Stargate SG-1 - Permafrost

by Sally Malcolm

  She hadn’t been lying when she told Daniel that she’d had worse Christmases than this, but if she was honest with herself it had been a long time since she’d had any kind of proper Christmas – the kind with family, friends, and loved ones around her. She supposed it was the price she had to pay for this life she led, and it wasn’t so high. Not really. It was just that sometimes she wished…

  She lifted her face to the water, let it run across her eyelids and wash away the regret. There were some thoughts it just wasn’t worth thinking and she—

  A thump. Something in her room had fallen to the floor. “Daniel?” she called, heart suddenly racing, but all she could hear was the hiss of the shower. She scrabbled to turn off the water and stood dripping in the sudden silence. “Daniel, is that you?”

  There was no reply, but she thought she could hear movement. Was someone in her bedroom? Grabbing her towel, she wrapped it around her body and cursed herself, unreasonably, for not bringing her weapon into the bathroom. Pressing her ear against the door, she listened again but this time she heard nothing.

  Water dripped from her hair, running down her face, dripping onto the floor. She swiped a hand across her face, and then grabbed the door handle. Taking a breath she prepared as best she could, given that she was wearing nothing but a towel, and flung open the bathroom door. It crashed against the wall, bouncing back with force, and she stuck out a hand to catch the rebounding door. The room was empty.

  She went straight to the small drawer in the bedside cabinet. Her Beretta was still there. Her pack, though, lay on its side, the content spilling from the top. It had probably just fallen over. That’s probably what she’d heard. Probably.

  She shivered; it was cold in here, without the steam from the shower, and she was wet which made it worse. It stank too, she realized then. As the scent of shampoo dissipated, the stench returned. Death and decay. It wasn’t in her hair, it was everywhere.

  Sam pressed her face into her towel, and then rubbed it over her head to dry her hair.

  This place, she thought, was driving her crazy. The sooner they got out of here the better.

  It was cold in the shed that covered the site of the dig. The small heating unit lifted the temperature a little, but not enough for comfort and Teal’c was grateful for his heavy clothing – and for his symbiote, which was able to compensate for many of the effects of the cold.

  He suspected that matters were worse for O’Neill, who prowled the small space like an animal caged. Agile minds like O’Neill’s rebelled against all kinds of restraint, even when entered into voluntarily, and Teal’c feared that this night would prove extremely taxing on them both.

  “It is at times such as this,” he observed at last, “when some knowledge of the art of kel’nor’reem would be of benefit, O’Neill.”

  “We’re standing guard, Teal’c,” he said. “Not snoozing.”

  Teal’c bristled. “Kel’no’reem is not ‘snoozing’. It is a deliberate meditative state that enhances perception.”

  “Right, whatever. This is no time for yoga.”

  It appeared that O’Neill was in a belligerent mood. “Then it is a pity we cannot spar instead,” Teal’c said, with enough menace in his voice to stop O’Neill’s pacing.

  “That bad, huh?” he said.

  Teal’c did not believe the question required a reply.

  O’Neill sighed and returned to where Teal’c sat on the workbench. “I feel antsy,” he explained.

  “I too feel ill at ease.”

  “Yeah?”

  Teal’c glanced over at the corpse. It had remained inanimate since they had discovered it, and yet he viewed it with a disproportionate degree of distaste. “There is something unnatural about that…thing,” he said.

  O’Neill was silent, thinking. “It takes a lot to spook Daniel,” he said after some time.

  “You are not easily disturbed either,” Teal’c pointed out. “Nor is Captain Carter.”

  “And yet…” O’Neill breathed a sigh of frustration. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”

  “I do not.”

  O’Neill’s hand lifted to the radio on his shoulder then fell away and he glanced at his watch. “I don’t like splitting up,” he said. “It’s bad tactics.”

  “Not always.”

  “But still.”

  “Captain Carter and Daniel Jackson are well able to defend themselves, should the need arise.”

  O’Neill nodded, but said, “I’ve decided I don’t like snow and ice. Bad things always happen on ice planets.”

