Too Little, Too Late
By
Denise
It was a trap.
A first year cadet would have seen it; hell a Girl Scout could have seen it. In hindsight, Colonel Dave Dixon knew he should have listened to his guts, heeded that hinky feeling in the pit of his stomach that screamed that something just wasn't right.
But he'd ignored those feelings; let them get pushed aside by the tempting lure of naqahdah and promises of trade.
The natives on P3X831 had been so generous, so welcoming, that he'd seen no danger in passing along their suggestion for the general to come.
They hadn't insisted, hadn't pushed or coerced in any way, they'd just issued the invitation, planted the seed of an idea in his head and let it lie. There, buried in the recesses of his imagination, it had germinated and grown, slowly turning from a vague idea to a fully formed proposition.
Dave hadn't even questioned when he'd returned to Earth and briefed the general. If the rest of his team thought he was overstating the importance of the general signing the treaty himself-- in person-- they didn't say a word. Nor did they even put forth the idea that the signing of the treaty, take place at the SGC. A simple fact that should have served as one final warning that something was afoot.
In the end, the general had come, a small degree of life and enthusiasm lighting his tired eyes as he stepped up the ramp, looking more at home in bulky gear than he ever had in his Class A's.
There'd been a spring in his step, a straightening of his back as reality dawned. After more than a year of pushing paper, he was back in the saddle again, a member of a team again, even if it was just for one trip, one planet, one last hurrah.
Dave had hoped that this trip would revitalize the man, renew his spirit and finally banish the shadows put upon his soul by one fateful decision a dozen months before. The one that doomed three people to death—Jack's own former team members and friends.
Today, Dave learned a vital, painful lesson. Hope is for the young, while grief and regret are for the old.
Today, Dave realized that he was old.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Jack O'Neill was no stranger to the inside of a cell. It was a dubious distinction, one that harkened back to his humble Chicago beginnings.
He still remembered the first cell he'd ever spent time in. Gray painted cinder block walls, harsh fluorescent lighting, the ever present small of urine and bleach, both struggling to overcome the other.
They thought that night in the klink would 'scare him straight'. In reality, all it did was confirm his belief that the world was full of people who thought that respect automatically came with a uniform or a title. That it was some sort of divine right, instead of something to be earned.
He'd left the next morning, no more respectful of 'authority' but with the conviction that the one true way to win was to beat them at their own game. Not to break their rules, but to bend them so far that they eventually gave up, forced to change if for no other reason than to save face and stop looking like such a putz.
Time and again in his adult life, he'd spent time behind bars. Most of the time, it was simply the result of a few too many at the local watering hole, a little too much enthusiasm on downtime or the occasional 'superior' officer who thought fear bred respect.
Only twice in his life did a cell engender the appropriate response.
The first time it was a dark hole buried under the burning sands. Dry desert heat drained his body as foreign speaking tormentors attacked his soul.
The second cell was as clean as the other was dirty, bright as the other was dark. Where his first had been primitive, harkening back to the barbaric days of old, this was neat; bright and open, hinting at a sanitized and sterile future. There were no clanging bars, no stone floors, yet it was alarmingly the same.
Both places he'd been kept against his will, both times he'd been tormented, both times he'd screamed and cried.
And both times he'd begged to die.
How different things would be now if he'd gotten his wish then. He would have been first, not last, victim not survivor, deceased not mourner.
One simple thing would have changed history for the better and he knew it, even without Ziggy to quote him the odds.
It looked like he may finally get his wish, he thought, his eyes idly scanning his current surroundings. It was just too bad that yet another SG team was going to die because of him, all five of them betrayed by scared spitless natives.
This cell was like any other on a mother ship. Angled walls, barren floors with plain shelves jutted out, providing both bed and seat. The door was blocked by the same mesh like bars he'd seen so many times before.
They were all crowded in here, and Jack looked at their faces. Balinsky was scared, his pale face a stark white that made his red hair even more vibrant. Bosworth and Wells were seated together, both trying to look tough and failing. If they didn't get out of here soon, Wells was gonna miss his kid's second birthday party.
Dixon was seated next to Jack and he was the most calm, almost as if he enjoyed the adventure. Of course, the man had four kids in elementary school; anything else had to be a vacation.
Five kids. Five little ones that stood a chance of being orphans now, the chance of growing up with 'dad' being nothing more than a fading memory and a tri-folded flag on the mantle.
Five more lives to add to the long list of ones Jack had ruined.
"Now what?" Dixon asked softly. Jack raised his eyebrows, looking at the man. "Don't get me wrong Jack, but you've been here more than we have. How'd you get out before?"
"With a little help from my friends," Jack said. And it was friends that had helped them. Tok'ra, Jaffa...Felger. All their escapes had come as a result of an unexpected or unknown ally.
