Day One Hundred Twenty-Four

John's homesickness flares up when he sees the building. He's nearly nauseous with the heartache of missing Teyla, and Ford, and the others they left behind—even the city herself. Rodney's at his elbow, and John gives him a sideways glance, it's obvious that he feels the same way. Elizabeth is the only other one in their party that would share this emotion, but she's farther back. John tugs Rodney's elbow, and they step aside to wait for her to catch up.

The look on her face as she rounds the bend is priceless. "Oh!" she says, as her face lights up.

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

The three of them stand, just looking at it from afar, until the last of the caravan passes, and they tag along at the end.

The various encampments are laid out along a grid, with wide paths between the tents, and the occasional, vague, tumble-down outlines of buildings, the remnants of an old settlement.

They wind through the crowd, and along the way the people watch John curiously. The viator that had passed them at Halavasan had spread the news of his imminent arrival. A few that recognize him kneel in the sand, and, as he passes by, John can feel the vibrations, although, at present, it's the warm, sweet feeling that he thinks he could get to like a lot.

"That's just something that I don't think I'll ever get used to, Sheppard." Rodney waves his hand at the people genuflecting to John.

"It's kind of embarrassing, actually." John shrugs a little. "I don't think it has very much to do with me, to tell you the truth." He's afraid to tell them exactly how it feels; that they'll think he's begun to believe his own press and stage an intervention.

"I suspect that it's going to get worse as the news spreads," Elizabeth remarks quietly.

"Probably." John's saved from the rest of that conversation as the caravan stops, and the routine of unpacking and putting up tents begins.

They're camped right at the foot of the building, so the mesla are hobbled and left free to roam the plateau, which is bounded by the mountains to their back, the stream from Halavasan to the south and steep inclines to the east.

After a sharing a brief meal with their immediate neighbors, Anbur pulls out the mysterious package that's been driving Rodney crazy. Iqbal and Dara stand to join him, and Anbur turns to Rodney. "Dr. McKay?"

Rodney's up like a flash to gather up his instruments, and Anbur nods at John. "You must come; no one will question a guest of the Quaralyn in the House of Makhuqat."

There's remarkably little ceremony. No one is paying any attention to them as Anbur waves his hand across the sensor, and they enter the building.

John's not exactly sure what he expected from the appearance of the exterior, but the interior seems to be an exact duplicate of the corridors of Atlantis, minus the glass windows to the sea. John's pinged by something quasi-sentient, similar to the request for instructions he gets from the puddle jumpers as they walk through the corridors. "Are you getting that, Rodney?"

Rodney's concentration is on his scanner. "What's that?" He asks.

"It feels like a puddle jumper."

"Yeah, I think this is a spaceship."

"Yes, Dr. McKay, this is the ship that brought our people to this world."

John thinks about the legend of Qaral, and how he disappeared in a flash of light. He'd incorrectly assumed that was a metaphor for getting beamed up.

Anbur is talking softly to Dara and Iqbal in Ancient as they approach a door, and Dara and Iqbal practice opening and closing it in turn. The room is similar in appearance to the power station in Atlantis, with a roughly triangular pedestal in the center.

The Idon gather around a console to one side, and Anbur is issuing instructions. Dara presses a few keys, and another ZPM slides out. Iqbal takes it, but Rodney interrupts him. "May I?"

"Please investigate as you wish, Dr. McKay," Anbur says, and Iqbal hands him the device.

"It's not like ours; the power signature is different. Could be because it's fully charged... Anbur. This is recharging the ZedPM?"

Dara is sliding the one Anbur brought with them into the empty slot on the console. "Yes, Dr. McKay. We bring Qaral's Power to Makhuqat on the fifth anam to prepare it for use. Makhuqat requires power as well, and so we provide for him."

Rodney hands the ZPM back to Iqbal and pulls his laptop out and plugs it into the console, then crawls underneath to remove the panel to attach more leads to the laptop. "Okay let's fire this up, and see what we've got."

At the confused look on Anbur's face, John says dryly, "Go ahead, he's just watching." Anbur continues to instruct Dara as he pushes the translucent keys.

The five of them are huddled around the console, and Rodney's watching both Dara and his laptop. "It's very slow, like a trickle charger. Comparing the power frequencies, I'd say that it probably takes a couple of years for the cycle to complete."

"The Avaxqaral is less in its appetites than Makhuqat, we return with his leavings."

