A tiny fragment of systemry fell, and rattled against the hard floor.
The restraint was heavy, a thick band of gold around his forearm. Teal’c lifted it back into position, holding the arm where it had been as more footfalls sounded.
He listened closely. From the weight and speed of the steps he knew that two Jaffa warriors had entered the chamber. Both carried staff weapons. Neither had his helm raised. Both of them had been surprised by the shaking of the deck, and neither had quite recovered.
“Guard this man,” said Pa’Nakht. “I will discover the cause of this disturbance.”
“By your will.”
One of them men came around in front of Teal’c, his staff weapon open and aimed. The other was behind him. Teal’c watched the man in front for a few moments, knowing he didn’t have long, but needing to prepare. He closed his eyes, formed a mental map of the chamber; himself at the centre, the two Jaffa in their positions ahead and behind. Pa’Nakht outside, unaware of the partial failure of his restraint system.
Teal’c opened his eyes, and let his gaze flick to the piece of metal that had fallen from the frame.
The Jaffa in front of him followed his eyes, saw the fragment, and stooped to pick it up. “What is this?”
Teal’c slammed his arm down, the edge of the restraint band crashing with shattering force into the back of the warrior’s skull.
The man jerked horribly, a massive neural shock straightening his muscles at the instant of death. Teal’c’s hand, still on its pulverizing downward arc, closed around the staff weapon as it fell from the warrior’s grip. He jabbed it backwards, letting it slide between his fingers for an instant before catching it again around the control stud.
The weapon went off, the recoil almost taking it back out of Teal’c’s grip. There was an explosive, meaty impact from behind him, and the crashing of an armored body being blasted back against a wall.
The warrior in front of him hadn’t even hit the floor yet. As Teal’c raised the staff, the man who had once held it slumped, the last scraps of life shivering out of him.
Teal’c raised the staff, still held the wrong way round, and tilted it at the frame behind him. He hesitated, adjusted his aim a fraction, and fired.
The plasma bolt detonated at the point where the frame met the floor. Teal’c had judged that the power feed for the restraints would emerge there, and his guess was rewarded a second later when the metal bands dropped instantly away from him. He almost fell, the shift in weight and position stumbling him, then regained his balance and moved away.
The base of the frame was on fire, black smoke stinking up into the air.
The blast had scalded his back and legs, but the injuries could be easily endured. He flipped the staff around and caught it in firing position, just as Pa’Nakht stepped back through the door.
Teal’c fired. The ka’epta ducked aside, surprisingly nimble, the bolt shearing through his shoulder armor but not slowing him down. His slender, gloved hand darted out to his collection of devices, ranged along a curved metal table.
He snatched up the green stone artifact, swung it around under Teal’c’s arc of fire and towards his head. “Dream,” he said.
Teal’c felt something slide past his mind — an instant of unutterable beauty — but his reactions were already in control. He ripped the device from Pa’Nakht’s grip with his free hand and then swung the staff around in a blurring arc. The emitter slammed into the ka’epta’s mask, spinning him about.
The blade of the dream-maker was not sharp, but Teal’c was very strong. When he hammered it into the back of Pa’Nakht’s neck, between the back of his mask and the top of his shoulder armor, it went clean through him.
Pa’Nakht gave a choked sigh, and folded up. Teal’c let him fall. Perhaps, in his final moments, the man had experienced one of his own terrible, beautiful dreams, his life fluttering out in the face of some unimaginable ecstasy.
Or maybe he had just died. The result was the same.
Teal’c went to the door, and peered out into a black corridor. He heard running footsteps, but they were distant and going away from him. There was no-one in sight. He stepped out of the chamber and reached for the door control.
Then he paused, and found himself looking back into the circular room. The three bodies were quite still, and there was a small fire guttering at the base of the restraint frame. The glittering torture machine, with its insane array of limbs, was hunched against the curving wall.
