* * * * *
|| Samantha Carter ||
There was no spell of confusion, no moment of hesitation. When I opened my eyes and found myself studying Martouf's profile, I remembered immediately.
My face flushed with anger so intense that for a moment I feared my fever had returned, and my heart hardened into a solid, cold knot of muscle and rage. God, it was inconceivable how he had lied to me, he and Jadae, and even more inconceivable that they had almost gotten away with it. If it hadn't been for a fever brought on by a convenient cold, and the realization that had come to my mind as my body heaved and sweat, I shuddered to think of how things could have proceeded from this moment.
When Martouf turned and saw that I was awake, his face beamed with a real joy that made my head hurt and my soul ache. "Samantha," he began, breathless with anxiety and relief. "I... how are you feeling?"
"Like shit," I muttered, surprising myself with the vulgarity. Quickly I continued. "Better. Okay, I guess. What happened?"
"You contracted some illness," he replied solemnly, leaning over me. It hadn't been a hallucination; I had been moved from my bed, though I didn't recognize my new location. All these tunnels all looked the same. "You did not join us one morning... and I went to look for you... I could not wake you..."
"We don't have much experience with sicknesses," said another, softer voice on my other side. I recognized that it was Jadae, host to Maretne, and didn't feel obliged to even look at her. "To us, even your most grave diseases are trivial matters. But we did as best as we could."
"How long..."
Of course, all we could really do was guess, but Martouf had assured me that a Tok'ra's internal clock was surprisingly accurate. "Three days." I found that unbelievable, but said nothing. "You had us quite worried, Samantha," he went on, looking across my prone body at Jadae. "We were concerned that because we lacked the proper medicines you would..." He squirmed. "You would die."
My scalp prickled - he'd just 'walked on my grave' - but I did everything I could to mask my distress. Play cool, I told myself. Play calm. Don't let them know that you should probably be dead. Don't let them know what's gone through your mind these last three days. Don't let them know that you know.
"Don't worry," I said reassuringly. "I'll be fine."
* * * * *
|| Janet Frasier ||
"Don't worry," Jack assured me. "I'll be fine."
His tone was surprisingly gentle, but still I shook my head. "When you become a doctor, General, I'll let your self-diagnosis stand. Until then, I think I'll be the one to make that call."
"You shouldn't push it, Jack," Daniel agreed. The poor man, I noted, looked positively exhausted; he'd had plane trouble getting back from New York. He'd said nothing about the interview, which I'd been too busy to see, and I could only hope he'd eventually come around and tell us what had been so disturbing that it had affected him like this. General Hammond's unofficial policy was that the media and media spin had no place 'down here', but despite the long elevator ride, we couldn't distance ourselves much from the rest of the gossiping, reproachful, nosy world.
Jack, who, even 24 hours on the road to recovery still looked wan and frail, turned his head and pierced Daniel with a captious glare. He said nothing, but the words left unspoken were more than apparent. 'Shut up, Daniel. You weren't here. You were off selling out.'
I repressed a sigh and wrapped the blood pressure cuff around O'Neill's arm a bit tighter than necessary. He redirected the glare at me for a second before looking back up at the others. "So the scouts ships just..."
"Vanished," finished Hammond, for the third time that hour. "We'd only begun to pick them up on the Tollan satellite when they simply... disappeared."
"The Nox?" Jack asked, looking perplexed. "But why..."
"This information was revealed to the press," added Teal'c. "Along with the images from the satellite."
Warren snorted. "They've already got names picked out... Libra and... something else." He shrugged. "You can see Libra in the satellite feed of one of the ships."
"Quaint," Jack muttered. I reached for my thermometer, the new one that took temperature on the index finger, and then changed my mind, hoping the old-fashioned oral type would be more effective at shutting him up. It didn't; he simply talked around it. "And our Tok'ra 'representatives' haven't commented?"
"They told us their names," consented Tony, shrugging. "Catrine, host to Nelsha; Bray, host to... to Jacarius; and Linas, host to... host to some other damn thing." He glowered as fiercely as O'Neill himself. "And they admitted that they aren't afraid of there being a spy on base. From what I can tell, they just don't want to tell us why they're here."
