Chapter 12
Thug Two had barely released Daniel's jaw when the pain exploded in him like a hand grenade hitting an ammo dump. His legs jerked off the floor, his hands yanked spasmodically against the chains and his eyes rolled back in his head. A shriek started in his gut and burst from his lungs, splitting the funereal silence of the room and growing until his already abused vocal cords finally gave out, leaving his mouth still gaping in an almost silent howl.
His arms were released and then he was being dragged by the armpits through the stick and stink of the blood on the floor, then across cool stone to dry dirt, his body twisting and hopping, not his own. Images appeared before his eyes and vanished, bright lights, high ceilings, night sky. Thoughts stuttered into his head, shattered then came together again, still cracked.
He didn't know how long or how far he was dragged. His body jolted of its own accord away from his captors once and he fell to the ground on his broken hand, and impossibly the agony grew, and he found himself trying to talk, to beg, "P-p-pl-," but he couldn't form the words.
Surely he couldn't survive this? Surely death would take him now?
But . . . no.
He was lifted again, dragged farther, then lowered, his mouth eating dirt as his face jerked across the ground. He waited for the clang of the cell door and the receding stomp of boots, but instead he heard the shuffling of numerous feet and the murmur of voices near and far and most oddly the distressed cry of an infant. He opened his eyes at that and tried to control his movements enough to lift his head and see where he was, what new horror awaited him. Clenching his jaw with the effort, he pulled his face from the dirt and held his head still for long enough to look up.
Looming above him, glinting in the night sky, was the Stargate.
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Jack stilled the drumming of his fingers and the nervous shaking of his leg as he caught Hammond's look. He put his feet flat on the floor and clenched his fists instead and tried to focus on the conversation going on around the briefing room table. But, goddammit, the waiting was going to kill him. Carter, thank God, was going to be O.K., but Daniel. . . . Jesus, they didn't even know if Daniel was alive or dead, and all they could do was sit here and wait. Wait for that walking dead man Lioss—because the man was oh-so-dead when Jack caught up with him—to contact them and wait for the damn Tok'ra High Council to let them know if they could have a ship, even though Jack already knew in his bones that they wouldn't help. Helmet-head, or whatever his name was, had done his best, he knew. Jack had heard the message the odd little Tok'ra had sent to the council. It had been persuasive and surprisingly . . . passionate.
Passionate. Now there was a word Jack had never before associated with the Tok'ra. Arrogant. Self-centered. Cold sons of . . . ." Except for Selmak, and maybe, grudgingly, Marty, Jack had no use for any of them. But this Helmet-head guy had actually sounded as if he cared. And maybe he did. Because, if what he was saying was true, he was not your everyday, average Tok'ra. No spying, no plotting, no death-defying missions for him, unless he accidentally walked into danger—which was apparently what he had just done, causing Jacob to run to his rescue. No, he was, of all things, a historian, traveling from world to world throughout the galaxy collecting the inhabitants' stories, reading their texts, studying their cultures. As far as Jack could tell, he was—they were, since apparently both host and snake shared this thirst for knowledge—pretty much the closest thing the Tok'ra had to a Daniel.
Not that this guy or anyone, Tok'ra or human. . . .
"Colonel O'Neill? Colonel. O'Neill."
General Hammond's increasingly insistent voice finally made its way into Jack's consciousness, and he looked up with an apologetic grimace.
"General?"
Hammond gave a slight shake to his head, but said more patiently than Jack was owed, "Helemut was wondering if there is anything else you could tell us about the Polistian society that might be relevant."
Relevant? Jack wondered. What the hell could be relevant? If they didn't have a ship and couldn't go through the Gate, they could talk about the "Polistian society" until they were blue in the face and it wouldn't do them a damn bit of good. But since he couldn't voice that opinion without facing a court martial, he looked at Teal'c, who sat by his side in that preternaturally still yet coiled way he had when he was spoiling for action.
"Teal'c," he asked, "you have anything?"
