Nothin' Ever Happens Around Here!
Nothin' Ever Happens Around Here!
by PZawadzki
Summary: According to the shipping labels, each of the three crates delivered to the SGC weighed a little over four hundred pounds. Crudely constructed from thick slats of rough-cut board, the crates were nailed and wired together. An address was hand-painted on each crate.in three languages, Arabic, French and English.
Category: Action/Adventure
Season: any Season
Pairing: Team
Rating: FAM
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).
Archived on: 2005-02-05
Nothin' ever happens around here!
Chapter 1 "Where we goin'?"
According to the shipping labels, each of the three crates weighed a little over four hundred pounds. Crudely constructed from thick slats of rough-cut board, the crates were nailed and wired together. An address was hand-painted on each crate...in three languages, Arabic, French and English.
If the torn labels and broken slats were any indication, the five-foot square crates had endured rough handling somewhere along their route. Arriving at Cheyenne Mountain early Monday morning, they were loaded onto dollies and delivered directly to the General's office.
Even the finest security always comes down to human judgment. When that fails, the results can create a demanding mess.
That was the kind of mess facing Jack O'Neill when the bomb squad denied all arriving SGC personnel access to the elevators. Stranded several levels above their offices, SG-1 had seen the General do amazing things to temper the boredom that came with the mundane duties and desk-bound grind of command. Sealed elevators might be just another of his contrived distractions.
"Jack, if you're bored why don't you just join us for breakfast? You don't have to go to all this trouble." Daniel had less patience with his superior than he'd have with a rock in his shoe.
"Daniel, I didn't have anything to do with this. It seems there's something in my office that got delivered bypassing security. Besides, you know I try not to be involved in what goes on around here."
Once the bomb squad had unpacked the crates, several pieces of alien technology familiar to SG-1 were spread out on the floor outside the General's office. Parts of the crates bearing plastic wrapped labels and faded shipping stamps also lay scattered in the corridor.
The parade of curiosity that SG-1 formed slowly circled the dull gray items. Touching, turning and peering closely at each one, curiosity became awe. Fragments of a Stargate lay at their feet. Pairs of hands turned the pieces over and up on end. Fingers stroked and poked the bits of alien gray. Shoe toes pressed against the smooth edges, rocking the components.
The contents of the crates were three pieces of gray wedge-shaped sections of a Stargate. A cropped pie shaped section of the front outer ring, a matching section of the heavy backing ring and a glyph section of the inner ring. The glyph section lying on the floor was Earth's 'point of origin' symbol. The alien items lay like dismembered parts of a favorite toy, broken and useless.
O'Neill tried to put things into realistic perspective. "So, there's a Stargate someplace with a section missing?"
"Who would send you such a thing, O'Neill?" Teal'c easily spun the glyph section, examining the edges and tracing the embossed symbol. "Where did these items come from?"
Carter was already analyzing, "These pieces are heavy enough to be part of the real thing. They look like they would sandwich together to make a section, an arc, and a part of the Stargate.
"What, a salesman's sample? Maybe there's a Gate somewhere being held for ransom?" O'Neill firmly believed it was his job to keep those around him from ever taking themselves too seriously.
With an opportunity to examine a section of alien technology, Daniel instead held a five-foot section of rough lumber where the address was painted. "Jack, you opened my mail!" Daniel wore the indignity lightly but he wanted the point made just the same.
Not exactly the first law he'd ever broken or the first sin against civility he'd ever committed, O'Neill's shrug and flat smile of apology was all the acknowledgment Daniel was going to get. "It was in my office. So... Who sent it to you?" Do you know where it came from?
"No. If there was a packing list with it, I don't suppose you'd let me see that? This address in Arabic means we can be pretty sure it's come from the Middle East, northern Africa, maybe Egypt."
"Sir, aren't you a little bit concerned that these pieces might be baiting us into some kind of trap? Maybe we shouldn't be handling them."
The edges of the wedge shapes were painted with a hardened material that left a black graphite-like residue on their hands and anything else it came in contact with. Analyzing and suspicious, Carter had taken samples of the material. She had her own take on the mysterious items, but the scientific method was how she answered her questions.
O'Neill had seen enough and didn't need more questions without answers. "I'm sure they're bait, and it's the best kind of bait...even when it's easily recognized, the fish still can't resist it?"
"So, are we taking the bait, sir?" Carter wanted a closer look and standing on her head in the corridor didn't qualify.
"You two," O'Neill swung his arm wide enough to include both Daniel and Teal'c, "find out where it was shipped from. How'd it get here...and, who knew to ship it here...to...Daniel? Also, if there are anymore shipments on the way? There seem to be few parts missing."
The two men tiptoed among the scattered metal sections and pieces of broken crate on their way to tackle the mystery.
"Carter, get these sections under your microscope. And get this black stuff cleaned off my floor."
The parts spread out along the corridor could be a gift that had lost its nametag, or a joke. O'Neill recognized it as an invitation, more underhanded than under-the-table. He took nothing at face value. He was looking a gift horse directly in the mouth, and his experience told him it just might be Trojan.
The curious pieces took over Carter's lab. By lunch, she was ready...ready to make her preliminary report. Ready to pack her bag and take off to wherever Daniel and Teal'c tell her it came from.
A couple of excited phone calls and her lab became the setting for sharing what she believed was the most important thing they'd learned about the technology of the Stargate since the Antarctic outpost was discovered.
"So, Carter, what's got you on the edge of your seat?"
"Sir, this interlocking assembly represents one section of a complete Stargate. A front piece, a rear plate, a glyph from the inner ring. The measurements match our Gate exactly." Her hand rested easily on a massive wedge. "When this section is mated with thirty-eight other similar sections, a complete circle is formed."
"Our Gate doesn't have any seams between wedges...sections." Daniel didn't understand where Sam was going with this line of thought. "Wouldn't there be some trace of a joint between glyph sections or where the front and rear circles would be joined? How can this be just a section?"
Carter, without speaking, held up a small wrench. When she touched the edge of the assembled Gate wedge, the wrench melted into the half-metal stone-like composition of the Stargate section. "You see how it's done?"
Curious faces watched her, waiting for her to explain what they had seen, but didn't see.
If O'Neill ever got anything right, he never forgot it, or let anyone else. "Magnets."
"Yes sir, possibly a very powerful magnetic field generated only after the three pieces are assembled into a complete wedge. Or, there may be a bonding field created by this black material. It seems to be organic but I'll need more time to properly analyze it."
"Carter are you saying glue holds the Stargates together?"
"Sir, the black material painted on the edges is a compound that might be some kind of 'glue'. Perhaps it's a substance that creates something akin to an organic weld. Or, it might be the catalyst that activates a magnetic or welding action. Or it could just be protection against damaging the raw edges of the individual pieces. However it happens, it's likely that once two complete wedge shaped sections are brought into proximity and allowed to blend into a single unit there's no separating them. There is no seam as such - the two arcs become one piece. The circle is completed when the last section is slipped into place. Energy would then be permitted to flow in a complete circle without interruption."
The General was considering the added security that once again having a second Gate would mean. "So, you think there are more of these sections some place?" He wanted to be able to replace the lost Beta Gate without having to make any long-term commitments.
Daniel had his own agenda. "Sam, whoever sent...us...this 'invitation' may have the answers to some very early Stargate history. There may or may not be enough other pieces to assemble a Beta Gate, but the fact that we have a piece..."
Carter leaned across the table and into Daniel's idea in the same focused move. "You don't believe this is an isolated section either do you? You think there's a whole Gate somewhere out there don't you?"
O'Neill and Teal'c have learned that if they listen carefully, they might grasp enough to understand why any pending mission was important. When they heard 'Beta Gate' they'd heard enough.
"So, Daniel, where'd it come from?" O'Neill was ready to move on. The complicated aspects of the assembly didn't concern him as much as the chance of a security leak or the possibility of the SGC getting its hands on an additional Stargate.
"Khartoum...Sudan...Africa...a small tribal museum on the outskirts of Khartoum."
Daniel stretched out the answer intentionally letting it sink in.
Sam mentally re-packed her bag. Khartoum wasn't exactly Paris but it didn't matter, she was going. She was betting there were more pieces somewhere on Earth, maybe in Khartoum.
Daniel had been watching O'Neill's expression, looking for the right moment to state his case. It never came. Daniel went on without it. "Jack, I'm going. With or without SGC approval. Trap or no trap, I'm willing to take the bait."
"Daniel Jackson, this is not an area of your world to rush into." Teal'c had done his homework. "I have read much about this region. Traveling there is considered unwise at this time. There is great unrest. There are armed opposition groups who are beyond government control. Your president has signed an Executive Order imposing financial and commercial sanctions that have not resulted in friendly relations between your two countries. There is no direct commercial air service between your country and Sudan, and you would be a target for kidnapping."
Daniel had spent quite a bit of time in Northern Africa on digs and research projects. He knows the people, the customs, the language and the culture. "I'll keep my head down and get around just fine."
