“You’re sure, Carter? Kentucky Fried Colonel isn’t really in the job description.”
Sam snorted softly, once again thankful for his sense of humor. If nothing else, his ability to make her laugh kept her going when the going got tough, to coin a really bad cliché. “I’m as sure as I can be, sir.”
“That’s good enough for me.” With the C4 in hand, he reached out toward the panel…
And stopped.
“Oh, for crying out loud.”
“Sir?”
“Take this.” He gently handed her the C4, mindful of the burns on her hands. “Step back. No point on both of us becoming extra crispy.”
“Colonel?”
“Give me a second.” He stepped up to the far left panel and waited.
Shapes slid by, green, red, blue… The colonel palmed a grey triangle and fixed it above the blue square.
Nothing happened. No shock. No blast of energy.
A green trapezoid swung close. He tapped the shape and it fell into place below the square. When a larger red triangle floated by, he raised his other hand up and spun the shape upside down. He slid it in beside the grey triangle.
The panel solidified into a solid blue.
“One down, three to go.”
Sam wasn’t sure whether to be surprised or not as Colonel O’Neill whisked the different colored shapes from one door to another in rapid succession. As he completed each panel, it became a solid color. The second one turned green. The third one, blue.
He slid the final shape on the far right panel into place. As it turned grey, the central door swung open.
* * *
Daniel stared at the board, barely able to concentrate. It was hopeless. How could he beat Yu at a game he’d obviously played for centuries?
Worse, for all he knew, Yu had told the truth about creating the game. It was impossible to figure out what was fact and what was fiction with a Goa’uld — especially Yu, who knew far more about ancient Chinese history than Apophis had known about ancient Egypt.
Daniel scanned the board, searching for some opening, some way to turn things around. If Yu told the truth, his friends’ lives, and his own, counted on how he played this next round. The upper left quadrant was empty, occupied by a solitary white he’d placed there days ago. If he put his dragon down next to his original stone, he’d have five spaces covered.
It wasn’t a win, but it was a start.
He looked up from the board, expecting Yu to make some sort of comment.
But the Goa’uld wasn’t paying attention. He’d turned away from the game, his full attention devoted to the communications device.
On the display, Jack — of all people, Jack — had solved the tanagrams.
Daniel snuck a glance at Teal’c. Neither of them dared react visibly. Bra’tac was still knocked out and the four Royal Guards hovered too close by, ready to mete out punishment.
But as that central door swung open for Sam and Jack, Daniel felt a small spark of hope.
He turned back to the board and told the Goa’uld, “It’s your turn.”
* * *
Switching his P90’s flashlight back on, Jack gestured for Carter to follow suit.
“Sir… how did you know?”
“Simple, Major,” he said with a smile. “Ask Siler to buy you a Gameboy when we get back. Best training tool, bar none.”
With Carter at his back, he aimed his rifle’s light into the dark room beyond the open door and entered.
The door slammed shut behind them.
Chapter Fifteen
STARGATE COMMAND
STATUS: GATE OPERATIONS SUSPENDED
4 JUL 03/0130 HRS BASE TIME
George almost welcomed the knock on his door. He’d been doing too much woolgathering while he waited for any word on SG-1’s mission status. That and drinking coffee as fast as Lieutenant Simmons could bring it.
The knock came again and he looked at his watch. ‘Almost’ was definitely the operative word, considering the discussion he was about to have.
He stacked the two folders on his desk. “Enter.”
Simmons cracked the door open, another cup of coffee in hand. “General, I have Dr. Hopkins to see you.”
George waved Simmons in and took the cup with a thanks. “Show him in, Lieutenant.”
“Should I bring him some coffee as well, sir?”
Setting his cup down, George replied, “Somehow I doubt he’ll be staying that long.”
Six-feet-four of bluster stormed in, stopped short of the desk and crossed his arms. “You wanted to see me?” asked Hopkins.
“I did. Have a seat.”
