Alliances

by Stargate

  “Tell me of the new slaves, Mikah,” he said, as they jogged towards the distant village buildings.

  “Two men and a woman,” said Mikah. His dark curls bounced as he ran. “They have good faces. Strong bodies. They’ll work their share hard. The woman looks kind.” Mikah’s gaze flickered upwards. “Maybe the Goa’uld will give her to you, Papa. Then you won’t be lonely.”

  He’d had no permanent mate since Nona died in childbirth last season, and the baby with her. She’d been given him in place of Mikah’s mother, who’d been lost to plague with all but one of his other children in that bad, bad time nobody talked about. Nona’s sire Ferek had blamed him for the young woman’s death, but then Ferek had never been right in the head. Ferek’s last two get had been disfigured by birthmarks so when he raised ruckus over Nona, Hol’c had him plowed into the barley field as fertiliser, his bones to mix with hers and the child’s.

  He missed Nona. He even missed Ferek, for all his troublesome ways.

  “Maybe the Goa’uld will,” he said, patting Mikahs’s head, and wondered if that were true. He’d be pleased if it was. Five of the farm’s women would birth his get sometime before season’s turn, but that wasn’t the same as a familiar warm woman beside him, night after night.

  He and Mikah jogged on, past green wheat and grubby sheep and soon enough reached the village centre where sometimes men were killed like bullocks, or women stripped and whipped for bearing ugly babies, and children chained and taken away, their faraway fates never disclosed to the silently grieving. Where the tall golden statue of Yu, their great god, stood in splendor, a constant reminder of his might.

  Attended by two underlings, Hol’c stood before the statue, waiting with the unknown Goa’uld lord. He was sweating in his Jaffa armor, staff weapon in one hand, fire-brand in the other. Hol’c liked to use the fire-brand on the human slaves everyone knew he thought of as his. He loved the flames that poured from their eyes and mouths as they screamed their torment, punishment for crimes large and small. There was no saying what could provoke his wrath. Sometimes a slave’s only crime was to stand too near when the hurting mood was on him.

  Kneeling on the brick-paved ground before Hol’c and the unknown Goa’uld were the three new slaves. Two men, one woman. As he and Mikah approached, walking now, Boaz looked them over closely. All were dressed in fine silk tunics and trousers, green and crimson and clear sky blue. Breeding farm slaves were never gifted with such finery. It was a puzzle.

  Mikah was right, though; the woman’s face was kind. Beautiful too, of course. He felt himself stir, seeing her, and hoped she’d be his reward for all the good get he’d already sired, and the many babies yet unborn. The younger man was also beautiful. He would do well mated with Diera, once she was emptied of her current get. But that was Lord Choulai’s decision. Humans did not choose their own mates. The older man was plain of face but his body was strong, and tall, and comely. Though his hair was turning silver he must still have vigor. For his life’s sake, he’d better. If not he’d soon join Ferek in the barley field. But if he was still a man, then mated with the right woman his get would be beautiful in face and form and so prove pleasing to Lord Yu, God of Gods, Mightiest of the Mighty.

  Upon reaching the waiting group he and Mikah threw themselves to the ground, face first, and waited for permission to rise.

  “Stand,” said the Goa’uld who wasn’t Lord Choulai. “And answer my questions.”

  He and Mikah scrambled to their feet and bowed. “My lord,” he said. “My life is yours.”

  This Goa’uld lord was tall, and losing his hair. Even though he was dressed in gold and turquoise magnificence he was not beautiful. Boaz marvelled. It was the first time he’d ever seen a servant of Yu who was not perfect in face and form. He felt his knees tremble. What power did this Goa’uld have, then, that he could serve Yu and not be beautiful?

  No wonder Hol’c was sweating.

  The Goa’uld’s eyes flashed white fire. “I am Lord Rebec, servant of our god Yu. The Jaffa Hol’c tells me you are Boaz, senior human in this place. Is this so?”

  “My lord, I am Boaz, head slave of this village. Property of Yu, the grand and glorious.”

  “The child?”

  “This child is my son Mikah, property of our god.”

