06 - Siren Song (36 page)

It took her only a second to get her groping hand on the lost
zat,
then she was leaning past Teal’c’s knees, firing toward a corner further along
the passage where three Jaffa were darting in and out of cover. A second staff blast threw up dirt and stone a few feet away, raising
a strangled yelp from that direction. Someone fell—Frey, she thought—and a
third blast hit its mark, making the body jerk and dance a little in her
peripheral vision before it went still.

A quick look over her shoulder showed her Hamel firing from the cover of the
tunnel they’d followed up from the river, and Behn, miraculously unhurt,
standing in the middle of the intersection firing as fast as the
zat
could load a charge, his mouth open wide in an unvoiced battle cry. Aadi was
nowhere to be seen.

“We’ve got to retreat!” she shouted at Teal’c, pushed off the wall and got
herself to her feet. As soon as she’d said it, the floor seemed to rock forward
and back, leaving her unable to tell if it was her own dizziness or the shock
wave of another explosion. Inside her head a voice snarled,
No retreat.

She squeezed off another shot, and this time one of the Jaffa went down,
sparkling with the discharge. Behn cheered and shot the man twice more before a
near miss knocked him on his ass, his
zat
spinning away. The look of
affronted surprise on his face was almost comical.

“Go!” Sam ordered.

He blinked owlishly while another blast filled the air between them with
debris. When the dust cleared, he was on his back, one empty hand flung out
toward Frey’s motionless body.

With one step, Teal’c was beside him. He bent and in a single, fluid motion,
heaved Behn up by the arm and dragged him across the intersection into the
narrow tunnel. A second later he returned, covering Sam so she could make a dash
for relative safely. She threw herself against the wall and tried to catch her
breath. Beside her, Aadi crouched with his
zat
open and his eyes closed.

“Where’s Rebnet?” she panted.

Without opening his eyes, Aadi pointed with the
zat
back the way
they’d come.

“Great,” Sam muttered.

At her feet, Hamel was leaning over Behn, his ear to Behn’s mouth, listening
for breath. The dust drifted in the air as Hamel bowed his head to Behn’s chest
with a silent sob.

Sam laid a cool, sweaty hand against her stinging neck and turned away. “This
is not going as well as I’d hoped.”

“It never does,” Teal’c answered.

“We can’t go back.” The admission made her feel better, as though any other
option was literally too painful to consider. “We have to break through here.”

“True.”

“A stun grenade’s probably not such a good idea.”

Teal’c shook his head. “This is a contained space. We would be affected.”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered. Their banged-up state all but guaranteed that they
wouldn’t recover as fast as the Jaffa. She chewed her lip and bounced her head
gently against the wall, trying to shake something out of the tree. “We have to
get them to come to us.”

“They will not.”

“We could surrender,” she said, with a small smile at Teal’c.

Hamel’s head jerked up, and he glared at her over his shoulder. “You
will
not
.”

“Kidding,” Sam said, and the smile died on her lips.

“They will know if we do not all step out together,” Teal’c objected.

“They haven’t seen Aadi.” Sam couldn’t believe that she was even suggesting
it. But it was either this or going in damn-the-torpedoes, which meant that
someone else was going to die for sure. She turned to appraise the kid. His eyes
were wide, but his mouth was a grim, determined line. He looked, well, about as
old as he was—in other words way too young for this stuff. “Can you do it?”

He nodded.

“Okay.”

“You must not panic,” Teal’c told him. “Wait for your chance. Wait until they
are both in view. You need only fell one of them. It will be enough for us to
take advantage.”

Aadi nodded again, swallowed hard. “Just one. Yes. I can do that.”

As Sam swiveled on her knees to poke her head around the corner, she said to
Teal’c, “Tell me this is a bad idea.”

“It is adequate to the circumstances and our resources.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

A faint smile was Teal’c’s only answer.

She held out the hand with the
zat
in it, made a show of deactivating
it and tossing it away. “Hey, guys,” she called. “You got us. We’re coming out.”
On the floor between her and the Jaffa, Frey was staring at her sightlessly, the
hole in his chest still smoking.

