“Listen,” Jack said, keeping his weapon leveled and his finger hovering over the trigger. “We don’t want any trouble. Daniel — tell them.”
“I… uh…” Daniel sounded vague, distracted. “We’re explorers. We… oh…”
“Colonel?” Carter’s voice was urgent and he didn’t need to look to know that Daniel was about to hit the deck. Or the mud.
He had no choice; they couldn’t fight. Lowering his weapon, he lifted his hands away from it and said, “Stand down, Major. Daniel — probably lie down.”
“O’Neill?” Teal’c said.
His unease was obvious and Jack shared it. But there was no helping it — against this many armed people, with Daniel too sick to run or fight, they didn’t stand a chance. “You too, T.”
After a moment, he heard Teal’c’s staff weapon power down. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of Daniel’s white face as Carter helped ease him to the ground.
Should have left him at the camp, he thought. Should have left Carter with him at the camp.
But then maybe they’d have been picked off two-by-two and it wouldn’t have made a blind bit of difference? At least this way he could keep an eye on them.
Shelving the fruitless second-guessing, he turned back to the stranger. “My name’s Jack O’Neill,” he said. “This is Carter, Teal’c and the guy down there is Daniel. We’re explorers. Actually, we’re lost explorers.”
The man didn’t lower his weapon, but he did speak. His voice was heavily accented, but the words were recognizable. “I am Aedan Trask,” he said. “I speak for my people. Why are you in our lands?”
“Like I said — we’re lost.”
“And where have you come from?” His sharp eyes were full of suspicion. “One of the southern camps? You dress and speak strangely.”
“Oh, much further than that,” Jack said, gesturing vaguely toward the Stargate. “Way, way over there…”
The girl standing next to Aedan — barely twenty, bony, with wide, earnest eyes — reached up and whispered something in his ear. He nodded. “Elspeth said she watched you walk out of the valley last night. Did you cross it?”
“Ah…” Jack glanced over at Daniel. Carter had dropped her pack and propped him up against it. He was still conscious, though ghostly white. Jack swallowed a fresh knot of concern and said, “A little help here?”
Daniel licked his lips. “We’re far from home,” he said. “And we need your help.”
As he spoke, a big drop of rain landed on Jack’s cap, another hitting the side of his face. Just when he didn’t think this damn planet could get any worse. The universe, he decided bitterly, was having a laugh at his expense.
Aedan looked up at the sky, then back at Daniel. He still didn’t lower his weapon. “The valley is poisoned,” he said. “Is that why you’re sick?”
“Ah… poisoned?” Daniel said, frowning. “No, I was wounded. Shot.”
“Actually,” Carter said, “that’s probably not true anyway. About the valley?” Aedan looked at her, confused, so she plowed on; sometimes Carter just didn’t know when to shut up. “While prolonged exposure to the radioactive fallout — that is, to the dust in the valley — is dangerous, you could probably cross —”
“Carter?”
She glanced up at him. “Sir?”
“Not now.”
Jaw clamped shut, she nodded and fell silent, but he didn’t miss the flash of wounded pride in her eyes — and this time he hadn’t even been trying to knock her down.
Another drop of rain landed on his face, followed by more and heavier. Quelling his frustration, he took a breath and tried to be diplomatic. “Look, Aedan,” he said. “Daniel’s right, we need your help. He’s badly injured and we really need to open the Stargate and go home.”
Aedan looked blank. “Stargate?”
“Big stone ring back in the valley?”
There was a palpable shifting among the group, half amusement and half unease. Neither was encouraging. “You’re headsick,” Aedan said, aiming his weapon more sharply. “Only Devourers come through the Eye.”
“Devourers?” Jack echoed. Who, or what, were Devourers? And, more importantly, how did they open the Stargate without a DHD?
He cast a quick look at Carter, but she just shrugged: no idea. Daniel had his eyes closed and didn’t seem to be responding at all. Crap.
“Not only Devourers,” the girl next to Aedan piped up. “They aren’t the only ones.”
