STARGATE SG-1 29 Hall of the Two Truths (19 page)

“Assuming either of us has a choice, tell me why he would not be better off with his father, instead?”

Teal’c had expected this. “Because his father has pledged himself to the cause of the Tau’ri.” Bra’tac had never fully understood his devotion to the SGC. “Even if Colonel O’Neill, Major Carter and Daniel Jackson are dead as well, were I to return I would be compelled to carry on in their memory, fighting side by side with other members of the SGC. If you go, however, I know Rya’c will be cared for and well trained, as I was, so that someday he might carry on the fight in my name.”

“Carry on the fight,” repeated Bra’tac. “Against the Goa’uld.”

“Indeed.”

“Against our gods — the very gods to whom we owe our health and vitality, our very existence.”

It took barely a heartbeat before the comprehension of Bra’tac’s words brought Teal’c’s staff weapon up and turned against his old friend. Even then he was not quick enough. With tremendous force the old man swung his own staff downward, striking Teal’c’s hands where they gripped the shaft. With a cry of pain, Teal’c dropped the weapon. Bra’tac snatched it up and gave Teal’c a broad, feral smile, pointing both staffs at him.

“Is this the punishment of the gods?” snarled Teal’c, his chest heaving. “Am I now to be sent to oblivion as well? Never to be known or remembered?”

Bra’tac’s eyes narrowed. “
Shol’va
!” He spat the epithet. “Would that the name ‘Teal’c’
could
be purged from all of history. Believe me. We shall do our best.”

Loathing rose like bile in Teal’c’s throat. He was beginning to understand. “It was your intention to return with Rya’c all along, was it not? To take back your own life on the pretense of returning with my son. I do not know who you are, but I know Bra’tac would never do such a thing. It is the type of deception only a Goa’uld would attempt.”

The old man’s smile broadened. “Oh I am Bra’tac, Teal’c. Of that you may be certain. But my eyes have at last been opened. Do you not see? Do you not comprehend, even in death, what is truth?”

“Enlighten me,” Teal’c growled. In his heart he still could not believe that Bra’tac, the man who had taught him from his youth that the Goa’uld were false gods, could stand here now and spout such lies.

The old man laughed. “This is Duat, Teal’c.
Duat
. We are dead, but what have we found here? Have you seen great Jaffa warriors feasting at the everlasting banquet? Have you found the spirits of those who have gone before you? Is your father here? Your mother? The many warriors who have fought and died at your side? If the afterlife was as we imagined — as we believed — would these things, these people not be here awaiting us?”

Teal’c could find nothing to say. There was truth in some of Bra’tac’s words. Uncomfortable truth, but truth nonetheless.

“This is not the Jaffa afterlife, Teal’c. This is the underworld of the Goa’uld. We were wrong when we said they were false gods. They are not. They reign in the galaxy and they reign here. And we are at their mercy.”

There was a terrible logic to his words. And yet, if what Bra’tac said was true, then it meant everything he had done, everything he had worked for, sacrificed for, all these years, was meaningless. In his heart Teal’c was not willing to accept that. Not yet.

“You know I speak the truth, Teal’c. You were wrong.
I
was wrong. I have seen the light, but only just in time. And I fear that it is already too late for you.” He pointed with one of the staffs at Rya’c, who was now quite far ahead. “Your son outpaces us with his eagerness for life, Teal’c. If you wish to save him, you must open that passageway; and if you wish to prevent him from suffering your fate, you must allow me to go with him. I will indeed teach him — teach him to honor his god and to serve him. Then, perhaps, one day when he returns to this place, he will be spared your fate and take his place among those whom the gods favor.”

“With you by his side, I have no doubt,” Teal’c observed, coldly.

Bra’tac nodded, his calculating smile returning. “If I am fortunate, yes. Now let us hurry. The gates await, and your son is counting on you.”

“YOU lied to me.”

She’d vowed she wasn’t going to even acknowledge his presence after what had happened at the pit. Her fist had said everything that needed saying. Sam hadn’t glanced back once, although she could hear his footsteps steadily following her like some stray dog that didn’t know enough to go home. That in itself irritated her. And the more she mulled over the entire situation, the harder it was to keep from laying into him. Again.

“I never said he was your teammate,” Martouf replied, as though it hadn’t been nearly an hour since they’d spoken. “You assumed he was, and I did not dissuade you. But I never told you the man in the Pit of Mutu was your friend.”

“That’s the same as a lie.” She would not let him off on a technicality.

“I beg to differ with you. It is not. You merely jumped to a conclusion.”

That stung. Jumping to conclusions was something she was rarely accused of. Her training had taught her to do just the opposite. His implication that she’d let her emotions cloud her perceptions only heightened her annoyance.

“So what was the point of all that, anyway.” She shifted gears. “There are easier ways to kill me than dumping me in a pit of boiling mud.”

“Why would you think I want to harm you in any way?”

“Gee. Why
would
I think that?” She stopped walking and turned to face him. “If you really had my best interest at heart, you’d be upfront about what’s going on here. But instead, you keep up this pretense that you’re Martouf — which is really getting old, by the way.”

He wisely said nothing in reply, managing to look somewhat contrite. He absently probed his swollen jaw and she wondered if he’d concluded that there were times when it was better not to speak. She hoped so.

Spinning back around, Sam resumed walking. The path now was easy. Any trace of snow was far behind them and the landscape had evolved into a series of small, colorless hills. They were effortless to climb but they did block the far horizon, and the smattering of trees across them obscured any long-range view. She hated travelling blind, but the path only led in one direction, so it wasn’t like she had much of a choice.

“How do you do it, anyway?” she asked after a few minutes.

