The Cost of Honor Read online

  "Sir." Ashford was on duty. The young woman jumped to attention, nervous fingers fumbling with a stack of papers. "It's the Kinahhi, sir. They're requesting permission to return Ambassador Crawford to Earth - they claim to have dropped all charges against him."

  Do they indeed? The Kinahhi were as slippery as snakes, and he didn't trust them an inch. But he could hardly refuse their request. He glanced down at the armed men guarding the gate. They wouldn't be needed - the Kinahhi were more subtle than that - but they'd send the right message. He was not to be trifled with nor mistaken for a fool. "Open the iris," he told Ashford, folding his arms and moving to stand before the window. "And tell the Kinahhi to proceed."

  With a metallic swirl, the iris peeled back. A palpable tension rippled through the men waiting in the gate-room as they came to the full alert. All was silent. Then three figures emerged from the Stargate.

  Ambassador Bill Crawford was as slick and disdainful as he had ever been. He glanced at the airmen as if they were a bad smell, then up at Hammond. "A warm welcome, as always, General."

  Hammond's eyes narrowed. "Major Lee," he said over the PA, "stand down your men and escort our guests to the briefing room." He watched as the soldiers lowered their weapons and the Major spoke to Crawford. Hammond turned his attention to the Ambassador's two companions. One was Commander Kenna, the officer he'd seen at the Kinahhi leader's side during his visit to their world. He was looking around the gate-room with professional interest, his eyes lingering on the soldiers as if assessing their worth - whether as friends or foes Hammond could not be sure. And then Kenna lifted his eyes to the General and gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. Hammond returned the gesture; he saw something in the Commander that he liked, but that he couldn't quite identify. Perhaps it was simply the recognition of a kindred spirit?

  The contact was brief, disrupted by the third man, who touched Kenna's shoulder with a long, elegant hand and murmured something in his ear. The Commander nodded, but made no reply. This man was new to Hammond. He was tall and slender, as were all Kinahhi. His skin was copper, his hair falling long down his back. But it was his eyes that caught the General's attention. They were a compelling amber color, like a tiger's, unusual and somehow disconcerting. He radiated mistrust.

  As the men were led from the gate-room, Hammond glanced at his watch and realized it was barely 0400 hours. He had no doubt that the Kinahhi had chosen their time of arrival deliberately, but if they thought they could wrong-foot him so easily they were very much mistaken.

  "Have coffee brought to the briefing room, Lieutenant," he ordered as he strode out. "And make it strong."

  Sam Carter eyed the stodgy, scarcely warm food on her fork without enthusiasm. The pain from the knife wound in her shoulder had shredded her appetite, and MREs were really only halfway palatable when you were starving. Nonetheless, she forced down another mouthful and focused, without much success, on the conversation between her friends.

  It was light and inconsequential, and couldn't hold her attention. Her mind was stuffed with schematics, and a technology so far beyond her comprehension that she might as well have been an Abydonian trying to make sense of a computer. And the clock was ticking. Less than twenty-four hours until they reached P3 W451, but if she couldn't get the anti-gravity device to work they might as well fly straight home.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. She could do this. It was what she did. It was her job.

  Just do your job!

  Wincing, she gritted her teeth and pushed the memory to one side. This was different, this was science. There were no ambigui ties in science, no misleading emotions; either it would work or it wouldn't. She would succeed or she would fail. End of story. Literally.

  At least she'd been able to initiate the device, but meshing Ancient technology with that of the Goa'uld was proving problematic, especially with the limited equipment she had on board. If she only had-

  "Hey." The quiet voice startled her. She opened her eyes and saw that the Colonel had come to sit next to her, arms resting on his knees. He was watching her intently. "You okay?"

  "Sure," she lied. "Just tired. And frustrated. If I could just-"

  "Ah!" His raised hand stopped her. "Resting," he reminded her. "That's what we're doing, remember? Resting."

  She smiled slightly. "Sir, we have less than twenty-four hours until we reach '451. If I don't get the anti-gray device online by then-"

  "We'll wait," he interrupted. "We'll wait until you're done."

  She nodded toward the ration bar he was slowly eating in lieu of an MRE. "For how long?"

  He didn't answer right away, but glanced over at Teal'c. "You can do it, Carter. I know you can."

