No one seemed particularly hungry, and not just because of the unappetizing rehydrated food. Worse than MREs, Daniel thought, prodding the rice and bean mixture around his plate.
Sam mentioned it first, though, the weird kind of white-noise tension in the back of her head. “It’s like interference,” she said, pressing her fingertips against her neck, “like it’s making it hard to think.”
“I thought it was just me,” Jack said, pushing his half-empty plate away. “But then thinking’s never been my forte.”
Sam gave a listless smile, but didn’t reply.
“I’ve had a headache all day,” Monroe joined in. “I think it’s from the storm, changes in atmospheric pressure or something.”
Sam made a face, as if she thought that was stupid but was too polite to argue.
“How about you, big guy?” Jack asked Teal’c. “You feeling anything unusual?”
“I am. More than I would expect.” It was all he could say with Monroe right there, but they all knew the subtext; Teal’c was often protected by his symbiote. It didn’t always mean anything when he wasn’t, but sometimes it did.
Despite the fuzz in his head, Daniel was still thinking. He’d been considering the snatches of Asgard text he’d managed to read in the long barrow. There hadn’t been time to transcribe any before the disappearance of the body had been discovered, but it had been clear to him that what had been written on the walls of the burial chamber hadn’t been written by the Asgard. That is, it had been written using Asgard script but the words, the context, had been born of human minds, not an advanced alien species.
He glanced at Monroe, who sat toying with his food. Unable to reveal how much of the language he knew – it would be impossible to explain – Daniel decided to approach the subject obliquely. “Norse mythology,” he said, “often refers to undead creatures called draugr.”
That got Jack’s attention. He looked up and Daniel tried to convey, with a look, that what he was about to say had been written on the walls of the long barrow. “I read recently that their proximity alone can drive people mad with fear.”
Jack glanced over at Teal’c and Carter. They were both listening too.
“You’re not suggesting there’s a draugr out there, are you, Dr. Jackson?” Monroe said with a tired laugh. “That’s as farfetched as little green men.”
Daniel spared him a tense smile. “I’m not suggesting anything. But you’re familiar with the mythology, right?”
“Of course. And I suppose ancient humans were as prone to mental illness, or to the effects of changes in atmospheric pressure, as we are. Mythology is simply a narrative explanation for the unknown.”
Jack nudged Daniel’s arm, getting his attention. “Anything else you’ve read recently that we should know about?”
“Um…” He considered how to phrase it. “Well, apparently draugr are difficult to kill. The gods were deemed necessary to bind them inside their graves.”
“Oh, not always,” Monroe objected. “What about Glámr? He was killed by Grettir.” He looked at Jack. “Grettir was a human,” he clarified. “Not a god.”
Daniel scratched his head. “But what about the Wild Hunt?” Another glance at Jack. “Odin – one of the Asgard pantheon of gods – hunts down draugr and other supernatural creatures. On the eve of the winter solstice, actually. Which is two days from now.”
“That’s just one of many iterations of the myth,” Monroe said. “Although Dr. Jackson’s right about the link with mid-winter; the draugr Glámr, of course, rose from the dead on Christmas Eve.” He gestured with his fork at the windows and the wind-driven snow. “In some parts of the world, the Wild Hunt was said to ride on the north wind. You can understand why, yes?”
“Is there any evidence,” Sam said carefully, “of what the draugr might have actually been?”
Monroe just laughed. “They weren’t actually anything, Captain. They were shadows in the night. Fairy tales.” He sat back in his chair, regarding Daniel with a curious expression. “Myths are no more than stories, Dr. Jackson. Perhaps that’s where your academic career took such a wrong turn.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but it was condescending and Daniel felt his hackles rise. “Mankind is capable of great self-deception,” Monroe carried on. “Just because our ancestors believed that the gods flew across the skies in chariots of fire, it doesn’t mean they were right.” He paused. “It doesn’t mean that alien intelligence was responsible for the great works of the past.”
“No one’s talking about aliens,” Jack grumbled.
