Casualties of war

Chapter eleven

Nothing ever failed quietly on Atlantis. Radek Zelenka had come to this conclusion quite early in the expedition. Inevitably, experiments went one of three ways: brilliant success, marginal success, or catastrophe.

Rodney's head poked out from behind the lab bench, and he peered with suspicion at the still-sparking components of what might have been a small-scale Ancient weapon utilizing extreme heat. Alternatively, it might have been a curling iron. For all they knew, it might have been a waffle iron. "Right," he said brusquely. "Anybody missing any limbs? No? Moving on, then, to a rapid explanation of what the hell just happened."

Radek fixed a murderous glare on Kendall. At almost the same moment, Miko murmured something behind her hand that sounded like `miscalculation.'

"Hold on!" Kendall protested. "You're already pinning this on me? What about-"

"Save it." Rodney cut him off with a dismissive wave. "Exactly how bad are we talking here?"

"Do you measure `bad' in wasted effort or broken equipment?" Radek grumbled.

"Never mind. As much as I appreciate being asked to witness this delightful fiasco, I'm going back to some productive research. Call me when you fix your theories and/or your test rig."

Atlantis's chief of science stalked out of the lab, leaving the others to survey the damage. Radek sighed and opened a tool drawer. The heat emanating from the unidentified gadget had warped the test stand's casing, and he'd need to clamp the entire apparatus in order to work it back into place.

The directed energy team had been eager to begin studies of the adarite sample, developing numerous potential experiments in the span of a single day. When adarite investigation as a whole had proved unwise, the scientists had quickly turned to other pursuits. Each of them had experienced research setbacks in the past. They were professionals, and they would not spend time licking their wounds.

Kendall had proposed a battery of tests on a cylindrical object they'd once located in one of the city's storage areas. Not understanding its purpose, they'd initially put it aside, but Kendall believed that it might operate on a similar principle to the adarite whips. It appeared that he'd been approximately half correct. Immense heat, yes; easily directed, no.

While the dejected engineer downloaded the data from the failed test, Miko drifted back to her own workstation. Her spare time had been devoted to scouring the Ancient database. There were extensive records on the battle for P7L-418, containing multiple subcategories beyond the main files that had previously been translated, and Miko had expressed to Radek a belief that some further information about the research conducted on that planet must be contained within.

No one seemed willing to believe that such an efficient power source could be completely unavailable to them. Too much was at stake. If not adarite specifically, then some aspect of the Ancients' weapons technology ought to provide them at least a head start.

"Message from Linguistics," Miko announced, raising her voice just enough to carry across the lab. It was entirely possible that the Japanese scientist did not in fact know how to shout. "Salazar made a refinement to the database translation program."

Radek kept his focus on the C-clamp he'd been cranking into position. Tweaks to their Ancient translation algorithm weren't uncommon. There were limits to what a computer program could do, and Ancient, like most languages, had numerous subtleties and logical exceptions. "Did he provide a software patch?"

"He did. I will apply it to the 418 records." She bent over her computer again.

For a few minutes, the only sounds in the lab were the metallic taps of Radek's hammer and the repetitive keystrokes of Kendall and Miko. Though the silence was not atypical, today it felt bleaker than usual. Expedition morale tended to ebb and flow with often-changing circumstances, and lately it had been slipping lower. Researchers were frustrated at making little progress, the Marines continued to lose comrades, and the constant low-level danger of a Wraith attack was now partnered with the equally-worrying threat of a replicator incursion.

"Wakarimasen," murmured Miko, causing Radek to glance up from his tools. "This does not make sense."

"What is it?"

"The reference to 418's orbital gate was affected by the translation patch."

Radek set aside his work and walked over to stand at her shoulder. "We read earlier that the gate was damaged in the battle. Is that incorrect?"

"No, it was indeed damaged. However, there are more supplemental records linked to this location than I realized. Also…" She pointed to a symbol on the screen. "I have not seen that before. Have you?"

He had, though it took him a few seconds to recall where. Just once, nearly two years ago. If it represented what he thought it did-

"Upload the amended file to the city network," he instructed her, already heading for the door. "Colonel Sheppard needs to know about this. Immediately."

Disorientation lingered long after Teyla regained consciousness. When she opened her eyes to find herself lying on unfamiliar ground, she could not identify her last memory. Firing on the raiders outside the Hall? No-there had been something after that. The hunting party. She felt blurry and vague as she struggled to sit up.

