"Once the concentration of nanites reaches a certain mass, some of them go into a kind of dormant mode." Carson's lack of surprise came as something of a surprise in itself. "They're light enough to be blown up into the atmosphere, where they form the nuclei of further rain droplets "
"They don't break down the water?"
"Apparently not-that must be why I'm thinking of them as going dormant. Stealth, if you prefer. They stop duplicating and follow the atmospheric depression cells created by the first wave of storms. The lower air pressure allows the nanite-seeded clouds to rise higher in the atmosphere, and thus travel further and faster around the planet. Once they rain down on land, ice caps and large bodies of water, the nanites change mode again, re-initiating the replicating sequence. It's quite fascinating, actually, similar to the way some viruses-dengue for instance-hitchhike on macrophage cells to disperse inside the human body."
Shaking his head gingerly, Sheppard said, "You go into a whole other mode yourself when you're talking about this stuff. You know that, right?"
"May I have everyone's attention, please?" Elizabeth's voice on the citywide channel quieted the room. "We've completed our recalibration of Atlantis's shield, which will allow us to stretch our power reserves and give us more time. However, as yet we cannot afford to divert enough power to the Stargate to dial Earth. It's also an unfortunate reality that the repairs to the Daedalus hyperdrive will not be complete before the city's power supply is exhausted. We are hopeful, of course, that Dr. Zelenka's team will return soon with at least one more ZPM to augment our shield. Even so, I've decided to proceed with the evacuation of non-essential personnel and equipment to the Alpha site. Please report to your department heads for further instructions."
The faint click that ended the transmission seemed inordinately loud to Carson. "So this is to be the way Atlantis ends, after millions of years," he murmured.
Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "With all due respect to your former hitchhiker, Doc, the city's still here, and we simple humans do have our moments."
Teyla's voice sounded in Carson's earpiece again. "Dr. Beckett, are you still on your radio?"
"Aye, Teyla, I'm here. Do you have any injured among your group?"
"Several people were hurt while fleeing the storms. Earlier it seemed a secondary concern, but now that we are able to return to Atlantis, we will gladly accept any available medical attention."
"We'll be waiting in the jumper bay for you." Carson turned to see Sheppard easing himself upright. "And who told you getting up was a good idea, Colonel?"
"You've got wounded coming in, and you're running short on beds as it is," Sheppard replied reasonably, placing one cautious foot on the floor and then the other. Experimentally, he lifted his supporting hand off the bed and only swayed for an instant before straightening. "The coeds are keeping the vertigo and the headache under control. You said yourself that there wasn't much else to be done. The Athosians on that jumper need your help a lot more than I do."
The Colonel was clearly not at full strength, and the hard set of his jaw bothered Carson in a way he couldn't pinpoint. It made little sense, though, to keep the man in the infirmary when there was no treatment available to give him back what he'd lost. Feeling another pang of remorse, Carson gave in. "Off to your quarters with you, then. Stay off your feet as much as possible, and no sudden movement. Assuming the world hasn't gone to hell in the meantime, come back in eight hours so I can reassess the inflammation and the medication levels."
Sheppard was headed for the door almost before the instructions were given, tossing a halfhearted wave over his shoulder. "I'm quite serious about your staying off your feet," Carson called after him, but he couldn't be sure that he'd been heard. Shaking his head, he went to round up a team to greet the wounded from Jumper Three.
he silent scream tore from his throat before he was fully awake. Rodney's bandaged hands pushed at empty space, breath coming in short gasps that provided too little air. The sensation of drowning clung to him until he recognized the familiar nightmare that had plagued him for weeks.
Then, instantly and easily, Turpi was there, drawing him close. She murmured words of safety and reassurance over and over, and at last he began to comprehend that he had nothing to fear. Surrounded by her embrace, he let his head sink against her shoulder, inhaling her sweetness. If he'd ever known such comfort before, it could only have been by his mother's hand, when he was very young-in the brief time before bitterness and sadness defined their lives.
Turpi began to sing a wordless lullaby. She sounded amazing, but there was something far more at work here, something profound. Unable to see, his whole world became focused within this cocoon of warmth and...love?
He instantly tried to withdraw from the emotion. Love had no place in his world except on a pure, intellectual level, and that was absolutely by his own design. It was fine for Hallmark cards and banal movies, but it didn't fit in his life. He would not allow it, because it exposed him, made him vulnerable to the ravages of rejection. Having faced that pain many times before, he never wanted to do so again.
Perhaps it was Turpi's lullaby, the tenderness of her embrace, or something else that he could not put a name to-but no matter how much he needed to refute the unwanted feelings, the withered husk of a seed buried deep in the corner of his soul refused to remain confined. And in a spark of comprehension, he understood why. It was Turpi's offering of love, deep and unconditional, that had driven this awakening.
He'd never been able to truly convince himself that he was worthy of love, and it came so unexpectedly that something within him seemed to break. His sobs mingled with her angelic voice until sleep overtook him again.
Radek did not relish his return to Polrusso. Arriving through the 'gate by jumper, he avoided looking in the direction of the DHD pedestal, because a coldly logical voice in his brain insisted on pointing out that Rodney might very well have died on that spot.
