STARGATE ATLANTIS: Dead End

by Chris Wraight

  “Of course,” Orand said. ”Do you need more to eat? I have some stew, and heruek — water flavored with berry-essence. Will you take some?”

  At the prospect of food, Ronon’s mood instantly improved. “Sounds good,” he said. “You’d better tell me how you hunt, too. I’ve got my own weapons, but I’d rather use yours.”

  Orand looked at the big Satedan with approval.

  “I’d like that,” he said. “I can see already you’ll be a valuable addition to our hunting party. When the time comes, we’ll be sorry to see you go, Ronon.”

  The Runner inclined his head at the compliment, but he couldn’t entirely share the sentiment. If McKay couldn’t fix the Jumper soon, then they’d be staying a lot longer than any of them wanted.

  “I think we’ve made some progress.”

  Zelenka’s head poked around the door to Weir’s office, and she turned away from the window and her silent contemplation of the Stargate. “Let me hear it,” she said, giving him her full attention.

  Radek stepped into the room. He looked exhausted. “We’ve done some calculations,” he said. “There’s a power drain for every object moving through the gate network. The larger the object, the greater the drain. If we establish a wormhole but send nothing through, we’ll at least be able to start measuring the tolerances involved. It may be that the Jumper itself was the cause.”

  “OK. What are the risks?”

  Zelenka took a deep breath. “That we fry the Stargate on Dead End entirely,” he said. “I think it’s already been damaged. But we have to try.”

  Weir let some of her frustration enter her voice. “Do we have a Plan B?”

  “At this stage, no.”

  “Do it,” she said, at last. “But if you start to lose control again, abort at once. We’ll take this one step at a time. I’m not losing my team on a frozen pile of rock in the middle of nowhere.”

  McKay, Sheppard and Aralen walked down the long, snaking corridors. After a few minutes walking in the opposite direction to that taken by the others, the true scale of the settlement began to become apparent. Looking up at the careful engineering of the roofs and doorways, Rodney found himself more and more appreciative of their skills.

  “You’ve got quite a place here, Aralen,” he said, and there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

  Aralen looked pleased. Despite being told that the team weren’t Ancients, or even their servants, the Foremost seemed keen to impress them. McKay guessed he didn’t get to show visitors around very often.

  “You haven’t seen the best of it yet,” Aralen said, gesturing for McKay and Sheppard to walk ahead.

  The corridor continued for a few meters, after which it opened up into a vast chamber. They stepped through.

  “Whoa!” Sheppard gasped. “Now that’s worth seeing!”

  It was as huge as a cathedral, the roof disappearing into darkness despite the many torches set into the stone walls. Mighty pillars of living rock descended from the distant heights. Massive tapestries and decorative banners hung from the walls, each of them showing the ubiquitous hunting scenes, and all around was the sound of murmuring, which rose in volume as the two men walked in.

  “My people are eager to greet you,” said Aralen.

  The place was packed and when the people caught sight of the newcomers, a spontaneous cheer erupted. McKay shot a concerned glance to Sheppard.

  “Did I mention I don’t like crowds?” he whispered. “What is this? Do they still think we’re Ancients or something?”

  “Just nod and smile, Rodney,” Sheppard said, through clenched teeth. “When in Rome…”

  Rodney rolled his eyes and gave an awkward wave to the masses, who responded with eager applause.

  Aralen beamed. “This is our Hall of Meeting,” he said. “The center of our city. It was once a natural cavern, but we have fashioned it into the spiritual home of our people. The finest examples of our skill may be found here.”

  Rodney looked up towards the distant ceiling, lost in shadows, noticing the tips of jagged stalactites lancing downwards from the gloom.

  “Is it safe?” he asked, only half-meaning to speak aloud.

  Aralen laughed. “Perfectly. We have held our gatherings here for a hundred years. This rock is as hard as iron. It is difficult to carve, but never fails us.”

  Sheppard looked at the sea of expectant faces. “Looks like you’ve got a pretty good thing going here.”

