The Mountain King Part 11

The servitors flew off, abandoning the two Marines near the crest of a tall hill. Makepeace stared after them as they rose up over a broken spire and vanished from sight. "They left," he said. Why not? The servitors had already left Johnson and Henderson for dead in the ruined city. Now he and Andrews had been left to face Sitala's forces.

Andrews said, "So they did. I guess this means we're on our own, now." He sounded like he hadn't expected any better.

Makepeace had hoped for better, although the wrecked train platform had put a serious dent in the miniscule amount of optimism he had left. "Maybe they went back after Johnson and Henderson."

Andrews gave him an "I can't believe you're really that naive" look, but didn't say anything.

Makepeace checked out the terrain. Behind them the mountains rose with unforgiving majesty, providing a stark backdrop to the glittering city of emerald. The air reeked of burned cinnamon.

The dirt and rock underfoot sparkled with flecks of mica and shards of green glass. The city's exterior showed terrible damage, its crystal structures broken and charred. The pair of yellow roads at the hill's base looked intact, but without a functioning train they were useless.

About a quarter of a mile away stood Sitala's pyramid ship, gleaming in the harsh sunlight. Its golden angles stood out in stark relief against the brilliant blue sky and smoking landscape. Jaffa on guard duty stalked back and forth, trampling the tender young shoots that Varayimshaeta's servitors had recently cultivated. Several death gliders flew over the city, occasionally strafing it with energy blasts.

"We should get to high ground, Colonel," Andrews said.

Makepeace refrained from pointing out that they were already on high ground. Andrews's instincts were those of a sniper, and he wanted the best vantage point available. Makepeace said only, "Pick a spot."

Bent over to stay low and unobtrusive, Andrews headed farther up the side of another hill. At the top, he sheltered behind a craggy outcropping that provided both good concealment and a sweeping view of the Goa'uld below. Makepeace followed, looking over the edge. The downwards slope fell away sharply, almost like a cliff.

They settled in among the rocks, readying their weapons, arranging their side arms, spare magazines, and grenades within easy reach. It wasn't a bad place for a last stand, Makepeace thought. Too bad Johnson and Henderson couldn't be here. They'd approve.

He wondered if they were still alive. Surely the servitors would try to rescue them. Wouldn't they? Perhaps they had simply been unable to do anything to help. Makepeace imagined his two men still alive, but crushed and slowly smothering or bleeding out beneath the collapsed walls. He winced, and hoped they'd died quickly, rather than suffer a horrific, lingering death.

Andrews interrupted his morbid thoughts. "So, Colonel, care to take a few pot shots?" He looked very angry, and very ready to kill.

Makepeace grinned, baring his teeth. He looked through the telescopic sight mounted on his carbine, put the crosshairs right on a Jaffa's head.

"I am become death, the destroyer of worlds," Andrews intoned.

"That's Sitala's line."

"Right mythology, wrong god. The line's Shiva's. Oppenheimer used it, too, when the first A-bomb was detonated."

Makepeace smiled more naturally, all the while keeping the Jaffa in his sights. "I'm impressed."

"I took my homework assignment seriously." Andrews swung his rifle around and chose on his own target. "Shall we, Colonel?"

"Fire at will," Makepeace said, pulling back on his own trigger.

Two shots rang out. Two Jaffa dropped in their tracks. The other Jaffa scattered, shouting and bolting for cover. Makepeace and Andrews took advantage of the sudden confusion to pick off a few more.

Sitala's Jaffa started firing back. A series of staff blasts crashed against the Marines' rocky shelter, sending jagged splinters flying. Makepeace loaded a high explosive round into his grenade launcher, took careful aim just to the side of a group of Jaffa sheltering behind a boulder, and fired. The explosion flung rocky debris and shrapnel in a wide radius. Three of the Jaffa fell, the others ran for a better hideout.

