The Chinese whispers traveled quickly enough, and after about a minute the pace picked up considerably. They passed a sturdy stone gate, edged in green; the place where Daniel and Teal’c had left the two Marines who now would have joined the exodus. Past the door the tunnel broadened, appearing less claustrophobic, with large dark patches interrupting the green pest—tree roots. Hopefully those would add stability, too.
At last they reached a hall, and Sam sucked in a deep, grateful breath. Soaring pillars were streaked with fungus, its tendrils lapping at the ceiling, but the room was large enough for the air to be considerably better than in the tunnel. It also seemed familiar; she, Daniel, and the Colonel must have hobbled through here—how many days ago?
Way in front, Daniel’s fist flew up, signaling a halt.
Blurred vowels—owyiouou—not unlike a bathtub draining penetrated the ringing in Sam’s ears; her hearing seemed to be on the mend. Then she spotted Daniel and Teal’c, headed her way and trailed by the two new recruits. To her surprise, she recognized her friendly corporal from ’335. He caught her eye, beamed at her, then his gaze dropped under a withering stare from Colonel O’Neill. Sam bit back a grin and tried to figure out what was going on.
Between snatches of half-formed words and a whole lot of gesticulation from Daniel, she grasped that the debate revolved around escape routes; take the stairs into the city or find the wardroom where Daniel had hidden her and the Colonel and reach the gate through the jungle?
A hand patted her shoulder, and someone said ao aa or words to that effect. Corporal Wilkins. cocking his thumb at Janet who still lay cradled in Teal’c’s arms, barely conscious. He held up a plastic container he’d dug from his backpack.
Sam could have kissed him. Instead she snatched the medikit. “Thanks, Corporal.”
Having picked antibiotic cream, sterile dressing, and a single injector with epinephrine, she handed the kit back to Wilkins, disengaged Teal’c from the discussion round, and gently brushed sweat-matted bangs from Janet’s forehead. “Hey, Janet. Let’s see to that bum, huh?”
As Sam dressed the wound the doctor briefly focused on her hands. Then Janet’s concentration seemed to slip and her gaze wandered, only to return to the injector. Suddenly her fingers snapped around Sam’s wrist. “Not me!” she whispered, and Sam read that just fine.
“Funny, but I always suspected you’d make a dreadful patient, Doctor. You’re in shock. I’ve got to—”
“Triage!” Going by that glare, Janet was perfectly compos mentis, shock or no shock. “Colonel O’Neill… heart problem…”
“What?” Sam damn near dropped the epinephrine.
By the looks of Teal’c, who couldn’t have avoided listening in on their little exchange, he’d damn near dropped Janet.
“Do it,” Janet mouthed.
“Alright.” Sam heard that ao aa sound again, only this time about an octave lower than before. She glanced up, met Teal’c’s steady gaze.
“Should O’Neill resist,” he said, enunciating very clearly, “have Master Bra’tac hold him down.”
“Yeah.” Funny as the idea was, she couldn’t quite manage a smile.
The powwow had finished, it seemed, and at least she wouldn’t have to go chasing him round the hall, injector cocked and loaded. He came over, eyes dark with concern. “How’s the Doc?”
“She’s holding surgery and prescribed this.” Sam uncurled her fingers, showing him the injector.
He stared at it for a moment, nodded slowly, and jerked his head in the direction of a pillar. “I don’t need an audience.”
Sensible compliance meant he felt dreadful—or planned to lose the medication. Sam bit her bottom lip and followed him to the green-lit semi-privacy behind the column.
“I’ll do it.” He grabbed the injector, buried the needle in his arm, waited, drawing a few deep breaths. “Still want to puke.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me, sir?”
“Why the hell did you ask Daniel to chop your leg off while I was gone?” The look he shot her said an answer was redundant. At last, one corner of his mouth curled up in a small, crooked grin. “I’ll be okay, Carter. Come on, it’s about time we got home.”
Home.
Quite a lofty ideal to aspire to from where Jack was staggering. There still was the minor matter of the absent DHD.
