Dead End SGA 12 by Wraight Chris

Author:Wraight, Chris [Wraight, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Speculative Fiction
ISBN: 9781905586226
Publisher: Fandemonium Ltd
Published: 2010-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Ronon cast a wary eye over his surroundings. All the hunters now carried the little tallow candles; they

burned slowly and with a minimum of smoke, but the light was feeble. The ground was uneven and slick

with iron-hard sheets of ice. Even the practiced hunters slipped and fell occasionally; Ronon had been on

his backside more than once and his body ached from the sudden impacts. They inched along in the dark,

trying to ignore the distant sighs and cracks deep within the ice. It was like being buried alive, with just a

glimmer of hope to keep you going.

The network of fissures and caves might lead nowhere and this could very well be their grave.

He put the thought to the back of his mind. That kind of speculation could prove fatal. Instead, he

concentrated on Orand’s optimism. The leader of the hunters seemed unperturbed, confident that the

warren of narrow subterranean passages would lead to the surface. Even after an hour of painstaking

progress, though, they were no nearer to finding an exit. Ronon’s sense of direction had totally abandoned

him in the darkness and he hoped that Orand had a better idea of where they were.

Occasionally, a dim blue light filtered down from the ice above and Ronon caught a glimpse of the

tiny stalactites encrusting the roof of their strange underground world. The caves were not entirely devoid

of life — there were patches of luminous algae on some of the rocks on either side of them — but mostly

it was a barren place, shrouded in unremitting darkness and cold.

“How are you doing, big man?” came a whisper from beside him. Orand was there, insubstantial

in the shadows.

“No need to worry about me,” said Ronon. “I’d rather be here than in that storm.”

“Some of these systems go on for miles,” Orand said. “But that’s a good thing. The longer we keep

going, the more likely we are to find a route back up to the surface. If we’re lucky, the storm will have

blown out. If we’re unlucky, we’ll have another trek in the wind. I hope we’re back soon, though — I’m

beginning to get hungry.”

The hunter grinned in the dark, and the faint blue light picked out his teeth. Ronon found himself

regretting the loss of all that meat, now no doubt frozen solid on the surface. It was unlikely they’d ever

see it again.

“Orand!” came a low voice from up ahead. “You should look at this.”

They had entered a slightly larger section of cave and the ceiling rose high above them. One of the

hunters crouched next to a dark fissure in the wall.

“What is it, Haruev?” said Orand.

At first glance, it looked little different from the many narrow gaps they had clambered through.

But Haruev ran a hand along the edge of the rock. “That’s not natural.” As soon as the man spoke, Ronon

saw that he was right. The shape was too regular, too smooth. It looked as if a doorway had been carved

into the rock and ice. Even with the candle flames it was difficult to see too much, but there was no

mistaking it — the fissure had been manufactured.

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