"It should be mostly a matter of determining the order of chemical and biological processes. If one machine has the power to implement such massive change, the other will as well." Assuming the machine is still there and intact after ten thousand years. Rodney kept that thought to himself, though he knew the rest of the group must have shared it. A slim chance was better than none, and slim chances seemed to be all that this galaxy ever offered.
"Do we know if this Polrusso has a Stargate?" Sheppard asked. "Doc?"
In response, Carson held out his hand for Rodney's datapad. Noting the glazed look in the physician's eyes, Rodney balked. There was a lot of critical information on that pad, and if Carson wasn't entirely himself..
"Give it to me," Carson ordered with unusual intensity. "For God's sake, man, I have seven symbols bouncing around in my brain, and if I forget one of them because you refuse me a writing implement-"
Never mind. Rodney thrust the datapad at him, and Carson wrote down the address. Ronon examined it, but after a moment he shook his head.
"All right, this is a start." Elizabeth appeared to have regained some of her confidence. "I'll brief Caldwell and get an update on Daedalus's status. Colonel, get your team ready to go to Polrusso. Finding Atlas's machine may be a long shot, but it's all we have. Meanwhile, we'll activate the city shield... and begin preparing for a possible evacuation."
Sheppard gave a brisk nod. "Fifteen minutes," he told Rodney and Ronon. "We need to nip this planetary version of `Extreme Makeover' in the bud."
Rising from her desk chair, Elizabeth rolled her shoulders in a vain attempt to loosen tense muscles. Colonel Caldwell had listened to her explanation of the current situation with little comment and had left quickly to check in with his ship. He clearly didn't like relying on such shaky odds, but he understood that they had no real choice in the matter.
She stepped out of her office and crossed the walkway into the control room, finding Rodney and Carson in the middle of a heated conversation. Both were outfitted for the mission, which caught her off-guard. "Is this a good idea so soon, Carson?" she interrupted them.
"I think I'm uniquely qualified to self-diagnose," Carson replied with a half-smile. When it failed to sway her, he continued in a more solemn vein. "Ea's memories aren't fading the way I might have expected. Perhaps it's because she was an Ancient that they're so clear, but in any case, I think I may yet have some knowledge that could be important once we get to Polrusso." He glanced at Rodney, who had turned back to the computer.
A sudden thought struck Elizabeth. "Are you sure we can trust whatever information Ea left behind?"
"Just before she died, Ea made a conscious choice to heal me," Carson said. "I don't think she was a bad person, simply traumatized beyond her limits. I think she had reservations about what she'd done, or at least a part of her did. It's hard to say exactly what she most regretted, her actions on Atlantis or Polrusso ... or perhaps it was something else entirely. I can't tell, and I...I really need to know." He started to say more, but paused, uncertain.
Aware that he hadn't answered her question, Elizabeth studied Carson's determined stance with concern. The doctor loathed going through the Stargate, and she felt certain his desire to do so now was driven by a misplaced sense of responsibility for Ea's actions. From the way he was talking, it also seemed that Ea's possession had impacted him somewhat differently than Phoebus's possession had her. While she'd known what Phoebus had planned and had been helpless to stop it, she hadn't had access to the pilot's memories. Recalling another SGC file, Elizabeth wondered if the effect on Carson might be more similar to Colonel Carter's encounter with the Tok'ra, Jolinar.
Before she could respond, however, Rodney's newfound exuberance figuratively trampled her. "Things are looking up," he announced, tapping his fingers against the computer screen. "The Ancient database indicates that ten thousand years ago, Polmsso was in the early stages of a sanctioned terraforming, with all the associated equipment that implies. Presumably the process is now complete. Even if we can't locate Atlas's experimental exogenesis machine right away, a collection of three or four ZPMs with even a small percentage of power opens up our options considerably."
"How's that?" John entered the control room, Ronon not far behind. Like Rodney and Carson, they were mission-ready.
