Life went on after Daniel's adventure on P3X-888 with the Unas. In Avalon, new campaigns begin against Ares, a minor System Lord who was trying to take advantage of the other, more major System Lords falling like dominoes before the Furling advance, as well as against Ptah, a Goa'uld scientist and galactic wanderer who was responsible for most of the advances in Goa'uld ship-design … everything that they haven't stolen from other races, that is, or well, and the adaption of what they did steal for their use. Ptah was greatly feared by the other System Lords because he knew the weak points in their ships and could use that knowledge against them. His worlds were few, and he rarely visited them, but tracking him down with the help of the Tok'ra was now a priority for the Furlings. When the news reached him that Ptah was one of the Furlings' next targets, Bra'tac himself had come with explicit warnings about his small following of specialized Jaffa, the Ta-tanen, known by some as "stone warriors." The Ta-tanen possessed a terrifying reputation among the Jaffa and among the System Lords. They were not known for speed or for strategy, but for the ability to endure anything that was thrown at them. The Ta-tanen were not usually with Ptah, who generally traveled the galaxy only with his First Prime, and might be encountered on any of Ptah's worlds. How they might face up against the Furling army, Bra'tac did not know, but great caution was advisable.
Uh, definitely.
The weeks passed. Teal'c and Jack got themselves into trouble while test-flying the X-301 interceptor, an experimental new US fighter assembled from Death Glider parts. Sujanha would say that's where your problems started. Those gliders had formerly been in Apophis' service, and the parts the builders had used unknowingly contained a recall device, which was programmed to return the vessel to Chulak in the case of betrayal by the pilot. The device was triggered, taking the X-301 deep into the solar system with Jack and Teal'c unwillingly along for the ride. After word was sent to the Furlings, Sujanha was able to send a ship out to retrieve them and the vessel before any harm was done and after only a couple of hours had passed.
(Daniel could only wonder what might have happened if the Furlings had not been able to help. Would his friends have made it back alive?)
During those passing weeks, a campaign against Olokun, a System Lord who had taken on the persona of an African water deity, had also begun. Like Nirrti, Olokun had an interest in human—or perhaps, 'sentient' would be better in this context—experimentation. Nirrti had wanted a more advanced, more powerful 'human' host. Olokun wanted to find or create an amphibious host that would not reject his own Goa'uld physiology. His interest in sentient experimentation had gotten him into trouble in the distant past when an alliance with Nirrti went … bad, and unlike some of the other System Lords, Olokun had done a better job of keeping his head down recently, which had put him farther down the "Goa'uld To Deal With" list. For the Furlings, all the Goa'uld who set themselves up as gods and enslaved sentients needed to be dealt sooner rather than later, but some like Nirrti or Sokar, thankfully both already long dead, especially needed to be dealt with first, while others slipped toward the bottom of the rankings.
Olokun was a definite threat, but as was quickly becoming clear, after the Tok'ra had managed to get an operative into his court, his secret police had been spreading misinformation and pulling the wool over the other System Lords' eyes about his own dealings for … who knows how long exactly? A while, at least. (There were also rumors of unusually advanced transporter technology on his worlds.) Thus, Olokun found himself advanced up the Furlings' list to "Deal With Now" status. Knowing Sujanha, there is probably actually a literal list.
More critical was the renewed fighting between the Freedom Fighters of the Ohnes and Olokun's forces. The Ohnes had been fighting the Goa'uld since long before Babylon, long before Omoroca had died on earth, leaving her mate Nem to wait for news of her fate for four-thousand years. Taking an Ohnes as a host had never worked out well before for Olokun, but as they were an extremely advanced and physically intimidating aquatic species, he seemed to not have given up hope yet. When several Freedom Fighters disappeared into the depths of Olokun's territory and did not reappear as tortured, mutilated corpses or as trophies as they would have in Belus' territory before the Ohnes had dealt with him and freed his Ohnes host, Kel, from his four-thousand-year long nightmare, concern grew that those fighters had disappeared into a lab, not a dungeon.
(This struck a deep chord with the Furlings, who had suffered such losses in the past.)
Fighting three Goa'uld and their forces (and all their underlings) simultaneously was a lot, even for the Furlings. It was probably a good thing that neither Ares nor Ptah were System Lords and that both had limited holdings in terms of worlds.
Even the Furlings could stretch themselves thin.
37th of Vysad, 6546 A.S.
(August 13, 2000)
Teucuria, Avalon
Even Sujanha's flagship was not immune to battle-damage, though in this case it appeared to be more bad luck than anything else. (The efficacy of Goa'uld ship-to-ship weaponry had not suddenly increased.) During the heat of a battle against Ares' forces early the morning before last, there had been an issue with blown circuits and power overloads and damaged crystals in the sublight engines. Or, at least, Daniel thought that was the problem … problems. The only thing worse than complicated technical explanations in English was trying to understand such discussions in Furling. Yes, Furling was extremely literal and specific, but in some contexts, that only made things more confusing. Some technical terms also did not translate well at all, and Daniel simply did not have the level of knowledge of technical terms in Furling like he did in English from having spent enough time in close proximity to Sam.
For most ships, having sublight engines die during a battle could be disastrous, but the Furling secondary shields (in the Valhalla's case) were powerful enough to absorb the flack Ares' ships were throwing its way, even without the ship being able to maneuver to avoid enemy fire. The Valhalla's hyperdrive was still functioning, so after the battle it was able to jump to Teucuria, the nearest Furling shipyard, for repairs. A special class of Furling ship—a veritable 'tug boat'—used a tractor beam to pull the larger space into orbit around the planet, and that was that, for the moment.
Having the Valhalla in the dockyard meant that its crew got some downtime. Sujanha was staying in Avalon until her ship was fixed, but Daniel got some time off. After helping the Commander with the Furling equivalent of AARs, he had spent the 36th on Uslisgas, talking with his wife and playing with his son, and returned to Teucuria the morning of the 37th.
Early afternoon, Mekoxe appeared in the doorway, as a rotating skeleton crew was still in place. (Asik was also onboard, but he was asleep in his quarters, though on call if necessary. Ragnar was off somewhere … possibly training. I think he and Teal'c could get along.)
"Message from Midgard for you, Doctor Jackson."
Sujanha … no, it still had to be Malek … did not even twitch at the sound of his voice. Malek, sitting behind the desk, eyes closed, head leaned back, was not asleep, couldn't be, or Sujanha would have retaken control. She did not do sitting around doing nothing very well at all … unless she was bedridden in agony … or unless we plop Shifu in her lap. That works like a charm. Because of her duties as Supreme Commander, Sujanha had to be in control much of the time, so when situations like this arose, she did her best to let Malek be in control as much as humanly … Furling-ly? That sounds like something Jack would come up with. … possible. And if Malek decided to sit around and rest and do nothing for a bit, instead of working on her programming codes or reading her extremely complicated Furling biochemistry books … she could. That meant the body rested too.
Sujanha knows all of our footsteps. Given that and smell, she probably knew it was Mekoxe before he even spoke.
"For me?" Daniel asked, surprised. "From earth?" He set aside his tablet on the corner of the desk.
