Embedded Files
The Sun On The Horizon
Chapter Nine
The Empty Tomb
Byblos by Victor Haddad
Jack has a little chat with Ba'al, and learns way more than he ever wanted to know about snake biology.
Å
Dawn on Tsydon was an hour or more away.
Dark stillness penetrated the house. In one of the rooms someone muttered in their sleep. Jack padded along the corridor in his socks, cold metal retrieved from several pieces of luggage weighing his pockets and hands. He moved downstairs, not waking those who had finally found sleep only a couple of hours earlier.
He sat in the front room’s window seat, moonlight glinting off the weapon as he assembled it. They’d talked for hours: talked, argued, grieved, denied, reasoned. Daniel couldn’t be dead, pictorial evidence aside. It made no sense for Ba'al to take such a huge, expensive risk in kidnapping Daniel just to use him in some ceremonial sacrifice. If it had been Daniel up on that cliff, well, he had to still be alive. It was a sham. Artistic licence. Something…
Of them all, Skaara was most adamant Daniel was still breathing. ‘Ba'al is Goa'uld, O'Near. Like all of them, he fears age, deterioration, death. They break the laws of nature to defy the turn of time. He will have a sarcophagus.’
He’d known that. They all had. Hearing it said though, put an even worse chill on his heart. Was it better to have Daniel still alive, possibly suffering, than to know he’d been ritually slaughtered and sealed in that soul destroying box so he could rise, healthy but just a little less Daniel than he’d been before? Were they planning more ceremonies? A weekly highlight for the good folks of Tsydon? Come see the innocent guy bleed to death. Popcorn and tee shirts at reasonable prices.
Not gonna happen.
The sniper rifle snapped together with satisfyingly solid clicks. Jack checked his ammo, slung the rifle, pulled on his boots.
The team had tossed over many plans, last night. Daniel was most likely in Ba'al’s castle. They would split up and infiltrate in four groups, best cover would be with the stream of locals delivering fresh food in the morning. His extended team were primed and ready, honed to maximum alertness and spoiling for a fight.
But first, Jack was going to have a little chat.
With Ba'al.
He strode through the sleeping town, another shadow in the pre-dawn depths of darkness. He passed under the mural, didn’t look up. Taking the winding path up the hillside, Jack was guided by the white marble tombs, three pale beacons squatting under the moon like poisonous toads.
There were the odd sentries patrolling, easily avoided. He moved with the narrowed focus of so long ago, put aside but never forgotten. Glide silently from rock to paver to grass, duck down in the cover of whatever was nearest, pull the shadows over him to become one of them; rise, move on.
The twin temples were unguarded. Sleeping priests were draped on the floor of Ba'al’s, priestesses and their customers scattered around the niches in Astarte’s. Jack gave them only a cursory look; his goal lay higher. There were guards still on the path. Jack left them unconscious in the shrubbery.
The Temple of Eshmun glowed with light, a living thing in the void of night. He sidled through the main entrance, hugging pillars and pot plants. Lanterns hung in the trees and balanced in grottos over ponds and tinkling fountains. Jack prowled down one of the pathways, zat primed and ready. At the rear of the temple a brighter glow illumed another chamber. A woman’s voice, soft and sad, could just be heard.
Sidling up to the entrance, Jack peered inside. It was small, twenty feet square, crammed with greenery. A glass dome etched pale shadows over the gleaming gold sarcophagus in the centre, and the woman draped over it. She was singing soft words in some language Daniel would probably know, her tone filled with both longing and comfort. She stretched over the box, hands caressing the etchings. Soon her whole body was on top, writhing with undisguised passion. A squirm of distaste ran through Jack.
Her song came to an end. She planted an open-mouthed kiss on the lid, right above where an occupant’s head would be, then slid off muttering, endearments presumably. Could be recipes for all he knew, but… no. She was just about screwing the box, and in a get-up that left nothing hidden. She was a dark-haired beauty for sure, but she left him cold and he didn’t need Sam’s snakey-sense to know this was a Goa'uld, most likely the one portrayed in the mural, at Daniel’s side, as he died.
His gun was up and sighted on her cranium without thought. Clear shot. Nice and neat. It needed – begged – to be done. But not yet. Not until they had Daniel. He satisfied himself with envisioning a direct hit to the snake’s brain, and let her trail out the far door, flesh jiggling, still singing some kind of lullaby.
