Chris Wraight - Dead end

Miruva laughed, and the fantasy was extinguished. Her smile was the same, her demeanor was the same. The effects of the Banshee attack had clearly confused Teyla’s senses.

“I don’t know how it happens,” said Miruva, sounding delighted nonetheless. “It’s as if they have a link to my mind. I tell them to do something, and they do it.”

Teyla pulled herself to her feet, and tried to regain something of her dignity. Whatever was going on here was very strange.

“Can you make them depart?” she said, eyeing the hovering, silent Banshee.

Miruva frowned.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s not so much that I can command them, like you would a child, but more like they know what I want and act on it. They seem almost an extension of my thoughts. Like my thoughts made real. I can’t really explain it.”

Colonel Sheppard had once said similar things about flying Ancient vessels, as if the machinery became an extension of his mind. Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.

“You have the means to the control the technology of the Ancestors,” said Teyla. “We call this the ATA gene. Many of our number have it, though not all.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “I can hardly believe it. After so many years living in fear of these creatures, they seem like nothing more than nightmares that have faded with the morning.”

Teyla frowned. “The fear was real,” she said. “I do not normally run from battle, but I had no choice. How was this effect created?” She looked at the flickering shape intently. The Banshee’s eyes followed her, but it made no move towards her. “Miruva, can you instruct it to talk?”

Miruva’s face became a mask of concentration. After a few moments, the halo of energy surrounding the Banshee flickered and became brighter. It looked down at Teyla, still expressionless, and its mouth began to move.

“Full-power protocol established,” came a tinny voice from the ethereal presence. “Thirty-seven minutes remaining until power-down.”

“I do not understand.”

“The Banshee has been saving its energy,” said Miruva. “It’s terrified of losing power. In my head I can hear it saying the same thing over and over again: ‘Must maintain power’.”

“Miruva,” said Teyla. “How can you know of these things? Your people work with simple tools: fire, rock and fur. You are talking as if you understand how this device works. If I did not know better, I would even say that you sound like Doctor McKay.”

“I do understand,” said Miruva. “Somehow, I can feel what this thing needs, what it wants. I have the words for it — or at least some of them. It’s as if I was born for this.”

Teyla felt completely out of her depth. Ancient technology was not her specialty, but in the absence of Doctor McKay she would just have to do her best to unravel things, one step at a time. She looked back at the Banshee.

“Who are you?” she said, in as commanding a voice as she could muster.

The Banshee looked over at Miruva, who nodded to give her assent.

“I am EX-567, an avatar of my creator, Telion,” came the thin, rasping voice. “We are the guardians of the Sanctuary. We carry out the great work.”

“Why are you persecuting the Forgotten?”

“We carry out the great work. There is no power. The protocols are minimal.”

“I’m not sure I understand this,” said Teyla, looking to Miruva for support.

“There’s something there,” Miruva said, frowning. “It’s as if I can see inside the mind of this thing. Its thoughts are arranged like sheaves of grass in the drying chambers.”

“You have the gene. Perhaps you can see more clearly than any others what is going on here. Can you do anything to access those… sheaves?”

Miruva closed her eyes. “I’m inside its mind… It’s so strange. It’s as if ‘I’ and ‘it’ are one person. But I still retain myself. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

Teyla stepped back, unwilling to interfere with the process. She was as content as she ever would be that Miruva was safe and knew what she was doing. There had to be way of getting at the answers and if anything was capable of transporting them back to where they’d come from, it was the Banshee.

“I’ve got something,” said Miruva, her eyes still closed. “There is a key, just like the sign we used to get in here. I think it’s some kind of sequence. Shall I access it?”

“Yes, please do,” said Teyla. This sounded promising.

A few moments passed and nothing happened. Miruva opened her eyes and came to stand by Teyla.

“I’ve asked it to speak to us,” she said, calmly. “We must listen. I think this will give us the answers we’re looking for.”

Sheppard was pleased. About as pleased as he had been since arriving on Khost. The day was waning, but there was still time. Now he had a target, something to aim for, he could get stuck in. It was the waiting around that killed him.

Helmar had rounded up about fifty young men. They were keen, most looked pretty competent, too. Within moments of getting agreement to go, they had rounded up a fearsome array of mining equipment. Axes, hammers, twine-wound rope, material for making fire, it was all there. Helmar’s words had kindled their enthusiasm; they had listened to the cautionary words of their leaders for too long. Now their time had come.

They had assembled in one the large chambers near the settlement’s entrance, together with McKay. All of them looked at Sheppard expectantly.

“OK, guys,” he said. “We’re gonna have to work fast. The site isn’t far away — we can get there quickly. But there’s a storm coming, and it’s a beast. We’ve only got one chance at this, so let’s get it right.”

He paused for a moment, thinking of Teyla. He didn’t like to imagine her trapped so far under the ice. He hoped to God things weren’t too desperate down there.

“You’ve all got family who’ve been taken by these critters,” he continued. “One of my team was taken too. It’s time to take them back. I’m relying on you. All of you. Let’s get this done.”

Helmar began to stomp his feet on the rock floor. The others followed suit. Clearly, that was how they showed appreciation round here. The men started to tramp off toward the front gate of the settlement.

“And what exactly do you want me to do while you’re off on this expedition?” said McKay to Sheppard. His face looked sour — he was getting fed up with being left behind.

“How close are you to fixing the Jumper?”

“It’s not a simple operation…”

“How close , Rodney?”

McKay gave an exasperated sigh. “Three, maybe four hours.”

“Well, that’s just perfect,” said Sheppard. “We’ll be there and back before you know it.”

“Why do I find it so hard to believe you when you say that?”

Sheppard shrugged. “You should learn to be more trusting.”

He gave McKay a reassuring cuff on the shoulder, then joined the hunters. They’d started singing. The words were barely comprehensible, but it was clear they were keyed up for the task ahead.

Sheppard liked the men’s spirit. He hoped they could keep it up. If they were going to recover Teyla and the others in time, they’d need every ounce of it.

The Banshee looked briefly at both Teyla and Miruva, then promptly disappeared. The lights in the room dimmed and a holographic representation of a solar system swirled into view in the space before them. A voice, full and warm, emanated from the air around them.

“If you are listening to this message,” it said, “then you have accessed the databanks of my Avatar. I cannot know how many years have passed, nor the status of our experiment on Caliost, but it gives me comfort to believe that one day these words will be heard by another.”