Holding My Breath
Part 3
Chapter Seven
Summit - On the Way to Yu's Homeworld
Wow, Daniel thought to himself as he attached the wide belt tightly around his waist. If this was the usual costume of a System Lord's lo'taur he hoped they heated their ships very, very well. The tissue thin pants and sleeveless shirt made him feel as close to naked as a fully clothed person could feel, and completely vulnerable, a feeling that the arrogant Goa'uld engendered quite purposefully, no doubt. The leathery shoulder piece definitely had its origin in the yoke—a device that fit around a beast of burden's neck to distribute the weight of his load more efficiently. Yeah, leave it to the Goa'uld to be long on symbolism and short on comfort—Daniel bent his right knee and then his left to try to ease the tightness across his groin. Of course Jacob wouldn't let him wear his own underwear, either. Daniel didn't even want to think about who he was afraid would be checking him out that closely.
As he inserted the contact lens into his right eye, Daniel smiled to himself. Yes, the costume was embarrassingly thin, but the vulnerable feeling had suddenly been multiplied by a factor of one thousand with the mere exchange of metal framed glasses for the thin, undetectable contact lenses. It was amazing how uncomfortable and out of his depth Daniel felt without that everyday accessory standing squarely between him and the world. He blinked rapidly, trying to convince his eyes that it hadn't been that long since he'd worn the soft lenses, but they weren't buying it. He heard Jacob struggling into his own clothes—long, layered robes that managed to cover the Tok'ra quite completely from neck to ankles, Daniel noticed, and decided he'd try to get as much information as possible before he reached Yu's palace.
"So why do the System Lords need human attendants?" Need was probably the wrong word, he decided. From the reports he'd read it was more a question of desire and pride than any real need.
Jacob pulled on the long brocade over-tunic while he watched the young man's tense back. He'd noticed that Daniel hadn't been able to face him since he'd put on the regalia of Yu's slave. Whether that was out of a sense of humiliation or self-doubt, he had no idea, but he knew it would be better for Daniel if he helped him face his fears now while he was still safe on the Tok'ra cargo ship, rather than let him drag those fears into Yu's palace. A lo'taur always acted with confidence in his place within the System Lord's hierarchy, and he had to make sure that Daniel was letter-perfect in his role before he'd leave him behind enemy lines.
"Well," Jacob answered frankly at Selmac's inner urging, "the Jaffa serve a strictly military function. Besides, if the host of a System Lord is ever injured beyond a symbiote's ability to heal it would be pretty useful to have a human close at hand." That's right, Danny, he thought, that's another reason the System Lords only pick the most beautiful and healthy to be their personal attendants—they are nothing if not vain. You have to be prepared for the symbiote as well as the human.
Daniel's eyes widened. "Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that." Hope, pray, whatever. This idea is just getting better and better. He tried to focus on the instructions for playing his part among Yu's other slaves as he slipped the armbands emblazoned with the Goa'uld's device up to his biceps. The simple character, zhong, still had meaning among the Asian cultures on Earth, denoting loyalty, especially to one's land or ruler. Jacob had mentioned that, although it wasn't spoken within his hearing in Yu's household, Daniel's fluency in Chinese was something that might help him out on this mission. He'd take any advantage he could get.
"Are you clear on all the backgrounds of the System Lords?" Selmac suggested that Jacob quiz the young human on the pertinent facts, but Jacob knew that Daniel didn't need the extra stress right now. The archaeologist was a quick study, and he was certainly motivated to fulfill this mission—that was one reason Selmac and the others on the Tok'ra High Council had agreed to Jacob's choice. Daniel had lost family and friends to the Goa'uld, and personal losses were something the Tok'ra understood full well. He'd worked with Daniel before, and even in the short amount of time the two had spent together, Jacob had come to understand the iron beneath the scientist's sensitive soul. It was the father in him that struggled the most with what he was asking the young man to do—the father who worried about the stress and the danger, the wounds Daniel's conscience would be dealt—and it was the father in him that would be guilty for the rest of his life if anything happened to him.
"Oh yeah, I'm fine." Daniel kept his back to the Air Force general turned Tok'ra.
"Good. We'll be at Yu's homeworld in a little over an hour." Hopefully the short time span between their arrival and Yu and Daniel's departure for the System Lord summit would reduce the possibility of exposure. It was the flight time between Yu's home and the space station that worried Jacob the most right now—a bored Goa'uld with his most intimate slave—he shook his head. Hopefully Yu would be too busy putting the finishing touches on any subtle plans of his own to pay much attention to Daniel and any faux pas he might make.
Adjusting the cuffs on his robe, Jacob noticed that Daniel was still fussing with his costume, taking an inordinate amount of time to tidy up his things, hands moving nervously. "Are you all right, Daniel?"
Jacob's harmless question tightened the knots in the back of Daniel's neck. Simple answer? No, I'm not all right. I'm far from all right. I'm walking into Yu's palace to take the place of his body servant so that I can infiltrate a meeting of the Goa'uld System Lords and wipe them out with an untested poison without my team. "Oh yeah, I'm fine," he responded, trying hard to keep his tone light.
Sure you are.
'He is afraid,' Selmac's concern drifted across Jacob's awareness.
'Yeah, but he's a tough kid,' Jacob replied inwardly. 'Much tougher than he appears.'
Images flashed from Selmac's mind to Jacob's consciousness. 'I witnessed that on Netu. He insisted upon remaining strong for his friends. For whom does he fight this time?'
Jacob placed his hands on his hips. 'He's fighting for all of us, Selmac—his people, our people—'
'Yes,' Selmac interrupted quickly, 'but these people, as you call them, have no faces; he has no personal feelings for them. It is a loyalty of the mind, not of the heart—will that be enough?'
"Listen," Jacob spoke aloud, "if you're not one hundred per cent committed to this mission, I need to know."
