Samantha Carter peered at the opened up security device outside the entrance to Sparfelder's factory. It was dark with autumn's early bedtime, the sun all but hidden behind the mountains. The factory was closed up for the night, the workers having departed almost an hour ago and Sparfelder hadn't bothered with a security guard, deciding that his electronic surveillance was adequate for his purposes. For the most part he was right. The factory hadn't been burgled for the last six years, which was how long the electronic device had been in place.
Sparfelder reckoned without taking Samantha Carter into account.
"Nice work, kitten," Jacob said admiringly. "You learn to do that in school?"
Sam smiled weakly. "Jack O'Neill."
Jacob looked puzzled. "Jack O'Neill taught you how to disable an electronic lock? The same Jack O'Neill who thinks that pouring coffee into a computer's guts to short it out is a boon to mankind?"
"No, Dad. He just provided the opportunity for me to figure it out on the fly."
Jacob snorted. "That sounds more like him." They pushed inside, using flashlights to navigate through the area.
It was quiet inside. They did a quick but thorough search, pausing only in the main offices to try to learn what they could. There was nothing; whatever Sparfelder was up to with Nathan DeLauro, it didn't involve Sparfelder's factory. They left, Sam closing up the surveillance device. No one would ever know that they had been there.
Halfway to the car Sam halted them. "Dad, wait."
"Kitten?"
"Look over there. Getting out of that black sedan. Is that—?"
"Yeah," Jacob confirmed. "Sparfelder. And DeLauro. What are they doing here?"
"Let's find out."
To the Carters' surprise, neither one went toward the factory. Instead, the pair parked their car in the enclosed lot, far from the lights in a dark back corner, and headed out onto the street leaving the car behind. Wordlessly, the Carters exchanged a puzzled glance, and followed.
"What's that light doing on in a boarded up old mansion?" O'Neill asked rhetorically.
"I believe that it indicates the presence of malfeasants, Colonel O'Neill."
"Thanks, Teal'c."
"You are welcome, Colonel O'Neill."
"If Sparfelder can do it, so can I," Oaf Number One growled.
"He didn't say to kill him."
"We're gonna have to, anyway. He took off the blindfold."
"I was drugged and half out of my mind," Daniel quickly pointed out. His thoughts swirled—still drugged—and he swallowed hard, trying to persuade his brain to function. "Any identification won't hold up in court." At least the first part of my story is true.
Oaf Number One had an almost comically earnest look on his face. "I gotta know about my Maudie."
"Oh, jeez," Number Two moaned. "Haven't you dumped that broad yet? She's nothin' but trouble for you."
"Yeah, but what a piece of tail!" Oaf Number One turned back to Daniel. "Look, I gotta know if my Maudie is steppin' out on me. She ain't been home all the time, and I been catchin' her smilin' and hummin' when she don't think I notice. You do your thinkin' thing for me. I gotta know!"
"Sorry." Daniel shrugged, temples throbbing. "My mind's a blank." It was the truth.
"Yeah? Let's see if this helps."
It didn't. Daniel spit out a wad of blood, and hoped that no teeth went with it.
"C'mon, you!" Number One grabbed his arm and hauled him up, the better to pound Daniel's face. Flesh contacted flesh.
Maudie was not a beautiful woman but she radiated a sexual vitality that drew every male, and several female, eyes to her every time she strutted into a room. She did that now, and removed several pieces of clothing, one by one, slowly and in time to the langorous music that seeped through the smoky haze. Tongues hung out.
"I see her!" Daniel cried out. The fist halted, less than two inches from his streaming nose.
"Where is she?"
"In a strip joint," Daniel said, eyes closed. His head lolled back in his captor's grasp. If it weren't for their support, Daniel would have collapsed to the dusty rug once again. All he could see in his mind's eye was the bumping and grinding that Maudie was doing, the hungry thoughts of the men around her, the jealousy of the other strippers. Money flowed onto the stage in small and large denominations.
"You're lying!" The hand clutching his arm clenched tight.
"It's the back room of Johnny's Place," Daniel groaned. His head pounded, and his gut threatened to turn itself inside out. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and recognized the symptoms: his blood pressure was dropping, and he was going into shock. Did this happen every time his brain did the telepathic two-step? Daniel would be pleased to live without it.
