Casualties of war

Chapter fourteen

Radek's first view of P7L-418 came at twilight, as Jumper One emerged from the Nistra gate. Had the landscape not been marred by the wreckage of the station segment, he might have thought it pretty, in an austere sort of way. Of course, amid those picturesque mountains lay enough adarite to make him forget his own name, so he wasn't disappointed to watch them grow smaller outside the jumper's windscreen.

Their ascent into planetary orbit took them over both Nistra and Falnori territory, giving them an overhead view of the continent for the first time. A scattering of small lakes demonstrated where the Falnori got the water to irrigate their crops; clusters of rugged stone dwellings set snugly into the foothills must have been the Nistra villages. In between lay a sort of no-man's land of rolling plains and woods. Radek spotted the planet's main gate amid that patchwork and squinted, trying vainly to identify the small figures standing nearby.

"Check that out." Colonel Sheppard put the jumper into a shallow bank, allowing them a better look at the area. Tiny pinpricks of light, dozens of them, were gathered together under the encroaching darkness.

"They're closer to Nistra territory, though not by much." Rodney frowned, not comprehending. "Another settlement?"

"Don't think so." Sheppard called up the HUD. Apparently they'd now gained enough distance from the adarite deposits in the mountains for the sensors to work properly. "Lots of life signs, but no structures. It's a troop encampment. They're stopping for the night."

"From there they'll be able to march to the gate hill by mid-morning." Rodney sat hunched over in the right seat, his elbows resting on the console. "Is there another group out there on the Falnori side?"

In answer, Sheppard ran a sensor sweep to the south. "Sure enough," he confirmed. "Their group's smaller. They'll probably be better fighters, though, since their brains aren't scrambled."

Rodney sighed. "Well, that's a warm, fuzzy feeling. These people are determined to fight no matter what."

Radek spoke up from his seat behind them. "Then we should work quickly, I believe."

As Jumper One continued to climb, the lanterns and campfires that dotted the ground shrank into nothingness, soon replaced by starlight from above. Before long, the proximity alarm flashed, surprising no one. "That would be the space junk we've heard so much about." The Colonel shut off the alarm and engaged the jumper's shield. "Hold onto something, all right? If I have to make some sudden moves and the inertial dampeners can't quite keep up, I'd rather not have to peel anybody off the bulkheads."

"Another wonderful thought." Rodney watched with an expression of obvious trepidation at what lay ahead of them.

The jumper approached the labyrinth of wreckage. Radek found the view bizarrely fascinating. A derelict fighter was suspended in a bizarre pas de deux with a Wraith Dart, the two craft passing each other so slowly that the motion was almost imperceptible. Farther away, a larger ship floated in an orbit that would have looked perfectly normal if not for the great gash that had torn the ship open from bow to stern.

"Heads up," called Sheppard, abruptly dropping the jumper's nose as a piece of unidentifiable metal sailed past. It continued on its path until impacting another Dart, altering the course of both objects.

Radek shook his head, amazed. In a way, it looked almost as if the battle of so many centuries ago had never ended.

"So the black box specified an orbit for the station, right?" Sheppard verified. "You're not just guessing at a distance above the planet?"

"We recovered a specific orbital height from the emergency procedures, yes." Although Rodney's reply sounded calm and characteristically pedantic, his fingers were wrapped tightly around the armrests. "Unfortunately, as you may have noticed, everything up here is quite effectively demonstrating Newton's laws of motion. Any of this junk could have gotten knocked into the station segment and affected its position sometime in the last ten thousand years. Just get us into orbit and I'll find it on the sensors."

More than once Radek had had cause to appreciate the Ancients' style of computer design. Their technology was highly compatible; it nearly always recognized its own. As long as there was at least a minimal level of power left in the station, it would emit a signal that would light up on the jumper's sensors.

The Colonel navigated smoothly through an array of Darts. Radek had never quite gotten used to seeing things tilt outside the jumper without feeling an associated physiological shift.

"This is a damned minefield," Rodney muttered, ducking his head to study the sensor screen.

"Relax, Rodney," Sheppard advised. "I'd rather fly through this than dodge rocket-propelled grenades. And, unlike any of my rides on Earth, the jumper has a shield."

"Up until we have to dock with the station, sure. At that point, we'll have to shut the shield down, and the whole contraption will be little more than a glorified tin can."

"Let's wait and worry about that if and when we have to, all right?"