In the short term, they had other problems, though. They literally were up to their ears in fungus now, which at least had the benefit of adding a sense of urgency to proceedings. Up ahead Daniel skidded into a right turn at breakneck speed, and Shorty—Gunnery Sergeant Samuel Walker Adams, USMC—posted himself at the corner to make sure that nobody galloped off straight by mistake.
Reaching the corner, Jack sent the gunny on his way and suddenly realized that he hadn’t heard any squishing behind him for a while. The next rumble almost floored him as he spun around. Carter and Bra’tac stood midway down the corridor, staring transfixed at what was happening at the far end. The ceiling was coming down in large, lazy globs of gunk, meeting walls that oozed inward.
Bra’tac grabbed Carter’s arm and started running like the furies were on his tail, dragging her along with him.
Scooting past Jack, she yelped, “Looks like we’re committed, sir!”
“Yeah! Move it!”
Looks like your decision not to lead injured and unarmed people into the city to join the Clone Wars wasn’t such a hot idea after all, sir!
Mercifully, there was no time to wallow in 20/20 hindsight. Jack sped up, some remote corner of his mind registering that he actually felt a little more with it. The maddening tingle in his hands and feet had stopped, too. Probably to allow him full enjoyment of the intermittent tremors.
As if to make up for that stray piece of good news, he turned the next corner only to find that the procession had come to a grinding halt. Jack knew where they were now and couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the hold-up was. Ahead lay one last staircase, and after that the wardroom and the rainforest and no voracious fungus from outer space. Bra’tac and Carter flapping after him like a pair of overzealous chaperones, he pushed past the Marines and to the front, about to snap at Daniel and Teal’c. The tirade died halfway up his throat.
“Oh crap!”
“Uhuh,” Daniel said softly.
The stairway looked like the waterslide in a Stephen King theme park. Minus the water. The treads had melted into green, pulsing welts and, given the rate at which the walls were buckling, the whole thing was going to slurp in on itself within the next ten minutes.
“We shall have to turn back,” whispered Teal’c.
“Ah, no. We don’t want to do that. Trust me.” Jack gave an unhappy snort, then he looked up. Standing around and shaking their heads wouldn’t change a damn thing. There was only one way out of this. “Teal’c, you and Fraiser go first, then Daniel. It’s a left at the bottom of the staircase. When you get there, find a shovel.”
Teal’c’s eyebrow hitched up to signal confusion.
“That was a joke. You may have to dig us out. Never mind. Go!”
Fraiser in his arms, Teal’c hopped onto the soggy stairs and slid down, followed by Daniel. Jack turned to face Shorty and his Marines. “Okay, you know what to do. Take the high heels off, ladies, do not inflate your lifebelts inside the plane, and—”
“Place your head firmly between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye. Sir!” Shorty finished up, counted a dozen Marines—including Macdonald and Carter’s Romeo—onto the slide, and flung himself on last.
By the time it was Harry’s turn, the slide looked a dam sight narrower. He backed up, sighing. “No offense, Huggy, but maybe you’d better go first!”
“Shut up before I forget myself, Maybourne!” Snarl aside, General Hammond conceded the point.
Jack grinned. “Having fun yet, Harry?”
“You so owe me, Jack!”
“I know. Scoot!” The air was running out fast. Gasping for breath, Jack watched Maybo
urne zip down the slide. “Carter! Your t—”
His order was cut short by a shove. Jack pitched forward, lost his footing, and hurtled head-first through a pumping green tunnel. He arrived in a goop-smeared tangle, only to have Carter slam into him at top speed.
“Dammit, Major! I hope for your sake it was Bra’tac who pushed me!”
“Can’t hear you. sir,” she retorted. “Get up. Colonel!”
Somehow he managed to struggle to his feet, furiously clenching and unclenching his fists. That tingle had come back with a vengeance and brought along a weird sizzling pressure in his ears and a shower of sparks that danced in front of his eyes. Through it he saw Harry wading toward the wardroom, knee-deep in fungus.
“Go, Major Carter! I shall bring O’Neill!” Bra’tac, sounding a million miles under water.
