STARGATE SG-1: Kali's Wrath (SG1-28)

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “I can get you to Imphal,” the Thakka said.

  All three of them turned to look at him.

  He continued: “I will give you the address to Aizawl, a minor world in the Mother Goddess’s empire, but one that is close to Imphal. The two of you will pose as my prisoners. As First Prime, I will easily be able to commandeer a vessel that will take us to Imphal.”

  Hammond gave him a significant look. The Thakka was impressed, despite himself. Though he was a mere human, this man Hammond was a true warrior. The Thakka rarely saw such outside of his fellow Jaffa. “And how do we know we can trust you?”

  The Thakka said gravely, “Were it just me and the shol’va, you could not. But Captain Patel and I have fought side by side and she is Kula. If she is part of this campaign than you may be assured that I will protect her.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve called me that,” Patel said. “It sounds like something my aunt used to talk about when she took yoga. I meant to ask Dr. Jackson what it means, but he’s not really available now, so I’ll ask you — what does that word Kula mean?”

  Though he would have preferred to tell his story while not restrained at five points on his body, nonetheless the Thakka answered Patel’s question. “Long ago, Shiva ruled the land of Bengal in the valley of the Great Mountain, with Kali by his side as his queen. But Kali did not accept her lot to rule in Shiva’s shadow, for she was as much a god as he. When he refused to grant her equal power, she slew him and all those who followed him. Those among the people of Bengal who remained loyal to her, she deemed Kali Kula, the people of Kali. On that day the Mother Goddess promised that all the Kula would remain under her protection. As the Thakka, I am the instrument of that protection, and while my primary duty is to obey the Mother Goddess, my secondary duty is to protect her people. You are of the people who live in the valley of the Great Mountain, are you not, Captain?”

  Patel nodded slowly. “My family’s from India, yeah — or Bengal, if you prefer — which is, yes, in the valley of the Himalayas.”

  “Just so. For your sake, Captain, and yours alone, I will fight alongside this Jaffa as if we were allies.”

  The shol’va turned to his commander. “Do not worry, General Hammond. I will be wary of any treachery from the Thakka and will act accordingly should he not live up to his word.”

  “I don’t doubt it, Teal’c. You have a go.”

  Hammond took his leave, as did Patel. The shol’va, however, remained behind and approached a diminutive Tau’ri. “Dr. Fraiser.”

  The woman turned to face him. “Yes, Teal’c?”

  “Is the Thakka well enough to travel?”

  The woman called Fraiser looked over the devices to which the Thakka was currently tethered. “I think so. His symbiote has fully healed and is now working on him. He’s not a hundred percent, but he should be soon.”

  “Then may he be discharged?”

  She hesitated, then said, “All right.”

  The shol’va — no, Teal’c; if they were to be allies, he had to think of him as a fellow First Prime, not a traitor, at least for the duration of the campaign — bowed his head in acknowledgment, then went to the bed and released the restraints around the Thakka’s wrists, ankles, and neck. Meanwhile the doctor removed the other wires from his person, and soon the Thakka could move freely.

  To Fraiser, he said, “I am grateful to you for ministering to my health.”

  “That’s my job.” She spoke her reply in an oddly wry tone of voice.

  As the Thakka gingerly rose from the bed — his legs were sore and had difficulty supporting his weight initially — he said to Teal’c, “I will require a ma’tok and some manner of restraints to hold you and Captain Patel.” At Teal’c’s expression, he quickly added, “The weapon need not be functional, nor must the restraints be anything other than superficial. It is merely so that we might convince the Jaffa who guard the chappa’ai on Aizawl.”

  Teal’c hesitated, then said, “Very well.”

  “I also require my armor, robes, and sash.”

  Nodding, Teal’c said, “I will take you to where they are stored.”

  As they walked through the corridors of the Tau’ri facility, the Thakka said, “I begin to see why you work with the Tau’ri. They are very accepting of outsiders. I would have deemed this a weakness, but they have allied with the Tok’ra and the Asgard and won many successful campaigns against the gods.”

  “They have also allied with the rebel Jaffa.”