The skewed, half-hidden Stargate was once again within her view, perplexing her. Hadn't they traveled a great distance from the gate?

A few feet away, Ronon dragged himself to one knee. Swaying a bit, he glowered at something behind her. "You," he snarled.

"Don't take it personally. You were a surprise to us as well."

She had heard that voice before. Slowly, because her body seemed reluctant to obey her wishes, she shifted to look.

The lead raider stood over her, holding both his gun and Ronon's. Hers had been appropriated by one of the other raiders beside him. The ship that had provided their escape from P7L-418 sat a short distance away. Their tailored, eclectic clothing and impressive array of personal weapons, likely procured by preying on people like Ilar's, turned her stomach.

"The hunters," said Ronon. "What did you do to them?"

"Stunned them and left them be. There's no money to be made from peladon skins." The leader shrugged, displaying a toothy smile. "You're much more interesting."

Teyla climbed to her feet, unwilling to show weakness in front of these criminals. "We have nothing of value to you.

"Maybe, maybe not." His gaze swept over her, and she fought not to react. "You're not from this world."

Ronon snorted. "You should know. We were dumped here because of you."

The leader cocked his head, as if the remark was unexpected. After a moment, he lowered his weapon. His companions did not do the same. "I'm Sekal. My men and I are in the trading business."

"Stealing, you mean."

"The two are often related, I'll admit. Some prices are more reasonable than others." Sekal appeared unbothered, examining Ronon's gun with a critical eye. "Although we typically operate in this system and its neighbors, we're always looking for new planets to visit-new opportunities, if you will. You may have little of value now, but we saw the equipment your friends carried. I think an arrangement can be made."

Still trying to shake off the effects of the stun, Teyla attempted to grasp his meaning. What did he want from them? "How do you suggest we contact our friends?" she questioned, acid in her tone. "Even if we wanted to make an `arrangement' with you, we cannot dial the gate."

"Not a problem." Sekal used the gun to gesture at one of his men, who hefted an unwieldy pack on his shoulder. "We bring our own device for that purpose. Makes this gate rather convenient."

"And if we refuse?"

"We would be very… disappointed." There was no need for him to elaborate. His weapons performed the task for him.

Muddled though her thoughts were, she had no intention of allowing this gang any access to Atlantis. Before she could say so, Ronon spoke up.

"You'll get us off this planet if we show you the address of someplace worth going?"

Teyla whirled toward her teammate. Surely he wasn't suggesting-?

Sekal's smile became predatory. "Exactly the deal I had in mind."

"Wait. My friend and I need to confer." She went over to Ronon, ignoring the armed men who surrounded them. If they chose to shoot, they would lose their new `trading' opportunity.

When Ronon bent to place his head close to hers, she whispered urgently in his ear. "You intend to choose another address, I hope?"

"They've got numbers and weapons on us. If we gate to some unoccupied planet, they'll suspect a trick right away.

On that aspect, his reasoning was sound. It did nothing to soothe her unease. What would happen if they allowed Sekal's group into Atlantis? There were security procedures; she was certain of that, but she could not make herself recall them. Her head felt as though a band of steel had tightened around it.

"We can't," she pleaded, lacking any other argument.

"This is our only chance to get through the gate at all," Ronon countered.

"At the risk of endangering our home?"

His eyes slightly unfocused, he stepped back from her and raised his voice. "Fair trade. We get passage off this planet. You get a richer place to plunder."

"A place richer than this back-end planet would not be difficult to find." Sekal crossed his arms. "I expect you to do far better."

As Teyla submitted a silent prayer for forgiveness, Ronon smirked. "Wait until you see where we're going."

The scrambling of various personnel to get out of his path barely registered in Rodney's peripheral vision. He had one clear goal in mind as he strode down the corridor: the removal of a certain lieutenant colonel's head from his rear end.

He had a perfect argument mentally rehearsed, starting with an attention-grabbing entrance to the control room. Unfortunately, Sheppard derailed it by not in fact being in the control room. Swearing under his breath, Rodney caught sight of him sitting in one of the guest chairs in Elizabeth's office, a laptop computer balanced on his knees.

The things I do for the good of this expedition. Barging into the office, Rodney declared, "I can't believe you."

