Stargate SG-1 30 - Insurrection

by Sally Malcolm

  No one replied and her gaze swept over them all until it caught and lingered on Major Carter. The major shifted under that gaze, so much like Dr. Fraiser’s and so profoundly different, but did not speak.

  “The Asgard are long gone,” Hecate continued, “the System Lords do nothing but squabble, and the Tau’ri…” She let out a breath, a sigh of frustration. “You have seen for yourself what they have become, cowering on Arbella and afraid to lift a finger to reclaim their home world.” She took a step closer to O’Neill, fixing him with her gaze. “No, Colonel. I am your only hope. I am humanity’s only hope. You may not like it, but just as Janet Fraiser, Dave Dixon and Rya’c have done before you, so you will come to accept that it is the truth. Only together can we free Earth from the Wraith. There is no other choice.”

  Chapter 2

  Earth — 2098

  Sting watched with disturbed feelings as the last of the humans they had brought back from Shadow’s facility made their way through the trees toward the vast sprawl of the encampment below. Most of them had survived, their bodies repaired by the gift of life, though their minds would be forever damaged.

  Curious. Not long ago, he would have thought nothing of their minds. What need had kine for rational thought when their purpose was only to nourish their masters? But his encounter with O’Neill had altered his perspective, given him pause. It was uncomfortable to consider how many like O’Neill he had fed upon, more uncomfortable still to consider how many he must feed upon in the years to come. He was what he was, after all, and nothing could change that.

  “Something occupies your mind,” Earthborn said, stepping out from the hive to stand with him. “You are troubled.”

  He turned to look at her, her face concealed in the shadows cast by the ruin of their hive and her thoughts clouded, less tranquil than her words. “There is much to be troubled about, my queen.”

  Her inner smile brushed against his mind. “A diplomat’s answer,” she said, and put a hand on his arm, just above his wrist, as she turned her eyes toward him. “You do not like being beholden to the humans.”

  “I do not trust the humans,” he replied aloud. “And yet in that we have no choice.”

  “O’Neill is trustworthy,” Earthborn said, lowering her hand from his arm. “He will return, and, when he does, Stormfire will track him and we will find him once more.”

  “Stormfire…” Sting allowed the word to hang between them, the rest of his thought unfinished.

  After a pause, Earthborn said, “His mind grows more disturbed, it is true, but he is still able to do what we require. And he has the human to assist him.”

  Sting permitted himself a slight baring of his teeth. “The human cannot—” But he stopped and thought again of O’Neill, of what he had recently learned of humans. He let out a breath. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “Perhaps the human may be of more use than I had previously believed.”

  “He understands a great deal about Lantean technology,” Earthborn reminded him, mildly. And Sting remembered that she, born of this world, had always been more curious about the humans that surrounded them than he. It was a dangerous fascination, however, given who and what they were. Humans could not be friends; at most they could be expedient allies. He was certain that O’Neill felt the same way.

  “We must be cautious,” he reminded Earthborn. “We cannot trust humans to act in anything but their own interest.”

  He felt rather than saw Earthborn’s wry smile. “In that, then, we are the same. But it does not follow that an alliance of convenience is weak; both parties are invested in the mission’s success.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, “until the mission is over. And then…”

  Earthborn sighed in agreement. “And then we must all watch our backs.”

  They stood in silence for some time longer, watching the humans they had saved slip into the camp below unchallenged. Far away, on the other side of the valley, sat the mountain on which the ship of the enemy had once rested. Sting remembered it still; the ostentatious impracticality of the thing perched up there. The parasite-gods had fallen easily to the ruthless efficiency of the Wraith. Their enslaved Jaffa had fought only for the honor of their imposter gods, but the Wraith had fought to live, to feed, and for the survival of their race. Their victory had been assured from the start.

  He allowed his eyes to drift down to the sprawling camp, humans crushed inside ready to be plucked at the whim of Shadow’s blades. It left a sour taste in his throat, made his feeding hand ache. There was no pleasure in feeding on such wretched creatures without the thrill of the hunt to stir his blood to life. Shadow’s corruption surely stemmed from this weakness—from the way the Wraith had fallen into sloth and gluttony.

