The image on the monitor displayed cultivated fields of crops
and hedged pastures filled with grazing livestock. A few miles
beyond, a large collection of buildings, surrounded by a tall,
stone wall, was sprawled out at the base of a tall bluff, at the
top of which stood a castle that overlooked the city and the bucolic
scenery.
"Pretty place," O'Neill commented. He and the rest
of SG-1 were seated at the briefing room table. The four members
of SG-3--Colonel Makepeace, Lieutenant Johnson, Gunnery Sergeant
Andrews, and Lance Corporal Henderson--sat opposite them. General
Hammond presided at the head of the table. Everyone had open
folders before them, but at the moment their eyes were fixed on
the monitor.
"Looks kind of peaceful," Jackson added.
Makepeace snorted and said, "If it were all that peaceful
the locals wouldn't have put those walls around their city."
It was a struggle, but O'Neill managed to restrain himself from
making a nasty, and no doubt expected, remark about Makepeace's
ability to state the obvious. Makepeace looked faintly disappointed
and cocked a querulous brow at him for his self-control, but O'Neill
kept his notoriously loud mouth shut. Over the last two years,
General Hammond had made his disapproval of overt displays of
inter-service rivalry during briefings well known to all the usual
suspects, and O'Neill had no intention of irritating the general
unnecessarily.
Hammond ignored the by-play, which was subtle enough that anyone
not versed in the two colonels' peculiarities probably wouldn't
have spotted it. "SG-4's survey of P2Z-494 indicates large
deposits of trinium ore," he said. "We've been ordered
to attempt to negotiate a trade agreement with the natives. They
appear capable of smelting iron ore into a crude form of steel,
but trinium processing is beyond their present capabilities.
The ore should be valueless to them at this stage in their development,
so hopefully a suitable arrangement will be possible to obtain."
"Sounds simple enough, so what's the problem?" O'Neill
asked. "Why all the extra manpower?" he added, with
a nod of his head to indicate the members of SG-3, who also looked
curious. "Just because the city's got a wall? Doesn't look
like there's been any trouble there recently." Indeed, the
landscape looked amazingly well tended, lacking any sign of recent
conflict: the livestock were fat and contented, rather than dead
and rotting; the fields green and ripe instead of trampled and
burned; and most importantly, no bodies were lying about. That
last was usually a dead giveaway.
"Perhaps, but according to SG-4's report, the natives are
somewhat warlike," Hammond replied. He touched a control
and the picture on the monitor changed, to display two large hordes
of armed warriors, mounted on heavily muscled warhorses that were
armored and caparisoned like something out of a medieval nightmare.
The two groups charged at one another, swords and shields raised,
screaming battle cries. "This might just be a local contest
or tournament, but SG-4 decided to return here for further instructions.
They managed to get these shots before they left. As you can
see, the warriors are female."
"Really? This culture might be a matriarchy?" Jackson
peered at the monitor and frowned, obviously displeased by what
he saw. "I don't recognize the armor," he said slowly.
"It's like some bizarre mixture of Roman, and early middle
ages, and...."
"And what?" O'Neill prodded him.
Jackson squirmed in his seat. He averted his eyes as he said,
reluctantly, "To be honest, that whole scene reminds me a
little of Xena or a Red Sonja movie something."
Carter bit her lip and looked down at her hands. The members
of SG-3 snickered.
Teal'c asked, "Red Sonja?"
"I'll explain later, Teal'c," O'Neill promised. "We'll
rent some movies when we get back." Makepeace openly guffawed
at that, and received a sharp glare in return.
Hammond cleared his throat loudly. Everyone settled down at the
nonverbal warning, since the alternative was the traditional and
somewhat stereotypical duty of cleaning the latrines with a toothbrush.
Hammond's ire was legendary, and he'd used that particular punishment
in the past when certain individuals got out of hand. It was
a well known fact, as well as a source of tremendous amusement
to the entire base, that even full-bird colonels weren't exempt.
"Your mission is to make contact with the leaders of the
native population and determine if a mining treaty is feasible."
"Sir, shouldn't treaty negotiations be handled by SG-9?"
Carter asked.
"Normally that would be the case, but at present they're
off-world. Also, they are an all male team, and it looks like
females hold the military power on this world. They may very
well hold the political power, as well. I'm hoping that your
presence will alleviate any gender issues that come up. You'd
better be prepared to act as Earth's spokesman."
Carter nodded and allowed a slight smile to cross her features.
O'Neill sighed and drawled, "And the Marines are coming
along because--?"
The general scowled at him. "Due to the martial appearance
of the natives, I'm sending SG-3 with you to provide some extra
firepower and protection. However, there will be no confrontations
unless provoked," Hammond said sternly. "None of you
will fire first. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," O'Neill and Makepeace chorused.
"Very well. All available intelligence about P2Z-494 is
documented in your folders. I expect you to review the material
thoroughly. You'll depart at 0800 tomorrow." With that,
Hammond rose and dismissed the two teams.
At 0805 SG teams One and Three stepped out of the Stargate and
into the warm, clear air of P2Z-494. The MALP had measured the
average daily temperature to be an uncomfortable eight-five degrees
Fahrenheit, and O'Neill could find no reason to dispute its report.
Beads of perspiration started popping out of his pores within
a few moments of his setting foot on the planet, and the BDUs,
vests, and assorted gear he and his team routinely wore for these
kinds of recon and "meet'n'greet" expeditions only trapped
the heat close to his skin. The heavy body armor and combat gear
that SG-3's members sported must be killing them, but to their
credit, not one of them complained.
O'Neill wiped the sweat from his forehead and took his bearings.
The Stargate was situated in a large clearing that was surrounded
by trees and brush. A wide gravel road led into the woods. According
to SG-4's report, they should be able to follow the road a few
miles to the city and fortress, where, hopefully, no one would
shoot at them.
Makepeace nodded to his people, and they quickly fanned out to
secure the area, their movements precise, so well rehearsed as
to be choreographed, and very professional. Almost immediately,
Henderson called out, "Colonel, we got company!"
Both O'Neill and Makepeace swiveled their heads toward him. Before
either could utter a word, a number of warriors, carrying swords
and crossbows, stepped out of the brush and surrounded the two
SG teams. Some of the warriors wore leather armor sewn with steel
rings, a few others wore chain mail. All were women, and all
were uniformly tall, athletic, and looked extremely strong. Their
faces were set like stone.
By reflex, everyone in the Earth party, including Daniel, raised
their weapons. A sound came from within the woods, of hooves
clomping on dirt and gravel, and a troupe of warriors, riding
great warhorses and armed with swords, lances, and shields, rode
forth on the road at a leisurely pace. They encircled the clearing
and lowered their lances as though preparing to charge, but held
their mounts steady.
"Well, this sucks," O'Neill muttered under his breath.
"You know, this crap never happens to us," Makepeace
quietly said to him. "Must be your karma or something.
Thanks for the fallout," he added sarcastically.
"Hey, any time," O'Neill shot back. "Always glad
to share."
One of the mounted warriors, a tall woman wearing an impressive
amount of chain mail and plate armor, prodded her mount forward
a few steps and gazed at them sternly. Her scarlet cloak billowed
out behind her. The two colonels shut up and waited. The woman
spoke in clear, imperious tones, "I am Captain Aresh of the
queen's guard. If those ungainly things you are holding are weapons,
I advise you to lower them."
"And if we don't feel like doing that?" O'Neill asked
her. "These 'ungainly things' can do a lot of damage."
"You desire battle?" The woman looked at him as though
he had sprouted a second head, and a touch of amused condescension
crept into her voice. "How unusual. But ultimately futile.
I have the advantage of numbers. You are surrounded, and there
are many archers hidden among the trees. There are only eight
of you. Surely you would be dead before you could kill us all,
no matter how lethal your weapons."
"Jack, would you please shut up," Jackson hissed as
he pushed his way forward. He nodded respectfully to the lead
warrior and raised a hand in greeting. "Please, there's
no need for violence. We're peaceful travelers. My name is Daniel
Jackson, and these are--"
Aresh blatantly ignored him, instead focusing her attention on
another member of her party, an archer in shades of brown and
woodland green. "Are they the same?"
The woman nodded. "Yes, Captain. They wear the same garb
as those who came before, and carry the same accoutrements."
"Excuse me. What exactly are you--" O'Neill began.
"Be silent," Aresh ordered him sharply. To Carter she
said, "Your men are quite ill-mannered. Have they never
been taught their proper place? This is hardly the time for male
prattle."
Carter goggled at her, speechless at the treatment of her CO.
O'Neill bridled, but Jackson grabbed his arm and whispered, "Jack,
easy." O'Neill's expression was thunderous, but he nodded
and shot a warning look at the equally indignant Marines before
they also decided to enter the fray.
Disregarding the reactions her words provoked, Aresh pursed her
lips and stared hard at Carter. "None have passed through
the Gate of Dagoth in living memory, and now in but a handful
of days we have two such visitations. I ask you, what do you
here?"
Carter started as she suddenly realized that Aresh assumed she
was the leader of the Earth delegation. She should have thought
of that earlier--Hammond had specifically mentioned that might
be the case here--but it had never happened before and she had
simply forgotten. The Gate of Dagoth? Aresh must mean the Stargate,
Carter realized. She answered Aresh honestly, "We intend
no hostilities. We've come merely to trade, and to propose an
alliance of mutual benefit to our peoples."
"Then why did your first party hide and then flee from us?"
"They were only scouts," Carter replied, thinking quickly
and coming up with what she hoped was an innocuous explanation.
"They fled from you because they didn't want to get involved
in the battle they witnessed."
"Battle? There has been no war here for over two years."
Aresh looked momentarily confused, then her expression cleared.
"Ah, yes, now I understand. You refer to our training exercises.
Your people were in no danger, I assure you. We certainly wouldn't
deliberately harm defenseless men."
Deciding that Aresh didn't need to know that SG-4 had most certainly
not been defenseless, Carter simply said, "Thank you for
that."
Aresh acknowledged her thanks with a brusque nod. "You said
you wish to trade?"
"Yes. We have medicines, technology, that I'm sure your
people would find very useful."
"In exchange for?" Aresh asked leadingly.
"You have a mineral here that could be of use to us. We'd
like permission to mine it," Carter replied.
"This mineral has value, then? Like gold?"
Carter shook her head. "No, not like gold. In fact, from
what we can tell, your people don't use it at all. We alloy it
to other metals...." She stopped herself as she belatedly
realized that spilling the beans about how valuable trinium was
to Earth could nix their chances of getting a halfway decent deal.
This sort of thing just wasn't her usual bailiwick, and she was
starting to feel out of her depth. She'd never even been able
con her neighbors into buying Girl Scout cookies when she was
a kid, so how the hell was she supposed to negotiate a favorable
treaty between two planets? Yet she had to pull it off somehow.
She was probably the only member of the Earth party that the
natives would even consider talking to.
This experience promised to make defending her doctoral dissertation
look like a cakewalk. Gnawing the inside of her cheek, she glanced
back at her companions. With the exception of Teal'c, they were
looking bemused and a touch irritated. Small wonder, considering
the deprecating attitude Aresh had displayed towards them. At
least they'd had the sense to keep their mouths shut.
If Aresh noticed Carter's slip, she gave no visible indication
of it, and while she never actually smiled, over the course of
the conversation her countenance had lightened somewhat. She
turned to the warrior to her left and commanded, "Ride ahead
and inform the queen. Swiftly." The warrior saluted by
thumping a fist to her chest, then wheeled her mount and galloped
off down the road.
Aresh turned her assessing gaze back onto Carter. "I have
no authority to negotiate anything with you. Only Queen Ro'jel
has the power to make treaties with foreign sovereignties. However,
under circumstances such as these, I am empowered to escort you
to Castle Naeryth, so that you may present your proposal to our
queen directly. If you and your party would accompany me?"
It was phrased as a polite request, but Carter got the distinct
impression that it was actually an order. The end results of
a refusal were likely to be ugly. Carter again glanced back at
her teammates. There was no objection to be found in any of them.
Both O'Neill's and Jackson's eyes held approval--one cautious,
the other enthusiastic. Teal'c was as impassive as ever, and
the Marines wary but willing. She turned back to the waiting
warrior. "We would be honored, Captain Aresh."
The journey to the castle was made on horseback, but very little
time was saved by this measure. Due to the local biases, only
Carter and Teal'c warranted mounts of their own, even though neither
was a particularly experienced rider. The rest of the team was
relegated to riding pillion behind the warriors. All the animals
were kept to a walk and occasionally, a slow trot, as Captain
Aresh felt that a faster gait might jar the men off the horses.
It wouldn't do to dump one's guests into the dust.
Privately, Makepeace fumed about the riding arrangements, knowing
that the warrior women considered mere males to be incapable of
controlling the overly spirited animals on their own. Captain
Aresh had stated as much, and there was nothing he could do but
grin and bear it. His only consolation was that the rest of the
Earth men were also stuck in this humiliating position. The indignation
inherent in O'Neill's posture alone almost made the uncomfortable
ride worthwhile.
Makepeace repressed a smile at the sight of Lieutenant Johnson,
who was about as large as Teal'c, mounted behind one of the warriors
with his arms wrapped around her waist and a long suffering expression
on his face. It wasn't as incongruous an image as might be imagined--after
all, the woman was at least as tall as he was and wearing some
pretty impressive armor.
When the method of transportation had first been announced, Makepeace
had winced slightly, fairly certain that he'd need to curb some
bad behavior from his men. There had been a few ribald comments
about big-assed women, but they were kept low, and a single dark
glance was enough to quell them. Then the women dismounted and
the Marines had quieted of their own accord.
"Jesus Christ," someone had muttered.
There was no question about it--these women were big. The smallest
was easily six feet tall and muscled like a professional body
builder on steroids. They all carried the heavy armor and weapons
with effortless grace, their style of movements and body language
made it clear they were highly trained in the arts of war. All
in all, they exuded a brazen confidence in their ability to take
on all comers.
Makepeace would have been amused by his men's stunned silence
if he hadn't felt a little intimidated himself. It was an uncomfortable
experience, and he didn't like it one bit. Judging by the looks
on his men's faces, they felt the same. At least it wouldn't
be necessary to remind them that this was a diplomatic mission
and they needed to behave themselves. Everyone kept their mouths
shut, mounted up with some unwelcome assistance from the warriors--Makepeace
was sure the one that boosted him onto the warhorse had copped
a feel; that particular grope couldn't possibly have been accidental--and
the entourage got underway.
They had been riding along the gravel and dirt road through a
number of fields, some tilled and cultivated with a variety of
crops, others filled with livestock, and now came to the walled
city of Naeryth. They passed through the gates without hindrance,
into the cobbled city streets, and through the organized chaos
of a bustling open air market. Men and women scurried to and
fro conducting business, merchants hawked their wares at the top
of their lungs, here and there a beggar pleaded for a coin or
two. Occasionally children ran alongside the horses, calling
up to the warriors. Captain Aresh ignored it all and led her
party along a road that wound up the far side of the cliff to
the great fortress that overshadowed the city.
"I take it this is Castle Naeryth?" O'Neill asked as
they rode into the castle's courtyard. The fortress's defensive
position and armaments met with his approval, with allowances
made for this world's level of technology. Because the castle
sat upon a sharp and narrow bluff, three of its walls were completely
inaccessible to assault from anything but mountain goats and birds.
The fourth wall faced the not inconsiderable slope they had just
ridden up, and was heavily fortified. Guards walked along the
ramparts and stood watch in the towers, which provided an unimpeded
view of the countryside for miles. "Sweet. Bet you could
hold off an army for months in this place."
The warrior he was riding behind chuckled a little. Aresh looked
back at him and smiled tolerantly, as though he had said something
surprisingly clever. "Indeed, our people have done so many
times since it was built."
"Really."
"You need not worry. We are at peace now." Aresh shrugged.
"I don't deny that could change, but Queen Ro'jel has established
many blood bonds with our neighbors. That usually suffices to
keep the peace unless a great insult is made. I doubt we will
be attacked while you are in residence."
"Oh, I wasn't worried. Just making an observation."
"Of course," Aresh said with a poker face that O'Neill
could only envy. She reined in her mount and swung off its back.
A group of servants--mostly women, although there were a few
men in the group--came running to take charge of the horses.
"Come. Let us go within."
