Holding My Breath
Part 5
Chapter 14
Summit - From Bad to Worse in the Tok'ra Tunnels - Extended Scene
Sam ran shaking hands over Mansfield's body again, hoping it was the adrenaline that put the tremors there, and not the overwhelming sense that the major was too far gone for her simple field medicine. Probably internal bleeding, the blood that ran from his nose and ears told her the concussion was a bad one, and his left leg was fractured below the knee. Her eyes snapped to his face as he struggled to wake, his head flopping back and forth on the hard floor and his mouth grimacing—the groan that welled up from deep within him was broken by little gasps of pain.
"Mansfield... Major Mansfield," she said quietly, bending down to bring her head close to his. "Don't try to move, can you tell me where the pain is?"
Mansfield coughed, spewing a bloody haze into the air, his left arm clutching at his chest convulsively, and he blinked heavy eyes, trying to make sense of what he saw. "Maj... Carter?"
"Yes," Sam placed one hand on top of his, pressing gently to reinforce her presence at his side. "Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c have headed up to the surface to scout an escape route, but we've got to be ready to move when the order comes."
The major nodded grimly, closing his eyes against the pounding in his head and the nauseated clench of his gut. His left leg was on fire and something was wrong in his chest, he could feel it with every snatched breath. "My... my men? SG-17?" He felt Carter squeeze his hand and his eyes flew open to search for her pale face in the darkness. "Major?"
"Lt. Elliot is here with me. He's a bit shaken up, but unharmed." Sam hesitated. The news wasn't going to do the major any good in his current state—in any state, actually—but he had the right to know. "I'm afraid the others didn't make it." She watched as the Air Force veteran tightened his lips until they were white, the pain of his wounds and his losses etched clearly on his face for an instant before the soldier's mask slipped back over his features.
"Morphine."
"Major," Sam explained gently, "you've got a head injury and you're already having difficulty breathing..."
"Major," Mansfield ground out between his teeth, "if I have a hope of moving when the word comes, I'm gonna need that morphine."
She shook her head, knowing he was right. "Let me splint your leg and then we'll see."
Mansfield managed a grunted laugh. "Huh. From what I hear from O'Neill, I'm gonna need it before you try to splint my leg."
A smile splashed across Sam's dusty face at the memory of the colonel's description of her medic skills after their rescue from the ice cave in Antarctica. "Laugh it up, Mansfield," she responded as she dug through the medical supplies in her pack, pulling out the pre-filled syringes and a splint, "I'll make sure to let Dr. Frasier know you need the really big needles when we get home." Glancing up at the major's face she saw that his brief return to consciousness was over. One hand reached up to feel for the pulse in his neck—fast, too fast—but she was relieved to find that her hands had stopped shaking.
The roof, however, hadn't. She plunged the syringe into his leg as the next series of blasts tore more debris from the ceiling above them. Mansfield couldn't survive another hit. She turned to Ren'Al who was now fiddling with the computer controls that operated the symbiote's stasis chamber.
"We've got to get him out of here," she insisted, pulling herself up to stand next to the Tok'ra. "This man needs medical attention."
Ren'Al did not look up to meet her eyes. "We've done what we can right now."
'Done what they can?' The Tok'ra had yet to do anything that didn't serve their own purposes. Sam's eyes were drawn to Lantash where he hung, suspended, fragile, still healing after all this time. He and Martouf had seemed so different from the other Tok'ra—so compassionate, so human—and truly concerned about their Earth allies. Or maybe that concern was reserved for her and the people closest to her, maybe it was just because of Jolinar and, at heart, he was just as cold and calculating as every other Tok'ra she had ever met. The changes in her father had been mostly for the good, but now there was a sense of superiority that Jacob Carter had never had, even with his status as an Air Force general.
Her mind was reeling, trying to come up with a way to save Mansfield, the Tok'ra, all of them, when she realized just what she was staring at.
"What about the symbiote?" Sam exclaimed, wondering why she hadn't thought of it before.
"Out of the question," Ren'Al snapped.
"It could save Major Mansfield's life," Carter barked right back, her fiery stare completely unheeded by the Tok'ra.
Ren'Al did not look up. "The symbiote's life is being sustained by the chamber; it is in no condition to help your friend." Her fingers stabbed at the controls.
Another gurgling cough from the unconscious man sent Sam back to his side. His pulse was weakening. "We can't just let him die!" She glanced back to see the effect of her words on Elliot's face and bit her lip. She couldn't let the young airman lose his entire unit, and she wouldn't, even if she had to physically wrestle Lantash away from the woman. If Lantash remained in the stasis chamber, he'd have no chance of escaping the Goa'uld attack, and if Mansfield didn't get some real medical attention soon he wouldn't live long enough to do so. She knew Lantash—he wouldn't stay within an unwilling host any longer than purely necessary. Would he?
"If we implant the symbiote it would kill them both," Ren'Al insisted.
Sam turned and opened her mouth to reply when another blast seemed to hit directly over their heads and Ren'Al disappeared under a load of rubble. Elliot, hovering between his commanding officer and the Tok'ra, stood stunned and Sam's eyes widened in shock as a huge block of stone crashed from the ceiling to hurl itself against Elliot's head. The man dropped, senseless, and Sam threw herself over Mansfield to wait out the tremors, her back trembling as if expecting to feel the blunt impacts of the falling stones. Glass shattered, metal screamed, and, from far off she heard the sounds of Tok'ra shouting out warnings and instructions over the thudding of fallen masonry.
