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Since the MALP probe sent to PX1-104 had relayed only images of halcyon, sun-drenched fields, SG-1 was surprised to step out of the stargate into blackness thick as pitch.
At least that was their initial impression. It was only when they opened their eyes that they realized there was a soft glow above them. Further inspection revealed they were lying on the floor of a wide, domed chamber with smooth, black walls. "Volcanic glass?" Carter ventured as she sat up to brush her fingers against the slick surface.
"Everyone okay?" O'Neill asked, climbing to his feet without letting go of the M-5 he had come to still clutching. "Daniel, Teal'c?"
"Fine, Jack."
"I am unharmed, O'Neill."
"Good. Anyone have a clue where we are?"
They surveyed their surroundings. The enclosure was circular, twenty-five paces in diameter; the ceiling from which the light emanated arched a good six meters overhead. "I was thinking some kind of igneous crater," Carter said, "but it's too perfect to be naturally formed."
"Manmade, then?" Daniel concluded. "A prison?" He eyed the curved walls. "Or a fishbowl?"
"Say, where's the stargate?" Jack inquired, in a far too casual tone.
The two scientists looked around. Teal'c turned once in place, observed, "It is not in sight. Nor is the DHD."
"We must have been brought here from elsewhere," suggested Daniel. "They must've knocked us out as soon as we walked through the 'gate."
"I don't even remember waking up," Carter remarked. "Whatever they used must be good."
"Sweet. And who might 'they' be?"
As if in answer, part of the obsidian wall before them shimmered, then cleared like a window unfogging. Beyond the suddenly transparent partition stood two figures. Nothing could be told from their appearance except they were of approximately human height and build; all features were hidden beneath layers of drab robes. No skin was visible, their hands lost within voluminous sleeves, their faces shadowed under enormous hoods.
O'Neill automatically brought up his M-5. Then he swore, and under his breath hissed, "Carter, how's your weapon?"
Carter checked the gun hanging at her side and frowned. "The mechanism seems to be fused, sir."
"Teal'c?"
"My staff's power source is no longer functioning."
"And my pistol's jammed, but we don't even know if we'll need it," Daniel said, with the slightly annoyed edge that occasionally developed when he dealt with the military mindset. Taking a step toward the figures behind the clear partition, he lifted his hands, empty with the palms out. "Hello. My name is Daniel Jackson. We mean you no harm."
"Just once I'd like someone to tell us that," O'Neill muttered.
The figures stood silent, motionless. Daniel tried again. "Do you understand what I'm saying? What language do you speak? Beh ware nand?" He switched to the Abydonian's Ancient Egyptian, then several other tongues. On the fifth try there was a reaction—the figures leaned forward in a manner which suggested deep concentration.
With similar focus Daniel repeated the question, added, "Paces en venicom."
"What's that?" Carter murmured. "Latin?"
Daniel's eyes were wide behind his glasses. "I think I told them we come in peace—in the language of the Ancients."
"You speak that language as well as this one?"
They all started at the voice issuing from the nearer hooded figure. It was not what one might have expected, not threatening nor the harsh, guttural syllables of a Goa'uld, but a light tenor or perhaps an alto; the gender of the voice was as impossible to identify as the speaker's sex beneath the robes. Its English was unaccented, but slightly stilted, as if each word were being selected with care.
"I am a student of languages," Daniel said carefully. "I've learned a little of that one, but this is what we usually speak. What language do you use?"
"We—study many languages," came the answer after a moment.
"So you've studied the Ancient's language, too? What I spoke before?" Daniel was torn between disappointment that these beings were not that race, and excitement at meeting other scholars. "How much do you know of it? I'm the only one on my world who can speak any of it, but that's not much—"
Jack muttered something mostly unintelligible, rhetorically questioning how certain linguists for all their education couldn't understand basic concepts like 'need to know'.
The figures inclined their hooded heads, addressed Daniel in what sounded like a tone of benevolent curiosity. "How did you gain this unique knowledge?"
"Who wants to know?" O'Neill demanded, coming forward to flank Daniel.
Their eyes could not be seen, but somehow Jack felt their regard come to rest on him. "Who wants to know?" one asked in turn.
"I'm Colonel Sanders of the KFC. Who the hell are you?"
"You are lying." The statement seemed bemused.
O'Neill rapped the glassy black wall of their prison with his knuckle. "Yeah, and why would we want to tell you the truth?"
The being ignored him, hooded head turning back to Daniel instead. "You know the language of the Ancients."
"Not exactly—I can read the words, but—"
"He doesn't know a thing," Jack said. "I taught him everything about that. I'm the guy you want to talk to."
The manner in which the figure cocked its head was perplexed, its tone baffled. "You tell the truth and lie at once."
"Sir." Carter nudged her CO's arm, whispered, "I think they might be reading our thoughts."
"'Read' again...Yes." A new voice, lower but still androgynous, spoke, and a third being, clad in the same shapeless robes, glided from the shadows beyond the partition. "That is applicable. Words are 'read', in books or in minds."
"So you're telepathic?" Daniel sounded more fascinated than concerned as he drew closer to the transparency to peer at the beings behind it.
"Be careful, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c rumbled abrupt warning.
Without hesitation O'Neill shoved himself between Daniel and the partition, and aimed a glance back at the Jaffa. "You know these guys?"
"Perhaps." Teal'c gazed steadily at their captors. "There are legends of faceless judges who can see lying hearts. Even the Goa'uld have no defense against their arts."
"No more rhymes now, I mean it," O'Neill mumbled, then raised his voice as he looked back to the figures. "Ah, okay, sounds like the Goa'uld don't like you? They don't like us, either. True, right?"
The three gazed at him impassively, then nodded as one.
"Well, an enemy of the Goa'uld is a friend of ours. Maybe we can come to an agreement."
The figures' heads all swiveled in toward one another; then they nodded again, and the second said, "Acceptable."
"Great!" O'Neill clapped his hands together briskly. "Just let us out and we'll talk. Daniel—"
He was waving forward their resident linguist and diplomat when the second being spoke again. "The one termed Daniel will return through the—Stargate? Chaapa'ai?"
"We usually call it a stargate," Daniel supplied.
"I see. You will return through the stargate to arrange the necessary affairs. We will keep the other three for study."
"Excuse me?"
"What?"
"Um, if I may..." Daniel raised an index finger. "What do you mean by 'study'?"
"Study. Learn. Examine. Analyze. Experiment—"
Daniel frowned. "You're drawing all those words from our minds?"
"We know what the word means," Jack snapped. "We want to know what you're planning on doing."
There was a long pause; then the third being said, in a tone of enlightenment, "I see. We plan to extract knowledge of your language and society from your memories, then examine the biology of your physical forms to understand what changes there have been between the humans of your world and others we have encountered."
"Is this studying going to hurt?" O'Neill demanded suspiciously.
They turned inward for another brief conference; then the third figure said, in a tone which might have been shocked, "No. Definitely not. There will be no pain."
"If they're empathic as well as telepathic," Daniel murmured to his teammates, "causing us pain might literally hurt them as much as it hurts us."
"How long will your examination take?" Carter asked. "When will we be able to go back?"
"'Go back'?"
"Through the stargate," Daniel clarified. "When will my friends be able to come back home to our world?"
This conference was the longest yet, but when the beings turned back it was with a satisfied air of comprehension. "We see," the second said. "We will return the bodies through the stargate as soon as possible. Would a week be acceptable?"
"Waitaminnit!" O'Neill threw up his hands in a universal gesture of 'hold on'. "Bodies?"
"Bodies. Cadavers. Corpses. Carc—"
"Bodies?" Jack repeated. "As in, dead bodies? As in, not alive? Expired? Shuffled off this mortal coil?"
"Yes," he was assured, quite complacently. "The death will be painless."
"No deal!"
Daniel coughed and stepped forward. "Excuse me, there's a misunderstanding. We came to negotiate, not to offer ourselves as subjects for study. We hope for a peaceful alliance—"
"We hope for peace too," he was told. "We are not a violent race."
"Just a homicidal one," O'Neill snorted.
"Our people do not take murder lightly," said Daniel, gravely. "If you kill us, our people will view it as a sign of hostility."
"So would I!"
"Jack," Daniel whispered, "I don't think they mean us harm—I don't think they realize this is, um, offensive."
