---------------
Pain.
Irrelevant, except as it indicated potential damage he might have to calculate his actions around.
Tight cloth around pain.
More relevant; it indicated the presence of a potential ally, willing and able to treat his wounds. Heero added that factor to the multifaceted matrix of tactical calculations in his mind. Calculations that seemed oddly dim and bare, now that the driving compulsion to seek out Dimme was gone....
Arms holding. Moving air. Blood-scent.
Someone was carrying him. Jaffa or Goa'uld; no one else could manage the strength to manhandle his form through a ha'tak's ventilation system in such an awkward position. Yet... Heero felt rough cotton under his cheek. Not a Jaffa's armor, and not a Goa'uld's silken robes.
Cotton. He should know who was wearing cotton.
A low voice vibrated through the shoulder bearing him. "I believe Heero Yuy may be conscious, O'Neill."
"Damn." Up ahead the colonel's words echoed off bodies and shaft walls, painting a grainy audio image of planet-tall, armed forms and one smaller, staff-carrying shape. "You are one tough cookie, Yuy."
"That's my Heero." A tired smirk rang through that familiar voice. "Status, 01?"
"Acceptable," Heero whispered. "02?"
"Jus' need a cup a' coffee. Or three."
Translated from Maxwell-speak, Duo was running near the edge of even a Shinigami's considerable limits. It would be prudent to seek shelter, rest, and refuel. He should say so. If he could only open his eyes. "Duo...."
"Hey, I'm the one in one piece, Hee-chan. Lean back and enjoy the ride."
"Don't... call me Hee-chan...." He was going to extricate himself from Teal'c's hold, leap the width of this shaft, and strangle the baka with his own braid.
Any minute now.
Just as soon as...
He could open....
---------------
"He is resilient," Teal'c noted, manhandling the semiconscious pilot out of the ventilation shaft.
"Less talk, more run!" Jack snapped off zat shots as they raced down the hall, flesh crawling at the unearthly screams behind them. He'd give almost anything to be able to drop the bleeding burden on his shoulders. But let Dimme's Jaffa grab her and haul her to her sarcophagus, and this whole wretched mess would start all over again. "Carter!"
Bent on undoing her sabotage of the ring system, Sam just nodded. Shifted something. Frowned.
Still no rings. Jack hit the door controls, closing off the corridor before Reavers could catch sight of them. "Any minute now, Major!"
The astrophysicist glared at stubborn machinery. "Stupid snaggle-frazzle-"
Daniel pointed a finger at an orange light to the side of Sam's fiddling. "Um, is that supposed to say 'loading'?"
"A-ha!"
Golden metal bent. Bulged. Jack backed slowly up by Teal'c, unwilling to risk firing through the door while it still stood. "Carter, now would be good!"
Sam twirled a fine tool in her fingers, shrugged, and pounded a fist next to the light. Which bleeped. "Clear!"
Duo had his eyes half-closed as they gathered in the ring's circumference, swaying slightly as he leaned on his scythe one-handed. The other fiddled inside his braid, drawing out a thin, silvery cylinder.
Jack blinked, drawing on a memory of one of those many Preventer tech briefings. Wait a sec. That looks like-
Violet eyes were bare slits as Duo thumbed and twisted the cylinder in a smooth, intricate motion. Grinned.
And tossed it through the descending transport rings, just as the doors finally gave and blue-white light took them away from the screams.
A Preventer detonator?!?
Light faded, and they were in the 'Gateroom, ceiling shuddering overhead. "You carry explosives in your hair?" Jack swore.
---------------
"Freeze!" Echoed down stone corridors to Janet's busy ears, a Preventer's "Yamero!" fast on its heels.
"Lucy, we're home...."
"You are not Lucy."
"They know that, Teal'c."
Fast footsteps brought a fresh rush of bodies through her crowded door; Janet braced herself and turned, ready to triage SG-1 and give one Colonel O'Neill a piece of her mind for scaring another six years off her life-
Froze, gaping at the sight of two carried bodies... and one limping, staff-wielding, kid. Good. Lord.
Rust-red stained black, head to toe. White under-sleeves showed crimson spatters, in amongst the bits and pieces of seared flesh flung back by the swing of some devilish weapon. Even the tip of his braid dripped blood.
