Stargate SG-1 30 - Insurrection

by Sally Malcolm

  Yuma’s patience began to wear thin. “No.”

  Hayden frowned and cleared his throat. “Alright. What about the president?”

  “I’m sure he has his own tea.”

  “That’s not… You know that’s not what I mean.”

  “Speak your mind, Officer. I’m busy and you didn’t make an appointment.”

  “What did Bailey have to say?”

  “First of all, that was classified and pertaining to planetary security. Secondly, I’m sure you know as well as I did what she had to say from where you were listening by the door.”

  Hayden tugged at his collar and sat forward in his chair. “Okay, if we’re cutting the crap, Yuma, then I’ll spell it out. What are you going to do about SG-1?”

  “You’re awfully quick to believe it’s actually them.”

  “Well, you believe it’s them, so that’s good enough for me. So what are you going to do about them? They’re dangerous.”

  Yuma almost smiled. Jed Hayden had a lot to learn about keeping his composure, but he could read a situation well. It was one of the reasons she had him working for her. “Not so dangerous as you might think.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Are you kidding me? Most of the CMF think they’re returned messiahs. You’ve got more eyes than me in town, Yuma. You must know the buzz. You’ve got the likes of Stan Jefferson ready to lead a charge on Earth if Jack O’Neill gave the word. With Roz Bailey on their side, that sort of dissent could blow up quickly. Bailey and Jones have been friends for a long time, and if she has the ear of the president… Well, if that’s not dangerous then I don’t know what is.”

  Yuma waited for him to finish, then stared at him until he fell back in his seat and looked away. “Jed, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer me as honestly as possible. That ok?” Hayden shrugged his agreement. “Alright then… Do you think I came through the gate yesterday?”

  “What? I don’t—”

  “It’s quite simple. I asked you if you thought I came through the gate yesterday. Because you clearly assume I have no understanding of how things work on my planet.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I’m well aware of the talk in Laketown and I have a full understanding of how volatile the situation could be if not controlled. But this thing will only blow if there’s a spark to light the fuse. Do you know what that spark would be?”

  “Of course. SG-1.”

  “That’s right, Jed. SG-1. And they’re not here anymore. Do you honestly think I’d have allowed Bailey’s mission to rescue Lana Jones to go ahead if I’d thought there was any possibility of success?” She didn’t have to explain her plan, of course, but Hayden was antsy, and nervous people often made mistakes. He needed to know that all that was required was a cool head here. “SG-1 will fail, they won’t come back, and Jefferson, Kiowa and the rest of their crew will finally see firsthand what the history books said all along—SG-1 are cowards who run.”

  Hayden scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. “But it’s Jones’s wife. It’s personal for him. Won’t he be willing to risk more?”

  It wasn’t that Hayden made a bad point. Indeed, if Gunnison Jones did find that his wife was alive and well, and that Jack O’Neill’s people were the ones who’d rescued her, then much of what Yuma had worked for would be disrupted. She wasn’t an idealist by any means, but the Arbellan way of life was one that had afforded her many opportunities, and she would not allow external factors to destroy it. Lucky then, that this was a consideration she’d already taken into account.

  “Exactly. It’s his wife. And when he realizes that the hope Bailey offered him was worthless, what do you think will happen to his opinion of the good general?”

  Hayden nodded, but then said, “What if they succeed?”

  “Jed, Earth is occupied by the Wraith. SG-1 is going up against an enemy that made even the Goa’uld turn tail. Do you honestly think they’ll win?”

  He returned her gaze. “They said they did before.” There was silence in which Yuma was almost certain she betrayed nothing of that small doubt inside that had already said the same thing.

  The radio at Hayden’s hip crackled into life suddenly and he jumped, pulling it free and toggling it on. “This is Hayden, go ahead.” A burst of static was the only reply. “Say again?” This time something that sounded like words could be heard through the noise. With a sigh, Hayden said, “I’ll have to go outside. Nothing ever gets through these walls.”

