[Stargate: Fiction] "Not Another Naquadah Mine" [original SG team, PG]
Title: Not Another Naquadah Mine
Prompt: writerverse Phase 02, Challenge #03, Prompt #02 ‘action/adventure’
Word Count: 1, 457
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Pairings: none
Warnings: none
Summary: SG-22 is captured and thrown into a Goa’uld naquadah mine. Again.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_bookclub
Not Another Naquadah Mine
Air Force Captain Igraine Gryffydd opened her eyes with a low groan, took a quick look at her surroundings, and immediately shut them again.
“Dammit,” she muttered. “Not another naquadah mine.”
Opening her eyes again, Gryffydd took inventory of herself. Her jacket, helmet and tac vest were all gone, and she had acquired the low, lingering headache she always got from ‘zat blasts.
She sat up, slowly. In the dim light, she could tell she was in a stone chamber, lit by flickering firelight from the corridor outside. Further behind her, she could see three lumps in standard SGC green beginning to stir- for some reason, Gryffydd stayed unconscious longer after getting stunned but woke up easily, while the rest of her team took longer to get their brains back in gear.
“SG-22, sound off,” she said.
The lump farthest away sat up, holding his head. “Gryff, please tell me we’re not in another naquadah mine,” said Second Lieutenant Walter Tobias.
“No can do, Toby,” she replied.
“Ow,” said another voice, belonging to sociologist Dr. Levi Flannigan. “I think I lost my glasses.”
“No, I’ve got ‘em,” put in Marine Gunnery Sergeant Jason Vicks.
“Thanks,” said Levi, and put them on before blinking at the walls around him. “Another naquadah mine?”
“Yeah,” said Gryffydd, getting carefully to her feet.
“But, come on!” said Levi. “This is the third time this year we’ve been knocked out and thrown into a naquadah mine! And it’s April!”
“Actually,” Tobias added, “in the last two years, we’ve spent three months and eighteen days doing forced labor in nine separate naquadah mines.”
“Really?” asked Gryffydd, distracted from her survey of the chamber.
“Oh, god,” Levi muttered.
“You really keep track-” Vicks began, but was cut off by the sound of clanking armor.
Three Jaffa serpent guards entered the chamber, all bearing the points-down crescent moon symbol of Hecate, a very minor Goa’uld with more ambition than brains.
“Hey, guys,” said Gryffydd, to the Jaffa. “We’re booked into the Presidential Suite, so if you could just grab our luggage…”
The butt of the staff weapon that hit her ribs was not unexpected, but Gryffydd let out an exaggerated gasp and clutched at her side.
“Silence!” the lead Jaffa yelled. “You are now slaves of the Mighty Hecate! You will work to serve her, or you will die.”
“Do you boys have a script?” Gryffydd asked. “Because that is word-for-word the same speech we got the last time her Jaffa captured-”
The second blow hit nearer to her solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her, but she stayed on her feet.
“You will come with me,” the Jaffa snapped.
Tobias slid a hand under Gryffydd’s elbow. “Someday,” he murmured, “you’re gonna learn to keep your mouth shut.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” she wheezed.
The Jaffa led them to the entrance of a long rough-worked tunnel, where a dozen humans in various styles of now-ragged clothing were mining carts full of naquadah ore, and more of Hecate’s Jaffa stood guard.
“You will work, or you will die,” the head guard said again, and they left.
Gryffydd sighed. “Come on, boys, we know the drill…”
Eight hours later, Gryffydd was very glad she’d never been overly concerned with her appearance. Every inch of her was covered in gritty mud- even her usually-bright copper hair was a matted dull brown- and underneath, she could feel at least four separate bruises forming.
She accepted a bowl of gray mush from the Jaffa guard with the ‘dinner’ pot, and joined the rest of her team in a corner of the barracks building. “Report,” she said, taking care not to move too much as she sat.
“The tunnels are only about two hundred meters in any direction,” said Tobias, softly. “Ore is taken directly through the stargate, fifty meters from the mine entrance and the barracks.”
“There’s fifteen guards, sir,” said Vicks, next. “And the three who ‘escorted’ us in seem to be the highest-ranking, even if none of them is the First Prime. Roughly fifty prisoners, all at least working fit.”
“I counted at least eight different languages, “ Levi put in. “Everyone I spoke to today was a warrior, or some kind of fighter. It seems like Hecate likes forced labor as the punishment for enemy combatants. Which kind of explains why Gryff is the only woman in the mines.”
