Stargate SG-1 & Atlantis - Far Horizons (4 page)

“Perhaps the elusive power source negates the naquada we sense in a Goa’uld,” Teal’c said.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jack reached for his P90 and began to check it for sand damage. “We need a plan. We’re gonna bag this snake before she can take any of those nice people as hosts.”

While the others scoped out the grotto where the ceremony would take place, Daniel sought out Rosal.

“I’m serious. We think there is an alien calling herself Diana. She’s going to use the ceremony to enslave you as a host for her species.”

That just made her laugh even harder.

“We’ve seen it happen, many times. Even to people we know.”

“Oh, my pardon, Daniel.” Rosal sobered, but still had a twinkle of mirth in her eyes. “Your concern for our welfare is very generous. If these villains have caused such harm, then I appreciate your warning. But we have conducted the ceremony of Drawing Down The Moon every Triad for generations. Nothing evil has ever happened. Nor will it tonight. It is a time of peace for the soul, of renewal, affirmation of one’s life path. You have no cause for fear.”

“Rosal —” Daniel clenched his fists in frustration. “Yes, previous ceremonies have brought no harm, but believe me, there is someone in this village planning to do great harm tonight.”

“A woman you call Diana?”

“Yes.”

“But we have no woman in any of the islands called Diana.”

“Exactly!”

Rosal shook her head and turned away, hand raised to cover renewed laughter. “I have pies baking. I will see you later, Daniel.”

Defeated, he activated his radio. “Daniel to Jack — you there?”

“Read you, Daniel. Any luck?”

“Negative. Rosal thinks I’m nuts. She’s more worried about her pies than soul-sucking aliens.”

“Roger that. Get down here and give us a hand. We’ve got a trap to set.”

The grotto was a semi-circular cave carved into the rocky cliffs facing Third Island. The deep overhang above made it feel confined despite being open to the sea. A row of jagged rocks lay in the waves: fang-like teeth that barred passage into the grotto from the sea. Access was limited to two narrow paths cut into the soil by the passage of many feet, over many years, which led from the top right down to sea level.

All afternoon villagers from Second Island had walked the length of the causeway to greet family and friends on First Island. The Third Islanders had already arrived at midday when the tide had pulled back long enough for them to cross the sea floor. Presents were shared and casks of home brew were tapped and sampled with enthusiasm.

“They’re half tanked already,” Jack grumbled to Daniel.

“Nobody will listen to reason.”

Daniel could feel his stomach knotting with anxiety. He took a deep breath, tried to channel the emotion into energy to use in the coming battle. “I’ve tried half a dozen people, they all reacted like Rosal.” Her laughter still burned his ears.

“Here comes Teal’c.”

Their friend’s surly expression foreshadowed his lack of success.

“I have tried to convince Ellene and others from our water expedition of the danger they face, but none would heed my words.” His tone suggested they may deserve their fate.

“Teal’c, we can’t give up. If the islanders won’t accept the danger —” Daniel broke off as an elderly pair of women reunited with a particularly loud ‘Ayehoy!’

“— they’re in, then it’s up to us to protect them,” he hissed.

“I concur, Daniel Jackson.” He faced Jack. “Are you considering laying in wait for the Goa’uld to show itself, O’Neill?”

“Yeah. We haven’t seen any sign of Jaffa yet, but they could be up there,” Jack jerked his gun’s muzzle skyward, “waiting to pounce.”

“It could be this Diana is a lone Goa’uld, trying to assemble a fighting force,” Sam added.

“Or she takes people by stealth and leaves the rest to breed more hosts for the next cull.” Daniel grimaced at his own words.

“Whatever the intent, we’re gonna stop her.” Jack gave the grotto another careful consideration. “Teal’c, you take the north end of the bay, I’ll take the southern end. Carter, Daniel, find a place to hide near the ends of each path. We’ll wait till this Goa’uld shows itself and then take it out.”

“What about the civilians?” Daniel felt that knot in his stomach clench even harder.

Jack patted the telescopic sight on his weapon. “If it turns up alone, no one else will know about it till it’s all over. If it shows up with a squad of Jaffa, you and Carter get the locals out of the way, ASAP. Teal’c and I will see to the Jaffa.”

“Maybe we should call in reinforcements.”

“There’s not enough time, Daniel.” Sam pointed to the first moon, already risen over the sea. A glimmer of light on the darkening horizon announced the imminent arrival of the second moon.

A burst of laughter and chattering voices above them heralded the first of the villagers.

“Let’s do this, quickly and quietly,” Jack ordered.

