The Drift

by Diane Dru Botsford

  “My mother taught me to always try. You sound like my father. Or at least, the one time I spoke with him. He didn’t believe in trying. He said one must simply do what needs to be done.” Weiyan Shi lay down, resting her head upon her clasped hands.

  “Your father sounds like he is a wise man.”

  “Was,” she mumbled. Her eyes closed.

  Teal’c followed suit. He dropped his chin toward his chest, breathed in, and —

  “Will General O’Neill be angry if I ask where you’re from?”

  He peered once more at this curious young woman and considered her question. In the end, the responsibility for her knowledge was her own, and given their current circumstances, it would be unjust not to give her at least some sense of the truth.

  “I am from Chulak.”

  Her eyes widened. “Chulak. Is that far from here?”

  “As we have no means of knowing where ‘here’ is, I can only say that it is far from Earth.”

  She coughed again, the sound worrisome. “You’re the first alien I’ve ever met.”

  “My ancestors were of Earth.”

  “Does that mean we’re related?”

  “I do not know.” Teal’c had never considered that possibility. If the Jaffa had indeed evolved from the Tau’ri, those who walked upon Earth now could be his distant kin. Was it possible that this was yet another reason for his affinity to O’Neill, Daniel Jackson and Samantha Carter? The idea gave him comfort.

  A sudden boom across the sky cast aside his musings. The sound was familiar, though certainly out of place. He bolted to his feet, listening. Dizziness threatened to overcome him, but he pushed it aside.

  “It wasn’t me,” Weiyan Shi said. “I am not angry. General O’Neill must have lost his — ”

  Teal’c shot up a fist to signal silence. Though short-lived, the sound reverberated across the valley, the vibrations rippling through the air long after the initial boom had dissipated. He strained to hear confirmation of what he feared.

  He did not have long to wait. A high-pitched whine, that of a ship slowing as it entered the upper atmosphere, emanated from the skies above. Moments later, a Goa’uld mothership appeared from behind the clouds and began its descent.

  “How is this possible?”

  “What is it?” Weiyan Shi cried out.

  “An enemy you should have no wish to meet. Can you run?” He grabbed her arm and lifted her up. The effort was difficult, but adrenaline now coursed through him, casting aside his fatigue. Another glimpse at the ship confirmed that it drew closer, no more than a half-mile away.

  “I — I will try.” Weiyan Shi stepped forward, stumbled, and fell to the ground.

  “No, Weiyan Shi. We will not try.” He swept her up into his arms. “We will do.”

  He ran to join the others.

  “Orders, sir?”

  Jack watched the Goa’uld mothership descend at break-neck speed, headed right toward them. At its current trajectory, it would set down smack between them and the building. Too close for comfort.

  “O’Neill!” Teal’c ran toward them, Weiyan slung over his shoulder. He set her down beside Carter. “We must take cover!”

  Too hard to believe.

  “Jack! Shouldn’t we do something?” Daniel jumped up from their little — and now insignificant — pile of granite letters.

  Too impossible.

  “General, we must hide!” pleaded Weiyan.

  “From what?” He yanked the Zippo out of his pocket. Flipped the lid back. Thumbed the wheel. The flame came to life. Nice and neat.

  Sunlight bounced off the incoming mothership’s black metallic hull. Its pyramidal edges looked sharp enough to cut anything in two as it entered the lower atmosphere.

  Jack waved a hand over the lighter’s flame. Nothing. Nada. Not even the littlest bit of heat. “Yeah, that tears it.” He snapped the lighter shut and exchanged a glance with Daniel.

  “You do not believe it is real,” Teal’c observed.

  Jack stuck the lighter back in his pocket. “I think that’s been pretty well established. How much longer do you think we have before that thing lands?”

  “Ten, perhaps fifteen minutes.”

  “Carter, am I crazy?”

  She raised her eyes upwards and frowned. “No, sir. I don’t think you are, but — ”

  “Yes! You are all crazy!” shouted Weiyan.

  Jack whirled toward the girl, ready to calm her down. When he saw her digging a hole in the ground, he realized it would take more than just a few words.

