STARGATE ATLANTIS: The Wild Blue (SGX-05) Read online

  “I’m going back to set up the still cameras,” Tan said, unbuckling her harness, and Mel nodded.

  “Ok. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  “Will do.”

  Mel swung the Rapide north again, looking for the break a few miles south of where the Spur met the Plateau. Supposedly there was a mine just below that point, on the eastern slope; if she could spot that, she could get a decent compass heading to follow for her search pattern.

  “Camera’s in place,” Tan said, over the intercom. “Video’s still running if you want it.”

  “Copy that.” Mel flipped the switch that engaged the small screen set between the pilots’ consoles, and the image of the terrain beneath them swam into focus. “Ok. I’ve got the notch in sight. I’m going to swing back north and drop down to five hundred feet for the pass.”

  “Careful of the wind,” Tan said.

  “Copy that.” Mel tightened her hold on the steering column as she spoke. On this side of the Spur, everyone reported strong downslope winds, and sure enough as she dropped through six hundred feet the Rapide jerked and shuddered. She brought it back onto its line, feeling the turbulence bouncing her like an old car on a country road. “Can you get pictures in this?”

  “I’ll try…”

  “I can try at seven hundred, we might get above it.”

  “Maybe — wait.”

  There was a note in Tan’s voice that brought Mel to full alertness, though her hands didn’t move on the controls. “You all right?”

  “Yes, fine. We’ve got to go back, I think — I’m sure there was something there.”

  Mel risked a glance at the video screen, but it showed nothing but the tops of more trees. She tipped the Rapide into a shallow, careful turn, working with the wind, and steadied onto a reciprocal course. The Rapide bounced, swaying from side to side, and she focused on her instruments, trying to keep the plane level.

  “There!”

  Mel risked a quick glance at the video screen, but saw only a break in the eternal trees before she had to turn her attention back to the controls. “What have you got?”

  “That clearing — somebody’s been using it.”

  “Recently?” As soon as she said the word, Mel realized it was a stupid question. “Sorry. Coming around again.”

  “Can you get any lower?”

  “I’ll try.” Mel banked the Rapide, pressing the nose down, and leveled out again at four hundred feet. The air was a little steadier here, and she let the airspeed drop. A light flickered for a moment on the instrument, and she frowned: the port engine was running a little hot. She touched the generator control, reducing power to the port engine, and saw the light go out, the numbers falling back to normal. “Four hundred feet.”

  “Coming up…”

  Mel glanced at the screen again, and this time she saw it, too, the edges of a clearing too regular to be natural, water flowing in raised wooden sluices, a stack of timber too neat to be anything but recent. “How close are we to the mine head?”

  “Not sure,” Tan answered. “A couple of miles downslope? Can you give me another pass? I want to get some more pictures?”

  “Copy that,” Mel answered, checking the terrain. There was room enough, and she turned the Rapide toward the Spur. “I’m going to see if I can spot the mine, see if that’s where they’re living.”

  “Ok. I’ll try for pictures.”

  Mel checked her airspeed again. The Rapide was designed to handle low speeds without stalling, but the rough air made it hard to hold the plane steady. She glanced quickly out the side window, seeing the steep rise of the Spur seemingly only a few yards from her wingtip, a sharp line where the trees gave way to scree and rock. Yes, there was the mine, a black opening in the mountainside, the clearing in front of it trampled mud, bare of grass and timber. The handful of buildings looked empty, the windows broken out and doors hanging from their hinges, but the timber sluice ran all the way to the entrance, and it looked as though the trees had been cut back recently.

  “Got it,” Tan called. “Video and still.”

  A sudden gust shook the Rapide, and Mel pulled the nose up. “Copy. One more pass over the clearing?”

  “If you can,” Tan answered, and Mel checked her instruments. The port engine was still running hotter than its twin, but it was within the limits.

  “One more at four hundred. I’ll try for three, but the wind’s getting tougher.”

  “Four hundred’s fine.”

  “Four hundred, then.”