Makepeace knew the Goa'uld forces had his and Andrews's position now, but it hardly mattered. They weren't going to get off this planet alive, but they would go down fighting. Makepeace grinned a death's head grin. They'd already made a decent accounting for themselves, and with a little luck they'd take out even more of Sitala's troops before they died.

A death glider zoomed over them, sending down energy blasts to their right. Makepeace raised an arm to shield his head against the onslaught. Pebbles and rock fragments peppered his body with painful little stings, but none did any real damage.

"That was strange," Andrews said, watching the death glider fly off and bank to the left. "I thought that one would get us for sure. They've got to know exactly where we are."

A horrible thought struck Makepeace. "Remember that ultimatum Sitala gave Vara? She wants us alive."

"They missed on purpose? Fuck."

"They're trying to drive us out into the open. We'll just have to make ourselves too much trouble to capture," Makepeace said grimly.

Andrews said, "We've always got another option." He mimed putting a pistol in his mouth and pulling the trigger.

"Maybe. Unless she's got a sarcophagus on that pyramid ship of hers." Makepeace shook his head. "I should have thought of that before."

"Well, if they blow us into itty bitty gooey pieces, I doubt we'll be revivable. We'll just have to push 'em to shoot for real."

Makepeace grimaced at that mental image, but it would be for the best. "Keep shooting, let's make this expensive for them."

The firefight continued, the Marines shooting to kill, and the Jaffa and death gliders aiming weapons in an obvious attempt to flush their quarry out of cover. The battle was punctuated by odd periods of quiet, then would suddenly erupt again.

Makepeace and Andrews took turns firing, giving each the chance to reload when necessary. Another lull had them both staring at one another, trembling from the adrenaline rush and panting for breath, wondering when it would all be over.

"Stop!" a distorted voice rang out. "Stop this at once." The voice then spoke imperiously in the harsh language of the Goa'uld.

The words were amplified and carried over the entire area. The Jaffa stayed behind cover, but stopped shooting. The death gliders sailed away, to circle over the pyramid ship. Makepeace scowled; only one person could have commanded such instant obedience.

Andrews peeked over the outcropping. He frowned, brought up his rifle and peered through the scope. "Well, what do you know? The bitch is back."

"Then let's nail her," Makepeace said. "We both fire, one of us ought to get her, even if her Jaffa do the human shield thing."

Andrews scanned over the area and inhaled sharply. "Colonel, you'd better take a look at the situation," he said, shaken.

Makepeace looked through his telescopic sight. First he focused on Sitala. She looked just as Varayimshaeta's images had shown. Coldly beautiful, dripping with jewelry, clothed in a bright red sari embroidered with gold and gemstones. Her long, raven hair hung to mid-thigh. Strings of gems dangled from her elaborate headdress, twinkling in her unbound tresses.

She gestured to her right. Makepeace swung his rifle in that direction, and froze. Jaffa guards dragged Johnson and Henderson before her. Makepeace stared, hardly breathing. His men looked filthy, and bedraggled, and utterly exhausted, but they were alive. Alive!

His elation faded. "Crap," was all he said as the implications sank in.

"She's got them both," Andrews said, needlessly. He sounded defeated.

"At least they're alive." But they were Sitala's prisoners, and hostages. They must have been trapped on the other side of the collapsed wall, perhaps rendered unconscious by falling debris. Easy pickings.

The guards forced Johnson and Henderson to their knees with their hands clasped behind their heads. Sitala circled them, wearing a predatory smile.

Johnson said something to her. Makepeace couldn't hear the words, but the sneer on Johnson's face was unmistakable. Sitala snapped back in Goa'uld and backhanded him viciously. Henderson caught the lieutenant as he rocked to the side.

Makepeace inhaled, wishing Johnson would keep his yap shut. He stole a glance at his companion. Good thing Andrews and his mouth weren't down there. Sitala probably would have killed him by now.

The Goa'uld bitch turned to face the outcrop sheltering Makepeace and Andrews. Makepeace could have sworn she looked right at them.

