The Mountain King Part 9

They waited.

Makepeace didn't know if the luxury-bunker suite came with its own virtual butler, but if so no holograms acknowledged SG-3's sporadic queries. The men were left alone, and passed the time in frustrated tedium. They knew that something nasty was happening topside, but could do nothing about it, instead forced to rely on a loony alien machine for its dubious protection.

Unable to escape, they investigated their surroundings, finding food, water, sanitary facilities, sleeping quarters--everything they needed to survive for an extended duration. Andrews wondered aloud why Varayimshaeta hadn't seen fit to include a giant home theater. After all, they could only amuse themselves with dirty jokes for so long. Neither Varayimshaeta nor any holograms deigned to reply.

With nothing better to do, they hit the pantry and made themselves breakfast, then sat around the common room and entertained one another with word games, "No, shit, there I was" stories, and, naturally, dirty jokes.

Hanging out in bunkers always made Makepeace twitchy. His reaction to this luxury model was no different than to the more stark variety. To distract himself, Makepeace made a point of watching the kitchen, waiting to see if--and how--the dishes cleaned themselves. An incredibly raunchy punchline to a story Johnson was telling distracted him for a minute or two, and had him laughing in admiration of the author's imagination. However, when he turned back, the kitchen had been cleaned up--no noise, no fuss. "Damn," he muttered in frustration. "Missed it again."

"Sir?" Henderson asked.

Makepeace gestured at the kitchen. "Missed seeing the dishes do themselves. Just once, I want to see this place clean itself up. Does anyone know how the hell it works?"

Andrews said, with a completely straight face, "Magic pixie dust, sir."

Makepeace stared at him.

"It's our best guess, Colonel," said Johnson, shrugging. "The automation's shy or something. It doesn't seem to like to work when anyone's watching. We've never seen it, either, and we've tried."

"Everything stays messy until you give up paying attention," said Andrews. "Then next time you look, it's all cleaned up. So, I figure it's the good fairies."

Makepeace said, "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am that I asked," and settled down for a nice, long sulk.

* * * * * * *

Makepeace contemplated his fingernails. It felt like hours had passed. In the utter isolation of the windowless bunker, without anything other than body rhythms to use as a timepiece, it was impossible to tell how much time he and his men had spent down here. How many times did he use the toilet, and was he tired or hungry only because he was bored? It took a lot of effort to keep himself from pacing the confines of the bunker.

Instead he subdued his restlessness and forced himself to relax on the comfortable sofa. He kept one eye on the plate sitting on the coffee table. A little while ago he had deliberately left a half-eaten energy bar there, just for experiment's sake. Andrews had shaken his head and told him he was wasting his time.

"Contrary to popular myth, sir," the gunnery sergeant had pronounced, "a watched pot will eventually boil, but no way will this room clean itself up while you're paying attention."

"It's my time to waste," Makepeace had grumped in return. "It's not like I've got anything better to do."

So far, Andrews had been proven right. The food and dirty plate remained as Makepeace had left them, crumbs and all. It really was irritating.

Or you're just that damn bored, taunted an unpleasant little voice in his head.

Everyone was bored, and worried. Requests for information continued to be ignored. Whatever was going on outside had to be bad. Makepeace couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with them. This planet had been barren for thousands of years before their arrival. Now it was under attack. Coincidence? Nope, his credulity didn't stretch that far. The events had to be related.

The utter boredom led to a conversation Makepeace would have preferred to avoid. Henderson plunked down beside him on the couch. "Sir, I've been thinking--"

"Again?" Makepeace said wearily.

Henderson looked curiously at him.

Makepeace said, "Corporal, the last time you said 'I've been thinking' you came up with the world's dumbest idea."

"Ah." Henderson shifted a little. "Yes, sir. I'm afraid I agree with that assessment. Um, by the way, thank you for thinking it was a dumb idea."

"No problem. We hadn't quite reached that final stage of desperation yet." Makepeace didn't mention that he felt they'd reached it now. It didn't matter; that option wasn't available as long as they were trapped in the bunker. "Besides, I could tell you didn't really want to do it."

"You could?"

"You weren't exactly hard to read."

Henderson scratched his ear. "Yes, sir."

Makepeace put his hands behind his head, leaned against the backrest, and stretched his legs out to rest his feet on the coffee table. "So, what have you been thinking about this time?" He closed his eyes and waited.

"The effects Vara's language probe had on you."

Makepeace's eyes snapped open. He didn't move. "And?"

"Well, the first time Sitala was here, Vara would have needed to understand the Goa'uld language. It probably used that probe on Sitala or one of her subordinates, in order to communicate."

"Yes. So?" Makepeace relaxed again, now that he was sure Henderson didn't intend to scare him with warnings about potential complications.

"In the records Vara showed us, Sitala and her people used human hosts. Now, it's doubtful she let Vara scan her own sacrosanct person..." Makepeace snorted. Henderson grinned and went on, "Anyhow, whoever Vara did scan was likely a human host: either a Jaffa or a minor Goa'uld underling."