"Yes." Mekoxe glanced back down at his tablet for a moment, double checking details, perhaps. "It was sent to Ushuotis first and forwarded on to us. The message is from a … Robert Rothman at Stargate Command. The message has not been opened, but our systems did flag it as a death notice. I am sorry." With those final words, he extended the tablet to Daniel.
(It was not, literally, "death notice," that Mekoxe had said. In this context, it was an "aldac" notice, aldac being the word for the particular shade of green that was the color of mourning for the Furlings.)
Robert? Who would he be sending me a message about?
Almost certainly wouldn't be Sam, Jack, or Teal'c from Robert. General Hammond would send me that type of news or, more likely, actually send someone to break it to me.
Daniel took the tablet and opened the waiting message, the icon of which was edged in that same shade of green. Darker green, not light green. Why is that color a color of mourning, I wonder? The message was succinct. David Jordan, his old archaeology professor at the University of Chicago, had just recently died in a freak lab explosion attributed to the Curse of Osiris by some wags. His funeral was going to be Monday afternoon. That's tomorrow. It's late Sunday afternoon or early evening on earth right now. What had happened? A lab explosion. How does that just happen? 'Curse of Osiris,' yeah, right.
What had really happened?
Was it a gas leak?
Faulty wiring?
Dead. It was hard for that news to sink in. Dr. Jordan would have been getting up in years, but he wasn't that old. And for his career to be cut short by a freak accident? I wish I could have seen him one last time. I wish I could have told him what I'm doing. I wish I could have explained that I pulled away to protect all of them if there was fallout from my work. I wish I could have told him I was right after all.
"Thank you." Daniel handed the tablet back to Mekoxe after reading the message through a second time.
"My sympathy for your loss." He bowed to Sujanha, gave a respectful nod to Daniel, and then withdrew.
It was Sujanha in control again now. She had not moved a muscle, but that was her staring back at him when he met their eyes. "My sympathy for your loss, Daniel. May I ask who died?"
"My old archaeology professor back on earth," Daniel replied, still trying to absorb the news. "An explosion in his lab. Bloody rotten luck."
"Do you wish to return to Midgard for his funeral if that has not already passed?"
"I would like to, and no, it hasn't," Daniel hedged. "But can you spare me?"
Sujanha nodded at once. "It will be several days at a minimum until the Valhalla can leave its berthing and return to duty. The Sovihik"—High Commander Algar's flagship as metonymy for the High Commander himself—"will take the lead in the ongoing campaign in my place. Except for overall strategies, there is little for me to do in the meantime and less for the rest of you to do, as well. You are a citizen of Midgard, not just of the Empire. You are, of course, free to return to your home planet as you choose."
Fair enough.
"Thank you. Do I need to take a bodyguard with me?"
Sujanha gave him a look. Are you planning to get into trouble? I think that face asks. "You're going to your home planet for a funeral," she said flatly. "The rest of your world does not even know about the Stargate Program, unfortunately. Any bodyguard I sent with you could not assist you with any Midgardian problems that you might encounter."
Fair enough.
(Also, famous last words … not that Daniel knew it yet.)
Not expecting to be on earth more than a day or a day-and-a-half, Daniel packed only the black backpack he had brought back with him after his last trip from the SGC. His BDUs, neatly folded, went on bottom. His Furling attire was quite similar, but he might want to change to stand out less while he was at the SGC. His non-SGC earth clothes were in his office at the SGC, which Nyan also now used regularly, as Daniel had no use for a suit and tie anywhere else in the galaxy. Or galaxies. Fancy dress looks a lot different in Asteria. He tucked in a notebook and pen on top of his clothes along with his picture album stone, now with many additional pictures since he first got it, the hard case holding his spare pair of glasses, and a small med kit tucked in along the side next to his clothes to keep it in place. A pair of sunglasses and a small box with Asgardian emergency ration tablets … less colorful ones so they stood out less … went in external pockets. His gauntlets—Daniel tapped his forearms to remind himself that they were there. He wore them so much that he almost forgot their presence sometimes—would cause a problem with airport security if he took a commercial flight from Colorado Springs to Chicago, but he could figure that out later. Anything else he might need, he should be able to find at the SGC or in Colorado Springs (or Chicago).
Within an hour of Mekoxe bringing him Robert's message, Daniel dialed the Stargate to earth, entered his IDC, and stepped through the gate back to the SGC. Hopefully, this would be a less eventful trip than his last trip. (Famous last words.) The guards waved to him as Daniel walked down the ramp, and he saw General Hammond in the control room above.
Robert was waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp. "Good. You got my message. We weren't sure exactly where to send it. SG1 sends its regards, by the way. They left on a mission earlier."
Daniel blinked at the unusual torrent of words out of his old colleague. "Thank you for letting me know. Your message was forwarded by the appropriate people onto me. What happened?" He asked as they left the gate room. "Your message mentioned a lab explosion."
Robert shrugged. "I don't know anything more than that. It's a lab explosion, not some woooo-woooo curse of Osiris like some wags are claiming."
I wonder if the Furlings believe in curses. It was a thing to ask Ragnar or Sujanha about when he got back, one of the random things of interest and possibly varying cultural value.
Daniel snorted wryly. "I have wondered if there was a curse of the pharaohs on my old computer a few times, but that's about it."
"Yeah, uh, well, General Hammond arranged for you to catch a ride on a military flight leaving for Chicago early tomorrow," Robert continued as they threaded their way through the hallways and past an SG-team, whose people Daniel didn't recognize any longer, which was somewhat unsettling. "You should get there in plenty of time for the funeral, and I already arranged a hotel room for you. I've got all the details in your office for you."
"Thanks. I really appreciate your help."
"Dr. Jordan was a good guy. He's a great loss to the academic community."
Traveling on a military flight was a whole lot simpler and faster than flying commercial (and cheaper, too). No screaming children, though Daniel was a lot more inured to that given his own son. No lost luggage. No lines. No airport security, and no worrying about earth-friendly explanations for his Furling tech.
Daniel reached Chicago late morning and had time to catch a cab to his hotel, check-in, and change into his suit before heading to the cemetery for the grave-side service. Because of Chicago traffic, however—automobile traffic, one thing that he had most certainly not missed here and any other city on earth—he unfortunately ended up arriving towards the end of the service.
I can still pay my respects.
Being back in Chicago, seeing familiar faces from archaeology and Egyptology and History and Classics gathered around the coffin … this almost seemed like another world. Being in academia, studying at the University of Chicago, rubbing shoulders with his old classmates and colleagues, it was almost like it was another lifetime ago.
How times had changed.
Steven was speaking. (Daniel still recognized him immediately even after all these years. The other man hadn't changed much physically.) "Dr. David Jordan was a teacher, a celebrated author, a much-revered expert in the field of Archaeology. And yet, to the end, he remained first and foremost, a student, guided by the simple desire to discover, and understand. It's fitting, then, that a man, who dedicated his life …"
A few heads turned briefly as Daniel approached. Then Steven saw him and stuttered to a stop in his eulogy momentarily before collecting himself and continuing. "Who dedicated his life to reviving the wonders and majesty of long-dead civilizations, should himself gain a measure of immortality through that very accomplishment. I worked with Dr. Jordan for close to 15 years. He was like a father to me. Through his many successes, and some of his bitter disappointments. I'll remember him always as a dedicated archaeologist, a kind, and generous man, and a true friend."
