Read Stargate SG1 - Roswell Online
Authors: Sonny Whitelaw,Jennifer Fallon
Stargate SG1 - Roswell (42 page)
They entered a wide foyer and Sam glanced out the window when Bennett pulled up short and swore. Hovering near the corner of the building was the massive form of an Al'kesh, it's
Jaffa pilot clearly visible. The Al'kesh turned slightly, as if targeting something, and that's when Sam glanced down along the street and saw the jumper.
Without thinking, she grabbed Bennett by the arm and yelled at him, “Get back!” but before the words were fully out of her mouth, a burst from one of the Al'kesh's cannons erupted. The impact on the force field around the jumper sent a blue electrical discharge through the air, and the jumper was knocked sideways into a nearby building. The stench of ozone hit them through the shattered windows just as a second and then third blast from the Al'Kesh knocked the jumper away from the building opposite—directly toward them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Teal'c
leaped from the passenger seat, grabbed his P-90 and ran
to the rear of the jumper. Upon opening the hatch, he saw
through the dust that they had come to rest several feet inside
the structure. Bringing his weapon to bear, he moved swiftly
to the edge of the gaping hole in the side of the building,
and
aimed in the direction where the Al'kesh had been moments before. He knew exactly where to fire so that he might bring the Goa'uld ship down.
While in the service of Apophis, Teal'c had piloted many Al'kesh on similar such missions. The nature of the armaments or
methods
of transport employed by the inhabitants of whatever planet they were invading mattered little to a Goa'uld, except when such technology posed a hindrance to them. It came as no surprise to Teal'c that the pilot of the Al'kesh appeared not to have recognized that the jumper was not from this world. And, as the jumper had not returned fire, it was deserving of no further attention once it had been dealt with.
The pilot had instead set his sights on an alternative target, a large black car that was pulling out from beneath the building in which the jumper had come to a rest. The driver of the vehicle
was depressing the horn in a futile attempt to clear a path through the many abandoned and wrecked vehicles along the road. It was both a foolish and fatal error, for the Al'kesh fired upon it, tearing it to pieces.
Despite the actions of the Al'kesh pilot, the strategy that Teal'c had witnessed during the jumpers' approach to the city bore considerably more finesse than usually employed by the Goa'uld. It seemed most likely that Colonel Mitchell had indeed
been captured by the Goa'uld after stepping through the Stargate in Egypt and had provided the information necessary for whichever Goa'uld was leading this attack. Although they had not voiced their thoughts on the matter, O'Neill and Jackson clearly believed the same.
“Hey, Teal'c, good to see you guys.”
Colonel Carter's voice drew his attention to the interior of the building in which the jumper had been thrown. Training his weapon on the Naval officer accompanying her, he replied, “Colonel Carter, I am pleased that you are well.” The bruises and smears of blood on her face he dismissed as a minor injury, for she moved with a familiar fluid motion that told him she was otherwise unharmed.
“No Asgard transport?” She stepped closer, and regarded the placement of the jumper with some interest.
“Jack thought he'd try lateral parking for a change,” Daniel Jackson said, emerging.
“Beats having to climb all those stairs,” O'Neill remarked as he, too, stepped rather more stiffly from the jumper.
An item of furniture slipped from the ragged hole in the wall and plummeted to the ground beneath, while a gust of wind whipped the many papers scattered across the floor into the air, and sent them fluttering after it.
“Making new friends, Carter?” O'Neill asked, eyeing her companion warily as he stepped over a window frame forced inside by the jumper's arrival.
Colonel Carter turned to the officer, whose face was registering extreme disbelief. “Sir, this is Commander Bennett.”
“The...radio. We have to get to the radio.” Commander Bennett's eyes took in O'Neill's stars and, evidently confused, he came to attention. “General.”
“Teal'c,” O'Neill said, turning to him. “Is that Al'kesh likely to come snooping around the place?”
“I do not believe so, O'Neill. Its purpose is to instill fear in any likely to resist, while the Jaffa secure the area at ground level.” Taking in the solid framework of the structure, he added, “This building could provide adequate cover until we acquire the necessary naquadah.”
“Naquadah?” Colonel Carter asked.
“I'll explain as we go. Who else is on this level?”
“I
think it's pretty much deserted except for the radio room.”
