by Stargate
Holy crap. There was no question where this was going. Daniel was staring wide-eyed, Teal'c simply raised an eyebrow as if to say `been there, done that, bought the Goa'uld T-shirt.' "You planted a bomb," Jack guessed.
Kenna nodded. "The intention was to demonstrate that a threat still existed, that it was foolish to dismantle the very thing that had secured our safety."
"But... ?"
"It was too successful." His eyes flickered shut for a moment, as if he'd been struck by a sudden, unpleasant memory. "All protest died down. And thus, I am ashamed to say, such `events' came to be considered an essential aspect of our security policy."
All protest died down? So Quadesh had been working for Damaris when he'd given Jack the plans. There were no dissidents; the whole thing had been a setup... They'd been taken for a ride from the very beginning!
Daniel was shaking his head in disbelief. "You're kidding me? You terrorize your own people, to keep them safe from terrorism? That's insane! That's... That's-"
"By the time I was sure of my beliefs, protest was impossible. Anyone who dares to question the Council is pronounced a dissident by the Kaw'ree - and sent to Tsapan. I learned to keep my thoughts to myself. For the sake of Esaum, my son."
"Tell me something," Jack interrupted. "That day in your gateroom, when the bomb went off and a bunch of your guys died. Did you plant that too?" Was he that cold-hearted? That desperate to save his son?
Kenna's face hardened. "I did not. Councilor Quadesh acted without my knowledge. Had I known..." He shook his head. "The truth is, Colonel, had I known there was little I could have done for my men. They are not privy to the truth, and their 'sacrifice' is deemed necessary by the Security Council for the safety of our people."
"Isn't it always?" Jack grunted. "So what about Quadesh? Most politicians I know stay well behind enemy lines - they don't usually go blowing themselves up to prove a point."
"Ah..." Daniel said, "I guess I forgot to mention that he's not dead."
"Not dead?"
"Looks like they have a sarcophagus."
Jack fixed Kenna with a sharp look. "This true?"
"I do not recognize the name you use, but yes, there is a device that can restore life." He frowned, like a man at confession. "It is rarely used by any but the Kaw'ree; it seems that repeated use has adverse affects. However the Kaw'ree use it to prolong the life of those in the sheh fet. If that can be called life."
Jack felt every muscle tighten in revulsion. White agonizing dawn, over and over and over... Except this was worse. To be trapped in that stinking hell forever, to die there and then come back again. Over and Over. Oh God. Carter...
"Unbelievable," Daniel was muttering, shaking his head. "This is just unbelievable. It's insane, it's like Orwell gone mad!"
"I do not find it so incredible," Teal'c replied. "Have we not witnessed the beginnings of such a situation on Earth?"
Jack's stomach lurched. "Kinsey."
Teal'c inclined his head. "Such tactics are not beyond him."
"No," Daniel agreed, tight-lipped. "No they're not."
Commander Kenna sighed. "Forgive me," he said, "but your Senator is a fool. The Kaw'ree will permit no one but themselves to control the Tauri sheh fet, and, by extension, your world. It has much wealth, and we have an ever-expanding population."
Daniel started pacing. "We have to get back. We have to tell them all of this! Commander, if you come with us they'll have to believe you and-"
"I cannot!" Kenna recoiled, horrified at the suggestion. "My son... They would kill him." He glanced at Jack. "Or worse."
He knew exactly what that meant. Doom the kid to the same fate as Carter. She is dead! Her mind is gone, she's just a husk, an empty, rotting His throat constricted, painfully tight. Not now. Time for that later. Or maybe not. Some things were best left undisturbed, buried forever. "Do you have a ship?" he asked roughly.
"You mean," Kenna waved toward the ceiling, "a transport? Or a boat?"
"A transport," Jack clarified. The only boats he liked were of the fishing variety.
"I do," Kenna replied, cautious now. "But I cannot allow you to take it."
"You're not exactly in a position to stop us."
Kenna flinched, as if to say, What about my son? If you steal it, you condemn him...
Jack ignored the awkward question in favor of pragmatism. "How fast does it go? Faster than light?"
"I am unsure of your meaning. It is a transport. It will take you back to Kinahhi, or Tsapan, but it cannot take you to your world. We have no vehicles capable of traveling to the stars."