Once the eulogies had finished and the mourners had started to move away, Daniel approached Dr Jordan's casket. He had not come here to make a scene or stir up old grudges, just to say goodbye and pay his respects to his mentor, to his teacher, to his friend. As he stared at the flowers topping the casket, Daniel's mind went to what Steven had said, how he talked about Dr. Jordan gaining some measure of immortality from his work and his writings and teaching. It reminded Daniel of a passage from one particular ancient text that he had read in grad school, a papyrus from Deir el-Medina that talked about how scribes would be remembered because of their writings, even if all other mentions of their names were lost, even if their tombs themselves were forgotten.[1]
More profitable is a book than an inscribed tombstone,
than a firmly established chapel-wall.
It is writings that will cause that he will be remembered
in the mouth of the one who speaks.
Daniel murmured the words of an Abydonian blessing for the soul of the deceased and bowed his head to say a last goodbye. As he finished, soft footsteps sounded on the grass behind him—all the Furlings seemed to move quietly, and he had learned to pick up on soft noises—and Steven's voice broke into his thoughts. "The prodigal son returns."
And here we go! Daniel's departure given his theories and all had been … awkward all those years ago, to say the least.
"Steven." Daniel greeted his old friend neutrally (or so he hoped). A strawberry-blond head in the same group in which Steven had been turned, revealing the very familiar face of his once-upon-a-time girlfriend. "Sarah."
"Daniel." She smiled softly and approached for a hug. "It's good to see you."
"Yeah," Daniel replied, returning the embrace, "despite the circumstances."
"I know. I can't believe he's gone."
Sarah's comment returned Daniel's thoughts to the same question that had been haunting him since Robert had sent word. He squeezed her hand and then pulled away, turning back toward the coffin, the very normal wooden coffin. (Something Egyptian would have almost seemed more fitting.) "So, what exactly happened? I mean … uh … what I heard attributed his death to the curse of Osiris."
"According to the police …"—Steven's voice wavered, and he paused, sighing heavily, to collect himself—"there was a slow gas leak in the lab, and something must have caused a spark. The whole place went up. He was killed instantly."
A gas leak. Wrong place, wrong time. It could have happened to any of them, to Steven, to Sarah. Killed instantly. A small mercy.
"We would have called you," Sarah said softly, "but nobody knew where to find you."
Yeah, telephones and email don't exactly reach to other galaxies. "That's … that's okay." Daniel replied verbally and then turned away, leaving a scowling Steven staring at the coffin.
As the three began to make their way out of the cemetery, Sarah asked, "So how long has it been? Four years?"
"Five," Daniel corrected. Five years. Five years packed with more wonderful and shattering life events than he could have ever imagined in his wildest dreams. Before Catherine had recruited him to the Stargate Program, he had been a broke Egyptologist and the laughingstock of the academic community. Now he was married to the love of his life, had a beautiful son, worked with a brilliant alien (in the literal and non-derogatory sense of the term) military commander, and got to explore other planets as part of his day-job, while spending considerable amounts of time on a space-ship that made Star Wars and Star Trek look like small potatoes.
"What have you been up to?" Steven asked. Was that an honest question of genuine interest? Or …
I wish I could tell you both.
"Uh … I've been busy."
That's one way of putting it.
"Really?" Sarah responded. "I've looked for signs of you out on the fringes. There's been no papers, no research projects. It's like you fell off the face of the earth."
Well …
"Yeah, it is a little like that, isn't it?" It took a lot of effort for Daniel to keep the amusement out of voice at how close Sarah's comment had actually gotten to the truth.
"As I recall, the last time I saw you, you were giving a lecture to an empty room." Steven's voice was oh so very pointed. He had been one of the first to deride Daniel's theories, and he had never taken well to living and working in Daniel's shadow at the Oriental Institute. I never wanted to be the golden boy. I never wanted you to feel threatened or displaced by me or by my work.
"Well, it was full when I started," Daniel replied simply.
"Well, maybe the world wasn't ready to hear that the pyramids were built by aliens,"—Steven continued driving the point home, speeding up so he could come around in front and block the path and stare Daniel straight in the face—"or was it men from Atlantis?"
Is this really the time and place to rehash this?
"Steven, please!" Sarah scolded.
Seriously?!
"Why did you come?" Steven soldiered on, undaunted. "You managed to stay away all this time. If you're looking for closure, Daniel, I'd say you're a little late." His voice wavered mid-way through and then went biting at the end. As soon as he finished, he whirled around and stormed off toward the parking lot and presumably his car.
Torn between annoyance at Steven's attitude and pity over his genuine grief at Dr. Jordan's passing, Daniel only bit his tongue to stop a rude retort and shook his head. (Sarah looked exasperated and was rubbing her forehead.) "Are you doing anything? We could catch up," he suggested.
"I'm all yours," Sarah replied, pointing them towards another path that would either take them to her car or the main road where they could grab a taxi or a bus. "I'm sorry. He's not usually like this. Last couple of days have been really hard on him." She pulled a series of pins out of her bun, and her hair tumbled down.
"Steven? No, he's right," Daniel noted. "I should have come back sooner." There was time between Abydos and Maybourne. I wanted to see him, but … "I guess I was afraid I wouldn't be welcome."
"Are you joking?" Sarah exclaimed, her heels tapping on the pavement. "Even after everything that happened, Dr. Jordan never thought any less of you. You were his best student."
The sun was beating down brightly and warmly, and Daniel took his suit jacket off—it was strange to wear one again—as he replied, "Yes, that became the laughingstock of the archeological community."
"He kept hoping that you'd find proof. Something to shut everyone up."
He what?
"No," Daniel countered, "he thought I was nuts."
He thought I was nuts? Right? If he had been holding back all this time for fear of his reception and Dr. Jordan hadn't actually rejected him, too, and now he'd lost his chance to … Daniel was going to feel even worse, even guiltier.
"That's not true." Sarah shook her head sharply. "Look, why do you think it's so hard for Steven to see you here? He's always been in your shadow. Even after you left."
"I heard his book is on the bestseller's list," Daniel noted. Robert had told him that while catching him up on the Chicago situation yesterday.
"I know. He's getting a Porsche."
Okay. "Wow!" Daniel exclaimed. One did not go into a field like Egyptology for the hope of a large paycheck and great financial success in life. One became an Egyptologist because you loved the field, because you loved the culture, the history, the archaeology, etc., etc. of the region. A fancy Porsche was not something that appealed to Daniel—fancy sports car … with my record for finding trouble … that might not end well—but … status symbol? Symbol of success?
"I know," Sarah said. Then she uncharacteristically hesitated before plowing on. "Look, I have to admit. I thought you didn't come back because of me."
Daniel cringed internally at the remembrance of how their short-lived romance had ended. "No, no, that's not it."
