“Multiple rounds, great,” Daniel said, then paused. “Wait a minute. From what I know of this game, you could have taken the entire group.”
“Ah,” said Yu with a smile. “To mystify, mislead, and surprise the enemy is one of the first principles in war.”
Daniel was about to play another stone when he stopped short. A memory popped into his head. Actually, an entire slew of memories. A wave of dizziness hit him and he clutched his bowl, waiting for it to subside. Gasping for air, he said, “I think I recognize that quote. It’s from Sun Tzu’s Art of War. One of the most famous series of writings to come out of ancient China.”
Yu threw the captured stones into his bowl. “Is that what they call it now?”
“But the Art of War was written by Sun Tzu more than fifteen hundred years after you left Earth. Around 500 B.C., I believe. So it’s not possible that you knew him. Sun Tzu, I mean.”
Yu shrugged. “I am not familiar with the Tau’ri system of dates. Now… play. It is your turn.”
The pressure in Daniel’s head subsided though the mystery of Yu’s knowledge of Sun Tzu remained.
Picking up another stone, he remembered something else. Something much more recent. Jack had said something similar about misdirection when he’d acted like an ass, throwing MREs at Daniel while pushing him to shoot.
What was it he’d said afterward?
Trust me, the concept’s been around a lot longer than the Air Force.
For a brief moment, Daniel wondered if Jack might have read something as scholarly as the Art of War. Knowing how much his friend liked to keep hidden, Daniel didn’t rule it out.
Plunking down another stone, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he should have listened more closely to Jack’s advice.
If nothing else, it might have helped in this game against Lord Yu.
DESTINATION: YU’S HOMEWORLD
STATUS: SAR ON ROUTE VIA HYPERSPACE
SHIP TIME: N/A
02 JUL 03/2215 HRS BASE TIME
Preferring action to sitting on his hands, Jack raced toward the intersection, pushing the car as fast as his thumbs could fly. When the light turned yellow, he double-timed the trigger action. Fifty bucks rode on getting through before the light changed to red. The family’s pink sedan picked up speed, made the light and then rounded the corner. In the blink of an eye, he slammed right into the Springfield Dam.
“Colonel, would you mind shutting off the sound on your game?”
“Too noisy for you, Carter?”
“Sorry, sir. It’s not that I don’t love the Simpsons, but…”
“Gotcha.” Jack shut off the Gameboy and jumped up from the deck behind the center console. For a few moments, he just watched his second-in-command fly the cargo ship through the blue haze of hyperspace. Her reflection distorted off the port side window, exaggerating the tension in her jaw. Palms down on the red control globe, her shoulders rose up practically to her ears.
Tense was definitely the word of the day when it came to Carter.
“I’ve got Homer singing the blues on my iPod,” he offered. “Want me to try and rig it to the ship’s intercom?”
“That’s all right, sir. Teal’c and Bra’tac are resting in the stern compartment.” Carter’s head didn’t budge from its forward position as she reached left to tweak a knob on the navigation board. Her neck would snap if she kept this up.
“A little opera, maybe? Something to pass the time.”
“No, sir. I’m doing just fine.”
Like hell, she was.
Not that Jack was in any better shape, but he’d had practice shoving aside things he didn’t want to think about, like nasty images of Daniel in trouble… or worse.
Not going there, thank you.
“We’re getting Daniel back, Major.”
“Yes, sir,” Carter replied. To Jack’s ears, it sounded like an automatic response, but it would have to do for now.
“He’ll be home and ready to pester us with his latest translation of god knows what.”
He climbed into the navigator’s seat, the only other chair available in the cockpit. Why the Goa’uld would insist on dressing their cargo ships with elaborately engraved gold walls, fancy bulkheads, and high-tech gear, yet only provide two chairs was beyond him. Stretching his long frame out against the seat’s ample back, he flipped open the cover to his watch. “What’s our ETA, Major?”
“Same as it was last time you asked, sir. Only thirty minutes sooner. We should be there in about eight hours.”
