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PART EIGHTEEN
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Goa'uld Mothership
"Come on, Carter," Paul hissed, pushing Andrews out of the way and tapping the unconscious woman's cheeks with desperate hands. She remained unmoving, her breathing shallow. Davis tapped harder, his fingers stinging as he slapped at her skin.
A restraining hand grabbed Paul's wrist, stilling his movements. "How about contacting the Tok'ra girl – Bek – and seeing what the Tok'ra thinks?" Andrews suggested.
Paul took a quick breath, and nodded. "Thanks," he said quietly, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. "I… What's that?"
A rattle, muffled by walls and distance, bounced loosely around the room.
"Sounds like gunfire," Tom said, pressing his head against the shut doors. "Do you think…?"
"O'Neill can't be that stupid," Paul muttered. "Can he? Taking on a patrol by himself in his condition is ludicrous."
The rattling continued steadily. A second later their communicators sprang into life. "Damn it, Davis, open the door!"
Without waiting for Paul's approval Tom, who was closest to the door, hit the small control pad and the door slid open easily. Jack O'Neill almost fell into the room, his P-90 still firing, and the door slammed shut behind him, leaving Jaffa hammering against it.
"Well," O'Neill wheezed, lowering the weapon and resting his hands on his knees, "wasn't that fun."
"You are crazy," Paul muttered. "How did you get through them?"
O'Neill barely shrugged. "I have no idea."
"You okay, sir?" Tom asked, causing Paul to study O'Neill. The man was sweating heavily, his face pale and pulled into a grimace of pain.
"Fine," O'Neill said abruptly, but he didn't change position or stop fighting for air. "Carter?"
"She's still out, Colonel," Paul said as O'Neill finally approached, "and I don't want to sound like I don't care but we really need to get what we came for and get out of here. We were just about to call Garshaw and find out what we needed to get."
"No need," O'Neill said after checking Carter's pulse and touching her forehead, "I'll get it."
"You?" Paul couldn't stop the question before it popped out. "With all due respect, Colonel, I didn't think you knew how the systems worked."
"I didn't," O'Neill said bluntly. "I do now. Give me a few minutes."
Paul watched as O'Neill lit up the control panels with ease, and then pulled apparently random crystals out while punching in sequences into the boards. It took less than five minutes, and O'Neill turned back to them, pocketing two flat strips which looked like clear pieces of glass.
"I sent copies up to Bek in the Tel'tac, so if something happens to these there is a backup."
"What do we do now?" Andrews asked. "How do we get out? The minute we open those doors the Jaffa will be all over us. Even if we don't open the doors, they'll still be all over us in a few minutes."
"There aren't that many on board," O'Neill said, replacing the clip on his P-90. "I only saw two patrols; I think they're spooked because everyone on this ship died. Bek, you there?" he asked into the communicator.
"Yes, Jack."
"How's the weather looking?"
"It's easing up," she said, "the rain should stop in a few minutes but I don't know how long it will stay stopped."
"The minute it stops you let that poison go."
"What about all of you?"
"It won't hurt us. We're going to get back to you in a few minutes, hopefully, but we can't risk more Jaffa boarding the ship because we won't be able to hold them."
"I'll let you know if I see a big movement," she agreed. "Sun's coming up, it's getting lighter, so it's easier to see."
"Thanks Bek. Are we ready, gentlemen?"
"You just expect us to blast our way out of here?" Paul demanded incredulously. "Colonel, have you lost your mind? There are two of us uninjured, one unconscious and two of you who can barely run by yourselves."
"I'm capable of running by myself," O'Neill said coolly, lifting his P-90. "And I'm not suggesting we blast our way out. I have one of these." He pulled a familiar looking vial out of his flack jacket and held it up for Paul to see.
"The poison."
"Exactly. We let them open the door, and stay out of sight. The minute there are enough of them in here, we loose it and run like hell."
"This won't take care of all the Jaffa though; it won't spread far enough or stay viable long enough because there's limited air movement," Paul pointed out.
"I know. But I can try to only release a small amount. There are only a few Jaffa on board at this stage anyway, Davis, and if we run we might make it."
"Might," Paul muttered beneath his breath. "Andrews, are you good to take Carter?"