"None?"
A slight twitch of triumph touched the man's face. "There is only one way off this planet, Colonel O'Neill - and that's through the Stargate."
In other words, it was impossible.
General Hammond stepped from the icy roller coaster ride of the wormhole into the Kinahhi gate-room. He was glad to find no welcoming committee; Councilor Damaris had sharp eyes, and he could not have preserved his anonymity for long. He tramped down the steps with the rest of his team, taking in the huge transparent shields and the cluster of Kinahhi soldiers who watched the `prisoners' as if they were vermin.
The blast doors at the apex of the room were sealed, glimmering pale blue until the wormhole fizzled out. They were alone, at the heart of enemy territory. In front of him, Colonel Dixon rolled his shoulders, readying himself His right hand hovered close to the `pocket' of his jumpsuit, ready to pull out a concealed zat. Hammond did the same, waiting for the two Kinahhi behind him to walk down the steps from the Stargate.
Two behind.
Two up front.
Three behind each of the shields.
Ten men, and twenty of his own. So far the odds were on their side. At least, as long as those blast doors remained closed. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he saw one of the gray-clad Kinahhi move toward the doors. Dixon tensed, Boyd already had his hand on his weapon. It was time.
For the SGC, Hammond thought, heart pounding. And SGI. "Now!"
At his order, all hell broke loose. His men snapped into action, zat blasts exploded like the Fourth of July over Travis Lake, turning the air blue and ripe with ozone. A couple of red energy blasts from the Kinahhi scorched into the walls, and Hammond heard one of his men cry out. But in moments - battle moments, that compressed and stretched time interminably - it was over.
"Dixon, secure the door," Hammond shouted. "Boyd," he turned to the young man, "I want all the C4 strapped to the DHD and ready to blow."
"Yes, sir." He didn't flinch from the order, although, like everybody else, he understood its implications. The Kinahhi would never again set foot on Earth. Whatever it cost Hammond's team.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
here is a way," Daniel said, stepping from the relative cool of the ruins into the heat beneath the frayed awning. Jack sat on the ground, chewing on a piece of hard Arxanti bread and staring at the Kinahhi soldiers who were being corralled - with more care than Daniel had expected - into a scrap of shade at the center of the settlement. He was brooding.
"A way to do what?"
"To get home. To find Sam."
Jack didn't reply, just took another bite of bread. He probably knew what Daniel was going to suggest, but to hell with it, he'd suggest it anyway. "They want to fight, Jack - they've been waiting decades for this chance."
You will lead us out of the desert. You cannot abandon us. I have seen it.
"They deserve the right. Look at this place, Jack! The Kinahhi keep them here like animals. Waiting for them to die, while the Kinahhi live like kings."
"They've got no weapons, they're not trained to fight."
Daniel moved closer, squatting down and forcing Jack look at him. "Then we give them weapons. Give them the Kinahhi weapons."
"Are you kidding?" Jack shook his head in disbelief "You're talking about starting a goddamn war."
"No," Daniel insisted. "The Kinahhi have already started the war. I'm just
talking about giving these guys a fighting chance." Daniel's choice of words was deliberate, and it hit the mark.
Jack flinched. "It's not the same."
"Isn't it? Don't they deserve a chance, Jack? To fight back?"
Pushing himself to his feet, Jack took a couple of steps away, then turned, waving the piece of bread like an accusing finger. "We don't take sides in other people's wars, Daniel. You know that never ends well."
"So we don't take sides." Daniel nodded toward the blistering midday sun, toward the Kinahhi soldiers hunkering in the shade. "Let me talk to them. Kenna can't be the only one with doubts, maybe some of them will join us. Join with the Arxanti, and we can start something here. We can start-"
"A war, Daniel. A war is the only thing we'll start."
"No. We can start building bridges," Daniel insisted, warming to the topic. "Start building some trust." Jack cast him a skeptical look, but beneath it Daniel saw a glimmer of that fundamental core of compassion and optimism that ran through Jack like a vein of gold. He wanted to believe. "Don't they deserve to be able to fight for their freedom?"
Jack hesitated. "You really think you can pull this off?"
