SG1-17 Sunrise (31 page)

Above them the studio building loomed, the word
Sunrise
emblazoned across its façade. Once Ennis had regarded this place as hallowed ground, now its golden gleam appeared sickly and oppressive.

“You can find it out,” Liam said. “And if you speak it, the people must listen; you are their Pastor.”

“And what if they do? What then?”

Liam only shrugged. “To that I have no answer.”

* * *

The smoke cleared quickly, beaten down by the unrelenting rain. Daniel shook his head, waiting for his hearing to return to normal; he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the force of a C4 blast.

With Jack leading the way, the long file of refugees snaked past the remnants of the tunnel doors, half starved, thirsty, and eager for shelter. Soaked and battered though they were, Daniel sensed that they were far from dispirited. A new energy was being created here, as they marched deeper into the tunnel. A sense of purpose that he hadn’t anticipated. He wasn’t imagining the looks sent in the direction of Faelan and Rhionna; expectant looks, from a people awaiting guidance. He only hoped they weren’t expecting too much; they still had to find their way into the Ark, which wasn’t going to be easy. The plan for now was simply to distribute water and what little rations they’d brought with them.

Easier said than done, as it turned out.

“The bastards have turned off the pump.” In vain, Faelan spun the metal valve that controlled the Badlands’ water; the outlet pipe remained dry.

“Okay.” Jack shrugged. “So we go to plan B.” To the best of Daniel’s knowledge, plan B hadn’t existed until about thirty seconds ago. Not that Jack was fazed by this minor inconvenience. “Carter and I go topside and get this water back on. Then we take it from there.”

But Faelan shook his head, striding towards the blackened and buckled remains of the storm doors and staring out into the maelstrom beyond. “We don’t have time for that. This isn’t the worst of it, Colonel. Something’s coming. Something big, and when it hits, it’ll hit hard. This tunnel will be no protection at all.” He cursed and slapped the wall. “Do they think they can play God here? Do they think they can hand out judgment and decide who is damned and who is worthy to enter their bloody Ark?”

Rhionna stepped up and placed her hand on his arm, but said nothing. It appeared she didn’t need to.

“I’m not giving up, if that’s what you think,” he said, so softly that Daniel barely heard the words.

She smiled. “That’s not what I think.”

He nodded, as if satisfied by her faith in him, then looked over at Jack. “Colonel, we need a new plan, and we have about five minutes to come up with it.”

As Jack, Sam, Faelan and Rhionna discussed their options, and Teal’c handed out rations, Daniel dug in his pack for his camera—now was the ideal time to document just how harshly these people were treated by the Elect. It extended beyond benign indifference now; this was an active attempt at genocide. He spooled through his existing footage, trying to find the end of the timeline, more sickened than ever by the images he’d captured. Given what he knew of human cruelty, the question might be naïve, but still he found himself asking how any decent person could see such suffering and turn a blind eye?

Then he hit the ‘pause’ button, the spark of an idea suddenly kindling in his mind.

“Uh, guys?” The others stopped what they were doing and turned to him. “I think I might have a solution.”

* * *

The tunnel was narrow and smelled bad, and Sam really didn’t want to know what kind of things populated the puddle of water they were crawling through. Good job it was dark.

“I’m gonna take a guess,” the colonel grunted behind her. “This isn’t exactly the front door.”

Rhionna’s voice drifted back to them from the darkness ahead. “It’s not exactly the back door, either. But sometimes I come this way if I really don’t want to be seen. It won’t be locked, the soldiers don’t know about it.”

“Can’t imagine why not.”

Puddle or no, Sam had to smile; it felt good to have Colonel O’Neill back. Not Jonah, but the colonel with his dark humor and unwavering moral compass. Yeah, it felt right. “How are your knees, sir?”

“Terrible. Thanks for asking, Carter.”

“Not far now,” Rhionna promised them softly. Then a beam of light appeared, all but blinding Sam as it sliced across her face.

