Keller’s face darkened. “And in the meantime, people are dying. People we can save.”
She met the other woman’s gaze straight on. “I know that. But I’m not willing to add to the numbers. Your request is denied, Doctor. For the moment.”
Keller put the steel mug down firmly on the desk. “We can’t turn our backs.”
“We’re not going to. Take whatever people can be spared in your department. This city has some of the most advanced medical technology ever created. Use it.”
They said that in space, no one could hear you scream; but in the confines of the helmet, Rodney McKay could hear pretty damned well. He could hear his own tight gasps as he gulped in breaths of air, the thudding rush of his blood in his ears. He followed Sheppard out on to the lunar surface, skidding a little on the rimes of oxygen ice that had formed on the Puddle Jumper’s drop-ramp. As his boots hit the powdery grey moon dust, he had a fleeting, almost giddy thought about Armstrong’s famous touchdown speech. One small step for McKay, he told himself, one run-like-hell for Rodneykind.
Sheppard pivoted ahead of him and pointed up into the black sky. Turning, the scientist saw glitters of light low toward the horizon. More ships, he realized. More of them, coming this way, looking for where the Jumper had augured in.
McKay cast around, scanning the stark lunar landscape for anything that could serve as cover. A long, shallow trench led away from him, a line cut through the dust where the Ancient ship had landed flat and spent its forward momentum scraping to a slow and ignominious halt. His eyes came to rest on a wide slab-like stone canted at a low angle away from the hard glare of Heruun’s sun. Beneath it, there was nothing by black shadows.
“Sheppard!” He grabbed John’s arm and pulled at him. “We can take shelter there!”
The colonel looked in the direction he was pointing and then mouthed the question Cave? through the gold-coated face of his helmet. Rodney nodded; okay, so it wasn’t actually a cave per se, but without an operable radio communications link between the two of them, he wasn’t going to stop to explain otherwise.
Running wasn’t easy in the low gravity of the airless moon; twice McKay stumbled and had to hop-skip-jump to stop from falling flat on his face. His breath pounded in his chest and each cold gasp he took in tasted of stale plastic. Rodney tried not to think about how little air the emergency suit’s small backpack contained. He ducked low and found space under the canted rock, in the deeps of the shade.
Sheppard followed him in, one gloved hand reaching out to steady himself against the stone. McKay caught his wrist and stopped him in time; lying in the direct, unfiltered sunlight, the temperature of the rock was enough that it could have burned through the glove’s padding in an instant.
Crouching in the hollow, McKay could feel the warmth of the star-baked stone over their heads. He tapped his suit helmet against Sheppard’s. “The heat from the rock might be enough to blind any sensors,” he said in a rush, “we can hide until they buzz off!”
“Might?” Sheppard echoed.
“Here they come,” Rodney tried to shrink back into the cover as much as he could, careful not to snag the lightweight suit on any sharp rocks. Sheppard lay flat, watching the downed Jumper.
Three more of the triangular ships came to a halt in a triad formation above the crashed vessel. They had to be scanning for signs of life, he guessed, trying to determine if the Jumper’s troublesome crew had made it down in one piece or died on impact.
What are they going to do? McKay asked himself. Perhaps they would obliterate the wreck if they came up empty, or maybe one of the craft would land and whatever passed for their crew would come out to get a closer look.
But that was not what happened; instead, rods of green light issued out from the craft, connecting each to the next in a frame of glowing color. A field of exotic energy grew between them, expanding to envelop the Puddle Jumper, and in the next moment it shifted, rising into the vacuum. Glittering fragments of broken glass and pieces of litter and debris thrown out by the decompression went with it, hovering in an uncanny cloud. Moving as one rigid formation, the triangular ships carried the wreck away in silence, skimming over the pinnacles of the lunar terrain.
Both men watched their best hopes for survival vanish toward the horizon, the ungainly flight of craft homing in on a pair of tall, blade-like mesas.
McKay saw Sheppard swear silently. After a long moment, the colonel leaned closer so they could talk. “How much oh-two you got?”
Rodney looked at the oxygen meter on his wrist. “Just over three-quarters. Is that good?”
“If you don’t take panic breaths, yeah.”
“Oh, right,” he retorted. “What kind of breaths should I take, then? Seeing as we are now in a situation to which panic would be a very legitimate response?”
“Give me a break, McKay. We’re not dead yet.” The two men scrambled from their concealment and stood, the full glare of the sunlight hard against them.
Rodney leaned in again as Sheppard peered in the direction that the alien ships had come from, and returned to. “What are you, uh, thinking?”
“Those ships are short range, I’m guessing. That means there’s a base of operations up here.” He pointed. “More specifically, over that way.”
“So, what, we just start walking and hope they‘ve left a window open when we get there? If we get there?”
Sheppard eyed him. “You got a better idea?”
As much as it pained him, McKay had to admit that he did not.
The scientist hunched over the scoutship’s sensor console, the glow of the screen casting ghostly light over his face. “It is difficult to report with any certainty,” he began.
The commander let out a low hiss of irritation from between his needle-sharp teeth. His tolerance for this lower caste fool was drawing down to almost nothing. “Tell me what you see.”
“With the sensors in passive mode, there is a large margin of error.” And still he did not answer. “In addition, the energy reflection from the planet’s ring system —”
That was enough. The Wraith commander grabbed the scientist by the scruff of his neck and yanked him away from the console. “I did not ask for explanations or excuses. I asked you what happened out there.” He gestured at the hull and the space beyond it. “Now speak!”
The scientist nodded jerkily. “Of course.” He tried to compose himself as he was released. “The craft that left the planet appears to be one of Ancient design, likely from the city of Atlantis.”
“You are telling me what I already know. The protectors! Did they destroy it?”
“It would seem not.” The scientist’s hands knit together as he framed his next words. “The ship survived an engagement with the alien craft, but it was damaged. It reached the limit of our detection as it fell into the gravity well of the larger moon.”
“What is the probability that the craft was obliterated? Give me your estimate.” The commander pressed a bony finger into the scientist’s chest.
“Given our clan’s previous experience with the Atlantean ships, I would say survivability is quite possible. The craft are resilient. Their pilots have skill.”
The Wraith turned and stalked away across the deck. “We have the answer to one question then, at the very least.”
The scientist nodded again. “Indeed. Now we know that this protector is not our old foe, not an Ancient.”
The commander glanced over his shoulder. “And with that, our circumstance becomes more dangerous. If the alien presence here was the Great Enemy, then we would at least know how to fight them… But now? Now we are fighting an unknown.” He paused, musing, wondering after the fate of his kindred, killed or captured by the threat that lurked in this system. “For the moment we must continue to observe.”