City of the Gods

by Stargate

  Sam closed her eyes and shook her head. What was wrong with her? Why was she plagued by this sense of .. failure? She had never failed at anything in her life. Except for that time on Artemis' planet, when she had been unable to control the compulsion, and almost killed the boy.

  "Getting worse?" asked Daniel. Sam looked up. He'd taken his glasses offandwas rubbing his face. "Headaches and weird visions, I mean." He replaced his glasses and examined the bioluminescent fungi with narrowed eyes. "Memories of things probably best forgotten."

  "I'm beginning to think that maybe they're mildly psychotropic," she replied, eyeing the green glow suspiciously.

  "When the Spanish discovered peyote in Mexico, they called it `satanic trickery' that gave the user `diabolic visions'." Daniel met her look. "This stuff," he gently prodded the spongy, glowing fungus, "is probably the real reason why the fire priests forbid entry into the Roads of Mictlan. They don't want people emulating Carlos Castaneda." He paused, then added, "Whatever you're seeing or feeling, Sam, it's not necessarily who you really are."

  "C'mon, let's go back inside where it's warmer."

  Teal'c knew that his tolerance to temperature extremes and oxygen deprivation was greater than that of his teammates. He therefore suspected that the headaches experienced by Major Carter, O'Neill and Daniel Jackson had been triggered by the same thing that had engendered fear in him.

  Master Bra'tac had taught him that fear was a burden, but that any burden could also be put to good use. While the others slept, Teal'c had gone into the hot springs cave, to sit alone and explore this forgotten sensation, in an effort to understand it.

  The first time he had truly tasted fear was when he had been ordered to kill his friend, Va'Lar, who had failed in his duty to Apophis to defeat the forces of Ra. In the same way that Teal'c did not have the words to explain how his staff weapon functioned, so too did he lack the words to explain what he had done next on that fateful day. He knew only that if he took the life ofVa'Lar, his soul would irretrievably belong to Apophis. Perhaps it was a fatal flaw in him, but that thought had provoked a doubt, one that could only be resolved with knowledge. So he had let Va'Lar live. Further, he had deceived Apophis by presenting him with a dying symbiote from another fallen Jaffa.

  Apophis had believed him.

  With such knowledge came comprehension: Apophis was not omniscient. The people of Chulak, his people, were enslaved to a false god. It therefore followed that all Goa'uld were false gods, and their power rested only in their ability to enslave Jaffa, body, mind and soul. And so his fear was born: his people's souls had been stolen, and they would forever remain enslaved to false gods.

  From that day forth he had begun to tread a different path, one that required he live two lives. The first was as Teal'c, First Prime to Apophis, student of Master Bra'tac, father to Rya'c, and husband to Drey'auc. The other, the secret life in his soul, was that of a Shol'va. For he knew the time would come when he would turn his back on that which defined him, face his fear and drive out the false gods.

  "I can save these people!"

  Again, he had no words, just instincts. And on that second, fateful day in his life, the fear he held for his people had been broken open, and transformed into hope.

  The next time he had felt fear had been very different, for it had been implanted in him by the ancient being, Nem, on the planet Oannes. While sharp on the outside, that fear bore no substance.

  The fear Teal'c now felt was much the same. Hollow. Since there had been no opportunity for any being to instill false memories in him, he could only conclude that the sensation was baseless, and rested solely with the volcanic nature of the planet. The fear did not recede, but he dismissed it as no longer having meaning for him.

  He opened his eyes and looked up.

  Major Carter stepped into the hot springs cavern. "Hey, Teal'c."

  Daniel Jackson followed her. "'Morning, Teal'c." He removed his gloves and proceeded to wash his hands in the waters of a bubbling pool. Then turning to Major Carter, he said, "Y'know, I've been thinking about why the jaguar warriors in Xalo believed you and Jack were the true Quetzalcoatl and Chalchiuhtlicue, despite neither of you carrying a symbiote."

  Teal'c opened his pack, removed the white sachet in the RCW marked `apricot oatmeal', and poured the contents into a cooking pot.

