Chapter 44 - Grit
Waking up the next morning went smoothly for Sam and Jolinar, and after a brief moment of fear where Sam felt like she had lost herself, the second day of blending was comfortable for her. Jolinar seemed to be stretching cramped mental muscles, releasing the last bits of tension that had built over months of holding herself back. And Sam, Sam just floated along and tried to let go of her inhibitions.
Taking their seat in the mess hall, they brainstormed on Quetesh and what would come next. Sam found her mind filled with the Tok'ra plan on Goa'uld politics, and even then only the parts that were relevant to Quetesh and Ba'al. Sam countered with what she thought they could accomplish in this part of the mission, and Jolinar reminded her that the next point would be to present a full briefing to the Council.
~How soon?~ asked Sam.
*As soon as we can; Quetesh's plan seems already in full steam.*
~Is there a reason that the Tok'ra did not have a spy among her already?~
*Limited resources. She was an underling of Ba'al, and did not seem to be seeking immediate advancement. And maybe she would have remained so, if not for the inexplicable bad fortune that we partook in that gave her ideas.*
Jolinar's eyes glanced up for a second, and then Quetesh was gone from their thoughts. Martouf and Lantash were on their way over, still in Tok'ra mission gear and looking a little worn. One year, Jolinar thought, it has been one year. And Sam felt it with her.
Sam also felt how easy it was to tell who was in control, without needing to wait for words or facial expression, but just by looking in their eyes. The different light that shone there, the sense that felt like naquadah but had nothing to do with it. Lantash was hidden this morning, and Martouf in the open.
His wordless smile indicated that he saw the change immediately, and so Jolinar dismissed saying it outright. Sam was vindicated now, knowing for sure how this relationship relied on things other than words.
"Samantha and I will be leaving again today," Jolinar said, taking a bite of protein-fortified cereal mush. Her hand and Martouf's met without thought across the table, again, recalling to Sam's mind the memory of a first breakfast so long ago that Jolinar was surprised Sam had taken note. But the hands stayed.
"I should not be surprised," Martouf said, and Jolinar caught the hints of dark circles beneath his grey-blue eyes. "It was the first words on all lips as soon as I returned that Selmak was saved. Were you here at the time?"
Jolinar nodded. "Just in time, yes. And perhaps we would stay, if not for the urgency of this new lead that we received."
"What is this?" Martouf asked, brow creasing. "Has something happened?"
"Not yet, but Samantha and I were approached with information on a possible change in the Goa'uld hierarchy."
"With whom?" Martouf asked curiously, taking a long sip of hareshna.
"Quetesh," Jolinar said without lead-up or follow-through.
Martouf paused. "Hmm."
Jolinar raised her eyebrows slightly and then let them drop, as a light shrug. She was expressing all the meaninglessness she could. Martouf looked down at his food, and then back up to Jolinar. Their gazes held for a second, and then it was dropped.
"We can only hope it is not as misfortunate as it sounds," Martouf concluded.
A few sentences more related his mission, and while no danger had befallen it had been long and wearisome and neither Martouf nor Lantash wished to speak on it. No more words followed, and breakfast became the focus again. It did not last long, and a simple embrace served as farewell from the weary two, tender as always. And always meant more to Sam now.
Quetesh filtered to the fore of Sam and Jolinar's mind, and eagerness to get back to their world.
~We can't forget the Abydonians,~ Sam repeated to herself as strategies bounced from her to Jolinar and back again. ~The temple is only one thing.~
*Of course. The official mission being one with our own should make that simpler to remember.*
~In theory.~
*Which is why I prefer to leave aside theories and wait for the facts.* She did not recant as Sam could not help but recall times where that had been troublesome, but neither did she hang immovably onto her way. Sam knew that there were some theories worth trying.
