That girl likely as not meant Carter. "When exactly was that?"
"About ten hours ago."
"What?'
"When you first came round you turned a little rambunctious. They made you drink some sort of draught."
He had absolutely no recollection of anything beyond sniffing horse flank and figured he must have forgotten to mention that he had issues with the drugged-out-strapped-to-the-bed thing. And ships! He had issues with ships, too.
"My guess would be poppy seed. You were out for rather a long time." She sneezed, shivered a little, and added accusingly, "I was starting to worry."
"I'm fine," he muttered again, distractedly noting that it hadn't become any truer since the last time. A change of topic might be in order. "Are you okay? They hurt you?"
"The pillock who knocked you out thumped me on the noggin too, but not seriously. Mind you, he -"
"Professor?"
"Yes, duckie?"
"What's a pillock?"
"A plonker. Don't interrupt me! As I was saying, he told his chums not to kill us."
"He told them not to kill us?"
"Quite."
Jack finally gave up and eased back onto the pallet, experiencing the same murky sense of confusion he'd had yesterday, listening to Kandaulo in Hamilgart's patio. So the folks who'd allegedly massacred a shipload of people over a dispute on religious practice had gone through the trouble of abducting Kelly and him instead of killing them. And this was after he'd put a few of these guys out of commission. It didn't compute. He also needed to pee, but that didn't bother him nearly as much. Generally speaking, he had no problem playing the village idiot, but he preferred doing it on his terms rather than because he genuinely didn't get it. Confusion wasn't a viable tactical proposition.
Mr Ed seemed to share Jack's misgivings and snorted in his face.
"Can it, horsebreath!"
"He likes you," offered Kelly.
"Yeah, well, somebody has to..." Turning his head, he waited for the next wave of nausea, which miraculously didn't materialize. Lying down did help, although he had no intention of admitting it to Miss Marple. "They took the children?"
"I gather that was the point of attacking in the first place."
"Where are they?"
"Eight of them are in the forward hold here, and the little ones are on the other ship. They were drugged, too. Apparently these people are of the opinion that children should be seen but not heard." She stared at him. "I must say I agree."
He chose to ignore the dig. "Two ships?"
"Yes." Kelly nodded. "Two galleys. Small ones."
"Which tells us what?" groused Jack, profoundly averse to the notion of small in conjunction with eight or nine Beaufort ripping across the deck above.
"Think, duckie! Or do you only use your head to prop your ears apart? It tells us that they probably don't have battleships. If I were to stage a raid like this, I'd want a big, fast, armoured ship in the event of the injured party coming after me. Correct?" She smirked and proceeded to answer her own question. "Of course it is. Now, if they don't have battleships, why do you think that is?"
He was suffering flashbacks to fourth grade and that mealymouthed gargoyle of a teacher. Apply yourself, Jonathan!
"Come back, Daniel. All is forgiven," he grumbled under his breath. Aloud he said, "Because recent fluctuations on the Tyrean stock market have driven yacht prices through the roof?"
"Very good!" cried Kelly. If she weren't tied up, she'd clap her flippers like a performing seal. "They can't afford them. Coincidentally, most of our intrepid warriors double as oarsmen, which is another indicator that we're dealing with a relatively small guerrilla organisation rather than a nation state."
"We already know that. Kandaulo told us."
She snorted, startling Mr Ed. "Don't insult my intelligence! You weren't exactly subtle, you know? You don't trust that imitation wizard as far as you could throw him."
Ah. He'd have to work on this diplomacy thing some more - later. "Any idea of where we're going?"
Another snort. This time Mr Ed farted in protest against the constant invasion of his territory. The Professor graced him with a scowl and continued to pontificate. "The ships were moored in a derelict harbour. I'm not sure how far or in which direction from the temple, because I didn't wake up until we were nearly there. Once they had loaded the children and those nags, they left the cove due south, about twenty men to a ship."