With a deep breath, she stood and stepped out into view. Slowly, she held up
her empty hands. When no one shot her, she looked over her shoulder and nodded.
Teal’c and Hamel both came forward to flank her, their
zats
closed and
held over their heads.

“Drop them,” one of the Jaffa ordered without showing anything but the end of
his staff.

Teal’c and Hamel complied.

The Jaffa strode out into the centre of the intersection and brought his
staff to bear. “Slaves and traitors,” he mocked, as he raised the staff to fire.

He never got the chance. A low shot from Aadi’s direction caught him in the
legs, not fatal but enough. He crumpled as Sam and Teal’c lunged left and Hamel
right, Teal’c coming up with his
zat.
Before he could advance on the
remaining, hidden Jaffa, a staff blast whined and the Jaffa stumbled out from
around the corner, clutching his chest. The expression he wore was eerily
similar to Behn’s as he slumped to his knees and pitched forward on his face.

“What the hell?” Sam said, rising and activating her
zat.

Brenneka swung around the corner and aimed her staff at the other fallen
Jaffa. Two shots made sure he would never get up again.

When she looked at Sam, her grin was wicked with triumph. “And now we will go
get your friend, this Nitori. Before I change my mind.”

The planet Jacob knew as Heramos was a tiny hunk of barren rock Sam had once
said was designated P44-007. This had led to a few truly awful James Bond jokes
on Jack’s part, and some juvenile mocking by both Sam and Daniel, and then
Teal’c had proven he knew more about James Bond than any of them by quoting lines from the recent
movies. For Jacob, the memory was fresh in his mind while he tapped in the
access code and decloaked the hidden
tel’tak
the Tok’ra had left behind
on that world, one of many conveniently scattered around the galaxy.

Malek had been strangely quiet since they had stepped through the Stargate
and left Hammond staring after them in the ’gate room. Even more interesting to
Jacob, he hadn’t attempted to contact the High Council and tell them what the
mission status was, or where they were headed. Jacob wasn’t sure whether he
should be suspicious of the silence or grateful that Malek seemed content to let
things follow their own course.

Be suspicious,
Selmak said, confirming Jacob’s instinct. They weren’t
required to report back—Tok’ra in the field often operated for months, even
years, without apprising the Council of their whereabouts or activities—but
Malek had been overanxious to do so all along. Now, he was carefully running a
status check on the ship’s controls, and aside from a small frown creasing his
forehead, there was no sign of that earlier firm resolve.

“The vessel is in good condition,” Malek said, settling into the pilot’s seat
without asking Jacob if he would prefer to fly. “We have sufficient fuel for a
journey twice the length of what we have planned.”

Jacob sat down in the other chair—what he thought of as the copilot’s seat,
although Selmak was always amused by that reference, since no ship could have
two pilots—and swiveled to look at Malek, who seemed absorbed by his task.
“Malek,” Jacob said. “Stop that for a minute.”

Malek immediately pulled his hands away from the panel and folded them in his
lap, but he did not look at Jacob. Another thing that could be taken two ways:
either he was ashamed of his single-minded pursuit of his mission, or he was
planning some deceit. Jacob had no idea which, but he liked to think he was a
reasonably good judge of character.

Reasonably good, but not the best,
Selmak informed him, and nudged to
take over. Jacob allowed it, and felt himself sliding to the rear of his body, shifting into the passenger role. When Selmak spoke,
even Jacob responded to the ring of authority in his tone. “Let us discuss this
unformed plan,” Selmak said. “And let us discuss what will be required of us
when we reach Boch’s homeworld.”

“I had assumed we would attempt to contact SG-1 and, failing that, initiate a
search for them on the planet’s surface, using our instruments,” Malek said. He
glanced up at Selmak. “No different than we have done in countless other
situations.”

“No different,” Selmak agreed. Jacob could tell he was weighing many things
about Malek’s demeanor, looking for signs he could trust him, but Selmak didn’t
seem to be finding what he was looking for. While he acknowledged Jacob’s
impatience, he cautioned against precipitous judgment. Instead, he said, “But I
notice you do not say we will attempt a rescue, only that we will attempt
contact and search. I must have confidence that we are of similar mind on this,
Malek.”

