Angels & Vagabonds - Part 6
Formal and stiff, Hammond's voice came over the radio, and the hair on the back of Jack's neck rose as he heard the words. “Colonel, I'm being asked by some highly placed officials who oversee the Stargate program to confirm how much longer this operation will continue to take up valuable resources.”
“Valuable--sir, what the hell's invaluable about a man's life?”
“I know. Believe me, I know. However, given the probability studies done on Dr. Jackson's continued chances for survival, pressure has been--”
“Sir, I don't give a flying...” Jack bit off the word, cleaned it up since this was official channels. “...hockey puck about probabilities. Daniel's alive and we're going to keep him that way. That's what's probable.”
Hammond's voice sharpened. “Colonel, I have my orders. Now I'm giving you yours!”
Jack swallowed the rest of everything that would put him beyond insubordination. Daniel needed him here, not back on Earth answering charges. So he clenched his back teeth, strangled his voice into almost respectful. “Yes, sir.”
Voice going to gravel, as if he'd spent more than the last few hours on the phone, Hammond said, “Colonel, my orders are to recall SG-3 and SG-6, as well as Sergeants Siler and Jennings. We must resume missions that are viewed as critical to this command. If Major Carter's plan to shut down this force field with an EM pulse fails, you'll have another two days to pack up and ascertain--”
“What--that Daniel's dead?”
“Colonel, don't make this any more difficult than it is.”
Jack glanced at Teal'c, tried to pull in some control. Teal'c looked ready to chew steel and spit it out in bullets, but he wasn't letting himself go, so Jack figured he should hold his temper as well. Hammond sounded close to losing it, too.
“Sir.” Jack grated out the word. He didn't manage any respect this time, but he turned to face the MALP camera again.
“Colonel, as I said, I have orders. We're stretched thin, and with chances growing slim for...well, it's perceived--” Jack heard the sudden choke in Hammond's voice, like the man didn't want to say these words and didn't have a choice. Orders, hell. Perceived--what, that Daniel was good as gone, so time to cut the losses, write him off? This was so damned screwed.
Hammond started up again. “However, I understand, Colonel, that conditions on that planet can make travel to the Stargate dangerous at times, with a strong potential for violent sand storms...” Frowning, Jack glanced at Teal'c and wondered what he'd reported, but the other man only lifted one eyebrow in a cryptic clue as Hammond went on. “And I want you to take that into advisement, because I have also been ordered not to risk any other members of this command on this operation. Am I making myself understood now?”
Temper cooling, Jack listened to the Texas drawl creeping back into Hammond's voice, heard one message and the other underneath. Dangerous travel. Right. He took his time with a slow answer--this transmission, after all, would go into official logs. “Yes, sir. Understood clearly, sir.”
“Very good. We expect communications, due to the EM pulse Major Carter plans, to be interrupted. If we're unable to open a channel to you after this point, I want to be very clear about our priorities.”
The subtle stress on 'our' was something that wouldn't read in any log, and Jack got that meaning just fine. Our priorities, not anyone else's. Good enough for him. “Uh, yes, sir. Carter said we'd be taking out all our electronics, could be for a few hours, maybe more if we have to do more than one pulse to take out whatever's in that temple.”
Teal'c stared at him, frown going puzzled since Carter hadn't said anything like that. Jack gave a shrug back. The gesture wouldn't go down on any record, either.
Hammond seemed to be working hard to make sure nothing incriminating would go down anywhere. “Then you'll convey these orders to Major Waite and we'll hope to contact you soon. Hammond out.”
The radio cut out along with the Stargate wormhole, and Jack stared into the distance. Then he glanced at Teal'c. “You get all that?”
“Indeed. General Hammond has not been pleased. I am here only because I am not yet officially listed as ready for assignment to other missions.”
“Still on stand-down? Nice of you to spend it here. Come on, we need to get back to camp, get Waite to pack everyone out. After they leave, I want you to make sure communications go out--and stay out. We're not leaving without Daniel, and I don't want orders coming through saying otherwise.”
#
The command tent heated up to baking and stuffy during the day. It gave them shade, but not much cool. No breeze on this world during the day. Not a breath. Even with the sides of the tent rolled up, the place seemed a sweat box. And Jack's temperature was climbing along with the sun.
Majors Waite and Dawson stood in front of him, hands folded behind their backs. All correct--in looks. Lieutenant Morrison and Sergeant Siler, eyes front, stood tucked behind. And all of them giving him attitude. Not lots. Just enough that Jack's head had started to pound with a dull throb behind his eyes.
He wanted to yell, but he was trying not to because these four had earnest written into determined stares.
“Sir, Sergeant Siler has informed me that we may have difficulties with the DHD dialing home,” Waite said, the words military sharp and not sounding the least like a man out to buck orders. Funny, but with that craggy-faced, he didn't look a guy to buck orders, either.
“Trouble, hun?” Jack said, and his glanced slid over to Siler.
The big, sandy-haired man nodded, eyes and expression as morose as a beagle. “Sand, sir. Gets into everything, sir. Might even get into the crystals of the DHD, sir. Cause a short, sir.”
Jeeze, world record for sirs there. And now Siler was settling into the dull-eyed stare that anyone in the armed forces with brains knew how to master. It was the one you gave to a good but stupid CO, or to not so good and very stupid orders. The one that said, 'sorry, sir, don't know, sir' when you knew the whole score just fine. But you couldn't say so without sounding like you were calling your CO, or the orders, asinine.
Mouth pressing tight, Jack glanced at Waite's square-jawed face again. “Major, you have your orders.”
Waite did not act like a good SGC Marine and jump to it. “Sir, begging your pardon, but we may still have that trouble I mentioned.”
Meaning he damn well didn't want to go, and didn't want to take his men with. Not, of course, because this was Daniel. Jack had no illusions there. Daniel had the gift of fitting in pretty much anywhere for a short time, and very much nowhere for any kind of duration. Hell, Daniel didn't even fit that well with the other SGC civilians. Oh, he got along with them. And with the Marines. But the jarheads treated all the scientific-types like so much equipment--stuff they needed to look after out of duty, not buddies for socializing.
This wasn't about helping one of their own.
But Waite and Dawson knew it could be one of their guys trapped in that temple. And they'd both adopted Hammond's directive that no one got left. These were good men to have around, and Jack was more than tempted about taking him up on this offer. However, that would leave Hammond hanging.
That did not seem wise, not when the general was covering their backsides. Truth was, this was on Carter's shoulders right now. And Jack saw better use in having these guys back home. “You have your orders, Waite. You're to take SG-3 and SG-6 and report back. General Hammond was specific about that.”
“Sir--”
“Aht!” Jack held up a hand. Cripes, bad enough to get this much back-chatter from his team. “Once you're back, there's an issue of that particle beamy-thing that hasn't come through.”
Waite straightened, his expression going sharp. He reminded Jack suddenly of the interested look a good bird dog got when he'd heard gunshots. “Area 51. Know some folks?” Jack asked.
Waite glanced over to Dawson, but it was Siler who answered. “Sir, yes, sir. I know a few techs recently reassigned.”
“Good--Hammond's going to need--” He stopped himself. He’d almost said intel, but that made this sound too much like he was giving these guys a mission. “General Hammond might like to hear that. There's also still the matter of us not having heard anything from the Asgard.”
“Sir, isn't there a communication device to call the Asgard on Cimmeria--where you found Thor's Hammer?”
Jack looked at Dawson, took a quick assess. Nice kid. Bright. Tall. And he wasn't asking how Dawson planned to get SG-6 anywhere near Brunhilda-land. Some things a good CO just did not ask. With a nod, he said, “Yeah, that'd be the place.”
Waite and Dawson swapped stares, and Jack wasn't sure he could lean on these guys any more than he had to get them back in line without leaning hard. On the other hand, he would bust something if they pushed any more insubordination at him. What did he have to do--send out engraved invitations to get them to the party where he wanted them?
Finally getting it, Waite looked back, his jaw relaxing. From the look in his eyes--flat and sour as stale root beer--he didn't like it. Too bad. Jack didn't like a damn thing about any of this.
“It'll take a couple hours to get our gear together, sir,” Waite said.
Siler raised a hand like the good kid in class. “Sir, I need to finish helping Major Carter with the EM generator.”
“Fine. But I don't want to hear another word about any sand in any DHDs.” Jack glared at them. He made sure they knew he meant it--because he wanted to hang onto that excuse in case he needed it for why SG-1 had had to stay.
#
Watching from the temple, Daniel saw SG-3 and SG-6 start back to the Stargate, Siler and one other man going with them, steps dragging and reluctant. He considered asking why, but given the lack of enthusiasm, the answer seemed self-evident. You didn't need thirteen--well, with Teal'c here, fourteen--people waiting for one person to die.
So that was the official opinion as to his chances.
It seemed about right.
Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes. They felt gritty--he'd trade almost anything for eye drops--but at least he didn't have to worry about his allergies. He was so dry he doubted he could manage a sneeze. Folding his glasses, he tossed them onto his vest.
He had his vest and jacket off and tucked into the corner of the temple where he slept. The day had gotten hot--they always did--and he'd been able to see sweat darkening Sam's t-shirt as she finished adjustments to get her EM pulse generator working. He tried to find some hope for that, but his mind drifted and his emotions followed into a vague, gray fog of indifferent misery.
Glancing at his canteen, he swallowed, ran a dry tongue over even dryer lips. His body craved just one sip, so he gave in. The water had warmed with the passing days, but it was wet and he had to stop himself from drinking all of it. Not that he had more than another sip left. He capped the canteen and set it aside. Then he put on his glasses and went back to watching Sam work.
He could watch her all day. In fact, he'd watched her most of today. And yesterday. She had a grace to her, an economy of movement, skilled long fingers deft as they flipped switches or reworked wiring. She made science look good.
Teal'c hovered close, hands at his sides, as if he wanted to help, but this was all Sam's show. Jack knew that, too, and had disappeared into the command tent. But he'd pace out every few minutes, then pace back into the tent, and he looked wound tense about something.
Ah, the others leaving. Of course. Orders must have come down. They'd had other bad ones before--ones to turn Teal'c over to the NID, ones to hand over peaceful people whose only crime had been to have their world destroyed, and ones to give up searching for others before this. Why not give up now?
It was something of a depressing relief.
The fewer people around to see his slow demise, the better. But Jack wouldn't like any of that, and he must have orders, too, to abandon this as soon as…
Well, just as.
Letting that thought go, he roused himself from his lethargy. They'd need him to focus soon. Hopefully. If this worked, he had stairs to get down. That meant he should get his boots on. Yeah, he could do that.
He did, but it took far longer than it should. His fingers fumbled with the complexities of boot laces. When he stood up, he had to lean against the temple wall, eyes closed; low blood pressure left his head spinning and he thought dry heaves might claim him again. He couldn't afford that, so he breathed deep through his mouth until he heard Sam's voice.
“Daniel--we're ready.”
Stepping to the doorway, he waved a hand. Speaking took a lot out of him now and split his lips, so he'd avoid that if he could.
Jack had heard her as well. He came out of the tent, stood in the sun, his cap and sunglasses hiding his face, his body so taut he looked braced for disaster.
Daniel was hoping this would go a lot better than the sonic pulse. But he knew he'd better ask. “What should I do?”
