Stargate: Ragnarok

Veiled Legacy

Sighing, he hefted the carbine to break his reverie. Aside from the occasional break in the otherwise endless grey cloud, affording him a brief glimpse of the spectacular ringed gas giant the world closely orbited, P7T-434 was an unremarkable, uninhabited and uninviting little rock. In the two days they had been here, his team had found no evidence of civilisation, past or present. The entire moon seemed to be nothing more than a cold, wet, miserable globe covered in windswept, treeless terrain vaguely resembling the moors back in his native England.

"Yup, this is worth taxpayer's money." He muttered, pausing to wipe the accumulated rain off his face. A few dozen metres to his right, his team's medic, Corporal Moffatt, was casually wandering through the waist high vegetation with a digital video camera held in one hand. She was obviously as bored as the rest of them, but dedicated to her job, still valiantly looking for anything of interest. They had all been doing this for hours. Soil samples, plant cuttings and basic atmospheric and astronomical readings had been taken within a short time, with a cursory inspection revealing nothing notable about P7T-434, leaving the remaining day to scout out the area more thoroughly.

Not all SG teams got to investigate ruins, discover new technology, fight off threats or meet alien races, Taylor mused. At least he was out of Afghanistan, no longer hearing AK-47 rounds whistling past his head. The same could not be said about his old team though, and he felt a pang of guilt. He brushed it away quickly. He already had more than enough guilt in his life without adding to the pile.

"Ahem. 'Dear Major General Sir Richard Bullock. Thank you for selecting me to lead the second British reconnaissance unit attached to Stargate Command. Unfortunately, I will not be able to continue in this position, in light of the unrelenting, mind-numbing boredom and the fact that I'm out here freezing off parts of my anatomy I hold dear. If it's so damn important to the Ministry of Defence to get Brits into the Stargate Program, may I respectfully suggest you and your cronies shift your arses, take a running jump through the Stargate and try it for yourselves first? Yours oh-so-so-very-sincerely, Major Dave Taylor.' How do you reckon he'd take it, Corporal?" he asked, looking over at Moffatt.

"Something tells me you'd be better off trying to hack the gold out of a First Prime's forehead, sir – you'd at least have something to show for it afterwards…if you were to survive, of course, which is doubtful. Sir." Moffatt said. Taylor grinned, thinking it was good to see her come out of her shell a little more, a rare occurrence – she was still more than a little overwhelmed by her situation. The Combat Medical Technician had been on his team from the start, and had proven herself a valuable member, but Taylor still thought she was too green, and needed to loosen up a little.

Sighing, he clicked his radio.

"Llewellyn, Nesbitt, have you found anything? And I really do mean anything. Right now I'll take a peculiar looking stone."

"As a matter of fact, I have." came the Edinburgh accented reply.

"Oh? What?" Taylor responded, his interest mildly piqued, wondering why the good doctor hadn't reported it sooner. His radio crackled again in reply.

"I've found my personal limit for sheer, unremitting, brain-liquefying tedium, and the point at which I just might consider using my side arm on myself, because it would be a hell of a lot more interesting for the last millisecond of my life than wandering around this God-forsaken dump. And at least I'd feel a little bit of warmth for a while, too. Other than that, this dreary little orb has offered up nothing besides a geomagnetic field that's more powerful than Earth's."

"Is that interesting?"

"Not really. How about you, Dave – found anything?" the irate physicist said.

Taylor sighed.

"Nothing here except rain and plants. And over there…rain, and plants. Jarvis, Halverson, how about you?"

"Nothing here, Major. Putting a Stargate on this world has to be somebody's idea of a practical joke." Halverson said. Elise Halverson was his team's anthropologist, a petite, dark haired Norwegian-English woman.

"Those wacky Ancients…" he heard Sergeant Jarvis add dryly. Halverson chuckled.

"And ascension was just them playing ultimate hide and seek with the Asgard, yeah, I know." Taylor heard her respond.

"Right then, I think we can call this a day, unless there are any objections. Finish up anything you're doing and start making your way back to the gate – we'll pack up camp and dial Earth." Taylor said into his radio.

As the two other teams acknowledged his order with their own expressions of relief, with Nesbitt's the more colourful, Taylor nodded to Corporal Moffatt.

"Let's head back. I think it's beginning to get dark."