The rest of the warriors dismounted and then each woman helped
her passenger down. O'Neill thought the hold on his waist lingered
just a little too long, but before he could remark on it the warrior
gently steered him after Aresh. Out of pure orneriness he quickened
his pace until he felt the hand that had been resting at the small
of his back fall away. The warrior snorted softly but didn't
press the issue.
The group walked through a massive doorway and into an enormous
hall constructed of gray stone. Aresh immediately turned to the
right and led the company through a series of torchlit corridors.
After the heat outdoors, the interior of the castle was relatively
comfortable.
"It's bigger than it looked from the outside," Johnson
mumbled, looking around.
O'Neill silently agreed. The place was huge, and filled almost
to overflowing with people who rushed through the corridors on
some task or another. There were also a number of armed guards
positioned at strategic points throughout the complex. These
people might not be at war, but it was clear they were taking
no chances.
At last they came to a set of intricately carved double doors,
flanked on either side by more hard-eyed guards. An elderly lady
waited in front of the doors and bowed her head respectfully.
"These are the visitors from the Gate of Dagoth?" she
asked.
"They are," Aresh replied.
"The queen awaits within the great hall, and has been fully
appraised of these visitors and their desires. The audience may
begin immediately."
"Good." Captain Aresh turned to her charges and told
them flatly, "You may not take weapons into the presence
of our queen. You may leave your arms out here. They will be
well looked after, and you may retrieve them when you depart."
Her tone indicated that there could be no argument.
A startled Air Force captain, an impassive Jaffa, and four disgruntled
Marines all stared at O'Neill. He, in turn, redirected the heat
to Jackson. "Well, Daniel, you're the big expert on foreign
cultures. What do you think?"
Jackson made a face and said neutrally, "I think we won't
get to see this Queen Ro'jel unless we comply with their customs."
That much was obvious. O'Neill weighed the pros and cons in his
head. Being unarmed was a definite minus, but this was supposed
to be a diplomatic mission, after all. That meant making nice
with the natives. There was also the trinium to think of. "Okay,
people, let's take off the gear," he said. When everyone
still hesitated, he added, "All of it."
There were grimaces all around, but both teams moved to comply.
It took a few minutes for SG-1 to strip off their gear and carefully
pile it against a wall. Then they turned and waited for SG-3
to finish. It was a longer wait than expected, as it appeared
that each Marine carried more equipment than all the members of
SG-1 combined. A lot more.
O'Neill eyed the ever-growing collection of weapons and assorted
survival tools with mild amazement. He knew SG-3 was always loaded
for bear, but he'd never quite realized just how well armed they
were on missions before. How long had it taken these lunatics
to secrete all that extra hardware on themselves? And where the
hell did they put it, anyway? This was ridiculous.
As a few more lethal trinkets were added to the heap of weaponry,
he asked dryly, "Were you guys planning to take on the entire
Republican Guard or something?"
Makepeace just gave him a droll look and held up three fingers
in the Boy Scout salute. "Be prepared, that's our motto,"
he intoned.
"Right," O'Neill drawled, drawing out the word for emphasis.
When everyone was down to BDUs, they were escorted into the great
hall, where they paused a moment to take in its splendor. The
name did the room justice. Its ceiling arched high overhead and
was decorated with carvings and tile mosaics in colorful, geometric
patterns. The floor and walls were of polished white marble that
was veined with gold. Candles, torches, and oil lamps were scattered
about the hall in profusion, and the tapestries that adorned the
walls almost glowed in the warm light.
The hall was filled with finely dressed people, mostly women,
but a few men were also present. They stood in small clusters
and watched the newcomers curiously. The women wore calf length
tunics of various cuts, sandals, and heavy jewelry. The men's
garb was somewhat briefer. Their tunics were sleeveless and only
fell to mid-thigh, and they wore even more jewelry than the women.
"Courtiers, I would guess," Daniel murmured.
"Daniel, what do you make of all this?" Carter asked
quietly.
"I don't really know. I have to admit, this culture's got
me stymied. Bits and pieces of it are familiar, but the rest
just seems to have gone its own way."
"Do you think it was some kind of experiment?"
"Maybe," Daniel said doubtfully, "But these people
are a lot better established here than the cultures we've found
that the Goa'uld were experimenting on. They might have been
transplanted, but they've obviously been left to develop on their
own. I wonder if their original culture might not have been the
basis of at least some of those legends about tribes of warrior
women, like the Amazons. More cultures than just the Greeks had
them, you know."
"Amazons?" O'Neill scoffed.
"I'm just speculating, of course, but is it really any weirder
than aliens posing as Egyptian gods?"
No one even bothered to try to answer that. They were given another
moment to gawk, and then Captain Aresh was leading them through
the great hall, with every eye in the room following them speculatively.
At the far end of the hall was a low dais, upon which rested
a carved and gilded chair cushioned with silken pillows. A regal
woman was seated on the chair and stared at the newcomers with
an unreadable expression.
Aresh stopped before the dais and bowed deeply. A court functionary
stepped forward and rapped her staff sharply against the floor.
Before the sound had died away, she announced in clear, ringing
tones, "All honor to Ro'jel ell'Hastreth Knyan Sitaarn, queen
of Naeryth and Astarsis, guardian of the holy Gate of Dagoth,
beloved daughter of the twin goddesses Beret-Illit and Beryn-Semat."
Carter tensed at that last title. Beloved daughter of twin goddesses?
These days the mere mention of gods and goddesses equated with
Goa'uld in her mind. Both SG-1 and SG-3 were completely unarmed--how
would they defend themselves if they were attacked? Her eyes
slid from left to right, searching for any sign of Jaffa or Goa'uld
technologies, but there was nothing. She even tried that weird
new sense that Jolinar had left her, the ability to detect Goa'uld,
but again, nothing.
Jackson recognized her concern and whispered into her ear, "Don't
worry, Sam. She's not a Goa'uld. Historically, it was pretty
common for Earth royalty to claim kinship with their deities."
Carter relaxed marginally as his words sank in. She knew her
reaction was due more to habit than anything else. During the
ride to the castle, she had engaged Aresh in conversation and
learned that these people had never even heard of the Goa'uld,
but that pretentious introduction had thrown her. She heard Jackson
reassuring the others and snorted softly. Probably every one
of her teammates had freaked, at least for an instant. Relieved
of the sudden fear that disaster was about to strike, Carter turned
her attention to the imperious woman on the dais.
Queen Ro'jel ell'Hastreth Knyan Sitaarn was in her mid to late
twenties, with close cropped, dark curly hair and shrewd brown
eyes. Carter studied her warily. Aresh had warned her not to
make the mistake of equating the queen's relative youth with inexperience.
Ro'jel had assumed the throne when she was seventeen years old
and had led her people through two major wars and the extensive
rebuilding that followed. In Carter's opinion, it showed. The
eyes that stared out of that unlined face held a heavy streak
of cynicism at the ways of the world.
Aresh bowed again. "My queen, allow me to make known to
you Captain Carter of Earth, who has journeyed to our realm through
the Gate of Dagoth."
Carter's mind raced in circles as she frantically tried to come
up with an appropriate form of address for greeting a queen.
This was usually Daniel's purview, but plainly a response was
expected of her. She decided to take her cue from Aresh and executed
a quick bow. "My queen."
"Greetings, Captain Carter of Earth," the queen responded
in a mellow, cultured voice. Carter gaped at her, unsure how
to proceed.
As though sensing her confusion, Aresh murmured softly, "Captain
Carter, it is for you to present your men to Queen Ro'jel."
"Oh. Oh, right." Carter really wished these people
would talk to Daniel. Such well established royal protocol as
this was completely outside of her experience. SG-1 had previously
only encountered royalty in much smaller and more primitive communities;
none of the petty kings of her experience ever maintained such
a large and formal court, nor had they such well developed lands,
cities, or--Carter stole a sidelong glance at Aresh--armies.
For all the pretension, though, at least she and her teammates
weren't required to kneel. That was a distasteful piece of protocol
the petty kings never, ever forgot to insist upon. The difference,
Carter mused, was likely a matter of relative power--this queen
was so secure she felt no need to flaunt her authority in such
a crude way.
Carter took a step forward and bobbed her head in what she hoped
was a respectful gesture. "Queen Ro'jel, please permit me
to present the rest of my party." She was quite pleased
with herself for that phrase--Daniel couldn't have done better,
she thought. Perhaps this wouldn't be so awful, after all. As
she made the introductions, the queen's speculative gaze touched
upon each man in turn, lingered there as though assessing his
relative merits and drawbacks, then moved on.
Something about her examination of the men made Carter uncomfortable.
The queen seemed almost too interested in them, particularly
Teal'c and the Marines. Was it just another facet of this culture?
These people had a sexist attitude about men in general, and
they obviously applied it even to foreigners. Carter herself
had been the object of similar scrutiny by various men many times
in her life. She wondered if the guys found it as irritating
as she usually did. Probably not. They were guys, after
all. They probably liked it.
Then those knowing eyes fixed on Carter and scattered her irrelevant
thoughts to the four winds. She had to struggle to keep from
squirming. So this is what a butterfly on a pin feels like, she
thought wildly to herself, even as she fought to maintain her
most dignified expression. The piercing gaze lightened and queen
smiled brilliantly.
"I welcome you and your entourage to my court, Captain Carter."
"Thank you, my lady. It's an honor to be here." Carter
repressed a wince as the clumsy words spilled from her mouth.
Okay, that had sounded pretty lame, even to her own ears.
Queen Ro'jel graciously overlooked the awkwardness. "You
have journeyed quite far to come here for the purposes of trade.
Tell me what it is you desire so greatly, and what you have to
offer in exchange." With that statement, she leaned back
in her throne and waited, once again surveying the entire party
before focusing her attention directly on Carter.
Wow, cut right to the chase, why don't you? Carter thought, careful
not to display her surprise. No mention of rest or refreshment
for dusty travelers, no offer of even a chair, nothing, nada,
zip. The queen obviously wanted Carter to negotiate while she
was tired, no doubt to get the best bargain for herself and her
people.
Not on your life, Carter swore silently. She'd get a good deal
for Earth if it killed her. Swallowing her irritation, she calmly
began to explain about trinium and how Earth would like permission
to set up a mining operation on this world. Her words were a
little hesitant at first, but her confidence grew as she saw that
she had the queen's rapt attention. She went into great detail
about what a Terran mining operation was like, that it would be
relatively small, and how environmentally conscious the miners
would be. She pointed out that Ro'jel's government would be well
compensated for both the ore and the inconvenience. The whole
court clustered close, listening intently as Carter and their
queen discussed the various options.
During the course of the conversation, Carter was pleased to discover
that, unlike the inhabitants of PXY-887, these people had no taboos
against active mining. In fact, they engaged in it themselves
for any number of valuable minerals. The queen's primary concern
on that issue was the number of foreigners on her soil that would
not be under her control. Carter emphasized that her sovereignty
would be maintained, her laws respected. Additionally, the land
would be reclaimed when the mining was done, and the Earth government
would even help her people to resettle a mined out area at its
own expense, or put it to whatever other use the queen saw fit.
At this point, Carter asked for and received permission to have
Daniel retrieve her pack. She pulled out a lump of ore so the
queen would know exactly what the Earth wanted from her planet--one
of the samples SG-4 retrieved on their earlier visit that she
had had the foresight to bring along for just this purpose. The
queen summoned one of the palace smiths, who confirmed that this
particular ore was unused, and indeed, was unusable for any purpose
of theirs. Unlike iron, the smith explained, which could be smelted
with charcoal and then hardened and tempered to produce the steel
that was used in weapons, this material defied all attempts at
processing. If these strangers could find a use for something
so worthless, she sniffed, then there was no reason that she could
see to keep it from them.
After that, the discussion moved on to the items that Earth was
willing to trade. Carter did not mention weapons. These people
had enough of those already. She kept to the relatively benign
topics of medicines and agriculture and tools. "For example,"
she pointed out, "we can show you ways to improve the yield
on your farms and strengthen your herds. There are also more
hardy and nutritious plant stocks that we can trade."
Those things were, naturally enough, of great interest to the
queen and quite a few members of her court, but they preferred
to focus most closely on what were, to them, new antibiotics,
such as penicillin. Medicines that could cure infections were
of great interest to a warrior culture. There was a good chance
that a common soldier injured in battle would weaken and die,
thus requiring the expense, both in terms of money and time, of
training up an inexperienced and untested replacement. It would
be much better to keep the existing soldiers alive, if at all
possible, and minimize recruitments.
So much for avoiding the topic of weapons, Carter thought with
a sigh. The Naerythians were so geared to warfare that they could
find a military application for just about anything. She really
wished that Daniel was doing the negotiating--she was certain
he'd do much better at keeping things on track, and probably get
a better deal for Earth while he was at it, too.
More experts were called into the court to give their opinions
as to the value of what Earth had to offer. As the discussions
wore on, and on, and on, Carter found herself wishing for Jackson's
help more and more often, but a graceful opening to include him
in the conversation never materialized. The queen was devious,
calculating, and single minded as she picked Carter's brain to
determine whether it would be worthwhile to make a treaty with
Earth, and she permitted no interference in her intense question
and answer session.
As if the interrogation itself wasn't hard enough to endure, sometimes
the queen would, for no real reason that Carter could fathom,
indulge in a sudden fit of violent temper over what seemed nothing
more than an irrelevancy, and then, just a suddenly, become calm
and reasonable, if demanding, once again. Carter figured the
queen did it just to keep her off balance, to try to shock her
into revealing any possible hidden motivations that might be to
Naeryth's disadvantage, but even so she still worried that she
was somehow screwing things up and that, in retaliation, Ro'jel
would throw them off the planet empty handed.
Carter let out a soft sigh and rubbed her eyes. Daniel lightly
touched her arm and murmured, "You're doing fine, Sam. Keep
it up." She gave him a half-smile. He'd taken to doing
that whenever her uncertainty became too apparent, whenever she
stammered or started to falter or otherwise showed the strain,
and she was damned grateful to him. Hearing that kind of encouragement
from the team's acknowledged expert at intercultural interactions
always steadied her enough to continue. She also noticed that,
the rest of the time, he somehow managed to keep the others from
interfering and perhaps saying something embarrassing or offensive
and unforgivable. Even O'Neill stayed quiet--well, mostly, but
at least his mutterings weren't loud enough to be overheard by
anyone not standing near him. Carter could have kissed Daniel's
feet for that.
Finally, the interview was at an end. Carter felt as exhausted
as though she'd just run a marathon. She glanced at her watch,
and realized with a start that almost two hours had passed.
Two hours! Carter's exhaustion gave way to indignation. The
queen had kept them all standing for the whole time! No wonder
she was tired. There were words for people who pulled stunts
like that, but Carter prided herself on not needing to resort
to the nastier forms of profanity to express herself. Usually.
She drew a deep breath, wondering if any of it had been worthwhile,
if she'd accomplished anything at all, and after getting her temper
under control and marshaling what remained of her energy, looked
up at the queen.
That royal personage was sitting back in her throne, tapping her
chin thoughtfully with a ring laden finger. Carter was vindictively
pleased to see that Ro'jel also looked a little weary. The queen
beckoned to several of the women nearest the throne; they ascended
the dais swiftly and some quiet words were exchanged, then the
women returned to their places.
"Very well," Queen Ro'jel finally said. "I find
your proposal to be most attractive and potentially of great benefit
to my realm at large. It would be foolish not to take advantage
of it. We shall have the diplomats and the accountants work out
all the niggling details, which I am sure," she added archly,
"will be numerous and complicated and take no small amount
of time and effort to settle. Then the scribes may draw up a
formal agreement between us. I believe that no more remains but
the matter of surety."
For a moment Carter could only gape. Then, grinning like an idiot,
she enthused, "That's great!" She couldn't believe
it! She, Samantha Carter, failed Girl Scout cookie saleswoman,
had actually convinced a powerful extraterrestrial monarch to
make an advantageous trade agreement with Earth. It was fantastic!
It was terrifying! Then she sobered a bit, realizing that a
more formal response was required. "Thank you, my lady.
You won't be sorry. I'm sure you'll find tremendous benefits
from trading with Earth. As for finalizing the agreement...."
