The Cost of Honor

by Stargate

  The cockpit door was closed, which seemed odd. Had she been Commander Kenna, she'd have wanted an ear - if not an eye - on her prisoners. He clearly trusted his men, but more than that, she suspected he was trying to distance himself from herself and the Colonel. Something about them disturbed him. What, she couldn't quite tell.

  The ship banked slightly, causing the Kinahhi to shift their stance as a wider expanse of ocean rose up into view. And suddenly, ahead of them, Sam could see the sweeping towers of Tsapan. Her heart lurched; her life was ticking away in minutes now. Fear made her fingers tingle, churning in her stomach. Doggedly, she ignored it, refusing to let it choke her reflexes. You're not dead yet. Anything could happen. Focus.

  The rainbow colors of the floating city gleamed like jewels. Once a gaudy monument to Baal's power and wealth, it was now used by the Kinahhi for their own dark purposes. Corruption corrupted. There was a strange irony to that. Evil and beauty entwined.

  Tearing her morbid gaze away, Sam forced her attention back to the inside of the ship. The Colonel sat opposite her, face tight and eyes distant, assessing the risks and looking for a way out. It was reassuring. For a while back there she'd thought he'd given up. After all this time, she should have known better. He'd fight till the end - the question was, what were they fighting?

  You will be joined with the sheh fet.

  What the hell did that mean? Nothing good. That much she'd managed to discern, even through the customary reserve of the Kinahhi; Commander Kenna had been afraid. And if he was afraid...

  The Colonel cleared his throat softly. Sam looked over and saw that he was watching her. Intently. Then his fingers began to move, slowly and clearly. Go left. On three. Holy crap, now?

  She tried to keep her face neutral, but he must have seen her surprise because an eyebrow lifted, clearly saying, You got a better idea, Major?

  She didn't. He was right, the odds of success here were the best they'd get. No backup, a limited enemy force, and if they succeeded they'd have a getaway car. With a slight nod, she told him she'd understood.

  He turned back to the window, apparently pensive, but Sam kept her eyes fixed on his hands. She knew him; the tourist impersonation was all for show. Sure enough, after less than a minute, he gave the signal. Three. She tensed, glanced over and eyed her target. Two. Slowly she straightened, the balls of her feet pressed to the floor. One. Her fingers were fists. Go!

  Sam bolted to her feet and charged the Kinahhi who stood guard to her left. Her head plowed into his solar plexus, and he doubled over. Keeping low, she spun and kicked out, landing her foot against the jaw of a second guard and sending him sprawling.

  A third man came toward her, weapon locked and loaded. Sam tried to dodge out of his sights, but there was no room. "Sir!"

  A grunt distracted her. The Colonel had his bound wrists around the neck of one of the Kinahhi, using the cuffs like a garrote. Fingers scrabbling against O'Neill's arm, the Kinahhi was gasping for air. "Drop it!" the Colonel yelled at the advancing soldier. "Drop it now."

  He paused, gaze flicking from O'Neill to the gray face of his struggling comrade. The Colonel didn't look much better than his hostage. He could be ruthless when he had to, but it didn't mean he enjoyed it. "I said drop it."'

  Hesitantly, the man lowered his weapon.

  "Carter, take it."

  She stepped forward and seized the gun. "Sir, I-"

  A hand wrapped itself around her ankle, and yanked. With a cry she fell backward, head cracking against the wall. A rainbow spiraled across her vision, pain ricocheted through her skull. And then something cold and hard pressed against her forehead.

  "Let him go." The words were slurred and broken.

  Sam opened her eyes and stared along the barrel of a gun toward the swollen face of the man she'd drop-kicked. His jaw looked broken, and he was pissed as hell.

  So was she. There were worse things than death, and having her mind sucked out by a straw - as the Colonel had so graphically put it - was one of them. Especially if it meant that the Kinahhi would have access to all she knew about the Stargate program. When it came right down to it, this just might be plan B: a bullet to the head would be fast and painless. Better still, there'd be nothing left for the Kinahhi to suck out. To her left, the Colonel was watching. He was thinking the same thing; she could see it in his eyes as they lifted to meet hers. There was no decision there, only conflict. "Sir..."

