The Mountain King Part 3

Makepeace groaned as he returned to consciousness. With great care, so as not to exacerbate the pounding in his skull, he lifted a hand to a temple and rubbed gingerly. Everything ached, muscles and joints and bones, and his innards were doing a cha-cha. The rock hard surface beneath his spine vibrated ever so slightly, giving him the impression that the floor was moving. The sensation was similar to that in a car or an airplane. It sure as hell wasn't doing his nausea any good, even though he'd never been prone to motion sickness.

Then his brain caught up with his roiling stomach. Moving?

His recent memory returned in a flood. The storm, the tornado that had blocked their escape, the golden spheres, and that discordant, electronic howling--then a brutal, crushing sensation, like he'd been hit by a bus. So much for the idea that this world was dead. All those things must have been under some kind of intelligent control.

He mastered his need to vomit and forced open his eyes. At first, nothing looked particularly wrong. Cloudless, blue sky overhead. Perfectly normal, except for the fact that earlier it had been stormy as hell. The sky wasn't as painfully bright as it had been the previous day. It also had a slight grayish tinge and cast brilliant shimmers, as though the light was reflected off a curved surface. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, but the view didn't change.

A low moan came from off to the side. The voice sounded like Johnson's, which meant he wasn't alone. Were his other men here also? He dragged his protesting body into a sitting position and looked around. He was sitting on a flat, glossy black surface. Johnson was on his left. To his right lay Andrews and Henderson. They were all breathing, which was a relief, and all showed signs of impending consciousness.

Beyond his men the planet's bleak landscape flashed by at tremendous speed, tinted with the same grayish cast that muted the sky, and showing the same odd reflections. Makepeace realized he and his men must be in the train they'd seen earlier. The curving walls must be like one-way windows--almost impenetrably black on the outside, but affording those within an unobstructed view of the passing scenery. What use said view was at this speed, though, was a matter of question. Perhaps the aliens had quicker eyes than mere humans. They didn't seem to need furniture, though. Other than SG-3, the cabin was completely empty.

Their weapons and gear were nowhere to be seen. No surprise there. Makepeace fingered his wrist. Even his watch was gone, so there was no way of knowing how long he'd been unconscious. He considered the ramifications of their present situation. They were apparently prisoners, being transported to God only knew where. He cursed under his breath and crawled over to Johnson.

"Johnson. Hey, buddy, wake up." He lightly slapped the lieutenant's face, and was rewarded with an unhappy sounding groan. "That's it. Wakey, wakey."

"Colonel?" Johnson suddenly snapped awake and sat up a little too abruptly. He clutched his head and hunched over, and moaned again. "Oh, crap. Christ on a fuckin' crutch."

"I know exactly how you feel." Makepeace gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder and moved off to check on Henderson and Andrews. They woke with as much enthusiasm as Johnson.

Andrews chose to express his misery in terms colorful even by USMC standards. Makepeace sat back on his heels and listened with interest, storing up the imaginative epithets for future reference. Even he hadn't heard some of those before. The man was certainly creative.

"Jesus, Mike, will you shut up?" Henderson snapped as he pulled himself to his knees. "My head can't take it."

Andrews looked startled, but cut short his spiel. He asked, "Where the hell are we, anyway?"

"Looks like we're on one of those trains," Makepeace told him.

Henderson glanced at the rapidly passing desert, and averted his eyes. "That view's gonna make me sick. Sicker," he amended, placing a hand on his middle.

"Don't look at it, then," Makepeace advised. "We don't need anyone puking in here." He surveyed his teammates. "All right, now that everyone's awake, here's the scoop. We're unarmed, we're probably prisoners, we're on our way to parts unknown, and I have no idea how long we've been going there."

He watched as his men digested that unpalatable lump. They looked around the empty chamber and patted themselves down fruitlessly.

Andrews grimaced and said, "This is just great. Any good news, sir?"

"We're still alive."

Henderson said, "Well, I suppose that counts for something."

"Man, I ache all over," Andrews complained, stretching his arms over his head, but staying seated. "What did those things do to us?"