"We could have ended it better than we did," she murmured.
"Maybe," Daniel countered, before explaining, "The truth is, I got caught up in something … incredible." More incredible that you could believe. He hoped that he would have a chance to tell her about his discoveries one day. He did not love her, not anymore, but … she was still one of his oldest friends and a valued colleague.
From the look on his face or from his word-choice, Sarah picked up on what Daniel was not saying. What I can't say. "You found something, didn't you?" She prompted. "Something that supports your theory? Tell me. Come on."
"I can't!"
"Daniel!"
How to explain … without explaining. "Okay. Let's just say … that what the world knows about ancient Egypt barely scratches the surface. The truth is more incredible than any of us ever imagined." There was danger to be found among the stars, but there was also so much knowledge available, so much to learn … more than one could learn in a single lifetime. So many scholars on earth would do … many drastic things … to get the chance to see, to experience what Daniel was seeing and learning and experiencing on a daily basis.
"Now, that's the Daniel I remember. Come on, I want to show you something."
Show me something?
After stopping for a quick lunch at a restaurant near the campus, Daniel and Sarah went to the Oriental Institute where the researchers' offices were. Dr. Jordan's office was where she led him. It was … almost exactly like he remembered. The wall of bookshelves to the left of the door was there with many familiar titles. The shelves were even more packed than before, though. His teacher's old desk was as jam-packed with stuff and as messy as always—professors and piling systems. We can organize artifacts but never our own offices. Only now there were artifacts covering the desk, not students' tests or papers, departmental paperwork, and random other stuff.
"I thought you might like to see what we were working on before the accident," Sarah said as they entered.
"Wow!" Daniel exclaimed, wide-eyed. (The office door was much less squeaky than it once had been.) He scanned the artifacts on Dr. Jordan's desk again, cataloging the details in his mind. "This stuff is incredible!"
"I only wish we had more time with them. The Egyptian government has made a formal request for their return. We've been desperately trying to learn as much as we can before the deadline," Sarah explained, leaning on the edge of the desk.
Daniel draped his suit jacket over a free chair as she spoke and then idly picked up a photograph of one of the artifacts, which was lying on the edge of the table. He scanned the visible inscription and raised an eyebrow. "Woe to all who disturb this, my final resting place." It was not an unusual inscription. Many Egyptian tombs had inscriptions that some might call curses to hopefully discourage anyone from disturbing the tomb, mummy, grave goods, etc. It was just kind of ironic given how the rumor-mill was attributing Dr. Jordan's death to a mummy curse.
"Careful, now. All these artifacts are cursed," Sarah cautioned. Her voice lightened, and she grinned. "Well, that's what they say."
Daniel snorted, returning the photograph to its place, and stepped around the corner of the table to get a closer look at the artifacts themselves.
"Every member of the original expedition in 1931 died within a year of the dig. Then the ship transporting these artifacts to America sank off the coast of New Jersey six months later," Sarah continued the story.
And look what happened to Lord Carnarvon after the discovery of Tut's tomb. Twenties and thirties. Medical issues. Poor construction with the ship.
'Mummy curse' … it's so much more dramatic, makes a better front-cover blurb on a newspaper or a magazine.
"The Steward Expedition," Daniel replied. "Those deaths were attributed to mold spores that were released from the unsealed chamber."
"Mold spores aren't exactly front-page material."
Case and point.
I really need to ask Sujanha what the Furlings' opinion on 'curses' is.
Daniel gestured toward the artifacts covering Dr. Jordan's desk. "If these things went down with the ship in 1931, how'd they wind up here?"
"They found the wreck a couple of months ago," Sarah explained. "All these artifacts were still in their packing crates. They brought it up, and they shipped them to the museum. We just got them last week."
Kudos to the packers if they survived the wreck this … intact. That's amazing. I would have expected a whole lot of broken fragments and sherds.
"Well,"—Daniel hesitated momentarily and then continued—"I can stay for a day or two if you need help cataloging these artifacts." Sujanha said it would be a bit before the Valhalla is sea-worthy … space-worthy … again. The healers at the SGC can forward a message for me back through the Stargate. I'll send something once I get back to my hotel room.
Sarah had started looking through several small packing boxes as she finished explaining the story of the artifacts, but now she was searching for … something in earnest, almost frantically.
"What's wrong?" Daniel asked.
"Something's missing," she replied.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. A gold amulet. Daniel, I've got to find it." Losing a precious artifact would not endear the University of Chicago or the Oriental Institute to the Egyptian government or the Ministry.
"I'll help you look," Danie replied. He understood the horrible anxiety of misplacing artifacts. He'd done it once or twice … back then. He just usually found it within moments under a paper or something. "Where do you want to start?"
While Sarah continued her inch-by-inch search of Dr. Jordan's office, Daniel went down to University's archives to check with the curator in case the missing amulet had been brought back by mistake and separated from the other pieces of the collection. The basement archives are sprawling, filled with shelves upon shelves upon shelves from many different cultures from around the world, not just Mediterranean or Near Eastern.
"Excuse the state of things," the curator—a black woman, who barely came up to his shoulder—apologized as she led him deeper into the archives. "Budget cuts. I'm straightening the mess out, but these things take time."
"Oh, I understand." And Daniel did. Money was hard to come by in their fields.
"What am I looking for?" The curator asked—I never got her name—pausing and turning towards him. Yeah, that would help. No wild goose chases.
"An artifact that went missing from the Steward Expedition," Daniel replied.
The curator nodded immediately. "The Isis Jar."
The what now?
"Uh, no, actually, I'm … uh … referring to a … gold amulet with a little ebony … Um … uh … uh, it's listed as item 14C." Somewhat rattled, Daniel stuttered through the explanation, referencing the scrawled note Sarah had given him with the artifact's details.
What is the Isis Jar? Sarah didn't mention that.
The curator looked puzzled. "That was sent up to Dr. Jordan along with the rest of the artifacts."
"You're sure?" Daniel confirmed. Wouldn't be the first time something got mixed up between the archives and our offices.
"I sent it myself. I can show you the paperwork."
"No, um … what's this … uh … Isis Jar you were talking about?" Daniel asked. I believe you. I won't take your time with the paperwork. This was his field, but he felt a little off kilter, thrown back into the deep end with the hustle and bustle of the search for this amulet.
"I'll show you." The curator led him over several aisles and down one that was poorly lit by the still unimproved overhead lighting. That really needs to get fixed. How hard can it be to get some money for lighting out of someone? We're not the only department that uses this place. "The damn crate was mislabeled when it came in. I only found it a couple days ago." Standing on tiptoes, she tried to reach for what looked to be a human-form canopic jar.
"Uh, this one?" Daniel asked, and when she nodded, he grabbed it gently and pulled it down for her. His gaze immediately focused on the panel of text running down the front of the jar, a line of text written in very familiar symbols. Goa'uld. Oh, bloody h**l. A hieroglyphic inscription was present, but so was a separate Goa'uld inscription. This isn't normal. And so not good. What is a Goa'uld artifact doing here?
"Never seen those symbols before, have you?"
