OF STONE AND DUST AND ASHES
From the testimony of Guild Master Aitrus of the Guild of Surveyors
I knew that, upon following Veovis to that Age, I would be walking right into his snare. However, Veovis had made himself quite clear that my wife, my Ti'ana, would suffer the consequences of my hesitance should I not immediately link. Of course, there was no way I could know that it was nothing short of a lie. How foolish I had been to think that any man could hold a woman such as Lady Ti'ana. No. No man alive can hold my Ti'ana against her will. No one could have known that, perhaps within the hour of my encounter with Veovis, Ti'ana had spotted him on the street and followed him to that Age. She stalked her prey and set her own traps while I willfully stepped into theirs.
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Upon Rahd'ni's flight, argument breaks out in the infirmary. It is heated, cutting, and quite profane. No one is spared from the amalgam of fury, as each bears some measure of responsibility for this turn of events. Sheppard attempts rather unsuccessful to bite back his frustration and swallow his sarcasm, but he finds it difficult when faced with Woolsey. They are frightened, rightfully so, and it is all too easy to hide behind the blame being bandied about for Rahd'ni's abrupt departure.
When the flaring tempers finally settle, a rather haphazard plan is cobbled together in short order. Lorne pilots a jumper to the mainland as Sheppard dresses and Radek packs a few things. Lorne will wait at the beach where the book in D'ni links travelers to Lantea, while Radek and Sheppard will return to D'ni through the linking book left in Rahd'ni's wake. There, they shall explain the situation carefully and attempt to appeal to Rahd'ni's humanity, his sympathy – should any remain in his heart for the Lanteans.
The preparation takes little more than an hour, perhaps less even.
Radek eyes the linking book warily. It seems such an innocuous item, nothing more than a leather bound journal. However, he knows from Rahd'ni's careful explanation that every bit of material in the construction and the writing of a linking book are imbued with special characteristics unknown to even Rahd'ni for all his years in D'ni. It is a mystery wrapped in a conundrum, and one which the Lanteans are unlikely to unravel in this – or any other – lifetime. A part of the Czech thrills at the possibilities to behold therein, while the skeptic within him worries over the book.
Finally, when these warring opinions can find no compromise and when his curiosity demands to be sated, he simply hands the book to Sheppard. The colonel eases the cover open and presses his palm upon the glowing panel in the inside. Radek watches studiously as Sheppard links, his body shimmering as though the light about him is refracted by heat before vanishing entirely. Radek marvels at the effect of this seeming natural heat convection, pondering if it is, perhaps, a byproduct of the energy necessary to link or if this convection draws that energy. The linking book settles harmlessly upon the infirmary bed.
Radek lifts the linking book, constantly marveling at how light it is, how finely crafted such a thing could be to remain no heavier than an average hardcover book. In truth, Radek's personal library includes mostly tomes nearly double or triple the heft of this book on varied subjects. None of those humble books – no matter the subject – could ever come nearly as close to enthralling the Czech so much as this linking book.
He gently lifts the cover and surveys the image contained on the panel. It is dark, black enough to seem nearly devoid of anything. Yet, even as Radek stares, the shadows shift and congeal as something stirs in the darkness. A shaft of light flares from a maglight, penetrating the darkness and vaguely illuminating the man who holds the light; Sheppard. The colonel is safe, it seems.
Radek gingerly touches his hand to the surface of the linking panel and follows suit. He is swallowed by a deep, lurching sensation as the image upon the page of Sheppard scouting the location swells to engulf him. There is no clear delineation between Atlantis and D'ni. The place catalogued within the linking book simply grows increasing substantial as Atlantis seems to fade out about him. When the link is complete, however, Radek is left with the absolute knowledge that he is, in fact, in that other place.
The room they rematerialize in is small and dark, even with Sheppard's flashlight. Radek fetches a few chemlights from his pack and snaps them one at a time, shaking them out and tossing them about at random. The chemlights each offer a small radius of sickly, neon green light, but, coupled together, the disposable lights illuminate the room enough for the Czech and the colonel.
Sheppard blinks, taken back by the simple fact that this, Rahd'ni's second linking book abandoned on Lantea, does not link to the same place that the first did. Instead of arriving in a cozy book depository, this linking book has ferried Radek and Sheppard to a windowless, cramped, claustrophobic cell. The furniture is simple and permanently fixed to the floor and walls. A small niche is carved right into a wall, covered by a simple palette for sleeping, with a stone table beside it jutting up from the floor. Sheppard tries the heavy door and finds it locked soundly, with no bolts or hinges on their side to offer the possibility of cutting. It is a jail cell.
"Colonel?" Radek calls timidly.
Radek gestures to the table. There is an Age there, resting upon the table, one which Sheppard recognizes to be Rahd'ni's Age of Lantea. Yet it is not the hefty book but the single sheet of crisp vellum beside the Age that catches Sheppard's eye. It bears a single line of elegantly scrolled D'ni writing. Below that is a matching line of choppy, angular English hand that Sheppard knows to belong to none other than Rodney McKay.
Go home.
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Their shouts and bellows rattle through the stone from the very bowels of the Guild House and the Maintainer's prison keep. Rahd'ni listens from down the hall and smirks to himself. Rahd'ni is no fool, and he had planned for this pathetic eventuality. When he returned to Atlantis, he took with him not a linking book that would return to the relatively insecure places of the Guild House, the council chambers, or even his private quarters but to one of the cells below. Yet these outsiders did not know that until their arrival in D'ni and the discovery of finding themselves in a sealed cell.
Sheppard's voice keens from down the long hall, begging. "Rahd'ni, please…. please, listen. You don't understand." He sounds pained. "Please, just hear us out."
