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CHAPTER 28: If You Prick Us, Do We Not... Get Leaky?
The sharp, icy stab of pressurized water impacting his naked skin pulled Jack out of blissful unconsciousness.
Every inch of his exposed flesh stung from the relentless flow of water coming from a common garden hose being wielded by a bored looking soldier, a toothpick hanging from the corner of his downturned mouth, whose uniform looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the Great Patriotic War.
Jack curled inwards to protect his already damaged torso. Not long after he moved, the torrent suddenly stopped, and he felt himself being hauled to his feet by two more soldiers. A cry escaped his lips as the movement literally took his breath away.
His mind kept going in and out of focus, and the still-rational part of him recognized that he was definitely suffering from a concussion. From the excruciating pain on his side, a cracked rib had probably joined the party. He was also shivering so badly that he couldn't command his arms or legs to put up much of a fight.
So he let the two men drag him to his next destination, conserving his energy for when he actually needed it. For now he was too injured and disorientated to care. Aftermaths of beatings, in his professional opinion and extensive experience, really sucked.
Along the way, Jack slipped out of consciousness.
When he next opened his eyes, he felt heat on his exposed back. It was a lot better than the last time he was awake; this time he was warm and dry.
He surreptitiously scanned the darkened room with his eyes. He saw no one in his direct line of sight, but that meant nothing. The only light in the room came from the open fireplace behind him.
"It's about goddamned time you woke up, comrade," Orlov sat forward from his hidden seat in the corner, cradling a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid. "I feared Kiselev's men might have been too enthusiastic with their interrogation. I am glad to be wrong."
"'Enthusiastic'?!" Jack groaned as he sat up slowly from the carpeted floor, shivering slightly when the blanket he was covered with slipped down to his waist. "Those bastards nearly killed me. I thought Russian soldiers were only supposed to go through the motions?"
"But it was necessary, da? It was the only way to convince the General of my sincerity. Otherwise he would not come. Now, he is on his way."
"You manage to convince him to see you based solely on the fact you had the shit kicked out of me?"
Orlov chuckled. "Of course not. While you were unconscious, one of his most trusted military physicians examined you. The General is now satisfied that you are not infected by a Goa'uld. He now wants to know the real purpose of your visit."
"For all we know, Kiselev himself is a Goa'uld. Help me up. I need my clothes and stuff back. I'm not gonna see Kiselev with my ass hanging out. If he is a Goa'uld, we need to rid him of the snake fast, and to do that, we need the antidote."
"You should know Kiselev and all his staff have been tested by Mikhailov's doctors. They've all come back clean. The General refuses any other tests. He is demanding Mikhailov contact your government and demand the return of the gate immediately. If your government does not comply, Kiselev is recommending military readiness in anticipation of attack. I fear Mikhailov will have no choice, he does not have sufficient power to oppose the other hardliners within the government that have Kiselev's loyalty.
"You must act decisively my friend, if we are to prevent all out war between our country."
Kiselev tossed over a small black duffel bag containing all of Jack's belongings - apart from his weaponry.
Jack quickly got dressed, wincing as his body protested from the recent abuse. Someone had taped up his ribs whilst he'd been unconscious, and dressed the worst of his wounds, but he still looked and felt like shit.
There was no getting around being beaten within an inch of your life, and the only reason he was even conscious and moving was due to his unique physiology, something he wasn't going to be sharing with Orlov. As far the Russian knew, he'd gotten off lightly, when the truth was that the injuries he'd sustained would have sent a normal human being into a coma.
The problem with inexperienced interrogators, like Kiselev's men, was that they got too enthusiastic delivering the hurt. Go too far, and your prisoner might stop talking in a very permanent sense. In Jack's case they'd gotten lucky. For any other victim, they would have already been explaining to a very pissed-off General how they managed to kill off an extremely valuable prisoner.
Such explanations usually ended with the unfortunate lackey who'd done the interrogation being transferred to the shittiest posting imaginable - in this case a gulag posting in the northern outskirts of Siberia, probably with only summer-issue uniform - or worse, joining his victim in a forgotten ditch somewhere in the vast spread of the taiga.
