SG1-25 Hostile Ground Read online

  But the creature wasn’t listening. Still watching the sky, one hand moved to a device on its wrist. There was a sudden rush of air and a noise like an F-16 approaching the sound barrier. A beam of white descended from the sky, strands of light sweeping the ground, and before the colonel could finish his question, he was gone. Then Teal’c, then Daniel. Sam brought her Beretta around, but before she could squeeze off a shot, her weapon hand was gone — and so was she. The light had taken them all.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was a task that didn’t get any easier, no matter how many times he had to do it. Normally it was news he had to deliver over the telephone, but when time and geography allowed for it, George Hammond preferred to have this conversation face-to-face. Although neither time nor geography was on their side on this occasion, the telephone was not an option and, after everything his father had done for the people of Earth, Rya’c deserved to hear this news in person.

  “It’s a lovely day, sir,” said Janet, though there was sadness in her voice. Hammond couldn’t disagree with her. The sun blazed in a clear blue sky as they made their way from the gate to the town square, and Hammond could smell the heady fragrance of whatever purple flower flourished in the nearby fields; the Land of Light was a beautiful planet on which to make a home and the weather made no allowance for grief.

  He was glad that Janet had requested to come with him. She had cited her friendship with Teal’c as a reason, but he suspected she knew just how much he needed a friend by his side for this trip. The doctor was no stranger to delivering bad news, and he could rely on her to offer support when the time came.

  A figure approached from the direction of the square and Hammond guessed who it was before she was close enough to make out her face. He had already broken the news to Drey’auc over a MALP link and, as she drew closer, he could see that she had been crying.

  “General Hammond, Dr. Fraiser,” she said with a short bow, “it is good to see you both, though this day is a sad one.”

  “Drey’auc,” he said, inclining his head in return. “I can’t tell you how much I wish this visit was for a happier reason. Does he know?”

  Drey’auc shook her head. Her eyes glistened and he knew that she was struggling to hold tears at bay. “No, I was happy to grant your request and allow you to tell him. He is at home. Come.”

  He and Janet followed Drey’auc through the town, a picturesque collection of twin story buildings in some sort of stucco. The townspeople watched them pass with curiosity, and the occasional smile, but no suspicion. This was a good place to raise a family, he could tell, something that Teal’c would never know.

  And there it was. The guilt. It was delayed this time, or maybe early, but he had known it would come. It always did. During the conversation with the parents who had been so proud of their boy, the sister who would say how much her kids had loved their aunt, and asked how was she supposed to tell them that she wouldn’t be visiting on their birthdays anymore, the wife who smiled through tears and thanked him for coming, all the while left with a war widow’s pension instead of a husband. The son whose father had left to fight a war in a far off place and had paid the ultimate price.

  A hand on his elbow stopped him in his tracks and he glanced back to find Janet looking up at him. “We’re the ones who give them the news, sir. They’re angry and hurt and don’t want to hear what you’re saying, but we say it anyway and we take whatever they throw at us. Because we’re the ones who give them the news.”

  Hammond swallowed the sudden thickness in his throat and nodded. He was glad Janet had come with him. Up ahead, Drey’auc waited outside a small house set back somewhat from the main square, watching them with quiet interest. They made their way towards her.

  On most occasions, and for most people, it was clear from the very fact of the phone call or the visit from a high ranking Air Force general that something was wrong. Most people knew, he could always tell from the change in their tone of voice, or in the way their features fell when they saw the uniform. Hammond was not an unfamiliar face to Rya’c, however, and the boy had no frame of reference as to what this visit could mean. So when he came down the stairs, his expression was one of affable curiosity. Hammond could see how the boy had grown; a young man now — the man of the house.

  “General Hammond, my mother did not tell me you were coming.” He stopped, his feet mid-step between the first and second stair, and he looked over Hammond’s shoulder. “Dr. Fraiser.” His expression was puzzled now, wary. He glanced over at his mother. “Why are they here? Why… why are you crying?”

