"I, ah, take it we're heading back to the jumper?" Beckett's voice wavered, and he looked uncertain, as if another tattered memory was hovering just outside his reach.
The Colonel appeared to be sizing up their position and the speed of the storm. "No time. The sand'll get to it before we could." An assessment Ronon agreed with.
"And you're basing that on something more scientific than your gut instinct, right?" McKay demanded.
"Are you really questioning my qualifications for desert ops?" Not waiting for a response, Sheppard turned back toward the cliffdwellings. "Whoever lives there must have seen this coming and taken shelter. It's closer than the jumper, so let's get down there "
They hurried along the cliff searching for a place to descend, breaking into a jog when a strong wind gust nearly toppled McKay. Without comment, Ronon took the scientist's overloaded pack and slung it across his own shoulder, allowing them to move faster. He'd been in a sandstorm before and, based on the size of the rust-colored cloud bearing down on them, this was going to be... uncomfortable.
Ronon knew that he could have made it back to the 'gate if he'd left the moment they'd spotted the storm. Sheppard would probably have made it, too, but neither McKay nor Beckett was in the same physical shape. These people had taken some getting used to, but they'd accepted him as a part of their team, and he'd stand by them.
Sheppard threw down his pack and hunted inside for rope. "I'll find us an anchor point."
Ronon narrowed his eyes against the expected airborne grit and sized up the cloud. It was hundreds of meters high and curled over at the top like a breaking wave. "Guess you were right about the dark and stormy part."
If they couldn't find a way down the cliff face, they were better off digging in well back from the edge, because visibility would soon be reduced to nothing.
A hiss drew his attention back to Sheppard, who'd jerked his hand back from the pack. Before Ronon could question, he felt a sting against his cheek.
"Ow! What the hell?" McKay instinctively ducked.
Squinting against the gusts, Ronon took a good look at the approaching storm. What he had at first assumed were darker patches in the cloud in fact had a distinctly reddish hue. "I don't think that's just sand."
"Cover as much of your skin as possible!" Beckett pulled the sleeves of his jacket down over his hands, raising his voice over the wind. "There must be something caustic in the dust."
Sheppard was still struggling with the rope, while the swirling clouds grew thicker around them. "There's nothing I can secure the rope to," he yelled. "I'm gonna try and anchor myself so you guys can climb down."
"Are you brain-dead?" McKay shouted back. "Do you have to try to kill yourself every damn day?"
"You got a better idea?"
Ronon pulled the collar of his coat up to shield his face. He didn't need to see his surroundings to know that there was no way out of this. On one side they faced a sheer drop of a hundred meters to the village, and on the other a deadly storm that was already starting to envelop them. Any action, even the Colonel's intended sacrifice, would come too late.
The one emotion Ronon allowed himself was anger. This was an utterly pointless way to die.
After Jumper One had vanished through the 'gate, Elizabeth barely found time to walk across the control room to her office before being called back.
"Dr. Anane has reestablished contact," the tech informed her. "He's managed to set up a video link."
"Patch it through," she said immediately, turning to the screen.
The picture was dimly lit and peppered by static, but Kwesi looked none the worse for wear. So far.
"Dr. Weir," he greeted. "With luck I will be able to keep this link operating."
"Good work. Halling, hello " The tall Athosian stood to the engineer's left, looking intently into the camera. "Kwesi, what can you tell us?"
"The wind has decreased somewhat," Kwesi reported, "and the most developed cloud mass is currently moving away from us, further up into the mountains. Here, let me show you." He moved out of the camera's view, speaking as he went. "I cannot be certain it will continue in that direction, though, as it is close to sunset and we are losing the light."
The image jerked before refocusing on the familiar landscape behind the Athosian camp-except that the mountains were now crowded by the blackest, fastest moving clouds that Elizabeth had ever seen. Even through the narrow camera lens, the storm looked massive and quite terrifying. "Is the camp secure for the moment?"
"For the moment, yes," Kwesi replied, facing the camera once more. "My concern is the possibility of flash floods. Although the camp is situated well above the river, the cloud mass indicates that the mountains are receiving an extraordinary volume of rain."