Summit - From Bad to Worse on the Surface of Revanna
The three waited in the tree line until the bombers passed over, leaving a trail of fiery destruction in their wake. The smoke reduced visibility, but O'Neill led them at a run across the wasteland that had once been a fertile plateau towards a mound of dirt and rocks that had been thrown up by the continued bombardment. He scrambled up the slope and threw himself down hoping the green fatigues hid him and Teal'c against the mud as well as Aldwin's Tok'ra uniform. He felt the impact of Teal'c's body beside him, and, using his elbows, Jack inched upwards until his eyes rose above the unnatural ridgeline.
Okay, this is bad, he commented to himself as he counted five al'kesh and one tel'tac on the ground surrounding the Stargate. Ground troops were already moving in formations, heading out to locate and subdue their prey. "They seem to be amassing a few troops," he observed dryly. A few. This wasn't going to be a little skirmish that the Tok'ra could run away from—this was an all-out, take-no-prisoners invasion, maybe a combined attack by all of the System Lords. Jack felt the skin around his eyes tightening. The intel that Jacob received about the summit meeting—maybe it was fed to him as part of an elaborate plan to focus the Tok'ra's attention away from their own vulnerability here on Revanna so that the Goa'uld could wipe them out with one blow. And, if so, that meant Jacob and Daniel were walking into a trap.
Not that Jack could do much to help—SG-1 had been snared just as easily as the Tok'ra, pinned down in collapsing tunnels under the weight of an entire Jaffa battalion. His mind leapt to plan after plan, weighing the odds of trying to take over one of the enemy bombers against those of running a guerilla strategy of hide and seek with the marauding Jaffa and coming up with... nothing.
"Once the aerial bombardment exposes the tunnels, they will infiltrate and search them," Teal'c advised, his eyes never leaving the enemy position.
Jack glanced over at Aldwin who had taken one look at the massive Goa'uld strength and fallen to his back to stare sightlessly at the smoke-filled sky. The hopelessness that filled the Tok'ra's face only served to tighten down Jack's resolve. He grabbed his radio. "Carter, come in." Nothing. "Carter, respond." If the Jaffa had already blasted open an entrance to the tunnels... Jack pushed quickly to his feet. "Let's get back."
Summit - From Bad to Worse at the Space Station - Extended Scene
Daniel stood silently behind Yu's chair holding the metal pitcher before him like a shield. He had been right—the summons to join Yu back in the council chamber had been waiting for him when he returned to the tel'tac—it turned out that Svarog had been impatient to begin the proceedings. Daniel had watched carefully as each lo'taur stayed close to his or her master, some standing quietly, some kneeling, others walking to one side of the Goa'uld, leaning in now and then to share a whispered conversation. The System Lords reminded him of Earth politicians, each one insistent on his time in the spotlight, and quite able to talk Daniel into a daze that no amount of Tok'ra stimulants could punch through. In this context, the slaves could easily be interns, assistants, the kinds of toadying hangers-on that someone like Kinsey would surround himself with. Watching Morrigan intimately stroking the head of her kneeling lo'taur Daniel's stomach clenched—okay, maybe his analogy needed some work. Even the most brown-nosing political aide probably didn't have to worry about pleasing his master in bed, or getting whipped—or worse—if he stepped out of line.
Frowning, Daniel tried to concentrate on the posturing System Lords as they each recited a long list of grievances against this new enemy that had appeared out of nowhere. It was clear from the rhetoric that they were all smarting from the force of the enemy's attacks, that they had all lost territories, ships, and personnel. The reason for this 'summit' was clear—for perhaps the first time in centuries the System Lords needed each other—and it was infuriating them. Their eyes blazed, they slashed each other with insults and thinly veiled threats, some turned their annoyance on the waiting lo'taurs, lashing out physically and verbally at the only people who would not—who could not ever strike back. Daniel tried to keep the contempt from his face. These were the mightiest Goa'uld, the plague of the galaxy, the ones the SGC and its allies had been afraid of for years, and all they could manage to do was vent their insulted pride on those weaker than themselves.
God, if the last minute surprise guest would just show up he'd gladly release the Tok'ra poison and take out the entire mewling, whining bunch of them. Standing there rigidly, wondering where the next nasty surprise was coming from, being forced to listen to them, watch them floundering for position while feeding their own egos by abusing their slaves, Daniel didn't know how much more he could take. Jacob had made this sound like an in-and-out mission; simple, direct, step into the council room, count to seven and release the poison. He didn't think the Tok'ra had intended Daniel to try to pull off a long-term masquerade as Yu's most trusted, most intimate slave—Jacob at least must have realized that it would be impossible for him to maintain this façade indefinitely. He knew how much Daniel hated them. Every single one of them. Probably was counting on that to insure that Daniel would actual pull the proverbial trigger.
Suddenly he realized that he'd never asked Jacob just what the poison would do, or how long it would take to kill the symbiotes. Poison was messy; it didn't offer a quick, clean death like two shots with a zat, or a bullet to the brain. He looked across the room at Svarog and Morrigan and imagined them writhing on the floor, moaning in agony, mouths opened wide as they choked to death, eyes flashing with the inner fire of the Goa'uld one last time. He remembered how Apophis had screamed at his death, lying in the SGC infirmary strapped to the bed, and how he'd rejoiced to see the one who had tortured his Sha're for so long breathing what he thought was his last breath. Daniel kept his lips tight and managed to swallow a gasp as the memory assaulted him. The host. When the symbiote Apophis had died, the host had been able to hold on, to regain awareness and speak on his own—for a moment.