Now that she thought about it, all those details that Queen Ro'jel
had casually spoken of sounded far too onerous and intimidating
for one person to take on. No way was she going to be stuck in
the long, drawn out haggling sessions to come. The queen had
a staff to handle such matters, she should be allowed to have
one as well, or at the very least an assistant who was far better
versed in the arts of dealing with cultural peculiarities and
the picky aspects of negotiations than she was. She reached back
and touched Daniel's arm. "I'd like to offer the services
of my, uh, my companion, Doctor Daniel Jackson. He's got all
the experience needed."
Almost laughing aloud at Carter's eagerness to escape the role
of negotiator, Jackson stepped forward and bowed. "Queen
Ro'jel--"
"This one?" the queen interrupted, with a note of incredulity.
"Ah, yes," Jackson said, alarmed by the queen's abrupt
change of mood. He exchanged a concerned glance with O'Neill
and Carter, then asked, "Is that a problem?"
"No," Ro'jel said carefully, her face composed into
a neutral mask. "I was just a little surprised. I suppose...."
She directed an intent gaze at Carter and retreated into the
safety of formality. "I find him acceptable."
Carter blinked. Was the queen annoyed because she had foisted
a man into the negotiations? Men weren't held in very high regard
here; maybe it was completely inappropriate to put one into such
a responsible position. She supposed she should have waited until
they could ask General Hammond to send a suitable woman or two
through the Stargate, but it was too late for that now. "Thank
you," she said, knowing the words were inadequate, but with
no idea how to correct the blunder.
"Queen Ro'jel," Jackson said in his most conciliatory
tone, "I will do my utmost to follow your rules and customs.
We did not mean to give offense. Please don't be angry."
The queen smiled at him. "I'm not angry with you,"
she told him gently. "Go with the attendants, and they shall
see to your needs." At her gesture, two men, dressed in
skimpy tunics, sandals, and silver jewelry, appeared from a side
alcove and bowed.
Jackson glanced back at his companions. "Jack?"
"It's your call, Daniel," O'Neill replied, looking less
than thrilled with the turn of events.
"Well, when in Rome...." Jackson shrugged.
"You need not fear for him," Queen Ro'jel assured them.
"We are not barbarians, after all. He will be well treated."
"He better be."
"Jack, relax," Jackson said, holding up a hand. "It's
okay. I'll see you later." He followed the two attendants
from the throne room.
The queen smiled broadly. "You are now my honored guests.
Tonight there shall be a great feast in celebration of our prosperous
new agreement. Until that time, you may rest and refresh yourselves."
She clapped sharply. Several female guards joined Captain Aresh,
each armed with a heavy spear. "Escort my guests to the
western chambers," Ro'jel instructed them, "and provide
them with whatever they require."
"What now?" Makepeace asked uncomfortably.
O'Neill shrugged. "When in Rome," he tossed off, and
made a sweeping "after you" gesture. Makepeace grimaced
but followed after the guards. The rest of the group trailed
behind him.
They paused outside the hall to collect their gear, then were
led down several long hallways to a spacious and luxuriously appointed
chamber, and told that someone would be with them in a few minutes.
As soon as their escort was gone, Makepeace grabbed O'Neill's
arm and hustled him to the far end of the room, out of earshot
of the others. "We need to talk," he growled softly.
O'Neill shook off the hand roughly. "What the hell are you
doing?" he demanded, but he kept his voice down, well aware
that any dissension between team leaders should not be aired in
public view.
"I should ask you that very same question," Makepeace
returned with displeasure.
"What are you talking about?"
"Jackson," Makepeace replied succinctly. "Tell
me, O'Neill, do you always let your team get split up like this?"
O'Neill shrugged. "If the situation calls for it."
"Well, I don't like it."
"You don't have to like it. Look, I'll let you in on a little
secret: I don't like it either, but Daniel's the expert so we're
stuck with it. He said it was okay, so it must be okay. That
good enough for you?"
"Why just Jackson? Why not Carter, too? She was the one
that did all the talking."
"Hell, I don't know. Maybe the stuff that's left is just
for servants or something. The top women here probably don't
get involved in the nitty-gritty. They probably think it's beneath
them, and since they think Carter's one of them...." O'Neill
let his statement trail off suggestively.
Makepeace scowled but didn't continue the argument. Instead,
he merely shook his head in disgust and walked back to where his
men had settled, muttering under his breath about karmic fallout
and half-wit zoomies who always needed rescuing.
"Guess this kind of crap never happens to you jarheads, either,"
O'Neill commented to himself as he made his way to his own people.
He dropped onto a floor pillow and stretched out his aching legs.
Both teams had the common sense to pretend to ignore the minor
altercation between their respective COs. An uncomfortable silence
descended upon the group as they furtively glanced between the
two colonels, both of whom were obviously in a snit. Carter and
Johnson shared an exasperated look, each wondering if they should
do something to placate their grumpy superiors. The problem was
that there really was nothing to do but wait, and neither O'Neill
nor Makepeace took well to that kind of inactivity or lack of
control.
Finally, insecurity drove Carter from her seat. She crossed the
short distance and sat down next to O'Neill. "Sir, did I
screw up? If Daniel's in any danger...."
"Nah, you did good, Carter. You got us the trinium. I was
pretty impressed. Queenie didn't exactly make things easy for
you."
"But Daniel--"
O'Neill shrugged. "Like I told Makepeace, Daniel said it
was okay. You know he loves playing ambassador. He's probably
happy as a clam, doing all that talking stuff he loves right now.
I bet he'll have the gory details all hammered out by dinnertime."
Before Carter could reply, the chamber door swung open and a middle
aged man, dressed in toga-like clothing that hung past his knees,
entered and bowed. "I am Suryan, your steward," that
worthy announced. "Queen Ro'jel has sent me to attend to
your needs. Is there anything you require?"
Carter could have kissed the man for his timely appearance. "Can
you tell us where Daniel is?" she asked eagerly, hoping the
answer would put everyone's minds at rest. "Is he all right?"
Suryan looked startled by her question. "Of course, he is
all right. No one will dare to harm him. He is under the queen's
protection. He'll have nothing but the very best, I assure you."
"Can we see him?"
"You will see him at the feast tonight," was Suryan's
reply. As he spoke, two serving men, one carrying a bowl of fruit,
the other holding a tray with a tall, metal pitcher and a number
of goblets, came in and set their burdens on a side table. An
arrogant looking old woman with three young male attendants followed
in their wake. The attendants all carried baskets filled with
cloth and jewelry and vials of liquid.
"What's this all about?" O'Neill asked suspiciously.
"This is Tyrech," Suryan said, gesturing gracefully
to the old woman, "clothier to the royal household."
"What?"
"The queen thought you might feel less conspicuous tonight
if you were all dressed in a manner befitting your status."
"Status?" Makepeace echoed.
"Yes, while I am certain those...garments...you wear,"
Tyrech said, wrinkling up her nose, "are perfectly fine for
your homeland, they will stand out in a most unfortunate way at
a formal state affair."
The two SG teams all stared, first at one another, then at Suryan
and Tyrech, completely nonplused by the offer and the insulting
manner in which it had been couched. Teal'c appeared unaffected,
but Carter found herself wincing as she recalled the last time
she'd been coerced into native dress.
Tyrech noticed their discomfort and rushed to reassure them.
"Never fear. You will be quite stunning when I am through
with you. I am, after all, responsible for attiring the queen's
husbands on those occasions they appear in public," she added
proudly.
"Did she say husbands?" Henderson whispered to Johnson
and Andrews. His eyes wide as saucers.
"My lady?" Suryan queried to Carter. "Should we
proceed?"
"Oh," she said with a jolt, once again reminded that
these people believed her to be in charge of the Earth delegation.
She hedged, "I suppose it should be a group decision. What
would the rest of you like to do?"
The two colonels exchanged a skeptical glance. Makepeace made
a face indicative of his displeasure with the whole idea, so naturally
O'Neill felt compelled to say, "Well, it can't hurt to take
a look at what they've got. 'When in Rome,' ya know." He
turned to the clothier and added, "Bring 'em on."
Makepeace looked pained.
Jackson was guided to a secluded area of the castle that the attendants
told him was the men's quarters. There he was greeted by another
male servant and escorted into a luxurious bath chamber. The
servant helped him to disrobe and then left him to soak in pleasant
solitude.
He leaned back in the warm water and closed his eyes. The pool
he was soaking in was shaped like a large rectangle, sunken into
the marble floor and tiled with elaborate designs. Great billows
of steam rolled off the surface of the greenish water. By the
strong smell of sulfur and other minerals, he deduced that the
bath water was piped in from a hot spring somewhere nearby. The
room itself was faced with veined, polished marble and decorated
with inlays of lapis lazuli, jade, and other precious materials.
Even the benches that lined the walls were carved from marble.
The arrangement and decor were not unlike the old Roman baths.
It seemed self-indulgent almost to the point of decadence, but
if this was how the locals treated negotiators, or even their
assistants, well, who was he to complain?
A small sound off to one side made him open his eyes and turn
his head. A middle aged man, wearing nothing but a few pieces
of gold jewelry, waited just inside the bath chamber near a second
set of doors. "Hello?" Jackson said politely. "If
you're waiting to use the bath--"
The other man smiled gently and shook his head. "No, you
needn't concern yourself about that. I am here to welcome you
on Queen Ro'jel's behalf."
"Oh. That's nice. I'm Daniel Jackson, from Earth."
"Yes, I know. I was informed of your arrival. I am Charin
of Reue."
"Well, I'm glad to meet you, Charin of Reue." Jackson
got out of the bath and glanced around. "Ah, where are my
clothes?" The servant must have taken them, he realized.
"You won't need those ugly things here," Charin said
with distaste. Apparently, olive-drab wasn't an approved color.
"What do you mean by that? Is this some custom of yours?"
"Well, I guess you could say that. No one bothers with clothes
in the men's quarters. It's more than warm enough, and quite
private, I assure you." Charin picked up a fluffy white
towel from a bench and handed it to him. "Here, dry yourself
with this."
Jackson quickly dried himself off, then wrapped the towel around
his waist and tucked in one end to secure it. "I don't think
I'm quite ready to let it all hang out," he mumbled.
"As you will. I'm sure you'll grow accustomed in no time."
Before Jackson could question further, Charin gestured to the
door and added, "Please, come into the common room."
Having no better options, Jackson reluctantly followed Charin
through the doorway, then stopped dead just inside the enormous
chamber. Charin hadn't been kidding when he'd said this was a
clothing optional environment. The room was filled to the rafters
with naked men, or so it seemed to Jackson's startled eyes during
that first shocking impression.
After what felt like an interminable amount of time, but was really
only a second or two, he found his voice. "Okay, now I'm
seriously weirded out." He decided it was a stroke of good
fortune that his glasses had been removed with the rest of his
clothes. A slightly blurry perspective on things was definitely
for the best, at least for now.
In actuality, he realized when his brain started functioning again,
there were seventeen men, including himself, most of whom were
engaged in various innocuous activities. Off to one side, one
man was strumming a stringed instrument reminiscent of a lute
and producing a melody that sounded vaguely Middle Eastern. Another
sat on a bench, lovingly polishing a wooden longbow. A number
of newly fletched arrows rested beside him, collected together
in a fine leather quiver. Across the room a group was clustered
together, gossiping and laughing.
None of the men was entirely naked--they all wore at a bare minimum
a few pieces of jewelry, many wore much more, and two or three
of them were walking chandeliers--but whether they should be considered
completely nude or not was surely a matter of semantics. Jackson
decided to regard the situation as some kind of weird locker room,
and diverted his attention by examining the furnishings and decorations,
trying to place them in the context of an ancient Earth culture.
That proved an exercise in frustration, since the place reminded
him more of the set on a Conan movie than anything else, with
its eclectic mixture of styles and influences, from Hyperborean
to Roman, and more than a few that surely never originated on
Earth, even in the realms of fiction.
A young man broke away from the chattering group and hurried over,
asking eagerly, "Charin, is this the new one?" Without
pausing for the older man's reply, he went on in an excited rush,
"I am Yophres of Venjarra. I was told you come from another
world. You are the first to do so in thousands of years. You
must tell us of your homeworld. What was your life like there?"
Rendered momentarily speechless by the rapid spate of words, Jackson
could only stare at Yophres incredulously. He was possibly eighteen
or nineteen, with curly blond hair and leaf green eyes that were
in startling contrast to his warm, mocha skin. He was also one
of the walking chandeliers, and his every movement was accompanied
by the jingle of metal and gemstones.
"Yophres, this is not the proper way to greet a newcomer,"
Charin chided him. "You know better than that. Remember
how overwhelmed you felt when you first arrived."
"Forgive me, Charin," Yophres replied. He affected
a subdued mien that was belied by the brightness of his eyes.
"It is just so exciting to meet someone from so far away."
"You will have plenty of time to exchange stories later,"
Charin sighed, then with a rueful expression turned back to Jackson
and made more formal introductions. "Daniel, this unmannered
scapegrace is Yophres, the eldest son of Queen Ynolenn of Venjarra.
Yophres, Daniel of Earth."
"Um, hello," said Daniel of Earth.
"Yophres came to us as part of an important peace treaty
with his mother. A high value is placed upon him," Charin
said fondly.
"I have fathered five children, four of which were daughters,"
Yophres said proudly. "How many children have you fathered,
Daniel?"
Jackson blinked. "None. Well, none that I know of, anyway,"
he qualified.
"None?" Yophres was openly astonished. "You are
unproven?"
"Sorry?"
"It is quite odd," Charin mused, "although not
completely unheard of in exceptional situations. Perhaps this
is one of them. After all, you are not from our world."
As the conversation progressed, a few more of the men had gradually
gathered round to listen. The astounding revelation about the
newcomer provoked whispers and titters. Jackson glanced around
nervously, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into. "I'm
afraid I don't understand." That was an understatement.
"Why do you want to know if I've had children? I thought
I was brought here for treaty negotiations."
"Perhaps it is different on Earth," Charin said kindly
to Jackson, then took a moment to frown his displeasure at the
small crowd. Chastened, the rest of the men, including Yophres,
melted away and found other ways to occupy their time, if not
their attention. Swift glances towards Jackson and Charin were
frequently stolen, and voices were muted so that curious ears
could catch the occasional tidbit of conversation. Charin sighed
in exasperation at their behavior, but continued, "Here,
before a man is accepted as a royal consort, he will usually have
proven his fertility by siring at least one child. The more children
he fathers, especially daughters, the higher a household he can
be considered for. Of course, one's ultimate rank also depends
in part upon one's birth status, but--"
Stunned, Jackson could only gasp out, "Royal consort? Who
said anything about royal consorts? What's any of that got to
do with me?"
"Your people desire a trade and mining treaty with Naeryth,
do they not? This is how treaties and political alliances are
made and solidified. What other assurance does Queen Ro'jel have
that your people will hold firm to the agreements?"
"Oh, my God." Jackson started pacing back and forth
as the reality of his situation slammed into him. He wasn't here
to work out treaty details with the queen's advisors. Oh, no,
nothing as prosaic as that. Instead, he had landed in an honest-to-God
harem. A male harem, for Christ's sake--something that
was almost unheard of on Earth. With a sinking heart, he remembered
how Captain Aresh had mentioned that the queen had formed a number
of blood bonds with neighboring queendoms to secure the peace.
This was undoubtedly what she was talking about. "Oh, my
God," he repeated, scrubbing his hands through his hair.
"This is crazy. Look, Charin, I think there's been a mistake."
"Why are you so upset?" Charin asked, truly bewildered
at Jackson's reaction. "I assure you that life is very pleasant
here. I did not have such a comfortable life even in my own sister's
household, and she was quite fond of me. Ro'jel is a far more
indulgent mistress than most. No one will ever raise so much
as a finger against you. You may hunt, compete in sports competitions,
even engage in intellectual activities or the arts. Indeed, you
have but to ask for whatever you wish, and it will be granted."
Jackson stopped and stared hard at him. "Okay. I wish to
go back to Earth."
"I amend my statement. You may have almost anything you
want. None of us may venture from the men's quarters unescorted."
Charin smiled gently at Jackson's look of horror and shook his
head. "I cannot understand why you would want to leave.
Did your lady not inform you of your fate? I have heard stories
of such thoughtlessness, but never before encountered one who
was the victim of it. It is, of course, within her rights to
dispose of her property as she sees fit, and she owes you no explanations,
but it is considered courteous to at least--"
"Property?!? We're property?"