When the sound of her song had faded, he counted to 200, then slipped from cover to stand by the sarcophagus. Without hesitation, he hit the red control jewel. The great golden wings eased open. Jack side-stepped as they spread, all senses alert. Nothing stirred in the temple beyond. The seductive inner glow of the sarcophagus bathed the room behind him. Fighting trepidation, Jack turned and looked down, ready to accept whatever condition Daniel was in.
Or not.
At all.
The thing was empty.
Momentarily confused, Jack peered over the box to look at the other side, then spun to search the entire room, in case his slippery archaeologist had nipped out unseen in the second or two Jack hadn’t been looking. Nothing. No one outside the box. He ran his hand over the thrumming insides: no one inside either. Not even a hidden panel or false bottom.
But… the way that Goa'uld had carried on, practically humping the damned box, she’d been convinced someone was in there. And if Daniel wasn’t healing in the sarcophagus, where was he? Maybe—no. Not going there. Daniel was alive, somewhere. And someone was playing tricks. He had a good idea who.
The hair on the back of his neck suddenly rose. Behind him, from the temple doorway came the sound of a throat being deliberately cleared.
Å
It was early morning, barely an hour after sunrise. Everyone in the house was awake, gear packed, weapons checked, disguises refreshed and in place. Tobay and Beechworth had fixed breakfast and they had all eaten, not out of hunger but necessity to keep bodies and minds functioning and focussed on their task.
Sam sat in the front room’s window seat, eating mechanically, waiting for the colonel’s familiar form to appear in the square. His gear stood neatly packed in the hall, a note told them to prepare but hold for his return. Time and again her gaze was drawn back to the mural, its beautifully rendered images emerging from the dawn gloom in horrific detail.
Her heart turned over, and she wrenched her eyes away. Daniel. Best friend, confidant, co-conspirator, other half of the twinned mind that so many times had astounded her with the intuitive leaps of logic and understanding that came when the two of them were firing ideas off each other. Desperately she reached for that military-trained emotional barrier. There was a time and place for grief, and it wasn’t here or now.
‘Honey?’ Jacob stood behind her, coffee in hand, understanding and shared emotion in his eyes. The one person she couldn’t hold out against.
‘Oh, dad.’ She made to reach for the cup, ended up with her face buried in his shirt. His arms enveloped her and she let his strength flow into her. Just for a few minutes she’d lean on him. That would be enough to see her through this mission. To find Daniel and bring him home.
Å
Jack turned slowly, bringing the gun up to his side, finger on the trigger, in the same movement. A man stood in the doorway, framed by trailing vines, a speculative look on his face. Tall, dark, goatee, close-fitting jacket and pants in deep purple, thigh-high boots polished to a mirror finish in the same purple shade: this was undoubtedly a Goa'uld. The Goa'uld. Jack knew him from Jacob’s intel pictures. Now he could add another name to the list of snakey despots he’d met in the flesh. Goody.
‘Ba’al.’
The Goa'uld smiled and lent nonchalantly on the doorjamb. ‘Jack O'Neill. Colonel Jack O'Neill. Forgive Us. One should always honour one’s guests with their correct appellations.’
So much for covert insertions. A dozen things sprang to his lips, demanding to be asked. He bit down hard on the most desperate one. ‘Lovely place you have here. Shame about all the snakes.’
The smile – and Jack hated it already – grew wider. ‘We are pleased you admire Our home. We would be honoured to give you and your companions a guided tour.’
‘We’ll pass, thanks all the same.’
Silence stretched between them as each sized up the other.
‘Perhaps you would enjoy a trip on one of Our sailing ships? They are quite exhilarating.’ The Goa'uld’s eyes never left Jack’s, checking him out, judging him, searching for weaknesses. ‘Or would a tour of Our art museum be to your liking? We are told you particularly favour the work of Our mural artists.’
The smile turned sly and Jack had to exercise monumental restraint in not plugging the bastard full of holes. ‘Okay. Cut the crap. You know why I’m here.’
‘To sample the delights of a life lived under Our protection?’
‘No.’
‘A pity.’
