Alliances

by Stargate

Boaz stared from him to Serena. Not for the first time he had the strange feeling a different conversation was going on between these two, one he couldn’t hear. Or begin to understand.

  It made him uneasy all over again.

  “David…” Serena sounded impatient, yet resigned.

  David shrugged. “He said he needed some air.”

  Mikah, almost sleeping on his feet, frowned and said muzzily, “There’s air in here, David.”

  “Not that kind of air, Mikah,” Serena said, distractedly. “I’d better go find him. Boaz—”

  “No,” Boaz said, and made his voice quite final. “I am head man, and this is my house. I will find him. You will all three go to bed now. After today there can be no lateness to the meeting hall for firstmeal. Our god has been angered enough.”

  For a moment Serena looked as though she’d argue. Then she sighed. “Yes. You’re right, Boaz.” Bending, she dropped a swift kiss to the top of Mikah’s head. “Sleep tight, Mikah. Don’t let the bed bugs bite. David—”

  David smiled at her. “I know. I know. Softly softly catchee monkey.”

  She just shook her head, smiled at him, and went into the bedroom she shared with Joseph.

  “Good night, Boaz,” David said, pushing to his feet. “Good night, Mikah.”

  “Good night,” Boaz replied to David’s retreating back, then kissed his son’s curls himself. “Go to bed, Mikah.”

  “Yes, Papa,” said Mikah, and did as he was told.

  Boaz took a small clay pot of salve from the cupboard by the window, checked to see there was enough oil still burning in the walking lamp, then went outside to find troublesome Joseph.

  He didn’t have to look far. The man was sitting on the ground behind the house, his back propped against the mud-brick wall. Silent. Unnervingly still. Eyes closed. Hands neatly folded. Boaz stopped three paces away, the walking lamp dangling by his side.

  “Sonofabitch,” he said. “That word is unfamiliar. What does it mean?”

  “It means,” said Joseph, not opening his eyes, “that I don’t like Hol’c very much.”

  He’d washed his hair as well as his body. Dressed in clean clothing so the burn from Hol’c’s fire-brand was hidden. Boaz took the clay salve-pot from his pocket and placed it on the ground by Joseph’s knee. Then he stepped back again and waited to see what would happen.

  After the longest time, his eyelids still closed, Joseph said, “A present? For me? You shouldn’t have.”

  “It is salve, for the fire-brand burn you bear,” he said. “Is that a present? I don’t know that word, either.”

  Joseph opened his eyes. “Boaz, there’s too damned much you don’t know.”

  Boaz put down the walking lamp and dropped to the ground. “Then isn’t it time you told me, Joseph? Who are you? Where are you from? No slave would do what you did for Mikah today. I am his father and I did not—” His voice broke. Shame and rage and pain and resentment welled without warning, unstoppable. He was weeping. Sobbing. Rocking back and forth like a woman whose get has just been taken.

  And then, to his great surprise, Joseph’s hand came to rest on his shoulder and Joseph’s voice, so gentle it was unrecognizable, was saying, “Easy, Boaz. Easy, there. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  The last man’s hand to touch him in comfort had been his father’s, moments before Hol’c’s staff blast killed him. Joseph’s kindness now, reminding him, was more than he could bear. He pulled away, gathering to himself the tatters of his self-control. Sucking in great lungfuls of the cool night air he forced his grief and tears and impotent rage back deep inside, where they belonged. Where Hol’c would never see them.

  Joseph said, his voice still gentle, “I could tell you all the things you don’t know, Boaz. The question is, do you want me to? Because there’s no going back, after. And if you try to betray me to Hol’c I’ll kill you. If you believe nothing else I say, believe that.”

  Boaz believed it. He remembered Joseph’s face, that first day in the village centre. That first day? It was only two days ago… yet somehow it felt like another life entirely.

  “I want to know,” he said. “I have to know. I am head man of this village. The humans here are in my care. If you have come to hurt them then I will kill you. Myself. No need for Hol’c.”

  Joseph’s teeth bared in a smile. “I didn’t come to hurt you or your people, Boaz. I came to help.”

  “Why? We need no help.”

  “No?” said Joseph, his voice cold and hard again. “So that wasn’t your son being tortured today? Those aren’t your people being plowed into the dirt? This place isn’t your prison? I see. My mistake. Guess I was imagining it.”

