Jack slept. Not deeply, not in this place, but he’d been in enough situations where exhaustion had outweighed danger and he’d learned how to find the balance between sleep and vigilance.
His first realization on waking, therefore, took him more than a little by surprise: something was in the cell with him.
There was a faint regular scraping noise, the nature of which he couldn’t make out, but he kept his eyes closed, wanting to gauge the situation before letting his guest know he was awake. Maybe he could work this to his advantage.
“Your breathing pattern is different,” said a chilling, familiar voice. “Why does your kind sleep for so short a time?”
His eyes flashed open. So much for that advantage.
Jack pushed himself up from the floor, wincing as his joints cracked. He might not mind sleeping on hard surfaces in theory, but his body disagreed with him more and more these days. He eased out the kinks and looked around the cell.
The first thing he saw was the door. It was open.
Was this a test?
The low light of the corridor cast the interior of the cell into starker shadows and Jack blinked away residual sleep, trying to gather his bearings and decide whether it was worth making a run for it. Somewhere close by, the regular tread of the guard patrols echoed down the hallways. The scraping sound continued.
“Why?”
It was then that he saw it. Crazy hunkered in the far corner to the left of the doorway, crouched so that its chin was almost on his knees, like a vulture perched on a tree limb. Its fingers flexed in a rhythm, long talons scraping the floor, producing that strange whispering scratch. Jack fought the urge to shudder. “Why what?” he said.
“Sleep. What purpose does it serve you?”
Jack had no clue how to answer this bizarre question. “You don’t sleep?” he said.
Crazy closed its eyes and, despite the gloom of the cell, Jack thought he could make out some semblance of a smile on the Amam’s face. “Sleeeeeep,” it said, the vowels long and drawn out, as if the very word was something to relish. “We slept, so long, so long, so long. And when we awoke, we fed.” The thing raised its hand to its mouth and, to Jack’s disgust, licked the maw on its palm, as if tasting again the poor bastards whose life it had sapped.
Its eyes were still closed, and so, slowly, slowly, Jack edged towards the open doorway. He leaned back, trying to get a look out into the corridor, but couldn’t see any guards. This was too easy, but if he didn’t take the chance now he might never get out of there.
“You.”
Jack jerked back, away from the doorway, hoping that Crazy hadn’t seen what he was doing. But the Amam’s reptilian eyes were suddenly fixed on him, alert where seconds ago he had seemed lost inside his own chaotic mind.
“Uh, yeah?” he said, when Crazy seemed content to just stare at him, claws scraping softly on the floor.
“You are different.”
“Yeah. My blood. All ancient and stuff. You said that already.”
“No, you are… unlike. You are apart.”
Jack narrowed his eyes, wondering whether this creature could see inside his skull and read the thoughts he’d been batting around in there.
I am apart.
“Why do you try?” it asked. “Why do you think?”
Jack was tired, hungry, thirsty, and the wild mind of this creature left him unsettled. He sighed. “I don’t know how to answer your questions.”
The thing sprang to its feet. Jack fell back, heart in his throat as it came towards him, pinning him against the back wall of the cell. Something clattered to the ground as it moved, but Jack didn’t get a chance to see what it was before Crazy’s face was within an inch of his own. “Why do you try?”
“Because it’s who we are!”
Crazy looked to the side, as if the answer made no sense. Jack didn’t miss the irony of that. Out of this entire situation, it was his answer that made no sense. “Who are you people?” he asked wearily. “What is it you want with this planet?”
But Crazy only hissed, as if wholly dissatisfied with Jack’s response. “You are small. A small worthless species. But you serve.”
“As what? As food?”
“Barely worthy as that. Thin, meager, like dust on the tongue.” It grimaced, as if tasting something bitter; the expression was hideous on such a face. “You huddle and cower. You let us feast.”
Jack shook his head. He might not be from this planet, but he was just as human as its ragged inhabitants. “That’s bullshit.”
The thing merely stared, clearly not understanding the epithet.
“If these people are so worthless, then why stay? Why fight the Goa’uld for them?”
Crazy gave a snort. “Small, worthless gods to rule a small, worthless race. The parasites are nothing — like iratus larvae, easy to crush.”
“From what I’ve seen, those parasites aren’t going down without a fight.” Defending the prowess of the Goa’uld? Well, that was something new.
