I Dreamed of Abydos Last Night
Part 2
Chapter 9
Brazilian rainforest, Upper Xingu Dig 17
Daniel stooped through the opening to his tent and stepped out into the already-steamy Amazonian day. The sun was still low on the horizon and cast only a hazy morning light on the place he'd called home for a month. At some point in the near future, if the dig turned out to be as important as the lead archaeologists hoped, there would be buildings, but for now everything was very... basic. There were several tents to either side of his, and the "kitchen," was across the small dirt "yard." It was a simple affair with posts holding up a corrugated tin roof and rolled up flaps attached that could be dropped to keep out the rain, black flies or mosquitoes, depending on the time of day and the season. There were three long picnic tables set up, and a large kerosene cooking stove. The noisy portable generator stood silent, as it was turned off each night unless they needed refrigeration. Fresh meat was a luxury they enjoyed perhaps once a week; the rest of the time they lived off canned or dried food, fresh fruit from their surroundings and sometimes fresh vegetables from the local people. Having survived for years on MREs and bad commissary food, Daniel was not bothered. At least the coffee was good.
Daniel wandered to the dining area and poured himself a cup of coffee from the old fashioned percolator working away on the hot stove and went to sit down across the table from Charles, who was already wolfing down what looked like several Twinkies. The rest of the camp still slept, only the night security guard wandering about, mug of coffee in hand.
"Jacques!" Charles greeted him, with his mouth full. "Get yourself some food, man! We've got digging to do and discoveries to make!"
Daniel just shook his head slightly and took a sip of the scalding coffee. Charles had married young and raised two boys and a girl, dutifully working in his father's bank to support the family while longing for the career as an archaeologist he had trained for at university. Now Charles had taken a six-month leave, with the blessing of his wife and almost-grown kids, and was on the adventure of a lifetime, pursuing his dream. Daniel appreciated Charles's enthusiasm, and sometimes he even found it infectious, but there were many days that he also found it a little overwhelming, especially so early in the morning. He felt the now normal pang of nostalgia and grief as he thought, briefly, of how Jack, Sam and Teal'c would laugh at the idea of Daniel, of all people, finding another archaeologist too enthusiastic.
Ignoring Charles's continuing banter, Daniel looked over the man's shoulder and, past the small structure they used as a "lab," to the dig itself, maybe 100 square yards, with its newly dug narrow trenches and grids marked off carefully with string.
So far, it looked as if they had found the site of a small community or campsite, and not one of the small cities with their wide roads, plazas and parkland, the discovery of which had begun to change the archaeological world's view of pre-Columbian civilization in the Amazon. Although Daniel was an Egyptologist, he had always thought that the mainstream assumption that the people of the region were "primitive" had been based on a Western bias dating back to the days of the first Spanish conquerors, who viewed the Amazon as a vast, hostile, unexplorable region, unfit for human settlement. Daniel knew better than most how stubborn his colleagues could be when their assumptions were challenged. Thus he'd followed with interest news of the archaeological finds, starting in the '90s, that had turned the beliefs about the region on their head.
Daniel's eyes wandered past the dig to the beginnings of the forest just beyond it, with its scrubby brush giving way to isolated trees and then the knotty tall trees of deep woods, with its snakes, monkeys, spiders, sloths, tapirs, panthers, an an incredible variety of birds, lizards, insects... Daniel let himself listen to the sounds, the constant clacking, whistling, buzzing, grunting multitude of sounds. In the distance a troop of howler monkeys started up its eery moaning.
In all his years and all his travels and all the wonders he had seen, Daniel had never experienced anything so astonishing as this shrinking patch of rainforest he was living in now.
Behind him, back in the other direction over a low rise, was the Xingu River. Most of the foreign volunteers, and the Brazilian lead archaeologists, Elena and Manoel, had arrived from Altamira by boat, a fairly grueling four-hour trip. Daniel barely remembered the trip, though, still caught as he was in state of mourning and disbelief, but he did remember the ache in his back and the crocodiles on the riverbank. And he remembered the feeling of despair as he floated farther and farther away from the life he'd known.
Daniel was snapped out of his less than pleasant reverie by the sound of Charles clearing his throat. He looked across the table at his companion, who was uncharacteristically silent and staring at him with concern. Daniel had allowed Charles and the rest of the camp to think that he was still mourning the untimely death of his parents in a car accident, since he knew he wasn't a good enough actor to always hide his grief. Now Daniel forced out a small laugh and a smile.
"Sorry, just thinking," he said. "What were you saying?"
"Clearly, nothing important," Charles said dryly. "But it looks as if Mac and the others are here, so perhaps we should get started?"
Daniel looked back toward the dig and saw that a few of the Kaipo men hired on to help with the dig were appearing from the forest. "Mac" was Charles's name for Miacuro, one of the few young men of the community who spoke Portuguese and who most often acted as translator for the group.
"Looks like it," Daniel said. "Let's go." He downed the rest of his coffee, and the two men walked out into the brightening sunlight and headed for the dig.
—————————————————-
Reggie Saunders, bored with providing security where none was needed, watched Jacques Perrault as he squatted near one of the younger volunteers—Hannah, one of the German girls—and gestured toward something in the ditch. From the narrow trench, she looked up at him raptly, but Jacques seemed oblivious to her adoration, caught up totally in whatever he was explaining to her.
Over the past month since the Canadian had arrived, Saunders had gradually become convinced that Monsieur Perrault was not whom he pretended to be. Oh, there seemed no doubt that he knew his archaeology. Even the lead archaeologists, the gloomy Manoel Almeira and his sharp-witted sister Elena Borques, had started to listen to the man when he softly voiced his opinion on where best to expand the dig or the likely reason for an oddly located artifact.
Saunders, when he was bored, liked to listen.
No, Jacques was an archaeologist, but it was what else he was that had begun to fascinate Saunders. Saunders had been in the U.S. Army for 20 years and he knew what he knew.
Jacques was a soldier.
Saunders had first seen it early on, when he'd watched Perrault come out of his tent one morning. The man didn't just push his way out and stumble to the kitchen the way most of them did. He stood for a moment and took in his surroundings, his eyes moving from the kitchen to the work areas, to the edge of the rainforest and back to the tents. Saunders had at first thought it was his imagination, until he'd seen Jacques do it the next morning and the morning after. The man was scouting his surroundings like a pro, and he did it whether he was in mid-conversation with whoever stood outside his tent or on his own.
Saunders was fairly certain Jacques was not even aware that he was doing it. It was habit, the habit of a man who had spent a lot of time waking up in hostile territory.
So Saunders, again out of boredom, started paying more attention, just to see what else he could pick up. He watched as, some two weeks after he'd arrived, Jacques had started to work out with some of the kid volunteers. The Englishman Charles and Elena had rolled their eyes at him, telling him to leave all that exertion to the "children." The Kaipo men had laughed at the absurdity of the foreigners running on the dirt track that led past their village and out to the rudimentary logging road about a mile away. Manoel had, typically, just scowled, and gone back to typing into his laptop.
But Saunders had watched. Perrault was out-of-shape, but not in the way a sedentary man might be. He moved with ease and grace, and he had the muscles still of someone used to an active life. No, Jacques had the look of a man who had been ill—or wounded. His color had not been that great when he'd arrived, he favored his left arm, and he'd obviously recently lost a lot of weight, quickly. The first days he'd tired quickly, joking with the German girls who'd joined in and the tall young Dane that he was "too old" to keep up with them. But he'd pressed on, and by now he was, definitely, keeping up with the kids.
It might have been middle-aged vanity that made Jacques work so hard, but Saunders didn't think so. Staying fit was another survival habit that Jacques had not been able to shake.
And then there was the night when Saunders had filled in for Evones, who'd gone into Altamira, and he'd heard Perrault crying out in his sleep, not in French but in English and in a language he'd never heard, although it sounded vaguely Arabic. He'd later asked Evones about it, and the night guy had shrugged and said that, yes, the man seemed to have a lot of nightmares, but he didn't pay much attention. It was more fun, he said, winking, to see who was sneaking into whose tent.
