Dead end

Chapter Eleven

After a heavy slog through the ice, Sheppard and McKay approached the Stargate. The edifice stood defiantly in the middle of a wide depression. It was the only structure for miles around that dared poke its head over the bleak horizon. The grounded Jumper was visible about a mile in the distance, now half-buried in piles of snow.

Despite the millennia of ferocious storms the Stargate must have endured, it was barely marked. The Ancients certainly knew how to build things, Sheppard thought. Worryingly, though, he also noticed that it wasn’t quite level with the horizon.

He cocked his head. “Hey, you think this thing’s leaning over?”

“Possibly,” McKay said, looking rather annoyed. “When you get a tremor in the settlement, the Stargate is likely to be affected too.”

“Gotta wonder why the Ancients built this thing in earthquake central.”

McKay shrugged. “The gate’s been here over ten-thousand years. Things change.” He squinted up at the Stargate. “But whatever’s causing this instability, I don’t want to make it worse. If we power the gate up again, even assuming we can figure out how, we risk cracking the ice further. Sending the Stargate into an ice fissure isn’t going to get us home any time soon.”

McKay turned back to Sheppard. His eyes were rimmed with red. He looked tired. Really tired. The stress of trying to square the circle was clearly getting to him. John regretted his earlier comments about crazy eyes.

“We should press on with the Jumper,” McKay said. “One thing at a time. If we get that working, at least it’s a start.”

“Right,” John said, forcing himself to sound cheerful. “Anything you say.”

They turned their backs on the Stargate and trudged the short distance to the downed Jumper. The deep furrows plowed by their chaotic descent had been completely erased by the actions of the wind and the snow. When they came nearer, it looked for all the world as if the spacecraft had simply been deposited on the plain by an absent-minded pilot.

Thankfully, it had not been completely buried by the fury of the recent blizzard. The front half of the craft, still more or less completely out of action, was inaccessible, but the rear bay poked up out of the snow as if proud of its elevated status.

Sheppard looked at the damaged craft with a little concern. “Uh, you know you said the door controls weren’t working yet?”

“Yeah?” muttered McKay, breaking out his tools.

“Well, how’re we gonna get in?”

McKay took what looked like a massive TV remote out of the leather bag he was carrying. “You really think I’d forget about something like that?”

“Seems not. What is that?”

“The keys,” said McKay, sounding satisfied with himself. “You didn’t think I was just twiddling my thumbs while that storm was blowing over, did you? I mean, once you’ve had your third bowl of buffalo stew and admired your fourteenth charming little tapestry beer-mat, then there’s not a lot to do.”

That, Sheppard had to admit, was true. “I’m impressed,” he said. “Should I say ‘open sesame’?”

McKay flicked the controller on with a button press, and brandished it proudly. “If you must, but it won’t help.”

At the press of a second button, a series of lights switched on along the Jumper’s flanks and there was an encouraging whirring from inside the vessel.

“Voilà!” cried McKay, just as alarmingly dark smoke started escaping from one of the starboard plasma vents.

Sheppard kept his voice as mild as possible. “That meant to be happening?”

McKay quickly pressed a series of switches on the controller. A curious stuttering, whining sound came from deep within the Jumper, and it looked for a minute as if the thing was trying to burrow back under the ice. Then there was an audible snap and the smoke belched more strongly. From within the ship came the sound of something electrical expiring and then the whole thing came to a shivering halt. Just as it looked as if the entire ship had been terminally affected, the rear door fell open with a clang.

“See?” said McKay. “It’s all fine.”

“You know how to reassure a guy,” said Sheppard. He glanced up at the sky. His brow furrowed. There was no sign of a fresh storm. Yet.

“Let’s get a move on,” he said. “We don’t know how long we’ve got.”

Weir and Zelenka stood in the Operations Center, looking down at the Stargate. It was dormant, as it had been since Sheppard and the team had last passed through. Concerned faces looked up at Weir from the various consoles in the operations room; it was obvious that they all knew the risks.