The Stargate was a welcome sight, and one that he found quietly exhilarating every time he saw it, despite being almost overgrown with vegetation. Other SG team members had quietly acknowledged the same thing to him – even the ones with years on the program. As he traipsed through the dense brown undergrowth, stumbling over rocks and trying to resist the wind's insistence on toppling him, he stared at the twenty-two foot high stone ring. It was the single most inviting sight on P7T-434, and even dormant, the orange-red of the chevrons lent a small sense of warmth to the otherwise drab, cold browns of the landscape and threatening grey of the sky.

Their camp, by comparison, was a pitiful and weather beaten affair – three olive green tents and a few dark green metal boxes.

He scanned the area, slinging the Canadian carbine over his shoulder. To his left, he could make out Second Lieutenant Gareth Llewellyn and Nesbitt picking their way through the dense bracken. As usual, Nesbitt seemed to be doing all the talking. The lanky commando engineer on the receiving end was, in Taylor's estimation, one of the most accomplished members of the Corps of Royal Engineers he'd met, in a variety of fields now including Goa'uld technology, and one of the most unlikely demolition experts. The man always seemed to have an endless supply of C4 explosives and detonators on his person.

On his right, the machine gun wielding bulk of Sergeant Colin Jarvis looked almost comical next to Halverson's petite frame as they made their way back to the Stargate. Jarvis was a six foot four inch mountain of ginger haired heavy weapons specialist, and after eleven uneventful missions, his trigger finger was getting itchy. Taylor found him to be somewhat unimaginative and unfazed by the sights and wonders they had witnessed, but fanatically loyal and dependable.

"I'll be glad to get back after this." he said to Moffatt, shivering for effect.

"Really? I'd have thought you'd have dealt with far worse conditions than this, sir." Corporal Moffatt said, perplexed.

"Oh hell yes. SAS selection in the Brecon Beacons, for a start. Exercises in Norway. And K2 wasn't exactly a picnic. Compared to those, this is a doddle." he leaned in closer in a mock conspiratorial manner. "Doesn't mean I have to like it though."

She smiled. The image of a tough-as-nails, K2-climbing SAS officer deemed worthy of the Stargate Program moaning about the weather had a comical aspect, given the near superhuman status the media attributed to them. In her short time working alongside Major Taylor, Kelly Moffatt had found the media weren't far wrong, but the SAS were still very much human, if Major Taylor was any indication.

The other teams were close now, but with the wind picking up, Taylor chose to communicate with his radio – they'd be more likely to hear it than him bawling over the gale.

"Hurry up you lot. I'd like to get back before trenchfoot sets in."

He saw Nesbitt throw his hands in the air and gesticulate wildly – and rudely – and smiled. The next second, the man was gone.

"What the hell..."

Taylor was sprinting before he even realised it, leaping over the small boulders and hidden ridges that dotted his path. He ran straight past the Stargate, all thoughts of the warmth and comfort on the other side forgotten. Lt. Llewellyn was staring at the ground where Nesbitt had been, casting his own carbine from side to side.

As he got close, he saw what had happened.

There was a hole, less than a metre in diameter and so surrounded with vegetation it would have been hard to see until almost on top of it. The inside was jet black rock – only Llewellyn's tactical light showed the sides.

Taylor handed his carbine to Moffatt as she slowed to a halt beside him, noting Jarvis and Halverson jogging to his position.

The hole wasn't wide, but it was deep, and black. Black dirt lined the edge – no wonder neither Llewellyn nor Nesbitt hadn't seen it, the hole seemed to have been covered with a crust before Nesbitt crashed through.

"Nesbitt!" Taylor yelled. He waited for a response – there was none. What if he was unconscious, or injured – or worse?

"NESBITT!" he shouted again. Seconds passed.

"You know, while I am out of the wind and rain, I would appreciate it if you could GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" came the softened Scottish voice. Taylor tried to judge how deep down the man was by the volume of his voice. It was hard to tell, but he guessed he was about ten metres under the surface.

"I'm sorry sir, I just didn't see it." Llewellyn said apologetically.

"Judging by this," Taylor casually indicated the freshly broken edge of the hole, "it wasn't your fault."

Moffatt leaned carefully over the edge of the Nesbitt-sized gap, brushing an escaped wisp of blonde hair behind her ear. Small chunks of black dirt fell into the hole, but the ground held under her.

"Anything hurt, Doctor?" she called.

"My pride, my arse, nothing important. Seems I slid most of the way down." came the echoing reply.

"Right, we'll have you out in a minute - don't go anywhere." Taylor said, knowing how much those words would rankle Nesbitt. Moffatt grinned, and Taylor even noticed Llewellyn smile, albeit weakly.

"Shame, I just saw a pub down here. Get a bloody move on!"

