Elizabeth Weir, however, deserved his respect — and an explanation. "We've gotten closer and closer to finding the location of the lost city," he told her, as they entered the cluttered room he'd co-opted for his research.
He scooted around the table to the whiteboard where he'd been attempting to decipher the gate address — the one they couldn't make work — for the past three days. "But it turns out," he said, "that we've been looking in the wrong place all along."
Weir's eyebrows rose as she waited for more. McKay just cast him a look of long-suffering tedium, as if repressing the desire to snap `Get on with it!'
Daniel planned to wipe that look right off his face. Pointing at the symbols scribbled onto the white board, he said, "We thought we had a gate address — six symbols, representing coordinates in space and time that should have determined the location of the planet the Ancients went to after they left Antarctica. Recently we determined the seventh symbol." He drew it on the board.
"The point of origin," Weir guessed. "Earth."
"That's not it." Daniel shot a defiant look at McKay.
"So your address must be incorrect," McKay said, unable to resist the silent game of one-upmanship.
Daniel repressed a smile, savoring his triumph. "Not incorrect," he said. "Incomplete." Swiftly, he drew another symbol.
"You can't do that," McKay objected.
"I just did."
Weir stepped forward, and Daniel could see something burning bright in her eyes; he knew it was mirrored in his own. Excitement, the thrill of opening Pandora's box. "What are you saying, Dr. Jackson?"
He paused, just for an instant, just to relish the moment. "It's an eight-symbol address," he began. "What we've been looking for may be farther away than we ever imagined…" Weir was holding her breath, tense with expectation. Daniel smiled, "But not out of our reach."
Even McKay seemed reluctantly impressed. "Atlantis?"
"Atlantis." Daniel studied them both, making sure they comprehended the significance of what he was about to say. "And I think we can go there."
The silence that followed told him they understood. Humanity was poised to take its first steps into a new galaxy, and they — these people standing before him — were destined to be in the vanguard of the most important voyage of discovery mankind had ever undertaken.
He envied them more than he could say.
Chapter One
The snowfield went on forever. It was enough to render a penguin snow-blind, and General Jack O'Neill was more than grateful for his shades as the helicopter skimmed over the ridges and valleys of Antarctica. The sun had crested the horizon an hour ago, its pale light glittering against the snow. Carter would love it out here — not.
O'Neill glanced over at his pilot, who was talking a mile a minute and didn't seem to realize that Jack was only half-listening. He was a kid really, although with a stubborn streak that stood out a mile. Takes one to know one. Which was probably why the kid had ended up based at the backend of nowhere. Over the years, Jack had been threatened with McMurdo a few times. He wondered what Major John Sheppard had done to actually make it. Must get someone back at the SGC to check out his personnel file…
"…Cobra, Apache, Sea King, Black Hawk, Osprey, Sea Harrier," Sheppard reeled off, flying like he was born to it and not really needing to concentrate. "You name it, I've flown it."
"That's a lot of training for the Antarctic."
There was a wry twist to Sheppard's answer that Jack didn't miss. "Well, it was the one continent I'd never set foot on."
"It's among my least favorite continents." And that was no lie. Jack had been here a total of three times, and on each occasion he'd left on a stretcher — or the alien equivalent. He wasn't planning on making it a fourth.
"I kinda like it here," Sheppard admitted.
There was a determined cheerfulness about this kid that was, frankly, bizarre. "You like it here?"
Sheppard grinned. "Yessir." He glanced at his navigation controls, "We're about ten minutes out."
And with that, the helicopter banked steeply and left Jack's stomach way behind. It was all he could do to restrain a whoop of pure adrenaline and, not for the first time, he wondered what on Earth had persuaded him to trade all this for a desk job…
Despite what he'd told Dr. Weir, McKay was beginning to suspect that there was more to the distribution of the Ancient gene through the population than random genetic chance. In fact, he was almost certain that it was actually a facet of the ongoing cosmic joke fate liked to have at his expense. Think about it, of all the people on the base — no, let's not be modest — of all the people on the planet, he, Rodney McKay, was undoubtedly the best qualified to make use of the Ancient gene. He had the mind, the education, the ability to think creatively… If he'd had the gene their research would be leagues ahead of where they were currently stranded. He glanced over at Grodin, who was fiddling with one of the few Ancient drones to have survived the battle with Anubis. It was a case in point; if McKay had the gene he'd be able to pull the thing apart, figure out how to reproduce it and then begin restocking their weapons supplies. Easy as pie.
But no. Fate had other plans.
Instead of giving the gene to someone who could actually use it to unlock the secrets of the Ancients, on whom did it bestow this `random' gift? General Jack `Smart-ass' O'Neill, and now Dr. Carson `I'm scared it'll bite me' Beckett! Seriously, there was no way this could be random chance. The more he thought about it, the more McKay suspected that there was some malevolent cosmic force bent on frustrating him to death, and-
"I'm a doctor," Beckett protested, his whines interrupting McKay's thoughts as he physically dragged the doctor along the corridor. "A medical doctor!"
McKay strove to sound soothing. It wasn't a skill that came naturally. "There's nothing to be afraid of-"
"You don't understand." Beckett was pleading now, actually pleading. The man was beginning to border on pathetic. "I break things like this…"
Oh, for the love of "The device has survived intact for millions of years; it will survive you." Rodney shoved the doctor toward the chair. "Now sit down, close your eyes and concentrate."
With a resigned sigh Beckett did as he was told and leaned back in the chair. At last. But his eyes flashed open a split second later. "Again, nothing."
Patience, patience… Resisting the urge to pull the damn gene out of Beckett with a pair of tweezers, McKay forced himself to be reasonable. "All right, this time try to imagine an image of where we are in the solar system." Assuming, of course, that the good doctor actually knew where he was in the solar system…
"All right."
"All right."
There was a pause. McKay realized he was actually holding his breath.
"All right, I think I feel something."
Yes! "Good." Okay, this was going to work, it was going to work…
Beckett's eyes opened again. "It could be lunch related."
"Shut up and concentrate!"
Suddenly, the platform beneath the chair lit up like a Christmas tree. Thank you! McKay's mind was racing, searching for the best strategy. Who knew how long Beckett would be able to sustain the-
Behind him there was thump, a yell of surprise and he turned. The drone had come to life! Glowing pale gold, the lethal weapon abruptly launched itself from the workbench, scattering Grodin and his colleagues, darted in a wide circle toward the borehole and then disappeared up toward the surface. No one even had time to aim a gun.