The Mountain King Part 4

Varayimshaeta's servitors escorted SG-3 through the complex and locked them inside a large suite of rooms that must have been intended as living quarters. The walls were tinted a vivid aqua shade. The floor was a deeper blue, and unlike the hallways it was plush and cushioned. Picture windows, made of a transparent substance that muted the harsh sunlight, framed a spectacular view of mountains and desert. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon, the scent just barely noticeable.

There was an abundance of furnishings in colors to match the suite. Their upholstery was soft and pleasant to the touch, but their unusual shapes indicated that they had not been fashioned with the human form in mind. They were longer, wider, and deeper than any chairs or sofas Makepeace had ever seen, with flat planes and curves in all the wrong places.

A quick inspection of SG-3's prison revealed no other exits beyond the door from which they had entered. They found no way to open the windows, either in the main chamber or in any of the side rooms, which was probably just as well, all things considered. The panoramic vista was so gorgeous because they were viewing it from at least a hundred stories above the ground. Forced to admit that escape was impossible, at least for the time being, the Marines returned to the large, central chamber.

With a weary sigh, Makepeace plopped down on what he thought was a couch and rested his head in his hands. His headache wore at him and sapped what little strength he had left. It was no fair, getting zapped twice in one day.

Johnson settled next to him. "You all right, sir?"

Makepeace lifted his head. His men were all watching him. They were probably afraid he'd start babbling nonsense again. He rubbed his temples, trying to soothe the throbbing. "Yeah. Just a headache."

"A headache?" Henderson asked.

"Nothing some aspirin won't cure. You wouldn't happen to have any, would you?"

Henderson shrugged in apology. "Sorry, sir."

"It's been a helluva day."

Andrews said, "Truer words, sir. At least those spheres--servitors--have left us alone for now."

"False privacy," Johnson snorted. "Ten to one we're being monitored."

"I don't take sucker bets, sir."

Makepeace chuckled. "You're a wise man." He leaned back on his elbows, but resisted the temptation to stretch out on the floor--the only flat surface available--and take a good, long nap.

Henderson said, "Well, here we are. Stuck." He exhaled. "At least it's not a dungeon or torture chamber or anything like that."

Johnson snorted. "Pollyanna. Look at it this way: We've been locked up by an unreasonable alien computer who thinks we're Goa'ulds."

"Worse, it thinks we work for fucking Sitala--the fucking goddess of fucking smallpox," Andrews moaned. "Man, we are in so much trouble."

"The goddess of smallpox?" Makepeace echoed incredulously. "There's such a thing? Which mythology does she come from?" He wasn't surprised by Andrews's knowledge. Everyone in the SGC who had any sense at all made themselves familiar with Egyptian mythology ASAP. Due to the Goa'uld, as well as all the other whack-job alien races who for some godforsaken reason liked to masquerade as Earth deities, a large assortment of pantheons had joined the required reading list. SG-3 had divvied up the chore, with each team member responsible for a minimum of three alternate mythologies. Their knowledge might not be particularly encyclopedic, but even basic awareness of various gods' names and traits could be useful.

Andrews replied, "She's a Hindu goddess, I think, or she's related at any rate. I recall something about her starting out as a Bengali deity, but I could be remembering wrong. Anyway, according to tradition, Sitala can both cause and cure smallpox."

"Can?" Makepeace asked.

"She's still worshipped in places on Earth, mostly in India, along with the rest of the Hindu pantheon."

"You telling us that this Goa'uld created smallpox?" Johnson demanded furiously.

"No, sir. She just gets credit for it." Andrews shrugged. "Then again, who can say? That Nirrti character was into germ warfare, remember?"

"Who could forget?" Makepeace muttered. The previous year Cheyenne Mountain had almost been destroyed by that memorable Goa'uld bastard. As part of a ruthless plan to destroy the SGC, Nirrti had wiped out a planet's human population with a plague, killed SG-7 in the process, and turned a little native girl into a living time bomb. Only through dumb luck had disaster been averted.

"Great, just great," Makepeace said, rubbing the back of his neck. Just thinking about Nirrti's tactics made his headache feel worse. "And Vara claimed this Sitala character worked for that monster." He propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. Doctor Jackson's protocols for making friends and influencing aliens didn't begin to cover this disaster.

"We might have another problem," Henderson said quietly, moving to crouch before Makepeace.

"What else?"

"Colonel, why are you so sure that Vara is an intelligent computer?"

