He couldn’t help wondering what Dixon made of the exchanges between the three of them. Wished he could just come straight out and ask the man:
How many different reasons do you have for being here? What is it exactly you’re hoping to achieve? Is this about Cromwell or is it about
something else?
And sure, he could do it… if he wanted to launch Jack into incendiary orbit.
He’d always regretted being off-world during the black hole crisis. Had always felt he’d somehow let his team down by being absent from the fray. Stupid. He knew that. But he felt what he felt.
If I’d been here, if I’d seen Jack and Frank Cromwell together, I might have an idea of what to tell Dixon so he’d go away happy and leave Jack alone
.
They might just get through this mission unscathed if Dixon left Jack alone.
But something tells me that’s not going to happen.
Twitchy, despondent, he thrust the alarming thought aside and instead focused on everything Lotar had told him of her village and its Elders, so he didn’t make a bad mistake and derail the mission before it had even properly started.
The children on the river bank were the first to see them approaching.
With shrieks and shouts of piping alarm the little ones abandoned their ball and ran towards the nearest cottages. The older
children, all girls around Lotar’s age from what he could see, set
aside their flax spindles, got to their feet and waited for them.
“They’ve got guts,” said Sam. She sounded approving.
“Or else they don’t know any better,” Dixon replied. “If they’ve never seen guns before, why would they be afraid?”
“Quiet in the peanut gallery,” said Jack, over his shoulder. “Daniel? You’re on.”
As Jack fell back, letting him take the lead, Daniel passed his MP5-K to Sam then lengthened his strides so he reached the waiting girls first.
“Hello,” he said. “My name is Daniel. Please don’t be afraid. We’re not here to hurt you.”
There were five of them, around the same height and build as Lotar. Long dark hair caught back in tails and braids. Olive skinned, dark eyed. Pure ancient Egyptian. Three of the girls had deeply scarred faces, their cheeks and foreheads pitted as though they’d once suffered chickenpox. One had a withered left hand. The fifth, he realized with a gut-twisting shock, was blind. This close he could see the milky film across her eyes.
The girl with the withered hand took a step forward. “I am Nebti,” she said, haughtily aloof. Clearly she didn’t share Lotar’s maidenly modesty. “You are strangers to our valley. What village are you from? Abusir? Maidum? Dahshur? Or have you come from beyond the divide?”
“No,” he said. “We come from a village unknown to your people. We wish to speak with Khenti, your senior village Elder. Can you take us to him?”
The sighted girls exchanged swift glances. “I can take you to Sebak,” said Nebti. “He is the only Elder in the village now. Khenti and the others are in the sacred place. They ready us for the season of rebirth.”
Rebirth
again. Not a festival he was familiar with. Like Lotar’s
passing time
it must be a product of Adjo’s unique environment.
Cool
. He smiled. “I see. Well then, Nebti, will you take us to Sebak?”
“Stay here,” Nebti told her companions. “The spinning must be finished before the sun sets.”
The girls nodded, obedient, and returned to their spindles. Nebti, with all the poise and self-possession of a young Cleopatra, pointed to the village. “Come. Sebak is there.”
Daniel fell into step beside her and together they led the others towards the sprawling straggle of mud brick thatched buildings that made up Lotar’s village.
The shrieking little ones had raised the alarm. Some fifty or sixty men and women were now standing on the edges of the hard-packed dirt road that encircled the village, marking its boundary. They stood shoulder to shoulder, hands shading their eyes. The children had been hustled out of sight. The villagers were mostly silent, intently watchful. A little whispering, a few pointing fingers. Then came a disturbance at the back of the crowd. The villagers parted and a lone male figure was revealed. Short, like his fellow villagers, he was on the far side of middle age, a little bent, a little shrunken. He wore a simple robe dyed a clumsy crimson, not tunics and trousers like the other men.
“Sebak,” said Nebti, and lowered her head as she walked.
Daniel looked over his shoulder at the rest of his team. “Heads down,” he said in a low voice. “It’s a sign of respect.”