Vlad 2 didn't know it, but he'd gotten a real lucky break this time. Maybe after this was all over he would tell the guy to buy a lottery ticket. In the end, they were all just doing their jobs, if a bit enthusiastically.
They had to get out soon, if not that night.
Cassie stared at the bottle of shampoo sitting on the edge of the bathtub, and concentrated. Hard. She frowned at the bottle when it didn't move, glaring furiously at the odd script written on the side of the large bottle.
Not an inch.
Zilch.
Crap.
Why couldn't she do this? Why won't the damned thing move? She'd flung a two hundred pound man across the room and rendered him completely unconscious without even a thought, and yet she couldn't budge a stupid plastic bottle.
Come on, Cass. Why can't you do this? It's only a matter of time until Ricky comes through those doors and finishes what he started. This time, he'll do it for revenge.
After Brian had cleaned her up and put her to bed, she'd lain there thinking of their predicament, trying to figure out a way for them to get out. The one thought that persisted, just before exhaustion had pulled her to sleep, was that she'd somehow summoned and brought back the telekinetic abilities that Nirti had created inside her.
All those tests her mom had insisted on had turned up nothing. Apart from some anomalous EEG readings which they'd attributed as a long term side effect of Nirti's experiments, she'd been declared perfectly normal.
Janet had even mentioned recently that Jonas had a very similar pattern during a recent test she'd conducted. Apparently General Hammond had given an order to test anyone who'd had exposure to alien technology; there was growing concern in the higher levels of the SGC about the effects of such exposure on the long term health of SGC personnel.
She remembered her mom saying Jack had bellyached about it at no end. This was understandable since Jack had the dubious honor of having the most exposure to alien influence out of the whole SGC. The nanites, alien parasites, the Goa'uld, the Tok'ra, the Asgard, and the two downloads… Jack had a lot to complain about.
Morning came and Brian shook her awake. Their cell door was being unlocked, and Brian had quickly pulled her up, her protesting muscles had screamed the whole way. He'd kept her sleeping blanket wrapped around her for protection, and to preserve her modesty.
Erol, the guard who'd come for Brian the other day, had come through the door carrying a plastic tray with food on it. Beside him had been a pissed-looking Ricky, who only had eyes for her.
The loathing she'd seen in them, the repressed violence, had resurrected all the fear she'd felt when he'd first attacked her. She'd unconsciously shrunk against Brian's side, giving Ricky exactly what he'd wanted, made evident by the smirk that had appeared on his face.
Brian must have read the same expression because he'd tightened his grip on her and pulled her even closer. She didn't know it, but she'd begun shaking. Despite the defiant glare she'd levelled at Ricky, a few tears had escaped her unblinking eyes, and the bastard had revelled in her show of weakness.
After their captors had disappeared back through the door, she and Brian had been left blissfully alone most of the day, but both of them couldn't stop thinking about the promise in Ricky's eyes.
The moment the door had closed, Cassie suddenly couldn't stand it any longer and she'd leapt out of bed, determined to scrub out the memory, and the disgust she felt at remembering Ricky's filthy hands on her.
She'd taken a shower until her skin was rubbed raw from scrubbing with the cloth she'd found in the bathroom, the same one that bore her blood from Ricky's beating. She'd washed it until no trace of her blood was detectable on the white material, and only then did she apply vigorously to her body.
The cuts on her face had stung from the water, but it woke her up from her stupor and had reminded her that, despite all Ricky's efforts, she was still alive, still pure, and strong enough to fight what was coming.
That's how she came to be sitting there, an hour later, on top of the toilet seat, staring at a foreign shampoo bottle, daring it to topple over, so she could give Ricky the proper punishment he deserved and get her and Brian out of their prison cell.
She was out of options. There was only a few hours left of daylight, and if they were going to make tracks they needed to do it tonight. She still had no idea why they had been taken, and with all the trauma she'd suffered at the hands of Ricky she hadn't had a chance to question Brian properly.
She was fairly sure he had a good idea why they were there and that she'd just been an unfortunate bystander who'd gotten caught up in the nightmare. These guys clearly didn't know who she was since they'd only questioned Brian, and paid her no attention until she'd injured one of their men.
