Casualties of war

Chapter eight

"Unconscionable," bellowed Cestan, his face reddened in fury. "This vile act shows the true colors of the Nistra. To not only dishonor the Hall, but murder our warriors and strike out at those who have come to help us work toward peace-"

"How unexpected for you to immediately accuse us." Galven's tone made it clear that sarcasm was in no way a foreign concept on this planet. "Do you forget that we suffered losses as well? What evidence have you to suggest that the raiders were Nistra?"

"This was merely the latest and most brazen in a long line of raids." The Falnori governor paced behind the table.

"I would agree," Galven responded coldly. "Dr. Weir, perhaps you will now concede that I speak the truth about the adarite being stolen from my people?"

Elizabeth held up both hands to quiet the room, feeling like a junior high school teacher. A substitute teacher, even, given how much heed the two men were paying her. "I am drawing no conclusions about the identities of the perpetrators at this time," she told them, her voice level. "For one thing, the raiders escaped in a ship. Do either of your peoples have access to that kind of technology?"

"With the meager amount of adarite we receive from the Nistra?" Cestan scoffed.

Galven's fists slammed down with a thunk as he leaned dangerously across the table. "We can hardly make whips from what remains after your gluttonous thefts."

Same song, different key. Elizabeth massaged her temples with her fingers. For a few minutes, she'd thought she had a chance of breaking through the leaders' intractable viewpoints. Then they'd heard the shots over the radio, and it had all come apart.

A subdued "Ma'am?" from the stairwell drew her attention to Sergeant Markovich, one of the security team leaders. John must have sent him from Atlantis to augment the Marines already in place. The sergeant hovered only two steps inside the room, his features carefully expressionless.

"Excuse me," she said, leaving the table and the battle behind. "Sergeant?"

"We've secured the area, ma'am. All of it this time. The second entrance was well-hidden-a hatch with the best camouflage surface I've ever seen, in terms of both color and texture. Whoever opened it must have previously found it from the inside. Otherwise no one would have known it was there."

"What's the status back home?"

The sergeant held her gaze through a brief pause, and Elizabeth felt some of the warmth leach from her skin.

"Ma'am, Dr. McKay confirmed that Teyla and Ronon accidentally traveled to the planet's space gate."

He didn't elaborate. She neither needed nor wanted him to. She closed her eyes, suddenly tired beyond measure.

"All right," she said softly. "Thank you." God, now what?

On numb legs, she walked back to the table. Cestan and Galven might have noticed her absence; it was impossible to tell.

"The Falnori lands lie closer to the Hall," Galven was saying. "It would not have been difficult for your kind to stage this `raid' to disrupt this accord and further your own cause.

Cestan laughed, a caustic sound without a trace of humor. "You clutch at smoke. It was I who first agreed to take part in these talks."

Steeling herself to head back into the fray, Elizabeth raised her voice. "Minister, Governor, I think you've lost sight of a critical point. The raiders had a ship. That fact suggests that they were not Falnori or Nistra, but uninvited guests from elsewhere."

Galven didn't miss a beat with his reply. "Possibly not uninvited. A convenient arrangement for someone who wishes to conceal his involvement."

"That claim could just as easily be applied to you!" Cestan fired back.

Elizabeth bit down on the inside of her lip to keep from screaming out her frustration. Were these men serious? Each blaming all the ills of the world on the other? "Gentlemen, please," she said wearily. "How much contact do either of you have with travelers through the Stargate? Do you have trading partners on other planets who could be responsible for something like this?"

"Not many, and none steady," answered Cestan.

A nod signaled Galven's agreement. "Of late there has been little to trade."

"So you say. Yet you have shown no evidence of these supposed raids into your territory." Cestan's demeanor grew thoughtful. "Just as Dr. Weir's people found mine, other off-worlders could have found you. Have the Nistra struck a new accord with someone else? Is that where your adarite goes?"

"You speak of evidence?" Suddenly Galven looked slightly paranoid and rather dangerous, his eyes darting back and forth between the governor and Elizabeth. "These off-worlders `found' you, and we have only their word as to what happened here today. How can I be sure of their honesty?"

That did it. Elizabeth faced the Nistra leader squarely, skewering him with her gaze. In the iciest tone she could summon, she said, "Minister, my people came here in good faith, and two of them are now dead. If you think this is an appropriate time to question our intent, let me state in the plainest possible terms that you are mistaken."

