Heart and Soul
A/N: Airwolf belongs to Bellisario and Universal, Stargate to Showtime, MGM, Gekko, and Double Secret. Airwolf is AU (moved ahead about twenty years). This story occurs after "Closer Than They Appear". Goa'uld words either from the series or created based on Ancient Egyptian. Rated for gore and mention of mature subjects.
~*~*~*~*~
"Ib-seshatai!" Anise hissed, hand diving into the folds of her scanty leather blouse. Jack caught a gleam of gold. Oh hell, nobody shook her down for ribbon devices-
And the Tok'ra squalled in outrage, a slim, silvery blade impaling her hand even as it closed on alien metal.
"I wouldn't," Marella Duval said glacially, 9mm drawn and ready to back up the knife her boss had already thrown. The dark operative's eyes were hard as iron, and as pitiless. A subtle move of white silk brought her half in front of Archangel, shielding his blind side. "I really wouldn't."
Colonel Jack O'Neill blew out a resigned breath. So much for negotiations.
~*~*~*~*~
About twelve hours ago.
"Close the iris!"
"Get Dr. Frasier, with a symbiote tank!" Jacob Carter snapped, not glancing to see if camouflaged guards obeyed. The tone of command hadn't left him just because he'd left the planet. So far... we came so far.... "I'm sorry, Kennet."
"You... tried," his fellow Tok'ra operative managed a crimson-stained smile. "Save... Mairin...."
"I will," Jacob whispered. Cradling the dying young man close, stroking back brown hair as muscles gave one last, shuddering spasm.
"Sir?" A brave hand, touching his shoulder; wary eyes under a black mask of face-paint. "We have to clear the ramp."
Right. Or the 'Gate might engulf them all, and make it all for nothing. "Stay back," Jacob said briskly, lifting the limp form without effort. "Mairin! Mairin, I know you can still hear me in there. Try to stay calm. Janet will be here, we'll get you out."
And the guards had suddenly melted back ten feet. Great legacy, Jolinar, Jacob thought wryly. Nobody wants to risk getting jumped by accident. Even if they would have a great time scouring the galaxy with us.
*This is risky,* Selmac complained. *In Tau'ri technology, Mairin will have no more than a day. We should not have come here. We should have taken the 'Gate to Vorash-*
With no iris? Jacob demanded. What if the Serpent Guards had tracked us? And what are the odds the High Council would have a host, right now? Especially for Mairin.
*The Council has decided-*
The Council isn't here; we are. Mairin's got a better chance at the SGC and you know it. We can't just throw people away because they're young.
And water sloshed around the corner on wheels, dragging a short, auburn-haired doctor in its wake. "Now what?" Dr. Janet Frasier asked.
Grimly, Jacob tilted Kennet's head over the open tank. Lowered the corpse, until electrolyte-laden water filled the slack mouth. "Come on... come on, Mairin...."
A wash of blood, staining water crimson; in its midst something dark and serpentine wriggled limply, squirming out of dead flesh.
"That's it," Jacob murmured. "Just a little farther, come on-"
And the symbiote plopped free, swimming weakly to the far corner of the tank.
Click.
"That's not necessary-" Jacob started, pulling Kennet's body out of the way so the doctor could lock down the other half of the lid.
Janet eyed him. Darkly.
Right. This was Sammie's doctor when Jolinar made such a mess. "But if it makes you feel better...."
"Jacob." Firm. No-nonsense. Just a tad worried. "Who's after you?"
"No one, I hope." Jacob turned to General George Hammond with a distinct feeling of relief. "The area around the 'Gate was clear before I dialed in, and I didn't hear any Jaffa on our back-trail...." He caught a glimpse of drying red on his hands, swallowed.
"Take some time to get cleaned up," George said gently. "I have a feeling we'll both need it."
~*~*~*~*~
"So, let me get this straight," Daniel Jackson stated, absently stirring sugar into his coffee, "You brought Kennet here because the High Council's got a host shortage? And they haven't told us?"
"We usually have some leeway before we need a new host," Jacob sighed, slumped in his briefing room chair. A fresh set of fatigues had gone a long way toward wiping away the signs of a hectic op gone wrong, but did nothing for the shadows in his eyes. "When an operative goes down - well, usually he either gets clear on his own, or he doesn't get clear at all."
"But you pulled Kennet out." Jack O'Neill let the words lie there; not exactly a question, not quite an accusation.
"He was my partner on this one." The Tok'ra liaison grimaced. "I don't let my people go without a fight."
"Soldiers fight the better, knowing their commander will come for them," Teal'c noted.
Something the rest of the Tok'ra don't seem to have a clue about. Jack met Daniel's glance across the polished oak table, felt a jolt as he saw the spark of wry humor in blue.
Host influences the symbiote, the archaeologist mouthed.
Jack slipped him a wry wink, more relieved than he'd imagined he could be since Shifu's terrifying visit. Things were still rocky in SG-1, but he could feel the team starting to pull itself back together. God, Danny. We didn't know how strong you were... until we almost broke it....
"Be that as it may," Janet broke in, "We've got one very sick symbiote on our hands, sir. One of those staff blasts clipped its tail; on top of that, from the way it just hangs there in the tank... well, I'd say we're dealing with some amount of survivor guilt. I can give you a day. I can't promise much more."
"So where are we going to find a new host within the next-" Sam checked her watch, "Nineteen hours?"
"Preferably someone willing to take on an upstairs boarder, spend the rest of their life getting shot at by nasty aliens, and take a very, very overseas assignment," Jacob sighed. "Some experience with espionage wouldn't hurt either. Sorry, people. I knew this was a long shot when I took it. It's not as if the SGC is in the business of finding hosts."
"Too bad we don't have a talent scout," Jack grumbled.
"A what?" Daniel shoved up his glasses.
"Haven't heard that in a while. Covert ops term, Dr. Jackson," Jacob explained patiently. "Someone who makes a business of looking for people for specific purposes... Colonel?"
Talent scout. Jack shoved his jaw closed. "Daniel, do you have Michael's number? His home number?"
