STARGATE ATLANTIS: Dead End

by Chris Wraight

  “There you go again with the bad news…”

  “If I’m right,” said McKay, “and I’m very seldom not, then Zelenka’s little databurst will have finished off any residual power in the Stargate. Frankly, having seen it up close, I’m amazed there was anything left in the reserve at all. He must have gambled that we’d be able to make use of his information even without a working gate. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve absolutely no idea how to get enough juice to it again. We know that it can’t draw power from the Atlantis end, and I’m guessing that buffalo oil won’t quite do the trick.”

  Sheppard brightened up. “Yeah, but we’re getting there, right?” he said. “I find the others, you get this thing working, and we’ll be home and dry.”

  McKay felt a flare of deep-seated irritation. “Hardly,” he snapped. “Radek couldn’t have known this, but half the equipment he’s used I already pulled out of their sockets on the way over. He’s created this magical module in the Jumper bay with a team of support staff and a whole bank of diagnostic equipment. I’m going to have to do the whole thing with a few rolls of duct-tape and a hair-dryer.”

  “You brought a hair-dryer?”

  “I’m speaking figuratively,” said McKay, acidly. “The point is, this doesn’t get us home. It doesn’t even get us close to home. It just gives me a headache, and a whole lot more work.”

  As he finished speaking, there was a sudden cracking sound.

  “Oh, God…” McKay said, and made for the rear door. Sheppard followed him. The cracking grew in volume, echoing across the ice. McKay scrambled out of the Jumper, Sheppard right behind him; the ground under their feet seemed pretty stable.

  “Over there!” Sheppard cried, pointing towards the Stargate.

  McKay’s first emotion was relief — the Jumper wasn’t likely to plunge into a chasm beneath them — but then he went cold.

  “The Stargate…” he breathed. “Oh my God. Now we’re totally screwed.”

  Sitting in the doorway of a small but immaculate hut, Teyla took a deep draught of the warm drink she had been given and felt its effects immediately. It had a tart fruity flavor and the more she had of it, the more she liked it. The food was similarly good. She had no idea how long she’d been out after the Banshee attack in the settlement, but she did know she had emerged very hungry and thirsty. The food and drink she’d been given had gone a long way to restoring her equilibrium.

  The people of the Underworld — which, for want of a better name, Teyla had started to call the Taken — certainly had it good. The produce of the fields was bountiful, and the food the people produced was a welcome change from the endless pots of buffalo stew she had endured while in the settlement on Khost. The hot fruit-juice she had been given was a particular pleasure.

  For all the horror engendered by the Banshees, the place to which they took their prey was much more comfortable than their old snow-bound home. Those Forgotten who had been taken seemed content, though somewhat withdrawn and taciturn. Teyla could understand part of their reaction — to be taken away from family and friends against their will was traumatic and, no matter how pleasant their surroundings, they were still at the capricious whim of the Banshees.

  “Good morning, Teyla.” She was roused from her introspection by Miruva. She had a line of flowers woven into her hair and was dressed in the simple fabric clothes of the others. “How are you feeling?”

  Teyla smiled, pleased to see her looking so happy. “I am well,” she said. “This is a beautiful place.”

  Miruva nodded, but looked briefly troubled. “It is,” she said. “It is strange, though.” She looked down. “My mother… I never thought to see her again. I feel somehow… Forgive me. I shouldn’t speak of such things.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” said Teyla. Miruva’s conflicting emotions were plain to see; only a day ago she had believed her mother dead, had grieved for her. “You have a big change to cope with. It will take time for you to adjust, but I am sure that you will feel better in time.”

  Miruva smiled her thanks. “I’m sure I shall. But you have had much to adjust to as well. How are you feeling?”

  “Impatient,” said Teyla. “I cannot just sit here and ponder the mystery of our journey here. There is a secret to this place, and even if the others are content to let it lie, I am not.”