Teal'c stared back at him for a moment, and then said, "As I have just explained, the people of PX0-4593 possess a retrograde culture apparently enforced upon them in the distant past by a victorious enemy, and the present leader of their government is a sadistic megalomaniac intent on returning his people to their days of military glory. To that I have nothing to add."
Jack blinked. It was so bizarre to hear the normally taciturn Jaffa come out with that speech that for a moment Jack wondered if he was caught in a very, very poorly written dream. Was it his imagination, or was everyone beginning to sound like Daniel? Not wanting to pursue that line of thought further, he decided to put off any smart-ass comment about Teal'c's sudden burst of eloquence and turned to the Tok'ra across the table. "Yeah," he said, "that about covers it." And then, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice, he added, "For all the good it will do us."
Helmet-head, clearly not oblivious to Jack's tone and equally clearly used to hearing one like it, said evenly, "I understand that the information I seek may seem irrelevant, Colonel. However, we have often found that gathering as much knowledge as possible about the place or people in question has proved useful. As we are forced to wait for the High Council and for contact by the Polistians, I had hoped to contribute in the only other way I could."
Before Jack could formulate the apology he knew the man was owed, another voice piped in—"I may be able to help with that"— causing Jack and the rest of the people in the room to turn in surprise toward the door.
"Carter? Shouldn't you be. . . .?"
"I'm fine, sir," she said, avoiding his gaze, and one only had to look at her to know that wasn't the case—truth be told, she looked as if a stiff wind could knock her down. He glanced at Jacob, who'd come in hard on his daughter's heels, but he only gave a look and a gesture that clearly said, "You try and stop her!"
Hammond also ignored Carter's obvious falsehood, saying only, "Major, I am happy to see you up and around. May I assume that Dr. Fraiser has released you?"
"Yes, sir," she responded, but Jack noticed the roll of Jacob's eyes and thought he had a pretty good idea of how that "release" had come about. He had no doubt Hammond did as well, but the general said, only, "Then have a seat. This is Helemut and the host Gerrard. They are the Tok'ra's cultural experts."
Rather than mirror Jack's own amazement at the title, so incongruous for the single-minded Tok'ra, Carter only nodded and said, "Helemut, yes. Daniel has told me how much he's looked forward to meeting you. He, he, uh. . . ." The words caught in her throat, and Jack watched her struggled for a moment to compose herself before she said, "I'm very happy to meet you as well."
So Daniel knew about this guy, Jack thought. Of course he did. And of course he'd shared with Carter and not with his CO, knowing, no doubt, that mention of a Tok'ra historian would have elicited just another in a long line of sarcastic remarks. Such a small thing, and yet Jack for a moment had to tamp down his own urge to cry. Damn it, Daniel.
"Have a seat, both of you," Hammond said, gesturing to Jacob and Carter. "Major, you said you might be able to help?"
"Yes, sir," Carter said, allowing her father to pull out a chair for her across from Jack and Teal'c and sitting down with a studied nonchalance that didn't fool anyone. She was so not fine. Her eyes passed over him, hesitated and skittered away, and he remembered his harsh words in the infirmary and winced. He was lucky all she did was avoid eye contact.
"We haven't heard from the High Council yet?" Carter was saying.
Hammond shot Jack a warning glance, cutting off any sarcastic or bitter remark, before he said, "No, not yet."
She nodded, obviously not surprised, but didn't comment. Instead she paused, then began, hesitatingly, as if expecting to be shot down, "All right. I know this may seem . . . stupid. . . ."
Jack could almost feel Teal'c's raised eyebrow at the idea that anything Carter could come up with could be "stupid," but before he could say so, Hammond, beat him to it. "I seriously doubt that, Major. Please continue."