‘Yeah, it’ll be top of my list of regrets when I die. Why did you kidnap Daniel Jackson?’
‘Kidnap is such a harsh word. Sometimes, certain things can only be accomplished by a specific person. We required Daniel’s assistance.’
‘So you snatch him off a protected planet?’ Jack rested his hip against the sarcophagus, and nestled the gun firmly against his body. He had a feeling this was going to be a long conversation.
‘We felt he would not have accepted an open invitation.’
‘Ya think? Word’s out, you know. The Asgard have been advised and even now are cooking up an appropriate punishment for you.’ He kept his features impassive: his best poker face. Messages had gone out to the Asgard as soon as they’d realised a Goa'uld had snatched Daniel, but so far no reply had come back. He tried not to feel too disappointed in the little grey guy. ‘Something involving a small dark jar,’ he embellished, hoping to make the snake squirm.
Ba'al merely crooked an eyebrow at him.
‘What was so important, anyway?’
Ba'al straightened up and stepped into the room. He prowled slowly around the sarcophagus, halting at its head to close the lid panels. Jack kept a bead on him the whole time.
‘The specifics are too lengthy to discuss here, but We are working on a plan for peace. Daniel’s knowledge and experience was vital to its achievement.’
‘Peace? With whom?’
‘With Our fellow system lords. We grow tired of the pointless squabbles that waste lives and resources.’
Jack blinked and had to fight down a laugh. A Goa'uld who wanted peace and needed Daniel’s help to get it. Yeah, right.
‘You do not believe Us?’ Ba'al pouted and sat on the sarcophagus with a heavy sigh. ‘No body ever believes Us.’
‘I wonder why that is. Oh, wait, probably because you’re a no-good, lying, cheating, scheming snake in the grass.’
Irritation flickered over Ba'al’s face. ‘We will not stay here and be insulted. You asked for explanations, We have given them. You seek retribution for Our having appropriated Daniel? We shall offer full blood price: the weight of Daniel in gold and gems. Custom also dictates We give up our flocks of goats, but they will not all fit into that peculiar craft you arrived in.’
Gold, gems and goats? What was he on about? Jack held onto the comment that he was ready to let fly, and took a good look at the Goa'uld. Ba'al was sitting on the sarcophagus – a sarcophagus he knew was empty because he’d shown no surprise when Jack first saw him. Yet the lady Goa'uld seemed convinced someone was in it, unless she really had a thing for sarcs… Ba'al was staring back at him now, a frown forming.
‘You do not know…’ Ba'al started.
‘… where Daniel is,’ finished Jack.
‘You’ve lost him?’ Jack yelled. He was into full-on loud mode now, heedless of who heard him.
‘We did not—’
‘How could you lose him?’
‘We are not responsible—’
‘After all you went through to take him, hiring Boch of all people—’
‘…for what occurs during—’
‘…risking the wrath of the Asgard—’
‘…an armed engagement.’
‘What armed engagement?’ Jack took a breath and glared.
Ba'al glared back. ‘Another Goa'uld attacked Our city. Our home!’ He jumped to his feet and started pacing. ‘Such outrage. Such gall. Anubis has never possessed subtlety, but to attack Us on Our home planet… He will suffer greatly.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Skip to the part where you lost Daniel.’
‘Anubis sent Zipacna.’ Ba'al spat the name contemptuously.
Jack didn’t bother holding back a snort. ‘Carmen Miranda attacked you?’
Ba'al looked at him. ‘Daniel called him that. The he explained the name.’ A fleeting grin almost made the guy look human. Almost.
‘Zipacna had many ships at his disposal. We wished to secure Daniel’s safety, so We revived him and despatched him to Our fastest Ha’tak. They should have been safe.’ His face darkened. ‘We suspect betrayal. The Ha’tak was disabled. My guard took Daniel and escaped in an Al’kesh. The cover fighters were destroyed, the Al’kesh lost. We continue to search. Its last communication said they were attempting landfall, but the locator was corrupted and We do not know where. We blame Ourselves.’
‘I blame yourselves too,’ Jack sniped. Unbelievable. All the time and effort and hopes to get here only to find the bastard had lost Daniel. Anything could have happened to him.
