03 - The First Amendment (21 page)

He was right. He rounded the side of one of the larger family compounds to
the central corral and saw the moth—several moths. Several, acting exactly like
any army’s work detail, were intently tearing apart one of the granary huts;
golden and brown grain was already spilling out on the ground at their feet as
they fastened their jaws deep into the thatch and pulled. The toughly woven
vines gave way as easily as butter.

At one end of the cleared area more moths lay on the ground in a heap. He
could detect movement, but had the clear impression they were injured.

At the other end of the clearing was something new, not characteristic of
Etaa, a clumsily constructed structure of poles perhaps ten feet high and thirty
feet long, holding several large dark cylindrical objects bound in a thick
yellow rope.

On closer examination he realized that some of the “poles” were actually
limbs of—presumably—dead moths. The barbed claws of the legs served to support
the construction; the multiple bent joints of the legs contributed to its
ramshackle appearance.

That it was a sturdy structure, however, there was no doubt whatsoever. Not
only did it support the weight of several other very large objects, but as he
watched, the moth used its horizontal jaws to yank its prey off of its own
talons. Jackson made no sound and did not resist, flopping limply. The moth
heaved his body up, carefully hung Daniel Jackson on one of the projecting
hooks, and began wrapping him in ropes of thick yellow silk spun from its own
body.

Kinsey couldn’t see the tower from the depths of the town, but he had the
general direction and considerable motivation. As he ran he kept looking over his shoulder until he
tripped yet again, and then he put his head down and started watching where he
put his feet.

In a few minutes he found himself slipping on a layer of black that covered
much of the street before him. He had almost fallen, and had paused to try to
catch his balance, when he looked up to catch a glimpse of patterned brown wings
lifting over him. He scrambled into a nearby doorway, out of sight, and leaned
against the wall, panting heavily.

He could still hear the ominous flap of wings overhead, and tried to hold his
breath. It did no good; he had run too far and too fast not to try to pull air
into his lungs. He settled for breathing through his mouth until he could
control the frantic gasping. By that time the thump of wings against air had
faded away. He spared a glance around the interior of the house: bedding area,
firepit, a rack of interlaced rods holding something woven, a child’s doll.

He picked it up to look more closely.

It was a simple carved doll, with sticks for arms and legs, two eyes gouged
into the soft wood and a wide smile underneath. A scrap of rough red cloth was
carefully knotted around its waist for clothing; a short piece of string hung
around its neck for a necklace.

It was the first evidence he had seen, other than the houses, that there were
actual people, human beings, here; and even that had been difficult to grasp,
because the doors were taller than he was used to and the windows set higher in
the walls. But the doll looked exactly like dozens he had seen in the poorer
areas of the American South and in villages in the Baltic and out in the
Australian bush. Strictly homemade and much loved by some child who was no
longer around anywhere.

Humans on other worlds are much the same as they are here on Earth. Children
play with dolls—

There was no time to search the place. Listening, he
couldn’t hear the telltale sound of tripartite wings any longer, and so he
peeked out the door. Nothing, no one was around. Not even the moths.

He was more cautious then about moving from place to place, looking for signs
of the other aliens as well, expecting at any moment to see triangular mantis
heads at the end of long, flexible necks peering over a thatched roof at him.
The tubenecks, after all, had some kind of flame-throwing, projectile weaponry,
while he wasn’t sure
what
kind of weapons the moths wielded. He’d seen
both Jackson and Teal’C held in some kind of paralysis while the moth had
descended to take its prey, so they had to have something.

But as far as he could see, the tubenecks were all outside the city, while
the moths held the inside; perhaps that was why the tubenecks had responded
first to the sound of the Gate being activated.

That didn’t mean they couldn’t attack without warning. He decided to keep an
eye out for them as well, just in case. At least the damn things couldn’t fly.
He hoped.

He ducked from circular building to circular building, moving toward the city
wall until he could see the single remaining intact guard tower, perhaps two and
a half “normal” stories tall. O’Neill had mentioned something about tall people
on this world, and their homes were proportional.

