SG1-17 Sunrise (23 page)

Featureless, it reminded him of the utilitarian hallways of Stargate Command. To his left and right were other cell doors, all locked. Ahead, the corridor ended in a turn. If there were guards, he assumed that they would have taken up post there. Signalling Sorcha Caratauc and Major Carter to stay back, he flattened himself to the wall and made his way to peer around the corner.

Two men stood guard, shoulders propped against the wall on opposite sides of a staircase that led up to daylight. Like slovenly bookends, these were not men used to fighting. They were soft, and though they were armed and he was not, Teal’c felt no misgivings as he crept up behind them on cat-silent feet. A hand on each neck, he crunched their heads together before either made a sound. Limp-limbed they fell at his feet and he crouched to pull their weapons from the leg holsters.

“Ouch,” Major Carter observed, coming up behind him.

He turned, offering her one of the alien handguns. “Indeed.”

“You could have killed them,” Sorcha said, and Teal’c was unsure if she was accusing or merely commenting.

He stood, shoving the gun into his belt. “I could have,” he agreed, meeting her ice-chip gaze. It was the old woman who looked away first.

Walking past them, Major Carter led the way up the stairs and cracked open the doors to the outside. “That’s the Chambers,” she said, nodding across the street. “The gate must be around here somewhere.”

He knew the path of her thoughts. “If we leave now, it is unlikely we will be able to return in time to save Colonel—”

“We’re not leaving,” she said. “I was just pointing it out, is all.” She squinted through the narrow gap at the buildings around them, bright against a darkening sky. “I know where we are; the tunnel Rhionna showed us isn’t far.”

In the distance thunder rumbled again, louder now. “Then let us leave,” Sorcha Caratauc said. “The storm is closing, and we have little time.”

With Major Carter on point and Teal’c bringing up the rear, they crept through the deepening shadows toward the bright city lights—and from there, into the tunnels beneath.

* * *

He stands with his face pressed to the curve of the Ark, the world beyond misted and vague. But he can see her, she is vivid in scarlet beyond the safety of the dome. He can see her hair, free and blowing in the wind, dark curls like her mother’s against a blackening sky.

He reaches for her, but his hand touches the smooth warmth of the dome, and when he calls her name no sound leaves his lips.

She turns and the devil is there, a blade held to her neck and a leer on his fiendish face. “I claim her,” he says, stepping backward, taking her with him, and Ennis can already see a vibrant streak of blood against her ivory throat. “She’s mine now.”

But it is not Garret’s face that he wears.

He hammers against the dome, he shouts for her and to her—Only death awaits you outside, only fire and damnation await you in sin! Return, return to the Sun! But she cannot hear because, though his throat is raw, it makes no sound.

He is silent, helpless. And she is fading, fading into the darkness and—

“Pastor Channon?”

Jerking awake, he peered with bleary eyes at the man standing in the doorway to his bedchamber. A guard’s uniform, silhouetted by the light from outside. Fumbling, Ennis switched on the light by his bed. “What the devil is this?”

“My apologies, sir. Brother Camus instructed me to wake you immediately. There is a situation.”

Throwing off the sheet, he stood up and did his best to feel dignified in his rumpled nightshirt. “What situation, soldier?”

The man shuffled his feet. “The prisoners, sir. They’ve gone.”

“Gone?”

“From the cell.”

Ennis blinked. “Impossible. How?”

The guard shrugged. “We don’t know how they got out. They overpowered the guards at the entrance, however. We think they’re heading for the Badlands.”

“Of course they are,” he snarled, snatching up a night robe and flinging it on. “Where else would they go?”

“The Council has been summoned,” the guard said, in lieu of a reply. “Immediately. Brother Camus—”

“The Council?” He felt a chill, a swift dread running from top to toe. “Now?”

