Chapter 1

May 2010

With the exception of the desks, chairs and filing cabinets, the portacabin was emptier than it had been for several weeks. Typically the office was filled with people, paperwork and the low roar of several laptops and conversations at any one time. Now there was only one occupant, working quietly by the cold illumination of the single active strip light. Patiently, McAlmont adjusted his spectacles while he waited for each of the four remaining laptop displays to go dark before he closed the lids, pulled the power cords and began inserting the computers and their peripherals into the bags. There were several laptops already packed away and waiting by the door, sitting on top of a number of black kit bags.

The door to the portable building slammed open, accompanied by a blast of cold air that would have swept any remaining paperwork off the desks had it not been meticulously packed away and sent back with the previous group. McAlmont was immediately grateful that somebody had thought to stack the bags on the side of the wall where the door couldn't bang into them, and even more grateful that he'd had the foresight to wear most of his thermal gear today, wool cap included. He had learned the hard way that wintry gusts and a receding hairline did not mix well.

The rising wind howled as a shorter than average figure, bulked out by insulated clothing, a parka and thick gloves, staggered into the building despite fierce opposition from the weather and struggled for a few seconds to close the door, signalling triumph with a weak "Whew".

"What's it like out there?" McAlmont asked in his quiet, calm, Canadian accented voice as he zipped the last bag up and checked the desks to make sure he hadn't missed some vital cable.

"Well, the last report we got was spot on – the weather's definitely started picking up. We have one, maybe two hours of daylight left – hard to tell with this cloud cover. The temperature's most certainly dropped in the last few minutes, but we have enough time before the storm is in full swing," the visitor said breathlessly in an English accent, dropping her fur-lined hood and brushing dark hair out of her face as she moved towards the glowing electric heater. "I don't suppose the coffee has been left out?"

"Looking forward to going back to your old job?" McAlmont said with a sly grin, moving the final four computers to the large stack of luggage.

"Ha, no – I won't miss this weather one bit but I'm still not overly keen on leaving given what we've been doing and finding here and what they'll have me doing there, but I'll tell you now, I got caught in one of these storms before, and it's not fun," she said as she moved to the kettle and mugs that had not yet been packed away.

"Well, it looks like you were definitely right to get us closing down early. When's our transport due?" McAlmont asked.

"Technically? In about twenty minutes, so I'm expecting it round about… now, really. Anyway, I think we're almost finished here for the time being. As far as I can see, not much more needs shutting down, putting away or closing up. Pretty much everything we can't take with us is stored away. Lamont is hauling some of the more delicate equipment into shelter and covering it, while Enright and Bhaskar are checking and locking the sheds. If you've got this sorted, we're about done. I want one more look at the site to make sure we're ready to go and then we're just waiting for pick-up. No – wait. What am I forgetting?" she asked, wearing a perplexed expression as she ran through a mental checklist and ticked things off on her insulated fingers.

"Oh I don't know, Elise. Perhaps the generator?" McAlmont said helpfully, smiling as he piled the last of the laptops with the rest of the baggage.

"Oh yeah. I knew that, of course," Halverson said with an embarrassed grin. "Well, we'll leave it on for now, but make sure it's the very last thing we do before we leave – if the weather goes the way I think it's going to go, or if transport is delayed for any reason, we'll need all the heat and electricity we can get."

Halverson turned back towards the door. McAlmont shrugged on his parka and followed.

Pushing the door open against the rising wind, the two figures left the relative comfort of the portable building and stepped onto the cracked black rock of the ground. The sky was beginning to turn a similarly dark and threatening shade.

"Any sign?" she asked, scanning their surroundings.

"You're asking the guy with glasses?" McAlmont laughed.

"I'll take that as a no then shall I?"

They waited for a while, occasionally checking to see how the others were doing and pondering whether the clouds were getting thicker and blacker or the daylight was getting dimmer until Halverson decided it was most likely both.

"I'm starting to think we could have waited in the cabin. You sure transport's on its way?" the geologist asked, eyeing the increasingly unfriendly looking sky. Halverson pulled her sleeve back to check her watch, feeling the cold bite into her skin.

