Stargate SG1 - Roswell (46 page)

“You got that right,” Cam snarled over his shoulder. “Ever since Qetesh announced she's changing hosts, Ra's been thinking of upgrading to a newer model himself. Vala's son, Serapsis, is sixteen now, and because Qetesh's trying to suck up to her old man so he doesn't wake up to the fact that she's planning to kill him, she offered up Serapsis as likely candidate. When Ra gets back from picking up his DHD, he intends taking Serapsis as a host.” Cam stopped between a pair of the fluted pale gray columns, chipped here and there by energy weapons, and turned to them. “Then, if Qetesh hasn't already nuked him, Ra will take her as his bride.” Cam's eyes turned dark with unrestrained rage. “One way or another, I'm putting an end to this before
any
of that can happen.”

There was only one way to fix this. Diverting her thoughts to what needed to be done, Sam and the others followed Cam along a narrow path between the mounds of rubble that had been the front entrance to the Metropolitan Museum of Fine Arts. She and An had spent the previous day getting everything ready so that once they had the naquadah, they could have the jumper and Asgard transport fully operational within minutes.

She hoped.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

A
strangled
sound from Carter accompanied Daniel's muttered,
“What the hell's going on?”

Lined
up either side of the approach to the Stargate, which stood,
as Jack had pretty much expected, in the foyer of the Met, were a bunch of Jaffa prodding dozens of captives through the open wormhole. Most of the prisoners were men, a
few
women but no children. That told Jack they were probable destined for some Goa'uld mining planet.

Strategically, it made sense. Massacring or enslaving and exiling
an enemy's fighting force was a standard Goa'uld tac-tic
if
the planet in question had no naquadah.

Outside, in Central Park, he caught a glimpse of a barricaded area, and someone running. A bolt from a staff weapon took the would-be escapee down before he'd gone fifty feet. For
the prisoners about to be shoved through the 'gate, it was a
stark
reminder that their choice was death by an ugly blast in
the
back, or drowning in what looked like a weird, bottom-less
horizontal well. Regardless, the men about to be pushed through
were displaying a hell of lot of reluctance, and that was
causing problems for the guards, most of whom wore the jackal-headed armor of Ra.

“Who is in charge of these prisoners?” Mitchell shouted, marching across the rubble-strewn ground.

One of the Jaffa glanced over his shoulder. Mitchell shot him in the pouch with a blast from his staff weapon before the Jaffa had even had a chance to fully turn around.

“How many times have I told you that to maintain control over prisoners you have to brief them on where they're going!” Mitchell bellowed. “Ignorance of their fate prompts them to act rashly, and that chews up the resources—your time and my patience—belonging to your god. You!” Mitchell pointed to another Jaffa. “You're now in charge.”

Without waiting for further instructions, the Jaffa began reorganizing the entire setup, while two of his buddies dragged their former leader's body away.

Mitchell's display of casual ruthlessness might have seemed bizarre to the prisoners—or maybe it was that slight Tennessee twang of his—but Jack understood. The less trouble their captives gave them, the less hindrance to the whole conquering the planet thing they had going. That it happened to be slightly more humane was something that the Jaffa—and more importantly, Ra—probably hadn't considered.

This was Mitchell all right, not a Goa'uld masquerading as a Jaffa, which made Jack a little easier. “That wasn't Ra's First Prime, I'm guessing.”

Leading them toward an Al'kesh parked nearby, Mitchell replied, “Things are better set up on the planet where they're going, I made certain of that. Ra's still an utterly ruthless son of a bitch, but after Qetesh put me in charge of a couple of her mines, he noticed the output quadrupled and the need for Jaffa guards and new slaves dropped to a fraction. Once Ra is out of the picture, many of those planets, including the world I'm sending them to, are pretty much self-sustaining communities.” He nodded in the direction of a group of prisoners sitting inside a baseball diamond.

There was no sign of a fence, but a massive bubble of clear air covered this area of Central Park. Outside what had to be an energy field, palls of thick smoke blanketed out the afternoon sun. Jack had noticed on the way in last night, the towers being set up on the perimeter around the Met. Now he saw that they were manned. “Your idea?”

Mitchell glanced up before leading them inside the ship. “Qetesh's. Between Vala and me she learned a hell of a lot. She's now Ra's number one general. The force field around the Met was turned on while you guys were still sleeping it off. Unfortunately, the nuke will take out the towers first, so it won't help to contain the blast.”

The layout in the Al'kesh was standard, and Mitchell led them
in
the direction of the cargo bay. They passed several Jaffa
and said nothing until they were alone. “Don't be shy about taking everything you need, Sam, and then some. It's not like we're gonna need it.”

He
punched in the sequence beside a door panel, which immediately slid open to reveal an armory. While Carter directed Daniel and Teal'c to pack the required naquadah, she said,
“Cam,
about the nukes. Do you have any idea how you're going to detonate them?”

“You mean there's not a big 'ol red button on them?” Before Carter could respond, Mitchell added, “Seriously? My impression of some of those earlier A-bombs was that they were pretty unstable and relatively easy to blow.”

