STARGATE ATLANTIS: Dead End (26 page)

“So it seems,” said Teyla. “But why do they have such an aura of fear? If the Ancestors intended them to lead you to safety here, why do they sweep through the settlement and abduct you?”

Miruva frowned and let her mind link with that of the Avatar again. “I do not fully understand,” said Miruva slowly, clearly working hard to decipher what the Avatar was telling her. “But one thing keeps being repeated — there is no power. The Avatars are frustrated. They wish to bring all of the Inhabitants to Sanctuary, but there’s not enough energy. Something has gone wrong.”

Teyla pursed her lips, pondering the implications. “It is clear that the Banshees are malfunctioning. Their programming has been corrupted by a lack of power and their functions are distorted. Presumably, if it were otherwise, they could have explained Telion’s great work to your people and you would have come willingly to Sanctuary.”

“Yes,” she said, thoughtfully. “It’s a strange idea — our mortal enemies being our one means for salvation. Should we get out of here, I’ll have trouble making anyone believe it.”

The Banshee hung before them, as implacable as ever. It seemed perfectly oblivious to their discussion.

“Can you instruct the Banshee to teleport us back to the surface?” said Teyla. “While it’s good to know that Sanctuary exists for your people, I am not one of them. I need to get back to my team.”

Miruva shook her head. “I am sorry,” she said. “The Banshee won’t do it. It uses up all their power and they’re worried about where more will come from.”

Teyla felt her heart sink. “That is unwelcome news. Is there no way back to the surface?”

Miruva sank back into her trance-like state.

“There were access tunnels to the surface once,” she said at length. “Perhaps the Avatars waited too long to begin their mission, and the tunnels were filled with ice. That would explain why they have to teleport our people in small groups. There is no power for anything more.”

“That sounds plausible, but it does not help find a way out.”

Miruva’s brow furrowed as she interrogated the mind of the Avatar again. “There may be exits still in operation,” she said. “I can see the plan of this place in the Banshee’s mind. We are in a control room near the perimeter of the cave complex. There is a passage leading back towards the settlement and the Stargate. It must have been used in the past by the Ancestors. It is long, and the Avatar tells me it is no longer complete. But we could try it.”

She opened her eyes, and looked at Teyla. The Athosian could see that the young woman was only half willing to go; now that she had discovered the true nature of Sanctuary, it was clear that some part of her wished to head back down to the fertile plains and forget about Khost’s troubles.

“You do not need to come with me,” said Teyla. “Your destiny lies here, in discovering how to use the machinery of the Ancestors.”

But Miruva smiled. “Of course I’m coming with you,” she said. “We need to get you back to the surface, and find a way to bring the rest of my people down here.”

“Very well,” she said. “We must go quickly. If what the Avatar has told us is correct, then the situation on the surface will only get worse.”

Miruva gave a significant look to the Avatar, and it winked out of existence.

“Even being present drains their power,” she explained. “I believe I can summon it at will now. Once the link has been established, it remains with me.”

Teyla pulled her furs closely around her, guessing the journey ahead would be a cold one.

“I am glad to hear it,” she said. “We may have need of it later.”

“Not too close,” Ronon warned as he carefully stepped on to the rock bridge. Testing his weight on it he felt the solidity of the stone beneath him. He stamped a little harder, and the echoes of the muffled blows rang across the yawning gap. The bridge felt solid.

Ronon pulled his furs close around him and began to walk. He could hear Orand follow him a few yards behind, but concentrated solely on what he was doing. The bridge continued, perfectly straight and rigid, until it dissolved into the gloom and haze ahead. It was like walking along a road in the mist with the horizon just out of view. Except that, in this case, stepping off the trail would result in a long, long fall.

He paused and turned to look behind him. The hunting party had made their way on to the pier, one by one, a few yards apart. Each shuffled forward carefully, knowing the price of a slip. Thankfully, the stone surface was smooth and well-made. The surface was shiny with ancient ice, but the thick leather of the Forgotten boots did much to maintain a secure footing.

Ronon turned back and inched further along the narrow way. His heart thumped powerfully; the need to concentrate was paramount, and he kept his eyes securely fixed on the hazy passage before him. If a Banshee came now… He didn’t want to think about that.

