Murphy's Physics
Murphy's Tenth Law: "Nothing is impossible for the man who doesn't have to do it himself."
"Whoa... whoa--oh there, buddy!" Jack raised his other hand, the one not still wrapped around his P90, and made what he hoped would be calming motions to the boy. He didn't want to shoot him, even if the kid did have a goa'uld hand-device ready to cook Jack's brain or blast him back through the hill. Goa'ulds couldn't be reasoned with, but they could be flattered into making mistakes, sometimes. "You got me! Don't shoot!"
No ribbon of pain lashed out, no field of energy struck him like twenty ill-tempered mules in the chest. The hand wavered, glowing light flickering like a shorted-out flashlight. The wounded boy dropped his hand and turned, taking a shaky handful of soil to start pulling himself away. Strength and will failed him at last, and he fell forward onto the ground and did not move.
Jack moved swiftly, to secure the device and check to see if the boy was still alive. He was, but his injuries were bad, his leg was clearly broken and he was covered with abrasions. Jack reached toward his neck to feel for a pulse, his hand freezing as he remembered belatedly that the child had used Goa'uld technology, which meant that he was more than likely a Goa'uld himself. The anger that Jack felt toward the Goa'uld, concealed beneath the surface of carefully maintained control, burned hot again within him. What those bastards would do to a child, or even a person, made him want to punish and kill. He hooked a finger around the thing on the boy's hand and moved to throw it away, then he stopped. It was not a ribbon device at all, but something similar to what So'len had used to heal Daniel. He slipped it into his pocket, then reached for his radio.
"Carter! What's your position?"
Carter's voice, strong and prompt, came over the radio. "Colonel, we are in pursuit of the hostiles."
"What about our ground support?"
"Two hundred yards from your position, Colonel, on your six. There are still at least three jaffa out here that we've seen. They're heading into the woods as fast as they can run. Shall we continued pursuit? Over."
"Negative. I got a man down back here, in need of medical attention. Teal'c, are you monitoring?"
"I am, O'Neill. I will be at your side within a few moments."
"Bring it on, T. Carter, beat it back here and pick us up."
"Affirmative. Carter out."
O'Neill bent over the boy to tell him to hang on, but the roar of an approaching ship drowned his words. The great shadow obscured the sky, the round ring transport device opened above them like a eye. Too large a shadow to be their little scout ship, and too close to run for cover.
O'Neill had just enough time to realize this before the rings descended and obscured the crushed greenery and overturned soil were replaced by several jaffa offering the business ends of their staff weapons.
O'Neill showed them his open hands, offering a half-grimace at his captors. "Kree, already! Just take it easy, guys."
One of the jaffa prodded O'Neill with his staff, delivering a stinging shock. He moved back, aware that all the jaffa had to do was trigger his weapon and he'd have a hole big enough to toss a softball through his middle. He watched anxiously as another jaffa knelt beside the boy. The jaffa uttered string of words in Goa'uld. Two other jaffa came forward and grabbed the boy by the arms. He hung limply between them.
"Hey!..." was all O'Neill managed to say before the friendly end of the staff weapon swung around and connected with his head. Stunned, he fell back against the wall, but he remained aware, watching in a mixture of despair and relief as they lifted the boy and lowered him into what could only be a Goa'uld sarcophagus. So the boy would live, at least for a while. Probably longer than O'Neill himself. Then darkness descended with all the wings of nightmare, to bear him away on into the lonely places inside his head.
When Jack woke up, he found that he was laying in darkness as complete as his dreams. He lay still, listening, until he determined that he was in a small room with one other living thing, something that breathed and made small movements. The loud, jarring footsteps of marching jaffa counter-pointed the pounding in his head. Jack raised his aching head and reached for his weapon, but found instead a small hand. A soft voice urged him to remain quiet, until the footsteps faded and all was silent again.
"Who are you?" the voice asked. Calm, soft, curious. Jack couldn't hear any pain in that voice, and only a touch of fear. A young voice, and yet one containing much dignity.
"Colonel Jack O'Neill, United States Air Force."
"Curl-nel?"
"Just call me Jack. What's your name?"
"I was called Tegan by my parents. Why do you have so many names?"
Jack smiled, even though he knew that the lad couldn't see him; it was pitch-black in their small room. "I've been called a lot of things. After a while, they just stick to you, I guess. Where are your parents, Tegan?"
