Stargate SG-1 30 - Insurrection

by Sally Malcolm

  Which brought her to the reason for her morning excursion. Roz was on her way to the Stargate base to meet with President Jones and propose a strategy that she hoped would ease tensions while achieving what she believed would be best for all the people of Arbella.

  By the time she reached the end of the cliff’s path, the sweat on her skin from the exertion was counteracted by the cold of the summit. She supposed it was a good tactic for gaining the upper hand in negotiations, to have the person out of breath and sweating by the time they met with you.

  Roz nodded in greeting to the guards who let her pass without question. Despite being on the opposing team, as it were, she liked to keep good relations all around and so was never averse to buying a drink or two for members of the security force when she saw them in town.

  Those good relations, however, were not always mutual.

  “Jed,” she said to the man who met her inside. Officer Jed Hayden quirked his lips in an expression that was almost a sneer, before turning on his heel and walking down the corridor without a word. She’d been through this routine on more than one occasion and knew that she was expected to follow.

  “Wait here,” he said, when they reached the anteroom outside the president’s office. Fifteen minutes later, he appeared again with the instruction that Jones was ready to see her.

  The first thing that struck her when she entered the office was how tired Gunnison Jones looked. Reddish stubble was starting to show on his normally clean-shaven face and shadows had appeared beneath his eyes, making him look more gaunt than usual. The next thing she noticed was that they weren’t alone. Agent Karin Yuma sat in a chair against the far wall, straight-backed and cross-legged in neatly pressed slacks and a smart button down. Even in the rough, workaday environment of Arbella, Roz couldn’t think of a time when the woman looked anything but completely put together.

  “Thank you for joining us, General,” said Jones. “I only wish it were under better circumstances.”

  That set her off balance. She wasn’t aware that there were ‘circumstances.’ She’d been planning the opening lines of her proposal since she’d secured the meeting, but now all she could manage was an uncertain “Sir?”

  He leaned forward on his desk, eyes scanning across some papers that lay scattered on its surface. “SG-1. I’m sorry your faith in them didn’t pay off.”

  Roz glanced from Jones to Yuma; the woman’s face remained impassive. “I don’t think we can say whether it has or hasn’t paid off as of yet, sir. It’s only been—”

  “It’s been a week, Roz.” Jones’ tone was brittle and, for the first time since she entered his office, he met her gaze directly. There was something raw and fractured there. She wondered if it had perhaps been dangerous to play with stakes that were so high for him. He had a lot invested in this plan with SG-1, and if it didn’t pay off…

  “Mr. President,” she said, trying to keep her voice as measured as possible, “a week isn’t nearly enough time. We don’t know what progress they’ve made in the search. I appreciate that it’s your—”

  “I don’t believe you appreciate anything, General Bailey. You don’t know the damage you’ve done in bringing them here. You brought a Jaffa to Arbella, for God’s sake!”

  “Sir, with all respect, I think the damage already existed. But I was hoping to speak to you about the way we can use this… opportunity to build on relations with Dix and… and perhaps revisit an open door policy…” She trailed off, cursing herself for allowing them to put her on the defensive. She was better than that. This was her best opportunity to persuade the president that keeping the gate closed wasn’t necessarily in Arbella’s best interests—and she was blowing it.

  “With all due respect, General Bailey,” he said, and Roz didn’t miss the emphasis, “the damage was done as soon as they began spreading their dissent among the CMF—your people, might I remind you.”

  “Dissent? That’s not even remotely true. Where are you getting this intel?” As if she even had to ask. Yuma was vocal in her silence.

  “Eye-witness accounts from Laketown. I hear they started a fight in that dive your people call a bar.”

  “Sir, that means nothing if it’s not substantiated.”

  Jones clasped his hands together. “You think it’s unsubstantiated, Bailey? Are you honestly telling me that there’s been no seditious talk since they came here?”

  Roz looked away, thinking of Jefferson and the tattoos she wasn’t supposed to know existed, and the meaningful glances she’d seen exchanged by the men and women under her command ever since SG-1 had made their presence known in town.

