They had to run to keep up with the servitors. Johnson slowed down a little as they passed by the gestation lab, and Makepeace touched his arm. Johnson looked sad and nodded, but sped up again.
Makepeace wondered if Johnson would ever forgive him.
They raced through a seemingly endless maze of corridors and elevators. No one wasted any breath on conversation. Makepeace pondered just how deeply Varayimshaeta had sequestered them inside its complex. From the distance they were traveling, they'd been pretty far in. He hoped they'd make it to the train platform before Sitala's deadline. Based on the way the servitors were rushing them, he figured they didn't have much time left.
That thought had barely crossed his mind when a boom shook the passageways. Glittering powder cascaded down from new cracks in the ceiling. Makepeace staggered, caught his balance, and took stock of his men. All okay, if looking a bit rattled. The globes hovered, bobbing up and down, as though they were impatient, or nervous. Did the servitors even have that much awareness?
"Keep moving," he said, and the group took off again.
More blasts rocked the city. It felt like the very foundations lurched and shimmied, while overhead the ceiling split open. "Take cover!" Makepeace shouted to his team as he dropped to the floor and curled up, protecting the back of his head and neck with his hands. Chunks of masonry rained down around them. The explosions, the devastation, the chaos—it was all just like the last time. When everyone had died, and Sitala's Jaffa had marched across the World, destroying buildings out of sheer spite. He gasped as the memories hit him, forcing him to witness the chaos of the subsequent attacks, to feel Varayimshaeta's shock and horror and confusion. "Damn it, not now!" he yelled, ready to throw a fit at the bad timing.
Just like that, the flashback ended, leaving him in the real world, with a real building falling in on him, hearing the real shouts of his men as the hallway collapsed.
And then the building stopped shaking, the fall of debris ceased.
Cautiously, Makepeace rose onto his knees and looked up. The servitors hovered above him and his men, arranged in a perfect hexagon. A jumble of fractured masonry floated in midair between them.
All the men stared at it, speechless. Then Andrews got to his feet and gave Makepeace a hand up. The gunnery sergeant said, "Guess Vara's still looking out for us, sir."
"Guess so," Makepeace said. The servitors moved about sixty feet back and dropped their burden. The wreckage hit the ground with a deafening crash. A dust cloud rose into the air.
Andrews watched the proceedings with a jaundiced eye. "Damn shame Vara doesn't seem to have any industrial strength versions of those force fields to protect itself."
Makepeace couldn't help but agree, but the plain and brutal fact was that Varayimshaeta didn't possess anything so useful for this situation. "The people who created it didn't feel the need."
"Morons." Disgust and bitterness dripped from Johnson's voice.
The bombardment resumed, although Sitala's forces were now shelling areas farther away. Makepeace heard thunder, but it was quieter than before and the corridor barely trembled. The servitors zipped up to SG-3 and orbited around them like overexcited puppies, silently urging them to move on.
Wreckage dominated the once pristine hallways. Jade and emerald rubble littered the cracked floor, glassy cables dangled from gaping holes in the ceiling. Spider webs of fine lines marred windows that Varayimshaeta still managed to keep opaque. SG-3 had to slow down to navigate through the ruins.
"This is a regular obstacle course," Andrews griped as he carefully ducked around a collapsed wall.
The structure rumbled as faint booms reminded everyone that the attack continued. At least Sitala didn't know where they were; from the distant sounds, Makepeace thought she was concentrating her fire on the opposite side of the city.
At last, they approached the great, arching entrance to the train platform. Makepeace looked through the doorway. "Oh, fuck," he groaned.
Inside, the debarkation platform had been completely destroyed. The cylindrical train had split into two pieces that lay cross-ways across both yellow roads. Makepeace cautiously picked his way farther into the chamber and peered down the tunnel. He could see daylight.
A fiery bolt of energy shot through the room and exploded against a wall. Makepeace dived behind a large, upended chunk of the ruined platform. "Take cover!" he yelled, even as his men all scrambled for protection.
Two Jaffa emerged from behind the train, blasting away with their staff weapons. Makepeace popped up over the edge of his shelter, aimed his carbine at the nearest Jaffa and squeezed off a few bursts. He ducked back down as another energy bolt answered his fire.