  Lord Rebec nodded, satisfied. “Here is more of Yu’s property, Boaz. The woman is Serena. The men are Joseph and David. All three are highly valued by our god. Yu decrees Serena and Joseph be mated together, and David be put to a woman of this village. Where are your empty women, that I might assess their suitability?”

  He felt a surge of pride. The humans here served their god well. “My lord, we have no empty women of breeding age.”

  Lord Rebec frowned. “I see. Hol’c?”

  The Jaffa stepped forward, chin pressed to his chest in respect. “My lord?”

  Lord Rebec bestowed on him a chilly smile. “Our god is well satisfied with this farm. The property Lord Choulai breeds here is pleasing to his eye. When the women who survive childbirth are ready to be mated, Lord Choulai will choose the one best suited for David.”

  “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

  “Continue your stewardship here, Hol’c,” said Lord Rebec. “My report to our god will reflect your good service to him.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Hol’c. His voice was puffed with self-congratulation. “I live to serve our god Yu.”

  “And provided all continues here undisturbed, you will continue to do so,” said Lord Rebec, eyes flashing once more. “I will be watching.”

  The warning was subtle, but not lost on Hol’c. The Jaffa’s fingers tightened into fists, then relaxed. “My lord.”

  So, this Goa’uld Lord Rebec was sent to oversee the overseers? That had never happened before. Boaz felt curiosity stir, and swiftly crushed it. Humans did not survive curiosity. Or at least, not for long.

  Lord Rebec touched a crystal on his wrist-band. “Our god Yu wishes my visit here to remain shrouded in mystery, Hol’c. To disobey his will—”

  “My lord!” cried Hol’c, and dropped to one knee before cold Lord Rebec. “I serve the god, as do my Jaffa! All glory to the great god Yu, Mighty and Everlasting!”

  Lord Rebec nodded, and stepped away. “Until my next visit, Hol’c, which will be soon. Glory to the great god Yu, Mighty and Everlasting.” He touched another crystal on his wrist-guard. Moments later a ship’s transporter rings descended upon him, and he was taken from them in a burst of blinding blue-white light.

  Because it was safe now, Hol’c laughed, and turned to his Jaffa. “See how I am noticed and blessed? This farm pleases our god!” The other Jaffa nodded and smiled. “Boaz!”

  He bowed. “Sir?”

  “Tell these humans—” One by one, he slapped the bowed heads of the new slaves. “— why it is that this farm pleases Mighty and Everlasting Yu!”

  Boaz felt his heart sink. Poor new blood. They had no idea what Hol’c was like… but they were about to learn.

  “Sir, this farm breeds beautiful humans. This farm is a place of peace and perfect obedience to the great god Yu, whose will is made known to us by Jaffa Master Hol’c. Jaffa Master Hol’c is the voice and the hand of Yu in this place, and we serve him as we serve the god.”

  “Tell these humans, Boaz, what happens to slaves who forget these truths.”

  “Sir, the wind in the storm season is the howls of the humans who forget these truths.”

  Hol’c unclipped his fire-brand from his belt and touched the switch in its handle. The sound as it sprang to life was loud in the silence. Boaz felt all the muscles of his body tighten, and sweat break out on his brow. Beside him, Mikah swallowed a whimper. He wanted to hold his son, to shield him from Holc’s cruelty.

  He couldn’t.

  The slave with silver hair, the one Lord Rebec had called Joseph, looked up. Boaz felt a thrill of shocked surprise. The slave Joseph’s face was full of defiance. In his eyes, anger and a grim enduran
ce. It was not a face to be found on many slaves, and never more than once. Slaves who defied were slaves who died.

  Or so was his experience.

  Hol’c said, savoring the moment, “Perfect obedience is the only acceptable behavior from a slave. A slave who is not perfectly obedient is swiftly punished. Like this.”

  With the flat of his booted foot he pushed the woman Serena face-first to the ground. Then he pressed the fire-brand between her shoulder blades and watched, smiling, as she convulsed in pain. As she tried, and failed, to muffle her screams.

  Holc’s Jaffa were laughing, just as they always laughed when they or Hol’c punished a human. On either side of the screaming woman Joseph and David knelt in perfect obedience. Joseph’s face, like David’s, was blank now. Boaz frowned. Had he imagined its ferocity, a moment ago?

