Alliances

by Stargate

  Alar’s desperate. Bloody. All that plausible suaveness obliterated, the arrogance, the smooth sleek self-assurance. His world is in flames. You lit the match. Nazi wannabes. The urge to control. Destroy. Expunge what you don’t approve of. Is it genetic? Coded into human DNA?

  Alar doesn’t understand. He’s genuinely bewildered. “It could’ve all been yours.”

  You look at him, feeling sick. “I wouldn’t follow us if I were you…”

  Chapter Eight

  “The thing about dying,” said Jacob, as he rolled the Goa’uld cargo ship through Vorash’s ionosphere, “is that it really concentrates the mind. Don’t you find it concentrates the mind, Jack?”

  Hanging on for dear life to the sides of his seat as the star field beyond the tel’tac’s view port spun lazily past, O’Neill spared Carter’s insane father a sideways look.

  “If you mean am I paying attention now, Jacob, the answer is yes! Absolutely! I am paying strict attention!”

  Jacob righted the ship and released his hold on the bizarre Goa’uld controls. “No. That’s not what I mean. What I mean is, imminent death really gets you thinking.”

  Cautiously, O’Neill let go of his seat. Somebody should introduce the concept of seatbelts to the snakeheads. Soon. “Well, Jacob, so far I’ve only died once, from a staff blast, and I didn’t have time to think about anything. I was dead before I hit the ground.”

  Nudging the cargo ship into a stationary position above the planet, Jacob nodded. “Fair enough. But you nearly died in Antarctica, and that was a pretty drawn-out affair. You nearly aged to death from nanites, another prolonged journey—and incidentally, can I just say what the hell were you thinking? Unprotected sex on an alien planet with a woman you’d known for five minutes? Not one of your finest moments, Colonel.”

  What? “Ah—Jacob—”

  “Then there was the time you nearly died pinned to the ’gate room wall,” continued Jacob, ignoring him, “the time you nearly got sucked into a black hole, the time you nearly had your brain rewired by an Ancient database and—of course—the time you nearly gave your life in defence of the planet when Apophis attacked. And that’s just since the SGC was formed. Before that there’s the parachuting accident over Iraq, some unpleasantness in Central America, a couple of near-misses in Panama, your stint in Abu Ghraib, a little excitement in Lebanon… You know, that’s a hell of a lot of ‘nearly dieds’, Jack. Do you expect me to believe not one of them got you pondering the mysteries of life and death?”

  “Don’t tell me. Let me guess,” O’Neill said, when he could trust himself to speak without yelling. “You’ve read my file.”

  “Yes I have, Jack,” said Jacob. “All four volumes. They were… fun.”

  He took refuge in sarcasm. “Glad you enjoyed yourself, Jacob. Maybe I should donate a copy to the Colorado Springs Municipal Library. Then everyone with a spare few hours can amuse themselves at my expense.”

  Jacob just smiled. “What? Did you think I wasn’t going to investigate the credentials of the man responsible for the life of my only daughter?”

  Hell. When you put it that way… “Jacob, I thought you were supposed to be teaching me how to fly a Goa’uld cargo ship, not… resurrecting the dead and buried past.”

  “I can do both,” said Jacob, and pointed to one of the incomprehensible buttons on the dash. “That’s the hyperspace window enabler,” he said. “Push it, and you create the subspace conduit that allows the ship to travel multiple times faster than the speed of light. The trick is you have to plot your destination before you enable it, or you could end up anywhere. Inside a sun, even, which I wouldn’t recommend. So, to plot your destination, you—”

  “I don’t need to know that,” O’Neill said. “That’s what your only daughter is for.”

  Jacob grinned. “And if Sam’s otherwise occupied?”

  “Then there’s Teal’c.”

  “And if he’s otherwise—”

  “Jacob! Come on!”

  “No, Jack, you come on,” said Jacob. He wasn’t grinning now. “Who do you think you’re talking to, here?”

  A short, sharp silence. Then: “Okay.”

