A Matter of Honor Read online

  It was late, quiet and tranquil. Nothing disturbed the midnight silence, but still Sam couldn't sleep. Usually it wasn't a problem offworld; the rhythms and noises of their usual camp life easily lulled her into the light, restful sleep of the soldier. But here in her lone cell, with the alien moonlight streaming brightly through the small window, sleep eluded her.

  So her mind started chewing on the meatiest morsel it could find - the Kinahhi anti-gravity technology. If she could just get a look at it, just spend half an hour on that incredible floating city... The colonel had been right; the military and civilian applications of that kind of technology were amazing. Soundless aircraft, cities drifting over Earth's oceans to cater for the world's growing population, fighter planes that could-

  A door closed softly and booted footsteps walked slowly out into the plaza. Instantly, she was alert and listening. However comfortable the room, Sam knew even the most innocuous of missions could turn dangerous on a dime. Sliding silently off the bed, she reached for her Beretta and stole to the window. Moonlight flooded half the courtyard, the line between silver and black absolute. Strolling across the open space toward the far wall, head bowed in thought, was a familiar figure not unknown for his nocturnal rambles. Sam watched as he sat down, his face lost in shadow and only his long legs emerging into the moonlight, and considered her options. Probably the wisest choice was to go back to bed and leave him to his brooding. But, despite her rational reputation, Sam Carter didn't always make the wisest choices. Holstering her weapon, she pulled on her boots and slipped out of the room.

  The Kinahhi city was still - oddly silent compared with the usual honks, sirens and ant-like nightlife of any Earth city - and her footfalls sounded loud in the moonlight. O'Neill sat with his back against the farthest wall of the quadrangle, not far from the narrow ally through which Quadesh had led them that evening. Although he must have seen her approach, he didn't move or speak. Neither did she, simply sliding down the wall to sit at a respectable distance from him. She noted with approval that he'd chosen the most strategic vantage point, covering both their occupied rooms and the only apparent entrance to their accommodation.

  When the silence stretched too long, he glanced over at her, dark eyes hidden beneath the bill of his cap. "Trouble sleeping, Carter?"

  She nodded. "Something about this place. I don't know, it feels-"

  "Creepy? Wrong? Like these guys are out-Kinseying Kinsey?"

  Amused, she nodded. "Yes, sir."

  He was silent again, gaze fixed on the far side of the courtyard. "Daniel's worried."

  "About the sheh Yet technology?" That much she knew already, and as always he had a very good point. "It does sound very 1984."

  The colonel nodded. "I told him we'd stop Kinsey from getting it."

  "Can we do that, sir? I mean, our orders-"

  "I understand our orders, Major." After a moment he relented, and with a grim smile added, "You know me, Carter. I can make trouble as easily as Daniel can make peace. Screwing up inter-planetary negotiations is what I do best."

  Even though she smiled, Sam felt a beat of disquiet pulse low in her guts. "Kinsey would wipe the floor with us."

  "With me," he corrected quickly, casting her a warning look. "One man op, Carter."

  She was about to object when his head cocked sharply to one side, listening. Words hung unspoken as she strained her ears to hear, but all was silence. Frowning, she shrugged a negative and he relaxed slightly. "This place is too damn quiet," he grumbled.

  Too quiet, too creepy. Baal's shadow looming around every comer. She shivered and pushed the thought away. "Are you really consider ing it, sir? Wrecking the negotiations?" Her thoughts returned to the glittering city floating above the waves. Any chance of visiting would be over if the colonel provoked the Kinahhi too far. "I'd love to get a closer look at their anti-gray technology."

  Subtly he froze, as if every muscle tensed at once. "Yeah," came the short reply. "Me too."

  That much had been obvious in his confrontation with the Kinahhi woman. But the colonel's interest in new technology usually ended at the `is it a weapon and can you make it work?' stage of the investigation. This interest in unproven, unmilitary technology was unusual to say the least.

  He frowned at her. "What?"

  She shook her head, trying to defray his irritation. "I'm just a little surprised that you're so interested, sir." Seeing his eyes narrow she hurriedly added, "Not that you're not always interested in-" She stopped digging, cleared her throat and began again. "Technology isn't usually something that excites you, sir."