They didn't have any allies any more.
Nobody had heard from the Tok'ra in months, not personally. There were still rumors, stories that the resistance had been infiltrated so deeply that it was splintered beyond repair. Reports that they were down to a few hundred, or even a few dozen. And the only war they were waging now was a war for survival. They were now the hunted.
Multiple System Lords had served for millennia to keep the balance of power on an even keel, and it had also served to keep the Tok'ra in existence. When the System Lords were fighting amongst themselves, they paid no heed to the bothersome Tok'ra. But now that the System Lords were no more, Ba'al had nothing better to do than quash all resistance.
And the Tok'ra weren't his only victims.
The Jaffa Resistance had also suffered. Without a leader, the former slaves emulated their former masters. They fought amongst themselves, seeking land and power. With Bra'tac's and Raknor's deaths, they ceased to care about the Tau'ri any more. Only the Asgard had kept the Goa'uld from attacking Earth, which was another reason the Jaffa cared little about the primitive and weak humans.
They resented the Asgard's choice to protect Earth and not them. A resentment that only grew when Earth refused to allow the remaining Jaffa to seek shelter their planet. The Jaffa felt abandoned, and so they returned that feeling ten fold.
Earth was alone now, more alone than it had been in the beginning, back in those idyllic days when humans could stroll into Apophis palace, and not only not be attacked, be invited to dinner.
"Jack?"
Jack shook his head. "It's me they want. That much is obvious. They might let you guys go," he said, knowing that he was toying with being cruel, giving them false hope. Then again, Ba'al just might let them go. If for no other reason than to make sure they carried word of Jack O'Neill's fate back to Earth.
"Ever the optimist," Dixon drawled.
"That's me, Mister Positive," Jack quipped, drawing a bit of comfort from the black humor. It'd been a while since he'd done this, bantered with a member of his command. Dixon was one of the few at the SGC that didn't walk on eggshells around him.
Something that Jack appreciated more than he could ever show.
"Maybe some of the locals—" Bosworth suggested.
"We're on a ship, Jake," Wells interrupted.
"I know."
"Goa'uld ships don't tend to have stowaways."
"It could happen," Bosworth insisted, his tone rising indignantly.
Jack chuckled, his amusement fading as boot steps echoed down the hall. He looked over and saw that Dave heard it too. "You get a chance, take it," he ordered softly.
"Jack—"
"Orders," Jack interrupted, raising one finger.
Dave nodded, accepting Jack's words, even though it was clear he didn't agree with them. Right on cue, four Jaffa marched around the corner, their destination clear. The Jaffa marched up to the door and Dixon motioned to his men, telling them to remain seated. "You," the leader said, pointing at Jack.
"Last I heard, he was dead," Jack replied. The Jaffa frowned, clearly not impressed with Jack's humor. "KREE!" Two of his companions lowered their staff weapons, aiming them at Wells and Bosworth. "Got a flare for the dramatic, I see," Jack said, getting to his feet.
The Jaffa lowered their weapons and Jack stepped forward, pausing as the man opened the cell door. He walked out, relieved when the door clanged shut behind him. "Save me a piece of cake," he said, glancing back at SG-13.
"I suppose you want ice cream too?" Dixon asked.
"Only if it's choc—"
"Enough!" the leader interrupted, giving Jack a shove. He stumbled a bit, then regained his balance, falling into step between the quartet of Jaffa. They led him through the maze of corridors and he scanned at each junction, trying to gauge the strength of his captors.
He saw a few other Jaffa, but not nearly enough to be manning a ship of this size.
Which meant that they were either busy elsewhere on the ship or Ba'al's forces were stretched a wee bit thin. Either way, he hoped that it would play into finding a way for SG-13 to get out of here and back home where they belonged.
They arrived at the bridge and Jack paused, letting his escorts open the door for him. He strode into the room, not surprised to see an ornate throne in the center. "Still going with the Harem look I see," he said loudly, looking for his host.
"It is far better than the pitiful accommodations I was subjected to." The speaker walked out of the shadows and, despite himself, Jack stared.
"This is a surprise," he drawled as Camulus walked towards him. The goa'uld was dressed similarly to the last time Jack had seen him, a tunic and kilt, boots and a cape. His dark hair was longer and was tied at the nape of his neck. He was paler than before, a paleness that was accentuated by a myriad of scars that marked his exposed arms and the uncovered part of his chest.
"I would imagine that it is," Camulus said coolly.
"Oh, come on. You're holding a grudge?"
"Your betrayal cost me months in Ba'al's dungeons," Camulus said, moving so close that Jack was forced to take a step back. "But I have no need to tell you about that, do I? Or have your memories faded so quickly?"