His voice cracked on the words, and he wondered if he sounded as bad as he felt. He thought he might because Sam stiffened into military rigidity, and Teal'c and Jack glanced at each other, probably swapping unhappy stares. They were just a little blurry even with his glasses on.
“Don't worry, Daniel. You don't need to do anything. You shouldn't even hear or feel anything either.” Sam glanced over her shoulder toward Jack. “Sir--we're ready.”
Jack's head tilted as he looked up at the temple. Daniel stared back, nodded to him, and Jack gave a glance to Carter, nodded to her. He almost laughed at how they did that, spoke without words. But laughter would make his sides ached. Pulling in a breath, he shut his eyes and--he couldn't help it--he flinched back, just in case Sam was wrong.
Nothing happened.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the others. Jack spoke first. “Carter?”
Reaching down, she grabbed a handful of dirt, threw it. Pebbles bounced on the steps and Daniel grinned, and so what if the gesture hurt. He was free and that felt like heaven.
Grabbing his vest and jacket off the floor, he started out the door. He'd gotten four stumbling steps--about a quarter of the distance--when he heard the click and hum. He ran two more steps, tried to throw himself forward, but the shimmer rose.
Slamming himself against it, he could hear the others yelling as it lifted and wrapped around him.
Then it slammed him back into the temple.
On his back again, hurting everywhere, he tried to get up, got his head lifted, fell back again. Oh, god. He could still hear the others shouting--Jack angry, Teal'c calling his name, Sam furious and frustrated and saying this shouldn't have happened.
He hated being right about this place being built to keep its messenger trapped.
Moving slow, working hard to keep down the bile that threatened to rise, he rolled onto his side. He pushed up and dragged himself to the doorway, fought vertigo every inch of the way. As he'd hoped, his showing up got everyone to focus. “Sam--not your fault. You tried,” he called out.
Tears shimmered in her eyes and her fists bunched. “Daniel--god!” She swung away, took a step, then turned back to face Jack and Teal'c.
“Carter?” Jack barked out the question, his voice raw.
“Sir--the power source. It has to be shielded. That's the only thing that would explain this immediate restart.”
“Can you do it again? Take it out again?”
Face pale, she nodded. “I think so. I'll need time to make some calculations. And I'm not sure--I don't think we'll get the field shut down for any longer than what we had.”
Daniel dropped his head and thought about just letting himself fall to the floor. But that wouldn't get him anything. So he looked up and called out, “Jack--it's…we had what--maybe thirty seconds? Twenty? I--”
He let the words drift. He couldn't run fast enough, not in his condition, to beat the field's reactivation. Hell, he couldn't even throw himself down those stairs fast enough, and he couldn't say it. But if Jack wanted him to try again, he'd just have to--what? Endure? Make the attempt and get slammed back into stone again? That wasn't a way to stay alive.
His lower back ached, as did his ribs and his elbows and shoulders. The next time he might catch his head on the doorway, and a concussion would end this mess even faster. But what choice did he have? “Jack, maybe I could try reversing direction on the steps. See if it'd push me--”
“Daniel, you're not doing anything. First off, we're going to get you some water.”
Oh. That sounded good.
It still took, well, it took long enough that Daniel settled into the shadows, allowed himself the last of his water because he needed it so much his hands shook with the need, and he'd let himself hope for more soon. Then Sam had her calculations and everything reset.
His sense of time, other than day and night, had faded along with most of his energy, and his vision had become so distorted that he couldn't even read his watch.
Thank god, Sam had enough energy to go around and then some. Teal'c and Jack headed off to the command tent, came back, each of them carrying a canteen. Just the idea of water had Daniel swallowing the dryness in his mouth and sitting up. Then Sam looked up at Jack and nodded.
Jack stepped up to the base of the steps. “Stand back--water express comin' through. Hit it, Carter.”
He didn't see or hear anything, but Jack and Teal'c each threw a canteen at the temple. They sailed over the steps, Teal'c's canteen moving a fraction of second faster--it spun through the open doorway, hit the far wall and cracked and Daniel scrambled over to it, didn't even care that the second one hadn't made it. It was the first one that concerned him--it was leaking.
He put a hand on the crack put into the plastic and he cursed, wished they still made these things from metal which would have only dented. He put his mouth over the leak. He drank as much as he dared--too much and it all might come back up. Slapping his hand over the dripping fracture, he searched for his canteen. As he struggled to get caps removed, he drank from the leak again, then he poured what was left of the water from the damaged canteen to his whole one. Letting out a breath, he rubbed the water on his hands over his face.
By then, Jack was yelling for him.
#
“Daniel! Daniel!” Jack thought about switching on his radio and yelling again, but Daniel had to be hearing him. Behind him, Carter was muttering that her calculations hadn't been wrong-- they should have had more time, this wasn't right. And, yeah, that pretty much summed up everything about this world. Nothing much right.
Daniel showed up in the doorway, but he wasn't even bothering with an attempt at a reassuring smile, just grimaced and kept his butt on the floor of the temple, leaned a little to one side like maybe he'd fall over soon.
“Daniel?” he said again, softening the word.
“Uh--canteen broke with the impact. Cracked. I got most of it.”
Jack let out a breath, threw up his hands. “Carter!”
“Sir, we lost ten seconds off that last shut down of the field. It's like whatever controls the mechanism is smart enough to learn and combat attempts to circumvent any interruption.”
“Uh--yeah. The hieratic writing here pretty much brags about the skill of the builders.”
Glancing up, Jack went over what he could see of Daniel--the guy sitting awkward, something hurt inside. Daniel's voice sounded stronger--what water he'd gotten had helped. So he made up his mind and turned to Carter. “How long could you give us with another burst?”
#
Sam wanted to cry. She wanted to rage and blow up that damn temple. But she didn't deserve the luxury of venting, and Daniel wasn't dead yet, so she wasn't going to give up and give into everything that told her she'd hit the wall.
Punching in a new equation to her laptop, she tried to find another answer.
The EM pulses had given them a total of four chances--three more miserable attempts after that first one, each shorter than the previous until, on the last one, they'd had only seconds before the field reset.
They'd gotten one more bottle of water to Daniel--a bottle, not a canteen--because they'd been throwing whatever they had that could hold water. The canteens--too big and slow--had been caught within the field before they'd reached the temple doorway and had been hurled back. As the time frame narrowed, a couple had been tossed a second too soon, and had been thrown back at them because of the early launch. And Daniel had reported that the only other bottle that made it to him had smashed into the wall and shattered. He hadn't gotten any good from it.
Clenching a fist, she slammed it on top of the table next to her laptop.
There had to be an answer. She didn't accept that this couldn't be solved. But the only thing left seemed to be Daniel's idea.
Getting up, she stepped out of the tent. None of them had wanted to talk to each other after that last failed try with the EM pulse. The colonel had headed to the crest of the nearest hill, and Teal'c had sunk down on his knees as close to that energy field as possible. He was still there, in the fading daylight, a dark form on the pale sand.
Sitting cross-legged, he looked relaxed and Sam hoped Teal'c had managed to find some ease of mind in the meditation he used instead of sleep. She couldn't find any kind of rest anywhere. As she glanced at the colonel's still figure, she knew from the tension in his shoulders that he didn't have any either. She was about to make it worse.
Head down, she started for his side.
When she drew near, he glanced at her, eyes hidden by his sunglasses. Looking away, he asked, “New ideas, Carter?”
He sounded tired, and she shook her head for an answer, but he couldn't see the gesture. So she put her feet at parade rest and her hands behind her back. This would go down better if it went down official. “Sir, we have to consider Daniel's--”
“No.”
She pressed her lips tight, then started over. “Sir, we know now that the controls for this field have at least some rudimentary AI--it learns as it goes, meaning it's countered everything we have. Frankly, even if we were to get the particle accelerator sent though the Stargate, I'm not sure it would be effective.”
Turning, he glanced at her, what she could see of his face all hard, angular planes. “If? If, Carter?”
Wanting to reach out and smack him, make him listen, she stiffened and got to the point of this, hated that she had to say it, but it was time for raw truth. “Sir, I don't have any other ideas.”
He stared at her, and she didn't know what he was thinking. There were times she didn't understand him, times when he disappeared behind his rank, or behind walls that no one could breech. Was he thinking about losing Daniel? Or was he turning this into an objective not achieved, rearranging everything into the cold distance of military terms that would make it survivable? An acceptable loss. Time to regroup and head home?
And what would she do if he made that an order?
Without a word, he stepped past her, and she followed him to Teal's side. Adjusting his cap, the colonel nodded. “Teal'c.”
The other man opened his eyes. He did not stand, did not look up as he spoke. “O'Neill.”
She heard the words, couldn't believe these two could sound so calm. She wanted to yell at both of them now. Instead, she put a shaking hand to her forehead. The back of her eyes stung, her vision blurred, so she blinked hard, then heard the colonel's low voice. “Carter thinks we ought to listen to Daniel's idea.”
Another voice answered, rough and cracking slightly. “You should, Jack.”
They all glanced up to the temple, and Sam pulled in a shocked breath. Daniel stood framed by the doorway, braced on it with one hand. He'd looked bad before, now he seemed about ready to collapse. She didn't know why he was still on his feet, haggard as he was, face rough with that scruffy beard, too pale, the bones of his cheeks and jaw defined sharp and strong, the hollows too deep and shadowed. The daylight was fading, but the sun slanted across him, turned him golden.
A messenger to the gods.
Why did they have to pick him? Tears picked her eyes again and she looked away, but had to bring her stare back to the others. They needed to talk about this. “Sir, given the sophistication we've seen so far in this…this temple, I think Daniel may be right. If it was going to vaporize him, why not do so right away?”
“She's right, Jack. This temple is about slow death, not a fast one. It's about making a choice.”
The colonel had his stare on the ground. He kept shaking his head. He lifted his gaze, pulled off his sunglasses and Sam almost flinched from the pain darkening his eyes. But he said, voice harsh and certain, “We don't know that.”
“Yes, we do. I know it, Jack. I know what's on these walls. And I can do this now. Tonight. While I--”
“No, Daniel! That's an order. You're not going to give yourself to any damn temple. Not while there's still time for other options! We're not done yet.”
#
Eyes closed, the deep mindlessness of kel'no'reem denied him, Teal'c could see only death.
That, in itself, did not trouble him.
Death became companion to all Jaffa. It became the dark lands between this life and the next. You served your god and died in that service. The only question was how death would arrive. That was his question still, but for another, and he wondered that this so troubled him.
Many others had fought beside him and fallen. He had even given death to those whom he had trained and led; he had killed his brother Jaffa so he alone would face the wrath of Apophis for the escape of prisoners held. But he had not died. Instead, he had gone with the Tau'ri, and had learned to seek far more from this life.
O'Neill sought more--he fought for those who followed him, and those unable to fight. But he, too, walked the dark lands, and he knew the danger; death could become so close a friend that life became a forgotten thing and honor fell into dust. O'Neill struggled with such choices, and managed again and again to turn from straying too far into the dark lands.
Major Carter knew that fight as well. But she carried within her a strong light. Teal'c would have it no other way, for the knowledge that blazed within her gave her vision and compassion. She could walk with death at her side and walk well, knowing that even if she stumbled, she would not lose her way. But she, like O'Neill, chose this path. And they were not here now fighting a battle or any part of a war.