  “Besides, what else is there for you to do?” asked Jacob, reasonably. “We’re still waiting for a final mission greenlight from Per’sus. Sam’s making sure she understands our recruiting requirements, Daniel’s got his nose buried in Tok’ra archives and Teal’c’s reviewing Jaffa protocols with the next operatives due to go undercover. It’s not like you can help them.”

  Galling, but true. “I guess.”

  “Exactly.” Jacob pointed at another bit of the tel’tac’s control panel. One half of it was configured with the symbols found on a Stargate and its DHD, while the other half was a bunch of Goa’uld letters. “You don’t have to do any calculating, as such. The onboard computer system, for want of a better term, will do that for you. All you need to do is punch in the co-ordinates of the Stargate closest to the location you’re aiming for and the Goa’uld name of the planet or solar system you want, if they’re not the same thing or the planet you want to reach doesn’t have a ’gate. The computer does the rest.”

  “Jacob, I don’t know the Goa’uld name for those things,” he protested. “Hell, I only just found out what ‘kree’ means!”

  “Don’t worry,” said Jacob. “I’ll give you a list when we get back to Vorash. Learning it off by heart can be your homework.”

  “Homework. He wants to give me homework, no less,” O’Neill complained to the stars beyond the tel’tac’s window.

  “For now, let’s do an easy jump,” said Jacob, again ignoring him. “Say to Earth, and back. You do remember the ’gate address for Earth?”

  He gave the man a look. “Yes. That one I know.”

  Jacob slapped him on the shoulder. “Good. So. First of all, you punch in the Earth ’gate co-ordinates…”

  Guided by Carter’s incredibly irritating father, he jumped the cargo ship to a high synchronous orbit around home, slipped the tel’tac into top gear and had a little fun dodging satellites and space junk, then jumped back to Vorash. Despite himself he smiled, quietly pleased with the achievement.

  “Good,” said Jacob. “Now you make a jump on your own this time.”

  “Where to?”

  “Your choice. But better make it another planet under Asgard Protection so we don’t run into any Goa’uld.”

  The only one he could remember off the top of his head was Cimeria so he jumped them there, and back again, without a hitch.

  “Very good,” praised Jacob. “See? It’s not hard once you get the hang of it. Now. Since we’re out here having such a fun time, and it’s just the two of us, I thought we could clear the air about a few things.”

  Oh. Right. O’Neill stared at him, not fooled at all. Whatever was coming was the real reason for this expedition. “Such as?”

  “Mainly, your attitude to this mission. Even though you agreed to come, I get the distinct impression you’re not in favor of it.”

  No, he really wasn’t. “It doesn’t matter what I think,” he said. “It was Hammond’s call, and he called in your favor.”

  “Yes, he did,” said Jacob. “But we both know things’ll go a lot more smoothly if you can put your hand on your heart and say you support what the Tok’ra are doing.”

  “And if I can’t?”

  Jacob sighed. “Jack, I mentioned dying before because it played a big part in my decision to accept Selmak and join the Tok’ra. Resume orbit around Vorash. We’ll circle the block a few times before we start the next exercise.”

  With increasing confidence O’Neill punched the requisite control buttons and eased the cargo ship into a steady glide above and around the Tok’ra stronghold. Then he sat back and considered the man beside him. “Jacob, I get it. You were dying, and putting a snake in your head was the only way to save your life.”

  “Yeah, okay, you’re going to have to stop calling Selmak a snake,” said Jacob. “It’s
insulting and hurtful. How many times do you need to be told? The Tok’ra and the Goa’uld are nothing alike.”

  He snorted. “Apart from the whole invade your body and take over your brain part.”

  “There is no invasion!”

  “Really?” he demanded. “Tell that to Sam! You weren’t around, Jacob. You didn’t see what having Jolinar stuck in her head against her will did to her! And the nightmares? Ask her about the nightmares, sometime. She used to wake up screaming. Crying. She—”

  “Jolinar was desperate,” said Selmak. “Fighting for her own life, and all the lives she was trying to save. She never would have taken Samantha Carter as a host if there had been an alternative course of action. And when it appeared certain that her choice would cost Samantha her life, she sacrificed her own to save her host. Is that the behavior of a Goa’uld?”

