Sam picked her way carefully down the long ramp to the building site, Ellie a comfortable weight against her back. She’d been wakened early — sometimes she was sure Ellie knew when her adults were worried, and was wakeful herself — but the baby had settled down again, fed and changed, would sleep at least a little while longer. Tamit trailed behind them, carrying the basket that held their lunch and the baby’s toys and Sam’s sandals, a parasol cocked over her shoulder. Thank God for childcare, Sam thought, even if a fourteen-year-old with mathematical skills wasn’t exactly what would have been recommended back in Colorado.
The sand was warm under her feet. She’d want her sandals later, but right now the heat was pleasant, distracting her from thoughts of Teal’c. That was one thing that hadn’t changed, she thought. No matter when you were living, work had to go on.
The Royal Architect Sethnakht was standing in his usual spot, up on a cracked block of granite that gave him an overview of the entire site. His scribe Ankhaf sat cross-legged at his feet, papyrus spread ready on his board, and several of the gang foremen stood ready, nodding as Sethnakht gave them their orders for the day. Beyond them, the walls of the temple complex had begun to rise, the outer buildings still marked with stakes and faded ribbons, the main temple about half-finished, the mud-brick walls carefully reinforced with stone. The first three columns were in place, and masons were finishing the details of the carving; the new stones had not yet arrived, Sam saw, and hid a sigh. The last foreman bowed, backing away, and Sethnakht turned to greet her.
“Bright lady of our morning!” he proclaimed. “With her handmaid dutiful as the morning star.”
“Good morning, Sethnakht,” Sam said. There were blocks placed beside the granite to serve as steps; she shifted Ellie to a slightly better position, hiked up her skirt, and climbed to join him. Tamit dropped into a crouch to wait for her, raising the parasol against the strengthening sun.
“The day is brightened by your presence,” Sethnakht said. He was tall for an Egyptian, almost as tall as she, with a lean body well revealed by his shenti, a collar of gold and beads resting on his collarbones. He grinned at her, showing good teeth. “Let us run away to the river, lady, where the breeze is cool and there is beer —”
“But no work to be done,” Sam answered. She strongly suspected that if she ever said yes, Sethnakht would panic, but she liked him well enough to indulge him.
“Heartless!”
“Taken,” Sam said. “The new columns haven’t arrived?”
“No.” Sethnakht’s attitude changed instantly. “I’ve had a runner from the port purporting to explain the delay. I sent him on to Pharaoh, let him make his excuses there. In the meantime, I’ve told the brick-layers to carry on with the rear sections. At least we can get that much done.”
Sam nodded. The complex would memorialize the victory over the false Ra, and she couldn’t help thinking of Teal’c and the symbiote inexorably growing within him. Three weeks, he had said, was too long to wait, and now that Hor-Aha had refused to let them open the Stargate —
I’ll have to do it, Jack had said to her, softly, sitting by her side in the garden behind their house.
We’ll figure something out, she had said, but she still hadn’t come up with anything.
The problem was that Pharaoh was right, it was a huge risk, even if they went somewhere else first. If they dug up the gate, got it working again, there was nothing to stop Ra or any other Goa’uld lord from dialing in and attacking. And they had only just defeated Ra the first time around, there was no reason to think they’d get that lucky a second time. In Danyel’s time, the SGC had built a titanium iris that blocked the gate, kept anything from materializing, but here, where copper tools were an expensive rarity, that was hardly an option.
“Sam?” Sethnakht was looking at her, and she forced a smile
“Sorry.”
He shook his head. “What’s wrong?”
Sam sighed. There was no point in not telling him, and he might see something she had missed. “I’m worried about Teal’c. His symbiote is almost mature, and he will die without it.”
“And the symbiote will become a Goa’uld,” Sethnakht said.
“We won’t allow that to happen,” Sam said. “But it will mean Teal’c’s death.” She looked away, not wanting him to see the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes. “We asked Pharaoh to let us use the Stargate to find him a new symbiote — we know a place where we can steal one, with only minimal risk — but he refused.”
Sethnakht nodded. “I can understand his point.”
“So can I,” Sam said. She knew what was at stake — there was Ellie to think of, always, and Aset and Tamit and their lovely house by the river, with its garden and the lotus flowers painted on the walls. “But — it’s Teal’c.”
Sethnakht nodded again, slowly. “So. There’s nothing else we can do today. Let us consider the problem, you and I.” He smiled. “Because I know you’ll think of nothing else anyway.”
“I think I’m missing something,” Sam said, and shook herself. “Tamit! Take Ellie, will you?”
“You can go, too, Ankhaf,” Sethnakht said, and the scribe scrambled to his feet. Sam loosened the ties that held Ellie on her back — the baby squirmed, waking — and Tamit took her into the shade, clucking to her. Sethnakht seated himself on the edge of the granite block, opening his parasol, and Sam settled herself next to him.