  Hammond removed his hat and stepped forward. “Rya’c, I’m sorry to be the one to bring this news —”

  “No…” Rya’c began to back up the stairs, as if distance could forestall the inevitable.

  “— but I’m afraid your father has been —”

  “No!” He pressed his hands over his ears and Hammond could see the young boy once more, the one who had come to Stargate Command a year ago, who had been saved by the man who was now lost to them.

  “I’m sorry, son. He’s missing. And we fear the worst.”

  Rya’c dropped, landing heavily on the stairs, his head in his hands, and his mother ran to him. He didn’t weep openly, and whether that was from the Jaffa ideal that emotion was a weakness, something to be repressed, or from the simple shock at the news, Hammond didn’t know. The boy let himself be guided to his feet by Drey’auc and led to the large wooden table and chairs in the center of the room. His mother sat down next to him, her arm around his shoulders.

  “He was a good man, Rya’c,” said Hammond. “A good warrior. You should be very proud of him.”

  When Rya’c finally spoke, his voice was choked with unshed tears. But also anger. “He should not have died for the Tau’ri.”

  Hammond had expected this, but still was unsure how to respond. “Son —”

  “No!” His hand banged onto the table, and finally he looked Hammond in the eye. “He had his own people. His own war. Why did he leave us to fight for a world which cared nothing for the people of Chulak or the slaves of Apophis?”

  Hammond said nothing. It would do no good to tell Rya’c he was wrong. Janet was right. He was the one who gave them the news. Let the boy’s grief manifest itself in whatever way necessary. He had that right.

  In fact, it was Drey’auc who tried to talk her son around. “Rya’c, your father fought for us all. You know that. If it was not fighting on the side of the Tau’ri, he could have died among the ranks of the Jaffa resistance. He died fighting for the freedom of us all. We should take solace from that.”

  Rya’c’s lips turned down in a grimace of both sorrow and anger. “I will not.”

  “My son…”

  “I will not accept this! Where is his body?”

  This time it was Janet who spoke up. “I’m afraid we have no body, Rya’c. At this stage, Teal’c’s official status is Missing, Presumed Dead. But the fear is… we think there may be no body to recover.”

  With a defiant lift of his chin, Rya’c said, “Then you have no proof that my father is truly dead?”

  Every fiber of Hammond’s being wanted to say No, Rya’c. No, we have no proof and I don’t accept it either. I know your father isn’t dead. I know that he and the rest of SG-1 are still out there somewhere. But he was a Brigadier General in the US Air Force, he spoke on behalf of the United States government, and he acted on behalf of the entire world. He could not let his own feelings, his own instincts, influence him here. So instead he said, “Rya’c, your father was more than a soldier to me, he was a friend. I can’t express how much his loss will be felt. But I see him in you. I see his finest qualities handed down to his son. There is a lot I can’t tell you right now, son, but know this. A storm is coming and it’ll hit hard. We need fine men, Rya’c. We need leaders. No matter what happens now, I know you will live his legacy.”

  As Hammond spoke, calm came over Rya’c. He stood and faced him, and it was onl
y then that Hammond realized the young man was of a height with him. “You’re wrong, General,” he said. “A storm may be coming, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that my people weather it. But my father is not dead. He is out there, somewhere, and I shall not rest until he is found. One way or another, I will see him again.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Daniel woke up slowly, a gradual return to consciousness that began with a thrumming in his head.

  Images flashed through his mind, memories — pain, tunneling vision, the certain knowledge that death hovered near. The tight grief on Jack’s face, Sam’s eyes wide with fear, and then another face, fierce and inhuman, but ultimately the face that had saved him.

  Never judge a book by its cover.

  His eyes opened on the threadbare homily, but they opened into darkness. Not pitch darkness, though, and he realized he could see shapes and shadows, movement from the corner of his eye. He turned to look, or, rather, he tried to turn and that’s when he discovered he couldn’t move. Something was holding him fast, sticky — almost fleshy — tendrils were wrapped around his throat, body and limbs, and there was some sort of membrane close to his face. In revulsion, he jerked away from it, but there was nowhere to go.