"Jack?" Raised fair brows made the word a whole interrogation.
"Just trust me."
"Colonel?" Hammond asked dryly, as Daniel scribbled on paper. "I believe we should speak privately a moment."
Jack snatched the number with a murmured, "Thanks," followed the general behind closed doors. "I know you think it's a bad idea."
"I think it's a dangerous idea," Hammond corrected. "You've had experience with Archangel. How likely is it that he'll find who and what we need, deliver the prospective host to our doorstep, and not ask questions?"
"Um... not," Jack admitted. "Word is he handpicks his angels. Jostles departments six ways from Sunday to shake loose classified info, so his people don't go into operations blind. Odds are, if he sends someone here, he'll send someone with them."
"The Joint Chiefs will never allow that," Hammond warned. "They've made their position clear. Outside of the SGC and NID, no intelligence agency is to have information on the Stargate."
"Tell that to Russia. And France, since Kuybyshev. General, I don't know what else the Firm is into, but Archangel watches Russia," O'Neill pointed out. "Ten to one, he knows more about their Stargate project than we do."
Hammond blew out a frustrated breath.
"Sir, we need to find somebody. And he's one of the best in the business."
Hammond hesitated. "Even to support the Tok'ra-Earth alliance, we'd never get permission in time."
Jack shrugged. "Well... you know what they say about forgiveness and permission."
~*~*~*~*~
"Satellite launch at 0400, Southern Hemisphere orbit...." Marella Duval rubbed at the bridge of her nose, stretched a kink out of her neck. Only afternoon, but it'd already been a long day at Knightsbridge.
"France. Eyeing certain facilities we'd prefer not eyed in Australia." Michael Archangel focussed on his knee exercises, lifting and lowering the black-leather weights draped over his left calf. And forty-nine... and fifty.... "The European Union may be the death of us yet."
"Take the Soviet Union out of the picture, and instead of a dragon, we have a nest of vipers," Marella said ruefully. She tossed back dark hair, skimmed the report one last time with wry disbelief. "Sir, don't these people ever get tired of stabbing each other in the back?"
Fifty-five... fifty-six.... Sweat beaded his brow; Michael dismissed it. Though he did not ignore the ache starting to gnaw at his knee. String would give him hell if he overdid it. And that would be after Marella and the Lady took their own stabs at him. "Ask the Neanderthals."
"Very funny."
Knuckles rapped wood. "Sir?" Samala poked her head in the office door, blonde brows quirked up in puzzlement. "There's a Dr. Jackson on the phone for you? He says it's important - and he's on your short list."
As in, his list of "contact me immediately if they call". Something the President himself wasn't always on, depending on how crazy Washington was this week. "Transfer him."
"A Cheyenne Mountain problem?" Marella murmured. She knew as well as Michael did precisely which contact numbers he'd given the archaeologist-turned-agent.
"At least semi-official," Archangel agreed, plucking up the handset, switching mental gears from the brushfire wars of this planet to the hidden conflicts raging across the galaxy. "Daniel?"
"Ah..." Michael heard the linguist swallow, caught the faint echo of ventilation fans pulling air through rooms buried deep in mountain rock. "Is this safe?"
The spy smiled wryly. "Indubitably."
A second's silence as Daniel parsed that word for all its shades of meaning; a quiet intake of breath. "Okay. I'm... calling for Jack. Sort of. I mean, I know some of how this chain of command thing works, usually from banging my head against it, and he can't exactly ask me to do this-"
"Daniel!" A familiar voice ordered in the background. "Breathe!"
"I take it there are pressing reasons why the person currently listening over your shoulder can't simply ask me himself," Archangel said dryly.
Another pause. "I don't think he trusts you."
"He never has gotten over that last charge of C-4," Archangel observed. "What do you need?"
~*~*~*~*~
"Okay. Okay, good. We'll be waiting." Daniel hung up, shoulders easing in relief. "Michael says he ought to have someone here in the next ten hours."
Hovering in a slightly less cluttered corner of Daniel's office, Sam pursed her lips in a silent whistle. That fast? "Sir, who is this guy?"
"And what did he mean about, you can't get over the C-4?" Daniel added.
C-4? Sam shared a knowing glance with Teal'c. Data analysis my foot.
Jack winced. "Sorry. Can't talk about that." Mulish stubbornness hardened dark eyes. "And he shouldn't be talking about that."
"Jack." Daniel sighed, pushed up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "Everyone in this mountain knows you've done things you can't talk about. And I watched him walk out of cover to talk to me."
Teal'c's brow was reaching skyward. Is that why you didn't want us watching, sir? Sam thought, stunned. Not just because Michael would see something strange about us... but because we'd know he wasn't an analyst?
As Daniel had known. And he hadn't said anything? Why?
The colonel cleared his throat. "You caught that, huh?"
"I've seen a lot of dangerous people these past few years, Jack," the linguist said bluntly. "If he analyzes data, it's the kind that keeps people from getting killed."
"Or kills them." Jack's face was bleak. "He's... not exactly a nice guy. Sometimes." Green fatigues shrugged. "It was a long time ago. I still can't talk about most of it." He hesitated. "Boils down to, we got caught in a bad situation. Real bad. Do or die, sneak and shoot and hope everybody's holding up their end, 'cause if they don't, you're taking a bullet. And while we're in the middle of hauling our sixes out of there, Archangel tells me he set a charge to cover us. He said it had five minutes."
"I presume it did not," Teal'c observed.
Jack glanced away. Ran fingers through graying hair. "Yeah, well... maybe it did. Only Archangel, being the paranoid, sneaky b-" The colonel bit off the word. "Ah... being the guy he is, he put in a tamper-proof circuit." Another shrug. "Bad guys try to disarm, charge goes boom."
"And?" Daniel persevered.
"What d'you mean, 'and'?" Jack cocked his head, nettled.
"His actions seem consistent with those required of a saboteur in such straits," Teal'c noted.
"You didn't see the guy's face, Teal'c." Jack's jaw was set, eyes hot and angry. "He liked outsmarting those guys. Liked setting that charge. Liked setting it up so he'd get the most people killed."