In fact, she'd detected a hint of pity from Erol when he'd seen the livid bruises on her face that morning. He'd given Ricky a weary look and then ignored him. It was obvious that he felt sorry her, but had no inclination to interfere and risk his own neck at the hands of the unstable Ricky.
She couldn't count on that avenue for help. She had to do this herself.
Think, Cassie. Think! What were you thinking about at the time?
Despite the bile that threatened to spill inside her mouth, she forced herself to re-live the attack in her mind. She allowed the emotions to overtake her, and bring back the dread, the fear, the pain, the anger-
It moved!
Anger.
She focused on that particular emotion, summoned the fury, and the bottle moved once more.
Barely.
Okay, so strong emotion was the key. But it has to be real, it has to be genuine, and something like that was also damned unpredictable.
In the heat of the moment there was no way to be sure she could get herself angry enough to hurl a few guys against the wall and run at the same time.
You have to concentrate, Cass, and remember EXACTLY what you were thinking about just before you threw Ricky across the room. What made you feel so furious enough that you managed to use the power of your mind?
She snorted at the thought. Power of my mind. Geez, she was tripping. It sounded like something out of a psychic reading from those late night infomercials she'd watched with Paul one night at her house.
They'd eaten popcorn on the couch, analyzing the horribly-written monster flick on late that night. She'd laughed so hard with him, ridiculing the stupid gadgets the TV was trying to hustle with two for one offers, not available in stores. Buy now!
While her friends were all out partying, revelling in their new found freedom in college, she was at home having the time of her life with a man almost twice her age. She should have felt conflicted about it, at least worried that she was making a huge mistake, but all he felt was…
Safe.
Paul made her feel safe.
When he was around, she could be herself, without artifice, without worry that she would open her mouth and somehow reveal something that would blow her cover story.
She could tell him anything and everything about herself, and he would nod, and understand, because he was part of her real world, not the one that pretended to be from Canada, but the one that involved aliens and false Gods.
When she spoke about her family, he understood that they might not be blood, but they were tied together with something far more substantial, tested in fire, and still unbroken. They say you can't choose your family, but somehow she was chosen by these people, who chose to love her, to keep her, and to cherish her no matter what.
He, more than anyone, understood what it was like to be rejected by those who were supposed to love you and keep you regardless of how you chose to live your life. He'd been rejected by his own blood, and lost the only family he thought was his second chance.
She was determined that this time around, he wouldn't lose his chance at being loved. This time, he would have that sense of belonging, that family he'd always wanted. He was not going to lose her!
Thwack.
She gasped as the shampoo bottle she'd been absentmindedly staring at, had its contents now splattered all over the backwall of the bathtub, the bottle having hit it at some velocity.
Cassie covered her mouth in awe.
She aimed her gaze at the hand soap container and… did her thing. The green plastic bottle zinged across the bathroom and bounced on impact against the tiles to join the contents of the shampoo bottle.
OMG, I did it!
A sharp knock sounded and a nervous-sounding Brian asked if everything was fine.
"I'm fine! I'll- I'll be out in a few."
You can do this, Cass. You are not going to die here.
She took a deep breath. They were getting out of there.
It never occurred to Jack to ask Orlov exactly how long he'd been unconscious. It was only when he'd paid attention that he noticed the clothes Orlov had given him were the ones that he'd arrived in, and they had been washed and dried whilst he'd been out of it. He'd been out of action for over a day, and had only woken up in the wee hours of the next morning.
Kiselev was on his way, and it didn't give them much time to plan their next step. There was no way that Sergei and his guys could make it on time to provide backup by the time that the shit, inevitably, hit the fan. And, being a Russian fan, it would be a diesel-powered monstrosity that could project chunks of digested kasha more than half a football field away.
He would never say it, but he dreaded dealing with the Goa'uld. The fancy dressed bastards always, always had something up their sneaky sleeves, and try as he might, Jack had never been able to predict reliably what the parasites would do - other than grandstanding, which was about as necessary to a Goa'uld as breathing.