Jack slumped down on the sarcophagus, for once at a complete loss. Where do we go now? Daniel’s out there, still. We thought we were so close… He scratched his head furiously. Ba'al could be lying. At the least Jack could still shoot him. His head came up, so did his weapon. The sight light fixed squarely on the Goa'uld’s throat.
Ba'al just stood there, looking at him.
‘Guess that’s it, then.’ Jack flipped the selector to rapid fire.
‘We would thank you, Jack O'Neill.’
‘What?’
‘We watched you observing Our Lady Astarte. You were tempted to end her life. You did not. So We thank you.’
Jack pursed his lips. ‘Yeah, well, she’s not all there, is she?’
‘Where?’
‘In the head.’ Jack tapped his forehead.
‘She is a wonder, and the light of Our life. Her uniqueness is her endearment, but also sometimes her undoing.’
‘Right. Why did she think Daniel was in the box?’
‘She was with Us when We placed him in there.’
‘Oh, yes. About that. Just where in Daniel’s special assistance was it necessary to murder him? How does that get you universal peace?’
Ba'al looked affronted. ‘Murder? We did no such thing.’
‘I saw the drawings. The whole town is talking about it. You didn’t need his help. You just used him for some sicko ceremony.’ He lifted the gun and prepared to fire.
Ba'al raised a hand. ‘We will explain, O'Neill. Something, I might point out, We never normally do. You Tau’ri…’ He walked back to the sarcophagus and sat down, Jack’s tell-tale keeping him company all the way.
‘We did indeed enlist Daniel's assistance in Our plan. Progress was made. An ally was secured. In his time here, Daniel was admired by many for his intelligence, his good nature, and his great beauty.’
Jack winced. No way was he passing this intel on to the SGC, specially not to Daniel.
‘Unfortunately, We did not plan on Our Lady finding a place for Daniel in her heart. She became obsessed with him. She confused him with her lost child, and eventually was convinced Daniel was him.’
‘This Eshmun we keep hearing about?’
‘Indeed so. We did Our best to keep them separate, but Our Lady is ever forceful. She insisted that as Eshmun had returned we must begin the Baneem ritual. The getting of a fertile sonspring,’ he added, at Jack’s questioning look.
‘So Eshmun was her son and she wanted a snakey one too? Wait, that means Eshmun was a whatch’am’callit—Harcesis?’
‘Just so.’
‘Thought you guys outlawed those.’
‘We did. Madness and bloodshed are the only attributes of the harcesis.’ Ba'al stared down at his boots. He looked to be speaking from painful experience.
‘And yet you were gonna do it again?’
‘No, O'Neill. Never would We experience such anguish again. We let Astarte believe Daniel was Eshmun returned in the hope it would make her happy. Happiness did not stay long. Soon it turned to desperation; her desire to have her progeny living once more has taken her away from Us. She demanded the Baneem ritual, and We complied, but know this, O'Neill, for We have not spoken of it to another soul: the progeny from Our coupling will never take a host, never draw a free breath. It will incubate for its term – some 200 of your years – then it will sadly expire. We will mourn it. That will be the end of its story. Our Lady will ever wait the day of its birth, never knowing the centuries that pass by. Likewise, she will await the return of Daniel, not aware he will never rise from this sarcophagus.’
Jack processed that for a bit. ‘So, the wife’s insane. I get that. What I don’t get is why you killed Daniel. You stuck him up on a cliff and bled him dry. Why?’ The amount of effort it was taking to stay calm was huge. Daniel would be proud.
‘We did not kill Daniel. We saved his life.’ Ba'al raised a hand, forestalling Jack’s outrage. ‘The Baneem ritual demands the code of life from the intended host be included in the coupling process.’ He paused to ensure Jack understood.
‘Eww.’
‘The code of life must be obtained from the fluid that lies upon the spine of the intended host. This ensures the progeny is fertile and vital.’
‘Wait… what, spinal fluid? So why did—’ Hathor rape Daniel? ‘I’ve heard you need the sperm of the host species.’
Ba'al seemed impressed with Jack’s knowledge of snake biology. ‘It is so when producing infertile offspring. These will become Our Jaffa and underlings, bred to do Our bidding. But when a System Lord wishes to produce a fertile progeny, one who will rise to power at the side of his sire, then We must source the Code from the spine of the intended host. Unfortunately, this must be retrieved by Us both in Our natural state, and the bites leave traces of our saliva in the host. This is most poisonous to humans. If We had not drained Daniel’s blood and placed him in the sarcophagus, he would surely have died a painful, maddening death.’
