Nice to see that the reviews are still coming in. Next chapter, with a little more action for those of you who may have been getting bored.
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Chapter Ten: Traitor in the Ranks
"The humans must die."
Daria stared at the elder Tau'ka, her mind refusing to believe what Terref was saying even as his words rang in her ears. But there was no time to think, for Terref was lunging in for the kill. She dodged backwards, twisting away from the point of the knife and coming around in a sharp kick. Her foot struck his side, but he shook it off.
"Sholva!" she yelled. "Traitor!"
"Am I?" Terref said calmly. He parried her attacks neatly. "Daria, do you really believe those old prophecies? You of all people should know that the Tau'ri will never be ready, always squabbling amongst themselves as they are. Haven't you been watching them these past weeks? They will never make it past this stage of petty infighting. If the Goa'uld are to be stopped, then it should be us, their children, to do it. A poetic end to the entire affair, don't you think?"
She redoubled her attack fiercely, striking high and low in an effort to throw the older agent off-balance. Terref was a skilled fighter, tossing in a few tricks even she didn't know. In tandem, the fighting pair moved around the hall. Daria performed a snap-kick, her foot finally connecting solidly with Terref's knee. The joint hyper-extended painfully under the blow, and he yelped. His knife whipped out to score a thin line along her collar bone- far too close for her comfort. She stumbled back against the case holding the staff weapons.
Terref approached, raising the knife above his head for a final blow. She was cornered, and she cursed herself for letting confusion get the better of her. Light from the street lamp glinted off the sharp blade.
There was a crack, like that of a small explosion, and Terref collapsed, the knife slipping from his limp fingers. He was dead, a small hole in the back of his skull marking the mortal wound. Not even a Tau'ka could recover from that sort of injury.
Daria looked up. Sherlock Holmes stood there, his pistol still pointed to where Terref's head had been. He lowered it as Watson came running up behind him.
"You got him!" the doctor cried. "Miss Nelson, are you alright?"
The Tau'ka scooped up the blade that had fallen from Terref's hand and wiped it clean of her blood on the dead alien's shirt. "Not much more than my pride, except for a few scratches. Thank you for your timely arrival, Mr. Holmes."
Holmes shrugged and pocketed his weapon. "We heard the pair of you shouting at one another," he said simply. "Is this one of your Hawks, then?" he added, coming over to poke the dead Shadow Agent's body with a toe.
Daria shook her head. "He was my contact," she said. "Apparently, he was a traitor as well." She went around the hall to collect the discarded weapons.
The detective stooped to pick up her sword. "This is yours, if I recall correctly," he said as he handed it to her. She accepted it and slid the blade back into its sheath.
"Miss Nelson," Watson broke in, "You're bleeding,"
She touched the shallow cut along her collarbone, mentally assessing the damages. "I'll be fine soon." She eyed Terref's corpse with distaste. "Get back to the Abydonan statue. I'll clean up the mess."
"Perhaps I should-" Watson started. Daria raised an eyebrow at the ex-Army doctor.
"Dr. Watson, I have seen and dealt with more than my share of battlefield casualties. I can take care of… this. In the meantime, the other target is unguarded and open for the taking. Now please, go."
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Holmes waited until the young woman was out of earshot before speaking. "A most unusual young woman, our Miss Nelson," he said to Watson as they made their way back to their post. "I do wonder how she will explain the death of her 'uncle'."
"Her uncle?" Watson said with a frown. "What do you mean?"
Holmes looked at him in surprise. "Surely you must have seen it, Watson." At the doctor's blank look, he continued. "The man we just saw trying to attack Miss Nelson was her contact- she told us as much herself. Who else could her contact be but the man she claimed was her uncle, Terrence Nelson?"
"The man you just killed."
"Unfortunately, yes." The detective adjusted his signature deerstalker cap. "I believe there is something more going on here than simple terrorists, Watson. What kind of organization would send such an unusual woman out on this kind of assignment?"
"One that has all of its male agents working on other cases?" Watson hazarded.
"Did you not just see Miss Nelson?" Holmes replied sharply. "No, she was not a last resort. Her superiors meant to send her here."
Holmes paused suddenly as they rounded the corner. Before them was the display containing the Abydonan sculpture.
The sculpture was gone.
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Daria, having disposed of the late Terref Nielsaan by weighting his corpse and dropping it in the Thames, went to check in with her companions. Approaching the exhibit they had been guarding, she swore fiercely upon seeing the sculpture's empty case.
Watson looked over at her in shock. "Miss Nelson, really!" he protested.
She stalked forward. "At this point I don't really care about propriety, Doctor Watson. What happened here?"
Holmes glanced up from his investigation. "Please come no closer, Miss Nelson," he said from where he was on his hands and knees on the floor. "It is vital that you do not disturb anything."
She cursed again. "The Hawks must have come while you two were over at my position," she said angrily. "Mai'tac…"
"You are well-traveled," Holmes said dryly, returning his attention to the floor. "Whoever took the sculpture was clever," he added. "The lock does not appear to be forced, and the case has been closed after the removal of the statue- ah-ha!" Pulling a small pair of tweezers from the pocket of his coat, he held up a small clod of dirt. "Our culprits were recently near Tottenham Court Station- see the peculiar color of the earth?"
"But that means they could have come from anywhere," Daria pointed out.
"Unfortunately, you are correct, Miss. Nelson," Holmes said, getting to his feet. "But we can start there."
She shook her head. "The Hawks- well, let's just say that they are very good at making sure they are not recognized."
Holmes didn't say anything, as his attention was firmly fixed upon the floor. "They came from the direction opposite of which Watson and I went to go to your rescue."
"I was handling it!"
"Of course you were, my dear," the detective said off-handedly.
She took a deep breath to calm herself. Now was not the time to point out that she could have choked the breath out of Terref if she'd been given the opportunity- a little trick she'd learned from Vader. Now was not the time to point out that if Holmes hadn't shot Terref, they would have had a live prisoner to interrogate rather than a body to dump in the Thames. Now was not the time to point out that she now had to explain to the Tau'ka Head of Intelligence why her Terran contact was dead. Daria sighed and rubbed her temples. This was not going well.
Now was not the time to point out that little factoid, either.
"What is so important about the statue, Miss Nelson?" Watson inquired.
"It's supposed to be a device of ancient power," she replied, deliberately keeping her explanation vague. "The hieroglyphics on it stated that it was used as some sort of protective talisman, or shield." In actuality, the 'statue' was a middle-class shield generator, the kind that could be used to defend a bomber or smallish gunship. The technology was antiquated, for sure, but it would still perform well enough to baffle any weaponry the Tau'ri could bring to bear against it, despite the fact that it was about nine thousand years old. The Goa'uld built things to last. "The Hawks are obsessed with Ancient Egypt. I supposed they believe that the statue will protect them if it does come to war. Some sort of psychosomatic or placebo effect."
Watson looked at her quizzically. "Some sort of- what?"
"Things seem to have an effect if you believe in them strongly enough," Daria explained. "Like a lucky charm- if you believe in it, you tend to notice the things that go your way more strongly than misfortunes. You attribute your perceived good luck to the lucky charm."
"I see," the doctor said slowly. "That does make sense."
"It certainly explains the popularity of such objects," Holmes put in. He dusted off his hands. "There is nothing more I can ascertain from this evidence at the moment," he said. "Shall we check on the ceremonial staves on our way out?"
They did so, and all three were relieved to see that the ancient weapons were still in their place.