“Right, people,” said Weir. “Let’s get that number dialed.” Her heart was pumping strongly, but she retained her habitual cool demeanor. “Doctor Zelenka, ready with that databurst?”

“Got it.” He was concentrating furiously on the screen in front in him. “We’ll have a split-second, nothing more. When the aperture opens, it’s going through.”

Weir turned to the gate operator. “You heard him. Open the gate.”

The operator keyed in the address and looked over at Zelenka before touching the final symbol. He nodded once, and the last glyph was entered.

Immediately, the Stargate fired up. The vacant surface filled with bubbling energy and an event horizon formed, bursting into life and shimmering with that strange, unnatural glow.

Almost immediately, the lack of power was apparent. The event horizon flickered and the lights around the edge of the Stargate dimmed. The vortex buckled, warped and finally sheered away. There was the faint sound of machinery winding down, and then nothing. The Stargate was as dead as it had been before.

Weir turned to Zelenka urgently. “Well?” The monitors were filling with data and Zelenka’s eyes flicked across the rows of numbers and symbols. “We’ve lost the connection,” he said.

“But did it work?” she asked. “Did the databurst get through?”

Zelenka looked up, concern etched into his face. “It was sent. Something went through the wormhole. Whether anyone was listening, that I don’t know. We can hope.”

Weir looked back at the now-silent gate, consumed with an impotent frustration. She had hoped at least for confirmation that the message had been delivered. Without that, the knowledge that they had sent potentially life-saving technology through the wormhole just added an extra layer of uncertainty.

“Yes, we will,” she said, half to herself. “We’ll just have to hope.”

Ronon slipped his gun from his furs. The hunters had become uneasy, and the effect was contagious. The further they went, the darker it got. Surrounded by shadows, it was easy to start getting jumpy.

“What is it?” he hissed to Orand.

“The others sense something,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “I can feel it too. It’s like when…” He trailed off.

“Like when what?”

“Let’s just keep going,” said Orand, taking his jar’hram from his back and hefting it in his free hand.

They pressed on, heading ever downwards. The rock around them closed in, glazed with ice. Ronon couldn’t sense anything. There was nothing but the distant, echoing cracks of the ice and the soft footfalls of the hunters.

Then he heard it.

“What’s that?” he said, whirling round and pointing his gun into the darkness behind them.

“What?” said Orand, coming to his side. His eyes were wide with fear.

“Something back there. Like a… whisper.”

“Ancestors preserve us…” breathed Orand. “We’ve got to move faster.”

He hissed an order to the hunters, and they started traveling quicker. It wasn’t easy — the dark was almost complete, and the rock corridor was uneven and twisting.

“Orand, you’re gonna have to tell me what this is about,” said Ronon, jogging to keep up.

“Maybe you don’t have them on your world,” said Orand, pushing the pace further. “They come at random, and you can’t fight them. We’ve lost so many to them.” He shot Ronon a worried glance. “They come to cull.”

At that, Ronon felt a tremor pass through him. So the Wraith were here.

“You might not be able to fight them,” he growled, looking about him eagerly, “but I can.”

“I don’t think —”

Orand was cut short. There was a cry of alarm from up ahead.

“They’re here!” came a strangled shout from one of the hunters.

In the narrow confines of the tunnel, all became confusion. The hunters started to run, pushing past one another, stumbling against the rocks.

Ronon whirled round. The swishing sound was getting louder. He couldn’t see a thing.

“Stand your ground!” he shouted to the others, but it was too late. Like a startled herd of animals, the hunters were running. They’d become the prey, darting down the tunnels like rabbits. Orand went after them, leaving Ronon alone at the rear.

He tried to make out what had got them so terrified. As their lights disappeared into the gloom it got even harder to make anything out. Keeping his gun raised, he followed them, scouring the dark to see what was going on.

The swishing got louder. He looked over his shoulder. There was something materializing behind him, emitting its own light. It was above him, hard against the roof of the tunnel. For a moment, he thought it was a figure transporting in, but the shape never solidified.

Ronon felt a rush of fear.

