STARGATE SG-1-20-21-The Drift-s08e07

by Diana Dru Botsford

  The Jaffa moved on, none the wiser, and Huang released his breath into the warm air of Chulak’s morning. Subterfuge would be difficult, but not untenable.

  Lord Yu would be pleased.

  Ten more Jaffa marched by. The leaves then rustled, a sound only discernible by those trained in the ways of Lord Yu’s Dragon Guard. Huang nodded in greeting as his companion knelt beside him. He kept his eyes on the enemy troops until a dusty finger was pressed against his forehead. He swiped it away. “Is this truly necessary?” he hissed.

  A soft sigh. A whispered breeze against the pounding of yet more Jaffa storming past. Lao Dan Shi swept back the cloak of his matched disguise, the gray of their enemy. Gray cloaks, iron mesh armor and chest plates, shorn heads covered by thin steel skullcaps.

  “Success is necessary, my brother,” Shi whispered as another squadron marched past. His forefinger plunged into a small clay pot within his palm and withdrew more of the charcoal powder.

  “And yet, you must be subtle,” urged a voice from within the satchel at Huang’s feet. He withdrew the Goa’uld long-range visual communications device displaying Lord Yu’s noble visage. The silver-skinned device was strung within a frame of wires and rods. It was the only way Huang and Shi could speak over the great stellar distances separating them from the great Jade Emperor.

  One of the many shortcomings of being only human. Naquadah did not flow through Huang or Shi’s veins for they were destined to be Dragon Guards. To command Lord Yu’s Jaffa in his glory.

  The thudding march of Apophis’ Jaffa trailed off. Huang peered out from behind the tree and confirmed they were taking up position around the Chappa’ai.

  A horn blew in the distance. Shi cocked his head, listening for the telltale sign of more Jaffa approaching. “We must hurry.”

  “What you must do,” Lord Yu whispered, “is stop them with guile, not war.”

  Shi gripped his staff weapon. “Why wait, my lord — ”

  “Silence!”

  Huang watched on in pity as his more fanatical brother muttered his obedience to their master.

  “Upon your arrival, kill Apophis’ Jaffa. Then, report back.” Lord Yu’s visage winked out.

  Huang returned the device to his satchel. Shi placed his staff weapon by its side and waved a charcoaled forefinger in his direction.

  Though reluctant, Huang surrendered his forehead. “This tattoo, this sigil… It is not the wénshēn I had hoped to bear.”

  Shi traced a circle upon Huang’s forehead. “Our rightful tattoos will soon be ours if we succeed — ”

  “If?” Huang pulled back. “You doubt our mission?”

  Shi grasped Huang’s shoulder. “I am Lord Yu’s servant… and your crèche-brother. Born together — ”

  “We shall succeed together,” Huang completed the mantra which had bonded them since birth. Clones of Lord Yu’s first Dragon Guards; they had been conceived, grown, and born by way of a device as old as the System Lord. Though they were echoes of the past, the product of a technology as ancient as the Goa’uld they served, Huang believed his destiny could be more if Lord Yu would only give him the chance.

  Shi pressed his finger once more upon Huang’s brow. A serpentine stroke shortly followed by a final upward arc just below.

  “There.” Shi wiped his hand across his iron mesh leggings. “You now bear the mark of a Serpent Guard.”

  Huang grabbed the pot of crushed charcoal and applied a matching tattoo to Shi’s forehead. He pushed aside his repulsion to the false wénshēn, knowing it a necessary evil.

  Huang was a devoted servant, a Dragon Guard trainee, and the genetic inheritor of the great Tau’ri philosopher Sun Tzu. To have his forehead tattooed with anything less than his lord’s golden crest was anathema to everything Huang had worked for since birth.

  “Do not press so hard,” Shi whispered. “I would not have Baozhai see my head so stained upon our return.”

  Huang rocked back on his heels. “You know it is forbidden for us to mate, even with a slave — ”

  “Kree, Jaffa!”

  Huang put down the pot and glanced around the tree. Many warriors now guarded the Chappa’ai, their staff weapons at the ready. Three Serpent Guards stood beside the dialing device, their silver tattoos marking their high rank. The morning glow of Chulak’s two suns glistened across their foreheads as they awaited the approaching squadron.

