02 - The Price You Pay Read online

  For a moment there was silence, as the team exchanged somber glances. Each of them had experienced the joy of coming home even as they knew some of their own comrades would never know that joy again. “Coming home” was an experience that would always be alloyed with a guilty sorrow.

  “Could they have escaped from the Goa’uld?” Carter wanted to know.

  “No,” Teal’C said definitely.

  O’Neill waited politely for the Jaffa to continue. When the silence stretched out and it was plain that Teal’C was not going to explain, the colonel confirmed his response. “No. They didn’t show any apprehension about being pursued. They didn’t look scared. They were… coming home.” He took a deep breath. “The mission has been complicated by the fact that so far we have failed—I have failed—to locate the Dial-Home Device. Without that, we’re screwed.

  “All of this tells me that we’d better get our asses back to town and get our job done right this time. There’s something funny going on there and I’d like to know what it is. At the same time, we must locate that DHD.”

  Jackson took one last swallow of water from his canteen. “Yeah,” he said, his voice marginally clearer. “That would be a good idea.”

  “We also need to find out where those kids came from,” O’Neill went on, “and what they were doing there.” And what about the ones who didn’t come back? he added silently. “I suggest you eat something. You’re going to need your strength. I want to move out no later than ten hundred hours. We’re wasting daylight up here.”

  Carter closed her eyes, her face a study in misery. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.

  “And I expect you to be combat-ready.”

  “Yes, sir.” If it weren’t for the sibilants, no one could have heard her.

  “Monster,” Jackson added. But he was already reviving at the prospect of returning to a new culture. Not being military, he could get away with such remarks.

  O’Neill chose to take it as a compliment anyway. “Ten hundred hours,” he repeated. “Be there or be square.”

  “How does one become square?” Teal’C inquired.

  O’Neill opened his mouth, closed it again, and shrugged.

  Carter and Jackson crawled away.

  Apparently Carter and Jackson were not the only ones suffering from the aftereffects of the party. As the team came back into M’kwethet, they saw a market square that resembled Times Square on January 1—with the Sanitation Department on holiday. There weren’t any plastic cups, beer cans, or silly hats, but there was debris, the occasional slime-sign where someone hadn’t held his liquor, and the ribbons that had spiraled up the Grecian columns hung in tatters.

  A goat nibbled on the former contents of an overturned cart.

  A little girl sat on the edge of a well at one side of the square, thumb firmly in her mouth, and stared up at them without apparent surprise.

  “Hi,” Jackson said.

  “Hi,” the little girl responded, without removing her thumb.

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” O’Neill asked rhetorically.

  “No.” Apparently this world had adopted Greek architecture but ignored rhetoric.

  “They aren’t afraid of what comes through the Gate,”

  Carter observed. There was still a furrow of residual pain between her blond brows, but it hadn’t affected her powers of observation. “Maybe the Goa’uld don’t come here.”

  “No.” Teal’C was puzzled. “They do. I have seen shipments of goods and slaves I was told were from this world. This is a safe supply world for Apophis. And the Councilors know of them.”

  “Then the DHD has got to be here somewhere,” O’Neill concluded. “It’s not as if somebody can open up a worm-hole from the other end and pull them through the wrong way. But where?”

  Sharing an expression of bewilderment, they started down the cobbled street, heading back to the Agora for lack of a better destination. The little girl, still sucking her thumb, watched them go.

  The banquet hall wasn’t in much better shape than the square; the only difference was that a handful of people were making a desultory effort to clean up. Overseeing the effort, the team saw with varying levels of surprise, was Jareth of the Manyflowers. A look of resignation crossed the man’s face as he caught sight of them. Apparently Jareth had been the M’kwethet designated driver; he showed no ill effects from last night’s party. His beard was neatly combed, his hair in a neat series of curls across his forehead, bound back by a white band. He was wearing a red open coat over a spotless white short tunic this morning, and the straps of his sandals looked new.