Saunders put together all this information and added to it the haunted look that he often saw in the archaeologist's eyes, and he could reach only one conclusion: Jacques Perrault was military, or ex-military, and in his time, he'd seen some serious shit.
None of this would be so strange, or was really any of his business, except that one day Saunders had finally approached the man and asked him about it point blank. He was curious, yes, but he also though that maybe they could connect, share some stories, help each other get through some of the more tedious days, when the rain would come and send everyone undercover for hours. So he'd sat down at an otherwise empty table across from Jacques. Jacques, nursing his ever-present cup of coffee, had greeted him warmly, calling him Reggie, which no one else around there did. He doubted any of the rest of them, except for Manoel and Elena, who had hired him, even knew his first name.
So he'd asked the where he'd served, what branch of the military... and Jacques had denied it. Flat-out denied it. He'd stared at Saunders with those disturbing blue eyes, and then with a smile and a laugh had said, "Reginald, whoever told you I was a military man is way off base. If you knew how much I hated guns..." Jacques let his statement drift off and shook his head. Then he'd asked Saunders about his own military career and before he knew it, he was telling Perrault about his days in the Gulf.
The man was smooth, Saunders had to give him that, but he was definitely a soldier. A few days after that conversation, Evones had woken up to find a python in his tent. He'd rolled out of bed, grabbed his gun and shot it. At the sound of the gun shot, most of the camp had reacted, jumping at the sound, ducking down, giving a small scream. Saunders himself had ducked for cover and drawn his weapon before Evones had come out of his tent swinging the dead snake and laughing.
Jacques, though, who had been walking not far from Evones's tent, had hit the ground, rolled and come up in a crouch grabbing for an imaginary sidearm.
So Saunders watched the mystery man now, wondering if he was someone to be worried about, if he was some kind of threat to the security of the dig and the people on it, or if he was just another damaged man running from his past who deserved to be left in peace. Saunders knew something about running away. Why else would he have taken this job in this mosquito-ridden, godforsaken place? And he knew he wasn't being paid to do more than keep vandals from the camp and to make sure that the disputes between the miners and the loggers working mere miles away didn't spill over into the dig.
Still, Jacques Perrault was a mystery, and Saunders loved a good mystery. He looked toward him again and saw that, at the moment, Jacques was just standing up, gently pulling his arm from the German girl's grasp. Saunders watched Elena come up behind him and lay her hand lightly on his back, pointing to the area where Charles was working with some of the local guys, one of whom was holding a GPS while the others marked off the grids. Jacques turned and accidentally brushed against Elena's chest, and Elena smiled a little, looking him in the eye. Jacques blinked and gave an embarrassed shrug, offering what Saunders imagined was an apology. It was hard to see from where he stood, but Saunders could swear that the man was blushing.
Saunders raised his eyebrows at that. Oblivious as Jacques may have been to the pretty 19-year-old who had been practically jumping him moments before, he was decidedly not oblivious to the charms of his boss. Not that Saunders could blame him. He himself tended to prefer the young ones, much to his ex-wife's dismay, but Elena was a force of nature. Saunders smiled to himself as he turned to scout the outskirts of the camp. Watching Jacques Perrault had just become even more interesting.
Chapter 10
Daniel could feel Saunders staring again, and he got a sinking feeling in his gut. He wondered if he'd have to run again, this time on his own. Daniel had lied to him, and the man knew it. Something had clued Saunders in to his background even before Daniel had made a fool of himself the day Evones had shot the snake. On that morning, after he'd come out of his drop and roll and gotten to his feet, grinning sheepishly the way he thought Jacques might, his heart still beating a mile a minute, Daniel had turned and, of course, seen Saunders looking at him as he holstered his own, real, weapon. The security guard had cocked his head and raised his eyebrow, the question in his eyes communicated as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud: Not military, are you? Uh-huh.
In his time at the SGC Daniel had still liked to pretend, sometimes, that he wasn't "military," and he never felt as if he was when he was shuffling through the subterranean halls with the real military men and women, but he knew, had known for some time, that that was just semantics. He'd been on the front lines of a brutal war for seven years, could handle a half-dozen different kinds of weapons proficiently, had killed more Jaffa than he could comfortably think about... He couldn't pretend that all that hadn't changed who he was.
Daniel shook his head. He'd barely been in Brazil for four weeks, and already he'd blown it. He didn't know why he should be surprised or disgusted with himself, although he was. He'd never been an actor. Teal'c had once told him, before going all-in in some late-night poker game Jack had insisted they play, "I can see through you like a book, Daniel Jackson," causing them all to laugh at his intentional garbling of the Tau'ri cliché. Daniel smiled a little at the memory now, allowing himself the fleeting hope that his friend was out there somewhere, still honing his sense of humor, before he pushed the thought back into that compartment of his mind that now seethed with memories trying to escape, if only he'd let them.
He felt another headache coming on and glanced up at the hot sun. He pulled the front of his tee-shirt up and wiped the sweat and grime from his face, then pulled it over his head and tossed it on the ground above the trench he was working. The Kaipo men around him were already shirtless, a couple with red and yellow bodypaint adorning their backs. Daniel preferred working with the local men. To the Kaipo, they were all foreigners, all intruders, really, and Daniel knew that nothing he did would arouse any special curiosity. And he enjoyed picking up on the nuances of their language as they spoke among themselves. It was a distraction from the painstaking work of excavating layer upon thin layer of dirt, searching for pottery sherds, bone fragments, anything that would give a clue to the past; now Daniel carefully brushed the dirt away from what looked as if it might be the edge of a rim sherd protruding from the wall of the trench.
He waived Riaolha over, and the stocky young man wearing nothing but shorts and flip-flops, marked the location in his log. He asked a question in the Kaipo tongue, and Daniel almost answered before he remembered that linguist was not part of his new identity, and showing any fluency in a language spoken at most by a few thousand people would be a bad idea. Riaolha called Miacuro over and asked his question again. He wondered if the fragment Daniel had uncovered had the same markings as the original pot found by his brother, the one that had brought the archaeologists to this site in the first place. Daniel confirmed that, yes, it looked as if it did, and Riaolha walked off looking pleased with himself. Riaolha, Daniel thought, had the makings of a fine archaeologist. He started again to gently work around the edges of the pottery sherd, his mind turning again, unwillingly, to Saunders.
So Saunders knew that Daniel was not exactly who he claimed to be. Did it really matter? Who was he going to tell? Daniel didn't think he would try to get him fired from the dig. Saunders had as much as admitted that day they had talked over breakfast that he was hiding out in the Amazon himself, escaping bad debts, a bad marriage and, Daniel suspected, some of his own demons. And what else was there for Saunders to do with the information that Daniel may have been in the military? Who would care? No, Daniel thought, "Jacques" was just a puzzle for the bored security man to solve. Nothing more.
Daniel, hoping he wasn't making a decision based more on weariness than intelligence, decided he could stay put for now. There were only a few more months before the rainy season would begin; he'd move on after that. Maybe teach Portuguese or French or English to some of the local people. He'd noticed that several of the children who hung around the camp were fast picking up a polyglot of Portuguese and English, with a smattering of German, Italian and Spanish as well.
Although he and the others had to constantly shoo them away from the dig site, Daniel liked seeing the kids running about. It reminded him of himself, in Egypt, annoying his parents into letting him help at the digs. Daniel felt a twinge in his back and stood up to stretch his sore muscles, taking a moment to look around the camp. He'd found a rhythm in this place, a way to survive, and he realized, with almost a start, that he liked it here. He liked spending hours doing little but sifting through dirt, looking for clues to the past. He liked Miacuro and the other Kaipo men, and he liked the enthusiastic students even if they did seem impossibly young to him now. He liked to wander into the rainforest to see a Toucan flap away or a troop of squirrel monkeys swing across the canopy or a tapir lumber by on its way to the river. He even liked the grumpy Manoel, recognizing a part of himself in the other archaeologist's relentless pursuit of knowledge.