  The Thakka stopped walking, and laughed. “I did not believe you had a sense of humor, Teal’c.”

  “My words were not jocular. There is a Jaffa rebellion. Many more join our ranks every day as more and more Jaffa realize that the Goa’uld are false gods.”

  “You may believe that old wives’ tale if you wish, Teal’c, but you are the only shol’va.”

  “Indeed, I am not. Perhaps some day you will realize the error of your ways and join us.”

  “Join you, you mean. Unlikely.” The Thakka shook his head. Teal’c’s delusion that there was a Jaffa rebellion probably explained why he left Apophis’s service. Now he was even more grateful for Patel’s presence on the mission.

  The shol’va was very obviously completely mad.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Korvale

  MASTER Bra’tac stood and watched the two Jaffa as they circled each other.

  Armed with practice weapons — lengths of oak that were carved into the shape of a ma’tok — they moved slowly around each other, each gauging his opponent.

  Both Jaffa bore the mark of Imhotep, as did all the others who came to watch their sparring. One was tall and bald, the other shorter, stockier, and with close-cropped gray hair.

  Bra’tac stood in the crowd, the hood of his cloak hiding the mark of Apophis that would make him stand out here among Imhotep’s Jaffa.

  The tall one swung the staff toward the shorter one’s head, but the short one raised his own weapon horizontally to block it, then quickly swung the base end toward the tall one’s stomach. The tall one tucked his body inward to dodge it and flailed with the muzzle end.

  They clashed a few more times before the tall one attacked aggressively, putting the short one on the defensive. Bra’tac winced as the short one kept moving backwards while the tall one bore down on him.

  Shaking his head, Bra’tac watched as the shorter one desperately threw his staff out to block a strike with the muzzle end of the tall one’s staff — only for the tall one to then swing the base end hard at the short one’s staff, knocking it from his grip.

  And then the tall one pressed his advantage by kicking the short one in the stomach, causing him to fall to the ground. The tall one then stood over the short one, pointing the muzzle end right at the short one’s throat.

  At which point, the short one grabbed the wooden muzzle and yanked the staff out of the surprised taller one’s grip, tossing it aside, following it up with a hard kick to the tall one’s belly. Bra’tac nodded his approval.

  The kick wasn’t much, truly, but it distracted the tall one long enough for the short one to leap to his feet.

  Now they faced each other without weapons. Bra’tac recognized the flipping double back kick that characterized the art of mastaba, a martial art commonly practiced among the Jaffa. Imhotep had forced all his Jaffa to learn this art, and the shorter one used the kick in question on the taller one, though the latter dodged it with ease.

  They continued to spar, with several blows struck to the head by both combatants. The short one kept his distance, so he didn’t connect often, and the tall one regularly moved in on him.

  Finally, another Jaffa stepped forward. “Jaffa, kree!” While Bra’tac knew not the combatants, he knew this Jaffa: Sakmal. Like Bra’tac, he was an old warrior, and like Bra’tac, he had retired as First Prime. What few victories Imhotep could claim were due to Sakmal’s leadership.

  The two Jaffa stopped their fight and then clasped each others’ forearm
s in a warrior’s handshake.

  “You fought well,” Sakmal said. “I am pleased, and I’m sure Imhotep will be as well.”

  That was Bra’tac’s opening. He stepped forward and threw back his hood. “If this is what you deem fighting well, Sakmal, then it is no wonder that Imhotep’s holdings are so few.”

  Several of the Jaffa moved to a ready fighting position.

  He held out both arms, palms-up. “I am unarmed. I have come only to talk.”

  “Jaffa, kree hol mel!” Sakmal cried.

  The Jaffa all relaxed slightly, but the ones closest to Bra’tac maintained a defensive posture.

  “Very well, Bra’tac. One former First Prime to another — talk. Start by telling me why you dishonor me.”

  Bowing his head slightly, Bra’tac said, “I meant no dishonor, Sakmal. I only offer constructive criticism of your Jaffa’s techniques.”

  Sakmal pointed at the shorter Jaffa. “Kyylar recently came of age and is now a warrior, and Just’lac has fought beside me for many years. I had nominated him to replace me as First Prime, but Imhotep, in his wisdom, chose Kytano instead.”