Teal’c lifted the staff weapon, aimed it carefully, and began to fire into the chamber.
The plasma bolts it emitted were constrained in such a way that most of their power was released in violent, armor-shattering explosions. But they were also searingly hot. In Teal’c’s expert hands, the staff turned the interior of the chamber to an inferno in moments.
When he was sure everything within would be destroyed by the fire, Teal’c closed and locked the door. Pa’Nakht and his collection of dreadful artifacts would do no more harm.
Now that he was free, his first priority was to locate Major Carter. When he had last seen her, she was in the columned hall, on one of Neheb-Kau’s personal decks. He would have to begin searching for her there.
First, of course, he would have to determine both where the hall was, and in fact where he was. Amidst the throneship’s maze of oppressive, tomb-like corridors and chambers, it was difficult to get his bearings.
Teal’c began to make his way along the corridor, pacing carefully at first and then, when he realized that there was no-one in his immediate vicinity, at a steady trot.
He reached a junction, and paused. The three other corridors leading away looked almost identical, although one was shorter than the others. Teal’c chose that way, and had just started down the passageway when the deck jolted hard under him.
This was no mere shiver. Something had exerted a very sizeable force on the ship.
It felt as though the jolt had originated from within the vessel.
He set off again, noting the way that the lights were starting to flicker and dim around him. This confirmed his intuitions somewhat, and also caused his pace to increase. Internal damage to a starship was never good news for those within. When that damage was enough to cause the power to fluctuate, and set off measureable vibrations in the decks, then the situation was truly one to be feared.
He rounded another corner, and almost ran into a group of slaves.
They were just emerging from a doorway. Teal’c counted six of them, four men and two women, their heads shaved and their bodies almost naked. It seemed that Neheb-Kau enjoyed not just the worship of his subjugates, but also their degradation.
The sight of them tore at him. For their part, the fact that he was still dressed in his battered civilian outfit seemed to offer them no comfort. It was not a surprise. No matter how he was dressed, he was an armed Jaffa, and to be feared.
And feared he was. The group dropped, as one, to their knees.
“Rise,” he told them. “And quickly. You are in great danger.”
“My Lord,” a woman whispered, not looking up. “What is your will?”
“I am no-one’s Lord,” he replied. “This vessel has suffered great damage. It would be wise to seek a place of safety.”
The slaves looked at each other nervously. “I… I do not understand,” the woman said.
“Listen to me. If you wish to live, go to the glider bays. Find a ship and leave this vessel.”
The woman glanced nervously back at her companions. “My Lord, none of us can fly.”
“Then find someone who can.” He stepped past her, then paused. “What deck number is this?”
“Forty-two, my Lord.”
“Thank you. Now go, and heed no-one else.” He tipped his head to her, in deference. “Follow your own will.”
Once he knew what deck he was on, finding his way to the columned hall was not hard. For all its funereal décor, like most Goa’uld technology the throneship wa
s basically a standard design, handed down and copied over hundreds of generations. It had been heavily modified, but even that could not alter its basic layout.
Before long, Teal’c had climbed up through the decks to the hall. He could have used a ring transporter and been whisked there in an instant, but the power fluctuations had been getting steadily worse over the past few minutes, and he no longer trusted the system to take him apart and put him back together in precisely the right order.
The gold-clad Royal Guards were gone when he got there. In fact, throughout his travels through the ship he had seen almost no-one, and been easily able to avoid any Jaffa he had encountered.
Perhaps most of the Jaffa on board had all been diverted to damage control duties. This was not a comforting thought.
He made his way into the hall, heading for the great golden doors at the end. The floor shook under him again when he was partway there, but this time the movement was followed by a distant, thunderous roar, and then a far stronger jolt than he had yet felt almost had him off his feet. The entire ship seemed to tilt. Several of the burning lanterns tipped from their stands, spilling their flames across the floor, and there was a hefty splitting noise from above Teal’c’s head. He ducked to the side as a coffin-sized slab of ceiling hinged down and exploded against the marble.