Time was hard to measure. Gradually, the cliff-edge behind him shrank back into shadow and it felt like they were marooned on a tiny rock of stability within a void. For a terrifying second, Ronon was consumed by the urge to leap out into the darkness, to fall into its seductive embrace. He shook his head, angry with himself. Such flights of fancy, even in his tired state, were unworthy of him. He took a breath and his concentration returned.

After what may have been just a few minutes, or maybe much longer, Ronon began to see something solidify from the haze in front of him. He crept forward, his eyes flicking back and forth between the bridge and whatever he was approaching. The darkness gave way, hardening into another vast wall of rock — they had reached the other side.

As before, the towering cliffs extended incredibly far both upwards and down into the abyss. There was a stone shelf with a circular doorway carved into the rock-face.

Taking care not to slip at the last minute, Ronon negotiated the last few yards of the bridge. With enormous relief he stepped on to the shelf at the other side. Despite the endless chill of the subterranean passage, he felt his palms slick with sweat.

He turned and watched the rest of the party carefully file from the bridge and on to the safety of the cliff-face.

“I don’t want to do that again,” said Orand, looking shaky. “Ever.” His earlier ebullience had clearly deserted him.

“Know what you mean,” said Ronon, turning to the circular doorway before them. It was as black as ink, but it was the only way they could go. “We’ll need candles.”

Ronon ducked under the narrow gap. Orand didn’t object to him taking the lead. His eyes took a moment to get used to the gloomy candle flame again and he waited, watching the little column of tallow as it glowed softly in his hand. It was nearly burned through. If they were going to get out, they had better do so quickly.

Gradually, the dim outline of the tunnel began to resolve itself and he pushed on. From behind, he could hear the uncertain progress of the others as they followed him. Some of the candles must have failed and there were muttered curses as the hunters stumbled in the dark.

The journey continued much as it had done before. After a few minutes, Ronon began to wonder if the bridge over the chasm was some kind of cruel joke. For all he knew, the passages could lead on like this for miles. Once the candles went out, they would be entirely in the dark and then the game would be up. His earlier morbid thoughts about death underground came back. With a low growl of frustration, he shook them off.

As he recovered himself, he heard the first swishing noise.

“Hear that?” he hissed, stopping in his tracks and crouching low.

“Hear what?” said Orand, close behind him. Then something swished past them again and his face went white. “Oh, by the Ancestors…”

Suddenly, the entire tunnel was bathed in light. It blazed from all sides, and the swishing noise became a roar.

Dazzled, Ronon scrambled backwards, shielding his eyes. He was blind and disorientated. Behind him he heard shouting and the sound of running feet.

“Banshees!” cried a voice which might have been Orand’s.

His eyes streaming from the light, Ronon forced himself to look up. Towering over him was an insubstantial shape, flickering like a flame. There were long, flowing robes, and pale flesh. A lean alien face looked down at him. The expression was haughty and cruel.

Then there were others, sweeping through the corridor like ghosts. There was no escape. With a howl, the Banshees were upon them. Ronon felt a brief surge of resistance, but then it was banished. Despite all his training, all his experience, he felt a rising tide of horror. There was nowhere to run. There were too many to evade. The hunters fell on their faces.

Ronon reached for his weapon, but his hands were cold and clumsy. He didn’t even get a shot away. The Banshee came for him, and all hope fled.

Sheppard hacked at the rock. Despite the cold, he had worked up a sweat and he could feel rivulets of it running down his back. It was hard work, exhausting and dangerous. The ice shattered easily enough under the blows of the axes, but the rock was a different matter. He didn’t even attempt to break that up. Forgotten miners stepped up for that job, wheeling massive hammers to crack the heavy boulders in their way. Metal pins — which must have been extremely rare on Khost — were hammered into the stone to weaken it, and the hammer-blows did the rest. Sheppard was amazed at their strength and skill. He wouldn’t have been so confident that Earth miners, no matter how tough, could have worked the rock so fast.

