SG1-17 Sunrise (24 page)

“No, but—”

“Then I see no reason for this panic.” Tynan yawned. “The matter is in the Lord’s hands and to be dragged from one’s bed at such an hour, for such a reason, is most unreasonable.”

Nevin frowned. “The Council of the Elect is not called at your convenience, Brother Camus. These are grave matters; heresy can never be ignored, for fear it will spread like disease among the ignorant.”

Tynan sat up, adopting a more reverential tone. “You misunderstand. I meant no disrespect to the Council, Sister Nevin. But, if I may, I would like to make one further point.” When Nevin didn’t stop him, Tynan continued. He waved a hand towards the Chamber doors. “Two centuries ago, the Lord punished our world for its sin—he sent the Great Flood to drown the heathens, the sinners, and those who rejected his Light. But sin has returned. I have seen it with my own eyes. I have walked in the filth of the Badlands, among people blind to the Light. I have seen how they live, like animals, their souls as black as their feet. And now, Council, I see storm clouds upon the horizon, and in them I see the hand of the Lord.”

He rose to his feet, walking around the table to stand before the Council as if
he
were the Pastor! Ennis ground his teeth, but held his silence, finding himself lost in the shadow of the man.

“Two hundred years ago, the Elect brought the righteous into the Ark and saved them from the Lord’s vengeance.” Tynan spread his hands. “Brothers and Sisters, it is time for us to do so again. It is time to close the doors to sin, to cut off the water and the food, to let the seas rise and the Sun burn. It is time to let those beyond His protection suffer the Lord’s wrath.
For I will execute vengeance in anger and fury upon the heathen
, sayeth the Lord
.
And He shall wash away sin and, with it, the heresy brought here from
Acarsaid Dorch
.”

In the silence that followed, heightened and fervent, Ennis Channon felt the ground begin to shift like sand beneath his feet.

* * *

At least the soldiers at the Ark hadn’t taken her MagLite. Stepping off the bottom of the short ladder, Sam swept the small flashlight across room. The place looked like a hoarder’s paradise, racks of shelves holding piles of papers and books. Actual books!

“Wow,” she breathed, moving deeper into the chamber. Behind her, she heard other footsteps on the ladder. “Where did you find all this stuff?”

“Here and there,” Sorcha said. There was a rattle, a hiss, and yellow lamplight bloomed. Sorcha hung the lamp onto a hook in the low ceiling. “The collection was begun by another man, Eoin Madoc. He taught me to read and to question, to learn of the Time Before.”

“The Time Before,” Sam repeated, turning her attention back to the books. She picked one up, studying the alien words on the front. If only Daniel were here! Flashlight wedged under her chin, she flicked through the pages. They were thin and old, water damaged, but nonetheless her breath caught. Alien as it was, she recognized the book for what it was—she’d seen hundreds of them. She looked at Sorcha. “It’s an instruction manual.”

Sorcha blinked at her, uncomprehending.

“It tells you how to operate a machine—a technology.”

“Ah!” The woman nodded, smiling. “Yes, yes. This I know—in the Time Before there was great Knowledge, great machines, but now the Elect hoard it like misers, doling out only what they deem necessary. And here,” she said, moving into a shadowy corner, “here is all I have learned about
Sciath Dé
; many writings, many arguments I think.” Carrying a large pile of papers, topped by a notebook, Sorcha returned into the halo of light beneath the lamp. She sat down on the floor, placing the papers next to her, and offered the book to Sam. “Look inside. It is all laid down as I have found it.”

Curious, and not a little in awe of Sorcha’s tenacity, Sam opened the book. It had a hard cover, mildewed in places, and its lined pages were filled with precise handwriting. “This is your work?” Sam said, looking up.

Sorcha’s pride was evident. “I have spent many years gathering evidence about
Sciath Dé
, but I have more questions than answers. The truth lies at the Cove; it was there, I believe, that the shield was constructed. But the Seachráni…” She shook her head. “They have no need for Knowledge, they say it has no worth in this world. It is of the Time Before and cannot help us.”

