Stargate SG-1: Trial by Fire: SG1-1 (7 page)

"Delicious, aren't they?" Dr. Kelly graced him with an innocent
granny smile. "I told the boy you were fond of them."

Imminent second-degree murder was averted by Teal'c.
"O'Neill," he murmured.

Spitting some more, Jack turned casually and followed the
Jaffa's gaze. Half hidden in the shadows of a brightly striped
awning huddled a man, watching them. He was tall, in his thirties,
a good deal shabbier than even the poorest Tyreans they'd seen so
far, and he wore calf-length pants, a tunic in muted browns, and a
strange floppy cap. When he realized he'd been spotted, he slowly
stepped out from under the awning, not threatening but poised to
run at any moment. By instinct or experience he'd identified Jack
as the leader of their little group.

"Who sent you?" he rasped. "And what do you want?"

The man never got an answer. Red-faced with anger, small fists
balled at his sides, Luli leaped forward.

"You dare speak to him, scum? You dare come here? Go away!
Go where the likes of you hide! Go -"

"Whoa!" Jack caught the boy by the scruff of the neck and
pulled him back. "Easy! What's he done?"

"He is a heretic! He offends the Lord Meleq!"

"And you can tell that how?"

"By his clothes!" The look Luli shot him was universal to
children the galaxy over: You're a nice guy, but you're not really
clued in, are you?

"His clothes?"

"They're Phrygian," the Professor chimed in drily.

Daniel nodded. "You can tell by the headwear."

"See? Even they know!"

By now people had begun to gather, muttering and staring, their
mood shifted from relaxed friendliness to lynch-mob menace.
Somebody spat at the man's feet. With a subtle move Teal'c lowered
his staff weapon an inch or two, asserted his presence. The circle
of onlookers widened fractionally. The stranger's eyes took in the
staff, the tattoo, and his face contorted in a grimace of hatred.

"Jaffa!"

That reaction at least had an ugly flavor of normalcy.

"He's my friend," said Jack sharply. "And you're -"

He was cut off by an excited outcry that came racing up the
narrow passage like floodwater, sloshing up the walls and spilling
into doorways. Simultaneously, dozens of shoppers started pushing
down the alley towards the source of the shouts, jostling along
anything in their path. Daniel heard Jack's frustrated yell and
realized that the so-called heretic had vanished. Into a stall or into
the mass of bodies, it didn't matter. The man was gone, and they
and a potentially nasty situation were being washed away by the
human tide.

At length the throng disgorged itself onto a vast open space by
the harbor. O'Neill sheared away from the crowd and made for a
section of the dock that was relatively clear of people. Major Carter
and Daniel Jackson had also seen him and followed, as did Teal'c,
herding before him Professor Kelly and the boy.

"What the hell was that all about?" growled O'Neill.

"Quick! Quick!" Impatiently, Luli prodded him to move nearer
the edge of the seawall before others had the chance to occupy the
prime place. "They've come back!"

"Who's come back?"

"Abibaal," the child exclaimed, pointing across the harbor.
"Abibaal is coming back."

The two vessels they had seen from the cliff on the previous day
floated on their moorings, beaks of iron protruding from the prows
and three banks of oars stacked one above the other on port and
starboard. Between them, rounding the peninsula that formed one
of the piers of the inner harbor, a third ship became visible; this one
smaller and under sail, its oars limply trailing in the water.

"They should have returned from Sidonia yesterday," the boy
babbled breathlessly, stumbling over his words. "The storm must
have delayed them. There will be a big ceremony tonight."

More and more Tyreans gathered along the quay to cheer the
vessel's progress. Driven by a southerly wind, it now passed
between the two battleships. Two diminutive figures could be
discerned scaling the mast and crawling onto the top boom above
the sail. As they worked their way outwards to the tips, cutting the
tackle, the huge, leather-quilted square began to sag. This, as Teal'c
surmised, was not the customary procedure of striking sail.

His assessment had been correct. The crowd became quiescent,
their elation replaced by troubled murmurs until those abated
too. In the end the silence was broken only by the cries of gulls
and the groaning of ropes and canvas from the oncoming ship.
The destruction of the sail had decelerated its approach, and the
drag created by idle oars slowed it further. On deck a solitary
man hastened forward and grabbed the pole of a sculling rudder
mounted to the prow. In the stem another sailor handled its twin.