As it happened, they didn't have to wait long before Rodney's concern moved from the theoretical to the practical. "Got something," he reported. "Turn right thirty degrees."

Sheppard complied, bringing into view an industriallooking construct in an orbit slightly higher than the jumper's. "I take it that's what we're looking for?"

"That's it."

The station, thankfully, appeared to have sustained little damage in the millennia following the battle. There were some dents, and one side bore the telltale scorch marks left by a laser cannon, but the jumper dock was unharmed. God only knew how, since there were plenty of stray engine pods and bits of Dart nacelles drifting nearby.

Radek pretended not to notice the Wraith cruiser looming behind the station. Lifeless or not, it was an unsettling sight.

"May I suggest leaving the shield in place until the last possible moment?" asked Rodney, eying the debris surrounding them.

"Can do." Sheppard turned the jumper cleanly and used the HUD to keep track of their alignment. When only inches separated the back hatch from the dock, he slid his hand across the control panel, and the shield blinked out of existence. A not-quite-gentle thud reverberated through the craft, followed by the whisper of an airlock sealing shut. The Colonel twisted in his seat to face his passengers. "Over to you, guys."

Radek leaned over to examine the screen that reported outside conditions. "The interior of the station is not pressurized," he read. "We will have to wear the suits."

One corner of Sheppard's mouth quirked upward. "Stylin'."

Half an hour, four bruised shins, and two dozen multilingual curses later, the trio was sufficiently outfitted. Spacious though the jumper's interior was, it had not been designed to accommodate the expedition's bulky spacesuits-or the clumsy flailing of three people attempting to climb into said suits.

"Maybe the Ancients had a more compact version," theorized Rodney, huffing a little as he tightened the seal around his boot.

Sheppard reached toward his earpiece and made an irritated noise when he inadvertently smacked his glove against his helmet. "The less time we have to spend in these, the better. Let's move out."

Upon lowering the hatch, Radek found himself buoyed, and he couldn't repress a small yelp of surprise. Zero gravity was certainly a new experience. Almost immediately, however, a panel on the wall of the dock flashed, and a hiss could be heard even through their helmets. His boots sank back toward the deck, and he bounced lightly.

Reacting quickly, Rodney used the wall of the jumper to push off, propelling himself toward the panel. "The station must have sensed our arrival. It's trying to restore pressure and oxygen for us."

"Hospitable," remarked the Colonel, keeping one hand on each of the tool cases they'd brought along as they settled back to the floor. "Why do I get the feeling it's not exactly working?"

Radek swallowed hard. The rapid sensations of rising and falling hadn't done much for his equilibrium. A shudder ran through the station, muted because of the lack of gravity. He grabbed onto the edge of the jumper nonetheless.

"Because there isn't enough power," Rodney replied, still studying the panel. The combination of the radio and helmet gave his voice a nasal overtone. "If I'm reading this correctly, the station's got about two percent of its reserve left, and apparently it just tried to draw more than that for the environmental system. That little jolt may have been a bit like our attempt at operating the transporter in the Hall-the equivalent of blowing a fuse."

"Now you're okay with simplified explanations. So we're going to be bouncing around in half a G the whole time we're here?" Sheppard asked.

"It's all we've got, Colonel. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it. As you're always reminding me, your equipment's heavy."

The cases were indeed pleasantly easy to move in the semi-gravity environment. Radek carried one down the sterile gray corridor, acclimatizing himself to the added spring in his step. The repeating geometric pattern on the walls looked to be more decorative than descriptive, so they relied on the map they had recovered from the black box. Rodney called it up on his datapad and held it out in front of him while he led them through the winding corridors. A left, another left, then a right. Through it all their surroundings never seemed to change.

"Sometimes," Sheppard commented as they walked, "I wonder if the Ancients are playing a practical joke on us, what with all the weird crap we get into. Then we end up in a rat maze like this, and I know they're screwing with us."

Radek found that viewpoint difficult to dispute.

"The control room for this segment is just up here," Rodney said brusquely, lengthening his already bounding stride to reach an access ladder. Rather than beginning to climb, he stood at the foot of the ladder and waited for Sheppard to bring up the rear. "Why don't you go up first, and we'll hand the tool cases up to you?"

It was hard to tell through the helmets, but Radek suspected the Colonel was watching his teammate with mock surprise. "Don't tell me you're creeped out by the ghost station, Rodney."

