Chapter 19

Tamsin's first week back at Cheyenne Mountain passed fairly quietly. Though she'd spent two months training there before departing for Atlantis, she found herself with a slight sense of claustrophobia whenever underground; as though the tons of rock overhead were more than a just physical presence. The wide streets of Colorado Springs and the breath taking backdrop of Pike's Peak dusted with early snowfall eased her craving for the outdoors somewhat, but she longed for the expanse of the open ocean.

Fortunately, she'd found a serviced week-to-week apartment to rent near the lake which would allow her the opportunity to escape the oppressive atmosphere under the mountain when she was off-duty. After a quick, cursory walk-through, she signed on the dotted line and had her small crate of personal items removed from storage and shipped to the US.

She'd been out for a long run on her first scheduled day off, enjoying the crisp air as she pounded a lake-side trail and the surrounding streets. The concierge at the front desk had recommended a small bakery on the corner of the block and she'd stopped for a late breakfast before finding herself at a loose end for the rest of the day. There were numerous activities she could try, but somehow it seemed a bit pointless without having someone to share the experience with. With no word regarding her application for permanent assignment to Atlantis, there was no point putting down roots or forming acquaintances on Earth that she might have to break all too soon.

She wandered absently around the open plan living space. The apartment was decorated in an understated neutral finish that suggested expense, but left Tamsin thinking of early 1990s student digs minus faded woodchip wallpaper and mouldy bathrooms. Even the few framed prints were the insipid abstract kind found in a million hotels the world over. Though she'd put out her collection of family photographs within an hour of arriving at the apartment, Tamsin found herself aching for more colour. Her eyes fell on the crate tucked behind the couch. Maybe it really wouldn't hurt to unpack a few items?

She hauled the sofa forward away from the wall before sinking to her knees in front of the wooden box. She raised the lid cautiously, anticipating an explosion of packing chips, but the little beggars seemed content to stay put for now. Having negotiated that hazard, she began to dig around for a smaller cardboard box. As she dislodged it, the foam chips chose that moment to make a break for freedom, leaping from the crate as if alive. Never mind, it would be easier to replace the box later.

This wasn't the first time she'd thought about unpacking. The cardboard flaps sat at an angle – ragged shreds of tape daring her to take a look inside. Man up Lucas, she told herself, unpacking means nothing. Then again, the sun was shining, despite the cold. It didn't make sense to be inside today. She had those shopping lists from Atlantis, the things people were missing from Earth. Surely most things would be easy to find? The Daedalus wouldn't be back for another week, but it was worth being prepared. There was bound to be a rainy day for unpacking.

A ring from Tamsin's mobile phone broke into her thoughts. She sprang to her feet and leant across the breakfast bar, glancing at the display as she grabbed the device. Drew.

"Hi, how are you?" she asked.

"I'm ok, you? Settling in all right? How's the apartment?" he replied, far too casually. It sounded busy in the background. Tamsin was immediately suspicious.

"It's fine. Is something wrong?"

There was a pause.

"Drew?

"No, nothing's wrong. Just wanted to let you know I'm being deployed."

She closed her eyes, feeling her way to the sofa. It wasn't as if they hadn't done this before, but a cold knot gripped her stomach. "When?"

"In about twelve hours." She knew better than to ask where or how long, but it didn't stop her running through the possibilities.

"I know you're trying to guess, but seriously don't." A muffled conversation filtered through the receiver. "I'm sorry, I've got to go."

"Ok. Just… take care, ok?"

"I always do. Stay safe yourself. Bye."

Tamsin let out a deep breath, placing the phone on the coffee table. No matter how many times she received those calls, it didn't get any easier. She was never sure if her personal experience of war zones made the waiting worse – perhaps it would be better to be unaware of the true dangers.

At least work would be a welcome distraction.

SGA

Carson trod wearily towards his quarters as the sunset highlighted the golds and coppers of the corridor. Had it really only been a week since he'd left Uldea?

