Stargate SG1 - Roswell (37 page)

Something about that jogged her memory. The report on the NID, something about offices in New York. She quickly checked her left arm and confirmed that her surgically implanted tracking device was still in place. If An could get the transport working, sooner or later she'd be beamed out of there.

“What the hell are they?” Cancer Man demanded keeping his distance but pointing to a commotion on the far side of the park. Fifth Avenue, from what she could tell, or maybe Park Drive North. Probably where all the sirens and noise was coming from, too...except people in the street below were also running and screaming and the traffic was starting to back up.

Air raid sirens bellowed nearby. Sam blinked and squinted against the muck in her eyes when a couple of trees exploded in the direction of the turtle pond and something shot out between the remaining foliage and straight up into the sky.

Oh.

Maybe the jumper getting her out of there would come later rather than sooner, given that the General couldn't cloak and shield simultaneously. She turned to Cancer Man with a malicious smile. “You're screwed.”

His face twisted. “Are those Russian fighters?”

Sam snorted and shook her head. Despite the adrenaline she still had a whole mess of drugs running through her system, otherwise she wouldn't be enjoying herself nearly this much. “You want the truth? Fine.” She turned to address the others, a mixture of dark suits and uniforms, which told her a whole lot more about members of the military being secretly involved with the NID. “What you are seeing, gentlemen, is a squadron of
'gate -capable death gliders which, I assume, means that the front entrance of the Met has just undergone a massive refurbishment, and the Egyptian sun god—or god wannabe, more precisely—Ra, is invading Earth.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Jack finished eating the breakfast bar from the MRE, pushed the packaging to one side, and, sipping his coffee, looked up into the star-filled desert sky. It was kind of sparse compared to the view from planets closer to the galactic core. The moon, a few days past full, hung low in the sky, its face pockmarked from passing debris and not, as was commonly the case on other moons, bombardment from Ha'taks controlled by squabbling Goa'uld.

Funny how that altered viewpoint never struck him as odd anymore.

In the distance a coyote let out a long, plaintiff howl. A reply echoed a moment later. Along with the chirrup of night insects, the sounds offered him a reassurance that despite the circumstances of their being here, there was a sense of peace in the world, something that he hadn't felt in...too long.

The sense of urgency to get Carter out of the NID's clutches hadn't left him, but they'd been down this particular road before. From what he'd heard through Carter's radio, the Army was under the assumption they'd been attacked by a bunch of Russian spies trying to retrieve an experimental plane and some weird biological weapon. That suited Jack just fine. They'd be mightily pissed off, and the red phone to the Kremlin was probably running hot right now, but it was a situation over which the military would feel it had control, and the incident with the control tower notwithstanding, Carter's being there confirmed that the entire alien thing was bogus.

Despite Jack's knee-jerk reaction to hearing the weapon fire, Daniel was right. The last thing the NID would be doing was shooting the one person who could provide answers to the sort of technology that had made An vanish in a beam of light.

A string of expletives put an end to his thoughts, and simultaneously silenced the crickets. Jack looked around to see Daniel limping in his direction, his glasses glinting in the moonlight.

“How's the leg?”

“Same as your ribs, I'm guessing.”

“Coffee?” Jack reached for the pot. He'd built the fire earlier in the evening partly because it was chilly at night up in the Guadalupe Mountains, but mostly because he'd been tense and bored and campfire coffee always tasted better than when the stuff was brewed over a stove.

Daniel nodded and muttered another curse as he sat down on the other side of the fire. “An's finally managed to install the transport into the jumper, but only after he had to fix more damage than a few bumpy landings would account for. That's not the problem, though. He's just found out why there's been a power supply problem with his escape pod.”

“Don't tell me. Loki's been a busy little Asgard.” Pickling was too good for that little SOB. He poured a cup and handed it Daniel.

“Thanks. Looks like he did-exactly the same thing to it as he did to the systems in the jumper. On the plus side, there's enough power to locate Sam via her transponder. Just not enough to beam her aboard.” He paused just long enough to take a sip before adding, “Well, that's not entirely true. An thinks if we get close enough he could beam
part
of her aboard.”

Thinking he'd misheard, Jack said, “Part? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“He recommended her head, which would of course allow him to transfer her consciousness to a clone. I explained that we don't have a spare clone of Sam lying around anyplace, so that option is off the table.”

Jack shoved the dying embers around, digesting that news. They'd just wasted a night when they could have used the confusion on the base to break in and get Carter out of there.

“And the time machine is beyond hope,” Daniel added, seemingly as an afterthought. “Loki made absolutely certain of that.”

“And the good news?” Jack looked up.

“Did I mention there was good news?” Daniel balanced the cup on the rocky ground, pulled off his glasses and began polishing the lenses with a handkerchief, something he only ever did when he couldn't see his way through a problem.