"Positive. Wait – there, just coming over that hill," she said triumphantly, pointing to a small rise beyond the entrance to the shallow, wide valley where there camp was. McAlmont followed her finger and squinted until he saw what Halverson saw – almost three hundred metres away, a powerful pair of headlights moved jerkily but with good speed towards them. Seconds later it became clear there was a second pair following perhaps twenty metres behind the first, and that both belonged to Land Rovers. The off-road vehicles were making their way remarkably quickly across the terrain.

"There's our ride home, and just in time looking at that sky," McAlmont said.

"If there is one certainty of life on Lyngvi, it's that storm clouds are never far away," Halverson said sagely as she surveyed the landscape of dark volcanic rock and alien heather. Feeling the chill sting of wind on her face, Halverson quickly pulled the hood of her parka further down in defence against the increasingly inclement weather.

"That, and if the rainfall gets any worse they'll be handing this project over to the Royal Navy," her bespectacled companion said as he held his gloved hand out experimentally – sure enough, the first drops of freezing cold water were already falling out of the rumbling sky.

Searching the increasingly dim and rain filled horizon for their target, Halverson nodded, and staggered slightly as the wind howled and began to increase in force. As the wind speed continued to climb, the temperature continued to drop. She knew what was coming, and even with forewarning and proper gear, she was eager not to repeat the end of her first visit to this world. Doctor McAlmont hadn't been on P7T-434 long, but he caught on quickly.

The first of the olive drab Land Rovers was close enough now that they could just about hear the thrum of the vehicle's diesel engine over the wind as it headed towards them and stopped. The engine idled as the driver's side door opened. Halverson smiled and waved at the driver.

"How the hell did you know I was coming?" Taylor said, surprised, as he climbed out of the vehicle and walked towards the waiting pair.

"Now that would be telling," Halverson said with a grin. "Hello Dave – welcome back to Site 02."

"Thanks. Yeah, I must say I like what you've done with the place," he said dryly, gazing at the collection of portable and modular buildings sat on the apron of jet black rock. "Last time I was here it was all Hesco bastions, weapon emplacements and soldiers. Now it just looks so much more…"

"Civilian?" Halverson prompted.

"Peaceful."

"Well, that's probably a fair assessment. Anyway, Dave – I'd like you to meet Doctor Peter McAlmont, our geologist. Pete, this is Major David Taylor," Halverson said as the second Land Rover pulled up neatly alongside Taylor's vehicle. Taylor gestured to the driver, who exited and approached, leaving the light truck parked but running.

"Oh hey, Major Taylor. I've heard quite a lot about you," McAlmont said as he extended his gloved hand. Smiling politely but in bemusement, Taylor shook it vigorously.

"Not all bad, I hope?" Taylor grinned. McAlmont blinked and paused, his mouth gaping as he sought for the most appropriate words.

"Let's, uh, get the Land Rover packed, yeah?" Halverson said quickly, walking between the two of them. She waved to Bhaskar, Lamont and Enright, now happily ensconced inside the warm, dry site office and nursing hot drinks. They waved back and got up to start hauling the bags. As she walked away, followed by Taylor, McAlmont grabbed the Major's arm.

"Oh, Major? You've left your engine running," he said helpfully, indicating the idling Land Rover.

"Trust me Doctor, with the weather we've got coming in I don't even want to risk not being able to start her up again," Taylor said ominously before smiling lightly. "Anyway, you guys can spare Halverson for a few minutes, right? Private Langer, help them out would you?"

"Yes sir. Hello Doctor Halverson," Langer said, nodding acknowledgement to one and greeting to another.

Halverson smiled and waved to the soldier as he jogged up to the cabin to assist with the bags. Langer waved back as Halverson headed deeper into the camp. Taylor moved after her.

"You know Langer?" Taylor asked with a hint of mischief in his voice.

"He's the primary driver for our supply and personnel run, so yes. Also, he's been giving me driving lessons," Halverson said.

"But you already drive…" Taylor said, confused.

"Yes, but not off road at breakneck speed and using every advanced driving trick in the book. So why are you here early anyway?" Halverson asked as she waited for Taylor to catch up with her.