It was a minor victory of sorts. Both men briefly fell silent, taken aback. After a moment, a subdued Galven spoke up. "Please accept my apologies, Doctor. I was not aware of your losses."

"Nor was I," Cestan added immediately. "Today we all mourn. A line has been crossed. These raids cannot continue. If the boundaries of the Hall are not respected, it may be time to consider enforcing them with guards."

"Falnori guards?"

"Stop." Elizabeth held up a hand, keeping a tenuous grip on her confidence. True, the first round of negotiations had deteriorated into wild conspiracy theories, but there might still be something left to salvage.

There had to be. She refused to accept the possibility that Ronon and Teyla had died for a petty territorial squabble.

"I don't believe we're accomplishing anything of value right now. I propose a day-long recess for all of us to carefully consider what our goals for these talks should be." She put every ounce of authority she possessed into her next statement. "I suggest that all parties either come back with open minds, or don't come back at all."

Turning on her heel, she strode toward the stairs. Cestan made an aborted attempt to head her off, but his protest died when Lorne blocked his path. She heard the Major move to follow her as she took the steps without so much as a glance behind.

After releasing Corporals Adams and Pratt to their quarters, Carson was relieved to find the infirmary empty of patients. He wasn't sure he'd completely grasped the fact that Teyla and Ronon were gone, and he suspected that when the reality of it finally hit him, he'd be useless for a good while.

Most likely there would be those among the expedition who didn't feel the loss of two aliens as keenly as they would for one of their own. It had been a long time, though, since Carson had even thought the word `alien' in that context. Kind Teyla, graceful in every sense of the word, and loyal Ronon, who'd defended this city and its inhabitants as if he'd been born to it.

On second thought, maybe keeping busy would serve him for a bit longer. Carson had no desire to conjure up an image of his friends' bodies floating abandoned in space, nor did he need to recall the look in Colonel Sheppard's eyes when he'd at last conceded defeat.

Surely there were some supplies around here somewhere that were due for an inventory.

Seven shelves of medical tape and rubber gloves later, Carson heard the main doors to the infirmary slide open. Stepping out of the supply room, he found two science team members looking around with uncertainty and some trepidation. "How can I help you gentlemen?"

Radek Zelenka rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling unkempt hair as he hesitated. "My head aches," he finally admitted.

For a moment, Carson was oddly grateful to have someone to help, someone within his reach now that two others were beyond it. Instantly he shut down that line of thought. "When did you first notice the pain?"

"About a day."

"And the severity?"

Radek's shrug was muted, as if the motion might exacerbate his discomfort. All he said, though, was, "So far it has been manageable without aspirin."

A bit odd, that. Radek wasn't the squeaky-wheel type, but neither was he overly stoic. "At the risk of treating you like Rodney," asked Carson, "if it's manageable, what's got you concerned enough to come here?"

The Czech aimed a pointed glance at his companion-Dr. Wen, Carson recalled.

"I have noticed a slight headache ever since returning from P7L-418," said Wen.

"And you think there's a connection? Radek, I didn't realize you'd gone off-world with the team."

"I did not." Radek's demeanor was grave. "However, of anyone in the city, Wen and I have spent the most time in contact with the ore."

That was quite a wrinkle. "I see." Having no other response, Carson produced a penlight. Comprehending, Radek took off his glasses to submit to a cursory exami nation. "Pupils are a bit dilated, but not to an alarming degree," Carson noted. "I trust you've locked up the adarite sample?"

"It is in an airlock chamber in the energy lab," Wen assured him.

"Good. I'll want to run some tests of my own on it. Realize, of course, that two people are not enough to be considered much of a pattern." With a reassuring smile, he clapped a hand on Radek's shoulder. "This might be a simple coincidence."

"It might." Radek didn't look at all comforted. "But what was I doing three hours ago?"

"I couldn't begin to guess. Was it something significant?"

"I would not know. I cannot remember."

Carson felt the smile bleed away from his face. If Radek was serious-and he certainly looked serious-this had just escalated from a minor issue to a substantial concern. "Short-term memory loss in addition to the headache. Any other symptoms?" Radek shook his head miserably, and Carson turned to Wen. "And you?"