  He was too angry to get creeped out about the switch. The reminder that this was in fact a three-way conversation. “Forcing Carter to carry her in the first place was exactly the behavior of a Goa’uld!” he spat. “We’ve got a saying on Earth, Selmak. ‘Blood will out.’ You call yourselves Tok’ra and you claim you’re nothing like the Goa’uld but you’re the same species and when you’re desperate enough you act just like them. How are we—humans—supposed to trust you when at any moment you can take us over against our will and there is nothing we can do to stop you?”

  “It’s clear you take what happened to Major Carter very personally, Colonel O’Neill.”

  “Damn straight I take it personally! I saw what that Ashrak did to her because it wanted to kill Jolinar! I saw her dying in front of me! I sat with her in the infirmary three nights running because she was too afraid to go to sleep. Terrified of the dreams, the memories, Jolinar left in her head. Why would any sane person do that to themselves on purpose?”

  “For one, because they’re dying and they’re not ready to go just yet,” said Jacob, quietly. “But that’s not the only reason. Jack, I understand your anger. So does Selmak. What Jolinar did was against our code. But like Selmak says, she was desperate. Are you going to sit there and tell me you’ve never done anything questionable out of desperation? Anything questionable at all?”

  “That’s dirty pool, Jacob. We’re not talking about me.”

  Jacob shrugged. “And we’re not talking about Sam, either. Do you think I’m happy she was put through an ordeal like that? You’re a father. You know the answer. But this is bigger than my pain, or your pain, or even Sam’s pain. This is about the survival of a people who might just hold the key to defeating the Goa’uld. Are you saying I should’ve died, rather than let Selmak heal me and in the process prolong his own incredibly valuable life? Seriously? Is that what you’re saying?”

  O’Neill slid out of the tel’tac’s co-pilot’s seat and walked away, as far as he could get. Brought up hard against a bulkhead he stopped, and leaned against it. “No. I’m not saying that.”

  “Sorry, Jack, but it sounds to me like you are,” said Jacob. His voice was gentle. Reasonable. “Sounds to me like you want to stop any human from accepting a Tok’ra symbiote because you’re not comfortable with the idea. That’s hardly democratic. Can’t you at least admit that maybe, just maybe, your entire view of the Tok’ra has been tainted by what happened to Sam?”

  He turned back. “So maybe it is. First impressions and all that. So what?”

  “Well, for one thing, Sam’s accepted what happened with Jolinar so maybe it’s time you stopped being angry on her behalf,” said Jacob. “You also need to accept that there are some people for whom the pros of blending with a Tok’ra symbiote far, far outweigh the cons.”

  “Well I’m not one of them!”

  “Yes, I’m getting that, Jack.”

  He’d never understand Jacob, or the people like Jacob, not in a million years. “So you’re saying you don’t mind that you’re different, now? That you aren’t human any more? That doesn’t bother you?”

  Jacob took a moment to think about it. Then he said, gently smiling, “If I had become less than who I was, then yes. It would bother me. But Jack, I became so much more than plain old General Jacob Carter. And I have to tell you, I love the new me. I love my new life. I will be grateful to Sam forever, that I’ve embarked on such an incredible adventure. Selmak has given me… God. So much. We accept that becoming a host is not what you’d choose. But what gives you the right to stand in the way of those who do want it? Or at least might be willing to consider it. Who think that surrendering their individuality, their singular existence, could be a noble gesture? The best, perhaps the only way, they can fight against the Goa’uld? And in doing so, escape from slavery?”

  “You call it escape, Jacob. I call it jumping from the frying pan into the fire.”

  “Jack, humans on a Goa’uld slave farm are treated worse than cattle!” said Jacob. “The Tok’ra want to offer them new lives. A way to fight for the freedom of all humans enslaved by the Goa’uld. Who are you to stand in the way of that chance?”

  He felt like a butterfly, pinned wriggling and helpless to a cork board. “Okay. Okay,” he said, goaded. “You’ve made your point. I don’t have the right to make the decision for anyone else. I can only decide for myself.”

  Jacob nodded. “Good.”