Eight more hours of doing absolutely nothing. Wonderful. Years of jumping through a Stargate and ‘bam! You’re there’ made anything less feel like watching paint dry.
Carter slid her right palm clockwise, making a minor course adjustment. The ship shuddered briefly and then settled down again. She leaned back in her chair, her shoulders relaxing a bit. The glow from the control globe illuminated her face — and the god-damned com ball hanging from her jacket pocket.
Jack gestured toward the Goa’uld device. “I see Huang’s getting the bird’s eye view the whole way there.”
Carter shrugged. “I don’t see what other choice we have, sir. Not unless we want to renege on our agreement.”
“Twenty more hours of Huang peeking over our shoulder,” Jack said. “Maybe the guy will take a nap or something.”
Carter glanced at him and then back at the controls. She chewed her lip, a tell of hers that always let Jack know something was whirling about in that giant brain.
“Spill it.”
“How do we know Daniel’s all right?”
“Because if he wasn’t, he would’ve made a guest appearance by now, right here.”
When she raised an eyebrow, he wiggled his fingers in the air, a lame attempt to mock the great and powerful powers of Ascension. “We’d feel a breeze. The cockpit would get all glowy. Then we’d start hearing all about candlelight and meals cooked too long.”
Carter’s eyes got rounder than Jack thought possible. “You think Oma Desala would help Daniel re-ascend if Yu kills him?”
Crap. “He’s fine, Carter. At least your dad seems to think so.”
She nodded her head a few times and turned back to the task of flying the ship. Changing gears, Jack switched on the systems display. Goa’uld symbols danced across the top and bottom of the projected screen, showing ship status. What little he’d memorized of the snakehead language was enough to tell him the engines were running at maximum.
As he stared at the monitor, Teal’c and Bra’tac came forward from the aft compartment. Jack spun around in his chair to greet them. “Any way we can coax some more speed out of this barge?”
Bra’tac leaned in, switching the display to a diagram of the engine’s cylindrical core. A perpendicular cluster of green lines gyrated across the center of the schematic with one exception.
“There.” Bra’tac pointed to the schematic’s far right side. A solitary blue line hung right above the midlevel point. “If we can adjust the corresponding crystal, we might gain momentum.”
“Major, go with Bra’tac. See what you can do.” The break would do her good. Tooling around with engines was the Carter equivalent of playing with a Gameboy. Though either one was a lousy distraction, it was better than the alternative of slowly going nuts.
* * *
Teal’c slipped into the pilot seat, replacing Major Carter so that she might assist Bra’tac in the engine room. Palming the control globe, he nudged the chair back with his legs to allow for his height. Beside him, O’Neill gazed out the window, his eyes unfocused. Not wishing to disturb his Tau’ri brother’s thoughts, Teal’c settled in, appreciating the companionable silence between them.
Not surprisingly, O’Neill’s meditation lasted mere seconds. He pulled off his jacket and flung it on the back of his chair. “It’s too damn hot in here.”
Teal’c, who had put aside his jacket upon launch, merely nodded in agreement. Since his switch to tretonin, he was no longer at the mer
cies of a symbiote which preferred warmer temperatures. Indeed, as cooler temperatures had become his preference, he rarely wore a jacket unless required.
Unfortunately, the Goa’uld had built their cargo ships to coddle their symbiotes. There was no means by which to lower the interior’s temperature.
Free of his jacket, O’Neill rolled his shoulders and settled back into his chair once again. “How goes the study, Chief Master Sergeant Teal’c?”
“You refer to my education in Morse code?”
O’Neill graced him with a smile. “I do, indeed.”
“I have had little time to memorize the particulars. I do, however, believe I have learned the basics.”
“Let’s just see about that,” O’Neill said, rubbing his hands together. “We’ll start with an easy sentence. You ready?”
Teal’c nodded his assent.
“First word: Triple dash. Dot. Dash dot double dash.”
“Hey.” A simple Tau’ri phrase.
The whine of the ship’s engines changed to a slightly higher pitch. The heavy footsteps of Jaffa boots on the bridge deck announced Master Bra’tac’s return.