  Bra’tac refrained from commenting — he had plenty to say about Imhotep and Kytano, but not just yet — instead saying, “Just’lac is not a poor warrior, though his overconfidence will be the death of him. He had Kyylar prone and lost the advantage.”

  Shrugging, Sakmal said, “Had they been fighting with actual ma’toks, Just’lac would have activated the weapon.”

  “A process that takes a full second and a half, an interval which had not yet passed when Kyylar disarmed him. The ma’tok is a weapon of distance — it does no good to be as close as Just’lac was and risk the very outcome that resulted.”

  Just’lac stepped forward. “Do you take me for a fool, old man?”

  “Not at all, unless you ignore my words. A true warrior stops learning ten minutes after he is dead. Sakmal called you a true warrior, so will you heed my words?”

  That brought Just’lac up short.

  Sakmal was smiling. “Well played, Bra’tac. What other advice would you give my Jaffa?”

  Bra’tac started to pace around the circle where the training had taken place. He felt the eyes of Imhotep’s Jaffa on him. “When you fought with the ma’toks, Just’lac pressed his advantage by moving forward. Kyylar moved backward.”

  Now Kyylar laughed. “What would you have me do, old man, move forward as well and let him kill me?”

  “No, you should move to the side.”

  Kyylar’s laugh died on his lips.

  Bra’tac continued. “When a foe bears down on you and you retreat in a straight line, then the foe will continue to strike until there is no more ground on which to retreat and you are trapped. But by moving to one side or the other, you force your foe to also change position. It is but a moment’s hesitation for your opponent to shift his footing, but that moment can be an eternity in battle.”

  Nodding, Kyylar said, “The shol’va gives good advice.”

  “Here now,” Sakmal said, “it was Apophis who called Bra’tac shol’va, and we’ve no reason to hew to Apophis’s words now, do we? Is there anything else, Bra’tac?”

  “Yes.” He walked to Kyylar. “Your response to Just’lac’s greater reach was to keep your distance.”

  “Should I have moved to the side more?” Kyylar asked snidely.

  Bra’tac actually smiled at that. “No. But Just’lac’s longer reach due to his height is an advantage that you facilitate by staying so far. When facing a foe who is larger than yourself, it is better to fight in close quarters, thus negating the advantage.”

  Kyylar scoffed. “That is absurd.”

  “Is it?” Bra’tac walked over to Just’lac. “Face me.”

  Smirking, Just’lac said, “I hope your symbiote is robust.”

  They stood facing each other in the same circle where Just’lac had fought Kyylar. Bra’tac inclined his head as a mark of respect, and Just’lac did likewise.

  And then they both got into a ready position. Just’lac circled Bra’tac, which allowed the latter to simply pivot, holding his ground, waiting for the impatience of youth to take hold, forcing Just’lac to make the first move. This enabled Bra’tac to take Just’lac’s measure, noting that he kept his hands low, no doubt to make it easier for him to go into the signature kick of their style.

  Eventually, as Bra’tac predicted, Just’lac made the first move. A hundred and thirty years of life had taught Bra’tac the value of patience. Bra’tac easily deflected the punches and strikes Just’lac threw at him and then Bra’tac faked a kick to his knee before striking him on the side of the head.

  Just’lac stumbled, and then Bra’tac again pressed the attack. He maintained the general pattern of a fake — sometimes a kick, sometimes a strike — to the middle or lower part of Just’lac’s body, then striking his head. Almost every time, he struck.

  Then Just’lac rolled around to attempt the mastaba double kick. But to Bra’tac it was as if he was moving in slow motion, and he ducked the first kick, raising his hand to grab the ankle of the leg making the second kick. With a simple flick of Bra’tac’s wrist, Just’lac was flipped onto his back.

  Bra’tac knelt on the youth’s chest.

  And then he smiled and got to his feet, offering the Jaffa a hand up.

  Nodding with newfound respect, Just’lac said, “Impressive.”

  Turning to face the Jaffa gathered ‘round, Bra’tac said, “Always keep your arms where they may protect your head.”

