Any of them could have decided to go back to the jumper, but instead the research team insisted on all coming along. George was too proud a man to even admit that the cold was getting to him or that the muddy, uneven terrain was tough to get over, but the rest of them didn't have that excuse. Helton claimed that he'd missed out on recon the day before and wasn't about to do it again, because he'd come here to do more than just be a doctor, he'd come to explore and discover strange new things (to which Wilson had replied that was very "Star Trek" of him). Marissa Souci of course reminded them about how this had all been her idea in the first place, exploring, checking out the ruins, and then recognizing the map for what it was, and it wouldn't be fair not to let her see the results of her efforts. Of them, Janella alone was honest.
"None of us are Rodney McKay," she pointed out gently, "And we did not come with a team well-suited to the task of studying ruins or dealing with alien devices. It may take all of us to figure it out."
Janella had nailed exactly what Lorne had been thinking, but hadn't quite managed to work out the reasons for in his own mind, much less put them into words. He also hadn't been all that eager to draw attention to the fact that he was no Colonel Sheppard, nor did his team have an equivalent of McKay on it. His team was designed to provide support for other teams, protection for members of the science department, and occasionally they made first contact, or built up off-world relationships for the purposes of alliance or trade. But they were not a tech team or historians. Devices that had the capability of killing a puddle jumper mid-flight and keeping it dead on the ground were more than a little outside his team's area of expertise and were far beyond that of George's team.
So they had stayed together as they headed eastward, though Lorne made sure to radio Reed and let him know what they were doing so the lieutenant wouldn't get anxious about their absence. Not that Reed was much prone to anxiety, but it wasn't like he had anything better to do besides worry.
It didn't take more than a couple of hours for the complaining to start up again. The country wasn't exactly attractive, the situation was scary and the conditions unpleasant. But since everyone had insisted on coming, they refrained from complaining about the journey itself, and went back to swapping holiday-themed displeasures, because apparently they had to complain about something.
There was only so much of Helton talking about how boring and stuffy his parents were about Christmas, Souci detailing the emptiness of the holidays spent in Lubbock and George recounting Yuletides spent in the company of girlfriends that had usually broken up with him by January that Major Lorne could take before he decided to take Wilson's example and drop back as far as he dared.
Distance didn't help much, but the stiff wind moaning across the morass did. Lorne hadn't appreciated it before, but now it served to carry away the sound of collective whining and he was suddenly immensely grateful to it, despite the chill sinking into his bones.
The team was outfitted with wind and water resistant clothing, and their boots kept out the worst of both the cold and the wet. But their jackets were light and, while the team had packed gloves, those gloves were more for protection than warmth. The flak vests added more weight than insulation. Lorne wouldn't like to be stuck out in this for long, and hoped fervently they found somewhere sheltered and somewhat dry to make camp come dark.
The latter hope seemed to be in vain. Where the land had gotten drier and rockier on the way to the ruins, in the opposite direction it only got stickier, and finally just turned entirely to liquid. Though they tried to pick their path and footing to avoid it, there were times the team was in several inches of mud so thin it was more like dark colored water than anything. Instead of a mere squelching noise, they started actually splashing as they walked.
Lorne didn't like it at all. And neither, it seemed, did Wilson, who kept casting a worried eye at the sky, which was leaden; even the wind seemed unable to do anything to liven anything up. The dark clouds were so low it felt almost like you could reach up and touch them. In a manner of speaking, the clouds actually were that sunken in the sky, because mist or fog or whatever you wanted to call it hung around any hillock or clump of vegetation it could find to cling to, meaning that at times they were essentially walking through the clouds.
Wilson might have been worried about the weather, but Lorne was developing a slightly different concern. It seemed like, the farther east they traveled, the lower and wetter the landscape got. The trees were bare, their branches and high roots twined and twisted together such that it was difficult to judge where one tree began and another ended. The trees reminded him of mangroves. This concerned him for several reasons, not the least of which being that he had no training or experience in this type of environment. He also couldn't help but think of the everglades, and in particular the sort of animals that lived in them. He'd heard alligators weren't really as bad as the movies always made them out to be… but he didn't want to find out. And he especially didn't want to find out the disposition of the Pegasus Galaxy equivalent of an alligator.
It also bothered him, this range of terrain and plant life in such a small area. He was much more used to having roughly similar terrain everywhere he went on an initial exploration. Terrain varied a little bit in a couple of miles, but going from karst cliffs to everglade swamp in a couple of hours struck him as more than a little odd and very unsettling for ill-defined reasons.
He decided to get a second opinion, from someone who would probably actually know. Increasing his pace to rejoin the group, he worked his way casually up to Janella.