Number One shook him. "More!"
Daniel's head rattled. "There isn't any more. She's there. Earning money."
With an exclamation of disgust, Number One flung him down. Daniel crashed into an end table which splintered and broke beneath him. He lay there, stunned. The vision seemed more vivid than ever, the scene wavering blackly around the edges.
"Where are you going?" Daniel heard Number Two's voice as if from a distance.
"To get Maudie. Where else?"
"What about him?"
"Kill 'im when the boss gets back with his daughter." Oaf Number One wrenched open the door, ready to go after his errant girlfriend.
And walked right into Teal'c's fist. He went down like the Titanic.
Oaf Number Two went for his gun. Teal'c grabbed hold of his wrist and twisted. The bone snapped. The gun dropped. So did the man. Teal'c growled; he was thoroughly annoyed by the whole situation and wanted a better fight.
O'Neill stepped in over the body of the first. "You didn't leave any for me," he complained. He re-holstered his gun, and hustled to Daniel. "Daniel? You all right?"
Daniel mumbled something incoherent.
"I'll take that as a bright and shining no." O'Neill sliced through the ropes still binding the archeologist's wrists. "Teal'c, give me a hand. They drugged him."
Daniel mumbled once more.
"Say again?"
"Get me a damn phone!" Daniel had to concentrate to make the words come out. "You've got to call her! Her father's after her!"
"We know, Daniel. Can you stand?"
"The phone!" Daniel insisted. "I told them where she was!"
"We'll call the local cops." O'Neill tried to reassure him.
"No. Now!" Daniel begged. O'Neill's thoughts were crystal clear, and they all said that Daniel wasn't getting through, that O'Neill wasn't intending to call anyone but Janet Frasier at the SGC. Daniel tried again. "Isabelle's father knows where she is. The cops won't get there in time. You have to call her. Please, Jack! Trust me, just this once!"
"Hell of a lot more times than once," O'Neill grumbled. Daniel could read the thoughts easily: call the girl, just to calm the archeologist down before Daniel lost it all together. It didn't matter what O'Neill thought. What mattered was that there was a fully-powered cell phone not three inches away in O'Neill's jacket pocket. Daniel gave O'Neill the phone number, had to repeat it three times before he could make himself understood.
"Make this fast, Daniel," O'Neill warned. "You've got a date with several Tok'ra and an undercover Goa'uld."
"That looks suspiciously like Isabelle Sparfelder," Jacob Carter observed. They'd gone inside a place called Earl's Bar to warm up, to wait and watch the man they'd identified as Sparfelder to see what he would do. It wasn't winter yet, but the night air was cold. "Right size, right age, fits the photo. Sounds like Jack called it right."
"Do you think we should approach her? Her father is right outside. I'll bet that's not a coincidence, Dad."
Jacob watched intently, along with his own daughter. "Hmm. She just put down the phone. Following the appropriate script: looks scared. Scans the room frantically, doesn't see who or what she's looking for. So far, so good. Oops, in come Daddy Dearest."
"Whereupon fair Isabelle makes a beeline for the exit, Daddy on her tail. That man along with Daddy looks like the picture Colonel O'Neill showed us of Daniel's kidnapper, DeLauro. Think we ought to intervene? I don't think I like those men very much."
"After you, kitten."
They hustled out the front entrance and rounded the corners to get to the back exit. It was dark; the sole streetlight was making a valiant effort to stay alive against all the longevity odds. Despite the lack of illumination it wasn't difficult to see the trio. DeLauro stood back while Sparfelder pinned his daughter up against the cold brick wall. The naked terror on her face was plain.
"You thought you could walk out on me, Isabelle? After all I've done for you?"
Jacob Carter sauntered into the light. "Don't you mean, everything you've done to her, Sparfelder?"
"Whoever you are, you don't want to be here. Leave, before you regret not taking my advice. This doesn't concern you."
"Oh, but it does," Jacob corrected. "You see, I wouldn't be able to look myself in the mirror if I didn't stop you right here. Got this little conscience guy inside my head, makes me do the right thing. Won't tell you his name; wouldn't mean anything to you."
"Take care of him, DeLauro." Sparfelder's attention was all on his daughter, quivering in terror in his grasp.