"So do you, Jack," Daniel said gently. "When it's your people you're trying to save."
~*~*~*~*~
"Judith Williams," Jacob Carter murmured, flipping through the personnel folder of their prospective host one more time. A photo of a no-nonsense brunette decorated the front page; twenty-three, average height, average build, lovely enough to fit into the lower ranks of Goa'uld without the heartbreaking beauty that would have marked her as a host for a System Lord's favored offspring. Mairin would be relieved; before Kennet had taken that last, fatal blast, he'd been asking for less high-profile assignments.
*She appears sallow,* Selmac disapproved.
It's an effect of the medicines, Selmac, Jacob thought to his symbiote. From what I've heard, anti-viral cocktails are vicious on the system. He turned more pages, reviewing the young woman's education. College, ethno-botany, poly sci... and Langley. Granted, from this she'd just gone through the basics, but still. "I have to say I'm a little surprised, George. No offense, but given the security concerns the Joint Chiefs have to have about us Tok'ra, are you sure you want to hand over someone from the CIA?"
General Hammond gave him a cool smile. "They don't exactly know."
*What?*
"Excuse me?" Jacob echoed.
Jack O'Neill cracked his knuckles. "You need a host for Mairin," the colonel shrugged. "And we could use intel from your guys that's a little closer to the regular format. And we just happen to know a guy...."
Right. You just happen to know a guy who can slip out a CIA recruit who won't be missed, Jacob thought darkly, visions of innumerable Black Ops dancing in his head. Now I remember why I didn't want my daughter serving under you.
*It is unfortunate Samantha did not choose to become a host again and stay among us,* Selmac noted. *Jolinar's memories should be among her people.*
She didn't choose the first time, Selmac. You know it, I know it, the Council knows it. So just back off and let my Sammie live her life. "So what does Judith know?"
~*~*~*~*~
"It's a high-hazard, deep-cover, long-term posting," Marella reminded Judith once more, as sober-faced MPs escorted the white-clad trio deeper and deeper into Cheyenne Mountain. The dark doctor regarded her temporary patient with concern, even as her gaze measured exits with an operative's care. "Even we can't know where exactly you are or what you're doing. But you can back out right now. We'll take you home."
"Home to die," Judith said darkly. If she listened, she imagined she could still hear the pills rattling on her apartment dresser; bottle upon bottle of them, all horrendous. All to kill her slowly, opposing the lethal virus in her veins. All to buy a little more time. Time measured in red and yellow and white; in checkups and throwing up and the dull, dreadful realization that the virus had outwitted even slow death, reaching out to spread havoc in her brain.
A white silence beside her, punctuated by a stark black lens, the swift tap of a rosewood cane. "There are worse fates than death."
"I'll take my chances." Impulsively she reached out to the man who'd found her seven years ago, as he'd found so many others; taken her and trained her with the rest of his angels before they both realized how little time she had left. "I'm sorry, sir."
Michael Archangel gave her a rare, quiet smile. Accepting her hand on his arm; as so few did, who knew the truth now. "Everyone makes foolish mistakes at sixteen, Judith. God knows, I did."
"And as soon as I figure out what they were, it's blackmail time," Marella murmured.
"Very humorous, Marella."
Yeah. But your mistakes were survivable, sir, Judith thought bitterly. Oh God, I don't want to hate you. But if you'd just found me three weeks sooner-
Then maybe she would have been infected by an older operative, instead of the school coach. She'd been... more than a little naïve, at the time.
And she didn't hate Archangel. Not really. No more than she hated the rest of the living world.
I don't want to die.
"Although you won't be communicating with us on a regular basis, I would encourage you to feel free to speak with Dr. Daniel Jackson," Archangel informed her briskly. "He's a civilian in this organization, much as you will be, and his linguistic and inter-cultural archaeological background should dovetail neatly with your ethno-botanical work." A blue eye winked. "I'm also told he has excellent taste in music, animated movies, and can spend hours discussing the relative merits of various coffee blends."
Judith eyed the pile of packed equipment accompanying them on a hand-truck. Books, DVDs, a compact computer system, high-grade solar cells.... "So that's an inducement?" You never say bribe.
Archangel's smile broadened. "More akin to an opening salvo." He chuckled softly. "I do wonder what they'll make of Star Wars."
"They?" Who hasn't seen Star Wars?
~*~*~*~*~
"They should be down in a few minutes," Sam reported breathlessly, ducking under a nurse's tray as Janet worked.
"Sooner the better," the doctor stated bluntly, long-handled probes swishing water as she applied antibiotic-laced pads to Mairin's lacerated tail.
"Sir," Sam wove past a bed, fetching up next to her silent CO. "Are you sure you don't want Daniel and Teal'c down here? I mean, Daniel knows-"
O'Neill's hand raised, silencing his 2IC effectively as a gag. Daniel knows what? Jacob wondered. "Hang on, Mairin," he murmured, hand splayed against tank glass. Something gnawed at him, beyond the worry in his gut; a sense of unease, of distant danger. Selmac? What is it?
*I am... not certain.* He could feel Selmac questing outward, as if trying to reach beyond the confines of his own mind. *There is... something....*
What?
*Impossible.* Jacob felt old memories stir; memories of danger, of fear, of implacable, desperate determination on long-dead Tau'ri faces. *They perished. All of them. Ra made certain of that.*
Who?
Memory washed over him; of Tau'ri camps suddenly deserted before the Jaffa could harvest them, of combing wilderness in death gliders to find - nothing. Of the odd, stray human who might be born in villages and towns, called witch and sorcerer and speaker-with-demons.
*Ib-seshatai,* Selmac murmured. *Rare, amongst the Tau'ri. But all too dangerous. They came. They killed. And they vanished.*
But Ra killed them, Jacob noted.
