Disclaimer - Not mine.
A/N - Well, chapter three is up quickly, and I'm working fast on chapter four. After that, the uploading rate will probably drop off quickly, as I've not written anything for it yet! I hope you continue to enjoy the story - I've almost worked out a title for it, I think - so as always, read, enjoy, and please review!
- Oh, I forgot, there's a Czech phrase/word in here, which I'm fairly sure was badly translated, so please excuse me if it's wrong. Also, assuming it is right, it's not particularly polite.
Lorne stood with one hand against a pile of rock. He didn't lean too heavily, in case the debris shifted. The world had stopped spinning, thankfully, but he was still unsteady on his feet. He felt sick to his stomach. Closing his eyes had only made the sensation worse. Fortunately, the concussion he'd self-diagnosed didn't seem to be a bad one. The confusion which had plagued the Major on waking was clearing fast. His vision was fine, bar the dust, and he didn't feel the drag of sleep that a dangerous concussion might bring.
The annoying thought that had taken up residence at the back of his brain was still unreachable though. He was trying to distract himself from it by taking a closer look at the space he was trapped in. One wall was still mostly intact, though badly damaged. It had been the back of the café. Its survival probably had a lot to do with the fact that it was reinforced, serving also as the back of a large storage area. Rodney had called it a over-sized garage.
The other walls had all been obliterated. He was trapped by a mess of cracked timber and stone on two sides, and what was left of the kitchens on the other. That last side was all hot, twisted metal, stained red with blood. Lorne decided not to move anything. Aside from the growing pain in his ribs, he couldn't know what had become load-bearing. He had no desire to bring the remains of the roof down on his head.
One of the other customers – a man in his early thirties – was sprawled beneath a wooden beam. Lorne made his way over, gingerly stepping across holes in the floor. Every creak or cloud of falling dust made the Major freeze. Finally, he made it. Crouching down cost him, but Lorne managed to kneel by the man's head. He touched two fingers to the side of his neck, and felt for a pulse. There was nothing. This man probably hadn't survived the initial blast. Lorne closed his eyes. He wanted out.
If Zelenka had been angry before, he was furious now. The console had steadfastly refused to work, following its earlier – brief – flurry of activity. He had tried disconnecting it from the main systems, which was no small task in itself. Then he had reconnected it, disconnected it again, and run every conceivable diagnostic that did not require the thing to be working. According to the technology at his disposal, there was nothing wrong with it. Except, Zelenka's mind supplied helpfully, the fact that it doesn't work. The only bonus was that the on-duty gate technicians had left him well alone.
"Do prdele!" he snapped, thumping the console again. The gate technicians edged nervously away.
"Anger doesn't solve anything."
Zelenka looked up with a poisonous expression. "Colonel. How can I help you? Or would you also like to shout, because console not working, and you have nothing better to do?"
Sheppard was taken aback. He cleared his throat, and tried to look unaffected. "Actually – a few of the doors in the city seemed to be locked down." He said. "Should I come back later?"
The scientist shook his head tiredly. He waved a hand at a chair, which Sheppard took to mean he was allowed to stay. Still, he sat down gingerly. Zelenka tapped a few keys on a working console, calling up the schematics for the city. He located each of the malfunctioning doors and plotted them on a map. A frown crossed the Czech's face.
Sheppard caught the look. "What?"
"I think we might have a problem."
He dragged the Colonel's chair closer, so that he could see the screen.
"Oh crap."
Each of the doors represented a strategically important access point to a section of the city. Slowly but surely, Atlantis was shutting down.
McKay stood by the perimeter fencing that had been erected to keep people away from dangerous ruins. The dust had started to clear, blown away by soft winds. He could see the full extent of the damage. He wished he couldn't. The explosion seemed to have originated in a building next to the café. It had taken out not only those two buildings, but also every surrounding structure. A row of small homes across the wide street were badly damaged. Dust lay thick on every surface, evidence of the debris still floating around in the air.
The panic was dying down now. It had threatened to turn ugly, until the town's heavily armed guards – the equivalent of police, McKay supposed – started to take control. The perimeter enclosed the worst affected areas, and was being strictly patrolled. It was a very different picture than the one the Atlanteans had come across earlier. The townspeople had gathered by the fence. They looked frightened. He leaned heavily against the wall of a small shop. It seemed to have more or less escaped harm, aside from smashed windows and a gouge in the brickwork.
"This is a mess."
McKay ignored Lawrence. The sergeant was a good man, but he had an annoying habit of stating the obvious. He watched the locals instead. Lawrence's offers of help had been turned down. Even his own vocal protests that their people were involved too were met with gentle, but stubborn, resistance. He shut up fast after the first body had emerged from a teetering building.
Given the length of the trek back to the gate, help from Atlantis would be some time in coming. Even if Thomas were moving fast, he would still be more than an hour from help. Not for the first time, McKay cursed the decision to make this trip on foot. They had only done so to please the town's leaders.
He couldn't think about that , though. It lead to thoughts about Beckett, Lorne and Hadley. The young Lieutenant was a serious man, deeply interested in politics, art and religion. All of this disguised a wicked sense of humour. Lawrence's assumption that Hadley hated McKay were wrong. They disagreed on many things, but the younger man had taken a distinct interest in science. McKay had found himself explaining Ancient technology. He found Hadley to be good company, even if he was a soldier.
As for the other two – well, Lorne was one of the few people on Atlantis who had earned the physicist's respect. The Major was a good man. McKay's mind shut down at the thought of Beckett in that explosion. It was too cruel. Losing him the first time had been one of the most difficult times in Rodney's life. He blinked back tears and tried to feel positive.
Just as Zelenka had feared, the problem he had been trying to fix all day was connected with the malfunctioning doors. He was trying to explain as much to Woolsey and Colonel Sheppard. They looked back at him with blank faces. He sighed, and tried again.
"Atlantis has a sort of – virus protection."
"Makes sense." Sheppard said.
"This is like virus."
"I thought you said we had virus protection?" Woolsey sounded confused. He also – and many years of working for bureaucrats had instilled Zelenka with an ability to read them – sounded annoyed.
"OK." Zelenka said. He tried to be patient – after all this was not their area of expertise. "Yes. Virus protection only works if you have protection against that virus. Maybe is better if I say it is like immune system."
He was vaguely aware that a combination of tiredness and a fraying temper was affecting his English.
"And whatever this is, we're not immune?"
"Apparently not." He jumped in before either of them could ask another question. Turning to a large screen displaying a map of Atlantis, Zelenka circled the areas where doors had started to lock down. "We traced a command from these locations that lead back to the malfunctioning console. If we can sever the connection, maybe this will go away."
"Maybe?"
"Maybe not. This virus is very advanced."
"Beyond our own technology?"
"Yes." Zelenka said.
Sheppard's frown deepened. He interrupted just as Woolsey was about to open his mouth. "Radek, how screwed are we?"
He straightened his glasses nervously. "If the command continues to be sent out? Big, big trouble. More access points will be shut off, until Atlantis is reduced to one central point. Probably the gate room."
"No offence, Radek, but could you use McKay here?" Sheppard asked.
"Unfortunately, he is genius. Yes. I could use him here."