‘For crying out loud, don’t sit there and tell me you helped Daniel. You’re responsible for him being here in the first place, for letting that nutso wife of yours fall for him. You did not help him out.’ Jack got to his feet. ‘And I see no reason not to shoot you now.’
Ba'al stood, grave but unperturbed by the weapon he faced. ‘You are correct in all you say, O'Neill. I can but offer you this. By finding Daniel and completing my peace plan, I can remove all threats to Daniel’s life. Anubis will continue to seek him. We must end the threat Anubis and others like him pose to all life in the galaxy.’
‘Daniel is not yours to use, Ba'al. He’s not coming back here. End of story.’
‘Well, we shall see who finds him first, yes?’ Ba'al turned the charm on full force. ‘We give you Our word, O'Neill, on three things. Our Lady will not use Daniel as host for the progeny – that is as much for her protection as his. We will finalise Our peace plans with Daniel’s help. He will be free to return to his home and live unmolested by Us or any other Goa'uld. As will you. You may leave Our planet, at your leisure.’
With that, Ba'al walked out, Jack’s gun sight followed the whole way, only the safety of the rest of his extended team stopped him from pulling the trigger. As he passed under the doorway, Jack called after him.
‘Oh, we’re going alright, but I guarantee you this, Ba'al: you’ll never use Daniel for your own purposes again.’
Å
‘Here he comes.’
Tobay called out from the upper story windows where he’d kept watch all morning for the colonel’s return. He trotted down the stairs to join the rest as they gathered in the foyer. Expectant looks were exchanged as they geared up, all ready to move on the plan they had spent the past two hours constructing.
After an interminable last few moments, the door opened and O'Neill walked in. Brought up short by the welcome committee, he gave them a thin smile. ‘Hi, honey, I’m home.’
Over a chorus of ‘Sir’s and ‘O'Neer’s, Jacob stepped forward and offered him a steaming coffee. ‘Where’ve you been, Jack?’
‘Thanks, Jacob.’ O'Neill handed his weapon off to Teal'c and sat down on a carved wooden chest. He closed his eyes and inhaled the aroma for a bit, then drank it down.
‘Sir, we’ve been working on a plan to find Daniel,’ Sam offered. ‘We think it’s a good one. He must be in Ba'al’s castle, so we thought we’d have one team go in under disguises, and another take a boat up to the back wall and insert under cover of the night. We—’
‘That won’t be necessary, Major.’ I’m sure it’s a great plan, but Daniel’s not in the castle. He’s not on this planet, even.’ He grimaced at their shocked faces. ‘Any breakfast left? I’ve got some things to tell you all.’
He filled his belly with leftover bean stew and honey pie as he detailed his encounters with both Astarte and Ba'al. Sounds of daily life drifted in from outside, surreally peaceful and normal. If Jack hadn’t spent the dawn hours chatting with a Goa'uld, he could easily imagine they were on any friendly planet he could name. Daniel would be out there in the marketplace, getting diverted from his chore as provender by all the local artisans and their wares. Girls, women, hell, even some of the boys would be trying to catch his eye. Wonder what he thought of this place?
‘I don’t believe him,’ Ferretti insisted, again. ‘Seriously, Jack – you gonna swallow that BS? He spun you a line. I say Daniel is here and Ba'al is just waiting to mow us down or shoot us out of the sky the second we try to leave.’
‘I don’t want to believe any Goa'uld, Lou. But this time I think we have to. He could have zapped me with that ribbon thing anytime, but he didn’t so much as twitch.’
‘And if he’s known we were here he would have attacked us whenever he wanted,’ Sam added.
Teal'c looked at Jack from the hallway entrance where he stood, feet braced, arms crossed, an immovable barrier should someone unwisely try to come through the front door. ‘Among the Goa'uld, Ba'al is known to hold true to his word. It is one of his few qualities.’
‘Teal'c speaks truly,’ added Skaara. ‘I worry though for my brother. If Dan’yel has escaped Ba'al, he will not rest until Dan’yel is returned to him.’