"We know your location," she announced into a small device she held in one hand. Makepeace figured it served as both microphone and amplifier, since her voice echoed through the foothills. "You cannot keep fighting us forever."

Andrews muttered, "Now there's a news flash." Makepeace let out a humorless snort.

Sitala continued, "We could easily outlast you, but this pointless battle wearies me. Surrender yourselves, or your two comrades will suffer the consequences."

Typical Goa'uld rhetoric. "Saw that one coming a mile away," Makepeace said.

Sitala's next words turned his blood to ice water. Smiling, she fingered a small, crystal vial that hung from a chain around her neck. "I doubt very much that the usual threats would have much impact," she said. "Your recent actions clearly demonstrate that you have chosen death before capture. But perhaps we can make things more interesting." She removed her necklace and held up the vial. "This container holds the same virus that eradicated the disgusting things that once populated this world. Certain aspects of human biochemistry are similar to theirs. I assure you, the virus is quite effective on your species."

Andrews went absolutely still. Makepeace felt a coldness growing inside. He believed her. The bitch had probably tested it on human slaves.

Sitala went on, "Naturally, I've made sure that I and my troops are immune to this disease. But your two companions, they are vulnerable." Holding the end of the chain, she dangled the vial over Henderson's head. It twisted back and forth, catching the light and sending off prismatic sparkles. Henderson and Johnson stared stoically at the ground, but through his telescopic sight Makepeace could see their tension. Sitala said, "Did the great machine that rules here tell you about me? Did it explain what this virus can do?"

Makepeace knew, all right. Unbidden, Varayimshaeta's memories bubbled up to the surface, inundating him with the horrors Sitala's virus had inflicted on this world's now extinct population. He didn't actually see the natives; he already knew Varayimshaeta had edited out their appearance, leaving blank voids in the brutal imagery. Instead, visions of humans filled his mind, and that was a surprise.

He saw humans crying, bleeding, suffering. Men and women and children, dying in sickness and agony, brutalized by Jaffa warriors even as they gasped out their last breaths. An alien world full of humans, devastated by Sitala's virus and looted by her troops, destroyed by the Goa'uld's arrogant contempt and dismissal of others' lives.

The nightmare rampaged through his head, burning like acid, mirroring his own worst fears about what might one day happen to Earth, to his family and friends.

Shaken, he closed his eyes to concentrate, and with effort managed to shut down this new rush of blended images. When he had some spare time to kill he'd worry about the way his mind had filled in the blanks, and how it seemed to be merging Varayimshaeta's memories with his own life experiences.

"What do we do now, Colonel?" asked Andrews, fingering his rifle.

Good question. Makepeace hadn't figured that out, yet. It was one thing for him and Andrews to go out in a blaze of glory, and quite another to watch his men die in agony from a particularly vile bioweapon. Stalling for time to think, he called out to the Goa'uld, "What do you want?"

Sitala's eyes flared with unnatural snake-light. "I already told you. I want you to surrender. I want all of you alive."

"Why? I thought the usual M.O. was to shoot Earth humans on sight."

"Not always." Sitala swung the vial on its chain. "My liege, the System Lord Nirrti, wants control of this world's technology, but my actions the last time I was here were a mistake. I should have kept some of those things alive, no matter how disgusting they were. I believe the great machine within this planet answered only to them. When they were all gone, the machine shut everything down and irradiated the entire planet, making it useless to us. We were never able to wrest its secrets from it. I assure you, this world has been dead for a very long time." She paused, then smiled again, displaying a perfect set of pearly white teeth. "It came back to life when you arrived. I believe it likes you."

Makepeace slumped back against the rock. "Ah, hell."

"She wants to use us as hostages against Vara?" Andrews asked. "Would that even work?"

"I don't know." Makepeace rubbed his temples, then forced himself to return to observing Sitala's horror show.

Sitala's hateful, amplified voice spoke again. "This really isn't a difficult decision. I would prefer to have all four of you, but it isn't necessary. Even if I kill these two," she gestured at her kneeling prisoners, "I will still have you, eventually."