"'S not mine," Duo slurred, staggering toward a far corner away from the injured. "'S Reavers. 'N some Jaffa. Maybe ten, twenty...."
Or more, Janet thought, shaking herself into motion to help Jack slide his bloody, emerald-robed burden onto a cot. No pulse, but- Janet leaned one hand against the pale throat, sensing that flutter of air through battered flesh. "She's breathing!"
"Two steps right, along the wall," Sally ordered. "Corpsman! Rinse him off, don't touch him. Maxwell! Stay awake until I can check you."
"Tryin'...."
"Don't try. Do." Sally felt along the back of Dimme's neck with gloved hands. "Ah. Got you, you bitch!"
One lump of Goa'uld, wrapped along the spinal cord. Shifting now, as the parasite realized its host was beyond conventional repair and it was in the hands of its enemies. Readying itself to flee a broken body and strike out through the mouth, trying to take one of them down with it-
Only to squirm in place, balked by Sally's iron grip. "T'at'at aa'aat amu pet ta Neter-khert, an-na-ten au-s kher sekheru amen," the Preventer doctor proclaimed, stating for the record the sentence Sanq's Alliance had passed decades ago. "Au-i kher sap en nerutet, senet'eret-i Sebau her qab-ef. Ar sapt menti-sen!"
Please let this work.
Plucking out a pre-loaded hypodermic, Janet rammed her needle home in alien flesh.
And held on for dear life.
---------------
I will not die here!
Hard hands gripped the flesh casing her, balking Dimme as she tried to tear free with fangs and spines. She'd abandoned trying to move this sword-torn body; what few flickers of life still burned in it were being hoarded by the slave within, as the human clung to one breath more, and one more....
"O divine chiefs, mighty in heaven, earth, and the Netherworld, I have brought to you she who possesses hidden schemes."
I cannot die here!
"I hold an inquisition of the Terrible One, I fetter the fiend at her corner."
Fiend? I am a Queen! You dare to even think of passing sentence on a goddess? You will pay, and pay dearly! Tau'ri, Guardian, Preventer rabble - I will make the skies rain your tainted blood!
"Now the judgment of those who are annihilated!"
You dare not-!
And hellfire seared away the world.
---------------
Out of the corner of her eye Janet saw Daniel jump in to grab one flailing arm. Jack and Teal'c pinned thrashing legs and body. Blood-specked arms reached past her, bearing the orange hum of a healing device, as Sam set her teeth and will and reached with alien technology to heal and restart a slashed heart.
Thrashing stilled.
"Turn her on her side," Janet instructed, feeling flesh suddenly squish under her hands as the Preventer's cocktail of symbiote-poison, immune boosters, and neural rehabilitators turned what was left of a Queen to dissolving mush. She flexed her fingers out of their death-grip on bloody robes. "Healing device or not, she's probably going to need to cough blood out of that lung."
"Oxygen deprivation," Sam said breathlessly. "We got here as fast as we could-"
Sally shook a scolding finger, readying herself to jump back into her own battle as more teams radioed back casualty reports. "We've done this before, Major. The Goa'uld shares oxygen with the neurons as long as possible." She glanced at her watch. "It's going to be touch and go, but-"
"Dr. Fraiser!" A shaken Nurse Clark nodded toward the radio. "Maguanacs are bringing some of EOD in. Burn victims!"
"Take care of your team," Janet ordered O'Neill. "That's the best thing you can do for us right now."
Your battle's over, Colonel. Mine's just started.
---------------
It's not fair. Numb, Major Hopkins followed Sergeant Deaver back from the smoking wreckage of the armory, taking a moment to look over the ominous domes.
Most stood intact. Three or four, including the one they'd stumbled out of, bore cracks and sear marks. Only one, the farthest from the village, had shattered. Flames still rose from it, smoke dark and black as a gasoline fire.
Ow!
Note to self: do not walk backwards, Hopkins thought, disentangling himself from an emerald-and-red-spotted vine trailing down onto the rough woods path. Apparently Gault thorns could poke straight through standard issue.
