Jack didn’t need to speak their language to know it was a curse.
The ship
was old, patched and ramshackle, as if repairs were done on the hop with whatever materials could be scavenged. From what Daniel had gathered before he and Rhionna were escorted down into the brig, the rest of the Seachráni
fleet was in a similar condition. The dazzling sails they’d sighted in the distance had offered a small glimpse of a technology that would have Sam as excited as a kid at Christmas, but beneath that technological dazzle the fleet was battered and worn. A strange hybrid. How advanced had this society been before disaster struck, how far had it fallen?
Old though the vessel was, no ominous creak or groan rose from its metal bones. Only the faint but constant vibration of the planks beneath him and an almost inaudible hum gave any indication that they were moving at all. But moving they were, and fast.
“They must look after their boats well,” he said to Rhionna, who sat against the bulkhead, head tilted back and eyes closed. He thought she might be asleep, then decided he didn’t care if he woke her. They’d been stuck down here too long and he itched with the inactivity. He wanted to know, to find, to ask, and Rhionna was the only one around. Besides, he suspected that she had more answers than she was letting on.
“Ships, not boats,” she muttered, not opening her eyes.
“Hmm?”
Rhionna shook her head and sighed. “Doesn’t matter.” She looked around the small cell. “Yeah, they take care of them. The ships are their lives. They couldn’t survive without them.”
“You’ve been on one before?”
She smiled at that. “A few times. I’ve even been in this brig before.” She frowned then and looked away, as if mired in a memory. Daniel hesitated, remembering her reaction to Faelan back at the docks, and his to her—what was the story there? After a brief, silent debate on whether to push the matter or not, he decided to proceed with care.
“How is it they do it? Survive, I mean. What are they?”
“Scavengers mostly. Sometimes hunters.”
“Ah…hunters of what?”
“Anything they can find.” She smiled when she said it, but the expression had a hard edge, as if she were trying to provoke him, or scare him. It didn’t quite work.
“Why don’t they live with the others? In the Badlands?”
“Would you want to live there?”
Daniel shrugged his concession to the point. “Then where are they taking us?”
“You ask me a lot of questions, Dr. Jackson. What makes you think I have the answers?”
“Because you’ve been on this ship before. You know the Seachráni.”
But Rhionna just laughed and pushed herself to her feet, wincing a little as she unfolded limbs that had been in the same position for too long. “The more someone knows of the Seachráni, the more questions they have. They are a very guarded people, Dr. Jackson.”
“It’s Daniel, and I suspect they’re not the only ones who are guarded.” That earned him a sharp look, but he was undaunted. “You don’t believe they will harm us.”
“I believe they are scared and desperate. Those are powerful motivators.”
“Yes, they are, but I also know that you tried to protect them back at the Badlands. You wouldn’t have done that without reason.”
Rather than reply, Rhionna crossed over to lean against the door and stare through the bars, evidently having decided that the conversation was over. Daniel thought it was time to try a different tack, no matter how personal it might be.
“This Faelan…” Her shoulders tensed at the mention of the name. “He’s their leader. Can’t you talk to him? Reason with him to take us back to the docks?”
“He won’t listen to me.”
Daniel remembered the looks that had passed between them and said, “Oh, I think he will.”
She rounded on him, anger flashing. “If you are so observant, Daniel, so intuitive, then surely you saw how much attention Faelan pays to my opinion. He’s stubborn and foolhardy, and the Seachráni
won’t move a muscle without him. He
is
their leader, and they are loyal to a fault. If he wants to take us to the Cove, then that’s where we’re going. There is nothing I could say to him that would make any difference. If anything it would only make matters worse.”
“Worse than us dying along with his people when the storm hits this Cove of his?” She flinched at that, but he persisted. “Can’t you reason with him?”
She turned away, leaning on the cell door, gazing out through the bars once more. “I don’t think there’s anyone alive who’d know how to reason with Faelan Garret.”
