STARGATE SG-1: Exile (Book 2 in the Apocalypse series) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Epilogue

  About the authors

  Stay in touch

  EXILE

  Book two of the Apocalypse series

  Sally Malcolm & Laura Harper

  An original publication of Fandemonium Ltd, produced under license from MGM Consumer Products.

  Fandemonium Books, PO Box 795A, Surbiton, Surrey KT5 8YB, United Kingdom

  Visit our website: www.stargatenovels.com

  METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER Presents

  RICHARD DEAN ANDERSON

  in

  STARGATE SG-1™

  MICHAEL SHANKS AMANDA TAPPING CHRISTOPHER JUDGE DON S. DAVIS

  Executive Producers JONATHAN GLASSNER BRAD WRIGHT

  MICHAEL GREENBURG RICHARD DEAN ANDERSON

  Developed for Television by BRAD WRIGHT & JONATHAN GLASSNER

  STARGATE SG-1 is a trademark of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc. © 1997-2015 MGM Television Entertainment Inc. and MGM Global Holdings Inc. All Rights Reserved.

  METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER is a trademark of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Lion Corp. © 2015 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved.

  Photography and cover art: Copyright © 2015 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved.

  WWW.MGM.COM

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written consent of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  For Mia — kid, you’ll move mountains — L.H.

  For Jess and Ben, as always — S.M.

  Acknowledgement

  We’re indebted to Melissa Scott, Jo Graham and Amy Griswold for the fantastic Wraith culture they developed in the STARGATE ATLANTIS Legacy series, from which we have borrowed many terms and concepts in this book.

  Historical note:

  This story is set in season three of STARGATE SG-1,

  between the episodes

  One Hundred Days and Shades of Grey.

  “We live in the age of the refugee, the age of the exile.”

  Ariel Dorfman

  CHAPTER ONE

  Evacuation Site — April 2000: The world was made from heat and noise and dust. The arid landscape threw up its crimson sand, as if in protest at the two thousand pairs of boots that now trod across its desolate plains. Janet Fraiser wiped her brow on her sweat-damp forearm and shouted directions for the raising of the surgical tent. To her left, the sun’s glare reflected off a lake of pristine water — in this scorched terrain, it was the colony’s best hope of survival.

  The trek to the camp had been hard going. The new world’s population of just over two thousand was about forty percent military personnel, who were accustomed to periods of arduous physical activity and deprivation. It was the other sixty percent who had slowed their progress: the soft palmed politicians, the policy makers, the spin doctors, the speech writers, those used to air conditioned sedans and single malts. Though Maybourne’s base had been relatively well stocked and sophisticated, technology-wise, there weren’t enough boots and BDUs to go around, and so some were forced to negotiate the rough and rocky terrain in Italian loafers and tailored suits. It was the most bizarre band of refugees Janet had ever seen.

  Nevertheless, here they were, less than two weeks after their world had ended, breaking new ground like the western settlers who’d made their home on Colorado’s dirt. Of course, those frontiersmen had set out on their journeys with the future in their eyes, seeking the uncharted and the undiscovered in the spirit of hope. They hadn’t been running from the destruction of their world.

  She was struck then, as she often was, with hideous imaginings of what had become of Colorado and her old life. Her house, Cassie’s school, her favorite deli: what were the chances that anything was left? Janet doused the thought and ran to catch the tarp that was collapsing on one side of the tent.

  “Ma’am?” She glanced over her shoulder at the young nurse who approached. Janet struggled to remember her name. The woman had only been at the SGC for about a week before the evacuation. Lucky for her, thought Janet wryly. All medical personnel on base automatically had a place on the evac list.

  “Yes… De Sousa?” The name came to her at the last second and she hoped the nurse didn’t notice the slight pause.

  “We need you in triage, ma’am. There are two more showing symptoms.”

  Janet took a breath and closed her eyes. As if having to flee for their lives wasn’t enough, they now faced another threat in the form of a virulent flu that had laid low fifteen of their number so far. Dehydration was the worst of it and the soaring temperatures were not helping. “There’s saline in one of those crates. Get them on an IV and I’ll be there in five.”

  What they needed was an antiviral, but supplies of Tamiflu were limited and they could only afford to administer them in the worst cases; they needed to ration meds in case this thing got worse. De Sousa nodded, collecting the supplies, and headed back to the triage tent, which had been set up as a priority when they’d arrived at the lake. But then everything was a priority — if only they had the time and the resources they needed.

  “You look like you need a hand, Doctor.”