Some useful information at last, though it wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. Not quite as hopeless as being thrown off-wormhole and somersaulting through the wrong Stargate and into an ice cave, but close. Come to think of it, Sam Carter putting a splint on his leg had been eminently preferable to Kelly watching him toss his cookies. For starters, the ice cave hadn't rolled, plus they'd had a means of communication for all the good that had done.
"Without my radio it'll be tricky..." he murmured. "Although Carter's got more rabbits in her cap than anyone else I know."
"The girl?"
"The theoretical astrophysicist. You just think you're smart. She is smart. But in case Carter can't track us down, we'll have to start thinking about making it back to Tyros on our own."
"And just how do you propose to do that? Spew the enemy into submission?"
Hey, it was a thought...
"Besides," Kelly prattled on, "in my humble opinion acts of piracy are a great deal easier to accomplish when one isn't chained to the floor. So do us both a favour, get some rest, and keep your Jolly Roger where I can't see it!"
Excuse me?
In all probability it was wisest not to follow up on that one. Miss Marple had a point, though; short of actually staying alive, there was absolutely nothing they could do about this mess before they reached dry land. If they reached dry land.
God, he hated sailing!
"It's SG-1's IDC," announced Sergeant Davis, a hint of a quaver in his voice.
George Hammond closed his eyes in resignation. SG-units 3 and 17 had just come back from a surprise run-in with a gang of Anubis' Jaffa, and the infirmary was packed to capacity.
"Open the iris," he said.
"Med team on standby, sir?"
"Easy on the defeatism, Sergeant."
While the gray panels of the iris scraped open, Hammond entertained himself by envisioning a scenario where, just for once, the premature return of his flagship team didn't herald trouble but merely the heartfelt desire of the rulers of P2X-whatever to wish him a belated Happy Thanksgiving. When Major Carter emerged from the event horizon under her own steam and without any visible damage, his spirits rose a little. Next he noticed the look on her face. This, combined with the fact that she was still her own when the wormhole collapsed, put paid to the Thanksgiving wishes.
The Major didn't wait for him to meet her. Swatting SFs from her path, she stormed through the blast doors and came barreling up the stairs to the control room, two steps at a time.
"Sir. Sergeant."
Bedraggled and soaking wet, with dark smudges under her eyes - dirt or exhaustion - she seemed to have been on the go for twenty-four hours straight, running all the way.
Hammond frowned. "Major, something tells me you didn't just drop in to see how we're doing."
"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir..." Petering out, she ran a wet hand over her face. The smudges stayed. Exhaustion, then. And something else. Fear. "Sir, with your permission, I'd like to stage a UAV search as soon -"
"Permission denied!"
"General, we've -"
"At least until I find out what makes you come barging into my base like your pants are on fire!"
"Yessir!"
She straightened up, the disciplined facade snapping back into place with a vengeance. The fact that it ever had been out of place told its own tale.
"Briefing room, Major."
"Yessir."
Not waiting for her to move, he made for the stairs. From the comer of his eye he noticed Walter Davis' face crease with worry. T
he Sergeant almost looked his age, and George Hammond wondered just what age he looked at this moment. Behind him Carter's footsteps dragged, from fatigue or guilt or both.
If anyone had told him seven years ago that an astrophysicist, a civilian linguist/archeologist, a former First Prime, and a pretend cynic with a penchant for artistic insubordination were to form the most close-knit, effective team he'd ever deployed, Major General Hammond would have called a shrink. But here they were, nearly seven years on, having saved good old Earth and a few other planets several times over, and along the way they'd all developed an uncanny knack for bouncing back. Hammond was very well aware that, given the line of work they were in, the bounce might just not be enough one of these days. Going by Major Carter's entrance, today could be the day. Then again, he'd thought that before.
Buoyed by a pinch of bogus optimism, the General scaled the last few steps to the briefing room. It was overheated, as usual, but in this instance he didn't mind. The infirmary was busy enough without Sam Carter catching the common cold.
"Have a seat, Major." Hammond sank into his usual chair at the head of the table.
She took off her backpack and sat across the corner from him. The sleeves of her BDU left moist smears on the polished tabletop, and the water dripping from her jacket gathered in puddles on the leather seat. Whoever had dreamed up this executive briefing room suite needed a reality check.
