Even if the Stupid Twins refused to let Rodney actually touch anything, taking directions like some horrible version of pin the tail on the donkey, he was still about ten steps ahead of them – without even breaking a sweat.

It had slowed him considerably to not be able to look at the schematics without them knowing what he was looking at . . . and their pudgy fingers trying to work his laptop . . . his keyboard was going to have to be cleaned. But, despite the delays, he was still going to get them to pretty much build him a weapon and kill themselves with it, without him even having to lift a finger.

John would be proud of him. Assuming that John was still alive . . . which, of course he was. Because if he wasn’t, then surely Rodney would’ve felt the universe shift. He would have seen the sun blacked out or something like that. No . . . John was definitely alive. He had to be.

“No, no, no, you imbecile! I swear, if your fingers weren’t attached to your hands, I’d mistake them for sausages! You’re going to break that! It’s very delicate, you know . . . bring it over here and let me see.”

“No.”

“Fine. Then twist it carefully.”

Stupid #2 twisted, and the piece came apart in his hands.

“I said, carefully!”

God, Rodney had no doubt that he could kill the minions with his brainpower alone, but they might actually give him a coronary from the overwhelming frustration caused by their stupidity.

“I was careful,” came the sullen grunt. The big idiot actually sounded shamed. The universe hated him.

“Fine . . . fine . . . we’ll do without the automatic dispensing circuitry. You’ll just have to do it manually.” Actually, the now-broken part in question was just a light bulb for one of the consoles, but it still pissed Rodney off that it could have, in theory, been a very valuable piece of circuitry.

Luckily for them all, the automatic dispensing circuitry (aka, the firing mechanism) was safe deep within the wall before them, far from the Big Stupids and their sausage fingers.

Well, he’d jerked them around enough to make it look credible. In reality, the chamber had been operational the second Rodney and his magic gene walked in. Too bad he couldn’t get into the damned chair to control the things . . . not that he’d be able to anyway. He was better than Carson with these things, but not by much.

“I think we can call it a day, gentlemen,” Rodney announced, smugly.

“But what about the weapons?” Stupid #1 asked, looking around, as though believing they’d automatically appear.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “They come out of that big hole right there in front of you.” That big, squid-missile-sized hole. “But thanks to somebody and their big fat hands of technological-death, the automatic dispensary chip is in a million pieces on the ground, so we’re going to have to do it manually.”

Stupid #2 scratched his head. “How we gonna do that?”

“Well, seeing as how you two are the muscle of this operation, you’re going to stand in front of the dispensary slot and catch the weapons as they come out. They’re going to . . . um . . . come out in rapid succession, and are very delicate. So you’re going to have do a bit of a fireman’s line, okay?” He was babbling nervously, but he highly doubted the two idiots before him could figure out if he had the word ‘liar’ written in large red letters on his forehead.

“Huh?”

“You stand in a line in front of the hole. One of you grabs the weapon, passes it to the other so he can place them in a nicely ordered pile. The more coordinated one of you should be in front.”

Then the idiots actually fought over who was going to get blasted in the stomach with a big Ancient missile first. If he weren’t so nervous, Rodney would have laughed. They finally ended up with #2 in front and #1 right behind. Perfect.

“Now what?” Stupid #2 asked, expectantly.

“Now, you press the manual release.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie. “That’s the big button next to the opening.”

Number 1 pressed it, and then the world exploded in light. Rodney went flying through the air, and the smell of burnt flesh immediately assaulted his nostrils.

Pain flared sharp in his left shoulder and he moaned and coughed through the smoke. Oh, god, he hoped this had worked.

When the smoke had cleared, his captors were nothing more than sizzling heaps of what looked like charred bacon-fat. The opposite wall had crumbled, drone shot straight through to the sunshine on the other side.

Rodney had been thrown onto his side by the blast, jarring his shoulder, causing the excruciating pain he was now experiencing. “Ow, ow, ow, ow!” he yelled at no one, blinking back the tears. He wished John were here.

After a few minutes of cursing and riding out the worse of the pain, Rodney sighed, pulling at his arms and trying to kick his legs free.

This was when he realized the huge gaping flaw in his plan – he was still tied to a chair, now lying on its side. And he had no real means of actual escape.

But, at least he’d gotten rid of the Big Fat Stupids, sanity firmly intact.