Hopkins threw himself into a visitor’s chair. “Any word on Daniel?”
“Nothing I can share.”
Hopkins narrowed his eyes. “Can’t or won’t?”
George refused to take the bait. He spread the two folders out, but kept them closed. “I have two letters here, Doctor. Two options I want to discuss with you.”
“Because?”
“Doctor Frasier is of the opinion that you could be an invaluable asset to this command.”
“She’s a smart woman.”
George bowed his head. “Yes, she is. As is every other person here under my command. Both civilian and military.”
Hopkins waved a hand at the folders. “Let’s stop the chatty-chatty, yeh? Talk to me about these options.”
George opened the first folder and handed the letter to Hopkins. “Option number one.”
The doctor scanned the letter. “This is a termination letter. Did Colonel O’Neill put you up to this? I know that man hates me. The feeling’s mutual. But this,” he waved the paper in the air, “this is the thanks I get for — ”
“For doing your job.”
The man opened and closed his mouth, clearly irate. George sat back and waited; half hoping he’d never get around to discussing the second letter. He had no patience for arrogance. Not here. Not anywhere.
“Unbelievable,” Hopkins said with a shake of his head.
Before George could stop him, the doctor snatched up the eagle statue from his desk and hefted it in his hand. “You American military folks really love your eagles, don’t you?”
“The eagle is this nation’s bird, Doctor.”
“Yeah, man, but you Air Force types can’t get enough of it. It’s on top of your flag posts.” Hopkins pointed toward George’s shirt. “Bloodfire, you’ve got one pinned to your chest, man! They’re everywhere.”
George fought the urge to throw Hopkins out there and then. “What’s your point?”
“I’m an archaeologist. I study the past because I… me, personally… I need to understand why cultures rise and fall.”
“And you think there’s no place for that in the military.” It was a statement, not a question. George knew how this man’s mind worked.
Hopkins patted the eagle’s head. “You know, the Roman Empire carried these eagles for 1,200 years, and then poof! They collapsed like the insides of a coconut hung on the tree too long. The Americans have used it for what? Two hundred years and I’ll bet you there’s no chance we’ll last half as long as the Romans did. And let’s not forget the Nazis.”
“I’m really not interested in a history lesson.”
Hopkins put the eagle back down on the desk. “Oh, but you should be, General. You might learn something.”
Hopkins stood up and walked around the office. George watched as the man took in the medals, the photos, a model of the F-105 Thunderchief he’d flown in the war. What the man was looking for, George hadn’t a clue, but Dr. Frasier asked him to hear Hopkins out and he would. Then he’d throw him out on his ass.
Finally, Hopkins turned back to face him, flashing one of those obnoxious superior grins of his. “You know why I became interested in Chinese history?”
George splayed his hands on the desk, his patience nearly spent. “Look, Doctor, I — ”
“Believe it or not, it’s because of the eagle. As a bird unto itself, it’s a nothing. It’s only when combined with other animals — with the ox, the serpent, the tiger, and so much more — that it becomes legendary. Powerful. The mythical dragon. A creature far more powerful and enduring, like Ancient China. In one form or another, the Chinese Empire prevailed for almost 3,500 years!”
“Are you finished, doctor?”
Hopkins looked down at his hands. “I suppose I am. I’m finished here, at any rate.”
George sat back in his chair for a moment. For all of Hopkins’ intellectual swagger, the man did remind him of another archaeologist’s single-minded passion.
And it was passion. Underneath all that bluster, all that arrogance, there was a fine mind. One that was needed here at the S.G.C. The question was, could Hopkins see past his own nose to use it?
George put the termination letter back in its folder. “I have another option I want you to consider.”
Hopkins’ head shot up. “You’re jesting. After everything I just said?”
“Because of everything you just said.” He opened the second folder and handed over the enclosed letter.
“What is it?” Hopkins grabbed it like a dog grabs a bone.
“It’s a non-disclosure statement. You’ll sign at the bottom.”
