Stargate SG-1 30 - Insurrection

by Sally Malcolm

  “I agree,” said his father. “Be vigilant.”

  They advanced down the ramp and through the empty room, staff weapons at the ready. Rya’c’s senses were, indeed, alert for danger, but there was another reason for the tension that thrummed through his veins.

  He had been such a fool.

  He had trusted Hecate entirely and bowed to her supposed wisdom and compassion, believing it to be genuine, the influence of Janet Fraiser who had been so kind to him as a child. Only now could he see how foolish it had been to disavow all that he knew of the Goa’uld, forgetting the deceptions of which they were capable. Hadn’t his mother taught him of Apophis’ lies? How could he have believed that any System Lord was capable of benevolence?

  It was not the time for such a conversation, but he could not continue with this mission knowing that his father thought him a traitor to the cause of freedom. “I am sorry, father.”

  Teal’c paused and glanced back at him over his shoulder. With a final glance around the room, he came back to stand next to Rya’c. “Your apology is unnecessary, my son. You have done nothing wrong.”

  “You did not think so when you first saw me again.”

  His father reached out and gripped his shoulder. “My anger came from the impossibility of the situation. If I had taken time to consider my words, I would not have spoken so harshly. I know you would not bend the knee readily to a false god.”

  “And yet I did.”

  “You acted for the good.”

  Rya’c shook his head, finding it hard not to give quarter to self-censure. “I let myself be fooled. You were right. What must you think of me?” He could only imagine how difficult it was for his father, who had endured so much in the name of freedom, who had been spat upon and called shol’va, to see his son serve yet another Goa’uld—and to then find out that the same Goa’uld had taken his friend as host and been responsible for bringing them to this hideous future. For creating it…

  “I think I am proud of the warrior my son has become. Now we have much to do. You must not allow self-doubt to cloud your judgment.”

  Steeling himself, Rya’c nodded; there were more urgent matters to be dealt with here. He could only hope that Major Carter was not outgunned back on the Ha’tak. Many of his Jaffa would stand by her side, but too many were blindly loyal to Hecate.

  They made their way through corridors that were eerily silent. As he opened his mouth to voice his concern, he heard a sound: a rustling movement behind one of the closed doors that lined the corridor.

  Exchanging a glance with his father, they approached the door. On a silent count of three they burst inside, weapons raised and armed.

  The room was small, crowded with several desks covered in papers, behind which cowered a single man. His face was stripped of color, eyes wide in fear.

  “Wait! I’m unarmed!”

  “Who are you?” demanded Teal’c. “What has happened here?”

  “I’m David Frey,” he said, shaking hands raised. “I work here—logistics.”

  His father repeated his question. “What has happened here? Where are the base personnel?”

  “Everyone’s gone,” the man said, shaking his head as if struggling to believe his own words. “I don’t know what’s going on; it’s crazy down there. This seemed like the safest place right now.”

  “Down there?” asked Rya’c.

  “In Laketown. Yuma’s gone rogue and the place has gone to hell. I think they’re getting ready to storm the president’s house. Go see for yourself.”

  His father lifted his gaze to Rya’c, gave a subtle nod, then said to the man, “You are wise to remain here, David Frey. Keep silent and await further instructions.”

  With that he and Rya’c left him in his refuge and made their way to the main entrance of the base.

  They ran out into a breaking dawn over a wide, russet desert of rocky spires and plateaus—atop one of which they stood. For a moment Rya’c’s breath was stolen by the vista but, as they made their way through crumbling ruins and across the narrow bridge to the next plateau, he saw that the man had indeed spoken the truth. For the streets of the settlement clinging to the shores of the lake below—Laketown—were crowded with a throng of bodies. Even at this distance, they could hear the chants and the shouting, though it was impossible to make out the meaning of their words.

  “That does not look good,” said his father and Rya’c thought he could hear inflections of Jack O’Neill in his voice.

  “What can we do?”

  “Nothing from up here,” Teal’c said. “We must find General Bailey.”

  * * *

  “You’re making a mistake,” Sam said as Zuri shoved her forward, one hand on her shoulder and her fingers digging in hard.