  “We are not on an ‘ice planet’,” Teal’c pointed out.

  “Principle’s the same. Snow, ice – bad things.”

  “We have encountered dangers on many planets, with many different climates.”

  “You’re missing the point,” O’Neill grumbled and looked at his watch. “Close enough,” he said, and toggled the button on his radio. “Carter, Daniel, this is O’Neill, over.”

  The reply came back instantly; Captain Carter had clearly been awaiting the check-in. “Carter, go ahead, sir.”

  “No news here, Captain. How about you?”

  There was a pause, then, “Everything seems quiet, sir. Over.”

  Yet there was something tense in Captain Carter’s voice, an uncertainty that Teal’c did not like.

  O’Neill apparently noticed it too because he frowned. “You sure about that, Carter?”

  “Yes sir. Just feeling edgy.”

  “Join the club.”

  There was a long static hiss, then “…say again, sir? Over.”

  “We’re all on edge, Carter. Over.”

  This time, when O’Neill took his finger off the talk button, nothing came back. Teal’c felt a spike of tension and O’Neill resumed his pacing.

  “Carter, respond.” Nothing. “Daniel, this is O’Neill. Respond.”

  Nothing but static.

  “Crap,” O’Neill said, standing stock still in the middle of the shelter. “Now what?”

  “It is probable that the adverse weather conditions are interfering with the signal.”

  “Probable,” O’Neill growled. “Unless it’s something else.”

  Teal’c shifted where he sat, his unease growing. He looked over at the corpse laid out in the far corner of the room. It had an evil aspect. Daniel Jackson had been right to describe its appearance as malevolent.

  O’Neill paced the width of the shelter and back again, coming to a stop at the door. He put his palm on the wood, as if considering opening it. Outside the wind had grown stronger, new snow was falling.

  “It would be foolish,” Teal’c observed, “to attempt to return to the encampment tonight, in this weather.”

  “Yeah, I know.” O’Neill sighed, pulled his hand from the door and instead rubbed the back of his neck. “Damn, but I hate this place. It’s driving me crazy.”

  Within its pouch, his symbiote stirred uneasily and Teal’c could only concur with O’Neill’s assessment. There was something very amiss about this place.

  The tension was almost intolerable, drilling like a headache into the base of Sam’s skull. Daniel felt it too, she could tell by the pallor of his face and the way he was rubbing his neck.

  Gordon sat hunched over a meal at the end of the table, eating rehydrated rice and beans without enthusiasm. But he was out of his lab, which was remarkable in itself. Monroe, on the other hand, was still working. On what, Sam didn’t know and didn’t really care.

  It was silent, aside from the electrical buzz of kitchen appliances and Gordon’s slow chewing. Sam wasn’t hungry, though. All she really wanted to do was run, to get out of there and run and run and run…

  She stood up, paced across to the window and stared out into the black. The dig site was too far away to see, but she couldn’t help looking for a light. The radios had cut out a couple hours ago and she hadn’t been able to raise either the colonel or Teal’c since.

  The storm, she knew, had to be the re
ason. But still.

  “Sam…?” Daniel didn’t like it when she got close to the window. He sat with his back turned away from it, focusing on the images of the Asgard inscription that he was annotating. But he was looking up at her now, wary.

  “There’s nothing out there,” she told him. “Nothing but more snow.” Trapping her inside, trapping them all.

  “You can’t possibly be translating that,” Gordon said then, as if he’d just noticed what Daniel was doing. He looked gray, his pinched face more acidic than usual. “That’s an unknown alphabet.”

  “Unknown to you,” Daniel said.

  “And not to you? Be serious.” Gordon pushed his food away as if it made him nauseous. “God, what is that stink?” he said, looking around him. “It smells like something died in here.”

  “It smells like that body you dug up,” Sam said. “I think it got on our clothes or something when we moved it.”

  “Desiccated corpses don’t smell,” Daniel said. “At least, not like this.”