And then there was Elena. Even as he thought her name, Daniel became conscious of another set of eyes on his bare back, and he knew it was her, could feel the electricity where he stood. Elena. Brilliant, no-nonsense Elena with her sharp wit and eyes that saw everything. Deep brown eyes. Daniel shook his head, telling himself not to go there. He took a long drink from his water bottle and then ducked back down into the trench to continue working, studiously avoided turning his head. Yet he could still see her in his mind's eye as she walked across the camp, that intent look on her face, her short dark hair falling out of her scarf, and her baggy khakis and brightly colored tee-shirt that couldn't hide...
Yes, well, he liked Elena too.
They all knew each others' stories, or at least the stories they told, from the talks around the dining tables, when the generator had been hushed and the kerosene lamps cast a flickering light against the shadows of the night. Elena, in what she joked was her last impetuous move, had married even younger than Charles, before she was 20. She'd been 22 and the mother of an infant and a toddler when the idiota, as she called him, had run off with a 16-year-old. Not having the time or personality to mourn, she'd swallowed her pride and asked her parents for help with the babies, taken a job as a secretary to "another idiota" and put herself through university at night. She would dress and feed the babies in the morning and play with them before work, rush home to be with them at lunch, rush home again to give them dinner and kiss them goodnight before she left for her classes, then study after class till she dropped asleep at the kitchen table, then start all over again. She never, she said, considered giving up, eventually following Manoel, one year younger, to graduate school. The kids, a boy and a girl, were at university themselves now. Elena said they probably hated her, but at least she'd made sure they'd grown up strong and independent. Manoel, later when his sister had gone to bed, said that of course his niece and nephew were crazy about their mother, idolized her in fact, but that Elena seemed to think it was some kind of bad luck to admit it, the only superstition she ever allowed herself.
And here she was today, overseeing the dig, somehow managing to laugh at the students and still send them away feeling as if they were on the verge of a brilliant career, alternately joking and browbeating her brother out of his moods, making sure, when her brother forgot, that they had supplies, that the Kaipo men were paid, that everything worked.
And burning a hole in Daniel's back with her eyes.
Elena sighed a little when Jacques ducked back down into the trench. Such a pretty sight he made. Manoel, who was working next to her in the makeshift lab, cataloguing and boxing artifacts, gave her a disapproving look. "Leave him alone, Elena," he said. "He's got enough going on without you complicating his life."
Elena gave him an annoyed look and turned back to their work. Manoel was probably right about that. Jacques was a sad man, and he carried his sorrow with him wherever he went, whether he was helping to dig a new trench or listening in on their evening conversations or even when he was smiling at the antics of the children around camp. Not that he dwelled on his grief; in fact he tried to cover it up—joking with the students as they went off for their evening run, throwing himself into the work, taking on kitchen duty almost cheerfully—but there were times, when he thought no one was looking, that Elena would see such depth of despair in his eyes...
Manoel was right. She should leave the man alone.
But there was just something about him. Yes, Jacques was handsome, heartstoppingly so, but that wasn't it, not really. She'd known a lot of handsome men in her life, and a good number of those were really not worth knowing. And it wasn't that she was attracted to wounded men, the ones with the stories that could break your heart. Quite the opposite, really; the idiota had captured her heart with a sad story and a bunch of roses. No. Simple, cheerful, what-you-see-is-what-you-get, that was Elena's thing.
But Jacques... There was an underlying kindness, a gentleness to the man. She'd seen it when he'd worked so patiently with that fumble-fingered student from Beliz, when he'd listen with a smile to Charles going on about whatever Charles was going on about, when he'd bent and swept up one of the Kaipo girls one-armed to keep her from running headlong into a ditch, then set her down as carefully as he might a priceless artifact.
And though he tried to hide his brilliance, as if it would ruin his reputation as a carefree, ne'er-do-well who had lived a life of ease on his parents' fortune, it was obvious that the man was frighteningly smart. Since he had arrived looking so thin and worn on that rainy day a month before, several times he had, after listening in for a few minutes on a discussion that had lasted for days or even weeks, offered a solution or an alternative so obvious that they were later amazed they hadn't considered it themselves.
Elena liked smart; she always had.
She looked up again from her work and saw that Jacques had climbed out of the trench and was walking slowly toward the lab, probably heading for the kitchen, tee-shirt in hand. He ran his fingers through his hair and squinted up at the sun, then paused for a moment in his walk and pulled the shirt on. He walked past the lab and nodded to Manoel, who gave a distracted wave of his hand. Then he looked at Elena and she felt that jolt of current running between them. "Elena," he said in greeting, his voice sounding a little hoarse, then wandered on toward the kitchen.
She stared after him, open-mouthed, until Manoel finally said, "Jesus, Elena, give it a rest." She snapped her mouth shut and gave her little brother the evil eye that used to send him running when they were kids. The grown-up Manoel, though, just shook his head and rolled his eyes, then uncharacteristically for him, started to laugh.
Chapter 11
SGC, Control Room, two weeks later
George Hammond fingered the well-worn note in his pocket. He should have rewritten it in his own hand and destroyed it as soon as he opened up the mysterious envelope postmarked Paris and saw what it contained, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Once he realized what he held and who had sent it, he had felt such a sense of relief that his legs almost gave out, and he had to reach back to the arm of the leather couch in his Washington apartment to keep from falling. He'd sat down and stared at the paper with its old-fashioned type for minutes, not even fully processing, at first, the message it contained: 1) Tka spoke of px—2 and travelers. Contact?; 2) ship from Melna?; 3) Gt to bylia gt; 4) if Tr returns: what last message; how long to respond; radio signals escape bh?
Hammond, despite everything he'd seen in his years, or perhaps because of it, was a religious man, and he thanked God right then and there and continued to give thanks afterward: He'd made it. Daniel Jackson was alive.
Up to that moment, Hammond hadn't allowed himself to hope. When he'd seen the report and photographs of the carnage at Dr. Jackson's house, he had feared the worst. What else could he think? Daniel was either dead or the prisoner of men who would not hesitate to do anything to reach their goals. For weeks afterward, George had woken up in the middle of the night with nightmare visions of his friend being tortured, screaming for help that never came, and he fully expected to hear any day that Daniel's body had been found.
The government searched for Daniel, but it wasn't with rescue in mind. The jackals had taken full advantage of the situation and had started a massive manhunt for a man they now labeled not only a traitor, but a murderer and told their people he was to be considered armed and dangerous. Hammond had lodged a protest, spoken to the President himself, and others who knew and worked with Daniel had done the same, but to no avail. Major Ferretti and Colonel Reynolds had been outraged by the charges and both had requested that their teams be assigned to lead a true, Earth-side, search-and-rescue mission. Hammond hadn't been able to grant the request, had been forbidden to do so, but he did ask Elizabeth Weir to assign Colonel Reynolds to ferret out any other moles that might be working still in the bowels of the mountain. Unfortunately the colonel's search turned up nothing and left too many questions unanswered. They had all been shocked by the revelation that one of the men killed at Dr. Jackson's house had been attached to SGC security, and Hammond's sense of responsibility for Daniel's fate had increased tenfold. What had Jorgans been doing there that night with two mercenaries wanted by Interpol and their own CIA? Who had he been working for?
A month passed, then six weeks, and they knew nothing more. There was no sign of Daniel.
Hammond was forced to give his attention to his myriad responsibilities as head of Home World Security but, still, he remembered his promises to Daniel. Shortly after Daniel had disappeared, George himself had driven up to tell Cassie of the fate of SG-1. She had been devastated by Jack's death and the disappearance of Sam, Teal'c and Daniel, her only family left since Dr. Fraiser had herself died so tragically not even a year before. He'd taken her back to his elder daughter's house, and she and his granddaughters had slowly become a new surrogate family for the young girl. Hammond still visited her as often as possible.