Jack nodded. ‘Which is, I think, one of the reasons he’s not detaining us. He’s hoping we’ll lead him to Daniel.’
‘The Spacemonkey,’ Beechworth said thoughtfully.
‘Gonna have to go on a bug hunt,’ Sam concluded.
‘Selmak?’ Skaara turned to Jacob. ‘When I was in the Tok’ra’s care I heard some of the intelligence reports from your operatives. Would they not have information on this battle that separated Dan’yel from Ba'al’s men?’
Selmak nodded Jacob’s head, then cast a cautious glance around the room. ‘In case the walls have ears, as Jacob would say, perhaps we should depart?’
Jack couldn’t help a smile as Seni and Tobay stared askance at the walls. ‘Time we got out of here. Pack it up. Teal'c, you and Lou go scout out our route to the transport, see if there are any hidden surprises.’
Teal'c inclined his head, and left with Ferretti in tow.
The return trip to the spaceport was fraught but uneventful. They moved unhindered from their house, passed under the dreadful artwork and wound their way up through the city streets. Life went on around them, and they moved unchallenged past the markets. The Jaffa sentries were visible at the “train” station, but not one even made eye contact with them.
They were the only passengers on the train car, and all breathed easier when they were racing away from Ba'al’s home toward the spaceport. Conversation was limited to remarks about the weather: pleasant, the food: delicious… and little else.
Jack sat at the front of the carriage, the speeding landscape a blur of green and gold. His gut and his head told him he’d made the right choice. If Ba'al still had Daniel he would not have hesitated in getting rid of them. The Goa'uld certainly had not needed to divulge as much as he had. Was he hiding things? Undoubtedly. Equally, Jack knew Ba'al had told the truth.
He glanced over at the three Abydonians; Seni and Tobay determined not to miss anything on this strange green world, and Skaara, the same age but so much older, just as interested in the farmlands they moved through.
‘Hey, Skaara.’
The kid swivelled round to look at him, then without bidding, came and sat next to him.
‘Tell me about Klorel.’
Skaara looked at him, then stared out the window. ‘What would you know, Jack?’
‘He was Apophis’ son, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Apophis’ heir, though technically he wouldn’t take his place because Apophis was “immortal”.’
‘But he did die.’ More than two years on, and the loathing was unconcealed in Skaara’s voice.
‘That he did. So, what makes a system lord Goa'uld different? There’s only a few dozen of those, so we’ve been told, but hundreds of regular Goa'uld. Why would a system lord elevate one like Klorel?’
‘Klorel was to take his place at his sire’s side, to expand the territory ruled over by Apophis. To… produce more Jaffa and strengthen their blood.’ Jack could see the distaste on Skaara’s face, reflected in the carriage window.
‘Blood? We’d call it genes, I guess. The it’s true that only Goa'uld who are system lords can produce offspring?’
‘That is so. Reproduction is regulated most closely. Those born to a certain sire are bound by their blood to serve only him. It is why, when one system lord overthrows another, all his progeny – Jaffa and Goa'uld alike – are put to death. Their fealty cannot be trusted, otherwise.’
Jack frowned, thinking back to a fake SGC and a redheaded bitch who had a whole slew of assorted Jaffa. ‘Hathor had Jaffa she’d liberated from Apophis, Heru’ur, who knows who else.’
‘Most likely she removed the original Goa'uld or symbiotes and replaced them with her own progeny.’
‘And producing a fertile offspring is way more difficult than popping out the infertile ones?’
Skaara peered intently at Jack, then his gaze travelled back, past the carriage they sat in to the city behind them. His face clouded in anger and he muttered a very bad Abydonian word.
‘Apophis was too eager for Klorel to rise. He rushed the incubation, implanted him just hours after the procreation, instead of leaving it to mature first. We spent many months in the sarcophagus, and still it was weak. I fought it many times.’
Jack reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
‘This is what Ba'al intends for Dan’yer?’
‘He said he wouldn’t, that the whole thing was for show, to appease Astarte. That the offspring would be unstable and he’d destroy it before it matured.’
‘They most often are incapable of reason. But I will see Ba'al dead before I accept his word as truth.’
‘I’m with you there, buddy.’