The engineer shifted from foot to foot. "My memory is intact, I think, but parts of the mission are…fuzzy. One would expect a hostage situation to have some clarity in hindsight."

"All right. Over here." Carson steered Radek over to the Ancient-designed full-body scanner and gestured for him to hop up on the bed. Once the scientist was settled, the machine began mapping him from head to toe. It wasn't long before Carson had enough data to be troubled.

He reached for his earpiece to call the control room. "As soon as all three of them are available, please have Dr. Weir, Colonel Sheppard, and Dr. McKay meet me in the infirmary. There's a potential new development they need to be aware of."

The image that greeted Rodney upon entering the infirmary was one of Radek and Wen, sitting on neighboring beds and being attended with far more solicitousness than Carson normally showed Rodney. "I'm afraid I'll need to keep you under observation for a while longer," the doctor was telling them. "Anything I can get you to help pass the time?"

With a wounded-puppy look-oh, give me a break, Rodney resisted saying-Radek asked, "Perhaps one of your mother's scones?"

Carson's gaze sharpened. "Don't push your luck."

"What's going on?" Rodney demanded. "Is something wrong with them? And where'd you two hide the adarite?"

Radek rolled his eyes. "Stop. Your heartwarming concern may cause me to weep."

"Well, you're evidently not dying, so excuse me for showing a little pragmatism." A beat later, Rodney glanced at Carson. Couldn't hurt to confirm it, considering the situation. "They're not, right?"

"No, Rodney, I'm fairly sure they'll be fine." Carson paused as the doors opened to admit Elizabeth and, a few strides behind, Sheppard. Both looked like the weight on their shoulders was getting to them. Rodney avoided the Colonel's gaze. Their discussion in the control room still bothered him, for reasons he didn't care to examine.

"What do you need to show us, Carson?" Elizabeth asked, her professional demeanor firmly in place.

"Nothing good, I'm afraid. It appears there may be some side effects caused by exposure to adarite."

"Side effects?" Sheppard's eyebrows climbed. "From a rock?"

"An exceptionally energetic rock," Rodney clarified, already occupied with a cursory self-exam. He'd had contact with the adarite sample. His breathing seemed all right; pulse was a little elevated-

"Relax, Rodney." Carson had noticed his surreptitious checks, or at least his understandable anxiety. "If you feel all right, you are all right. We believe the symptoms are temporary after such a short exposure."

"I'll consider relaxing after you tell me what kind of symptoms you're referring to," Rodney snapped.

"Neurological. Specifically, cognitive deficits." Carson crossed the room to a wall-mounted screen, which displayed a multicolored cross-section of a human brain. "The scanner works a bit like a magnetic resonance machine would on Earth. Among other things, it measures the blood flow and electrical activity in various regions of the brain. These are the hippocampus regions, which control the storage of memories." He pointed to the sides of the image, indicating two groups of bright red and orange splotches. "Here you see a typical level of activity. Neural pathways are being formed, creating memories. Now contrast that with this scan of Radek from this afternoon."

Another image appeared on the screen next to the first. The corresponding areas on the second image were darker, the warm colors replaced by a scattering of blue and green. The sight worried the hell out of Rodney. "I thought you said they were going to be fine! That looks like incremental brain death!"

"It's already beginning to resolve itself," replied Carson, unperturbed.

"Yes," Radek interjected. "For instance, I recall being denied baked goods a few minutes ago."

Elizabeth's forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"Not to worry-that's a perfectly rational statement." Carson sent Radek an exasperated look before continuing. "I've yet to isolate the specific cause, but it appears that some property of adarite inhibits the transition of information from short-term to long-term memory. I'm no manner of neurologist, so I'll need to read up on a few issues. The effects, though, remind me of some older case studies from medical school on electroconvulsive therapy."

"Shock treatment?" Sheppard asked. "That screwed with memory?"

"I've been told that ECT patients often lost a fair amount of time surrounding their sessions. In this case, the adarite may be emitting the equivalent of an electric charge. Not anywhere near as strong as an ECT treatment, I wouldn't think."

Remembering the not-quite-electromagnetic interference he'd detected on the planet, Rodney wasn't so sure. "It's a different type of energy, so comparisons aren't worth much. For all we know, it may spike when the adarite is pressurized," he suggested. "Such as when a whip is powered up. Damn it, there's always a catch, isn't there?"

