Taken
Strobes
"So how exactly does a human such as yourself convince a woman such as Colonel Carter to marry you?"
After an initial attempt at stopping himself, O'Neill finally gave in to the inclination to roll his eyes. The lights from the oncoming cars glared at him, anyway—he needed a break from staring at the road.
He should have been tired, but wasn't. He should have been frantic, as any husband in a similar situation would have been. But he wasn't any husband, and this situation wasn't similar in any way to those faced by your basic Ward Cleaver. As far as he knew, neither June Cleaver nor that perky Brady woman had ever been kidnapped by Goa'uld clones. If they had been, he wouldn't have watched anyway. He wasn't much for science fiction.
Jack supposed that 'frantic' wasn't in the cards for this particular op, anyway. Too much strategy and clarity of thought were lost when people gave over to blind fear and worry. Jack couldn't permit himself to feel either emotion. They weren't allowed.
Seriously peeved, however, was.
Which brought him back to his companion. Without looking sideways, Jack practically spit out the question. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Ba'al adjusted himself in the leather seat of O'Neill's Expedition. He lolled rather than sat, one foot braced against the map pocket in the door, the other splayed towards the center console. He'd unbuttoned the top button of his impeccably tailored shirt and removed his coat and tie. Settling in for the long drive, Jack assumed. The Goa'uld hadn't shared the exact destination of their journey—Jack believed he didn't even know it. He'd merely suggested in that obsequious way that so defined him that the General might want to head south out of Arlington.
So south it was. And at just past one in the morning, other traffic wasn't nearly as much of a problem as was Jack's problem controlling his urge to plant a bullet in the canary-eating cat sitting in the passenger seat. That urge was the main reason he found himself once again passing Reagan National and turning back onto Slater's Lane.
Daniel had not always been able to prevent Jack's worst behavior. Their disagreements regarding the handling of sensitive situations had been legendary. But as O'Neill got older—and hopefully wiser—even he was willing to admit that some Generals needed nannies from time to time. Especially now, when forced to team up with a being who had tortured him to death many times over. That it had been a different Ba'al responsible for that particular series of events didn't make a rat's bit of difference. In the General's mind, they all shared the same personalities, had memories of the same activities, and thus carried the same blame.
"I don't mean to offend you, General O'Neill—but you're, shall we say—a simple man." The Goa'uld waved a hand airily—his long fingers flickering in the headlights of an on-coming car. "Colonel Carter is a complex woman full of mystery and intelligence. There must be something quite special about you that would make her want to attach herself with such permanence."
Jack pressed on his brake pedal as he pulled up behind a Pinto going nowhere near the speed limit. His attention caught for a moment on the sticker attached haphazardly to the back bumper—it was one of those peacenik "Coexist" lines—and the General wondered briefly if the person inside had ever encountered true evil. There were some entities that just needed to be conquered—with whom there was no possibility of peaceful kum-ba-ya-type-togetherness . It was the height of foolishness to think that you could make friends out of everybody.
He threw a glance sidewise at his passenger. They'd been talking about Sam—about why she'd married him. "Maybe she just wants me for my body."
Ba'al's greased smile and raised brow echoed more loudly than words would have.
It took a few minutes to reach Daniel's colonial, and only a moment more for the archaeologist to bound down the steps and lift the handle on the back door. He carried a packed black duffel bag—which he tossed onto the seat behind Jack before climbing in to sit beside it. The Expedition shifted a little as he scooted over to the middle seat and leaned forward, resting his arms on the backs of the front seats.
"Hey, Jack. Long time no see." His expression carefully benign, Daniel caught the General's gaze in the rear view mirror, and Jack knew without a doubt that he was being assessed. "How's it going?"
"Peachy." Shoving the vehicle into reverse, O'Neill stamped down on the accelerator with enough force to send them all reeling as the Expedition jerked backwards. Pulling the steering wheel hard to the left, he completed half a donut, then shifted into 'drive' and headed back out to the main road. "And you?"
"Good." Daniel's conversational tone felt incongruous in the darkened interior of the Expedition. "I figured you were going to call back, so I was up anyway." Turning towards the figure in the other seat, he smiled as only Daniel could—with that perfect mix of the genuine and the smart-ass. "Ba'al. Nice to see you."
"Daniel Jackson." The Goa'uld lifted one brow and cast a look over his left shoulder. "It surprises me that you're still alive. What a pity that Qetesh hasn't slit your throat in your sleep."