Teal'c's report continued with the lift of an eyebrow. "That may prove more difficult that you imagine. Public transportation is limited and schedules are unpublished and subject to change without notice. If you are thinking of renting transportation, currency will be a problem. A considerable portfolio of identification would be required and the vehicle would most likely be highly unreliable. Roads are often unpaved, poorly maintained and crowded. You would be better advised to walk or hire a mule."
"Carter, you sure you want to go on this one?" General O'Neill was already convinced that someone was going to Khartoum. Certainly Daniel was going and he would need backup if the invitation did turn out to be bait, but O'Neill wasn't sure that this was a part of the world where a woman would be able to operate effectively. Traditions weren't geared to accept women doing the work of a US Air Force Colonel.
"Stargate pieces, mysterious packages, desert nights, romantic sheiks in flowing robes, moonlit sand dunes. How can a girl turn all that down?"
O'Neill had heard and seen enough to know that the decision 'Who?' was probably made for him. "Okay, Colonel Carter, take your hiking boots, saddle bags and Daniel. Skip commercial flights. You'll be carrying zats and customs will never buy the 'toy gun' story. Find out where these pieces came from, who sent them and why. If you can find more pieces, that would be nice too."
Before O'Neill could complete the orders that made their trip official, Sam and Daniel were headed out of the lab. O'Neill's voice trailed after them, "Carter, this isn't a vacation. You guys bring back something useful."
The order to dismiss fell on Teal'c's ears only. The two scientists were half way to the airfield before O'Neill drew a second breath. "Teal'c, take a deeper look into those 'armed opposition groups that are beyond government control'. If that 'armed opposition' is who I think they are, they just might be the backup those two are going to need when they get into trouble."
"General, Daniel Jackson is familiar with the region. He and Colonel Carter are both capable warriors. Do you not believe that you can trust them to return safely?"
"Oh, I trust them all right. I didn't say 'if' they get into trouble, I said 'when'. Didn't you see the way they went out of here? They aren't going to be watching their backs. They're kids looking for a toy store."
Chapter 2 Getting there is half the fun
After nine thousand miles and two days of layovers, dog-legging it between Air Force bases and dodging unfriendly airspace as Sam's passenger, Daniel swore two things. Once he got home, it would be a long time before he'd go anyplace he couldn't go by Stargate. And no one would ever convince him that Air Force pilots weren't the best out there.
Teal'c was right about the tender nature of the area. Their route from the Red Sea port of Djibouti across Ethiopia to Khartoum in Sudan was one of buses and trains. Public transportation moved at a leisurely pace designed to avoid any implication of speed. More than once passengers found themselves walking so the struggling over-heated motor or locomotive engine could manage the terrain or cool from the added desert heat. Several times a day they would be stopped while repairs were made to the ancient vehicles.
They'd been away from home almost a week by the time they reached Khartoum. Sunburn and physical exhaustion marked them as tourists in an area where tourists had become a rare and endangered species.
In keeping with their cover as an eccentric pair of American college professors - too clich O'Neill had warned - they headed straight for The Sudan Tribal Museum. The little museum was a long way off Khartoum's tourist route. The faded sign pointed them down a narrow unpaved alley to the small one story brick building that housed the museum. Obviously built of scavenged bricks and other cast off materials, it probably wasn't the only structure in the area slapped together for temporary shelter a century ago.
The little third-rate museum might have been located a long way from the lavish National Museum but its admission fee was upscale Khartoum. The man who took Daniel's 'donation' ushered them into the single room that comprised the museum. The interior smelled of old mortar and dried dung. The floorboards that sagged under their feet were probably once part of a British stable. The barred windows, dusty and cracked, let in little light. Meager displays stood in tagless array behind flyspecked glass.
Other items were scattered on rickety kitchen tables. Most of the displays were the ragged cast-off items of local tribes. Remnants of the days of Gordon and Kitchener were mixed in with items of obscure origin. Bits and pieces of history unsuited for the National Museum had became central displays here off the tourist track.
Sam and Daniel headed down the bare floor to the door marked 'Curator'.
Behind an immense desk, his lunch on his plate, his chin, and his ample vest, sat an imitation Englishman - all four hundred pounds of him right down to the watch chain and fob. Daniel addressed him in Arabic introducing only himself.
"Doctor Jackson, you don't recognize me? Has it been so long since we worked together? You received my, ah, packages I gather."
Daniel stared at the bulk that rose from behind the desk and the tiny pink hand it extended in welcome. The voice was familiar but he didn't recognize the shape.
"It's me, Max. Speak English please."
This couldn't be the tiny skin-and-bones foreman who scavenged every broken artifact and crumbling shard unearthed at the digs where he and Daniel worked and studied in the early days? Of course, once Daniel recognized the curator, the rag-tag museum shrieked of Max's scavenging days. He remembered the scurrying little foreman from several sites where they had both worked.
"Max...you've...changed...a lot...a little." Daniel also remembered the curator as a less than honest man, a less than desirable foreman, and a less than trustworthy friend, but he did remember him.
"Who is...this?" On short legs and tiny silk-slippered feet, Max smoothly moved his bulk around the desk toward Sam. A native of Cairo, in his middle sixties, his jet-black toupee spoke to a vanity that had long convinced him of his desirability among women.
Sam heard the inflection in his voice. She had just met him but she knew his type. He pictured his substantial self as a gift to all women; even those he'd just met. Little mental warning flags went up that had Sam unconsciously inching up behind Daniel. Her very real ability to protect herself became superficial in the face of Max's leering survey and size. The wannabe Englishman was no gentleman, she'd bet on that.
Adhering to custom, Daniel seated himself in the only chair and motioned for Sam to stand next to him. She took the few steps required. She was prepared to be introduced and get on with the business they came for. But the conversation remained between the men, see-sawing between English and Arabic. At one point she was sure that the conversation came around to her. Instinct more than linguistics was all she had to go on. A broad unmistakable leer from the curator was followed by a squeeze from Daniel. When this was over, even though she much preferred Daniel's touch to the curator's leer, the 'college professor' would be called to an accounting.
Max placed a call on the ancient radiotelephone behind his desk. Relics of World War II were still modern technology in some places. Nodding and gesturing, the expansive curator appointed himself their travel agent.
Maps were brought out and the two men traced roads and sections of the Nile between the cataracts. They thumped the names of small villages along the river. Eventually, the discussion turned to transportation. Daniel was a fine haggler and the bargaining for transportation rocked from donkeys to airline tickets to the Max's 'most' modern truck. If she believed the few words she understood and the arm waving toward the rear of the museum, they would be taking Max's truck. Sam figured when money changed hands the deal, whatever that was, would be done and they could get away from Max.
To her surprise, a few more lingering minutes over the maps, another brief reference to her and Daniel turned abruptly and stalked out. Marching down the dusty aisle and out the front door of the museum, he didn't look back. He headed around the low brick building and into a tattered tent without slowing his pace. It was clear that he assumed she would follow.
She did; not so much in keeping with the local custom that puts women behind men, but without Daniel in the room, she wasn't confident that she could elude Max. So it was that she and Daniel were both nearly running by the time they entered the tent.
The hot still air under the canopy smelled of old oil and fuel. Max's modern transportation was a truck older than either of them. Daniel circled it assessing its condition. He noted that its spliced and patched canvas top was lashed to rusty ribs by a greasy rope that would tear loose easily at higher speeds. The truck was definitely not suited for transporting classified technology.
Sam stood in a dark spot of earth. Whatever fuel the curator was prepared to send them off with had either leaked out or more likely been sloppily siphoned out.
Daniel tossed his backpack onto the front seat and climbed in. He stood on the starter, working the old choke, grinding an engine whose odometer had surely rolled over several times. When it caught, he jammed the accelerator to the floor. His jaw set in anger, he put the aging vehicle into the narrow street as the empty tent collapsed...and before Sam had securely settled into the passenger seat.
Any springs the old truck had when it rolled off the assembly line had long since lost their purpose. The old bench seat under driver and passenger still had its springs; they knew that for a fact. The tangled matted coils were visible through the shreds of what may once have been a blanket folded for upholstery. Sam and Daniel had a more rigid place to sit...a long narrow strip of oily plywood laid across the seat over the useless worn blanket.
"Daniel! Is there a fire?"
"We have to catch a helicopter ride to get out to the site where the Stargate pieces were discovered. It only comes out of the desert for supplies once a week. If we aren't in place waiting before this time tomorrow, we might have to wait another week."
"How far are we going?"
"The Sixth Cataract. A little over a hundred miles. We're headed for the first fueling stop." Daniel ground up and down through the worn gears, weaving his way around pedestrians, carts and assorted market stands. The erratic stop and go swerving of the truck through traffic worked them slowly away from the intense congestion of the city into still more traffic on the road north.
"Daniel, how does Max fit in?"
"Max, or rather some of his family still live in the desert. They found the Stargate parts when they started digging a new well. For years they had trekked past a small dark depression in the sand that marked a dried up oasis. They never paid much attention to it. Then the search for a likely place to put a new well got them to digging in the depression...pay dirt."
"So the pieces came from someplace out in the desert, underground?"
"Yep, and Max being an entrepreneur, I'm being polite, couldn't figure a way to capitalize on the find. He couldn't identify what he had...or he'd never have parted with any of it. His sense of history, he claimed, led him to send it to me. He thought the pieces were tossed into the oasis and abandoned by the Germans during World War II. He wanted to know what it was that he'd found. He even promised me a cut."