He debated about whether to call out to attract the attention of the other
members of the team. He had no way of knowing what the moths could hear, and he
didn’t want to attract their attention and end up impaled like Jackson. He
didn’t think he’d ever forget the sagging body swinging from the curved,
eight-inch barbs, or the slowly blossoming dark stains that spread from the top
of the man’s fatigues where the hooks held him in place beneath his captor’s abdomen. The memory made him
abandon strict caution.

“O’Neill!” Kinsey called hoarsely as he arrived at the bottom of the tower,
trying simultaneously to keep his voice down and project it.

He ran for the steps and nearly tumbled in his haste to get through the door.
He had barely managed to pick himself up, wiping the ubiquitous greasy black
powder off his hands, when O’Neill appeared in the doorway from the floor above.

“Don’t shoot!”

O’Neill was already raising his weapon to point at the roof.

“It’s Jackson. The moths got him, picked him up and carried him off, your
buddy went after him, sent me—”

For a moment shock held O’Neill still, as if he were torn between two
decisions.

“Get up here,” O’Neill said at last, his face pale. “I want you to see
something, and then we’re outta here. Save your questions until later.”

Kinsey looked around, confused, scraping black powder off the soles of his
shoes. “What is it?” he demanded. “What are you going to show me? What’s more
important than—”

“Carter, brief him. And
make
it brief.”

Carter stepped forward and led the journalist over to the inner-side window,
pointing out the broad black path that cut the town in half. Meanwhile, O’Neill
assembled her gear and his own and did a careful check from both windows.

“Yeah, I saw that stuff. What is it? It’s all over everything.”

“We believe it’s all that remains of everything that lived here,” she said.
“Look at this curtain.”

Then she showed him the bit of metal. “The Etaans didn’t have the capability
to process metal to this extent,” Carter informed him. “This had to be from one
of our people.” She held the scrap to her shoulder, showing him the damaged insignia next to the complete one representing
one rank higher.

To his credit, Kinsey grasped the implications only a second later. “What
kind of weapon could—Could
carbonize
people so completely? There aren’t
even any bone fragments,” he asked. “And the stuff it didn’t touch, like that
curtain—it looks completely undamaged, but a centimeter away it’s just not there
anymore. What did this?”

By that time O’Neill was down the steps and out the door, and Carter made it
clear that there was no more time for questions as she followed him. It was
irrelevant anyway, at least to the crisis at the moment. They had more important
problems to deal with.

“You were working over to the north,” O’Neill said. “Which way did it take
him from there?”

Kinsey opened his mouth and shut it again, temporarily unable to distinguish
compass points. O’Neill was watching, the fire in his eyes beginning to erupt
from smolder to flames. Kinsey realized abruptly that he was dealing with a very
dangerous, and very, very angry man. The graying colonel was not about to
surrender one of his own without a fight.

“It went into the town,” he said at last. “It carried him in. Your guy, the,
uh, alien—”

“His name is
Teal’C,”
Carter snapped.

Kinsey swallowed. “Teal’C. He followed it, him. Jackson was hurt.”

“Bad?” Both team members were completely, focused on him.

Kinsey nodded. “Real bad.”

“Keep up and keep quiet.”

And keep out of my way,
Kinsey silently finished the instructions. He
couldn’t think of anything he wanted more.

They spread out, circling separate family compounds rather than keeping
together and narrowing the scope of their search. It meant that the three of
them were out of each other’s sight for a considerable interval, but they
covered much more ground that way, and at the moment O’Neill was more interested
in covering ground than imperfect safety. He remembered all too well what those
claws on the moth’s legs had looked like. And wasn’t it just like Daniel to take
point and then get distracted by some bit of unusual cultural artifact,
forgetting everything he knew about staying alert? The scientist was a good
fighter when he had to be, but deep down in his soul he’d rather have his nose
in a book.

