The symbols on the cannibalized DHD illuminate promisingly as the dialing sequence proceeds, grinding and tireless, even as power levels spike and the room trembles at the straining of physics and available energy, until finally with a satisfying, heavy, shuddering lock - the final chevron notches into place, giving way to the unstable, stochastic rush of an establishing wormhole.

"Power's fluctuating at critical levels," the sergeant says, the nervousness plain on a face cast in the pale blue-white glow of the open 'gate, but the declaration is utterly irrelevant.

Rush says nothing.

He stares at the wormhole with muted euphoria, the product of his failure and Asadi's success, now seen to its glorious completion.

The ninth and final chevron.

The civilian staff remains locked in their own private suspension, apparently unwilling to venture into what has surely become their only reasonable escape from the Base's imminent collapse on the absurd grounds of uncertainty. The entire endeavor had been an uncertainty from the beginning, and Rush had advised them as such. The Base vibrates again from a series of crescendoing impacts. Clouds of dust pour from deepening cracks in concrete walls.

"What's everybody doing?" The familiar, accusing growl that cuts across the stunned silence of the assembled personnel is both unwanted and a reminder of undesirable consequence.

He enters the room, apparently aghast, surveying the unmoving personnel in complete confusion.

"I ordered an evacuation," says Colonel Young.