There was a gurgling sound of surprise from that direction, and a barely visible blonde head appeared behind DeLauro's shoulder, streetlights glinting off the gun barrel stuck in the man's back. "That is so not going to happen, Mr. Sparfelder," Sam said, lethality echoing in every tone. "In fact, you're going to release that young woman, and she's going to walk out of here with us. Isn't that right?"
Isabelle took advantage of her father's shock to slip out from under his grasp, sidling around to Jacob. The Tok'ra put her behind him, his own gun shining with metallic blue sparks.
"Now, both of you turn around and face the wall," Jacob instructed them. "Count to ten. I know you can do it without taking off your shoes. Come after us, and you'll both end up someplace unique. Oh, and by the way, this is something that's been owed to you for far too long." Jacob swung Sparfelder around, hauled back, and delivered a solid right punch to Sparfelder's eye. The man went down as though pole-axed.
"Stay right where you are," Sam warned DeLauro. The kidnapper shook his head in acquiescence; he had been paid to find Sparfelder's daughter by whatever means, not to take a beating for him.
Jacob took Isabelle's arm without ever looking at her, guiding her away from the pair. Sam too backed away, her gun in position. "Come on, Ms. Sparfelder. They're not going to wait very long, and you need to gather up your things."
The girl tried to pull away. "Who are you?"
Jacob hustled her along. "You know how people get rescued by mysterious strangers only in badly written made-for-TV movies?"
"Yes."
"Where do you think the idea came from? Outer space?"
Sam winced.
Her cell phone warbled, breaking the moment. She tabbed it on. "Carter."
"Carter? We got him. He's pretty upset about Sparfelder's daughter, insisted on calling her as soon as we pulled him out. He's still pretty out of it, wants to go looking for her. I need you to track down a bar called—"
"Earl's, yes, I know, sir. Already taken care of. Tell him that she's with us." Carter paused. "Uh, what do you want us to do with her, sir?"
"How the hell would I know, Carter? I don't suppose you can just put her back where you found her."
"You think George would like a new secretary?" Jacob put in, waggling his eyebrows. "I know I would." He winced. "Selmac disagrees. Not his type."
"What, not small and wriggly? We'll meet you back at the base."
"He's fine," Frasier reported reluctantly. "I can't find anything wrong with him. Aside from the fact that he's been beaten and drugged, that is." She stepped back from the infirmary stretcher, thinking to herself that the archeologist had been spending entirely too much time there recently.
"Just what I've been telling you," Daniel insisted, jumping off the stretcher with a little too much exuberance just to demonstrate how fine he was. "I'm fine."
"Now say that without my wondering if your face is going to fall off," O'Neill grumbled. "Is your jaw broken?"
"Would I be talking if it were?"
"Probably. You've got a bruise the size of Cincinnati, but nothing would stop your mouth from flapping. Now do your mind-reading thing and let's get Jacob and the others home to where ever their hidden base is."
"Right. How do I do that?" Daniel cocked his head with an entirely reasonable air. It would have looked better if his neck hadn't chosen that moment to wobble. Daniel pulled himself back into alignment hastily.
"What do you mean, Daniel?" O'Neill's blood ran cold. Beside him, General Hammond stiffened.
"I mean, how do I turn it on? I'm not exactly in control of this stuff, you know. It's been coming and going. And recently it's mostly been going." Daniel didn't look happy. "I'm sorry, Jacob, but I have to be honest. The last thoughts I had that weren't my own was back in the mansion, when that goon grabbed me. That was three hours ago."
Glum silence.
General Hammond broke it. "Jacob, you said that Nirti had done some experimenting with this mind-reading thing. What do you remember? Anything that could help us?"
Jacob bowed his head, and when he looked up, it was Selmac that was speaking. "Very little, George. Typical Goa'uld, Nirti did not share her findings. Only a small amount leaked out, and that open to doubt. She experimented with various types of stimuli on her subjects, most of which I couldn't support in the present situation."
"Stimuli?" Daniel asked with trepidation.
"Various types of radiation, manual stimulation of nerve endings, most of which was unpleasant to her subjects in the extreme." Jacob took pity on the archeologist. "Of course, Nirti might just have deliberately let that rumor move around, just to keep her slaves in line."
"Why do I not believe that?" Daniel looked lost, then his face took on a determined look. "Jacob, I'm not going to let you Tok'ra kill yourselves. Do whatever you think will get this telepathy thing going."
