by Stargate
Far below, on Panotek’s green surface, a sudden flame blossomed.
“What was that?” said Martouf, leaping forward to the co-pilot’s chair. “Where did it come from?” Now he was checking the sensors too, fingers blurred with speed. “An explosion. Very large. Not in the village, but nearby. And I am picking up Goa’uld al-kesh! Three of them. Jacob, take us closer!”
He was already on it, swooping the tel’tac in a huge nose-dive towards Panotek—the village—Sam. “Martouf, what are you reading?”
“Nothing,” said Martouf, gaze fixed to the sensor display panels, his fingers still dancing. “Except—” He looked across, his normally tranquil face vivid with alarm. “—traces of naquadah-enhanced Goa’uld plasma weaponry. Jacob, this must be a—”
“Jacob! Jacob, can you read me? Jacob, are you there?” a breathless, desperate voice burst from the control console’s speakers. “Jacob, it’s Daniel, do you read me? Come in!”
Relief and terror flooded through him. Behind Daniel’s shouting were the sounds of men and women screaming, engines roaring, staff weapons firing.
He slammed the comm-button. “Daniel, it’s Jacob! What the hell is happening down there?”
The sound of Jacob’s voice was such a relief Daniel almost sobbed aloud as he crouched in the cornfield like a terrified mouse. Along the corn-rows on either side of him men, women and children ran screaming for their lives, chased by Jaffa with staff weapons and zat guns. The air was thick with choking smoke; the bastards had set the cornfield on fire to flush out their prey. He heard the electric whine of a zat-gun discharge two rows over, and the pained exclamation of the woman it struck. The thud as her fleeing body hit the ground.
“Daniel, for God’s sake answer me! What’s going on?”
There were Jaffa all around him now, thrashing through the corn crop, but he had to risk being overhead. Shoving himself amongst the stalks, rolling himself into a ball, he pressed the communicator against his lips and whispered, “Jacob, help! We’re under attack. Heru’ur’s Jaffa have stormed the village and blown up Hol’c’s palace. We’re being over-run!”
“Heru’ur?” said Jacob, incredulous. “Are you sure?”
He’d seen the Jaffas’ forehead brands. “Positive.”
“No, it can’t be, he and Yu have a treaty!”
“Well don’t look now but I’d say it’s been broken!” Daniel said as loudly as he dared. “Jacob, we can’t get captured, we’ll be recognized for sure! Come get us, quick!”
“Where’s Sam? Where’s Jack?”
“I have no idea!”
“Well, where are you?”
“Hiding in the cornfield!”
“What can you see from your position?”
“Lots and lots and lots of corn!”
“Can we ring you out of there?”
Oh, if only. “No—I don’t think so. Not without putting you in danger or getting me shot by a Jaffa.”
A moment’s pause, which lasted forever. “Okay, Daniel,” Jacob said. He sounded stressed. “Get the hell out of the cornfield. Find a secure location with a clear line of sight to the rest of the village then call me back and tell me what’s happening!”
“But Jacob—Jacob—”
No answer. Daniel stared at the communicator, some small detached part of his brain noticing that his hand was cut, and bleeding, and had developed an impressive tremor. It hurt a lot, too, but that was the least of his worries. He shoved the communicator back in his pocket.
Get the hell out.
Easier said than done. God. If only Teal’c was here.
Find a clear line of sight.
Yes, but where? The whole damned place was on a plain, where the hell could he go that would give him a decent view of the—
“Jaffa kree!” a loud voice bellowed way too close behind him. The sound of corn stalks smashing beneath way too many armored feet. More screaming. A child’s keening cry. “Jaffa rok’nor alcashla—tedek kree!”
No, no, not tedek, Daniel thought wildly. I’m tedek!
They were heading straight for him. Time to go.
He bounced to his feet and started running, blindly at first, caring only that it was ‘away’. Then his brain kicked in and he remembered the bath-house, the enormous drums holding the water that fed down into each bathing cubicle. If he managed to climb on top of those—they were tall—they’d give him good line of sight. He might even spot Jack, or Sam…
A dreadful wave of fear crashed through him.
Please God, let them be safe. Please God, don’t let them be captured.