  The woman Serena lost her wits, falling silent. Hol’c next touched the fire-brand to David and then, when he too was mercifully delivered from torment, finally to Joseph.

  Joseph didn’t scream.

  At last it was over. Hol’c clipped the fire-brand back to his belt and said, “You are excused from fieldwork the rest of the day, Boaz. When the new blood wakes, explain to them the rules of this farm. They will share your roof until there is time to build new dwellings for them. Joseph and Serena are to mate from this night forth, tell them. Tell them she will quicken with his get by one month’s end or both will be punished.”

  He bowed. “Sir.”

  Hol’c frowned down at Joseph, unmoving. “He is strong. Lord Rebec chose wisely.”

  Boaz watched him and his Jaffa walk away until they were gone from sight, then he turned to his son. “You’d best return to the shucking house, Mikah. There’s hours of work light left yet.”

  “But I want to help you with—”

  He slapped his son lightly on the rump. “You heard Hol’c. I am to see to the new blood. You can spread the word of their coming, in the shucking house and when you water the others in the fields, since it’s your turn this moon.”

  Mikah sighed. “Yes, Papa,” he said, and disconsolately trudged to do his duty.

  The new blood was starting to stir. Boaz dropped to a crouch and rested a gentle hand on David’s shoulder. “Move slowly,” he advised. “Your body obeys you again and the worst of the pain is gone, but the fire-brand’s flame lingers.”

  “I know,” said David. “The fire-brand and I are old… friends.” Accepting a helping hand, once he was sitting upright he turned to the woman. “Serena? You okay?” he said as she, too, slowly sat up.

  Even when narrowed with the aftermath of pain, her eyes were wondrous. “Yeah,” she said, and scrubbed dirt from her face. “Terrific. What happened to the bit about us coming to no harm?”

  “There is no permanent harm from a fire-brand,” said Boaz. “Only pain.”

  The man Joseph rolled over. “Crap,” he said vaguely, forearm shading his eyes. “How much do I hate those things?”

  “You okay, Joseph?” said Daniel. “Don’t sit up too fast.”

  “Who’s sitting up?” said Joseph. Turning his head, he touched the woman on her bare ankle. “Serena?”

  “I’m fine… Joseph,” she said.

  Boaz stared. They were so easy with one another. And there was warmth in their voices that spoke of some affection. “You are not strangers?”

  Joseph grunted. “Sure we’re strangers. But it was a long trip from—where did we come from, Serena?”

  “Farms on the other side of Yu’s empire,” she said. “I’m sorry—did I hear you say your name was Boaz?”

  He nodded. Her voice… it was like warm honey. Strangely accented, like the men’s. But beautiful, as she was beautiful. Regret welled, that she was already spoken to Joseph. “Yes. I am Boaz.”

  “And you’re the—the village head man?”

  “I am the man who has sired the most get,” he said. “So I am the man who keeps order, and makes certain the things that must be done are done.”

  David said, “That Jaffa—the one with the fire-brand—”

  “Hol’c.”

  “Yeah. Him. He said something about us building homes? How?”

  Turning a little, he pointed to the brick-yard. “With the spare bricks, and hay for thatching. Did you not do this on the breeding farms you came from?”

  With another grunt, Joseph sat up at last. “Yeah, well, the thing is, Boaz, we weren’t on those farms for very long before we got sent here. We come from other planets in Yu’s empire. Planets where humans don’t live as breeding stock or build their own homes.”

  Puzzled, he stared at them. “I know of these other planets. They are where our get are sent after the culling. But you were born on breeding farms, so—”

  “No,” said David. “We weren’t. We were born in a place where humans are not ruled by Jaffa, or the Goa’uld.”

  He laughed. “There are no places where humans are not ruled by the god and his servants.”

  “Yes, Boaz,” said Serena. Her eyes were soft, and very sorry. “There are.”

  How could he disbelieve her? His laughter died. “Then speak not of them!” he hissed. “If Hol’c should hear you he will kill you and anyone who has heard your words. Not even Lord Rebec could save you.”

  The new blood exchanged looks. Then Joseph nodded. “Sure. Sorry, Boaz. Didn’t mean to alarm you.”

