Alliances

by Karen Miller

  Which is crazy. If I so much as suggest it to Jack he’s going to bite my head off.

  Time to see if he couldn’t work a little Daniel Jackson magic and get one of the villagers to confide in him.

  He pushed to his feet, pressed his palms together and bowed. “That is my story for today. Thank you for listening. Peace be with you, and the blessings of the gods.”

  “Peace be with you, Daniel!” the children chorused back at him. “And the blessings of the gods!”

  They sounded so earnest he had to laugh, even as his heart gave a nasty little hitch. He and Sha’re had talked about children. She’d wanted babies so badly, and he’d wanted them with her. But even though they’d tried — God, how they’d tried — pregnancy had eluded her. Not until Ammonet had stolen her, and Apophis had —

  With a violent wrench he tore his thoughts away from that most unprofitable of directions. Sha’re was gone, she was at peace, he hoped, and torturing himself over what he’d lost was worse than a fool’s errand. It was a recipe for the kind of black misery that once upon a terrible time Jack had shown him.

  As the adults chivvied the children on to their set-aside duties, he crossed to Sam. “Hey.”

  She shook her head at him, her gaze slightly unfocused. “’The Little Mermaid’? Jeez, Daniel, only you could get that story safely across the cultural divide.” Then she smiled, softly. “That was one of my favorite stories as a kid. My mom used to read it to me.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t meant to stir anything up.”

  “You didn’t,” she murmured. “It’s a good memory, that one.”

  “Okay.” Dropping to a crouch beside her he pressed his palm to her forehead. “You’re running a fever, Sam.” He knew he sounded accusing, but didn’t care. “Not a big one but you’re definitely too hot. Why didn’t you say something?”

  She shoved his hand away, suddenly irritable. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. I think you should go back to the retreat. Get into the shade, get your head down, and rest. And when Jack gets back from the mine I think you should tell him you’re going home so Janet can check you out.”

  “Oh Daniel,” she sighed. “Stop fussing.”

  Frustrated, he stood and glared at her. “I’m not fussing. Expressing concern is not fussing. Sam — ”

  She lifted a hand. “Okay. Okay. I’ll go and lie down.”

  The fact that she let him help her onto her feet only served to heighten his alarm. He watched her slowly head back towards their temporary quarters, walking as though her bones ached and her muscles had turned to stinging nettles.

  Damn. Whatever it is, I hope it’s not catching.

  He glanced up the sloping valley, where the naquadah mine was located. Wondered, briefly and not without a fresh spurt of unease, how Jack and Dixon were getting on. So far they’d managed not to butt heads in any significant manner, mainly because Dixon was playing things unbelievably low key. But also because the two men had barely spent a moment alone since Dixon was assigned to the team.

  But if Dixon decided their trek up to the mine was the perfect time for a heart-to-heart about Frank Cromwell…

  Could be Sam won’t be the only one with a story to tell about falling off a mountain.

  No. No. Surely not.

  Don’t think about that. Think about something helpful, like finding the right Adjoan to talk to.

  “Bhuiku,” he said aloud. “Now there’s an idea.”

  He found Lotar’s promised husband in the brickyard along the river bank. He wasn’t entirely certain what prompted him to seek out this young man over any of the others he’d encountered in the village. Perhaps because of his connection to Lotar. Certainly it was important that he’d been afflicted by some kind of illness in the past.

  Or else it’s because he reminds me of Skaara.

  Reminded him that despite a lot of suffering and misery sometimes people found a happy ending. Kind of a happy ending, anyhow. Okay, Skaara’s sister was dead and he was forever altered… perhaps damaged… by his experiences as a prisoner of Klorel.

  But at least he’s alive, back on Abydos, with the people who love him. At least he’s not dead. At least we didn’t fail him. And I didn’t fail Sha’re’s baby, either. Mustn’t forget that. That’s someone else I managed to save.

  But he suspected he’d never forgive himself for failing to save Sha’re.