“But you think otherwise?” She flicked through the pages as she spoke, wishing she could understand the language. Wishing Daniel were with her.

“I think otherwise,” Sorcha confirmed. “The Elect tell us that Knowledge brought ruin to our world, but I say that Knowledge can save our world. We were not always as we are now, clinging to the shore and burning beneath the Sun. Once we understood the world better than we do now. We were greater than we are now. And I do not see why we cannot be so again, I do not see why we should fear Knowledge.”

Sam turned the book over in her hands. “In my experience,” she said, “it’s not the knowledge that’s dangerous, but the people who wield it. Something happened to your world, Sorcha. A disaster. Maybe it
was
technology—knowledge—that caused it, maybe it wasn’t, but you’re right, knowledge could help your people too. And, perhaps, ours. If we can find the shield it could protect us all from—”

“Yes,” Sorcha nodded, taking the book and clutching it tight. “The shield is the answer—and that we must seek at the Cove.”

“Talking of which—”

“Major Carter.” Teal’c called down through the trapdoor, his voice low but not urgent.

Scrambling to her feet, she moved to the foot of the ladder. “Teal’c, it’s amazing down here, she’s collected a whole archive.”

“I shall remain here,” he said. “It is not possible to close and disguise this doorway from below. We must remain undetected.”

“Right.” Sam curbed her enthusiasm, returning to the practical. “Good idea.”

Sorcha pushed close to her, craning her neck to see Teal’c. “And you must find shelter before dawn,” she said. “You cannot withstand the Burn.”

“I shall find shelter,” he confirmed, addressing the words to Sam. “And remain within eyesight of the door.”

She nodded. “Any sign of trouble…”

His hand touched the weapon in his belt. “I shall be vigilant.”

With that, let the stone hatch drop into place. Dust sifted down beneath its weight, settling in Sam’s hair. She sucked in stale air and tried not to think about being trapped underground in the suffocating, endless dark.

“Come.” Sorcha touched her arm. “We must try to contact your friends while we can; the answers we both seek are at the Cove.”

Shaking off her claustrophobia, Sam nodded. A distraction was exactly what she needed.

The device itself evidently was a satellite phone, or had been. Judging from the tangle of wires it had been substantially jerry-rigged over the years, which didn’t come as a surprise. “How is it powered?” she asked, sitting down on the floor next to the device.

“There is a panel above,” Sorcha said. “It converts the Sun’s heat into power.”

“Right, solar technology of course.” Smiling, Sam picked up the handset, which looked to her like an early cell phone. There was a keypad, but she didn’t recognize any of the symbols. “You touch these buttons?”

Sorcha took the handset from her with a proprietorial air. “It is delicate,” she said. “The sequence must be offered in the correct order.” Saying no more, she began to dial.

It was somewhat surreal, sitting in this secret underground chamber, surrounded by user manuals for long-lost technology, watching Sorcha dial a phone number with the same reverence Sam had seen in the eyes of Jaffa kneeling before their false gods.

Silence followed, and Sam found herself counting the seconds; to Sorcha, she supposed, this wait had to almost seem magical. Then the phone crackled, and there was a hiss of communication—a data burst, Sam thought—and a tinny voice said, “
Dia dhuit
, Sorcha Caratauc.”

“
Go mbeannaí Dia dhuit,
” she answered, and then continued to speak in the same fluid language. Sam recognized only a few words—Faelan, O’Neill, and Daniel Jackson—and then the line went dead.

“What happened?”

Sorcha’s brow pinched into a frown. “O’Neill is not there,” she said. “He has left the Cove with Faelan Garret.”

“What?” Sam felt a lurch of unease. “Why?”

“To evacuate the Cove and warn those at the
Tearmann
of the storm to come.” Judging by the shake of her head, Sorcha didn’t think it was a great idea.

