[Stargate SG-1 02] - The Price You Pay

by Ashley McConnell - (ebook by Undead)

Got sick.

  Died.

  Of all the stupid things to happen on this mission, to have a kid catch cold and die was the stupidest.

  He gave Carter an acknowledging nod, hoping she caught the understanding he tried to convey at the same time. She stepped back into the little crowd; the tension in her face had eased, not entirely, but at least a little.

  “Sick?” Alizane’s jaw dropped. “How could she be sick? We don’t have sickness here anymore.”

  “And apparently you don’t have resistance to viruses either, ma’am.” Carter managed to keep her voice even. “Markhtin got sick too, but he seems to have recovered.”

  Jareth, Alizane, and Karlanan shared a bewildered glance. “Vi russes? What are those?”

  O’Neill heaved a sigh. “Things that make you sick,” he said. He wasn’t about to try to introduce contagion theory to this world.

  “One of you gave Maesen this vi. Russ?”

  Carter winced. “It might have been a function of Daniel’s cold; she’d have to have been terribly vulnerable, with no immune system at all—”

  “So you killed her. You murdered her—”

  One of the runaway teenagers, a young woman with long braided blond hair and a silver-gray walking stick, stepped out of the crowd to advance on Alizane.

  “How dare you?” she snapped. “How dare you accuse her of the death of my friend, when you—yes, you, my own aunt—would send us all to our deaths. We’ve seen the Goa’uld larvae. That one”—she indicated Teal’C—“he carries one, and we all saw. Is that the kind of child you’d have Maesen carry beneath her heart? She’s better off dead.”

  Alizane turned white. “Clein’dori, you don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t understand. We don’t carry larvae—”

  “Yes, I do. I was there, and you weren’t. Isn’t that what you always told us when we were little, about what it was like serving the Goa’uld? We would never really understand until we were there ourselves. Well, I was there with Maesen, and she died alone and afraid, but she died herself.”

  Jareth tried to interpose himself between the two angry women—never a good tactic, O’Neill felt like telling him. “If Maesen had died on Saqqara, it would have been a death full of honor, a death in the service of her people, keeping them safe. We all went prepared to die. It is a fair price to pay.”

  He gestured at O’Neill. “Ask him. Ask your new friends if they’re willing to die for their countrymen. And then let him explain to us the difference, if there is any, and why they encourage you to hide from your duty!”

  A little silence fell as they all turned to stare at O’Neill.

  “Well?” Clein’dori asked at last. Her fingers tightened around the long, heavy stick. She looked like she knew how to use it and wouldn’t be at all afraid to. “Does your world ask you to die in its service?”

  He closed his eyes, then snapped them open again to banish the images of those kids with missing limbs, shredded bowels hanging out, screaming and crying for their mothers. Of his own people gagging and retching and suffocating in gas attacks in Iraq.

  “No,” he said slowly, “my country doesn’t ask me to die in its service.” Out of the corner of his eye he caught a sudden movement by Carter, reacting to his words, and the equally sudden stillness by Teal’C.

  “My country asks me to fight in its service, to keep it free. It doesn’t want me to die, even though we all know that might happen. Dying for my country isn’t my job.

  “My job is to make sure the other poor dumb bastard dies for his country.”

  It might not be very palatable, but it was true. It was true for the Jaffa Guards whose necks he’d broken hours ago, and for the tank troops in his sights as he flew over Iraq, and for the Viet Cong years ago.

  “We fight to protect our people, to keep them free from threats like the Goa’uld.”

  It wasn’t his job to second-guess the morality of war, but to wage it. When he was lucky, the morality was easy and clear-cut. He supposed he was lucky in that respect in this war against the Goa’uld, but that didn’t make those poor Jaffa at the Saqqara Gate any more alive.

  The red-clad Councilors were staring at him uncomprehendingly. He shook his head. “Look, I told you when I left here that I’d be back for my people. That’s all I want. Just let us go to the Gate and as soon as it opens, we’ll be outta here.” The first time check had already passed. He wondered if Daniel was still alive.