"Ah. The database, of course, rotating the batteries on a fifteen year cycle, unless there are more?" Rodney moves about the compartment, lighting up consoles, tapping out queries. "The whole building is one giant collector for solar and radiation power."

"Makhuqat's home took many years to build."

John's curious. "Why is the database so far from the ship?"

Anbur shrugs. "The first war of Ascension, after Wilan. Doctus was his Chosen; Qaralyn argued it was his right as son of Qaral."

It's enough of a non-answer that John's about to ask for a clarification, but Anbur interrupts his next question. "You and Dr. McKay must go to see the rest of Makhuqat."

John's willing to let his question go in favor of a tour. "C'mon McKay."

Rodney taps a few last keys on the laptop, checks the console that it's attached to, and turns around.

~*~

The entire ship is thickly coated in dust, and their footprints obscure the faint trail of past explorations as they wander through the corridors, poking their heads into workrooms and labs. The fine grit has worked down under the keys in the control room, and though the monitors work, the displays are distorted with static.

The feeling of familiarity is strong, and the welcoming, mental ping is steady in John's head as they investigate the bare, crew's quarters, the occupant's furnishings and belongings long gone.

The engine room is filthy with sand; there are tiny piles underneath an overhead hatch that's not sealed shut. The positive results from a display have Rodney giving John a meaningful look. John raises his eyebrows and nods slightly.

Leaving the engine room, they find the small bay with four puddle jumpers huddled together. John releases the rear hatch with a rush of stale air and sits in the pilot's chair. The heads up display pops up almost before he can ask, with a grid that shows the relative position of Makhuqat, and temple overhead.

John's almost overcome by the need for flight, and another hot rush of homesickness. At that, the display changes to a star chart with coordinates, navigational headings and a course marked in red. Atlantis.

It would take months in a puddle jumper, if not years, though it would be journey of only a day or two for Makhuqat.

John forces the display to snap off, and he jerks out of the chair and leaves the puddle jumper. The answer is right there; they have the solution to their problem, but it would tear apart the entire fabric of Dominat. In a few short months, he's become familiar with the tenuous balance between the people and their communities, though John suspects that their presence has upset the equilibrium anyway.

Rodney closes the 'jumper's hatch and catches up; John is almost running to get out, to get away from the possibility. Anbur knew, the tracks in the dust were aged and faint, but he must've explored Makhuqat, and he knew.

Maybe it was an invitation to take what they needed; as Quaralyn, no one would question his actions, they would kneel and murmur 'Will of Qaral' as he flew away with their precious relic and the source of power for their mostly holy text.

Makhuqat is ten thousand years old, and has been buried for most of that time; it's a distinct possibility that the ship's in the same state as the Daedalus. It would have to be unburied, the temple above torn down and reduced to dust, which would also rend asunder the point of contact for the many, scattered communities. The single source of advanced power on the entire planet would be destroyed, and Dominat would lose the most important link to their past as the last ZPM died.

John stops suddenly a few feet short of the recharging room, and grabs Rodney by the shoulders. "You absolutely cannot tell anyone about this, about Makhuqat," he says in a fierce, low voice.

"Sheppard, we can go home."

"Maybe, but think—what will happen here, when we're gone? Do you think Shaaziya's just going to pick up and go, leaving everything she's known behind? Are you willing to destroy an entire civilization? Because I've done that, Rodney; I don't think I can do it again."

Rodney's face falls and his mouth twists into a grim slant.

"That's what I thought. This is not ours. Our need does not outweigh the cost to these people."

"But, the puddlejumpers—we could use them."

"God, yes, I know. But they're obviously a secret—how do we extract them without the existence of the ship becoming common knowledge? What will it do to every person on the Daedalus, knowing that this is right here? We just have to think first."

"So you're what, making a unilateral decision for every person on this planet?"

"It's not that simple."

Rodney frowns and pulls out of John's grasp. "Well, you're wrong."

"Rodney," he cries in anguish. John feels heavy with the weight of the power to change the course of civilization just within his grasp.

~*~

"What about the ZPM, Rodney?" Elizabeth asks over the fire at dinner.

"I can't believe that we walked through the mountains to watch a ridiculous ritual with a useless piece of junk."

Elizabeth frowns at the insult, but it's purely a McKayism. "Rodney," she says, more than a hint of reproach in her voice.

John offers Rodney a tiny smile of mollification, but Rodney's not looking at him.

Anbur puts on a good act of annoyance. "Dr. McKay, you are nusqua and do not understand."

He stands abruptly and pins John with an angry glare. "Yes, you're right, I just don't get it. At all. Good night."

