Jacob stood by his side, looking down into the gate-room below. It was practically abandoned with only a few guards on standby and a technician poking around by one of the neighboring monitors. The gate lay dormant, a silent sentinel, with answers to share, if only someone could figure out the right questions.
He wished that he could be that someone. Part of him felt like this whole fiasco was his fault. No wonder the council didn’t know about the modified zats. If anyone should, it was him. He’d been on Yu’s planet a good half a dozen times. If anyone should be taking the fall for this mess, it was him.
He told George as much.
“You can’t blame yourself. You didn’t know.”
Jacob snorted. “That’s easy for you to say, your kid isn’t out there — ”
George shook his head. “They’re all my kids, Jacob. It’s one of the privileges, and I’ll admit, downsides of command. I care deeply about each of them as if they were my own sons and daughters.”
“Even Jack?”
George chuckled. “Especially Jack.”
The lights flicked on.
“General Hammond?” Major Davis entered the briefing room from George’s office with two folders under his arm. A worried Dr. Frasier followed close behind.
“What is it, Major?”
“Sir, I’ve done some digging into Ambassador Huang.” As Davis handed George one of the folders, Jacob noticed the words ‘Top Secret’ stamped on its cover. “The president’s been informed and asked that I brief you as well.”
With a scowl, George took the folder. “Where is Huang now?”
“In the infirmary, General,” said Dr. Frasier. “He’s unresponsive, suffering from what I’d define as clinical catatonia. Whatever happened, it was enough to make him snap.”
Jacob thought about that for a moment. Huang had been fine. Arrogant and pretty damned pleased with himself, actually. Even in the early phases of SG-1’s battle with Yu’s Jaffa. Right up until the moment when… what? What happened to turn Huang from a self-righteous bastard into an emotionally wrought and frightened old man?
And yes, Huang had most certainly become frightened.
But why?
“Did you draw a blood sample for DNA analysis?” Jacob asked. Too much was still unanswered. About Huang. About those four bodies on P3Y-702.
About how it all tied into Yu.
“Blood’s been drawn,” Dr. Frasier said. “We should have results in a few days, though I don’t think they’re going to tell us anything we don’t already know. Huang’s not a Goa’uld, and he’s not Jaffa. Whoever he is, his genome’s beyond rare. It doesn’t fit with today’s population.”
“Even so, keep me informed once you have results.” George tossed the folder on the table. “Jacob, I assume we can count on Selmak’s assistance?”
“Not a problem.”
“What about Dr. Hopkins, sir?” asked Dr. Frasier. “He might be of more help.”
“I don’t see how,” George said. Jacob happened to agree with him. Working with Dr. Frasier made sense, plus she had a first-rate mind.
An open mind
, Selmak added.
Amen to that, Jacob responded silently. If the doc didn’t understand something, she was the first to admit it. Hopkins, on the other hand, was a first-rate jerk. His high and mighty ‘I know better than you’ attitude would be a waste of time and breath.
Dr. Frasier must have been more tolerant of that sort of thing because she protested, “General, without Daniel here, shouldn’t we avail ourselves of Dr. Hopkins’ expertise in placing our findings in context? Ancient Chinese culture is his specialty.”
Jacob weighed in. “If he can control that ego of his. Hopkins makes the Tok’ra look meek in comparison.”
George pressed his lips together in that manner he had when he wasn’t happy. Finally, he said, “Let me speak with him first. Then I’ll make my final decision.”
“Fair enough.”
George turned to Major Davis. “Does the president intend to confront the Chinese for sending what, for all intents and purposes, appears to be a Goa’uld spy?”
“He already has, General.” Davis tugged at his necktie. A clear sign that he wasn’t looking forward to making his report. “The Chinese government was as surprised by Huang’s behavior as we were. Apparently, he was a last moment substitution when their previous ambassador suddenly took ill.”
“I’ll bet Huang had something to do with that as well,” Jacob said.
“Apparently, he did,” Davis said. “The Chinese found evidence of a biochemical virus in a vial stored in Huang’s apartment in Beijing. The same virus which afflicted the real ambassador.”
“But the Chinese have no explanation for Huang’s collusion with Lord Yu?” George asked.
“None at all, sir.” Davis tugged his tie again. Poor guy was a nervous wreck. “They’re shocked. Huang was a longtime member of the Chinese diplomatic corps. He’d been with them for over thirty years.”