Taylor stood up, taking care to move away from the hole – there was no telling if the ground near to it would also give way.

"Right, Sergeant Jarvis, get back to camp, grab the – " Taylor began.

"HEY!"

Swearing under his breath, Taylor knelt next to the hole.

"I said we'd have you out in a minute Doctor. Be patient."

"No, actually, change of plan. I think you should come to me – there's something down here."

"When you said there was something down here," Taylor said, tugging the rope to let Jarvis know he was down safely, "I thought you meant something alive."

'Here' was a small dark cave formed out of the black rock, connected to the surface by a small, slanted, naturally formed fissure, just big enough for a man to pass through without hitting his head on the sides. Playing the light of his carbine's tactical lamp over the walls and ceiling, he saw now that the crust had formed from loose rocks jammed into the fissure, and eventually worn down and grown over – Nesbitt had just hit a weak spot.

The tactical light on the Colt Canada C8 gave impressive illumination, but Taylor still fished out his torch and switched it on. Between his and Nesbitt's various light sources, the cave was actually well lit.

"Oh please. We've been here two days and the largest animal we've seen was a furry, herbivorous snake the size of a large earthworm. You think I'd need an SAS officer with an assault rifle to protect me from those?" Nesbitt was in his forties, his receding ruddy brown hair and beard flecked with silver.

"Point taken." Taylor said, casting his tactical light around the cave.

"You're just annoyed you didn't get to shoot something." Nesbitt muttered, grinning.

"The way you're going, I may yet. So, what are we looking at?" Taylor asked.

Nesbitt chuckled and wandered over to the rock face in front of him, and slowly began wiping his hand across it. Loose black rock in the form of pebbles and dust cascaded onto the floor.

"Now, I'm not a geologist, but this rock definitely looks volcanic. A lava flow, old and cold. But look at this." He said, pointing.

Taylor aimed his gun's light at the point Nesbitt was identifying. In the uniform black rock, there was a strong, ordered trace of silver. It wasn't a seam of mineral – it was something solid buried in the lava.

"Take this." Taylor said, handing his gun and torch to Nesbitt and drawing a knife from a sheath in his tactical vest. The rock was dense and hard, but Taylor's knife – a blackened survival blade – was harder, and unquestionably less brittle. After a few seconds of stabbing and chipping at the solid lava, more of the silver object appeared.

Nesbitt stood watch, aiming both torches and the tactical light on the sliver of metal, his fascination mounting.

"This…might…take a while." Taylor grunted. His radio crackled.

"Sir, you're going to have to hurry it up down there." Lieutenant Llewellyn said. "I just got a data burst from the M.A.L.P.. The temperature has dropped four degrees in the last few minutes, and is still falling. Wind speed is climbing. The M.A.L.P.'s atmosphere sensors say we've got a winter storm coming in, and a bad one at that. We do not want to be here when it hits."

Taylor looked at Nesbitt. The physicist looked concerned, like he'd just remembered something troubling.

"We could get everyone down here and wait it out…" Taylor suggested.

"I wouldn't – my guess is the moon's swinging around behind the gas giant, passing into its shadow. If it is, it'll be cut off from all the solar radiation that keeps it 'warm', which will cool a planet this size very quickly as the shadowed side tries to suck heat from the lit side, triggering strong winds, ice storms and a huge, fast drop in temperature. And it'll last until it passes out of the shadow, which is probably in about a day, maybe two. We would find this place filling up with freezing cold water, or we'd just die of straight hypothermia. Either way, I doubt we'd make it back to the Stargate."

"Well…at least that's…interesting. Okay – plan B." Taylor grunted, yanking the silver object out of the wall.

"You know what, it was actually nicer down there..." Nesbitt yelled as Jarvis hauled him out of the ground. The big Sergeant was physically huge and unnaturally strong, somewhat evidenced by the presence of a Minimi Light Machine Gun, a large backpack and even an AT4 launcher strapped to his person – he'd quickly and willingly become the team's unofficial 'mule' – but the wind was so powerful now he was visibly having to resist it. The rain that had been falling since they had arrived had become freezing cold, and the thick grey cloak of cloud had rapidly become black and threatening, and not just because it was getting darker. Where before they had merely had to deal with constant drizzle, they now had to battle a veritable downpour and gale force winds.

"Say the word, and you can go back." Jarvis offered, pinning his cap down with one hand, ignoring the numbness in his fingers from the cold.

"Uh…I'll endure it, thank you Colin."