  “What do you mean? For better or worse, we have been taken to the afterlife. We must resign ourselves to it.”

  Teyla gave her a sharp look. “Come, Miruva,” she said. “You are an intelligent woman, you cannot believe that. These people are aging. The children grow older, just as they do on the surface. We are very much alive, but some force has transported us here. We need to find out how, and whether we can get back.”

  “Back?” Miruva stared. “To Khost? Why would you suggest such a thing? We were dying there, whatever my father may have thought. I don’t know whether the Banshees are good or evil, but at least they’ve taken us away from that terrible place.”

  “What of your father?” Teyla asked, surprised. “And Orand? You cared for both of them. Do you not want them to join you here?”

  “Of course. But the Banshees will bring them. This is our destiny. There is no point fighting against it.”

  There it was again, that fatalism so common in the Forgotten. Teyla couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She had hoped for more from Miruva. “That may be good enough for you,” she said, a little more strongly than she’d intended, “but it is not for me. We know nothing of the Banshees or their motives. We could have been brought here for all sorts of reasons, and they may not be good ones. In addition, my team is still out there. We cannot just rest and accept our fate. If there is a way back, I will find it.”

  Miruva looked a little ashamed. “Of course,” she said, though without conviction. “Your destiny is not the same as ours. But where will you start? Some of these people have been here for several years. They’ve never found the way back.”

  “They didn’t look hard enough,” said Teyla. “They believe what they have been told. But there was a way in, so there has to be a way out. I am going, before I get too used to all this comfort. Are you coming with me?”

  Miruva looked tortured. “You’re going now? But we’ve only just arrived. It’s a lot to ask…”

  “I am going. I will wait for you if you need time to make up your mind, but not for long. I will leave before nightfall. You have the choice.”

  “Before nightfall,” said Miruva, clearly locked in thought. She began to turn away. “I will think it over.”

  “You do that,” said Teyla, watching her walk away. In truth, she knew that she didn’t need Miruva’s help to escape, but she hoped the young woman would come with her. It would show some spark of defiance, give a sign that the Forgotten didn’t give into fate whenever they could.

  Teyla sighed. Her hopes were not high. But she would wait all the same, just in case.

  Sheppard and McKay broke into a run. The gate was some distance away and the snow made the going heavy. McKay felt his heart pounding, and not for the first time found himself wondering whether he should do some more to get in shape. It was getting a little tedious being left behind by grunts all the time. Right after that, he wondered whether running directly towards an ice sheet which was making cracking noises was such a great idea.

  Thankfully, the noises abated as they arrived at their destination. The evidence of the tremor was easy to see. The Stargate was now standing at a pronounced angle, fresh cracks had opened up beneath its pedestal, and powder-fine snow was rapidly filling them. Sheppard looked at the off-center gate in dismay.

  “This is bad,” he said. “Really bad.”

  “Now who’s heavy on the bad news?” said McKay, panting heavily. “But I do have to congratulate you on your powers of observation. The correct terminology, as I remarked earlier, is totally screwed.”

  “I dunno,” said Sheppard. “I reckon I can squeeze a Jumper through there.”


  McKay squinted at the Stargate. “If it stays where it is, maybe,” he said. “But we can’t have any more movement. In fact, I think we ought to get away from it. Now.”

  The two of them gingerly retreated several meters from the leaning Stargate. Beneath them, the ice felt decidedly shaky.

  “It was Radek,” mumbled McKay. “If he hadn’t sent that databurst through, the gate would still be standing.”

  “Yeah, and we’d still be stuck wondering how to get home,” said Sheppard. “It’s not as if it wasn’t standing on Jell-O before.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Right, we’ve gotta use the time we have. I’m going back to the settlement — I’ve put off a search for Teyla too long.”

  McKay looked at Sheppard’s determinedly hopeful expression and, for once, he bit his tongue. There was no point stating the obvious. But there was no point avoiding it either. The ice was cracking, and it was only a matter of time before the storms closed in for good. At some point they would have to try to escape. If that meant abandoning the Forgotten, or even their team-mates, then that was something they would have to come to terms with.

