"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 required 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.
Chapter Seven
John 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.