Chapter 39 - Details
The next day was the first step into hell. A slave brought prepared breakfast to Sam and Jolinar early in the day, and though they were already alert, it was all they could do to ignore him. They had no sympathy for slaves, not now, they couldn't. After eating the bare minimum, Jolinar determined that they needed to solidify their control.
And it was properly intuited, Sam realized as soon as they left the commander's complex. Murmurs, whispers, followed them as they scanned their new domain. No dirty looks—yet—and no outright demonstrations. But Sam knew as well as Jolinar just how proud the Jaffa were, and despite their allegations Toc'no had not been a bad leader. He had enough flaws to give their words worth, but more than anything Sam and Jolinar needed to prove that they were better.
And that would take time. To start, they would prove themselves Toc'no's equal. Hard, a little cold, dismissive of inferiors until they proved useful. The only thing that was not in Jolinar's favor for this role was her naturally impressive voice having to be stifled. Sam had been surprised that it did not bother her when they first pretended to be Jaffa, but Jolinar "used" her voice when they thought to each other, and so hearing it come from her own mouth barely affected Sam. It may have been because Jolinar's tone and words were always different; the distinction was handy among the Tok'ra for those who did not know them well, but anyone who did could tell the difference between the two, voice alteration or not.
After their first round, however, Sam hinted to Jolinar that being too proud would do them no good. She had succeeded for some through humility, through earnestness, as well as initiative. Dropping a few appreciative comments would not ruin the image, Sam assured her. And unlike yesterday, Jolinar amended her role just a little. Sam was proud of them both when the barely-heard comments diminished in a single day. Not gone, not yet, but they were already making progress.
*It is easier to infiltrate a warrior society like this,* Jolinar commented late in the day. *The Goa'uld are proud but suspicious and selfish of their own power, and only cunning will take it from them. Jaffa respect power, and are willing to serve under a leader they trust.*
~They are a much better people than those who enslave them,~ Sam agreed.
Even so, it was not a firm victory. And it wouldn't be, Jolinar told her, until an even higher authority approved. Hierarchy would win out in the end. In the meantime, the only thing they could do was build up a reputation that satisfied their claims.
By candlelight, Sam absorbed the information on the maps in Toc'no's quarters. She couldn't understand the words, but maps rarely needed words. Her finger traced over the lines of roads and rivers and ridges, from the vast farming fields stretching far beyond the settlement up to the temple and the Stargate on the high ground. The temple was being built in the foothills of a mountain range, with a lake to the north (or the top—the map had no compass) that fed the plains below with an exorbitant wetness. Sam didn't know much geography, but in a place as tropical as this part of the world, surely those fields must flood on a regular basis.
She tried to remember the offerings of the temple, and though there were foreign and bright-colored foods, there had also been a high amount of breads and grains, legumes, and spices. They must have been imported; Sam guessed that Quetesh was an Egyptian god like many of the other Goa'uld, and had acquired a taste for their cuisine. Why she chose this planet, then, was odd, given its Central American landscape. But that wasn't Sam's goal; she wondered, for the sake of this role, if there was anything inefficient to fix.
Water supply was not it; being in the foothills, there were aqueducts from cold mountain springs that could be warmed before entering the temple. Several wells graced the villages as well. Heat was also not an issue, given the water in the air and the sharp angle of the sun. Even their elevation did not alleviate it all. But with both heat and water, there came mud and exhaustion. Perhaps in the temple it was shady and cool, but even in one day there were two reports of a malfunction of some operation due to heat stroke of the slaves.
~Help me, Jolinar; I'm not experienced in organizing a workforce, but there's got to be something wrong here.~
*From the Goa'uld point of view, possibly not,* Jolinar commented. *But given Quetesh's limited resources and sharp mind, she might approve of a more lenient and effective division of labor, even if her Jaffa are less willing.*
~Okay, maybe, but we can't ruin the standing we have here in hopes that Quetesh will weigh the idea and find it worth it.~
*True, but we can start with small steps.*
~Such as forcing the "weak" slaves to be put in confinement until they are worthy to serve?~
*Untraditional, but understandable. Yes.*
~And what about paving the roads and strengthening the levies in the fields, Roman style.~
Jolinar paused to look over the pictures that Sam dredged from her memories of history classes to display in her mind. *I have seen similar designs before, strangely enough. But regardless, it is good enough.*
~You know what else I'm thinking? Night shifts. Spread the duties so that there's always work going on. Less people in one spot, less traffic, less overseeing necessary, and houses can be shared.~
*That's going too far; a good plan, but not yet.*
It was dark, the moon barely shining through the cloud cover, and Sam and Jolinar were weary. There had been anxiety and worry during the day, as well as a lot of energy spent on focusing on and absorbing everything they needed to know. They had to appear as if they knew exactly how this place ran, and exactly how it should run. Sam might have picked up on a few ideas, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. After all, they were just good guesses. Sam had always led based on orders; Jolinar had given those orders to others. Neither had management experience, and it was a terrifying prospect.
