Stargate SG-1: Trial by Fire: SG1-1

by Sabine C. Bauer

  But he hadn't even tried that, had he? Those ring thingies had whisked him and his remaining minions out of harm's way. Pathetic!

  She stumbled back from the throng and took stock, not because she necessarily would have known what to make of things, but because she had a vague notion that this was what one did in these circumstances. Across the teeming multitudes she saw the Carter girl and the alien and some of the archers rappel into the courtyard and disappear under the colonnade. Probably to evacuate the children. The fighting had more or less ceased now. The Tyrean combatants looked numb, wounded, or plain dead. Their Roman - Phrygian - counterparts were more proactive and disarmed them where they found them. Quite courteously, though.

  "Lady Siobhan!" Ayzebel, over on the other side of the pits, semaphoring wildly. What now?

  Then Kelly saw them. Several members of the Synod had crept from the sanctuary and were beginning to close the huge bronze gates.

  "Oh no, you don't!" She couldn't believe it. After all this, they still were trying to prevent her from getting inside.

  Less than twenty yards away from her the pigheaded Irish and Jackson had finished hauling that Roman lad to safety and were dusting him off. Well, that could wait, couldn't it?

  She trotted over as fast as she could. "Stop playing silly-buggers, Jackson! I need a hand!"

  "Vow I know what I've been missing..." muttered O'Neill, glancing up briefly. Earlier on he'd had that haunted, lifeless look she recalled, but he seemed in fine fettle now - if rather dirty. "Daniel, go with the Professor and put a foot in that door. Mind your toes!"

  With Kelly puffing along in his wake, Jackson sprinted around the edge of the pit and straight for the closing gates. They arrived at the same time as Ayzebel and her cohorts.

  The panels were still gaping, hands reaching from within to draw them shut completely. Kelly decided that this was precisely what the Lord had created torches for. A couple of swipes, two murderous howls, and the hands jerked back. Ayzebel's women prised the panels apart and swung the gate open again. Inside, dwarfed by that hateful golden bull, huddled eight irate priests; two sucking their fingers. A ninth was injured in a very delicate part of his body and lay face-down on the floor. They were one High Priest short. Where had he got to?

  "How dare you desecrate this sanctuary!" One of the eight, that dyspeptic misery, Fuano, stepped forward. "You are not permitted in the Lord Meleq's presence!"

  Several women flinched, decades of indoctrination threatening to diffuse adrenaline and outrage. But they held their ground. Good for them.

  "Poppycock!" snorted Kelly. "From what I saw out there, I'd say it's the other way round!"

  "Be silent, woman! Be silent and leave, or bring down the wrath of Meleq upon yourselfl"

  "Oh shut up!"

  Kelly pushed him aside. The other priests made way voluntarily, and she slowly approached the idol, took in the ramp, the hatch, the heat radiating from it. Jackson had been right, in every detail. She really resented that about him.

  "Initiation?" More livid than she'd ever been in her life, Kelly wheeled around. "Initiation to what? Death? How long does it take for a child to -"

  A piercing, keening noise stopped her. Past the priest she saw the faces of mothers, pale and stricken with shock. Some of them were crying. Most of them had had sons `initiated'.

  "Your sons entered the service of the Lord Meleq through his likeness." Having spotted his chance, Fuano used it. "Would you rather believe the heretics? It is they who wish to cause you pain."

  "Oh yeah?" Jackson ambled over to one of the countless niches in the wall and picked up the urn inside. "Then how do you explain this, Fuano?"

  "Set it down!" the priest shrieked. "Touching them is forbidden! They are sacred!"

  "Yeah. I bet they are..."

  The lid came off, and Jackson gently turned the urn upside down. Its contents whispered to the floor, raining into a downy grey heap on white tiles. Then something more substantial fell out, scaring up a small plume of ashes as it landed. A stone amulet, fireblackened but whole.

  From among the women's keening rose a single, shrill wail.

  Ayzebel crouched and picked up the small piece of stone. "It is a talisman. Sophonisba gave it to her son when he was chosen. He was five years old... Whom would you have us believe now, Lord Priest?"

  At that moment a massive explosion rocked the tower and made the idol tremble. Quite a fitting simile, Dr. Kelly thought. Jackson seemed to disagree. He went a little green around the gills.