Andrews nodded, carefully hoisting the unconscious woman over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. Without wasting time, they all moved behind a bulkhead where they wouldn't be in direct line of sight or fire when the Jaffa broke through the doors.
Paul stuck his head around the wall, watching the doors. Nothing happened for almost two minutes, but then they started to move a little. A few seconds later something appeared in the widening crack between them, and Paul tightened his finger around the trigger of the P-90.
"Here they come," he whispered.
The door seemed to burst open, but unexpectedly, the Jaffa hung back.
"What are they doing?" O'Neill demanded.
"Taking their time," Paul said. He'd no sooner spoken than four Jaffa entered, staff weapons held ready. "Hold on, they're here."
Two more followed the first four, and then Paul opened fire. The first two dropped beneath the bullets spitting from his weapon as more Jaffa entered, staff weapons firing at their position. Another Jaffa fell, and no more entered.
"Now!" Paul yelled as a staff blast ricocheted off the wall next to his head, his face seared with heat and sudden burning. "Now!"
He felt another staff blast connecting to the wall, and then abruptly, they stopped. When Paul looked again, the remaining Jaffa were all lying on the floor, unmoving. He looked at O'Neill – the man was standing with his finger jammed over the broken vial, shrugging.
"I don't know if there's any left," O'Neill said.
"Doesn't matter, let's go!"
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Nuclear Facility
"You ready?" Samuels asked brusquely, checking a clip with surprising efficiency before sliding it into position.
"I'm ready," she said, readying her own weapon. It stood to reason he was comfortable with weapons, she reasoned, because he was in the Air Force.
The thick concrete of the walls stopped noise from penetrating down the sublevels where they were sitting, but they didn't stop a gentle shudder of explosions from travelling down to them. Janet rested her hand against the wall, wincing as it rumbled distantly beneath her hand.
"I'm fairly certain they've breached," Samuels said. "I'm going to turn the light off."
She nodded, her mouth turning dry as the tunnel plunged into darkness. Janet wasn't a coward – she had earned commendations for bravery during her time – but she just didn't like the complete darkness pressing down around.
There was a muffled roll of thunder and the wall beneath her hand shook a little harder than she was used to. Something brushed against her face, and she realised it was dust from the roof disturbed by explosions further up. She swallowed roughly, clutching her handgun tightly in her sweaty hands.
"If these guys are here, underground, they probably won't be affected by the poison," she whispered to Samuels.
"Then we better hope to God Paul Davis gets back here as soon as they've delivered the package."
Janet didn't want to say they should have already been back. She also didn't wan to point out that in the rain it was doubtful the poison would be released. She was fairly certain Samuels knew all this already, and decided it probably wouldn't do to think the worst all the time.
Still, they should have been back already.
The walls rumbled again, and this time she heard the distant explosions. Muffled, muted and dulled by the concrete still between them, the fact that she could now hear them was disturbing.
"They got through that awfully quickly," she whispered.
"Too quickly," Samuels agreed.
Janet found herself surprised that she was with Samuels of all people, this situation, and working with him for a common goal.
"Maybe we should-" she cut her sentence off with a half scream of fear as something grabbed her shoulder, bony fingers digging into her flesh.
Samuels turned his light on instantly, the small beam flooding the tunnel with a dim glow. "What? Dr. Markhov, what are you doing here?" he demanded.
Janet flushed with embarrassment and tried to get her heart rate back under control again. Standing in the beam of Samuels' light was Svetlana Markhov. Her face was pale under dirt and dust, and clothing which Janet was sure had once been elegant was ripped.
"I wanted to help," the Russian whispered, her voice dusty.
Janet glanced over at Samuels for his opinion – surprising herself again – and found herself agreeing when he nodded. "We could use the help," she said thankfully. "Do you know how to use one of these?" she asked, thrusting the P-90 towards the woman.
"Yes," she said, smiling. "I did work at a military operation." As though to prove Janet right she checked the clip and put it back in a few easy movements.
"Good," Janet said, relieved. "Samuels, I think you should fall back and cover us. With your leg you're going to have a disadvantage when we have to fall back."
The walls rattled again, and flakes of concrete spun through the air to land on a dirty floor. "I don't think it's going to be much longer."
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Tel'tac
"How are you going down there, Jack?" Bek demanded into the communicator.
"A little busy!" Jack responded after a minute of silence. "How about you?"
