Warning: The next couple chapters are pretty darkly graphic, more R than PG-13, but it won't last long. Also, we're coming to the home stretch; this story only has about twenty chapters left.
Chapter 59 - Disaster
Sam's heart fell like a rock on seeing Quetesh there, even though she could have half guessed as soon as the Jaffa walked through. This was not the time, not at all. She scrambled for all her mental resources, Jolinar settling firmly as her back on everything, waiting for what to say.
Quetesh said nothing, and so Sam bowed in silent greeting and respect. When her head rose, Quetesh still stood there—everything was silent, on edge, the smolder before the flames caught. No birds, no breathing, no voices.
And no temple beyond. Sam wondered if Quetesh was staring right through them with her still-glowing eyes. ~So the wait's over—and I thought we were more ready for a reaction than this.~
"My lord," Sam finally said aloud, bowing her head. "We had no word."
"And it is clear that you fail to be ready," Quetesh broke in, words smooth. She edged a couple steps forward, now thoroughly looking through Sam down towards the valley.
"We are always ready for my lord, if you will just come this way," Sam said, trying to make it not sound like a hasty retreat.
"No," Quetesh said. Jolinar adjusted Sam's eyes to the dim light, and she could see a disdain on Quetesh's face. "This planet does not even step near to worthiness. I will not let it sully me more—Coron, come." The goddess turned swiftly, only her last word sounding more like a snap then the cool voice of authority.
She nodded to a Jaffa who walked to the DHD and began to dial.
Sam turned to her one Jaffa there, saying below her breath. "Awaken your commander—tell him what has happened, and keep all going as planned." All they had to do was keep the planet going until Sam and Jolinar's return.
*This will be a more difficult meeting than last,* Jolinar warned, but her words were superfluous.
Once again in the pre-morning, the gate flashed open, and Quetesh's Jaffa walked in ahead of her. Sam and Jolinar were the last to go, Sam taking a breath before walking through.
It was no surprise on the other side—the gold and grey metal of the interior of a Goa'uld ship. Sam was immediately struck by the size, though. Much more like cathedral hallways than that of a cramped ship. ~We're on her mothership, aren't we?~
Jolinar didn't need to answer specifically. There had been a reason she'd referred to it as the flagship.
Standing for a moment, Sam just concentrated on breathing and holding herself high but not too high in posture. Quetesh turned slowly, nodding to each Jaffa to leave until only one of hers was left standing guard by the gate.
"This is how a god is supposed to grant audience," Quetesh said, almost a hiss in the deep, flanged Goa'uld voice.
Sam bowed again, as Jolinar tried to stop her heart from pounding. "I beg pardon for any failure," she said, head still lowered.
"Do you?" Quetesh questioned, stepping closer to her. Her long dark gown hugged close to her, guarding more than flaunting, but Sam could almost feel the danger coming through. "What has your investigation into the destruction of my temple uncovered?"
Sam was momentarily surprised by the demand. "My lord, we had no lead," she said. "There is no one on Dorieth who might seem suspicious."
"Fool," Quetesh said in a low voice. "What gives you such insolence to make a determination such as this? Is it not your god's will that you should be serving? Is it not your god's will that no stone be left unturned before this traitor is found?"
*She is right, if all she cares about is vengeance,* Jolinar admitted. *But speak to her of efficiency; there is still a chance that she values boldness, even if she dare not admit it so fully.*
"We received no command from you, my lord," Sam said, bowing her head again. "We sought to be ready for your next command, and that required all efforts to be for the restoration of Dorieth."
"All efforts," Quetesh said, the glint in her eye matched by the quirk of her mouth. "And then why were you standing by the chappa'ai on Dorieth? What purpose served you there?"
She had noticed. They'd been afraid of that. "Only an errand to another world," Sam said.
"And for what purpose?" demanded Quetesh.
Sam realized that the Goa'uld had moved closer, almost imperceptibly. She was only a few paces away from Sam in the hallway of the ship, and suddenly it was feeling smaller. "To make sure that your orders were being followed upon, after you called for the transfer of some slaves," Sam said, Jolinar's focus helping her make something up on the spot. She still stood tall, eye level with Quetesh, but her role reminded her how small she actually was.
Quetesh let the less-than-perfect excuse hang for a second in the air. The power was in her hands, as always, and she exercised it. Jolinar's quiet discomfort was turning into fear-driven anger at being forced to this.