"Carson, you said earlier that you thought a brief exposure wouldn't produce any lasting effects," said Elizabeth. "What about longer exposures?"

The doctor shook his head. "I can't say without any experience. Some studies of extended ECT usage reported cases of permanent cognitive deficits."

In two minutes, all Rodney's ideas for harnessing adarite power had gone up in smoke. He stood there, feeling like the rug had been yanked out from under him. Again. This galaxy had an infuriating habit of behaving like Lucy Van Pelt, taunting Charlie Brown with the football.

Elizabeth, however, appeared to have something different on her mind. "Minister Galven mentioned many of the Nistra being in poor health. They're the ones who mine the adarite. For the last few generations, they've been trying to increase production, only to see their situation worsen. Is it possible the adarite is responsible?"

"Although I'd need to examine one of them to confirm it, I think that's very likely," said Carson. "The last few generations, you say?"

"That's right. The Nistra even moved their villages closer to the mining territory."

"Which must have increased their exposure levels," Rodney realized. "Small wonder that their society is starting to disintegrate."

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, considering the new development. "This will change the negotiations markedly," she said at last. "One of the main points of contention is the procurement of adarite. When both parties learn that they're fighting over something so harmful…I can't begin to predict how they'll react."

To say nothing of the fact that Atlantis no longer had much of an incentive to help out with these people's dis pute. Rodney stole a glance across the room, more concerned about the Colonel's reaction than those of the Falnori or Nistra. Sheppard had been counting on finding a weapon to use against the Asurans — more than Rodney deemed healthy, if the truth were told-and it had just been snatched out of his grasp.

Sheppard's expression was still as determined as ever. "So how do we get around this?" he wanted to know.

Carson blinked. "Get around it? I'm not sure I understand."

"We need this stuff, Carson. There has to be a way to counteract whatever effect it has on the brain."

As usual, Rodney was a few steps ahead of him. "Not without altering the energetic properties of the ore, I suspect. We'd lose most of the power we set out to utilize. And any shielding robust enough to block EM-type transmissions of that strength would be impossible to work within." He heaved a sigh. "Believe me, I'm as disappointed as you are."

Normally, he would have labeled Sheppard as a pretty perceptive guy. Today the officer didn't seem to be taking the hint. "Then we limit exposure," he maintained, absently scratching his bandaged forearm. "Work in shifts, maybe. We can't just give up on the research."

Carson hesitated. "I'm not sure that's wise-"

"I'm very sure that's not wise," Rodney declared emphatically. "Did you miss the detail about unknown long-term effects to potentially include amnesia and cognitive impairment? What part of `I need all my brain cells intact' is unclear to you?"

Immediately he found himself under the searing stare of an indomitable colonel. "Nothing about this is unclear to me, Rodney," Sheppard said in a low voice. "What do you suggest we throw at the Asurans when they show up to take Atlantis? This is our best shot at finding a way to stop them. You said yourself that we've got nothing else."

"I never said that I wouldn't keep looking, though! There has to be another approach. One that doesn't involve putting ourselves at risk."

"Sometimes risks have to be taken when tailor-made solutions don't exist."

"Do you honestly think you're the only one worried about our chances against the replicators from hell?" In an unusual flash of insight, Rodney realized he was angry at Sheppard-and why. "You don't even realize that you're running off the rails, do you? You're obsessed with this semi-mythical weapon that's going to solve all our problems, and it's wrecking your judgment."

"You're going to lecture me about being obsessed?" Sheppard fired back. "After Doranda?"

The remark sliced deep, all the more so because it was accurate. Rodney's hubris over Project Arcturus had been forgiven, he'd thought, but obviously not forgotten. "I'm in a unique position to recognize the signs, I think," he responded tightly. "You're so desperate to have an answer for the Asuran threat that you sent us into an unfamiliar location unarmed, and look how that turned out."

He knew he'd struck a nerve when Sheppard's everpresent veneer of calm cracked and he turned sharply away.

"Don't do this, either of you," Elizabeth said softly. "You're a team."

"We're all that's left of a team." Sheppard stalked across the infirmary bay, radiating fury on an unprecedented level. The odd thing was, it didn't appear to be directed at Rodney or anyone else. It was real enough, though; Sheppard was nearly shaking with it. For a man who seemed to pride himself on keeping his cool, he looked dangerously close to letting control slip away.

