Barbara Shore stood on a completely renovated command deck, every console shining and complete. Under her orders, young men and women in metallic, skintight uniforms proceeded down through the complicated pre-liftoff checklist.
"Engines, all green," said the craggily handsome second-in-command, his voice all business.
"Navigation, all green," an exotic-looking brunette reported languidly from the console that was her responsibility.
Then the smooth coordination broke down. Barbara glanced in annoyance to the shaggy figure hunched over one of the consoles.
"Sensors?" Barbara asked. A nagging moment of silence passed. "Sensors?" she repeated.
Gary Meyers turned from the console. He opened his mouth, but a metallic shriek came out.
Barbara Shore leapt up from the desk where she'd dozed off. The navigation console was open, in the process of being examined. The sensors panel was also open, but its circuits were now operational.
They were what was causing the screaming. Barbara stumbled to the console, slapping the flashing panels.
Above her, the ceiling had shifted into a schematic view of the ambient space around the planet Abydos. A floating globe represented the planet, with a tiny, winking stylized red pyramid on its bosom—Ra's Eye.
So what was that phosphorescent green blob of light at the edge of detection range? Barbara fiddled with the alien controls, asking for an extrapolation of the unidentified object's course. It seemed to be heading straight for Abydos—but according to the computer, it would be a clear miss.
Barbara continued to manipulate the columns and panels of light. She squinted at the unfamiliar display, trying to gauge the item's magnitude. It took a moment, since she had to convert from ancient Egyptian measures to their modern equivalents.
When her calculations finished, her lips formed a silent whistle. Something on the order of a trillion and a half cubic meters. The oncoming piece of space debris would look small compared to a mountain, but it would make a damned good-sized hill.
"Hell of a time for something like this to blow in from deep space," Barbara muttered. "It's too much like Daniel Jackson's killer star vessel for this physicist's peace of mind."
She was about to start logging the information when the sensors blared a warning again. The green blob was deviating from the computer's dotted projection. For a second she swore at all balky computers everywhere—then she saw that the readouts floating in front of her were reporting a new speed.
Barbara's eyes went wide as her face went pale. No asteroid decelerated and changed course by itself. Her eyes glued to the ever changing readouts as the intruder came deeper into their sensor net, she fumbled for the field telephone that had been run up to her office.
For the umpteenth time that day, Daniel Jackson urged himself to patience. He had to put his case and his warning calmly. Then, a few minutes later, he found himself pacing his cell, raging like the proverbial lunatic.
He had to get out of here! Although Felton had spent several interrogation sessions with him, the flow of information had been one-way. The colonel had answered no questions about conditions in Nagada, or for that matter, on the base. All Daniel had to go on were his fleeting observations while being marched into the pokey and the few words that Jack O'Neil had let slip in their brief interview.
O'Neil's words had not, to put it mildly, offered the most encouraging picture. And, considering the murderous reception Daniel himself had gotten at the StarGate, the war situation must still be pretty tense, even if the good guys were winning.
If circumstances were rocky in the Earthlings' enclave, they must be crazy back in town. How was Sha'uri doing? How was Skaara? Was Kasuf still among the living? Evidently, he was still considered the number one (and only) suspect for the shootings of the chief Elders.
Thinking back on it, Daniel wouldn't be surprised if people had seen him walking with Hathor to be greeted by that patrol. She certainly hadn't put him on his feet because man-mountain Khonsu was getting tired.
Wheels within wheels—that was the game that Ra had taught his assistant godlings. Hathor had proven an adept pupil. She'd played Daniel—and everyone else on Abydos—with consummate artistry.
She had me screwed from the moment she turned up in my office that morning, Daniel thought. I was already dead. I just didn't know it yet.
That was the past, to be learned from but not dwelt on. Not now, when there was so much that had to be done!
First, he had to arrange a departure from this glorified closet. Next, he had to get to Nagada and clear himself. Then came the hard part—seeing Sha'uri, getting her to believe in him again, attempting to make up for the pain he'd caused her.
From his days as the academic boy wonder, Daniel had always known he could be an arrogant little snot. But his experiences on Abydos had, he thought, mellowed the old sharp edges on his personality.
