Daniel wrapped his hands around his mug, warming cold fingers.
Thurman was restrained, in isolation, as were all the members of SG-8.
"Their brain scans are growing increasingly erratic," Janet reported. Daniel turned his attention back to the briefing. All the infected members had been examined, and the results were disturbing.
"I was observing their blood cells when I noticed something unusual," Janet's grim face was testament to the seriousness of the situation. "On follow-up tests, it was revealed that the DNA replication which usually occurs during the reproduction of cells was no longer taking place."
"Doctor?" Hammond was startled.
"Their bodies are producing new cells which are, in effect, not their own. Inexplicably, somehow these new cells are identical for all members of SG-8, and are replicating at an alarming rate."
"Janet, do you have any idea how it might be possible to rid SG-8 of these cells?"
"This shouldn't be possible!" The doctor's voice was uncharacteristically strident. She heaved a sigh and continued more calmly. "Cells are immensely complicated, and despite the advances we've been making in research, very little is known about how cells perform many of their functions. From what is known, it is impossible for cells to replicate without the proper genetic data." The lines around her eyes were the only signals belying Janet's external serenity.
"But the result is some sentient creature," Daniel gently pointed out. "It seems as if they're possessed, rather than infected."
Dr. Frasier sighed. "As of now we're working on trying to halt the cell replication process, but we are so far out of our depth here that we're swimming," she admitted to Hammond.
"Dr. Jackson?"
Daniel opened the folder and slid a picture to each person at the table. "I worked a bit on the small amphora SG-8 brought back," he said.
"Daniel, was that such a good idea?" Sam was nervous for her teammate.
The archaeologist shrugged, dismissing the question. "There were more markings than the one name. Across the sides was a highly stylized death's head, a symbol common among many cultures. In addition to the seal's inscription of 'Ulu Toyo'n'," he added absently.
"Yakut god. Evil, nasty Goa'uld. Check," Jack muttered.
Carter gave Jack a startled glance, and Daniel rolled his eyes. "Ulu Toyo'n. Creator god of the Yakut people, who bequeathed them with the secret of fire and one of their three souls. He's also held to be the demonic king of the Abaasy, living in the third heaven."
The picture he had given them showed the impassive visage of a dark-haired, olive skinned man. Crimson tattoos dripped like tears of flame from his blood-red eyes. His features were drawn into an imposing scowl, made fiercer for the bronze helmet atop his head, which was ornamented with a large ruby plume and a shining crescent axe-blade above each ear.
Daniel ignored Jack as he glowered right back at the image of Ulu Toyo'n, and looked to Sam as she raised her voice in a question. "What are the Abaasy?"
"In Yakut legend, the Abaasy are inhabitants of the underworld. They have iron teeth, and travel in packs of seven. They are held to be greedy, with an unmatched lust for power. They seek to expand their lands and power without regard to anything – or anyone – else."
"Gee, where have I heard that before?" Jack drawled.
Daniel raised a brow, and Jack grinned.
"Indeed, these creatures sound much like the Goa'uld."
"You said it, T."
"They travel in packs of seven?" Hammond asked cautiously.
"SG-8 brought back three amphorae from the planet." Daniel pushed up his glasses, his bearing grim. "Assuming all members of the team are possessed, that makes seven."
"Do you have any idea how we get the damn things out of SG-8?" Jack asked carefully.
Daniel's lips thinned. "Not at present. The Yakut people have an oral tradition, and in contrast to the technology of most of the world, for the greater part they follow the ways of their ancestors. Vast areas of Siberia are untouched by modern civilization, and comparatively little is known about their beliefs."
"It's okay, Daniel," he murmured softly. It was obvious to him that the linguist was beating himself up over being unable to help. Daniel cocked his head to the side, and his level stare told Jack that no, it wasn't okay, but they would argue about it later.
Things were definitely closer to normal than they'd been in a very long time.
"Is there any indication of what was actually in the jars?" Sam asked, placing the picture to one side.
Daniel removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, fiddling with the frames with his opposite hand. "Not from outside observation, no." The archaeologist hesitated. "At first, I suspected that they were containers for a virus or sentient life form not unlike the orb Jack encountered a few years ago."
The colonel grimaced at the reminder of the time he had spent nailed to the 'Gateroom wall by a spike through his shoulder. "Not fun," he muttered under his breath.
The look the general shot him was both sympathetic and quelling. Jack silently wished he had that skill – his patented glare was only effective on Carter's military half, and had a tough time keeping Dr. Carter in check. With Daniel, it was pretty much worthless. Speaking of which.
"Now, I'm not sure." Daniel had paid no attention to the exchange. His blue eyes reflected a tiredness Jack was sure no one was supposed to see.
"In that case, I recommend we return to the planet for further recon," Jack advised, directing his attention to Hammond.
Daniel was openly frowning, and the General turned his attention to the archaeologist.
"What's your opinion on this, Dr. Jackson?" he asked, taking another look at the portrait of Ulu Toyo'n.
"I would advise against it," Daniel said thoughtfully.