"Since when is murder inoffensive?"
"Actually, sir, Daniel may have a point," Carter broke in. "The Goa'uld don't think anything of using slaves' lives as bargaining chips. And anyway, in this case..." She glanced sidelong at the beings. "I wonder if 'dead' means the same thing to them as it does to us."
Their captors were waiting in patience silence. Daniel told them carefully, "We can't accept your offer."
"Why not?"
"Because it's nuts!" Jack exploded.
"Why?" one inquired. "You are willing to die for your people. We read that, written in all your minds."
"We're willing to die if we have to," O'Neill said, "but not just because you want to know what our brains look like. How'd you like it if we demanded a few of you guys to vivisect?"
"Would that be an equable trade? We accept it."
O'Neill gaped at the swift surety of the reply. "See, sir?" Carter murmured.
"No, no, it's not a good trade, we don't accept it," Daniel said hastily.
Jack was still staring. Teal'c tilted his head inquiringly. "Are they truly understanding what we say? I have rarely seen such complacency regarding death."
Daniel and Carter, looking at one another, began to talk simultaneously, faces mirroring dawning realization, words mingling and overlapping so only a few phrases were intelligible. "Maybe a hive mind—"
"--communal telepathy—"
"--total sublimation of individuality—"
"--all acting only for the greater—"
"Care to let us in on the hunch, Major, Daniel?" O'Neill hissed.
But Daniel was addressing the aliens again. "Excuse me, what are your names?"
"Names?"
They held another silent communion, then each spoke in turn. "I am Comprehender."
"I am Questioner."
"I am Decider."
Daniel ran his thumb along his jaw. "Are those your names, or titles?"
"Uncertain," the Comprehender said after a moment.
"Uh huh." Daniel licked his lips. "Okay...um, don't take this the wrong way, but if we killed one of you, what would you do? Would you punish us? End negotiations? What would happen?"
"Another would come to negotiate."
"Another Questioner? If that's what, uh, who we killed?"
"Yes."
Carter approached the partition. "What if we killed someone who couldn't be replaced?"
"Any can be replaced. Though it is inconvenient if there are none prepared. For that reason we chose the linguist to return through the stargate. We read that his knowledge is not shared by others."
"Where'd you get that?" Daniel asked, puzzled.
"It was in all your minds."
At that moment a distant bell rang a complex melody, rising through quick arpeggios and descending again. "It is time for a shift change," the Decider declared. "We will return after association to continue the negotiations."
The light behind the figures abruptly vanished, leaving the wall the same ebon, burnished glass as the rest of the chamber. The only remaining illumination was the soft amber glow from the domed ceiling, warm as a sunset.
"All right, kids." O'Neill settled himself cross-legged on the floor and motioned his team to follow suit. "Powwow time. What's going on?"
"Well, sir—"
"I think—"
"Hold it. One at a time." He pointed to the Jaffa. "You first, Teal'c. You know these guys?"
"I believe they may be those the Goa'uld call the Na'tin'ketr."
"Gesundheit."
Daniel's brow furrowed. "'Na'tin'ketr'...that'd be, what, 'silent voice'?"
Teal'c nodded. "They are shunned and avoided by the Goa'uld. The species cannot be hosts, but they are too strong to be enslaved. I know of no Jaffa or Goa'uld who has had direct contact with the Na'tin'ketr, but they are said to be a race of scientists. They do not engage in battle, but few who visit their worlds return."
"That's it? Know more about what they really look like, how they act, anything like that?"
"I do not know their appearance. It is said that they are slow to take action, but once they make a decision rarely will they change it. There is always consensus among them; never does one act against the will of the others. It is also said they speak without words, and that they cannot hear lies."
"They're telepathic," Carter remarked. "They probably don't have a spoken language among themselves. They communicate directly, mind to mind."
"In a communal meld, apparently," Daniel agreed. "No personal autonomy; individuals function solely as units of a cooperative intellect—"
"Okay, make that make sense," O'Neill ordered.
"Hmm—do you watch much Star Trek, sir? The Next Generation?"
"A little," Jack admitted warily.
"Remember the Borg?" Carter continued. "The Collective is a hive mind. They're all linked—basically they're one brain made up of many, umm, units. None of the Borg have their own identity."
"This is a group mind," Daniel said. "Everyone thinks the same—or rather, everyone has the same thoughts. They're all on the same wavelength."
"Just one person does the thinking? Like a queen or something?"
Daniel gestured to the contrary. "Not if they're a true group mind. Since they didn't think anyone was irreplaceable, they likely are. It's not that one does the thinking—it's the combination of all their brains which acts like one very big mind. All experiences are shared, and knowledge is pooled among everyone; decisions are made by all of them coming to a consensus."
"So," O'Neill said slowly, piecing it together, "if they all need each other to think, why don't they give a damn about losing some of their group?"
"Well, Jack, think about it. You care about your brain cells, right? But would you be that upset to lose a few? Especially if you can grow new ones?"
"So we're just someone else's brain cells, to them."
"And you can understand sacrificing a few brain cells in the name of science, sir."
"Speak for yourself, Carter. I'd just as soon not sacrifice any body part in the name of science. Or even for an alliance."
"I am even more unwilling to sacrifice cells when those cells are our lives, O'Neill," Teal'c announced.
"Don't worry," Jack told him, "we're all with you one hundred percent on that. Which is why we're going to stop wondering how these guys' minds...or mind ticks, and see about getting out of here."
Several hours later they had had no success. The walls might look like glass, but the substance proved impossible to crack or even mark, not even with the naquada tip of Teal'c's staff. Wall, ceiling, and floor were fused seamlessly, the floor curving up into the dome of the roof like a bowl. Carter reasoned that the top must have an opening, since they had been placed inside the chamber somehow, but even with sunglasses it was impossible to see past the gentle light streaming down from above, and even when she stood on Teal'c's shoulders the ceiling was still a couple meters out of reach.
Determining escape was out for the moment, the team took to considering negotiations. "Sounds like they like you, Daniel," O'Neill pointed out. "How do we use that to our advantage?"
"I'm not sure." Daniel rubbed the back of his neck with some chagrin. "Apparently they've decided I'm valuable because I'm the only one who knows the Ancient's language. Maybe I should tell them I have enough notes—"
"No," Jack vetoed instantly. "And try not to think it too loudly. Having them think one of us is worth something is better than them thinking we're all, uh—"
"Replaceable," Carter said.
Daniel winced. O'Neill grimaced. "Yeah. Anyway, Daniel, if worse comes to worse, you should be able to go back and let the SGC know what's happening—"
"No," Daniel said flatly. "I'm not leaving without you."
O'Neill sighed, exasperated. "Daniel—"
"Jack, they're planning on killing all of you, and it sounds like it wouldn't take too long. We might not have time to get a rescue mission together."
Jack shook his head in a firm negative. "Considering how easily they snatched us, a rescue team wouldn't have an easy time of it. If you go through alone, you're going to tell the general that I'm advising against any attempt."
Daniel stared at the colonel, saw he was serious. He looked to his other teammates, but Teal'c was listening impassively without dissent and Carter nodded agreement, though her face was drawn.
"Whatever you say, Jack. I'm not going." O'Neill opened his mouth but Daniel cut him off. "I got split up from you guys before—I allowed myself to be put above you and that didn't exactly go well. I'm not risking it again."
Jack remembered Shyla and her sarcophagus and her naquada mines all too well, and while the situation was completely different now, he knew his archeologist well enough not to argue the case. Truth be told, if the aliens decided they wanted to send Daniel back and kill the rest of them, there wasn't a hell of a lot they could do about it. And Hammond would understand the situation; he could be trusted not to do anything rash even without O'Neill's evaluation.
There was no point to stating any of that aloud. His team was bright; they all would have reached the same conclusion already. Pessimism was no help in these situations. So instead the colonel said, "Fine. Then let's see about talking Larry, Moe, and Curly into letting us all go. When do you think they'll be back—"
Speak of the devil. The wall went transparent again, and behind it two robed figures came into view.
Daniel was the first to act, scrambling to his feet to address them face to face, or the beings' equivalent. "Before you make any decisions..." His eyes searched the figures for some clue of which one had labeled itself 'Decider' but couldn't penetrate the identical robes. "Hear us out. We're different from you—"
"We know you are different," one said.
