Lorne had been given a basic overview of the puddle jumpers when he'd first arrived in Atlantis, and had read as many of the research notes on the crafts as he could get his hands on since, the latter of which had proven to be almost entirely incomprehensible most of the time. It turned out that tech experts are seldom writers for a reason, and what bits of dense jargon Lorne was able to penetrate were often overwhelmed by sheer illegibility. The puddle jumpers weren't really a point of high interest for the researchers either. The jumpers flew, they shot, their cloak could be converted to a shield. Overall they were a weapon, one that seemed to function just fine without tech interference for the most part, and that made them a matter for the military personnel to look after. And the military techs were even less capable writers than the civilian ones. There were some notes on structural limits, but very little on what to do if your jumper just… turned itself off.
The last several hours had brought Lorne face to face with his own ignorance, as he pulled off panels, followed wiring and examined crystals and chips whose ultimate purpose escaped him. He felt like an idiot and a failure, and being startled by his own radio every few minutes because he'd lost track of time in the pits of frustration hadn't improved his mood any. It turned out that regular radio check ins while crawling around in the guts of a machine Lorne didn't really understand was actually kind of a hassle, and the extent of help offered by Helton was holding the flashlight.
When the exploration team turned back because they were running out of daylight, it was actually something of a relief, because it was one less thing Lorne had to keep track of. Of course, them actually arriving and Helton letting them in was another matter, as cold of more than one variety found its way into the jumper. The air outside was icy, but so was the mood the team brought with them.
"I'm just saying it's a plastic holiday for plastic people," Souci was telling someone behind her as she climbed into the jumper, "The kind that chokes sea-life."
"The holiday or the people?" Wilson's voice inquired, though he didn't sound invested in the answer.
"Both," Souci replied over her shoulder.
"There is a lot of pressure," admitted Janella reluctantly, following Souci through the hatch, "I never could find the perfect gift. That's actually why I got into crochet. My grandmother always said that the perfect gift is the one made with love, and everyone can always use another blanket," she dropped down onto one of the benches lining either side of the jumper, bracing herself so she didn't slide out, "I think my parents would've begged to differ. After all, once every bed and couch is covered and the closet is full, what do you do with all those blankets?"
Suddenly self-conscious as she remembered that more people than just her friend Marissa were in earshot, Janella fell silent and began to play with the end of her thick braid. The flashlights hung in the jumper's interior caught the chestnut highlights of her nearly black hair as she did so.
Janella had been a part of the Atlantis mission from the start, Lorne knew. But she remained shy and unsure of herself, which was accentuated by the fact that she was what Lorne's grandfather would have called a 'little slip of a thing.' She looked fragile and delicate. Lorne's first impression of her had been that she was silently efficient because she was detached and preoccupied with her work, but it had gradually dawned on him after a couple scientist team babysitting missions where she had been part of said team that she was quiet and focused because it helped her nerves and lack of self-confidence. By his estimation, she was a true rarity in Atlantis, a genius who wasn't absolutely sure of her own genius.
George climbed in next, saying, "It's not like it's all bad. A good office party always has rumballs or at least halfway decent eggnog, and that's not nothing. Besides, there's no harm in a little holiday cheer, good will to men, peace on wherever and all that."
"The only goodwill I'm interested in is the one I donate old jeans to," Helton offered with a grin, though he really hadn't been invited to be part of the conversation, "Only thing Christmas ever did was give my mom another thing to snipe at my dad about."
"I thought you were disappointed to be missing out on the Atlantis Christmas party?" Souci reminded him with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah," Helton muttered, "I was hoping to have a nice Christmas for once. Instead, I'm trapped in a bog with you lot," with a sarcastic eye roll, he concluded, "Merry Christmas, everyone."
Opting not to engage with this side topic, Lorne instead looked to Wilson and Coughlin, who were the last ones into the jumper. Wilson closed the hatch behind them, while Coughlin looked down at Lorne and issued a loud, discouraged sigh along with a dismal head-shake that told Lorne they didn't come bearing good tidings… and also that this Christmas discussion had long ago lost its charm as far as they were concerned. But civilians will be civilians, and complaining about Christmas was certainly much easier to deal with than direct and targeted harassment, which was often as not the lot of those in uniform. Better civilians complain about Christmas than relentlessly hammer innocent men in uniform with questions about war crimes about which they effectively knew nothing and had not participated in, which was a favorite pastime of certain civilians in the Stargate Program. That is, when they weren't insulting the intelligence and capability of military men to inflate their own egos.