"You do what you think you have to do," he told Rodney, tension holding his frame taut. "But don't tell me how to do my job. You're not the one responsible for defending this city, and you're sure as hell not the one answering to the families of the Marines we keep shipping home in body bags."

"And none of that alters the fact that some things in the universe are fixed constants, no matter how much righteous anger you summon!" Damn it, Rodney missed his teammates too, but he knew beyond all doubt that neither of them would have wanted this. "What do you want us to do here, Colonel? Tell me. Do you really want to try to build a weapon from something that will destroy our ability to remember why we need a weapon?"

"Maybe I do! What if it's the best option we have? I don't know!" Sheppard yelled.

There was a long silence, in which his wild-eyed frustration fell away, leaving only agonized helplessness in its wake. Rodney had never seen such emotion from Sheppard before, and it shook him. A new possibility arose: maybe the Colonel's anger had been aimed more at himself than anyone else.

"I just don't know," Sheppard repeated quietly.

Rodney knew, because he felt it as well, and he could see that the realization was going to hit Sheppard sooner rather than later. What they wanted, as impossible as it might be, was for Ronon and Teyla to have died for something.

Defeated, Sheppard pivoted on his heel and left the infirmary, punctuating his exit by slamming his open hand into the wall.

The surreal silence hung in the air after he'd gone. Elizabeth stared at the door, clearly at a loss. She looked back at Rodney with a plea in her eyes. "Rodney, there has to be something more we can do to study the adarite before we give up on it."

A few minutes ago, Rodney would have rejected the concept just on principle. Now, after seeing his team leader come close to unraveling in front of him, his perspective had shifted. "I…yes. There are a few tests we can still run with the sample contained in the shielded chamber."

"Aye. I'll help," Carson murmured.

In all likelihood, they'd end up in exactly the same place after those tests as before, but they'd run them anyway. After everything the expedition had weathered, it couldn't be pulled apart by something like this. Rodney was almost sure of it.

John had been walking for ten minutes before it occurred to him to wonder where he was going. The biting wind that assaulted him as soon as he stepped out onto the lower southwest pier was fitting. He needed to confront and be confronted.

"What the hell do you expect me to do?" he shouted into the rolling waves. He didn't rationally anticipate an answer, but then again there had been an Ancient lurking around in their city systems not too long ago. Angels in the architecture. He snorted in contempt. An angel would have helped them, rather than stood idly by as those apathetic Ascended always did. Sometimes he was almost ashamed of his genetic inheritance.

Or maybe he was just ashamed, period. What had he done today? What had he tried to do? Rodney was right about the disaster on 418. The safety of the off-world team had been his responsibility, and he'd let it slide because he'd just had to know what was in that facility. He'd dropped his guard, and Ronon and Teyla had paid for it.

Then he'd been so determined to give their sacrifices meaning that he'd all but ordered the science team to fry their own brains. God, what was wrong with him?

His teammates had died for nothing more than a failed mission. Two people whom he'd brought to the team, who'd stayed because they trusted him. Every week another Marine came back hurt or worse-from the Asurans, from the Wraith, from skittish natives with damned spears. No matter what he did, it kept happening, in the same old ways, and in new and terrible ways. Maybe it was unavoidable.

Or maybe his fitness to command really was eroding one casualty at a time.

He didn't know what he was doing out here. He never had. Leadership had fallen to him because of rank at first, and he'd kept it solely because no one else had any further or better experience than he did. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that such flimsy reasons weren't nearly good enough. Not when so many lives depended on making the right choices.

A wave crashed against the pier, sending saltwater spray high into the air. John turned and went back inside. The chill followed him through the corridors and into his quarters.

"Target fixation, my man," he could hear Captain Holland saying in that Midwestern drawl. One more ghost from one more choice that had failed. "Happens to the best of `em. You just gotta step back and figure out what's best for the mission. "

Sitting down at his desk, he opened the drawer and noticed the envelope still waiting inside, marked with Ford's cousin's name. He hesitated for a moment, but found that it only solidified his resolve.

Holland. Sumner. Ford. Ronon. Teyla. They were at the top, but the list went on and on.

John refused to add any more names to it.

He reached past the envelope for a pad of paper and a pen. Somehow a computer word-processing program didn't have the appropriate gravity for a letter of resignation.