"Dr. McMains," he began cautiously, "Is this range of plant life in such a small area… normal?"
Janella smiled kindly, evidently amused by his concern and sympathetic to his ignorance, "Not on Earth, no. But, believe me, I have seen far stranger flora off-world. These planets we visit may look like Earth at a glance, but the more you know about the natural sciences, especially what we still call Earth-science despite that being something of a misnomer out here, the more immediately you realize that they're all very unique."
"Oh," Lorne said, accepting the explanation, but somehow far from comforted.
To his way of thinking, all the planets being "very unique" was actually a bad thing in terms of assuring the success of a mission and safety of its people. He also didn't like discovering this gaping hole in his knowledge, because he understood at once what such ignorance might cost.
Seeming to sense his unease, Janella touched his arm to regain his attention and said softly, "But that's what we're here for, isn't it? To learn, to expand our knowledge and understanding of the universe. The more we know, the better our chances of survival. We're here because we don't have all the answers."
"I suppose that's true," Lorne acknowledged reluctantly, and lapsed into silence.
After a few moments, Janella remarked playfully, "It's nice to know you're human after all."
"How do you mean?"
"Nothing," Janella said quickly, developing a sudden need to gaze intently into the water they were slogging through, before recovering her nerve, "It's just… you barely had a chance to get your footing in Atlantis before you got thrown into the deep end."
"I don't quite follow," Lorne admitted.
"Well, you'd barely started your appointment as military second-in-command in Atlantis when first the Iratus bug retrovirus mutated Col. Sheppard, and then his entire team got ambushed by Lt. Ford and his people. Suddenly you weren't just finding your way around a massive city and supporting your CO, you were having to do his job and yours and trying to save him all at once. And through it all, I never saw you hesitate or flinch. You didn't seem rattled by any of it."
"It is what I signed on for," Lorne reminded her, just a shade embarrassed by the unexpected praise of his first few weeks as a member of the Atlantis team.
He was also more than a little surprised that Janella had taken the time to notice. They really hadn't known each other then, and she had always seemed too busy with her work to really pay attention to anything beyond her field of study, least of all what was going on with the military side.
"Everyone volunteered for this," Janella said, "But not everyone is good at it."
"You are," Lorne told her, and when she looked to demure, he insisted, "You wouldn't still be here if you weren't good. Remember, I'm new to the Pegasus Galaxy, not the Stargate Program. You're only into your second year of both. The universe is a big place. It takes awhile to get your bearings."
"And longer still to learn your plants, apparently," she replied, with a shyly mischievous smile.
Lorne grinned, "You've got me there, I'm not a plant guy."
"We can't all be everything to everyone all the time," Janella said.
"You're not wrong there either," Lorne admitted brightly, "See? You really are that good."
"Now you're just being ridiculous," Janella scolded, but he could see in her dark brown eyes that she was pleased, though she tried to conceal it by looking away hurriedly.
"Well yer a might overcooked, Rodney, but otherwise I'd say ye came out o' that very well," Carson concluded after careful examination, "And ye should consider yerself lucky at that. I'm sure ye know how fast heatstroke can set in."
"I'm well aware, thank you," Rodney replied a trifle shortly.
Whether or not he could be left in the car as a child had been yet another thing for Rodney's parents to fight over, and they had unknowingly terrorized him with the statistics of how hot a car could get even just sitting in the sun for a few minutes, and how quickly that heat could kill children and dogs. Unrelieved heat above a certain threshold could kill just about anything, and Rodney had felt much closer to that limit today than he'd ever wanted to be. He supposed he could add dying in a hot, lightless chamber to his list of nightmares.
"There's no need to get snippy," Carson rebuked gently, then went on with his medical opinion, "From the looks of ye, I'd say ye were a bit dehydrated to begin with."
"I was working," Rodney said.
"Aye," Carson replied, knowing that Rodney's preoccupation with work could sometimes distract him from the usually all-important business of eating and drinking, but he went on undaunted, "Ye'll need to be replacing the fluids ye lost. In this case, I think ye can manage it on yer own without an IV."
"When can I go back to work?" Rodney asked, for though he was often in the infirmary for one minor matter or another, he never liked to stay long, and he particularly did not want to stay now as Carson and his staff had clearly been exercising their right to be excessive in their festive decorating efforts, and he had the sinking feeling they'd start playing Christmas pop any moment.
"I'd like to keep ye here for a few hours, just to be safe," Carson answered.
"Carson, we may not have a few hours," to Rodney's surprise, this came from Sheppard, who had been quietly watching from a corner while Carson worked, "This situation is already out of hand, and I think that Rodney was targeted for a reason."