  “It is you who are mistaken,” Zuri hissed. “About everything.”

  Sam’s hands were tied behind her back and she walked with Zuri behind her, Hunter stalking along in front and a handful of Resistance fighters around them.

  The Ha’tak was descending into chaos as news of Rya’c’s defection spread—along with news of Sobek, and what he represented. She could hear firefights in the distance, the echoing yells of men, and the air was filling with the unmistakable stench of battle. “Listen,” she said. “Hecate isn’t what you think she is, she’s not a—”

  “Be silent,” Zuri hissed. “I’ll hear no more of your lies. They’ve done enough harm.”

  “They’re not lies.” She tried to shrug out from under Zuri’s grip, but couldn’t get free; the woman was strong. And she was angry. “They’re not—”

  “I knew, as soon as I saw you, that you were trouble. As soon as Dix first saw him—the one who claims to be his father—he was lost.”

  “No—”

  “He betrayed his people, his planet—and his god! And he did it, all of it, for you: for SG-1.” She shoved Sam forward, hard enough that she stumbled. “For a lie.”

  In front of her, Hunter half turned. He still had a troubled look on his face, brow drawn low as he chewed at his bottom lip.

  “It’s not a lie,” Sam said, turning her appeal on him. “Hunter, Hecate did this. She brought us here because she wanted this—enslaving Earth is her endgame.”

  “She is a god!” Zuri hissed. “And better to be ruled by the Lady Hecate than feed the Snatchers.”

  “She speaks true,” Hunter said. “Hecate wants rid of the Snatchers—”

  “But she doesn’t!” Sam said. “Please, you have to believe me. She’s going to enslave us all and use the Snatchers to—”

  Zuri slapped her hard across the face, jarring her jaw. “I said enough,” she hissed. “Your words are poison; I’ll hear no more of them. We will leave it to the Lady Hecate to decide your fate.” With that, she shoved her forward again.

  Sam worked her jaw from side to side, easing the sting of the blow as she side-eyed Hunter. He wasn’t looking at her but his expression was still clouded. Sam hoped he might still prove to be an ally.

  The sound of fighting intensified the further they walked and Zuri sent Hunter ahead to investigate. He reported back, looking shaken. “There’s Snatchers ahead,” he said. “And the Lady Hecate, she’s…”

  “What about her?” Zuri snapped.

  “One of ’em’s got her.”

  “Got her?” Sam said. He must mean Sobek.

  “Then we must help her!” Zuri shoved past Sam. “We must protect the Lady Hecate!” She started to move forward, her men close behind.

  Sam shrank back against the wall, hoping to be forgotten, but Hunter said, “Zuri, what about Major Carter?”

  Zuri looked back over her shoulder, gaze running down to Sam’s feet and up again. Her expression was cold. “Kill her,” she said, and then turned to run toward the battle.

  Backed to the wall, her hands tied behind her back, Sam stared at Hunter. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t do this.”

  He licked his lips, glanced at Zuri’s retreating back, then at Sam again. “You
brought Snatchers here,” he said, raising his weapon. “You’re working with them.”

  “I know it’s difficult to understand—”

  “It ain’t difficult! And I ain’t stupid. You’re working with Snatchers.”

  “But they’re not all the same, they don’t all want—”

  He shoved the weapon forward, jabbed it against her chest. “I seen them feed on my friends in them pens,” he hissed. “And you seen it too. Hell, they even tried to feed on you.”

  Sam nodded, tried to swallow and focus on Hunter and not the head of the staff weapon heavy on her chest. “Yes,” she said. “I know. But it’s more complicated than we thought, Hunter. They want to go home—to leave this galaxy—and we can help them do it.”

  “I don’t care what they want!” he hissed. “I want the bastards dead. And so does Hecate.”

  “But she doesn’t!” Sam protested. “Hecate is using them—she’s turning them into her soldiers, into gods!”

  “You’re lying!”