Something akin to sympathy and worry stirs within Rahd'ni, and he clamps his hands over his ears. He frowns. They will never give up, and, surely, in time, they will return to their Age to fetch the linking book which returns to his personal study. They will return with sufficient manpower and technology enough to ferret him out of any hiding place in the city. He is not nearly suicidal enough to chance hiding in any of the Guild or Common Ages with the risk of contagion.
And, then, with a sudden clarity, Rahd'ni knows. K'veer. He will go to K'veer, to where this all began.
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Sheppard and Radek finally concede defeat and link back to Lantea, materializing on the warm, welcoming beach beneath Lantea's radiant sun. Both men blink, temporarily blinded by the blazing, white light before adjusting after the intense and nearly overwhelming darkness of D'ni. Radek now understands the purpose behind varying opacities to the finely crafted lenses that had been initially recovered among Rahd'ni's things, clearly meant to protect eyes not accustomed to natural, ultraviolet radiation after so long in the deep, dark rock.
When Sheppard's vision finally fully adjusts and settles, he spies Lorne ambling towards them from a jumper, his hands stuffed in his pockets and a somber expression across his features. "I take it that's a no?"
Sheppard shakes his head at his second in command. "No. He set a trap." The colonel brushes past Lorne, barking, "C'mon."
"What?"
"We're going back," John grouses as he ambles awkwardly across the sand on his cast.
Lorne folds his arms across his chest. "I thought you said it was a trap."
"That book was. The first one wasn't."
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A personal correspondence from Lord Rakeri of the Guild of Miners to Grand Master Namis of the Guild of Healers
I wish to extend the gratitude of the Council and the Five specifically for your report the condition of and the care given to the man known commonly as Rahd'ni. I appreciate and concur with your judgment that, in light of his current physical and mental condition, Rahd'ni is unfit to bear witness against his captors. After much deliberation, the Council has voted unanimously in concurrence with your findings. The trial shall proceed without the necessity of Rahd'ni's physical presence, and your final report shall be entered as evidence against the accused.
I have noted, in your report, that it is suggested that Irrat is not an ideal location for the recovery of a man who has suffered the sort of mental and emotional abuse exacted upon Rahd'ni. I understand Rahd'ni has been declared physically well enough to travel. Pending final approval of the Five, and pending your approval, I should like to offer that Rahd'ni see out the rest of his convalescence at K'veer until a more permanent solution to his unique situation be meted by the Council.
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The return flight to Atlantis is short, no more than thirty minutes, but, to Sheppard, it is an eternity. Woolsey is waiting, as is Dr. Keller with a wheelchair for the colonel, both eager for any word of Rahd'ni. As the bone weary colonel drops into the chair and recounts the fruitless expedition to D'ni, Woolsey shakes his head grimly; without Rahd'ni, Atlantis is lost.
"Sir, requesting permission to return to D'ni using Rahd'ni's first linking book."
Woolsey shakes his head. "No. If what you said is true, and that the book returning to this world is locked in a cell, you might never find a means to return back to Atlantis. You would be trapped in D'ni."
"I'm willing to take that risk," Sheppard argues bitterly in a low hiss.
"I am not." Woolsey levels a stern gaze upon the colonel. "I have already lost one friend and colleague, I am not prepared to lose another." He sighs, rubbing his forehead. "If the Wraith are coming, these people need you. Rahd'ni will be safe in D'ni."
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The solitary skiff glides effortlessly across the smooth, pristine waters of the lake under Rahd'ni's hands. He recalls that, once, the lake had been filled with many boats, perhaps dozens of them ferrying the D'ni elite to and from the many island mansions such as K'veer to the main island of Ae'gura that heralded the capital of their great empire. Hundreds more dotted the lake, trafficking goods between the many tunnels and nodes branching off from the main cavern as well as hunting the white fish of the cool waters below. Clusters of lights had once burned brilliantly in the night, heralding the many island mansions of the D'ni upper echelon. It had been as though the lake its self had a life and a population all to its own much like the city. Now, that world is gone, and only Rahd'ni remains in his flat-bottomed skiff, paddling easily from the city and towards the lonely K'veer.
Rahd'ni knows the way to K'veer well, but this is the first time he has traversed the wide lake to the towering manse since the fall of D'ni. He has been too terror stricken of the lake to cross on his own. Before the fall, a large, whale-like creature known as the senomar was known to inhabit the lake. Before the fall, Rahd'ni had been loathe to cross between K'veer and Ae'gura, making as few crossings as possible and spending the duration of the trip glancing about fearfully. Several D'ni had laughingly explained that the senomar was nothing to fear, for it was a shy, filter feeding animal that strained algae from the waters of the lake to feed upon, yet their assurances could never assuage his fears. Rahd'ni only traveled to K'veer when an oarsman was available to take him so he might not have to boat himself to the island manor. The senomar populations were not well documented before the fall, due to the creature's reclusive nature. It is entirely possible that not a single senomar survived the contagion. Yet, the mere possibility that such a large beast may still lurk in the depths has kept Rahd'ni from summoning courage enough to row himself from Ae'gura to K'veer. Fortunately for Rahd'ni, the waters remain still and placid.
Ahead, K'veer looms as a great shadow rising from the glowing waters of the lake as a jagged corkscrew of rock piercing the waters. Rahd'ni sighs wistfully. Before the fall, K'veer had shone as a beacon of light shining above the lake; K'veer had been the site of many grand parties and lavish dinners, presided over by none other than Lord Rakeri up until his health began to fell. Since Lord Rakeri's passing, well before those final nights, the corkscrewing rock of K'veer has stood silent and dark, a monument to the grandeur of a lost civilization, surprisingly untouched it seems from below by the quakes that rocked the city that last night.
