Casualties of war

Chapter seven

In many circumstances, Teyla enjoyed negotiating treaties. She found well-reasoned debate to be stimulating, and there was always much to learn about new societies and potential allies.

However, such talks could also be singularly frustrating. This one was already falling into the latter category.

No one had initiated any physical attacks, but the arguments so far had been heated. Neither ruler seemed willing to believe any statements made by the other. Teyla admired Elizabeth's patience. Atlantis's leader had not reacted to any of the inflammatory claims put forth except to press for more information. She gave no indication of leaning toward either side.

Of course, John and Major Lorne appeared unbiased as well. They looked as though they wanted nothing more than for the proceedings to end.

"Minister Galven, you spoke of many Nistra being in poor health," Elizabeth commented. "Could you elaborate?"

Galven's tone now sounded more despondent than accusatory. "Our winters are harsh, and we have less to sustain us than we once did. The hunting clans provide what they can, but every person who hunts is another person unavailable for the mines. And mining is arduous work which cannot be done by all."

"Your people are threatened by hunger, then?"

The minister hesitated slightly, as if the description was not quite accurate. "We are weakened, more susceptible to disease. For many the weakness first manifests itself in the mind."

A short burst of static issued from the Atlantis team's radios, interrupting the discussion. Frowning, John twisted the dial on his receiver. "Say again," he transmitted back, only to hear more static. "One of the problems with being underground."

Another burst sounded; then, "-need to check it out."

The voice had been Ronon's. After trading a look with Teyla, John said, "I'm sorry to disrupt everything, but we'd better see what's going on outside."

He started to rise from his chair, halting when two frosty glares settled on him.

"You are Dr. Weir's chief warrior, are you not?" Cestan asked.

Clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny, John replied, "We have a different name for it, but yes."

"Surely your subordinates are capable of performing their duties while you remain at your post."

Remembering Kellec, seated at Cestan's right, Teyla began to understand. These leaders would not have attended a crucial conference without their chief warriors. If John left, Elizabeth's standing might be lessened.

"Colonel Sheppard serves all of our people equally, not just me," Elizabeth stated. "If he believes it necessary to be elsewhere for a while-"

"No." John sat back in his seat. "Far be it from me to upset any kind of balance here. Teyla?"

Teyla had been considering the same option, so she was prepared for the request. "I will go." She rose and offered a small bow to the other participants.

"Be back here in fifteen minutes flat, or I'm going to assume we've got a problem."

"Understood." John had requisitioned her a watch from Earth, many supply runs ago. Although it did not perfectly represent the Lantean day cycle, it often proved useful. As she climbed the stairs back to the surface, she set the timer to alert her in ten minutes.

When she emerged from the ruins, blinking against the suddenly increased light, she saw no sign of Ronon or the Marines on the hillcrest. Her first instinct was to move in that direction, in case they had regrouped by the gate. Then her radio signaled, and she heard Rodney say, "Look, we don't really care what you steal. Just let us go, and everybody can walk away."

Teyla tensed. The scientist's radio must have been set to `vox,' transmitting whatever he said over the frequency. Obviously the conversation was not a pleasant one.

"We won't even tell anyone about the side entrance," Rodney continued, his voice growing slightly more desperate.

Side entrance? Immediately Teyla set off to circle the hill rather than scale it. For all his self-absorbed tendencies, Rodney McKay was indeed a highly intelligent man. Without his comment, she might have lost much-needed time in locating them.

"Haven't seen weapons like those before," said an unfamiliar voice, perhaps one of Rodney's captors. "This isn't your world."

"No, it's not," answered one of the Marines. "And those aren't your gadgets."

"Forget about the gadgets and concentrate on the guns, Sergeant." Rodney spoke rapidly, as he often did when stressed. "They have six and you have six. They also have us. Somehow I don't think attempting to intimidate them is going to work."

Six guns. Five Marines and Ronon, plus the three unarmed scientists, against six adversaries. The raiders Cestan had described, perhaps. Teyla had only a small knife in her boot as a weapon. Reinforcements could be called, but the area was open enough that a gate activation would likely be heard by all and might further complicate matters.

She crept slowly, leaning into the incline to disguise her silhouette as much as possible. Before long the voices could be heard through the air, and she shut off her radio to ensure that it would not give away her position.

"You're going to have a hard time taking us out without getting your friends hurt," said one of the captors. "Put your weapons down, and we'll let them go once we're safely aboard our ship."