Please God, don’t let me be captured…
With the Jaffa pounding behind him, with villagers still fleeing those Jaffa and the flames on either side, running in front of him, screaming and falling, with his ragged breaths searing like fire, he veered to the left and out of the cornfield, towards the village centre. As he ran he thought of Mikah. Of Sallah and her friends in the goat pasture. Of the little ones in the babyhouse. All of them so innocent, so vulnerable.
Please God, keep the children safe.
Gasping, heaving, he staggered free of the corn rows and into the open. He had to stop, he had no choice, he needed to get his bearings…
What he saw punched the air from his lungs like a sledgehammer: squatting on the grass between himself and the village was a Goa’uld al’kesh, heavily armed and four times larger than a tel’tac, easily; scores of Heru’ur’s Jaffa; and huge piles of villagers, unconscious, being picked up and slung into the ship like sides of slaughtered beef. More villagers, these ones conscious, being herded inside at the point of menacing staff weapons.
It was a raid. They were being rustled, like cattle.
He turned on his heel to run the other way, to find another route back to the bath-house. A huge Jaffa crashed out of the cornfield in front of him. He had time to gasp—turn back—
—and to fall, as a wicked close-range zat-blast caught him between the shoulder blades and catapulted him face-first into oblivion.
Boaz’s first thought as the enemy Jaffa stormed his village was of Mikah. He’d assigned his son to work in the poultry barns today—collecting, cleaning and grading the eggs, checking for sick or dead birds, feeding, sweeping. Mikah had offered to help Joseph—Jack—in the slaughterhouse but he’d forbidden that. Not only for the blood and the muck and the pathetic squeals of dying beasts, but because Mikah’s shining eyes looked upon the man with awe, and curiosity, and a growing respect.
While Jack looked at Mikah with… hunger.
So. It was a relationship he could not—would not—allow to fester. Let Joseph—Jack—breed himself another son, if a son was what he wanted.
Mikah belonged to him.
The enemy Jaffa were shouting. Shooting. Burning. As head man he should’ve thought of the villagers, called for calm, made sure they offered no resistance, discovered who was behind this terrible attack—
All he could think of was his precious son.
Breathless, terrified, Boaz ran for the poultry barns, evading capture, escaping the desperate clutches of men and women who howled to him for help.
“Mikah!” he called out, almost winded. “Mikah, where are you?”
His son stood at the entrance to the main barn. He held a basket. He was throwing eggs at an approaching enemy Jaffa.
“Mikah!” he shouted. “Mikah, no!”
“No more slaves, Papa!” Mikah shouted back. “No more hurting! Humans should be free!” He threw another egg; it burst yellow and dripping in the Jaffa’s face.
The Jaffa shot Mikah right in the heart.
“Mikah!” Boaz screamed as his little boy fell, eggs cascading from the basket to smash on the ground. He started running. The Jaffa turned and shot aga—
“We don’t dare contact Vorash,” said Martouf, as they hovered in their cloaked cargo ship above the slagged and smoking ruins of Hol’c’s palace. They’d counted twelve dead Jaffa in the charred forecourt; chances were the res
t had been incinerated inside the building, along with their human servants.
“I know,” Jacob agreed. “At this range they’re almost guaranteed to notice a subspace communication.” He punched the flight console, furious. “How the hell did this happen? We’ve got four—no, five—operatives inside Heru’ur’s circle of Goa’uld underlings. How the hell could this happen without us being warned?”
“I do not know,” said Martouf. “Jacob, I hope this attack does not presage another major conflict between Yu and Heru’ur. We cannot afford to lose more operatives.”
They’d lost three the last time these two Goa’uld had butted heads. One had been a very dear friend to Selmak; his symbiote’s grief had made Jacob ill for weeks.
“We should have a fly round,” he said, fretting. “See how many of Heru’ur’s Jaffa we’re up against.” See if we can find Sam, or Jack, or Daniel.
Oh, God. Sam.
“Is that wise?” said Martouf. “Should we not wait until Dr. Jackson gives us some idea of the attackers’ strength? With no defences but our speed and manoeuvrability—”
“It’s been ten minutes, Martouf, how long did you have in mind?”