  Aralen’s expression faltered. “Do not be deceived, Colonel Sheppard. Life is hard, and getting harder. The White Buffalo provide all we need, but even they struggle to survive in the growing cold. We have to travel further each season to track them. It exhausts the hunters, and the returns dwindle.”

  “Forgive me, but why not follow the herds?” asked McKay, remembering his first grade lessons on the plains Indians. “If they head south, you could go after them.”

  Aralen shook his head. “We must stay close to the portal. I have always told the people that the Ancestors would return and deliver us from this place. That is our hope, whatever you may say about them. It is our only hope.”

  Sheppard sighed. “Look, Aralen,” he said. “I’m not sure that’s such a great idea. The Ancestors aren’t gonna come any time soon. They’ve… got a lot on their plate.”

  “Your coming gives me confidence, Colonel John Sheppard,” he said. “I know why you tell me these things, but you will not dent my faith. This is the beginning of something new.”

  Sheppard and McKay shared an uneasy silence. “Well, that’s nice,” said Rodney at last. “Really, it is. There may be things we can do to help your people. But, as you might have noticed, we’ve got a few problems of our own. The vessel we arrived in has sustained a lot of damage. If we’re going to fix it, we’ll need help. And preferably power.”

  Aralen looked concerned for the first time. “I’m not sure what we can offer you. As I told you, everything we have is provided by the cave and by the White Buffalo. I don’t believe much of what we have would be of any use in repairing your vessel.”

  “But there must be something else here,” McKay persisted. “Something the Ancestors left behind. A building of some sort, or a special chamber? Or maybe a glass column, that glows in a strange way? Or some kind of crystal polarization centrifuge?”

  Sheppard rolled his eyes. Aralen merely frowned. “I’m sorry. We are all that is here.”

  “That’s not possible,” McKay retorted, his voice rising. “There has to be something. Little blinky lights? A glowing—”

  “I think the answer’s no, Rodney.” Sheppard’s tone was light, but his expression said ‘Shut the hell up’.

  Grudgingly, McKay shut the hell up.

  “You’ll have to forgive my friend,” said Sheppard. “He gets a little excited. We just need to know when this storm’s gonna blow over.”

  “A day or two, I would guess,” said Aralen. “It is rare, even now, for a storm to last more than a week, and this one has been raging for several days already. When the air is clear, we can take you back to your vessel. Perhaps a solution will present itself.”

  “Maybe it’ll come gift-wrapped too,” McKay muttered, not quiet enough to avoid a sharp look from Sheppard.

  But McKay didn’t care; they were screwed. Totally screwed. If the best this ice-cube of a planet had to offer was cow hide and a T-bone steak, then they might as well give up now. There was no way they were getting home.

  Chapter Four

  Sheppard awoke abruptly, shaken from dreams of piloting Jumpers down infinitely long tunnels of plasma. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. With relief, he saw that he was still in the caves of the Forgotten. The light was low, drowsy flames flickering in the braziers above him.

  John pulled himself upright and rolled his shoulders. The mats were firm, but there wasn’t much of them between him and the rock floor. There was a niggling stiffness in his lower back, but otherwise he felt thoroughly rested. He looked around the small chamber he�
��d been given to use. There was something different about it. Somehow, his body knew that it was morning, even though he was closeted many feet underground. Then he realized what it was; there was natural light filtering down from the ceiling.

  Sunlight-traps were embedded far up into the uneven roof of the rocky chamber. Each of them sparkled with a fresh, pure light. The cold gleam complemented the warm glow of the embers in the torches, lending the room a gentle sheen.

  There was a bowl of frigid water and some linen on a low rock shelf nearby. He washed as quickly as possible, and then donned the fur wrappings over his fatigues once more. The hides of the White Buffalo were incredible things; light enough to enable normal movement, but extremely well insulated. Sheppard smiled to himself, thinking how Rodney would spend his time analyzing the properties of the material when they got back to Atlantis. If they got back to Atlantis.