They split up, each secreting themselves behind rocks. The rapid onset of night helped conceal them from the islanders who began to make their way down the two paths.

Daniel wedged himself uncomfortably in a small gap between clusters of boulders. He watched as the trickle of people became a steady flow, winding down the paths, their figures outlined by flaming torches they carried. Shadows leapt grotesquely on the walls of the grotto.

Within half an hour, in the now full dark of night, every inhabitant of the three islands was milling on the sand, their cheerful voices blended into a buzz that echoed loudly around them.

He peered closely at every woman and girl but could not see any resembling the woman he had spoken to in the forest, nor could he see the girl, old lady or pregnant woman the others had described.

Time dragged by with aching slowness. His feet were going numb in this awkward crouch. He carefully resettled, first kneeling, eventually sliding down to sit on the sand when his knees cramped. The moons rose, all three shining in blue-white brilliance that illuminated the growing party in the grotto. Moonlight shone on the water, a silvery path leading the eye to the three moons that soared in a perfect line up into the indigo sky.

After an hour, Jack’s voice came over his earpiece.
“Anyone see anything yet?”

“Clear, Colonel.”

“I have seen no suspicious persons, O’Neill.”

“Nothing, Jack.” Daniel suppressed a sigh. “Maybe we jumped the gun here?”

“How many times have we found Goa’uld lurking on planets, trying to take people over? No, this time we’re ready for them. Hold tight and stay sharp.”

Stay sharp. Easier said than done when another hour crawled by and brought SG-1 nothing but the sense they were missing a really good party.

The moons were coming together now. Daniel couldn’t hear the surf anymore. The tide was being pulled well out into the bay by gravitational forces as the conjunction of the moons reached its climax. He looked up at the sky and caught his breath in admiration. Lined up in order of size, the three moons hung in the sky, one beneath the other, their light combining in a dazzling illumination. He could clearly see the people in the grotto, just as clearly see the cliff top and paths that were completely devoid of movement.

The party noised hushed. As quiet rippled through the crowd, the islanders arrayed themselves to face out to sea and the triad of moons. Rosal stood at the front, lifted her arms, hands outstretched in a welcoming, embracing gesture. Behind her, the women, men and children matched her gesture, a forest of hands reached up to the moonlight.

Someone began to sing, a sweet soulful melody. Another picked up the song and soon they were all singing, their voices melding, tenors, baritones and many ranges between merged into a beautiful harmony.

Now? Surely the Goa’uld would pounce now, when everyone was so occupied? Nothing untoward stirred. The rocks, the exposed beach, the cliff: everywhere around the grotto remained empty, peaceful.

Gradually the song dwindled to a few voices. Daniel could see the faces of many people; they gazed into the moonlight or closed their eyes, happy to be bathed in light.

Happy. That’s what he was seeing: happiness, pleasure, contentment on every islander. They were experiencing bliss in the purest, simplest form.

The singing faded to just one voice. A young boy, standing on a rock by the northern end of the grotto, near Teal’c’s hiding place. His clear, heartbreakingly beautiful voice rang out over the gathering. No words were used, none were needed. Just a song from the soul that reached into the heart of everyone present, bound them together and lifted them all.

The final note echoed in the sparkling night. Daniel sagged, gun slack in his hand, blinking rapidly. For long moments nobody moved. Above, the moons began to separate, resuming their individual journeys through the cold darkness of space.

Gradually, people began to leave, many holding hands and linking arms. Daniel stared at his gun, then jammed it back in its holster. He stood and picked his way through the people to meet Sam. She looked stunned; her eyelashes glinted in the moonlight. Wordless, he gathered her up in a hug that she returned whole heartedly.

Rosal passed them with a pleased smile. Soon it was just the four of them standing together on the beach, in moon-cast shadows. Teal’c looked… sated was the word that came to mind. Jack looked like he was confused, suspicious and a little shaken. Daniel gave him a hug and Teal’c too, for good measure.

“So…” Jack finally got a word out, then stalled.

“That was beautiful.” Sam blew her nose, fiddling with her vest to avoid eye contact.

“Indeed it was.”

“No Goa’uld?” Jack kept looking around like he actually wanted one to show up.

“No Goa’uld,” Daniel echoed. “Sometimes a spiritual experience is just a spiritual experience.”

“I need a drink.”

The sun was way, way too bright.

Jack winced and pulled his cap further down over his eyes. He’d only had the one cup of home brew last night but, boy, did it pack a wallop.

He found his team in a similar post non-battle party mode, scattered in the shade of the village square.