Jolinar was surprised as Sam braced herself before they walked through the gate, and then Sam realized that Jolinar knew what was coming next. Dorieth opened up before them, sunny and bright, and the activity did not change as they walked through. Sam saw Jolinar's observations, added the facts to her own, and relayed back all that her military experience could add. If Jolinar had said anything before about how Sam was useful on this mission, it was immediately made clear to Sam that she was doubly so now. They hadn't done anything yet, and already the picture was clearer.
With Sam's communication always at her fingertips, Jolinar put herself back into the role of Coron with determination and skill. All those days of frustration, she had been watching and learning, and now played Sam as Coron almost better than Sam herself. And Sam watched, not worrying about what words she should say, but only how they affected the Jaffa.
And the Jaffa did not blink at the reappearance of their commander. Sam and Jolinar made a quick tour, taking in the lowered flood levels in the fields and how little scaffolding was left on the temple's peak. There had been much work in the quarry, and per Sam's orders the road had been left untouched. Sam saw with pleasure that it had been used, and the basic paving was solid so far, unlike the varying muddy patches on the rest of the road.
By the time they circled back to the village, it was looking too good, and Ker'ish, the Jaffa Sam had appointed in charge of the temple slaves, approached them with a dark look.
"My lord, it is good that you have returned so quickly," he opened, bowing his head in a snappy motion. "Our last delivery of supplies was found lacking, and what is left is the foods for our god Quetesh. I did not dare touch those, but the slaves have been restless with limited rations."
Sam's guilt mingled with Jolinar's moment of not knowing what protocol would apply here, and she paused. "It would please Quetesh more to have slaves that do their work well," she said finally. "Give them the oldest of our god's stores, and impress upon them the favor and blessing that is bestowed."
Kar'ish nodded, no emotion on his face, and turned to carry it out.
~Remember our plans before all this?~ Sam reminded.
*Still too soon,* Jolinar said. *Your greatest idea was this road, and that is still uncompleted.*
Those slaves that had been at work with the paving itself had been divided into two different categories during Sam and Jolinar's absence. Some worked on transporting gravel from the quarry to places alongside the road where it would be required in the future. As for the others, Sam had ordered that they scout for appropriate stone for true paving. This day, she recalled most of them back to their duties as the strengthening of the road began again.
However, their commanding Jaffa brought back reports of finds, of some kind of shale or slate that could be adapted to their purpose. It was farther down the mountain range, but Jolinar did not hesitate to order that a small portion of the Jaffa remain to set up a mine. Sam gave her the information she needed to give detailed instructions on what and how it would work, and then they worked to rearrange their smaller workforce to best use.
After nearly two days under tunnels, Jolinar was more glad than Sam would have guessed to be back in the sun. And Sam was as well, feeling that she had some purpose here, that this was her mission.
Before the end of the day, they had almost forgotten their brief stint back into the realm of the Tok'ra homeworld. Jolinar felt like she belonged here, and Sam's love of work had somehow followed her into this line. She was ready to make this turn out right, even if it meant waiting and obsessing over the smallest details. Someday, it would all pay off.
ooooooo
Hammond hung up the phone with a long weary exhalation. He should be satisfied, bearing in mind the drama that had taken place, but found himself only able to be content. And possibly not even that.
He envied his people at times, doing their work with nearly ignorance to all the consequences that would follow. He would encourage it, had they been more worried, because when the world was in danger he didn't want them thinking about the political repercussions. But when Earth was without immediate threat, Hammond found himself continually dealing with deeds done without thorough thought. In any other occupation, they would be natural and unremarked on. In this one, they involved national security and occasionally the survival of the human race on Earth. Thankfully that latter was more rare.
So now, with the order from the Pentagon for increased security and caution, he should be feeling relieved. His load should be less as the teams had to follow stricter guidelines, something he was grateful for. It would also increase the limitations on civilians on the base, and that would hopefully ease the tension that existed between military and non even after all these years. But it meant that intuition would be quashed, and new ideas and missions would be forced into forms and procedures, meant to provide safety but as always dragging along stifling.