Rahd'ni draws the skiff into the small, square harbor at the base of the island manse and rises, his legs shaking unsteadily. He clambers awkwardly from the rocking boat to the dock, breathing a sigh to be upon dry land once more. He has only managed this once to quell his fear long enough to cross the wide berth between Ae'gura and K'veer by determination to simply be away from the Lanteans. Rahd'ni tethers the boat securely at the dock and proceeds up the jetty and into the decidedly well appointed mansion, feeling an irrational relief crashing over him upon stepping through the wide, scrolled doors of nara.
Then, Rahd'ni furrows his brow; something is amiss. He gives pause and steps back to consider the nara doors. He prods lightly at it, and the door glides smoothly upon the stone hinges. Rahd'ni scowls. He had grown so accustomed to Lord Rakeri's doors always being open to him that he entered without paying any heed to the locks. He has not set foot upon K'veer since after the simple D'ni services for Lord Rakeri, yet Rahd'ni knows he was the last to leave, securing the manse behind him as he left. Someone has been to K'veer since then.
Rahd'ni glances about the vestibule behind him wildly and spies something curious that, in his haste to be away from the water and dock, he did not previously notice. The grandiose path from the dock up the jetty and to the base of the mansion is coated with the same, sickly yellow dusting as the rest of D'ni. There are fresh footprints there, leading from the boat up the steps to where Rahd'ni now stands, but, beneath that, a series of faded scuffs and footprints mar the coating. Several are large, the footsteps of men, but there is a smaller set amid a downright tiny set of tracks. Not only has someone been to K'veer since Rahd'ni's last visit, but someone has been to K'veer since the fall of D'ni. His hand falls to the dagger at his hip, but, then, drops away once more as Rahd'ni drops to his knees. He prods at the crest about the edge of one of the footprints and finds a hard, dried crust, suggesting that these prints had been set when the yellow had been a fresh film. Rahd'ni nods to himself; no one has passed this way since shortly after the fall.
It is not unusual to find footprints in the city. Rahd'ni has seen many paths of movement through the city, but no recent prints save his own tread. Some belong to the few survivors foolish enough to return to D'ni in hopes that order could be restored, but many of the footprints, he knows, belonged to Veovis and A'Gaeris as they collected and dispersed the dead to the Ages. It is a sobering thought.
Rahd'ni swallows, steeling himself. It is possible that Veovis and A'Gaeris came here to desecrate the six private Ages owned by Lord Rakeri, polluting them with the same, murderous filth as they did so many other Ages. Rahd'ni cannot imagine why, for Lord Rakeri had passed of naturally causes well before the fall, meaning that any act of vengeance against this house would be utterly futile. However, there is a series of prints which seem jumbled and chaotic, mussed and disturbed as thought by a struggle. Any number of horrors from their hand might await within.
Cautiously, Rahd'ni creeps inside, following the disorderly footprints up and into the manse proper. They take a direct route from the base of the island up and into the familiar quarters of Lord Rakeri's home. They lead directly to a heavily vaulted room near the very top of the keep, to a room that Rahd'ni knows well. It is the book room, where the six grand Ages of the family have been kept for centuries. The door, which Rahd'ni knows should be firmly locked, stands slightly ajar. Rahd'ni finds his hand slipping to his side to the dagger once more, despite the fact that he knows any danger has long since passed.
He holds his breath, presses inside the book room, and gasps, just gasps. The book room is a mess, nothing like the neat, tidy library Rahd'ni visited often in Lord Rakeri's company. The shelves ringing the room remained lined with the wide array of books of commentary for the six family ages, as they should be, but the six podiums upon which the Ages should be are empty. Instead, there lie several charred, ruined linking books and Ages atop a pile of ashes, as though intentionally set ablaze.
Rahd'ni crouches and plucks one of the leather bound tomes from the ashes. The book is in surprisingly decent condition, all things considered, but scorch marks mar both the cover and the broken chain secured to the spine. D'ni Ages are made to withstand the test of centuries, manufactured with the strongest and most durable of leathers and thick vellum. When Rahd'ni cracks the spine to gently thumb through the pages of the red volume, several of the pages fall from the binding under even the lightest of touches, and the linking panel in the fore of the book is black and vacant. Rahd'ni carefully skims the text, written in an ancient variation of D'ni script but one near enough to modern D'ni for Rahd'ni to read. He cringes; it is Nidur Gemat, one of the six family Ages. At the behest of both Lady Ti'ana and the Guild of Healers, Lord Rakeri had taken Rahd'ni to Nidur Gemat often to recuperate in the temperate clime of that lovely Age. It is a sad, sick shame that an Age as old and as gorgeous as Nidur Gemat shall never be seen again. Worse, when Rahd'ni looks closer, he spies five other Ages with broken chains at their spines, the other five family Ages.
Rahd'ni reverently sets aside the ruined text with the care it deserves and notices that there are several other Ages and linking books amid the charred ruins which were not a portion of the Lord's all too impressive library. He lifts one of the Ages from the pile and carefully turns the book over in his hands. It is bound in a green cover marked with both black char and light whorls of color. Rahd'ni opens the book and shudders, recognizing Veovis's tidy penmanship. This Age is equally ruined beyond repair, and the burnt pages flake away under Rahd'ni's ginger touch. Yet Rahd'ni is oddly transfixed by the text, awed by the clearly masterful hand with which the Age had been crafted. Had history been different, Veovis could have numbered among the greatest of D'ni Writers.
Amid Veovis's precise script lies another, hastily scripted hand in ink a subtly different shade of color. Upon closer inspection, he knows this hand, for however choppy and haphazard it may be; it is Master Aitrus's handwriting. He has seen enough samples of Master Aitrus's hand to be certain. Rahd'ni furrows his brow and studies a series of changes made to the book. A line of text has been scored out. Another has been altered by the addition of a conflicting term. Master Aitrus has irrevocably changed the text, destabilizing the very fabric of what was surely once a master work and in a hurry, it seems. There is no telling precisely how damaging the resulting Age had been, especially considering the linking panel is as vacant as the panel within the text of Nidur Gemat.
