[Stargate SG-1 04] - The Morpheus Factor Read online

  The itch that said Get out of here was back. He looked over his shoulder. The Stargate was a long way back, but he was certain that he could retrace their path. Even if he couldn’t, the tracer left by the DHD would home them in, should it become necessary.

  On the other hand, there was a mission to perform. His own personal preferences couldn’t be allowed to overrule that. He sighed to himself, resolved to keep his wits firmly about him, and kept going.

  Silver looked back at him and the others and waved them up closer as they stepped through an opening between two trees and stopped abruptly. The ground fell away from their feet as if it had been sheared off by a knife. But the grasses still grew soft and cushiony down the nearly vertical slope. The trees lined up at the top of the slope as if looking down at their counterparts that grew at its base.

  “Come and eat with us,” Silver said, repeating its—his?—earlier invitation.

  “Uh, I don’t think so,” O’Neill said.

  “We ought to accept hospitality when it’s offered,” Daniel pointed out.

  O’Neill gave him a long look, and a faint tinge of red touched Daniel’s fair complexion. Behind that look were a hundred reminders of other times and other places and other invitations. “Said the fly to the spider,” the colonel remarked dryly. “This place is just… weird.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “We haven’t been threatened so far,” Carter pointed out. “By the inhabitants, at least,” she added hastily as her superior officer’s look was directed her way. “They seem to be friendly. And maybe we can find out why… those other things… happened.”

  O’Neill always thought that his curiosity bump was as big as the next guy’s, and Carter somehow knew how to scratch it. He weighed the phenomenon of walking trees and changing landscapes against the pint-size furry aliens with morphing clothes and decided, cautiously, to let curiosity win out for the time being.

  “Come and eat with us,” Silver repeated. “We’re glad to see you. We’ll have a party.”

  “Uh, were you expecting us?” Daniel inquired, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t sneezed again since that first time, O’Neill noted.

  “Oh, no, oh, no, we always welcome strangers. Come down to our home and eat with us. Stay with us and talk. We always welcome strangers. Come.”

  Get a lot of strangers here, do you? O’Neill asked himself acerbically. He was pleased to see Jackson actually asking the question as they trooped along. The little red alien babbled something in response about “many strangers, not like you.” So probably not Goa’uld. Maybe. “But we welcome you, welcome you.”

  Something about the invitation reminded him of an old myth involving a trip to Hell and eating pomegranate seeds. He’d have to ask Daniel, who probably had the reference at his fingertips, if he could ever manage to pry the young archaeologist from the joy of interacting with yet another alien culture. The invitation to eat, however, raised a definite alarm. Once before they’d been welcomed with open arms, and he had eaten a welcoming feast. The result had been incredibly accelerated aging, and it had taken quite an effort to reverse it. He had no intention of being eligible for Social Security more than twice in his life.

  He wondered if they were expected to roll down the hill, but the three aliens led them off along the crest of the slope for another hundred feet, and there before them appeared a long stone stairway laid upon the grass, leading grandly downward. O’Neill could have sworn it hadn’t been there fifteen seconds earlier.

  Definitely weird.

  He looked back, but the Gate was still there, a distant arch barely visible over the tops of the trees. At least it hadn’t morphed into a pink elephant or something. Nice to know there was still a back door available.

  He scuffed at the rough yellow surface of the step in a tentative fashion. The others waited behind him while the three aliens paused a few steps below and looked back up at their visitors inquiringly.

  As commanding officer, it was his decision to make; but when he took a silent vote of the rest of his team, Teal’C only raised an eyebrow, Carter offered no opinion, and Jackson, of course, couldn’t wait to get going.

  The slabs of rock, solid under his feet, took his weight without sinking, and the steps were sufficiently wide and shallow that he didn’t have to look for a railing to balance himself. Apparently the slope only looked steeper than it was. Or maybe it was just another one of those weird things.

  He inhaled deeply, let the breath out, and followed the little furry people, keeping one hand close to his sidearm just in case.