And of course he'd made certain that the search for Major Carter and Teal'c continued. It was the least he could do for Daniel and for Colonel O'Neill. Gate travel had resumed, and Dr. Weir had been reassigned to lead the Atlantis expedition. Her replacement, Hank Landry, was a good man—no nonsense, did not suffer fools lightly—and probably just the leader the SGC needed after all the turmoil. Hammond knew he was overstepping by interfering in the handling of the search, but Landry had, far from protesting, made it a standing order that, as part of every mission, the teams were to seek out any information or any technology that might help them discover the fate of the last two members of SG-1. Landry knew—they both knew—that their efforts were likely in vain: everything pointed to Major Carter and Teal'c having disappeared into the black hole. But they continued to do what they could.
With no results.
Until now... maybe. Hammond thought about what was in Daniel's note. He didn't have to pull it out to look at it—he'd memorized it weeks before. If he were to be honest with himself, he only kept it as a talisman of sorts. If Daniel Jackson, by some miracle, had been alive to type it, then most certainly it would bring luck to anyone who held it.
Hammond had immediately pursued the first two of Daniel's suggestions, as he could easily reconcile the needs of the SGC and Earth with the effort made. They contacted the people of PX3-241, said by the Tok'ra to be great travelers, and the Ziroschoen had provided them with valuable information about the Gate network and even some addresses that they didn't have in their database, but the nomadic people knew nothing of travel beyond the galaxy. The SGC also stepped up the search for the ship spoken of by the people of Melnahotic, rumored to possess technology that rivaled that of the Ancients. The search had been going on sporadically for some years, and it came as a great surprise when a survey team had actually found the ship, buried beneath a temple. Unfortunately it had proved to be nothing more than an ancient Goa'uld vessel, lacking even hyperdrive. The historians and Daniel's old team of archaeologists were fascinated. For everyone else it had been a grave disappointment.
The other items, it had taken Hammond a while to sort out. Why would Daniel suggest they go to Byliason, a bleak planet at the edge of the galaxy that was little more than a barren rock? And why the strange phrasing: gate to the gate? And his questions for the Asgard, should they ever hear from that ancient race again, seemed like little more than stabs in the dark. If Hammond hadn't had complete faith in Dr. Jackson's brilliant mind and the intuitive leaps it took, he might have discounted the rest of the note as mere wishful thinking.
So, he'd made discrete inquiries of the scientists at the SGC concerning the gate at Byliason with the pretense of filling some holes left in an old report, and was surprised to receive an enthusiastic response by phone from a Dr. Kalai saying that he had only just, based on a theory of Major Carter's about the unique electromagnetic field of the planet and its location at the edge of the galaxy, figured out how to boost a transmission signal farther than they'd ever attempted and that maybe, eventually, they would be able to use the same theory to power the gate from there to other galaxies. Hammond understood just enough of what the man was saying to ask if they could use this discovery to increase their likelihood of contacting the Asgard, and Dr. Kalai, after a moment's hesitation, had said that yes, that might work if they...
Hammond let the rest of the excited scientist's words slip past him as wondered how in the world Dr. Jackson had known about this research when Hammond hadn't, even though Hammond was supposed to know of everything that went on at the SGC.
"General Hammond?" Dr. Kalai asked, interrupting his thoughts, and Hammond realized that the man had finished his explanation. He cleared his throat, but before he could say anything, Kalai continued:
"Contacting the Asgard? I know we have been trying to contact them concerning the Antarctica data, but would that also be to ask them about Major Carter and Teal'c?"
"That had crossed my mind, yes, Doctor," Hammond responded.
"Oh, oh, I would be so pleased if my research could..." The man stopped and seemed temporarily overcome.
"Doctor?" Hammond had asked kindly. He remembered the man he was talking to now: young, almost impossibly shy, blond hair so pale it was almost white.
"I would be so honored to do anything that may help them, sir," Dr. Kalai finally continued. "It would mean so much to all of us, and I know that Daniel, I mean Dr. Jackson... Except for Major Carter, Dr. Jackson was one of the few people who ever asked me about this research, sir, and he would listen as if he were truly interested. Sometimes we're so isolated here, and it was nice to... I never got to tell him how much that meant... If my research could help..." Dr. Kalai stuttered to a stop.
"I understand, son," Hammond had responded. "I agree. Dr. Jackson would be very pleased and not at all surprised, I'm sure, by your good work."
Dr. Kalai had sputtered his thanks, promising to have a report to General Landry on a new attempt to contact the Asgard by morning.
And now, almost two month's later, the Asgard had finally received the subspace message to contact the SGC, and Earth had in turn received a brief message to stand by in 12 Earth hours' time for contact from Thor. Hammond, with the blessings of the President and the Joint Chiefs, who were anxious to retrieve the data Thor had taken and to hold the Asgard accountable for the violation of their treaty, had flown out to Colorado Springs on the first military transport available.
He didn't, of course, give a rat's a** about the supposed treaty violation. George headed to the mountain because he was thrilled to have discovered that Thor and some of his great race still survived, and because he was anxious to fulfill Dr. Jackson's wish and transmit his questions. He again reminded himself that the likelihood that Major Carter and Teal'c were still alive was infinitesimal, and yet... If Thor had survived, if Daniel had survived, couldn't another miracle occur? As Daniel had reminded him months before when this whole nightmare had begun, this was SG-1 they were talking about. And there was something else: Hammond had eventually realized why Daniel had wanted to ask the questions in his note. It was the only explanation that made sense: Daniel suspected that the story Thor had told him of Teal'c and Major Carter's demise that day was not the whole truth; he suspected that the Asgard were lying.
Hammond was torn from his thoughts by Walter Harriman's voice. "Receiving subspace communication, sirs," he said, glancing at General Hammond and General Landry before looking back at his console. "It's Supreme Commander Thor. The signal is weak but steady."
"Put him through, Sergeant," Landry responded.
Walter worked the keyboard, and the sound of static jumped out before the words, "This is Supreme Commander Thor of the Asgard Fleet. I apologize for not appearing in person, but our war with the replicators continues. I fear I have only a few moments before I must turn my attention back to that battle."
Landry nodded at Hammond to go ahead.
"Thor," he said, "this is General Hammond. Thank you for responding to our signal. I will be brief. First, I must ask you about the technology and data you took from Antarctica. As you know, that action was in direct violation of the treaty between our peoples." This last was said with clear apology in his tone, and he hoped that that would come across even in the static-filled signal.
"General Hammond, it is an honor to speak with you again," Thor said, and then, "I regret that I cannot yet travel to your galaxy to return the technology, but I am sending a data burst now with everything we have thus far learned from the data you have stored in Antarctica, some of which your scientists may well find useful. We have also discovered mention of what appears to be a weapon against the replicators, and our best scientists are studying this now. As we had hoped, the information received from Earth may well be our salvation, and for this the Asgard people are deeply grateful."
"Receiving data burst now," Walter said.
"Thor," Hammond said, Joint Chiefs be damned, "I and the people of Earth are more than pleased to know that any information we provided may help you defeat the replicators, and we thank you for the data you have just sent." Remembering his promise to be brief, Hammond added, "There is one more thing you may be able to do for us."
"I will do what I can, General."
"I know you have more pressing needs, but if you can find a way, I have three questions I would like you to pass on to the captain of the ship who responded to Major Carter and Teal'c's distress call—if he has survived." Hammond fingered the note again, seeing the shorthand type before his eyes.
Landry, Walter and the others in the control room looked at Hammond in surprise. He had of course told no one of the note, nor had he given a hint that he wished to ask about Teal'c and Carter.
"He has indeed survived," Thor answered, "and has played an integral part in both our battle and our development of the new weapon. What are your questions, General Hammond?"