There it was again—one hundred per cent. Everyone insisted on using that phrase and Daniel's self-doubt grew every single time he heard it. He took a deep breath. It sounded almost as if Jacob was offering him a way out of this mission, all he had to do was admit his concerns, his worries, and his somewhat less than one hundred per cent belief in his capability of carrying it out. "I just think some of your details are a little, uh, sketchy," he half turned towards Jacob and casually leaned one elbow on the cargo container he'd been using as a dresser.
Okay, at least he is finally looking at me, Jacob nodded in acknowledgement of the young man's comment. "Like what?" Keep talking, Daniel.
"Well, you're going to use the poison to wipe out the Goa'uld, right?"
'I told you he was quick, Selmac.' Jacob couldn't help a stab of pride at the young man's deduction of the Tok'ra plan, but it was quickly replaced by the thought that maybe it would have been easier for Daniel to go forward and use the poison without this particular insight. "Eventually," he agreed, warily.
Daniel grimaced. "What about the Jaffa?" Slaves. Slaves who had been bio-engineered to become Goa'uld incubators and conditioned throughout generations to serve as their unquestioning soldiers. The people of Chulak—Teal'c's people; Bra'tac and Ry'ac's people.
Folding his hands in front of him, Jacob took a few steps towards Daniel's deceptively relaxed pose. "Well, that's still a bit of a wrinkle," he admitted. "Unless we can find a way to reverse their biological dependence on immature symbiotes, they'll all die as well."
"'A bit of a wrinkle,'" Daniel echoed with a tight smile.
"Danny, the Goa'uld have been spreading like a plague across the galaxy for thousands of years." Jacob and Selmac watched the young man through narrowed eyes. "Now, for the first time, they're showing zero population growth. We're not sure why, but we intend to take advantage of the situation." They had no real answers for Daniel's questions, no solution to offer—in fact, most of the Tok'ra would not hesitate to use the poison as soon as its effectiveness could be ascertained. So many had died at the hands of the Jaffa that massacring the Goa'uld's minions would not produce one ounce of remorse. Daniel needed to focus on just this mission—just this one—and bringing death to the Goa'uld System Lords. Other questions could wait. "We may never get a chance like this again." Jacob caught a glimpse of the sadness in the archaeologist's eyes before he dropped his head.
"Are we good to go?" Jacob asked again. One more chance to say no, Danny. The last one.
He understood the opening Jacob was giving him, but he couldn't make himself take it. Shifting his eyes away from the older man's scrutiny, Daniel tried again to shut down his whirling thoughts and emotions and fight his way through the expectations that nearly suffocated him. Expectations for failure. Expectations for obedience—duty. "Yeah," he answered, not trusting himself to say more.
Inside Jack's Head/Summit - Meanwhile on Revanna
It had been a few hours since Daniel and Jacob left and Jack O'Neill had checked in with General Hammond via the Stargate, and the colonel was still walking. He'd let him get away with it—let Daniel go with that smart-ass 'goodbye' he'd thrown at Jack, sounding like he'd expected their parting to be permanent. The Tok'ra who'd escorted him back to the base had left him alone, unwilling to breach the stormy silence that clouded around the colonel like a thunderhead just looking for a lightning rod. The headache was still there, but now it throbbed with the cadence of Daniel's impassioned voice—stubborn did not even begin to describe the man. Just another thing the two of them had in common.
Jack wished he'd been able to see Hammond's face when he let him know that Daniel had just left on the Tok'ra mission—the general's response had sounded like an angry bear and was more than a little threatening to Jack's life and career if anything happened to the archaeologist. Dammit. How the heck had Jacob talked them into this one? What if the Reol chemical didn't work on Yu? What if Daniel forgot some trivial System Lord tidbit or pronounced one word just slightly off? What if Jacob didn't act fast enough to get Daniel out of there when the dead symbiote hit the fan? And what the heck was Jack thinking letting Daniel go off without his team there for back-up? It was not supposed to go down like this.
Jack's rapid stride down the grey hallways of the Tok'ra base hitched for a moment. What had Daniel said when he'd thrown that 'tough-guy' comment in his face? That that was Jack's shtick? Hell, yes—he was the big bad Air Force colonel with miles of special ops under his belt. Daniel's job was to be the team conscience and remind them, endlessly, Jack muttered to himself, that they were the aliens on these different worlds they visited and that other cultures had just as much of a right to be bastards as they did. He was supposed to dig in the dirt and enthuse about dead languages and bits of broken pottery. Jack's thoughts returned to the pile of equipment Daniel had left on that Tok'ra excuse for a bed: his Beretta and extra clips, his knife, his zat, books, his leather wrapped archaeology tools—why had he even brought them? Did he think he'd stumble on some kind of abandoned temple within the Tok'ra tunnels?
Weapons. Daniel had left all of his weapons here. The weapons that Jack knew his fingers itched to hold—small, fine brushes, trowels, pages filled with archaic languages—as well as the weapons that came so readily to Jack's own hands like the handgun and the knife. Weapons that Daniel had become quietly proficient with over the past five years. He was a dead shot, carried himself confidently in a fire fight, never backed down from a Jaffa three times his size, even when Jack wished he would. He tried to brush off the thought that Daniel was completely and utterly unarmed—with that brain he'd never be without resources—but the image of Daniel lying there in his own blood firmly clutching Jack's MP5 in Klorel's mothership suddenly plastered itself across his mind. His blue eyes had blazed from his pasty white face, a trace of bright red blood bubbling from his lips as Jack crouched next to him and thought of another shaggy-haired innocent face covered in blood.
It had started then. Right then, Jack had tried to switch off the father in him, the part of him he knew was reaching out to cup Daniel's face as he had his son's. When they all somehow survived he'd tried to step away, become a CO, hold the kid at arm's length rather than keep him safely right by his side. Damn. It hadn't been easy. That Daniel Jackson of their first few years had been so broken, his losses so raw and readable across his face that Jack didn't have the heart to push him away. To push any of them away. His 'kids.' What a mistake.
