Your reviews are wonderful! And here is another chapter.
Impact plus 12 hours 30 minutes
"Is it small?"
"No."
"Is it ... blue?"
"Er. Kind of. Some of it."
"Is it a city?"
Sheppard, lying on his back in a sleeping bag with his hands folded on his chest, tilted his head so that he could look sideways at Simpson, who was also lying down but equally awake. "You're cheating somehow."
"You're just incredibly transparent," she retorted. "It's Atlantis."
"Yes, dammit. Okay, it's your turn. No, wait, it's Carson's turn."
The doctor sighed and swiveled the pilot's chair so that he could see them. He and Sheppard had already traded off the piloting duties, and then traded back again as it became obvious that none of them were capable of sleeping at the moment. Well ... none with the sole exception of Ronon, who could fall asleep instantly anytime and anywhere, and was presently sitting up snoring against the wall.
"I don't particularly find this game entertaining, Colonel."
"Neither do I, but I'm bored. Your turn, Carson."
Beckett sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine. I bloody well have something."
"Wraith," Sheppard and Simpson chorused.
The doctor threw his hands up in the air. "All right, someone else's turn now."
"Simpson ...?"
"Just a minute, I'm thinking." After a minute she said, "Okay, you'll never get this one."
At that point, Teyla's voice broke in. "Colonel, this is Atlantis. Do you copy?"
Sheppard waved his hand in the air. "Well, answer her, Doc."
Beckett shot him a glare and fumbled for the right switch on the jumper's console. "Teyla love, this is Beckett."
"Hello, Dr. Beckett." Her voice was warm. "Do you have anything to report?"
"Not a thing, dear. It's still as the tomb here." Carson winced. "I mean, it's bloody dead -- I mean --"
"... you have seen no Wraith and have nothing to report," Teyla filled in.
"Yes, that's what I meant."
"We're doing fine, Teyla," Sheppard called from the back, not raising his head. "Next check-in four hours from now?"
"Certainly. Atlantis out."
After Teyla's voice faded from the speakers, there was a moment of silence in the jumper. Then Simpson said, "We're, what, halfway now?"
"Just about." Sheppard checked his watch. "It's been ... about twelve hours since we lost contact with them. Twelve and a half."
"That's a long time on an ice planet," Simpson said softly.
"Let me know when you know more about the Daedalus's precise location on that planet, Doctor."
He heard the soft rustle of her blond hair against her sleeping bag as she nodded her head. "You'll be the first to know, Colonel."
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Impact plus 13 hours 35 minutes
There was frost creeping across the walls of the cargo bay. Caldwell had been noting its progress with a certain morbid fascination. When he scraped his fingernail across it, the fragile curls of ice melted on his fingertip. Such a strange thing, so easily destroyed in small quantities, yet so very capable of killing them.
He turned back as Perry joined them, nodding to his CO and the other officers present -- Dr. Ling and Chief Engineer Brian Dewey. "Sorry I'm late, sir -- I've been overseeing supply inventories."
"We may as well begin there, Major. How do the ship's stores look?"
They were holding their staff meeting in a quiet corner of the cargo bay, arranged around a softly hissing Coleman lantern. Perry's face, framed by stark shadows, looked even thinner than usual. "Whether or not the news is good or bad ... depends on how long we're here, sir. Food won't be a problem for a while. Between MREs and stock for the mess, we always carry enough food to feed the crew for about a month -- our Milky-Way-to-Pegasus trip plus a safety margin. We've already resupplied for the trip to Earth, so we can eat comfortably for a month, or somewhat less comfortably for two or three. The cold actually works in our favor, since we don't have to worry about perishable foods going bad. Some things may be damaged by freezing, but most food is still edible when frozen and thawed, especially if there's no choice --" Seeing the impatient look on Caldwell's face, he broke off and cleared his throat. "Anyway, the upshot is that we have ample time to investigate this planet's possible food sources. There appear to be large predators, so it stands to reason there would be large herbivores as well, and we can probably find something we can eat. We've got at least a few people with advanced wilderness survival skills -- Armstrong's the best of those. I suggest that when it gets light, we start sending out scouting parties."
"Any chance we can use the F302s?"
Perry shook his head. "Not anytime soon, sir. The hangar bay is completely inaccessible -- it's totally sealed off. We can try to blow the doors."
"Have Cadman take a look at it. We could really use those ships, Perry." Understatement of the year. At this point, any little advantage could be the difference between life and death, and a hangar full of intact ships was more than just a little advantage.