"They are quite brief. We would like to know how long it took your ship to respond once it first heard the distress calls, what exactly that last message was and how that transmission may have escaped the pull of the black hole."
There was a brief, static-filled silence before Thor answered. "I see," he said, finally, and Hammond knew that Thor realized the import of the questions. "I will ask Captain Tyr myself. I regret that it may be some time before I can inform you of the answers, but I will do so as soon as I am able. I must depart now. The battle still rages."
"Of course, Thor," Hammond replied. "Our thoughts will be with you."
"Thank you, General," Thor responded. And then the transmission ended.
Well, thought Hammond. That is that. He'd done everything he could. Now all they could do, once again, was wait.
Brazilian rainforest, Upper Xingu Dig 17
She had made him laugh. Not that half-laugh and sad smile he'd give sometimes, but a full-out laugh and a smile that actually reached his eyes. More than six weeks after Jacques Perrault had first set foot in the camp, he'd actually laughed. Elena had felt a kind of a thrill to see Jacques light up for just a moment, and to see him look at her as if she were the most brilliant, funny person on the planet, and all over a joke about Egyptian and Mayan gods trying to read one another's handwriting. The moment had passed quickly, though, as the distant sound of thunder rolled across the hills and through the forest, and they had all rushed to roll out the tarps over the dig site and to pull their laptops and equipment undercover.
Now, under the rapidly darkening sky, as the first drops of rain started to fall, Elena looked from the kitchen, where most of the camp had gathered to wait out the storm, to Jacques's tent, where he had gone after giving Charles a little wave, and she took a chance. She headed for Jacques's tent, unzipped the flap and ducked inside.
Jacques sat on his cot in the dim light of the tent. He wore a white singlet, khakis and leather sandals. He was holding what looked like an old-fashioned journal open on his lap, a ball-point pen in his other hand. He looked up startled for a moment, then gave her a small smile. "Elena?" he said.
"Jacques," she said, then nothing more, letting the silence stretch.
There was another rumble of thunder, this time much closer, and the sky opened up. The raindrops began to drum on the canvas of the tent and set up cacophonous symphony on the tin roofs of the kitchen and the lab. There was a flash of light visible even inside the tent and a loud crack of thunder that made them both jump.
Elena laughed a little and raised her voice over the racket. "I was going to ask you to join us in the kitchen before the rain started," she said, "but..." She gave a little wave of her hand.
Jacques continued to look at her with his unnerving blue eyes, and she almost wanted to step back his look was so intense, but instead she found herself taking a step forward. She could see his desire, could feel it.
But instead of coming toward her, then, he sighed and repeated her name, but his voice was filled with apology and regret: "Elena."
Daniel looked at the woman who stood before him in his tent, staring back at him expectantly. She was so beautiful, so... Elena. What harm could it do to reach out and brush the hair from her eyes, to take her in his arms, to kiss that small frown from her lips. She took a step forward and he could almost feel the heat from where he sat, and he knew she felt it too, that they both had from almost the first time they'd set eyes on each other.
But he knew there were a thousand reasons he couldn't. The man she was attracted to was nothing but a figment of his imagination; his life was a lie. He'd have to leave soon, could not stay in one place too long, not with those dead-eyed men searching for him, ready to kill him and the people around him. And he had no right, he thought, to find that kind of happiness, not with Jack dead, Sam and Teal'c gone, Cassie alone.
"Elena," he said, longing and apology combined in his voice.
"Jacques," she said, and there was the smallest hint of a plea in her voice. "I know you feel it too. I'm not asking for a lifetime, Jacques. Just for this moment. Would that really be so terrible?"
Just for this moment, Daniel thought. Just for a moment, to forget the pain and the guilt and the loneliness. He looked at Elena. She was so beautiful, and it had been so long. Knowing in his heart that this wasn't just for a moment, that there was something between them that was more than a passion stirred by the storm outside, he let himself believe the lie: It was just this moment, just this little piece of time.
"No," he said, "it would not be so terrible." He put the journal he still held in his hand down on the cot and dropped the pen to the floor, then he rose, taking the two steps to where she stood, brown eyes open wide now, mouth open in a small O.
He pulled the scarf from her head, letting it fall, and ran his hand through her dark hair until it came to rest gently on the side of her face. Elena reached up and placed her hands on his chest, letting her fingers run lightly down to his stomach and he let out a long shuddering sigh. God, it had been so long.
Daniel drew Elena to him, then, and bent down to kiss her, and she pulled herself up on her toes to meet his lips. "Jacques," she whispered as they came together, and Daniel pretended not to hear the false name. It's just for this moment, he thought. There was no past, no future, just the rain coming down outside in torrents and the rolling, roaring thunder sending tremors through their souls.
Chapter 12
Dawn again. I watch Elena sleeping so peacefully, and I think I'm content with that. The first few nights we were together, I slept peacefully too. If the nightmares came, I didn't remember them, and Elena mentioned nothing.
The dreams are back, of course, although they've changed. Now they jump from place to place, happy ones mixed with the nightmares, sometimes following one upon the other in dizzying succession. I'll be on Abydos, listening to Sha're's laughter, then she's ripped away as if a hatch has blown on an airlock; and suddenly I'm sitting on my father's lap trying to read his book while he talks over my head to my mother, and I look up only to find myself back on Thor's ship as Jack's mangled body appears before my eyes. I wake up dizzy sometimes, as if I'd actually been spun from dream to dream. And, with Elena so close, I've had to teach myself all over again that off-world trick of waking myself up before I start screaming. I've seen a lot of dawns this way.
I suppose the confusion of my dreams matches the confusion of my waking hours. I have something wonderful, and I know I don't deserve it. I'll feel a burst of happiness, God, actual happiness—I can't even remember the last time I felt that way—and then I'll be swallowed up in a pool of guilt so deep I can't find my way out. I should stop this thing with Elena, I know it, and I think she knows it too. But we don't stop; I'm not sure we can.
Even as I write the words, I know they're not true. Of course I can end it, remind her of her promise, the one that neither of us really believed, that "it was just for this moment." I can tell her, truthfully, that she's better off without me in her life, that I'm too much of a "basket case," that I've discovered in myself a man who would run to save himself, leaving his friends behind...
What I can't tell her is that I'm living a lie and that she'd be safer without me. That, more than anything else, should make me act.
Yet on early mornings like these, as the noises of the night are replaced by the waking sounds of the rainforest, and I watch Elena sleep behind the netting, a small smile on her face, the curves of her body making a graceful landscape under the thin sheet, her foot with its funny bent toes sticking out, unexpected, like Elena herself—on mornings like these, I lose the courage of my convictions. Better than anyone, I know there is no such thing as forever, but I look at Elena, and I want forever.
Daniel closed his journal and shoved it in his pack, thankful he was writing in code, a little embarrassed by his own words. Jack would never have let him hear the end of it. Well, maybe he would, Daniel admitted. Jack, he thought, as cynical as he was about most things, understood love. And he would have liked Elena. Daniel looked at Elena, who was starting to stir, and smiled a little, but his smile was suddenly replaced by a grimace as he realized exactly what Jack would have said, joking but not: "Well, she's not the destroyer of worlds; that's a bonus."
Daniel sighed and put his head in his hands. Forever? He and love didn't get along that way; he knew he was lucky to have had these weeks, would be lucky for any time they had left. It wasn't enough, but it was something.
"Jacques?"
Daniel looked up again and saw that Elena was sitting up, still wrapped in the sheet. She blinked sleepily and yawned.
"You had another nightmare?" she asked.
Daniel shrugged.
"Do you want to tell me about it?"
"No," he said. "I'd rather just forget it."
Elena stood up, slipped on her sandals and walked over to him, the sheet dragging behind her.
"Maybe this will help," she said, and bent and kissed him, a long seductive kiss.
"Ummm," Daniel finally said when they broke for air, and went to pull her close again. She put her hand out, stopping him, and said, "Did that help you to forget?"
