Stargate SG-1: Trial by Fire: SG1-1 (17 page)

"Don't!"

A whimper, barely human anymore, the awful sound of someone
not quite broken yet, but so close that it could only be a matter of
heartbeats.

Right. That did it!

Kelly kicked at the nearest brazier, knocking it off-balance. For
a second it teetered on the edge of its base, then it toppled, hitting
the ground with an almighty crash. She pasted on a look of guilty
stupefaction and leaped from the stool, careful not to step on any
of the embers that had scattered across the floor like disembodied
red eyes.

The racket had pounded him awake, and he shot up with a gasp,
fingers clamping the side of the bed as though he were afraid to
fall. Despite the early-morning twilight that hung in the chamber she could see that he was trembling.

"Dearie me! I didn't wake you, did I?"

He winced at her voice, then relaxed a fraction. Racing to hide
a panicked, distant look and slam the lid on that nightmare, he
attempted a half-hearted glare at Kelly.

"What do you think?"

"Ever so sorry, duckie. Didn't watch where I was going."

Too much on the contrition. There wasn't a lot one could slip
past him, even in this state.

His eyes narrowed promptly. "Was I... talking?"

"Surprisingly enough you actually shut up when you're asleep."
Feeling heat flood her cheeks, Kelly turned away, snatched a
wooden spoon from the table, and made a stiff-jointed production
of scraping together the embers. "And even if you didn't, what
makes you think I'd listen?" She nudged a piece of charcoal with
her bare fingers and yelped for effect. "I don't bother listening to
you when you're conscious. Which is a mercifully rare occurrence,
I might add."

Under the pretext of righting the brazier, she risked a peek,
received an indecisive frown. He wanted to believe her. Perhaps
distraction would do the trick. With a little bit of luck he'd attribute
any odd behaviour on her part to anxiety over the poppy potion
incident.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked a trifle too sweetly.

The question hung there for a second or two, then she saw the
blushing dawn of realisation. Well, in actual fact, it was more like
the blood red dawn...

"You drugged me!" Dark eyes blazing, he swung his legs over
the edge of the bed and got up. "You drugged me! You and that"
- before he could stop himself, his hands had cupped into the ageold male gesture signifying a triple-D cup - "Phrygian woman
drugged me!"

Oh yes. Good lad! He looked almost alive now.

Straightening up, Professor Kelly sneezed. "Don't worry, dear!
You were quite safe. I wrestled her down before she could have her
wicked way with you."

"Have you completely lost your mind? What -"

He trod on an ember she'd overlooked. The ensuing entrechat
could have earned him a place in the Royal Ballet Company,
although she couldn't recall ever having heard a danseur noble
swear with such relish.

"Oops-a-daisy!" Brandishing her spoon, Kelly scooped the
offending ember towards the heap where its brethren were gathered,
glowing merrily. "Must have missed that one. Sorry."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" he bellowed at her
backside and slumped onto the bed again. "What the hell makes
you think you've got a right to -"

"Self-preservation! Much as it irks to admit it, I need you to
get out of here. You, however, insist on getting coshed for playing
the knight in shining armour to old women and schoolchildren.
I wanted some guarantee that you'd make it through the night
without sustaining a skull fracture." Which, by ways of a change,
was God's honest truth and tantamount to twisting the tiger's tail.
"Lift your feet!"

"I don't believe this!"

The feet - uncommonly nice feet, she thought, to go with the
hands - came up regardless, probably because he was too furious
even to consider refusal.

"Tsk. Just a little red. Barely a blister. You'll survive."

"So help me, Professor, you so much as think of doing anything
like that again, I'll -"

The undoubtedly diverting list of things he intended to do to her
was headed off by the rattle of bolts outside, then the door creaked
open. In the frame stood a young man they hadn't met before. Just
as well. The good Colonel's reaction to any of the friends he'd
made yesterday might be somewhat less than constructive.

The young man wore trousers and a loose tunic in the Phrygian
style - why couldn't these people settle for one culture at a time?
- and took in the scene in front of him with evident bemusement.
Kelly couldn't even begin to imagine what she must look like,
hunkering on the floor, eye to eye with O'Neill's toes, spoon at the
ready. The toes dropped rather hastily, and their owner rose and
burst into rapid-fire inanity.