"Oh, you know, just hanging out waiting for the rain to stop."
"Lovely." She could almost picture the grimace on his face. "That gonna happen anytime soon?"
"It's still drizzling."
"We're almost at the rings, Bek, but there are more Jaffa than we anticipated."
"I'm watching them get onboard," she replied.
"Just get ready to get us out of here."
The rain is stopping, Garshaw said. It is time.
Time.
Bek licked her lips. "Garshaw-"
There is no choice, Rebekah. We must do it.
Bek wanted to argue. She started to argue. But the Tok'ra was firm and stronger than she was. With an iron control Bek had only suspected the Tok'ra possessed, Garshaw took control of her body. I am sorry, Rebekah.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. Instead she watched as her hands set the tel'tac on a course toward Cheyenne. No matter how hard she fought, struggled and begged, the Tok'ra ignored her. Garshaw entered the cargo bay and shut the bulkhead doors behind her. Bek felt the burning pain as Garshaw wrapped a wrist in cargo lines, effectively tying Bek to the ship.
On her cheeks, Bek felt hot tears, but it wasn't her crying. When the cargo bay doors opened, cold wet air rushed in and tried to tug them out into the open to play, but the cargo lines cut in and held them fast, drawing blood along her wrists. Garshaw/Bek screamed in pain, and the icy wind eagerly stole the sound and whipped it away into the dawn.
Fumbling now, with stiff cold fingers, Garshaw pulled the small vial from its protective container. Beneath them the thousands of Jaffa rolled slowly past as the Tel'tac continued along its almost leisurely course towards the mountain.
Fear and desperation, and the Tok'ra snapped the vial with bloodless fingers over the army.
I am sorry, Rebekah.
Through eyes that weren't her own, Bek watched the poison swirl and twist in the morning air, and something inside her curled up and went still. Cheyenne Mountain appeared, something flashed gold, and Garshaw was gone.
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Tel'tac
He lay on cool floor for several seconds. He wasn't sure who it was laying on top of him, or if it was only one person, and he quite frankly didn't care. Against his cheek the polished floor cold was juxtaposed by the burning heat of his body. On fire. He felt like he was on fire and floating away.
Jack groaned.
Wind whipped and tugged at him, washing over his hot face and staunching a trickle of blood slowly rolling down his temple.
Wind.
Why was it windy in the Tel'tac?
His body screamed in protest when he shifted, dislodging the person pinning him to the ground.
"Colonel?" someone murmured.
"Carter?"
"Oh God," she moaned.
Jack sat up, and looked around the Tel'tac. Next to him, umoving, lay Tom. Carter was sprawled across the floor several feet away. Andrews and Davis were next to Carter, both groaning now. When he turned around his stomach flopped oddly inside him. Bek was hanging by a bloody wrist from the Tel'tac, her face pale and her eyes shut.
"Davis!" Jack snapped, struggling to his feet and staggering toward the teenager. "Davis, damn it, get up!"
Davis moaned and remained lying on the ground, but Andrews struggled upright. "Colonel?"
"I need a hand," Jack grunted, his fingers wrapping around Bek's arm and pulling. Her skin was cold and slick with blood and water. His fingers slipped, unable to find purchase on her arm. Seconds passed, and Andrews was there, grabbing hold of Jack's shirt and reaching past him to try and wrap an arm around the girl's waist. Jack wasn't sure how they did it, but together they pulled her back into the Tel'tac and sliced the ties from around her wrist. She whimpered in pain, but didn't stir.
"Holy cow," Andrews breathed, staring over the edge of the open tel'tac door.
Far beneath them was the Jaffa army. Unmoving and silent. Jack let his eyes linger briefly, but looked away from the slaughter and punched the controls to shut the cargo bay doors. He met Andrews' horror-filled gaze with one of his own – just as shocked and horrified, he imagined – before staggering to his feet again.
"Look after her," he said gruffly, his voice roughened by the ice in the air, before making his way unsteadily into the bridge.
It only took a heartbeat to re-cloak the tel'tac, and a breath longer to change the course and head back to the facility where Fraiser and Cassandra were waiting. His eyes unseeing ahead of him, Jack raised his hands and moulded the shape of the crystals against his chest. He realised his fingers were covered in blood, and he had painted it across the tel'tac controls. He couldn't find the ability to care.
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