"They're here because they're scared," said Jack confidently, speaking more to Hammond now, studiously looking away as I drew blood. "Not of the Gou'ald. They saw something, they know something they shouldn't know. But they're equally scared to tell us because they're afraid of how we'll react."
Hammond regarded him trenchantly. "When did you figure all this out?"
O'Neill ignored the General's tone, continuing unabated. "Look, I told you what I 'dreamed' about, what I saw, and I know you think it was just all a memory, a fantasy, but I'm not crazy. It was me and Sam on Deault's planet, except it wasn't how I remembered it. It was the strike, but... but a different version of it. And there's a reason it was different. I just can't think of why."
Daniel bowed his head, seeming to absorb all this and then vilipend it as the others floundered. "We also have to deal with the fact that now that we're not under attack, we're going to be shut down. For good."
"What if the Gou'ald send another convoy?" Teal'c asked, looking quickly from one face to another. "All of our struggles, as well as Sam Carter's death, will have been meaningless."
Hammond shook his head. "Politics. Give me a straight, fair fight any day."
"I'd rather be locked in a room with a staff weapon on overload than even think about damn Washington," groused Tony. "Teal'c, are you sure this is such a good idea?"
I looked up from the vial of blood to smile at Teal'c. He'd told us about the proposition soon after Jack had woken, and nearly put his friend back into a coma.
Kinsey was dead, and there were several shadowy figures who had taken it in their heads that Teal'c would make an excellent replacement. Now, of course, there was protocol for who should take over in the event a Senator died unexpectedly, but in these currently chaotic times it was the general consensus that a few laws could be... changed. A few policies amended. Nameless men in suits and ties had approached Teal'c on more than one occasion, saying in so many words that if he made an effort to 'campaign' for the position, and if public opinion was as favorable as was hoped, the system could be tweaked and the man who should have succeeded Kinsey could be beaten. It was frightening, in a way, that such a thing could be accomplished, especially in the bright public spotlight, but it was also exciting that for once, there were dark forces working on OUR side.
"They will not change me, Captain Warren," Teal'c attested solemnly. "I have somehow achieved great popularity in this country. Had I the power to effectively exercise that popularity, I might be able to change things. To keep the Stargate open. I have an opportunity that will not come again."
"Besides," chaffed Jack, looking tired. "If Teal'c turns them down, they'll be coming after me next."
Tony and I gave obligatory shudders, and Hammond looked requisitely ill. Teal'c almost smiled. Daniel, however, didn't look at O'Neill or even at me. He was not a happy man. I could feel the bad vibes, like ethereal wire, emanating from him and tangling itself in all of our auras.
I'd been spending too much time around Julie Piper.
I informed O'Neill that he had to rest, and the others that they had to leave. I went around the corner and waited to Daniel to follow me, to let me welcome him back, to inquire about his health and general well-being and the interview.
But he never came.
* * * * *
|| Daniel Jackson ||
Even days later, the words of Stargate Program Analyst Ms. Celia-Rose Clark were still haunted me, as well as words from other newscasts, spoken by other mouths. The story and theories had become more than that, had become fact, and had evolved - no, mutated - at a horrifying rate, in no more civilized a pattern than any grade-school rumor.
Sam had been sympathetic to the Tok'ra. She'd been brainwashed by the Tok'ra. She'd been working for the Tok'ra. She'd betrayed us for the Tok'ra.
She had been a scientist. She'd dealt with facts. She'd been in the business of hard, indifferent truths. She hadn't been in a relationship with anyone basically since joining the program. Therefore, she was cold-hearted and unfeeling.
She'd had an argument with Jack. The arguments had been a show. The arguments had been personal. Had been intimate. THEY'D been intimate. They were both single: he was a lonely, divorced man pining for the glory days and she had been a seditious, callous, ambitious, beautiful woman. Therefore, they'd been sleeping together.
It drove me insane. It made me want to GO insane.
