Dead end

Chapter Nine

Teyla was swimming, far out in the warm, balmy ocean. As she swam, schools of tropical fish slid past her, flicking their tails in unison. She smiled with delight and reached out to touch one. As her fingers closed over the darting shape, the water turned cold. She shivered and looked up. A massive storm cloud loomed on the far horizon, lightning lancing down from the skies. The blue waters turned gray, and the waves chopped in the rising wind. Panic seized her and she began to sink. She tried to cry out, but the words were drowned. She went deeper. Colder. Her temples thumped, her lungs ached. She tried to shout again, and this time a strangled sound burst from her lips. She broke the surface again. Ahead of her was the shape, the terrible face that had taken her…

Covered in sweat and shaking, Teyla woke into darkness and silence. She pulled her furs closely round her shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering sense of fear. She had no idea how long she’d been out, or where she was, or what had happened. The feeling of dislocation was oppressive.

Sitting up, she tried to get her bearings. There was very little light, just a faint red glow. Despite the fact she was clearly still underground, the surroundings were not at all like the settlement. The floor and walls were rock, but they’d been finely carved. The surfaces were as smooth as glass, reflecting the ruddy light. The air was clean and tasted wholesome; there was no aroma of buffalo tallow to taint it. Just on the edge of hearing, Teyla thought she could detect a low hum. Somewhere, there was machinery operating.

She looked around her and realized she was surrounded by about a dozen of the Forgotten. Miruva was among them, lying deeply unconscious like the rest. They looked unharmed and all were wearing their own clothes. Some even clutched what they had been working on when the Banshees came: bits of tapestry, bindings for the hunting spears, sewn leather shoes. All of the abductees were women and children. Had the Banshees ignored the men? Or was it just because most of the hunters had been out chasing the White Buffalo?

Teyla felt her equilibrium returning. Whatever had happened had left no obvious effects. She had only the dimmest memory of the Banshee itself. The shape had been insubstantial and hard to pick out. There was something familiar about it, but even now she couldn’t place it. Just like the dream she had awoken from: a faint memory, confused with other things, impossible to retrieve.

Miruva stirred and Teyla placed a hand on her shoulder. The Forgotten girl gave a frightened moan, then awoke sharply. For an instant she stared into Teyla’s eyes, looking terrified, then the fear subsided. Perhaps the bad dreams were all a part of the process.

“Do not fear,” said Teyla. “I do not believe we are hurt. We have been taken somewhere, but that appears to be all.”

Miruva looked around her, wide-eyed. “I remember the Banshee…”

“What do you remember about it?” Teyla said. “My recollection is unclear.”

Miruva paused and then shook her head. “It’s so hard. They were coming down the tunnels. You had your weapon, but it seemed to do no good. I can’t even remember whether you used it.”

Teyla looked around her, hoping against hope that the P90 had come with them. Unsurprisingly, it hadn’t. Whoever had abducted them wasn’t foolish enough to leave them their weapons.

“What did they look like?” said Teyla. “And why can’t I remember?”

“That is the way with the Banshees,” Miruva said. “Whenever they’ve come before, everything is confused afterwards. We can only recall our fear.” She looked down at her lap, ashamed. “I just ran. I cared nothing for anyone but myself.”

Teyla shook her head. “I do not believe you were a coward,” she mused. “I ran myself, and that is unusual. I suspect that these Banshees have some kind of power over people, a power over their minds. We shall no doubt find out more.”

All around them, the remaining Forgotten were beginning to stir. Some of them were very young, and cried out in fear when they awoke.

“Calm yourselves!” ordered Miruva. She didn’t speak harshly, but there was a tone of command in her voice. “We must remain in control. We don’t know where we are, or when those things might come back. So let’s keep quiet.”

The Forgotten listened to her, and roused themselves more quietly. The few remaining sleepers were gently awoken, and soon the entire band was fully aware, huddled together like children in the night. Teyla was impressed by Miruva’s air of leadership. Not for the first time, she wondered whether the next generation of Forgotten would lead their people more ably than the last.

“Let us take heart,” Teyla said, addressing the group. “None of us seem to be hurt. Whatever has taken us here clearly has no immediate desire to harm us. We are also together. I have traveled across many planets, and been in many dangerous situations. Believe me, if we stick together and do not lose hope, we stand every chance of coming safely back to the settlement and being reunited with our loved ones.”

The Forgotten looked back at her calmly. The first blush of fear on awaking seemed to have passed. They were refusing panic. This was good.

Teyla turned to Miruva. “We need to find out more about this place,” she said. “Without food and water we will soon begin to suffer. I should begin to explore.”