Just when he thought the snakes couldn't possibly sink any lower, they still managed to dig a deeper hole.
Worse case scenario, Kiselev is a Goa'uld and they implant Jack with a snake to somehow use him to infiltrate the SGC and access the gate.
Even worse case scenario, Kiselev is a Goa'uld, he succeeds in taking over the Russian government and forces the US government to hand over the gate by any means necessary, up to and including a nuclear war.
Yep, that last one was definitely a worst case scenario. He'd gladly be implanted with a snake rather than watch his favorite planet turn into a radioactive ball.
Jack turned away from his perusal of the attractive front lawn of the General's dacha still cloaked in early morning mist. Once dawn had made its appearance, he'd got a better look at his face from his reflection on the window panes, and couldn't help but think he looked like someone who'd stupidly gotten into a Russian bar fight, and had been trounced to within an inch of his life. Make that 2.5 centimeters of his life, since the Russians were all-metric.
He looked worse than he felt, which was at least something. Maybe Kiselev wouldn't consider him such a threat since he was apparently walking wounded. Perhaps he'd feel more magnanimous after getting his guys to give Jack a good going over before the real interrogation started.
Or maybe Kiselev had a snake wrapped around his spine and he'd take the direct approach, just blowing a hole through Jack's chest to end the speculation all together.
"He is here." Orlov reached into his uniform jacket and handed Jack the Asgard device the Russian had taken from him when he'd been first captured.
"A gun would also be nice."
Orlov ignored his pointed suggestion and snapped to attention as the heavy wooden door to the den swung open, and a couple of armed guards trooped in. They remained standing stiffly just beside the entrance, and a beat later General Kiselev walked in, uniform hat under one arm and his other hand clutching his black leather gloves.
Kiselev proceeded to ignore them by heading straight for the bar and began preparing himself a stiff drink.
Jack stood lazily in the middle of the room, arms crossed. It was a Herculean effort to even be standing without support, considering every breath he took hurt like a mother. He refused to stand stiffly like Orlov and the rest of the lackeys. If he was in the presence of a Goa'uld, he'd be damned if he gave the snake a modicum of respect or show any weakness.
The gleaming rows of medals on the General's chest did give him pause, as the instinct to stand at attention was deeply ingrained his psyche. He had to force himself to remain relaxed, and project his usual air of impertinence that consistently galled every System Lord he'd ever had the pleasure of offending.
The clinking of ice against the heavy tumbler was the only sound in the room. It made him want to fidget, and he was only able to resist the urge by biting his split lip hard. This diverted his attention to the resulting pain, so that he didn't give in to the need to break the silence.
When Kiselev finally looked up from his concoction, it was to stare directly at him with a oddly pleasant smile.
"May I offer you a drink, General? A glass of Żubrówka vodka may be too sophisticated for your tastes; I regret I do not have any of your American beer, but I have something close to it: tea!" He filled a metal-framed glass tumbler from an ornate teapot.
Jack finally allowed himself to move forward, his skin almost itching from the effort of not being able to move even for just a few minutes. He took the proffered cup, instantly feeling the warmth seeping to his fingers.
"Just as well," he replied in perfect unaccented Russian. He looked pointedly at the glass Kiselev held. "It's too early in the day for me." He took a generous sip of the strong black tea, welcoming the heat into his empty stomach. "I gotta say, everything I heard about Russian hospitality definitely holds true."
"I apologize if my men got too enthusiastic with their interrogation. It was unnecessary and clearly ineffective."
Jack glanced at Orlov who remained unmoving. "Well you Russians certainly have a talent for understatement, I'll tell you that much."
"At ease, Colonel," Kiselev told Orlov. "The Colonel tells me you have matters you would like to discuss."
"And there's that understatement again," Jack pointed out, smirking and shaking his head. He shoved a hand in his right pants pocket, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. With a quick flick, he activated the Asgard sensor that he'd pre-programmed before hand for a wide dispersal scan to detect the presence of a Goa'uld.
Orlov joined them on the wingback chairs surrounding a large low table near one of the fireplaces.
