Teal’c was released. Oshu had personally escorted him to the gate. First Prime to First Prime, the two had bonded in their mutual goal to fight against Anubis.
But Daniel wasn’t a Jaffa, let alone a First Prime. Though Oshu had expressed interest in learning more about Earth, specifically China, Teal’c’s particular strategy wouldn’t work for Daniel. He’d have to find some other ally to help him.
In the meantime, he’d continue to play, as long it kept him alive. Daniel placed a stone at the center bottom of his side of the board, far removed from all the other pieces in play. Yu nodded approvingly. The Goa’uld left Daniel’s new piece alone, instead plunking a black stone in the center, in the spot once inhabited by one of Daniel’s pieces.
Three knocks on the door brought a scowl to Yu’s face. “You are hungry?”
“I am, thanks,” Daniel said.
There was a certain irony to being polite to a Goa’uld, but if nothing else, food meant surviving all that much longer.
Yu put down his bowl of stones. “Kree, leaa!”
A Jaffa entered with a tray of covered dishes in his hand. The only armor he wore was a brigandine leather vest riveted with small oblong steel plates. The Jaffa bore a silver rendition of Yu’s sigil on his forehead. As he set the tray down on top of a wooden casket beside the table, Daniel noticed he also wore a cloak held in place by the same green stone Oshu had worn earlier. The only difference was the cloak’s color: green. Like Oshu, he was clearly Chinese, though somewhat taller and more rounded in the face.
“This is Lao Dan,” said Yu. “Like Oshu, he is a member of my Royal Guard.”
Lao Dan. The name tickled some distant memory for Daniel. Some reference that he couldn’t quite place. He’d remembered so much, including most of Ancient Chinese history, but specific names were sometimes still out of reach.
As Lao Dan bowed his head, a scar across his jaw became visible. Daniel recognized the scar, and the Jaffa. They’d met onboard Yu’s mothership during the flight to the System Lord summit. Lao Dan had been quieter than any other Jaffa Daniel had ever met, even Teal’c. Quiet, but oddly kind… even to a lowly lotar. He’d patiently reminded Daniel where to bunk, what supplies to use for tea. He’d even helped prepare Yu’s meals.
Lao Dan wasn’t the First Prime, but the Jaffa’s kindness might be just the thing to form a connection which could help Daniel escape.
If Daniel could find a way to speak to him alone.
As the Jaffa removed the dish covers, Daniel silently prayed live Goa’uld symbiotes weren’t on the menu. Just the memory of the System Lords cannibalizing their living relatives gave him the creeps.
Yu handed Daniel a small square glazed ceramic plate. “Eat. Then we continue.”
Daniel took the offered dish, relieved to find cooked, somewhat familiar foods. He bit into a puffed ball of dough, its center filled with heavily seasoned meat drenched in a molasses sweet sauce. Using a pair of gold chopsticks, Yu dug into a bowl of fried fish no larger than minnows.
After devouring his second meat bun, Daniel noticed Lao Dan had stepped back by one of the screens, standing next to the jade sculpture. As Yu took up a bowl of syrupy fruits, Daniel decided to take advantage of the Goa’uld’s distraction and try to speak with the Jaffa one on one.
“Can I get up and stretch my legs?” he asked. “Might help me stay awake.”
His mouth full, Yu nodded his assent. He attacked the food with single-minded ferocity. Daniel stood up and, though his legs were shaky from sitting so long, he managed to appear casual as he joined Lao Dan.
No more than two feet in height, the roughly hewn jade sculpture depicted a robed woman with what appeared to be her three sons. In one arm, she held a baby. At her feet, a small boy clutched her free hand, one leg tentatively raised as if walking his first steps. Beside them, an adolescent boy waved toward something, or someone, in the distance.
Daniel turned toward Lao Dan and asked, “Is the statue very old?”
The Jaffa’s eyes lit up. “As old as my master’s reign amongst the Tau’ri.”
“Really?” Daniel bent down, pretending to study the statue closer. He glanced over his shoulder. Yu was almost finished with his meal. Daniel would have to hurry if he hoped to make some sort of connection with Lao Dan. He’d have to say something that might stir up sympathies. Something that would speak to what the Jaffa might secretly crave.