Sheppard paused but didn't look up. "Funny. Usually it's a woman saying that to me."

For a moment, Rodney's indignation was sidetracked by the ergonomic inadequacy of the other man's working conditions. "Why aren't you using the desk?"

"It's not my desk."

"I hardly think you'd be disciplined for usurping the power of a desk, Colonel. Is it still Colonel, or did that end with the oh-so-dramatic surrender of your wings? And who seriously does that?"

The laptop was set aside, and Sheppard rose from his chair with a carefully enforced calm. "Good news travels fast," he observed dryly.

"Apparently not fast enough. I had to hear through the geology department grapevine, of all things, that you're resigning." Rodney crossed his arms. "Just like that, huh? For some reason, I thought that irritating fall-onyour-sword predilection of yours might be reserved for instances of saving the city. What a disappointment to be proved wrong."

"This is about the city," Sheppard replied, sounding entirely too composed for a man tossing his life out the window. Almost as if he'd rehearsed his argument, too. "If I can't do the job-"

"Of course you can do the job. The job, to be militarily coarse, quite often sucks. That is by no measure your fault." It was inconceivable to Rodney that he actually had to explain this. "Do you honestly believe that Caldwell or anyone else could do what you do here? No one could have kept every single member of the expedition alive over the past two-plus years. The fact that you think you somehow should have been able to pull it off surpasses even my level of arrogance."

"Rodney-"

But he was hitting his stride and unwilling to let up. "Yes, I got mad about the adarite and about what happened on 418. I get mad when friends die. Would you like a hug?"

Sheppard's eyes narrowed. Finally, a reaction. "Don't flatter yourself. You didn't push me into anything. All you did was identify the reality of the situation. I'm making this call because I think it's the best move for everyone."

"Then you're being a coward, and that's uncharacteristic for you. I've never seen you run from anything real. Don't run from this."

Subtlety had never been listed among Rodney's numerous attributes. He'd gone on the offensive because it seemed like the best available tactic, and now he waited to see if the Colonel would acknowledge his superior judgment or deck him.

Bafflingly, Sheppard did neither. He stood in front of Rodney and met his friend's challenging stare without so much as a blink. "You done, Sigmund?" he asked coolly.

Since Rodney had fully expected that strategy to work, he didn't have a lot of ammunition in reserve. "Hardly."

He got a reprieve when their coms signaled. "Colonel, Rodney," Radek's voice hailed them. "Are either of you on the command level?"

The city's military advisor-until further notice-tapped his earpiece. "Yeah, Rodney and I are having a fun little chat up here. You need something, Radek?"

"New information. Possibly very important." Radek sounded out of breath. "Please stay where you are. I will be there shortly."

"Will do."

Fortunately, Rodney rarely needed much in the way of time to regroup. "Tell me something," he demanded once Sheppard had cut the radio connection. "What will you do? When you get back to Earth and you don't have any of this"-he waved haphazardly at the gate-room beyond the office's glass walls — "to get up for?"

That simple question accomplished more than all his earlier attacks. Sheppard's eyes flicked away, though not before a flash of warring emotions could be seen. He turned to retrieve his computer and answered in a low, weary voice. "I don't know."

As unlikely as it seemed, the idea of no longer being able to trade insults or debate inane movies with Sheppard was distressing. The concept of going on missions without him was alarming. And the very thought of being the last remaining member of the prime off-world team wrenched Rodney's insides.

He couldn't say any of that. Instead, he lifted his chin and spoke in a clipped tone. "Well, we'll all be up the same creek, then, won't we?"

The ensuing silence stretched for a few seconds, finally broken by the activation of the gate. As wavering blue light played over them, Rodney followed Sheppard across the walkway to the control room, where the technician quietly affirmed that the radio was active.

Sheppard leaned forward, bracing his hands on a console. "What have you got for us, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, we've completed orbits along eight different longitudinal lines," reported the pilot of Jumper Three. Rodney couldn't put a name or a face to the solemn voice. "The computer says the sensors have mapped the entire planet, from minimum to maximum altitude at which a gate-sized object could remain in orbit, but we've got nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?" Rodney demanded. "You can't find the gate?"

"Scans show no sign of either a Stargate or any subcutaneous transmitters," the lieutenant replied. "We already ran the jumper diagnostics. Everything's working."

