Holding My Breath 14
Summit – From Bad to Worse in the Tok'ra Tunnels – Extended Scene
Sam ran shaking hands over Mansfield's body again, hoping it was the adrenaline that put the tremors there, and not the overwhelming sense that the major was too far gone for her simple field medicine. Probably internal bleeding, the blood that ran from his nose and ears told her the concussion was a bad one, and his left leg was fractured below the knee. Her eyes snapped to his face as he struggled to wake, his head flopping back and forth on the hard floor and his mouth grimacing - the groan that welled up from deep within him was broken by little gasps of pain.
"Major… Major Mansfield," she said quietly, bending down to bring her head close to his. "Don't try to move, can you tell me where the pain is?"
Mansfield coughed, spewing a bloody haze into the air, his left arm clutching at his chest convulsively, and he blinked heavy eyes, trying to make sense of what he saw. "Maj… Carter?"
"Yes, sir." Sam placed one hand on top of his, pressing gently to reinforce her presence at his side. "Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c have headed up to the surface to scout an escape route, but we've got to be ready to move when the order comes."
The major nodded grimly, closing his eyes against the pounding in his head and the nauseated clench of his gut. His left leg was on fire and something was wrong in his chest, he could feel it with every snatched breath. "My… my men? SG-17?" He felt Carter squeeze his hand and his eyes flew open to search for her pale face in the darkness. "Major?"
"Lt. Elliot is here with me. He's a bit shaken up, but unharmed." Sam hesitated. The news wasn't going to do the major any good in his current state – in any state, actually – but he had the right to know. "I'm afraid the others didn't make it." She watched as the Air Force veteran tightened his lips until they were white, the pain of his wounds and his losses etched clearly on his face for an instant before the soldier's mask slipped back over his features.
"Morphine."
"Major," Sam explained gently, "you've got a head injury and you're already having difficulty breathing…"
"Carter," Mansfield ground out between his teeth, "if I have a hope of moving when the word comes, I'm gonna need that morphine."
She shook her head, knowing he was right. "Let me splint your leg and then we'll see, sir."
Mansfield managed a grunted laugh. "Huh. From what I hear from O'Neill, I'm gonna need it before you try to splint my leg."
A smile splashed across Sam's face at the memory of the colonel's description of her medic skills after their rescue from the ice cave in Antarctica. "Laugh it up, major," she responded as she dug through the medical supplies in her pack, pulling out the pre-filled syringes and a splint, "I'll make sure to let Dr. Frasier know you need the really big needles when we get home." Glancing up at the major's face she saw that his brief return to consciousness was over. One hand reached up to feel for the pulse in his neck – fast, too fast – and she was relieved to find that her hands had stopped shaking.
The roof, however, hadn't. She plunged the syringe into his leg as the next series of blasts tore more debris from the ceiling above them. Mansfield couldn't survive another hit. She turned to Ren'Al who was now fiddling with the computer controls that operated the symbiote's stasis chamber.
"We've got to get him out of here," she insisted, pulling herself up to stand next to the Tok'ra. "This man needs medical attention."
Ren'Al did not look up to meet her eyes. "We've done what we can right now."
'Done what they can?' The Tok'ra had yet to do anything that didn't serve their own purposes. Sam's eyes were drawn to Lantash where he hung, suspended, fragile, still healing after all this time. He and Martouf had seemed so different from the other Tok'ra – so compassionate, so human – and truly concerned about their Earth allies. Or maybe that concern was reserved for her and the people closest to her, maybe it was just because of Jolinar and, at heart, he was just as cold and calculating as every other Tok'ra she had ever met. The changes in her father had been mostly for the good, but now there was a sense of superiority that Jacob Carter had never had, even in his status as an Air Force general.
Her mind was reeling, trying to come up with a way to save Mansfield, the Tok'ra, all of them, when she realized just what she was staring at.
"What about the symbiote?" Sam exclaimed, wondering why she hadn't thought of it before.
"Out of the question," Ren'Al snapped.
"It could save Major Mansfield's life," Carter barked right back, her fiery stare completely unheeded by the Tok'ra.