"Nice work, Colonel Horror-Movie Cliche. You're just asking for a mummified Ancient to fall out of a broom closet on you. Climb, will you?"

Dutifully, Sheppard climbed, his oversized boots fumbling slightly on the rungs, and opened the hatch above him. Radek held both tool cases and handed one at a time up through the gap. His own climb was even less graceful. At last Sheppard reached down and hauled him up by his arms, resulting in a slow-motion tumble to the deck on the higher level.

Radek's head banged against the inside of his helmet. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself upright. The control room resembled a ship's bridge, with a long window dominating one side. The adjoining wall consisted of a huge docking port: an oversized, sealed-off version of the one they'd used for the jumper. This had to be the junction point for the missing gate segment of the station. Had he been present ten thousand years ago, he would have seen a Stargate standing here instead of a bulkhead.

"Aha." Sheppard approached a familiar-looking console in the center of the room. "Come on, Rodney, shake a leg," he urged. "Looks like the dialing computer's going to have to come out of here in pieces."

Another console had caught Radek's attention, glowing with a single line of text in red. He had yet to encounter a form of technology where red did not mean something undesirable. "Rodney!"

"Keep your pressurized pants on," Rodney grumbled, hoisting himself up onto the deck.

"You must translate this." Radek tugged him over to the console almost before he'd gained his footing.

After only a moment, Rodney paled behind his transparent visor. "It's a proximity alarm. We must be close to some of the wreckage."

"No kidding."

That statement of dismayed awe came from Sheppard, who stood stock-still at the window. Both Radek and Rodney crossed the room to join him-and Radek felt his stomach lurch in a manner that had nothing to do with the reduced gravity.

The Wraith cruiser he had seen earlier from a distance was no longer quite so distant. Situated below them from this angle, it grew slowly but steadily in the window.

"Are we that unlucky?" the Colonel asked bleakly. "These things have been up here for ten thousand years, and they choose today to collide?"

"We must have exerted enough force when we docked to alter the orbit," Rodney breathed, hurrying back over to the console with a demented pseudo-skipping gait. "Even if the station has some kind of a stabilizing system, there can't be enough power left to run it. Objects in motion will continue that motion until acted upon by an outside force, remember?"

Sheppard's expression turned dark. "That Newton was a real son of a bitch."

"How long until impact?" Radek asked.

Rodney checked the readout. "Assuming we don't cause any further alterations to the orbit-eighty-one minutes."

"Okay, it took us about fifteen to get here from the jumper. Give it a little cushion because we'll be carrying a whole bunch of parts…" Chewing on his lower lip, Sheppard looked at the scientists. "Let's see how much of the dialer we can disassemble in fifty minutes."

Radek closed his eyes. It was confirmed: he worked with madmen. Murmuring a short prayer, he opened one of the tool cases and slapped a screwdriver into the Colonel's glove. "Three will accomplish more than two. Just do not touch anything unless or until you are told."

Teyla went quickly to the gate-room as soon as she heard the activation announcement. When she arrived, Ronon was already there, watching the Marines file out of the event horizon. To her surprise, Carson was the last to emerge before the gate shut down.

Ronon's gaze sharpened. "Where's Dr. Weir?"

"She and Major Lorne stayed behind. I'm meant to send Sekal back with the Marines to aid in proving the Cadre's existence to the Falnori and Nistra leaders." The doctor spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "I can't imagine how Dr. Weir thinks she can avoid a war at this point. ANistra group came in and took control of the gate not long ago."

"ANistra group?"

"Aye, working for Minister Galven. He called them hunters-said they'd allow him to negotiate from a position of strength." Carson sighed. "If you call that negotiation."

Exchanging a look with Ronon, Teyla saw her concern reflected in his eyes. Since the miners' greater exposure to adarite weakened them, it made sense that hunters would compose the majority of the Nistra force. And that meant… "Ilar," she said quietly.

Ronon's response was grim. "And Dantir."

A silent understanding reached, they moved as one toward the main-level doors and the weapons lockers just beyond. "Wait a minute," protested Carson, trailing behind them. "What do you two think you're doing? Where's Colonel Sheppard?"

"He took McKay and Zelenka to the station orbiting 418 to get a dialer and shield for the Nistra gate." Ronon strapped his sword to his back.

"So the Colonel just had to go along, did he?"

"He is the most skilled pilot, and they have a time con straint. We believe shielding the Nistra gate from raids may help to head off the conflict." Teyla tucked a stun pistol into her belt along with her staffs.