"When Max discovered that you won't tell him what it was, how did he react to the mystery?" Sam saw Max as more than Daniel's dishonest acquaintance. She saw a man capable of ruthlessness.
"He's being mysterious about it. He did admit that he hadn't sent all the pieces they'd found. He wouldn't give me the exact location or any details. Max is a pack rat on the alert for anyway to turn a coin so we can bet he's onto something big and way over his head or he'd never have parted with the sections he did send."
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Sam, if you're thinking that we've only scratched the surface on this then, yep, I'm thinking what you're thinking. We've got to see the site, there may be more there than just a half-dug well. Max's 'other pieces' might just be what we've come for. There may be more sections of a Stargate. What choice do we have if we want to follow through on this?"
"Actually, I was thinking we were walking into a trap."
"Well, yeah, that too. He insisted that we keep the reason for our presence a secret until we got to the site. I told him I was pretty sure we were prepared to do that. Max wouldn't be above using force. He implied very strongly that people who cross him have been known to disappear completely. We can watch each other's backs, it's not like we've never walked into a trap before."
The grind of travel was the same everywhere, miles and miles of beautiful scenery linked by smooth winding roads. Well, in some places it was like that. Teal'c's report that the roads were rarely paved, not maintained and often impassable, sugarcoated reality. His evaluation of local transportation followed suit.
Max's truck had probably once had gauges, even a clock, a door on the glove box and a working fuel gauge. Long gone to scavengers or thieves, only gaping rust rimmed holes remained in the dashboard. They didn't need a clock; they knew what time it was. It would soon be sundown. They didn't need to know how fast they were going. They suspected that they weren't going fast enough, that they were likely to be caught by darkness. And just as likely to miss their ride tomorrow.
Just beyond the northern fringe of Khartoum, they discovered that the gas gauge didn't work. Daniel attempted to engage the switch that should have changed over to the full tank Max had promised. Of course the switch either didn't work or the curator lied about the extra full tank. It would be dark in a couple of hours and they were probably out of fuel.
"So, Daniel, when does the fun start?"
The sun was a giant fireball just above the shimmering horizon when the old truck rocked and creaked into a deteriorating 'gas station'. The welcome stop resembled a way-station of sorts, something from the American old west. Horses were tied at the side of a small lean-to where an old man did a thriving business out of a cigar box. A desert version of the convenience store; he sold fuel, roast chicken and bottled water. Under a flapping canvas, he offered three long board tables and rough benches 'For the convenience of customers only'.
At the far end of one table sat four Arabs in quiet conversation. They were dressed head to foot in the black cloth of their tribal robes. One, a tall relaxed figure leaned back, his fingers laced behind his head; the classic scimitar at his belt was almost too 'story book'. What of his face wasn't covered by a dark winding cloth was shadowed from the brilliant setting sun.
Next to the tall man sat a smaller companion whose features indicated that he was probably Nubian. Beside him sat a slender figure, no more than a boy by his features. The resemblance between them was strong enough to mark the boy and the Nubian as relation. The fourth man, easily the largest man at the table, sat a little apart from his companions. His eyes, revealed by a slit in the wrapped cloth, studied the traffic on the road.
While Daniel hand cranked the fuel pump, Sam checked the water and oil. The last thing they wanted was to be stopped and in need of repairs along this road.
Chapter 3 Making new friends
The native patrons under the canopy watched the Americans without bothering to conceal their interest. The smaller man eventually broke away from his comrades. Approaching Daniel, his open right hand was raised in the Arab greeting of friendship. "The tires are thin," he observed in perfect English, stopping himself short of kicking at one of four matching rubber balloons.
"We know." Daniel answered.
In his native language, the Arab introduced himself and his comrades in elaborate fashion. Daniel responded with what Sam had come to identify as his traditional greeting.
Rather than listen to another conversation she wouldn't understand, Sam took the opportunity to add oil to the leaky crankcase and haul water to fill the rusty radiator.
By the time Daniel had completed refueling, the Arab had returned to his companions. Delighted about something, he dismissed the youth with a wave.
On his way to gather the horses, the young man passed Sam with a glare of open contempt. She was surprised that, as a woman, she was even noticed. The three men climbed across the tailgate of the old truck and settled down under the thin canvas, their backs to the old cab.
"Daniel?"
"We're giving them a ride in exchange for protection."
"Protection? You trust them?" Sam never trusted anyone automatically.
"No, but we can voluntarily give them a ride or we could be hijacked down the road a mile or so." Daniel's logic could use some examination but on the surface it made sense.
Sam observed, "Or both could happen."
Their road followed the course of the Nile. Somewhere the river was a beautiful blue rippling band that reflected the burnished orange sunset. The beauty of Africa. Not where they were. What they saw of the Nile was through dust kicked up by passing vehicles and sand set swirling by the wind. The river they followed appeared as a dull blue-gray strap of metal. The sameness of the sand-cloaked scenery put Sam to sleep in spite of the uncomfortable ride.
The nerve racking crawl demanded by common sense and the road conditions dulled Daniel's senses. About midnight, he pulled off the pavement into a narrow strip of small tourist shops and campsites. "Sam...Sam wake up. I've about run off the road a couple of times. Let's trade places before I fall asleep at the wheel."
The truck had hardly come to a complete stop before the tailgate clanked down and their passengers rolled out. Two of the men hovered near the truck while the third set about building a small fire against the chilly night.
Numbed by the vibration through the thin floorboards, when she climbed out of the truck, Sam tripped on the old running board. She stumbled off balance. As she rolled on the sand righting herself, the taller Arab reached her before she rose to her feet. He lifted and steadied her, bowed and backed away before she made eye contact or had offered him polite thanks.
"Sam, you okay?" Daniel had seen her fall and the Arab help her up. He wondered at an act of Western chivalry in this part of the world.
"Yes, just a little numb from riding." Sam couldn't shake the feeling that somehow their passengers weren't quite what they claimed. The way they moved, the things they did just didn't mesh with other Arabs she and Daniel had seen and met on this trip. But she knew she was apt to be overly suspicious and tried to put her uneasiness down to her own imagination.
Stretched and ready to go on, Daniel waved and called to the three men seated around the small fire. In less than fifteen minutes, they'd set up a passable camp. In even less time, they were back in the truck with not the least threatening action.
Sam wasn't pacified. There was something about them that wasn't right, something she didn't trust. Something she couldn't put her finger on. Back on the pavement, she gave in to her suspicions. "Daniel, stay awake for a little longer. If we're going to be hijacked, this would be the perfect place and opportunity."
"Sam, it's a chance we have to take. If we don't stop, we should be all right. Besides, what do we have that anyone would want?"
"Daniel, what was that leering and squeezing about back in Khartoum at Max's?"
Nodding, smiling to himself, Daniel knew Sam would want an explanation. "He asked me who you were."
"Did he understand theoretical astrophysicist?"
"No, he wouldn't have understood that, but he understood 'wife'."
"Not very creative of you."
"Well, it was better than co-worker or girl friend. Either of those descriptions and I'd have been obliged to trade you for this truck. Blonde hair is like spun gold to these people. I meant to ask you to cover your head but it was too late. Wives are bargaining chips if their husbands want to get rid them, otherwise its considered bad form to suggest that a transaction include a cherished spouse."
Daniel yawned and laughed quietly. They had come prepared to bargain for transportation, but it hadn't occurred to him that Sam was currency. "When Max made the mistake of suggesting that you would be acceptable in exchange for the truck, I took the opportunity to close the deal with his generous apology."
Sam settled into the driving rhythm that she had watched Daniel develop. The single burning headlight shone just far enough ahead that she could safely maneuver around other night travelers without using the brakes. This was the only road north out of Khartoum. It served as much traffic as the busiest highway in the United States, yet it was little more than a wide city street.
She drove at a slow steady speed. The traffic thinned out with the late hour but the old truck had its own internal governor; age.
At dawn, when the road turned east to work its way around the Sixth Cataract, Sam spotted a group of flickering lights back some distance off the highway. Then ahead on the shoulder a large wind and sandblasted sign. First Fuel - Sixth Cataract, hand-painted in Arabic, French and English.
"Daniel, you awake?"
"Yeah."
She pointed off to the right. "I think this the place? Should we stop here?"
The banging on the cab and howling from the hitchhikers answered for him.
"Well, Max didn't say it was a town, but I'm guessing this is would be where our passengers would like us to stop."
The First Fuel - Sixth Cataract was an amazingly modern truck stop. It was more of a village than a way-station. Scattered out in a semi-circle away from the highway were small wooden cabins for European tourists - a motel, not modern but civilized by local standards. Along the unpaved road in front of the cabins were produce carts with every imaginable edible for sale. The market place was geared to both tourist and local needs. It was as close to a genuine bazaar as Sam had ever seen.
Beyond and behind the cabins stood an array of tents, each equipped with the trappings of on-going desert life; children, horses, tied goats - a true village. Some tents seemed permanent, some were quickly set up lean-tos, and some were the small pole tents of those in transit. The Fuel Stop was a metropolis in the desert.