"Well, for one thing, it would buy us more shield time, which would be best used to search whatever records exist on Polrusso for the experimental machine or at least a blueprint of the thing"
"More time might help Atlantis, but not Teyla's people," Ronon pointed out.
"Right, so obviously it's not our first choice, but can everyone please cut me a little slack here? Considering what we have to work with, the idea that any additional ZPM power might be available is something we all ought to be turning cartwheels over."
Celebration was clearly not on Carson's mind, for he was frowning, seemingly lost in thought. "Were you going to say something else earlier, Carson?" Elizabeth pressed.
Troubled, the doctor shook his head. "I can't grasp the details, but something about the terraforming of Polrusso bothered Ea. I think it may have been associated with her feelings of guilt."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "After ten millennia, I hardly think we need to worry about whatever neighbors the Ancients may have ticked off."
"That's pretty much what we said before the super-Wraith took out Gall and Abrams," John reminded him quietly.
Rodney's haughty expression faltered.
"So we go prepared," Ronon said in his usual forthright fashion.
As prepared as possible, Elizabeth corrected mentally. There wasn't time for a proper survey of the planet or its possible inhabitants. As always, they'd simply have to do the best they could. "Good luck," she told the team. "Stay safe "
his is what ten thousand years of terraforming buys you, huh?" Sheppard stepped out of the jumper. "A dark and stormy planet."
"It's not dark," said Ronon, squinting against the bright sunlight. He took a few steps away from the jumper and looked around.
"And I doubt there's been a storm here, ever." McKay was smearing some sort of creamy white gunk across his neck and ears.
"Hey, I'm the guy who has to submit the reports," retorted the Colonel. "Assuming I even get the chance to write this up, at least let me make it a little less boring than `We came, and we saw nothing but sand and sky. "'
For the first time since they'd boarded the jumper back on Atlantis, Dr. Beckett spoke up from the rear. "I'm told that SG- l's reports are noted for their brevity." He accepted the tube of gunk from McKay and began rubbing it across his face.
"I don't get it," Sheppard admitted, eyeing the barren landscape. "This doesn't look like the kind of place you'd build by design."
"Terraforming must have failed," Ronon ventured. An aerial reconnaissance pass could have told them more, but McKay had wanted to land the moment they'd exited the Stargate, babbling something about `it' being right here.
"Brilliant deduction, Watson," muttered the scientist, nose now buried in his handheld scanner.
Ronon wondered what kind of insult `Watson' was supposed to be. If McKay had planned to continue his derogatory remarks, he was interrupted by a pointed query from Sheppard. "Rodney? We're on something of a time limit here."
"What did you expect? A ZPM to just pop up from the ground and say, `Take me to your leader?' I'm still determining its exact location."
Sheppard used the jumper's remote to close the hatch and activate the cloak. The ship vanished from view but left an obvious indentation in the soft sand. "If a ZPM is still giving off power readings, why did the terraforming fail?"
"Could have been any number of factors" McKay took a few steps toward the nearest dune. "As much as we make them out to be Holy Grails, ZPMs are simply power sources, nothing more. Whatever method the Ancients used to carry out their landscaping projects, it undoubtedly involved some form of computer, which itself may have malfunctioned or even been tampered with by
Atlas and Ea in preparation for experimenting with their exogenesis machine"
Three gazes slid toward Beckett, who looked doubtful. "I don't know," he confessed. "It might explain Ea's deep reservations. But I can't be sure "
McKay ran his scanner across the face of the dune. "There's definitely some sort of Ancient structure beneath this." When he started up the sandy slope, Sheppard moved to take the lead. By unspoken agreement, Ronon waited until Beckett followed the others and then brought up the rear.
"The ZPM is about five kilometers away." McKay managed to operate his equipment while negotiating the shifting sands, no small feat for a man who often got distracted enough to walk into tables.
"In which direction?" pressed the Colonel.
Sucking in a lungful of air and squinting against the sun, McKay declared, "Straight down."
"Say what?" Sheppard turned to stare at the scientist.
"Just ...hang on." His breathing became more labored as they continued to climb.
