Chris Wraight - Dead end

Miruva listened, her eyes shining with wonder; the voice of the Ancestors. Teyla was transfixed as well, the recording was at least 10,000 years old and, as ever where the ways of the Ancients were concerned, she felt a quiver of awe.

“The days grow dark,” continued the voice. “Though it saddens my soul, we have to leave. The Wraith are despoiling everything and all resources are being pulled back to the City. The only small victory we have achieved is keeping Caliost safe from their predations. My hope is that the planet is so far away, and that the Stargate node is so remote, that they will never find it. The thought of those monsters being let loose on the Inhabitants is too horrendous to contemplate.”

“I guess that means you,” said Teyla to Miruva. “Or your ancestors, at least.”

“The dreams of founding a refuge for my people are over,” said the voice. “There is not the time to perfect the drive technology, nor to establish the defenses here. We must place our hope in the City, and trust that it will prove strong enough. If it does not, then this place may well endure when all else has been destroyed. As you have demonstrated your kinship with us through the use of the gene, you must know more of what we intended here.”

“Here it comes,” said Miruva, listening intently.

“My dream was two-fold,” the voice went on. “First, to extend the range of our Stargate-capable vessels so that we could travel further than ever before. In this I hoped to find a way to escape the Wraith while leaving a route back should we recover our strength. Second, I wished to make Caliost a hidden bastion against their expansion. The planet has everything we could need: it is temperate, benign and abundant. The huge variety of plants and animals here would have been an excellent study for our scientists, as well as providing for our people. The Inhabitants would have lived alongside us, and we would have instructed them in the ways of our technology. In time, we would have existed as equals together, not as gods and servants. My dream was to make this a reality.”

The solar system graphic began to speed up. Planets whirled around an orange sun faster and faster. Streams of data in a language Teyla couldn’t understand flickered past her eyes.

“None of that will now come to pass,” said the voice. “All has been overtaken by the war. We must leave at once, and do what we can to safeguard the lives of those we leave behind. The time has been too short. We have done what we could. A Sanctuary has been established deep within the planet’s core, close to the Stargate and the temporary shelters. When the time is right, the Inhabitants will be evacuated there, where they may lead their lives free from the fear of the Wraith. All my knowledge has been placed there. When they are mature enough, they can tap this store and learn how to use the machines we have left behind. These are devices of enormous power, capable of molding and reshaping the continents themselves. As their power is so great, they may only be operated by one wielding the power of the gene. Even then, the Inhabitants will have to learn how to use them slowly.”

The solar system graphic continued to speed up. Gradually, the color of some of the planets changed, and the sun became paler.

“Why is this necessary?” said the voice. “Let me tell you. Our predictions show that Caliost will enter a giant dust cloud some nine-thousand years hence. Over the course of the following centuries, it will become slowly uninhabitable. The surface will be choked by ice and the rays of the sun will cease to penetrate the endless storms. Hence the need for the Sanctuary. The hidden place is powered from the core of the planet and will remain perfect for as long as any of us can foresee. Safe from both the ice and the Wraith, the Inhabitants can live out their lives in peace, until the day when they know enough of our technology to break free to the surface once more and escape the solar system altogether.”

Miruva looked at Teyla. “So it’s all been planned.”

“And this really is Sanctuary,” Teyla said. “None of which explains the Banshees, however.”

The solar system graphic flicked off, to be replaced by a revolving schematic of the underground chambers. Teyla recognized the Hall of Arrivals and the various antechambers. Fully revealed, the size and complexity were astonishing. “Sadly, we could not complete the work in the time that remained to us,” continued the voice in its mournful way. “We have to leave now, or all will be lost. I have set the machines to run in my absence, overseen by the Avatars. It will take many thousands of years to seed the underground chambers properly and to make them perfect. When they are complete, the dust will come. Then will my Avatars summon the Inhabitants from their settlements on the planet surface and lead them to safety. This will be their great work.”

The graphic was filled with visions of forests and streams within the massive chambers. Over time, tiny people appeared among them. It was a vision of plenty, just like its real-life counterpart in the chambers below them.

“I can only hope that you who are listening to this are safely in the Sanctuary, and that the evidence of the great work is all around you. Though I will be long departed by the time you hear this, I wish you well.”

The graphic shuddered and sheered away. The lights in the room rose again, and the Banshee flickered back into life. It hung as silently and eerily as before.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Teyla looked at Miruva.

“The great work,” she said. “And we are in it.”

“Okay, this is it.” Sheppard shoved the proximity meter back inside his furs. “Time to start digging, guys.”

He stamped his feet. Once he stopped walking, his body temperature dropped alarmingly. The sun was sinking fast towards the horizon, and what little strength remained in its rays had gone. It was a risk, starting the dig this late in the day, but time was short.

Helmar looked hard at the ice. There wasn’t much shelter, and nowhere obvious to begin work, but the young man looked untroubled.

“If the weather holds,” he said, “we can make a start.” Helmar grinned under his mask, creasing the leather. “Get ready to be impressed, Colonel Sheppard. You haven’t seen how the Forgotten work yet.”

He called out the others. Instantly, they began to unpack their equipment. Some unstrapped huge shovels from their backs. Under Helmar’s direction, they began to clear the top layers of snow. They were followed by a second team, heavily built by Forgotten standards, who hauled the broken ice and slush away. Others began to secure the growing hole in the ground with heavy mats of woven twine. Within moments, a gash in the ice appeared, and began to grow. The miners worked at it like ants around a honeypot.

Helmar gave Sheppard a satisfied look. “They go quickly, once they’re roused.”

“Yeah. I can see.”

Sheppard gazed out at the horizon. The clouds on the horizon had drawn no closer, but he trusted Rodney’s prediction. The storm would come. “How much time do they need?”

“We need to hit a crevasse,” replied Helmar. “If we have to delve through solid rock, it’ll take days, maybe weeks. But if we find a tunnel, we’ll be down to your friend in no time.”

“Liking the sound of that,” said Sheppard. “But it’s not just my friend down there.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” said Helmar, reaching for a spare ice-ax. “We could do with another pair of hands. Have you ever used one of these?”

Sheppard looked at the implement. It was heavy, the shaft wooden and the blade bone. He ran his finger along the edge. It was sharp, and more sturdy than he would have thought possible. These buffalos were amazing things.