"Within reason," O'Neill slipped in.
Jacob said grimly, "Daniel, most of Nirti's subjects died. Horribly, painfully, and not always quickly. None of us would agree to that." He sighed. "Well, that's it. I'll tell the others. If Daniel can't tell which one of us is the traitor, maybe someone else can come with a solution. The loss of a dozen Tok'ra on mere suspicion alone doesn't thrill me. Especially since I'll be one of them."
"Wait a minute, Dad." Samantha Carter halted him. "Daniel, you said it was when that man grabbed you that you perceived his thoughts. Could it be that you need to be touching someone to do it? That skin to skin contact is the key?"
"Couldn't be," O'Neill put in waspishly. "Trust me, there was no skin to skin contact between Daniel and me when he picked up on my thoughts about that kid in the mine shaft. Nor with the kid, for that matter, or his parents."
"On the other hand, it couldn't hurt to try." Jacob grabbed Daniel's shoulder, putting his other hand on the archeologist's bare neck.
"Hey, your hands are cold," Daniel started to protest when he suddenly paled. Sweat broke out across his brow, and he sagged into Teal'c's waiting hands. The Jaffa lowered his teammate to the stretcher, while O'Neill lifted the man's legs up.
"Daniel?"
"Jacob is not the spy," Daniel muttered thickly. "Damn, I hate this!"
Frasier wrapped a BP cuff around his arm, firing up the automatic machine which instantly complained at the low readings. "Don't try to get up, Daniel. Just lie still. Someone lower the head of the stretcher; I want his head down and his feet up." She stared at the results, stabbing the machine to tell it to take another reading. "Well, folks, I guess we have our answer. Tactile stimuli is definitely part of the equation. Your blood pressure visited the basement just now."
"Great," Daniel groaned, shivering. "I feel sick."
"I'm not surprised. You're supposed to feel that way when you're going into shock. You'll feel better in a few moments; your pressure is coming back up." Frasier watched the machine take another reading, snarling less loudly at the results.
"Liar."
"Read my mind, Daniel. It takes a few moments."
Daniel buried his face in his hands, trying to push the thoughts out, to keep the cacophony of ideas and strong emotions from overwhelming him. "Stop thinking so loudly. Everybody, stop thinking at me."
"Better get the rest of you Tok'ra in here," O'Neill told Jacob. "He's cranky, and I don't know how much more of this I can take."
"More than that." Jacob was already on the move. "We don't know how long this will last."
"C'mon, Daniel." O'Neill didn't know if he was irritated with his teammate, the Tok'ra, or Nirti who hadn't even shown her snaky face. Just thinking about that Goa'uld was enough to turn his stomach. "Think harder."
"I'm trying," Daniel told him. "It's not working." He glared at the three Tok'ra staring at him expectantly. "Stop looking at me."
O'Neill tried to take a gentler approach. If annoyance wasn't helping, maybe sweet reason would. "Daniel, you're being pawed by three lovely ladies. What man wouldn't like that, even if they have snakes inside their heads?" One of the Tok'ra threw him a dirty look.
"This clearly is a waste of time," one said, the Tok'ra in ascendance. "The Nirti effect has worn off. Find another way to determine which of us is the traitor."
"Easier said than done," O'Neill told her. "Got any bright ideas?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Surely you don't expect us to do it? The one who comes up with the solution might be the traitor."
"In which case, the solution would be a trap rather than the desired solution," Teal'c acknowledged.
"Hey. Which side are you on?"
"I am on the side of SG-1, O'Neill."
"However…" The Tok'ra let her voice trail off suggestively.
"Don't be coy, Doran," Jacob/Selmac said. "It's not becoming."
Doran flashed her fellow Tok'ra a look of malice. "Your goal is to stimulate the Nirti effect, and clearly your idea of tactile stimulation is ineffective at the moment. Were I Tau're, I would begin by examining all the data regarding the known episodes. What symptoms both preceded and occurred during the telepathic episodes? That might precipitate an answer. But whatever you determine, do it quickly. Obviously the Nirti effect is wearing off. You may be able to go home, Selmac, with clearance from your Tau're friends, but we others are not so fortunate. Encourage your playmates to play more quickly."
