STARGATE ATLANTIS: Dead End

by Chris Wraight

  Sheppard inclined his head awkwardly and introduced the team. He wasn’t good at formal greetings. “We’re pretty pleased to see you too, Aralen,” he said. “You guys showed up right on time.”

  Aralen smiled. “The portal to Sanctuary has not operated for ten generations. Orand witnessed the strange machine come through it some days ago, and then we knew that some work of the Ancestors would not be far behind. Some claimed we’d been abandoned, but others of us have kept the faith. We have been rewarded at last.”

  Sheppard looked uncomfortable. “Well, we’re not exactly — ”

  “You must be tired after your journey,” Aralen interrupted. “Please, sit. We have come to hear what your task is, here on Khost.”

  “So that’s what this place is called,” said McKay, sitting down heavily on the pile of mats he’d accumulated. “Nice name. Lousy weather.”

  “You are far from other worlds,” said Teyla, eager to find out more. “We are curious to learn about your people, Aralen.”

  The leader of the Forgotten frowned. “Surely you know all about us? You came through the portal to Sanctuary. You must have knowledge of the Ancestors, of their plan for us.”

  Teyla looked at Sheppard. These early moments were always awkward. How much did these people know of the wider galaxy? Where were their allegiances?

  “Oh, you bet,” he said. “Well, kinda.” He paused. “Maybe you should fill us in on the details.”

  Aralen looked surprised, but then inclined his head graciously. “Of course,” he said. “We are the Forgotten. You may think it a strange name, but it is apt. We have been alone for a long time. Some think we’ve been abandoned by the Ancestors altogether, but the wise know that cannot be so. The years have been heavy, and much has changed. The lore-keepers tell us that once Khost was green and good, our people flourished and our villages were numerous. The Ancestors walked among us then. We call this the Blessed Time.”

  Orand gave a skeptical snort. “These are, of course, mere legends,” he said. “Not all of us believe them.”

  “Our young people have their own ways,” Aralen said with a tolerant smile. “But the lore-keepers preserve the legends for us, and I trust their wisdom.”

  McKay frowned. “This place was green once?” he said. “Wow. That’s what I call climate change. What happened?”

  A shadow passed over Aralen’s face. “There was some transgression. Many speculate what it could have been. For myself, I do not claim that knowledge. But the health left this place, the snows came ever more strongly, and then they never left. Life became hard and many died. Now we are cursed by the cold at all times.”

  He drew closer, his voice low.

  “Khost is dying, travelers. You should be careful. If you stay here too long, you’ll die too.”

  It had no name. It knew it had once had a name, but like so much else, that had been forgotten. All that remained was a list of numbers and letters. Even that was corrupt. There was so much that it couldn’t do, now. It looked down on the humans clustered below. Most were familiar. Several of them were already requisitioned, stored on the lists for processing. One was earmarked for early removal.

  But the others were new. This was outside the generally accepted conditions. It might pose a threat to the Great Work.

  It ran over the options. It was always so difficult to think clearly. It would need to confer with the others. But that would take time, make it weak. Perhaps the Great Work demanded action now.

  It looked down, considering the humans.

  Not yet. But it would come soon. It could feel itself weakening. There was only so long it could watch and wait without acting.

  Very soon it would make a decision. Then it would come for the names on the list. They would scream, just like they always did. That had never stopped it before. Nothing could stop it. The only thing was timing.

  It watched, and waited.

  “What do you mean, dying?” said Sheppard. He didn’t like the gleam in Aralen’s eye.

  “The storms get worse. Every time we have a big one, we think it will be the last. And there are other things…”

  “You think the Ancestors abandoned you?” interrupted McKay. “Because that’s interesting. There was a recording we saw before we — ”

  He bit his lip, looking at Sheppard. John shot him an irritated look.

  Aralen shook his head. “They will never abandon us. There is the portal, the passage to Sanctuary. That knowledge is preserved among us. We know that one day we shall be gathered up in the halls of restitution, so you must know why you are such a sign of hope for us. Never in ten generations has the portal opened! Now you come. Surely, you will teach us the route to Sanctuary, and what we must do to restore the favor of the Ancestors.”