"It felt kinda like sound," said Johnson. He got to his feet and staggered over to his teammates.

"What?"

"I'll bet it was directed ultrasonics or something similar. The brainiacs think that some species of dolphins and whales can use it to stun fish to make 'em easier to catch and eat. You feel pretty crappy for a while afterwards."

"How do you know about that stuff?" Henderson asked. "And why do you think that's what happened to us?"

"A dolphin once put the whammy on me," Johnson explained, "except not as bad. I was only a little out of it. This feels similar, though."

"When did you ever swim with dolphins?" asked Henderson.

"A long time ago. Navy research project. Classified. You know how it is."

"No shit, sir?" Andrews said with bright interest. "Teachin' Flipper to spy and carry bombs, huh?"

"Nah," Henderson said, smirking. "The animal rights people went bananas over that idea, remember? He was teaching Flipper nice, PC search and rescue techniques."

Johnson stuck his nose in the air. "I was just a warm body to help out the trainers. Aside from that, I can neither confirm nor deny anything I may or may not have done with Flipper."

Andrews leered at him. "We always knew you were a perv, Lieutenant. Flipper's a surprise, though. Figured he would have better taste."

Makepeace looked sidelong at them. "I really didn't need that mental image."

Johnson snorted. "Dolphins are promiscuous as hell. I could tell you stories--"

"Scare us later," Makepeace said, cutting off further dolphin commentary. "Let's focus on the horror show at hand. Such as the spheres' function."

Andrews grumbled, "Zapping Marines."

"And possibly communications. It sure sounded like they were trying to talk to us."

"Maybe weather control, too," Johnson said. "Did'ja see the way that tornado behaved? No way was that natural."

"No," Makepeace agreed. "It was herding us, like those damned spheres."

"And when we didn't cooperate, whammo!" Henderson smacked a fist into his palm.

Johnson exhaled, his shoulders slumped. "Guess the planet's not as dead as we thought. Lucky us."

Henderson said, "Maybe it is, and all this stuff is on automatic."

"So what now, Colonel?" Andrews asked.

Makepeace had been pondering that very question, and coming up empty on answers. He shrugged, feeling helpless. "Enjoy the ride, I guess. Hope an opportunity appears when we get to wherever we're going."

His men looked disgruntled, but no one offered any better ideas. Makepeace got up, walked over to the nearest wall, and looked out at the swiftly passing countryside. It gave him an insecure sensation almost like vertigo--with the exception of the floor, the entire cabin was transparent. His hindbrain screamed at him to step back, away from the apparent precipice, but he forced himself to stand there and stare outwards.

Gingerly, he placed a hand against the surface. It was smooth, cool to the touch. He rapped on it with his knuckles; the sound was dull, muted. The stuff was probably damn near unbreakable. Not that breaking through the walls and jumping was an acceptable option anyway--they were traveling way too fast to survive such a hare-brained stunt. For now, they could only wait it out. The next move was up to their captor.

* * * * * * *

SG-3 passed the next half hour in a desultory fashion. At least Makepeace thought it was about half an hour. It was hard to tell. There wasn't anything to do except work out their aches, watch the passing scenery, shoot the shit, and fret.

Andrews and Henderson were bitching about the lack of accommodations. Makepeace wasn't any happier about sitting on the rock hard floor, but his temper was frayed by anger and worry, and he snapped, "Will you two shut up already?"

The two men stopped and just looked at him. Makepeace sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered an apology. Then he got up and started to pace, feeling the eyes of his men on him. He regretted his outburst, but damn it, he hated being trapped.

After a few moments, the men began to talk among themselves again. Andrews was already renewing his complaints. The others chorused their agreement and added their own laments. The bitch session was back in full swing, Makepeace's irritable behavior apparently forgotten, or at least ignored.

Nice to know they took him so seriously.

Makepeace snorted softly. At least bitching kept them occupied, and until this ride ended there was nothing better to do. They'd already worked on their escape plans, in any number of permutations. How many times could they go through that exercise before it palled? Before the absence of any real data, other than the superior technology that opposed them, wore them down. Better that they keep their spirits up. He turned to rejoin them.

