Stargate SG-1 30 - Insurrection

by Sally Malcolm

  Then, the acrid burn of fire and smoke.

  Shaking it off, Jack tried to push up to his knees. But there was something heavy on his legs and he kicked out, blinking through the smoke. The hybrid lay across him, Sting struggling to his feet next to it.

  “Get it off,” Jack growled, squirming out from under the thing’s dead weight.

  Distantly, he could hear the blare of an alarm. His ears were ringing, though, so the damn thing could be right overhead. Either way, it meant they should expect company.

  “Carter!” he barked, as Sting hauled the hybrid back and off Jack’s pinned legs. “Major!” He coughed, the smoke catching in his lungs. “Sam!”

  A hand on his shoulder. “Sir.” There was a gash on her forehead, her face ashen, but she was on her feet even if she looked shaken. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, dug his fingers into her arm; there was a bloody tear on her shirt, right over her heart. “You?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle, sir.” She gave him a quick smile. “We should go.”

  He held her gaze for a beat longer, but he didn’t think she was hiding anything so let go of her arm. “We should,” he said. “Lead the way, Major.”

  Sting was struggling to drag the hybrid and Jack moved to help. But even between them there was no way they were going to get out of there and back to the dart without being caught. They were just too damn slow.

  Sting was moving stiffly, his limbs twitchy. Jack knew why; he’d danced with that Goa’uld hand device himself and knew the aftereffects intimately. It wasn’t just a giant headache. It dug into your mind and fried the circuits, made everything misfire and disconnect. He imagined it was what a lobotomy might feel like.

  “We should hide,” Sting said, hissing the words through his teeth.

  “Hide where?” He was open to suggestions, but hiding sounded like a recipe for disaster. He’d rather get out of this freaky city than risk being cornered—especially with a pissed-off Goa’uld-Wraith hybrid on their hands.

  “I need time to heal,” Sting said. “We cannot reach the dart without—”

  “Sir, there may be an alternative.”

  “What alternative?”

  “Those short range ships James mentioned? The gate-ships? He found the docking bay, sir. And we’re close.”

  Sting lifted his head. He didn’t look like he liked the idea, but frankly he wasn’t in a position to argue.

  “Plan B it is,” Jack said. “How far is close?”

  “Five minutes.” She hesitated, pressed her sleeve to the cut on her forehead, swiping away the blood before it ran into her eyes. “O’Kane is on the way. I figured—”

  Jack grunted, but didn’t comment on her preemptive decision. “Good call, Major. Now, let’s move it.”

  It took, perhaps, ten minutes at their slow pace to reach the docking bay.

  “From what I can tell,” Carter said, bumping shoulders with Jack as they hauled the comatose hybrid along the final corridor, “this part of the city is barely used. I mean, the place is enormous. The Wraith don’t even nearly fill it.”

  “Lucky for us.”

  “Yeah… Yeah, lucky.” And then she stopped talking in that way she had that always made Jack nervous, the way that told him there was something she was holding back.

  “Carter?”

  A little shake of her head, a quick glance at Sting. “Later, sir.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Later?”

  “It’s—” And then her eyes were on his, intent like she was trying to impart a hidden meaning. “It’s another option,” she said. “Maybe.”

  He held her gaze as long as he could, then turned away. “Are we talking solar flares, Major?”

  “Possibly more like HG Wells, sir.”

  He jerked his head around to look her, aware of Sting listening intently to their coded conversation. “You’re kidding.”

  But she didn’t look like she was joking. “I don’t know, sir. It’s possible. I’d need to look.”

  And holy crap… A time machine? “Isn’t that a little sci-fi?”

  Carter snorted, but didn’t deign to reply. Given their current circumstances, he guessed she had a fair point. He blew out a breath and kept hauling on the half-dead alien.

  Not long after that, he heard footsteps behind him and turned, stunner raised, to find O’Kane skidding to a halt, arms raised. “A little warning next time, Jim,” Jack said, lowering his weapon.