  "If I can't-"

  "If you can't, then it's impossible."

  Not true. She felt clumsy and unfocused, her usually sharp mind was fogged by pain and dark memories. Acid beading on the tip of a knife. Her fist connecting with the hard bone of a boy's cheek. Anger so hot it scorched away reason. Three days ago, she'd thought she knew herself. Now she felt like a stranger in her own skin, and she wasn't convinced she could tie her own shoelaces, let alone pull off this technological miracle.

  The Colonel seemed oblivious to her doubts. He patted her arm and wearily pushed himself to his feet. "Get some shut-eye, Carter. It can wait a few hours."

  She nodded and tried to look confident. He was depending on her. Henry Boyd and his team were depending on her. No matter what happened, she couldn't let them down.

  CHAPTER TWO

  y the time General Hammond reached the briefing room, Bill Crawford had entrenched himself at the head of the table - in Hammond's traditional place. Commander Kenna and the other Kinahhi man stood staring silently through the window and down into the gate-room, while Major Lee had positioned himself by the door, hands resting lightly on the P90 slung across his chest, watching their guests intently. Hammond dismissed him with a quiet command, donned his smoothest diplomatic face, and strode into the fray.

  "Ambassador Crawford," he said. "I'm glad to see you unharmed." That much was the truth; when he'd left the man at the mercy of the Kinahhi it had felt profoundly wrong. "I trust you were treated well?"

  Crawford didn't stand, his tone surly. "Better than at your hands, General."

  The comment didn't deserve a reply, so Hammond turned to Commander Kenna. "A pleasure to see you again, Commander," he said. "Welcome to Earth."

  Kenna bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, General Hammond. Your facility appears... functional."

  As a diplomatic opening, it was worthy of O'Neill. Which somehow only increased Hammond's good opinion of the soldier. "It may be a little rough and ready," he admitted, "but it does the job."

  "Of that I have no doubt," the Commander conceded. Then he indicated the man at his side. "General, may I introduce Councilor Shapash Athtar, a member of our Security Council."

  Athtar stepped forward, bowing a greeting. "General Hammond," he said, his voice young and lilting, "I come bearing greetings from Councilor Tamar Damaris, and news that is both comforting and troubling."

  Hammond's gaze flicked towards Crawford. A smug smile touched the corners of the ambassador's lips; he could barely contain himself. Trouble, Hammond thought. Big trouble. "Why don't you take a seat, Councilor?" He pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table from Crawford, and Athtar politely sat down. Seating himself next to the Kinahhi, Hammond faced Crawford along the wide expanse of mahogany. A slight hardening of the ambassador's eyes marked his irritation. Well, if the boy wanted to play musical chairs... Hammond turned to Athtar. "I understand you have evidence exonerating Ambassador Crawford?"

  The Councilor nodded. "We do, General. Our sheh fet has determined his innocence. I can assure you beyond a doubt that Ambassador Crawford did not steal the schematics for our gravitational technology."

  Narrowing his eyes, Hammond considered his response. "Councilor," he began after a moment, "the plans were discovered hid
den in Mr. Crawford's laptop computer. That's pretty strong evidence. You'd stack your mind-reading device against it?"

  "The sheh Yet," Athtar insisted, "is infallible."

  At the other end of the table, Crawford leaned forward. "I already told you, Hammond, I was set up. O'Neill took those plans and must have planted them in my damn laptop. If you weren't so blind, you'd have seen the truth too."

  "My people," Hammond snapped, irritated by the accusation, "do not steal alien technology. Colonel O'Neill least of all. Now, I know how much Senator Kinsey would like to get Colonel O'Neill out of the way, but this charade will never-"

  Light, icy fingers touched his wrist. "Perhaps this," Athtar said, interrupting the argument, "will help settle the matter?" From beneath his robes he drew a narrow, metal cylinder. "Within are the plans in question. I believe you have technology of your own to determine who has handled them?"

  Letting his outrage simmer, Hammond eyed the tube. "We do," he said. Athtar's cold fingers sent a chill crawling across his skin, but he refused to shiver. Glancing up, he saw Kenna watching him, his expression unreadable.

