Time Immemorial

Chapter 31: Charlie Foxtrot

July 17th
0855 Hours

Teyla took point, her P-90 leading the way. She allowed the steely, methodical half of her persona to take over, applying a laser-like focus to the task at hand. It was the only way she was going to get through this.

McKay, to the contrary, barely gave any indication of cognizance. Though he favored it, he hadn't once complained about his injured left arm. He had remained reticent, not muttering a single word since the duo had begun their hike to the Power Room. If not for Teyla forging the path ahead... well, Teyla wasn't sure exactly. She had half a mind to think that McKay would press on were she there or not, oblivious to all surroundings, perhaps even oblivious to her, unstoppably on autopilot to his destination.

Twice the Athosian had offered to carry the ZPM for Rodney. Twice she had been met with a morose silence, his only response a subtle tightening of his grip on the power supply. Teyla doubted she could wrest the ZPM from the scientist had she wanted to. Rodney - and Rodney alone - would see that it made it safely to the Power Room. He didn't trust anyone else with the responsibility, it was that simple. Not with something for which his friend had died. This was his burden. If you want something done right, she had once heard him say, do it yourself.

And you shall, she silently promised McKay. Rodney might have sworn to deliver the ZPM safely to the Power Room, but so help her she would deliver him safely with it-

"Rodney, stop!" Teyla suddenly hissed.

Even as the warning passed through her lips she grabbed at his vest, knowing her words would fall on deaf ears. It was a good thing, too, for the physicist was only three steps away from crashing a Wraith party of four.

As gingerly as she could, the Athosian pressed McKay flat against the corridor behind her. With a stern look she willed him to stay put. Craning his neck past her, Rodney seemed to notice the Wraith for the first time. Also for the first time, the normally cowardly doctor showed no desire to run or whimper. He simply leaned back against the wall, resuming his withdrawn demeanor, and waited for the problem to resolve itself so he could continue to resolve his.

If it didn't, then they were likely dead anyway.

Ford positioned himself next to Corporal LaDage aside the cafeteria's north exit. After his mission to the morgue had been completed, he had returned to the weapons cache as promised. He'd gathered as much as he could carry in the way of P-90s, Berettas, extra ammunition for each, grenades, and a few combat knives to boot. The captain had stuffed it all into two duffel bags, slung them over his shoulders, and had hastened back to mess hall double time. He'd known it wouldn't be enough firepower to sustain his side's position in the fight, but the plan had always been to shuttle back and forth two, three times if needed with however many teammates could be spared.

That was before the Wraith had shot the plan to shit.

The arrival of two Wraith sentries outside one of the cafeteria's doors had been nothing new. Like the several pairs before them, they were the of the skinnier varietal, the ones Ford always thought looked as if they were on their way to a Marilyn Manson concert. Unlike the pairs before them, though, these two hadn't instantly opened fire upon seeing the huddled mass of expedition members. Instead, they had each drawn a small electronic device from their respective cloaks, held it to their mouths, and began reporting in to their hivemates.

"Take them out!" Aiden had shouted frantically. The band of marines had taken them down - at the considerable expense of precious rounds of ammo. But it was too late. Ford's earlier fear had just been realized.

The Atlantis team had served themselves up on a silver platter, and the dinner bell had just been rung. It was only a matter of time now before the hungry began to show up.

He had quickly dispersed what little ammo he had collected to his marines. Directing everyone to follow suit, Aiden had toppled every table that wasn't rooted to the floor. Out of context, it may have looked like he had gone off the deep end, but after several hastily constructed barricades stood between the scientists and the three doorways, no one protested.

And so Ford's feet now stood stock still, rooted at his post near the mess exit instead of again tearing back down the hallway toward the weapons locker. As he stood in stifling silence with his six fellow brothers in arms, each with a rifle pointed down the nearest hallway, he tried not to think about how they needed twice as many marines and triple the ammo if they had any prayer of withstanding a frontal assault by the Wraith. He tried not to think of the dozens of civilians huddled behind him.

Ford waited. There was nothing in his rifle's sights. He strained his hearing, listening for any footfalls of oncoming Wraith, but there were none. Only the muffled reverberations of far off plasma mortar continuing to shell the City reached his ears.

Come on, McKay, Aiden thought to himself. We need that shield up.

Still, Ford waited. It was these moments he dreaded the most: the calm before the storm you knew was coming. You just didn't know when or from what direction you were going to get hit. He shifted his weight, tense, before risking a glance at Corporal LaDage to his right. She continued to point her P-90 steadfastly down the corridor; she didn't exhibit any of the doubt Ford himself was feeling. What if he had gotten it wrong? Maybe the Wraith didn't know they were all here after all. Maybe I have time to run back to the weapons locker-

The sound of rifle chatter to his left instantly dashed that thought.

