Read Online STARGATE ATLANTIS: Dead End by Chris Wraight - Free Book Online

here.”
    Weir nodded. “I’ll do that. God, if only the
D aedalus
were here…”
    Zelenka looked up at her, feeling a flicker of hope. “How long before it’s back?”
    Weir shook her head. “Two weeks. If we’re still talking about this by then, I’m afraid we’ll be looking at recovering bodies rather than personnel.”
    Zelenka’s heart sank. Every avenue seemed to be closing down on them.
    “You never know,” he said. “There may be shelter there. Even people. This was an Ancient world, after all.”
    “I hope you’re right, Radek,” said Weir. “In the meantime, find me some better numbers. We’re working in the warm here. They’re not.”

Chapter Five
     
    The sun burned coldly. Ice wastes stretched away in every direction, bleak and harsh. Ronon had to shade his eyes against the glare, even with his hood pulled far down over his face. The sky was clear and almost unbroken, the palest blue he had ever seen. Faint streaks of bright white cloud marked the eastern horizon, but otherwise there was no sign at all of the storm which had kept them locked underground for the night.
    “Tough country,” he said to himself.
    Orand came up to him, grinning. In the fine weather, the hunters eschewed the face masks they usually wore and their pale features were exposed. Each of the hunting party wore carefully bleached outer furs, and looked almost like they were carved from ice themselves. There were a dozen of them in the party, all young men, all eager to be off.
    “Not too cold for you, big man?” said Orand, good-naturedly.
    If Ronon had been honest, it was crushingly cold. Despite several layers of fur cladding, the chill sank deep into his bones. With difficulty, he had managed to suppress any visible shivers, but he longed to get underway and moving. Standing around waiting for the hunting party to assemble had been difficult, even for him.
    “No problem,” he lied.
    Orand grinned again, clearly skeptical.
    “Good,” he said. “But don’t worry, it’ll warm up once we’re underway. The sun’s strong, and the light on your back will heat you soon enough.”
    Ronon looked up into the washed-out sky, covering his eyes with his palm. If this was strong sunlight, he wondered what weak was. Even though the sky was clear, the light was oddly diffuse. He had traveled on a hundred worlds, and this was the palest light he had ever seen. There was something strangely ineffective about Khost’s sun.
    Orand offered him a weapon. It was a long wooden shaft, tipped with an ornately carved blade. Ronon took it in both hands. It was light, but felt strong and well-made. He hefted it powerfully, noting the way the wood of the shaft flexed.
    “This is a
jar’hram
,” said Orand, proudly. “My father’s. He no longer joins the hunt so, as our guest, you shall use it.”
    Ronon looked at the young man carefully. “You sure?” As a warrior himself, he knew the importance of an ancestral weapon. He wouldn’t have parted with his own Traveler gun for all the ZPMs in the galaxy.
    Orand studied the blade with a pinched expression. “He has no use for it any more,” he said. “Say no more about it.”
    Ronon nodded. “Thanks.”
    There was a long leather strap attached to the base of the shaft and tethered to the point at which the wood gave way to steel. Seeing how the other hunters were arrayed, Ronon strapped the spear to his back. As he did so, he felt the reassuring weight of his pistol against his thigh, buried in layers of fur. Swords and sticks were all very well, but it was good to know he had a force weapon available if need be.
    “When do we go?” he said, still trying to hide his sensitivity to the cold.
    Orand looked around at the party, fully clad for the conditions and standing expectantly.
    “No time like the present,” he said. “There was a time when my people used to ride across the plains. But the horses couldn’t take the cold and there are none left. Now it’s just us and the