03 - The First Amendment (22 page)

O’Neill gave him an icy look. “You know what? I don’t
care.
I don’t
like
them.
We’re not going to wait around to find out whether or not this
was just a giant misunderstanding—a few thousand people lived in this town, and
so far as I can tell they’re
all dead.
And
we
are going to get
Daniel out of there and cut and run. Starting immediately.”

“How?” Kinsey said, still being reasonable. But O’Neill had turned away,
deliberately putting the journalist out of his mind, while he worked on solving
that very problem.

Their vantage point was inside the kraal fence, on the other side of one of
the secondary houses. Holes had been ripped through the thatch, making it easy
to see what was going on. Carter had wormed her way into the house itself and
was getting tape as near the aliens as possible.

Suddenly she checked herself in the middle of one of her sweeps of the
compound and wriggled back to the rest of them. “Daniel, sir. He’s coming to.
He’s alive.”

Jackson was definitely still alive—they could see him moving feebly, hear him
groaning as he regained consciousness. An unexpected wave of relief washed over
O’Neill. At least Daniel hadn’t been injected with something paralyzing and set
aside for later dining delectation. Or maybe he had and the stuff just didn’t
work on humans. Whatever. The other victims were dead. Daniel really was alive,
they had proof, and a part of his mind was profoundly grateful, and profoundly determined to keep the young scientist that way.

As Carter returned to her filming, Teal’C moved over to Kinsey and tapped him
on the shoulder. The reporter jumped, startled. Teal’C silently indicated the
pack on the other man’s back and then pointed to the fence behind them. After a
moment of cross-purposes, Kinsey helped the Jaffa remove the pack and watched in
fascinated amazement as the three-foot-long backpack unfolded and transformed
into a seven-foot-long transport sled. Without saying a word, the Jaffa lifted
the sled over the low fence and began moving it around the compound, toward the
rack upon which Daniel hung, moaning softly now as he twisted helplessly against
his bonds.

“I need flamethrowers,” O’Neill muttered under his breath, moving up beside
Carter. The two moths that had been communicating with each other in the center
of the kraal seemed to have finished their discussion and chittered orders of
some kind to the three looting the grain bin. The two injured aliens had crawled
to the base of one of the living huts, gouging deep scars in the ground as they
used their claws to drag themselves along. Their brown-and-black wings blended
neatly against the mud and thatch, providing excellent camouflage.

“Deb didn’t pack them,” Carter informed him, keeping her voice low even
though the moths didn’t seem to be able to detect the sound of their voices.
“They’ll be on the next list, though.” Evidently satisfied that she had enough
data—or having finally exhausted her supply of tape—she put away the camcorder
and unslung her rife. “But that’s a great idea. For next time.”

“It is?” O’Neill asked. Then an unholy gleam came into his eye. “Yes, it is.
I like it. Teal’C!” The Jaffa vaulted the kraal fence and joined them. “You’ve
got the sled out—good. You and Kinsey circle around and get into position as close to Daniel as you can. Carter, you go with them
and cover their backs. I’m going to create a diversion. Wait for it, then get
Daniel down and out and back to the Gate as fast as you can and don’t stop for
anything. I’ll keep them busy and follow as fast as I can.”

“What if…” Kinsey began.

O’Neill cut him off. “There is no ‘try’, grasshopper. Do it.”

“He really mixes his pop references when he’s under stress,” Carter murmured.

“Smart-ass.” But they were already moving, fading out the back of the ruined
hut and over the fence, working their way around the compound in opposite
directions.

So this is what the Lakota Sun Dance actually feels like,
Daniel thought
through a haze of shock. The catching-barbs on the moth’s legs had pierced just
under the clavicles in front and through the broad muscles of the shoulder in
back; in fact he was fairly sure one barb had punched a hole through the
infra-spinous fossa of his left scapula. Fortunately or otherwise, when they’d
hung him up to dry, they’d mistaken his fatigues for skin. He could feel the
smooth surface of the hook against his back, and the weight of his own body—plus
the extra gravity of this world—dragging against the armholes of his jacket.

But there was no pain. Or at least, no immediate pain. Pain was out there
somewhere on the horizon but hadn’t settled in for a visit just yet.