"Not in the manner of an inanimate object, such as a table
or a castle, but a kind of chattel nonetheless. We are under
the protection of our mistresses for our whole lives. If not
a mother or sister, then a lady wife. A man cannot afford to
be without a protector in this world. Is this not the same on
Earth?"
Right. Jackson knew he should have seen that one coming from
a mile off. Since when had the denizens of any harem in history
ever had full rights as human beings? It was just the inverted
gender issues here that were throwing him off. Jackson gave Charin
a distracted look and muttered, "No, not really. Where I
come from, the sexes are generally treated the same. Well, mostly."
"How unusual," came Charin's polite but disbelieving
reply. It was clear he regarded Jackson's protestations as mere
histrionics at the abrupt change in his life. "Do not worry
yourself over the differences between our worlds. At their core,
women and men are the same everywhere. Your reactions are unusual,
but not unheard of. Many are apprehensive when they first come
into Ro'jel's household. Concern is only natural. I assure you,
you will grow accustomed in no time at all."
Jackson realized that there would be no help from Charin, or any
of the other men, for that matter. As far as they were concerned,
this lifestyle was just the natural order of things, and they
were more than willing to avail themselves of all the perquisites
it provided. They probably couldn't even begin to understand
why he didn't feel the same way.
His brain was scurrying around frantically. Jesus, a male harem.
How could such an unnatural arrangement come about? Polyandry
was rare on Earth, but for some reason it seemed to be the norm
here. Jackson thought about that for a moment. Charin had been
going on about fertility and children--could that be it? Had
male infertility been a problem in the distant past. Was it still?
A quick question to Charin clarified that issue--fertility was
indeed an ongoing concern. Okay, that would account for why a
man needed to prove he could father children before a queen would
accept him. It also probably explained the social order here.
Fertile men--and by extension, all men, since the only method
of determining fertility on this world was so basic and unreliable
that viable candidates could easily be missed--would be too valuable
to risk in warfare or any other dangerous occupation. In a warrior
culture like this that would be a one way ticket to second class
citizenship, or even non-citizenship. Such disenfranchised people,
Jackson knew, tended to be vulnerable to all kinds of abuse.
Also, with no really accurate way to measure a man's fertility,
a noblewoman might keep many husbands simply to hedge her bets.
If any kind of primogeniture held on this planet, such a woman
would want to guarantee her line with a female heir. A queen
could afford to have only tried and true males in her harem, but
perhaps those lower on the social scale couldn't be quite so picky,
and having multiple consorts would raise the odds that at least
one of them could father children. Jackson idly wondered if the
queens of this world loaned their men out to their nobles for
stud duty. He had no doubt that that would be an immense aid
to the maintenance of royal power. It could also be real interesting,
his hindbrain whispered traitorously. He ruthlessly quashed that
idea.
During his abstraction, Charin had been watching his face like
a hawk, alert to each expression that flitted across it. When
Jackson grimaced and sighed, the older man mistakenly assumed
he was starting to come into acceptance, or at least resignation,
and said soothingly, "It will be all right, you'll see."
"Is there any way I can see my friends?" Jackson asked
carefully. "Can I at least send them a message?"
Charin smiled broadly, pleased to be able to impart some good
news that might calm his new brother somewhat. "You will
see them tonight. Queen Ro'jel is holding a great feast this
evening in honor of you and your friends. You are to sit at her
right hand as a sign of her favor."
"Oh." What else was there for Jackson to say? At least
he'd get to talk to O'Neill, Carter, Teal'c, and Makepeace, and
they'd find some way to get him out of this mess. As far as he
was concerned, the Marines could storm the place and break him
out of the harem by force. He'd go with them willingly enough.
To hell with the mining treaty.
Jackson's expression lightened with that thought. Seeing that,
Charin patted his shoulder cheerfully. "You should start
preparing for the feast. Everything must be perfect so that you
do both your former lady and the queen honor. Come and see what
has been chosen for you to wear." He turned and walked into
a wall chamber that, like everything else in the harem, was sumptuously
furnished. Two attendants waited before the large bed with folded
hands. Across the bed lay the garments and jewelry that "Daniel
of Earth" would soon be dressed in.
Jackson stared at the narrow strips of embroidered and bejeweled
fabric, appalled. It was better than the nudity favored within
the men's quarters, but not by much. "Are you serious?
I'm supposed to wear that? In public?"
"It is of the latest fashion. Queen Ro'jel has spared no
expense. No one will be able to take their eyes from you."
"Oh, that's for sure."
"You do not approve?"
"It's...different." When Charin looked confused and
a little insulted, Jackson elaborated, "Where I come from,
it's customary for men to dress more...conservatively...for important
occasions."
"Then you are fortunate to be here," Charin told him
reprovingly. "Those clothes you were wearing looked quite
uncomfortable, and were most inappropriate to our climate. You
should be grateful the queen is taking such great interest in
your welfare."
"But...." Jackson stopped himself. It was no use trying
to talk sense to this complacent idiot, he realized with frustration.
His only hope for escape lay outside the harem walls. "Jack,
you have got to get me out of here," he muttered almost inaudibly
as, skimpy clothing in hand, the attendants moved towards him.
Still clad in their BDUs, SG-1 and SG-3 were escorted through
the castle by the chamberlain and a few attendants to the great
hall. O'Neill knew that Daniel would probably disapprove, what
with his "when in Rome" attitude and all, but sometimes
a man just had to put his foot down.
After viewing Tyrech's offerings, he had politely declined the
offer of "more suitable attire." Every last one of
his teammates had done the same, even Carter, although the ensemble
offered to her had at least been dignified: a knee length tunic
with split sleeves that was belted at the waist and embellished
with gold embroidery, loose silk trousers, and low heeled sandals.
The costumes deemed appropriate for the men were a whole different
story. Skin was definitely the order of the day for those unfortunate
enough to be of the male gender.
Teal'c got off the easiest. He had been presented with a sleeveless,
belted tunic that hung to mid-thigh, similar to that which Tyrech's
assistants wore but made of richer material, sandals that laced
up the calf, and bracelets and armlets of gold.
To their consternation, Johnson, Andrews, and Henderson were given
a one shouldered tunic, a wraparound kilt, and a simple skirt,
respectively, plus sandals and accompanying jewelry. When Johnson
complained about the brevity of his tunic, Tyrech mouthed some
inane platitude about the dictates of fashion.
SG-3's fearless leader was the clothier's next victim, and had
been offered nothing more than a sapphire blue loincloth, sandals,
and some gold and sapphire jewelry to accessorize.
Makepeace had been speechless.
O'Neill didn't get the opportunity to enjoy the Marine's discomfiture,
since he had found himself the recipient of a brightly colored
skirt, as short as everything else he'd seen and slit on one side
clear up to the waistband, a pair of the unavoidable sandals,
and a broad copper collar with matching armlets.
That "when in Rome" stuff could only be taken so far.
The men were unanimous in their decision to keep their own clothes.
They were also fairly vocal in their rejection of the suggestion
that they at least wear some jewelry and perfume. Tyrech clucked
disapprovingly and commented in a chiding tone that they were
such nice looking men, and it was such a shame they didn't make
the effort to present themselves more attractively. At that point,
O'Neill noticed that Carter had turned away, no doubt stifling
laughter, and in deference to her male colleagues she had also
declined a change of attire.
O'Neill found the memory of that bizarre fashion show to be a
little creepy, and the sight of all the local men unselfconsciously
parading around in just those kinds of skimpy outfits did nothing
to soothe his irritation at this reprehensibly backwards culture.
The only individuals in their group who got treated with any
respect at all were Carter and, for reasons that eluded O'Neill,
Teal'c. Must be his manner or something. The rest of them were
regarded by the women in a tolerant light and received both the
same formal courtesy and mild condescension as the native men.
O'Neill hoped Jackson was having better luck with the queen and
her advisors.
"Guess next time we come to this planet, we should send an
all female team," he found himself muttering to no one in
particular.
"I think that would be a prudent idea, sir," Carter
replied. Although her eyes danced, she managed to keep all traces
of smugness from her voice.
O'Neill clenched his jaw. She must regard this whole trip as
payback for that Shavadai incident last year. She'd probably
been wanting to say something like that ever since he'd thrown
similar words at her.
He'd never admit it, but he was starting to understand how she
must have felt in that particular situation. Men obviously were
number two in the social order here, and behaved as though it
was the most natural thing in the world. Well, that might be
fine and dandy for the locals, but O'Neill was getting twitchy.
At least the queen seemed to have some forbearance for the idiosyncrasies
of foreign cultures; after all, she hadn't made a change of clothes
a mandatory condition of attending dinner. Which was just as
well.
The party arrived at the entrance to the great hall. A goodly
number of guards stood by, alertly watching the passersby and
supervising the crowd in general. Richly dressed noblewomen,
in costumes similar to that Carter had declined, and their "suitably
attired" consorts filed through the large doorway. O'Neill
noticed that some of the women had more than one man in their
train, and wondered if perhaps the extras were servants of some
kind.
"You may not take those weapons into the queen's presence."
O'Neill looked sharply at the owner of that gruff voice. A pair
of humorless brown eyes stared back at him from beneath a steel
helm. The woman had to be six foot five, with muscles to spare.
Nonetheless, he cracked, "But they've got sentimental value.
They belong to my favorite uncle."
The guard looked bored. "They will be safe right here.
I promise not to let them out of my sight." She had obviously
been briefed about the queen's eccentric guests.
O'Neill scratched his head and glanced back at his resigned looking
colleagues. "I'm getting awfully tired of checking my stuff
at the door," he grumbled.
"Me, too," Makepeace muttered. "Maybe we should
try to work the system for a change." He then moved closer
to the guard, directed a wide, blue-eyed gaze at her, and smiled
fetchingly. To O'Neill's utter amazement, the guard smiled back
and relaxed a hair. The two began a low, murmured conversation.
O'Neill was flabbergasted. If he hadn't seen it for himself,
he'd never have believed it. Who'd ever have guessed the hard-assed
Marine was such an accomplished flirt? He had that "I'm
not dangerous, I'm just a clueless innocent" act down almost
as good as Jackson. It must be the blue eyes, O'Neill decided.
That was the only thing he could think of that Jackson and Makepeace
had in common.
As he waited impatiently, his eyes flickered over the rest of
SG-3. Those stalwart individuals were all keeping determinedly
straight faces, but an air of entertainment surrounded them.
It was obvious they'd seen this particular floor show before.
O'Neill wondered just exactly what details might be missing from
SG-3's official mission reports, and swore to himself that he'd
sit in on their next post-mission debriefing.
In the end, all of Colonel Makepeace's considerable, if heretofore
unrecognized, skills at wheedling were for naught, and he'd been
unable to cozen the amused guard into allowing him and his companions
to retain their weapons. In fact, O'Neill reflected sourly as
he watched his teammates once again disarm themselves, the only
thing he'd most likely accomplished was to reinforce the local
stereotypes about men in general.
Once they met with the guard's approval, the two teams were led
into the hall and seated upon floor pillows at a low, round table
near the front of the room. The hall was full of such tables,
which were occupied with the colorfully dressed gentlefolk and
arranged with studied asymmetry, but in such a way as to leave
open paths for the servants that already moved purposefully about.
A short, rectangular table and two well-padded chairs were set
upon the dais. All in all, both the organized pandemonium and
the pageantry were quite impressive.
A slightly discordant blare of trumpets interrupted conversation,
and all eyes turned to the rear of the hall. In the sudden silence,
Queen Ro'jel stepped through the arching doorway. She was magnificently
dressed in hues of brilliant crimson set off with heavy jewelry.
A golden fillet, glittering with precious gems, bound her forehead.
After a brief pause, she held out an imperious hand. Daniel
Jackson emerged from the doorway and, with only a slight hesitation,
formally placed his hand on her wrist.
Seemingly, he took his official duties as an Earth ambassador
more seriously than the rest of his teammates, for he was garbed
in the style of the local noblemen, that is to say, in very little
at all. Gone was any remnant of Earth clothing, even his glasses.
His present outfit consisted of a deep green loincloth, embroidered
with gold and gems, a broad gold and emerald collar, and assorted
armlets, bracelets, and anklets. The ensemble made it quite apparent
that he spent no little time at the gym--something that no one
had realized until this moment--and somehow, doubtless through
great effort, he managed to look dignified instead of embarrassed.
"Oh, my." Carter's jaw dropped at the sight, and she
leaned forward to get a better look.
"Close your mouth, Carter," an amused O'Neill told her,
"or you'll catch flies."
The queen led Jackson through the hall, nodding graciously to
all as she went. As they passed the Earth table, Jackson locked
his gaze with O'Neill's and made a peculiar, half-frantic face.
Before O'Neill could figure out what that was all about, Jackson
and the queen had moved on. The couple ascended the dais and
took their places at the high table.
Queen Ro'jel rose and spoke in ringing tones, "My loyal subjects,
this evening marks a most auspicious occasion. For the first
time since our holy progenitors settled this world, we have visitors
who have come journeying through the Gate of Dagoth: a noble
delegation from Earth with whom we have made a mutually advantageous
trade agreement. Their world holds many wonders which will benefit
us greatly. In acknowledgment of my willingness to cement this
alliance for as long as I hold the throne, I make known to you
the newest addition to my household, Doctor Daniel Jackson, whom
their leader, Captain Carter, has presented to me as surety of
her sincere and peaceful intentions. Arise, good friends from
Earth, that my royal court may do you honor."
"Ah," said O'Neill, enlightened at last about what Jackson
had been trying to communicate during his procession to the dais.
A little wild-eyed at the implications of the queen's announcement,
the entire Earth group quickly stood and sat back down again,
to thunderous applause and cheers of approval from the assembled
nobles. Ro'jel smiled and gestured to the waiting servants, then
seated herself--a sign that the feast should begin. The servants
moved among the many tables, serving the court with a vast array
of tempting dishes.
Makepeace shoved aside a vase of bright blue flowers and leaned
across the table. "Okay, so what do we do about this little
problem?"
"I'm working on it," O'Neill replied. In truth, he
really had no idea what to do.
"It would be best to explain the misunderstanding to the
queen privately," Teal'c told him. "She would not be
pleased to have her mistake broadcast to her entire court."
"So you're saying that, for now, we should just pretend to
enjoy the feast and catch her during a quiet moment, and hope
like hell she's mellowed out a little?"
"That is correct."
O'Neill and Makepeace exchanged a glance. The Marine shrugged
and said, "Sounds like a reasonable plan to me."
"We're just going to leave Daniel up there?" Carter
asked.
"Why not?" O'Neill replied. "He's in plain sight.
We'll keep an eye on him until we can have a chat with Her Highness.
After she spends enough time with him, she'll probably be begging
us to take him back."
"Sir," Carter said reprovingly.
"Relax, Captain Carter, we'll get him back. One way or another,"
Makepeace promised her. Carter did not look particularly appeased.
A servant came over to the table, bearing a large metal pitcher.
He started pouring an opalescent drink into the waiting goblets.
"Hey, hey," Johnson said. "What's that?"
The servant bobbed his head respectfully and replied, "It
is nelamm, my lord, from the queen's own private stores.
A wonderful beverage, served only on important feast days."
Johnson sniffed his cup. "Smells sweet," he observed.
"I believe you and your companions will enjoy it."
With that comment, the servant moved on to the next table.
Henderson took a small sip and rolled the liquid around on his
tongue experimentally. "I don't taste no booze, but it's
nice," he said.
"Yeah, it's pretty good," O'Neill agreed after he tried
his own drink. "I wonder what's in it?"
The group concerned itself with keeping half an eye on Jackson
while eating dinner. The food was delicious and abundant. The
servants kept everyone's plates and cups full, and time passed
swiftly. As O'Neill took a long swig of the queen's nelamm
to wash down a tasty morsel of spiced meat, a familiar voice hissed
into his ear, "Jack, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
He swung around, startled, and found himself confronted with a
nearly naked and highly irritated archeologist. "Daniel!
Queenie let you off the leash?"
Jackson's lips twisted. "I told her I needed to talk to
you. She didn't seem to have a problem with it."
"Guess she must like you, then."
"You don't know the half of it! You heard that speech of
hers. Did you even understand what she meant?"
"She thinks Carter gave you to her as part of the treaty
negotiations."
"Oh, good. You were paying attention for a change,"
Jackson said sarcastically. "Jack, in this culture, men
are little more than chattel. She thinks I'm her property,
now! She's keeping me in a harem, for Christ's sake!"