“Hey!” she protested, screwing her eyes shut against dancing red blobs.

“Sorry,” Rhionna whispered, lowering the flashlight. “I just need to find the— There it is, we’re here.”

Struggling to get her feet under her in the confined space, Sam crouched and peered up at the ceiling of the tunnel. Above them the underside of a manhole punched a black circle. The colonel crowded in at her side, solid and familiar, and behind him Sorcha’s pinched face appeared. Clearly she was no more happy with the plan now than she’d been when Daniel first suggested it.

It was a risk, Sam had to admit. Daniel’s backpack, containing the
Acarsaid Dorch
device, felt heavy across her shoulder; a lot was riding on the success of this mission.

“We just push this up and climb out in the middle of the street?” O’Neill said, shifting to get a better look. “If anyone’s up there, it’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel. Literally.”

“It’s in one of the disused parts of the city,” Rhionna assured him. “We won’t be seen.”

Sam readied her P90. O’Neill cast her a look. “You and Sorcha stay back. Carter and I’ll check what’s going on topside.”

Squeezing past him, Rhionna grabbed Sorcha’s arm and pulled her away into the shadows. A couple of muttered words in Sorcha’s native language drifted through the narrow tunnel, then a sharp retort from Rhionna. Sam hid a grin and turned to face O’Neill.

“Here goes, Major,” he said, bracing his hands against the cover. “On three. Three.”

He lifted it an inch, enough for her to get an ant’s-eye view of a deserted street. Moving around him in an awkward three-sixty, she checked out the limited visual. “I’m not seeing anything.”

“Good.” His voice was tight with the strain of holding the metal cover, but he lifted it another inch and said. “Now?”

“Still clear.”

“Okay, go.” With a grunt, he pushed the cover off to one side.

Sam scrambled out, rolled to her feet. Vaguely grateful that she’d managed to persuade Daniel to trade his P90 for the prison guard’s popgun, she spot-welded the weapon to her cheek and turned a careful circle.

“Clear,” she said, straightening though not relaxing. Sentry-like buildings surrounded her, pristine and silent. It was eerie. And the light was different from last time she’d been in the Ark. The glistening opalescence was gone. In its place, a storm-dark sky painted everything in shifting shades of menace.

O’Neill was next, pushing himself up without much effort. Behind him came Rhionna, who stopped at the rim of the manhole to give Sorcha a hand. The old woman didn’t seem to need much help. Or appreciate the offer.

“Over here,” O’Neill said, before anyone else could speak. He herded them into the doorway of a building. Eyes roving across the blind, black windows, he asked, “Which way?”

“The
Sunrise
building is not far.” A strand of Rhionna’s hair had slipped from under her headscarf. She tucked it away without apparent concern, oblivious to the danger that might be hiding behind those dark windows. “I will take you.”

Sorcha spat on the ground, mumbling a curse. “Foolish nonsense,” she said. “There will be time for that once we have found
Sciath Dé
!”

“Didn’t we have this discussion already?” Colonel O’Neill’s gaze still scanned the street. “You know what the plan is.”

“Aye, foolish is what it is.”

“We don’t even know where to start looking for the shield,” Sam explained, for what felt like the hundredth time. “Once the people from the Badlands are safe we can—”

“Save it, Carter.” O’Neill turned to glare at Sorcha. “We’re doing you a
favor
, lady. Remember that.”

Her eyes narrowed. “A favor.”

“Yeah. We’ve got enough troubles of our own. We don’t need yours too.”

Lips pressed tight, eyes hard as granite, Sorcha said nothing and tried to stare him down instead. But she was no match for Jack O’Neill on a bad day—and this had been a very, very bad day.

“Carter, take point,” he said, never interrupting the staring contest. “Rhionna, show her the way.” With his handgun, he gestured for Sorcha to follow. “Ladies first.”

Sam didn’t wait to hear her answer, and she headed out into the empty streets.