Samantha jumped in before the Tok'ra could set off a verbal war between the races. "She's right. We need to look at all the evidence that we can. We've already established that skin contact facilitates Daniel's telepathy but right now that doesn't seem to be enough. What else have we seen? Daniel?"
Daniel grimaced. "I usually feel like crap before, during, and after the thoughts come crashing in. And I don't have any control over the process. Whoever is in the vicinity, I can hear them thinking, and frequently it's at the top of their lungs. Sort of. I mean, I know they're not really talking, or shouting, but it sounds that way. Or 'thinks' that way. It's like being at a really bad heavy metal concert and not being allowed to cover your ears. And the worse the thought, the louder it is. It's enough to drive you insane." He shuddered. "And they come in all different languages, most of which I speak. So that doesn't help."
Sam turned to Janet, grabbing onto the pertinent part of the discussion. "Daniel says that he feels bad just before. Why?"
Dr. Frasier frowned. "I would assume it's because his brain isn't accustomed to processing all this information. But, Sam, medical science has very little information on this sort of phenomenon, and what we do have is suspect."
"No, go back even before that. Daniel gets sick before the telepathy thing kicks in. He looks like he's going to pass out. What is happening in that time period?"
Frasier nodded. "You're right; he's usually on the verge of shock." She began to see what Sam was getting at, began to get excited. "He gets pale, he begins to sweat, he becomes weak; all very classic signs of impending shock, otherwise known as lack of circulation. Mentation decreases, confusion is common, as is nausea and vomiting. If it continues, there is loss of consciousness." She sounded like she was reciting from a text voice, but her tone was far too eager.
Sam grinned. "Sound familiar, Daniel?"
"Oh, yeah. Except for the loss of consciousness stuff. That doesn't come soon enough to keep the voices out of my head."
Sam turned back to Janet. "And all this is because his blood pressure drops."
"That's right. There are several causes of low blood pressure: traumatic blood loss, cardiogenic shock, neurogenic shock—"
"Low blood pressure," Sam interrupted. Frasier could be as verbose as Daniel when she got going. "Could you induce low blood pressure in Daniel?"
"Not without violating my Hippocratic Oath. That's not exactly a healthy practice."
"But you could do it?" Sam persisted.
Frasier nodded. "There are certain medications that can lower blood pressure, but they are tricky to use. I would need to keep him on the verge of consciousness, if what you're thinking is correct. Too far, and his heart will stop."
They all looked at Dr. Jackson, who again looked acutely uncomfortable at being the center of attention.
Selmac/Jacob shook his head. "It is too risky. I cannot ask you to endanger yourself for us. You have already done much for the Tok'ra race."
"I can," Doran disagreed. "This is my life at stake; mine, and ten other Tok'ra. I certainly do ask it. One life, against eleven. A reasonable risk."
O'Neill was nettled. "Sure, if you're not the one taking it."
"I'll do it."
They looked back at the subject of their argument.
Daniel nodded again. "I'll do it. Janet, you've pulled me out of worse; I'll put my faith in you again." He shrugged, trying to make light of his decision. "Okay, Jack, it's up to you. What concessions can you wring out of them over this? A new toy for Sam to play with?"
It was Jacob again. "You don't have to do this, Daniel."
"Yes, he does," Doran interjected. "He has agreed to it, Selmac. Let him keep his word."
"Doc?" O'Neill wasn't going to let the Tok'ra have the last word.
Janet Frasier sighed, a here-we-go-again puff of air. "All right. But you'll be on a monitor, Dr. Jackson, with IV's to rescue you if this goes sour." She called over her shoulder, "bring the crash cart over, Becky. The Daniel Jackson special, if you please."
More than one set of shoulders cringed.
"You're wired for sound, Daniel," O'Neill observed. "I didn't know Frasier could put so many monitors on one human body."
"That's because you're usually unconscious when they're attached to you, Jack." Daniel shivered. "Damn, that stuff is cold. Couldn't you warm it up before squirting it into my arm?"
"You're cold because you're going into shock." Frasier kept her attention on her monitors.
"You took away my shirt, you made me take off my pants, at least you could give me a blanket."
"The purpose here is to put you into shock over my objections, not keep you comfortable, Dr. Jackson," Frasier told him tartly. "Let's hope this works quickly, so that I can get these drugs out of your system."
