Chapter 10

As soon as Lioss left, Daniel was seized by the terrible certainty that he'd just condemned the people in front of him to death, and he almost called the man back to tell him he'd made a mistake. Maybe he should have given Lioss what he wanted, a world where the people wouldn't have put up a fight, a world the SGC could rescue later. Or maybe the Tollan were the right choice after all. How could he think of protecting a treaty at the expense of lives of this girl and her family?

But if some people were killed at the Gate before they recognized the primitive weapons for what they were? Daniel closed his eyes, trying to make himself think through his drug-induced fog. No, he couldn't weigh the abstract possibility of murder on another planet against the certainty of murder here, could he?

No, no, he couldn't. Daniel took a step toward the closed door and opened his mouth to call out, but then he stopped himself, the possibilities whirling almost sickeningly in his head. And what if the sadistic bastard decided to punish them anyway if Daniel called him back and admitted his "mistake"? What if he killed them instead of taking a new set of symbols? The man was unhinged enough. . . .

Daniel stood frozen in indecision. The planet he'd given them, PX3-245, had a small city easily visible from the Gate, just a few kilometers away, a city that, along with the surrounding villages, had, until the week before, held some four thousand souls. But the planet was beset by deadly storms and "earth" tremors of ever increasing violence, and the SGC, with SG-3 in command, had just finished helping to relocate the entire population. Daniel figured it would take whomever Lioss sent through hours if not a day to explore the city and surrounding villages before they realized that the world was deserted. And even then—or so Daniel had reasoned when his feverishly working brain had finally flashed on the Solkin world—with the evidence of very recent habitation, Daniel could claim he didn't know what had happened to the people there, could ask for another chance.

But now, already, Daniel saw the flaw in his thinking, and he cursed his stupidity. If he knew anything about this man Lioss, it was that he didn't give second chances. When the soldiers he sent to PX3-245 returned, these people were almost certainly dead. Oh, God, Daniel thought, what have I done? Overwhelmed by the enormity of his mistake, he stumbled back to the table and grabbed the back of the chair to hold himself up, then lowered himself slowly into the seat. He shook his head. He'd made his decision, and he was stuck with it. They were all stuck with it. He looked up at his cellmates, still unable to suppress his horror at their bloody, miserable state. They all hung limply, long past their ability to stand. The father was staring at the ground, and the girl looked as if she'd passed out. But the boy and the old woman were looking back at him, the boy with hope in his eyes, the old woman with . . . understanding.

He wasn't sure which was worse.

The woman started to say something, but the words stuck in her dry throat. She tried again and this time spoke in a surprisingly clear voice. "He would have killed us anyway," she said.

The boy's eyes grew wide when he heard her, and realizing what she meant, he gasped, then turned his eyes back to Daniel, full of accusation. "You didn't. . . . You didn't. . . . ?" he whispered, unable to finish and unable to keep the shock from his voice. Daniel started to answer but stopped, not knowing what to say. He couldn't admit to the boy what he'd done, in case someone was listening, but he couldn't bring himself to lie to him, either. The boy, though, saw the answer in his eyes, and started to sob, dry, heaving sobs.

The father lifted his head haltingly to look at his child, hanging so helplessly next to him, and said only his name, "Hallipa," using the Polistian diminutive and filling it with so much love and sorrow Daniel felt as if his own heart would break. The boy swallowed his sobs, or tried to, and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," over and over, apologizing for what Daniel didn't know, and his father hushed him then, as you would a small child—Hush, Hallipa, hush—until the boy grew quiet.

Daniel struggled to find something to say, anything to give comfort. He had bought them time, at least—he was sure of that—but time for what? Rescue? If anyone was coming, wouldn't. . . . No, he thought determinedly, shoving back his fears. They wouldn't leave him here. In the hours or a day that he'd given them, someone would come. Even if Jack was . . . even if Jack, Sam and Teal'c were too. . . . Daniel's mind stuttered over the terrible possibilities, and for a moment he couldn't see beyond the fate of his teammates, and again the terrible thought that had been with him since he'd first seen Lioss sitting so smugly on his "throne" rose to the surface.