Ren'Al did not look up. "The symbiote's life is being sustained by the chamber; it is in no condition to help your friend." Her fingers stabbed at the controls.
Another gurgling cough from the unconscious man sent Sam back to his side. His pulse was weakening. "We can't just let him die!" She glanced back to see the effect of her words on Elliot's face and bit her lip. She couldn't let the young airman lose his entire unit, and she wouldn't, even if she had to physically wrestle Lantash away from the woman. If Lantash remained in the stasis chamber, he'd have no chance of escaping the Goa'uld attack, and if Mansfield didn't get some real medical attention soon he wouldn't live long enough to do so. She knew Lantash – he wouldn't stay within an unwilling host any longer than purely necessary.
"If we implant the symbiote it would kill them both," Ren'Al insisted.
Sam turned and opened her mouth to reply when another blast seemed to hit directly over their heads and Ren'Al disappeared under a load of rubble. Elliot, hovering between his commanding officer and the Tok'ra, stood stunned and Sam's eyes widened in shock as a huge block of stone crashed from the ceiling to hurl itself against Elliot's head. The man dropped, senseless, and Sam threw herself over Mansfield to wait out the tremors, her back trembling as if expecting to feel the blunt impacts of the falling stones. Glass shattered, metal screamed, and, from far off she heard the sounds of Tok'ra shouting out warnings and instructions over the thudding of fallen masonry.
~---~
Summit – From Bad to Worse on the Surface of Revanna
The three waited in the tree line until the bombers passed over, leaving a trail of fiery destruction in their wake. The smoke reduced visibility, but O'Neill led them at a run across the wasteland that had once been a fertile plateau towards a mound of dirt and rocks that had been thrown up by the continued bombardment. He scrambled up the slope and threw himself down hoping the green fatigues hid him and Teal'c against the mud as well as Aldwin's Tok'ra uniform. He felt the impact of Teal'c's body beside him, and, using his elbows, Jack inched upwards until his eyes rose above the unnatural ridgeline.
Okay, this is bad, he commented to himself as he counted five al'kesh and one tel'tac on the ground surrounding the Stargate. Ground troops were already moving in formations, heading out to locate and subdue their prey. "They seem to be amassing a few troops," he observed dryly. A few. This wasn't going to be a little skirmish that the Tok'ra could run away from – this was an all-out, take-no-prisoners war, maybe a combined attack by all of the System Lords. Jack felt the skin around his eyes tightening. The intel that Jacob received about the summit meeting – maybe it was fed to him as part of an elaborate plan to focus the Tok'ra's attention away from their own vulnerability here on Revanna so that the Goa'uld could wipe them out with one blow. And, if so, that meant Jacob and Daniel were walking into a trap.
Not that Jack could do much to help – SG-1 had been snared just as easily as the Tok'ra, pinned down in collapsing tunnels under the weight of an entire Jaffa battalion. His mind leapt to plan after plan, weighing the odds of trying to take over one of the enemy bombers against those of running a guerilla strategy of hide and seek with the marauding Jaffa and coming up with nothing.
"Once the aerial bombardment exposes the tunnels, they will infiltrate and search them," Teal'c advised, his eyes never leaving the enemy position.
Jack glanced over at Aldwin who had taken one look at the massive Goa'uld strength and fallen to his back to stare sightlessly at the smoke-filled sky. The hopelessness that filled the Tok'ra's face only served to tighten down Jack's resolve. He grabbed his radio. "Carter, come in." Nothing. "Carter, respond." If the Jaffa had already blasted open an entrance to the tunnels… Jack pushed quickly to his feet. "Let's get back."