God’s honest truth, though, he’d rather go up against the snakeheads than these freaky bastards any day of the week and twice on Sundays. With the Goa’uld, you knew what you were getting. Devious and nasty though they were, they wore their villainy on their elaborately embroidered sleeves.
This creature, however, was cold, callous in the very truest sense of the word. For a thing to be evil, it had to want to be evil. But the Amam were something else entirely. Right now though, he just couldn’t figure out what. “The question still stands,” he said. “Who are you people?”
“We are Amam,” said the creature. “We are Devourers and Snatchers. We are the Soul Burners and the Blood Eaters. We are Wraith. We survive. We feed. We are.”
“And you’ll destroy a species just to survive?”
“We are.”
Crazy scuttled back to crouch in his corner and resume his aimless scratching at the floor. As it moved, the light caught the object that had clattered to the floor and Jack felt a beat of what was almost hope. His Beretta lay just a few yards from the open doorway.
This truly is too easy, he thought, and prepared to make his move.
From within, the camp seemed even more ragged and sprawling than it had when Daniel had looked down on it from the mountainside. Shacks made of nothing but scraps of fabric or wood leaned drunkenly together, a mishmash of shapes and sizes, and everything the uniform drab of dust and dirt. Between the shacks ran muddy, rutted tracks and here and there lay piles of refuse. The stench was appalling.
But poverty and misery aside, Daniel was struck by the huge ethnic mix he saw in the population. On most worlds they visited the people were pretty homogeneous — like Aedan’s people — having been taken from just one location on Earth, sometimes from a single village. But here, there were faces of all different races and with no apparent distinction drawn between them. It was an ethnic fusion few places on Earth had achieved. Perhaps, he thought, faced with the inhumanity of the Amam, racial differences had ceased to have any meaning here? If you were looking for silver linings, he supposed that might be one.
Nevertheless, the camp was no nirvana. In fact it was the sort of place you’d expect to see on the evening news, with a camera crew and a scrolling plea to donate money to the emergency appeal. Except no one was coming to help these people, not unless Daniel could get home and somehow rouse the humanitarian instinct of the Appropriations Committee.
That, in itself, was a dismal prospect.
It took a couple of hours to reach Hunter’s home, not least because he was stopped every few minutes by people astonished to see him alive, returned as if from the dead. Some embraced him, while others peered out cautiously from inside their raggedy shacks, but most simply touched two fingers to the center of their forehead in salute.
“I was snatched from the Shacks,” Hunter explained as they navigated the labyrinthine alleyways. “People who get snatched don’t usually come back again.”
“But you did,” Daniel said with a smile. “You came back.”
Hunter touched the mark on his forehead. “By the grace of Hecate, I did.”
Daniel didn’t comment on that, it wasn’t really the time to debate theology and in truth his mind was too distracted anyway. His thoughts were with his friends back on the Amam ship rather than with Hunter, and as the hours passed and his radio remained stubbornly silent he felt a cold weight of fear settle in the pit of his stomach. It had been too long, something must have gone wrong.
“Perhaps this was a mistake,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at the Amam ship. Far away though it now was, its looming presence still dominated the camp.
Hunter glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“I should have gone with them,” he said. “I should be with them.”
“Sam called it right,” Hunter said, although he sounded distracted now, his attention darting ahead. “You’ll do ‘em more good finding help and talking to Dix.”
“That’s easy for Sam to say,” Daniel grumbled. “She’s not the one out here waiting.”
But Hunter wasn’t listening anymore. He’d stopped in front of an unremarkable shack, no different from all the others, with a scrap of fabric for a door and a lean-to roof. “My home,” he said quietly. Despite his uneasiness about his friends, Daniel sensed Hunter’s anxiety spike, heard the repressed emotion in his voice as he called out, “Faith? You here?”
There was a moment when nothing happened. Hunter looked like he was holding his breath and Daniel realized, with a rush of empathy, that Hunter probably didn’t know what had happened to his wife after he’d been taken. Maybe she was dead too, fed on by the Amam?
“Faith… ?” Hunter called again, more urgently.