His gaze jerked from arrogant face to arrogant face as the Goa'uld moved across the room, gesturing, posing. The images of System Lords in their death throes were suddenly supplanted by seven pairs of innocent eyes looking up at him for help, for compassion, for a way to comprehend the ages of slavery in which they'd been forced to live within their own bodies and realizing in the instant of their deaths that he was the one responsible. Daniel closed his eyes and shuddered. No. Not that. He couldn't think about that. He blinked his eyes open and lowered his head, refusing to look up into their faces again, knowing he'd be able to see beyond the haughty masks to the humanity struggling beneath. He took a slow, deep breath. He could do this. He had to do this.
Yu moved. The System Lord had remained seated, silently watching the others as they strode about and shouted, railing against their common foe. Finally, he raised one hand and Daniel was surprised that the other Goa'uld reacted immediately, each one stifling his or her tirade before wandering to their chairs and motioning for their lo'taurs to take their places a step behind. The mood in the council chamber changed as the System Lords took their seats, and Daniel wondered if Yu had intentionally allowed the others this time to release their aggression so that they could finally focus on their collective problem. All attention was suddenly concentrated on the oldest System Lord—some gazes openly curious, others hooded and suspicious—and Daniel felt more exposed than ever before, carefully keeping his head bent to hide the thoughts and emotions that raced through him. Focus on Yu meant more scrutiny for him.
"This has gone on long enough," Yu stated, eyes searching his allies' faces as he stood and paced slowly around the open space beneath the domed ceiling. Daniel ground his teeth together—he couldn't agree more with his 'Master.' "We must determine who is responsible for these attacks."
"The coward refuses to show himself," Ba'al replied, his voice also quiet and deliberate, watching as Yu mounted the steps to his chair and again took his seat. "He only strikes with his ships, never with ground troops."
Yu's pointed response revealed his own intolerance of the situation. "Have none of you seen the faces of the enemy Jaffa?"
Daniel raised his head as the silence grew. Eyes shifted nervously as the Goa'uld seemed to weigh the wisdom of an honest response to Yu's question. Morrigan slid her eyes to rest on Olokun, to her left, and Daniel noticed that the dark gaze of her leather-clad lo'taur was again focused on him. Great. He didn't dare drop his eyes having already established himself as higher up the slave food-chain that Morrigan's pet, so he stared back defiantly, hoping he was coming off as vastly superior rather than out of his depth, or even worse, interested.
It was Kali who broke the silence. "I have," she muttered. "When my outpost at Cerador came under assault, my First Prime managed to disable and board one of the enemy ships."
"Did you take any prisoners?" Yu demanded.
"They fought to the death," Kali replied, disgusted. "Most had been in the service of Cronos and Sokar," she deliberately shifted her eyes to peer across the chamber, "but one bore the mark of Olokun."
Daniel felt the rising tension as if it were a physical presence as the Goa'uld and their slaves turned as one to the dark-skinned System Lord. He frowned. The information about Olokun had been sketchy at best.
"How do you explain this," Yu demanded quietly, menacingly.
Olokun shifted nervously, looking around, perhaps hoping to find an ally among those awaiting his answer. He grimaced. "One of my motherships was surrounded by the enemy," he reluctantly admitted. "Instead of dying with honor the cowards surrendered and were taken. They may well have switched their allegiance."
"And you expect us to believe this?" Ba'al seemed to be speaking for all of them as Daniel saw the scorn and mistrust written clearly on the System Lords' faces.
"I, too, have suffered at the hands of this unseen foe," Olokun spit back. "How dare you accuse me!"
Ba'al waited stoically, as if expecting the counterattack. Olokun's outburst seemed to release the System Lords from their deadly focus and many turned back to watch Yu as if his response was the only one that truly mattered here.
"My lords." A simple, human voice sounded so out of place among the resonant tones of the Goa'uld that Daniel's gaze snapped immediately to Ba'al's lo'taur. The man had taken up his station between his Master and the door to the council chamber, and, his head lowered and his hands clasped before him in a now familiar gesture, he waited until he'd gathered the attention of the System Lords. "The final guest has arrived," he intoned formally.
Now? Was it time? Daniel fumbled at his belt pouch with his left hand, feeling for the smooth surface of the Tok'ra device. He'd just closed his fingers around it, his hand hovering at his waist when the large door slid open to reveal a tall, thin figure, the lights from the hallway glittering along its gauzy covering and picking out gold curls atop its head. Daniel stopped breathing, unable to control the slight widening of his eyes as he watched her approach, hands on her hips. No. Not her.
"I hope I haven't missed all the fun," the snide voice echoed through the council chamber. Daniel could still hear her voice in there, overlaid as it was with the resonance of the Goa'uld that had taken her prisoner. He remembered her voice, her face, in other places—sometimes warm with compassion, others poised with self-confidence. But never, never asmaliciously cold and calculating as it was now as she stood unafraid before the collective might of the Goa'uld System Lords. Sarah. The weapon that would kill her was in his hand, his finger not a half-inch from the trigger. A flat, unemotional voice somewhere within him urged him to be quick, to push the button before she turned and recognized him and the mission was lost. He knew that voice, he knew that what it said was right, it was what he'd come here to do, his duty. And he turned away, stepping into the darkness behind Yu's throne.
'Not incapable, exactly.' Jack was right. He'd been right all along.
