Stargate SG-1: Sacrifice Moon (22 page)

He took a branch out of the patchwork bag, shiny green leaves
gleaming in the firelight, and dropped it on the marble in front of
Carter.

"Take it," he said to her. "When you wake tomorrow with the
blood of friends in your mouth, you will thank me for what comfort
the gods allow."

uch as he wanted to, Jack couldn't hate the old guy. Sure, he'd
tried to poison them; sure, he was foisting off suicide pills on
Carter and Daniel with gay abandon. But there was a kind of dignity
to it that was tough to argue with. Daniel had palmed some of the
leaves and baggied them - when he'd seen Jack looking, he'd sworn
it was for analysis later, back at the SGC. And Jack had let him do
it, and he wasn't really sure why. Maybe because he knew Daniel.
He wouldn't have trusted himself with an easy out, in that situation,
but Daniel had been through hell and back, not just once but at least
twice, and suicide had never even occurred to him.

Carter... two days ago, Jack would have said that Carter could
be trusted with anything up to and including the nuclear football and
launch codes. Now... not so sure. She was quiet, watchful, looking
at these skinny refugees with new awareness. She wasn't just the
visiting Western missionary who could drop off powdered milk and
cheese and run back to the Sheraton; she was in this thing, body and
soul. One of them. One of the victims, maybe for the first time in her
life. Jack was used to it, and he knew it came as no shock to Daniel
and Teal'c, but Carter was having a real learning experience. And he
was keeping an eye on the shiny green leaves, just in case.

Laonides was answering Daniel's question about Artemis. In true
archaeologist fashion, he was asking after origins, history, the shape
behind the shadows. Not that it was going to help them much, Jack
strongly suspected, but that was Daniel - full disclosure. He listened
with half his attention as he watched a woman across the room lying
on the floor - a skeleton in rags - drag in one meaningless breath after
another. No life left in those eyes. Just a fatalistic sense of waiting.

"The goddess Artemis feeds on slaughter," Laonides was saying.
"Our deaths are meat and drink to her. Once she ruled this city in
peace, so the legends say, but for a thousand years, she has consumed
it, destroyed it, drained it of life. Our worlds, where the Chappa'ai reaches, feared to make war on her, and began to send sacrifices to
appease her. So it has been. So it will continue. It allows our worlds,
our people to live in peace."

Daniel was stung. "You can't - you can't just continue to placate
her. She's killed thousands - "

"Hundreds of thousands," the old man agreed, unmoved. "And our
sacrifices allow millions more to live. It is the duty we owe our families, our states and our worlds. Would you not do the same?"

"No," Jack said, and bit down on a cracker. "I'm all for duty and
sacrifice, don't get me wrong. But the time comes to take the fight to
the enemy, not just survive."

"She is a goddess." Laonides made an unfamiliar motion with his
hands; some kind of shrug, Jack thought. "Goddesses do not die. Men
die, and so will we all. But go to her temple, and you will die quickly,
and to no purpose. Stay, friends. Stay and live for a time. You are not
unpleasant, as company."

Yeah, like I'd bed down here, with you at my back. The old guy
looked harmless and well-meaning, but the poison had been a
dead - no pun intended - giveaway. He had a knife out for them, one
that would come in the dark and in the back. They had too much he
wanted.

Unexpectedly, it was Teal'c who spoke up. "I served a god for
many years." His deep, booming voice echoed through the room with
warmth and power, and everyone turned toward him. "I tell you that
the gods can die, and they are not truly gods. You owe them no worship and no obedience. You must fight for your lives, if you would
live free. This I have learned."

And Jack was genuinely proud to know him, too. That little speech
had cost him. There was a solemn, respectful silence in the room
afterward, and then Laonides inclined his head in acknowledgement.
"But we are not fighters," he said. "We cannot do more than die, and
you will need more than just you four to kill a god."

"You'd be surprised," Carter said, and gave him an urchin's
smile that wiped out whatever lingering doubts they had about her
half-black collar. "Unless you can suggest somebody, of course. We
wouldn't turn down help."

"The Dark Company," one of the women murmured, keeping her eyes down; Laonides sent her a quelling glance, but didn't speak.
"Honored father, perhaps the Dark Company would speak with
them."

"Perhaps." Laonides crossed his arms, sat back and frowned
fiercely. "It is a dangerous thing to do, to approach them. I have done
it only twice, and both times nearly paid with my life. Are you bold
enough, friend Jack? To risk so much?"

"Who's the Dark Company?" Carter asked, and Jack pretty much
knew the answer just from the look Laonides gave her. The look that
lingered on the half-black collar at her throat. He remembered the
first murder victim they'd seen, bleeding out his life and whispering
the name.

Hunters. Had to be. The same dark, elusive shadows that had been
tracking them, on and off, since the beginning.

Laonides shrugged. "Survivors, like me. By day, they cling to who
they were, but by night they are a killing pack. They are fewer, these
days. I do not think you will find help there, but they hate and fear the
goddess, this much is true."

"Where do we find them?"

