Stargate SG-1 30 - Insurrection

by Sally Malcolm

  Roz cursed inwardly. She knew, of course, the relationship between Teal’c and Dix—or rather Rya’c as he was once known—and yet she’d been so caught up with her own concerns that she hadn’t given any thought as to how Dix might be handling the startling revelation that his father was still alive. As First Prime of Hecate, Dix was always so stoic and resilient; it was easy to forget that he must be dealing with his own troubled emotions. “I’m sorry, Dix. I’m being thoughtless. I didn’t mean—”

  Dix shook his head. “I understand your concerns, General. But all I ask is that you have faith in SG-1 and allow them to explain their motives. Despite the feelings I have harbored for the past hundred years, my father is still a man of honor. I know that his actions will have been for a sound cause. Speak to him and he will assure you of their just intentions.”

  “Dix, I’ll be more than happy to hear your father and the rest of SG-1 out. But we’re running out of time here and Yuma has the president’s ear. If we wait any longer than I’ve a feeling that Jones is going to order the gate closed for good. Have you had any word from them at all?”

  The image on the communication globe flickered as Dix drew back, his brows drawn down. “I don’t understand, General. Neither Daniel Jackson nor my father have contacted me since travelling through the gate.”

  An icy dread wormed its way into the pit of Roz’s stomach. “Travelled through the gate to where, Dix?”

  “To Arbella of course. They found Lana Jones and left from the Lady Hecate’s ship yesterday.”

  It was then that Roz knew the true extent of the game being played here—and who was currently on the winning side. Because Karin Yuma had just made her move and there wasn’t a damn thing Roz could do about it without losing completely.

  Chapter 7

  Atlantis — 2098

  Sam held her breath, chin tipped down, trying to look defeated as the colonel opened the door leading out to the corridor beyond the gate room.

  Ahead of them, Sting said, “Hold your fire!” His stunner was aimed at the drones who were crowding in through the open door, their blade behind them.

  The drones hesitated, but the blade didn’t. “Who are you?” he said, pushing through his men to face Sting. As far as Sam could tell, the blade looked younger than Sting and there was an arrogance about him that she recognized; she’d seen a dozen cocky young officers with the same swagger.

  “I am Keenedge,” Sting said. Sam felt his hand grip her shoulder and propel her forward, toward the door. She flinched, involuntarily, from his touch, his claws biting into her shoulder. Her response, at least, would look natural. “I must bring the prisoners to Queen Shadow.”

  Ahead of them, the drones moved away, although their weapons didn’t drop and their faceless heads turned toward the blade. Sam could feel the suspicion arcing between them; they weren’t buying it.

  But Sting wasn’t stopping. He pushed her forward, O’Kane keeping close to her side and the colonel up front. “I must—”

  “Keenedge fell,” the blade said, words hissing through his teeth. “He died in the breeding facility.”

  Sam glanced behind her, behind Sting, and saw the blade’s weapon raised.

  “You’re mistaken,” Sting said. “I—”

  “He was my nest-mate,” the blade said. “I am not mistaken—Sting. Did you think I would not know Earthborn’s consort when he is standing right before me?”

  For a long moment, nothing happened. Sting stared at the young blade, one hand still braced on Sam’s shoulder, and the blade stared right back. There was fury in his reptilian eyes.

  And then Sting pushed Sam forward, hard, and opened fire on the drones.

  Stumbling, Sam got her feet under her and yanked her zat out from under her jacket a moment after she heard the colonel open fire with his stolen stunner.

  “Carter,” he barked. “O’Kane, go!”

  One of the drones was down and the colonel was half crouched behind its massive body, using it as cover while he fired on the remaining three.

  Sting and the blade were fighting hand-to-hand, throwing each other against the wall with enough force to break bones. Human bones, at least.

  “Sir!” she protested.

  “I said go!”

  Damnit, but he was right. Grabbing O’Kane’s arm, she hauled him toward the transporter. “Find the generator room,” she barked as he darted inside. Crouching just inside the door to the transporter, she laid down covering fire for the colonel. Another drone was down, a third gone to help its blade with Sting.