"You know, they say memory is the first thing to go," Jack quipped, refusing to play into the goa'uld's hands. Camulus was just trying to rattle him, put him on the defensive.
Camulus chuckled and walked in slow circles around Jack. "I have heard that about humans. It is the one thing that makes them such perfect hosts—the fragility of their minds."
"Ah, and I thought it was for our good looks?" Jack shot back.
"Silence," Camulus growled.
"What do you want?" Jack asked, his levity vanishing in an instant.
Camulus chuckled again, striding past Jack to sit on the throne with a flourish of his cape. "Surely you have figured it out by now."
"Spell it out. Words of one syllable or less," Jack said, glaring at the gloating goa'uld.
"Perhaps, as a reward, my lord will allow me to watch," Camulus said. "I shall enjoy watching you scream."
"Camy, ya gotta know, Ba'al's just using you," Jack said. "The second he feels threatened, you're toast."
"You do not think I am aware of that?" Camulus gloated, getting up from the throne. "I am happy to serve my lord however he wishes me to serve," he said loudly as he walked towards Jack. He leaned in close, his mouth just inches from Jack's ear. "Until the time is right and I can slay him while he sleeps," he whispered.
"You're a peach," Jack quipped as Camulus stepped back, motioning his Jaffa forward.
"I am your god. And you will do well to remember that."
Jack snorted. "Cam, the last time I believed in God was sometime back in the twentieth century." Two of the Jaffa grabbed Jack's arms and he struggled against them. "Camy! I'm the one you want. The whole thing was my idea. Let the others go."
"Perhaps it is time for the Tau'ri to learn a lesson. Resistance is death," he pronounced. "They shall die. And your cooperation determines if it is to be a painless death." He made a dismissive gesture and the Jaffa pulled Jack from the room, their enhanced strength rendering his struggles useless.
Jack stopped dragging his feet and walked with them, determined to present a controlled image to SG-13, presuming he was returned to the same cell. Dixon's men probably knew that they were going to die, but he saw no need to totally dash their hopes.
"Shel kek nem ron?" Jack muttered, hoping to garner a response. Just because the Jaffa rebellion was no longer organized didn't mean it no longer existed.
"Hataka!" one of them growled, giving Jack a vicious shove. He fell forward, decades of instinct leading him to duck one shoulder, rolling to his side instead of crashing to his knees.
"Come on," he said, propping himself up on his elbows. "You're nothing but cannon fodder to him. He'll sacrifice your lives in an instant."
"He is our God, that is his right," one of them insisted.
"And what about your rights?" Jack shot back, struggling to his feet. "Wouldn't you like to make your own choices? Live where you want to live, go where you want to go?"
"Silence!" the leader yelled, stalking forward and grabbing Jack's arm. "Only the risk of my god's anger keeps me from slitting your throat."
"DO IT!" Jack said, moving close to the Jaffa. He leaned in, close enough that he could smell what the man had had for lunch. He grabbed for the man's dagger, stopped by the Jaffa's iron grip. "You know you want to," he taunted. "Brag to your friends that you killed O'Neill. Come on. Or are you too much of a coward?"
The man's nostrils flared and Jack held his breath, anticipating a killing blow. Blue fire washed over him and his hope was crushed.
His nerves screaming, he fell to the deck, the Jaffa landing on top of him, the man's bulk squeezing the air from Jack's lungs.
The world turned gray around the edges, then black and Jack mercifully lost consciousness, his last thought the desperate prayer that he'd never wake up.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"You acted too soon."
"They were going to kill him."
"They're too beaten. What about the others?"
"Asha is with them."
"Tell her to just get them to a gate. They can find their own way home. What about him?"
"We have no choice. Help me get him to the glider bay."
Two hands grabbed Jack under his arms and pulled him up, confirming that the voices were real, not some dream. He struggled to open his eyes, succeeding only to find his vision blurry. Nausea bubbled in his stomach and he closed his eyes, content to just let them carry him. Wherever they were going, it had to be better than Ba'al's dungeons.
One of the people carrying him let go and Jack felt the other tighten their grip, assuming more of his weight. He tried to help them, struggling to lock his knees. He heard the tell tale whine of a zat and figured they'd run into some resistance.
"Come," the voice urged and Jack was maneuvered forward. He forced his eyes open, blinking at the dizzying sight of an endless row of death gliders. They made their way to the nearest one, the cockpit dropping down to meet them. He was manhandled into the back seat, his muscles still reeling from the zat. A hooded figure climbed into the pilot's seat and started flipping switches.
Feeling distinctly useless, Jack reached for the controls, planning to help with pre-flight. "Stop!" the person snapped.
Startled, he let his hands drop into his lap as the glider's engines revved into life. The bay doors opened and they dropped into space.