They sometimes said unflattering things about me. Some were less than worshipful of Jack and his past. Tony was the butt of a couple jokes. That I could ignore, that I could skip over. But when they went after Sam, her character and integrity, her honor and repute, it just killed me. Especially when no one else, not even Jack, who I believed had always loved Sam from afar, refused to stand up for her. A dead woman. One of the most noble and honest people I'd ever met.
She'd had a soft spot for the Tok'ra, true, and a softer one for Martouf. But couldn't those idiots see that none of that added up to the heinous offense they were irresponsibly charging her with? That it wasn't right and wasn't fair of them to pass judgement on her like this?
It killed me. Worse, it ashamed me. Made me embarrassed to call this sick species mine, and made me humiliated to admit that all my reasoning and protestation hadn't been enough to change a single mind. I just hadn't been able to fix it. I hadn't been able to make Sam shine, and I'd failed in patching things up with Jack. Teal'c and Tony had distanced themselves from me, and the one remaining person, Janet, was the one I was petrified of hurting more than I already had. It never failed; it was as though I was cursed. People around me got hurt.
No longer.
* * * * *
|| Samantha Carter ||
It was another three weeks - or so we guessed - before I was fully recovered from my alarming and miraculously-abrupt brush with death. During that time, anger percolated in my veins, pounded in my temples, coursed pure and hot through my entire body, and it was all I could do to tell myself that my patience would be rewarded by a perfectly-executed plan. This had to be done correctly.
* * * * *
There was a prescribed area of the tunnels that were well-known to all three of us, groupings of rooms and corridors near and around the storage room: where we slept, ate, bathed, and basically lived. That day I left the familiar plot, skirting into the outlying halls a bit, waiting for Jadae to return from the day's 'exploring'. Exploring? Still? What on earth was so fascinating that she would leave and not return for hours... not even to eat?
I had a damn good idea.
I hid in an alcove until I heard her approaching footsteps, and then, graceful and abrupt at the same time, stepped out in front of her. The woman stopped short, long hair swaying, and smiled at me.
I didn't even wait for her to open her mouth.
"When was the last time I talked to Jadae?" I asked softly.
She went pale. I hadn't thought it possible, not with that skin tone, but somehow all the color and life drained from her cheeks in a heartbeat. Her best effort for a recovery wasn't good enough. "What do you mean?" she asked sweetly, black eyes full of fear. "You're talking to me now."
I shook my head, standing square, blocking her way. My breath refused to be regulated, to allow me to appear cool and collected, so rather than suffocate I inhaled deeply. "You know, I should have figured this out a long time ago. You had a rather drastic personality change a while back, and then you got sick," I reminded her. "Sick. Tok'ra don't usually GET sick. They can heal themselves pretty well. Gou'ald, well, they rely on their sarcophaguses. They CAN'T heal themselves because they use all their energy trying to keep their hosts in line." I shook my head, tendrils of hair dancing around my face. "Which is exactly what you've been doing for some time now, Maretne."
The Tok'ra lifted her chin, utterly calm. "If Maretne spoke to you, you would know. You would see it in her eyes, and in her voice."
"You forget who you're talking to, here," I snarled, dropping the unruffled façade altogether, trusting my voice not to crack. "Jolinar fooled my friends for quite a while, pretending to be me. She knew what I knew, spoke in a normal voice. She got my personality a little off, but at least she tried. You didn't try. You weren't worried about being caught because you're just like the rest of them: overconfident. Jadae was quiet and introverted. You, Maretne, you're more personable, more sociable. But... I believed you, when you told me you were just more 'comfortable' around your own kind." I shrugged. "I was a fool and I believed you."
I don't know what I expected her to do. Break down and confess everything, maybe. Confirm that she had been masquerading as the host, Jadae, to keep some disastrous secret. Admit her wrongdoing and ask for forgiveness. But again, I was foolish. That was what JADAE would have done, surely. But this wasn't her. This was the symbiote. This was Maretne.
And Maretne pulled a Zat gun on me.
* * * * *
|| Jack O'Neill ||
The Matthews Building in Denver had a hell of a view, but two dozen floors above the surface couldn't cut me off from the rest of the world any more effectively than two dozen below had. There WAS no escape, but at least here people couldn't get to me. This place had great security. Maybe when Teal'c was Senator, he would join me.