  “But where…” Jareth began haltingly. “Where is our justice? If you go, we are left with only our dead, our broken promise to the Goa’uld. Should we simply let you go?”

  Yep, since you asked my opinion, that’s exactly what you should do. At least, O’Neill thought wryly, he had the sense not to say that out loud. He wasn’t sure what to say anymore.

  Teal’C stirred, rather like a mountain considering the possibility of an earthquake, and came forward. The kids gave him a wide berth, even Clein’dori. “There is justice,” he rumbled. “You have lost a child. We have failed in our mission. We must return home and tell our leaders that we were not able to follow their orders.”

  Alizane’s eyes lit up as if the prospect delighted her. “They will punish you, then. They will punish you severely.”

  “As do all leaders when their followers fail,” Teal’C agreed. He turned to O’Neill, bowing his head in the nearest thing to a humble gesture O’Neill had ever seen the big man make. “I have failed you, my leader. We both have failed you.”

  O’Neill caught on instantly. “And you’ll be punished for it, of course. If our leaders let me live long enough to see to it.” Behind Teal’C, out of the line of sight of the Councilors, he could see enlightenment dawn on Carter, who grabbed Clein’dori and whispered urgently in her ear. Clein’dori, who was about to protest once more, subsided, looking at first puzzled and then nearly as wickedly delighted as Alizane. O’Neill wished they could keep track of the blond kid—she obviously had potential. Maybe she would grow up to lead a coup d’état against the Councilors and the whole tribute system.

  And maybe the Goa’uld would wipe them all out.

  Not his responsibility. His responsibility was Carter and Teal’C and Jackson. Period.

  “That seems fair,” Karlanan offered. “If your leaders kill you.”

  “I’m certain that will cross their minds,” O’Neill said. With Hammond, that was a sure bet. The General had a low tolerance for screwups, and this one was a prize example.

  “Go, then,” Alizane decided, without bothering to consult her fellow Councilors. “Wait, and when the Gate opens, go through it. And never come back again.”

  “That I can promise you,” O’Neill said feelingly. “For your part—” he hesitated and looked at her long and hard. “What were you going to do to your children? One of them has died already for defying your ways.” He felt like gagging as he said it, but Alizane’s commitment to punishment as example left him nearly certain what the Council had planned for the remaining five. “Surely they have been punished enough. They can never be Chosen again, can they?”

  Let them live, he was suggesting. Let them live without honor as you measure honor, but let them live.

  The five young people standing around Carter understood exactly what he was saying. Not all of them accepted it in the same fashion. One of the twins looked indignant at the very idea. The blond girl was remote and thoughtful, watching her elders decide her fate. He had a feeling that she would have a few things of her own to say about it.

  Live to fight another day, he tried to tell them, without allowing the Council to see that in his eyes.

  Alizane turned to Jareth. “What do you think?”

  Karlanan growled, “They must be punished.”

  “Won’t the memory of the loss of their friend be punishment enough?”

  They didn’t really want to kill the kids. It was part of the generally submissive nature of the culture. Blood-thirstiness just wasn’t in them.

  It didn’t take long
for them to acquiesce.

  O’Neill gathered up his team.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Carter paced around the M’kwethet Gate, pausing occasionally to peer through the open circle as if she could see another world on the other side.

  “Siddown, Captain,” O’Neill said wearily, checking the action on his sidearm. It was spotless. So was his rifle. They should have been, considering he’d broken them down for cleaning at least three times so far. “We’re not going to go just yet. I want to give it time to cool down there. And you can’t open the Gate by using up all your energy that way.”

  “It is possible that Daniel Jackson was discovered and killed on Saqqara,” Teal’C observed.

  “No, it’s not.” O’Neill dismissed the possibility with finality. “He’s fine. He’s waiting for us.”

  “Sir, if we’re going to wait, I’d really like to talk to the kids again.” Carter was sitting, fidgeting. Then she bounced to her feet as if she’d heard something. “I feel like I failed them.”

