SG1-16 Four Dragons (12 page)

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 mercies 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.”

Sam smiled at the thought. She continued to watch the stars streak by, enjoying the peaceful quiet of sitting in the dark, pretending for a brief moment that all was as it should be.

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.”

George took the cup, like he did every morning. Except this wasn’t like every other morning. Having Dr. Jackson held hostage by a Goa’uld was one thing. The S.G.C. had dealt with situations like this again and again with a success rate George was proud of, but being held hostage by a diplomat… The entire situation reeked of bad blood.

From his office, he peered through the transparent star chart and into the briefing room, eyeing the ambassador warily. Huang sat at the table, staring intently at the Goa’uld communication device propped up in front of him. The man wore the same damn black suit he had on yesterday. George found that rather odd. Even the Chinese gave their diplomats hefty expense accounts.

“Is there anything else you need, General?”

George sipped his coffee. Black, two sugars. Simmons never failed. Young, smart, eager to please, the dark-haired lieutenant had the slight build of an upwardly mobile officer wise enough to keep in shape, yet humble enough not to request assignment to an SG team. Simmons knew his place and valued it.

At least some things were dependable.

“Get me a bead on Dr. Frasier,” George replied. “I want to know the moment she sets foot on base.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And keep the coffee coming, Lieutenant.” George drained the cup and handed it back. “It’s going to be a long day.”

Dismissing the lieutenant, George strode into the briefing room.

“
Five minutes until exiting hyperspace,
” announced Major Carter. Her voice emitted loud and clear from the com device.

As George approached the table, Huang glanced up. “It is an exciting day, General Hammond.”

“Any day that ends with my people safe and sound is a good one, Ambassador.” It was clear the ambassador hadn’t slept a wink. A thin watery film leaked from Huang’s eyes and his beard was long in need of a comb.

The ball projected a side view of Teal’c illuminated by blue light tinged with purple. Hyperspace, George realized. In all the SG team reports he’d ever read about light speed travel, no one’s description did justice to what he now saw projected in front of him.

“
Preparing to enable stealth mode
,” Teal’c said as he manipulated a control.

“
Standby to engage
.”

Teal’c’s image slid left, replaced by a frontal view out the cargo ship’s bow window. Toward the bottom of the image, pale hands palmed a red sphere, a blue narrow band running vertical at its center. Since Major Carter had been put in charge of handling the com device, George had to assume she piloted the craft.

“
Four minutes
.”

Huang clapped his hands together. “It is an honor to be the first Chinese citizen to witness Emperor Yu’s homeworld.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mister Ambassador,” George said. “SG-1 has orders to come out of hyperspace at the planet’s south pole, way off from where our intelligence reports place the Goa’uld’s base.”

“
No offense, General
,” said the voice of Colonel O’Neill. “
But could those of you at the back of the bus pipe down?
”

George bit back a reply. The colonel knew what he was doing better than any Air Force officer alive. George needed to keep the trust, even if it meant having a front row seat to possibly the riskiest mission his flagship team had ever attempted.

“
Three minutes
.”

Someone had set a pot of tea beside Huang. Most likely Simmons. The ambassador poured two cups and offered one to George who waved him off. He’d wait on the coffee refill.

The com ball showed brilliant blue streaks flying by either side of the ship’s bow. Occasionally, a static speck of light could be seen. George assumed them to be distant stars. Now that he’d seen hyperspace in action, he hoped Major Carter could explain how it functioned if… no,
when
she returned.

Damn right, when.

“You have no idea what this means for our people,” Huang whispered. “To see the founder of our nation, the one who pushed back the great floods 4,000 years ago — ”

“
Two minutes
.”

“
Carter, don’t waste time easing her in
,” the colonel’s voice said. “
I want this ship hugging the ground the second we’re in stealth mode
.”

“
Understood, sir
.”

Huang leaned in toward the ball, tea cup in hand. “Thirteen years,” he whispered. “Thirteen years, 20,000 workers dedicated to the endeavor. If not for Emperor Yu, China would only be another ocean on Earth.”

“
Sixty seconds to exit hyperspace window
.”

