Team, Part 3
 

Attila cursed again in the ancient Goa'uld dialect. He had vowed revenge. He had vowed it centuries ago, renewed the vow with each humiliation, each hour of torture, each time the System Lords used him for their entertainment. And now, if the mind of this boy could be believed, it was too late. The System Lords had already been vanquished. They were gone. The long era of Goa'uld domination was over, and he would be denied his vengeance.
 
Attila forced himself to continue to scan the data before him. The ship's computers were almost useless, but these traders had traveled extensively in that sector of the galaxy and made meticulous notes of what and whom they'd found. It would be here; he knew it. A planet where he could begin again. He'd done it before, on Earth, building from nothing one of the most powerful armies that planet had ever known. Only the betrayal of the human woman he had allowed himself to love had ended his reign then, causing him to leave the planet in disgust—after murdering the woman in her bed. Even now he could feel the softness of her neck under his hands and see the terror in her eyes as she awoke to see that he had arisen from the dead.
 
And then he had done it again, on Asdoiru, starting from nothing yet gaining enough power from the combined forces of the scattered Jaffa and humans there to make the System Lords take notice—and to lock him away with those. . . .
 
He felt the anger again, burning his insides. They had called him insane for refusing to pretend to be a god. He was a Goa'uld and born to rule. Men, Jaffa, even the beasts followed him when he led; he had no need to hide behind lies.
 
And Attila knew they had not truly believed him insane. The System Lords feared him, and rightly so. So they had imprisoned him with the lowest form of their kind, those beset by madness and confusion, and found ever new ways to torment him until he did, very nearly, lose his mind. In those last months, when no one had come and he and his fellow captives had been forced to feed upon each other to survive, until there were not even a dozen left, he had wondered if this was to be his end, after all the glory and all the suffering: to be the last one remaining, starving slowly to death in that damnable tank, having devoured all the others, even his mate.
 
He was gratified that that had not happened, that Kauket had survived. He looked at her now, trapped in that ridiculous child's body, so small that she could barely fit around the spine, so small that the body was almost certainly damaged beyond repair when she took possession. Even after all these days, she walked with a lopsided gait, dragging one foot behind her. That was something they would have to remedy soon. The ancient, regal and wise Kauket deserved better. She sat now, piloting the poor excuse for a ship, barely able to reach the controls, her feet dangling from the chair. Yet although Kauket had told him that the weeping of the child host was driving her mad—madder, she had said—she would not settle for any new host. She was willing to wait for the perfect combination of knowledge, strength and beauty, male or female, so that she could, she said, rule alongside him.
 
That, he knew, would never happen. Never again would he share power with another and certainly not for love. But he agreed with her choice to wait, and search, for the perfect replacement. He too would seek a new host. As much as he enjoyed the youth and vigor of his new body, he did not want to rule as a boy king. That was Ra's style, not his. And he needed more knowledge than this almost-child had to offer him. Yes, both he and Kauket needed to choose wisely.
 
He heard a smash coming from another compartment and a wild, high-pitched laugh. Serilipum, he thought, with some disgust. Now there was a true madman and one he would make sure would stay in the child's body for as long as possible. If Serilipum's fear of Attila had not been stronger than his bloodlust, Attila had no doubt that he would have tried to attack or kill them both by now, the way he'd killed the boy's grandfather, wasting a host, the way he'd reached back into the tank and twisted the others to pieces, the way he'd tortured and sometimes murdered for years aboard that accursed space station, for the amusement of the System Lords.
 
It was only the early struggle Attila had felt as he tried to wrest control from this boy host that made him take Serilipum with him. Weakened as Attila was by years of torment and starvation, in order to quickly subdue the host, he used the promise to bring his brother with them. He had regretted it almost immediately, but Kauket had convinced him that Serilipum would serve as a most effective enforcer in whatever world they next conquered, and the thought had appealed to him. He, Attila, the great leader and conquerer; Kauket, his wise and ancient mate; and Serilipum, his bloody sword of retribution. They would be unstoppable.
 