Jacob felt his eyebrows shoot up. “A Goa’uld operative on Earth for at least thirty years… How is that even possible?”
“Right now we have no way of knowing.” Davis fiddled with his necktie again. “More importantly, they want him back.”
“The Chinese? I don’t think so,” George said.
“General, while they’ve formally apologized to the president for Huang’s actions, the Chinese government is claiming diplomatic immunity.”
Jacob couldn’t believe his ears. “They want him back?”
“The man’s a risk to the whole planet,” George said. “Don’t the Chinese understand that, Major?”
“They’re sending someone this evening.” Davis swallowed nervously. “General, for what it’s worth, the president has approved SG-1 to use whatever force necessary to retrieve Dr. Jackson.” He held out the second folder, the presidential seal splayed across its cover. “The orders are there, pre-dated to support your mission reports.”
Who was the president really trying to support, the S.G.C. or his own rear end?
George eyed the folder, but didn’t take it.
“Sir, I wish you would have told me what you had planned.”
No, he doesn’t, thought Jacob. Plausible deniability. It was the only way to protect everyone, the president, Davis, and most importantly, SG-1.
“General, we had no choice.”
“Oh, we had a choice, Major.” George turned back toward the Stargate. “Fortunately, we chose to act on it.”
Thank God they did. Jacob rejoined his friend at the window. With P90s, SG-1 might just have a fighting chance.
PLANET DESIGNATION: LORD YU’S
HOMEWORLD (P3X-042)
STATUS: SAR MISSION IN PROGRESS
APPROX 0745 HRS LOCAL TIME
3 JUL 03/2105 HRS BASE TIME
Three souped-up zats, Carter’s empty P90 and a quick glance at the three rounds left in his own rifle confirmed Jack’s suspicions.
They were screwed. A new plan was definitely in order.
Along with the others, he huddled against a chalky yellow wall, just behind the spiral staircase, staying out of sight of Yu’s latest round of
Candid Camera
. It was hot inside the building. Unzipping his jacket, he got a whiff of something musky. Almost like dead leaves burning.
While Teal’c and Bra’tac kept their eyes peeled on the door, Carter ran more scans, and Jack surveyed their surroundings. He’d seen his share of over-the-top when it came to Goa’uld décor, but this stairwell took the cake. Shiny thick metallic serpents formed the handrails, twisting downward to where their heads actually formed the steps leading up into the building, and down into God knew what. It was tough to tell, what with the massive metal side plates hanging from the steps, though he shouldn’t complain. Those same plates hid their asses from that damn Goa’uld telly ball.
As obnoxious as those devices were, Jack had to admit he’d felt a huge weight drop off when he saw Daniel alive and well… Okay, maybe not well. He’d looked pretty worse for wear. Still had his glasses, though no jacket, no tactical vest, and there was a helluva bruise on his forehead. Yu had probably stung him with one of those nasty hand devices.
But he was alive!
Jack wrote off his earlier fears to imagination… and maybe a little bit of guilt. There’d been no breeze, just his own mind playing tricks on him.
He leaned out from behind the stairwell. Yep, the device was still active. Yu’s smug face was bigger than life, and every inch as ugly, though both Daniel and the Goa’uld were paying attention elsewhere. They were facing each other and both seemed to have their heads down, looking at something between them. Something right below where the image cut off.
“Sir, this entire stairwell is made of silver,” Carter whispered. “Since silver’s the best thermal-electrical conductor there is, short of refined naquadah, I’m guessing if we follow these stairs downward, we’ll find the photon generator. If we can shut — ”
Jack slashed a finger across his throat. “Non-essential chatter only,” he whispered back. “Hand signals for the rest of it.”
Bra’tac shifted beside him. “Gestures may not suffice.”
Jack shot Teal’c a look, imploring him to keep Bra’tac quiet. Maybe there were times for a difference of opinion, but this wasn’t one of them. Teal’c turned toward Bra’tac, a raised finger to his lips.
Jack noticed a thin sheen of sweat glistening on Bra’tac’s forehead. He had pulled off his cloak, and Carter was unzipping her jacket.
“Why the hell’s it so hot?”
