Spider's Web
Prologue
- x -
Colonel Jack O'Neill, US Air Force, retired and un-retired – and, yeah, retired again, recalled again, not-really-retired-and-un-retired-anyway, stumped up the stairs to the observation deck of his house in Colorado Springs. His knees protested at the climb, crunching and crackling with every step of the two-plus flights. It was still chilly once the sun had set, especially on a clear spring night like this one. There could be frost on the lawn by morning even in April.
Maybe he was getting old. He felt old after days like this, days when he'd had nothing better to do than sit at a desk and plow through paperwork. But the view never got old. The house was in the Broadmoor Hills area, as close to the western edge of C-Springs as he'd been able to get, and a handy ridge blocked most of the light pollution from the airport, the buildings downtown and the freeway. At six thousand feet above sea level, the stars in the night sky didn't twinkle: they burned, steady and focused, hard white with a steel-blue tinge, like the glint of a knife.
Most people never knew what it was like. Most people lived at sea level, or in cities where the endless wash of glaring electric light stained the skies and hid all but the brightest stars. Most people spent their evenings watching TV, spent their nights sleeping, spent their lives looking down or forward or anywhere but up.
There was a lot that 'most people' never thought about, never knew about, the lucky bastards.
Jack stood for a long moment, beer in hand, just looking at the sky, not bothering to uncover the telescope. He had unpacked it and brought it back out from its winter storage in the attic only a few days ago. It hadn't gotten much use these last couple of years, although he still kept it set up during the warmer months.
There had been a time when he'd been up here late every clear night, when he'd simply covered the telescope and left it up here, night after night, sleeping half the daytime, returning to his watchpost at sunset. Even the winter didn't stop him – any night that the sky was clear, he'd shove the accumulated snow off the deck, unwrap the telescope, and huddle up here in the freezing cold. On a clear January night with no clouds to hold the heat in, the temperature could plunge to below zero in the interminable hours between midnight and pre-dawn, and the sky would seem so clear and silent that he could almost hear the crackling of the stars as they burned holes in his searching eyes. He hadn't been too clear on what he was watching for, but vigilance was the only way to deal with the secret certain knowledge of the lurking menace out there. Even pointless vigilance was better than blind ignorance.
He'd been fresh back from Abydos then, and the glacial nights were a relief after the burning sands, the waves of heat that had shimmered under the hot alien sun. He'd come back with a bad sunburn and a worse secret, and capped a career of officially sanctioned deceit by lying like a rug all the way out the door. It had felt good, after years of lying for his superiors, to lie to them instead. No, scratch that. It had felt great.
Returning to an empty home, he'd bought the telescope and settled down to spend the rest of his life, long or short, in useless surveillance. He'd scanned the skies for hours on end, watching for an invasion he wouldn't be able to prepare for or fight, not till the foe hit dirt and came for him on the ground. By then – with no wife or kid to look after and protect, he had no idea what he'd do, any more than he knew what he was looking for in the icy night sky. He'd kept looking anyway.
In the end, he'd gotten his chance to look a hell of a lot harder, a hell of a lot closer. He'd gotten a nice close look at the stars, and at the enemy. They'd all gotten a close look – way too close – the previous summer, when the enemy had tried to pull off that invasion, and had ended up leaving a couple of nice bright short-term stars in the night sky. Jack hadn't been watching any of it through his telescope. He'd been a bit busy.
He finished his beer and decided to leave the telescope under its cover for another night. He had an early briefing the next morning: another busy day, another chance for a close-up look at the stars.
- x -
- x -
One
Immediately on arrival on a new planet, special attention must be paid to the architectural details of the Gate environs, both structural and landscape. This will provide your first insight into the level of native culture: given the importance of the Stargate to virtually every offworld society, the immediate area will inevitably reflect the society, its culture and religion, its artistic and technological achievements.
Always maintain your focus during the first few minutes after embarkation. Depending on the nature of the mission and of the native culture, this may be your only opportunity to make this assessment. Be ready to make your initial observations quickly, in case you're required to leave the Gate area suddenly.
– D. Jackson, Ph.D., Essential Guidelines for Archeological and Anthropological Staff on SGC Missions (distribution restricted)
- x -
Under the full midday glare of an alien sun, the inactive Stargate cast a short, stubby shadow. Did it cast a different shadow when it activated – when the shining cascade of impossible badass physics fountained out from the ring, opening a door that shouldn't exist? Did the 'kawoosh' cast a shadow itself? Jack had never noticed, but he was usually thinking of something else, like getting his team home in one piece. Well, four pieces.