The glider swooped away and Jack was grateful for the inertial dampeners. Without them, he knew he'd just be a smear on the canopy.
They dashed through space and Jack could see his surroundings for the first time. The hatak was in orbit around a planet, P3X831 he guessed, not remembering feeling the lurch of a jump into hyperspace. A pair of lights began to flash on the console between his knees and his heart gave a lurch that had nothing to do with the erratic flying.
"We got bandits on our ass," he said, punching buttons to zoom in on the display.
The pilot started to swoop and dive, putting the craft through maneuvers Jack had only seen in the movies. The two following them opened fire and lasers danced around them as the pilot cart wheeled out of the way.
They ended up behind one of them and the pilot opened fire, destroying the glider. Laser fire arced across the canopy and Jack yelped, instinctively cringing as the glider buzzed them, coming so close that he could see the welds on the bottom of the craft. His pilot wheeled, pulling the glider in a tight, inverted loop, firing once they'd reached the apex. "Yes!" Jack cheered as the second glider was destroyed.
Debris blossomed around them and his glee turned into dread as he realized that they couldn't miss it. Pieces of shrapnel rattled as it collided with their craft. Alarms began to flash and wail in a language he didn't know as their enemy got the final say and their glider started to surrender to one inexorable fact, the relentless pull of gravity.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
He heard birds.
That was odd. Since when did goa'uld ships start having birds?
He opened his eyes, staring stupidly at the crumpled console in front of him. A death glider? What the hell was he doing in a—Jack sat upright, muttering a curse when his abused muscles protested the sudden movement.
That was right, their glider had been damaged and they'd had to land, choosing to crash on the planet rather than returning to the Hatak and almost certain death.
They.
The pilot. "Hey!" he said, leaning forward. The pilot was out of reach, slumped over the controls. He looked around them. They'd crashed through the trees; the conifer sentinels obviously having slowed them enough to make the crash survivable. But it also meant that they'd left a mile long trail, one even a Jaffa could find. They'd come after them. Camulus couldn't risk disappointing Ba'al, and neither could his Jaffa. Pursuit was inevitable. "We gotta get out of here," he muttered.
Fortunately for him, the canopy had already retracted, which was why he'd heard birds. He braced his arms on the side of the cockpit, pulling himself up from his seat. He carefully stepped out onto the wing and looked around. So far, he couldn't see any signs of pursuit, but he was sure that would change.
"Hey?" He reached into the front seat, checking the pilot. "You still with me?" The pilot moaned and shifted, one hand coming up to weakly bat at his. "They're gonna come after us, we gotta go," he urged.
The pilot reached up and pushed the hood back, revealing shoulder length brown hair and a distinctly feminine face. "I am here," she said, blinking her eyes to clear her vision. "This was not my best landing," she said wryly.
Jack shrugged. "Any landing you can walk away from—"
"True." She levered herself up out of the seat, taking a quick look around. "The gate is that way," she said, pointing off to her left. "I think we're maybe thirty clicks away."
She climbed out of the cockpit and stood on the other wing, her hands grasping the edge tightly. She wavered slightly and he frowned, afraid of what would happen if she passed out. The death glider's wings were several feet off the ground and, while a fall might not be fatal, it wouldn't be fun either. "You ok?" He reached out towards her, surprised when she shook off his hand.
"Yes." She gave him a weak smile. "They will easily find this glider. We must get as far away from here as we can.
"No argument from me," Jack said, sliding down the wing and landing awkwardly on the ground, grimacing as his knee voiced its protest of his actions. His companion followed suit and stood beside him.
"We will need to maintain a quick pace. A Jaffa's endurance will outstrip a human's." She looked around them. "The woods are thick, but perhaps we will find a game trail that will make the going easier," she planned.
"What about SG-13?" Jack asked, changing the subject.
"If Korra did his job right, they should be safely home by now," she said. "Our plans were to extract all of you, however your…interaction with Rak'al changed that."
"Rak'al?"
"The Jaffa you were exchanging words with. He is Ba'al's First Prime and is charged with insuring that Camulus behaves himself, although I do not think Camulus is aware of that fact. Ba'al still has his sarcophagus and he could have revived you had Rak'al lost his patience, but that would have taken time."
Jack nodded seriously. "What's your name?"
"What?" She frowned at him.
"We got a long walk and 'hey you' is a little awkward."
She smiled, shaking her head a bit. "Kalina."
"Well, Kalina, I'm Jack O'Neill. It's nice to meet you. Now, which way is that Stargate?"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Jack walked behind Kalina, his mind swirling with questions. So the Tok'ra weren't as dead as he'd been lead to believe. Korra was still alive, as was his friend. At least, he thought she was a Tok'ra. They didn't tend to hang with normal humans much, although their prejudice against humans may have changed. Desperate times did bring desperate measures and just because her eyes hadn't started glowing yet, didn't mean that she wasn't one of them.