As they watch him leave, Elizabeth apologizes. "Anbur, I'm so sorry, please forgive Rodney for his bluntness."

"It is his way." Anbur catches John's eye with a brief speculative glance.

John nods once, saying nothing. It could go either way with McKay, and only time would tell.

 

Day One Hundred Twenty-Five

The next day is difficult. Rodney's avoiding him, and so John takes Cadman up on the offer of a hike with her usual posse, and Evan joins them as well. No one mentions last night's disagreement with McKay, and for that, John is grateful.

They spend the day exploring the edges of the plateau and the trails that lead up and down from the site. They also gather a sizable group of children that follow them around, and eventually they organize them into a game that's a combination of hide-and-seek and tag.

When they return to camp, Rodney's nowhere to be found. John picks at dinner and lurks near Anbur's tent until he's alone.

"I have to ask," he says in a low voice. "Why did you show me Makhuqat?"

"It is important, yes?" For the first time in their acquaintance Anbur's uncomfortable and uncertain, and that makes John feel uneasy.

"Yeah, I get that."

"As leader of Peragroilla, I must not believe, but as a man, very conflicted. I do not want to admit we have been wrong for fourteen thousand anam, and yet cannot ignore what I see."

John feels his anchor slipping. If Anbur, who had told him so firmly to 'accept and not believe', is having a crisis of faith, where does that leave him? "I'm still just John Sheppard." He has to whisper, if he raises his voice, he's afraid it might be a scream.

"Just so, but there is more, hmm? If you are Quaralyn, then you must know all."

"But what am I supposed to do with this knowledge?"

"I cannot tell you. Is for you to decide." Anbur's face has no trace of his normal geniality or mirth, only a look of exquisite sorrow that pierces John like a knife to the heart.

John closes his eyes and takes a handful of deep breaths in an effort to stave off the mother of all panic attacks, and he feels Anbur's arm across his back, pulling him into a comforting embrace.

He didn't ask for this. When he'd raised the rifle at Colonel Sumner, he'd had at least some idea of the consequences. This, he had no inkling, no choice at all, and he's barely figured out how to deal with simply being different, much less how to handle the fate of an entire planet. "I don't think I can do this, Anbur."

"I am sorry, John."

 

Day One Hundred Twenty-Six

The next morning, John's up and out early. He's lost in thought as he prowls through the tent town. A handful of fellow viator are awake, freshening cook fires and making tea. They nod at him in greeting; some smile and others are solemn, but he barely sees them. He's exhausted, sleep has evaded him completely, and his eyes are gritty, burning with unshed tears. He doesn't have any more idea of what to do now than he had last night, when Anbur had slammed him with the anvil of responsibility.

John looks up when Rodney calls out to him, huffing down the street at a slight jog.

"Rodney." John greets him cautiously, not certain of exactly where they stand, and he definitely doesn't want to get into it with him right now.

"I need you to escort me to Makhuqat, I mean Anbur said I could go back but not alone, and that you had to go with me. He wouldn't. I think he thinks that we need to make up. I'm still mad, very upset, but we wouldn't let that get in the way of a little exploration and-"

John cracks a faint smile and holds up his hand. "Whoa, McKay. No need to apologize."

Rodney gives him an indignant look. "It wasn't really an apology, I just hoped that we could look beyond our disagreement."

He wasn't mad at Rodney, couldn't imagine what it would take for Rodney to really piss him off, but what Rodney wanted was part of the burden that Anbur had laid at his feet; a burden that John was reluctant to pick up. "Yeah. So what's up?"

"We need to determine the complete status of Makhuqat, appearances can be deceiving, so there's no sense in arguing over a course of action if it's not even possible."

There's a tiny flare of hope that the problem will suddenly become a moot point. "Makes sense. What did Anbur say about that?"

"We didn't actually talk about it."

No surprise there. John bites his lower lip absently as he looks at the tents around him, thinking. He desperately wants to go back inside the ship, wants to find out that Makhuqat is a wreck just like every other space ship on the planet. Desperately wants get in and break away, and fly home. "Yeah. Give me a few to catch up with every one first."

John and Rodney make as discreet an exit as possible after breakfast; John had been unwilling to discuss their plans in the open. Once they're inside the Ancient spaceship, he asks, "So what did you want to do?"

Rodney nods down the corridor. "The bridge first. I want to try to access the ship logs, and you can go through those while I look at various components, and figure out where to start first."

"You know those logs are probably in Ancient."