  “I’ve got it!” O’Kane called from inside the transporter.

  Sam hesitated for a beat and then pulled back to let the door slide shut. “Hit it,” she said. A moment later, the sounds of fighting stopped and all was silence. Pushing herself to her feet, she paused to catch her breath and glanced over at O’Kane. “Okay?”

  He nodded. “I hope they’ll be alright.”

  “Yeah.” She swallowed a sudden surge of unease. “Me too.” Shaking it off—there was work to do—she said, “We have to give them time to get to the hybrid lab. That means, once we take the generator room, we’re gonna have to hold it. We can’t let anyone raise the alarm.”

  “I understand.”

  “Okay.” She turned to face the door. “Then let’s do it.”

  The transporter opened onto an empty corridor, wide and free of hive-flesh. Walking silently, Sam made her way out, hugging the wall as she led O’Kane toward a junction at the far end. She gestured for him to stop as she approached the transecting corridor, and peered cautiously around it. At one end, a large picture window filled the wall and spilled milky light onto the floor. At the other end, the corridor finished in a set of double doors and another corridor disappearing off to the right. Beyond which, according to O’Kane’s schematic, lay the generator room.

  So far, so good; there were no guards outside. Of course, that probably meant there were Wraith inside.

  Pulling back around the corridor, she turned to O’Kane. He looked shaken but in control. Giving his arm a reassuring touch she said, in a low voice, “Can we open the doors without the colonel’s genetic key?”

  “The Wraith must be able to,” he pointed out.

  “Do you know how?”

  “There should be a touch pad,” he said. “Next to the door.”

  “That easy?”

  He shrugged. “Unless they’ve disabled it. They might—”

  Footsteps.

  Sam held up her hand for silence, flattened herself against the wall. It was difficult to tell the direction, but it sounded like it was coming from the corridor leading away from the lab. She dropped into a crouch and peeked out from around the corridor. It was a risk, but she needed intelligence enough that it was a risk worth taking.

  There were two Wraith—neither were drones—approaching from the right of the generator room doors. Their white hair was luminous in the sunlight, black leather coats flaring out as they strode toward the doors. One of them touched something on the wall and Sam watched as the doors slid open. Inside, she saw a glimpse of what could have been computer consoles before the open doorway was filled with another Wraith. Taller than the first two, he wore his hair in an elaborate braid and, from his bearing, it was clear that he was the superior.

  None of them spoke. Sam imagined their conversation was happening inside their heads. Then the two Wraith bowed, long hair dropping to hide their faces, and turned to leave. As they did so, the Wraith inside the room glanced both ways along the corridor—he looked uneasy—and the doors slid shut.

  A warning had been given. Damnit. So much for the element of surprise.

  On the other hand, if there was only one Wraith inside the room, perhaps their odds weren’t so bad?

  Pulling back around the corridor, she glanced at O’Kane. “When we get in there, you need to get into the system and identify the generator controls. I’ll take care of the Wraith.”

  O’Kane swallowed hard, but n
odded.

  “Okay,” she said, pushing back to her feet. “Follow my lead.”

  And then she was moving, O’Kane at her shoulder.

  Arbella — 2098

  The hours before nightfall passed excruciatingly slow, and shadows moved across the Arbellan plains like creeping fingers. Roz Bailey waited until Salem was almost at its zenith before leaving her quarters. This was a mission that needed the cover of darkness, but as she made her way through Laketown’s alleys, her hair tied back and hat pulled low over her brow, she felt as though she couldn’t be more conspicuous had she tied a bell around her neck. There was, of course, no reason she shouldn’t be outside at this time, no reason she shouldn’t walk the streets she’d known her whole life. But intent heightened her guilt, even though she knew there was a wrong to be righted here. She wasn’t sure what had happened to Daniel Jackson and Teal’c since they’d left Dix and walked through the Stargate, but whatever the hell had happened, she was convinced they hadn’t made it down from the Stargate base. And that was the reason for her night-time excursion.