She hesitated again, then nodded to herself, and began, "I was studying Daniel's notes on PX. . . ." She glanced at the Tok'ra and amended, "on Polistia, and he thought—thinks—that after they lost a war to a more powerful enemy, it was made illegal, punishable by death, to create an army or any military force." Hemet-head nodded. "Right," Sam continued. "Well, I know it's a long shot, but I thought that . . . maybe . . . we could use that somehow. Daniel says that even after all these centuries, many people seem to believe the aliens are still watching, waiting to punish them if they stray from the law. I thought that if we could somehow convince the Polistians that the aliens knew of their army, that they were returning. . . ."
"Do you know the name of this alien race?" the Tok'ra asked.
"Maybe," Sam said. "Daniel thought it was something like Omaygee or. . . ."
Jack kept his face neutral as Sam talked, or at least he tried to, but she'd lost him after the first couple of sentences. He understood her need to find something in Daniel's notes, to do anything to help while she was lying in that infirmary bed, he really did. And he guessed he understood her need to hang on to the idea now. It was a way to hang on to Daniel, to keep him present. And, as much as he itched to get through the Gate and start shooting people, he was as aware as she was of the odds they were up against, the need for a better plan. But this half-baked plot. . . . Damn it to hell, he thought, his impatience rising again to the surface despite his best efforts. If they weren't able to launch a rescue mission soon, he was going to go stark raving mad.
As if in answer to his thoughts, he noticed Teal'c turn toward the Gate, then he felt it, the minute tremor that always proceeded Gate activation. Sure enough, the Gate started to spin and the alarms started to blare. Hammond stood up and without waiting to discover who was dialing in, picked up the phone, said only, "Sergeant. . . ." Almost immediately a voice commanded over the P.A., "SGs 3, 7, 8 and 12, report to the Gate room!" Jack glanced through the glass to the left of the Gate, where his and Teal'c's gear lay at the ready and several small crates of Goa'uld shock grenades sat, then toward Walter in the control room, who was pushing buttons and staring intently at his screen. Kovachek appeared as if out of nowhere and slid into the seat next to the master sergeant.
Tok'ra or Polistians? he wondered. Or an emergency with one of the two teams still off-world? Jack waited with barely concealed impatience until General Hammond stood and said, "All right, people," and walked around the table to the door, then Jack jumped up to follow, with Teal'c, Sam and the two Tok'ra in his wake. They crowded into the control room just as the last chevron locked and the light the event horizon flashed behind the closed iris. Jack went to stand next to Hammond, and he felt Sam and Teal'c at his back. Below them, the teams assigned to the rescue began to file into the Gate room.
Walter, without looking back, stated, "It's Polistia, sir," at the signal from the MALP. Jack felt the usual pre-mission tightening in his gut along with rush of anxiety as he stared at the viewscreen. In front of him Kovachek took a deep breath, straightened up and pulled his face into a mask of calm as if Lioss could somehow see his expression.
"We're getting MALP feed, sir," Walter said a moment later and pushed slightly away from the console so the others could see.
Night had fallen on the planet, and the images shimmered in the weak electric and torch light. There was movement, a flash of dark material, then the camera shifted, showing first a moonlit sky, then a familiar, hated face: Lioss.
Kovachek didn't hesitate, speaking first to take control of the negotiation. "Marshall Lioss. We have gathered much of. . . ."
"Silence!" Lioss practically screamed, cutting Kovachek off midsentence. Jack shook his head—the man seemed to have taken another step toward total breakdown. His face was red with anger, and spittle flew from his mouth. Worse, his skin and clothes were splattered with what looked an awful lot like blood, and Jack's anxiety increased tenfold as he considered what kind of injury could have caused it.
Kovachek began again, sounding for all the world as if he hadn't been interrupted, "Marshall Lioss, I don't believe. . . ."
"I said silence! You wished to see your Doctor Jackson. Here he is."
Jack leaned forward in anticipation. They'd done it. The Polistians had brought Daniel to the Gate. But the question was. . . . He tamped down hard on the horrific thought, brought on by the sight of all that blood, that Lioss was about to show them Daniel's mangled body.