Although, Daniel thought, they probably were. A Goa’uld, perhaps, would have seemed like a creature that rose from the dead to harry the terrified human population. A Goa’uld might have been something the Asgard stepped in to control. “What I think,” he said to Monroe, “is that, in any given situation, we all hold part of the truth. And anyone who thinks he has it all is probably wrong.”
Monroe didn’t try to argue with that.
Daniel slept heavily, like he was sinking into a thick, boggy darkness, and it was difficult to rise to the surface when Teal’c woke him for his watch.
“You are weary,” Teal’c whispered, crouching next to him in the dark. “I will take your watch.”
“No, don’t. I’m good.” He rubbed his hands across his face, reached for his glasses. His brain felt stuffed full of cotton, but it was probably nothing coffee wouldn’t cure. “You need to rest too.”
Teal’c inclined his head. “I do feel the need for rest,” he agreed. “Unusually so.”
“Atmospheric pressure?” Daniel suggested with a wry look.
“I do not believe so. My symbiote is disturbed.”
“Yeah,” Daniel said. “I know how it feels.”
There was still coffee in the pot, and Daniel poured himself a cup. It was stewed, but all he really needed was the caffeine and he didn’t want to wake the others by making a new pot; they were all bunking in the living area tonight, on Jack’s orders – all except Gordon, naturally. But even the coffee couldn’t penetrate the fuzzy-headed feeling with which he’d gone to bed, the feeling that had intensified during the night into a crawling, disturbing unease. Like cold fingers down his spine, like spiders spinning cobwebs in his brain.
He shuddered, scrubbed a hand through his hair, but failed to shake it off.
“Focus on something else,” he told himself.
Outside, the storm had abated. The snow was still falling, but at least it was more vertical than horizontal. He guessed that was an improvement and got a little closer to the window, trying to make out the shapes of the tarpaulin-covered snowmobiles outside. But the external lights were out, he realized with a beat of unease, and he couldn’t see anything beyond the window.
And his chest felt tight suddenly, as if a hand was squeezing his lungs so he couldn’t suck in a whole breath. He tried to swallow and couldn’t. In his hand, the coffee mug started to shake and he set it down clumsily on the counter.
Panic attack.
He’d never had one before, but this must be how they felt: frozen, rooted to the floor, short gasping breaths, muscles like iron, mouth dry. All he could do was stare out into the snow, leaning closer to the window as if drawn toward it. Cold radiated from the glass, he could feel it against his eyes, his breath was misting the glass as he leaned closer and—
There was a face at the window.
“Argh!” Daniel stumbled backward, the mug smashing on the floor.
Dead eyes stared at him through tattered lids, a desiccated mouth opened in a wide, silent scream, leathered cheeks stretched until they cracked.
“Daniel!” Jack grabbed his arm, turning him away from the window. He had a gun in his hand. “What happened?”
Daniel’s voice was jammed, words stuck in his throat. “Outside…” he managed, lifting a shaking hand to point.
“What?” Jack looked at the window, night-black and empty. “You saw something?”
The panic was easing now, like a we
ight lifting, and he sucked in a breath. “Crap,” he said, bending over, hands braced on his knees, catching his breath as the world started to spin. He felt like he’d sprinted a mile. “Crap…”
Jack’s hand was on his back. “Easy,” he said. Then, “Carter, go check on Gordon. Teal’c, you see anything out there?”
After a moment, “I do not, O’Neill.”
“It was there,” Daniel said, straightening up. He felt lightheaded, but better, less fogged in the head. “There was a face at the window.”
“What kind of face?” Jack said.
He closed his eyes against the memory, against the horrific panic that had incapacitated him. Against the malevolence he’d seen in that spectral face. “A dead one,” he said.
Jack gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then let go with a sigh. “I was afraid you were gonna say that.”
Chapter Four
“Sierra Golf Charlie this is Sierra Golf One Niner, over.”
Wait.
“Sierra Golf Charlie this is Sierra Golf One Niner, over.”
Nothing.