  Bhuiku was working alone in the brickyard, stripped down to a linen loincloth as he used a long wooden paddle to mix chopped straw into thick sludgy mud. Brick porridge. Sweat gleamed on his olive skin, stippled the strange candle-wax scars on his face, his back, his chest and abdomen, the side of one thigh.

  “Hey, Bhuiku,” said Daniel. “Remember me?”

  Bhuiku nodded, his breathing deep and steady. “Yes. You are Daniel, from beyond the divide.”

  “So, what are you making the bricks for?”

  “I make them for the home Lotar and I will share when we are married.”

  Sweet. “I’d like to do something for Lotar. She’s a lovely woman. Can I help?”

  “You?” Bhuiku looked him up and down, a derisive gleam in his dark eyes. “You would break in half if you tried to stir my mud. You are a talker. Your tongue is strong, but your arms and your legs?” He snorted. “You are a guest of Mennufer. Elder Khenti says we must treat you with honor and respect.”

  Daniel grinned. “I’ll only feel honored and respected if you let me make some bricks.”

  That earned him a puzzled look. “You wish to break your bones making bricks?”

  “I want the chance to talk with you, Bhuiku.”

  “Talk about what?”

  Daniel waited a moment before answering, letting his gaze sweep across the river to the grapevines and the grain fields on the other side. Everywhere he looked he could see new color: green shoots bursting through the soft brown soil, trees on the valley’s slopes budding pale cream and deep red, and laceworked over the ground between the rocks and tree trunks a bright yellow creeper.

  Adjo was dressing in her spring party clothes, all right.

  “About a lot of things,” he said at last, tearing his gaze away from nature showing off. “I want to understand more about your life here.”

  Bhuiku kept on stirring his mud porridge. “Why?”

  “It’s what I do. I learn about people.”

  Bhuiku frowned. “Why?”

  “It’s my job. So, can I make some bricks for you while we talk?”

  “You know how?” said Bhuiku, skeptical.

  “I’ve made a few mud bricks in my time.”

  Bhuiku stopped stirring his muddy porridge and considered him, then nodded. “You can help. But if you break your bones, Daniel, you cannot say it is my fault.”

  That made him laugh. “Fair enough.” Looking around, he saw a row of wooden buckets full of raw mud and straw mix and the empty wooden brick-forms waiting to be filled. Too easy.

  Bhuiku started stirring again. “Your people live in mud brick houses beyond the divide?”

  Daniel picked up the first wooden bucket, grunting at its weight. “Sure. Some of them do.” Staggering a little, he carried the bucket to the empty brick forms and started filling them with brown sludge. When the first ten forms were filled he put the bucket aside, got down on his hands and knees and carefully banged the sides of the forms with his fists, encouraging the wet mix to settle, patting the mud to eliminate any air bubbles that would render the brick brittle and useless once it had dried.

  “Hmm,” said Bhuiku, watching him, and got on with his stirring.

  Making mud bricks was fun. Simple work, uncomplicated and uncompromisingly real. Mix dirt, straw and water and you made something that could endure a thousand years. He’d forgotten how good that felt. The sun was warm on his back, the breeze soft in his face. He started to sweat, and that felt good too. The sounds of village life murmured in the background.

  “So Bhuiku,” he said, enjoying himsel
f, “I noticed the other day you weren’t making bricks. You were fishing.”

  “Every man in Mennufer can do every man’s work,” said Bhuiku. “As each woman can do each woman’s work.”

  Ah. Ancient Egyptian multi-tasking. Cool. “To make sure people don’t get bored?”

  Bhuiku stopped stirring, and added a small splash of water to his sludge from a nearby wooden pail. “No. Because who can say when a man can no longer do a thing?”

  Interesting. Multi-tasking as a kind of insurance. Making sure essential skills didn’t die out… And if that’s not a useful segue, I don’t know what is. “That’s important, passing along knowledge like that,” he said casually. “If only one person knows how to do a thing, and that person gets sick or even dies, the whole village could suffer. I’ve seen it happen in other places. Your people are wise, Bhuiku.”

  Bhuiku grunted, and splashed a bit more water. “The Elders are wise.”