  Cupping her hands, Weiyan was scooping back armfuls of dirt. Her hair had half-tumbled from its ponytail, hanging around her face in a disheveled mess. The sandy soil covered her blood-soaked shirt as she frantically dug like her life depended on it.

  Weiyan was right, in a sense. Their lives did depend on what happened next, but not necessarily in the way she believed.

  “Whatcha doing?” he asked as calmly as he could.

  “What you will not. We must dig a hole. Hide. Protect ourselves.”

  “Weiyan Shi.” Teal’c bent down beside her and grabbed her wrists. “What you see is not real.”

  Weiyan yanked her arms loose. “You cannot be certain. What if they harm us? We will be killed.”

  A shadow passed over them. The ship was coming in for landing. Jack had to fight every instinct that screamed out to help the girl dig that hole.

  “We must hurry or we will die!” Weiyan kept on digging. She worked fast, creating a hole at least two feet deep.

  “Jack, you’re sure — ?”

  “I’m sure, Daniel,” he roared over the mothership’s entry rockets. “Sure as I’ve ever been. But somebody needs to stop that girl before she hurts herself.”

  Weiyan jumped in and curled up in a ball. Satisfied that she couldn’t get into any more trouble, Jack returned his focus to the incoming ship. Not for the first time, he wished he had his scope.

  Daniel glanced over his shoulder at Weiyan and then back at Jack. “I don’t get it.”

  Jack snorted. “Welcome to the party.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Why aren’t we experiencing another earthquake? She’s panicked. You’ve got to be feeling at least a bit anxious. Although, you’ve become awfully calm about all this.”

  “Don’t let the bravado fool you. Seeing that ship is akin to a dog hearing a whistle.”

  The ship touched down in front of the building. Jack noticed there were no portholes like those he’d seen on Cronus’s and Apophis’s motherships. He held his breath as the ground rumbled from the impact, the sound too similar to the earlier quakes for his taste. The pyramid’s primary hull retracted upwards, revealing a multi-tiered base with lit panels underneath.

  “That ship’s taken some serious damage,” said Carter.

  Scorch marks streaked across the side facing them, but the thing Jack noticed the most was the lack of an outer frame. It was like the pyramid had lost half its mass.

  “There’s something off about the ship, T. Something’s missing.”

  “That is not a ha’tak class ship, O’Neill. It is far older.”

  Jack studied the ship’s pyramid shape again. Then it hit him. The thing was a dead ringer for Ra’s ship. A shudder went through him. “God, tell me that isn’t Ra. With all the crazy-assed backwards things we’ve experienced, that’d be — ”

  “I do not believe it is, O’Neill.” Teal’c pointed toward the ship’s apex. “The sigil is missing. I have seen it many times as Apophis’ First Prime in battle against Ra’s fleet.”

  “Then who the hell is it?”

  “I cannot say.”

  A horrific grinding noise erupted from the pyramid’s side. Squinting against the sunlight, Jack could make out a series of gantries opening up along the pyramid’s base. As the doors slid upwards, swarms of armored Jaffa poured out of the ship.

  There had to be at least a thousand of them, broken into four battalions, each
group stomping off in a different direction. If his gut was wrong, and these bastards were real, there was a good chance this would become SG-1’s last stand.

  The Jaffa would make toast of them in minutes.

  He shoved aside the maudlin thought. That pity-fest had ended hours ago.

  A battalion headed directly toward them, led by a Jaffa wearing a red cloak instead of the typical dark gray. His silver tattoo glinted in the sunlight, but he was still too far away for Jack to make out his forehead marking.

  Carter tensed beside him. “What if you’re wrong, sir?”

  “If I’m right, those Jaffa are just phantoms. Figments.”

  Daniel leaned forward to get a better view. “We should be able to figure out whose phantoms they are pretty soon.”

  “O’Neill,” said Teal’c. “If they are phantoms, should we not approach them for a closer look?”

  “Let’s first see how this phantom parade plays out.”