“I will come with you,” she said. “But what of the others? Some of them are merely children.”

Teyla smiled wryly. “Believe it or not, there are some worlds in this galaxy where children are all there are,” she said. “But I agree with you. We cannot all go together. The two of us should scout ahead, and return when we have found something of use. Is there someone among this group who can lead in your absence?”

Miruva looked over the huddled band. “Gretta,” she said. “Teyla and I are going to explore our surroundings, to see what kind of place we have been taken to. You will stay here and look after the young ones. We will not be long.”

A young woman with mouse-brown hair and a sensible look about her nodded in assent. Teyla and Miruva rose. There were walls around them on three sides, but in one direction the chamber simply disappeared into darkness. There was only one way to go.

“Keep close to me,” said Teyla, as they started out. The thought of running into the Banshees again was not a pleasant one, but at least she had some degree of martial arts training.

Miruva raised an eyebrow at the condescension. “And you to me,” she said. “I know how to look after myself.”

Teyla noted the gentle reprimand. “Then we should be well together.”

Together, the two women crept forward. After only a few paces, they were lost in shadows.

Sheppard jogged down the passageways of the settlement, McKay in tow. Things were calming down around them. The corridors were still full of grieving Forgotten, but they were less manic. He tried the radio again.

“Teyla,” he barked. “You copy?”

Nothing.

“Ronon?” he tried. “Anybody?”

And things had been going so well. Now half his team was missing and out of radio contact, and they were still no closer to getting the Jumper back working.

“This looks familiar,” said McKay from behind him.

Sheppard stopped, following Rodney’s pointing finger. The problem with the Forgotten dwelling chambers is that they all looked the same.

“You may enter, Colonel Sheppard,” came a familiar voice from inside.

He ducked under the low doorway, followed by McKay.

Aralen sat in the center of his modest quarters, clearly distraught. A few of his advisors clustered around him, also seated. None of them looked in great shape.

When he saw them enter, a cold smile crossed the old man’s features. “So you are safe,” he said. “You may sit.”

Sheppard didn’t feel like sitting. He found himself bursting with questions. While all hell was breaking out across the settlement, he couldn’t believe the Foremost was sitting quietly on his own with his council. This thing needed leadership, direction.

“We’re fine,” he said, staying on his feet. “But what the hell’s been going on here? And where’s Teyla?”

Aralen looked down at his feet. “I am sorry. Your friend Teyla has been taken. There was nothing we could do.”

John felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. For a moment, he struggled to find the words to respond.

“Taken? What do you mean, taken?”

“She is not the first. There are many…”

Sheppard held his hand up. “I don’t care about that!” he snapped. “Where’s she gone?”

Aralen’s face was hollow and Sheppard suddenly realized that all of the Forgotten seemed stricken with loss.

“My daughter was one of those taken,” Aralen said. “Just as her mother was before her. So you see, I have as much cause for grief as you. And others of my people have gone. We will never see them again.”

“The Wraith,” Sheppard breathed.

Aralen looked uncertain. “When you first arrived, you spoke of these Wraith. This term was unfamiliar to our people, but perhaps it signifies the same thing. Perhaps I should have told you of this earlier…”

“Damn straight,” Sheppard scowled. “Perhaps you should.”

“But we have no means of knowing when they will strike! We always hope they will leave us alone. When you arrived, I thought that perhaps they would no longer dare to come.” Aralen shook his head bitterly. “While you were away they swept through the whole place. I have never seen so many of them.”

Sheppard clutched the sides of his chair. If there were Wraith here, then things just got a whole lot worse…

“You’d better tell me everything,” he said, with a touch of steel in his voice. He didn’t like things being concealed from him, and now his team were suffering.

“We call them ‘Banshees’,” said Aralen. “They have been coming for us more and more. Even as the storms grow worse, so they plague us in greater numbers. At first, the few reports of them sounded like ghost stories. I myself was slow to believe the tales. Perhaps my faith in the Ancestors blinded me. It matters not. None of us question their existence now.” He looked up at Sheppard, his eyes imploring. “Truly, has any people had to endure as we have endured?”

Sheppard worked to curb his impatience. He needed to know about Teyla, but Aralen seemed crushed by Miruva’s loss. He had to tread carefully. “I’ve been on a few planets in my time,” he said. “You’ve got some problems, sure. But I’ve seen worse.”

“What were these… Banshees like?” asked McKay. “Did they come in ships? Wear armor? Did you get a look at their weapons?”

“Ships? No, they are ghosts, flitting between the rocks like a gust of wind. Every attempt to engage with them fails. We never know when they’ll come. Sometimes weeks pass with no visitation. Other times they are here for days on end. All we know is that they steal our loved ones away.”