And these were desperate times. Not only were the Tok'ra dying, but the goa'uld were too. That was the only good thing that had come from Ba'al's rise to power. He'd done it on the backs of thousands of his brethren, killing every goa'uld that opposed him without quarter, with no mercy. It was now estimated that the total goa'uld population numbered in the hundreds, if not less.
Ten years ago, Jack would have thanked Ba'al. But ten years ago Earth wasn't even a blip on the goa'uld radar. It was just a matter of time before they'd come after Earth. Which was what had made the loss of his team—former team—so hard for him.
They'd lost three of their best, just when they, when he, needed them the most.
He heard the unmistakable gurgle of a stream and was suddenly aware of just how dry his mouth was. "Let's take a break," he said softly, careful to pitch his voice just enough to be heard and not enough to carry.
She stopped and turned, frowning at him. "I have no way of knowing if the water is safe for human consumption."
"Dehydration's worse," Jack said. "If I do pick up a bug, chances are it won't hit me for several hours. We should be back at the gate by then."
"As you wish." She changed course, leading him towards the sound of the water. Fortunately, the stream was just a few dozen yards away. It tumbled clear and fast over moss covered rocks. It wasn't a large stream, more of a brook and was only a few feet across and even less than that deep. Both of then knelt at the edge and drank deeply.
Jack took a chance to study his rescuer, the first he'd had since their escape from the hatak. She was tall and thin. Her brown hair nearly matched the color of her tunic and hung loose and straight around her face.
There was nothing memorable about her. She was just…ordinary. She drank deeply, her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.
"I thought all the Tok'ra were dead," he said softly.
"Most are," she replied. "Just a few small cells remain."
Jack nodded. "I was wondering—"
"Jacob Carter is dead," she interrupted. "I think Korra is the only other one still alive that ever had contact with the Tau'ri."
"What happened?" he asked, somehow not surprised that the Ex-general had perished. The man's year long absence now made sense. For the first few months after SG-1's disappearance, Jack had greeted each incoming wormhole with a mixture of dread and hope. Hope that somehow they'd come back, and dread that Jacob would visit and that Jack would have to tell him that he killed his daughter.
"He was killed on a mission." A whine pierced the air and Jack instinctively looked up, relieved when he saw nothing but the canopy of trees. "Even if they can't see us, they will track us down," she said. "We need to keep moving."
"Just tell me one thing," he asked, ignoring her urgency.
"We don't—"
"SG-1. Are they dead?" he asked urgently, willing to dare hope for a miracle. Could they still be alive, even after all this time?
"SG-1 is gone," she said simply.
Jack closed his eyes, her confirmation striking him in the heart. He'd known, somehow, he'd always known. But he'd been able to ignore it, push it aside and keep a tiny glimmer of hope alive.
A glimmer that her three simple words now snuffed out.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Jack stumbled over an unseen tree root, cursing softly under his breath. They had been walking for several hours and the sun had set a little while before, casting the already dim forest into near total darkness.
Ahead of him, Kalina plodded on, obviously not affected by the gathering darkness. She stopped, reaching out to grab Jack's hand. "We should rest," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The planet had almost no night music and Jack knew that, in the relative quiet, their voices would carry over a great distance. "There." She pulled him forward, leading him to a large fallen log.
The forest of the planet was old, older than any Jack had seen. Trees towered hundreds of feet into the sky and their trunks were ten to twenty feet around. As they'd walked, he'd noticed some fallen trees, behemoths lying forlorn at the feet of their brothers, felled by maybe a storm or simple old age. They quietly rotted away, some serving as nurse logs to infant trees, and all slowly returning their nutrients to the soil, completing the circle of life.
She led him to the other side of the log and directed him to a small hollow under it where the soil had been washed or worn away and the tree served as the roof of a shallow cave. It wasn't a perfect shelter, but it was definitely better than lying out in the open. With luck, if any Jaffa caught up with them, they would pass right on by.
"I have no food," she apologized, pulling her legs up and tucking them close to her chest to try and preserve some warmth. The night wasn't cold, but it was growing distinctly chilly as dampness settled in. Jack knew that by morning, it would likely be foggy or misty. He just hoped that it wouldn't rain.
"I'm not hungry anyway," he said, trying to stretch within the confines of their cramped refuge. He was sore from the crash, abused and pulled muscles now starting to ache as he sat and they cooled. He'd be stiff in the morning, that much was a given.
"You should sleep," she said softly.
He stared off into the dark, knowing that she spoke the truth, he needed to rest. But his brain wasn't quite ready to listen to his body just yet. Her words from a few hours before still echoed in his mind. 'SG-1 is gone.'