“There's always a Plan B, Daniel.” Jack emptied the remainder of the pot onto the fire, watching it sizzle and steam as it hit the embers. As much as the entire situation pissed him off, they still had a few aces up their sleeve, and Carter would be playing every one of them.

“On the upside, the Asgard transport will allow us to pinpoint her exact location.”

It was in Daniel's tone, but he wasn't going to come right out with it, so Jack did. “She's not dead, Daniel. You said it yourself, the NID wouldn't have shot her.”

When he didn't reply, Jack decided to let it slide. Until they'd recovered Sam, Mitchell and Vala, Daniel was going to keep blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong and there wasn't a damned thing that he could say or do to change that.

“If it's any consolation, An wanted you to know that the reason why the transport locked on to his signal and transported him into the pod instead of Sam, is a failsafe. An's physically smaller. Chances were that if you'd managed to beam Sam aboard, not all of her would have made it.”

“Okay.” Jack used the rock to ease himself to his feet, then kicked grit on to the remains of the fire.

Something moving through the night sky caught his eye. Daniel must have noticed the direction of his gaze as well, because he turned and looked up at the cluster of meteorites. It was a common enough site on any clear night, especially when you were parked in the desert miles from the nearest city lights, but then Jack remembered the date, and couldn't help but smile. “July 8.”

Daniel glanced at him. “So?”

“The July Pegasids.”

He was silent for a moment, and then, “You should go see Atlantis sometime.”

“I
was about to make that very suggestion. We find Carter, get her out, and then go to plan B.”

The sound of footsteps drew his attention back to the jumper. Teal'c emerged and came across to join them.

“We ready to go?” Jack asked with a last glance at the dead fire. All things considered they weren't in bad shape.

Teal'c inclined his head in the affirmative.

Daniel downed the last of his coffee as they walked to the jumper. “What are we gonna do about the escape pod?”

An had parked the thing just inside the entrance to an old mineshaft. Jack stood on the hatch of the jumper, lifted his zat and fired at the clump of loose rocks over the entrance. The rickety timbers collapsed and he closed the hatch before the jumper filled with a wave of dust that rolled out of the mine. “If it's still here in sixty years, we can come back for it with a U-haul.”

An was seated in the copilot's chair, examining the readout on Carter's laptop and muttering to himself. Slipping into the pilot's seat, Jack noticed that the stars had already winked out and the eastern horizon was streaked with pale yellow. He swallowed back a yawn and powered up the jumper. “Have I got enough juice to cloak?” he asked An.

“Only if you dispense with shields.”

“Weapons?”

An blinked at him, which was the first really Asgardy thing he'd done since Jack had beamed him out of the NFD's clutches.

“Just checking.” Under Jack's hands, the jumper came to life. He still couldn't quite get used to the idea that the machine read his mind, but flying it was, literally, like taking a walk in the park. “Okay, we stay cloaked all the way in, and then put this down on the roof of whatever building she's in.”

“Then what?” Daniel asked.

Jack tapped his shoulders. “Two stars, Daniel.”

“You think the NID will just hand her over? Besides, what if one of those MPs recognizes us.”

“That's what the zats are for.”

Within minutes, he had the Roswell Army Air Field in sight. “You picking up Carter's signal, yet?”

The lack of response from the Asgard wasn't the least bit reassuring. Neither was the squadron of what Jack was almost certain were P-51 Mustangs headed straight for them, because the jumper was supposed to be cloaked.

Actually,
that
didn't bother him as much as—

“O'Neill.”

“I see 'em, Teal'c.”

“See what...? Oh, oh,” said Daniel.

Three of the P-51s exploded in rapid succession as a pair of Stargate capable death gliders fired on them.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“The
doctors say pneumonia has set in and they do not expect him to live much longer. He's asking for you.” Even in the darkness, Vala could see the hesitation in Howard Carter's stance, as if he had not fully comprehended the secretary's words. The vastness of the Egyptian desert night seemed to dwarf even the pyramids, and the whole eerie place filled Vala with reminders of her past she could have well done without. Still, it wouldn't be much longer now, she hoped, and Earth of the past, with its erroneous timeline, its low technology and its wretched fashions—what sane woman
dressed
like this in the desert on any other world?—would be well behind them.

“There...there must be some mistake,” the archeologist said, shaking his head. “He wasn't that ill...”

“Sir, Lord Carnarvon
is
dying,” the man assured him. “And he wishes to see you.”

Carter seemed torn between duty to a man he had come to love as a brother, and the curiosity that had driven him to follow Vala and Cam to the Giza plateau this night to witness something remarkable. His uncomprehending gaze turned to Vala.