Daniel was gazing at whiteness. His consciousness floated lazily up into the… whiteness. He felt no hurry, no particular curiosity about anything. It was all rather soothing.
Then a face intruded into the soothing whiteness, looking down on him with a vexed expression. The face had angular features, a grim mouth, and snapping dark eyes. "Daniel," it said, the voice soft yet commanding, "are you finally coming around?"
"Uh…" said Daniel. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them and blinked rapidly. He realized he was lying on a bed, looking up into Jack's face.
Daniel sat up. Then he tried to stand up, but things started spinning so he gave up on that.
"Take it easy," said Jack, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're probably feeling a little woozy. I know I did. Give it a minute."
Jack was right. After a moment, Daniel felt his thought processes gearing up again. He looked around rapidly and found that they were in a small room with white walls, white floor, white ceiling. He was sitting on a metal bunk of minimalist design. Next to it was another bunk of identical design. On either side of the two bunks, in the corners of the room, where a couple of metal fixtures. And that was it.
"What happened?" he asked. "Where are we?"
"What does it look like, Daniel? We're in some kind of prison cell."
Daniel made another attempt to stand up. This time there was only a small amount of dizziness, which passed rapidly, but he realized his brain was still foggy. Because it was only now registering that Jack was out of uniform. Jack was wearing comfortable-looking black shoes, a small black loin-cloth, and a black collar made of a number of rectangles linked by double cords.
Daniel looked down at himself and realized he was dressed identically. Or undressed identically – the loin-cloth was pretty skimpy. It consisted only of two panels of cloth hanging down from a broad belt, so that his groin and butt where covered but his sides were bare up to the waist. His hands went quickly to his neck and found that, yes, he too was wearing a collar. He pulled and felt the collar, finding that the cords had a small amount of elasticity which caused the rectangles to lie snugly against his skin. The rectangles had an unusual feel to them – not metal, not wood, not obviously plastic. Maybe some sort of composite. As he felt all the way around the collar, he noticed that…
"There's no fastening," said Jack. "Not that I can find, anyway. And there's something weird about the last rectangle. The one at the back of the neck. It doesn't move. It's like it's glued to the skin or something."
Daniel tugged at his collar experimentally and confirmed Jack's statement. "That seems rather ominous."
"Ya think?" Jack had begun to pace back and forth across the width of their small cell like a caged tiger.
"We were attacked!" cried Daniel, agitated by the images suddenly rushing into his mind. "It just came back to me…"
"Yeah," said Jack.
"Where's Teal'c?" exclaimed Daniel.
"I don't know. I ordered him to try to get back to the 'Gate. I'm hoping he got away."
"Did you ever see them? The people who attacked us? Because I certainly didn't. And the Atrosians spoke of 'invisible demons.'"
"Right," said Jack, sardonically. "Like the Atrosians have any business calling anybody else 'demons.' But I think whoever attacked us really was invisible."
"The Atrosians are a pretty nasty culture," agreed Daniel. "Can't say slave-traders are ever my favorite."
"Mine either," said Jack. "And it looks like the pot was calling the kettle black," he added, pulling significantly at his collar.
"Let's not jump to conclusions," said Daniel. "If these people thought we were with the Atrosians, this may all be a big misunderstanding."
Jack gave him a disgusted look, which Daniel ignored. He moved to one of the metal fixtures and began examining it.
"That's a drinking fountain," said Jack. "And the thing in the other corner – that's the john."
"These fixtures seem pretty high-tech," said Daniel.
"I'm more concerned about the lack of fixtures. Like – no doors, no windows. I've checked the walls and floor and I can't find any sign of an exit."
"These collars seem pretty high-tech too," said Daniel, as if Jack hadn't spoken. "And," he added, fingering his loin-cloth, "this cloth feels like some kind of sophisticated synthetic."
"What are you trying to say, Daniel? That since they're high-tech, they must be nice?"
"Noooo." Daniel drew out the word in a sarcastic, nasal fashion – but then noticed something that made him forget the conversation. He didn't know how he'd missed it till now, except that his brain must still have been fuzzy. "Jack, do you think you could hold still for a millisecond or two?"