  Sheppard looked awkward. “Well, perhaps we can get on to that later,” he said. “I’ve gotta be honest, it’s a bit… colder than we’re used to out there. It’ll take us time to orient ourselves.”

  “Of course. I can see that you are not used to the ice. No doubt Sanctuary is more pleasant. Khost is a hard place to live.”

  “And yet you survive,” said Teyla. She felt a strange and unexpected kinship with the Forgotten; the stories of her people and theirs were different, but each had survived against the odds.

  The woman, Miruva, turned to her with pride in her eyes.

  “We endure,” she said. “We are strong and can sustain much hardship.” She waved at the stone walls around them. “We learned the arts of carving the ice from the caves and keeping them warm. This place was once a network of dark and empty caverns, choked with snow. We have turned it into our city. This is where the remnants of our people live, harboring what we have left from the endless storms above. We make the best life we can.”

  “Interesting,” mused Rodney. “A totally troglodytic lifestyle. Like the Genii, at a lower level of technology. But how do you source your fuel? And keep the air filtered?”

  Aralen raised an eyebrow. “We can explain all these things, and more, in due course. But though you are most welcome here, you must understand that your presence amongst us has caused much excitement. You have come through the portal. There are some who say that you are from the Ancestors, ready to lead us to a new paradise. I am afraid that others have more superstitious beliefs, and fear your intentions. Forgive my candor, but I must tell the people something. My own belief is that you are indeed from Lantea. Is this the truth?”

  Sheppard shot Teyla a quick look. “Look, I hate to break it to you,” he said, “but if you think we’re Ancients, you’re gonna be disappointed. They don’t get around much any more. You should just think of us as… travelers.”

  “So you’re not from the Ancestors?” Aralen looked deflated. Orand just gave a bitter, knowing smile. “When I heard the portal had revived, I was so sure…”

  “I’m sorry.” Sheppard scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Real sorry. But if we can help you, we will — and that includes fighting the Wraith.”

  Aralen hardly seemed to hear him. He was crushed. Orand, however, looked curious.

  “The Wraith?” he said. “What is the Wraith?”

  Ronon looked up, his eyes flickering darkly. “You never heard of the Wraith?” asked the Runner.

  Orand shook his head, surprised by Ronon’s vehemence. “The Foremost told you, we are alone here. There is just us, the snow, and the White Buffalo. That is all. We know nothing of your Wraith.”

  “It is good that you know nothing of the Wraith,” Teyla said. “Consider that the greatest of blessings.”

  There was a difficult pause, but Miruva was quick to smile again. “Clearly, we have much to learn from one another,” she said. “I am not sure why you have come, nor what your arrival means for us, but it must presage some good for us. I am glad I lived to see this day.”

  “So am I,” said Teyla, seeing much in the girl’s quick, lively expression to like. It was rare to find a people the Wraith had not ravaged. Rare, and refreshing.
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  The old man, Aralen, roused himself. His earlier satisfied pleasure had evaporated.

  “So be it,” he said, and his voice was quiet. “You are not the emissaries from the Ancestors I had hoped for. But travelers you are, and such a thing has not been known on Khost in memory. We have not forgotten our hospitality, whatever else may have been cast aside. Perhaps in time you will see that your coming is indeed part of the Ancestors’ plan after all.” Orand looked dubious, but Aralen ignored him. “Now that you have rested, may we show you more of our home? My people are anxious to meet you.”

  Sheppard shrugged. “Sure, that’d be great.” As they filed out of the chamber behind Aralen, he drew close to Teyla and whispered in her ear. “This is going pretty well, don’t you think?”

  “I like these people, Colonel,” she said. “Perhaps there will be something we can do to ease their plight.”