"Enough! Get back to the gate, quickly." Taylor was already heading towards their small camp, but his progress was slow fighting the wind. He was suddenly grateful that prior to joining Nesbitt in the cave, he'd ordered Moffatt, Halverson and Llewellyn to begin packing the camp away. He saw now how fortuitous that had been – had he left it any longer, they would most likely have had to abandon all their gear, which would not be received well by his superiors.

The air was freezing, and snow had begun to fall – sideways, and at speed. Llewellyn hadn't exaggerated the storm's power or danger at all, and neither had Nesbitt exaggerated how quickly the weather would turn – Taylor suspected that if they didn't dial out soon, they would be hit by the full force of a potentially lethal winter storm. Given how fast the storm had appeared, how quickly the weather had changed from wet and miserable to subzero and dangerous, Taylor guessed they had mere minutes before they were at risk of hypothermia. After that, death.

The situation had degenerated more rapidly than Taylor believed possible. The temperature was now well below zero, visibility down to mere metres as the blizzard drove snow at them with violent gale force winds.

Halverson, Llewellyn and Moffatt had all but abandoned struggling with the camp with the high winds making their job virtually impossible, but they'd apparently been able to collapse two of the tents and collect the more expensive gear.

"Tell them to leave the tents! Grab the rest and be ready to move!" he shouted, mere inches from Jarvis' face. The sergeant nodded and moved off.

He spun, shielding his eyes from the biting cold of the snow, trying to see the DHD. It was barely visible.

He hit the ground, finding it to be rock solid and freezing already, and crawled across towards the DHD. He planted his feet wide and clung on to the pseudo-metallic pedestal to resist the gale. Taylor extended one shaking hand – he realised there was no sensation but the sting of intense cold anymore, but he knew that the only thing that mattered was dialling Earth. It was so hard to concentrate – he'd never known a storm like it, never encountered such a rapid and drastic change in weather. Five lives besides his own were relying on him now, and their timescale for survival was about to drop to seconds.

"Auriga." he muttered, depressing the embossed metallic button, hearing the gratifying sound of a chevron locking, and seeing the glyph illuminate.

"Cetus. Centaurus."

The rest of his team were all but invisible now. The only way he could see the gate were the three lit chevrons, their orange glow faintly visible through the snowstorm.

"Uh…damn it, where is it…Cancer!"

The button didn't light. He tried it again, and on the third attempt, punched it hard, counting on the fact that he couldn't feel the pain right now, and he would at least have access to painkillers soon. It lit.

"Sc-Scutum."

He was sure he was leaving layers of skin behind on some of the glyphs, but he didn't care. That was what the infirmary was for.

"E-E-Eridanus."

His eyes were streaming so badly as the wind and snow tore at all his exposed flesh, he couldn't make out the individual glyphs. He'd have to locate them by memory, not sight, and hope he could control the shivering and resist the wind long enough to dial the right ones.

"P-p-point of o-origin. Dial, damn it!" he screamed to himself, heaving down on the red activation dome in the centre of the pedestal.

The sight was glorious to behold. Where before there had only been a blanket of white, and the roar of the wind, there was now a bright blue-white explosion accompanied by the double roar of the vortex bursting outwards from the Stargate, replaced swiftly by a shimmering puddle of glowing blue light. Quickly, he peeled back his sleeve, revealing the GDO. He didn't much relish the idea of exposing more of his flesh to the bitterly cold air, but necessity outweighed comfort. His fingers were red and numb, and he was shivering badly as he typed in the number sequence – although he couldn't see the device, it was a requirement of SGC training to know how to enter identification code by feel.

His IDC entered, he began moving towards the gate. He thought he heard five sucking noises through the howling wind, but he didn't know if he'd imagined it and his team could be right next to him and he'd never know it. The event horizon was inches away now, close enough to hear its inviting burbling over the storm. With immense effort, he pushed himself into the wormhole…

…and onto a clanking metal ramp. The room was bright, and warm, and comparatively quiet. He hugged his chest, willing his body to warm up – behind him, he heard and felt the puddle evaporate. There were urgent voices all around him.

"Medical team to the gateroom."

"SG-27, are you alright?" He definitely recognised that deep, gravelly voice, even if his eyes were streaming so much he was virtually blind.

"Uh, yes sir, General. Just a little freezer burnt."

General Landry exited his office and moved towards the head of the conference table. The six people he wanted to see were already sat in their seats.

