Stargate SG-1 30 - Insurrection

by Sally Malcolm

  “Is that so?” she said, and Daniel didn’t like the assurance of her tone. This wasn’t going anywhere good. “Perhaps I should be more concerned with their—and your—movements in Laketown. Or even the datacenter?”

  Unease clawed at Daniel’s stomach. “I don’t—”

  Yuma’s raised hand cut him off. “Sedition is a serious offense on Arbella, Dr. Jackson. Especially when those accused conspire to destroy everyone who has ever lived here and everything we have ever created.”

  It was useless to deny Yuma’s accusations; he doubted very much that she would have plucked the idea out of thin air, and so Sam’s research must have left a trail. “That’s not what we wanted to do,” said Daniel, though he knew the truth of his words was very much open to interpretation. Wasn’t that what the four of them had argued over? Even now the idea of changing the past and erasing the Arbellan people from history was very much on the table—it was only the lack of means that had stopped them. So far.

  “That’s exactly what you were planning. Even the Jaffa doesn’t deny it.” Teal’c’s silence was indeed damning, but Daniel couldn’t blame him for refusing to lie about his stance on the matter; he doubted it would make a difference anyway. “So I ask again,” continued Yuma, “where are O’Neill and Carter? And how are they planning to strike against Arbella?”

  “What? They’re not!” It was one thing acknowledging the plan to rectify the timeline, but Yuma surely couldn’t believe that SG-1 would strike directly against what were, in effect, their own people. She gestured to one of the guards, who grabbed Daniel from the bunk and shoved him up against the wall. When Teal’c made a move, the other guard had a weapon in his face in less than a second. Daniel held out a hand to tell him he was okay.

  “Tell me where they are,” said Yuma again, her voice stony.

  “They’re on Earth trying to defeat the Wraith.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Where are they?”

  “On Earth,” he ground out. “Trying to defeat the Wraith. Which maybe they wouldn’t have to do, if you people would just accept responsibility and do something to help.”

  “Where are they?”

  It was clear nothing he said would convince her, but he wasn’t confident they’d get out of the room in one piece if he revealed the full extent of the plan to Yuma. However, there was an alternative. “Let me speak to General Bailey.”

  Yuma stepped closer to him and narrowed her eyes. “And what does Bailey have to do with this?”

  “Nothing. But whatever we have to say, I want to say it to her.” Over Yuma’s shoulder, he could see Teal’c, tension in his stance, the guard’s weapon still pointed at his temple.

  “You should understand, Dr. Jackson. Roz Bailey is not your ally. And any association with you does not reflect well on her. Are you telling me that she’s aware of whatever plan you and your teammates have concocted?”

  “There is no plan.”

  After another moment of scrutiny, Yuma stepped back and gestured for her guards to stand down. “Alright, Jackson. If this is how you want to play it. But trust me, I’m a resourceful woman. You have information. I want it. And one way or another, I will get it.” She turned and walked toward the door, but just before she knocked to attract the door guard’s attention she said, “Bring the Jaffa.”

  “No!” Daniel ran forward, but a backhand across his face sent him crashing to the ground.

  Teal’c lunged for Yuma, but before he could lay a hand on her a gunshot echoed loud in the room.

  At first, Daniel thought it was a warning shot—until he saw the bloom of red, barely visible on Teal’c dark BDUs. “Teal’c!”

  The Jaffa sagged, caught by the two guards before he could hit the ground, and then was dragged from the room.

  The slam of the door was hardly audible above the ringing in Daniel’s ears. And then he was alone in the room with only the spatter of blood on the tiles to show that Teal’c had been there at all.

  Atlantis — 2098

  Sting had not visited Shadow’s hive since before Brightstar’s death, yet he remembered the discordant sense of wrong that permeated the Ancestor’s city. He began to feel it even as he approached, skimming his dart low across the planet’s choppy southern ocean toward the fracturing light where Atlantis crouched beneath its shield. To his eye, the city was a dead thing. There was no life in the technology of the Ancestors, unlike the living hives of the Wraith, and for Shadow to make her home there was as obscene as anything else she had imposed upon her people.