  “Sorry.” O’Kane’s attention darted to Carter. “Sam, I found it. The navis temporis is there.”

  She gave him a curt nod and Jack a meaningful look. “Show me,” she said.

  The docking bay looked more like a silo. It was cavernous and empty, dusty with the air of long-abandonment. It took Jack a moment to identify the ‘gate-ships,’ because they looked nothing like anything he’d ever flown—or seen fly.

  “Carter, they’re boxes,” he said as he dropped the hybrid on the floor and stretched his back to ease the knots. “Are you sure they even fly?”

  Boneshard stirred at Jack’s feet and he exchanged a wary glance with Sting. “We need to restrain him.”

  Sting nodded, his long hair ratty with all the fighting and sweat. “With what?” he said, glancing around.

  Rummaging in his vest, Jack pulled out a couple sets of plastic cuffs—they might not hold a Wraith powered up with snake-juice, but it was all he had. He threw a pair to Sting. “Get his feet.”

  Together they rolled the hybrid onto his front and Jack cuffed his wrists behind him—barely getting the human-sized loops over the Wraith-sized hands. And claws. On the palm of one hand, the little mouth thing gaped like the gills of a landed fish. Jack shuddered and looked away, right at Sting.

  He closed his own hand as if he’d noticed Jack’s reaction, or, perhaps, was hiding something. His hunger, Jack guessed. Sting was wounded; he probably needed to feed so he could heal.

  Swallowing his disquiet, Jack pushed to his feet.

  Carter and O’Kane were poking about at one of the blocky gate-ships, but didn’t seem to be having much luck getting in. “Hey,” Jack called. “You need my magic fingers?”

  He couldn’t exactly see Carter raise her eyebrows, but he could certainly feel it. “Your help would be appreciated, sir,” she said. “They obviously need the Ancient gene to activate.”

  “Keep your eyes on him,” Jack said to Sting, stepping over the hybrid and heading toward Carter. Boneshard’s fingers were starting to flex—the sooner they got out of here, the better.

  Approaching the gate-ship cautiously, Jack let his eyes run along its unattractive lines. It was almost utterly non-aerodynamic. “Carter, tell me how this damn thing can even get off the ground.”

  She offered a tight smile. “I might be able to once I take a look inside, sir,” she said. “But I imagine it’s primarily designed for use in space.”

  He cocked his head. “Well, we’re not in space.”

  “Yes sir. I’m assuming the Ancients thought of that when they designed a flying city capable landing on a planet.”

  Smiling on the inside—it never hurt to keep a poker face—he said, “Well, let’s hope you’re right, Major. Otherwise it’s gonna be a very short ride.”

  “The doors seem to be at the stern, sir,” Carter said by way of reply, and led him around to the blunt end of the ship.

  Jack let out a sigh. “It’s a hatchback, Carter.”

  “Think of it more like a landing craft, sir.”

  He threw her a sideways look. “There’s a reason I didn’t join the navy, Carter.” Then he reached out, put his hand on the slick metal of the ship. “Hocus pocus.”

  Like actual magic, the damn thing hummed into life. The back door slowly descended, becoming a ramp, and Jack took a step back to avoid it.

  “Wow,” Carter said, peering inside. “It looks brand new in there.”

  He followed her gaze, took in the sleek design—like everything else on this city that hadn’t been mes
sed with by the Wraith. “Let’s go see if we can get her in the air,” he said, and headed up the ramp.

  There was a large lozenge-shaped something in the back, with wires trailing up from either side to the ceiling. He stepped around that and headed into the cockpit—cockpit/hotel lounge, going by the décor. Lights sprang to life as, cautiously, he took a seat in the pilot’s chair. No straps, no joystick, just lots of incomprehensible buttons in weird designs. “I feel like I’m sitting in an armchair,” he grumbled. “How do I even know what the controls—Whoa.” Right in front of his eyes, a Heads-Up Display floated in midair. “Carter, you seeing this?”

  “Yes sir,” she said from behind him. “It must have responded to your thoughts. That’s…”

  “Creepy?”