Gone? What kind of a word was gone? That didn't tell him anything. Gone? Gone where? They couldn't just be gone, not SG-1, not his friends. They'd fought too long and too hard to just…go.
"How did they die?"
"What?"
"SG-1," he specified. "How did they die?"
He heard the soft rustle of her hair as she shook her head and sighed. "It doesn't—"
"It matters," he interrupted.
"I don't know much."
"Then you know more than I do. Please, they were my friends," he begged.
"Friends you left behind," she shot back.
"What?"
"We heard. They had established a wormhole with Earth, they could have made it home, but you refused to open your iris," she accused. He could feel her stare; see the condemnation in her eyes even though it was pitch dark.
"Yes, I did," he said.
"Why?"
"It was procedure. Anyone who'd been compromised couldn't return directly to Earth. They needed to go to the Alpha Site first and get evaluated," he explained.
"A wise procedure," she agreed. "However, it is one that was not always followed."
"No," he said softly, thinking of all the times he'd been the recipient of Hammond's benefit of the doubt. How many times the old man had opened the iris, even though all the rules and protocol said that he shouldn't. "Just a few more seconds," he muttered.
"What?"
"Just a few more seconds. I opened the iris, but before I could tell them that it was safe to come home, the gate shut down," he said, again experiencing the sick feeling in his stomach as the gate closed. Remembering how he stared at the empty gate, willed it to re-open. He vaguely remembered sitting down in a chair, maybe it was Harriman's, he couldn't recall. All he knew was that his legs would no longer support him and it was either sit down or fall down.
He sat there for hours. Wishing the gate to open, begging it to open, praying for a miracle. He sat there all night, finally relenting when Dave came in the next morning, casually suggesting breakfast while his eyes whispered empathy.
He'd gone with him then, not because he was hungry, but because he knew, knew it was over, knew they'd never come home, knew he'd waited too long. That his efforts had been too little, too late.
A hand grasped his arm, silently offering comfort. Jack ignored her. He didn't want comfort, didn't need empty words or trite phrases. He needed to go back in time, change his mind, make his decision just a few seconds sooner, save his friends lives.
"Teal'c died first," she whispered. "It was ironic that the strongest among them was also the weakest."
"Tretonin."
"Yes. He tried to hide it, but he grew weaker every day." She shifted a bit, turning to face him. "When the stargate closed, they fell back into the forest. To this day, the survivors speak of the ferociousness of their fighting.
They ran for days, barely sleeping, struggling to scavenge for food from the very people they were running from. Each day, Teal'c's strength waned. Finally, he fell. He knew that he was dying, and knew about Ba'al's sarcophagus, so he asked Carter for Sha'kek."
"Sha'kek?" Jack asked, not familiar with the term.
"Mercy," she said.
"Oh," he said, knowing what it would have cost his friend to ask for mercy. Knowing how Teal'c hated to lose, and would never quit.
"Because of the sarcophagus, they had to destroy the body," she continued. "The Jaffa tradition was immolation, however they lacked the time, so the zatnikatel had to suffice."
"Zatted him three times?" he asked after a few seconds, more to fill the silence than for confirmation. They would do that. They'd discussed it once, the viability of using zats to dispose of corpses. Actually, Jack's idea had been to use it for garbage disposal but still, the theory was valid. Even Carter had said so.
"Yes."
"Carter? Daniel?"
"They fled into the hills, getting farther and farther away from the stargate. The Jaffa hunted them for weeks. Drove them further and further away, kept them on the run. They grew tired, hungry. Eventually…eventually they made a mistake. Doctor Jackson was captured." Jack closed his eyes, not wanting to hear anymore but knowing that he had to. "Ba'al tortured him for days, weeks," she said. "He did it down on the planet, so that Carter could hear. He knew she wouldn't leave her friend, knew she'd stay close."
"Daniel was bait."
"Yes. But she never surrendered. Her knowledge of Earth and the Tok'ra was too valuable to give to Ba'al. She could have killed herself but, then Jackson would have been alone, with no hope of rescue."
"God," he groaned, resting his head on his hand. Suddenly, he was glad he hadn't eaten as the thought of what his friends had been through made him physically ill. How had she stood it? Kalina was right, Carter wouldn't have left Daniel. She would have stayed close, been ready to jump on any chance to free him. She would have listened to it all, watched it all, kept it all in that super economy sized memory of hers.
"By then, word had spread," Kalina continued. "The Tok'ra found out. Not surprisingly, Jacob wanted to launch a rescue, but he was denied by the council."
"Why?"
"The risk was deemed too great. But he went anyway. Getting no help from his kind, he sought out assistance from the Jaffa."
"Bra'tac?"
"And Ry'ac. They infiltrated the planet and snuck in, but it was too late."