Å
The spaceport was even busier than when they had arrived. Keeping his team together, Jack detoured into a fresh food market to replenish their supplies, then headed straight for the ship. No one followed them, but he felt eyes on his back all the way to where Spacemonkey hunkered in its decaying glory. Only, it didn’t seem as decrepit as when they’d left it.
‘Is it me or does the old girl have her sparkle back?’ Bairnsdale asked, as their collective progress slowed.
Gone was the grime of decades of unforgiving use, scratches and dents that had mostly been filled with grunge had been cleaned up, beaten out and the whole of her skin polished to an eye-searing shine. The port landing strut no longer bent at the knee, the front viewport shone like crystal, sensors and vanes all over the hull had been straightened and repaired. Even though they’d left nothing of value in the ship, Jack found his hand resting on his pocketed weapon. The hatches appeared to be sealed, but then, the locks hadn’t been all that good anyway.
‘What the hell?’ Jacob, quizzical.
‘How rude!’ Boch, affronted.
‘Is that a new navigational scanner?’ Skaara, eager.
‘Oh, boy, I hope they replaced that disposal system.’ Carter: very, very wistful.
Jack bent an eyebrow at her.
‘Er, well, um, I mean… Ba'al did this?’ she stammered.
Two figures emerged from the shady underbelly of the ship. Jack stepped forward as his crew spread out around him, subtle clicks of arming weapons lost under his fakely cheerful call. ‘Why hi there, fellas. Care to explain why our ship looks like it just came outta the Ikea catalogue?’
The men, one willowy thin, the other a lean muscly type that spoke of honed strength, stopped and bowed. Their fine, flimsy garments fluttered in the light breeze.
‘Our Lord’s blessings upon you, good travellers,’ the leader spoke up, his voice soft and cheerful. ‘I am Helel, Companion of the Court of our Lord Ba'al. This is Jackson, newest Concubine of our Lord Ba'al.’
Silence closed around Jack’s brain, so intense he swore he heard crickets chirping.
‘Beg pardon?’
Not entirely sure of Jack’s meaning, the man touched his own chest with an elegantly ringed hand. ‘I am called Helel. He,’ he brushed his friend’s arm, ‘is named Jackson. We greet you all in the name of our Lord Ba'al.’
‘Jack O'Neill,’ he replied, while his brain went into overload. I am not looking at a Goa'uld called Jackson. No way. For these two undoubtedly were part of Ba'al’s coterie, identified by Carter as all Goa'uld. Every snake he’d ever met had some fancy, mostly mythological ancient handle. They weren’t called Bob, Carole, Ted or Alice, and they were most emphatically not called Jackson. Daniel, what the hell happened here?
His silent stare unnerved the pretty Goa'uld enough that he broke eye contact and addressed the rest of the group. ‘Our Lord bade us greet you. At His command we have seen to the restoration and replenishment of your vessel. We trust you will forgive our entering it without permission; our Lord wished our improvements to be a surprise for you.’ He smiled tentatively, clearly anxious for their approval.
Jack held his gaze for another uncomfortable minute, then a slow smile crept across his face. ‘That’s mighty nice of Ba'al. Why don’t you show my friends just what you’ve done for us, Helel?’
The slender Goa'uld might appear like an Italian gigolo, but there was also a keen intelligence in his eyes. He sent an assessing stare back at Jack before inclining his head and leading half the team up the spanky clean gangplank.
The other Goa'uld waited, hands complacently folded behind his back. This one was a fighter, perfectly at ease: confident of his own abilities, not just bolstered by the might of Ba'al.
‘So. Jackson.’ Jack ambled over to him. They almost met eye to eye. ‘Unusual name for a Goa'uld.’
No expression altered the smooth features. ‘One I bear with great pride,’ he said.
‘Uh huh. Your mom and dad come up with that, did they?’
Finally, a frown creased the unlined face. ‘If your meaning is, did those who sired and birthed me give this as my name, then I regret good sir, you are in error. I am named Jackson by my Lord Ba'al’s beneficence.
‘Ba'al named you Jackson.’
‘Indeed he did, sir.’