  His people too, he reminded himself. Many of those who now bent the knee to Shadow had once served Brightstar. She too, though it pained him to doubt the wisdom of his long-dead queen, had once been seduced by Shadow’s dream of venturing beyond their galaxy and into these plentiful, corrupting feeding grounds.

  But Brightstar could not have known the consequence of that choice—the degrading effect of a human population so abundant that there was no need to sleep, no need to hunt. Wraith were more than creatures of pleasure. They must feed to live, but they should not live only to feed and grow fat and lazy in their indolence.

  It would end soon, however, if all went to plan. Those who had deserted Brightstar would bend their knee to her daughter, and Earthborn would lead their people—whole once more—back to the hunting grounds of his youth. There, they would be Wraith once more.

  He glanced down at his controls, the indicators showing him three lives held safe within the dart’s buffer. O’Neill, Carter, O’Kane: allies of convenience and he knew he could trust none of them to further his interests. O’Neill least of all. The humans had their own agenda and no matter how strongly Earthborn believed it coincided with their own objectives, Sting knew the humans would serve their own welfare first—as would he. And, although O’Neill and Carter had once saved his life, he would not hesitate to drink them dry if they sought to betray his queen.

  As alliances went, it was uneasy.

  Beneath him, the gray ocean bucked and swelled and the dart jolted through the turbulent air currents. Ahead, loomed Atlantis. Sting braced his mind for the contact that would soon come from Queen Shadow’s blades—those charged with sweeping the area for incoming assault. The parasite-god, on occasion, still sent her fighters to harry the Wraith, though it had been many years since a concerted attack had been launched.

  Sting had assumed it was because the enemy had been cowed by Shadow’s power, yet, having seen the hybrid creature she had bred, he began to suspect that something more sinister was at play.

  “Identify yourself.” The sharp demand snapped into his mind, shattering his thoughts.

  Here was the most dangerous part of the deception. “I am Keenedge, summoned by Queen Shadow to report upon the disaster at the laboratory,” Sting said, projecting his memory of the young blade’s mind: sharp and slick, youthful and arrogant. If the Wraith who spoke to him had known Keenedge, or if he had once known Sting, the ruse would fail. Sting kept his mind focused and let his unease play into the deception. “I fear our queen is displeased.”

  He sensed discomfort from the Wraith, some fear, and a desire to break the contact. “Proceed to dock,” he said, layering his thoughts with something like condolence. “It will go worse for you if you keep her waiting.”

  “My thanks,” Sting said. It took great effort to suppress the wave of relief that followed until he was certain his connection with the other’s mind was severed. Even then, he permitted himself little more than a smile as the energy shield shivered out of existence long enough for his dart to pass through.

  The light on his console blinked at him and he tried not to feel like a traitor to his own kind, bringing these humans here to overturn the power of a queen. But Earthborn had made her decision and it was his duty to obey. He served only one queen, after all.

  Atlantis, as inhabited by the Ancestors, had been a city of harsh light, spindly spires and barren outdoor platforms. Much of th
at was now softened by a thick layer of hive-flesh, although it could not disguise the alien structure of the city. But rather than comforting, Sting found the sight disconcerting; the hive-flesh grew in clumps and tendrils, hanging heavy between towers and sagging in pouches from the balconies that dotted the city. It only added to the grotesque deformity of the hive, and Sting would have averted his eyes had he not been searching for a suitable place to empty his passengers from the buffers. Outside, in the glare of daylight, would be best; Wraith eyes worked less well in such conditions. He could leave the dart on one of the platforms, where no Wraith would willingly venture. And it would be easier to escape from there than from the middle of a heavily guarded dart bay.

  It took a couple of passes over the city to identify what he wanted: an empty platform at the far end of one of the city’s piers. He came in low and slow, engaged the culling beam in reverse as he swept the dart over the platform and hoped his aim was true. Only a small error would see the humans floundering in the ocean and he suspected the cold water would kill them before he could snatch them out again.