"Whyyyy?" asked Jack.
"Because there are symbols on the front of your collar, and I'm trying to figure out why they seem so familiar."
Jack stopped pacing, allowing Daniel to stand close and peer intently at the characters imprinted in white on his collar. Though the shapes must have changed over time, Daniel soon felt he had identified their origins. This was exciting! Especially since the People of Light and Dark had adopted a script based on the Goa'uld's.
"Well?" said Jack.
Only then did Daniel notice his impatient glower. "Well," said Daniel, "this is really fascinating. These symbols seem to be related to the Minoan Linear A script."
"Yeah? Can you read them?"
"Minoan Linear A has never been deciphered, so no. But it does give us a clue as to the cultural roots of our captors' society. And," Daniel continued, his words growing more animated, "just think! Contact with this society may be the Rosetta Stone that will allow us to finally decipher Linear A!"
"Just think," said Jack, his tone dry as the Sahara.
"Okay," said Daniel, "I realize that may not be our highest priority at the moment. But if this society is descended from the Minoan, I'd say that bodes well for us. The Minoans were quite peaceful, for a Bronze Age culture." Daniel's brows drew together. "On the other hand, that was thousands of years ago. There's no telling how a society might evolve over such a long period of time."
"In other words," said Jack, "these symbols tell us squat."
"Well, I'm not sure I'd say that."
Jack turned away from Daniel with controlled exasperation and began looking around the room, up at the corners near the ceiling, then at the wall across from the beds. "Hey!" he called. "Invisible people! Look, we've got no quarrel with you. We're not Atrosians. We've got nothing to do with the Atrosians. We were just searching for a friend of ours. So if you'll just let us out of this cell – and take off these collars – we'll be on our way."
"We're peaceful explorers," put in Daniel, "from the planet Earth. We'd really appreciate the chance to communicate with you."
They fell silent, waiting. There was no response.
"I'm not sure anybody's listening, Jack. I don't see anything that looks like it could be a camera."
"Oh, they're listening. And watching. I can feel it," said Jack, glaring at the wall.
###
And on the other side of the wall – which was really an observation panel, completely transparent from that side – Jamora felt riveted by his dark, intense gaze. Jamora had the strangest sense that he was deliberately staring at her in particular. Which was absurd. He could have no idea she was there.
Jamora was one of four women who sat at a long table facing the transparent (from their side) observation panel. The women had an unimpeded view of the males in the holding cell. In fact, the observation panel was so transparent it didn't seem to be there at all, which gave Jamora an odd feeling. It was as though the males were in the same room, yet they were completely unaware of the women's existence.
"Well," said Esestia, "now that we've had an opportunity to observe the natural behavior of both males, I believe we're ready to discuss our findings." Esestia was the evaluation team's facilitator. She was the oldest of the four women, and the most experienced at evaluating Unredeemed males.
"I'm sorry," said Ifefal, looking embarrassed. "The older male shouldn't have awakened so much sooner than the younger. I was sure I had those doses calibrated properly."
Esestia placed a reassuring hand on the young woman's arm. "Think nothing of it, dear sister. You're still new at this. And wild males are full of surprises – usually unpleasant! Believe me, even after working as an evaluator for forty years, they still give me a start sometimes! Let's just get on with the evaluation. And why don't we start with your findings, Ifefal?"
"Of course, Esestia," said Ifefal. But she called up a holographic display and scrolled through her notes rather nervously for a moment. Ifefal was the evaluation team's medical specialist and youngest member. "Well," said Ifefal, "both males are healthy and strong. The younger one is in his mid-thirties. The older is about fifty, but still quite vigorous. As we've seen," she added ruefully. "They responded normally to all the anesthetics, allowing a full physical and psychological examination to take place while they were either unconscious or in a twilight state. And their Collar implantations went smoothly – no complications. All the Collar functions were successfully tested while the males were under twilight anesthesia. And… well, there's not much else to tell. They're just, you know, males." Ifefal giggled and smiled nervously, looking toward Esestia.
Esestia smiled back reassuringly and said, "Thank you, Ifefal."