He smiled at her. "Forget what?" he said.
Elena laughed. "Then my work here is done." She picked the sheet up from the ground and turned to get her clothes.
"Elena!" Daniel almost growled.
"Now, now, all play and no work makes Jacques a dull boy. C'mon, Section 17 is beckoning. If you let the children find the roadway first, you'll never live it down."
Daniel stood and walked up behind her and kissed the back of her neck. "I'll take that chance," he said, and kissed her neck again, and then her bare shoulder.
Elena sighed and arched her back against him like a cat before turning into his embrace. "Damn you, Jacques," she said.
"Too late," Daniel whispered.
Saunders watched Elena and Jacques duck out of Jacques's tent. Their hands brushed together slightly as they walked, and they both looked at ease and content, a far cry from the usual almost-manic Elena and the hyperaware Jacques of a month ago. He felt a stab of jealousy—Lucky bastard, he thought—then shrugged it off. Whoever Jacques really was, he was a nice enough guy, and he probably deserved a little happiness. Saunders watched Jacques nudge Elena and nod his head in the direction of the dig. Elena turned her head to look, and rolled her eyes. Saunders followed the look and saw Manoel, clearly furious, stomping toward them.
Saunders grinned, hoping for a show. It was barely eight in the morning, but even Saunders knew by now that on a dig in the Brazilian rainforest, with the short days and with time fast running out on the "dry" season, every hour made a difference. And with the first evidence they'd had that this site was possibly more significant than they had hoped, Manoel was in full battle mode.
Before Manoel could reach the two targets of his ire, though, Jacques stepped forward to meet him. Saunders couldn't hear what was said over the roar of the generator, but Jacques touched Manoel's arm, said a few words, and Manoel seemed to almost deflate. He growled out a few more words that looked like, "Just don't let it happen again." He glared past Jacques at his sister for a moment, and headed for the lab.
The security man shook his head. How the hell does Perrault do that? he wondered. The man could probably talk himself out of the jaws of a tiger. Or an angry mob into a game of hopscotch. He laughed at the last vision, never imagining that before a day had passed, he would have the chance to see Jacques try.
Daniel woke suddenly out of a rare deep sleep and for a moment forgot where he was. Something had disturbed him, a sound that didn't belong. He reached for his P-90, and looking around in the almost pitch black for Sam, Teal'c or Jack, grabbed nothing but air. What the hell? The sounds were getting louder now, dim voices, bodies heading through the bush, startled animals screaming.
Daniel's hand brushed the mosquito netting and he squinted in the dark, making out the faint outlines of his tent, finally realizing where he was. He pressed the button to light up the face of his watch and stared at the blurry numbers: 04:23.
Daniel grabbed his glasses and jumped out of bed. He pulled on a pair of pants and slipped barefoot into his work boots, then unzipped the flap of his tent to look out. The yelling was coming from the direction of the river, but he couldn't see anything over the rise. He saw a movement off to his left and recognized Evones, gun in hand, kicking the side of Saunders's tent and quietly calling his colleague's name. Saunders appeared quickly, obviously already awakened by the noise. Daniel slipped out of his tent and approached the men, announcing his presence in Portuguese with a quiet,
"It's me, Jacques. What's happening?"
"No idea. Just stay back," Evones said gruffly.
The rest of the camp was waking up now, flashlights and lamps coming on, and voices calling out to each other in various languages. Charles came out yawning, in pajama pants and sandals. "What's all the noise?" he asked. "It's the middle of the bloody night." Daniel just shrugged and pointed in the direction of the shouting.
Manoel came out of his tent fully dressed and walked toward them, then Elena appeared, looking alert and ready for trouble. She searched Daniel out with her eyes and relaxed slightly when she saw him. For Manoel's peace of mind they'd decided to spend the night in their own tents. Now Daniel watched as she walked beside her brother, ready to take charge of whatever was happening.
The students had gathered back near the kitchen, and huddled together speaking in whispers.
The voices were louder now, and Daniel could recognize the Kaipo words. "She's dead, she's dead!" people were shouting. "Get the others." "They killed her!" Suddenly a woman's voice rose in a wail, and others joined in.
"What the hell happened?" Manoel asked, and Daniel wondered if he should tell the man what he knew. Except for a few words, no one else at the camp spoke Kaipo.
"They keep saying the word for death, I think," Charles said from behind them, and Daniel looked back at him with surprise. Charles shrugged. "I listened to a tape before I came. That one stuck in my head."
As the first heads appeared above the rise, Manoel, Elena, Saunders and Evones stepped forward to meet them. Daniel resisted the urge to step forward with them, and resisted the even greater urge to pull Elena back. The first figure came forward, a large man grasping something small, a piece of clothing perhaps, in his hands.
Behind the first man were perhaps 20 other figures, men and women. Several of the men carried the long, machete-like knives they used to cut through the forest, a few carried rifles and Daniel thought he saw at least one handgun. Saunders and Evones shifted uneasily, holding their guns at their sides.
Some of the women continued to wail, and one woman fell to her knees. The man in front started to speak, rapidly, so rapidly that Daniel had trouble keeping up. "This is my daughter's," the man cried. "You have"—there were several words here Daniel didn't understand—"and killed her in the river."
Elena started to say, in Portuguese, "I'm sorry, we don't understand," and several of the men shouted at her angrily. Elena looked helplessly up at Manoel, who asked, "Is Miacuro with you?"
Miacuro stepped forward accompanied by an older man who carried himself with authority.
"Miacuro," Manoel said, over the crying of the women. "Please. We don't understand what has happened."
Miacuro said something to the old man, who spoke rapidly back, but Daniel couldn't hear his words. The old man spoke more loudly to the people behind them, and they quieted.
Miacuro began to talk: "Raya left the village tonight," he said. Daniel's heart sank. Raya was one of the girls who played at the camp. He remembered her giggling after he stopped her from falling in a ditch one day. She couldn't be more than nine years old.
"We searched for her all night," Miacuro continued. "Her father found her clothes by the river. They were ripped and bloody." He turned to the old man and asked a question, then turned back, and they could hear the anger in his voice. "She was taken by a man."
Charles said, "You can't mean..." and Elena shushed him.
Manoel said, "We are terribly sorry the girl is missing, but it has nothing to do with us. Why are you here?" Daniel winced at the unintended harshness of his tone. Rava's father yelled a curse and others in the group stepped forward even before Miacuro translated.
"Manoel!" Elena whispered, then said, "We are terribly sorry if anything has happened to Raya. She is such a sweet little girl. But she may still be all right. Please tell us what we can do to help."
Miacuro listened to the old man and then said, "Her bloody clothes tell us she is not all right. If she was thrown in the river, we will never find her. You will give us the one responsible."
"That's absurd," Manoel practically barked out. "None of our people would harm a child."
"Her friend described him. She said he took Rava for a walk in the forest and promised her sweets if she came back. He is the one called Jens."
There was a collective gasp from the students back by the kitchen, and Jens, the young Dane, could be heard quite clearly. "No! No!"
The dark night was giving way to the gray predawn, and Daniel could make out the angry faces now, and he could see the little pair of shorts and the ripped and bloody tee-shirt. He thought again of the happy little girl and felt sick to his stomach.
The Kaipo men, most dressed only in loin cloths or shorts, and the women, some wearing Western style shifts, some just skirts and some nothing at all, had started to shout in reaction to Jens's denial.
The old man yelled, "Justice demands that we take him!" and Miacuro translated, "We must deal with him by our law."
Manoel said, "I'm sorry, you can't just take him. I don't believe he would do such a thing, but even if he did, we can't just let you take him. We'll call the authorities and they will decide what to do."
Miarcuro shook his head and translated for the old man, and another collective shout went up from the people. The father screamed, "They murder out people without consequence, the way it has always been. He took my child from her mother. He deserves death but they will protect their own."
Another man shouted, "Then we will take him!"