"Yes, sir. In addition to the food, most of our supplies of all types survived the crash intact. Some parts of the ship are a mess -- apparently the sickbay in particularly; Carol can tell you more about that." He met Ling's eyes briefly. "But overall, we're good for a month, at least, on everything from toilet paper to toothpaste. Okay, now the bad news."
"Let's hear it."
"Heat," Perry said simply. "As you've no doubt noticed, this planet is cold. And we have no idea how cold it can get, or for how long. We're not prepared for it. We have some cold-weather gear -- parkas, boots and the like -- and we also have some spacesuits, designed for EVAs, that will function the same. We can make do, at least in the short term, by bundling up in layers; everyone's got several changes of clothes, and there are plenty of spare blankets. But there are a number of problems with that." He began ticking off on his fingers. "In this extreme cold, I wouldn't send anybody outside for more than a few minutes if they aren't properly dressed. This means that we're very limited on the number of people we can send out for scouting and hunting, and there's no way that we can move everyone -- we're going to have to stay with the ship."
Another finger tick. "Problem number two -- keeping the inside of the ship warm. It'll probably take a couple of days to lose all the heat inside, but eventually it's going to be well below zero in here. A sufficiently bundled human being can handle the cold just fine, but there are a lot of things we need to do that we're going to need a warm environment for. Such as surgery, preparing meals, fixing the ship -- pretty much anything that involves manual dexterity." Finger tick. "And then there are the wounded. I think I'm going to let Carol take over here."
Ling nodded to him. "The Major is right -- I can't tend injured people when it's fifty below indoors. It's already getting colder than I'd like. Frostbite is going to be a constant danger for everyone, but especially for those who are immobile, or less mobile than usual because of their injuries. Liquids will freeze. We're already using hot packs and simple body heat to keep the IV fluids warm enough not to send our patients into shock, but we can't keep that up forever. Put simply, Colonel, we have a lot of injured people and without heat and electricity, we're going to start losing them soon."
"Which would be Dewey's area," Caldwell prompted.
The engineer sighed. "Sir, I wish the news was better. The more time Hermiod spends with the engines, the more he revises his estimate upward of how long it'll take to fix them."
"We don't need a fully operational hyperdrive -- all we need is power!" Caldwell snapped.
"Hermiod understands that, sir. He's just as likely to die in this situation as we are, and he knows it. He reports that the damage is much worse than he'd initially thought."
Sabotage. Caldwell drew a deep breath and let it out. After Novak had informed him of the Wraith transmitter, he'd ordered her to secrecy, sharing the information only with Perry. And then Seavey had shown up with a story of Wraith worshippers on Atlantis. This just kept getting better. His initial hypothesis had been that they were dealing with Goa'uld again, but it was starting to look as if this was a homegrown Pegasus Galaxy threat.
He wondered how much Dewey knew. The man wasn't an idiot and had to have some idea of why his engines had stopped working. At some point he would probably take Dewey into his confidence, but since he couldn't absolutely rule out Goa'uld involvement, he also couldn't rule out the possibility than anyone he trusted could be one of the enemy. "Just keep me posted, Major," he said.
"Yes, sir. Believe me, you'll be the first to know."
The meeting broke up. Caldwell walked Ling back to the end of the cargo bay that they'd designated the sickbay area -- sheets had been hung to give the patients some privacy. "How are they doing?" he asked her quietly.
"We haven't lost any more," she replied in an equally soft tone. The total dead had been seven, including one who'd died during surgery, and that was seven too many. "But there are some critical cases. We're having to hand-ventilate two people, and there are several others who really need surgery -- but I don't want to do it without power unless there's just no option."
"Is Weir awake yet?"
Ling shook her head. "Would you like to be informed when she wakes up, sir?"
"Yes, if you would, Doctor." He wanted, very badly, to talk to Weir about Seavey's revelation about Wraith worshippers. Somehow he seriously doubted that she knew of it -- the woman ran a very loose ship, but surely she couldn't be that tolerant. However, he wanted her feedback, her opinion.
He wanted to know what she knew about the Atlantean scientists in their midst.
Their mystery saboteur had a lot to answer for. Seven dead, numerous injured -- his head reminded him of that every time he made a sudden move -- and several who might be dead before morning. And that reminded him of Seavey, and the fact that he hadn't yet talked to Seavey's friend, Airman Stark, the one who'd had the actual encounter with the Wraith worshippers. Where was Stark? After nodding farewell to Ling, Caldwell tapped his radio. "Airman Stark, this is Caldwell. Report, please."
There was no answer, and Caldwell frowned. "Airman Stark. Report."
Still no answer.
This wasn't good.
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TBC