He wasn't going to have time to notice this time either, assuming they managed to get that far.
Say what you like about this world, at least the natives had shown a little imagination when it came to the Stargate. They hadn't built a fancy temple around it, or stuck big-assed rocks or ugly statues in front or anything like that. No, they'd built a great big amphitheatre thing like a giant ring of arches, with the damned Gate built right into it, facing the central plaza, a wide flat empty space with no cover at all. At least your typical alien temple setup had something to hide behind, spots where you could lay covering fire, a starting point for tactics.
But here, zilch. There was the DHD, bang in the middle of the arena, casting a little stubby shadow of its own, maybe thirty yards away. Might as well be a mile. There were a dozen Jaffa guarding the DHD in a standard formation, flanking it from all sides with a few guards blocking access to the Gate itself. They wore a new style of armor he'd never seen before: the helmets sported some kind of bird beaks, but these Jaffa weren't Horus guards. They were pretty standard-issue for Jaffa, big and tough and alert, looking around the arena, keeping a sharp eye out for the early worm. And here was Jack, outside the arena looking in, doing his damnedest not to get wormy.
A heavy thump beside him, but Jack didn't look up. Daniel was gasping from the hard run, and the faint occasional wheezing note behind the sound was unique and instantly recognizable.
"Glad you could make it, Daniel," Jack drawled. "I was beginning to think you were gonna miss the party."
Instead of replying, Daniel studied the guarded DHD. "So this whole thing really was a trap. This world isn't free of the Goa'uld at all."
"Nope." Jack peered through his sights at one of the Jaffa for a moment, then lowered his MP-5. "Good call back there at the village market. What spooked you?"
"Um, I was talking to an old man at one of the booths, and, um," Daniel reddened. "He pointed at Sam, and said she had a really nice – well, he used the Goa'uld word for a portion of her anatomy."
"Sweet." Jack looked at him. "That's it?"
"Not quite. I asked him where he'd learned that word, and he winked and rubbed his nose."
"And that's when you hit the panic button."
"Yes." Daniel had drawn his Beretta and was studying it. "Jack, I don't suppose you've got an extra ammo clip for this?"
Jack stared at him, then pulled out a spare magazine and handed it over. "Are you telling me you didn't – "
"Yes, I did have more clips with me. I don't now. And I don't know why not. I think I must've 'bumped into' a pickpocket in the marketplace. It was a bit crowded, if you'll recall."
"Nice of them to leave you the sidearm," Jack remarked. "So tell me, Daniel. What's the Goa'uld word for 'FUBAR'?"
"Um, the Goa'uld written language really doesn't allow for acronyms. It's a syllabary, and you can't form acronyms without an alphabet – "
"Save it, Daniel."
Jack turned his attention back to the Jaffa in the arena. He'd have to ask Teal'c which snakehead they belonged to, if he got a chance to, later on. Right now, he had to think about tactics.
Jaffa could be funny about tactics. Bra'tac was damned good at it, when he wasn't riding his mighty-warrior horse, and Teal'c was pretty good. But most Jaffa had the tactical sophistication of sledgehammers. You couldn't blame them too much, though; they had to take orders from the Goa'uld, and the typical Goa'uld had the tactical sophistication of a falling rock.
A small rock arced in the sky above the DHD, bounced off the inner ring of glyphs and fell rattling to the hard-packed earth of the arena. The Jaffa in the Bird Squad sprang to attention, beaky heads whipping around to spot the source of the disturbance. The closest one to the DHD aimed his staff weapon at the stone as it rolled, and shot it, and hit it. Four of the others turned to watch him, but the rest of the troop were still paying attention to their surroundings, damn their invisible eyes.
That was it: you could not actually count on Jaffa to screw up. It's not like they were Stormtroopers. Never underestimate the enemy, O'Neill – but it was a start. Teal'c got two of the distracted ones with two staff blasts, then ducked the answering fire. He was behind the arches off to one side of the arena, at eight o'clock, or half-past eight if you wanted to get exact. Carter was at seventeen minutes to two, give or take, and she got clean hits on three more Birds while they were mostly focused on Teal'c.
And while you're at it, don't overestimate them either. That could leave you with your pants down around your knees instead of your ankles. Every kind of stupid gets you dead.
Time for the Jack-in-the-box routine now. Jumping out from hiding and running towards the DHD – Jack and Daniel had been lying in wait at the point where he figured the Jaffa would be least likely to expect an approach: right in back of the Gate itself.
