Stargate SG1 - Roswell (39 page)

Ignoring the gritty, scraping sound, the diggers rotated the bezel until the fifth chevron slid into place.

Sending the wormhole to Earth, 1908, was out of the question. Exiting against a capstone beneath the Egyptian sands was
 
really, really not something they'd wanted to have happen. And while the remote DHD would allow her to subtly alter the tack of the wormhole so that it instead acquired the Antarctic 'gate,
arriving there in 1908 wouldn't have been much better. Short of hitching a ride with Ernest Shackleton—and then only after finding their way out of the bottom of the glacier and making a tiresome trek across an inhospitable landscape that
was in the early throws of winter—was about the only way out of Antarctica in this time. Going anywhere that cold wasn't her idea of fun, especially after so many miserable winter nights in Highclere Castle.

Which is why they had decided to travel to another planet, first.

Vala knew for a fact that there was a 'gate-capable glider stashed
away about three miles from the 'gate, because the local villagers had been worshipping the damned thing for almost a century. With a 'gate-capable glider in hand, returning to Earth 1908 via Antarctica was an entirely different proposition.

The final chevron was proving somewhat difficult, doubtless because an excessive quantity of sand was jamming the mechanism, but finally it, too, locked into place and a familiar eruption of noise and boiling water shot upward. It immediately fell back and settled into a very welcome shimmering glow as the diggers cried out with terror, calling to Allah to preserve them from whatever terrifying beast hid beneath the strangely lit waters. Those few men present who'd carried with them the dark secrets of generations long dead; secrets they had—until this moment—thought nothing more than childhood fairytales, screamed and ran off into the night, imploring gods far older than Allah to protect them from the wrath of Ra.

“The lights! The lights of Cairo have gone out!” came a shrill call from some distance away.

Catching Howard's stunned expression in the sapphire light, Vala smiled. “We did mention that might happen.”

“Take me with you,” he said, his expression torn between terror and wonder. “I need to see for myself. I need to know if it's all really true.”

She looked to Cam for help but he'd slid down the short slope and was negotiating with the head digger, whose eyes were all but popping from his head at the sight of the worm-hole. “The balance of the money will only be payable if you rebury the 'gate with the capstone,
exactly
as you found it,” she heard him telling the wide-eyed foreman. “Do you understand me? Our lawyers have been given clear instructions to pay all of the men who help you in this, triple the original amount promised.”

“Vala...please...”

She shook her head and walked down the slope to the 'gate. “I don't think you'd like where we're going, Howard.” Vala glanced over her shoulder at Cam and called out. “Thirty-eight minutes isn't that long when you spend it gossiping, you know!” She turned to Howard, who had walked down with her. He was staring at her with imploring eyes.

“Truly, you don't want to follow us.” As she spoke, Vala unbuttoned her dress and pulled off the gown to reveal the BDUs, flak jacket and boots that she'd kept safely hidden away all these years. They were just as ugly in their own way, but eminently more practical. And at last, she could free herself of the damned dress. “I'm sorry, Howard, but we don't really belong in this time, anymore than you belong in ours. If you come with us, you'll upset history.”

The foreman taken care of, Cam was coming to join them, shedding his early 20th century clothing while he walked. “Vala's right, Howard,” he added. “You really,
really
do not want to come face to face with what's out there.” He pointed to the imprints of the jackal-headed Jaffa on the capstone. “They genuinely are the Hounds of Hell, and there's plenty more where they came from, so be a good chap and lock the 'gate behind us.”

Vala stepped up to the rim of the 'gate and tossed three of their packs through. Beside her, Cam activated his zat gun, glanced
around once, winked at her, then crouched down and dove
in.

With a final reassuring smile to Howard Carter, Vala waved to the workers, blew a kiss to Howard, and followed Cam.

The landing on the other side was exactly as expected. They rolled out onto the grassy ground. The wormhole winked out of
existence
behind them and then she was standing beside...
Oh, crap.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“Okay, we're out of here,” Jack announced as the ground beneath them fell away at an alarming rate.

Alarming, because Daniel distinctly remembered that the jumper didn't currently have much in the way of life support. “Jack, where are we going?”

By the time the words were out if his mouth, Daniel figured they were already passing the point where the atmosphere held any oxygen whatsoever.

Ignoring him, Jack turned to An. “That thing picking up Carter's signal, yet?”

“No.”

The jumper continued to climb. Daniel wasn't entirely certain there was
any
atmosphere to speak of at this height, because for the second time that night, the stars were no longer twinkling. “Jack, how long do you think the air lasts in, oh, say, an area about the size of a jumper? Not that I'm worried or anything. Just thought I'd mention it.”

“Daniel, Carter's not in Roswell. I'm not running all over the United States at twelve thousand feet trying to locate her, uncloaked and weaponless, with Ra's goon squad on my six.”

He had a point. “How high are we going?”