  He held her gaze a beat longer, then abruptly released the Kinahhi soldier. The man pitched forward, but Sam's attention was still fixed on the Colonel. For a moment she saw apology in his eyes, then his whole face shifted in alarm. The gun hadn't moved.

  "Kelimmaw." The voice was a rasp of raw anger, the cold metal pressing her head back against the wall. "He's already dead."

  Daniel stumbled out of the wormhole with an armful of weapons, slipped on the short set of steps and skidded down to land on his ass in the dirt. Behind him, Teal'c stepped out of the gate with enviable elegance. As the wormhole evaporated into nothing, his gaze came to rest on Daniel with mild curiosity.

  Not bothering to move, Daniel squinted up at his friend. The sun was bright here, and he didn't have any sunglasses. "That was close."

  "We must assume they will redial," was all Teal'c said, trotting down the steps and heading straight for the tel'tak they'd abandoned here just a week earlier. Had it really been only a week?

  Scrambling to his feet, Daniel clipped on Bosworth's P90, tucked the Beretta into his belt, and began stowing the clips as he jogged after Teal'c. "Let's hope Dixon slows them down." Although, God knew, he'd done enough already.

  Daniel's grateful thoughts were forgotten as they drew closer to the tel'tak. He hadn't paid much attention to the ship after they'd limped in to land. Coming back hadn't crossed his mind. He'd been more concerned with his dislocated shoulder, Teal'c's gunshot wound, and Jack's uncharacteristic fatalism. But now he saw the black streaks of bubbling metal scarring the hull and a myriad other dents and twists that spoke of use and abuse. "Teal'c?"

  The Jaffa stopped on the threshold and turned. "Daniel Jackson?"

  "This will fly, right?"

  Teal'c didn't answer, simply stepped up into the ship and disappeared. After a moment, Daniel followed. The tel'tak smelled of ozone and blood, a nice memento of their previous trip. Heading toward the controls, he saw the place where Teal'c had fallen, an abandoned field dressing frayed at the edges and dark with rusty brown stains. How much more blood would be spilled, he wondered, before this was over?

  Dropping into the co-pilot's seat, he watched Teal'c make a careful study of the controls. Deciding not to disturb him, Daniel glanced out the window. Scoured with grit and dirt, it was murky, but clear enough for him to see the Stargate standing amid hazy ruins.

  Suddenly he was filled with a nostalgic longing, as acute and poignant as lost love. God, how he wanted to be able to simply wander through the crumbling history of this world, to discover its secrets with nothing but discovery on his mind. But years ago his fate had taken a different path, a bloody path of war and conflict. It was nothing he'd ever looked for, nothing he'd ever wanted. Yet somehow he had found himself out here, fighting for the future instead of studying the past.

  The thought came with a mixture of pride and loss. He wouldn't trade the past seven years for anything - he'd discovered unimag inable wonders, shaken every perceived truth about humanity's origins, and touched the faces of their ancient past. Yet he'd never again be the man he once was, and part of him regretted the loss of an innocence that had- "Uh-oh."

  Teal'c looked up. "Daniel Jackson?"

  "Now's probably a good time to test those engines." Daniel kept his eyes locked on the revolving Stargate. "I'm betting they didn't send Dave Dixon after us."

  Jack stared, transfixed, at the gun wrinkling the skin on Carter's forehead. Half of him wanted to jump the guy, the other half whispered that this might be the best way out for her. Better than the alternative. His weapon
dipped. He'd killed her before, once. He knew he could do it. He'd killed her to save her... "Don't."

  The word slipped out unchecked and the Kinahhi soldier's head whipped around. "He was my friend."

  "I'm sorry." Jack recoiled from the memory of the man's death throes, his feeble struggles as he tried to cling to life. It shouldn't have killed him, Jack knew how far to push it. Perhaps the Kinahhi were built different? But such was life. Such was death. What else was there to say?

  On the periphery of his vision he could see Carter, coiled with tension. She looked like she was about to pounce. "Easy, Major."

  "Sir..."

  "Silence!" The weapon jerked toward Jack, tension rising.

  Long and lean, it reminded him of a shotgun more than anything else. He wondered what it fired: projectiles, plasma, something new and funky? Maybe he'd get a demo.

  "What kind of animal kills with its bare hands?" spat the Kinahhi. "Do you take pleasure in it? Do you-"

  "Chief!" The bark came from the door to the cockpit, resonating with outrage. "Explain."