  "In Mesoamerican mythology, Quetzalcoatl and Chalchiuhtli cue were benevolent deities." Daniel Jackson went to his pack and removed the coffee. "Quetzalcoatl created mankind, and promised to return at the end of the world and save his followers. But when Wodeski ordered the jaguar warriors to attack us, it was to prevent Quetzalcoatl from returning, and causing the end of the world." Tearing the packet open, he added, "Now, Nick said that Coatlicue sought revenge against the Omeyocan. Instead of getting these people to abandon their beliefs, Coatlicue must have demonized Quetzalcoatl, called herself Chalchiuhtlicue - "

  "And turned Chalchi into the wicked witch?" finished Major Carter.

  "Something like that. You arrived through the `gate just ahead of the flood, then stopped the children from being sacrificed. I think it was the very absence of Goa'uld in you that supported their belief that you and Jack were the compassionate gods of their mythology, and not the Goa'uld usurpers."

  Major Carter looked less certain. "Maybe, but that doesn't explain why, if Tonatui and Tzcatlipoca are fighting with each other for control of Xalotcan, the people here have Flower Wars to capture sacrificial victims. Why aren't the Goa'uld just battling it out like they normally do, with Jaffa armies?"

  Carefully holding the pot of oatmeal in a pool of boiling water, Teal'c said, "Perhaps because Tzcatlipoca and Tonatui require hosts who believe strongly in such rituals."

  Daniel Jackson ceased in his preparation of the coffee and stared at him. After several moments, he said, "Oh my God. That's why you chose Sha're, isn't it?"

  Nothing of the host remained - or so Teal'c had been led to believe. Yet he had seen the false gods take hosts before, and he had witnessed how a powerful host could temper the worst excesses of its Goa'uld.

  Make a difference. Master Bra'tac had seen into his soul, understood his fear - and used it to give him purpose. Those words had never seemed more important to Teal'c than when Apophis had ordered him to choose a host for Amaunet. The woman he had taken from Earth had spirit, but perhaps too much, for Amaunet had rejected her. So he had chosen Sha're, in the belief that, beneath her softness and beauty, was an indomitable strength of will that might offer a more subtle influence on Amaunet. In the beloved of Apophis, such temperance could make, and indeed had made, a difference.

  Daniel Jackson sucked in a deep breath and met his eyes. The bond between them was a peculiar and tragic one; for by choosing Sha're, and then killing her, Teal'c had tom the soul from the man he now called friend. Although Daniel Jackson had forgiven him both times, Teal'c could see that the final piece in a five and halfyear-old puzzle had finally settled into place. It was a subtle thing, but it also eased a small part of his own burden of guilt. "If a host's spirit is powerful enough," he said, "I believe that in some cases it can influence its symbiote for good. Or bad"

  A brief, sad smile of acknowledgment crossed Daniel Jackson's lips. He continued with his preparation of the beverage, and, turning to Major Carter, said, "To answer your question, Tonatui and Tzcatlipoca are battling it out, but in a way that works best for them as exiles with limited resources. The people on this planet are unquestionably Aztecs. On Earth, their culture was the quintessential example of a self-fulfilling prophecy. They built an extraordinary civilization after overcoming almost impossible engineering problems, because they believed the gods had prophesied that they would - and told them how. The Goa'uld walked into a society whose very existence wasn't just governed by, but depended on ritual warfare, human sacrifice, even cannibalism, for its success. It's like I said yesterday, the Goa'uld presence here is almost immaterial."

  Jack woke abruptly and sat up. One of the few usefu
l skills he'd acquired in that hellhole of an Iraqi prison was how to keep his subconscious way down there in the basement. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. Mostly, he could prevent the door to the basement from opening even when he was asleep. Mostly.

  Despite the early hour, everyone else was apparently awake. The smell of coffee and reconstituted oatmeal managed to battle its way past the ubiquitous volcanic odor. He climbed out of the sleeping bag, rearranged his hair and went into the hot springs cavern.

  "Morning, sir," said Carter.

  "Coffee's ready." Daniel offered him a flat smile. "RCWs, boiled, broiled, fried or sunny side-up, take your pick."

  Jack's nose wrinkled. He should eat, but his headache was nauseating. "Maybe I'll pass. Hey, T, sleep well?"

  "I did not."

  "Bad dreams, huh?" He walked across to a pool and, hoping it would drown the road workers jack-hammering his skull, plunged his head in.

  "I do not dream, O'Neill."