"A what?" Makepeace stared at him askance.
"A goddamn harem, full of the biggest collection of twittering
nitwits it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. How grown
men can act that way is beyond me--"
"We're going to talk to Queen Ro'jel as soon as we can, Daniel,"
Carter said, biting her lips.
"What do you think I've been doing all night?" Jackson
snapped at her, displeased with her apparent amusement at his
predicament. "She just pats my hand in this really annoying
way and tells me that everyone's nervous at first, and I'll get
over it. God!"
"Well, it'll probably sound more credible coming from us,"
O'Neill said, "rather than her 'gift.' When you do it, it
probably just sounds like wedding night jitters." This tactless
statement provoked some poorly repressed chortles from the rest
of the group.
"Oh, that's right, yuck it up. I'm the one who's stuck--"
"Daniel, relax. We'll talk to her when things quiet down
a little. Teal'c thinks the situation might get even worse if
we just publicly announce that she jumped the gun. God knows
what these people will do if they think we're insulting their
queen, and we're all unarmed, you know. The swords and spears
those guards are carrying look awfully sharp."
"Yeah, I guess," Jackson muttered, conceding the point.
He glanced over his shoulder at the dais. "I suppose I'd
better get back before Queen Ro'jel starts to wonder what we're
up to."
"Don't worry, we'll take care of it. This party's bound
to start breaking up pretty soon."
With visible resignation, Jackson made his way back to his place
by the queen's side. He plopped down in his chair and, in lieu
of sulking, which might offend Ro'jel and get them all into trouble,
he drained his goblet, held it out for a refill, and proceeded
to make great inroads into his dinner.
Another hour passed and, contrary to O'Neill's expectations, the
party-goers showed no inclination to break up and go home. They
did, however, show distinct signs of turning both rowdy and randy.
Occasionally, a noblewoman or two would stop by the table to
meet the queen's new acquaintances. After paying appropriate
respects to Carter and Teal'c, they invariably found an excuse
to socialize with rest of the men in the Earth delegation. Teal'c
noticed that none of his teammates objected to the attention.
In fact, they were remarkably relaxed about their present circumstances,
and seemed intent on behaving as boisterously as the revelers
all around them.
"Shame on you, Carter," O'Neill laughed, teasing her
mercilessly. "You shouldn't keep peeking at poor Daniel
like that. He's already embarrassed enough, without you drooling
all over the floor."
"It's nothing so prurient! I just happen to have a firm
appreciation for the human form, that's all," Carter proclaimed,
indignant that she had been caught.
"A very firm appreciation, obviously," Makepeace snickered.
"Carter, you have no subtlety at all."
As Teal'c listened to the silly banter, an odd wave of lightheadedness
pass over him, and a contented, buzzing sensation emanated from
his womb. He rested a hand lightly on his stomach. If he didn't
know better, he'd swear that his symbiote was snoring. Absurd.
Additionally, all of his Tau'ri companions were showing unmistakable
signs of inebriation. That was most peculiar. There was no trace
of alcoholic content in either the food or the nelamm--of
that Teal'c was certain. He flinched as the entire group burst
into unrestrained laughter at something rude that Sergeant Andrews
had said. Teal'c eyed them dubiously and considered how fortunate
it was that his own faculties were unimpaired. It seemed his
friends would need a keeper for the rest of the evening.
His symbiote thrummed again, drawing his attention away from the
foibles of his teammates. Could the nelamm be provoking
that reaction from the young Goa'uld? Teal'c acknowledged that
he had consumed a fair amount of that beverage. Perhaps an experiment
was in order. He lifted his goblet and took a deep swig. The
Goa'uld within him buzzed euphorically. Teal'c raised a brow
at the interesting reaction. This was possibly the first drink
he had ever encountered that his symbiote enjoyed. He idly wondered
if the queen would permit him to take some of it home with him.
More laughter made him turn his head sharply. Carter was standing,
arms akimbo and glaring down her nose at her male compatriots.
"I'm going to find the ladies room," she announced
haughtily, and stalked off. Snorts and snickers followed in her
wake. Teal'c assumed that her teammates had continued to give
her a hard time, and didn't blame her in the least for the strategic
withdrawal.
When she was out of sight, several gaily dressed women descended
on the Earth men with a predatory light in their eyes. They reminded
Teal'c strongly of Terran vultures--or perhaps poachers might
be a better analogy.
Like the rest of the team, Teal'c was now aware that the queen
of this world kept a harem of male consorts. It was likely that
the people here assumed the same of Earth's leaders, of which
Carter was representative. Did the locals believe O'Neill and
SG-3 to be Captain Carter's harem? It was an entertaining thought.
Teal'c surveyed his companions and realized that none of them
were discouraging the advances of the women as they ought to.
In fact, they weren't protesting the slightest bit. That could
be a problem. They had already lost one member of their party
to the odd local customs. It wouldn't do to lose any more, and
if things proceeded any further, they might be in danger of losing
all the men. Recovering Daniel Jackson was going to be problematical
at best; recovery of three-quarters of their personnel might prove
to be nigh impossible.
Teal'c knew that he was the only man present whom the women of
this world treated with any respect. He didn't really understand
why. He wondered if his gold tattoo singled him out somehow.
It was possible they thought it marked him with special significance,
perhaps as the protector of Carter's harem, or even her senior
husband--and as such the individual responsible for the behavior
of the others. If either of those options was truly the case,
then he was being most remiss in his duties. His lips quirked
and he decided to try an experiment.
Slowly, he stood up, crossed his arms, and glowered at interlopers
while saying in his most authoritative tone of voice, "That
is enough." In response, the men all looked up at him, startled.
The women merely looked amused. They acknowledged his authority
with small, rueful shrugs and sauntered away. Teal'c watched
them, intrigued. It seemed his suppositions were correct.
"Aw, Teal'c, wha'ja go an' do that for?" Johnson asked
with a hangdog face.
"It was for your own good. Those women intended to seduce
as many of you as they could away from our group," Teal'c
said disapprovingly.
"Yeah, we know," Henderson said. "That was the
whole idea."
"It would be inadvisable for us to separate. Were you not
inebriated, you would recognize this fact for yourself."
"Spoilsport," Andrews grumbled.
Teal'c didn't bother to dignify that with a reply; instead, his
attention was caught by a small disturbance in the center of the
room. Captain Carter was on her way back to their table. As
she crossed the floor, she was waylaid by a Naerythian noblewoman
with two scantily dressed men in tow. A brief but spirited discussion
followed, with the noblewoman gesturing at the Earth table. Carter
looked surprised and not a little thoughtful, then shook her head.
The noblewoman gestured some more, arguing all the while, with
Carter repeatedly shaking her head throughout the entire discussion.
Finally, the noblewoman gave up and went her own way. Carter
returned to the table, staggering slightly, and flopped down on
the pillows next to O'Neill.
"And what was that all about?" O'Neill asked her.
Carter looked remarkably uncomfortable. "Oh, um, one of
the local customs around here is husband swapping, I guess,"
she managed to choke out without stammering too much. "She
wanted to trade for one of you. Um, she had a favorite all picked
out, and was willing to let me have whichever of her, ah, her
consorts most appealed to me. Sir, I assure you I didn't give
it any consideration at all," she added hastily.
"Of course not."
"Just out of curiosity, who'd she want, Cap'n?" Henderson
asked, a little loudly to be heard over the snickers of his teammates.
Carter suddenly found her manicure to be a source of immense fascination.
"Lieutenant Johnson. She was impressed by his size. I
think."
The other members of SG-3 erupted into whoops, hoots, and catcalls.
Johnson looked like he couldn't decide whether he should be flattered
or embarrassed. Teal'c nodded to himself, pleased to have his
suspicions about how the locals viewed their team confirmed.
It now seemed clear that they regarded O'Neill, Makepeace, Johnson,
Andrews, Henderson, and quite likely himself as the personal property
of Captain Carter. He sought to repress a guffaw at the thought,
and hiccuped instead.
Makepeace expelled a deep, nelamm laced breath and made
a sweeping gesture with one arm. "This place just keeps
gettin' weirder an' weirder. I say we just go collect Jackson
and get our butts off this rock."
"Ya know, that idea has a lot of appeal," O'Neill replied,
grinning wolfishly. "Not very diplomatic, but--"
"O'Neill, may I remind you we are here to obtain trinium?"
Teal'c interrupted. "We agreed that we would discuss matters
with the queen privately."
"Sorry, Teal'c, but I think we've stalled long enough,"
O'Neill replied repressively. "Doesn't look like this party's
gonna settle down any time soon. We'll just have to go an' convince
Her Royal Holiness to see things our way."
Carter had been swirling her goblet, watching the vortex of glimmering
liquid within. At O'Neill's alarming words her gaze jerked up,
and she protested, "Sirs, I don't know that that's such a
good idea right now. I think our judgment is off," she added,
looking across the table at O'Neill and Makepeace with unfocused
eyes. "Way, way off. Has it occurred to you that we might
all be in--intoxicated?"
"Don't taste like booze," O'Neill said, frowning down
at his own goblet.
Makepeace commented, "You never know. Might be the local
equivalent of vodka or everclear. They're kind of tasteless if
you mix 'em with something sweet."
"Ah, the voice of experience."
Carter shook her head, then grimaced and scrunched her eyes closed,
raising a hand to her forehead. After a moment, she recovered
some of her equilibrium and said woozily, "No, sirs, I don't
think it's got the right effects for alcohol. It might be a mild
narcotic of some kind, though. Or maybe something else, I don't
know, but we really need to stop drinking this stuff...."
Her words trailed off as, eyes still closed, she lay back against
the pillows.
"Carter, you okay?" O'Neill asked, a little concerned.
"Carter? Don't tell me you've passed out already."
The only reply to that was a delicate snore. O'Neill stared
down at her. Carter's lips were slightly parted, allowing a tiny
dribble of clear fluid to escape her mouth and roll down the side
of her cheek. She snuffled gently, oblivious to everything.
O'Neill chewed his lip, mulling over everything Carter had said,
and slowly his disjointed mental processes coalesced into something
vaguely resembling a thought. "I've got an idea," he
announced in portentous tones.
"Does it hurt?" Makepeace asked snidely.
O'Neill considered that comment beneath his notice. "The
way I understand it, we've got us a big problem, diplomatically
speaking and all. We all know Teal'c's right. If we go around
shootin' and blowin' up stuff to snatch Danny back, we probably
won't be getting any trinium from these folks."
"No shit, Sherlock."
"Well, I think I've got a solution to our little dilemma."
O'Neill paused a moment to refocus his eyes, which, when they
weren't trying to close, had an annoying tendency to cross. The
last thing he wanted was to see double, especially when the center
of his attention was Makepeace's ugly mug. "Carter gave
me the idea. Um, it'll need your buy in, but it'll keep us on
Queenie's good side."
"Do tell."
"Daniel's a civilian, right? And we're all military, right?"
"Yeah, so?" Makepeace was having difficulty following
O'Neill's logic, such as it was.
"Us military types are supposed to protect civilians."
"That's the usual theory," Makepeace agreed, nodding
his head.
"Well, you know how that crazy woman wanted to swap one of
her guys for Johnson? Maybe the queen bee would take one of us
in exchange for Daniel. That way Queenie still gets her tribute
or whatever the hell she calls it, and we get Daniel and the trinium."
"You think we oughtta try to trade?" Makepeace pursed
his lips and took another swallow of nelamm as he considered
the idea. He nodded slowly. "Might work. We sure as hell
can't leave a dumb civvie holding the bag, after all."
"Right." O'Neill smiled broadly, satisfied that his
Marine counterpart was finally on the right wavelength.
"Anyone got any objections?" Makepeace asked his men.
They merely shrugged.
"Okay, we'll, uh, we'll do it, then," O'Neill said,
pleased. He drained his goblet and burped loudly.
Teal'c looked at him with concern. "O'Neill? Are you unwell?"
"I'm fine, Teal'c. Just...fine." With that, O'Neill
lay down on the pillows next to Carter and closed his eyes.
"O'Neill?" Alarmed, Teal'c reached down and shook him,
but there was no response.
"Relax, Teal'c," Henderson said with a distinct hiccup.
"He's just passed out. Like Cap'n Carter."
"Figures he'd pass out on us. Goddamn wingnuts can't hold
their liquor worth shit," Makepeace slurred, directing a
derisive sneer at O'Neill's recumbent form. "We still gotta
rescue Jackson, so I guess it's up to us, guys."
"Like usual," Johnson sniggered. "So how do we
decide who's gotta go?"
"Draw straws?" Andrews suggested.
"What'll we use for straws?"
Henderson slanted his head and eyed the flower arrangement at
the center of the table. "Maybe this'll do," he said
as he pulled five long stemmed blossoms from the vase.
"What are you doing, Henderson?" Andrews asked.
"Making straws," Henderson replied. He snapped the
flower heads off, then methodically stripped each stem of its
leaves. The result was five "straws" of roughly equal
length.
"But they're all long," Andrews complained. "That
won't work."
"Keep yer shorts on, loser, I'm workin' on it." Henderson
picked a stem, broke it in two, and let one piece drop onto the
floor. He arranged the other among the four long stems in his
hand, so that the ends protruding from his fist were all even.
"Okay, draw," he said, shoving his fistful of stems
right under Teal'c's nose.
Startled, Teal'c flinched back a little, removing his face from
such close proximity to Henderson's fist, then cautiously selected
one of the stems and examined it. "I believe this is a long
one," he stated the obvious, smiling broadly at his good
fortune.
"Yeah, you got lucky," Johnson drawled. He pulled a
stem from Henderson's handful and crowed with glee, "Mine's
long, too."
Makepeace drew next. Four pairs of eyes stared at him as he held
up his stem.
"It's the short one, isn't it?" Makepeace asked, holding
the straggly piece of stem less than one inch away from his face.
His eyes crossed as he attempted to identify it.
Four heads bobbed up and down in confirmation of that sorry fact.
"Yup, sure is, sir," Andrews elaborated.
Makepeace made a wry face, then shrugged and tossed the stem over
his shoulder. "Well, guess that's it, then," he said
as he struggled to get to his feet. About half way up he lost
his balance and sat back down abruptly, looking a little confused.
"Shouldn't I be standing?" he asked plaintively.
Johnson and Henderson started laughing. They leaned against one
another for support, snorting like mad cows, then toppled over,
sprawled on the pillows beside O'Neill and Carter, and giggled
hysterically. Andrews blinked owlishly at them and looked blank.
Teal'c raised both brows, bemused by their antics.
Makepeace scowled at his men and tried to get up again. When
the second attempt proved no more successful than the first, he
turned a drunken, morose gaze onto Teal'c and said, "I think
the floor must be broke or something."
Teal'c sighed deeply, then grabbed Makepeace under the armpits
and hauled him to his feet.
Makepeace treated him to a decidedly lopsided grin and said, "Okay,
that's more like it. Now let's go see Her Royalness."
"I believe that, were he conscious, O'Neill would say, 'We're
off to see the wizard,'" Teal'c told him, straight-faced,
as he steadied the swaying Marine with one hand under his arm.
Makepeace looked bewildered. "What wizard? I thought the
problem here was a queen?"
"An eeevil queen," Andrews intoned.
"Yeah, like in Snow White!" Johnson called, lifting
his head from the pillows.
"That's the one where she had to be kissed, right?"
Henderson asked.
"The queen?"
"No, dummy, Snow White," Andrews said with a superior
air. "The only way to rescue people in those stories is
to kiss 'em. I think it's a rule or something."
"I might kiss Snow White, but I sure as hell ain't kissin'
Jackson," Makepeace proclaimed indignantly.
"You will not be required to kiss Daniel Jackson," Teal'c
told him with long-suffering patience.
"Really?" When Teal'c nodded, Makepeace said, "Okay,
then what're we waitin' for?"
Teal'c was wondering that himself. However, all he did was incline
his head in agreement and steer the unsteady Marine towards the
queen's table. Whoops, hoots, and cheers of "Go get 'er,
sir!" which dissolved into incoherent laughter, followed
after them.
Queen Ro'jel was slouched against her cushioned chair, a dispirited
expression on her face. Jackson was sitting next to her, talking
a mile a minute. From what Teal'c could hear, Jackson was speculating
about the possible origins of this world's culture--a theory in
which male infertility featured prominently--as well as analyzing
every last piece of minutiae in the decor that surrounded him.
