SG1-15 The Power Behind the Throne by Steven Savile Page B

consciousness before he felt his mind tear asunder.
    And a moment later the Stargate reformed it and he stepped out into darkness. Physically sick and reeling, Daniel fell to his knees and clutched at his stomach, retching. Without thinking he released the clasps sealing his helmet and barely managed to throw it aside before he dry heaved.
    Sam came through a moment later, managed three awkward steps and collapsed at the bottom of the Stargate. He crawled over to where she lay and saw her clawing at her helmet. He helped work the clasps loose and pulled it off. She tried to speak but couldn’t. Her mouth moved but she choked on the breath and the words, not managing either in her need to do both.
    “It’s all right,” Daniel said, trying to calm her. “We’re all right.”
    Sam stared up at him, wild-eyed. “What happened?” she managed before a brutal coughing fit wracked her body.
    “I was going to ask you,” Daniel said.
    “Where are we?” Sam asked when she finally stopped coughing.
    “That was another one I was kinda banking on you answering,” Daniel said, looking around them. There wasn’t a lot to see. Wherever they were, it wasn’t Kansas — or Colorado Springs for that matter. Before she could answer, the Mujina came through the gate. It faired no better, managing four steps forward before it lurched off violently to the right, stumbled and fell. A pitiful whine escaped its lips as it lay there.
    The gate provided the only source of light; it was enough to see the sheen of ice frosting the bare stone walls of the cavern. The walls were rough-hewn, blasted out of the ground with explosives — he could see the long thin drill lines where they had been planted. There were thirteen identical lines, each perfectly smooth, that seemed to be carved into the rock while all around them the stone was jagged from where it had been broken away by the blast. It suggested a basic level of technological development not dissimilar to Earth’s, give or take a century or so. Daniel’s breath misted in front of his face. Already the blonde tips of Sam’s hair had whitened as the frost thickened. The ghostly blue light of the gate only served to make it feel colder still.
    Teal’c was the last through the Stargate, carrying O’Neill in his arms. He walked resolutely forward, placing each footstep with exaggerated care, and then knelt to lay O’Neill down before he buckled and slumped against the wall. None of them said anything for the longest time. The confines of the chamber echoed with the sounds of their ragged breathing. O’Neill groaned but didn’t move.
    “This is not Stargate Command,” Teal’c said, removing the clasps that fastened his helmet. He put it aside.
    “What happened?” Daniel asked, crawling over to be beside O’Neill.
    “The damage from the Goa’uld weapon tore open O’Neill’s suit, exposing him to the worst of the sun’s radiation and heat of the burning sky.”
    “Will he be all right?”
    “I do not know, Daniel Jackson.”
    “I’m just toasty,” Jack grunted. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. “So stop talking about me like I am dead. Now would someone like to tell me where the hell we are?”
    “We’re in some sort of ice cavern, that’s about as much as I’ve been able to work out,” Daniel offered. “There’s evidence that whoever excavated the cavern used explosives, which suggests we’re talking about a society advanced enough to have mastered gunpowder and dynamite.”
    “Great. So let’s hope they don’t want to try out their flash bangs on us, shall we?” Jack struggled to sit up. Teal’c helped support him. “Carter, how are you doing?”
    Sam lay on her side, looking up at them. She did her best to smile. It was a weak effort. “I’ve been better, sir”.
    “Any idea what happened back there?”
    “Something must have interfered with the wormhole,” she suggested. “The gate must have lost its connection and leapt to the nearest possible