  The lead Jaffa stormed toward them, backed up by enough metallic stomping from his horde to make Jack’s trigger finger itch. Without a rifle, all he could do was stand and watch.

  And pray like a priest he was right.

  Another fifty feet to go. The Jaffa didn’t miss a beat as they neared. Further evidence for Jack that they weren’t real. They weren’t there.

  Carter widened her stance, balling her fists as if it would do any good.

  It wouldn’t, but he sure liked knowing she had his back.

  Twenty feet to go.

  Teal’c stepped up to his other side with a fierce snarl of a smile. He always did like a good fight.

  Ten. The lead Jaffa and his cronies kept marching toward them, their matching tattoos clear as day.

  “That’s Lord Yu’s sigil!” Daniel said.

  The Jaffa kept on marching.

  Right through SG-1.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  EMBASSY OF THE PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  2003 FEBRUARY 14

  Huang sat down behind his desk, stifling yet another yawn. It was past ten p.m. Why Ambassador Chen had insisted he remain in the office was unclear, but China’s UN Security Council representative was nothing if not a persistent man. Chen’s phone message implied grave importance. A matter unable to wait until morning.

  As second-in-command to China’s senior ambassador, Huang’s office afforded him a magnificent view of America’s capitol city. A blanket of snow had fallen, covering automobiles in great banks of white. While the majestic snow-covered mountains and trees of his long lost home were missing, the mounds reminded him of his time in Antarctica.

  Without the clawing desperation to survive or the terrible isolation.

  Or the endless reminder of his failure to Lord Yu.

  Huang glanced about his office with its indulgent mahogany furniture, modern conveniences, and photos of his time among the Tau’ri. By their terms, he should consider himself successful. By his terms, nothing was further from the truth.

  His gaze fell on a crudely painted pot containing a cherry tree sapling. A gift from a local elementary school. Pulling the pot closer, Huang reflected upon the irony that it was a cherry tree that had catapulted him from gardener to his current position. A position that had allowed him to thrive, but had yet to give him the access he sought to Antarctica, so that he might journey home.

  Decades had passed. Time had marched on. And yet, he still craved the opportunity to return to Lord Yu and seek forgiveness.

  He dipped a finger in the pot, scooping up some soil. Earth, he reminded himself, finding it odd that the American’s name for their planet was the same as the dirt upon which they stood. As he contemplated the ironies of Earth’s many languages, he lifted his finger and pressed the soil upon his forehead. A downward stroke, two horizontal slashes —

  The door barged open. “We must speak.”

  Huang hurriedly wiped the wénshēn from his forehead as Chen entered the office. The ambassador’s face was haggard with worry, his suit jacket unbuttoned, and his tie-knot loosened.

  As he closed the door behind him, Huang took note of two folders under his arm. A red one, clearly belonging to the embassy, and a dark blue one as well. In his free hand, he carried a foot-long metal box.

  “How may I be of service?” Huang rose from his chair.

  “First, you must sign this.” Chen plopped the red folder down on Huang’s desk. Embossed across the top in modern Chinese type were the words TOP SECRET.

  Huang opened the folder and scanned the single piece of paper inside. He had eventually learned the modern Chinese letters, the writing far simpler than ancient Chinese, or even Goa’uld for that matter. The paper contained a simple oath, a promise of non-disclosure and a vow to remain silent. If signed, Huang’s security clearance would be heightened to the utmost level.

  “It is my honor to serve, Ambassador.” Huang quickly signed the document and returned the folder.

  “Always so formal.” Chen cocked his head. “There are times I wonder if you were born in the right century.” Placing the metal box on the desk’s edge, he sank into the opposing chair. “It is no wonder your wife divorced you.”

  “I was not worthy.” Huang bowed his head. Taking a wife had been a momentary weakness, a forbidden act that had led to the birth of a child, yet another of his failures to follow Lord Yu’s commands. He had left before the birth, selling the scroll depicting his master to the New York Museum of Art. He had sent the subsequent profits to his ex-wife to assist in raising their daughter.

  A daughter he could not bring himself to meet.