"Hey guys, check it out." Johnson stood and pointed to the forward end of the cabin. Dead ahead, spectacular mountains cut into the sky like jagged fangs. No snow or vegetation hid the vibrant hues of sapphire and turquoise that striated the craggy gray stone. Makepeace wondered just how fast the train was traveling, and how far. Back at the ruins, those mountains had been just a blur on the horizon.

But even more startling was the city that nestled among the lower foothills. It was beautiful; a collection of smooth, polished domes and soaring, prismatic spires, all composed of that same glassy green material that made up the ruins SG-3 had excavated. However, no dust or decay marred this city's splendor. The train drew closer, and more details became clear. Arches and sky bridges connected towers at many levels, while faceted crenelations and cabochon surfaces caught the light and flashed with prismatic glory.

Flawless, the city glowed in the sun like a perfect, grass-green emerald.

"That where we're going?" Henderson asked in a hushed voice.

Johnson answered, equally quiet, "Looks like it. The road heads straight in, and we're slowing down."

The Marines all gathered at the front of the cabin, watching as the city grew larger and larger. At closer range, Makepeace could make out more details in the architecture--tall, narrow windows of clear crystal, set high in the many towers; balconies and stepped tiers of terraces; bejeweled protuberances whose function he couldn't even begin to guess at.

The train slowed to a crawl and rolled into a tunnel that lead beneath the glittering city. The interior darkened as the sunlight was left behind. The car finally came to a stop before a wide platform. A dozen golden spheres waited there, hanging motionless in the air.

The door slid open with a soft sigh, the ramp extended to the platform.

"End of the road," Johnson murmured.

Six of the spheres floated forward and lined both sides of the ramp like some kind of alien honor guard. The rest formed a semicircle and waited on the platform. It was obvious to Makepeace that there would be no chance for SG-3 to escape here. Even if they found an opening and tried to make a break for it, the spheres would probably just stun them again. Better to stay conscious and wait for an opportunity elsewhere. He could tell from the resigned sighs of his men that there was no need to explain his reasoning.

"Here we go," he said, and led the way down.

When SG-3 reached the platform the spheres closed around them, encircling them. As a unit, the glittering orbs moved toward a tall, arching doorway, forcing the prisoners along with them.

The Marines were escorted through a bewildering array of corridors of creamy green jade. Makepeace took careful note of every turn, trying to memorize the way back. When he glanced at his teammates, he saw from their alert, focused expressions that they were doing the same.

After about ten minutes of walking, they were herded into a small, windowless room. Three of the spheres entered with them and floated up near the high ceiling, well out of reach. Three sections slid out from slots in the walls and ceiling of the doorway. The panels met in the middle, sealing the startled men inside. A moment later, Makepeace felt slightly weighed down, as though they were rapidly moving upwards. A hexagonal panel beside the door flashed a series of strange symbols. If this was an elevator, it was the smoothest one he'd ever ridden.

The sense of heaviness vanished abruptly, throwing him off balance for a moment. The door slid open again, to reveal a long jade hallway lined with diamond-paned windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Nine gold spheres hovered before the doorway. Whether they were the same ones as before, or a whole new set, Makepeace couldn't tell. The men were prodded out by the three globes that had guarded them, and they were once again surrounded and ushered forward. As they walked, Makepeace glanced out the nearest window. It displayed a panoramic view of sky and desert, as could only be seen from high above the ground.

"We're crossing one of those sky bridges," Johnson observed, quietly. He cast a quick glance at their strange guardians, as though he expected them to object to his speaking, but they only continued their inexorable movement along the hall. Apparently, they didn't care if the men talked among themselves.

However, no one felt inclined to discuss anything of relevance while surrounded by flying orbs that might be recording every word, and under the circumstances idle chatter was right out.