George didn’t give a damn about China’s floods, but he let Huang prattle on. All that mattered was that his people were about to enter enemy airspace and there was nothing he could do to protect them.

Sitting down beside Huang, George had only one thing on his mind.

Godspeed, SG-1.

PLANET DESIGNATION: LORD YU’S

HOMEWORLD (P3X-042)

STATUS: SAR MISSION ARRIVAL

APPROX 1700 HRS LOCAL TIME

3 JUL 03/0620 HRS BASE TIME

Jack held on to the center console as the ship emerged from hyperspace with a jolt. A shimmer of bent light bounced across the fore windows, almost like a prism reflecting the sun. As the deck shuddered beneath his boots, he glanced across to Bra’tac who stood upright, not holding on to anything.

The old coot sure had a helluva sense of balance.

“The cloak is now engaged,” Teal’c announced.

Releasing his grip, Jack strode up to stand beside Carter as she piloted the ship. She had a smooth touch, her hands light on the control sphere. She flew the thing with skill and confidence.

Just another talent to add to his second-in-command’s massive list of abilities.

He took a look out the window. They’d come out on the night-side of Yu’s planet. Not much to see, but a slice of a moon on the easterly horizon. No other satellites, no big mothership. Jack was sure it was out there somewhere. Hopefully, far over on the other side of the planet.

Satisfied, he gave the order. “The second we get above the pole, take us below Mach One.”

“Sir?”

Chancing a reassuring look her way, Jack did his best not to notice the com ball hanging from her jacket pocket. “If Dad is right — and unlike the rest of his Tok’ra buddies, he usually is — there won’t be any inhabitants this far south. Best make our little sonic boom as much a secret as possible before heading north.”

Carter eased the globe forward and they descended down toward the planet. For a clunky-looking ship, it sure had a better pitch, yaw and roll to it than the A10 Hogs Jack flew during the Gulf War, or even the new F-302. Plus, its ability to cooperate at any speed was a sweet bonus.

Light as a feather, they descended down toward the southern pole. If Jack was looking to make a comparison to Antarctica, he could see it wouldn’t be found here. A gray wash of sunrise splattered across the mountainous landscape. There didn’t seem to be much in the way of snow, just ice… covering pretty much everything.

“Traveling at Mach point eight, sir.”

With a nod at his second-in-command, Jack fell back and tried to enjoy what was left of the ride. The easy part was almost over. Now came the lights, camera, action.

Show time
.

* * *

At a longitude and latitude roughly the equivalence of Argentina’s Buenos Aires, Sam leveled the ship off at 7,500 feet above sea level. The sun was to the west. She estimated the local time was probably mid-afternoon. The quality of light was different than she usually saw on planets under Goa’uld occupation. More on the white end of the spectrum than in the yellows or reds.

As they’d moved north from the pole, she’d expected to see a warmer climate as well as a calmer topography. She’d been wrong. Jagged mountain ranges reached all the way from the pole, the only difference being that snow replaced ice on their tops. Though the terrain was similar to Northern China, it was a far colder climate than usual for a Goa’uld.

“There!” Bra’tac pointed north by northwest.

A squadron of gliders passed by an opening in the mountain range. None veered off, so it was a safe bet they hadn’t noticed the cloaked cargo ship.

“Teal’c, you’re sure the cloak’s behaving?” asked Colonel O’Neill.

To Sam’s left, Teal’c scanned the tactical display. “It is functioning as it should, O’Neill. We have not been sighted.”

“Take us in, Major. Nice and slow.”

Sam flew through the opening and into a valley crowded with mile after mile of ramshackle shacks. Yu’s slave quarters, no doubt. She suppressed the thought of thousands of people — men, women, and children — forced to do the dirty work of Goa’ulds. Her father had mentioned that the mountains were rich with naquadah. Mining was the way of life for everyone over the age of eight. Someday, it had to end.

Today, however, wouldn’t be that day.

Ahead of her, the gliders banked left. Sam matched their course, slowing right down to less than fifty kph. As she righted the ship, the gliders took up position over Yu’s fortress. They began to circle it lazily, like vultures hanging over their nest.