"Now, Ba'al. You know it would take more than that to kill me." He drummed his fingers on the leather backrests of both seats, his face relaxing into a broad, sarcastic smile. "And by the way, Vala sends her love."
"The thought of that makes me sick." Ba'al returned his attention to the darkness outside.
"Okay, then." His brows high, Daniel met Jack's eye again. "Well, Jack. I brought what you asked me to."
"Good. Thanks." With a cursory glance around him, Jack left the tree-lined lane and turned south again. "Boot it up."
Daniel shoved himself backwards, then reached for the zipper on the duffle bag. Pulling it open, he withdrew a laptop, which he balanced on his lap. He popped the latch and lifted the cover, waiting a moment for the screen to blaze to life. "Although I'm still uncertain as to why we're looking for this. Didn't the SGC dismantle the compound they found in Colorado? Years ago, if I'm not mistaken."
Ba'al answered. "The First one had set up multiple laboratories. After the Taur'i discovered the cloning operation, and dismantled the largest of the compounds, those of us left behind on Earth dispersed to the other properties. We were forced into hiding."
"I'd have thought that you all would've gathered—there is, after all, strength in numbers." Daniel moved his finger on the keypad, and a tiny 'click' sounded as he opened up his internet window.
"But the more of us there are together, the more likely that your military would be able to detect us. Our energy signature increases exponentially the more of us there are gathered in one place."
"So you split up out of self preservation." Daniel slid a finger under his glasses and rubbed at one eye. "Understandable. You Ba'als have always looked out for your own interests rather well."
"Unfortunately, however, that is the same instinct that has precipitated this rather touchy situation." The Goa'uld glanced over his shoulder at Daniel, a wry smile on his face. "As only one of the sarcophagi were ever built, and the military's demolition of the original compound made the plans lost to us."
"Shouldn't you all have a genetic memory of those plans?"
The clone shook his head. "Sadly, no."
"Why not?" O'Neill threw a look to his right. "You seem to remember everything else."
"We are only imbued with a genetic memory of that which preceded our creation." The Goa'uld ran his knuckles along the cool surface of the window. "We keep our own memories of events that have since transpired."
Jack frowned. "So?"
His face lit in the glow of his laptop, Daniel answered. "What I think he's saying, Jack, is that current memories are the sole property of the Goa'uld who has passed through those particular experiences. The sarcophagus blueprints—or whatever—must have been acquired after the clones had already been created."
"As I said. It is unfortunate." Ba'al's jaw worked tersely for a moment. "And my erstwhile brother has nearly completed the device, and is only seeking the final component in order to make it fully functional."
"The Telchak device."
Ba'al nodded. "The same."
"So that's why he took Sam." Jack's voice had turned flat. "He figured that he could hold her for ransom. He knew that I could get the device from Groom Lake."
"Well, it appears that the new satellite relay is up and running." Daniel lifted his head and leaned forward to pat Jack's seat. "Because I've got connectivity."
"Gotta love modern technology."
Daniel snorted. "That's funny coming from a Luddite like you, Jack."
"Hey—I like gizmos as much as the next guy."
"Yeah—especially when they're helping you find something you've lost."
The implications of Daniel's words hung heavy, and anxious, in the air. For a long while, no one spoke, the whirring of the computer fan joining with the relentless churning of all 8 cylinders of the Expedition's big engine.
"Jack—I—" Daniel began, but trailed off into the darkness. "I didn't mean—"
But O'Neill stopped him, blowing an exasperated breath out between his teeth. "See what you can find out about Charlotte Mayfield. We need property records. My guess is that she was the front man behind the land grab—her name should appear on real estate transactions."
"Charlotte Mayfield?" Daniel's fingers paused momentarily before reseating themselves on the keyboard. "Isn't she Goa'uld? I thought that she'd taken on the persona of Athena."
Ba'al's chuckle sounded harsh in the close confines of the car. "Charlotte Mayfield wasn't taken as a host until after her usefulness as a lo'taur had run its course. The First one could not draw attention to himself by purchasing properties, so Miss Mayfield was commanded to do it for him. She was only too happy to be of service." Ba'al raised and hand and groomed the closely cut hair on his cheeks. "She was most obliging."
"So, you don't know where this compound is." Almost absently, Daniel asked his question, utilizing most of his attention for what flashed onto his screen."