Freedom.
“Shel kek nem ron,” Daniel whispered. I too shall die free, the code greeting between rebel Jaffa.
Lao Dan’s eyes widened, lending hope to Daniel that he’d hit home. The Jaffa bent down beside him.
“The water is held captive by the river’s banks. Yet it is free, is it not?”
Daniel did a double take. “I beg your pardon?”
“Water is soft and weak, but it can move earth and carve stone. Harmony is the way of my ancestors, Dr. Jackson. To work against the ways of the universe would disrupt that harmony.”
Lao Dan stood up, gesturing for Daniel to do the same.
“And you think it’s harmonious to serve Lord Yu?” Daniel asked softly, unable to believe his ears. He stepped closer to Lao Dan, struggling to keep any harshness from his voice as he whispered, “Do you have any idea what he is? What he and his kind have done to countless millions across the galaxy?”
“The ways of wu wei may be foreign to you, though — ”
“Wait,” Daniel interrupted. “Wu wei. That’s part of Chinese Taoism. It means action through inaction or something like that.”
“So my ancestor wrote in the Tao Te Ching.” With a brief smile, Lao Dan returned to Yu’s side and began to collect the empty dishes.
My ancestors? The Tao Te Ching was a sixth century B.C. book of Taoist philosophy, a philosophy of peace that was still fairly popular. On Earth. Not some Jaffa legend handed down from warrior to warrior.
A wheel clicked into place in Daniel’s mind. A memory of the Tao Te Ching. More importantly, a memory of its author: Lao Tzu.
Also known as Lao Dan.
Daniel returned to his seat as the Jaffa removed the tray. With a bow, Lao Dan departed, leaving Daniel more puzzled than disappointed. Though he hadn’t succeeded in gaining a potential ally, there was something going on here, some tie to Ancient China that went beyond the persona that a System Lord habitually donned to awe his slaves.
The Chinese herbs. The cherry blossom tree. Classic scrolls covered in Chinese writing. The Wéiqí board. The way Yu reacted when Daniel mentioned how the Japanese had stolen credit for the game.
Was the Goa’uld so far gone that he really believed he was part of Chinese history?
More importantly, could Daniel use that weakness, that bit of insanity, to get himself freed?
Yu handed Daniel a small bowl of water and a cloth to wash his hands. It was all so civilized, so ridiculously absurd.
“It is your turn.”
STARGATE COMMAND
STATUS: STANDBY/PERSONNEL MIA
2 JUL 03/1215 HRS BASE TIME
George Hammond dismissed Jack and the rebel Jaffa from his office. As they departed through the side door, he studied the colonel’s body language for any signs that he’d made the wrong decision. There’d been shadows under the man’s eyes, though who wouldn’t have a sleepless night when a member of their team was in trouble? Otherwise, George had seen nothing amiss.
For this mission to work, he’d have to rely on everyone to play their part, Jack most especially. No creative detours. No second guessing what to do next. Not when the future of the Stargate Program, let alone Dr. Jackson’s life, depended on the outcome.
As he stood up from his desk, the remaining officers in the room came to attention. The earnest faces of Majors Carter and Davis waited for his lead. Dr. Frasier shared a brief smile with him, a heartwarming moment’s assurance that was just the medicine he needed for what lay ahead.
Finally, they couldn’t wait any longer. He asked his officers, “Are we read
y to do this?”
“Yes, sir.”
With a nod to Major Davis, the door was opened and George led the three officers back into the briefing room. Ambassador Huang stood over by the observation window which overlooked the gate-room. In that candid moment, George observed a different manner about the man. Huang’s forehead rested against the window with one hand pressed against the glass. There was a look of longing to his posture.
“If I was thirty years younger,” said Huang, “I would be eligible to join the Chinese scientists you’ve begun to incorporate into the S.G.C.”
George joined him by the window. “I know the feeling, Ambassador. A part of me is envious every time my personnel walk through that gate.”