“Control your emotions, Jacob,” Lantash snapped. “Do you really want to bump into an al’kesh as we ‘fly round’ cloaked but incapable of returning fire? There is more at stake here than the life of one human.”
He’s right,” said Selmak. Insensitive, but right. I know you’re worried. So am I. But we can’t help Sam now. We must wait to see what eventuates. With luck events will turn in our favor and we’ll be able to rescue her undetected.
Jacob nodded. I know, he acknowledged. “I know,” he said again, to Lantash. Then glared at the comm-console and muttered, as the fear knocked his heart into his ribs, “For God’s sake, Daniel. What are you doing? Call me!”
“It is unlikely Heru’ur’s Jaffa will return here. Perhaps we should assume a higher altitude,” suggested Martouf. “It will afford us a better line of sight.”
Of course it would. And he should’ve thought of that. Lantash was right: he was letting his emotions get in the way. With a grunt Jacob hit the controls, sending the tel’tac shooting hundreds of metres higher into the air.
The view was not reassuring.
Homes and workshops and crops on fire. Cows, goats and sheep milling hysterically through the village or lying in bloody heaps on the ground. A great flood of water from ruptured holding tanks on the roof of a partially flattened building. And people. Scores of them, running, doubtless screaming, some senseless in the mud, as Heru’ur’s Jaffa hunted them down, rounded them up, herded them towards an al’kesh landed directly in the village centre. Yu’s golden statue lay broken on its side.
How the hell did we let this happen?
His fingers itched to hit the comm-console. Call Daniel. Make sure he was okay. Find out where Sam was. Jack. Find out if they were safe or… But if Daniel was hiding, an incoming transmission might betray his position. He had no choice. He had to wait.
In the name of God and all that’s holy. How the hell did we let this happen?
The minute he saw the Goa’uld al’kesh uncloak and blow Hol’c and his minions to a fiery hell, O’Neill knew they were screwed. Had no idea what was happening, only that they were screwed. To the wall and without mercy.
He’d been working in the slaughterhouse. Not the assignment of his choice, not by a long shot, but one of the experienced slaughtermen had tripped that morning on his way to firstmeal and sprained his wrist.
Slaughtering stock wasn’t a job for everyone. A certain knack was involved, and a strong stomach, and an ability to kill swiftly with a measure of rough kindness. Boaz had looked at him, his eyes full of questions and challenge. O’Neill nodded, knowing he had no choice.
“Joseph shall take Filip’s place in the slaughterhouse till he is healed,” Boaz pronounced, as he assigned the day’s tasks. “Joseph is a skilled slaughterman, with much experience in killing.”
And wasn’t that the perfect double-edged compliment.
He’d just finished jointing a goat when the cries of alarm from outside alerted him to disaster. Instinct had him slipping two of the smallest boning knives into the pocket of his bloodstained leather apron before he abandoned his business with the unfortunate goat and went to see what the trouble was.
The sound of Hol’c’s palace exploding into smithereens almost burst his eardrums. The sight of the uncloaked al’kesh sent him sprinting for the babyhouse, and Carter.
He never reached her.
Another al’kesh uncloaked right in front of him. He tried to spin, to run. His knee howled a protest and buckled, surrendering… and he was smashed from behind with the butt of a staff weapon. Time passed in a kaleidoscope of shouting, crying, the familiar clank-clank of Jaffa armor. Dazed, he felt someone grab him by the wrists. Drag him across the ground, to the ship’s lowered loading ramp. There were already villagers crammed inside it, unconscious or weeping or silent with fear. He was dumped on top of someone else and kicked in the guts for good measure. Retching, head spinning, he rolled off his human mattress and tried to see what was going on. Tried to get to his feet, grope for a knife, kill at least one Jaffa bastard before they killed him…
Another staff weapon struck his head. As reality receded, and with it his wits, he remembered Jacob sitting safely invisible above them and his Tok’ra communicator, just as safe in his bitty bag on the bed.
Dammit it, Jack, he thought, despair like a tidal wave rising, rising. You should’ve let Teal’c come. Then, Daniel. And lastly, Sam.
From a long way away, he heard Alar laughing.