“We have succeeded in increasing acceleration.” He stepped between Teal’c and O’Neill and scanned the status display. “Major Carter has remained to ‘nurse’ the engines.”
“Good to hear,” O’Neill said. “Next up: Dash Dot. Dot double dash. Triple dot. Triple dash. Dot double dash. Triple dot. Double dot. Triple dot.”
“What is this dash and dot you speak of?” Bra’tac asked.
“Morse code,” O’Neill replied. “A bit of training to pass the time. Need me to repeat the last string, Teal’c?”
Teal’c shook his head, for it was unnecessary. He’d immediately recognized the word. It had been one of the first things he’d memorized, if for no other reason than to enjoy its obsolete purpose. Permitting himself a small grin, Teal’c translated, “Apophis.”
“Good job, Brother Teal’c.” O’Neill reached past Bra’tac and patted him on the back. “Here’s a tricky one: Double dash. Double dot. Double dash.”
Teal’c had not learned that particular combination. “Is that a letter in your alphabet I do not recognize?”
“It’s a comma. A grammatical mark.”
Bra’tac gruffly cleared his throat. Teal’c gazed up at his mentor, but only saw a face devoid of emotion. A signal he’d learned long ago meant Bra’tac’s disapproval.
O’Neill did not see the exchange. Edging forward in his seat, his face animated, he said, “Okay, two more short and sweet words. First one: Dash double dot. Double dot. Dash. Dot.”
A simple word. “Bite.”
Bra’tac crossed his arms, displeased.
“Last word: Double dash. Dot.”
“Me.”
O’Neill waved his hand with a flourish.
“Hey Apophis, bite me,” said Teal’c, stringing the words together.
“Bingo!” O’Neill grinned broadly.
“I fail to see the purpose in learning what one will never use,” Bra’tac said.
“We could just stare out the window,” O’Neill countered.
“Morse code cannot aid our fight against the Goa’uld.”
“Look, Bra’tac… Not everything in Teal’c’s life has to be about Jaffa freedom.”
“Yet you insist on teaching him that which has no use.”
The two men fell silent, for which Teal’c was grateful, though regrettably so. The Tau’ri rose from his chair and with a thin smile, gestured for Bra’tac to sit down.
“I’m going to go grab something eat, take a load off. Maybe sleep a bit.” Patting Teal’c’s shoulder once more, O’Neill departed for the aft compartment.
Bra’tac gazed out the front porthole. Although he said nothing, Teal’c could sense his frustration regarding O’Neill. His mentor and his friend respected each other’s prowess as warriors. Of this, he was certain. But they were both stubborn men, often set in their ways. Daniel Jackson often forced O’Neill to look beyond his own viewpoint, though he was not here to counsel Teal’c on how to do the same with Bra’tac.
The reminder of SG-1’s missing teammate revived Teal’c’s purpose. He cupped the control globe firmly, urging the cargo ship on through the night.
* * *
Sam climbed down from her bunk, unable to sleep. While the aft compartment’s dimmed lights left only a faint glow emanating from the bulkheads, she just couldn’t stop thinking about Daniel. Slinging on her boots, Sam decided the increased levels of oxygen pumping through life support were to blame.
That is, until she looked over at Teal’c and Bra’tac, both soundly asleep. The two Jaffa sat against the far starboard wall in matching poses. Eyes shut, legs crossed, arms loose at their sides. Sam smiled at the sight. Five months had passed since they’d made the switch to tretonin. They no longer had the need to meditate in a state of kelnorim, but from all appearances, it seemed neither of them had quite grasped the concept of lying down when one slept.
She slipped on her jacket and tiptoed out, making a stop at the head. Sliding the door shut, Sam shuffled over to the sink to throw some water on her face. The central faucet was, not surprisingly, shaped like a serpent’s head, with jewel encrusted valves on each side. The whole bathroom was pretty much an explosion in gaudiness though Sam supposed that by Goa’uld standards, it ran on the small side. The sunken tub at the rear was only big enough for a System Lord and maybe two or three of his or her attendants. It was odd that the Tok’ra hadn’t ripped the thing out yet, considering their preference for austere living.
