Disclaimer: I do not have any rights on Stargate: Atlantis.

Author's note: Sorry I was off so long: I had a masters degree to finish, and then I had some bad news that took me a while to deal with. As Meagra puts it: reality ate me.

Prologue

Dawn broke grey and warm. Thirst beat at him and with futile hope in his heart he pushed up off the bed and padded over to the water stand on bare feet. The jug on it was old and chipped and faded. Once it had been a lovely heirloom with vibrant flowers painted on the side. Time and too much use had stripped it of its brilliancy: much as time had stripped the land of its fertility.

He tipped the jug over the bowl and for a long minute he stood; hopefully waiting that even a drop would fall.

"Daddy," the thready voice of his seven year old daughter came from the other side of the small room. With a silent sigh he put the jug back on the stand and padded over to where she lay on the straw-filled pallet near the wall at the back of the small room they called home.

"What is it, poppy?" he asked as he knelt beside her. Softly he touched her dull hair and with an effort he kept the tears from his eyes: crying would waste too much precious water. But the sight of his daughter nearly broke his heart. Too little water and illness had wasted her away to a mere skeleton lying frailly beneath the threadbare blanket.

"Daddy, I'm thirsty," she complained softly; needlessly. Thirst was the reason for all their sorrow.

"I know, poppy," he silently told her. "Will you be okay if I left for a short while?" he asked her, but she was already fading into unconsciousness. If she did not get water soon, she will die.

When he was sure she was asleep, he went to his bed and got the small booklet from under the mattress. The booklet wasn't much larger than the palm of his hand, yet the booklet of cheap paper had become the most precious commodity in the land. Every family had one and without it there would be no water rations given to the people. He flipped open the cover, but as he had known it would be, the booklet was empty. His daughter's illness had cost them double rations for nearly a week, and though he had tried his best to give her as much of his share as well, in the end she was still thirsty; still dying.

He sighed as he tucked the empty booklet in his shirt pocket. Without water his daughter will die. But then again, their whole world was dying. Without water it, too, will soon die.