Carter's expression was doubtful. “That's true for those modeled on Little Boy, but even that used four radar altimeters
and
a barometric fuse to trigger detonation. Fat Man was an
implosion type that used a plutonium trigger, just like the Gadget—the Trinity test.”

“No red button, then?” Jack said, feeling less and less like this was going to go off as Mitchell planned.

“Which is why I was kind of hoping you'd be able to talk me through it, Sam.” Mitchell pulled their radio headsets from within his armor. “If I keep one of these, as long as we're within line of site, I figure we can stay in contact.”

Carter's expression reflected Jack's reluctance to let Mitchell go through with this, but right then he didn't see that they had a whole lot of choice in the matter, at least until both the jumper and transport were fully operational. Wordlessly, he accepted the radios and tucked them inside his armor.

“Is the jumper close by?” Mitchell asked him.

“Other side of the park.”

“I'll walk you through to the outside of the perimeter force field. Once the nukes are here, I'll call you.”

Glancing outside to make certain none of the patrolling Jaffa were in earshot, Jack said, “Shouldn't Qetesh be back by now? Those death gliders were over Roswell first light yesterday.”

“That's it, sir.” Carter and Daniel lifted one box between them while Teal'c held the handle of a second. Jack grabbed the other side and followed Mitchell out, wishing he could use his staff weapon as a walking stick, but hoping there was enough naquadah in the box he was carrying for Carter to enable the jumper's weapons.

“The death gliders secured the base by blowing up the air strip and surrounding roads,” Mitchell explained once they were outside again.

“To prevent the Army from evacuating the bombs,” Carter said.

Jack had worn Jaffa armor in the past, but combined with the weight of the naquadah and the fact that the previous owner of this particular set of armor had been a size or two bigger than Teal'c, was going to make for a damned uncomfortable stroll through the uprooted trees, smashed cars and occasional dead bodies littering up this section of Central Park.

“Qetesh didn't go with them. She took a Ha'tak to oversee the strike on DC and Norfolk. Once she's satisfied they're destroyed or under control, she'll take a team of my best Jaffa to Roswell. She knows I have no idea where the nukes were—are—stored at the base, that's why it was better to leave me here with Ra's First Prime.”

“To avoid the suspicion that she's planning anything,” Daniel said.

“You got it. Ra might have made her his general but if she and I both vanish for a few hours, he'll smell a rat.”

“So, how fast she acquires the nukes will depend on how much resistance she meets.”

“Assuming the nukes are still there,” said Jack.

Mitchell paused and glanced over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I may have given Roswell reason to think they were under attack
by
aliens a few hours before they
were
under attack by aliens.”

From behind him, Daniel explained, “Um, we sort of destroyed the control tower and part of the hospital.”

“Resulting in afire that consumed several buildings,” Teal'c added.

“Little
trouble with An's escape pod not exactly firing on all four cylinders,” Jack explained.

Mitchell turned and signaled to one of the watchtowers. Something rippled in front of them ten feet away. A bunch of Jaffa began herding a group of about fifty prisoners through the
lowered force field and toward the Met. Most of the captives were young, but with an edgy look that told Jack they'd seen combat.

Mitchell must have noticed the direction of his gaze because he said, “There's a second force field set up between us
and
the 'gate that comes on automatically when this is shut down. There's a bunch of other security measures that I won't bore
you with, but any thoughts you may have about sneaking the jumper through and using this 'gate, forget it. Meanwhile, I'm trying to get as many people as I can out of here before I blow the crap out of the place.” He motioned toward another group of prisoners being herded across the park from the direction of the pond. “These guys just might be able to get themselves organized enough to fend off any System Lord trying to take over Ra's territory, if we screw this up and you don't get back to 1908.”

“You would make a fine leader of such a movement,” Teal'c said.

Mitchell hesitated, as if that notion hadn't crossed his mind. “Nice idea, Teal'c, but nobody's gonna appreciate that the tactics I've employed have been designed purely to give humans a
fighting
chance once Ra and Qetesh are dead. Don't forget, I'm a First Prime to one of the most hated and feared Goa'uld in the galaxy.”

“As was I.”

Reaching the edge of the Park, Jack was relieved to see the building where they'd left the jumper was still reasonably intact. He turned to Cam, knowing there was no way he could convey his respect through the Jaffa helmet for what Mitchell had done against the most horrendous odds. Or what he was about to do. “You should think about what Teal'c said,” was the best he could come up with.

“Thank you....sir.” The salutation sounded a little forced, but Jack appreciated the sentiment. “But I'm confident that you'll set things right in 1908, and none of this will have ever happened.”

A flash of light caught Jack's attention, and he looked up. The lenses in his helmet apparently responded to the naquadah in his blood, or maybe his Ancient gene, because his vision was suddenly enhanced several times. A squadron of bombers—B-29s by the look of them—support by dozens, if not hundreds, of fighters was headed in their direction. Death gliders were already engaging them, but Jack had a bad feeling that enough of the bombers would get through to make a real mess of the place. And while he might normally appreciate their support, this was going to complicate matters because they were standing directly beneath the bombardiers' crosshairs—just outside the force field. The collateral damage was bound to be a bitch.