  “Well, that’s a lovely idea, it really is,” hissed McKay from behind her. “But let’s remember what we’re here for; the Ancients were up to something on this planet and I’ll bet the changing climate is part of it. And if there are any more of them who think we’re messengers from the gods, then things are going to get tricky.”

  “Keep your pants on,” said Sheppard under his breath. “One step at a time. Let’s hang tight for a while and find out a bit more. It’s not like I’m real keen on going outside again.”

  McKay shuddered and drew his furs close. “You may have a point,” he agreed. “But remember, if we don’t fix the Jumper, we’re never getting out of here. We’ve seen no sign of a DHD anywhere, and even if we had there’s no way I’m walking through that wormhole of madness without a working ship around me.”

  “No argument,” said Sheppard. “We’ll check out the gate when we can. For now, be glad you’re not still out there.”

  With that, the whole group moved down the corridor and deeper into the underground settlement. Far above them, the wind howled and moaned, and the fury of the storm continued unabated.

  Chapter Three

  “Alright, what just happened?”

  Weir spun round to face Zelenka.

  “It wasn’t us!” Zelenka protested, fingers flying across the keyboard in front of him. “We just lost the signal. I’ve never seen it happen before. It was almost as if — But that’s impossible.”

  “What’s impossible, Dr Zelenka?”

  Radek ran his hands through his hair.

  “OK, I’ll tell you what this computer tells me,” he said. “It looks like there was a power failure. The drain on the system was too much. They were stuck in the wormhole for a short period of time. Physically stuck. Now, don’t tell me that can’t happen, I know it can’t, but then readings end. Either they got out, or…”

  He tailed off, distraught.

  Weir took a deep breath. She was angry with him for having no answers, angry with Sheppard for talking her into the mission, and angry with herself for going along with him. But self-recrimination could come later, all that mattered now was getting her people home.

  “OK, what are our options?” she said. “Have we got anything from the planet at all?”

  Zelenka studied the screen, face creased into a frown. “No telemetry. Nothing. Wormhole has collapsed. And there are strange readings here. It looks like the gate at the other end has suffered some kind of malfunction. I can’t re-establish the wormhole. We need to study this.”

  “That isn’t very helpful, Radek,” she snapped. “I need options. Fast.”

  “I know,” Zelenka said, already on his feet. “I’m on it.”

  Ronon walked easily through the narrow corridors. Orand walked beside him, with Teyla and Miruva close behind. The group had separated. Sheppard and McKay had been taken in one direction by Aralen, while he and Teyla had been invited to see the lower levels of the settlement.

  As he walked, Ronon found himself enjoying the freedom afforded by the lack of a bulky environment suit. He never liked wearing the synthetic uniforms of the Tauri if he could help it, but felt very much at home in the furs and leather of the Forgotten. From what he had seen of these people, they were admirably strong and capable. With no fear of the Wraith, they had been forced to take on the elements of their homeworld instead. As an enemy, the endless cold of Khost was possibly just as formidable. The fact that the Forgotten refused to buckle and give-up impressed him.

  “These are our living areas,” said Orand, gesturing to either side of the party.

  Every few yards the walls of the corridor were broken by low entrances, the light was low and they looked dark and dingy. But when Orand pulled aside the tapestry hanging over one of the doorways, a cheery light escaped from the chamber beyond.

  “Please, enter,” he said. “These are my quarters.”

  Stooping, Ronon and Teyla stepped inside. Orand and Miruva followed them, walking with a supple grace. All of the Forgotten were lean, and despite their underground lifestyle there was little sign of sickness among them. Orand was tall and wiry, with dark hair and quick-moving brown eyes. His face seemed ready to crease into a smile at any moment. Miruva looked similar, though slimmer. If she was slightly less ready to talk than Orand, she seemed to weigh her words more carefully. Ronon thought he saw something of Weir in her calm demeanor.

