There was another flicker of sensation at the tips of his fingers, and the communications officer said, "I have Atlantis, Chief."
The Pride passed him the image before it reached the main screen, and Lorne managed not to respond, though every fiber of his being wanted to. This was how the ship was supposed to be flown, by a pilot who was one with it, not at third hand, every sensation negated by the clumsiness of consoles and buttons and levers, relays so much slower than synapses. I'm sorry, Lorne said, in the back of his mind where only the ship could hear him. They have to do it this way — they found you, they repaired you, you can work with them. And we'll all face the Wraith together.
"Mr. Woolsey," Ladon said. "I see that we're in time. Though I don't see any sign of your — other — ally."
"We anticipate their arrival shortly," Woolsey said. His face was prim, and Lorne wondered just what had gone wrong. "In the meantime, may I suggest you join us in orbit? The Hammond will be lifting off within the hour, and we plan to raise Atlantis shortly after that."
"Raise Atlantis," Ladon said. "You plan to fly the city — to fight from her?"
"Yes." In the screen, Woolsey's face was bland, as though they did that every day. "Can you be here before we take off?"
Ladon glanced at Lorne, who felt the confirmation pulse through him almost before he formed the question. "We can be there in 51 minutes," he said.
"We'll be there," Ladon said, and nodded to his technician to cut the transmission. A sudden smile lightened his face. "That will be something to see, Atlantis in flight. Whatever else happens, at least we'll have seen that."
Lorne nodded, feeling the ship's acceptance wash through him, seeing the same wonder on the faces of the technicians and soldiers at their places. It was worth it to be there.
Sam pushed her hair out of her eyes and glanced at her watch. Six-thirty, time and past for Bill Lee's team to be out of the ship, out of the city, and on their way back to Earth. But no, there he was, on his hands and knees peering into the guts of a fire-control console, a younger uniformed technician crouching at his side.
"Okay, yeah, I see what you mean," he was saying, "but if you'll hand me that bridging bar —"
The technician did as he was told, inching forward a little as he did so.
"I wouldn't do that," Lee said, and both men jumped back as sparks flew. "Ok, see, that's the only problem with this particular technique, but if it holds…." He wormed his way back into the depths of the console, ignoring the wisp of smoke that curled out past him. "It's really solid."
"Yes, sir," the technician said, sounding genuinely impressed, and Sam tried not to flinch. Yes, the bridging bars would do the job, but if they blew in a firefight, they'd generally take the entire section with them. They were supposed to be ridiculously sturdy, but if anything was likely to override them, it was a pitched battle with a larger Wraith fleet. She shoved the thought aside as too late to worry about, and gently kicked Lee's back foot.
"Dr. Lee."
"Colonel?" Lee scrambled back out again, and peered up at her from the floor plates. "I'm just about done here, but there are a couple more things I want to go over —"
"It's time to leave," Sam said. "Your team is the last out."
"Yeah, about that." Lee came to his feet, adjusting his glasses. His jacket was peppered with tiny burn marks, and his hands were filthy. He seemed to realize the latter, and wiped his hands awkwardly on his pants. "If I were to stick around — I could get a few of the last little things taken care of, and, you know, then I'd be here to help with repairs and stuff."
For a second, Sam was tempted. The Hammond was so close to optimum status that even an hour or two of Lee's expertise might make all the difference. She curbed herself sternly. Bill wasn't a field operative, no matter how good he was when he was forced into it; it wasn't fair to let him risk his life for the difference between ninety-eight percent ready and one hundred. All the more so because both she and McKay were at risk, and after them, Bill was the biggest expert they had on Ancient technology. She shook her head. "Sorry, Bill. They're going to need you back at the SGC."
"But —" Lee stopped abruptly, obviously coming to the same conclusion she had made. "Oh. Right. Uh, yeah. I suppose so."
Sam grinned. She was suddenly very fond of him, this rumpled little man, never quite properly shaven, with his perpetually harried look and his fount of ideas. She wanted to hug him, to kiss his forehead, but she knew this was just the exhilaration that came with impending battle. "Not that I wouldn't rather keep you," she said, "but those are the orders."
"Thanks," Lee said, with a preoccupied smile, his attention back on the console. "Just one more quick thing —"
"Sorry," Sam said. "It's time to go."
Lee grimaced, but moved away from the console. She followed him down the corridor, feeling like a sheepdog as they collected the rest of his team, and walked with them across the landing pad back toward the towers. It was just sunset, the western horizon aflame behind them, while ahead the sky between the towers was dark blue velvet, spangled with the earliest stars. Warm light spilled from the doors to the city, and as they crossed into the tower, Lee glanced over his shoulder.
"You know, I never did see the aurora everybody talks about. Did you ever figure out what makes it so spectacular?"
"Something to do with the magnetic field," Sam answered. "Though I think the composition of the core probably plays a part."
Lee stopped dead. "Now that's very interesting. On M7K-991 —"
"Dr. Lee," one of the technicians said, and gave Sam an apologetic glance. "We really need to be getting to the gateroom now."
"Oh. Right." Lee picked up the pace uncomplainingly, and glanced over his shoulder with a shrugging smile. "It'll make for an interesting paper anyway."
"Yeah," Sam said. She wanted to follow them up to the gateroom, see them safely through the Stargate, but she wasn't in command of Atlantis any more. That was Woolsey's job, and she was needed on the Hammond to deal with the myriad last minute questions that inevitably arose. She retraced her steps, and the doors slid open to allow her out, but no wave of cold came in to meet her. Some sort of deflection field, she guessed, and filed a mental note to look into exactly how it worked. There were plenty of uses for such a thing. Assuming she survived — but that was a familiar gamble. The important thing was to win the battle.
On the pad, the Hammond stood waiting under the lights, a last technical crew busy on scaffolding around the engines. They were finishing up, by the look of it, taking down the platform even as Sam watched: one more thing to take off her mental list. The sunset glowed red-bronze along the horizon, the light caught between the distant towers at the end of the pier, the Hammond somehow more solid against that furnace glow. And now, too late for Bill Lee, a strand of the aurora coiled past the zenith, a pale blue thread against the black. He would be gone now, the last of the civilians and the technical personnel, the injured and the nonessential crew, the ones who didn't have to risk their lives. And it was her job to be sure that they had a city to return to: the bottom line, the thing she'd signed up for all those years ago, following in her father's footsteps. She lengthened her stride, her breath a plume in the cold air, heading for her command.
Chapter Fourteen
Battle Stations