That was crazy. Even locked in the middle of a Hiveship, surrounded by his mortal enemies, he hadn’t felt that kind of fear. What was getting into him? He flicked the gun setting to ‘kill’, and the white light flashed along its flank.

He forced himself to stop running and turned to face it. There was a face there, narrow and arrogant, distorted with anger. There were hands outstretched, fingers extended. It rushed toward him, arms grasping. Everything was insubstantial, hard to make out.

He fired off three rounds. The bolts of energy screamed off, each perfectly aimed. They went straight through the apparition, shattering ice and rock beyond it. The ghost swept towards him.

“OK, that’s no Wraith,” he muttered, turning tail and running after the hunters. As he went, he could feel the apparition’s presence coming up behind him. His heart started beating out of control, sweat breaking out across his forehead. He tried to fight it, but the fear built in his throat.

He sped onward, not risking turning. The tunnel continued to plunge down, taking him deeper and deeper into the planet’s core. Soon he could see the lights of the hunters again. He spun round quickly and loosed another volley.

Same result. Nothing hit. But this time the apparition responded.

Crackling energy streaked from its ghostly fingers, aimed right for him.

Ronon sprang away from the blast, rolling as he hit the floor. The jagged rocks bit into his flesh, and he staggered as he found his feet again. Something hot had torn right past his shoulder.

He scrambled down the tunnel after the hunters, fear now thick in his throat. Orand was right. They couldn’t fight this. Forgetting his training, forgetting his weapon, forgetting the mission, Ronon Dex ran for his life.

“I’m a genius!” cried McKay, enjoying the familiar warm glow of success. It was almost his favorite feeling. His absolute favorite involved Samantha Carter from SGC, and was not something he dwelt on very much these days.

Sheppard looked up wearily. He’d been dismantling, carrying, fixing and testing for what seemed like hours, and McKay even began to feel a little sorry for him.

“That’s great, Rodney,” Sheppard said. “Wanna tell me why?”

McKay favored him with his patent self-satisfied smirk. “Because, my good Colonel, I have restored power to the Jumper.”

He picked up a small control panel and entered the command. Lights flickered on along the length of the rear bay. With a further press, the inner bulkhead doors slid open and the dark interior of the cockpit emerged. The windshield was covered with snow, but everything looked in working order.

“I gotta hand it to you,” said Sheppard, looking relieved. “You sure know when to pull the rabbit out of the hat.”

McKay knew Sheppard didn’t usually enjoy paying compliments, but he could see the man was impressed.

McKay flicked a few more switches and a series of secondary systems began to power up. “It’ll take a while for everything to get back up to speed,” he said. “Some of the damage is irreparable and we’ll be a little shaky for a while. I don’t reckon we’ll get more than a single flight, but we’ve got enough to get us home.” Then a worried frown creased his forehead. “That is, of course, if we can get the Stargate to open. And of course we don’t really know what went wrong last time, so we’d have to try and figure that out before making the jump to Atlantis. And if that’s not possible, we might still be stuck here. Though of course, we can now get into orbit if we really have to, although how much that’ll help when we’re…”

Sheppard’s cold stare silenced him. McKay stopped talking. Military types were never really interested in exploring all the possibilities. They wanted to be told which direction to move, and then allowed to get on with it. The very idea that there might be better alternatives, and that these might be worth considering in some detail, was anathema to them.

“Alright,” said McKay. “There are still some things to iron out. But we’re making progress.”

“I love it when you tell me that,” said Sheppard. “Now fire up those sensors. Any sign of Teyla and Ronon?”

McKay frowned and adjusted some of the settings on the panel in front of him.

His euphoria gave way to worry. While absorbed in fixing the primary systems he could briefly forget the bigger picture. But the missing team members were never far from his mind and it had now been hours without word. That was too long. “I’m not getting anything at the moment,” he said.

“What’s the problem?”

“Power,” replied McKay. “And only half the secondary systems are operating. Hang on — I’m getting something. Coming up now… But that can’t be right. Can it? Oh, God.”

Sheppard hovered at his shoulder. “What can’t be right?”