"If everything was working, we'd know where to find Ronon and Teyla." Sheppard pushed off the console and restlessly circled the room. "Are you sure you swept the whole search area? You must have had to divert around wreckage a few times."

"Yes, sir, but the sensor range is large enough to cover the main debris fields from a safe distance." Though the young officer's voice was composed, it was obvious he didn't like giving his boss bad news. "We've done everything we can, sir. I don't think there's anything out here to find."

That was patently absurd. According to the database records, 418's space gate had been damaged in the battle, not obliterated. Complete destruction of a massive naquadah ring would be no mean feat.

Aware that Sheppard had turned an expectant gaze on him, Rodney offered the only theory he could come up with on short notice. "It's possible the gate is surrounded by a high concentration of wreckage containing some component material that masks the naquadah from the sensors view.

The Colonel's brow furrowed. "What, like there's a bunch of adarite up in orbit, messing with the sensors?"

Rodney spread his hands wide. "I don't see any reason why that would be the case. I just don't have any better explanation at this point. Give me a half-second to think, would you?"

Sheppard glanced down at the gate; a common habit for those speaking to someone on the other end of the wormhole. "Lieutenant, we're going to work on a sensor modification for you. In the meantime, do one more orbit."

"Which orbit do you want repeated, sir?"

"Surprise me. Standby."

"Aye, sir. Jumper Three out."

As the event horizon snapped shut, Rodney rounded on Sheppard. "A sensor modification? For an unknown material identification issue that may or may not exist?"

"You just said-"

"I didn't say it was probable," Rodney maintained, "only that it was possible. It can't be adarite up there, or the sensor diagnostic wouldn't have reported everything as functional. I honestly have no idea why they can't find the gate."

Sheppard raked a frustrated hand through his hair. "All right, plan B. Have you been able to convince the dialing computer to open a wormhole to that gate instead of the ground gate when we dial 418's address?"

"I've isolated the necessary procedure. I haven't had any reason to enact it yet, since we're still using the ground gate at the moment." Rodney might have elaborated further had he not heard rapid footsteps approaching behind him.

"Excuse the interruption." Radek appeared in the control room doorway, looking slightly winded. "I think you will want to see this."

Rodney was starting to wonder if whiplash was in his future. "Now what?"

"Refinements to the database translation algorithm." Radek commandeered a computer terminal and called up a file, fingers moving swiftly over the keys. "Miko applied the new software patch from the linguistics team to the record of the battle for P7L-418. The original program ignored a symbol in the description of the planet's space gate. Here."

Finally, a chance for some answers. Rodney leaned in to study the screen. "That symbol shows up in reference to the orbital defense platform we found two years ago at the edge of this star system. What does it mean in the context of a Stargate?"

"Miko is running the algorithm on the rest of the related records now. It will take time, but…" Radek's hesitation stood out in sharp contrast to his earlier haste.

"What?" Rodney's patience was a rather limited resource. "If you're about to say that there isn't a gate in orbit after all, Jumper Three's already a step ahead of you.

"I am saying," Radek answered soberly, "that the second gate is indeed in orbit-housed within a defense platform."

Sheppard frowned. "A gate on a space station?"

They'd never come across such a thing before, but why not? It was a reasonable explanation for why the recovery team had been unable to detect the gate's presence. A surrounding structure would hide the gate from unwanted visitors, and-

When the implications of this new knowledge worked their way into Rodney's mind, the resulting influx of hope and dread nearly took his legs out from under him. "What if the station is still intact?" he forced himself to ask.

The color fled from Sheppard's features. Clearly he was coming to the same conclusion Rodney had already formed: if the station still existed amid the debris orbiting P7L-418, and if by some fluke of fortune it was still sealed with a breathable atmosphere… "Teyla and Ronon," he breathed. "God."

He spun toward the nearest tech. "Get a MALP ready now. Rodney, work your magic with the dialing computer. We need that space gate." Slapping at his com, he continued, "Contingency team with medical escort to the gate-room ASAP. We've got a potential rescue situation."

The tech scurried off to comply with her orders. Sliding into her chair at the dialing console, Rodney fought back a crushing sense of remorse. If he hadn't stopped Sheppard from charging off on an immediate rescue mission, they might have saved hours, even days their stranded teammates couldn't afford to lose.

