There was an eerie lack of chaos as Jack and Carter approached the pyramid’s engine core. Where before, the Jaffa seemed to have been deployed in response to their actions, now, Jack worried they were lying in wait, ready for SG-1’s next move.
The fact that no alarm had been raised was especially suspicious. They must have discovered the dead soldiers in the cargo bay by now.
I hope this doesn’t mean they’ve done something to Daniel.
He glanced at Carter, but whatever was on her mind did not show on her face. Her attention was focused ahead, where the corridor opened out onto a walkway, overlooking the pyramid’s technical core.
He touched her shoulder, and indicated that she should stay back. From Klorel’s stores, each of them carried four Goa’uld anti-personnel grenades–devices carefully constructed so as to incapacitate without killing. It seemed ironic that the Goa’uld would invent such a comparatively benign war device, until one considered it made the capture of hosts more efficient if they did not have to be resurrected before Goa’uld occupation.
Jack had enhanced two of the grenades with some home-made thermite, to expand their destructive potential against equipment. And he’d rigged a pair of zat-guns as back-up devices–but these he was less sure of; it would take time for the weapons to develop an overload charge, and the delay could allow some dedicated Jaffa to throw the devices away from critical systems.
He moved ahead slowly. The situation was feeling more and more like a trap.
The walkway seemed deserted. Jack glanced back down the corridor; Carter had made herself nearly invisible, pressed against the wall.
Jack scouted the rail. The lack of guards was unnerving.
Better make this quick.
He scuttled out onto the walk, balancing one of the grenades precariously beside a support column for the level above. The shield generators hummed contentedly, about thirty stories below.
As he was placing the second bomb, the world went dark, and he awoke to pain so severe he could not even draw the breath to scream.
Zatted.
He opened his eyes, and closed them abruptly as they were stabbed by light. The silhouettes of two Jaffa loomed over him.
Carter is free. Just breathe.
He closed his eyes, and heard the footsteps of a third Jaffa approaching. He peeked through his eyelashes; the soldier held one of his bombs.
And the other?
"As the Goddess predicted," said the soldier. "It is set to detonate upon impact." The words felt like ice-picks in Jack’s ears.
"Destroy it," muttered what Jack guessed was the group’s commander.
There was a pause–maybe for a bow–and the footsteps moved smoothly away.
Goddess predicted? Am I predictable, now? What the blazes did Nameless learn from Mayborne, anyway?
The pain and near-paralysis of the zat blast began to weaken; with his first breath, Jack heard himself moan.
Harsh hands roamed over his body; the remaining grenades and his zat-guns were taken.
Where the hell is Carter?
He heard the sound of a zat-gun unfolding.
Oh crap…
Nothing happened.
"He must have exhausted its charge," one of the Jaffa murmured.
The sound of a staff charge echoed from somewhere nearby.
Carter’s in trouble…
"Get rid of it," said the Jaffa commander.
Jack thought he meant the zat-gun. But suddenly, he felt a boot on his side, and a push. He was falling.
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