  "I knew that, I was just.. you know." The jack-hammering continued. Did they have to take the `jack' part so literally? There had to be a pun in there somewhere.

  "I did not sleep."

  "Oh, okay. Kelno'reem?" Where had he put the Tylenol?

  "I was unable to enter kelno'reem. This place," Teal'c looked around, "is not suitable."

  "The cave?"

  "No, the moon."

  "Thanks Teal'c," Carter said, accepting a bowl from him. Jack could smell her oatmeal. Rotten eggs with a dash of apricot. Nice. She sat down on the stone slab that Two-water had been splayed out on, ready to be sacrificed to lord Cat Lips. It was the only semi-dry place in the cave. "Weather's good," she added, handing him the packet of Tylenol. "If we can't get the sub operational, I've worked out how to cut through the ice."

  Jack popped three of the tablets and downed them while Carter finished explaining what she had in mind. "Sounds like a plan," he said. "Let's finish up here, then it's snow time."

  They had just finished packing the FRED when a particularly large quake sent a deep grinding sound through the tunnels. Jack glanced at Carter, hoping she might have some idea what it meant. With her balaclava and hood on, he couldn't see her face. Still, he could tell she was tense. They all were.

  The Stargate was no longer visible, even the bulge had vanished beneath a fresh layer of snow. Using the bearings that Jack had taken the first morning, they navigated the FRED across the lake. The snow was lightly packed, but working to clear a path through the fractured ice while battling for every molecule of oxygen made for an unpleasant morning's work. Worse, every shudder was followed by loud groans, nerve-wrecking cracks, and fingernail-onblackboard squeals as the surface of the lake shifted beneath their feet. The volcano kept up its sound and light show, and the lack of wind meant that ash settled on everything and everyone like a dirty shroud. Where larger, still warm cinders fell onto the snow, ugly blackheads appeared. The hotter embers seemed to exclusively pick on Jack. He decided that it had to be some sort of karma thing. On the upside, it was also desensitizing him. He no longer hated volcanoes, he just disliked them a whole lot.

  It was close to midday by the time they reached the center of the lake. Jack stopped the FRED and took a final bearing. "This is it. The DHD should be directly under us."

  Carter pulled out the remote control that Daniel had brought. "Let's hope we're close enough to overcome the electrical interference."

  "When Siler sent the sub through," said, Daniel, watching over her shoulder. "He parked it right beside the DHD."

  "This is great!" Carter pulled down her balaclava and smiled.

  Jack came to peer over her other shoulder. A murky, swamp green light appeared on the tiny TFT. "Carter, it's a blank screen."

  "Yes sir, but not if I do this." She switched something on the controls and two floodlights lit the image.

  From beneath the ice, a glow appeared between Jack's feet. He looked down. "Cool."

  "Ugh!" Carter's face screwed up.

  Jack looked over her shoulder again. A blurry human hand floated in front of the miniature submersible's camera. Carter focused the lens until they could see that the hand was attached to a woman dressed in the overdone clothes and jewelry that earmarked a Goa'uld.

  "She appears to be wearing a hand device," said Teal'c in clinical detachment. One less Goa'uld, so much the better.

  "Calciumcure?" Jack suggested with more than a trace of levity.

  "You mean Chalchi," Daniel corrected.

  "No, I mean something with a cure at the end"

  "Chalchiuhtlicue was affectionately known as Chalchi." Daniel lifted his ski goggles and looked more closely at the image. "I was telling Sam earlier that I think the Goa'uld Coatlicue pretended to be the Omeyocan, Chalchiuhtlicue. The gold must have weighed her down before she could dial out. Didn't you say that Tonatui and Tzcatlipoca arrive by ship? I wonder why she - presuming she is, or was, Coatlicue - used the `gate?"

  Jack looked at him. "The Goa'uld have never been known for happy families."

  Daniel frowned. The sort of frown he got when he was about to postulate some contorted and painfully voluminous theory on Goa'uld relationships.

  "It was just a thought," Jack said dismissively.

  "More importantly," Daniel added. "Since she was in exile, I wonder where she came from?"

  "Perhaps from the fourth planet in the network, Yaxkin," suggested Teal'c.