  “Excuse us,” O’Neill said. It was a little unnerving to see so little reaction to their presence. Usually, when they met autochtons (Daniel liked that term better than “natives”, possibly because he was the only one who could pronounce it), they were regarded with either awe or patronizing pleasantry. But they had never before been treated as a mere nuisance. “You said yesterday that you’d meet with us after the banquet. We weren’t able to talk then. But we’d like to do so now.”

  Jareth looked annoyed. “You left. This, however, is still not a good time. We are quite busy, as you can see. There is much work left to be done here, and not much time to do it in.”

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  The cleaning staff made an effort to move a little faster under the sharp scowl of their supervisor.

  “I can see that,” O’Neill repeated, as Jareth turned away to give directions to new additions to the cleaning staff. He let his impatience show. “Look, we’ve come a long way and we’ve got some really important stuff to talk about. If you’re not the man, then can you direct us to someone who is?”

  “‘The man’?” Jareth inquired, confused. As he tried to follow the colloquialism, he looked up to greet Karlanan, who, coming from one of the rooms at the rear of the building, obviously had not been designated to drive anyone anywhere. Unlike the older Jareth, Karlanan still showed the effects of the night’s endeavors: red eyes, stained clothing, uncombed hair. He had the air of a man who was up too early and very much against his will. O’Neill was sure that members of his own team felt a certain empathy.

  The younger Council member was carrying a large shallow glazed pot, yellow with black figures etched in the fired surface. He bore it with considerable care, as if afraid he might drop it. Jackson stepped forward as though to examine the object more closely, and the other man frowned and shifted it away, protecting it with his body. Meanwhile, Jareth looked relieved, as if he’d been waiting for this for some time, and its arrival was a welcome distraction. “Good,” he said, addressing Karlanan and turning away from SG-1. “Have the lots been distributed?”

  Karlanan nodded and winced, as if he regretted moving his head. “Alizane defined the tribute this morning. You want the bowl on the altar?”

  “Naturally.” Jareth’s attention was back on the cleanup crew and the arrangements before him.

  Trying desperately to retrieve the conversation, Daniel Jackson said, “Uh, what the colonel means is—”

  “I think he knows perfectly well what we mean,” O’Neill snapped. He was heartily tired of the diplomatic approach by this time. “Trust me, Jareth, we’re not going to go away without some answers. We want to talk to the governing body of this world. That seems to be you. We know you know about the Goa’uld, so presumably you know about the threat they pose. We want to see if we can help each other. We also need information about your Gate controls.”

  Across the room, someone dropped a plate. All work stopped as the cleanup crew stared at the man who had raised his voice to their Councilors.

  The Earth team’s eruption made a flustered Jareth escort all of them, Karlanan included, to a room behind the main hall, leaving the cleanup crew with only hasty instructions. The mention of the Goa’uld and of the Gate in the same sentence, or perhaps the forcefulness of O’Neill’s delivery, seemed to have finally gotten his attention. Karlanan put his pre
cious pot on a small table in the back of the room and ran for Alizane, doubtless to provide moral leadership to the Council of the Rejected Ones.

  “We’re from Earth,” O’Neill explained once more, with very little patience, once Alizane had arrived. “We came through the Gate. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  The three looked at each other with obvious confusion.

  “What is Earth?” Alizane asked.

  “It’s a world far away,” Carter answered, forestalling yet another explosion on O’Neill’s part. “We have a Gate, too. We used the Gate to come here. We’ve been to many worlds. We’re traveling to all the different places we can, looking for allies against the Goa’uld.”

  The Council of the Rejected Ones looked at each other, still bewildered.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Daniel said. “But it’s important. We saw some of your people come through the Gate yesterday. Where did they go? Where did they come from?”

  “And how did they get there in the first place?” O’Neill snapped.

  Karlanan shook his head like a man missing something important. “They came back. They are the Rejected Ones.”

  “I thought you were the Rejected Ones,” O’Neill snapped.

