"What in God's name is that?"
"A figment of my imagination." Dr. Jackson sounded smug. For good reason, George Hammond was sure.
She ignored the retort, mesmerized by the sight. "What is it doing?"
"Wait and see."
The inner ring continued to turn. Chevrons locked and glowed the color of old sherry. Then, with the abruptness of great power, the event horizon leaped forward, arrested halfway into the room, and contracted to a shimmering cobalt membrane across the Stargate.
Bag firmly tucked under one arm, Professor Kelly climbed the metal steps and proceeded toward that membrane until her right hand touched its surface. "How quaint. A vertical fishpond."
The next moment she'd stepped through and disappeared.
"Oh crap!"
The expletive just hung there for a stunned second while nobody moved. Then Jack O'Neill unfroze and started sprinting up the ramp, Major Carter on his heels. Dr. Jackson and Teal'c followed at a more leisurely pace.
"This is a novel approach..." observed Dr. Jackson, a small but worrying trace of admiration in his tone.
"I concur."
Left behind in the `gate room, George Hammond contemplated the event horizon until it collapsed. "SG-1, you have a `Go'," he said, mostly because he always said it.
Jack shot from the wormhole at twice the legal speed. The problem was exacerbated by Kelly having parked herself smack in his trajectory. They got up close and personal and tumbled down the stone steps in front of the `gate, a tangle of limbs, tweed skirts, Gladstone bag, and one P90. Once the planet had stopped revolving around him, he risked opening his eyes. The sun was shining - correction: both suns were shining - the birds were tweeting, a gentle breeze fanned the tops of some enormous trees, and lined up atop the stairs stood his team, staring at him in a kind of radiant disbelief
"I caught her!"
"Uhm... We noticed. You okay, Jack?" Daniel was trying to sound solicitous. It needed work.
Beneath him, Kelly started to buck.
Oh yeah, you're clearly on top of this situation, O'Neill. Now, when you rise, eventually, make sure you don't mix up the accessories. Yours was the gun, not the bag.
He pushed himself up, which was rewarded by a loud groan from below. Getting from a static push-up to an upright position proved slightly more of a challenge. The way his left knee felt, it must have knocked a dent into one of those steps. Nothing a tenmile hike wouldn't cure. Guessing that he still held center stage, he suppressed a grimace.
Carter had sauntered down the stairs and was handing him his cap. It didn't distract from that stifled giggle and made him feel vindictive. How come she hadn't taken flight, anyway? She'd been right behind him.
"Carter, help the Professor. And while you're at it, lay down a few ground rules. Starting with Get the hell away from the `gate!"
"Yessir!" Eyes narrow, the giggle throttled.
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Colonel.
Minor accidents thus taken care of, he picked up his P90 and gimped along a broad stone-paved path, putting some distance between himself and Kelly, just in case. The path extended rulerstraight, from the Stargate at one end to a large building about three hundred meters away. It was surrounded by a sparse forest of tall cedars with very little undergrowth. Dry, fallen needles carpeted sun-dappled ground, muffling footfalls and scenting the air. More birds, with crickets doing something contrapuntal in chirp flat minor. Otherwise not a sound, and there wasn't a soul in sight. To the north the foothills rose to a mountain range, craggy and barren, shivering in the heat. No sign of human - or alien - up there either. No surprises. No Ancient Enemy.
So far P2X 159 seemed perfectly normal - excepting the surplus sun - and it matched the MALP footage. Nothing to indicate why it should have been omitted from the Abydos Cartouche. Nothing to twang his antennae, and that was a rarity.
Staff weapon loosely clasped in one hand, Teal'c came circling towards him through the trees. Going by the Jaffa's relaxed jog, he also thought they'd found the perfect vacation spot. Maybe that was it: exclusive summer camp for the discerning snake-lover, with an unlisted address to keep the rabble away.
"Find anything, T?"
"I did not, O'Neill. The area appears to be deserted."
"So we go... What?"
Teal'c was gazing past him, looking worried all of sudden - the way a cat looked worried. You had to know him to get it. Jack wheeled around.