Hopkins raised an eyebrow. “I signed one of these already.”
“Not like this, you didn’t. By signing this agreement, your classified level would be heightened to a far greater extent than it is now.”
“No more need-to-know?”
George raised a hand. “There will still be circumstances where you’ll be kept out of the loop, but those will be fewer and further between.”
Hopkins put the letter down on his lap. “I don’t get it, man. Why the offer? Is this one of those ‘because my country needs me’ cards?”
“More like your world needs you. We need your view of the past, just like we’ve needed Dr. Jackson’s.”
Hopkins frowned. “A lot of good it did Daniel.”
“You remind me of him.”
“Of Daniel?” Hopkins shook his head. “I don’t see myself strapping on a gun and playing the brawny, gung-ho type with an SG team, General. I’m sorry.”
George smiled. “Trust me, that’s about as far from Dr. Jackson’s role as it gets. Sure, he’s taken part in missions where brawn was needed more than brain — ”
“Now you’re throwing my own words back at me.”
“Hear me out. When Dr. Jackson first joined the program, a part of him was like you. History, mythology, archaeology, that was his bailiwick and he reveled in it, but more importantly, he saw it as a means to an end.”
“What is it with you military types? Archaeology doesn’t have an endgame. You’re no different than Colonel O’Neill. All tactics and strategy. Fire the guns and let the past be damned.”
Hopkins threw the nondisclosure statement onto the desk. “If O’Neill’s your idea of an ‘A-1’ shining representation of the S.G.C., then maybe I shouldn’t sign that letter.”
“Before you sign anything,” George said, getting up from his desk, “Come with me into the briefing room. I want to show you something.”
He grabbed his coffee and led Hopkins into the briefing room and over to the windows above the gate-room. Down below, Sergeant Siler and Lieutenant Wood tinkered with a MALP, prepping it for the next mission on the roster. Otherwise, room was empty. Too empty for George’s tastes. He enjoyed the activity, the teams returning with excitement written all over their faces plain as day. With SG-1 still missing, however, he’d felt it prudent to pull back any missions from possible Goa’uld territories, allowing only probes to be sent out to addresses from the Ancient depository.
He took a sip of his coffee. It was lukewarm. Beside him, Hopkins shuffled his feet impatiently.
“Uh, General, I’ve seen the Stargate before. I was on the mission where Daniel got captured.”
“Then you’ve seen firsthand what the Goa’uld are capable of, Doctor, but still, it’s not the same thing as what Dr. Jackson went through.”
“Thanks to your need-to-know policies, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Daniel was pretty tight-lipped about how he started so don’t worry, he didn’t sell you out.”
George turned to Hopkins. “Dr. Jackson was the one who deciphered the gate addresses. If it wasn’t for him, none of this would be possible. I wasn’t here at the time, although, from what I understand, he was very much like you. Going through the Stargate was purely about exploring history. He couldn’t care less about the rest.”
“So what changed?”
“His wife was taken by the Goa’uld.”
Hopkins eyes widened. “I didn’t know he’s married.”
“Was, Doctor. She’s dead now.” He stared down into his half-empty cup, the memories of Daniel’s grief a bitter counterpoint to the cold coffee.
“I didn’t know,” Hopkins said. “I’m sorry.”
George set down the cup on the window’s edge. “Sha’re’s capture, and eventual death, motivated Dr. Jackson to see the bigger picture. To find ways to relate our world’s history to the twisted mess the Goa’uld stirred up when they took humans from this world thousands of years ago.”
He pointed toward the gate. “Though we’ve cracked the galaxy wide open, there are a lot of questions out there that still need answers. This is why we need people like you, sifting through the past to protect the future. The answers you find might help save this planet if the Goa’uld ever try and attack again.”
“Again?” Hopkins whispered. “We were attacked before?”
“Almost. Sign that non-disclosure agreement and you’ll be able to find out what happened, but in a nutshell, Dr. Jackson’s efforts were critical to stopping Apophis’ invasion fleet because he pushed and prodded until finally, someone paid attention.”