As long as we didn't talk about Sam.
* * * * *
|| Samantha Carter ||
Even at gunpoint, being marched down the hallway by a very angry Tok'ra, I felt a sense of calm. Not for an instant had I wondered if I had been correct, about her, about HIM. For once, I trusted my own mind, my own memories, and I trusted in my fevered vision. Perhaps I hadn't simply imagined Jack, placed him in the dream for my own comfort. Perhaps his spirit had come to guide me, and I was only receptive enough to listen when I was in a coma.
The room she took me to, where Martouf waited, wasn't made of the special crystal, but a natural underground cave that had been well utilized. Back at the base, there had been rooms such as this. There'd been one on P2C-260 - Su'lin'ie, 'the ruined place' - as well.
"Martouf, she knows."
He didn't pale, but he did close his eyes, as though for a moment of respite. Or perhaps he didn't want to have to see Jad-- Maretne holding me at gunpoint.
"How?" he asked finally, refusing to meet my eyes. I could feel the shame emanating from him, and squelched my initial instincts to condone what he had done. That was Jolinar, I reminded myself, hardening my soul as I faced him.
Despite the situation, my heart overflowed with the release, the confrontation of the injustice that had been done to me. My voice shook as I explained, softly and evenly, how this sorry state had come to be. "I had a memory of the night we arrived here. The dark, the rain. Me lying on the beach, watching as SHE swam away from the Stargate. And how the Stargate sank." I crossed my arms, but not defensively; I KNEW I was right on this count. "It wasn't a real memory," I said decisively. "For one, it defies the laws of physics. When the Gate sank," I explained deliberately, "it was still activated. Water would have gushed on top of the event horizon, and, like any other type of matter, gone through." Like water, I thought, circling down a drain. "But in this MEMORY, it didn't. And Deault's planet? Where YOU were the hero, Martouf? I remembered. That damn fever" - I glared at Maretne, who was still a little green around the gills - "I remember going for the DHD, dialing Earth, being shot, hearing... hearing Jack's voice... and dying."
"You didn't die," he mumbled.
I took a step forward in pure rage, and Maretne tensed. "Martouf, those memories were FAKE! You brainwashed me. You put those thoughts into my head, the same way Sha're communicated with Daniel before she died," I accused, one hand going briefly to my temple. I couldn't believe I hadn't recognized the burn that had been there when I'd woken in these tunnels, the telltale marking of a ribbon device. He'd thought up the scenes on Deault's world and on the rain-soaked beach himself, and had somehow implanted them in my mind, but he hadn't gotten everything right. Not enough to fool a theoretical astrophysicist, at least.
"You didn't die," insisted Martouf; it seemed to be all he had left to cling to. "You were almost dead, but..."
"You brought me here," I whispered. "Maretne followed later." I wanted to close my eyes against the entire impossible situation, but I found that difficult to do when someone was aiming a weapon at me. "You have a sarcophagus."
Maretne this time, not sounding the least big repentant for her actions. "It was very old, almost decrepit. It did not fully heal you, but it did leave your mind more susceptible to suggestions."
Suggestions. Like believing the truth or a lie had really been up to me the entire time.
"What now?" inquired Maretne, looking at Martouf. "I thought about taking her to the surface, but... isn't there anything else we can do?"
"Nothing that would last," Martouf sighed, staring at me suddenly as though I was more raw meat to him than sentient creature. When I concentrated on his face very hard, I could almost bring forth the most repressed memory of all: that bright, friendly visage alight with alien intelligence. One hand extended, and from that hand a helix of energy coiling its way to my skull. Bright flashes, bad copies, pain and fear as the false memories were conveyed from his mind to my own. On my knees before him. "And I won't do that to her again," he whispered, as though reading my mind.
"Don't do me any favors," I demanded, not realizing until I spoke that the emotional surge had brought a flash flood to my eyes. I tipped my head back. Thank God for water cohesion; I refused to let tears fall before this man. This creature.
