The Cost of Honor

by Stargate

  "Wait!"

  Crawford lifted his head, dreading what he might see. The black robes still hovered around Carter, studying her with rapt attention. But now she seemed to be awake. Her eyes were open at least, and she was staring at the man with his hands pressed against her head. His skin was translucent, blood-red veins - or something more sinister - drawing ugly patterns on his cheeks. His lips were moving soundlessly, and Carter was staring at him like she was crazy. Maybe she was, maybe they all were.

  The other robed figures flapped around them like black moths around a flame, their gaze darting between Carter and the silently gibbering man. Abruptly he stood up straight. "She will help us," he said.

  "Have you penetrated her mind?" It was a woman who spoke, trailing bony fingers across the side of Carter's face. "Have you seen the truth?"

  The man hesitated. Few, perhaps, would have noticed it. But Crawford had spent a lifetime watching people, looking for their weaknesses.

  "I have."

  It was a lie. How interesting. From the sleeve of his robe, the man produced a curved steel blade. Crawford started, cringing back against the wall, eyes shut tight. Oh God, he was going to kill her. And then? And then...

  He heard a slicing sound but no screams. Then another.

  "What are you doing?" The woman's voice again.

  Crawford opened his eyes. There was no blood or gore. The man was slicing through the ties that kept Carter in the alien chair. She was moving groggily, rubbing at her wrists, touching her face. With a shiver of revulsion Crawford realized that she too was filigreed with scarlet.

  She was compromised. Somehow, they'd infected her. Made her one of them!

  "She will assist us," the man insisted, helping Carter to her feet. With his other hand, he brushed her temple in a strangely intimate gesture. She didn't seem to resist. In fact she smiled.

  "Thank you," she said, touching his cheek in return. Good God, what was this? Carter trailed her hand down from the man's face to his narrow shoulder, then caressed his arm. "And now, I will help you. What is it you need to know?"

  The man stared at her, entranced. "You know."

  "Of course," Carter smiled again. "Colonel O'Neill is at large, somewhere on your world. In league with these Mahr'bal?"

  "So we believe."

  She took his hand. "What does he want?"

  "To destroy us."

  "Will he bring the Mahr'bal with him?"

  A fluster of fear shivered through all the robed figures. "Surely not!" cried one. "Here? Tsapan? They would destroy us all!"

  Carter didn't turn away from the man before her, one hand entwined with his. "You're afraid," she said, her voice hardened slightly. "I saw an image - the Colonel sitting in one of these chairs. Is that what you're afraid of? What would happen?"

  "Help us find him!" the man insisted. "As you promised. Help us to find him, before he comes here and destroys everything."

  Carter flashed a wide smile that seemed to light the entire room, unfeigned and ebullient. "Oh, we'll find him," she insisted. "I think I can guarantee it."

  Betrayal? Not long ago Crawford would have laughed at the notion; the famously loyal SG-1 fragmenting, saving their own skins at the expense of each other. But now...? Now he wanted to curse her. He needed O'Neill, he needed them all if he was going to get out of this goddamn-

  She moved like a cat, slick and without preamble. One shoulder ducked, tucked into the man's gut, and suddenly he was flipping over to land in a crumpled heap on the floor. The silver dagger he'd been holding was pressed against his exposed throat, his head yanked back by the hand Carter had knotted in his hair. "One move," she shouted, "and he dies."

  Crawford felt like cheering...

  Alarms blared through the Kinahhi Stargate complex, urgent and unplanned. Councilor Tamar Damaris jumped from her desk in a manner most undignified, and irritably slapped her hand on the communicator. "What is this?"

  The answer came in the form of her aide, Matan Tal, bursting through the door, his young face white with panic. "Councilor! We are under attack!"

  "From whom?" There were no events scheduled for the next month. Surely she had not forgotten to-

  "The Tauri!"

  "What?" It had to be O'Neill, of course. Damn the man. Why could he not be caught? "Where is he?" And how had he infiltrated the security of-

  "They came through the Stargate, Councilor," Tal babbled. "We have been betrayed! They came dressed as Tauri dissenters, destined for the sheh fet, but they were armed..."