“Do what?”

“Look like Martouf. Sound like him. Know what he was like? I’ve seen devices that allow one person to look like another, so I know it can be done. It’s just that with the copies there are usually discrepancies. But then, I guess if someone could turn the real Martouf into a
za’tarc
, they could probably figure out how to make a pretty convincing doppelganger for him too.” She was fishing. The only device that she was aware of that could do such a thing wouldn’t be able to duplicate the knowledge this Martouf seemed to possess. In many ways the whole thing was flawless. Except for the small detail that the real Martouf was dead.

He was silent for so long, Sam thought perhaps he wasn’t going to reply.

“What if I told you that I really am Martouf, just not entirely the same as you once knew me,” he said at last.

“I know. You’re a
Ba
. Whatever the hell that is.”

“No — that was a lie. I thought, perhaps, you would find that easier to accept than the truth. ”

Sam stopped again, this time so suddenly that Martouf nearly ran into her. Admitting to the lie was the last thing she’d expected from him. Yet there was something in the quietness of his voice that made her hold back her angry retort. “Explain,” she said instead.

“When you shot me — killed me — my injuries were too severe for Lantash to heal. You may not know this, but as a symbiote ages, its ability to heal its host diminishes. Lantash is quite old. Not as old as Selmak, but still quite venerable by Tok’ra standards.” He gave a slight smile before becoming serious again. “When it became evident that he could no longer do me any good, Lantash was removed from this host. I was kept alive by machines long enough for that to happen, and as soon as Lantash was safely placed in stasis, it was the intention of the Tok’ra to disconnect my life support.”

Sam shrugged off a shudder. “What happened?”

The sad smile returned. “I was given a second chance. A Tok’ra, whom I will not name, found another, younger symbiote. He smuggled me away from Revanna and brought me here so I could be implanted and healed. I
am
Martouf, Samantha, but the symbiote within me now is called Anat.”

Of all the ridiculous things he had told her up until now, this, at least, made sense. It fit the evidence too. She had been trying for some time now to speak with the Tok’ra scientists about Martouf and Lantash, but they continued to stonewall her. If someone had smuggled the dying Martouf out of the Tok’ra base, she could see how the knowledge of it would be something they’d want to keep from her.

“That would explain why I can sense the symbiote then,” she mused, more to herself. “But I thought there were no more Tok’ra? Without Egeria, how can there be any young symbiotes?”

He hesitated for just a moment before quietly answering. “I did not say Anat was Tok’ra.”

Sam stepped back, instinctively, her hand tightening around the knife she still held.

“You’re a Goa’uld.” She couldn’t help the note of horror in her voice.

But he was shaking his head. “Anat is neither Tok’ra nor Goa’uld,” he explained. “There are others of the same race who do not subscribe to either philosophy. Anat is one of these.”

Right. And Goa’ulds never lied. “How do you expect me to believe you?” Maybe —
maybe
— she could accept that this really was Martouf, but it would take a whole lot of convincing for her to believe that what was inside of him was a benign symbiote. She’d already met this planet’s welcoming party. ‘Benign’ wasn’t exactly the word she’d use. “What is this, the second or third story you’ve tried to spin since you showed up here? You can’t blame me for not entirely buying this one either.”

“I understand how difficult it is for you to trust me, Samantha. I know I should have explained everything to you from the start. I was worried you might not accept Anat as you did Lantash.”

Had she ever really accepted Lantash? It was almost always Martouf who had spoken when they’d been together. In Jolinar’s memories, however, the two were inexplicably intertwined. She had loved them equally — almost as if they were one being. But Sam had never been able to make that same connection. Lantash, to her, was mostly hidden. It was Martouf to whom she had become so close. In fact, she had done her best
not
to think of Lantash very often, if she could help it. Which was strange, because she never had a problem with Selmak that way.

So Lantash or Anat — it really didn’t make any difference to her — only to the extent that one was Tok’ra and the other was not.

It was the ‘not’ that was worrying her.

“Could you at least explain why I’m even here in the first place? And where are Colonel O’Neill and the others?”

Martouf looked contrite. “It is on my account that you are all here. You see, there is one disadvantage to my current situation — one that I’d hoped to alleviate by trying to convince you that you had no choice but to remain here with me.”

“What disadvantage?” Sam already had a feeling she didn’t like where this was headed.

“Because my injuries were so severe, even Anat could not fully heal them. He must revitalize me on an almost daily basis. To do so, he draws on the unique properties of this planet. Were he to leave here, he could no longer sustain me. If I were to leave here, I would most assuredly die.”

Sam processed that for a moment. She supposed there could be something unique about the planet that would help Anat keep his host alive, but that was beside the point.

“That still doesn’t tell me why I’m here,” she said.

“It’s simple really.” There was that winsome smile again. “I was lonely. I missed you. And I thought, if you believed you were dead as well, you would be content to remain here with me.”

Of course she’d always known he’d felt
something
for her — something above and beyond what remnants of Jolinar she still carried with her. But she’d done her best to keep Martouf’s friendship from ever crossing that invisible line. Apparently she hadn’t been as successful with that as she’d thought. Sam had no idea what to say in response.

“It was, in retrospect, a foolish plan,” he went on when she made no reply. “Made even more foolish by its unintended consequences.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “Which are?”

“The inhabitants of this planet are a dying race themselves. Their hosts have reached the limit of their lifespan. Because of their dependency on the planet, they cannot leave it to search for new ones. Any new hosts must come to them — willingly, as I did, or… unwillingly.”

Now she did feel sick. “So, you brought us here to be hosts?” Sam smiled bitterly. “And you claim you’re not a Goa’uld.”