Still, with two minds on the task, nothing could be truly called impossible. That was one thing the Jaffa didn't have, and both Sam and Jolinar were determined to make it work for them in this circumstance.
ooooooo
"Ow! Hey, stop that!"
Daniel could recognize those sharp tones a mile off, and he was surprised that he didn't hear an answering rebuke from Janet. As he looked in the infirmary, however, he saw that Janet was nowhere in sight.
Mckay's bed was tilted upright in a seated position, his hand unbandaged for the first time since the injury as far as Daniel knew. A doctor that Daniel did not recognize was trying very hard not to frown as she supported his hand and held some instrument in hers. Of course, Daniel was curious as to why.
"Be careful—that can't be fixed if it's broken, you know!" Mckay protested as the doctor did something.
"Dear god, Doctor Mckay, if you can't understand that I'm an expert then I have no faith in the intelligence of the base's population," the doctor said with rising frustration still contained in her tone. Daniel came close enough to read the tag on her coat—Dr. Brymon. She appeared in her mid-to-late thirties, round faced and of average height, a dark brunette with distracting wisps of hair curling from around her regulation topknot.
"Jackson, what do you want?" Mckay asked, noticing Daniel as he stood on Mckay's right side.
"Something going on?" Daniel asked, a hint of innocence in his tone.
"Dr. Daniel Jackson?" asked Dr. Brymon. Daniel nodded and she offered a hand. "Lois Brymon, physiotherapist."
Daniel shook it warmly. "I didn't realize we had that need; pleasure to meet you, though."
"Oh, I deal with physical training as well, mostly for non-military recruits," Brymon answered, effectively ignoring Mckay in a way that had Daniel impressed, and the scientist ticked off. "But unfortunately, there is a call for my specialty as well."
"If you can call poking an injury a specialty, beyond the usual horrors of what Frasier calls modern medicine," Mckay grumbled, dragging the other two's attention back somewhat reluctantly.
Daniel looked inquiringly to Brymon, and she sighed. "It is essential to keep track of the nature of the damage, which in this case involves serious neural disrupture." She indicated the wound, and Daniel felt obliged to look.
Even six days after the bite, it looked sickly and pale, at least where the skin was undamaged. Thicker spines and some spines clustered together had torn parts of Mckay's hand, adding small gashes to the overall puncture wounds that covered it. Swollen, in some areas slightly inflamed, and in others looking clammy and marked by dead tissue, it was a ghastly sight. Daniel didn't enjoy the view, and couldn't begrudge Mckay for any more-than-usual snippiness, especially if it hurt as much as it seemed to.
"Is that good?" he asked after a slight swallow.
"Oh yes," Brymon answered, eyebrows rising a little. "Judging by his condition now, it is likely that the serious damage is minimal. It may take a few weeks to show any progress at all, but I have no doubt that it will happen."
"I'm right here," Mckay protested.
"Yes," said Brymon, swinging her head towards him. "And when you have a civilized and/or relevant comment, I will oblige your ego with a response." She closed her eyes and exhaled. "Well, that was unprofessional of me."
Mckay gave her the eye.
"Believe me, any little pain now will be worth the recovery," Brymon continued, speaking directly to Mckay.
"I don't believe it, but as nothing I say will get you to do otherwise, do what you came to do," Mckay conceded. Had both his arms been free, Daniel had no doubt he would have crossed them. As it was, he settled for just a not-going-willingly look.
"Apart from this, how are you doing?" Daniel asked Mckay, trying to distract him as Dr. Brymon lightly touched various areas of his hand to check for sensation.
