Alliances

by Stargate

  “All right,” said Hammond, slowly. “I concede the plan has merit. But I’m still not entirely sure what it is you want from me.”

  Jacob returned to his chair. “Well, in a nutshell, George, I want Sam.”

  “To infiltrate one of these breeding farms and recruit potential spies for you?” he said, incredulous. “I don’t think so, Jacob. I agree she’d look the part but she’s one of the most valuable assets the SGC has, I can’t—”

  “I know,” said Jacob. “And I wouldn’t be asking you for her if I didn’t think her participation was vital. But George, it is. We don’t have anyone with her military experience and training, with knowledge of the Tok’ra, who won’t be detected by the farm’s Jaffa once they’re on the inside. All our best operatives are Tok’ra.”

  “Then send in one of your human operatives to choose likely host candidates,” Hammond suggested.

  Jacob pushed to his feet and started roaming the office again. “That won’t work. Selecting potential human hosts is a complicated process, with a lot of hoops to jump through. It’s not like playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Getting it wrong has disastrous consequences. None of our human operatives has the skill or experience to do it. It’s not their function. Only a Tok’ra can select a potential host.”

  “But Jacob—Sam’s not a Tok’ra.”

  Jacob turned. “No. But she was host to Jolinar, and Jolinar was one of the best human recruiters we ever had. Sam’s exposure to her memories, her experience, makes her unique. Because of her blending with Jolinar, without being consciously aware of how she knows what to look for Sam will be able to assess the human slaves she meets and choose the right people for us to recruit. It’ll be almost instinctive for her. Not something she can explain, or teach to another human. Not in the time we have available.”

  Hammond watched his friend’s restless pacing around the office. “Care to explain why we have to rush into this?”

  The question earned him a sharp look. “Our politics,” said Jacob, tersely. “The transition from Garshaw to Per’sus is turning out bumpier than we anticipated. Per’sus needs to put some impressive runs on the board—soon—to silence one or two troublemakers. If he doesn’t…”

  “And you’re absolutely certain there’s not a single human on Vorash who can do this instead of Sam?”

  “Of course I’m certain! Would I be here if I wasn’t certain? Humans are limited, George. They have their uses but—”

  Silence, as they stared at each other across a sudden, unbearable gulf.

  “I’m sorry,” said Jacob, almost whispering. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  With some trouble, Hammond found his voice. “Are you sure?”

  Suddenly looking very tired, Jacob sat down again. “George, please… you need to understand. Once a human has accepted a symbiote, once the process of blending is complete, you’re… different. Changed. And you can’t go back. You can’t ever experience life the way you used to. Sometimes it’s hard to remember how that life felt. How being alone in my mind, being human, felt.”

  Uncomfortable words. Hammond cleared his throat. “So… you no longer think of yourself as being human?”

  “No,” said Jacob simply. “Not quite.”

  “I see,” he replied, and felt a shocking stab of loss, of grief… even though he’d always known it.

  “George…” Jacob dredged up a smile. “I’m here because I need your help. Please. Help me. Help us.”

  Hammond sat back. “And if I do help you, Jacob? If I allow Sam to go on this mission for the Tok’ra? What’s in it for the SGC?”

  “The short answer? We’d owe you. Big time.”

  Despite his unease, Hammond smiled. “And the long answer?”

  Jacob returned the smile. “We’d owe you. Big time. And both Selmak and I will make certain there’s something substantial for you to collect.”

  Something substantial… “You mean, like a guarantee of shared intelligence?”

  “For starters. Yes.”

  “Formalized by treaty?”

  “Yes.”

  Hammond drummed his fingers on the desk. “Jacob, are you authorised to make me those kinds of promises?”

  “I’m authorised to do whatever I can to see that the Tok’ra win this war against the Goa’uld.”

  And that was the Jacob he remembered. Obdurate, focused, bloody-minded in pursuit of a goal.

  Scenting victory, Jacob leaned forward. “My word on it, George. You know it’s good.”

  He certainly did. A guarantee of shared intelligence… now there was a prize worth winning. If only it didn’t mean sending Sam into danger without her team as back-up…

  A fresh thought jabbed Hammond like a pin. What if she wasn’t without her team?

