"Abandoning the city?" Vala's eyes were wide.
"Don't tell me you didn't figure that out," Jackson said.
"That's all classified, darling."
"Which hasn't ever stopped you," Jackson said.
"Could we skip this part?" Cam asked. "And, while we're at it, could I remind people to knock —"
His door swung open again, and Teal'c blinked at him.
"There you are, Colonel Mitchell. I have been looking for you."
"Knocking," Cam said. "It's an Earth custom."
"The IOA wants to evacuate Atlantis," Jackson said.
"So I have heard." Teal'c fixed his eyes on Cam. "Is that in fact confirmed?"
Cam rubbed his forehead. "The IOA has issued an order, yes. There hasn't been an answer from Atlantis, though they are evacuating noncombatants."
Teal'c clasped his hands behind his back. "In that case, Colonel Mitchell, I respectfully tender my resignation from SG-1."
"Whoa!" Jackson said, not quite under his breath, and Cam felt his eyebrows rise.
"Now, hang on," he said. "I'm not sure that's strictly necessary —"
"I do not intend to remain here while Atlantis is under siege," Teal'c said. "And while Colonel Carter and General O'Neill remain in jeopardy."
"You don't think they're going to destroy it," Jackson interrupted.
"I do not believe that they can," Teal'c answered. "And it cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the Wraith."
"Wait a minute!" Cam pushed himself up from his chair. "Teal'c, there's no need to resign from SG-1 —"
"Because we're all going!" Vala exclaimed. "Cameron, you're a genius."
Jackson looked like he wanted to disagree, possibly violently, but Cam decided he was going to put that down to it having been Vala who said it. "Could we all slow down here just for a minute?" he asked. "As a matter of fact, it had occurred to me that it might make sense for the SGC to send its top gate team through to Atlantis in a support role."
Jackson's eyebrows rose toward his hairline. "And what exactly do you think we can do there? Not that I'm opposed to the idea, but we'll have to convince Landry."
"You're our biggest expert on Ancient everything," Cam said. Flattery never hurt, with Jackson. "You can advise on what we absolutely have to either destroy or rescue. And the rest of us — if any of our people get stuck in the Pegasus Galaxy, have to hide out until Daedalus can get there to pick them up, well, who better to arrange that than SG-1?"
Teal'c said, slowly, "I do not believe General Landry will accept that argument."
"Well, no," Cam said. "But I bet you it'll be good enough to get us through the gate."
There was a moment of silence, Jackson nodding slowly, Teal'c with his head cocked to one side as he considered, and then Vala smiled brightly. "Right! So what are we waiting for? We have a general to talk to."
Aboard the Pride of the Genii, Evan Lorne stood behind the pilot's chair, one hand resting lightly on the back, the other curled loosely at his side. He hoped nobody else could tell how much of an effort it took to hold himself like that, faking relaxation, but then he glanced at Ladon Radim. The Genii leader had both hands clasped behind his back, his expression gravely attentive, and Lorne guessed Ladon was just as nervous.
It was a Genii in the chair, after all, a young captain with a head of unruly red curls and no trace of the ATA gene. His hands were on the secondary controls, his eyes darting between his own screen and the twin navigation consoles, and there were tiny beads of sweat on the back of his neck between his hairline and his collar. Lorne wasn't at all sure he wasn't sweating himself.
"Ladon." That was Dahlia, arriving so silently that Lorne started at her voice. "Perhaps it would be better if Major Lorne handled the transition."
She kept her voice low, but Lorne saw the captain grimace. His hands were steady on the controls, though, watching the Pride approach the red line that marked the transition to regular space, and Lorne looked over his shoulder.
"Captain Nanion is doing fine," he said. "And I think it's important that as many of the crew as possible practice handling the ship without help from someone with the ATA gene." In case something happens to me: he didn't have to say that, and Dahlia dipped her head in acknowledgement.
"Yes, of course."
Ladon gave a crooked smile. "I suspect we'll all earn our stripes this trip."
Nanion did grin at that, and leaned forward again over the controls.
"Not yet," Lorne said. The Pride's image had reached the edge of the red line, but he could feel that it wasn't time, and he dredged his memory for the visual sign that marked that moment. "The line will brighten — just like that."
Nanion shoved the drive lever forward, and light flared in the forward screens. The window formed and then they were through, hanging in blackness spangled with stars.
"Chief, I have Atlantis on the screen," one of the navigators reported, and beyond him, at the environmental stations on the lower boards, there was a steady murmur of voices as the technicians gave their status reports. If he were flying, Lorne thought, none of that would be necessary. It would all be instantly available, a lovely overlay conjured up as soon as he desired it, and gone again the moment he no longer needed it. The Genii could fly their ship, but they needed a crew of dozens to take the place of a single person with the ATA gene. No wonder Radim was so desperate to get his hands on it.
"Nice job, Captain," he said, and Nanion glanced up at him.
"Thank you, sir. Set a course for Atlantis?"
Lorne looked at Ladon, who shook his head. "Let's let them know we're here first. Not that I think they haven't seen, but it would be only polite."
Out of the corner of his eye, Lorne could see the communications officer frowning over his controls, and his fingers itched to do it himself. He could do it with a thought, the spark of a wish sending the information flying, the towers of Atlantis lighting to welcome them home….
"And while you're at it," Ladon said, "any sign of the Wraith fleet?"
Another technician began adjusting his controls. "Not yet — wait, there they are."
The image on the central screen shifted, stars replaced by a schematic of the solar system, planets and orbits picked out in shades of purple. There was the Pride, a blue-white star, maybe an hour away from Atlantis's orbit. There was Atlantis, her towers replacing the planet itself. And there, on the edges of the system, an arc made of a dozen orange wedges: Queen Death's fleet.
Ladon lifted an eyebrow. "How far out is that?"
His voice was impressively steady. Lorne looked at Nanion. "Captain —"
"Yes, sir."
Nanion scrambled hastily out of the chair, and Lorne took his place, sinking his fingers into the conductive gel with a sigh of relief. The sense of the ship washed over him, half a hundred individual status reports merging into a general sense of well-being, and he turned his attention to the long-range sensors. It didn't look good: four hiveships, six cruisers, a pair of smaller ships with an odd power signature that suggested they might be full of Darts…. Assuming constant course and speed, they were four hours out of fighting distance; they were too close to try a hyperspace jump, so that was about what you had to expect. He was suddenly very glad he'd yielded to Ladon's suggestion and gotten a decent night's sleep.
"I'd say we have just under four hours before we can expect to engage," Lorne said. "Unless Atlantis has something else planned."
Ladon eyed the screen. "What if they made another jump through hyperspace? They'd be here much sooner then."
"They're too close," Lorne answered. "The way they have to drop out of hyperspace, Wraith ships don't seem to have a lot of fine control over their hyperdrives. We could make a microjump and engage them now if we wanted to —" The Pride's controls pulsed confirmation in the palms of his hands. "But there's no way the Wraith could make the kind of jump."