Typically, Jack was the last to drop his gaze to his feet. Dixon
was first, apparently not the least bit offended or perturbed.
He’d make a good anthropologist.
Some fifteen paces from Sebak, Nebti halted and dropped to her knees. Daniel copied her, ungainly with the weight of his pack, and heard the others copy him. Heard Jack bitching under his breath. “Elder Sebak,” the girl said, still staring at the ground. “This man is Daniel. He has come to speak to Khenti.”
Daniel risked looking up. Elder Sebak had a thin face, grooved with age and experience. His dark eyes were deepset, his nose proudly hooked. His short hair was mostly gray and clipped close to his head. Something in the way he held himself brought Kasuf to mind.
It’s only because they’re around the same age. It’s only because both men hold high authority. I’
m projecting memories
.
And it had to stop. He’d never be able to focus on this mission properly if he kept seeing Abydos, Abydonians, every time he turned around. If he kept seeing the lost faces of his adopted family.
“Elder Sebak,” he said. “My friends and I come to you in peace. Not from beyond the divide, but from a place much further from your hearths and homes. It is a place we would speak of with you and Elder Khenti and the rest of your village council, but not here. For such important words we need a more private place.”
Sebak blinked slowly, looking him up and down. “You are the Elder of your people, Daniel?”
Before he could answer, Jack spoke up. “No. No, that would be me. I’m the Elder — I mean, leader. Jack O’Neill. Colonel. And associates.”
Sebak nodded but his gaze now shifted to Sam, and fixed there. “A woman with hair of gold,” he murmured. “Is this a possible thing? It is not known among the women of Adjo.”
“Apparently not, no,” said Jack. “Which would be just one of the reasons we’d like to talk somewhere else. Without an audience. And preferably not kneeling. If you had my knees, sir, you’d completely understand.”
Serenely unfazed by Jack, once more ignoring him, Sebak’s gaze shifted again. “Daniel, how is it that you know my name, and the name of our senior village Elder?”
Ah. Yes. Now for the tricky portion of the program… “Sebak,
when we arrived we met a young woman. Lotar. She was very kind, very helpful, she — ”
“
Lotar
?” said a voice from the back of the silent, watching crowd. “What have you done with her? Where is she now?”
Sebak turned as a young man, maybe eighteen or nineteen years of age, forced himself between the gathered villagers. His face was scarred too, as though one cheek were made of wax and had melted in a hot flame then cooled again to firmness. But it wasn’t a burn scar, Daniel was certain. Something else — something unknown — had caused the imperfection. Beneath the flaw he was as handsome as Skaara.
“Bhuiku?” he said, before Sebak responded. “Am I right? You’re Bhuiku, Lotar’s promised husband?”
The young man pulled up short as though he’d run into a Goa’uld force field. “You know me?”
“Lotar told us about you,” he said. “Before she continued with her passing time rites. She continues at the shrine, Bhuiku, preparing for your wedding.”
And since that wasn’t exactly a big fat lie, I’m not going to feel bad about saying it. Not if it keeps Lotar out of trouble
.
Sebak looked at the young man. “Go to the Elders’ hall, Bhuiku, and strike the summoning gong. Elder Khenti will hear it and know he is needed.”
Bhuiku bowed. “Sebak. I obey.”
And without a word of complaint or question, Daniel noted, as Lotar’s intended made his way back through the crowd.
“Come,” said Sebak. “We will wait for Khenti in the Elders’ retreat.” With a gracious wave of his hand he indicated that they should stand and follow him.
The crowd parted for them, whispering and pointing at Sam, who was trying to pretend the fuss about her hair wasn’t getting on her nerves.
“Never mind, Carter,” said Jack with a sidelong smile as they impersonated a gaggle of baby ducklings following an unlikely mother duck. The sound of the summoning gong, hollow and booming, shivered the warm air. “Before our next mission you can do a full-on Sinead O’Connor,” he added, raising his voice. “That’ll fix the style police’s little red wagon.”
“If you’d only thought to bring a pair of clippers with you, sir, I’d do it right now,” she replied.
