STARGATE SG-1: Oceans of Dust (28 page)

Neheb-Kau’s mask bobbed. “Your counsel is wise, old friend. The human is in your charge. Have her delivered to my chambers, when you are sure she is suitable for my company.”

“And the traitor?

“Once Pa’Nakht is done with him, take him to the generator core. A year or two tending the converters might teach him some humility.”

“As you command.” He glared at Carter, then whirled and strode away towards the golden doors. “Human, with me!”

Carter took one last look at Neheb-Kau, his metal face impassive atop the black silk morass of his robes, and then walked quickly back to where Kafra stood waiting for her by the doors.

“Don’t do this,” she breathed.

His answer surprised her. He kept his voice low, and without looking at her leaned slightly to put his head closer to hers. “Human, your life hangs by a thread. Snap it if you will, but do not drag me down with you.”

“Drag you?” Carter stared at him. “Is your position here really that precarious?

“You have no idea. Now, if you wish to see tomorrow, follow me.
Quickly
.”

In ancient
Athenian legend, the
Clythena
was a trireme, an oared warship of polished gold, so perfect and so reflective that enemy crews would be blinded by its radiance. Stories of the vessel told how it once evaded a Persian attack by entering a bank of fog before them, only to emerge an instant later
behind
, as though it had travelled, unharmed and unaffected, beneath the surface of the sea.

Daniel Jackson wondered how the tellers of those stories would react to the
Clythena
he was seeing now.

The Tel’tak, stuttering the last of its energies through its maneuvering thrusters, had been remotely guided into a launch rack in the Goa’uld vessel’s flight bay. Looking out through the forward viewports, Daniel had given up trying to count how many other racks the bay held before he had even started; there must have been hundreds, a sea of curved claws reaching down from the girdered roof, an insane maze of walkways and platforms below. He had seen the glider bays of Ha’tak pyramid ships before, and they had seemed cavernous enough at the time, but they were tiny compared to this.

And, given what he had seen of the
Clythena
’s structure on the way in, this was not the only flight bay the ship possessed. Possibly not even the primary one.

Some of the racks were occupied, but at least three quarters were not — most of the bay’s complement must have been still in space, darting between the fleet’s vessels or guiding that obscene weapon into the flagship’s underbelly. This gave him some hope, at least, of being able to get out of the Tel’tak without being immediately apprehended. “Okay guys, hatch or transport rings?”

Jack was checking his gear again, making sure that the remote detonator for the charges he had set was active. “Is there enough power for the transporter?”

“There will be some stored for that purpose, in case of emergency,” Bra’tac told him. “However, the hatch is less likely to draw attention.”

“Hatch it is.” Jack crossed the deck to the hatchway and keyed it open. He peered outside. “Looks clear.”

Daniel watched him step through. He found himself trying to think of something pithy to say, but the scale of the task ahead of him had robbed him of wit. All he could do was to take a couple of deep breaths, and follow Jack out into the heart of the flying mountain.

There were mesh steps leading down to a metal walkway. Daniel climbed down them, keeping as quiet as he could, trying not to look through the open mesh at the hundred-meter drop beneath his feet. From what he could see, the ships racked up around him could be launched by simply dropping them from the rack into the space below, and letting them power out through vast horizontal slots in the ship’s hull. The open space was needed for maneuvering. It all made perfect, logical sense, like a kind of three-dimensional truck stop, but the scale of it was awful.

The cold winds rushing through the bay weren’t helping him, either. He guessed they were necessary just to keep air moving through the vast space, but they still made him feel as though he were on the edge of a cliff.

Once on the walkway he moved next to Jack, and watched Bra’tac jump down the last few steps to join them. “So far, I do not believe we have been spotted,” the Jaffa said. “But we should act quickly. Surveillance in the flagship of a System Lord will be more intense than in other vessels.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Jack replied. “What about the radios?”

“Use them only when necessary. I shall contact you when I have access to a suitable vessel.”

Daniel looked around. “You should have plenty to choose from.”

“Indeed. But none will be of use while this ship functions unimpaired.”

“You worry about getting us a ride,” Jack said. “We’ll worry about the impairing part.”

Bra’tac grinned, and slapped his shoulder. Then he turned and sprinted away along the walkway, his staff weapon held low.

“Fast, for an old guy.”

“He’s fast for a young guy,” said Daniel. “Come on, let’s find a transporter.”

It took several minutes to even find their way to the bay’s nearest edge. By the time they had done so, Daniel was almost starting to become used to the frightening drop beneath his feet. Actually stepping off the mesh and into a corridor with a solid floor felt slightly strange, and somewhat claustrophobic.

The feeling didn’t last. As soon the two men found themselves in what was obviously one of the vessel’s main access ways, all thoughts of being enclosed vanished.

It was more of a street than a corridor, paneled in gleaming white marble and trimmed with gold. The floor was a checkerboard of stone inlay, and the ceiling curved high above their heads, glowing a pale, open blue. Doric columns lined the walls, and the hatches Daniel could see were tall and rectangular, an elegant contrast to the trapezoid openings normally favored by the Goa’uld.

Daniel had no doubt that the
Clythena
operated on exactly the same stolen technologies as any other Goa’uld vessel, but cosmetically there was very little he recognized.

“This is different,” Jack muttered, as they leaned gingerly around the hatch frame to check for danger.

“No kidding,” Daniel whispered. “Looks like this Hera’s really run with the whole Athenian look.”

“See anyone behind us?”

Daniel checked. “No, we’re clear.”

They padded out into the corridor, keeping as close to the pillared walls as they could. So far, the vessel seemed remarkably unpopulated, but that was no surprise. Goa’uld capital ships could be operated by a very small number of people; one skilled pilot could fly an entire Ha’tak. Many of the larger ships were more like mobile garrisons than attack vessels, and if the warriors they carried were in their barracks entire decks could remain empty.