"Webber wants everybody back inside well before the storm hits. You and I both know that's a damn good idea. Also," Taylor said, shuddering less from the cold and more from the memory of how their very first mission to Lyngvi had ended, and nearly ended them in the process, "he wants all senior staff and department heads present and correct for nineteen hundred hours… we're expecting a new arrival. So, come on then. While they're packing the Landies you can show me what you've been doing for the past six months."

Taylor was surprised that he couldn't quite get over how drastically different Site 02 looked. All of the British and American defences he remembered had long since been removed and returned to Earth, and the dirt-filled temporary structures that weren't worth transporting had been broken down and dispersed over the surrounding terrain. All that had happened not long after the Stargate had been installed in the Garrison, paving the way for the area to be completely redeveloped by its new tenants.

"How the hell did you get all this done so quickly? And on our budget?" he asked, gazing incredulously at the new structures that sat on the expanse of levelled black rock covering several acres. There were half a dozen portacabins sat around the edges of the cleared expanse while the decidedly less residential looking structures occupied much of the centre.

"Well, we learned quickly we needed some pretty decent protection from the elements while we were working, and tents just wouldn't cut it when we knew we were going to be here for more than a few days. Since this is expected to be a very important long term project, the Brigadier got this built for us," Halverson said as she led Taylor to the centre of the camp. Dominating it was the largest and probably most permanent looking building present, a structure the size of a tennis court that looked like a prefabricated warehouse, made entirely out of corrugated metal painted a very utilitarian shade of grey. In the centre of the end facing them there was a large metal roller door. "We had planned to excavate the entire thing once it was under cover, but the rock proved just a bit too hard for that, sadly."

"I thought you'd have a lot more personnel on a project this size," Taylor commented.

"Normally there are around twenty of us. Funnily enough, given the problems with the rock there are more excavation experts than archaeologists. Dynamite Boy even came out early on to help us for a day or so – I've been on archaeological digs where we've used pneumatic drills, mini-diggers, even full blown JCBs, but I'm pretty sure this is the first one I've been on where we needed high explosives. Gareth seemed a little distracted though, if I'm honest," Halverson answered as she walked up to the control box next to the door and held down a large green button. Slowly, the door's electric motor shuddered to life and began to lift. "We sent most of the staff back this morning once we got word of what the weather was doing, with just the five of us staying behind to make sure everything was properly locked up and closed down, since we really don't want to come back and find our work buried under snow or destroyed by high winds. I'm surprised nobody told you, and actually – how come you're here if you don't know?"

Though Halverson couldn't see it as she walked in front once the door was high enough, Taylor shrugged.

"The occasional email wasn't enough. I wanted to see what you were up to, so I just took over from the other assigned driver."

"You mean you pulled rank!" Halverson laughed.

"Well… yes, but I did it very politely."

"Still doesn't explain how come you don't know what's been happening, Dave."

"I've just been a bit busy," he said cryptically as he followed her inside. "Okay – this is not what I was expecting."

Taylor was surprised – although well lit by both natural and artificial light, the building appeared to be empty and lacking any kind of level man-made floor. While the four walls were fixed with concrete, the floor was simply more exposed black rock, with only two important differences – there was a large, natural looking fissure running almost the length of the building, and a set of metal steps close to them that led down into it.

As she opened the double doors the overwhelming scent of disinfectant and other hints regarding a professional obsession with cleanliness bombarded her. It was still a familiar and, despite the events of the last few months, oddly comforting aroma that served to lighten her slightly nervous mood as she took in the drastically altered surroundings.

"Well, this is definitely an improvement…" she murmured as she glanced around, drinking in the changes.

To Moffatt's pleasant surprise the infirmary looked very different to how she remembered it – the previously bare concrete walls were now properly sealed and painted and abundant strip lights hanging from the ceiling illuminated the formerly dim, utilitarian area. There were now dozens of beds, monitors, lockers and crash trolleys visible in several locations… the entire section had been transformed into a significantly more functional space, one that actually felt like a dedicated cutting edge medical facility instead of the warehouse hastily converted into a field hospital. She remembered the old incarnation of the infirmary well, having become all too familiar with it and its many failings and idiosyncrasies during her mercifully brief role as the then-severely understaffed Garrison's acting chief medical officer.