  One of the Jaffa cried, “We wear helmets!” while another yelled, “Our symbiotes will heal us!”

  “When the battle is over, yes, your prim’ta will heal you, but in the heat of battle there is no time. As for helmets, they may fall off or become damaged. And wounds to the head bleed greatly. The symbiote will heal a wound and cure an illness, but it will not stop blood from falling into your eyes and blinding you.”

  “Impressive,” Kyylar said bitterly, “that you give advice to those you will face in battle.”

  Taking the cue, Bra’tac answered Kyylar by raising his voice to address all the Jaffa present. “I give you this advice because I do not wish to face you in battle in the service of false gods, but rather fight side by side against them!”

  The expected cries came in reply. “Blasphemy!” “Shol’va!” “Imhotep will strike you down!”

  Staring at the Jaffa who spoke that last interjection, Bra’tac said, “Imhotep will do no such thing, for he is dead! I saw him slain with my own eyes on Cal Mah. And he is not the only Goa’uld to fall.”

  Kyylar had grabbed a staff weapon and activated it. “You lie, shol’va!”

  Bra’tac stared at the youth.

  Sakmal moved to stand behind Kyylar and spoke a warning. “Jaffa!”

  But Bra’tac held up a hand. “Kyylar speaks with the impetuousness of youth — and the brashness of faith. But faith must be earned. Devotion and loyalty must also be earned, not commanded from a parasite who uses a human form to pretend to rule! For years Apophis demanded my fealty as Imhotep demanded yours, both insisting it was theirs by divine right. Yet could any god truly be slain by a mortal?”

  “The gods cannot die!” Kyylar cried.

  Sakmal said, “Bra’tac speaks the truth, my friends. Imhotep himself spoke to me of the death of Ra. I could not believe my ears, and then later I was told of Heru’ur’s demise. Imhotep himself told me of this madness! On that day, I began to question what I had always believed.”

  “Your god is dead, my friends. Join us in liberating all Jaffa from the tyranny of the Goa’uld! Join us in — ”

  Bra’tac cut off his own words as he felt as if a knife sliced through his belly. His prim’ta had become agitated to the point of pain.

  Struggling to straighten and observe his surroundings, Bra’tac saw that the other Jaffa around him were similarly afflicted.

  Once before, fifty years earlier, Bra’tac had felt this type of pain, when A
pophis had sent him to a world that had been overrun by the Reetou.

  A bolt of energy flew through the air and struck Sakmal in the belly. The old Jaffa fell to the ground and Bra’tac knew that he was dead, as his symbiote pouch had been destroyed by the blast.

  The type of weapon used also confirmed Bra’tac’s supposition that it was the Reetou, as the blast matched that of the weapons he’d encountered five decades ago.

  More blasts came from all around. Just’lac cried, “Jaffa, kree!”

  Bra’tac heard the report of Kyylar’s ma’tok, soon followed by several more intermixed with the Reetou blasters. He struggled to pull his own zat’ni’katel from where he had concealed it on his armor.

  The screams of dozens of Jaffa echoed in his ears as one by one they fell to the invisible foes. Bra’tac closed his eyes. The Reetou were invisible, so sight was of no use to him. He tried to focus past the pain of the Reetou’s effect on Goa’uld, past the screams of his fellow Jaffa and the sound of energy weapons discharging.

  Then he heard the blast coming straight for him, and he leapt to the ground, the Reetou bolt sizzling overhead.

  Even as he dove, Bra’tac aimed the zat’ni’katel at the place where the bolt had come from and squeezed the base of the weapon.

  But he could not tell if the weapon struck. The Reetou were vicious foes, and Bra’tac did not have the eradication rods that could destroy them.

  Opening his eyes, he saw that most of the Jaffa around him had fallen. Just’lac was among them, but Kyylar was still firing randomly.

  Bra’tac was about to admonish the youth to fire less blindly when he heard another bolt from behind him. Again he dove, but this time the bolt struck him square on.

  The world went dark…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  P3X-418

  THERE WAS no sound, except for a ringing in his ears.

  Dozens of images flew through Daniel Jackson’s muddled brain at once.