* * * * *
|| Samantha Carter ||
Though we walked at a brisk pace, I felt as though all three of us were moving slowly, laboriously, through a syrupy medium. Or maybe it was time itself that had slowed, the moments outside passing more quickly than the moments within, because my heart seemed to be beating much too rapidly, painfully knocking against my ribcage.
Maretne - I no longer had any trouble differentiating between her and Jadae - was behind me, armed with the Zat, and Martouf was beside me, one hand clamped onto my bare forearm. It wasn't as though he expected me to try and escape; he knew I had nowhere to run. This was about physical, tactile contact, about vainly trying to reach me through my fury.
If his chances had been slim before, they were nonexistent now... but he seemed content to take what he could get. It was what he'd been doing for some time, after all. The point of skin-to-skin contact burned like a brand; I could feel every involuntary muscle twitch in his fingers, the heat of his palm, the pulse of blood in his thumb. It made me vaguely nauseous. I refused to look at him, but I could feel his eyes upon me, a pressure more steady than that of his hand, and it disgusted me.
Through the anonymous tunnels we went, and I wondered if they would get rid of me in the easiest possible way: collapse a tunnel and feed me into the roiling crystal. If that was it, I promised myself, I would run. That way, Maretne's weapon could be used to my advantage. At least I wouldn't be awake and aware while I was being crushed to death.
We were going up, I realized at one point, feeling the pitch of the floor angle somewhat. Were they taking me to the surface after all? Planning on tying me up and tossing me into one of the flooded basins? A million mob stereotypes flashed through my mind. Maretne speaking Italian. Martouf demanding "forget about it..." Samantha Carter sleeping with the fishes.
Up, up, up we went, the slope never becoming unmanageable or even drastic, just present enough to throw me off. Finally, we passed through a narrow stone crack of a door into a room that was agonizingly familiar, and introduced an infuriating truth.
We were ON Su'lin'ie. We'd been here the entire time.
* * * * *
|| Jack O'Neill ||
My apartment was Hell with indoor plumbing, and I know what I'm talking about.
It was my refuge, but at the same time, it was a trap. A nicely-furnished cage. The hotel itself was too elaborate for my tastes anyway; I longed for worn carpet, stained furniture, maybe even a blown-out light bulb or two. Annoying neighbors, bad service, something, ANYTHING that would have given me an issue to stew on. No, the place was perfect, and that perfection - coupled with my own inaction after a decades of being a busybody - drove me nuts.
So one night - that special time of night that bordered on morning - I put on my jacket, hat, and glasses, and left my beautiful little cage. I took the stairs to avoid traffic in the elevator, and skipped out of the lobby at a veritable run.
Denver was dark, save the bright spots of street lamps, 24 hour drugstores, and gummy clumps of neon. Bad motels, cheap dinners, cheaper clubs; every city had its underbelly, and it was easy to find if you stayed up long enough. By the same token, the city never slept, but if you were patient, if would eventually get drunk off its ass.
That night, the streets were in a state of inebriated bliss, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. Doubtlessly I made my way out of the plush 'rich-kid' district and into the city's center, its soul, where the music was too loud, the air too smoky, and the citizens too stoned to be on the lookout for the neighborhood celebrity.
The dive was called Alexandrina's, or it would have been, except the neon 'a's had all burned out. The door was open, bouncer-free, and from the dusky portal raucous music drifted on sweet smoke. I paused, but only for a second. I'd been breathing nothing but cool, recycled oxygen for far too long, and though the bracing October gusts had loosened things up a bit, I knew that a couple lungfuls of humid, hot, nicotine-laced air would do me good.
Strobes flashed, the bass pulsed, and bodies - lithe and solid, slight and lanky - swayed and dipped and pumped to it. I threaded my way through sweaty shoulders and flailing limbs to the small bar, gestured for a beer, and sat. The glasses stayed on, but I took off the cap, folding the brim and shoving it into my back pocket. The lights made it virtually impossible to see anything anyway. And I was fine with that... MORE than fine. I nursed my beer and my brief break from notoriety. THIS was the real world.