Rodney just gives John a flat stare and hands him a data pad. "Then all that schooling will come in handy, won't it?"

John shrugs his eyebrows in return. Someone one must have been talking, or rather Rodney grilled someone to death. Their viat is crammed with students and teachers; it could have been anyone.

The problem with mechanical logs is that they don't know when to quit. A human would have long ago stopped bothering to type in the equivalent of 'condition same', but the automatic logging function just kept going. It takes John what seems like hours to scroll back to the beginning, and thank God the Ancient's data storage formats are incredibly complex, because the log starts from the day the ship was activated.

John settles in to read, grateful for the distraction from his circular thoughts.

Rodney methodically takes a turn at every station, figuring out what each one does, occasionally backtracking or darting over to another console. He talks to himself, and John listens in what he likes to think of as Rodney-mode: blah blah blah, DANGER blah blah, replying when necessary and occasionally reading an entry aloud to Rodney.

The Makhuqat had been a very old ship, on the verge of an Ancient scrap heap when Qaral had commandeered it for the relocation. Every event was carefully detailed in a combination of automatic logging functions and human entries—Wraith battles and exploration expeditions, crew related incidents. John downloads what he can about the Wraith and a few of the exploration notes to the data pad, because he's still hoping that the SGC will swoop in and that they'll get off this rock, take him away from the whole mess.

Rodney drops an MRE in John's lap and sits down next to him. "You about done?"

John looks at him. "There's fifteen thousand years of entries, Rodney."

"Well, I guess you're ready for a break? You've been sitting there for almost seven hours."

John stands and stretches. He hadn't realized that it had been that long. He inspects the MRE and goes for the crackers and peanut butter. "It'll take years to go through all of this. What did you find?"

Rodney answers casually. "I don't know if it's space-worthy, but it will definitely fly except for the fact that it's buried under a building, which could be a problem. If it were up to me, we would at least take a test run."

"Rodney." John's absolutely torn; he'd love to get out of here and go home, but was a ride home in a used space ship worth the irreparable damage to the entirety of Dominat?

"I see your point, I really do—but my point is that we're meant for bigger things than just wasting away here. The whole galaxy is in danger, Atlantis is still the gateway to Earth, sure we left it hidden, but that's only going to fool the Wraith for so long—make that two galaxies in danger—so if we were to weigh the cost of languishing here on this backwater against all of that, I don't see that there's any other choice."

"Yeah," John replied tightly. He doesn't feel certain enough of his voice to continue. Rodney's played the guilt card, and John hates that Rodney knows him so well. There has to be some way to balance the needs of Dominat against that of the entire galaxy—of two galaxies.

They can't just take off and go now; there are people literally camped right on top of Makhuqat, not to mention a huge structure over the top of it. They'd have to come back after the viat season was over. "Do you think that two people could handle the ship?"

It was hard to look at Rodney, the anticipatory gleam in his eyes was almost blinding. "I can do better than that; the chair is basically the emergency control room. All of the essential controls are tied in to it. I press this, and it's all up to you." He taps the key, and then looks John in the eyes. "We should check it out."

John swallows thickly; his throat is tight, and there's a bloom of pressure in his chest. He looks away from Rodney. "We should."

There's a world of difference between accidentally starting a galactic culling with a single gunshot and purposefully contemplating steps to create a planet-wide disaster.

~*~

When John emerges from Makhuqat, the familiar buzz of devotion is so intense that he nearly stumbles back down the stairs. Rodney grabs him by the arm and steadies him. "You okay? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'll explain later."

It's dark and the tent city is lit with thousands of blue cooking fires. The parties they'd had on their journey pale in comparison to the revelries in progress all round them. It seems like everyone is on the move, visiting other camps and catching up with old friends.

Their campsite is packed with people drinking ekal and tea, talking, and laughing and watching the dancers around the fire. John's already feeling a little high, but he accepts a glass of ekal anyway and throws it back, letting go of the hard knot of worry in his stomach, letting go of all the concern and uncertainty that he's carrying, has always carried with him, and falls into the absolute joy that's washing over him.

The feeling is impossible to contain; he feels like he's bursting out of his skin and simply cannot remain stationary. John throws himself into the crowd that's dancing by the fire, automatically matching the complicated steps, losing himself in the ecstasy of motion.

