TITLE: The Mountain King
AUTHOR: Tiffany Park
STATUS: Complete
CATEGORY: Action/Adventure
SPOILERS: Singularity
SEASON: Early Season Two, set well before "The Fifth Race"
PAIRINGS: None
RATING: R
CONTENT WARNINGS: Language, violence
SUMMARY: SG-3 discovers that a desert planet isn't really as lifeless as it first appeared.
ARCHIVE: Haven't decided yet...
DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Look what I found hiding on my hard drive. Jeeze, it's over two years old. When I originally wrote this, I was experimenting with the whole whumping experience, and it might go a bit OTT there. It's also full of clichés and various sci-fi and fantasy references, which was fun for me but I don't know if anyone else will be pleased. *G* I was never really happy with how the thing turned out, but then I never am and besides, I figure the list could use a holiday and New Year's pick-me-up. This list is the only place in netdom where an SG3-only novella like this would be appreciated, anyway. *G* It's about three-quarters finished, so I'll be cleaning up and posting the earlier chapters as I work on completing it. Just FYI, I've never tried the WIP thing before, so posting will probably be erratic. I expect the nagging will be motivating, though. *G*
January 1, 2015: Okay, this is another ancient fic. I wrote it waaaay back in 2006 for the MakepeaceSG-3 list at Yahoogroups. For anyone who might be interested in something so old about some minor characters, enjoy!
The Mountain King
by
Tiffany Park
Robert Makepeace hated enclosed spaces.
Not because he was claustrophobic. Quite the contrary; he'd never even have made it through the psych profiles, training, and physical conditioning required of the SGC's field personnel had that been the case. No, his concerns were based on pragmatic considerations—it was far too easy to be trapped with one's back to the wall in any place with no visible exits, no matter how large it might be.
Of course, having the Stargate nearby provided an escape route, but it took too much time in Makepeace's opinion to dial the thing up, wait for the wormhole to activate and stabilize, send through the GDC code, then wait for the response that indicated the iris had been opened back home so it was safe to go through. An entire firefight could be started and finished in the short time necessary before a team could hightail it back to Earth, and there was no guarantee they wouldn't be overpowered in the meantime by a superior force.
Unfortunately for Makepeace's peace of mind, the MALP originally sent to 3Y5-116 revealed the Stargate to be situated in an enclosed space, in which some kind of alien technology or warning system might still be operating. When the MALP had first arrived, the place had been pitch black. A moment later lights came on, undoubtedly activated by motion or proximity sensors. Other gadgets—perhaps less benign—might also still be functional.
The lights had revealed an enormous, cylindrical room, at least two hundred feet in diameter, made of a smooth, speckled, blue-gray material that glittered in the bright light. There were no windows or doors, although that didn't really mean anything—they could simply be hidden, or so well integrated into the curved walls as to be invisible.
Places like that set Makepeace's teeth on edge. It looked like a trap just waiting to happen. Who knew what might be lurking on the other side of those curving walls, ready to attack them?
So when he stepped out of the Stargate's event horizon onto this particular bit of alien real estate, he did so with his carbine cocked and held ready at his shoulder in firing position, his right eye already focused down the sights.
He moved off the Stargate's dais and stood to one side of the DHD and MALP, scanning the room as he waited for the rest of SG-3 to appear. When no alien surprises jumped out to bite him, Makepeace relaxed marginally, although he kept his weapon ready. He saw his team emerge from the Stargate out of the corner of one eye—the other eye was busy keeping watch on the seemingly innocuous surroundings.
His teammates were equally suspicious. As each man stepped out of the event horizon, he did a quick survey of the environment for threats before joining Makepeace next to the MALP.
"All right," Makepeace said once everyone had arrived, "let's give this place a good going over. If this is all there is to it, we'll head back."
The four Marines spread out, heading for different quadrants of the circular room. Makepeace moved off toward one wall and brushed a hand against it. The unadorned, blue-gray material was cool and satiny smooth, as though it had been highly polished. Tiny bits of crystal were scattered throughout it, glittering in the light. Makepeace looked up. The harsh, white light shone down from translucent globes that encircled the domed ceiling. Over a hundred feet above his head, they appeared to be just floating up there with no visible means of support.
"Colonel, I got something weird here," Corporal Henderson called from behind the Stargate.
Dismissing the mystery of the light globes, Makepeace joined the rest of his team as they gathered around Henderson, who was crouched at the dais, eyes focused on a two-foot tall metal column sitting at the corner. Its top was rounded in an almost phallic fashion, and it appeared to be made of bronze and burnished gold. Ornamental lines and curlicues ran from its base to its tip.
"Well, that's different," Makepeace commented.
"Doesn't seem to fit in with what's here," said Lieutenant Johnson.