And then a flap of fabric flew back and a young woman, a child propped on her hip, appeared in the doorway. She stared at Hunter with wide, shocked eyes and then pressed a hand over her mouth and started to sob. Hunter ran to her, pulling both her and the child into his arms, burying his face against his wife’s hair. “It’s true,” he said in a voice raspy with emotion. “It’s me. I’m back…”
Daniel had to turn away from the scene, too affected by that single moment of unexpected joy amid so much abject misery. It didn’t help that he had to fight down an unworthy surge of envy too; that happy reunion had been forever denied to him and his wife.
“Come on,” Hunter called and Daniel turned, watching as the woman ducked back into the shack. “Come inside.”
He forced a smile past the knot of helplessness, past the gnawing fear for his friends, and followed Hunter into his home. It was small and cramped, with a fire-pit in the center and smoke-blackened walls and ceiling. Daylight seeped in through gaps in the walls and roof, but at least it was warmer than outside and Daniel crouched by the fire, holding his hands out over the flames.
“Faith,” Hunter said, “this here’s Daniel. He helped me bolt from the Snatchers and I’m taking him to see Dix in payment.” He lowered his voice and added, “One of his friends, he’s a Lantean, an’ the Snatchers took him. Couple of Daniel’s kin went on back to fetch him out, so Daniel’s waiting on ‘em here.”
“They went back to the ship?” Faith said, incredulous. “That ain’t clever.”
Daniel smiled to himself. “Maybe not,” he said, “but it’s kind of how we operate. We don’t leave our people behind.”
Faith exchanged an eloquent look with Hunter and then moved closer to Daniel, crouching next to him and reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. Like Hunter, she was young but her face was gaunt and weary. “You got my thanks for bringing Hunter home, Daniel,” she said. “And you’re welcome to the heat of our fire while you wait.”
“Thank you,” he said and, cognizant of the hunger in this place, added, “I’d be honored to share my food with you, while I wait.”
He shucked off his pack and dug out one of his last MREs. Faith watched in astonishment as he pulled it open and shared out the bounty between them. Although the short rations left him hungry, Hunter, Faith and their child ate as if it were a feast.
After the food was gone, the child curled up to sleep on a narrow pallet at the back of the shack, Faith sitting with him and stroking his head as she talked quietly with Hunter. It was impossible for Daniel not to overhear their conversation, though he sat as far away as possible on the other side of the fire.
“I went to Dix, after you was snatched,” Faith murmured. “Like you said I should.”
“Did they help you?”
She nodded, gestured to a few small packages next to the wall. “Zuri gave me rations and promised more. She said Dix would come by tomorrow, when he’s back from up there.”
“Good,” Hunter said. “That’s good to know.” He tightened his arm around her and Faith suddenly pressed her face against his shoulder, as if her strength had cracked for a moment.
Daniel heard her quiet tears, muffled against Hunter’s shoulder, and turned his eyes away, offering them at least the illusion of privacy.
He stared into the fire instead, watching its ever changing dance. It had been over five hours since he’d said goodbye to Sam and Teal’c and still he’d had no contact. Sam had told him to wait ten hours, but with every moment that passed his fear grew. Sitting there, helpless and idle while his friends were in trouble, went against all his instincts. And it was tortuous, it was almost impossible.
He lifted a hand to his radio for a moment, willing it to jump into life, for Sam’s voice to crackle over the airwaves telling him they were free and everyone was safe. But he heard only silence, the hiss of the fire and Faith’s tearful breathing.
“Your friends are real smart and well-armed,” Hunter said suddenly, as if guessing the path of Daniel’s thoughts. “If anyone can evade the Snatchers, it’s them.”
He glanced up. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
“Don’t you give up,” Faith added quietly, wiping at her face with one hand. “You give up, you die.” She leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder. “Anyways, sometimes miracles happen.”
“By Hecate’s will,” Hunter said and Faith nodded, reaching up to press two fingers against the symbol on his forehead and then her own. Like a blessing, Daniel thought, and remembered the salutes Hunter had received on their way through the camp.
He figured that Hunter must be a kind of miracle to the people in the camp: the man who’d returned from the dead. But while Hunter might credit divine intervention for saving him, Daniel knew that it was SG-1 who’d preformed the miracle and that gave him a little hope of his own.
Saving Hunter from the Amam wasn’t the first miracle SG-1 had performed. He just had to hope it wasn’t the last.
