“I very much doubt that,” the man replied on a laugh. He was either a fool or supremely confident. “I’m tougher than I look.”
Teal’c very much doubted that. However, he considered it unwise to prove his point; the Tau’ri would almost certainly take exception to it. So he kept silent and waited for what was to come.
What came was something of a surprise.
The man sighed, his shoulders slumped a little, and his demeanor changed markedly. “Okay. I guess the chirpy bedside manner thing doesn’t work for you. So how about we try the straightforward approach?”
“That would be appreciated.”
“Well, that’s something.” He reached out, reconsidered, and let his hand drop. “Right… right. Look, we decided it might be better if we took you to a private room. Folks here” — his arm described a sweeping circle that encompassed this peculiar room and everyone in it — “well, they’re kinda worried about you.”
“I understand.” Teal’c had surmised as much. If the furtive glances and ducked heads had not been revealing enough, he had heard all he needed to hear. The curtains that were drawn around many of those strange high cots could not stop anxious whispers and angry snarls from floating around the room.
“Mostly about that… snake-thing?” his talkative companion supplied. “The critter you carry in your… womb?”
“Pouch.”
“What?”
“We refer to it as a ‘pouch.’”
“Ah… We?”
“My people. The Jaffa.”
On hearing the name, a woman with the bearing of a clan leader, who stood by a cot across the room, glared at him with eyes full of hate. Then she slowly, deliberately tore her gaze away, spat on the floor, and stared back at him. Teal’c averted his eyes. He remembered her from the dungeon on Chulak. Her son, a bright, plucky child of about ten, had been one of the chosen. Teal’c had taken him.
His escort cringed and began ushering him along. “Sorry ‘bout that. Don’t know what’s gotten into her…”
“I know what has… gotten into her.” Using the phrase, whose meaning Teal’c had only deduced from the context, was a gamble, but one he would have to take regularly from now on if he was to adapt to the Tau’ri and their idiom. When no reaction was forthcoming, he presumed that he had used it correctly. “I know,” he repeated, “and it is none of your doing. There is no need for you to feel sorry.”
The man did not reply. After all, there was nothing that could be said. He led the way in silence, into an adjoining corridor — gray and unremarkable — and after a few steps came to a halt in front of an unmarked door. He opened it and showed Teal’c inside a small room that held another one of those peculiar beds, two chairs, and not much else.
“Make yourself at home,” his companion recommended. “It’s not much –”
“It is not.”
“But it’s yours.” The man’s eye twitched in another one of its nervous blinks. He marched over to a cupboard, the only item of furniture beside the cot and chairs, and withdrew a thin wad of folded fabric. “Now the fun part starts,” he promised cheerfully. “I’ll have to ask you to take off your… uh…” — he frowned at Teal’c’s armor — “suit and put this on. Once you’re done I’m gonna have to take your stuff, ‘cos they’ll want to take a look at it, but you’ll get it back.”
“Who are ‘they’?” Teal’c inquired, accepting the wad of fabric.
“Oh, you know…”
Evidently Teal’c did not, else he would not have asked, but the man seemed oblivious to this simple logic. He waved his hand indecisively, and his eye twitched yet again. “I’m gonna leave you alone now, so you can change. I’ll be back in a few. Meantime, holler if you need anything.” With that he disappeared and closed the door.
In a few what?
And Teal’c would most definitely not holler. Jaffa did not holler. Jaffa bellowed to incite fear in the enemy.
Bemused and not a little disturbed, Teal’c began to strip out of his armor. It felt as if, with every familiar piece of metal he unfastened, he stripped away a piece of himself to hand over to the Tau’ri. Some faceless, nameless Tau’ri of nebulous rank who were known only as ‘they.’
One thing was absolutely certain: this had not been among the consequences Teal’c had considered prior to arriving at his irrevocable decision. Now that he thought of it, he could not recall considering many consequences at all, which spoke volumes as to O’Neill’s powers of persuasion.
No. ‘Persuasion’ was the wrong word entirely. Because, if truth be told, O’Neill had not persuaded. He had simply been… himself, resolved to do what was right if not necessarily wise. That very bloody-mindedness was what had swayed Teal’c. No one and nothing could withstand such a force, and it had swept him along like a maelstrom.
And now?
With a Jaffa’s finely honed sense of irony, he permitted himself to snarl at the question. Now Teal’c, son of Ronac, was standing in a cramped chamber, beyond question guarded and naked as his mother had birthed him, attempting to discover an effective way of wearing a garment — some kind of shirt? — that would barely have clothed a child, let alone a full-grown Jaffa. On a small fabric tab inside the collar a group of letters spelled out “XXL.” Teal’c doubted that this was of any instructive value. He tentatively slipped one arm into a too-short sleeve, then the other. The shirt was too tight across the shoulders and would not meet up in front, even when he fastened the three sets of ties. This would not do at all.
He unfastened the ties and stripped again.
Was this shirt supposed to be worn back to front, exposing his mik’ta to anyone who cared to look? Surely not. Even the Tau’ri had to be more dignified than that.