  Jones leaned forward, fixing Bailey with a sober look, one that spoke to their years of friendship. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here, Roz, and assuming you don’t have any part in this plot to destroy what we’ve built here. But you are treading a dangerous line.”

  She met his gaze, taking a breath to steady her composure. This was too important to let Yuma be the only one who had his ear. Roz knew she had to make him listen to what she had to say.

  “Mr. President, I understand your reservations, and I know how much is personally at stake for you. But I trust SG-1. They’ve convinced me that the history we believe to be true is all wrong. I’m convinced they will help us. I’m just asking you to give them a chance to prove the same to you… What’s this?” Her last remark was directed at the piece of paper that Jones held out to her. She took it from him and scanned its contents. It showed rows and rows of data and formulas, none of which made any sense to her.

  Instead of answering her, he glanced sidelong at Yuma. The agent rose and approached them, gathering more of the papers from the desk. “They’re print-outs, General Bailey,” she said. “From the data center. The one to which you so kindly granted SG-1 access.” Yuma favored Roz with a cold smile. “Apparently Samantha Carter—excuse me, Major Samantha Carter—had a very specific search criteria.”

  A sour taste had crept into Roz’s mouth. “I don’t understand.”

  “Solar flares, General. Do you know why solar flares are useful?”

  Bailey stared at lines of type, unable to answer.

  “Time travel. Your SG-1 is trying to travel back to where they came from. So you tell me, General, how exactly can they help us when they plan to erase us from existence entirely?”

  Hecate’s Ha’tak — 2098

  Teal’c was finding it difficult to comprehend all that they had discovered. Bad enough that his son was First Prime to Hecate, but to now learn that the Goa’uld he served had taken his friend, Janet Fraiser, as host was almost too much to bear. And Rya’c had said nothing of it. He had hidden the truth from them as long as possible, no doubt knowing how they would react. It spoke a great deal of his guilt.

  And yet the story Hecate had told of Colonel Dixon, of their joint role in the deliverance of Earth’s refugees, told a more complex story—if one chose to believe it. But the Goa’uld were creatures of deception, their empires were built upon lies, and Teal’c could trust nothing that left Hecate’s mouth. Yet now Rya’c strode before him at her shoulder, and Teal’c had seen the reverence with which the name ‘Dix’ had been held by the Tau’ri left on the world below, had heard it spoken across continents as a byword for freedom… In truth, he did not know what to think, save that this future must be cut off before it began.

  He cast a sideways glance at O’Neill as he walked, satisfied by the tight-lipped skepticism he could see on his friend’s face. They had been at odds over the past weeks, but surely now O’Neill and Daniel Jackson would be convinced that nothing but ending this corrupted reality would suffice. Permitting the abomination that walked ahead of them to exist was unthinkable; they owed it to the woman who had been Janet Fraiser to keep this future from unfolding.

  Sensing his gaze, O’Neill looked over at him. His expression was grim, but he said nothing and Teal’c could not read the colonel’s intention in his guarded eyes.

  “This,” Heca
te said, coming to a halt before a nondescript door, “is the heart of my work.” Her attention was fixed on Major Carter, and Teal’c did not think that was accidental. The major and Dr. Fraiser had been close friends and no doubt Hecate planned to trade on the fact. “I think you’ll be interested, Sam,” the Goa’uld said with a smile. “We have made great progress, not least because of the knowledge I have gleaned from Janet Fraiser.”

  “Stolen,” Major Carter corrected, her voice clipped and angry. “You mean the knowledge you’ve stolen from Janet.”

  Hecate’s face softened into an expression eerily close to that of her host. “It is more complex than you understand, Sam,” she said. “Come, let me show you.”

  With that, Rya’c stepped forward and the doors slid open. When he moved to one side, to let Hecate pass, Rya’c’s gaze came to rest for a moment on Teal’c and their eyes met. Teal’c saw defiance in his son, as well as resignation. Rya’c was not ashamed of his decision, Teal’c realized, but neither did he expect his father to understand or approve of his choice to serve Hecate.

