Stargate SG-1: Trial by Fire: SG1-1 (16 page)

Daniel had met Jack O'Neill at his worst and managed to pull
him back. Some people believed that, ifyou saved a man, he became
your responsibility for the rest of your life. Daniel most certainly
believed it. Good enough reason not to tell him what had happened
to the Colonel last year. Good enough reason not to give in to the
puppy dog routine and paint a cheerful picture now. Besides, if she
raised his hopes, she'd raise her own, and Sam Carter wasn't sure
she could cope with that.

"Aaand?" he asked again.

"Maybe." She hesitated. "The weather didn't help."

"Maybe's good." Tail wagging. "It means you'll think of
something."

Great! She must have missed the moment when he'd started
channeling Colonel O'Neill. So much for not raising hopes.

"Daniel -"

"I'd like to see what you've got. Let's get our stuff and head
back into town."

Our stuff?

He trotted off along the path, three Daniel shadows gliding in
front of him. About fifty meters on, he veered to the right and into
the forest. Ribbons of moonlight slanted through the trees and
frosted a makeshift camp, grouped around a field cooker and a halfdead umbrella. On the cooker burbled a pot with Daniel's drug of
choice.

"Want some coffee before I pour it away?" he offered.

"No, thanks." Sam grimaced. The mere notion of more coffee
made her queasy. "I think I overdosed back at the SGC."

A purple heap between the roots of a cedar emitted gentle
snores. Next to it, cross-legged and placid like a Buddha, sat Teal'c,
practicing the meditation that had replaced kelno'reem since the
loss of his symbiote. At the sound of her voice, his eyes snapped
open.

"Major Carter. I trust you are well."

"I'm fine. What are you doing up here? Last I heard you were
talking to the Synod."

"Negotiations were adjourned for the night. I brought some
sustenance for Daniel Jackson and Hamilgart."

The snoring heap. Of course. "Any other party guests I should
know about?" Sam shook her head. "You'd have been more
comfortable waiting at Hamilgart's place."

"Given the circumstances of O'Neill's and Professor Kelly's
disappearance, Daniel Jackson and I deemed it best if you were not
left to return into town on your own."

So that's what it was. She gave a tiny, lopsided grin. "Teal'c, I
can take care of myself"

"As O'Neill would have said."

Sam recoiled, stung. It was precisely what he had said.

I can take care of myself. I'm good at this, Carter.

And he was. Extremely good. But it didn't change the fact that
she wished, for the hundredth time, she'd done what Teal'c and
Daniel had done tonight: force him to accept backup and chain-ofcommand be damned.

"You're right, Teal'c. Thanks."

"It is merely prudent, Major Carter. In view of our need for
information, I should be most distressed if we were to lose you as
well."

The smile was there, so minute it could have been nothing more
than the subtle play of light and shadow. As usual, Teal'c's idea of
a joke wasn't exactly thigh-slapping material, but she was grateful
for his attempt to distract her.

"I'll take care not to distress you." She smiled back at him.
"How did you get on with the Synod?"

He cast a sidelong glimpse at the purple heap, satisfying himself
that Hamilgart was still asleep. Then he expelled a breath that in
anyone else would have qualified as a sigh. "I am beginning to
appreciate O'Neill's attitude toward diplomacy."

"That good, huh?"

"It is tiresome and of little avail." Said with rather more feeling
than he normally invested in his utterances.

"Teal'c, do us all a favor and don't tell the Colonel. He doesn't
need encouragement." If we find him, that is. If we find him alive...
Sam leaned against a tree trunk and studied her Jaffa friend. "What
happened? Weren't they supposed to appreciate our help?"

"Indeed. There is, however, considerable dispute in the Synod
as to the extent of this help."

"In what way?"

"The leading faction would prefer that we provide them with
the location of the Phrygians but do not participate in any ensuing
action."

"Unacceptable. It's our people out there."

"That is what I have told them. It caused a stalemate that
remained unresolved by the time the meeting broke up. I propose
to -

Daniel had tossed cooker and coffee pot into his backpack. The
clatter sounded deafening in the quiet of the night, and the purple
heap jerked and stopped snoring. Folds rustled, fabric heaved, and
at length a tousled head emerged. Hamilgart squinted myopically,
then his eyes bulged, and he leaped up with a gasp, wildly glancing
around him, shoulders bunched, fists balled.

"We're under attack! The Phrygians! Where are they?"

Next he'd shout Have at 'em!

There was something inherently comical about a squat, meek,
peace-loving man roused from deep slumber and snapping into
what he imagined to be battle-readiness. Physique aside, he wasn't
so unlike Dr. Jackson in the early days: bumbling but with guts to
spare. Daniel seemed to harbor similar thoughts. Eyebrows arched
to his hairline, the corners of his mouth fighting an irresistible
upward pull, he stared at Hamilgart.

"Stand down. It's just Sam."

"Oh! Oh..." Hamilgart straightened his robes and attempted
to smooth a matted shock of hair. Once he considered himself
reasonably presentable, he bowed. "Welcome back, Lady
Samantha. I am pleased to see you well. Do you bring news from
the Lord Meleq?"

"Uhm..." She cast a pleading glance at Daniel.

Palms spread in a Don't look at me gesture, their resident expert for tricky conversations with aliens whispered, "I did explain..."

"I have some news, yes," Sam answered cautiously.

"You have discovered the whereabouts of my son?"