"I can try. Jack, what other choice do we have? We need these people. We can't get home without help." Daniel paused, lowering his voice. "We can't find Sam without help. And there's no one else."
Looking away, Jack squinted into the bright glare beyond the awning. Weighing the odds. God knew it was a tough decision. To risk starting a war to save his team. To save Earth. How many lives would be lost, Kinahhi and Arxanti? How many families torn apart? And Jack would take them all on his shoulders; he'd wear them like sackcloth and ashes. Daniel sighed, staring down at his scuffed, sandy boots. If there were any other way, any other choice...
Jack moved, his mind made up. "Do it. Talk to them."
Daniel glanced up. He'd won his point, but looking at Jack's grave features it hardly felt like victory.
Commander Kenna stood on an alien world, or so it seemed. He had climbed to the top of a large pile of rubble, and sat staring out over the Mahr'bal shantytown. The sun, hotter here than in his homeland, baked the ground and beat down ferociously on his exposed head and neck.
Below him, he could see his men - those who had survived the madness of the night. They sat hunched together in a small, shaded space at the center of the settlement, watched by curious men, women, and children. These people, he suspected, had never seen a Kinahhi man before. Just as his own men had never seen the Mahr'bal.
And they were not so different. The Mahr'bal had somewhat darker skin and eyes as brown as sun-baked clay, but they talked and laughed and tousled the heads of their children. In fact, he mused, they bore a striking resemblance to the Tauri, mirroring their broader faces and stocky build. Less elegant than the Kinahhi, perhaps, but no monsters.
He watched as one of the Tauri - Daniel Jackson, he believed - came to join his men. A peacemaker? Jackson sat, cross-legged, and began to talk earnestly, his hands gesticulating. Around him, the spectators drew closer, listening intently while a number of Arxanti women, all carrying round trays, moved through the crowd toward the prisoners. They were offering them water. Kenna held his breath as he watched his Chief Officer hesitate; all his men would emulate Lahat. But at length he lifted a cup from the tray, sniffed at its contents, and took a sip. A slight smile touched his lips and he murmured words of thanks that were lost in the distance. The act was repeated by all his men, a glimpse of hope in this dark day. Perhaps, in some far future, his world would not be tyrannized by fear and suspicion. Perhaps the sheh fet could be torn down and his people could know peace and freedom.
Or perhaps those were merely the foolish daydreams of an old man who had traded in too many lies.
"They seem to be getting along." The dry voice was accented with a Tauri drawl. O'Neill.
Kenna didn't turn around. "They do. After last night I expected harsher treatment from the Mahr'bal."
A few stones skittered down the rubble pile as O'Neill moved closer and settled down next to him. The Colonel's head was covered roughly in some material of Mahr'bal creation, and one hand was lifted to shade his eyes from the sun. "You know, I don't think they knew what to expect last night either," he said. "This city might have belonged to their ancestors, but they don't know much about it."
"It must be very old," Kenna replied, surveying the vast sprawl of rubble.
"Ancient, in fact." O'Neill said the word with a wry twist of his lips that Kenna did not fully understand. The Colonel squinted out across the settlement. "It was here way before the Goa'uld showed up."
Kenna could quite believe it, looking at the ruins. "Our scholars dispute that," he said, without conviction. "But the Mahr'bal - the Arxanti - have always claimed this world belonged to them before the Kinahhi arrived." He was silent, allowing the dry desert wind to gust over his face, although it offered scant relief from the heat. "I believe," he said after a moment, "that my government has lied about many things. Not just the attacks by Mahr'bal dissidents."
O'Neill nodded, picked up a small stone and threw it at one of the distant walls. It hit the pale surface with a puff of dust and fell to the ground. "They lied to my people too," he said, choosing a second stone. "They set me up with the plans for the anti-gray device - Damaris set up the whole thing. Quadesh deserves a goddamn Emmy."
O'Neill's precise meaning was lost to Kenna, but he shared the Colonel's outrage. "I too was deceived. Five of my men died that day, by Quadesh's hand."
O'Neill tossed the stone into the air and caught it again. "The plans were designed to fail, did you know that?"
"So Damaris informed me." Kenna couldn't help but smile at the wry look on the man's weathered face. Like himself, Kenna realized, O'Neill did not always trust the men giving his orders. "You too have enemies among your leaders, Colonel. Your Senator Kinsey wished to be rid of you."