Daniel's own growing confidence, his willingness to call Jack on some pretty stupid decisions, his suddenly—at least it seemed sudden to Jack—restrained emotions and biting sarcasm that put his own to shame, shaggy-hair and sneezing things of the past—all those things had made it much easier for Jack to turn away. Daniel didn't need a father-figure, and Jack sure as hell didn't need to revisit the ragged emotional ties of his own past. The distance grew. And now, Jack realized, it had taken on a life of its own—the distance itself had begun to define the relationship between them.
Relationship? When did that word become a part of Jack O'Neill's vocabulary? He buried his hands in the deep pockets of his BDU pants and lowered his head, knowing it forced the Tok'ra hurrying by to whatever plots they were plotting to dance out of his way as he blundered along. Yeah, okay, they related, they were relating, teammates, co-workers—God, co-workers? How lame was that? Even Kawalsky and Feretti had been more than co-workers, and he'd never shared half the crap with them that he and Daniel had endured together. They were good men, friends, buddies, men who'd watched his back, but they hadn't thrown themselves in front of a staff blast to save his life before they even knew him. They hadn't stayed at his side while an alien data bank took over his brain. And they never pissed him off nearly as much as Daniel did just by breathing.
So little Daniel had grown up, Jack sneered to himself. Off on a solo mission to take out the bad guys. He could deal with that. Right. That's why the headache was threatening to make his eyeballs explode and why he had to keep his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't grab one of the scurrying Tok'ra and demand a way to communicate with Jacob's ship so that he could order the damned archaeologist back here double time. Time for some of that self-honesty that Daniel was always touting. It wasn't the fact that he'd pushed Daniel away that tore at him, shortened his already historically short temper, and honed the cutting edge of his sarcasm to a razor—that had been his plan, his decision. Let the kid stand on his own feet, find his own way, yadda, yadda. No, what had ultimately thrown the team dynamic off so completely that Teal'c was ready to rip him a new one and Hammond had begun to question his command was his reaction when Daniel had pushed back.
Okay, fine, it hurt his ego—he admitted it. And so his actions and words might have become a little more disdainful than playful, more downright dismissive than— Jack stopped short and felt one of the Tok'ra barely brush across his side and shoulder as he wove his way past the suddenly immovable object in his path. Crap and crap. With all this introspection and naval gazing he felt like he was having some kind of clichéd mid-life crisis. Daniel wanted his independence? Great. They were finally on the same page. If it took some harsh wake-up calls for both of them to make that happen, so be it. Daniel could handle himself, he'd made that abundantly clear, hadn't he? Jack could leave the hand-wringing and second-guessing to Carter. As for him? He'd wait and see and make sure he planned a rescue mission with Ren'Al to haul back Daniel's sorry ass when another oh-so-well-laid Tok'ra plan went sideways.
The drone of a familiar voice reached his ears and he looked up to see Aldwin explaining God-knew-what in nauseating detail to Mansfield and SG-17. Something about Tok'ra crystals and life support—whatever. Jack made himself saunter slowly towards the group and found himself watching Mansfield and Elliot. Elliot had a pen and notebook in his hand, and was scribbling furiously, while Mansfield, standing right next to the raw young airman, stood scoffing. Huh.
"Colonel." Major Mansfield brought himself to attention as soon as he noticed O'Neill hovering behind the Tok'ra, and his men quickly emulated him.
"Sir." Elliot snapped.
Jack's casual smile actually took a great deal of effort. "Gentlemen. How goes the orientation?"
Elliot's expression brightened and Jack noted the humor lurking behind his wide eyes. "It's...very interesting, sir. Just as you predicted."
"Are you interested in Tok'ra engineering?" Aldwin asked, turning to the colonel in surprise.
"Oh, interested doesn't quite describe how I truly feel," Jack responded, watching his tone fly right over the sedate Tok'ra's head. Elliot managed to rein in his amusement, but Mansfield shot the kid a decidedly dirty look.
"Well, you're welcome to join us," the Tok'ra announced, apparently unaware of his position as the butt of the joke.
"Thank you, Aldwin," Jack slapped the Tok'ra on the shoulder warmly. "But I have to go help Teal'c... wait... for Daniel." Yeah. As funny as mocking the Tok'ra was, Jack couldn't let this thing that was building up between him and Teal'c get any worse. He nodded to the impassive leader of SG-17, flashed a shared grin at Elliot and strolled down the hall. Kids.
Chapter Eight
Summit - Still Aboard the Cargo Ship
Daniel followed Jacob into the cargo ship's cockpit, still adjusting the unfamiliar clothes clinging to his body. He knew they were close to Yu's homeworld now—Jacob's manner was becoming more and more intense, more focused down to the mission details that all had to go right if the Tok'ra's plan was to work.
"I can get you into Yu's quarters. Your job is to get close enough to use this."
Jacob handed Daniel the ornate box containing the ring which had been treated with the mind-altering Reol chemical that had all of SG-1 believing they suddenly had a fifth member named Lt. Tyler. Daniel opened the box and removed the ring carefully, noting the sharp point extended from the outer surface. Close enough—well that sounded like fun, Daniel thought. He'd been close to a few System Lords in his time and had the scars to show for it. He squinted down at the ring. His life was resting in that small piece of metal.
"All you have to do is prick him—once. The effect will be immediate." Jacob sat in the pilot's seat of the cargo ship and checked over the controls which he'd set to carry the ship to Yu's world on the equivalent of auto-pilot. "He'll believe you to be his loyal slave, Jarren."
Daniel slid the ring onto the index finger of his right hand, carefully keeping the needle turned inward. "Jarren?" Shouldn't Jacob have told him the slave's name earlier so he'd have a chance to get used to answering to it?