“But you knew him.”
Rhionna shook her head and said quietly, “Not nearly so well as I thought.”
* * *
The ninth episode of
Sunrise
crawled to a close. Outside, Sam calculated, it had to be dark. They had most likely missed their scheduled report by hours, which meant SG-1 were officially overdue. She could picture General Hammond, grim-faced in the control room, arms crossed, glaring at the empty Stargate. That gave her some comfort, although she couldn’t imagine what he might do to help. One thing was certain though—he wouldn’t let Ennis spin him a line, not after enduring weeks of Caulder’s barefaced lies. And he wouldn’t give up. Not ever.
But the truth was, when it came right down to it, SG-1 were on their own. They had to take care of themselves—and each other.
She glanced across at Teal’c. He’d not said a word since Ennis had left, withdrawing into meditation. Preparing. He’d be rested when the time came for action. And that time would come, she’d make sure of it.
The
Sunrise
theme started again, a jangle of sound that scratched across her nerves like fingernails across a chalkboard. It was a peculiar kind of torture, at once soporific and enervating. Deliberately, she refused to cup her hands over her ears, refused to pace the cell—she refused to acknowledge that it was having any effect. Instead, she fixed her eyes on the screen and let them blur until all she saw were swimming colors and—
And that’s when she noticed it; a brief dimming of the image. Then again. She looked up at the lights, unsure if she’d been imagining it, and felt a little surge of anticipation as their white, featureless glare flickered.
Teal’c opened his eyes. “Their power supply does not appear to be reliable.”
“No.” Sam scrambled to her feet. “It doesn’t.” The lights flickered again. “When it’s dark out, there must be a surge in demand. All those lights. Their grid can’t handle it.” Circling the cell, she wound up at the door and pressed her hand against the smooth metal. The subtle hum of the electronic lock tingled against her palm. She glanced at the TV. “And if more people are home, tuning in…”
The lights dipped and, for half a second, the cell was lit only by the screen. Beneath her palm something clicked off and on again. Sam caught her breath.
“Major Carter?” Teal’c was on his feet, scrutinizing her.
She lifted her hand from the door, flexing her fingers. “Teal’c,” she smiled. “I have a plan.”
* * *
Without daylight for reference, time lost meaning, and the journey seemed endless. Daniel dozed in fits and starts, unsure if Rhionna slept at all. At one point, he tugged out the device they’d brought from
Acarsaid Dorch
and, in the gloomy light, tried for the umpteenth time to make sense of it. But its use was no clearer here than it had been back at the SGC and he quickly gave up, stuffing it back into his vest before any of the Seachrání noticed. Sam wouldn’t thank him if he lost it and, until he understood his current situation, he planned to keep his powder dry. Jack, he thought, would be proud of his circumspection—even if he was pissed that Daniel had managed to get himself captured.
Time meandered on, listless and without definition. The monotony was broken only by the stern-faced man who brought them food, the same man who’d grabbed him back at the docks, Faelan’s second in command.
Rhionna darted to her feet when he approached the cell. “Pádraig,” she said, in a greeting that was far from friendly.
Pádraig’s frown deepened, as if the acknowledgment troubled him. “Stand back from the door, Rhionna,” he said, not looking at her. “Both of you.”
“Why is he doing this, Pádraig?” she asked, ignoring his instruction.
“’Twas little choice you gave him. Now stand back from the door.”
“
I
gave him little choice?” She barked an incredulous laugh. “Did I put the knife to my own throat and drag myself onboard this ship?”
“Sure, it was your father, was it not, who brought his armed guard and had them waving their guns at innocent folks? Now stand back from the bloody door if you want this meal, or else starve.”
She set her jaw and complied. “That wasn’t my doing, and don’t tell me you think it was. Don’t tell me
he
thinks it was.”