  “So, I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been sick, Bhuiku,” Daniel said, keeping his tone careless, focusing on his mud bricks as though what he said wasn’t important. “How long ago was that?”

  “I was a child,” said Bhuiku, attacking his mud porridge again. Shifting a little, so his scarred face was obscured. He seemed wary all of a sudden. Not offended, just… abruptly withdrawn.

  Careful, Daniel. Careful. “And how old are you now?”

  “I have seen twenty rebirths.”

  Interesting. Adjoans marked the passage of time by this thing they wouldn’t talk about. “The illness you suffered. Does it have a name?”

  “No,” said Bhuiku, after too long a pause.

  Bhuiku, you’re lying. “Seems to me you must’ve been very ill. Tell me, if your people have no medicines how did you survive?”

  Bhuiku shrugged. “I am strong.”

  “Have you been sick like that again, since your childhood?”

  “No.”

  Okay… “Does anyone in Mennufer get sick more than once?”

  Bhuiku glanced at him, then looked back at his mud porridge. “Some do.”

  “And has everyone in Mennufer been sick at least once?”

  “Not everyone. The Elders are never sick. That is how they can be Elders.”

  Ah. So good health was a path to power and prestige. That made sense. “Bhuiku — ”

  “No more questions, Daniel,” said Bhuiku, stirring his mud porridge savagely. “We are not to talk of rebirth.”

  Rebirth? But they weren’t talking about rebirth, they were talking about… “Bhuiku,” he said slowly, straightening out of his crouch. Despite the sun’s warmth a cold shiver ran through him. “Is there a connection between rebirth and your people getting sick?”

  Bhuiku turned on him, goaded. “You said you wanted to make mud bricks, Daniel. Make mud bricks or go away. I do not wish Khenti to be angry with me.”

  Khenti? What did the Elders have to do with this? Oh crap. Was Jack right? Have Khenti and his Elders somehow screwed us? “Why would Khenti be angry with you, Bhuiku?”

  “I told you,” muttered Bhuiku. “We are not to talk of rebirth.” His sullen attitude gave way to sudden distress. Dropping his stirring stick he pressed his hands to his face. “I have disobeyed an Elder. If they find out we have talked of rebirth they will say I am not a man. I will be forbidden to marry Lotar.”

  Daniel went to him. “They won’t find out!” he said, taking the boy’s shoulders in his hands. “I won’t tell Khenti you told me. I promise. But Bhuiku — ”

  Bhuiku lowered his hands and stepped back. His bare, scarred chest rose and fell rapidly with his harsh breathing. “We have talked enough, Daniel. Now I must make mud bricks and you must go away.”

  Daniel wiped his filthy hands down the front of his tee-shirt. “I can’t. Bhuiku, this is really important. I realize I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry, I really am, but I have to know. You have to tell me. Is there a connection between rebirth and people getting sick?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The look on Bhuiku’s face was Daniel’s answer.

  Oh, crap. Oh, crap. Jack’s going to go ballistic. “Bhuiku, when is rebirth? Is it now? The warmer temperatures, new flowers blooming… is this rebirth?”

  Slowly, Bhuiku nodded. “Yes.”

  Oh God. Sam.

  He bolted for the Elders’ retreat.

  “Sam!” he shouted, flinging the door open. “Sam? Are you in here?”

  She was curled up on her sleeping bag, knees pulled close to her chest. All he could see of her face was part of one hectically flushed cheek; she had her right arm draped over her head. Her breathing was heavy, hinting at pain.

  “Sam,” he said again, dropping to his knees beside her. “Sam, can you hear me?”

  Slowly, as though her arm weighed a ton, she uncovered her face. “Daniel.”

  A wave of ice-cold dread washed over him. Her eyes were puffy, her color bad. Fresh blood tainted her nostrils.

  “Oh, God. Sam.”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” she said, her voice a scratchy whisper. “I’ve looked better, right?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said, trying to smile. “A little bit.”

  She coughed. “I feel like crap.”