Plunging through the ring of the inactive Stargate onto the arena grounds – two goons on the Bird Squad spinning around at the movement from the unexpected quarter, raising their staff weapons to fire. Not Stormtroopers. Jack jinked from side to side as he ran, managing not to get hit, running hard, and he could see at least two of the Bird Squad that he thought were down were pulling themselves back up again. Shit. Every kind of stupid gets you dead. That was the rattling cadence as his boots thumped on the drumhead of the dirt, the rhythm of retreat, everykindastupid getsyoudead.
Bird Number Six had a clear shot, but went down from another blast from Teal'c's staff weapon. Jack snapped off short bursts as he went and let instinct compensate for the up-and-down of the full run. A lucky shot winged Bird Number Seven, a better one put Number Four out again, and a really sweet hit from Carter took down Number Eight.
Daniel was at the DHD now, starting to dial, and Bird Number Seven was half-up again and drawing a bead on Teal'c – but there was a false note, something that clawed at Jack's instincts even before Number Seven twisted and aimed at Daniel instead. Jack shot first. Wrongo, birdbrain. I don't fool that easy.
Now Bird Number Two had staggered to his feet again and was drawing a bead on him – every kind of stupid gets you dead – and Jack slammed himself to a full stop to get a clean aim and take out the goon and get it right this time. Crap, Daniel had stopped dialing and what the hell was he doing with his Beretta? A shot from Daniel's pistol cracked right past Jack's head – okay, not really all that close – Bird Number Eleven had gotten behind Jack. Forgot to watch the birdie, Jack. Eleven was down now and Daniel was dialing again and the arena was suddenly quiet except for the chunk of the chevrons as they made the connection to Earth and safety. No more birds shooting. Jack wasn't sure who'd gotten Nine, Ten and Twelve – Teal'c, probably – but he was panting too hard to worry about the score.
The Gate kawooshed and opened, and Jack forgot again to check for a shadow. He was too busy getting his team home.
- x -
Every new recruit to the SGC had their Cathedral Moment.
It had nothing to do with any of the off-world temples that were often built around Stargates on other planets, although some of those were pretty amazing. It didn't happen offworld at all. The Cathedral Moment happened in the Gateroom at Stargate Command, 28 floors down under Cheyenne Mountain. The old hands who knew what was going on would try to arrange to be in the observation room for it, so they could watch, and remember how theirs had felt.
It happened when a new recruit to the SG teams, or a specialist brought in from outside the program, faced the active Gate for the first time: not the crashing fountain of lethal energy, but the dimpled, shifting, glimmering blue surface of the puddle, the actual event horizon that was one long stride away from stepping out onto the surface of a different planet. The Cathedral Moment usually hit when the newbie suddenly realized just how real that billion-mile stride was. It didn't matter how detailed the briefings had been. It hit everyone.
Well, almost everyone. There had been that one nuclear reactor specialist, on loan from the Navy sub program, who had gone white as a sheet at the sight of the glowing blue watery surface and backed away muttering about Cherenkov radiation. Carter had gone into a huddle with him, reciting soothing charms in the esoteric language of physicists, but he'd still looked worried right up till the moment he stepped through. Then the shiny Christmas-morning glow had hit his face, too.
It was different when you faced the puddle on the way home, especially when you were coming in hot. When a mission went south, when the Gate was the only way home to safety, a blue plunge taking you back to a place where people might try to kill you for your parking space, but nobody actually wanted to use your body as a breeding ground for alien parasites, or kill your soul and recycle your carcass – that made you look at the blue glimmer differently. Even more if you had made it into space and seen the blueness of Earth from orbit. One long look at all that water, one long thought about how rare and important water and life and bright blue planets could be, and the shimmer of the active Gate looked just a little bit different the next time, and every time after that.
This time, like every time, the Gateroom was a drab gray concrete box, full of the usual ranks of dour-faced SFs pointing deadly weapons at the returning personnel. Hours of dull routine faced them now: safety protocols to keep out alien nasties, medical exams to test for alien nasties, reports to write and debriefings that never managed to be brief, and all for a screwed-up mission and a wasted trip. Jack counted his surviving team. Four, including himself. So, not so bad. The concrete walls of the Gateroom looked pretty good, viewed from an upright position with no casualties to sour the outlook.
Later in the day, a lot later, Daniel found out that the trip hadn't been a waste after all.