I'd been there for some time - maybe an hour, maybe two, though I was only on my second bottle - when a slinky figure broke off from the amorphous mass of dancers and lunged to the bar, demanding a drink in a voice barely discernable thanks to the deafening music. Thin fingers brushed through tangled blonde hair and straightened a sagging tank top, and then - of course - she turned to me. She wore too much heavy makeup, was bathed in perfume... in her thirties, certainly; too old to be wearing what she was wearing and not old enough to realize how ridiculous she looked. "Hey, haven't see you around here before."
Heaven help a world where the woman used the same old pick-up lines. "Really?" I answered, trying to sound bored, although tone of voice was lost at a certain volume.
The woman was too far gone to notice anyway; her green eyes were glassy with excitement, booze, drugs, or maybe all three. She adjusted her shirt strap absentmindedly, hips still beating out rhythm, and I saw a small tattoo of Marvin the Martian on her collarbone, glistening with perspiration. How charming, I thought scornfully. "Well, what're ya doin here all by yourself?" she demanded, slurring her words slightly, and I cringed.
Yeah, the dirty underbelly was peachy, until the denizens started hitting on you.
I'd only just opened my mouth to decline the unspoken invitation when my eye caught on something - someONE - infinitely more important than the Jezebel Lite standing before me. I'd seen him only briefly, had been perfectly happy to ignore him and his friends, but now my gaze was instinctively drawn to him. Tattoo Girl scowled and flounced drunkenly away.
The memory of Tony's voice rattled in my ear, even over the earsplitting shriek of a new 'song'. * They told us their names... Catrine, host to Nelsha; Bray, host to... to Jacarius; and Linas, host to... host to some other damn thing. *
I remembered the dark brown hair, the large gray eyes, and the thing that lurked behind them. I then paused to ask myself what a Tok'ra was doing stalking the alleys of Naughty Denver in street clothes: black jeans and jacket. "Bray?" I asked, so surprised I forgot to yell. Bray, however, or his symbiote Jacarius, read lips quite well. He nodded, and motioned that I should follow him back out into the fresh night air.
* * * * *
|| Daniel Jackson ||
A year ago, a suit had been analogous to entrapment, abduction for some political function, a necessary evil. The tie, the shoes… obviously invented by a woman in retribution for high heels and corsets. Before I'd joined the Stargate program, when I'd been a crackpot whose life had consisted of making a fool out of himself, I'd gone for sports jackets, slacks, loafers... and that was 'dressing up'. I vehemently opposed the entire idea of suits. Did people really think they couldn't have fun if they didn't stuff themselves into too-small pants and uncomfortable shoes?
But somehow, the party WAS fun, even though I knew my feet would be killing me the next morning. The college's dean, Amy Wynters, hung on my arm without seeming to hang, fawned without making a fool of herself, leading me around the beautiful hall by her blinding smile. She was in her mid-forties, hair already streaked with gray but in a glamorous, elegant way. Her dress was red, tight, but tasteful. "I can't tell you how thrilled I am to have you here," she kept saying. "At our school… at this welcoming. We're unbelievably lucky."
"I feel pretty lucky myself," I admitted. Jack seemed to have become independently wealthy, Teal'c was being funded by his mysterious supporters, Tony and… and Janet were still working. I had the odd impression that I'd never NEEDED to find a job, that someone would have supported me if I'd been inclined to loaf around my apartment… but I couldn't do that, for so many reasons. The biggest reason being that if my mind wasn't kept active, it would inevitably stray to Janet.
I loved her, I missed her, but she was simply better off without me.
"If I wasn't married," Wynters gushed slyly.