The Marines were led through a veritable maze of corridors, some with airy decorations and windows looking out at the countryside, others dark and claustrophobic, and still others that seemed carved from solid emerald. Here and there they passed intricate structures of amethyst and peridot and topaz, but whether those marvels were strange machines or merely decorative sculptures they couldn't decide.

There were more rides in elevators, and not always up. Some of them moved horizontally, others vertically, and two of the them felt as though they were moving down. Then even more corridors. Makepeace finally gave up on trying to remember the route back, forced to admit that he was hopelessly lost.

Finally they came to an immense, arching door of a highly polished gold material. It was over thirty feet high and appeared utterly impenetrable. Three fine lines trisected it, meeting at a point in its center.

At their approach, the door's three sections silently receded into the wall. From within came a slow, deep pulsing that was felt as well as heard. The men hesitated, but the twelve spheres encircling them moved forward relentlessly and gave them no choice in the matter. The door sealed shut behind them.

Makepeace caught his breath. Straight ahead, dominating the circular room, a scintillating column of blinding, blue-white light seared his eyes. A monster of pure energy barely tamed by an alien technology, it was somehow contained to a single, massive cylinder. It reached the height of the room, passing through rounded apertures in the floor and ceiling. There was no way to tell how far it extended through the city, perhaps even through the planet. Guard rails encircled it, no doubt for the protection of mere mortals. The throbbing was louder here, the bass sound reverberating in the air, vibrating within his chest and rattling his bones. This was power on a scale he'd never even imagined before, raw and blazing. Primal instincts screamed at him to get away, to run like hell, but the spheres continued forward with machine precision.

He tore his eyes from that terrible pillar of energy and looked around, seeking an escape route but finding none.

The room was also impressive. It was enormous, with a smooth, black onyx floor and translucent walls of milky crystal that stretched up to a dome at least ten stories high. Makepeace saw a number of large, cabochon gems embedded in the ceiling, and wondered if they served some function or were merely for decoration.

The lighting was bright, with a circle of light globes orbiting far overhead. Here and there pastel-colored glows lit the glimmering walls from within, shading them with pinks and blues and greens. The ambient temperature was comfortable enough to be unnoticeable, and yet the room gave the impression of ice, as though it had been carved from a glacier. The tripartite door they had passed through was the only exit.

The spheres drove the Marines forward, until they stood dwarfed before that awesome light column. Makepeace felt goose bumps break out all over his body at the close proximity. Whether that was due to static electricity in the air or was simply an emotional reaction on his part, he couldn't say for certain. Maybe both.

A long sequence of harmonic notes, overlapping but not quite synchronized, suddenly filled the chamber. The eerie, electronic noise started out quiet, crescendoed to almost unbearable levels, then tapered off again. The cycle repeated, although the tones varied. Something here seemed to be trying to communicate.

Without much hope, Makepeace took a step forward. Talking to the spheres back at the ruins hadn't worked out too well. He didn't think negotiating with a column of light would go any better, but they had to at least try. "Hello," he said when the synthesized music lulled. "We're explorers from the planet Earth. We came in peace." And we'd like to leave in one piece, he added mentally.

More electronic warbling was the response. He tried again, "I'm sorry, we don't understand you. Can you understand us at all?"

The cascading waves of sound crashed all around him. Makepeace winced, resisting the urge to cover his ears. When the last echoes faded, he heard his men shift nervously behind him. What would it take to get through to this thing?

The column of light flickered and scintillated, continuing to howl its strident cacophony.

"Hey!" Frustrated, Makepeace instinctively raised his voice and enunciated each word. "Listen, we don't understand! In case you hadn't noticed, we're not speaking the same language, so--"

A shaft of brilliant white light shot from a ceiling gem and struck his head. Makepeace cried out in pain and reeled, clutching at his temples. It felt like an ice pick had been driven straight into his brain. He screwed his eyes shut against a torture he couldn't fight.

He heard shouts but the words couldn't penetrate the pain. The tearing agony blotted out all his senses. The ice pick became a great claw that shredded and sliced and ripped without compassion or mercy. Pressure built up until his skull felt as though it would explode. The excruciating pain increased, tenfold, a hundredfold--

Then it was gone.