  They were the strangest humans he’d ever met. “If you are strong enough to stand now we should go to the storehouse, so you might be clothed for working.”

  Joseph looked down at his jewelled green sleeveless tunic and trousers. “Too gaudy? Y’know, I kind of thought so.”

  Boaz rose from his crouch. He didn’t understand this man, or like him. He was too different. In this place, being different was dangerous. In his bones he knew these new humans meant trouble for the village, and his mouth soured.

  “It is clear from your clothing you are not humans who worked in fields with crops and animals, as we do here,” he said. “Perhaps that’s why you are strange.”

  One by one, the new humans stood. “It’s one explanation,” Joseph muttered.

  Serena gave him a sharp look. “I’m sorry if we make you uneasy, Boaz,” she said. “This is all very new to us. Until recently we were in service to Goa’ulds like Lord Rebec.”

  “Yes,” said David, brushing the dirt from his crimson tunic. “But our lords displeased the god Yu, and so we were sent here. To serve in a different way.”

  “Here, David, there is only one way to serve our god,” Boaz said severely. “And those who fail in that service are punished.”

  “Don’t tell me,” said Joseph. “Let me guess. They die.”

  “Of course they die, Joseph,” he replied. “What use is a human that cannot serve?” He stepped back, one arm held wide. “The storehouse is this way.”

  They followed him in silence from the village centre to the workhouse. Reaching it, Boaz opened the door and led the new blood inside. As well as being used to keep such clothing as was not needed at the moment, the storehouse was where some of the farm’s women worked as seamstresses, mending work clothes that were damaged but not beyond repair or sewing new work clothes to replace those that could not be salvaged. Upstairs, above the large work-tables where the women stitched and cut and kept close eye on the small children assigned to such tasks as sweeping and folding and gathering odds and ends, were the looms. More women worked at them now, the air beneath the workhouse roof clacked and rattled and hummed to the flying shuttles as they turned sheep wool into fine cloth for Yu and his many many lords in service. The place smelled of lanolin and fresh dyes and, faintly, of old urine.

  No woman or child stopped working as Boaz and the new blood entered, of course. Only Hol’c and his Jaffa could stop a human working. And he could, if he was about Yu’s business. But a woman could work and feed her eyes at the same time; all the women mending and stitching at the work-tables looked and looked at the three new humans. The childre
n looked too, and their piping little voices fell silent, even as they scurried to their tasks.

  Boaz pointed. “You, Rusha. To me.”

  Rusha’s belly was only just rounding now, small and shy like a melon beneath its leaves. She put aside her shears and the knobby blue roughspun she was cutting, and came to him. “Boaz.”

  “Here are Serena and David and Joseph,” he said, indicating each in turn. “Come to breed for Yu’s glory. They need work clothes.”

  “Of course.” She smiled at the new blood. “This way.”

  As she led them to the far side of the workhouse, where all the spare clothes, shoes and belts were stacked neatly by size on shelves, he busied himself with inspecting the work done that day. But even as he spoke with the other women, he kept part of his attention on the newcomers.

  “These should fit,” said Rusha, handing out shirts and trousers to the men, a shirt and a skirt to Serena. “Try them for size, and if they suit then I can give you more.”

  “Try them… here?” said Serena, sounding uncertain. “In the open? Is there nowhere to undress in private?”

  “In private?” said Rusha, mystified. “No.”

  “Suck it up, Serena,” said Joseph. He sounded almost… amused. “We won’t peek if you don’t.”

  Serena made a soft sound of scorn. “Me? What would I peek at, Joseph?”

  Then came the slithering sound of silk, soft exhalations and little grunts, as the new humans shed their fine skins to become no finer than any breeding farm human.

  When they were done, their silk tunics folded and put away, and their feet were laced into proper working shoes, plain leather belts about their waists, Boaz turned. He’d wanted to turn before that, to glimpse from the corner of his eye the strong sweeping line of Serena’s back, the lithe length of her thigh from hip to knee, but that would be wrong. She wasn’t his to look at. She was Joseph’s.

  Rusha was pulling more clothes down from the shelves and piling them into the newcomers’ arms. “That should be enough,” she said at last, once they each had two more sets of work clothing. “Wait here, and I will fetch you a bitty bag each.”