  “I was going to say incredible, sir.”

  “Of course you were.” He licked his lips; this whole mind-reading thing was unsettling. “Weapons status,” he said, and another display appeared. Unsettling, but convenient. He peered more closely. “Looks like we have some kind of targeted missiles,” he said, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “No laser guns, though.”

  “Laser guns aren’t a real thing, sir,” Carter said, sounding distracted.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that she was walking slowly around the large device in back. “You found something?”

  She nodded. “Yes sir, I think this might be it.”

  “It?”

  “The, uh—From what I can gather, this is a prototype.”

  He turned around in the chair, glanced out the window and saw Sting crouched near the hybrid. O’Kane was making notes, gazing around the docking bay like a kid at a museum.

  Lowering his voice, Jack said, “Just so I know we’re on the same page, Carter. Are we talking about a…” He felt ridiculous even saying it. “A ‘time machine?’”

  “Yes sir. What are the odds?”

  He spread his hands. “You tell me.”

  “I can’t.” She shook her head. “I mean, I can’t even begin to understand the physics behind this. It should be impossible. Everything we know about physics—which, evidently, is limited—tells us that time travel is impossible.”

  “And yet here we are.”

  “Right.”

  “And you think this thing can take us home?”

  She looked up, held his gaze. “Maybe. Sir, it would be a huge risk. It’s not like we can test it or anything. But if we don’t try…?” She left it hanging, but he knew what she meant.

  “Janet.”

  “And Rya’c, and the SGC. And Earth, sir.”

  He nodded. “This is what you’ve wanted all along. A way to fix it.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  And that was a question. One there was no time to answer now. So he asked her something else instead. “Can we just fly this thing normally too? We need to get everyone outa here.”

  “Yes, sir.” She rested a hand on the device. “From what I can tell, this is a separate drive. So, unless you specifically engage it, the ship should function like a normal gate-ship.”

  “Whatever that is,” Jack said. “Okay, get the others on board. First thing we do is get Sting and O’Kane back to the dart.”

  She didn’t answer and she didn’t leave. He could almost hear her unasked question before she said it. “And then?”

  “Then we have a conversation.”

  Arbella — 2098

  The isolation, Daniel had come to understand long ago, was the worst part of being imprisoned. It was somehow easier to bear captivity when the team was together, to bolster each other’s spirits and stay resilient. Now all he had for company was four bare walls, a glaring yellow strip light, and his own awful theories about what might have happened to Teal’c. His solitary confinement didn’t fool him into thinking that Agent Yuma was done with him, though; he knew it was only a matter of time before she came back.

  So far, though, no one had come near his cell except to leave him food—and that’s where things had gotten interesting. When he’d drained his cup of what tasted like powdered milk, he saw something white at the bottom, wrapped in plastic. Taking care to avoid the camera that watched him from the ceiling, he retrieved what turned out to be a tightly folded note.

  1810. Be ready.

  Ready for what, he wasn’t sure, but he surmised that if it was some plan of Yuma’s, there wouldn’t have been any need for subterfuge. Or for any sort of warning in the first place. Though the obvious answer was that Bailey had somehow found out they were being held here and had sent help, he doubted that she would risk her position to spring them from jail.

  He also worried about what Bailey might think of them now, given the discovery they had made in the datacenter about Sam’s research. It would feel like betrayal and Daniel couldn’t claim immunity simply because he’d voiced reservations about the plan to rectify the timeline. Whatever choice had been made, all four of them must accept responsibility. He only hoped they would have a chance to explain to Bailey in person, rather than hear a secondhand account from Yuma.

  Regardless of the note’s origin, it was the best hope he’d had in hours. He would just need to make sure they didn’t leave without Teal’c.

  He checked his watch. The last time they’d been on Arbella, Sam had pointed out that it seemed to follow a twenty-seven-hour day, and though he’d tried to make adjustments in his head for the difference, he was sure he must have lost track somewhere along the way. The only thing he could do was be ready to act at any time.