"Too late?"
"Doctor Jackson was…no more. And Carter." She sighed. "Jacob did get to see her before he died. I am sorry General. There was little we could do. We were too few and Ba'al's forces are too great."
"Yeah," Jack muttered.
"Even if you do not sleep, you should rest," she said. "It is likely that we will meet resistance at the stargate. And I do not believe that the native people will be of much assistance."
She fell silent and Jack stared off into the night, his eyes now able to see faint tendrils of mist forming amongst the trees. They wafted and floated like a wraith, reminding him of whispered tales of Banshees and spirits. Specters that haunted the living, never allowing the solace that came with fading memories.
Jack would never know solace, never know forgiveness, never forget.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
In the end, getting home was astonishingly easy.
Jack and Kalina left their refuge at first light, silently making their way through the awakening forest. He knew there was a village near the gate, and Jack feared for them.
He knew Ba'al wouldn't think twice about killing them. If it came right down to it, he was ready to surrender, anything to keep more blood from staining his hands.
Wanting to remain unseen, they skirted the village, coming up to the Stargate from its rear.
Much to his surprise, they found Korra waiting for them. "I thought you would make it today," he said, getting to his feet.
"Korra," Kalina greeted, moving forward to clasp his hand.
"Not that I mind but--where's Camulus?" Jack asked, surprised by the surrealism of an easy retreat after their speedy flight.
"Lord Yu attacked Ba'al's home planet," Korra reported. "I am afraid, General O'Neill, that Ba'al found the need for reinforcements important than capturing you."
Jack shook his head. "Ah, well, you win some—SG-13 make it home?"
"Yes," Korra nodded.
Jack turned to his rescuer. "Kalina, you're welcome to come back. Let me at least buy you dinner for saving my six. Korra, you too."
"I thank you, General but—"
"We prefer to keep our fate free," Korra interrupted.
"And we do have other matters to attend to," she finished, glancing at Korra.
Jack nodded. "Well, the invitation's open. Just make sure to call ahead."
Kalina watched as he stepped up to the DHD, quickly dialing an address and leaving the planet. It snapped shut and left her alone with Korra.
"Thank you," she said, clasping her friend's hand. Korra was one of the few Tok'ra left that she knew personally, and one of a bare handful that she really trusted. So many of the others were so caught up in destroying the goa'uld, they seemed to have little time left for anything and anyone else. "I know you risked a lot to help me."
Korra chuckled. "So the council will be angry, what else is new," he said. "They just don't want to admit that they are wrong in abandoning the Tau'ri."
"I am in your debt," Kalina said.
"Will you return to Morana with me?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I need to get back," she declined. "I will meet you there in a few days."
Korra nodded, stepping back to allow her access to the DHD. She pressed the glyphs for her destination and watched the wormhole open. Giving Korra one last smile, she climbed the steps to the stargate and walked through.
She emerged on another planet, several hundred light years from the one she'd just left. Taking a moment to orient herself, she started walking away from the stargate, making her way to a small village a few miles away.
Like the other planet, grass filled plains led up to dense forests, which provided a rich supply of game for those that lived here. It was an idyllic place; far enough from Ba'al's territories that they hoped it would avoid his notice for many years.
She was well known here. She visited as often as she could manage, sometimes staying for days or weeks at a stretch. If the galaxy was a perfect place, she would stay here all the time, however there was one universal constant, the need to barter for goods. And to do that, one needed something to barter with.
She was the designated 'bread winner' and often left for days at a time, bartering and trading. Her contact with the Tok'ra was limited at best.
Which was precisely how she liked it.
For the most part, she maintained her tenuous relationship with the Tok'ra just for situations like the past two days. She may not be taking an active role in the state of the galaxy, but it didn't mean she planned to just find a quiet corner of the universe and ignore it either. Especially when it concerned Earth.
She reached her goal, and knocked on the door, barely remembering to reach under her tunic and remove the small round device stuck to her chest. The world shimmered slightly and she shook her head to clear it. The silly thing always gave her a headache. It wasn't a perfect recreation of the mimic devices, but rather a meshing of Asgard holographic technology and Earth acquired knowledge.
"Kalina," Sy'nac smiled, opening the door. Her hand rested gently on her swollen belly. "I was hoping you would return safely."
"Sy'nac. You look well," Kalina said, studying the woman's burgeoning form. She was just a month or two away from giving birth to Ry'ac's first child. It pained Kalina that Teal'c would never get to see his first grandchild. He would have been so proud.
"I feel like a grounded hatak ship," Sy'nac complained, her smile belaying her words.
Kalina smiled, amused by the woman's words. In a way she envied her, she had the perfect life. Ry'ac was nothing like the petulant young child he had been years ago, but a strong and capable warrior, a trait Kalina knew he got from his father.