  Eyebrows rising ever so slightly he said, "Lots of things excite me, Carter. I just don't babble about them."

  Oh!

  Before she could find an answer his humor faded and he looked away, back out over the moonlit courtyard. "You ever think about Boyd and his team?"

  The abrupt change in subject threw her, and like a speeding train it took a moment for her to switch tracks. "Uh, yeah," she said at last, not comfortable with the memory. SG-10 had died - were dying - a unique and horrifying death that she'd been powerless to prevent. Despite everything she knew about astrophysics, she hadn't known enough to save Henry Boyd and his team. She scowled at the memory. "I, um, often think that if we could have found a way to negate the gravity, just for a few seconds-" Suddenly his point hit home like a well-driven nail. "Oh my God, that's why you're interested in the anti-gravity technology, isn't it?"

  O'Neill shrugged his half-hearted agreement. "Probably wouldn't work, right? I mean, we're not talking about floating an airplane here - we're talking about a black hole." He looked at her again, a mute appeal in his eyes. "Right?"

  He wanted her to disagree with him; she could hear it in the unspoken plea in his voice. But reluctantly she had to nod. She wouldn't lie or give false hope. "The technology might be usable. But you're right, sir, we're talking about a whole different league in terms of power. Nothing I've seen here could have any impact on the gravitational force of a black hole. I mean, we're talking about the implosion of a sun."

  "Yeah," he sighed. "That's what I thought."

  Of course, no sooner had she convinced him it was impossible, than her mind started running with the problem. Could there be a way? Could it be possible? Five years on, could she bring these people home to their families? A frustrated sigh slipped past her lips, "If I could just see the technology, or even some schematics. Anything! I mean, maybe it's possible. Maybe there's a way to create a bubble - like they use to float the city - that would give them enough time to get through the `gate."

  "Really?" He shifted until he was facing her. "I mean, it's possible?"

  "Maybe. I don't know. I don't even know how this technology works!" She sighed. "And it's not like I'm going to find out any time soon."

  His mouth compressed into a thin line. "No, not if I wreck the negotiations."

  "And if you don't wreck them, Kinsey gets his security technol„ ogy.

  He snorted grimly. "Caught between a rock and Kinsey's ass."

  Sam didn't answer, watching the conflict play over his face for a moment before she looked away. In the colonel's universe no one ever got left behind, but that black-and-white ethos sat uncomfortably amid the gray-streaked world of politics. There were bigger issues at stake than the lives of Henry Boyd and his team, and they both knew it. But Sam also knew that nothing, no amount of logic or realpolitik, could assuage O'Neill's guilt at leaving anyone behind.

  Nothing.

  Bill Crawford was watching the morning through the stinging eyes of sleeplessness, his head muzzy with a vague, insomnia-driven headache. A yawn threatened, but he buried it as he followed his young Kinahhi escort through the sterile white corridors of their Stargate complex. He hadn't slept well in the alien bed, his stomach was objecting to their strange food, and he felt stretched taut with irritation and impatience. A mood that hadn't been helped by spending breakfast in the unpleasant company of a silent, brooding Jack O'Neill and his
equally uncommunicative cohorts.

  The night hadn't been entirely fruitless, however, and that thought eased his frustration. In fact, his inability to sleep had proven extremely useful. Lying in bed, staring at the moonlight streaming through the window, he'd heard footfalls outside. First one set, then another. Then a quiet conversation, spoken in whispers, had echoed off the plaza's smooth walls and come to him like a gift.

  `7, um, often think that if we could have found a way to negate the gravity just for a few seconds-" Major Carter had whispered. "Oh my God, that's why you're interested in the anti-gray technology, isn't it?"

  Black holes, lost teams. It was all new to him. But Crawford was a quick study, and everything he really needed to know had been right there. Not so much the words themselves, it had been the emotion simmering underneath that had delivered the prize. Need. Crawford knew a thing or two about need. It was what drove men, what allowed him to manipulate them into satisfying his own desires. O'Neill needed that technology to silence some personal demon of his own. It was a powerful piece of knowledge. Valuable.

  Tradable.

