[Stargate SG-1 02] - The Price You Pay

by Ashley McConnell - (ebook by Undead)

  As they sorted themselves out, a minor disturbance in the crowd behind the colonel attracted his attention. He managed to turn enough to see Carter’s blond head as she worked her way through the crush, using elbows and hands as required. Several of her victims yelped in pain before squashing themselves against their fellows to give her passage.

  “Captain, so nice of you to join us,” O’Neill murmured. “Adopted the native clothing, I see. Looks good on you. Where’s Teal’C?”

  “He’s… elsewhere, sir.” She was panting, as if she’d run, but spoke softly, glancing meaningfully at the people around them, who were still shooting resentful glances at her. Somewhere along the way her uniform had been abandoned for the mid-thigh tunic belted at the waist and leather sandals that most women on this world seemed to prefer. “We’ve got a problem, Colonel. I think you’d better come with me.”

  “It’s going to be tough to get out of here for the next little while,” he pointed out, speaking just as softly. “What’s going on?”

  “Not here,” she shook her head, glancing around nervously at the crowd and the assembly at the foot of the Star-gate. “Sir, we’ve got to get Daniel and go. Now. Please.”

  “Well, since you asked so nicely…” He raised his voice. “Yo, Daniel!”

  Daniel had barely managed to turn when Alizane, who had heard the call as well, pointed at them from the platform.

  “Stop them!”

  “Get out of here, Captain,” O’Neill said instantly. “That’s an order.”

  All around them, people were looking around uncertainly. Their attention was attracted immediately to O’Neill and Jackson, whose Earth clothing made them stand out. Jackson gave O’Neill a resigned look as the men and women surrounding him pressed in on him.

  O’Neill chose to struggle, in order to give Carter a better chance to escape in the confusion.

  Before he fell, he thought he saw her slip away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Escape was impossible, and there was no point in trying to kill people just for the sake of proving how tough he was. Besides, if he didn’t fight too hard, maybe they wouldn’t either.

  It sounded good in theory, but in practice there were some problems. He’d accumulated a goodly number of bruises by the time they dragged him and Jackson to the foot of the M’kwethet Stargate. Nothing disabling, fortunately; while the crowd had obeyed Alizane, they had no idea what was going on and hadn’t really had their hearts in it. And Carter seemed to have gotten away clean.

  Jackson was thrown down on the paving stones next to him. There was so little room that they were practically nose-to-sandal with the Rejected Ones.

  Jareth and Alizane were arguing quietly but fiercely on the other side of the Gate; he could see them framed in its circle. Karlanan stood by the gong, game but confused. Muttering rose from the crowd.

  Finally Alizane and Jareth came around to the front of the Gate. O’Neill pushed himself up on his knees and sat back to look up at her. Out of his peripheral vision he could see Daniel do the same thing. Damn, Jackson hadn’t even lost his glasses in the struggle.

  Alizane still looked furious, but when she raised her voice to speak to her people her voice was carefully under control.

  “People of M’kwethet, we gather here as we have gathered for all our history for the honor of Selection. What we ask of you we have given; what we receive you shall share.”

  “Generous,” O’Neill commented. Karlanan kicked him in the kidneys, then stepped around his pain-contorted form to hold the ceramic bowl at arms’ length to Alizane and Jareth.

  “We choose blindly,” Jareth said, reaching into the bowl, taking a small white cube, and placing it on the table behind them.

  “We choose fairly,” Alizane said, and took another cube from the bowl.

  O’Neill was afraid they were going to announce every single selection with yet another self-excusing platitude, but Jareth took the next cube in silence. They alternated, one after another, until they had drawn twenty cubes from the bowl and lined them up neatly on the small table.

  The silence from the watching crowd was oppressive. A foot in the middle of O’Neill’s back pressed him down against the stone platform.

  Karlanan shook the bowl, producing a small but distinct rattle.

  “We have not lost everything,” Karlanan announced, completing his part of the ritual. “Some still remain.”

