"What are you planning, John?" said Beckett.
"When those men in gray took McKay, they also took his gear. If we assume they're keeping them together, then there's a possibility we can track the power signature of Rodney's scanner unit from the Puddle Jumper. We find it, we find him."
"Assuming they haven't just tossed it in a ditch somewhere," said Carson, "assuming you pass over the right area. Assuming it's still switched on."
Sheppard shrugged. "Well, I never said it was going to be a cakewalk."
As they began to move away, Beckett halted the colonel. "John. I know you have immediate problems to deal with, but I have to say something. The bigger picture here on Halcyon is never going to alter unless there's some serious changes on this planet."
"So what are you asking, Doc? You want me to go all Braveheart and start a revolution? Can't wait to hear what Weir would think of that…"
"All I'm saying colonel, is that I don't think there's going to be an easy solution to all this."
Sheppard gave him a rueful look. "On that, Carson, you and I are in total agreement."
He took the Puddle Jumper up and out of the city sprawl at a deliberately low velocity, ignoring the shouts of alarm from the sentries on the battlements as the drum-shaped shuttlecraft whined past them. Once they were a few miles away, and Sheppard was satisfied that they weren't being observed, he opened up the throttle on the Ancient ship and turned the vessel on its tail. The drive outriggers glowed blue-white and the Jumper described a ballistic trajectory, rising rapidly up through the atmosphere of Halcyon.
Even in moments like these, when they were on dangerous ground, John found it easy to lose himself in the sheer thrill of flying the ship. He could manage most of the Jumper's flight profile without removing his grip from the two-part yoke that extended from the pilot's console; it was an Ancient version of something the military back home called a HOTAS — Hands On Throttle And Stick-a control mechanism that made sure a pilot never had to flail about searching for the right switch when a split-second decision was needed. But the Jumper was more than that. Each time Sheppard took the left-hand seat in this bird, he could feel the craft like it was a presence in his head. It was faint, the gentlest of touches somewhere in the depths of his gray matter, but on some level the genetic heritage that John shared with the Ancients connected him to the vessel in a way that nothing else could.
The Jumpers handled smoothly, too. They flew like a helicopter at low speeds, moving into a mode similar to a jet fighter at high velocity, and then to something akin to an F-302 in the vacuum of space. At least, that's what Sheppard thought. In the past, the colonel had compared notes on the Jumpers with Marine Corps pilots who'd flown Harriers, guys who had trained with the Navy on F/A-18A Hornets, even former Space Shuttle crew; each of them had a different take on the ships. He wondered if the control systems in the craft were smart enough to read his memories of flying Pave Hawks and F-15s and configure themselves to match. He wouldn't have put it past the Ancients to build these things that way.
The sky outside the canopy darkened from teal blue to black, and with a slight shudder, they transitioned from the atmosphere and into space. Sheppard slowed the ship's forward velocity to nothing and let them hang there in a geo-stationary orbit high over the capital city. He glanced over his shoulder. Ronon was hunched over a console at what was usually McKay's station, picking at keys on the panel.
"Give me a moment," said Dex, aware of his scrutiny. "I've watched him work these sensor arrays enough times, I can run them."
Sheppard flexed his fingers around the flight yoke. "Let's assume that the gray guys had a gyro-flyer for their egress," he said, thinking aloud. "Based on the top speed of the helos we've seen since we got here and the location of the dolmen, we should be able to narrow down a search area…"
Obediently, the Jumper's internal systems anticipated his requests and threw a display on to the inside of the canopy glass. It sketched a map in wire frame form, drawing a wide circle across Halcyon's central continent. "I love this ship," said John. He patted the console as if it was a well-trained dog. "Good girl."
A strident tone sounded from Ronon's seat and another layer of detail dropped in over the map. "Sensors are on-line," said the Satedan, "scanning for energy traces."
A couple of emerald green blips immediately appeared on the display, one dead center in the search pattern, the other in the heart of the capital city. "That's gotta be the Ancient tech inside the dolmen," Sheppard pointed at the first, "and that's Teyla. I left my hand-held scanner with her." His heart sank as the rest of the map remained barren. "Come on, Rodney, where are you?"
"Something could blocking the sensors," offered Dex. "They might be holding him underground, or they might have just destroyed his kit."
John shook his head. "Nah, unless they had him at the bottom of a mineshaft, we'd read it." He blew out a breath. "I'm going to take her up into a higher orbit. We may have to do this the hard way and run the sensors over the whole damn planet."
"You think they took him off world?"
"No, that's against their codes, remember? It's all about the rules."
The other man grimaced. "Their honor codes didn't stop them threatening us. You think they know that Atlantis is still in one piece?"
"Vekken is smart, I'll give him that, but he's just fishing. There's no way they could know that Atlantis survived the Wraith siege. I made sure I Gated to a neutral planet before I went back for the Jumper, and Kenealy did the same thing when he went with Hill's body. Our people know not to dial direct unless it's a matter of life or death."
Ronon looked away, his face creasing in annoyance. "This is a planet full of liars."
Sheppard chuckled. "You sound like my dad watching CSPAN."
The colonel worked the controls, and the Jumper drew further away from the surface, the pale blue of Halcyon's oceans and the green-brown of its landmasses turning beneath the ship's hull.
"There is another way we could do this," said Ronon, after a moment.
"At this point, I'm open to any suggestions," noted Sheppard.
"We should play these people at their own game."
John threw him a look. "What, we call in troops from Atlantis and fight one of their private little wars? I don't think so."
"That's not what I meant. Daus and his nobles think they're superior here, but we're the ones with the real edge. We could cloak the Jumper, go in and snatch his lordship… Or better yet, call in Caldwell and get the Daedalus to beam him up right in the middle of one of his pompous speeches. If he doesn't tell us what we want to know, we toss him out an airlock."
"That would be regicide. I'm not quite ready to go killing kings yet."
"I didn't say kill him," Ronon continued. "Throw him into space for a couple of seconds, then beam him back in. That'll make anyone talk. Might have to do it a few times, though. He looks like a sturdy guy."
Sheppard sighed. "We don't even know if Daus is behind it." But in all honesty, the colonel knew how lame his denial sounded.
"That's how we would find out."
John turned in his chair. "We are not doing the airlock thing, okay? End of discussion."
"Just trying to be helpful."
On the canopy display, a glowing red dot emerged from the far side of Halcyon's day-night terminator. "Wait a second. What is that?"
"A satellite?" Ronon glanced at the sensor console. "Daus's people put something in orbit?"
The colonel shook his head. "They don't have the technology to build rockets that would get up this far…" He studied the display. "It's smaller than the Jumper. It's definitely some thing artificial." Sheppard changed their heading and eased the throttle forward. "Let's go take a closer look."