Already, the other islanders had departed for their homes, returning to their lives that — thankfully — had not been cut short by some egomaniacal snake in a skirt. The party had gone on until dawn and now it was all over.

His team had nothing to show for this mission but a good serving of egg on their faces, and, Jack reflected, he was okay with that.

The anomalous power readings remained undefined, unlocated, unknown… He could hear the tide organ’s weird noise floating over from across the island. Turned out it just made music. Who knew?

He looked his kids over. Teal’c was kel’no’reeming his heart out — looked like a big bronze Buddha that could go on someone’s mantle, if they had a big mantle. Carter was sitting cross-legged, sea grass in her hair, a happy smile on her face as she watched a group of kids playing down in the surf. Daniel was sprawled asleep in the sun in a bonelessly relaxed way Jack hadn’t seen in a long time.

Now, this was what he called a successful mission.

STARGATE ATLANTIS:
Bone Music
by Peter J. Evans

It was
cold, up on the hill, and the wind was strong enough to lift sea spray high into the sharp grey air, dropping it back onto John Sheppard’s head in a fine drizzle.

He scowled at the chill. There was no cover here, no respite from the wind and spray. Only a few stone slabs reared around him, heaped up amid the tough, tangled grass; too tall to be natural, too rotted to identify. Dwellings, maybe, or monuments, it was impossible to tell. Time and the slow corrosion of wind and salt water had eaten away all their certainties.

Only the broad faceted ring of the Stargate remained recognizable, and that was tilted, its dais stained and slick with moss. To Sheppard, the glossy, rippling mirror at its heart looked utterly out of place. Nothing so new, he thought, nothing so perfect should exist in this forlorn, abandoned landscape.

This was a dead place. Whoever raised these stones was long gone. And if it hadn’t been for the sky, Sheppard wouldn’t be here either.

The information that had brought him here was itself as old and degraded by time as the stones. A fragment of a reference in the Ancient database, brought to light several weeks earlier by Rodney McKay’s translation programs, had matched a similar rumor unearthed by a previous sweep. Two wisps of data that meant almost nothing in isolation, but together told of a world where some quirk of atmospheric physics adversely affected bioelectronic sensors. A place where the Wraith would not go, or could not see.

This, Samantha Carter had decided, was of interest.

A gate address was locked down, and a survey team sent through. They returned blinking and stumbling, grim-faced. The sky over M3T-211, they reported, was vile. It did things to the eye. Little wonder that the only hints of habitation there were dripping ruins.

Despite this, the sensor-blocking properties of M3T-211’s atmosphere were too potentially valuable to ignore. A scientific expedition was required. Which meant sending Rodney McKay to see if the effect could be replicated, Jennifer Keller to determine if it was harmful, and John Sheppard to make sure neither of them fell into the ocean.

While Sheppard was making sure the gate site was safe, McKay had been unpacking the test equipment he had brought with him. There seemed to be a lot of it, enough to make Sheppard uneasy about how long the mission was going to last. “Did you have to bring all your toys?” he grumbled.

McKay glanced up at him, and then quickly down again. “You want me to do this properly, or miss something so we all have to make another trip?”

He was kneeling by the dais, surrounded by open hardshell cases, while the fourth member of the team, a marine lieutenant called Wright, glared at him from some distance away. It was Wright who had carried the lion’s share of equipment onto M3T-211, McKay loading the unfortunate woman like a pack mule, and it was clear from her body language that she wasn’t going to forgive him anytime soon.

“So I’m guessing maybe a particulate layer,” McKay muttered. “Self-sustaining, if it’s been here long enough to show up on the Ancient database.”

“Artificial?”

“Maybe. Pretty high — what do you think, mesospheric?”

Sheppard shrugged. “Give me a jumper and I’ll go find out.”

“I’ll need a few hours to pin down the ground-level effects first, then we’ll grab one and rig up a capture scoop.”

“And hope your particles don’t screw with Ancient flight systems.” Sheppard raised an eyebrow at Wright. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” McKay replied, before the marine could reply. He made a dismissive waving gesture, his attention already back on the cases. “Go help Keller pick flowers.”

Keller was already some distance away, off the ragged crown of the hill, among the jumble of broken ground that flanked it on all sides. Sheppard began making his way down to her, trying to keep his eyes low. He had taken a good look up when he had first arrived, through the broken, scudding clouds to what lay beyond, and that had been enough for him.

There was no blue up there, no visible sun. Instead there was just a distant roil, a slow, churning sprawl where the sky should have been. It was faint, but unending, a pallid shimmer like grease on filthy water, and the color of it, a sickly lavender-yellow, made Sheppard think of old bruises. Or the shades that dead skin can turn.