She introduced me to some of the collages' benefactors, a few aspiring archeologists and anthropologists, and the head of the department I'd be working in: Lindsey Moore. She was a slight woman with coifed, strawberry-blonde curls and blue eyes heavily outlined in mascara. Her dress was pale peach, ruffled and frilled, and I had a hard time seeing her in stained khakis and a shading hat, hunched over the remains of some ancient civilization. Moore's welcome was stiff and stilted, and she did hardly more then shake my hand before wandering off. "Don't mind her," Wynters assured me with a matronly air. "She has her good days and her bad days, like all of us."
She then turned to introduce me to a young Hispanic man, who I greeted and permitted to cower before my 'greatness'. But I couldn't stop thinking about the prim young Department Head, her strong, cold handshake and inimical expression.
* * * * *
|| Janet Frasier ||
I balanced a thick stack of folders, a clipboard, and a cup of steaming coffee, and nudged the door open with the toe of my shoe. As I walked, the folders shifted and the coffee sloshed onto the clipboard's writing surface. I forced myself not to roll my eyes or curse, not even inwardly, because that was always a bad way to start out a shift. Medicine wasn't about glamour. Hardly ANY job was about glamour - even the glamorous ones - but medicine especially. People cursed at you and puked on you and the rotations of the sun and moon ceased to hold any meaning.
I stopped at the front desk to set down my cup and get a better grip on my package, smiling vaguely at the nurse stationed behind the counter. MY shift was certainly unglamorous; I'd just come on a couple of minutes ago, at two a.m. Not that I'd ever had a set schedule at the SGC, or that my sleeping patterns had ever been anything close to normal since before med school...
At least here, at the Academy Hospital - I reasoned - people knew me. They weren't as prone to embarrassing stares or stupid questions as others might be. And a lot of the people here were military; they'd had it ingrained in them to 'don't ask, don't tell'. And maybe the late shift wasn't so bad; it meant there were less people around to harass me.
My own memories did enough of that.
* * * * *
|| Jack O'Neill ||
Olive-skinned Catrine and green-eyed Linas waited on the sidewalk just outside Alexandrina's, close enough to smell the sweet smoke and to hear every nuance of the so-called 'music'. She wore navy slacks and a gray jacket, dark hair pulled into a short ponytail; Lines donned blue jeans and a Colorado Rockies parka. I stared at them for several seconds before finding my voice. They just looked so damn normal, like anybody you'd meet on the street, any normal human being... only they weren't.
"We need to talk," said Linas quietly; I hopped he would keep his symbiote, Ryane, under control. The last thing we needed was for someone passing us on their way into the club to see the flash of eyes or hear a reverberating voice. Could anyone say 'riot'?
"How'd you find me?" I asked, not moving an inch.
Catrine shoved her hands into her pockets. "We went to your hotel. A man in the lobby told us you had left. Several people on the street recognized you, General, and we were able to track you to this establishment."
I groaned, not bothering to remind her that I was retired. "Lets keep moving, then. Back to my place," I added with a sigh, knowing that my comfy little prison was probably the safest place for all concerned, and that I hadn't been as low-profile as I'd imagined.
I set off at a brisk pace, and the three Tok'ra hurried to keep up. I couldn't get over how inconspicuous they were, how nondescript, how perfectly they could blend in with any crowd. Like when Tony and I and the others had dressed up like Tok'ra on Deault's planet. Camouflage.
Bray pulled up next to me, gray eyes flashing in the glow of the street lamps. "General, this can't wait. Please. We took the trouble to come find you tonight, so listen to us. Now."
I didn't stop. "Where have you guys been all this time?" I asked, not really caring but mildly curious.
On my other side, walking in the gutter beside Catrine, Linas gave a little shrug. "We're being taken care of."
I snorted. "You too?"
"General--" snapped Bray impatiently, the corners of his mouth curling in annoyance.
"It's Jack," I replied with equal force, turning a corner and spying a Denny's a half-block away. "Come on."
* * * * *
|| Samantha Carter ||
It was cleaner than I remembered, older than Jolinar recalled. The stony ceiling arced above our heads, and gold-trimmed beams lay at our feet. They ran parallel and perpendicular to each other, glowing softly. Some were short, most long, criss-crossing without touching, a narrow unobstructed walkway leading from the door we had just exited to the far side of the cavern. The slab of rock there was split by a thin crevice so deep that the ambient light didn't penetrate it, a fissure probably created by normal geological movement.