Jacob's eyes flicked over the controls, making sure that everything was ready including the cloak he'd need to keep Yu from sensing his approach. Catching the note of anxiety in Daniel's voice, he looked up. "Just don't jab yourself with it," he smiled slightly.
"Why?"
Grimacing to himself, Jacob relented, realizing that comic relief wasn't doing it for Daniel right now. "Actually, I don't know, exactly. That in itself should scare you." He turned and placed both hands on the red crystal that functioned as the ship's steering and control mechanism.
Daniel mouthed the slave's name—his name, he reminded himself—over and over again as he eyed the slim needle. Maybe if he pricked himself he could forget all about Jarren, Yu, this mission, Jack O'Neill, and the SGC. That didn't sound so bad right about now.
Missing Scene - Confrontation
Jack found himself making a careful appraisal of his surroundings when he slowly re-entered the Tok'ra conference room. No sign of unfriendlies, he noted wryly as he eyed the lone Jaffa standing stoically, hands behind his back, at one end of the long metal table, but no sign of any friendlies either. "Where's Carter?"
Even with his back to the open entranceway, Teal'c had sensed O'Neill's approach. "Ren'Al has escorted Major Carter to the laboratory. The Tok'ra seemed willing to answer some of Major Carter's questions about the symbiote Lantash."
"Well," Jack absent-mindedly leaned one shoulder against the door frame before choking back a gasp and standing abruptly. He eyed the narrow, sharp projections that seemed to grow from all of the walls in the Tok'ra base and ran one hand over his prickling arm. Note to self—no leaning. "That's a refreshing change, anyway," he finally finished his sentence and slouched down the steps towards his teammate. Giving the conference table a swift but intense appraisal Jack shifted his right hip onto its surface and crossed his arms, eyes on the scuffed toe of his right boot as he swung his foot back and forth. "I know they've been stonewalling Carter for months."
Teal'c turned his head to bring his dark gaze to rest on the colonel's anxious figure, brows lowering. "Indeed." He watched the Tau'ri's shuttered expression in silence, wondering if, this time, the obstinate warrior could be drawn out. Teal'c had abandoned any further attempts to get the human to reveal the reasons for his brusque treatment of their young friend some time ago, after realizing that, with each attempt O'Neill's behavior had become that much more distant. That coolness had indeed transferred itself to Teal'c himself of late, and, although such disdain did not compromise his own confidence as it had Daniel Jackson's, it had affected his trust in O'Neill's leadership. The spirit of SG-1 which had once been so firm in its devotion had been damaged—seriously damaged—by its commander's withdrawal.
"Is there something you wish to say to me, O'Neill?" He tried to temper his voice to reveal his true desire to assist his brother, but he knew he barely managed to hold his anger beneath the surface.
Jack's head snapped up, eyes already narrowed. "Like what, exactly? How about what the hell was that temper tantrum about?" Seeing Teal'c jerk back in surprise at his caustic attack, Jack cursed to himself. Great job, O'Neill. That should get the big guy to calm right down. He watched the muscle in the Jaffa's jaw jump alarmingly. Stilling his wildly swinging leg, Jack put both hands out in mute supplication. "Look, I'm sorry, T. You're clearly a bit miffed about me agreeing to let Daniel go on this mission with Jacob."
Teal'c nodded. Jack waited a moment, but when the Jaffa still hadn't spoken he tried again.
"Feel like sharing?" He winced at the memory of those same bitter words directed towards him from the mouth of a friend.
The Jaffa swept around until he stood facing O'Neill squarely. "O'Neill. Have you forgotten how first we met?"
Confusion sped across the colonel's face. "No, I'm pretty sure I'll never forget you busting us out of that slimy snake-head's prison on Chulak." Jack had no idea where Teal'c was going with this, but at least he was talking. Jack could run with it for a while—it's not like he had anything better to do, like listening to Tok'ra engineering lectures. "You feeling all nostalgic or something?"
Teal'c ignored the attempt at humor. "I was the First Prime of Apophis, well-loved by the false god. It was I who chose the woman of the Taur'i and the wife of Daniel Jackson to come before him to be host to his queen."
"Yeah, I got that." Jack narrowed his eyes, hoping this little trip down memory lane was coming to an exit soon.
Unmoving, unmovable, Teal'c stood his ground and stared solemnly into the eyes of the leader of SG-1—the man who had inspired the final act of rebellion that led him on this road to free the Jaffa all over the galaxy. He could easily remember the strength and courage in O'Neill's actions, the fierce soul of the female warrior beside him, and the passion and devotion of the young scholar who would throw himself on the nonexistent mercy of the Goa'uld. He had not seen that O'Neill in many months, but he knew that the same heart of the fearless warrior and devoted friend still beat within him.
"O'Neill." Teal'c desired nothing more than to reach his brother. "You fought to keep me from the hands of your scientists who would have locked me away and performed experiments upon me. You convinced General Hammond that my knowledge of the Goa'uld and their societies could provide much information that would assist you in your battles. And, it was you who fought so vigorously to keep me from the justice of the Cor'ai."
Jack shook his head. "Okay, Teal'c, what the heck is going on?" He wasn't interested in a list of his heroic attributes at the moment. "What are you trying to tell me?"
"You once valued my contribution, O'Neill. In fact, you sought it out on many occasions when you were unsure of the Goa'uld's probable tactics or procedures."
"Well, sure, T—you're the one with the decades of experience around here. Everybody at the SGC knows you've got the goods."
Teal'c seethed. Was the man blind? Had he lost his reason? O'Neill was a youth by Jaffa standards, and the pressure put on one at such an age might easily have caused his careless behavior—but Teal'c did not yet question his first impression of his choice of ally. The Taur'i may have forgotten himself, but he would not rest until O'Neill again recalled the necessity of reliance upon those members of his team who did not echo his own military perception. "If indeed I have 'got the goods,' O'Neill, then why was I not consulted concerning this mission among the System Lords?" He saw the impact of his whispered words rock the colonel backwards and he leaned forward to press the opening with which we was presented. "If you have not forgotten that I served as First Prime to Apophis for many years, then why did you not consider that I might have knowledge of these lo'taur, and what Daniel Jackson might encounter in that role?"