The three hitchhikers scrambled out of the truck and disappeared into the tent village without a backward glance. Their hosts watched them with relief as they melted into their kindred.
The cluster of life at the fuel stop was comforting and confusing at the same time. Here was where they were to wait. Wait for the ride Max had arranged. If they could trust him. Wait to find out if it's a trap set to kidnap them. Wait to find out if they were as good at taking care of themselves as they'd always believed.
They sat with the truck from dawn until late morning. It occurred to them that they were either set up or played for fools or about to be ambushed. The baking sun boiled away a lot of the fun and a considerable amount of what little confidence they'd placed in Max. They trusted Max not to be trusted.
Near noon the dull cutting thump of two sixty-foot rotors set the air, the sand and the population of the fuel stop in motion. The two American's found themselves in the shadow of the biggest helicopter they'd ever seen. The three hitchhikers pushed to the front of the market crowd that had come to greet the huge craft.
"This is our ride." Sam recognized the big Chinook helicopter, a sky crane, it was one of the few man-made devices capable of moving the size and weight of a Stargate. "Daniel, they either have a completed Stargate, or they're getting one, why else would they have something this size?"
"Max?"
The two men who walked down the lowered cargo ramp at the rear of the flying crane were dressed in Western suits. Miniature versions of Max. They easily sorted out Sam and Daniel from among the local merchants and gwaking bystanders.
Chapter 4 "Are we there yet?"
Introducing themselves as Max's sons, the two young men sent their guests up the rear ramp into the body of the helicopter. Three pairs of airline style seats were secured to the deck plates in the forward area. The SGC duo belted themselves into a pair of seats that set facing each other near a large round window. The cluster of comfortable seats created a cozy nook in the cavernous cargo hold.
One of Max's sons climbed into the old truck and ground at the starter. Weaving past the crowd, he made his way along the string of merchants' stands. The old truck became a convenient grocery cart.
The population of the entire village seemed to be involved in loading the truck with produce and meat on the hoof. Sam and Daniel watched the grocery shopping and loading through the huge window.
They could pick out their passengers from yesterday mingling with the crowd and helping to load the truck. Maybe they did belong here and hitchhiking was just a faster easier route home than horseback would have been. Sam watched them work with the villagers. There was something about them that was out of place. She usually trusted her own instincts and it bothered her that she didn't trust them when it came to those three Arabs. She wondered if it was the nature of the country or her own nature that caused her suspicions.
"Daniel, there's something not right about those guys who rode with us. I can't put my finger on it, but I still think there's something going on."
"Well, we'll be on our way shortly. Sam, all Arabs aren't like Max." Daniel chalked her concern up to Max's unsavory influence.
The old truck, now loaded with groceries destined for Max's secret location, rumbled up the rear ramp and into the helicopter. When the ramp was raised and the truck anchored in place, Max's relatives took seats next to their guests. The weekly shopping trip was half over.
"How long?" Daniel shouted above the roar of the rotors as they lifted off the sand. Conversation was nearly impossible over the noise, but the man held up two fingers. Could be two hours, could be two minutes. They settled back, facing each other, shrugging. The next stop would be Max's new well.
When Jack O'Neill had said they were kids looking for a toy store, he knew his people. The longer they were in the air, the more impatient they grew. The wilder their imaginings, the less alert to their surroundings they became.
Two hours in the air brought them to the desert site, nearly deaf from the noise and dulled by travel. The huge craft circled the dark depression in the sand where the new well had been started. Without the cluster of tents and scurrying children, the site would have passed beneath them unnoticed.
The helicopter sat down a quarter of a mile from their destination. They were numb from the uninsulated vibration. Stepping off the rear ramp on legs that continued to tremble even on the solid sand, they stood out of the way of the backing truck.
There was no doubt Sam and Daniel weren't anxious to walk the hot sandy distance from the landing pad to the camp, yet at bottom of the ramp, the truck turned around and headed off without giving them a choice.
They trudged along the hardened strip of sand that passed for a road. The unwelcome walk served to shake out the numbness and kinks of the flight. The immense silence of the desert allowed their humming eardrums to begin to recover.
Scuffing across the sand, Daniel was unusually silent. With some encouragement he shared what had been puzzling him since the crates where first unpacked back at the SGC. "Sam, do we know how to re-calibrate the point of origin on a Stargate and its DHD? To change its original coordinates to an entirely different location?"
The air rippled with heat. The walk to the tent camp had left them making their way across a quarter mile of desert in the hottest part of the day. Heat seeped into their shoes and the hot wind carried granules of irritating sand. Two scientists picking at a mystery weren't apt to notice.
"Well, sure. We programmed a computer to recognize Earth's coordinates and the Stargate recognized them too."
"So it doesn't matter where a Gate is, on a ship say traveling through space, its DHD could be perpetually re-calibrated to work from any point in space?"
"Theoretically, yes. The ship would be required to remain stationary during dialing and during the time the wormhole was open. It would take a massive chunk of software but yes; it's probably possible. Where are you going with this?"
"Sam, suppose we find a Stargate here? The SGC could put it on the Prometheus. Taking the next step - what would keep them from rearranging the Gate system to suit political agendas and policies?"
"What's your point?"
"With enough Stargates, we could become the Goa'uld. Not hosts and symbiotes but dominators. Universal merchants of our culture, gradually absorbing and nullifying the variety that's out there. I'm not so sure that having access to Stargates for experimentation coupled with possession of coordinating software is a good idea."
"Daniel, we're only looking for one Gate; let's find it before we start expanding."
"Just one more, huh?"
Chapter 5 People are the same everywhere
Max's extended family populated the tent community at the new well. Perhaps twenty curious women and children came out into the desert bringing their visitors water and news of the most recent find. Once they discovered that Daniel spoke their language, he was pelted with tidbits of gossip and news faster than he could translate for Sam.
"They've found more gray rocks. The sections Max sent to the SGC were only part of a cache found blocking the excavation of their new well. Seems they've now found an entrance of some kind in the side of the well. They say there's water, but it's not in the well. As soon as we're rested they'll show us."
"That's the most interesting thing we've heard in days. Let's hope this 'entrance' leads somewhere."
In the sprawling tent village, the tired travelers found themselves seated atop flat cushions in the shadow of a flapping canopy. The breeze under the cloth strips wasn't cooled by the shade they created, but out of the sun the tourists begin to recover from the rough travel. Melons and oranges that were at the Sixth Cataract supermarket earlier were now sliced and served to them by the hospitable desert people. Bowls were brought and they were encouraged to cool their hot faces. Being waited on by Max's open generous family was energizing. Being able to sit on something that didn't move and vibrate was relaxing.
Rested, refreshed and nothing short of giddy to be about it, they were led by two of Max's grandsons to the dark depression that marked the new well. The two boys dropped lit torches down into the well next to a ladder. There was no sign of water, no dampness. The ladder rested where the digging had stopped ten feet below the surface when the excavators had come to the stone sections.
The eager scientists followed the young Arabs down the ladder. Against the side of the well, heaped like refuse, the components of a locking chevron were piled tumbled together. Max wasn't lying; he hadn't sent everything they'd found with the Stargate sections. The teammates glanced at the familiar components and then at each other, choosing not to acknowledge the incredible find aloud.
Daniel turned to examine the walls of the well. He had been in too many pyramids not to recognize mud brick construction. The well appeared to have been dug through the lowest level of the pyramid. The new entrance they'd found actually led to an ancient gallery that descended on beneath the pyramid.
They stepped from the well's bottom through the entrance and into the gallery-like passageway. It was high enough for Daniel to walk without stooping. The floor sloped down at a gentle angle; only occasional stairs interrupted the incline. The archeologist had walked, crawled, crept and scooted on his belly through many similar passages. He was certain that the well was being dug through the base of a decayed pyramid.
"Sam, we're inside a pyramid, or what's left of one, I'm certain of it. This passage was for access into some sort of super secret inner chamber." In the boys' language, Daniel repeated the information and added a little something for interest.
"What was all that about?"
"What I told you plus I mentioned that workers were sometimes buried alive in the walls to stand guard for eternity." Daniel had too much experience inside pyramids to believe that they were being led directly toward a destination. They had made turns off the gallery passageway, more than he would have expected. Yet, they continued to follow the boys on through a maze of intersections. They walked and crawled up and down slopes and followed the boy's flickering torches along passageways large enough for standing but so narrow they threatened claustrophobia. Their young fearless guides charged ahead into the blackness of the maze. The boys had been playing in these cool passages for a week.
In the near-darkness, Sam and Daniel's eyes had adjusted to the faintest light. But when the guides and their torches disappeared, leaving them standing at a fork in the passageway, they were blind, truly in the dark. They slid their hands slowly along the rough walls. At a turn in the passage, they heard the jostling joy of boys who couldn't resist being boys. Sam and Daniel moved forward only until they could confirm that what they were hearing was in fact the boys enjoying themselves at the expense of the foreigners in their midst.
"Daniel, I have an idea." Sam's whisper didn't carry beyond his ear. "Let's play our own game. Why don't we wait back around that last corner?"