"Samantha--"
"And don't 'Samantha' me, either," I snapped, suddenly sick of this entire confrontation, simply wanting to be done with it and him. I couldn't even blame his actions on Lantash, for Maretne had referred to him by name. Host and symbiote were in this together. "I know you said you love me, but... but even if this is about love, that doesn't make it right." I thought of waking in an occupied bed. "If you loved me you would have never..."
I trailed off as another revelation struck me -- one would have thought that I would have been used to them by now.
* I was lying awkwardly on a cold floor, a towel wrapped loosely around my body. *
My eyes flashed back up to Martouf's face.
* Abruptly, the kiss went deep and firm... I opened my eyes... found myself staring into a face that was most certainly not Martouf's. The entire world was fuzzed, hazy, like we'd been plunged underwater... I pulled away just enough to free my lips, enough to ask, in a bleary and slightly reverberating voice: "Jack?" *
I blinked in astonishment and relief so profound that it didn't sink in for several seconds. "We never..." 'Had sex' was too vulgar; 'made love' unduly poetic. "We never slept together," I breathed. "We... I never... oh, God." I'd never betrayed Jack, never made that mistake... my relief was so great that it nearly brought me to my knees.
Apparently, this new knowledge and my good cheer at it was too much for Martouf to witness dead on. He turned away, avoiding even Maretne's questing eyes, and then bobbed his head brokenly, hiding his face. At least he was admitting his crimes, I contemplated nastily, like good scum. "I kissed you and then you... passed out. Fell out of my arms. I couldn't wake you..."
I didn't need to hear the rest; I knew, and it sickened me beyond my ability to describe. Knowing that something odd had been going on with me, betting that my memory to be unreliable, he'd SET IT UP to look like we HAD slept together, so that when I woke it would be the first conclusion I'd jump to. And thanks to my timely, lurid fantasy of Jack and me, it had been perfectly reasonable: I had blacked out, and while it had been O'Neill in my mind, it had been Martouf in reality.
IN reality, it had been Jack in my mind... and nothing more, though the vivacity of the vision had made that nearly impossible to understand. I remembered waking up beside him, seeing him sleeping, realizing that he'd surely been awake the whole time, awake and watching me. "Why?" I echoed. "Did you really think that if I thought we'd done THAT once I'd do it again in a heartbeat? Didn't you know me better than that?"
"I wanted you," he mumbled, still looking away. "That was all I knew."
* * * * *
|| Jack O'Neill ||
The Matthews Building was expensive, no doubt, and there were times when I wondered why my codes and my credit cards kept working. The same reason Teal'c had a good chance of being 'elected', I supposed. There were people out there, looking out for us, looking out for themselves. They weren't doing it out of the goodness of their hearts, certainly - they obviously had their own reasons for providing for us - but I wasn't in the mood for questioning motives. I was due.
Janet was going to stay in Colorado, at the Academy Hospital where she was already well-known and well-liked and wouldn't have to put up with half the crap she'd be forced to endure anywhere else. Curiously enough, Daniel had accepted a professorship at a California college, and it seemed obvious that whatever the two of them had had was gone now. I didn't know how I felt about that. I wasn't sure if I felt anything.
Tony was young and spunky, and had opted to remain in the Air Force, pledging to use his celebrity 'for good, not evil' and to always remember his hat. Those women not doting upon Daniel fell for Warren's more classic looks and charms, and I had to admit: I had liked the kid, too. I'd miss him.
Hammond's one concession to the press in general was an interview with People Magazine. He'd retired, started work on that book we'd discussed so many years ago. He was disappointed in me; that much was evident. I hadn't turned out to be the virtuoso he'd endeavored to make me.
It was all so damned unbelievable that it blew my mind. For some reason or another, we were all heroes. We were all public property, and no one seemed to care whether or not you were interested in the notoriety. When the lobby brought up my messages every morning, there was always a massive stack of requests for guest appearances and audiences, for endorsements and recommendations, as though I had any business extolling anything to anyone. I literally did not leave my new apartment: I had neither the need or the inclination.
One day, my stack of messages, which usually went straight into the trash, contained a letter from Sara. It was short, to the point, but more correspondence than I'd had from her in many years. In fact, the last thing I'd ever received from her had been her wedding announcement, which I had considered to be in less-than-good taste.
