Makepeace groaned as he returned to consciousness. With great care, so as not to exacerbate the pounding in his skull, he lifted a hand to a temple and rubbed gingerly. Everything ached, muscles and joints and bones, and his innards were doing a cha-cha. The rock hard surface beneath his spine vibrated ever so slightly, giving him the impression that the floor was moving. The sensation was similar to that in a car or an airplane. It sure as hell wasn't doing his nausea any good, even though he'd never been prone to motion sickness.
Then his brain caught up with his roiling stomach. Moving?
His recent memory returned in a flood. The storm, the tornado that had blocked their escape, the golden spheres, and that discordant, electronic howling—then a brutal, crushing sensation, like he'd been hit by a bus. So much for the idea that this world was dead. All those things must have been under some kind of intelligent control.
He mastered his need to vomit and forced open his eyes. At first, nothing looked particularly wrong. Cloudless, blue sky overhead. Perfectly normal, except for the fact that earlier it had been stormy as hell. The sky wasn't as painfully bright as it had been the previous day. It also had a slight grayish tinge and cast brilliant shimmers, as though the light was reflected off a curved surface. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, but the view didn't change.
A low moan came from off to the side. The voice sounded like Johnson's, which meant he wasn't alone. Were his other men here also? He dragged his protesting body into a sitting position and looked around. He was sitting on a flat, glossy black surface. Johnson was on his left. To his right lay Andrews and Henderson. They were all breathing, which was a relief, and all showed signs of impending consciousness.
Beyond his men the planet's bleak landscape flashed by at tremendous speed, tinted with the same grayish cast that muted the sky, and showing the same odd reflections. Makepeace realized he and his men must be in the train they'd seen earlier. The curving walls must be like one-way windows—almost impenetrably black on the outside, but affording those within an unobstructed view of the passing scenery. What use said view was at this speed, though, was a matter of question. Perhaps the aliens had quicker eyes than mere humans. They didn't seem to need furniture, though. Other than SG-3, the cabin was completely empty.
Their weapons and gear were nowhere to be seen. No surprise there. Makepeace fingered his wrist. Even his watch was gone, so there was no way of knowing how long he'd been unconscious. He considered the ramifications of their present situation. They were apparently prisoners, being transported to God only knew where. He cursed under his breath and crawled over to Johnson.
"Johnson. Hey, buddy, wake up." He lightly slapped the lieutenant's face, and was rewarded with an unhappy sounding groan. "That's it. Wakey, wakey."
"Colonel?" Johnson suddenly snapped awake and sat up a little too abruptly. He clutched his head and hunched over, and moaned again. "Oh, crap. Christ on a fuckin' crutch."
"I know exactly how you feel." Makepeace gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder and moved off to check on Henderson and Andrews. They woke with as much enthusiasm as Johnson.
Andrews chose to express his misery in terms colorful even by USMC standards. Makepeace sat back on his heels and listened with interest, storing up the imaginative epithets for future reference. Even he hadn't heard some of those before. The man was certainly creative.
"Jesus, Mike, will you shut up?" Henderson snapped as he pulled himself to his knees. "My head can't take it."
Andrews looked startled, but cut short his spiel. He asked, "Where the hell are we, anyway?"
"Looks like we're on one of those trains," Makepeace told him.
Henderson glanced at the rapidly passing desert, and averted his eyes. "That view's gonna make me sick. Sicker," he amended, placing a hand on his middle.
"Don't look at it, then," Makepeace advised. "We don't need anyone puking in here." He surveyed his teammates. "All right, now that everyone's awake, here's the scoop. We're unarmed, we're probably prisoners, we're on our way to parts unknown, and I have no idea how long we've been going there."
He watched as his men digested that unpalatable lump. They looked around the empty chamber and patted themselves down fruitlessly.
Andrews grimaced and said, "This is just great. Any good news, sir?"
"We're still alive."
Henderson said, "Well, I suppose that counts for something."
"Man, I ache all over," Andrews complained, stretching his arms over his head, but staying seated. "What did those things do to us?"
"It felt kinda like sound," said Johnson. He got to his feet and staggered over to his teammates.
"What?"
"I'll bet it was directed ultrasonics or something similar. The brainiacs think that some species of dolphins and whales can use it to stun fish to make 'em easier to catch and eat. You feel pretty crappy for a while afterwards."
"How do you know about that stuff?" Henderson asked. "And why do you think that's what happened to us?"
"A dolphin once put the whammy on me," Johnson explained, "except not as bad. I was only a little out of it. This feels similar, though."
"When did you ever swim with dolphins?" asked Henderson.
"A long time ago. Navy research project. Classified. You know how it is."
"No shit, sir?" Andrews said with bright interest. "Teachin' Flipper to spy and carry bombs, huh?"
"Nah," Henderson said, smirking. "The animal rights people went bananas over that idea, remember? He was teaching Flipper nice, PC search and rescue techniques."
Johnson stuck his nose in the air. "I was just a warm body to help out the trainers. Aside from that, I can neither confirm nor deny anything I may or may not have done with Flipper."
Andrews leered at him. "We always knew you were a perv, Lieutenant. Flipper's a surprise, though. Figured he would have better taste."
Makepeace looked sidelong at them. "I really didn't need that mental image."
Johnson snorted. "Dolphins are promiscuous as hell. I could tell you stories—"
"Scare us later," Makepeace said, cutting off further dolphin commentary. "Let's focus on the horror show at hand. Such as the spheres' function."
Andrews grumbled, "Zapping Marines."
"And possibly communications. It sure sounded like they were trying to talk to us."
"Maybe weather control, too," Johnson said. "Did'ja see the way that tornado behaved? No way was that natural."
"No," Makepeace agreed. "It was herding us, like those damned spheres."
"And when we didn't cooperate, whammo!" Henderson smacked a fist into his palm.
Johnson exhaled, his shoulders slumped. "Guess the planet's not as dead as we thought. Lucky us."
Henderson said, "Maybe it is, and all this stuff is on automatic."
"So what now, Colonel?" Andrews asked.
Makepeace had been pondering that very question, and coming up empty on answers. He shrugged, feeling helpless. "Enjoy the ride, I guess. Hope an opportunity appears when we get to wherever we're going."
His men looked disgruntled, but no one offered any better ideas. Makepeace got up, walked over to the nearest wall, and looked out at the swiftly passing countryside. It gave him an insecure sensation almost like vertigo—with the exception of the floor, the entire cabin was transparent. His hindbrain screamed at him to step back, away from the apparent precipice, but he forced himself to stand there and stare outwards.
Gingerly, he placed a hand against the surface. It was smooth, cool to the touch. He rapped on it with his knuckles; the sound was dull, muted. The stuff was probably damn near unbreakable. Not that breaking through the walls and jumping was an acceptable option anyway—they were traveling way too fast to survive such a hare-brained stunt. For now, they could only wait it out. The next move was up to their captor.