No, this was a place without honor. A trap to kill without meaning or reason. Perhaps that troubled him most. This was not a place worthy of Daniel Jackson's death.
Daniel Jackson was as much warrior at heart, if not in skill, as Major Carter or O'Neill. He, too, walked the dark lands. He had killed; he would fight if he must. But, perhaps because he was someone who had not choosen this but had it chosen for him, or perhaps because he knew the secrets of the gods, or perhaps because it was his fate, he did not take death as his friend. No. The opposite was true. Teal'c had seen this in no other, but he knew it to be true; death had made itself companion to Daniel Jackson.
Death walked beside the man, jealous as a lover of any who came near, possessive of what it tried to take but could not hold. Daniel Jackson had died before, came near to it too often, but he was not a man who listened to the will of the gods. Nor to death. And so it was not right to have him die here and now, to be made into a messenger to a false god who would not hear his words and had no mercy to grant.
This was not right.
But Teal'c knew this as his fault.
He had relaxed his guard. He had not looked for danger, not thought it could be here. No matter what Daniel Jackson said, if he had gone first into the temple, this would not have happened. He would have seen the marks, he might have guessed the purpose of this place. He could have prevented this.
Hands fisting, muscles tensed, he wanted to scream with fury. He wanted to throw himself again at the gleaming barrier that had trapped this man. But he could do nothing. His strength was of no aid, his skills with weapons could not help. And he had no god to whom he could pray.
He had lost his faith long ago, had it pulled from him by slow degrees, just as Daniel Jackson was having his life taken from him now. So he had no god to whom he could turn, and nothing to offer. But he knew what his friend would give.
Daniel Jackson walked the dark lands with an awareness of where he had been led, and dared to walk into darkness so deep that no light remained. And where he walked, he took his words; good words, strong enough that Teal'c remembered the stories of his childhood about the power within a spell to move the gods if spoken right and with knowledge.
Teal’c had words, as well, weak as they were. And he could but try to put into them the same truth and passion that served Daniel Jackson so well.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the temple, at the blackness of an empty doorway, and put all that he was into his voice.
“Hear me, Daniel Jackson. I have no god to whom I may pray, but I would have you know what is in my heart. This is not a death with honor or meaning. It is only death, and so you must find your way from this place and back to stand again by your friends. You must, for I am not yet ready to have our paths diverge.
“You have found your way before through the dark lands. You must do so again, for while death walks near to your side, you have not made death your friend. I know this, as I know you are my friend. As I know you are needed still.
“The false gods are not yet toppled--there are battles that await your cunning, and councils where your thoughts must be spoken. And your voice must be heard, Daniel Jackson, for it is just and fair. So I would have you hear me now. I would have you know that you must find your way from this place. For if you do not, this will be a sorrow forever in me--and I will walk only in dark lands.”
#
In the chill of night, Teal'c sounded a wise man or a prophet, the rumble of his voice a calming cadence, poetic and sure. But with his back to the wall, unable to look out, Daniel couldn't see that way that Teal'c wanted. And the ache filled him, but he no longer had enough water in him for tears.
Ah, god, Teal'c--I wish I were what you think I am.
A man who could cheat death. A man clever enough to get out of this. Truth was, he stumbled into things and stumbled out. He was lucky, and he wouldn't knock that, but it played hell with his nerves, since he pretty well figured one of these days fate would deal him a deadman's hand. This might be it.
He tried to think about that, kept drifting because he found it more and more difficult to stay awake. He couldn't focus on much of anything, so he didn't have long.
Nosebleeds had started yesterday after he'd been knocked back into the temple, and he could no longer stop the spasms of dry heaves that shook his body and left him shivering. What little food he had left no longer mattered because he couldn't eat and didn't want to. His lips had split so badly that even his breath across them hurt, and it didn't seem as if he had any spit left in his mouth.
What was this--day five, seven, four, six? He'd lost track. He had a little over half a canteen of water now, maybe enough to clear his head for a short time. Nothing more.
He didn't know how you died from dehydration. He suspected an onset of hallucinations, a gradual detachment from reality, a slow shutting down of the body and its senses. He had to stand up very slowly now or the world spun so hard that he fell. At least he didn't have to worry about using his latrine much. The headache behind his eyes, however, had sharpened to where it had become an ice pick jamming into his skull and he'd run out of aspirin at some point that he no longer remembered.
It had also become hard to move, and not just from the bruises he'd added to his body. And he could hear a rattle in his lungs at night. Which meant he had to act while he still had some strength and some of his mind working.
Reaching for his canteen, he made up his mind. He undid the cap, then started sipping. He spend most of the night draining his canteen, letting the water revive him as much as it could. Near dawn, he lay on the stone floor, his canteen over his mouth to get the last drops, and then he sat up, not as dizzy as before, tired still and uncertain.
It was a reasonable plan, but this might be as bad as Jack thought it was. And he wasn't sure if he should tell them first, or just do it. So, after he finished his water, he sat in the doorway and watched the sunrise.
He hated getting up early, but he'd always liked staying up for a sunrise. He liked the stillness, the fresh sense of a new day--the rebirth of the sun god, only that was spoilt for him as were so many of the ancient myths. But on this world, with so little left to him, he could watch and let his mind empty.
He sat with Teal'c for company, the larger man sitting cross-legged on the sand, his eyes closed. Then Sam came out of her tent. She headed to the horizon, her head bowed, her steps long as if she somehow wished she could just keep walking.
God, this was killing her. She was dying right along with him. Both she and Jack had cut back on rations, he could see it in the sharp lines on their faces, and he knew it wasn't so much a conscious choice as an inability to eat when they were basically on a death watch for a friend. With Teal'c here, it had gotten worse.
Teal'c's anger seemed a palpable thing, something that easily penetrated the energy field. Shoulders hunched, he looked bowed under the weight of responsibility. As if this wasn't an occupational hazard of exploration, and Daniel wished he could get all of them to see that. But he couldn't.
And he couldn't put them through this any longer. A good reason to do this before he lost his conviction, and a very good reason not to tell them his plan. But he was kidding himself with this small delay of indecision.
He didn't want to do this.
He shared Jack's worry that this whole giving idea was not a good one. He was pretty sure no one else had ever done that and survived. He knew--well, he was guessing--that everything in this room would go with him. The real question was where did it go? Into the earth? Into nothing?
God, he was bucking the odds. As usual. And he really needed help to make this work, so he should tell them. He should take the words Teal'c had spoken as encouragement, use them for his strength. But, first, he'd sit here a little longer, enjoy the sunrise in case it was his last.
He tried again to empty his mind as the sun edged a fraction above the rolling hills. Then he glimpsed Jack come out of his tent.
Jack stretched and strolled toward Sam. It was all too casual, as if Jack hadn't really known Sam was there, and couldn't see from her bent head that strong emotions had hold of her and she was fighting them. Watching, Daniel saw Sam stiffen at what must be the sound of Jack's boots. The two figures, dark silhouettes against the pale sand, were too hazy for details and too far for him to hear anything. He couldn't even hear the hushed murmur of indistinct voices, but he didn't have to hear words. He could read these people just fine.
Sam wouldn't want to be caught crying, had to be swiping at hot tears, her movements jerky as she kept her face hidden. And Jack--ah, Jack, say something. Do something. Please!
Finally, Jack buckled. He stopped being the colonel long enough to be Sam's friend. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder and she turned to him, put her face into his chest and Jack's arms came around her. Jack kept his body turned into the sunrise, as if somehow his not seeing Sam cry made it something that wasn't happening, and something twisted hard in Daniel's chest.
He'd give a lot--a cup of water even--just to be able to say good-bye. To touch them all one last time. Reach out to Jack, feel the comfort of the other man's strength. Put his hand on Sam's face, watch her go incandescent as only she could. Tell Teal'c not just with words, which never worked so well with him anyway, thank you for what he'd said in the darkness last night. And he wouldn't get a chance for any of it.
The ache blossomed, bitter and strong, lifted to his throat as he saw Jack's back slowly ease, the stiffness slip away as Jack took comfort as well as gave. He watched them for as long as he could bear.
Stiff and hollow, he stood and noted a little less vertigo this time. He glanced down to where Teal'c sat, then he looked at Sam and Jack, even more blurry in the distance.
He was probably exchanging a slow death in front of his friends for a less slow one alone in a tomb. But asphyxiation might be less difficult than having his friends watch him die of thirst. And he still had his gun and his knife--but he'd never liked turning his back on even the most absurd of improbabilities. Which was why he was taking this long-shot.
What had Teal'c mentioned--dark lands? Yeah, that sounded about right for where he was headed. Kind of where he spent most of the time, actually. So he could manage this.
He glanced around once more, but he couldn't keep putting it off. If he did, he'd lose his will for it, and he wondered if he should just go ahead and make this be something his friends did not have to live with as a memory.
Would it be better for Jack to be furious with him for acting on his own? For Sam to think she could have succeeded if he'd allowed her another chance? For Teal'c to be free of guilt over this one thing that was so clearly not his mistake?
But none of them would forgive him--or themselves.
And Teal'c didn't want anyone to be made into a messenger to any god.
Ironic that he should become one. A vagabond in his life, made over into something of an angel. And he wasn't even religious. God, how many others had stood here, had come to this end? Had been forced into becoming an unwilling gift?
Well, he could make this willing. He could give himself. He could carry a prayer for his friends--and for himself. He could do that much.
He glanced again at the dark figures against the sand and weighed his choices. It was good that they had each other. And Jack wouldn't allow Teal'c to distance himself and stay in those dark lands Teal'c had mentioned. If the worst happened, they'd pull close. He'd take comfort from that. But he wished he had more--more to offer them, more time, more chances. More anything.
Eyes burning dry, throat thick, he pulled in a shallow breath because it stank in here.
God, he should just do this. He could step up to the wall just right of the door, the place where the story ended, the corner in the temple always in darkness. The room had been built so that the evening sun lit the left corner, and the sun swept across the rest of the room during the day, but this corner never had any light. This was where the path to the gods began. This was the start of those dark lands Teal'c mentioned.
But he couldn't do it. He needed the others to feel they'd had a choice in this because he knew too well how bad it was when life blindsided you with unthinkable disasters. So he moved away from the doorway and thumbed on his radio.
“Hey, guys, we need to talk.”
#
“No, Daniel, I've told you, not unless--”
“Jack, will you just listen!” Daniel wanted to scrub a hand through his hair but he worried that it might hurt, or he might fall over if he moved too fast, so he just lifted an empty hand. He had the others lined up at the base of the stairs. Sam seemed to be on his side, Teal'c hadn't said much, but Jack, as always, had gone stubborn.
“It's the only way,” Daniel said again, already tired of the phrase. He let his hand fall, then tucked both hands into his pockets. Even with the sun up, it was still cold.
Jack met his stare and shook his head again. “It's not. We'll get--”
“You'll get what? The other teams have been recalled, not that they could do much. And I can guess why they had to leave. So, what--you'll get the particle accelerator and blow this place?”
“Daniel, that might not happen when we--”
“Sam, I'm sorry, but I'm not up to being part of one more experimental attempt at anything. What I'm suggesting will put an end to this--one way or another.”
“And it's that other way that's not worrying you? Jeeze!” Throwing his hands up, Jack stalked away.