Getting up from working on the crystals behind the main navigation control panel and stretching, Lorne interrupted the Christmas complaints to say, "Report."
"A whole lot of nothing, Major," Coughlin answered, rubbing his hands together in a clear indication that his gloves weren't nearly as effective at keeping them warm as he would've liked, "A lot of bad terrain, some animal tracks I didn't like much, and clouds comin' in on the wind that Wilson doesn't like the look of at all."
Wilson was trained as a Special Operations Weather Technician, which was a fancy way of saying his job was to predict the weather, specifically its possible effect on a mission. If he didn't like the way some clouds looked, Lorne knew to take the concern seriously. He turned to Wilson.
"We're safe enough in here, I should think, sir," Wilson said without prompting, "But I wouldn't like to be outside tonight. Not in any of the places we scouted anyway."
"Well that's not good news," Lorne remarked, looking around the jumper's interior and trying to figure out how they'd make eight people comfortable in here overnight, "And in further bad news, this thing's totally dead," he laid a hand on the controls panel behind him, "I can't even get the lights turned on."
"That's probably because of the defense system," Souci said, "It was interfering with the Ancient tech before we landed, now it's keeping the jumper totally dead. We find whatever device is active and shut it down, the jumper will probably fix itself. Because it's not actually broken."
Lorne had his doubts that it was that simple, but Souci did have a point. Lorne's long afternoon of failure certainly hadn't given him any better ideas.
"And we found a bit more than 'a lot of nothing,'" George rumbled, "We found ruins."
"Ruins?" Lorne queried, his interest quickening.
While it was true ruins could sometimes be nothing, often something within ruins was worth seeing, especially when those ruins were located off-world. Coughlin should know better by now than to dismiss ruins casually… which immediately made Lorne wonder why he had done so.
"Yeah, the ruins," Souci nodded enthusiastically, "They're built into the side of the cliffs we hit on the way in. We'd've taken a closer look, but somebody wouldn't let us," she gave Coughlin a hard glare, which he patently ignored.
"What kind of ruins?" Lorne asked Coughlin.
But Souci answered, "Not Ancient, that much we could tell from a distance. But without a closer look..." she shrugged, still giving Coughlin a bit of a side eye.
"Major, that whole area is karst," Coughlin said, with a glance at George, "Armstrong thinks it's some kind of limestone."
"Which means the erosion of wind and water, among other things, has created caves and sinkholes, and is undoubtedly still creating them," George put in when Coughlin paused.
"Which means that whole thing could collapse any time," Coughlin concluded firmly, "And I don't want to be inside it when that happens."
"Which means you're standing the way of our best chance at finding a way out of here," Souci summarized harshly, crossing her arms and thus doing a passable impression of a temperamental teenager, something she was much too old to be emulating.
It was clear that this argument had taken place before. Coughlin had either scored the final point on scene, or had resorted to bullying tactics. Lorne hoped it was the former, but he suspected it was the latter, because Souci was one of those people who always had to have the last word on any subject.
Annoyingly, just like earlier, both parties were right. Coughlin was right to prioritize the safety of the team. But Souci was also probably right that investigating the ruins was their best chance at finding a way off this rock. Possibly the ruins weren't just ruins. Or possibly they would offer some sort of indication where other artificial structures could be found. Structures such as whatever housed the defense system that had brought down the puddle jumper in the first place.
Lorne was beginning to feel like a dad settling an argument between siblings. Once that thought crossed his mind, it was immediately followed by memory of something his dad used to say a lot.
"Never on Christmas, Evan." He would always say, "No good'll come from it. You can work any other day you like, but never work on Christmas. That's just asking for trouble."
Somehow, the older Lorne got, the wiser his father's advice sounded. Yet he never had been bright enough to take the advice when he should have. He always had to notice in hindsight that he could've saved himself a lot of trouble if he'd paid more attention to the things his dad used to tell him.
I should've stayed home and written my parents a Christmas card instead, Lorne thought wearily.
He glanced at Lt. Reed, reminding himself that somebody was having a far worse day than he was. Reed had regained consciousness a few hours ago, and obtained a sitting position, but not much else. Reed wasn't a big talker anyway, but it was clear that he currently found most noises painful to his aching head, and even breathing comfortably was too much to ask thanks to a couple broken ribs.