  Jacob straightened. “George, I know that look. You’ve thought of something. What is it?”

  He held up a silencing hand. Closed his eyes to better think through the idea. Cementing relations with the Tok’ra. Putting another spoke in the system lords’ wheel. Pushing Jack O’Neill beyond the reach of his formidable enemies for an impeccable, unimpeachable cause…

  He’d already stalled Kinsey for a week. He couldn’t stall for much longer, the man was out for blood.

  “Jacob,” he said, opening his eyes. “I am inclined to grant your request. On one condition.”

  “What?” said Jacob warily.

  “I don’t just want to lend you Sam. I want to lend you all of SG-1.”

  “Why?”

  Hammond frowned. “Let’s just say… there are one or two troublemakers I’d like to silence.”

  “Yeah,” said Jacob, shifting in his chair. “I need a little more information than that, George.”

  Succinctly, Hammond told him about Jack, and Kinsey, and Washington.

  “Damn,” said Jacob. “Not that I blame Jack, that was provocation above and beyond, but… damn.”

  Indeed. “Jack O’Neill may be a giant pain in the ass four days out of seven,” said Hammond, “but six out of seven I like him and I need him seven out of seven and I’ll be damned if I lose him because of Senator Robert Kinsey. If the request for his participation in this vital mission came from the office of the Tok’ra High Council itself…”

  “I hear you,” said Jacob. “Don’t worry. Selmak and I will make sure the invitation to SG-1 is an offer the President can’t refuse.”

  “You have my word,” added Selmak. “As O’Neill protected Jacob and me from the scourge of Sokar, so shall we protect him from the tyranny of petty bureaucrats.”

  And with those words, Hammond felt the awful, impossible weight of Jack’s clouded future lift from his shoulders. Suddenly he could breathe easily again, and realized just how hard breathing had been since that shocking scene at the Pentagon.

  “Jacob… we both know Jack’s feelings about the Tok’ra. I’d like you to invite him to Vorash yourself. I know I could just order him to go, but he’s feeling a bit confrontational at the moment. And he likes you. Do you mind?”

  Jacob smiled. “You give him a hell of a lot of latitude, George.”

  “I know. But in the grand scheme of things, I figure he’s earned it.” Hammond opened his desk drawer, withdrew his car keys and tossed them over to Jacob. “Take my car.”

  Neatly catching the keys, Jacob stood. “Let me send a message back to Per’sus first. Get the ball rolling on our end.”

  “Good idea. I’ll start laying the groundwork with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.”

  Jacob headed for the door. “You do that. Who is the Chairman now, anyway?”

  “Reggie Belweather,” Hammond said, reaching for the phone.

  “No kidding!” said Jacob with a wide, pleased smile. “Rumblefish Reggie? Good for him. Tell him I said hello.”

  “I will.”

  As the door closed behind Jacob, Hammond called Jack and let him know to expect a VIP visitor within the next hour. Refused to say who: overworked generals needed to take thei
r fun where they could find it, after all. Then he called the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs’ private line.

  “Reggie? George Hammond. Listen… I think I’ve found us a way out of this O’Neill mess…”

  Selmak loved driving. Such a primitive yet strangely satisfying mode of transport. And I like the smell. One day you must arrange for me to see Formula One up close and personal, Jacob.

  Sometimes Selmak made him laugh, and laugh…

  Jack O’Neill opened his front door wearing the kind of expression usually reserved for combatants of an opposing army. But scowling aggression was swiftly chased away by surprise and cautious pleasure when he saw who was gracing his doorstep.

  “Jacob! What the hell are you doing here? Come in!”

  He’d been to Jack’s home only once before, during a rare and too-brief visit with Sam. Dropping her off for what she’d said was an important meeting, he’d discovered it was actually a pizza and sci-fi movie night and he’d been brought along under false pretences. He’d stayed, curious to know more about the man who’d risked his life on Ne’tu to save Sam Carter’s father. The man who so often was responsible for keeping his little girl alive.