‘And why would he do that? What’s wrong with your own name?’ Jack could feel his temper beginning to stir. Bad enough Ba'al took Daniel for nefarious purposes, but to steal his name as well and hand it out to the first muscle-bound, overdressed, well, underdressed, fancy pants, toy-boy—
‘Cu’Chulainn.’ Teal'c suddenly spoke up. He came up to them and prowled around the Goa'uld, examining “Jackson” with a searing gaze. ‘First Prime of Morrigan. Victor of the Battle of Tsander’s Rift. Rumoured to be Morrigan’s lover and architect of many successful campaigns. Your name,’ Teal'c leaned in and breathed in the man’s face, ‘is Cu’Chulainn.’
The Goa'uld’s eyes widened in recognition. ‘Master Teal'c. Tec’matae. We met in battle, on the Plains of Anjou.’
Teal'c inclined his head. ‘A hard fought battle. There were no victors that day.’
‘Indeed. Morrigan was incensed at Ra’s interference. I bore the scars of her anger for many months.’
‘Apophis in his fury slaughtered fifty of his—my—Jaffa.’ Teal'c added softly.
Cu’Chulainn – Jack was not going to call him Jackson – was looking almost whimsical.
‘Happy days! So, how’d you end up here, with Ba'al?’
‘Morrigan and Ba'al fought. Morrigan was defeated. Ba'al claimed me as part of his victor’s spoils. My Lord discarded my former identity and named me Prize – a title I have born with honour these past few seasons.’
‘Yet now you bear another’s name. The name that belongs to he who is our chel’ma.’
Warrior brother. Nice one, T.
Teal'c’s voice dropped into the lowest register possible. Jack could almost feel the vibrations from his throat, something Teal'c did only when he was feeling really dangerous.
‘Daniel is of your clan?’ C’Chu looked pleased and not at all intimidated by Teal'c. ‘I had heard rumours that you had renounced, Apophis’ service, Teal'c. A brave move. That you stand with Daniel, I am pleased. He is an honourable soul, and kind too. He gave my lowly status equal regard to that of the rest of Ba'al’s Court. I—I am glad he has you to guide his way.’
The Goa'uld – or was he a Jaffa still? Jack wasn’t sure and didn’t really care – caught the impatience in their eyes and kept talking. ‘My Lord Ba'al felt the time had arrived to gift me with a name of his choosing, so he named me Jackson, respecting his guest whose integrity so impressed us all. I am most honoured.’
‘Where is Daniel Jackson?’ Teal'c was inches from the guy’s face.
‘I know not, Teal'c. My Lord said he sent Daniel to safety when Zipacna laid siege to Tsydon. He has not returned.’
Teal'c held his glare for long moments, then relaxed and stepped back. ‘He speaks the truth. Tec’matae, Jackson. May you ever honour he whose name you bear.’
With that, Teal'c spun on his heel and stomped up the boarding ramp.
Jack pursed his lips, and bounced on his toes. ‘Right, then.’
Carter emerged with the other Goa'uld and gave him the all-clear nod.
‘We’ll be off.’
‘Our Lord’s blessings for a fair journey,’ said the wispy Helel.
‘Right. Fine. Whatever.’ Jack turned away and ushered the rest of the team into the ship. ‘All aboard.’
Å
It smelt nice. Fruity. Spacemonkey had been cleaned from her bilges to her rafters. Jack preferred the stink.
‘T, fire it up. Take us out-system then drop and hold. We’ve got some housekeeping to do.’
Boch paused in pulling off his disguise. ‘This ship has to be the cleanest in the galaxy, O'Neill.’
‘Oh, I’m sure there’s a few bugs lurking about somewhere. I hate creepy crawlies.’ Jack braced his feet as the thrusters fired up.
Boch shrugged and turned to the viewscreen. As Teal'c received clearance to lift off, another ship blasted off from the other side of the landing field. Boch watched it disappear up into the sky, then he wandered off, wig in hand.
Spacemonkey gathered her power and pushed up into the heavens. Jack plopped into the co-pilot’s seat and watched the planet dwindle into the dark of space. Here he was leaving Ba'al’s homeworld – unbelievably in one piece, incredibly without Daniel. He’d taken a Goa'uld’s word, on one thing at least. Daniel was gone, lost to Ba'al, lost to them all.
Somewhere out there he was waiting for Jack to find him.
Find him, he would.
Å
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