O'Neill
nodded. “Teal'c, you and Daniel check it out. I'm gonna
move the jumper further inside, just in case.”
“What about cloaking it?” Daniel Jackson suggested.
“We need it to get out of here and we can camouflage it the old
fashioned
way. I'd sooner keep the force field enabled.”
Several
explosions erupted nearby. Flinching instinctively, Daniel Jackson nodded and replied, “Good point.”
O'Neill then turned to Carter and studied her face for a moment.
“NID do that to you?”
“It looks worse than it is, sir.”
“I'm
sorry,” Commander Bennett said in repentant tones. “I
should
have... I should thrown that punch at Peterson myself.”
Colonel Carter was dismissive. “If that was the best they can
come up with, it's no surprise that the Cold War went on for
as
long as it did.”
“Isn't gonna be a Cold War to worry about,” O'Neill said, tossing her a P-90. Colonel Carter caught and checked it in one fluid
movement as O'Neill shouldered his own weapon. “If we don't get our hands on some naquadah.”
Teal'c lead the way forward. Moving along the corridor, they
discovered all the rooms, including the radio room, had been
abandoned. He took in the view of Central Park with a frown. The Jaffa ground forces were being positioned in a disturbingly familiar pattern. By morning, the entire area would be a fully serviced Jaffa encampment.
“God, there must be thousands of them.” Daniel Jackson came
to stand beside him. “Ra—or whoever is running this—is not messing around.”
“The enslavement of the Tau'ri is ambitious,” Teal'c agreed, his
fists clenched in a wave of impotent anger. Unless this timeline
could be restored, the future freedom of all Jaffa was imperiled.
If they were forced to remain in 1947, he would do everything in his power to rectify that situation. “Once a foothold has been established around the Stargate, the invading force will give the inhabitants the option of succumbing before the entire planet is laid to waste.”
“This soon after World War
II,
few nations have the capacity to put up much of a fight,” Daniel Jackson observed. “Russia, maybe, but if the Ha'taks start firing from space...” His voiced trailed off and he shook his head. “The timing for this invasion couldn't have been worse...or more of a coincidence.”
“What do you mean, Daniel Jackson?”
“Nothing, really. Just a thought. Getting through the 'gate isn't going to be easy. The Antarctic option may be the better one.”
“Unless it has also been secured.”
“Damn!” Daniel Jackson shook his head, his expression grim. “Cam would have known about the second 'gate, too.”
“I, too, fear that Colonel Mitchell is the one providing the Jaffa with information.” Teal'c was silent for a moment. “He would not have easily succumbed.”
“But you know better than most that he would have. Eventually.”
Teal'c inclined his head, appreciating the bitter truth in his friend's words. And that he felt responsible. “With sufficient naquadah the jumper will be concealed and shielded.”
Sighing heavily, Daniel Jackson said, “That's supposing we can actually get hold of the naquadah and An can get all systems operational.”
“Staff weapons contain naquadah.” Teal'c turned from the window and headed out of the office, back along the corridor to the jumper. “And I am confident in Colonel Carter's abilities. With the help of the Asgard, she will prevail.”
Falling in to step beside him, Daniel Jackson forced a smile. “You never lose your optimism, do you, Teal'c?”
“It is not optimism, Daniel Jackson, merely the refusal to fail.”
CHAPTER FORTY
It
was
one of the many, many attributes of military life to which Daniel had never entirely become accustomed: hurry up
and
wait. But until Sam and An could ascertain exactly how much
naquadah they needed, there was no point drawing attention
to
themselves by going outside to ambush a troop of Jaffa in order to liberate their staff weapons. Besides, a daytime approach was out of the question. Even Jack thought the odds of
four
against forty thousand a little steep. Consequently, he'd decided
on a single reconnaissance mission at 0200 to check out
the
approach path to the 'gate, with the plan to grab the necessary naquadah on the way back to the jumper.
Earlier, along with Teal'c, Jack and Commander Gary Bennett,
Daniel had explored the building to check for anyone left inside. Although it hadn't surprised him, it had shocked Bennett
to find the place deserted. Presumably the jumper's
sideways slam into the top floor of the building had precipitated
the mass evacuation. Every floor was littered with smashed
glass and upturned furniture. Here and there, a dust-covered
limb or torso was visible beneath broken masonry. They'd found no one alive.
