Chris Wraight - Dead end

“A day or two, I would guess,” said Aralen. “It is rare, even now, for a storm to last more than a week, and this one has been raging for several days already. When the air is clear, we can take you back to your vessel. Perhaps a solution will present itself.”

“Maybe it’ll come gift-wrapped too,” McKay muttered, not quiet enough to avoid a sharp look from Sheppard.

But McKay didn’t care; they were screwed. Totally screwed. If the best this ice-cube of a planet had to offer was cow hide and a T-bone steak, then they might as well give up now. There was no way they were getting home.

Sheppard awoke abruptly, shaken from dreams of piloting Jumpers down infinitely long tunnels of plasma. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. With relief, he saw that he was still in the caves of the Forgotten. The light was low, drowsy flames flickering in the braziers above him.

John pulled himself upright and rolled his shoulders. The mats were firm, but there wasn’t much of them between him and the rock floor. There was a niggling stiffness in his lower back, but otherwise he felt thoroughly rested. He looked around the small chamber he’d been given to use. There was something different about it. Somehow, his body knew that it was morning, even though he was closeted many feet underground. Then he realized what it was; there was natural light filtering down from the ceiling.

Sunlight-traps were embedded far up into the uneven roof of the rocky chamber. Each of them sparkled with a fresh, pure light. The cold gleam complemented the warm glow of the embers in the torches, lending the room a gentle sheen.

There was a bowl of frigid water and some linen on a low rock shelf nearby. He washed as quickly as possible, and then donned the fur wrappings over his fatigues once more. The hides of the White Buffalo were incredible things; light enough to enable normal movement, but extremely well insulated. Sheppard smiled to himself, thinking how Rodney would spend his time analyzing the properties of the material when they got back to Atlantis. If they got back to Atlantis.

He slipped his pistol into its holster and pulled the hangings over the entrance aside. McKay was waiting for him in the antechamber beyond, his room built into the opposite wall. A third door led to the corridor outside.

“So, how d’you reckon we get hold of food here?” he said, scratching his stubbly chin. “I’d kill for a coffee and a Danish. The nice ones. With pecan on them.”

Sheppard shrugged. “Guess we go and find out,” he said. “Good news is, I reckon we’ll get outside today. There’s sunlight coming down from somewhere — the storm must be over.”

“Yes, ingenious, aren’t they, those sun-traps?” McKay said. “I’m not sure how they do it. There’s so little glass around. They must’ve placed lenses at the top and bottom of shafts in the rock. They’re clever, these Forgotten, I’ll give them that.”

There was a polite cough from the corridor outside and Miruva came in, bearing bowls of steaming stew.

“Forgive me, but when I heard noises I prepared you some breakfast,” she said. “I hope it will be pleasing.”

McKay wrinkled his nose at the thick gravy. “Hey, I don’t suppose you’d have something a bit less… meaty? I mean, it’s a little early for me, and to be honest my digestion needs — ”

He was cut off by Sheppard reaching across to take the two bowls. “That’ll be perfect,” he said, pointedly. “Thanks.”

Miruva smiled, bowed, and left the room.

Sheppard glared at McKay. “For God’s sake, Rodney, we’ve got to get along with these people. It’s not like we’re in Trump Tower here, and they’ve given us a lot.”

McKay took one of the bowls and sniffed it suspiciously. “Alright,” he said. “But if I don’t get something green soon, there’ll be consequences. And you won’t like them any more than I will.”

There was the sound of footsteps outside, and Ronon and Teyla entered. The Runner had to duck some distance under the low entrance to the antechamber. It looked like he was getting used to doing it.

“Morning,” said Sheppard. “How’s the accommodation?”

“Same as this,” said Ronon, looking grumpier than normal. “I like these people, but they’re too short.”

Sheppard took a mouthful of stew, and with some difficulty swallowed it down. Much as he hated to admit it, Rodney had a point about buffalo meat so early in the day.

“OK, we’ve gotta start planning our next move,” he said, still chewing. “Priority one: salvaging what we can from the Jumper and working out how we get home.”

“Agreed,” Rodney said. “We need to get the Jumper systems operational as soon as possible, and then I need to take a look at that gate. I don’t know what we did to it, but it won’t be pretty.”

“There is little Ronon and I can do to help you with that,” said Teyla. “We need to find out more about these Forgotten. I sense that there is much about this people that is still hidden. If the Ancestors have achieved something here, then we will need to use their expertise to locate it.”

“That’s your area,” agreed Sheppard. “Any ideas?”

“Nothing has come to light. But the girl Miruva is perceptive and she has undertaken to show me more of these dwellings. I will spend today with her, discovering as much as I can.”

“And I’m going hunting,” said Ronon. “The place needs more supplies.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Oh, and how, exactly, is that going to help the mission? That’s all we need right now — a jolly jaunt across the ice after some giant space cows. C’mon, guys. This isn’t a galactic safari. If we can’t get ourselves back into shape soon, we’ll be in serious trouble.”

Ronon glowered at him. “They need to eat,” he said. “We need to eat. I don’t hear you offering to give up your food.”

McKay started to reply, but choked on a rogue piece of buffalo gristle. Sheppard stepped in. “Alright guys, no need to get all antsy,” he said. “We can’t all work on the same thing at once. Rodney and I’ll take a look at the Jumper and the gate. Ronon, do what you gotta do to get alongside these people. Just be careful.”

Ronon shot McKay a satisfied look. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I can look after myself.”

“Madness,” McKay mumbled, grimacing as he worked his way through the stringy meat. “Just total, screwed-up madness.”

“Right, let’s get going,” said Sheppard, putting down his bowl with some relief. “We don’t know how long we’ll get before the weather closes in, and before then I want some answers.”

Zelenka was tired, hungry, and irritable. He’d worked through the night and was no closer to finding a solution. The situation was bad and, even after several hours of brainstorming, the numbers still didn’t add up.

Weir walked into the operations room, and Zelenka could see the lines of weariness around her eyes. With no news of the team, he doubted she’d slept well.

“Alright, where are we?” she asked.

Zelenka coughed an apology. “We’ve made some progress,” he said. “But not much. We still have no idea why the Jumper seemed to re-materialize within the wormhole vortex. My only guess is that the Stargate on the far side works differently to the ones we’re used to. That would fit in with Dr McKay’s hypothesis that the Ancients were working on a new method of interstellar propulsion.”

“So our gate and theirs were incompatible?” asked Weir, looking alarmed at the prospect.

“I don’t think so,” said Zelenka. “Not quite. We’ve been working hard, and we think we can re-establish the link. On your command, we’ll run a test. It’s likely that the problem was one of power — we’re theorizing that the gate at the other end experienced a major failure, causing it to attempt to abort the transit while the Jumper was still inside the wormhole. The energy burst containing the mass information for the Jumper could have rematerialized in something like real space. I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen the data, but we think — ”