Jamora winced inwardly as she watched their interaction. Ifefal managed to give the impression of not being very bright, though Jamora knew that had to be a false impression. She couldn't have gotten through medical school if she were stupid. But she seemed remarkably unsure of herself, even for such a young woman, and depended on Esestia's approval a great deal. Which made Jamora feel bad for her, since she'd noticed Esestia seemed to build Ifefal up only to knock her down again.
"Jamora," said Esestia, "perhaps we should hear from you next. Nice to have you with us again, by the way."
"Thank you, Esestia." Jamora was the technologist, and therefore not a regular member of the evaluation team. Her specialty was required only if the captured males possessed technology that was both unfamiliar and complex enough to merit study. Since males were normally Liberated from low-tech, non-Goa'uld worlds, this was rarely the case. Jamora had signed up to consult for the Bureau of Liberation three months previously, yet this was only the second time she had been called upon.
"The males carried radio communications equipment that I would classify as of a Phase IV developmental level…" Jamora began. She went on to briskly summarize their other electronic devices, the design and number of their projectile weapons, the level of industrial development suggested by their clothes, etc. "In short, I'd say these males came from a non-Goa'uld world at a Phase IV technological level. Their clothes and equipment suggest they were members of some sort of military organization, probably with a mission to both explore and fight."
"Thank you for that excellent briefing, Jamora," said Esestia. "But I'm sorry they called you in just for Phase IV technology!"
"Oh, no, don't be," said Jamora. "I thought it was fun! It must be quite stimulating working in this environment – always being exposed to something new and different. Besides, I thought the design of the projectile weapons was quite interesting, for something relatively low-tech. I suspect that in a firefight they'd be more effective than Goa'uld staff weapons, in many respects."
"Oh," said Esestia dryly, "I can believe that. I'm certain these males' weapons represent the height of their achievements. But is there anything about their technology that impacts their compatibility with Ashoran society? Or merits further investigation?"
Jamora shook her head. "Not really."
Esestia nodded, thanked Jamora again, and turned to the fourth member of the team. "Ashasti," she said, "won't you be kind enough to fill us in on these males' genetic qualifications?" Was it Jamora's imagination, or was there something a bit cool in Esestia's manner toward Ashasti?
"Well," said Ashasti, "both males' genetic profiles are quite good and would make beneficial additions to our gene pool. In particular, the older male has the Ancient gene! And…"
As Ashasti went on, getting into some rather technical details regarding alleles and recessive traits, Jamora found her attention drifting back to the males on the other side of the wall. Esestia had muted the audio from the holding cell when the team began its discussion, so Jamora could no longer hear what the males were saying. Their conversation was being recorded, of course, but Jamora thought the observation period had been ridiculously brief. It had been like that the last time, too. She got the feeling Esestia was merely checking off the required box.
Jamora found that watching the males with the sound off made their body language all the more noticeable. She could tell they were currently engaged in some sort of argument, which seemed to be par for the course. Their relationship struck her as surprisingly complex. The older male seemed to be the leader – yet the younger male didn't really seem to be a follower. Which was odd, since everyone knew that patriarchal societies were strictly hierarchical.
Her gaze was drawn to the older male – as it repeatedly had been since she'd first laid eyes on him. His hair might be full of grey, but his body was trim and muscular. And there was something about the way he moved, the way he carried himself, that Jamora found strangely attractive. He had a kind of presence that she couldn't remember ever seeing in an Ashoran male.
"Thank you, Ashasti," Esestia was saying. "We'll certainly take your findings into consideration." Jamora dragged her attention back to the team discussion, realizing that it was Esestia's turn to speak.
"Well, sisters," said Esestia, pursing her lips, "I'm afraid I must report major flaws in the psychological profiles of both these males."
"Both the males?" said Ashasti. "Even the younger one?"
Esestia gave her a condescending smile. "The younger male may give the initial impression of being peaceable and mild," said Esestia, "but his psychological profile reveals a very strong streak of willfulness and submerged aggression. I would rate his Redeemability as borderline at best. However, with the help of the Goddess – great are Her blessings – he might be salvaged. Might. Out of respect for the Goddess's divine mercy, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt."
