"And if the research was flawed?" Elizabeth asked quietly.
She didn't elaborate, but Rodney got the inference; it was the reason he'd agreed, however reluctantly, to steer clear of PM-418 during the first round of this debate. A year ago they'd thought the abandoned Ancient project on Doranda would solve all their problems, and that hadn't gone too swimmingly for them. Or for the better part of a star system.
"We've learned that lesson," Sheppard replied, making an obvious effort not to glance over at Rodney as he spoke. "We'll approach anything and everything with all due caution. If it's a dead end, it's a dead end. But how could we be better off just sitting back and hoping an easier solution presents itself?"
Atlantis's leader had faced off against heads of state in two galaxies. She wasn't likely to simply cave in now. "The database is extremely vague about the aftermath of the battle. We know the Ancients drove the Wraith away from the planet, but a later record makes reference to the facility eventually being abandoned."
"Because they were losing the war and the fleet had to be recalled to defend Atlantis."
"We can't be sure that was the reason, John," Elizabeth maintained. "If the work being done there was so critical that the Ancients spent eight days and half a dozen ships protecting it, why would they then give it up?"
Rodney fielded the question. "The obvious possibilities are that they either lost interest in the research or took everything useful with them."
"Or something catastrophic happened." Elizabeth looked at him. "Did you get any details out of the database that even hinted at what they were working on?"
"Only in the most general terms. As best I can tell, the facility was a directed energy lab, which means there's a chance it met some kind of nasty radioactive end."
"Which is why the SGC keeps sending us shiny new MALPs," Sheppard insisted. "If the scan is clear, I don't see any reason why this mission should be more dangerous than any other, and there's an opportunity for a major gain. What am I missing here?"
As much as it pained him to admit it, Rodney was in complete agreement with the Colonel. "This might give us the edge we need." When Elizabeth's eyebrows climbed in surprise at their tag-team approach, he explained, "I recognize and accept your points. I accepted them the last time we discussed this, but that was before we started running into firefights on every other planet. Circumstances have made it no longer advisable to ignore the potential of this facility. If directed energy research was conducted there, it's possible I'd be able to find something that would exploit the Asurans' molecular cohesion with more success than a standard disrupter."
Sitting back in her chair, Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. "I understand. I just hate the idea that this expedition seems to be turning into an arms race."
"I'm not wild about it either." Sheppard held firm, as resolute as Rodney had ever seen him in a briefing. "But I'm really tired of giving eulogies."
It all came down to that, didn't it? Rodney had a healthy sense of self-preservation, but even he could rationalize facing a potential hazard if it offered some hope of mitigating known hazards in the future. And the Asurans were a guaranteed hazard.
"I believe the journey to be worthwhile," Teyla said. Ronon gave a curt nod of assent.
"All right. P7L-418 goes to the top of the list." Elizabeth checked the calendar on her datapad. "Let's aim for the day after tomorrow. But if anything doesn't add up on that MALP scan, I'm scrubbing the mission."
The Colonel nodded, already rising from his chair. "Pre-brief and MALP deployment at 0800," he instructed his team.
Rodney followed him out when the meeting disbanded, the room's tinted wall panels rotating with graceful precision to offer them exit. "I assume you realize that we really don't have any idea what we'll find out there," he felt compelled to point out. "I mean, irrespective of the facility, we've got almost no data on the planet that houses it."
Sheppard tossed him a smirk, though the humor looked a bit artificial. "In what way would that be different from usual?"
He headed off down the corridor. Rodney sighed. "Depressing but true."
"Attention to orders!"
The military contingent of the Atlantis expedition came to attention as one, the unified clap of their boot heels reverberating through the gate-room. Lieutenant Laura Cadman stared straight ahead at the assembly of motionless gray figures, taking a kind of comfort in the formality. Atlantis was both the most intense and the most laid-back assignment she'd seen in her young career. Every one of her teammates was a consummate professional, and no one so much as blinked when stuff hit the fan-but it had been ages since she'd last seen anyone salute.
Granted, their uniforms didn't have obvious rank insignia, so spotting senior officers in time to salute would have been a little tricky until the faces became familiar. But if Laura knew anything about the Corps, she knew that there was always a way to enforce protocol if desired. Their commanding officer just didn't seem interested in enforcing it.
Even so, a little bit of military tradition never hurt anyone. Laura was damned proud of being a Marine, and of everything that came along with that title. She knew she wasn't alone in that belief. Every so often, it felt good to remind themselves.
Colonel Sheppard seemed to get that, because he'd started calling the occasional formation. Back on Earth, government red tape was alive and well, and so the `administrivia,' as the Colonel often labeled it, tended to take a while to reach them. When it finally did, courtesy of a Daedalus run, there usually were a few promotions and commendations to hand out.
"Citation to accompany the award of the Distinguished Flying Cross," Laura read aloud from the page on the podium. As she recited the description of the Orion's self-sacrificing battle with the Earth-bound hive ship, the men and women who had made up the Ancient ship's last, ragtag crew filed past her to face their CO and accept their medals.
Colonel Caldwell stood in the front row, locked in at attention alongside the others. Although he was the rank ing officer present, Daedalus's commander wasn't presiding over the ceremony. The Atlantis detachment was Colonel Sheppard's command, and Caldwell appeared content to observe.
Laura imagined that Sheppard must have had his work cut out for him when trying to match up his people's achievements with the appropriate commendations. Outer space conflicts generally weren't covered in the awards manual. Maybe the brass back on Earth had been flexible for a change.
She moved on to the next citation, a Navy and Marine Corps Medal for a lieutenant who'd evacuated an injured Athosian hunter by jumper from a barely-accessible ridge on the mainland. After that, there were two Purple Hearts, a Bronze Star, and a Meritorious Service Medal.
Somewhere, buried in a file on Earth, there was an `official' citation for each of these medals. Those citations didn't mention spaceships or Athosians or Wraith. They contained vaguely-worded descriptions of generic heroism at a `forward operating location.' Anyone without clearance would see that phrase and assume Iraq or Afghanistan. It was less than honest, and it bugged all of them at one time or another, but that was life in the Pegasus Galaxy.
Turning the page, Laura came to the last medal. "Citation to accompany the award of-"
The name on the citation leapt out at her, and she halted, suddenly uncertain. She looked to Colonel Sheppard for guidance, and he responded with a small nod of encouragement.
Dutifully, she continued. "-the award of the Bronze Star to Corporal Joshua Travis."
No one spoke or even flinched, but she knew the reactions were there, hidden behind the impassive facades of her fellow Marines. The space between Laura and the Colonel remained empty as she read the citation.