Six cullings in as many days had left the Lanteans scrambling for personnel and resources to help the victims across the galaxy. He himself had just spent three days tending to the injured and comforting the bereaved on yet another planet. He longed for a long, hot shower in the comfort of his own room. Clean, safe water had been at a premium and washing facilities were limited. Feeling more than a little bit guilty at the opportunity of such luxury, he reached his door. It opened with barely a thought from him as he approached it. Not bothering to turn on the lights, he crossed straight to the bathroom. While the shower water warmed, he stripped and bundled everything into the laundry basket in the corner. He stepped into the stream, pleased that it was almost the perfect temperature – Atlantis always seemed to know just how hot it should be.

"Thank you, dear," he murmured, then chuckled slightly to himself at such a whimsical thought. The arguments still raged about whether Atlantis was sentient or not, but it seemed only polite just in case. He soaped himself down, allowing the water to sweep away the sweat and grime of the last few days, then simply stood under the spray, letting his mind go blank in the way Teyla had taught him.

Carson jerked as he found himself leaning against the cool wall of the cubicle. He shivered involuntarily, realising he had nearly fallen asleep in the shower. He gave himself a little shake, stepped out and towelled off, then left the bathroom in search of clean clothes.

After pulling on a t-shirt and sweat pants, he switched on his laptop, intending to catch up with the slew of emails that had no doubt built up over the last few days.

One address stood out from the others – lucas_t_l at . Of course, the weekly databurst from Earth had come in yesterday. His heart leapt just a little as he clicked on the first email, dated a week ago.

He sat back, absorbing her words for a moment, not quite sure how to feel. Deciding to leave well alone for the time being, he opened the second message. This was just a brief note, more like a postcard, with several images attached. The first had been taken in early morning – tendrils of mist tinged with the palest pink curled around a formation of improbably balanced rocks. The third email contained more photographs, all land or seascapes. Some were bleak, lonely almost, others captured an ethereal beauty. They reminded him for a painful moment of the hills he'd known in childhood, but of course, this was Tamsin's native land. He studied the pictures more carefully –these were more than the average tourist calendar scenes. Either Tamsin was a skilled photographer or she knew her subject intimately. He suspected it was a bit of both. He'd read somewhere that you could learn a great deal about a person from their art. A feeling of contentment gradually took root as he browsed – the fact she'd shared such a personal thing with him spoke volumes about her feelings.

He sat back, absently tapping his fingers on the desk. He'd realised he was falling for her some time ago, but he didn't quite know how to put it into words without sounding ridiculous and overbearing. The last thing he wanted was to put her off with a declaration of undying love. He knew he had to tread carefully at this point.

He thought for a few moments, then pulled the laptop closer and began to type.

Carson finished writing a short time later. Like Tamsin had promised he hadn't deleted any of his words. He pressed 'send', hoping he hadn't just made an utter fool of himself. He switched off the computer, then climbed into bed thinking the lights off as he settled down. He shuffled around, grateful for a decent mattress and fell asleep with images of moors and mountains melding into a misty landscape.

SGA

The day hadn't started well. Tamsin had overslept, only to find that her lease car had a slow puncture and the tyre was completely flat. She'd managed to change the tyre, but it had meant she was running late. Then there'd been a problem with her ID at the checkpoint, resulting in a highly unimpressed Dr Lam having to vouch for her. A gate team had come back under heavy fire and triggered a temporary lockdown of the mountain, and there was a problem with the air filtration that was making the SGC nearly as cold as the rest of Colorado.

Tamsin slid her tray past the day's mess hall offerings, trying to decide which of the unappealing dishes to choose. A cheese sandwich and slightly sad-looking green salad seemed like the best options so she placed both on the tray and made for a seat in the far corner.

"This seat taken?" Tamsin glanced up from her tablet, surprised to see an airman holding a tray. There were plenty of empty places, but she quickly swallowed her forkful of lettuce and gestured to the seat. "Feel free," she said turning back to the screen.