  “Better luck next time,” O’Neill whispered through clenched teeth. Jackson made frantic shut-the-hell-UP faces at him.

  “Let the Candidates come forward,” Alizane ordered.

  “Bring on the empty horses,” whispered O’Neill. Karlanan kicked him.

  She picked up one of the cubes, holding it high so everyone could see, and handed it to Jareth, who examined it and called out a name.

  From the crowd, someone screamed—a man, O’Neill thought through a haze of pain. The foot removed itself from his back, and he sighed in relief.

  A teenage girl stepped forward, ashen-faced, and Alizane embraced her and led her to one side.

  The process was repeated. Another girl, who by her looks couldn’t have been more than fifteen, joined the first.

  Then a boy, another boy, another girl.

  Then Jareth read out a name, and no one came forward.

  By this time O’Neill had levered himself back to his knees and was able to see the panicked look the older Councilor gave Alizane before repeating the name.

  Still no answer.

  The crowd rippled.

  Jareth took a deep breath and shouted the name one more time, so loudly that his voice cracked. “Markhtin Baker’s-son!”

  Karlanan shook his head from side to side. “Choose someone else,” he rumbled.

  “No!” one of the remaining Candidates protested. “Why should one of us have to take the place of one rightfully Chosen?”

  Other voices from the remaining Candidates rose, agreeing. Jareth’s lips tightened, and he ostentatiously set the cube to one side, by itself.

  Alizane picked up another cube, hurriedly, as if to pretend that everything was proceeding smoothly and nothing unusual had happened.

  “Verais Silksmith,” Jareth announced.

  It was the name of the protesting Candidate. She shrieked and lunged for him, grabbing at the cube. At the same time a bellow of protest came from the crowd, and several of Verais’ relatives, obviously believing Jareth had called their little girl’s name to punish her for her impertinence, surged forward. A few of the Candidates still unchosen tried to stop them. O’Neill was nearly certain it was one of the selected ones who took the opportunity to sweep the bowl and the stack of cubes already drawn off the table, scattering them across the platform. He glimpsed Jackson snatching up a few, and took the opportunity to palm some himself. Maybe they could fix the ballot in some small way.

  Alizane was beside herself, yelling and kicking at the melee. Her face was a study in panic. Jareth was somewhere behind a wall of red-trimmed Candidates; Karlanan was on his hands and knees desperately searching for the little cubes, shielding the jar with his body.

  Jackson materialized by O’Neill’s side, pulling him to his feet. O’Neill gasped as a rib jabbed, and then set his jaw, putting the pain aside until there was time to worry about it. They’d made their way down the shallow steps and almost into the crowd when Alizane spotted her prisoners making their escape and sent her Returned Ones after them.

  “Get out of here, Daniel,” O’Neill snarled. “Find Carter and Teal’C.”

  “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “The hell you’re not—”

  But by then it was too late, and their squabbling had delayed them enough that the Rejected Ones of M’kwethet had captured them again.

  In the hills above the town, Carter and Teal’C shepherded six frightened teenagers up and away from the city walls. The six, four boys and two girls, cast equally terrified looks at their back trail and at Teal’C, who provided their rear
guard.

  “Captain Sam,” Dane said as they paused, “What will happen to us?”

  Carter wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, staring at him, stalling. She hadn’t the foggiest damned idea what was going to happen next, she realized with a shock.

  When the twins had recovered from their initial terror at the sight of the larval Goa’uld that occupied Teal’C, they’d insisted that their friends needed to know the truth, too. Carter had been all for it. Teal’C had kept his opinion to himself, though once Markhtin and Dane had located some of the others and persuaded them to come to the little house on the Bakers’ Lane, the Jaffa had obligingly induced the larva to show itself once more.

  Some of the teens had reacted in exactly the same way the twins had. But a few, to Carter’s consternation, had steeled themselves against the sight of the parasite. They had lifted proud heads and proclaimed that they were willing to do anything, even be taken over by that thing, if it was necessary to maintain the peace with the Goa’uld.