Miacuro didn't translate, and other than Daniel the rest of the camp had no idea what was being said. But the intent was clear. The Kaipo men raised their knives and aimed their rifles. Saunders swore, stepped in front of Manoel and Elena and pulled his 9-mm up. Evones swung his gun toward the old man.
And Daniel started to move. Only a few steps behind Elena and the others, he ran forward, shouting, in both Portuguese and Kaipo, "No, don't shoot, stop! This isn't necessary!" But he was too late. As he stepped in front of Saunders, knocking his gun aside, the first shot sounded, and then another.
Chapter 13
Daniel pushed Saunders's gun down so the shot hit the dirt and ricocheted off harmlessly, but he heard Evones's gun discharge as well and saw Miacuro fall and then felt another bullet from one of the Kaipo whiz by his ear. He heard Saunders curse at him and Elena call his name from the ground where she had dived with Manoel, but he took another step forward and raised his arms out to either side and started speaking rapidly in Kaipo. The Kaipo men, startled by the tall foreigner speaking their language, hesitated in their assault. "Please!" he said. "You don't want to kill each other. Rava may still be out there, hurt. We can help you look for her. I promise we won't let this go unpunished."
One of the men carrying a long knife stepped forward brandishing his weapon. "More lies!" he shouted, but Daniel stood his ground.
"Perrault," Saunders grated out in English, trying to get a shot. "What the hell are you doing? Get the hell out of the way."
"For God's sake, lower your gun, Reggie," Daniel spat back. "Let me stop this."
Another Kaipo man stepped forward to stand by the first, brandishing his knife, and Daniel, hands still raised out to his sides, stepped forward as well, so that there were little more than a few yards separating him from the men with the knives. He continued to look at the men calmly as his heart beat painfully in his ribcage. "Please let this work," he thought to himself.
"No, no, I do not lie," he continued, "and neither do the people behind me. We will all put our weapons aside." Daniel half turned toward Saunders and Evones. "Please," he said in English and then in Portuguese. Saunders swore again but lowered his gun till it hung at his side. Evones looked from Daniel to the Kaipo men, then slowly did the same, mumbling, "You better not get us killed, Perrault."
Daniel turned back to the Kaipo. "Would you fight when we can still save the child?" He gestured toward the men with the knives. "You can kill me here," he said more quietly, "and we can kill you. Men will die and women too, and more families will live in sorrow. Let us try to find Rava, please. She may be hurt somewhere waiting for us to help while we fight each other here."
Daniel watched two men help Miacuro to his feet, and Miacuro, looking straight in Daniel's eyes, whispered something to the elder. The old man, who had not moved when the guns went off, looked toward the injured young man at his side and back at Daniel. He gestured to a large man behind him, and the man stepped forward and listened to the elder's words. He too looked at Daniel, then past Daniel into the camp and back at the old man. He nodded.
"And what of the man who attacked the child?" the old man said.
Daniel hesitated and then said, "While we search for her, one of your men and one of ours will guard him. If our hopes are answered and we find Rava, she can tell us what happened to her. If tragedy strikes again and we cannot find her, we will work together to decide what should be done."
"Do you speak for your people?" the old man asked.
Daniel said, without hesitation, "I do, I do in this matter."
"And those two behind you, do they not employ you?"
Daniel nodded. "Manoel, Elena," he said, quietly, not looking behind him, "I told them that one of their men and one of ours would watch Jens while the rest of us searched for Rava, and that if we didn't find her we would decide together what should be done next. They need to hear it from you."
Manoel and Elena, who had risen slowly as Daniel spoke, looked at each other. Elena nodded at her brother. Trust him, her look said. Trust Jacques.
Manoel spoke then, his voice a little unsteady. "Miacuro. I am sorry you were hurt. Please tell Elder Riapo that Jacques's words are true, that this is the course we would like to take."
Miacuro translated, and the elder turned and spoke a few words to the people around him. The men in front of Daniel nodded at him then stepped back with the rest. Daniel lowered his arms, slowly, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He took a deep breath and let it out. Jesus, he thought, that was stupid. But he couldn't have just stood and let people die, could he? And isn't that what they used to pay him the big bucks for?
Daniel felt Elena's hand on his shoulder, and he took another look toward the Kaipo before turning to her. "Jacques," she said. "Are you all right?"
He gave a little laugh and said, "No, not really. You?"
"Fine," she said, "Thanks to you."
Daniel shook his head at that but didn't say anything.
She smiled at him and put her hand to his cheek for a moment, before heading off toward the Kaipo, all business now, saying, "Miacuro, please, let me look at your arm. And tell us how we can help with the search."
Daniel started to follow her, to help with any translating, when he felt another hand on his shoulder, this one far less gentle. He turned to face Saunders's glare. "Perrault," the angry man whispered, "if you ever grab my gun again, I'll shoot you myself." Daniel returned the stare calmly, having faced down scarier, angrier Air Force officers and Marines in similar situations a dozen times.
"Fair enough, Reggie," he said.
"Saunders!" Manoel's voice broke in then. "I need you with Jens!" Saunders turned his head toward his boss and said, "Why not Evones?"
"Evones says the miners have search dogs. He's going to see about that now. Get moving, please, before this whole thing falls apart again."
Saunders nodded. "I'm coming," he said, then turned back to Daniel.
"Who the hell are you really, Perrault?" he asked gruffly, letting Daniel know, straight out, that he was no longer even pretending to buy the harmless playboy act.
"Nobody," Daniel answered as truthfully as he could. "I'm nobody." Then, not waiting for Saunders's response, Daniel turned and walked toward the Elena and the Kaipo, ready to help.
Daniel sat in the kitchen looking blearily in front of him, as people bustled about the camp, coming in from one search party, joining another. Barely more than an hour and a half had passed since he had stood in front of the guns and knives, but he was already so tired, it was all he could do to keep his head from falling to the table. Even in his exhaustion he recognized the symptoms of an adrenaline crash. Earlier he had started shaking so badly that he had had to excuse himself and duck into his tent for a few minutes before he'd been able to continue helping to organize the search—which mostly meant letting the Kaipo tell them where to go—calm frayed nerves, translate conflicting orders...
Charles, carrying two mugs of coffee appeared in Daniel's line of vision, and sat down, setting one of the mugs in front of Daniel. Daniel blinked at him dully, as if trying to remember who he was.
"Still with us, Jacques?" Charles said.
Daniel shook his head to clear it. "Charles," he said finally, "any word yet?"
Charles sighed. "No, we didn't find any sign, and no one else has either. But Evones's man has only been out a few minutes with his search dogs. If there's anything to be found, I'd think..." He let his words drift off.
Daniel nodded tiredly and put his hands around the warm mug. He wasn't sure they were steady enough yet for him to lift it to his lips, so he settled for the moment for just the proximity, as if the caffeine could reach him by osmosis. He glanced back up to see Charles looking at him curiously.
"So," Charles said, after a little hesitation. "Your language tapes must have been much more comprehensive than mine."
Daniel tried to focus, to think of the consequences of any answer he could give, but he couldn't even begin to think of a credible lie—while mourning his parents' death and floundering about, he happened to take a crash course in Kaipo?—so he decided to go for what was, essentially, the truth.
"I've always been good with languages," he said.
Charles stared at him, doubt evident on his face, and Daniel tried to ignore the sudden vision he had of his whole cover unraveling like the string of a kite caught in a hurricane. If good-natured, straightforward Charles was suspicious, what would Saunders say, or Manoel... or Elena? He wondered how much she would despise him when she realized how much of their life together was a lie.
"Good at languages and good at talking down angry mobs. Handy talents to have, I would think," Charles said.
Daniel just looked at him tiredly.
"Well," Charles said when Daniel didn't say anything, "however you developed your unique talents, they saved our lives today. My wife and children will want to thank you personally someday.