Instead of a single main space and a handful of poorly equipped offices and supply lockers, it was clear that the side rooms had been expanded, finished and fitted, finally giving the Garrison a medical facility truly capable of dealing with nearly anything – mass trauma, complex surgeries, alien contagions and in-depth biological research. Most importantly and hearteningly of all for Moffatt though, the section was fully staffed. There were now well over a dozen people in sight already – she recognised most as being medical officers and technicians from the military and others as civilian doctors and nurses, but regardless of their background she suspected more worked in the rooms leading off the main area. A quick glance at the staff roster on the new whiteboard confirmed this suspicion.

Thankfully very few of the beds were occupied, and none of those that were seemed to hold any particularly serious cases. She reflected that in a more conventional base's medical facility, there probably wouldn't even be this many people being treated – given that a small nick on the back of the neck or throat could mean infestation by an intelligent, sapient neural parasite and the slightest cough could either simply be a cold or the first symptom of the Ori plague, medical professionals working in the Stargate Program had long tried to cultivate a healthy degree of paranoia and even hypochondria in their patients.

"Corporal Moffatt?"

She looked up to see Major Nelson waving her over from the other side of the room and into his office. She followed and he closed the door, gesturing for her to sit in the chair in front of his desk as he moved to the one behind it.

"Thank you for seeing me sir," Moffatt said as she tried to get comfortable in the chair. Her eyes moved across the three framed photographs on the wall – among them a photograph of a young, smiling Jerome Nelson on campus at the University of West Indies, a more focused and sombre picture of him at his passing out parade at Sandhurst and a candid shot of a much older and busier Nelson working on a wounded soldier in a tent in Afghanistan that she suspected had been taken shortly before he had been headhunted by the SWRS to serve as the Garrison's Chief Medical Officer.

"It's no trouble, and it's good to see you corporal – though I'm a little surprised you're here if I'm honest," Nelson said, his Jamaican accent diluted by twenty years of living in England and amongst Britons, but still present and recognisable. "This is the first time you've seen it, isn't it? How do you like our improved infirmary?"

"All this is because of the fallout from the Fido incident?" Moffatt asked in surprise.

"Well indirectly, yes. When the powers that be realised just what we were up against, we suddenly got a hefty funding boost that allowed us to get all of this built among other things, but I feel it came at a very high cost. Courtesy of our Fenrir prisoner we suffered several fatalities and a lot of other casualties, yours included, but ultimately I hope those losses will not be entirely in vain. Because of Fido proving how dangerous the Fenrir are directly to the people with the money and power, we now have a surgical suites, isolation rooms, a proper main ward, multipurpose rooms and exceptional research facilities… nearly everything I could have asked for short of an MRI suite, and all of it staffed by just about the most experienced, combat-proven and emergency-hardened medical staff the British armed forces has to offer. Now, what can I do for you?"

"I was hoping you'd reconsidered your decision sir," Moffatt said, knowing that while Major Nelson was a very pleasant human being, he much preferred to get straight to the point. Nelson sat back in his chair and interlaced his fingers.

"Corporal…"

"Sir, I wouldn't ask if I didn't think there was a good chance."

"I know that, Corporal, but you know my position on this as well. You have been too ill too recently to resume your usual duties – brain and skull trauma of the like you suffered is not something to be shrugged off," Nelson intoned firmly but gently – the authority in his quiet, calm voice meant he rarely had to raise it. "The injuries you sustained recapturing the Fenrir prisoner were grave, even if nobody – myself included – immediately realised just how serious. You are a very fortunate young woman not only to be alive but back in your former job, if not performing your former duties. Take things slowly."

"Sir, permission to speak freely?" she asked.

"Granted," Nelson said after a contemplative pause, nodding slightly.

"I am intimately aware that Fido really did a number on me. I know that I have you to thank for diagnosing the injury to my brain in time, and for having me sent to the SGC, and I know I have to thank them for performing surgery so quickly and then transferring me to the Air Force Academy Hospital for recuperation. However, to be completely honest… I'm going stir crazy precisely because I've been taking things slowly ever since. I'm bored out of my skull because I have spent six months either in hospitals or on medical leave doing virtually nothing. In a way I'm grateful I got to go home and spend time with Mum but after a while… Major, despite cracked ribs, a skull fracture and serious brain trauma I've made a textbook recovery according to every doctor who has treated me and frankly I'm itching to get back to work as soon as is humanly possible, ideally before I lose my mind. I'd hate for all the hard work that you, Dr Lam and Dr Kelly put in to save my brain to go to waste because it turns to mush," Moffatt said with careful emphasis.