  It couldn’t be all that bad, one of the boys had reasoned. Teal’C didn’t seem to be harmed by it.

  When they tried to explain the difference between carrying a larva and an adult Goa’uld, the holdouts had seized on the information that the larva kept its host healthy and long-lived. Besides, they saw no reason why they should believe that being possessed by an adult Goa’uld was any different then carrying a larva. There was nothing in the little room to convince them. Besides, if a larva kept one healthy—not a very great inducement, apparently—what powers might an adult bestow?

  Carter had refrained with effort from leaping across the room and shaking them silly. When one of the Candidates pointed out that it was time to gather at the Agora for the Choosing ceremony, the holdouts leaped at the opportunity to leave.

  But they had left behind the twins, and the other four, two boys and two girls.

  “What do you want to do?” she’d asked.

  “Run away,” Dane said immediately. “Now. Before the Choosing. Far away so they can’t find us.”

  This idea was greeted with universal acclaim, until Teal’C pointed out that as strangers on this world, the Earth team had no idea where they could run.

  Markhtin assured them he had an idea, and Carter made him promise to gather provisions while she notified O’Neill.

  The remaining candidates looked at each other.

  “The others will tell them what you told us,” Dane said. “I don’t know what the Council will do, but they won’t be very happy that their lies have been exposed. I expect they might try to kill you all.”

  “Then they’ll just have to come with us,” Markhtin responded. He’d been green about the gills, refusing to look at the larva the second time or even remain in the same room when it made its appearance. He’d come back in only when he was assured it had withdrawn, and he still sniffled from time to time, casting sideways glances at the Jaffa.

  Then Clein’dori, a slender blond girl who radiated common sense, pointed out, “If you’re going back to the Agora, you can’t go dressed like that. They’ll see you immediately.”

  Dane looked confused. “So? They’ve already spoken to the Council. Why should it matter now?”

  “Because,” Clein’dori explained in long-suffering fashion, “the others will tell the Council why they’re late and why some of the Candidates aren’t there.” This was followed by considerable shuffling and trading until between the two girls, and with a little help from the boys’ mother’s wardrobe, they found enough spare bits to provide Carter with something resembling a disguise. She hoped no one looked too close. The others had scattered too, agreeing to meet back at the house on the Bakers’ Lane as soon as possible with the required provisions.

  Then O’Neill and Jackson had been taken, and Carter saw no option but to gather her little flock and flee.

  Now they were sitting on the slope of a hill some four miles from the city, catching their breath.

  “What do we do now?” Dane repeated. “What will happen to us?”

  Carter took a deep breath. “I have no damned idea,” she admitted.

  The kids migrated toward each other, like sheep huddling for security.

  “Has this ever happened before?” she asked. “Have any of the Candidates ever not appeared for the Choosing?”

  A moment’s mumbled consultation, and Clein’dori stepped forward. Of all the town dwellers, she was the only one to have provided herself with a walking stick, a long sturdy gray staff. She leaned on it now.

  “My mother told me that once, long ago, there was a sickness in the city, and some of the Chosen sickened before the Gate opened for them. The Council of that time did not know whether to send them or not. Finally they decided not to, since it would be an insult to the Goa’uld to send less than our best.”

  “What happened?” Teal’C asked, in a tone that said he knew very well what happened.

  “The Goa’uld came through the Gate and threw the bodies of the Chosen into the marketplace, and slew all their families. They said that their agreement was for a certain number that year, and they would not take less.

  “The Council tried to explain, and the Goa’uld slew them too, and then went from house to house in M’kwethet, dragging young and old, babies and granddams into the street, and made their own selection, double the number that had been agreed upon for that year, and they burned the houses and the shops and the shrines. The Serpent Guards took our people away.