They didn't have to wait long. The strained whispers and flickering torches of their would-be guides backtracked along the cool passageway.
As the boys approached the corner, amazingly, they missed the two adults crouched down in the shadows cast by their torches. With the precision of any SG team, Daniel and Sam jumped out behind the boys, arms waving, shouting in blood curdling joy.
Whatever the adults expected it wasn't that they'd be left standing in a pitch dark maze watching their guides - and only light source - bounce, screaming and waving toward some distant exit as fast as the legs of the young and agile could go.
"Daniel, I have an idea."
"Another one?"
"Don't turn around, we should start walking in the direction we're facing, otherwise we'll be lost in here without any means of orientation." Sam was right and in a few minutes they were met by adults carrying extra torches.
The trip back down the gallery passageway didn't take any turns and wasn't nearly as long as their first trip. Within thirty feet of the passage entrance the silent brick walls of the dead pyramid became smooth native rock. It didn't take either of them long to confirm that they were no longer inside the pyramid - they had descended below the rough mud-brick walls into passages whose walls were smoother than glass.
Each foot of decent was now accompanied by the increasing roar of cascading water. The deafening echo vibrated around them. At one final turn, they stood at the edge of an underground river. The water fought its way around obstructions along its course. An underground cataract had been created by the scattered components of a Stargate. Their feet wet with treasure, Max's sons saw only the water. Any one from the SGC would have ignored the water and seen only the gray metallic stones. Treasure is in the eye of the beholder.
A thousand thousand years ago a void had been vaporized inside the pyramid's mountain foundation. A smooth domed ceiling longer and wider than a football field roofed over the cavern. The ancient architects had created an under-ground cathedral in which to place their Stargate.
Back up on the desert sand and away from the assaulting roar of the echoing rapids, Sam and Daniel sat under the light of swaying lanterns in a large tent. The golden light played across threadbare carpeting and patched pillows. The men in Max's large family had gathered to hear Daniel. They had been led to believe that the American archeologist would bring them riches. Wealth even beyond the value of flowing water in the desert. Only with the discovery of the underground river and the additional gray stones had they believed it.
"Did you find any more of the gray stones down along the passageways? Is the one Max sent to me, the only one you'd seen before you discovered those and the river?" Daniel began at the beginning, Sam would have started in the middle with something like, 'How many are there?' But she let Daniel lead. His friends, his knowledge of the culture, his use of the language, would get them the information they needed. It would take longer but he'd get it all, every detail. Then he'd make a deal for the pieces that the SGC would accept and Max would get rich from.
With no reason to believe that she would play any part in what looked to be an all night male feast of bargaining, eating, and more bargaining, Sam opted for sleep. She had a sleeping bag with her pack still in the truck and the cushions in the small tent she'd been loaned began to call to her tired parts.
Chapter 6 "You're not gonna believe this."
Sam bowed herself quietly out of the male haggle Daniel reveled in and went to retrieve her pack. The total blackness and a surprising chill hurried her in the direction of the dark shape of the truck. Near its front fender, she sensed more than saw movement.
Berating herself, she wrenched open the old door. 'It's just that I'm not used to real darkness,' she thought. Where there were no streetlights, or bright parking lots to light the night sky, the expanse of darkness became a tangible entity. It pricked civilized senses with its strangeness. And to alert minds, strange often translated as danger.
If night in the desert was supposed to be beautiful, this one wasn't. Her ears still hummed from the vibrating echo after echo of tumbling water trapped under tons of rock. Her eyes strained through the dark curtain of night for some contrast that would outline any form other than the truck.
From the darkness at the crumpled fender, a shape seemed to gather out of the flat blackness of night. If it hadn't moved, she wouldn't have thought she'd seen anything at all. For an instant her mind tricked her into thinking it was moving toward her. She doubted her senses and considered that the darkness was playing tricks on her eyes.
She ignored her own warning system because she no longer trusted her instincts in this environment. She reached into the truck to retrieve her backpack. In an instant, between heartbeats, she trusted herself again.
A gloved hand covered her mouth cutting off the sound that would have alerted Daniel and the others. Something cold at her throat ended any real attempt to call out. She didn't think it was a knife but that wasn't a chance she could take. The edge pressed against her throat was too dull to be a knife, and the steady pressure was almost too gentle to be a threat.
She could get out of this easily, just wait for the right moment. If this was one of the boys from the passageway playing more tricks, she felt no hesitation in teaching him something about Western women. Her legs were free and she knew she could cause some real pain. All she needed was a chance.
And she got it. Wheeling around, she confronted a masked face and a figure hidden in a dark cloak. Balanced with one foot just off the ground, she was only going to get one chance. "You want a piece of me..." she made her voice hoarse, a threatening whisper. The cool edge that pressed against her jaw raised her chin.
In the last instant before she could execute her escape, she was encircled. An arm at her waist and one across her shoulders, enveloping her; crushing her off balance. Bent backward yet pressed against the figure inside the cloak and secure from falling, she thrashed ineffectively until her attempted shout was drowned by the warmth of unexpected lips pressing against hers. Flailing arms became clinging and resistance became compliance. She gave up control without realizing it, drowning in the moment.
Her half shout had the haggling men tearing open the tent letting light out to play on the black swirling shape at the truck.
Gently settled to the ground, Sam was freed as quickly as she had been snared. Blackness swallowed blackness. None of it made sense. In the tension of the unknown, she had suspected the boys of far worse than stealing a kiss in the dark. It was like a scene from some old movie. Daniel was never going to believe this. Since they'd left Max's place, he was already convinced she was imagining things.
Out of breath, Daniel reached Sam's crumpled figure. "What the heck are you doing down there?"
"I don't know what happened." She wanted to sound controlled, to have a theory. She couldn't tell Daniel that she'd been kissed by a sheik. She didn't think it sounded truthful, even though she knew the fact of it. She had to admit that it wasn't all that novel. She'd had knives at her throat before, and she'd been captured by surprise before. And the rest, well she could still feel the pressure on her lips and there was no way Daniel was ever going to hear that.
Daniel trusted his own eyes at the moment more than he trusted his teammate. "Not much mystery in what I saw."
She'd forgotten what a romantic Daniel was. He'd believe something from an old movie before he'd believe in a yellow sun.
"Well, you didn't see it all."
"Whatever. Sam, are you all right?"
"I'm fine, probably one of Max's sons having fun with the tourists." She heard herself say that, but she didn't believe it. That kiss was no teenage dare.
Chapter 7 Souvenirs
The deal Daniel made with Max's sons gave the museum curator everything he'd ever wanted plus a few things his vivid greed would never have dreamed of. The deal Daniel made gave the SGC the very thing they had come for: another Stargate. If...the jumble of pieces in the underground rapids held enough sections to create a complete circle? Daniel was assured that there were many more pieces in the river and that he would have all the help he needed to retrieve them...when they knew how he was going to get them to the surface.
Daniel wanted to believe it was possible. Max wanted to deal. Sam wanted to count. The message that shot back from the SGC told them to bring every shard and chip of gray metal home at whatever the cost. Complete Gate or not, security demanded nothing less. It was SGC policy to keep alien technology out of civilian hands. However, no teams or equipment would be sent to assist them and call attention to their find. They would have to work with what they had.
The vacation was over. Sam didn't have to make the trek back down from the little well through the narrow passageway and into the cavern to know that the sections would have to come to the surface right straight up from the river bed. There would be no dragging them back up through the passageways.
While Daniel went with Max's sons to bring back equipment for drilling and hoisting, Sam began a detailed survey of the pyramid's passageways and the river cavern beneath. The drill rig would be positioned on the sandy surface above the underground rapids. A small opening would be drilled through the cavern dome. Eventually a five-foot opening would be made to allow direct access to the Stargate pieces. To Max's twittering delight, he would have a water supply that he was certain would make him wealthier and more powerful than a pharaoh.
By the time Max's sons returned with the necessary equipment, the old truck, half a dozen men, Daniel and Max himself, Sam had spent two days hip-deep in the torrent counting and photographing the scattered sections. Her only tool for plotting the aboveground positioning of the drilling rig to match the underground river was a compass. The iron content of the surrounding rock made the accuracy of her calculations iffy at best.
Lying stretched out on the hot sand like a basking lizard that second afternoon; she watched the Chinook approach and land out away from the camp. The bright dry heat of the desert felt good after hours in the dim cavern wading in cold rushing water. She lazily watched the rear ramp of the helicopter as it eased down onto the sand and into position. The drilling crew began unloading the rigging that would lift the ancient technology to the surface. She absently watched them struggle to position the long shafts and heavy mountings on the old truck. It was several minutes before she realized what she was actually looking at. She laid the dullness of her perception to the numbing cold.
Some of the men hired to work Max's ancient drill rig were the same men that had ridden with them from Khartoum.
"Daniel, you hired them...the hitchhikers...to drill a well?"
"I didn't hire anybody. Max met us at the Fuel Stop with the rig and he had already hired a crew."
"But why did you let him hire them?" Her hand thrust toward the group of black clad men turning a section of drill rig working it down the ramp.
"They were all Max could get. He doesn't seem to have a very savory reputation and three of the hitchhikers, plus the other three, rebel refugees I think, were all he could get."