McKay looked at Sheppard. “That doesn’t sound much like the Wraith to me.”

“Except the part about people going missing,” John agreed. He turned back to Aralen. “Look, if we’re gonna help you, you’re gonna have to help us. Can’t you fight back?”

“When the Banshees come into the caves, there’s panic. It’s only once we’ve recovered ourselves that we’re able to take stock. Then we notice the missing ones. They never come back.”

“You must see something,” McKay objected. “I can’t believe that in a place like this no one even catches a glimpse of what these things are doing.”

“You’ve never been present during a raid by the Banshees,” Aralen said tolerantly, “so your ignorance is forgivable. But, believe me, there is no time to watch. When they come, we all run for our lives. All of us.”

Sheppard saw McKay’s face redden at the word ‘ignorance’, and moved quickly to prevent him replying. “Do you have any idea what these things want?”

Aralen shook his head.

“No,” he said. “If I did, believe me I would tell you. Perhaps there is a link between them and the storms, perhaps not. Whatever the truth, it underlines how much we need the Ancestors. They will listen to our prayers. Whatever you say, Colonel Sheppard, I still believe your coming has something to do with our faith in them.”

Sheppard shifted uneasily in his seat. It was never fun being mistaken for emissaries from the gods. You were always liable to disappoint.

“Yeah, well maybe we’ll see about that,” he said. “Right now we need to figure out a way to do something about these Banshees.”

He hefted his P90 and gave Aralen a hard look that said, ‘Sitting around on your behind ain’t gonna get this sorted’. “Where I come from, we leave no one behind,” he said, his voice bleak. “I promise you this, Aralen. We’re getting Teyla back, and the rest of your people. I don’t care how big and scary these monsters are. We’re going after them.”

Teyla and Miruva crept forward. The light was so low that it was hard to see where they were putting their feet, and the ambient glow seemed to be unevenly distributed. It was relatively strong in the area where they had awoken, but the further they went, the dimmer it got. After some distance, the level surface beneath their feet began to slope downwards. It remained smooth and unblemished, and several times they nearly slipped on its flawless surface. The walls and ceiling were the same. It felt as if they had ended up in a beautifully carved black marble tomb. That wasn’t an image that Teyla enjoyed, and she worked to put it out of her mind.

After a while, the faint hum that had been audible in the chamber became more pronounced. The light increased, the size of the corridor grew and openings gaped on either side of them. Just as in the settlement, it was clear that they were in a substantial underground complex.

“Whoever made this must have been highly advanced,” whispered Teyla. “To carve the rock in this way requires extensive technology.”

“The Ancestors?” Miruva’s hope echoed in the corridor, the light gleaming in her eyes.

Teyla dared not answer and they kept walking in silence. Keeping to the central corridor, they continued to descend. After a while, the light grew bright enough that they were easily able to see each other’s faces again; it seemed to emanate from the smooth black walls, but it was impossible to see exactly how it was made.

From somewhere ahead there came a low noise, the ceiling rising with each step. Teyla reached out a hand to slow Miruva. “We must approach with caution.”

Miruva took a deep breath. “I agree.”

They carried on until the corridor turned to the right. Keeping Miruva behind her, Teyla peered around the corner and gasped at the sight before her.

The corridor opened onto a vast hall. The light was much greater and filled the entire space with a dull red glow. Mighty pillars, each three times the width of a person, soared upwards towards the distant rock ceiling. Every surface was the same as before: smooth, dark, and flawless. There was no decoration, no softening of the harshness, just endless, perfect stone. The tiniest noise — their footfalls, their whispered conversation — echoed around the huge emptiness.

Stepping into the hall, Teyla marveled at the engineering required to create such a space in the heart of the living rock. She had seen nothing quite like it in all her travels. Even the subterranean city of the Genii, despite its enormous size, was not quite as impressive. That was a natural cave system which had been appropriated by the people; this bore the look of something created from scratch, honed and carved to perfection.

Miruva looked awe-struck. The silent splendor of the austere hall was mightily impressive. “Who could have created this, on Khost?”

Teyla was going to reply, when a stranger’s voice broke in. Suddenly, Teyla realized that there were figures in the shadows, wreathed in darkness.

“Who says you are still on Khost?” The voice was harsh. “You have been taken by the Banshees, and your fate is sealed. This is the Land of the Dead — get used to it, you’ll be here forever.”

Ronon came round. It felt like he’d been out just a few moments — just a thump on the head, not major trauma. He blinked, watching his surroundings resolve back into focus. He was winded, his head was banging with pain and he saw a whole constellation spin before his eyes. But he was stationary, and alive. That was something.