"Maybe it didn't fail," Ronon suggested. "Maybe it was never switched on."
"It was." Beckett paused to pull his cap down, shading his eyes from the worst of the glare.
Ronon glanced ahead, wary. He knew the doctor was fully himself again, but the way the man's focus drifted each time he remembered something from Ea was just. . .not right.
"If you'd like some evidence to go along with that sixth sense," McKay panted, "look no further." He waved his scanner back in the direction they had come from. "Underneath that dune sea is a reservoir with enough water to fill"-he reached the top of the sand ridge and his eyes widened-"that."
The Colonel, several steps in from of him, had already let out a long whistle. "Man, it's like standing on Santa Monica Beach and looking out over the Pacific-except that someone pulled the plug."
"Or, more precisely, hasn't opened the tap yet," McKay corrected, wiping the sweat from his face with his sleeve. "Personally, I'd describe it more as standing on the edge of a vastly scaled-up version of Monument Valley."
Ronon had never given much thought to the landscape of any planet except insofar as he could use it to his tactical advantage. This, however, was a first. He didn't have any idea what a Santa Monica beach or a monument valley was, but it looked to him as though a whole chunk of the planet had been carved out, down to a depth of-
"Five kilometers," McKay declared, lifting his scanner in triumph. "Three miles for the metrically challenged, although the distance varies, of course, given the terrain." He pointed to a couple of dark rents in the ground several miles-or kilometers-below.
Although it made no sense to Ronon why two people from the same planet used different forms of measurement, he had quickly adapted his thinking to accommodate the inconsistency.
"That would explain the aquifer," McKay continued. "We're currently standing on the edge of the continental shelf, overlooking what will one day be an ocean."
"What's an aquifer?" Ronon wondered. He wasn't sure what a continental shelf was, either, but one thing at a time.
"Water that's retained underground. Actually, that's a bit over simplified, so maybe `reservoir' would be a more accurate term. In any case, the terraforming process apparently excavated the surface for the necessary elements to create a breathable atmosphere and a substantial ocean, and dumped the leftovers" -McKay turned and pointed back the way they had come-"there."
Ronon pivoted around. From their elevated vantage point, he could now make out a chain of mountains in the distance.
The only one among the group who didn't express any surprise was Beckett. "As far as I can understand," he said, "there should be four or five of these massive subterranean oceans abutting equally large excavations."
"Why keep the water underground?" the Colonel asked.
"They must have planned to release it all at once." McKay pulled off his boot and poured out a stream of sand. "And then, voila, instant hydrology cycle. It'd be staggeringly violent at first, massive storms and floods and the like, and the underground reservoirs would probably collapse as they're emptied. At the risk of repeating myself-which, I admit, seems necessary all too often-the dune sea would be inundated, thus becoming a continental shelf"
"What about the 'gate?" Ronon looked back down at the ring, all but dwarfed by the sheer scale of the dunes.
"It and the Ancient structure are sitting on a plug of solid basalt." McKay poked at the scanner's screen. "It would undoubtedly become an island, while the coastline of the mainland would be somewhere closer to those mountains."
"So we have a ZPM somewhere down there," Sheppard said, staring out over the cliff. "That's good to know, but finding the exogenesis machine is our first priority."
"And for that," McKay said, tapping his foot ineffectually on the apex of the dune, "we need to access this Ancient structure"
Ronon strained to look in all directions. "Don't see any buildings, Ancient or otherwise. Maybe there's another way in through the cliffs?"
"Do I try to do your job for you?" McKay snapped.
"It was just an idea." Ronon would have said more, but the Colonel caught his eye.
"And a good one, at that." A faint smile crossed Beckett's face. "Try looking over the edge, Rodney."
For a few seconds, no one said anything, until McKay adjusted his scanner and frowned. "Huh."
"Care to elaborate?" Sheppard watched him intently.
McKay visibly brushed offhis surprise at having been shown up. "There are several thousand life signs-human life signs-about two hundred meters to the left and fifty meters below us."