Jack snorted. “Shame on me for my lack of foresight. Daniel — ”
Only partly paying attention to the banter, he was avidly taking in the layout of the village and wishing he could risk pulling
out the camera. But he was pretty sure he’d just spook the locals
if he did and that wasn’t the best way to get them on side.
“Yeah?” he said, noting that the Goa’uld symbols for Setesh and Ra were painted over the doorways of every building they passed. Interesting. So either the passage of time had mingled the descendants of each Goa’uld’s human slaves or —
“
Daniel
!” said Jack. “Stop being an anthropologist for five seconds and pay attention, would you?”
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, abandoning delicious speculation. “What?”
“This Sebak,” said Jack, his voice dropped now to a barely audible murmur. “What do you make of him?”
Sebak was marching a few paces ahead of them, his sprightly
stride belying his age, admonishing curious villagers with sharp looks and gestures indicating they should mind their own business and get on with their chores. He was leading them away from the main cluster of village buildings, up a sloping hard-packed dirt street towards a long, low mud brick building whose walls were daubed with more Goa’uld glyphs and other, unfamiliar symbols.
Fantastic. There’
s a good chance these people have developed their own written language, completely independent of all other human cultural influences. This place could be a linguist’s paradise. Damn. I wonder if Hammond will let me bring Doctor Shipp on board, she’s
—
“Daniel!” said Jack, grabbing his sleeve. “For crying out loud would you stay focused?”
“I am focused, Jack,” he said, and tugged his arm free. “Everything I see tells me something you might need to know. Sebak is highly respected, possibly feared. He’s obeyed unquestioningly and — ”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” Jack said sourly. “Remind me to ask him what his secret is, will you?”
“The important point is that Sebak’s not the senior Elder,” he continued. “Which means Khenti’s even more formidable. Jack, I doubt you’ll get very far with these people if you don’t cut back on the wiseass commentary. For the purposes of this mission you can’t be Jack O’Neill the super soldier. You’ve got to be Jack O’Neill the humble petitioner.” He shook his head. “Which kind of boggles the mind, but — ”
“I can do humble,” said Jack, sounding offended. “I can be as humble as the next guy, just you watch.”
Daniel looked at him. “Jack, no offence, but when they were handing out
humble
you were off plundering the
arrogant self-confidence
barrel. Which is good, it’s great, it’s
fine
,” he added hastily, as Jack opened his mouth to blister him with pithy invective. “Arrogant self-confidence is exactly what we need from you… 99 percent of the time. But this isn’t that time. Now we’re in tricky 1 percent territory…”
Jack took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. “I can do humble, Daniel.”
“Can you?” he said. “Really?”
“Yeah, all right, I can’t,” said Jack, scowling. “But that’s why you’re here.”
“Exactly. Except there’s no
point
in me being here if — ”
“Yes! I get it!” Jack continued to scowl. “Ixnay on the smartassery. Message received, loud and clear.”
“Good,” he said, profoundly relieved. “Now I suggest you go on letting me be our spokesman, at least for the moment. Obviously you’ll get the final word on any decisions that need to be made but — ”
“Really?” said Jack. “Too kind, I’m sure.”
He sighed. “Jack…”
“Later,” said Jack, looking ahead. “Seems we’ve arrived.”
They had, just as the summoning gong fell silent. Directly in front of them, at the end of the packed dirt roadway, was the long, low Elders’ retreat. Sebak stood in its open doorway, his hands clasped before him.
“Here is our place of private consultation,” he said. “In the
village hall we hear disputes and settle grievances. Our retreat is
where we gather for meditation. We will wait within for Khenti and the other Elders to return from the shrine of rebirthing.”
He stepped aside, one hand inviting them to enter.
Daniel followed Jack in, the others close behind him, and looked around. The first word that sprang to mind was
Spartan
. Four walls, no windows. No table or chairs. No decorations of any kind. The only place to sit was the floor. There were four lumpy-looking palliasses scattered about, probably stuffed with straw and crawling with critters.