  Mel brought the Rapide around again, lining up for the next pass. “I’m going to radio Narmoth Falls, let them know what we’ve got.”

  “Go ahead,” Tan answered, and Mel flicked the radio selector.

  “Narmoth Falls, this is Rapide. Do you copy? Narmoth Falls, this is Rapide.”

  The answer was reassuringly prompt, Wood’s voice clear despite the mountains between them. “Rapide, Narmoth Falls. We copy. Everything all right?”

  “We see signs of current habitation at the first mine site below the notch,” Mel said. “I don’t know the name of the mine, but it looks like someone’s living there, or trying to get it working, or both.”

  “Copy that,” Wood said. “Hey, that’s good news, right?”

  “Should be.” Mel checked the port engine again. “Pass that on to Ronon, please.”

  “Roger that,” Wood answered. “Are you going to proceed with the rest of the search?”

  “Yes, unless we spot people on the ground. I’ll let you know if anything changes. Rapide out.” Mel flicked the selector back to the intercom. “How are you doing?”

  “One more pass?”

  Mel grinned — she had never yet flown reconnaissance without being asked for “just one more” — and a red light flashed among her controls. The port engine temperature spiked again, shooting past the normal limits to pin the indicator against the top of the column. Mel swore under her breath, turning the dial to reduce power again. The indicator dropped a little, but it was still into the red zone. “Negative,” she said aloud. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “Do you need me up front?” Tan’s voice was unnaturally controlled.

  “Negative.” Mel adjusted the generator’s output, bringing the port engine’s temperature down a little further. It seemed to stabilize a little, and she pulled back on the yoke, lifting the Rapide toward the thirteen hundred feet she would need to clear the Plateau. Another light flashed, warning that the engine wasn’t getting enough power; she adjusted the feed again, and watched the temperature climb. “Damn it. Yustyna, better get up here after all, I think we’re losing an engine.”

  She fiddled with the power control, trying to keep the engine running, but the temperature continued to climb. Tan slid into the co-pilot’s seat, fastening the harness across her body, and said, “Do you want me to radio Narmoth Falls?”

  “Not yet,” Mel began, and the Rapide shuddered as she let the power drop again. “Damn it! I’m going to have to shut down the port engine.”

  “How bad is that?”

  “We can fly on one, that’s no problem — that’s why we bought the twin-engine.” Mel flicked switches, running through the shutdown procedure. The port engine sputtered and died, and she feathered the propeller to reduce drag. The starboard engine whined up in answer, and she eyed the temperature gauge warily. “Yeah, call the Falls, tell them we’re coming back to them. We should be able to set down there, see what’s gone wrong —”

  She broke off as the Rapide tried to fall off to the right, caught in a sudden gust of wind. She brought it back, and heard Tan speaking into the microphone, her voice still tight.

  “Narmoth Falls, this is Rapide. We have an engine problem.”

  Mel closed her mind to the conversation, concentrating on the feel of the controls and the instrument displays. The Rapide was harder to control with only one engine, and she had to apply nearly full rudder to balance the uneven power; the nose canard damped the tendency t
o stall and spin, but it was hard to keep it steady. She increased power, boosting the Rapide toward the edge of the Plateau. She’d clear it now by about a hundred feet, but she wanted more room.

  “Mel. Narmoth Falls says you’re free to land any time, and to keep them informed.”

  “Ok.” Mel pulled the yoke back again. A little more lift, just a little more, or she’d need to circle back away from the Plateau, and she didn’t want to waste the time. The Rapide rose, the controls sluggish in her hands. A hundred and fifty feet of clearance, almost two hundred —

  A light flashed on the starboard engine’s monitor, and a tone sounded: the starboard engine was overheating, too. Mel swore and reached across to reduce power as much as she dared. The engine faltered, but the temperature didn’t drop. They were almost at the Plateau, almost above its edge. Mel’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the rock rising in front of them, and she eased the throttle forward just a hair. For a moment, nothing happened, but then the Rapide rose, clearing the cliff’s edge by about a hundred feet.