  “Don’t let me detain you,” replied Yuma as he left the room. She walked to the small stove to boil more water, but just as she was emptying the old tea from the pot, footsteps pounded up the stairs and the Hayden burst back into the office, his expression stricken.

  “It’s the gate room. They’ve had contact from Hecate’s ship. It’s SG-1 and they’ve found Lana Jones.”

  Chapter 3

  Earth — 2098

  Hecate’s ring transporter deposited them in the ruins of the SGC. Jack caught the uneasy look Carter gave him as they stepped away from the rings, her eyes darting around the gloomy walls before landing on Rya’c—or ‘Dix’ as he was known here.

  He’d accompanied them to ensure safe passage back to the surface, but it was the first time they’d been alone with the man since they’d found out the truth about Hecate, and Rya’c was one big knot of tension. “This way,” he said, without preamble, and led them in silence through Stargate Command’s shattered corridors.

  All around, there were people at work clearing rubble from what had been the gate room—men and women with Hecate’s mark on their forehead: a mark of resistance here, not slavery. It was difficult for Jack to adjust to the difference and to accept that Rya’c may have made the best choice after all. Maybe Dave Dixon had too, all those years ago. Trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea, what else could you do but build a raft?

  “These are the people you will need,” Rya’c said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “When Daniel and my father return from Arbella, these are the people who are already at war with the Wraith.”

  Keeping a watchful eye on the people around him, Jack couldn’t disagree. He remembered Hunter, up in the Shacks, and the other humans who fought for ‘Dix,’ and wondered what made the difference between those who cowered and those who took up arms and fought back. “You’ve trained them?” he said.

  “Yes, although in insurgency rather than outright battle. But they are eager to fight.”

  Jack didn’t doubt that, but it was another question that came to mind as they picked their way past the rubble. “Why did you come here?” he said. “After Earth fell, why did you come here?”

  Rya’c walked half a pace ahead of him, his back straight, and turned to look at Jack over his shoulder. “Where else would I go?” he said simply. “Apophis was my enemy and the Tau’ri were my friends—my father’s friends.”

  “Janet was your friend too,” Carter said on a low breath.

  Rya’c looked at her and a flinch twitched his face. “Yes she was. I knew it would be difficult for you to understand, but Hecate… She is different to the other Goa’uld. And perhaps that is because of Dr. Fraiser.”

  “The Goa’uld say that nothing of the host remains,” Carter reminded him. Jack didn’t miss the bitter flavor to her words.

  “I do not believe that is always so,” Rya’c said. “Neither did Colonel Dixon, or he would not have served her as he did.” He stopped, turning fully to face them, chin lifted. “You were not here when Apophis came, when the Wraith came. Do not judge us for what we have done to fight for your world—and for the future of this galaxy.”

  After a beat, Carter ducked her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. We can’t judge you for what you did then.”

  Although, the unspoken implication went, we can judge you for what you do now.

  Another uncomfortable silence fell. Jack cleared his throat. “You should get these people ready,” he sai
d. “If you tell them to rise up against the Wraith, they will.”

  “And I will do it,” he said, turning his eyes on Jack, “if I think you have a chance of winning.”

  “If?” Jack lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t think Hecate’s plan will work?”

  Rya’c’s expression flattened. “Ask me that question again, O’Neill, when you have returned with the hybrid, and when my father and Daniel have returned with the Arbellan army.”

  “Oh. So it’s us you don’t trust?”

  Walking on, Rya’c only said, “I will not argue with you, O’Neill. There is a long climb to the surface and you should save your breath.”

  At his side, Jack saw Carter swallow a smile at that, but he let it slide. Who was he to demand her respect now? In this screwed up future, she wasn’t his subordinate anymore; she was with him here out of choice. He tried not to think too closely about all the implications of that…

  They walked on in a silence broken only by the muted nods and words of greeting from Rya’c’s people. Jack felt their eyes tracking him and Carter, but didn’t feel threatened. They were suspicious, perhaps, but they trusted ‘Dix.’ That said a lot about the man as a leader, not that Jack was surprised; Rya’c was a chip off the old block and there was no one more worthy of trust and respect than Teal’c.