Rahd'ni closes the ruined book and clutches it tight to him, shaking as he does.
As the first major quakes that rocked the city had subsided to lesser aftershocks, Rahd'ni had gone directly from his rooms to the Council. There, other guild members had gathered together, along with the Five. Master Aitrus had been among them, as was Aitrus's father, Master Kahlis. Master Aitrus had assured Rahd'ni that his kin were safe, already preparing to leave for the sanctuary of one of the family Age he had penned with Lady Ti'ana, Gemedet.
It had been obvious, then, that no place in D'ni was safe, and, instead of wasting precious time debating matters, the five Lords had offered a choice. Guild members had been welcome to travel to one of the Guild Ages or to return to their families and flee to the safety of private Ages. Neither the Lords nor the Council would condemn a man for ensuring the security of their families in the face of such horror. The Lords had only asked that any man who did not link with the Council take an emergency breathing apparatus from the equipment of the Miners and the Surveyors and return to D'ni in two weeks time to check in. Rahd'ni's choice had been natural; he had no family to protect and went with the Council. Master Aitrus had volunteered, but Master Kahlis had pointed out that his son's duty lie with his wife and child. Master Kahlis had gone with Rahd'ni in Master Aitrus's place.
Rahd'ni still remembers the look on Master Aitrus's place. Master Aitrus had, in the D'ni way, clasped his father's wrist. The two men had been frightened, but they had been stoic even in the face of such uncertainty. It had been thought that any men who went with the Council would be safe; there had been no way to know at that time what the future held for either of them. Yet, they had faced their fates with such dignity, such grace, that it had been moving even for Rahd'ni.
Rahd'ni had taken Master Aitrus's hand just briefly, long enough to wish him well and to promise solemnly, "I swear unto you, I shall find an answer to this." He had smiled uncomfortably and half-heartedly at the man who had become his very good friend and joked timidly, "I am, after all, the man with the answers."
It had felt natural to say that and distantly reassuring to Rahd'ni, even in the unusual, lyrical tongue of D'ni, but it had been of but limited comfort to both men. Master Aitrus had smiled and wished both Rahd'ni and his father luck with the Council before departing. Rahd'ni has not seen Master Aitrus or his family since that moment.
After the Council perished, Rahd'ni had fled, back to D'ni, with a mining mask and tank of oxygen to breathe. He had staggered through the empty city in a daze, horrified by the destruction from the quakes and the bodies lying where the dead fell while clamoring for safety. He had stumbled across Veovis and A'Gaeris and hid from them, following long enough to watch as they collected the dead and sent the corpses through to the Ages to infect those worlds as well. As soon as Rahd'ni had gathered their intent, he ran to the home of Master Aitrus and Master Kahlis, hoping to beat Veovis and A'Gaeris. However, he had been too late. The home had been broken into, and Rahd'ni had not the heart to enter and those filthy palm prints upon the Ages of Ko'ah and Gemedet.
Rahd'ni had fled from the home without entering and unsuccessfully scoured the various libraries for a single Age not befouled by A'Gaeris and Veovis. He had spent weeks carefully skulking about the city until certain he was alone once more, ever vigilant about his oxygen reserves until, one fateful day, his supply had run out. That day, he had been forced to choose between the risk of continued contagion or suffocation. Rahd'ni had removed his helm and breathed the air for several days before surmising that, either the infection had passed, or that he had a natural immunity from the plague due to his outsider blood, the same blood that flowed through Lady Ti'ana and her half-breed son, Gehn. He had returned to their home, only to find both Ko'ah and Gemedet had been taken from the book room.
Since that moment, Rahd'ni has thought himself the last survivor of D'ni; now, he is unsure. It is certain that Veovis harbored a particular hatred against Master Aitrus and Lady Ti'ana for the part they played in his original incarceration. Thus, he can only surmise that the dainty impressions in the yellow oxide belong to none other than Lady Ti'ana and that the tiny prints belong to Gehn. It brings forth fresh sorrows to realize that they were brought here, against their will, but Rahd'ni will never know now what transpired in this place.
Rahd'ni drops the Age, leaves the book room, and locks it soundly behind him, resolving to never return to that room. He does not want to know what happened there. Later, as he sits at the very top of K'veer, sipping a light, honeyed wine from Lord Rakeri's personal reserve and staring out over the lake and at the city, he does not even realize he is crying until silent tears progress to convulsive, choking sobs.
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Three weeks blur by in Atlantis all too swiftly while the entire city watches the long range sensors as the Wraith continue on approach. The time passes in the blink of an eye as the expedition pulls together in preparation for the Wraith's arrival. Over the course of the last five years, Atlantis's population has swelled considerably from the modest initial expedition to a staggering community of over four hundred scientists, soldiers, cooks, technicians, doctors, nurses, and much more. The city does not sleep, not now. It has been decided that this is the best course of action is to salvage everything possible before the next wave arrives, and, to this end, each and every member of the expedition works tirelessly around the clock in shifts to collect, catalogue, and carefully pack anything of potential value, stripping down Atlantis as scavengers picking a carcass clean of all flesh. All of this is then lined up in order of importance leading up to the gate room, ready for the final evacuation back to Earth, leaving Atlantis and Pegasus behind to fend for themselves.
This is Woolsey's plan, and Sheppard loathes it for several reasons, mostly because it is based upon the key assumption that the Lanteans intend to just walk away from Atlantis and simply allow the Wraith to take her. Sheppard holds no such intention. He cannot simply go home to Earth, his tail tucked firmly between his legs and having had abandoned both Atlantis and Rahd'ni. Instead, as the weeks progress, he works on some PT for his leg to maintain as much strength and mobility as possible, nursing his own plan in secret.
