SG1-15 The Power Behind the Throne (34 page)

“What about you sir?”

“Last one through turns out the lights. Now go!”

Sam watched Daniel go through, took a deep breath and followed him into the blue.

* * *

The Mujina-Iblis waited outside, listening to the conversation of the Tau’ri before it entered the old laboratory. He saw the Shol’vah follow Carter through the Chappa’ai and black anger surged up inside him. He set his mouth in a grim rictus-smile and walked toward the Stargate. It was all he could do to restrain himself when every muscle and nerve ending cried out to strike down the infidel and be damned with subtlety and plans. Vengeance there and then promised its own pleasures. No. Now was not the time.

“What the hell?” the colonel’s gaze darted between Jubal and the Mujina.

“Sorry, O’Neill,” Jubal said. He couldn’t hold the Tau’ri’s eye. They were simple creatures, the Mujina-Iblis thought, savoring O’Neill’s shock at Jubal’s betrayal. It was almost as fulfilling as the Sol’vah’s blood would have been.

O’Neill reacted instinctively, throwing himself toward the wormhole. It was a pathetic attempt at escape and only served to deepen the Mujina-Iblis’ anger. The temerity of the Tau’ri, to think that it could simply run. The Mujina-Iblis stepped forward, its grin cruel now as a faint snick met his footstep. His weight depressed a hidden pressure plate set into the floor. The air crackled with life as the stasis field activated.

He had used his two days well.

He had prepared.

He had taken apart the components of those vile tablets that had held him captive for so long and rebuilt them in this room, turning the area in front of the Chappa’ai into a trap. The aspect of the twin that was all Iblis savored the irony that the technology that had imprisoned him for so long would save him now.

The force field rose up around O’Neill even as he screamed, as his face froze in that moment of outrage and fear, trapped in that backwards glance at the open Stargate. So close to escape, the rippling blue of the Stargate’s eye taunted him.

O’Neill couldn’t move no matter how desperately he fought against his invisible bonds.

Mujina-Iblis allowed the silver in his eyes to blaze, making certain that O’Neill could see just how thoroughly he had been deceived.

He turned to Jubal. “You served your God well, human.”

O’Neill’s expression darkened as realization crawled across his features. “You can’t manipulate it,” he warned Jubal, struggling against the hold of the force field. Each word cost him. Iblis could have silenced the Tau’ri had he wished, it would have been easy enough, but he liked to hear his victims beg. It added to the enjoyment of the kill. “You can’t control it.”

He was right, of course, but that didn’t matter because Jubal didn’t care. He wasn’t interested in control. He had no desire to harness the Mujina like some beast of burden. All he wanted was vengeance — and right now, he believed the Mujina could deliver his heart’s desire.

“Do you know what it is to see your people exterminated, O’Neill? To be helpless while a monster murders your family before your eyes?” Jubal jerked his head toward Iblis. “With him on our side, we will never be helpless. We will never be slaves again.”

O’Neill ground his teeth, trying to force the denial out: “You’re wrong,” he rasped. “You’re already a slave.”

Mujina-Iblis walked up to O’Neill and placed his hands against his chest. “Enough. I should kill you now for your crimes against my brethren,” he said, noticing the way the man’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, yes, I know your mind, Jack O’Neill. I know what you have done — to Ra, to Apophis, to Seth, to Cronus...”

“You promised he’d be allowed to leave unharmed,” Jubal objected, stepping forward. He reached out, not quite daring to touch his new god. As it should be.Mujina-Iblis smiled coldly, baring his teeth.

“So I did. Death is too simple a fate for a slayer of gods, after all, and I am a patient creature.”

He stepped away, permitting Jubal Kane to approach O’Neill. Any guilt the Kelani man might have felt was masked by his blazing conviction — the Mujina’s talents were, indeed, fascinating.

“You understand,” Jubal said to O’Neill. It was a statement, not a question. “I know you do. With him at our side, we can destroy the Corvani evil forever. He can save us.”

O’Neill shook his head.“Don’t you get it? All you’re doing is trading one monster for another. This isn’t living. Freedom? Don’t make me laugh.”

Jubal didn’t answer. Jaw set tight, he shoved the colonel backwards into the wormhole.

Iblis nodded approvingly.

He had a world to enslave and time enough to devise a million ways for O’Neill pay for his crimes against the Go’auld. The God Slayer would beg the next time they met. For now, the anticipation of his suffering would have to suffice.

He turned his back on Jubal.

There was an entire world waiting to hurt.

What God could ask for more?

Steven Savile
is the author of the
Von Carstein Vampire
trilogy
(Inheritance
,
Dominion
,
Retribution
) set in Games Workshop’s popular
Warhammer
world, and re-released collectively as
Vampire Wars
, as well as
Curse of the Necrach
. He has written the best-selling original audio novel
Torchwood: Hidden
for BBC Audiobooks, read by Naoko Mori who plays Toshiko Sato in the BBC series. He has also written the first novel based in the
Primeval
universe, extending the adventures of Professor Nick Cutter and his crew out beyond the limits of the British Isles. He has re-imagined the bloodthirsty Celtic barbarian
Slaine
from
2000 AD
in a new duology of novels for Black Flame (
The Exile
,
The Defiler
). He has also written for
Star Wars
,
Jurassic Park
, and four incarnations of
The Doctor
.

Most recently he has written
The Black Chalice
, Book One of the
Knights of Albion
, soon to be released by Abaddon, whilst
Silver
, his religious thriller, debuted in hardcover in the US in January of 2010.