Makepeace gasped in relief. After so much pain, so much pressure, his head felt curiously light. He was hardly aware of his body at all. He opened his eyes, and discovered that he was on his hands and knees. He'd never even known he'd fallen.

He pushed himself into a sitting position. He felt hands on him, helping him, and heard voices in his ear. It was all meaningless, unimportant. There was a warm wetness dribbling onto his mouth. It annoyed him. He rubbed at the moisture, and his hand came away red. Vaguely, he wondered why his nose was bleeding. He looked down. Crimson droplets speckled the floor, vivid against the polished onyx. Unthinking, he wiped his nose again, mesmerized by the patterns of red and black.

The voices became more insistent, demanding his attention. He supposed it might be important, and forced himself to look up. Johnson was kneeling before him, making calm, soothing noises. He gently placed his hands on Makepeace's shoulders, looked him straight the face, and spoke in a querying tone.

The words made no sense, and Makepeace laughed. Johnson looked dismayed. Makepeace wondered what Johnson had expected to accomplish with all that gibberish.

His head felt strange, like it was stuffed full of cotton. He wasn't feeling bad, exactly, just a little detached. He watched as Henderson knelt down next to Johnson. Wearing a grim expression, Andrews moved between him and the light column. His men all seemed upset, even frightened.

Makepeace felt Johnson lightly squeeze his shoulders, then the lieutenant dropped his hands and shifted aside. Henderson moved forward and peered into his eyes, then held up two fingers. He asked what sounded like a question, but the words were a nonsensical jumble.

Now that Makepeace's head was clearing, he started feeling real fear. Something was wrong with him. He couldn't understand what his men were saying. He stared at Henderson's fingers, knowing what was expected of him. Henderson wanted to determine if he could see straight, and understand what he was seeing. His vision, though, wasn't his problem--it was his hearing. Makepeace opened his mouth to respond. He meant to say "Two" but instead some ugly, garbled sounds spilled out.

What the hell was that? Makepeace tried again. But instead of saying, "You're holding up two fingers," he heard himself spout more unintelligible garbage. He wasn't a terribly religious man, but now he found himself praying that he just couldn't hear right, that his teammates could understand him, at least in part.

His men exchanged horrified glances. Makepeace felt ice run down his spine. He wasn't merely hearing gibberish, he was speaking it as well. What had that thing done to him? Panicking, he reached out, clutched at Johnson's wrist, and tried to speak again.

Nonsense tumbled from his lips. Makepeace wanted to scream. His fingers tightened on Johnson's arm, loosened again when he saw the lieutenant wince. He tried to apologize, but only spewed more babble. He barely kept himself from panting as his fear grew, sharpened by a dawning horror. What if his condition was permanent?

Henderson started talking fast to Johnson. Makepeace got his breathing under control. He rubbed dried blood from his upper lip and tried to focus on the corporal's rapid spate of words. No matter how hard he listened, it all sounded like meaningless noise.

What if his nonverbal skills were affected as well? Could he even read or write anymore? He hugged himself as his sense of panic increased again, becoming almost too strong to contain.

Now Johnson was saying something to Henderson. Makepeace held his breath, listening. Most of it remained incomprehensible babble, but he caught the words "brain damage" and "permanent?" The inflection had made the stream of words into a question.

He'd understood some of that. His spirits lifted a little. Maybe this weird thing was temporary, or at least not total. Knowing that Johnson was afraid he might have permanent brain damage disquieted him, though. He inhaled and tried to speak again. "Johnson."

Yes! It had taken a lot of concentration, but he'd gotten Johnson's name out correctly.

His men stopped talking and stared at him, sudden hope lighting their eyes. Johnson said, "Sir?" Then another sequence of nonsense, ending with "...you understand me at all?"

Makepeace nodded. Focusing hard, he managed to say, "Some." Another success. He made a circling motion with his hand, hoping they would understand that Makepeace wanted them to keep talking.