Even though stoned on the queen's nelamm, or perhaps because
of it, he managed to pontificate in a manner that was both irritating
and soporific. No wonder the queen looked bored.
As he moved closer, Teal'c saw that Ro'jel's eyes were glazed
over. She sighed deeply, leaned forward against the table, and
rested her chin on both fists. He smiled to himself. It appeared
that an exchange might not be too difficult to achieve.
The queen perked up when she noticed Teal'c and Makepeace approaching
and her expression became expectant. She straightened, her mien
shifting with the effortlessness of long practice from ennui to
regal, and made a sharp gesture to stop Jackson's lecture. The
archeologist looked put upon, but paused in his monologue and
also eyed his two erstwhile companions.
"My lady," Teal'c said, inclining his head to the queen
as a token of respect.
Queen Ro'jel regarded the hand Teal'c had on Makepeace's arm with
wary interest. "Another gift?" she asked neutrally.
"I assure you, one is more than enough for the sake of diplomacy."
Teal'c's brows shot up. It sounded to him as though the queen
was tolerating Daniel Jackson for political reasons. Certainly,
neither her tone of voice nor her previous body language had conveyed
any enthusiasm about her newest acquisition, nor any great attachment
to him. In fact, if Teal'c read her right, she would be well
pleased to be rid of the man. Teal'c hadn't anticipated such
good fortune, but intended to make the most of it. "Queen
Ro'jel," he said, "this night my noble lady, Captain
Carter, and I have observed a certain...dissatisfaction with Daniel
Jackson on your part."
Mild alarm flashed across Ro'jel's face, quickly masked, and she
demurred, "I am most pleased with him, I assure you."
Teal'c permitted himself a moment of satisfaction. He was certain
now that the queen was merely being diplomatic--it wouldn't do
to reject an offering from potential allies. When it came to
gifts, as O'Neill might say, it was the thought that counted.
Besides, in a martial culture like this one, such a rejection
might possibly be grounds for a declaration of war, if the rejected
party took offense. Teal'c allowed a tiny trace of a smile to
grace his lips. "You have no cause for concern, Queen Ro'jel.
Indeed, the concern is ours. We feared that we had offended
you, and we wish to rectify a most unfortunate misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding?"
"Yes, my queen. Daniel Jackson was never intended to be
our gift to you."
"No?"
"He is quite unsuitable for such a purpose."
"Oh?" The queen's tone invited further explanation.
Teal'c cast his eyes downwards. "My lady, Daniel Jackson
is useful only as a scholar, and a peacemaker. He has certain...physical
detractions which make him...less than desirable as...."
He cleared his throat, then finished uncomfortably, "As
a bedmate."
"Ah," Ro'jel said, not the least bit embarrassed by
the topic of conversation. "And why is that? Certainly,
he is attractive enough." She reached out and stroked Jackson's
hair. Jackson gave her a goofy grin, too plastered to object
to the condescension.
The queen seemed determined to make this difficult. Surely, she
didn't want to keep the archeologist? Teal'c raised his gaze
and realized that Ro'jel's eyes were gleaming with suppressed
laughter. This was perhaps the most entertainment she'd had all
night; Teal'c was also sure there was a tiny element of revenge
involved. Jackson must have tried her patience excessively.
Teal'c mentally reviewed the theory Daniel Jackson had been expounding
on to the queen and formulated what the Tau'ri referred to as
"a trump card." He played it, certain that it would
do the trick: "Daniel Jackson is unsuitable as a bedmate
because he is impotent, my lady."
"I see." Looking thoughtful, Ro'jel took a sip from
her goblet. "That explains much. I was told he confessed
that he had never sired any children, and I wondered why he was
deemed a suitable token. But tell me, Lord Teal'c, why not mention
this earlier?"
Teal'c chose not to correct her misassumption about his status.
To be considered one of the nobility could only make dealing
with her easier. "My lady, you selected him yourself. In
our culture, it would have been a terrible impropriety to correct
you. We did not realize that you might wish us to do so."
Queen Ro'jel had not bestowed that honorific by accident. Captain
Carter was the leader of the Earth delegation, and naturally should
be accorded all the honors and entitlements due her by virtue
of her high position, but the woman was obviously not an experienced
negotiator and her use of language was appalling, to say the least.
Although he was only a man, Teal'c was someone the queen could
communicate with in a manner with which she felt comfortable,
and by dignifying him with a courtesy title she hoped to subtly
encourage him to continue to act as Captain Carter's intermediary.
"But he was put forward by your lady, Captain Carter, he...."
The queen tilted her head, understanding lighting her expression.
"You said he was a peacemaker. He was merely intended to
help with the formal negotiations, was he not? A diplomat, of
sorts." That made sense to Ro'jel. Daniel Jackson talked
at least as much as any diplomat she had ever met, and he had
actually been quite well spoken earlier in the evening, if a bit
strident and inclined to foolish subjects and unnatural ideas,
before he became too intoxicated to be coherent. She found it
strange that Earth utilized males in such positions, but one
had to make allowances for the odd humors of foreigners, after
all. It was well that Captain Carter had two such negotiators
in her party, else this abhorrent misunderstanding might never
have been put aright--and Ro'jel would have found herself the
less than proud possessor of inferior goods.
"Yes, Queen Ro'jel," Teal'c said, relieved that she
had so obligingly filled in the cracks herself. "His purpose
was to assist during the negotiations. Please, do not be angry."
"No, I am not angry," she told him. "You were
correct; it was a misunderstanding, on both our parts."
She smiled then, a sunny expression that conveyed her amusement
with the situation, and prodded, "You spoke of rectifying
the mistake?" Her gaze shifted from Teal'c to Makepeace,
and back again.
Teal'c felt like crowing aloud. Success! The trade was as good
as made. He glanced over to Makepeace. The Marine had been so
quiet throughout the exchange that Teal'c wondered if he had fallen
asleep standing up. He was gratified to see that Makepeace's
eyes were open, if somewhat unfocused. He addressed the queen,
"Queen Ro'jel, this man, Colonel Robert Makepeace, was the
gift we intended for you, as an expression of our regard and as
surety for the treaty. It would honor us if you would accept
him in exchange for Daniel Jackson."
Teal'c tugged Makepeace's arm. The Marine shuffled forward a
few steps and nearly toppled over in the process. Teal'c steadied
him and turned an apologetic look on his hostess.
"A bit too much nelamm?" Ro'jel laughed. "It
affects many that way at first. Eventually, one becomes accustomed
to it."
"I am relieved by your understanding, Queen Ro'jel."
"There is nothing to understand. Tell me of this man. You
say he is suitable?"
"Most suitable, my lady. He is of high rank, and has fathered
many strong daughters," Teal'c told her, keeping a straight
face in spite of the way Ro'jel's eyes lit at his statement.
Never let it be said that he didn't understand the less technological
cultures of the universe. It was only the Tau'ri madmen and their
ilk that bemused him. "He understands his duties, and is
well trained in all manner of pursuits. I hope he finds favor
in your eyes. We greatly desire an alliance with you, and hope
to make amends for our inadvertent insult." He nodded to
Jackson, who was gaping at the conversation.
Ro'jel was more than pleased with the way events were falling
out. However, she smiled calmly and said, "Then permit me
to examine this man, Lord Teal'c, and I shall determine if the
exchange is acceptable."
"As you will."
At an imperious gesture from the queen, two guards appeared and
took hold of Makepeace. They immediately started divesting him
of his clothing. Still drunk, Makepeace only giggled inanely
and didn't offer so much as a single word of protest to the activity.
Teal'c watched impassively, Queen Ro'jel with high interest.
After Makepeace had been stripped naked and turned several times
so the queen could make a very thoughtful and very complete inspection,
she tapped her index finger against her chin and said to Teal'c,
"Many daughters, you say?"
"Many," Teal'c confirmed.
"Very well, I accept the exchange." She clapped her
hands sharply. As the guards snapped to attention, she ordered,
"Take this one to the men's quarters and instruct the attendants
to have him bathed and prepared."
The two guards saluted, then half-carried the staggering, nude
Colonel Makepeace out of the great hall. Queen Ro'jel gripped
Jackson by the upper arm, bodily lifted him to his feet, and led
him down the dais to Teal'c.
Teal'c supported Jackson by wrapping an arm around his back, then
asked the queen, "What of his personal effects?"
"Will those not do?" she asked, gesturing at the heap
of camouflage clothing on the floor.
"Those garments will not fit him."
Ro'jel made a moue and nodded to a servant, who vanished briefly,
then reappeared with a neatly folded pile of olive drab clothes,
topped by a pair of boots and Jackson's glasses. "It really
is a shame to cover him, especially with such unattractive garments,"
the queen sighed. "For all his inadequacies, he's really
quite decorative."
Teal'c made no reply; instead he busied himself with removing
the jewelry from Jackson. Like Makepeace, Jackson had a tendency
to giggle while under the influence of the queen's intoxicating
drink, and made the process far more problematic than it needed
to be, but Teal'c was determined to get him out of the palace
as quickly as possible, with nothing on his person that the queen
might use as an excuse to reclaim him.
Teal'c handed the jewelry to the servant, taking Jackson's clothing
in exchange. He executed a courtly bow to the queen. "My
thanks for your generous hospitality, your tolerance, and your
understanding, Queen Ro'jel."
Ro'jel bestowed her most gracious smile upon him. "It has
been a pleasure, Lord Teal'c. You may inform Captain Carter that
your people shall always be most welcome in all of my domains."
Teal'c bowed again and shifted his grip on Jackson. The inebriated
archeologist squinted at him, slurred, "Hey, thanks, Teal'c,"
and promptly passed out. Teal'c sighed, then slung Jackson over
one shoulder and strode back towards his companions with as much
dignity as he could muster under the circumstances.
As he approached their table, he was pleased to see that, not
only were the remaining members of SG-3 still semiconscious, but
also that O'Neill and Carter had regained some semblance of awareness,
and were cheerfully imbibing more nelamm.
At the sight of his friends consuming the potent beverage, his
larva hummed again in his womb. That really was the most disconcerting
sensation. The young Goa'uld didn't seem to be distressed or
in any discomfort, just--happy. Most peculiar. Teal'c still
couldn't place the experience within any context, but since it
wasn't unpleasant he chose to ignore it. He shifted his grip
on Jackson as another wave of that peculiar lightheadedness swept
over him.
Johnson stood up, swaying gently, and gazed at Teal'c and his
unconscious burden with bleary eyes. "Looks like ya got
'im, Teal'c," he said.
"Yes," Teal'c said simply. "We must leave now."
He dropped Jackson's bundle of clothes and assessed his soused
companions. The Marines were reasonably conscious and there was
a decent chance that they could walk--or at least stagger--on
their own. O'Neill was looking unsteady but at least was attempting
to sit up. Carter was flopped on her back and staring upwards,
singing a soft, little nonsense tune. Occasionally her hand fluttered
and waved at something high in the air. Teal'c looked up, but
couldn't detect anything of interest beyond the mosaics that decorated
the vaulted and carved ceiling. He sighed and told the assembled
group, "Gather your things." Not too surprisingly,
his order was ignored.
"Teal'c," O'Neill sang out in the over-exuberant welcome
of lushes everywhere. "Hey, buddy. That Danny boy you got
there?"
"It is, O'Neill."
"Cool. Is he naked, or am I just wasted?"
"Daniel Jackson is wearing a loincloth, and you are indeed
quite inebriated."
While O'Neill took a moment to digest that, and Carter continued
to count imaginary specks on the ceiling, Teal'c eased Jackson
down onto the pillows next to Henderson, who grudgingly moved
aside to make room for him. The archeologist moaned and blinked.
Encouraged even by such unenthusiastic signs of life, Teal'c
patiently attempted to get Jackson into his clothes. The operation
wasn't exactly an unqualified success, but at its completion Jackson
was again reasonably decent in his tee-shirt and pants. The flap
of his loincloth hung limply from the partially zipped fly, having
gotten caught in the zipper.
After coaxing Jackson into his jacket and glasses, Teal'c turned
his attention to the rest of his comrades and spent the next few
minutes convincing them that they could stand if only they put
what was left of their minds to it. They were wobbly, but all
of them, even Carter, managed to remain upright.
Teal'c guided them out of the hall and collected their weapons
and gear from the guards that were overseeing them. He suppressed
a twinge of apprehension at the idea of arming a bunch of drunks,
a concern that apparently wasn't shared by the guards, who laughed
derisively at Johnson's pathetic attempts to sling his rifle over
his shoulder. Teal'c assuaged his conscience with the thought
that none of his comrades were cognizant enough to even differentiate
one end of a rifle from another, not to mention remember how to
remove the safety.
After a great deal of effort, Teal'c managed to get everyone all
geared up. The various pieces of equipment might be attached
to the wrong body, but as long as nothing was left behind, Teal'c
didn't care. Carter sagged against him and smiled mistily. Jackson
leaned against the wall, and O'Neill simply stood and swayed in
time to some rhythm only he could hear, a goofy grin on his face.
Andrews and Henderson chose that moment to start bickering about
who had whose rucksack. Johnson was attempting to emulate his
absent CO by chatting up one of the guards, and having even less
luck at the endeavor than Makepeace had.
At least no one was throwing up. Yet. Teal'c counted his blessings.
His Goa'uld larva hummed at him again and shifted lazily in his
womb. Teal'c interpreted that activity as encouragement. He
wrapped one arm around Carter's waist and gripped Jackson under
the arm with his other hand. "We need to go to the Stargate
now," he told his companions. The only reply he got was
a large belch.
O'Neill and the Marines had huddled into a circle and were engaged
in a farting contest. "Oh, yeah?" O'Neill was saying.
"Well, check this out." He aimed his rump into the
center of the group. A loud raspberry sound filled the air, closely
followed by disgusted gagging noises and a great deal of raucous
laughter.
"I got to get me some of this," Carter announced. She
pulled away from Teal'c and staggered over to the group. Amid
much giggling and smirking, the four men made way for her. Carter
treated them to a haughty look and cut loose the noisiest, smelliest
fart it had ever been Teal'c's misfortune to experience. He was
amazed that the air didn't turn green with the noxious effluvium.
"Whaddaya boys think of that?" Carter asked. "Pretty
good for a girl, huh?"
"Pretty good for a rhino." Andrews covered his nose
and mouth with his hands. "Oh, man, I need a gas mask after
that one."
"Carter, I'm impressed," O'Neill said, gazing at her
with admiration. "I never knew ya had it in ya."
"She doesn't anymore," Henderson chortled.
Johnson laughed out loud. "Looks like we got us a winner!"
he called jovially. He slapped a meaty hand to her back, nearly
knocking her onto her face, and said, "You're okay, Cap'n."
Carter grinned at him, immensely pleased with herself.
Teal'c decided to step in before the bizarre Tau'ri bonding rituals
got completely out of control. Still supporting a semiconscious
Jackson, who thankfully was too far gone to participate in the
current activities, Teal'c said in his most commanding tone, "That
is enough. There will be no more of this childish behavior.
We are leaving. Now."
The five miscreants looked contrite. Teal'c pressed his sudden
advantage and, pulling an uncooperative Jackson along, managed
to successfully herd all his charges out of the castle and into
the courtyard. It was fortunate, he reflected, that the Marines,
O'Neill, and Carter were all doing their part to keep each other
upright. Intoxication seemed to have improved their relations,
for there was a fair amount of good-natured leaning and jostling
going on. Teal'c wondered despairingly whether they would make
it back to the Stargate before they all passed out.
Salvation came in the form of Captain Aresh. Teal'c felt as though
he had never been so relieved to see anyone in his whole entire
life. The guardswoman surveyed the soused and jovial group with
knowing eyes, listened to Teal'c's tale of woe with twitching
lips, and, when Teal'c insisted that he and his companions did
not desire lodging in the castle, summoned an oxcart to carry
the whole misbegotten crew to any destination Teal'c desired.
Makepeace awoke slowly, drowsing in the cozy warmth that surrounded
him. Lazily, his eyes drifted open. He was cocooned in a swathe
of blankets, in an enormous, canopied bed. Opulent curtains,
richly embroidered with gold and precious gems, hung from the
top canopy and filtered the morning light. Makepeace idly wondered
whose bed he was in, then sudden awareness slammed into him.