Chapter 15
Summit - Daniel's Dilemma - Extended Scene
He didn't know how long he stood there behind Yu's chair, his fingers caressing the smooth lines of the Tok'ra device again and again, coming to rest for a second on the activation button and then fumbling away. Hurry up, his mind was shouting at him, once she recognizes you she'll sound the alarm and you'll be caught, unmasked as an unwelcome guest at the System Lords' most secret meeting. Everything that he'd been through during the past five years, every brain searing assault from a hand device, every staff weapon wound, every stab or hit or pain stick burn at the hands of the Goa'uld would be only fond memories if they found him now, recognized him as a member of SG-1. Ra, Apophis, even Hathor would not hold a candle to the rage and vindictiveness of a united group of pissed off System Lords. Especially Yu. He imagined that the revelation of his little deception at Yu's expense would wipe that mask of aloofness right off the Goa'uld's face. Every second he delayed Daniel brought his own death and the mission's failure that much closer to certainty. Through the desperate clamoring of his inner voices Daniel tried to see the solution, the choice that would let him walk out of here with his mission, his skin, and his soul intact.
Stop it! Nothing has changed—nothing. He was in no more danger now than the moment he'd stepped into Yu's fortress with Jacob. He'd known the risks; he'd known that the chemical in the ring might not work on Yu, that he might give himself away among the other lo'taur, that there may be some kind of vetting that the Tok'ra hadn't counted on. There had been many opportunities to fail already, and the fact that he was still alive had nothing to do with him or his decisions and everything to do with simple blind luck. He wasn't risking any more by waiting, by looking for another way, another solution. This entire mission was about risk, taking huge risks with his own life and with the Tok'ra's poison for the biggest possible result. If he failed now because... Daniel frowned, intent on keeping his emotions at bay. It wouldn't really matter why he failed, would it? No one would know. Jacob would lose contact and go back to Revanna and SG-1 empty handed, with a shrug and an apology—'Sorry, guys, I guess something went wrong. Looks like we'll have to come up with a new plan.' And Jack would smirk and shake his head, 'Yeah, figured as much.' No. No one would know. No one but him.
"Jarren." The resonant voice of the Goa'uld cut through Daniel's tumbling thoughts. Move. He had to move. Either back into his role as faithful slave while his mind worked on an answer or into his new one as SGC assassin. What would Jack do? Daniel carefully slid the device back into its pouch. Sorry, Jack, but you're not here, alone, surrounded by enemies, faced with a woman whose possession by one of those enemies was your own fault. Jack O'Neill was a born leader, it was stamped into his very bones—he would not have survived in a masquerade as a slave for even five minutes. Even with a thorough knowledge of Goa'uld the game would be up at his first sarcastic remark or blatant eye-roll. Daniel straightened and walked calmly to Yu's side, quickly pouring his master a drink from the metal pitcher he still clutched in his hand. This was Daniel's mission, and it was time to take ownership. He cleared his mind, told all the familiar inner voices to shut the hell up, and raised his eyes.
The tiniest of smiles gave her away. Sarah had been a good poker player against everyone but Daniel; he knew her too well. Sarah—Osiris—recognized him immediately. And even in the face of failure, Daniel knew he'd made the right decision. The day he turned his back on humanity, on the uncounted number of wives, lovers, sons, and daughters taken hostage by the Goa'uld and held in captivity for hundreds or thousands of years in their own bodies was the day he'd hang up his SG-1 patch and go back to Abydos. Because if that happened, if he turned into that guy, he'd no longer be Daniel Jackson, and any other military tight-ass who would never think to question an order or a mission or a command decision could replace him. If they'd wanted a cold-hearted, conscienceless executioner they should have damned well hired one.
Daniel felt his eyebrows twitch, but struggled to keep a blank expression on his face when Osiris completely ignored his presence at Yu's side and nonchalantly turned to the System Lords, blithely going on about having much to offer the gathered Goa'uld. Time. That's all he needed—a little time to figure out how he could protect Sarah from the symbiote poison. Looks like his luck hadn't run out just yet.
He'd acquired a little more breathing space when he and Ba'al's lo'taur had been ordered out of the room to bring another chair for the unexpected guest, and he carefully kept his eyes lowered as the two of them silently wrestled it into position within the circle. Osiris gracefully took her seat, and Daniel felt her hot gaze on the back of his neck, felt the way she brushed her body purposefully against his, felt her unspoken demand that he look up and meet her eyes, but he stubbornly refused. The scrape of Sarah's nails across his arm raised bright red welts and goose bumps that refused to recede as he took his place behind Yu again, his Master's cold stare following his movements and lingering on the three obvious scratches that now decorated his skin. Great. Osiris' presence seemed to have unbalanced the oldest System Lord, and her noticeable interest in his lo'taur earned Daniel a tight-lipped malicious glare. Yu had been absolutely clear when they arrived that Daniel—Jarren—was to do nothing to compromise himself with the other Goa'uld, and although his attitude had seemed more protective than otherwise concerning Morrigan's scheming, Daniel had the definite impression that he was about to be taken to the Goa'uld equivalent of the woodshed.
"It is time," Yu intoned sharply, turning back to the assembled Goa'uld and touching his fingertips together. Daniel watched, confused, as all of the System Lords adopted a similar pose, heads slightly bowed, hands folded in some manner, but eyes strangely bright, glittering with expectation. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ba'al's lo'taur move first, walking to stand within the circle of seated Goa'uld. The other slaves followed, and Daniel quickly emulated them, standing shoulder to shoulder with the others, each one facing his or her Master, head bowed in humility.
"Re nek." The command came from each System Lord at the same time, and Daniel's heart raced. 'Come and worship,' his mind instantly translated. His heart pounded against his chest as his thoughts skittered away from anything that might be defined as worship of the Goa'uld. He unconsciously followed the example of the lo'taurs at his sides and back, stepping to place himself at his 'god's' feet, and then sinking to his knees in deep obeisance. Daniel lowered his head until his forehead was pressed into the cold metal decking, eyes flicking to one side and then the other to confirm that Ba'al's and Bastet's slaves remained locked in similar poses.