Its voice was strange, a high, childlike soprano. Daniel blinked and adjusted his glasses, as if that would make their identification any easier. "Excuse me, have we spoken to you before?"
"Yes," the being confirmed. "I am Comprehender."
"But not the same Comprehender as before?"
The two Na'tin'ketr performed the familiar silent exchange. "I am Comprehender," the same one concluded at last.
"But the individual, the, uh, the body which is talking—that's different, right? Not the one who was here previously?"
"Ah. Yes, the figure is different."
"That is how you perceive us, right?" The other's voice was also unknown to them. "We are 'figures'. Robed beings. Right?"
"You're the Questioner," Daniel deduced.
The being nodded.
He heard a cough, looked behind him to see Jack bouncing on his toes and cocking his head in a deliberate way toward their captors. 'The ball is in your court,' the colonel was saying quite clearly without talking, 'don't forget where you're supposed to hit it.'
The linguist regarded the two beings. "Where's the Decider?"
"Decider will come. Decisions are being made," the Comprehender answered.
"Different spokesmen, uh, spokespeople, for different roles," Daniel mumbled to himself, thinking hard. Had to be a way to use that to their advantage...
"There's only one of us for any role," Carter said suddenly, approaching the partition and speaking with a persuasive insistence. "We aren't mentally linked like you—we can't pass knowledge onto others so easily. We can't just take turns questioning and deciding because each of us has to be trained to fulfill the duties of our position. We're the only ones who have talked to you, so we're the only ones who know how to."
"But you can train others, right?"
"Not if you kill us."
"Carter, ix-nay on the ill-kay word," O'Neill hissed.
"That is why we are letting one of you return," they were told. "So that you may train all. We understand you do not share thought directly, but you can still absorb knowledge from one another. That is what learning is, right? Your people are proficient learners."
"Though some more than others," the second said. "We comprehend that the knowledge possessed by this one is not easily learned. Until he trains others, he cannot be soon replaced."
"None of us can be replaced," Daniel said quickly. "There's no way for us to teach everything someone knows—we're all unique individuals."
"What about Teal'c?" O'Neill said suddenly, jerking his thumb in the Jaffa's direction. "He's as irreplaceable as Daniel. We only have one of him on our side and it'd be tricky to get another."
Teal'c raised an eyebrow as the aliens held a silent discussion. "There is both truth and lies in that," one said at last. "He would be difficult for you to replace, but for us as well. We have not seen his race on any of our worlds for a long time and would appreciate the opportunity to study him. As we are negotiating to your benefit, you will grant this favor."
"Now wait just a damn minute—"
"Sir, don't—"
"Jack, hold on, let me—"
Before O'Neill could do more than take a step forward, he froze, mouth still open in protest but voice silenced. Carter too was paralyzed, one hand paused hanging in the air, extended toward him. Daniel whirled and saw Teal'c standing behind them, his stance unchanged but now with an unnatural stillness.
He tried to go to them, only to hit an invisible wall, as if a column of perfectly clear glass surrounded each of his friends, preserving them like statues within a museum case. Looking back to the aliens, he demanded, "What'd you do?"
There were three figures again. The newcomer spoke. "We have decided." The new Decider, then. "Your people were anxious for a resolution. They opened the stargate and broadcast a signal requesting an explanation."
Daniel automatically checked his watch—it wasn't working, and neither were their radios, apparently. But it must have been more than six hours since they came through; General Hammond had been concerned when they hadn't checked in. "Let us go back to explain," he asked. "I promise we'll return to continue negotiations." He hoped he wasn't lying. If Hammond deemed it too dangerous to return—no, they would send a team through. He had to believe that, so the aliens would. And they would be useful allies, if they could understand humans a little better—
"You will go back," the Decider said. "The others will stay, as is agreed."
"No! There's no agreement. You can't study them."
"We have already begun."
"What?" Daniel spun back around. The invisible barrier prevented him from approaching his teammates, but he pressed against it, searching their faces, with their eyes unblinking and their mouths open, halted in mid-sentence. They might have been frozen in ice, or encased in clear amber like a Mesozoic insect—they didn't move, even their hair unstirred by any draft.
"They are in no pain," one of the figures informed him. No pain—that was what they had promised, hadn't they. A painless death.
Daniel squeezed between the unseen pillars holding Jack and Sam to get a better look at Teal'c, as immobile as the other two. None of them were fighting it, their muscles not straining, their expressions exactly what they had been in the moment they were trapped. Their eyes stared straight ahead; their chests—
He pushed closer, straining to catch a glimpse of motion he might be missing.
"You can now return through the stargate to your people."
—oh God, they weren't breathing.
"No!" Daniel cried, shoving against the force holding Jack, as if he could breach the invisible wall with will power alone. "They are my people, and I'm not going anywhere without them—let them go! We never agreed to this!"
"Negotiations are a matter of compromise, right?"
"We don't compromise when there are lives at stake!" His heart was racing—were their hearts beating still?—but his mind felt as if it were trapped in the same paralyzing force, thoughts stuck in panicked circles. All three of the aliens were looking to him. He returned to the partition to entreat them face to face, desperately strove for logic, rational argument. "You don't understand our ways—these people are all important, necessary. Irreplaceable." They weren't breathing; was it stasis or suffocation? "We won't bargain if they're dead. We need them!"
The beings' focus remained on him. Maybe they were trying to sift more facts from his mind. Couldn't be the easiest task, given its current state. "I'm telling the truth!" Calm, he needed calm. He needed reason; it was all this race seemed to care about. "My thoughts will make more sense if they're safe. Release them."
"They will not be hurt. Return to your people and we will plan future negotiations."
Daniel pressed his palms to the transparent partition, stared at the figures behind it. He couldn't see their eyes—if they had eyes at all—under the hoods, but he knew he was being watched intently, while behind him his teammates stared blankly forward, not breathing.
He was shaking as he drew back, wrapped his arms over his chest as he fought for control. "I won't help you if you hurt—if you kill them. There will be no negotiations."
They continued to face him, but they made no answer, and he couldn't even tell if they were still listening. Hopeless, when all he had to bargain with were impotent words. He might have been frozen with the others for all the good he could do, dying...
The futility of the situation hit him full force, every wasted second another blow, shattering the last grip he had on his fear. "Let them go!" he shouted, and punctuated it by slamming his fist into the partition. His knuckles burst and he felt the jolt up his arm, but the barrier didn't give a millimeter. Drawing back his hand left a smear of red blood, like a puff of scarlet breath on a cold window, hanging in space between him and the hooded watchers.
And the aliens shifted, jerking unnaturally, in obvious discomfort. "You are hurt," the Comprehender said, disbelieving, and the Decider accused, "You cause pain."
Daniel stared, and then recalled what he and Sam had hypothesized before—if they were empathic and could feel other's pain, which made sense, considering how vehemently they were opposed to it—
He had another recourse after all. "You're hurting me," he said. "By killing them, you hurt me."
They had no answer, and he didn't have time to explain a concept that might be beyond their grasp—he didn't know how long his friends could last, not breathing, and if the aliens had already begun their studies...
No choice but to resort to what they clearly did comprehend. From his belt sheath he drew his combat knife, one of the many items of military gear which he never used but had given up protesting lugging around. And maybe the whole army/boy scout "be prepared" way of thinking had its points after all, because unlike their more sophisticated weaponry, this wasn't neutralized. He pushed up his sleeve and set the blade against his arm, the sleek, curved edge above the serrated lower half sinking into his skin. "Let them go," he said resolutely, "or I will hurt myself."
The aliens didn't respond. He gritted his teeth and slid the blade along the flesh, with enough pressure to score a thin line. Fresh blood welled forth. It stung badly and he winced, and the Na'tin'ketr flinched back as if he had physically attacked their own bodies.
"Let them go," he repeated, "or I'll do it again, and it will be more painful."
"We - do - not - understand," one of the aliens said. There was a lurching pause between each word, like the being was struggling for breath.
Knife gripped firmly in his fist, he raised the blade above his leg, point toward his thigh.