  Behind him, he could hear Carter counting steps under her breath as they followed the aliens down. She reached seventy-eight by the time they got to the bottom. The three little aliens trooped along gamely, scurrying ahead and then pausing to look back and wave them on. Soon they entered what could have passed for a hardwood forest on Earth, with trees that looked like oaks, with broad boles and spreading limbs. The ground, though, was as bare of undergrowth as he’d expect to find in a pine forest. It made walking easier, but for some reason he had to squint to keep track of the three aliens leading them on. Their brightly colored fur patterns blended with the light and shadows cast by the sun through the leaves.

  Eventually, they came to a valley and a village of small conical huts. The huts were built out of some woven fabric and resembled tipis. The three aliens scurried in one to announce their arrival. The settlement resembled a Plains Indian village, minus the paintings on the fabric—and the campfires, drying racks, and horses picketed outside. The huts were arranged in roughly square patterns around a central open area, a pattern O’Neill was beginning to find very familiar from one world to the next. Jackson would probably say that it was a logical pattern for herding societies or that most social species had typical centralized gathering places. In any case, it echoed patterns they’d seen before, and that was reassuring somehow. The place was weird, but not that weird.

  He was relieved to find that, despite what the welcoming party had told them, no one was expecting them, and there wasn’t a banquet laid out ready for interstellar guests. From out of the conical huts came dozens of people who were just as surprised to see visitors as their visitors were to see them. Brown, Red, and Silver did a lot of talking in that low, muttery whisper before the other aliens were convinced that the newcomers were staying awhile and started pulling dinner together. Small domesticated animals flopped, squawked, and scurried between the houses.

  “Well, Daniel, what can you tell us?” O’Neill asked, feeling a bit uncomfortable since everyone around them seemed to have something to do. He wasn’t happy just standing around and being waited on.

  “Well, they’re not from Earth obviously,” Jackson began.

  “No, really?”

  Jackson ignored him. “But based on what the probe told us, their body chemistry is probably a lot like ours. Their houses are fascinating.”

  “Observe the children,” Teal’C remarked in the middle of the archaeologist’s dissertation, studying the ebb and flow of the aliens gathering, talking, splitting into smaller groups, and then regathering as if they needed to touch each other constantly. “Or at least the smaller individuals. If they are indeed allowing children to participate in this event, it is unlikely they intend to harm us.”

  The little village swarmed with smaller versions of their three guides. The little ones behaved as apparently children did everywhere in the universe, with shy ones hanging back and braver ones running up to peer into the faces of the strange tall folk who had invaded their world. There was much giggling and teasing when the bravery ran out and the venturesome ones scurried away.

  Carter got down on one knee, the better to deal with them on their own level, and laid her rifle on the ground beside her. O’Neill bit his tongue to keep from snapping at her for forgetting basic safety precautions, but the little one ignored the weapon and touched Carter’s face with a featherlight, wondering caress, seeking the missing pattern
s of hair, touching her eyebrows as if relieved that there was something there after all.

  Okay, he’d mention it to the major later. But she’d better not pull that stunt twice. The little guys were cute and all, but so were baby black widow spiders. Carter knew better than to let appearances deceive her.

  “Children? Oh, yeah, but… that’s not—Look at their clothing!” Jackson said. Fascinated, the team watched as some of the aliens’ coverings changed shape into an approximation of fatigues, while on others, the material, whatever it was, remained static. The uninfluenced version of the clothing appeared to be layers of fabric in panels perhaps a foot wide, hanging from shoulders and hips, fluttering as the aliens moved. The little one communing with Carter touched her sleeve, and the gossamer tunic turned a dark, mottled green. The major took the newly colored material between her fingers and rubbed it lightly, awed. Both she and the child giggled at her reaction. Jackson, who was running the camcorder in wide sweeps to cover as much as possible, got the reaction shot and focused on the fabric in Carter’s fingers.