Someone out of view of the MALP camera brought a torch closer as Lioss stepped away, revealing a partial figure twitching on the ground at the bottom of the screen. Before Hammond could give the order, Walter had the MALP tilt the camera down and zoom in. The figure was dressed in local garb and his face was turned away, but there was no doubt; it was unmistakably Daniel, and he was, unmistakably, alive.
Jack gave a brief nod to Hammond, who gave a tight-lipped nod back as a large man squatted by Daniel and, struggling to hang on to his jerking form, lifted him up and turned him toward the camera. His head hung down, but they could now hear an almost whispered moaning, a low, hoarse sound that kept cutting off and starting again. It hurt to hear it.
Then a meaty hand reached into view and pulled Daniel's head up by the hair.
Son of a bitch.
Even knowing that Daniel had been beaten, even accepting that the poison was torturing him as they watched, it was a shock to see his face.
Kovachek put his hand over the mike as Carter gasped behind them and Teal'c let out a low growl. The major himself closed his eyes for a brief moment, but Jack, and Hammond beside him, continued to stare.
A large bruise covered one of Daniel's cheeks. Both eyes were blackened, and his lip was bloodied and swollen. A cut still bled from his scalp, and another stretched across the other cheek. And clearly visible, even in the flickering light, were the red and purple marks of fingerprints around his neck. His unfocused eyes bulged in pain, and his mouth was stretched in an awful grimace, and at first he didn't even seem to see the MALP in front of him, but then his vision seemed to clear and it looked like he was staring right at them. He opened his mouth wider to say something, but it was as if he couldn't form the words, and he instead raised his hand and reached toward the camera.
Without thinking, Jack leaned closer to the console, wanting to call to Daniel, tell him they were coming for him, but Kovachek kept his hand firmly in place on the mike and shook his head, their relative rank be damned. Hammond backed Kovachek up with a quiet, "Colonel," and Jack pulled away and then watched helplessly as Daniel's head suddenly jerked back so hard it slipped from the hand's grasp, and his body convulsed and a strangled shriek escaped him. "Oh, Daniel," Carter whispered behind them, and Jack suspected she was reliving her own nightmare as she watched.
Kovachek took his hand from the mike, his eyes hard with anger. But again speaking calmly, as if nothing were amiss, he started to say, "Dr. Jackson, we. . . ."
"Take him!" Lioss's voice ordered, cutting the major off once again, and the man who was still holding Daniel up started to drag him away.
"Follow them," Hammond ordered quietly, but before the MALP could swing around, Lioss stepped in front of the camera again, blocking Daniel and his captor from sight.
Walter turned toward the general, who sighed and nodded, and Walter raised the angle of the MALP again so they were looking in the Polistian leader's face.
Kovachek, knowing the urgency of getting the teams through the Gate while Daniel was still nearby, wasted no time on recriminations or threats: "Very well, Marshall. Now that we have seen that Dr. Jackson is still alive, we only require the antidote, and then we can begin to send some of the weapons you've asked for. Obviously. . . ."
"Yes, you will send the weapons," Lioss spat. "But first, we need something else from you if you wish to see your man ever again and if you wish to save both your people from unbearable agony and death."
"Something else?" Kovachek said, and waited. He looked a question back at Jack and Hammond, but both men shook their heads. They had no idea what the maniac would come up with now.
"Gate addresses. Isn't that what you call them? You will give us Gate addresses of twenty worlds more primitive than ours, and you will do so immediately."
Crap.
Kovachek opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. His frowned, and Jack could see the furious thought process going on behind his eyes. String him along, Jack urged silently. We just need to get through the Gate. While the pause seemed interminable to Jack, he knew only seconds had passed before Kovachek broke his silence. "Marshall Lioss," he said, "this is highly irregular. We had a deal."