Daniel found the energy to smile, and raised his cup to Charles, relieved to find only the smallest tremor in his hand. "I'd love to meet them someday, thank you, Charles," he said sincerely, although he knew it would never happen, that one way or another he would disappear from the lives of the people here never to be heard from again. But he appreciated Charles's underlying message that, despite his doubts about Daniel's background, he still trusted him.
There was a sudden yelling from the direction of the forest, and both Charles and Daniel looked in that direction. Elena and the Argentine student Ana appeared at the treeline, followed by Evones and the man from the mining camp with the dogs.
Both Daniel and Charles rose, coffee forgotten, and started to walk quickly in that direction. They walked past Jens's tent, where Saunders and Riaolha were watching the seemingly distraught student. "What's happening?" they heard Jens ask. "Did they find her?"
"We're going to find out, Jens. We'll let you know," Charles responded.
As they came closer, Elena shouted out, "She's alive!"
"Oh," Charles said, "That's wonderful news. Brilliant."
Daniel nodded, relieved beyond measure that the little girl was alive but fearful that her injuries, physical and psychic, would still threaten her young life. He knew better than to believe in simple, happy endings.
As they reached the rescue party, Charles and Daniel turned to walk with them back to camp. "How is she?" Daniel asked Elena as he walked by her side.
"I didn't really have time to check her out," Elena said, quietly. "Her father wanted her home and wanted the shaman to look at her; it's for the best. He's pretty wise about their medicine and ours. But as far as I could see, she has what looked like knife wounds on her chest and legs where I think someone... some bastard," she whispered, "cut off her clothes. The wounds are not too deep, but it looked as if one might be infected. She has bruises on her arms and legs—My God, Jacques, you can see the fingerprints!—but I don't know if, if he..." Elena stopped speaking again to compose herself, and Daniel reached out gently to hold her arm. "I don't know how she got away," Elena went on. "She'd climbed a tree and passed out, poor little thing."
"Has she said anything?" Charles, who'd been walking at their side, asked.
"No," Elena said. "When we left the Kaipo, she hadn't said a word."
They looked toward Jens's tent and saw both Riaolha and Saunders watching them. Elena sighed. "I'll talk to Jens," she said. "This nightmare still isn't over for him, I'm afraid."
"You're assuming that he didn't..." Charles started to say and then stopped himself.
"Of course he didn't touch that girl!" Elena said. "I'd stake my life on it!" She looked toward Daniel for his agreement, but he just shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know, Elena," he said tiredly.
"Everything I know about him, and I've spent as much time with him as anyone, everything I know says you're right, but people aren't always who they seem."
Elena stopped then and turned to look at him. Daniel and Charles stopped as well. A look he couldn't identify flitted across her face. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Jacques?" she said quietly.
Daniel flinched a little and let the hand that still held Elena's arm fall to his side. "Elena..." he said, but nothing more. What was there to say, after all?
The look fell from Elena's face to be replaced by a neutral one, the one that said she was in charge and had things to do. "Charles," she said, turning to him, "I see Manoel over there already trying to decide if it would be in poor taste to ask everyone to get back to work. Tell him I said he should let everyone decide for himself and that I'll be there in a few minutes. Jacques, " she said, then again
"Jacques..." and she looked at him more closely; her voice softened a little in spite of herself. "You look as if you can barely stand. Go get some sleep." And then she spun around and walked toward Jens's tent.
"I second that," Charles said. "Get some rest, Jacques."
Daniel didn't say anything as he watched Elena walk away. She ducked into Jens's tent and Saunders, as he went to follow her, looked back and caught Daniel's eye. Daniel wasn't sure what he saw there, but it was no longer the humorous, sardonic look he was used to. Daniel looked back steadily until Saunders disappeared into Jens's tent, then he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
"Jacques?" Charles said.
Daniel looked at the easygoing man at his side. "Yes, right," he finally said. "I think I'll do that. I'll just go lie down for a little while."
Daniel walked slowly to his tent, carefully putting one foot in front of the other to avoid stumbling. He pushed through the flap and then did stumble, catching himself on the edge of his cot. He looked down at his work boots but couldn't be bothered even trying to kick them off. He crawled onto the cot and let himself fall face forward, and he was asleep.
Sometime later, Daniel stirred when he heard the flap of his tent lift again.
"I'm sorry," a voice whispered, "I didn't mean to wake you."
Elena. Daniel turned his head and saw her standing there, but he couldn't see her expression in the dim light.
"Has something happened?" Daniel asked, sitting up.
"That's not why I'm here, but yes, Rava told them what happened. It wasn't Jens. It was a man she'd never seen before. They think he must be one of the men from the mining or logging camp. Evones's friend is reluctant to use his dogs to try to find one of his own people, but I think he's coming around."
"And Rava?" Daniel asked.
"He didn't rape her," Elena said. "According to Miacuro, the man let go of her for a moment after he cut off her clothes, and she ran."
"Brave little girl," he said.
"Yes," Elena said.
"But that's not why you came?"
"No," Elena said. "I wanted to sit with you for a while."
"While I slept?"
"Yes, I don't often get to watch you sleep."
Daniel smiled at her. "No, I guess not." Had she forgiven him? Then his smile faltered a little. Or was this her way of saying goodbye?
"Jacques," she said then. "About what I said before."
Daniel waited.
"It doesn't matter," Elena said. When Daniel gave her a questioning look, she went on. "I don't care who you were before or who you think you are pretending to be now. Miacuro said something to me today, while I was trying to sort all this out in my head, wondering what lies you'd told us—no, don't say anything. I asked him what he said to the elder after he'd been wounded, and he said he told the man to trust you. I asked him why, and he said that the rest of us at the camp treat the Kaipo as equals, that some of us work very hard to treat them as equals, but that to you, they just are, we all just are—the Kaipo, the students, the men who deliver supplies—equal."
Daniel shifted uncomfortably. "Well," he said, trying to make a joke of the praise and remembering something Jack had said once, "that's very Kumbaya of him."
"No, Jacques, no," Elena stopped him. "What you just said, that's the man you pretend to be. I know who you are. You care, Jacques, you care about the people around you, you care about the world around you, and I know without a doubt that you care about me. Walking in front of bullets for us, paying enough attention when you were working with the Kaipo men to learn the language, that's who you are. How you learned to do what you did today—and it's obvious to all of us that you've done it before—how you could pick up a language with next to nothing in common with any you say you speak... It doesn't matter to me.
"I just want you to stay. I know you think you should leave. I can see it in your eyes. And I know you've always told me you wouldn't be here forever, but..."
Elena stopped then. "God," she said, putting her hand over her eyes. "I've just made an idiot of myself, haven't I?"
Daniel cleared his throat. "Am I allowed to speak yet?" he said.
Elena couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, Jacques, yes, you can speak now, but only if you can say something that will make me feel like less of an idiot, and only if you promise to stay."
Daniel smiled. "Whatever else you do or say, Elena, you could never be an idiot. If you're an idiot, the rest of us are slugs." Then his face grew more serious. "Elena, if I could, I would stay forever. But..."
"How long?" Elena asked.
"As long as I can," Daniel answered. "I promise I'll stay for as long as I can."
Ida Galaxy, aboard the Daniel Jackson
Thor looked at the schematics for the prototype weapon the Asgard scientists had developed, and he knew for certain what he had suspected for some time, ever since General Hammond had transmitted the questions for Captain Tyr, the questions Thor assumed had been formulated by Dr. Jackson. Tyr had said he would get the answers to those questions as soon as "they had a moment free from battle," but of course the battle with the replicators had raged on. The data before Thor now truly represented the last hope of the Asgard race, but even as he entered the information in the ships computers to create the weapon, the survival of his people foremost in his mind, he couldn't help but see the obvious.
While the science and the knowledge behind the weapon were undoubtedly Ancient, the design was, to Thor's practiced eye, undoubtedly human.
Tyr and the others had lied. Major Carter and Teal'c had not perished in the black hole. They were alive.