* "What're you guessing?"
"That this is some kind of Gou'ald laboratory."
"Sweet."
"Depending on how big this place is... well, they could have been messing with the atmospheric conditions on this planet, which would explain the acid rain. I got the impression on the way in that we didn't use the front door."
"So we came in through the back?" *
In so many words, yes. When Jack and I had sought shelter from the acid rain on the planet an indeterminate length of time ago, we'd just happened to stumble across an accidental and pretty damn convenient rent in the rock, nothing more scientific than that. I remembered what Martouf had said, that this facility was accessible only through the rings. Maybe at one time, but not now. Across this room, through that crack, down a rain-worn path... and there was the P2C-260 Stargate. Ta-da...
A gangly man with sandy hair knelt next to one of the softly-glowing beams off to our left, nimble fingers pressing against the engravings and inlaid stones. Controls. A second, more stout man stood in the walkway, deep in conversation with a pale-skinned blonde woman with my height and build. All three looked up as we entered, though the tall man ducked his head at once, returning to his work, and the woman studiously looked away from us. The tension was not as bad as it had been in the tunnels, I noticed, trying not the squirm as the second man - quite obviously annoyed but equally eager - waddled toward us. The cavern seemed even more vast than it had appeared during my first visit, despite the increased number of people. It seemed... alive.
The short man scowled at both Martouf and Maretne, and the three started a rapid-fire discussion I could barely keep up with.
* * * * *
"I should have known you couldn't handle the situation."
"We handled it perfectly. This host, Jadae, she's the problem."
"Well, you know who you can blame that on."
"Yes, I do."
"How are things proceeding here?"
"As well as can be expected, considering the circumstances."
"Any word from Jacarius?"
"No, or from his colleagues. It's obvious to me that they have defected."
"To who? Garshaw? The GOU'ALD?"
"I would guess the Tau'ri."
"The... then why aren't you more worried?"
"Because I know those three. If they were motivated enough to escape and run to the Tau'ri for protection, they have convinced themselves that this project is somehow harmful to the Tok'ra, to everyone. They will be ashamed. They will never let up their secrets."
The portly Tok'ra narrowed his eyes at me, either sizing me up or expressing his distaste. The symbiote, I realized quite suddenly, was named Warith, and the host was Ruel. Jolinar'd had a passing acquaintance with him during the course of this 'project', I knew; she'd found him a capable, hardworking man, two qualities that almost made up for his rudeness and general lack of social skills. My heart sank - there was actually the sensation of it deflating and slipping into my ribcage - as I grasped just what was going on. They were restarting the project. Warith/Ruel was taking up where Jolinar/Rosha had left off.
"Maybe this is good timing after all," flouted Ruel. "We could use her help."
"Help?" I squeaked, finally finding my voice. "I'm not helping you."
Ruel's gray eyes pierced me like spires of naqueda; wisely, Maretne and Martouf remained silent. "You have the memories of Jolinar. You have the knowledge."
"Maybe," I consented. "I'll tell you what I DO know. This is wrong. By doing this you're... you're damning yourselves. You're becoming no better than the Gou'ald."
I expected a rebuttal from Ruel or Warith, or a nasty comment from Maretne. But to my surprise and dismay, the fervent reply came from none other than Martouf. Not Lantash. Martouf.
"Who are you to decide what is right and wrong? Who are you to hold us to these standards? The Tok'ra do not answer to the Tau'ri, Samantha. They answer to themselves and to the Gou'ald. In the views of your world, the Gou'ald are evil incarnate. Demons, monsters, because they inhabit the bodies of others. Parasites, you call them. Did it occur to you that without hosts, involuntary or otherwise, we are nothing? Vulnerable, helpless, useless... dead."
"I can't believe you're standing up for them," I hissed.