  You look like death. “I’ll get you some water. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  He grabbed the empty canteen from his pile of belongings and took it to the big barrel of fresh water that had been left for them outside the building. As it filled, bubbling, he did his best to strangle the choking terror.

  She’ll be fine. We’ll get her back to Janet and she’ll make a complete recovery.

  He said as much to Sam as she painfully sipped from the canteen. “As soon as Jack and Dixon get back from the mine they’ll put together a stretcher and carry you to the gate. Then it’ll be home and the infirmary.”

  Balanced on one elbow, Sam pushed the canteen away. “No. New medical protocols, remember?”

  Oh crap. He’d forgotten. “They’ll make an exception,” he said, pretending confidence. “They’ll have to. Who’s going to save the universe if you’re stuck here with a stupid fever?”

  Her eyes were bloodshot and glassy. “Daniel, we both know this is more than a fever.”

  “You’re making diagnoses now? I thought you were the wrong kind of doctor.”

  Inch by inch she lay down again. “Don’t make me laugh, Daniel. My chest hurts enough as it is.”

  He discarded the canteen and tried to help her get comfortable. “Sam, I think this has got something to do with rebirth. And I think Khenti knew it was going to happen.”

  She pulled a face. “So the colonel was right again. Khenti wasn’t to be trusted. Is he around? Have you seen him?”

  “Khenti? No. I think he and the other Elders have gone back to their shrine.”

  “Is anyone else sick?”

  “Not that I’ve seen.”

  “Good,” she said, nodding. “Could be I’m the exception and not the rule.”

  “Let’s hope so.” He felt a spidery scuttle of fright. “Sam… these new medical protocols. Does that mean — ”

  Her eyes closed. “Don’t worry about it. We don’t leave our people behind. But, Daniel, you have to understand — ” With an effort she looked at him again. “If there’s any chance what I’ve got could contaminate the SGC or beyond then even if I’m cleared to gate home, I won’t.”

  His mouth went dry. “That’s Jack’s decision, not yours.”

  “Of course it’s mine,” she said, and fumbled for his hand. “You promise me, Daniel. If push comes to shove you don’t let me put anyone else in danger.”

  “Sam…”

  “God, you shouldn’t even be sitting with me now,” she muttered, letting go of him. “Get away from me. I could be contagious.”

  “If you are then I’m already well and truly exposed,” he said, and took her hand again. “Come on. Don’t be stupid. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her finge
rs squeezed, lightly. “Daniel…” It was taking all her strength to stay focused on him. “I meant what I said. Please.”

  How could he say no? There were tears in her eyes, and Sam almost never wept. “Yeah. Okay. Now just be quiet. Save your strength. It’s my turn to play doctor, okay?”

  He fetched the Tylenol and antibiotics from the medkit and helped steady the canteen against her lips as she swallowed the pills.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, and abandoned consciousness with a sigh.

  Numb, he stared down at her. This isn’t happening. How can everything have gone so wrong, so fast?

  Which, given his life, was a stupid thing to wonder. It seemed that for every victory the SGC scored they were knocked back three paces by some even greater disaster.

  Dammit to hell. I lost Sha’re this year. In a weird way I even lost my grandfather. I am not going to lose Sam too.

  Although she had a fever she was starting to shiver. He fetched his own sleeping bag and spread it gently over her then settled by her side, her hand in his, and tried to raise Jack or Dixon on the radio.

  No response.

  Defeated, he put the radio aside. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

  The naquadah mine reached for miles under Adjo’s skin.

  Playing his flashlight over O’Neill’s back, Dixon cleared his throat. Since their vicious exchange of words on the valley-side they’d hardly spoken to each other.

  Way to go, Dave. That’s demonstrating your fine leadership qualities.

  “So,” he said, keeping his tone neutral. “We’ve been in here a couple of hours now. Seen a lot of naquadah. A bunch of mining equipment. A few more skeletons. Are we done?”

  O’Neill kept on walking. “You want to turn back? Turn back.”

  Okay. This was ridiculous. SG-1 couldn’t function with its highest-ranked members at each other’s throats.