Every few days, a major staff meeting is called to review the evacuation plan once more as though orchestrating a grand opera. Each meeting, Sheppard holds his tongue, knowing that the day is swiftly approaching when he shall have to say something. It is only at this final meeting, the day before the evacuation begins, when Radek finally vocalizes the key flaw in Woolsey's plans that Sheppard is forced to announce his own plot.
Radek speaks awkwardly on the last day of that third week. "We are forgetting something important."
"Like Rahd'ni?" Sheppard grouses bitterly from his spot on the side of the table, digging into his cast with a pencil to reach an itch as he does.
Woolsey sighs at the head of the table and rolls his eyes. "We've been over this again and again, Colonel. Both linking books will be returning with us. Once things are more settled, we can come up with a better plan for Rahd'ni."
"And what if he comes back here after we're gone?" Sheppard barks back. "What if the Wraith are here when he does? If we've got the other two books, he has no way back to D'ni."
Radek shakes his head as both Woolsey and Sheppard bicker and squabble once more. Tempers have flared, and the last three weeks have been filled with nothing but arguing between these two. Radek has avoided much of the confrontation, unlike other members of the expedition. He understands both sides. Rodney McKay, for all his irritating qualities and irksome eccentricities, was a good friend to Radek, Sheppard, and Woolsey alike. He knows this decision is not easy for Woolsey, but Radek understands why it must be this way.
"Ne, ne," Radek finally interjects, tossing his head as his does. "Not just Rahd'ni. If we are the last to gate out, Earth's address will be left in the buffer. Anyone could use to triangulate Earth's coordinates if they have enough knowledge of astronomy."
Woolsey purses his lips together and looks down. "I had not forgotten this in my estimations."
He holds his breath for but a moment, too long for Sheppard's liking. "What are you thinking?"
"Dr. Chase has already filed a preliminary report," Woolsey responds flatly.
Sheppard blanches visibly. Chase is a geologist with extensive experience in mining and demolition who joined the expedition a year ago to assist in surveying several worlds for possible mineral exploitation. The man is an absolute artist with incendiaries. Sheppard himself has consulted with Chase on numerous occasions when in need of a controlled demolition.
Woolsey goes on solemnly, unable to meet Sheppard's gaze. "Dr. Chase will be with the last party to leave. He will set explosives in the control room on remote to be detonated after the last man is back on Earth."
"So that's it?" Sheppard snarls. "That's just it? You're just going to blow it all to hell?"
Woolsey nods. "If that is what it takes to safeguard Earth from the Wraith, then yes. Dr. Chase is confident that, with the right placement, he could damage the DHD and computer systems beyond repair and beyond any data salvage."
"There has got to be another way," Radek whispers hoarsely, shaking his head. "After all we have done…."
"There is," Sheppard announces smugly, folding his arms across his chest. "We sink her."
"Excuse me?" Woolsey blurts with a cough.
The colonel gives a curt nod of his head and explains, "It worked for the Ancients. They sank Atlantis, and the Wraith never found her."
Immediately, Radek begins crunching numbers of power and draws on, harrowing conclusion; he croaks, "Someone would have to stay behind." Woolsey raises a brow, and Radek explains, "The shield would draw too much power after submergence to allow for gate transit back to the Milky Way galaxy. The best that could be hoped for would be transit to a Pegasus gate. Even then, it would be questionable."
"Could you remotely submerge the city from Earth?" Woolsey offers.
Radek shakes his head. "Impossible. Submergence is only possible from the control chair. We have tried, unsuccessfully to create a remote patch to the chair, but there are too many security protocols preventing such access. A safety measure, likely, left over from the Ancients."
"It'd be suicide," one of the scientists from the far side of the table – Dante, Sheppard thinks his name is - blurts out. "With how tapped out the ZPM cache is, there probably wouldn't even be enough power to gate out. Whoever stayed back would be trapped. Worse- with how drained Atlantis is, the shield would probably just destabilize within minutes of reaching depth, and the city would flood. The pressure differential would kill a man well before asphyxiation or hypothermal ever got the chance to."
Sheppard says nothing; Dante is right.
"What idiot would stay behind?" another member of the science division asks.
"I would," the colonel volunteers.
Woolsey glances to him. "You can't be serious."
"I am," Sheppard affirms. "I'd stay. After the last gate out, I could hit the gate with 50 random addresses to clear Earth out the buffer and, then, drop the city down to the bottom."
"And then?"
The colonel shrugs sheepishly and looks down. "I could take the jumper we modified out to the beach, hide it, and link to D'ni with the first book." Sheppard bites his lip for a moment and, then, adds, "Try to convince Rahd'ni to make a ZPM for us."
The table erupts in arguments, all directed at Sheppard and all equally valid. Keller demands to know how Sheppard intends to get around on his broken leg when he still has at last another seven weeks before the bone will be fully mended. Others belt out about the risk of failure of his plan, leaving Atlantis exposed to the Wraith. Sheppard sits and stares without argument, letting their complaints wash over him.
Finally, Ronon speaks, his voice rumbling through the conference room and stifling any commentary. "I'll stay with him."
Keller looks to her husband, her hand falling to his. "Ronon…."
"I'll stay." The Satedan nods to himself. "And I'll go with you to D'ni."
"I'm going, too," Jennifer insists.
Ronon shakes his head. "No. I won't take the chance of something happening to you." He smiles at her and squeezes her pale hand. "You'll be safe with them, and that's all that matters to me."
"You will need help finding him," Radek points out. "I shall go as well." When all eyes fall upon the quiet, meek Czech, he chortles softly. "I admit, I do not want to, but, even if you could find Rahd'ni on your own and convince him to just give you a ZPM, I could never talk you through installing one or write instructions. Ne. I must be there to install."