Something caught his eye on the screen before him, a STAY AWAY warning, and he scrolled back to find it. Tereiatas. A planet populated by outlaws and miscreants, a place so wild that the government, situated on a far-off world, had virtually ceded control to its inhabitants and to something called the Lucian Alliance. A planet full of men and women motivated, apparently, by nothing more than greed. It sounded perfect, as long as it had a . . . yes, there it was. Tereiatas had a chappa'ai.
 
“Kauket,” he said, turning toward her. “I have found it. I have found our planet.”
 
 
************
 
It was 0730, and Cam was in the locker room at the SGC, changing for a workout. Last night at O'Malley's had been good. He and Sam had probably both had a little too much to drink, and Teal'c had looked on benignly as they had carried on, at one point practicing their best impressions of the various SGC team leaders. Then, at a question from Sam, Cam had started to go on and on about his new team, speaking proudly of how Grogan had taken Kal'toc under his wing, how the young Jaffa seemed to be settling down and how Vala was helping in her own inimitable fashion to bring them together, how he appreciated still having Vala with him, since, he had to admit, she knew him so damn well by now that she knew what he was going to do before he did it.
 
Anyway, he'd gone on and on, until he'd noticed Sam and Teal'c smiling at him, and he'd stopped, suddenly self-conscious. “What?” he'd asked, and Teal'c had said, “You seem to have become most comfortable in your role as team leader of SG-13.”
 
Cam had given that some thought, not such an easy task after six or seven beers, and had admitted that, yeah, it was different, and he missed the old team, but he was enjoying the challenge of creating something new, that he had hopes that SG-13 would soon be the new SG-1, the team everyone else looked up to, and then he had stopped in embarrassment. But rather than laugh at him or raise an eyebrow, Teal'c had given him the first compliment Cam thought the big guy had ever paid him.
 
“Of that we never had any doubt, Cameron Mitchell,” Teal'c had said. And Sam and Teal'c had raised their glasses to him.
 
Damn, he could get used to that.
 
As Cam pushed out of the locker room door, mind still on the future glories of SG-13, he almost ran headfirst into General O'Neill. The two-star general slid smoothly out of the way—not bad for an old guy, thought Cam—and looked at the colonel with raised eyebrows. Cam straightened. “Sorry, sir, I guess I wasn't watching where I was going.”
 
“Evidently not,” Jack said. “Aren't you on downtime, Mitchell?”
 
“Yes, sir.”
 
Jack looked around as if to ascertain that they were still at Cheyenne Mountain, then back at Mitchell.
 
“Just thought I'd get a workout in, sir,” Cam said, feeling foolish. The man still made him nervous as hell.
 
“Well, don't let me keep you,” the general replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
 
“No, sir. Thank you, sir,” Cam said, and started for the gym. Behind him he thought he heard the general mumble, “The man has obviously spent too much time with Daniel and Carter.”
 
Cam shook his head as he stepped into the elevator. O'Neill was right, he thought. He was getting to be like Jackson and Carter, spending his time on base when he should be out in the world somewhere, doing . . . something. Didn't he used to have a life? Here he was with two days' leave, and at 0730 he was on the base heading for the gym. In the meantime Grogan was spending two days with his girl, Kal'toc was visiting his family and Vala was off-world. . . . Cam pushed open the doors to the gym and stopped. Vala was across the room, whaling away at the heavy bag. She wore sweatpants and a tank top and looked mad and, as usual, sexy as hell.
 
Cam walked across the gym until he stood next to the bag. “Vala?”
 
“I'm busy.”
 
“When did you get back?”
 
“A few hours ago.”
 
“You want to talk about it?”
 
Vala expelled a moan of irritation and let loose a roundhouse punch that almost threw the bag into Cam, who stepped back quickly. “No,” she snapped out.

 
“O.K., I get . . .” Cam started to say, when Vala gave an equally adamant “Yes!” followed by “I don't know!”
 
Cam held onto the bag to stop its swinging. “Talk to me,” he said.
 
Vala turned and walked over to one of the benches against the wall. She sat down and slumped back, dropping her gloved hands on her legs. Cam went over and sat next to her and waited, patiently, for her to begin.
 