"Yeah, I've got a few things I want to get off my chest, which has a colorful collection of bruises by the way, thanks to the not so sophisticated interrogation techniques of your minions. But let's not dwell."
Kiselev nodded slightly with a smile still playing on his lips. "I have heard you had a propensity for infuriating your opponents, I can see now that it was not an exaggeration."
Jack grinned smugly. "Thank you."
"Then with the pleasantries out of the way, let us address what you have come so far to discuss with me."
"Ah! Yes! The little matter of you threatening to nuke my beloved country if we don't return the gate."
"Surely you, more than anyone, can understand my position, General. Were you faced with the same threat you would take exactly the same precautions as I would."
"You're probably right. But in this case, you're labouring under a misapprehension. Neither my government nor the SGC have been infiltrated by the Goa'uld. You've checked, you know I'm clean-" Jack felt a vibration inside his pocket. He pulled out the Asgard device and read the results. He looked up at Kiselev. "And it seems, so are you."
Kiselev merely raised his eyebrows. Orlov seemed to almost sigh in relief.
"Tell me, General, why were you so ready to believe a disgraced politician, especially one who is infected with a Goa'uld? You must know that everything the snake says is designed to create dissention. They don't care about our petty government squabbles except as a means to their end, and their main purpose is to enslave us."
"The intelligence was gathered under duress. My Chief of Staff, Colonel Chernovshev, uncovered the plot and tortured the Goa'uld until he gave up the information. I had no reason not to trust the Colonel's assessment of the matter."
"You understand that the Goa'uld would never give up intelligence unless it suited them. I'm damned certain your man didn't get anything out of him that he didn't want you to know. In fact, I know he didn't, because I spoke to Kinsey and he told me that the Goa'uld inside him wanted you to believe exactly what Chernovshev told you. The Colonel didn't have to torture anything out of him, because he wanted you to believe that the US government had been compromised. Which leads me to believe Chernovshev is working for someone else."
Kiselev slowly shook his head. "Ruslan Dmitriyevich is a patriot. He would not betray Russia."
"Unless he's no longer the Ruslan you know."
"What are you saying?"
"The compromise is not on our side, General. It's in yours."
Kiselev banged his empty tumbler on the side table and rose angrily.
Orlov gave Jack a pleading look, telling him to shut up for a moment. Kiselev was not the kind of man who would tolerate being played and made to appear a fool.
"General, there is also another simpler explanation," Orlov interjected. "It is likely that he did it out of greed. Although there was no clear evidence of wrongdoing, his name was linked with a group that sold a Goa'uld symbiote three years ago to an NID agent. He may be a patriot, General, but his love of the gambling tables exceeds that of his love for his country."
Orlov's alternative explanation seemed to cool a bit of Kiselev's anger.
"A traitor then?"
Kiselev expected backstabbing and intrigue, which was a mainstay of Russian politics. Treachery, he could accept. To have been fooled, on the other hand, was a blot on his personal honour, and the General would not stand for it.
Kiselev growled. "Why should I tolerate you, Orlov, and this American, coming to my house to spin tales about treachery in my office and trying to tell me my business?"
Jack shrugged. "Не име́й дру́га пота́тчика, а име́й дру́га попере́чника" he reminded Kiselev. "Don't have a friend who always agrees with you; rather, a friend who argues with you."
Kiselev considered the Russian proverb that Jack had blithely quoted, suddenly looking at him with a hint of respect. "What would you have me do?"
"Give me access to Chernovshev," Jack replied without hesitation. "Allow me to prove or disprove my theory. If he is a Goa'uld then you have saved your country from an alien incursion. If he isn't, I have ways of finding out who he is working for. One thing I do know for certain, General, he is not working for you."
Next Chapter: Cassie and Brian begin their escape... And what the heck is a Tok'ra sniffing around the SGC for?!
PS. Who recognizes the chapter title? The actual quote is, "If you prick us, do we not... Leak?" Let me know down below ;-)
PPS. Yes, Kahuna, everything is five by five. Thank you so much for your concern! It's all this beautiful Bay Area weather keeping me outside instead of inside. Not so for the rest of the country...