"You know, you're a touch early for Memorial Day," the airman remarked around a mouthful of food.

"I'm sorry?"

He nodded towards her, wiping his mouth on a paper napkin. "The pin. Memorial Day's not 'til May."

Tamsin fingered the enamel poppy brooch on her parka. "It's Armistice day next week - eleventh day of the eleventh month?"

He paused for a moment, then clicked his fingers. "Ah, right, 'cause you're British."

"You noticed," she replied dryly.

He leant forward, "Appreciate the sentiment, but you know, folks might get the wrong impression."

"Thank you, but I'll stick with it all the same."

"Just a bit of friendly advice," he replied, standing and picking up his tray.

She gave him a cool, thin smile. What a knob, she thought as the airman sauntered off to another table.

Later that evening, Tamsin arrived back at her apartment after a long day at the SGC. It was too late to run, so she settled for a short yoga routine to clear her mind of the day. After a shower, she slipped into pyjamas and walked back to the living room, towelling her hair dry as she went. She sat excitement in her stomach absolutely wasn't anticipation of an email from Carson, just the takeaway she'd had for dinner sitting badly. Still, she couldn't ignore the happy twist as she spotted three Atlantis suffixed messages waiting in her inbox. For a moment, the cursor hovered over the messages, then almost of its own accord it opened Carson's message.

Dear Tam,

I hope you're well and enjoying being back on Earth. Thank you for your messages – they made a difficult time more bearable. You may not know what's happening here, but suffice to say things are difficult and events are taking their toll on everyone. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, but a selfish part of me wishes you were here too. All the same, I'm glad that you're (relatively) safe.

I do understand the sense of displacement, the familiar but different feeling. I can't say that Earth will ever feel right to me, but perhaps we could visit together one day. I used to believe that home was all about one's roots, but these last years have changed my mind; home is about family and the closest thing I have to that is here, even if some members are a galaxy away.

Please know that I miss you,

Carson.

Tamsin slid the computer away, contemplating Carson's words. Rumours were rippling around the Mountain that Pegasus was once again under siege from the Wraith, though nothing had been confirmed or denied by the brass. From the tone of Carson's message, it seemed that the rumours were true. The happy feeling coalesced into something colder and she shivered, remembering the moment when that Wraith had been about to feed on him. Even knowing he would be safe from that fate didn't stop the fear of something else happening to him. And yet he sounded hopeful that the expedition would come through it. If he could look on the bright side, with all that he had seen and done, then she would have to do the same and trust him.

Nevertheless, the cold knot failed to fully recede and she spent a restless night of half-formed, haunting dreams.

SGA

Two weeks later, Carson sat with Jennifer in her office going over the latest reports from the cullings. So many worlds had been hit – some under Atlantis's protection, others they had learnt about through intelligence, still more that they'd had no contact with. There seemed to be no pattern to the attacks. Sometimes neighbouring worlds were targeted, then the next would be at the opposite edge of the galaxy. A theory had been put forward that the Wraith were more scattered than ever – each Hive perhaps looking out for themselves only. If this were true, it served no purpose other than increased danger for the galaxy – to the point that off-world teams found themselves encountering distrust and open hostility in some cases.

Alarms shrieked through the soft buzz of activity in the Infirmary. Everyone froze, waiting to hear what would happen next.

Jennifer tapped her earpiece. "This is Dr Keller, go ahead." She exchanged a few words with the person on the other end. "Understood."

She turned to Carson, anxiety in her eyes. "There's been another attack – M2A-553."

"M2A-553? Wasn't that one of the planets in the first wave of attacks?" Carson asked.

"Uh-huh, seems the Wraith have come back to finish the job. I'll need you to bring a second team up to the gateroom with me," she replied grimly.

"Leave it to me."

SGA

It was a sorry sight that greeted the SAR team as they exited the gate. All that remained of the village on the horizon was a mass of charred rubble, beams and debris. They could smell the acrid smoke drifting down on the early morning breeze.

