Weir tapped the pad with a finger and left the balcony behind.
"So," said Sheppard, rubbing his thumb over his chin, "either of you two got an inkling about this place we're going to?"
Ronon Dex shook his head without looking up from unfolding his greatcoat. "Never been there."
The tawny-skinned woman standing across from Dex cocked her head. "I too have never visited the colony, but there were some of my people who did." Teyla Emmagan paused as she zipped up her uniform tunic. "As I recall, the planet has only a handful of settlements quite close to the Stargate. They trade furs and cured meats harvested from the local wildlife."
"So, kinda low-tech, then?"
"No more than Athos," she said, with a hint of a smile, "but if you are asking if they might have relics of the Ancients, then your question may be in vain."
Off to one side, the fourth member of Sheppard's core team made a comment under his breath about `wild goose chases' and returned to lacing up his boots. The colonel gave Dr. McKay a sideways look. "Thanks for the input, Rodney." Sheppard turned his attention back to Teyla. "What about any, uh, hostiles?"
"The Wraith are active in that part of the galaxy, but I do not believe the settlement has experienced a culling in many years, certainly not since I was a child."
"Some good news, then. Maybe this place is too far off the beaten track for them to bother with."
Dex pulled on his coat. "Or maybe they're just overdue for a feeding frenzy."
Sheppard gave a tight, humorless smile. "That's what I like about you, Ronon, you're such a ray of sunshine." He crossed the prep room to where the other half of his unit was gathering themselves together. "Sergeant Mason, right?" he asked, picking out the most senior-looking man in the group.
"Staff Sergeant Mason, sir," said the soldier, his pug-face creasing.
"Oh yeah," nodded Sheppard, "different ranks for you guys, right?" The four men were relatively new to Atlantis, one of two squads of British Special Air Service troopers brought in to serve in areas of Stargate Command. As part of a rotation that would put the men on front-line duty in the Pegasus Galaxy, it fell to the colonel to take them with him on a few missions, to show them the lay of the land. This was the first time he'd had to deal with the Brits face-to-face; until now he'd only seen them around and about in the city, laughing in rough humor or playing in animated poker games with the Marine Corps contingent. "You've been off world before, right?"
Mason nodded. "Did a tour at Cheyenne Mountain, sir. Dealt with some of them growlers while we were there."
"Growlers?"
"Goa'uld, sir," said one of the other men, a stocky guy with dirty blond hair, "that's what we call them, on account of the way they talk. Y'know, all that puny humans, you will die stuff-"
"Clarke, shut it," said Mason, with curt finality.
Sheppard gave a small smile. "Lance Corporal Clarke, right? And these two other gentlemen would be Privates Bishop and Hill?"
"Sir," chorused the men. Both the privates had the watchful look of career soldiers.
"Well, listen, I'm not expecting any trouble but you never can tell. The Wraith aren't like the Goa'uld, they don't waste time bragging, they just go straight for the jugular."
"Actually, it's the heart," McKay chipped in. "That's where they prefer to feed from."
"Whatever," Sheppard met Mason's gaze. "The point is, don't be stingy with your ammo. You got one in range, take it down."
Mason nodded. "That we can do."
The colonel patted him on the arm. "Welcome to the team. We don't have a secret handshake or anything…"
"We'll manage," said the soldier.
Sheppard left Mason's men to their preparations, catching a whispered comment from Clarke as he walked away. "He seems all right for a Rupert."
Rupert? John had a feeling serving with these Brits was going to be a whole new learning experience for him.
The doors to the prep room hummed open before Weir to reveal Sheppard's team in varying states of readiness. McKay appeared to be the least organized person there, in the middle of attempting to don a webbing vest festooned with equipment packs, and trying secure a pistol in his thigh holster at the same time. He was contorting himself in the process, much to the amusement of the military contingent. Ronon, Teyla and the rest of the squad were at their gear racks, making last minute checks and loading their weapons.
Sheppard looked up from the open breech of his P90 submachinegun. "Elizabeth. Come to see us off? Don't worry, I remembered to pack my mittens."
Weir raised an eyebrow and gestured with the data pad in her hand. "I'm glad I caught you before you left, John. There was something I meant to query you on." She extended the pad to him and he took it.
An involuntary wince crossed his face as he read the file displayed there. "Oh yeah. Riley." Behind him, she saw McKay make a similarly pinched expression.
As part of the paperwork that was required each time Daedalus arrived at Atlantis with supplies and new staff, as the director of the outpost Weir was required to provide full reports for the ship to carry back to Earth, on everything from Ancient archaeological finds and Wraith force intelligence to personnel dispositions and equipment requisition forms. Dealing with the paperwork also meant that it was her ultimate responsibility to handle one of the worst parts of the job-the casualty reports. Every time they lost someone, Elizabeth was required sign off on their death certificate, and if there were remains, it was her responsibility to ensure they were ready to go home on the next hyperspace flight.
But it wasn't always possible to return the dead, however. Sometimes-as was the case with the late Master Sergeant Riley, USAF-there was nothing but a cloud of free atoms left behind. The unlucky soldier had been caught in the nimbus of an Ancient plasma generator, which had shorted out explosively during a venture into the city's lower levels; there one moment, vapor the next.
Sheppard held out the data screen to her. "I signed off on him. What's the problem?"
Weir didn't take the screen back straight away. "I reviewed the Sergeant's records, Colonel. It made for some interesting reading."
"Really?" replied Sheppard warily. "Well, he was an, uh, interesting guy."
"Did you know that during his entire tour on Atlantis, Sergeant Riley never once took part in any hazardous off world excursions? As far as I can determine, he hardly ever left the quartermaster's stores where he worked."
Sheppard's expression turned a little sheepish. "Well. He probably had a lot of… Boxes to move. And stuff."
She tapped the screen with a finger. "It's remarkable. It seems every time Riley's name came up on off world rotation, someone swapped duties with him, or he was otherwise excused. I wonder why that was."
The Colonel said nothing. He gave McKay a sidelong look and the scientist blinked back at him.
Weir leaned closer. "I did a little digging. Do you know what Riley brought with him as his personal gear allocation when we first came through the Stargate from Colorado?"
"No?"
In her diplomatic career, Elizabeth had spent time in the presence of liars of all kinds-including a few non-human ones-and she knew the untruth on Sheppard's lips automatically. "Eleven high-density data storage devices. Capable of storing thousands of hours of video. It says here that they contained `instructional films'. Is that an accurate description, Colonel?"
Sheppard returned to loading his P90. "I guess so."
"Some of them…" McKay added, a slightly wistful tone in his voice; then he blinked. "I mean. That is, so I was lead to believe."
"They were entertainments," said Ronon, without preamble.