"Umm." All present could tell that his mind was shutting down with the loss of circulation. Daniel's eyelids sagged shut of their own volition.
Or perhaps not. Doran stepped forward without being asked and took hold of Daniel's shoulder. Daniel jerked in shock, and moaned.
"Too many voices!" His own voice was anguished. "Get them out of my head! Shut up!"
"Am I the traitor, Dr. Jackson?" Doran hissed. "Am I?" She shook him. "Am I?"
Daniel hesitated. They could see the naked fear on his face, the horrifying thoughts that were passing through, tormenting him. "No!" he whispered, trying to keep it from being a whimper. "No."
"It is working," Teal'c said. "Get the others here swiftly. This may not last."
"They're right outside," Hammond said, trying to keep his bulk out of the way in the small infirmary. It was crowded; SG-1 had refused to leave their teammate alone and the place was standing room only. Hammond had prudently insisted on having armed security men standing by; they were dealing with a Tok'ra traitor whom they could assume would react in a violent fashion once discovered.
One by one the rest of the Tok'ra filed in. Frasier made innumerable small adjustments to the crystal clear medication dripping into Daniel's arm, the monitors beeping a slow but steady accompaniment to the muttered phrases issuing forth in a multitude of languages. Once Sam thought she recognized some Russian, and Frasier was convinced that she heard French. Teal'c even responded comfortingly in Goa'uld. The majority of thoughts were not pleasant. Only once or twice did a fleeting smile cross Daniel's face, only to be immediately replaced by tears as darker images carried the day.
Each Tok'ra took hold of the archeologist, and Daniel sooner or later took notice and absolved them of guilt. Once he opened his eyes to look at the Tok'ra, bright blue orbs not quite focusing, and said, "Xorad has forgiven you. You should forgive yourself." The Tok'ra stumbled out of the infirmary, hastily wiping moisture from his host's eye.
Frasier looked at the clock. "He's been down twenty minutes. We need to finish this up, people. We're risking renal shut down here. For those of you who are non-medical, that translates as very bad."
"Only two more, doctor," Hammond reassured her. "Jacob, who's next?"
"Pejas," Jacob/Selmac called. The room was getting nervous. With only two left, the possibilities were narrowing. Both security guards tightened their grips on their weapons, not certain if they would work against a Tok'ra, or, rather, a Goa'uld spy. "Skartenen. Both of you come in here."
O'Neill silently applauded Selmac's ingenuity. By bringing both in at once, Selmac had just doubled the number of Tok'ra that the Goa'uld spy would have to fight through. For obviously it had to be one of these two. Daniel had cleared all of the others.
Both hosts were male, big enough that Teal'c would have to expend more than usual effort to subdue. With the crowd in here, it ought to have been enough, but…
"Who's going first?" O'Neill asked in a mock-pleasant tone. The stakes were high. "No waiting, folks."
Pejas stepped forward. "I am innocent. I have nothing to fear." He confidently grasped Daniel's arm.
Daniel's face smoothed over, relief evident at the flood of non-threatening thoughts. "Cleared," he murmured, just barely audible.
Skartenen blanched. "Not possible," he choked out. "Selmac, you know me! I have lived among you for decades! I am no spy! The Tau're is wrong!"
"Then prove it," Selmac told him, deep tones even more threatening. "Daniel will not accuse you unjustly. If he cannot detect the traitor among us, if the ribbon device's effect have already worn off, then he will exonerate you as he has the rest of us, and we will be back to square one. Step forward, Skartenen."
Several security rifles snapped into position, aimed squarely at the trembling Tok'ra. Skartenen gulped; he had no choice. He stepped forward.
"Take Daniel's arm." O'Neill watched him closely. "Skin to skin contact. Make it good. I want to hear Daniel tell me you're innocent."
Skartenen did. He made it look as though he were going to grasp the psychic witness on the shoulder as Pejas had. In a lightening swift maneuver, he changed direction to seize Daniel by the throat, bodily lifting him from the stretcher and dangling him in front of Skartenen as a human shield. Daniel slumped bonelessly in the Tok'ra's grasp. The monitors, leads ripped from their subject, shrieked in dismay.
Four security guns snapped to the shoulder, taking a bead on Skartenen, Daniel in the direct line of fire.