He did not relish spreading the news. There had been less murmuring about his memo yesterday than he had expected, but in hindsight he had worded it just vaguely enough. It wasn't as if most of the people on this base cared about, let alone understood, exactly how this base ran.
Soon, they would get an all too clear picture. And it was Hammond's fault. The first year, full of mistakes and accidents, could have been mended with time and another Earth-saving action. This year was not half over, and the political stakes were twice as high as they had been before. In theory, the base and this planet were fine; in political fact, there had been two of the greatest losses since Daniel Jackson and the rest of O'Neill's team had been left on Abydos so long ago, and that had been acceptable losses.
Looking back, Hammond saw much he could have done differently. Much he would now be forced to do. And if there was ever a time where lenience was needed, he wasn't sure how much he could give. The Pentagon was putting the law down on their secret Stargate Project. Hammond could only hope that it would succeed in their eyes. He didn't want to think about what the next step might be if another mistake was made.
ooooooo
The flood waters finally settled down to manageable level, and Sam ordered the slaves back to work on them. With the short food crisis, supplies all around were low and the fields needed to be tended. Jolinar sat back, fascinated as Sam pulled up long-buried memories of agriculture both modern and historical. It wasn't much, and Sam felt like she was going to forget something important. Jolinar could only provide a check for any basic errors, but the rest would have to be trial and error.
The road was falling into place, and the paving stones started coming in to be placed carefully, and then pack in the stickiest clay around the edges to dry in an approximated cement. Sam winged that one, guessing along with Jolinar that there probably was some kind of cement, but not daring show her ignorance of it. Once that routine was down, however, Sam personally supervised the progress on the fields.
It was swampy, muddy, and downright dangerous to anyone venturing out there. The first thing Sam did, however, was find the maps for the farming, and thankfully they were detailed enough to be of use. Leaving the cultivated areas alone, she started work on the pathways, having the slaves pile up the mud in the center of the path so that the water would run off to the sides. Every so often a slave would slip or get stuck, and end up covered in the brown sticky mud. Sam held back her concern, not letting them go to change because she couldn't bring up an excuse; it was nice to have Jolinar's sympathy for both sides, both slaves and Sam as Coron.
Slowly, steadily, the paths rose above the water and left the fields in square lakes. Sam, itching to get into the thick of it herself, instead ordered a survey team to scout where the fields sloped downwards and then dig channels wherever possible to sweep away as much water as possible. And meanwhile, behind them, the road curved downwards ever nearer. The fields were no less a mess at the end of the day, but at least it was an organized mess. And the crops were hardy.
Sam felt a moment's awkwardness as she went to bed with no weariness in her bones, even after viewing an almost grueling days' labor. Jolinar was there to ease it, reminding oh so unconsciously that this was all for a greater goal, a goal that would benefit them all. Sam didn't remember her pre-sleep thoughts the next morning.
"My lord Coron," came a crisp cry, following the sun immediately over the horizon. "News from the servants of our god!"
Sam met the Jaffa messenger at the door, nodding as he approached, bringing his staff weapon to his chest in salute. "Speak," Sam said, determined not to squint in the blurry brightness of morning.
"In light of the significance of this world to Quetesh," the Jaffa said, after taking a pause for breath after his apparent run from the gate, "the new slaves are to be transferred here immediately. You are to see that they are integrated properly, and that work continues at a faster schedule."
Sam gave a short nod. "Let the messenger of our lord Quetesh be put up for the night, and tomorrow we will carry out her bidding. You may return to your post."
*You are catching on quickly,* Jolinar commented.