Actually, I have. I just wasn't expecting to find them here.
"Uh, yes. I'm going to need to do a translation." Daniel squinted at the inscription, trying to read it in the terrible lighting. There were too many shadows, blurring the signs together.
And then find out if anything else Goa'uld ended up here.
"Well, if ya need me, I'll be in the back cataloging the Polynesian death masks." The curator picked up her clipboard and strode briskly away, the click-click of her high-heeled shoes on the cold concrete floor disappearing into the distance.
Maybe I'm cursed … may you live in interesting times. This was supposed to be a simple trip, and now a Goa'uld artifact at the University of Chicago!
Daniel waited until the sound of the curator's shoes had faded away completely and then a minute longer before he pulled out his cell-phone and dialed Robert's number. I hope there's actually reception down here!
After a few rings, Robert picked up. "Dr. Rothman."
"Robert," Daniel greeted his friend, "it's Daniel."
"Hey, Daniel." There was a murmur of voices and clacking keys in the background. "How was the funeral? How's Chicago?"
"The funeral was … fine. I ran into Steven and Sarah there," Daniel replied. "That's not why I'm calling, though. I'm in the university archives helping Sarah track down an artifact from the Steward Expedition collection here, and right now I'm looking at what appears to be an Egyptian canopic jar."
"And?" Robert prodded.
Shivering slightly in the chill of the archives—should've brought my jacket—Daniel glanced around, double-checking for anyone who could overheard his next words, before finally replying quietly, "There is an extra inscription, not Egyptian. It's Goa'uld, Robert."
There was a hiss of an indrawn breath. "Are you sure?"
Daniel studied the inscription again. "Absolutely. Is SG1 back yet? I'll want to double-check my translations with Teal'c."
Robert muttered what sounded like a choice curse word but then said, "No. Not yet. I think they're due back tomorrow … sometime … or maybe the day after."
"Thanks. I better call General Hammond next."
"Keep me apprised. Let me know if I can help," Robert offered.
"Thanks. I will."
National security could have an impact even on the academic community. General Hammond was able to pull some strings, and by early Tuesday morning (the 15th), Daniel was on a military flight back to Colorado with the Isis Jar packed securely in a crate. He briefly updated General Hamond on the situation and then made tracks for his old office and all of his reference books, which he would need to make a start on his translations. With Nyan off-world, Daniel had the room all to himself.
It was a short inscription, and within a couple of hours, Daniel had a working translation of most of it, though one line especially was still giving him fits. If Teal'c were here, he would just ask him for help, but given he needed to update Sujanha anyway, he would simply ask Malek for help, instead. Leaving his almost empty coffee mug—oh, how I missed coffee … especially after a night like last night … precious little sleep—on his desk along with his papers, scrawled with grammatical and vocabulary notes and translation drafts, Daniel went down to General Hammond's office. The general quickly agreed to let Daniel briefly dial Teucuria to update Sujanha and get some help with the translation. The sooner they determined what was going on and how the Goa'uld were involved, the better for everyone.
Daniel confirmed the address for Teucuria with Walter and then returned to his office. Robert was back, waiting with fresh coffee. Bless you.
"How's it coming? I brought coffee."
"It's coming," Daniel replied with a shrug. "I'm about to talk with the Commander and Malek. She—Malek—can help me double-check this."
Robert nodded. "Do I need to leave?"
Daniel shook his head. "No, though unless you want to show up in the hologram, you'll want to not be so close to my desk."
The Stargate would be open by now, and it took only a few quick motions to send a call to Asik's comm system. Within moments, his friend's small blue form appeared over Daniel's left gauntlet. (Robert was watching everything with wide-eyes. Casual displays of Furling tech were still not overly common in the SGC outside of Janet's domain.) "Fair day, Daniel, as I am not sure what hour it is on Midgard."
"Rather early, Asik," Daniel replied in Furling. "Is the Commander available? I need to give her an update and get Malek's help with something."
"She should be. One moment." There was a jarring motion in the holographic image, and then it disappeared, though from the faint background sounds, the call was still connected. Asik was probably going to her office to check. Some motions could be somewhat dizzying for the other party when transferred via a holographic image, which was why he had cut the image off. There was a faint sound of voices, and then Asik's form reappeared. "She is. I'm transferring you."
"Thank you."
Asik's form disappeared again. A few seconds passed, and then Sujanha's feline form appeared in his place. (Given her coal black fur, seeing her in blue was even more strange in some ways than for a human/near-human.) "Greetings, Daniel. Were you able to attend the funeral, as you wished? The repairs are still continuing here, so I have no need of you yet, if you wish to remain there longer."
"Yes, and that's good because something came up."
The look Sujanha was giving him was clear even through the hologram. "Came up? Daniel, what happened?" The now was unsaid but clear. Reconsidering the bodyguard? I'm sure you could rustle up a human-bodyguard somewhere.
"I was helping an old friend with a collection of Egyptian artifacts at the university where Dr. Jordan worked, and let's just say, one of them was a little unusual: a canopic jar with a Goa'uld inscription."
Their body language immediately shifted at those words, and now Malek was looking back at him, instead of Sujanha. "A Goa'uld inscription? What does it say?"
Uh, that's what I was going to ask you, actually.
"I'm still working on that, and I did have a question for you, which is one reason I called. One line reads, 'Hakor kra terak shree.' Any thoughts?"
There was a brief pause. "'Banished to oblivion,' perhaps, depending on the context." Malek frowned. Such human-esque facial expressions always looked different on Sujanha's feline physiology. "Let me see the artifact?"
Daniel made the appropriate adjustments so that the Isis Jar would be included in the holographic image. "The inscription identifies the jar as belonging to Isis."
Malek studied the jar for a moment, made a few motions as if she were expanding the image in the feed to get a close look, studied the jar for another long moment, and then recoiled. "Daniel,"—her voice was sharp—"put the jar down now … carefully, and step back from your desk."
Okay.
Not good.
Robert jerked upright from where he was sitting, leaning on another desk, across the room. His eyes were wide. Malek was speaking in Furling, but that here-there-by-danger tone in her voice was universal. Even if it wasn't, Daniel's careful but hurried movements back away from the Isis Jar would have clearly indicated something was wrong.
"Daniel?" Robert asked nervously, his gaze flicking towards the alarm on the wall nearby.
"What is it, Malek?" Daniel switched into English, trusting her to follow his lead and switch languages so Robert would be able to follow, too.
"That is a stasis jar for preserving a Goa'uld symbiote, banished to oblivion and deprived of a host. Is it sealed? Has anything changed with the jar since you first found it?"
Oh, that's so very not good.
Daniel swallowed hard. "I think so, and not that I've noticed. Uh, the expedition that the Isis Jar was found during, its records say that there's another jar. I don't know where it is currently."
"Another stasis jar? It probably holds Osiris. Both disappeared around the same time. Has anyone else been working with you?"
"Yes," Daniel replied, "Robert."