"Not if we shoot ourselves first," Andrews growled softly, glaring through his sight.

"Don't you want to keep your friends alive?" Sitala asked. "I understand you must be quite troubled now. I am magnanimous. I give you five of your minutes to consider your lack of options." Her exquisite lips twisted into a triumphant grin.

"She keeps talking about killing them permanently. No mention of a sarcophagus," Makepeace said. "Maybe she doesn't have one."

Andrews said, "We can't rule it out. It might just be a psych, Colonel. Maybe she'll kill Henderson and the lieutenant with that virus, then capture us while we're rattled, then revive them and trot them out again afterwards. Things could get pretty ugly."

Makepeace sighed. "Yeah. I know."

Andrews eyed his Beretta. "I don't want to be a Goa'uld prisoner." He nodded out towards Johnson and Henderson. "They don't, either."

"I know." Makepeace heard the defeat and weariness in his voice. Reluctantly, he recalled how everyone had agreed on this one, unforgiving, worst-case course of action before they'd become separated. They all trusted each other with their lives, and their deaths.

"The SGC will be compromised if Sitala snakes us. She'll know everything we know." He focused his intent gaze on Makepeace. "She'll know everything you know about Earth's defenses and military setup. You know who she works for, Colonel. Nirrti tried to destroy the SGC before. Earth will be toast. We can't let that happen--"

"I know!" Makepeace shouted. Andrews shut up. Makepeace clenched his teeth and stared hard at the ground. After a moment he looked up. "We won't be able to warn the SGC about what's happened here."

"Without one of Vara's super-trains we wouldn't be able to get back to the Stargate, anyway."

True enough. Not that it mattered; Hammond would follow standard procedure and use a MALP to get the lay of the land before sending a search party through. The SGC would see the Goa'uld forces, and act accordingly. Makepeace knew he was making an assumption. Varayimshaeta hadn't stated that Sitala had taken control of the Stargate, but Makepeace doubted she'd overlooked such an obvious move.

And then there was another problem. He said heavily, "You were absolutely correct when you said we can't discount the possibility that Sitala has a sarcophagus."

Andrews just watched him, waiting.

Makepeace tapped the M203 grenade launcher attached to his carbine. "Remember what you said about itty bitty gooey pieces?"

Andrews met his eyes and gave a single nod.

Makepeace glanced over the rock barricade and came to a hard decision. He'd been making a lot of those lately. They all hurt, but at least this one would be the last.

He said, "Head shots, first. Keep it a clean, single shot, so they don't suffer." He loaded a 40mm high explosive round into his grenade launcher. "Then we'll blow the bodies into red mist. Let's see Sitala revive them after that."

Andrews exhaled harshly, but he agreed. "Only problem is, who'll do that for us?"

"I'll do it for you."

Andrews stared long and hard into his eyes. "What about you?"

Makepeace had already worked that out. He picked up an M67 fragmentation grenade, weighing the steel sphere in his hand. "I'll eat a grenade. Body's not much good without a head." The explosion and the shrapnel would shred the rest of him, too. There wouldn't be anything left for the Goa'uld bitch to put back together again.

At Andrews's expression, Makepeace added, "It's not really any different from falling on a grenade." Some soldiers had really done that in the past, though only a very few. It wasn't nearly as common an act as the movies implied, and it had much uglier results.

Andrews knew that, too. He swallowed. "Helluva way to commit suicide." His expression grew resolute. Without another word, he took up a position on the rocks, aiming his rifle down at his friends.

Makepeace readied his own weapons. "You take Henderson." He hesitated briefly. He was a good shot, but Andrews was a superb sniper. "Andrews, if I miss, take care of Johnson, too." Andrews gave a single, sharp nod. Makepeace continued, "When they're down, I'll lob two grenades and finish this." This was going to be so difficult, but he would do it. "Remember, keep it clean."

Andrews didn't shift his attention from his target. "On your mark, Colonel." His words were devoid of emotion, purely professional. His focus was rock steady.