The sky was dark, clouded. Teyla hoped that it wouldn’t rain, as her boots were already sinking heavily into the mud, their loud squelch covered up by the pitter-patter of gunfire in the distance.

The colorless sky was the only thing they could really see from deep within the trench they had been following for the past twenty minutes, pushing their way past soldiers, some shivering in crevasses at the walls, others running down the lines, shouting frantic unintelligible things, and some tensed, peeking over the side of their man-made canyon, fear in their eyes.

Elizabeth struggled by her side, slipping and sliding and disgruntled, but still determined.

Sheran wanted ten cases of P-90s for each of them. Teyla knew that Atlantis did not have that, but it was a false promise that got them an armed escort to the Gate. Normally, Teyla would find dishonor is this sort of outright lying, but after the way their hosts had treated them, she could not say she felt at all troubled.

They had been walking for what felt like hours and Teyla’s muscles were sore, her ankle bleeding from where she’d caught it on some of this ‘barbed-wire,’ but she ignored it like any good soldier would. She forced herself to put on a strong face – if she was tired, she could only imagine how much Elizabeth must be hurting.

“All right, get ready to move,” one of their escorts said, motioning for Teyla and Elizabeth to move in closer to the side of the trench wall. Mud slid down the steep slope, making it hard to gain purchase. “There’s another trench about 30 meters away. We’ll be out in the open, so get ready.”

This soldier’s eyes were cold and fearless. He reached down to help Elizabeth up, leaving Teyla to fend for herself.

“On the count of three . . . . One. Two. Three!”

Teyla forced her aching muscles to action, vaulting herself over the lip of the trench and refusing to acknowledge the fear of whatever unknown lurked beyond. From the time she was young, her father had taught her not to fear the Wraith – not to fear her death, because every moment was a blessing, all the joy in her life a reason why she need not fear dying. If she did not fear the Wraith, she should not fear this.

She felt Elizabeth stumbling behind her as she leaped over a mass of tangled wires. Bombs were exploding around them. Shots rang out, and in front of her, one of their guards went down.

Teyla should’ve stopped to help him, knelt in the grime to search for a pulse she knew she would not find. She knew he was dead, as surely as she knew the smell of the forest after a cleansing rain. But this was not the land of her childhood, the rural wood where she had so often fought the Wraith. It was a maze of manmade war, and the next trench was just ahead. Teyla put on an extra burst of speed. Just a little further . . . just a little.

Another bomb exploded and then she heard a scream.

Teyla didn’t stop. She needed to get away from this . . . needed to get to safety, needed to get off this horrible world. With one final leap, Teyla launched herself over the wire, tumbling down the steep slope of the tunnel and into the thick mud below. She rolled, absorbing the shock of the fall and standing shakily on her now-throbbing ankle.

As she blinked the mud out of her eyes, the fear abated just slightly, consciousness thrilling with alarm. The screaming . . . the screaming . . . it was Elizabeth.

Despite the bombs still exploding, their lights still flashing bright, Teyla pushed herself up to the top of the trench, gazing out to where the air was shimmering in an all too familiar way – a Puddle Jumper decloaking, six men in black suits piling out of the back.

They were going to . . . she couldn’t let them hurt Elizabeth. Teyla raised her P-90, looking at the shot she had from her concealed position. Could she kill again?

Maybe . . . she raised her weapon, still indecisive. Could she live with herself if she shot a man in the back?

But, the choice was removed from her hands, as Elizabeth tumbled around the corner of the Puddle Jumper, already firing. Three of the men went down under shots from her handgun. Teyla had never even seen Elizabeth holding a gun, let alone this killer lurking within her. She hoped to wash the image from her mind the moment she had seen it.

Teyla hesitated as the last of the soldiers guarding them managed to get in a shot to fell a fourth attacker, before one of the Magi finished him off. Now it was only Teyla and Elizabeth, and one of the Magi had Elizabeth in his tight grip, her weapon lying useless in the mud.

Teyla had a shot, but he was too close to Elizabeth, who was struggling frantically. She didn’t have Major Sheppard’s cool determination. She couldn’t risk hurting Elizabeth . . . couldn’t live with herself if she slipped and killed her.

Teyla made up her mind, shoving fear deep into the sea of adrenaline swamping her to unsheath her knife and yank herself up over the side of the trench, limping slightly as she ran for them.

She dived into the first attacker when his back was turned, a hard hit with the butt of her P90 knocking him unconscious.