  That was only one problem solved. The overheating warning sounded again, and Mel craned her neck to see out the windscreen and side windows. On this side of the Tellhart, the ground was open, a flat grassy meadow stretching a good mile or more to the trees. That was a bit of luck, and Mel adjusted the flaps, lining the Rapide up so that the cliff would be off the starboard wing and she would have the longest open stretch available before they reached the trees.

  “We’re losing the starboard engine, too. I’m going to have to set us down.”

  “Ok,” Tan said, and Mel heard her repeat the message to Narmoth Falls.

  Mel checked the trim again. There wasn’t time for finesse, not if she wanted to make the landing while the starboard engine was still running, but she’d already lost a lot of speed and altitude. She pulled the nose up just a hair, concentrating on the grass unreeling under her nose. As long as it was as clear as it looked… It would be or it wouldn’t. She let the Rapide stall, and dropped it neatly onto the meadow.

  The Rapide bounced and settled, jolting toward the trees. Mel worked the controls, not daring to brake too hard on the uneven ground, and at last the Rapide slowed and stopped. The starboard engine was still showing dangerous heat, and she shut it down quickly, then for good measure took the naquaddah generator into stand-by mode, leaving just enough power to run the electrical systems. Everything was suddenly very quiet, just the ticking of cooling metal, and then Tan gave a shaky laugh.

  “Well. I guess we can say the plane will land on open ground.”

  “Yeah.” Mel loosened her harness. “Radio Narmoth Falls and tell them we’re all right. I’m going to take a look at the engines.”

  “Will do,” Tan said, and Mel hauled herself out of the pilot’s seat. She’d made emergency landings before, some of them in conditions that were objectively a lot more dangerous, but as she opened the hatch and let down the cabin stairs, she was painfully aware of how far they were from help. Even under the best possible conditions, it would take several hours for a puddle jumper to reach them from Atlantis; if they had gone down without time to radio their position or warn Narmoth Falls, it could take days or even weeks for a puddle jumper to find them. And if they couldn’t rely on Atlantis’s help — She shook herself. She had known what she was getting into when she took the job. No matter how much she told herself this was just like working in Antarctica or someplace like that, the fact remained that this was an alien planet in another galaxy. She was a very long way from home.

  ***

  Radek let out a sigh of relief as Tan’s voice crackled through the speaker.

  “We’re down safely, no damage to the aircraft — except whatever was already wrong with it, of course.”

  “Copy that,” Wood said, the relief everyone was feeling audible in her voice. “Can you give us your location?”

  “Yes.” There was a pause, and a scrabbling sound, as though Tan was moving papers in the cockpit. “We’re on the edge of the Plateau, on the eastern side of the Tellhart, maybe four or five miles from the bank? It’s grid square A25 on our map. The edge of the plateau is maybe a mile of open meadow before you get to the trees.”

  Ronon reached for a microphone. Most of the crew had gathered in the lobby as soon as words had circulated that the Rapide was in trouble; probably most of them ought to get back to work, Radek thought, but doubted anyone was going to move.

  “What went wrong with the engine?”

  “It overheated?” Tan paused. “Mel’s out looking at the engines now —”

  “Narmoth Falls, this is Hocken. Sorry to interrupt, but I can give you some data directly now.”

  “Go ahead,” Ronon said, and Radek reached for his tablet, ready to make notes. He hadn’t worked on the Rapide himself, but he was familiar with what Rodney had done to make the pocket generator viable.

  “The first indication of a problem was an overheat warning on the port engine,” Hocken said. “I decreased power from the generator, and that helped for a little, but it kept getting worse. I shut down the port engine, figuring we’d make it back to the Falls on the other, and the same thing happened with it.”

  Radek looked over the top of his glasses. “Colonel, this is Zelenka. Did the starboard engine overheat at the same rate as the port?”

  There was a little pause. “Faster, I think.”

  “Ok. Go on.”