"Those four."
"What?"
"Those four...there four are over there."
"Whatever." Daniel's attention was not on Sam. He was already mentally handling the newfound Gate sections. "Max insists he can do the drilling himself, his equipment is old, it's probably scavenged from an abandoned dig but he says it will do the job."
In a day and half, the rig for drilling was laid out ready for assembly. The question of where to put it had them all looking at Sam. Without the sensing equipment she would like to have used, she could only offer her best guess as to where on the surface to drill. When "X" marked the spot, the rig went up two hundred feet south of Max's little well and a long hot trek from the tents.
With Max in charge, the drill bit crunched through the packed sand, jerked as it bit through rock and in less than two minutes of twisting grind, dropped free into the river below.
At the top of her lungs, Sam screamed to the cluster of workers and curious watchers. "Run! Ruuuuunnnnn! Ruuuuuunnnnn!" She heard herself shouting above the slow earth-rumbling sound of cracking rock. Running on lead filled legs in loose sand, the workers and the curious of Max's family stumbled and dragged themselves away from the drill rig. Behind them, an expanding and then gaping hole opened in the desert.
When the cavern's ceiling had crumbled as far back as its outer walls and the crashing roar of falling rock had dulled to shuddering rest, the desert stillness, now an eerie silence, returned. The small hole Max needed for a well opening - that Sam and Daniel had needed to hoist out the Stargate pieces - was an opening in the sand that stretched away from them several hundred feet along the course of the river. No wider than fifty feet, the opening was less than twenty feet deep. They stood on the edge watching the river divert around the cavern's ceiling - newly dropped in its path. Somewhere down there the pieces of a Stargate were now joined by a mangled drill rig and several tons of rock.
The dome would have held, if the rock had been thicker or the hole smaller or the dome rounder, or if they'd drilled farther from the wall. A dozen ifs Sam didn't have the equipment to determine. She felt responsible. She always did when others paid for her ideas. That no one was hurt softened the blow only a little. That everyone seemed delighted with the oversized oblong opening tempered her disappointment but she knew how close they'd all come and a lucky accident didn't change anything. She would not make the same mistake when the hoisting began.
Max's family had paraded down through the passages to stand in the river, feet in flowing water, heads thrown back, faces in the sun. His bulk prevented him from joining them. When Max stood at the edge of the oblong opening, he stood at the crest of a dream he'd only conjured in the moments after the collapse of the dome. He would build a city in the desert. Their lives were forever changed by Max's plan. Sam and Daniel's only went on. They gave little thought to what effect that much water might have on their plans.
The collapse of the cavern roof left Sam looking for a way to remove the crumbled dome material and Stargate sections without risking the integrity of the surrounding desert...or any lives. There was no way of knowing if other pyramid passages led to outlying rocky tunnels. Perhaps a honeycomb of them existed around the river opening. With the SGC's moratorium on shipping technology into the area, there was no way Sam would be able to find out if the ground were stable enough to mount the hoisting equipment.
The four hitchhikers worked from the precipice with winches, pulleys and lifting nets, laboring with Max's family to clear away the shattered roof. The Stargate sections could be raised the same way but the work would take much longer than it should and the metal-like sections were heavier. Max's ropes were beginning to wear. Someone would get hurt. Her decision to use the Chinook rather than Max's hoisting rig for lifting the heavier pieces made sense. After all, it was a sky crane. But first they would have to clear the debris.
Down in the open cavern, the two Americans stood in the cold water, their hands and feet were frozen and their backs were scorched. But by the combined efforts of men, women and some of the children, they were making progress.
The intense level of activity above and down in the cavern called attention to three lounging figures at the edge of the river. With Max's family creating a humming beehive in the cavern, the refugees hired for drilling lounged aloof from the work, suspiciously idle.
"Daniel, did you pack a zat?" Sam wasn't going to be caught short. Since the encounter at the truck, she again trusted her instincts.
"Yeah, you want me to shoot somebody?" Daniel's answer was more in the form of a Murder Incorporated contract than an agreement to arm himself.
"See those three men over there? Now, I know you think I over-reacted to the hitchhikers, so you'll probably think the same thing when I tell you those guys are planning something and it isn't going to be good." She turned her back to the rebel refugees, lifting a rock into a hoisting net. Her zat was as far away as Daniel's.
"So you aren't worried about the hitchhikers anymore?" Daniel teased but made a mental note to fish his zat out of his backpack the next time he was on the surface.
A long day's work successfully cleared the river of the crumbled dome. Tomorrow the pieces of ancient gray metal would be pried out of the sockets they had settled into millennia ago. The tight suction of eons that locked them in the river's muddy bottom would be broken and a new Stargate would soon be on its way to the SGC.
Bent with effort, by lantern light before sunrise, the entire camp began prying, digging, slipping and often sitting on the wedge shaped sections to worry them free of their wet storage. All morning, pieces were slung into the lifting harness under the helicopter and then laid out on the sand for Daniel to count, photograph and catalog. What they had recovered resembled the dismantled section that Max had sent to lure Daniel to this very spot.
The contoured riverbank that had been wet by the river's splashing all its life had dried and baked in the sun until now it was cracked and split. Peppered with wet footprints, the smooth bank would soon be covered with sand sifting down from above. A beach in the desert drove Max to ecstasy.
A little after noon, Daniel had signaled that enough of the right kind of pieces had been recovered. Ten curious people continued probe the river bottom with tent poles, feeling for the solid chunking sound that wood makes against metal or stone. There might be other artifacts related to the Stargate and this was the best chance the SGC would have to find and claim them. In this manner, Sam located what may have been the stone steps of the Stargate's mounting platform.
They led from the river bottom up into the cracking rock. Several yards on down the bank, there was a raised area where, her experience told her, a DHD would have been positioned. This was the third Gate found on Earth. The first two had DHDs but there was no sign of one here. Sam continued to search while the drying parts were loaded into the cargo hold of the Chinook.
The weight of thirty-eight sections of Stargate plus chevrons was close to the maximum load for the giant flying crane, especially when the old truck, the drilling crew, and Max were added in.
Max's pilot was, of course, a family member and as such would obey Max without question or conscience. However, he was concerned that the weight of this cargo would impair the helicopter's ability to maneuver. And, in less than blind obedience to Max, he loudly said so to anyone who would listen. Sam believed that his concern was valid but they had been careful to load for balance and as long as the weather remained stable, the flight to Aswan should be without event.
About three in the afternoon, with the passengers ready to board, the cargo secured, and Max already settled in his own seat, the pilot couldn't be found. No one could remember having seen him since Sam convinced everyone else that the craft was safe to fly. With no pilot, the Stargate that laid here in the desert for thousands of years would stay here unless someone stepped up who could fly the sky crane.
"Daniel, I need you to come with me. I think I can fly the Chinook but, well, you know, approaching Max alone, I..." She had limited helicopter experience but flying was flying...she hoped. She'd dare to take on piloting the huge helicopter before she'd dare to step into Max's reach without backup.
"You can fly that?" The question in Daniel's tone of voice was unintentional. He was just surprised.
Her temper was already on edge at the thought of having to deal with Max. Any slack in her self-confidence rapidly disappeared in defiance of Daniel's doubt. "Why not?" Is Max's culture rubbing off on you?"
"Sam, you know better, it's just that being a fighter pilot wouldn't necessarily make you a helicopter pilot any more than studying old bones would make me a doctor."
"Daniel, you are a doctor." With her teammate along as support, and a deterrent to Max's nature, she did her best to convince the leering curator that she could fly the helicopter. Nothing fancy, just take off, keep a course and land safely.
When Max declined Sam's offer, Daniel took her part against a cultural bias he would never embrace. Prepared to argue for the wisdom of doing something rather than sitting here stranded waiting for a miracle, Daniel was cut short when Max turned on them. All trace of his saccharin accommodation was gone. They were ordered to wait outside. Ushered out through the narrow personnel door behind the cockpit, they found themselves on the raw end of Max's temper. The lack of hospitality was a breach of local custom Daniel would not have thought even Max would flaunt.
The Americans strolled to the stern of the helicopter to wait in the shade of the loading ramp. With mounting suspicion, Sam and Daniel watched the hitchhikers file past them up the ramp and into Max's inner sanctum.
Sam tugged at his sleeve sure now that she had been correct in her suspicions, "Daniel, I knew there was something going on with them."
They eavesdropped on the conversation that took place around Max in the cargo hold. Daniel caught enough of the discussion to translate parts. At the strong recommendation of the Nubian, Max was being encouraged to trust himself and his helicopter to the stranger and his companions. Those few minutes of intense conversation held apart from the rest of the passengers seemed to have been all the convincing that Max required in selecting a new pilot.
Daniel couldn't hear all that was being said, and what he translated for Sam didn't make sense to either of them.
"What kind of encouragement did he use, Daniel? Max isn't the type to be 'encouraged' by just anyone?" She hadn't trusted them from the beginning.
"Sam, one or more of the hitchhikers is a pilot with references that Max recognizes. I'm beginning to think your instincts were right. There is something not quite tracking properly here but it may not involve us. Max asked them something about Aswan and they agreed, so we're evidently not a factor in their deal."