Instead, Radek focused on a large group of cliff-dwellers milling about. A work crew, if the digging tools were any indication. Their half-completed task appeared to be to clear out a wide path between the 'gate and the entrance to the lab. Interrupted by the vortex, they soon got back to work once it closed, though not without some gestures of surprise and gratitude at the arrival of the visitors.
The lab's supposed `back door' had looked overly wide before, and now the reason was apparent: it was an airlock designed to accommodate a jumper. A bit late for such a discovery.
"Huh. Let's see if Tab A really does fit into Slot B." Major Lome rotated Jumper Two a half-turn and eased it backward into the doorway. An audible click announced their correct positioning, followed by the hum of activating machinery.
Lowering the hatch, Lome stepped out. Radek started to follow, then halted. Where the lab had previously been in a sort of minimal-energy caretaker mode, consoles lighting only when touched by Rodney or the Colonel, now it had fully come to life. Lights, computers, and panels glowed just as Atlantis had when coaxed out of slumber. The air immediately felt fresher, cleaner, and not as dry now that the Ancient life support systems had come online. Sunlight abruptly burst in through windows that still had been buried just moments earlier. The force field surrounding the lab now extended a few meters farther than before. Its expansion was pushing aside millennia of accumulated sand.
"It was waiting for the jumper," Radek murmured, enthralled.
"Like a key in a lock."
Through the windows he saw villagers skittering away from a billowing cloud of airborne particles, crouching and turning their backs and covering their faces. Briefly concerned for their welfare, he soon remembered that the fine-grained yellow sand was inert. It was over in a few seconds, and the villagers, used to dealing with sand squalls, lifted their heads with expressions of unfettered awe.
They were at last seeing the Ancient structure as it really was, Radek imagined. He, by contrast, had more pressing matters to attend to. With the lab completely active, ac
cess to the databases would be unlimited. This place could conceivably contain all the blueprints to the planetary terraforming process.
He glanced over at Lome, who was still taking in the grandeur of their surroundings. "I tell you what, Doc," the Major said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "this never gets old."
Smiling his agreement, Radek went to the main computer console. A massive list of files and programs scrolled down the screen, tempting him to explore, but he could afford no distractions. His objective was to retrieve the data necessary to save Atlantis-all else was secondary. Still, he was a bit dazzled, and his thoughts turned to his colleague. Rodney, kamarad, you complained without end about going off-world, but I knew you lived for it, and now I believe I know why.
He connected his datapad to the interface. The ZPM removal sequencing simulation he'd run on Atlantis had been based on an extremely limited set of parameters available during his last visit. Now he had access to real-time three-dimensional imagery of, among other things, the planetary geology and projected hydrology. Amazing. He was able to zero in on any location he wished and examine it in detail.
Using the new data as a baseline, Radek ran the simulation again and watched it evolve. As commanded, the ZPM nearest to the hive ship blinked out first, and then-
Caught off-guard, he paused the program and reran the last few intervals. That was not the result he had expected, nor was it the result he'd seen in the original simulation. Then, the power load had been redistributed among the remaining ZPMs. This time, once power was removed from the initiation point, the continental wall collapsed without delay.
Upon further examination, he realized why.
Looking up, he noticed that a group of villagers had gathered near the nose of the docked jumper. Lome located a smaller access door by the airlock and cast a questioning glance at Radek, who shrugged and nodded.
The Major opened the door to admit Vend, Shira, and a few others. Vend studied the unfamiliar officer with some puzzlement before recognizing Radek and hurriedly crossing the room. "We feared you would not return," he greeted them, immense relief showing through his somber demeanor. "Colonel Sheppard was angry, and understandably so. Did he not come with you?"
"He was injured during his last visit. I'm his second in command." Lome's face was impassive.
"We are deeply sorry for our earlier pretense. We have lost so many to the Wraith, more than you know-most of our children, in fact. In our growing desperation, our fear that you would leave outweighed our desire to be open and honest. Please be assured that such a mistake will never be made again, and know how thankful we are for your willingness to return."
Radek's ire still simmered on Rodney's behalf, but the accident had not been the fault of the Polrussons, and he recognized that fear could drive people to take extraordinary measures.
"We came back to help," Lorne said, "but only on the condition that we be allowed to remove the ZPMs immediately."
Taken by surprise, the Elder opened his mouth and closed it again. Finally, he replied, "We had hoped for more time-"
"Unfortunately, that's not an option. Either we do it now, or we leave"
"Without the ZPMs that you desire?" Vene's eyes narrowed in an attempted challenge. Playing hardball, the Americans called it. However, many of those same Americans often behaved as if they'd invented the strategy. Lome's posture showed him to be no exception.
Disconnecting his datapad and stowing it in his pack, Radek played along, wishing his fledgling acting skills had not been getting so much practice of late. "As you wish."
"A lot of our people were injured by the sand when it came through the 'gate," Lome told Vend, hefting the second of Radek's two equipment cases onto his shoulder. "The ZPMs would be useful to us, but we're not willing to accept the risk of continued operations here."
