by Stargate
Faith. She had that too, faith in herself and her team. If there was a chance, she'd take it and be out of there in a flash. She only needed a single chance. And if not, her team wouldn't leave her behind. No one gets left behind; that was the whole reason they were here in the first place. Her team would come for her; she just had to hold out long enough to give them a chance.
In front of her the doors hissed open and a hand pushed her into a brightly-lit room. There was an acrid scent in the air, an acidic mixture of steel and blood. A Jaffa she didn't recognize was waiting for her inside, a tall bullish-looking man who wore his armor like a second skin. "Over there," the Jaffa ordered, nodding toward a large metal grate. It was dark, rusty brown, like a huge metallic spider's web. Beyond it a corridor led off into black oblivion. She walked toward it curiously. They hadn't tied her. She'd been expecting that, arms behind her back, legs bound into a stress position. Maybe a blindfold. There was none of that, and her spirits began to lift. Perhaps her imagination had gotten the better of her? Perhaps without Baal's malevolent presence they wouldn't resort to his methods?
Turning to face the Jaffa she saw that he'd moved to stand behind a control panel on a low platform not far from the metal grid. Nodding over her shoulder she said, "What is it?"
He didn't answer, but he met her gaze with the lifeless eyes of a shark as he reached out to touch the controls. And suddenly she was falling. The impossibility of it hit her at the same time as she crashed painfully against cold, hard metal.
Spread-eagled against the grate, she struggled to remember which way was up. She'd fallen back and now lay crushed beneath at least ten Gs. Baal still uses gravitational technology. Daniel's words sprang vividly to mind, spoken that afternoon in her house with the spring sunshine outside and the whiteboard keeping the room in semi-darkness. No floating cities or ships. It's much- He'd stalled, swallowed something bitter. It's on a smaller scale.
A smaller scale. Like this. Gravitational manacles. She couldn't move a muscle, couldn't lift a finger. The panic that had been fluttering on the periphery of her mind took hold with a vengeance. She couldn't move. She couldn't fight. She was totally helpless! A claustrophobic scream expanded in her chest and sweat broke out on her forehead, trickling coldly down the side of her face. Only her eyes could move, and they fixed on the slowly approaching Jaffa. In his hand he held the dive knife she always carried off-world. He held it toward her, and like magic it lifted - or fell - until the point was leveled at her shoulder. "I am Hadat, servant of Baal," he told her. "You are Major Samantha Carter, of the Tauri. My master only wishes to know one thing from you." His other hand lifted and his thick fingers held her GDO. "The code to open the shield across the Tauri Chappa'ai."
Sam stared at the knife. She'd only ever used it for bivouacking or emergency repairs to her kit. But she knew it was sharp; it could cut sinewy wood like butter. It would cut sinews like butter too. The muscles in her arms bunched helplessly, rising panic painting a thousand nightmare images. If she could only move. If she only had a fighting chance!
"If you do not cooperate," Hadat continued, "I will bring your worst imaginings to life. Do you understand me, woman?"
Woman? She clung to frail shreds of outrage and forced herself to answer. Her voice was dry, but she'd be damned if she let it shake. "Serial number 63-" The knife fell, plunging into her shoulder like ice on fire. She couldn't even move enough to flinch. Air hissed through her teeth, but she refused to cry out.
Hadat smiled, a pitiless parting of lips over dark, stained teeth. "This is just the beginning." He sounded eager.
Closing her eyes, Sam fled to the back of her mind, miles away from the pain, and forced herself to wonder how Daniel had known about Baal's gravity tricks. It was a puzzle; she liked puzzles. She'd figure it out, and really everything else that was happening didn't matter. She could ignore the pain and figure out the puzzle. When she was done she knew her team would be there to free her.
Then she'd kick this bastard all the way to hell. And leave him there to rot.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
nstinctively, Daniel wrapped his arms around his head as he tumbled, bumping and bashing every single part of his body until, with a final thud, he came to rest on a cold, hard floor. Gravel and small shards of stone rained down after him, and he lay curled into a protective ball until it had stopped pattering against his jacket. At last everything was still and he risked uncurling. His right hip protested vigorously. But he could move his leg and the pain lacked the fire of a broken bone. No doubt he'd be turning sunset shades of purple in the next few days, but he could live with that. At least he could walk. Dust swirled in the air as he pushed himself to his feet, making him sneeze. Loudly. He winced at the noise echoing around him. Echoing... ?