"Then they'd bloody well hurry up." Carson stared at them both with bewildered eyes. "And that didn't answer my first question."

"Elizabeth has been appealing to the leaders," explained Teyla. 'No one has tried to tell the people themselves about the raiders' off-world origins. They are marching off to battle under the belief that they'll be defending their homes."

"We got to know one of the hunting parties." Ronon did a cursory knife check. Teyla had seen him make the motions a hundred times and still was not certain where he kept them all. "They're pretty open-minded. Maybe we can convince them of the truth, and they can convince others before the fighting begins."

Carson grabbed his arm. "Lad, I don't mean to be a spoilsport, but did you not hear me say that the gate is no longer under our control? Noble as your intentions are, is this really worth the risk of getting shot on sight?"

It was a fair question. Teyla glanced at Ronon. The choice was clear in her mind, but she would not decide for him.

"We owe them," Ronon said simply. With that, he turned to go back into the gate-room.

Teyla followed, tapping her radio to alert the control room. "Please dial the main gate on P7L-418."

"Everyone's gone batty around here," the doctor sputtered as the lights began to chase each other around the gate. "Hold on! Does this mean I'm meant to be supervising the city?"

"Have fun," Ronon called over his shoulder.

When they stepped out of the gate on 418, all that was visible through the wavering torchlight was the expected swarm of bows and spears. "We come as friends," Teyla said, extending her right arm and then touching her forehead. Catching on, Ronon quickly did the same.

The demonstration of their hunting signal gave the Nistra soldiers pause. "Where did you learn this?" one demanded.

"From the hunting party of Ilar," Ronon answered. "They gave us aid when we were in need. We'd like to return their kindness."

One of the hunters stepped forward. Teyla recognized him as a member of Ilar's group-Temal. "Teyla, Ronon," he greeted them with surprise and relief. "We feared you had been killed by the marauders."

"They tried. We outwitted them." Ronon gave a smirk.

"We have information about your adversary," continued Teyla. Not a lie, but perhaps not the complete truth, either. "Can you tell us where your forces are assembling so that we may deliver it?"

"They make camp for the night in the Bella Plains." Temal pointed toward the northeast. "I will take you there. You will need a mount to reach them before dawn. We can spare one for you, can we not?" He looked to the apparent leader of the guard detail, who nodded, seemingly won over by the promise of enemy secrets.

Partway down the hill grazed a small herd of creatures like the one that had pulled their cart to the Falnori capital. Had that first visit only been a few days ago? Teyla felt unaccountably aged. "Thank you," she told the leader. "We will make sure it is returned to your people."

Neither she nor Ronon was an experienced rider, certainly not on this type of animal. Ronon took the reins, and they both kept a tight grip on the saddle. Temal climbed onto another mount and led them off toward the plains. It was a bumpy, if not wholly unpleasant, journey, complicated somewhat by the darkness.

At last they came upon a field speckled with peladon- hide tents and campfires. So many people, all preparing to fight and die for little more than a mistake.

"I say we avoid the headquarters." Ronon dismounted the animal and nodded toward the larger, sturdier tent visible above the others. "We know Galven's already made up his mind."

At that, Temal looked at them curiously but said nothing.

"I agree." Teyla placed a hand on Ronon's shoulder in order to climb down as well. "Beyond that, I am not sure where to start."

A group of hunters solved the dilemma for them, walking up to them with frank curiosity. Teyla repeated the hand signal and the explanation she'd given at the gate. When Temal questioned them about a group leader named Ear, the hunters shook their heads but suggested a group five tents away who `knows everyone.' The process repeated three more times before a young voice from behind shouted, "Ronon! Teyla!"

As they turned, Dantir ran toward them, a wide grin causing his face to glow. "You're alive! We thought-"

"We're not so easily beaten." Ronon caught the boy's shoulders before a collision could occur. "How did you know we were here?"

"Word spread quickly. You don't really blend in."

Looking around at some of the hunters and other soldiers who had gathered, Teyla noted that most of them were closer to her height than to Ronon's. "Where is your hunting party? We must speak to your mother."

"Come." Dantir led them down a row of tents.

At their approach, Ilar rose quickly from the fire she tended. "The Ancestors smile on you," she exclaimed. "We believed you dead by the hand of the Falnori."