Their body language shifted, and it was Sujanha again, and she continued in Furling. "Malek says both of you should be checked by our healers as a precaution. If the seal looks intact, she is not concerned that you could be possessed, but it will reassure your leaders at the SGC. The other stasis jar needs to be found as quickly as possible before Osiris could be freed by accident. I will send Ragnar to join you. Do not continue in your search more before he joins you."
"Yes, Commander," Daniel answered automatically, "but he's a little too … uh, striking, to be allowed off-base." If he's allowed off-base at all. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.
"That is an easy problem to deal with, much simpler than hunting down a Goa'uld on your planet. Do you not remember how they looked when they joined you on Abydos that first time?"
Oh, yes. The holographic appearances. I never asked how exactly that works.
"Of course, Commander. I'll apprise General Hammond and then Robert and I will go to the healers."
One hectic hour passed. Daniel and Robert had been escorted to the infirmary by SFs and checked out thoroughly by S'Hakarix, a Boii healer on loan from the Furling army, who was on duty at that hour, and the Isis Jar had been carefully moved to an isolation room and placed under guard. As soon as they were both given the all clear, Daniel went down to General Hammond's office to give him an update, and almost as soon as they finished, there was an incoming wormhole from Teucuria, and Ragnar came through.
By whatever means the Furling holographic generators worked, they were extremely convincing. If Daniel had (A) not known it was Ragnar coming through and (B) had not seen his disguise before, he was not sure that he would have recognized his old friend. (General Hammond certainly did not seem to.) Ragnar, in this guise, was a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned man who actually bore a slight resemblance to Teal'c, now that Daniel thought about it. His clothing was even more non-descript than usual and would pass without notice off-base. His hair was still salt-and-pepper, still cropped extremely short, and his eyes were human, but he moved with not fully leashed inhuman grace.
"I bring greetings from Supreme Commander Sujanha," Ragnar said as a greeting to General Hammond as they met him at the bottom of the ramp. "When they"—she and Malek, he means, or the two of them as a collective—"heard of this issue with Osiris and Isis and the potential danger to your world, I was asked to come to provide any assistance possible and to see to Doctor Jackson's protection."
Daniel grimaced internally and hoped his ears went burning. The fruits of having a talent for finding trouble. Ah, well.
"Please convey my compliments to her, as well, when you return," General Hammond replied courteously. "Any help you can provide will be welcome. I have calls to make, so I will leave you in Dr. Jackson's care." To the president?
Ragnar bowed politely to General Hammond as he departed and then turned to Daniel. "I assume that you have been cleared as you're here?" He asked in Furling as they left the gateroom. His English was limited, and he wasn't wearing a translator … visibly. Its use would be too obvious and unusual—such technology wasn't a thing on earth yet—outside of the SGC. Assuming he's actually allowed to come with me.
Daniel nodded. "S'Hakarix cleared me and my friend Robert, who was in my office with me. The Isis Jar is under guard in an isolation room upstairs. No clues about the whereabouts of the Osiris Jar yet. I'm hoping to return to Chicago later today." He hesitated. "I'm not sure whether you'll be allowed to come with me … even looking like that. How well will that hold up to examination by the way?"
The discussion was paused momentarily as the two bypassed some others in the hallways and then as Daniel had to find and then swipe his credentials to get the elevator. Ragnar's face did a thing during the pause.
Once they were heading up, Ragnar replied, "I will be coming with you." Ah, okay. Orders, I'm guessing. "There's a cloaked Iprysh fighter in orbit. It can beam me up from here and then down to meet you if necessary. Malek is urging extreme caution. Osiris is very dangerous. This is your world, literally and academically. You need to be involved in the search, but Sujanha does not want you without protection."
A fighter? Sujanha must have sent a ship to drop it off since I spoke with her.
The new-ish fighter planes used by the Fleet to primarily combat the Goa'uld death gliders had no hyperdrives and had to be ferried by larger vessels. With an Iprysh crew, though, there would be less of a concern about how long it could stay in position above earth. However their physiology worked … assuming there were actually bodies inside that armor … they seemed to not suffer the 'human' weaknesses of the Furlings or their other allies, at least to not anywhere near the same extent. There's a lot of debate about what exactly the Iprysh are inside that armor, if anything.
"I have my shield," Daniel protested.
"You had your shield and still found yourself kidnapped not that long ago," Ragnar shot back dryly.
Chaka … a new language … a new culture … a depth to the Unas we never expected.
I'm still never going to live that trip down, though.
"Okay. Okay." A ship in orbit … even the fighters have advanced sensors. "Could it help with the search?" Daniel asked. The elevator reached the same level as his office, and he led them off the elevation and down a couple of hallways toward his office.
Ragnar shook his head. "Its sensors are not that advanced. Even the Valhalla wouldn't have a hope of finding one symbiote hidden among all the peoples of Midgard."
"Oh, well."
Ragnar gave a laugh that was almost a bark. "And as to your earlier question, this disguise will hold as long as people do not touch me. Otherwise, the holographic matrix can adapt to me touching things."
"What happens if I touch you?" Daniel asked.
"You'll feel that I have a personal shield up. Given the physiological differences between our races, I need the personal shield to give the hologram a shape to layer itself over." It was at that moment that Daniel saw one of the main things that the holograph had to account for: fingers. Furlings had three fingers and one thumb on each paw/hand. Ragnar's holographic self was missing the pinky fingers on both hands with scarred over wounds marking their absence.
I guess that's simpler than having fake pinkies that don't work or react to your surroundings.
Surroundings … fake hair won't react to your environment unless the matrix is uh, really advanced.
Hair as short and textured as his won't really react to wind and stuff, wouldn't much on a human.
No uncanny valley there.
Daniel was able to return to Chicago that evening, and somehow Ragnar was allowed to accompany him on the same military flight. Easier given that he looks human. Whether General Hammond had pulled some strings, gotten emergency permission from the president, or was pulling a Jack-like better-to-ask-forgiveness-than-permission given the circumstances, Daniel did not know. Or Ragnar just declared he was going, no ifs, ands, or buts. Or, possibly, given the urgency of the situation, no one was deliberately noticing that Ragnar had gone with Daniel.
Who knows! I'm just glad to have him with me.
The University of Chicago as well as the Oriental Institute was in somewhat of an uproar when they arrived with an unusual police presence. The female curator who had helped him in searching the archives for Sarah's missing golden amulet had been found murdered overnight in the archives. Murdered? Who? Why? Why an archive curator? Their jobs would not usually put them at the top of someone's hit list, but given the circumstances … something weird was going on. What was even weirder was that Steven had found the body. Why was he in the archives so late?
(And he had been acting off, Sarah had said, though Dr. Jordan had just died … which could explain some things but not necessarily others.)
As Sarah filled him in once they met at Dr. Jordan's office—it was just Sarah there, as Ragnar had gone off to quickly scout the building—bricks had been found in the service elevator where the body had been discovered. The bricks, the police thought, had fallen from the wall above. Blunt force head trauma. A freak accident, or the mummy curse, yet again. The Osiris Jar had been with Dr. Jordan when … the lab exploded, which meant it and any potentially snake-y contents were thoroughly gone, which was potentially reassuring … unless something had happened before the explosion.