  “Two seasons later, when the Rejected Ones returned, they brought with them the cure for that sickness, and all others like it, and word from the Goa’uld that never again would plague be permitted to interfere with the selection of the proper number of tribute.

  “And so it has been from that day to this,” she finished, as if reciting a saga taught from generation to generation. “Never again has sickness taken hold in M’kwethet. Never since has a tribute counted short. Our agreement has been honored.”

  “Until now,” Markhtin muttered, sitting on a rock and looking back at the whitewashed walls far below. He rubbed at his nose.

  “Until now,” Clein’dori agreed. “But perhaps none of us would have been Chosen in any case.”

  “And there are enough left to make up the numbers,” Eppilion, one of the boys, piped up hopefully.

  With a part of her mind Carter hoped that they realized the ethical dilemma they had created for their fellow candidates and themselves. Another, more selfish part said that at least these six would be safe. And if it were true that a person could be a Candidate only once, then once the Choosing was over they would be safe forever. She couldn’t save them all, or at least she couldn’t think of a way to save them all. Particularly not those who, having had the chance to see what a Goa’uld really was, still reported in. In a way she had to admire their courage, if not their common sense and gift for self-preservation.

  That wasn’t her issue now. She had to hide these kids for at least a few more days, and she had to get O’Neill and Jackson out of M’kwethet.

  Once the team was back together they could tackle the issue of getting back home again.

  Captain Samantha Carter, Ph.D., USAF, took a deep breath and wondered what her mother would have to say about all this.

  Well, since it was Mom who got her that Major Matt Mason doll—with the cool backpack that made him fly; what was a doll without the proper accessories?—her mother would be in no position to tell her daughter that she should have skipped the Ph.D. and gotten the MRS. instead. Of course, how could Mom have known that astrophysics would lead to what was beginning to look like a serious case of kidnapping?

  Enough dithering, she told herself sternly. “Markhtin, you said you knew a place where we could hide. Lead on. Teal’C, you take rear guard. Once we get settled we’ll go back for the colonel and Jackson.”

  Markhtin led the way up the stony path, away from the overlook. Carter and Teal’C cast a wary glance at the sky overhead, where dark clouds were gathe
ring, and the Jaffa moved off, seeking a place where he could find cover and still watch the back trail.

  The wind was picking up, spraying dust behind them. At least with this much air movement it wouldn’t hang in the air behind them. One of the kids coughed; Carter couldn’t tell which one. Tree branches began whipping back and forth, and something blue and furry bounced across their path.

  At least she didn’t have to worry about being too out of shape to keep up. Years of training allowed her to follow them without even getting particularly out of breath. She had leisure to study the six of them as they climbed deeper into the hills.

  Markhtin and Dane, the twins, always stayed close together, as if supporting each other, even though their personalities were very different. Markhtin wore brighter clothing, kept his hair trimmed shorter, was the first to speak and the last to concede a point. Dane was far more withdrawn. Even now he seemed more frightened, drawn into himself, while his brother hovered protectively and surreptitiously lent him an arm over the bigger rocks in their way.

  Eppilion was small and dark and intense, usually quiet, and every time Carter had laid eyes on him, he’d had a wine stain at exactly the same location on his tunic, no matter whether he wore ceremonial white attire as a Candidate or casual clothing. Carter couldn’t figure out whether that meant he was consistently sloppy or had consistently bad luck when he drank.

  Clein’dori had a theatrical flair, demonstrated in the way she had immersed herself in her story. It seemed to be balanced by practical hardheadedness; she used her staff with the skill of long practice, proceeding to the head of the line with brisk attitude. When she had to stop and wait for Markhtin to indicate which path to take, Carter could practically hear her drumming her fingers with impatience.

  The other two candidates, Yahrlin and Maesen, were a quiet pair. The only thing they seemed to be definite about was that they wanted no part of Goa’uld larvae in any way, shape, or form. Maesen couldn’t even bring herself to look at Teal’C. Yahrlin simply avoided looking at anyone, as if profoundly ashamed of running away.