"Jesus." Rodney gazed around in disgust whilst waving the LSD in the direction of the village. "I'm reading eight life signs over there," he paused, "ok, no, make that seven…and six."

"Can't count, McKay?" Ronon griped.

"Yes, I can count, thank you. The number reducing is life signs disappearing."

"Let's go before any more go out. Teyla, any Wraith around?" Sheppard cut in.

"None that I can sense," she replied.

The group set off as quickly as they could across the short grass. The smell grew worse the closer they got. They could see deep furrows where ammunition had torn up the ground, the battered bodies of livestock scattered like toys in some macabre version of a child's game.

"Five life signs," Rodney announced quietly.

As they reached the wreckage, it became clear that any survivors were buried under the mass of debris. Carson's heart sank as he realised there was little he could do at this stage. Thank god for combat engineers.

He watched as Sheppard directed the engineers to begin a pinpoint search. Though it was possible there were more injured further away from the gate, they had to focus for now on the few they might be able to save here.

His training kicking in, Carson set to organising a makeshift triage and treatment area with the help of the small medical team and a few spare marines.

By the time there was a shout of triumph from one of the engineers, Carson noted that nearly an hour had passed. He tensed, waiting as a figure strapped to a backboard was carefully manoeuvred over the rubble and carried towards him.

The young man was unresponsive as Carson tried to rouse him. "I don't know if you can hear me son, but we're going to take care of you."

Sheppard marched over as Carson finished his initial exam. "How's he doing?"

Carson shook his head. "Not good, I'm afraid. Looks like blunt force trauma to the head and abdomen, internal bleeding. I need to get him into surgery if he's to stand any chance."

"Go. There's another one trapped, but the engineers say another half-hour to get them out."

Sheppard gestured behind with a thumb, seemingly casual, but Carson knew the colonel well enough to spot the tension in his shoulders. It rather echoed his own trepidation, but he knew he didn't hide it nearly as well as Sheppard.

"Fine, I'll be there and back as soon as I can," he acknowledged.

Once the man was secured on a stretcher, Carson and two of the marines hiked back to the gate as quickly as they could. Carson radioed ahead and they were met by an infirmary team and a gurney. Jennifer was already standing by in the OR.

Before Carson could ask Amelia to re-dial the planet, the stargate re-activated and a bleak-looking group stepped through.

"Where's the rest of them?" Carson demanded.

Rodney shook his head, scowling. "No-one else made it."

"How is the young man that was rescued?" Teyla asked.

"He's in surgery. It'll be a while before we hear anything," Carson replied.

Woolsey hurried down the steps, approaching the group. "Colonel?"

"Other than the guy Carson just brought back, there was no-one else left. I'll take a jumper back and do a wider sweep, but looks like the Wraith did a real number on 'em."

Woolsey sighed, rubbing his forehead. He looked around the group. "We really need to find out what is going on. Colonel Sheppard? Perhaps you could get in touch with your contact?"

"Yeah, that's not gonna be easy - nobody's seen or heard from him in nearly a year," Sheppard sighed.

"See what you can do. All right, we'll debrief in three hours."

Sheppard, Teyla, Ronon and Rodney returned to the jumper bay. Carson watched them for a moment, then turned and walked down the steps towards the infirmary with a heavy heart.

SGA

The man from M2A-553 didn't make it out of surgery – his injuries proving too severe. Over the next few weeks, M2A-553 became the first of a dozen planets to be nearly annihilated in a series of vicious attacks. At first, there seemed to be no connection between any of the planets, but a pattern began to emerge – the re-attacked worlds were all clear of Hoffan plague. It was as if the Wraith were stocking up – creating a store of food for lean times. The Lanteans found themselves with less and less allies as word spread across the galaxy.

The more he studied the data and samples he'd collected from Uldea, the more Carson was convinced that they could hold the key to perfecting the vaccine, but there was no chance of him returning for the time being.