“Sierra Golf Charlie this is Sierra Golf One Niner, over.”
Teal’c let out a slow breath, allowed his mind to rise above the irritation simmering below. Anger was rarely useful unless in battle, and this was not a battle situation. He must use reason. “I do not believe you will be successful, O’Neill, no matter how often you repeat the exercise.”
O’Neill glowered, then threw down the microphone and slumped back in his seat, rubbing his hands over his face. He appeared tired, as did they all; no one had slept after Daniel Jackson’s encounter.
“Insanity,” Dr. Gordon muttered, from where he lurked in the doorway that led back to his laboratory, “is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results – Einstein. And ‘insanity’ is an apposite descriptor of our current situation.”
O’Neill allowed his hands to fall into his lap. “If you’re gonna be an ass,” he said, “be an ass someplace else.”
“Need I remind you, Colonel, that you are the uninvited guest? Feel free to leave, by all means. We have a four wheel drive you can dig out – you’ll reach Keflavik by the New Year, I’m sure.”
“Don’t tempt me,” O’Neill growled, although Teal’c knew it was an empty threat. O’Neill would not leave this place when an unknown danger, possibly Goa’uld, had been loosed upon the world. “Teal’c,” O’Neill said, “go check—”
“What did you call him?” Monroe said, from where he sat at the table.
A beat of silence fell. “Nickname,” O’Neill said then, although Teal’c could see that he was irritated at his slipup. “It means—”
He was saved from further falsehoods by the door opening. Captain Carter had returned from her investigation of the antenna. She’d already shed her boots in the anteroom and was pulling her coat off as she stepped into the living area. “Sir,” she said, “it’s definitely the antenna.”
“It came down in the storm?”
She shook her head. “Looks like it’s been snapped in half, sir.”
“Deliberately?”
She glanced around the room, at Dr. Gordon and Dr. Monroe, then returned her attention to O’Neill. “Looks that way, sir, yes.”
“Dammit.”
Gordon gave a huff of disapproval. “I suppose you’re going to suggest that the walking corpse is responsible? That a three-thousand-year-old Norse warrior has come back from the dead and is sabotaging our radio equipment?” He snorted. “Farcical.”
“Sir,” Captain Carter said, perhaps sensing O’Neill’s thinning patience and attempting to divert a confrontation, “I’d like to take another look at the chamber in the long barrow. The weather’s definitely better today. I saw some stars out, so the clouds have cleared, and it’ll be sunrise in a couple hours. I think we could leave now.”
“How about it, Daniel?” O’Neill said. “Fancy a stroll?”
Daniel Jackson lay stretched out on the sofa, lost in thought. He had been pensive since the incident in the night and Teal’c wondered if he doubted what he had seen, or perhaps doubted himself. “Um, sure,” Daniel Jackson said, as if surfacing from a dark place. “I’d like to take another look at the inscriptions in the burial chamber.”
“I’m sure you would,” Dr. Gordon said. “But don’t for a moment think I’m going to let you in there unescorted.”
“Well, feel free to tag along,” O’Neill said, standing up. “It’s probably best we stick together.”
“Oh yes, of course, in case the walking corpse returns.”
“I know what I saw,” Daniel Jackson snapped. “I’m not making it up. I’m not crazy.”
O’Neill gave him a warning look. “We know.”
But Daniel Jackson just frowned, shaking his head as he climbed to his feet. “I’ll get my stuff,” he said. “I’d like to photograph the columns if I can.”
As he disappeared toward the laboratory, O’Neill watched him go with obvious concern. He glanced at Teal’c, as he often did, silently seeking his opinion.
“It takes a great deal to disturb Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c observed, keeping his voice for O’Neill’s ears alone.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what’s bothering me.”
Carter was right, the weather had lifted and the sky on the western horizon was pinpricked with stars. To the east, a twilight glow had set in – prelude to the noonday dawn. The moon hadn’t risen at all yet.