"I'm not," he snapped, shreds of emotion finally beginning to work their way through to the surface. Sharp points of rage and bitterness moved beneath the skin. "I am simply trying to get you to understand that we are not so very different from the Gou'ald. We are more conscious of our health. We dislike struggling to maintain control of a host. We ARE different. Because of that, the System Lords looked upon us as fools and inferiors, and ostracized us. What the Tok'ra mean to gain is only what we deserve. And in order to do that, our tactics must change."
"Even if you become just as hateful as the people you're fighting?" I asked in a low, dismal tone. Did all Tok'ra feel this way? Did they all believe that the end justified the means, even if those means included transforming yourself into your enemy? Or was it just this small group, buoyed by a failed idea of Jolinar's, hoping they could kidnap me and screw with my head long enough to coerce me into helping?
Martouf answered none of these questions, not even the one I had spoken aloud. His expression was sad, but I was officially fed up with his repentance. He didn't see me as Jolinar after all.
He would have never done this to her.
"You can't go back," he told me factually. "Even if you could find the GDO and make it to the Stargate, they would have locked out my code long ago."
I looked at him, at Ruel, at the two hard-working Tok'ra, at least twenty feet away, and then I looked at Maretne. I nodded.
Then I punched Maretne across the face.
Surprise and shock assisted me; as one hand clenched in a fist collided with the woman's finely sculpted cheekbone, the other five fingers sought the cool smoothness of the Zat gun, and ripped it away before Martouf's jaw had time to drop. Maretne stumbled back, and so did I, well aware of how strong these people could be, and that my only chance lay in putting some distance between us. I flipped the Zat into an aimable position and swept the room with it, from the stunned Tok'ra techs to cussing Maretne, gaping Martouf, and nervously smiling Ruel. "I guess I'll have to cross that bridge when I come to it," I quipped, and after deducing that none of the other five were armed, I ran.
* * * * *
|| Jack O'Neill ||
The waitress slapped a cup of coffee down in front of me, not noticing as it sloshed onto the table, too tired to recognize my face or give a second thought to my companions. I'd never been so intensely glad of anything in my life.
The Denny's was all but deserted. 'All but' because, regardless of hour, some people were always ready to take advantage of an establishment open around the clock. No sense letting all that manpower and electricity go to waste. Besides the two harried, haggard waitresses that sleepwalked mechanically from table to table, two young men - college students, no doubt - sat at the counter, backs to the rest of the room. A group of four others, slightly older, cuddled two-by-two in a booth, either drunk or on an insomniac's high; now and then one of the men would make an unfunny joke in a too-loud voice, and their lady friends would titter in girlish appreciation.
I hid my face casually as we passed them, not worrying about the Tok'ra; their visages weren't widely known, and I doubted the average Joe would expect to see them here any more than I had. We sat where the waitress placed us, but as soon as she zombie-walked away we stood and moved, deeper into the restaurant, where there was a smaller chance of being seen by someone more awake and observant. It felt for all the world like a clandestine mission, a covert meeting... like the good old days.
From hidden speakers came the muted strains of the latest Brandon Garrett song.
"To begin with," said Linas, painfully serious. "I would like to... apologize for not coming to you with this information sooner. It was... the wrong thing to do. We stayed silent only because we were... afraid of how you might react."
"I figured as much."
Catrine's eyes were fastened on the splotches of spilled coffee, which created weird brown patterns on the Formica tabletop, but her words were directed at me. "The three of us were scientists. Working in a lab, on a special project as secret to most of US -" - by 'US' she meant 'Tok'ra' - " - as the SGC once was to your people. It was an experiment started years ago by a woman... named Jolinar."
My guts tightened, pulling like taffy. The Garrett tune ended, and the impossibly-long pause between song tracks was deafening. "Jolinar..."
"The project was... unsavory," took up Linus, who had a frustrating way of pausing in the middle of a sentence that reminded me of Daniel. "Although we were too patriotic to see that for some time. It was centered around potential technology to... 'aid in the blending of host and symbiote'. That sounded wonderful to us. But over time... we realized what that truly meant."