"Gone. They have been dead for many cycles. But I have been alone for a long time, ever since they died. There has been no one to give me more names."
"That's alright, kid. Are you still hurt, Tegan?"
"No. I woke up and my leg was better. The jaffa brought me here a while ago. You were asleep and you wouldn't wake up even though I accidentally stepped on you. Sorry."
"Don't worry, I'm tough." Jack reached out in the darkness toward the voice, touching the lad's shoulders. He reached up to the top of his head and tousled his hair gently. "Can you tell me what happened? Before I found you?"
"I was trying to warn you about the jaffa. They crashed about the same time as your ship, but there wasn't much left of their vessel. Only a few survived, and they were badly injured. I tried to help, but they shot their weapons at me. I decided I didn't like them."
"I don't like them either." Jack slowly stood up, feeling the walls and roof of their prison. It was very small, about five feet wide and maybe a little longer, with a ceiling that forced Jack to stoop to avoid scraping his head. "What is this, a gould broom-closet?"
"What is a broom?"
"Never mind. You don't like jaffa, so you came to warn us?"
"I heard them say that they were going to steal your ship, so I came to warn you."
"Was it you who brought Daniel to our ship, back a few days ago?"
"Dan-el? The one with the glass circles on his eyes? He is your friend, yes?"
"Yes. I'm grateful that you did that. He was hurt bad."
"He was worse when I found him. I had a thing that my parents left to me, that knits torn flesh and eases pain. I used it on him so that he would not die. It worked. It didn't work on my parents, but it worked this time." The boy's voice was laden with sadness when he spoke of his parents, but there was a spark of pride and pluck in him as well.
Jack swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. "You did good, kid." Stepping carefully, he seated himself against the wall beside Tegan. He felt the touch of a thin shoulder against the rough cloth of his sleeve. His head was throbbing, and he could feel the stiffness of dried blood in his face. The coldness of the wall against his back was almost soothing, though he knew it would grow uncomfortable before long. It was probably quite uncomfortable now for his small companion. His jacket, utility vest, belt, and of course his weapons, were all gone. He had the clothes on his back and not much more than that. He felt his pockets anyway, hoping the jaffa had overlooked something.
His fingers found the irregular lump in his pocket; the glowing device that he had taken from Tegan's hand. He fished it out and examined it in the dark with his fingertips. "What is this thing, anyway? It doesn't look like one of those healing devices that the Tok'ra use."
Small and eager fingers crept up his arm and took the device from his hands. "You have it? I believed it lost!" Jack heard the boy moving excitedly, then jerked his head back as a bright light suddenly glowed before his eyes. A circle of yellow and reddish light illuminated the boy's hand, casting shadows back against the metal walls. Jack saw the young face lit up, striped by the shadows of his fingers outstretched.
Jack's unease returned as the thing lit up, too-too close to his face. "Uh, watch where you're pointing that thing, okay kiddo? It might go off."
The young man smiled. "I won't hurt you, Jack."
"Well, I'd feel better anyway," Jack said, and with one long finger he touched the boy's outstretched hand and moved it aside. The lad lowered his hand, turning his palm upward to cast the warm light around them.
The light served to show how small their prison was. Jack looked around carefully for a door or window, or some other means of escape, firmly ignoring a bout of claustrophobia. "Tell me something, Tigger," he said as he stood to run his fingers along the cracks in one wall, "What were your parents' names?"
"Mother and Father, I called them," Tegan answered. Then he paused, his head turning slightly as if he were listening to a faint noise. "Ganon. Tymir. That was their names. Why do you call me..."
Jack turned back to him quickly, surprised. "Wait... are you saying that the Tok'ra Ganon and Tymir were your parents? I thought that having kids was against the gould-rules?" He stared at the boy who looked up at him. "Does that mean that you have a symbiote, too?"
"No, I don't. My Father told me I was special, and that one day I might choose to have a symbiote. But you shouldn't know this, Jack," the boy began to look concerned. "It's a secret. You won't tell anyone, will you?"
Jack looked down at the young boy. His answer was lost in the sound of marching feet, growing louder and nearer to their prison. Jack knelt and put his hand on Tegan's shoulder. "I won't tell anyone, Tigger," he whispered into his ear, "but you better put that gadget away for now. We're about to have company."