“Lucky me,” said Gryffydd. “Toby, how heavily guarded is the ‘gate?”
“Medium?” he ventured. “The carts of ore are taken right through, so there’s at least four guards within sight of it at all times.”
She frowned. “Any word on our gear?”
“Actually, yes,” said Levi. “One of the people I spoke to said that anything the Jaffa took- weapons, armor, you know- are kept in their headquarters.”
“Which happens to be the next building over,” said Vicks. “Nice.”
“Do we try a night run?” asked Tobias.
Gryffydd took a deep breath, weighing the options. “No,” she decided. “Not without seeing the guards’ night shift. We’ll make our move tomorrow morning, after breakfast.”
Levi frowned into his bowl of mush. “You want another meal of this?” he asked. “Because that’s always what’s for breakfast.”
She grinned. “C’mon, it’s almost, but not quite, entirely unlike food.”
“Then you have a plan, sir?” asked Vicks.
“Yep,” said Gryffydd. “There’s going to be a riot.”
“Seriously?” asked Levi.
“I’m from Philadelphia. We’re really good at riots.”
Tobias shook his head. “Well, it’s worked before. So we’d better get some sleep.”
Gryff woke at dawn to an arm thrown over her waist, three more feet tangled up with hers, and four of her hairpins trying to stab her in the skull. She’d bunked with her team enough times not to worry about the first two, and sitting up took care of the last one.
“Boys,” she said, poking the nearest shoulder she could reach. “Up and at ‘em.”
“Wazzat?” mumbled Levi, but Gryffydd smacked him again.
“Flannigan, you’re with me,” she said. “Tobias, Vicks, you’ll need to be the distraction.”
The lieutenant and the gunny looked at each other. “Fistfight?” Vicks suggested.
“And knock over the cook pot,” added Tobias.
“Great,” said Gryffydd. “Levi, c’mon.”
No sooner had she and the cultural specialist moved to the other side of the crowd lining up for breakfast, than they heard a loud argument begin. Gryffydd caught a glimpse of standard-issue black t-shirt before one of her teammates went crashing into the large cooking pot and all hell broke loose.
Gryffydd ducked under the sudden mash of bodies, grabbed Levi’s arm on her way through, and slipped out the door. Outside, they stuck to the shadows, barely managing to dive behind the Jaffa guards’ headquarters as the door burst open and they all came charging out.
“That’s all of them, Gryff,” Levi told her.
She nodded. “Keep watch.”
Their gear was piled haphazardly in a corner of the headquarters- Gryffydd pulled on her tac vest, stuffed the other three into their owner’s packs, then threw the packs over one shoulder. She paused, then doubled-back to snag a staff weapon from the rack against the wall.
“Let’s go,” she said, pushing Levi’s pack into his arms.
The fistfight Tobias and Vicks had quickly turned into a fight between the workers and the guards- but the humans had scrounged up some weapons, and it was anyone’s game.
Gryffydd, rounding the corner, raised her stolen staff weapon and blasted the guards’ leader square in the chest. “Tobias,” she called over the din, “Dial us home.”
He grabbed his pack on his way passed her, snagging Levi as he went. Vicks appeared at her side, cheerfully trading his makeshift club for his nine-milimeter.
“Tobias to Gryffydd,” said a voice over her radio. “‘Gate’s clear- repeat, ‘gate is clear.
“Copy that,” said Gryffydd. “Everybody! To the ‘gate!”
Tobias already had a wormhole established and was sending their IDC when Gryffydd arrived. She and Vicks kept up a steady stream of cover fire, both staff weapon and Earth bullets, as the liberated miners raced through.
“Gryff!” shouted Tobias. “That’s everyone!”
“Jason, go,” said Gryffydd. She aimed her staff weapon at the ground, sending up a spray of dirt, and almost fell backward through the ‘gate.
She regained her footing on the ramp, the sudden silence ringing in her ears after the firefight.
“Captain Gryffydd,” said General Hammond’s voice, from the Control Room, “report.”
“All accounted for, sir!” she called up. “No casualties, no major injuries. How long were we gone?”
“Twenty-seven hours,” said Jack O’Neill, coming into the ‘Gate Room. “A new record, Gryff.”
Gryffydd grinned. “Nice. And, sir?” she added, to Hammond. “Can I keep the staff weapon this time?”
The general laughed. “We’ll see, captain.”