Pádraig looked uncertain and busied himself with unlocking the door. “And how is it you’d explain these folks then?” he said, nodding at Daniel. “Where’d they come from if not the Ark? They’ve got the look of Channon’s people about them.”
“I can vouch for what Rhionna says,” said Daniel. “We’re not from the Ark. In fact, we’re from somewhere much further away. And I can assure you that Rhionna knew nothing about her father’s actions. She took us to the docks to help the people of the Badlands.”
Pádraig smirked. “And how might you be able to help those poor souls?” he asked, and shook his head when it was clear Daniel had no answer. “Ah, it makes no difference. The deed is done and here you are.”
“Here we are,” Daniel agreed. “Um…so, what do you intend to do with us now?”
“The decision isn’t mine,” replied Pádraig, and there was a disapproval in his voice that, as Daniel suspected, was aimed neither at himself nor at Rhionna. Pádraig set the tray on the floor, then turned to leave.
“Let me speak to him,” said Rhionna, the words coming in a rush as if she had to force them from her mouth.
Pádraig paused in the doorway and turned back. “And what would you be hoping to speak to him about?”
“I want to make him see sense. This will not end well for any of us. Surely you can understand that. ”
“I can, and don’t you think I’ve told him as much?” The man’s manner had changed somewhat, and Daniel thought there was even a trace of amity in the way he spoke to Rhionna, a glimpse perhaps of an old camaraderie. “You know how the boy is.”
“Then perhaps if I can-”
“I’ll not have any of that old business rearing its head again, Rhionna,” he said, sharply. “It caused more trouble than you’ll ever know.”
Daniel was tempted to ask what business he meant, curious about the history between the two peoples of the planet, but he sensed there was a far more human story beneath it all, one that was none of his concern, so he held his tongue.
“I only want to resolve this situation, Pádraig,” Rhionna said. “Let me speak to him. Please.”
His only reply was to leave the cell, locking the door behind him. “Eat your food,” he recommended from outside. “We’ll be at the Cove in a couple of hours.”
“Pádraig!” cried Rhionna through the bars, but the clang of the hatch told them that he was already gone.
* * *
Like anywhere else in the universe, nighttime on Ierna was when folks came out to play. Under clear and balmy skies the crew of the Seachráni ship spilled from the cabins and onto the deck, some bringing food and drink, others trying their luck at the usual games of chance. The ship cruised along at a leisurely speed and sound traveled easily without the buffeting wind to snatch it away. Conversation seemed animated, but most of it was spoken in the Seachráni language and Jack could only guess at the meaning. Faelan’s name cropped up a lot, however, accompanied by much shaking of heads and grumbling under the breath. Kidnap, it seemed, wasn’t these guys’ usual MO and they were pissed. Which was good news for Daniel, if not for Faelan Garret.
The atmosphere wasn’t exactly mutinous, but Jack was beginning to wonder exactly what kind of position Garret really held with these people. The old woman, Sorcha, had spoken of him as a leader, but Jack knew a leader when he saw one and Garret wasn’t it. He had charisma, no doubt, but no steel in his spine. People wanted to follow him, but he didn’t want to lead. He refused the burden of command. That made him weak and his people afraid.
That
made him resort to kidnap instead of standing his ground.
And Jack had no patience for that kind of cowardice.
Hunkering lower, he squirmed to get comfortable between the crate and the tarp-covered bale. He had just enough room to stretch his aching knee, and could prop his back against the tarp. Ignoring the dead-fish aroma of the ship, he pulled a power bar out of his vest and began to eat. He still had a few swallows of water left in his canteen which would be enough for now. Tough luck if wasn’t, though, because he was going nowhere with the whole damn crew taking their R&R right on his doorstep. As hiding places went, he’d had better.
When he’d finished eating, he drank a mouthful of water and tucked the canteen back into his vest. His P90 rested comfortably against his chest and he held it there as he settled back against a bale, closed his eyes and let himself slip into a light soldier’s sleep.