There was no gesture, no signal, but behind him he heard three gasps, three pairs of lungs inhaling abruptly. Looking back, he saw Jack, Sam, and Teal'c returning his gaze with clear, living eyes. Their faces showed no pain or visible aftereffects, not even shock or surprise. Had they been frozen in mind as well or had they been aware of what occurred around them? Their brows were furrowed. Confusion or vexation, he couldn't tell. Didn't care.
His legs gave out suddenly, dropping Daniel to the ground, the blooded knife slipping from his fingers to chime against the obsidian floor. Then Sam was kneeling beside him, taking his arm to examine the cut, and Jack and Teal'c were looming over him.
"What the hell was that, Daniel?" Jack demanded. From the berating rasp of the question, Daniel guessed that somehow they had been able to follow what had occurred during their incarceration.
"That was me getting you free, Jack," he replied with some asperity. They might at least show a little gratitude. He pulled his arm away from Carter's ministrations. The scratch was barely bleeding; he clamped his hand over it while it sealed close. "I didn't see another way to convince them on short notice, and you weren't in a position to give suggestions."
"We saw and heard everything, but I don't know if you convinced them," Sam murmured, nodding toward the aliens, who now seemed to be caught in their own paralysis, staring frozen at the tableau in their enclosure. "Though you did a good job bluffing them—"
Her mouth shut abruptly as it occurred to her that these beings could not be bluffed, that they only took for truth what they read was believed in one's head, and the only way the ploy would have worked was if the threat had been in deadly earnest...
Which, true or not, was not something Daniel was eager to have any of them recognize. He acted fast to divert her train of thought, surged to his feet and confronted the aliens through the barrier. "Thank you for releasing them, now will you let us go back through the stargate?"
"We did as you demanded, but we do not understand," said one, he had lost track of which it was. They had changed positions and he couldn't keep their voices straight in his head. "Why did you inflict pain upon yourself?"
"You were causing me pain," he said. "But it wasn't a pain you understood."
"No," the aliens readily agreed. If they were rummaging through their captives' heads for an explanation, apparently they weren't finding anything helpful.
Jack was glaring at the figures, his fingers running over the useless gun at his side. Teal'c was less obviously, but, to those who knew him, just as anxious and angered by his helplessness as the colonel. Sam's forehead was creased in thought, but photons and particle waves were her domain, not alien mentalities.
Daniel closed his eyes, racked his brain himself. He needed a frame of reference to give them, a way to define loneliness to those who never knew solitude, explain the grief of loss to a race who couldn't die in the sense it meant to humans. Many beings, but one soul...
He opened his eyes again. "You understand that we can't share thoughts mentally as you can, right? You know we can't read minds."
They nodded synchronized, silent assent.
"But we still communicate. Communication is very important to us, just as it is to you. We can't survive without it—humans can't be alone."
"Alone. Solitary, isolated, separate, empty. We do not understand. We read too many deviant concepts within your minds."
Daniel noted that this could hardly be the first word they had used with multiple associations, but it was one of the first to stymie them. He glanced to his friends, then, not trusting his thoughts to be coherent enough for the aliens to follow, said aloud, "Alone means to be apart from others. To have no contact or communication with anyone except oneself. Humans are social beings; to be healthy we need other humans. We need others to function at all."
"Hermits," said one of the Na'tin'ketr, not quite a non sequitur because Daniel knew the concept had been on his mind.
"Some people do choose to be alone," he said, "but it's rare and they can't keep it up forever. We'll imagine communication if there isn't anyone else to talk to, that's how much we hate it; if there's no one real we'll talk to gods or ghosts or hallucinations. But most people don't live like that—many humans would rather die, or suffer physical pain, rather than live alone."
"But why is this loneliness so feared?"
That was the crux, the crucial point he wasn't sure he could make. "What—what happens to one of you who can't read minds? Does anything ever happen to any of you, an accident or a disease, that they lose the ability to communicate with the rest of you?"
They didn't do anything more than look to one another as they had before, but he thought he sensed unease. "It happens," one said after a delay.
"What do you do with them?"
"They live. We feed them, shelter them, care for them. They are like animals—like pets, perhaps?"
"So they aren't one of you—they're no longer part of you?"
"No. But they are not in pain, and we read their knowledge before they die, so nothing is lost."
Daniel heard Sam's soft exclamation of triumph—she thought they had it, but she was wrong. They had almost made a breakthrough but he could see the chance slipping away. He grabbed for it recklessly. "What about when you lose one of you suddenly—what if an accident kills one of you before you can take all their knowledge?"
"It is a loss."
"And it's painful?"
"It is a loss," the being repeated, "but it is eventually repaired. Knowledge is always regained in time. We are patient." There was a note of gentle chiding in its tone. "Your people are young and hasty. You prefer not to let much time pass before you act. Your enemy likewise moves in haste. For that reason we are willing to...hurry? negotiations. You are allowed to return through the stargate now."
"With my friends?"
"We will keep them, as we agreed."
"No!" His hand, the knuckles still aching, was shaking. He stilled it. "You know it hurts me—"
"This pain is incomprehensible. It has no importance."
"No!"
His teammates had been silent, either in shock or confident in his diplomatic abilities, but that declaration proved the final straw. Even Teal'c cut in with a deep, "That is a false assessment," simultaneous with Carter's, "You can't pass judgment when you don't understand—"
But Jack drowned them all out with his beyond irritated and approaching truly pissed rasp, "You don't know what the hell you're talking about! If you can read our minds you know he's telling the truth—"
He went silent abruptly; they all did. Daniel twisted around and saw his three friends frozen again, locked in the stasis field or whatever it was—why hadn't he asked Sam?—which had trapped them before. Their positions were different, tense, their rigid faces angry. But they were just as motionless.
"Stop this!" Daniel crouched to retrieve the fallen knife, but before his fingers reached it he felt himself paralyzed—or didn't feel, as it was. They had spoken rightly; there was no pain. He felt nothing at all. He wasn't straining against an invisible force; instead he simply wasn't moving, as if his brain no longer knew what signals controlled his muscles. His nerves were numbed, offering no sensation of the clothes on his body, or the floor his fingers pressed upon.
He could still see the Na'tin'ketr through the lenses of his glasses. "We will not allow you to cause yourself pain," one said, and he heard them clearly. So this is what it was like—
No, because he still was breathing, and when he tried he found he could blink, and move his mouth to speak. "Don't do this!" he shouted. At his back he could feel the stilled gazes of his three friends, watching and listening, unable to act. Dependent on him. Could not fail them—determination shot through him like an arrow, and the words tumbled out, "Killing them would jeopardize any hope of an alliance. Humans so fear loneliness that we value everyone we know, because each acquaintance is one more protection against being alone. All of my teammates know many people—you would hurt, would frighten, everyone who knows them."
"Reason may conquer fear."
What hadn't convinced them before wouldn't work now. All his chips were on the table; he had no choice but to show his hand—and wouldn't Jack be proud of that metaphor. Even if he wouldn't care for where it was heading. Neither did Daniel but he had run out of options. He could feel his teammates watching, wished he could turn his head to see them. Instead he stared ahead at the aliens' draped forms. "It would be better to keep only one subject. With less loss there would be less pain."
He paused but they asked no questions, merely gazed down at him steadily. "Take me," he appealed. "Study me and send my friends back."
"Would no one be hurt if you were killed?"
Honesty, because they would know otherwise. "Yes. My friends here would. But they'd get better; they would all still have other people. They wouldn't be alone."
"If you stayed," one pointed out, "you would be alone until you died."
Unwelcome, unwanted, and to his mortification he felt a prickling burn in the corners of his eyes. He forced it back. "I'll be alone anyway, if you kill them."
"But you possess singular knowledge. You are the most valuable."
It was hard to swallow the thickness in his throat when he couldn't turn his head, or even clench his fists. If only the numbness of the paralysis would also prevent him from feeling his friends' eyes on him. "What you think matters about me isn't the most important thing to us. I'm a scholar, but I would give up everything I know, sacrifice all my knowledge forever, if it would keep them alive."
The astonishment was unmistakable. "That is true."
Suddenly he was released. The abrupt return of motion cast him to the floor before he could regain his balance. Struggling to his feet, he looked behind him. Jack, Sam, and Teal'c had not moved an inch, statues yet, their eyes open. Waiting, patiently because they had no other choice. Counting on him; they had no choice in that, either. None of his teammates were the type to give up, even when he was their only hope.