“Selmak, I have apologized for my behavior.” Malek sat back in the chair and,
after a moment, said, “I have not always been wise where the survival of our
people is concerned. I do not claim I have been. And I do not claim the Tok’ra
are always wise, but they are adept at survival. Perhaps I have absorbed only
the latter and less of the former.”

“Perhaps.” Selmak met Malek’s direct, open gaze, and nodded slowly. Jacob
could feel the decision forming. “We cannot make a direct landing unless we can
find a way to blend among the people. Our efforts may be in vain.”

“If SG-1 is dead already, then that is so. If they live still, then there is
a purpose to going. It is possible they are no longer held there. There are many
variables.” Malek paused, then said more softly, “I know Jacob thinks of his
daughter. I too would be focused on saving someone I love.”

“He thinks not only of her, but of his friends,” Selmak said, brushing aside
Jacob’s defensive bristling, which Selmak felt was irrelevant. “Our friends.”

“Of course.” Malek inclined his head to acknowledge his error and turned back
to the console. Selmak stood and made his way to the supply crates loaded in the cargo hold. In the first crate, six
zats
lay nestled in padding. Jacob didn’t try to conceal his satisfaction when
Selmak used one of them to stun Malek into unconsciousness before giving control
of Jacob’s body back to him.

“You were right,” Jacob said aloud, as he dragged Malek from the ship and
gently laid him on the dusty ground.

There is purpose to the mission, whether SG-1 is alive or dead,
Selmak
answered.
Malek’s failure to understand this shows us where his true
sympathies may be found, even if he is not consciously aware of it.

“Better safe than sorry,” Jacob murmured. Under his steady hands, the
tel’tak
rose through the atmosphere, bound for Atropos.

Aris didn’t expect the wave of relief that rolled over him and knocked him
back a step. He put out a hand to catch O’Neill by the shoulder of his jacket as
O’Neill’s legs buckled a little. In front of them, Jackson stopped walking and
his head fell back, mouth gaping, eyes closed, before he fell, going straight
down onto his knees with a crunch that made Aris wince, even though Jackson
himself didn’t seem to feel it. But Jackson’s hands came out to break his fall
as he tumbled forward, head hanging, breath panting a little.

“God,” he mumbled. “That’s—”

“I don’t think God has much to do with it,” O’Neill said in a whisper that
was a sort of freakish combination of reverence and barely-contained anger. He
shook off Aris’ hand and went to stand next to Jackson. O’Neill’s hands
twitched as he looked down at him.

Aris’ own hand hovered again over the last packet of
roshna
concealed
beneath his armor. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything. No. That
wasn’t true. More than
roshna,
he wanted to make that last turn in the
hallway, because that was what the relief was about. The whole place seemed to
be shuddering with it. Light was dancing in the walls around them, practically
strobing, and somehow, even though it hurt his eyes to look at it, it felt like
joy. It was as if he were five steps away from the best thing he could imagine,
or something even better than the best thing he could imagine, which was maybe
why he couldn’t picture at all what it might be. All he knew was that he wanted
it, the way he wanted
roshna,
like a physical yearning in his blood and
his bones. It was the kind of wanting that could make a grown man fall to his
knees.

“Move it,” he said. He pushed past O’Neill, stepped over Jackson’s legs, and
turned the corner.

The sudden expansion of the endless claustrophobic hallways of the maze into this open space made him stumble, as though he’d looked down
and found himself on the edge of a cliff. His arms even snapped out at his sides
as though he were falling. And the whole room was bright with swirling light in
every color imaginable, coursing away from him along the walls and rising up
like flood water to crest and surge along a ceiling high above his head. He
raised a hand to shield his eyes as he looked up. There was no way to judge
distance. As his gaze swept down and around, he could gauge only that the room
was roughly circular, but even that was a guess, prompted by the feeling that he
was hanging in the center of a soap bubble, free-floating in shimmering
iridescence. He stamped the floor once with his boot to make sure it was still
there.