O'Neill threw his second stone, as accurate as a laser shot, knocking a hole in the crumbling wall. "Yeah. I bet he did." He paused, fingers scraping through the sand seeking another pebble. "Look," he said after a moment, "I'll be frank with you, Kenna. I need to get back home. I need to get to the Stargate."
Kenna shook his head. "Impossible. You could never penetrate the complex without assistance or-"
"Then help me!" All pretense at casual conversation fell away, and the man's alien eyes glittered angrily. "Help me."
"I cannot. My son-"
"We'll find your son." O'Neill said it with such conviction, such utter faith that Kenna almost believed him. "You can come with us, both of you."
Kenna looked away. Such honeyed words were difficult to resist, but the Tauri knew so little about Kinahhi and the power of the sheh fet. "You don't understand," he said. "We could never find him, never reach him before they knew we were coming. The sheh Yet-"
"Then we take that out first." O'Neill spat the words, lifting his arm to fling another stone at the ruins. It hit the wall with a sharp crack, sending a cascade of broken stone to the ground. "We blow the whole thing to hell. And everything-" He stopped, swallowing hard. "And everyone trapped in it." For an instant he was at sea, as if a sudden squall had knocked him off-course.
Kenna thought he knew why. "Including Major Carter?"
"Better than leaving her behind."
That was true. But what the man spoke of was impossible, incredible. To destroy the sheh fet? Kenna found his heart beginning to race, his palms tingling with the possibility of striking the blow he had believed to be decades away. To destroy the sheh fet and its power over Kinahhi... To free Esaum, to be able to bring his son home again! It was an intoxicating promise, but dangerous. So dangerous, he barely dared entertain the possibility. "You speak brave words, O'Neill, but you know little of Tsapan. It is well guarded, and-"
"I can do this," O'Neill insisted. "I can free your people. And mine."
A thrilling thought, but impossible. Or was it? "I cannot risk-
"Yes," O
'Neill insisted, rising angrily. "You can. You have to." All Kenna could see was O'Neill's silhouette, stark against the bright blue sky. He looked as immovable as rock, as intransigent as the desert. He held out a hand, as if to pull Kenna to his feet. "Help me. Help me free your people. Help me free your son."
The Commander stared at the offered hand, but did not move. Could he believe this man? Dared he place the life of his son in his hands? And yet... Had not O'Neill proven himself to be an intractable enemy, resourceful, unrelenting, and unstoppable? Had he not already done the impossible in escaping the sheh Yet unscathed? Kenna looked up, shading his eyes until he could see the man's intent face. Help me free your son. "What you intend," he told O'Neill at last, "is impossible."
The Colonel's eyes narrowed slightly, but otherwise he did not respond. Intransigent as the desert. He would never give up.
Re'ammin help me... Kenna grasped the man's hand. "But I have already seen you accomplish the impossible, O'Neill. If anyone can do this thing, then it is you."
With a nod O'Neill hauled him to his feet, seizing his other arm in a fervent grip. "We'll do it," the Colonel said fiercely, eyes hard. "We'll end this. For good."
It was impossible not to believe him.
Bill Crawford sat with his back to the wall, staring in numb horror at the scene playing out before him. Beneath the domed ceiling the rainbows were dying as dusk fell, and large, creeping shadows encroached from the edges of the room. But at its center, lit by a soft light of no visible source, sat Major Carter. She was strapped into some kind of alien chair, surrounded by the terrifying men in black robes. One of them had his hands pressed on either side of her head, rocking back and forth, mumbling like the freaks Crawford endured every night on the Metro.
He shivered and squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around his legs. Kinsey! You bastard, why haven't you gotten inc out of here?
But in his heart, he knew the answer. He was expendable. Not worth rocking the boat for one little diplomat - after all, he wasn't the first Ambassador to go MIA through the Stargate. They must have procedures for dealing with such unfortunate mishaps. Maybe he'd get a plaque. Here lies Bill Crawford, sucker. Rest in peace. Or pieces, more likely. He'd seen the silver-bladed knives the freaks in the robes carried, could imagine them raised high and plunging into his chest. He began to shake, swallowing nausea. Someone help me...