  Teal’c was not sure that his son was wrong in his assumption. Yet, for the first time since they had met, Teal’c felt something soften toward the man before him. He refused to call it understanding, but he found himself forced to acknowledge that Rya’c’s decision may have been more nuanced than he had at first imagined.

  It was an uncomfortable realization, one on which he did not wish to dwell. Instead, he chose to focus on the room that lay beyond the doors. It was a laboratory and Hecate swept into the room with a pride that was rather more Goa’uld than Dr. Fraiser.

  With few exceptions, the Goa’uld preferred to steal their technology rather than create it and so Teal’c found himself astonished by the extent of Hecate’s laboratory. It was a large room, white and clinical, reminiscent of the laboratories he had seen at Stargate Command. A quick look at Major Carter confirmed that it was indeed extraordinary; her eyes were round, as if impressed against her will.

  “Where did you get all of this?” she asked, taking a couple of steps into the room. “This is—I’m no biochemist, but this looks like state-of-the-art equipment. Or it was, a hundred years ago.”

  Hecate’s smile broadened. “As I explained, Janet Fraiser’s knowledge of medicine and medical research has been invaluable. Much of this equipment was salvaged from research laboratories in the aftermath of Apophis’s invasion.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Apophis cared little for the advancement of science; he wanted only to take what he deemed valuable.” Her gaze drifted over to Daniel Jackson. “As you learned to your cost.”

  Daniel made no reply, simply folded his arms across his chest.

  “Whereas you,” the colonel said, “are what? Some kind of Renaissance Goa’uld?”

  Hecate spread her hands, a strangely self-deprecating gesture. “I have always been interested in medicine,” she said. “An interest only heightened by my blending with Janet Fraiser.”

  Teal’c noticed Major Carter stiffen at the Tok’ra word ‘blending,’ her gaze darting to the colonel’s. Something unspoken passed between them, but Teal’c did not catch its meaning.

  “So let me guess,” Daniel Jackson said, studying Hecate over the rims of his glasses. “You’re going to poison the Wraith. That’s your modus operandi, right?”

  The look Hecate returned him was cool, and Teal’c thought he saw a glimpse of frustration shimmer beneath the surface. “When faced with an infestation,” she said, “extermination is the only option.”

  “Extermination?” Daniel Jackson’s eyebrows climbed toward his hair. “The Wraith are sentient creatures. You can’t treat them like cockroaches.”

  Silence followed, awkward in its intensity.

  After several heartbeats, and sounding discomforted, O’Neill said, “And we’re their soylent green, Daniel. You saw the camps, what they do there.”

  “They will strip this galaxy bare,” Hecate added, “as they have done their own galaxy. Sentient or not, the Wraith are a plague. They must be destroyed.”

  Daniel Jackson made no answer, although he appeared unsatisfied. Instead, Major Carter spoke, “If it’s a poison,” she said, “what’s your delivery mechanism? The Wraith are all over the planet, right? Are we talking a virus or—”

  Raising her hand for silence, Hecate said, “Faster and cleverer than that, Sam. We’ll use the Wraith against themselves.”

  “How—?”

  “The hybrid,” Hecate continued, walking further into the laboratory to where a number of vials sat in a glass case. “I have a source inside the court of Queen Shadow, which is how I come to know of the hybrid.”

  “A source among the Wraith?” Colonel O’Neill sounded unconvinced. “They don’t seem the sort to be bought off with a couple of Goa’uld trinkets.”

  Hecate smiled, but it was a flat expression. “Nevertheless, it is true. I know of Shadow’s plan to create an army of Goa’uld-Wraith hybrids, to use them to conquer this galaxy and then to return to Pegasus and wipe out all Wraith who will not bend their knee to her.”

  Had they not heard something similar from the Wraith, Sting, Teal’c might have considered such an elaborate plan to be implausible. However it mirrored Sting’s warning too closely to be coincidental. O’Neill ran a hand through his hair, lips pressed tight, and Teal’c suspected his mind was tracking a similar path. However, all the colonel said was, “Go on.”

  “It is a simple plan,” Hecate said, “and yet brilliant.”

  Daniel Jackson huffed, low in his throat. “Modest.”