The rustling of rich fabrics told him that the Goa'uld were moving now. Ba'al's dark robes swirled between Daniel and the System Lord's slave to his left, blocking his view of what exactly the Goa'uld was doing as he leaned over the young man. He squeezed his eyes shut as he sensed Yu's presence close beside him, standing over him, his shins suddenly pressed up against Daniel's ribs. Short, thick fingers settled gently on his head before clenching tightly, painfully, in his short hair, surprising a gasp from his mouth as Yu wrenched him cruelly backwards. Daniel blinked hard against tears at his Master's stern, forbidding face looming over him, the Goa'uld's other hand moving to grip tightly over his exposed throat, choking off any sound.
"You try me, Jarren," Yu sputtered between clenched teeth, his eyes flashing gold. "Morrigan's hunger for power over me I will accept, but this desire I see in others' eyes," he jerked Daniel further, overbalancing him until he sprawled at the System Lord's feet, his back and chest burning, "must have its source in you."
Daniel tried to shake his head but he couldn't move, effectively paralyzed by his awkward position and Yu's clenched hands. Trying to talk was useless, to deny Yu's jealous accusations he'd need to be able to breathe first, but he forced his lips to form the words over and over again. "No. No, my lord. Never."
The fist around his throat was abruptly removed and Daniel gulped shuddering breaths down through his bruised trachea, the claustrophobic feeling of panic only clenching tighter as Yu's grip on his hair pulled him upright onto his knees. His eyes widened in horror as he saw Yu's other hand fumbling within his robes. "You will learn your place, slave," Yu sneered, rage and conquest fighting for dominance in his eyes.
Oh god. No. He can't be... Other sounds finally began to register from within the council chamber; moans, grunts, flesh striking against flesh with that particular sound that left nothing ambiguous about what was occurring around him. Worship. Of course. Worship could only mean subjugation, a brutal, personal reminder of the slave's complete and utter powerlessness at the hands of his Master. It wasn't even about lust; it was about power. In that split second between thought and action, Daniel's mind returned to the sight of the naked child-slaves on Ra's ship who were willing to lay down their lives to protect their god, without thought, without hesitation, believing that this was their greatest honor: to serve their god with their bodies. Accepting even rape, even death.
Daniel felt his hand groping towards the pouch at his side and the Tok'ra poison within it. Sure, a thought smirked its way through his stuttering brain, you'd kill them all to save yourself from this... this humiliation, god, it wasn't even life threatening, but not to save the rest of the galaxy from their dominion. You'd kill them all to avoid this assault. Even Sarah. Where is your precious conscience now, Dr. Jackson?
"I so hate to interrupt one's worship of his god," a smug, satisfied voice from behind him startled Yu to stillness. Eyes still hot with an insatiable hunger, Yu snarled and raised his head.
"Speak," he barked.
Ba'al moved within Daniel's peripheral vision, but Yu's grip on his hair held his head firmly in place. "There will be time to remind these humans of their positions later." Ba'al's dark eyes swept over the room with a look of condescension. "Let these consume themselves with their appetites," he sneered, "I would discuss greater matters before the full council meets together."
Yu's eyes narrowed, studying Ba'al's face. Grudgingly, he released his hold and Daniel sat back hard on his heels. Rearranging his robes unashamedly, Yu inclined his head to the other System Lord before turning his attention back to his slave. "Return to my quarters," he stated calmly, all traces of the vicious, punishing slave-master concealed beneath his mask of control. But Daniel had seen the real Yu now, the kind of evil that lay behind every façade in this room, evil that lived to dominate and enslave not in some abstract sense, but in a very real and personal craving for ultimate power over every being around him.
Daniel bowed his head, relief and disgust sapping any remaining strength. "Yes, my lord," he managed to cough, the words burning across his abused throat.
"See that you remain there—alone—until the council begins," Yu continued. As Daniel struggled to his feet, both hands shot out and gripped him at the waist, pulling him tightly against the Goa'uld's body. "Dishonor me within my own chambers," the System Lord hissed, not two inches from Daniel's face, "and I shall take great pleasure in your death."
The dark eyes betrayed no anger, no threat, just a studied blankness that froze Daniel's blood. "My lord, to serve you is my life," he stammered.
Yu released him. "Precisely."
Summit - No Escape from Revanna
Jack reveled in the familiar twinges in his knees as the three raced across the open ground. Goa'uld gliders skirted the surface of Revanna, dropping liquid fire and death from the sky that chased them towards the tree line. Yeah. Nothing new here. Goa'uld trying to kill his team was almost nostalgic after all the political crap-dodging he'd been doing over the past few months. He saw Aldwin fumbling with a small device and turned, not slowing.
"What's that?"
"A warning," the Tok'ra panted, "the Jaffa have breached the tunnels."
"O'Neill!"
Teal'c's yell almost coincided with a new burst of fire behind them as the Goa'uld ships made another pass. They stumbled as the ground rocked beneath their boots and Jack automatically reached out, putting one hand on the back of the slender figure next to him, steadying his balance. C'mon, move it, Dan—he jerked his thoughts out of a too familiar rut as the Tok'ra slipped ahead and another blast hit the ground. Dammit.
Just a few more yards and they'd be under cover. Jack pushed on, breathing hard, his focus narrowed to the next step, and then the next one, working to concentrate on the present, here and now, survive just one more minute. Straying thoughts could kill as easily as straying bullets. He didn't hear the explosion that sent him flying, just saw the ground come up to meet him, barely organizing his body in time to roll with the force of the blast. Sound and light came crashing back to him in a rush that made his head spin and he barely registered Teal'c's worried presence before motioning the Jaffa on to check on Aldwin.