"Again," the Goa'uld said in a icy smooth voice, staring Sam straight in the eye. "Again, you venture outside your realm of authority. This is a dangerous pattern, Coron. And one that I do not think natural for a Jaffa."
Sam didn't even have time to blink—Quetesh's hand was in the air and suddenly she couldn't see a thing. They'd missed the hand device that Quetesh was wearing, only now they were blinded and forced backwards, the beam tearing into their forehead.
Sam gasped, unable to see, unable almost to think, physically and mentally feeling as if she was on fire. Jolinar was there, slightly removed as she had retreated to keep guard.
*She will interrogate, or kill, or both,* Jolinar informed.
They could barely comprehend. Sam tried only to keep all her mind on Dorieth, on Quetesh's work—it was hardly anything she needed to do, as that had been filling her thoughts before. But her knees started to tremble, her head throbbing, and she wondered if it would matter. Did Quetesh plan to execute them here? She didn't have the muscle strength to reach for her zat to retaliate. She was completely helpless.
All she could sense was the fire, behind and in front of her eyes. Her breaths started to come as gasps, even as Jolinar tried to do something, and then all in a moment she felt a new sensation. Heard it too, and smelled it. The ink of their temporary tattoo was sizzling, burning under the power of the hand device.
And then it was gone. Gulping in a breath as the hand-device released them, Sam sunk involuntarily to her knees.
*Oh no,* thought Jolinar.
Sam was shaken, weak, and didn't know exactly what had just happened. Until it hit her a second later. She looked up, and there was Quetesh, standing over them with a self-satisfied smirk. If Sam's heart could drop any further in her chest, it did. She didn't need Jolinar to know that the gig was up. Quetesh knew they were a spy.
"Not Jaffa, then," Quetesh said, more for the dramatic air than a need to express what was obvious to them all.
They were so doomed, and as Jolinar tried to give strength back, Sam's hand trembled and tried to reach for her zat. Quetesh hadn't killed them with that blast, not yet.
"And no Goa'uld would stoop to this level," Quetesh continued.
Sam couldn't pull her eyes away from that face, glowing with the expectation of full control and power. But just as her shaking fingers found the cool hilt of the zat, suddenly there was a blur of movement. She heard a snap and felt the blow to her jaw, then found herself flung back against the wall. Her head cracked, the pain shot down her spine, and her breath dislodged from her chest. Quetesh had struck her in the face.
"Seize this Tok'ra traitor," Quetesh hissed, even these words full of pleasure at what she had just accomplished.
*I should have—* thought Jolinar for a brief second. But then she and Sam both felt the warm trickle of blood from the back of her head, even as they were stopped from slipping down the wall by the Jaffa who roughly gripped one shoulder.
Jolinar retreated again, trying to stop the injury. Sam's vision was a little blurry, as the Jaffa pulled her back to Quetesh. She barely felt the Goa'uld's hand pushing aside her chainmail, finding for certain that the pouch was a facsimile.
"So, the Tok'ra have interest in me now," Quetesh said, half-drawling the words with a proud pleasure in her accomplishment.
She can't know, she can't guess. Neither Sam nor Jolinar had distinct thoughts, only they knew that the mission couldn't be compromised. Quetesh couldn't become suspicious. Suddenly Jolinar was in control, saying words that Sam had not anticipated.
"Don't flatter yourself," Jolinar spat, even through a voice as shaky as her eyesight. Their head throbbed both in front and behind. "It was nothing so grand—only a personal demonstration to your people of how inconsequential your powers to protect them are." Jolinar's words slid out like venomous acid.
Quetesh's hand, fingers sheathed by the Goa'uld device, found Jolinar's chin and forced it up. She stared down, eyes alight with cruel gold. "Jolinar," she said, and then laughed, harshly.
Jolinar closed her eyes for a second. *I am sorry for this,* she said.
But Sam was realizing that there wasn't anything else to be done.
Quetesh spoke again. "And here I almost thought you had retained your intelligence, even committing cowardly treason as you did," she said, gripping Jolinar's chin, the sharp edges of the metal threatening to cut into her skin.
"Fooled you thrice—and you only matched it this once," Jolinar said, through clenching teeth. "Who is the greater fool?"