His flashlight lay on the floor a foot or two away, and as he bent to pick it up, Teal'c called down. "Daniel Jackson?"
"I'm okay." He waved the light up toward Teal'c. "I think I've found something."
The chamber was large by the standards of the fortress, the largest room they'd seen so far. Narrow pillars stood in familiar concentric rings, glinting with gold as the beam of his flashlight flitted across them.
"Daniel Jackson." The voice was startlingly close and Daniel almost jumped out of his boots.
"Teal'c!" Heart thudding, he peered at his friend. "How did you get down here?"
The Jaffa raised an eyebrow. "There are stairs," he replied. "The trapdoor you opened revealed them."
Daniel winced and shifted the weight off his bruised hip. "There were stairs?"
"Perhaps the opening mechanism was not intended to be activated from the position in which you were standing?"
An O'Neillism instantly sprang to mind, but Daniel simply shrugged. "I guess not." Stairs and bruised hips couldn't distract him for long. "Look at the architecture," he said, indicating the pillars with his flashlight. "Remind you of anywhere?"
Teal'c considered for a moment. "It reminds me of all Goa'uld palaces."
"No, no, the pattern of the pillars," Daniel prompted, wandering off into the small forest of gold. "Look at them. It's an exact copy of the shrine in Tsapan."
Teal'c followed, his own flashlight crossing Daniel's. "So it appears."
"And," Daniel added, his excitement mounting, "at the center of the Tsapan chamber, we found the Kinahhi anti-gray device. I knew it looked out of place! The Kinahhi must have devised their own power supply once Baal had been driven out. It was originally a shrine, not a control center. It was the center of Baal's power, literally as well as figuratively. The center of his religious power and the center of his physical power."
He moved on through the pillars. "But unlike the shrine on Tsapan, this is symbolic, not functional. So we're looking for an altar, possibly Canaanite, which would be a-" He stopped as his flashlight touched it. "A large stone platform. Ideal for offering sacrifices to your god." A god whose image was immediately before them.
Teal'c circled the altar from the other direction, the attention of both riveted on the golden statue that rose from the center of the dais. About three feet in height, it was a stylized image of Baal - or Re'ammin - complete with lightning bolt raised in one hand and thundercloud in the other. Its skin was gold, the tall Canaanite headpiece glittered red, with rubies or an alien equivalent, and its loincloth had the mellow off-white tinge of ivory. It was beautiful, but Daniel left all such details fluttering around the edges of his mind as he focused on one single fact.
"Its eyes glow."
Jack pressed himself against the inside of a small storeroom as dual footsteps clanked down the corridor outside. He listened carefully; definitely two men, one with a longer stride than the other and both heavily armored. They would do. Ideally he'd have preferred one opponent, but time was running out and he was taking too damn long creeping down the corridors of Jaffa Central. He needed to move faster; more than that, he needed an exit strategy. And this was it.
Pulling his zat from its holster h
e peered quickly into the corridor. It was empty aside from the two Jaffa walking away from his hiding place. Readying himself, he stepped out behind them. "Hey."
The Jaffa spun around, startled.
He strolled forward, striving for nonchalance. "Is there a Krispy Kremes around here? There has to be one, right? I couldkill for a Dulce de Leche."
The taller of the two raised his weapon and barked an order to his sidekick. "Jaffa kree!"
"Kree?" Jack repeated, still walking closer. "What is that? I mean, seriously - kree? No one's ever-" He fired. The first went down in a quivering tangle of limbs. The second just had time to ignite his staff weapon before he joined in his friend's involuntary break-dance on the floor.
Jack prodded the first with the toe of his boot. Out cold. Holstering the zat he grabbed the man's ankles and hurriedly dragged him back to the storeroom. The second man was heavier. "Too many damn Krispy Kremes," Jack grunted as he lugged the Jaffa's deadweight out of the corridor, his back protesting with every step.