  “We are.” The Council looked at each other in helpless confusion.

  Daniel drew in a sharp breath, as if a light had gone on. “Who rejected you?”

  “The Goa’uld, of course.” Alizane shook her head. “Are you not also Rejected Ones? How else could you come here?”

  O’Neill opened his mouth as if to make a snide remark, then thought better of it. “The Goa’uld are our enemies. They’re your enemies, too.”

  Jareth was still confused. “The Goa’uld pose no threat to us.”

  The team looked at each other incredulously. “They don’t?”

  “No. Of course not.” All three of the M’kwethet looked as if Jareth had stated the blindingly obvious. “They are not our enemies. We do not wish to be enemies to the Goa’uld.”

  SG-1 was baffled. “Excuse us,” Daniel said politely, “I’d like to consult my colleagues for a moment.”

  He herded them across the room, muttering, “Time out for a huddle, guys.” Glancing over at the puzzled M’kwethet, he went on, “I think they’re serious.”

  O’Neill shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

  “I think we’re wasting our time,” Carter said. “They obviously don’t perceive the Goa’uld as a threat. They’re not going to be interested in helping us.”

  “Agreed,” rumbled Teal’C.

  “Okay, fine. They don’t want to help us. Let’s buckle down and find that control and get the hell out of here. Any world that knows the Goa’uld and doesn’t think they’re a threat isn’t going to be any help to us.”

  “No,” Jackson interrupted, craning his neck to get a good view of the pot on the table. “I think we ought to stay.”

  Now it was O’Neill’s turn to look exasperated. “You always do that. Why do you always do that? Why should we stay this time?” A part of him was ironically pleased at the presumption that of course they were going to be able to leave—that they even had a choice of whether to stay or not.

  “I’d like to know more about these people,” Jackson said, still peering around Karlanan. “You mentioned lots? Tribute?” The questions were directed to Jareth.

  Jareth evidently felt that someone on the Earth team was finally showing signs of intelligence. “Yes, of course.”

  “When do you draw lots?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon. The tribute will be sent in only three days. So you can understand why we are so busy just now.”

  “Oh, definitely. Of course.” Jackson was nodding as if he agreed, but there was something in his eyes that made O’Neill suspicious. The colonel was beginning to see where the questions were going, and he didn’t like it. At all. “How many?”

  Jareth looked at Karlanan, who took a deep breath before answering. “Alizane said there would be twenty this time.”

  “Twenty?” Jackson echoed Jareth, but with more horror.

  O’Neill held his temper with effort. “What the hell are you talking about?” he said, hoping he was wrong.

  “Twenty,” Karlanan confirmed. “Ten of the young women, ten of the young men will go to the Goa’uld in tribute this season.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Are you serious?” O’Neill roared.

  “It has precedent, in fact. The legend of the Minotaur, Theseus and the Labyrinth. Sending the tribute to Crete.” Jackson was still horrified, but fascinated as well. “These people seem to have—have actually reached an accommodation with the Goa’uld.”

  “It is not impossible,” Teal’C confirmed. “So long as they send their best, it would be reasonable for the Goa’uld to accept it. It would be easier than expending resources to force the same result. And it would account for this world as a supply depot.”

  “And we do send our best,” Jareth assured them, as Alizane and Karlanan nodded earnest agreement. “We select our very best young people. They have known for months who may be selected—they compete for the honor of being Chosen. Tomorrow we draw lots for the necessary number, and two days after that the Gate will open for them. The Goa’uld have been satisfied with this arrangement for generations.”

  O’Neill stepped forward, moving Jackson aside. “I’ll bet they have! Are you telling us you deliberately send—”

  “That confirms what we were told last night,” Carter muttered, casting an uneasy glance at her enraged commander. “Sir, it’s a deeply ingrained part of their culture.”

  O’Neill wheeled on her. “‘Ingrained’? What the hell are you talking about? In case you’ve forgotten, Captain, we’re not operating under some damned Prime Directive here! These people are sacrificing their children!”