  “Unlikely, considering you took the best course of action available to you at the time,” Teal’C pointed out.

  Carter glared and resumed pacing. The colonel got to his feet, looking over the expanse of the city one more time.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to leave a place,” he murmured.

  “They’re gonna do something awful to those kids,” Carter whispered.

  “Sit down, Captain!” O’Neill had had enough of her nervous energy. She was doing too good a job of reflecting his own inner turmoil. The second time check had passed while he was still arguing with Alizane. He hated the idea of waiting for more time to pass, but he couldn’t change the rules now. Meanwhile he and Teal’C examined every part of the leather arm guard.

  Around them, the life of M’kwethet flowed serenely on. The shops were closed. The moons rose.

  A lithe figure ran across the silvered square and stood at the bottom of the three steps.

  “Why aren’t you gone?” Clein’dori asked. “I thought you were going to leave.”

  We were talking about justice, O’Neill thought. He turned the leather brace over and over in his hands.

  “I am so sorry,” Carter said, helplessness apparent in her voice. “I am so sorry about Maesen.”

  “I know you tried,” the young woman said. “But now you have a way to leave and you’re leaving us behind until they come again. We have no way to escape.”

  “Your elders would not use it,” Teal’C rumbled. “They would return this device to the Goa’uld in hope of earning their favor.”

  “I wouldn’t,” she answered. The light caught her long braid and for a moment her hair was white instead of blond, like a band of silver around her brow.

  They could really use the technology on Earth.

  Earth already had a DHD.

  “Let me show you how this works,” a voice said, and O’Neill found himself striding down the steps. “I’ll give you the symbols to open the Gate to—to the Nox world. They’ll keep you safe.”

  “I want to go to your world.”

  He couldn’t take the time to explain about the iris. “It won’t work to Earth,” he said. “We have to use it to go back to Saqqara. But here, watch how this goes—”

  It was late, really late. Mafret had found a place for him beyond the Hall and told him not to move.

  There were fewer search parties now, though. Jackson forced himself to move past the Jaffa as if he had every right, or at least every obligation, to head directly for the little guardroom off the main hall. The Jaffa and the human servants never spared him a glance.

  The three-hour check-in had passed again. It had given him time to set up his desperate attempt at a second diversion. He didn’t know if it would even work or, if it did, whether this would be the time they picked to come through. But if it did, and they did, he’d have to be right there to take advantage of what he sincerely hoped would be at least minor hysteria.

  The Gate room was full again. Three Jaffa stood guard around the DHD. Eight more, on either side of the Gate, were at rigid attention.

  He debated hiding in a handy alcove, remembered where the last one had led to, and decided against it. The senior Serpent Guard performed a last inspection of the squad at the Gate.

  Ten deep breaths later, he was beginning to worry about whether it was going to work after all. He bit his lip, thinking about going back to see if—

  The Gate opened.

  A double line of Jaffa came through the shimmering pool. The waiting occupants of the room all turned expectantly to the open wormhole.

  Oh, God, Daniel prayed. Not now. Not yet.

  A long parade started through the Gate. The Jaffa were followed by musicians and dancing girls, by more Goa’uld.

  A roar of greeting went up as the end of the procession came through. Every living thing in the Gate room not actively involved in the procession fell to its knees.

  Rooted to the mosaic floor, Daniel watched as Apophis came through the M’kwethet Gate, with his Queen, Sha’re, beside him.

  Her eyes were outlined with kohl and shadow, her hair dressed in a fall of rich brown curls. On her head she wore a tiara of gold, studded with turquoise and carnelian, with slender strings of gold fanning over her face as a veil. A matching collar stretched from her clavicles to her nipples, a fan of slender golden strips jointed together. Around her waist was a wide belt of matching strips that chimed as she walked, as her hips moved. From her belt fell a sheer skirt of glowing white.

  His lips parted, forming her name. He wanted to run to her, shake recognition back into her eyes.

  He did nothing.