Sam briefly looked for a towel, quickly giving up the search. Drying her face on her jacket sleeve, she took care not to get any water on the com ball hanging from her left pocket. The thing was a nuisance, but if getting Daniel back without having to announce the Stargate program to the world meant living with the Chinese watching their every move, so be it.
Colonel O’Neill was at the helm when she entered the cockpit. He gave her a quick nod and returned his focus to piloting. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Not really, sir.” She stepped down onto the forward deck. With the ship’s lights dimmed, their current hyperspace window reflected along the blackwood floor. Hot blues, deep purples, the striated strands of light oscillated toward the higher end of the visual spectrum.
The lights reminded her of fireworks, and the fourth of July. “You think we’ll be home in time for the holiday?”
The colonel shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
“That would be — ”
“All we need to do is land this thing, get past a ton of Jaffa, get through a force-field wonky enough to be fooled by a piece of jewelry, and oh, yeah, I almost forgot — ”
“Sir, it’s not that big a deal if we don’t get home by the fourth… just as long as we bring Daniel with us.”
“Yeah,” he said softly.
The cockpit fell silent, the only sounds the occasional ping from the sonar as it searched for any other ships in the vicinity. So far, they’d been lucky. They’d yet to come across anyone else out here at the far other end of the galaxy.
Sam sank down into the navigator’s chair and rested her head against its high back. She glimpsed at the colonel, at the shadows under his eyes and the deepened lines on his face, and could tell right off the bat that he hadn’t slept much, either. Undoubtedly, he blamed himself for how Daniel became separated from everyone else on P3Y-702. No one, not Teal’c, not General Hammond, not even she would be able to convince him otherwise.
His dark eyes slid in her direction and then back to the view out the wide windows. “You know what, Major?”
“Sir?”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “It is a big deal. The Goa’uld want us to miss July 4th. The very idea of celebrating independence, eating hot dogs, and slugging back root beers. Listening to god-awful high school bands as they march down Main Street. The whole thing probably makes their snakehead brains curdle.”
After a few moments passed, the colonel asked, “You ever get tired of this?”
“Tired of flying?”
“I mean tired of the lousy hours, crappy food.” His voice lowered. “Losing friends, allies… the people who matter.”
Sam turned toward him, a bit surprised to hear doubt from a man who put optimism in the O of his own name. “You said it yourself, Colonel. We’re going to get Daniel back.”
He graced her with a grin… until his eyes dropped to her jacket. His features hardened as he resumed looking at the bow window. “That thing’s been on the entire time you were up here, hasn’t it?”
Without thinking, her hand covered the ball. “Sorry, sir.”
“Sorry, nothing,” the colonel growled. “Get it out of here. I don’t need candid camera watching me twenty-four/seven.”
Sam considered reminding Colonel O’Neill of their orders, but decided against it. He knew well enough what was at stake.
“I mean it, Major.” He jabbed a finger toward the ball.
“It’s the middle of the night back at base, sir, I — ”
“Don’t come near me with that thing until we’re landfall. Even then, keep it as far away as possible. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, fighting the urge to snap off a salute.
“Dismissed, then.”
Sam headed aft, as fast as her boots could take her. She was a grownup; she knew not to take the colonel’s sudden gruffness personally. But as she passed by the head, it took a good bit of discipline not to slip inside and flush the damn com ball down the toilet.
She climbed back on to her bunk and flipped open her watch cover. Five more hours until they arrived.
Five more hours of doing absolutely nothing.
Chapter Seven
STARGATE COMMAND
STATUS: GATE OPERATIONS SUSPENDED
03 JUL 03/0600 HRS BASE TIME
George was greeted outside his office by Lieutenant Simmons with a much needed cup of coffee in hand. “Ambassador Huang is waiting for you in the briefing room, sir.”
SG1-16 Four Dragons Page 11