The ship was coming apart.
From behind him, he heard voices. He ducked behind the nearest pillar and waited, as running footfalls drew closer.
He peered around the column, just enough to see a handful of Royal Guard emerge from a passage behind the transporter platform. Two of them were carrying the cylinder from the Pit of Sorrows. They were intent on their burden, and he was able to ease back out of sight without being noticed.
He readied himself. If he fired as soon as he emerged, he would be able to take, two, perhaps three before he had to seek cover from their retaliation.
“Set it down, quickly. There is little time.”
That was the First Prime of Neheb-Kau. Teal’c recognized the voice, but the man sounded injured. His words were thick and strained. He had also spoken in English, which was puzzling. Unless…
Teal’c held his fire. A heartbeat later he head another, more familiar voice. “You don’t have to do this.”
It was Major Carter.
Teal’c felt a surge of relief, and of pride in his friend. She had not only survived the attentions of the Goa’uld, but had thrived.
“I have no choice,” the First Prime replied. “My master commands it.”
“Everyone has a choice, Kafra!” She sounded distraught.
“In your world, perhaps. Do not make the error of believing that everyone lives like you.”
The hallway shook again. More of the ceiling cracked away, falling with shattering impacts against the floor. Teal’c stepped from his hiding place. “Major Carter!”
“Teal’c!” He saw her shock, then her smile. She was standing in the centre of the transporter platform, supporting the First Prime with her shoulder. Then his view was blocked as the Royal Guard closed around them, their staff weapons leveled.
The First Prime pushed through. “Hold your fire,” he snapped. “Teal’c?”
“Correct. Release the woman.”
“She goes where my master wills. You are not under the same restraint. Find a secure location, and remain there.”
Light shone down around the group, and the transporter rings dropped to surround them in a cage of stone. Teal’c started towards them.
“Heed my words, Teal’c,” the First Prime called. “To stay in the open is death!”
The light surged, flooded upwards, and was gone.
Teal’c ran to the transporter. The rings started to lift again, but before he could reach them another blast hammered through the ship. He felt it through the deck, the walls, heard it shatter the ceiling and fracture the golden pillars. The lights flickered, dimmed, and finally failed altogether.
The transporter rings tumbled, unsupported. Teal’c dived aside as they crashed down, the lowest shattering under the weight of the others, the ones above tilting, sliding, toppling into a messy, broken heap of stone hoops and rubble.
The topmost ring crunched onto its side, rolled forlornly halfway down the hall, and then fell over.
In the darkness of the corridors beyond the wreckage, Teal’c could see fires burning. He got up. Finding his means of following Major Carter cut off at such a moment was distressing, but given the nature of his day so far, he could not say that he was surprised.
He turned, and sprinted down the hall. The golden doors were unpowered now, but he was able to push his way between them, forcing their weight aside and squeezing into the chamber beyond.
It was a throne room, gloomy and tomb-like, typical of Neheb-Kau’s morbid vanity. There was no-one in sight, just the empty throne on its stepped dais. And behind that, a vast viewport.
Teal’c ran to it, and saw in an instant how desperate his situation had become.
There was a world below him, a turgid black ball, featureless and forbidding. Its curve was huge in the viewport, a great slanted edge taking up three-quarters of the window. It was moving.
The throneship was no longer in a stable orbit.
Teal’c moved closer to the port and looked down. Below him, the outer structure of the Ha’tak stretched away, a sullen black in contrast to the core’s bright golden hull. Its surface was pocked with bright spots of fire, jets of flaming atmosphere gouting into the vacuum, and the edges closest to the planet were starting to glow an ugly, dull red.
Which meant that the shields were down, and the vessel was falling into the planet’s atmosphere.