Quetesh leaned closer, gripping harder to make Jolinar breathe out through tight jaw. "It is not the one who gains the final victory," the Goa'uld said.
"Then the question is still undecided," Jolinar hissed back.
Quetesh stood, lifting Jolinar by the chin, Jolinar barely able to keep from hanging there as her legs did not want to support her. "Not for long," Quetesh answered. She let Jolinar go for a second, nodding to her Jaffa.
Jolinar stumbled, almost falling to her knees, and only just caught herself as the Jaffa stripped her zat from her. Then Quetesh's hand was gripping her neck, dragging her up and forward, and Quetesh started taking long strides down one of the hallways leading from this gateroom.
~Are we going to be dead?~ asked Sam, unable to think of anything but simple questions.
*Not yet,* Jolinar answered, honestly and yet not. But she wouldn't think about the future—maybe she couldn't.
Their head still aching, Quetesh dragged them into the middle of a ring platform, and they couldn't catch the symbols before the light flashed and they were on another deck of the flagship. Again, Quetesh was dragging them as they stumbled down the hall, armor clanking. A minute later, and Quetesh threw them into a room.
Jolinar crashed to the floor, still without the strength to immediately fight back—and immediately would have been their only chance, as another two Jaffa stepped in to grab their arms. The armor was roughly stripped from them, the small weapons discovered and taken, and then the clink of chains told them what else they needed to know. Their eyes confirmed it as Jolinar looked up. This was a prison cell.
They now lay half slumped against a wall, wrists attached to chains just loose enough to allow their arms to droop limply. It had all happened fast, too fast, way too fast for their mind still muddled by both hand-device and concussion.
"Your personal revenge may have proven your own downfall, as you could have predicted," Quetesh said, as the Jaffa left the cell and slammed it shut, locking it firmly.
Jolinar could barely see her, and she once again retreated to work on healing the physical damage. Sam didn't feel in control, and all she could do was listen.
"But it is not only the personal that will satisfy me," Quetesh continued. "No, you were indeed a fool to attempt this, knowing what you do of the Tok'ra. But I need not explain this to you, surely."
Sam felt her head droop, eyes closing, her head's throbbing overwhelming and not lessening. ~Jolinar?~
She barely heard Quetesh walk away, shoes clicking on the stone floors, dress sweeping away. Left alone in the cell, Sam sunk even further. The chains were too short for her to lie down on the floor, but she could lean against the wall. The wall of a prison cell, in Quetesh's flagship, where she was now known to be a Tok'ra spy.
~Oh god,~ she said to herself, and then she blacked out.
ooooooo
"Okay, now this is actually trouble," Matthews said, a hand resting on his belt.
The rest of SG-6 and Daniel and Sha're stood around, having just watched the gate fail to open again. They'd waited a couple hours and redialed Earth, only to have it malfunction. "They can't always be superfast with the fixing," Matthews had said, and everyone had agreed. It was late, so they'd settled down to spend the night there.
This morning, however—again, no luck dialing the gate.
"Major gate overhaul, maybe?" Captain Lewis asked, more calm than the rest as he leaned against a large boulder.
"No, we'd have heard of that," Dr. Donald said. He was SG-6's scientist, dealing mainly in forensics but with a slight side interest in how that related to archaeology.
"The gate could be destroyed," said Thomas in a low tone.
Daniel felt a bolt of fear run through him, and his arm around Sha're's waist tightened, holding her safely to him.
"Uh-uh," said Matthews, putting up a hand. "That's the last thing we should be thinking."
"Okay," said Lewis, resting his arms across his chest. "It's not like we can know for sure, so what are our options for things to do."
"Good question," said Matthews, waving his hand around to indicate them all, and raising an eyebrow. "What's protocol?"
"Well, if it goes too far we're supposed to contact the Alpha Site, but there's no actual time limit," said Donald, scrunching his face and scratching worriedly at the edge of his beard.
"I think 24 hours is a good limit, don't you?" said Matthews, fairly rhetoric as he was with all his questions. "At least for radio contact. Donald, dial the gate please."
Sha're looked up at Daniel, saying softly. "What do you think this means?"
"I don't know," Daniel whispered back. "I don't know."
ooooooo
Sam came back to reality with a nausea in her stomach. Her world felt empty and silent, and the nausea twisted fiercely with a rush of pure fear.
~Jolinar?~ She reached out for her one constant, not immediately finding her.