"Halling, please gather your people and take them to higher ground," Elizabeth said. "This storm-it isn't natural, and we can't predict its course or its consequences."
Kwesi looked off-camera and nodded. "There is a sheltered position in a narrow gorge above the camp."
The Athosian stepped back into view again, his reserved demeanor clearly masking deep concern. "I see. May I speak to Teyla, Dr. Weir?"
"Teyla is on her way to you, bringing several jumpers to evacuate the Athosian settlement."
"Once again, we are grateful for your assistance." Halling's expression became difficult to read. The news of his leader's return seemed to placate him, but it hadn't diminished the magnitude of the danger. "May I ask why you believe that this is not a natural event?"
In Atlantis's control room, out of the camera's view, Colonel Caldwell gave her a warning glance. Elizabeth hesitated, conflicted. She certainly didn't think it prudent to explain that this storm was only just the beginning. The Athosians' rather pious view of Atlantis as the home of the Ancients might feed tales of angry spirits, first prompted by their encounter with an energy creature shortly after their arrival. At the same time, she felt that, too often in the past, she'd had to override Halling's concerns in favor of her own judgment. He, and his people, deserved more than a brush-off response.
"An Ancient device designed to terraform planets has been inadvertently triggered," she told him, keeping the explanation vague but truthful. "We're not entirely certain, but we believe that the storms will be far in excess of what we have ever experienced."
Frowning, Hailing glanced at Kwesi before asking, "Have you no way of stopping the device?"
"None that we've been able to determine," Elizabeth admitted. "However, Colonel Sheppard has taken a team off-world in the hope of recovering a second machine we believe should counteract the effects of the first."
There was a brief, strained pause, during which the distance between their two cultures seemed as wide as it had ever been. Then, with a bow of his head, Hailing said, "Again, thank you for sending aid. I must go tell my people to prepare for the evacuation."
Watching the Athosian leave, Kwesi finally allowed Elizabeth to see his unbridled alarm. "A terraforming device?"
Elizabeth made a deliberate effort to maintain her composure, feeling like it was all she could do to manage the situation. With a nod, she asked, "Realistically, how feasible is a short-notice evacuation?"
"The main camp, where I have been working, is relatively safe for the time being. There are people at the mountain camp, however, and many more who are out hunting. They are several hours' walk from either camp. Young Jinto is one of those who are away."
Halling's only son. Elizabeth closed her eyes. As seemed so often to be the case, the nightmare was compounding.
"I worry about how long the jumpers will be able to stay in the air," Kwesi continued, holding his hand above the lens of the camera in a mostly futile attempt to keep it clear of rain. "There may not be time to reach all the Athosians. If a machine is creating this weather, it will only continue to worsen, will it not?"
"Not necessarily," she replied. "We're not entirely certain how the machine was programmed."
Optimism was a require
d element of diplomacy. Kwesi's expression suggested that it was less useful in his line of work. The engineer had signed on to the Atlantis expedition fully aware of the unknown and potentially lethal risks involved. This was most assuredly an unknown, and she owed him the truth. "We have no way of predicting what's going to happen," she conceded. "However, I am confident that Colonel Sheppard and his team will recover the second device."
While she spoke, a Marine came into the control room and approached Colonel Caldwell. "Sir, we've hit a snag with the science teams. There are some disagreements about priorities in the evacuation procedures."
Kwesi's eyes went wide. "You are evacuating Atlantis?"
"We're exploring the possibility, as a precautionary measure only." On the edge of the screen, Elizabeth saw Halling walking back into the camera's range. Behind her, she heard several of her scientists coming into the room, already vocalizing their disputes. The Athosians couldn't be allowed to see this. Panic on the mainland was the last thing this situation needed. "Kwesi, we'll check in on an hourly schedule. Thank you for your efforts."
She ended the connection, granting herself a split second to feel the additional guilt of cutting him off before hardening her nerves for her role as personnel arbiter.