Two rounds of energy fire shot through the south doorway before the marines posted at it returned with a full volley. "Two Wraith spotted!" Gunnery Sergeant Cassidy called between bursts. "Drones!"

"Three more over here!" LaDage yelled before she, too, opened fire into Ford's door.

Here we go, Ford said silently. "Hold your positions! Do not let them in!" he called, feeling like Captain Obvious as soon as he said the words.

The rallying cry seemed to do the trick, though. The seven marines successfully felled the five oncoming aliens. But as the last warrior drone toppled, just as Ford was starting to breathe easy again, a new wave of approaching Wraith made their presence known. More energy blasts from Wraith rifles flew through both cafeteria doorways. One winged an unlucky corporal, stunning his entire right side. Unwilling to be sidelined, the determined marine merely gritted his teeth against the pain, switched his gun to his left hand, and rejoined the battle.

The same could not be said, however, for one hapless scientist. Making the mistake of peaking beyond a barricade, he was struck broadside by a handblaster's discharge, falling upon impact. One of his coworkers had the sense of mind to drag the unconscious academic to cover.

Ford yelled into his radio between the trading choruses of fire. "Bates! How's it going out there?"

Sergeant Bates was in a quandary of his own. Tasked with leading Atlantis' perimeter teams against the inbound Wraith, he had taken the majority of the marine and Lacedami population outward to meet the Darts head on, along with the majority of the ammo. His was always meant to be the first line of defense; those left at the mess hall were the last resort. His assignment had been derailed, though, when the Lacedami forces had turned on his marines. Even now his own subteam of four remained engaged with an opposing Lacedami unit on a lengthy balcony overlooking the ocean.

As if holding off three Wraith cruisers wasn't hard enough, Bates groused to himself. He had told Ford not to let the Lacedami roam free, armed and unchecked. Sure, they had more than doubled the number of Wraith kills, but they had also taken one of his men out of the action. Then he had heard reports of Darts beaming their warriors into the City...

"Bates! How's it going out there?" the sergeant heard in his ear. He also heard rifle fire in the background.

Bates fired off an extended burst from his P-90 at one Lacedami soldier who was becoming a little too bold for his liking. The man was driven back inside. Satisfied, Bates dropped down into cover to take the call.

"Not great, Captain!" he yelled back to Ford above the battle's din. "My teams have been been split up! The Lacedami divided us and drove most of my men back into the City!"

"Copy, stay at it! What about the Darts?"

"Not much luck on that front either, sir! We were able to take down two-" Bates paused as his teammate beside him fired off a few rounds "-two Darts before the Lacedami turned on us, but there are still hundreds of them out there!"

Bates could practically hear the despair in the long silence before Ford simply answered, "Roger."

"How's the shield coming?" Bates tried. He heard the sizzle bullets overhead.

Another pregnant pause. "Dr. McKay is... I'm sure he'll have it up in no time!"

Great, Bates thought sourly. That's code for 'I have no clue.'

"Sergeant, can you spare any of your guys? Things are getting a little too busy here for only the seven of us!" Ford radioed.

Risking a glance overtop the stone dais behind which he crouched, Bates spotted the five enemy soldiers they just couldn't shake. "Afraid not, sir," he started, before noticing his teammate duck back down, yell "dry!", and fumble for another magazine. The man's hands, slicked with his own blood, dropped the rounds. He picked them up with a curse.

"My group's pinned down and outnumbered as it is!" Bates continued explaining as he took over for the corporal. He popped out of cover and drew a bead on the nearest Lacedami. Rat-tat-tat sounded his rifle as he squeezed the trigger. "I haven't been able to raise the others since we got split up-"

"I haven't been able to raise the others since we got split up-" Ford had heard the sergeant begin. Then nothing.

"Bates?" Ford radioed from back in the mess hall. No answer. "Bates, do you copy?"

His peripheral vision suddenly caught a lone Wraith as it burst into the chow hall, the first to break through their perimeter. Where do you think you're going? Aiden thought to himself as he took aim. He emptied about half a mag into it - that damn thing just wouldn't die - before calling for aid. Its relative proximity jolted everyone into firing at it with renewed fervor. It finally toppled, its weighty body convulsing under the force of the hundreds of rounds that impacted it.

"They're pushing in closer!" someone shouted.

"Captain Ford!" came a new voice in his ear. It sounded like Lance Corporal Delgado. "Sergeant Bates is down! I repeat: Sergeant Bates is down! We need-"

Just like that, Delgado, too, was cut off. Ford knew what that meant.

Aiden bit back the anger stoking up inside of him. Without a second thought, he pulled the pin a grenade he'd been holding and lobbed it full force out the nearest doorway. "Grenade out!" he called before ducking behind a table.

The explosion wasn't spectacular, but it did the trick. As the smoke cleared from the outside hall he spotted three Wraith bodies on the floor.

But there was no time to celebrate. Instead, Ford focused his fire on the far eastern exit. Another magazine, dry. Not good, he thought to himself.