“Hush up, Elspeth.”
“I won’t,” she said. “The old gods lived beyond the Eye. Everyone knows that.” Turning to Jack she fixed him with a searching look. “Do you serve them? The old gods?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but Teal’c got there first. “We do not.”
“There are no gods,” Aedan said irritably, “old or otherwise. Now give over your blethering, Elspeth.”
She backed down, but didn’t appear cowed and continued to regard them steadily — especially Teal’c — with her large, curious eyes.
The rain was heavy now, a steady downpour. And the wind was picking up too, driving rain down the valley in long, cold sweeps. Their only dry clothes were about to get soaked through. Jack decided to cut his losses. These kids might not own a DHD but they did own a warm, dry cave. Besides, he needed to learn more about the Devourers — whoever they were — and how they used the Stargate. Hell, he’d be happy to hitch a ride home with the Goa’uld at this point.
“Aedan,” he said, trying to sound reasonable and friendly. “It’s raining. My friend’s injured and we need shelter. We’re willing to trade for it.” He eyed their lean, hungry bodies and the couple of skinny rabbits dangling from Aedan’s belt. “We have food,” he said, “medicines, weapons…”
Aedan shifted as the wind tugged at his hair, ruffling the furs of his coat.
“We can’t bring armed strangers inside,” a male voice objected from behind them. Jack glanced over his shoulder, but he couldn’t tell which of the men had spoken. They all watched him with the same overt suspicion.
“Their weapons are primitive,” Aedan said. “And we can take precautions.”
Jack turned back to face him. “Precautions? What kind of precautions?”
Aedan just smiled.
“O’Neill!”
Teal’c went down first, convulsing beneath a snaking sheen of blue energy. Spinning around, Jack barely managed to grab hold of his weapon before he was hit too, a nerve-numbing shockwave radiating out from his right shoulder. He pitched sideways, legs giving way, and saw Carter fall, sprawling across Daniel before the world went black.
CHAPTER TEN
Dusk was a hint of purple in the western sky by the time Makepeace swung his Dodge SUV into the visitor center parking lot and killed the engine. Though sunset was while off yet, the sun had already dropped behind Pikes Peak and, according to the dash, the temperature had cooled to a pleasant sixty-five degrees. Makepeace scanned the few cars that remained in the lot. The park was close to closing, but there were still a number of minivans and station wagons occupying a few spaces — family cars, their occupants the remnants of what had most likely been a busy day. Come Labor Day, the lot and the center would be deserted at this time, the few tourists who visited having long since departed. There was no sign yet of the man he had come here to meet, and none of these vehicles looked like they’d be his preferred mode of transport. Harold Maybourne was a man who liked to keep other people waiting, a message, Makepeace thought, about who was in control.
It had taken Makepeace longer than usual to get here. His conversation in the infirmary with General Hammond had left him antsy, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. Perhaps it was the general’s refusal to let him take SG-3 back out on the search and rescue, but Makepeace sensed that something more was going on. Of course, working for the Stargate Program, he was used to there being secrets to which he wasn’t privy. He wasn’t always on the need-to-know list and that was just fine by him, but
today… Hammond’s expression had turned guarded, as if he’d been about to share something with Makepeace, but then changed his mind.
Maybe he was just being paranoid. Or maybe he shouldn’t have mouthed off about the Tok’ra, but dammit he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. Either way, he’d left the base with a distinct feeling of unease, the Tollan artifact a heavy weight in the gym bag he carried. Instead of heading straight to the rendezvous, he’d swung south on 115, keeping an eye on the rearview, then took a few random lefts and rights, before doubling back on himself up I-25. Not until he’d hit North 30th, did he shake the notion that he’d been followed. The sooner he offloaded this damned tech, the better.
Makepeace picked up the bag and got out of the SUV, taking a moment to survey the towering red rocks that surrounded him: The Garden of the Gods National Park, Colorado Springs. Given the delusions of grandeur held by the very sons-of-bitches who threatened the planet, the irony of the name did not escape him, and he wondered if Maybourne had chosen it as a rendezvous point deliberately. He doubted the man appreciated its majestic beauty. Then again, Makepeace also doubted whether Maybourne had that sophisticated a sense of humor.