But she was there. More worn, and almost more frightened, but their fears were quickly tightening into one without words.
Sam had control of their body, breathing in, and it didn't hurt. ~It isn't over yet, is it?~
*No,* said Jolinar, her voice coming out weakly. *No, we have failed miserably, but not quickly.*
Sam felt a crick in her neck and tried to move her head a few inches. It didn't overwhelm her with pain, thanks to Jolinar, but she felt groggy all the same. Bringing a hand to her face to wipe at the blood drying itchily there, she felt and heard the clank of the chains, and her heart skipped a beat. ~God, this was a disaster.~
*I cannot say otherwise. I am sorry, Samantha, but it is only going to get worse. We are not going to be killed yet, not while there is a chance that Quetesh may glean some information.*
Even Jolinar couldn't keep the physical symptoms of fear under control, and Sam's mouth was dry and her heart racing. ~So what, torture?~ It was hardly a question that needed to be asked, locked up in the prison of a Goa'uld known for sadistic enjoyment of the pain of others.
*We should be able to resist—I have been through this before. But there is no end but death unless I can see a way out. With any other Goa'uld, maybe, but this is Quetesh and she knows me. I—*
Jolinar's thoughts trailed off, nausea almost sending them both into retching as the fear broiled. If Jolinar didn't have a hope—if she couldn't see an end—Sam wasn't ready for this. Jolinar wasn't either, especially not like this.
~Can we do anything?~ Sam needed something that she could think on, even if it proved hopeless. Something to keep her mind working.
*For others to live, we must fight now. Quetesh cannot discover Martouf and Lantash, or the Abydonians' cooperation, or any information that may be used against the Tok'ra. And if we are afraid and nervous, it will only be too easy.*
~Jolinar, I know, but are you saying you can just calm down?~
*What else is there to do?*
Jolinar's weak words just made their desperation more real. Sam was trying to calm down, trying to think of others, but all she felt was Jolinar's memory of exactly how cruel Quetesh could be. And if Jolinar, who had been under torture before, could feel that—Sam had no sense of what to expect, and so she could only expect the very worst.
Sam kept her eyes closed, her arms resting loosely across her chest. With Jolinar she worked on breathing in, breathing out, and trying to force order on her senses. Whatever happened, if they were doomed to die here, they needed to go out in control of everything. Neither of them could bear to die having given up information—together, surely they could will another goal.
No pomp accompanied Quetesh when she returned. It had most likely been hours, hours of sitting and breathing and Jolinar not letting Sam think about the torture in Jolinar's past. Quetesh had added a long sleeved leather coat over her dark dress, short horn-like spikes adorning the shoulders and running down the sleeves to cover the back of her hands. No longer merely elegant and ornate, this was the to-business side of Quetesh. The practical side, if she had one. And that business was fear.
The two Jaffa guards who had stood at the cell door were dismissed several paces down the hall on either side, after unlocking the cell door and letting Quetesh in before locking it again. Quetesh carried a small box in one hand, and she smiled glitteringly as she placed it on the shelf along the cell wall.
"I was too hasty earlier," she said, voice softly reverberating off the walls, the metallic purr of self-satisfaction. She stood over Sam and Jolinar, still standing tall and straight.
Jolinar didn't move or speak.
"In my anger at having to deal with your disgusting presence once again, I almost lost control," Quetesh continued, glancing down without stooping her head. She smiled. "But it is well that I am a god, and can make no error." She let one of her long arms fall, the tip of one finger flicking the tip of Jolinar's chin. "This is too much a prize to waste through unconsidered acts of passion."
"It might have worked better for you," Jolinar said, clearing her throat a little as she once again used her natural voice, sounding husky after so much time as Coron. "Caught off guard is the only way you could possibly hope to sway me."
"You may think what you wish, of course," said Quetesh, still smiling. "That is what is so amusing, the delusions of one of the least of the children of our mother Neith." With a light sigh, Quetesh took a seat on the bench nearest Jolinar, leaning down with dripping condescension. "To sway a mind, one must first break it."
"I break only upon death," Jolinar assured, her stare holding Quetesh's from beneath hooded eyes. Sam whispered to herself that she could believe that, she would believe that.