- x -
"It's a memory stick," Daniel explained. He was turning it over in his hands: a thin flat slip of pale wood, shorter than a standard pencil, about the width of a standard comb. It had an ordinary feel to it, undecorated, well-worn and much handled. The symbols on it were shallow grooves, clumsy scrawls, but still familiar, as familiar as the alphabet by now.
Jack reached over with a long arm and filched the stick out of Daniel's grasp. "You are not telling me that they had wooden computers on that planet." He studied the stick for a moment, twiddling it between his fingers.
"I didn't mean that kind of memory stick – " Daniel tried to retrieve it. Jack easily kept it out of his reach, but overlooked Teal'c, who was sitting on the other side of Jack at the briefing room table. Teal'c calmly extracted the stick from Jack's hand while Jack was smirking at Daniel.
"Hey!"
Teal'c studied the stick in turn, one eyebrow furrowed slightly. In his palm, it seemed tiny and fragile. "I have seen these before. They are used to carry messages, or make notes."
"Kind of like Post-Its?" Sam held out a hand in request, and Teal'c handed it to her without demur.
"What is a pohstit?"
"Little bits of paper. With glue," Jack said.
"Like the one Jack uses because he can't remember his computer password," Daniel added.
"You refer to the small square of yellow paper underneath O'Neill's keyboard?"
"That's the one."
"Don't look at me like that," Jack grumbled. "I was doin' fine till they made us change the passwords again. The geeks were complaining about security."
"There was a security issue because too many people write down their passwords on Post-It notes, sir." Sam didn't point out that Jack never had any trouble remembering the computer codes that controlled the critical functions of the base. Especially not the code that shut off the self-destruct.
"I see," Teal'c said serenely. "Yes, the message sticks are very much the same, except a person can use the same one many times."
"I thought so," Daniel murmured. Sam handed him the stick without being asked. "It's soft wood, right? You soak the stick in water, and it swells up and erases what you've written. Then you can press a new message into the wood with a stylus."
"Good thing you found the damned thing before laundry day, Daniel," Jack remarked. He picked the stick out of Daniel's hand again, but this time, he set it in the middle of the table where they could all see it clearly. The symbols in the wood were easy to read: a set of six glyphs that Sam had already checked against the master database of Gate addresses. The combination was unique.
A new Stargate address.
"Would be nice if we actually knew where it came from," Jack drawled. "And how it got into Daniel's pocket."
"Daniel said a lot of things were missing after the mission," Sam said. "Not just his spare ammo clips – a couple of pens, all the chocolate bars, his pocket recorder, a notepad – "
"With my notes," Daniel put in testily. "I had to reproduce it all from memory, and I know I didn't get it all."
"And I got hit too," Sam added. "I mean, there was stuff missing from my pockets as well. Not as much as Daniel, but – "
"Waitaminnit!" Jack interrupted. "You got your pockets picked too, Carter?"
"Yes, sir. It was in my report."
"He didn't read the reports," Daniel muttered to Teal'c. Teal'c inclined his head almost imperceptibly in agreement.
"C'mon, Carter. I can believe it happening to Daniel, but come on – "
Daniel waved his hands to retrieve their attention. "Hang on a moment, everyone. You can believe this or not, but it's not really that easy to pick my pocket in the first place. I've spent a lot of time in the souks. We're talking years. I'm not saying that it can't be done – it's just that it's not easy. Whoever did it had to be good."
Sam looked from Jack to Teal'c. "Did either of you lose anything?"
Jack shrugged, somehow indicating a negative. Teal'c tilted his head minutely. "I did not."
"What about the old man?" Jack asked. "The one who tipped you off about the Goa'uld? Could he have done it?"
"Well, he got close enough to me, but what about Sam?"
"That's not the point." Jack picked up the slip of wood with its row of symbols, turned it over and over again in long fingers. "Point is, anyone who was close enough to take stuff out was close enough to leave something behind."
They were all watching the door, waiting for General Hammond to arrive; watching it without actually watching, except for Daniel, who didn't mind being obvious. The General arrived, looking mildly surprised to find his entire flagship team already assembled and waiting. Hammond glanced at Daniel, who looked as if he was bracing for an argument while still hoping he wouldn't need one.
"No need to look so anxious, Doctor Jackson. I have reviewed your recommendations and made my decision. If we're able to successfully dial your mystery address, we will send a MALP and see what's on the other side."
Daniel and Sam both relaxed and beamed. Daniel attempted to speak, but Hammond wasn't finished.