He wore the same hopeful, trusting look as Daniel, betraying
a quasi-religious belief that she would make things alright. Even
worse, she knew the Colonel shared that creed. Sam `Fix-it' Carter
would find him and Kelly. If it was impossible, it'd simply take
a half hour longer. After all, she was the one who built particle
accelerators, found ways of detonating whole suns, and diverted
comets through the third planet of their native solar system. Show
her where to stand, and she shall move the Earth. Except, it wasn't
that easy. Sometimes his faith could be a bugbear rather than a
reassurance. What if she blew it? She'd come pretty dam close on
a few occasions and got saved by pure luck - and Jack O'Neill's
obstinate refusal to give up on her.

What if she blew it this time?

"Lady Samantha?" Hamilgart, still waiting for an answer.

Teal'c was the only one who hadn't asked so far. Now he fell
in line and fixed her with a steady, level gaze. His equivalent for
Aaand?

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe."

.sssumph!" She stifled the first sneeze of the day in the crook
.of her arm.

Disgusting. And it probably increased the pressure on one's
sinuses, although she felt less bunged-up now than she had last
night. Some round, rosy creature in her forties had dished up a
piping hot mellila zingiberque. At first she had refused it, unwilling
to risk her life. The round, rosy creature had insisted, however,
nearly popping out of her stola in the process. So she'd given in,
lest something thoroughly appalling happened. The ginger brew
had tasted surprisingly good, tart with just a hint of honey to take
out the sting. It also had been accompanied by food. Cheese, bread,
cured meat, olives, figs, and grapes.

She threw back a thick woollen blanket, sat up stiffly, and
stretched. Muscles she'd forgotten she had were sore and angry
and bit back, and her wrist ached. At least that goose egg on the
back of her head appeared to be receding. Of course, she'd had the
wits to pass on the refresher, hadn't she?

Speaking of refreshments, she'd kill for a toothbrush. Good
Lord, she'd even attest to the academic brilliance of Matham. In
writing! A toothbrush and clean clothes... Sniffing, she licked
a finger and rubbed at one of the numerous stains on a formerly
pink blouse. The stain spread. In the end she got up, tiptoed across
freezing flagstones to a wall hook, and got her jacket. Although it
concealed the worst damage to the blouse, the jacket itself was a
write-off. One should complain to the manufacturer, really. Twenty
years ago proper tweed would have withstood a little rain and salt
water.

The centre of the room was occupied by a low table with last
evening's leftovers. She picked a bit of cheese and bread and began
nibbling. Some breakfast! The bread had gone stale, and the cheese
had always been bland. Give her a nice slab of Wensleydale any
day of the week... And her toes were icy. Maybe she should put on
her boots? No. It'd be too noisy.

Instead, she quietly scooted a stool closer to one of the braziers
in the room and sat down. There were four braziers, charcoal still
glimmering in them, but by now their combined output of heat was
being defeated by the dawn chill that poured in through narrow
windows. No panes, of course, just neatly joined wooden grids; the
Roman way of securing openings in a wall and allowing daylight
and weather to penetrate. No wonder they'd abandoned the British
Isles with their tails between their legs. Yorkshire could feel a bit
rough after Tuscany.

Mind you, this was better only by degrees. About 5°C, at a
guess.

"Hssssmphsh!"

Oh for goodness' sake!

What she really wanted to do was let rip, if only to vent her
annoyance at this whole situation. A monster sneeze, loud enough
to announce the Second Coming or bring down the Walls of
Jericho. Regrettably it also might wake the pigheaded Irish fool,
which would be a recipe for disaster. The longer he slept, the safer
for everyone concerned.

Following that stupendous performance on the forum yesterday
afternoon, the guards had dragged him in here and shooed her after.
Then they'd slammed the door, bolted it, and taken up post outside.
The curious part was that Kelly had expected to end up in chains in
a dungeon. One should when irritating Romans. Not that she had
irritated them.

She threw a glance at the occupied bed. How anyone above the
age of five could sleep like this was beyond her. He literally was
curled up in a ball. If she believed in all that Freudian mumbo-
jumbo, she'd say he either had something to hide or was trying
to protect himself. The latter being an art he should practise more
often when awake.

He stirred, murmured something unintelligible, and Kelly held
her breath. Once he rejoined the living, he'd be in a rotten mood,
that much was for certain. As a matter of fact, untying his hands
might have been a little foolhardy. This time she'd aided and
abetted. Unlike him she remembered the smell of the poppy potion,
and she'd helped coax it into him while he was still drowsy enough not to put up a fight.

More murmurs, and little by little he unfurled and turned on
his back. The Professor readily admitted that male sleeping habits
fell outside her area of expertise, but this was the oddest thing
she'd ever seen. Like he was rolling through treacle, either moving
against his will or impeded by something. Face pale and glazed
with sweat under two days' worth of stubble, a steep crease on his
forehead, he ended up spread-eagled on the bed, his body so tense
it looked like it'd snap in two at the slightest provocation.

What in the name of -

Just then he started talking again, more or less clearly now.

"... I don't know..."

Don't know what?

"... No mission..."

It was followed by a stifled cry that forced its way past clenched
teeth and then a hoarse whisper.

"If I knew the name, I'd give you the damn name!"

Normally neither squeamish nor exceedingly sensitive, Kelly felt
that bite of cheese curdle in her stomach. The Romans didn't have
exclusive rights on barbarity, and she was unwittingly intruding on
some private hell nobody should witness. She ought to wake him,
but how to do it unobtrusively? Now that she could have used one,
there was, of course, no sneeze waiting in the wings. Sod's Law.