Sam concurred. “What about Daniel?” she asked, shoving away her concern for the Colonel. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, he is at work in the archives of the Cove. A vast and wonderful place, Samantha.” Sorcha waved a hand around them. “This is nothing to it, nothing at all.”

Daniel having his nose in a book, with a deadly storm on the way, didn’t sound like such a great idea either. He’d be up to his knees in water before he even looked up. “And the weather?” Sam pressed. “Has the storm reached them?”

“No,” Sorcha said. “But it is closing in; they are preparing.”

“Damnit,” she hissed. “I need to speak to Daniel.”

“He is being fetched.” Sorcha folded her arms across her chest.

“Fetched?”

“To the radio.” She turned her gaze back to the phone. “When he is ready, it will alert us.”

Sam schooled herself to patience. “Right,” she said, glaring at the hotchpotch of failing technology. “I guess we wait for him to call.”

She just hoped Daniel hadn’t found a particularly riveting book; waiting never was her strong suit.

Few things
could distract Daniel Jackson from his research
once he was in the zone. Strong coffee was one, wind slamming into the side of the building and making the whole structure sway like a drunk was another.

He lifted his head from the files scattered across the old desk and glanced out the window. The horizon was definitely skewed, tipped to the right at an unlikely angle. “Okay, so that’s not looking good,” he decided.

“What isn’t?”

Rhionna’s voice just about made him jump out of his skin; he’d been so lost in his work that he’d forgotten she was still there, sitting silently in the shadows. He blinked at her, taking in the tanned face and pinched features; she was pretty, he thought, or would have been if she weren’t always scowling. He jerked his head toward the window and the darkening horizon, just as another gust of wind battered the tower. “We’re swaying.”

Rhionna rose to her feet, her attention shifting to the scene outside. “I know. Faelan thinks these towers were designed that way—designed to move with the seas.”

Daniel considered his answer. He was no architect, but in his opinion it was a miracle the towers were still standing at all. “Faelan may be right,” he said at length. “That is, these towers would have been built to flex in the wind but…”

Rhionna was at the window now, haloed by gray light and with the storm gathering behind her. He decided she wasn’t the type to like her medicine sugarcoated.

He tried to ease a kink from his neck. “Look, I don’t know how much of your history you know, but just a cursory look through these records tells me that this place wasn’t designed to be up to its ears in water. It’s only a matter of time before they fall into the sea, and this storm…”

“Yes. Sorcha has said as much for many years; this place, she says, was built upon dry land. She has read the records, but there are few who believe her. Few among the Seachráni—and that includes Faelan. Children’s stories, he says.”

“But it’s all right here,” Daniel protested, waving a hand at the files spread before him. “He could read it for himself.”

Rhionna shrugged. “He knows what Sorcha has discovered—and I’ve argued with him until my jaw aches. But Faelan Garret is stubborn as rock and cannot see the use for such Knowledge. And in truth, perhaps he’s right. Whatever
the people were doing here, they failed. They could not prevent
the Great Flood. What use is there in picking over the bones of their failure? We must live in the present, not the past.”

“Sure,” Daniel agreed. “But sometimes the past has a lot to teach. You can’t know who you are until you know who you were, you can’t set a course for the future unless you know where you came from.” He waved a hand around the mildewed room. “If we can find out what caused the flood, maybe it can be reversed?”

Her eyes narrowed. “We know what caused the flood, Daniel. It was the Sun.”

“Yes, I mean— Wait.” A thought occurred to him, striking hard. Outside, the wind slammed into the tower and he barely noticed. “The sun caused it? You mean the sun deity, right?”

Rhionna looked away, uncomfortable. “So my father believes.”

“But you don’t, do you?”

“I—”

“You’ve read these papers, you and Sorcha. You knew all along what the shield was meant to do. You knew it couldn’t protect us from the Goa’uld.”

“You asked about
Sciath Dé
,” she said, still not looking at him. “We told you how to find it.”