McKay double-checked the readings. It was hard to make things out with any clarity, and the signal was weak. But he wasn’t mistaken. “I’m getting some readings from the long-range scanners,” he said. “Nothing precise enough to locate Teyla or Ronon, but enough to see what’s coming. There are storms closing in on us from every side. Big ones.”

Sheppard shrugged. “We know the place has storms, Rodney.”

McKay adjusted the settings, back and forth, looking for some kind of error. “Yeah, but they were finite. These are joining up together. I don’t like the look of them at all. The further you go out, there are no breaks at all.” He looked up at John. He could feel the blood draining from his face. “We’re in trouble,” he said. “I don’t think these clouds are going away. Something’s happening here, and it’s working fast.”

Sheppard looked unconvinced, but Rodney could see he was troubled.

“Maybe you’ve missed something,” he said.

McKay nodded, and got back to work. But the image of circling cloud formations, like the eternal storms of Jupiter, wouldn’t leave him. He was sure he wasn’t wrong. More data would just confirm his suspicions. Their time situation had just got much worse.

Once those fronts closed in, they were never going away.

Teyla and Miruva were standing on a balcony high in a rock wall. Unlike the sheer, polished surfaces in the Hall of Arrivals, this was living stone, uneven and mottled, as if carved that very day. If the Hall had seemed big, then this new chamber was gigantic.

They stood perhaps two-hundred feet up the near rock face on a wide ledge. On either side of them, the level surface continued as far as they could see, a shelf in the otherwise unadorned rock. The roof of the chamber was so far away it was hard to make out and there seemed to be wispy clouds drifting across its surface. But the real shock was how far the space extended before them. Teyla couldn’t even see the far end. It was lost in a kind of mist. They were in a huge rectangular clearing in the heart of the earth, several miles wide at least. It looked as if thousands of people could shelter there comfortably and still have room for whatever they could desire.

Once again, she found herself wondering if Geran might actually be right. Who could possibly have manufactured such a vast space?

“Welcome to the underworld,” said Geran, sounding a little proud of the theater of the whole thing. Presumably, he’d shown many new arrivals their new home. “This is where we live. And where you will spend the rest of your days.”

On the distant floor below, Teyla could see a lush landscape. Fields stretched away for what looked like several miles, their crops green and healthy. Between the neat squares of cultivation, paved lanes ran, connecting small villages. Even from such a height, Teyla could see them bustling with life. Men and women hurried to and fro carrying baskets stuffed with produce. Children ran and laughed amidst the buildings. If this was the afterlife, it could have been a lot worse.

“This looks like… Athos,” she breathed, thinking how like her homeworld of old the place seemed. The only difference was the vast rock walls enclosing them on all sides — and the fact there was no sky. Yet, there was light all around them. It was like a world in microcosm.

“Where does the light come from?” asked Miruva, echoing Teyla’s thoughts. “I can see solid rock above us.”

Geran shook his head. “We do not know,” he said. “But every morning the light begins to grow, softly at first, until by noon it is as you see it. When the evening comes, it dims again. At night it is much the same as in the world we left, except there is no moon and there are no stars.” He smiled. “And there is no ice, of course. The weather here is temperate. There are seasons, just as in the stories of old, but they are mild. Water wells up from beneath us, and there are many rivers. You probably can’t see it from here, but the land becomes wilder as you head further from this place. None of us has explored all the regions of the underworld.”

Teyla peered into the distance. It did seem indeed as if the land began to rise. There was the faint outline of forests, cliffs, and even hills.

“How far does it go on for?” she said, entranced by the vision before her.

“A man can walk it in for days,” he said. “But eventually he will come to a barrier. As much as it may seem a paradise here, eventually the rock encloses us completely. Make no mistake, traveler. We are imprisoned here. Come, follow me.”

Geran withdrew from the edge of the rock balcony, and led them along the narrow way to the left. Eventually, they came across a spiral staircase cut from the rock. The steps were wide and solid, and every so often there were places to rest on the descent. Whoever built this place had clearly kept their prisoners’ comfort in mind. Soon they were at ground level. There was a small gravel clearing in front of them, before the land began to evolve into the farmland they’d seen from the balcony. A wide road curved away, leading to the villages.