They're gone, and I am never leaving this place.

Daniel shook his head. No, he couldn't think that way. His team was all right, and even if for some reason they couldn't come for him, someone would. No one gets left behind, right?That wasn't just Jack's credo, but the SGC's. No one gets left behind. If he didn't make himself believe it, he would go mad.

They would be here, and before Lioss discovered that there was no one to conquer on the world Daniel had given him.

And if they weren't? If rescue still hadn't arrived?

Daniel tried to straighten up and shake off his weariness. If there was no rescue, then it was up to him. He couldn't just let these people die. But what the hell else could he do? Daniel looked around the thick-walled, windowless room and at the solid, bolted door. Escape wasn't an option. Even if, as weak and injured as he was, he could get the guards into the room and incapacitate them, the odds against finding the keys on one of them and having time to unchain the others were astronomical. And even unchained, he doubted they could walk, never mind run.

And run to where?

No, he'd have to talk his—their—way out, convince a madman, somehow, to let them go. The utter impossibility of that hope would have had him laughing at himself, if he could still laugh. But instead, he listened to the small voice in his head, the one that had gotten him this far, even during those times when he couldn't quite hear it: Never give up, it whispered. And he decided to listen now, because hadn't his whole life taught him that? Hadn't his years at the SGC reinforced that a thousand times over?

No, he wouldn't give up, not with others' lives hanging in the balance. In the time left to them, he would think of something.

There had to be something.

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Jack had to remind himself again that this wasn't a death watch, but Carter looked that bad. Her eyes, when they were open, had gone glassy, her breathing, even with the oxygen mask, was labored, punctuated only by soft gasps of pain, and she was so pale she seemed almost translucent. But Janet had promised them, she had sworn when Jack had asked her for the tenth time, that before it was too late, she would give Carter another dose of the poison.And damn it to hell that they even had to consider doing that to her, but it was the only way. Carter would live long enough for them to figure something out, and she would be all right. That was what mattered.

Jack looked over at Teal'c, who still held Carter's hand and was murmuring a story to her of some far off land with purple skies and cinnamon fields—that's what he'd said, cinnamon fields. Jack thought it must be an Earth twist on a Jaffa bedtime story, something Teal'c's mother had murmured to him almost a century ago. It had that sound to it. Whatever it was, it seemed to give Carter comfort, and Jack wondered, not for the first time, how Teal'c could have lived the life he had and still, on occasion, be so . . . gentle.

In the midst of those musings, the blare of the klaxon caught Jack by surprise, and he jumped to his feet, his heart in his throat as the familiar announcement sounded over the loudspeaker in the infirmary. "Unscheduled off-world activation, unscheduled off-world activation!" Carter's eyes popped open, more focused than they'd been in an hour, and Teal'c paused in his storytelling.

"Go," the big man said, seeing Jack hesitate. "I will stay with Major Carter until my presence is required." Carter, through her mask, whispered, "Go!" as well, and Jack nodded and turned for the door. He passed Janet and started to say, "Doc. . . ." and she replied, without heat, "Don't worry, Colonel. I know what I'm doing." He gave another nod, and broke into a jog for the elevator and the Control Room.

Sure enough, before the elevator doors closed, he heard his name being paged. This had to be it. It was the Polistians. The plan was in place. The first part belonged to Kovachek—and, Jack had to admit to himself, having watched the major's performance during the last contact, if anyone could pull it off, Kovachek could. The SGC's chief negotiator would again demand to see Daniel alive and to get the antidote for Carter, saying his "superiors" refused to hand over so much of value with no guarantee they would get anything in return. With luck, they could get Daniel to the Gate, or at least the antidote, before Part Two of the plan went into action, because either way, this time, they were going through the Gate. Whether or not Lioss agreed to their demands, Kovachek would pretend to consult with his superiors and then agree to send a "good faith" shipment of Goa'uld shock grenades—none of them thought Lioss would be able to resist that small victory—and then five teams would follow the crates through. If Daniel wasn't at the Gate, they'd force Lioss and Gahry to tell them, and Jack was so looking forward to being the one who would make them. The bastards were going to pay for what they'd done to his teammates.