  “Yeah.” Jack’s voice drifted out of nowhere, familiar and reassuring. “Pretty gross.”

  Peering through the darkness, Daniel could just make him out on the other side of the narrow chamber. Or was it a corridor? Like him, Jack was held fast against the wall by thick fleshy bands, his face just visible past the skin-like membrane. “Jack?”

  “Out of the frying pan, huh?” He looked as grossed out as Daniel felt. “One day,” he said, “we’re gonna catch a break.”

  “On the plus side,” Daniel said. “I’m not dead.”

  Even in the darkness, he could see Jack’s expression soften. “Yeah,” he said. “There’s that.” He let a moment pass. “So, how’re you feeling?”

  He considered the question. “Well, aside from the obvious, pretty good actually.” He shifted, trying to gauge the level of pain in his side. There was none. “The alien healed my wound completely.”

  “And then beamed us up and encased us in sticky snot,” said Jack. “That’s some mixed signals right there.”

  As Daniel’s eyes adjusted to the low lighting he began to realize that they weren’t alone. He could see at least a half dozen other people, all wrapped in this strange, sticky substance. But they were lifeless, either dead or comatose. He had a sudden, horrible image of giant spiders cocooning their prey to keep it fresh. He shuddered. “What is this place?”

  “I was kinda hoping you could tell me,” Jack said, struggling against his bonds with a stubborn, if futile, determination that was all Jack O’Neill.

  Daniel tried to look further down the corridor, but his vision was obscured by whatever it was that bound him in place. “Where are the others?”

  “I am here.” Teal’c’s voice came from further down the corridor to Daniel’s right, but he couldn’t turn his head far enough to see him. “I am glad that you are well, Daniel Jackson.”

  “Me too — you know, aside from being stuck in some kind of giant spider web.”

  “And Carter’s right next to you,” Jack said, his gaze fixing somewhere left of Daniel’s shoulder. “She’s still out cold.”

  Flexing his muscles, Daniel tested the bonds. They weren’t budging so he decided not to waste his energy and concentrated instead on trying to figure out where they were. He could hear sounds in the distance, mechanical noises and a faint, but unmistakable, hum of technology. “Are we on a ship, do you think?”

  With a grunt, Jack stopped struggling and let out an angry sigh. “Maybe,” he said. “But if we are, we’re not moving. And I don’t think we’re even in orbit.”

  “No,” Daniel agreed. It was a subtle sensation, but you could always tell when you were dealing with artificial gravity. “So perhaps we’re still on the planet?”

  “You’re right about that.”

  The voice, young and male, startled Daniel and it took a moment to locate the speaker. Then he saw movement on the same side of the corridor as Jack, but further down, closer to Teal’c. “Oh, hello,” Daniel said. “I’m Daniel Jackson.”

  “Name’s Hunter.” The man strained forward in his bonds, far enough that Daniel could make out his face. Like all the inhabitants of this world he looked spare and hungry, although unlike Aedan’s people his hair was cropped short. And as he brought his face into the dim light, Daniel sucked in a breath of surprise. Further down the corridor Teal’c did the same.

  “What?” Jack said, struggling in vain to see. “What’s going on?”

  “Um,” Daniel said, “he’s Jaffa.”

  “He is not,” Teal’c said firmly.

  Daniel looked again at the symbol tattooed on the man’s forehead. Teal’c must have a better view, but even from this distance Daniel realized that the symbol — not one he immediately recognized — was crudely drawn.

  “You are not Jaffa,” Teal’c said. “Why do you bear the emblem of their slavery?”

  “I wear no such thing,” the young man retorted. “Dix himself marked me with the symbol of the goddess, Hecate.”

  Dix? Now that was interesting.

  The man — Hunter — nodded his head in the direction of Teal’c. “And you bear your own mark, friend.”

  “It is the mark of a false god.”

  “Apophis,” Hunter nodded. “Ain’t no one but Dix wears his mark no more.”