  Gordon took his plate into the kitchen, dumped the food. “He’s right,” he said. “This has nothing to do with my find.”

  Sam and Daniel exchanged a look. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Daniel said, pushing it a little.

  “Oh yes, I forgot,” Gordon snapped. “It’s an alien. Perhaps its flying saucer will come and beam it up?”

  Daniel flung down his papers. “If you knew—”

  “Daniel!” Sam cut him off, eyebrows lifted.

  Gordon looked between them and spat out a laugh. “Absolutely farcical,” he said, and not for the first time. “I’m going to bed. Do wake me up if the aliens invade, won’t you?”

  He stalked out and Daniel flung himself backward on the sofa, pressed his hands over his eyes. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  “Yep,” Sam said. “He is.”

  “I meant me,” Daniel said, letting his hands fall, staring up at the ceiling.

  Sam came to join him on the sofa. “You’re tired,” she said. “Everyone is.”

  Daniel turned his head toward her. “Are you worrying about Jack? And Teal’c?”

  She nodded. “Are you?”

  He looked back up at the ceiling. “I wish we could get them on the radio.”

  “It’s the storm.”

  “You believe that?”

  “Yeah,” she said, because there was no reason not to, nothing but this sense of impending doom, of monsters in the dark. “What else could it be?”

  Neither of them had an answer to that, at least not one they wanted to share. Sam stood up. “Get some sleep,” she said. “I’ll take the first watch.”

  Daniel didn’t argue, which was testament to exactly how tired he was, and just stretched out on the shabby sofa. “I’ll be right here,” he said and didn’t even take off his glasses when he closed his eyes.

  Sam switched off a few lights, but left the light on above the stove. She didn’t want to sit in the dark, listening to the wind howl. Her imagination was too powerful for that.

  Despite his weariness, Daniel’s sleep was plagued with dark, undefined dreams and when Sam put her hand on his arm to wake him he hardly felt like he’d closed his eyes. But the clock in the kitchen said two o’clock and Sam looked like she could barely keep her eyes open.

  “Storm’s died down,” she said, but Daniel didn’t follow her gesture toward the window. The last thing he wanted to do was look out into that lightless night. He shivered.

  “Any contact from Jack and Teal’c?”

  Sam shook her head. “I tried a couple times,” she said. “Nothing.”

  In the darkness her eyes looked wide and fearful. He’d always thought her face was too expressive for a soldier; unlike with Jack and Teal’c, he always knew what Sam was feeling. “They’ll be fine,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound trite.

  Sam gave a quick nod. “Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

  “Get some rest,” he said, giving up the sofa to her.

  He wanted coffee, but that black kitchen window was staring at him and he didn’t dare get closer. Stupid, he knew, but the panic he’d felt last night was still hovering, like it was in his blood and waiting for the opportunity to rise. So, instead, he scrubbed a hand through his hair and went to sit at the kitchen table where the printouts of the Asgard inscriptions were waiting. He was making good progress on the translation, although so far it was mostly a lot of praise for the goddess Frejya. One thing was clear, however: the people who had built this long barrow had travelled far from their homes in order to bury the draugr far from their people. It was even possible that the Asgard – Frejya, he presumed – had beamed them here because there was a description of a white light that—

  A door closed with a thump.

  Daniel’s head shot up, heart racing. There were footsteps coming from the direction of the lab, slow and deliberate, and with them Daniel felt panic stir in his blood. He found himself staring at the door that led from the living area back toward the lab, waiting for it to open.

  The handle turned, the door creaked. Daniel’s fingers curled around the pen he was holding as if it were a weapon. If only it were a weapon…

  In the scant illumination cast by the stove light he watched as a figure appeared in the doorway. Daniel was frozen, unable to move. His head was thick with panic, his thoughts moving stickily. But then the man stepped further into the light, toward the kitchen, and Daniel recognized Monroe’s red snow suit. He almost gasped in relief, sagging where he sat, watching the archaeologist head into the kitchen and open a cupboard.