Bennett's distress had been compounded when, in the under-ground
parking lot, which had somehow remained relatively unscathed, he'd discovered three of his men lying dead on the ground,
shot at close range. A fifth body nearby had, according
to Bennett, been one of the agents who had interrogated Sam. Just outside, in the torn up street littered with the rubble of
nearby buildings, they'd found the twisted hulk of a car that Bennett identified as belonging to the second agent. Perhaps the
universe did have a perverse sense of justice. Apparently, in his single-minded haste to get away, the NID agent had unwittingly diverted the Al'kesh's attention from the jumper to himself, with gruesome results. Bennett had only been able to identify what remained of the body from a distinctive scar.
They hadn't ventured further outside because it had still been light, or at least, as light as it could get with a sky darkened by countless fires now ravaging New York. Daniel had had to keep reminding himself that the broken gray post-Apocalyptic landscape would be restored once they'd gone back to 1908 and recovered Cam and Vala.
Bennett, of course, had not been able to take solace in that thought. The commander's stoicism, honed and refined by the nightmare of WWII, had, like Daniel's slipped on several occasions during their search. This wasn't some foreign country; it was New York.
Sam had already told Bennett they were from the future, and the nature of the invasion. Daniel hadn't been sure if Bennett was entirely convinced of their story, until the young naval officer stared outside at the ceaseless patrolling of the Al'kesh and Ha'taks. Squaring his shoulders, Bennett had taken a deep breath, turned to Jack and asked what his orders were.
Daniel glanced at his watch. The fluorescent hands told him they had two hours to go. The NID had, fortunately, employed enough standard batteries in various devices for Sam to rig up power to her laptop. The deserted offices were well provisioned and included quite luxurious living quarters. By 2100 hours they'd all managed to get in a solid eight hours sleep, a couple of decent meals and several quarts of NID coffee.
Jack's ribs seemed to be giving him less trouble now and the bruising, which featured a remarkable array of colors, appeared to be fading. The injuries that Sam had received from Agents she'd named Brylcreem and Cancer Man were minor. And so far, Daniel was relieved to discover, he'd managed to stave off any infection in his leg.
So why did he get the feeling that they were screwed?
A crunch of glass underfoot announced the arrival of someone. “Hey.”
He
turned.
“Hi, Sam. How's it going?”
Joining him at the window overlooking Central Park, she said,
“Well,
without a naquadah generator we're going to need a
lot of raw
naquadah to rig up a primitive power supply module.”
“Was
that
An's description?”
Despite the darkness, he saw her smile. “Actually, he pulled enough components from his escape pod for us to rig up some-thing
pretty sophisticated, but I don't think An's accustomed to
improvising.”
“He
seemed pretty traumatized by the whole thing with Loki.”
“And finding out about the General's Ancient gene. Came as
something
of a shock to learn we're descended from the Ancients and had found Atlantis. He also keeps asking about
you.”
“Me?”
“He's intrigued by the idea that someone could Ascend—twice—and then chose to come back as a mortal. I think deep down, the Asgard aspire to Ascension. Apparently in the early days, An's work was considered something of an anachronism, a step backward in their evolutionary progress. It's only been the last few hundred years that he's received recognition.”
“If we ever do get back and find Merlin's weapon, the whole immortal Ascended thing is going to have to be rethought.”
Sam was silent for a moment, and then said, “We will get them back, Daniel.”
Daniel wished people would stop tying to comfort him about leaving Vala and Cam behind. “Y'know, I've been thinking about this whole time travel thing, Sam. I'm starting to agree with you. Not that I wanted to die inside that cave or anything, but this mess,” he said, pointing in the general direction of Central Park, “really does demonstrate how incredibly risky it is to go stumbling around blindly through time.”
“It's funny you should say that.” Sam leaned against the buckled window frame and looked out below to the Jaffa camp-fires. “Because I was the one who sent us here.
Something
happened to change my mind.”
'The Ori?”
“I don't know. I suppose when we do get back, I'll have a chance to ask myself.”
“If we get back.”
Sam put her hand on his shoulder, a wordless gesture that said much more. And then, as if she understood he'd appreciate a change of subject, she added, “I had another long talk with Commander Bennett. About his past, not our future,” she clarified.
“Doesn't seem like the type the NID would enlist.”