  The procession made its way across the great hall and south, toward the hastily repaired Throne Room. The waiting audience followed, for the most part; the Serpent Guards flanking the Gate proceeded after, along with one of those assigned to the DHD.

  He watched her go, and he did nothing, thinking blankly, She wasn’t even here. All the time I spent looking for her, and she wasn’t even here.

  By the time all of them had passed through the arched doorway to the Throne Room, the Gate had settled down to stillness once again.

  The royal procession was barely out of sight when an explosion shook the building and a wall of greasy black smoke billowed from the next hall over.

  At the same time, the Gate billowed open again.

  Screams echoed from the depths of the building. The rest of the people in the Great Hall called out frantically. A Serpent Guard raced out of the ready room, looked around and yelled to the two still on the DHD. The three started toward the wall of greasy orange flame gouting up from the arched hallway opening.

  Daniel faded back into the ready room and snatched up the nearest energy staffs. Charging one, he ran back out and into the DHD alcove.

  The room was filling with smoke. He coughed, his eyes watering.

  One of the Serpent Guards turned back at the unscheduled sound of the Gate opening. Daniel raised the staff and shot him. More shadows moved uncertainly in the smoke.

  “Come on come on come on,” he chanted, as if it were a spell that would bring them through. “Come on, dammit…”

  Tumbling through the Gate, without a scrap of the dignity of the Goa’uld, came the other three members of SG-1. They managed to be back on their feet by the time they got to the bottom of the platform steps.

  Daniel heaved energy staffs at them as if the weapons were javelins. The team could barely see them—indeed, one staff hit Teal’C in the ankle before he could blink away the fumes to see it. It would take a few minutes for the Gate to shut down, a few deadly minutes before he could encode the symbols for Earth.

  “Daniel!” O’Neill yelled. “You there?”

  He started to yell back, doubled over with a fit of coughing.

  “Never mind!”

  The wormhole from M’kwethet shut down, leaving a sudden pool of silence broken only by harsh panting from the combatants and moan
s from the injured. None of his team, Daniel was glad to see. He started to stand to input the symbols for Earth. He had to get them through before the iris was shut again.

  Out of the smoke came more Serpent Guards, members of the royal escort, helmets up, eyes glowing. O’Neill, Carter, and Teal’C laid down covering fire, waiting for him to open the Gate and join them. The Guards were firing blindly, away from the DHD. Behind them, still more shadows moved. Daniel couldn’t tell whether they were stray slaves, courtiers, Jaffa, Guards, or Goa’uld; it didn’t matter.

  The Serpent Guards greeted him with a concerted volley. One bolt of energy caught his upper arm. He could smell the melted metal of his slave collar as it liquefied and curled into the muscle; he could hear a scream of agony coming from somewhere; he just couldn’t feel anything.

  He couldn’t feel the symbols under his hands. The panels wouldn’t depress. He tried leaning on them, but his arm wouldn’t support him. A thin trickle of red rolled down his arm, following the muscles and the bones, down his wrist, pooling in one of the symbols. He must have been—

  “Daniel!” The word was frantic, angry. He looked up to see O’Neill trying to edge over to him.

  No, he thought. That won’t work. I need to input the signals. Then go over there. To the Gate.

  Their opponents were advancing. Carter and Teal’C were firing steadily, remorselessly into the line of Serpent Guards.

  He managed to slap the symbol again, weakly, and this time felt it give under his hand. The Gate spun. The first chevron locked into place.

  Another. He was beginning to feel—something—in his arm. All things considered, he’d rather not, he thought, but the shock was beginning to wear off. The Serpent Guards had shifted their attention, were concentrating their fire now on the narrow alcove entrance.

  Another.

  Another.

  The panels were getting slippery, sticky with blood.

  He could hear shouting coming from behind the Guards, as if panicky orders and protests were crossing each other.

  Another.

  O’Neill had managed, somehow, to get past the line of fire, probably using the dead bodies of Guards, as well as the smoke, for cover. The smoke was beginning to clear, Daniel saw; at least, his vision was less hazy now. More blurry, perhaps.