Already Carson had had his fill of the scientist's brand of hypochondria. "Are you experiencing a headache and disorientation?" he asked, matter-of-fact.
The query only marginally slowed Rodney down. "Well, not yet, but my brain's always worked on a different level from those of other people, so who knows…"
"Short-term memory, Rodney. It disrupts the forma tion of new neural pathways, not existing ones. If you can remember the reason why you think you're screwed right now, you're not in fact screwed."
Occasionally logic had its perks. Rodney closed his mouth while he considered the theory.
"It's because I'm old, isn't it?"
Caught off-guard, Carson brought his gaze down from the dimmed neurological areas displayed on the screen to Jan's wizened, worried face. "That's why the adarite affected me first, or most, or whatever," continued the young man-Carson insisted on thinking of him according to his actual age, not the fragile husk the Wraith had left him. "I'm halfway to Alzheimer's anyway, and this just pushed it even further along."
"There's no reason to think that." Carson kept his voice firm. "The scan isn't showing any greater effect than Radek's and Wen's did earlier. You just happened to get your exposure in a shorter, heavier dose."
A moment later, it hit him. Both he and Rodney felt fine, while Jan's scan looked just like the results from Radek and Wen. What did Carson have in common with Rodney that the other three men did not?
"Rodney, your turn," he said suddenly, patting the diagnostic bed. Rodney blanched, evidently interpreting the order as a cause for concern. Carson threw up his hands. "I just got through telling you not to worry, didn't I? If it'll make you feel better, I'll have someone run the scan on me as well. Later. Right now I just need your results to act as a baseline for comparison against those who have shown symptoms."
"Oh. Say so next time, will you?" Rodney scooted onto the bed and lay down.
With an anxious Jan at his shoulder, Carson watched as a new neurological map was drawn on the screen. The activation in the hippocampal regions was diminished ever so slightly relative to a normal brain, but the effect was almost negligible compared to the scans of the other adarite-exposed scientists. He stood back, his suspicions confirmed.
As soon as he was free of the scanner, Rodney sat up, drumming his fingers on the bed in a staccato rhythm. "Well?"
"It's the gene," Carson replied simply. "It has to be."
For all his arrogance, Rodney really was every bit as intelligent as he claimed. The light in his eyes suggested that he was already working through the implications. "Of course. Why else would the Ancients have developed adarite technology? They were unaffected."
"And perhaps that's the reason for their eventual abandonment of the research. Their lab assistants would have had difficulties when exposed."
"It's so hard to find good help these days," Rodney said dryly. "Elizabeth needs to know about this. Turns out there's a more direct reason why the Nistra are worse off than the Falnori."
"Aye." Carson glanced at Jan. "How are you feeling, lad?"
"Relieved, Doc." Jan pushed a hand through steel-colored hair and pointed over his shoulder at the door. "I'm gonna get back to work. On something else."
"Go right ahead." After a moment, Carson turned back to Rodney. "Does this change anything for us? If your scan is representative, and it should be, there's still an effect on those with the ATA gene. It's minor, but it's there. Over time-"
"It could be harmful. We have no way of knowing, and I'm certainly not volunteering myself or anyone else as a guinea pig. Not to mention the fact that we'd have to keep the adarite somewhere remote, who knows how far from anyone not in possession of the gene." Rodney's face had reverted to its earlier grim state. "Sheppard's going to be pissed. Although that would hardly constitute a change from the status quo."
Carson considered telling Rodney about the rumor going around, the one where Atlantis's military commander had walked into Elizabeth's office and handed her his resignation. He decided against it. Rumors could be quite wild in the city. It was usually best to ignore them-even the troubling ones.
Instead, he said, "The Colonel's not had an easy time of it lately, Rodney, and he's as human as the rest of us."
"Speak for yourself." The remark fell flat, and Rodney stared at the floor for a beat or two. "The memorial service is going to be on the mainland. Elizabeth convinced the Athosians to wait until she wrapped up the debacle on 418 so she could participate."
With a nod, Carson started toward the door. "If she's headed back to the planet tomorrow, we'd better go explain this new development."
Many hours had passed since either Ronon or Teyla had last spoken. They had chosen to make camp near the gate ruins in the hope that Atlantis had some knowledge of their location and would be sending assistance. Ronon had taken the first watch and had dutifully woken her at regular intervals, as Dr. Beckett had instructed them to do when dealing with a possible head injury.
In spite of their meager supplies-two canteens and a few meal bars-it was not a difficult night. Both were accustomed to a somewhat nomadic existence, and, if Teyla was truthful with herself, she often missed the wind when sleeping in the sterile, re-circulated air of Atlantis.
When morning came without word from their teammates, however, her outlook grew less optimistic. Her head no longer ached, but they would run out of provisions before long, and the immediate area did not seem likely to offer any food or water.
The low rumble of Ronon's voice broke the stillness, echoing her thoughts. "We can't stay here forever." He'd been perched atop a rock nearly his own height, and now jumped down to ground level.
"I agree." Teyla rose from the cool ground and slipped back into the jacket she had used as a pillow. "Have you seen any sign of life-either animals to hunt or a settlement?"
He shrugged. "There are some faint tracks over there." Facing away from the gate, he pointed toward a stand of trees. "Looks like pretty small game, but I'll take what I can get."
Although she knew it would be prudent-necessary, even-to search for food and assistance, she found herself reluctant to stray too far. "We will need to take care to mark our path. This area is secluded, and we must not lose our way back to the gate."
The look of disbelief Ronon gave her in response was almost comical. Belatedly she recalled that for seven years his life had depended on being able to fall back to a planet's gate without delay. "I meant no offense."
"Didn't take any." He adjusted his holster, and she spared a moment to be grateful that they at least were armed. Wandering through the nearby debris, he gathered up an armful of small rocks and chunks of metal. "Remember how Sheppard signaled us when he was stuck in that time portal?"
She did. When they'd stuck Rodney's camera into the time dilation field so many months ago, they'd discovered a large arrow on the cave floor, fashioned from rocks and pointing in the direction John had gone. "We can leave a similar sign by the gate for the Atlantis team to find. It will confirm our presence on this world." She kept the next thought to herself. If Atlantis has any idea where we are. She trusted Rodney's resourcefulness and John's resolve, but such traits were not always enough. "Good idea."
"Took me half the night to come up with it." The admission was offered freely, which Teyla thought admirable. Nothing ever seemed to embarrass Ronon. He trusted his friends to accept him as he was, and he remained unconcerned about what anyone who was not a friend thought of him.
With a small smile, she moved to assist. Together they cleared debris from a three-meter square section of ground and then assembled the collected pieces into large, rough letters: `R' and `T'.