by Stargate
The boy turned and fled, but Kenna paid him no mind. His blood was flowing fast, eager for the fight. "This time, O'Neill," he said quietly, "I will have you. And your life will buy that of my son."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
or the love of God, what is this?" George Hammond breathed, staring out through the two-way mirror into the room below. A dozen men lay on gurneys, teeth bared in a grimace, with cables trailing from their heads toward a central device of undoubtedly alien design. A doctor whom Hammond didn't recognize drifted between them, checking vital signs and making notes on the charts dangling from each bed.
"Some kind of medical experiment?" Woodburn guessed. "I thought you said this was a security technology."
Hammond frowned. So he'd been told by O'Neill. Was it possible that the man had lied about more than the plans he'd planted among Crawford's belongings?
"Look at their faces," Woodburn carried on. "Is that some kind of rash?"
It was hard to tell. The red spiderwebs that covered the cheeks of each man looked raw and painful, yet... Hammond peered more closely. Were they attached to the cables? "How many men have been brought onto the base?" he asked, turning away from the experiment and casting his eyes around the small observation room.
"Over thirty," Woodburn said.
"So where are the others?"
"They must be being held somewhere else. Maybe," Woodbum frowned, "maybe it's some kind of bio weapon."
Hammond shook his head, spying a neatly labeled filing cabinet and crossing the room toward it. "If it were a disease," he said, "the doctor wouldn't be in there with them."
"Depends on how it's transmitted," Woodburn pointed out.
Hammond conceded the point with a grunt as he tried one of the drawers in the filing cabinet. It was locked. "You know-"
"...start transporting them as soon as we have received the additional sheh fet checkpoints." The voice came from the corridor outside, its familiar drawl making Hammond's hackles rise. Kinsey.
"Senator," said another, in the lilting accent of the Kinahhi. "Our treaty specifically requires the exchange of subjects before we expand your sheh fet. It is, after all, a question of trust."
There was a pause, and Hammond moved quietly to the door, barely daring to breathe as he peered into the corridor. "It is not as simple as that," Kinsey complained irritably. "I can't just- There are procedures. Not everyone takes the same view of the criminal underclass. I can't just hand them over without doing the right paperwork."
Criminal underclass? Was he talking about giving the Kinahhi American prisoners? What the hell for?
"That," said the amber-eyed Kinahhi, "is not our concern. The treaty has been signed." He moved his head to one side, lowering his voice, "If you cannot honor our agreement, we will be forced to station an administrator here at Stargate Command, to ensure that our conditions are met."
"You have no right to-"
"Right?" The Kinahhi man smiled. "Senator, don't you understand that there are no such things as rights? Only power."
"Don't you threaten me, Ambassador." Kinsey's ice-chip eyes narrowed. "I don't take kindly to threats. You'll get your prisoners when I'm good and ready to send them through that gate and not before. In the meantime you'll watch your attitude on my base and-"
"Your base?" the Kinahhi interrupted, the smile falling from his face. He raised a hand, and dropped it with a slashing gesture.
The power went out. Everything was pitched into solid, black night.
God in heaven! Behind Hammond, through the observation window, a sickly violet glow cast the faces of the prisoners in a hue of death. It was the only light left shining. A Kinahhi light. What have you done?
"We can be great allies," the Kinahhi man said through the blackness. "We can give you all the power you desire, Senator. But we will not be crossed. Deliver the test subjects to Kinahhi within the day, or we will find another puppet to fill your shoes."
There was no answer, no sound in the thick darkness of the corridor until, after a moment, the power came back on. Hammond squinted in the sudden glare, and saw Kinsey do the same, his face an unpleasant mottle of red anger and white shock. The Kinahhi Ambassador had disappeared and, after cursing vociferously, Kinsey turned and stalked away. In the silent observation room Hammond and Woodburn breathed a sigh of relief.
"You were right," Woodburn whispered. "This is a foothold situation."
"And more advanced that I'd realized," Hammond agreed. "They must be in the computer mainframe, we've seen that before, which means-"
"They have control of the Stargate." Woodburn's face hardened. "I'll lock down the base, contact the President. And to hell with Kinsey."