He was on a mission to negotiate a mining treaty. They had attended
a feast and discovered that Doctor Jackson had been shanghaied
into the local queen's harem. And now he was naked--in some strange
bed, without any idea how he'd gotten there. Oh, shit, what the
hell was going on?
He turned his head, and saw that there was an equally naked woman
snuggled in next to him.
Uh, oh.
Of all the damn fool stunts to pull--getting falling down drunk
and going to bed with some strange woman on an alien, and possibly
hostile, planet. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He'd be lucky if Hammond
didn't bust him down to janitor, third class, for this. A little
flirting to ease interplanetary relations was one thing, but actually
propositioning an alien woman.... He paused on that thought,
reconsidering. The way this culture worked, she had probably
propositioned him, and from what little he remembered of the previous
night, the women here weren't necessarily inclined to take no
for an answer. Not that it mattered who had instigated things.
He was in an utterly untenable position.
Hell, he didn't even remember the woman's name.
It was the height of bad manners to forget such an important piece
of information. He turned on his side and peered down at the
woman's face, taking great care not to move too suddenly and disturb
her.
It was the queen. Double uh, oh. He was in serious trouble,
now.
The queen's eyes slitted open, and for a moment she looked for
all the world like a sleepy cat. She sighed deeply, propped herself
up on one elbow, resting her head in her hand, and gazed into
his face. "Good morning," she said, as though it was
the most natural thing in the world to have an alien stranger
in her bed. Makepeace stared at her.
"Nothing to say? What a refreshing change. Most men are
such chatterboxes," Ro'jel murmured, stroking his arm with
her free hand. The hand moved to his shoulder, then trailed down
his flank in a gentle caress, sliding under the blankets and coming
to rest lightly on his butt. Ro'jel grinned mischievously. Makepeace
yelped when he felt her pinch his cheek.
"The Lord Teal'c was right about you," she purred, clearly
amused at his reaction.
"The Lord Teal'c?" Makepeace repeated, gaping
at her. He reached around and removed the offending hand from
his anatomy.
Ro'jel's grin became wider, and she laced her fingers with his.
"Indeed. Lord Teal'c assured me that you would be most
responsive to my desires, and provide me with strong, healthy
daughters. He was correct about the first assertion, so I find
it easy to believe that he is also correct about the last."
Ro'jel released his hand, then sat up and stretched, a long,
languorous series of movements that were redolent of her satisfaction.
Makepeace stared at her dumbly, too startled to appreciate the
show she was putting on for him. What the hell? Daughters?
In fact, Makepeace did have two daughters, who were even now happily
residing with his ex-wife in Oregon, but he wasn't about to share
that information with Queen Grabby here.
"I am quite pleased that you do not talk too much. That
Daniel Jackson was such a prattling bore, in addition to his other
shortcomings. I made a most excellent bargain. I look forward
to doing more business with Lord Teal'c."
Bargain? Business? Makepeace sat up abruptly. "Are you
telling me that Teal'c traded me for Jackson?" Teal'c, he
thought sourly, must have been a lot more affected by the local
hooch than he had let on, if he thought this was a good idea.
"Of course. I understood the mistake once Lord Teal'c explained
it to me." She cupped Makepeace's face in her hands and
kissed him deeply.
Normally, Makepeace wouldn't object to being kissed by an attractive
woman, but the present circumstances were anything but routine.
If he understood his situation correctly, he had been bartered
for Doctor Jackson and was now Queen Ro'jel's personal property.
That might be the stuff of fantasy and many a porn story, but
in reality it was nothing less than slavery. He decided then
and there that he was going to kill Teal'c first chance he got.
He pulled away from Ro'jel, saying, "Look, I think there's
been a mistake...."
"Yes, there was," she agreed, "and Lord Teal'c
has rectified it."
"Teal'c," he said with great indignation, "had
no right--"
"Are you a talker, after all?" Ro'jel interrupted with
mild irritation. "Why am I always plagued with talkers?
You can chatter with the other men later. Right now, I'd rather--"
She stopped at the clanging of an iron bell from somewhere within
the palace.
"Is it truly so late?" The queen sighed with disappointment
and pulled open the bed curtains, revealing a luxurious bedchamber
flooded with brilliant sunlight from large windows and overhead
skylights. "Yes, I see it is," she answered her own
question. "Pity, but even queens cannot while away the day
abed."
Ro'jel got out of bed and dressed herself in a silken robe that
was heavily brocaded with jewel tinted designs. Makepeace watched
her warily, not trusting himself to speak. She smiled at him,
her eyes traveling the length of his body, and he felt a sudden
urge to pull the blankets up to his chin. "Perhaps I can
tolerate a little bit of talking," she said indulgently as
she tied a matching strip of fabric around her waist to secure
the robe.
Once she was decent, she moved across the room and tugged on a
cord. Several large, well muscled, and very well armed female
attendants entered the room. "Escort him to the men's quarters,"
the queen instructed them, gesturing at Makepeace, "and see
that he is made presentable."
Makepeace remembered how Jackson, not to mention all the local
men, had been dressed at the previous night's feast, and reflected
that his idea of presentable and the queen's probably differed
by a significant degree.
"I will see you later," Ro'jel promised over her shoulder
as she sauntered out of the bedroom. That time her smile was
downright lascivious.
Makepeace glared after her, then scowled at the guards cum harem-keepers
that were approaching him. No way in hell was he going to be
a happy little harem boy.
By the time O'Neill finally managed for pry his eyes open, the
morning was well underway. The sun shone down brightly, and from
the surrounding bushes and trees came a multitude of chirps and
screeches and caws, accompanied by a great deal of rustling.
Off to his left, O'Neill heard Johnson grumble in sleepy tones,
"Damn birds."
O'Neill could appreciate the sentiment. "Or whatever they've
got here," he muttered, levering himself up. Surprisingly,
other than feeling a little tired and logy, he was doing pretty
good for having gotten hammered the previous night. No hangover.
That was a hell of a change. He wondered if maybe they could
sneak some of that nelamm home with them.
Teal'c was sitting next to the DHD with a large, beatific smile
plastered on his face. "Good morning, O'Neill," he
said placidly. "I trust you are well rested?"
O'Neill shot him a nasty look and climbed to his feet. He took
a quick count of the bodies that were sprawled or sitting on the
ground in various states of consciousness. Seven, including himself.
That was good--it meant they hadn't managed to lose any more
people.
"Screw you, you stupid birds!" Andrews stood and lobbed
a fist-sized rock into the nearest tree. There was a sudden flurry
of flapping wings as the birds--yes, O'Neill noted disinterestedly,
they were birds--took off. The flock circled the tree twice,
then resettled in its branches, screeching their tiny little heads
off in outrage.
Henderson winced at the early morning racket and complained, "Oh,
God, that didn't help any." Andrews shrugged and looked
annoyed.
O'Neill grimaced in sympathy and scrubbed his hands through his
hair, staring at the Stargate the whole time. "God, that
was one potent brew. I don't remember much of anything that happened
after dinner. How the hell did we get back here? Did we walk?"
"Indeed not," Teal'c replied. "Captain Aresh was
kind enough to arrange for an ox drawn cart to carry us back here.
We are fortunate that we encountered her as we were leaving the
castle. You were all quite...unsteady, and I doubt you would
have managed the journey on foot."
"Oh," O'Neill said, somewhat subdued. "Well, that
was nice of her. I take it you were our babysitter?"
Teal'c inclined his head.
"Ah, we weren't kicked out of the castle, were we?"
O'Neill cast a covert glance at the Marines, surreptitiously
checked his own knuckles, and added, "We didn't bust the
place up or anything, right?"
"You did not." Teal'c paused. When O'Neill looked
at him expectantly, he continued, "You did, however, engage
in some peculiar behavior."
"Peculiar, how?"
"You were interested in determining who could produce the
most flatulence."
"A farting contest," Andrew clarified.
"Yes. It is fortunate that the queen did not witness that
particular activity. After that, we left her fortress and returned
here. At that time, everyone except Colonel O'Neill and Lieutenant
Johnson...went to sleep," Teal'c said delicately.
"Uh huh." O'Neill kept his face blank. It was that,
or laugh out loud. So much for diplomacy. They were lucky they
hadn't been thrown out on their asses.
"You and Lieutenant Johnson then engaged in what you termed,
'a pissing contest,' to see who could produce 'the most prodigious
stream.'"
"Ah." Having participated in similar activities many
times before, even when not totally smashed, O'Neill was unfazed
by the revelation. "And who won?"
"Lieutenant Johnson."
With a softly hissed, "Yes!" Johnson made a small but
triumphant gesture with one fist. His teammates were less discreet
and congratulated him with an rowdy burst of back-slapping and
a few jovial insults.
"Shortly after that, the two of you also...went to sleep,"
Teal'c finished.
"We passed out," O'Neill interpreted.
"Yes."
Andrews asked, "Hey, Teal'c, just out of curiosity, who won
the farting contest?"
"Captain Carter," was Teal'c's unhesitating answer.
The Marines all stared at the captain with awe. "Shit, ma'am,
that's no fair," Henderson laughed. "Everyone knows
you officers got more hot air than us regular grunts."
Carter buried her face in her arms and groaned in embarrassment.
"Way to go, Sam," Jackson grunted sardonically as he
tried to push himself into a sitting position. His glasses were
askew on the bridge of his nose, and he took a moment to adjust
them.
"Daniel! You're back!" O'Neill exclaimed. "That's
great!"
"Yeah, I guess I am. I've even got clothes again."
Jackson looked down at himself and fingered the flap of his loin
cloth, still stuck and hanging limply from his fly. "Plus
a souvenir, I guess." He fiddled with his zipper and managed
to get the cloth loose, then stuffed it into his pants and re-zipped
his fly. "Lucky me," he mumbled. "Wish I could
remember what happened."
"Guess that nelamm's pretty heady stuff," O'Neill
quipped. "Anyone remember how we got Daniel back?"
Everyone shrugged and shook their heads, with one notable exception.
"I convinced the queen to return Daniel Jackson to us,"
Teal'c said, lounging in a most atypically relaxed manner against
the DHD.
"Okay," O'Neill drawled with studied patience. "And
how did you manage that, Teal'c?"
"I traded Colonel Makepeace for him."
"You what?"
"I traded Colonel--" Teal'c stopped when O'Neill waved
a hand and shook his head. The three remaining members of SG-3
looked shocked for a brief moment, then started to snicker.
O'Neill took a second inventory of personnel. Sure enough, Makepeace
was missing. He guessed he should have counted faces earlier,
instead of just warm bodies. He sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward.
"Oy," was all he trusted himself to say under the circumstances.
Carter said, "I don't understand. How'd you convince her
to accept a trade?"
"I told her that Daniel Jackson was impotent," Teal'c
replied.
"You what?" Jackson yelped.
"I told her you were impotent," Teal'c repeated calmly,
"and I assured her that Colonel Makepeace had no such physical
liabilities. She seemed quite pleased by the exchange."
Jackson made a strangled, inarticulate noise of pure outrage.
O'Neill bit his lip and closed his eyes while he counted to ten.
"You know, Teal'c, this really didn't help any."
"It was, in fact, your idea to attempt a trade, but you...."
Teal'c paused a beat, then continued, "You...went to sleep
before it could be implemented, so SG-3 drew straws." The
remaining three Marines looked amazed at his words.
"My idea?" O'Neill stared at Teal'c. "You've
got to be kidding. Are you sure the booze didn't affect you?"
"Personally, I think it's still affecting him," Jackson
muttered under his breath.
"Yeah, why else would he admit this like it was a good idea?"
Henderson chortled. Teal'c merely looked serene.
"This isn't funny, people," O'Neill snapped, struggling
to come to terms with his own part in the current disaster. He
couldn't have come up with such a stupid plan, could he? And
Makepeace went along with it? They both must've been hammered
but good. That nelamm sure packed one hell of a kick.
The snickers were all muffled immediately, although just about
everyone--except Teal'c, who appeared unruffled and self-satisfied,
and Jackson, who was still fuming--had that pained look on their
faces that comes from trying to hide a smirk. O'Neill knew that
his own expression wasn't exactly regulation, and conceded, "Okay,
I admit it, it is kind of funny, but we still have a big problem
on our hands. Instead of a civilian archeologist being held prisoner,
now it's a high ranking line officer with a lot of valuable strategic
intel in his head."
As O'Neill had hoped, the last of the amusement vanished at that
dampening statement. He honestly didn't believe that Queen Ro'jel
was interested in intelligence about Earth's offensive and defensive
capabilities, but that didn't make the security risk any less
real, and they needed to take it seriously.
"Doctor Jackson, what did they do to you while they held
you?" Andrews asked.
Jackson shrugged. "Nothing much. There was no physical
abuse, if that's what you're asking--they don't believe in using
force or coercion, and really, the men all seemed to like it there.
They get just about anything they ask for, and the harem quarters
are quite luxurious. I was treated with remarkable indulgence.
It wasn't terrible, just kind of humiliating. The queen believes
in keeping her men naked and barefoot," he added with a wry
twist to his lips. That revelation provoked another round of
snickers, quickly stifled.
"All right, so Makepeace probably isn't in danger of anything
except acute embarrassment for now," was O'Neill's assessment.
"Yeah," Johnson agreed, "but that might change.
No offense, Doctor Jackson, but Colonel Makepeace isn't likely
to be as accepting of the situation as you were."
"I wasn't exactly accepting--" Jackson protested.
"But you probably weren't violent, either," O'Neill
pointed out. "If I know you, you tried to talk your way
out, and bored the queen to death." The annoyed expression
that crossed Jackson's face confirmed O'Neill's words.
"So we're pretty much back to where we were last night,"
Johnson said. "Somehow, we're going to have to break Colonel
Makepeace out of the castle."
Andrews added, "Preferably before he irritates the queen
too much."
O'Neill nodded. "All right. Let's take stock of the situation.
Teal'c, looks like you were the only one who managed to stay
sober last night. What can you tell me about--" He stopped
as a loud snore buzzed in the air. Teal'c was slumped against
the base of the DHD, eyes closed and breathing very deeply. Henderson
knelt down by the Jaffa and checked him out.
"He looks okay," Henderson said. "I think he's
just passed out. Maybe that stuff we all drank affects Jaffas
differently than the rest of us."
"Ya think?" O'Neill said sarcastically.
"I'd say it's a pretty good assessment, Jack, to judge by
Teal'c's recent activities," Jackson commented. Teal'c smacked
his lips and snuggled in closer to the DHD. Everyone stared at
him, nonplused.
"Can you wake him up?" O'Neill asked.
Henderson slapped Teal'c lightly on the face several times, and
even splashed a little water from his canteen on him. There was
no response. "He's dead to the world. Sir."
O'Neill rolled his eyes. "All right, it looks like we'll
either have to do this without Teal'c, or wait for him to wake
up. Personally, I think we oughtta wait for Teal'c. Makepeace'll
be okay. He's smart enough not to rock the boat, and wait for
us to get him out." I hope, he added mentally, wondering
how well he, himself, would take to that kind of gilded cage.
Probably not too well. Somehow, he doubted Makepeace would do
any better.
"I agree, sir," Carter said. "Obviously, Teal'c
managed to develop some kind of rapport with Queen Ro'jel. That
might prove more useful than covert or direct action."
Johnson looked like he'd swallowed something sour, but didn't
disagree with her.
"Fine," O'Neill said. "But if Teal'c doesn't wake
up in an hour or two, we'll have to try something else. Johnson,
how about we have a little strategy session? You know, work on
Plans B and C."
"Yes, sir." Johnson brightened at the thought of planning
some mayhem. Henderson and Andrews also looked a little happier.
"Okay," O'Neill said. "Plan B will have to involve
talking. Daniel and Carter better handle that. Plan C will be
busting Makepeace out." He looked at each member of SG-3.
"I seem to recall that you guys have some experience at
that kind of thing."
"Yes, sir, Colonel O'Neill," Johnson confirmed.
Andrews offered, "I was part of a hostage rescue just a few
years ago."
"We've all been involved in a few covert actions here and
there," Johnson added. "You know how it is, sir."
O'Neill did, indeed. "Great, then let's figure out how to
infiltrate the castle." He knelt on the ground and smoothed
out a small area of soil. He started to draw a crude map of the
area in it with his finger.