“Strictly speaking it's not yet the NID. But from what I can understand, it started out life as a joint military extension of Naval Intelligence. Several aspects of the Navy and Army Air Force had already been combined to form what would become the Air Force a couple of months from now. The NID was just another post war reconfiguration of the intelligence community. Because it operated as a military oversight organization, it was, naturally, composed in part of military personnel.”
“A lot of things can happen in fifty years, I guess.”
“The Truman Doctrine came into effect in March. This country is—was—headed into the paranoia of the Cold War.”
“Instead they got this.” Daniel looked out the shattered windowpane again.
Earlier that evening they had tried tuning into several radio stations. While most were off the air, and international broadcasts were limited to relays from a few ham operators, the news reported that 'invaders from Mars' had leveled DC and New York. Still reeling from the war, the British were assessing the situation while Moscow remained surprisingly quiet.
Most of the radio reports had described the invasion as a true life 'war of the worlds'. Harking back to Orson Welles's radio play ten years earlier, some lower echelon bureaucrats thought the entire thing an elaborate joke, while others—those who'd seen with their own eyes the 'death ray' in action—wondered if H.G. Wells's 1898 science fiction novel had
in some way been prophetic.
Jack had looked decidedly thoughtful at that declaration, but
had
gone back to cleaning their P-90s without comment.
“C'mon,” Sam said, turning to leave. “Teal'c's brewing up another
batch of coffee.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Sir,” Carter whispered. “That's Mitchell!”
“What?”
The Jaffa that Carter was pointing at, stood at the entrance of a typically overdone Goa'uld circus tent set up at the edge of the turtle pond, complete with a troupe of Jackal-headed clowns hanging out nearby. Although the night vision goggles he was wearing distorted the Jaffa's features somewhat, Jack knew—with a sick feeling in his gut—that Carter was right. He was maybe fifteen years older, but there was no question. It was Cameron Mitchell.
“That's a gold tattoo on his forehead,” Carter added. “Can't make out the design from this angle.” She lifted her own goggles and wiped the sweat and dirt from her face before replacing them. “I'd assumed he'd been taken over by a Goa'uld.”
“We all did,” Daniel said. “Somehow that would have been easier to stomach.”
“Colonel Mitchell trained as a Jaffa warrior under the Sodan.” Teal'c had crawled up beside them between the fallen trees, and was taking in the field of burned-out cars, rubble and bodies that had once been 84th Street. “Once transformed into a Jaffa, he would have quickly risen through the ranks to become a First Prime.”
Jack found that hard to swallow. Not that Mitchell didn't have the fighting skills or fortitude to survive the training as a Jaffa. But to become a First Prime? That required a degree of ruthlessness that seemed out of character for the Cameron Mitchell Jack remembered.
Another snippet from the collection of memories that Jack was looking forward to losing when Alzheimer's finally set in, suddenly filled his mind. Hathor pulling him into that obscene embrace, drugging him into passive complicity while she'd transformed
him
into a Jaffa.
Catching Teal'c's concerned expression, Jack shook his head
to
shove the memory away. Is that what had happened to Cam?
Had he been seduced by the Goa'uld? Or had Mitchell turned on his own kind willingly? It wasn't so hard to imagine
what
it must have been like to wake up and find yourself stranded in the wrong time. How long it had taken before Cam Mitchell had abandoned hope of being recovered? How many years had passed before hope transformed into hatred?
Jack couldn't see it, somehow. It seemed much more likely that the man who had shown such single-minded purpose in learning to walk again, had turned that same single-minded-ness
to getting home. Mitchell might have allowed himself to be enslaved because he thought it would position him where he
could do some good. Or at least taken the edge off some of Ra's
excesses.
Kill millions to save billions.
Hadn't Bra'tac said that once?
Which, Jack mused, would also explain why this invasion Just happened to start when SG-1 was in town.
Still, twenty-five years was a long time, assuming the Colonel
had been captured soon after he and Vala had stepped through the 'gate at Giza, not to mention the previous fourteen, almost fifteen years he'd spent on Earth prior to that, waiting vainly for SG-1 to return.
No,
Jack thought.
Mitchell must have reason to believe we 'd be here and he's convinced whichever Goa'uld he's working for that 1947 is the best time to invade Earth.
It was the only explanation that fit what had been, thus far, a superbly well-planned attack.