"Why?" Jack asked, struggling to keep his voice even. Daniel was holding back, and now – it had Jack worried, on edge, and little bit angry, to be honest. He knew Thurman, knew the team, and SG-8 had been there for SG-1 many times when they'd needed it.
"Think about it," Daniel's voice was quiet, his passion so tempered it was almost gone. He expected to loose this fight. "Don Ransburg is on SG-8, and he's an experienced anthropologist. He knows better than to break a seal on any closed container without extensive pre-analysis. He would do his best to keep SG-8 from doing so. Which means that either there was an accident, or the Abaasy are roaming free on P2Z-729."
The room was quiet, absorbing the implications. General Hammond looked from one side of the table to the other, before carefully announcing his decision. "We'll send through a MALP to determine the state of the planet. Then, we'll make any decision necessary. If we go in, it'll be in full HAZMAT. I don't want to risk any more of my people being possessed."
Daniel opened his mouth to protest, but shut it before any sound could pass his lips.
"Daniel?"
The linguist looked up from the picture of Ulu Toyo'n to find Jack staring at him, and blinked. The others had left the room.
"They're sending the MALP through ASAP," the colonel continued, his face gentling at the raw defeat he saw on Daniel's. He didn't understand what had prompted this sudden emotion in the younger man, and wasn't quite sure what to do about it.
Daniel nodded. "I'm coming."
Jack carefully ushered the linguist into the control room, and they watched in wary silence as the technician dialed up P2Z-729.
The telemetry relayed by the MALP only minutes later confirmed Daniel's suspicions. The MALP's camera picked up the body of an elderly man, whose light, tan-colored robe was soiled and ripped. He was clearly dead; his half-lidded blue eyes clouded and dried tracks of blood trailing from his eyes, nostrils, and open mouth. The few teeth they could see had been filed to points, and his body looked as if it had been carelessly dropped just below the Stargate.
Daniel looked away.
"The tentative mission is scrubbed," Hammond said grimly.
"Sir!" The voice of the SF caught them all by surprise. A young man ran into the control room, urgency written in every line of his body. "Dr. Frasier requires you at the infirmary, immediately!"
Without any questions, Hammond strode to the door, Jack on his heels. Curious, Daniel followed at a clipped pace. The halls cleared quickly, and within moments they were at the infirmary.
"Sir, I don't know how to explain it," Frasier said. Daniel stared – it wasn't often that Janet was completely without explanation or idea about the cause of her patients' condition. Jack and Hammond stood next to her, and Daniel moved to the glass overlooking the isolation room. "Moments ago, Thurman suddenly went into a convulsion – it lasted for two minutes before subsiding. But when it did, his EEG returned to normal. The same happened for the rest of SG-8."
Daniel peered into the room where Thurman was being held, tightly restrained to the bed. "Janet?"
The odd tone of his voice – part horror and part shock – caught at Jack's gut and he turned, adrenaline pumping. The low conversation between Hammond and Frasier broke off abruptly.
"What is that?"
An opaquely white, milky substance was rising from all the orifices on Thurman's body. It resembled an impenetrable mist, and it collected in an increasingly large cloud, hovering above Thurman's body.
As the last of it rose into the air, it took on a vaguely humanoid shape. A bright splash of color directed attention downward. Thurman's nose began to bleed profusely, and Daniel could see blood tracking, much like tears, down his cheeks. Janet moved quickly to the door, but Daniel grabbed her arm and said, "No!"
He had it worked out within moments. "Don't open that door, no matter what," he snapped. He picked up the nearest phone and dialed the control room. "Sam," he rapped out. The connection was transferred almost immediately. Jack was left listening to half a conversation as he stared in disgusted fascination at the white mist being that was floating around the room.
"Is the gate still open?"
The colonel reared back as it suddenly zoomed toward the thick glass, only to pull up short and shoot across the room. Just as Thurman would clearly die within minutes, the entity was clearly trapped.
"Keep it that way. Clear out the 'Gateroom. The Abaasy are loose."
A short silence.
"Back to their planet. But we need a - ."
Daniel and Carter were obviously doing their mile-a-minute brainy ping-pong routine, bouncing off the others' intelligence to put the picture together and only explain it when the situation was taken care of.
"You'll know. Just make sure all four go through."
An emphatic pause.
"It'll be taken care of."
"Daniel?"
The linguist turned to Jack, hanging up the phone. "We have to clear all the corridors from here to the 'Gateroom, and make sure the same is done for the infirmary. These things need a path back to the 'Gate. They'll possess anyone who gets in their way."
"Gotcha," Jack snapped. He turned to the General for confirmation, and within seconds of receiving it he had returned to the phone, and was barking orders over the PA system, locking down interior sections of the base, keeping an eye on Janet, who was chafing at being kept away from a patient who obviously was in dire need of her help.
"Just hold your horses, Doc," he instructed. "Wait until that thing is gone, and then you can do whatever the hell you like." His admiration of the pint-sized power monger's dedication shone through the gruff command. Janet would brave the fires of battle, and the unknown, to help anyone who needed it.