  Eventually, he heard a muffled disturbance in the hallway and he sprang to his feet, wishing he had a weapon. Seconds later the door burst open, slamming against the wall. A young woman stood on the threshold, her gun pointed at the guard who lay prone on the floor. There was no blood and he hadn’t heard a gunshot, so Daniel assumed he’d only been knocked out.

  “Who are—?”

  “No time to explain, Dr. Jackson. Come with me. We’re getting you out of here.”

  “Not without Teal’c.”

  “We have him,” said the woman, impatiently. “Now come on. We’ve knocked out the surveillance, but it’ll only last a few minutes. Can you shoot a weapon?”

  “Unfortunately yes,” he said, taking the handgun she held out to him.

  Without waiting for further instructions, Daniel followed the young officer. On the back of her shirt was the familiar square-rigger of the security force. “You’re not CMF,” he whispered. “Didn’t Bailey send you?”

  “The less General Bailey knows, the more we can protect her. It’s not just the CMF who are loyal to SG-1’s legacy.” She stopped as if mentally checking herself. “To your legacy. We’ve been preparing ourselves for this since before you even arrived on Arbella, Dr. Jackson.”

  It still baffled Daniel, the status SG-1 had been granted, both good and bad, by the Arbellan people. He wasn’t sure what to make of it and he certainly didn’t think it was deserved. But now wasn’t the time to debate philosophical differences with the woman who had been sent to rescue him.

  They reached a narrow staircase that led further down into the Stargate facility. Just as Daniel was wondering how big this place actually was, they reached the bottom and found two others waiting for them. Two of them were base personnel, obviously working with the woman who had freed him. The other…

  “Teal’c!” Daniel darted forward to where Teal’c was leaning against the wall. Even in the dim light, Daniel could see the bruises down one side of his face. “Hey, what happened? Are you okay?”

  “I am fine, Daniel Jackson,” said Teal’c, though he accepted Daniel’s proffered arm and leaned his weight on his shoulder. “I will heal in time. For now, we must leave this base.” He turned to the woman who stood conferring with the two men. “Hanna, have you located Lana Jones?”

  Daniel looked between them in confusion. “What do you mean? Isn’t Lana with her husband?”

  Hanna frowned. “As far as we know, she wasn’t taken to the president
. We’re not even sure if he knows you brought her back.”

  “I believe Agent Yuma has her imprisoned somewhere on this base,” said Teal’c.

  “Why the hell would she do something like that?”

  “She perhaps intends to use her as collateral to achieve her own ends.”

  “Yuma is part of what’s wrong with this society,” said Hanna. “She’s why we’re doing what we’re doing. She has influence with the president, but she wants to make sure that he doesn’t listen to anyone else. Especially not General Bailey.”

  “And us bringing back his wife might just tip the scales in her favor,” said Daniel, grimly. It galled him that they were discussing this woman’s life as if it were a political asset; he guessed that humanity hadn’t learned much at all since the end of the world. Whatever the reason, they couldn’t just leave her in the hands of Yuma and her people. She deserved to be safe. “So how do we get her back?”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” said Hanna. “I’ve just found out she’s being held under complete lockdown. More guards than we can easily take out, and we’ve already more than outstayed our welcome. We have to get out of here.”

  “And go where?” asked Daniel. “Don’t tell me you can get us back through the Stargate, because we both know that’s not going to happen. So what, we hide on Arbella? And what about Sam and Jack? They’ll come looking for us and walk straight into Yuma’s net. No. If we’re going to fix this, then we fix it now.” He looked at Teal’c, unsure if he’d get back-up. He knew Teal’c’s feelings about this world and how it went against the natural order as he saw it, but the Jaffa was still his friend and he hoped he could count on him in this.

  Teal’c held his eyes for a moment and then finally said, “Daniel Jackson is correct. We must do what is right. Our duty was to keep Lana Jones safe and we will see it done.”

  Daniel gave him a tight smile of thanks and Teal’c inclined his head.

  “Alright,” said Hanna, shaking her head. “But we have to move out now. Chances are they’re already looking for us.”