"Surely you could wait and return in a few days, when all of the people around Polrusso have moved to the new villages," said Shira anxiously.
Radek shook his head and walked to the rear of the jumper. "I am sorry. That will not be possible." The regret in his expression as he gazed around the lab was not entirely false. "A pity"
Aghast, the villagers turned to Vene, who was seemingly trying to hold onto his illusion of leverage. "We cannot get everyone to safety in less than a week," he maintained.
Lome stepped into the jumper, unmoved. "We know you have contingency plans for this situation. If you want us to do this, I suggest you implement them."
"The lab and the Stargate will remain unaffected," Radek offered. "Some people could remain here without difficulty, but they will be unable to leave the resulting island-except by 'gate, of course-for many months. Still, it is one option."
At last accepting that his position was tenuous, Vend's shoulders slumped. He spoke quietly to the villagers surrounding him, and they scurried outside through the recently discovered door. "It will be done. But you must help us as we discussed."
"We will."
Radek hesitated, heading back to the computer and the simulation still open on the screen. "There is one slight problem."
hen he woke the second time, she was there with him before he could even ask. Gentle fingers smoothed his hair, grounding him. "You must be hungry."
Despite the intensity of the emotional release that had overwhelmed him the last time he'd been awake, Rodney was startled to realize that something as fundamental as eating had never crossed his mind. Now that he thought about it, he was starving. A burst of memory caught him unawares, and he felt his throat on fire, his lungs filling with sand. Oh, God! He was choking on the burning sand and he couldn't breathe, couldn't...
The incipient terror melted into an image of the dark-robed man and his steed, carrying him to safety. And Turpi was here with him, as she always was, as she always would be, soothing his pain and making him whole. The memories of agony were only fading nightmares; they had to be, because a magnificent smell came his way. His mind cleared then, and he knew that he was awake and this was real. Turpi was real, helping him to sit up.
The bed dipped as she settled beside him. He wanted very much to reach out and hold her, but the smell promised something wonderful.
"All living things must eat," she said, a smile evident in her voice.
He felt the bowl against his lips and, placing his wrapped hands on top of hers, took a cautious sip. It was a soup, rich and delicious.
After a few gulping mouthfuls it occurred to him that he didn't need to hurry. Turpi wouldn't leave him; she'd promised. Gently halting her hands before she could lift the bowl again, he said, "I haven't thanked you yet. You and your father saved my life."
"Father will be pleased to see you well, but we do not need thanks. Knowing you, being with you, is already more than I ever could have hoped."
That jarred something inside of him. It hadn't been a dream. She had been there with him all the time, taking his pain away, giving completely of herself. But now that he was fully awake, the emotional walls he'd built so sturdily over the course of decades slipped into their habitual place. She was nursing him because he was hurt. There was nothing more to it than that. There couldn't be, because he'd done nothing to deserve such devotion.
She raised the soup bowl, and he took another sip before replying. "But you barely know me at all "
There was light in her laughter, a chiming sound as perfect as everything else about her. "Look within. You'll see that isn't so."
He wanted the walls to fade again, but they were unrelenting, telling him that he needed them to survive-and then, once again, she was there, inside his heart and mind, and the walls seemed less important than they once had. Still, an insistent core of logic prodded him until he asked, "All right, but I don't know that much about you. Would you describe yourself-tell me what you look like?" It seemed a shallow question, one that had held significance for him in the past yet became important now purely because he couldn't see.
"If you wish it. I am near to your age, and n
ot as tall. My hair is short and the color of the sun."
A likeness of Samantha Carter rose in his mind. Without thinking, he reached up to touch Turpi's face and was stymied by the bandages again. She cupped his chin in her hands and dabbed at a comer of his mouth. "Have faith. It will not be long before you can touch again."
For the first time he could remember, he did have faith-in her, this amazing creature who cared so deeply, who made him feel wanted and treasured. He'd become so adept at hiding aspects of himself from others that he had come to believe the mask had fused to what was real. How is it that this woman could so easily separate the two?
He also noticed the silence outside. "Has the storm ended?" he asked, his voice sounding oddly distant.
"It has, but another has come." He felt her move off the bed, and although he couldn't hear her, he was sure that Turpi was moving around the room, collecting things. Then he felt her hands along his legs, smoothing the covers. "In recent days it seems the storms have been more numerous. It is too dangerous to travel to the cliffdwellers' village while the path is masked by sand."
Remembering the close call his team had faced upon their first arrival, Rodney agreed. His team... He should be concerned about them, and about Atlantis. There was work to be done-but he couldn't do much to help them from the other side of a sandstorm. "This village where we are now. It's separate from the cliff-dwellers' village, right? You said your father rode inland to come here. Are you from the newer settlements? Do you interact with the other villages at all?" Avague memory prodded, something about a rapid system of communication with one another, but it eluded him.
"I believe my father will be able to answer that better than I could," Turpi replied. "He is a leader here in our village. Unlike the cliff-dwellers, our people understand the true nature of the sand."
"The true nature-what do you mean?" Admittedly he had been distracted by his own work, but he had taken note of Carson's description of the red grit. And his memory of that diagnosis was very clear.
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