  "Get out! All of you! You've got to go now!"

  Another brilliant shaft of light lanced through the night sky and slammed into the upper reaches of the tower, scattering chunks of stone and mortar over the courtyard. Thank God it was mostly clear by now! She should have anticipated this as soon as she'd seen the ring transporter. Where there's rings, there's a mothership (or at the very least a teltac), and where there's a ship, there's artillery.

  Sam was pushing upstream against a flow of terrified stragglers who shoved and jostled through the archway. Among the fugitives she spotted Teal'c and Flavius, between them the last of the children.

  "Don't stay on the road, Teal'c! Make for the forest," she yelled over groans and screams. "The other kids are waiting for you there."

  "Where is O'Neill?" Teal'c hollered back.

  "Downstairs to get the other prisoners out. He and Tertius found Hamilgart. He's showing them the way."

  "And Daniel Jackson?"

  "That's what I'm trying to find out!"

  At last the bottleneck spat her out into the courtyard and to a sight that made her gasp with relief. They'd made it. Kelly and Ayzebel and the rest of the women came zigzagging around debris and bodies, shooed on by Daniel. With them were one priest under his own steam and a pair of Guards carrying another who complained loudly and incessantly. Tendao, by the -

  An energy beam went wide and detonated somewhere in the hills north of the temple. The Stargate! If they hit the `gate... If they hit the `gate there'd be nothing anyone could do, it was as simple as that.

  "Sorry it took so long," Daniel panted. "The priests didn't want to come. Where's Jack?"

  "I'm going to get him. See you outside."

  "Sam -

  "Move!"

  He'd seen it the same moment as she. The next blast was incoming, and its trajectory didn't look like it'd miss this time. Daniel and his group piled into the archway at a dead run. Sam shot under the arcade and leaped into a cell, hoping the walls would hold. The discharge smashed into one of the pits, sending globs of lava flying like missiles. Moments after the explosions had died down, she cautiously ventured outside. Where the pits had been gaped a crater. The ground was littered with lumps of molten stone, simmering angrily.

  Now or never. The stairs to the dungeon were a hundred meters away, straight across the yard.

  Twenty seconds later, she raced down the steps and into a dim corridor lit by two torches. Somewhere at the back echoed voices and footsteps, growing louder, and then a shadowy figure tore around the comer and cantered up the hallway.

  "Colonel!"

  He skidded to a stop. "Carter! Why the hell didn't you clear out?"

  "Somebody had to make sure you didn't go AWOL again," she said and added, "Sir."

  "AWOL? Major, I -" His nose crinkled. "Carter, no offense, but you stink!"

  "Guano, sir."

  "That's one of the priests, right?"

  "Bird doo." Sam tried to keep a straight face. "And with all due respect, sir, so do you."

  The ground rocked with another impact, and they both groped the walls for support.

  "Is it just me, or is Baal pissed?"

  A small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, like he'd won some kind of private victory, and perhaps he had. She'd seen what had happened when Baal went down.

  "Sounds pissed to me." She smiled back at him.

  "Good. Let's get them out of here."

  They waited until a line of thirty-odd
prisoners, men and women had filed up the stairs. Last among them were Tertius and a bear of a man who carried an old warrior in his arms. Behind them skittered Hamilgart, dusty and confused and hopping with panic when another blast struck the buildings above.

  "Those are the last ones," he rasped. "We should make haste."

  "Ya think?"

  Dawn was breaking, all rosy-gray skies and rambunctious birds. He'd come full circle. Kinda...

  By the time they'd made it into the courtyard, an entire section of the building had collapsed over the archway. Hamilgart had led them out through the hidden side door. That would be gone too. The bombardment had continued until the temple was reduced to rubble. Why Baal had stopped there was anybody's guess, but the bastard probably had other plans for the city. Yeah, well. They'd see about that.

  One hand propped on a rock furry with moss, Jack bent over the well and splashed water in his face. In lieu of sleep, coffee, and a shave. Then he flopped into the grass, leaning back against more moss-gloved rocks, and watched normality reassert itself.