Sam turned so her stare had to be following Jack, and Daniel wished he could see her expression better.
The sun cast long shadows, gave everything enough shape and color, but he was so dizzy that his vision wasn't worth much of anything. Body language told him enough, however. Jack kept pacing back then away again, restless with energy that didn't have a target. Sam had her arms folded and her head had that belligerent tilt to it that she got when she'd been backed into a corner. Only Teal'c looked any kind of relaxed, standing at his ease as he always did.
Wetting dry lips with an even dryer tongue, Daniel tried again. “Sam--this is the best chance we have left.”
You know this. You know.
He didn't say the words, just left the thought between them because Sam could not deny this truth.
For a moment, she held so still he wondered if she was even breathing, and he could bet she really, really didn't want to try this. He knew just how much she hated taking leaps that didn't have proofs done in advance--that was her training. But her shoulders eased and she turned to Jack. “Sir, he's right. We have to take the risk.”
“Risk? Carter, risk implies some kind of chance at success. Daniel, tell me you know this will work?”
Pulling in a breath, Daniel clenched his back teeth. He knew the assurance Jack wanted--Sam could offer that kind of certainty. She had it in her. He didn't. He shook his head. “Jack, don't make me pull rank on you and make this an order.”
That at least got Jack's attention. The man turned to face him, whipping around so fast he looked ready to bring up his gun and train it on something.
Leaning on the inside of the doorway, Daniel hoped he made the gesture look casual not pathetic. “You know I can, Jack. This is about the accuracy of my interpreting a translation, so this really falls on me.”
“The hell it does. Team safety is my responsibility.”
“Which is why I'm even talking with you about this. I could have just acted. I'm within my rights to. But I need your help. You have to come up here and--”
“Yeah, you told us. We have to blow you outta there after you go Houdini. Let's assume you even end up anywhere near to where you think you will. Do you have a guess about how much stone could end up on top of you?”
Daniel glanced down and away, because Jack was right about that. Thank god, Sam spoke up and saved him. “Sir, I can make some calculations.”
“Based on what, Major? Guesses like Daniel's?”
Sam's head lifted--at least that's how it seemed to Daniel--and of course she wouldn't care for Jack's sharp rebuke, but she kept her voice even. “Sir, once the field is down, I should be able to adjust and use the GPR to scan the temple, determine if there is a room below the temple, and calculate the thickness of the walls and floors.”
Trying to keep any kind of smug off his face, Daniel gave Sam a smile of thanks for coming over to his side.
Jack turned, walked away, then paced back, faced off with Teal'c now. “I suppose you think we should do this, too?”
Daniel couldn't really see much of Teal'c--just that solid dark figure in desert cammos. But he knew better than to say anything. Teal'c would reach his own conclusions. He seemed to reach one now for he turned from the temple to face the others. “I do not, O'Neill. But I believe that Daniel Jackson is correct when he states this is his choice to make.”
Damn straight, Daniel thought. And he pushed while he still had energy enough to do so. “Jack, we have to do this--I ran out of water last night.”
That pulled Jack's stare up to the temple again, or that's how it looked from the change in Jack's stance, and Daniel almost winced. And maybe it was a good thing there was an energy field between them right now.
“You did? Then what's this about--us agreeing because? You already made up your mind, and we're along for whatever ride you want to take us on?”
That wasn't it at all. Jack had gotten it wrong, as usual. So Daniel made it brutal and blunt. “I don't want your opinions, I just need your help!”
Sam turned away and Teal'c went utterly still. So did Jack, but Daniel just stared back at those blurry shapes. This was his life--his death. And, damnit, this was a cultural and linguistic issue, not a military decision. He didn't want to undercut Jack's command, but he'd do it if he had to. “Jack, you said to wait until we ran out of options. Well, we're out.”
“So, no matter what, you'll go ahead with your part of this? You stacked the deck on us.”
Daniel's glance fell to the stone steps. Okay, Jack had a point there. Jack could talk about withholding help, but they all knew that was an empty threat. So, did he allow them keep any kind of illusion about the choices he'd already made for everyone? Or did he give them the courtesy of honesty?
Looking up again, he stared down at his friends. He knew they wouldn't see it his way, but that was pretty standard. “I'm sorry, Jack.”
#
Why hadn't he just told Daniel no, not doing this? Why hadn't he left it at that? He'd said too much, given Daniel room to maneuver. And Daniel, who could write a damn treaty because he could think around corners, had decided this morning was when they were out of time and out of options. He'd finished his water and planned this.
Jack wanted to throttle the man. He wanted to argue and give orders that would be followed, and just what the hell was Daniel thinking with that crack about pulling rank? Of course it was Daniel's call when it came to the value of a cultural find or the information to be had out of some stone carvings. The man was pushing it to try and lump this into that category--but that was Daniel. Always pushing.
Taking a breath, Jack willed his pulse to slow from battle ready. Losing it wasn't doing anyone any good, was just robbing Daniel of energy. And time.
And, damn, but the man was right.
They didn't have choices left. They had maybe a hope of SG-6 getting the Asgard to show. Yeah, right, sure--that always happened at a good time. Or maybe Hammond would pull in some favors to get them that particle generator. And then what? Another day or two gone and Daniel even further gone, maybe to the point where he wasn't even able to try this damn fool idea if Carter's fancy beam didn't work?
Letting out another sharp breath, Jack turned, strode away, stopped, stared at the sand, then turned and walked back. He did the same move again and still didn't have any arguments to throw back at Daniel. And the man just stood in the doorway, leaning one shoulder on the stone as if he had time to waste and didn't need the support of a rock wall to stay on his feet.
Shaking his head, Jack watched Daniel, searched for a weaknesses to exploit. Why did this feel too much like checkmate?
“Jack--please.”
Ah, hell. Daniel never asked for much, just the impossible. His wife back from a living death. People to stop killing each other. More time with anything that caught his interest off-world. Only this wasn't about more time--it was about taking away any time Daniel had left.
Turning, Jack glanced at Teal'c again. The other man was still frowning, looked uncertain, and when was that man ever not certain. So Jack looked at Carter, but she wasn't looking at any of them. She had her stare fixed on the tips of her boots, her face pale in the morning light, bleached out like her hair. So he looked at Daniel, met that intense, belligerent, unfocused stare. He jabbed a finger at the air. “You may not want my opinion, but you're going to get it--Daniel, we are not looking for you to blink out. Ever.”
Daniel's stare shifted to the side and down, and Jack knew the man had not been thinking about that. No, his head was somewhere else, but Daniel needed to hear this. He needed to know he had people who wanted him to hang around. “Not now. Not ever, Daniel. And that's not just from a sense of feeling responsible. You got that?”
He waited, counted his own heartbeats thudding dull in his chest. At last, Daniel looked up, and Jack wished it was relief and comfort on the man's face, but it wasn't. It was too much awareness of his isolation right now. It was a desperate desire to believe.
That was close enough that it would have to do.
With a sharp nod, Jack asked, “So where the hell do we put the charge?”
#
His palms should be sweating, but they were as dry as the rest of his body. And Daniel wanted to call out, tell Jack that he'd changed his mind--they should try something else. But he'd forced them all into this.
Why did anyone think he was all that smart?
The radio on his shoulder cracked, saved him from heaping any more doubts on an already deep pile, and Sam's voice came across, brisk and reassuring. She made it all seem so practical and ordered. “Daniel, we're ready. Since the field is activated by the presence of a Goa'uld, it might respond to the naquadah in my blood, so Teal'c and I will wait outside. We'll need time to make our calculations, but we won't make you wait too long. I promise.”
He glanced out the door, gave a wave. He'd run out of words, and after arguing with Jack he'd had to sit for half an hour just to regain some strength. Now he was at the end of it.
Shutting his eyes, he thought of Sha're. He tried to remember everything about the woman he'd loved and wed and lost. He'd hold to her because he didn't remember much of his parents, and if the dead could act as guides perhaps she would help him. Then he stood, stepped into the corner, and lifted his palms to copy the last image carved into the wall.
Pressing his hands to the cool stone, he listened to the hum that rose and lifted in pitch. His radio crackled as his head swum, and darkness and silence and the temple claimed him.
#
The stench hit first--ancient dry decay and, of course, his latrine had come with. The ultimate in someone's sense of irony that you took your shit with you here. Recoiling, he swayed, covered his nose and mouth with his hand. But the room already seemed lacking in air, so he lowered his hand and breathed through his mouth.
The transport mechanism--at least he'd gotten that right--should have brought whatever air had been with him down here, but did that mean minutes or hours? Perhaps it was better not to know. Slowly he turned, and his boots crunched on something.
God--bones? Please no, but he was pretty sure it would be, and he flinched at the destruction. The place must be strewn with bodies, and he shouldn't move, but he pulled out his flashlight because he had to see.
He shut it off after a sweep across the space, a view of stone walls, roof and floor--about the same size as the room he'd left, so it seemed likely he was now underneath that room. That was the theory, anyway. And he had the company of the dead; thirty or forty people, women and men, he'd guess, and a few children. But he'd never minded bodies. Well, not if they were a few thousand years old. His earliest memories were of playing in the cool of Egyptian tombs, and visits to the mummies at the Cairo museum had always been a treat. But some of these people had died trying to claw their way out.
Anger stirred, hot and sharp, a good thing because it kept the shudder hidden underneath. The builders could have left some record of these people, their names or something carved into the stone above. And he wanted to be furious on behalf of these lost souls, but he couldn't sustain the emotion--it bled out of him, left him light-headed and wanting to sit down. So he did. He winced at whatever crunched under him, then he tried his radio.
Nothing. Not even static answered. Ah, damn. Was this room shielded? His mistakes in assumptions hit then.
He'd been right--and very wrong.
Sam would look for a room and wouldn't find it. This chamber would be hidden, obscured from vision and technology-- that's why the builders hadn't put the names of the dead anywhere. For them, this room didn't exist in the ordinary world. It was on the path to the gods. They would have taken measures to put barriers between it and everything else.
If Sam couldn't find it, the others wouldn't know how much explosive charge to use. And that meant he would probably die, because he also had not been transported down into the same corner as where he'd last been standing. He didn't even have a reference point for knowing where that corner was now. Great, just great. Even if Jack decided to guess on the amount of explosive to use, falling stone would no doubt kill him.
Oh, hell.
And it was far too much a hell.
Closing his eyes, he tried to slow his breathing, but the images kept at him. Hands and arms distorted, twisted but still recognizable as human; skulls not bare, but with flesh desiccated and skin stretched tight and hair tufting, expressions frozen into grimacing horror. Maybe he'd be lucky and he'd die fast from an explosion. Or maybe he would share the fate of all the others who had died here.
It was possible, after all, that his team might decide that since they could not see a room there must not be one. In that case, he'd be sealed here, preserved. The edge of a laugh escaped.
God, what a way for an archeologist to die. He'd provide some future civilization remains to excavate and a puzzle to ponder. Oh, hell was right. Putting his head into his hands, he let out another laugh, tried to stop it before it turned to a sob, tried to get his mind onto dead languages instead of dead archeologists.
Errare humanum est, wasn't that the ancient excuse? Yeah, Seneca the younger had penned that, and he should know just how far any human could err since he'd come close to getting executed by Caligula. But it would have been good to remembered how the rest of it went before now. Perseverare diabolicum. To persist is of the Devil. A warning there, one he should have thought about before he'd pushed for this.