Nelson was silent for a moment, contemplating Moffatt's words.

"You're a clever, knowledgeable and highly observant woman – considerably more so than is typical even for a class one combat medic and at least as much as most doctors and medical officers, enough that it often leads me to wonder why you never trained as a doctor. So tell me, what are the possible long-term complications of an intracranial extradural haematoma?" he asked.

Moffatt paused, gazing at Nelson.

"Seizures are a possibility. Permanent brain injury too. Speech problems can develop and other neurological issues may arise even two years after the initial injury," she said calmly, knowing that with every word she was carrying herself another step away from a full return to her former duty.

"Correct. Now, you are and were a very fit and healthy individual with no prior history of traumatic brain injury, you had a lucid interval before you slipped into your coma and you received very prompt diagnosis and treatment – all these are factors giving you an excellent prognosis, and as you've said, so far you've made a near textbook recovery. But right now I cannot in good conscience authorise you for offworld operations or allow you to perform any duty where there is an elevated risk of further bodily injury or heightened stress – and that includes serving as a medic in this facility," Nelson said. "You and I both know that the stress you would experience were we to have to deal with mass casualties or any kind of extended medical emergency could aggravate or even undo so much of the healing you've had to endure for six months, and even day to day duties could exacerbate your condition. Therefore, until further notice you remain restricted to light duties. Just give it time, corporal."

Moffatt sighed. She had more or less known this was how it was going to turn out, but she knew she had to try. Nelson leaned across the desk.

"Remember, Kelly, you are a corporal in the British Army, you are a superb combat medic, but you are also a biologist in training, and if you don't mind me saying so, judging by the reports I've read you've neglected this aspect for quite a while – understandably, given the significance of your other roles, but perhaps you could use this downtime to focus more on your biology work?"

"I have been, sir. In the last six months I've gone about as far as I can with my biology research on paper – I need to get out and study actual specimens. While I was on Earth I even tried to get temporarily reassigned to Porton Down to study the Fenrir corpses but to no avail," Moffatt said.

"In that case, I'll happily put the new laboratories here at your disposal should you need them," Nelson said.

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you for your time Major," Moffatt said, getting up out of the chair and smiling as she tried to hide her disappointment.

"Wait, Kelly's back?"

"Yeah, she arrived at the Garrison last week, but she's not technically back on active duty yet until Nelson's completely satisfied she's fine. Personally I just think it's the Brigadier's excuse to let everybody wrap up their projects," Taylor said.

"Projects?" Halverson enquired as she unlocked a metal cabinet and pulled two torches out, checked that both worked and handed one to Taylor.

"Well, don't tell her I said this but for most of us Moffatt's recuperation turned out to be a blessing in disguise, really. And the Fenrir have been really, really quiet lately – though I'm not sure if that's a good thing, personally. Anyway, let's see… Nesbitt's been doing a tonne of research projects and obsessively studying Fido's gear in order to give us some countermeasures against further Fenrir intrusion into our computers, and he went back to Earth a few weeks ago to do some really in-depth stuff. As for Llewellyn, I've barely seen him since he's been locked in a workshop for several months," Taylor said, checking the torch out of habit even though he'd just seen Halverson do the same thing.

"How come?"

"Oh, some special engineering project he successfully pitched to Webber and that nobody will tell me about – Nesbitt knows, I think he even got drafted in to work on it for a while, but apparently he was sworn to secrecy, no matter how much food I tried to bribe him with. I think that's why he asked to continue his research at Porton Down, so I couldn't hunt him down and force it out of him. And then Llewellyn went back to Earth last week as well."

"Huh, I thought Gareth was a bit distracted when he came here. And what about you – what have you spent the last six months doing?" Halverson said as she led the way down the steps and into the fissure, lighting the way carefully.