~---~
Summit – From Bad to Worse at the Space Station – Extended Scene
Daniel stood silently behind Yu's chair holding the metal pitcher before him like a shield. He had been right – the summons to join Yu back in the council chamber had been waiting for him when he returned to the tel'tac – it turned out that Sobek had been impatient to begin the proceedings. He had watched carefully as each lo'taur stayed close to his or her master, some standing quietly, some kneeling, others walking to one side of the Goa'uld, leaning in now and then to share a whispered conversation. The System Lords reminded him of Earth politicians, each one insistent on his time in the spotlight, and quite able to talk Daniel into a daze that no amount of Tok'ra stimulants could punch through. In this context, the slaves could easily be interns, assistants, the kinds of toadying hangers-on that someone like Kinsey would surround himself with. Watching Morrigan intimately stroking the head of her kneeling lo'taur Daniel's stomach clenched – okay, maybe his analogy needed some work. Even the most brown-nosing political aide probably didn't have to worry about pleasing his master in bed, or getting whipped – or worse - if he stepped out of line.
Frowning, Daniel tried to concentrate on the posturing System Lords as they each recited a long list of grievances against this new enemy that had appeared out of nowhere. It was clear from the rhetoric that they were all smarting from the force of the enemy's attacks, that they had all lost territories, ships, and personnel. The reason for this 'summit' was clear – for perhaps the first time in centuries the System Lords needed each other – and it was infuriating them. Their eyes blazed, they slashed each other with insults and thinly veiled threats, some turned their annoyance on the waiting lo'taurs, lashing out physically and verbally at the only people who would not – who could not ever strike back. Daniel tried to keep the contempt from his face. These were the mightiest Goa'uld, the plague of the galaxy, the ones the SGC and its allies had been afraid of for years, and all they could manage to do was vent their insulted pride on those weaker than themselves.
God, if the last minute surprise guest would just show up he'd gladly release the Tok'ra poison and take out the entire mewling, whining bunch of them. Standing there rigidly, wondering where the next nasty surprise was coming from, being forced to listen to them, watch them floundering for position while feeding their own egos by abusing their slaves, Daniel didn't know how much more he could take. Jacob had made this sound like an in-and-out mission; simple, direct, step into the council room, count to seven and release the poison. He didn't think the Tok'ra had intended Daniel to try to pull off a long-term masquerade as Yu's most trusted, most intimate slave – Jacob at least must have realized that it would be impossible for him to maintain this façade indefinitely. He knew how much Daniel hated them. Every single one of them. Probably was counting on that to insure that Daniel would actual pull the proverbial trigger.
Suddenly he realized that he'd never asked Jacob just what the poison would do, or how long it would take to kill the symbiotes. Poison was messy; it didn't offer a quick, clean death like two shots with a zat, or a bullet to the brain. He looked across the room at Sobek and Morrigan and imagined them writhing on the floor, moaning in agony, mouths opened wide as they choked to death, eyes flashing with the inner fire of the Goa'uld one last time. He remembered how Apophis had screamed at his death, lying in the SGC infirmary strapped to the bed, and how he'd rejoiced to see the one who had tortured his Sha're for so long breathing what he thought was his last breath. Daniel kept his lips tight and managed to swallow a gasp as the memory assaulted him. The host. When the symbiote Apophis had died, the host had been able to hold on, to regain awareness and speak on his own.
His gaze jerked from arrogant face to arrogant face as the Goa'uld moved across the room, gesturing, posing. The images of System Lords in their death throes were suddenly supplanted by seven pairs of innocent eyes looking up at him for help, for compassion, for a way to comprehend the ages of slavery in which they'd been forced to live within their own bodies and realizing in the instant of their deaths that he was the one responsible. Daniel closed his eyes and shuddered. No. Not that. He couldn't think about that. He blinked his eyes open and lowered his head, refusing to look up into their faces again, knowing he'd be able to see beyond the haughty masks to the humanity struggling beneath. He took a slow, deep breath. He could do this. He had to do this.
Yu moved. The System Lord had remained seated, silently watching the others as they strode about and shouted, railing against their common foe. Finally, he raised one hand and Daniel was surprised that the other Goa'uld reacted immediately, each one stifling his or her tirade before wandering to their chairs and motioning for their lo'taurs to take their places a step behind. The mood in the council chamber changed as the System Lords took their seats, and Daniel wondered if Yu had intentionally allowed the others this time to release their aggression so that they could finally focus on their collective problem. All attention was suddenly concentrated on the oldest System Lord – some gazes openly curious, others hooded and suspicious – and Daniel felt more exposed than ever before, carefully keeping his head bent to hide the thoughts and emotions that raced through him. Focus on Yu meant more scrutiny for him.