"Shoot," Skartenen hissed, voice of a Goa'uld, "and the Tau're dies! It will be a service to the Goa'uld!"
"Hold your fire!" O'Neill shouted. "Let him go!"
"Let him go, Skartenen," Selmac echoed. "There is no escape. Let the Tau're go, and you live."
"Back away, Selmac." It was clear that Selmac was the only being there that Skartenen considered a threat. The Goa'uld spy might have been right; only Selmac had the superhuman strength that a blended being possessed. "I will break this one's neck."
"Do that, and I will rip you from your host's body myself!" Selmac growled, trying to edge closer.
"I can drill him through the eye, Colonel," one of the security guards offered grimly, his gun clenched to his cheek, sighting down the barrel.
"Hold your fire!" O'Neill repeated. Just a hair off, and Earth would be minus one highly brilliant and eccentric archeologist. Good thing Daniel isn't awake enough to understand what's being said.
Teal'c came up from behind, grabbing two Goa'uld fingers that were wrapped around Daniel's neck, and pulled. It didn't take strength, just finesse. O'Neill heard the audible click as both fingers snapped, and the Goa'uld gasped in sudden shock and pain. His hand fell away from Daniel's neck.
Enraged, Skartenen howled. A single blow, and Teal'c went flying into Frasier's best equipment. Frasier's own cry was composed of equal parts fear for Teal'c, fear for herself, fear for her patient, anger over the damaged machines—I already blew my budget for this year!—and fear for what other human damage was about to occur. Skartenen dove onto Daniel, intent on dismembering him before the others could subdue him.
Blood spattered the floor.
"I am sorry for your loss," Doran said to General Hammond, her deep Tok'ra tones sonorous in the briefing room. All the Tok'ra had gathered there prior to departure to home, the location of which Selmac and the others steadfastly refused to share with O'Neill and the others. "Dr. Jackson was a brave man, and highly skilled in his work. His sacrifice shall not go unremarked."
"Thank you." Hammond seemed to be having trouble with his voice. "We all miss him." He struggled to get himself under control.
"We would not impose on your hospitality any longer," Doran continued. "It would be best if we left at once. We have tasks that await us. Would you conduct us to your Stargate?" She looked around. "Where is Selmac? He is delaying our departure."
"I'm right here, Doran." Jacob stepped into the room.
"You are tardy, Selmac. School your host to proper decorum. Just because his genetic offspring is here is no reason to linger."
"Don't think that's the reason he's lingering." O'Neill stepped in behind him. "Daniel?"
He might not have been kicking, but Dr. Daniel Jackson was most certainly alive. Face pale but determined, Daniel walked into the briefing room, escorted by Samantha Carter and Teal'c. They solicitously seated him before his already wobbly knees could give out.
The Tok'ra buzzed. Doran's mouth dropped open. "Selmac? What is this farce? Why have you deceived us about Dr. Jackson? You informed us that the Tau're had perished by Skartenen's hand."
"No farce, Doran." It was Jacob Carter speaking, not Selmac, and O'Neill suspected that Samantha's father did it half to annoy the arrogant Tok'ra. "A trap, neatly sprung."
"A trap? What are you talking about? You have already caught Skartenen by provoking Dr. Jackson's fading telepathic abilities." Doran then opted for puzzlement. "Have you elicited further thoughts from him that you must share? You can do this once we are safely home, Selmac. You need not share them with the Tau're."
"No, I think now will do just fine," Jacob said. "Daniel?"
Daniel cleared his throat. "When Selmac told us that there was a traitor among the Tok'ra, he was only half right. There wasn't just one traitor. There were two." He waited for the terrified buzz to die down. "That's right, two Goa'uld spies, working in conjunction with each other. I suspect it was only coincidence that both came on this mission but once in this predicament, the pair devised a plan. They knew that there was no easy way out, so they made preparations that one would be caught and the other go free to notify the Goa'uld system lords of the whereabouts of the Tok'ra base. Knowledge of that location was vital for the traitors to take back. With that information the system lords would be able to wipe out the Tok'ra in a single, decisive blow. One would sacrifice themselves in order that the other escape."
"Then who is the other spy?" Pejas wanted to know. "We have all passed through Dr. Jackson's telepathic interrogation. He cleared us all but for Skartenen."