The darkest point came two days before the US contingent were preparing to mark Thanksgiving when two off-world relief teams were caught up in a culling – fourteen empty coffins sent back through the 'gate, fourteen families with no explanations. Six of those taken were civilians from Medical, three of whom Carson had known well. Standing in the gateroom during the memorials only served to remind him of his own mortality. The expedition was barely given time to grieve before Jennifer had to transmit a reluctant request for more personnel.

SGA

Thanksgiving saw Tamsin covering the nightshift in the infirmary. As she didn't celebrate the holiday, she'd volunteered to take the shift so others could be with their families. With no in-patients and only one team off-world, there was little for her to do. That was the dilemma – wanting to do your job, to help – but it meant someone being injured in the first place. Still, 'hurry up and wait' had been her SOP for so long. The nervous boredom of not knowing when the next casualty was due, then the sheer adrenaline of fighting to save a life, sometimes winning, sometimes not. The vast gulf between state-of-the-art frontline surgery and operating in little more that tin shacks with the most basic of equipment and tools.

Alarms squawked through her thoughts and she jerked up in her chair.

"Medical team to the embarkation room, SG-7 coming in with casualties."

She didn't have clearance to know where the team had been – the injuries could be anything from gunshots to an animal attack.

"Garcia, Hobbs, with me," she called, hurrying to collect a gurney. The two medics rushed up behind and they set off for level 28.

They reached the blast doors, alarms still shrieking and the odd shot echoing, then nothing as the iris closed and the event horizon abruptly collapsed. As soon as the marines stepped aside, Tamsin and the medics hurried up to the ramp, as three members of SG-7 staggered down it. The fourth lay in a heap near the gate.

"What happened?" she demanded, directing Garcia to support one of the men.

"Ambush, Doc. We took fire, Reilly got hit by some kinda mortar. He don't look so good."

She followed the soldier up the ramp to his teammate. The unmistakable smell of burnt flesh, sickeningly familiar, rose up as she knelt next to the body. Reilly lay on his side, barely conscious.

"What's his first name?"

"Brian."

She squeezed his shoulder. "Brian, can you hear me?"

He moaned softly.

She squeezed a little harder. "Sergeant?" Reilly opened his eyes, but he seemed unable to focus on anything. "We're going to sort you out, okay?"

As the soldier had apparently made it through the gate on foot, spinal injury seemed unlikely, but Tamsin couldn't rule out internal injuries. She quickly checked his vitals, high blood pressure and tachycardia indicating clinical shock in addition to the damage to his lower leg. She called to the other medics.

"On three, please. One, two, three."

They carefully lifted Reilly onto the gurney. Tamsin turned to hurry back to the elevator and the infirmary, but the other soldier caught her arm. "He gonna be ok, Doc?"

"We'll do our best." She wouldn't make promises she might not be able to keep. Noticing his pallor, she continued. "Get yourself looked at too."

She turned away, leading the team back to the infirmary.

Minutes later they swung into a bay, quickly attaching Reilly to monitors and oxygen. This was her first chance to get a proper look at him. Though he'd been conscious on arrival, he was now still and pale.

He was badly injured, but he was stable for the moment. The priority now was to assess the injuries. There were burns and bruises along his torso and at least two cracked ribs but Tamsin's biggest concern was his leg. With his clothing cut away, she could see the extent of the damage. Blackened, charred flesh surrounded a small jagged piece of shrapnel. It looked small, but it wasn't clear how deep the fragment was embedded in his calf. His foot was twisted at an unnatural angle and the fact it was cold with no distal pulse suggested the tibia and fibula were fractured.

"Who's the ortho on-call tonight?" she asked one of the nurses.

"It's Dr. White…" the nurse said, then paused. "But he went home an hour ago."

"Why the hell did he go home?"

"He didn't think he was needed."

Tamsin swore under her breath. "Okay, call him and get Reilly to theatre – that ankle needs reducing right now."

The nurse hesitated. "Shouldn't we wait for Dr. White? He won't be happy."

"If we stand around discussing it, Reilly will definitely lose his leg. Get him to surgery now!"