Although the large Jaffa stood about three feet from his position on the edge of the table, Jack O'Neill sensed Teal'c's presence fill the room more and more with every question until he realized that he'd been unconsciously leaning backward to keep his distance. Covering his sudden jerk to straighten his posture with a quick rub to the back of his neck, Jack felt a wave of cold ire surge through him. He knew that a mask had slipped easily over his features, the one he'd worn for years in Special Ops, that he'd resurrected to play the bitter hot-head to bring down Maybourne and his cronies. And he knew that Teal'c saw it, too—knew it by his suddenly flat eyes and flared nostrils.
"Hear me, brother."
Jack blinked in surprise and the mask thinned. That sounded more like a plea than a command. "Okay, T." He folded his arms across his chest. "Enlighten me."
Teal'c acknowledged the slight bending of his teammate's armor with a careful nod. "I am sorry. I cannot teach you this with my words, O'Neill, until you begin to see for yourself."
"Now that sounds like the crap Daniel was spouting at that alien temple on Kheb." Jack quirked his mouth into a smirk. "Candlelight, fire, whatever." He waved one hand in the air. "Hey, if you're hurt because Hammond and I hashed things out behind closed doors after Ren'Al's little visit..."
The low grunt that greeted his statement told Jack that he was barking up the wrong tree if he was suggesting that Teal'c's pride was involved, but he'd be damned if he'd let Teal'c—or anyone else—blame him if they intentionally held back on important intel. "Hell, Teal'c, if you had something to say, what were you waiting for?"
"I was awaiting nothing, O'Neill," Teal'c snapped back. "You have made it clear in recent times that any decisions concerning the missions of SG-1 would be made within your military establishment and not, as was your strategy in times past, with the welcome input of Daniel Jackson and myself." He held up one large hand to hold back O'Neill's hasty response and watched the officer struggle to bite back a retort. He breathed deeply, swallowing his own impatience. He had allowed his frustration to color his argument with the deep dissatisfaction he felt concerning this mission their young friend undertook. Bowing his head in apology he tried again. "In this instance, you chose to rely on your own limited experience rather than seek for answers about that which you do not know."
"Now hang on a minute," Jack hopped from his perch on the conference table, bringing him nearly chest to chest with the Jaffa. "Since when haven't I gotten your take on a mission? I'm not sitting there alone at briefings, am I?"
Teal'c softened his voice. "For many months, it is as if you were, O'Neill. You, Major Carter, and General Hammond."
"Come on..." Jack shook his head, rejecting the Jaffa's observation. "That's nuts. Nothing's changed with the team..." At Teal'c's pointedly raised eyebrow he stuttered to a halt. Yeah, Daniel's attitude alone gave the lie to that statement. Jack twisted away from the big man's intent stare to pace along the metal chairs lined up behind the conference table. Simmons, the NID, Kinsey, the Russians—the usual SG-1 off-world meet and greet had been anything but usual lately. Surely Teal'c couldn't feel like he had much to offer when the job had more to do with Earth red-tape and politics. No, but habits are hard to break, and this mission was all about the snake-heads that Teal'c had lived with for all of his very long life. And he and Hammond had effectively shut out every other member of his team.
A sinking pit opened in Jack's gut drawing away all warmth and breath. Hell. They'd sent Daniel off without a backwards glance—he'd sent Daniel off—claiming greater good and strategic importance and sink or swim and all sorts of other damned military platitudes that set off a stink he should have noticed from a mile away. He brought both hands up to scrape through his short hair and pulled at it in frustration, a snarl of anger and regret forcing its way from his throat. That was one thing about being up to your neck in political filth—you sort of got used to the stench.
He whirled to face the Jaffa who stood, legs braced widely, arms carefully held behind his back. So he wouldn't deck me? Jack wondered. It's not like I don't deserve it. Rude and unacceptable could not even remotely describe his thinking—or lack thereof—about this mission, and just add in the Tok'ra and you've got—Jack cut off his thoughts abruptly and settled himself into a stance that matched his teammate's, his hands shoved into his pockets so he wouldn't slip into one of those self-hugs that Daniel was famous for.
"Tell me."
Teal'c tilted his chin as if inquiry. "You cannot change your actions, O'Neill, nor call Daniel Jackson back from his intention."
Bitterness threatened to choke him. "Thanks, T. I really needed that reminder."
The Jaffa pondered his teammate silently, weighing the harm his words would do to the man before him with the necessity to prepare him for their young friend's condition upon his unlikely return.
Jack squinted and gestured. "Give."
Bowing in acceptance, Teal'c brought his thoughts back to his hated past as servant to the Goa'uld. "Apophis made use of many lo'taur during my time in his service."
"'Made use of?'" Jack tried to stop his imagination before it got a firm hold on that phrase.
"Indeed. They were chosen from among the most comely of his human slaves from the worlds he ruled and were trained to serve Apophis' personal needs."
Jack's gut rebelled again. "Teal'c, no part of that statement is the least little bit okay. Are you telling me what I think you're telling me and I'm really hoping you're gonna say no, here, big guy."
"The lo'taur were awarded many personal freedoms that others within the Goa'uld's household were not—some independence of movement, freedom from debilitating work, gifts of food or housing for their families. Many slaves welcomed the opportunity to serve—both male and female." O'Neill was a hardened warrior and yet his face paled as Teal'c calmly presented his thoughts. Teal'c continued his recitation of facts in an even tone, allowing the Taur'i time to process the facts as he could. "They were valued for their discretion as they were in close proximity to Apophis at every hour and heard many of his secrets." The Jaffa hesitated.