  There was no way Jack's fingerprints would be on the plans - the General believed that as a matter of faith. He'd asked him point blank about the accusation, and O'Neill had denied it. In Hammond's book, Jack's word was golden. He didn't trust these people, and he didn't trust their `evidence' either. Yet he could hardly refuse to examine it. Reluctantly, he took the cylinder from Athtar's hand, and it felt like a basket of rattlers. "I'll have my people look at it."

  Athtar smiled serenely. "Then I leave the matter in your hands, General." He rose gracefully to his feet. "And I trust that when you find the culprits you will contact us to discuss extradition."

  Rising too, Hammond matched the man's smile. "If," he began, "we find the culprits, we will certainly keep you advised, Councilor." And they'll be extradited over my dead body.

  Athtar seemed to read the unspoken truth in Hammond's face, because his smile froze and his eyes turned to chips of amber ice. "The treaty is non-negotiable, General. As your superiors are well aware."

  "Then I guess we'll have to see about that," Hammond replied, moving aside and gesturing toward the door. "Have a safe trip home, Ambassador." In the corridor beyond he saw Major Lee appear, and with a brief nod Hammond gave the silent order to escort the visitors back to the gate-room.

  Taking the dismissal for what it was, Athtar didn't deign to reply. In silence, he flowed past Hammond and through the door. Commander Kenna followed, casting the General a somewhat sympathetic look before he too left. Only Crawford remained, perched on Hammond's chair like the Young Pretender. "You can't protect them this time, George," he said, with a vicious smile. "There's nothing you can do. SG1 are going down."

  Anger burned hard and low in Hammond's gut. "Now, you listen to me, Crawford," he growled. "SG-1 have saved your miserable life more times than you know. Each one of them has given more to this project - to this planet! - than you ever will. So I'm warning you, leave them alone."

  "I'm not responsible for this," Crawford insisted, rattled but not contrite. He was as convincing as a snake oil salesman on the witness stand. "O'Neill is guilty. He stole those plans and set me up."

  Lies, upon lies. "I know for a fact," Hammond said, very slowly and very quietly, "that Colonel O'Neill is innocent. And even if he weren't, he would never, ever let someone else - even you - take the fall for him. I know this man, Crawford. And I won't let you destroy him. Do you hear me?"

  The ambassador shrugged indifferently. "Hope those words tasted good, General." He leaned back in the chair and smoothed his hands along its arms. "Because you're gonna be eating them. Real soon."

  Tired of listening to his insulting allegations, Hammond turned his back and stalked from the room. But he could still hear Crawford's thin, nasal voice following him down the hallway. "Cut them loose, George," he crowed. "Or they'll drag you down with them."

  Hammond didn't answer.

  Daniel Jackson was supposed to be sleeping. The lights in the tel'tak were dimmed, and around him he could hear the quiet breathing of his teammates. Teal'c had taken first watch, and his solid presence in the cockpit was reassuring. Nevertheless, sleep refused to come. The floor was hard - cargo ships weren't built for passengers - and the hip he'd bruised during his tumble down the stairs back in Baal's stronghold nagged dully, stopping him from finding even one comfortable position. But it wasn't just bruised bones that kept him awake - after seven years in the field, he was used to that. Tonight, his mind was restless. It was worrying about something he couldn't pinpoint, some unconscious fear that refused to let him rest.

  Maybe it was just the general insanity of their situation? Hurtling through space in a stolen Goa'uld ship with no backup, few supplies and a black hole at the end of their journey wasn't exactly conducive to a good night's sleep. His low-level anxiety spiked at the bald description of their situation. Suspecting he was getting close to the root of the problem he decided to pursue it further. Deliberately, he sorted through his thoughts one at a time. Space, stolen ships, black holes...

  Black holes.

  Wormholes.

  Stargates.

  A black hole trying to drag Earth through the Stargate. A black hole trying to drag a sun through the Stargate!

  His heart lurched in sudden realization and he let out an invol untary, "Oh no."

  Someone stirred beside him. "Daniel?"

  Uh-oh. "Jack?"

  "Problem?"

  He winced, but there was no point in denying it. "Ah... maybe."

  Silence followed. Then, "Gonna share?"

  Rubbing his hands over tired eyes, Daniel stared up at the blurred ceiling. "Remember when we were evacuating the Tok'ra from Vorash a couple of years ago?"

