Geran approached her. “So it is whenever someone new arrives,” he said, softly. “They meet their lost family, their lost friends. It takes some of the bitterness away from being trapped here forever. But I suppose, being a ‘traveler’, you won’t have that luxury, will you?”
Teyla looked back at him. The man was studying her suspiciously. This Geran was no fool.
“My friends will come for me,” she said, firmly. “Even if I cannot, they will find a way to get us out of here. Have no fear of that.”
“Do you really not understand?” asked Geran. “This is not a place that can be reached by normal means. This is the resting place of the Elect. We have fulfilled the demands of the Ancestors. In their wisdom, they pick those who most deserve to escape the endless cold. You cannot choose to come here, anymore than you can choose to leave. Unless, of course, you think you are wiser and stronger than the creators of this place.”
Teyla knew she had to be wary here. There was much she didn’t understand, and the conviction of Geran was genuine. If she moved too quickly to doubt him, things could get ugly.
“I do not doubt your beliefs,” she said. “And I am certainly no wiser or stronger than any of you. But you have seen the terror of the Banshees. And even though you have been granted this place to live in, you cannot be reunited with your families and loved ones. That does not sound like paradise to me. So I for one will not give up on the chance of escape just yet.”
Geran didn’t look angry or perturbed, but she could see his suspicion remained.
“Like I said, many think such things when they arrive. They are always disappointed. In time they come to see that their life here, with all its blessings, is their true reward for a life well-lived. This is your home now, and no one can reach you.”
“You do not know my friends.”
Geran made to speak again, but Teyla turned away from him, not wanting to debate it any further. She walked towards Miruva to congratulate her and, as she did so, she wondered if she really believed her own words. Those rock walls looked very thick, and she had no idea how she’d got here. Only time would tell.
Another stream of energy seared past Ronon. He veered to the left, feeling the scorching heat of it as it crackled past his shoulder. It was getting closer, and he was out of ideas.
“This way!” Orand’s voice came from the left turn of a fork in the tunnel. Without thinking, Ronon followed the sound. As he swung around the corner he fired off a couple of shots behind him. He knew it wasn’t going to do any good, but it wasn’t like there was anything else to try either.
Ahead of him, the hunters had stopped running and formed a barrier across the tunnel. They looked terrified, but were holding their ground. All of them carried their jar’hrams, as if that would have any effect against such a creature.
“Run!” barked Ronon as he careered towards them. “It ain’t gonna stop!”
“We can’t outrun it!” cried Orand, raising his spear. “If we die, we’ll die like men!”
Ronon could hear the fear in the man’s voice. He didn’t look like he could stand up to a determined child, let alone a terror-inducing ghost that sent lightning from its fingers.
But he liked the sentiment. He reached the line of hunters and turned to face his enemy. It was only meters behind. As Ronon raised his gun to fire, it swooped down lower. Ronon saw that its outline had become even more indistinct. Its shape seemed to shudder, like a distorted video feed.
He aimed his particle gun right at the center of it, and fired again. The bolts slammed into it, tearing through the diaphanous form. Still it came, raising its fingers to let fly with a fresh lightning strike.
Ronon kept firing.
“This is it,” he growled, then gritted his teeth for the impact.
It never came. With a sigh, the image broke up, shimmering out of existence. The fingers faded into shadow, and the swishing died away, echoing down the corridor.
For a moment, the hunters stood motionless, mouths open, waiting for some new trick. No one spoke, no one moved.
The party finally relaxed. Ronon lowered his gun. Only then did he notice how much his hands had been shaking.
“What was that thing?” he asked, trying to hide his fear.
Orand’s face was pale and shiny with sweat.
“A Banshee,” he said. “The curse of our people.”
Ronon sank to the ground. All around him, the hunters were doing the same thing. He felt strung out. “You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”
“They come for us when the storms are bad. No one knows why, nor how to stop them. But I’ve never seen one down in the tunnels, and I’ve never seen one do that.”
“The lightning act?”
“Yes. Normally, they just come, and then… some of us are gone. We never see how they do it.” He looked up at the patch of shadow where the Banshee had been. “I’ve never seen one stop before. Not before it got what it wanted.”
Ronon looked at his gun. Maybe the particle weapon had some effect. If the apparition had been some kind of shielded entity, then it was possible the bolts of energy had drained its power.
“No point sitting here talking about it,” he muttered, getting back to his feet. “We gotta keep moving.”
Orand nodded. All around them, the hunters did the same. “Agreed,” he said. “I don’t know what stopped it this time.” He looked at Ronon, and his flesh remained pale. “But they’ll keep coming until they get us, big man. They don’t give up.”
“Dammit!” hissed McKay, pulling his fingers back from a fizzing control unit. Things were going slowly. Too slowly. Why was he never given the time he needed?
“Got a fix on them?” asked Sheppard, hovering impatiently beside him.
McKay gave him a blunt stare. “What do you think?”
“Right. That’s it. I’m outta here.”
McKay thought about protesting, but then reconsidered. He had needed Sheppard during the early stages of Jumper reconstruction, but the point where he could help had passed. The scanners would eventually start functioning normally, but right now they were still a mess.
“So what are you going to do?” McKay asked. “Just set off on your own?”
Sheppard shrugged. “I’ve gotta do something,” he protested. “I’ll get help from the settlement. If you’re right about those storms, we’re running out of time.”
“OK,” McKay said, and slid some of the computer panels back into place. “I can manage the rest on my own. It’ll probably be quicker in any case.”
As Sheppard made to leave, McKay reached down behind a bulkhead and retrieved a bulky handheld instrument.
“Don’t go without this,” he said. “I’ve been powering up some of the portable kit. A lot of it was fried when we came through, but I’ve got this working. It’s a proximity meter, like the ones we use on the city. Its range is nothing compared to the instruments here, but it’ll give you a fighting chance of finding that needle.”
Sheppard took the device. “A haystack scanner,” he said. “Better than nothing, I guess.”
McKay lowered the rear door. It descended smoothly, he was pleased to note. “Good luck.”
“I’ll send someone to collect you before sundown,” said Sheppard, walking down the rear bay and out into the dazzling snowscape. “Keep your radio close. If you get this thing airborne, come find me.”
McKay looked out beyond Sheppard’s retreating back to where the icy wastes sat under the colorless sky. He could see the Stargate in the distance, a tiny speck against the otherwise flawless texture of the snow, the sun glinting against it.
Which was odd, since naquadah was not generally reflective.
Then, with a sudden lurch in his stomach, he realized what was happening. “The gate!” he yelled. But the glint had disappeared.
Sheppard looked at him quizzically. “What about it?”
McKay frowned. He could have sworn he’d seen an event horizon open. Granted, the thing was far away, but even so… “Er, maybe not,” he said. “Perhaps just an optical illusion.”