  But his third pass over the platform showed him O’Neill and the other two dropping into a low crouch on the pier. O’Neill lifted an arm to wave and Sting brought his dart around to land, kicking up grit and making the humans turn their backs, covering their faces against the swirl of dust as he touched down.

  Wasting no time, he opened the cockpit before the engine had started to cool, leaving the dart to take care of herself as Sting climbed out and down. The first thing he heard in the cold Atlantis air was Carter saying, “…incredible. Daniel would love this.”

  “Daniel can tag along next time,” O’Neill said, squinting up at Sting. “So here we are, safe and sound,” he said, in a tone that betrayed as much mistrust as Sting felt. In that, at least, they were in agreement: neither trusted the other.

  Sting jumped down onto the landing platform. “Did you imagine I would drop you in the water?”

  “It crossed my mind.”

  “There would be more rewarding ways to kill you,” Sting replied and flexed his feeding hand to emphasize the point.

  O’Neill’s response was an unreadable smile. “Jamie,” he said. “Which way now?”

  Stormfire’s assistant—it was difficult to associate him with the name ‘James O’Kane’ —looked up from the file he carried, frowning. “I think this is the Pila Orientalis,” he said. “And it’s James, not Jamie, please.”

  “Right,” O’Neill said. “You want to try that in English this time, Jimmy?”

  O’Kane blinked in irritation and said, “Roughly, that would translate as the ‘east walkway.’” He tapped his book and said, “The control room where the Astria Porta is located is housed in the central tower. We should be able to access their computer system from there and locate the hybrid laboratory.”

  “The central tower,” Carter said, shading her eyes as she looked up at the imposing structures looming above them. “That thing’s huge.”

  “It’s a city,” O’Kane said. “What did you expect?”

  Neither O’Neill nor Carter answered that, so Sting said, “We must hurry. Our arrival will soon be detected.”

  O’Neill nodded. “Then lead the way, Jimmy.”

  “It’s—never mind,” O’Kane said, and headed out along the length of the pier.

  O’Neill and Carter exchanged a brief, smiling look, and then followed side by side, both wary and alert. Sting threw a regretful glance at the dart—too exposed in the open, but there was no more he could do to hide her—and followed. If their mission was successful he would not need the dart to return to Earthborn.

  He tried not to think about the enormity of that small word ‘if.’

  Chapter 6

  Atlantis — 2098

  Whatever Jack had been expecting when they started their little jaunt to the Emerald City, it wasn’t this: sweeping spires and arches filling the sky, an elegance of architecture unlike anything he’d seen off-world. Nothing like the ostentation of the Goa’uld or the sleek, impersonal lines of the Asgard, this city was beautiful. Or it would have been if it hadn’t been for the ugly termite nests growing all over the damn place, strung in bulging sacks between the towers and giving him the urge to poke them with a stick and run like hell.

  Inside, it was worse. What once must have been wide, well-proportioned corridors were overgrown with Wraith crud, making them dark and oppressive. Hot, too. He could feel sweat on his neck, running slow down his spine.

  “Hive-flesh,” Sting murmured as they passed a wall scarred and slimy with the stuff. Sting was careful not to touch, though, and Jack remembered that this ‘hive-flesh’ was alive—that it might be able to recognize that Sting played for the wrong team. “Even here,” the Wraith mused, eyes gleaming in the low light, “it tries to bring life.”

  Whatever. To Jack it just looked gross, as parasitic as the Goa’uld and even more alien. It reminded him way too much of those cocoons his team had woken up in after Sting—and he hadn’t forgotten that it was Sting—had ordered them swept up in a snatcher beam and Saran-wrapped as snacks for his queen.

  “O’Kane,” Jack said, pitching his voice low as he drew level with the man. “How far up the tower do we need to go?”

  “Almost to the top,” he said, consulting his book. “But I believe… There may be a transportation method to take us there.”

  “Like an elevator?” Jack glanced back at Carter and couldn’t keep the incredulous amusement off his face. “The Ancients built elevators? Do you think they play Ancient Muzak?”