Makepeace glared at him. "What else could it be? Nothing's alive here. Vara babbled about communications nodes being operational. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Actually, sir, it's not. It could be an alien concealing itself from us. Hell, for all we know, there could be a whole city chock full of aliens out there that we just haven't seen. Maybe they're hiding. Maybe they're invisible. Why not consider those options?"

Makepeace was silent, unable to give a rational answer.

Henderson pressed, "Sir, is it possible... Well, that maybe when Vara got English from you, that you got some knowledge of Vara's? That there might have been an information exchange between you?"

Makepeace had been deliberately avoiding that idea. At the time, there had been too much pain for him to notice that the probe had been rifling through his brain cells. Then when it became apparent that Varayimshaeta had miraculously learned English, he'd been forced to accept the truth, that his brain had been scanned, his mind violated.

Now he was being forced to examine the distasteful idea in detail. Truthfully, he hated it; it increased his sense of violation. Bad enough that that thing had rummaged around inside his head and taken some of his knowledge without so much as a by-your-leave; the mere idea that it had left something of itself behind repelled him. If he were honest with himself, he couldn't deny his statements that Varayimshaeta was some kind of artificially intelligent machine were based more on blind conviction than any facts he and his men had at hand. He had no proof of his belief, no real, objective reason for it, yet he was utterly convinced it was correct. He just knew, and now that sense of knowing disturbed him.

"It's either that, or you've been watching too much Star Trek, Colonel," Henderson said, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

"I hate Star Trek."

Henderson smiled, but Johnson stirred uncomfortably. "Sir," the lieutenant began, "that thing was in your head... If it did something that's affected you..."

"I know. I've been compromised," Makepeace stated bluntly. "Who knows what it took from me besides English?" He rubbed his forehead. "Or what other little surprises it might have left hiding in the corners."

"Is it really that bad?" Andrews asked into the sudden gloom. "I mean, maybe all it wanted was English. It said all it wanted to do was talk to us. The colonel knowing it's a computer, well, maybe that's just a side effect, is all."

"Maybe," Johnson rumbled.

"No, that's a distinct possibility," Henderson said. "I don't think it got a complete, er, download, so to speak. Think about our conversation with Vara. Its English was stilted and clumsy. It didn't realize we're not Goa'uld. Hell, it didn't know the first thing about us. It couldn't have gotten much more than English from Colonel Makepeace, or it would have known all about our hostilities with the Goa'uld."

That sounded reasonable. Maybe there was light at the end of the tunnel after all. Makepeace asked hopefully, "And this weird feeling I've got about Vara being a machine?"

Henderson fidgeted. "It's not more than a strong impression, right, sir? You don't know anything more specific?" When Makepeace nodded, he went on, "Might just be something your subconscious picked up on during the contact."

"That's comforting."

"Sorry to be vague, sir, but this is way out of my league." He shrugged and looked thoughtful. "Vara did say that the power levels were too strong. I think maybe it had to stop the probe early, before it could be completed, to avoid damaging you any more than it did. Since it only seemed to get our language, it probably didn't get the chance to screw around with your mind. Probably there's nothing to worry about."

"Probably." Makepeace chewed his lower lip, resigning himself to the fact that he had become a potential liability. Well, so be it. Other people in the SGC had had their heads fucked over by aliens and alien machines. They had managed to survive the experience, get on with their lives, and continue doing their jobs. So now it was his turn. He'd just have to deal with it.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind protested: But it was never supposed to happen to me!

He smothered that plaintive, childish cry. Suck it up, Marine, he told himself. To his team he said, "Okay, fine, so life's a bitch. I'm stuck with it, I'll just have to live with it. We know about it, so it can't blind-side us. You guys are all going to have to keep an eye on me, though, just in case. If anything happens, or I start being...unreasonable... Johnson, you'll have to take over entirely. And Johnson, if things get bad, if I become a real danger..."

The lieutenant looked him hard in the eye. "Don't worry, sir," he said, acknowledging the unspoken request. "You go alien-crazy on us, Colonel, I'll take care of everything."

Makepeace nodded, closing his eyes with gratitude tainted by despair. Johnson had just promised to do whatever it took to prevent Makepeace from harming his team or his homeworld. Even if that meant killing him. The lieutenant would do it, too, if it became necessary--with no hesitation. Makepeace thanked God for Johnson's rare mix of pragmatism and loyalty.

"Of course," Andrews said, with forced brightness, "near as I can tell, all you officers are unreasonable an awful lot of the time. Half-crazy, in fact, and no common sense worth mentioning. Might be a pretty tough call."

"Oh, of course," Makepeace drawled, dryly.