"However, that will have to wait. At the moment, your presence is required in the Gateroom."
"All of us?" "What for?" "What's up, sir?" From Teal'c, an inquiring silence.
"We've just received a transmission from the Tok'ra." He caught Sam's eye and nodded. "Yes, it's your father, Captain Carter."
Sam looked startled, pleased and perplexed at once. "What did he say? Is he coming here? Himself?"
Jack glowered. " 'Bout time. He never writes, never sends flowers, no cards, not even an email . . . " he subsided at a look from Hammond. Sam looked uncomfortable at the outburst – anyone else might have been squirming. Daniel narrowed his eyes, studying first Jack's face, then the General's. Teal'c's expression didn't change, but his impassivity shifted.
"The message said that he's coming here in person."
Jack got up to follow his team out of the briefing room, but a gesture from Hammond stopped him. "A word with you, Colonel." He glanced at Sam's retreating form and lowered his voice. "I have no idea why Jacob Carter is on his way here, but he asked for you personally, Jack."
"Me? Not Carter? Why?"
"I wish I knew," Hammond said. "But it could be an opportunity for us. When General Carter left this planet to become a Tok'ra host – "
"A snake by any other name," Jack muttered.
" – it was expected, once his improved health permitted, that he would take up duties as our liaison with the Tok'ra – "
"And the first time we rang them up, he didn't even answer," Jack said. "The snake they did send flat-out ordered us to surrender a prisoner to an enemy for death by torture. He couldn't even understand why we'd give a dying man painkillers. He also called us – what was it? – 'fools' and 'weak'. Also primitive, overconfident, and in over our heads. Did I miss anything there, Daniel?"
"I think you pretty much covered it," Daniel's voice drifted in from behind Jack.
"Indeed."
"Doctor Jackson, Teal'c, I don't recall inviting you to stay for this discussion," Hammond said with deceptive mildness.
Daniel emerged the rest of the way from just out of sight on the far side of the doorway. Behind him, Teal'c loomed in eloquent silence.
"And all of that came from a Tok'ra who supposedly likes us," Jack said. "Which kinda makes me wonder what the others say about us, especially when General Carter isn't around to put in a good word. We offered to share information, and they withheld intel. They do that a lot, in case you haven't noticed."
"Yes, Colonel, I had noted that." Hammond said drily. "Jacob Carter's presence amongst the Tok'ra has led to better relations, but – "
"We've seen him exactly once," Jack interrupted again. "And it was like pulling teeth to get any more out of him than the absolute minimum information we needed to keep from getting killed."
Behind him, Daniel broke in. "Jack, are you really being fair about that? I got the impression that they were giving us as much information as they were allowed to. Jacob – and Selmak – did come when we asked for their help, and provided us with that specialized weapon – so we've finally scored some actual advanced technology, which I thought was number one on the military's list of priorities. He filled us in on the Reetou and their hit teams – "
"He waited until we'd already been infiltrated by hostiles, and were in an imminent combat situation, before he got around to coughing up full information on the threat potential, armament and tactics of an confirmed enemy," Jack snapped. "For somebody who ought to know the importance of decent intel, he was pretty damned close-mouthed. Sir – " Jack looked back to where Hammond stood " – I know you've been buddies for a long time. I know General Carter spent more of his career flying a desk, and not so much commanding front-line units. But if I had anyone under my command with that habit of withholding mission-critical tactical information, and dribbling out selective bits according to a private agenda, I'd – "
"You'd be looking in a mirror," said Daniel.
Hammond gave him a look that should have been severe, but wasn't.
"At least I know the guy in the mirror," Jack said. "I know who calls the shots there."
"What about the fancy guns? The TERs?" said Daniel. "Doesn't that count for something? It's the only piece of really advanced gear the Tok'ra have shared with us."
"Precisely," murmured Teal'c. "They have given us nothing else."
"Captain Carter has informed me that the TER can't be reverse engineered," said Hammond before Jack could launch into another tirade. "When she attempted to dismantle one of the units and analyze the underlying technology, it turned into a puddle of slag. She believes that this is a deliberate aspect of the design, intended to prevent us from using the weapons for any purpose other than defense against the Reetou. I've given orders that no further attempts will be made, so as not to deplete the limited stock we have. Based on their history so far, we can't assume the Tok'ra will give us any more, despite their assurances."