"We're a side trip? Don't you wonder what's in it for Max?" Sam would be glad when Max was part of the history of this little vacation.
"That's how it sounded."
Max's place in the fuselage was a very oversized chair at the helicopter's crane control box. The others buckled into the airline seats clustered across the aisle from his custom built station. The rest of the drilling crew stretched out in the truck. There was scarcely room to walk in the stadium sized cargo hold without stepping over, or edging around, the alien pieces.
Chapter 8 Time to go
With two of the hitchhikers in the cockpit, the whipping of the giant rotors built into a deafening blanket of sound. The sand was thrashed by the down draft and stirred it into a blinding cloud that enveloped the helicopter. The huge vessel lifted first front, then rear off the sand. The slow, hesitant ascent eventually leveled off into a smooth ride.
By the time they were clear of the sandy prop wash, the gaping slit in the desert looked like nothing more than a black mourning ribbon stretched out on a dead plot of ground.
Daniel believed that under Max's hand the opportunity presented by the freed river would never be realized. Max would, by nature, bleed the opportunity dry and leave his people thirsty, starving and in grinding poverty. That he and Sam were part of it didn't do anything to salve his conscience.
An hour into the four-hour flight, everyone but Daniel and Max had dozed off. In spite of the impossible noise of the rotors, the archeologist was trapped into listening to Max's grand design for the oasis-world he planned on creating. His high rise hotel, pool and parking garage, paved streets, European restaurants, airport and television station were laid out in great detail to stifled yawns. The improbable nature of his dream reminded Daniel that this was the same Max who preferred what he could dream or con or steal to what he could build.
It came from behind Daniel. His only warning was Max's shocked expression. In the instant before the curator's massive bulk appeared to swoon into a terrified faint, the archeologist was pinned to his seat.
Two of the rebels had Daniel gagged and tied down without stirring the other passengers. The Nubian awakened, groggy and disoriented when the boy cried out at being struck. The flat side of a hard well-trained hand left him unconscious. Sam had a little more time to react. She rolled out of her chair and came up zat in hand just in time for it to be kicked free. With Sam and the boy held as hostages, the refugees turned rebel sent their third man to the cockpit.
The trapped passengers shared glances of raised eyebrows, and half nods that communicated the same question. 'What do they want?' Surely these men had no idea what the cargo was. If they were kidnapping Max, they must have had some plan to ransom him and from what Sam and Daniel had seen, there wasn't much chance anyone who knew Max would want him back.
Most likely they would turn out to be hijacking the helicopter for rebel military use. If that were true, then Max along with the cargo and other passengers would only be baggage. Nothing more than litter to be dumped in the desert to clean out the helicopter in preparation for transporting armed troops.
In the cockpit, there was a quick scuffle. The rebel held the copilot at knifepoint drawing blood at his throat. The Chinook set down in an ocean of sand. On the ground, engines idling, with Max ineffective and Daniel tied to his chair, Sam was held at knifepoint. As he was coming to, the Nubian struggled with the boy's captor. His efforts to free the youth were stifled by threats to the co-pilot.
The knife at his throat dug deep enough that the copilot willingly opened the narrow door behind the cockpit. Ignoring Max, the rebels pushed the two men and the boy, one at a time, onto the sand. Behind them, Sam was the last in line. She took one last opportunity to avoid being left in the desert. Turning on her captor, with a punching elbow and a well placed knee, she earned only a moment of freedom before a flat hand beneath her ear and a shove left her lying senseless on the sand.
They had been overtaken and stranded in less than ten minutes. Only professionals with a well-rehearsed plan would have so smoothly executed the hijacking.
Their numb fascination with instant disaster had the four of them standing and watching the shrinking shadow as the massive chopper lifted to cruising altitude. Stranded literally in the middle of nowhere, the sandblast from its rotors obliterated their best chance of survival. It was the last piece of civilization they expected to ever see.
At less than a thousand feet, the craft began to wobble side to side, bow to stern. The erratic movement seemed to last for hours, but in no more than a few minutes the vessel regained flight trim. It hung stationary as if undecided on its next course and then began to settle back to the sand.
The rear ramp dropped in front of them like a giant welcome mat being positioned by a generous host. In the back of the truck, the tall black-clad copilot was tying the last knots that would keep the three unconscious hijacking rebels in their temporary brig.
The Nubian and Daniel, with Sam supported between them, followed the boy up the ramp back into the helicopter. They edged past the truck and back to their seats. The four of them were on the ground less than fifteen minutes. In that time, the balance of power in the helicopter obviously shifted.
Easing Sam into a seat, Daniel wondered how and by what means their rescue had come about, yet no suspicions would have caused him to refuse it. On the sand, without the helicopter, they would have lived a short time, their bodies would be covered by the sand and no trace of them ever found.
Forward, in the cockpit, the big Arab handled the controls that raised the ramp preparing for flight.
Max seemed not to have moved from his chair, in his hand a zat. Daniel's first thought was that a zat often altered the balance of power. His next thought was that Max had picked up Sam's weapon dropped in the fray.
A zat couldn't be left in civilian hands. Absently patting his thigh pocket he confirmed his was secure. In a daring instant, he took his eyes off Max to check for the zat kicked out of Sam's hand. He saw the hilt of the weapon on the deck under her seat. In a blur of mental replay, he remembered Max's threat that people who crossed him sometimes disappeared.
Daniel didn't want to shoot anyone. But the weapon couldn't be left in civilian hands. Twisting his body, he leaned away from Max. Opening the thigh pocket at his fingertips, he drew his zat out. Rising slowly, he turned back pointing it squarely at Max's over-sized chest. Motioning with his empty hand, Daniel's tight expression of determination told Max to surrender the alien weapon.
"I found it at a small dig near Giza." Max's unconcerned tone didn't ease Daniel's guard. "It was the power of the pharaohs, you know."
The curator had used the alien weapon to create an aura of power. For years he had held those around him hostage to the fear of a threat they couldn't understand. He couldn't be allowed to ever again use the weapon and it couldn't be left in civilian hands, especially hands with blood on them. Certain that he would long ago have learned the effects of three shots; Daniel cocked his weapon and with no wasted motion, extended his arm toward Max.
When Daniel spoke, his voice was quiet and controlled. "I can't let you leave here with that. Mine can do the same things that yours does. You have to know that I won't let you keep using it. That desert dream of yours? The wealth you'll surely acquire now that you have water enough to drown in. You'll never see that dream come to pass if you don't hand the device over." He knew that greed propelled Max. The arrogant curator, made invincible by his secret weapon, had grown to have no fear of death. His only concern now was the wealth that water in the desert meant. With a flat grin and a shrug of resignation, Max surrendered to reason.
"Let us be civilized, Doctor Jackson. I no longer need force to create my desires. I have a reputation that will continue to serve me. Soon I will have the wealth of the pharaohs. I was sure there was only one such weapon, that a pharaoh would not permit others to exist. Where did you find yours?"
Daniel answered with a half-truth so incredible he knew he wouldn't be believed. "I took it away from Ra."
Max shrugged off Daniel's flip response. He accepted his loss of the zat as nothing more than a minor setback he would easily remedy by some more conventional means.
"Aswan." Daniel kept his weapon pointed at Max for effect, for insurance, for security.
Max had retreated behind his mask of sugary congeniality and willingly gave the order for his new Arab pilots to continue on to Aswan.
The four black-cloaked Arabs who had huddled in the cockpit split up; two of them returned to take seats in the cargo hold. Their companions were left to pilot the craft.
Daniel strapped Sam into the airliner seat. She was in and out of consciousness but she would be all right by the time they landed. The bruise under her ear, an unwanted souvenir, would probably be there for a week.
From the forward section of the helicopter, Daniel watched the taller hitchhiker, a shrewd ally, signal the Nubian forward. He turned over the copilot's seat to his companion. Daniel suspected that he and Max might be the only people on board who couldn't fly the Chinook and he wasn't all that sure about Max. The taller man, free of cockpit duty, ambled toward Daniel.
When the hitchhikers could have thrown in with the hijacking rebels, the four Arabs chose to resist at the risk of their own lives. With Max's zat, the two pilots re-took the ship. Daniel knew that simply having a vessel like this huge helicopter - capable of transporting hundreds of rebel troops - would be worth the taking by any of the revolutionaries in the area. Yet, these four passed up that chance at considerable risk to themselves. There were still people who did the right thing for no reason other than it was the right thing.
"Thank you for helping us, for coming back after us." Daniel expressed his appreciation in the formal language of the Sudanese Arabs and then in English.
"Well, thank ya Daniel, it's always nice to be appreciated." Unwinding the black cloth that had allowed him to move freely with friends from his black ops days, Jack O'Neill dropped into the seat across from Daniel and the unconscious Sam.
"Jack! Why are you here?" Daniel's defiance hid his surprise under a mask of objection. Before the question could be answered, the indignant archeologist leaned forward in his seat, his eyes narrowed, his chin raised. "You didn't think we could manage alone, did you? You came here because you didn't think we could get each other back safely if something went wrong. You didn't think we could handle ourselves did you? Doubt me if you will, but you knew Sam could handle anything. You didn't trust us to get home safely, did you?"