THE END
Current Mood:
clean
Prompt: writerverse Phase 02, Challenge #03, Prompt #02 ‘action/adventure’
Word Count: 1, 457
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1 ( SG-22, original characters)
Pairings: none
Warnings: none
Summary: SG-22 is captured and thrown into a Goa’uld naquadah mine. Again.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_bookclub
Not Another Naquadah Mine
Air Force Captain Igraine Gryffydd opened her eyes with a low groan, took a quick look at her surroundings, and immediately shut them again.
“Dammit,” she muttered. “Not another naquadah mine.”
Opening her eyes again, Gryffydd took inventory of herself. Her jacket, helmet and tac vest were all gone, and she had acquired the low, lingering headache she always got from ‘zat blasts.
She sat up, slowly. In the dim light, she could tell she was in a stone chamber, lit by flickering firelight from the corridor outside. Further behind her, she could see three lumps in standard SGC green beginning to stir- for some reason, Gryffydd stayed unconscious longer after getting stunned but woke up easily, while the rest of her team took longer to get their brains back in gear.
“SG-22, sound off,” she said.
The lump farthest away sat up, holding his head. “Gryff, please tell me we’re not in another naquadah mine,” said Second Lieutenant Walter Tobias.
“No can do, Toby,” she replied.
“Ow,” said another voice, belonging to sociologist Dr. Levi Flannigan. “I think I lost my glasses.”
“No, I’ve got ‘em,” put in Marine Gunnery Sergeant Jason Vicks.
“Thanks,” said Levi, and put them on before blinking at the walls around him. “Another naquadah mine?”
“Yeah,” said Gryffydd, getting carefully to her feet.
“But, come on!” said Levi. “This is the third time this year we’ve been knocked out and thrown into a naquadah mine! And it’s April!”
“Actually,” Tobias added, “in the last two years, we’ve spent three months and eighteen days doing forced labor in nine separate naquadah mines.”
“Really?” asked Gryffydd, distracted from her survey of the chamber.
“Oh, god,” Levi muttered.
“You really keep track-” Vicks began, but was cut off by the sound of clanking armor.
Three Jaffa serpent guards entered the chamber, all bearing the points-down crescent moon symbol of Hecate, a very minor Goa’uld with more ambition than brains.
“Hey, guys,” said Gryffydd, to the Jaffa. “We’re booked into the Presidential Suite, so if you could just grab our luggage…”
The butt of the staff weapon that hit her ribs was not unexpected, but Gryffydd let out an exaggerated gasp and clutched at her side.
“Silence!” the lead Jaffa yelled. “You are now slaves of the Mighty Hecate! You will work to serve her, or you will die.”
“Do you boys have a script?” Gryffydd asked. “Because that is word-for-word the same speech we got the last time her Jaffa captured-”
The second blow hit nearer to her solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her, but she stayed on her feet.
“You will come with me,” the Jaffa snapped.
Tobias slid a hand under Gryffydd’s elbow. “Someday,” he murmured, “you’re gonna learn to keep your mouth shut.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” she wheezed.
The Jaffa led them to the entrance of a long rough-worked tunnel, where a dozen humans in various styles of now-ragged clothing were mining carts full of naquadah ore, and more of Hecate’s Jaffa stood guard.
“You will work, or you will die,” the head guard said again, and they left.
Gryffydd sighed. “Come on, boys, we know the drill…”
Eight hours later, Gryffydd was very glad she’d never been overly concerned with her appearance. Every inch of her was covered in gritty mud- even her usually-bright copper hair was a matted dull brown- and underneath, she could feel at least four separate bruises forming.
She accepted a bowl of gray mush from the Jaffa guard with the ‘dinner’ pot, and joined the rest of her team in a corner of the barracks building. “Report,” she said, taking care not to move too much as she sat.
“The tunnels are only about two hundred meters in any direction,” said Tobias, softly. “Ore is taken directly through the stargate, fifty meters from the mine entrance and the barracks.”
“There’s fifteen guards, sir,” said Vicks, next. “And the three who ‘escorted’ us in seem to be the highest-ranking, even if none of them is the First Prime. Roughly fifty prisoners, all at least working fit.”
“I counted at least eight different languages, “ Levi put in. “Everyone I spoke to today was a warrior, or some kind of fighter. It seems like Hecate likes forced labor as the punishment for enemy combatants. Which kind of explains why Gryff is the only woman in the mines.”