"It was meant for the Tok'ra to be able to take involuntary hosts," continued Bray, his deep timbre pitched low. The area appeared empty, but 'Tok'ra' and 'hosts' were words that pricked ears. "And to take them easily. Most Tok'ra symbiotes have never had to fight to keep control of a host, as the Gou'ald must."
"Jolinar did a good enough job," I hissed, my mind flashing to a non-sequiter: how James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise had cursed an entire species because one had murdered his son. Sure, it was fiction, but the comparison worked. Dealing with Jolinar through Sam had been one of the most difficult things I'd ever done in my life, and I'd done a shitload of difficult things. The way the Tok'ra had used my personal feelings for Sam against me, how Carter had almost died because of nasty Gou'ald politics... and that one, rare, precious night the two of us had talked about it. While she was still in the infirmary, recovering, Daniel's flowers blooming in the corner... a few raspy sentences, really, and nothing more... I hadn't even sat down. But for the rest of my life I would remember her voice, taunt with the pain of the memories, confiding in me - as she seldom did - that what had just happened had been the most terrible thing that had EVER happened to her. THAT was why I'd been reluctant to find the Tok'ra, and so pissed off when they didn't beg Sam's forgiveness for what one of theirs had done to her. I'd never really forgiven them for what Jolinar had put her through.
It didn't look like I'd been doing any forgiving any time soon.
Another, older, song came on; I recognized the tune, and the lyrics shared my attention with the words the Tok'ra spoke, the secrets they divulged.
"Sorry I never told you
All I wanted to say"
"Some symbiotes are more adapt at that than others. Jolinar was one example. Maretne another. But most, especially those who had dying, voluntary hosts, could not fight another's will."
"Now it's too late to hold you
Cause you've flown away, so far away"
"So you're saying Maretne..."
"Controlled Jadae, yes. Ever since you stumbled across the remains of the lab, which had been abandoned."
"Fuck. The cave? On P2C-260? Su'lin'ie? FUCK." It merited repeating. "Why was it abandoned?"
"Because it worked only once -- ON Maretne and Jadae. The success was considered a fluke."
"Never had I imagined
Living without your smile"
"But it worked again." It wasn't a question.
"Yes," said Catrine, finally dragging her eyes from the tabletop. "On you and Samantha Carter."
"HOW? And what did it do to us?"
"We spent months trying to figure out 'how'... when we left... that discovery had not yet been made. And it did to you what it did to Maretne and Jadae. Blended you."
"Feeling and knowing you hear me
It keeps me alive, alive"
"BLENDED US?" I bit the inside of my cheek, and lowered my voice. "How the hell..."
"Not in the same way it would have blended a host and symbiote, of course. But it came... close. It affected you. Made you interdependent."
"You could say that."
"And I know you're shining down on me from heaven
Like so many friends we've lost along the way
And I know eventually we'll be together
One sweet day"
"What are you saying? That Sam's alive?"
"There were rumors, on Su'lin'ie, that this was true. But you must understand that we were... primarily concerned for our own safety. And our leader, Warith, kept most things secret from us."
"Darling I never showed you
Assumed you'd always be there"
My blood pressure skyrocketed. "She's alive?" I restated.
"She may be."
"I agree," said Catrine, brushing her hair from her eyes. "If the reports of her death are false, they would have taken her to Su'lin'ie. They would have wanted to study her... the effects of her long-term separation from you, and they would have tried to enlist her help in finishing the project."
"She never would."
"It's possible," continued Bray. "That the success with Jadae and Maretne was not a fluke. Jolinar might have sabotaged her own project."
"Moral compunctions?" I asked dryly.
"Took your presence for granted
But I always cared, and I miss the love we shared."
"That is why we left," said Linus solemnly. "And why we remained silent. I, personally, am ashamed, even of the small part I played."