*Found their nest and blasted it to flaming shards.* Selmac's memories carried a stench of scales in flame, the weak cry of unnatural creatures just hatched, perishing under shattered rock. *After that, it was simple to cull the - off - members of the slave populations before they reached maturity.*
Cull, Jacob realized, sickened. As a herder might speak of slaughtering all those of his animals that did not meet his standards. Adults. Elderly. Children just born. Anyone, everyone, that the symbiotes felt carried that tingle of difference. And you helped.
*The rebellion had not even begun. How could we risk tipping our hand?* Selmac shrugged mentally. *They killed us, Jacob. Those few Egeria captured to speak with did not care if we were Tok'ra or Goa'uld, controller or symbiote or larva still in sheltering tanks. They wished us dead. It was... instinct.*
And we haven't told the SGC about this? Jacob shook his head.
*Why should we? The strain is gone, wiped from your planet. Daniel Jackson gave us quite a turn; but it is memory, nothing more. Did the SGC not say he even aided Samantha in stealing a larva for Teal'c? Were he truly ib-seshatai, he could never have left the rest of the larvae alive.*
Jacob felt her confidence, her surety, and tried to shake off lingering nerves as an MP opened the infirmary door. Here was their host. Here was Mairin's chance for life.
And right behind her, blue gaze cold as winter sky, strode prickling danger in white.
~*~*~*~*~
"Um." Judith stared at the swimming form in the tank, swallowed. Snakelike, but definitely not a snake; not anything she'd ever seen. Alien. Good Lord. "You want that to live in my head."
"Mairin's a little hot-headed," Jacob allowed. "Still, when push comes to shove, there's nobody better to get your back." The older man gave her an honest smile. "I know it's extreme. But we're out there saving the galaxy. For real."
"And I'll... get better?" Surreal. This was just - surreal.
"The symbiote takes over as your immune system," Dr. Frasier nodded. "In your case, I'll want to run a series of medical follow-ups, but from what we've seen I'd say there's an excellent chance. Mairin might even be able to clear the virus out of your system completely, but given well HIV can hide, I'd advise you to take sensible precautions for the foreseeable future."
Sure. Latex and careful hygiene and no bleeding on people. But - no drugs? No throwing up? No stubborn, ineradicable infections in places she didn't want to think of? No endless, crushing panic from the bleak knowledge that AIDS-related damage was slowly killing her brain? Sounds like Heaven. Except for the part about being shot at by half the galaxy. Okay. Operative's heaven. "Sir?"
Archangel took his gaze off the tank. "Of necessity, you wouldn't be in our division any more. But you have our number."
"Always," Marella nodded.
"Your division?" Jacob asked warily. "Who are you two, anyway?"
"They call me Michael Archangel," the operative said levelly. "Outside of that-" A genteel, white shrug. "No one important."
Standing in the corner, Colonel O'Neill buried a cough in his hand.
"Or so they say," Marella murmured, tongue in cheek.
"Okay," Judith said in a rush, holding still hands that wanted to shake like the last rush of delirium tremens. "Let's do this."
"It'll be better if you lie down," Dr. Frasier instructed, helping her onto a bed. "The blending goes more smoothly if you can sleep after the symbiote enters."
Right. Sleep. After a not-quite-a-snake wrapped itself around her brainstem-
And the others watched as Jacob held her mouth open, so something long and thick and toothy could burrow into her throat. But she only had eyes for the rope of alien flesh - and white knuckles, clenched on a silver cane.
Please let this work. Please let this work - I don't want to die-
*Nor do I,* an alien voice resounded in her brain; grief and pain and tremblingly, numbly hopeful. *Thank you - Judith.*
Darkness took her down.
~*~*~*~*~
Chalk one more up on the list of things I never want to see again. Marella suppressed a shiver, cast a surreptitious glance at Archangel. The man hadn't flinched, even as the writhing muscle that was Mairin bit into the back of Judith's throat. Cane planted, he still stood arrow-straight, face pleasant and civil as if he were sharing a banquet with a Columbian druglord. "Sir?"
"I should have said goodbye," Archangel said softly.
"You have to go now? She'll wake up in an hour or so," Jacob pointed out, holding the young woman's hand in his.
"No. She won't." Archangel's tone was even, matter-of-fact. And only an angel could have heard the heartbreak in his words. "Not as the Judith I knew."
Oh, no. Oh, Michael. Marella held the sudden pain off her face, wishing they were gone, away from here, soaring into the cleansing night wind. Airwolf's listening through you, isn't she? And what you've heard - felt- oh god, why did we do this!
Still outwardly calm, Michael shifted his weight, turned toward the watching Dr. Frasier. "If you'll excuse me...."
Klaxons blared in the hallway outside. "Now what?" O'Neill grumbled.
"Colonel O'Neill and Jacob Carter to the conference room," a pleasant voice said over the infirmary intercom. "Freya's just arrived."
"You go on ahead, Colonel," Jacob said, smoothing back dark hair from Judith's sleeping face. "I need a few more minutes to be sure nothing's gone wrong."
Major Carter was already out the door; O'Neill paused, beckoned to them. "Come on."
"Our work here is done, Colonel," Marella said lightly, holding the bleak pain out of her voice. "Don't you trust the MPs to look after us?"
"Actually - no," O'Neill said frankly. "On both counts." He waved toward the hall. "Come on. We gotta go save Daniel from the man-eater."
~*~*~*~*~
Now.
Freya/Anise bared her teeth in a corner of the SGC conference room, hands spread and empty, ruby drops welling up about bright metal to trickle crimson to the floor. Reached over, deliberately, tugging silvered steel from her flesh to let it clatter to the floor. And waited.
And waited.
And blood continued to flow.
Sam was silent, wide-eyed. Teal'c's brow had just a hint of upward angle; intellectual interest, nothing more. "Sir?" Marella asked guardedly.
"She was drawing a weapon on us." Archangel's tone held no doubt. No doubt at all. "I don't suppose you'd care to inform us why?"
Anise spat something sizzling in Goa'uld. Jack blinked. Ooh, we have a mean mouth, don't we? But he still couldn't place the term she'd first used. Jib-seshy-what?