Woolsey draws a deep breath. He does not need to ask if they are sure about this, nor does he need to offer his approval. If this truly is the course of action Ronon, Sheppard, and Radek are committed to, there is no stopping them, and Woolsey knows this. His approval means nothing, yet he gives it just the same.
"Fine."
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For two days, Sheppard and Radek watch the carefully orchestrated evacuation as the city empties about them, bidding their farewells and accepting well wishes from those leaving. Every time the gate dials out for another thirty eight minutes of, the two men drag themselves to the gate room to exchange hugs, handshakes, and well wishes as they are left behind. Even Atlantis sorrows about them to see the Lanteans abandoning her once more, but only Sheppard can hear the city's mourning cries.
Teyla takes Jeruth with her. Since Rahd'ni's abrupt departure from the city, the Athosian has cared for the reekoo. Torren dotes on the creature, delighting in Jeruth's antics. It has been only fitting that she should keep the cat-like creature until Rahd'ni can come and reclaim his companion. John takes some small comfort in knowing that Jeruth will be well cared for and that the three of them shall be safe.
Ronon and Dr. Keller do not attend to watch the evacuation. Instead, they spend two days locked in Ronon's quarters, savoring what may very well be the last time they see one another. They avoid the subject, as well as anything that might sour the moment. Instead, they hold one another and surface only for quick meals before returning to their privacy. On the close of the second day, however, the pair slowly makes their way to the gate room, hand in hand and dragging their feet as they do, like a teenage couple drawing out the very end of a date. As the finale evacuation proceeds, they hold one another close and whisper to one another gentle promises that the will be together once more.
Before leaving, Keller pauses at Sheppard, levels a firm gaze upon him, and orders, "You take care of them, you promise?"
"I swear."
The woman smiles and hugs Sheppard warmly, whispering in his ear, "You bring both my guys back, ok?"
"I will," Sheppard assures her.
"You promise?" she presses.
Sheppard nods. "I promise."
Keller releases her embrace of him, taking a step back to survey the colonel critically. "You always keep your promises."
He smirks and gives a shrug. "Yeah. I'm just a glutton for punishment like that." He nods to the open, shimmering wormhole beyond. "Go on. I think that's your ride."
Keller ascends the ramp, the last of the evacuees. She stops just before the wormhole, turning to look over her shoulder at them, perhaps second guessing her leaving. The doctor gives a tiny, half-hearted smile at her husband, in vain reassurance, and steps through the wormhole. The gate shuts down behind her, leaving a gaping hole in Ronon's heart where she belongs.
Then, the real work begins. One at a time, Radek enters the addresses fifty addresses at random, allowing the gate to dial and fully connect before shutting it down, thus saving the addresses in the cache and pushing Earth's address from the buffer. The Czech moves swiftly and efficiently, working from a pre-approved list of addresses that would serve no purpose for the Wraith, none of which connect to any inhabited planet. Instead, the vast majority of the addresses Radek dials belong to orbital gates about derelict systems, while the rest number among the thousands of worlds the Lanteans know the Wraith have culled. As he does, Radek keeps a careful eye on the city's dwindling power.
Sheppard rests through this as best as possible, mindful that he must be in peak shape for both submerging the city and piloting one of the jumpers back to the mainland. It is difficult to find peace enough to sleep, and Sheppard finds himself tossing and turning instead of resting as he should. He blames the cast, the weight of it dragging upon his leg, but the colonel knows that is not true. He is worried, for the first time in many years, so much so that he has already packed his personal effects and sent them along to Earth ahead of him. Sometime around midnight, Sheppard finally drops off into a fitful doze, only to be roused no more than twenty minutes later by a gentle shake from Ronon.
The Satedan's voice rumbles like distant thunder. "Sheppard, it's time."
The colonel nods and rubs his slumber bleary eyes. When his hand drops to his side, Ronon wordlessly lifts Sheppard and sets him gently in a wheelchair left by Keller. There will come a time, soon, when he will have to walk the empty streets and lanes of D'ni, but, until then, Dr. Keller has insisted that Sheppard ride in one of the chairs. She has even gone so far to secure her husband's promise that he not over exert himself until that time. Ronon is matter of fact about it.
The Satedan taps at the radio at his ear and calls to Radek. "We're heading up now."
Sheppard knows the plan well. He has read the brief over and over again each night before turning in. It has become his favorite bedtime story as of late. Radek will retreat to the relative safety of the singular jumper that has been modified to travel underwater, while Ronon and Sheppard go up to the chair. There is no sense needlessly risking all of their lives should there be a miscalculation in remaining ZPM power. Radek's assistance is not currently necessary, and, as such, as the city descends in the water column, the Czech can sit comfortably in a nice, safe, sealed jumper until they reach bottom.
At the chair room, Ronon lifts Sheppard once more from the wheelchair and sets him gently into the control chair. Immediately, the city responds to him, tipping the chair back as she embraces her favorite son as warmly as possible granted her depleted energy reserves. Sheppard lets himself drift for a moment, savoring the sensation of Atlantis's electric kiss humming in the back of his mind. This is quite possibly the last time Sheppard will feel this, and the colonel intends to enjoy this moment for as long as possible.
He thinks the command, visualizing the city submerging beneath the waves. For a moment, the city hesitates, and John winces. He is about to condemn Atlantis to the crushing, icy depths of the Lantean Sea under the guise of safety. He has often wondered if the city were, perhaps, self aware, granted how independently Atlantis has acted on occasion. Now, he is all but certain. He is potentially dooming the city to the lonely emptiness of the abyssal depths without any guarantee of return, and Atlantis knows this. It pains him to acknowledge this, yet he cannot do anything more than this plan.