  He hadn't forgotten his conversation with Damaris the previous evening. If she was looking for the right instrument with which to control SG-1 then he might just have it. For a price. After all, O'Neill had all but said he wouldn't interfere with the negotiations if it jeopardized the chance of gaining access to the gravity technology. All he needed to do was persuade Damaris to dangle a carrot, and O'Neill would follow it like a mule. And with him, his team. Jackson had a big mouth, but he'd never cross the colonel. That much Crawford knew. Loyalty was all-important to these people, suckers that they were.

  His escort slowed and Crawford realized they were already at the entrance to the lofty white hall where he'd spent most of the previ ous day. They had arrived a little early, however, and as he stepped through the doorway he glimpsed Councilor Damaris in close confab with a Kinahhi man. The whispered conversation was urgent and serious, brows creasing and hands moving in swift anxious gestures. Before his ears could pick up their words his escort announced his arrival and the councilor's head snapped around in uncharacteristic irritation. She muttered something inaudible to the man she'd been talking to, who turned his familiar amber eyes on Crawford before nodding briskly to Damaris and sliding noiselessly from the room.

  "Trouble?" Crawford asked mildly.

  Her irritation was gone, replaced by an affected smile. She waved a dismissive hand. "Another security alert. Please don't concern yourself, they are quite common." And then, after a short pause she politely asked, "I hope you slept well?"

  "Very well," he lied, "thank you."

  And so the negotiations resumed. Smoke and mirrors - always made him feel at home.

  "What do you mean, `no'?" Daniel hissed urgently, matching Jack stride for stride as they followed Quadesh through the long, white corridors toward the Stargate. He couldn't believe what he was hearing!

  "No." Jack repeated, staring straight ahead. "As in negative. Nadda. Not gonna happen."

  "Why not?" This made no sense. "You agreed we'd tell Hammond to scrap the negotiations for the sheh fet. You said we'd stop Kinsey from getting his hands on it."

  Jack cast a glance at Quadesh, two paces ahead, and deliberately shortened his stride. He lowered his voice when he spoke, "There are other issues, Daniel."

  "What other issues?" Jack's face remained impassive, but Daniel had known him too long to be fooled. "You talked to Sam?" he guessed. "About the gravity technology?"

  A slight tightening around the eyes was all the `yes' he needed.

  "You know the Kinahhi won't trade it."

  Jack tugged at the bill of his cap, pulling it lower and hiding his eyes. "They won't if we slam the door on them."

  Struggling for patience, Daniel glanced at his watch - half an hour before they were due to check in with the SGC. Still time. "Look, Jack, if Kinsey gets that technology-"

  "He'll have to explain where it came from, right? Or reverseengineer it." Eyes front, his face was shadowed and Daniel had the distinct impression he was trying to convince himself of his own words. "Then he'll have to get Congress to approve it," Jack carried on determinedly. "And they never would, right? The wishy-washy liberals would get involved..." He slowed, reached out and grasped Daniel's arm to slow him too. His eyes shone intently from the shadows, his voice low and earnest. "His daughter's nine years old, Daniel. She can't even remember her father. If there's a chance..."

  It was a low but effective blow. "I just think there's a bigger picture. We have to put-"

  A hammer-blow to the gut. Flying, weightless and breathless, ears exploding in pain and thunder. Smashing against unforgiving stone, head cracking in gashes of white light and scarlet. Crumpling to the ground under a hot, hard rain. Struggling for air in the liquid, choking dust. Ebbing into a numb, ringing silence.

  Pain everywhere and nowhere, Daniel dimly began to hear voices through the white-noise in his ears. Screaming. Panic. Chaos. And then an urgent yell. "Daniel!"

  He moved, lifted his head and groaned as something behind his eyes exploded with a new flash of pain.

  "Daniel?" Again, the voice. Closer. Louder.

  Opening his eyes, he peered blearily through a new world of gray while his sluggish mind fought to understand where he was. He could hear more shouting now, shrieking and wailing. Someone rushed past him as he pushed himself onto his knees. At least everything seemed to be working, although his breaths came in short, choking gasps. But the outside world had somehow intruded into the corridor because the sky was above him and-

  "Daniel!" A pair of strong hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him upright. "You okay?"