Not true, he now knew. Nonetheless, he'd managed to inflict some pretty cruel slices on Sha'uri lately. That had to be amended.
The problem was that part of his three-step plan would require serious investments of time—and he didn't have any to spare. Sooner or later the Boat of a Million Years would arrive, and Hathor would finish up the work of destruction she'd originated.
Perhaps then his warnings would be believed. But it would be far too late.
Daniel found himself on his feet again, pacing. Well, it was exercise—at least he'd be physically set for the long walk to Nagada.
Now was the time to tackle the other steps... like somehow opening that damned locked door...
The panel vanished. Barbara Shore and Gary Meyers stood in the opening.
"We figured it was time for you to go," Meyers said.
"Something really huge has just entered a parking orbit around Abydos," Barbara amplified. "That means it isn't a meteor. I'm going to give O'Neil the official report, but I figured I'd take care of you before that little pow-wow."
"Are you guys sure about doing this?" Daniel asked. "I mean, you're probably under military discipline..."
Barbara shrugged. "Nobody here but us dumb civilians. However, if you want to help us get the ship's gunnery station working—"
"Let him go," Gary said.
Daniel was already out the door.
Barbara Shore stared curiously at Jack O'Neil. She'd expected a song and dance from this guy Felton. But she had never seen the Marine colonel so painfully eager to disbelieve a report.
"Is this some sort of joke, Doctor?" Colonel Felton insisted ponderously. "I imagine word has gotten around about Dr. Jackson's warnings. If you think things have gotten too boring of late—"
"No, sir," Barbara said in her best military style. She aimed her attention at O'Neil. "The ship's sensors are working, they did detect an enormous mass heading our way, and the mass has been maneuvering. That scared me enough to call the duty officer and pass it on to you—and to roust all our technicians and get them monitoring everything on the command deck.
"Before Colonel Felton called me down, we got some additional information from the sensor net. The object is constructed of the gold quartzose material we all know and love so well. Its shape is that of a pyramid, and it's huge—nearly two thousand feet tall, and more than three thousand feet on each side at the base, which means it would cover more than two hundred acres."
She took a deep breath. "To put it another way, we've got something the size of Disneyland coming down on our heads. Unless we get the gunnery system up and running on Ra's Eye, I have no idea what we can do about that sucker."
O'Neil's face went gray, but his voice was calm and formal. "Doctor, I apologize for doubting your report and wasting your time."
Barbara shrugged. "My people have their jobs to do—and their instructions. They're supposed to call directly here if there are any developments—"
The field telephone rang. O'Neil snatched it up. "O'Neil. What?" The colonel listened intently, adding the occasional monosyllable.
"Well, sir?" Felton asked when his superior had hung up.
"I suppose you could call it a bit of comintel," O'Neil said. "The communicators on the derelict's command deck are picking up some message traffic between the oncoming ship and the Horus guards. Hathor is not happy at all with the way things have gone here. She aims to redress the balance, and has ordered all her people on the planet to an immediate assault on the mines."
"Impossible, sir," Felton responded. "The Horus guards would have to gather their forces, then march for miles through heavily patrolled territory—"
"If what I've just heard is true, they're already massed at jump-off points within range of our patrols. And while the defenses at the mine are excellent, they were not made to withstand the kind of pounding this newly arrived ship can doubtless deliver."
He started out of the office. "We've got to warn Lieutenant Charlton and the garrison at the mine. Doctor, forgive me for sticking you with a long climb. I hope you have some success with the weapons systems." O'Neil was grim. "Because I think you're right. We're going to need them."
In the radio tent, Lieutenant Charlton's voice emerged from the set slightly staticky—and full of disbelief.
"Why would the remnants of the invasion force attempt today what their full number couldn't achieve last week? We're better dug in, we have energy weapons—"
"Listen," the intelligence officer hurried on, "the enemy is expecting overwhelming aerial support. Spaceborne aerial support. Do you copy? Over."
"Roger that," Charlton responded. After a brief background mutter, the young officer was back on. "I just passed the order to button up and hunker down. We have more than enough cover here. Over." His voice sounded slightly nervous, but optimistic.
"You say this bogey is approaching from the west? Wait one."