"You'll forgive us, then, if we give you a little leeway before we decide to do anything too drastic. You get outta line, we'll try smacking you around a bit first, see if you come back to your senses that way."

Makepeace quirked an eyebrow at him. "How very thoughtful of you."

Johnson's grim expression lightened a bit. "Every grunt's dream," he commented with a smile. "Knocking a bird colonel on his ass. Gotta admit, the idea has a certain appeal."

Makepeace couldn't help chuckling. He well knew the frustration of dealing with unfathomable and out-of-touch higher-ups. "You people are way too enthusiastic. Just try to make sure it's alien-crazy, rather than ordinary officer-crazy, before you go beating me into submission."

"It's a deal, sir."

"Good." Makepeace exhaled, relaxing his muscles, and the angry pulse behind his eyes subsided ever so slightly. It wasn't really that simple, he knew, but the implicit vote of confidence in his sanity and self control was reassuring. He didn't want to die just yet, especially at the hands of his own troops--and he certainly didn't want them to take on that kind of guilt.

He licked his dry lips. He was thirsty. How long had it been since any of them had had anything to eat, or even a drink? Too long, obviously. No wonder his headache was so bad. "I could sure use a drink of water."

"Forget water, I want to know where the head is," said Andrews fervently, clearly willing to change gears to a less depressing subject. "Nothing in these rooms looks the part, and I doubt you guys want me off whizzin' in a corner somewhere."

"That's important, too," Makepeace agreed with a laugh. Now that Andrews had mentioned it... He tried to concentrate on something other than floods.

Johnson stood up. "Hey!" he called to the ceiling. "Hey, you listening out there? We need some water."

"What are you doing, Lieutenant?" Henderson asked.

"Just trying to get someone's attention." Johnson shouted again, "C'mon, I know you're listening. How about some service, here?"

A soft, white glow emanated from one side of the room. In the corner on the floor a crystal disk glimmered, and above it the hazy, indistinct image of a male human formed. It was life-sized, and had the correct basic outline: head and torso, arms and legs, but no facial features or other details were visible. "You require something?" it said, in the same chorus of male and female voices used earlier by the column of light. Its words were quiet, their volume suitable for an enclosed space.

"Holy crap," Andrews said. With caution, he approached the projection. "What are you?"

"I am to provide for your needs. What do you require?"

"What the hell kind of an answer is that?"

Johnson crossed the room to join Andrews. "It looks like a hologram, like on Star Trek." He glanced back at Makepeace. "I know that because, unlike some people, I'm a dedicated viewer," he said with a glint in his eye. "I always figured it was a job requirement for working at the SGC."

Makepeace grinned.

Johnson reached an arm out toward the projection. His hand passed harmlessly through, causing only the slightest of ripples in the transparent form. "Huh. That was weird."

"Please state your requirements," the hologram said.

Johnson said, "We require water." He added, "And some food, too."

"Water and food?" The glowing male morphed into an indistinct female shape. "What are your life requirements for water and food?"

"Huh?"

Henderson ambled over. "I think it wants to know what we can eat and what might poison us." He addressed the image. "There is food and water we can safely consume with our supplies. Did Vara bring them here with us?"

"All of your belongings are here," the female answered.

That caught Makepeace's interest. Their weapons should also be here, somewhere in this city. That had possibilities, if they could manage to cozen some information out of this bizarre new toy. He pushed himself to his feet and joined his teammates.

The female morphed back into male guise. "Your food and water shall be returned to you."

"Why are you doing that?" Makepeace asked.

"Explicate query."

"Why are you changing form like that, back and forth from male to female?"

"Human form is the preferred mode for communication with humans," was the less than enlightening response.

Johnson said, "You had to ask, sir."

"Yeah, well, I intend to ask a lot more." To the hologram, he said, "What is Vara?"

It replied serenely, "Vara is Varayimshaeta."

Andrews looked annoyed. "Literal minded, isn't it?"

Makepeace persisted, "Explain Vara. Tell us about it. How much of this planet does it control?"

The hologram froze.

Johnson regarded the now static image. "I think you broke it, sir."

An instant later the hologram reanimated. "I am to provide for your needs. What do you require?"

"Ah, hell. Guess that information's off-limits to us," Makepeace groused. He switched topics. "Vara learned English from me, right? That's how you know it as well."

"That is correct."

"What else did Vara learn from me?"

The hologram froze again briefly, then came back to life. "I am to provide for your needs. What do you require?"

"Been here before," Johnson muttered. "Guess that's off-limits, too."