Finally he decided that, irrespective of the Tau’ri custom in regard to garments such as this, he was going to fashion it into a loincloth. It struck him as the only way of preserving at least a modicum of decency.
He had barely managed to secure the sleeves around his hips when, upon a brief knock, the door flew open and his guide reappeared.
The man came to an abrupt halt in the doorway and stared, eyes wide. He opened his mouth, as if about to say something. His gaze drifted to Teal’c’s face, upon which his mouth closed and his rather protuberant Adam’s apple moved rapidly as though he was swallowing something.
At last his capacity to speak returned. “Neat idea,” he declared, sounding disingenuous. “Real neat… uh… The doc’ll be here any minute now, okay?”
It was not. Or perhaps it was. Who could tell? Since Teal’c could not begin to fathom what the arrival of a ‘doc’ might herald or how to plan for an event that was supposed to occur at any minute — what a singularly useless measure of time! — he could not possibly determine whether or not anything was okay.
At least his new friend did not insist on an answer. He had turned away and busied himself by gathering Teal’c’s armor to take it only the Tau’ri knew where. It appeared that the task was more onerous than he had anticipated. His face had reddened, and he was staggering under the weight of the chain mail and protective plates.
“Do you require assistance?” Teal’c asked, since courtesy seemed to demand such an offer.
“No,” panted the man. “Thanks. I’ll handle it.” Knees buckling he disappeared into the corridor.
Moments later Teal’c heard a loud crash and some surprisingly imaginative swearing. Several of the suggestions were anatomically quite unfeasible, even for the Tau’ri. Although he had a fair idea of what had occurred and hardly required confirmation, he struggled against the temptation to leave the room and see for himself.
His inner debate was interrupted by a new arrival. A female this time. Teal’c was pleased about this. Other than with Captain Carter, he had not had any close contact with Tau’ri females. Experien
ce showed that, if you wished to find out facts about a race rather than warlike boasts, you were well advised to talk to their women.
The first thing that struck him about this one was her size, or rather the lack thereof. She was diminutive, and her reaction on seeing Teal’c was markedly different from that of his guide. She remained unimpressed.
A glint of amusement — amusement? — in her eyes, she observed, “Interesting look. It definitely rates extra points for imagination.” Then she sobered. “My apologies. We really have to do something about those gowns.”
This was a gown?
“It appears I have a great deal to learn about Tau’ri fashion,” Teal’c observed carefully.
Her reply was a chuckle. “Trust me, these things have nothing, nothing, to do with fashion, and thank God for that! We’ll see about getting you some clothes that actually fit you just as soon as we’re done here.” Her gaze dropped to his bare feet. “Boots, too, though that might be a challenge… For now, would you mind just sitting down on the gurney to let me have a look at you? By the way, I’m Dr. Frasier.”
While Teal’c complied with her request, she kept on chatting. “It shouldn’t take too long,” she promised. “And then we’ll assign you quarters and you can get some rest. I realize you must be tired and that having to go through this first is an imposition. But we need to protect both you and ourselves.”
The thought of a creature as delicate as this woman protecting anyone, let alone a Jaffa, would have been laughable had she not sounded so serious.
“I do not require protection.” The moment he said it — as gently as he could manage — he realized that his might be untrue after all. The zat’nik’tel he had meant to retain for defense in a potential crisis was still attached to his armor’s belt. A beginner’s mistake that should not have been committed by someone as seasoned as Teal’c.
Dr. Frasier mistook his frown. “I don’t mean physically. I doubt you need any protection on that score. It’s a question of health. You may carry alien organisms that are harmful to us — apart from the obvious, I mean,” she interjected with a slight wince. Evidently someone had informed her about the larval Goa’uld he carried. News traveled as fast among the Tau’ri as they did among any other people. “Or you could have picked up some Earth bug that might be harmful to you.”
Were all Tau’ri afflicted by an obsession with pests?
“None of your insects could possibly harm me.”
“Oh!” That light, brief laugh rang out again. “Not that kind of bug. Microscopic organisms — bacteria or viruses — that cause disease. We call them bugs.” She had plugged an odd metal hoop into her ears. From it dangled a second piece of metal that was joined to the hoop with a thin plastic hose.
Since she pressed the piece of metal to his chest, Teal’c deduced that she probably had not plugged her ears in order to avoid having to listen to him. “Those… bugs cannot harm me either. I do not succumb to disease. Nor do I require rest.”
“Sure you don’t,” she murmured, giving the impression that she concentrated on sounds that were transmitted by the piece of metal through the hose and to her ears. “Heard it all before. None of you guys ever gets sick or needs rest.”
“That is correct. An opportunity to kelno’reem would be welcome however.”
Her head snapped up, and she stared at him. “An opportunity to what?”
“Kelno’reem.” The woman’s expression indicated that she was unfamiliar with either the word, or the concept, or both. Teal’c searched for the simplest way of explaining an act that came as natural as breathing. “It is a state of intense concentration but, at the same time, an absence of conscious thought.”
“You mean meditation?”