  Hecate ignored him. “The Wraith are naturally intolerant of naquadah,” she said. “It is poison to them. They cannot feed on a Goa’uld host or,” her gaze slipped toward Major Carter, “a former Goa’uld host. Therefore, in order for a Wraith to host a Goa’uld, their intolerance must be overcome.”

  “Some kind of immunosuppressant?” Major Carter guessed.

  “Yes.” Hecate gestured to the vials. “Shadow plans to vaccinate all Wraith so that they may be implanted with a Goa’uld. I have gained a sample of the immunosuppressant and developed a countermeasure. When deployed, it will negate the effect of the immunosuppressant and the hybrids will be poisoned by the very Goa’uld they carry. An elegant solution, don’t you think?”

  O’Neill remained unimpressed. “If it’s so elegant, what do you need us for?”

  “To provide a test subject.”

  A bristling tension ran through them all. O’Neill took a step back, his hand reflexively reaching for a weapon that was not there. “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “No.” Hecate lifted a reassuring hand. “You misunderstand me, Colonel. I need you to bring me a test subject, not become one.” She gestured toward the glass cabinet containing the vials of liquid. “Sam will tell you that, without a live trial, we have no proof that my countermeasure will work in the field.” She fixed her eyes on O’Neill. “I need the prototype hybrid, Colonel. And I need SG-1 to retrieve it from Shadow’s hive.”

  A beat of silence followed, each of SG-1 glancing at the other, uncertain. Eventually O’Neill said, “Let me get this straight. You want us to go pick up this hybrid from the middle of a Wraith ‘hive’ —I’m guessing that’s a ship and nothing to do with bees—and bring it back here so you can see if your poison works?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And why can’t you send ‘Dix’ here?” His gaze flickered back to Rya’c. “Or some of his buddies down in the Shacks? They’re pretty good in a fight, and they know the Wraith.”

  “Because, first, we don’t know where it is,” she said. “The hive is cloaked. But your friend, the Wraith…? He knows. And, more importantly, I need your genes, Colonel. Shadow’s hive—”

  “Was built by the Ancients,” Major Carter said, more to O’Neill than Hecate. “She needs your Ancient genes to get inside, sir.”

  “Not to mention his skill,” Hecate said with an ingratiating smile. “And you, of course, Sam, as a former host
, are immune to Wraith feeding. Together, you make a formidable team.”

  Teal’c was amused to see O’Neill roll his eyes at the flattery; vain creatures that they were, the Goa’uld would never understand a man like O’Neill, whose pride lay in his team and not himself.

  “So, let’s say we do this,” the colonel said, “which, by the way, I’m not saying. But let’s say we get the hybrid and your poison works. You’re gonna use it to kill all the Wraith who’ve been implanted with a snake?”

  Hecate inclined her head, “Yes.”

  “And their Goa’ulds too? Because that’s a lot of dead snakes…”

  Her expression changed, face sobering. “For every victory,” she said, “there is a price to be paid. I’m willing to sacrifice my own kind to rid the galaxy of the Wraith.” Chin lifted, she somehow managed to look down at O’Neill despite her diminutive stature. “Are you willing to do the same, Colonel O’Neill?”

  “Well, that’s not really the question, is it?” he countered. “The question is whether I’m prepared to trust the word of a snake-head. And I gotta tell you, Heck, the odds aren’t looking great.”

  From behind them, at the door, there came an irritable grunt. Teal’c turned to see Rya’c staring at O’Neill, his brow contracted. “Did I not warn you, my Lady, that their prejudices would stand in the way of their cooperation?”

  Teal’c lifted an eyebrow; no First Prime he had ever known would be permitted to speak in such a way to their mistress.

  Hecate, however, appeared unperturbed. “Perhaps you have less faith in your friends than I do, Dix.”

  “Perhaps that is because I know them better, my Lady,” he said, and offered a stiff bow.

  Hecate gave no answer. “I will give you time to consider my offer, Colonel O’Neill, although I cannot give you long. Shadow is moving to implant all her Wraith and once her hybrid army is created, she will leave this world and begin her conquest of our galaxy. And who will stand against her then?”