“Three thousand miles should just about cover the area they could have taken her during the night—”

“I have acquired Colonel Carter's signal,” An announced, popping a tiny green food cube into his mouth.

Daniel was certain the Asgard had brought a stash of food from his escape pod, because he'd been downing the stuff like M&Ms while installing the transport. A red food cube occasionally made its way into his mouth as well, but it was generally accompanied by a sound of disgust.

“Where?” Jack leaned across the DHD consol to peer at the Sam's laptop screen, which An had rigged up in addition to his own
Asgard version of an LCD.

From
where Daniel was sitting he could just make out a blip that
looked to be in the area of... “Terrific. New York. Why'd they
take
her there?”

“The NID had offices in New York. Right now, I'm more worried about why Ra—assuming that it is Ra—sent a couple of
death
gliders to Roswell.”

While Jack talked, the jumper began to descend over upstate New York. The signal bleeped reassuringly on the screen, although An shook his head and mumbled to himself.

“Can I adjust the setting on this?” Daniel asked him.

The Asgard indicated he could take the entire laptop. Careful of the lead, Daniel balanced it on his legs.

“What sort of battle plan can we expect?” Jack said, directing his question to Teal'c.

“I do not believe it is Ra who has come through the 'gate, O'Neill. He would have entrusted the task of conquering Earth to
a Goa'uld loyal to him. Knowing that the Tau'ri of this time have no weapons capable of striking a Ha'tak in orbit, it is most likely that the Goa'uld in question will oversee the invasion from there, while ground forces are sent through the Stargate. Under such circumstances the strategy would be to destroy all opposing forces by quickly removing the Tau'ri leaders.”

“Doesn't explain the death gliders over Roswell,” Jack said.

“Did Colonel Carter not say that Earth's entire arsenal of nuclear weapons in 1947 is stored at Roswell?”

Since the death-gliders could only have arrived through the 'gate a short time ago... “How could Ra possibly know...” Daniel trailed off, realizing why Jack's shoulders had just stiffened.

Sam had known about the nukes. Jack, too, since it was a milestone in the history if the USAF, which meant that Mitchell could also have known. Given all the other strategic targets, the only reason Roswell would have been prioritized was if the Goa'uld had acquired advance knowledge. And the only way that could have happened was if Mitchell had been captured sometime in the twenty-five years since he'd stepped through the 'gate with Vala.

Daniel bit back a groan. It wouldn't have mattered how well Cam had resisted interrogation, a few sessions with a hand device or worse—and far more likely—infestation with a Goa'uld would have stripped his mind clean. “DC and the Naval base at Virginia will also be targeted.”

“Post WWII, Daniel, the entire country's a target rich environment. One thing's for certain, the air space over the East Coast is gonna get real crowded, real fast.”

From what Daniel could see as they descended, it already was. Even from this height, it looked as if whole sections of New York City were on fire.

“The President of the United States was scheduled to fly to Santa Fe early this morning to discuss the Roswell situation with Senator Chavez,” Teal'c informed them.

His voice didn't betray any tension, but Daniel had spent too many years with Teal'c not to feel it.

“Which means that even if the Goa'uld take out DC, the President will still be able to direct a military response,” Jack replied.

It had taken Daniel a long time to understand that what appeared to be cold detachment was in fact a professional barrier that both his teammates employed to encapsulate their emotions, enabling them to function under the most traumatic of circumstances.

He'd managed to acquire a certain level of professional detachment himself, over the years, but inside that capsule a part of him still wanted to scream and cry at the horrors they had witnessed. Right now, he dreaded what they would find on the ground, but they had to find Sam. And they had to get her out.

The issue they were facing was that the entire area would be a bloody battlefield for days if not weeks. A war-hardened United States military would pound back with equal—if not superior—force so long as they were only dealing with ground troops and 'gate-capable death gliders. The moment something bigger arrived on the scene, they were screwed. Unfortunately, Teal'c probably was right, because death gliders alone couldn't be imparting the level of damage he could now see.

New York fell out of sight behind them as Jack continued north in the direction of the Adirondacks. “We're half blind without a HUD,” he explained. “I'll come in upwind from the north, along the Hudson.”

“I have lost the signal,” An reported when they descended to tree top level.

The blip on the computer screen winked out. Me too,” Daniel said, feeling a sense of panic grip him.

Jack's head snapped around. “What? Why?”

“I believe it is because we are now below the horizon. The beaming technology was not designed to be operated from this proximity to the ground.”

Taking a deep breath, Daniel nodded. That explanation made sense because the jumper had descended to within a few yards of the muddy water, churned and frothy from summer rains. Jack brought them around to face the south. Ahead, the cloudless summer sky above New York was filled with hundreds of tiny black dots buzzing one another. Sharp flashes of light—energy weapons—were swiftly followed by fiery eruptions and puffs of black smoke. A dark smudge blurred the entire horizon; it was the smoke from scores of fires they'd seen as they'd passed overhead.