  The soldier started, but didn't lower his guard. His narrow face quivered with momentary unease, however. "The prisoners attempted to escape, Commander. This one murdered Chief Saulum." He paused, nose twitching in disgust. "With nothing more than his own hands."

  Carefully, Jack shifted his gaze to Kenna. He stood in the doorway, staring at the carnage. Cold fury lurked behind his eyes, and when they came to rest on Jack they were sharp as broken glass. "Saulum was my friend," he said icily. "He had a wife, and two children."

  Goddamn it. He didn't need to know that - which was precisely why Kenna had told him of course. The familiar wash of guilt broke over him, and he welcomed the pain. This wasn't the first father, son, lover or brother he'd killed - even if it proved to be the last. The fact that he still felt guilty at least meant he was human.

  Refusing to back down, Jack held the Commander's angry stare. "I'm sorry." He meant it, and if Kenna was the soldier Jack had taken him for, he'd realize that. Eventually.

  The Commander said nothing, his gaze dipping to the sprawled figure. He was silent for a long time, then lifted his head. The look he shot Jack was stony. "Damaris was right," Kenna hissed, "you are a threat. Brutal, as merciless as the Mahr'bal."

  Huh? "Who?"

  Kenna ignored the question, turning to the guard who was covering them. For an instant he thought the Commander was going to give the order to fire. But instead he said, "Shackle them, hand and foot. We are approaching Tsapan." His eyes slid back to Jack, bright with anguish. "This time, I shall have no compunction. You deserve the fate you carry, Tauri."

  Maybe, Jack conceded silently. But Carter doesn't. Evading Kenna's intent scrutiny, he turned and glanced in her direction. To his surprise, she just gave him a wry shrug. Better luck next time, sir:

  It was almost enough to provoke a smile. Nothing like a little hand-to-hand combat to get the adrenaline pumping; the panic he'd sensed in her earlier had been blasted away like cobwebs, replaced by the gritty resilience he'd so long admired. Next time.

  Yeah, there'd be a next time. He had no doubt. And if Carter believed it too, then things were definitely looking up.

  A rattle of P90 fire streaked across the bow of the tel'tak as its engines spluttered to life. It was a warning shot. Teal'c chose to ignore it and pulled hard on the controls. He felt the ship respond, lifting at his request and banking into a steep climb. Almost a century of experience had attuned his mind to that of any ship, and he sensed the cadence of its flight as if it were an extension of his own physical form. He could feel the weakness of the engines, hear their death rattle as they struggled to lift the ship beyond the insistent pull of the planet's gravity. They were teetering on failure as he coaxed the frail ship into the air, overpowering the engines to keep them from stalling. "Bradio!" he muttered, under his breath. " Bradio. "

  "It's SG-2," Daniel Jackson called, peering out the window at the men firing ineffectually below them. "They're worse shots than I am."

  Teal'c permitted himself a moment's amusement at his friend's self-deprecating humor. "I do not believe they intended to hit us.

  Sitting back in his chair, Daniel Jackson cast Teal'c a sideways glance. "Kinsey's not going to be happy."

  "He is not."

  A smile toyed with his friend's lips; perhaps he was enjoying the prospect of the Senator's anger as much as Teal'c. But then he sobered and said, "They'll guess where we're going, and they'll warn the Kinahhi."

  Teal'c inclined his head, relaxing now that the ship had stabilized its climb; the stress on the weakened engines was dropping. "The tel'tak's stealth device will enable us to evade their detection." He paused, considering whether to voice his greater concern. Such discussions were usually reserved for O'Neill, but in this case he had little choice but to trouble the mind of Daniel Jackson. "Have you considered how we might locate O'Neill and Major Carter once we arrive on Kinahhi?"

  A silence followed, and when it was broken Daniel Jackson was somber. "Well, we know the Kinahhi don't have any prisons, and I can't see them keeping Jack and Sam in the guest quarters for long. Which leaves..." His voice drifted into despondency.

  "What does it leave?" Teal'c prompted quietly.

  "Tsapan. Jack said it's where the Kinahhi send their political prisoners. But what happens to them there..." Daniel Jackson shook his head and stared out the window. Gray, wispy clouds shredded past them as they tore through the edges of the planet's atmosphere. "I do not believe," Teal'c said, unsure if his words would give comfort or pain, "that the Kinahhi would swiftly execute O'Neill and Major Carter."