"I don't think so." That was Ronon.

Ship? Kellec had mentioned a ship in their first encounter, when suspicions had been high. The mention of guns seemed notable as well. Most likely the notorious raiders were off-worlders, then. On occasion, she'd encountered their type while trading: people who appropriated whatever material goods a society had to offer, then escaped without sign through the Stargate. A low form of life, to be sure.

Teyla pushed herself flat against the steep hillside and edged closer until she could survey the situation. Rodney and his two companions were kneeling on the ground, a gun trained on each by armed men standing behind them. The other three raiders were locked into a standoff with Ronon, the Marines, and the Falnori and Nistra guards.

None of the raiders was facing exactly in her direction, so she risked raising her head to scout the area more thoroughly. About thirty paces behind the captives sat a small ship, similar to a puddle jumper, though not an Ancestor design. Surely it hadn't originated on this world, given what they knew of the Falnori and Nistra.

Teyla's priority, though, was a strategy to remove the guns currently pointed at her teammates. Although the raiders were outnumbered, they showed no sign of yielding, and they could easily kill the scientists before anyone could stop them. She considered her options. Create a distraction? With no way to communicate her intentions before acting, the danger for all of them would be great. Another tactic, then.

"Greetings," she called, stepping into view. Many heads and not a few weapons swung toward her. "Perhaps I can offer you a more worthy trade."

Rodney's expression plainly questioned her sanity, but one of the raiders spoke up. "And what do you have that might interest us?" His eyes swept over her, assessing her with something beyond a business interest.

She was taking a calculated risk. In her experience, raiders were concerned with profit above all else. Selling their ill-gotten wares held far more importance than any violent act. She simply had to convince them that she had something of higher value to them than three lives.

They liked the technology of the Ancestors, it appeared. Teyla glanced at her watch-this would require careful timing, as well as luck-and stripped it off her wrist. "Have you ever traded with the Tanesians? They have been known to offer their finest jewels for a device such as this. It alerts the wearer to an enemy's approach."

"Does it, now?" The apparent leader of the raiders moved closer to her, seemingly unconvinced yet still curious. "How's that?"

"It will sound an alarm, allowing the wearer time to duck low and prepare for attack." Trusting Ronon to comprehend, Teyla sent a meaningful look toward Rodney, hoping he would decipher her intent. His eyes flared wide for a brief moment, and he gave a barely perceptible nod.

The raider frowned and held out his hand. "Let me see," he demanded.

"Gladly." A quick glance told her that she had three seconds. Rather than step forward and hand the watch to him, she instead tossed it in an underhand lob. It landed in his palm, half a second before the alarm erupted with a shrill beeping sound.

Rodney threw himself face-first into the dirt, yanking his comrades down with him. Ronon and the Marines wasted no time in opening fire.

The startled raiders reacted more quickly than Teyla would have liked, returning fire as they spread out. She dropped into a crouch and caught the sidearm pitched to her by Sergeant Ellis. One Falnori guard was hit and collapsed to the ground; before long, the other was struck while attempting to aid his comrade. Seeing that their wounds were mortal, Teyla felt a pang of sorrow. They had been young and severely overmatched, but they had not fled.

"The raiders are falling back to their ship," Ellis reported, raising his voice over the report of his P-90.

"I vote we let them go!" Rodney yelled, staying down to avoid the crossfire.

"They are responsible for the turmoil on this world!" Teyla shouted back. "They will make for the gate. We can attempt to cut them off."

Ronon fired one final blast at the retreating raiders, watching it deflect off the hull of their craft, and turned to sprint up the hillside. Teyla and the Marines followed in close pursuit, the scientists and Nistra guards lagging behind.

The incline was long, and Teyla's lungs began to burn as she pushed onward. However, the raiders must have required some time to power up their ship. The Stargate was already coming into view at the top of the hill by the time she heard the whine of engines overhead. The ship swept past and swung around in a wide arc to face the gate, which soon whirred to life.

"They have an… onboard dialer," Rodney panted from somewhere behind her, sounding impressed and winded. "Where the hell…'d they get that?"

Through illicit means, no doubt. More significant in Teyla's mind was the fact that the ship itself did not appear to be armed. Quite a fortunate state of affairs. Waiting until a familiar rush of noise accompanied the engagement of the gate, she dashed out between the craft and its destination, pointed her borrowed handgun at one engine, and fired multiple shots.