Makepeace sighted carefully through his scope, aligning the crosshairs dead center on Johnson's head. He slowed his breathing, slipping into the calm, detached, Zen-like mental state of an expert marksman. He focused on the beating of his heart as his index finger lightly, ever so lightly, brushed the trigger. He gently pulled it back, until he felt resistance. It would take only the slightest pressure now to fire off the lethal bullet. He would give Andrews the order, then squeeze the trigger between heartbeats, so the tiny movements of his own pulse wouldn't spoil the shot. His breathing slowed even more. He counted three more heartbeats.

A gold blur flashed through his field of view. The shock made him flinch; he instinctively lifted his finger off the trigger. He heard Andrews utter a choice profanity, and knew the gunnery sergeant's aim had also been spoiled. Makepeace took a calculated risk and raised his head above the rock line for a good look.

The five servitors hovered high above Sitala, her Jaffa, and his two men.

* * * * * * *

"Jesus, those damn things couldn't have gotten here earlier?" Andrews spat out. "What the hell were they doing all this time?"

"Who knows?" Makepeace said, wondering the exact same thing. He'd believed that they and Varayimshaeta had abandoned SG-3, but it seemed he'd been wrong. His gut churned with anger, relief, a thousand other unidentifiable emotions. He clamped down on it with iron control. He'd deal with what he'd almost done later. For now, he kept his attention fixed on the unfolding drama.

Sitala rapped out a frustrated command. Her Jaffa opened fire on the servitors. The golden orbs zipped back and forth, up and down, with irregular, jerky movements. The staff weapons weren't precise enough to hit such difficult targets. As Makepeace watched the spheres dance in the sky, he thought it would take a sophisticated guidance system to bring them down. That or sheer dumb luck.

He looked back down at Johnson and Henderson, hoping the distraction would give them a chance to make a run for it. No such luck. The Jaffa guarding them were too well trained and hadn't been distracted by the impromptu air show. Instead, they let their comrades do the shooting, and kept their own weapons trained on their two captives.

The servitors rose up into the sky and formed a straight line. The electronic shrilling they emitted got louder and higher with every passing second, until Makepeace ground his fists against his ears in a vain attempt to keep out the knives of sound.

The ground trembled. Loose dirt and pebbles jittered in time to the high-pitched warbles. A low rumbling began.

Andrews stared at Makepeace with wide eyes. "Earthquake," he gasped out, as the deep sound grew in intensity, and the shaking rocks bounced and rolled.

Then all hell broke loose.

A deafening bang split the air. The earth lurched, throwing Makepeace and Andrews around like rag dolls. The two men tumbled backwards down the slope and crashed against a newly up-thrust tower of rock. The ground swayed, undulating drunkenly. Makepeace clung to the stone, hoping it wouldn't collapse on top of him. Mesmerized with primal terror, he could only watch as the earth rolled like a stormy sea. With a loud crack, the outcrop he and Andrews had used for cover broke away from the hill. The mass of crumbling rock and dirt slid downward, vanished from sight. A thick dust cloud rose over the crest of the hill, marking the outcropping's passage.

The spheres rose higher, their cacophony a crescendoing tsunami of unrelenting sound, triggering more rock fall, more shaking...and then the noise ceased. The earth went still.

The two men shared a panicky glance. A few moments later the sound of renewed staff weapon fire got them moving again. They grabbed their rifles and crawled back toward their former position. They lay on their bellies, overlooking the edge of the cliff. A few pieces of loose sediment and broken rock clattered down, but the ground beneath them held firm.

Below was chaos. The artificial quake had cleaved the earth in two, forming a chasm almost three meters wide. The rupture ran parallel to Makepeace and Andrews's hill, leaving Sitala and most of her forces on the far side. The servitors swooped down over them, drawing weapons' fire from the near-panicked Jaffa.

