"We will need a third jumper," Zelenka told them. "Jumper Two is connected to a sort of keyhole here at the lab. If it detaches, I will lose access to the complete Ancient database."
"All right. Expect two jumpers within the next ten minutes."
"Five," Caldwell corrected Dr. Weir's statement. Atlantis's leader sent him a look Teyla couldn't decipher, but he was already speaking on his com, ordering two teams to the jumper bay. Neither contained the names she had expected to hear.
"Colonel? I had assumed I would go with Colonel Sheppard and Ronon…" She left the query open.
"Colonel Sheppard is not medically cleared to fly, and Mr. Dex has been confined to quarters." Before she could grasp his words enough to request an explanation, Caldwell's attention was diverted. Raising a hand to his earpiece, he turned to Weir. "I have to get back to the Daedalus. Hermiod has a status update, and he needs to know the contingency plans. They all do."
"Go." Weir nodded as he quickly departed. Interpreting Teyla's concern, she said, "John's all right. It's just-it's a long story. Teyla, you're not obligated to join one of the jumper teams."
Weighing the choice, Teyla decided that the makeup of the team was a lesser issue. "Still, I will do so. The Marines have much left to do here. My presence on the mission will allow one of them to stay and help."
"Thank you. And good luck."
Briefly bowing her head in acknowledgement, she left.
The two jumpers descended into the 'gate room from the bay above, one following the other, almost like cars on an assembly line. Elizabeth watched them move into position for their transit through the event horizon. When both had disappeared into the rippling void, she started toward her office.
The expected sound of the wormhole disengaging never reached her ears. After a moment, she heard a timid question from the tech on duty. "Dr. Weir, you said two jumpers were going, right?"
She flew back to the railing in half a second, and saw a third craft perform a rather graceless descent from the jumper bay before being steadied by the automatic 'gate sequence. "Who is that?" she demanded, even as she realized what the answer must be.
In two strides she was at the control console and slapping at the com. "Jumper One, what the hell are you doing?"
John's response was brief, earnest, and nowhere close to satisfying. "Sorry, Elizabeth."
Then the jumper was through the event horizon and gone. When the 'gate shut down, she leaned forward until her forehead nearly touched the rail, getting her frustration under control as quickly as possible. She didn't need to check with Ronon's guards to know that he must have gone with John in search of Rodney. The surge of disbelief and anger that resulted from her military advisor's defiance-again-was soon quelled by the fatalistic realization that their actions would result in little risk at this point, except to themselves. If they stirred the Wraith nest now, it would be too late to make any difference. The water would soon be on top of them all.
Rodney scuttled backward on the bed, pressing himself as far into the corner as possible. When nothing grabbed him, his analytical side started to catch up to his paranoid side. This wasn't the Wraith's style. He'd heard his teammates' descriptions of hive ship decor many times, and they'd all tended towards the same creepedout slimy places like that hellish supply ship Gall had died in rather than comfortable, clean-sheeted beds.
And no Wraith would have hands as soft and gentle as Turpi's. Then again, if she could get into his mind, what was to stop her from affecting the way he perceived her touch? Could a Wraith project thoughts that detailed?
His vision would have been singularly useful right about now. Still, for the first time in what seemed like ages, the fog had entirely cleared from his head. All he felt, besides his own wariness, was a sense of overwhelming regret from Turpi.
"So, just for the record," he said, hoping to convey an air of composure. "Not Wraith, right?"
"No!" She sounded distressed, but Rodney was too emotionally whiplashed to have much sympathy. "I did not mean to frighten you. We use the beam because it is the only way to gather and protect the children. And I… I must also calm their stricken minds. They must be prevented from hurting themselves or others until they learn to control their abilities "
At her explanation, he began to understand just what it was the villagers saw as madness. These kids weren't going after their parents with kitchen knives or bringing guns to school. With uncontrolled telepathic and healing powers, they could likely stop a person's heart just by wishing it.
Damn it, that was going to prompt a whole new phobia- and he still hadn't gotten over the previous scare. "How do I know you're not manipulating me now?" he demanded, unwilling to give up the emotional walls that had been his mainstay since kindergarten.
"I am not."
"Well, forgive me for being a tiny bit cautious, but that's what you said the last time. If you can plant an image in my head, how am I ever supposed to know what's real and what isn't? This is my mind we're talking about here! This is the one thing that no one, absolutely no one should ever mess with!"
She gave no answer.
"Hello? Isn't it impolite to give a blind person the silent treatment?"
"She has left," Nabu's resonant voice replied. "Turpi's empathic ability is exceptionally strong. She sees that you do not trust her. It affects her deeply."
Paying attention to nuance in much of anything had never been one of Rodney's priorities. But with at least two of his five senses compromised, he found himself listening more carefully. Nabu's tone was solemn and held no trace of malice. Rodney was also certain-perhaps because Turpi had left the room-that he and he alone was occupying his head. He felt an unfamiliar twinge of guilt for having lashed out at her.
Something soft landed on his legs. "I have brought clothing," said Nabu. "If you will permit me to help you dress, we can walk for a while."
"Uh, thanks" Cautiously, Rodney moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "Where will Turpi go?"
"To the children. They have been asking for her for some time, but she has been devoted to your recovery."
Way to rub it in, thanks. He'd acted like a jerk, and he knew it. Since these people could read minds, they no doubt knew that it was hardly the first time. He felt the soft fabric of a shirt being pulled over his head, and lifted his arms to facilitate the inevitable awkwardness with the sleeves.
"All the children adore Turpi," Nabu continued, a note of paternal pride in his voice. "She senses and soothes their torment from the moment they arrive. She is the only mother many of them have ever known."
Loose pants were slipped over one foot and then the other. Rodney ignored the flush of embarrassment that resulted from being dressed like a toddler and rose tentatively from the bed. To his relief, his legs supported him without complaint, and his bare feet felt considerably more intact than his hands. For the first time, he was inclined to feel some appreciation for military-issue boots.
Now what? Before he could ask, a large hand closed around his elbow. "I will guide you. Keep your steps small."
The material underfoot was cool, and its texture felt like stonework or perhaps slate tiling. It occurred to Rodney that he ought to be counting steps and memorizing turns, in case an escape became necessary later. He suspected that the half-baked notion stemmed from too many action-movie nights and too many outings with Sheppard and his merry Marines. The whole walking thing wasn't nearly as easy as it looked, and he was ready to give up before they'd gone more than fifty feet.
Then he heard something unexpected, and the numbers he'd so carefully fixed in his mind went up in smoke. "Is that-?"
"The children are playing," Nabu confirmed. Peals of laughter echoed all around what must have been an open expanse of land. It wouldn't have been Rodney's preferred backdrop, but just then it sounded very normal and reassuring. Whatever else he knew about the Wraith, they were not, and could never be, as innocent as those young voices.