Not needing any further invitation, Ronon started down the dune, Sheppard right behind.
"Wait up-can't we fly there?" McKay whined.
"Two hundred meters?" Even Beckett sounded disbelieving.
"Plus the two hundred we've had to walk up this hill, then fifty meters down and back up again. And as you pointed out, time is a factor here."
"Then we'll make it a brisk walk," the Colonel called over his shoulder.
The narrow patch of ground at the bottom of the dune was more solid underfoot. A fine, crystalline substance coated the exposed surface. Taking a sample on his finger, Ronon tasted it and spat. "Salt." He cautiously made his way to the edge of the vertical face.
"Base jumper's paradise," Sheppard said, peering over with him. "Three miles straight down, huh? Sounds about right."
Looking left, Ronon couldn't see much because they were near a headland. To their right, the line of cliffs curved in and then out again until reaching another headland several miles away. "Nothing except rock." Heights didn't bother him, and he knew that as a pilot, Sheppard was equally unaffected, but they both were careful when easing back from the brittle precipice.
"This way." McKay turned left, unwrapping a food bar as he walked. "My advice is to keep well back from the edge. I wouldn't guarantee that the ground away from the basalt plug is entirely stable."
"Okay, everyone." Sheppard moved out ahead of him. "Just for a change, let's try not aggravating the locals."
Around a mouthful of food, McKay said, "I for one would be happy not having the Wraith popping out from behind every tree-ow!" Clutching at his jaw, the scientist shot a laser-edged glare at the offending power bar. "Are there nut shells in these things? That's just flat-out negligent."
"A tree would be nice right now." The Colonel put on a pair of sunglasses. "Maybe even a few decorative bushes here and there. Give us a little cover."
"God, I think I chipped a tooth." Still holding his jaw, McKay exchanged one scanner for another. "Has anyone noticed that the humidity around here is approximately zero? My eyeballs are already drying out."
Ronon didn't need McKay's instruments to tell him. The complete lack of moisture in the air was impossible to ignore. It wasn't all that hot, but the cloudless sky did nothing to soften the sun. Beckett tipped his head back and downed half his canteen, while McKay fumbled in his pack for something called eye drops.
Why anyone
would want to drop something in their eyes was a mystery to Ronon, but he'd given up trying to understand the scientist's peculiar physical shortcomings.
"Well, lookee here." Sheppard increased his pace.
The sight that came into view was a total contrast to the desert. Fifty yards, or meters-couldn't they just pick one?-down from the top of the cliff, an entire village had been carved out of the pale stone. Below the dwellings was an escarpment divided into well-cultivated terraces and planted with what looked like grain and vegetable crops, even some fruit trees in the near distance.
"How are those able to grow?" Ronon wondered. Until now, he hadn't seen so much as a lichen.
"These people must be tapping into the water in the reservoirs, most likely via wells and subterranean irrigation systems" McKay had pulled a pair of binoculars from his pack and was examining the village. "The structures are built right into the cliff. They're similar to those once used by a group of humans on Earth. Somewhere in the American Southwest, I think-"
"The Anasazi," Sheppard supplied, lowering his own viewing device. "Doesn't look like anybody's home right now. Are you sure about those life signs, McKay?"
Checking his handheld unit again, McKay announced, "Except for one in that direction"-he motioned towards the dunes-"they're mostly all inside."
That had been bothering Ronon-the utter stillness of the place. It was unnerving, even from a distance. Fingering his weapon, he muttered, "Doesn't feel right."
McKay looked at him askance. "You spent seven years constantly looking over your shoulder for Wraith. What would feel right to you?"
"No, I hear you, Ronon." The Colonel's bearing changed slightly, his grip on his weapon also more secure. "Is it me, or has the wind picked up?"
With instincts born from seven years of running, Ronon turned to look behind them. The monochrome sky was now broken by a darker smudge on the horizon. Didn't look like weapons were going to be much use this time. "It's probably not you."
Glancing back, Sheppard lifted his binoculars again, and his face went slack. "Sandstorm. Not good."
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