"I know that it is located in this part of the country. It used to be what you humans call a stud farm." The Goa'uld raised his brows suggestively, preening at the dim reflection he could see in the window. "It still would be had I been given its coordinates rather than my lesser brother."
Jack groaned. "Can we stop with the egotistical crap?"
"I am merely stating a truth." Ba'al gave a half-shrug. "Some of us were created to a higher standard than others."
It was Daniel that snorted, this time. "Then why are you all breaking down? Shouldn't brand spankin' new clones last longer than a few measly years without needing the rejuvenating power of the sarcophagus?"
Ba'al lifted a hand and toyed with his hair. "Don't presume that you could possibly understand, Doctor Jackson. Matters of this magnitude are not possible for a mere human to comprehend. It's quite remarkable that your species has been able to exist as long as it has with so primitive an understanding of technology. "
Jack's arm flashed out completely of its own volition. O'Neill had no idea how the gun ended up in his grip, but one moment it was sitting in the compartment below the center console, and the next moment—there it was, pressed flush against the Goa'uld's temple. It hung there between them, Jack's eyes flitting between the road and the ex-god at his side, as his jaw worked in an uneven rhythm.
"Jack." Daniel's tone voiced a quiet warning. "We need him, Jack."
"I really really hate being called primitive." The barrel rocked against Ba'al's temple with the motion of the SUV. "I'd try to remember, if I were you, that you are no longer a System Lord. You came to me asking for help."
The Goa'uld stared straight ahead into the night, only the lights on the dash illuminating his wide eyes, his tight mouth. "I offered you my services. Out of compassion."
"Because you knew that if you didn't, you wouldn't ever have access to that box."
"No, because you need something, and so do I."
"And this is mostly your fault." Jack's index finger tickled the trigger. "You're the one creating more problems. An intermediary, you called him. Don't kid yourself that I'm too stupid to know what you meant."
"I couldn't have imagined the results." Ba'al's eyes grew wider. "How was I to know that he would venture out to possess it all on his own?"
"Because he's Ba'al." Jack spit the name as he would an epithet. "That's what you all do."
"Hey—come on. Jack—give it here." Daniel leaned forward and extended his hand, palm up, next to the headrest of the passenger seat. "He's the only one that can fill in details for now—and he's willing to help. If you kill him, we're stuck at square—well, not square one really—but we're back near the beginning."
Ba'al swiveled a look sideways, the Beretta making a divot in the skin on his forehead. "I meant no disrespect, O'Neill. I understand that you are concerned about the welfare of your wife, and only meant to make a mutually agreeable covenant between us."
"Jack." The backs of Daniel's fingers skimmed Jack's arm, his voice soothing. "This isn't the time."
With a harsh, guttural, sound, O'Neill twisted his wrist and dropped the weapon into Daniel's waiting hand. He shifted in the driver's seat, swiping at his face with his left hand as he replaced it on the wheel with his right. His breathing had become ragged.
Daniel laid the Beretta down on the seat next to him, then clicked a button and refreshed his page. As he scrolled through real estate records, the crease between his eyebrows deepened. "You know, Jack—you just said something that I don't understand."
O'Neill's dark eyes leveled in the mirror. His raised brow was enough of an invitation for Daniel to continue. "You said something about an intermediary."
Jack's scowl deepened. "You might want to ask our little friend about that."
Daniel's attention turned to Ba'al. "Okay. Then you tell me about the intermediary."
The Goa'uld frowned. "It's not often that the Goa'uld must admit their mistakes. He was mine."
"You created another clone?"
"The process is complex." The Goa'uld tilted his head towards the door and stared out at the passing mile markers. "But once we realized the limitations of the procedure, and the frailty of the copies, we knew that we had to introduce more into the equation."
"New DNA?"
"Among some other things."
"The sarcophagus."
Ba'al's nod was brief. "We needed it to extend our lives so that we could—work out the bugs, so to speak."
Daniel's fingers clicked on the laptop keyboard as he started a new search. "So you went in search of someone who could offer you both DNA and access to the device you needed."
"It was remarkably simple to accomplish." Ba'al sat up straighter in his seat. "Our choice made frequent trips to Washington to liaise with the Pentagon. We merely met him one day on his way back from the airport and borrowed a sample." His fingers made a flourish in the air in front of him.
Daniel paused, sorting through the information. "Why wouldn't he have reported it?"
"He didn't remember it."