Angrily he rubbed his eyes with his newly freed hands, a futile gesture because a couple tears had already fallen. He scoured them from his cheeks.
"That is a sign of pain in your people," one of the aliens said with quiet guilt. "We have hurt you."
"Only my pride," Daniel told them. "That's a human concept you're better off not understanding. You threaten to hurt me much more."
"How? We don't understand. To be alone is painful but how can you be alone when still among your own kind?" There was an honestly imploring pitch to the question, an almost despairing plea for explanation.
He tried to give it. "We have different kinds of relationships. Not all people get along—communication may not be possible even if we speak the same language. All relationships are unique, and certain people, certain relationships, are particularly important. Necessary. Without them, we feel as if we are alone—they are as irreplaceable to us as any knowledge."
"But knowledge can always be recovered."
"Not always—you speak the Ancient's language, but the Ancients are gone. What if every planet they used to live on were destroyed, and then everyone who knows their language now died. That language would be lost. Irretrievable."
"We accede to your argument. But this doesn't explain the importance of these people...these individuals. Why is it that without them you are alone?"
"They're my teammates," Daniel said.
"Would you not be assigned a new team, if this one were lost?"
From the swiftness of the response he realized that they must have already investigated this at some length, plumbed all their minds seeking elucidation. Apparently they had not found a satisfactory answer, but they were not outright rejecting one; they were still open, still willing to understand. He hoped.
Daniel swallowed. "They're not just my team, they're also my friends."
"Friend, associate, acquaintance, buddy, pal, ally, comrade—this word is inspecific. It refers to a wide range of relationships. Friendship. Friendly. Just be friends. Man's best friend. Could you not find more friends?"
Out of nowhere—no, not nowhere, it must have been from one of their minds, and Daniel couldn't be sure it wasn't his own—one of the aliens sang softly, "Make new friends, but keep the old..."
"Friends are not irreplaceable," the third alien stated.
No human is replaceable, Daniel almost said, but stopped himself. He was going about this wrong. Getting too involved in the aspect of debate, arguing concepts in the abstract. These beings were analytical; they refuted all his reasoning, countered his truisms with their own knowledge. Only when he appealed to the essence of the matter did he make an impression. They were objective scientists but they sought to understand the illogic of human relationships. Something no human fully understood; he certainly didn't.
He was comfortable with the design of scientific debate. Even under these circumstances, long experience with professorial contests allowed him to compose arguments almost reflexively, continue the dialogue and hold his own. But he wasn't convincing them, and he wasn't winning the argument, and it wasn't his reputation as a scholar on the line but something infinitely more important. And cold facts did not give them enough to comprehend the irrational, instinctual heat of human emotions.
They had reacted to his pain, and they had reacted to his tears, and he realized with utter certainty that they would react to the truth of his feelings.
His teammates were behind him, watching. They would hear every word.
He would have rather stabbed the knife at his feet into his heart, than bare it, here and now. But their lives were at stake.
"They're my family," he said.
"They are not your genetic relatives," one contradicted.
He took a breath, replied, "If you're reading our minds you know that family isn't only blood kinship. There's more to family than heredity. Families are our most important relationships—they are the people who bring you to life, raise you, make you who you are. Our names come from our families; our homes are where our families are."
He looked back at his three teammates, keeping his gaze down so he would not catch their watching eyes. "They are my family. My brothers and my sister—I have no more. All others have left me, or died."
He was holding onto his thoughts, shoring up his memory, but either glimpses slipped through the cracks or they drew from the others. "Many have died," one being said, not sympathy but plain agreement.
"Everyone loses part of their family, eventually. But now I don't have anyone left except my friends. These three. If you kill them, I will be alone, because I will have no more relationships."
"You will not form new relationships? A new family?"
"I couldn't. Not anymore—it's too painful. Even them, I know I'll lose them someday, but I'll do anything to prevent it. I'll give anything I have."
"Your life," one suggested, with penetrating curiosity. "Your knowledge."
He strangled the laugh which rose in his chest without warning. "My knowledge doesn't matter—my life isn't worth anything. Except to them, and they're more valuable. They're everything. I lost my parents, I lost my wife—but I still have them, and I'm not in pain, and I'm not alone. Without them I would be like those of you who can no longer communicate. Only an animal."
"And you would die?"
Honesty—how could he tell the truth when he didn't know it himself? But he tried. "I wouldn't die, not right away; I don't believe in suicide. But I don't know if I still could teach others my knowledge—I don't know if I'd know how anymore. And it would hurt. It would always hurt." His voice sounded shaky, though he could barely hear it over the roaring in his ears. "I would rather die."
"You fear death, but you fear pain more than death. And you fear loneliness more than pain. But you offered to stay and be alone, if we allowed them to live."
"I fear loss more than loneliness—I fear their loss. I fear not doing everything I might have done to save them."
"But why?" and there was real desperation to the question.
"Because they're my family. Jack. Sam. Teal'c." He said each name separately, with great care, as if he were savoring the meaning in every sound, as if he could not bear to mispronounce them. As if those syllables meant more than the living breath with which he made them. "They accepted me, made friends with me—they care about me. They let me care about them. Without them I could still learn, still seek knowledge, but it wouldn't mean anything if I couldn't give it to them, or help them with it. There'd be no point. Their friendship is the best part of me, and I would rather be dead and exist only in their memories, than live with only memories of them. Without them, my life, my knowledge, everything I do, is nothing. I am nothing. Everything that matters about me is what I share with them."
"You speak the truth." There was a new note to the alien voice, a grave gentleness, heavy with import.
"Show us," one of the others requested suddenly. "Will you show us what you share?"
He heard a quiet hiss. Then one being moved forward, where the clear partition had been, only now there was nothing separating them.
The alien extended its robed arm. If he were Jack he might have grabbed the chance to make a move, taken a hostage...but would they even care what he did to one of them, and besides he was not Jack. Hesitantly Daniel reached out, and within the cavernous sleeve he clasped a hand—not a human hand, too large, too dry. The fingers were too many and jointed wrongly, the skin too smooth in places, too rough in others. At his fingertips he felt a brush of something soft and fine, fur or feathers.
He looked up and within the great hood he thought he saw a glimmer of wide-set, silver eyes, angular triangles, gazing back at him.
Then he was tumbling through memories, remembrances he knew well. His own. Flashes of tragedy, his parents' screams, Sha're—discovery, the stargate, excitement of a journey beyond even his dreams—the disbelief of others echoing in an empty auditorium—Dr. Jordan's face when he told the professor he was leaving—his grandfather leaving him, a new soldier in the war which had claimed so many others—the battles, fighting, so many deaths, so much loss, everyone loses in a war—
And then everything was lucid, simple, without pain. He was in Teal'c's quarters, sitting cross-legged, the warm glow of candles flickering under his closed lids, with Teal'c's deep, calm voice telling of his own first training in kel'no'reem, of the pressure of his symbiote's need and the punishments for failure. Confessions Teal'c had never made before, given only because he had asked, but with no regret and no hesitation, only patience and even gratitude; and they sat and Teal'c spoke and he listened, until the golden patterns of fire and the low, tempered rhythm of his words guided them together into the trance. Peace, amid chaos.
He was in Sam's lab, while she was explaining some esoteric concept of astrophysics, and just keeping up with the vocabulary was a challenge, he kept having to break down her words into their component Greek roots to have any idea what she was talking about. But her excitement at her findings was identical to his own, swept him along until he was drawn in, talking as fast as she was, one scientist's joy multiplied by the reflection in the other until both were breathless from the sheer thrill of discovery. Understanding, amid ignorance.
He was at Jack's house, only a few weeks after Sha're died, playing chess, and Jack was losing, badly, until halfway through the match he declared they were playing an unusual variant of the game in which the goal was to lose all of one's pieces as quickly as possible. It was such an idiotic excuse that he had chuckled before he could help himself, and Jack had grinned that he had been able to provoke such a response, and it didn't matter who won or lost or what the game even was; it was the act of playing it with him that made all the difference. Laughter, amid grief.
And all four of them were together on a world billions of miles from any of their birth places, and he stepped forward to talk to a race none of their peoples had ever laid eyes on before, but he wasn't afraid because at his back were his teammates, and he had Teal'c's protection and Sam's encouragement and Jack's trust, all his friends supporting him while he did what he was there to do.