Somehow he had managed to hang on to his glasses. They didn’t seem to be
doing him much good, with half his vision obscured by a mist of condensation and
an uncharacteristic inability to focus. He could see large things moving around,
more or less at eye level. If he looked down at himself, he could see sticky
yellowish ropes holding his arms to his sides. He could also see the dark, soaked surface of his heavy jacket,
sodden clear to the waist and below with blood, smell it all over.

Uh-oh,
he thought muzzily.
That’s not good.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, and his head rolled. One of the moth
creatures dragged itself over to him. He tried to concentrate on it, make mental
notes about how it moved, how many limbs it had, the facets of its eyes, the odd
smell of it. Useless. He peered at it and it blurred. The only thing he could
see at all clearly was the curved spike on one leg, which it was holding up to
him as if to show him his own blood, or perhaps the crack along the tip of the
shaft. Look what you did, it seemed to say. What do you think you are, anyway?

More than you bargained for, you bastard,
he thought.

The moth turned away to one of the other victims and began slapping the side
of one clawed limb against it, rocking the entire structure. It wasn’t clear
what, if anything, the alien thought it was accomplishing, but the movement
hurt. Daniel gasped in agony and sank into the comforting darkness once again.

“How can I help?” Kinsey asked as they moved around the perimeter of the
family compound. “What do you want me to do?”

“We’re going to get him down and put him on the sled,” Carter said. She
didn’t bother to look at him as she talked; she and Teal’C were busy keeping an
eye out for moths, tubenecks, and anything else that might sight them and sound
an alarm. “You get to pull.”

“I can do that.” It was the best use of his abilities they could have come up
with, he realized. A neat and cleanly distinguished division of duties.

Carter glanced over to him then and smiled briefly at him, an uncanny flash of sunlight in a dire situation. “Teal’C will help.”

They had maneuvered to the back of the rack on which the moths’ victims hung.
The three scavengers were crouching in the middle of the cleared area, their
bodies distended with the grain that crammed every available crevice and cavity.

“It looks like they’re getting ready to take off,” Carter murmured. “Damn, I
wish I could record this.”

“Give me the camera,” Kinsey suggested. “I’d kind of rather you concentrated
on firepower.”

“Just don’t lose the tapes.” The three of them pressed against the back of
the rack, trying to keep out of sight as the scavengers rose in the air.

Kinsey managed to load the last new tape and have the recorder up and running
in time to catch the second moth launching itself, heaving its burden of stolen
grain awkwardly against gravity. For a few long moments he wondered whether the
alien would actually be able to take to the air, but then the wings lifted and
curled, cupping the wind, and it staggered into the sky.

Across the cleared area, he could see something moving behind the hut where
the injured moths lay atop each other.

The third scavenger moth forced its awkward way into the sky, leaving the two
casualties and the two able-bodied ones he couldn’t help but think of as
leaders.

Teal’C and Carter had moved the sled into position behind the structure of
poles that held the victims. Kinsey shut down the camera, securing the last tape
in one of the pockets low on the legs of his fatigues, and watched as Carter,
the lightest of them, climbed up the back of the pole structure, combat knife in
hand. The rack swayed back and forth, and for one heart-stopping moment he was
afraid the whole thing was going to come crashing down. Apparently Carter thought so too; she
froze halfway up, waiting until the structure regained its stability. Kinsey
could see the side of Daniel Jackson’s face through the latticework.
Miraculously, through everything, he had managed to retain his glasses.

Carter was probing carefully through the lattice of wood, vines, and
dismembered insect limbs at the yellow ropes that bound Jackson. The blade stuck
against the yellow ligament, and she cursed softly as she tried to twist it
free.

Jackson came to abruptly and flung his head back, his teeth bared with a rush
of agony.

“Daniel, it’s okay. We’re here, we’re going to get you out of here.” Carter’s
words were soft and hurried. She had one arm hooked around a strut, her toes
stuck into crevices of the framework, and the whole thing swayed as she tugged
the knife free and tried again.

“Sam?” He could feel the barb digging between his shoulders. It was a welcome
distraction from the fire that devoured them.

