“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.”
Orand gave a skeptical snort. “These are, of course, mere legends,” he said. “Not all of us believe them.”
“Our young people have their own ways,” Aralen said with a tolerant smile. “But the lore-keepers preserve the legends for us, and I trust their wisdom.”
McKay frowned. “This place was green once?” he said. “Wow. That’s what I call climate change. What happened?”
A shadow passed over Aralen’s face. “There was some transgression. Many speculate what it could have been. For myself, I do not claim that knowledge. But the health left this place, the snows came ever more strongly, and then they never left. Life became hard and many died. Now we are cursed by the cold at all times.”
He drew closer, his voice low.
“Khost is dying, travelers. You should be careful. If you stay here too long, you’ll die too.”
It had no name. It knew it had once had a name, but like so much else, that had been forgotten. All that remained was a list of numbers and letters. Even that was corrupt. There was so much that it couldn’t do, now. It looked down on the humans clustered below. Most were familiar. Several of them were already requisitioned, stored on the lists for processing. One was earmarked for early removal.
But the others were new. This was outside the generally accepted conditions. It might pose a threat to the Great Work.
It ran over the options. It was always so difficult to think clearly. It would need to confer with the others. But that would take time, make it weak. Perhaps the Great Work demanded action now.
It looked down, considering the humans.
Not yet. But it would come soon. It could feel itself weakening. There was only so long it could watch and wait without acting.
Very soon it would make a decision. Then it would come for the names on the list. They would scream, just like they always did. That had never stopped it before. Nothing could stop it. The only thing was timing.
It watched, and waited.
“What do you mean, dying?” said Sheppard. He didn’t like the gleam in Aralen’s eye.