Lioss began to sputter, but this time Kovachek cut him off, and, surprisingly, Lioss let him speak. "Hear me out, please. There may be some worlds we can give you—after all, we are not friends with them all—but I will have to check again with my superiors and we will have to review our options. In the meantime, in case you doubt our sincerity, we are prepared to bring you through several crates of weapons to show our good faith. We will do so immediately. In return, we hope you will send the antidote for Major Carter."
The people in the control room held their collective breath as they waited for Lioss to answer.
The madman stared stonily into the MALP camera for a full 30 seconds. Finally, he said, slowly, enunciating each word, his voice filled with venom, "Do you take me for an idiot?"
"Certainly, Marshall, you don't suspect that. . . ?" Kovachek began.
"Two hours."
"Two hours?"
"You will provide the Gate addresses in two hours. Provide those, and I will believe in your 'good faith.' Once we have investigated some of the worlds you have given us, we will take the weapons. And then you will have the antidote and Doctor Jackson. Fail to provide the Gate addresses, or should the addresses prove to be unsuitable, these negotiations will be at an end. Your Major Carter will die, and your Doctor Jackson . . . your Doctor Jackson will not die."
Lioss smiled at that, a sick, frightening smile that left no doubt what he meant, left no doubt what not dying would mean for Daniel.
"Two hours," he repeated, then started to turn away and stopped. He turned back slowly and smiled again. "And do not let my promise to not kill Dr. Jackson encourage you to attempt to come through the Great Circle. We will kill him if we must. And as added security, we have moved our youngest prisoners to the base of the Circle. They, of course, will die the instant the blue well erupts. . . . Take a look if you must."
He stepped back and gestured behind the MALP toward the Gate.
Hammond sighed. "Let's see it, Sergeant."
The MALP turned slowly, panning past the mostly deserted square, until it came upon a huddled group mere feet from the Gate. Children, not one of them more than ten years old. The oldest, a little girl, held an infant. Some of the little ones were crying, but most just sat silently, despair in their eyes.
"Marshall Lioss, this is hardly necessary. We. . . ."
"Two hours," Lioss's voice repeated from somewhere behind the camera. And then the event horizon blinked out.
There was dead silence in the control room as they all stared at the blank screen. "I'm sorry, sir" Kovachek said. "I should have handled that differently. I. . . .
"Nothing you could have said would have made a difference, Major," Hammond said, then he leaned forward and punched a button on the console: "Stand down, people," he ordered. "We have . . . " he hesitated, and Carter said, "An hour and 38 minutes," supplying the difference in time for the shorter Polistian day.
". . . .an hour and a half," Hammond continued.
Jack swallowed hard, the vision of a battered Daniel reaching his hand out to them replaying itself in his head. No, there was no way. . . . "No, sir," he said out loud.
"Colonel?" Hammond queried. He could feel the eyes of his teammates and the two Tok'ra on him. Walter and Kovachek kept their eyes forward.
"No, sir," Jack repeated. "We can't wait. Daniel's by the Gate; we have to go now."
"Colonel," Hammond said, "you can't be suggesting that we activate the Polistian Gate with those children sitting in front of it."
"Yes, sir," Jack said. Then, "No, sir." He rubbed his hand through his hair. "No, sir." Shame mixed with his frustration. What would Daniel think of him now? It didn't matter that he truly believed that those children would be killed by Lioss anyway. He could never have a hand in something like that. He knew it, and everyone in the room knew it. "I'm sorry, General."
A quiet voice intruded, and Jack realized it was Helmet-head's host speaking. "We may be able to help. I believe we know of the race Major Carter spoke of. . . ."
Jack couldn't help himself. His anger and frustration rose to the surface again, and he spun to face Jacob and his egg-head colleague. "Yes, you can help! You can get us a damn ship!"
"Jack," Jacob said, a reprimand in his tone that only aggravated him further. "I've told you already that the likelihood of an available ship. . . ."
"Hell, Jacob!" Jack said, pointing his finger as he spoke. "We went to Hell to bring you back, or have you forgotten that?"
"Colonel O'Neill!"