Hammond shook his head and checked that the corridor was clear. "Come on, let's get out of here," he said, slipping out into the empty hall. "It's not that easy," he added as they walked. "What if the Kinahhi send an army through the gate? Or something worse? We can't show our hand too soon. Besides," he cast a look at Woodburn, "if we're going to start a war, I'd rather fight it in their backyard than ours."
"What are you saying?" Woodburn asked, slowing as they approached the access hatch through which they'd arrived. "Send an army to Kinahhi? They'd never let us get past their gate-room. The security is-"
"Not if they know it's an army," Hammond pointed out. "But if the army is dressed in orange jump suits..." Carefully, he opened the access hatch and stepped inside, onto the ladder.
"You mean disguise our men as prisoners?"
"That's exactly what I mean." He started climbing down, wishing he was twenty years younger. Wishing he had his best team at hand to send into the fray. "We deploy a team to secure the Kinahhi gate-room for as long as possible, to give you time to go over Kinsey's head and clear out this mess at the SGC without interference from Kinahhi."
Above him, Woodburn was already breathing heavily. "I'd have to get volunteers. Men willing to go against the express orders of the Senator-"
"Consider me your first," Hammond said.
"You?"
Hammond laughed at the incredulity in the man's voice. "I'm still a good shot, General. Besides, I have friends on Kinahhi, good friends. And I want to make sure they get home in one piece." He refused to consider the possibility that it was already too late.
The clang of booted feet on the ladder was the only sound as they continued their slow descent. Eventually Woodburn said, "Then the mission's yours, George."
Hammond smiled in the darkness. General, you have a go.
The air was clear, right up to the stars, sucking every scrap of heat from the desert floor. The fire was long gone, a stench like burning rubber all that remained of its miserly heat, and Jack could feel the cold sinking deep into his bones. His teeth had stopped chattering and he suspected the blood had frozen in his arm, keeping it from bleeding further.
Daniel sat next to him, pressed up close, on watch, while Teal'c lay on his other side trying to sleep. But there wasn't enough heat to share in the barren, unsheltered night, and Jack was beginning to wonder how many such nights they could survive. If the clawing thirst didn't get them first. Sleep was impossible. Everything was-
Daniel tensed.
"What?" Jack rasped.
"I see something." Stiffly, Daniel rose and stared out into the darkness. "Lights."
Teal'c sat up, helping Jack to his feet - foot. "I, too, can see them," he confirmed, raising his hand to point. "There."
Bobbing in the distance snaked a short procession of flickering yellow lights. Moving closer. "Take cover," Jack said quietly, nodding toward the gutted escape pod behind which they'd built their fire. "Help me over there, Teal'c."
Gritting his teeth against the swelling pain in his knee, he slid down behind the pod and raised his P90. He had half a clip left, max. Daniel and Teal'c settled themselves either side of him, close enough that he could feel Daniel's arm shaking where it brushed up against his. From the cold, no doubt. His own fingers were so numb he could barely feel
the trigger.
"You know," Daniel said, as they watched the weaving lights advance, "shooting at these guys is probably not the smartest move."
"Who's shooting?"
"I'm just saying... We're freezing our asses off in a desert, with no water, no food, and no way out of here," said Daniel. "Whoever they are, how could they make things worse?"
Plenty of ways, Jack thought bleakly, but all he said was, "Just keep your eyes open."
At some distance from them, the lights stopped moving. It was hard to tell what they were. Searchlights a mile away, or flashlights at twenty feet? It didn't help that there was no noise. Jack settled his weapon firmly against his shoulder, ignoring the flash of pain from his right arm. Perhaps whoever carried those lights hadn't made them yet? It was dark, their fire was long gone, and if they just kept quiet... He reached out and placed a restraining hand on Daniel's arm, just to make sure.
The silence stretched long, biting cold cramping each muscle. Jack was just wondering if they were all suffering from some kind of shared hallucination when a clear, lilting voice spoke. Arnici vel inimici?"