  It was obvious that the team was too tall to fit comfortably in any of the huts. As they watched, Silver and Red organized a clearing in the middle of the village, setting up tall poles to support a gauzelike shade that ran the length of the village square. They swept away most of the more noxious detritus of village life—they hadn’t developed trash pickup yet on this world—and soon had wide reed mats spread out. Rat, meter-wide woven baskets heaped with various kinds of grain, fruit, vegetables—at least they looked like the familiar Earth foods—were placed at irregular intervals. Silver and Red walked around the perimeter of the shaded area, setting out shallow bowls full of incense that smouldered with a pleasant aroma, and the villagers began to settle along the edges of the mats. Rather than beginning to eat, however, they all looked at SG-1 expectantly.

  Finally Brown rejoined the Earth team. “Come and eat,” he invited them yet again. “Share our food.”

  “Hospitality always seems to involve sharing food, no matter where you are. Uh, it looks like they’re not going to start until we join them,” Jackson noted. Carter got back to her feet, picking up her rifle with a guilty start, and brushed herself off. The child, responding to a call from an older, or at least larger, individual, ran off.

  “You guys go ahead,” O’Neill said, letting go a deep breath. The aliens really did look benign. On the other hand, he’d heard that song before. “I’ll stand watch.”

  “You’re sure?” Jackson asked.

  “Oh, yeah, I’m sure.” Jack O’Neill had been caught once too often by seemingly innocuous food offered by aliens. He wasn’t about to go through an experience like that one anytime soon—never, if he could avoid it.

  Jackson, remembering the incident, nodded in understanding, but he was perfectly willing to take the risk himself. He sat down in the middle of the aliens and asked rapid-fire questions about everything, like a good anthropologist doing field research. He specialized in the “making peaceful contact” part of their mission, gathering data about new worlds and, while he was at it, finding out just how much contact such a world had with the Goa’uld.

  So Teal’C and Carter settled down on the ground along the edge of the yellow reed mats with him, and O’Neill stood aside, watching, as the aliens offered them food that looked remarkably like apples and fist-size loaves of bread. No pomegranates, he noted, then wondered why he was obsessing on the subject. Brown looked at him, disappointed, and then sat down with the rest, apparently resigned to the idea that one of their visitors wasn’t going to join the party.

  Daniel accepted a jug of something liquid from one of the aliens and sipped. “Water,” he said with some surprise and passed it along to Sam. The alien nodded.

  “Tell us about your world,” Daniel said between bites of apple. “We saw strange things and don’t understand them.”

  The alien made a face that might have been a scowl or a smile—either way those teeth were awfully sharp—and passed along an extra apple to one of the kids (or smaller aliens) who was hanging around, wide-eyed and curious. O’Neill smiled at him, and the child offered him the apple, with one bite already taken out and disappearing between busy fangs. Those teeth didn’t look vegetarian, but he couldn’t see anything that looked like meat anywhere on the mats. In fact, the only cooked food seemed to be the bread. He wondered if they baked it inside their houses. He couldn’t spot any exterior ovens.

  The food looked good, and its odor was enhanced by the incense. O’Neill had grown out of his incense phase about thirty years previous, but this stuff actually did smell good, not overpowering at all. He could practically taste the flavor of the clear juices running from the fruit being held up to him. His stomach rumbled, and the child started, as if O’Neill had growled at him.

  O’Neill glanced at Daniel, who usually was the arbiter of alien etiquette, but the blond scientist was deep in conversation with Brown. The kid nudged him again, persistently offering.

  Well, if a child had already eaten from the fruit, it should—probably—be okay. He hoped. And he didn’t want the kid to think he was mad at him. He took one small bite of the apple and returned it to the child, nodding.

  He wasn’t going to be allowed to discreetly spit it out. The kid was watching him eagerly, one three-fingered hand resting lightly on his belt. Wondering if he’d lost his mind O’Neill smiled again and chewed. Under the intent stare of the young one, he swallowed.