Jack rounded the corner and went into the Control Room but stopped short when he saw that the iris was already open and the event horizon was shooting into the Gateroom and settling back. Damn. No way they were opening the Gate for the Polistians. He was about to ask Hammond and Walter what was going on, when the event horizon rippled, and Jacob Carter stepped through next to another robed man Jack had never seen before. The Tok'ra. It was about damn time.

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Janet stood ready by the infirmary doors waiting for Jacob/Selmak to appear. Dammit, they were cutting it close. Not long after Colonel O'Neill had rushed from the room, Sam had seemed to relax and even smiled, and Janet had had a moment of hope that the Polistians' claims and their own suppositions had been wrong. But then Sam had whispered, "Pain's gone," and Janet realized what was happening. She'd rushed to the refrigerator where a syringe full of the poison lay already prepared just as everything had started going to hell. Sam's heartbeat became erratic, and her breathing became even more labored. The poison was gone, and her body was shutting down. Sam's eyes, which had opened wide as she realized what was happening, fluttered shut even as the machinery around her began to blink and beep wildly. Janet had already swabbed Sam's arm with alcohol, when the phone rang,and the nurse who'd answered had shouted out that Jacob was on the way with his healing device. So, knowing it was what Sam would want, she'd replaced the syringe and had the crash cart rolled to her bedside and told her staff to be prepared to intubate in case Jacob didn't run fast enough.

Now she heard their rapid footsteps from down the hall, heard Jacob's voice, rising, saying, "He's still on the planet?" and Colonel O'Neill's terse, "You heard me," and she stepped back just in time to avoid the doors as they swung open with a crash and Jacob entered with the colonel hot on his heals.

"Where is she?" Jacob said, wasting no time on greetings and Janet nodded toward the bed, knowing she didn't have to admonish the man to hurry. Jacob was there in three determined strides, pulling the healing device from his robe as he walked. Janet watched him take in Sam's critical state, and saw him stop short and draw in his breath.

"Oh, Sammy," he whispered, and some of the color leached from his face. Then he dipped his head and raised it, and pushed his hand toward his daughter's chest and activated the device, and Janet realized Selmak had taken over, most likely to spare Jacob the awful responsibility of holding his child's life in his hands.

A complete silence except for the ever-present beeping of the equipment fell over the infirmary as all eyes turned toward Sam's bed. Teal'c, who still held Sam's hand, seemed to be holding his breath, and Colonel O'Neill, who stood next to her, was clutching the bar at the foot of Sam's bed so tightly his knuckles were white. Janet found herself clenching her own fists, and she forced herself to loosen her grip and take a deep breath. If for some reason, the healing device didn't work, she needed to be ready to move.

Gradually, the beeping of Sam's heart monitor, which had become erratic, even flatlining for moments, became regular, if a little fast, while Sam's breathing, which had been little more than harsh, wheezing gasps, slowed and became remarkably clear. Janet leaned forward a little and saw that even the color was coming back to her patient's face. She turned toward Jacob/Selmak to compliment them on their work, but saw that they still had a look of intense concentration on their sweat-drenched face, so she held back.

After another five long minutes during which no one spoke a word, Selmak deactivated the device and let out a deep sigh. The Tok'ra looked up at the people surrounding the still-unconscious major and said, exhaustion evident even through her dual-toned voice, "She will be fine. If we had come much later, the damage might have been too severe, but she will be fine."

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"Tell us of other worlds, please. Do all worlds have men so terrible?"

Daniel, who'd been staring at the table, deep in thought, looked up into the eyes of the girl who had been brave enough to challenge the rule of a maniac. He didn't know how long she'd been conscious or how long she'd been staring at him. He thought barely an hour had passed since Lioss had left the room, but he had no way to know for sure.

"No, not all, but . . . most have men like him, somewhere."

The girl looked down. "Then there is no hope, anywhere," she said. "I've done this for nothing."