  Shocked, Damaris dropped into her chair. "Impossible."

  "It is true," the young man's voice fell, fearful and awed. "They have taken control of the Stargate and threaten to destroy the dialing device if we attempt to retake it."

  "What do they hope to achieve?" It made no sense. "Kinsey is a vain, arrogant fool. But he is not so stupid as this."

  Matan had no answer. "They have asked to speak with you, Councilor. They wish to know of the Tauri prisoners, O'Neill and Carter."

  O'Neill and Carter? This attack, then, was not sanctioned by Kinsey. He wanted them gone. This must be the action of a rogue element. Damaris felt herself relax. In time, no doubt, the Tauri authorities would return to Kinahhi to retrieve their errant sons. All that was required was to keep them from damaging the dialing device, and to do that she simply needed to dangle hope before them.

  "Have these sirens silenced," she told Matan. "And tell the Tauri that I will speak with them in due course."

  His surprise was well hidden. "Yes, Councilor."

  "All will be well," she assured him. "Let this event remind us of the value of the sheh fet. Such disorder could never occur among the Kinahhi, and in time the Tauri will be equally civilized."

  "Yes," Matan agreed vehemently. "May that time come soon, Councilor."

  "Oh, it will. And when it does, the wealth of their world will be ours for the taking, Matan. We must be patient a little longer."

  But not much. Kinahhi was about to complete its first step into interplanetary dominance. These troublesome Tauri would be pacified, and the Kinahhi people would know might and wealth never before in their planet's history.

  She smiled. Yes, their patience would soon be rewarded beyond measure.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ack stood leaning against the Kinahhi transport, watching Daniel lead his ragtag army out of the desert like some latter-day Lawrence of Arabia. He just hoped to hell Daniel knew what he was doing. Taking inexperienced kids like this into battle went against almost all of Jack's instincts - all but one: trust Daniel. Over the years he'd learned to compromise his pragmatism and to open his mind, a little, to some of the crazier ideas his friend liked to spout. And if Daniel told him these guys had to go to Tsapan, then he'd choose to take that leap of faith.

  "Colonel O'Neill?" Talking about leaps of faith... Commander Kenna jumped down from the doorway of the transport. He too surveyed Daniel's army, no doubt picking out a few of his own men in the mix.

  "Your friend is a persuasive speaker," he said.

  "Yeah, silver-tongued."

  "I did not think any of my men would wish to challenge the sheh fet."

  Jack shoved his hands in his pockets. "Guess you're not the only one with doubts."

  "Yes." The Commander said the word slowly, as if considering it for the first time. "Yes, perhaps you are right."

  Clapping him on the arm, Jack turned to climb aboard the transport. At the last moment, Kenna stopped him.

  "O'Neill."

  "Yeah?"

  "What I said this morning, about Major Carter."

  She's dead! A wave of grief and anger swelled in his chest, tightening his throat. "What about it?"

  Kenna looked away, squinting out over the desert. "I do not wish to give you false hope, but... I was not speaking the whole truth."

  Jack froze - in stark contradiction to his overwhelming desire to seize the man by the throat and throttle the truth out of him. "Meaning?"

 
"She still lived when I last saw her."

  His fingers clamped around the doorframe as the world spun in giddy relief. He said nothing, couldn't find his voice, just stared, demanding more.

  Kenna frowned. "Your attempt to free her had damaged her connection to the sheh fet."

  Meaning what? What?!

  "She was conscious. I saw her open her eyes, I..." Kenna looked doubtful. "I thought I heard her mind, in my own, O'Neill. I thought I heard her talking to me."

  Jack was breathing hard, as though he'd just run 10 klicks. "What did she say?"

  "She asked for my help." He fixed Jack with a steady, unflinching look. "I am ashamed to say that I ignored her plea."

  Bastard. Anger flared dark red in Jack's mind, until he remembered the boy. It faded, extinguished by a splash of older, deeper pain. "You did what you had to," he said gruffly. "I'd have done the same, for my son."