~This is what we've been waiting for, and—we don't have a plan, do we?~
*Our plan is to stop Quetesh once and for all.* Jolinar stopped, wavered. *We shouldn't do anything right now.*
~If it comes down to it, couldn't we make a distraction on this world and escape with them all?~
*Leaving those on other worlds and Quetesh's ship, and ruining our cover.*
~Damn, forgot that part.~
Jolinar sighed. *No, we cannot do anything yet. But once the Abydonians arrive, we have something solid to report to the Council. Quetesh is doing something.*
Sam acknowledged that, and it was but a step to realize that they should not be too urgent on taking further action in this business. There was much else to do. If they could not complete their mission soon, they needed more than ever to have the strongest cover possible. And that meant working for Quetesh's goals.
oooooo
This day's briefing felt more hollow. Daniel had been both relieved and disappointed when Hammond's orders came down the pipe line. They weren't being disbanded; they weren't even losing funding, as the government was almost ready to offer more support with more watchdog guidelines in place. But there would be less new missions, more focus on diplomatic security, and a general focus on practicality and homeworld security above any scientific discoveries. Mckay was disgusted, and thankfully Hammond didn't seem adamant on being strict on that last point.
But still, everything was new and people were uncomfortable and on edge as they readjusted. Despite no mission for some time now, SG-1 was called in for Hammond to explain the latest situation. Connor and SG-11 had been on PXY-887 for a week, and were now overdue. If that wasn't bad enough, given the personnel and security problems recently, the gate had opened and an arrow had been shot through instead of SG-11.
Hammond looked deeply worried about what might be the first diplomatic error since the new policies were set into place. There weren't supposed to be inhabitants on the planet—now it looked like they had offended them.
SG-1, still minus Mckay, was being ordered to go through and patch things up.
"You're sending us, sir?" Jack had asked, eyebrows thoroughly raised.
"The arrow was of Native American design; of all the teams, yours is the only one with a member who might know something of that culture," Hammond had explained.
Daniel felt hesitant, as this wasn't his area of expertise. But it wasn't as if things would be the same on another planet in any case, so he might be able to pull it off.
Before the morning was out, Jack had them all in gear and prepped. The gate was dialed, the MALP contacted, and they were through into possibly hostile territory in a matter of minutes.
The camp was deserted. Teal'c and Dixon scouted the blasting site for the trinium, leaving Jack and Daniel to examine the eery quiet of a by-the-book Air Force campsite.
"Fire's dead, but the pot boiled dry," Jack said, pointing his weapon towards it.
"Computer still has power, though," said Daniel, curiously scanning the most solid clue. He woke the computer, reading the open document on screen. "Currently extracting an average of 47 pounds of trinium ore per day to increase our production fourfold as the engineers have requested... It's a request from Connor. He just stops in mid-sentence."
"Spooky," said Jack, gun gripped firmly in his hands. "No one leaves a camp like this, not voluntarily. And with no sign of struggle, we can assume they were lured away."
"By what?" Daniel asked, standing up and looking around.
Teal'c and Dixon walked up. "There was no substantial evidence at the blast site," said Teal'c.
"Looks like there were a couple detonators set up, but only one went off," added Dixon, agreeing.
"Ambush," said Jack, nodding.
"Not exactly, sir, or not by my mark, unless SG-11 managed to make their footprints disappear," said Dixon, giving Jack a straight look.
"There were no signs to show that they departed from the mine," confirmed Teal'c.
"Okay, that's just—" "Creepy." Daniel finished Jack's sentence, and they shared a look.
"We don't believe in Goa'uld magic, do we, Daniel?" Jack asked. "Just making sure."
"I can't say for sure what does or doesn't exist in this galaxy..." Daniel qualified, hesitantly.
Teal'c suddenly turned his head.
"What?" Jack asked.
"I believe that I heard something," Teal'c said, head cocked as he looked around.
"Great, that's always how it starts," muttered Jack.
"There!" pointed Teal'c, up towards the hill.
The other three looked. There was nothing.
"Let's move on, shall we?" said Jack, straightening his shoulders and beckoning them down the path.
Daniel frowned, looking around with suspicion. Strange things had happened before on missions, but this was starting to get frankly surreal.