"Sir, we've lost Colonel O'Neill," she said without preamble.
"Lost Colonel O'Neill?" he shot back, hoping to hell this wasn't a euphemism.
"He's missing."
Missing, not dead. George Hammond let go of a breath he hadn't known he was holding, his gut-deep relief venting itself in irritation. "Of all the infuriating hobbies, did he have to take up this one?"
"Sir?"
"By my count it's the third time inside twelve months, Major."
Last time he'd leaped after Harry Maybourne through some sort of force field that promptly catapulted the Colonel to an unknown location and a vacation experience with a difference. It had taken them a month to find him. Jack had been retrieved with a great deal of luck and some help from the Tok'ra, nursing a skewered thigh and suffering from the aftereffects of a hallucinogenic that made LSD look like candy.
The time before had been worse. They'd ascertained his whereabouts fairly early on in the game, only to find that extraction was impossible. All they could do was organize a diversion and pray. It had worked, and he'd recognized the chance for what it was, escaped, and stumbled home a few days later, tired and wan and reticent. The clothes he'd worn had been shredded in odd places, but there'd been no physical evidence of what Baal had done to him, other than a ripe case of sarcophagus withdrawal. It spoke volumes; the only thing that did. To this day the General was convinced that Colonel O'Neill's so-called report contained as economical and sanitized a version of the truth as Jack had thought he could get away with.
I ended up rescuing an old gir~friend I'd never met before.
And then some, George Hammond reckoned. And then some...
And now this.
"What happened?" he asked.
No matter how exhausted or anxious, at least Major Carter could be counted on to deliver a succinct debrief, and thank Heaven for that. The story was convoluted enough, what with ghost ships, high priests, divine retribution, underage monks, and guerrillas in funny hats.
Halfway through the directly relevant part he interrupted her. "You're saying you... lost... Dr. Kelly as well?"
Sam Carter flushed, which finally put some color into her cheeks. "Yes, sir. She... uh... she disregarded orders and went to the temple on her own. It's no excuse, sir. I should have been aware that she'd try something like that."
Perhaps, but General Hammond had the distinct impression that, should Dr. Kelly decide on any specific course of action, there would be no stopping her. Having said that, he didn't exactly look forward to his upcoming conversation with the British Secretary of Defence.
Most frightfully sorry, old chap, but we've lost your representative. Sure you want her back?
"Teal'c and Dr. Jackson?"
"They're at Tyros. Daniel's trying to gather as much background information as he can, and Teal'c's there to smooth the waters with the Synod. The locals -"
"Think he's a spirit. Yeah, I got that," Hammond cut in, figuring that this had to be one of the most outlandish notions he'd ever come across, and he'd come across quite a few of those since being posted to this command.
"At the moment it's helpful, but we don't know how long it'll last," she admitted. "Sooner or later it'll turn into a problem. Kandaulo seems to feel that Teal'c threatens his position, so we'll have to make the most of it while we can."
The General nodded. "And there's no indication of Goa'uld presence? What about this Meleq? Could he be Goa'uld?"
"It's possible, sir, but we have no confirmation either way. Daniel says a girl he spoke to referred to the Stargate as the entrance to Meleq's realm. It could be a hint. If Meleq is a Goa'uld, he keeps an unusually low profile."
"Let's hope it stays that way. Carry on, Major."
"Teal'c tracked the Phrygians to an old harbor in a cove about three klicks west of the temple. He believes that four, maybe five, of them were on horseback and that the riders had Colonel O'Neill and Dr. Kelly, and also some of the older children. The smaller ones were carried on foot."
"A harbor?"
"Yes, sir. They got away by ship. Actually, we're guessing two ships."
"Major, oceans have a habit of being large. Very large. How in the blazes do you -"
"Have a look at this, sir."
She leaned sideways and fished for her backpack. When she got it, she pulled out what looked like a papyrus, unrolled it, and spread it on the table, careful to avoid the wet patches she'd left earlier. It showed a rugged shoreline stretching east to west, with a mountain range rising behind it.