  “Shadow has always been corrupt,” Earthborn said into his mind, her inner voice cool against his heated thoughts. “I feel that about her.”

  “You have never met her, my queen.” Yet Sting was aware there were connections between queens, especially those of the same family, which he could never fully understand. “But you are not mistaken. She was always the shadow to your mother’s light.”

  He felt Earthborn’s pleasure at the compliment, but when she spoke again it was to say, “This monster she has created—a hybrid of Wraith and Goa’uld—it cannot be the product of a sound mind. No Wraith of honor would concede to such a blending. It is unthinkable.”

  “And yet she proposes to create an army of such creatures.” He turned his eyes on her, weighing how much to say. “Such a hybrid race would have an advantage over other Wraith. Were they to return to our own galaxy the consequences would be catastrophic.”

  Earthborn bared her teeth, a hiss of anger. “It cannot be allowed to happen.”

  “It will not,” Sting said, although he felt less certain than his words and hoped Earthborn could not sense the doubt in his mind. Too much of their plan rested on O’Neill, on the survival and honor of a man he might have fed upon only days ago.

  “He will return,” Earthborn said, proving that he could hide nothing from his queen. Once more her hand touched his, an intimate gesture. “I trust him.” Her thought was a balm to his troubled mind, it soothed but did not eliminate his concerns. “For now,” she allowed. “I trust him for now.”

  Behind them, the hive groaned—a strained settling of its decaying body. Soon it would be dead and they would have to leave.

  Earthborn looked behind her, reached out a hand to touch the skin of her mother’s ship. “We must make Stormfire ready to depart,” she said. “He must travel with us to the Lantean city when O’Neill returns.”

  “With us?” Sting echoed. “No.” Stepping away from her he strove to keep his tone respectful. “My queen, we cannot take Stormfire with us—he is too unpredictable. He could endanger us all. And,” he hesitated briefly, but suspected she had already taken the thought from his mind, “you cannot travel there. It is too dangerous.”

  He felt her irritation bristle, saw it in the ripple of her shoulder blades down her back. “It is not for you to determine—”

  “I am your consort,” he replied, imbuing his voice with as much authority as he dared.

  She turned on him, chin lifted high and lips pulled back from her teeth. “And I am your queen.”

  Sting offered a bow, but did not break contact with her eyes. “A queen I will not risk on a mission so uncertain. If I die, it is no loss.”

  “If you—”

  Despite the breach of protocol, he talked on. “If we take the Lantean city from Shadow—if we defeat her—we will need a queen to lead our people home. There is no one who can do that but you.”

  He felt her anger and, beneath it, her fear—a silver thread of it, well hidden, but startling nonetheless. Fear for him, for the loss of him. “I will return,” he told her, rising and daring to reach for her hand. In other times and places, it would not be permitted, but here, where all that they once were teetered on the edge of destruction, he deemed it possible. “I will return to you, my qu
een,” he said and touched his brow to hers. “I swear it.”

  Hecate’s Ha’tak — 2098

  “Look, I’m not saying we have to trust her,” Jack said. “I’m saying what other choice do we have?”

  Daniel ran a hand through his hair and tugged off his glasses. He was tired, his eyes itched, and there was something heavy lodged in the center of his chest making it difficult to think straight. Of all the people he’d known at the SGC, why did it have to be Janet?

  He sighed, squeezed the bridge of his nose, and said, “The dubious morality of ‘exterminating’ the Wraith aside, you know it’s impossible for a host to influence a Goa’uld, right? Not while the Goa’uld is conscious. Even Sha’re…” He trailed off, letting the rest speak for itself.

  They were back in the quarters Rya’c had provided for them, perched tense and uncomfortable on the ugly furniture of the living area. Hecate had given them an hour to decide; they didn’t seem to be any closer to a decision than they had been twenty minutes earlier.

