Chris Wraight - Dead end

She shelved that idea. The man was exhausted. “I’m sorry, Radek,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “This situation is affecting all of us, and you’ve been working hard. Forgive me, I didn’t mean to interfere.”

Zelenka drew a deep breath. “No, no, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s been a tough puzzle to crack.” He looked over at the Ancient devices. “But I feel sure there’s something important here. If Rodney were here, he’d agree.”

Weir gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure he would. And after you’ve gotten some sleep, you can get back to work on it.”

Zelenka looked at her, briefly rebellious. But then the fight left his eyes. He was on his last legs, and he knew it. “Very well,” he mumbled. “Just a couple of hours. Then I’m back on it.”

“Good,” said Weir, looking at him with approval. “I know I can count on you.”

Teyla sprang up beside Miruva, instantly alert. She had seen this terror all across the galaxy. The faces of the people around her said one thing: cull. Had the Wraith followed them somehow? She had thought Khost was free of them.

“What is happening?” The hall had dissolved into a mass of fleeing people. The children were screaming, some of their guardians had pushed themselves up against the walls, staring wildly into space as if unseen enemies were in the air in front of them.

“There are Banshees coming!” cried Miruva, ghost-white. “We have to escape!” But she seemed paralyzed by fear and did not move.

Teyla looked around, trying to see what was causing the panic. There was nothing visible in the chamber, but the swishing sound was getting louder. Some of the Forgotten had rushed out into the corridors beyond, others stood still, awaiting their fate.

“This is no good,” muttered Teyla. “If there are Wraith here, we at least have to fight. Come with me.”

She pulled Miruva close to her, and half-jostled, half-dragged her to the chamber entrance. The girl recovered slightly and started to run alongside her.

“Where are we going?” she said, her voice clipped with anxiety.

“Back to my quarters,” said Teyla. “My weapon is there. Whatever these Banshees are, they will regret attacking this place while I was in it.”

Miruva looked doubtful, but said nothing. The two of them pushed their way back to Teyla’s quarters. The corridors were full of people running in all directions, bereft of a plan. In their fright, they were charging into each other or down dead ends. The swishing rose in volume. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from; it sounded as if it was all around them.

They reached Teyla’s room and she grabbed her P90 from under the bed. The cool weight of the submachine gun reassured her, but Miruva looked at the weapon with a horrified expression.

“What’s that?”

“Insurance,” snapped Teyla. “Tell me what you can. What are the Banshees?”

Miruva whirled around quickly. The swishing had now become painfully loud and cries of distress echoed along the corridors of the settlement. The Forgotten seemed to have lost their sense entirely.

“You can’t fight them!” cried Miruva, scampering over to the chamber entrance. “It’s no good! They just keep coming!”

Teyla gave up on Miruva and snatched her radio from her shoulder. “John, can you read me?”

Nothing. Just a hiss of static.

“John?”

Whatever else they could do, the Banshees could clearly jam her communication.

Teyla ran to catch Miruva up, her mind racing. Her Wraith-sense remained dead, which was a relief. But the panic sweeping through the Forgotten was infectious. She had to make a conscious effort to control herself. Hefting her P90 purposefully, she followed Miruva into the corridor and scoured the dim recesses of the tunnels for any sign of movement.

“What do they look like?” Teyla hissed. “What are we fighting?”

Miruva turned to face her, eyes wide and staring. “Don’t you understand?” she cried. “They look like nothing! You can’t fight them! They’re Banshees!”

Suddenly, the swishing vanished with a echoing snap. The fires in the hearths flickered and dimmed. Teyla thought she caught sight of an ephemeral shape flitting across her field of vision. She raised her gun, but it was gone. Despite herself, she felt a cold grip of fear around her stomach. How could you fight something you couldn’t see?

She spun around, trying to catch a glimpse of what was terrifying the people. There was movement, but it was impossible to see. She had an almost overwhelming urge to spray bullets indiscriminately at the shadows. Only her training and discipline prevented her. Why was she so scared? Screams echoed down the narrow tunnels, heightening the febrile atmosphere. Miruva had fallen to her knees and had her hands over her ears.

“Miruva!” shouted Teyla. “Stand up! I need your — ”

But then a shuddering wave of nausea reared up inside her. She felt her vision dim and her head throbbed. Teyla reeled, and felt the P90 slip from her fingers. She fought to retain consciousness, but something was pulling the life out of her.

For a brief moment she thought she saw something. A face: metallic, cold, severe. It seemed to be leaning over her. There was something familiar about it, something very familiar…

But then the darkness took her. The screams and wails of the Forgotten echoed away and Teyla collapsed. Her last awareness was of Miruva calling her name, but then she fell heavily and knew nothing more.

McKay pushed a series of panels back into place. One of them fizzed and popped back out again. The others stayed where they were and a propulsion sub-system came back online. A bank of lights illuminated, went red, and flashed out again. The system shut down and a sigh shuddered through the engine chamber below.

Rodney scowled. He felt like he was trying to reconstruct the Jumper more or less from scratch. Using novelty tools out of a kindergarten. As soon as one thing went right, another would go wrong. Even for someone with as much faith in his own abilities as he, there were moments when he wondered if he was attempting the impossible. At least the heating was still working. He’d just about managed to take off a top layer of furs.

Sheppard stomped back into the Jumper after a quick recon around the vessel, stamping snow from his boots. “Rodney, I need an sitrep.”

Irritated, Rodney put his work down. “I’d go a lot quicker if I could work for five minutes without — ” He stopped, catching the anxious look on the Colonel’s face. “What is it?”

“Storm coming,” said Sheppard. “You don’t really want to see it. Sky’s pretty black. A few more minutes, then we need to bail.”

McKay let slip a despondent groan. The sound was slightly more despairing than he’d intended, but it captured his mood pretty well. “I could use a few more hours,” he said. It sometimes seemed like his whole life was spent asking for a few more hours when he only ever ended up being given seconds. Scotty could go eat his heart out.

Sheppard glanced at the open rear doors. The wind was picking up already. He unclipped his radio.

“Ronon? You copy?”

Silence.

“Dammit, Ronon,” Sheppard muttered to himself. “I told you to stay in touch.”

“Could be the storm,” said McKay, looking up from his work.

“Yeah, I figured. Where are we up to with Frankenstein’s monster?”

“You’re still on that riff, eh?” McKay replied. “Here’s the good news: life support’s back up. But I’m not sure for how much longer. We’ve got fairly consistent power and the reserves are recharging. But I’m a long way off getting the drive systems online, and we’ve got no back-up at all. Another day, perhaps two, and I might be able to give you a working Jumper. But I wouldn’t bet the farm on it.”