Jack spun again to face his CO, more angry words on lips, but years of military discipline and the enormous respect he had for the man in front of him came into play, and he held them back . . . just barely.
"Sir?" he ground out instead.
"In my office, Colonel!"
"Yes, sir."
Hammond then turned to Helmet-head. "I would like to hear what you have to say, Helemut. If you would all meet me in the briefing room in ten minutes, and we will discuss our options. . . ." He looked at Jack, anger still flashing in his eyes. " . . . This won't take long."
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Sam felt sick to her stomach. She watched as Colonel O'Neill followed General Hammond out of the control room, then turned to Teal'c. "They tortured him," she said, failing to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice. It was obvious they'd known and not told her. "Not just with the poison; they. . . ."
"Yes," Teal'c replied.
"I don't understand. Why? For what?" How much worse could they have wanted his pain to be?
"They believed he would give them the addresses to other worlds which they now seek from us."
Sam almost gaped at Teal'c. Of course, that's why Lioss made his new demand. But how had Daniel. . . . How could he have withstood. . . ? She had been ready to die, and she hadn't. . . . Oh, God, Daniel.
"Teal'c," she said, "We can't leave him like that. The colonel's right. We have to do something now."
She felt everyone looking at her—her father and Helemut, who'd been conversing quietly by the door; Sergeant Harriman, Kovachek—and knew she was sounding less than rational, but she didn't care. They didn't understand what the pain was like, couldn't know how even the prick of a needle had sent waves of agony through her, how she'd lain for hours feeling as if she were engulfed in flames. And Daniel? Daniel's suffering had to be. . . .
She turned to the others in the control room. "No, I don't mean activate the Gate on Polistia, but we have to find another way, and we have to do it now."
"Sam," her father interrupted.
"No, Dad, you don't understand. . . ."
"Sam," he said more insistently. "I think you should listen to what Helemut has to say."
Something in his tone stopped her. She knew she wasn't acting herself, knew that her urge to scream at him, scream at all of them, wouldn't help, would just result in her own trip to General Hammond's office, or worse, back to the infirmary. And if Helemut thought he could help, she knew they should listen. Sam took a deep breath, and nodded.
Her dad lowered his head, then looked up again and Selmak said, "Please tell them what you have told us, Helemut."
"I believe I know of the race Dr. Jackson referred to. . . . And I believe they may help."
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Daniel didn't even bother trying to pull himself off the floor this time when they unbarred the door to his cell. Another shock of pain ran through him, starting in his gut and spreading outward to his limbs, and he let out a sob as his muscles spasmed. He was long past caring if they heard him cry; he was long past anything but hanging on until they came. If they came.
He'd been at the Stargate. They'd shown him the MALP. Had anyone seen him? Was anyone on the other side?
As if hearing his thoughts, the man who'd opened his cell came and squatted down on the muddy floor by Daniel's filthy, trembling form and said, "They won't negotiate, your friends. We thought they valued you more than that. They know what you suffer, yet they leave you here." The man made a tsk-ing sound, then mused, as if to himself, "Perhaps we should have kept the woman instead."
And then he left, barring the door behind him.
"Sam?" Daniel whispered as the man's words sank in. The fog cleared from his brain long enough to wonder if she was suffering as he was and to pray she wasn't, and wondered too who had entered his cell. Not Lioss, not Gahry, no Gahry was dead. Gahry was dead, wasn't he? Then someone else assigned to him, another minister of torture, some other. . . . Where was Jack? Was Jack watching him through the MALP? Was Jack dead, had he killed Jack . . . where. . . ? And a voice whispered in his ear, Spare my children, please, and the blood flew outward from the wounds as the swords, oh, god, oh, god. . . . Daniel's thoughts swirled back into the fog as the pain rose up and embraced him again, a thick gauze of agony wrapping itself about his skin, his heart, his every organ, his muscles contracting and releasing, his limbs jerking, back arching, gut clenching, almost without end now, the flames eating him from inside out.
Jack?