He headed into the visitor’s center and made for the coffee shop. He hadn’t yet followed Hammond’s direction to grab some shut-eye and the toll of two back-to-back missions was starting to weigh on him.
“What can I get ya?” asked the waitress — Trish, by her name badge — with a sunny smile, though Makepeace caught the way she flicked a glance at the clock behind him. Evidently, it had been a long day for her too and she no doubt wondered at a visitor arriving so late.
“Coffee, please. Black, and throw in an extra espresso shot.”
“The coffee I can do, hon, but we ain’t no Starbucks.”
Makepeace gave her a smile and nodded, then pointed to the ‘Theater’ sign suspended from the ceiling. “Is the movie still on?”
“It sure is,” said Trish. “Five minutes until the last show of the day. That’ll be five dollars for the ticket and a buck seventy-five for the coffee.”
Makepeace thanked her, handed over a ten and told her to keep the change.
“Well, thank you, honey.” Apparently, a decent tip was the very thing to make a late visitor less objectionable. “You go on in and enjoy the show.”
He’d only just settled into his seat in the darkened theater, when he heard the door open and close behind him. Harold Maybourne sat down a row in front just as the screen brightened and the first bars of America the Beautiful drifted out of the speakers.
“You’re late,” said Maybourne.
“I had to make a detour,” said Makepeace, resisting the urge to ask where Maybourne had been hiding that he knew when he’d arrived. The colonel loved his subterfuge too much and it wouldn’t do to encourage him.
Maybourne glanced over his shoulder. “You were followed?”
“No, but I wanted to take precautions. General Hammond is worried about something.”
Maybourne turned back to the screen. Old grainy footage of Native Americans was playing now, their feathered headdresses incongruous with their weskits and collarless shirts. “Well, of course he is,” said Maybourne. “His precious SG-1 is missing.”
Makepeace narrowed his eyes. At no point during their phone conversation earlier had he mentioned that. “You know about that?”
“I know about a lot of things.”
A thought struck Makepeace then, unpleasant but all too credible. “And just how much do you know about this, Maybourne?”
Maybourne paused and inclined his head towards Makepeace again. “Is that what you think me capable of, Colonel? Striking against our own people?”
“I think you’re probably capable of a lot more than I’d consider reasonable.”
“Tell me, Makepeace, how’s the view from that moral high ground? Because last I checked your hands aren’t exactly squeaky clean.”
Makepeace clenched his jaw. “There’s a line —”
“Which you cross repeatedly.”
Makepeace said nothing. It was hard to defend the indefensible.
“For the record,” continued Maybourne, “no, I had nothing to do with what happened to SG-1. Interested parties have been watching O’Neill and it wouldn’t be wise to have him disappear. That said…” He trailed off, as if considering his next words.
“What?” demanded Makepeace.
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if the good colonel and his team were to, let’s say, take a little longer to return.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Maybourne?” His BS and double talk were starting to get on Makepeace’s last nerve. At least with men like George Hammond you knew where you were; he was as slippery as a fresh caught catfish. And his comments about Jack O’Neill didn’t sit well with Makepeace one little bit.
“I hear the Asgard are threatening to remove the Earth from the Protected Planets Treaty.”
Makepeace started forward in his seat, his eyes flicking to the gym bag on the floor. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m perfectly serious,” replied Maybourne. It was hard to read his expression, dark as it was in the theater, with only the side of his face visible. He seemed unconcerned.
“Because of what we’re doing?”
Maybourne snorted a laugh. “Of course, because of what we’re doing. You don’t get to steal from your neighbors and not have them build higher fences.”
“Then we need to stop.”
That prompted Maybourne to turn in his seat and fix Makepeace with a stare. “You really have no idea, do you, Robert? We don’t stop. We never stop. They can’t beat us this way.”