"Ib-seshatai," Daniel murmured, edging nearer. "Ib, the heart, although ancient Egypt also thought that organ was the mind, the seat of thought... sesh and seshat were the terms for male and female scribes - a reader of hearts?"
Weird, Jack thought. But what-
The room door crashed open; Marella whirled toward it, Archangel moving just as swiftly to cover her back. "What's going on in here?" Jacob Carter demanded.
"It does not heal!" Anger, in Anise's reverberating voice. Mingled with - was that fear? In a Tok'ra? The intergalactic spies that had hated and hunted the System Lords for over two thousand years, that would go down with pyramid ships rather than blow their cover?
"Freya, calm down," Jacob started.
"He is ib-seshatai, and it does not heal!"
Jacob's head dipped; and when it rose again, Jack knew he was looking at Selmac. The oldest and wisest among us, the Tok'ra had said.
And right now, the most terrified. "You are mistaken," Selmac said, stunned. "You must be. They have perished, all-" The Tok'ra cut himself off.
"I'd be interested in knowing who 'they' are," Archangel said judiciously. "But right now, were I you, I'd see about putting some pressure on that wound. It'd be unfortunate if your... associate... passed out from shock."
A flicker of gold in human eyes. "She will not."
"Really?"
Anise sneered, wavering across the room toward her fellow Tok'ra. "Do you think I am some weakling Tau'ri-"
And her knees folded, and a blonde head caromed off polished oak with a muffled crack.
Daniel winced. "Now that, had to hurt."
Daniel, you and me have to have a little talk about showing some sympathy for your allies, Jack thought. Remembered a few instances of Anise pursuing Daniel even in the face of the archaeologist's shuddering horror of all things female and possessed, just as Freya had as hungrily chased him. Well... maybe later.
"What substance was on the knife?" Selmac demanded, cradling Freya's limp body in his arms.
Archangel's gaze was winter-chill. "Nothing."
"Do not toy with me, mortal!" Selmac's gaze glowed pure, hot gold. "What was on the knife?"
"Nothing," the operative repeated, cool and controlled as carved ice. He'd shifted his cane to his left hand, leaning unsteadily on it even as his right hovered near who knew what deadly secret. "Steel and silver. You can test it until doomsday; you'll find nothing more." He shrugged, subtle and genteel; a Southern gentleman to the last. "I'd bind that wound, if I were you. No point in ruining a perfectly good carpet."
As he and Teal'c met Selmac's lunge, Jack had time for one last thought. And Danny says I walk into negotiations the hard way....
~*~*~*~*~
Immediate pilot hazard!
Bethancourt defensive protocols running.
Link status, Michael Archangel: Open. Locked.
Link status, Hawke, Dominic, Caitlin: Open. Shunting reserves.
"Dazzle Shield": Operative.
"Hurricane Strike": Ready. PKE reserves currently sufficient for defensive strike, 75% for lethal force.
Requesting weapons-free.
Lady, let go, Archangel thought desperately, vaguely registering the blur of corridors and elevators Marella pulled him through, trying to shake off the sun-and-snow that was Airwolf's shield against paranormal assailants. And failing; Airwolf had her teeth in his soul and would not yield. Lady, I have to talk to these people!
Hostile intent! The AI snarled at him. Self-defense was as much a part of her programming as the parameters of her rotors, and she would no more violate that than she would drive her blades into a mountainside.
I know that-
Pilot hazard!
I know that! Michael dragged in a breath of open air, starting at the flash of sunlight on this secured mountaintop. Grasped that burst of adrenaline to ward off the weird, quivering weakness waiting to claim him; the price for that vicious psychic blast Airwolf had somehow shunted into his throwing knife.
He hadn't meant to do that. Hadn't even thought about it. An operative's training had registered danger in tone and movement; deeper instinct had felt not-human, alien, will-to-slay-
Airwolf was bound to that instinct. Bound to that quiet, subtle sense of emotion that was his unwilling gift; bound to strike and slay anything that threatened it. He'd known that.
But until that moment - until he'd felt that wind-born fury sweep through him, melding its actions with his in one swift move to survive....
Michael held that blur of thought and motion in his mind, tested it against the demands of instinct and situation. Knew that decision - that leap of fingers to edged steel - felt right.
Just as surely as he knew the Michael Archangel of a year ago would never have thrown.
Ducked, perhaps. Driven Marella to cover with him, definitely. But never thrown.
Dear gods. He felt his hands trembling, quelled them. What am I?
"Michael?" Almost voiceless question, from Marella; dark eyes were watchful, flicking between him and the MPs at a discreet distance.
Michael listened that way, felt weariness bite deeper. No one coming. Not yet. "I'll be all right," he murmured. "The Lady's... slightly overprotective."
"Only slightly?" A dark, elegant brow arched.
"That creature did mean to kill us."
His second in command met his gaze, searching for truth. "You're sure." Grimaced, and glanced away. "Why?"
"She's... like Muerta. In a way." Not the full explanation she deserved, but it would do. For now. "How did you persuade them to allow us onto the surface?"
"Reminded them that all pilots have a difficult time being diplomatic under several thousand tons of solid rock. Outside of that - SLT, sir." Sunlight washed Marella's café-au-lait features, gleamed off a curve of ruby lips. "Strategic Loss of Temper."
Hmm. He did recall a bit of shouting. "Well done." At least here he could lean on his cane undisturbed, let wind wash away the stale scent of filtrated air systems, listen for the faint, furious howl that would be their succor if all else failed....
Warmth, lapping at the edges of that lessening fury. Hear you, too, Airwolf murmured.
And for a second Michael heard the mountaintop echo in a shotgun mike, saw the ranging pulse of radar sneaking under NORAD's systems, felt the filtered wash of emotions from Airwolf's crew; alertness, worry, concern-for-kin-safety-
That jarred. Lady?
Mine, Airwolf replied, puzzled.
Michael Archangel, Hawke, Caitlin, Dominic, all Airwolf-mine.
Why not Michael Archangel, Hawke/Caitlin/Dominic-mine?
