STARGATE SG-1: Trial by Fire by Trial by Fire (SG1–1)

Author:Trial by Fire (SG1–1) [Retail]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fandemonium Books
Published: 2020-06-22T20:42:25+00:00

Chapter Ten

Jack was losing himself in nostalgic memories of Marve Miller, an upperclassman with a pathological streak and a deep-seated hatred of Yankees and lippy junior cadets. Unlucky coincidence. After having been taped into their blankets and tenderized, all smart-mouths had been cordially invited to tuck into a bowl of live worms. Cadet O’Neill had distinguished himself by meriting second and third helpings. It’d given him one hell of a head start in survival training.

Right now he’d eat that bowl of worms and be grateful for it.

They’d left the assembly hall, and Tertius and his merry men had led him to an olive grove in the foothills, roughly three klicks outside the garrison. On the way there, about fifteen other guys had joined them, one by one, quietly deserting their workshops and abandoning their fields. A crew of soldiers had slipped out of the guardhouse by the perimeter wall. No women. It was strictly a boys’ day out.

Their taciturn little column had stopped in a clearing. Gnarled, silver-leaved olive trees all round, silence, sunshine, bleached grass, and crickets. A clear stream ran through the glade, frothing over black rock. By the stream, a statue of some sort. It was an egg-shaped stone ring, with zodiac signs and, inside the ring, a guy who carried a torch and sword and shared his taste in headwear with Lord Zipacna. Obviously he was important in some way, because this had been where the fun had started.

After solemnly bowing to Egg-Boy they’d blindfolded him and announced that he was to be reborn into a new life, which they took as an excuse to strip him down to his boxers. God only knew what they’d made of the Simpsons theme. Then they’d guided him on and grass and dust had given way to sharp-edged shingle. Easy to tell when you’re barefoot: one’s comfortable, the other isn’t. You could hear it, too. Snap, crackle, and pop under your feet. A whole new set of calluses later they’d gone underground. Dank, cold air, and he’d felt goosebumps erupt on his skin. Sounds took on a limp quality and multiplied into wet, whispering echoes. There’d been a sense of confinement and his two guides had fallen behind, so the tunnel must have been narrow. Until that odd feeling of pressure had suddenly been replaced by an impression almost of falling. And there’d been a new noise.

His notion of being in some vast cavern had been verified seconds later when a pair of hands had undone the blindfold. He’d been standing at the edge of a fast-flowing underground river, and Tertius and his followers had been lined up in a semicircle around him, effectively cutting him off from the outside world. Each had held a torch and a sword, like Egg-Boy in the glade, and when they’d found time to change was anybody’s guess. Floppy hats for all, and elaborately embroidered white tunics instead of the brown everyday ones. In the torchlight he’d seen the delicate pink and blue lacework of stalactites and stalagmites and a profusion of black tunnel mouths.

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