"Me? I've been handling training and orientation for all the new teams, helping Webber with some of the admin and trying to stop Jarvis going stir crazy. Took him on a few of the training missions but it's only a matter of time before he snaps – even tried to get him seconded to the SGC for the duration, but Landry wouldn't have it, given the sensitive nature of their Lucian Alliance ops. Right, I've got to say this now looks eerily familiar, even if you have redecorated," Taylor said, gazing at his surroundings as he descended the metal steps, playing the torch beam over the surroundings. From within the fissure was a tall, narrow void with walls formed out of the same dense, coal black rock as the surface, though it was significantly less cracked and worn, having been much less exposed to the harsh elements of Lyngvi's surface.

A lot had changed since he'd last been down here – the single biggest difference was how well lit the space was now that the structurally unstable ceiling had been sensibly excavated along the length of the fissure. Skylights in the corrugated metal building above allowed a little of what passed for daylight on Lyngvi to enter the fissure, but he guessed that even with the electrical lights it clearly wasn't enough illumination to work by as thick black power cables snaked across the floor and into stands of portable electric lighting, now dim and dormant as the camp was systematically shut down.

Despite the changes and the fact that this time he was not entering it by rappelling through a narrow hole in the now non-existent roof, there was simply no mistaking it – this was the fissure Nesbitt had fortuitously discovered on their first visit to Lyngvi by falling through a weak spot in the void's ceiling, and where they'd found the Vanir tablet half-buried in the rock.

"We still call it Al's Cove, actually," Halverson said, smiling. "Poked around in here for a bit, didn't find anything other than nondescript fragments. However, when we used ground penetrating radar on the surface it told us there was so much more than just this one cave, so we started digging, and as it happened, blasting."

Halverson led the way along the length of the fissure, and Taylor noticed that the cave had been artificially expanded, a hole blasted and cut through the long solidified lava at the far end. Beyond it was another void in the black rock, but unlike the fissure it had a very definite and solid ceiling, low enough that he needed to duck a little.

"We always speculated that whatever Vanir facility was here was destroyed by a massive lava flow during a truly colossal volcanic event thousands of years ago, and for the most part that's true, but portions of it survived. Well, survived might be a strong word, since there is obvious damage by crushing, heat and quite a bit of lava intrusion, but for all intents and purposes, we think ultimately about ten to twenty per cent of the base may be accessible, given time," Halverson said.

Taylor suddenly realised that he wasn't standing in a natural void or air pocket within the lava. For one thing it had a distinctive L-shaped floor plan to it with an obvious right angle that just seemed too perfect to be naturally formed. For another there was a very regular appearance to the current space with a strangely level, even floor, and a fairly consistent width and cross section. Moving the torch around, he could make out curved metal buttresses placed at even intervals in the walls, all still half-buried to some extent in the lava that protruded between them. A couple were barely visible, encased in smooth, rounded black stone, and looking down one of the tunnels he saw that the supports at the end, immediately before the tunnel was blocked off by rock again, were warped and partly crushed inwards. In places he could make out tiny hints of metal wall between the buttresses, small patches that hadn't quite been overtaken by the once viscous molten rock that seemed to have been frozen in place as it puddled and oozed into the chamber. In others he could see entire doorways protruding between the buttresses, and the longer of the two tunnels seemed to end in another right angle turn.

"I'll tell you this much Dave – the architecture closely matches what Alistair and I saw in the Vanir chamber on P2C-355 before it was lost, which in turn is broadly similar to generic Asgard design," Halverson said.

"Are we safe in here? I mean there's a hell of a lot of rock over our heads and I'm guessing this place didn't exactly come through unscathed, right?" Taylor asked, eying the warped supports warily. He hadn't noticed any kind of structural reinforcement brought in by the dig team.

"I doubt you have anything to worry about – we've been working here for months without a problem. We know that the base's major supports and structural elements were made primarily out of trinium alloys – Alistair told me that he thinks this part of the galaxy is particularly rich in the stuff due to some exploding star or whatever – but our best guess is that the heat, weight and sheer volume of lava just overwhelmed the structure and eventually destroyed most of the parts that weren't made of trinium. The Stargate and DHD were most likely spared because they were already situated on a hillock overlooking the base and therefore just above the lava's maximum level, while everything below was flooded, melted and crushed. We haven't found any bodies, so we're pretty sure the base was evacuated before the lava actually hit," Halverson said.