Daniel frowned at Jack. "You sure this isn't really about the Reetou kid? I know, they haven't sent any word about how he's doing since the Tok'ra took him away, but maybe Jacob's got some good news there – no news might be good news – " he subsided quickly at the look on Jack's face.
Hammond cleared his throat in the awkward silence. "Let's just say the Joint Chiefs would be very pleased to see a little more tangible advantage from our relations with the Tok'ra. They'll be hoping General Carter's visit produces better results than the last one did."
"At least he's off the sick list for good," Jack said brightly. "Saves the taxpayers a little cash on his medical bills."
- x -
Sam Carter studied her father surreptitiously during the short walk from the Gateroom to the briefing room. General Jacob Carter looked fit and healthy, lively and energetic, and walked with a light step and a graceful economy of movement that was just a little different from the way he'd been before. Before blending . . . before half his dying body had been given over to a tandem driver. Before the symbiote Selmak had saved and shifted his life. There was no trace of the cancer now, no sign of sickness in his face: his eyes were bright and alert, his wasted cheeks had filled out. In fact, he looked almost disgustingly healthy.
He was wearing Tok'ra clothing again, or still. It looked strange on him to Sam, although the strangest thing was simply seeing him out of uniform. For all she knew, she might never see him in uniform again. She faced that thought even as it gave her insides a harsh wrench, almost as bad as the earliest trips through the Stargate.
Sam wasn't really sure what her father's status was in the Air Force right now, which was absurd. She should have taken the time to find out. He hadn't been declared dead – she did know that much – maybe he had been medically retired, or placed on extended leave. If so, it could break all the records ever for extended leave: extended for a century or two, extended right across the galaxy, extended into a war vaster in scope than anything the US military had ever been forced to contemplate before.
"Dad, you haven't said why you're here," she said as they found their chairs in the briefing room. The others had lagged slightly, giving her a few moments of almost-privacy with her father. She'd tried twice already to get something out of him, but he'd brushed her off. Now he smiled breezily.
"Isn't it enough for me to want to visit my favorite daughter?"
Sam smiled brightly. "Bull."
Jacob Carter gave her an exaggerated scowl, although his eyes were twinkling. Then the shift happened: a faint glow entered the eyes, and his voice became throaty as Selmak spoke. "Four thousand years have passed on the Tau'ri world, and yet children are still disrespectful of their elders."
"And after four thousand years, the elders are still fibbing to their kids," Sam said. "C'mon, Dad. Next you'll be telling me that Santa Claus is a Tok'ra."
Daniel, Jack, Teal'c and General Hammond had run out of plausible reasons to hang back, and were taking their places around the table. Teal'c had that look on his face, the one that meant that he didn't have a clue about the cultural reference, but was filing it away somewhere for future consideration while he analyzed the personal interplay, and probably made private side bets on who would win a given round of sparring. Jack looked long-suffering. Daniel was looking at his coffee cup as he refilled it from the pot in the briefing room.
"Good to see you back here, Jacob," Hammond said warmly.
Beside him, Jack murmured, "Even better if Tok'ra Claus is finally gonna bring us prezzies. I shoulda hung up my socks in the Gateroom last night." He leaned across the table towards Jacob. "Hey, General. Speaking of good little boys and girls. How's Charlie doing?"
"Charlie?"
Jack bared his teeth, but he wasn't smiling. "Yeah. Charlie. The Reetou kid? Two weeks ago? You took him out of here to give him one of your Tok'ra . . . " He made a vigorous gesture with several waggling fingers in the general direction of his head. "You know. It was the only thing that could fix him up. Save his life."
Jacob – the glow had faded and Sam knew it was her father – glanced away, avoiding Jack's eyes. For a dreadful moment, Sam thought that Selmak was about to butt in. All Jacob said was, "I'm sorry, Jack. He didn't make it."
Sam looked quickly from her father's face to Jack's, in time to see – nothing. No reaction at all; the Colonel's face went blank, a deadly vacancy that made her stomach curdle. Across the table, Daniel winced and looked anxiously at Jack. Jack didn't look back at him, didn't look at anything.
In the awkward silence that followed, Jacob stood up and laid his hands flat on the table. Sam had seen that gesture a million times if she'd seen it once. It was supposed to mean that he was laying everything out. That was never the case, of course; he always had something in reserve. A good general always did.
"George, everyone, my apologies for the lack of notice and thanks for the open door. I'm not actually here on a social call. I've got a proposition for you – specifically, for Colonel O'Neill."
Jack glowered, the first sign of life he'd shown since the bad news, and Sam found herself breathing again. "Just for the record, General, you're really not my type."
