SG1-17 Sunrise (6 page)

“Has this always been your library?” asked Daniel, his tone dubious. “Its architecture is different from the rest of the city.”

Ennis smiled and spread his hands. “I believe so,” he said. “Certainly as long as I remember.”

Daniel nodded, studying the library as they walked around to the entrance. He trailed a finger along its gray concrete wall, as he almost always did when encountering something new—as if he had to touch it in order to understand it. Jack might have done the same, but he needed no such contact this time. He could tell just by looking that the building was utilitarian and prefabricated; the library had ‘military’ stamped all over it.

As they turned the corner, they came to a narrow doorway, around which the now familiar stylized image of the sun had been painted. He shared a look with Daniel, who merely shrugged; Ra wasn’t the only sun god out there, but still… Jack’s hands suddenly felt a lot more comfortable resting on his weapon, and he braced himself for trouble as Ennis pushed open the heavy door.

There was a soft creak, then…nothing.

“The Archivist is waiting for us upstairs,” Ennis said and disappeared inside.

Gesturing for Daniel to go first, Jack took one quick look behind him then ducked inside the building and followed.

He found himself in a narrow corridor and snatched off his sunglasses so he could see properly. Definitely military, he thought, noticing a gun rack bolted to the wall. It was empty, but for a couple of coats hanging from its corners.

Ennis led them through in silence and, at the end of the corridor, a set of doors slid open to reveal an elevator. Jack stopped dead, an adrenaline pulse making his heart race. It took a moment to figure out why.

“This way, Colonel. We have much to show you. As Major Carter has correctly surmised, the source of our city’s power lies far beneath the planet’s surface…”

And then doors closing. Hands holding him down. A fierce pain, suffocating darkness. A hammer blow to the mind and everything shatters. Then…nothing. Then Jonah.

“Jack?” Daniel was peering at him through Karlan’s eyes.

“What?”

“You stopped.”

At the door of the elevator, Ennis stood with his hands folded. >From somewhere, Jack could hear the tinny drone of the
Sunrise
theme tune. “The library is on the twentieth floor,” Ennis offered, by way of explanation.

Goosebumps pricked Jack’s skin and he shook his head to get rid of them, gesturing for Daniel to go first. Stepping into the elevator he toggled his radio; as he’d suspected, the bunker was shielded. The squawk of static made Ennis jump. Jack didn’t apologize, just turned to face the closing doors and curled his fingers around the grip of his weapon.

To his disgust, the increasingly familiar faces of the
Sunrise
cast beamed out their Message on a thin strip of screen above the doors. There was no escaping the bastards.

With a smooth acceleration the elevator began to rise, and Jack felt an irrational relief that it was going up instead of down. After a few moments it slowed and the doors opened onto a bright, rectangular room that Jack figured took up one whole floor in the spindly tower that topped the building.

Windows along one side let in evening sunlight that painted
long stripes across a tiled floor, strip-lights overhead casting a whiter, baleful glare. Shelves lined the walls, and in front of them stood a desk stacked with a neat pile of papers. At the far end of the room, crammed between the shelves, there was another door, which opened to admit a short, wiry man of middle years. His hair was graying and pulled back from a pasty face, his clothes as sober and unremarkable as Ennis’s. If he’d lived on Earth, the guy would have had his very own pocket protector.

“Pastor Channon,” the archivist said with a smile, closing the door behind him. “Well met.”

“Well met, Professor.” Ennis turned to Daniel. “Allow me to introduce you, Daniel Jackson, to our archivist—Professor Liam Kermit.”

The pause dangled. Daniel seemed determined not to look at Jack, but in the end he couldn’t help himself.

Neither could Jack. “Kermit?”

“Ah, of Gaelic origin,” Daniel said, fixing Jack with a pointed glare. “It means ‘without envy’—a variant of Dermot, actually.”

“Without envy?” Jack permitted himself a smile. “So—what you’re saying is that Kermit’s
not
green?”