"This is incredible. Absolutely incredible," Taylor breathed, smiling. "We're standing in the only known surviving Vanir structure, aren't we?"

"Oh yes. Four rooms opened and examined already, and we think we can access the level beneath this within the next month. And if you think this is good, take a look in here. We just opened it this morning," Halverson said, smiling and showing Taylor a door that sat between two of the supports.

Beyond it was a large round room. Disconcertingly, the ceiling sagged towards the middle, where the metal skin had eventually burst and admitted lava. The entire room seemed to have fared poorly, with several of the wall panels long since buckled, torn and melted. In many place he saw intrusions of black, rounded rock that seemed to have absorbed or destroyed several of the chamber's supports and one entire section of ceiling had given way on the far side of the room.

"You absolutely sure this is safe?" he asked again as she wandered inside, treading lightly.

"This room? We don't actually know yet – haven't had time to do a structural test – but it's got the same trinium supports as the halls and the circular shape should have better load-bearing properties, so we're assuming so. Just don't, you know, kick any of the supports to test them – and don't touch anything," she said, adding a friendly but nonetheless cautionary tone to her voice.

Carefully and experimentally taking a few more steps inside, Taylor studied the room again. Running around the circumference there was some sort of ledge, completely flat where it hadn't been damaged. At first glance something about it seemed odd – it was too high and wide to have served as a bench, but too low to function as a desk or table, yet there were alien looking items stood on the intact sections. Some had been scorched or melted or had otherwise succumbed to the heat of the lava or the sheer interval of time since the disaster, but others seemed to be in near pristine condition.

"Okay Elise, here's an odd question for you. Since the pictures I've seen don't have much context and I never got the chance to meet any Asgard in person before they, you know," he mimed drawing a finger across his throat, "tell me – how tall were the Vanir?" he asked idly, eying the ledge.

"Ah! You noticed the workbench, right? Okay, quick Asgard history lesson: you said you've seen photos of Asgard, right? Hairless veiny grey skin, four foot nothing, so thin you think they're going to break if you look at them? Well, roughly ten years ago SG-1 encountered an Asgard ancestor from thirty thousand years ago in stasis. That meant it predated both the loss of the Asgard's ability to reproduce sexually and their decision to perpetuate themselves through mind downloads into cloned bodies, and apart from a few things like a slightly bulbous head and pale, hairless skin, it was almost indistinguishable from human," Halverson said, wandering around the room as she talked and pointing her torch at anything that caught her eye.

"Right, okay. I think I heard something along those lines," Taylor replied, not sure where the conversation was going. "Wasn't that why they were interested in us in the first place, because we're incredibly similar to how they used to be?"

"That's definitely part of it. Well, when we checked the Asgard core, we found an interesting little bit of info. The cloning degradation they suffered, that physically turned them from healthy six foot plus humanoids into withered, shrunken four foot tall stick-thin echoes of their former selves? Because the Asgard logged their physiological changes in frankly excruciating and tedious detail, it is actually possible to date Asgard structures just by measuring the height of the furniture!" Halverson said excitedly, laughing.

"Right. So…" Taylor prompted, moving across the room to keep Halverson in view as she wandered around the central lava mass.

"Oh, right. Well, assuming the same holds true for the Vanir, and there is no reason to believe otherwise since we think they were just an ideologically distinct faction of the Asgard, then this facility is no older than about two thousand years. They would have looked almost exactly like the Asgard the SGC knew, give or take a couple of inches," Halverson said.

"Wow, that's pretty cool. Wait – Gleipnir and the Void Prison, they were made by the Vanir over ten thousand years ago, right? So the Vanir were around for at least eight thousand years after all that?"

"Yup. They probably had to have been in order for them to influence Earth's mythology."

"Eight thousand years, minimum. And yet the Asgard never mentioned them once, not even when they gifted us with their core and everything they knew, right before they ended it all. Odd," he said, crouching to look at a collection of small silver cylinders arrayed on the portion of the workbench in front of him.