Ten minutes later, Tamsin strode into theatre.

"Right, let's get this fracture reduced." She glanced at the anaesthetist. "Okay to go?"

"He's stable, go ahead."

"Dr White isn't here yet, he should look at the ankle first," a nurse cut in.

"If this Dr. White wants to oversee cases, perhaps he should try actually being here. Meanwhile, I'm going to do everything within my skills to save this man's leg. Does anyone have a problem with that?"

She glared around the OR. No-one protested further, so she began to manipulate the bones back into position.

Despite Tamsin's efforts, she couldn't determine a pulse and there was still no apparent blood flow to the foot. Too long without blood supply and the tissues of the foot would quickly become starved of oxygen, risking tissue death and necrosis. Time was running out.

She turned back to Reilly, gripped the shrapnel and began to gently ease it out of the muscle, blood seeping out as the metal moved. Minutes later, Tamsin breathed a sigh of relief when she dropped the fragment into the dish held by the nurse.

"BP holding," the anaesthetist announced softly.

"Good start. Let's have a look at the rest of the damage," she said.

Just then, more blood began to ooze from the wound, soaking through the drapes.

"Pads and pressure!"

The nurse slapped a pad over the leg, pressing as blood saturated it.

"Keep going with the pads!"

She piled on more pads, eventually stemming the flow. Tamsin eyed the monitors – blood pressure and heart rate high, but steady for the time being.

"We've got a slow bleed somewhere. Push as much blood as you can to keep the volume up and stand by with suction." She glanced around. "Are we ready?"

"Go."

The nurse whisked the pads away and Tamsin's focus shrank to the narrow window of finding the source of the bleeding. It took moments to locate the shredded vein, which she quickly tied off, but even with the best will in the world she knew Reilly's leg was beyond repair. The surrounding tissue was already dying, the nerve also severed by the shrapnel.

She shook her head. "It's not viable - I'm going to have to amputate."

As the nurse set up the equipment needed, Tamsin placed a tight hold on her feelings. Another young soldier maimed in the course of duty and all she could do was patch him up and send him on his way back to Civvy Street. Sometimes she wondered if the sacrifice was worth it.

Some time later, Tamsin wrapped the limb and placed it carefully in a hazardous waste bin for disposal. The bright white gauze covering Reilly's stump stood in stark contrast against the green drapes.

"Nobody try the mystery meat in the canteen tomorrow," she joked, attempting to lighten the mood. It drew a weak laugh from the nurse scribing in the corner, but clearly no-one else appreciated it.

"I think we're done here, so back to recovery for him. Thank you, everybody. I'll go and update his team mates."

SGA

Tamsin trudged out of the theatre. They'd saved Reilly's life for now, but not his leg.

She approached the infirmary's small waiting area, pulling off her scrub cap and balling it up in her hand. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd delivered bad news to family or teammates, but it never got any easier. She schooled her face to show a neutral expression.

"Doc, how is he?" The soldier who'd spoken before stood up as she approached. She'd guess he was the team-leader, but she still hadn't learnt his name.

"He's stable. There are potential complications from the blast injury, but they may not show up for a while." She paused. "His leg was severely damaged. I did all I could, but I'm afraid I had to amputate below the knee."

One of the other team members swore under his breath.

"Corporal!" The team-leader glared at the younger man.

Tamsin held up a hand. "I've heard and said worse myself, no need to apologise."

"Jeez, Reilly took that blast for me." He turned away, rubbing his face, then turned back to Tamsin. "Can we see him?"

"Just for a few minutes, once he's out of recovery."

"Are you Lucas?" A male voice echoed over to Tamsin. She turned around to locate the owner as a grey-haired man wearing a lab coat over Air Force blues stalked up.

"Are you Lucas?" he snapped again, eyeballing the remainder of SG-7. They all straightened – an automatic response in the presence of an officer, she imagined.

"I'm Dr. Lucas, yes. Dr. White I presume?"

"Dr White, MD, PhD. I'd appreciate your attention."