No effect from the small weapon was noticeable. The Nistra guards swung their whips in vain, unable to reach their target. The ship remained airborne, flying directly over their heads toward the event horizon only a few paces away. As it did so, one of the raiders opened a hatch and threw something out onto the ground.

The ship vanished through the gate, just as she heard a horrified shout from John. "Teyla-get out of there!"

She had no time to wonder where he had come from, because Ronon slammed into her from the side without warning. A great explosion lifted her off her feet, and then she knew nothing more.

John had acted against instinct when he'd sent Teyla to investigate the fragmented radio call rather than go himself. While he trusted her implicitly and in no way believed her incapable, the responsibility was his. He'd let the political niceties of the situation sway his judgment, though, worried that offending their hosts might risk their access to the technology and materials on this planet.

He regretted the decision almost exactly ten minutes later, when another brief radio transmission broke through: static peppered with the unmistakable sounds of gunfire.

Out of his chair in a split-second, he waved Lorne back when the Major moved with him. "Stick to Dr. Weir no matter what," he ordered in a low voice. "She might need a bodyguard after all."

"Understood, sir."

Throwing Elizabeth an apologetic look over his shoulder, John headed for the stairs. "Everybody stay down here, out of sight."

Demands and accusations flared up in his wake. He ignored the raised voices, taking the steps two at a time and mentally kicking his own ass the entire way. What kind of idiot lets himself be out of contact with his team on a planet two steps away from declaring war?

As soon as he reached the surface, he was confronted by a chaotic mass of noise. Most of the sounds he could isolate and identify: P-90s on automatic, along with a 9-mil and Ronon's blaster. And something else. Not a jumper, but close. All of it seemed to be coming from the gate area.

Hustling up the slope, he keyed his radio. "Somebody want to give me a sit-rep?"

Surprisingly, it was a wheezing Rodney, not one of the Marines, who answered. "Had a visit… from some raiders.

Okay, that was well and truly confusing. "Why aren't you still in the labs?"

"Second entrance. Tell you later. Get up here."

For once, John had no objection to being told what to do. He picked up his pace, finally arriving at the gate in time to see a ship screaming toward the event horizon. Teyla, Ronon, and the Marines fired volley after volley at the craft as it passed, with no luck.

A small, round object fell to the ground just before the ship was swallowed up by the puddle, rolling to a stop only a few yards from where Teyla and the Nistra guards stood.

Recognition, immediate and awful, stopped John cold. "Teyla!" he yelled. "Get out of there!"

Ronon must have realized what it was at almost the same moment, because he raced toward her. Before he could shove her out of the way, the grenade detonated.

The shock wave was strong enough that it knocked John flat from thirty yards away. By the time he was able to push himself upright, the ringing in his ears slowly subsiding, he saw that the wormhole had snapped shut, almost as if cut off by the blast itself. A rough circle of grass in front of the gate had been blackened, and on its perimeter lay the scorched, broken bodies of the two Nistra guards, clearly beyond help.

There was no sign of Teyla or Ronon.

"What the hell just happened?" he demanded.

A couple of the Marines had been caught in the periphery of the blast as well. Thankfully, they were in better health than the Nistra and their clothing had offered them more protection. Sergeant Ellis went to assist Corporal Adams with his leg wound, while Rodney and two shellshocked engineers stood nearby, staring at the now-silent gate.

"Rodney!" John strode forward and grabbed his friend's arm. "What happened?"

After a pause, Rodney blinked and turned to him with stunned eyes. "The explosion," he said dully. "It propelled them through the event horizon just before the gate shut down."

John wasn't sure how close Ronon and Teyla had been to the grenade. There was a chance they might not be too badly injured-wherever they were. "Did you see what address the raiders used?"

"Yes, but-"

"But nothing. If we know the address, we can go after them. You memorized it, didn't you?"

The subtle challenge brought Rodney swiftly back to his usual form. "Of course I did," he snapped. "I also observed that the grenade had a surprisingly strong concussive effect on the wormhole, and there's really nothing good that can come of such effects." He hurried over to the DHD, fumbling in his pocket for a scanner. "I need to check the transit data against some historical files back on Atlantis before we go charging off on a rescue."

"Fine. As long as we make it quick. We don't know how much time they've got." If any, he refused to say aloud. He'd be damned if he was going to write off half his team.

"Colonel, report." Elizabeth's voice came through the radio.