"Oh, hell, Teal'c." Jack just wanted to get it over with. "You're talking about...shit." He turned his back as if that would keep him from seeing the truth. Daniel, you knew, didn't you?
"It is a possibility only, O'Neill," Teal'c admitted. "You have met many System Lords—they are as different in their personal tastes as they are similar in treachery. It was well-known that Ra surrounded himself with children. Sokar blinded each of his lo'taur to prevent them from seeing his face. Cronos received only old men as his personal slaves."
"Geez, Teal'c, enough!" Jack's hands flew up to punctuate his denial as he twisted to face the Jaffa. "Enough." Suddenly an explosion of anger burst through him. "And Daniel knew this—all of this." Damn the man and his martyr complex.
His brows drawing down in confusion at the O'Neill's tone, Teal'c studied his warrior brother. "Daniel Jackson and I have had many discussions concerning the Goa'uld and their households. He never tired of studying the similarities between the Goa'uld and the Earth gods they chose to portray."
"Of course he did," Jack sighed, closing his eyes wearily. God, he was tired. "What about Yu—and I'm not in the mood for jokes," he added, slitting his eyes at the Jaffa.
Teal'c wasn't either. "Yu is oldest of the System Lords and still embraces the old ways. Much is unknown concerning his household, but the Tok'ra did not believe he abused his body slaves with any regularity. According to the notes left him by Ren'Al, Yu has recently taken a new lo'taur as his previous slave was killed by one of his rivals."
"Well this news just keeps getting better and better!" Jack didn't know if he felt like laughing or groaning, and ended up with something in the middle, catching Teal'c off guard. Glaring away his friend's concern, Jack gripped the back of one of the metal chairs with both hands as if he were trying to strangle it—or strangle one stubborn, threat-seeking, infuriating archaeologist. "Okay—this is what you wanted me to know? Intel about how totally screwed Daniel would be—" Possibly literally. Jack clenched his teeth before the words got away into the air where the gods in charge of torturing academics could pluck the idea out and use it against him. "—if we let him go on this mission?"
"Would you not have taken it into consideration before making your decision if you had known, O'Neill?"
Teal'c's gentle tone contradicted his intense gaze and Jack realized that his answer to this question might just make or break any hope of patching up SG-1. Jack forced himself to stop. Think. Politics and Kinsey and a massive strike against their enemies that could fend off the bureaucrats for years and possibly safeguard Earth versus the skin and psyche of one human, one linguist/archaeologist. He forced himself to look up into those fierce dark eyes.
"Hell, yes."
Chapter Nine
Summit - Lantash in Stasis
Sam followed the Tok'ra scientist, her jaw clenched in frustration. So Ren'Al had finally decided that she deserved some kind of answers to her questions about the fate of Martouf and Lantash—she'd only been asking for a solid year. The incident—incident, that was a good word, she thought to herself, nicely vague and emotionless, a word that kept the roiling emotions that had been coursing through her when she'd watched Martouf struggle against his zatarc programming at bay. It was her hand that had fired the fatal second shot, it was trust in her own judgment that evaded her ever since. The incident with the Tok'ra alliance and the zatarc detector had been the start of a year of complete internal chaos that left her both emotionally withdrawn and over-sensitive at the same time, her mind filled with the kind of second-guessing and social awkwardness that she thought she'd left behind at puberty. She'd allowed most of her friendships to fall by the wayside in order to pursue—or, at times, run headlong from—one relationship in particular. One with a decidedly human, if largely inaccessible man.
Lips pressed together firmly, Sam narrowed her focus. Okay, she so didn't need to end up on that train of thought again. Her eyes fixed on the small stasis chamber in the Tok'ra laboratory, Sam began listening in earnest, knowing that the famous Tok'ra 'spin' on their decisions concerning Martouf and Lantash was just beginning. Ren'Al might seem helpful at times, but the information she didn't choose to share with the Taur'i—even information about Daniel's mission with her father—was almost certainly the most important part of the story. She needed to get her head in the game, for both Daniel and her only connection to Jolinar's mate.
"As you know, Major, we kept the body in stasis for several months as we tried to find a way to repair the damage," Ren'Al manipulated keys on the alien control pad and the hexagonal stasis chamber rose into the air, Lantash submerged firmly within. "In the end we were unsuccessful. All that remains of Martouf now lives on in Lantash."
Sam watched the bubbles rise in whatever liquid medium supported the motionless symbiote. Who did Ren'Al think she was kidding? The major knew all the Tok'ra wanted from Martouf was a peek inside his brain to try to study the effects of the zatarc conditioning—his recovery from his wounds would have seriously hampered that effort. Her eyes widened as she felt a sudden tug, a strange connection as if a thin, invisible wire stretched between her and the symbiote. Jolinar recognized him, even in stasis.
"What's its condition?" she heard herself ask, her voice barely a whisper.
Ren'Al shrugged. "The symbiote is still recuperating, but the search has already begun to find a new host."
Of course it has, Sam thought. That's all it is ever about with the Tok'ra—their planning, their missions, their long-range scenarios all revolved around the predominance of the symbiote in what they continued to claim to be a completely shared life. She ground her teeth together. Daniel is recruited to fly off with Jacob—or was it really Selmac all along—on a mission that had only been half-explained, half-understood, simply because the Tok'ra saw all un-blended humans as fodder for their strategies. How many human hosts had these Tok'ra taken only to toss them aside when they were no longer useful? How hard had they really worked to heal Martouf?
"I want to see the research," Sam demanded.
"I'm sorry, major, but all information pertaining to zatarc technology can..."
"...can only be released on the authority of the council, I know," Sam interrupted, able to finish the Tok'ra's sentence quite easily; she'd heard it often enough lately. "They've been stonewalling me for months."
"I assure you, Martouf was in no pain." Ren'Al's strangely doubled voice reeked of sincerity, but Sam wasn't buying it.