Quetesh laughed, a hollow laugh, more to mock than out of any amusement. "There are so many ways to break, Jolinar," she said. "Humiliation and degredation, crude tools but most useful. I know you too well to try them here, but for accuracy's sake I mention them." She leaned a little closer, looking Jolinar straight in the eye. "The mind—never whole or wholly impenetrable."
The fear was under control, this talk no more than they had expected. Jolinar held the control, Sam backing her as strongly as she could. They watched as Quetesh rose from her seat.
"Still," Quetesh said, with a half a sigh, "it is so delicate and difficult to break through the mind all at once." She bent down swiftly, finding Jolinar's left hand and slamming it against the wall. It almost didn't hurt, just bruising the knuckles, until Quetesh flipped her hand, letting the spike on the end of the sleeve press against Jolinar's palm. "And yet there is physical breaking," Quetesh said in a low voice, her face close to Jolinar's again.
She pressed down, and there was a sharp jolt of pain as the spike dug into Jolinar's palm. In the moment, Sam couldn't tell that she was supposed to be buried behind Jolinar's mind—the pain was just as piercing. Quetesh slowly pushed the spike in, and Jolinar didn't look, only gritted her jaw and tried not to focus on the burning and the trickle of warm blood already starting to seep.
"Ah yes, the limits of the body of a host," said Quetesh. "And of yours, Jolinar. These are so much easier to find, and even the mind cannot provide significant protection."
Jolinar tried to keep a steady breathing pace, but Quetesh pushed harder, then as the short spike was buried to its hilt, she twisted, and the pain throbbed agonizingly up their arm. Sam tried to not see, tried to not hear, tried to maintain her presence like a rock to lean upon—so that she might not feel the pain and so that Jolinar need not feel as if she might fall.
"But then the breaking of a body is only enjoyable, not useful," concluded Quetesh. She whipped the spike from Jolinar's hand, and Jolinar didn't have the presence of mind to break its fall.
The blood started to pool in her palm, and Jolinar brought her other hand over, pressing against the wound as she sought to still the bleeding.
"And so why not both?" Quetesh asked, her voice light again. "Break the body to break the mind to break the body, and all so carefully done. I have no need to hurry, no information so urgent that I must fight time to break you. The only thing I fight against is you, Jolinar. Your armor, and your healing."
Jolinar closed her eyes for a second, left hand starting to tremble even as the bleeding slowed. Sam was still holding strong, but she had heard. Was Jolinar's healing a weapon against Quetesh, or just a way to prolong their suffering? It would have been both, only that Jolinar might be able to stop some of the pain, or change it.
Quetesh turned from Jolinar, and in the quiet of the cell Jolinar heard the tiny splash from the drop of blood that fell from Quetesh's armored hand. The Goa'uld took the box she had brought from the shelf, opening it and taking out something too small to see.
"No, Jolinar, your armor will not last for long," Quetesh said, stepping closer. "Soon it will be just you and me—history repeating itself, only the proper way."
Quetesh grabbed Jolinar's hair in a tight fist, yanking her head down so the neck was exposed. Then a piercing pain at the back of the neck, and the cold feeling of an injection that almost immediately started to burn. Sam suddenly felt herself pushed forward in her mind as Jolinar physically spasmed, the injection going straight into her actual body. Sam was in control, looking back up as Quetesh smiled down on them, holding the small injector in her hand.
"Now, shall we let that sink in a little first?" Quetesh asked, twisted amusement in both smile and voice.
Except Sam could barely read her face, as Jolinar still shook, and Sam was reminded just how closely they were entwined. Her muscles started to randomly jerk, and if she'd been standing she would have felt dizzy.
~Jol?~ she asked.
*She is inhibiting me somehow,* Jolinar answered shakily. They were almost on the point of heaving again. *I can only speak, only think.*
Sam felt her body settle to a slight tremble, but the burn at the back of her throat where Jolinar lay now spread, descending to the tips of her limbs. Already the ache in her hand felt on fire, the blood only just stopped as Jolinar lost her healing abilities.
Jolinar's silent revelation hit Sam more strongly. They had been overconfident. It was what had got them into this mess, what had led them to all their mistakes, and what was now leaving them without an option. Quetesh had now stripped it from them, leaving them vulnerable and guilty and afraid.
*We can't be,* Jolinar said, struggling to regain control.
And Sam didn't want to, but all she could see was Quetesh standing over them. And her fear of death left her empty inside.