  It wasn’t much longer before Jack started to recognize the rubble-filled corridors through which they were walking, the scratch of red paint on the floor painfully familiar, and eventually Rya’c stopped at the base of the ladder that would take them to the surface. It was a long climb indeed and he gave a preemptive wince on behalf of his knees as he squinted up past the rusting rungs. He couldn’t even see a glimpse of light at the top. “They know we’re coming, right?”

  “They will be waiting,” Rya’c said.

  When Jack pulled his head back from inside the access hatch, he found Rya’c watching him with a steady gaze that reminded him too much of the boy’s father. “So I guess this is it,” Jack said.

  “For now. I am certain you will return.”

  “You betcha,” Jack said. Then, more seriously, “And so will Teal’c.”

  Rya’c shifted. “The people of Arbella can be… difficult.”

  “Well, if anyone can sweet talk them it’s Daniel.”

  Rya’c simply bowed his head. “I have every confidence in them.” After a pause, he added, “And in you. I hope—” He glanced at Carter. “I hope you feel the same about me. Though I serve Hecate, I am still the boy you once knew, O’Neill.”

  Jack had to swallow hard because suddenly there was something knotty in his throat. “I know,” he said, and pressed a hand to Rya’c’s shoulder. “And so does Teal’c, okay? This just—This isn’t the life he wanted for you when he rebelled.”

  “I understand,” Rya’c said. “But it is the life I have lived. I cannot regret it.”

  Jack just nodded, gave Rya’c’s shoulder one last squeeze, and said, “Carter? Let’s get climbing.”

  * * *

  “Master,” the human said, his head ducked as he stepped outside of the hive. “Stormfire would speak with you.”

  Quelling his irritation at the interruption, Sting turned away from Earthborn. “On what matter?”

  “There is something he wishes you to see,” the human said. “I believe it is—I believe it involves the Lantean.”

  Sting exchanged a look with his queen, hope and triumph bright in her mind.

  “I told you he would return!”

  Sting urged a note of caution. “Let us see what we shall see.” To the human, he said, “Take me to him. Is he… How is he, today?”

  The human met his eye, briefly. “It’s one of his better days.”

  In that brief exchange, Sting was started to see intelligence in the creature’s face that he had not noticed—had not thought to notice—before. The human, he realized with something akin to shame, was not so different to O’Neill. And, like O’Neill, he must have a name. It had never occurred to him to ask, or to care, what that name might be; the human was food, he was a slave. The notion was discomforting.

  Lost in his thoughts, Sting followed in silence as they made their way through the dying corridors to what remained of Stormfire’s laboratory. Already, much of the cleverman’s work had been put away, ready to be transported who knew where—somewhere away from the hive, although his half-formed plan of moving to the laboratories Shadow had created on Earth was no longer possible. They had nowhere to go, yet it would be more dangerous still to remain within the hive once it had died; the decomposition process would infect them all.

  Stormfire himself stood swaying against one of the benches, head bent over something in his hands. Tentative, Sting reached out with his mind, but the whorls of red fire and chaos that met him forced him back. He would not willingly touch such a mind, afraid of what it might do to his own. So, instead, he spoke aloud. “Stormfire, what is it you have found?”

  He turned with a grin stretching his thin lips. “Blood,” he said. “I can smell it.”

  Sting spared a glance for the human, who had retreated to the far side of the laboratory. He was packing away the Lantean objects Stormfire had collected, taking careful inventory and making notes as he did so. Clever, Sting thought. It occurred to him now, in a way it never had before, that this human who Stormfire had recruited may know more than Sting would like about the Lantean technology that was Stormfire’s obsession.

  It would behoove him to keep an eye on the human.

  “He is back,” Stormfire said, pressing something into Sting’s hands.