“No.” When he left it at that, she looked at him expectantly, her gaze forcing him to continue. This silent form of compulsion struck him as a powerful, vastly effective method of interrogation. “Meditation may aid in achieving a state of kelno’reem, but it is a mere shadow thereof. In kelno’reem my subconscious is in control, allowing me to commune with my symbiote.”
“Ah, yes… your symbiote.” It appeared to fascinate her. Frowning with concentration, she studied his pouch flaps. “So, this is where you keep the… Goa’uld implant? The symbiote?”
“Indeed.”
She hesitated briefly, as if again expecting him to add something. When nothing was forthcoming, she asked, “Is it safe?”
“Exceedingly so. My life depends on the symbiote’s well-being.”
“That’s… not quite what I meant. Would it be okay if I… uhm… examined the inside?”
“You may.” Teal’c lay back on the odd bed he had been requested to sit on. He nodded at the healer. “Do not concern yourself. The symbiote is too immature to desire a host.”
“That’s good to know.” She was unlikely to be wholly reassured, but she fought valiantly not to show it. He was beginning to develop a grudging respect for her.
She lightly pushed against one of his pouch flaps, then the contact firmed. Her frown deepened. Whatever she might have discovered, she had not foreseen it.
Deciding to ignore the examination as best he could, Teal’c let his thoughts drift back to the dawn of this singular day and the way the passage of time, swift and relentless, had been dragged before his very eyes, showing him dread — as deep-seated as it was overwhelming — where it had never before occurred to him to dread.
His son was growing up and nearing his prim’ta.
“Happy news, my husband!”
Drey’auc’s face had shone with joy. A joy Teal’c did not feel. Instead he had experienced a sense of dismay so deep that he had trouble concealing it from his wife.
To his disgrace, he winced.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…” Dr. Frasier froze momentarily, and her voice trailed off before she could explain what it was that she had not meant. Then she composed herself and resumed the briskness that appeared customary for her. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said. “So you’ll have to let me know if I’m causing you pain or discomfort. I’ll be as careful as I can.”
Unlike everyone else he had encountered in this place so far, Dr. Frasier seemed unafraid, which was remarkable in one unarmed and physically unimposing. Teal’c could snap this small, delicate woman in half without breaking a sweat. In the past he had had no compunction about doing so to people who caused him pain or discomfort. After all, he was Jaffa.
She seemed utterly oblivious to what that meant.
“Interesting,” she murmured, more to herself than him, then she straightened up. “Look, Mr. T…” Suddenly she blinked, shook her head, and gave a soft chuckle.
Teal’c failed to see any cause for levity, and he decided that the Tau’ri sense of humor had to be a far cry from that of the Jaffa.
The woman’s face sobered. “I’m sorry, Mr. …” She gave up with a sigh. “How do you pronounce your name again?”
“There will be no ‘Mister’ necessary.”
At that moment the door swung open, and through it Teal’c could see the guards he had known to be there, as well as a rather more welcome figure.
“Just ‘T’, huh?” O’Neill entered the room without being bidden and approached Teal’c’s cot, nodding in approval. “That actually could work, you —”
“Not for me, Colonel!” Dr. Frasier stood barely tall enough to reach O’Neill’s shoulder, and this only because she wore the most outlandish footwear Teal’c had ever seen — absurdly raised at the heel and pointed at the toes. At any rate, what she lacked in height, she made up for in audacity.
As far as Teal’c had been able to determine, O’Neill was the First Prime of the Tau’ri leader he served. And yet, this woman did not seem to be cowed by his position. A reproving look on her face, she declared, “I like to do my
patients the courtesy of addressing them by their proper name.”
“I am not a patient!” Teal’c interjected at the same time as O’Neill blurted, “Patient? Is there anything wrong with him?”
“No!” replied Teal’c and Dr. Frasier in unison, although the woman sounded as if she were almost annoyed about it.
“In that case, Doctor, you might wanna curb that understandable curiosity and check on some of your more dented clientele.” O’Neill cocked a thumb over his shoulder, presumably indicating the occupants of the larger, less private room, most of them refugees from Chulak. “Mr. T here is done. Come on, Teal’c, I need to introduce you to an Earth ritual. It’s called Happy Hour.”
Happy Hour?
If it was in any way related to the rituals designed to engender felicity among the Jaffa, it would involve a measuring of strength and skill, one man against another, with the winner deriving happiness from victory, and the loser dying happily and well and surrounded by praise for his bravery.
His interest sparked, Teal’c pushed himself up to sit and swung his legs off the bed. “I shall be honored to accompany you, O’Neill. Will there be a contest?”
O’Neill’s eyebrows shot up as he took in Teal’c’s costume, but he refrained from commenting — a feat that, by Teal’c’s estimate, took him an inordinate amount of willpower. Then a keen, calculating look stole across his face. “A contest?” he said at last. “Depends. We could hit O’Malley’s. If Big Molly’s there, she’s always game for shots. But I’m warning you. Last time she knocked me on my butt. I couldn’t see straight for three days after.”
Dr. Frasier gave him an exasperated look. “If either one of you is in here with a stinking hangover tomorrow morning, don’t expect any tea and sympathy from me!”
Stargate SG-1 & Atlantis - Far Horizons Page 9