  What he saw and heard that night confirmed his previous impressions. Daniel Jackson and the rebel Jaffa, Teal’c, clearly shared a close camaraderie with O’Neill. So did Sam. There was banter, laughter, good-natured insults exchanged four ways. His daughter called Jack sir and he called her Carter, but it was clear they were close. Comfortable. The team conversed in shorthand, started and finished each others’ sentences, came damn close to telepathy at times. Four unlikely flowers growing in the same small pot, thriving, interdependent and complimentary—the way all the best teams worked.

  He’d left Earth again not long after that night more confident in his daughter’s happiness and safety than he’d been for a very long time.

  A year and a bit later, Jack’s place hadn’t changed. Still obsessively tidy, sporting photographs of people the man never mentioned—including the son Kinsey had so recklessly and wickedly accused him of killing—with that strangely incongruous collection of medals and commendations still displayed over the mantelpiece.

  “Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you a beer?” said Jack, waving him into the sunken living room.

  “Sure,” he said, and collapsed into an armchair.

  There was the sound of a fridge door opening. The rattle and chink of glass bottles being pulled from a cardboard container. Moments later Jack joined him and handed over a gloriously cool bottle of ale. He threw himself onto the sofa opposite, cracked his own bottle’s seal and held it up. “Cheers. Does Carter—Sam—know you’re here?”

  “On Earth?” Jacob said, returning the salute. “I don’t think so. George said she’s off-world at the moment.”

  “She is,” said Jack, and took a deep swallow. “Futzing around in the dirt with Daniel on some ancient dig somewhere.”

  “Really?” Jacob let a cool mouthful of beer trickle down his throat. “Wouldn’t you rather be with them, than hanging around here?”

  Jack pulled a face. “Nah. I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I just can’t get excited about a bunch of mud brick houses that fell down four thousand years ago. As far as I’m concerned sloppy workmanship is nothing to celebrate.”

  He grinned, admiring the man’s ability to camouflage his true feelings. “Then I guess that’s a good thing, seeing as how you couldn’t go even if you wanted to.”

  Beneath the clown’s façade, something lethal stirred. “Sorry. Not sure what you mean there, Jacob.”

  “It’s okay, Jack. George told me what happened.”

  The room’s temperature dropped ten swift degrees. “Okay? Actually, Jacob, no. That’s not okay.”

  “Come on, Jack,” he said, reproving. “I had top level security clearance when you were still figuring out which end of a gun to point at the bad guys. All I mean is that I know about your current situation, and I’m here to make you an offer.”

  If he’d been anyone else Jacob had no doubt he’d have been thrown out of the house before finishing his last sentence. But because he was Sam Carter’s father, Jack just sat there looking at him. “What kind of offer?” he said at last. “‘Cause if it doesn’t involve something that’ll severely inconvenience Bob Kinsey I’m pretty sure I’m not interested.”

  Jacob had to laugh. “Funny you should put it that way…”

  “Yeah. Hilarious,” said Jack. No humor anywhere to be seen.

  He sobered. “It’s an offer that takes you out of Kinsey’s firing line for a little while, Jack. With the added bonus of putting the boot into the Goa’uld’s ass, and going a long way to shoring up the shaky alliance between Earth and the Tok’ra. So. Interested now?”

  Jack finished his beer, taking his own sweet time about it. Then he sat for a little while longer, playing with the empty bottle. When he looked up again his eyes were cold and hard. “Tell me more.”

  Jacob told him. “Selmak’s cleared the proposal with High Councillor Per’sus. George is squaring things away with Admiral Belweather and the President as we speak. It’s up to you now, Jack. Are you on board, or aren’t you?”

  Jack put his beer bottle on the side-table with absolute precision. “I can think of three ways your plan could go belly-up.”

  “Only three?” Jacob said, eyebrows lifted. “I can think of five. Selmak says there’s six, but he won’t tell me what I’ve missed. It amuses him to keep me guessing.”

  A shiver of distaste shimmered over Jack’s face. “Three ways that don’t include the fact I’m not too fond of the Tok’ra.”

  Let me talk with him, said Selmak.

  I don’t think that’s wise, Jacob replied. We should take this one step at a time.

  Please, Jacob. Let me talk.

  All right, he sighed. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  When he looked outward again, Jack was scowling. “See? That’s what I mean. It’s creepy.”