"Hamilqart let me borrow this. It's a map of the coast and the offshore islands. Not exactly GPS accuracy, but good enough to work with. Relative distances pretty much pan out, and the scale is about 1:10.000." Sam Carter's right index finger stabbed a speck inland. "There's the temple precinct. And there" - the finger slipped further west - "is the harbor they used. Tyros is to the east of both, which is handy tactically. No risk of running into reinforcements coming from the city. If they are as clever as we think they are, they won't have sailed east, past Tyros, nor west, past Sidonia." She pointed at the blob that marked Sidonia. "In other words, the most likely course for them to take would have been south."
General Hammond dubiously stared at a profusion of tawny irregular shapes that littered the blue ground south of the coast. "Just how many islands are we talking about, Major?"
"Not all of them, sir." She was trying to sound upbeat and failed miserably. "Only about fifty."
"How many?"
"We've narrowed it down as much as we could."
The edges of her palms sectioned off a cone-shaped area opening towards the south. It showed considerably more than fifty islands, though some clearly too small to serve as a potential base for the kidnappers. A number of others were marked in delicate writing, which he couldn't decipher.
"What are those?"
"Tyrean colonies. Hamilgart pointed them out for me. He believes that the Phrygians are unlikely to hide on any of these. I'm inclined to agree. That leaves any uninhabited island of reasonable size and with some kind of natural harbor. I realize it's still a huge area, sir, but it's better than nothing."
Not by much, Hammond thought, and asked, "How do you want to proceed?"
"I'd like to stage the first UAV sortie as soon as I've computed a search grid, sir. Distances and flight conditions will be marginal, but when I left Tyros the storm was starting to blow over. If we get the jump on this, sir, we might be able to spot them while they're still at sea. It'd nail them there and then. The Tyreans are too scared of the wrath of Meleq to set sail in this kind of weath
er."
If, if, if... The air was thick with conditionals, but it wouldn't get any better than this, would it? The General gazed at Sam Carter's hands, still cupping that wedge of map, as though she were trying to contain something precious.
"I'll have this map, Major," he said at last. "Sergeants Davis and Siler can do the necessary. You go have a hot shower and at least six hours of sleep. That's an order."
"No!" The hands flipped down, pinning the map to the tabletop, and she added, "Sir."
"Major -"
"General, I know they're both more than qualified. But I'm faster. Plus, we won't have telemetry beyond thirty miles radius around the `gate. I'll have to preprogram search patterns and the recording sequence. Once I've done that I'll hand over to Davis and Siler and have my shower." She gave a wry grin. "I'll even try to sleep, as per your order. Please, sir."
She'd definitely hung around Jack O'Neill enough to pick up a slightly nonchalant attitude. On the other hand, George Hammond couldn't deny that she had a point. He smiled a little and rose.
"Alright, Major. You've got forty-five minutes. Then you're out of there until 1730 hours. Are we clear on this?"
"Yessir! Thanks, sir."
Before he could say anything else, Sam Carter jumped up, snatched the map, and was on her way to the control room.
The unmanned aerial vehicle zipped from the event horizon, climbing rapidly until it had reached operational height, and buzzed south towards the coast.
"Another one!" Hamilgart shouted excitedly, blinking in the rain, his eyes tracking the UAV for as far as he could see it.
Which was a pretty long way. On a clear day the grayish blue paint job on the device would have made it invisible from the ground, but beneath the overcast sky it stood out, a fast-moving, lighter blip. Not that anyone here had the wherewithal to shoot it down, even if they'd wanted to.
"Graceful like a crane," mused Hamilgart. For the moment he seemed to have forgotten that his son was missing, too.
The crane would plummet like a lead duck if it ran out of fuel, but Dr. Jackson decided not to disillusion their host. This was the third and last UAV sortie, and Hamilgart had greeted the previous one in similarly rhapsodic style. The guy's enthusiasm reminded Daniel of Jack, and in a roundabout, bleary-eyed kind of way that got him back to last night's weird dream and the unsatisfactory conversation that had followed.
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