The sparks changed to black dots, and Jack realized that, while his lungs were working overtime, they weren’t getting much oxygen into his system. An iron-hard grip cinched his waist, and he felt his arm pulled over Bra’tac’s shoulder.
“Move, human! Or do you wish me to carry you?”
Apparently he was moving, because Bra’tac didn’t sweep him off his feet. The going was agonizingly slow, to the point where Jack doubted they’d ever get out in time. Then, through a whirl of black dots, he recognized the wardroom, glowing bright green, the smug faces of the three Rickshaws melting off the wall.
Told you I’d get you a nose-job!
The thought entertained him to such an extent that he stumbled out into the open giggling like an idiot.
Hypoxia’ll do that for a guy.
Bra’tac possessed the tact not to fling him to the ground and commence CPR. Instead he leaned Jack against a tree and stepped back a bit, head tilted, to observe further developments. Jack thought he heard an enormous roar, which could well have been in or for his ears exclusively, closed his eyes and breathed. Very New Age, that—fresh air and starlight. Once he felt reasonably sure that he wouldn’t pass out, he risked a look. The city wall had sagged into the wardroom, squeezing out a huge pile of glowing green mess.
“When the hell did that happen?” he wheezed at no one in particular.
“About two seconds after you and Bra’tac came out.” Somehow General Hammond had materialized beside him. “How’re you doing, son?”
Feeling disinclined—with all due respect—to discuss the subject, Jack mounted a counteroffensive. “You realize, of course, that going after us was an insane thing to do, sir?”
“Nobody gets left behind.” Hammond smiled. His face was glazed with sweat and shimmered in the fungus-light. “And you’re welcome.”
“I thought I’d taught you better. No crazy stunts just because a bunch of people have gone AWOL. No sticking your neck out till the giraffes get jealous. By the way, General, the mossy look suits you. Takes years off.”
Hammond barked a laugh, snuffed it. After having watched Jack rub his face for a while, he asked, “What’s on your mind, Colonel?”
“We might have a problem getting these folks out of here, sir. None of us could find the DHD.”
“Neither could we.” All things considered, Hammond sounded remarkably serene. “But two of Bra’tac’s men are on their way in a tel’tac. They’re probably here already.”
“Oh.” Jack tried hard not to whoop. He couldn’t spare the breath. “Did I ever tell you that I love you, sir?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The chatter and cackle in the canopy, its natural rhythm restored now that Nirrti’s transmitter no longer disrupted the animals’ instincts, ebbed at their passing and resumed behind them, telling him that there was no imminent danger. This might change before long, Teal’c reminded himself. Returning to the glade by the temple was a calculated risk, but the options seemed worse. Even Major Carter had agreed and, out of all of them, she had most reason to fear the beasts.
The only other landing site suitable for a tel’tac would have been the large square just inside the city gate, which almost certainly had been devoured by the fungus. Besides, should the tel’tac fail to arrive—a possibility, given that Nirrti’s ha’tak had been in orbit and perhaps still was—they at least would be in the immediate vicinity of the Stargate and could resume their search for the DHD.
“Teal’c?”
The voice was soft and breathless, but it startled him nonetheless. Since he carried her, Dr. Fraiser had drifted in and out of consciousness, but the only time she had spoken was to refuse the medication that O’Neill needed more urgently.
“O’Neill is well, Dr. Fraiser. Do not trouble yourself.”
“I wouldn’t call it well,” she whispered. “And it’s not what I was going to say. I’m so sorry, Teal’c. I—”
“You are not to blame.”
“I almost killed you!”
“No. You stopped yourself from killing me. It took exceptional strength of will to resist Nirrti’s command. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Sure. I’ll work on it.” She made a bleak little sound, not quite a laugh, then she asked, “Is that what it’s like to be taken host?”
“No. If you had been taken host, you would have watched from within your body as Nirrti killed me, powerless to prevent it.”
“I don’t know what’s worse,” Dr. Fraiser murmured after a while.
“I wanted to please her.”
“I do know what is worse. However, my opinion may be biased. I am, after all, still alive.” Teal’c smiled. “Please, do not concern yourself any further, Janet.”