"Hi there! Gorgeous day, isn't it? Bracing! So how about letting us out of here? See, we've got an appointment with our marriage
counsellor this afternoon, and I'd hate to miss it."

"Flavius sum Tertiusque me misit quia vobiscum loquere
vult," the young man announced, remarkably unperturbed, which
suggested that he hadn't understood a word. Then his nose crinkled.
"Antequam autem lavabitis. Rancentes estis."

"His name is Flavius," Dr. Kelly translated dutifully. "He says
somebody called Tertius has sent him because he wants to talk to
us. Before that we're to wash, though. Apparently we -"

"Stink. I so agree."

What?

Kelly peered at him, then admonished herself not to be absurd.
The grimace on Flavius' face had been quite eloquent enough,
even for a pigheaded Irish fool. Behind the young man's shoulder
appeared Round Rosy, beaming. Hopefully the separate female
escort meant the facilities weren't unisex.

Several eons ago, Dr. Jackson had vowed never again to
complain about military red-tape. Compared to this, the Pentagon
was a shining example of well-greased efficiency.

"I am sure it cannot take much longer," Hamilgart predicted.
"Your request is extraordinary, Lady Samantha, but so is our
need."

"Indeed," answered the spirit. His expression remained stolid,
but the tone revealed that all those years of studying advanced
sarcasm under Professor O'Neill hadn't been wasted.

Lady Samantha said nothing and continued to pace all over
the golden bull's head that formed the centerpiece of a colorful,
elaborate mosaique on the floor. Hamilgart opened his mouth again,
thought better of it, and closed his eyes, pretending not to notice.

They were loitering with intent in a lofty marble chamber that
represented the foyer to the Synod Hall and was crowned by a
cupola with a hole at its center. Through it stabbed a broad shaft
of sunlight and kindled the bull's head and Sam's hair - the Tyrean
idea of noon bells and a reminder that they'd already spent an
eternity watching that beam slide down the wall and crawl across
the floor.

Set into the northern sweep of the foyer was a large doublepanel door, covered in bronze reliefs depicting scenes of worship.
At irregular intervals the door opened, and each time they jumped.
Okay, so Teal'c didn't jump. He raised an eyebrow, and on the
last three occasions he'd omitted even that. Each time an acolyte
emerged from the Synod Hall, studiously ignored them, and glided
off on some errand. At length he would come gliding back, clutching
a bundle of scrolls. At one point he must have got the wrong scrolls,
because thirty seconds after he'd entered he came cantering through
the door again with his dignity as ruffled as his robes. Daniel had
jumped and nursed a vague sense of satisfaction.

The door opened, and the acolyte glided into the foyer. Greeted
by a total lack of reaction, he eventually cleared his throat. Daniel
jumped, Sam stopped dead in her tracks, Hamilgart blinked, and
the spirit's eyebrow twitched. The acolyte bowed.

"The Synod graciously welcome the Lady Samantha and her
companions into their presence."

"Kandaulo's very words, I bet," breathed Major Carter. Aloud
she said, "Thank you."

"That was quick!" exclaimed Hamilqart. Then he noticed their
stares, shrugged. "I remember when Zinnridi, one of our bakers,
asked to be heard. The Synod deliberated for two days."

«Why?

"He wanted permission to name a confectionery after the Lord
Me1eq. Crescents of pastry soaked in honey, if I recall correctly.
Zinnridi proposed to call them Meleq's Horns. In the end his request
was denied unheard. The Synod felt it would be disrespectful,
although they very much enjoyed the pastry, or so I am told. In
your case, however -"

"Please, follow me." The acolyte bowed again.

He led them through the wretched door at last and into a hall
of breathtaking proportions. The ceiling, supported by sixteen
massive columns, soared so far above their heads it disappeared
in shadow. Between the columns stood tall fire baskets, their light
licking along the flanks of the pillars and skittering over the floor.
At the far end a huge burnished bull's head hung suspended from
the ceiling, its horns jutting out across a third of the length of the hall. You could see why a comparison with honey-soaked pastry
might be considered rude.