His attitude was gone, and a slight nervousness remained. "There is nothing to do here," he said, flinching a little at each touch. "And not only can I not go to my lab, I am not allowed near any chemicals that aren't medicinal, nor any electrical currents or energy fields. Which means that the theoretical part of my title? Gets a lot more use than usual."
Daniel nodded, feeling automatic sympathy for the weary boredom in the mans' voice. Mckay was tough to live with (not that Daniel thought he himself was easy, but that was no matter), but he and Daniel shared a same basic instinct that covered a multitude of sins. "Well, the team's off missions along with you," he said.
"So no gloating?" Mckay answered.
"No," Daniel said with a slight smile.
Mckay nodded, trying to hide a mixture of relief and pleasure that Daniel caught anyway. He wasn't that great of an actor, and his attachment to the team he hadn't wanted to join was becoming apparent.
"Well, I have a lot of backlog to go through," Daniel said with a sigh, "so I'm just as limited. I think Jack and Dixon will be accompanying some return trips to various planets, but Teal'c and I are here if you need anything, you know."
"I really don't think Teal'c's role is called for here," said Mckay with a significant look.
Daniel nodded with a bit of a smile. "Possibly not. Although Jaffa entertainment might be interesting; not something he discusses, but who knows?"
"Well, all done now," said Brymon, making the last mark on her chart. "Dr. Mckay, you will not lose basic function of your hand."
"Really?" Mckay looked to her, nervousness gone.
"No, I lied to you," she intoned, rolling her eyes. They shared a slight glare, and she continued. "I will have a physical therapy schedule ready, and we can work the first steps later this week. I'll talk to Frasier about making sure you're taking good care of it while you're here."
With a nod of farewell, Daniel finished his curious visit and went on to his own business.
ooooooo
One advantage to dealing with slaves instead of free populations was that they didn't have many questions for their authorities. Not "are you qualified?", or "did you win fair and square?". Just, "do you have the right?" And that was much easier to answer. Sam and Jolinar made it through their first full day with a few bumps and hurdles, but the dawn of the second had no such issues.
It did, however, have its own. Most of the Jaffa accepted, even if still perhaps slightly grudgingly, that Sam and Jolinar (going by the name of Coron) were in command, and brought all of their complaints and problems to them accordingly. Jolinar found herself floundering in the mass of concerns and thoughts that distracted from her focus. She was on the edge of losing her control. Sam jumped in, more at ease with the chaos, but her lack of knowledge had her on edge in case she might say something wrong. And they couldn't afford a mistake; Sam and Jolinar's lines of communication stayed busy through the whole day, sharing the information the only way they could, even if it meant that Jolinar had no time to regain a cool-headed view of the situation.
They did get things done, though. At the first report of exhaustion, Sam ordered that the weak slaves be imprisoned for their impotence, and that the stronger slaves be forced to do their work. It was just enough to keep the sting of guilt tolerable; better heaping burden on those who could handle it than work those who couldn't to death. After all, they were there to fix this, eventually. They just had to be patient.
Those were just the slaves, as well. The Jaffa, Sam and Jolinar among them, festered in their heavy metal armor as the sun rose and scorched the earth. Flies buzzed, the only clouds in the clear air, and the clay beneath their feet only reflected the heat back like an oven wall. It was torment, and the Jaffa showed it. But Jolinar's frustration backed hers, and this time they didn't let it get the best of them. Sam funneled it into forcing every muscle to obey and maintain the outward appearance of control. It was the one thing that would keep the Jaffa in line, a reminder of who was leading and why they deserved it.
It was almost the last thing of the day, but Sam remembered another idea. Jolinar hesitated, cautioning against the possible sign of weakness, but Sam had her knowledge.
~If there is one thing that these Jaffa are striving for, it is honor and glory, in whatever form. If their CO gives them that, their pride, no matter how little inflated, will not let them see it as a choice of weakness.~
*And those who are not chosen?*
Sam took a moment for thought, and then came back with her answer.
Keeping her tone firm and smooth, she called the four Jaffa who had been least supportive of her. Not saying why, just giving the order to bring back continual reports, she placed sections of the world under their charge. ~Those who are loyal already, will stay so; those who are not yet, I have now given the gift of power.~
*You may not be a warrior, but you have the makings of a powerful leader,* Jolinar answered.
And there was no backlash. Toc'no may have known enough about the planet to keep it all straight, but neither Sam nor Jolinar noticed any Jaffa assuming that Coron should know the same. Not yet. Succeeding this far had put her in a place where she was owed a chance.