  From where she stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the stars outside, Sam said, “Actually, Daniel, I’m not so sure.”

  He blinked at her, surprised to hear Sam, of all people, take that line. “What do you mean?”

  With a slight head shake, she turned to face him, almost as if she was dismissing her words before they were spoken. “It’s just something Hecate said…” She glanced at Jack. “She talked about ‘blending’ with… with Janet.” She clamped her jaw shut for a moment, as if getting a grip on herself, and then said, “You heard that too, right, sir?”

  “Yeah,” Jack sighed, slumping back into his chair. “I heard it.”

  “It sounds like something a Tok’ra would say,” Sam carried on, in case Daniel hadn’t got it.

  He had, of course. “She’s not Tok’ra,” he pointed out. “And, Sam, we have to assume that’s exactly what she wants us to think. She wants us to look at her and see Janet.” He rubbed a hand across his mouth, but it did nothing to scrub away the bitter memory of seeing his friend like this, or any of the memories it triggered of his wife. “We can’t let her play us.”

  “I’m not,” Sam insisted, although the way her eyes darted off and back to the window made Daniel wonder how much she believed it. How could any of them say they weren’t affected by hearing a Goa’uld’s words falling from Janet Fraiser’s lips?

  “Look, the questions is,” Jack said, “do we go along with her plan or not?”

  From the far side of the room, Teal’c said, “Her plan will not serve to end this timeline, O’Neill.”

  Daniel resisted the urge to groan; they’d been over and over this. “Teal’c—”

  “There’s no way to end this timeline,” Jack said, pushing to his feet and turning to face Teal’c. “Not soon, anyway. And maybe never. Teal’c, it’s a moot point. We’re here and we have to deal with what’s right in front of us.”

  “He’s right,” Sam said quietly. “Teal’c, as much as I hate seeing Janet like this, and Rya’c, and Earth… we’re out of options. At least for now.” Her attention shifted from Teal’c back to Jack. “Sir, I think we should agree to the plan. For one thing, it could get us onto this Ancient hive ship.” She shot a quick look back at Teal’c. “Who knows what we might find there? Maybe their computers are powerful enough to predict a solar flare that can take us home? There’s nothing here or on Arbella that can help us.”

  Jack acknowledged the point with a nod, and then turned his eyes on Daniel. “Thoughts?”

  He sighed and slipped his glasses back on, blinking up at Jack. “We can’t trust Hecate,” he said. “But…” His thoughts skittered off for a moment, chasing down a new idea.

  “But?” Jack prompted, impatient as ever.

  “But maybe we can mitigate the risk.”

  “How?”

  Daniel frowned down at the floor between his feet, thinking it through. “If Hecate’s serious about freeing Earth from the Wraith—and about leaving, once it’s done—then Earth’s gonna need some help, right? In the aftermath.”

  “I guess. What do you have in mind?”

  “Arbella,” he said, looking up to meet Jack’s skeptical eye. “I’m serious, Jack. We have President Jones’ wife—we can take her home, like we promised. What better way to get him on our side? To get Arbella to come through the gate and take the fight to the Wraith? We know we already have friends there—they want to fight for Earth, Jack. They want to reclaim it.”

  “Some of them,” Jack conceded. “But we have enemies there too.”

  Which was true, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth the risk. “I’ll go,” Daniel said. “I’ll talk to Gunnison Jones, tell him what happened to his wife—explain how we’re going to drive the Wraith out. I’ll be more use there than on the hive ship, and if we can bring the Arbellan CMF through the gate to back us up, then that might just be our ace in the hole. At the very least, it’s an insurance policy against Hecate reneging on her deal.” He spread his hands. “And if she won’t let us go, if she refuses to let us gate back to Arbella? Well, then we have to ask why she doesn’t want a human army on Earth once the Wraith are gone.”

  Jack frowned, his mouth a tight line.

  “It’s a good point, sir,” Sam said. “It tests Hecate’s intentions and it means we’re not just relying on her Jaffa against the Wraith. Strategically, it’s a good plan.”