  Whatever Daniel was about to say was cut off by another loud crunching sound. Balancing herself against the shaking, Carter continued to manipulate the controls. "Wherever she came from, her being here would explain the depression we saw in the ice the morning after the flood. I thought the SGC had dialed up during the night."

  "No," Daniel replied absently. "They couldn't get the `gate operational for some time."

  "Well, whoever `she' was, she definitely won't be wanting any more kids." Jack made no attempt to hide his satisfaction.

  "And she's ... not exactly young. Which confirms your idea about the lack of a sarcophagus." Daniel pulled his frosted glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "Y'know, something about this whole thing just doesn't add up."

  Carter rotated the submersible until the top of the DHD came into view, then she brought the robotic arm to rest on the first glyph.

  "Okay, kids." Jack turned to the FRED and pulled out the SCUBA dry-suits. "How `bout we continue this discussion someplace warmer?"

  Since taking command of the SGC, General George Hammond had become accustomed to seeing SG-1 walk, run, stagger, fall, and even dive through the `gate. Seeing them swim through was an entirely new experience.

  The first to arrive was Teal'c. Landing heavily on the ramp, in his arms was the body of a gray-haired elderly woman dressed in elaborate clothing. Immediately behind him was Dr Jackson with the small submersible. Next came a FRED, followed by Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill, who tumbled on top of the vehicle in a gush of water.

  "Someone should post a memo about the hazards of swimming through the Stargate," O'Neill said after sliding onto the floor of the ramp.

  "If you'd swum down to the bottom before coming through as we planned, it would have been fine." Dr Jackson pulled off his diving mask.

  "You weren't guiding the FRED." O'Neill stood and kicked a dripping tire. "That thing is what got us stuck there in the first place. I should have left it behind."

  "Welcome home, SG-1," Hammond said, smiling broadly. "It's good to have you back."

  Colonel O'Neill wiped the water off his face and smiled at Hammond. "Thank you, General. You'll be pleased to know that our time wasn't entirely wasted. We met the locals. Friendly bunch who sacrifice more people than the usual, pissant Goa'uld. We didn't kill anyone though - "

  "Except a Goa'uld. I think it's Coatlicue masquerading as Chalchiuhtlicue," piped up Dr Jackson. "And Teal'c shot a pyramid and a jaguar in the leg."

  "We didn't exactly kill her." Major Carter tossed her saturated hair back off her face, and looked down at the bo
dy of the woman. "She drowned. We also recovered all of the geologists' notes and laptops."

  "But had to leave Dabruzzi's chocolate behind," finished O'Neill. He began to pull off his dry-suit.

  Dr Jackson swung around to face him. "Chocolate? Jack, tell me you didn't give the children chocolate."

  O'Neill froze. "Why would I tell you that, Daniel?"

  "Because Quetzalcoatl gave chocolate to mankind. It's considered to be the food of the gods. Even one cocoa bean was worth a small fortune."

  Major Carter choked back a peculiar noise.

  "Jack?" Dr Jackson's eyebrows lifted, and, as much as the bulky suit would allow, crossed his dripping arms in expectation.

  O'Neill shot Major Carter a warning look. "One word and you're on vegetarian RCWs for a month."

  Dr Jackson closed his eyes and sighed in resignation. "Okay, well, that would have clinched their belief that you were Quetzalcoatl."

  "D'ya think Quetzy will mind?"

  "I don't know; I'm not sure what the rules are about impersonating a god. Or goddess." Dr Jackson sent a disappointed frown in Major Carter's direction.

  "Don't look at me," she objected. "I was just... there!"

  Hammond shook his head. This promised to be one hell of a debriefing.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  hat are you and Cassie doing for Christmas?" Sam pushed open the door to the Spanish restaurant and walked into a room full of laughter and warmth.

  "For one thing we're having you over," Janet Fraiser replied, pulling off her overcoat.

  The strains of a Spanish guitar drifted like tinsel from overhead speakers. A waiter wearing a bolero and a Santa hat guided them to a booth beneath the smoke-stained poster of a picador. In the center of the wooden table sat a wine bottle liberally coated with the waxy residue of a hundred cozy nights. Topped by a stubby candle, it looked like a Matterhorn in miniature. The waiter left with their coats and returned soon after with tumblers and a jug of sangria.