And now that'd be his epitaph.
Go to Part 7
“Valuable--sir, what the hell's invaluable about a man's life?”
“I know. Believe me, I know. However, given the probability studies done on Dr. Jackson's continued chances for survival, pressure has been--”
“Sir, I don't give a flying...” Jack bit off the word, cleaned it up since this was official channels. “...hockey puck about probabilities. Daniel's alive and we're going to keep him that way. That's what's probable.”
Hammond's voice sharpened. “Colonel, I have my orders. Now I'm giving you yours!”
Jack swallowed the rest of everything that would put him beyond insubordination. Daniel needed him here, not back on Earth answering charges. So he clenched his back teeth, strangled his voice into almost respectful. “Yes, sir.”
Voice going to gravel, as if he'd spent more than the last few hours on the phone, Hammond said, “Colonel, my orders are to recall SG-3 and SG-6, as well as Sergeants Siler and Jennings. We must resume missions that are viewed as critical to this command. If Major Carter's plan to shut down this force field with an EM pulse fails, you'll have another two days to pack up and ascertain--”
“What--that Daniel's dead?”
“Colonel, don't make this any more difficult than it is.”
Jack glanced at Teal'c, tried to pull in some control. Teal'c looked ready to chew steel and spit it out in bullets, but he wasn't letting himself go, so Jack figured he should hold his temper as well. Hammond sounded close to losing it, too.
“Sir.” Jack grated out the word. He didn't manage any respect this time, but he turned to face the MALP camera again.
“Colonel, as I said, I have orders. We're stretched thin, and with chances growing slim for...well, it's perceived--” Jack heard the sudden choke in Hammond's voice, like the man didn't want to say these words and didn't have a choice. Orders, hell. Perceived--what, that Daniel was good as gone, so time to cut the losses, write him off? This was so damned screwed.
Hammond started up again. “However, I understand, Colonel, that conditions on that planet can make travel to the Stargate dangerous at times, with a strong potential for violent sand storms...” Frowning, Jack glanced at Teal'c and wondered what he'd reported, but the other man only lifted one eyebrow in a cryptic clue as Hammond went on. “And I want you to take that into advisement, because I have also been ordered not to risk any other members of this command on this operation. Am I making myself understood now?”
Temper cooling, Jack listened to the Texas drawl creeping back into Hammond's voice, heard one message and the other underneath. Dangerous travel. Right. He took his time with a slow answer--this transmission, after all, would go into official logs. “Yes, sir. Understood clearly, sir.”
“Very good. We expect communications, due to the EM pulse Major Carter plans, to be interrupted. If we're unable to open a channel to you after this point, I want to be very clear about our priorities.”
The subtle stress on 'our' was something that wouldn't read in any log, and Jack got that meaning just fine. Our priorities, not anyone else's. Good enough for him. “Uh, yes, sir. Carter said we'd be taking out all our electronics, could be for a few hours, maybe more if we have to do more than one pulse to take out whatever's in that temple.”
Teal'c stared at him, frown going puzzled since Carter hadn't said anything like that. Jack gave a shrug back. The gesture wouldn't go down on any record, either.
Hammond seemed to be working hard to make sure nothing incriminating would go down anywhere. “Then you'll convey these orders to Major Waite and we'll hope to contact you soon. Hammond out.”
The radio cut out along with the Stargate wormhole, and Jack stared into the distance. Then he glanced at Teal'c. “You get all that?”
“Indeed. General Hammond has not been pleased. I am here only because I am not yet officially listed as ready for assignment to other missions.”
“Still on stand-down? Nice of you to spend it here. Come on, we need to get back to camp, get Waite to pack everyone out. After they leave, I want you to make sure communications go out--and stay out. We're not leaving without Daniel, and I don't want orders coming through saying otherwise.”
#
The command tent heated up to baking and stuffy during the day. It gave them shade, but not much cool. No breeze on this world during the day. Not a breath. Even with the sides of the tent rolled up, the place seemed a sweat box. And Jack's temperature was climbing along with the sun.
Majors Waite and Dawson stood in front of him, hands folded behind their backs. All correct--in looks. Lieutenant Morrison and Sergeant Siler, eyes front, stood tucked behind. And all of them giving him attitude. Not lots. Just enough that Jack's head had started to pound with a dull throb behind his eyes.
He wanted to yell, but he was trying not to because these four had earnest written into determined stares.
“Sir, Sergeant Siler has informed me that we may have difficulties with the DHD dialing home,” Waite said, the words military sharp and not sounding the least like a man out to buck orders. Funny, but with that craggy-faced, he didn't look a guy to buck orders, either.
“Trouble, hun?” Jack said, and his glanced slid over to Siler.
The big, sandy-haired man nodded, eyes and expression as morose as a beagle. “Sand, sir. Gets into everything, sir. Might even get into the crystals of the DHD, sir. Cause a short, sir.”
Jeeze, world record for sirs there. And now Siler was settling into the dull-eyed stare that anyone in the armed forces with brains knew how to master. It was the one you gave to a good but stupid CO, or to not so good and very stupid orders. The one that said, 'sorry, sir, don't know, sir' when you knew the whole score just fine. But you couldn't say so without sounding like you were calling your CO, or the orders, asinine.
Mouth pressing tight, Jack glanced at Waite's square-jawed face again. “Major, you have your orders.”
Waite did not act like a good SGC Marine and jump to it. “Sir, begging your pardon, but we may still have that trouble I mentioned.”
Meaning he damn well didn't want to go, and didn't want to take his men with. Not, of course, because this was Daniel. Jack had no illusions there. Daniel had the gift of fitting in pretty much anywhere for a short time, and very much nowhere for any kind of duration. Hell, Daniel didn't even fit that well with the other SGC civilians. Oh, he got along with them. And with the Marines. But the jarheads treated all the scientific-types like so much equipment--stuff they needed to look after out of duty, not buddies for socializing.
This wasn't about helping one of their own.
But Waite and Dawson knew it could be one of their guys trapped in that temple. And they'd both adopted Hammond's directive that no one got left. These were good men to have around, and Jack was more than tempted about taking him up on this offer. However, that would leave Hammond hanging.
That did not seem wise, not when the general was covering their backsides. Truth was, this was on Carter's shoulders right now. And Jack saw better use in having these guys back home. “You have your orders, Waite. You're to take SG-3 and SG-6 and report back. General Hammond was specific about that.”
“Sir--”
“Aht!” Jack held up a hand. Cripes, bad enough to get this much back-chatter from his team. “Once you're back, there's an issue of that particle beamy-thing that hasn't come through.”
Waite straightened, his expression going sharp. He reminded Jack suddenly of the interested look a good bird dog got when he'd heard gunshots. “Area 51. Know some folks?” Jack asked.
Waite glanced over to Dawson, but it was Siler who answered. “Sir, yes, sir. I know a few techs recently reassigned.”
“Good--Hammond's going to need--” He stopped himself. He’d almost said intel, but that made this sound too much like he was giving these guys a mission. “General Hammond might like to hear that. There's also still the matter of us not having heard anything from the Asgard.”
“Sir, isn't there a communication device to call the Asgard on Cimmeria--where you found Thor's Hammer?”
Jack looked at Dawson, took a quick assess. Nice kid. Bright. Tall. And he wasn't asking how Dawson planned to get SG-6 anywhere near Brunhilda-land. Some things a good CO just did not ask. With a nod, he said, “Yeah, that'd be the place.”
Waite and Dawson swapped stares, and Jack wasn't sure he could lean on these guys any more than he had to get them back in line without leaning hard. On the other hand, he would bust something if they pushed any more insubordination at him. What did he have to do--send out engraved invitations to get them to the party where he wanted them?
Finally getting it, Waite looked back, his jaw relaxing. From the look in his eyes--flat and sour as stale root beer--he didn't like it. Too bad. Jack didn't like a damn thing about any of this.
“It'll take a couple hours to get our gear together, sir,” Waite said.
Siler raised a hand like the good kid in class. “Sir, I need to finish helping Major Carter with the EM generator.”
“Fine. But I don't want to hear another word about any sand in any DHDs.” Jack glared at them. He made sure they knew he meant it--because he wanted to hang onto that excuse in case he needed it for why SG-1 had had to stay.
#
Watching from the temple, Daniel saw SG-3 and SG-6 start back to the Stargate, Siler and one other man going with them, steps dragging and reluctant. He considered asking why, but given the lack of enthusiasm, the answer seemed self-evident. You didn't need thirteen--well, with Teal'c here, fourteen--people waiting for one person to die.
So that was the official opinion as to his chances.
It seemed about right.
Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes. They felt gritty--he'd trade almost anything for eye drops--but at least he didn't have to worry about his allergies. He was so dry he doubted he could manage a sneeze. Folding his glasses, he tossed them onto his vest.
He had his vest and jacket off and tucked into the corner of the temple where he slept. The day had gotten hot--they always did--and he'd been able to see sweat darkening Sam's t-shirt as she finished adjustments to get her EM pulse generator working. He tried to find some hope for that, but his mind drifted and his emotions followed into a vague, gray fog of indifferent misery.
Glancing at his canteen, he swallowed, ran a dry tongue over even dryer lips. His body craved just one sip, so he gave in. The water had warmed with the passing days, but it was wet and he had to stop himself from drinking all of it. Not that he had more than another sip left. He capped the canteen and set it aside. Then he put on his glasses and went back to watching Sam work.
He could watch her all day. In fact, he'd watched her most of today. And yesterday. She had a grace to her, an economy of movement, skilled long fingers deft as they flipped switches or reworked wiring. She made science look good.
Teal'c hovered close, hands at his sides, as if he wanted to help, but this was all Sam's show. Jack knew that, too, and had disappeared into the command tent. But he'd pace out every few minutes, then pace back into the tent, and he looked wound tense about something.
Ah, the others leaving. Of course. Orders must have come down. They'd had other bad ones before--ones to turn Teal'c over to the NID, ones to hand over peaceful people whose only crime had been to have their world destroyed, and ones to give up searching for others before this. Why not give up now?
It was something of a depressing relief.
The fewer people around to see his slow demise, the better. But Jack wouldn't like any of that, and he must have orders, too, to abandon this as soon as…
Well, just as.
Letting that thought go, he roused himself from his lethargy. They'd need him to focus soon. Hopefully. If this worked, he had stairs to get down. That meant he should get his boots on. Yeah, he could do that.
He did, but it took far longer than it should. His fingers fumbled with the complexities of boot laces. When he stood up, he had to lean against the temple wall, eyes closed; low blood pressure left his head spinning and he thought dry heaves might claim him again. He couldn't afford that, so he breathed deep through his mouth until he heard Sam's voice.
“Daniel--we're ready.”
Stepping to the doorway, he waved a hand. Speaking took a lot out of him now and split his lips, so he'd avoid that if he could.
Jack had heard her as well. He came out of the tent, stood in the sun, his cap and sunglasses hiding his face, his body so taut he looked braced for disaster.
Daniel was hoping this would go a lot better than the sonic pulse. But he knew he'd better ask. “What should I do?”
His voice cracked on the words, and he wondered if he sounded as bad as he felt. He thought he might because Sam stiffened into military rigidity, and Teal'c and Jack glanced at each other, probably swapping unhappy stares. They were just a little blurry even with his glasses on.