  Eventually, she reached her destination. The door to the Fu-Bar was open, as it always was, and she hovered in the entrance, scouting the crowd for the face she sought. Lieutenant Jefferson sat at a table in the center of the room, his broad personality filling the space as he laughed with other members of the CMF. She recognized every face of course, but it was Stan she was here to see—though she wondered how many of those around the table would need to step up when the time came.

  Jefferson spotted her as she approached the table and his laughter died as he made to stand. A small shake of her head stopped him and he froze with his hands on the table. Roz nodded at the bar and Jefferson dipped his head in acknowledgment. Roz took a stool and waited. A few moments later the lieutenant elbowed in beside her, holding up two fingers to the barman.

  “You’ll let me buy you a drink, ma’am?”

  “Ditch the ma’am, Jefferson,” said Roz, staring forward. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m here in an unofficial capacity.”

  Jefferson glanced at her with a smile, his eyes taking in the hat and civilian clothes. “I see that, ma… um, Gen—?”

  “Roz will do.”

  He coughed and shifted at the departure from protocol, as the barman sat two mugs of frothy beer in front of them, glancing at Roz with curiosity. She fought not to roll her eyes; so much for keeping this on the down low.

  “So, Roz, what can I do for you?” said Jefferson, clearly uncomfortable with the informality.

  “Why don’t you tell me about the tattoos first?”

  Jefferson froze with his mug partway to his mouth. He stared ahead and after a moment took a sip, wiping the foam from his top lip. “What can I say? Some of us like ink. I guess it’s a military thing.”

  “Cut the crap, Stan.”

  He sat his mug down on the bar and looked around. The place was rowdy, as it tended to be at this time of night. No one seemed to be paying them any attention, but Roz knew there were eyes and ears everywhere. “I’m not sure what it is you’re asking, General.”

  Roz didn’t bothering correcting him this time, realizing that any attempt to remain below the radar was futile in a place as small as Laketown. “I’m not asking anything, Lieutenant. I’m saying I know what the deal is with you and your network. I’m saying I know who they are and what you’ve been preparing for all these years. I’m saying I know what you’ve been planning ever since SG-1 returned.”

  Apparently understanding that there was no further point in avoidance, Jefferson looked her straight in the eye. In contrast to the bullish, slightly dense façade that he projected to the world, she saw shrewdness in that look. It gave her confidence that she had made the right call.

  “So much for plausible deniability, huh?” he said with a shrug. “What’s going on, General?”

  “How easily can you get up into the base?”

  At that, he looked cagey. “Depends what you’d call easy. And what it’s for. Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just walk through the front door?”

  She took a sip of her beer. Steiner’s Original, they called it, a brew going back to the time of the First Gens. She wondered if it tasted like it could dissolve stomach lining even back then.

  Just weeks ago, she would have had no hesitation in walking through the front door. Since his landslide election, President Jones had been a man she respected and trusted—but even the most astute of leaders could be misguided in choosing the people to whom they listened. And Gunnison Jones had chosen Karin Yuma. When Lana had disappeared, Yuma had preyed on Jones’ vulnerability. Roz’s fatal error had been thinking she could do the same thing, with the justification that it was all for a noble cause. In reality, she wondered if she was just as guilty as Yuma of targeting a man’s weakness. Now, it seemed, she was the paying the price. She just hoped that both Earth and Arbella wouldn’t suffer also. “The front door has been closed to me for a while,” was all she said to Jefferson.

  He nodded, looking thoughtful. “I guess I could reach out to a few friends. It would depend on a couple things.” His tone was level, all previous unease at the absence of chain of command apparently forgotten; Roz was on his turf now.

  “Like what?”

  “Like whether the risk was worth it? We have a valuable hand here, General. We play it too early…?”

  “Yeah I get it, soldier. What if I said this was the big stake you’ve been waiting for?”

  Jefferson raised his eyebrows. “And what would that stake be, ma’am?”