Huang lifted his head from the window and gazed at George. “It is painful to accept the limitations of age. To know that younger men now lead.”
George knew all too well, but kept his thoughts to himself. He gestured toward the table. “Ambassador, please be seated. We’d like to discuss moving forward with your request.”
Huang’s face lit up and he hurried to his seat. Far quicker, George noted, than someone of his age should. Dr. Frasier sat down next to Huang and introduced herself. She pulled him into a moment’s chat about his homeland, mentioning her fondness for jade and complimenting him on his tie pin. The talk soon turned to the uses of ancient Chinese herbs in modern medicine.
Convinced Huang was in a more amicable mood, George pushed things ahead.
“I want to apologize for Colonel O’Neill’s behavior, Mister Ambassador.”
Huang waved a dismissive hand. “I understand his passion to retrieve his comrade, General.”
“Good, then. After much discussion with SG-1, they’ve agreed to your terms.”
With a smile, Huang patted his box. “China will not soon forget — ”
“Would you like something to drink,” asked Dr. Frasier. “Maybe some water?”
Huang turned toward the petite doctor and blinked. “If it would be no trouble, thank you.”
As Dr. Frasier poured him a glass of water from the table’s pitcher, Major Davis repeated George’s earlier apology.
Huang sipped his water as Davis ended his diplomatic turn at making amends. The major could be effectively long-winded when the need arose, as it so very much did in this case.
“I appreciate your apologies,” Huang said, placing his glass on the table. He stroked his beard quietly for a moment before continuing. “As I said earlier, I understand what drives Colonel O’Neill.”
“Thank you — ”
“But I am not convinced your colonel can be trusted. I have read enough of the reports sent to the Security Council to be familiar with his ability to disobey orders.”
Major Carter looked at George for permission to speak. He gave her the go. “With all due respect, sir, if it wasn’t for Colonel O’Neill’s disregarding certain orders, you wouldn’t be here having this discussion with us.”
“The truth is,” added Davis, “the world owes its very existence to Colonel O’Neill several times over.”
Huang bowed his head in acknowledgement.
“I assure you,” George said, “Major Carter has been already instructed to take over command of SG-1 if necessary.”
“Then I am satisfied.” Huang picked up the metal box, offering it to Major Carter. “We should configure these as soon as possible.”
She took the box and smiled graciously. “Whenever you’re ready, Mister Ambassador.”
Satisfied, George got up from the table. “I’ll go notify the rest of the team. If you’ll remain here, Major Davis will keep you company.”
“Thank you, General.”
“And I’ll be happy to see to any needs you have,” said Dr. Frasier. “Medical or otherwise.”
Huang pushed aside his glass. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I would like some tea.”
“General?” The doctor looked toward George for approval.
“Anything the ambassador needs, Doctor. I’ll leave him in your capable hands.”
George stopped by the watch desk on his way out and ordered a pot of tea for the ambassador. Hurrying down the steps, he considered how he would explain to Sergeant Siler the strange circumstances surrounding SG-1’s tactical needs.
* * *
Two hours later, Jacob Carter returned to the S.G.C. Thanks to the High Council, he’d been able to secure a cargo ship on a planet with a gate which was only a day’s ride away from Yu’s homeworld. He quickly made contact with George and then headed toward the locker room to change into generic BDUs since he’d be on base for at least the duration of the rescue mission. Jacob actually preferred his Tok’ra uniform, but for once, just once, he’d like to get a meal in the commissary without the kitchen help giving him odd looks.
He walked past the armory, picking his way around an SG unit signing out some M-16s and zats. He slid past, only to find himself hugging the wall, as a couple of lab technicians raced through, rolling a cart laden with a basketball sized octagonal device showering sparks. Though Jacob was pretty sure it wasn’t Goa’uld in design, that didn’t make the thing any less dangerous.
He hadn’t been kidding when he shared with Jack his fear that the S.G.C.’s ongoing directive to find weapons to fight the Goa’uld was going to end up getting his favorite planet wiped out.