"How can you tell?" Andrews asked sourly. "There's nothing in here to compare it with but the Stargate and us."
Henderson asked, "Think it's Goa'uld?"
"Dunno." Johnson prodded it gently with his toe. "Nothing," he said. "Maybe it's just art?"
"It's an alien dildo!" Andrews announced, to the raucous laughter of his teammates.
"I do not want to meet up with any babe who'd use that thing," Henderson said. "She'd probably be at least fifteen feet tall."
"How do you know it belongs to a woman?" Andrews chortled and made a rather evocative obscene gesture.
"Let's check it out before you go and get too friendly with it," Makepeace ordered with an amused smile. It was a balancing act, he often thought, what to examine and what to avoid. Anything small and interesting enough to take back to Earth for study was fair game by necessity. The SGC's primary mission was to collect alien technology for Earth's defense, after all. That meant they couldn't just be satisfied with gawking like tourists—risks had to be taken.
That didn't mean they had to accept foolish risks, however. All SG teams carried various detectors that would warn them of the more obvious dangers, such as radiation and electrical activity. The hand-held devices allowed the them to do spot analyses on anything they found. Not that the precautions would guarantee safety—to its regret and detriment, the SGC had found that just because something appeared dead didn't mean it couldn't come to unwelcome, unpleasant life later—but it was better than just hauling alien toys home blindly.
Andrews laughed, "Yeah, you're lucky it didn't disintegrate you or turn you into a toad or something, Lieutenant."
"Can't be radioactive or electrical or anything," Johnson argued. "The MALP's detectors would have picked up on that kind of thing."
"Hey, maybe it's some kind of control device—maybe it's what turned on the lights in here," speculated Henderson.
"It's possible," Makepeace said. "But who knows what else it does?"
As though in response to Makepeace's words, a deep, grinding noise, like stone on stone, reverberated in the chamber. The four men spun, scanning the room, seeking the source of the new sound. "There!" called Johnson, pointing.
A sliver of light, reaching from the floor to just below the ring of light globes, appeared in one wall. As SG-3 watched, it widened slowly, letting in a blinding, blue-white glare. Makepeace shielded his eyes with one hand while his other fished a pair of sunglasses out of a pocket. As he adjusted the shades on his nose, sighing with relief at being able to see again, the grinding noise ceased.
An arching doorway, almost a hundred feet tall and forty feet wide, now stood open directly across from the Stargate. Brilliant light, even harsher than that provided by the overhead light globes, flooded the chamber. Even wearing military-issue sunglasses, Makepeace had an uncontrollable urge to squint. Through the violent glare he made out a cloudless blue sky and rocky, blue-gray earth.
"Shit," he heard Johnson mutter. "Here's hoping the air out there don't poison us."
Johnson had a point. The MALP had only sampled and analyzed the atmosphere within this chamber, which might well have been airtight. With that door standing wide open to the great outdoors, he and his team were now exposed to untested air that might hold dangers their bodies couldn't handle. Who knew what was out there? Radiation, toxins, contaminants, poisonous gasses, microbes—the list was endless, and now unavoidable.
"Too late now," he said with a fatalistic shrug. "We might as well have a look-see outside before we die. Henderson, use the MALP's equipment to run a detailed analysis, see if you can find out what we're breathing. Johnson, Andrews, let's go."
Johnson scowled but moved into the lead, grumbling about his blood pressure and keeping his weapon ready. He was armed with the team's M249 SAW, or Squad Automatic Weapon, a fully automatic light machine gun capable of shredding pretty much anything breathing into itty bitty pieces.
Makepeace and Henderson acted as the team's grenadiers, each carrying an M4 carbine with an M203 40-mm grenade launcher mounted beneath the barrel. Two grenadiers might be considered overkill for a four-man fire-team by some, but when it came to dealing with unknown and potentially hostile alien environments, Makepeace preferred to err on the side of caution and superior firepower.
Rounding out the group, Andrews was a qualified Scout/Sniper. He rarely went off-world without a deadly-accurate sniper rifle and scope slung across his backpack, in addition to the M4 carbine he carried in his hands.
Add to all that the usual assortment of M9 9mm side arms, knives, explosives, and the "unofficial personal protection devices" that none of them could do without, and SG-3 tended to be the best armed recon team in the SGC. On this world, protected within the round stone building, chances were good they could hold their own long enough to dial the Stargate home and make their escape if necessary.
Depending, Makepeace thought pessimistically, on what was waiting outside for them. The way that door had opened up was awfully convenient. It might have been due to some automatic device, like the lights, but there was no guarantee of anything so benign. In spite of their armament, they could still be overwhelmed by a sufficiently powerful and armored force, and aliens might have sneakier and uglier tricks up their sleeves than fancy bombs and ray guns.