Uh-oh, she thought, one of those types.

"Excuse me, I'll just be a moment," she said, looking at SG-7. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw White visibly bristle as she spoke.

He gestured sharply and strode over to the far corner of the patient treatment area, clearly expecting Tamsin to follow. She bit her tongue, temper simmering somewhere annoyed and furious, but slowly joined the older doctor.

"Would you care to explain why you saw fit to amputate a limb without the advice of a senior surgeon?" he began.

"Given the extensive tissue, nerve and vascular damage, the leg just wasn't viable. If you'd been there you would have come to the same conclusion," she replied.

"Did you even consider vascular bypass?"

Tamsin crossed her arms. "There was nothing to bypass to."

"Young lady, that is exactly why one waits for an experienced senior surgeon who is capable of making a carefully considered decision," White said.

His patronising tone nearly pushed her over the edge, and she had to will herself to remain professional and not let rip at the old goat. "Just so we're clear – I've spent nearly fourteen years making split-second, life or death decisions. More often than not with enemy fire on the doorstep. I'd be grateful if you could explain how that inhibits my ability to decide the best treatment for my patient," she snapped back.

White goggled for a moment, before regaining his composure. "It clearly inhibits your ability to show respect to your elders. I don't like your attitude; rest assured I'll be taking this matter further."

He turned and marched stiffly out of the medical bay.

Great, Tamsin thought staring at White's departing back. I'm not winning any friends here.

SGA

"Dr Lucas, I need to see you in my office please."

Two days after the incident with Dr. White, Tamsin looked up from the pile of charts she was working on to see Carolyn Lam standing in front of the desk.

"Of course, when?" Tamsin replied.

"Right now." Lam turned on her heel and strode off in the direction of her office.

Tamsin switched off her computer and quickly followed after the CMO. She hadn't gotten to know her boss well in the time she'd been at the mountain, but Lam clearly wasn't in the mood to be kept waiting. She knocked on the door-frame and Lam gestured her in without looking up.

"Close the door and take a seat," she said.

Tamsin sat.

Lam finally looked up from the file on her desk. "You probably know what this is about," she began.

"Dr White."

Lam nodded. "I'm afraid he's made a formal complaint against you. I wanted to give you a chance to put your side of the story."

"There's nothing more to say beyond what's in my report. If I'd hesitated, Reilly would be dead." Tamsin met Lam's gaze. "I stand by my decisions."

The other woman nodded once. "And I can't fault you for that, but the fact remains that the complaint's been made."

"I understand. So what happens now?"

"To be honest, it may be out of my hands. Are you aware of the situation in Atlantis at the moment?"

"Only that things are tough out there. I'd guess Wraith or another threat."

Lam looked sombre. "Good guess – Wraith attacks have been steadily increasing. They've also started returning to recently culled planets."

Tamsin frowned. "That doesn't sound much like their usual method."

"No, and nobody has been able to work out the whys, but what we do know is that they seem to be focussing on planets unaffected by the Hoffan plague.

"Atlantis has sent a request for volunteers with experience in Pegasus to return," Lam replied.

"So I can go back?"

Lam passed over a file. "Dr Keller asked for you personally, along with a few others."

Tamsin glanced over the first briefing page. There it was in black and white, a facsimile of Jennifer's signature at the bottom.

"Well, yes, of course I'll go."

"I'm flattered you're so keen to leave." Lam pursed her lips and eyed Tamsin. "You should read the full briefing file before making a decision. It's not going to be a picnic out there. You've got 'til midday tomorrow to let me know either way."

Tamsin stood up, clutching the file. "Thank you, Dr Lam," she could barely keep the enthusiasm out of her voice.

Lam frowned slightly. "Just… read the file first. You need all the details."

Tamsin left the office wondering just how bad the situation was in Pegasus. Though there was little doubt in her mind that she would go back, it always paid to have as much information as possible.

Besides, her loyalties now lay with Atlantis and the people of Pegasus.