“There is a house provided for all of you,” said Geran, matter-of-factly. “We are always building, knowing that new arrivals will come from time to time. Now that you’re here, the work for the next group will commence.”

They walked out into the countryside and as they went they passed through inhabited villages. Their arrival seemed to arouse very little curiosity. Presumably, for these people it was a regular occurrence. But then Miruva let slip a cry of delight.

“Mother!” she shouted.

A women working in one of a fields straightened up and shaded her eyes. When she caught sight of Miruva, she dropped her tools and came hastening over. She was a tall woman with raven hair, tanned and healthy-looking.

“Miruva!” she cried. “My child!”

The women embraced, clutching one another tenderly. Miruva’s face ran with tears. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she stammered. “The Banshees…”

“Hush,” said her mother, brushing her hair back from her brow. “I know. We never need to speak of them.”

She pulled herself free from her daughter’s arms, and looked at her proudly. “I had half-feared, half-longed-for this day,” she said, tears shining in her own eyes. “Part of me wanted you to escape the clutches of the Banshees. The other wanted to see you again. How pretty you’ve grown!”

They embraced again and soon Miruva’s body was shaking with sobs. Teyla looked on silently, uncertain how to react. Though the scene was touching, there was something very strange about all of this. The talk of an afterlife and an underworld was clearly nonsense, but now was probably not the time to press the point. She hung back, wondering what her next move would be.

Geran approached her. “So it is whenever someone new arrives,” he said, softly. “They meet their lost family, their lost friends. It takes some of the bitterness away from being trapped here forever. But I suppose, being a ‘traveler’, you won’t have that luxury, will you?”

Teyla looked back at him. The man was studying her suspiciously. This Geran was no fool.

“My friends will come for me,” she said, firmly. “Even if I cannot, they will find a way to get us out of here. Have no fear of that.”

“Do you really not understand?” asked Geran. “This is not a place that can be reached by normal means. This is the resting place of the Elect. We have fulfilled the demands of the Ancestors. In their wisdom, they pick those who most deserve to escape the endless cold. You cannot choose to come here, anymore than you can choose to leave. Unless, of course, you think you are wiser and stronger than the creators of this place.”

Teyla knew she had to be wary here. There was much she didn’t understand, and the conviction of Geran was genuine. If she moved too quickly to doubt him, things could get ugly.

“I do not doubt your beliefs,” she said. “And I am certainly no wiser or stronger than any of you. But you have seen the terror of the Banshees. And even though you have been granted this place to live in, you cannot be reunited with your families and loved ones. That does not sound like paradise to me. So I for one will not give up on the chance of escape just yet.”

Geran didn’t look angry or perturbed, but she could see his suspicion remained.

“Like I said, many think such things when they arrive. They are always disappointed. In time they come to see that their life here, with all its blessings, is their true reward for a life well-lived. This is your home now, and no one can reach you.”

“You do not know my friends.”

Geran made to speak again, but Teyla turned away from him, not wanting to debate it any further. She walked towards Miruva to congratulate her and, as she did so, she wondered if she really believed her own words. Those rock walls looked very thick, and she had no idea how she’d got here. Only time would tell.

Another stream of energy seared past Ronon. He veered to the left, feeling the scorching heat of it as it crackled past his shoulder. It was getting closer, and he was out of ideas.

“This way!” Orand’s voice came from the left turn of a fork in the tunnel. Without thinking, Ronon followed the sound. As he swung around the corner he fired off a couple of shots behind him. He knew it wasn’t going to do any good, but it wasn’t like there was anything else to try either.

Ahead of him, the hunters had stopped running and formed a barrier across the tunnel. They looked terrified, but were holding their ground. All of them carried their jar’hrams, as if that would have any effect against such a creature.

“Run!” barked Ronon as he careered towards them. “It ain’t gonna stop!”

“We can’t outrun it!” cried Orand, raising his spear. “If we die, we’ll die like men!”