  “While your worth to family may be in question,” Chen tossed the blue folder in front of Huang, “your tireless dedication to China holds value. I must share what I learned today with someone I trust.”

  The blue folder’s cover carried several American emblems. That of the U.S. President, another of the United States Air Force, but it was the image at the bottom that caught his attention. Huang’s fingertips grazed the logo in disbelief, for it surely looked like one of the Chappa’ai’s symbols. Superimposed upon the image was an inverted English ‘V’. At the top was embossed the letters SGC.

  He repeated the letters aloud to Chen who waved a hand at the folder. “Stargate Command. Open the folder.”

  Huang did so, his eyes immediately glued to the top page. A photograph of the Chappa’ai stared back at him.

  Stunned, he sat back in his chair. “Please explain.”

  Chen did so. A secret meeting had been held that day at the American’s Pentagon. Along with the ambassadors from France and England, he had been informed of the discovery of the “Stargate” in 1928, buried in the sands of Giza, Egypt. Eight years ago, a Dr. Daniel Jackson had deciphered its meaning and the device had been activated. For the past six years, American military personnel and scientists had traveled through the Stargate to hundreds of planets. Thousands more had been charted.

  Huang struggled to keep his face implacable. Flipping the page, he looked up at Chen and asked, “Have the Americans come in contact with — ?”

  “Yes!” Chen’s eyes widened. “Millions of humans live across the galaxy, taken from Earth centuries ago by a fierce enemy known as the Goa’uld.” He pronounced the name incorrectly, eliminating the “a” so that it sounded more like the English word for ghoul with a “d” on the end.

  Huang resisted the temptation to correct him. “What is known of this enemy?”

  “They are parasites. Incubating in what are called Jaffa warriors. They take hosts as needed so they may rule over many worlds.” Chen reached over to the folder and turned the page, revealing a photograph of several System Lords including Cronus, Nirtti, and…

  “This one calls himself Lord Yu!” Chen stabbed a finger at the likeness of Huang’s master. “This thing, this alien, claims to have ruled China for many centuries.”

  Reeling in astonishment, Huang raised the photograph for a closer look. His lord sat on a moder
n leather and chrome chair. A Tau’ri chair. The timestamp at the bottom left indicated the photograph had been taken in July of 1999. Only four years ago.

  “Where was this taken?” he asked Chen.

  Chen waved a hand at the photograph. “In Colorado. At Stargate Command during negotiations surrounding a non-aggression treaty. A treaty the Americans dared agree to without informing China or any other country. It is outrageous, to say the least, but there are further concerns pressing.”

  Lord Yu had been here. Here on Earth!

  “We met another race of beings today,” Chen said.

  Huang dropped the photograph, a lump forming in his throat. Was it possible that the being of light had made its existence known as well?

  “We met an Asgard. A small human-like being who instantaneously transported himself into the briefing room.” Chen shook his head in disbelief. “Thor, Supreme Commander of the Asgard fleet, and a devoted friend of the Americans, it would seem. Clearly, they possess significant technologies, although,” he pushed the metal box toward Huang, “we may have some of those technologies in our possession if we can determine their use.”

  Huang opened the box. Inside was a pair of fist-sized Goa’uld communication devices.

  Undoubtedly, the communication devices would be disabled. For the first time in many decades, he regretted not having the naquadah in his blood to operate them. To contact Lord Yu and beg his mercy.

  The silver skin shimmered.

  Was it possible? If they were they still active, the right voice command might be enough to reach his master. Huang raised an eyebrow to cover his shock. “Do you know what they do?”

  “I do not.” Chen frowned.

  “How — ? Where did you get these?”

  “Do you remember a few months back when the Russians claimed they lost a missile submarine due to a meteor crashing into the Pacific some seventy-five kilometers away?”

  “The Rostov?” Huang asked. “Did we not determine that to be a cover story? The ship was taking on supplies in the harbor at Vladivostok at the time.”

  “Apparently, a Goa’uld ‘mothership’ crashed into the Pacific Ocean. A ship belonging to a Goa’uld named Anubis.”