“The crazy old Goa'uld?” she finally said, still looking straight ahead. “The host's name is Belita and, of course, she's not crazy. We got the O.K. last night, and we brought her back with us. She could sense the Tok'ra symbiotes and it frightened her. She's in one of the VIP rooms.”
 
Cam nodded. He knew from Vala and Sam that being taken as a host was no picnic. “We'll take care of her. She'll be all right.”
 
“No, that's not all of it,” Vala said. “It gets much worse. Belita and her husband were scavengers, traveling with their grandchildren. Yes, you were right,” Vala said, when Cam started, “she's someone's grandmother. They found the asylum, and her husband was killed, and everyone else was taken as a host.”
 
“Everyone?” Cam asked, not quite understanding.
 
“Yes, everyone. Belita, the three children, and their employee.”
 
“They took children as hosts?”
 
Yes, a sixteen year old, a thirteen year old and a . . .” Vala stopped, and for a split second Cam thought she was going to cry. He'd never seen Vala cry, not even when Daniel had been taken by Adria, not when they'd decided they had to kill Adria.
 
Vala composed her features and said, “. . . and a seven year old.”
 
“Jesus,” Cam said.
 
Vala looked at him then and said, “Yes, well, we're going to get the children back, or at least try.”
 
Cam sat up straighter. “She knows where they are?” he asked, wondering why they hadn't already left.
 
“No, she has no idea. We have to find them.”
 
Cam sighed. “Vala, they could be anywhere. I'm not sure Landry will approve. . . .”
 
“Daniel said he'd take care of it,” Vala said, “and Daniel always does what he says he will.”
 
Cam nodded at that. If anyone could get the SGC to throw its resources into searching the universe for three kids, albeit three Goa'uld-infested kids, Doctor Daniel Jackson was the man to do it.
 
 
************
 
 
Teal'c and Sam could hear the raised voices from down the hall. Sam smiled wryly at Teal'c. “Daniel's back,” she said.
 
“It would appear so,” said Teal'c.
 
They came to the door of Jack's office and paused, wondering if they should intervene or wait it out.
 
“Yes, Daniel, it's horrifying, it stinks, I agree, but we can't always fix everything!”
 
“Jack, we can't just do nothing!”
 
“We're not doing nothing. Every team out there already has orders to keep their ears open for information about the escaped Goa'uld.”
 
Daniel's voice grew lower, and Teal'c and Sam leaned toward the door, straining, a bit guiltily, to hear.
 
“It's not enough.”
 
Jack lowered his voice as well. His words were impatient, but his tone showed regret and even sorrow. “What would you have us do, Daniel, pull everyone off their assignments to look for these kids?”
 
“Even just a couple of teams for a couple of weeks could make a difference, Jack,” Daniel said, his voice almost pleading. “I know it's a long shot, but maybe we can save them.”
 
There was a long silence, and Sam and Teal'c looked at each other, both knowing that the general was about to fold.
 
“You promised her, didn't you?” Jack said.
 
“We told her we would try, yes. How could we not, Jack? They're her grandchildren. The littlest one is seven, Jack, seven.”
 
Jack's exasperated sigh was loud enough that both Teal'c and Sam heard it clearly.
 
“I'll talk to Landry,” he said. “It's his call, not mine. I'm sure he'll send a team to the asylum, now that we know from Belita where it is. As for the rest. . . .”
 
“That's all I'm asking, Jack, that you try.”
 
There was a brief silence, then the door swung open before Sam and Teal'c had a chance to step away. They saw Jack, his back already turned to them, heading toward his desk.
 
“You can come in now,” he said. “It's safe.”
 
Sam and Teal'c looked at each other and then at Daniel, who was standing by the desk. He just shrugged. They never knew how Jack managed to do that.
 
Daniel looked tired, Sam noticed, as if he hadn't slept, and he had that old, familiar haunted look in his eyes. She wasn't surprised. She knew he was thinking of Sha're, that every host's story reopened that old wound. And the horror of this story. She and Teal'c had only been given a bare bones report, but it had been more than enough.
 
Sam gave Daniel a small grimace of sympathy, and he gave her a half-smile back. Jack cleared his throat and gestured to the chairs in front of his desk, and she and Teal'c went to take a seat. When Daniel started to do the same, Jack held up his hand.
 