Absently Hopkins registered the grinding pain in his arm, where the rest of his shaken team had roughly wrapped bones into place for the long walk back to the 'Gate and Dr. Fraiser's medics. Wing Trowa's orange and white craft had landed and gone, ignoring walking wounded like him to snatch away the two barely breathing; Carlson, whose blast-shattered femur had nicked the artery....
And the small, brave shell of a woman who'd held fire in her hands to save them all.
It's just not fair.
"Hang in there, sir," the Marine said roughly, dodging another tangle of armored vine. "You're SGC now. And she's not dead yet."
Hopkins shook his head. "Deaver, you saw-"
"I've seen healing devices work, sir. Don't give up on Preventer Li. Not yet." He held up a fist to stop the march. "Hold up."
Right. Not out of the woods yet....
Listening to his radio, Deaver nodded. "Hold position, we'll join you." He grinned. "Rendezvous time."
They look about as bad as we do, Hopkins thought as his smoke-stained band rounded a fallen tree to meet up with a mixed bunch of Marines, Preventers, and a couple local civilians. A kid?
Yep, a kid. Dirty brown hair, maybe eight from the look of him, clinging to a tired guy who looked like family and was carrying one nasty black and bloodstained knife.
The brunette has snakes in her hair, and I'm not even twitching, Hopkins registered absently. When did my life slide into the Twilight Zone?
"Major Hopkins." The heavyset Marine in charge nodded. "Sergeant. Mission accomplished?"
"Colonel... Fenton," Hopkins said tiredly, glad their unconventional battlefield negated the need for salutes. "Yeah. We're done." Done in, too.
"Still some patrols and a few Reavers loose," the colonel informed them. "And the local civilians might not be too happy with us either. Any of them that are still here, rather than running for the hills. Keep your eyes open."
"And Salara is out there yet," the civilian stated. "I still can't believe...." He walked past them, staring toward the rising black smoke. "How could she have done this? How?"
"Major, Tok'ra agent Ambrin," Colonel Fenton said in an undertone. "He's one of those who set the charges. Only he says as far as he knew, the plan was only to blow the stores away from the village."
Hopkins studied Ambrin's dazed expression, the way he clutched the kid close, as if reassuring himself flesh and blood still had a pulse. No way was this guy on a suicide brigade. "I believe him."
"No offense, Major, but the Tok'ra are sometimes a little-" Deaver waggled one hand.
"I've met a bunch of bombers, Sergeant." Hopkins turned to the colonel. "Sir, I don't think he's faking it."
"Two votes for truth," Fenton said practically. "Unless Preventer Sumire plans to change hers...." He hesitated, choosing his words with stumbling care. "Setebh-i, Sumire. Taa-i ma'at?"
The medusa shook her head. "Aabla, ib-seshat, qemhut aa'aret ib-ek. An sent-i Ambrin se-sek iiu em nehepu qait."
"I think Sumire's saying she's got an empath reading him," Deaver told Hopkins in an undertone. "Aabla. The blonde Preventer over there, I'm guessing. She's not worried."
"Welcome to the United Nations," Hopkins muttered. Oh well. At least Ancient Egyptian didn't grate on his ears like French. Wonder how hard it is to pick up?
"Well. One way to find out." The colonel raised his voice a notch. "Ambrin. Assuming Salara went to ground before she blew the place, where would she be?"
"I... don't know." Ambrin blinked, bringing himself back to the present with an effort of will. "We were... to find separate places of concealment, so that if one were captured, not all would be. It's customary...."
Fenton's eyes narrowed.
"Hang on a sec, sir." Hopkins walked over to the Tok'ra. "Hey, kid. How you doing?"
The boy stared at him wide-eyed, then buried his face in Ambrin's neck.
Ambrin spoke softly to the child, rubbing a thin shoulder. "Forgive Amek, Major. It has been - a very frightening day."
"Second that," Hopkins muttered. "Nice kid. Yours?"
"My sister's son. She will be so worried." Ambrin looked at him. "I should search for them. I truly do not know where Salara is, and if my kin stumble on her, after this...."
Torn two ways and you don't know which way you'll jump. Hopkins almost felt sorry for the guy.
Akako, dark hair half burned away, bleeding from ears and eyes....
Almost.