So much for her staying put in the underground facility. "I thought I said-"

"We're in the ruins, which still qualifies as `out of sight.' I think you can understand why I needed to use the radio. What's going on?"

John couldn't blame her for wanting answers. "There was a raider attack," he said curtly. "They escaped in a ship through the gate. Ronon and Teyla accidentally ended up going through with them."

"Damn," she said quietly.

"It gets worse. The Falnori and Nistra guards that were left at the gate are dead. All of them."

He heard her intake of breath and the outraged reactions of Cestan and Galven in the background. "What's your plan?"

Good question. Scanning the remains of the Atlantis group, John replied, "McKay, Wen, and Kendall are with us-apparently there's another way out of the facility, and the raiders were using it. I'm going to take them and head home. Rodney's got the gate address the raiders used so we can go after our people. A couple of my guys are a little banged up, so we'll take them back with us and send you some reinforcements. Assuming you want to continue the talks."

"I think I have to try. Especially now that there have been fatalities… this is going to make things substantially harder."

"Yeah, I'll bet." Afraid to waste too much time, he added, "We'd better get going. We'll check in as soon as we know something."

"All right. Good luck."

Hurrying over to the injured Marines, John bent down and slung Corporal Pratt's arm across his shoulders. "Help Adams," he told the engineers, jarring them into action at last. "Rodney, dial the gate."

By the time he stepped into the gate-room, John felt about ready to crawl out of his skin. Adrenaline, primed for a potential rescue mission, battled with a gnawing fear he wasn't ready to acknowledge. "A little help, please," he called to the security team on duty. In response, two Marines moved to take the wounded corporal off his hands just as Carson and a medical team arrived.

John immediately bounded up the stairs to the control room, aware that Rodney was right on his heels. "So what's the problem with a concussive effect on an open wormhole?" he wanted to know.

Rodney's expression as he sat down at the dialing computer was grim. "Believe it or not, a large enough force applied at exactly the wrong moment can shift the wormhole's matter stream. Some years ago, SG-1 was in transit when an active gate was struck during an attack. Half the team was bounced accidentally to Earth's second gate in Antarctica, before anyone even knew the second gate existed."

"So Ronon and Teyla might have ended up at another destination altogether?" That didn't sound like an impossible obstacle. "Then they can just dial back here."

"Not necessarily. Not if they didn't make it very far to begin with." Rodney uploaded the data from his scanner, wholly focused on the console in front of him. "On first glance, the data I grabbed from the DHD on 418 seems to suggest that, when the wormhole's stability was disrupted, it almost folded back in on itself."

"Almost? We know they weren't bounced back to through the planet's gate."

"Physically impossible, since the matter stream only flows one way." Rodney's tone grew subdued. "What's the next closest gate?"

Suddenly the fear pulled ahead of the adrenaline. His stomach in freefall, John asked, "You think-?"

A defiant glower cut him off. "I don't want to think anything until I know."

The control room personnel had backed off to give them space. John spotted Wen and figured he must have explained the situation. A painful silence settled over the room for a few drawn-out seconds. At last, Rodney lifted his head, looking utterly defeated.

"It's confirmed," he said quietly. "The data says the matter stream was reflected back to PM-418. The shock wave must have bounced them to orbital gate."

No.

Shutting his eyes against a rush of emotion he couldn't afford, John forced himself to think. This wasn't over, damn it. He spun toward the gate tech hovering nearby. "Call upstairs and have Jumper One preflighted ASAP."

"Yes, sir," the tech answered automatically.

The command shook Rodney out of his daze. "What do you expect to accomplish with that?"

"Do whatever you have to do to make sure the wormhole connects to 418's space gate." John headed for the stairway to the jumper bay. "I'm not abandoning our people."

"Abandon-Colonel, did you forget how this works? If we dial 418 right now, whatever we send through will go to the ground gate. I can't override the planet's dialing system without expending a lot of time and complex effort. I certainly can't replicate the original shock wave with any degree of precision. We'd have to fly up to orbit and locate the space gate by jumper, and I think you know as well as I do how long that would take."

Too long for two people exposed to the vacuum of space to survive. John stopped on the third stair. He had to face facts; it had been too long already.

But if the Pegasus Galaxy had taught him anything, it was that exceptions and unexpected outcomes were a way of life.