  His friend nodded in bleak agreement. "No, they're too valuable for that. They know too much about the SGC, about the Stargate-" A sudden flare of anger brought Daniel Jackson's fist down hard on the arm of his seat. "What the hell is Kinsey thinking? He's just handed the Kinahhi the key to everything we know about... about... everything!"

  "O'Neill and Major Carter will not reveal any information that could damage-"

  "Yes they will." He said it with such vehemence and such certainty that Teal'c was startled.

  "I do not believe-"

  "You're wrong," Daniel Jackson insisted hotly. "Everyone breaks in the end, Teal'c. That's the point of-" He stumbled over the word, and after a moment continued more quietly. "That's the point of torture. And if the Kinahhi have a sarcophagus..."

  Teal'c understood his meaning, but had more faith in the strength of his friends. "O'Neill is a formidable warrior, as is Major Carter. Neither would ever surrender information that would harm-"

  "It doesn't matter." Daniel Jackson waved away Teal'c's assurance with an irritated gesture. Teal'c found himself wondering why he was so certain of their friends' fallibility. But to ask felt like an intrusion, and so he held his silence. Into it, Daniel Jackson spoke again. "We know the Kinahhi have other methods." He took his glasses off and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "We know they can `read minds', at least to some extent. Who knows what other technology they have?"

  That was a fair point. Teal'c returned his attention to the window. The dark void of space filled it now, and far below the nameless, alien world glowed with the soft amber of rock, dust and slow desiccation. "Whatever the situation on Kinahhi," he said, "we must retrieve O'Neill and Major Carter swiftly."

  At his side, Daniel Jackson sighed. "If we're in time."

  The air in the small office crackled with anger and recrimination. It was as heavy as gasoline fumes, and twice as explosive. Crawford kept a low profile, trying to blend into the gray of the concrete wall and happily allowing the hapless General Woodburn to bear the brunt of Kinsey's attack. What else were the military for, if not to stand in the line of fire?

  "This is supposed to be the most secure military base in the whole damn world, General!" Kinsey ranted. "How is it possible that you let these people escape?"

  Woodburn's chin lifted higher, his eyebrows climbing like furry caterpillars into his h
airline. The image amused Crawford, but he was careful not to let it show. Gravity and concern were all he wanted Kinsey to see in his features.

  "I believe they had inside help, sir," Woodburn said, not for the first time. "It is the only explanation."

  Kinsey shook his head, a gesture of weary resignation, like a parent scolding a child for an oft-repeated crime. It was as phony as everything else about the man, but Crawford studied the gesture with interest and filed it away for later use. Always learn from the best, his father had once told him.

  "As I've said all along," the Senator sighed, "Stargate Command has become too incestuous, too far removed from the oversight of proper authority. There is no respect for chain of command. In fact, there's a distinct disrespect and distrust of anyone outside this base."

  Rising from behind General Hammond's heavy mahogany desk, Kinsey began to pace the cramped office. "I want an investigation, I want names and I want heads on spikes!" He paused, his voice dropping into a menacing rasp. "And if I don't get them, General, rest assured that yours will be the first head that rolls."

  Woodburn didn't flinch. "I suggest, Senator, that I begin the investigation by interviewing General Hammond. He is likely to know the ringleaders of an operation such as this."

  A slow smile spread over Kinsey's face, and Crawford had to give Woodburn credit for playing to the Senator's weak spot. "Yes. Hammond," said Kinsey. "Have him brought in. If anyone knows what's going on here, it's him. He's been incubating this nest of corruption for years."

  Abruptly, the smile faded and Kinsey's eyes came to rest sharply on Crawford. "As for the ringleaders," he said, face scrunching in renewed irritation, "no doubt they're the ones who escaped through the Stargate. Dr. Jackson and the alien, Teal'c, must be the instigators." Crawford blinked, unsure of why he was being pinned by the Senator's cold stare. Surely Kinsey couldn't suspect him of being involved? Anxiety rippled up his spine, tightening across the back of his skull. Should he say something? Should he- "Crawford, go back to Kinahhi. Explain what's happened, and apologize. No doubt Jackson is planning some sort of rescue attempt, and our allies must be forewarned."