Stunned, McKay could only stare in shock. Eyes wide, he looked at Beckett. "What did you do?"
Beckett stared back, terrified. "What did I do?"
Weir could feel the air getting colder as the elevator began its journey through the borehole to the surface, but this time it didn't bother her. She had other, more pressing things on her mind, the Pegasus galaxy being one of them… It was a romantic name, she thought, and appropriate for something that represented a dream for all the peoples of Earth. Not just a new world, but a new galaxy. A new realm into which mankind could expand, a place of hope for a future without the petty politics of a world trapped in a needless cycle of war, disease and poverty. It was beacon of hope, a voyage crewed by the best and the brightest from around the globe. And, most important of all, a mission of peace. They didn't go to conquer, there were no military objectives — they went simply to explore. They went because they could.
At least, she hoped they could. She tugged nervously on her jacket and glanced up the borehole. Somewhere, far above, General O'Neill was en route to the base, and the fate — the very existence — of her whole expedition to Pegasus depended upon her ability to convince him that it was worthwhile. That it was worth sacrificing the remaining power of Earth's only ZPM — the one device that stood between the planet and destruction by the Goa'uld.
At her side, Dr. Jackson was lost in thought. He was frowning, lips moving slightly in silent conversation with himself. Rehearsing his argument, perhaps? It was no secret that he'd been angling for a place on the expedition team, and Weir would have been more than happy — delighted, actually — to snap him up. But General O'Neill had nixed the idea at the outset, and he wasn't the type to be gainsaid. Not that this seemed to deter Daniel Jackson; in fact, Weir suspected that very little could deter him. "Dr. Jackson?" she asked, disturbing his contemplation.
"Hmm?"
"Do you think he'll say yes?"
His eyebrows lifted. "To using the ZPM? He might. He probably will."
Weir smiled. "And to allowing you to join the expedition?"
"I don't…" His intense blue eyes fixed on her suddenly and he took half a step closer. "Maybe if you could just impress upon him how much value I'd bring to-"
Something fast and bright shot past them, rattling the cage so hard Weir thought it would slip free of the cable and go crashing back down the shaft. The object raced up, smashed right through the roof of the dome above the borehole, and was gone.
"What the…?" said Dr. Jackson.
Weir knew; she'd seen the damn thing on the workbench just this morning. "Get us back down there!"
The elevator started to plummet.
"Doc, what's happening?" Lieutenant Alden Ford was the first to move, darting across the room and staring up the borehole — but the drone had gone. Far above, he could see a raw patch of bright blue sky and knew that their containment was well and truly breached.
"Without proper direction," Dr. McKay snapped, "the weapon could seek a target on its own."
Holy crap. Ford grabbed his radio. "This is Ford, I'm declaring an emergency!" And that was one hell of an understatement.
Major John Sheppard had always had 20/20 vision; lucky, given his choice of career. And so, when he saw a dot in the distance heading straight for them in a straight and purposeful flight pattern, he knew instantly that he'd clocked something. He was about to comment to the General when a burst of static squawked over his radio. An unfamiliar voice followed. "All inbound craft, we have a rogue drone that has the ability to seek targets."
A what?
"Land immediately," the order continued, "and shut down your engines, this is not a drill. I repeat…" The signal dissolved.
Sheppard's eyes were fixed on the approaching bandit. It almost looked golden, too small to be a fighter but what the hell was a rogue drone? And one able to seek targets? Normally a drone was the target. At his side, General O'Neill turned to look at him. He didn't seem worried, just resigned, and motioned for Sheppard to land.
"Too late!" Whatever the hell else a drone was, this one was definitely on their ass. "Hang on!"
He banked right, pulling hard gees, muscles bunching as he fought the stick for control. The drone missed by a hair's breadth, but came right around for another pass. He'd never seen anything move like this; liquid motion, faster than you could think. Had to be automated, but he'd never seen a missile target like this one.
"Break right!" O'Neill ordered, craning his neck to see the drone settle on their tail.
Sheppard was already on it and broke sharply left.
"I said right!"
The drone skimmed by again, turning for a third pass. "Yessir, I'm getting to that!" This time he banked hard right, and the drone screamed past them. But it wasn't going away, and he had no wingman to clear it off his ass.
Truth was, he had no idea how the hell he was gonna get them outta this one. He cursed silently and took the 'copter into a steep dive. What the hell were these people playing with out here…?
Weir sprinted through the lab to the Ancient chair. Beckett lay frozen in its embrace, like a startled rabbit caught by the full-beams of an oncoming truck. One of the base scientists — she recognized him as the British guy — Peter Grodin, was talking in a panicked stream of words to McKay. "I was sure we'd disarmed it-"
Beckett's pained voice interrupted. "I told you I was the wrong person-"
"That doesn't matter now." Daniel Jackson's years of experience with unexpected and inexplicable crises showed in the decisiveness of his tone. He wasn't flustered. "Do something."
"What?" Beckett pleaded. He was overwhelmed, and Weir couldn't blame him.
"Concentrate on shutting down that weapon before it hurts someone." It was the best she could offer, and it seemed to be enough.
Clearly terrified of what he'd done, Beckett closed his eyes and screwed up his face in concentration. Elizabeth Weir found herself holding her breath…
It was out there. Sheppard could feel it, like the eyes of a predator on his back. They were being hunted. By what he still had no idea, but that hardly mattered. Whatever the hell this thing was, it had its sights on his ass and nothing was going to get in its way.
Well, nothing but Major John Sheppard. Sophisticated it might be, but Sheppard had yet to encounter a machine that could out-fly him. There were some instincts that a missile could never have, strategies they couldn't plan for, calculations so far outside the box that no computer could understand them. Yeah, it would be a cold day in hell — or a warm one at McMurdo — before he was out maneuvered by a machine, however smart its programming.
Bravado was good, kept the adrenaline pumping hard. But it didn't change facts. "I can't see it."
He looked around, General O'Neill twisting in his seat to do the same. Suddenly, straight ahead, he saw it coming for them. A tiny dot of gold against the brilliance of the snowfield.
"Pull up!" O'Neill barked. The guy was the original backseat driver!
Sheppard decided to dive. He had a plan, one this tin can on their tail would never be able to calculate. Machines just weren't that crazy…
He was pushing it as hard as he dared, pitching the dive at the very limit of aerodynamic viability. This was no F-16… But the plunge was steep enough, the ice racing up to meet them as the drone pivoted midair and settled back on his six.
"How about now?" O'Neill suggested, remarkably languid given the circumstances. Sheppard figured the guy had seen some action before he became a deskjockey.
The fissures and black rocks of the snow field were painted stark in snapshot images as they all but fell toward the ground. Yeah, O'Neill might have a point. "Now's good," Sheppard decided. He yanked back hard on the stick and the 'copter's nose edged up with several inches at least to spare. Behind them the drone buried itself in the ice.