06 - Siren Song (29 page)

“Well, it was worth a try.” Jacob glanced wistfully at Hammond’s cup, then
sighed and said, “Sebek works for Yu, and though Yu’s never been especially
interested in SG-1, that could change, given the current climate among the
System Lords. They’re paranoid, and it’s hard to predict what they’ll do.”

“SG-1 would make a good bargaining chip,” Hammond said. “Even if Yu doesn’t
care about them personally, he might have something in mind. A trade.”

“He’s certainly not above it, but it doesn’t seem like his style. And Boch
has been keeping a low profile lately; it’s only because of the questions that
we caught his trace. People remember questions about the Tauri.”

“Lucky for us,” Hammond said. Luck was, in fact, the only thing sustaining
his hope that they might find SG-1 alive somewhere.

“You should know that according to our operative on Yu’s mothership, he’s on
his way to Sebek’s homeworld, Atropos, at full steam.” Jacob set his fork down
and pushed his tray away. “So whatever we’re going to do, we’d better do it
fast.”

Hammond sat back in his chair; he’d already been ticking off options. But it
couldn’t hurt to have a sounding board, and Jacob knew their resources well
enough to be of help. “Can we ’gate to Atropos?”

“Maybe. There’s a ’gate there, but last time I had accurate intelligence, it
was in Sebek’s palace and heavily guarded.”

“Too much risk to send a MALP or a UAV, then.”

“It’ll only tip them off that we’re nosing around.”

Hammond nodded. Without a MALP, he couldn’t risk sending any personnel. Four
people was an acceptable threshold of loss to the program, no matter who those
people were, but he wasn’t about to risk additional lives unless he knew there
was a chance of success. Frustrated, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “We’re
running a little short on solutions, Jacob.” Hammond tossed back more of his
coffee, then said, “Give me something, here. Anything I can work with.”

Jacob sighed. “Listen, George. I’m going to lay it on the line. I can get a
ship and go after them, but I don’t know anything about that planet or where
Boch might be holding them. When you consider I’ve also got Malek nipping at my
heels like a pit bull, things get a little tricky.”

Hammond looked at him steadily. They’d been friends far too long to play
games. If Jacob was going to offer help, he’d do it without beating around the bush, but he seemed reluctant. At that moment,
Jacob lowered his head and closed his eyes, and when he looked up, Hammond knew
without hearing him speak that Selmak was in control. No matter how many times
he saw it happen, it still raised the hair on his arms.

“General Hammond. You are an honorable man with much political experience,
and I do not think I need to describe for you the danger of defying the Tok’ra
Council. What Jacob is considering is dangerous for us, and for you. Malek will
insist that he be allowed to come along, and so we must convince him to assist
in a recovery rather than an assassination.”

“What do you suggest, then?” Hammond asked.

“We have no choice but to proceed. If we do not act, SG-1 will be lost.
However, I must caution you that Malek’s agenda seems clear and certain, and if
we fail to dissuade him from the course he has been set upon, he will carry out
his plan.”

“I’m not going to give my sanction for it,” Hammond said, eyes narrowed.

“Practicality, General. This is the risk you will take if we proceed. Is this
risk acceptable to you?”

“If you don’t go, they die. So, yes.” Hammond felt as though he’d been shoved
over a barrel. Not Selmak’s fault, or Jacob’s either. Not even Malek was to
blame. Hammond had participated in his share of dubious acts to ensure an
operation’s security, and he understood even if he didn’t like it one damn bit.

Selmak bowed his head, and as soon as he raised it again Jacob said, “Okay,
then. We go. I’ll talk to Malek.”

“Now’s your chance,” Hammond said. He nodded at the doorway, where Malek
stood, looking uncomfortable as he surveyed the crowded room.

“Selmak has had a lot of practice dealing with stubborn Tok’ra,” Jacob said
under his breath, as Malek approached their table and inclined his head in
greeting. “It’ll be all right.”

“General Hammond,” Malek said, with barely a glance at Jacob, “I wish to
apologize for any offense I have given. I did not mean to be disagreeable.”

“I understand,” Hammond said, and though he meant it, the words came out a
little harsher than intended. He gestured to the third chair at the table,
without making an overt invitation. Malek looked as though he’d much rather
leave, but he pulled out the chair and sat down on the edge of it.