Colonel O’Neill gave an appreciative whistle. “I bet the power bill for that place costs an arm and a leg.”

The colonel was right, in his own way. The power required to keep a place warm enough for a Goa’uld had to be huge. She briefly wondered if the power generated to keep the photonic energy shield in place also served as an overall source. She tucked the thought aside, knowing it’d be unlikely she’d have a chance to find out.

Yu’s fortress was massive. Large enough for two or maybe even three football fields. Terra cotta roofs, thick limestone walls, and narrow windows, all reminiscent of the defenses she’d seen in European castles. If an enemy tried to take out any occupants, they’d have a hard time unless they blew the walls down.

“Keep the ship a good mile off,” Colonel O’Neill said. “I don’t want those Jaffa getting even a whiff that we’re here.”

“We must find the least heavily guarded entry possible,” Teal’c said.

“What’s with all the gliders?” Sam asked.

“By refusing to accept Anubis, Lord Yu has made many enemies amongst the System Lords,” Bra’tac said.

“Looks like paranoia to me,” the colonel said, craning his neck over the forward console.

“Considering his longevity,” Teal’c said, “paranoia might be the very thing that has kept him alive for so many millennia.”

Two gliders descended toward a landing platform jutting from the east side of the fortress. As their wings folded for final descent, a ripple shimmered in the air. If Sam had blinked, she never would have noticed. “Yu’s forcefield is definitely in place, sir.”

“We expected that. Take one last run around and then let’s find a good place to put this bucket down. Somewhere off the main drag.”

“Yes, sir.” Trimming their trajectory, Sam gave Yu’s fortress a wider berth and brought the ship on a parallel run with the mountains surrounding the valley. As they went over the lake, half the gliders broke formation. Two headed right toward them.

“You’re positive they can’t see us, right?”

“It is impossible, O’Neill,” Bra’tac said. “We do not even cause a shadow on the ground.”

Sam glimpsed out her window at the mountains beside them. No shadow. No indication they were even there. The Jaffa Master was right, but that didn’t make her any less worried.

Within seconds, a glider reached their position. It flew at the same level, several hundred feet off their starboard side. The two Jaffa inside looked straight ahead, never glancing their way.

“Eyes up, Major.”

She’d seen it. The glider yawed right, came closer.

“Carter…”

Two wingspans away now. She’d have to change course and do it quick. If she throttled up, the Jaffa would notice the turbulence. Slowing down wasn’t an option, either. Not this close to the mountainside.

“You plan on avoiding a mid-air collision or should I wish I’d brought a chute?”

Ignoring the colonel’s quip, Sam pushed down on the control globe. “Hang on!”

She pitched the cargo ship downward, hard. On the count of three, she spun sideways, aiming the ship toward a break in the mountains just east of Yu’s fortress. The glider continued on its current course, none the wiser.

“Nice flying, Ace.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sam flashed a smile at the colonel. She didn’t bother to mention that if it wasn’t for the inertial dampeners, they’d all be splattered on the ceiling.

Colonel O’Neill pointed out the left window. “There’s a break in the hills west of Yu’s little abode. Head over there and let’s look for a place to set down.”

With a shaky hand she hoped no one noticed, Sam adjusted course and setting. The back side of Yu’s fortress was vacant. No shacks, no buildings. Just acres of wild grasses, like some overgrown yard in need of a good mowing.

About eight klicks west, the vegetation suddenly changed. An elaborate maze sprawled across the opening between the two mountains. Green-leafed tree tops twisted in all directions, creating a confusing labyrinth of pathways. From their height, Sam barely made out an interconnected network of thick-roped vines strung across the maze. Probably fashioned to keep people from climbing the tree tops to get out.

“Well, that looks like fun,” Colonel O’Neill said darkly.

“Jacob Carter had not mentioned this barrier,” said Bra’tac.

“Nor was I aware,” Teal’c added apologetically.

The colonel joined Bra’tac in studying the maze out the port window. “Yeah, well, surprises are our de rigueur so let’s get a good look and move on.”

“Is there not a more suitable area we can land?” asked Bra’tac. If Sam didn’t know any better, she’d swear he sounded nervous.