The Cost of Honor

by Stargate

  Relief blanked his mind, and Crawford was obliged to answer simply with a nod. Schmooze with the Kinahhi? He could do that. Oh, he could certainly do that. Confidence renewed, he found his voice. "I shall make it clear where the blame lies, Senator."

  Kinsey grunted. "And offer any help they might need to capture Jackson and the alien - men, arms, anything. But," he raised a finger, wagging it like a school teacher, "tell the Kinahhi that Jackson and Teal'c are mine." The wagging finger curled into a fist. "And I will personally ensure that they never, ever make trouble for us again."

  "Yes, sir," Crawford agreed eagerly. It would be his pleasure to deliver the errant members of SG-1 into the Senator's hands and, with luck, that final gift would cement him forever to Kinsey's side. From there, the White House was only an election or two away. Vice President Crawford had a certain ring to it, but he had to confess President Crawford sounded better.

  All in good time, he reminded himself as he obediently left the room. Indeed, with the sheh jet on their side, it was simply a matter of time. He smiled as he headed toward his office to make the necessary preparations for his visit to Kinahhi. The future was looking bright, even if he was stuck in the dark, windowless entrails of Cheyenne Mountain. But not for much longer, not for much longer at all...

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  he last time they'd entered Tsapan it had been dark, the empty streets ghostly with shadows and the sounds of wind and crashing waves. This time, the creeping decay of the city was more visible and somehow more forbidding than the shadows of the night.

  Sam stepped with difficulty from the transport ship and out into the cold sea air, tangy with ocean salt. Heavy shackles chained her legs together, and she was glad of the thick boots that protected her ankles from their bite. The sun was low in the sky, glinting off peeling gold and refracting through shattered windows in tall, disused towers. Like a crumbling castle from a children's fairytale, with no happy ending in sight.

  "Could do with a coat of paint," the Colonel said as he jumped down and thudded onto the stone floor of the landing platform. The dark metal of his handcuffs clanked dully as he moved, and he shifted his wrists under their weight.

  Sam smiled slightly at the comment. He still had hope. She could see it, although their situation was growing more desperate by the moment. If they could just get away, Tsapan would provide a rabbit warren of hiding places. O'Neill was squinting up and around, most likely making the same assessment. But they were surrounded by wary and angry Kinahhi soldiers who'd give them no room to run. And then there were the shackles...

  The last to leave the ship was Commander Kenna. He studiously avoided looking at either herself or the Colonel, and moved instead to stand with his back to them. Waiting. For what, Sam didn't know, until she heard the rounded tramp of marching feet. The Commander had called for reinforcements. Not really surprising, given their antics on the shuttle. But with more troops coming to escort them, it cut down any chance - slim as it already was - of escape.

  "Carter?" The Colonel moved closer.

  "Sir?"

  His gaze was fixed on the stairs at the far side of the landing platform, where the sounds were growing louder. "blot looking good."

  "No, sir."

  He cast her a fleeting look. "You okay?"

  Not really, but that's not what he needed to hear. "We just need to give Daniel and Teal'c some time, sir. Hold out until the cavalry arrives."

  The first rank of soldiers came into view, in perfect step and armed to the teeth. "We have to resist," the Colonel ordered. "Whatever happens, Carter, we can't tell them anything about the SGC."

  "I know, sir." Although she suspected, as the Colonel must, that the Kinahhi had ways of extracting information way beyond their knowledge. The sheh fet was no toy.

  The soldiers - at least twenty - had crested the steps, and Commander Kenna strode forward to meet them. The stiff sea breeze whipped away the words Kenna spoke to his men, but three of them broke rank and headed into the transport - no doubt to retrieve their fallen comrade - while the rest surrounded herself and the Colonel.

  "Move out!" Commander Kenna barked. The heavy chains made it hard to walk, but the sharp jab of a weapon in her back kept Sam moving as fast as she could. The landing platform gave way to the wide stairway, flaring out at the bottom toward a shadowed plaza that might once have been beautiful. The remains of a dry fountain stood in the middle, stray rays of sunlight glinting on the ragged patches of gold leaf that clung to a crumbling statue at its center. It was a woman. Some consort of Baal's, perhaps?