“Don't worry, Daniel. You don't need to do anything. You shouldn't even hear or feel anything either.” Sam glanced over her shoulder toward Jack. “Sir--we're ready.”
Jack's head tilted as he looked up at the temple. Daniel stared back, nodded to him, and Jack gave a glance to Carter, nodded to her. He almost laughed at how they did that, spoke without words. But laughter would make his sides ached. Pulling in a breath, he shut his eyes and--he couldn't help it--he flinched back, just in case Sam was wrong.
Nothing happened.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the others. Jack spoke first. “Carter?”
Reaching down, she grabbed a handful of dirt, threw it. Pebbles bounced on the steps and Daniel grinned, and so what if the gesture hurt. He was free and that felt like heaven.
Grabbing his vest and jacket off the floor, he started out the door. He'd gotten four stumbling steps--about a quarter of the distance--when he heard the click and hum. He ran two more steps, tried to throw himself forward, but the shimmer rose.
Slamming himself against it, he could hear the others yelling as it lifted and wrapped around him.
Then it slammed him back into the temple.
On his back again, hurting everywhere, he tried to get up, got his head lifted, fell back again. Oh, god. He could still hear the others shouting--Jack angry, Teal'c calling his name, Sam furious and frustrated and saying this shouldn't have happened.
He hated being right about this place being built to keep its messenger trapped.
Moving slow, working hard to keep down the bile that threatened to rise, he rolled onto his side. He pushed up and dragged himself to the doorway, fought vertigo every inch of the way. As he'd hoped, his showing up got everyone to focus. “Sam--not your fault. You tried,” he called out.
Tears shimmered in her eyes and her fists bunched. “Daniel--god!” She swung away, took a step, then turned back to face Jack and Teal'c.
“Carter?” Jack barked out the question, his voice raw.
“Sir--the power source. It has to be shielded. That's the only thing that would explain this immediate restart.”
“Can you do it again? Take it out again?”
Face pale, she nodded. “I think so. I'll need time to make some calculations. And I'm not sure--I don't think we'll get the field shut down for any longer than what we had.”
Daniel dropped his head and thought about just letting himself fall to the floor. But that wouldn't get him anything. So he looked up and called out, “Jack--it's…we had what--maybe thirty seconds? Twenty? I--”
He let the words drift. He couldn't run fast enough, not in his condition, to beat the field's reactivation. Hell, he couldn't even throw himself down those stairs fast enough, and he couldn't say it. But if Jack wanted him to try again, he'd just have to--what? Endure? Make the attempt and get slammed back into stone again? That wasn't a way to stay alive.
His lower back ached, as did his ribs and his elbows and shoulders. The next time he might catch his head on the doorway, and a concussion would end this mess even faster. But what choice did he have? “Jack, maybe I could try reversing direction on the steps. See if it'd push me--”
“Daniel, you're not doing anything. First off, we're going to get you some water.”
Oh. That sounded good.
It still took, well, it took long enough that Daniel settled into the shadows, allowed himself the last of his water because he needed it so much his hands shook with the need, and he'd let himself hope for more soon. Then Sam had her calculations and everything reset.
His sense of time, other than day and night, had faded along with most of his energy, and his vision had become so distorted that he couldn't even read his watch.
Thank god, Sam had enough energy to go around and then some. Teal'c and Jack headed off to the command tent, came back, each of them carrying a canteen. Just the idea of water had Daniel swallowing the dryness in his mouth and sitting up. Then Sam looked up at Jack and nodded.
Jack stepped up to the base of the steps. “Stand back--water express comin' through. Hit it, Carter.”
He didn't see or hear anything, but Jack and Teal'c each threw a canteen at the temple. They sailed over the steps, Teal'c's canteen moving a fraction of second faster--it spun through the open doorway, hit the far wall and cracked and Daniel scrambled over to it, didn't even care that the second one hadn't made it. It was the first one that concerned him--it was leaking.
He put a hand on the crack put into the plastic and he cursed, wished they still made these things from metal which would have only dented. He put his mouth over the leak. He drank as much as he dared--too much and it all might come back up. Slapping his hand over the dripping fracture, he searched for his canteen. As he struggled to get caps removed, he drank from the leak again, then he poured what was left of the water from the damaged canteen to his whole one. Letting out a breath, he rubbed the water on his hands over his face.
By then, Jack was yelling for him.
#
“Daniel! Daniel!” Jack thought about switching on his radio and yelling again, but Daniel had to be hearing him. Behind him, Carter was muttering that her calculations hadn't been wrong-- they should have had more time, this wasn't right. And, yeah, that pretty much summed up everything about this world. Nothing much right.
Daniel showed up in the doorway, but he wasn't even bothering with an attempt at a reassuring smile, just grimaced and kept his butt on the floor of the temple, leaned a little to one side like maybe he'd fall over soon.
“Daniel?” he said again, softening the word.
“Uh--canteen broke with the impact. Cracked. I got most of it.”
Jack let out a breath, threw up his hands. “Carter!”
“Sir, we lost ten seconds off that last shut down of the field. It's like whatever controls the mechanism is smart enough to learn and combat attempts to circumvent any interruption.”
“Uh--yeah. The hieratic writing here pretty much brags about the skill of the builders.”
Glancing up, Jack went over what he could see of Daniel--the guy sitting awkward, something hurt inside. Daniel's voice sounded stronger--what water he'd gotten had helped. So he made up his mind and turned to Carter. “How long could you give us with another burst?”
#
Sam wanted to cry. She wanted to rage and blow up that damn temple. But she didn't deserve the luxury of venting, and Daniel wasn't dead yet, so she wasn't going to give up and give into everything that told her she'd hit the wall.
Punching in a new equation to her laptop, she tried to find another answer.
The EM pulses had given them a total of four chances--three more miserable attempts after that first one, each shorter than the previous until, on the last one, they'd had only seconds before the field reset.
They'd gotten one more bottle of water to Daniel--a bottle, not a canteen--because they'd been throwing whatever they had that could hold water. The canteens--too big and slow--had been caught within the field before they'd reached the temple doorway and had been hurled back. As the time frame narrowed, a couple had been tossed a second too soon, and had been thrown back at them because of the early launch. And Daniel had reported that the only other bottle that made it to him had smashed into the wall and shattered. He hadn't gotten any good from it.
Clenching a fist, she slammed it on top of the table next to her laptop.
There had to be an answer. She didn't accept that this couldn't be solved. But the only thing left seemed to be Daniel's idea.
Getting up, she stepped out of the tent. None of them had wanted to talk to each other after that last failed try with the EM pulse. The colonel had headed to the crest of the nearest hill, and Teal'c had sunk down on his knees as close to that energy field as possible. He was still there, in the fading daylight, a dark form on the pale sand.
Sitting cross-legged, he looked relaxed and Sam hoped Teal'c had managed to find some ease of mind in the meditation he used instead of sleep. She couldn't find any kind of rest anywhere. As she glanced at the colonel's still figure, she knew from the tension in his shoulders that he didn't have any either. She was about to make it worse.
Head down, she started for his side.
When she drew near, he glanced at her, eyes hidden by his sunglasses. Looking away, he asked, “New ideas, Carter?”
He sounded tired, and she shook her head for an answer, but he couldn't see the gesture. So she put her feet at parade rest and her hands behind her back. This would go down better if it went down official. “Sir, we have to consider Daniel's--”
“No.”
She pressed her lips tight, then started over. “Sir, we know now that the controls for this field have at least some rudimentary AI--it learns as it goes, meaning it's countered everything we have. Frankly, even if we were to get the particle accelerator sent though the Stargate, I'm not sure it would be effective.”
Turning, he glanced at her, what she could see of his face all hard, angular planes. “If? If, Carter?”
Wanting to reach out and smack him, make him listen, she stiffened and got to the point of this, hated that she had to say it, but it was time for raw truth. “Sir, I don't have any other ideas.”
He stared at her, and she didn't know what he was thinking. There were times she didn't understand him, times when he disappeared behind his rank, or behind walls that no one could breech. Was he thinking about losing Daniel? Or was he turning this into an objective not achieved, rearranging everything into the cold distance of military terms that would make it survivable? An acceptable loss. Time to regroup and head home?
And what would she do if he made that an order?
Without a word, he stepped past her, and she followed him to Teal's side. Adjusting his cap, the colonel nodded. “Teal'c.”
The other man opened his eyes. He did not stand, did not look up as he spoke. “O'Neill.”
She heard the words, couldn't believe these two could sound so calm. She wanted to yell at both of them now. Instead, she put a shaking hand to her forehead. The back of her eyes stung, her vision blurred, so she blinked hard, then heard the colonel's low voice. “Carter thinks we ought to listen to Daniel's idea.”
Another voice answered, rough and cracking slightly. “You should, Jack.”
They all glanced up to the temple, and Sam pulled in a shocked breath. Daniel stood framed by the doorway, braced on it with one hand. He'd looked bad before, now he seemed about ready to collapse. She didn't know why he was still on his feet, haggard as he was, face rough with that scruffy beard, too pale, the bones of his cheeks and jaw defined sharp and strong, the hollows too deep and shadowed. The daylight was fading, but the sun slanted across him, turned him golden.
A messenger to the gods.
Why did they have to pick him? Tears picked her eyes again and she looked away, but had to bring her stare back to the others. They needed to talk about this. “Sir, given the sophistication we've seen so far in this…this temple, I think Daniel may be right. If it was going to vaporize him, why not do so right away?”
“She's right, Jack. This temple is about slow death, not a fast one. It's about making a choice.”
The colonel had his stare on the ground. He kept shaking his head. He lifted his gaze, pulled off his sunglasses and Sam almost flinched from the pain darkening his eyes. But he said, voice harsh and certain, “We don't know that.”
“Yes, we do. I know it, Jack. I know what's on these walls. And I can do this now. Tonight. While I--”
“No, Daniel! That's an order. You're not going to give yourself to any damn temple. Not while there's still time for other options! We're not done yet.”
#
Eyes closed, the deep mindlessness of kel'no'reem denied him, Teal'c could see only death.
That, in itself, did not trouble him.
Death became companion to all Jaffa. It became the dark lands between this life and the next. You served your god and died in that service. The only question was how death would arrive. That was his question still, but for another, and he wondered that this so troubled him.
Many others had fought beside him and fallen. He had even given death to those whom he had trained and led; he had killed his brother Jaffa so he alone would face the wrath of Apophis for the escape of prisoners held. But he had not died. Instead, he had gone with the Tau'ri, and had learned to seek far more from this life.
O'Neill sought more--he fought for those who followed him, and those unable to fight. But he, too, walked the dark lands, and he knew the danger; death could become so close a friend that life became a forgotten thing and honor fell into dust. O'Neill struggled with such choices, and managed again and again to turn from straying too far into the dark lands.
Major Carter knew that fight as well. But she carried within her a strong light. Teal'c would have it no other way, for the knowledge that blazed within her gave her vision and compassion. She could walk with death at her side and walk well, knowing that even if she stumbled, she would not lose her way. But she, like O'Neill, chose this path. And they were not here now fighting a battle or any part of a war.
No, this was a place without honor. A trap to kill without meaning or reason. Perhaps that troubled him most. This was not a place worthy of Daniel Jackson's death.
