Chris Wraight - Dead end

They plowed on. Only Ronon was strong enough to keep his posture. McKay was bent nearly double into the wind, cursing under this breath as he went, the expletives crackling over the intercom; Sheppard knew he’d be in trouble after too much punishment. Already, he felt his own fingers begin to ache from the cold.

Then, just as Sheppard began to wonder if they’d better head back to the Jumper, Ronon stopped trudging and turned around. He obviously thought the same.

“See anything, Sheppard?” he yelled.

Sheppard shook his head. “Nothing! We’ve got to go back!”

“Hail, strangers!” came a dim voice from the howling storm.

Sheppard adjusted the comm link in his hood and wiped the visor of his mask with a snow-encrusted glove. “Who said that?”

“ He did,” said Ronon.

Sheppard peered into the white-out as figures emerged from the murk. They were massive and furry, and he immediately thought of the abominable snowman. Only as they came closer did Sheppard see that they were human, but clothed in many layers of thick, white fur. Each of them had a hood over their head and masks over their faces, their voices muffled and indistinct but just audible over the screaming wind.

“After so long!” said one of them, his voice cracking with emotion. “The portal has opened again!”

“You have come back,” came another voice, addressing Sheppard. “I knew this day would come.”

Sheppard looked at Teyla, then Ronon, then back to the newcomers. Even within the suit he was beginning to shake uncontrollably, the Jumper was wrecked, and the gate inoperable — the situation could hardly have been more desperate. There wasn’t really a whole lot of choice. “That’s right,” he said. “We’re back. And right now, we could really use some shelter.”

The man’s eyes smiled. “Come with us,” he said. “We’ll lead you to safety.” He beckoned the team to follow and turned back the way he’d come.

“Oh good job,” sniped McKay. “Make first contact with the locals and impersonate their long lost friends. There’s no way that can go wrong. After all, it’s never gotten us in trouble before.”

“Button it, Rodney, we’ve got no choice.” Sheppard peered through the snow at his team. “But stay sharp, we don’t know what we’re getting into here.”

“Oh I think we do,” McKay grumbled as he stomped after the strangers. “And it begins with a capital T.”

As the fire did its work, feeling gradually returned to Teyla’s feet.

She sat with the others in a chamber set deep underground. A healthy blaze crackled and spat in the central hearth and torches flickered against the rock walls, bathing the room in a gentle ambient light. The surroundings were simple, but clean and warm. A few tapestries hung from the walls and woven mats blunted the worst of the harsh rock floor. Many of the hangings had stylized pictures of animals and hunting scenes. The familiar images reminded Teyla of home.

Around her shoulders Teyla now wore a lavish fur cloak — a gift from their hosts. It was beautifully warm, and it had not taken long for the effects of her brief foray into the storm to abate.

It hadn’t been a long trek from the gate to their rescuers’ settlement, but they would never have stumbled across the entrance by themselves. The people of the place appeared to live deep within a series of caves and fissures, the entrance to which had been obscured by heaped snowdrifts. The team’s attempts to find shelter had in fact taken them some distance in the wrong direction — the underground dwellings were very close to the Stargate, and there’d been a painful trek back the way they’d come before being led out of the wind.

Once through the main gates of the settlement, they had been taken down a series of winding tunnels towards the main living chambers. Fur-clad children had come to gape at them as the team passed the open doorways and halls, still dressed in their snow-covered environment suits. Fires burned in the deep places, keeping the tunnels and rough-hewn chambers both warm and well-lit.

Having given them food and a place to recover, their hosts had left them alone to regain their strength. It was a courteous gesture and one Teyla appreciated. In some ways, their manner reminded her of her own people, as if a splinter group of Athosians had found itself flung across the galactic plane and isolated for many thousands of years. The thought intrigued her; there was no telling what wonders the Ancestors had performed in the days of their hegemony.

With a satisfied sigh, McKay finished the last of his second bowl of soup and sat back against the wall. “This situation is improving,” he said. “Definitely improving. I’m almost glad I came. I wonder if we can get more of this soup?”

Sheppard looked less certain. “Enough to keep you happy?” he said. “I doubt it. Any idea what happened back there?”

Rodney shook his head. “Not until I can take a proper look. And, frankly, until that storm blows over I’ve no intention of finding out.”

“The storms must lift,” said Ronon. “These people eat, they hunt. They can’t hunt in that .”

From outside the small chamber came the sound of footsteps.

“Remember, we need these guys,” whispered Sheppard. He shot McKay a hard look. “So let’s all be on our best behavior.”

Teyla turned to face the low doorway as two men and a woman entered and bowed low. Lean and hardy-looking, they were dressed from head to foot in the pale furs all their people wore. Their skin was milky and their hair dark and straight. The leader, a man, wore a brightly colored torque around his neck and, though clearly old, appeared lively and vigorous.

“Greetings, honored guests,” he said, his voice quiet and measured. “I am Aralen Gefal, Foremost of the Forgotten People. This is my daughter, Miruva, and my chief of hunters, Orand Ressalin. You are most welcome here. We have waited long for your coming.”

Sheppard inclined his head awkwardly and introduced the team. He wasn’t good at formal greetings. “We’re pretty pleased to see you too, Aralen,” he said. “You guys showed up right on time.”

Aralen smiled. “The portal to Sanctuary has not operated for ten generations. Orand witnessed the strange machine come through it some days ago, and then we knew that some work of the Ancestors would not be far behind. Some claimed we’d been abandoned, but others of us have kept the faith. We have been rewarded at last.”

Sheppard looked uncomfortable. “Well, we’re not exactly — ”

“You must be tired after your journey,” Aralen interrupted. “Please, sit. We have come to hear what your task is, here on Khost.”

“So that’s what this place is called,” said McKay, sitting down heavily on the pile of mats he’d accumulated. “Nice name. Lousy weather.”

“You are far from other worlds,” said Teyla, eager to find out more. “We are curious to learn about your people, Aralen.”

The leader of the Forgotten frowned. “Surely you know all about us? You came through the portal to Sanctuary. You must have knowledge of the Ancestors, of their plan for us.”

Teyla looked at Sheppard. These early moments were always awkward. How much did these people know of the wider galaxy? Where were their allegiances?

“Oh, you bet,” he said. “Well, kinda.” He paused. “Maybe you should fill us in on the details.”

Aralen looked surprised, but then inclined his head graciously. “Of course,” he said. “We are the Forgotten. You may think it a strange name, but it is apt. We have been alone for a long time. Some think we’ve been abandoned by the Ancestors altogether, but the wise know that cannot be so. The years have been heavy, and much has changed. The lore-keepers tell us that once Khost was green and good, our people flourished and our villages were numerous. The Ancestors walked among us then. We call this the Blessed Time.”