Overhearing the conversation, Andrews and Johnson came and joined their teammates. Andrews settled into an armchair and said, "You're wondering why Vara's scan hurt Colonel Makepeace. Vara should have already had a record of the human brain, and known what adjustments to make to its probe."

Johnson remained standing, and folded his arms across his chest. "You think Vara injured him deliberately? Maybe took a little revenge when it thought we were Goa'uld?"

"Actually," Henderson said, "no, I don't think there was any deliberate malice involved. Vara stopped the probe the instant Colonel Makepeace collapsed. I think it was surprised. It must have originally scanned a Goa'uld or a Jaffa, rather than an ordinary human slave. Even if it hurt whoever got scanned, the symbiote would have healed any brain damage fairly quickly. Vara would never have realized its probe was so harmful to humans."

Makepeace grimaced. "Maybe Vara ended up scanning the symbiote's brain, instead."

"Or the two brains somehow shared the load," Henderson said. "Either way, the human host would've been okay, and Vara wouldn't have had a clue that there would be a problem with scanning us. It just assumed we were Goa'uld speaking a different language than before, and followed its own standard procedures."

Andrews said thoughtfully, "Vara must've only been looking for language when it scanned the Goa'uld. Otherwise it would've known immediately that Sitala was a disaster in the making."

"Yeah," Henderson said in agreement. "It's a pretty sure bet that it didn't do any memory exchanges with Sitala or her people. It rectified that mistake with the colonel."

Makepeace winced at that particular memory. "You've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you, Henderson?"

"There isn't much else to do down here, sir." Henderson shrugged. "I thought it might help give us some insight into what makes Vara tick. Not that that seems to matter, at this stage."

"At least we have a theory to put into the official reports when we get home." Optimist, the little voice in Makepeace's head sneered. Still, a positive attitude was always good for morale, and hope had carried more than one impossible battle in Earth history. Defeatism, on the other hand, only bred defeat.

"I was wondering, sir, if, well, do you have any of Vara's memories about this? Could you confirm the theory?"

Makepeace scowled, but went ahead and searched his unwanted collection of alien memories. He came up empty. "Nada," he said, ignoring the disappointment that flitted across Henderson's face. "Either it didn't take, or Vara didn't consider it important enough to implant in the first place. Those memories are pretty shaky, anyway, you know."

The conversation petered out, and ennui once again became the order of the day. Makepeace resumed his watch on his mess-cum-lure for the housekeeping pixies. The others napped, or snacked, or searched the bunker for the umpteenth time for an exit.

Eventually, the sound of grinding broke the boredom but increased the tension. They all turned to watch as the heavy door slid open. Six of the golden spheres entered. Warily, the men stood up. The servitors encircled them and nudged them toward the door.

"I guess they want us to go with them again, huh?" Johnson said.

"All right, all right, I'm moving, already," Andrews snapped as one over-enthusiastic orb bumped him again and again. "After all this time cooling our heels down here, now they want us to rush? Hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait. Jesus, it's just like the freaking military."

"Colonel?" Johnson said, stubbornly resisting the orbs around him.

"We go with them," Makepeace said with resignation. "It's the only way out of here."

SG-3 stopped arguing with their enigmatic guards and allowed themselves to be herded out the door. Although he knew it would just annoy him, Makepeace couldn't resist looking back at the coffee table. Sure enough, during the distraction created by the spheres, the room had cleaned itself up. The plate and food were gone, the crumbs swept away, the table sparkling clean.

Really, really irritating.

* * * * * * *

They retraced their steps down the claustrophobic tunnel to the small elevator. The ride was just as long as Makepeace remembered, yet according to the panel they only traveled up one level before exiting. Unlike the bunker, the area here had taken a beating. The ceiling and walls were cracked and crumbling, displaying the glassy green materials within. Dust filtered down from the damage overhead. Chunks of broken jade and shattered emerald littered the floor. Through the damaged walls could be seen bundles of crystalline fibers in a rainbow of colors, running in and out of gold and silver junction boxes and thin peridot sheets. Light pulses flashed along the glistening strands, indicating that despite the damage, the city still lived. For now.

There were no windows, anywhere. By that Makepeace assumed they were still underground. Doors lined the hallway at irregular intervals, many partially open. Their control mechanisms or sensors were broken, as they neither opened further nor closed as the Marines passed by. The artificial lighting flickered, creating a weird strobing effect. The four men kept their eyes on both sides of the hall, peering into the doorways for potential threats. The bombardment seemed to be over, but that might only be temporary, and whoever had attacked the city could have sent in advance troops. The servitors didn't do anything to interfere with SG-3 beyond keeping them moving.

They continued deeper into the damaged city, staying on the same level. Booted feet crunched on jagged, sparkling shards, the remains of spun-glass sculptures and mysterious gemstone objects. In some places entire walls had crumbled, revealing more of the city's glittering guts. Makepeace felt an uncomfortable, niggling sense of familiarity as he stepped over debris and took in the destruction. In the past, in war zones on Earth, he'd ordered such attacks, and been on the receiving end as well. But here he felt something more than the usual fear and horror, something different, something personal.