The technicians disappeared through a blast door and Jacob continued on down the corridor. Getting the ship so easily had been a damn fine stroke of luck. He’d considered fudging the details when explaining the ship’s need to the High Council, but in the end, Selmak convinced him to tell the truth. Dr. Jackson had enough supporters amongst the Tok’ra to shut down any bitching or moaning the more isolationist faction tended to do.
Do the Tau’ri not say, honesty is the best policy?
Selmak at his finest.
Jacob chuckled aloud, ignoring the odd stares of S.G.C. personnel who hadn’t a clue that he could have entire conversations with himself — and his symbiote, of course — and not be bored for a moment. It was like carrying your best friend around in your head at all times.
More than best friends. There were things Jacob shared with Selmak — hopes and fears, desires and needs — things he’d never admit to anyone else.
Sometimes, even to yourself, dearest friend.
Too true. The blending of host and symbiote had forced Jacob to not only accept, but embrace ugly truths about himself. He’d become a better man for it.
He reached the men’s locker room and was about to shove the door open when the shouting started from inside. The first voice was unrecognizable.
“You held him back and now look what’s happened! Making him play soldier when he should be flourishing in his element.”
A second voice responded. Soft, barely a murmur. Jacob couldn’t quite make out who it was.
“It’s Hopkins, you half e’diat,” the first voice yelled with what Jacob was pretty sure was a Jamaican accent.
“You can’t even get a simple name straight. It’s a wonder Daniel wasted his time with a military lug head like you.”
Again, a muffled reply. Still unintelligible.
The door bashed open and Jacob jumped back to get out of the way. A tall, dark-skinned man, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt stormed out. From the non-regulation dreadlocks and thick rimmed glasses, Jacob could only assume he was a civilian scientist. Probably an archaeologist from the way he talked about Dr. Jackson.
The man stopped short and scowled at Jacob as if he was sizing him up and didn’t think much of what he saw.
He has probably never met a Tok’ra.
Well, too bad for him, Jacob silently responded. He instantly disliked the man.
The scientist asked, “And you are?”
“None of your damn business.”
“How come, man? ‘Cause I don’t have that ‘need-to-know’ everyone a’lies to around here?”
Jacob brushed past him and into the locker room.
George had set up a place years back so Jacob could stow a couple of changes of clothes. He spun open the combination lock and pulled out a green set of BDUs and pair of boots.
Clink. Snap. Clink. Snap.
Jacob walked past the first line of lockers in search of the sound. It was Jack, flipping an old Zippo lighter. The colonel had changed into black BDU pants and operation jacket. A tactical vest was thrown on the bench beside him. On top of the vest laid an open Van Dyck cigar box filled with old photos. Jacob stepped closer. Jack threw him a sideways glance and then went back to flipping the lighter back and forth.
Over the years, Jacob had pretty much seen every one of Jack’s moods. Cocky, optimistic, cranky when frustrated. Impatient when the details got in the way. All understandable and normal behavior for someone who’d had the world’s survival on his shoulders. Repeatedly.
Jack’s current mood was different. He stared down at the lighter, never lifting his head. If Jacob didn’t know any better, he’d swear Jack was wallowing in self-pity.
Or, self-anger.
Which wouldn’t retrieve Dr. Jackson, or protect the team.
“I didn’t know you were a smoker,” Jacob said, hoping to get to the bottom of this, quick.
Clink. “Used to be. Gave it up years ago.”
“Thank God Sam never picked up the habit.”
Snap. “She’s smart that way,” Jack said.
Jacob dropped his BDUs on the bench, noting the shots of a kid, undoubtedly Jack’s dead son, inside the cigar box. There were some early photos of Jack as well, dressed in paratrooper gear, smiling broadly at the camera as if he was eager to make his first jump. A wedding band. A lottery ticket. A single cigar.
On top of the stack was a shot of SG-1. Sam’s hair was a bit longer so it must have been taken about three years ago. The team was dressed in Abydonian-style robes, even Teal’c. A young Abydonian boy with long black plaits stood beside Jack, his dark eyes filled with joy. From the little Jacob knew about Abydos, he could only assume the boy was Skaara.
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