  At her side, O'Neill was still scanning their surroundings. Assessing, remembering, planning. As if reading her mind, he quietly murmured, "We'll get out of this, Carter."

  She nodded. "Just like always, sir."

  "Getting old for you, Major?"

  She shook her head, and began to negotiate the stairs. "Better than the alternative, sir."

  That provoked a brief smile, but he said no more as the Kinahhi soldiers herded them down into the shadows of Baal's former palace, toward a fate Sam didn't dare imagine.

  The hum of the ship's engines was the only sound in the tel'tak as it streaked through the blur of hyperspace toward the distant world of the Kinahhi. Daniel stared blindly through the window, half-dozing in the co-pilot's seat. According to Teal'c, the journey would take about six hours - if the engines held out that long. Compared to the vast reaches of the galaxy, six hours represented little more than a hop, a skip and a jump, but to Daniel's mind, stretched thin with worry, it felt like an eternity.

  A lot could happen in six hours. Jack and Sam could already be dead. What else the Kinahhi might do to them, he refused to contemplate. His mind was clouded by brutal images - visions and sounds that echoed through his nightmares. It was a colorful enough palette to sketch any number of atrocities, and he refused to allow it free reign. He was doing all he could for his friends, and to torment himself with his imagination served no purpose at all. This, at least, was better than standing on his balcony, raging at the stars. But the waiting was intolerable, the waiting and the unknown. He shifted in his chair. "Teal'c-"

  "It is now three hours and fifty-four minutes until our arrival."

  "I was going to ask if you wanted to get some sleep."

  Teal'c turned, eyebrow rising. "There is still an hour left on my watch, Daniel Jackson."

  "I know," Daniel yawned. "But I can't sleep anyway, so you might as well."

  After a long, considered look, Teal'c nodded. "Very well." He rose, but before he left the cockpit he clasped Daniel's shoulder. The situation is grave," he said. "Yet I believe all will be well."

  Daniel didn't reply. Teal'c had demons of his own, yet he, at least, had never seen Jack O'Neill break at the hands of a monster. He'd never heard those screams, wretched and hopeless. He'd never been forced to watch, forbidden from interfering, until he could stand it no longer. Daniel didn't remember much from his time among the Ancients, but he did remember the agony of indecision, the weight of disapproval stacked against him.

  Their concerns are not ours, intercession is forbidden. Death is the fate of the unenlightened.

  Over and over...

  It had weighed like a millstone around his neck, every scream, every silent appeal in his friend's tortured eyes, dragging him deeper and deeper. Inaction had been impossible, simply impossible. Sometimes the rules had to be broken.

  Just like now. The thought that his friends were suffering, while he sat helplessly aboard the tel'tak, burned like an old wound reopened. Death is the fate of the unenlightened. He squirmed in his seat, and the minutes dripped by like water from a slowly leaking faucet. Intercession is forbidden. Screw that! He had to act. He had to do something, or he'd go crazy and-

  "Daniel Jackson?"

  Startled, he sucked in a breath. "Sorry, I, uh..." He sighed and pushed himself to his feet. "I'm okay. The sooner we get there the better."

  Teal'c bowed his head, the expression in his eyes i
ndicating that he understood more than he was revealing. "Indeed."

  The city of Tsapan, Jack figured out, was constructed in layers - the surface brightly lit with sunshine and the lower levels increasingly dark, gloomy and stinking of decay. They'd been walking for at least half an hour, always downward, the stairways growing narrower and slicker as they went. Rivulets of water seeped down the walls, cutting passages through the green slime that coated the roots of towers sprouting up all around them. How the Kinahhi found their way, he had no idea. The place was a labyrinth. And murky too. The sunlight, golden blades of light with little power and no heat, rarely reached these depths and the air was dank and chill. The sound of the ocean was closer too, and he guessed they had to be approaching the base of this floating city. How far, he wondered, was it from the sea? And how far was the coast? Swimming distance? He glanced down at his shackles and gave up that idea, at least for now.