Then he was back in the obsidian chamber, and the alien was withdrawing its hand, was gliding back to rejoin the others. But no hiss indicated the partition returning.
Without the barricade between them, the beings' voices sounded both more and less human, not distorted, but their cadence was more definitely alien, the feeling harder to read but pronounced nonetheless. "We understand," they said, all speaking as one, and a single voice continued,
"You are different, but equal. You are many together, as we are, but also many separate, and the difference is weakness and strength. The loss of one changes all others. The position filled by one cannot be replaced; a new position must be created, and there is pain in creation, as there is pain in change. Both are necessary in time, but we will not cause this need. We would like to ally with you, but our method of study must be altered to preserve good relations. We will not harm you or kill you, but we would learn from you, if you would teach us. You may return, all of you, and decide together with the others of your people whether you wish to continue negotiations."
Behind him Daniel heard three inhalations, three pairs of lungs freed to draw air again. He didn't look back, didn't dare risk meeting their eyes. Didn't want to ask what they had heard, if they had listened, if they had even had a choice.
The hard soles of their boots clinked on the black floor as they came forward. Strangely quiet—from Teal'c he expected it, but for Jack to not have a comment was new. A hand touched his shoulder and he had to steel himself not to flinch away. "Daniel?"
Unable to read her tone, he wished briefly for the aliens' abilities as he said, "I'm okay." He gazed forward steadily at the robed figures of the Na'tin'ketr. "So we can go?"
The being might have been smiling, to tell from its light alto. "You can."
Jack didn't know what had surprised General Hammond more—that SG-1 had walked through the stargate only four hours behind schedule, or that they walked through at all, not one of them dragged or carried, with the worse injuries to show a shallow cut and a set of bruised knuckles, both Daniel's. They had the debriefing as soon as Dr. Frasier cleaned him up, without so much as a stitch or a Tylenol, to the good doctor's amazement.
The general was distinctly unsurprised at the success of their mission—why should he be? Daniel had pulled off more difficult negotiations before. It was only his word that the Na'tin'ketr wouldn't harm whoever else was sent to talk with them, but in diplomatic affairs with alien races you couldn't get much better than Dr. Jackson's word. Hammond started assembling a team immediately.
Their technology was definitely something worth pursuing. The contrivance which had transported them from the obsidian holding cell to the Stargate, to O'Neill had felt uncomfortably like being shot through a pneumatic tube like a capsule at a bank's drive-through, but Carter had been well-nigh ecstatic and was still going on about localized anti-gravity whenever anyone gave her a chance. And Teal'c had confirmed that he knew of no Goa'uld devices which worked like their paralysis forcefields, full-body stasis which allowed the mind to stay conscious. Jack wondered what the practical applications of such a thing could be, since unlike its inventors humans couldn't read minds, but he would be happy to have any toy the Goa'uld didn't.
As well as technology, the Na'tin'ketr possessed a great deal of data on cultures gleaned from a variety of races. Though their collection methods were at times objectionable, they were even more willing to share that knowledge than their other sciences, which should have pleased SGC's premier archeologist.
And might have, for all Jack knew; he had seen hardly a glimpse of Daniel since the debriefing a week ago.
They had been...inspecific in the actual report. They had given Daniel full credit; it had been his show all the way and he had performed admirably. They all agreed that his arguments had won their case, beyond a doubt, but as to what those arguments actually were...
It wasn't that they didn't remember. Jack had learned when you are stuck in place and can't move a muscle, you tend to pay attention to what goes on around you—not much else to do. He had never realized how relaxingly distracting it was just to be able to tap his foot. Be that as it may, he had listened to every word. And wasn't likely to forget them.
At the end, when Daniel reached his final plea, impossible not to tell from the desperation in his voice that he was at the end of his rope—he had started talking crazy, words pouring out too fast as he went on about friendship, about what friends meant...laying it on a bit thick, Jack had wanted to say. Wanted to remind him that these aliens might not think like people but they could spot a line of BS, and blatant exaggeration was probably a bad idea...
'You speak the truth,' the alien had said, and Jack had heard Daniel's breathing hitch, and it hit him like a train that it had been no lie at all, not in the heart of the one who said it. No hyperbole, no misquoting. Just plain truth.
They didn't mention any of those specifics in the official report, but after the debriefing Jack had stayed in Hammond's office. He asked to speak off the record, and off the record he had told the general, not everything, but some of it, the gist of what Daniel's arguments had come down to. And Hammond hadn't been surprised by that, either. He had nodded solemnly, said, "I see, Colonel," and dismissed him, before Jack had a chance to say anything else. Like ask for the advice a family man might be able to provide—Jack had been a family man himself once, but that was too long ago, and he had put too much effort into forgetting what it was like to recall it now.
Besides, he had never had a brother.
He had gone to Daniel's lab in the hopes of having one of their stumbling conversations in which neither of them knew what they wanted to say and yet they always managed to say it anyway, clearly, often without words. The Na'tin'ketr had nothing on them when it came to mind-reading, sometimes. But Daniel's door had been closed and hung with the 'do not disturb' sign Hammond had officially sanctioned a couple years ago, when it became evident that the archeologist had a hell of a time getting anything done with people barging in all day long. Of course, being naturally polite and eternally eager to educate others in his discipline, Daniel didn't mind interruptions that much, and usually forgot he even had the sign.
Usually. Jack had seen more of that damn sign this week than he in the past year. He would have gotten the general to countermand it if he could have come up with a decent excuse for him to do so. As it stood, he couldn't see the archeologist in his lab, and he had seen him only once outside it in the last six days, when SG-1 went on a routine geological survey mission that had, wonder of wonders, stayed routine. Daniel had acted no different than usual in the field, maybe quieter but there being no indigenous peoples and no trace of any in the past, there wasn't much for him to talk about. Once they returned he disappeared back inside his lab the moment his medical exam was done, and the sign had gone back up.
It was up now. Thwarted again, Jack went to Carter's lab instead, and scored two for the price of one. The major was seated in front of one of her gadgets, the thing that looked like a giant microscope but wasn't, but she wasn't peering into the eyepiece. Instead her stool was swiveled around toward Teal'c, who stood before her, leaning down slightly so she wouldn't have to crane her neck too much to look him in the eye. They were conversing in low, urgent tones, and didn't pause until Jack rapped on the metal doorframe and asked, "Hey, kids, what's up?"
Carter's head jerked up with a start; Teal'c, who almost certainly had heard him coming, straightened and turned to him. Both gazed at him with such intensity that he felt like one of Carter's atomic whatsits under analysis. "There you are, sir," the major said.
Jack waited for her to elaborate; when she didn't, he pushed, "What? You were talking about me?"
"Not exactly, sir." Carter bit her bottom lip but didn't break eye contact. "We were talking about Daniel."
"Daniel Jackson has not had a meal with me since our mission to PX1-104, though I have twice asked him if he would like to join me," Teal'c said.
"Not with me, either," Carter expanded. "I haven't even seen him in the commissary."
"Eating off-base is better for the tastebuds and the stomach. He's a smart guy, what do you expect," Jack remarked, wondering as he said it how many candy bar wrappers would they find in the archeologist's trash. They were probably better off not knowing. Daniel on a scholarly tear could singlehandedly keep Hersey's in business.
"That's if he's eating at all," Carter said, proving her thoughts went along similar tracks. "Also, I've asked him to help me with a couple things, but he hasn't showed. I know he's as overworked as I am, but he hasn't been in his lab every time I've been by."
"And the rest of the time the sign's been up." Jack pulled one of the wheeled chairs over, spun it and straddled it backwards, resting his elbows on the backrest. "Okay, your point is made. He's avoiding us. Suggestions?"
Carter sighed. "If only he'd talk to us."
"Talking's what got us into this mess."
"It also got us out of PX1-104," Teal'c stated.
Jack frowned. "Maybe we should tell him we didn't hear anything."
"Lie to him, sir?" Carter crossed her arms. "And that will convince Daniel he can trust us?"
'Got a better idea?' Jack almost snapped, but stopped himself in time. She was right. It came down to trust. Daniel trusted them with his life, with his knowledge...but he drew the line somewhere between his mind and his heart.