It would be too much to hope that Hera’s flagship would remain so quiet, Daniel decided. But while the fleet was still massing, it was very possible that everyone aboard had more important things to do than wander the corridors admiring the décor.

Of course, just as he had started to allow himself a measure of hope, he heard footsteps.

Lots of them.

Jack had heard them too. He glanced quickly about, then pointed to a junction just a few meters ahead. Together, they ran around the corner and then split up, each finding a column to hide behind.

Daniel pressed himself behind the pillar, feeling the smooth coolness of it against his skin. It might have looked like stone, he realized, but it wasn’t. Some kind of solid, resinous plastic, which made more sense than actually using marble on a starship. No doubt Hera could have afforded to do so if she had wanted to, but in a battle, impact-shattered stone would become lethal shrapnel.

The footfalls, the unmistakable sound of a column of armored men marching in unison, reached the corner. Daniel hugged the wall, trying to think small, unassuming thoughts.

The march continued past for thirty, forty seconds, until Daniel heard the last men go past. At that point, he couldn’t resist poking his head out, just enough to see them.

As he had expected, their uniforms did not conform to the usual norms of Jaffa armor design. He could see the similarities — the Goa’uld had never been fantastic innovators, but there were enough differences to mark these men out as serving a very different God to those SG-1 had encountered so far. Their armor was formed from smooth, bronze-colored plates, and their heads were covered in helms that were more like Corinthian helmets than the animal-Gods of Egypt. They wore short, scarlet cloaks, and their staff weapons were slender, lacking the clubbed end but tipped with wicked blades at the other.

“Daniel? Why am I getting a serious
Clash of the Titans
vibe off of these guys?”

“Well, we’ve seen different kinds of Jaffa armor before. The only reason most of them tend to follow the same pattern is just inertia on behalf of the Goa’uld. Maybe Hera likes to do things her own way.”

“Or she’s got a thing for gladiators.”

“They were Roman.”

Jack gave him a look. “I know that.”

“Whatever she’s into, I don’t like the look of those spears. Maybe we should head down this corridor instead.”

“Suits me.”

They moved on in silence for a short while, then Daniel had a thought. “Hey, should we blow the Tel’tak yet?”

Jack shook his head. “When we’ve blown the hyperdrive on this thing, then we’ll do it.”

“What if they find the charges before we find the navigation system?”

“That would be bad.”

“For who?”

“For the poor son of a bitch who’s got a hold of them when I press the button.” They had reached another junction. “Okay, where now?”

Daniel looked around, spotted a small cartouche at the corner. The text was strange, a bizarre fusion of Goa’uld hieroglyphs and classical Greek characters, but he was already beginning to make sense of it. “From what I’m seeing here, this whole level is mainly equipment and consumables storage, warehouses ranged around the systems core. Probably accessed directly from the flight bays.”

“That makes sense. You’d want to be able to ferry materiel directly from the Tel’taks into the stores.”

“So if we take the wrong turning, we’re going to be walking around between warehouses forever… Ah, hold on. This word here,
metagoi
. Means to convey from one place to another.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah, that’s good. It doesn’t mention a specific room or chamber in relation to the
metagoi
— I’d guess we’ll see one if we find a primary intersection. We need to keep heading towards the outer hull, away from the flight bay.” He glanced back over his shoulder, suddenly unsure of which way he was facing. “Ah, Jack? I think I’ve gotten myself turned around…”

“It’s this way,” said Jack, with a note of exasperation.

“You’re sure?”

“Reasonably.”

“Fine. But you know what? I’d give anything for a map with an arrow and ‘You Are Here’ on it.”

They set off, walking in silence, their boots making little sound on the solid flooring. Daniel breathed shallowly, straining to listen for the sound of marching footsteps. More than once he stopped, convinced he had heard the approach of more Jaffa, only to discover that the beat he heard was that of his own heart.

When they found the intersection, it looked worryingly exposed. Jack used a tiny mirror to check around the corner. “It’s clear.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Don’t knock it.” He darted around. Daniel followed him, into a corridor twice as wide and high as the first they had entered. It was so tall that it had a second story, a railed balcony projecting from the outer wall.

There was a golden ring set into the flooring at the intersection, and a control cartouche on a raised pedestal. Daniel studied it for a few moments, then saw the combination of icons he was looking for. “Location, system, unrestricted,
Kubernhosis
.”

“Goober-what?”

“
Kubernhosis
. Steering or piloting.”

“So why the hell didn’t you just say ‘Navigation?’ Why do you always have to leave one word untranslated to make me look like an idiot?”

“Because I’ve got to justify my paycheck somehow.” Daniel pressed the icons, and looked up to see the ceiling iris open. Slender rings dropped down around them, gleaming like brass, and an instant later he was surrounded by light. He fancied that he felt an electric shiver race through him as the transport rings took him apart on the molecular level, but the process was too swift, too complex to really perceive. One moment he was staring through the cage of rings at the open, columned corridor, and the next he was in near darkness, surrounded by machinery.

And people were looking at him.

If there was a disadvantage to the Goa’uld ring transporter, it was that the system lacked any element of surprise. The occupants of the navigation control room knew that someone was beaming in as soon as the rings had begun to hover down from the ceiling iris at their end. It wasn’t like kicking in a door: Daniel was on full view of three white-robed technicians and two Jaffa guards for several seconds before he could even move.

Jack was faster. Even as the rings had started to lift he had ducked between two of them, leaping between one as it rose and over the one below, rolling out of the way before the shouting even started. Daniel saw him use the zat gun to blast one of the guards. The bronze-clad man gave a guttural cry and slumped, his body wreathed in lightning.