With nightfall had come an uneasy quiet. Inside the room they occupied, warriors and the city’s engineers continued to discuss strategies in low tones, allowing the soft moans of the wounded and the whispered reassurances of their caregivers to be heard. It was a scene that the Athosian had never witnessed before. In her experience, battles with the Wraith were swift and decisive. This strange state that was neither victory nor defeat was most unusual. Though it was better than constant terror, Teyla found herself hoping that it would not last long.
Rodney snapped out of his light doze when someone rushed in, calling a halt to the few moments of rest they’d managed to grab. Typical.
“I bring news,” called the warrior, his gaze sweeping over the room. “Where is the one called Major Sheppard?”
“Indisposed, unfortunately.” Rodney stood from his singularly uncomfortable seat on a wooden chest by the door. All the halfway decent chairs had been taken upstairs, where most of the wounded were. “Why? What’s gone wrong now?”
“Before night fell, the Wraith could be seen massing in the forest on the far side of South Channel,” the man announced, catching his breath.
“Just as they did before their initial attack on the East Wall.” Teyla’s puzzlement was evident. Rodney shared it.
From a purely theoretical point of view, he had understood that the Wraith might regroup and attack from the south. Fortunately, he’d had the foresight to leave the oil in the South Channel in the first place. Still—“That makes no sense. They’ve seen the oil. They have to realize we’ll light it. What the hell are they planning?” It was a rhetorical question, and the others treated it as such, but he would have appreciated an answer. It was all very well for him to come up with his standard brilliant solution, but that solution was predicated on comprehending the problem first. And with no clear idea of the Wraith’s plan, there was no way to predict what that problem would be. Think, damn it.
A glance toward the bed told him that Sheppard’s condition was unchanged. In a brief departure from rational thought, Rodney felt a flicker of envy toward his teammate. What he wouldn’t give for just a few minutes of actual sleep. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all your help here,” he told the Major under his breath.
“We need intel on their movements,” Ford said, moving out of Lisera’s way as she stepped in to remove Sheppard’s oil-slicked boots. “We’re blind without it. And the only way to acquire that is to transport into the nearest village, take a look around, and report back.”
Teyla nodded. “I agree.”
“How nice for you.” Rodney squeezed his eyes shut, forcing back a burgeoning tension headache. “Has it occurred to you that the Wraith have almost certainly figured out the trick with the Shields by now? If I were them, and I was amassing an assault force, I’d immediately put a guard on the village transports to pick off the first Gene who sticks his head out.”
“So we’ll take a bunch of warriors, transport into one of the villages further out, and walk in.”
“And how many is ‘a bunch’ when you have no idea of the size of the opposing force?”
“Which brings us back to why we need the intel!” Ford stalked across the room, visibly frustrated. “Staying back here out of their reach might seem safer, McKay, but if we don’t do something, pretty soon there won’t be any place out of their reach.”
“You are missing my point!” Rodney bristled at the Lieutenant’s insinuation. His instincts toward self-preservation were unmatched, but this was about common sense and staying alive long enough to accomplish something of value. “They could cross the river and build up their forces and equipment to scale the wall under the cover of darkness. We need to ignite the oil that’s already there. And sooner is preferable to later.”
Both Teyla and Ford turned inquisitive glances toward him. “When did you start looking at the tactical big picture?” the Lieutenant wanted to know.
“When our resident field commander went down for the count and left us in a thoroughly untenable situation. Do your best to keep up.” A bothersome side effect of looking at the big picture was that Rodney immediately saw the big obstacle as well. He was reasonably certain that there was an insufficient volume of oil in the South Channel to maintain the sustained conflagration that appeared necessary to dissuade the Wraith. That left only one solution. “We’ll also have to adjust the boom to increase the flow of oil.”
“Won’t that allow the fire to jump upstream?” Yann asked, obviously nervous about the prospect.
Behind him, some of the children ducked closer, drawn in by the conversation. Lisera made a vain attempt to guide them away, which only added to Rodney’s increasing exasperation. He needed to pace without these small hindrances cluttering up the floor. “If anything, reducing the oil flow in North Channel will reduce the risk of the flames jumping past the West Bridge and igniting Black Hill.”
“Hold on a minute.” Ford wiped sweaty, oil-streaked hands on his pants. “Lighting that first quadrant was one thing; it’s contained by the raised weirs and bridges. But if we do this in the South Channel and the Wraith react the same way they did the first time, by diverting west—”
“I’m aware of the ramifications,” Rodney snapped.
“There won’t be anything to stop the fire from spreading all the way to Black Hill,” Ford persisted. “The smoke will cover the entire Citadel.”
“Don’t stop there, Lieutenant. If you’re going to insist on stating the obvious, go all the way with it.” The difference between himself and most people, Rodney reasoned, was that his own imagination was limitless to a fault. “Should we be unable to control the spread of the fire, with an oil source this rich, the resulting underground blaze could last for years, if not centuries. Fumes and smoke would make the Citadel and probably the surrounding area completely uninhabitable. It’s a worst-case scenario. I’ll state that on the record. Now you tell me what other choice we have.”
Ford spoke up as Lisera finally managed to shoo the children away. “We should at least evacuate everyone who can’t fight or operate a Shield.” He turned to address a nearby warrior. “Get everyone from the Sanctuary Halls and bring them to the highest areas that are still accessible, around here and near the Enclave. As much as is possible, they’ll be protected from the smoke — and the Wraith if they get through.”
The warrior glanced at Rodney, who nodded absently, and left to comply. The man disappeared through the door at almost the same moment that someone passed him to enter.
“The healer comes,” Lisera said, moving aside and quietly dissolving the argument for the time being.
A stooped man with greying hair and long beard approached and took a seat beside Sheppard. “He was struck in the head?” asked the healer, studying his new patient.
“Twice,” confirmed Ford. “And he was deprived of air for a couple of minutes.”
While Lisera instructed two nearby women to fetch soapwater and vegetable oil, the healer checked the Major’s pupils and studied the impressive bruises forming on either side of his head. “I do not believe the blows have caused his brain to swell,” he said at last. Rodney wished he could have some confidence in that assertion.
The commotion around him seemed to rouse Sheppard. He stirred minutely, his eyes sliding half-open before closing again.
“Wake, son,” coaxed the healer, patting a tar-coated shoulder. Ford and Teyla crowded in, as did Peryn. Rodney hung back, partially to avoid overwhelming the battered Major, but mostly out of a dislike for dense huddles of people.