*Even more so,* Jolinar commented as the daylight fell and the temperatures and composures settled, *they have no other recourse; they would not dare to usurp another commander after such a recent coup. It would be blasphemy. You would have to provide an overwhelming error to even move their minds in that direction.*
~Which makes me think we might trick our way through this,~ Sam answered with a sigh of satisfaction.
*Don't let it all loose yet. We have barely scratched the surface of the situation.*
~I know, but if bad luck got us here, we seemed to have beat it back. I'm just hoping it'll hold out long enough to find and execute a plan.~
Jolinar had no difference in her thoughts, and for a moment there was silent.
But it was only a brief respite, and the next report had the hurried communication and planning back in full gear. There was no rest for them until long after the torches were lit, and by then, only enough time to collapse onto the bed and trust the Jaffa sense of privacy to keep them from noticing the very odd way of performing kel'no'reem.
Sleep was all well and good, but the blunt fact was that it only kept things on an even keel. It didn't give Sam or Jolinar a shortcut, a cheat sheet, or even an emotional advantage. Until now, they had been used to long periods of silence, both mental and physical; they were both finding it hard work to keep every relevant thought conscious enough so that the other might hear. It was easy for most thoughts to stay just unconscious enough to be silent to Jolinar, and took concentration to keep them all above board. Worse, it wasn't even natural, and so interruptions and repetitions occurred regularly. Sam hated it, and given Jolinar's only barely more frustrated attitude, Sam suspected that she had been feeling this way ever since joining with Sam and losing the automatic communication of full blending.
After a quiet time of reflection and breakfast, it was back to the chaos of the world that Jolinar had only caught the local name of yesterday: Dorieth. It was a strange name with no obvious meaning, but it was better than "Quetesh's world". Sam tried to keep a mental chart of each aspect of their command with Jolinar's help, but the less-than-ideal circumstances of this world led only to unpredictability. Resupply groups coming through the Stargate, construction accidents at the temple, a cart stuck in the mud blocking a main road, a Jaffa acting out in heat-anger and incapacitating several slaves, a whole set of lamps gone missing, heat-anger again causing insubordination among the lower echelons of Jaffa, news of another victory giving Jaffa cause to cheer and hope secretly for reinforcements, evidence of a storm brewing west of the mountains.
It was overwhelming, even with the delegation of so much responsibility, and the concentration and communication going on inside their heads was wearying. It had to be done. And it was some relief that it was going well. The worn out slaves took their rest and did not halt the work going on, and even though the stronger ones were headed towards burnout themselves, Sam predicted (trying not to get her personal feelings for the poor people involved) that the "weaker" ones would be recovered by then. Overall, they would make more progress.
While inspecting the progress going on in the temple construction personally, the relative darkness and cooler temperature gave Sam a flash of peace. She thought wistfully of the quiet of the Tok'ra base, and felt a twinge of chagrin that she had not remembered her father. How was he doing? Did he talk to Selmak? Would he choose to become a host? What would that mean? And then, at the approach of a Jaffa with an update, it was gone.
Sleep deprivation, an abandoned torch, and what resulted was a midday fire in one of the buildings that housed the slaves. The humidity led to dark clouds of smoke, and the fire was quickly put out. But that meant that there was not enough secure space, and slaves had to be recalled from transporting and organizing the tributes that came through the gate to rearrange bare cots and sacks to double up the space in two of the remaining buildings.
The tribute backlogged quickly, and Sam and Jolinar hastily decided to institute an assembly line of transport between the gate and the temple. It wouldn't have increased speed, except that walking up and down the varying ground was tiring and even the sharp commands of the Jaffa couldn't make the slaves go faster at the end of the day. This way, they only had to walk a few steps back and forth. It wasn't very Jaffa, and there were a few unsure looks, but when the backlog was gone at the end of the day, doubts were assuaged.
Returning to their dwelling, Jolinar finally remembered their hyperspace transmitter and the waiting Narim. Sam sighed, realizing that she had completely forgotten, and they found a quiet place to contact him. It was a simple device, and Narim was waiting on the other end.
"You are well?" he asked to start off.
"Yes, our mission is going well, if busily," Sam answered.
"There has been only slight progress here," he continued. "The Tok'ra's demand for more security on the technology they give us has been met with strong disapproval. My people wish to receive the complete technology, not merely the theories. We are able to reproduce variants over time, but it is not effective enough, or so says the Curia."