Henderson said, "Or it just doesn't know. It might not have access to that kind of data, especially if it's just, well, the local equivalent of a butler or something."

"A butler?" Makepeace groaned, giving up. "Terrific. Somebody else talk to it."

Andrews pushed forward, looking a little desperate. "Let's ask it something really important. Like, where the john is."

The image again changed to female. "Explicate: the john."

Andrews suddenly looked uncomfortable. "You know, ah, facilities."

"Explicate. What type of facilities are required?"

The Marines all looked at Andrews. "It's your question," said Johnson with a smile.

Andrews stared daggers at them, then turned back to the hologram and explained what he wanted in terms so clinical and exact it was frightening.

* * * * * * *

Makepeace exited the "bathroom" feeling a little self-conscious. Never in a million years would he have guessed that that particular item of artistic exotica was a toilet. Nor would he have been able to use it without detailed instructions from the hologram. A potty break in this city was a humiliating experience bar none. The fact that the rest of SG-3 were in the same boat made it somewhat more tolerable, though. Since everyone was fair game for the derogatory jokes and put-downs, no one was cracking any.

Makepeace harbored not the slightest doubt that the aliens who had once inhabited this planet had been completely and utterly non-human in body type.

He returned to the common room and sat on a relatively flat spot on the malformed "couch." His headache nagged at him. He closed his eyes and rubbed first his temples, then the base of his skull, wishing the unceasing pounding would go away. The massage helped a little, but what he wouldn't do for just one aspirin.

"Maybe you should lie down for a while, sir. Get some rest."

Makepeace looked up to see Johnson standing before him. He dropped his hands and straightened. "I'm fine."

"You got zapped pretty bad, you know."

Few things put Makepeace into an ornery mood faster than a mother hen. He made a heroic effort and resisted the urge to bite Johnson's head off. "It's just a headache, that's all," he said reasonably. "Nothing ominous."

"Sir--"

"I said I'm fine."

Johnson said nothing, but continued to hover, looking reproachful. Makepeace rolled his eyes. "Why don't you go pump our 'butler' for information." With luck and determination, perhaps they could tease something useful out of the alien contraption. It also served as a decent way to get Johnson off his back for a while.

"I dunno, sir. That thing's got some serious gender issues. It's kind of creepy."

"Everything on this planet is creepy. Just do it, will you?"

Johnson slanted him a look that was nine-tenths amusement and one-tenth insubordination. Before the lieutenant could open his mouth and possibly wedge his foot in it, the door to their suite slid open. Gold orbs blocked the entrance, denying the captives any chance of escape. Three spheres floated into the room in a perfect, isosceles triangle formation. At the triangle's center two of SG-3's rucksacks and a number of canteens hung suspended in thin air.

Eerily silent, the spheres dropped lower, allowed the supplies to settle on the floor, then rose again. They glided back to join their counterparts at the exit, and the door closed behind them.

Andrews reached the pile first. "Pretty good service around here," he quipped, as he picked up a canteen. He unscrewed the lid and sniffed the contents, then took a swig.

"Hey, you shouldn't be drinking that," Henderson protested. "It could be drugged, or poisoned, or something."

"Jesus, we're already prisoners. Vara can do anything it wants to us, even probe our brains, anytime it wants. It doesn't have to be sneaky. Besides, this is all we've got." Andrews took another drink, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Tastes okay to me." He held the container out to Makepeace. "Here ya go, sir."

Makepeace gingerly accepted the canteen, hearing the contents slosh, and took an experimental drink. The water was warm, with the usual aftertaste it acquired from being stored too long in a canteen, but with his dry mouth and pounding headache he thought it absolutely delicious.

Andrews dumped out one of the rucks and started pawing through the contents. "Mostly MREs," he said. "And some of that camp food you snuck into our supplies, Colonel. At least now we won't starve in here."

"I did not sneak that stuff in. General Hammond approved all of it," Makepeace said with mock indignation. He took another drink, and asked, "Any aspirin in there?"

"Sorry, sir. Don't see any. It doesn't look like our first aid kits made it into this batch."

Henderson and Johnson both got down on the floor to sort out the supplies. Makepeace knew he should help, but he only watched. The lack of aspirin disappointed him than he wanted to admit. His headache was killing him, and he could no longer lie to himself about it--it was getting worse. A lot worse. Maybe Johnson was right, maybe he should try to catch a nap. He drank again, then sat down on one of those hateful, misshapen lumps they laughingly called furniture. He tried to screw the lid back on, but the canteen slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. Water spilled at his feet.