The guard said nothing, his gaze averted. Ennis didn’t blame him; there would be an accounting for this and, as Pastor, the security of the Ark fell on his shoulders. He took a breath, calming himself, and walked to the window. Outside it was dark, the gathering storm swamped by the night. But it was still there, bearing down on the heathens beyond the protection of the Ark.

Bearing down on Rhionna.

“Send all the men into the Badlands,” he said. “I want them found. Do what must be done to discover them; spare none who stand in your way. I want them back in their cell by dawn.”

There was a pause, then, “Yes, sir.”

“And you…” He could see the guard reflected in the glass window, his face studiously impassive; this was Camus’s man, and Ennis could feel his scorn. “You go to the cells, find out everything you can. I want to know what devilry was involved in their escape.”

The guard nodded. “I shall tell Brother Camus that you are on your way.”

Ennis didn’t answer, just waited for the man to leave. If Tynan Camus thought he could use this to undermine him, to snatch his birthright from him, then he was mistaken. The outsiders would be found, their heresy quashed, and Ennis Channon would remain Pastor of the Ark—as his father had been before him, and his before him, back until the Great Flood itself.

He pressed a hand to the glass, hard and cool. Outside the Ark, clouds blew across the night sky, hiding the stars.

* * *

Much to Sam’s relief, night had fallen by the time they made their way out of the maintenance tunnel. As Rhionna had done, she wedged a rock into the doorway to keep it open then straightened up to look around. The air was balmy and the sky above starless, thickened by cloud. Sorcha was heading straight down the hill toward the Badlands, and Sam had no intention of losing her in the dark.

“Wait up,” she called, hurrying after the woman.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Sorcha waved a bony hand toward the horizon. “There. Do you see? We must hurry.”

The distant flash of sheet lightning left no doubt of what was approaching.

“The storm,” Teal’c said from close behind her.

“Will it have reached the Cove yet?”

Sorcha shrugged. “Let us hope not. But hurry. You will know for sure when we communicate with your friends. Let us hope that the storm does not render the blue star ineffectual.”

“The blue star?”

“If not for the clouds, it would be visible by now,” Sorcha said, looking at the sky. “But it is there. A bright star that appears with regularity. Without it the device would not work.”

“A satellite,” Sam guessed, casting a glance at Teal’c. “A communication satellite.”

“Satellite?” Sorcha repeated, taking care with each syllable. Tasting the word. “You must tell me more as we walk. Come, there is not much time.”

They scrambled down the scrubby hillside and into the noisome alleyways of the Badlands. Sorcha lifted an eyebrow at Sam’s assertion that, in the past, her people might have possessed space technology, but she did not speak up until Sam was finished.

“There are those,” she said, “who would scoff at such a notion. But they do not know all that I know about the Time Before; perhaps you are right Samantha Carter.” She paused. “It would be a wonderful thing if you were.”

The Badlands were not as dark as Sam had expected, nor as crowded. In fact, the place seemed deserted. Although warm light leaked from behind canvas and between the wooden planks of crude shacks, they met no one as they crossed the shantytown. And there was another light abroad in the streets, an all-encompassing white glow, which emanated from a block of huge screens that rose up at the heart of the settlement. Even from a distance, Sam could hear the saccharine music.

Sorcha grunted when she saw the direction of Sam’s gaze. “The Elect seek to proselytize, even here among the damned. They bring us food to dull our hunger and
Sunrise
to dull our minds; prison walls could not be so effective.” She poked a finger into Teal’c’s arm. “We need more of your sort, eh? To smash the screens upon the ground and wake the people up.”

Teal’c looked over at the massive screens, their light a glint in his eyes. “You speak of revolution, Sorcha Caratauc.”

“A man such as you could lead us.”

He shook his head, and when he spoke there was a weight in his voice that Sam well understood. “None can lead those who do not wish to follow.”

He wasn’t talking about Sorcha’s people. At least, not only. “A revolution isn’t born in a day,” she reminded him, “it takes time for ideas to filter through a population.”

Teal’c inclined his head. “Perhaps. But time is not on our side.”