You definitely got your concept of "mine" from String, Michael thought dryly. That was Stringfellow Hawke all over; "mine" as a posted concertina-wire fence against the world, trespassers warned once. After that - well, survivors would be prosecuted. Human kinship doesn't quite work that way, Angel.
A mental shrug. Should.
Gentle fingers pressed on his shoulder. "Better now, sir?"
He lifted a blond brow.
Marella held her ground. "I've seen the pack under stress. They head for open air." Humor glimmered in dark eyes. "There does appear to be a valid reason for it. According to Drs. Spengler and Stantz, moving air carries ionic charges, thus more energy...." She spread elegant fingers.
And more psychokinetic energy meant more leeway for Airwolf to work, without endangering the Lady's Wolfpack. Remind me to do something dreadful to Dominic for coming up with that phrase, Michael thought.
A feathery giggle tickled him. Dominic says, "Tell the ice-cream guy I got a grease-rag with his name on it."
Archangel flicked a bit of lint off his white suit. "Well, they're in fine form."
"Good." Marella relaxed slightly. "I just hope Judith is all right."
~*~*~*~*~
"So how is she?" Daniel asked, listening to the hums and clicks of medical machinery through the infirmary door.
"Ms. Williams is fine," Janet said dryly, hall lights casting her small shadow over the corridor wall. "Still out, but her vitals are stable. Freya/Anise - that was touch and go." The doctor crossed her arms. "Though I still think a lot of that was psychosomatic. I guess the Tok'ra aren't used to the sight of their own blood."
"You're saying a knife in her hand - a perfectly ordinary knife, insofar as your tests can determine - almost killed a Tok'ra." General Hammond rubbed at what had to be one monster of a headache coming on.
"That and the concussion." Shadows lurked under Janet's eyes. "It's just a knife wound, sir. No toxins. No protein alterations, no physical contaminants in the wound, nothing."
"There is silver and tungsten in the alloy, sir. Outside of that-" Sam shrugged. "It's a knife."
"Archangel's knife," Jack put in.
Janet switched her gaze to him. "I take it that means there may be something we have no clue how to look for."
"Could be," Jack allowed. "What do you think?"
An auburn brow arched. "What I think, Colonel, is that I just sewed up a knife wound. On someone who's supposed to heal those within minutes."
"The healing device didn't take care of it?" Sam's tone was matter-of-fact, but the astrophysicist's azure gaze held a shade of doubt.
Janet's smile was crooked. "Selmac wants me to think it did. Even though he obviously looks like the sky fell in." She glanced at the general. "What happened up there?"
"She tried to kill Michael," Daniel said softly.
"And he apparently tried to kill her right back, diplomacy be damned." Hammond tapped his foot, nettled. "Not behavior I'd expect from someone in his position."
"No, sir," Jack said reluctantly. "I've seen the man work." He glanced Daniel's way; grimaced, and forged on. "If he'd tried to kill her, Archangel never would have stopped with one knife."
But she was trying to kill him, Daniel thought. Why?
And why had there been some sort of subtle flash with Michael's throw? More feeling than light; as if all the fear and anger and determination of a creature fighting for its life had been hammered into one lethal blow-
"Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c drew near, face foreboding to any who couldn't read the concern written in dark eyes.
"Just - just thinking, Teal'c." Michael hit her, Daniel realized, thinking fast. With more than the knife. He felt her try for the ribbon - and he hit her.
But why?
Because she meant to kill him. Because she thought he was ib-seshatai - a heart-reader. Oh gods!
"Danny?" Jack's hand on his shoulder, warm and heavy and concerned.
The Tok'ra can feel empaths. Which means the Goa'uld can - oh, Michael. "Jacob's not talking, is he?"
"Not even when I asked if he'd talk to you, sir," Janet admitted, nodding toward the general. "But he wants the knife for the High Council. And I distinctly got the impression he'd want this Michael, too, if he could figure out a way to get the man through the 'Gate."
Daniel winced as Hammond grimaced. That obviously stung. They'd been friends, once. But since he'd become a host, Jacob Carter's priorities had been less and less of Earth, and more and more Tok'ra. He lost a friend. And the general didn't even know he was losing him.
"I'm not inclined to turn this over to the High Council for an examination, no matter what Jacob and Selmac want." Hammond frowned. "Especially after one of their chief scientists made an attempt to ribbon the man who threw it." He glanced over SG-1. "Give me options, people. I can't hold Archangel indefinitely."
"You cannot?" Teal'c showed a hint of interest. "What position does he hold?"
"That's not in your need-to-know, Teal'c," the general warned. "We can probably keep him another twelve hours before he's needed elsewhere. I do not wish to release him without answers."
Daniel's gaze was firmly fixed on his hands. "Um. General. I hate to state the obvious, but...."
~*~*~*~*~
"Why did you attack Anise?"
"Self-defense," Archangel said, turning out of the night wind. Letting his gaze skim over the varied crowd that was SG-1 and their doctor, before returning to the general. "And... reflex."
"Reflex." Hammond had an excellent poker face.
But there was a flicker of curiosity there, and Archangel gave his second in command the subtle signal to go ahead. If we can give them part of the truth... they should know what they're dealing with.
"Last year, Archangel encountered a creature that referred to him in the term Dr. Jackson translated," Marella stated matter-of-factly. "Heart-reader."
"That creature attempted to kill me, and anyone around me, slowly, painfully, and very, very violently," Archangel bit out coldly. "I'm not certain why. I am sure that Muerta saw me as a threat. One she had every intention of removing from the face of the planet." He felt his hands tremble on silver and rosewood; tried to still them. "I was... fortunate."
"30-mm rounds aren't fortunate, sir," Marella said dryly. "That's called planning."
"Or desperation," Archangel growled. "Ordinary sidearms certainly hadn't worked."
"Muerta?" Daniel paled. "Death?"
Michael wet his lips. Night, and fire, and wide, killing wings- "She called herself... one of Supai's daughters." And she was a demoness, and no Goa'uld at all - but you don't need to know that, General. Even if you'd believe it.
"Not a nice lady?" Jack inquired as his archaeologist blanched.