Tweed flapping around a pair of plump calves, Miss Marple the Barbarian was sallying forth along the walkway, Carter and Daniel in her wake. Sole trace of the recent collision was the flamboyant list of her bun, which teetered on a round, gray head and represented the only thing fluffy about her. Mentally preparing himself for a shouting match that would have left a drill instructor weeping with joy, Jack O'Neill stepped squarely in the path of the oncoming valkyrie. She threw him a passing glance and maneuvered around him.
"Nothing broken I see. Don't hang about, duckie! We want to get to that site, don't we? Chop-chop!"
Duckie?
Daniel and Carter slowed to a reluctant halt, their faces studiously blank.
"Duckie?"
"We tried, sir."
Daniel said nothing and shifted the Gladstone bag from left to right.
"You gotta be kidding me..." He turned on his heel. "Professor!"
The roar of a waterfall or surf on the beach. She tuned it out. With difficulty. He was more persistent than a first-year undergraduate.
"Professor!"
Yes, yes, yes. All in good time!
Stepping through the giant hula hoop, she'd fully expected to come out the other side dripping wet and staring at a concrete wall. She hadn't expected this. Of course Jackson had told her about it, but Jackson told a lot of fantastical stories about a lot of fantastical things. When she'd ended up on the stone dais with the second hula hoop, she'd still believed that it was a colossal hoax. After all, there were rumours about the Moon Landing having been a fake. Then she'd seen the twin suns and changed her mind. A fake on this scale was beyond the capacity even of the current British government.
Amazing. Truly amazing...
The architecture of the building ahead looked Punic. Or rather, it looked like what generations of archaeologists had construed to be Punic architecture. They'd been right about the flat roofs. Massive walls rose to three stories of superbly crafted bevelled stonework. Inset in the walls was an archway, some fifteen feet high, its wooden gates -
"Professor! Stay put!"
Oh for goodness' sake!
- open. Through the archway one could see an inner courtyard, lined by a colonnade. The layout was similar to the Kerkouane precinct. They'd liked their curved lines, hadn't they? Quite possibly it was a temple, but closer examination would verify this
An ear-splitting crack and dust and morsels of shattered stone rained down from the lintel above her head.
"Bloody Nora!" Siobhan Kelly jerked around.
"Do I have your attention now?" That nasty black box of a gun draped across his midriff, he came swaggering towards her like something out of those Rambo films and had the nerve to grin.
"You shot at me!"
"I didn't shoot at you. If I'd shot at you, you wouldn't be complaining."
This wasn't funny. "Of all the
"Ali!" A surprisingly elegant hand flew up and he took off his sunglasses, hard and angry eyes belying the grin. "In case you hadn't noticed, Professor, we're not in Kansas anymore. Carter here explained a few facts to you just now, but maybe you didn't get the message. So -"
"Oh please! I've been conducting excavations since before you were an itch in your daddy's trousers. Do you have any idea of who I am?"
"One huge honkin' pain in the mikta. I, on the other hand, am the guy who's under orders to bring you back in one piece, and if you interrupt me again I'll gag you. We didn't get a chance to introduce ourselves, so, for the record, I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill. Colonel means you'll do exactly as I tell you
when I tell you, and if I'm not around, you'll listen to Major Carter. Are we clear on this?"
"Of course we are. I fail to see the problem, Colonel."
His jaw dropped into speechlessness. Good. That settled it then.
Kelly turned and passed through the cool shadows of the archway and into the courtyard. A rather imaginative obscenity sailed past her, then she heard him bark at Jackson.
"Daniel! Stay with the Professor. If she does anything that might upset me, zat her."
What her?
Rapid steps scampered up from behind. Well, maybe Jackson could be of some use. Unlike that girl or the big Afro-Caribbean deaf-mute with the tattoo.
"Professor! Listen! Jack isn't doing this to annoy you. He's -"
"Shush... Just look at this! Isn't it marvellous?"
The courtyard was vast, much larger than any remains she'd ever seen on Earth. On Earth... What a peculiar thought! ... Paved with white slabs, it measured a good one hundred and fifty yards at its longest. Its width was approximately two thirds of that. The two apexes of the oval were marked by freestanding bronze and smaragdus pillars, gleaming in the sunlight. Although they rose above the height of the colonnade, they still were dwarfed by the structure projecting from the southern side of the courtyard: a round, fat-bellied tower, narrowing towards the top. Ninety feet high at least and limestone-clad, the same virginal white as the paving. It had no windows, but opening onto the yard was an immense double-panelled gate, cast of solid bronze and adorned with the relief of a bull's head.