“The Tok’ra’s numbers continue to dwindle, General. It falls to those of us
to remain to preserve our brethren in any way necessary, so that we may continue
the resistance that benefits your people, and mine. It sometimes causes me to
be…” Malek paused, shifted his glance to Jacob, then back to Hammond.
“Somewhat hasty in my judgment.”

“We all have those moments, from time to time.” Hammond watched Malek’s stiff
nod and wondered if Malek had been directed to play nice by the Council, or if
he had experienced some sort of perspective shift. It could be either, but it
didn’t matter; he had settled the issue as much as possible with Jacob and
Selmak, and soon it would be up to them.

“I’ve offered George our help,” Jacob said, his direct gaze fixed on Malek.
“We should leave as soon as possible; we’ll need to gate to P32-119 and pick up
some transportation.”

“I will not say it is a fool’s errand, but you understand I believe we have
little chance of assisting your people,” Malek said quietly.

“I do,” Hammond said, and left it at that.

Malek stood up, waiting for a moment for Jacob to follow. “I will meet you in
the embarkation room,” Malek said, and took Jacob’s half-smile as an answer.

When Malek was gone, Jacob reached over and sneaked a sip Hammond’s lukewarm
coffee. “This is going to be a long trip,” he said, by way of apology. Hammond
couldn’t tell if it was directed at him or at Selmak.

Sam stared down at the driving rain on the cobblestones and hunched her
shoulders against the wind that whipped down the alleyway, blowing greasy water
sideways into the meager shelter of the overhanging tarp. Above the wall on the
other side of the alley, the clouds glowed red with the
ha’tak’s
reflected light, the towering remains of the Ancient ship slicing up into it like a faintly gleaming talon.
Over the sound of the storm, she could hear the growing whine of a death glider
doing its sweep over the city and instinctively she drew back further into the
shadows, coming up against Teal’c’s solid presence.

“I didn’t lie,” she said at last.

“Only by omission.”

“My call.”

She had already let him off the hook—she was taking the rap for this one—but he wouldn’t let it go. She’d known he wouldn’t.

“You would use their faith against them. Let them trade one false god for
another.”

She tilted her head back to stare up at the Ancient tower. What part of the
ship was that? Communications? Command deck? Something she couldn’t imagine,
probably. “Maybe,” she sighed, and closed her eyes. In her head she could hear
the Colonel’s voice.
You say false god I say potahto.
“I don’t know. The
Ancients can seem pretty godlike.”

“They appear to have abandoned these people. And in any case the writing on
the door in the mine is not an invitation. It may be irresponsible to allow them
to persist in their misunderstanding.”

She let the white noise of falling rain soothe the throbbing behind her eyes.
What people hasn’t felt abandoned by its God? She squared her shoulders. This
wasn’t the time for metaphysics, even though a part of her brain reminded her
that this wasn’t a metaphysical argument at all. It was plain old human
politics. Manipulation. Maneuvering. Tactics. She turned to Teal’c. “So, what?
I’m supposed to let them kill Daniel and probably the Colonel, too, in the
process?”

In the dim light from the Goa’uld ship, she could see his features soften for
a moment and then resume that stony determination she knew well. “It is likely
that Daniel Jackson will be killed in any case. Aris Boch—”

“It’s not his place.”
She surprised even herself with the vehemence in
her voice. When he made no reply, she jerked her chin toward the door. “Go get
Hamel and whoever else will come.
Not
Aadi. It’s time to move.”

Teal’c hesitated, the argument unfinished, but did her the favor of obeying
without comment.

“My call,” she repeated to the rain.

Once he was gone and the plastic had settled again behind him, she allowed
herself thirty carefully measured seconds to listen to the rain with her eyes
closed, to let it sheet across her mind. But even thirty seconds seemed too long
now. Too much waiting. When she opened her eyes, the Ancient tower pointed up at
the clouds and, somewhere behind them, the stars. It was time to get off this
damn planet.

She ducked through the door, her nose wrinkling at the acrid, sooty bite of
smoke and the heavy-sweet smell of unwashed bodies. No one turned to look at
her, though. They were all watching Brenneka, still standing where she had been
in the middle of the room, planted at the center of the swirling mosaic body of
the Nitori. At her feet, Aadi lay sprawled in the curling embrace of the glass
Ancient, his hand cupping his cheek, his eyes blazing.