Ten more Jaffa were on the near side of the chasm, along with Johnson and Henderson. The two Marines were pinned down behind a large boulder, using captured staves to exchange fire with their nearest assailants. Several bodies lay nearby, flesh charred and smoking.

"Let's give them a hand," Makepeace said. He aimed his carbine and nailed one of the Jaffa. Andrews took down another.

Johnson ducked down as a staff blast exploded against the boulder, sending jagged pieces flying. Henderson popped out from behind the rock barrier and fired at the advancing warrior. Blood, brains, and shards of bone spattered the bleak landscape.

Makepeace and Andrews pressed their bodies flat against the ground as a flurry of energy bolts broke against the rocks. Andrews fired off two more shots in rapid succession. Two more Jaffa fell.

Across the chasm, Sitala screamed commands in Goa'uld while her troops frantically tried to organize themselves and fire at the orbs flying overhead. The servitors lined up and emitted another of their sonic blasts, and the first line of Jaffa collapsed. A lucky staff blast caught one of the globes, and it blew apart in a scintillating burst of pyrotechnics.

Sitala shouted something to her troops. Makepeace didn't understand the words, but the congratulatory tone made the meaning clear enough. Fucking Goa'uld bitch. Just the sound of her voice made his blood boil. Fiery hatred and all-consuming rage filled every corner of his soul.

Sitala had caused the destruction of this world, his World. She'd wiped out his People without thought for the beauty, the art, the knowledge that was now forever lost. That repulsive alien would do it again without a second thought, without even the merest hint of remorse.

He'd kill her if it was the last thing he did in this lifetime.

He looked through his sight and drew a bead on her, putting the crosshairs squarely in the middle of Sitala's beautiful/deformed face. A center-of-mass shot was out of the question. Even if Sitala didn't have a sarcophagus on hand, the snake in the brain might jump into a new host. He recalled how Captain Carter of SG-1 had gotten snaked--that the Tok'ra Jolinar had jumped into her when she'd given CPR to a dead man. Makepeace figured Sitala kept a few slaves around for just such an emergency.

With luck, the head shot would kill the snake along with the host. To be safe, he'd lob a grenade at her after she was down. Let that disgusting worm try to survive a transformation into red mist.

Sitala turned, squarely facing the hill, and stared up, almost as if she knew exactly what he was doing. Makepeace couldn't have asked for a more perfect target. He squeezed the trigger, firing off a three round burst from his carbine.

The bullets hit her forehead dead center--and ricocheted off. The nearest Jaffa jerked and dropped his staff as one of the slugs caught him in the arm.

Makepeace swore. The bitch had one of those personal shields. She pointed up at him and snapped off some sharp commands, and he ducked away as his position was bombarded with staff blasts.

"Nice idea, Colonel," Andrews said from his hiding place. "Might've saved the galaxy a lot of future grief." He popped up, fired off a few rounds, and ducked down again.

Makepeace grunted in response. Saving the galaxy grief had been the last thing on his mind, but he was still too angry to care. Foreign anger. He'd never hated an enemy so personally, so violently that it messed with his priorities. Never mind that killing Sitala was the rational thing to do. He'd tried to do it for other reasons entirely.

God damn Varayimshaeta.

Down below, a Jaffa broke cover, shooting at Johnson. Makepeace lined up a shot and took the fucker out. Johnson and Henderson killed the last two on their side of the chasm.

A volley of energy bolts erupted from Sitala's remaining troopers. The gold servitors lined up in the air. Makepeace didn't have time to shout a warning before another of those sickening sound pulses ripped through him. The staff blasts ceased. Fighting nausea, he raised his head and saw that the Jaffa had all collapsed.

"Johnson! Henderson!" he yelled.

Brandishing their stolen staff weapons, his two men cautiously emerged from behind their boulder. They both looked shaky, but functional. They surveyed the steep hillside, now littered with rocky debris, and had a hurried conference.

"Can you guys get up here?" Makepeace called.

Johnson replied, "It looks pretty crappy, but we'll give it a shot."