The archivist—Kermit—darted a perplexed look between them and said, “Please, there is no need for formality. You may call me Liam.”

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Daniel turned away from Jack. “Sorry—uh, Liam. I’m Daniel Jackson, this is Jack O’Neill.”

“I know.” He smoothed a hand over his hair. “I understand you wish to browse our archive?”

“Yes. I’d love to. Um, specifically we’re looking for any texts that might reference the
Sciath Dé
—or maybe a shield, Shield of the Gods?”

The archivist frowned, glancing at Ennis for clarification. “I’m not sure I understand…”

“I told them,” Ennis said, with an unmistakable air of warning, “that they would not find any answers here.
Sciath Dé
is no more than a children’s fable.”

Jack cut him a look, but Ennis’s face was unreadable.

“Could I just have a peek?” Daniel asked, taking half a step toward the shelves. “Maybe start with some of your older material?”

Kermit—that name would never get old!—hesitated. “Ennis is correct, you will not find the information you seek here.”

Here
? Was he imagining things or had there been a slight emphasis on that last word? He slung a look at Daniel, but if he’d heard it too he was keeping quiet.

“Nevertheless,” Daniel pressed, “I’d appreciate the opportunity to see some of your older texts. I’m an historian too—I study the past.”

“The past,” Liam said, uncertain. “Ierna’s past?”

“I hope so.” Daniel smiled his winning smile. “I’m sure you have much to teach me.”

The archivist swallowed, his Adam’s apple quivering. “Why would you think so?”

“Because…” Daniel gestured around. “You’re the archivist, the keeper of Ierna’s history.”

Liam nodded. “Yes, of course. Indeed, we have every edition going back over one hundred and fifty years. You are welcome to examine them.” He turned toward the shelves, Daniel following. Jack took another look at Ennis, noted a sharpness in the man’s eyes, and stayed put. “This,” Liam said, pulling a box from one of the shelves, “is our oldest collection.”

Placing the box on the desk he opened the lid. There was no dust, everything was spotless. Reaching in, he pulled out a somewhat faded copy of what looked like a newspaper or magazine. “Edition one,” he said. “The year forty-eight. Signed by—”

“The year forty-eight?” Daniel interrupted.

Jack caught his glance and knew what he was thinking. The year forty-eight since what, exactly?

“Yes,” Kermit said, laying the paper down and smoothing his hand over it. Jack could make out a man’s face on the cover, teeth gleaming in a perfect smile. “One hundred and fifty-two years ago; the day
Sunrise
began.”

“And I thought
The Simpsons
had a long run…”

Daniel bent closer, brow creasing. “The magazine is about
Sunrise
?” He looked up at Kermit. “About the, uh, show?”

“Yes, and about those who play in it.” Liam gave Daniel a long, serious look. “What else did you expect to find here?”

Somehow, it sounded like a genuine question.

* * *

It was difficult to feel under threat among a crowd of people drinking wine and snacking on
canapés, and Tynan Camus had been his usual slick and charming self ever since Colonel O’Neill and Daniel had left. Nevertheless, Sam harbored no illusions that she was anything but a hostage. She was just glad that Camus hadn’t objected to Teal’c tagging along; if anything smelly hit the fan she’d rather not have to deal with it alone.

After the service—if that was what you could call it—Camus had brought them to a hall next door, where some sort of post-event gathering was taking place. Now their host hovered nearby, watching their every move while he exchanged pleasantries with members of the crowd. Sam recognized some of the faces, people who’d sat near SG-1 during the showing of Sunrise, absorbed in the melodrama unfolding on the screen. Their enthusiasm hadn’t wavered, Sunrise was still the only subject on everyone’s lips; apparently, today’s episode had been particularly powerful in conveying its Message to God’s Chosen People. Lines from the show were being bandied about in the same manner in which an evangelical preacher would wield Bible quotations. For the people of the Ark, Sunrise was their scripture and their doctrine; no part of it was questioned or derided. Tynan Camus seemed all too satisfied with the situation.