Daniel Jackson was as much warrior at heart, if not in skill, as Major Carter or O'Neill. He, too, walked the dark lands. He had killed; he would fight if he must. But, perhaps because he was someone who had not choosen this but had it chosen for him, or perhaps because he knew the secrets of the gods, or perhaps because it was his fate, he did not take death as his friend. No. The opposite was true. Teal'c had seen this in no other, but he knew it to be true; death had made itself companion to Daniel Jackson.
Death walked beside the man, jealous as a lover of any who came near, possessive of what it tried to take but could not hold. Daniel Jackson had died before, came near to it too often, but he was not a man who listened to the will of the gods. Nor to death. And so it was not right to have him die here and now, to be made into a messenger to a false god who would not hear his words and had no mercy to grant.
This was not right.
But Teal'c knew this as his fault.
He had relaxed his guard. He had not looked for danger, not thought it could be here. No matter what Daniel Jackson said, if he had gone first into the temple, this would not have happened. He would have seen the marks, he might have guessed the purpose of this place. He could have prevented this.
Hands fisting, muscles tensed, he wanted to scream with fury. He wanted to throw himself again at the gleaming barrier that had trapped this man. But he could do nothing. His strength was of no aid, his skills with weapons could not help. And he had no god to whom he could pray.
He had lost his faith long ago, had it pulled from him by slow degrees, just as Daniel Jackson was having his life taken from him now. So he had no god to whom he could turn, and nothing to offer. But he knew what his friend would give.
Daniel Jackson walked the dark lands with an awareness of where he had been led, and dared to walk into darkness so deep that no light remained. And where he walked, he took his words; good words, strong enough that Teal'c remembered the stories of his childhood about the power within a spell to move the gods if spoken right and with knowledge.
Teal’c had words, as well, weak as they were. And he could but try to put into them the same truth and passion that served Daniel Jackson so well.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the temple, at the blackness of an empty doorway, and put all that he was into his voice.
“Hear me, Daniel Jackson. I have no god to whom I may pray, but I would have you know what is in my heart. This is not a death with honor or meaning. It is only death, and so you must find your way from this place and back to stand again by your friends. You must, for I am not yet ready to have our paths diverge.
“You have found your way before through the dark lands. You must do so again, for while death walks near to your side, you have not made death your friend. I know this, as I know you are my friend. As I know you are needed still.
“The false gods are not yet toppled--there are battles that await your cunning, and councils where your thoughts must be spoken. And your voice must be heard, Daniel Jackson, for it is just and fair. So I would have you hear me now. I would have you know that you must find your way from this place. For if you do not, this will be a sorrow forever in me--and I will walk only in dark lands.”
#
In the chill of night, Teal'c sounded a wise man or a prophet, the rumble of his voice a calming cadence, poetic and sure. But with his back to the wall, unable to look out, Daniel couldn't see that way that Teal'c wanted. And the ache filled him, but he no longer had enough water in him for tears.
Ah, god, Teal'c--I wish I were what you think I am.
A man who could cheat death. A man clever enough to get out of this. Truth was, he stumbled into things and stumbled out. He was lucky, and he wouldn't knock that, but it played hell with his nerves, since he pretty well figured one of these days fate would deal him a deadman's hand. This might be it.
He tried to think about that, kept drifting because he found it more and more difficult to stay awake. He couldn't focus on much of anything, so he didn't have long.
Nosebleeds had started yesterday after he'd been knocked back into the temple, and he could no longer stop the spasms of dry heaves that shook his body and left him shivering. What little food he had left no longer mattered because he couldn't eat and didn't want to. His lips had split so badly that even his breath across them hurt, and it didn't seem as if he had any spit left in his mouth.
What was this--day five, seven, four, six? He'd lost track. He had a little over half a canteen of water now, maybe enough to clear his head for a short time. Nothing more.
He didn't know how you died from dehydration. He suspected an onset of hallucinations, a gradual detachment from reality, a slow shutting down of the body and its senses. He had to stand up very slowly now or the world spun so hard that he fell. At least he didn't have to worry about using his latrine much. The headache behind his eyes, however, had sharpened to where it had become an ice pick jamming into his skull and he'd run out of aspirin at some point that he no longer remembered.
It had also become hard to move, and not just from the bruises he'd added to his body. And he could hear a rattle in his lungs at night. Which meant he had to act while he still had some strength and some of his mind working.
Reaching for his canteen, he made up his mind. He undid the cap, then started sipping. He spend most of the night draining his canteen, letting the water revive him as much as it could. Near dawn, he lay on the stone floor, his canteen over his mouth to get the last drops, and then he sat up, not as dizzy as before, tired still and uncertain.
It was a reasonable plan, but this might be as bad as Jack thought it was. And he wasn't sure if he should tell them first, or just do it. So, after he finished his water, he sat in the doorway and watched the sunrise.
He hated getting up early, but he'd always liked staying up for a sunrise. He liked the stillness, the fresh sense of a new day--the rebirth of the sun god, only that was spoilt for him as were so many of the ancient myths. But on this world, with so little left to him, he could watch and let his mind empty.
He sat with Teal'c for company, the larger man sitting cross-legged on the sand, his eyes closed. Then Sam came out of her tent. She headed to the horizon, her head bowed, her steps long as if she somehow wished she could just keep walking.
God, this was killing her. She was dying right along with him. Both she and Jack had cut back on rations, he could see it in the sharp lines on their faces, and he knew it wasn't so much a conscious choice as an inability to eat when they were basically on a death watch for a friend. With Teal'c here, it had gotten worse.
Teal'c's anger seemed a palpable thing, something that easily penetrated the energy field. Shoulders hunched, he looked bowed under the weight of responsibility. As if this wasn't an occupational hazard of exploration, and Daniel wished he could get all of them to see that. But he couldn't.
And he couldn't put them through this any longer. A good reason to do this before he lost his conviction, and a very good reason not to tell them his plan. But he was kidding himself with this small delay of indecision.
He didn't want to do this.
He shared Jack's worry that this whole giving idea was not a good one. He was pretty sure no one else had ever done that and survived. He knew--well, he was guessing--that everything in this room would go with him. The real question was where did it go? Into the earth? Into nothing?
God, he was bucking the odds. As usual. And he really needed help to make this work, so he should tell them. He should take the words Teal'c had spoken as encouragement, use them for his strength. But, first, he'd sit here a little longer, enjoy the sunrise in case it was his last.
He tried again to empty his mind as the sun edged a fraction above the rolling hills. Then he glimpsed Jack come out of his tent.
Jack stretched and strolled toward Sam. It was all too casual, as if Jack hadn't really known Sam was there, and couldn't see from her bent head that strong emotions had hold of her and she was fighting them. Watching, Daniel saw Sam stiffen at what must be the sound of Jack's boots. The two figures, dark silhouettes against the pale sand, were too hazy for details and too far for him to hear anything. He couldn't even hear the hushed murmur of indistinct voices, but he didn't have to hear words. He could read these people just fine.
Sam wouldn't want to be caught crying, had to be swiping at hot tears, her movements jerky as she kept her face hidden. And Jack--ah, Jack, say something. Do something. Please!
Finally, Jack buckled. He stopped being the colonel long enough to be Sam's friend. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder and she turned to him, put her face into his chest and Jack's arms came around her. Jack kept his body turned into the sunrise, as if somehow his not seeing Sam cry made it something that wasn't happening, and something twisted hard in Daniel's chest.
He'd give a lot--a cup of water even--just to be able to say good-bye. To touch them all one last time. Reach out to Jack, feel the comfort of the other man's strength. Put his hand on Sam's face, watch her go incandescent as only she could. Tell Teal'c not just with words, which never worked so well with him anyway, thank you for what he'd said in the darkness last night. And he wouldn't get a chance for any of it.
The ache blossomed, bitter and strong, lifted to his throat as he saw Jack's back slowly ease, the stiffness slip away as Jack took comfort as well as gave. He watched them for as long as he could bear.
Stiff and hollow, he stood and noted a little less vertigo this time. He glanced down to where Teal'c sat, then he looked at Sam and Jack, even more blurry in the distance.
He was probably exchanging a slow death in front of his friends for a less slow one alone in a tomb. But asphyxiation might be less difficult than having his friends watch him die of thirst. And he still had his gun and his knife--but he'd never liked turning his back on even the most absurd of improbabilities. Which was why he was taking this long-shot.
What had Teal'c mentioned--dark lands? Yeah, that sounded about right for where he was headed. Kind of where he spent most of the time, actually. So he could manage this.
He glanced around once more, but he couldn't keep putting it off. If he did, he'd lose his will for it, and he wondered if he should just go ahead and make this be something his friends did not have to live with as a memory.
Would it be better for Jack to be furious with him for acting on his own? For Sam to think she could have succeeded if he'd allowed her another chance? For Teal'c to be free of guilt over this one thing that was so clearly not his mistake?
But none of them would forgive him--or themselves.
And Teal'c didn't want anyone to be made into a messenger to any god.
Ironic that he should become one. A vagabond in his life, made over into something of an angel. And he wasn't even religious. God, how many others had stood here, had come to this end? Had been forced into becoming an unwilling gift?
Well, he could make this willing. He could give himself. He could carry a prayer for his friends--and for himself. He could do that much.
He glanced again at the dark figures against the sand and weighed his choices. It was good that they had each other. And Jack wouldn't allow Teal'c to distance himself and stay in those dark lands Teal'c had mentioned. If the worst happened, they'd pull close. He'd take comfort from that. But he wished he had more--more to offer them, more time, more chances. More anything.
Eyes burning dry, throat thick, he pulled in a shallow breath because it stank in here.
God, he should just do this. He could step up to the wall just right of the door, the place where the story ended, the corner in the temple always in darkness. The room had been built so that the evening sun lit the left corner, and the sun swept across the rest of the room during the day, but this corner never had any light. This was where the path to the gods began. This was the start of those dark lands Teal'c mentioned.
But he couldn't do it. He needed the others to feel they'd had a choice in this because he knew too well how bad it was when life blindsided you with unthinkable disasters. So he moved away from the doorway and thumbed on his radio.
“Hey, guys, we need to talk.”
#
“No, Daniel, I've told you, not unless--”
“Jack, will you just listen!” Daniel wanted to scrub a hand through his hair but he worried that it might hurt, or he might fall over if he moved too fast, so he just lifted an empty hand. He had the others lined up at the base of the stairs. Sam seemed to be on his side, Teal'c hadn't said much, but Jack, as always, had gone stubborn.
“It's the only way,” Daniel said again, already tired of the phrase. He let his hand fall, then tucked both hands into his pockets. Even with the sun up, it was still cold.
Jack met his stare and shook his head again. “It's not. We'll get--”
“You'll get what? The other teams have been recalled, not that they could do much. And I can guess why they had to leave. So, what--you'll get the particle accelerator and blow this place?”
“Daniel, that might not happen when we--”
“Sam, I'm sorry, but I'm not up to being part of one more experimental attempt at anything. What I'm suggesting will put an end to this--one way or another.”
“And it's that other way that's not worrying you? Jeeze!” Throwing his hands up, Jack stalked away.
Sam turned so her stare had to be following Jack, and Daniel wished he could see her expression better.