  “You are just a human,” Boaz said, his voice very small. “How can you help?”

  “I can help because I’m a human who knows the truth about the Goa’uld,” said Joseph. “The Jaffa. This whole stinking lousy set up.”

  Now he was confused. “Truth? What truth? The Goa’uld are gods, Joseph. Yu is our god. That is the truth.”

  Joseph took a deep, harsh breath and hissed it out between his teeth. “Boaz, the Goa’uld aren’t gods. They are life forms, the way humans are life forms. But they don’t look like us, they look like snakes, and they live by stealing our bodies and taking over our minds. They wear us the way we wear clothes and they care as much for our well-being as we care about the feelings of our boots.”

  There was a roaring in his ears. A dreadful sensation of falling. “No,” he said faintly. “You’re lying. The god Yu is our god, Mighty and Everlasting. He—”

  “Mighty?” said Joseph, sneering. “Yeah. Okay. Mighty egos, I’ll give you that. But Everlasting? Not so much. Let’s see…” He pulled a face. “So far me and my people have killed the gods Ra, Apophis, Seth and Hathor. Hathor I did personally, with my bare hands, and boy I gotta tell ya, it felt good. I’ve also killed a lot of Jaffa, Boaz. In fact I’ve killed so many Jaffa I lost count a couple of years ago.”

  All his bones had turned to butter. “You killed a god with your bare hands?”

  Joseph shook him. “Boaz, you’re not listening! They’re not gods. And we weren’t born to be their slaves. What’s happening on this breeding farm is an abomination. It has to stop. And we can stop it, you and me. Together. We can stop it here. We can stop it everywhere. We can destroy every last damned breeding farm and all the Goa’uld bastards who own them. How does that sound? Do you like that idea? ‘Cause I do. I like it a lot.”

  “I think I must be dreaming,” Boaz said at last. “Yes. I am dreaming.”

  “And did you dream Mikah on his back screaming while Hol’c rammed that fire-brand into his belly?” said Joseph, cruelly. “Did you dream your other children, taken away in chains, or your father dying so you could take his place here?”

  “No—Joseph—you must be quiet, you must—”

  In the lamp-light Joseph’s face was frightening. “Do you want to save Mikah, Boaz? Do you want to see him grow up healthy, and happy, and free? Do you? Then help me! I can make that happen! But I can’t do it alone.”

  Defy the god? Escape this farm? It was impossible and Joseph was mad. Boaz scrambled to his feet. “I think you are ill, Joseph. I think Hol’c’s punishment has upset your mind. I will excuse you from work tomorrow. You will rest. Sleep. You will get better. You must get better. If you don’t, Hol’c will make us plow you into the fallow field. You risked your life for Mikah. I’ll save you if I can, for that. But you must never speak of this again. I will forget you ever said it.”

  Joseph growled something under his breath and stood. “I should’ve known better,” he muttered. “I’m no good at this crap.” He looked up. “Boaz, come inside. There’s more you need to hear.”

  Yes. Definitely, Joseph was mad. Boaz let the man chivvy him into the house. Stood back, torn between alarm and dismay, as he banged on the door of the bedroom he shared with Serena.

  “Carter, get out here!”

  “Joseph,” he protested. �
��Stop. Your brain is fevered, you must—”

  Joseph ignored him, and went to David’s door. “Yo, Daniel! Up and at ‘em! It’s touchy feely time!”

  Serena came out of the bedroom, alarmed. “Joseph? What’s wrong? What—”

  Joseph waved his hand impatiently at the table and chairs. “You can cut the undercover crap, Carter. Take a seat. Boaz, sit next to her. Daniel!”

  David joined them, blinking. “Ah, Joseph…?”

  “Oh my God,” said Serena, groping for a chair. “You told him.”

  “Yeah,” said Joseph, smiling grimly, and leaned against the window-frame. “I told him.”

  Still standing, David crossed his arms. “Told him what? Told him everything?”

  “Everything he needs to know. Yeah.”

  Serena stared at David, then at Joseph. “Oh my God, sir, what were you thinking? Dad specifically said—”

  “To hell with what Dad said, Carter,” Joseph retorted. “It’s my call and I’m calling it. Dad wants spies and hosts to fight against the Goa’uld? Fine. So do I. But he’s not going to get them by pussy-footing around. There’s no time. In case you haven’t noticed, these people have a sword hanging over their heads. Its name is Hol’c and he can torture them—kill them, even—with impunity whenever he damn well pleases.”

