SG1-17 Sunrise (19 page)

If Daniel were with him, Jack might have asked for a translation. Or not. Except, Daniel wasn’t with him. People moved about the camp, children shouted and parents scolded, but there was no sign of Daniel. Or Faelan.

A mechanical rattle clanked through the room, making Jack start. It was the same noise he’d heard before, and this time he found what was causing the racket. An elevator. Loosely speaking.

The elevator shaft was close to the door—which once had been a window—and in the light trickling in from outside Jack could see a kind of cage hanging in the place of a real elevator car. It reminded him of the deathtrap in the tunnels Rhionna used to leave the city, only this looked even more unreliable. But at least it proved that there was power in the city—of sorts.

No one paid attention to the elevator, so Jack assumed it rattled up and down all day. Banking on that assumption, he ducked his head and crossed the room to take a ride. It stood to reason that Faelan wouldn’t conduct his business down here, at the waterline, with these poor and dirty people within earshot. Much better to be upstairs, safer, dryer, and far from the stink of dead fish.

Bad guys were the same, the galaxy over.

With some trepidation, Jack stepped into the rickety cage. There was no door, no Muzak—and, thankfully, no
Sunrise
. There was only a lever, which he yanked down. With a clunk and a shudder, the elevator began to trundle upward. He guessed he’d gone up maybe five floors—none of which had been inhabited—before the elevator ground to a halt, the cage facing a long, windowless corridor. More lamps dangled from crude fittings, their oily smoke thick on the ceiling.

It was quiet here, not silent, but quieter than below. What doors remained were closed, but most rooms just gaped doorless, letting in mist-filtered sunlight. Down the corridor hummed voices, and so Jack walked quietly until, at the far end, he caught sight of Faelan’s second. He also caught the briefest glimpse of a BDU jacket as Daniel was shoved into a room. That one came equipped with a door, which promptly crashed shut. Then the meathead guard turned and walked away. Directly toward Jack.

There was no time to hide. All he could do was keep his head down and his Beretta tight to his side, hoping that shadow and distraction would do the rest.

They met halfway down the corridor. Jack held his breath, finger on the trigger. They passed each other like the proverbial ships in the night. A few seconds later, he heard the elevator clank onto its downward journey.

Letting out a slow breath, Jack glanced over his shoulder. The corridor was empty. Now or never.

The door to Daniel’s room didn’t look sturdy, he could break the lock with a kick. It would be noisy, but there was nothing to be done about that, and besides, Jack was fitter, better fed, and better trained than any of these people. He and Daniel would be gone in ten seconds flat, lost in the darkness of the crumbling tower, then out and looking for a ride home.

Piece of cake.

He leveled the gun, adjusted his balance. One swift kick made the door burst open, and Jack sailed after it into the room.

Where he stopped dead.

Faelan sprawled in a low chair, Rhionna sitting opposite with Daniel by her side. He was staring at Jack wide-eyed, a steaming mug arrested halfway to his lips. After a moment he raised a hand in greeting. “Hi, Jack.”

“Hi, Jack.”

Daniel hoped the levity in his tone would defuse the knife-edge tension in the small room. In other circumstances, he might have been amused at the look of confusion on Jack’s face as he stood in the doorway, dressed in a strange hat and ragged coat, gun in hand and the Beretta drooping with surprise.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Faelan’s sudden alertness, how his hand stole to the knife at his belt as soon as Jack had burst into the room. Thankfully the man had more sense than to react with open aggression; he probably knew he stood no chance against Jack’s gun.

“Daniel,” said Jack, his tone wary, his eyes never leaving Faelan. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. We were just having a chat.”

Faelan’s jaw tensed and he aimed a pointed stare at the handgun.

“A chat,” said Jack, deadpan.

“Yeah. Uh, why don’t you join us?”

Jack looked over at him, then glanced around the room. He nodded at Rhionna, who gave a tentative smile in return, her eyes flicking between him and Faelan. “I’d given more thought to getting our asses out of here,” said Jack.