But the last remaining Magi still had Elizabeth in his grasp, gun held to her throat.

“I don’t want to have to kill her,” he said, as sadly as his colleague had said, ‘I’m sorry’ to Elizabeth.

“I don’t want to have to kill you,” Teyla said, knife still in her hand, tight. She might not be a sure shot with a gun, but she was close enough to get him with her knife, if he wasn’t expecting it.

“Whatever the rebels have told you is a lie. We are not your enemy. Come with me and I will explain.”

How was she supposed to believe him after they’d already seen the ruthlessness of the Magi? After they had attacked Elizabeth? “No. I cannot believe you. You dishonor me if you expect me to believe that you would try to violate those who are not your enemies in such a way.”

The flash of recognition and sorrow in his green eyes let her know that he understood the meaning behind her words. And then, surprisingly, he pushed Elizabeth from his grasp, weapon moving to point at Teyla. “Go ahead, kill me, then.”

Teyla’s hand on the knife blade was sure. But she couldn’t . . . not when he offered her this. Maybe a shoulder wound . . . . She stood, prepared to do what was needed, but also to listen.

“Please, explain yourself then.”

“Yes we are the Magi, possessed of great power. But we do not choose this burden . . . we did not choose this war . . .”

Teyla looked around nervously. She did not care if the Magi were innocent or not. All she could see was the war they wrought. She blinked back the tears that the thick smoke of the battlefield had brought to her eyes, forcing her hands to steady. She wanted it over, now.

“But you still fight it.”

“I . . .” the Magi began, but then the expression on his face seemed to shift, pushing Teyla’s senses to even a greater level of tensed awareness.

“Teyla!” Elizabeth shouted, eyes wide. Teyla turned just in time to see another black-clad figure running from the hatch of the Jumper, weapon raised.

He last thought was that she hoped that Elizabeth could forgive her for this weakness. And then her world faded to black.

Commander Acastus Kolya was not a weak man. He had survived the ill-fated battle of Tanar with nothing but a few scars and even received a medal for it. He was the toughest of the tough in every squadron he had served in. He was dedicated, loyal, ruthless.

Kolya did not enjoy killing. He didn’t even particularly enjoy causing pain. It was his job. It was his nationalistic duty. It was his gift. Some might have even called it his life. But Kolya no more enjoyed seeing men break than he enjoyed pouring himself a cup of tea or brushing his teeth.

But from the moment he’d met Major John Sheppard, their rivalry had become more. It had become a game. The elements were still meaningless. Kolya’s enjoyment of firing a gun or shouting an order had not increased. But, he now felt more than a cursory surge of pride every time he found himself a step ahead of the enemy. He needed this. He needed to win.

Sheppard was the only man who had beaten him, and now Kolya had become obsessed. He saw Sheppard’s face in his dreams – taunting him. He heard his voice when he touched the ragged scar on his shoulder. He saw the flashes and the pounding of his men against the shield. He’d even memorized all their names . . . heard them with each deafening crash. He saw Sheppard’s cold eyes reflected in his own, understood his passion. He spent long nights plotting his next move. How he would finally win this deadly game. He even saw Sheppard’s body, thin and lithe and broken as he brought himself to screaming climax.

It was not over yet. Sheppard may have taken more from Kolya than any man before – his body, his dignity, his status among the Genii. But even if he had nothing else, Kolya still had the upper hand. He was still the only one who could lead Sheppard to Dr. McKay. So, even if Sheppard raped him a thousand times and then slit his throat, Kolya still would have won. Because McKay was the only thing that Sheppard really cared about.

Kolya smiled to himself, pushing himself up and doing the best he could to clean himself. He stank of semen and sweat, blood dripping down his thigh, but he could still stand proud.

Then the door opened. Kolya expected Sheppard to come back for another round, or perhaps the dark-skinned underling, the one with the hard right-hook. But instead, they had sent the woman. Perhaps Sheppard was trying to taunt him – show him the kind of woman that he could not have . . . the kind of woman he had been for Sheppard.

“Commander Kolya,” the woman said, suddenly shy, looking down at her hands. She was beautiful like this – ashamed and submissive, all fine hair and delicate cheekbones. He could break her with a single breath.

Kolya stepped closer so there was only a thin blue wall in between them, standing tall so she could see the blood, his masculinity hanging down from his tattered pants. She looked away, immediately, most likely intimidated by his girth. He did not know the customs of the Atlanteans. Perhaps she was as fresh and innocent as she appeared.