  The voice set her immediately on edge, and she swiped the tarp away from her face to find Maybourne surveying the assembly with a look of absent derision on his face. He was no longer dressed in the leather bomber jacket and slacks he’d been wearing when he’d stumbled, terrified, into the base, and had changed into desert BDUs. The jacket and pants still held the creases from being packed in a supply crate, and the boots shone, having not yet been marked by the red dust of the valley. It didn’t surprise her that he’d been one of those to get hold of the prized gear.

  “I can manage,” she said, securing the tarp with a half hitch. She gritted her teeth and gave the line a harder tug than was necessary. A trickle of sweat ran down her back, sticking her tank top to her skin.

  Maybourne ignored her refusal of help and picked up the other side of the tarp, fastening it to the pole. She caught him glancing around at the chaos of the camp. The grimy faces, the stacks of military crates, the ramshackle tents that would offer them shelter were all that remained of an entire planet. It was gratifying to see a trace of guilt in his expression. You did this, she thought. You brought us here. But she said nothing; she’d voiced enough accusations when they’d first come throug
h the gate and all she’d gotten was shut down.

  “You know, there are bunks up at the base, Janet. We have personnel living up there out of this heat. I’m sure I could arrange—”

  “My patients are here,” she said. She wouldn’t let him assuage whatever guilt he was feeling by offering her a few home comforts. Besides, it was true that she needed to be near her patients while this flu raged. “There isn’t enough room for them at your base and there aren’t any resources nearby. As for the rest of us, we need water and we need land that’s fit for farming. We won’t get that at the top of a cliff.” She finished off her line and looked him in the eye. “It isn’t exactly the most hospitable of environments.”

  Maybourne gave a tight smile, not missing her meaning. It wasn’t only the lack of resources that made the ruins housing the Stargate unsuitable for settling the survivors. There was another unspoken, uglier truth that prevented them from staying there; it was NID territory, and she didn’t mean the legitimate branch of that organization. There were factions that went further into the dark, and higher up the ranks of power, than even Maybourne and, like cockroaches, they’d managed to survive the apocalypse.

  Others were crawling out of the woodwork now, emerging from the shadows in which they’d operated while on Earth. They had claimed the clifftop base under the guise of bringing their rogue element under control and anyone remaining there would no doubt have to accede to their rules. They’d sneaked in the back door and now controlled the greatest source of power left to humanity, simply by virtue of calling first dibs. It left the sourest of tastes in her mouth.

  Maybourne glanced around the camp. “You find this environment more to your liking?”

  “I find it easier to breathe here.”

  He snorted. “I find it stifling, and I don’t just mean the heat.”

  The last thread of her patience began to unravel. “I think I get that. It must be difficult to witness the outcome of all those plans you made.”

  He froze in the middle of kicking a tent peg into the ground and his jaw tensed. “Have a care, Dr. Fraiser. Don’t let misguided loyalties give you ideas. All of this came about for one reason.”

  She raised her eyebrows in question.

  “We spent too long pandering to the whims of alien races that had nothing but contempt for us. We were trying to make friends when we should’ve been looking after ourselves. That’s why we’re here. President Turner gave his ear too readily to General Hammond and he sold him a pup.”

  That was too much. “Don’t you dare—”

  “Be realistic, Dr. Fraiser. There’s a lot you can achieve here, but you’ll never do it trying to honor the memory of a dead man. Hammond got his priorities wrong and that’s why he’s dead. Don’t make the same mistake.”

  “And what about your mistakes, Colonel? Are you still insisting you didn’t make any?”

  He grinned and turned away, as if bored, but the expression looked forced. “I’d be careful about making those ludicrous claims about my part in those thefts again, Doctor. Let’s just say there are others in our little society who share my philosophy. You’d be wise not to rattle any cages.”

  Janet pressed her lips together, refusing to be baited. The claims she’d made were nothing but the truth — she knew it, Maybourne knew it, and she guessed that most of the NID people here knew it too — but she didn’t doubt that there were certain people who’d been on the evac list because of the power they wielded. They’d managed to spin a story that painted Maybourne as the one who’d uncovered the truth about the entire plot to steal alien technology and, in the end, it was Robert Makepeace, for his sins, who’d borne the full weight of the blame. There was, Janet supposed, no patsy like a dead patsy.

  “I wouldn’t waste my breath, Colonel. You know people. I get that. It’s the only explanation I can think of for you making it this far. You can say what you want about George Hammond, but there isn’t a man or woman down here who wouldn’t agree that he was worth fifty of you.” She took a step toward him and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction at seeing him flinch. It was in that twitch of his teeth that she saw it; he understood the truth of what he’d done, and his arrogance was nothing but an attempt to hide his guilt, even from himself.