A louder comment came from the background.
Charlton's voice was a bit faster and slightly higher pitched as he got back on. "We have the bird under visual observation—an essentially pyramidal structure, occluding large patches of stars."
He broke off. "What the—?"
A heavy, staticky crash! came over the receiver. At the same time in the radio tent, dull thunder seemed to rumble in the distance.
"Oh, my God!" Charlton blurted.
"Settle down! Over," Felton ordered, ignoring the contravention of broadcasting decorum.
"That ship let loose a blast in the desert—like a lightning bolt, only straight—Jesus!"
"Watch your language," the Army colonel warned. "Over."
"Shit!" Charlton burst out. "They just knocked one of our choppers out of the sky. This thing is a lot bigger than I thought. We all expected it must be coming at the same altitude as Ra's Eye used during its attack. But that bolt looked like regular lightning from way up in the sky."
Again the radio roared and buzzed with static while the men in the tent also heard a booming detonation in the direction of the mine.
"—poor bastards!" a shocked Charlton swore when his voice came back.
"This is the net!" a scandalized Colonel Felton reminded the young officer. "Calm down and report what you see. Over."
"I've got a twenty-foot gap in my line, thanks to that goddamned thing up there! Half an infantry platoon, bing! gone! melted! On the outskirts of it there are people—oh, God, that guy's whole body is smoldering!"
More bolts lashed out, degrading the signal. Then, even as the blasts continued, Charlton's voice came in more audibly. "... big bastard is down at the other end of our line, still pounding the piss out of us. Nothing we have reaches that high. The Avenger rockets are gone, and so is one of our LAVs with the heavier blaster. Whenever an energy weapon comes into play, that area gets plastered."
Charlton's delivery was hectic, as if he were trying to get as many words as possible out before he got destroyed.
Then unexpected hope came into his voice. "Wait! It's turning away!"
But although the bombardment of the mine defenses ceased, the monster ship's fusillade seemed to intensify as it traversed a path toward the high desert. New reports came in, terror-stricken or coldly factual, as energy weapons cut their way through O'Neil's patrols, opening a lane of advance for the assembled Horus guards.
O'Neil turned from the high-tech Ragnarok outside to Colonel Felton. "Ask Charlton if he can get out of there before they hit him again."
"Charlie Mike Actual!" The Army colonel spoke Charlton's call signal into the microphone. "This is Mike Bravo Foxtrot. What are your chances of staging a withdrawal? Over."
"This is Charlie Mike. Situation's bad." Beyond Charlton's voice they could hear the noises of troops being shouted and chivvied into line. "I looked into it, but we'd be sure to be caught out in the open. I think—" His voice grew a little grimmer. "I think we'll be able to hurt them more if we maintain our positions. Over."
"I concur," O'Neil said, but the words tasted bitter in his mouth.
Then the reception went bad again as the Boat of a Million Years returned to attack Charlton's positions. The young lieutenant's radio politesse disintegrated almost as quickly as his defenses.
Felton again fought a losing battle for making nice on the communications net.
After several seconds of almost continuous static, the lieutenant's voice came out of the speaker. "Oh, shit! Here come the Whorehouse guards!"
Colonel Felton was getting good and steamed. He must have thought the junior officer was deliberately ignoring his commands. "There's no need for profanity, Charlie Mike. Over."
At the same time the younger man's frantic orders were being broadcast along with his report. "The fucking wire is gone! Just shoot! Shoot the sons of bitches!"
Beside himself, Felton snarled into the microphone, "Listen, mister. This is the net, not a toilet. You're looking to get yourself written up!"
Finally, Jack ONeil burst out. "What the hell are you going to do, Felton? Give him a posthumous reprimand?"
The Army man stood, jarred into silence. Obviously, he'd been paying so much attention to the form of Charlton's report, he hadn't really been thinking about the content.
The speaker rang with the sounds of close combat. The crash of blast-lances seemed almost quiet after the devastating blasts coming from the spaceship.
Charlton's voice came through clearly. "Shoot, damn you! Shoooot!"
Thunder roared again, then there was silence.
"The poor bastard!" Felton blurted.
Then, with a look of horror, he clapped his hand over his microphone.