Laboriously the vessel began to turn until it stood at ninety
degrees to its former course. Its motion had all but stopped, but it
would not be enough. The crewmen knew. Wide-eyed and helpless
they watched as their ship slid broadside against the harbor wall
and shrieked to a rest, hull on stone, oars snapping and splintering
like matchsticks.

"Don't look!"

Putting himself between flying shards of wood and the boy,
O'Neill pushed Luli back from the edge of the quay to shield him
from physical harm and from the sight beyond the frightened faces of the sailors.

The scene spoke of carnage in all its obscene glory. This had
been a merchant vessel, not a battleship, yet someone had chosen
to attack it. Shattered fittings everywhere proved that a fight had
taken place, as did the crumpled, gored corpses that littered the
deck. A number of them wore armor, possibly a detail of soldiers
dispatched to prevent just such an occurrence. If so, they had failed
in their task, and they had paid a high price for it. Among them lay
bodies clad in the plain, utilitarian garb of sailors. Seagulls settled
on them, hacking pieces of flesh from gaping wounds. The man
who had operated the stern rudder snatched up a piece of wood
and hurled it at the birds. It skittered over the deck and came to rest
against the limp fabric of the sail. The gulls spun up and circled
briefly before diving onto the carcasses once more, beaks agape,
yellow eyes blazing.

"Whoever did this, they weren't after the cargo." Leaning over
edge of the dock, Daniel Jackson peered into the hold. More bodies
there, their blood soiling bales of cloth and ingots of bronze.

One of the survivors looked up, his visage soot-stained and
defeated. "No, friend," he mumbled. "They took the children."

"What children?"

"Six firstborns of Sidonia, sent to -"

"Colonel!"

Major Carter's voice was soft and tightly controlled as she
pointed at the poop deck and the source of the stench that hung,
cloying and putrid, above the vessel. Knotted together in grotesque
poses, skin taut and blackened where it had not split to reveal the
stark ruby of muscle, teeth bared and cracked from the heat, lay
further corpses. Singed ends of rope were coiled around them and
the planks beneath charred, smoke still curling up in places. The
victims had been tied, suggesting that they were burned alive. Teal'c
could think of only two reasons to do this, torture or execution.
Professor Kelly turned away, fighting a reaction that had gripped
most of the bystanders close enough to see and smell.

Two of the seamen pushed a gangplank up onto the quay. Their
three comrades silently carried the first body ashore and carefully,
reverently, placed it on the ground. The dead man had been one of their own. The crowd receded before them, for fear of being tainted
and to create space for the many dead to come.

As the sailors returned aboard to collect another corpse, the
eerie quiet finally was broken by a call.

"Make room! Make room for the Synod!"

Heads twisted and feet shuffled among murmurs of relief, and
people pressed against each other to clear a path for a solemn
procession of priests and acolytes, Hamilqart among them. It
was led by a man in lavish amethyst robes, who moved with the
fragile grace some old people possess. He approached the body
and wordlessly stared down at it, standing almost as tall as Teal'c
himself, white hair flowing to his shoulders, on his head a circlet
of gold. Then his gaze wandered over the deck, the fallen there, the
sailors who had interrupted their grim duty for the duration of this
scrutiny, and at last to the abomination in the stern of the ship.

"You were wrong," he said softly. "Abibaal, old friend, you
were wrong."

Suddenly he spun around, surprisingly agile for a man of his
age. Clear, penetrating eyes studied Teal'c and the rest of SG-1.

"I regret that we could not offer you a better welcome. But
perhaps it was Meleq's will that you should witness this. Please
return to Hamilgart's house. I shall come to see you. There is much
to talk about." After a quick glance at O'Neill he added, "Leave the
boy with me. He will be safe. His father wishes to speak to him."

`Kandelabrum' was a Priest of the Third Order, Luli had said.

Alright, so the guy's name was Kandaulo.

It was a mind game. One best kept to himself, given the
circumstances. Anything to distract from that ship and its reek.
Nothing stank like senseless butchery.