They did. They kept up a constant stream of chatter, watching Makepeace for signs of comprehension, pausing to listen to his labored replies. The longer they talked, the more sense they made to Makepeace. The more he talked, the more sense he made, as well. The mood lightened. After a few minutes, Makepeace could converse with only the occasional misstep. A couple minutes more, and he thought himself back to normal.

"I'm fine," he insisted as Henderson and Johnson helped him to stand up. In truth, he felt so giddy with relief that he could communicate again that he was almost euphoric. "Really. Now, tell me, what the hell happened to me?"

Henderson spoke in a rush. "We're not sure. A beam of light hit you in the head. You screamed and collapsed, then you couldn't talk right or understand us. It affected your brain's language centers--they must have been traumatized somehow, fortunately not permanently. I think it was some kind of shock to them, but why--"

"Processing and assimilation is complete," a synthesized voice rich with bass undertones and musical harmonics boomed out. "Series 05A, 21B9, and 4B2C communication nodes stable and functioning."

The Marines all started at the interruption. In the midst of their own little drama, they had almost forgotten they were in the presence of a unfathomable and terrifying captor. Its resounding voice was a harsh reminder of the trouble they were in. Even more surprising to hear spoken English, instead of odd musical tones and weird electronic oscillations.

The mechanical voice spoke again. "Is neurological recovery complete?" It was a strange sound, filled with both male and female pitches, overlapping and not quite synchronized, rising and falling like an autumn wind.

"No thanks to you." This time it was Johnson who stepped forward. He pointed at Makepeace. "Why did you hurt him?"

"No physical harm was intended. The probe was not configured correctly for your lifeforms. Power levels were too high. Adjustments and equipment calibration are in process. Is neurological recovery complete?"

"The probe? No wonder it can speak English now," Henderson said excitedly. "Sir, it must have taken our language straight from your brain. That's why you were so messed up--your brain had to recover from being scanned."

"Wonderful," Makepeace groaned. "I can't begin to tell you how much better that makes me feel."

The query came again, "Is neurological recovery complete?"

"Yes, we think it is!" Johnson shouted. "Now who the hell are you?"

The resulting cacophony rattled Makepeace's teeth. He thought he heard some familiar sounds, but echoes, arpeggios, and vibrato obscured any consonants and vowels.

Johnson looked nervous, but stood his ground. "We can't understand that. Is that your name? Can you simplify it?"

The air stilled, then the synthesized voice proclaimed ponderously, "I am Varayimshaeta."

"Um, yeah. Okay." Eyeing the dangerous crystals overhead, Johnson said, "That's still kind of a mouthful. How about we call you Vara? Is that all right?"

The light column pulsed. It hadn't agreed, but it hadn't objected, either. Johnson cleared his throat. "Okay, I'm going to assume you don't have a problem with Vara."

Andrews murmured, "That's a hell of an assumption, Lieutenant."

Before Johnson could respond, Varayimshaeta boomed out: "Why have you returned?" Its tone could only be described as angry.

SG-3 exchanged a bewildered look. Johnson said, "Returned? What are you talking about? We've never been here before."

There was no reply other than the low, pulsing vibrations of the light column. Then, "That is incorrect."

"What are you?" Andrews spoke up. "Why did you bring us here?"

"I am Varayimshaeta. You were brought here to answer," was the response.

"Answer what?"

Sounding impatient, the voice thundered, "Why have you returned?"

"It's a machine," Makepeace said with a flash of insight. "An AI. We're talking to an intelligent computer."

Henderson cautioned, "Sir, maybe we shouldn't be jumping to conclusions like that."

"It makes perfect sense. That business about communications nodes--it must have been teaching itself to use English."

Henderson regarded him with an unreadable expression. "That could have just been a dry run by some aliens, some kind of test pattern. You know, like 'testing one, two, three' and all that?"

"It's a computer," Makepeace said impatiently. "I know it."

"Great." Johnson heaved a deep breath. "So what do we do now? How do we reason with a machine?"

"Answer!" That time the synthesized voice was deafening.