 

Day One Hundred Twenty-Seven

When John awakens, it's to a pounding headache, a sour taste in his mouth and an extremely delicate stomach. The sun is not yet up, and the camp is quiet in the dim, pre-dawn light. He covers his eyes with an arm. He doesn't remember how much he had to drink, though he imagines it was a lot. Most of the night is lost in a haze of alcohol and devotional buzz, and he hurts all over. Dancing yourself into oblivion uses different muscles than hiking for weeks; as he extricates himself from the sleeping bag, he feels like he's been run over by a truck. A pair of feet appear next to him, and he peeks out from under his arm.

Evan is standing over him with a grim look, tea glass in one hand and a canteen in the other. "You had a good time last night."

"Did I?" John sits up, accepts the canteen and drinks most of it down in one go.

"It certainly looked like it." Evan hands John a couple of Tylenol and the tea. "This should help. The Daedalus called a few minutes ago, and the rains have finally started. We should go back soon, maybe even tonight. Anbur says if we push hard we can be back in a week."

"Crap." He knew this was coming; it was only a matter of when. John thinks of Makhuqat, and how easy it would be to fly back in a few minutes, but the reasons that they didn't just take off yesterday are still valid this morning; there's too many people and getting there almost immediately wouldn't make any difference, anyway.

"That's about the size of it. Caldwell said only the lowest level was flooded so far. Oh, Anbur said there was someone who wants to say hi to you."

John doubts that's exactly what Anbur said. "Give me a minute, and I'll be right there." He puts on his boots and carefully walks to the latrines, quietly accepting the bowing and scraping people as he passes by them. John has a sudden, weird sympathy for rock stars.

When he returns to the central area of their camp, John discovers that Maisa is sitting at the fire chatting with Anbur, Elizabeth and Evan. The rest of their crew is probably still sleeping off the ekal. His Peragro has improved tremendously since the disaster at Tobat, and he greets her. "Welcome, Maisa." The way rumors seem to fly ahead of him; he's not surprised that she's flabbergasted by his presence. It isn't a good look for her.

"Good day to the Quaralyn." To her credit she remains sitting and merely nods deeply, rather than throwing herself in the sand.

"Just Sheppard. I apologize that I was prevented from returning to Tobat myself."

"No matter, we are all grateful to you for ridding us of the monster." She shakes her head slightly and glances at Anbur, who is watching with undisguised interest.

John sighs internally. He might get a rush from the devotions of the adoring masses, but his state of being is a huge obstacle between him and most individuals, except for those who had known him before that dreadful day in the temple courtyard at Ayse; he'd hoped that Maisa would remember who he actually was: the fly boy that marched with trouble on the ground. He gives her a flirty grin and sits down by the fire, while inquiring after the few people in Tobat that he remembered.

"Haitham is at home, his wife is near to term though Laith is here. He will want to see you." She instructs Diwan, one of the schoolboys that is lingering near the fire, where to find her camp and to bring back the rememdium.

That reminds John of his long forgotten scheme. "Would Laith consider coming to N'vellesem? Our rememdium is very old, and Ayse has none."

Elizabeth looks shocked at the way John phrases his request, the easy way he's co-opted the role of leader. To be honest, so is he. John takes a sideways glance at Anbur to get his reaction, but Anbur has a wide grin. He nods at John to continue.

"It is the will of the Quaralyn." Maisa covers her face with both hands and bows her head, causing John to flash back to Shaaziya in the parlor in Ayse's temple.

"No. It is only a request. Not an order."

At that Maisa gives him a look, as if it couldn't possibly be within the realms of reality for Laith to refuse a request from the Quaralyn. John gives it up as a lost cause and shrugs.

If possible, Anbur's smile is even wider, nearly splitting his face. John's vaguely understood that he's been shepherded towards this point, this role, by Anbur since the meeting on the Daedalus, but everything suddenly crystallizes in this moment. John tips his head at Anbur, acknowledging the role, and the power that comes with it. He carefully doesn't look at Elizabeth.

Diwan and Laith break the moment, and John introduces the rememdium. "Everyone, this is Laith, one of the healers from Tobat, Laith, I'd like you to meet Elizabeth Weir, our leader, Evan Lorne, you remember him, he was the one with the head wound."

"I am pleased to see you doing so well, Evan Lorne. My father and I were most concerned for you."

Evan shakes Laith's hand, and John translates for him, "Thank you, I'm not sure that I'd be here without you and your father."

"It is our pleasure." Laith lifts a hand. "May I?"

Evan looks surprised, but agrees, "Uh, sure."

Laith cups the back of Evan's head with his left hand, his right along Evan's jaw and closes his eyes. Evan begins to fidget and squirm slightly, and John keeps his eyes front and center, he knows intimately exactly what this is doing to Evan, doesn't need or want to check the results.