"Closer to the temple," he said. "There was a great theater, once.
They shelter there by day. But they are strong. Be wary."

"Oh, I'm always wary." He locked eyes with Laonides, and knew
his own expression was as hard and cold as any of those shattered
marble statues. "Feed these people."

"Which...?"

"The ones you're letting die in the comers," he said, and tossed
over another unopened NIRE. Chicken Parmesan. Rice. Pound cake.
"Get `em ready to move."

"Move?" Laonides' expression slid toward a frown. "This is our
only safe haven. Where should we - "

"Next time you see us, we're taking you to the Stargate. Chappa'ai.
And you're going home to tell your folks that Artemis is out of business." Jack stood up, checked his watch, and nodded at the others,
who quickly gathered up their stuff. "Get ready."

Laonides rose too, dignified despite the tattered robes, the ratty
hair and beard. A survivor, no question about it; Jack recognized the
strength, he'd seen it in the darkest holes of prison camps and battle fields. Strength wasn't always honorable. Sometimes the strong got
strong on the blood of the weak.

The man reached out and grabbed his elbow, and Jack let him do
it. "Don't promise such things," he said softly. "Don't raise our hopes.
Disappointment is a fatal thing, here."

"I'm telling you you're going home," Jack repeated. "You decide
what you want to believe."

He slid on his sunglasses, armored up, and glanced at Carter. She
nodded.

"Six hours left before sunset," he said. "Let's get as far as we
can."

The air outside was still, dry and oppressive.

Daniel fell in behind Jack, watching the uneven lurch of his friend's
shoulders. Jack's ankle had started out bad, gotten better and was on
the downhill slide to worse again, but he knew better than to suggest
that Jack take a rest. They didn't have time, and there wasn't anything
that felt safe anymore. They needed answers, and they needed to get
out of here before things... got worse.

The collar at Daniel's throat felt warm - not blood-warm, warmer
than that. As if something electronic was at work inside of it. He didn't
feel different, but he wasn't sure he'd know if anything changed; Sam
had been caught by surprise, after all. Maybe he wouldn't notice a
thing until he took the knife out of Jack's belt and slashed it across -

Disturbingly, it was way too vivid. Blood on pale dust. Jack's face
turning to whitewash, draining of life.

Daniel swallowed, felt his Adam's apple constricted by the collar,
and found something else to look at than Jack's knife, Jack's sidearm. I shouldn't be armed anymore, he thought, and remembered that
Sam was armed too, and Sam had saved their lives back there in the
ambush. Conditioning. Maybe the collar only worked during the daytime when you let yourself think too much.

He was too close on Jack's heels, and recognized it when Jack
looked around with a harassed expression. Behind the sunglasses, his
face was drawn and tired. Jack can survive anything. He'd known
that since Abydos, since seeing the man tap into some unimaginably
deep core of strength to stand up against Ra the first time, against Apophis the second. Daniel, on the other hand... Jack might think of
him as brave, but it wasn't bravery, it was blindness. He just didn't
understand when to step back, most of the time. All his life, he'd had
to defend himself by simply being more stubborn than anybody who
attacked him, either physically or intellectually; he hadn't known
when to back down with Ra, and it had killed him. Sheer luck that
he'd been revived by Ra's sarcophagus; sheer luck that he hadn't
managed to get himself killed with Apophis, after flinging himself in
the line of fire too many times.

He had to admit, dying didn't hold much terror for him. Living
seemed infinitely more intimidating.

"Daniel," Jack snapped, andhe realized he was crowding him again.
He dropped back, into a cold middle distance. Teal'c was behind him,
bringing up the rear; Sam was pacing along in front, demonstrating a
loose animal grace that was like her usual stride, but more immediate
and less controlled. As if she'd forgotten to pay attention to her body,
and what it was doing now was what it was made to do.

It was - admit it, Daniel - mesmerizing. He pulled his gaze away
from her, back to the ruins around them. He'd given up trying to collect artifacts; he'd never be able to carry any more, and the batteries
were dead in the cameras. Even his note pages were filled. A city of
wonders, of amazing things, and it was just scrolling by as he tramped
through it, heading for another fight.

If he needed more proof that he wasn't a soldier, this was it; he
wanted to stop, run his hands over the intricate, delicate carving on a
cracked plinth, or get on his knees and dig a gold-filigreed, half-rotten
timber out of the rubble. Then again, if he needed more reason to hate
the Goa'uld - not likely - all he had to do was look around him. This
had been beautiful, once. Humans had made this out of their sweat
and dreams, and a Goa'uld had taken it away for nothing but her own
bloodthirsty satisfaction.

What if it's Share? What if, when I face Artemis, she's looking at
me out of my wife's eyes?

He hadn't shown the picture to Laonides; he wasn't sure if that
meant he' d just forgotten, or if he hadn't wanted to know the answer. If
the Goa'uldpossessing Sha're was named Artemis... no, impossible.
Artemis had been haunting this place for a thousand years, accord ing to Laonides. Of course, he'd only survived four Hunts, which by
Daniel's calculations must have been about fourteen months...