  “OK,” said McKay, failing to hide his doubt. “I’ll be back at the Jumper when you need me.”

  The two men stalked off in different directions without saying anything else.

  There was nothing else to say.

  Artificial night had fallen in Sanctuary. Just as Geran had promised, the diffuse sunlight gradually faded into darkness, leaving a silvery sheen across the pastureland. The Forgotten retired to their dwelling places, seemingly content with their lot. There were friendly calls across the village before the fires were extinguished. The whole place descended into a comfortable silence.

  Teyla found herself strangely reluctant to move from the porch of her own dwelling. After the privations of life on the surface, it was hard to shift her muscles into action and contemplate moving away from Sanctuary. She had no idea how much time has passed since she’d awoken, nor whether the daylight patterns in Sanctuary matched those of Khost. In any case, she wasn’t tired. She’d waited long enough. The time had come to get moving again.

  Miruva had not come back. That was a disappointment. Teyla had hoped for more from her. Still, she couldn’t wait forever. Uncurling her legs from under her, she stood up and began to walk out of the village.

  No one was about. Starlight — or what passed for starlight — lit her way. Less than a mile ahead of her loomed the gigantic cliff she had been escorted down by Geran. There were no lights on it, no sign of life. Only the black hole of the balcony, two-hundred feet up, marred the dark surface.

  Again, a dim sense of foreboding welled up within her. She admonished herself — such fear was unworthy, just as it had been with the Banshees. Clearly the architects of Sanctuary knew how to manipulate minds as well as matter. She pushed her fears down within her and concentrated on the task at hand.

  Leaving the village behind, she began to walk back towards the cliff. The Hall of Arrivals was the obvious place to start looking for a way out. The size of it and its perpetual darkness, meant that any number of portals could be hidden within. She began to plan her journey, trying to remember the route she’d taken from the chamber in which she’d first found herself.

  “Traveler.”

  The voice made her start, and she whirled round. Geran stood on the road. There were others behind him, cloaked as before.

  “Geran,” said Teyla. “I did not expect to see you here.”

  The man walked toward her. In the low light, his expression was hard to read.

  “Nor I you,” he said. “It is not… usual for us to venture out after dark.”

  Teyla kept her distance from him.

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “There are certain rules here. They are not onerous. Just designed to make sure that our peace is maintained.”

  “And who created these… rules?” asked Teyla. Geran came closer, and she began to back up.

  “Does that matter? You know the importance of rules. You’re a Forgotten, after all.” Then a smile spread across Geran’s face. It wasn’t pleasant. “You are a Forgotten, aren’t you?”

  “I told you. I’m a traveler.”

  “Where from?”

  Teyla stopped backing away. There were many of them, perhaps ten. They spread out, encircling her. A lot to take on, but not impossible. “I do not see what concern that is of yours. You have been very hospitable to me, but now I must go. My friends will be searching for me.”

  Geran shook his head. “I can’t allow that.”

  “You have no power over me, Geran,” warned Teyla. “If I choose to leave, you cannot stop me.”

  “We’ll see about that,” snapped Geran, motioning to his men. “Seize her.”

  But Teyla had already started moving. One man stretched out his hands to grab her. She ducked under them, evading his grasp. Another went for her waist. She grabbed his arm, pulling it toward her, throwing him down to the ground. Taken off-guard and off-balance, the man thumped into the gravel hard.

  The others tried to get a hand to her. Teyla weaved her way through them, aiming precise punches and kicks to disable without causing permanent injury. All she had to do was break free of them and make a run for the Hall of Arrivals. They wouldn’t follow her up there.

  A man came up towards her, fists balled. His blows were clumsy, and she darted under his guard with ease. One jab to the ribcage was all it took and he too was lying in the dirt.