He struggled to his knees, wincing at the searing pressure there. Jack pressed his fingers against his eyes, blinking to try to clear them of the dirt that the death gliders threw up with every shot. Through the tears he watched as the dark skinned Jaffa knelt over the body of the Tok'ra, recognizing the truth in the unnatural angle of the neck below the sandy-colored hair. He screwed his eyes shut at the image of another face lying there on the grass, same light brown hair, same slender build, eyes open in shock and bewilderment, and he felt as if a staff blast had taken him full in the chest. If the Goa'uld had planned this attack—if the mission to the summit was a ruse, he might never know how Daniel died.
The Jaffa gently moved the Tok'ra to his back. "He's dead, O'Neill."
Jack swallowed bile and pushed to his feet. A droning sound grew behind him and he turned to watch the full complement of death gliders honing in on their position. He grabbed at Teal'c's TAC vest and the two teammates pulled and shoved one another towards the thin covering that hid the entrance to the Tok'ra's tunnels.
Chapter 16
Summit - The Symbiote Survives - Extended Scene
The first thing she noticed was the cold. The cold of the metal floor that seeped through the tough fabric of her pants, the cold air that brushed across her face and hands carrying smells of scorched flesh and the gritty feel of pulverized metal and rock, but, more importantly, the feel of cooling skin where her cheek lay against Major Mansfield's forehead. Sam opened her eyes and levered her torso up, away from where she'd thrown herself across the injured man's upper body, trying to save him from the impact of the collapsing Tok'ra tunnel. She felt the sting of new cuts on her cheek as she turned her head to take in the utter destruction of the lab. It was hard to breathe, hard to think.
Against her will her gaze slowly slid the length of Mansfield's body and she saw the heavy beam that had fallen across the major's legs and pelvis, crushing bone. She felt the burning in her lungs, blaming it on the amount of airborne grit and smoke she'd inhaled while she laid there unconscious, not on the lifeless face and silenced pulse of the commander of the brand new SG-17. Sam reached within the man's shirt and pulled out his tags, tugging on the chain until it released the slim pieces of metal into her shaking hand. Her fingers closed around them and she felt the raised letters and numbers, a short definition of his life in her hand. Sam folded the dog-tags into a pocket on her vest, pushed to her knees, and grabbed her weapon before limping her way across the room to the last place she'd seen Ren'Al.
Only the upper half of the woman could be seen beneath the mound of rubble. Sam knelt next to the dead Tok'ra and gently rolled her onto her back, taking a moment to study Ren'Al's serene face in the dim light. She'd also been a warrior, and for far longer than Mansfield and herself put together. Gritting her teeth against the pull and ache of her sore muscles, Sam reached into the Tok'ra's tunic and slid out the smooth, unharmed memory crystal the scientist had secreted there, knowing that the formula for the poison that was encoded on it would be just as important to any Tok'ra survivors as Mansfield's dog-tags were to his family.
Clamping her teeth together, Sam glanced around the room, noticing that a spray of light filtering through a breach in the tunnel to her left illuminated Lt. Elliot's unconscious face. No, not Elliot, she groaned to herself. His first mission—she could still see how excited he was in the 'gate room that morning. She climbed over the rubble, her limbs heavy with exhaustion and dread. She crouched there, unwilling to touch him, to find out if the young man had survived.
"Lieutenant?" she whispered.
The young airman's eyes snapped open—and glowed.
"Oh my God." Sam sat back on her heels. There was a Tok'ra symbiote inside Elliot. Ren'Al's? Did hers abandon its host when she was mortally wounded? Another thought sent goose bumps creeping along her skin and she turned quickly, feeling almost as if someone was standing right behind her. The symbiote tank was dark and empty, the glass broken into pieces. "Lantash."
The voice that barely groaned from the young airman's mouth had the familiar echoing tones of human/symbiote blending. "I had no choice."
Sam held onto her dread with both hands. "Elliot?"
"I'm afraid his injuries are severe. There is serious internal damage. It's going to take all my strength just to keep him alive." His mouth hung open, his chest rising and falling quickly as he struggled for each breath. "He'll have to speak for both of us." Eyes fluttered closed for too long a moment.
Sam's eyes widened in sympathy. One remaining member of SG-17. One. Even with all of the training, all of the briefings on past missions, on catastrophes both personal and global barely averted, how could the young airman have dreamed that he'd be facing crippling injuries and the invasion of his body by a parasitical alien his first time through the 'gate? She reached out and placed her hand gently on his cheek, thumb stroking slowly but firmly.
When the same eyes opened a moment later, Sam saw the change, saw the rapidly escalating panic. "Major?"
She set her teeth and made her face into a mask of encouragement and confidence. "Elliot. It's going to be okay."
"If you say so," he whimpered, his gaze flicking back and forth, his body shivering with reaction.
Sam kept the connection, continuing to brush her fingers against his cold cheek, trying to ground the frightened young man. "Believe me, I know. The symbiote's trying to heal you."
"Okay." Elliot swallowed hard and nodded, but stark terror shone in his eyes.
"Okay." Carter tried a quick smile, but remembering the soul-deep violation that thundered through her body when Jolinar pushed her way into the back of her throat she knew it was not enough. Elliot was on the verge of shock, both mentally and physically. She had to do something to help him get a handle on this before his reaction pushed him over the edge. "I know it doesn't feel okay, I know it's the scariest feeling in the world," she added, "but you're hurt, and you need to try to find a way to be okay with this, just for right now." She held his gaze, trying to will some calmness into him. "We're in trouble here, Elliot, and we're going to need you and Lantash, the symbiote inside you, if we're going to have a hope of getting out of this."