Atlantis's many vents rush open, allowing sea water to rush into the massive ballast tanks below the city. Slowly, the city loses buoyancy and begins to sink, along with Sheppard's heart. The city cries out about him as she drifts downward in the water column. When the waves crash over her wide, flat piers, the city automatically activates the shield in what is perhaps a safety protocol leftover from the Ancients to protect her occupants in the event of sinking. The city shudders from the sudden, intense energy draw, sending a shard of white hot pain stabbing through Sheppard's pain.
He gasps audibly, and Ronon's deep voice meets Sheppard's ears. "Hey, you ok?"
"Yeah," he grinds out through tightly clenched teeth before focusing once more.
The city drops faster in the water, deeper and deeper. The agony in Sheppard's head increased nearly exponentially with every few hundred meters as they descend. The shield groans under the increasing pressure, strained beyond measure. And, still, the shield holds as down and down Sheppard sinks with Atlantis until all is dark.
A rough voice draws the colonel up from the depths once more as wide, calloused hands shake him gently. "Hey, hey…. you back with me?"
Sheppard blinks and swallows. He is alone in his mind, without Atlantis's connection anymore. As his senses return to him, Sheppard notes that he is not in the chair anymore. Instead, he lies sprawled upon the floor, likely deposited there by Ronon. The pain is still there, searing behind his eyes, but it is lesser now, manageable. The Satedan looks worried, his brow gathered, his eyes wide, and his skin pale. In those dark eyes, Sheppard spies his own reflection, a tired, haggard soul in those chocolate pools.
Sheppard nods and immediately regrets it. His stomach turns, and he just barely manages to roll to his side to vomit. He wretches, violently, splattering thin bile across the floor. Through it all, Ronon murmurs soft reassurances that Sheppard does not entirely hear, rubbing his back as he does. When the nausea finally subsides, it leaves Sheppard raw and worn out, his gut continuing to cramp painfully. Sheppard groans; it has never been this bad before.
Ronon gives him but a few moments to collect him self before gathering the colonel up in his arms. Sheppard gives a token fight, pushing feebly at Ronon's chest, but the Satedan does not relent. He understands the distance and independence Sheppard needs, but they have no time for such frivolity. The shield is holding, for now, but there is no way to be certain how long it will continue to keep the water out. Ronon forgoes the chair in favor of carrying Sheppard down to the jumper bay, allowing the colonel to drift once more in his arms. It is cold at depth, bitterly cold without Atlantis's heating system in operation, and they cannot tarry long in those conditions.
Sheppard lulls in Ronon's arms, closing his eyes for what seems just a moment only to open them and find himself safe and cozy in the jumper. He has been placed in the pilot's seat of the jumper and swaddled in a warm rescue blanket. Sheppard smiles softly to himself and shakes his head, which now bears only a dull throb not unlike the passing of a migraine.
Radek calls gently to him. "Colonel Sheppard?"
"Yeah?" he croaks.
"Are you alright?" Radek asks timidly.
Sheppard sighs heavily and replies in earnest, "As much as I'm going to be." He glances about to the rather concerned Czech at his side and the stoic Satedan behind him, both of which look quite eager to leave. He shrugs and reaches out for the console, saying, "Well, I guess we'd better get this show on the road."
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The flight to the mainland is swift and uneventful. Sheppard guides the jumper through the sky, darting between the clouds playfully with graceful ease back to the beach he knows the Age of Lantea will take them upon a return trip. He circles the beach and copse of scrub brush leading to the thicker forests beyond in search of a perfect landing site before settling on a small clearing barely larger than the jumper. There, not more than twenty meters from the beach, Sheppard sets the jumper down and cloaks it. It is time to return to D'ni.
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From the personal journal of A'Gaeris
In my haste, I had anticipated that my sniveling little rock weevil would prove more tractable when faced with the destruction of his pathetic Age. Rodney McKay resisted admirably, even when I burnt his Age. Neither of my companions nor myself are trained in the art of healing, and I fear his hands may be irreparably damaged. No matter. His work is nearly complete, and, then, I can be done with him.
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The Guild House is precisely as Sheppard remembers it, quiet, desolate, and somewhat disappointing in its emptiness, yet, on this return trip, there is something acutely depressing about D'ni. D'ni had once been filled with many people, particularly the Guild House, all bustling about their lives, just as Atlantis had up until quite recently. Now, Atlantis lies beneath the waves as silent and devoid of life as D'ni lies beneath the rock. His heart aches to see two once glorious empires left hollow and dead.
The three leave Rahd'ni's personal bookroom in favor of the adjoining study and move to the balcony. Radek and Ronon exchange gasps at the sight of the glowing, subterranean lake and the grand city spread before them. Even Sheppard must concede that it is a rather magnificent sight. He wonders, if D'ni is this peculiarly beautiful even in death, how grand must the city have been alive at its prime and lit by the warm glow of many hundreds of fire marbles down the stone lanes and paths?
"Where do we even start?" Ronon muses, shaking his head at the vast expanse that is D'ni.
Radek pulls a life-signs-detector from his pack and fiddles with the device for a moment. Tense silence spans between them as the Czech works to adjust the range and radius until he seems satisfied. He clicks through his teeth, an odd sound of contemplation before letting out an audible groan. Sheppard peers over Radek's shoulder and swears. The LSD now displays a large island dominated by the city as well as several smaller islands or rafts in the lake. There is a cluster of three red dots upon the main islands, indicating their presence, as well as a single dot on one of the far islands – which can only be Rahd'ni. They will have to cross the lake.