  Trying to answer was a mistake, and the lungful of dust he'd inhaled threatened to rip him inside out as he coughed it up. "Easy," the voice said, a firm hand patting his back. It was Jack, he realized. "Come on, we need to get you out of here before the rest of the building comes down."

  Head spinning, he struggled to his feet and looped an arm around Jack's shoulders. Half-dragged and half-blind, he staggered through the mayhem. "I got him!" Jack was shouting, the noise pounding Daniel's head against a vicious white-hot anvil.

  Stumbling over rubble, they were assaulted on all sides by the wail of sirens and terror. But at last the air began to clear. He could breathe more easily and the fog inside his mind lifted. Although his glasses were long gone, he began to make sense of the world. They were outside, the air was full of smoke, and ahead of him he could see Sam crouched next to the prone form of Teal'c. The sight slammed into him hard. "Teal'c?" he croaked.

  Sam looked up, rising to her feet. Her face was pasty beneath a layer of dirt, her uniform bloody. "He's hurt, but it doesn't look bad." She stepped closer and winced, her eyes fixed on the side of his head. "How about you?"

  Gingerly he reached up and touched his temple; his fingers came away scarlet. "Oh, you know. I've been worse."

  "You've been dead," Jack pointed out, easing him toward the ground. "Vow sit." The world was still woozy and he wasn't going to argue. As he sat he saw, for the first time, the chaos behind him. Half the side of the building was missing and what remained hung in ragged strips, like torn flesh.

  "What happened?"

  "Bomb blast," Jack said shortly, glancing up and over his head toward Sam for confirmation. She nodded her agreement.

  Daniel's mind flew back to the previous day and his conversation with the young soldier. "The Mahr'bal," he said, coughing again. "The dissidents."

  "Dissidents, my ass," Jack spat. "They're terrorists."

  He didn't reply, his eyes suddenly caught by a woman kneeling in the dust not ten feet away. In her arms lay the still form of a small child whom she rocked silently, over and over and over while around them the air filled with the sounds of grief and horror. His stomach roiled and he had to grit his teeth hard against a sudden rage that filled his eyes with tears; for all his talk of compromise and mutual understanding, in that momen
t he knew what it was to hate.

  Suddenly, Sam made a small, distressed noise, low in her throat. Jack was picking his way across the wreckage of the building, toward the woman and her dead child. He hesitated at the last moment, face grim and God only knew what memories passing through his mind, before resolutely crouching at the her side and talking quietly. Daniel buried his face in his hands, feeling the blood seep through his fingers from the wound on his head.

  Nothing was worth this sort of pain - no cause, no ideology, no historical grievance.

  It was evil, pure and simple. And the Goa'uld certainly didn't have a monopoly on that.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  eal'c opened his eyes to a white, sterile ceiling and a moment of confusion. Instinctively his mind reached for the symbiote and the queasy reassurance he received from its presence, but he felt only absence. A flutter of panic brought him fully awake, trailing his memory along behind. The prim'tah was gone - dead - and he was free. But his freedom had come at the price of his strength, a trade that was inevitable and yet still disconcerting even after so many months.

  "Teal'c?" The face that loomed into view above him belonged to Major Carter. Pale and dirt-streaked, she smiled with relief. "How are you feeling?"

  He considered the question carefully before he answered. His head throbbed and a piercing, red-hot pain cut through his shoulder. "I will endure."

  She smiled, her fingers reaching out to touch his forehead. "Yeah, well, you've got quite a bruise. And they removed about six inches of glass from your shoulder."

  Insignificant wounds - his prim'tah could have treated them in under an hour. Swallowing his frustration, Teal'c made himself sit up. The world spun, but when Major Carter attempted to steady him he fended her offwith a warning look; she knew him better than to ignore it. Once the room had stopped tilting he glanced around and discovered that he was lying amid a long row of beds, all occupied. Beyond the ward, through a narrow set of doors at the far end, he could hear the muted sounds of disorder and grief. It reminded him of the aftermath of battle, of the desperate minutes and hours in which you scoured the dead for familiar faces. The memory stung and he spoke the first thought that entered his mind, "Where are O'Neill and Daniel Jackson?"