She watched the muscles in the airman's face tighten as he focused inward. "Lantash," he muttered. His wide eyes glazed over and his breathing deepened, the withdrawn expression that settled over him familiar. The silent dialogue between host and symbiote was so personal, so intimate, that there was no way to accurately describe it to someone who had never experienced the blending. Sam waited patiently, realizing that her words of comfort would do little to ease Elliot's fear compared with Lantash's more immediate explanation. Her fingers lingered along the pulse in the airman's neck, feeling it strengthen and slow as the unvoiced communication continued and she sighed, letting some of her own tension go.
"He's—" Elliot tried to wet his dry lips with an even dryer tongue and Sam hurriedly groped for her canteen and let a few drops fall into his mouth. "He's hurt, too," he finally finished. "He says he's sorry, sorry that I'm so afraid of him, sorry that he isn't able to heal me quickly." The light eyes brightened and stared a question at the woman crouching over him. "Major—he seems so sad."
Sam felt the tears gather, but blinked them away rapidly. Lantash had lost so much—his mate, his host—so many others over the long span of his life. This was the reason she was still drawn to the Tok'ra, why she could listen when Col. O'Neill turned a deaf ear, instantly suspicious of even the most harmless contact. Even with all the plotting, the second-class citizen status of unblended humans, the emphasis on preserving the symbiotes at all cost, Lantash felt Elliot's distress and worried about the human's reaction to his presence. He could—and would—suppress the highly evolved drive to survive, to find and take a host; if and when Elliot was healed at the symbiote's expense, Lantash would give the human the final say and leave an unwilling host, even if it meant sentencing himself to death.
"He just wants to help you, lieutenant," she assured him.
Elliot nodded. "I guess I get that—a little."
Sam's smile was much warmer now. "Think you can let me check you over?" At his second nod she shifted the rubble away from the airman's body, struggling to lift the larger pieces to avoid further injury. She rested a moment to take a mouthful of water and to let another few sips dribble past Elliot's lips before concentrating on his injuries. His arms and legs were whole, no breaks there, but his breath caught when her hands ran down over his chest and abdomen and she felt the warmth and distension there even through his uniform. Carefully brushing her fingers over his skull she kept her face still as the area just behind his left temple moved inward under her gentle touch. Abdominal bleeding. Skull fracture. Possible cerebral hemorrhage. Lantash must be suppressing the pain somehow.
"Carter, report." Her radio crackled, dust choking off the colonel's voice.
Sam brushed one hand through Elliot's hair in silent support before reaching for her left shoulder.
"Carter here. Lt. Elliot and I are still in the lab. Sir, there's been extensive tunnel damage in our area."
"Roger that." O'Neill's voice was hushed. "See if you can make your way towards the secondary ring room. We'll meet up on the way."
Sam's gaze lingered on the injured man lying motionless at her feet, wondering how far he would make it.
"I'll make it, Major." Elliot read the momentary hesitation in her response correctly. He shifted his weight onto his hip and curled his legs beneath him, ready to try.
"Understood, sir," Sam acknowledged, releasing the button on her radio abruptly as Elliot's head sagged forward onto his chest. She positioned herself next to him and quickly drew one arm over her shoulders. "Ready?" she asked, putting every ounce of confidence in her voice.
"Yeah," Elliot sighed, trying to take some of his own weight as Carter all but dragged him upright.
Sam held tightly to Elliot's belt with her left hand and clutched his wrist with her right, taking a few hesitant steps towards the tunnel that led south from the ruined lab. Their shuffling progress led them past Major Mansfield's battered body and Sam knew the moment Elliot noticed his commander lying amid the rubble. She paused.
The young man's words would have been inaudible if she had not been so close. "I guess Col. O'Neill was wrong about 'no action.'"
She waited until Elliot made a first hesitant movement away from the body, then strengthened her grip and moved on.
By the time she caught sight of the colonel and Teal'c in the distance, Carter's back and arms were cramping from her tight hold on the injured man.
"Carter?"
She caught her breath as Teal'c hurried to Elliot's side, sliding one large hand around the airman's upper arm and relieving her of some of his weight. "The ceiling in the lab collapsed, sir, Ren'Al and Major Mansfield are dead," she reported, the words tumbling over each other as she tried to hurry through the awful truth.
"As is Aldwin," Teal'c added quickly.
"Elliot's in rough shape, there's a Tok'ra symbiote inside him."
The colonel looked stunned, his dark eyes snapping to Elliot's pale young face. "What?"
"It feels very weird, sir." Close to unconsciousness, Elliot's head seemed to dangle on his neck.
Something was going on behind the colonel's eyes—he couldn't seem to tear them away from the young airman's battered body, but Sam didn't have the strength to question it. "Lantash." Carter bit down on her weariness, fighting for the emotional control that her military training had instilled in her. She needed it to survive, so that she could utilize her skills to help get her team out of this. "He's keeping him alive."
She could see the same fight for control on her CO's face —a mixture of anger and loss momentarily overwhelming his usual under-fire discipline, but a burst of staff weapon fire suddenly sounded too close and the four froze. The colonel dragged his gaze away from Elliot's face reluctantly. "Let's take our chances on the surface," he snapped and turned to lead his team back down the tunnel to the exit. Sam took a deep breath and followed, afraid to hope that their struggle was almost over.
