Chris Wraight - Dead end

“Any time you’re ready…” Sheppard ground out.

John pulled the Jumper into a long, tight arc that rolled waves of nausea around McKay’s stomach. He swallowed hard.

“OK, OK! I’m there. Are you getting anything now?” The Jumper swooped dizzyingly and McKay clamped his jaw shut, making a mental note to check the inertial dampeners.

“I’ve routed all power to navigation,” Sheppard barked. “Something’s picking up on the display. I think we’re on the way out.”

McKay slumped back in his seat and attempted to buckle up. “This didn’t happen to the MALP,” he muttered. “Zelenka must have gotten something wrong with the calculations. I should have run a final check myself. If you want something done…”

He stole a quick glance at Ronon and Teyla. The huge Satedan was untroubled. Nothing seemed to faze him. Teyla was similarly stoic. They were both far too calm. God, he hated that.

The Jumper lurched again. The readings suddenly changed, and a stream of data cascaded across the screen.

“OK, we’re getting out of this,” announced Sheppard. “Get ready. We’ll be coming in hot.”

McKay closed his eyes. “Ironic.”

The swirling mass of energy in the forward viewscreen coalesced into the more familiar shape of a bubbling event horizon. The Jumper gave a final, bone-shaking shudder, slamming Rodney hard against the hull. A microsecond later, and they were through the gate.

Sheppard felt like whooping.

But it wasn’t over yet. Everything skewed, bounced and jumped as the gravitational forces suddenly changed. He compensated. Too late. The Jumper skidded, grazing something jagged and hard, before careering back into the air. The whole ship rolled around like a drunkard.

“For God’s sake!” cried McKay, hanging precariously on to his seat. “Land the damn thing already!”

Sheppard ignored him. The atmospheric readings were crazy, the Jumper’s power near zero. Sixty percent of the primary systems were damaged and they’d emerged into the mother of all storms. Perfect.

“I’m gonna have to put her down now!” he cried. “Keep it tight. This is gonna be bumpy.”

Flying on little more than gut instinct, Sheppard dipped the nose of the Jumper five degrees. The thick cloud rushing past them got thicker and the Jumper’s entire hull began to judder. The shielding was critically weak.

Suddenly, a gap appeared in the cloud ahead. For a split-second Sheppard had sight of an ice field. It was enough to mentally calculate the angle of descent. The Jumper responded instantly and they plummeted downwards, the viewscreen white and useless. Somewhere below, the land was rushing up to meet them.

With a heavy crunch, they hit the ice. Plumes of loose snow billowed up, momentum plowing them onwards, grinding and churning across the ice field. Metal twisted and shrieked, equipment shook loose and crashed into the cabin. Sheppard thought his teeth might rattle loose from his skull. And then the power failed, plunging them into darkness.

It took an eternity, but at last the Jumper slowed to a painful halt. The viewscreen was still obscured by the white-out and they sat for a moment in a shadowy stillness.

Ronon broke it. “Good job, Sheppard.”

John just nodded in the dark, not trusting himself to speak; his hands were still shaking.

“That was expert flying,” agreed Teyla, unbuckling herself and climbing to her feet. “But I do not believe we are safe here. With power supplies so low, this storm is a danger.”

“Reckon you’re right.” With effort, Sheppard brought his breathing under control. “Break out the survival suits. If we have to bail, I want something warm and orange to wear.”

“Now?” said McKay. “You’re kidding me. I’m not heading out there until this storm has blown over. Who knows, it might be a short one.”

“Or a long one,” said Ronon bleakly. “Or maybe it’s always like this.”

Sheppard nodded. “Can’t stay here without power,” he said. “No light, no heat, no air. I don’t like this any more than you do, but we’re gonna suit up now while we have the chance.”

McKay looked briefly rebellious, but then a huge surge of wind buffeted the Jumper and the entire ship rocked. From beneath them, came an ominous, echoing sound of ice cracking.

Rodney swallowed nervously. Even Sheppard felt his heart miss a beat. That sounded pretty bad. Jumpers were robust things, but you still didn’t want to be inside one, without power, halfway down a crevasse.

McKay began to rummage for his gear. “Having considered the options further, perhaps you’re right.”

It didn’t take long to suit-up, and soon they were ready to evacuate the stricken Jumper.

“Take as many rations as you can carry,” Sheppard ordered.

“We’re going to freeze,” McKay muttered. “More importantly, that gate’ll be fried. Fried closed.”

There was another long, echoing crack from beneath the Jumper. The cabin shifted slightly to the left and Teyla had to brace in order to keep her footing.

“OK, time’s up,” said Sheppard sharply. “Let’s move.”

The rear door opened with a whine. Immediately the interior of the craft was filled with swirling, buffeting snow and sleet. The temperature plummeted. Even inside his suit Sheppard could feel the sudden chill. It was like a shard of ice right in the guts.

“Out!” he barked.

Ronon produced a line of rope.

“Use this,” he said, looping it around his waist and passing the cord to Teyla.

“Nice thinking,” said Sheppard, leaning into the wind. Getting separated out there didn’t bear thinking about. “Any Eagle Scouts on Sateda?”

Once they were all connected, Ronon strode out into the open. He was followed by McKay and Teyla. Bringing up the rear, Sheppard ducked under the lintel of the Jumper exit. He tried to close the rear door, and failed. No power. It would have to stay open.

He quickly took in the situation. The sky was heavy, low and gray. Visibility was about twenty meters, the air thick with gusting snow. There was no let-up in the gale, and no means of getting oriented. The power of the wind was massive — he had to push hard into the gust to stay on his feet — and there was no chance of being heard over the storm, so he was glad of the comm link built into the hood of his suit and facemask.

For a moment, he wondered if leaving the Jumper was such a good idea. Even without much life support, it was at least shelter from the wind. But then there was another crack and a few meters away a whole tranche of snow sank into the ground. The rocks — or whatever — under his feet tangibly shifted. This was no place to linger.

“OK, guys,” he barked. “Let’s keep moving and find some shelter.”

“What a great idea,” came McKay’s sarcastic voice. “I mean, I’d never have thought of it. Goddamn it, I can’t feel my toes.”

“Wrap it up, Rodney,” warned Sheppard.

The team began to wade through the knee-deep snow away from the stranded Jumper. Before the machine was lost to view, Sheppard noticed the last lights flicker and die along its flanks. With the Jumper down and the wormhole status unknown, the mission was in danger of degenerating into a deadly farce. He needed some luck, and needed it fast.

Even walking in a straight line was hard. Once they were a few paces from the lee of the Jumper the wind screamed across the ice, throwing the snow up in gusts. The cold was incredible. The USAF cold weather gear was designed for extreme conditions, but it seemed like it was barely there. Sheppard felt himself begin to succumb to shivering. He kept his breathing shallow.

Once away from the landing site, making any sense of their location soon became impossible. Footprints were scoured from the snow almost as soon as they were made. Sheppard looked at the compass built into his wrist-strap — as long as they maintained a constant direction, they wouldn’t lose the ship. But that was scant comfort. They needed to get out of the storm.