Mutely, Daniel shook his head. "Supai's Incan. An eater of souls. Let's just say... he and Niirti would have had a very good time together."
"Swell."
Hammond's gaze was even as a gun at parade-rest. "You do understand, given this information, we'll need to have an MRI of you both before you leave."
"Not an option," Marella said flatly. Glanced at Janet. "Medically contraindicated."
"An MRI is medically contraindicated?" Dr. Frasier said skeptically.
"Yes."
Irritation creased the general's face. "Ms. Duval-"
"Dr. Duval," Marella cut in smoothly. "General."
Archangel allowed sardonic humor to tug one corner of his lips. "General, whatever you're looking for-" and I know very well what it is you're looking for, not that I can admit that, "You'll need to find another way." He tapped his cane, very gently, against his left leg. "There's enough surgical steel pinning together various portions of my anatomy to set off any metal detector in the country."
Janet crossed her arms. "Which I assume you were about to tell us."
"Which, as a fellow medical professional, I choose to believe you would have asked," Marella shot back.
"Ladies, ladies...." Jack stepped between, hands coming together in a time-out. "Still doesn't explain how you got Anise to stay hurt."
Archangel shrugged. I certainly don't trust you that much. "Knives tend to do that, Colonel. No matter who throws them."
"Not good enough," O'Neill said flatly. "Something about you has the Tok'ra jumping at shadows-"
"Jack." Daniel stepped forward. "Let it go."
"Not a chance, Danny. Not about this."
"He brought us help!"
"Yeah," O'Neill bit out. "Loaded with enough strings to tie Gulliver down-"
"Colonel." Hammond met the operative's gaze. "Archangel. You've seen enough to know this country - this planet - is in grave danger." His voice dropped. "Who are you protecting by your silence?"
A pity you're not on the Committee, General. "I couldn't really say," Archangel said evenly. "Given that we still don't know what an ib-seshatai is."
"The Tok'ra will not speak of it," Teal'c noted.
"No," Marella pointed out, "Selmac and Anise won't speak of it." Wry humor lit dark eyes. "There's still one person you haven't asked."
They are a team, Archangel thought, watching the six SGC members come to silent agreement in a swift flicker of exchanged glances. Damaged, perhaps, but still a team.
Good. Now if he could just give the pieces a little push....
"Fine. We'll ask." O'Neill jabbed a finger his way. "Stay put. This isn't over."
"We're on top of NORAD, Colonel," Archangel said lightly. "Where could we possibly go?"
Marella waited until the SGC personnel were out of sight to throw him an exasperated look.
"They need some mutual aggravation," Archangel smiled.
"You just want to play with O'Neill's head," Marella accused.
"Well..." Archangel grinned, held thumb and forefinger a hairsbreadth apart. "Maybe just a little."
~*~*~*~*~
No headache, Judith thought, drawing in a deep breath of infirmary air. Tainted with disinfectants and iodine it might be, but oh, it was sweet. No pain. No murky fog around my brain.
*As you Tau'ri say, all part of the service,* Mairin chuckled.
Including a couple of thousand years' worth of memories banging around in my head, the new Tok'ra operative thought wryly. Okay. I can deal. "You want to know about an eight-thousand-year-old urban legend?" Judith eyed the strangers - SG-1 and General Hammond, those new memories whispered. "Well... cue the spooky music." She pushed off the cot, toes touching the floor with impish confidence. "They say there's a reason Ra never tried to take Earth back."
Sam's eyes widened. "You're serious."
"Maybe." Judith turned an empty hand palm up. "Way, way back when Ra first took over Earth, or so the stories go, people say he ran into a few unexpected problems."
"Ib-seshatai," Daniel said thoughtfully.
"The bogeymen," Judith intoned, waving hands ominously in the air, relishing the absence of aching joints. "Those who hunt the night. No, really," she added at the mass of skeptical looks. "They were always supposed to show up after dark. 'Cause during the day... well, during the day, you might walk right past them, since they looked just like every other Tau'ri. Except sometimes they gave you this - spooky feeling."
"You ever had this - spooky feeling?" O'Neill asked.
"Way too early for Mairin to remember anything like that, Colonel," Judith shrugged. "Selmac or Anise, they probably have old enough memories to know. Heck, from what I've heard, Selmac may have even been here when the story first started up...."
~*~*~*~*~
Flame and scales coiled through the village night as the Goa'uld ran, ran, ran, pushing his host to the limit. Behind him screams rose - and cut off, sudden and sharp as bronze blades.
Sharp as the slim bronze needle that thunked into a door-post just before his host's nose.
*No....*
Firelight gleamed off an ashwood spear and too-pale skin, the teeth-glinting fury of an albino Tau'ri woman, impaling the last Jaffa of his patrol through the heart.
"Treorai!" the mortal's voice called; summoning, deadly, lost in inhuman rage. White hands snatched a near-grown larva from mid-air; snapped its neck, letting blue blood rain down like glittering sapphires. Gray eyes were fixed, blind; but the Tau'ri's keen ears tilted toward movement as the Goa'uld scrambled back. "Treorai!"
A hiss in the night, like a lizard grown impossibly large. Something moved behind the woman, glittering and black and spreading wings like midnight sails.
The host was breathing hard, but the Goa'uld forced him to lift his zat. He would not die here, not at mortal hands-
Pain!
The zat shattered in his grip, dark fragments scattering in the wind.
A rock. The Tau'ri had thrown a rock.
*I'm going to die here because of a primitive Tau'ri with a rock....*
But the whine of death gliders filled the air, and the albino stopped. Snarled.
And vanished, in a swirl of night wings.
~*~*~*~*~
"-I mean, shades of the Hook at Lover's Lane," Judith grinned. "People who could hear around corners? Who could feel Goa'uld, without a trace of naquadda in their blood? Who pal around with-" she spread incredulous hands wide, "Dragons? Come on."
"So it's just a story," Daniel ventured.