Huh? It sounded kinda familiar, but the accent was thick and strange. He turned to Daniel, but all he could see of him was a flicker of yellow light dancing against the lenses of his glasses.
"Ah," Daniel hesitated, "I think it's, um... You won't believe this."
"What?"
"Ah, he said `friend or foe?"'
"Well, that depends," Jack replied, "on who the hell they are." After a moment, he added, "Ask them."
Carefully, Daniel stood, arms spread wide. "My name is Daniel Jackson, and this-"
A man stepped forward, holding a light close to his face. He was young, little more than a kid, dark-skinned and bright eyed. "Dan'yel Jak'sun?"
"Ah, yeah. That's right. And this is Jack O'Neill and Teal'c. We're from a place far away, and we're looking for a friend - amicus. Arnica."
"You talk in the tongue of our enemy," he said. "And yet you are not Kinahhi."
"No," Daniel agreed, stepping around the escape pod. "No, we're not. We're from a place called Earth. Far, far away." He cleared his throat. "Ah, do you have a name?"
The man eyed him carefully, then straightened in pride. "I am Atella, of the Arxanti. You stand in Arxantia, our home."
Daniel shrugged slightly. No idea.
The kid, Atella, watched him for a moment and cautiously added, "The Kinahhi name us Mahr'bal."
The reaction was instant. Daniel's eyes went very wide, and he fixed a smile on his face - the kind of smile that promised trouble. Sliding a look toward Jack, he said, "That would be what the Kinahhi call their dissidents."
Or terrorists, in the language Jack spoke. Out of the frying pan... But if doing a deal with the devil was what it took to get his team home alive, then so be it. He pushed himself upright, doing his best to hide his crippled leg. "Look," he said, keeping his weapon neutral but ready. "We need to get back to Kinahhi. They're holding a friend of ours in a place called Tsapan, and-"
"Sa'mantha Kah'tur?"
Jack's weapon snapped up. "How do you know that?"
Atella smiled. "The Arxanti know many things."
"Like how to get her out of there?"
The kid said nothing. He looked over his shoulder, toward his men lurking in the shadows, before returning his attention to Daniel. For someone so young, he had remarkable composure. "You are injured, Daniel Jackson." He took another step closer and encompassed them all with a single look. The thick cloak he wore against the desert night was tattered and old and his boots, wrapped around his legs, seemed little more than strips of animal skin. Very primitive. "You are not clothed for Arxantia. If you remain here, you will die."
"Then help us get back to Tsapan and-"
Atella turned. "Follow, as best you can," he said, and set out with a long-legged lope across the freezing desert. "Alvita Candra awaits you." Soon the small procession of lights started to move, snaking off into the darkness. To Jack it looked like their only hope, slowly fading away.
He flung a brief look at his friends. "Anyone have any idea how they know about Carter? And who - or what - is Alvira Can- darella?"
"It's a name," Daniel said quietly. "Alvita Candra. A woman's name. As for how they know about Sam..." He shrugged.
"Perhaps they are in contact with the Kinahhi?" Teal'c suggested. "It is possible that our names and descriptions have been circulated in order to more speedily apprehend us."
"Maybe." Jack wasn't convinced. Carter hadn't escaped, after all. At least, not as far as he knew...
"We have little choice but to follow them, O'Neill," Teal'c pointed out carefully. "They at least have water and food."
"Yeah."
Atella had been spot on; if they stayed out in the desert they wouldn't last long. And besides, Jack hadn't sensed any threat from these guys. There'd been no posturing, no waving weapons around - in fact, no intimidation at all. The kid hadn't even been armed.
"Not exactly what you'd expect from the kind of people who bomb women and children," Daniel said, staring out after the lights. Must have been reading Jack's mind.
"No," Teal'c agreed. "However, I have come to distrust much that the Kinahhi have told us about their world."
"You said it, T." Never believe anything you can't see with your own two eyes. "Daniel." Jack beckoned him closer. "Give me a hand. Teal'c, take point - and don't lose them. I wanna know exactly what these guys know about Carter, and how they know it."
Teal'c nodded, and disappeared silently after the train of lights. Jack squinted out into the darkness with a grimace. It was going to be a long night.