The rest of the party swarmed around them, offering sincere greetings. "That is why we have come." Teyla settled beside the fire and motioned for the others to return as well. "We have learned the identity of the marauders who plague your people. They are not Falnori."

Ilar's expression blanked, as if uncertain of what she'd heard. `But they are. They have stolen from us for many seasons-

"Someone has been stealing from you," Ronon interrupted. "After they took us, we managed to trap some of them on our world. They're called the Cadre, and they steal from societies on lots of planets. They use the ring, the same one we came through, to sneak into your territory. They've been doing it to the Falnori, too."

Surprise and confusion were displayed openly on Dantir's face. Hesitant, he asked, "Can that be true?"

"No, it cannot." One of the older men of the party spoke, his voice more resigned than angry. "Our histories may not be well-preserved, but all who have encountered the Falnori know how they view us-as an inferior race, unworthy of being treated as equals."

"No. They merely believe that you have been raiding them." Teyla leaned forward. "It has been so long since you've interacted with them in any meaningful way that you do not recognize them, or they you. The Cadre has set you against each other."

"And has this Cadre refused us food, weakened us?" Temal demanded.

How could they explain this? "The weakness many of your people suffer is due to the ore you mine. Think about the most afflicted among you. They are miners, are they not?"

No one responded. Teyla began to hope that she had reached them. "This whole war is based on one misconception after another," she persisted. "Our people are bringing a shield for the ring on your lands, and it will stop the marauders from coming. There is no need to fight."

liar laid a gentle hand on her arm, looking both wistful and sympathetic. "I wish I could believe as you do. You are young and have not lived among us. Sadly, there are some aspects of our existence that we cannot change. The hostility of the Falnori is one such constant. We have been called to defend our people, and we shall."

Though disappointed, Teyla could not blame these people for their views. What proof could she offer that might outweigh the beliefs of so many years? Had she really expected to convince an entire society to lay down their arms based solely on her word?

"Then we'll stay with you," Ronon said suddenly, catching her unawares.

Ear's expression suggested that she had not expected that, either. "You are welcome, of course. But this is not your cause.

"We have to get back to the ring by the Hall, anyway." Ronon's gaze betrayed his true thoughts, however. Teyla followed it to where Dantir sat and felt the weight of hopelessness settle in her chest. The weapon at the boy's belt was crudely made. Still, she had seen and used the Falnori version enough to recognize it as an adarite whip.

Rodney desperately wanted to be able to wipe the sweat off his forehead. The clear plastic faceshield that prevented him from doing so seemed like a unique form of torture. On the plus side, they'd confirmed that the station gate did indeed have a shield and that its control mechanisms were contained in the dialing console. If he could get the dialer down to the planet and get it functioning, the crashed gate would be protected from the Cadre. However…

He glanced up from his work and immediately regretted the action. "I realize we're not quite where we want to be in terms of progress, but that Wraith cruiser is getting awfully big in the window."

"Think positive, Rodney." Sheppard supported the keyboard section of the console while Radek loosened the brackets holding it to the base. "How much time do we have left?"

"Of the fifty-minute estimate? Fourteen minutes."

The keyboard came free, and the Colonel staggered backward to prevent it and him from hitting the deck. "The base is attached quite solidly to the floor," Radek observed. "I believe we will need to take only the components from inside and construct an alternate casing for them later."

"All right. We can empty one of the tool kits and transport the parts in that container."

"I'm way ahead of you on the emptying part." Sheppard surveyed the hand tools strewn across the floor.

If removing each crystal and translucent circuit board was a painfully slow process, arranging them all in the tool kit so that they would be protected in transit was excruciating. In the background, Rodney's traitorous brain kept up a veritable feedback loop of anxiety. With what force would the station strike the cruiser? Would the structure crumple on impact, or would it hold its shape long enough for the venting of the remaining oxygen to knock them into some other piece of junk? Maybe out of orbit entirely? Into the planet's atmosphere?

At long last he set the final piece in place and closed the case. "Okay, time to move, and I do mean now. That keyboard section will fit through the hatch, won't it?"

"Guess we'll find out." Sheppard handed the light yet ungainly keyboard to Radek and shimmied down the ladder. The Czech tipped the piece up on its end and cautiously maneuvered it through the hatch into Sheppard's arms. "See? Nothing to it. Somebody get down here to catch the tool case."

Radek jerked his head backwards. Startled, Rodney jumped away. "What the hell was that?"

"My hair is falling in my face," Radek replied, miserably tapping his helmet. "It itches. I thought I could shake it back."