  Ka-chunk. The telltale sound of a first address glyph being entered into the dialing device.

  The horn sounded again. Closer this time, but the footsteps accompanying were few. Five, maybe six at the most.

  Too small a number to infiltrate. They’d be easily seen when they slipped behind the nearing Jaffa. Huang sank back against the tree. “We have a problem, brother.”

  Metal hit stone once again as another glyph was pressed. Shi presented him with a toothy grin. Taller, leaner, Shi was always the optimist. He had truly inherited the warmer nature of his genetic ancestor Lao Tzu. “Every problem is an opportunity in disguise.”

  Again, the horn blew. This time only a stone’s throw away. Huang stuck out his head to witness the final team of Jaffa march past. Grasping his staff weapon in his right hand, his left took firm hold of his brother’s arm. “Then we must grab hold of this opportunity to stop our lord’s enemy.”

  Ka-chunk. A second, then third glyph was engaged.

  As one, Huang and Shi strode to the line’s rear and assumed positions within the rank. Two towering Jaffa led the group, the smoothness of their faces a clear sign of their youth. They could not be more than fifty years of age. The warrior on the left was dark-skinned, his shoulders broad as a tree. The other equally tall though his skin was pale as snow.

  The group marched toward the Chappa’ai. No heads turned. No comments were made. The two escorts and three warriors passed the dialing device as a silver-tattooed Jaffa pressed three more glyphs. The dark-skinned youth flicked a finger at Huang and Shi, indicating they should take position to the Chappa’ai’s right.

  Huang strode past the dialing device, stealing a glance at the glyphs engaged on its pedestal.

  It was the Tau'ri address! He was certain of it. Only Chulak's point of origin was missing. Feeling Shi's eyes upon him, Huang gave the briefest of nods. Shi's thumb hovered over his staff weapon's firing mechanism. Huang stopped him with a short jerk of his head.

  Not yet, brother. Not yet.

  They could not attract attention. Not unless the address worked.

  “Hi’ato, Jaffa,” warned the brown-skinned Serpent Guard. Walk on.

  The two hurried to the platform, but not before he overheard the two escorts speak.

  “Bra’tac must be made aware of their slovenliness.” This from the paler Jaffa escort.

  “See to it, Va’lar,” the dark warrior pronounced. “Once our brothers have departed.”

  And us along with them.

  A final ka-chunk to enter the point of origin, and a surge of power shook the ground. Huang tensed. A moment later, the Chappa’ai disgorged its force. The way to the Tau’ri was open. The liquid horizon settled across the ring of the Gods and a great cheer went up through the Jaffa ranks.

  “Tal Shak,” shouted the lead silver-tattooed Serpent Guard. “Go and secure the Tau’ri for Apophis’ return!”

  The chosen warriors approached the platform, hesitancy upon their brows. Upon closer inspection, Huang noticed all three looked very much alike. Tan skinned, muscular. Two carried jagged scars across their faces, the other’s unmarred. For all Huang knew, they could be triplets, born together.

  And together they would die.

  Huang bent his knees minutely. To truly follow Lord Yu’s directions, he knew that they must avoid force until through the other side. The staff weapon in his palm argued against his effort of patience.

  One step. Two. The warriors climbed the platform steps. To his side, Shi had slid his hand down his staff weapon, his thumb yet again reaching for the trigger. Huang pra
yed his brother would be patient.

  The warriors reached the Chappa’ai, turned around and thumped their fists against their chests in salute.

  “For Apophis,” they chanted. “Emperor of all Goa’uld!”

  A great cheer went up amongst the ranks. The three warriors turned back around and stepped toward the Chappa’ai.

  “Now,” whispered Huang.

  He leapt to the platform with Shi at his side. Two warriors had already entered the shimmering pool, but the third whirled toward them, his weapon raised.

  Shi double-kicked the warrior’s ribs, bringing forth a grunt. A final punch to the Jaffa’s stomach pouch sent him sprawling, but not before Huang ripped the staff from his hands. “Hurry,” he cried to Shi. They stepped toward the Chappa’ai.

  A staff weapon blasted across their path.