The irate barrage was nothing new from Daniel and O'Neill responded as usual. "Well, no, I mean yes...you were handling it until you got yourself mixed up with rebels out to steal the same helicopter your friend Max owned. You were doing fine until you got yourself tied up. You were headed home until you got yourselves tossed out in the middle of the desert. But I wasn't worried, you'd have figured something out."
O'Neill leaned back in his seat turning toward Sam. "Has she been conscious since you came back aboard?" He nodded toward the Colonel, still slumped in the seat where Daniel and the Nubian had put her.
"In and out, but she'll be okay." Daniel glared at Jack, a trace of grateful welcome showed but he was still on the defense. "We would have you know...figured something out. You could have trusted us."
"Oh, Daniel, I'm really here because Teal'c wanted to see Africa. What could I do? He'd read so much about it, and then when you two took off from the SGC, his pouting wore me down. Really."
"Teal'c's here, too?"
"He's the pilot. When he got a look at this monster bird, nothing else would do. If you want Ra's view of Africa, check it out." A jerk of O'Neill's head ended the thorny welcome session and sent Daniel toward the best seat in the house: the cockpit.
From the corner of his eye, he watched his commander lean forward toward his unconscious teammate, reaching across taking her hands in his. Behind a smile Daniel thought...'You had a reason for being here all right, but it had nothing to do with Teal'c or rebels or trust.'
Egypt was a couple of hundred miles north - home, a little farther.
Chapter 9 "It's good to be home."
The C-5 Galaxy that brought SG-1 and its newest acquisition back home, landed at a secure strip in southern Montana. The convoy of trucks that filed into Area 51 less than twenty-four hours later backed into heavily guarded tents.
In less time than that Sam was in her lab overseeing the packing of Daniel's Stargate section and preparing to escort it to Nevada. A team at Area 51 had been assigned to assemble the Beta Gate.
Daniel was pouring over stacks of photographs of the Ancients' writings looking for any reference to what they'd seen in the desert.
Teal'c's quarters resembled a hardware store. He was attempting to disassemble Max's ancient zat to get at a power source that had lasted much longer than any modern Jaffa's zat would have. Unable to access the energy module, he had about decided pass it on to the science teams.
General O'Neill was nowhere to be found until the morning two days later when the debriefing was scheduled. The knock on his half-open door came to him as no surprise.
"Carter, we've got a briefing coming up. If this has anything to do with the Stargate parts, save it till then. Otherwise, have a seat."
"No sir." She answered to the offer of a chair; she would let her commander assume she was answering to the briefing.
Sam remained standing just inside the office, her back to the door, her hands clasped behind her. She wasn't there as a member of SG-1 and certainly not as an officer under O'Neill's command. For three days, she'd debated about whether there was any point to her being there at all.
The episode at the truck, while memorable in itself, wasn't something she'd included in her report. For that matter, she never intended to mention to anyone, but it nagged her. The tiny trace of uncertainty that remained as to 'who' was something she hoped to put to rest once and for all.
Never timid, even in indecision, she asked the question without preamble. "Was it you?" She knew that no other information would be required if she'd pinned the deed on the right man. Between them, the short question would suffice.
She would pick the truth, her truth, out of his answer - out of his reaction.
If she expected a puzzled look, she didn't get it. If she expected a brisk denial of some kind, she didn't get that either. In silence, his eyes fixed on her, a smile she'd seen before was scarcely covered when he pushed his chair back and stood up.
"Time for the debriefing." O'Neill rounded his desk, ushering her out into the corridor.
She got more than she bargained for.
Chapter 10 "What did you bring me?"
The General opened the debriefing informally. "I see from your reports that there were some unique encounters with the locals...not counting other SGC personnel. I don't see any reference to breaches of security or other inappropriate action that could lead to disciplinary measures or diplomatic fallout. Is it all here?"
O'Neill fixed his stare first on Daniel, then on Teal'c and finally on Carter. The total innocence managed by their returned looks was enough to convince him that they'd probably written and said all they were going to. For his part, his report followed the same pattern. The powerful ancient zat Daniel confiscated from Max had somehow missed notice in these reports. It was O'Neill's studied decision not to change that. For two days, he had wrestled with the idea of sharing the information with the Pentagon. The reports would stand as submitted.
"Okay, let's go on." He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head, waiting for the best part of these debriefings...the new stuff.
Daniel began at the beginning. "We'll probably never know any of the details surrounding the Sudan Stargate sections for sure. There is no additional evidence likely to surface in the near future. If Max finds traces of an ancient city when he begins construction on his oasis-world, he isn't likely to announce it. That would bring his dream for a personal tourist trap to an end."
"Sir, we can make some assumptions from the physical evidence we do have."
Daniel summarized the history. "About four hundred miles southeast of Aswan, Egypt, the top an extensive rock formation was leveled and served as the foundation for a pyramid. That formation, now beneath the desert, once may have been on the surface. The pyramid eroded away to a point where, in modern times, the sand had all but buried what remained of the stump of it."
"I agree with Daniel, except that we can't tell if the entire pyramid was actually ever completed, much less who first began living in the area." Sam had no other explanation for what she'd seen. "Someone used a technology we don't understand to create a cavern under the pyramid down inside its rocky foundation. A cavern where a Stargate was to be set up."
"Was it being hidden?" Teal'c had seen more Stargate locations than his team members. "Underground placement would indicate a security concern."
"Something we recognize around here." O'Neill added little.
"Jack, with the sections of a Stargate ready to be assembled on its platform, it was abandoned. Possibly the river broke through into the cavern drowning the site and, one may assume, its owners."
"Who were these owners?" O'Neill was looking for threats. Even historical threats had turned out to be current problems.
"Daniel and I have not been able to agree on that." Sam recalled the hours of debate aboard the C-5 on the way home. "We can't agree on whether the Ancients were there first setting up the Gate and then abandoned it or the Goa'uld were there first and built their landing pyramid on the mountain's flattened top and they were preparing to set up the underground Stargate and then abandoned it. "
Before O'Neill had an opportunity to puzzle aloud over their use of the term 'abandoned', Daniel charged on. "At any rate, none of the physical evidence tells us anymore than that there was a Stargate planned for that location. But no DHD was found."
There was nothing in this information that served the needs of the SGC, so O'Neill pushed the meeting forward. "Okay, stop dancing around. What about the pieces we brought back?"
The silence in the room was deafening. O'Neill had heard it before. It was a sign that the other shoe was about to drop and that it was going to drop with a thud neither Carter nor Daniel wanted any part of.
"Give!" It was awkward as an order, but they knew what it meant.
"Sir, it won't work." She thought if she said it fast enough, maybe it would take longer to sink in. Long enough for her and Daniel to get away from the table, out of the briefing room, off the base and across the state line before O'Neill figured out that they went through ten days in the desert and paid Max an enormous amount in cash and services - for nothing.
O'Neill's brows knitted over eyes that became slits in a face that leaned with menacing slowness across the table. "I know I shouldn't ask...but why...doesn't it work?"
There was no way this question fell under Daniel or Teal'c's responsibility. It was aimed with unflinching directness at Carter, daring her to be anything other than painfully brief.
"Well, sir, remember that black stuff that got all over the place when we first got Daniel's pieces? The team from Area 51 believes, and I agree, that the amount of time the rest of the pieces were in the river, washed away too much of that material. We now think it's an organic welding compound painted on all the edges as a catalyst to generate the magnetic field that connects adjoining Gate sections. The problem is so simple that I can't bring myself to say it."
"Say it!" When the vein in his neck pulsed, and his voice was raised to a hoarse shout, team members always knew it was time to lay all their cards on the table.
"When the pieces in the river made contact with the water they were abandoned. Probably the Ancients or the Goa'uld, which ever, knew that the sections could no longer be used to assemble a Stargate. They knew the pieces weren't any good, so they just left them there. The one that came here was probably the last piece being delivered down to the site. They never bothered to take it on down to the river once the rest of the Gate pieces got wet and became useless to them." It was still hard for Carter to believe, but nothing else made sense of the physical evidence.
"Carter!"
"That hardened black material painted on the edges, the binding substance used to join the Stargate's sections together, sir... it isn't waterproof."
Over the years, they had seen O'Neill's every reaction to bad news, from expected disappointment to surprised catastrophic meltdown. It wasn't a pretty sight, a General facing a supreme lack of progress, not to mention the absolute absence of any justification for maximum effort.
O'Neill sat, frozen, his eyes searching for oblivion in the ceiling tiles, petrified by the unimaginable degree of failure. He would justify the cost; he had been doing that since his promotion. He would explain that the thirty-eight rescued pieces wouldn't blend into a circle with their original piece. He would sign the report and with any luck, the Pentagon would relieve him of this noxious duty. 'If I'm lucky,' he thought, 'maybe they'll bust me back to Colonel...then I can get even with those two.'
Those two, who should have been mired in self-reproach, sat grinning.
"What!" It was a shout; not really a question he wanted answered.
"Jack, there's a plant grown in Pakistan with properties very similar to those of the organic welding compound."
"Oh, for cryin' out loud!"
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