"Sir, it's my recommendation that we get the hell away," Jack instructed. He looked around, and was gripped with an all-consuming fear. "Damnit, Daniel!"
Jack took a quick breath and heard Hammond say clearly, "Back to the control room, Colonel."
The three raced to the control room, and were nearly there when the klaxons erupted. All SGC personnel were locking themselves behind blast doors in protected sections of the facility, hoping that this latest gamble would pay off.
"Damnit, where's Daniel?" Jack roared as he burst into the control room to find only Sam and Teal'c. They were staring through the glass at three entities, which were swooping around the gate like destroyers sent from heaven.
"Daniel Jackson was with you," Teal'c informed him.
"Well, not anymore," Jack snarled heatedly. "Where the hell is he?"
"Oh, no."
Carter's shocked whisper had Jack turning to the 'Gateroom. Hammond and Janet were transfixed at the glass, and they watched in shock as Daniel entered the 'Gateroom, holding three small earthenware jars.
As soon as he entered the room, he was followed by a fourth white mist, and the other three began swooping down on him, veering away at the last minute. He didn't duck, or even acknowledge the actions of the misty beings, but rather walked right up to the 'Gate, put the jars down, and carefully raised one.
Jack could see his mouth moving, but couldn't hear what he was saying. His heart pounded, and his mouth was dry.
Daniel shouted something, and threw the jar forcefully into the wormhole. Two of the beings followed it, and Jack winced, covering his ears at the high-pitched sound, nearly out of human range, that shrieked through the air. Daniel clapped his hands to his ears, staggering closer to the wormhole, and Sam gasped in horror.
Daniel shouted something else, and hefted the second jar, tossing it through the event horizon, closely followed by the third being. One jar, and one entity, were left.
The last entity – Jack was privately convinced it was the same one which had inhabited Thurman – dove at Daniel, who barely shifted out of the way in time. With a last shout, Daniel hurled the final amphora into the wormhole.
The creature shrieked once again, and dove through the event horizon. Immediately, Sam slammed closed the iris and disconnected from the planet.
Jack got a glimpse of the control room as he turned and ran for the 'Gateroom. Janet was already gone – back to the infirmary to care for SG-8. Hammond remained at the glass as Jack, Sam and Teal'c rushed to the missing member of their team.
Daniel trudged down the ramp to sit on the steps, rubbing at his ears. A line of pain creased his face, only to be wiped quickly away on seeing Jack descending upon him with the fury of the justifiably irritated.
"Daniel? Daniel!"
"Yes?" he asked. Irritation and confusion wrapped that one word in layers of meaning. Jack could sense them, even if he couldn't understand all the nuances and undertones. Something was bothering Daniel.
"Daniel!"
"Daniel Jackson!"
Sam. Teal'c.
But right now, he couldn't understand their concern. Not too long ago he'd been sitting in this 'Gateroom, in more pain than he was now, and been completely overlooked. So why, why was it – was he – suddenly important again?
"I'm fine," he said roughly, standing up and moving to the door. He was forced to stop when the way was blocked, his intrinsic courtesy not allowing him to simply push past.
He had several answers to his question, each one as unpalatable as the last. He didn't fool himself for one moment into believing that it was because they wanted him here. But even more, he didn't want to believe it was because they did want him that they cared.
He was still trying to make sense of the entire mess, how they had allowed their friendship to fall so far, why they had let it degrade to the point where cobwebs of emotion and memories were all that were left. The poet said it best, indeed – 'You always hurt the ones you love'.
Shaking off his morbid thoughts, Daniel said with quiet dignity, "Let me pass."
"Not until after you visit the infirmary," Sam said firmly.
Jack was behind Carter's rampant big-sister protectiveness one-hundred and fifty percent. Daniel was avoiding their eyes.
"Daniel -" Jack started. On seeing the linguist's face close up, he finished lamely, "We – we have to talk."
Daniel just shrugged, and slithered between Jack and Teal'c, moving toward the elevator. "Fine," he called.
Relieved that the linguist was indeed not as taciturn as he appeared, Jack followed closely on Daniel's heels, only to become the relieved recipient of an aggravated, scathing lecture on the less-endearing qualities of Jack's present profession – that of the mother-hen. One that was, for all intents and purposes in the eyes of a grumpy linguist, from hell.
Swallowing it all with a hidden smile and several well-placed - if somewhat irrelevant - retorts, Jack, along with Sam and Teal'c, escorted the disgruntled archaeologist to the infirmary.
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If this damn thing would let me, I'd cite the 2 sources I used for the abaasy and Ulu Toyo'n in their entirety, but we're stuck with the abaasy links on freeweb(dot)com and pantheon(dot)org. Credit goes there, not here.
Yes, the Yakut are a real people. All the info given on them (and about the Abaasy and Ulu Toyo'n) is fact – as much as legend permits; no artistic license has been used (yet, and I make no promises) in any way.
To the few who thought the last cliffie was devilish, yet, I accept all responsibility with only this to say – God, it's fun to be evil!! So, beware! (mischievous grin)