"Jack,
I don't really care what you do now that you're 'famous'. I don't even care if it's true that you were having an affair with Carter before we broke up. But for God's sake, please leave Charlie and me out of it."
I crumpled the note into a compact paper ball and hurled it at the window, instinctively flinching as it hit the glass and bounced to the plush carpet. Leave her and Charlie out of it... as though I had a choice! As though I could control what the media would focus on next! And what was that about my having an affair with Sam? Did the woman believe everything she heard on Dateline? From the fat mouth of that despicable Clark woman who, ever since appearing on FOX with Daniel, had been intent on trashing Sam's good name... out of nothing more than ugly, spiteful fascination?
I threw a few more things around before returning to the picture window, which gave me an angel's-eye few of the downtown area and reminded me that distancing myself further would be impossible. I was playing a male, modern-day Rapunzel, looking myself up in my own tower, doing everything I could to turn my rescuers aside.
* * * * *
|| Samantha Carter ||
The storage room was the only one with a locked door, and so, after removing anything I could potentially use as a weapon, Maretne and Martouf stuck me among the rations and blankets before running off to who-knew-where. I got the impression from Maretne that SOMEONE would be displeased that I'd finally grasped the extent of their treachery. In other words... they were in trouble.
Uncertain of what to do, I leaned back against the wall and thought of Jadae, the host, the woman trapped in her own body. I knew what she was going through -- God, did I ever. Watching the world through her own eyes like a spectator, powerless to stop the actions of her own body, forced - as I now was - to admit that these Tok'ra were little better than the Gou'ald.
After all, they had a sarcophagus. An old one, a 'decrepit' one, but still, they had it. Probably they didn't use it on a regular basis... maybe just for emergencies. Or maybe it had simply been in storage here, with the rest of this junk, and Martouf had had knowledge of it. The Tok'ra weren't stupid. They knew how the prolonged effects of the sarcophagus rearranged your mind, and they wanted no part of that. Obviously, I was somehow exempt, in Martouf's eyes at least.
At our first meeting, Garshaw had been quite proud to announce that the Tok'ra did not take hosts. Why not? At the time, I'd taken it as simply another example of how wonderful they were, but I'd also been blinded. It was possible that Tok'ra looked for willing humans just so they wouldn't have to expel the energy and effort to control a host. Look what had happened with Maretne.
They were smart Gou'ald. SMART Gou'ald. They knew their weaknesses, where the System Lords had failed. Even according to Jolinar, it was a good idea to know your enemies failings in order to exploit them. But just how far were the Tok'ra planning on exploiting? What did they ultimately want?
I remained motionless as the door slowly opened, not rising, not letting my visitors think I gave a damn about their presence. My tears had long since dried up, my anger vanished, and now all I wanted in the world was to get away from the people I had once considered my friends.
Maretne spoke first, her tone sultry and pretentious. "Do you want to know when Jadae ended and I began?" she grinned, ignoring Martouf's warning glare. "Because I think you DO know. I think you know very well."
I glared at her reproachfully. "P2C-260."
"That's what you Tau'ri call it," she correctly so snidely I couldn't imagine ever mistaking her for passive, patient Jadae. "We called it Su'lin'ie. 'The ruined place'. Jadae didn't recognize it at first, but when we had to go retrieve you and O'Neill from the lab... she knew. She would have said something if I hadn't stopped her."
"What would she have said?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Carter," she scoffed. "And don't pretend you don't remember me."
"I don't," I snapped.
She raised one thin eyebrow. "Jolinar would have."
Despite myself, I looked to Martouf. His face revealed nothing. "Jolinar knew you."
"She knew both of us. We were one of her first successes, you could say."
The implications were overwhelming, but I didn't find myself astounded in any way. Somehow, some part of me, some part of HER had remembered. As I'd stood with Jack in the cavern, seconds before we'd been struck down, I HAD remembered. "We thought it was a Gou'ald lab," I muttered, unfocusing my eyes so I wouldn't have to look at Maretne's smug expression. "It was TOK'RA. You were the ones who made it Su'lin'ie, you ruined it. Used it to experiment on, caused the acid rain, destroyed the surface, made whatever the hell that place was."