"Dr Lam cleared us for debriefing, sir. The carpet might get a little damp while we defrost, but otherwise she says we were lucky to dial home before hypothermia or frostbite became serious." Taylor said, nursing a mug of steaming coffee. He wasn't the only one cradling a hot drink. The SGC's main briefing room felt surprisingly warm, something he was grateful for, and he knew the rest of his team felt the same way.

"That's good to hear, Major." General Landry replied. "I'm happy your team is back in one piece, mainly because it means I don't have to get on the phone to Whitehall and explain to General Bullock why one of the two brand new SG teams he's been so…enthusiastic about getting didn't return from a basic recon. That's a hell I could do without visiting."

Taylor smiled weakly, but politely. He agreed with Landry in this – he knew full well how caustic and explosive the Major General could be, especially to an American, and he'd heard it said that there was no such thing as the pleasure of his company. He also knew how hard the Ministry of Defence had pushed the U.S. Department of Defense to get Britons into the Stargate Program, not counting a handful of scientists and soldiers in the Atlantis Expedition. General Bullock had been the man responsible for the significant British contribution to the Atlantis Expedition, most of which was in the form of funding, so the I.O.A. were inclined to support him in his bid. With both the MoD and I.O.A. leaning on them for several years, the DoD had no option but to submit.

"So could you tell me just what happened to almost turn you into Brit-cicles?" the General continued, beaming at his own terrible joke.

"The M.A.L.P. didn't detect the gas giant, General – we only discovered it when Dr Nesbitt set up his gravitational sensors, because direct observation was next to impossible through the cloud. Nobody's fault, just pure bad luck." Taylor responded, before fixing Nesbitt with a stare – his cue to take over. Nesbitt cleared his throat and leaned forward.

"Uh, yes. Originally I just thought the planet had an unusually long day-night cycle. Anyway, I speculated that a combination of the moon's distance from the gas giant – which is massive, bigger than Jupiter – and a sudden drop in insolation…uh, solar heating, was enough to trigger a powerful winter storm. Turns out I was right."

Landry nodded thoughtfully before leaning back in his chair.

"Hmm. This isn't the first time something like this has happened – binary stars, gas giants…even black holes have been a pain in our butts before because we didn't know they were there. Dr Lee assures me this will be rectified in the Mk. IV M.A.L.P.s, but for now, it's just a chance we have to take. Now, what about this tablet you brought back?"

It was Halverson's turn to speak.

"Well, it's damaged. Badly. Not surprising really, since it was found buried in what we suspect was a huge and ancient lava outpouring."

"I'm sorry, Dr Halverson, did you say lava?"

"Yes. Dr Nesbitt and I have a theory. We found so much volcanic rock we think that a long time ago in P7T-434's past, there was a supervolcanic eruption, maybe even a VEI-9…basically, the biggest outpouring of lava, smoke and ash that you can imagine. Bigger than if Yellowstone were to go up. If there was a structure near the gate, maybe a research outpost, it would almost certainly have been badly damaged or destroyed by a river of lava – the gate may have been high enough to escape being buried. As if that wouldn't have been bad enough, we suspect that the amount of ash and smoke in the atmosphere triggered a severe volcanic winter, enough to force a short but sharp ice age that we think 434 is just exiting. As for the tablet, well, most of the text has been melted or abraded off, but we do know something about it." She said, looking at each person around the table. She had their attention.

"Which is?" Landry prompted.

"It's Asgard."

She let that sink in, and from the expressions she saw, she hadn't overestimated the enormity of the statement. Unlike the Goa'uld, regarded as an ancient and powerful civilisation of litterbugs, the Asgard left almost no trace of their presence anywhere. And since they had elected to commit racial suicide to pre-empt the terrible and degrading fate that lay ahead of them by obliterating their own planet, there were precious few Asgard artefacts to be found, much less something as primitive as an engraved tablet.

"What little text we can make out employs a sophisticated version of the standard runic alphabet, just like they used, but it's basically incoherent. I think I can make out a few words – like, uh…'protect', 'hidden', and one that means 'of supreme importance', but I don't know the context. However…there are other very recognisable markings." She said, handing the warped, battered metal tablet to Landry. He studied it for several seconds.

"Those are – "

"Yes General, those are gate addresses. I count nine in total, but because of the damage, only a few are complete. One definitely corresponds to P7T-434, but the most interesting one is at the very bottom. It's completely separate, and has even been engraved more prominently, which is probably why it's more legible."

Taylor leaned forward.

"Excuse me if I'm being dense, but I thought the Asgard barely used the Stargate network. I mean, their ships were so fast they barely needed the gates except in an emergency. So…what are a load of gate addresses doing on an Asgard research paper?"