Jack tried to move without moving, a subtle shifting of his feet. Crazy’s eyes were closed, its claws scratch-scratch-scratching. Blue light glinted across the black sheen of the Beretta. To reach it, he’d have to come within inches of the unhinged Amam, so when he made his move, it would need to be fast.
He glanced down at the handgun and then back up at Crazy. The thing was watching him.
Jack froze. But it was too late.
Crazy casually looked down at the gun and then reached out to pick it up. It held it by the grip and sniffed along the barrel. “This object, a weapon?” It regarded the gun with an expression of doubt. “Inefficient. Rudimentary. Yet it makes you feel safe?”
It would if I could get my damn hands on it and shove it down your throat.
“Why would you shun the might of Lantis for such simplicity? With such blood as yours you could be the destroyer of worlds.”
“Like you did to this planet?” asked Jack, wondering how far he’d get along the hallway before Crazy was on him. Would he make it to the next doorway? Even if he could, by the sound of the footfalls beyond, there was a heavy guard presence. His odds were slim, but that open door was so damn close.
Crazy laughed, a dry, hacking sound. “We did nothing to this planet. So many souls, such abundance.” The thing stood up, smacking its lips, then began stalking towards Jack. He backed away, disgusted. “Why would we destroy it?”
“Then who… ?”
A loud boom echoed through the ship, shaking the ground beneath Jack’s feet. Along the hall, the steady sound of footsteps had turned to running. Crazy darted to the door and, for the first time, Jack saw genuine alarm on its face. Something had happened, something the Amam hadn’t bargained on.
Jack’s stomach lurched, a good feeling, one that got his blood up, knowing instinctively who was responsible.
SG-1.
Crazy marched out into the hall, started scrutinizing a panel that had appeared in the wall. A huge area glowed red. The creature wailed, rage and despair in the one sound. It whirled on Jack, but he was already moving. He smashed his fist into the thing’s face, driving it backward, but not to the ground. His Beretta dropped from Crazy’s grasp and Jack grabbed it.
Only then did he realize his mistake, something that had escaped him in the gloom of the cell. The gun wasn’t loaded.
A bright blossom of pain exploded through his temple, as Crazy cold-cocked him, sending him flying across the floor. Jack shook the ringing from his head, determined not to lose whatever advantage he had.
He pulled himself to his feet, acting more dazed than he actually felt. His earlier fatigue had gone. Rage and adrenaline fuelled him now. Crazy advanced, but Jack was ready. One way or another, he was getting out of this.
Sam sprinted through the hallways of the ship, hoping her sense of direction didn’t fail her now. Smoke bloomed through the winding corridors and dark shapes came at them through the murk. She took them down with her MP5, while Teal’c handled any threat from the rear.
The lab had gone up like a firework and Sam wondered what sort of explosive power the alien ordinance within had contained. They’d scavenged what they could before lighting it up — including the colonel’s pack and MP5 — and, thank God, the explosion had packed a big enough punch. The next part of the plan depended on it.
Two Amam guards came out of the smoke to her left. She spun, spraying fire, too close to take proper aim. The guards just kept coming and Sam felt a searing pain along her upper arm.
No time to check it out now, she’d deal with it later.
“Teal’c! This way!” she called, darting off to the right. The brig should be around there somewhere, but with the smoke and the chaos she started to worry they’d got turned around somehow. Was it this — ?
Something barreled into her, knocking her to the floor, pinning her down and knocking the gun from her hands. She heard the hiss of Teal’c’s staff weapon opening…
“Teal’c! Don’t shoot — it’s me!”
“O’Neill.”
Adrenaline high, Sam almost laughed in relief. Colonel O’Neill’s weight disappeared from her and she grabbed up her weapon as he pulled her to her feet. “Colonel, how did you — ?”
“Later, Carter. My escape isn’t exactly one hundred percent complete.”
“Lanteaaaaan! I will hunt you!” The banshee wail came from somewhere in the colonel’s wake, a nerve-shredding sound. “I can smell your blood!”
“I suggest we depart this place, O’Neill.”
“Ya think?”
A shambling figure rounded the corner, inhuman in every sense. Behind it, Amam moved in the smoke, gathering to strike. Sam swallowed and took a step back, lifted her weapon.
“Carter?” the colonel breathed. “Run.”
They ran.