“Daniel, you know we don’t have time for that. Any delay could cost the colonel his life.”
“But —”
“Daniel, it’s the only way. Consider it an order.” Her expression was resolute and Daniel knew it was useless to say any more. When Sam pulled rank on him, the argument was over. She nodded at his acquiescence. “First light, then. Teal’c and I go back to the ship. Hunter, can you take Teal’c’s pack with you? We’ll move faster if we travel light.”
Hunter nodded, and seemed genuinely torn when he said, “I’m sorry I can’t go with you, but I’ve a wife and a son.”
Teal’c bowed his head. He, of all people, understood the decision.
“It’s alright, Hunter,” said Sam, less fervent now that the decision had been made. “Go back to your family. And thank you for your help. We couldn’t have made it this far without you.”
Hunter nodded. “I can’t go with you, but I can still help you.” He picked up a stick and sketched a few lines in the dirt. “Here, on the side of the ship where the light rises, you’ll find an access hatch. Ascend two levels and you’ll find the cells where the Snatchers are likely holding O’Neill. Here. And here. The prisoners they hold there are valuable, so you should expect much resistance. It won’t be easy.” From the way he shook his head, Daniel could tell that he thought it would be nigh on impossible. “If… if you make it out, follow the tree line along the base of the mountain. You’ll find the Old Road. It’s broken up and hard to see, but it’s there alright. At the end of that’s the Shacks. You’ll be welcome in my home, Major Carter. And Dix’ll help if he can. I’ll wait for you.”
“Our thanks, Hunter,” said Teal’c.
“The gods’ grace go with you,” he said, but his tone was grim. He obviously doubted there was enough divine grace to cover what luck Sam and Teal’c would need.
Sam knelt down next to the roughly sketched ship schematics, focused and determined. “So, let’s go over these plans again,” she said, “and this time I have a few questions.”
The ceiling of the cell was dark and featureless, cold, just like the rest of this godforsaken ship. Say what you wanted about the Goa’uld, at least they had some flair when it came to decor. This place felt like it had not so much been designed, but rather it had grown from some gruesome embryo. The cell itself was ordinary, more or less. Not the sticky pods from which he and the others had escaped, but a room enclosed by an intricate mesh of bars. He’d been escorted past a heavy guard presence and could still hear the steady tread of the regular patrols in the hallways. Here, though, he hadn’t seen a soul for a couple of hours. At least they didn’t put me back in the pantry, he thought grimly.
Although they hadn’t fed him either, or given him anything to drink.
He’d made some obligatory attempts to find a way out, but the only thing he could see that even resembled a lock was too far out of reach. The Amam guards who’d brought him here hadn’t even appeared to touch anything, the netlike bars simply parting in front of them. Despite the latent talent he’d just discovered for activating alien gadgets, Jack had been thus far unsuccessful in getting the bars to open for him. He thought back to Carter’s grimace when she touched the door panel earlier and her comment that it felt almost alive. It was not a pleasant idea.
It seemed that even the Amam had forgotten about him for the time being, which was just fine with him. Crazy hadn’t hurt him as such. In fact, the thing had seemed completely ambivalent towards his wellbeing. It had spent what felt like hours forcing Jack to try and activate an array of weird tech. Jack had tried his best to prevent the tests from being successful, but it appeared that the outcome of each one was out of his control: some had worked, some had not. He wasn’t sure what it meant. Then he’d been brought to this cell and left alone.
For now, he had no choice but to wait.
Wait for what? For rescue? Who’s coming back for you, Jack?
He hated that little voice. It had been his constant companion on Edora too, until eventually he’d answered its persistent questioning.
No one. No one was coming for him.
That was what he’d thought and then his team had gone and proved him wrong. And he’d been angry. He’d been angry. What a truly ungrateful son of a bitch.
There was a time, long ago, when everything in his life was solid and certain. A time before Charlie and the sound of the shot that had cracked his world apart. He’d known his purpose and his duty then, and, yes, there had been times when he’d landed in situations to which hell had seemed an attractive alternative, but that was all on him. That was part of serving, part of the choice he’d made. Then everything had changed and he’d ended up with nothing. In those days, he was nothing. Until the Stargate. Only then had he realized that purpose and duty hadn’t deserted him after all.