He'd seen all this before, in his dreams, in his nightmares. In Varayimshaeta's memories. His memories, now.

They turned right and headed along another corridor. At the halfway point, a large doorway on the left stood partially open, the three sections of the door receded not quite all the way into their slots.

Johnson looked past the pointed edges, and stopped in his tracks. He stared, his lips parted, then turned a shocked face to his teammates. "Guys? I think you should take a look in here."

They all crowded to the door. Curiously, the servitors didn't harass or hinder them, instead waiting patiently in the hall.

"Aw, hell," Henderson said softly.

Ice ran down Makepeace's spine when he looked into the amethyst room and saw the six hexagonal columns. Arranged equidistant from one another in a circle, they stretched from the ceiling to the floor. Each column was divided into three parts, with the top and bottom segments made of a polished gold material. The center sections were tanks, filled with clear fluid.

A single, human fetus floated in each tank.

Makepeace set his jaw and forced himself to step inside for a closer look. Aside from the columns, the room was empty, its glassy, violet walls crazed and cloudy with internal damage. Dim, flickering light emanated from smooth jewels in the ceiling. Shadows danced in the silence, giving the chamber a surreal, creepy atmosphere.

Two tanks glowed softly with warm, golden light; the other four were dark. He moved to one that was still lit--he supposed they were incubators, artificial uteruses, gestation tanks, something sci-fi like that--and inspected its occupant.

He flinched when the fetus moved. It clenched its tiny, little fingers into fists, then raised one dainty hand to rest against its mouth and nose. Traceries of veins showed under the translucent skin. An umbilical cord ran from its stomach to the top of the tank, where it disappeared into the equipment. Makepeace forced himself to look closer.

"It's a girl," he murmured. A perfect little girl.

Henderson stood next to him and spoke quietly. "I hate being right."

"Vara's repopulation project." It was a simple statement of fact.

"Yes, sir," Henderson said. "There are three girls and three boys in here. Their development and maturation rates must have been accelerated. They look to be about, oh, maybe seventeen weeks along or so. You can see how small they are."

"And they're ours." They'd have to be.

"Yeah." Henderson drew in a deep breath, let it out in a long, slow exhale. "If Vara followed the plan it explained to us, each of these...babies...probably has genetic material from at least two of us. Maybe all four of us."

Makepeace gazed at the fragile little girl, thinking of his own kids, wondering if they had a new baby sister, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.

Henderson said, "Only two girls are still alive, sir. The others--the ones in the dark tanks--are dead. Looks like the equipment lost power."

Makepeace only nodded.

Johnson and Andrews had stayed silent, just walking through the room, looking at the tiny occupants of the tanks. Now they joined Makepeace and Henderson.

Johnson looked upset. "I don't understand. Why wasn't this room protected better? It should have been the safest place in the entire complex. Our bunker didn't even feel the attacks, and yet this room--Jesus, why?"

"Because Vara can easily make more babies," Makepeace said tonelessly.

Johnson and Andrews stared at him, but Henderson nodded his head. "As the only socialized adults available, we're far more valuable," he said. "I know it sounds harsh, but the babies are expendable. We're not. Vara needs us to raise the children it creates."

"That's obscene," Johnson spat.

"It's not really any different back home," Henderson said. "Nature designed things that way all on its own. We just don't like to admit it."

Johnson looked ready to explode. Before he could vent his anger, Andrews broke in. "What are we going to do about these..." he waved a hand at the two lit tanks, "...these children?"

Henderson answered the question. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Johnson rounded on him. "You son of a bitch--"

Henderson stood his ground. "There's nothing we can do. They're too young to survive on their own. We'll kill them if we remove them from the tanks."

That cold, hard fact solved the dilemma. Makepeace schooled his features into a calm, dispassionate mask that hid his inner turmoil. "You're sure, Corporal?"

"Absolutely, Colonel. They'll die in just a few minutes without some kind of life support system in place. Their lungs won't be able to handle breathing air without mechanical intervention. And even if we had the equipment and specialists available, their bodies simply aren't developed enough to survive very long anyway." He lifted his hands, an unspoken plea for understanding and rationality. "Besides, I don't see any portable intensive care units around here. Do any of you?"

"So we leave them to die, instead?" Johnson asked, subdued.

Makepeace said, "There's no saying we'll live any longer than them, Lieutenant." Johnson looked down at his feet. Makepeace sighed deeply, wishing they'd never set foot in this damned room. He glanced back at the door, where the golden orbs waited. "Look, right now, let's just find out what the servitors want. My guess is we're going to have another chat with Vara. Maybe it'll finally tell us what's going on."

The fetal girl kicked once, twice, then relaxed and drifted peacefully in her artificial womb.

"Let's go," Makepeace said.

Continue to Part 10

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