“Lieutenant Parker.” He remembered her name. He was proud of that. “Is this always how your people treat prisoners on your world?” He didn’t bother hiding the derision in his voice.

She started, finally looking up at him. “No . . . Sir. On Earth there are codes.” She was clearly inexperienced at this. A talented interrogator answered no questions, spoke not a word that was not intended to invoke a specific response. Kolya was well-practiced at this art.

“So Major Sheppard will get into trouble for this?” Kolya liked the idea of that.

Parker shook her head. She looked pale, frightened, perhaps as though she had been crying. “No, he won’t. In this galaxy, we have had to make exceptions.”

“What is the point of having rules if you are just going to break them?” The Genii, at least, had rules. They had faith and loyalty and brutality. They knew where their priorities lay.

“I don’t know. What I do know is that you know where Dr. McKay is and that you don’t want something else like this to happen to you again, so why don’t you just tell us what we need to know? Please.” The plea in her voice was clear. Like all women, she hated to see people suffer. She was probably imagining herself in his place right now.

Women . . . so empathetic . . . pathetic. Kolya thought fondly of Sora, wondered where they were holding her. She had been his star pupil – such a good fighter, so quick, so intelligent, so dedicated. But she had cared too much. She had been as weak as this young woman trembling before him, too easily manipulated by emotion.

Kolya let himself sink down to the floor, still hanging out of his pants and not making a move to hide his shame. He was truly shamed, but he’d deal with that later. All he cared about right now was that it forced her to kneel beside him, so intimate. He could see the compassion on her face out of the corner of his eye.

“I want to tell you. I do. But if I told you, Sheppard would just have license to punish me more.”

“I could promise you . . .” Parker pled. “He’ll listen to me. I can guarantee that once we have Dr. McKay, you will be released.”

“You’ll forgive me if I insist that’s not good enough. You have not been witness to the depth of his hatred.”

Her shocked intake of breath told him that perhaps she had. “You . . . you can trust me. I promise. I’m not . . . I’m not like him. I don’t want to have to see him do this to you again.”

Kolya hid the predatory smirk. So easily manipulated . . . . Parker reminded him of his first wife, before he’d left her for his second. “I trust you, Lieutenant. But I know you don’t have the power to guarantee that.”

Her head hung low. “I wish I did.” He could practically taste her guilt. Sheppard made a big mistake, letting this one see. Wenran, the Genii’s greatest strategist, had always warned that division within one’s own ranks was doing the enemy’s job for them. It was one of the few rules of warfare that his people all took to be true.

“Let me go and then I’ll take you to Dr. McKay.”

She sighed. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” He stood again, making sure it was slow enough for her to see the blood dripping down his thigh, exaggerating the gasp and wince the slight pain caused.

She stared at him, mesmerized.

“Because you’re the enemy.”

“Maybe. But I’m also a just a man asking you for help.”

Her bright blue eyes finally met his, intensified by the light of the cage-field. He made sure to meet them head on, forced moisture to form at the corners. Sheppard thought he didn’t do the wrong thing. Kolya thought that he didn’t need masks to wear. They were alike in that they both thought wrong.

Parker moved slowly, eyes going from compassionate to determined. “I’ll take you to the Jumper Bay. You’ll dial the coordinates and then you’ll take me to him.”

This was just too easy. “Okay . . . but just you, right? You won’t . . .” he forced a stutter. “You won’t let Sheppard . . .” His pride stung at showing this sort of weakness, but it would be worth it later.

“Just you and me,” she whispered.

“And you’ll get me some pants . . . make this less undignified?” He made a show of covering himself.

Parker nodded, pulling a Wraith-weapon from the wall and walking to the door. Kolya heard the weapon discharge. And then Parker was dragging the dark-skinned guard inside. As easily manipulated as she was, he liked this girl. Once she made a decision, she seemed to have no problem executing it, right up to pulling off her male colleague’s pants.

She stood slowly, studying him. Inwardly, he held his breath. Maybe she’d changed her mind, after all.

“These might be a little tight,” she said. He refused to breathe a sigh of relief.

“I think I can make do.”

She nodded, stepping closer and running her hand over a panel. The doors opened and she held the pants out. That was all the opportunity Kolya needed. Before she could say anything, he had her in a chokehold, her own gun pressed to her delicate neck. She smelled sweet, like sweat and desperation.