Summit - No Safety
Daniel stopped and pressed his back against the wall of the corridor, working to settle his nerves, trying to still the shivering that had begun as the adrenaline drained from his system with each step he took away from Lord Yu and the horrible scene he'd just escaped, leaving him light-headed with the sudden and violent urge to heave up everything in his stomach. He shook his head back and forth relentlessly, hoping somehow the movement would shake his thoughts into some kind of order.
What was he doing?
He checked the hallway and then resumed his journey to Yu's quarters, only managing to slow his steps slightly from his previous head-long flight. Yu had almost—Daniel pushed the mental image firmly to the back of his mind. The Goa'uld had been angry, angry enough to force Daniel to serve him there in the council chamber before Ba'al called him away. At least the other System Lords and their lo'taurs were too busy, Daniel shuddered, to be prowling the corridors, so he'd have a few minutes to think, to regroup. And to communicate with Jacob.
Jacob was going to be pissed. Daniel's orders were to use the poison as soon as the surprise guest arrived within the council chamber—and he'd been ready to, he'd psyched himself up to play the assassin, to start the Tok'ra down their intended path of mass murder as the symbiote poison was released to destroy Goa'uld, host, and Jaffa alike throughout the galaxy. No one cared if thousands died, tens of thousands even, and Daniel had the capsule in his hand, his finger poised above the trigger to begin the slaughter. He'd be the only one to witness the death throes of the victims.
But one familiar voice, one human face had changed everything.
Imagining the deaths of thousands of faceless Jaffa had been enough to cause deep wounds to Daniel's conscience, a conscience that had once been spoken of with respect and high esteem within the halls of the SGC. Those days were far behind him. He clenched his teeth and swerved his thinking away from those deep ruts he'd worn in his psyche and back towards his lack of action just a few moments ago. No, even the thought of trying to explain the indiscriminate killing of Jaffa to his warrior brother had not stopped his hand, so why had the human shell of one one-time lover?
The door to Yu's quarters ground down behind him, and Daniel knew he couldn't put it off any longer. He paced, allowing his nervous energy a release now that he was behind closed doors. His gaze roved over the lush furnishings of the room but saw nothing, and he raised the Tok'ra communicator. "Jacob," he snapped.
"What's the delay? They should all be there by now."
It must all seem so simple from the deck of the cloaked tel'tac. "Yeah, we've got a full house, but..." he struggled for the right words, "there's been a complication."
"Daniel?" Jacob's one word demanded an explanation.
He sighed. "Sarah's here."
After a second's pause, Jacob seemed to have put it all together. "Sarah? You mean Osiris."
Daniel grimaced. Yes, Osiris, the Goa'uld who had been cast into oblivion by his brother, Seth, was an unexpected guest at the summit of the System Lords. But he had dragged along an unwilling human, Sarah Gardner, and she was more surely an innocent captive of the Goa'uld than anyone residing in a cell or on a slave planet out there in the galaxy.
"Did she recognize you?"
Facing into Yu's quarters, Daniel felt the tension in every muscle and swallowed past the soreness of his throat where Yu had grabbed him. He understood the consequences of his choice, he'd been going through the 'gate for five years now and yet many still viewed him as the same long-haired, wide-eyed innocent who didn't realize he was married until Sha're took him to bed. Yes, he was out of his depth here, but they were the ones who'd thrown him into the water. "I don't know," he stated honestly. "I think so, but she didn't tip her hand and I don't know why," he admitted.
The grating sound of the large door rising spun Daniel on his heels. Dammit! Was Yu coming to finish what he'd started in the council chamber? No, of course not, he nodded to himself. He just wasn't that lucky. It was her: Osiris—Sarah—he hid the communicator behind his back, but he'd never felt more completely exposed standing there dressed in the thin disguise of Yu's slave. It was almost as if he stood naked before her, the feral smile of a predator turning Sarah's face into something less than human.
"Daniel Jackson," Osiris purred in that thick double rasp. "You're rather a long way from home, aren't you?"
The Tok'ra, the SGC, Hammond, Jack, they'd sent him here as the hunter, armed with only his hard-won understanding of the Goa'uld and a weapon that might be a preemptive strike in a centuries old conflict. But all the scheming of the Tok'ra or the political posturing of Earth's government still left Daniel alone against the vicious Goa'uld who'd beaten Steven nearly to death and would have gladly murdered him with his ribbon device, and was now wearing the brilliant woman he once loved like a costume. And here, alone with her, Daniel was the prey.
Summit - Hopes Collapse
The three made halting progress along the Tok'ra tunnels, retracing Teal'c and the colonel's steps towards the rings and escape to the surface. Elliot sagged between Carter and the Jaffa, hardly able to shuffle one foot in front of the other. Another tremor hit and O'Neill let the others go ahead, moving towards the rear to make sure no Jaffa were on their tail. The blast that ripped through the air almost directly over their heads surprised them all, and they watched helplessly as the roof of the tunnel shook loose, dropping huge chunks of rock and crystal directly in their path. Teal'c shifted towards Major Carter, attempting to shield her and the injured man between them from any stray debris. When the smoke cleared he leaned Elliot's body to lie securely within Sam's hold and moved forward, his eyes slitted against the dust that hung in the air. When he turned back, his expression was grim.
"The tunnel is blocked," he stated simply.
Sam clutched tightly at Elliot's body. "Does Lantash know if there's another way to the secondary ring room?"
"There isn't," the airman whispered.
Teal'c stood solidly amidst the rubble. "Then indeed we are trapped."
The End
to be continued in "Letting Go" which will deal with the events during and after "Last Stand"