Once they were lying side by side, slack jawed and silent in the small room, Jack ran his eyes critically over the taller of the two. A little on the big side, but better that than too short. With a grimace, he squatted close to the man and fumbled for the straps of his armor. "Trust me," he muttered as his fingers encountered warm, sweaty flesh, "this is a hell of a lot worse for me than it is for you."
Daniel stood before the idol, staring at its softly glowing eyes. It was a beautiful face, actually, and bore little resemblance to the man he'd seen here, peeling Jack's soul from his body as mechanically as you'd peel the skin from an apple. Yet there was something of Baal's inhumanity in the frozen features of the statue. It was a mask, no different from a host's body, behind which true evil hid, dark and incomprehensible.
"Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c interrupted his musing with mild impatience. "Do you believe this is the power unit we seek?"
Slowly Daniel nodded. "It has to be. Something's making its eyes glow. And its location here, at the center of the worship of Re'ammin, is obviously significant."
"Then we must take it and leave," Teal'c declared, stepping up onto the stone dais. "We have still to locate a ship and-"
"No, wait!" Too late. A bright flare sizzled through the air as Teal'c reached for the statue, flinging his arm harshly backwards and sending him stumbling from the platform. Daniel winced. "It's, uh, shielded."
Teal'c flung him an accusatory glance and shook the pain from his hand. "So it appears."
"We need to cut the power," Daniel decided, circling the altar again. "There has to be a control panel somewhere."
Turning, Teal'c sent his flashlight crisscrossing the forest of pillars. "We do not have much time, Daniel Jackson. O'Neill and Major Carter will soon require a tel'tak for their escape."
Their escape? Daniel envied Teal'c his optimism. If they were doing to Sam what they'd done to Jack...? He was clinging on by his fingernails; what would it take to finally tip him over the edge?
"They will be waiting for us on the landing platform," Teal'c insisted. "We must hurry ."
"Yeah," he agreed, forcing himself back to the here and now. He returned his attention to the image of Baal. "It's a good bet the controls to the force shield will be in one of the pillars nearby." He gestured behind him. "I'll take this half of the room."
With a nod, Teal'c turned and disappeared into the shadows on the other side, the beam of his flashlight tilting and bobbing as he moved. Daniel approached the first pillar. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, and glancing over his shoulder he saw the baleful eyes of Baal's statue staring at him out of the darkness.
He stared back for a moment, willing the icon to reveal its secrets. But it remained silent and still. With a shiver, Daniel got down to work.
The droplet hung in the air, suspended in front of her like a moment in time. She stared at it, unable to move her head as the bead of liquid trembled above her right eye.
"The acid," came the voice of Hadat, her tormentor, "will eat through the soft tissue of your eye. And, from there, through the optic nerve and into your brain. Such a shame, to ruin a pretty face."
She closed her eyelids. At least she could do that. And if she couldn't see it, it wasn't there. Daniel. She brought him to mind instead, sitting earnestly in her living room, talking about Baal's gravity technology. How had he known? Was it possible that the colonel had told him about this? She didn't think he'd ever spoken to anyone about it, beyond the terse statement in his report: I was interrogated for several days regarding the Tok'ra mission. His clothes and Janet Fraiser's tight, appalled face had told a different story. But not one she'd ever heard in detail. Was it possible that
"The code, Samantha. A few numbers to save you this torment. Such a pretty face. Such pretty eyes." Reluctantly her eyelids peeled open. Behind the tremulous drop of acid his killer eyes were bright. "A few numbers, Samantha. Or an agony you can't begin to imagine." He shook the knife from which the drop was suspended, making it tremble, and she wrenched her head sideways with an involuntary whimper. Damn it! She hated giving him that much. Even though she knew it was only the start. "Just give me the first number," he suggested. "Just the first one and I won't have to ruin your pretty-"
The door hissed open. "What is this?" Hadat growled angrily, turning toward the interruption. The knife fell to his side and the acid dripped onto the step of the dais, sizzling and burning its way through the stone. Sam felt sick, imagining her flesh bubbling in the same way; jaw clenched, she lifted her gaze to the distraction in the doorway. A single Jaffa stood there, face obscured by his helmet. He seemed to be staring at her. "Ya'ol'wa?" demanded Hadat.