"Interesting." Wandering closer, Kelly took off her jacket and slung it over one shoulder. If she'd known about the climate, she'd have wom something thinner. Naturally noone had bothered to suggest appropriate clothing... "Jackson, do you see this? Want to tell me what you make of it?... Jackson?"
He was gone. Silent heat filled the court. In the shadows under the archway stood the deaf-mute, staring back towards the hula hoop, clutching his stick and guarding the entrance like a good little soldier. Nobody else was in sight. She felt an odd, disturbing jolt of abandonment.
"Jackson! Where are you?"
Nothing.
"Jackson!"
"In here, Professor!"
Kelly spotted him across the yard, his head poking from one of those doorways that led off the colonnade at regular intervals. "What are you doing?"
"Have a look!"
It wasn't what she'd had in mind, but the alternative was staying adrift in this white arena. So she trotted over. Jackson stood inside a small, dark room that held a single sleeping platform and, across the floor from it, a stele. On it was a smaller copy of the bull's head relief she'd seen on the bronze gate to the tower.
"Interesting," she said again.
"There are thirty of them. I counted," he offered. "They remind me of monk's cells."
"Not the chamber, you pillock! I'm talking about this!" Kelly pointed at the bull's head. It was heavily stylised, the tips of the horns sweeping outward like the frame of an old lyre.
"I'm guessing it's Meleq."
"How would you know?"
Jackson crouched, one finger tracing a scatter of wedge-like engravings beneath the bull's head. "Ugaritic cuneiform. Roughly translated it says, Happy art thou, child, chosen to serve the Lord Meleq."
"Master of storms and patron god of Tyre. Phoenician, not Punic. Phoenicia was the mother country. Carthage was a colony... Interesting," she repeated absently, still studying the stele. "I need to get into that tower out there."
"Looks locked to me."
"So? We'll break it open."
He rose and strolled out under the colonnade. "There'll probably be objections, Professor."
"Oh really? From your one-man-junta?"
"I was thinking more of the people who worship here."
"Good Lord, Jackson! This is a historical site. Which generally means the worshippers met their idol several hundred years ago."
"Perhaps you should tell him that." Jackson definitely sounded amused now.
"Whom?"
"Him." Jackson pointed past her. "I don't think he knows he's history."
Trailed by O'Neill and Carter, a short, black-haired middle-aged man - if indeed man was the proper term under these circumstances - came walking towards them, smiling. He wore a headband and a brilliant red and purple cloak, standing out from the whiteness of the courtyard like a bruise. Five yards away from her and Jackson, he stopped and bowed ceremoniously, still smiling.
"You, too, are welcome to Tyros, my friends. Please permit me to escort you to our city."
"Oh dear," whispered Professor Kelly.
Thunderheads were pushing in from the south, piling over the suns and tarnishing colors, even the plum and mauve riot of their guide's robes. The wind had picked up sharply, made cedars groan, smelled of salt. They couldn't be far from the coast. Dust and dried pine needles flew before the gusts, and despite the rain-heavy twilight Sam put her sunglasses back on to protect her eyes.
The darker it got, the more subdued their guide became. His name was Hamilqart, and he was an Acolyte of the Second Grade. Whatever that meant. Cheerful and chatty, with an easy smile, he'd kept looking at them as though they were the answer to his prayers. Until the storm had started brewing. Sam hoped he didn't interpret it as a sign that the native deities disapproved of their presence.
A first lightning bolt zapped across indigo skies, and Hamilqart jumped like a spooked rabbit. The lightning was followed by an impressive clap of thunder, which in turn was followed by a moan. He stepped up the pace, almost to a run, robes fluttering madly behind him.