The cascade of snow around him had ceased. Ronon had come to a halt on solid ground. Apparently solid, anyway. Gingerly, he looked around him. He was on a wide rocky shelf. Cliffs of ice reared up on either side, dark and slick, and the only light was from cracks deep within the glassy surface. Eerily, it glowed blue. For a moment, he thought he’d been transported to a Wraith Hiveship. He shook his head angrily. Now was not the time to hallucinate. The sudden movement send fresh spears of pain shooting behind his eyes.

“Ronon!” An anxious shout drifted down from the gap above. It must have been twenty feet or so. “Can you hear me?”

“I’m OK!” he bellowed back, before realizing that shouting his head off in an unstable ice cave was possibly not the wisest move.

A few moments passed. The chill lay heavy in the crevasse, but at least Ronon was protected from the searing wind. He shifted slightly, trying to take some pressure off his bruised ribs. As far as he could tell, the rock beneath was solid. In fact, now that the adrenalin was wearing off, he could see how fortunate he’d been. Instead of a yawning chasm to nowhere, the entire floor of the crevasse looked like solid granite. It was hard to make out much detail in the gloom, but it looked as if he’d broken through the ceiling of a cave rather than into the mouth of a bottomless pit.

Something brushed against his cheek. He slapped it away quickly, before realizing it was the end of a cord. The Forgotten made their ropes from strips of leather bound together with worked strands of plains grass. It made for a surprisingly sturdy construction. Before Ronon had time to react, there was a flurry of snow. Orand came down the slender lifeline and landed heavily by his side on the rocky shelf.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” said Ronon, ignoring the throbbing in his ribs and head. “You shouldn’t have come down. It’s not safe.”

Orand cast an expert eye around him. He reached deep into his furs and pulled out a small candle. With a strike of a flint and a deft flick of the wick, the candle lit, throwing a weak light across the subterranean space.

“Interesting,” he mused. “This place might just be the safest option we have right now. That storm will kill us if we stay out there much longer.”

He swept the candle around, checking the floor of the cave and scrutinizing it carefully.

“This is good,” he said. “You’re bringing us luck today, Ronon.”

“Don’t feel much like good luck.”

Orand tugged on the rope, and the silhouette of a head appeared at the gap above.

“Make sure the rope’s secure, and bring the lads down,” ordered Orand. “This is a shelter.”

The hunters out on the surface hastened to obey. One by one, they slid down the rope. Even in the dim light of the candle, Ronon could see they were in a bad way. All of them limped, and some looked like the extreme cold had bent them double in pain. Eventually, the entire party assembled in the cave. It still wasn’t warm, but at least it wasn’t lethal.

“You sure about this?” Ronon asked. “That opening doesn’t look too secure.”

“Relax, big man,” Orand said, lighting more candles and passing them around. “If I know anything about this country, this cave will be linked with others. In some places, there are tunnels which go on for miles. Besides, we couldn’t have lasted for any time above ground.”

Ronon looked around him doubtfully. There were dark recesses ahead. Some of them might well lead deeper into the rock. Going farther into the shadowy recesses of Khost was not something that filled him with enthusiasm.

“You’re planning on going down there?”

“Possibly,” said Orand. “This chamber looks stable enough to light a small fire. We’ve got some food, and can melt snow. Unless this storm lasts for long, we can wait it out, but we might have to do some exploring if it’s a big one.”

The rest of the hunters shuffled further down into the cave. There was room enough for the dozen of them, but not much more. Icy blasts came through the serrated opening, and it was still deathly cold. Getting away from the gap caused by Ronon’s descent was in all their interests. Orand moved further down, holding his candle low to show up the uneven floor. Ronon took one last look up, before hauling himself to his feet. He went carefully, feeling for any damage.

He’d been lucky. A few bruised ribs and a headache seemed to be the worst of his injuries. He followed Orand and the others away from the crevasse entrance.

It proved to be a wise move. Seconds after shuffling down into the deeper area of the cave, there was a shuddering crack from above. Part of the hole briefly widened, before a cascade of loose snow slumped down the cliff side.

“Get back!” cried Orand, pushing his men deeper into the cave.

They could barely scramble fast enough. More cracking sounds came echoing down from above and it seemed as if the entire shaft was collapsing. Ronon staggered after Orand, his limbs stiff and unresponsive. More snow and ice tumbled in, dragging the rope after it. There was what felt like a minor tremor, and then the landslide settled.