"Maybe it was an embarrassing element of their history that they'd rather not face – remember, there's next to nothing about the Pegasus Asgard in the core as well, so it's not too far-fetched. But I do wonder if perhaps they didn't actually know? You know, it bugs me – we're fighting their war and yet we know so damn little about the Vanir. Hopefully this dig, and this room in particular, will give us a lot more answers."

"This might be a stupid question, but is there any power here? I remember Nesbitt talking about there being a Vanir reactor somewhere under the Stargate, I just wondered, given how the Asgard built their stuff to last, if…" Taylor said, leaning towards what looked like a chipped pane of glass hanging askew on the wall. He reached out to tap it experimentally.

"Don't touch that," Halverson said, shaking her head emphatically. "Nope, no power here. Either the reactor Alistair talked about was connected solely to the Stargate, or Gareth killed it when he toppled the gate, because we've seen no evidence of power at all. Frankly, after so much damage and time, it would be ridiculously unlikely," she said, scanning her torch over the sealed door on the opposite side of the laboratory to the entrance they had used, and lightly running a hand over the slightly bulging surface.

From somewhere below them, there was a rumble that felt almost like a tremor, followed quickly by a thump loud and powerful enough to make them both jump. There came a rising whine and the lights in the floor and buckled ceiling that had survived the onslaught of molten rock tried to flicker into life, a handful of them just barely succeeding while the rest died again. Somewhere inside the door and the wall it was mounted in came the unsettling creak of a jammed mechanism struggling in vain to work. Something out of sight broke or gave way and with an ear-splitting creak and more than a few sparks, the warped door cracked open a few centimetres then stopped abruptly, its deformed shape no longer able to slide into the recess. Splinters of black rock tumbled through the narrow gap for a few seconds, before everything fell silent and still once again.

Taylor warily crossed the room to Halverson, who had stepped nervously away from the door and was staring at it with shock, pointing her torch at the gap.

"Right, remind me. I could have sworn you said something about not touching anything, Doctor Halverson?" Taylor said quietly as they both stared at the partly open door and the wall of fractured jet-black rock directly behind it. Halverson turned to face him with narrowed eyes, clearly ready with a cutting retort when she noticed something.

The lopsided pane of glass Taylor had nearly touched had lit up, the bright runic text scrolling rapidly across it looking like nothing so much as error messages and start-up commands. The text disappeared.

"Dave…" Halverson whispered, pointing. The angled black eyes, small protruding mouth and bulbous grey head of a Vanir occupied the display now, and it was clearly talking even though there were no words or sounds to be heard. The head vanished and was replaced by yet more runic text, only less urgent looking.

As a few of the lights flickered and died, and others simply flickered, a deep, ominous groan filled the room. The sound of tortured metal was coming from directly above their heads, and their heads turned away from the display at the sound. They waited, not daring to move or even breathe, until with little warning the lintel and ceiling above the door rapidly deformed with a loud shriek, crushing into a new asymmetrical shape in an instant before apparently settling. Black dust and tiny rock fragments drifted down from the ceiling as the juddering creak of metal under stress grew louder and more insistent.

"Right…" Taylor began, unwilling to tear his eyes off the bulging metal skin above them but slowly walking backwards, reaching out and grasping Halverson's arm as he did.

With an almighty shriek, the door jamb buckled and collapsed, removing the last vertical support for the straining ceiling above it.

"RUN!" Taylor roared, spinning and grabbing Halverson before charging for the open door they'd entered by, catching a fleeting glimpse of the suddenly very familiar looking data on the transparent display before it died and was shaken loose of the wall and smashed onto the floor. The roof behind them collapsed in a terrifyingly fast wave that radiated out from the destroyed door. The torn metal of what had been the ceiling was slammed into the floor and buried under an endless cascade of black rock. The silver cylinders sat on the workbench were instantly shattered by falling rock, spraying their contents across the room as the workbench itself was crushed into the floor. Sprinting for his life, Taylor felt small lumps and chips of rock smacking into his head, back and legs and a pressure wave indicating the collapse had caught up with him as he shoved Halverson through the gap and hurled himself after her, praying the collapse would be limited to the one chamber.