Arranged in a semi-circle below and between the tips of the
horns were eleven chairs - thrones, really - of richly carved cedar
wood, their backs and armrests inlaid with gold and semiprecious
stones. On them resided the Synod, adrift in the vastness of the
room. The middle chair was larger than the others and occupied
by Kandaulo. The seat to his right remained empty; his successor
hadn't been chosen yet.

"Welcome again, my friends," the High Priest intoned. "I trust
you are aware of the honor bestowed upon you, Lady Samantha?"

Lady Samantha looked as if she were contemplating one of
those slick O'Neill moves. Like shout Shotgun, fling yourself on
the spare throne, and see what that'll do. Daniel winced at the
prospect. To his undying relief, she trod on whatever notion had
insinuated itself.

"I humbly thank the Synod and shall endeavor to prove myself
worthy of their forbearance and that of the Lord Meleq." After this
mouthful Major Carter bowed.

Several members of the Synod sat up a little straighter, interested
all of a sudden. Among them was a wizened mummy whose purple
complexion rivaled his robe and who yesterday had done his best
to torpedo every syllable coming out of Daniel's mouth. His name
was Tendao.

"At least she has proper manners," he screeched, bony fingers
rattling in front of him like twigs in a winter storm. "Approach,
girl. Approach! Say what you have come to say. It shall make little
difference, but say it anyway. The one with the eyeglasses, stay
back. You bored me yesterday, and you should more than likely
bore me today."

Nice to be appreciated.

But if truth be told, the one with the eyeglasses wouldn't plunge
into depths of despair over not getting to cross swords with Tendao
again. The old ogre displayed a level of obstinacy even Jack could
only aspire to. Obediently, Daniel followed Hamilqart and his
fellow acolyte to a vantage point behind the thrones.

Sam and Teal'c soberly marched towards the Synod. Nobody said a word, and in the silence the echo of their steps cascaded from
the walls and ceiling. It seemed to go on forever. Daniel could have
sworn that it hadn't stretched this long yesterday. The distance from
the door to the area in front of the chairs was some twenty meters
of cold and indifferent stares, designed to impress the futility of
their request upon the fainthearted.

With Teal'c poised behind her like a bodyguard, Sam took off
her backpack and retrieved her laptop, which caused a round of
befuddled looks.

"I could do with a table," she murmured, shrugged, and set the
computer on the floor, crouching beside it. "Never mind..."

To a man, the Synod leaned forward in their seats, and
befuddlement changed to alarm when she booted up and all kinds
of colorful images started flicking over the laptop's screen.

"Ha!" squawked Tendao. "I told you dolts that Hamilqart spoke
true when he said Meleq had sent them. Meleq gave her that box.
It is obvious." The maze of wrinkles on his face dilated with greed.
"Is it a gift, girl?"

"I'm afraid not, my Lord Priest."

"Hmph," said Tendao, losing interest.

"We should let her proceed without interruption!" snapped
Kandaulo. "Be quiet. All of you!"

The priests gave soft grunts of assent. Tendao cackled. Daniel
wondered for the umpteenth time if they'd made the right call on
this. Originally, the idea had been for Sam to waltz in here and
start talking, at the risk of the Synod a) not understanding and
b) not believing a word of what she was saying. After all, that
wasn't unheard of, even with representatives of slightly more
advanced cultures - Senator Kinsey, for instance. Then Daniel
had remembered Hamilgart's reaction to the bird of Meleq and
suggested that, if they were going to blind the priests with science,
they should do it properly. All things going according to plan, it
would happen right about... now.

Sam picked up the laptop, rose, and held it in front of her so that
the Synod could watch the screen.

"The Chappa'ai!" The gasp was communal. Even Tendao
yelped.

Score One. Daniel knew the script for this part of the
performance. It was the second UAV launch. He'd shot the footage
himself yesterday, by ways of entertaining Hamilqart. On the
screen, the event horizon exploded outward into torrential rain, and
as soon as it had retracted, the small surveillance plane broke from
the iridescent blue surface. There followed a wobbly pan, tracing
the UAV's course above the temple.

"Bird of Meleq!" Hamilgart exclaimed on cue, if in breach of
Synod protocol.

"Yes," confirmed Sam. "It's a bird of Meleq, and it can see
everything. There's no hiding from it."