"That's not the problem," Sam snapped. Jolinar's memories had never been easy to access, but the sense of duty that she shared with the symbiote had always come through quite clearly. Jolinar had done many things in order to get information for the Tok'ra—things that made Sam's skin crawl. She'd been willing to compromise her own soul with Binar on Netu, all in the name of furthering some strategy of the Ruling Council. Yes, Sam felt a deep sense of duty to her command and her country, but the Tok'ra's nearly mindless devotion went far beyond any normal allegiance. Whether it was because of their centuries long struggle or their dwindling numbers Sam didn't know, nor did she care at the moment. What she finally understood after three long years of seeking for answers, was that the Tok'ra would do anything, risk anyone—any unblended human that is—to beat the Goa'uld. Martouf had already become a casualty. And now they'd caught Daniel up in the same kind of life-or-death-or-worse scenario by using his sense of honor and bitter hatred of the Goa'uld, as well as the SGC's current preoccupation with tangible, measurable gains against their enemy. If her father were here she'd gladly strangle him.
"If the symbiote was still alive when Martouf was taken out of stasis, wasn't there a chance that it could have healed his injuries?" Sam wondered if the Tok'ra would have the guts to be honest with her.
"The possibility was remote," Ren'Al hedged.
Apparently not, Sam observed. "How remote?"
"The host was too weak. In all likelihood the symbiote would have died trying to repair the damage."
And there it is. Given the choice between gambling the symbiote's life and possibly saving them both, or wrenching the only possible hope for the human host out by the roots on the off-chance that the symbiote might survive, the Tok'ra would pick the symbiote every time. They might not be Goa'uld, but they sure didn't mind risking the lives of everyone in the galaxy besides themselves—their symbiote selves that is.
"But you didn't know that for sure," she snapped.
"Well we had to make a choice," Ren'Al insisted.
"And naturally you chose the symbiote."
Ren'Al sighed. "Your bias towards the host is only natural. Surely it is better that one should live than that they both should die?"
It all sounded so plausibly reasonable, didn't it? But Sam knew the shallowness of Tok'ra ethics from the inside, knew just how easy it was for Jolinar to take her has an unwilling host to escape her own assassin, even if the symbiote had, finally, sacrificed herself when she was cornered. How else could they see the humans of the Earth but as half-alive, weak pawns to be worn like a suit or thrown into unknown danger whenever the need arose? How could the SGC have possibly trusted them again after Shaun'ac's death, especially with Daniel's life?
"Isn't this really about your zatarc research?" Let's get the dirty truth out in the open, for once, Sam decided. Her diplomatic teammate wasn't here—he was off posing as a slave among a room full of conscience-less, megalomaniacs so that the Tok'ra could do research on their latest discovery. I've got your number, Ren'Al, make no mistake about it.
The Tok'ra's eyes shifted away from Sam's intense gaze. "I don't understand."
Like hell. "If Martouf had lived you wouldn't have had a chance to examine his brain tissue—you wouldn't have learned anything."
"Would you really have preferred for his sacrifice to have been for nothing?" Ren'Al asked, her words sharp.
"I would have preferred," Sam sneered, "another way."
She could almost see the wheels turning within the Tok'ra's mind. After a moment's hesitation, Ren'Al leveled her gaze at Sam. "You knew Martouf well."
It wasn't a question, but Sam answered. "Yes."
"Well then, knowing him as you did what choice do you think he would have made?"
The Air Force major dropped her eyes, feeling the bite of tears that she would not, could not allow to fall in the presence of this woman. Of course Martouf would have sacrificed himself—it was so much a part of him, his inherent insignificance so deeply nurtured in his soul as a Tok'ra, that he'd give himself up easily. A cold weight against her heart made her breathing stutter and she suddenly saw Martouf's face alongside her absent teammate's. Why had she never seen the similarities in their natures before? Sensitive, determined, brilliant, talented diplomats, dedicated friends, having both lost the love of his life, and both entirely convinced of his own lack of value. Martouf would have ripped the symbiote from his own body rather than risk it, just as Daniel would happily sacrifice himself to save them all. Suddenly Sam wanted to be anywhere but here, anywhere where the living embodiment of loss didn't lay in a stasis tank not two feet from her.
"Martouf is not entirely gone, major," Ren'Al turned her attention to the controls before her once again. "His thoughts and his memories live on in Lantash."
Sam let her eyes drift to the pale remains of Martouf's life. Thoughts and memories—is that all they'd have left of Daniel?
Missing Scene - Approaching Yu's Stronghold
Jacob watched Daniel fidget with the zat in his hand within the ring transporter on the cargo ship, nervously opening and closing the weapon with a click and a fizz. He glanced over at the ship's chronometer again, knowing that he had to time their entrance into Yu's stronghold precisely if they wanted to catch Jarren while he was alone just before Yu emerged from the sarcophagus and the two ringed to Yu's own tel'tac. The Jaffa in the stronghold would immediately recognize that Daniel, his outfit unmistakable, didn't belong. The ring Daniel wore was only charged with two or three doses of the mind-altering drug, and they couldn't possibly get close enough to each of the hundreds of Jaffa guarding the oldest System Lord even if it held more. He knew that Daniel needed this mission to start—once he'd taken his first steps as Yu's lo'taur, once he saw that the chemical in the ring would work, he'd settle down into the role, working on automatic pilot almost, as he utilized all of the skills he'd acquired as a part of SG-1. Right now, though, the young man's nerves were raw, one hand constantly fingering the belt pouch that contained the symbiote poison, a Tok'ra communicator, several doses of a powerful stimulant that Jacob had handed over a few moments ago, and... something else.