“I guess that’s an option. How did you get here anyway?”

“Does that matter?”

“It matters to me.” It was Faelan who had spoken this time, glowering at Jack. “How did you get into the Cove?”

“I hitched a ride. You really should be careful who you let aboard your ships.”

“Jack, I have this under control,” said Daniel. “In fact…” He set his mug down on the table and picked up the item he’d been perusing when Jack made his dramatic entrance; an electronic tablet which he activated by pressing the screen. “Faelan’s given me some information that I think may be of use to us. About the shield. This is a data module that was discovered in one of the laboratories here. It’s written in the same derivation of Gaelic we found on
Acarsaid Dorch
, but dates further back. Faelan tells me there are more of them here, up in the laboratories.”

“Awful pally now, isn’t he?” said Jack, but he edged into the room all the same, weapon now at his side. But not holstered. Yet.

Faelan also relaxed, his hand easing away from the knife. Next to him him, Daniel heard Rhionna’s relieved sigh.

Jack nodded at the writing that scrolled across the tablet. “So what does it mean?”

“It means nothing,” Faelan said. “It’s just a story from before the Flood. A myth.”

“Like the Sungate?” Rhionna said pointedly.

Faelan ignored her, glared out the window at the fragile towers of his dying city.

“The Elect know something of the shield,” Rhionna said. “I know they do—and they fear it. Talk of the shield is forbidden inside the Ark.”

“In my experience,” Jack said, “it’s always the important stuff they don’t let you talk about. What’s it say, Daniel?”

Daniel looked up from the tablet. “This by itself? Not much, but if I could take a look at the rest of the material, I might be able to make some sense of it.” He glanced down at the device, at the tantalizing hints of a lost past—and at the truth he was keeping from Jack. But it was no good, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie. With a sigh, he put the device down and said, “Actually, there’s more. According to this the shield—”

“—is a really big sunshade?” Jack swiped the hat off his head and flung it onto the floor. “Yeah, I know.”

“You know that?” Daniel blinked. “How do you know that?”

“I have my sources, why?”

Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know, I just… So you’re not here to find the shield?”

Jack was tugging off his coat, avoiding his gaze. “I came here to find
you
, Daniel. Before hurricane season starts.” He dropped the coat and readjusted his vest, at last looking up and meeting Daniel’s eyes. “No one gets left behind, remember? It’s an SG-1 thing.”

“Yeah,” Daniel nodded, hiding a smile. “I remember.” And he did, he did remember. This was who they were, this was what they did. Then another thought struck him. “We still have to find the shield. If we can make it work, there’s a good chance the planet would start cooling enough for sea levels to begin to fall.”

“And for kids to grow up without going blind? Yeah, I get it.” He holstered the Beretta. “So, what do we do?”

Daniel grinned. Yeah, this was what they did. This was who they were. He smiled expectantly at Faelan, who still appeared distrustful. But the look shared between the man and Rhionna seemed to be filled, however briefly, with something like hope. “Faelan,” Daniel said, choosing his words with care, “if I’m right, I might be able to uncover technology that will help your people. All of them, including those in the Badlands. To dismiss these records as myth is myopic. Imprudent at best. Surely you’re wiser than that.”

“Don’t patronize me, Jackson,” said Faelan, but his glance flicked over Daniel’s shoulder again, to where Rhionna stood by the window. Daniel thought he saw a question there, some silent communication. Rhionna gave a small nod, and Faelan sighed. “We don’t have much time,” he said, rising and heading for the door. “The storm is building, and we need to start the evacuation. Come now. You have until tomorrow to find out if what you seek is truly here. After that, it will be too late—the Cove will take her secrets to the deep.”

As they left the room, Jack’s eyes strayed upwards scanning the ubiquitous graffiti that was daubed on practically every surface. Their host followed his gaze.