  Jack grunted. "Not often."

  "Apophis showed up with his fleet? Sam blew up Vorash's sun?"

  "Daniel." There was an edge to Jack's tone now. "Your point?"

  Blowing out a long breath, Daniel frowned. "You know, I'm sure Sam must have considered this. Maybe I should just go ask her what-"

  "Daniel!"

  "Okay." Sitting up, Daniel tugged his glasses from his pocket and slipped them over eyes gritty with insomnia. He really didn't want to be the one to discover this had all been for nothing. But fate, it seemed, had other ideas. "Remember how we dropped the Tok'ra gate into the sun, while it was connected to '451? The idea being that the gravitational force of the black hole would suck through enough stellar matter to-"

  "Crap." Jack was on his feet. "Carter!"

  No answer.

  "Where is she?" he muttered. "Teal'c, I need some lights in here!"

  As the ship brightened, Daniel glanced around and saw that Sam's sleeping bag was empty.

  "Oh for crying out-"

  "Is there a problem, O'Neill?" Teal'c appeared in the cockpit doorway.

  "Oh yeah!" Still in his socks, hair spiked in odd directions, Jack stalked out of the cargo hold. Scrambling out of his own sleeping bag, Daniel hurried after him.

  He was one step behind Jack as he barreled into the engine room. "Carter!" He barked it like an order and Sam started so hard she dropped whatever she'd been holding. It tumbled onto the floor with a metallic clang.

  "Sir! I'm glad you're here. Looks like I've-"

  "Tell me, Carter," Jack snapped. "What do you think the word `rest' means? Exactly."

  A smile quirked the corner of her mouth. Daniel spotted it instantly. It looked like triumph. "Sorry, sir," she said, stooping to pick up the tool she'd dropped. "It's just that the solution came to me while I was sleeping. So I thought I'd-"

  "Solution?"

  Sam grinned. "I've done it, sir. I've integrated the anti-gray device into the Goa'uld systems. I'll need to test it, but-"

  "That's great," Jack mumbled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The look he shot at Daniel was slightly wild. Now what? The timing could have been better.

  "Ah, Sam?" Daniel
began. "Thing is... I was just wondering, um...

  Her eyes moved to his. She sensed his discomfort, and her triumph fell away. "What is it?"

  "Maybe nothing," Daniel assured her, settling his glasses on his nose. "It's just, I was thinking about Vorash."

  "Vorash?"

  "Vorash," Jack jumped in. "Dropping the Stargate into the sun. Big bang. You remember?"

  "Of course. What about it?"

  "Well..." Jack cast a helpless glance at Daniel, and plowed on. "As I recall, we sent half a star through the Stargate to '451, where Boyd and his team were waiting..."

  "Oh!" Realization dawned with a smile like sunshine. "No, it's okay. The stellar matter won't have exited the gate on '451 yet."

  Jack blinked. "What?"

  "Given the time distortion, sir, it won't have reached P3 W-451 yet." She cocked her head and glanced at Daniel. "You didn't think I'd forgotten about it, did you?"

  Daniel was about to issue a blanket denial when Jack said, "I tried to tell him!"

  What? He shot his friend a wide look and got an urgent can-it gesture in response. Ignoring it, Daniel opened his mouth to pro test, but a firm hand landed on his arm.

  "You know how he worries," said Jack, ushering Daniel back toward the cargo hold. "So...glad we've sorted that out." And then, over his shoulder, "Good work, Carter. Now, get some rest."

  "Yes, sir," came the bemused reply. "Thank you, sir."

  Jack grumbled a response, and Daniel just smiled to himself. Nice to see things getting back to normal. In the day and a half since they'd left Baal's palace, he'd sensed a brittleness about the pair of them that had troubled him. They were nurturing inner wounds deeper than the cuts and bruises of battle, and it would take time to heal. Time they didn't have right now.

  Back in the cargo hold, Daniel crawled into his sleeping bag, pulled off his glasses and tucked them into a pocket. Beside him, he heard Jack muttering to himself as he tried to get comfortable again. Good luck. But perhaps he could offer Jack a different kind of comfort? "Sam seems better," he murmured quietly, closing his heavy eyes and allowing his mind to drift. "I think she'll be okay."