Johnson lifted his head and turned at the clatter. "Sir? You all right?"

Makepeace didn't answer. He stared at his hands. Both were shaking.

"Sir?" That from Andrews. "What's wrong?"

Makepeace felt warm liquid run from his nostrils onto his lip. He wiped his face with a trembling arm. His sleeve came away smeared with watery red fluid.

"Oh, my God." Henderson was leaning over him. "Sir, you'd better lie down."

Makepeace tore his gaze away from the abnormal looking blood and stared at the corporal. Despite his shock, he felt an irrational flash of irritation. What the hell was he supposed to lie down on? This joke masquerading as a sofa? He opened his mouth to make a cutting remark to that effect, but before he could get a word out a shaft of pain lanced through his skull. He gasped and clutched at his head, squeezing his eyes shut tight, as the spear that pierced his brain burst apart like an exploding skyrocket.

"Sir!"

He heard Henderson's shout but couldn't respond. An anguished groan escaped his lips even as his body started trembling uncontrollably. Fingers clenched rigidly in his hair, he slipped from the couch and landed on his knees on the floor.

Then he was staring up at the ceiling, twitching, unable to do more than gasp for breath. Henderson and Andrews were hanging over him, talking frantically to him and each other. Johnson was bellowing at the walls, the ceiling, the door, yelling demands into thin air.

Makepeace tried to comprehend what was happening, but a whirlwind of razor blades shredded his thoughts. The roaring in his ears obliterated all sound as his universe contracted to the blinding agony inside his skull. The world shattered into jagged black and red streaks, then dissolved into gray nothingness.

When he drifted back to awareness, he was resting on his back and yet somehow moving, a smooth, subtle sensation, as though he were floating along on a light breeze. He felt light-headed and a little queasy, and a strange lassitude permeated his body. It was too much effort to move or even open his eyes, so he just lay still, letting the lethargy wash over him.

He couldn't remember ever being so tired. His brain wasn't functioning too well, but it occurred to him that his reactions weren't normal for him. Perhaps he should be concerned. If only it weren't so hard to think. His mouth was dry; he swallowed, and tasted blood.

He knew that, at least, wasn't normal. He forced his eyes open. For a moment everything was a pale green blur, then his vision focused. Above him was a creamy jade ceiling, broken into sections by dark lines. It rolled by rapidly, the motion increasing his nausea, but verifying that he hadn't been imagining his movement.

He lifted his head and saw gold spheres all around him. They must be carrying him, like they had somehow carried his team's supplies. The effort of holding his head up exhausted him, and he dropped it back again, closing his eyes. Vaguely, he wondered where the spheres were taking him.

The sense of motion ceased. He rallied what he could of his wandering mind and managed to convince his eyelids to open again. Harsh light stabbed his eyes, making him wince and squint. He rolled his head from left to right. He was in a room enclosed by glossy, night-black walls. Directly overhead, embedded in the ceiling, was an enormous, oval-shaped dome of clear crystal. All around him loomed gleaming chrome objects like weird, metal trees and abstract sculptures, all sprinkled with a myriad of tiny colored lights that twinkled like stars. The spheres were gone, and he wondered what was supporting him. Whatever it was, it felt warm and cushioned.

As a musical humming filled the air, an iridescent aurora danced over the crystal's cabochon surface. Makepeace watched, almost hypnotized by the coruscation of pastel colors. Soft chimes joined in, adding their own gentle melody. The aurora pulsed in time to the slow rhythm of a bass so deep it rumbled in Makepeace's chest.

Then whirring and buzzing noises broke his trance. Something clanked. He caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Makepeace turned his head, and panicked. No longer static art, the trees and sculptures were moving, drawing in closer, surrounding him. Branches and metallic arms became malevolent claws, the glittering lights transformed into demonic eyes.

The nightmare escalated. A machine extended a blunt, glowing probe to his face, and he jerked his head away. Other machines moved in, wielding incomprehensible devices. Raw, animal fear flooded him as something cold brushed his skin.

Above, the crystal flashed in a vivid kaleidoscope of whirling, psychedelic patterns. A beam of pure, white light burst from its center and struck Makepeace full in the face. Something deep inside him gibbered in terror, remembering the last time such a light ray had touched him, but now there was no pain. Instead, his muscles relaxed, his mind lulled. His field of vision narrowed, until he saw only the hypnotic scintillation of colors. A cozy warmth suffused him.

His sight dimmed; the horror faded. Oblivion beckoned, and he fell willingly into its embrace, accepting the escape it offered.

Continue to Part 5

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