  Ronon gave him a look, but Hocken took him at his word. “I’ve got the cowlings opened up now,” she finished, “and I’m not seeing any signs of damage in the engine itself. Looks like I got it shut down in time. The problem is, I’m also not seeing anything that looks like it could have caused the problem.”

  “The oil is full, then,” Radek said, “and all the coolants.”

  “Confirmed.”

  Radek flipped pages on the tablet, scrolling through the Rapide’s schematics. “No signs of fire?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No changes in oil pressure before the warning?”

  “No.” Hocken paused. “We were flying low and slow, so I was looking for exactly that problem. But these engines have secondary cooling, it’s not just airflow.”

  “Yes.” Radek frowned at the tablet. “What about the generator itself?”

  “I haven’t touched it,” Hocken said, sounding faintly defensive.

  The naquaddah generators were meant to be sealed boxes; most Atlantis personnel were taught that they were to be handled by trained personnel only. “Did it give any warnings?” Radek asked.

  “Oh. No, nothing. Power output was completely normal.”

  “Can you open its containment, please? Just to see?”

  “Yeah. Give me a minute.”

  Radek flicked through the checklists again, frowning, then looked up to see Ronon looking down at him.

  “Is that something she can fix?”

  “The generator?” Radek shook his head. “No, probably not. But I don’t think that’s the problem. Rodney set up a very good set of sensors, if there was anything wrong, it should have told her so.” Unless it was a kind of failure they hadn’t encountered before, and therefore didn’t know to warn about.

  “Whoa!” Hocken’s voice came sharply through the speakers, and everyone jumped.

  Ronon said, “You all right, Hocken?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, but I think I’ve found the problem.”

  “The generator?” Radek’s heart sank. That would mean days of repair work, readying a replacement generator, and before that they’d have to find out what had actually gone wrong —

  “Not the generator,” Hocken answered. “It’s the connection between the generator and the engines. I opened up the generator, and I could feel the heat coming off this conduit.”

  “Is the conduit actually damaged?” Radek demanded. That was better than he’d hoped — as long as the conduit still worked, Hocken could get the Rapide back to the Falls and he could make more permanent repairs here. “Tell
me what you see.”

  “Hang on, I’ve got to get a flashlight —” The radio carried some indistinct scuffling, and then Hocken said, more clearly, “Ok, I can see — it looks like all the lines are intact, and I don’t see any scorching, either on the wires or on the composite around them. But it’s still hot in there.”

  Radek scrolled back through the schematics until he found the section that covered the connections. There was less insulation than he would have expected, given the amount of power that the lines would have to carry, and he shook his head. “Ok. And you said you were flying low, with high power output?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So, yes, that puts some strain on the transfer.” Radek found the diagram he was looking for, frowned at the screen. “Ok. There are a couple of possibilities here, but everything has to wait for the conduit to cool completely. I will call you back once I have options for you.”

  “Ok, Dr. Zelenka,” Hocken said.

  “Check in every hour,” Ronon said. “Counting from now.”

  “Will do,” Hocken said, and the transmission ended.

  Radek set the tablet on the nearest console. According to the schematic, the area around the conduit was supposed to be insulated; that was the first thing he needed to check, to see if that had actually been done, though from what Hocken had said he suspected it had not. But if there was an engine overheat indicator, then that wasn’t the only problem, and his next guess would be that the step-down transformer McKay had placed to modulate the generator’s output wasn’t up to the job. That would explain both the heat in the conduit and the engine itself overheating. That was easily enough fixed, but not with the parts he had at hand. He became aware that Ronon was staring at him, and lifted his head. “Yes?”

  “Can you fix this?”

  “Probably.” Radek glanced at the screen again. “I think that once the conduit cools down they will be able to take off and fly here without encountering any more problems. Possibly they could get as far as the capital, since they reached us without problems, but I think that would be taking an unnecessary risk. It would also be possible to drill some small holes here in the engine nacelle to improve cooling, but I would prefer not to do that unless we have to.”