“Daniel,” he said, “what do you think you're doing?”
 
Daniel looked at him, surprised. “We have that meeting about the Solarjai, don't we?”
 
“You don't have to be here. I've got your report, you weren't due back this morning anyway, and you look like shit. Eh, don't interrupt,” he said, stopping Daniel before he could protest. “You know it's true. Go get some sleep. You've made it clear you're not so happy with this mission anyway.”
 
Teal'c turned to Daniel. “Are you no longer enthusiastic about the language exchange program between the Solarjai and Earth, Daniel Jackson?”
 
Daniel grimaced. “I was until we figured out that their most valuable trade item is weapons technology. I was hoping to go a little deeper into their language than big honkin' space guns. ”
 
“The technology has peaceful applications as well, Daniel. . . ,” Sam started to say.
 
Daniel nodded and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Yeah, I know, Sam,” he acknowledged. He looked back at Jack. “I think I will try to get some sleep,” he said, then hesitated. “As soon as I check on Belita—and Vala.”
 
Jack rolled his eyes. “Sleep, Daniel,” he ordered.
 
“Yeah,” Daniel said. He started for the door, then turned back. “And Jack, you might want to point out to General Landry that if we can spend weeks, months even, on negotiations with the Solarjai for weapons, when that isn't even our mandate anymore, then a couple of weeks looking for unbalanced and dangerous Goa'uld and the children they took isn't asking for that much.”
 
“Yes, Daniel,” Jack said, a trifle impatiently. “We get your point. I'll let you know later what Landry says. And we should hear from Area 51 about Ba'al's database soon too—right, Carter?”
 
“Yes, sir.”
 
Daniel nodded. “Thanks, Jack. . . . Sam. Teal'c. I'll see you later.” Daniel walked to the door and left, closing it quietly behind him.
 
Jack sighed, looking after the closed door. “What are the odds that he's actually going to get some sleep?” he asked.
 
“I wouldn't take those odds, sir.”
 
“Nor I, O'Neill.”
 
“Ach,” Jack said, then sat forward and pulled a file that looked suspiciously undisturbed from the pile on his desk. “All right, Carter, what more can you tell us about the Solar High radar thingamajigs?
 
“Daniel's not here to annoy, sir,” Sam said. “Could we possibly dispense with the, uh. . . .”
 
“Stupid act, Carter?” Jack asked, finishing her sentence.
 
Sam smiled. “Yes, sir,” she said.
 
 
************
 
 
Daniel walked away from Jack's office, relieved to not have to sit through another meeting. He had to admit, Jack was right: He was tired. To have listened to Belita's horror story, and then to have continued to batter the distraught woman with questions, to have watched her draw on whatever incredible inner resources she had, again and again, as she reminded herself that it was to save the lives of her grandchildren . . . who were probably already. . . .”
 
No, he wouldn't go there. They didn't know those children, or Ren Starat, were dead. There was still a chance. And to not even look, to not even try? What kind of people would that make them?
 
Daniel stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the VIP rooms level. He'd get some sleep, but first he'd check on Belita, and then he'd go see Vala. He thought again of the look on Vala's face as Belita had her “flashback,” and he wondered what nasty memories that had raised from her days as Qetesh's host. Daniel shook his head. First the whole Ba'al-Chenzira thing, where Vala was forced to face and interact with her rapist, for God's sake, and pretend it didn't matter—until she couldn't pretend anymore. How could they not have seen that; how could he not have seen through Vala's tough act?
 
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes again. And now this, he thought. Hearing Belita describe the violence of Heronus's possession had made his blood run cold. For Vala, who had felt Qetesh pierce the back of her neck and then lived that nightmare for years, it must have been torment. And to be able to imagine so clearly what the children had suffered. . . .
 
Daniel stepped off the elevator and headed in the direction of the room they'd left Belita in in the early hours of the morning. Thankfully, the duty officer, Colonel Wingsten, had not balked when Daniel had requested permission to bring her back. Still, by the time they had cleared things up with the Tok'ra, brought Belita through the Stargate and had her checked out in the infirmary, Belita was close to passing out, and he and Vala weren't far behind.
 