  He slipped his pistol into its holster and pulled the hangings over the entrance aside. McKay was waiting for him in the antechamber beyond, his room built into the opposite wall. A third door led to the corridor outside.

  “So, how d’you reckon we get hold of food here?” he said, scratching his stubbly chin. “I’d kill for a coffee and a Danish. The nice ones. With pecan on them.”

  Sheppard shrugged. “Guess we go and find out,” he said. “Good news is, I reckon we’ll get outside today. There’s sunlight coming down from somewhere — the storm must be over.”

  “Yes, ingenious, aren’t they, those sun-traps?” McKay said. “I’m not sure how they do it. There’s so little glass around. They must’ve placed lenses at the top and bottom of shafts in the rock. They’re clever, these Forgotten, I’ll give them that.”

  There was a polite cough from the corridor outside and Miruva came in, bearing bowls of steaming stew.

  “Forgive me, but when I heard noises I prepared you some breakfast,” she said. “I hope it will be pleasing.”

  McKay wrinkled his nose at the thick gravy. “Hey, I don’t suppose you’d have something a bit less… meaty? I mean, it’s a little early for me, and to be honest my digestion needs — ”

  He was cut off by Sheppard reaching across to take the two bowls. “That’ll be perfect,” he said, pointedly. “Thanks.”

  Miruva smiled, bowed, and left the room.

  Sheppard glared at McKay. “For God’s sake, Rodney, we’ve got to get along with these people. It’s not like we’re in Trump Tower here, and they’ve given us a lot.”

  McKay took one of the bowls and sniffed it suspiciously. “Alright,” he said. “But if I don’t get something green soon, there’ll be consequences. And you won’t like them any more than I will.”

  There was the sound of footsteps outside, and Ronon and Teyla entered. The Runner had to duck some distance under the low entrance to the antechamber. It looked like he was getting used to doing it.

  “Morning,” said Sheppard. “How’s the accommodation?”

  “Same as this,” said Ronon, looking grumpier than normal. “I like these people, but they’re too short.”

  Sheppard took a mouthful of stew, and with some difficulty swallowed it down. Much as he hated to admit it, Rodney had a point about buffalo meat so early in the day.

  “OK, we’ve gotta start planning our next move,” he said, still chewing. “Priority one: salvaging what we can from the Jumper and working out how we get home.”

  “Agreed,” Rodney said. “We need to get the Jumper systems operational as soon as possible, and then I need to take a look at that gate. I don’t know what we did to it, but it won’t be pretty.”

  “There is little Ronon and I can do to help you with that,” said Teyla. “We need to find out more about these Forgotten. I sense that there is much about this people that is still hidden. If the Ancestors have achieved something here, then we will need to use their expertise to locate it.”

  “That’s your area,” agreed Sheppard. “Any ideas?”

  “Nothing has come to light. But the girl Miruva is perceptive and she has undertaken to show me more of these dwellings. I will spend today with her, discovering as much as I can.”

  “And I’m going hunting,” said Ronon. “The place needs more supplies.”

  Rodney rolled his eyes. “Oh, and how, exactly, is that going to help the mission? That’s all we need right now — a jolly jaunt across the ice after some giant space cows. C’mon, guys. This isn’t a galactic safari. If we can’t get ourselves back into shape soon, we’ll be in serious trouble.”

  Ronon glowered at him. “They need to eat,” he said. “We need to eat. I don’t hear you offering to give up your food.”

  McKay started to reply, but choked on a rogue piece of buffalo gristle. Sheppard stepped in. “Alright guys, no need to get all antsy,” he said. “We can’t all work on the same thing at once. Rodney and I’ll take a look at the Jumper and the gate. Ronon, do what you gotta do to get alongside these people. Just be careful.”

  Ronon shot McKay a satisfied look. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I can look after myself.”

  “Madness,” McKay mumbled, grimacing as he worked his way through the stringy meat. “Just total, screwed-up madness.”