“Thank you. I don’t think I’ll be needing those, after all.”

She struggled, rubbing herself up against the soft vulnerability of his bare genitals. No matter. Kolya was disciplined. He swallowed the arousal and pushed her forward and out into the corridor.

“You fucking liar!” Parker screamed.

Kolya snorted. He wasn’t going to rise to the bait. She wasn’t going to make him feel bad about doing this, because it was the only thing he could have done. Trusting her was not an option. That was another rule that the great masters of war taught – you can only trust others to do what is best for them, so ally yourself with those with a common interest.

They didn’t meet anyone in the hallway. In fact, they didn’t meet anyone until they were waltzing right into the middle of the Gate Room, foot-soldiers scrambling and bumbling, clearly lost with their commander out of action. Sheppard was a daunting opponent, but the Atlanteans as a whole were not so clever.

“Put down your weapons, or I shoot her!” Kolya yelled, digging the muzzle of the gun deeper into Parker’s neck. She stopped struggling quite so frantically.

Kolya’s men would’ve put up a fight. One of them, like Sheppard, would’ve had the balls to take the shot. But these men were young, disciplined, but to a different standard. They lowered their weapons and raised their hands. Kolya smiled. This was going to be easier than he’d thought.

“Let her go!” some idiot demanded from Stargate Operations. Sure, Kolya was really going to do that. Maybe if he said it a little more emphatically.

He nudged Parker’s back, gripping her tight. “My left pant pocket.”

She nodded, reaching one hand that he’d tentatively released down his thigh and up to the pocket in question. Kolya refused to let his body interpret that as a caress.

She lifted the paper to her face. There were symbols written there – a meaningless uninhabited world where he could send the Atlanteans on an empty-handed chase if he were ever captured. “Tell him to dial those symbols.”

He released the chokehold enough to let her speak, gasping out the Atlantean code for gate symbols.

Kolya watched the symbols light up out of the corner of his eye. They were actually listening to him. It was amazing.

The second the dialing finished, he was running through, still dragging Parker along with him. She was kicking at him in earnest now, but he hardly felt the blows. The adrenaline was surging within him with the chance of freedom, the chance of victory.

Sheppard thought he had broken Kolya, but he was wrong. He was so incredibly wrong. Kolya hurt, but that only fed his ire. Because, Kolya could get over the act. It was just another act in this war that it was his duty to fight, like killing, or torturing, or planning battles large and small.

He could get over this. In fact, he was getting over it right now, breathing the fresh winds of another world. Perhaps he would dream of Sheppard’s hands against him. Perhaps he would be traumatized by that trapped feeling, the bindings an extension of the darkness in Sheppard’s mind. But Sheppard would have to dream of Kolya’s face. He’d have to feel the scars, the names of the men he’d killed. Kolya might not be there to see him break, but it was more than satisfying to know that Sheppard would break himself, guided by Kolya’s sure but invisible hand. It would be a thing of beauty, as beautiful as the art of war that he knew so well.

The second the wormhole disengaged, he shoved Parker to the ground and dialed the Gate – another secondary address in case she tried to track him. After the wormhole flashed into existence, he finally brought himself to face her, watching her pant through her fear and her rage.

“I apologize for the rough treatment.” Again, Kolya didn’t enjoy hurting ordinary people, soldiers doing their job. Yes, it was a part of what he did, but, unlike some of the thugs he’d recently been forced to hire, it wasn’t why he did he job.

Parker looked away, disheveled looking and more breathtaking than ever.

Kolya grabbed her by the narrow chin, forcing blue eyes up to meet his, even as she struggled. She was, indeed, rather beautiful. He could have her right now the way Sheppard had had him. He could break her and send her back a tattered bundle – proof of how thoroughly Sheppard had destroyed his own men by crossing the Genii.

But as he looked at the hatred in her eyes, remembering their soft compassion, he knew that there were some things that could break a man more than destruction. Tenderness, too, was a weapon.

Kolya leaned down, planting a fatherly kiss on the soft skin of her cheek. He’d kissed Sora like this at her Induction ceremony. He remembered it well. “You did the right thing. And I will reward that act of compassion by letting you live. But the next time I see you, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

He echoed Sheppard’s words, knowing that he now had the two things Sheppard treasured most – his lover, and his humanity. He had won.