  “Kree ta!” yelled the dark-skinned Jaffa. Smoke steamed from his staff weapon as he strode toward them.

  “We must go!” Huang raced to the Chappa’ai’s watery horizon. Below the platform, the assembled Jaffa raised their staff weapons, but with only one more step, it would no longer matter. With Shi, he would be safely through the other side.

  In the land of the Tau’ri.

  “Shol’vah, stop!” Another blast from dark warrior. This time at their feet. Huang had never seen a Jaffa with such precise marksmanship.

  Huang reached out to drag Shi through the Chappa’ai, but his brother spun toward the dark warrior. Shi raised the stolen staff weapon in his hand, thumbed the trigger, and —

  Collapsed. His chest blackened.

  “Go,” Shi mumbled, blood spurting from his mouth.

  Between heartbeats, the desire to destroy the dark Jaffa fought against the logic of Lord Yu’s mission.

  The moment passed. The need to complete his brother’s wishes remained, and Huang dived into the Chappa’ai.

  In the instant between his departure from Chulak and his arrival in the land of the Tau’ri, Huang prepared himself. He knew two of Apophis’ Jaffa would be there. Out in the open. Easy to kill.

  One could not hide in a desert.

  Lord Yu had told them much about where the Tau’ri had buried — and now must have unburied — their Chappa’ai. A land known as Giza. Much wind. Dry heat.

  A brittle cold stung Huang’s face. He flew from the Tau’ri’s Chappa’ai clutching his staff weapon and satchel. Pulling up his knees, he hit the ground and rolled sideways. He’d only a fleeting glance of snow, ice, and being inside a monstrous cave before the Chappa’ai’s horizon winked out.

  The cave dropped into darkness. Footsteps shuffled across the icy ground. Huang stilled his breath, waiting.

  An arc of blue fire shot past his feet. A zat’ni’katel. The Jaffa were still here! Another bolt erupted toward him. Before a third could find its aim, Huang jumped to his feet and swung forward his staff weapon.

  He could not gain a clear shot. The Serpent Guards crouched behind a mound of ice to one side. Twin bolts of energy shot forth from either side of the mound. Huang searched the cave for cover and found none.

  He would make cover where there was none. Tilting his staff weapon upwards, he blasted the ice-covered snow ceiling over the two Jaffa. His target hit true. The warriors collapsed in a spew of water, ice and rock.

  Huang was alone.

  It was time to return to his lord and master. He spun around the cave, searching for the dialing device.

  There was none. He was stranded.

  In the frozen land of the Tau’ri.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MCMURDO STATION

  ROSS ISLAND, ANTARCTICA

  18 AUG 04/0835 HRS MCMURDO STATION

  A half hour later, the truck transporting Paul and the SGC team passed a whitewashed sign welcoming them to McMurdo. A few orange parka-clad scientists hiked by, their flashlights broadcasting on the snow ahead them. In the days to come, the station’s winter staff of two hundred scientists and support personnel would more than quadruple when the sun finally appeared on the Eastern horizon.

  The truck turned onto the side road leading to Building 155, the station’s main center. A bank of spotlights illuminated the power, water, sewer and telephone lines, all running above ground to keep from freezing. Paul rattled off the names of various buildings for General O’Neill and the SG-1 team. Over a hundred buildings made up McMurdo, mostly built of well-insulated corrugated tin and raised on short stilts to keep the snow from building up.

  The truck came to a halt besides the ramp leading up to Building 155. Parkas were slipped on and zipped. Wool hats tugged down. General O’Neill cracked open the back door and the harsh cold of Antarctica rushed into the compartment. He grabbed his briefcase and jumped down. Paul waited while the others each collected their belongings.

  “It will be good to see General Hammond again,” Teal’c said. “When do we depart for the outpost?”

  Paul climbed down and shut the truck door. “A helicopter is waiting to take you now if you’d like.”

  “Yeah, about that…” General O’Neill pulled up his hood. “Teal’c, stay and help the negotiations.”

  “Sir?” Paul asked in unison with Colonel Carter.

  “I do not understand, O’Neill. How would I assist?”

  “Just stand over them. Be intimidating. And watch Daniel’s six.”

  “My six is fine, thank you.” Daniel paused for a moment, tilting his head. “Although, it wouldn’t hurt for the diplomats to meet Teal’c.”