  “Yes, Joseph, we noticed,” David said, his voice calm and careful. Clearly he too realized that Joseph had gone mad. “But barging ahead like a bull in a china shop—”

  “Daniel, trust me,” said Joseph. “I can do finesse when I have to. One of the top behind-enemy-lines operatives, remember? But Boaz is a resource and we need him on our side. We don’t have time to tiptoe through the tulips. Carter?”

  “Yes?” said Serena.

  “What does your finely tuned Tok’ra sense tell you about ole Boaz here? You think he’s got what it takes to join the team?”

  Serena gave Joseph a sharp look, then closed her eyes. A strange expression crossed her face, uncertain and seeking and touched with pain. After some time she opened her eyes. “Yes, sir. I think he does.”

  Joseph nodded. “Good. Now, I’ve told him the truth about the Goa’uld but he doesn’t believe me.”

  “Gosh,” murmured David, looking at Serena. “That’s surprising.”

  “Daniel!”

  Serena turned and reached out her hand. “Boaz. I’m so sorry. Please. Sit down and we’ll try to explain.”

  Boaz looked at her outstretched hand for long moments, then took it and sat beside her. He had never felt so uncertain, so dizzy, in all his life. “Joseph says the Goa’uld are not gods,” he whispered.

  “Not Joseph,” said Joseph. “Jack. Jack O’Neill. Colonel. United States Air Force. Planet Earth.” He pointed. “That’s Daniel Jackson. This is Major Carter.”

  Noise, noise, the words were nothing but noise. Boaz looked again to Serena, his heart pounding so hard it was painful. “Serena—please—”

  “Actually, it’s Samantha,” she said, her voice and face apologetic. “But mostly people call me Sam.” Her gaze flickered. “Or Carter. But Sam is fine.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Have we all gone mad?”

  She took his other hand and held him fast with cool, strong fingers. Looked into his face, a small smile curving her lips. And as he looked back at her, he saw something… change. Shift. Something behind her eyes. She was still Serena, but suddenly she was something—someone—else as well. Suddenly he could see in her face what he’d seen in Joseph’s—Jack’s—in the village centre when they first arrived. Some clear, cold, sharp purpose. No soft feminine energy, nurturing and warm, now; just a blazing ferocity of will and mind. He knew then without asking, without being told, that Samantha could kill him as swiftly and easily as Jack could.

  He felt sweat break out all over his body.

  David—Daniel?—came and dropped to a crouch beside Sam’s chair. “Boaz, listen to me. Jack told you the truth. The Goa’uld are not gods. I know they seem so but it’s all lies and trickery. We can prove it, if you’ll let us.”

  But they were gods, they were… “He said he has killed them…”

  Daniel nodded. “Yes. We all have.”

  “It can’t be,” he whispered. “The god Yu is our god…”

  “Why would we lie to you, Boaz?” Daniel asked gently. “What purpose would that serve?”

  What purpose? None he could imagine. “Boaz,” said Sam, and in her face was such compassion and strength he could barely breathe. “It’s the truth. I swear it on my life.”

  His world was fracturing like a dropped clay urn and he was powerless to stop it. He could feel his tears, welling again. “But my children… my sons and my daughters… I sent them away, I told them to rejoice, they were going to serve the god…”

  Daniel nodded. “That was the lie, Boaz. But you can’t blame yourself for it. How could you know? From the moment you were born you’ve been lied to. Nothing you did or believed before today is your fault, I promise.”

  “But after today, Boaz?” said Jack, stepping forward. “What happens then, that’s on you. If you don’t help us you’re helping the Goa’uld. If you don’t help us you’re not a slave any more. You’re a slave-master.”

  Boaz looked into Jack’s harsh and unforgiving face. “If I don’t help you, you’ll kill me.”

  Daniel leapt up. “Jack?”

  “Daniel?”

  “You can’t seriously—”

  “Really, Daniel? Can’t I?”

  Boaz held his breath. Sam released him and stood in one swift move. “Ah, guys? Chill. We don’t have time for pissing contests.”

