James Swallow: Halcyon

Weir's eyes narrowed. She hadn't once taken her gaze off Sheppard. "Am I correct in thinking that Master Sergeant Riley was in fact running a video library for the crew aboard Atlantis?"

"I found the romantic comedies to be very informative," offered Teyla.

"And there's also the matter of the floating crap game. And the glassware and medical boiler that went missing from Dr. Beckett's infirmary."

"You couldn't hide a still on Atlantis," blurted McKay, "the internal sensors would register any heat build-up — "

"Rodney," growled Sheppard, silencing the other man.

"If Colonel Caldwell sees this, he won't be happy." Weir took the data screen and weighed it in her hand. "He runs a tight ship, John."

Sheppard met her gaze. "You know, when the Wraith invaded the city last year, Riley put down two of their bruisers and kept them out of the lower levels. Okay, so he bent the rules a little, but we're the farthest men from home out here. Riley was a good guy. I turned a blind eye because I thought people could stand to blow off a little steam. You know I'd never let anything go so far that it would compromise Atlantis."

After a moment, Elizabeth found herself nodding. "That's all I wanted to hear." She leaned in and lowered her voice. "I know people think of me like I'm some kind of school principal, watching everyone from up there in the gallery, but I'm not. I live here too, John. I know what homesickness can feel like."

"Oh, good," he smirked. "No detention then?"

McKay gestured at the air. "What, uh, happened to the data devices?"

Weir eyed him. "Oddly, Dr. McKay, they don't appear to be among the Sergeant's personal effects. I can only assume some enterprising soul has appropriated them."

Rodney gave a solemn nod. "Ah. It's what he would have wanted."

"The rest of his belongings will be loaded on the Daedalus when she arrives. Colonel Caldwell is bringing a new rotation of staff and troops."

"Any washouts?" said Sheppard. Generally, the turnover of people on Atlantis was small, with only a few voluntary transfers every now and then. For the most part, psychological evaluations made sure that anyone coming to serve a tour in the Pegasus Galaxy was mentally able to deal with the isolation, but there were still the occasional one or two who found the impossible distance and alien environment just too much.

"A couple of transfers from the civilian contingent. Doctors Walton and Ming. They're both taking reassignments to the Daedalus science team."

McKay rolled his eyes. "Ming. That figures. Do you know, he had the nerve to call this assignment boring? Good riddance to him. He's been bleating about getting a posting on the Battlestar Galactica ever since we got here…"

"You know Caldwell hates it when you call the Daedalus that?" said Sheppard.

Rodney gave an arch sniff. "Yes, I am fully aware of how much it annoys him."

"Well," broke in Weir, "while you're enjoying the crisp subzero wonderland of M3Y-465, I'll be sure to give the Colonel your best regards when he arrives." She gave the group a nod and left them to their preparations. "Be safe, people."

"Sure thing, Teach," said Sheppard.

Having finally negotiated the pistol holster, McKay approached Sheppard with a grimace on his face. "One moment. Sub-zero? She said `sub-zero'?"

Sheppard nodded. "She did."

Rodney shook his head. "No. M3Y-465 is a temperate planet. I saw the MALP reports, cool, a bit cloudy, lots of trees…"

"Nope," Sheppard replied. "You're thinking of M3Y-565. Captain Paterson and his team lit out for there this morning. He got the trees, we get the ice and snow."

"Snow," McKay repeated in a leaden voice. "I don't perform well in the cold, Colonel. I get the, ah-" He pointed at his nose. "The sniffles."

"Then take a scarf."

McKay squinted. "Why don't you take Zelenka? He's from above the Arctic Circle, or something. He'd be in his element."

Sheppard secured his weapon and threw a nod to Staff Sergeant Mason. "Let's move." The other man nodded and barked out orders to his troopers.

"John?" prodded McKay, as they entered the Gate Room, the shimmering disc of blue energy already open before them.

Sheppard halted as the others filed across the atrium. "Rodney, I don't want to appear like I'm uncaring or disinterested in your complaints, but I am, so that's how it comes out."

McKay made a face. "Fine."

The Colonel pointed at the SAS soldiers and as one Mason and his men moved in ahead of them, crossing the event horizon of the wormhole.

Four more figures came through the Circlet after the first group. They seemed different from the men in the uniforms of strange gray-white camouflage who had moved on ahead, all but one wearing heavy-weather gear in mid-blue. They were most definitely not Wraith, and their kit matched no known pattern, not even the most basic element of the sanctioned army standards. They had weapons-it was an assumption, albeit a logical one-but the firearms seemed small and spindly, doubtless of inferior power and range. The eight figures moved away from the Circlet as the shimmering gateway folded in on itself and vanished. These people paid it no mind; clearly, they were seasoned travelers. In a loose spread they walked on, picking their way through the snows.

It was peculiar; some of them moved with the vigilant air of military training, while others-one most notably-stomped across the drifts with little concern for protocol. The two figures that watched them exchanged glances and fingered their rifles, weighing their options.

Then one of the new arrivals looked up, directly at them, the wind flickering long auburn hair out from under her hood.

"Teyla?" Sheppard drew close. "What is it?"

The Athosian woman was silent for a moment. "I… Am not sure, Colonel. I thought I saw a…"

John's gloved fingers tightened around the grip of his P90. "Wraith?"

"No." She shook her head. "I was mistaken. The play of the light from the Stargate on the snow, perhaps."

"You don't sound convinced." He eyed her. "If that spidersense of yours is tingling, I want to know about it."

Teyla looked away. "I'm sorry, John. My… Gift is not predictable. It is not like a lamp I can simply switch on or off."

Sheppard nodded. The genetic kinks in Teyla's DNA, the dubious donation of years of Wraith experimentation on her bloodline, had left her with a preternatural instinct that the colonel had quickly learned to trust. "Okay. Let's keep our eyes open, huh?"

Corporal Clarke approached them. "Sir? Staff Mason spotted what looks like a village farther down the valley." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "No lights, though. Seems dead."

"Feeding frenzy," said Ronon.

Sheppard made a face. "There you go with that upbeat attitude again." He nodded to Clarke. "Let's move in."

Trudging up behind them, McKay's face peered from the woolly oval of an arctic parka. He waved a handheld scanner at them. "I'm not picking up any energy traces." He sniffed wetly. "You know, this would have been a lot easier if we'd taken a Puddle Jumper."

Sheppard ignored him. "Teyla, Ronon, watch our backs. Let's go pay a house call."

"Oh, good," McKay sneered, "and while we're there, we can ask Santa to let us borrow Rudolph and his sled."

The settlement was as silent as the snowy landscape. The highest structure in the hamlet was a watchtower growing from the center, tall enough so an observer atop it could sight out to the Gate and alert the inhabitants to any new arrivals. The buildings clustered around it, fanning off short alleyways in radial spokes. The construction was a mix of stone and heavy, dense wood, the lodge-like domiciles low to the ground like they were drawn tight against the chill. There were no footprints, no signs that there had been any life in this grim little ghost town. No lights burned anywhere, just as Clarke had reported, and the fans of illumination from the torches on the team's guns cast peculiar shadows. The only sounds were the crunch of snow beneath their boots and the thin howls of the bitter breeze.