  It took a moment for Daniel’s heart rate to decelerate, for the panic to recede – although it didn’t go far, hovering nearby, ready to pounce. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t immediately register how odd it was that Monroe was still wearing his snow suit. That he still had his woolen hat drawn down over his ears. That he was standing in the kitchen eating dehydrated food directly from the packet…

  Something was wrong.

  Mouth dry, Daniel tried to swallow. Slowly, gripping the edge of the table, he rose to his feet. His body felt sluggish, as if it was resisting him, but he refused to be crippled by the fear battering the edges of his mind. Something was wrong here, and he had to find out what.

  Monroe hadn’t seen him, hidden as he was in the shadows, and Daniel moved closer with deliberate caution. There was a low kind of hissing noise that he realized was emanating from Monroe, a kind of monotone groan.

  Daniel was about to speak, to ask him if he was okay, when he noticed the back of Monroe’s hat. It was dark. It was dark with blood. He could see it now, in the yellow kitchen light. He could see blood on his neck and collar. Daniel tried to swallow, couldn’t.

  He was close, close enough to smell that same stench that had followed them back from the dig. With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Daniel was beginning to realize who – or what – had brought it home. And there was only one way to find out.

  His hand was shaking as he reached out, but that didn’t stop him. He knew what he was looking for: the entry point in the back of the neck that would confirm what they were dealing with. He took a quick breath, snatched the hat from Monroe’s head, and recoiled in horror.

  There was no entry point. Instead, the back of the man’s head was gone, caved in as if by a crushing blow. Not even a Goa’uld could have repaired so much damage to a host.

  Monroe turned, slack-jawed, and fixed Daniel with a dead-eyed stare. Daniel had seen that stare before, looking back at him through the window. Whatever had once possessed the ancient corpse had somehow jumped into Monroe.

  “Oh crap,” Daniel breathed, backing up.

  And then Monroe roared, a cry devoid of humanity, and charged at Daniel. He fended off the first blow, ducked the second. Monroe – or whatever the hell they were dealing with now – was clumsy, but he was also strong. And there was nowhere to go, the room was too small.

  “Daniel!” Sam yelled from somewhere behind him. “Get down.”


  He dropped to the floor, heard her fire over his head. A single shot. A warning. “Back off!” she shouted.

  Monroe kept on coming.

  “It’s not him!” Daniel said, scrabbling backward as the creature lumbered toward him.

  Sam fired again, once, twice – chest and head. Blood bloomed, a fine mist of red. Daniel felt it on his face, saw it on his glasses. But the creature only stumbled back a step, before advancing again.

  “What the hell is going on?” Gordon’s voice, somewhere beyond Daniel’s view.

  “Lock yourself in the lab!” Sam barked at him. “That’s an order!” She fired again, one, two, into the creature. But it kept on coming.

  “It’s already dead!” Daniel realized, scrambling under the table and back to his feet. “You can’t kill it!”

  Which meant they were in a hell of a lot of trouble.

  Chapter Six

  It was too cold to sleep, which was lucky because sleeping was not top of Jack’s agenda. He was too busy worrying about his team and second-guessing his decision to split them up.

  The dead guy had done nothing but lay there, stinking. Meanwhile, Jack had no idea of half his team’s status. He knew – logically – that they were fine. But he was a practical guy, and he liked evidence to support his logic. Until he made contact with Carter and Daniel, he was going to worry. It came with the job.

  These people, this team… He’d served in close units before, but there was something about SG-1 that went beyond the usual bonds of loyalty and friendship. They were family, in a way. Not replacing the family he’d lost – that was impossible – but starting to fill the void left behind. Hammond might worry that the bonds were becoming too close, that Jack was compromising his objectivity, but Jack was convinced that, without that closeness, none of them would be able to handle the job they were doing, not if they wanted to hold on to their sanity. They were sharing things no one else in the world could understand. It was inevitable that they’d grow close, that his need to protect his people would feel this urgent, this visceral. He was their CO; it was his role to protect them. He wasn’t crossing any lines.