`Kandinsky' had turned up at Hamilqart's house less than two
hours after they'd got back, about an hour after the water had
gone slightly tepid and Jack had begun to contemplate leaving the
bathtub. Apparently the Phoenicians had a thing about bathtubs.
According to Kelly there were dozens of them in that place where
Daniel had found the `gate address. They were carved from stone,
high-walled, and too short to stretch out if you were above 4'3". He couldn't have cared less. He'd happily have hopped into a thimble,
just as long as he got to scrub off that stench. There was nothing
else they could have done, except watch people mourn their dead.
He knew how that went. He had first-hand experience.

Clean and in fresh clothes, he now listened to `Kandahar' offering
them the option of doing something. Well, not really offering. The
priest was talking more in terms of destiny and Meleq-sent. The
sort of stuff that normally rang the entire O'Neill carillon of alarm
bells at once.

Normally.

Ayzebel had risen from her chair further down the arcade,
making the rounds with glasses of perfumed water. How she'd
heard of the ship was anybody's guess, but when they'd returned
from the harbor, the whole patio had been awash with crushed
blossoms, jasmine and honeysuckle and roses strewn on the floor,
drifting in the pool, dreamlike and fragrant. That, and a hot bath in
each room. To cleanse them of death, she'd said. It took more than
soap and water.

Smiling at her, he accepted a glass. The corners of her mouth
curled up, but the eyes stayed somber. Then again, his own attempt
probably hadn't been all that convincing either.

"How would you wish us to help?" asked Daniel.

They were sitting in a shady comer of the patio, on four low
benches arranged in a square. Carter next to him, her hair still
damp after the bath. She had a stubborn look of composure, and
momentarily he wondered what kind of mind games she played.
Teal'c and the Professor perched opposite, Kelly's complexion still
a subtle shade of green, but Jack didn't derive any satisfaction from
it. Living history was a lot less fun than digging it up from the safe
distance of millennia. He knew that too. On the bench to the left sat
Hamilgart and Daniel in diplomacy mode, and across from them,
enthroned on a seat all to himself, `Kantankero', Priest of the Third
Order.

"Is this not obvious?" His Eminence winked, as though he'd
realized that Daniel was dragging his feet on purpose. "We would
ask you to help us find the men who did this."

"We know nothing about these men."

"Luli tells me you have encountered one of them."

"The Phrygians?"

Papa Smurf on the market, with the bad headgear and worse PR.
The only one in this place who seemed to think that a Jaffa was
a Jaffa was a Jaffa. And that made no sense, did it? If the Smurfs
were the bad guys, how come they were afraid of the big, bad First
Prime?

"Yes, the Phrygians."

"Why would they attack your vessel?"

"Because they are heretics."

And wear goofy hats. What kind of an argument was that?

"They don't share your ways of worship?" Daniel enquired
cautiously.

"They have vowed to wipe out our ways," explained Hamilgart,
leaving the Priest of the Third Order to ponder the ignorance of
Meleq's putative emissaries. "They worship the bull-slayer, the one
sworn to destroy the Lord Meleq."

Three or four bells in the carillon were swinging into a peal.
What did they really want? Find the killers who had slaughtered
and burned a shipful of people or fight an unholy war? Or was it
one and the same?

"You believe we are trying to wage senseless war?" The priest's
odd, too-clear eyes were fixed on Jack.

All that and a mind reader, too?

"I don't believe anything right now. It's not like you've given us
a lot to go on. I want to hear more about the Phrygians."

"You are shrewd. Lord Meleq has chosen well." Kandaulo
smiled, content. "I shall tell you what you wish to know. The
Phrygians are the Ancient Enemy."

Teal'c and Daniel engaged in a wordless display of synchronized
eyebrow-raising.

"They have pursued us here, and they have never stopped
decrying us. They disrupt our devotions. We can no longer worship
as we ought to, and Meleq punishes us. They claim he delights in
punishment, and they continue to raid our cities and murder our
priests. One of those killed in the stern of the ship was Abibaal,
my friend, our High Priest. Worst of all, they steal our children. Meleq's children."

"The children who were abducted from the ship?" prompted
Daniel.