  “It’s a dangerous plan.”

  Daniel laughed. “Jack, we’re trapped in a screwed up future, caught between the Wraith and the Goa’uld. Everything is dangerous.”

  Jack’s mouth twitched—what served as a smile for him—and he said, “Someone tell me we’ve been in worse situations than this and gotten out of it?”

  Daniel exchanged a helpless look with Sam, but she just shrugged. Teal’c said nothing, only straightened his shoulders.

  “Yeah,” Jack sighed. “That’s what I thought.” Head bowed, he stood in silence for a moment. Sam watched him carefully, as though she was about to say something, and Daniel couldn’t catch her eye. But she didn’t speak and eventually Jack looked up, encompassing them all in a single glance. “I told you before that I wasn’t gonna give orders anymore,” he said. “Where we are now… There’s no Air Force, no chain of command. No United States. Those old rules, they don’t apply anymore. They can’t.”

  “Sir—”

  “Carter, zip it,” he said. “My point is that if we go into the field, then we go in as SG-1. And we go in with me as your CO and with the usual chain of command in the unit; otherwise we’ll die out there. But if we do that, it’s because you choose to follow me. The only authority I have out here is what you give me. I’m not ordering any of you to take this mission. But me? I’m in. I’m gonna find Sting and have him take me out to the hive ship.”

  “I’m coming with you, sir,” Sam said immediately.

  Jack held her gaze for a moment and then nodded. “Okay.”

  Daniel looked at Teal’c, stoic on the other side of the room. “I’ll go to Arbella,” he said, “rally some backup among the CMF.” He tipped his head, studying Teal’c. “I could use someone to watch my back.”

  For a moment, he thought Teal’c might refuse, that his insistence on undoing this reality would be too inflexible. But then his shoulders relaxed and he gave his customary nod. “Then I shall travel with you, Daniel Jackson.”

  He felt a wash of relief and smiled his thanks, not just because he’d have Teal’c with him but because Teal’c was still part of this. SG-1 was still working together, despite what Jack thought about his right to command them, despite their conflict over how to resolve the mess they’d found themselves in. SG-1 was still a team. “Then that’s it,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “That’s the reply you give to Hecate, Jack. You and Sam go to the hive and bring back her test subject; Teal’c and I go to Arbella and bring back an army. And then we fight for Earth.”

  For a moment, they all just looked at each other. It felt as i
f they were right at the top of a rollercoaster, waiting to tip over the edge with gravity taking hold and no way back.

  Into the tense silence, Jack said, “Well gang, looks like we’re splitting up to search the creepy haunted mansion. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Arbella — 2098

  It was with a practiced eye that Karin Yuma spooned leaves into the earthenware pot. She plucked the kettle from the stove at just the right moment before the water boiled, to avoid scalding the leaves, and added the precise amount to the teapot. She would let it infuse for two minutes exactly before pouring the brew into her cup. Then she would empty it down the drain and repeat the process.

  She never drank the tea she made—the leaves that were grown in the peaty soil to the south of Laketown had a harsh and bitter taste—but the routine focused her mind, sharpening her thoughts. She would need a keen edge to maintain effective control of the current situation.

  The morning had gone well. Or rather, it had gone as she’d anticipated. Careful planning, vigilance and analysis of all eventualities were the key to a satisfactory outcome. The knock at her office door was yet another expected eventuality.

  “Come in, Jed.”

  There was a pause before the door opened to reveal Jed Hayden. “How did you—?”

  “Sit down.”

  The young officer was hesitant as he entered the room and sat in the chair opposite. Yuma had gotten rid of her office desk long ago, finding it more effective to note a person’s body language without any visual hindrance—and for them to note hers. She crossed her legs and waited for Hayden to stop fidgeting. Then she smiled and inclined her head, the indication that he should speak, though she knew why he was here.

  He took a breath, as if readying himself to talk, but then noticed the steaming teapot on the table. “Oh, may I have some?”