* * *

Teal’c kept within the shadows and watched with no little admiration as Faelan Garrett addressed the people of the Badlands. Flashes of lightning illuminated faces hardened by suffering, but now raptly attentive and suffused with burgeoning hope. What Faelan Garret said, Teal’c did not know; his language was unfamiliar. But the meaning was clear. He rallied these people to arms, one hand jabbing repeatedly up toward the city above.

“
Kalach shal tek,
” Teal’c vowed quietly, fist to his heart.

“Victory or death?” A dry smile was audible in Daniel Jackson’s voice. “I’m hoping for a more peaceful solution.”

“As am I.” Teal’c turned to see him leaning against the tunnel wall some distance away, also watching Faelan. What little light there was reflected on the lenses of his spectacles and masked his eyes. “But you place great faith in humanity, Daniel Jackson.”

“Too much, maybe?” Another fork of lightning rent the sky and for a split-second his earnest face flashed pale in the darkness. Daniel Jackson looked very young, even by human standards; unlike many, grief and loss had not tarnished his inherent optimism.

It was a confidence Teal’c respected, but could not share. “Do you believe the people of the Ark will divide their wealth among these
kresh’taa
simply because charity demands it?” he asked. “They have not done so before.”

“Because they didn’t really know was going on out here.”

“If they wished to know, they could have found out,” Teal’c insisted. “As Rhionna Channon did.”

Hands plunged into his jacket pocket, Daniel Jackson moved closer. “Those people up there, they aren’t so different from people at home. Most of the time they’re happy to go to work, take the kids to school, watch a little TV at night. And that’s okay, you know? Most people just want to live their lives. But sometimes…” He turned to look at Faelan Garrett, at the people he rallied. “Sometimes people have to see what’s going on out in the big wide world, and when they do—then they don’t want to just sit at home and watch TV. Then they want to
do
something.”

“Has Rhionna Channon not already attempted to alert her people to the injustices of her world?”

“Yes, and the Elect have done everything they could to silence her and make sure everyone else is fixated on
Sunrise
.”

“And so the people of the Ark are complicit in their own deception.” Teal’c shook his head. “I cannot share your faith, Daniel Jackson. Perhaps I have witnessed too much indifference to the suffering of others, but I believe Faelan Garrett and his people must fight for their rightful share of this world. It will not be freely given.”

“Maybe,” Daniel Jackson admitted. “Maybe you’re right. But sometimes I think people just have to see for themselves.” He gave a bleak smile. “You know what they say—a picture’s worth a thousand words.”

Teal’c considered the adage. “But a weapon,” he decided, hand resting on the P90 O’Neill had given him, “is more valuable still.”

To that, Daniel Jackson made no answer.

Flattened
against the wall, Jack signaled Carter to keep the others back and peered around the corner and out on the plaza ahead. Given the way the crowd sat like spellbound toddlers before the giant TV screen in the center of the square, his caution was probably unnecessary. Still, he wasn’t going to take any chances. The damn TV was loud though, blaring out its melodrama as if in competition with the rumbling storm clouds outside. Glancing up it occurred to him that that was exactly what
Sunrise
was doing—drowning out, quite literally, everything beyond these folks’ sweet little snow globe home.

Across the street stood the building from which
Sunrise
was broadcast. Sleek and ostentatiously affluent and difficult to reconcile with the hovels of the Badlands or the drowned city of the Seachráni. Perhaps the whole world had looked like this once, but now the Ark was all that remained; a living museum to a dead culture. Time to change things around a little.

He fell back to where Carter had Rhionna and the old woman were waiting. Sorcha was increasingly sour faced, so he blanked her—no time or energy for another argument—and said, “It’s right across the square, Major. If you’re lucky you’ll catch the ten o’clock tour.”

Carter did her best to swallow a smile, but it was in her eyes all the same. “I’ll bring you back a t-shirt, sir.”

“Extra large. I like ’em roomy.”