Jacob's face mirrored the long-suffering expression Jack had been wearing earlier. He cleared his throat and went on. "We recently got a piece of valuable intel from one of our operatives . . . that is, from a Tok'ra operative who's spent the last several months establishing himself at the court of one of the lesser System Lords, Khnum."
"Khnum?" Daniel interrupted. "According to some sources, Khnum was supposed to have been – " he glanced at Jack and Teal'c and winced. " – the son of Sokar. And, um, Hathor."
Jack made a disgusted face. Jacob nodded.
"That's right, Dr. Jackson. The Goa'uld Khnum isn't the actual offspring of both Goa'uld, since the System Lords won't stand for anything like that. But he's been in the service of Sokar for millennia. Went into exile with him when Sokar disappeared, then came back out again a year ago. He's up to his eyebrows in Sokar's schemes to return to power."
Jack looked slightly less nauseated. "So we're not actually dealing with Mommie Dearest here?"
"You mean Hathor?" Jacob shook his head. "No, no, nothing like that."
Hammond was leaning forward, his face creased with concern. "This is the first we've heard of any possible alliance between Sokar and Hathor. It's bad enough that she escaped us last year, and if she's teaming up with Sokar now – "
"She isn't," Jacob interrupted.
"You're sure of that?"
"Positive. To be honest, we're still trying to find out what she's up to these days – there's been no solid information on her movements since her attempt to establish a base here – "
"Would you actually tell us if there was?" Jack broke in.
He got a scowl in reply. "Look, Colonel. From the point of view of the rest of the galaxy, your people woke her up, let her out of prison, gave her access to a Stargate and let her get away. You're not in the greatest position to demand information on what she's done since then – "
Jack was gripping the arms of his chair; he looked ready to launch himself across the conference table. General Hammond's voice cut in.
"Jacob. I believe we were discussing the current Goa'uld political situation, am I correct?"
Jack settled back into the leather chair seat, seething visibly. Jacob Carter deliberately turned away from Jack and faced Hammond. A flicker of light touched his eyes – Sam was sure of it – and his shoulders visibly relaxed. Huh. Does Selmak get to smack his arm and tell him to back off when he's being overbearing? God, that would be nice.
When Jacob began to speak again, it was his own voice, but relatively even and calm. "Not exactly – although, yes, I do understand that an alliance between Hathor and Sokar sounds like a nightmare. Hell, it would be a nightmare. But it won't happen. Back a few thousand years ago, Hathor played off Ra and Sokar against each other, and they both got tired of her in the end. That's how she ended up imprisoned in stasis. Every System Lord has to have a Queen on tap, but she was just too dangerous." Jacob glanced at Daniel with an unreadable expression.
Daniel answered with a brittle smile. "So if there's a System Lord named Khnum, what about Ptah?"
"Now you're pulling my leg," Jack said. "Ptooie? There's an Egyptian god named 'Ptooie'?
"Not Ptooie, Ptah – "
"Would you two cut it out?" Jacob demanded. "Yes, there's a Lord Ptah, or there used to be. He was a hanger-on in Sokar's court. Nobody seems to know what's happened to him – he dropped out of sight a few centuries ago. He probably pissed Sokar off. That happens a lot, and it's not pretty."
"I'll bet," said Jack. He glanced at Teal'c, and got an eyebrow twitch in agreement.
Hammond held up a hand. "What about your operative?"
"Yeah. Anyway, the operative got access to part of Khnum's records. He was looking for information on Sokar's current forces, but he turned up something else, something the Tok'ra have been wanting to find for a couple of centuries." He looked around the table. Sam caught the gleam in his eyes – not Selmak peeking out; it was definitely her father. He was genuinely excited about his news.
"He found the coordinates of a planet that Sokar used to control. It was abandoned about two hundred years ago. The address of the Stargate was wiped out of the Goa'uld records, and return by ship was forbidden."
"Why?" Daniel asked.
"Plague."
Jack's eyebrows levitated. "Plague? As in, cough cough die?"
"Pretty much." Jacob looked around the table again. "We never found out exactly what the disease was or what caused it, but it's the only pathogen ever known to have killed Goa'uld symbiotes. Ordinary humans were immune, but human hosts died as well – both Jaffa and full Goa'uld hosts. The symbiotes couldn't cure the plague."
"So the System Lords cut and ran and tore the address out of their galactic Rolodex," Jack said. "Sounds like them."