  “Sir, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Paul countered. Negotiating the future of the weapons chair was critical to Earth’s safety, and moving it was not an option. They still knew too little about how the platform operated to chance any kind of relocation that might cause permanent damage.

  “Having Teal’c at those negotiations is my idea, Major,” the general said, “so just go with it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Paul tugged his balaclava down to combat the relentless wind. He needed to get everyone inside before they froze. He gestured toward the building. “We should get inside.”

  He led the way up a rocky pathway, past rows of shacks and buildings lit up by lampposts. Someone had plowed recently, exposing the bare volcanic rock underneath on which the station had been built. McMurdo sat on Hut Point Peninsula, some twenty miles away from Mt. Erebus, which was also located on Ross Island. Paul had been assured that the volcano was only mildly active. Considering how this day was going, a volcano erupting was the least of his worries.

  Colonel Carter ran up to join him. “Major, I’d like to get to the outpost as soon as possible.”

  “Not a problem, Colonel.” He pointed toward a brown pre-fab shack. “Captain Biggs can take you to the helicopter pad. It’s right behind the main dormitories.”

  “Goggles?”

  “Ready and waiting.”

  “Thank you, Paul.” Even through the hood of her parka, he could see the colonel’s signature smile. “Sir, we should head over if you’re ready?”

  “I am. Daniel, you ready to kick butt with those diplomats?”

  “Save the chair, save the outpost. World peace by lunchtime. I got it.” Daniel turned back toward the road. “You know, we’ve never ‘officially’ been to McMurdo before.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get the introductory briefing.” The general patted Daniel’s shoulder. “It’ll be fun.”

  “A fun briefing? That’s somewhat of an oxymoron, isn’t it?”

  “Happy Camper training,” Paul explained. “Air force personnel are exempt, but since you’re civilians it’s required. Even repeat visitors — ”

  “Don’t spoil it for them, Major.” The general tapped a gloved finger on Daniel’s chest. “Make those folks see the light of day.” He gestured toward the still dark sky. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

  “Jack, what if I screw up again? What if — ”

  “Get it done, Daniel!” General O’Neill spun toward the USAF support building and headed
off with Colonel Carter in tow.

  Surprised by Daniel’s insecurity, Paul considered pressing him for details, but decided against it. If Generals Hammond and O’Neill believed he could help settle the outpost issue with the diplomats, Paul had to believe they were right.

  He gestured toward Building 155’s double doors. “Teal’c, Daniel, shall we?”

  “Yeah, I’m freezing. Teal’c?” Daniel ran toward the entrance.

  No answer came from the Jaffa. Paul glanced over his shoulder to discover why. Teal’c had turned to face the frozen McMurdo Sound that separated the station from the continent’s mainland and the outpost. Paul wondered for a moment if Teal’c knew that, or if he was appreciating the green ribbon of light rippling over the horizon.

  Knowing Teal’c, he was doing both.

  “The Aurora Australis,” Paul explained. “They’re caused by photonic emissions in the Earth’s upper atmosphere. Solar wind particles funnel down and accelerate along the Earth’s magnetic field lines.”

  “And those gold-white lines?”

  Inside the aurora, several striations undulated in counterpoint. The outer green band swayed left while the golden-edged white lines would bend right, seeping out of the ribbon’s edge. The aurora would then solidify and repeat the process, all in a slow, meandering pattern.

  “That’s unusual,” he admitted. “Gold bands usually are a reflection of how much energy’s absorbed, but I’ve never seen polar lights behave like that before.”

  “So many years ago,” Teal’c whispered. “I often wonder…”

  Paul assumed Teal’c referred to when the SGC first discovered the Antarctic gate. “Seven years is a long time.”

  “Indeed.” Teal’c shuddered, as if shaken from a reverie.

  The aurora disappeared. Another gust blew across the ramp, cold enough this time to bite right through Paul’s parka. He shivered. “We should get inside.”

  “I agree.” Teal’c’s dark eyes turned wistful under the glare of a neighboring spotlight. “Though it should feel like only a moment in my hundred-and-six years,” he whispered, “my time with the Tau’ri has been most gratifying.”