"Look," Hopkins said matter-of-factly. "I don't know what Salara's story is, but I can tell right now you're in no shape to handle her. And you got the little guy here to look after." He nodded toward the smoldering pyramid ship. "Dr. Fraiser's got an aid station set up by the 'Gate. I bet the Colonel can get you two passed along the line up there."
"My sister-"
"Best thing you can do for her right now is stay in one place." You might be the only family that kid has left, Ambrin. Did you think of that? "But before you head that way... where do you think Salara wouldn't be?"
Ambrin started.
"Nice work, Major," Colonel Fenton said a few minutes later, after Ambrin was safely on his way. "Thinking of staying on with us?"
"Ask me again after we get home, sir."
Sumire made a low, laughing comment; Deaver muttered something back, and shrugged.
"What was that, Sergeant?" Fenton asked, glancing at his motley crew as they fell into line to circle what was left of the village and head for Salara's most likely hiding place.
"Personal observation, sir. Nothing important."
"Oh yeah?" Hopkins asked in an undertone as they skirted the bloody wreck of a Reaver near a corral.
"She thinks you're staying." Deaver had a wry smile. "Says you've got the stars in your eyes. Preventers get like that."
He gave the sergeant a hard look.
"Hey, you asked, sir...."
Trees, trees, more trees; some not that different from forests near Vancouver, a few towering trunks that reminded Hopkins of dinosaur-age dioramas of tree ferns. Though computer graphics never seemed to include straggly chartreuse moss on the shady side of trunks, or trails of scurrying orange ants. They definitely didn't include insect buzzes and clicks, and the distant rattle of gunfire.
Gradually they worked their way upward into higher, rockier ground. Hope Fenton knows what we're looking for, Hopkins thought tiredly, glancing at a glimmer of black-gold feathers as something that looked like an eagle settled on a branch not far from their line of march near a rising cliff. I sure don't-
Wait a second. Was that brown leather wrapping yellow-scaled legs?
Colonel Fenton held up a fist; stop. Flashed a few hand signals for wait and watch. Spoke a few halting words that didn't sound like either of the languages the Preventers used.
Gaultish, Hopkins realized, trying to remember that part of their hasty briefing. "We come to fight." Or something like that.
A gray-leather shadow detached itself from the brush, holding up a gloved hand for the eagle. Suspicious eyes glared at them out of a lifetime's worth of wrinkles.
Hopkins tried not to breathe too hard. The forest was quieter than it had been. Which meant company. Armed company, if his tired brain was flinging up the right details on the natives.
Swiveling its head, the eagle looked them over. Chirped.
The elderly local nodded once at Fenton, and withdrew back into the brush.
"I think we just got passed, people," the colonel said in low tones. "Don't startle them."
Preventer Aabla stared toward the leaves closing around where the older man had been, surprised. Said something short and liquid, one brow flying up in pure curiosity.
Deaver pursed lips in a soundless whistle. "A Beastmaster? Here?"
"Later," Fenton warned. "Locals are keeping an eye on here, people. We may be in the right spot after all. Start looking."
Looking seemed to involve a weird gray contraption half the size of a pack that emitted a low hum when it was switched on. "The heck?" Hopkins breathed.
"Some kind of ultrasound Major Carter cobbled together," Deaver informed him as they moved into rearguard position. "Tok'ra like to burrow."
"Burrow?" Hopkins said, disbelieving. As in underground? Didn't sound like spies. Wouldn't that have drawn the attention of every local within three miles?
"Long story, sir. They've got the tech to do it right under Goa'uld noses."
The hum altered in pitch as one of Fenton's people brought it near the cliff wall. The colonel looked grimly pleased. Motioned the device back, and laid down a shaped line of gray puttylike substance Hopkins was all too familiar with.
Knock, knock, the EOD officer thought wryly as everyone took cover. Hello, it's us!
Rock crumbled in dull thuds.
"Go, go, go!"
And there was thumping and yelling and the electrical trill of a zat and at least one disbelieving shriek-
And some very bruised Marines marched out of the raw rock opening a minute later, one bound, gagged, and furious woman slung over the tallest man's shoulders like a flour bag.
"Ah. Agent Salara," Colonel Fenton said dryly.
"Mmph!"
"Jacob sent us to collect you."