Oh, God, oh, God, the babies were crying. “Run faster, Berez!” Sam gasped. There was an al’kesh on the ground behind them, and way too many Jaffa. “Run faster, Qualah!”
“What’s happening, what’s happening?” Qualah wailed, the stupid woman, when she needed her air for getting away.
“I don’t know! Shut up and run!”
Three babies between them, heavy as hell. Somehow the Jaffa hadn’t caught them when they’d caught nearly everyone else. Sam risked a backwards glance. No, they were still unchased. It was a miracle. God, where was the colonel? Where was Daniel? Boaz? Mikah? What the hell was happening?
They reached the rear door of Boaz’s house, flung themselves inside and kicked the door shut after. One awful, heart-stopping moment, thinking are there Jaffa in here waiting?
They were alone. She thrust the baby she’d grabbed at Berez, dashed into the bedroom and snatched her Tok’ra communicator from her bitty bag. She nearly broke it in half, turning it on.
“Dad! Dad, are you there? Dad, come in!”
“Sam? Sam! Oh, thank God. Where are you?”
She fell against the bedroom’s doorframe, shaking so hard she nearly dropped the damned communicator. Berez and Qualah were staring, terrified, but she didn’t have time to care.
“In Boaz’s house. Dad, get us out of here! We’re under attack!”
“I know. I’m coming. Leave this link open, we’ll home in on your signal. How many with you?”
“Two women, three babies.”
“Jack and Daniel?”
She flinched. “I don’t know. Dad, hurry. We don’t have long, the Jaffa are bound to find us!”
“On my way, sweetheart. Hang tight.”
She shoved the communicator into her pocket and turned to the staring women. “Keep hold of the babies. Get to the back door. In a moment we’re going outside so someone can take us to safety.”
“Who are you?” demanded Qualah. “Where do you come from? Are you a traitor to our Lord Chou—”
“Be quiet, Qualah!” Berez shouted. “What does it matter who she is? She’s taking us to safety!”
God bless Berez. Nice to know she’d been right about the woman. In her pocket, the communicator shrilled. “Sam! Get outside! There are Jaffa all around you, we’ll be coming in hot!”
Jaffa all around them? G
od. I want Teal’c.
She hustled the women and babies to the house’s back door and flung it open. Practically shoved them through it and into the open, to see six Jaffa with staff weapons and zat-guns at the ready. The tallest one shouted. “Halt, humans! You are now the property of our god Heru’ur!”
What the hell? Heru’ur? Sam pushed the women behind her, the babies in their arms screaming blue bloody murder. She didn’t have time to care about them either, poor little mites.
“Stay close to me, you two,” she hissed at Berez and Qualah. “Any second—any second—”
She looked to the sky. A roar, a ripple, and there was her father, she could see him through the tel’tac viewport. Heru’ur’s Jaffa stopped, spiked to the ground with amazement. Giving them the spare seconds they needed.
The rings rushed down with a glorious whoosh. Blue-white light. The bizarre sensation of being, and not being, within the same heartbeat.
Then reality returned and they were safe in the tel’tac and her father was shouting, “Go! Go! Go!”
She could hear staff weapon blasts impacting on the shields as they screamed away into the empty sky.
“Sam!”
It was her wonderful father. She threw her arms around him, felt his arms close hard around her.
“Thanks, Dad,” she whispered. “Great timing. Now let’s go get the guys.”
He loosened his suffocating grip and held her at arm’s length. His expression was anguished. “We can’t, Sam. I have no idea where they are and I can’t risk this ship against that much Jaffa firepower. I’m sorry.”
She felt her throat close, and had to wait a moment before she could speak. “Dad, we can’t leave them down there! Daniel was in the cornfield, the colonel was in the slaughterhouse. Please. We have to go back.”
His hand cupped her cheek. His eyes were dark. Sorrowful. “Listen to me, Sam,” he said, his voice low, the bearer of bad tidings. “I managed to raise Daniel on his communicator. He was going to find a better vantage point and call me back but it’s been over twenty minutes and we’ve had no word. It’s a good bet he’s already captured. Jack, too. There’s no way you, me and Martouf on our own can stage a rescue. Not in an unarmed tel’tac.”