"Looks clear," Johnson said from just inside the doorway. He cautiously went outside. Makepeace and Andrews followed close behind him, covering his rear and flanks. The walls were at least eight feet thick, Makepeace noted with surprise as he passed through the exit. This place had been built to last. The Marines stopped a few feet inside the exit to take their bearings.
The sky was a clear, brilliant sapphire hue, so pure it was painful to look upon. High overhead a single sun shone brightly, its light somewhat whiter than Earth's sun. The landscape was barren—flat stretches of blue-gray dirt and rocks. Boulders, striated with gray, blue, and black, had been wind-sculpted into bizarre shapes that would be at home in a modern art museum. At irregular intervals the land was shot with streaks of gold and sapphire blue. Flecks of something shiny, like mica or quartz, sparkled in the rocks and soil. There were no plants, animals, or insects to be found. Other than the whispering of a mild breeze through the rocks, all was silent.
"Nice," Makepeace said, his lips twisting in his displeasure at his surroundings. He shaded his eyes with one hand and gazed off into the distance, where he could see a haze that might be mountains, or might simply be clouds or dust. He was glad he wore sunglasses. The glare around here could blind a man.
"Big," added Johnson, pushing his own sunglasses higher on his nose. "Big and empty."
"And dry." Why, Makepeace wondered, did SG-3 get stuck with so many desert planets? While this desert was pretty, with a sky bigger and bluer than Montana's, and flamboyant rocks and dirt to spice up the scenery, he was still annoyed. He'd anticipated a quick survey of an exitless alien building, and through Lady Luck's usual perversity had drawn an arid world. Makepeace had a serious antipathy toward deserts, born of service during the Gulf War, when he'd run advance recon teams deep into Iraq and Kuwait. He'd never look fondly at a desert again.
At least this desert wasn't broiling hot. In fact, it was downright temperate, which was surprising considering the barren landscape. It was dry, lifeless, and yet the temperature felt relatively comfortable. Makepeace shrugged, reminding himself that deserts didn't have to be hot, just dry. They came in all kinds of packages back on Earth. This was just a weird variation on the basic model.
"Smells kind of like cinnamon," Johnson said, sniffing appreciatively. Makepeace didn't reply, although he, too, had noticed the pleasant scent. He hoped it wasn't poisonous. Other smells could be dangerously deceptive: for example, small amounts of hydrogen cyanide gas were reputed to smell somewhat like bitter almonds. What large amounts of that particular stuff smelled like, he didn't want to know.
Henderson emerged from the building and joined Makepeace. "Air's good, Colonel," he reported. "Pretty close to Earth norm, according to the MALP. A shade more oxygen than we're used to, but nothing dangerous. Nothing's in large enough quantities to be toxic. Background radiation's within acceptable levels."
"Good," said Makepeace. It was always nice to know you weren't in immediate danger of expiring from breathing cinnamon-scented air. "All right, let's spread out and see what we've got here. Don't anyone stray too far."
The Marines nodded and began their sweep. A few moments later Andrews, who had moved off to the left side of the domed building, called out, "Aw, shit, what the fuck is that? Colonel, you need to see this!"
That was quick. Curious, Makepeace walked around to the sergeant's side, aware of Johnson and Henderson trailing after him. "Well, that's something you don't see every day," he drawled.
Roughly a hundred feet away stretched what Makepeace thought might be a pair of weird roads. Bright yellow in color, they lay parallel to one another, like a freeway, separated by a wide strip of bare dirt. He looked left and right. The roads ran into the long distance, seemingly endless. He and his team approached the nearest one cautiously for a better look. The road appeared to be about twenty-five feet in width. Its strangely colored surface looked slick, as though it were wet.
"Looks like a road, you think, guys?" said Andrews.
"Whatever it is, it's definitely not natural," Johnson said, bending down to take a closer look. "Bizarre."
"Careful, Lieutenant," said Makepeace. "This thing might not be as benign as that dildo was."
Johnson snatched back the hand he had extended. He straightened and grimaced, scratching the back of his head self-consciously. "Thanks, sir."
"Just don't want to break in a new second."
"You think it's dangerous?" Henderson asked. He had a digital video-camera running, recording everything in the vicinity.
"Dunno." Makepeace bent down, scooped up a handful of bright blue pebbles, and tossed them onto the nearest road. They skittered and danced like drops of water on a hot griddle. "Looks almost frictionless," he commented. "Doesn't seem to be hurting them. Still probably better to leave it alone, though, at least for now. It's not like we can pick it up and take it back with us, anyway."
The little blue stones continued to jitter and slide around on the canary surface. "Sir," Henderson said, "the rocks are doing something."