"Mmph?"
"Ordinarily we'd let an agent have a little time to clear out sensitive materials. But given that the combined forces of the SGC and Preventers have removed the local System Lord and are currently working on what few of her forces survive, not to mention the havoc you've already caused when left to your own devices...." Fenton grinned, white and uncaring as a shark.
"Mmph! Mph mmph mfft!"
"Oh, and by the way? Ambrin knows what you tried to do to him. And his family." Fenton bent a little closer to the wide-eyed spy, smile thinning. "If it were up to me, I'd drop you in his lap. He seems to be very good with a knife. Unfortunately, my orders are to bring you back." With a nod, he formed the group up for the trek back to the 'Gate.
"Somebody's been taking O'Neill lessons," Deaver said in a wry undertone.
Hopkins' eyes bugged. "You mean there's more than one of them?"
---------------
I hurt. Huddled in the small, out of the way corner SG-1 had claimed for its own, Daniel hugged himself tightly. Everywhere.
Not physically. Oh, he'd picked up a few nicks and scratches, some of which burned with Shi no Yami's angry fire as it consumed Reaver DNA and spat out blackened slime. It was a rare casualty who hadn't come in without at least one Reaver scratch. Janet and Sally had their corpsmen giving everyone who came through the doors a first round of preventive shots, Shinigami included. The more serious cases got IVs, and told to sit down and stay quiet until Quatre, Jack, and all the various commanding officers could sort out enough of the chaos to arrange a 'Gate trip back to a hospital.
No. He was tired, and sore, and wanted to sleep for a week, but he wasn't really hurt. Not in body.
We won. Why can't I be happy?
"Daniel?" Sam said softly, sliding down the wall to sit next to him. "You okay?"
"I'm-" He couldn't manage fine. He just couldn't. "How's the little Princess?"
Sam shook her head at Jack's nickname, tossed a glance toward where Teal'c sat cross-legged by the portable tank. "Teal'c's looking after them."
Yes, he was. Eye to glaring eyespot with the tanked larvae. Although the little wrigglers seemed more confused than angry.
"I think we were all scared." Sam didn't raise her voice, just leaned close enough that he could feel the warmth of her shoulder near his arm. "Duo warned us... but I don't think we believed it. I don't think we could have believed it. Not before we saw it."
"It was fun, Sam." Gods, he felt sick. "While I was... riding the wave. It was fun." Scurrying little prey of Jaffa, slow and stupid and all but baring their throats to be killed. Skittering, vicious prey of Reavers, their very scent rousing a snarl of hate in his throat, the urge to seek and hunt and kill those who threatened what were his.
I never want to do that again, he wanted to say. I'll never kill like that again.
But... that would be lying.
"Cats are like that." Sam's tone was matter-of-fact. "They're cuddly, and they love you, and they'd never hurt you on purpose. But they're hunters." She touched his shoulder. "It doesn't make you a bad person, Daniel. It just means you have to be careful. Just like the colonel has to be, sometimes."
Careful. Gods.
Jack had to be careful?
Clink. Clatter. Clink.
"Damn." Tapping the IV full of Janet's RNA-busting cocktail attached to his arm, Jack sounded truly impressed. "A third of that rope isn't hair at all, is it?"
"Iie." Heero stopped for a moment, fingers tangled in the lower half of Duo's unraveled braid, obviously catching his breath. Half a very odd assortment of tools, explosives, and miniature weapons were carefully set on the side of Duo's cot, in contact with the sleeping pilot's skin. Dipping his hand into an aluminum basin, Heero scooped up water and poured it over chestnut strands, washing away drying rust-red.
Jack nodded at the efficient motion, not commenting on the bandages wrapping the pilot's arm and other injuries or on the way even Heero's uninjured hand shook. "You've had to do this before, huh?"
"Aa."
"Safe for us to help?"
"Iie."
"He looks pretty out."
Silence.
"You ought to be out."
"Hn."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Daniel?" Translation, please?
"He'll sleep when it's safe," Daniel shrugged. Just like you would.
"Huh." Jack regarded Heero, giving Maxwell's limp form one thoughtful glance.