Around the next bend the forest parted and they emerged at the edge of a cliff. In the distance below stretched a rugged coastline, misted over by foam and battered by breakers that rolled in from a churning, lead-gray sea. Inside a large natural harbor two ships tore at their moorings, pitching madly. Looped around the harbor and creeping up the hillsides lay the city of Tyros. Ant-like, people rushed along streets and over squares and sought shelter in houses. Even from here you could tell they were scared. A new stroke of lightning bound the frantic scurrying in momentary suspension, as though their collective lives had hiccupped. A thunderclap, and as it rumbled out, the frenzy resumed.
"Lord Meleq is angry," Hamilqart wailed.
"He's the master of storms?" asked Daniel.
Kelly, all wind-tossed bun and swirling tweed, clasped her bag to her chest. For a moment it seemed as though she was going to comment and decided against it. Her lips twitched into a furtive little smile. Proud teacher. Since Hamilgart had appeared on the plan, she'd shown amazing restraint. Not that anyone was complaining.
More flashes and roaring thunder, then the heavens opened. No need for shades now. As Sam pulled them off, prospects brightened marginally.
"Yes. Lord Meleq is the Lord of Storms, and he is very angry." Their guide's reply was barely audible over the crackle of rain.
"Why?"
"We have been remiss in our devotions!"
As if to confirm this declaration of guilt, a bolt of lightning struck a nearby cedar. The tree was instantly ablaze and toppled in a splutter of flames and static.
Hamilgart gave a panicked squeal. "We must make haste!"
He set off again, sandals flopping on rain-slick pavement. Hundreds of trickles of water came shooting off the slopes, merged to rivulets, to creeks, to an ankle-deep blanket of rainwater gurgling over the path.
They stumbled after Hamilgart, down the road, past scattered buildings on the outskirts of town, across squares and through narrow passages, until he finally halted in front of a large house not far from the city center.
"My home. Please enter."
Without much ceremony he ushered them through the front door and straight into an inner courtyard. Soaked to the skin, they huddled under the arcade surrounding the atrium. Rain still pelted down, drops skipping inches high from a mosaique floor and the surface of a round, shallow pool.
As the glow of m
ovement wore off, Major Carter had trouble keeping her teeth from chattering. A heap of drenched tweed, Kelly next to her suffered no military compunctions and sounded like a baby rattle. The brim of Daniel's hat sagged over glasses milky with condensation; opaque discs that made him look as though he'd pulled down the shutters and gone home for the day. Perhaps not a bad idea... The Colonel had removed his cap to up the ante in the hairstyle stakes and was wearing something best described as electrocuted porcupine. It clashed with a tense face. The only one who looked wet but otherwise unruffled was Teal'c. Par for the course.
"Father!"
A loud yell and the patter of bare feet on stone disrupted the stillness. Barreling down the arcade came a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy, perhaps nine or ten years of age, in brown linen pants and a miniature version of their host's colorful robes.
When he noticed the strangers, he skidded to a stop, drew himself up, and announced in dignified tones, "Mother was worried."
Implying that he hadn't been. Jack O'Neill smiled. So did Hamilgart.
"I am well, my son. Go and tell your mother that I have brought guests."
The boy was about to obey when the lady of the house appeared of her own accord, attended by three servants. Slim and willowy, she stood half a head taller than her husband and had ancient, wary eyes, as though she'd heard bad news once too often.
"Friends, this is my beloved wife, Ayzebel." Hamilgart beamed.
She bowed gracefully. "My husband. I am glad to see you back. You honor me by bringing guests."
"Guests who were sent by Meleq himself," he informed her, swelled with pride. "They came through the Chappa'ai."
Chappa'ai? mouthed Kelly, frowning, but she didn't interfere.
Just as well. If she'd bothered to listen to Daniel, she'd know. But Sam was more concerned about the fact that Hamilqart knew the word. She cast a swift glance at her CO, who barely perceptibly shook his head.
Play it by ear.
"Welcome to our home." Ayzebel studied them solemnly. Then her gaze arrested on the Jaffa, awestruck. "You are a spirit!"
Whatever Teal'c might have expected, it probably had been more along the lines of traitor or shol'va rather than spirit. As a matter of fact, spirit was pretty much the last thing that sprang to mind when you looked at him.
Stargate SG-1: Trial by Fire: SG1-1 Page 3