As he watched, there was another jolt, but this was no explosion. The Ha’tak’s core had separated from its outer structure: the dark curve of the surrounding hull began to rise, slowly, towards the viewport.
Teal’c stepped back. He had seen enough. The throneship was doomed, and there was no means by which he or Major Carter could escape.
All he could do was to ride the core down to the planet’s surface, and hope that whoever had separated the two hulls still retained enough control to slow its descent. There were still explosions ripping through the golden tetrahedron’s decks, but if the secondary engines and their control matrix could be preserved, it might be possible for the ship not to turn itself into a disintegrating fireball on its way down.
For those within, however, even the journey itself could prove fatal. Flesh would always be weaker than metal.
Teal’c knew he needed to find himself somewhere to shelter if he was to live through the next few minutes. He turned from the viewport and headed for one of the throne room’s side doors.
There was a narrow, dark chamber behind it. Again, he was alone there, and nothing but a few scattered items of furniture inside offered any protection. If he stayed, he would probably be shaken to death as the ship came down.
Teal’c was about to leave again when he noticed what squatted in the gloom at the end of the chamber.
The sight of it filled him with loathing. For a long moment he actively considered simply leaving the place and taking his chances, and if Major Carter had not been aboard the throneship he might well have done. But he didn’t just have himself to think about. Sometimes, he reflected, survival was more important than honor.
And so, with an expression of considerable disgust on his face, Teal’c ran to Neheb-Kau’s open sarcophagus and climbed inside.
Chapter 19.
Old Friends
Jack O’Neill had no way of knowing for sure how much time had passed since he and Daniel had awoken in the utter darkness of Hera’s holding cell. Even without his watch it would have been easier had there been light to see by, but the cell had been disorientating. He had lost track of his senses there, of his heartbeats. After Hera, or her identical twin sister, had ended her humiliating visit and left them in the dark, it was possible that he might even have dozed.
They mus
t have been in the dark for quite a while, though. After it, the gleaming white corridors of the Clythena were painfully bright.
At least he was warmer now. His clothes, thoroughly emptied of any kind of equipment, had been piled next to him in the cell. Even so, he and Daniel found it a little difficult to meet each others’ gaze when they first emerged.
Hera’s Jaffa were waiting for them when they came out of the cell; two of the monstrous Minotaurs, along with a squad of bronze-armored hoplites. O’Neill squinted at them, his eyes watering from the light. “Hi guys. Long time no see.”
“The Goddess requires your presence,” one of the hoplites replied.
“Guess she found a use for us,” Daniel said. O’Neill grinned.
“Once you’ve had Jack, you never go back.”
The hoplite’s eyes narrowed behind the slit of his helm. “You will accompany me to the pel’tak. In silence.”
“Yeah, that might be a problem. I’m kind of a talkative guy.”
The nearest Minotaur rumbled, and took a step forwards. O’Neill found his nose almost touching its naked chest. He tipped his head back, slowly.
“Okay, I get it. No talking, or it’s the ‘arms out of the sockets’ thing again, right?”
“The Goddess was wrong. You are not completely without intellect.” The hoplite gestured towards the far end of the corridor. “Walk.”
O’Neill gave Daniel a sideways look, mimed drawing a zipper along his own lips, and set off into the light.
The control deck of Hera’s flagship was, even O’Neill had to admit, impressive. It was a broad, sweeping place, tiered and ramped, with floors of dark stone and control consoles of brass and white marble. Huge doric columns supported the ceiling, trimmed in shining gold, while the ceiling glowed softly, like a summer sky. It was airy and calm and open, not very much like a Goa’uld structure at all.
“Looks like a health spa,” said Daniel.
O’Neill looked around, at the tanned operators at their consoles, the muscular hoplites ranked at the walls and flanking every hatchway, at the silent, terrible Minotaurs. “Kinda. Maybe one of those orgy scenes in a bad gladiator movie.”
STARGATE SG-1: Oceans of Dust Page 27