Carson chose that moment to enter the control room, setting his medkit on a chair. "Adams and Pratt will be fine," he reported. "Would someone care to tell me how they acquired burns and shrapnel wounds?"

"Teyla and Ronon are dead," Rodney answered bluntly. "The same explosion that injured the Marines knocked them through the gate to 418's orbital address. They're floating around the planet like so much space junk, and yet Sheppard seems to think we can magically rescue them."

"I didn't say that." John stepped back into the room and turned away from the doctor's obvious shock, trying to get a handle on just what he was really trying to do. "I said we don't leave people behind."

"Not when we can help it, no. Unfortunately, there are some rules even you can't break. The best result we can hope to achieve now is recovering the bodies." Rodney stood up from the computer and folded his arms. "Carson, care to help me out here?"

Clearly still coming to grips with the awful truth, Carson took a hesitant step forward. "Colonel, maybe you'd better let me have a look at that arm."

Not comprehending, John glanced down. A five-inchlong hole had been scorched into his left sleeve, a patch of skin blistering underneath. It stung, now that he noticed it, but not badly. Not anywhere near badly enough to distract him from this.

He shrugged out of his jacket to let Carson work and continued to argue his point. "We haven't even checked to make sure the city database was accurate."

"Accurate?" Rodney repeated. "When has the database ever had a typo?"

"It doesn't always have complete information," John insisted, hearing the weakness of his argument all too clearly. "This gate might be set up differently, or-"

"Just what do you think we're going to find out there? Candy Land? The records were very detailed on what happened during the battle for P7L-418. There's enough debris in orbit that you'll have to be extremely cautious about our approach to avoid crashing into a derelict ship." Rodney's hand flew up as if to block John's imminent protest. "And before you say we could utilize the jumper's shield, understand that you'll need to deactivate said shield while recovering the bodies, which may be a difficult proposition amid the wreckage. Keep in mind also that you'll have to do some sensor sweeps to figure out exactly where in orbit the gate is."

Rubbing tired eyes, Rodney concluded, "I've been working through the various scenarios ever since I realized the situation, Colonel. Believe me, I've already grasped at every straw within reach. This isn't something we can resolve simply by thinking harder, and it certainly can't be resolved by rushing in blindly. Everything I just described will take time to plan and set up. No matter which way we approach it, this is a recovery mission, not a rescue.

How could he accept that? John got in Rodney's face, yanking his half-bandaged arm out of Carson's grip in the process. "Don't just stand there and tell me it can't be done. Find away!"

Bristling, Rodney fired back. "What, so if I acknowledge reality, that somehow means I care about Ronon and Teyla less than you?"

"Both of you, stop it," ordered Carson with a vehemence he rarely showed. It made an impact; Rodney's mouth snapped shut. With that hard set of his jaw, his own sadness and frustration became visible at last.

The doctor finished bandaging John's forearm before speaking again, more gently. "Listen to yourself, John. What are you really hoping to find?"

"I don't know! But what's our alternative? Just let them go, forget about them?"

"Forget about them, certainly not," Carson replied, his voice solemn. "Let them go… aye, lad. I'm afraid so."

John scrubbed a hand over his jaw, fast running out of rational points to make. Hell, he was starting to run out of irrational ones. All he had-all he knew-was the fact that his teammates were out there, and it went against everything he held fundamental to leave them, whether for an hour or forever, where they lay.

Where his mistake had led them. He'd sent Rodney's group off unarmed, and this was the result.

"God damn it," he whispered.

The control room seemed frozen in place. Finally, the tech ventured, "Sir, Jumper One is preflighted and ready for deployment."

Only Carson and Rodney dared to watch him for a reaction. Rodney's chin jutted out in challenge, while Carson's eyes reflected concern and sorrow.

In his entire life, John had never been so helpless.

"Cancel that," he said, hardening his voice. "Assemble another security team to send back to the planet. Rodney, take whoever and whatever you need to set up the recovery mission. I…" What could he do now? "I'll take Jumper One to the mainland."

He'd already started toward the stairs to the jumper bay once more when Rodney reminded him, "You're in charge here while Elizabeth's off-world."

"Then I guess that means you're in charge for a while. I have to break the news to the Athosians that Teyla's not coming back."

"Someone has to," said Carson. "It doesn't have to be you, not right this moment."

John didn't stop. If he stopped moving, he'd start feeling, and that would be the ballgame. "Yes, it does." It was the last thing he would be able to do for her. He was determined to do it right.