And wasn't that a kick in the ass—the man had known the inner workings of Jack O'Neill's heart for some years, had deduced what he hadn't somehow inveigled to be told outright. Until the incident with the crystalline Unity, Daniel had been the only one in the SGC who knew the whole story about Charlie. Daniel remained the only one who knew more than the barest facts of his time in the Iraqi prison; some months after Hadante Daniel had drawn the account out of him, late one night. Jack didn't even have beer as an excuse for that disclosure; he had been stone sober. Somehow Daniel wanting to know, asking so calm, had loosened his tongue more in one night than that shrink had been able to do in half a year. Maybe because Daniel hadn't wanted to know how Jack felt, what he thought about it; he had just wanted the story. And once he had it he hadn't needed to say his sympathy aloud; his sitting through it was enough.
He had told Daniel more than a Catholic tells his priest or an honest man tells his wife, and yet Daniel hadn't trusted him or the others with a truth that must have been burning into him for a good long time now. And maybe Jack was angry that he hadn't said it sooner, without being forced into it; or maybe he was angry because he shouldn't have had to hear it at all. It should have been one of those things they got across without words, and maybe Daniel had tried to tell him, but he hadn't understood. For a professional linguist, Daniel sucked at communicating sometimes.
And maybe the greater proportion of his rage was self-directed, which still left plenty for Daniel, but all in all Jack was more to blame. He should have seen it. He more than any of them—Teal'c and Carter might be as close to Daniel, but their perspective was wrong. Carter was so used to having a family, between her father and her brother and his household, that she couldn't really conceive of not having one. And Teal'c had his wife and kid, but more importantly Teal'c had always been part of something larger. He had spent most of his life as a slave, living for another—Teal'c for all his honor and strength was still learning how to be an individual, how to be alone at all. He didn't have an idea what it was like to be completely on one's own. And he would always have Junior...
But Jack had been there himself, almost entirely cut off from everyone, and although in his case he had put himself there, he should still be familiar enough with the basic condition to recognize it. He had tried his damndest not to hold onto anyone, only to figure out at last that the only way to manage that was to die, because otherwise someone would always be holding onto him—and he had been well on his way toward that solution, slipped out from that fate by a hair's breadth.
Daniel wasn't trying for it, but the end result was the same, everyone lost to him, one by one, and he had come to the same realization, or maybe the converse: that when everyone was gone, he would be, too; there would be nothing of him left. So he was taking a gamble, throwing everything remaining into SG-1 and trying to get by without any other bonds to anyone, to spare himself the pain when they were severed. Totally missing that relationships worked both ways, and even if he cut himself loose there were others not so willing to set him adrift.
Considering how ingrained honesty was in the man, Daniel was remarkably apt at lying to himself. Good enough to fool the Na'tin'ketr, even. There had to be a way to snap him out of this. Jack wasn't sure if a sharp, swift kick to the head would do the trick, but short of getting all of the SGC to gather in a circle around the archeologist singing 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow'...
Hmm.
"We've got to do something," O'Neill growled, slapping the back of the chair for emphasis. Teal'c and Carter glanced to him with surprise at the outburst, and Jack briefly wondered how long he had been lost in thought. See, kids, your CO does take out his brain and dust it off, once in a while. "We gotta show him just how wrong he is."
"Sir?"
"Shh, Carter. Thinking." Jack grinned. "Got it. Need to clear it with the general, and then I'll need your help. Don't worry, this'll be fun. And it'll get Daniel out of that damn lab, too."
Two days later, armed with General Hammond's permission, Jack opened the door to the archeology lab, sign and all, and entered the lion's den. Which was less a figurative expression than usual because Daniel was in fact surrounded by lions, as well as tigers, panthers, and wolves, mostly made of clay or stone and enhanced by images, hard copy and on computer screens, of more such creatures. Dr. Jackson himself was taking notes on his laptop while he compared a printout with one of the statues, a crouching beast Jack didn't even attempt to identify.
"Hey, Daniel," the colonel said.
"Jack," Daniel replied without looking up, in his best preoccupied, 'you can talk to me because it doesn't matter, I'm too busy to listen anyway' tone—not one which Jack heard all that often, but it never failed to irritate him.
He did what he usually did and ignored it. "Whatcha doing?"
For an instant everything was normal. Daniel's eyes flicked up to him and back to the paper, and he began to rattle off, "A cross-cultural comparison of predatory beast representations in post-Egyptian, post-Ra cultures. Several of the Goa'uld we've encountered have adopted not just religious iconography but specifically animal—" He stopped, like an internal plug had been pulled, shrugged and ended, "Been meaning to look into it for a while. Figured I'd get a start on it while I had the time."
"Uh huh. Sounds, um, interesting."
Daniel snorted. "Yeah, I bet. Want to help me compare the carbon dating of this Olmec jaguar with SG-7's latest find?"
So that was what the rock was—didn't look like any jaguar Jack had ever seen. "I'll pass."
"Have it your way." Daniel bent back over statue and page.
Well, that could have gone better. Jack leaned over the table, said again, "Hey, Daniel. You want to, ah, talk about it?"
Daniel didn't look up. "About what?"
It would especially be going better if Daniel would just give him an inch. Jack ground his teeth. "You know. PX1-104. The Napkins. Na'tin'ketr, whatever."
"What about them?"
He really wasn't showing any mercy. Jack lost his nerve and went with it. "The negotiations are working out, the general says. SG-9's gone back and forth three times with no problems. The Nats know enough human physiology to whip up a mean barbecue, too. Perez told me they got a native rabbit-turtle thing that tastes like chicken."
That got him nothing and he couldn't tell if Daniel was listening, but since it was rare for the archeologist to tune him out entirely—Daniel was actually an adept multi-tasker, predilection for obsessive focus on artifacts aside—he boldly laid on. "On the exchange of knowledge front things are going swimmingly. Well, the technology exchange might not be as good as some would like, they aren't much for weapons, and their power generators are kinda lethal for their operators sometimes, which they don't see as an issue but our government won't hold with. But everyone's been enjoying themselves as far as culture-sharing goes. They had Lieutenant Murphy talk about his mother for three hours. He said it was very therapeutic, and they didn't even charge him."
Still nothing, though at least Daniel hadn't started muttering translations under his breath. Jack, getting impatient, used what opening he had to strike, hard and fast. "I hear the Nats would like to talk with you again. Want me to ask Hammond to schedule us for another chat?"
Daniel's shoulders stiffened and he shook his head rapidly before he recovered enough to say aloud, "Rather not, if it's all the same to you."
"I dunno." Jack kept his tone deliberately casual. "They weren't that bad, once they got over the dissect us like lab rats thing. And they had some interesting things to say. Come to think of it, so did you..." As soon as the words were out Jack mentally smacked himself. Smooth, O'Neill. Way to keep it subtle.
Daniel didn't take the opportunity, though the set of his back became even more rigid. Jack considered laying a hand on his shoulder, shake out some of that tension, but his friend wasn't one for physical contact and Jack had become more conscious of that over time. It might not always be unwelcome, but Daniel was sensitive to manipulation and right now it would only drive him further away.
He debated what to do in lieu of a literal nudge—dammit, had to be the hard way. Jack was an action guy; words were infinitely more difficult to handle. He relied on Daniel to provide the vocabulary, to put the team's thoughts into language. And this just proved how much he was needed, lay down once and for all the honest truth that their team didn't function apart; they had become so good, so used to working together that even when they were off-duty that fact still held.
Jack realized suddenly that he knew exactly how Daniel felt; dependency scared the hell out of him, too, but how was he supposed to come out and say that? Confessions were one thing, cowardice another altogether...
And he had been too long without talking, because Daniel took matters into his own hands. He raised his head from his notes, said with quiet precision, "I'm sorry."
Jack had no idea how to respond, could not follow his train of thought when his own stream of consciousness had drifted so off-course. He groped for possible meaning. "Sorry for what? Sorry for winning us a new ally? Sorry for saving our asses while you did it? Sorry for caring about your friends? Sorry for leaving my coffee maker on after pouring the last cup—if you're the one who did that, by the way, it's unforgivable."
Daniel's mouth twisted in a successful attempt not to smile. "Don't think it was me but I'll remember not to tell you if it turns out it was."