"No!" Daniel said, surprising himself with his vehemence. "No, there is hope. There is always hope. There are Liosses everywhere, but there are people everywhere who have risen up to fight them—and won. We might not win here today, but somewhere, someday. . . ." Daniel stopped, realizing how foolish his words must sound to them, to talk about hope when their—and his—most likely future was torture and death.

But the girl said, "Tell us of a place like that. Tell us of a people who won."

The others were looking at him now, all of them, waiting to hear what he would say, and he realized that this, a story of a better place, was all he could offer them now. No one had brought them more water and he couldn't unlock their chains or lessen their pain, but he could at least do that, at least tell them a story. He had hours yet to figure out what to do when Lioss returned; surely a few minutes couldn't hurt.

So Daniel started to tell them of Abydos. He told them there was a terrible, cruel tyrant who had enslaved its people for thousands of years until they had risen up and vanquished him, and how the people had learned again to live in freedom. He told them of the celebrations, of the joy the people found in living without fear, and how they built on their already just society to create a thriving, wonderful world.

Daniel's throat was so dry his voice croaked and cracked as he spoke, but he saw that the girl and her family wanted to hear more, and he too almost became lost in his story as he painted a picture of the world he had come to love more than the one he was born to. He talked of the mischievous boys and the laughing girls and the desert sunsets and the—

The door slammed open with a crash, making Daniel jump and the girl cry out. Four soldiers he hadn't seen before burst in, carrying long, swordlike blades at their sides, and instead of the black uniforms with the lightning-bolt insignia, they wore gray uniforms with what looked like a wolf's head on the shoulders.

"Father?" the boy's said, fear making his voice rise.

"No one speaks!" shouted one of the soldiers, taking up a position to the right of the prisoners, and the father, who'd started to answer, instead closed his eyes and started to mouth words quickly and silently, as if in prayer.

"What's happening. . . ?" Daniel started to say, rising from the chair, but one of the men clamped a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down, then twisted his head roughly so he was facing the door. Daniel winced at the twinge of pain in his neck as another man he'd never seen before, a civilian, came through carrying some kind of alien technology—not Polistian, not Earth—followed by Lioss.

Lioss's eyes were black with rage, and Daniel knew without a doubt that he'd discovered Daniel's deception. But how? Daniel's mind scrambled to figure out what had gone wrong. There had barely been time to set foot on the planet, never mind make it to the city and back. How could they. . . ?

His thoughts were interrupted when the civilian, who looked scared to death, placed the alien machine on the table in front of Daniel, then glanced once at Lioss and practically ran from the room. Lioss stepped up to Daniel and swung his arm , backhanding him so hard in the face that Daniel almost fell from the chair. If Daniel hadn't been drugged, he knew, the pain would have exploded in his head, but still, it hurt, and he realized even in the middle of his fear and confusion that there was a dull throbbing in his hand as well, that there had been for some time. Whatever they'd given him was already wearing off.

"You dare to lie to me!" Lioss screamed at him.

"Lie?" Daniel said. "I didn't lie. . . ."

Lioss struck him in the face again, splitting his lip and knocking his head backward into the chair.

"I warned you what would happen," Lioss spat, "and you send my emissaries to a deserted world?"

"Deserted? No!" Daniel protested. "There are thousands. . . ."

Lioss raised his hand again and Daniel flinched, but this time the madman punched a button on the contraption on the table. There was a low buzz, then a tinny voice could be heard. It was a recording device. Daniel recognized the language as Solkin, but he couldn't speak or understand it, and he knew Lioss and his soldiers couldn't either. So what could be on the recording that had given him away? Then there was a brief silence and the same voice began to speak in Goa'uld, and Daniel's heart dropped as he realized what the recording was. It was a warning. The Solkin had left a warning at the Gate about the dangers of their planet. Christ, that hadn't been in the reports, had it? How could he have missed that the Solkin had left a warning? And then the voice said something else, still in Goa'uld, and Daniel felt the bile rise in his throat. It wasn't just a warning; it was a thank-you. They were thanking the SGC for finding them a new home.

Daniel closed his eyes, knowing what was coming, and sure enough, after another pause, the voice began to speak in English, the one language shared by all three worlds.