  The weapon sprang to life. She could feel the electronic hum of it dig under her skin. Sweat broke out on her forehead, her mouth and throat dry. “I’m not lying,” she said. “Hunter, please. If we don’t stop her, Hecate will create an army of Snatchers and she’ll use them to destroy you. To enslave you. And not just you—whole other planets will fall if she gains control of Atlantis. Hunter, no one could stand against her. She’d become worse than the Snatchers.”

  “My whole life,” he said, through gritted teeth, “I served her. An’ I prayed to her, I prayed for her blessing. It ain’t possible that—Dix fought for us! He helped us when there weren’t no one else.”

  “But Dix was deceived too, Hunter. You saw him—he told you that.”

  “Zuri said you poisoned his mind.”

  Sam took a breath, attempted to ease the cramping in her shoulders, and tried a different tack. Assertion wasn’t working. “Did you see it?” she said. “Just now, did you see the Snatcher who she made a god?”

  From the troubled look in his eye, she knew that he had. “That ain’t—I don’t know what I saw.”

  “You saw the future, Hunter,” she said. “That thing—that hybrid? It’s what your Lady Hecate will use to crush you.”

  But he was still shaking his head, the staff still pressed to her chest. “You don’t understand. The Snatchers took everything, they took—”

  Suddenly there was a roar from the end of the corridor, a wild and desperate sound. Sam jerked her head, felt the weapon shift against her chest as Hunter did the same.

  A melee erupted around the corner: Rya’c’s Jaffa were backing up, firing as they went, and behind them strode Sobek. Sting hung limp in his grasp, held off the ground with one hand.

  “You dare to challenge your gods?” Sobek hissed. “This is the fate of those who try!” He flung Sting’s body into the retreating Jaffa, knocking several of them flying. The others scrambled back to their feet and continued to retreat.

  Behind Sobek, walked Hecate. She favored her left leg, but kept her head high and haughty. Sam glimpsed Zuri at her side.

  “Hunter!” Sam hissed. “Please—help me stop him.”

  Behind them, Sobek snatched up one of the fallen Jaffa and slammed it against the wall with his feeding hand. Within moments, there was nothing but a husk remaining and Sobek bared his teeth in ecstasy. Hecate made no attempt to stop him.

  Hunter stared; the weapon dipped.

  “She won’t help them,” Sam said as Sobek grabbed another Jaffa, plunging his feeding hand against its chest. “She won’t stop him.” And, after a beat, she realized, “She can’t. He’s stronger than her.” Sam’s gaze moved back to Hecate, to the lifted chin and imperious gaze, and she saw fear behind her eyes.

  Frankenstein’s monster—and everyone knew how that story ended.

  With a curse, Hunter spun Sam around, pushed her hard against the wall. Her heart stuttered, she squeezed shut her eyes as she waited for the kill-shot, and then there was the slide of a blade next to the skin of her wrist and her hands were free.

  “Go,” Hunter said behind her. “Do what you gotta do.”

  She turned, flexing feeling back into her hands. Sobek was advancing toward them, Rya’c’s Jaffa helpless to resist. “Help me,” she said. “Help me destroy the ship and take him with it.”

  But Hunter shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m sworn to Hecate, an’ I’ll die for her before I turn my back.”

  “She’s not worth your life,” Sam said, grabbing his arm. “Hunter—”

  “I said no!” He pushed her off. “Now go, ‘fore I change my mind.”

  Sam hesitated, but Hunter was already walking toward Sobek with his arms lifted. She cursed, furious with him—at herself for failing to convince him—yet she had no choice but to move. There was a door to her right, standing open, and inside it was dark. Slipping inside, she pressed herself against the wall and waited.

  It seemed to take forever, but at last Sobek, trailed by Hecate, moved past the open doorway. She saw Zuri and Hunter walking behind, and with them those Jaffa remaining loyal to Hecate. There was no sign of Rya’c’s rebel Jaffa; they were all dead.

  Gritting her teeth against a wave of sorrow, of anger, Sam made herself give a slow count of one hundred before she peered out onto the silent corridor again. It was a grim scene that confronted her, bodies everywhere.

  Most were dead from staff weapon injuries, but she counted at least three desiccated corpses. And among the dead, she saw Sting.