"I'm well aware of our wee gremlin issue, Colonel," Carson informed him patiently, "We've had flickering lights and scanner echoes most o' the night. Not to mention teams of belligerent marines wandering in and out at all hours, along with the member of Dorsey's team who fell down the stairs when the lights went out where they were searching."
Sheppard straightened perceptibly, "Why didn't you report any of that?"
"I did," Carson said, sounding offended by the implication, "No one seemed interested."
"What do you mean?" Rodney asked, "Who didn't seem interested?"
"Y'know I'm no good with voices on the radio, Rodney. I think it was Chuck, relaying to Dr. Weir," Carson answered, uncertainty crossing his features.
Rodney shook his head vehemently, "I spent most of the night in Operations. The Gate Tech was never contacted by you or anyone on your staff."
"Well now we know where our 'gremlins' were all night," Sheppard said, immediately liking and adopting Carson's term for the creatures, "They were messing around in here. And… apparently, they can do more than just laugh at us. They can pretend to be us."
"Oh. Wonderful," Rodney mumbled, his will to continue deflating like a pricked balloon.
The creatures were so far ahead of them at every step, so utterly unpredictable, so chaotic, there didn't seem to be anything they could do but sit back and hope the so-called gremlins got bored of their home wrecking while there was still a piece of Atlantis standing.
But Rodney knew they wouldn't stop. Instinctively, he sensed that these things would persist until every single person with the ATA gene was dead. But if that was their ultimate goal, they were terribly unfocused about it. Maybe they were just recharging as Rodney had originally postulated, or perhaps learning more of the systems… but they seemed to have been able to disable the puddle jumpers immediately, suggesting intimate familiarity with Ancient tech, and they had been messing around with the radios all night, meaning they had quickly understood Earth tech as well.
He was missing something. Something obvious.
"Lights and echoes…" he murmured thoughtfully, eyes unfocusing, "Immortal creatures leading travelers to their death… lonely and looking for attention..."
"Rodney?" Sheppard asked with sudden concern, worried that the apparently random, broken phrases Rodney was uttering meant something had snapped in his head.
But Carson seemed to understand. His head tilted a little, his own eyes focused very hard on Rodney's face, almost as if he were trying to read the thoughts that Rodney couldn't quite get together.
Suddenly, the combination of exhaustion, near-death, Carson's usage of the term 'gremlin' and memory of his own childhood clicked together, making a totally new picture.
"Gremlins," Rodney exclaimed suddenly, "Carson, you're a genius!"
"Oh am I?" Carson replied, "And how's that?"
But now Sheppard had it too. He was in the Air Force, after all.
"Gremlins have been blamed for all kinds of equipment malfunctions since World War II. Particularly anything to do with aircraft," Sheppard supplied, "The first things our gremlins went after were the puddle jumpers. Heck, Atlantis itself is technically a space ship."
Rodney said, "When I was in Russia, they'd talk about the possibility that the stories of gremlins had a real origin, on some distant planet, like so many other so-called myths. And that led to theorizing that they might have been around on Earth for hundreds or even thousands of years before we invented airplanes of our own. The common theory was that the creatures in folklore identified as bad fairies, minor demons and imps might have been related. They were said to use pranks and mischief to get attention, and to lead people who didn't know the area astray with lights, echoes, or empty promises."
Carson's eyes widened, "Surely yer not sayin' it's actually gremlins."
"I've been in the Stargate Program long enough to know there's an element of truth to every myth out there," Rodney retorted, "When you consider that the original pyramids really were landing pads for alien space ships and we are literally living in the city of Atlantis, are imps really so far fetched?"
"Well," Carson sighed, "Gremlins was a Christmas movie."
"Was it? I never saw it," Rodney replied.
"Ye didna see a lot o' things as a child, did ye?" Carson asked.
"Look, I was smart enough to avoid watching anything that was likely to give me nightmares," that is, if his father didn't make him watch them because they were the sort of movies a boy 'should' like.
Sheppard shook his head, uninterested in the digression, "Okay, but where does that leave us?"
"I don't know," Rodney said impatiently, "Myth and folklore isn't my thing. But it's possible that may be our best chance at figuring out what the hell these things are, and how we can get rid of them."
"Great," Sheppard said, clearly meaning the opposite of that, "Just… great."
"Look, if you have a better idea, I'm all ears," Rodney retorted.
By way of answer, Sheppard changed the subject, "Do we even have any books about imps?"
"Not likely," Carson said, "From what I recall, imps were generic troublemakers, not well defined at all. So you wouldn't write a book about them. Not even a full chapter. More like... maybe a paragraph."
"I don't suppose we could just see if we could kill them with sunlight?" Sheppard sighed.
"You could try, but I doubt it'd be very effective," Rodney replied.
"I was afraid you were gonna say that."