"Guys, time limit?" Sheppard reminded them, as if Rodney could have forgotten. Radek trudged down the ladder, and Rodney handed him one case and then the other before climbing down himself.

Sheppard was already halfway down the corridor by the time Rodney's boots hit the deck and he reached out to take one of the tool cases from Radek. The transition was made awkward when Rodney tried to grip the handle too close to where Radek held it, and their unwieldy gloves collided. The case slipped; Rodney juggled it, stumbling back against the ladder, where he felt the fabric of his suit catch on an edge. He waited a beat, breath frozen in his throat, and soon heard a terrifying hiss.

"My suit!" he yelled, scrabbling to find the leak. His sleeve-somewhere on the left sleeve… Both cases fell to the deck as Radek seized Rodney's arm and bunched the torn fabric tightly in his glove. "That won't be airtight," said Rodney, even as the hissing sound grew softer. "We need to seal it."

Having jogged back to them, Sheppard set the dialing keyboard carefully on the deck and crouched by the tool cases. "Tell me what to do, Radek."

"Second drawer," Radek replied. "Duct tape."

"Duct tape?" The higher pitch of Rodney's voice must have been due to the onset of hypoxia. "Are you serious? The pressure difference would overcome the adhesive, unless you were planning on essentially mummifying me in duct tape, in which case we'll run out of time before-"

"Time is the issue, Rodney." Radek's grip on his sleeve tightened as the Colonel unwound a length of tape and cut it with a blade from the case. "It only needs to hold for a few minutes. We will move quickly."

"You can say that again!" Rodney concentrated on slowing his respiration down to a manageable rate. His suit was losing oxygen through that tear, and asphyxiation was high on his list of worst ways to die.

Radek took the tape from Sheppard, careful not to tangle it between their gloved fingers. He released his hold on Rodney's suit and slapped the makeshift patch into place in one fluid motion. Feeling perspiration gather along his hairline, Rodney pressed his right hand down over the tape. The telltale sound of escaping air seemed to have stopped-or had it merely exceeded his hearing range?

Either way, he wasn't interested in waiting around to find out. As Radek retrieved one tool case, abandoning the other, and Sheppard once again picked up the dialer components that were the goal of this lamentable mission, Rodney bolted down the hallway.

While the infuriatingly similar corridors didn't make the route any more familiar, determination and a healthy sense of self-preservation worked wonders. Each inhalation seemed to require more effort than the last; Rodney couldn't tell whether that was a function of decreased oxygen availability or his lack of running proficiency. His vision began to tunnel-but at the end of that tunnel lay the welcoming hatch of Jumper One.

No sooner had they piled inside than Radek smacked his hand down on the hatch control. When the jumper had sealed and pressurized itself, all three men tore off their helmets.

Even Sheppard was breathing hard, which somehow made Rodney feel a bit better. "Rodney, you okay?"

"Ask again later," Rodney moaned, drinking in the cool, plentiful air. "Thank God."

"Yes, yes, now we can inhale each other's sweat rather than just our own," grumbled Radek. "Will you help stow the gear or will you stand there?"

The problem with Radek was that, on rare occasions, he had moments of seeming a little too much like Rodney. It was disconcerting.

While they secured their newly-acquired dialing computer, or at least the important parts of one, Sheppard headed for the cockpit, yanking off his gloves along the way, and wedged his spacesuited body into the pilot's seat to begin the startup sequence. Rodney followed when his task was complete and attempted to squeeze his own suit into the right seat. Nothing doing. He shot the Colonel a preemptive glare. "I don't want to hear a single joke about donuts."

"I can barely breathe, if that makes you feel any better," Sheppard replied tersely, fingers skipping over the controls. "I don't have time to take this stupid suit off. You do."

"Ah. Quite right." Rodney stepped back into the main compartment, and he and Radek reenacted the initial fumbling spacesuit debacle in reverse. When he was finally free of the wretched thing, he lurched back to his seat and cursed in sheer astonishment at the cruiser now dominating the windscreen.

"Yeah." Sheppard's voice sounded as casual as ever, even as his motions became increasingly harried. "Got a brainteaser for you guys."

"What is it?" Radek asked, settling into his seat behind them. Rodney said nothing, filled with a sudden and terrible sense that he already knew what was wrong.

Sheppard twisted as far around as the bulky suit would let him. "I can't disengage the jumper from the dock."