“I… I had no idea.” Hopkins put a hand to his head. “Who was smart enough to listen?”
“That would be Colonel O’Neill.”
PLANET DESIGNATION: LORD YU’S
HOMEWORLD (P3X-042)
STATUS: SAR MISSION IN PROGRESS
APPROX 1240 HRS LOCAL TIME
4 JUL 03/0200 HRS BASE TIME
A long, dark tunnel. Check.
Sweaty walls that stank of musk and grime. Check.
A Goa’uld com ball with Yu’s big, fat face glaring down at them. Check.
“What is it with Goa’uld and their secret hidey-holes, Carter?”
When the major didn’t answer, he swung his light toward her. Carter held her scanner up close, its white glow bouncing off her face as she bit her lower lip.
That look again. “Any luck?”
“None, sir.” She flicked the thing off and stuffed it into a vest pocket.
Raising her rifle light up, she pointed toward the far opposite end of the tunnel. Darkness swallowed up the light’s tail.
“It’s too damn big,” he said, glancing again at the com ball. Yu stared right back. Daniel, on the other hand, focused on something between him and the Goa’uld, right below frame.
What the hell was he doing? Playing mahjong?
Whatever it was, Jack had seen Daniel at it earlier, but not as intensely. Or as pissed off. In the background, Teal’c was trying to wrench himself free of two overdressed Jaffa.
And here Jack was, playing hide-and-seek in a Goa’uld dungeon. He turned away from the com ball and whispered, “Find that emitter, Carter.”
“I’ve been thinking, sir.”
“In this case, I’d say that’s a good thing, right?”
“Take a look at the floor.” Carter turned her rifle downwards.
Etched in silver on the black flooring was a serpent’s roiling body. The thing ran the length of the tunnel… or at least as much of it as Jack could make out with his flashlight.
“Fancy Goa’uld tiling. So?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s silver, sir. If we follow its path, it might lead us to the emitter.”
Jack bent down and examined the etching. He rubbed a finger along the snake’s scales. Metal flakes came off. “Gives a whole new meaning to follow the yellow brick road, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not exactly brick, sir — ”
“A joke, Carter. Where’s your sense of humor?” When he saw her frown, he stood up, knowing full well that his ability to give pep talks sucked. Badly. So instead, he tapped her on the shoulder, hoping it was enough to see her through whatever came next.
“Let’s go.”
Rifles up, they went further into the seemingly never-ending tunnel. Carter took the left, him the right, their flashlights sliding along the walls and floor. After awhile, Jack wondered if the tunnel would ever end.
Every twenty yards or so, another one of those damn Goa’uld telly balls popped in, emitting a soft brown light from the center of the ceiling, along with another image of Yu. Part of Jack knew that slime-bag was setting them up for something, but there was no other choice. Shutting off that emitter was their only hope, the holy grail, their ticket out of there, and every other damn cliché in the book.
Shut it down and they could get to Daniel, Teal’c and Bra’tac without being zatted off in a single shot. If they didn’t shut the thing down, they were screwed.
Not that he’d admit that aloud.
They’d advanced a good hundred yards when the walls began to bow outward. Another twenty yards, and they came along a row of five red statues on top of a flat pedestal. All teeth and bulging eyes, they looked exactly like the gargoyles on the panels outside. Except bigger. Each one had to be at least seven or eight feet in height.
“Great.” Jack slid his flashlight across their gnarly faces. “More of Daniel’s zen moo shoo critters.”
“Exactly like the one on P3Y-702,” Carter said. “Sir, I think it’s possible Yu is connected not only to that planet, but to those four graves as well.”
“Yeah, that’s looking likely. The upside is,” he said, tilting his P90 up toward the ceiling, “that the last of the com balls.”
As he swung his light down toward their silvery snake trail, a movement over by the statues caught his eye. He turned toward them, aiming the light between the first three and then the last two.