As the Marines watched, the jiggling pebbles lined up and formed a loose geometric pattern, a series of parallel lines. In spite of the rocks' constant, vibrating motions, the lines maintained their shape and spacing. Henderson chewed his lower lip. "Looks like some kind of standing wave pattern."
"I see you're showin' off that superior high school education again," Andrews laughed.
"College physics, actually."
"Yeah, sure. Tell us another one, junior."
Makepeace grinned. Henderson actually had a B.S. in biology plus a year and a half of medical school under his belt, and Andrews knew it. For reasons he had never disclosed, Henderson had quit med school and enlisted in the Marine Corps, refusing an officer's commission, choosing instead to stick to field work. Normally, a corporal would hold a leadership position among the enlisted troops, but on SG-3 he was low man on the totem pole. He didn't seem to mind, although lately he'd been considering returning to medical school. He was a good man, and it would be hard to lose him when he finally advanced his career.
For that matter, Andrews and Johnson also held college degrees. Every soldier who went out on an SG team had to be decently educated, as well as highly trained in military arts. You never knew what odd talent might come in handy. All personnel needed to be intelligent and flexible—able to adapt to many challenging and downright weird situations, run tests, and identify useful alien technology—as well as disciplined and able to fight. The stereotypical "dumb grunt" had no place in the Stargate program. His men might not be multi-Ph.D. super-geniuses, but they weren't dunces, either.
Andrews broke off his teasing and stared to the left, frowning. "Now would you look at that."
"What is it?" Makepeace asked.
"There's another of those oversized dildos over there," the sergeant said, pointing with his chin. Between the two roads stood a cylinder identical to the one they had seen inside the Stargate building. Bright sunlight reflected off its polished metal surface.
"Wonder what they're for?" asked Henderson, training his videocam on the object. "That one can't be there to control lights and doors."
"The other one might not have done that, either," Johnson said. "We were just guessing."
"Quiet," Andrews said sharply, holding up a hand. "Listen."
Makepeace tilted his head, straining his ears for whatever sound had alerted Andrews. He heard a soft rushing, as though something were moving at great speed. The noise gradually got louder, as a distant, dark blot became visible on the nearest road. As he watched, the object seemed to grow larger.
Makepeace squinted. Yes, it was definitely getting bigger.
Fast.
"Everybody, back from the road," he ordered. "Looks like something big's coming through."
His warning was unnecessary. The Marines were already moving away, putting a respectable distance between themselves and the road. They were also, he noted wryly, readying their weapons, preparing for a potential firefight. Unfortunately, unless they wanted to retreat to the domed Stargate building, there wasn't any cover nearby.
The rushing sound became a roar, like a mighty windstorm. The object raced forward, growing larger by the second, a speeding blur of darkness that appeared vaguely cylindrical. Then, suddenly, it slowed down. The roaring faded to a gentle hum as the strange machine came to a stop, right in front of the startled Marines.
At close range the thing reminded Makepeace of some kind of train car. It was glossy black, about fifty feet long, and as wide as the road. Both rounded ends were sloped and tapered in an aerodynamic fashion. The car's bottom surface was flat, and the whole thing floated about a foot above the road, humming quietly.
With a whoosh, an oblong door in its side slid open and a smooth, wide ramp rolled out to the ground.
The train's interior was cloaked in shadows. The four Marines raised their weapons, but nothing emerged to threaten them. Cautiously, they sidled closer, inspecting this new addition to their environment.
"Think it's some kind of train?" Johnson whispered, peering warily at the opening.
"No one seems to be inside. Might be on automatic," Henderson said.
It didn't seem to pose any threat. None, though, were willing to venture onto that ramp. The doorway continued to stand open, as though inviting them to enter. A few minutes later the ramp retracted and the door slid closed. The humming intensified, then the car started moving. In no time it had accelerated to its former speed and vanished from sight, heading toward the distant haze.
"Well, that was special," Andrews remarked, lowering his rifle.
Makepeace glanced from the road to the building, an idea forming in his mind. "Do you think maybe this used to be some kind of transit station?" he asked.
"Like a bus stop or subway terminal, with the Stargate as an arrival and departure point?" Andrews nodded thoughtfully. "That would account for that train being on automatic like that."
"Well, doesn't look like anyone's using it any more," Johnson commented.
"No," Makepeace agreed. "But this planet has sure as hell gotten a lot more interesting than it was an hour ago. There's functioning technology, and it looks fairly advanced. It would be a real shame not to take a better look."
Johnson slanted a speculative glance at his CO. "You're talking about an extended desert recon. We'll need the SGC to send us extra supplies, lotsa water and food and stuff. Think Hammond'll authorize it?"
"Oh, yeah."