'He should not sleep,' Selmac had reminded him when they'd dropped out of hyper-drive. Jacob had been preoccupied with avoiding Yu's defensive satellites and the patrol vessels that constantly skimmed the planet's upper atmosphere, but he recognized the wisdom of his symbiote's words. Daniel needed to be awake and alert for as long as he was in the presence of the Goa'uld—sleep would only make him more vulnerable. He'd glanced up at the archaeologist's drawn face as he leaned against the support between the cockpit seats and wondered just how much sleep Daniel had been able to get last night after Ren'Al's briefing, his active mind anticipating this mission. Probably not much.
Finishing his adjustments to the tel'tac's navigation, Jacob leaned forward and reached into a small compartment at the right of the viewscreen where he kept emergency supplies. His symbiote reminded him of the appropriate dosage for a human and Jacob tore off a strip of small yellow tablets that would instantly dissolve in the warmth of Daniel's mouth—he might have to resort to using some of these himself if the summit was delayed. Hesitating a moment, he fingered a larger blue capsule, noticing the pointed silence of Selmac within him. This decision must be his own. He slipped the capsule into his hand.
Turning, he noticed that Daniel had straightened and that his eyes were locked onto Jacob's hand. Jacob rose and stepped towards the young man, a reassuring smile on his lips. He plucked the strip of tablets from his hand and held it up between them.
"Danny—Selmac reminded me that there's a possibility that one or more of the System Lords might be delayed. That means the Goa'uld would be sitting around twiddling their thumbs and looking for something to do." Jacob watched Daniel's eyebrows rise in alarm while his gaze remained glued to the yellow pills. "Our suggestion is that you don't make yourself vulnerable by sleeping. If you remain awake and visibly useful to Lord Yu it'll be much less likely that one of the other System Lords would get any ideas of ambushing you."
"Ambushing me?" Daniel was surprised by the dryness of his throat and hurriedly cleared it.
Jacob shrugged. "You read the reports. Human slaves can be targeted to prove a System Lord's weakness. The loss of respect can be devastating."
Nodding, Daniel tried not to think about what happened to Yu's last lo'taur, but he'd bet the man lost a little more than respect. He took a deep breath and tried to tamp down on the bitterness that had been fighting to overwhelm his rising anxiety. He narrowed his eyes and focused—this was intel, this was information that he could use to stay alive.
"These are stimulants developed by the Tok'ra that are used by our human agents as well as our blended operatives," Jacob began, making sure that Daniel was following along. "At the first sign of fatigue, take one—it should last you about twelve hours, but the downside is that, once it's worn off, the crash can hit you hard. So, here's what I recommend," he held out the strip until Daniel took it. "Take one when you start to feel tired. Take another one ten hours later, and then another ten hours after that. Hopefully, you'll be out of there and we'll be well on our way back to Revanna by that time."
Daniel pursed his lips and looked up at Jacob. "Every ten hours. Got it, thanks."
Jacob smiled and watched Daniel begin to tuck the pills into the belt pouch when he stopped abruptly, a frown deepening between his brows.
"Ah, Jacob, how do you know they aren't going to search me? I mean, I'm carrying a Tok'ra communicator, the symbiote poison, now these..."
"And this," Jacob held up the blue capsule between his thumb and forefinger. He felt Selmac's unease but sent his symbiote warm reassurance. 'We would do no less for any of our operatives,' he stated firmly to the eldest Tok'ra.
His chain of thought interrupted, Daniel reached out for the drug, but Jacob pulled his hand back quickly, waiting for Daniel's eyes to flick to his face for an explanation.
"Danny, please don't think that I'm sending you in there with that room full of Goa'uld lightly." He hesitated, needing to say something to this young man, but also knowing that Daniel needed to keep his edge—exposing his emotions would do him no good when they were this close to their destination. "The Tok'ra have thought this through as well as they can, but the honest truth is that you're taking all the risks here, not SG-1, not the Tok'ra, not me." Daniel's simple nod closed Jacob's throat and it was a moment before he could go on. "You're bright enough to know that this could end badly in hundreds of different ways, including the very real possibility that you'll be threatened with implantation of a Goa'uld symbiote yourself."
"I understand that." Daniel's brow was still screwed up in a frown, but his voice was calm, quiet.
"If it seems likely—if there's no other way out, I'm offering you what every Tok'ra operative takes for granted on a mission behind enemy lines." Jacob let the capsule fall into his palm and held it up.
"Oh." Daniel blinked in understanding as he remembered Aris Boch's capture of the Tok'ra he'd contracted to deliver to Sokar. He let his hands hang at his sides. "Cyanide?"
Jacob winced. "Close enough." He waited to see if Daniel would reach out and take it, but the archaeologist remained motionless. Finally, Jacob grabbed one of the man's hands and tucked the pill into Daniel's sweaty palm, curling his fingers over it protectively. Taking another step towards him, Jacob cupped one hand around Daniel's cheek. "Don't let them take you alive, Danny," he spoke quietly, staring into the bright blue eyes. "I couldn't live with that."
After a moment he stepped away from Daniel's rigid posture and suddenly closed-off expression and strode towards the ring controls, his anger at the situation, at SG-1's apparent unconcern, and the way the young man standing there, waiting to risk his life, clearly believed himself to be completely alone. Selmac whispered to him but Jacob ignored him, knowing what the symbiote would say. It was too important, too vital, they had to risk it. Jacob heard Daniel step into the center of the rings behind him and glanced over at him, watching him work to smooth over each emotion that flashed across his face. Jacob turned away and closed his eyes a moment, knowing that he was undergoing his own transformation from concerned friend to Tok'ra field agent. He allowed Daniel another moment before handing him a zat.
"And no, they won't search you, Daniel," he finally addressed the young man's question. "Yu trusts his lo'taur implicitly or he wouldn't have the position, and the System Lords have sensors to detect weapons, but they won't be concerned with anything else the slaves carry. That's all part of their arrogance, believing that no one can hurt them—and we're taking advantage of that." He looked up into Daniel's face again. And of you. "You ready?"
Daniel closed off the emotions that threatened to swamp him and rolled his shoulders. "As I'll ever be."