Carter and Jackson moved off to one side to discuss the arguments
they would try to use with the queen. SG-3 hunkered down with
O'Neill to draw pictures in the dirt.
A little over an hour later, Teal'c finally started showing signs
of life. He shifted and grunted as his eyes blinked open. He
looked around, confusion evident on his features. Jackson was
by his side in an instant. "How do you feel, Teal'c?"
"Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said as he stood up and dusted
himself off. "I am pleased to see you. How is it that Queen
Ro'jel released you?"
Jackson looked startled. "You don't remember what happened?"
The rest of SG-1 and SG-3 gathered around Teal'c and exchanged
knowing glances. "Looks like the nelamm strikes again,"
O'Neill said wryly.
Teal'c's brows knitted, and his lips turned down in bewilderment.
"I do not understand."
"Relax, buddy. That stuff seems to induce a little amnesia
or something."
"Nelamm?" Teal'c's frown deepened. "It
is true I do not remember leaving the queen's feast last night.
What has occurred? How was Daniel Jackson retrieved?"
Jackson crossed his arms and regarded the bemused Jaffa with sympathy.
"Ah, Teal'c, maybe you'd better brace yourself."
Teal'c cocked his head enquiringly.
"You traded Colonel Makepeace for me," Jackson told
him bluntly.
"I did no such thing," Teal'c said, affronted by the
mere suggestion of such dishonorable behavior.
"Teal'c, believe me, you did it. You told us all about it
this morning. Look around you. I'm here, Makepeace isn't. We
think the nelamm must have affected you a little differently
than us."
"Intoxicating substances do not affect me. My symbiote purges
them from my system before they can have any debilitating effects,"
Teal'c replied stubbornly, but a look of sudden doubt crossed
his face as he vaguely remembered an odd, buzzing sensation in
his womb and a certain feeling of lightheadedness.
O'Neill seized upon the Jaffa's hesitation. "Look, Teal'c,
we've all got memory problems from most of last night. Now, so
do you. And you were passed out just a few minutes ago. I'd
say you were affected even worse than we were."
Teal'c looked stricken. "O'Neill--" he began.
The thunder of hooves interrupted the conversation. A large group
of armed women was riding towards them on horseback. In their
midst, mounted upon a pure white steed, wearing ornate, gold chased
armor with a billowing purple cloak, was Queen Ro'jel. She looked
furious.
Riding to one side and a little behind her was Colonel Makepeace,
gripping the pommel of the saddle with hands that were bound together
with a satin cord. Except for the gold jewelry that adorned his
ears, neck, biceps, wrists, and ankles, he was completely nude.
O'Neill winced at the sight of all that bare skin in contact
with the leather saddle. That had to chafe.
A grim-faced guard held the reins to Makepeace's mount. The party
drew up right before the clearing amid a flurry of dust and loud
neighing from the animals.
"Captain Carter! Lord Teal'c!" Ro'jel shouted angrily.
"I demand that you speak with me! Immediately!"
"Hoo boy," O'Neill muttered. "Carter, Teal'c,
maybe you guys better talk to the lady."
Teal'c and Carter both nodded and stepped forward. Although he
didn't remember his prior encounter with the queen, Teal'c was
determined to redeem himself and minimize Captain Carter's involvement.
This unfortunate situation was his fault, not hers. "We
are here, Queen Ro'jel," he said, before Carter could utter
a word. "Is something amiss?"
"Is something amiss? Tell me you didn't cheat me deliberately
by giving me this-- this--" Ro'jel gestured wildly at Makepeace,
sitting placidly on his mount and watching the proceedings with
interest.
"You are dissatisfied with Colonel Makepeace?" Teal'c
asked.
"Yes! He was lovely while he was intoxicated, but when the
nelamm wore off he became even more difficult than that
annoying Daniel Jackson!" the queen practically shrieked.
"It would be immoral to keep him drugged all the time, and
he is far too disruptive an influence to keep in the harem! In
fact, I do not even want him anywhere on my world!"
A few choking noises emanated from behind Teal'c. He turned slightly
to direct a quelling glare at the culprits, and noticed that even
O'Neill's lips were twitching.
Ro'jel elaborated, "Daniel Jackson only talked too much and
was unable to perform. Colonel Makepeace performs adequately,
but he talks even more than Daniel Jackson, he's aggressive and
violent, and he has incited my entire harem to rebellion! The
whole palace is in an uproar!"
"I can do nothing about that," Teal'c said.
"I refuse to accept such inferior and defective goods--not
even to seal a treaty with your people. I demand another trade!"
There was a slight stir behind Teal'c at her words, followed closely
by the sound of weapons being cocked.
"He is the best we have to offer," Teal'c told the queen
solemnly.
"Then keep him! Keep all of them!" Ro'jel shrieked.
A guard shoved Makepeace from his saddle, and he tumbled to the
ground. "And never, ever return to my domain--on pain of
death!" With that, she wheeled her mount around and galloped
off. Her entourage hurried after her, leaving behind a cloud
of dust and one sprawled, naked Marine colonel.
O'Neill gripped Makepeace under the arms and hauled him to his
feet. "Gee, Makepeace, I never would have guessed that you
were a lovely drunk. I always figured you for the type
that gets mean."
"Just untie me," Makepeace grumbled, holding out his
bound hands.
"Well, you're in a bad mood." O'Neill noted that Makepeace
didn't have a mark on him. It seemed that Queen Ro'jel was even
more tolerant than Jackson had implied. She also apparently had
either a dirty mind or an extraordinarily twisted sense of humor,
or both, to judge by the...interesting...placement of a few pieces
of jewelry that hadn't been noticeable when Makepeace was sitting
on the horse. O'Neill forced his eyes up with an effort.
"What kind of a mood am I supposed to be in? Your pet Jaffa
traded me for your pet archeologist!"
"In Teal'c's defense, he was a whole lot drunker on that
damn stuff than the rest of us were. It really hammers Jaffas.
Hell, even Junior was probably buzzed." O'Neill was careful
not to mention his own role in the debacle, or that Makepeace
had apparently agreed to it. That could come out later, during
what promised to be a very uncomfortable debriefing. Hopefully,
Makepeace would be a little calmer by then, or at least less likely
to commit murder with General Hammond watching.
"I know that!" Makepeace snapped. When O'Neill raised
his brows, Makepeace added, "That much was obvious when I
thought about it, and I promise not to shoot him or anything.
Now, will you hurry up and untie me, already?"
"I can see why the queen was so hot to unload you on us.
Although from what I hear, if you'd bothered to make nice with
her you could have lived in the lap of luxury for the rest of
your life. Are you sure you really wanna leave?"
"O'Neill...." The name was delivered in a deep growl.
"Daniel, dial us home," O'Neill called, "before
Queenie changes her mind." Jackson nodded and moved over
to the DHD. As O'Neill started working at the silken ropes around
Makepeace's wrists, he couldn't resist adding, "That's some
nice jewelry you got there, Makepeace."
"I'm warning you, O'Neill...."
"You know, it would be a lot easier to take you seriously
if you weren't buck naked." O'Neill pulled the ropes away
with a flourish.
Makepeace swallowed his bile and rubbed his newly freed wrists.
He suddenly realized that everyone was staring at him. Being
naked in front of a bunch of men wasn't a new experience for him--that
was SOP in every locker room on Earth, and he'd gotten used to
it a long time ago. Unfortunately for his equanimity, the locker
rooms he frequented were never coed.
For her part, Carter had the grace to turn away, but every so
often she would cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Makepeace
was forcibly reminded of her "firm appreciation for the human
form." Self-consciously, he covered his groin with his hands
and turned his side to her, trying to align himself so that she
wouldn't get quite such an eyeful the next time she "accidentally"
looked his way.
The Stargate exploded to life, providing a welcome distraction.
"As soon as I send the iris code," Jackson announced,
"we're outta here." He looked like he was in a hurry
to leave. Makepeace definitely sympathized.
"I'll bet you're gonna make quite a splash back home,"
O'Neill shot at Makepeace, unable to keep his mouth shut. "They'll
probably make copies of the security tapes and sell them at the
Christmas party."
That did it. Life sucked bad enough without O'Neill's running
commentary. It didn't help Makepeace's temper that Carter kept
sneaking peeks, or that the rest of SG-3 could barely contain
their snickers, and that last comment had finally pushed him over
the edge. "I want my clothes!" Makepeace howled. "I'm
not going through that wormhole like this!"
"Look, we don't have your clothes." O'Neill rolled
his eyes. "I don't know what happened to them. Maybe the
queen kept them as a souvenir or something."
Johnson and Andrews both had to turn away, muffling their laughter
behind their hands. Henderson had greater self control, but still
barely managed to keep a straight face. Teal'c looked contrite,
and Carter sneaked another peek. Jackson shot Makepeace a commiserating
glance.
"Jackson got his clothes back!" Makepeace complained.
"Well, we didn't get yours back. Here," O'Neill said,
stripping off his jacket and handing it to the nude Marine. "Wrap
this around your waist if you really need to preserve your modesty
so much."
Makepeace snatched the proffered garment with decidedly bad humor
and tied it around his waist, taking great care to make certain
that nothing too non-regulation was on display. The jacket was
somewhat inadequate to the task, but with some artful manipulation
Makepeace managed to cover all of his critical attributes. Carter
surreptitiously watched the operation out of the corner of her
eye, and when Makepeace threw her a very hostile look, rapidly
shifted her gaze towards the Stargate and tried to pretend that
she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.
She was a pretty lousy actress, O'Neill thought, grateful that
Teal'c had let SG-3 draw straws, instead of just trading him
to the queen. He couldn't deny that it would have served him
right, but he found it difficult to feel guilty for something
that he didn't remember instigating.
The indicator on Jackson's GDO lit green. "We can go now,"
he said, edging towards the Stargate.
"Okay, people," O'Neill called. "You heard the
man. Let's head on back."
Jackson and Carter immediately went through the 'gate, followed
closely by Johnson, Andrews, and Henderson. Teal'c silently cocked
a brow at the two colonels before he, too, vanished through the
event horizon.
Makepeace stepped up to the Stargate and hesitated, his hands
clutching at the jacket around his hips. O'Neill gave him a hard
shove and smirked as the Marine stumbled gracelessly into the
event horizon. Whistling a cheerful tune, O'Neill stepped through
the Stargate and headed home.
General Hammond stared out the control room window at the activated
Stargate below. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours, but already
the duty tech had received SG-1's signal, indicating that they
and SG-3 were on their way back from P2Z-494. Hopefully, with
a mining treaty in hand, although that seemed improbable, considering
how early they were.
Still, it wasn't an impossible scenario. Could they really have
managed an agreement in such a short time? Perhaps the natives
were friendly, after all. Hammond snorted to himself. Nothing
ever went that easily. It was far more likely that the two teams
had managed to irritate the locals, if for no other reason than
their own internal bickering.
As Hammond watched, Jackson and Carter emerged from the event
horizon and walked down the ramp. Johnson, Andrews, and Henderson
appeared immediately after them. Nobody was rushing; rifles were
slung. That was a good sign. At least they weren't high-tailing
it home amidst the chaos of weapons' fire.
Teal'c came through next and joined his comrades at the base of
the ramp. The six teammates clustered together and turned towards
the Stargate, waiting for their respective commanding officers
to make an appearance. Their posture suggested anticipation,
and not a little amusement. Jackson threw a quick glance up at
the control room and, spotting the general, swiftly looked away.
Hammond frowned. What kind of stunt had O'Neill and Makepeace
pulled this time?
As though in response to Hammond's unspoken question, Colonel
Makepeace stumbled through the Stargate. The man was almost completely
naked; decency was barely preserved by the olive-drab jacket wrapped
around his waist. He was decked out in an extraordinary amount
of gold jewelry that glinted under the harsh fluorescent lights.
"What the devil?" Hammond muttered as O'Neill strode
through the Stargate with a smug expression on his face. He was
missing his jacket. The general surmised that it was that particular
article of clothing that kept Makepeace's modesty intact. As
the Stargate deactivated, a few amused murmurs rose in the control
room, which General Hammond quelled with a single, forbidding
look. Satisfied that discipline would be maintained, he headed
down to the 'gate room to get some answers.
The two teams had formed a loose cluster around both colonels,
shielding Makepeace somewhat from curious eyes and omnipresent
security cameras. As usual, O'Neill's mouth was open and flapping,
although Hammond was unable to make out the words. They couldn't
have been very circumspect, for Makepeace, in his turn, looked
like he was getting good and ready to start swinging. Hammond
paused a few feet away from them and decided he'd better get all
his people back on their respective leashes before things got
completely out of hand.
"Colonel O'Neill," he called peremptorily, startling
the members of SG-1 and SG-3 alike, "how did the negotiations
go?" He received a number of wide-eyed looks in return.
"Oh, not so good, General," O'Neill replied airily.
"Makepeace kind of ruined them for us. Not that I blame
him or anything, considering that he would have had to spend the
rest of his life in the buff."
Makepeace uttered an inarticulate growl.
"Personally," O'Neill continued, "I think he should
have discussed it with the rest of us first. Might have been
a good deal for Earth, you know? A jarhead in exchange for trinium
mining rights seems like a bargain to me. Besides, he might have
liked it there. Sounds like it would have been a pretty cushy
life, what with being the queen's squeeze and all."
"Shut up, O'Neill!" With a murderous expression, Makepeace
took a step towards him, but aborted his plans for violent retribution
when the jacket around his hips slipped. He snatched at it desperately,
his whole body coloring bright red in embarrassment.
Hammond stared at both of them in bafflement, wondering if his
interpretation of O'Neill's words and Makepeace's behavior and
state of dress--or rather, undress--could possibly be correct.
"Let me get this straight. You people are telling me that
the natives of P2Z-494 wanted Colonel Makepeace in exchange for
the mining treaty?"
"Their queen, actually," Jackson said with a grimace.
"It was all a misunderstanding." He scratched his
nose, looking oddly self-conscious, and muttered, "It's kind
of a long story."
"All right, I can see this is going to be complicated."
Hammond rubbed his eyes. "I want written reports from each
of you. Now go get cleaned up and checked out in the infirmary.
You can debrief...." The general hesitated a beat, wincing
a little at his unfortunate choice of words, then brazened it
out, "You'll debrief at fourteen-hundred."
A round of snickers rippled through the 'gate room, quickly stifled
when Hammond surveyed his personnel with a scathing glare. Makepeace
clenched his teeth and ground out a tight, "Yes, sir."
He drew himself up and adjusted the jacket around his waist.
Then, cloaked in as much dignity as he could muster under the
circumstances, he strode towards the exit.
Jackson followed after him. "Colonel Makepeace," he
began diffidently. When the Marine paused at the door and half
turned to cock an annoyed glance at him, he continued, "Uh,
could you please remember to drop the jewelry off at the archeology
department?"
Makepeace goggled at him, doing a credible imitation of a stunned
fish.
"They could be important cultural artifacts. It's amazing
what you can determine about a society just from its jewelry...."
Jackson's voice trailed away at the silent bile Makepeace directed
at him.
Makepeace savagely stripped off the earrings and wrist bracelets,
and flung them at Jackson. The archeologist only managed to catch
one bracelet; the rest of the jewelry clattered to the floor.
"You can have the rest after I figure out how to get it
off," Makepeace snarled and stalked off.
"Touchy, touchy," O'Neill called after him, smirking.
"What a beautiful day," he said to no one in particular,
as he sauntered out of the 'gate room. Carter, Teal'c, and the
remaining members of SG-3 hurried after him, wavering between
embarrassment, guilt, and amusement. Jackson bent down and retrieved
the rest of the jewelry. Clutching the baubles to his chest,
he flashed a quick look at Hammond before scooting out the door.
The expression on his face was unreadable.
General Hammond shook his head and wondered if he should anticipate
or dread learning the details of this latest escapade. Dread,
he decided, going over the behavior of all the players in the
current drama. Definitely dread. With a heavy sigh, he sought
refuge in his office. It was going to be a long day.
Gift Exchange
By: Tiffany Park
After gating to P2Z-494, SG-1 and SG-3 find that the local queen and the local hooch make for a potent combination that they just aren't prepared to swallow.
Rated: Fiction M - English - Humor/Adventure - Words: 27,891 - Reviews: 16 - Favs: 6 - Follows: 1 - Published: 3/31/2001 - Status: Complete - id: 242295
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