  The space beyond the hanging was not large, but capable of comfortably accommodating a small family. The walls were bare rock, but everything was tidy and well-kept. There were obviously more rooms branching off from the main chamber. As ever, these were screened by the embroidered hangings. Mats covered the floor, decorated with images of massive beasts — the White Buffalo, he presumed. Ronon studied the handiwork. On many worlds, such fine artifacts would fetch a rare price.

  “How do you make these things?” he said, running the tapestry through his fingers.

  “Our women weave the patterns from the plains grass,” Orand said, motioning for them to sit on the mats. “The White Buffalo graze on the plains, and so it sustains everything. But the winters have been harsher lately. The snows linger nearly the whole year, and the grass dies. The Buffalo travel further to find it, and so do we. As a result, these things are increasingly valuable. We make fewer every year.”

  Miruva nodded. “They still provide meat for our tables, and fur to clothe our bodies. We use their bones and horn for our tools: an axe made from Buffalo horn can carve rock. In the summer season, their waste fertilizes our fields. We can cure their meat for the long winter months. They are everything for us.”

  “Some speculate that the Ancestors created the Buffalo purely to serve our needs,” said Orand. “Without them, we would have perished many years ago.”

  Ronon raised his eyebrow. “I would like to see these animals.”

  Orand’s eyes lit up. “I hoped you would say so, as soon as I saw you. We could use a man like you. When the storm abates, the great hunt will begin again. Our stocks of food are low, and the deep winter is nearly upon us. We must make a kill, or our city will suffer. Will you come with us?”

  Ronon looked at Teyla, unwilling to commit without consulting the rest of the team. But the thought of testing himself against the creatures was tempting. He was already feeling the need to flex his muscles.

  The Athosian smiled back at him. “How much use are you going to be fixing the Jumper, Ronon?” she said. “We are going to have to remain here for some time. You should go with these people. You might even learn something.”

  “It’d be a good test,” he said. “You should come too.”

  Miruva’s eyes widened. “But you are a woman!” she said, laughing. “Women do not hunt the buffalo. Such a thing has never been done.”

  Ronon knew this would irritate Teyla. To her credit, her feelings did not show on her face. “Where we are from,” she said, her voice icy calm, “women do all that men do. I fight with my team, just as Ronon does.”

  Orand started to laugh, but was cut short by a glare from Teyla. Seeing the look on her face, he quickly let his eye
s fall to the floor.

  “Your people have strange ways!” Miruva said, delighted. “Perhaps we can indeed learn from you. I have often thought it unfair that the menfolk must take on all the risk of the great hunt. There is no longer enough grass for us to weave here.”

  Orand looked skeptical. Ronon could see that he was protective of her and wondered if they were a couple. If they weren’t, then he guessed Orand would like them to be.

  “You’d have to get past your father, first,” said the young hunter. There was an edge to his voice.

  “He is old-fashioned, then?” said Teyla, gently probing for information.

  This was what Teyla was good at, thought Ronon, gaining people’s trust, finding out more about the situation without causing offense. She was a natural diplomat.

  Miruva let slip a sad smile. “My father is a good man. He’s guided us for many years, and our people have survived thanks to his planning and dedication. But he is old. He believes that the Ancestors have ordained everything. And so there is no change, and we cling to tradition in all things.”

  “Not all of us feel the same way,” interjected Orand. “Some have called for a great exodus, to try and find better hunting grounds and warmer weather.”

  “But you’ve chosen to stay?” said Ronon.

  Miruva nodded. ”Most of the people are with my father. They have always trusted in the portal to Sanctuary, believing that help will come from it one day. And now your coming has given them hope.”

  Teyla frowned. “We are not gods, and we are not the Ancestors. We have many troubles of our own. Our vessel is damaged, and unless we can find a way to restore power to it, there is little hope we can help you.”

  Orand shrugged. “Whether or not you’re Ancestors, your coming will change things here,” he said. “We need change. We can’t keep hiding in these caves forever.”

  Miruva looked uneasy at his proud words.

  “We will have to see what develops,” said Teyla, heading off discussion of their role in a potential revolution. “For now, we are your guests, and we would like to hear more of your ways.”