  That gave her the opening she needed. Teyla sprang forward, running between the pursuing hands of two other men. She twisted free, bursting out from the group and scattering the Forgotten in her wake. She was out.

  Almost. Something heavy hit her on the back of the head, and she staggered. Stars cascaded before her eyes, and she stumbled to the ground.

  She tried to right herself, to maintain a defensive posture, but then she felt her arms clamped roughly behind her back. Someone pushed her to the ground and she felt the gravel against her own face.

  “Keep her down.” Geran’s voice was angry. Teyla twisted her head round, and saw him walking toward her. He had a line of blood running from his lips. So she’d at least given him something to think about. “Tie her up,” he ordered his men. “We’ll bring her back to the village. There’s something about this one that needs further investigation.”

  Teyla struggled against her captors, but there were just too many to shake off.

  “You are making a mistake, Geran,” she said, the frustration leaking into her voice. “If there is any hope for your kind on Khost, you must let me go.”

  Geran squatted down beside her, feeling his jawline gingerly.

  “Oh no,” he said. “That’s not how it’s going to be. Don’t you remember what I said when you first arrived?” He did his best to smile. “Once you come here, you never leave.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sheppard stared at Aralen, trying to keep himself calm. It wasn’t easy.

  “It’s no good,” said the old man, shaking his head. “Your friend Teyla is gone. There’s no point in searching.”

  “Just one guide. C’mon, Aralen — that’s all I’m asking for.”

  “You would be taking our guides into danger. And if the storms close on you, you will perish on the ice. It is madness. You are a madman.”

  “Yeah, well I’ve been called a whole lot worse than that,” growled Sheppard. “But I don’t have a choice.”

  Aralen was unresponsive. He seemed to have been traumatized by Miruva’s disappearance, and had a vacant look in his eyes. Though Sheppard could sympathize with his loss, time was short.

  “Do you not think we’ve thought the same, many times?” the old man said. “We have lost so many people. We have never succeeded.”

  “Look, you don’t have the gear I have,” said Sheppard, carefully keeping the frustration out of his voice. “I have a… magic box. It’s real good at finding people.”

  The leader of the
Forgotten looked back at him with mournful eyes. “You don’t even know where to start looking.”

  That, Sheppard had to admit, was true. The only thing anyone had been able to tell him about the Banshee abductions was that they never left a trace of their victims behind. There were no trails, no marks, no clues. Just heading out on to the ice wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best he’d been able to come up with.

  “Not quite true,” Sheppard said, trying to make it sound as if he wasn’t just making it up on the spot. “I’m gonna head where Ronon and Orand went. I should be able to detect them, even if they’re holed up somewhere real inaccessible.”

  Aralen started to say something, but then shook his head resignedly. He didn’t look like he had the energy for the argument.

  “So be it,” he said. “You will not listen to reason, but I cannot let you travel into the wastes on your own. You’ll need a guide. Helmar will take you. I won’t have your death on my conscience, too.”

  A young man came forward. He looked slight and unprepossessing, like most of the Forgotten, but he had a confident manner about him. He extended his hand to Sheppard.

  “I am Helmar,” he said. “We can leave whenever you wish.”

  Sheppard returned the handshake. That was all he’d wanted; taking along a local was always a good idea.

  “Good to meet you, Helmar,” he said. He turned back to Aralen. “I’ll be back when I can. And you might wanna look in on Rodney while I’m gone — he can get a little cranky when he’s left in sub-zero temperatures.”

  Aralen didn’t smile. “We’ll look after your friend,” he said. “The laws of hospitality remain strong. While all around us changes, we’ll keep a vigil here, tending the hearth until the Ancestors in their wisdom release us from calamity.”

  “Yeah, you do that,” muttered Sheppard, turning away from the Foremost and heading from the chamber. He’d had just about enough of Aralen’s passivity. “C’mon Helmar,” he said. “We’ve got us some tracking to do.”