The minutes seem to stretch out, thick and syrupy, but it's an illusion. Laith drops his hands, and Evan sighs in relief.

John doesn't translate what Laith says; it's too much like doctor-patient confidentiality. He'll tell Evan later when they're alone, but it's probably not necessary.

Evan grins widely, "Wow, thank you."

Laith smiles back and bows slightly, before he turns to John. "And now you?"

"Somebody go wake up Cadman, don't want her to miss her post-mission check up." Evan chuckles as he leaves to drag her out of her sleeping bag. "Go ahead." Laith stands in front of him, one hand on the back of his neck, and the other resting just on top of the curve of his ass. The near-embrace, and the low grip feel shockingly intimate in this open space with other people watching. John gives Elizabeth a wry look, a lift of his brow and a half smile, and then drops his face to hide his reaction.

It's the same remembered feeling, hot hands tingling and teasing him through his clothing. His face begins to flush with the memory, but Laith drops his hands quickly. "Forgive me, I did not know," Laith whispers quietly in his ear.

He whips his head up and pins Laith with a firm look. "Didn't know what?"

Laith is surprised at the question, "You truly do not know?"

"If I did, would I be asking?" John's just a little angry and a lot frustrated, every time he turns around, there's someone who knows a secret that he doesn't, and it's usually about him.

"We speak of this later," Laith says firmly, nodding towards the small crowd, just as Evan arrives with the Lieutenant in tow. Her eyes are wide with surprise that John would be open enough to allow this intimacy here, but she doesn't say anything.

John can feel the tips of his ears burn as he recalls her watching, probably avidly, him getting his hairy ass fondled and healed. "Cadman, you remember Laith, from Tobat?"

"Sure. Good to see you again." She stands in front of Laith, up close, and he takes her face in both hands. Their eyes are closed, and Cadman is faintly smirking.

Laith holds on for only a moment. "You have healed very well."

"I didn't have to have my jaw wired shut for months, so thank you for that."

They smile at each other, neither stepping back from the bubble of personal space, until Maisa clears her throat. "Laith, the Quaralyn requests that you join him in N'vellesem, for Neela is old, and Zainab is burned."

He doesn't hesitate, just flows to his knees and presses his forehead into the sand at John's feet. "It is done."

John's eyebrows nearly reach his hairline in surprise. "We, uh, we're leaving, returning to the Daedalus today."

Laith stands up and gives John an appraising look. "Then I must go prepare for my departure. I will return shortly."

"And I will go to hasten his preparations and compose a message for his father. It was a pleasure to meet our vir again; thank you for your courage." With that Maisa whirls off in a flurry of robes.

John wants to call after her, that they weren't heroes in any sense of the word, they were just doing what had to be done, and they'd actually done a piss-poor job of it, but she's already gone.

~*~

Laith re-appears, followed by a single, decrepit-looking mesla with his few belongings piled on; his arrival goes almost unnoticed in the commotion of dividing up the mesla and sorting out who's returning now or staying, packing up tents and packs and eating a hurried meal. Anbur insists on traveling with them as guide; Zuhair and Tazim, along with the Idon and the rest of their motley viator will stay with the students at Makhuqat and then take them home.

They can't travel through the treacherous mountain passes at night, but plan to get as far as possible while it's still daylight. Sheppard checks in with Caldwell as they set camp for the night, and the water is still rising, now two levels are flooded, including the precious fuel tanks.

 

Day One Hundred Twenty-Eight - One Hundred Forty-Four

Rodney and Elizabeth have acclimatized to the high altitude, and without the school kids they manage to maintain a brisk pace on the journey home. It's mostly downhill, stopping to rest only at night, when it's too dangerous to walk in the dark, and up and moving before dawn every day. The reports from the Daedalus are more frightening every day, especially when Caldwell grimly reports that their graveyard is gone. The flood has washed the rotting corpses out of their resting place, and they're floating downstream or hanging up in the wreck of the Daedalus as if this final indignity couldn't drag them away.

They've spent weeks traveling by foot, and by now even Rodney is well conditioned enough to take the punishing march without complaint. Their concern for their compatriots, and their dismay over the plight of the beleaguered Daedalus, spurs them to greater speed.

John uses their aggressive pace, and the futility of rushing back, to forget about his problems for a while, concentrating on moving as fast as possible. He'd thought that things couldn't get any worse, but once again, he's been proven wrong.

 

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