Perhaps it was the uncustomary use of her given name, perhaps her guilt had been allayed somewhat. She fell silent again.
The trees were thinning now, and past them Teal’c could see the dark gray walls of a building. It had to be the temple, as yet unaffected by the fungus—if the blight would indeed reach this far. His vigilance increased, and he found himself listening and looking for any sign of the beasts.
Ahead, O’Neill’s fist flew up to signal a halt. Hesitating a moment, Teal’c passed the others to be by his brother’s side. They had stopped barely within the edge of the trees. Beyond lay the clearing at last, watched over by the giant stone face that contained the Stargate—itself a dark, still hole to match the emptiness and quiet below. But it was not all empty and quiet. Someone was there; Teal’c could sense it. Suddenly a figure appeared from the trees opposite, and a soft call sounded over the glade.
“Jaffa! Kree!”
Instinctively, O’Neill raised and primed his purloined staff weapon, but Bra’tac was quicker, stepping between hunter and prey. “They are my men. Do not shoot them.” He turned to face out across the clearing and answered the call. “Cha’hai, Jaffa!”
A second man slid from the shadows and, behind him, six others.
O’Neill gave a low whistle. “You bring an army or something?”
“I did not. Those”—Bra’tac indicated the six men—“are not mine.”
“Then whose are—”
Above the churned earth of the glade, the air began to roil and stretch, distorting the figures behind until they abruptly vanished altogether, blotted out by the uncloaked bulk of the tel’tac.
“Sweet,” O’Neill remarked to General Hammond. “I think we should get ourselves at least five of those, sir. They do eighty light-years to the gallon, and the”—his fingers fluttered in search of a description—“super-stealthy camouflage doodad comes as an optional extra.”
The hatch slid open, spilling warm, inviting light into the night and outlining the silhouette of a warrior.
“Tek ma te Bra’tac. You are late!” he shouted, and Teal’c recognized the voice. It belonged to Tabal, an apprentice of Bra’tac’s. “Come quickly. We have to pass Nirrti’s ha’tak. The longer we tarry, the greater the risk of discovery.”
“Or of waking Carter’s wee beasties,” muttered O’Neill. Aloud he said, “You heard the man. Let’s go home, folks!”
They arrived in the golden pool of light outs
ide the hatch at the same time as the eight men from the opposite side of the clearing. It seemed that the six new arrivals were Marines who had surrendered to Bra’tac’s Jaffa in the city. As he took in the assembly waiting to board, Tabal’s eyes widened and his lips began to move silently. He was performing a headcount, and Teal’c knew the verdict before Tabal pronounced it.
“There are too many of them, Master Bra’tac.” He shook his head for emphasis. “I can take twenty, twenty-two at the most. We already have the four prisoners aboard, and even if we left them here, two of you still would have to remain behind.”
“That’d be the drawback of the model,” O’Neill observed quietly. “Troop capacity’s a little on the stingy side.”
“Do the math! Just leave those guys here.” Colonel Maybourne cocked a thumb at the Marines who had surrendered.
“Oh yeah?” snapped O’Neill. “And call it what? A blue-on-blue incident? They’re coming.”
“For God’s sake! Jack, their orders were to kill you and your team! What’s the bleeding heart say now?”
“They’re still coming. We don’t execute men who give themselves up.”
“So what do you suggest we do?” Their difference in heights made Colonel Maybourne look like a pugnacious terrier squaring up to a tiger. “Draw straws?”
“No. That’d put Daniel at a disadvantage. He usually ends up with the short one.” O’Neill exchanged a quick look with Daniel Jackson, then pointed at the temple behind them. “There’s still the gate. All I have to do is find the DHD.”
“You? Dammit, Jack, you can barely stand up straight!”
On this point Colonel Maybourne was exaggerating. Either the fresh air or the medication had helped. O’Neill seemed considerably better, and his mind was set. Changing it—if at all possible—would devour an amount of time and energy none of them had. So Teal’c chose the next best option available to him; he returned Dr. Fraiser into the care of the Marines and retrieved his staff weapon. “You may require some help searching, O’Neill,” he said.
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