"Then what are you sorry for? 'Cause I think Carter, Teal'c, and me can find it in our hearts to forgive you for the rest."
"It's not..." Daniel pushed aside his printout and the statue, ran one hand through his hair as if to brush back bangs which hadn't been long enough to fall in his eyes for a year now. Then he wrapped his arms around his chest in that familiar, not-quite-defensive posture, fixed his gaze at a point somewhere above and to the right of Jack's head.
When he began to speak Jack wasn't surprised to hear the low, rapid tone of exposition he usually adopted when discussing something personal, all but tripping on the words in an effort to get it over with as soon as possible. "When I was going for my second PhD, I had a couple close friends...one was this girl. Woman. Sara."
"Sarah?" Jack echoed without meaning to, then could have kicked himself. After this long shouldn't that name have lost some of its power?
Daniel gave a faint smile of understanding. "Yeah, Sara. Anyway, we went out for a few years."
"Went out—as in, dating?"
Another ghost of a smile. "Unless the meaning's changed lately. Yes. Girlfriend and boyfriend."
Jack nodded and hoped his surprise wasn't showing. He really didn't know Daniel—okay, he had never really thought about, had somehow just assumed Sha're had been the first, though considering how many females seemed to go for the geek in glasses look he should have guessed. "So what happened with you and this Sara?"
Daniel shrugged. "We split up when I left my professor to pursue my, ah, more radical theories. Had a big fight—that's not really the point."
"And that is?"
"Well..." Daniel faltered, gaze dropping to the desktop. Pushed on as if realizing there was no other way out. "Sara was a good friend, we had a lot of fun together. But when she actually got serious, told me...how much she liked me, I never could give her what she wanted to hear. That's what really happened. Wasn't me leaving Professor Jordan. I just...I didn't want to hurt her but I couldn't lie to her. Couldn't pretend to feel something I didn't. She said goodbye, I was okay with it, missed some things but my work was more interesting. I thought it was me—something missing in me. Until I met Sha—" He closed his mouth before her name escaped, clenched his jaw and exhaled through his teeth. "I get it now, it's no one's fault. It doesn't work both ways; just because something is special to one person doesn't make it mean the same to others. I just wish I hadn't hurt Sara. And I don't want to..."
He trailed off, but Jack had finally twigged onto his thoughts and could finish the sentence—don't want to put anyone else in that position. Though good grief, the situations were totally different...to begin with SG-1 sure the hell wasn't dating their archeologist. He opened his mouth to respond, but what did Daniel want him to say? We care about you, you're one of the team, we'd die for you, same as you would for us. What would be the point? He knew all that already. Wasn't enough.
You're family. You're irreplaceable.
In the end, all that came out was a hesitant, questioning, "Daniel..."
"Jack." Daniel looked up, intensity blazing in his face. He licked his lips once, said carefully, "Jack, you're my friend, right?"
Damn straight—or just another lie; more than that, Daniel, and you know it. "Yeah," he said aloud. "Yeah, we're friends."
Daniel closed his eyes, so Jack couldn't see if the relaxing of his shoulders was relief or resignation. When he opened them again all that was there was black pupil and blue iris, unreadable. "That's enough," he said.
Picked a hell of a time to start lying to me, Danny...but Jack didn't know how to refute it. And then it was too late; whatever the moment was, it had passed, and somehow their old unspoken understanding had slipped through the cracks. Daniel was looking at him now with an easy expectancy, waiting for the snappy comeback. Which Jack was dismayed to find he didn't have.
So he let it slide, and beat a strategic retreat to his original purpose in coming. "Daniel, there's something you need to come and see."
Daniel picked up his printout and like that everything was business as usual. "I've got a lot of work here, Jack; I'd like to get a good start on it before tomorrow's mission."
"This can't wait."
Daniel cocked an eyebrow at him. "Which is why you've been beating around the bush for fifteen minutes now."
"Not more than ten. Your time sense sucks. Besides, we, uh, kind of needed to, you know..."
No, he didn't, his still uninterpretable stare seemed to shout, but that could have been a lie as well. Jack had the uncomfortable feeling that the resolution he craved would not be so easily won—but it could wait, and today's event would be a step in the right direction. Far better than his own blundering, if he could just get Daniel there.
Jack considered calling in the big guns, i.e. Teal'c, who could pick Daniel up and carry him there under one arm—no, that probably wouldn't go over well. He opted instead to reach over to Daniel's computer, hit save to preserve whatever he had up, and switched off the laptop.
"Hey!" Daniel protested. "I was in the middle of—"
"--heading down to the gateroom with me."
Daniel eyed him cautiously, even as he put down the papers and covered the statue. "What's in the gateroom?"
"Told you. Something you need to see."
Behind the glasses Daniel's eyes were narrowed, but he followed the colonel out of the lab and into the hall, mouth closed tight, manfully swallowing the rampant curiosity that must be eating him alive. Jack couldn't help bouncing on his toes in the elevator, and at Daniel's increasingly suspicious glare he had to cough before he cracked up.
"Take it it's nothing dangerous?" Daniel finally asked.
"You'll have to tell us that," Jack returned, calculatedly cryptic.
Once they disembarked from the elevator at level 28, Jack maneuvered so that Daniel was the first through the shielded doors into the gateroom. He made certain to be at an angle to see his expression when he threw on the lights and shouted, along with everyone already in the room, "Surprise!"
Daniel's draw dropped then, with the open-mouthed astonishment usually reserved for sites with the Ancients script and that meaning of life stuff. He backed away from the crowd, which included nearly all of the SGC plus a few select others, and seemed inclined to bolt, except he bumped into Jack behind him. Then the gateroom doors slid shut with a final clang and one of Frasier's nurses thrust a glass of punch into his hand.
Daniel blinked down at the pink liquid swirling in the cup and hissed urgently, "Jack, my birthday's not until July!"
Jack grinned. "We know. This is a congratulations on the new alliance blow-out—a 'way to bullshit those aliens' party."
"Jack, I didn't—"
"You most definitely did. Face it, you're the hero of the day—and you're not squirming out of it, so you better just sit back, drink the punch—though I'd avoid the orange bowl—and let everyone show you how important—how irreplaceable Dr. Jackson is to the SGC. And beyond." He snagged the arm of a young man in green fatigues talking with Teal'c, and shoved him in Daniel's direction.
Daniel gaped. "Skaara?"
"Dan-yel!" The Abydonian threw his arms around his brother-in-law, grinning and chattering a mile a minute in a mix of his native tongue and English.
Daniel responded in turn, with both the languages, and the smile, Jack was happy to see, and while the latter wasn't as wide as it once had been, it was as heartfelt as ever.
He sensed someone approach to flank him, didn't need to look to identify them. "Great party, Carter."
"Thank you, sir." Glancing over, he saw her eyes too were on their teammate, who was still smiling at Skaara as Teal'c joined their conversation. A lab tech clapped him on the shoulder in passing and Daniel gave him a friendly nod in acknowledgment, and if his eyes were shuttered yet, well, there weren't many who would notice.
"This was a good idea on your part, sir," Carter said.
"I have them occasionally."
"I think it's what he needed."
"I hope so."
"If it isn't, he always has us."
"You got that right," Jack agreed. And they weren't going anywhere.
Though watching Daniel being jostled by the milling crowd, surrounded by people who cared and yet somehow still separate, chattering on cheerfully with so much unsaid... He thought about what had been said, about how only SG-1 would be hurt, and how they would recover.
And he thought about what Daniel had just told him about that old girlfriend, and he thought about the word Daniel hadn't used, then, or with the Na'tin'ketr, for all his talk of friendship and family and caring, even though it was at the root of what they had wanted to understand. Should have tried it, Daniel—not all four letter words are swears. The aliens must have heard it by now; didn't have to be a linguist to know that one. Jack used to use it casually all the time, though not anymore...and maybe he should, maybe some things should be said, not just understood. It can work both ways, if you let it, and sometimes even if you don't.
But Jack found himself wondering, even with the entire SGC toasting his honor, even with his friends there for him whether he expected it or not, just how much was it going to take to make Daniel believe that truth.
Didn't matter. They'd do it eventually. SG-1 could teach an alien species what family meant. Sooner or later they'd get through to their own, too.