The pair started to climb, scrabbling for hand and footholds in the crumbling scree. Part way up, the earth came loose in Johnson's hand. A cascade of dirt and shale rattled down the slope, taking him with it. He crashed into Henderson, and both men slid down to the bottom, where they landed in an undignified heap amid a shower of pebbles, dirt, and choking dust.

Andrews shouted, "You guys okay?"

Johnson and Henderson got back on their feet, brushing the dust from their bodies and cursing their bruises. Henderson called back, "Yeah, we're fine, but I don't think we can climb this mess."

"You'll have to try a different spot," Makepeace said. He looked around, assessing. "It looks more stable about twenty meters to the left."

Andrews said, "Better make it quick. There's signs of life from the bad guys."

Makepeace swung his rifle around and peered through the scope. On the opposite side of the rupture, the Jaffa were stirring. A little farther back, Sitala rose to her feet. As she straightened, her eyes flashed. Repeatedly. "I'd say she's pissed," he muttered, watching the way Sitala's eyes flared and faded, flared and faded, as she berated her men and shouted orders.

Johnson and Henderson jogged along the base of the hill. A single staff blast blew a hole out of the slope, bringing the two Marines up short. Andrews took out that Jaffa, but more had already gotten their feet under them as they recovered from the sound-stun.

"Climb!" Makepeace shouted. "Move your asses!"

His two men took to the steep incline, scrambling toward the top. Two more energy bolts crashed near them. They paused, hanging on to the hillside while ducking their heads to protect their faces from the spray of dirt and rock shards.

"Cover them," Makepeace ordered Andrews. Both men fired a hail of lead across the chasm. Still stunned Jaffa crawled or staggered drunkenly, while those more recovered bolted for shelter, then returned fire.

"God damn it, hurry!" Makepeace yelled over the noise.

Johnson and Henderson resumed their climb, but their progress was slow, too slow. A burst of energy hit the hill, closer to them than the last one. Again they stopped, as sparks rained down on them like fireworks. Johnson cried out as an ember burned his left hand. Another staff blast hit near Henderson, forcing him to hurriedly scuttle aside like an oversized land crab.

They weren't going to make it, Makepeace realized even as he killed another Jaffa.

Then the four remaining servitors flew over the hillside. They formed into a square and settled down around Henderson and Johnson, actually landing on the slope. When they again lifted into the air, they held two startled Marines suspended as easily as they had carried SG-3's gear through the emerald city.

The golden spheres flew Johnson and Henderson to the top of the rise, and gently set the two men down next to their goggling teammates.

Sitala and her troops had apparently been just as surprised by this action as the Marines, because they hadn't fired a single shot during the entire maneuver. Now Sitala furiously shrieked something in Goa'uld, and the barrage of staff blasts resumed with a vengeance.

SG-3 dropped flat on their bellies, pressing their bodies into the ground. Terrifying fireworks exploded around them. Sitala shouted more commands, and suddenly three death gliders screamed through the sky. Blasts of energy strafed the hill, coming dangerously close to the four men.

"The kid gloves are off," Andrews said, blinking dust from watering eyes. "She's torqued off pretty good. I don't think she's worried about keeping us alive any more."

"No kidding," Makepeace said. "We've got to get out of here."

"To where?" Johnson asked. "Where the fuck can we go?"

Amid the bombardment, a lone servitor bobbed just above the men and circled frantically. Makepeace stared at it. "I think this guy's got an idea."

Having captured the Marines' attention, the servitor zipped back toward the city.

"Didn't we come from that direction?" Andrews said.

"The road's that way," Makepeace said with rising excitement. Maybe there was a chance for survival, after all.

The weapons' fire tapered off. The death gliders retreated, to circle in holding patterns over the pyramid ship. Sitala's amplified voice echoed through the foothills, warning the Marines they would be taken by force. She emphasized that some of them might be killed if they didn't surrender immediately.

Makepeace ignored the threats. "Come on," he said, and headed down the hill, back toward the city.

Continue to Part 12

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