"I have never heard of this." Teal'c was frowning. "The symbiotes should have been immune to every disease."
"That's just it," said Jacob. "They weren't. But you're right. They should have been. The dead didn't even respond to sarcophagus treatment." Teal'c's eyebrow canted sharply at that. "There was a human slave colony on the planet – the Goa'uld abandoned them when they withdrew. We don't know if there are any survivors."
"Won't the people have Gated out once the Goa'uld left?" Sam asked.
"It's believed that the Goa'uld sabotaged the DHD on the planet, so that nobody could leave once they'd retreated. They didn't want to risk any possibility that the contagion would spread to other worlds."
Daniel's face was set in an outraged rictus. "So they just left them all to die of an untreatable fatal disease? Just like that?"
"They're more likely to have starved to death," Jacob said bluntly. "The planet was a mining colony. It was never intended to sustain itself without outside supplies. You see, the System Lords don't want any of their slave worlds to be really capable of independence. It makes them nervous if any colony can get along by itself. Especially not if the planet has real strategic value."
"Do the Tok'ra know what was being mined there?" Hammond asked. At the question, Sam saw Jack's eyes flick quickly to her father's face. Looking for signs of withheld information. She didn't see any sign of it herself, but she wished she didn't have to look for it.
Jacob was shaking his head, and he looked sincere, anyway. "We don't know. We're pretty sure it wasn't naquadah, but we know it was important. Sokar originally conquered the planet after a different Goa'uld had established the colony, and he fought at least three territorial wars to keep it. When he was told the place had to be abandoned, he flew into a rage."
"The rages of Sokar are legendary," Teal'c remarked.
"Yeah, no kidding. I'll tell you what else is legendary: the guy loves keeping things close to the chest. The location of the planet was a carefully guarded secret even before the plague. It was a real stroke of luck for us – our operative actually found the records of the orders to abandon the planet, and got the address. We worked out the physical coordinates from that." He took a deep breath. "We're not after the minerals, whatever's there. We're hoping to get some clue to the plague itself."
"You think you might be able to use it against the Goa'uld," said Sam.
"You're talking about germ warfare," said Daniel. He glanced across the table at Jack. Jack was looking disgusted again, but there was a steely, determined look in his eyes. Daniel returned his gaze to his coffee cup.
Sam's eyebrows were furrowed. "Dad, if there was a plague that kills Goa'uld symbiotes, that planet isn't safe for the Tok'ra either. Do you know anything about the vectors? How can you be sure the disease is dormant or gone?"
"That's the thing," said Jacob. "We need help from someone who isn't a Tok'ra. That's where Jack comes in."
"Waitaminute!" Jack sat up straight, suddenly seeming very tall even though he was still sitting down. "Why me?"
The more her father sparred with Jack, the more his face reminded Sam of weather patterns on a very stormy day. Just now, there was a fresh thunderstorm brewing. As a general, he hadn't had to deal much with insubordination; she hoped that was it, and not another round of the immortal Tok'ra elders regarding the lowly humans of Earth.
"You're the best fit for the mission," Jacob was saying. For the moment, the developing thunderclouds were still a ways off. "You've got the right kind of background and training, and you're familiar with offworld operations."
"Dad, how are you going to get there?" Sam asked suddenly. "You said the Stargate is disabled. And you couldn't Gate through safely anyway – or maybe you could, but the only way to find out would be to step through and – "
" – and wait to find out how fast I die of plague, yes, we figured all that out by ourselves. We'll go by ship."
"So the Tok'ra do have ships?" Daniel suddenly said. "That's nice to know. We didn't, you see."
The thundercloud look darkened on Jacob's face. He'd been looking away from Daniel for most of this time, facing the end of the table where Jack and General Hammond were sitting, the end where he expected the flak to come from. "Yes, we've got ships. We have to get around the galaxy somehow, preferably without being seen and followed." Not a thunderstorm after all, Sam thought. Acid rain. "The Stargates on many Goa'uld worlds are heavily guarded or at least constantly monitored," Jacob said. "It's like that on a lot of the planets we most need to visit, the worlds under key System Lord control. We are fighting a war, in case it's slipped your mind."
"We? You mean the Tok'ra? Or does Earth get to have anything to do with all this? You do remember Earth, I assume. That's the planet where you were born . . . in case it's slipped your mind."
Jacob stared at Daniel for a long moment before he spoke again. "George, are they always this bad?"
Hammond looked disingenuous. "Usually they're worse."
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