* * * * *
"You should have SAID something. She could be on that planet right now. She could have been on it, and we could have gone back for her while the gate was still open." Only by gritting my teeth together did I refrain from shouting. "Instead, everyone thinks she's a traitor. They all hate her because they think she defected to the Tok'ra. In case you've noticed, you guys aren't the most popular folks around."
"And I know you're shining down on me from heaven
Like so many friends we've lost along the way
And I know eventually we'll be together
One sweet day"
"We are VERY sorry," stressed Bray. "Jacarius and Nelsha and Ryane are as well. Not all Tok'ra are willing to win by the most indulgent method."
"At the same time," said Catrine, her dark eyes haunting. "I'm afraid that you would not have found Samantha on Su'lin'ie."
"Although the sun will shine the same
I'll always look to a brighter day"
"What?"
Linus obviously followed her line of thinking. "You said yourself that she would have not assisted Warith and the others with the project."
"That's right."
"Then her usefulness would have quickly come to an end. Rather than risk her escape, they would have killed her."
"Lord I know when I lay me down to sleep
You will always listen as I pray."
"Oh, God."
"And I know you're shining down on me from heaven
Like so many friends we've lost along the way
And I know eventually we'll be together
One sweet day...
"And I know you're shining down on me from heaven
Like so many friends we've lost along the way
And I know eventually we'll be together
One sweet day
One sweet day
Sorry... I never told you..."
* * * * *
|| Samantha Carter ||
I ran, sacrificing accuracy for speed, scraping my shoulders and arms on the sides of the narrow passage but avoiding an actual head-on-collision of stone versus skull. Before I saw daylight, I'd begun to regret my actions.
I should have Zat'ed all five of them. Leave one less thing to worry about...
There weren't many - if ANY - places in the cavern where a weapon could have been hidden. I certainly didn't think one of the technicians had been packing, but Maretne had surprised me once before. Chances were they would have to go back down underground for a spare weapon. There'd been a Zat or two in the supply room, I remembered, and at the very least I knew Martouf had a ribbon device.
Martouf... I slipped through the crack and found myself standing on that familiar rock platform. The trench-path lay before me: sloping, curving. I could lay in wait here, and pick off the Tok'ra as they followed me out, but what if there was another exit, and they trapped me up here? What if there were more people here than I'd seen? Ruel had mentioned others.
Martouf... my feet slipped and slid on the worn ground; it was like trying to do the 100 meter on a bobsled run. The sun was obscured by snarled gray clouds from horizon to horizon, but at least it wasn't raining. Whatever period of time had passed, the waxy plants had taken advantage of; they sprang from every minute crack and crevice and flowed over the sandy stone like a river of tangled vines, a sea of glistening leaves. I used the long trellises to steady myself.
Martouf... Goddamn it, how could I have been so wrong about him? Had I really been so blinded by Jolinar's adoration that I hadn't seen his capacity for deceit? Or had this been a recent development? Had it been planned and premeditated, the whole thing, from 'come with me' to 'you can't go back', or had he simply been making it up as he went along? How much had been 'necessary'? How much had he enjoyed?
And why hadn't I listened to Jack?
* "Even if this is about love, it doesn't make it right." *
Footsteps behind me. There was no way tubby Ruel or his freakishly tall assistant could have fit through the passage. Which meant it could be Maretne, Martouf, or the blonde woman. Or all three. I couldn't tell, not over my breathing, which rasped and burned in my throat, like I was inhaling the acid rain this planet was capable of. I couldn't remain in the rut; that much was for certain, even though I was fairly close to the ground...
I jammed the Zat gun into my waistband, grabbed two handfuls of ivy, and threw myself out of the channel.
A voice shouted.
My momentum caused most of the vines to snap, and I found myself sliding. The rock here wasn't level; far from it. The big question was: would I be able to let myself fall, and slide down to the ground below? Or would I end up being bashed against a spire of rock, breaking a few bones in the process? Or would this trip end with an unexpected plunge?
A little bit of each, as it turned out.