"Nice action you've got going there. Screwing with people's memories again? Taking samples of human stuff for your own uses?" Jack shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning up without humor. "And you wonder why I keep having this overwhelming urge to shoot you."
"He wasn't harmed. He was returned to the airport with no recollection of what had happened, and there were no marks—no injury. He couldn't have known what had happened."
"So you cloned him?"
"The copies are formed without any discernable personality. They are merely fully-grown humans, without any imprinted experience."
Daniel searched for the appropriate adjective. "Infantile."
Ba'al nodded again. "Once the symbiote is introduced, the genetic memory is sometimes overwhelming to the new being. We tried to prepare the Goa'uld larvae for the implantation, but when he came to cognizance, he was disturbed by his new appearance. He was not satisfied with the host body." He cast a rueful smile backwards at Daniel. "At times, we can be a bit particular about our outer shells."
"So he revolted against you and now wants to have complete control of all the cloning technology and the sarcophagus." Daniel used the back of his hand to shove at the temple of his glasses. "To right the wrong, so to speak."
"You could say that they're in a bit of a pickle." Jack slowed, coming to his turn off. Exiting the freeway, he yielded to a semi, and then accelerated again. "The new guy wants it all."
"He is the one that has acquired the Telchak device. He was specifically created for that purpose, and has been uncommonly successful. Unfortunately, he also wants to keep the technology for himself. And after contacting us to boast of his achievement, he then disappeared. Each of us needs the technology to live, and each of us wants to control it." Ba'al offered up one of his signature half-shrugs, the white of his shirt easy to note in the darkness. "So we are at odds, you see."
Daniel spent a few more minutes with his search before looking up again, shoulders hunched over the laptop. "But Jack, didn't Landry say that Doctor Lee had gone missing with the zombie box?"
"Yep."
"So, there's a clone out there in the image of Bill Lee. But he has a Ba'al symbiote running the show."
This time, Jack's partial smile wasn't as sarcastic. He caught Daniel's eye in the rear view mirror, tweaking a brow upward. "The image burns, doesn't it?"
Daniel sighed, even as he ignored Jack and continued with his thought. "And he needs to get to the sarcophagus in order to use the Telchak device."
"We all need to get to the sarcophagus." Ba'al's voice had gone down a register—reverting to the symbiote-preferred bass resonance. "That is the only reason why I have offered my services to you."
"Yes, well." Daniel's answer wasn't really an answer at all. Turning back to his screen, he busied himself with a specific record. "Charlotte Mayfield—M-a-y-f-i-e-l-d. Right?"
Jack looked over his shoulder. "Did you get something?"
"I found a probate record, of all things."
"Probate—as in—inheritance?"
"Yeah—apparently a Charlotte Mayfield was the sole beneficiary of an estate that entered into probate—um—thirteen years ago. She took legal ownership soon thereafter, but it has never been listed as her primary place of residence. It's zoned for agriculture."
"Just tell me we're going in the right direction."
"I'm Mapquesting—just a minute." His fingertips skimmed the keyboard as they waited. "Um—it's halfway between Fredericksburg and Doswell. It's off the beaten path—it looks like it's smack-dab in the middle of BFE, but yeah—we're going in the right direction."
"BFE?" The Goa'uld had missed the colloquialism.
"Beyond Far Egypt." Daniel explained absently, skimming the information on his screen. "There are other words for the 'F', but none usable around Ava and Zoe. I'm trying to quit—one of us has to be a good example, and Vala's filter is broken."
Gunning the engine seemed like a good idea, so O'Neill did. The Expedition sailed through the night, eating up the miles.
But Daniel wasn't finished. His eyes narrowed, he looked up and used three fingers to scratch at his chin. "You want to know what I wonder?"
"What's that, Daniel?"
"I wonder where the real Doctor Lee is." He paused, running his tongue over his lips. "If the one that took the device is a clone, then the real one hasn't shown up, yet. You said his wife said he'd been gone for a few days."
Jack looked over at Ba'al, but the Goa'uld simply shook his head. "For this I have no answer. When we originally planned to create the sarcophagus, it was never our intention to permanently replace Doctor Lee within your facilities. I can only assume that my brethren have conspired together on a new plan."
"So we don't know where he is."
"No, Daniel, we don't." O'Neill's voice washed it all with the color of finality.
But Daniel had always been skilled at interpreting his friend's deeper meanings. "So we're up to three."
When no one answered him, he did it himself. "Sam, Miss Baldrich, and now Doctor Lee."