  “But—” He held up a warning finger. “The Tok’ra have to practice full disclosure. You have to tell these potential hosts exactly what they’re letting themselves in for. The bad as well as the good. They get to make a fully informed decision, Jacob, or I’ll do my damndest to make sure they never get to hear what you’re offering. And since you’ve read my file, you know that won’t be pretty.”

  Jacob nodded. “I can live with that.”

  “What about Selmak? Can he live with it?”

  “He can.”

  “Good. Then I guess we’ve got a deal.” Jacob leaned over and patted the other pilot’s chair. “Come on. Take a seat, Colonel. We’ve still got work to do.”

  Four gruelling hours later, O’Neill found himself back on Vorash, in search of his team. He found Daniel first, huddled over a pile of notes and Tok’ra computer pad things in a corner of the recreation hall, which was otherwise empty. Geek-boy was listening to a digital tape machine and transcribing whatever it was he’d recorded in the swift, incomprehensible shorthand he used on archaeological digs. Focused like a laser, oblivious to his surroundings, he had that look on his face, the absorbed challenged hungry look that meant he was happy. Fulfilled. Doing what came naturally.

  He stood by the table a full five minutes before Daniel realized he was there.

  “Hey. Watcha doin’?” he said as Daniel looked up, startled.

  Snatching the recorder’s earwig free then hitting the pause button Daniel said, “Jack, it’s incredible. I can’t tell you—thank God we came—I’m learning so much. Tok’ra culture is amazing. It’s actual living history, I am talking to people who witnessed events that occurred hundreds of years ago!”

  He nodded. “Fancy that.”

  “Yes! I know!” said Daniel, breathless. “The perspective they offer on historical causalities, it’s—it’s—unprecedented! I really think I’ll be able to help draft a truly meaningful Earth-Tok’ra treaty by the end of our stay here. So far I’ve only interviewed three Tok’ra and already I know more about their history, their customs, the way they think and how they view the world, what’s important to their culture, than I’ve learned since we first encountered them. For instance—for instance—one of the reasons they’re so wary about formalizing relations between us is their grasp of consequences. They worry that because our functional lifespan is so short—you know, the time between maturity and senility—that we can’t understand the ripple effects of the decisions we make and actually, when you think about it, probably they’ve got a point. The thing is, the Tok’ra I really need to talk to is Selmak, he’s kind of like a walking talking Encyclopaedia Britannica of the Tok’ra race, when do you think would be a good time to—”
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  O’Neill held up both hands, ready to stuff the tape recorder down Daniel’s throat if that was what it took to stem the flood. “Whoa! Daniel! Chill! You’re talking in chipmunk and I can only listen in human.”

  Daniel grinned, then pressed his thumb tips to his eyes. “Sorry. Guess I got a little carried away.”

  “Ya think?”

  “So how was your day? Can you fly a Goa’uld cargo ship yet?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Actually, I can.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “So’s Selmak.”

  Daniel started gathering his scattered notes together. “How are you doing with that, anyway?”

  “What, being surrounded by sn—Tok’ra?” He shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  “Really?” said Daniel, with one of his swift, piercing looks. “Are you sure? I’m not just talking about the Tok’ra. I know you’re pissed off about having to come here. It feels like running away.”

  Hell yeah, it felt like running away. Running from Kinsey, that sanctimonious rat bastard. And trust Daniel to get that. “I told you,” he grunted. “I’m fine. What’s not to love about Vorash? And the Tok’ra. They’re not Goa’uld. They’re anti-Goa’uld. Which is the point, I believe.”

  “Well,” said Daniel, clearly not convinced, “if it helps at all, I think your dark cloud’s got a seriously silver lining.”

  “I’ll try to remember that. Daniel…”

  “What?”

  Against all expectation O’Neill felt his heart-rate increase. Felt an uncomfortable tightening in his gut. He had to fight not to look away from Daniel’s curious face. “Carter seems to think we need to talk.”

  A shutter dropped behind Daniel’s eyes, rendering them opaque. Once upon a time the man had been as transparent as glass, incapable of shielding his thoughts, his feelings, from anyone. But that was before Apophis had stolen Sha’re. Before he’d held her lifeless body in his arms. Before any number of other hurts had left him scarred in body and soul. He started putting the tops back on his scattered variety of pens.