“Everyone alright?” enquired Orand, his face a bobbing island of light in a sea of darkness. Murmured voices of assent rose out of the shadowy rear of the cave.

Ronon felt his earlier sense of relief evaporate instantly. He looked back, peering at the dark rock against the low light of the candles.

He didn’t like what he saw. The cave walls around them seemed perfectly solid and reliable, but that was no longer his chief concern. The jagged gap to the surface, their only means of escape, had just become choked with snow and ice. He didn’t need to have the skill of the Forgotten to know that there was no digging through that pile of freezing debris.

They were trapped, stuck under the surface of the planet, and there was no way out.

Sheppard looked down at the floor. McKay stood at his side, doing the same. There, discarded on the stone, lay a P90 and a radio. There were scorch marks around the two items, some other artifacts of Forgotten origin, and nothing else.

Beyond the two of them, people still milled in the corridor, lost in their own concerns. They were still gray-faced, but at least they weren’t wailing anymore. Slowly, with difficulty, the settlement was returning to normal.

“That’s hers,” said Sheppard.

“Well, of course,” replied McKay. “Unless the Forgotten have learned how to make their own P90s.” He gazed at the objects thoughtfully. “Interesting. Did she just drop them before she was taken?”

“Unlikely. She wouldn’t have given in without a fight.”

“Agreed,” said McKay. “So they’ve got some means of disarming their victims. It doesn’t look like Wraith; no one here’s been fed on and I don’t see any real signs of a struggle.”

“I don’t see any real signs of anything.”

Sheppard cast his gaze around the site of the Banshee attack. The remains removed any doubt in his mind that the Banshees were dangerous. Teyla would not have allowed herself to be taken by a mere phantasm.

“There must be something here. Some kind of clue.”

McKay stooped down and looked at the scorch-marks. There wasn’t much to them, just a random pattern burned into the stone. “OK, let’s work with what we’ve got,” he said, brow furrowed in concentration. “These ‘Banshees’ must be using some kind of teleportation device — there’s only one physical way out of the settlement, and we came through it. For that they need power, and we’ve not seen anything capable of running a teleporter here.”

“So they came from off-world.”

“Possible. They’d need hyper-drive capable ships to get here — trust me, there’s no way anything came through the gate. If they were operating from Khost, it seems unlikely the Forgotten wouldn’t have come across them.”

Sheppard felt his frustration rise.

“Dammit!” he snapped, thumping the wall beside him.

McKay rose. “I’m not sure that adds anything to the discussion.”

“Well, I’m pissed. Real pissed. We can’t go back out, we can’t get the Jumper working, we can’t use the gate. And I have no clue where Ronon is either.”

McKay gave one his rare looks of sympathetic understanding. Being cooped up in the warren of the settlement was frustrating for both of them.

“Look,” he said. “Ronon’s as tough as that buffalo-slop they keep giving us. If anyone can make it through that storm, he can. And when the gale’s over, we can get back to working on the Jumper. That’s our best chance of finding both of them.”

Sheppard shook his head.

“Negative,” he said. “Soon as we can, I’m going out on the ice.”

McKay lost his look of sympathetic understanding, and reverted to the more usual unsympathetic exasperation. “You’re kidding me. John, that’s not going to do any good. It’ll be like looking for a needle in a Hiveship. A big one.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” snapped Sheppard. “Sit here twiddling my thumbs while half my team is missing?”

“No, I expect you to help me get the Jumper back online. Then we can do something about both of them.”

Sheppard started to reply, but the words died in his mouth. Much as he hated to admit it, McKay had a point. There was nothing they could do until the storm blew over. And once it did, their first priority had to be the Jumper. Without its range, a search would most likely be fruitless.

“How close are you to getting the Jumper back on its feet?”

“Always with the impossible questions,” said McKay, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Could be a couple of hours, could be much longer. The conditions I’m working under…”

“Yeah, you mentioned it.” Sheppard felt torn between a couple of equally bad options. “But you’ve made your point. When the storm lifts, we’ll try to get the Jumper back in the air.”

McKay seemed about to launch into another tirade when he realized Sheppard was agreeing with him. “I… oh. Yes, very wise decision. And anyway, I’m probably closer than I think to fixing it.”

Sheppard gave him a warning look. “You’ve got me for a couple of hours, no more,” he said. “Then I’m going after Ronon, power or no power. We’ve been in tight spots before, and this is no different. We’ve just gotta pull ourselves together, and we’ll be back up and running in no time.”

But as he spoke the words he wondered whether he really believed them. Something about the cold had seeped into his soul. It was corrosive, it sapped the spirit. And the longer his team was on Khost, the more Sheppard wondered how they were ever going to get home again.