"Not exactly," O'Neill put in. "Oh, yes, he cleared you to your face. And he fingered the second traitor. Skartenen was guilty as hell."
"I got to read your thoughts," Daniel clarified. "All your thoughts, not just what you wanted me to see. And it wasn't pleasant. I know all about your petty feuds, your not so subtle attempts to influence each other." He took a deep breath, getting hold of himself. "It was a clever ploy. Two traitors, working together against the Tok'ra. One of you presented yourself early, figuring that if I caught you, the witch hunt would end and the second go free. If the first made it through unscathed, then the other would as well."
"Which was why the Tok'ra Skartenen was so distressed," Teal'c observed. "He expected to be cleared, as was his compatriot."
"Yeah. Distressed." Daniel fingered the vicious looking bruise on his throat where Skartenen had vented his distress. He coughed, clearing his throat again. "Unfortunately for the Goa'uld, I was able to read the entire plan. So I let the first go through, so that I could nail the second." He winced, and coughed again. "Not as smart as I'd've liked. I almost didn't get the opportunity to speak again."
"You almost didn't get the opportunity to speak ever again," O'Neill put in with a grin. "Not that I'm complaining about a little peace and quiet from your direction, mind you. You could've warned us."
"No, I couldn't. Janet Frasier's drugs are tough to beat."
Samantha patted Daniel's shoulder reassuringly. "Go on, Daniel."
Daniel obeyed. "It was the best shot they had. And it would have worked." He glanced behind him. "In case I didn't say it before, Teal'c: thanks."
"You did not, but Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter, Generals Carter and Hammond, and Selmac have been most effusive on your behalf."
"Don't keep us in suspense," Pejas snarled. "Who is it?"
"Yes, who is it?" O'Neill jumped in. "All we know is that it was someone who went before Skartenen." He paused for a beat. "You went before Skartenen. In fact, you went just before Skartenen. Was it you?"
The other Tok'ra backed away from Pejas. Actually, they all started backing away from each other, trying to distance themselves from any possible traitor, afraid of what the Goa'uld spy would do. They eyed each other suspiciously.
If he didn't know that Tok'ra didn't do such things, O'Neill would've sworn that Pejas was foaming at the mouth in terror.
"It's not me!" Pejas screeched. "Selmac, please believe me! It's not me! The Tau're is mistaken!"
"That's right, Pejas," Selmac said. "It's not you. Is it, Daniel?"
"No, it's not Pejas." The Tok'ra nearly collapsed with relief, though the statement did little to assuage the terror of the rest. Daniel surveyed the remainder coolly. "No, it's not Pejas," he repeated, casting his gaze upon each one. If he didn't know better, O'Neill would've sworn that Daniel still had his telepathic powers.
But those powers were gone—weren't they?
"No, it's not Pejas," Daniel said one last time. "Is it, Doran?"
Was it O'Neill's imagination, or did cornered Goa'uld spies fight worse than cornered rats? And it wasn't fair; Selmac could put Jacob Carter's arm back together in a matter of minutes. It took Frasier over an hour to come up with a pain cocktail that would allow O'Neill to touch his foot to the ground without his knee threatening to go AWOL.
"Thanks, Daniel. We owe you one," Jacob Carter said, standing on the ramp to the Stargate. "That was a tremendous risk you took. What if you'd been wrong?"
"Aren't you glad that I wasn't?" Daniel neatly sidestepped the question.
Samantha wouldn't let him. "No, really, Daniel. What was it that made you suspect Doran?"
"Nothing, actually. It could have been any of them." Daniel shrugged.
"You didn't remember anything?"
"Sam, when I was reading their minds, I was barely conscious. I was lucky that I got a whisper of their plot. Janet keeps telling me that I don't remember a lot of what happens when she pumps me full of whatever. So I took a guess, and it turned out right." He hunched his shoulders with his patented Daniel charm. "If I'd've been wrong, she wouldn't have attacked anyone trying to get away. Look at Pejas; he was all but accused, and all he did was yell and talk about being innocent. Doran went on the offensive."
"I see," O'Neill said in a tone that said he understood anything but. "You did it by using Goa'uld psychology."
"Exactly!" Daniel beamed. Selmac raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
O'Neill let everyone know exactly what he thought of that explanation:
"Hah!"