Braced for a condemnation, Rodney was surprised when no criticism was forthcoming. Risking a sideways glance, he found Sheppard's gaze burning into the dormant gate. The Colonel was still insistent on shouldering most of the blame himself, no doubt. His decision, his responsibility-all that nonsense. Damn it.

"You know what?" Sheppard said suddenly, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice. "Screw the MALP. Dial the gate. Let's see if we can get `em on the radio while we're assembling our response team."

"A few more seconds, please. This isn't quite like reprogramming your speed-dial back home." As Rodney worked through the override procedure, he tried not to see the grisly possibilities in his mind's eye. They might find Ronon and Teyla, but the odds of finding them alive and well, cooling their heels in a damaged yet perfectly airtight space station, were almost as slim now as they had ever been.

Before he could begin to input the address for 418, the gate lit up of its own accord. He sat back, caught offguard. "Unscheduled off-world activation."

"Shield up," Sheppard ordered. The shimmer of the force field snapped into place at almost the same moment as the event horizon. "It's too early to be Elizabeth checking in, isn't it?"

"Yes." Rodney watched the screen that would show him any transmitted access codes. "No IDC yet. If it was Jumper Three, we'd know it by now."

Seconds passed. The rippling pool remained stubbornly silent.

"This is wasting time." Sheppard clenched a fist at his side. "We need to be dialing 418's space gate-a matter of minutes may make the difference for Ronon and Teyla."

"There's nothing we can do to close the connection from this end." Rodney studied the computer for any sign of a transmission. "If there aren't enough particles of sufficient mass coming through, the gate will shut down on its own before long. If there is something coming through, our old acquaintance, the thirty-eight-minute clause, comes into effect."

Seemingly grasping at straws, Sheppard activated his com. "Hey, if anyone can hear me out there, this is not freaking funny. State your business or let us have our damned gate back!"

Nothing.

Rodney watched the undulating blue surface and did his best to resist the urge to yell at someone.

The leader of the raiders-Ronon hadn't caught his name-jerked his head toward the guy with the pack. Odd that the scrawniest one among them carried the load. Maybe he was their version of McKay, brought along for his brains.

Little Guy shuffled forward and lowered his pack to the ground. Carefully he lifted out an awkward tangle of metal, conduits, and crystals. The contraption had familiar symbol buttons, but it looked as though it had been cobbled together from spare parts.

"That's your dialer?" Ronon eyed it with distrust.

He'd heard the leader give a name, hadn't he? Something with an S. Maybe. S-Man bristled. "It functions. In your position, I'd be grateful for that."

"It functions only because you pay me to keep it that way," groused Little Guy. "In spite of your increasing demands on both it and me."

Definitely their version of McKay.

Sinking to one knee, Ronon studied the dialing device. Teyla crouched beside him, her displeasure evident. They didn't have any better options. The dialer obviously worked well enough, or these guys wouldn't be there.

Of course, there was another problem, one that had slipped his mind until now. "We can't take the ship," Ronon stated. "It'll attract too much attention in the city."

S-Man clearly wasn't happy with that idea. "What kind of defenses should we expect?"

"Nothing to speak of." Ronon mentally pushed off the ache forming behind his eyes. He had to make this sound good, and sounding good wasn't his strong suit even when he didn't feel like his head had been run through a grinder. "The people in the city are scientists, surrounded by more Ancestor technology than they can use — more than you could ever hope to sell. That ship isn't of the Ancestors, and they'll notice it a lot faster than they'll notice your guns."

"So you say." S-Man scrutinized Ronon for a few seconds, likely waiting to see if the other man would flinch. There was a reason, though, that the Marines had stopped inviting Ronon to their poker games. Staring was far easier than talking.

In the end, avarice probably influenced the decision more than anything he'd said. S-Man turned to two of his cronies. "Stay here with the dialer. Wait for us to go through, then take the ship back and wait for us."

Ronon wondered where `back' was.

He reached for the first symbol and paused. Little Guy remained uncomfortably close, watching his every move. "Back off," Ronon growled.

Startled, the man skittered sideways before recovering his self-control and placing both hands on his hips. "I'm supposed to trust you not to sabotage the dialer?"

"What purpose would that serve?" Teyla asked, her temper quicker than usual.

Ronon glanced up at S-Man. "Showing you the address wasn't part of the agreement," he maintained. "You only get one trip. One's all you'll need to make this worth your while. If you don't trust us, don't follow us through the gate."