“Danyel must have had this problem in his own time,” Sethnakht said. “What was his solution?”
“A metal iris,” Sam answered.
Sehtnakht snorted. “All the copper and gold and silver in the kingdom wouldn’t cover that circle. Even if I could work out how to shape it, which I could. And then how would you move it aside to use it?”
“Precisely,” Sam said.
“Wood, perhaps?” Sethnakht squinted at the piles of timber waiting for the workmen. “Or must it withstand attack?”
“I don’t think so,” Sam said. She was starting to see the glimmering of an idea. “That’s maybe not necessary. The iris kept anything from materializing fully, but allowed the wormhole to form. But if there’s anything inside the gate, the wormhole won’t form, just as it won’t close if there’s something sticking into it.”
“So if your object is to keep any of the Goa’uld from opening the door from the other side,” Sethnakht began.
“Then all we have to do is place something inside the gate,” Sam said. “It doesn’t even have to be heavy, just — large enough.”
“Heavy linen,” Sethnakht said. He stopped. “Or the sail of a boat.”
“Yes!”
“Rigged so.” Sethnakht handed her the parasol, fumbled for a piece of charcoal. He found it, drew a circle, and then a cross inside it. “If a mast is placed behind the gate, with the sail attached —”
“And then we draw the sail forward, through the ring,” Sam said. “That would keep the wormhole from forming.”
“And to open it, we withdraw the sail,” Sethnakht said, “and let the wormhole form naturally.”
“Yes,” Sam said again. “OK, we’ll need some kind of quick-release on the front side, and some way to be sure that all the rigging comes back with the sail, so that nothing is left in the ring — but that’s easy.”
Sethnakht nodded. “But how will we know when to open the ring for you?”
“We’ll set specific times,” Sam said. “You’ll clear the ring for, oh, five minutes, max, and if we don’t dial in, put the sail back and wait for the next time.”
“Safer for us,” Sethnakht said. “But much more dangerous for you.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Sam said. “Not if we can save Teal’c.”
“I’ll speak to Pharaoh as well,” Sethnakht offered, and Sam nodded.
“Thank you. It can only help.”
There was little point in waiting, Sam thought, so she and Sethnakht went straight to the palace, their little entourage in tow. It was the fourth hour of the day, and the chamberlain gravely informed them that Pharaoh was on the archery range with his men, but that the Lady of Egypt would be pleased to receive them in his stead. The Lady of Egypt was not the Fighting Hawk’s wife, but his mother, the extremely redoubtable Queen Nithotep.
Unlike Danyel, Sam was not a history person, and she’d gotten the impression in school that the abasement of women was a historical constant, at least until the late twentieth century. It had been a considerable surprise to her to discover that women not only wielded substantial amounts of power here, but that average women enjoyed an amount of freedom she hadn’t imagined. Women owned land and entered into contracts, could sue for divorce or have children without marriage, and every woman from the poorest farmgirl to Pharaoh’s mother worked. True, the work was different, but Sam was absolutely aware how much effort went into the logistics and supply for a palace the size of a small military base. Nithotep wielded more power than the Executive Officer at the SGC and cared for just as many in many of the same ways.
She and Sethnakht waited with Ellie, Tamit and Ankhaf in the courtyard outside while Nithotep finished a meeting with someone or other, who at last filed out preceded by three scribes. And then it was their turn.
Nithotep was perhaps a decade older than Sam, fifty instead of forty, small and fine boned, with darker skin than her son, thin as a reed beneath her wig of black hair combed straight around her face in what Sam could only think of as a short bob. Her eyes were painted with blue minerals, and her sheath dress was of white linen stamped with geometric patterns that looked something like a net of dark blue. It covered her from just above the ankles to just below her breasts, thin spaghetti straps over her shoulders the only covering above the high waist.
“My Lady Queen.” Sethnakht sank into a deep bow, and Sam followed.
“Architects,” Nithotep said, coming around the little table and looking at them. “Is this a matter that pertains to building? Or to the matter of Teal’c, of which my son has informed me?”
“The latter,” Sethnakht said, with a glance at Sam. “I think we have devised a way by which the gate could be unburied, and yet be inoperable most of the time.”
Nithotep’s eyes flickered from Sethnakht to Sam. “I understand that you very much wish to help your friend. But you must see how my son decides. He is the guardian of this realm, and he cannot put the wellbeing of any one person above that of his people, no matter who that person may be.”