"So it will take a while?" Sam confirmed, thinking over the limited bartering that the Tok'ra were willing to undergo. Narim knew exactly what technologies the Tok'ra prepared to give in their entirety, and exactly which that they wished to keep secret, in case the Goa'uld ever discovered them.
"You have nothing to worry about," he answered firmly.
"I'm in a precarious position here, so I need to let you go," Sam said.
"Of course," said Narim. There was a slight ping on her device as he sent over some information. "If there is any update you need to give me in response to this, please contact me again soon."
And then the connection ended. Sam had no time to go over it, and so she and Jolinar went to sleep again.
There was no time the next day either. The mud on the roads was still causing trouble for transportation, even though it had been many days since the last rain. With a storm brewing, it wouldn't get better any time soon. Sam decided that now was the time to bring her first major change.
There were naquadah mines in the mountains, and the refineries sent the non-naquadah gravel to abandoned quarries. Sam recruited some of the Jaffa keeping patrol over the slaves to start carting the gravel to the main road from the settlement down to the farms. The slaves who were responsible for maintaining the touchy roads were given new commands, to start digging down into the mud to provide a trench. It was slow work, and the carts had to be rerouted, but no one could deny that it was an obvious improvement as the gravel was laid in the trenches foot by foot. And there were no slave revolts as a result of the fewer Jaffa keeping guard; any other time, Sam would have bemoaned their beat-down attitude, but in this case it kept her plans from being suspicious.
During the day, Sam kept a close watch on the paving of the road, and so did not notice each time the gate activated. It was evening when a messenger ran up to her.
"News, Master Coron," he said, breathless and excited. "Our great god Quetesh will deign this planet with her presence in two days' time."
*Too soon,* was Jolinar's first thought, coming automatically.
Sam nodded, accepting the message. She had no words to respond out loud. ~Whoa, that's not good. This place is a mess, the temple isn't done, and thank god we didn't start anything else.~
*It will not be disastrous. We double the slaves on the temple and the road, get all those in confinement down in the fields to keep them maintained just enough until after Quetesh leaves.*
~The storm? It will be here any day.~
*Will not the surges leave the unpaved road soft and ready to work?*
~Or wash away our progress.~
*Then we put slats over it for protection, just in case; I doubt the surges will be that strong, however, and the gravel has been pounded firmly. In any case, what would we have eventually added on top?*
~Flat stones, but not until the temple was finished and we had more workers. We'll have to make do with gravel.~
*With all the hurry, the temple may be done sooner. At least outwardly.*
~I still can't figure out what its purpose is. The pieces come already assembled, and no one seems to suspect anything but that they're for construction. They'd be lighter, cheaper, easier to assemble, if that was their only purpose.~
*Maybe we won't know—someone's coming, can't be distracted.*
And Sam focused on the road again. With Jolinar only taking control for small portions of each day due to her frustration with all the complexities, Sam was rapidly learning this role through immersion. Jolinar with only the mental aspect to deal with was much less of a worry to Sam, which led to more ease for her, which circled back to ease Jolinar and so forth. But this caused worry for them both.
Quetesh would have come back eventually, but they had planned for more progress than this before that. If the storm caused any damage, it would take time to repair, and it might not be completed by the time that she arrived. Not to mention that she might not be in a good mood, or their assessment of her response to this Coron taking over for Toc'no might be off. Suddenly they had not only Dorieth to worry about.
But then, Sam had to remember as the fourth full day of their command drew to closing, the sooner Quetesh visited, the sooner Sam and Jolinar could return to the Tok'ra without fear of missing her arrival. Once they were accepted in front of all by their god, they would have no worry in finding excuses for absences from time to time. It would do them well, if they could convince her.
*She's unpredictable when it comes to personal matters, but ice cold in her planning. If we can remain professional and logical, there is a good chance that she will as well. There is no need to think we will fail, not yet.*
Night fell, and Sam for the first time was grateful that Jolinar had a Goa'uld past. Her knowledge of Quetesh looked like it would be their saving grace. She refused to acknowledge the fear that it might also be their downfall. First things first, though, and this news didn't lessen the horde of other concerns to be balanced and dealt with tomorrow, the day after that, and hopefully the many days beyond that. One thing could be balanced now, and that was sleep.