“We’re not at war with them, Maybourne,” hissed Makepeace.
“Aren’t we?” the colonel asked, his tone mildly amused. He turned and settled back in his seat, watching the images of red rocks towering amid the pinyon pine that flickered on the screen. “You’re a native Coloradan, aren’t you, Colonel? How well do you know this park?”
Makepeace frowned at the tangent. It was getting late and he hadn’t been prepared for the curveball Maybourne had thrown. He wanted answers, but he also just wanted to go home. “Pretty well. My old man used to bring us climbing here.”
“And I bet you had a swell time. There’re all kinds of regulations now of course. Rules to stop you climbing where you want, that just take the fun out of the whole thing. You know the big rock just north of here? The one they call the Tower of Babel?”
Makepeace knew it, but he said nothing. Maybourne continued anyway. “It’s named for the tower that humanity, speaking a single, united language, decided to build to try and reach heaven. ‘And the Lord, who came down to see the city and the tower which the children of men built, said, Behold, the people is one, and nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. So the Lord scattered them from there over all the Earth.’”
“I didn’t come here for Bible study.”
“You asked me a question, Colonel, now let me ask this of you: do you think we speak a single language now, Makepeace? Is humanity united?” Maybourne didn’t wait for him to answer. “No, Robert, it’s not. We’re scattered, and none of us speak the same language. Looking to the skies for salvation won’t help our cause. The only thing the skies will bring us is a shiny ha’tak ready to rain destruction over all the lands. People like the Tollan don’t give a damn about our planet; they don’t care what happens to the people living here, the small people like your friend Trish out there. No one is going to save us but ourselves. So, we don’t stop. We keep going. We do more. SG-1 might come back, or they might not. But regardless, when the Asgard and their buddies decide that we’re no longer worth the risk, the Pentagon will realize that it’s time we looked to our own backyard for help. And by that time people like you and I will have made sure that we’ve got the might to take care of ourselves.”
The screen turned to black and the theater went silent.
“Do
n’t get squeamish on me, Robert. Stick to the plan.”
Makepeace stood without a word, retrieving the gym bag from the floor. He hesitated a moment before dropping it in the empty seat next to Maybourne. Then he was through the theater door and out of the dark, into the clean air of the park as Trish’s call to ‘come back real soon’ echoed in his ears.
Pain woke him, jangling nerves crawling back to life, limbs heavy and unresponsive and his mind sluggish. His mouth felt dry, tasted foul, and someone was using a jackhammer inside his skull.
“God…” Jack dragged a heavy arm across his eyes, blinking and dazzled by flickering yellow light. The world was blurry and it took a moment for his vision to clear. When it did, he found himself staring at a rocky ceiling. And then he remembered — cave.
He was a prisoner.
Stifling another groan, he forced his uncooperative arms and legs to work and pushed himself up so that his back rested against the wall. He stayed there for a few moments, catching his breath, using the time to assess his position.
First, he was unarmed: both his MP5 and Beretta were missing.
Second, he was in a small cell, there was some kind of straw or grass on the floor, and in the corner a lantern hung from a crude iron hook. It cast enough light to reveal a rough-hewn wooden door — shut — and Carter. She was a couple of feet away, flat on her back and out cold.
Third, Daniel and Teal’c were missing.
“Carter?” His voice was no more than a croak, but his limbs were recovering from what felt like the world’s worst case of pins-and-needles, and he managed to drag himself over to her. “Carter.” He pressed clumsy fingers to her throat — her skin was warm, her pulse steady. He shook her shoulder. “Major, wake up.”
Nothing. Whatever it was they’d hit them with, it was powerful — he’d never felt anything quite like it. Definitely not a zat. Sagging against the wall next to Carter, he kept his hand on her shoulder and waited. He could feel his body slowly recovering, but it wasn’t there yet, and until they were both up and running no one was going anywhere. Besides, he needed to think and this was as good a time as any.
SG1-25 Hostile Ground Page 9