"Dr. McKay, Teyla!" he radioed. "This is Ford, do you copy?"

No answer.

"Guys, we really need that shield up! Are you still out there?"

Silence. Ford buried the growing dread for his teammates. He pictured the Darts' plasma rounds tearing the City to shreds, and continuing to deposit wave after wave of Wraith foot soldiers within its walls.

Whether or not he made it out of the cafeteria alive was inconsequential if Atlantis' shield was not raised.

Teyla drummed her fingers on her P-90's gripstock. For several minutes now, she and Rodney had waited in tense silence, praying that the four Wraith would leave. But stayed they had, and she had formulated no plan in the meantime. Now she feared time was running out, for them all.

"Dr. McKay, Teyla! This is Ford, do you copy?" they each heard over their radio. With the Wraith in such close proximity, though, they dared not answer.

"Guys, we really need that shield up! Are you still out there?"

We are so close! the Athosian lamented. The entrance to the Power Room was only around next bend.

She scrutinized the two warrior drones and two scouts for any obvious weaknesses. There were none. Her eyes then darted to the ZPM tucked in the crook of Rodney's arm.

People's lives depend on us, Teyla rallied herself. You must do something.

"Rodney, be ready to move," she risked whispering to him. "Whatever happens, you must reach the Power Room and raise Atlantis' shield." She assessed him carefully. "Do you understand me?"

"What are you doing?" he asked plainly, his first words on their trek.

"I will do what I can to keep the Wraith away, but you must work quickly. I do not know how long I will be able to elude them."

McKay shut his eyes, understanding her intent. He could not handle losing another friend, letting yet another sacrifice themselves so that he may continue on. What made him so important?

She pulled her one and only grenade from her vest and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I will meet you in the Control Room. You will make it, Rodney. Good luck." With a final reassuring nod, she pulled the pin and tossed the grenade down the hall at the Wraith cluster.

But the Wraith were canny. They scattered as soon as the grenade bounced at their feet. Three successfully dodged the blast, though the fourth, one of the masked drones, was too slow. The concussive wave drove him into the wall before the tiny fragmentation shards ripped into his flesh. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Teyla stepped out into plain sight and whistled sharply. The remaining three Wraith snapped out of their daze and spotted their potential meal. Teyla shot off down the hall like a rabbit in the direction opposite the Power Room, ensuring the hounds took up chase before kicking it into high gear.

After watching her disappear around a corner, Wraith in tow, the physicist hobbled to the Power Room. The irony was not lost on him; this was where their troubles had all began, barely more than one day ago. It felt like ages.

He entered the darkened space. The room sported no windows, and the Lantean work lights running vertically along the walls were out. Rodney clicked on his small rifle-mounted flashlight. Panning the narrow beam of light slowly around the room, he took in the situation.

Like many of Atlantis' other spaces, the Power Room had suffered some damage during the ongoing assault. Thankfully, due to its central location, the magnitude was minor. Several boxes had fallen off their shelves. The bag of talcum powder, bullet hole and all, lay toppled on its side, its contents spilled on the floor. Dust and debris had been strewn atop the triangular dais in which three empty ports awaited their ZPMs. Those ports, too, had been contaminated with rubble, but it was nothing McKay couldn't clear out. His flashlight then landed on the primary workstation.

"Oh, no..."

Two metal panels that had once covered the electrical and data conduits within the ceiling overhead had crashed down onto the console. One had smashed the crystal data entry interfaces on its way to the floor. The other had speared the display, implanting itself vertically in the Ancient computer. The system was useless. Though the ZPM could be inserted into its receptacle, it could not be activated without user direction from the console.

McKay felt the rising despair, but it only lasted a fleeting moment before his mind quickly hatched an alternate solution. He eyed the secondary workstation. There were three screens wrapping around a singular seat. The desk was devoid of all but a handful of buttons. It had been designed as a display unit with only rudimentary interface controls, its purpose primarily to monitor, not command.

I don't care about what anything was designed to do, I care about what it can do, Rodney thought to himself, borrowing a line from the Apollo 13 disaster.

And like Gene Kranz's steely-eyed missile men, he fully intended to jury-rig the best goddamn solution together that would save all of their lives.

Gingerly, he placed the ZPM on the secondary workstation, feeling revived with purpose. His P-90 was laid down next to it. The beam of its flashlight was aimed at the triangular podium. Now if I can only find the proverbial duct tape, he thought, rummaging around for alligator clamps, wire, and a pair of dykes. He kept his injured arm tightly to his side as he fumbled around the dark. He was going to have to do this, almost literally, blindfolded and with one hand behind his back.

As if this wasn't going to be difficult enough already, he bemoaned.

TBC

Author's note: Thanks, Marlab, for the kind words! We're about 75% through; I hope you find the rest of the fic enjoyable, too.