Ronon could hear the fear in the man’s voice. He didn’t look like he could stand up to a determined child, let alone a terror-inducing ghost that sent lightning from its fingers.

But he liked the sentiment. He reached the line of hunters and turned to face his enemy. It was only meters behind. As Ronon raised his gun to fire, it swooped down lower. Ronon saw that its outline had become even more indistinct. Its shape seemed to shudder, like a distorted video feed.

He aimed his particle gun right at the center of it, and fired again. The bolts slammed into it, tearing through the diaphanous form. Still it came, raising its fingers to let fly with a fresh lightning strike.

Ronon kept firing.

“This is it,” he growled, then gritted his teeth for the impact.

It never came. With a sigh, the image broke up, shimmering out of existence. The fingers faded into shadow, and the swishing died away, echoing down the corridor.

For a moment, the hunters stood motionless, mouths open, waiting for some new trick. No one spoke, no one moved.

The party finally relaxed. Ronon lowered his gun. Only then did he notice how much his hands had been shaking.

“What was that thing?” he asked, trying to hide his fear.

Orand’s face was pale and shiny with sweat.

“A Banshee,” he said. “The curse of our people.”

Ronon sank to the ground. All around him, the hunters were doing the same thing. He felt strung out. “You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

“They come for us when the storms are bad. No one knows why, nor how to stop them. But I’ve never seen one down in the tunnels, and I’ve never seen one do that.”

“The lightning act?”

“Yes. Normally, they just come, and then… some of us are gone. We never see how they do it.” He looked up at the patch of shadow where the Banshee had been. “I’ve never seen one stop before. Not before it got what it wanted.”

Ronon looked at his gun. Maybe the particle weapon had some effect. If the apparition had been some kind of shielded entity, then it was possible the bolts of energy had drained its power.

“No point sitting here talking about it,” he muttered, getting back to his feet. “We gotta keep moving.”

Orand nodded. All around them, the hunters did the same. “Agreed,” he said. “I don’t know what stopped it this time.” He looked at Ronon, and his flesh remained pale. “But they’ll keep coming until they get us, big man. They don’t give up.”

“Dammit!” hissed McKay, pulling his fingers back from a fizzing control unit. Things were going slowly. Too slowly. Why was he never given the time he needed?

“Got a fix on them?” asked Sheppard, hovering impatiently beside him.

McKay gave him a blunt stare. “What do you think?”

“Right. That’s it. I’m outta here.”

McKay thought about protesting, but then reconsidered. He had needed Sheppard during the early stages of Jumper reconstruction, but the point where he could help had passed. The scanners would eventually start functioning normally, but right now they were still a mess.

“So what are you going to do?” McKay asked. “Just set off on your own?”

Sheppard shrugged. “I’ve gotta do something,” he protested. “I’ll get help from the settlement. If you’re right about those storms, we’re running out of time.”

“OK,” McKay said, and slid some of the computer panels back into place. “I can manage the rest on my own. It’ll probably be quicker in any case.”

As Sheppard made to leave, McKay reached down behind a bulkhead and retrieved a bulky handheld instrument.

“Don’t go without this,” he said. “I’ve been powering up some of the portable kit. A lot of it was fried when we came through, but I’ve got this working. It’s a proximity meter, like the ones we use on the city. Its range is nothing compared to the instruments here, but it’ll give you a fighting chance of finding that needle.”

Sheppard took the device. “A haystack scanner,” he said. “Better than nothing, I guess.”

McKay lowered the rear door. It descended smoothly, he was pleased to note. “Good luck.”

“I’ll send someone to collect you before sundown,” said Sheppard, walking down the rear bay and out into the dazzling snowscape. “Keep your radio close. If you get this thing airborne, come find me.”

McKay looked out beyond Sheppard’s retreating back to where the icy wastes sat under the colorless sky. He could see the Stargate in the distance, a tiny speck against the otherwise flawless texture of the snow, the sun glinting against it.

Which was odd, since naquadah was not generally reflective.

Then, with a sudden lurch in his stomach, he realized what was happening. “The gate!” he yelled. But the glint had disappeared.

Sheppard looked at him quizzically. “What about it?”