  Glancing down, he saw that the device was the same disk Stormfire shown him weeks before—when O’Neill had first escaped. Dark, with the gray-white lines favored by the Ancestors, it showed a map of the vicinity of the hive. And, within that map, blinked a single light. Sting raised his eyes to Stormfire. “This is him?”

  “He is below the mountain,” Stormfire said, “but moves closer.” He scraped a claw across the surface of the device. “Here, he has moved so far already.” He bared his teeth. “He is coming back to us.”

  Sting did not respond, though from the trajectory Stormfire indicated it seemed likely that O’Neill was indeed fulfilling his part of the bargain, as he had promised.

  “I told you we could trust him,” Earthborn said as she stepped into the laboratory.

  “You did,” Sting replied; he did not comment on whether or not he agreed. He had no doubt that O’Neill worked to his own agenda. He looked back down at the Ancestors’ device. “O’Neill will approach through the human encampment,” he said. “I will meet him and bring him here.”

  Earthborn lifted her head. “That place is not safe. Shadow’s blades patrol there.”

  “And we cannot risk O’Neill falling into their hands.”

  Her concern was palpable, beating between them like heat. Sting was aware that he should not feel it so readily—that it was, somehow, improper for him to intrude. Yet it could not be helped. Shadow had brought them to a place where all propriety had been abandoned, a place where she would pollute Wraith with the parasite-gods. There were many rules that did not apply here.

  “Take a dart,” Earthborn said. “Use the culling beam to—”

  “Shadow will see it immediately,” he countered, “and she will deploy her darts in response.” Then, between themselves alone, he said, “Do not fear for me, my queen. I shall be safe.”

  “It is not safe to go on foot, alone,” she said aloud. “The humans are restive in that place.”

  From behind him, Sting heard a noise and turned to see the human approach. Diffident as ever, he ducked his head and said, “Master, allow me to go in your place and meet O’Neill. I can travel unnoticed in the Shacks and I know the place well.”

  Sting bared his teeth. “And how likely is it that you will return to us?”

  The human—the man; he was a man—looked up at him and perhaps because of his new-found familiarity with human expressions Sti
ng saw something sharp and determined in his face. “You wish to leave this world,” he said and, though there was a tremor in his voice, he did not look afraid. “I wish to see you go. It’s in my interest to help you find a way to fly the Ancestors’ city and to leave us in peace.”

  Although he did not show it to the human, Sting was taken aback by the statement.

  Stormfire just laughed, his manic cackle loud in the laboratory. “Clever, clever creature,” he said and snatched the Lantean tracking device away from Sting and gave it to the human.

  At his side, he felt Earthborn draw closer. Her mind was amused, a frisson of delight that was unexpected as her gaze travelled over the man. “Those are brave words,” she said, “to speak before a queen.”

  The man said nothing, but neither did he cringe back. He simply watched them and waited for Earthborn’s verdict: death or trust. They were the only possible responses to such a speech.

  “We have already trusted O’Neill,” Earthborn said into his mind. “And this human speaks the truth; our objectives coincide.”

  “There are many ways he could betray us.”

  “Yes. But Shadow is enemy to us both.”

  She spoke wisdom and Sting could not deny it. Instead, he turned to the human. “How will you know O’Neill when you see him?”

  An expression Sting could not fully interpret crossed the man’s face—something deep-seated that lit his eyes bright. “I can use this to locate him in the camp,” he said, holding up the tracking device. “But when I find him, I will know his face. There are those who always believed Colonel Jack O’Neill would come back. And I was one of them.”

  Sting narrowed his eyes, as if by closer inspection he could ascertain what the man was thinking. But of course he could not; human minds were closed to him. “You will bring him to the edge of the encampment,” he said. “And no further. I will meet you there.”

  The man gave a bow of respect, as was proper. “Very well.”

  As he straightened, Sting stepped forward and curled his fingers into the man’s clothing, lifting him onto his toes. He flexed his feeding hand and made sure the human could see it. “You will not betray us.”