"Of course it's just a story," Judith rolled her eyes. "If people like that really existed, don't you think the High Council would have asked for their help? Mairin's poked into the stories; there isn't anything more real to them than there is to the Lord of the Rings." She cast a look askance at Daniel. "Speaking of...."
"You didn't like the movie?" Humor gleamed in blue eyes.
"Mairin's tying herself into knots trying to figure out why the Ring's so bad." Judith rubbed her head, echoing her symbiote's confusion. "I mean, Gandalf's powerful, and he wouldn't take the Ring, and those who did want it all went down in flames... are you sure I ought to take that off the planet?"
"Say what?" Jack whirled on his linguist.
"Absolutely," Daniel grinned. "The book, the movie, everything. What else did you bring?"
"Star Wars," Judith informed him. "The Indiana Jones movies, Aliens, Predator... a couple of hundred others. I've got a list."
Sam paled. "Please tell me they left out the Rocky Horror Picture Show."
Judith snickered. "And ruin the experience of cultural immersion?"
Jack clapped a hand to his forehead. "Oooh, boy."
Teal'c eyed them all dubiously. "What is this Rocky Horror Picture Show?"
"An aspect of human culture I'm not certain the High Council is ready for, Teal'c." Hammond scowled at her. "I'll want Dr. Jackson's personal approval on every item before it goes off the planet."
"Okay," Judith shrugged. "But Archangel told me to tell you, General, you should bear in mind that Jacob and I are still both American citizens... and censorship is something our culture deals with very, very carefully." She tilted her head. "Speaking of. Where is Archangel?"
"Waiting on top of the mountain," Jack grumbled. "And he'd better have a better explanation this time."
*Oh, no,* Mairin groaned. *They let him outside?*
Looks like. Judith crossed her arms, tapped one foot. "You don't know him very well, do you?"
Hammond looked her over speculatively. "The man is standing on top of one of the most secure installations in the world. Surrounded by our forces. And NORAD's. He's not going anywhere until I say."
*He really believes that,* Mairin sighed.
Judith shrugged. Some people just have to learn the hard way.
~*~*~*~*~
"What do you mean, he's gone?" Fingers gripping the conference room table, Jacob looked as if he wanted to throw solid oak through the wall. Judith stood at ease a little behind him; to his right Freya leaned against the wall, still pale. Despite the late-going-on-early hour, Jack felt like cheering. Oh, Danny, you ought to see this.
Not a chance, though. The general had politely suggested that the rest of his team get some sleep.
Translation: Stay out of the way.
And given the circumstances-
I'm going to chew Security a new one, I swear. No matter how funny it was to see the cool, calm, and collected Tok'ra foam at the mouth.
"This is a secure facility," Jacob insisted. "How can he be gone?"
"Maybe he didn't like the décor," Judith quipped.
Her head dipped, and Mairin held up empty hands to ward off her fellow Tok'ra's glares. "My host recalls that Archangel simply does that, Jacob. Especially when people start firing at him."
"Disappears. Through airtight security," Jacob said in disbelief.
"The man is good," Jack allowed. Annoying, but good. How'd they do that?
Why was obvious. The Tok'ra had made it all too clear they had more questions to ask; and no Deputy Director was dumb enough to stay put while a foreign intelligence operative tried to get the answers.
There are no friendly foreign intelligence agencies, Jack recalled the old operative's mantra. Only intelligence agencies of friendly foreign nations.
"Be that as it may, Archangel is our problem," Hammond said. Looking remarkably calm, given that two outside intelligence operatives had vanished from his grasp. "Jacob. Ladies. I know you'll want to return to Vorash, to debrief to the High Council. The 'Gate will be ready in half an hour." Rising, he gestured toward the waiting MPs. "Have a safe trip."
Uh-huh, Jack thought, as two grumbling Tok'ra, and one snickering one, swept out of the room. Security is so dead. "I should've warned them."
"I'm not certain they would have believed you," Hammond noted, shuffling papers into order. "I wouldn't have. Unfortunately."
"He's good," Jack agreed. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
Hammond glanced up. "Since when have you needed to ask?"
"It might be just as well he's gone," Jack said carefully. "Before Jacob talked Carter into telling him what really happened on Chulak."
The general studied him. "You believe Dr. Jackson could be in danger."
"I think that when it comes to people they think might be ib-seshatai, the older Tok'ra are going to shoot first and ask later," Jack said frankly. "When I knew him, Archangel didn't vanish just to show off. He's got a talent for knowing when people want him seriously dead."
"A supernatural talent, Colonel?"
Jack opened his mouth to protest. I don't believe in fairytales, General-
But then again, what were the Goa'uld, but one mass of myths seen through the lens of millennia of human memories? Think about it, Jack told himself. If there were people like Archangel, way back when Ra took over the planet - what would they have done?
Hit the Goa'uld. Hit hard and fast and deadly, overwhelming superior technology with planning and pinpoint accuracy. Hit smart; by night, in crowds, in wildfires, whenever they could get a scrap of advantage. Whenever they could catch an unwary Goa'uld or Jaffa off-guard.
Hit, and never stop hitting. Because it was their people on the line.
And Daniel would have been right in their rearguard, Jack realized. Keeping the tribe safe. "Well... maybe right on the edge of natural." Jack snorted. "Who'd have thought. A Tok'ra bogeyman."
"Keep that number handy, Colonel." Hammond gave him a rare, devilish smile. "The Tok'ra outmatch us in technology. They believe they outmatch us in civility." His gaze turned hard. "And I suspect they also believe that one operation - just one - would allow them to take the SGC as their own."
Jack pursed his lips in a silent whistle. "You think they'd do that."
"Jolinar took two unwilling hosts," the general pointed out, voice deadly even. "I can't afford to believe they haven't considered it."
"Only now, Archangel knows who they are, and what they are," Jack said, just as level. "And he won't let them take him. Ever."
Hammond stretched wearily. Checked his watch. "Ah. Just enough time to reach the surface before dawn." He smiled, eyes alive despite the dark rings under them. "I feel like watching a sunrise, Colonel."
"Right behind you, sir." Jack grinned crookedly. "Nothing like the start of a new day."