  “My apologies, Colonel,” said Selmak. “Unfortunately, since we have but one mouth between us, vocalizing our conversations is somewhat problematical.”

  Relegated to the back seat, Jacob watched as Jack did his best to disguise his unease. “I guess.”

  “I wish you would agree to Jacob’s proposal,” said Selmak. “Even though I know it was he you risked your life to save on Ne’tu, nevertheless you saved me too. I would greatly appreciate the chance to get to know you better. And, I confess, I would like you to know me. To discover for yourself that I am not the ogre you imagine me to be.”

  “I never said you were an ogre,” Jack protested. “I’m sure you’re a perfectly pleasant… person.”

  “For a snake,” said Selmak.

  Jacob felt himself grinning as Jack squirmed. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I was busy saving the world, again, the day they held the Tok’ra Sensitivity Seminar.”

  “My feelings are undamaged,” said Selmak, utterly serene. “Trust me, Colonel, I have been called far worse in my centuries of life.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Is it that you fear our plan has no hope of success?”

  Jack shook his head. “No. It’s a good plan. Risky, but worth it if it comes off.”

  “And still you hesitate. I’ll articulate why, shall I?” said Selmak gently. “It is because you do not trust us. But trust grows out of familiarity, Colonel. And if you refuse to become familiar with us, how can our two peoples hope to forge a true and lasting alliance? We are different, yes, but we have a fearful common enemy. Can you not find the courage within yourself to look past your fear and prejudice to the rewards of a possible friendship and mutual assistance?”

  Jacob held his breath. Selmak had just as good as accused Jack O’Neill of being a coward. Not the tactic he’d have recommended…

  But Jack was smiling, his eyes no longer cold and hard but genuinely amused. “Sticks and stones, Selmak. If you think you can get to me that way, you’re barking up
the wrong tree.”

  Sticks and stones? Barking? What tree? said Selmak, bewildered.

  Earthisms I don’t use, Jacob replied. Thanks, Selmak. I’ll take it from here.

  Please do.

  He said to Jack, “I might not have put it quite that way, but I agree Selmak’s got a point. The Tok’ra aren’t perfect, but neither are you. And if we don’t find a way to see past our differences the Goa’uld will have won without firing another shot. Is that what you want?”

  “You know it isn’t,” said Jack. Restless, he pushed to his feet and crossed to the French windows. Pulling aside the curtain he looked into his flowering garden. “Does Sam know about this yet?”

  “No. Jack, we both know she’ll go without you if she has to, but she’ll be a lot more enthusiastic about this mission if she knows you’re on board. Your whole team will be.”

  “I know,” he said, not turning. “Why do you think I’m thinking twice?”

  Jacob stood, then, and joined Jack at the window. Rested his hand on the man’s shoulder, and was encouraged when it wasn’t shrugged away. “It’s a good plan, Jack. Risky, yes, but not unacceptably. And you need this, to give you some breathing space away from Kinsey, and Washington, and the idiots who don’t know what they’ve got in you. So come on. What do you say? Are you in, or are you out?”

  Jack stepped away, reclaiming his personal space. One hand came up to scrub through his short, silvered hair.

  “Okay,” he said, and finally turned. Not smiling, still unhappy, but no longer downright angry. “Fine. I’m in.” Then he muttered, under his breath, “As if I had a choice.”

  Grudging or not, it was a win. Jacob smiled, and nodded, and glanced at the ceiling. Thank you, God.

  Chapter Six

  Like Earth, P8C-316 had a single yellow sun. It had grass and trees and flowers and insects, sweet smelling breezes, spectacular dawns… and the most amazing ruins Daniel had seen since the lost city of Ur.

  He sat cross-legged in the dirt in front of a tumbledown dwelling, surrounded by the tools of his profession, a cache of time-encrusted pottery shards and one unbroken, exquisitely glazed ceramic offering plate he’d rescued from under the home’s collapsed mud bricks. Beneath the grime it gleamed crimson and ochre and lapis lazuli, so beautiful he was stung with tears. Holding the plate in careful, scraped and blistered fingers he felt so human, so humble, so connected to this long-dead community. And incredibly lucky, to be here. Touching this. Bringing the dead to life.