The sun cast long shadows, gave everything enough shape and color, but he was so dizzy that his vision wasn't worth much of anything. Body language told him enough, however. Jack kept pacing back then away again, restless with energy that didn't have a target. Sam had her arms folded and her head had that belligerent tilt to it that she got when she'd been backed into a corner. Only Teal'c looked any kind of relaxed, standing at his ease as he always did.
Wetting dry lips with an even dryer tongue, Daniel tried again. “Sam--this is the best chance we have left.”
You know this. You know.
He didn't say the words, just left the thought between them because Sam could not deny this truth.
For a moment, she held so still he wondered if she was even breathing, and he could bet she really, really didn't want to try this. He knew just how much she hated taking leaps that didn't have proofs done in advance--that was her training. But her shoulders eased and she turned to Jack. “Sir, he's right. We have to take the risk.”
“Risk? Carter, risk implies some kind of chance at success. Daniel, tell me you know this will work?”
Pulling in a breath, Daniel clenched his back teeth. He knew the assurance Jack wanted--Sam could offer that kind of certainty. She had it in her. He didn't. He shook his head. “Jack, don't make me pull rank on you and make this an order.”
That at least got Jack's attention. The man turned to face him, whipping around so fast he looked ready to bring up his gun and train it on something.
Leaning on the inside of the doorway, Daniel hoped he made the gesture look casual not pathetic. “You know I can, Jack. This is about the accuracy of my interpreting a translation, so this really falls on me.”
“The hell it does. Team safety is my responsibility.”
“Which is why I'm even talking with you about this. I could have just acted. I'm within my rights to. But I need your help. You have to come up here and--”
“Yeah, you told us. We have to blow you outta there after you go Houdini. Let's assume you even end up anywhere near to where you think you will. Do you have a guess about how much stone could end up on top of you?”
Daniel glanced down and away, because Jack was right about that. Thank god, Sam spoke up and saved him. “Sir, I can make some calculations.”
“Based on what, Major? Guesses like Daniel's?”
Sam's head lifted--at least that's how it seemed to Daniel--and of course she wouldn't care for Jack's sharp rebuke, but she kept her voice even. “Sir, once the field is down, I should be able to adjust and use the GPR to scan the temple, determine if there is a room below the temple, and calculate the thickness of the walls and floors.”
Trying to keep any kind of smug off his face, Daniel gave Sam a smile of thanks for coming over to his side.
Jack turned, walked away, then paced back, faced off with Teal'c now. “I suppose you think we should do this, too?”
Daniel couldn't really see much of Teal'c--just that solid dark figure in desert cammos. But he knew better than to say anything. Teal'c would reach his own conclusions. He seemed to reach one now for he turned from the temple to face the others. “I do not, O'Neill. But I believe that Daniel Jackson is correct when he states this is his choice to make.”
Damn straight, Daniel thought. And he pushed while he still had energy enough to do so. “Jack, we have to do this--I ran out of water last night.”
That pulled Jack's stare up to the temple again, or that's how it looked from the change in Jack's stance, and Daniel almost winced. And maybe it was a good thing there was an energy field between them right now.
“You did? Then what's this about--us agreeing because? You already made up your mind, and we're along for whatever ride you want to take us on?”
That wasn't it at all. Jack had gotten it wrong, as usual. So Daniel made it brutal and blunt. “I don't want your opinions, I just need your help!”
Sam turned away and Teal'c went utterly still. So did Jack, but Daniel just stared back at those blurry shapes. This was his life--his death. And, damnit, this was a cultural and linguistic issue, not a military decision. He didn't want to undercut Jack's command, but he'd do it if he had to. “Jack, you said to wait until we ran out of options. Well, we're out.”
“So, no matter what, you'll go ahead with your part of this? You stacked the deck on us.”
Daniel's glance fell to the stone steps. Okay, Jack had a point there. Jack could talk about withholding help, but they all knew that was an empty threat. So, did he allow them keep any kind of illusion about the choices he'd already made for everyone? Or did he give them the courtesy of honesty?
Looking up again, he stared down at his friends. He knew they wouldn't see it his way, but that was pretty standard. “I'm sorry, Jack.”
#
Why hadn't he just told Daniel no, not doing this? Why hadn't he left it at that? He'd said too much, given Daniel room to maneuver. And Daniel, who could write a damn treaty because he could think around corners, had decided this morning was when they were out of time and out of options. He'd finished his water and planned this.
Jack wanted to throttle the man. He wanted to argue and give orders that would be followed, and just what the hell was Daniel thinking with that crack about pulling rank? Of course it was Daniel's call when it came to the value of a cultural find or the information to be had out of some stone carvings. The man was pushing it to try and lump this into that category--but that was Daniel. Always pushing.
Taking a breath, Jack willed his pulse to slow from battle ready. Losing it wasn't doing anyone any good, was just robbing Daniel of energy. And time.
And, damn, but the man was right.
They didn't have choices left. They had maybe a hope of SG-6 getting the Asgard to show. Yeah, right, sure--that always happened at a good time. Or maybe Hammond would pull in some favors to get them that particle generator. And then what? Another day or two gone and Daniel even further gone, maybe to the point where he wasn't even able to try this damn fool idea if Carter's fancy beam didn't work?
Letting out another sharp breath, Jack turned, strode away, stopped, stared at the sand, then turned and walked back. He did the same move again and still didn't have any arguments to throw back at Daniel. And the man just stood in the doorway, leaning one shoulder on the stone as if he had time to waste and didn't need the support of a rock wall to stay on his feet.
Shaking his head, Jack watched Daniel, searched for a weaknesses to exploit. Why did this feel too much like checkmate?
“Jack--please.”
Ah, hell. Daniel never asked for much, just the impossible. His wife back from a living death. People to stop killing each other. More time with anything that caught his interest off-world. Only this wasn't about more time--it was about taking away any time Daniel had left.
Turning, Jack glanced at Teal'c again. The other man was still frowning, looked uncertain, and when was that man ever not certain. So Jack looked at Carter, but she wasn't looking at any of them. She had her stare fixed on the tips of her boots, her face pale in the morning light, bleached out like her hair. So he looked at Daniel, met that intense, belligerent, unfocused stare. He jabbed a finger at the air. “You may not want my opinion, but you're going to get it--Daniel, we are not looking for you to blink out. Ever.”
Daniel's stare shifted to the side and down, and Jack knew the man had not been thinking about that. No, his head was somewhere else, but Daniel needed to hear this. He needed to know he had people who wanted him to hang around. “Not now. Not ever, Daniel. And that's not just from a sense of feeling responsible. You got that?”
He waited, counted his own heartbeats thudding dull in his chest. At last, Daniel looked up, and Jack wished it was relief and comfort on the man's face, but it wasn't. It was too much awareness of his isolation right now. It was a desperate desire to believe.
That was close enough that it would have to do.
With a sharp nod, Jack asked, “So where the hell do we put the charge?”
#
His palms should be sweating, but they were as dry as the rest of his body. And Daniel wanted to call out, tell Jack that he'd changed his mind--they should try something else. But he'd forced them all into this.
Why did anyone think he was all that smart?
The radio on his shoulder cracked, saved him from heaping any more doubts on an already deep pile, and Sam's voice came across, brisk and reassuring. She made it all seem so practical and ordered. “Daniel, we're ready. Since the field is activated by the presence of a Goa'uld, it might respond to the naquadah in my blood, so Teal'c and I will wait outside. We'll need time to make our calculations, but we won't make you wait too long. I promise.”
He glanced out the door, gave a wave. He'd run out of words, and after arguing with Jack he'd had to sit for half an hour just to regain some strength. Now he was at the end of it.
Shutting his eyes, he thought of Sha're. He tried to remember everything about the woman he'd loved and wed and lost. He'd hold to her because he didn't remember much of his parents, and if the dead could act as guides perhaps she would help him. Then he stood, stepped into the corner, and lifted his palms to copy the last image carved into the wall.
Pressing his hands to the cool stone, he listened to the hum that rose and lifted in pitch. His radio crackled as his head swum, and darkness and silence and the temple claimed him.
#
The stench hit first--ancient dry decay and, of course, his latrine had come with. The ultimate in someone's sense of irony that you took your shit with you here. Recoiling, he swayed, covered his nose and mouth with his hand. But the room already seemed lacking in air, so he lowered his hand and breathed through his mouth.
The transport mechanism--at least he'd gotten that right--should have brought whatever air had been with him down here, but did that mean minutes or hours? Perhaps it was better not to know. Slowly he turned, and his boots crunched on something.
God--bones? Please no, but he was pretty sure it would be, and he flinched at the destruction. The place must be strewn with bodies, and he shouldn't move, but he pulled out his flashlight because he had to see.
He shut it off after a sweep across the space, a view of stone walls, roof and floor--about the same size as the room he'd left, so it seemed likely he was now underneath that room. That was the theory, anyway. And he had the company of the dead; thirty or forty people, women and men, he'd guess, and a few children. But he'd never minded bodies. Well, not if they were a few thousand years old. His earliest memories were of playing in the cool of Egyptian tombs, and visits to the mummies at the Cairo museum had always been a treat. But some of these people had died trying to claw their way out.
Anger stirred, hot and sharp, a good thing because it kept the shudder hidden underneath. The builders could have left some record of these people, their names or something carved into the stone above. And he wanted to be furious on behalf of these lost souls, but he couldn't sustain the emotion--it bled out of him, left him light-headed and wanting to sit down. So he did. He winced at whatever crunched under him, then he tried his radio.
Nothing. Not even static answered. Ah, damn. Was this room shielded? His mistakes in assumptions hit then.
He'd been right--and very wrong.
Sam would look for a room and wouldn't find it. This chamber would be hidden, obscured from vision and technology-- that's why the builders hadn't put the names of the dead anywhere. For them, this room didn't exist in the ordinary world. It was on the path to the gods. They would have taken measures to put barriers between it and everything else.
If Sam couldn't find it, the others wouldn't know how much explosive charge to use. And that meant he would probably die, because he also had not been transported down into the same corner as where he'd last been standing. He didn't even have a reference point for knowing where that corner was now. Great, just great. Even if Jack decided to guess on the amount of explosive to use, falling stone would no doubt kill him.
Oh, hell.
And it was far too much a hell.
Closing his eyes, he tried to slow his breathing, but the images kept at him. Hands and arms distorted, twisted but still recognizable as human; skulls not bare, but with flesh desiccated and skin stretched tight and hair tufting, expressions frozen into grimacing horror. Maybe he'd be lucky and he'd die fast from an explosion. Or maybe he would share the fate of all the others who had died here.
It was possible, after all, that his team might decide that since they could not see a room there must not be one. In that case, he'd be sealed here, preserved. The edge of a laugh escaped.
God, what a way for an archeologist to die. He'd provide some future civilization remains to excavate and a puzzle to ponder. Oh, hell was right. Putting his head into his hands, he let out another laugh, tried to stop it before it turned to a sob, tried to get his mind onto dead languages instead of dead archeologists.
Errare humanum est, wasn't that the ancient excuse? Yeah, Seneca the younger had penned that, and he should know just how far any human could err since he'd come close to getting executed by Caligula. But it would have been good to remembered how the rest of it went before now. Perseverare diabolicum. To persist is of the Devil. A warning there, one he should have thought about before he'd pushed for this.
And now that'd be his epitaph.
Go to Part 7