Daniel moved close enough for Jack to loop an arm around his shoulders, flinching slightly at the weight on his dislocated shoulder.
"Sorry," Jack muttered.
"It's okay." He was lying, but what choice did they have? Then Daniel cleared his throat. It sounded like something unpleasant was trying to get out, and Jack wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.
"Ah, Jack?"
"Daniel?"
"There's something you should know."
He didn't answer straightaway, letting Daniel take his weight as they began to hobble forward. When they'd established an ungainly kind of rhythm he grated out, "If you're gonna tell me you forgot to tape The Simpsons now's not a good time."
Daniel's eyes were fixed on the wil o' the wisp lights leading them deep into the ruins and dust. "Mahr'bal," he said at last. "I could be wrong, but... Well, I'm probably not."
"About what?" Damn, it felt like his entire knee had swollen to the size of a football, each jarring limp dislodging something else inside the joint.
Daniel cleared his throat. "Ramses the second called himself Mahr-B'1," he explained, "which is generally taken to mean, ah, champion or upholder of..." He paused, then in a quieter voice finished, "of Baal. Mahr means upholder, supporter if you like. Mahr'bal."
Jack stopped. "Are you saying these guys are Jaffa?"
"No," Daniel shook his head. "No. Like I said the first time we were here, I don't think Baal has a presence on Kinahhi. It must be some kind of historical holdover." He gave a slight shrug, causing them both to list a little to the right. "In fact, it's significant that Atella called himself Arxanti - which, incidentally, is of Latin rather than Canaanite derivation, obviously denoting an entirely different linguistic origin."
"Obviously."
"It's possible that the Kinahhi call Atella's people Mahr'bal as some kind of tag, dating back to their overthrow of Baal." He nodded, apparently agreeing with himself "It makes sense, when you think about it. It's an attempt to link the enemy to an idea which, in essence, is the antithesis of modern Kinahhi identity."
"Oh yeah," Jack agreed, gasping as his foot hit a large stone, jarring his damaged knee into scarlet shards of agony. He sucked in a breath. "That makes sense. When you think about it..."
"In addition," Daniel mused, "it effectively masks the true identity of your opponent, th
us allowing you total control over how they are perceived by your own people. It's the ultimate propaganda, in a way reminiscent of the Roman evisceration of Carthaginian culture after-"
"Daniel!"
"What?"
"Your point?"
"Oh." He nodded. "Well, I thought you should understand the significance of the name. Just in case."
Jack grunted in response. "Yeah, you're right. I should." Not that it changed anything. Teal'c was right, they had no choice but to follow these strange people, who seemed to know far more about SG-1 than SG-1 knew about them. He hated it when he was out of options. "Keep your eyes open. If there's trouble brewing, I want to know about it."
Daniel snorted softly as they hobbled back into motion. "Let's just hope we don't have to make a run for it."
"Sit," Koash instructed, waving his scarlet-traced fingers toward the large chair.
Sam regarded it with suspicion. It was clearly alien, and she doubted it was Kinahhi. There were some kind of controls on its arms, and a plate that seemed designed for a hand. Like a palm reader. "What is it?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest and refusing to move.
"It is a seat of learning," Koash told her. "A powerful weapon."
"Weapon?"
"Against dissent and chaos. It helps us read the truth in men's minds."
A faint violet light deep within the chair gave it a ghostly glow, and Sam saw thick Kinahhi cables connecting it to the nine chairs that stood on the dais in the center of the room. "This is how you access the sheh fet," she guessed. "It acts like a kind of buffer, filtering the thoughts so you can only read the ones you want. Right?"
Koash didn't answer. "Sit," he repeated.
"I don't think so." The cacophony of sound that had overwhelmed her in the sheh fet had sunk to a distant roar, and she had no intention of-
Strong hands seized her from behind, and her aching and abused body was slow to respond as she found herself flung into her chair. Cuffs whipped around her wrists and ankles, strapping her in place.
Koash drew nearer, stooping so that his narrow face was close to her. "I wish to know about O'Neill and the Mahr'bal."