It was cold though, colder than during the storm. Ice crusted the surface of the new snow and Jack could feel his breath freezing on the fur lining of his hood. He was glad to be on skis and not on one of the snowmobiles. The exercise warmed his blood, even if it didn’t blast away the lingering cobwebs in his head.
The sun was still below the horizon when they reached the site of the long barrow, but the clouds were turning golden and the pre-dawn light glistening on the snow was breathtaking. It was almost enough to make him forget why they were there. He pushed down his hood to take in the three-sixty view.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Monroe said. He snatched his woolen cap off his head, scratched gloved fingers through his hair, then tugged the cap back down again. “Enough to inspire a hundred folktales.”
“I just wish I had my camera.”
“I’d love to come back here,” Carter said, “under different circumstances.”
And wouldn’t that be nice?
“Jack?” Daniel interrupted his thoughts, calling from the door of the shelter. “I’m going to head down into the barrow.”
“Not on your own,” Jack warned. “Just wait a minute. Teal’c – don’t let him go down there alone.”
Teal’c nodded and strode into the building after Daniel, leaving Jack and Carter to unclip their skis.
“Stay and watch the sunrise,” Monroe said after a moment. “It’s a beautiful sight.”
Jack was tempted to join him, even if the offer was mostly directed at Carter. And maybe in a different life he could have stood there and watched the sun rise without a care in the world. But not now, not in this life.
“We should go inside,” Carter said, her eyes lingering on the golden horizon. Maybe she was thinking the same thing?
“Stay and watch, if you like, Captain,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on Daniel.”
She shook her head. “I’d rather get to work, sir. Maybe another time.”
“Sure. Maybe another time.” He took a breath of icy cold air and turned away from the sunrise. “Come on,” he said, “let’s go keep the archaeologists from killing each other.”
After half an hour down in the dark, dank burial chamber Jack couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to stop the archeologists from killing each other – Dr. Gordon, especially.
“I’ll not let you take digital images of my discovery!” he was bleating. Again.
“You don’t own it,” Daniel sniped back. “You can’t stop me. Now please move.”
Across th
e room, Jack saw Teal’c shift impatiently. Carter, on the other hand, appeared oblivious. She had one of her scanning devices out and was crouched down, almost out of sight, behind the dais. Occasionally he heard her mutter something below her breath.
The flash of Daniel’s camera went off once, twice, three times and left Jack blinking away red spots from in front of his eyes. “Daniel,” he complained, “a little warning?”
“I demand copies of those images,” Gordon carried on. “You have no right to publish anything based on—”
“I’m not publishing,” Daniel snapped, moving on to the next pillar. “That’s not what this is about.”
Flash, flash. The next pillar done. More spots in front of Jack’s eyes.
“Sir?” Carter’s head popped up from behind the dais.
Jack pressed his fingers into his eyes, trying to dislodge the spots, and focused on Carter’s face, pallid in the beam of his flashlight. “Whatcha got?” he said, heading over.
She threw a look at Gordon, but he was still busy harassing Daniel and was paying no attention. Even so, she beckoned Jack closer and he crouched down next to her. “Look,” she said quietly, showing him the scanner. There was something pulsing in slow, regular intervals. “It’s an energy signature,” she explained. “From inside the dais.”
“Asgard?”
Carter nodded. “It’s very faint, though, almost a residue at this point.”
“Any idea what it does?”
“There’s a component missing,” she said, “but I’m pretty sure it was generating some kind of containment or suppression field.” She glanced again at Gordon, and lowered her voice further. “And if the body is what we think it is…”
Jack considered the idea. “So the Asgard stuck some Goa’uld in a containment field and buried them? Seems odd, don’t you think?”
She made a face, half agreeing. “Maybe. But it fits the evidence.”
“So what went wrong?” he said. “Batteries run out of juice?”
“No, I don’t think so, sir.” She stood up and shone her flashlight onto the dais, letting it dance across a hole at the head of the dark stone. “Like I said, there’s something missing – the component that emitted the containment field, probably. Without it, the circuit’s broken.”
Stargate SG-1 - Permafrost Page 5