"That's nice, Esestia," said Ashasti. "Because I hereby Claim him."
Esestia's mouth dropped open. "You do?" she said. She seemed astonished. Ifefal also seemed very surprised.
"I do," said Ashasti, her voice cool. "I find him quite attractive."
Jamora got the definite feeling there was a subtext to the way these women were reacting to Ashasti's Claim – and the way Ashasti was pressing it. But since she didn't know them very well, she wasn't sure what was really going on.
"That's great!" said Ifefal, going from surprised to bubbly. "Good for you! He is pretty cute, isn't he?" But Ifefal's energy faded away when Esestia gave her a quelling look.
"If you want to Claim this male," said Esestia to Ashasti, "that's your Goddess-given right, of course. But I hope you're prepared for what you're getting. His psychological profile indicates he'll be trouble."
"Oh," said Ashasti, her voice still cool, "I hope so. I prefer spirited males. And I've never found it necessary to use the Collar repeatedly to keep them in line."
Esestia gave a brittle smile. "Well. I suppose that's settled then." Her voice took on an official timber as she intoned, "Let the record show that Liberated Male Number… uh… 203-1435-239920… has been formally Claimed by Ashasti Daughter-of-Levash."
She called up a data display and scrolled through it importantly. "Now for the real problem – the older male." Esestia sighed and shook her head. She jerked her chin toward the observation panel and said, "That creature out there has the highest Aggression Index I've ever seen. Ever. In my forty years as an evaluator. And that's only the first of a whole series of alarming traits. His profile is full of strange contradictions that suggest unpredictability, deceit, and low cunning. This is an Unredeemable male of the most slippery and dangerous sort. His case is hopeless." Esestia's voice once again took on a formal timber as she said, "Let the record show that I, Esestia Daughter-of-Ush, Senior Member and Psychological Specialist of Evaluation Team Fifteen, recommend that Liberated Male Number… 203-1435-239921… be given over to Euthanasia House to be put down."
Jamora felt her stomach do a strange sort of flip. "Put down? But I thought that was only done in extreme cases."
"Believe me, Jamora," said Esestia, her tone portentous, "this is an extreme case. This is the sort of male who's good only at killing and destroying. So we certainly don't want him in Ashoran society. But, for the same reason, we can't just let him loose on the galaxy again, can we? Our oppressed sisters out there have enough to worry about. Our only real option is to euthanize him."
Jamora looked back at the holding cell, where the "creature" in question was once again pacing back and forth in front of the observation panel – close enough for Jamora to have leaned over and touched him, had the wall not been there. Close enough to really appreciate the muscular strength of his arms and chest, the long line of his legs and hips, the coiled energy of his stride. Jamora found him beautiful. And yet, wasn't there also something forbidding in his expression? Wasn't there something about him that radiated a kind of menace?
What am I feeling? thought Jamora. The situation had taken on a surreal quality for her. She felt curiously unanchored, much as she'd felt in the hospital all those months ago.
"You know," put in Ifefal, "I should have mentioned that the older male's body is covered with scars. He has many healed injuries that seem the result of deliberate aggression. It's obvious he's lived a life of great violence."
Esestia smiled at her and nodded. "Let the record show," she said, "that the medical evidence supports the psychological evidence."
"I'm sorry," said Jamora. "I'm not familiar with the procedure here. Are we supposed to evaluate your recommendation?"
"Not at all, Jamora. It's much simpler than that. My recommendation will stand unless someone offers a solid reason why it should not." Esestia smiled. "And of course, we know from your excellent briefing that this male was armed and equipped as a professional fighter of some sort. So the technological evidence also supports the psychological evidence."
Jamora opened her mouth to protest… and then closed it. That was what she had concluded.
"I would like to repeat," said Ashasti, "that this male's genetic profile is quite extraordinary. The Ancient gene is very rare."
"Thank you, Ashasti," said Esestia, a bit smugly. "Let the record show that this male's sperm should be collected for the Bank prior to his termination."
Ashasti's jaw set. "I really feel it would be to the benefit of Ashoran society to spare him."