  “Daniel?” Jack’s voice, pitched low, drew his attention. He threw a significant look in the direction of the stranger. “Any ideas?”

  “Well, I’ve never heard of Hecate,” Daniel admitted, frowning. “That is, obviously I’ve heard of Hecate within the Hellenistic tradition — uh, interestingly sometimes considered a goddess of gateways — but I’ve never heard of her in the, um, Goa’uld tradition.”

  Jack gave a curt nod, brow drawing down into a thoughtful frown. “What did he mean, just then, that no one but —” He broke off abruptly. “Carter?”

  “Colonel… ?”

  Daniel couldn’t see her, but he could hear the woozy disorientation in her voice as she woke up. “Sam, I’m here,” he said. “We’re in some kind of… Actually, I have no idea what this place is.”

  He heard her trying to move, then “Urgh! What the… ?”

  “Yep,” he agreed. “It’s gross.”

  “What is it?”

  “Alien goo,” Jack said from across the corridor. “Technical term.” He let a beat fall. “You okay, Carter?”

  There was a pause while she considered. “I think so, sir. Where’s Teal’c?”

  Jack nodded along the corridor. “Over there. Talking to a fake Jaffa.”

  “A fake Jaffa?”

  “Oh, it’s just getting weirder and weirder, Carter.”

  Daniel smiled, which was odd given the circumstances. Yet things suddenly felt more normal than they had in weeks and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why, although no longer being half-dead and in excruciating pain certainly helped lift his mood.

  “Sir,” Sam said after a moment, “I think we were beamed up by that fighter. Did you see it?”

  “Not exactly,” he said, “but I figured.”

  “I saw it take you all. It just kind of swept us up.”

  “The question is,” Daniel said, “now what?”

  A dark laugh drifted along the corridor, a cynical sound from such a young man. “Don’t you know what happens here?” Hunter asked, incredulous.

  “Actually, no,” Daniel said. “We’re, um, new around here.”

  “That ain’t possible.”

  “Apparently it is.” He wished he were closer to the man and could meet his eye; it was difficult to understand the subtext from this distance and in the dark. “Look, Hunter, it would really help us if you could tell us what you know about this place.”

  “Ain’t nothing that can help you here
,” he said, “’cept the grace of the goddess.”

  Daniel tried a different tack. “It was the Amam,” he said, “the ‘Devourers’ who brought us here, right?”

  “We call ’em Snatchers.”

  “Right, okay. And we’re their prisoners?”

  Again, the dark laugh. “We’re their food.”

  Across the passageway, Jack started struggling against his bonds again and Daniel could see the frustration in his face when nothing gave. “Damn it,” Jack growled.

  “When you say food,” Daniel pressed, “what exactly —?”

  “Shh! They’re coming.”

  Daniel heard it too, the distant clank of heavy footsteps on a metal deck. More than one set of footsteps. A low moan rose up around them, as if the whole room had started whimpering, and he realized that not everyone trapped in here was unconscious. Terror had kept them silent and now even the young would-be Jaffa shrank back against the wall as if trying to hide.

  Jack licked his lips, edgy. “If anyone’s got a genius escape plan, now’s the time. Carter?”

  “Sorry sir. I’ve been trying to reach my knife, but I can’t move an inch.”

  The footsteps grew closer and then stopped. Someone started crying softly, the pitiful sound doing more than anything else to coil fear tight in Daniel’s stomach.

  At the far end of the corridor, a door slid open.

  “Ah, crap,” said Jack.

  SG-1 was officially missing. Missing, Presumed Dead.

  Makepeace didn’t know if he was the only one in the briefing room who understood the full impact of that fact, but there were no smiles among the SGC’s senior officers. No banter. They waited for the general in subdued silence.

  Hammond himself was still in his office. Makepeace could see him — they all could — standing behind his desk with the red telephone to his ear. Apparently the situation had escalated right to the top.

  “You got any idea what this is about, sir?” Ferretti said, leaning his shoulder closer and speaking under his breath.