“It’s possibly a side effect of the photonic emitter being nearby.” Carter wiped an arm across her forehead. Heat must have been getting to her, too. “Sorry sir, there aren’t any signs for scientific — ”
“Use metaphors, Major.”
Carter held up one finger, a signal to give her a moment. Jack could only imagine how that big mind of hers must be spinning, searching for ways to technobabble in a round of charades.
Finally, she popped the empty magazine from her P90 and waved it in the air. It was empty.
Jack knew that already. “What’s your point?”
Carter stuck the magazine back in. “Well, sir, to use a metaphor, it’s about gambling.” She picked up one of the modified zats and gestured with it down the stairs. “The stakes are high, but we can even up the odds.” She jerked her chin toward the com ball. “Might be able to make it so that no bookie would take the bet.”
“A bit of Vegas action, Carter?” He smiled at her gambling metaphors. He knew from her earlier round of scientific mumbo jumbo that she meant take out the generator. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do you have in mind?”
“We need to double down, sir.” She pointed down the darkened stairwell. “Take out all opposing bets.” She chopped her hand across, the signal to attack, or in this case, demolish.
Take out the generator and even up the odds. It made sense to him, but Teal’c and Bra’tac had their eyebrows raised, clueless. Jack recognized metaphors and Jaffa weren’t going to mix. Fortunately, they’d been through enough with SG-1 to have learned basic military signals. Hopefully, the two would follow his lead.
First thing up, get rid of their peeping Tom… or in this case, Yu. Then race like hell for the generator.
Jack pointed three fingers toward himself.
On the count of three…
He pointed at their zats, and then jerked a thumb over the side rail toward the com ball.
Shoot that damn device down…
He whirled one finger in the air.
Then follow us…
He pointed down the stairs, paused, and then chopped his hand across his throat again.
Down the stairs, shut the thing off, and…
Bra’tac shook his head.
Jack raised both hands in question. What?
Bra’tac pointed up the stairs.
Now it was Jack’s turn to shake his head. He ran through the plan again. He pointed down the stairs, at the three zats, and —
Bra’tac grabbed his hand and turned his finger upward. “Our objective lies above, not below.”
Jack sighed. This wasn’t the best time for the old man to be stubborn. “We’re not going to get to our objective if we don’t change the situation.”
“I, too, wish Daniel Jackson free,” Bra’tac whispered, “but there are multiple objectives… or have you forgotten that there are others here of value as well?” He placed a finger on his forehead’s gold tattoo.
Bra’tac still wanted to free Yu’s Jaffa.
“We’ll get to them,” Jack promised. “After we take care of more pressing matters.” He raised his hand, beginning to review the instructions once again when Bra’tac slapped his hand down.
“No.” Bra’tac pointed at himself, and then at Teal’c. He then walked two fingers in the air, the sign for going mobile. Then he pointed up the stairs.
At least he’d picked up some signals in his time amongst them. If they got out of here alive, Jack knew he’d have to sit Bra’tac down and teach him the full gamut.
Still, Bra’tac’s idea was too risky. “Not going to happen.”
Bra’tac folded his arms with a grunt. Beside him, Teal’c frowned, clearly miserable.
And Jack had a pretty good idea why. He searched Teal’c’s face, then Bra’tac’s. His gaze returned to Teal’c’s. “You okay with this?”
“Both objectives are indeed of critical importance.”
Jack sighed. “See now, that wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.”
Teal’c bowed his head. “Our resources are limited, our needs many. Should we not each follow those ends which will further ensure the success of our objectives?”
“T, we’re talking about Daniel,” Jack pleaded, striving to keep his voice low. “He’s not an objective.”
“I owe Daniel Jackson my life as well as the life of my son,” Teal’c replied, “but he would want us to pursue the greater cause of freedom, not simply his release. Do you not feel this way as well?”
Of course Jack did. He was in it for the long haul. He wanted to kick every Goa’uld’s butt from here to kingdom come… That is, after they got Daniel back. If that made him less than perfect, so be it.
He checked his watch. Too much time was passing, arguing over what to do and how to do it. “Fine,” he whispered. “We’ll do it your way. Stay in contact, two clicks on the radio every fifteen. But first, we’ve got to take out — ”
“Done.” Bra’tac jumped up and zatted the com ball.
Jack leaped to his feet just in time to see the thing disappear in a puff of smoke. “You could have waited,” he complained.