"Oh come now, sister, what reason is there to do that? It's not as if we'd want this male actually rearing Ashoran children!"
"Esestia," said Ashasti, locking eyes with her, "this is the fifth time this month you've recommended that a male be put down."
"Is it?" said Esestia. "Well I'm sure that's true, if you say so. It's not as if I'm keeping count. I'm simply doing my job by making the most appropriate recommendation for each case."
"Esestia, please," said Ashasti, her tone growing fervent. "In the name of the Goddess, to whom all life is sacred! I implore you to reconsider!"
"That's enough!" said Esestia, her voice rising. "As if you have any business lecturing me about the Goddess! I thought this whole issue had been resolved when the Board rejected your protest, but obviously you think you know better than the Board as well as knowing better than me! Even though I've been doing this for forty years!"
Esestia opened her mouth to continue, her face red, but her glance fell on Jamora and she visibly reined in her anger. "I really don't think this is the time or place for this discussion," she said. "This is a matter for the Board."
"You're right, Esestia. About that," said Ashasti. But her tone was weary. She gave Jamora a sad smile. "I'm sorry about all this, Jamora. As I'm sure you've realized by now, this team has some long-standing issues."
Jamora gave a small smile in response to Ashasti's sincerity. Then her gaze turned back to the holding cell. The two males where now sitting on the bunks, facing each other. The younger male was speaking, his face full of animation, while the older listened, his face revealing nothing but a certain intensity. There was something about the way they leaned toward one another that suggested there was a strong bond there, despite all the friction. A bond of true friendship.
"Yes," Esestia was saying, "we have some personnel issues that will have to be referred to the Board. At a later time. Right now, we have an evaluation to finish. And since no one has raised any substantive objections to my recommendation, let the record show that… "
"Wait," said Jamora, turning back toward the other women. "I Claim him."
Esestia froze, her mouth open. Then her brows drew down in perplexity. "Claim him? The older male? But, Jamora … as I've explained, he's Unredeemable! We're going to put him down."
"No, you're not," said Jamora, her voice calm. "According to the Law of Ashora, a First Claim takes precedence over any other proposal for the disposition of a Liberated male. And this is my First Claim. I have no other concubines, and my husband isn't allowed to father children due to a Prohibited Genetic Trait."
Ashasti's face lit up. "That's right!" she said. "That is the Law."
"But… my dear Jamora!" said Esestia, still looking stunned. "We will be harvesting sperm from this male, remember? You could just…"
"I could," broke in Jamora, "but I choose not to. I choose to exercise my Goddess-given right to Claim this male as my chattel-concubine."
Esestia's face went from stunned to appalled. Ifefal's face puckered up with woeful astonishment, like a child disappointed by her present. Ashasti looked pleased but surprised.
"You're mad!" cried Esestia. "This male is vicious. You can't possibly want to bring him into your home! Especially not when…"
Esestia suddenly clamped her mouth shut, and Jamora felt blood rush into her face. What had Esestia been about to say? Was it possible she knew? The medical records were sealed, but perhaps Esestia had contacts among the psychologists at the hospital. Jamora felt her back stiffen. She hated the idea of being an object of pity to anyone, but the thought that this woman might know something about her painful past was especially unwelcome.
"But," put in Ifefal, "he's so old."
Everyone looked blankly at Ifefal for a moment.
Then Esestia turned back to Jamora and said, more calmly, "Of course we all recognize your right to make a Claim, Jamora." Her face had taken on a closed, suspicious look. "It's your sacred right, which is not to be used just to grab a chattel-male as a worker, or for casual pleasure, or for some … other reason. Women have been prosecuted for making Claims on false pretenses, you know."
"I know what a Claim is," said Jamora. Her voice was matter-of-fact.
Esestia grew rigid. "I will not take responsibility for allowing this male into our society!"
"You don't have to, Esestia. I've Claimed him. He's my responsibility now. The Bureau no longer has jurisdiction over him."
There was a tense silence.
Then Ashasti smiled and said, "Let the record show that Liberated Male Number … umm … 203-1435-239921 … has been formally Claimed by Jamora Daughter-of-Reshesa."