“I do understand that, my queen,” Sam said. It was never a good idea to look away from Nithotep. It seemed dishonest. “I too do not wish to endanger this realm, or my own family. But Sethnakht and I have an idea that we think will make it much safer to use the Stargate. We can block it in such a way that an incoming wormhole cannot form. It would only need to be open for a few minutes at carefully planned intervals in order for us to come and go.”
“And this would mean the Goa’uld could not use it, Sa-Mantha?” Her eyes were very sharp.
“I won’t say it’s impossible,” Sam said. “If they dialed at exactly the right moment, yes, they could use it. But it would be a tremendous coincidence for them to accidentally hit on precisely the right few minutes rather than any other minutes in the last three years.”
“And at any other time the Stargate would not work?”
“That is correct, my queen,” Sethnakht said.
She nodded slowly. “Tell me how this is accomplished.”
Even with all Sethnakht’s work gangs diverted to the project, it took some days to free the Stargate and erect the mast and sail behind it. The youngest of Pharaoh’s river captains produced a sail that could be split lengthwise to make a single long strip of reed matting, and offered advice on the rigging that drew it through the gate. Jack spent most of that time drilling the unit Hor-Aha had detached to guard the gate, and allowed that he was satisfied. They were mostly veterans who had fought the Goa’uld before, with a sprinkling of level-headed recruits, all armed with zats and staff weapons. If somehow the Goa’uld managed to dial in during the seconds between the release of the sail and them dialing out, then they’d have to hold to gate for thirty-eight minutes. Maybe less, but as he watched Sergeant Basa put them through their paces, he thought they could do it. He just really hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Hor-Aha and his attendants, including the Queen Nithotep, arrived in the middle of the afternoon, as the workers were stirring from the noon rest. Sam and Sethnakht showed them around the gate, still with a mound of dirt filling the lower curve of the ring. Jack trailed behind the royal party, watched as Sam demonstrated the sail’s release and the team ready to draw it forward again as soon as the wormhole vanished. It looked good to him, and he wasn’t surprised to see Pharaoh nod several times.
And then it was his turn, Hor-Aha coming toward him across the hot sand, trailed by a servant with his parasol and his sandal-bearer and the rest of the court. Jack bowed — it was easier to do it when you thought of it as a salute — and Hor-Aha nodded in acknowledgement.
“So, O’Neill,” he said. “Once again you confound me.”
“You were right,” Jack said. “But — there had to be another answer. And Sam’s good at that.”
“She is,” Hor-Aha agreed. “And her solution seems to be a good one. Show me what you’ve done.”
“Right.” Jack gestured to Basa, who waved his men into position. “The chance we’ll need this is pretty small, I know Sam’s told you that. But just in case —” He went though the plan, a small group in front of the Stargate to draw fire, the bulk of the men on either side to pick off the Jaffa as they came through.
Hor-Aha nodded again. “That is a post of great danger, before the gate.”
Basa cleared his throat, and Jack said, “Go ahead.”
“With respect, Lord, those men all volunteered — there were more who were willing, but these were all O’Neill said we needed. All of them have fought at Teal’c’s side, and wish to see him safe and well.”
“Teal’c is blessed by his friends,” Hor-Aha said. “Very well.”
“We’re doing everything we can to protect them,” Jack said. “We’ve got breastworks ready, and the main attack’s going to come from the sides.”
“Show me these breastworks,” Nithotep said, and Basa bowed.
“At once, Lady.”
They turned away, followed by most of the court, and Jack realized she’d done it on purpose. He was left almost alone with Hor-Aha, and that usually wasn’t a good sign.
Pharaoh smiled as though he’d guessed the thought. “I will give you leave to do this, never fear. You have countered all my worries, and I know the debt I owe Teal’c. This small risk I will gladly take for him. But I wished to ask you — Sa-Mantha accompanies you? And Danyel?”
“I couldn’t stop them,” Jack said, honestly. “And I’m glad to have them.”
“And what of Ellie?” Hor-Aha asked. “Should not her mother remain behind?”
Jack looked away. “Teal’c deserves the best chance we can give him, and that means all of us. Look, I don’t think — if something happens, Aset will take care of her. Danyel’s given her the deeds to the house and the farm.”
“And I will care for her as though she were my own,” Hor-Aha said. “Should something happen. But it will not come to that.”
Jack looked at him, a young man, rather ordinary-looking in spite of the heavy wig and the gold collar spread across his sweating chest, the kohl smudged at the corners of his eyes. A young man, but also a father, and offering the one thing he had that might make things easier. Jack swallowed hard, wished he had the words to say how grateful he was. Danyel would, and he’d make Danyel send a letter, but for now —
“Thank you,” he said.
Hor-Aha extended his hand, and Jack took it, clasping Pharaoh’s wrist.
“You are welcome,” Hor-Aha said. “But it will not be needed.”
“Amen to that,” Jack said.