Heero focussed on bloodied hair. "Duo can push himself farther than most Shinigami. He prefers not to; it brings greater vulnerability when the wave falters." His voice fell, near soundless. "But he will do it. For us."
"You care about him," Daniel said quietly.
"We fly together. He makes our missions more efficient. More effective. And - odder. The Goa'uld seem to have difficulty dealing with the oddness." As if disconnected from his will, Heero's hand stroked wet hair. "Perhaps that is why he can aggravate me like no one else."
"Oh yeah?" Jack said carefully.
Heero's shoulders stiffened. "There is a limit to what Sally can discern without potentially destructive examination. But we believe J's manipulations were too thorough. While my insight into Goa'uld tactics is invaluable, my ability to comprehend standard human social bonding is... limited." Muscles tensed, as if he thought of shrugging and set the thought aside. "Duo insists that this is not a failing, but simply a fact to take under tactical consideration."
Jack pursed his lips in a silent whistle. Tossed Daniel a raised-brow glance.
Daniel gave him a slow nod. For someone as outgoing and demonstrative as Duo to go to those lengths to reassure someone who knew he wasn't normal.... Yep, those two have it bad.
Just what they had, Daniel still wasn't sure yet. Heck, from the look on Heero's face, he didn't know. It wasn't anything as simple and straightforward as Trowa and Quatre's relationship.
But there was trust in it, and kindness, and friendship tested in fire.
Kindness. Daniel tested the thought against the water running crimson down the drains, the mad glee in violet eyes as Shinigami killed anything that challenged him.
But only those that challenged him. If they'd fled - if they'd posed no threat to himself or the others-
The killer had let them go.
If Duo could face that in his soul, and still be kind....
Maybe I can live like this after all.
---------------
Scent was first to return. Cold granite, a breath of growing things, all overlaid with the sickening taste of blood and bile and charred flesh.
She has struck out once more. Another nightmare made flesh, another horror I could not stop....
Touch filtered back next; an agony in neck and chest and throat, overpowering the dimmer ache in muscle and bone that meant the Queen had once more used her form to slay her enemies. Almost enough agony to block a feather-light touch on one arm; warm, gentle fingers that somehow eased away fear.
"It's all right. You're safe now." A young man's voice, soft and oddly familiar past the low curses and sobbing of the wounded. "What's your name?"
Name? I... had a name once.... Before the demon. Before the nightmare....
Would it hurt to speak it, one last time?
Yes.
But... she did not feel the demon. Did not feel the lash of soul-shredding pain, or worse, the helpless haze of knowing her body was not her own. She hurt, hurt to the core, but....
I am... awake?
Awake. Awake and aware, if only for this brief instant.
"A-Mushen," she whispered. "I am... I was...."
"You are." The young man's voice was firm, with a fiery joy she could feel burning away the slime of endless nightmare. "You are A-Mushen. Now, and forever."
She had to know. She had to see.
With an effort of will, A-Mushen opened her eyes.
Blond hair. Sea-blue eyes. A Preventer's jacket. And a smile that could light the darkest pits of memory.
"I'm Quatre Rebarba Winner." Hand still clasping her wrist, the Gundam pilot bowed to her. "Welcome home, A-Mushen."
---------------
Translations from Japanese:
Yamero - Stop.
Iie - No.
Aa - Yes.
Egyptian:
T'at'at aa'aat amu pet ta Neter-khert, an-na-ten au-s kher sekheru amen. - O divine chiefs, mighty in heaven, earth, and the Netherworld, I have brought to you she who possesses schemes hidden.
Au-i kher sap en nerutet, senet'eret-i Sebau her qab-ef. - I hold an inquisition of the Terrible One, I fetter the fiend at her corner.
Ar sapt menti-sen! - Now the judgment of those who are annihilated!
Setebh-i, Sumire. Taa-i ma'at?- I make entreaty, Sumire. Give me truth?
Aabla, ib-seshat, qemhut aa'aret ib-ek. An sent-i Ambrin se-sek iiu em nehepu qait. - Aabla, heart-reader (empath), inspects and scrutinizes his heart. Not fear I Ambrin destroys those who come with light and fire.
Sumerian: (From Ancient Inventions, by Peter James and Nick Thorpe)
A-Mushen - "Bird in Water".