“They
lie,”
Brenneka hissed at him, the force of her anger making her
bend toward him, lashing out like a snake.

Aadi recoiled but didn’t scramble away from her. “It doesn’t matter!” he
shouted back, his voice was thick with unshed tears. “He’s
my
father and
I’ll—”

“They’ll kill him to save their friend!”

Sam shouldered her way through the people by the door. “That’s not true.”
This time, she didn’t bother to hide her exasperation and her anger, but she
saved at least some of it for herself. She nodded at Teal’c, who started to make
his way toward her, keeping to the walls. No one, it seemed, wanted to get too
close to Brenneka.

“Bren—” Hamel interjected from somewhere on the far side of the room.

Brenneka speared the old man with a furious gaze.

“What if they aren’t lying?” Hamel came forward, then bent to heave Aadi to
his feet by the collar of his shirt. “If the offworlders are the Inspired—”

“We
are the chosen of the Nitori,” Brenneka insisted. Sam flinched inwardly a little to see the disappointment and the denial
struggling in her. “They will take what is ours. And if you help them steal our
gift, the Nitori will—”

“What?” Hamel waved a bony hand at the scarecrows gathered in the room, the
broken city outside. “Punish us? Leave us?” His laugh was ironic and bitter.
“What if the Nitori have already done something, Brenneka? What if these
offworlders are the gift?” A murmur of agitation rippled through the gathered
men. After smoothing Aadi’s shirt and patting him gently on the side of the
face, he raised his eyes to Sam’s, then turned to meet Brenneka’s sparking
resistance. “Maybe it really doesn’t matter whose story is right. We can help
Aris. And if they can get their man back, isn’t that a worthy thing? He doesn’t
have to die, their Colonel, and weigh us down with his death. The other—” He
shrugged. “If he is what she says he is, he’ll do for himself. And if he is what
she says he is, maybe he’ll do for us, too.”

Sam ignored Teal’c’s low, dissenting grunt as he came to stand behind her.

Brenneka’s fists opened and closed at her sides, once, twice, before she
looked down at the tendrils of light captured in glass at her feet. “Do what you
want,” she said finally. “I believe in my brother. Sebek will die.” Shooting Sam
a venomous look, she made that small, snapping gesture again. Most of the
gathered men made it with her, but a few looked anywhere but at her, their hands
hanging still by their sides or tucked up inside their sleeves. Sam was more
than a little surprised to see that Esa was one of the latter. Apparently,
Brenneka was surprised, too, because her face fell as Esa looked at his feet.

“We have to go. Now,” Sam announced. “We’ll take anyone who wants to help.”
When Aadi stepped forward, she aimed a finger at his chest. “Except you.”
Predictably, Aadi opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “You’re a
kid, and a liability. No time to baby-sit.” Gathering Teal’c and Hamel up with a
sweep of her gaze around the room, she ordered, “Let’s move out,” and left
before Aadi could say any more.

In the alleyway, Sam hunched inside her jacket and counted the men as they filed out after her. In addition to Teal’c and Hamel, there were
four others, two about Hamel’s age and two who were much younger. In the
swinging circle of Hamel’s lantern, she could see that one of the younger ones
had only one eye. Terrific. This was going to be a disaster.

Hamel must have seen it in her face because he raised the lamp higher and
inspected the little group. “They know the city and the mine. They know the
Jaffa. There’s more to war than fighting.”

True, except that there was fighting, too. Still, they needed someone to
watch their backs, and these guys could shout a warning as well as anyone. And
it didn’t take a lot of strength to fire a
zat.
Maybe, if things went
well and they could do this by stealth, even that wouldn’t be needed.

“Thank you for agreeing to help us,” Sam said to the men. “We’ll all get what
we need from this.”

His mouth turning up in a wicked grin, the one-eyed man, Behn, clapped his
hands together like he was ready to get down to work. “Dead Jaffa!” he all but
shouted, ducking a little when Hamel swatted him across the back of the head,
but not losing the smile. The others nodded their agreement. Teal’c arched an
eyebrow at them and the nodding lost some of its enthusiasm.