  SG-1, Kelly, and a mixed bag of escapees had ended up in the same glade where he'd caught Miss Marple one fine night, oh, about two decades ago. Now she was giving Caius the third degree on Mithraic initiation rites and getting nowhere if her scowl was anything to go by. Across the clearing, Beefcake the Blushing Bride was performing magician's tricks for Luli. Pulling coins out of the kids ears, that sort of thing. Next to them sat the busty Phrygian lady with the poppy potion, bursting into applause at every trick. Hamilgart was holding Ayzebel's hand, which didn't stop him from earnestly discussing God knew what with Flavius.

  Maybe a new normality. Goggle-Eyes the Priest had suffered an attack of conscience. Jack wasn't so sure about the old guy, Tendao. Likely as not he'd suffered nothing more than pain in the ass. But both had volunteered to set the Tyreans straight. No more Meleq or Moloch or Baal. No more child sacrifices. No more Synod. Tertius would keep an eye on things, and time would tell.

  "We should like to help them." Speak of the devil... Somehow Tertius had managed to sneak up on him and dropped cross-legged on the ground. "But it will be difficult. The Tyreans are reluctant to trust us."

  Dipping his fingers into the clear, cold water of the well, Jack grinned. "How about chucking them into a freezing river and wait till they do?"

  "We didn't... how did you say?... chuck you into the river. You jumped."

  "You did too."

  "Yes... Yes, I did." Tertius cocked his head. "You could have killed him, Deodatus."

  "I know. He wasn't worth it. If I'd let a good man die for the sake of killing him, he'd have won."

  Jack's team came drifting across the clearing, packed up and ready to go. They'd extracted some very enlightening bits of information from a crew of rattled Temple Guards. Phrygian piracy, Colonel O'Neill's foot! He should have seen it, really... and he wished he'd got his hands on that son of a bitch, Kandaulo.

  Tertius studied him for a moment, read the signs. "You're leaving."

  "Yeah."

  "Desiderabo, tribune."

  "I'll come back to visit... check on your nose and see how you're doing with the Tyreans."

  "Is that a possibility or a probability?"

  "It's a fact. Trust me."

  "I do."

  With a brief nod, Tertius scrambled to his feet and went in search of lost Tyrean sheep. Teal'c stared after him and gave a nod of his own. Then he turned and gravely regarded his friend and commander.

  "O'Neill, we have discussed the issue and arrived at a decision."

  Issue? Decision?

  Carter and Daniel were no help. Usually you could tell with at least one of them. This time their faces were nearly as impassive as Teal'c's, which basically meant he didn't wanna hear it.

  "What?"

  "You've got the most experience, Jack."

  Dr. Daniel Jackson bowing to Jack O'Neill's expertise? Without a prior exchange of insults? This was bad. Very bad.

  Carter pointed across the glade. "You go and get her, sir. Please..."

  Jack connected the dots. Carter's very grubby finger pointed at Kelly. Okay, so he had intended to grovel, but there was a limit.

  "Uh-uh. No way! I'm... I'm convalescent."

  "Enjoy, sir."

  On cue, they performed a slightly hasty turn and hared off in the direction of the road.

  "Thanks a bunch!"

  he pigheaded Irish had manhandled her off the planet, without giving her time to do any proper research. Of course, she should have known better than to complain to his superior as soon as she'd popped through the hula hoop. The General had had the nerve to insist that she go and see a doctor. Aforementioned doctor was a pint-size martinet who'd prescribed twelve hours of rest for everybody and possessed the indelicacy to suggest that the Professor could do with losing a few pounds.

  In protest, Dr. Siobhan Kelly had ordered pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausages, and hash browns for breakfast. The good news was that she'd met this nice, inquisitive colonel. He'd been behind her in the breakfast queue.

  "So, Professor," the nice colonel enquired eagerly. "You're saying Jack O'Neill got his a-... I mean, hisself... kidnapped by those Roman pirates and then he got -"

  Suddenly the nice colonel cut himself off and peered past her, head hunched between his shoulders. Kelly turned in the direction he was staring and spotted the obstreperous colonel sauntering away from the food counter, a mug of coffee in his hands.

  "Coo-ee!" She waved. "Over here, duckie!"

  Several heads snapped around and faces flushed with suppressed chortles as Colonel O'Neill spilled his coffee and swore. Then he marched over.