Lorne also knew that there was worse than that. Reed was the second-in-command of Lorne's team. He backed Major Lorne's plays, and quietly reminded him that there were some things TLs just weren't supposed to do. Not only was leading a recon team new ground for Lorne, being the second in military command of Atlantis was also a big deal. Lorne had been a second-in-command before, but not of something so hugely significant. The Atlantis expedition was a massive operation. Reed understood the kind of pressure Lorne was often under, and his stolid demeanor was a tremendous help. But now Reed was unable to provide that aid, his injuries had rendered him unable to perform his duties. Feeling useless and helpless was the worst thing in the world for a guy like Reed, and Major Lorne knew it.
That thought, in turn, gave him new insight into Coughlin's position. It wasn't just that Coughlin felt the area was unsafe, it was that he didn't want the responsibility of having decided to enter it. Coughlin didn't like making those sorts of decisions, and also didn't feel it was his place to make them.
In a way, he was right. It was Lorne's job and his responsibility to decide in the field if something was or was not worth the risk. Though even Lorne at times was inclined to defer to Dr. Weir or Col. Sheppard if the opportunity was available. He preferred seeking permission to asking forgiveness, because he knew a thing or two about people who didn't offer the latter if he screwed up even a little. Looked at in that light, Coughlin's actions made perfect sense, and Lorne might've made the same call if Colonel Sheppard had been waiting back at the jumper for a report.
But the civilians weren't responsible for their own safety or that of the rest of the team. As Souci had said earlier, their job was exploration. They had come here because their curiosity outweighed their caution, otherwise they would never have joined the Atlantis Expedition. They were driven here primarily by a desire to learn, to discover, while the military men like Lorne's team had signed on with the SGC and then gone on to Atlantis because they wanted to serve and protect, first their country, and then (once they saw the big picture) all of humanity. It wasn't that no civilian thought in protective terms, and no soldier had an ounce of wonder, it was just a matter of priorities.
It was Lorne's job here and now to smooth down the ruffled feathers on both sides… somehow. Dr. Weir and Col. Sheppard always made it look so easy.
"There's not much more we can do tonight," Lorne said finally, "Eat something if you can, see if you can find somewhere comfortable in here and get some sleep."
"Just so long as we don't have to sing any Christmas carols," Helton muttered.
"And then what?" Souci asked, unsatisfied.
She didn't seem to understand the concept of trying to keep the peace.
"I want to take a look at the ruins for myself in the morning. I have a little more off-world experience than Coughlin or Wilson," Lorne replied, and Coughlin's look of relief did not go unnoticed by him.
"George has more experience than any of us," Souci argued, "What do you expect to see that he wouldn't?"
The last thing Lorne wanted was to be picking a fight with George Armstrong, in part because that was a fight he wasn't sure he could actually win, but mostly because he and George had always gotten along reasonably well, and he didn't want that to change. Especially not now.
"I don't know," Lorne answered honestly, "Maybe nothing."
"I'm a geologist, Rissa," George reminded her, "When I go off-world, it's not to study cultures or old buildings. It's the land I'm interested in, and how we can best use it if we need to."
"And Janella's a botanist," Souci pointed out, "But I dare any of you to sit a horse better than she does. We all have more than one specialty," All except for the Air Force personnel, her words didn't say, but her eyes did when they cast a glance in Lorne's direction after the end of her sentence.
"Look, I'm not saying I'll see anything George or you wouldn't," Lorne told them, "I'm just saying I want to take a look at the ruins for myself tomorrow. That's all."
Apparently he was going to have to address this sooner rather than later, so he decided to stop playing nice for a moment, and tell it like it was, "And even if it wasn't, I'm in charge of the mission, which means I give the orders. Everybody clear on that?"
Everyone nodded agreeably enough, but Marissa Souci still had that look in her eye, like she thought she should be running the show, because she knew so much.
And that was the most dangerous thing about her attitude. She thought she knew, when the reality was that none of them knew anything about this place. Even George, who was looking a little irritated about Lorne's approach, knew how much they didn't know. And he knew also that, if this turned into a genuine disaster or even a tragedy, the full blame for it would fall heavily and squarely on Major Lorne.
Given that, he was willing to cut Lorne a little slack. For that, Lorne was grateful.