"Dr. Weir, the procedures have been completely shot to hell," Dr. Simpson protested, her voice carrying over the others. "By the book, all essential equipment from the labs should have been packed up by now. Instead, we're nowhere close, because half the Marines designated to assist are occupied with stripping the Daedalus and moving what they claim is its essential equipment to the Alpha site."
At Elizabeth's questioning look, Caldwell spread his hands. "It has to be done," he said simply. "Atlantis's evacuation procedures didn't take the Daedalus into account, and I'm sure you appreciate how critical much of her technology and supplies are."
Elizabeth couldn't fault his logic. The ripples caused by the recent loss of the Prometheus had reached the Pegasus Galaxy, and so it was understandable that his priority was to preserve as much as possible from her sister ship.
"And we can't consolidate our equipment because Dr. Zelenka is refusing to allow prioritized computers to be removed while he's still working on his shield simulations." Eyes flashing in frustration, Simpson snapped, "This isn't an evacuation. It's a free-forall!"
So their carefully crafted procedures, developed after last year's storm, were being rapidly defeated by yet another unexpected situation. Elizabeth fought the urge to kick something. Would any circumstance this expedition faced ever be predictable enough for a response plan?
"I thought Zelenka was assisting Hermiod with the hyperdrive." Caldwell's brows knitted.
"Dr. Zelenka thinks he can reduce the power needs for the shield, Colonel," Elizabeth replied. "He may be able to buy us more time before we have to abandon the city. He's also working on optimizing the program to decode the information Rodney downloaded from Atlas's stasis pod."
"Without a functioning hyperdrive we run the risk of marooning the entire group on the Alpha site, with no way back to Earth."
As if that thought hadn't occurred to her! Bristling slightly, she countered, "Any information that Dr. Zelenka can glean from the Ancient who designed this machine could be crucial to saving Atlantis. And if that's not possible, then configuring the city shield to operate at full strength without the ZPM will allow us all to leave here with both the crystal needed to dial Earth and the ZPM to power the 'gate on the Alpha site "
Caldwell's expression darkened, ready to argue his position further, but from within the pack of scientists, someone spoke up. "Ah... Hermiod believes that repairs will go faster if he's allowed to work alone and uninterrupted."
Elizabeth had never been entirely comfortable around Caldwell. In hindsight, that unsettled feeling might be explained by his having been an unwitting hostage to a Goa'uld. However, in the few short weeks since he had been liberated from the parasitic creature, she had begun to think of the Daedalus's commander as a pragmatist. That judgment was borne out since, to his credit, Caldwell appeared willing to adjust his views when presented with a convincing argument. "All right," he said. "What do we need right now?"
The scientists, unfortunately, were less pragmatic, for they immediately interpreted the Colonel's response as an opportunity to petition for their individual needs. Five voices responded simultaneously, each pressing for wildly different actions. Lab-coated arms gesticulated as each determinedly shouted down the others. Noise levels in the control room quickly assumed the volume of a barroom brawl.
Elizabeth braced her hands on either side of the nearest console and drew in a steadying breath before calling for everyone to calm down. When that didn't work, Caldwell did the same in an even louder voice. Unaccustomed to taking orders from the military, the scientists ignored him and, if anything, became even more animated and vocal.
Atlantis suddenly resembled a leaky rowboat, springing holes faster than Elizabeth could block them, while the passengers squabbled over whose baggage just had to be saved. Bringing a hand to the bridge of her nose, she closed her eyes and fervently hoped that John's team was faring better on Polrusso.
-ohn hadn't been overstating his desert experience; he really did know what he was talking about. People who had flown a Pave Hawk helicopter through zero-visibility sand conditions and brought it back in one piece tended to think they'd seen it all. As usual, though, alien worlds didn't play by Earth rules. This wasn't like any sand he'd ever seen. This was granulated pain.