Steven’s other original novels and short story collections include:
The Hollow Earth
,
Temple: Incarnations
,
Laughing Boy’s Shadow
,
Houdini’s Last Illusion
,
Angel Road
, and the forthcoming
The Odalisque and Other Strange Stories
, published by Dark Regions Press in the US.

Steven has edited a number of critically acclaimed anthologies, including
Elemental
, Redbrick Eden, and
Doctor Who Short Trips: Destination Prague
. He also compiled
Smoke Ghost & Other Apparitions
and
Black Gondolier and Other Stories
, the collected horror stories of Fritz Leiber.

He was a runner up in the 2000 British Fantasy Awards, a winner of a 2002 Writers of the Future Award, and won the 2009 Scribe Award for best young adult original novel for his book
Shadow of the Jaguar
.

Fantastic TV
, a study of genre TV shows from the last 50 years was recently released by Plexus.

He is currently working on
Gold
, the follow-up to
Silver
, and writing the script for one of the world’s most popular computer games with DICE/Electronic Arts.

The night
had grown dark and when Teal’c looked up he could see no stars through the dome that shielded this city from what lay beyond.

He did not speculate as to what that might be, but his instinct — what O’Neill would call his ‘gut’ — told him that it was dangerous. Too much was hidden in this place, too many lies told in the guise of truth, for him to believe that all was well on the world of Ierna. And so he kept his guard raised, his attention ranging out beyond the whispered discussions between his team and into the city at large. Even from this distance he could see the white flicker of the screens that projected the Message onto the vast sides of towering buildings, he could hear the distant hubbub of a city, and beneath it all he could detect the tramp of booted feet. Teal’c did not doubt that they were being hunted by the men who served the Elect.

But they did not come close to the place Rhionna Channon had selected as a meeting point, which made him at once thankful and suspicious. Daughter of the Pastor, her loyalties remained unclear despite her protestations. The Jaffa on Chulak had a favorite expression for such situations — bait your trap with Satta-cakes, not gruel. He would be vigilant.

They awaited her in a deserted plaza beneath a vast, empty tower. At the center of the space a flat rectangular structure, about as high as his waist, sloped down toward a circular area surrounded by a low wall. Once, perhaps, it had been a fountain trickling into a pool but now both were dry and dusty. O’Neill sat on the edge of the slope, swinging his legs to mark his boredom, however the tight grip he maintained on his weapon belied his feigned nonchalance. Major Carter had her back to them all, covering the other entrance to the square. And Doctor Jackson was studying the footage he had taken on his camera, his face ghostly in the light shining up from the screen.

“…really, it’s quite remarkable,” he was saying, gaze intent and brow creased. “We’re looking at a culture that apparently dates its existence from a hundred and fifty years ago.”

“Yes, apparently,” O’Neill said. His eyes were hidden beneath this cap, shadowed in the dark night. Teal’c did not need to see his face to hear the cynicism in his voice. Neither did Daniel Jackson.

“I’m not saying they sprang into being a century and a half ago,” he said, his tone skirting irritation. “But there’s clearly been a significant loss of knowledge about their own history. And a retrograde step of that magnitude is almost always the result of some kind of societal cataclysm — war, plague, disaster. Huge population loss.”

“Collective amnesia?” O’Neill had stopped swinging his legs and sat very still. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

After a silence Daniel said, “There are plenty of reasons why people forget their own past, Jack. Almost none of them involve memory stamps.”

“Yeah, and almost all of them involve some smart-ass in a suit rewriting history to make himself the good guy.”

Daniel Jackson switched off his camera, the small light disappeared and left him in the shadows. “That’s a fair point — history, as they say, is written by the victors.”

“Question is, who’s the enemy here?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out, isn’t it?” Daniel Jackson stood up and stretched. “That’s why we’re meeting Rhionna.”

“Is it?” O’Neill didn’t move. “Is that why we’re here, Daniel? Because I thought it was to get hold of the shield.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive aims.”

“Daniel’s right, sir,” said Major Carter. “Rhionna may be able to help us find out more about the shield.”

“Sure,” O’Neill said. “At a price.”

“You don’t know that, sir.”

“Oh, I think it’s a good bet.” He jumped down from the fountain, his boots echoing dully as they hit the bottom of the empty pool. “There’s always a price.”

“Now you just sound cynical,” Daniel Jackson said.

“Yes,” O’Neill agreed. “That’s because I
am
cynical!”

“It may be a price worth paying, sir.” Major Carter had half turned from her post. Teal’c could see the gleam of her eyes in the dark. “If that shield really could help defend Earth from attack by the Goa’uld…”

“A price worth paying.” It was a muted echo. “And what if the shield turns out to be a crock, then what? What if all that happens is we end up saving some other screwed-up world from itself while we get— Then what? You still think that’s a price worth paying, Major?”

She was silent a moment. “Yes, sir,” she said. “I think it is.”

O’Neill didn’t answer, just muttered something indecipherable under his breath.

“Come on Jack,” Daniel Jackson said, “you’ve never made this just about the standing orders before.”

“Yeah, well P3R-118 changed my mind!”

In the silence that followed Major Carter turned back to her watch, but Daniel Jackson was not so wise. “That’s just one place…”

“They were in our heads, Daniel! They were screwing around with our minds. And what did we get out of it? Nadda. Zilch.” He slammed his fist against his chest. “Nothing but a pain in the goddamn ass!”

“We saved those people from slavery,” Major Carter said, her back still turned. “That counts for something.”

“Not enough,” O’Neill growled. “And, just so we’re clear, this time we’re here for the shield. And that’s all. Got it?”