"These are not at all like the virus we encountered last year," Beckett added quickly. "For terraforming purposes they normally disassemble complex compounds into their elemental parts and rebuild a suitable environment for human habitation."
"And if a stable environment already exists?"
"Like I said, that's what normally occurs. In this case, from what I can understand, I'm fairly certain the beasties will just keep going indefinitely."
The color fled from Rodney's face. "Gray goo"
Sheppard's jaw flexed. "I'm guessing I really don't want to know what that means."
"A microscopic version of a replicator plague, except that they won't restrict themselves to inorganic matter. Instead, the entire planet, and by that I mean every single living thing on it right down to the smallest virus, will be turned into an amorphous mass of… gray goo."
The Colonel stared at him for several tense seconds before replying slowly, "Okay, so we have to stop it."
Beckett dropped his head to his chest, and his shoulders slumped in a way that was deeply alarming. Teyla had never seen such a look of irrevocable defeat in the doctor. "We can't. Ea was certain of that." Hopelessness choked his voice. "We'll have to abandon Atlantis."
This grim pronouncement brought Dr. Weir to her feet. "There must be some way to stop that machine," she insisted. "We killed the nanovirus with an EM pulse. Why wouldn't that work this time?"
"Because it's Ancient-designed technology, much like all the equipment that was unaffected by our EM pulse in that situation." Rodney had been scribbling furiously on his datapad. Now he stopped and looked up. "If the entire terraforming process is designed to be completed in a week or less, production of nanites could have been initiated the moment that thing was switched on. We have to seal off Atlantis with a force field immediately. Even as we speak, we're running the risk of a nanite hitching a ride on an upper wind and making its way over here. If that happens-if even one of those damned things gets inside the city-we're dead."
"That's part of the reason the Atlantean Council forbade the experiment," Beckett said. "I get the sense that they'd had a number of negative experiences with nanites in the past, because the bloody things are so difficult to control and contain. If a single nanite managed to get off-world via the Stargate, the entire galaxy could be consumed. But I think we've got a bit of time yet before that becomes a critical factor. A day or two, perhaps."
"Excuse me?" Rodney was adamant. "Based on your many minutes of expertise with this technology, you're willing to take that risk?"
A strange expression crossed Dr. Beckett's face, as if he were attempting to harness an elusive memory, but it rapidly faded, and the trepidation that had been mounting in Teyla's mind now blossomed into stark fear. "We must bring my people to Atlantis before the shield is raised," she said, the words an open plea.
She couldn't be sure that the scientists had even heard her. "If we can selectively calibrate the jumpers' shields, we can do the same for the city's," Dr. Zelenka suggested. "Keep unwanted particles from getting through."
Rodney was already shaking his head. "Won't work. The nanites will ultimately consist of so many diverse components that even allowing in air could be dangerous. From this point on we must consider the planet's atmosphere as hostile as the vacuum of space. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can come inside." He whirled toward Dr. Weir, a barely perceptible tremor running through his arm and down to the datapad. "You have to let me activate the shield immediately and begin plans for evacuation ASAP. We can't maintain the shield at full strength indefinitely."
Dr. Weir studied him, looking as surprised by his vehemence as Teyla felt. On the occasion of their first meeting, Teyla had found Rodney McKay to be overly excitable and prone to pessimism, but, in time, both her view and his behavior had shifted somewhat. They had yet to encounter a technological obstacle that he could not overcome, and in spite of appearances he never hesitated to do whatever was necessary to salvage the best possible outcome from a crisis. This state of instantaneous near-panic seemed an overreac tion, even for him.
"Time out," Sheppard said, folding his arms. "Let's assume for the moment that we can bring the Athosians to Atlantis before starting the evacuation." Hope flowed through Teyla, and she sent the Colonel a glance of tentative gratitude, choosing not to see Rodney's resigned headshake. "What's the status of the Daedalus?"
Dr. Weir pressed her lips together before replying. "According to Hermiod, it will take upwards of two weeks working with, in his words, Atlantis's `limited' facilities to get the hyperdrive back online."
"They're lucky thatAtlantis even has the necessary equipment," Rodney retorted. "Catastrophic material failure can be ugly even in an air-breathing engine, and in-flight fires are entirely too exciting for my taste. There's no way the Daedalus could have limped back to Earth or even effected repairs in space given the amount of damage that was done. I'm surprised they managed to land without incident."
"Hermiod confirmed that the problem doesn't lie with the Asgard technology but with the components manufactured on Earth," Dr. Weir told them. "Apparently our manufacturing processes aren't quite as flawless as one might hope, and the engine design is unforgiving of even the slightest imperfections."
From his bed, Dr. Zelenka muttered something uncomplimentary-sounding about Russian-made titanium parts.
"The temperature cycling of prolonged hyperdrive use caused metal fatigue," Rodney explained curtly. "Over time, hairline cracks propagated in some rather critical locations. Apparently it's time to start considering more frequent inspections on some of our hyperdrive components. One might also point out that it would have been prudent to put said components in more accessible locations, since our techs aren't quite as small and flexible as the Asgard, but that's hardly pertinent now. In any case, the main engines will be completely offline until we can machine the replacement parts and get them installed."
Dr. Weir nodded. "When I bring Colonel Caldwell up to speed, I'll see if that time can be cut down."
"Yes, do that." Rodney started toward the door. "I recommend a period of days rather than a week." Motioning absently for Sheppard to follow, he added, "I need to take a look at the first pod you recovered. Hopefully that will tell us something more about what specifically we're dealing with."
"Wait, Rodney," Dr. Weir cautioned. "Atlas might be dead, but we can't afford to spring any other booby traps that might be left in that pod. I'll have it taken to a quarantined area. Meanwhile, I'd like you to get me an update on exactly what Ea's machine is doing."
The group disbanded. Teyla called after Dr. Weir, stopping her in the corridor before she could rush off to initiate contingency planning. "What of my people?" Teyla asked again, her voice becoming more insistent.
The city's leader looked at her with such empathy that Teyla's blood chilled. "I'm sorry, Teyla, but as it stands there's very little we can do without risking Atlantis. Bringing anyone back from the mainland would pose too great a threat of infection."
Dr. Weir's expression implored her to understand. Teyla did, but understanding did nothing to relieve the growing ache that had settled in her chest.
"That wasn't what I was hoping to hear, Colonel Caldwell." Elizabeth sat back in her office chair and rubbed a hand across her forehead in a vain attempt to alleviate the throbbing.
"I'm not too fond of the idea myself," replied the commander of the Daedalus. "Unfortunately our resources are limited by our remote location. Even with three shifts working around the clock there's simply no way to accelerate the repairs by more than a couple of days. Do you have any idea what sort of time frame we're looking at?"