“
An Dóchas Deireanach
,” he quoted. “A misplaced conviction, eh? It continues to amuse us even now.” His mouth curled into a wry grin, then he set off up the corridor, Rhionna by his side.

Jack arched a look of query at Daniel. “The Last Hope,” he translated, with a shrug. “The original name of this place apparently.”

“How apt,” Jack said sourly, stalking after Faelan.

Daniel was left to follow—and to pray that the conviction wasn’t so misplaced after all.

* * *

Sam woke with a jolt as the cell door flew open and a bundle of rags and bones were thrown inside.

“Heretic!” Ennis Channon filled the doorway. Scrunched in his hand was a wad of paper, his knuckles white around the yellowing parchment. “Filthy defiler of the innocent! Did you think you could undermine the Lord’s will?”

Sam jumped to her feet as the bundle of rags resolved itself into Sorcha Caratauc, her face ominously bruised as she scrambled upright. All gristle and bone, she stood defiant before her accuser.

“They’re only words, Ennis Channon,” she said. “Is your Lord so feeble that mere words can undermine His will?”

Edging forward, Sam placed herself between Channon and the skinny old woman. No doubt Sorcha could handle herself, but Ennis was furious and Sam wasn’t taking any chances. She held up her hands, placating. “Look, Ennis, I’m sure—”

“You,” he spat, jabbing the papers at her. “You dare come here with the very dust of
Acarsaid Dorch
on your feet? You seek to raise an abomination against our Lord! I’ll hear no word from you.”

Across the cell, Teal’c shifted onto the balls of his feet and cast a glance at Sam. She knew what he was thinking; there is one of him, and two of us. Three, including Sorcha.

There were no guards.

“This vile heresy is over,” Ennis continued, still shaking the papers and making them rustle like leaves in a fall storm. “It is all destroyed, burned in that pit you call a home.” He must have seen shock on Sorcha’s face because he smiled, a malicious curl of his lips. “Yes, it is all gone—turned to ash. As you will be. You will never corrupt another innocent soul.”

“Innocent you call it?” Sorcha laughed, a dry rattle in her throat. “It is ignorance you peddle, Pastor.”

“Ignorance of sin.”

“Of Knowledge!”

Teal’c’s fingers flexed, and Sam recognized the question in the slight lift of his eyebrow. But it was broad daylight, and someone had to know Ennis was there—someone outside, perhaps close enough to hear a struggle. They’d only have one shot at this, and their odds were much better after dark.

“Knowledge.” Ennis spat the word. “It was Knowledge that brought the Lord’s wrath upon us! It was Knowledge that befouled the Garden, that turned rank what once was beautiful. Did not the Lord send his great flood to wash away Knowledge and return us to innocence? And yet you seek to bring it back, to defy His will! Your sin is foul indeed, Sorcha Caratauc, and must be cleansed.”

“Kill me if you will,” Sorcha said. “But Knowledge cannot be so easily destroyed. Do you think that my death will change what is true? Do you think it will return your daughter to ignorance?”

His jaw clenched, as if holding back bile, and his eyes flashed murder. But all he said was, “I have no daughter.”

Sorcha was silent. Teal’c was balanced to pounce, like a hunting cat. Sam held her breath.

“They have forced you to this?” Sorcha said at last. “A strange kind of god who demands a father disown his beloved daughter. The same god who condemns the children for the sins of their fathers—the children, and their children’s children—who lets them burn beneath his Sun and damns them even as they are birthed!”

“Silence, heretic!” Breath hissed through his locked teeth, and the papers he held fell to the floor. “Only the Lord can judge you for your sins against Him, Sorcha Caratauc. Therefore, it is the will of the Elect that you be given over to His mercy; at Sunrise tomorrow you shall be taken from the Ark to a place of judgment, there to be staked out, flesh bared to the purifying fire of His Sun. By His will shall your heresies be burned away and your soul cast into the damnation it deserves.”

Sorcha said nothing, merely spat her contempt at his feet.

* * *