That also assumes the Osiris Jar actually has Osiris in it, and I need to see the inscriptions to confirm that, or we could be inventing a potential disaster out of nothing.
"Do you have any pictures of the Osiris Jar?" Daniel asked, once Sarah had finished her recap.
"Yeah." Sarah, who was sitting behind Dr. Jordan's desk, searched in one particularly tall pile of papers, and brought out two color photographs. "Here."
The photographs were small, too small to make the inscription on the destroyed jar legible. Too small and not enough detail. "I can't make out the inscription around the collar," Daniel murmured, squinting at the photo. Even a magnifying glass wouldn't help. Not enough detail to magnify.
"We were unable to identify the symbols," Sarah noted, uncovering a familiar notebook, "but Dr. Jordan copied them in his notebook. Those markings are unlike anything we've ever seen before. They're not Egyptian."
The line-drawings were neat and meticulous, and the markings on the Osiris Jar were undeniably Goa'uld. Just like the other jar. "No, they're not Egyptian," Daniel agreed. 'Banished to oblivion.' Great. Just great.
"So what are they?" asked Sarah.
I can't tell you that.
Instead of saying something inane or deflecting yet again or giving a half-truth, Daniel kept silent, but again his face betrayed him.
"You know!" She exclaimed. "How?"
"Let's just say I can't really go into it right now,"—really, really can't go into it—"but this is really important. Did Dr. Jordan do any kind of preliminary tests on the jar?" Could the jar have been opened?
"Not that I know of," Sarah replied, "but he kept all his lab results on the computer." She twisted in the chair to reach the keyboard more comfortably and began to type.
There was a knock on the door as she worked. Ragnar was back.
"I'll be right back," Daniel said, and Sarah nodded distractedly. "News?" He asked Ragnar, once the two men had reached a quiet alcove down the hall.
"Just an update from S'Hakarix. The symbiote in the jar—Isis, almost certainly, given the symbiote was a queen—is dead. The broken seal damaged the stasis mechanism."
As if this situation could not get any more convoluted, Sarah found that all of Dr. Jordan's computer files and emails were missing from his computer. It was wiped? Why the h**l? What is going on? A search for the backups revealed one last email sent to him on the night he had died, an email that he had probably never seen. It was the carbon dating analysis done on the ebony portion of the missing gold amulet. Unsurprisingly given the Goa'uld artifacts found in the same temple cache, the amulet was over 10,000 years old, validating Daniel's theories to Sarah's utter shock, surprise, and delight. It's not like we can actually tell anyone. I still can't explain things to you. Nobody would believe the results of one missing amulet, anyway. Then they realized … Steven had gotten those results, too.
And by the next morning, things had gone from bad to much, much worse.
(1) Steven was missing. He had packed up and left. His apartment was empty.
(2) The body of the technician who had done the carbon dating had been discovered, raising the number of mysterious deaths at the University of Chicago up to three.
(3) Security footage from the Oriental Institute indicated that Steven had been one of the last people in the building the night Dr. Jordan died, possibly one of the last people to see him alive.
Sarah thought that Steven had stolen the amulet and disappeared to keep Daniel's theories from being proven correct, still holding a grudge from living in Daniel's shadow those years ago, not wanting the field of Egyptology and all of his hard work to be invalidated by this new momentous discovery that would upend everything that people thought they knew about ancient Egypt and all of ancient history for that matter.
The deaths … Dr. Jordan … the Osiris Jar … Steven's disappearance … it all added up to one very horrifying conclusion. Somehow, it seemed that the Osiris Jar had been opened, and Steven was no longer Steven … but Osiris.
And now Sarah was mad at him because the evidence needed to be covered up, because Daniel would not allow his theories to be vindicated at least, because he wouldn't explain, because he wouldn't trust her enough to explain, because he had disappeared, because all these mysteries threatened her life's work, as well.
I want to explain, but I can't. Steven is probably Osiris now.
This is beyond you.
You don't want to see how he's changed. He isn't your friend anymore.
Not until we can find him and get him back.
Even if we can get him to the Furlings, he won't be the same. Being a host changes you.
Daniel and Ragnar returned to Colorado and the SGC on another military flight, and a council of war was held with Sam, Jack, and Teal'c, newly returned from their off-world mission. The only lead to Steven's whereabouts was the missing gold amulet, which could be a Goa'uld device of some sorts, but that was still unclear. All we have is a picture. Hard to judge by that. Given what Malek knew of Osiris, he would likely seek to find the Isis Jar and his queen, and he would also want to leave earth. The Isis Jar had been discovered in the archives before Steven's disappearance, but whether he knew Daniel had taken it out of Chicago, no one was sure, and thus General Hammond had put the base on high alert.
In the wee hours of the morning—everyone was still awake and hard at work—there was a lucky break. Steven had been spotted boarding a flight to Cairo the previous evening, possibly heading for the temple where the Osiris and Isis Jars had been found.
Wouldn't he want to find the Stargate? Unless he thinks it's still in Egypt?
Or is he looking for Isis? If he has Steven's memories about the cache of the expedition, wouldn't he know the Isis Jar isn't still in the temple?
Daniel and Ragnar with Sam, Jack, Teal'c, and Janet quickly followed on a military flight in hot pursuit for what would hopefully be a low-profile find and capture mission unless everything went absolutely FUBAR. Even a military flight took time, and there was a long 16-hour flight to wait through before they touched down in Egypt. We could have beamed there, but then earth would know the early warning satellite doesn't pick up Furling ships.
The blazing heat of the sun and the rolling sand dunes as far as the eye could see were intimately familiar to Daniel. The bumpy ride in an open-topped, not air-conditioned truck with no road was much less welcome to Daniel and his friends, especially as he had been volunteered to drive as the only one of the group who actually had practice driving in those very unideal conditions.
(And then there were the complaints about the sand … and his driving … and the scenery.)
(Adrenaline was a wonderful thing given his jet-lag and lack of sleep.)
The temple that the Steward Expedition discovered was way out in the desert, and it took some hours of driving to reach it. Another truck was parked by the entrance as they arrived. Steven, as expected, had beaten them there. The problem—one of many—was that the Steward Expedition's plans of the underground temple had not been exactly clear on its layout and on whether they believed there were still undiscovered passageways or exits. That was especially a risk if the Goa'uld had built the temple, not the Egyptians. Just because Steven's car was there did not mean that Steven was still in there or that, even if he were inside, that he could not circle around them and try to escape or attack them from the rear.
The last thing that anyone wanted, including for Steven's sake, was a Goa'uld on the loose. This was a capture mission. Capture Osiris and then cart them back to Asteria to free Steven. And then we help him put his life back together.
That meant someone had to be left at the entrance to watch their backs and watch the vehicles. Jack stayed, leaving Teal'c to go on ahead with the others. He would be extra muscle along with Ragnar in case Osiris put up a fight. Even Goa'uld strength could make a man like Steven, who had probably spent more time at a desk recently than in the field working, a formidable opponent.