"This has gone on long enough," Yu stated, eyes searching his allies' faces as he stood and paced slowly around the open space beneath the domed ceiling. Daniel ground his teeth together – he couldn't agree more with his 'Master.' "We must determine who is responsible for these attacks."
"The coward refuses to show himself," Ba'al replied, his voice also quiet and deliberate, watching as Yu mounted the steps to his chair and again took his seat. "He only strikes with his ships, never with ground troops."
Yu's pointed response revealed his own intolerance of the situation. "Have none of you seen the faces of the enemy Jaffa?"
Daniel raised his head as the silence grew. Eyes shifted nervously as the Goa'uld seemed to weigh the wisdom of an honest response to Yu's question. Morrigan slid her eyes to rest on Olokun, to her left, and Daniel noticed that the dark gaze of her leather-clad lo'taur was again focused on him. Great. He didn't dare drop his eyes having already established himself as higher up the slave food-chain that Morrigan's pet, so he stared back defiantly, hoping he was coming off as vastly superior rather than out of his depth, or even worse, interested.
It was Kali who broke the silence. "I have," she muttered. "When my outpost at Cerador came under assault, my First Prime managed to disable and board one of the enemy ships."
"Did you take any prisoners?" Yu demanded.
"They fought to the death," Kali replied, disgusted. "Most had been in the service of Chronos and Sokar," she deliberately shifted her eyes to peer across the chamber, "but one bore the mark of Olokun."
Daniel felt the rising tension as if it were a physical presence as the Goa'uld and their slaves turned as one to the dark-skinned System Lord. He frowned. The information about Olokun had been sketchy at best.
"How do you explain this," Yu demanded quietly, menacingly.
Olokun shifted nervously, looking around, perhaps hoping to find an ally among those awaiting his answer. He grimaced. "One of my motherships was surrounded by the enemy," he reluctantly admitted. "Instead of dying with honor the cowards surrendered and were taken. They may well have switched their allegiance."
"And you expect us to believe this?" Ba'al seemed to be speaking for all of them as Daniel saw the scorn and mistrust clearly on the System Lords' faces.
"I, too, have suffered at the hands of this unseen foe," Olokun spit back. "How dare you accuse me!"
Ba'al waited stoically, as if expecting the counterattack. Olokun's outburst seemed to release the System Lords from their deadly focus and many turned back to watch Yu as if his response was the only one that truly mattered here.
"My lords." A simple, human voice sounded so out of place among the resonant tones of the Goa'uld that Daniel's gaze snapped immediately to Ba'al's lo'taur. The man had taken up his station between his Master and the door to the council chamber, and, his head lowered and his hands clasped before him in a now familiar gesture, he waited until he'd gathered the attention of the System Lords. "The final guest has arrived," he intoned formally.
Now? Was it time? Daniel fumbled at his belt pouch with his left hand, feeling for the smooth surface of the Tok'ra device. He'd just closed his fingers around it, his hand hovering at his waist when the large door slid open to reveal a tall, thin figure, the lights from the hallway glittering along its gauzy covering and picking out gold curls atop its head. Daniel stopped breathing, unable to control the slight widening of his eyes as he watched her approach, hands on her hips. No. Not her.
"I hope I haven't missed all the fun," the snide voice echoed through the council chamber. Daniel could still hear her voice in there, overlaid as it was with the resonance of the Goa'uld that had taken her prisoner. He remembered her voice, her face, in other places - sometimes warm with compassion, others poised with self-confidence. But never, never asmaliciously cold and calculating as it was now as she stood unafraid before the collective might of the Goa'uld System Lords. Sarah. The weapon that would kill her was in his hand, his finger not a half-inch from the trigger. A flat, unemotional voice somewhere within him urged him to be quick, to push the button before she turned and recognized him and the mission was lost. He knew that voice, he knew that what it said was right, it was what he'd come here to do, his duty. And he turned away, stepping into the darkness behind Yu's throne.
'Not incapable, exactly.' Jack was right. He'd been right all along.