"Not WE," snipped Maretne, sounding offended. "YOU. Jolinar. You're all the same to me. We don't differentiate between host and symbiote so much. YOU used that planet, because the Gou'ald knew about it, and why would the Tok'ra station themselves right under Ra's nose?"
It came back to me, in bits and pieces prompted by the Tok'ra's malicious words. Yes, they - WE - had decided to 'set up shop' on Su'lin'ie for that very reason, because the Gou'ald would be seeking the resistance out on worlds they did not know, largely ignoring the ones they had catalogued.
The rain, I recalled suddenly, the acid rain that had destroyed the vegetation, leaving only waxy, vine-like foliage, had been an unexpected effect from a previous side experiment, but the real work, the real meat and bones, had been my project. Jolinar's project. Mostly her own idea.
"The idea was to create technology that would allow host and symbiote to blend more smoothly," spoke Martouf, voice pitched low.
"This had nothing to do with blending," I said vehemently, resisting the urge to jump to my feet and slap him silly. Undoubtedly Maretne still had her Zat concealed somewhere in her tunic. "This was about infestation, pure and simple. You knew you couldn't begin to compete with the Gou'ald if you kept fighting fair, kept distancing yourselves from them so you could call them your enemies." I my stomach roiled. Jolinar'd had some moral compunctions in the beginning, but they'd quickly faded when she realized the scope of what could be accomplished. Like her mate, Martouf, she had tried to remain true to her principles, to stay honest and noble. The notions of fame and POWER, however, had the tendency to override those good intentions, and before you knew it, you were no better than those you despised. "But the technology didn't work. It wouldn't have been abandoned if it had worked."
"It worked once," Maretne corrected me. "On me."
"Jadae was an unwilling host." It wasn't a question, but a flat, ugly statement of fact.
"I wouldn't say that. She didn't understand what we were, what it meant to be one of us. Once we were blended she settled down, realized that we were who we are now. But when she saw the lab, she knew she had to tell you." A small flitter of sadness danced across her face. "It was a risk sending me, of all people, to join SG-1. We all expected you to recognize me. I admit I was a little disappointed when you didn't."
I knew that deep down, Jolinar had been ashamed of what she had done, especially after the attempt failed, and had buried the memory along with Rosha. It had been a brief, disastrous period in her life, one she wanted to remain a secret. I wondered how much she had told Martouf. She had wanted to be so perfect for him, so virtuous and pure.
"She knows now," he said somewhat sadly, and Maretne regarded me critically.
"She does," the Tok'ra remarked, sizing me up. It didn't take long, slouched on the ground as I was, but something in the woman's eyes said that she nevertheless viewed me as a threat. "Come with us. Now."
* * * * *
Coming soon... The Abduction...
The more feed... ah, you know the drill. Tell me how you liked it!
Story Notes: Title: The Answers
Author: Alli (alli@ecis.com)
Rating: PG
Category: Future story, SJR, angst
Archive: SJA and Heliopolis
Many Thanks: Again to Kel, who supplied Muse with chocolate, and also played muse a bit herself.
The Andromeda Series
1. The Assignment
2. The Aide
3. The Afterglow
4. The Arising
5. The Allusion
6. The Attack
7. The Accident
8. The Anger
9. The Alien
10. The Archeologist
11. The Absence
12. The Advance
13. The Adversary
14. The Ability
15. The Allies
16. The Aberration
17. The Ardor
18. The Act
19. The Affliction
20. The Answers
Author: Alli (alli@ecis.com)
Rating: PG
Category: Future story, SJR, angst
Archive: SJA and Heliopolis
Many Thanks: Again to Kel, who supplied Muse with chocolate, and also played muse a bit herself.
The Andromeda Series
1. The Assignment
2. The Aide
3. The Afterglow
4. The Arising
5. The Allusion
6. The Attack
7. The Accident
8. The Anger
9. The Alien
10. The Archeologist
11. The Absence
12. The Advance
13. The Adversary
14. The Ability
15. The Allies
16. The Aberration
17. The Ardor
18. The Act
19. The Affliction
20. The Answers
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]