Once the puddle of light from the entrance faded away, the temple's tunnels were dark and shadowed, lit up only by the flashlights held by Ragnar and Teal'c who were in the lead. Daniel and Janet had been relegated to the most protected spot in the middle of the formation with Sam guarding the rear. They traversed several dark and almost creepy hallways—Daniel noted with interest the complete lack of inscriptions or pictorial decorations on the walls—and down one flight of expertly carved steps before they reached the main interior hall, a surprisingly large room for an underground temple with two rows of pillars on either side of the room.
Steven was sprawled on the floor near the far end of the room, seemingly unconscious, since he didn't stir at their approach. Or dead. Ragnar and Teal'c took up defensive positions, while Daniel radioed Jack to tell him that they had found Steven. Sam went forward to check him for a symbiote.
"I'm not sensing anything. He's not Goa'uld," Sam declared after only a few seconds crouched by his side. "No entry wound on his neck either." Not that the lack of an entry wound on the neck would be absolute proof someone was not a Goa'uld (or a Tok'ra) … as Sam herself knew.
He's not a Goa'uld, but … the Osiris Jar … his behavior … the amulet … the pieces fit together.
Did Osiris actually get blown to bits in the explosion?
Daniel and Ragnar exchanged puzzled looks, as Sam backed up to give Janet room to work. There were too many questions at the moment and not enough answers. Steven, whom Janet quickly confirmed was alive but bleeding internally with the aid of a Furling scanner, was the priority. He might be able to answer their questions once … if … he regained consciousness and gave them a new direction for their search, assuming there was actually a search still to continue.
"Let me see the scanner!" Ragnar switched places with Sam and carefully took the scanner from Janet's hand and studied it momentarily. "I have a healing device, but this is beyond my skill. He needs a healer's hall and a surgeon."
"I'm not a trauma surgeon," Janet said briskly as she retook the scanner and did something else with it. "We'll need it, though, to keep him alive. It's a long drive over bad terrain for this." She said, gesturing with the device to show whatever the exact nature of Steven's internal bleeding was which the device was indicating.
As Janet quickly checked for other injuries and discussed with Ragnar in a low voice the best way to get Steven out without exacerbating his injuries, Daniel stayed crouched by his old colleague's side, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings.
Finally, a few minutes later, Steven's eyelids fluttered, and then his eyes opened to slits, as he groaned. His gaze was painfully focused on Daniel's face. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, which is so not good.
"It's me, Steven," Daniel said softly. "You're safe."
"Daniel," the other man croaked, voice rough and broken.
"The Osiris Jar. Did you open it?" Daniel asked to confirm. Could he have gotten hurt and the Goa'uld have left him? That wouldn't work unless there was another host, though.
"No." Steven jerked painfully as Janet touched his pelvis. (The worried look on her face went darker.)
"Why did you come?" If you're not a Goa'uld, why on earth did you disappear?
"Amulet … 's key. Hid'n … chamber." Every word seemed to be an effort for Steven to force out. "Want'd … find … it."
Daniel glanced around again. There was, so far, no sign of anyone else, so how had Steven gotten hurt. He nodded in acknowledgement as Janet hissed that they need to evacuate Steven to the nearest medical facility ASAP. "Steven, who did this to you?" He touched the man's shoulder gently.
There was only a breathy sigh in response. Steven's moments of consciousness had been fleeting, and he was out again. A split second later, Ragnar shot to his feet and whirled toward a doorway that was appearing silently from where there had only been a wall before. A secret passageway. Weapons came up, including the one with a sedative which Ragnar held in his off-paw, and shields were hopefully also up. Mine is. Ragnar's will be.
"I did," a very familiar voice replied, and then Sarah appeared, dressed in a strange gauzy white dress, a hood pulled up over her red-blond hair. Her voice was overlaid by the dual-tones of a symbiote. Then her eyes flashed, only confirming what the voice and her very un-Sarah-like stride indicated. We were wrong, so very wrong. Sarah was Osiris, not Steven. It had always been Sarah. Daniel had been rubbing shoulders with a former System Lord these past couple of days, and he had never noticed the difference. How did I not notice? How did I not see?
There was a flash of light, and then a wave of energy swept forth from Osiris' hand-device—where did she get that?—and broke over Sam's shield, Sam having stepped in front of Janet who was still on the ground tending to Steven. Sam staggered or stumbled, maybe somewhat unused to having a shield device and instinctively wanting to dodge. Osiris then tried to turn her hand device on Ragnar, and another wave of energy blasted forth. Ragnar's shield flared blue. He did not even stumble.
The shock was clear on Osiris' face … even in the beams of the flashlights. Not used to humans fighting back?
"Daniel Jackson." Osiris' chin went up, and her … his? … eyes flashed. "You seem to know much of the Goa'uld, much more than any other human I have encountered since my awakening." Her voice was low, her face contemptuous, a far cry from Sarah's usually good-natured expressions.
Daniel's gaze flashed to Ragnar, who was starting to circle around while Osiris' attention was elsewhere. Keep her talking. At least, that was what it looked like he mouthed. I think. There was a flash of movement behind them all, Jack in the doorway at the top of the staircase. He had been drawn by the commotion. His gun was raised, but no one was on the verge of shooting, not even Jack.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Daniel lied, putting on his best clueless academic face.
Osiris tossed her head. "Insolence," she spat. "Tell me, where is my queen, and I may let you all live." It was a pompous, over-confident statement typical of the Goa'uld but absolutely ridiculous given that Osiris' ribbon-device was largely useless with their personal shields. You'll let us live? Would the mind-torturing part even work with our shields up? Is there something about this temple you know but we don't?
(Ragnar was getting closer, almost within lunge range.)
"Um … she was trapped … like you. We have the jar," Daniel replied, giving up the act.
"Where is it?" Osiris snapped.
"As if I'd tell you."
Furious, Osiris' eyes flashed again. Third time's the charm on the intimidation factor? "You dare to …" Her tirade was abruptly cut off as Ragnar body slammed her to the ground. A moment later Teal'c was at his side, and between the two of them they easily but carefully restrained her until they could remove her ribbon device and then fit padded Furling cuffs, made to restrain a Goa'uld's strength, around her wrists and one with a longer chain around her ankles.
"Everyone alright?" Jack asked, relaxing from his defensive position and lowering his gun slowly.
There were various affirmative replies spoken over a continuing tirade out of Osiris, who had at least lapsed out of English into Goa'uld, which meant most of those in the room could not even understand her. If she had lasers for eyes, we would all be ashes or full of holes right about now.
"Good job." Jack gave Ragnar a nod and then looked at Sam and Teal'c. "I've called for backup. We should be getting a quicker ride than that rickety old truck"—here he jerked a thumb back over his shoulder in the direction of the entrance—"soon … ish. Can you keep him alive until then, doc?"
Janet looked up and nodded. "With Ragnar's help."
Ragnar crossed to her side, pulling a healing device from a pouch on his belt, leaving Teal'c to guard Osiris, and Daniel joined Jack and Sam.
"So Danny," drawled Jack, "what exactly are we going to tell your old buddy?"
"That's a very good question." I have no idea.
[1] A/N: Google and knowing other awesome graduate students is a wonderful thing.