McKay frowned. He could have sworn he’d seen an event horizon open. Granted, the thing was far away, but even so… “Er, maybe not,” he said. “Perhaps just an optical illusion.”

Sheppard looked at him with some concern. “I think we’re all a little short on sleep, Rodney,” he said. “Try to spend some quality time with your pillow when you can.”

McKay was about to fire off a sarcastic comment when there was a sudden squawk from behind him.

“Oh God, not now…” he moaned, and turned back to the array of electronics in the rear of the bay. If a component was about to fail, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. He quickly scanned the diagnostic read-outs. “I don’t believe it…”

Sheppard ran back up the exit ramp. “What is it?”

“The gate was opened!” McKay looked down the list of data on the screen with mounting disbelief. “We’ve just had a communication from Atlantis.”

Ronon felt his heartbeat return to normal. The fear was over, and the oppressive cold had returned. He kept his gun by his side. Imperfect as it was, it was still his only defense.

The low and winding tunnels were cramping his long limbs. They’d followed the course of the tunnel they’d been driven into by the Banshee, and it was just as long and circuitous as all the rest. Every so often the rock ceiling would rise a little, but it was never enough to allow him to stand at his full height, and the malevolent ice shimmered in the candlelight, mocking their attempts to escape the labyrinth.

Despite himself, he was beginning to lose hope. Dying here would be a bad way to go, locked in a freezing maze of narrow tunnels, far from the sunlight. How long would their bodies lay undisturbed in the ice, before the next band of foolish explorers stumbled across them? It was a ghoulish image.

In the dim candlelight, Orand looked worried. Sensing he was being watched, he glanced over at Ronon.

“I’m sorry, big man,” he said. “This was meant to be a hunt like all the others. I’ve brought you into danger.”

Ronon shook his head to dismiss the young man’s concern. “I’ve been in worse places. Got outta them too.”

Orand looked over his shoulder, back into the impenetrable darkness of the underground kingdom. “Perhaps we should have tried to ascend the crevasse you came down. I thought — ”

“Orand!” The nervous cry came from up ahead, echoing down the narrow tunnel. Ronon raised his gun instinctively, even though it had proved useless against the Banshee earlier. “There’s a light.”

Ronon turned and saw a slight, almost imperceptible lightening up ahead. At last!

Pushing forward through the ranks of the other hunters, Ronon and Orand arrived at the front of the party. Lapraik was waiting for them.

“There’s something up ahead,” he said. His voice was a curious mixture of apprehension and relief.

“Let’s take a look,” said Orand. “Ronon?”

He answered only with a nod and together they walked on, stepping carefully over the treacherous ground. The ceiling was lifting slightly and with every step a faint bluish glow became stronger. After just a few yards, it was even possible to make out the surface of the walls around them without the aid of the candles.

“What’s this?” whispered Ronon.

“No idea,” Orand said. “Looks like sunlight filtered through ice, but we’re a long way down.”

They pressed on and the light continued to grow. The tunnel snaked back on itself a couple of times, and then resolved into a smooth, straight course ahead. Ronon was able to stand up fully for the first time in hours. Despite his fatigue, the chance to stretch his muscles was a massive relief. He began to walk more easily, and the pain in his joints ebbed.

Ahead of them, the blue light had grown fierce. After so long in the perpetual gloom, Ronon’s eyes watered as he looked at it. The tunnel plunged steeply toward it, the rock smooth and even — as if it had been worn by running water in the distant past.

“Guess that’s where we’re going,” Ronon said.

Black ice underfoot made the sloping tunnel treacherous. Behind them, several hunters stumbled and slipped, and their muffled curses echoed against the rock and ice. Ronon missed his footing a couple of times, and at one point nearly fell; he was tired, they all were.

“It’s a doorway,” whispered Orand as they neared the light. Ronon came up alongside him and saw that Orand was right. There was a man-made object in front of them. The significance wasn’t lost on the hunters.

Orand turned to Ronon, torn between relief and fear. “We’ve got to go on,” he said. “One way or another, this is the end of our journey.”