“Agreed,” said McKay. “So they’ve got some means of disarming their victims. It doesn’t look like Wraith; no one here’s been fed on and I don’t see any real signs of a struggle.”
“I don’t see any real signs of anything.”
Sheppard cast his gaze around the site of the Banshee attack. The remains removed any doubt in his mind that the Banshees were dangerous. Teyla would not have allowed herself to be taken by a mere phantasm.
“There must be something here. Some kind of clue.”
McKay stooped down and looked at the scorch-marks. There wasn’t much to them, just a random pattern burned into the stone. “OK, let’s work with what we’ve got,” he said, brow furrowed in concentration. “These ‘Banshees’ must be using some kind of teleportation device — there’s only one physical way out of the settlement, and we came through it. For that they need power, and we’ve not seen anything capable of running a teleporter here.”
“So they came from off-world.”
“Possible. They’d need hyper-drive capable ships to get here — trust me, there’s no way anything came through the gate. If they were operating from Khost, it seems unlikely the Forgotten wouldn’t have come across them.”
Sheppard felt his frustration rise.
“Dammit!” he snapped, thumping the wall beside him.
McKay rose. “I’m not sure that adds anything to the discussion.”
“Well, I’m pissed. Real pissed. We can’t go back out, we can’t get the Jumper working, we can’t use the gate. And I have no clue where Ronon is either.”
McKay gave one his rare looks of sympathetic understanding. Being cooped up in the warren of the settlement was frustrating for both of them.
“Look,” he said. “Ronon’s as tough as that buffalo-slop they keep giving us. If anyone can make it through that storm, he can. And when the gale’s over, we can get back to working on the Jumper. That’s our best chance of finding both of them.”
Sheppard shook his head.
“Negative,” he said. “Soon as we can, I’m going out on the ice.”
McKay lost his look of sympathetic understanding, and reverted to the more usual unsympathetic exasperation. “You’re kidding me. John, that’s not going to do any good. It’ll be like looking for a needle in a Hiveship. A big one.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do?” snapped Sheppard. “Sit here twiddling my thumbs while half my team is missing?”
“No, I expect you to help me get the Jumper back online. Then we can do something about both of them.”
Sheppard started to reply, but the words died in his mouth. Much as he hated to admit it, McKay had a point. There was nothing they could do until the storm blew over. And once it did, their first priority had to be the Jumper. Without its range, a search would most likely be fruitless.
“How close are you to getting the Jumper back on its feet?”
“Always with the impossible questions,” said McKay, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Could be a couple of hours, could be much longer. The conditions I’m working under…”
“Yeah, you mentioned it.” Sheppard felt torn between a couple of equally bad options. “But you’ve made your point. When the storm lifts, we’ll try to get the Jumper back in the air.”
McKay seemed about to launch into another tirade when he realized Sheppard was agreeing with him. “I… oh. Yes, very wise decision. And anyway, I’m probably closer than I think to fixing it.”
Sheppard gave him a warning look. “You’ve got me for a couple of hours, no more,” he said. “Then I’m going after Ronon, power or no power. We’ve been in tight spots before, and this is no different. We’ve just gotta pull ourselves together, and we’ll be back up and running in no time.”
But as he spoke the words he wondered whether he really believed them. Something about the cold had seeped into his soul. It was corrosive, it sapped the spirit. And the longer his team was on Khost, the more Sheppard wondered how they were ever going to get home again.
Chapter Ten
“So what do we do now?” Ronon said, not liking the fact he could barely see his own hands in the dark. More candles were quickly lit, but there weren’t enough of them to do more than faintly light up the narrow space.
“We can’t get back up,” said Orand, darkly. “Even if we could shovel all that snow out, we’ve lost the rope. And anyway, that whole ascent is clearly unstable.”
There were murmurings from the hunters behind him. It seemed like every decision that was made brought them into fresh danger.
“You said there would be tunnels to other caves,” said Ronon, trying to stay positive.
Orand nodded. “I’d stake my life on it,” he said — a poor choice of words. “The rock round here is like a buffalo’s heart: full of holes.” He raised his candle into the air. The weak light showed up more dark cracks in the rock and ice walls. Some of them were clearly wide enough to walk through. “We’ve got to pick one of those and see where it leads us.”
Ronon cast his eyes over the evil-looking gaps with distaste. However bad it had been on the surface, at least they had been out in the open with the sky over their heads. That was a kind of danger he was used to. Creeping like ants through the narrow tunnels under the ground was an entirely different proposition.
He took a deep breath and tried to push the worst of his fatigue to the back of his mind. He could cope with the aches and the cold. It was the uncertainty that he didn’t like.
“OK,” he said, firmly. “Let’s do it.”
Teyla felt her heart miss a beat. The Land of the Dead. A name which had chilled her since she’d been a child on Athos. Was there any culture in any part of the galaxy that didn’t fear the afterlife? Normally, she would have pushed such ridiculous talk from her mind in an instant, but the dark walls, the oppressive silence, the strange red light… As the stranger uttered his words, a part of her believed him and lost hope. It took a few moments for her rational side to reassert itself.
“I am very much alive,” she said firmly, trying to convince herself. “As is my friend. Perhaps I will indeed find myself in the promised halls of the Ancestors one day. But not today. You must be mistaken.”
The figure standing before her remained in the shadows. Teyla peered into the gloom with difficulty. Who was this man? Was he even human?
“So say all who first arrive here,” he said. “But wishing things were different won’t change the facts. When have you ever seen a place like this in all Khost? We are on another world. We will never return.”
Teyla had to admit the man had a point. No one on Khost had the technology to create such a place. Whoever had made this place, it wasn’t the Forgotten.
“I know this feels like the end of the world to you,” she said, trying not to offend him. “But you can trust me. I have visited many worlds, and seen many strange things. It is only when we lose hope that we are truly lost. Whatever secret force has brought us here, there will be a way of countering it. There always is.”
“I once thought the same thing,” he said. “No longer.”
The man came forward, and a faint light fell across him. He was tall, built like the Forgotten. It was difficult to make out his features in the gloom, but he seemed human. No vengeful angel, then. And not an Ancestor either, by his demeanor.
“Geran!” exclaimed Miruva.
The man nodded. “When I was a living man, my name was Geran. That past is all but forgotten to me now.”
“You were lost three years ago! Are all those taken by the Banshees here?”
“Yes, they are, Miruva,” he said. “At first there was a culling every few months. We would wait a long time for more to join us. Then it was every few weeks. Now it is even more frequent. Those that come tell us of the approaching End Times. The land of the living is being destroyed by the creators. Soon enough, all of our people will be taken here, or will perish forever in the ice. You are merely the latest.”