  Maybourne glanced around, but Janet knew no one was paying them any heed. Behind her, voices were raised in a dispute over where the crates containing the medical supplies should be stored. She resented this petty little man for distracting her from her more important concerns. She resented him standing there in immaculate BDUs while the rest of them sweated in the dirt. She wanted rid of him. Apparently, though, he wasn’t quite ready to leave. When he spoke, his voice was almost a hiss. “My loyalty has always been to Earth, Doctor. If it wasn’t for me, most of these people would still be back there under Apophis’s yoke — or worse. If it had been left to Turner’s administration, there would have been no evacuation, and that’s the truth. I made this possible.”

  Janet laughed in disbelief. “You did? Please, Colonel. You’re a puppet, letting someone else pull the strings. I’ve seen you with them. Don’t overestimate your power here.”

  “It’s you who shouldn’t underestimate it, Dr. Fraiser.”

  She crouched and pulled the lid off a plastic supply crate, wanting to draw a close to this conversation. She had triage to get to. At least there she could serve a real purpose, rather than be left feeling helpless and frustrated. “Why are you here, Colonel?” she asked, counting through the packets of antivirals inside the crate. “Wouldn’t you prefer the company up at the gate?”

  He drew himself upright. “Novus ordo seclorum, Dr. Fraiser. The time for change is upon us. You would do well to choose the right side.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Earth — 2098: Daniel had often mused that the reason archaeology was considered a science and not a liberal art was because it was based on evidence, on the physical remains of the past. Each unearthed artifact told a story and it was the job of the archaeologist to decipher those stories and, by telling them, to lift the veil on history.

  But standing in the ruins of his own past, looking up at the shattered windows of the control room, at the half-buried Stargate through which he’d stepped only days earlier, Daniel felt the mental acuity needed to uncover this story start to slip away.

  The truth was simply too much to comprehend. It was impossible. And yet the evidence was right before his eyes, horrible and incontrovertible.

  “This is the SGC…” Sam was the first to speak in a long time.

  “It’s a trick,” Jack said, more in hope than conviction. “It’s some Goa’uld trick.”

  He glared at Daniel, looking for agreement, but Daniel could only shake his head. “I don’t think so.” Crouching down, he ran his fingers over a scrap of red paint on the floor. The same red paint they’d followed through the warren of half-excavated tunnels, the same red paint that had led the way to the gate room through the labyrinthine corridors of the SGC.

  “How has this happened?” said Teal’c, cutting straight to the point.

  Daniel glanced up at their companions: Dix, who claimed to be Rya’c, and the woman, Zuri. There was a tight expression on Dix’s face, akin to pity, but Zuri only looked suspicious. They exchanged a glance. “How can it be that they do not know?” she said.

  Dix didn’t answer her, turning instead to Teal’c. “Much in the galaxy has changed in your absence, Father.”

  “I have not been absent,” Teal’c said, and there was a heat in his voice that Daniel understood. I did not abandon you, was the subtext.

  If Dix heard it too, he didn’t respond. “Zuri,” he said, “have food and drink brought to my quarters. We have much to discuss.”

  Zuri didn’t seem happy with the order but she didn’t argue, just turned on her heel and headed down another shadowy corridor. Dix gestured along the passageway from which they’d entered the ruined gate room. “Come,” he said, “and I will tell you all that I know. There is
some great mystery here.”

  “No kidding,” said Sam.

  But no one moved; all eyes were on Jack to give the order. He sighed in defeat. “Okay, let’s go listen to the story,” he said, because, really, what choice did they have? Everything they thought they knew had changed; their universe was upside down.

  Even with ropes, it was a hard climb up what Daniel now knew to be the walls of the missile silo that housed the Stargate. The lower levels were uninhabitable, Rya’c said. They were too unstable and dangerous.

  “Ground zero,” Jack guessed as they climbed. When Daniel lifted a questioning eyebrow, he expanded the point. “It looks like they had to use the self-destruct. It would have brought down the lower levels.”

  Daniel shivered. It was impossible not to imagine General Hammond standing in the control room and giving that order; it was impossible not to imagine him dying there. He would have stayed until the end.

  Once they were back on a habitable level, Dix guided them through another rubble-filled corridor until they found themselves outside a small room. The walls had been whitewashed and there were unlit candles neatly placed on the makeshift table pushed against the far wall. Cushions dotted the floor and a sleeping pallet lay against another of the walls. Daniel tried to place the room, to figure out where they were, but, whatever it had once been used for, there were no clues left to find.

  “There is not much space,” Dix said as he dropped down onto the pallet and gestured for the others to seat themselves on the cushions. “You should leave your packs and weapons outside.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Jack said, cradling his MP5.

  Dix lifted an eyebrow. “Still you do not trust me, Colonel O’Neill?”

  “Still I don’t know you.”

  “But you do,” Dix said. “You taught me to catch a baseball, Colonel, do you recall? I still have the glove you gave me, though I no longer wear it as a hat.”