
"Do you have a name? Something by which we may call you?"
It turned to Teyla, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "I thank you. My name is Combor."
John did a double-take. "The Combori called themselves after you?"
"You are the reason for their existence," said Teyla.
Combor's smile was wry. "You have good instincts, Teyla of Athos. Yes. I am Combor of the second derviation of what you term 'replicators'. The Asurans were the first derivation, created to fight the Wraith. When they took on human form, the Makers created myself and others like me - the second derivation. We served while the Asurans fought."
A warrior class and a servant class. And the warrior class had rebelled, resulting in their attempted destruction. "You don't have the aggression programming?"
"Nor the subspace transmission capabilities," said Combor. "I have...other gifts."
"Other gifts like what?"
"The treasure of the Ancestors," Teyla said, leaping into the conversation. She looked from Combor to John and back to Combor, her eyes large and surprised. "You do not keep the treasure, you are the treasure."
That got John's attention. It was one thing to have to go through a replicator to get the 'Ancient treasure', quite another to inherit a replicator. "Whoa. Wait a minute there! I thought we were getting a ZPM."
"You presumed you were getting a ZPM," Combor said, amused by John's protest. "Before they left this galaxy, the Makers left a number of my kind stationed in outposts. No more than one to an outpost, and each with a mission. We were to wait for their return, or, failing that, to carry out our duty." Once again he looked up at the vaulted ceiling of the gateroom. "I do not know how many of them have succeeded in their duty, or how many of them self-terminated when captured by the Wraith..."
"You cannot fight back?"
"Not against the Wraith," Combor said. "As the first derivation were programmed with aggression, we were programmed to die rather than betray our knowledge to the enemy.
This replicator will self-destruct in five seconds, John thought, but didn't say. He hadn't gotten around to showing Teyla Get Smart although she'd seen Inspector Gadget and Mission Impossible. "Okay, so...you have information about the Ancients? And...we've won you?"
Combor smiled. "In a manner of speaking."
"And what manner might that be?" Teyla beat John to the question - although she'd phrased it very differently. She seemed suspicious of this setup as well. It was good to know that her gut reactions were matching his.
"When the Makers determined that they would leave this galaxy, they couldn't take everything with them - nor did they wish to. On the possibility that they might have to return - that their new home might prove as inhospitable as the old - they left outposts, guarded by cultures, manned by others like me."
John exchanged a glance with Teyla, and knew she was thinking of the Ancient outposts whose addresses had been given them by the Elizabeth from the other universe. "We've seen a few."
None of the addresses had resulted in any significant finds; other than the children's moon, there'd been two sets of ruins, one entirely barren planet, and one culture who had regressed into barbarism to the point where they mistrusted anything coming through the Stargate and attempted to kill the team that came through. That planet was now blocked from the Atlantis dialling system.
"While the Combori set up these trials to test those seeking the treasures of the Makers, I was always to be the ultimate judge of whether or not those who came were worthy of the treasure."
"Hence this trip into our minds," Teyla said.
"Hence this."
"So," John asked, a slow-growing anticipation welling up from his belly, "how'd we do?" Pesonally, he though they hadn't done too badly until they encountered Combor - and no-one had said anything about going head-to-head - or, in this case, head-to-hand - with a replicator.
Combor's smile was wry. "There are transmission devices set up around the arena - images only, no sound. The Combori are pleased with your progress through the arena - both the way you work together, and your individual gifts. They approved of your willingness to let your other team-mates undertake their challenges, and they're pleased at the partnership between you and Teyla - two from different worlds working together."
John glanced at Teyla, but she hadn't inferred anything unusual from Combor's words.
"That is what the Combori think," Teyla noted. "You have not given your opinion."
The replicator's smile deepened. "Like your own people, the Combori revere the Makers. And the Makers were gracious to them in some few ways and arbitrary in many others."
Oh, yeah, this sounded familiar. "Then your close-cousins the Asurans had the attitude down pat."
"They imitated the Makers in more than just form. And you will understand me when I say that the Makers are not all that the Combori remember them to be."
Teyla had tensed. "And so running the Combori arena is purposeless?"
"Not purposeless," said Combor. "I had the opportunity to see how you interacted in more...fluid scenarios...the chance to see what you are made of. And it gave me the opportunity to enter your mind and test your thoughts."
"Like now."
"Like now," Combor agreed.
"And?"
"And in many things, your people carry the Makers' marks - not just in the gene, but in your behaviour, your attitude to others." Dark eyes held a sombre knowledge in them as he met John's gaze. "You are more like them than you would wish to acknowledge."
John grimaced. It wasn't quite the appraisal he'd been hoping for.
Still, it seemed that Combor wasn't finished. "I was created to determine the heirs to the devices of the Makers. I was created to use my own judgement on this matter. You have woken the Wraith, but you've stayed to fight them. Your people don't trust Teyla, but you ally with her and her people nevertheless." Combor waved a hand at the gateroom, "Your expedition lives as though it were still on Earth, but for the aliens among you."
John glanced at Teyla. She was watching Combor with a very thoughtful expression. "And?"
"The children of the Combori don't always so closely resemble their parents," said the replicator easily. "I imagine the children of Earth - and the Makers - are the same. You've your faults and failings - some of which you know, and some of which you don't - and your merits and strengths. But, on the whole, there is hope that you will achieve what the Makers did not - a way to end the Wraith. And possibly a way to stop the first derivation from carrying out their vengeance on the Makers."
"You do not feel their anger at what was done to the Asurans, then?"
Combor hesitated, then shrugged. "I was not made for their purpose - they were made to destroy the Wraith, and in the end, their anger and antagonism was their end - will be their end." He seemed more sad about it than anything else. "And my purpose is ended."
He lifted his chin, raising his voice as though he spoke to a large crowd, although none of the 'personnel' in the simulated gateroom had given any of them a second glance. "My work is done. The guardianship is complete!"
On cue, Atlantis began dissolving around them, blurring like a chalk painting in the rain, the blues and greens of the gateroom bleeding to bright gold sand and the vividly blue sky above them in the arena.
Teyla's hand rested on his shoulder, strong fingers warm through the material of his shirt. She squeezed once and let go, turning around to look for Combor.
Around them, the arena was deserted. Oh, the bodies of the white ninjas they'd shot down during the firefight remained, but Combor had vanished.
As Teyla moved away, John took a step forward, and paused.
Something lay in the sand at John's feet, shaped roughly like a ZPM, but in hues of blue and green, rather than the usual reds and yellows.
"What is that?" Teyla asked as John crouched down in front of the not-ZPM and drew air into his lungs that tasted of sun and sand, then blew it out.
"The treasure of the Ancients," John said with certainty. He glanced up at Teyla, squinting at the intensity of the sky behind her.
"And Combor himself?"
John hesitated, then reached out to pick up the thing. It was cool in his hand, and quite light although unwieldy in the length and girth of it, but the Ancient gene in his body could feel the subtle hum of something happening inside the device, like tiny nanites were falling into a final configuration from which they'd never again move. "I think this is Combor."
Even as he spoke, he felt the hum die and knew it was over.
They gazed at the device for a long moment.
"His purpose was ended," Teyla said to herself before she looked up at John. "So we have won?"
It took him a moment to find the words, simple as they were. "I think that's a yes."
- tbc -
Part 5
NOTES: Just the epilogue to go!
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Very good, dearie. I heartily enjoyed this :)
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Very good, dearie. I heartily enjoyed this :)
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