  Kenna's face brightened. "You have a son?"

  Damn it. "I did. He died."

  The brightness vanished. "I am sorry, I..." The Commander trailed off. No one ever knew what to say, probably because there was nothing to say.

  It wasn't the point anyway. "When was this?" Jack asked, snapping the Commander back into the moment. "When did you last see her?"

  "More than two days ago," he answered. "O'Neill, you must be prepared. Much might have changed. The Kaw'ree intended to reintegrate her into the sheh fet."

  "Screw them, whoever they are." He jumped up into the ship. "Carter's alive. I know it."

  Kenna was unconvinced, but Jack ignored him and turned to watch Daniel's army trailing through the desert. Suddenly, they didn't seem so pitiful. They looked young and strong, and full of potential. There was hope. He'd bring his team home, he'd rip the goddamn brain-sucking machine to pieces - with his bare hands if he had to - and then he'd take down Damaris, and Kinsey and Crawford. The whole craphouse of corruption was going to come crashing to the ground, and he'd be the one wielding the ax.

  He glanced down at Kenna and found himself grinning. "Come on," he said, offering the puzzled man a hand up. "We've got some serious ass to kick."

  "On your feet," Sam hissed, yanking the man to his feet. Skin and bone beneath the voluminous robes, Koash weighed no more than herself Whimpering, he scrabbled upright.

  Don't hurt me! How can you do this? It's impossible. You'll destroy us all. The barrage of his thoughts was constant, beating like hot wings against her face. They made it hard to think. The others will come. They'll free me. And then you'll suffer you'll suffer for eternity in the sheh'fet...

  An image flashed into her mind, startlingly intense. Gold inlay on the roof of a coffin, a lid of stone sliding back. A white light within, and the raving face of a cadaver leaping out like a gruesome jack-in-the-box.

  "Sarcophagus!" Sam gasped and almost lost her footing. "Oh my God, that's how you keep them alive..."

  "If you do not release me," Koash snarled, "you too will require its healing effect before long."

  Dream on. She tightened her hand in his lank hair, edging the knife closer against the thin skin of his throat. "Move," she told him, keeping her eyes on the other Kaw'ree as she backed towards the door. He did, reluctantly, his pulse pounding half an inch from the blade of the knife. It seemed to take forever to cross the vast expanse of the domed room, but at last she felt the handle to the tall, wooden doors press into her back. "Open it," she ordered.

  "Wait!" The squeal came from Crawford, scrambling to his feet at the opposite side of the room. "Don't leave me here!"

  He was flanked by two Kinahhi soldiers, glaring at her in horror-struck rage as she dragged one of their holy men out of the room by his hair. Slowly, one of the soldiers seized Crawford by his hair and yanked him to his knees. He obviously thought he could bargain. "Release the Kaw'ree," the soldier shouted.

  Too bad Crawford's such an asshole. Sam kicked open the door and dragged Koash out after her.

  "No!" Crawford yelled desperately. It was enough to make her flinch with guilt, but not enough to make her reconsider. She'd come back for him if she could, but otherwise... Better men had died off-world.

  Another kick slammed the door on Crawford's wails, and she spun around and grabbed Koash by the arm. "Run," she told him. "Or I'll throw you out the nearest window. You understand?"

  He blanched. I hate you.

  "Yeah, the feeling's mutual." She pushed him, hard, into a staggering lope. "Now move it."

  Ignoring the waves of outrage, Sam started running. Her first objective was to hide herself in the labyrinth of the city. The next was to find the rest of her team. She knew they were out there, as sure as night followed day. If she did nothing else, she'd find her team and get the hell off this nightmare world.

  General Hammond paced behind the tall, transparent defense shields in the Kinahhi gate-room, watching his team train the enemy weapons away from the Stargate and toward the door. Beyond, he knew, gathered half the Kinahhi military - he'd glimpsed them when they'd ejected the Kinahhi soldiers who'd been guarding the room.

  A sudden rap on the door startled him. Over at the DHD Boyd moved his hand to the detonator, while Dixon approached the door. He looked to Hammond for approval before he cracked open the door. A few words were exchanged, then Dixon stepped back and allowed Councilor Tamar Damaris to enter.