I flailed with my hands, desperately trying to slow my fall by grabbing at the ivy, but sadly, it wasn't as deeply rooted as it looked. It's effect was negligible. That was bad, I realized frantically. And so was that jutting...
Ouch.
My hip contacted solidly with an outcropping of rock, which I grabbed at for dear life. The formation's face was at a roughly 45-degree angle with the ground, I guessed, spying a bit of the surface maybe fifteen feet below. It would hurt, but it was doable.
I looked up, back in the direction I had come from, where I had flung myself over the edge, and was surprised to see how far I'd skidded down. I was even more surprised - and mildly pissed off - to see two and then three faces peek over the rim of the furrow. As I watched, one - Martouf - ran back up the rut. Another - Maretne - ran down. The third - the blonde Tok'ra * Odessa, supplied Jolinar's memories, infinitely helpful. Her name is Odessa * climbed over the edge of the channel... and looked prepared to follow me down. I gritted my teeth. IDIOT, I thought, watching her carefully make her way, using the trailing vines to repel. A few feet away, those very same vines spilled over the precipice like a waterfall. Monkey see...
I reached for the vines, scrambling for purchase on the sloping face, lowering myself down, centimeter by centimeter. Hey, every centimeter now was a centimeter less I had to fall later.
I fell. I grabbed the vines as I slid to the bluff, but between my weight and Odessa's, not even slow, careful movements helped. For a long second I seemed to hover on the brink, legs swinging, leaves entwined between my fingers, the ground only ten or so feet away but looking impossibly distant. Closing my eyes, I dropped, holding onto the vines in the slim hope that they'd slow my descent. Halfway down, I realized that they were the same vines Odessa had been using.
I landed on my side, hit the hand ground and rolled back towards the rock, under the bluff's overhanging. A shrill scream pierced the air, which I tried not to hear, and as the Tok'ra woman dropped, I tried not to think about how she didn't DROP, she flew. She had all that extra momentum, all that speed...
And she landed on her head.
Gasping with exertion, feeling for my Zat gun - thank God I'd landed on my other side - I forced myself to my feet, and, every joint and muscle and bone screaming, forced myself onward. Weapon in hand, I rounded another corner - in terrible pain - rounded another corner - in agony - crept behind a final protrusion of vine-laced-rock... and took Maretne, 'guarding' the Stargate, utterly by surprise. Evidently, she'd thought that scream to be mine.
She was armed with her own Zat, but stunned to see me alive and well - except for a few scratches and a school of developing bruises. It was her second mistake of the day: standing there, staring at me.
I fired, and she crumpled to the ground.
* Sorry, Jadae *
Quickly, I went to the DHD. Quickly, I entered the desired symbols. I paused to watch as the Gate opened - a gorgeous sight - and then went to work. I threw the unconscious Jadae - with Maretne along for the ride - through the Stargate, and then I followed her.
* * * * *
http://www.geocities.com/rainrobinson/andromeda.html
Story Notes: Title: The Abduction
Author: Alli (alli@ecis.com)
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Category: Future story, SJR, angst
Archive: SJA and Heliopolis
The Andromeda Series
1. The Assignment
2. The Aide
3. The Afterglow
4. The Arising
5. The Allusion
6. The Attack
7. The Accident
8. The Anger
9. The Alien
10. The Archeologist
11. The Absence
12. The Advance
13. The Adversary
14. The Ability
15. The Allies
16. The Aberration
17. The Ardor
18. The Act
19. The Affliction
20. The Answers
21. The Abduction
Author: Alli (alli@ecis.com)
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Category: Future story, SJR, angst
Archive: SJA and Heliopolis
The Andromeda Series
1. The Assignment
2. The Aide
3. The Afterglow
4. The Arising
5. The Allusion
6. The Attack
7. The Accident
8. The Anger
9. The Alien
10. The Archeologist
11. The Absence
12. The Advance
13. The Adversary
14. The Ability
15. The Allies
16. The Aberration
17. The Ardor
18. The Act
19. The Affliction
20. The Answers
21. The Abduction
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]