It was oppressive, claustrophobic. It bleached the world.

Keller was crouched next to a boulder, carefully scraping something mossy from its windward surface. In addition to her medical kit she had brought a large carryall, filled with padded racks of specimen containers, and Sheppard had the nasty feeling she was intending to fill every one.

He watched her tip gray-green residue into a plastic tube and screw it shut. “Anything I can do?” he asked when she was done. “At all?”

She grinned. “Bored already, huh?”

“Should have brought a book.”

“I hate to tell you, but we’re going to be here a while.” She nodded at the carryall. “The bio team need as broad a spectrum of samples as possible. Plants, insects, microbial life. Blood from higher mammals, if there are any. How’s Rodney?”

“He’s got a scientific mystery to explore and three boxes of shiny things that go ‘bleep’. I’ve never seen him happier.” He watched her start to clamber around the boulder, edging through the gap between it and a crumbling heap of slabs. Sheppard followed warily. “Where are you heading?”

“Downslope. It’s too exposed here, everything has to grow like crazy just to survive. I want to get some samples that have been around for a while, so the bio guys can check for toxin build-up.”

“Just try to keep to the path. These rocks are a maze.”

“Path?” She glanced down. “Huh. I hadn’t spotted that.”

“Easy to miss.” They were moving between taller stones, now, more regular fragments, some even joined at right-angles where wall had once met wall. “No-one’s lived here for a long time.”

As he spoke, the wind dipped. And John Sheppard stopped in his tracks.

Impossibly, he could hear music.

Keller had halted too, turned back to him, her mouth open to speak. He held up a hand to still her, tilting his head slightly, straining to hear.

The sound had ceased. Sheppard listened for a few moments, growing increasingly convinced that his imagination was playing tricks. He was about to discount it entirely when it began again; a reedy piping, thin and eerie, playing out the same halting, breathy cadence as before.

He reached up to trigger his headset. “Wright? Heads up. We might not be on our own here after all.”

“
Understood, sir. Want me to dial home?
”

“Stand by.” The music halted, started again. The same series of notes, this time slightly faster, with a little more confidence. Louder too, enough for him to pin down its source. The piper was a couple of dozen meters downhill and to his right, past a ragged jut of wall slabs.

He raised his P90, slipped past Keller and down the ancient path, boots sure and silent on rotted cobble.

As he rounded the walls, the music stopped dead. The player was staring right at him.

It was a girl, very young, perched on top of a tilted slab, her face pale and small under a shapeless woolen cap. She was dressed for the cold, layer upon layer of rough, flat fabric, dark and unadorned, and her gloved hands gripped what looked like a short white flute.

Sheppard lowered the gun. He was facing a child. “Hi.”

“Please.” The girl was shaking her head, her face a blank mask of terror. “Please. We’re not ready.”

“What?” He took a step towards her. “Ah, I think you’ve got me mixed up with —”

He was talking to air, to a tumbling flute and a blank space above the slab. The girl had launched herself away from him. He could hear her footfalls, light and panicky-fast, skittering over the path as she fled.

She got maybe five yards before fear and the slickness underfoot brought her down. Sheppard heard it clearly: a high yelp, a scuffle as she lost balance. An impact of flesh on stone.

He scrambled up and over the slab. On the far side, further down the path, a motionless bundle of dark fabric lay slumped among the rocks.

Sheppard ran to her, dropped to his knees. “Doc! Get down here!”

The child’s eyes were closed. There was a nasty-looking abrasion close to her left temple, already welling with dark blood. She had fallen badly in her rush to escape him, and her skull had connected with one of the hill’s myriad stones.

Keller was right behind him. He got up and stepped away as she reached under the girl’s collar, past gingery curls, feeling for the carotid pulse.

In Sheppard’s experience, most people who were knocked unconscious tended to stay that way for just a few seconds. Anything longer was usually the result of serious injury; concussion, spinal damage, bleeding in the brain. Head trauma, despite what tended to happen in the movies, could be horribly dangerous.

Thankfully, the girl was already blinking awake. She would be confused for a time, though, and unlikely to remember the fall. Maybe not even running away.

Her eyes focused on Keller, and widened in panic.

“It’s okay. No-one’s going to hurt you.” Keller smiled comfortingly. “My name’s Jennifer,” she said. “And this is John. I’m sorry if we startled you, we really didn’t mean to.”

The child shook her head, and then the pain of her injury must have hit her. She winced. “Ah. My head hurts.”

“You fell over, but I can help with that.” Keller was opening her medical kit. “What’s your name?”