  Carter blinked. The subject of children was a particularly sensitive one with the colonel. And she wasn’t entirely indifferent to it herself. In light of what she’d just heard, a lot of last night’s conversation, about Choosing, the intense fascination with what lay on the other side of the Gate, suddenly made more sense. At least, what she could remember of it did.

  “It is an honorable sacrifice,” Alizane interrupted sharply. “We keep our world safe—”

  “Sure, you send out your young people so you can be safe—”

  “We are the Rejected Ones! We know exactly what they are sent to. We have been where they go.” Alizane stared directly up into O’Neill’s eyes from a distance of less than arm’s length. “Who are you to tell us what we should do?”

  “We’re the people who have the guts to fight the Goa’uld!”

  “Sir—” Carter tried desperately to interrupt as more and more of the previous evening’s conversation came back to her.

  “You are warriors, then? You go and fight. Tell me, does no one die in your battles?”

  “Yes, some of us are warriors. And people die in battle…”

  “How many have you lost?” Alizane interrupted. “More, I think, than we have! Our way is better. We cannot fight the Goa’uld. No one can.” Behind her, Jareth and Karlanan nodded in confirmation.

  “These people can,” Teal’C interrupted. “I have seen it. I have joined them because of it.”

  Alizane gave him an incredulous look. “You are Jaffa. You of all people know better.”

  “I am Jaffa, and I know what I know.”

  “I know you are wrong.”

  “And I know you’re nuts,” O’Neill snarled, turning to go.

  The rest of the team prepared to follow.

  “We go willingly and joyously!” Alizane’s voice was rising defensively. “Come to the drawing of the lots and see!”

  “‘Willingly and joyously’, my ass.” O’Neill was practically frothing as they descended the steps of the banquet hall. “I’ve been through an induction lottery, too, and there’s nothing joyous about it, dammit.”

  “Colonel, wait.” Carter re
ached out and grabbed O’Neill’s arm, stopping him in the middle of the square. “We can’t just walk out and let them get away with this.”

  “I don’t see how we can stop it,” Jackson muttered.

  “I do,” Carter responded, “but we’re going to have to stay a while longer.”

  O’Neill slammed to a halt, causing the rest of the team—except for Teal’C—to collide with each other like railroad cars. “Speak to me, Captain.”

  “Some of the things the kids told me last night make sense to me now.” The blond captain bit her lip. “I don’t think some of those kids are as enthusiastic about this stuff as the Council says they are. I don’t think they really understand what they’re heading into. They wanted to talk about it some more, then Alizane came by and they clammed up. But a couple of them asked me to come talk to them today. I, um, I promised I would. I think I should.”

  “I agree,” Teal’C said. “If they truly realized what awaits them they would not be so quick to volunteer.”

  “Well, the thing is, if the ones who come back are Rejected Ones, that means that Alizane and the rest do know.” Daniel was trying hard to remain logical and dispassionate. “And they send the kids anyway. How can they do that?”

  “They have decided on an acceptable level of casualties.” The Jaffa was, as usual, impassive. “Clearly they do not inform the new Candidates. As soon as the Rejected Ones return, they must be brought into a conspiracy of silence so that the young people will continue to view selection as a great honor.”

  “Acceptable!” Carter erupted. “Colonel, what if some of those kids don’t want to go? They sure wouldn’t if they had all the facts. Shouldn’t they have the chance?”

  O’Neill stared at her for a long moment before murmuring, “It’s a long way to Canada, Carter.”

  “Sir?” For a moment Carter had completely lost track of her commanding officer’s train of thought.

  “Never mind, Captain.” O’Neill sighed. “All right. If you’ve got a meeting already set up with some of these kids, go for it. Daniel, let’s do a little recon and see if we can find the DHD in daylight. Teal’C, you go with Carter. Maybe you can convince them.” The colonel gave a queasy look at the Jaffa’s midsection. Teal’C nodded in grim acknowledgement.