  She'd come alone, and Hammond respected her for that - if little else. She glanced around as if surveying a pigsty. "General Hammond. I find myself unsurprised at your involvement with this... unpleasantness."

  "I take that as a compliment, Ma'am."

  "We can have little to discuss," she said, regarding Boyd and the rigged DHD with cool calculation. "Why do you wish to talk to me?"

  "I think you know why."

  "You have the advantage of me, General. Unless, perhaps, you wish to discuss terms for your surrender and reparations for the damage you have caused?"

  She was playing for time, going for a long volley instead of a smash across the net. Hammond recognized her tactics, but was in no mood for games. "I want my people back," he said bluntly. "And I want them in one piece."

  "Your people?"

  "Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter."

  "I'm sorry, General, but that's not possible."

  His heart thumped, hard. "Why not? So help me, Councilor, if you've harmed them I'll-"

  "You misunderstand," she assured him, mildly triumphant. "The truth is, it's not possible for me to return your people to you because they're no longer in Kinahhi custody."

  They'd escaped! "Where are they?"

  She smiled coldly. "All we know, General, is that their alien ship crashed into the Mibsaw Sea." She placed a comfortless hand on his arm. "I am sorry. No survivors were detected."

  "Is that so?"

  "I would not lie to you."

  He laughed. "Well, you'll forgive me for not believing you, Councilor. Truth is, SG-1 have an uncanny habit of beating the odds." Her lips tightened, just slightly. It was enough to make him smile. "Better get comfortable out there, Councilor. It's going to be a long wait."

  Without answering, she strode back toward the door. At the last moment, she turned around. "You realize that I cannot allow this situation to endure."

  Hammond shrugged and indicated the DHD. "And I can't let you back to Earth, Councilor. Any of you. The deal's off, all I want now is my people. Once I've got them, we'll be gone."

  She cocked her head, a flicker of surprise running over her usually guarded features. "You do not represent the Tauri. Senator Kinsey-

  "Senator Kinsey is a grade A fool. By now, he's out of the SGC and heading back to Washington with his tail between his legs." Or so Hammond hoped. He stepped forward, lowering his voice. "We've found you out, Councilor. You played your cards too soon. The Kinahhi will never set foot on our planet again. We'd rather die first."

  "If that is what you wish," she snapped frostily. "Then so be it."

  Hammond folded his arms. "We'll just see about that, Coun c
ilor." Or, as Colonel O'Neill might have said, Bring it on.

  It was dark in the city, dark and damp. Only the thin crescent of a single moon cast a pale light that, in places, slipped down into the depths of the city where Sam crept. Far above, occasional lights gleamed amber or ocher, seeming to accentuate the darkness and dereliction of the rest of Tsapan.

  It was an easy place to get lost. There were pros and cons to that, Sam reflected, as she dragged the shivering Koash through the narrow streets and alleyways. On the upside, no pursuit. On the downside, she didn't have a clue where she was or where she was going.

  And she was exhausted. Her mind still raced with a thousand thoughts, her face still burned and when she touched it she could feel strange ridges and lines tracing across her temples and cheek. She was glad there was no mirror, afraid of what she might see. Had her face already disintegrated into the red-traced cadaverous features of those trapped in the sheh fet? Or did she look like Koash, pallid as the moon, disfigured by the scarlet filigree that patterned his skin?

  Not that any of it would matter if she couldn't find her team or get the hell out of this city of the dead and dying. But her leaden limbs struggled to keep moving, as if her muscles had atrophied, and at length she was forced to stop. "We'll rest," she panted, easing herself to the floor and dragging Koash down next to her.

  He was watching her with hate-filled eyes, his fear like a stench in the air. Sam kept the knife, her only weapon, visible and pondered what to do next. Koash was a burden now, but how to get rid of him without risking him running back to his friends and giving her away? Her hand tightened around the hilt of the weapon, but she wasn't that desperate. If she'd had a zat, or something to tie him-