"Planet of the horror movie, that's just our luck," said Dixon under his breath as he fell back on the group to walk by Daniel.
Daniel couldn't help but give a tight smile. Despite the restrictions on their missions, the government couldn't control what was out there in the field. They couldn't guess the wonders in the galaxy, and Daniel hoped they never tried. Because this, worrying and strange as it often could be, was what SG-1 was all about. And he loved it.
ooooooo
Jolinar spoke to Quetesh's messenger early the next morning, learning that he served under the master of the planet where slaves were rehabilitated in the Goa'uld fashion: forced into submission or death. Sam's heart started to burn again for Sha're's people, but she said nothing, and Jolinar pushed through with outward disinterest.
Before they stepped through the gate, Sam felt a moment of trepidation. ~What if they recognize us, call us on our actions?~
*How could they? We spoke only to Kasuf and Sha're?*
~But we walked through the village; they thought we were a Goa'uld.~
*I would be surprised if any of them have the strength left to make that connection,* Jolinar answered gravely.
And Sam felt guilty for being relieved at that. Their cover had to stay, and Sam wasn't used to all this yet.
They only stayed on the planet's surface for a short time. Jolinar bit back the smell of acrid smoke and dampness, letting it put a fiercer look on her face. The lead Jaffa on this planet was scum, she immediately determined. Tall, thin-faced, eyes large and black beneath the glistening black tattoo on his forehead. He towered over her, but only gave off the feeling of physical presence. Once Jolinar confronted him about the Abydonians, all strength left his voice and Jolinar had the upper hand. Bullies were easily dealt with, at least when one who bore Quetesh's full approval and priority status.
A few minutes later, and the people started filing towards the gate. Jolinar had brought a few Jaffa to herd them through, and that was all that was needed. Backs bowed, weary-eyed, Sam was only grateful that she saw no injuries among them. They were subservient, but they had given up, not broken.
Not one showed any recognition, even when Jolinar shouted in Sam's voice that the pace should quicken. They looked just like any other group of slaves on Dorieth, but Sam and Jolinar alike knew that these people had been so much more not so long ago.
~Couldn't we just turn around, dial the gate to Abydos, and send them through again?~
*No, we could not.*
Sam hated the feeling of knowing exactly why, from a logical point of view, that was true.
Before she had really come to grips with it, they were back on Dorieth. The people had been hastily rearranging quarters during her departure in preparation for the influx of new people. Now they were here, and everything looked doubly crowded. Sam thought once again of how impractical this world was as a home base, and though Jolinar had not immediately noticed it, she quickly agreed on the point.
*I believe before this is through, we will know all too well how every portion of Quetesh's rule fits together.*
As Jolinar watched the Abydonians mingle with the rest, Sam started to wonder. This had been an ambitious mission from the start, prompted by guilt and not by logic. And yet, the more things went, the more the outcome became clear; either Quetesh would fall once and for all, or Sam and Jolinar would die trying. It wasn't spelled out anywhere, but Sam just felt it, looking at the situation. They had gone so deep, risked so much, spread so far—inadvertently, it was all or nothing.
Jolinar heard, and had nothing to object with. They might look back on this and think it a mistake, but for now, she was certain of success. Sam smiled to herself; if Jolinar wanted to trust luck now, after all the times it had screwed them, that was her prerogative. Jolinar couldn't help but retort that at least believing in luck was a rationale...Sam's optimism often had no cause.
~I used to have optimism, didn't I?~
*You still do. We would have been lost already without it.*
Posing as a Jaffa in the service of one of the more twisted Goa'ulds, lying to her only allies, with a personal life that was only possibly getting better...and she could still smile. Yes, comparatively, Sam still had her optimism; she hadn't given up yet.
It just worried her that a normal person might have. She didn't want to have a life like that—and yet, she still couldn't put a finger on what she did want. Thankfully, now was not the time. Now was the time to put the bigger plan into motion.