Dead end

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“OK, remind me again why I agreed to come down here with you?”

Lt Col Sheppard was not in a good mood. Introducing Ronon to poker last night had been a good idea; introducing him to bourbon had not. The Satedan could put away a phenomenal amount of the stuff without even blinking. Sheppard’s aching head, on the other hand, was witness that its effects on human physiology were the same as they had always been. The last thing he needed now was a morning with McKay at his most irascible.

“Because your devotion to duty knows no bounds, and I need your impeccable scientific credentials,” said McKay. “That, or Zelenka’s laid-up sick and you’re the next best thing. And you never know when that ATA gene will come in handy.”

Sheppard scowled and ran his fingers over his throbbing forehead. There were times when, despite all the provocation, he actually liked McKay. This was not one of them. He looked back at the four-strong team of marines stationed a few yards away in the corridor. They looked faintly sympathetic.

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