  Jack snapped his white-hot glare away from Daniel and burned her with it, instead. “Excuse me, Major?”

  Her chin lifted defiantly. “Sorry. But I had to get your attention. Sir, you’re right about one thing: as head man of the village Boaz can help me work out who’s most likely to be on board with the plan. Whether or not it was a smart move to tell him is moot. It’s done. So let’s just finish what you’ve started and get the hell out of here, shall we?”

  Slowly, so slowly, Jack’s anger cooled. His posture relaxed. “Actually, Carter, I didn’t get past the whole ‘the Goa’uld aren’t gods’ bit. Wanted to save something for you to do.”

  She gave him a look. “Gee. Thanks.” She turned. “Boaz…”

  “Who is Lord Rebec?” Boaz asked. “His eyes flashed fire. Is he a Goa’uld?”

  “Not exactly,” said Sam. “We’ll explain about him later. Boaz, it’s clear to us that you love Mikah very much and that you don’t want him to live the rest of his life as a slave. Can you think of any other humans here who feel the same way about their children? I know you’ve never discussed it, I know probably most of you have never even dared to think it… but sometimes we know things about people without ever having to ask.” She smiled. “The way I knew you were a good man the moment we met.”

  Daniel sat in a chair. “The reason we’re asking, Boaz, is because we need help in fighting the Goa’uld.”

  Boaz nodded. “Jos—Jack said. But how can we leave here? Where would we go? How would we fight them? They—they may not be gods—” He stopped, as the fear of saying such words aloud threatened to blank his mind. Then he took a deep breath and continued. “They may not be gods, Daniel, but they are still very powerful.”

  “Yes they are,” Daniel agreed. “But powerful or not they can be fought. Their evil can be stopped. If you agree to help us, we’ll take you—and whoever else wants to come—far away from here to a place where you’ll learn how to fight them. How to stop them. How to make sure no more children are taken from their parents and cruelly treated for the rest of their lives.”

  “Papa!” said Mikah’s small and frightened voice behind them. “Papa, I’ll go! I’ll fight the Goa’uld! I’ll kill them, Papa, and all the Jaffa too! I don’t want you to send me away, I don’t want to be a slave!”

  Boaz staggered to
his feet and spun around. “Mikah! What are you doing? You’re supposed to be asleep!”

  Jack walked past him, past all of them, and went to Mikah. He dropped to the floor and rested both hands lightly on the boy’s shoulders. “How long have you been listening, Mikah?” His voice was quiet. Almost—tender. It was a father’s voice. But he was Mikah’s father…

  “It’s all right, Boaz,” Daniel whispered, and touched his knee. “Mikah’s safe.”

  Boaz sank back to his chair, to wait and watch.

  “You woke me up when you called for David. I mean, Daniel,” Mikah said. “I’ve been listening since then.”

  Jack nodded. “And you want to fight the Goa’uld.”

  Mikah’s lower lip trembled. “Yes. I’ll go with you to fight the Goa’uld but only if you promise not to hurt my Papa. Would you really hurt him, Joseph? You tried to stop Hol’c hurting me. Why would you do that, then hurt my Papa?”

  Boaz felt his throat close tight. He watched Jack flinch, and heard him whisper, “Jesus wept.” Then Jack put his arms around Mikah and held him tight. “I’m not going to hurt your Papa,” he said, his voice unsteady. With a grunt he pushed to his feet, Mikah still in his arms. “Nobody’s going to hurt your Papa. Or you. We’re here to make sure of that.”

  Boaz held out his arms and took his son back from the man who had absolutely meant to kill him if he didn’t do as he was asked… or told. The boy was too big now for lap-talk, but he needed the contact as much as Mikah did.

  He looked at the newcomers’ faces, each one in turn. “The Goa’uld are not gods,” he said slowly. Waited for the stabbing fear to subside and said again, with more strength, “The Goa’uld are not gods.”

  Sam smiled her heartbreaking smile. “You keep on saying that, Boaz. Say it as many times as you need to until it doesn’t scare you any more. Until you believe it without hesitation. The Goa’uld are not gods.”

  “Are there any gods at all?” he wondered. “Does any great power care what becomes of us?”

  “Well,” she said, “some people think so. Some people believe there’s a god. A supreme being. A power of good in the universe.”

  “Do you believe it?”