Daniel turned the corner and stopped short. Across from the airman assigned to guard duty at the door of Belita's room, Mitchell was leaning against the wall, staring off into space. He was wearing sweats and sneakers and looking very much off-duty.
 
“Mitchell?” he said. “What's going on?”
 
Cam straightened out a bit and looked at Daniel. “Hey, Jackson, you use your superpowers once again for the good of mankind?”
 
Daniel squinted at his erstwhile team leader. “What?” he said.
 
“I mean,” Cam started to say, then looked at Daniel's rumpled BDUs and tired face and thought better of it. “Never mind,” he said. “You look like crap.”
 
Daniel sighed, and if possible, his shoulders drooped even more. “So I've been told,” he said. “What are you. . . ?” he waved his hand, taking in Belita's room and the hallway, not bothering to finish his question.
 
Cam tilted his head toward the door. “Vala's inside,” he said. “I told her I'd wait.”
 
Daniel squinted at him as if he were perplexed. “She asked you to?” he said, thinking it didn't sound much like Vala to ever admit she'd like or need company.
 
“Nah, she told me not to,” Cam said.
 
Daniel smiled. Now that sounded more like Vala, he thought.
 
“I'll wait with you,” he said, and then he paused. “Although maybe not standing up.” He leaned against the wall and slid down till he was sitting on the floor.
 
Cam looked at him. “Jackson, don't you think you should get some sleep?”
 
“Later,” Daniel said. “I just want to see how they are.”
 
Cam shrugged and slid down the wall as well, until he was sitting next to Daniel. The airman eyed them a little nervously and Cam looked back at the him. “What's the matter, airman, you never see a colonel sit on the floor before?”
 
The chunky, black kid, who at that moment looked impossibly young, started to stutter a reply, but Daniel shook his head at him and held up his hand as if to say, “Don't worry about it,” and the airman stopped talking and put his eyes forward. Even though he was just ribbing the kid, if Mitchell were another kind of officer, he would have been a bit peeved that, at one gesture from a civilian, the airman seemed to forget he was there. But he wasn't that kind of officer, and Jackson was, well, Jackson. Which reminded him.
 
“So, did you work your magic and get Landry to put together a search and rescue for the kids?” When Daniel didn't answer, Cam elbowed him lightly in the side.
 
Daniel, whose head was drooping, sat up straight. “What?”
 
When Daniel's eyes focused, Cam repeated his question: “Did you get Landry to approve a search and rescue?”
 
“Yeah,” Daniel said. “Jack's on it.” Then he leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.
 
Cam shook his head. The man needed a keeper, he thought. He considered waking Daniel and sending him off to bed, but he knew he wouldn't go. Besides, although she'd deny it, it would make Vala happy to see him here, and he figured Vala needed all the cheering up she could get.
 
So Cam let him sleep and tried to avoid the thought that kept needling him while he waited. He knew he was being childish, but it bothered him. “Jack's on it,” he heard Daniel's words in his head, strangely echoing Vala's, “Daniel said he'd take care of it.” He knew Vala had this thing with Daniel, this belief in him; he was used to it—they all were. But Jackson? The Daniel Jackson he knew, while possibly more passionate about right and wrong than anyone he'd ever met, was also as cynical and world-weary as the next guy. Yet the way he said those words—Jack's on it—as if nothing more needed to be said, that was a side of Daniel that Cam had never seen.
 
So, O.K., he had to admit it, he was jealous. They'd been a team, they'd been a great team, but none of them had ever looked up to him like that. Sure, they'd liked him, they'd respected him . . . maybe . . . but that complete faith?
 
Cam sighed. Well, at least he could be here for Vala now, he thought, and for Grogan and Kal'toc if they'd learn to trust him even a little bit. He might not be the great General Jack O'Neill, but he could still do that, couldn't he?
 
In the meantime, he'd wait here for Vala, make sure she was O.K.—make sure no one stepped on Jackson—and then he'd go talk to Landry about getting SG-13 assigned to the rescue mission they were both so certain the general was going to approve.
 
 
part 4 

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