Abruptly, and with a swiftness and economy of movement that seemed familiar, the newcomer raised a hand and pointed. "Jaffa," he said, his voice muffled by the helmet, "Kree!"
"Shak'ti'qua?" Hadat frowned.
The helmeted head nodded and said something else. Sam wasn't sure, but it sounded a lot like `cappuccino'. She watched with hope beating hard in her throat. That voice, the way he moved...
Hadat circled the intruder, gesturing impatiently at the Jaffa's weapon. "Shel nor-ak." He looked nervous, glancing around for a weapon of his own. The knife he held, her knife, was pitifully inadequate against a staff weapon. Not quite so confident, when your victim isn t pinned out like a lab rat, huh?
The newcomer glanced down, lifted his staff weapon in both hands and said, "You want this?" Hadat blinked once, opened his mouth to answer, and was met with a savage blow from the butt of the weapon under his jaw. He fell back, blood gushing from his nose, and hit the ground with a brutal crack to the back of his head. Sam's knife fell from his limp hand and skittered across the floor. Then the electronic zing of a zat blast jerked Hadat into stillness and the doors to the room slid shut.
No one spoke. Her rescuer was just staring at her, as if transfixed. Sam stared back, half-delirious with relief and adrenaline, her mind running in circles. A laugh, lurking on the borders of hysteria, bubbled up as words sprang unbidden to her lips. "Aren't you a little short for a Jaffa?"
It broke the moment, and in a flurry of movement the helmet retreated into the armor to reveal Colonel O'Neill. His face was at once ashen and flushed, jaw tight and eyes bright. "Carter." It was little more than a heartfelt murmur, spoken as he stepped over the inert body of Hadat and cautiously came toward her. Compassion, dismay, relief and other, less defined emotions, darted across his guarded features as he drew nearer. "I should have gotten here sooner. I shouldn't have-"
"Don't get too close!"
He froze, glanced down at the floor and up again.
"Sir? The control panel. On the platform."
Nodding, he was up there in two strides, staring in confusion at the controls. She could see his lips moving as he muttered to himself, hands hovering indecisively over the alien device. "Any ideas, Carter?"
Not really. "The power switch should be one of the larger controls."
He glanced up, shrugged slightly, and pressed something. An invisible rock slammed into Sam's chest, compressing her lungs until she could barely draw breath. "No!" she hissed desperately. "Not that one!"
The colonel's head shot up. "Which one Carter? I don't wanna-" His gaze moved past her, down into the blackness behind the grate. And she had the sudden, horrifying sensation of being suspended over an abyss by nothing more than a treacherous spider's web.
She fought for another gulp of air. But it wasn't enough. "Sir..." A whole cosmos of pin-prick lights were prancing through her spinning head. The world was fading to gray at the edges.
"I don't know which one!" O'Neill's voice was muffled and far away. The gray was turning to black, the stars were winking out, and she was falling and falling and falling into darkness.
Daniel stood staring at the pillar in front of him, his flashlight glinting softly on the gold leaf that covered the stone. Upon it, in the same Ugaritic characters as on the pillar in the room above, was a name cartouche. "Baal-Gad" He said the words quietly to himself, searching briefly for the meaning. "Lord of Good Fortune." Who said the Goa'uld didn't have a sense of humor? He ran his fingers over the inscription and pressed gently. But there was no sliding of stone-on-stone, and no static hiss as the force shield dropped. He turned and moved on. The next pillar was plain, the next decorated with a stylized lightning bolt. The third, however, bore another cartouche. The name in this one read, "Baal-Hammon." Lord of Wealth. That, at least, was appropriate. Again, he pressed the cartouche to no effect.
"Daniel Jackson!" Teal'c's voice drifted from the other side of the room. "I have found a cartouche upon a pillar. The language is not Goa'uld, however. I am unfamiliar with its origin."
Daniel turned and squinted through the gloom. "It's Ugaritic Cuneiform, from the city state of Ugarit about 12000 BC. Whether it originated there, however, or somewhere off-world is anyone's guess. But Baal was a principal deity in Canaan so-"