“Ceana.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Among the Old Stones,” the girl replied. Her initial terror seemed to have faded. She was still deeply unsettled, but didn’t seem to be on the verge of trying to escape again. “Who are you? Are you ghosts?”

“No,” Sheppard replied. He’d been called worse. “Just tourists.”

“I’m a doctor,” Keller told her. She had a wad of antiseptic gauze in one hand. “This is going to sting a little, sorry.”

Sheppard gave Ceana what he hoped was a reassuring smile, acutely aware that he was holding a gun. Then McKay’s voice crackled in his headset. “
Will somebody talk to me?
What the hell’s going on down there?
”

He moved away to answer, unwilling to unsettle the girl further, and explained the situation as concisely as he could. “Doesn’t look like trouble at the moment, but I’ll be having serious words with the survey team when we get back.”

“
Want us to come down?
”

Two new faces had already spooked the girl. More could destroy the fragile rapport Keller was building with her. “Best stay put for now.”

“
You never let me have any fun
.”

As he cut the connection Sheppard heard a shout from Keller, a startled yelp of warning. He whirled.

A great dark shape was hammering towards him out of the rain.

Something lashed out from it, hissing through the grey air, long and brutally fast. A staff, maybe, or a spear. He dodged back, trying not to slip on the wet ground, saw the weapon whirl around and back at his head. He feinted left, brought the P90 up to block the blow, felt wood slam into metal hard enough for the shock to echo painfully up his arms. The impact staggered him, just for a moment, but that in turn gave him enough space to bring the gun up. He snapped off the safety.

“Stop!”

It was the girl’s voice, high and sharp, almost commanding. Sheppard saw his adversary freeze, turn his hooded head towards her. “Ceana?”

“Put the bloody stick down, Ferrick.” She was on her feet, holding the gauze to her forehead. “They don’t mean us ill.”

Ferrick was a big man, a head taller than Sheppard and clad in a brutal variation of the girl’s winter clothing. He slapped the end of the staff hard down into the path. “There’s blood on your scalp that says different, child.”

“I slipped and fell, is all. Jennifer is a healer, she’s tending me.”

Ferrick nodded at Sheppard. “And him?”

“He’s a two-wrist. I think it means warrior.”

Sheppard took a deep breath and lowered the P90. “Close enough.”

“Bloody Mainlanders,” muttered Ferrick. “Knew you’d come crawling back one day. Where are you moored?”

“We’re not —”

“Because there’s a fog coming in, bad one. Tarry much longer here and you’ll never see coast again.”

Ceana made an exasperated sound. “In the name of the Folk, Ferrick, look at them. They’re no more Mainlanders than we are.” She beamed up at Keller. “You’re portal people, aren’t you?”

“Portal people?” The big man barked a laugh. “Don’t be daft, lass.”

“Sorry pal, but I think the kid’s right.” Sheppard grinned at her. “We certainly didn’t get here by boat.”

Ferrick gave a wordless snort, obviously far from convinced. “Whatever you say, two-wrist. Ceana, it’s almost time.”

“Time for what?” Keller asked.

“For the festival,” said Ceana. “I have to play for the Sea King. It’s my first time, that’s why I was up here practicing…” Her face fell, abruptly, and she began patting at her clothes. “Wait. Where’s my pipe?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Keller reached into her jacket and took the instrument out, handed it to Ceana. “You dropped it when you —”

At that moment, a change came over Jennifer Keller. Sheppard saw her freeze, for the briefest of seconds, shiver and tense up. She was staring not at the girl, but at the flute, probably the first time she had seen it in detail. And something about it had drained the blood from her face.

The moment passed. He saw her smile return, all attention back on the child as she passed the pipe over. “Here. Say, this festival sounds like fun.”

“I just hope I’ll play well.”

Ferrick rapped his staff again. “Ceana…”

“Sorry, Ferrick.” The girl smiled shyly at Keller. “Thank you for tending me, Jennifer. We’ll be away now.”

Keller picked up her carryall. “Is it far? We can walk back with you.”

“No.” Ceana’s smile vanished. “I mean, I’m fine, you don’t have to walk all that way.”

“You’ve hit your head, what we call a cranial trauma and LOC.” She reached out and tapped the girl’s forehead, very gently. “I can’t let you out of my sight until I know there’s nothing bad happening in there, can I?”

Sheppard frowned, irritated but unsurprised. Keller was a physician: there was little chance of her allowing an injured child out of her sight unless she was certain there would be no lasting damage. However, he could sense another motive behind her words, so he kept his silence.