  "Professor... What a wonderful start to my day!" He glowered at her companion. "Don't let me interrupt you, Reynolds. Didn't realize you jarheads were interested in archaeology."

  "It's been an education. Sadly, I have to go." The nice colonel grinned and rose. "Ma'am, thank you very much."

  "My pleasure, young man."

  O'Neill's glower deepened. "What did you

  "Don't sweat it, Jack. Happens to all flyboys." The nice colonel patted his fellow officer's shoulder and made for the exit, shouting, "Next time don't be shy. Just ask Doc Fraiser for scopolamine patches."

  " Sco " He briefly glared at Kelly, spun around, and hollered at the receding back, "Reynolds!"

  The nice colonel turned. "Yes... duckie?"

  "One word and you're a dead man! I know where you live!"

  With a happy little wave Colonel Reynolds swaggered from the commissary. His comrade-in-arms slumped into a chair and groaned.

  "You told him I got seasick."

  Kelly smirked. Served him right. If they'd stayed on Tyros, she wouldn't have met that nice, inquisitive colonel, would she now?

  "He was very sympathetic."

  "Sympathetic? He's a Marine, for cryin' out loud!"

  "So?"

  Suddenly he shook his head and smiled. "God help me, Kelly, I'll probably miss you..."

  "I'm not leaving yet." Kelly took a sip of tea and tried to sound casual. "By the way, McGillicuddle and Walters claim that, during the ceremony, Mithraic initiates are -"

  "Ah!" He peeked at her over the rim of his coffee mug. "I told you I'm not allowed."

  "Oh for goodness' sake! Stop being so prissy! It's not like they'll ever -

  "Hi, Jack." Jackson steered towards their table, his timing atrocious, as always. "Morning, Professor."

  "Hrmph," she said.

  Without meeting the recipient's gaze, Jackson delivered his message. "The General wants a word before the debrief, Jack. He's in his office."

  "And this conversation was just getting interesting... Sorry, Professor." He didn't look sorry in the slightest, leaped to his feet, and handed his mug to Jackson. "Have a coffee on me, Daniel."

  Jackson watched as O'Neill made his escape. Finally he sat down, rather more glum and taciturn than usual and still holding on to the mug.

  "Cheer up! You'll b
e rid of me in a few days."

  "What?" He blinked and tried to shake off the cobwebs. "So you're leaving?"

  "Fun as it was, I think I'm a little too... mature." Kelly toyed with her teacup. This was difficult. She didn't like eating humble pie, especially after a hefty breakfast. "Look, Jackson... I'd like to ask you a favour."

  "A favor? Me?" Well, at least he was grinning now, even if it was a little smug for her taste.

  The blush crawled into her cheeks and up to her ears, and she coughed. "I know you won't publish anything, else I wouldn't ask. I guess I'm going to write a monograph or two, revise a few preconceived notions, as one does. So I was wondering... since you seem to have a rather solid grasp, scientifically speaking, you understand... I mean, I can accept it if you say no, and of course I'd give you full credit, but if you -"

  "Jeez! Spit it out, Professor!"

  "Oh... uh..." Kelly cleared her throat again and had a nasty suspicion that she was scarlet by now. "Would you mind letting me have a copy of your notes?"

  "That all?" He laughed softly. "On one condition."

  "Condition?"

  He wouldn't ask for a public apology, would he?

  "You owe me a drink."

  "So the Synod has been dissolved?" asked General Hammond.

  "That's one way of putting it, sir." Colonel O'Neill sent his pen into a little spin on the notepad. "Two of the priests came over to the good guys, and the rest was incinerated in the tower. Together with the evidence, but I think the women had already seen enough."

  "What about the High Priest?"

  "Which half, sir?"

  Hammond frowned. The debriefing was in its third hour, his coffee mug was empty, and his sense of humor had endured some knocks, not least due to Professor Kelly's ceaseless contributions, most of which revolved around her obvious initiation fetish. The General would have given a month's salary to have had her excluded from this. Unfortunately, the `classified' angle hadn't worked this time. After all, she'd been an active participant in the near-debacle.

  "Care to elaborate, Colonel?" he said, a little more sharply than he'd planned.