  At his side, Carter tramped along in stoic silence. The sense of panic he'd seen in her earlier was gone, bottled up and replaced with a ruthless determination to survive. Not healthy, perhaps, but essential. If her experience in Baal's fortress still plagued her, she had it under control. So much the better. Dr. McKenzie could keep his head shrinking; there was nothing like a little action to clear the mind. If the debacle on the shuttle had done nothing else it had steadied Carter.

  A rough hand on his back nudged him to his left, toward another, narrower, set of stairs. Water trickled over the steps in a shallow stream, splashing like a rock garden waterfall. "Elevators out of order?" he said, to no one in particular. "You call maintenance, but they never come-"

  "You joke?" Commander Kenna asked from behind him.

  Surprised, Jack turned around. The Kinahhi officer was watching him curiously. There was still anger in his eyes, but it was tempered with something else. Indecision? Uncertainty? He's seen it before in the man's face. "Never say die."

  Kenna remained impassive. "Are you not afraid?"

  "That's not really the point, is it?"

  Kenna stepped closer. "Is it not?"

  "Well, you know what they say," Jack hedged. "Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway."

  A repressed snort of laughter from Carter undermined the gravitas of the moment. Kenna shot a look between them. "Do you mock me?"

  Carter shook her head. "No, I'm sorry." With a look, she urged Jack to say more. But what? Damn it, where was Daniel when you needed him? At his helpless shrug, Carter tentatively took over. "The Colonel's right, we believe that fear is not something to...fear. Right, sir?"

  "There is no courage without fear," Jack agreed, silently thanking Teal'c for the homily. After a moment he added, "You have nothing to fear, but fear itself" He glanced at Carter. "Got any others?"

  With a subtle roll of her eyes, she fixed her attention on Kenna. He recoiled slightly from her gaze, and Jack wondered what he saw to spook him. "Does that surprise you, Commander?" Carter asked curiously.

  Still not quite meeting Carter's gaze, the Commander said, "We prefer security here on Kinahhi. Safety, tranquility. And peace."

  Carter's face lit up with understanding, one of those moments that usually prompted a half hour of animated explanation. She glanced at Jack as if willing him to read her mind.

  Not a chance. "Major?"

  Instead of answering him, she turned back to Kenna. "The sheh fet makes you feel safe, doesn't it?"

  The Commander shook his head. "No, it keeps us safe, Major Carter. Without it... There are still those who peddle terror."

  "The dissidents," said Jack, failing to keep the anger from his voice. A dissident bomb blast had nearly buried Daniel under a ton of rubble, and had cost at least one mother the life of her child. He could still taste the dust-laden air, thick as grief in his lungs. And Councilor Quadesh, killed for his beliefs, an unwitting pawn of the Kinahhi Security Council. Everyone was afraid.

  Kenna acknowledged the point, but his attention was still focused on Carter. Carefully, he said, "Fear can be a formidable weapon."

  "Yes," she agreed, layering the word with meaning. All of a sudden, Jack had the horrible sensation that he was missing half the conversation.

  "Yet you are not afraid?" Kenna pressed, with a note of disbelief "The people of your world do not know fear?"

  Carter shook her head. "No, that's impossible. But we- When terror is used as a weapon, we believe that the only defense is to refuse to be afraid."

  "And you can accomplish this feat?" His gaze darted between them dubiously.

  "Not always, " Carter shrugged. "But we try. We find that when you let fear control you, you end up making some very bad decisions." A fleeting look at Jack told him where her mind had turned - toward the Jaffa on the roof of Baal's fortress. She shook the memory away, chin lifting. "Fear is an enemy of real peace."

  For an instant longer the Commander held her gaze, then turned away sharply. "Fear is indeed an enemy of peace." He spoke in a voice loud enough to carry. "And on Kinahhi, we are fortunate to be shielded from those who would have us live in fear. The sheh fet protects us." He gestured to his men, all conversation with Carter apparently over. "Proceed."

  With nothing else said, Jack found himself prodded down the narrow staircase. He fell in at Carter's side, the steps allowing no more than two abreast and offering them a semblance of privacy. As they clanked slowly down the stairs, he murmured, "What was that all about?"