“Yeah, Danny.” She paused to look across the compound. If O’Neill was going
to do something spectacular, this would be a really good time for it. The yellow
stuff wasn’t going to give way; it stretched under the blade of her knife, stuck
to the metal. “It’s me, Daniel. It’s going to be okay.”

He was held to the rack by one of the insect hooks. She could see where the
fabric of his jacket strained upward against the barb, but she couldn’t tell if
it was dragging his skin as well. She slipped the knife back into her boot and
tried to pull the shirt free from his belt without moving him. Daniel sucked in
his breath.

“Sorry, sorry,” she whispered. Glancing down, she could see Teal’C
maintaining a steady scan of the area around and above them, staff at the ready,
and Kinsey alternating between staring anxiously up at her and looking around
frantically. Returning her attention to the problem of getting Daniel loose, she
looked down the rack below him. There were a number of wicked-looking hooks set
and ready to snag any body sliding downward. “Oh, shit.”

“Unnerstatemt,” Daniel muttered. Despite herself, Carter chuckled, and for
the first time began to think that this situation might come out all right after
all.

Across the compound, Jack O’Neill had pulled most of the wall away from the
back end of the hut and piled it loosely against the front side next to the
door. Through the opening of the door he could see the expanse of one of the
moths’ wings, a smooth surface that looked almost like velvet, the pattern of
colors softer and more subtle than was apparent from a distance. This particular
wing was torn across, and through it he could see a segmented leg with a series
of ivory-white hooks in successively smaller sizes extending down its length.
The leg shifted, and he held his breath, but the moths seemed oblivious to the
sound and movement only inches away from them.

Across the compound he could see Daniel flinging his head back. Behind him he
caught a glimpse of blonde hair—Carter.

He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and snapped the striker. It had been
a long time since he’d smoked, but it held memories he wasn’t willing to
surrender just yet. Besides, it was too useful a tool to discard entirely. A
tongue of flame flared into life.

As Carter watched, a wisp of smoke rose from the round building against which
the crippled aliens lay. By the time the two leaders had noticed it, clear
yellow tongues of flame were licking at the thatch of the roof and the walls.

The fire spread with amazing rapidity, and Carter muttered unladylike comments under her breath as she tried again to cut the
yellow ropes. When her efforts failed again, she cursed and slid one hand
through the shirt where the hook had penetrated. “Sorry, Danny,” she whispered,
feeling her way along the barb to Daniel’s back. He cried out as she touched the
sodden, cold T-shirt and then his mangled muscles. The smell of blood nearly
choked her. “Sorry, sorry,” she repeated in an endless soothing murmur, and
continued grimly maneuvering the knife to cut him free.

Across the compound, a bundle of smoldering thatch slid off the roof and
directly onto the wings of one of the injured moths, and it rose up and screamed
thinly as it caught fire and stumbled into its companion.

The two leaders launched themselves, hovering over the flames, diving through
the spiraling gray smoke, the beating of their frantic wings only feeding the
fire. Kinsey looked up to see Carter using a lighter to burn away the last of
the yellow strands, and then Jackson’s body collapsed, sliding unevenly down the
rack, and hit the ground, boneless as a bag of winter wheat.

Carter leaped down beside Teal’C, who was already lifting the
once-again-unconscious body as if it weighed nothing, as if it were a sleeping
child’s, and laying it in the light metal shed. The burning moths were screaming
at an almost ultrasonic pitch. Teal’C and Kinsey threw themselves against the
tow ropes, and the sled began to move as Carter backed behind them, Teal’C’s
energy staff at the ready.

One of the moths caught sight of them and shrieked.

SG-1 and their guest ran for their lives. Twenty yards to the rear, and
gaining rapidly, O’Neill crossed the open compound, ignoring the writhing,
burning moths, and followed them.

They paused for just a moment in the giant arch that was the gate of the
city, and in that moment the alien was abruptly closer, a shower of dust flaking
from dull gray double wings whose span covered at least twenty feet. It braked
in midair at the sight of them, rising and falling rather than hovering in one
place, its wings making a muted thunder. They could clearly see the dark-red
sphincter in its underside opening and closing.