“How can they buy something so clichéd and trite?” Sam muttered.

“I have often considered the same question with regard to the people of Earth, Major Carter,” said Teal’c, at her side. “The Tau’ri are apt to become obsessed by the most trivial of television shows. It has always been beyond my comprehension.” He followed the progress of a waiter carrying a tray of food, then snagged a canapé with a solemn nod to the man. “Although I acknowledge that
Survivor
has me intrigued.”

Sam blinked and declined to comment. “But this
Sunrise
is so pervasive,” she said, gesturing to the various screens on the wall, which even now showed the soap on an endless loop. “I mean, do they even have a choice whether or not to watch it?”

Teal’c didn’t have the chance to answer. A hush fell across the crowd in a wave, traveling gradually forward from the direction of the door. After a few seconds the throng parted to reveal the cause. Rhionna Channon came striding towards them, apparently heedless of the speculative glances cast her way or the low gossiping murmurs that rose in her wake. She was dressed rather more elegantly than she had been that morning, but in her deep red gown she still she managed to stand out against the bland shades favored by the other denizens of the Ark.

From the corner of her eye Sam caught a flash of movement and turned to see Tynan Camus approach with some haste, his gaze fixed on the Pastor’s daughter. They both reached Sam and Teal’c at the same time.

“Rhionna,” he said, his smile fixed, though fewer teeth were showing now. “You are a little late for the chapter.”

Rhionna smiled back, but made no effort to hide her disdain. “Oh, I’d say I’m right on time, Tynan.” She plucked a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter. “I’ve come for the catering rather than your little exercise in indoctrination. And to speak more with our visitors of course. I’m curious to hear what they make of our home. Tell me, Major Carter, Teal’c, do you force-feed your people tales of vengeful gods? Are they kept glutted and lazy and unable to think for themselves?”

Tynan turned towards Sam and Teal’c, shrugging in a way that made Sam want to break both his shoulders. “You must excuse Sister Channon’s disrespectful manner of speaking,” he said. “She shames her father with her refusal to acknowledge the truth of the Message. Indeed, one can only guess where she was taught such heresy.”

“I’d call the ability to think for myself more inherent than learned.”

When Tynan glanced back at Rhionna, Sam was startled to see, for the first time, genuine emotion flicker across his face. And it looked like ice cold hatred. “Yes,” he said, “I’m sure you were concerned with learning… other talents, during your time spent outside the Ark.”

“Your taunts are becoming rather dull, Tynan. And as for my other talents, let me assure you that you will never be made to endure them.” Much to Sam’s amusement, color blazed high on Camus’s cheeks—but whether it was anger or embarrassment, she couldn’t tell. Either way, it seemed that Rhionna was less blas
é than her tone suggested;
Sam didn’t miss how her hands had clenched into fists at Camus’s insult. “As for my time outside the Ark,” she said, “I’m surprised you would raise such a subject before our guests. They might discover something you would rather they did not know.”

“There is no shame, Sister Channon, in submitting to the Lord’s will. The Elect have no secrets.”

Rhionna didn’t answer, though she looked as if she was chewing on a choice reply. Instead of voicing it, she took a long swallow of wine.

The entire exchange intrigued Sam. What, exactly, existed outside the Ark? She wished Camus would go so she could question Rhionna more closely, especially as she felt pretty sure that the woman was bursting with answers. And for a
moment Sam thought she might get her wish, because Camus’s
attention darted over their heads and to the door.

“Why are they here so early?” he muttered, his mask of composure well shaken now. Sam, Teal’c, and Rhionna followed his line of sight to see two glamorous people enter the room amid a wave of excited chatter from the crowd. They were, unmistakably, the male and female leads from
Sunrise
. With an impatient gesture, the woman beckoned Camus over.