He would not allow himself to think about Daniel as a friend just now. He was
an objective, and they would by God achieve that objective and take him home
with them. Period.

They met Teal’C on their way to the central market. Carter sighted him first
and whistled sharply to attract the attention of the others. The Jaffa jerked
his energy staff into the ready position at the sound and then put it up as he
recognized the people converging on him. He looked somewhat worried, O’Neill
noted, which meant that for Teal’C he was most likely frantic. This was not a
good sign.

“There are seven of the flying beings in one of the secondary kraals,” the Jaffa reported. “They have four captives, including
one of the other aliens. AH but Daniel appear to be dead. The flying creatures
do not seem to know what to make of the human victims.”

“Lead on.”

“We also experienced some kind of effect that could have been the force field
Major Morley described,” the Jaffa went on as they jogged steadily deeper into
the city. Teal’C’s sense of direction was unerring as he led them through one
family compound after another. O’Neill was beginning to feel like he was running
the hurdles, given the number of fences they crashed over. The Jaffa wasn’t even
out of breath. “It was associated with a high-pitched sound.”

“You think it could be mechanical?” Carter asked as they slowed at last. Her
voice was very low, could barely be heard at a distance of six feet.

“No. It seemed to be made by the creature itself. I saw no machines.”

“Probably evolved as a way to paralyze prey.”

It was more evidence that the fliers were on an even lower level
technologically than the Etaans, too, O’Neill thought. That argued that they
were actually native to this world. That the Etaans had simply never before
encountered them in all the hundreds of years they’d occupied the planet was
sheer luck. In O’Neill’s experience a lot of good luck like that eventually
turned bad.

Only a few minutes later, they were gathered at a vantage point that allowed
them to see the moth compound.

Teal’C had said the flying creatures didn’t know what to make of humans.
Watching the activities of the moths around the kraal, O’Neill had to agree. One
tubeneck hung on what looked like a drying rack, next to a cow; two Etaans; and
Daniel. The others were obviously dead, with gaping holes through which they
could see bones, internal organs, fatty tissue. O’Neill chose not to believe that Daniel was too, though there was an awful stillness
to the younger man. What O’Neill could see of Jackson’s face was white as a
sheet. He was trussed awkwardly in gelantinous-looking yellow bonds, hanging
like a suit of clothes tossed onto a hook, his jacket soaked with blood that had
flowed down almost to his knees. They had to get him out of there fast before he
simply bled to death, but at least he hadn’t yet been gutted.

Having identified his target, he surveyed the enemy troops.

Two of the moths were obviously injured, dragging ragged wings and broken
limbs behind them as they crawled across the open space toward the shelter of
one of the huts. Two of the other five appeared to be conferring, standing
almost upright with wings spread, heads spinning back and forth as they tapped
each other on the thorax area with their first pair of legs. The other three
were busy dismantling what had once been a nearly-full granary, packing grain
into body pouches.

Carter was running the camcorder again, focusing on each alien in turn. “Do
you think this is an indigenous species, sir?” she asked softly, her words
obscured by the recorder held to her eye. “I don’t see much sophistication in
anything here.”

“We don’t know,” O’Neill said harshly. “It may not have to be sophisticated
to do the kind of damage we saw. Teal’C, that black stuff we’ve been seeing is
the remains of the Etaans. We’re not sure how, but they were reduced to carbon,
and from the looks of it, it happened incredibly fast. Tell me the Goa’uld don’t
have this one.”

“They do not,” the Jaffa confirmed. “I have not seen this effect before. I
think even Apophis would have second thoughts about confronting a race with such
power, even if they are otherwise primitive.”

“Oh,
peachy.
That’s all we need. More incredibly powerful alien races
that don’t like us.”

“Well, we don’t
know
that they don’t like us,”
Kinsey said, as if
trying desperately to find a reasonable, positive note somewhere. He too was a
bit pale, and looking anywhere but at the scene in the kraal in front of them.
“I know this is horrible, but—but they don’t even know us. It could all be a
mistake.”