With the memory of the last time he had tried to talk to this thing all too fresh in his mind, Makepeace took a shaky step forward. "We told you, we've never been here before," he said calmly, pleased that his voice hadn't quavered.

"That is untrue."

"It is true," Makepeace insisted. "As we tried to explain before, we're explorers. This is the first time any of our people have been here. We thought your world was deserted. Let us go back to the Stargate, and we'll leave and never come back."

"That is unacceptable."

"Wait," Henderson said before Makepeace could say anything further. "Sir, let's try something different." When Makepeace nodded, he addressed the light. "Why do you think we've been here before? Can you tell us that?"

Makepeace was startled. Such an obvious question, and he had missed it completely. Maybe his "neurological recovery" wasn't quite complete just yet.

The light column rippled with angry radiance. To one side, the air began to shimmer. A hexagon of hazy images formed, floating a few feet above the onyx floor. The display sharpened, and on it appeared a human woman with smooth mocha skin, long black hair, and dark, almond-shaped eyes. She wore a stylized garment reminiscent of a sari that was embroidered with gold and jewels. In spite of her stunning beauty, her face was remote and cold, as though no human emotion had ever touched her.

She stood before a set of golden controls. Behind her, other humans worked at their stations. She leaned forward as though to speak, and her eyes flashed with an unnatural light that the Marines knew only too well.

"She's a Goa'uld," Johnson hissed.

"She is Sitala," the computer told them. The picture froze, so that the woman's eyes remained lit. "Why have you returned?"

Makepeace wrestled down his shock and found his voice. "We're not the same. The people who came here before are called Goa'uld. They're our mortal enemies." He hesitated. A visit from the Goa'uld usually heralded disaster. He thought again of the utterly dead desert, the ruined domes. This computer might be all that was left of whatever civilization had once existed here. "Did the Goa'uld attack you? Is that why your planet is barren?"

"In the Sixth Epoch, Sitala came to this world in a great voidship," the electronic voice replied, "as the emissary of a ruler named Nirrti. Sitala claimed to be interested in trade, but instead she unleashed a viral plague."

"You have some pretty advanced technology. You must have had orbital defenses, or something. Why didn't you notice her ship before she got here, and stop her?"

"Varayimshaeta has no near neighbors. Nothing travels through the void. The portal you call the Stargate is isolated and controlled. There was no need for an orbital defense system."

Makepeace remembered the empty night sky. Why would a race that evolved on such a world ever develop spaceships? They had probably never even conceived the idea that anyone else would, either. Until the Goa'uld came, and they learned otherwise--the hard way.

"Vara..." he said hesitantly, unsure whether the machine had really accepted Johnson's version of its name. "I'm sorry your people were killed. It wasn't us, though. We had nothing to do with it."

There was only an accusing silence.

"Look, the Goa'uld are actually these ugly, worm-like parasites. They infest our bodies to control and enslave us. Believe me, we're nothing alike." Again, there was no response. "Why did you let us leave the Stargate building, come into your world, if you didn't want us here? If you'd never opened the door, we'd have just left on our own."

"To answer, to speak," came the unenlightening reply. Varayimshaeta's tone had changed, from demanding and overpowering to something that sounded almost wistful.

"To warn us to stay away?" It seemed a peculiar way to go about it, but Makepeace reminded himself that he was dealing with a nonhuman psychology here. "Well, we promise to go away and tell our people never to return."

"You are the same, yet you claim you are not the same."

Makepeace rubbed his temple. He was getting a headache from all this arguing. "Okay, fine, whatever you say. Just send us back--"

"You will remain."

"What?"

"The servitors will take you to a place of waiting."

Makepeace exchanged an alarmed look with his teammates. "That's not necessary. I promise, we'll leave and never come back. We--"

"You will remain. The servitors will take you to a place of waiting."

The gold spheres encircling the Marines started moving back toward the exit. Feeling more than a little sick, Makepeace could only shrug to his men. Unhappily, they let themselves be herded back into the maze of corridors.

Continue to Part 4

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