  Glancing each way along the corridor she crept out of her hiding place. Sting was a friend, of sorts—an ally at least—and Sam knew she couldn’t just abandon him. Besides, Earthborn would want to know how he died.

  Keeping low, Sam made her way through the dead and the dying until she reached Sting. He lay slumped on his front and she had to use both hands to roll him onto his back. His long hair straggled over his face and there were wounds on his throat that looked like claw marks. Scorches on his leather armor suggested he’d been hit, and when Sam put her hand there it came away sticky with his black blood. Grimacing, she wiped it on his sleeve and sat back on her heels, leaving her hand resting on his arm.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, for want of anything better. “I hope you’re in a better place, I guess. And I’ll tell Earthborn—”

  Beneath her fingers, his hand twitched.

  “Sting?” She felt a sick kind of sinking feeling; he wasn’t dead yet, but it seemed inevitable. “Sting, can you hear me?”

  There was nothing. She thought, perhaps, the movement was just the shifting of his body, the way it happened with the dead. But then his eyes opened and they were lucid and fixed on her. His hand twitched again, his feeding hand, she realized, and his lips bared his teeth. “Help me…” It was nothing more than a hint of a whisper.

  Cold with horror, she knew what he was asking. “I… I can’t,” she said, but closed her eyes as she said it. Could she?

  Again his hand twitched. “Please…”

  Sam felt dizzy with the choice in front of her: leave Sting to die, or help him live by killing another?

  “Earth…” Sting whispered. “Earthborn…”

  She nodded, understanding—knowing what he meant, how he felt, how she would feel if the situation were reversed. She turned away and cast her eyes over the bodies in the corridor. There were men—Jaffa—dying here. Would it be so bad to hasten their deaths to save another?

  In truth, she didn’t know. She wasn’t sure what was right here; there didn’t seem to be a right choice. She just had to choose—do something, or do nothing.

  And Sam had never been one for doing nothing.

  Gritting her teeth against her distaste, Sam pushed herself to her feet and made her way toward the first Jaffa she saw who was still breathing. Gripping his shoulders, she dragged him closer to Sting. He groaned in pain as he moved, but he didn’t seem to be conscious; she couldn’t do this if he were.

  When sh
e picked up Sting’s hand and placed it on the Jaffa’s bare chest her own hand was shaking, her stomach turning. And when he started to feed she had to turn away, breathe hard through her nose in slow, regulated breaths, to keep from emptying her stomach.

  She’d killed hundreds of Jaffa in battle—there was no reason that this should feel worse. And yet it did. It was.

  Sam wasn’t sure how she’d ever look herself in the eye again.

  Chapter 16

  Earth — 2098

  The throne room—if that was the right word—of Queen Shadow was like nothing Jack had ever imagined.

  Not that he spent much time imagining throne rooms, but he’d had the misfortune to be in a couple over the last few years and this was something very different to the glitz and glitter preferred by the Goa’uld.

  Despite the sweeping architecture of Atlantis, Shadow’s throne room was dark and humid. Hive-flesh covered the walls and ceiling, sagging low and claustrophobic. There was a dais in the center of the chamber, and around it stood Wraith who could only be described as courtiers. At least, they strutted and preened and eyed each other warily. Jack had the distinct impression of banked violence, of plotting and daggers in the dark.

  At his side, Daniel murmured, “Fascinating.”

  Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You know she’s going to kill us, right?”

  Daniel gave an equivocal hum in the back of the throat, his eyes fixed on Earthborn who walked ahead of them with her head high. The two blades at her side, however, looked almost as freaked out as Jack felt. He couldn’t blame them. Shadow’s people were looking at them the way a shark considers breakfast.

  They drew to a halt before the empty throne, a bony construction that glistened like beetle shells or oil slicks. Maybourne was already abasing himself in front of it. In the gloom, he looked more cadaverous than ever. More pathetic.

  Jack gritted his teeth against feeling pity; everything that had befallen this man, he had brought down on himself. And on the whole damn world. He didn’t deserve any pity, and yet seeing him pressing his face to the floor, no more than a bundle of ragged bones, Jack found he didn’t have the heart to feel anything but pity for him.