After an hour of solid, back-breaking work, they had succeeded in delving beneath the ice shelf. Night was fast approaching, and torches had been lit across the workings. Now the task was to bolster the walls of ice around them so they weren’t buried as they descended. There wasn’t much wood to spare, so most of the structure was self-supporting. Helmar and his colleagues had done enough excavation to know what to leave and what to attack. Sheppard just did as he was told.

“How’re doing?” asked Helmar, coming to stand at his shoulder.

Sheppard turned awkwardly in the cramped space. “Feel like I’ve been wrestling a grizzly,” he panted. “Otherwise fine. What’s our progress?”

Helmar smiled. “We’re in luck,” he said. “Larem has broken into a fissure. They’re all over the place here. Come.”

Helmar pushed his way past other miners, all working hard. Sheppard followed him, grateful for the break. A couple of meters further down, the miners had opened up a narrow cleft and were busy widening it. The stone seemed laced with lodes of ice, weakening the structure, and every so often a huge chunk would break from the sides and come crashing down. Sheppard watched the work intently. It looked perilous. “You’ve done this before, right?”

“Of course,” said Helmar. “A thousand times. They know what they’re doing.”

Sheppard peered into the open chasm, trying to see how far it went. “What do you think?”

“This is good,” Helmar said. “I reckon this runs a long way down. We’ll secure the breach above us and then follow it. No doubt we’ll have more digging to do, but this makes our task much easier.”

Sheppard looked at the gaping fissure warily. In the gloom it looked treacherous. “Guess you’re right,” he said. “I can’t tell you how far down we need to go.”

Helmar laughed. “You sound worried, Colonel,” he said. “That’s not like you. Trust me. Some of these tunnels run for miles. However far we need to go, we will get you there. We are at home under the ground. It is our way of life.”

Sheppard tried to look reassured. “Let’s keep going,” he said. “The sooner we get to the bottom, the happier I’ll be.”

Teyla and Miruva went quickly. They passed rooms full of equipment displaying various diagnostic readings from Sanctuary. Some looked like the medical read-outs in Dr Beckett’s infirmary. There were rooms lined with computers arranged in galley format, and others full of gently humming machinery. One was dominated by a circular machine, dark and monolithic. Lights flickered uncertainly up and down its flanks and the symbol of the Ancients had been etched into its surface.

“That is where the Banshees come from,” said Miruva, looking at the machine with fascination. “To think that the object of our fear is generated by such a thing.”

They pressed on. Smooth metal surfaces gave way to hurriedly-worked rock-faces. On the fringes of the Sanctuary, the Ancestors’ haste to leave was readily apparent. The meager heat levels began to plummet, and the deathly chill of Khost reasserted itself. After working their way through the dark of the Ancient tunnels, a red light grew ahead of them until there was a clear opening in the rock face. It looked like a pool of fire against the rock.

Teyla ducked through it and found herself on a narrow ledge on a sheer cliff-face. It resembled the precipice at the entrance to the living areas of Sanctuary, only this time dark and throbbing with noise. If the peaceful chambers they had left resembled paradise, then this place looked like hell.

Garish red flares illuminated the chiseled rock faces, which were black as pitch. The reason for their charred appearance lay below. Dimly, Teyla could make out vast machinery operating in the depths of the chasm. Massive power couplings shone weakly in the in the deep, huge pistons revolving with magisterial slowness. The size of it all was phenomenal. Clearly, such technology was required to keep the ecosystem behind them in full working order.

“So this is what Telion wanted you to learn how to use,” said Teyla. “He expected much.”

“It will take us lifetimes,” Miruva said, the daunting scale of the task dawning on her.

“At least you have the gene,” said Teyla, trying to reassure. “That gives you many advantages.”

They walked along the ledge, keeping their fingers against the stone wall on their right. Eventually they came to the far side of the chamber and passed once more into chill dark of the narrow tunnels. It was now clear that they had left the main areas of the Sanctuary. Everything was haphazard and makeshift, and corridor looked like it had been blasted out in a hurry. The way became difficult, and Teyla lost her footing a number of times. Ice lay in the cracks and indentations of the stone, making the going treacherous. The red light ebbed almost to nothing and darkness enveloped them, pierced only by the narrow beam of Teyla’s flashlight.