Their home was simple, yet Kalina felt more at peace here than she ever had in her own home. She knew it had been a difficult decision for Ry'ac, to leave the rebellion and concentrate on his family, but it was a decision she didn't think he regretted. He once told her that, as much as he admired his father, he was going to do one thing differently, for him, family was first, not his people. Freedom was an empty victory if one was alone.
"Where is he?" she asked, looking around to see the small common room of the house empty. It was a simple structure, a large lower room which was kitchen, dining room and living room all wrapped up in one, and an upper loft where they slept. Due to the fact that there were three and sometimes four, adults living there, Ry'ac had added another room just off the kitchen. Things got a little crowded when it was cold or rainy, but most of the time, it was just right.
"Nesa is outside with him," she said. "They promised to collect some berries from the patch down by the stream."
She and smiled at the woman, then turned and made her way back outside. She followed the well worn path, waving at Ry'ac as she passed him working in the field. She strolled down to the stream, relaxing as the sun warmed her back and the breeze teased her hair.
O'Neill was different than she had expected. Smaller, more fragile than in her memories. His dark eyes had been full of pain and regret instead of the confident cockiness she had once known.
He was a man under tremendous pressure, bowed by time and grief, but not broken. Not yet.
The sound of laughter carried on the light breeze and Kalina smiled, altering her path to intersect with it. She came upon the berry patch, two full baskets attesting to the success of their owners' task.
Bending over, she plucked a handful of berries from the basket, popping them into her mouth. They exploded with a burst of sweet juice and she chewed, her tongue neatly working the pit free to be spat upon the ground, a seed to help the patch replenish itself.
She came to the banks of the stream and paused, watching the pair. They were playing in the water, splashing and frolicking like children.
She loved to see him so happy, his creased, tanned face alive with childish delight. "Sam!" he yelled, looking up and catching sight of her. She waved back, climbing down the bank to meet him.
He was the only one that called her that, the only one that she allowed to. To the rest of the world, 'Sam' was dead, one in a long line of victims of Ba'al. She was Kalina, a simple trader. A mysterious figure with a scarred face and cold blue eyes. Her scar made her memorable, she knew, absently tracing the rough ridge that ran from her temple to her chin. Which was why she often depended upon the assistance of her jury rigged mimic device. With it, she was not the blue eyed blonde her friends knew, but a non-decrepit, ordinary looking woman. Not ugly, but not pretty, just ordinary.
"Daniel," she smiled, bracing herself for his enthusiastic hug. His arms wrapped around her and she closed her eyes, pretending for a moment that things were different. That her friend was whole instead of a shell of his former self. "Have you been good?" she asked, gently pushing him away.
"Yes," he nodded, his face innocently open. "I was good. We picked berries," he bragged, proud of his accomplishment.
"I saw that." Despite herself, she raised her hand, tracing his adult face with her fingers, as she listened to his childish voice, desperately searching for a glimmer, a sign that maybe he was still in there. Maybe he'd remember. Maybe she'd again see the mind of her long time friend rather than the childish fragments that were all that had survived his torture by Ba'al.
Thanks to the sarcophagus, his body had escaped relatively intact, sustaining injuries that had been easily healed by a healing device and time. But his mind…his mind perished on P2X887. Sometime during those interminable weeks, the Daniel Jackson she'd always known and cared for died, leaving behind little Danny, a young boy who had no concept of good or bad, who knew no evil or pain.
To the rest of the universe, they were dead. Lost among the endless, nameless victims of Ba'al's atrocities. For a while, she had entertained the fantasy of going home. Cherished the idea of again being among her friends, but O'Neill's recent capture just proved how foolish that idea was.
To quote the general, they were famous. And, in this life, fame brought danger. The living were hunted, only the dead were safe. And she had to stay safe. That was the only way she could take care of Daniel.
"Nesa taught me something today," he said, smiling broadly at her.
"What did she show you?" Sam asked, deliberately smiling wide at her friend. He was the only one that didn't stare, the only one that didn't seem to see her scar. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, all he saw was the friend he used to know.
He pulled her forward, splashing in the shallow water. He picked up some rocks, holding one out to her. "I can make them jump over the water," he said, clumsily skipping the rock across the shallow stream. It bounced twice before sinking with a plop.
"He once got it to go all the way across," Nesa said, joining them. She lived with Sy'nac and Ry'ac, helping them care for Daniel when Sam had to be away.
"You did?" Sam asked. "Well, you're just going to have to show me."
"I will," Daniel said, picking up more rocks. He skipped one across the water and Sam joined him, laughing with him as they engaged in a game as old as time, their friendship a bond that was thicker than blood and stronger than life.
Fin
To be continued in 'Better Late than Never'