  She kept her eyes on the wet, slippery steps, but in a low, excited voice, said, "I think he was talking about more than the dissidents, sir. The way he was looking at me... I can't be sure, but I think when he said fear was used as a weapon he was talking about the Security Council."

  Hope beat a sudden tattoo in Jack's chest. "Are we talking about a little dissent of our own here, Carter?"

  She nodded. "It's possible, sir."

  It was a chink in the enemy armor. A small one, but better than nothing. If - and it was a big 'if'- they could convince the Commander to cross the line and help them... Jack had seen Teal'c do it many years ago, renouncing his god to fight for the freedom of his people. But the situation on Kinahhi was far less clear cut. Kenna might have as much to lose as Teal'c, but what did he have to gain?

  Jack considered the question as he descended into the cold depths of Tsapan, squinting up once to see the tops of the derelict towers closing over the last patch of blue sky. He shuddered as the shadows settled around him, damp and stale, and clung to Carter's words like a golden thread of hope.

  "Here," a soldier barked, stopping them outside a pair of large, industrial looking doors. Water ran freely down the alleyway in which they stood, seeping into Jack's boots.

  Carter shivered, whether from cold or fear he couldn't tell, and he edged half a step closer. "And they promised us a five star resort," he murmured. "There's not even an ocean view."

  Commander Kenna moved to stand in front of the doors. "Within is the sheh jet," he said, regarding them both intently. "What say you now?"

  Carter's chin jutted defiantly. "I say you'd better open the doors."

  You go girl! Jack met Kenna's surprised stare with a nonchalant shrug. "You heard her."

  Still watching them keenly, face alive with expectation, the Commander stepped aside. Behind him the massive iron doors swung open.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  eneral George Hammond had insisted on wearing his uniform, as neatly pressed as it had been every day of his four decades in the service, when he was escorted back into Cheyenne Mountain. He could only guess at the reason for his summons; Major Lee had been silent on the subject when he'd called at the General's house that morning. But Hammond suspected it had something to do with the escape - successful, he hoped - of Dr. Jackson and Teal'c.

  Now he stood inside an elevator as it fell rapidly through the heart of the mountain, his hands folded behind his back and keeping a resolute silence. Until he knew for certain that his team had gotten away, the less he said the better. The elevator slowed, then stopped, and t
he doors opened onto the familiar corridors of the SGC. The scent in the air - a trace of ozone from the Stargate mixed with the institutional aroma of canteen food and polished boots - hit him with all the force of memory and he had to smother a sharp pang of regret. This place was no longer his home.

  With a nod, he indicated that Major Lee should lead the way. Hammond expected to be brought before Kinsey, but to his surprise the Major turned in the direction of Colonel O'Neill's office. He dared not hope that Jack had returned, and determinedly dismissed the thought. SG-1 were good, but not that good.

  Outside O'Neill's office, Major Lee stopped and knocked. Hammond noticed, with a wrench, that the Colonel's nameplate had been removed.

  Because you let Kinsey hand him over to the enemy, a little voice whispered.

  But he lied to me!

  And you didn't protect your people.

  I had no choice.

  Didn t you?

  There was no silencing his inner conflict. He'd been rehears ing it compulsively since the day Kinsey threw him out of the SGC, but it would be unwise to dwell on it now. There were other matters at hand. Nevertheless, the idea of anyone but O'Neill in that office felt like an affront, and Hammond found his hackles rising as an unfamiliar voice called out, "Come."

  Lee opened the door, standing aside as the General stepped into the room. The desk, usually a study in barely contained disorder, was neat and empty. Behind it sat a man Hammond didn't recognize, but the stars on his uniform revealed his identity. "General Woodburn?" Hammond couldn't mask his surprise. What was the man doing hiding in Colonel O'Neill's office?

  Woodburn didn't stand. "Leave us, Major," he said. A quiet click of the closing door was the only reply to his order as the General fixed a steady gaze on Hammond. Woodburn was a bluff looking man, wiry white hair streaked with gray, adding a touch of wildness to the pressed battle dress uniform he wore. A man of action, Hammond guessed immediately, uncomfortable behind a desk. This was no politician, and that gave him hope.