More Jaffa appeared, advancing up through the tunnel, using the abundant wreckage to cover their forward progress. For a few crazy moments, SG-3 exchanged fire with Sitala's troops. Then the servitors moved right into the center of the action. They spread out in a line that spanned the room. Makepeace felt a terrible thump and a wave of dizziness pass through him. Reeling, he clenched his eyes shut and hunkered down, leaning hard against the cool jade as he fought nausea.
Then the feeling passed, and silence filled the room. Makepeace cautiously peeked over the edge of his protective barrier. The Jaffa had all collapsed, unconscious.
Johnson low-crawled to Makepeace's position. Looking a little green, the lieutenant said, "Nice to know they can direct those sound weapons of theirs."
"I wish they'd been more focused. We caught some of the backlash," Makepeace said, watching for more enemies as Andrews and Henderson swiftly joined them.
"At least we're still conscious, sir," said Johnson.
"Point taken." Makepeace nodded at the tunnel. "If Sitala didn't know where we were before, she does now. We need to find a different way out."
"Where will we go? The whole area's got to be crawling with Jaffa."
"We'll just have to fight."
Johnson gave him an incredulous look. "Colonel, you don't honestly think we can take on a Goa'uld pyramid ship and an army of Jaffa with a few rifles and grenades, do you?"
"No." Wearily, Makepeace shook his head. "But I don't want to die in here when this fancy birdcage finally falls apart, and I don't want to become a Goa'uld prisoner, either."
"Fuckin' A," Andrews agreed grimly. "Maybe we can send a few of those bastards to Hell before we check ourselves out."
Henderson's eyes widened at Andrews's suggestion, then his expression firmed and he nodded slowly. "It's better than being snaked, or whatever else Sitala's got planned for us."
Makepeace exchanged a resolute look with Johnson, and heaved out a harsh breath. They had all always known this possibility existed, given the way the Goa'uld operated. SG-3 was on its own, cut off from any means of escape. The Stargate was at least a hundred miles away. There was zero possibility for reinforcements from the SGC, or for rescue from the Goa'uld.
There weren't any options left, but that didn't make an ugly, worst case plan any more palatable.
A staff blast erupted from the tunnel, then another, and another. One of the golden spheres exploded in a blinding flash of light. The others returned to SG-3. Makepeace looked at them. "We need another way out of here," he said, hoping they understood.
The servitors took off through the doorway. Makepeace said to his men, "Follow them," and ran after the spheres.
They made it into the corridor and started down another branch. Ear-splitting thunder rent the air, making the building sway and creak as metal and masonry twisted out of shape. Another explosion, and chunks of the ceiling and walls bounced on the floor.
"Colonel!" Johnson yelled.
Makepeace turned, just as an entire section of the hall came down in a terrifying avalanche of jade and emerald. He saw Henderson push Johnson to one side. Dust clogged the air, and Makepeace had to dodge the falling debris. When the walls stopped falling and the dust settled, he slowly straightened from his protective crouch.
Henderson and Johnson were gone.
"No," Makepeace whispered.
Andrews gaped beside him. "Were they buried?" he asked softly.
"Maybe they're just cut off."
"Should we try to get to them?"
Another staff blast ripped through the hallway, answering that question. Makepeace howled, "God damn it!" and fired back at the Jaffa. The five servitors lined up, putting themselves between the Jaffa and the two Marines. "Holy—" Makepeace said. "Andrews, down!"
Again Makepeace felt the stomach-wrenching thump and dizziness, harder than before.
"We were closer this time," Andrews gasped, then he leaned away and vomited.
Makepeace managed to keep himself from throwing up, but only just barely. "At least the Jaffa are down." The servitors returned, and he said to them, "We have to get my other two men. Can you dig through that?"
The servitors bobbed and circled. Makepeace wondered if they really understood, or were just acting on preprogrammed orders from Varayimshaeta. Without much hope, he pointed at the fallen wall blocking the passage and asked, "Is there a way around that mess?"
The servitors flitted through another side hall. Makepeace and Andrews chased after them. It was a circuitous route that followed a ramp slanting upwards. Then down another corridor, and another. Both men were coughing from all the dust in the air. Makepeace's eyes streamed tears, yet paradoxically felt dry and gritty. He had to keep blinking to clear the gunk from his vision.
They came to another open doorway. Makepeace stared at it, then rage took him and he hurled the vilest curses he knew at Varayimshaeta's servitors, in English, Spanish, and Farsi.
Instead of to Johnson and Henderson, the servitors had led Makepeace and Andrews out of the city.