  What he ate tasted exactly like an apple. A Granny Smith, to be exact. Tart and crisp and juicy. It was really good, in fact.

  The kid bared its teeth in what O’Neill hoped was a smile and then scampered away, devouring the rest of the fruit as it went.

  The meal went on, with O’Neill feeling more and more left out as his teammates engaged in animated conversations with the aliens around them. He kept a steady monitor on his own reactions as well as those of his team. If anyone started acting off, including himself, they were leaving instantly.

  But nothing untoward occurred. He remained standing, feeling a bit bored, if anything. The only good thing about his self-appointed guardianship was that it allowed him to eavesdrop on everybody at once.

  In response to Jackson’s incessant questions, posed between mouthfuls, Silver said, “No, we are not the only ones here. There are others, but we, the Kayeechi, do not feast with them.” He looked uncomfortable, and the nearest aliens shivered and fell silent for a moment.

  “Are you at war?” Jackson asked, pushing the subject. “Do you fight with them?”

  Silver, who had introduced himself as Shasee, looked around at the others as if seeking guidance. The others went on talking to each other as if the question had never been asked, but there was an air of unease about the place, and O’Neill was sure that they were all listening for the response.

  “Yes,” he said finally. “But this is not a time to discuss that. This is a celebration of visitors. War is an unpleasant topic.”

  That, at least, was indisputable, though O’Neill would have liked to have heard more nonetheless. However, his team seemed more inclined to tact than he was.

  “Are there more Kayeechi living in other places?” Carter finally got a question in edgewise. Jackson took the opportunity to wash down a mouthful of bread and waited for the response.

  The aliens looked at each other as if such a thing had never occurred to them. “Why would anyone want to live some other place than this?” Red asked, clearly confused. “We live here.”

  “So the others you don’t feast with—the ones you fight—aren’t Kayeechi?”

  This earned Carter a look that implied she had an astounding grasp of the obvious. “Of course not,” Shasee snapped, then relented, softening his tone. “We are a peaceful people. We don’t fight among ourselves. We only fight others to defend ourselves when we have to.”

  “What about others that come through the Gate?” Teal’C asked some of the other small aliens crowded around the food. “Have
you seen persons shaped like us?” Teal’C had not missed the implication: SG-1 would fall firmly into the category of “others” for this culture.

  “Oh, no,” he was assured. “We have never seen those like you before. We have tales of people who have come through the Hole In Nothing, but no one in this place has actually seen someone walk through it. Is it a most amazing place, the other side of Nothing?”

  Even though these people had never heard of the Goa’uld, they had stories about someone using the Gate. And on top of that, they were engaged in local conflicts of their own. Ouch, O’Neill thought. Not good. Earth wasn’t interested in taking sides in somebody else’s wars, but they needed more information.

  He wished they could just go ahead and interrogate the little guys, instead of Daniel’s approach of laughing and joking and comparing his solid mass of yellow hair to the patch patterns of the aliens. It would certainly get information faster than the more casual and offhand approach that Jackson was using to pry more information about “someone using the Gate.”

  It would also probably alienate the aliens though. O’Neill held his patience and his tongue and let Jackson work, drawing on his professional expertise to sop up as much information as possible in the shortest time.

  At least the Kayeechi didn’t seem inclined to shoot strangers first and ask questions later. They appeared genuinely glad to meet the team from Earth, eager to talk to them. Maybe they really were peaceful.

  “It’s much like this place,” Jackson said. “We live in cities. We have feasts. Sometimes we argue with our neighbors too.”

  “It is good to know that we are not so different,” Shasee responded with an expression that was probably a smile. The supply of food was considerably reduced by now, and a few of the Kayeechi had risen from the mat and were taking away the empty serving dishes and scraping together the spare fruit. “Look. The suns are going down, and we have the ceremonial incense set up already. Let us welcome you properly with music and dancing, and you shall tell us more of the stories of your world.”