  “It’s SG-1,” she said, seeing no need for further preamble. “They need our help.”

  Jefferson straightened, his expression all intent and determination. “What do we need to do?”

  Atlantis — 2098

  Sam opened fire as soon as the doors slid back. She saw one Wraith dive for cover behind a bank of computer equipment, but out the corner of her eye she saw another rise to its feet.

  She swung toward it, fired twice.

  It was the one she’d seen before, braided hair running down each side of its head. It staggered under the assault, but didn’t go down. Teeth bared, the Wraith lifted its feeding hand and lunged toward her. Sam twisted away, but not fast enough, and it grabbed her hair with its other hand. Kicking out, she missed its legs and went down, the force of its grip dragging her to her knees.

  The Wraith leered at her, head cocked. “I will enjoy this,” it said. “It has been some time since I have had something so fresh.”

  Behind her, O’Kane cried out in horror and the Wraith plunged its hand into Sam’s chest.

  For a moment, she was back on Sting’s hive with the Wraith’s claws in her chest and her life beginning to ebb. But, this time she knew something the Wraith didn’t; it couldn’t feed on her. A small advantage of the legacy Jolinar had left in her blood. And it gave her an opening.

  As a startled look crossed the Wraith’s face, Sam yanked at its wrists with both hands, dislodging its feeding hand. Rolling away, she snatched her dive knife from her leg-holster as she jumped to her feet and slashed out across the Wraith’s palm. Right into its feeding gland.

  With a scream, it reared back, clutching its wounded hand to its chest. Sam pressed her advantage. Moving in dangerously close, she jammed the knife up under the Wraith’s chin and into its throat. With a yell, she yanked the knife back and kicked the creature back, sending it stumbling.

  Gurgling, scrabbling at its throat, it collapsed to its knees. Sam let it fall, stepping back breathless.

  “Sam!”

  She spun in time to see the other Wraith lurching toward her, and threw herself to one side, rolling over and back up to her feet. She still had the bloody knife in her hand, but this Wraith had its stunner drawn.

  Its gaze locked with hers, lips pulled back.

  Sam retreated, looking for options. There was nothing behind her, and the Wraith stood between her and the door. Not that leaving was an option. And then som
ething caught her eye: O’Kane, behind and to the left of the Wraith. He only had the colonel’s zat, which wouldn’t do much good, but the dead Wraith’s stunner lay discarded on the floor close to where it had fallen. If O’Kane could reach it…

  “It will be an honor,” the Wraith hissed, “to bring you before my queen.”

  Stepping left, Sam said, “I think I can live without the honor.”

  As she’d hoped, the Wraith moved with her, keeping her in the sights of its stunner and beginning to open up a route for O’Kane to reach the weapon.

  “Besides,” she added, taking another small step, “Shadow’s not going to thank you for letting the rest of my team escape.”

  The Wraith shifted its grip on the weapon, but didn’t lower it. “They are not my concern.”

  “Really?” Another step. “They should be.”

  O’Kane, after a bemused moment, seemed to catch up with what Sam was doing and started to move as she moved—keeping hidden behind the Wraith. He was almost at the stunner.

  “You should be very concerned,” Sam said with another step. The door was to her left now, the Wraith no longer between it and herself. She paused for a moment to consider her next move, then took a gamble and glanced over at the door—letting the Wraith see her doing it, letting it think it knew her game plan.

  Its head turned toward the door. Just for an instant, but long enough.

  O’Kane grabbed for the stunner, fumbled it into his hands and fired. His first shot only clipped the Wraith on the shoulder, sending it spinning, but O’Kane fired again and this time the shot was true, right in the center of the Wraith’s back. It went down convulsing.

  For good measure, Sam sent two shots from her zat into the thing and it stopped moving.

  “Get the door,” she barked, and O’Kane ran for it, hitting the panel on the wall. The doors slid shut with a soft hiss and they were alone in the silent room. Now, they had work to do. “Help get me into the systems,” she said, heading for one of the consoles. “We need to secure the doors.”