It didn't take long to make the connection. The storm seemed to be composed of two types of sand. Yellow grains were no more abrasive than what he'd encountered on Earth; it was the plumes of rust-colored stuff coming through in gusts that were doing the damage. A few grains settled into the folds of his sleeve and started to eat through the fabric before he managed to shake them off. Thankfully, his sunglasses offered some protection for his eyes, but the bulk of the storm hadn't reached them yet. When it did, their clothes would be wrecked in minutes, and their skin would be next.
"Here!" a woman's voice shouted, nearly swallowed up by the wind.
Since he hadn't brought any female team members on this mission, John risked lifting his head to locate the speaker. Through the dusky cloud, he caught sight of a robed, outstretched arm.
"This way. Quickly!"
Not needing to be told twice, John reached back toward Rodney's last known location. He came up with a fistful of his teammate's sleeve and pulled hard. "Come on! We're bugging out."
Ronon had been shielding himself and Beckett as best he could with his long leather coat. Now he ducked his head and yanked the doctor alongside to follow.
Barely visible only a few feet away, the woman's figure was covered from head to toe in robes that seemed impervious to the windbome assault. Bedouin Kevlar huh? John watched as she moved along a path that had been obscured in the reduced visibility. The path turned down, and the wind and scouring markedly dropped. He shoved Rodney ahead of him and ensured that Ronon and Beckett were right behind before following.
The woman led them under the cliff ledge and down to the village they'd observed from above. "Handy little passage," remarked Rodney, once he'd gotten his mild hyperventilation under control. "Once you know it's there, it wouldn't be hard to locate."
Up close, the buildings were even more impressive than they'd looked from a distance: solid, stable structures designed to withstand the scorching days and frigid nights that most deserts enjoyed. Openings for windows and doors were securely shuttered, presumably against the sandstorm, though a number of animals-medium-sized llama-type things-remained outside, looking unboth- ered. Half-built, half-carved out of the cliff face, the village might have been constructed ten decades or ten millennia ago.
The wide rock overhang now protected them from the worst of the storm. Still, they needed to find shelter before it really took over. The woman leading them moved swiftly, but without any kind of panic in her stride. Joh
n glanced up when the sky overhead darkened, and was relieved when their guide ushered them through a nearby entrance. She pulled the door closed behind them and the furious whistling immediately dulled.
They had entered a tall atrium that looked completely different on the inside than it had from the outside. The walls were painted with swirls of rich color, and large pots holding waxy-looking plants sat between stone benches painted in equally bright hues. The `ceiling' of the atrium, about thirty feet away, glowed with a light similar to what they'd found in Atlantis. The proximity of the Ancient structure beneath the sand dune suggested a connection.
The woman removed her outer cloak, revealing a short-sleeved dress, featuring the same rich tones as the frescoes, and stylish jewelry accented with highly polished stones.
"The storm will pass, but it may take time." Her expression somewhat apologetic, she shook out her robe and hung it on a peg on the wall beside hundreds of similar cloak-draped pegs. "I hope you were not alarmed."
"Nah, no sweat." Behind him, John heard a snort that sounded like Ronon. Traitor. "But we really appreciate you taking us in. I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. My friends here are Dr. Rodney McKay, Specialist Ronon Dex, and Dr. Carson Beckett." He gingerly brushed a hand through his hair, hoping to shake out the firebrands that had stung his neck and scalp.
"I am Shira. You are welcome in my village."
Rid of the heavy robes, Shira was slight, with dark, intelligent eyes and a chestnut braid that hung well past her shoulders. If John had run into her on Earth, he would have pegged her for an attractive forty-ish, but he didn't have the first clue how long a year lasted on this planet.
"We do not often receive unexpected visitors." She took several stiff-haired brushes from another row of hooks behind the door and handed one to each of them.
"I can't imagine why not," Rodney said, though his sarcasm was tempered by appreciation for her efforts. He pulled off his jacket and carefully shook it out.
Shira didn't appear to take offense. Instead, she began brushing off Rodney's back. "These storms give little warning. Few people traveling through the Stargate when the red sands blow have a chance to return home. You need not fear the yellow sands," she pointed out when Rodney jerked away from Ronon shaking his dreadlocks. "They will not bum you."
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