  Carter cracked a smile as she crowded closer and squinted over O’Kane’s shoulder. “I doubt it’s an elevator, sir,” she said, spoiling his fun. “But perhaps it’s some kind of internal transporter, like Goa’uld transport rings?”

  That sounded more credible. He pushed his ball cap up away from his eyes and peered at the scribbles in O’Kane’s book; none of it made much sense. “We don’t want to just beam into the middle of Wraith Central,” he said, pointing out the obvious.

  Carter hummed her agreement. “There,” she said, touching something on the drawing. “What’s that? It has a transporter terminus and it’s on the same level as the gate room, but it’s separate.”

  “Could be anything,” Jack said, and, damn, but he hated not having up-to-date intel. “Could be a Wraith bathroom for all we know.”

  Behind them, Sting bristled. “That is unlikely.”

  “Sir, it has to be better than transporting direct to the gate room,” Carter countered. “And we’ll have the element of surprise.”

  “And nothing but a couple of zats to fight with.”

  “I also am armed,” Sting reminded him. “And, in addition to my stunner, I have a number of explosives.”

  “Okay.” Jack rubbed at the back of his neck, settled his cap back in place. It was better than nothing. “That’s our best plan?” he said to Carter.

  She gave a slight shrug. “Yes sir.”

  “Sting?” Jack said. “What do you think? You’ve been here before, right?”

  “Many years ago, although I was not permitted entry to the command areas.” He glanced at O’Kane’s book. “It is impossible to tell what the room is for—possibly, it is a retiring room for Queen Shadow. Or a place where she meets with her zenana. It is likely she would have private quarters close to the heart of her hive’s command.”

  None of which sounded encouraging and Jack shared a wary glance with Carter.

  “However,” Sting said, “I do not know how—or even if—Shadow can communicate with this hive. It is… malformed, mere hive-flesh grafted onto the Ancestors’ city. It may be that she does not command her hive as other queens do. It certainly does not fly at her command.” His odd, reptilian eyes came to rest on Jack. “And Carter is correct about one thing: we will have the element of surprise.”

  “I say we go for it, sir,” Carter said, settling on the balls of her feet, ready to go.

  And
that was enough for Jack; what choice did they really have, anyway? “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go find the elevator.”

  As it turned out, the transporter did kinda look like an elevator. Or a closet. Jack eyed it suspiciously as they crowded inside—talk about sitting ducks. “Are we sure this is a good idea, Carter?”

  She was studying a control panel on the back wall of the tiny chamber, all of which had lit up as they’d stepped inside. In answer to his question she only said, “Sir, it looks like this can take us anywhere on the transportation network.” She touched her fingers to the screen. “Ready?”

  Not really, but what the heck? “Beam us up, Carter.”

  He heard her huff a laugh, there was a moment of dislocation, and then… Nothing changed. Jack blinked. “Did it work?”

  “I think so.” Carter was still staring at the controls. “At least, the schematic is showing us on the command level of the central tower.” She came to stand with him before the doors, her zat unholstered and ready. “I guess all these elevators look the same on the inside, sir.”

  Which meant there could be anything on the other side of that door. “Here goes nothing,” he said, and hit the door control.

  It slid open onto a dark room—well, more like a glorified alcove—with an archway on the far side opening onto a shadowy corridor. In silence, Jack gestured for the others to follow as he crept toward the arch and peered into the corridor beyond. It was swathed with Wraith gunk, the light too dim to make out details.

  After trading a swift look with Carter he stepped out, weapon raised, Carter moving to cover his back.

  “Clear,” she said, keeping her voice low as she scanned her half of the hallway.

  “Clear,” Jack confirmed. “Any idea where we are?”

  “We should be just outside the gate room, sir.”

  Sting glanced further down the corridor. “There—that door,” he said, stalking towards it with his long coat flapping. He held a hand close to, but not touching, the hive-flesh clinging to the door. Head cocked, it was clear that he was listening.