It takes close to two hours to find a safe path down from the Guild House to the waterfront. Ronon shoulders Sheppard's weight the entire way without complaint, but, by the time they have descended to the lower portion of the city, both their hearts throb heavily from the effort. By Sheppard's rough estimates, approximately five miles of city spans between Rahd'ni's quarters in the Guild House and the waterfront, but they have likely hiked nearly twice as far. The city is unfamiliar to them, a labyrinth of winding, narrow passages and wide, anonymous lanes made worse by the occasional debris fields too dangerous and too jumbled for an inexperienced climber like Radek or for a man with a broken leg like Sheppard. They have backtracked several times and circled about, leaving all three men rather exhausted by the time they finally reach the glowing, orange waters of the lake.
They take brief respite in the alcove of what Sheppard gathers to be an abandoned tavern judging from the glasses and bottles inside. He furrows his brow as he rests, curious now. For all Rahd'ni has said about the great plague that struck D'ni during those final hours, killing within mere minutes of exposure. Citizens had dropped where they stood, according to Rahd'ni, yet there is not a single body to be seen, not one. Sheppard has not previously noticed until now that he has seen so much of the city in what is the D'ni equivalent of daylight. It is as though they simply evaporated to nothingness, taking the secrets of their great empire with them and leaving Rahd'ni as the solitary witness to their passing.
As Radek and Sheppard sit, Ronon scours the waterfront for a suitable boat. Ronon is gone long enough that Sheppard finds himself obscenely bored and ashamed for feeling so. It is long enough that the light from the lake begins to dim, the D'ni dusk settling in. However, before full dark can settle over the city, the hulking Satedan comes trotting back, a faint smile on his face.
"Got one," he announces simply as he pulls the colonel to his feet.
The boat is a slender, elegantly crafted skiff with a flat enough keel to prevent it from tipping or swaying too greatly as Radek and Sheppard clamber awkwardly aboard while Ronon holds the thing steady. The Satedan does not step into the boat but more or less seamlessly flows into the skiff, barely disturbing the delicate craft. Ronon unties the boat and pushes off from the dock, rowing out into the wide gulf of the lake as Radek guides from the helm and as night begins to descend upon D'ni.
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Rahd'ni is not certain at first what stirs him from a brief nap, but he jolts awake, dazed and surprised. He blinks, confused at first to find himself in his old quarters on K'veer, even after all these long weeks. Rahd'ni shakes his head, rousing himself fully before realizing that sounds on the lake waters are what have disturbed him so. He pauses, holding his breath and straining to listen, catching what sounds like a boat upon the lake.
Rahd'ni sighs heavily and drags himself from his sleeping niche, straightening himself. Lord Rakeri, the former master of this house, was a great man of many graces that would never be so rude as to allow guests to go without greeting in his home. It would be a great dishonor to the memory of the man that had given Rahd'ni shelter, comfort and amiable companionship for many months after his arrival in D'ni. He does not wish to greet anyone, but he shall just the same and, then, turn them away.
He strikes the fire marble to a single lamp, descends the corkscrew tower of K'veer and strides down to the dock. There, Rahd'ni peers out into the depths of the D'ni night, a thing so dark, so barren and so very deep that it should seem a living thing quite capable of swallowing him and anything in it whole. It has not always been this way. The D'ni had been quite fastidious about lighting the avenues and lanes of Ae'Gura, along with the private islands and manses with great, giant fire marbles the size of balled fists and human skulls. Those thousands of glittering lights gave the cavern and city twinkling stars in the otherwise subterranean void. Now, it is just Rahd'ni against the cold, dark, unfeeling D'ni night.
The lake waters ripple against the pilings of the dock in small, minute waves. Although Rahd'ni cannot yet see these new arrivals, he knows they are there, slipping through the entry to the cove at the foot of K'veer. Rahd'ni squints his eyes and peers deeper into the night, finding a shadow stirring just beyond the light of his lantern. The shadows condense enough to take the shape of a boat populated by three men including its hulking oarsman. As the boat's pilot draws the craft into the pale, blue light of Rahd'ni's lamp, the three men come into detail, revealing themselves to be Ronon Dex, John Sheppard, and Radek
Rahd'ni shakes his head but greets the Lanteans formally. "Shorah t'shem." He bows his head low as the burly Satedan brings their broad, flat bottomed skiff beside the dock and grudgingly murmurs the further words of greeting, "I welcome you." Rahd'ni raises his head to meet their gaze and glares. "Now, if you would please return to wherever it is you came from and leave me in peace."
"Rahd'ni…." Sheppard breathes, the first to speak after a long and decidedly awkward pause. "Rahd'ni, we can't."
"Oh course you can," the guildsman snaps churlishly. "I left a linking book back to Lantea in my study in the Guild House. Go on. I have nothing further for you."
"Rahd'ni, you don't understand. We can't go back," Sheppard whispers, his voice suddenly timid and fearful of the man looming over him on the dock. "The Wraith are on their way."
Rahd'ni scowls, folding his arms across his chest in the way Rodney McKay always had, puffing up like a petulant, sulking child. "Well, you cannot stay here, either."
"We have no where else to go," Radek argues softly, pressing gently.
Rahd'ni chews his lip in thought. There is no telling the damage to the Ages wrought by Veovis's and A'Gaeris's hands both by linking plague ridden corpses through or by intentionally distorting the structure of the Age by irreparably altering the text. It would be unconscionable of Rahd'ni to so callously hurl the three through to an Age that might be a death sentence. Yet he will not abide their presence in D'ni long enough to pen a stable Age for them. There is only one further option.
Rahd'ni rubs the back of his neck and sighs once more. "To the surface, then." As the Lanteans blink, the guildsman nods now firmly. "I'll take you to the surface."
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Author's Notes : Not a ton of emotional or physical action, but, meh, it needed to happen. Hooray for taking this show on the road… er… Path. Hooray for finally having a day to write stories after so long writing about pelagic plastics and Alvinella pompejana for my term papers!