“Lucky me,” said Gryffydd. “Toby, how heavily guarded is the ‘gate?”
“Medium?” he ventured. “The carts of ore are taken right through, so there’s at least four guards within sight of it at all times.”
She frowned. “Any word on our gear?”
“Actually, yes,” said Levi. “One of the people I spoke to said that anything the Jaffa took- weapons, armor, you know- are kept in their headquarters.”
“Which happens to be the next building over,” said Vicks. “Nice.”
“Do we try a night run?” asked Tobias.
Gryffydd took a deep breath, weighing the options. “No,” she decided. “Not without seeing the guards’ night shift. We’ll make our move tomorrow morning, after breakfast.”
Levi frowned into his bowl of mush. “You want another meal of this?” he asked. “Because that’s always what’s for breakfast.”
She grinned. “C’mon, it’s almost, but not quite, entirely unlike food.”
“Then you have a plan, sir?” asked Vicks.
“Yep,” said Gryffydd. “There’s going to be a riot.”
“Seriously?” asked Levi.
“I’m from Philadelphia. We’re really good at riots.”
Tobias shook his head. “Well, it’s worked before. So we’d better get some sleep.”
Gryff woke at dawn to an arm thrown over her waist, three more feet tangled up with hers, and four of her hairpins trying to stab her in the skull. She’d bunked with her team enough times not to worry about the first two, and sitting up took care of the last one.
“Boys,” she said, poking the nearest shoulder she could reach. “Up and at ‘em.”
“Wazzat?” mumbled Levi, but Gryffydd smacked him again.
“Flannigan, you’re with me,” she said. “Tobias, Vicks, you’ll need to be the distraction.”
The lieutenant and the gunny looked at each other. “Fistfight?” Vicks suggested.
“And knock over the cook pot,” added Tobias.
“Great,” said Gryffydd. “Levi, c’mon.”
No sooner had she and the cultural specialist moved to the other side of the crowd lining up for breakfast, than they heard a loud argument begin. Gryffydd caught a glimpse of standard-issue black t-shirt before one of her teammates went crashing into the large cooking pot and all hell broke loose.
Gryffydd ducked under the sudden mash of bodies, grabbed Levi’s arm on her way through, and slipped out the door. Outside, they stuck to the shadows, barely managing to dive behind the Jaffa guards’ headquarters as the door burst open and they all came charging out.
“That’s all of them, Gryff,” Levi told her.
She nodded. “Keep watch.”
Their gear was piled haphazardly in a corner of the headquarters- Gryffydd pulled on her tac vest, stuffed the other three into their owner’s packs, then threw the packs over one shoulder. She paused, then doubled-back to snag a staff weapon from the rack against the wall.
“Let’s go,” she said, pushing Levi’s pack into his arms.
The fistfight Tobias and Vicks had quickly turned into a fight between the workers and the guards- but the humans had scrounged up some weapons, and it was anyone’s game.
Gryffydd, rounding the corner, raised her stolen staff weapon and blasted the guards’ leader square in the chest. “Tobias,” she called over the din, “Dial us home.”
He grabbed his pack on his way passed her, snagging Levi as he went. Vicks appeared at her side, cheerfully trading his makeshift club for his nine-milimeter.
“Tobias to Gryffydd,” said a voice over her radio. “‘Gate’s clear- repeat, ‘gate is clear.
“Copy that,” said Gryffydd. “Everybody! To the ‘gate!”
Tobias already had a wormhole established and was sending their IDC when Gryffydd arrived. She and Vicks kept up a steady stream of cover fire, both staff weapon and Earth bullets, as the liberated miners raced through.
“Gryff!” shouted Tobias. “That’s everyone!”
“Jason, go,” said Gryffydd. She aimed her staff weapon at the ground, sending up a spray of dirt, and almost fell backward through the ‘gate.
She regained her footing on the ramp, the sudden silence ringing in her ears after the firefight.
“Captain Gryffydd,” said General Hammond’s voice, from the Control Room, “report.”
“All accounted for, sir!” she called up. “No casualties, no major injuries. How long were we gone?”
“Twenty-seven hours,” said Jack O’Neill, coming into the ‘Gate Room. “A new record, Gryff.”
Gryffydd grinned. “Nice. And, sir?” she added, to Hammond. “Can I keep the staff weapon this time?”
The general laughed. “We’ll see, captain.”
THE END
Current Mood:
clean