  “Right, let’s get going,” said Sheppard, putting down his bowl with some relief. “We don’t know how long we’ll get before the weather closes in, and before then I want some answers.”

  Zelenka was tired, hungry, and irritable. He’d worked through the night and was no closer to finding a solution. The situation was bad and, even after several hours of brainstorming, the numbers still didn’t add up.

  Weir walked into the operations room, and Zelenka could see the lines of weariness around her eyes. With no news of the team, he doubted she’d slept well.

  “Alright, where are we?” she asked.

  Zelenka coughed an apology. “We’ve made some progress,” he said. “But not much. We still have no idea why the Jumper seemed to re-materialize within the wormhole vortex. My only guess is that the Stargate on the far side works differently to the ones we’re used to. That would fit in with Dr McKay’s hypothesis that the Ancients were working on a new method of interstellar propulsion.”

  “So our gate and theirs were incompatible?” asked Weir, looking alarmed at the prospect.

  “I don’t think so,” said Zelenka. “Not quite. We’ve been working hard, and we think we can re-establish the link. On your command, we’ll run a test. It’s likely that the problem was one of power — we’re theorizing that the gate at the other end experienced a major failure, causing it to attempt to abort the transit while the Jumper was still inside the wormhole. The energy burst containing the mass information for the Jumper could have rematerialized in something like real space. I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen the data, but we think — ”

  “We think?” said Weir. “It’s likely? These aren’t very helpful words, Dr Zelenka.”

  “I know,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I believe they got out at the far end. My working hypothesis is this: the Stargate on the other side has suffered a catastrophic failure and lost a key component. Maybe the power drain was too much, and some critical circuit failed. Normally, it would be able to draw on the gate at this end to compensate, but for some reason it didn’t. If we’re going to get the team back, we’ll need to find a way to power up the gate remotely. Or they’ll have to find a way. Until then, we can’t establish a wormhole, and neither can they.”

  Weir took a deep breath. “No other options?”

  Zelenka shrugged. “We’ll keep working on the numbers. If that gate can’t power up or take power from us, it can’t maintain a wormhole. End of story. But there might be some means of making contact with it. I’ll let you know. In the meantime, you could get some more people working on excavating that chamber Dr McKay discovered. Get through that shielding, and we might be able to find some more clues. Something very odd is happening here.”

  Weir nodded. “I’ll do that. God, if only the Daed
alus were here…”

  Zelenka looked up at her, feeling a flicker of hope. “How long before it’s back?”

  Weir shook her head. “Two weeks. If we’re still talking about this by then, I’m afraid we’ll be looking at recovering bodies rather than personnel.”

  Zelenka’s heart sank. Every avenue seemed to be closing down on them.

  “You never know,” he said. “There may be shelter there. Even people. This was an Ancient world, after all.”

  “I hope you’re right, Radek,” said Weir. “In the meantime, find me some better numbers. We’re working in the warm here. They’re not.”

  Chapter Five

  The sun burned coldly. Ice wastes stretched away in every direction, bleak and harsh. Ronon had to shade his eyes against the glare, even with his hood pulled far down over his face. The sky was clear and almost unbroken, the palest blue he had ever seen. Faint streaks of bright white cloud marked the eastern horizon, but otherwise there was no sign at all of the storm which had kept them locked underground for the night.

  “Tough country,” he said to himself.

  Orand came up to him, grinning. In the fine weather, the hunters eschewed the face masks they usually wore and their pale features were exposed. Each of the hunting party wore carefully bleached outer furs, and looked almost like they were carved from ice themselves. There were a dozen of them in the party, all young men, all eager to be off.

  “Not too cold for you, big man?” said Orand, good-naturedly.

  If Ronon had been honest, it was crushingly cold. Despite several layers of fur cladding, the chill sank deep into his bones. With difficulty, he had managed to suppress any visible shivers, but he longed to get underway and moving. Standing around waiting for the hunting party to assemble had been difficult, even for him.

  “No problem,” he lied.