Sorcha’s penetrating gaze cut between them, but all she said was, “You speak true. The blue star is overhead. We must hurry.”

Her tatty clothes flapped as she hurried through the rabbit warren of alleyways. With a final glance at Teal’c, Sam followed, staying close and keeping one hand on the butt of the alien weapon. She wished it was a Beretta.

At length Sorcha slowed, coming to a halt before a heap of refuse. It took Sam a moment to realize that it was, in fact, the remains of Sorcha’s home. The whole thing had been destroyed, burned and trampled into the dirt. Whatever kind of communication device she’d been hiding, it couldn’t have survived this assault. Sam swallowed a mouthful of bitter disappointment. “I’m sorry,” she said, touching the woman’s shoulder. And she
was
sorry, but her mind was swamped by her own problems and a dreadful realization:
we can’t contact Daniel and the Colonel.

“Ennis’s men have done this,” Sorcha said with a sniff. She crouched and picked up a scrap of burned paper, turning it over and letting it crumble between her fingers. “I am not surprised.”

“You’re not?” Sam clenched her jaw. “But you said—”

Sorcha rose, picking her way through the debris with her eyes fixed on the ground. In the bland light of the vast screens the wreckage looked colorless, a trampled mess of dirt. With the toe of her sandal, Sorcha turned over an old piece of board, beneath it the blackened remains of her hearth lay scattered. She crouched again, tested its heat with her finger, then swept away the rest of the soot and ash and began digging into the dirt.

Curious, Sam stepped closer. Something beneath her boots crunched, but Sorcha didn’t look up from the hearth where her excavation had begun outlining a stone square, a large metal ring in its center. She grasped it tight, then looked up at Sam. Her lined face was bright and wary. “Take care that we are unwatched,” she said.

Teal’c moved to join them, walking backward with his gaze turned out into the city. “I see no one.”

“Me neither,” said Sam.

Sorcha grunted. “Some are at the screens, others sleep while it is cool.”

“Good for us, then.”

She heaved on the iron ring and, with a rasp of stone on stone, the square opened up to reveal a lightless hole. A grin cut across Sorcha’s leathery face. “Be quick,” she said. “There is a ladder. All that we need lies below.”

* * *

The Chambers were lit by lamplight, casting the hallowed hall into shadow deeper than usual.

As he entered, Ennis smoothed his hands over his robes and composed his features. He would not allow Tynan Camus to blame him for this disaster and refused to be cowed.

The rest of the Elect were already assembled; he suspected he’d been the last to be alerted. Petty gamesmanship, which only was to be expected of Tynan Camus. “Sister Nevin,” Ennis said, bowing slightly as he came to stand before them. “Council.”

“Pastor Channon.” Nevin’s thin face was frosty. “This situation grows increasingly intolerable. What have you to say on the matter?”

“Only this.” He cast a look at Tynan, who lounged in his usual position at the end of the table. “As we speak, our guards are moving into the Badlands to root out the outsiders and their accomplice.”

Nevin lifted an eyebrow. “Accomplice?”

“Sorcha Caratauc.”

Nevin grimaced. “Ah, the old crone.”

“The old crone,” Tynan interrupted, waving a languid hand, “can read. We found books in her hovel, scribblings about
Sciath Dé
.”

A gasp of shock went up from the other council members.

“
Sciath Dé
?” Nevin’s eyes were like ice. “Is this true, Pastor?”

“Her writings have been destroyed,” he said. His palms were clammy. “They have been burned.”

“Why did you not seek to bring this to the Council? If she has Knowledge…”

Ennis flung a look at Tynan. “Brother Camus and I believed—”

“She is like a prattling child who knows nothing of what she speaks,” Tynan said. “If she has lured these outsiders with fairytales and nonsense, why should we care?
Sciath Dé
is anathema to the Lord’s will; He will not permit its existence.” He met Ennis’s gaze. “Will He?”