"Sekal," complained Little Guy. Right. Sekal. That was it.

After a moment of consideration, Sekal told his underling, "You're paranoid. Let `em dial."

Satisfied that none of the raiders had a good line of sight to the symbols, Ronon entered the address for Atlantis. The pitiful dialer flickered and whirred, and the gate came to life. He watched the initial outburst of the wormhole vaporize the few stubborn blades of grass that had attempted to grow in the danger zone directly in front of the oddly-angled ring.

Two of the raiders immediately started toward the event horizon. "Wait," called Ronon. Maybe he'd forgotten to explain this part. "We have to send a code first. The gate's shielded on the other end."

Teyla's hand went to her GDO, or rather where her GDO should have been. Bastard raiders must have taken it after they'd stunned everyone. Fortunately, they must not have been quite as excited about searching Ronon. He reached into his coat and withdrew the small item.

"Get on with it," Little Guy said impatiently.

Be glad to. Ronon was exhausted and achy and wanted to be back on Atlantis more strongly than ever. He started to tap in the code, only to have his wrist grabbed by Teyla. Bewildered, he went to speak, but she leaned in and whispered urgently, "That is not correct."

"Sure it is," he muttered back. "It's the…the transponder code."

The word `transponder' meant nothing to either of them. It was, however, the term Sheppard had used to describe this particular set of ciphers-and the only term unlikely to arouse suspicion among the raiders.

"On Earth, aircraft use transponder codes to identify themselves to controllers on the ground or to other aircraft. There are certain numbers that are only used in emergency situations. If you squawk 7500 instead of your assigned code, it means your craft's been hacked; 7600 means you've lost communications; 7700 is a general mayday call. These IDCs will be our version of the seventhousand series. "

Most of the Marines called them dummy codes, because in essence they were false. The dummy codes were common to all off-world teams. As with the transponder numbers, there were three separate codes. The first was used only in connection with a radio call and told Atlantis that the conversation was being monitored by `unfriendlier.' The remaining two related to the gate shield and required no radio call: one signified a request to lower the shield, the other a request to keep it active.

Ronon had no wish to be pulverized, so he planned to tell Atlantis to drop the shield. But Teyla was shaking her head as she studied the set of numbers he'd begun to send.

"That is the wrong shield code." She took the GDO from his hand and changed the numbers.

"I know which one is which," he insisted. Tired though he might be, he'd committed the codes to memory long ago.

"Then it is your intent to leave the shield in place?"

"No! I'm getting it shut down." Ronon reached for the small transmitter. Once he'd seized it back, his certainty wavered. Could he have mistakenly swapped the codes? It was becoming harder and harder to think straight, and he just couldn't be sure.

Teyla captured his gaze. Her eyes looked clouded, almost fevered. "I am no less capable of error than you," she said. "Especially now. I am having difficulty… seeing the situation accurately."

"Me too," he admitted, scrubbing at his face in an attempt to restore some energy and clarity of thought.

"Even so, I believe this code is right. I ask for your trust."

"What's going on?" the lead raider demanded. "You send the code yet, or what?"

It felt like only a momentary hesitation. Apparently it was enough to raise an alarm with the raiders, because two of them moved toward Teyla and seized her arms. She struggled for a brief time before a third raider aimed a weapon at her head.

"Stop stalling," the leader warned. "I've got no reason other than a business deal to keep you alive."

Ronon's glance shifted between his teammate and the transmitter in his hand. He had no clues to go on, no way to assure himself that either code was correct. All he knew was that Teyla had asked for his trust, and that was the one thing for which she should never have to ask.

He pressed the button to submit her code. "It's done," he said matter-of-factly. "Let's go."

The men detaining Teyla released her arms and shoved her forward. "You two first," instructed the leader.

Ronon raised an eyebrow and put up a token protest. "You think we'd risk dialing empty space on the chance that we'd get a shot at pushing all of you through?"

The leader shrugged. "A pioneering spirit may be admirable, but it can also be quite the health risk. We're not going anywhere you're not willing to go first."

It was best that way, for a number of reasons. In any case, if Ronon had guessed wrong on the code, they wouldn't even have time to comprehend the mistake before their lives were snuffed out.

Together, Ronon and Teyla approached the gate, canted toward them as if daring them to enter. Exchanging a final, wordless glance, they climbed through the event horizon.