The Tok'ra's Gambit

by

Tiffany Park

Nur sorted through the data she had retrieved from Daniel Jackson's mind. While Kel'daas had interrogated that hapless Tau'ri with the mental imager, watching the playback of his irrelevant surface memories like cheap entertainment, Nur had surreptitiously used the equipment to probe deeper, searching for useful information without attracting Kel'daas's or Daniel Jackson's notice.

It had been a dangerous gambit; had she been caught, she would have been exposed as a Tok'ra operative. Fortunately, her risk had been amply rewarded. She had acquired the schedules for three of the SGC's offworld teams. Surely one of them would be suitable for her purposes.

Still, she had to be careful. If Hathor or Kel'daas found out--no, Trofsky. General Trofsky. She must remember to call him, even in her most private thoughts, by his assumed Tau'ri name. Any lapse in the presence of the Tau'ri prisoners would spoil Hathor's plans, and that would endanger Nur's own life and mission. Hathor was a merciless queen, and Kel'd--Trofsky would enact any punishment she ordered, no matter how horrific.

By all the gods, Nur hated these ugly Tau'ri names that Hathor had inflicted upon her subjects. Nur found her own, Doctor Raully, to be especially disagreeable. Her host, Tyn-hachen, was similarly displeased with the name, and complained whenever it was mentioned. Nonetheless, both of them understood the necessity of making the Tau'ri prisoners believe they were on their homeworld, many years in their future. It made them uncertain and malleable, willing to undergo the required interrogations without argument. Well, without too much argument, at any rate. Nur didn't mind the minor difficulties the Tau'ri presented. This method was easier on them, and easier on Nur, than outright torture would have been.

Tyn-hachen scoffed at that thought, amused by Nur's squeamishness. Nur mentally scowled at her unrepentant host. Tyn-hachen was a former slave. She had led a life hardened by service to a particularly monstrous Goa'uld, who had encouraged terrible excesses against the human and Jaffa populations he ruled. She had seen and been forced to participate in unimaginable cruelties. When she had finally had enough, she had run away at the first opportunity, and by sheer serendipity had stumbled upon the Tok'ra.

Tyn-hachen's experiences made her an excellent partner for infiltrating Goa'uld strongholds. Nur had more sophisticated intelligence and tactical ability, more intimate knowledge of the Goa'uld themselves, but she had difficulty emulating the normal, everyday reactions of a servant to a living god, or the submissive behavior Hathor expected of her Jaffa. Tyn-hachen knew exactly what was required and got them through those rough situations. Symbiote and host meshed perfectly in these kind of covert endeavors.

Nur glanced around to be certain she was alone, then printed out the base blueprints. She hated to make physical copies, but knew the Goa'uld recording devices were incompatible with Tau'ri technology. In this case, the most primitive methods were, ironically, the most effective. Unfortunately, they were also the most detectable, and if found on her person would surely condemn her. She would have to make certain no one caught her carrying these layout diagrams to the chappa'ai.

+This scheme of yours is folly,+ Tyn-hachen whispered in her mind. +If we are discovered, our mission here will fail.+

*The Tau'ri prisoners must be removed from Hathor's power,* Nur replied mentally. *They cannot hold out against interrogation for much longer. You know Hathor is growing impatient. She talks of implanting a Goa'uld symbiote in one of them. That prisoner will not be able to resist, and Hathor will gain everything she desires. She may well become unstoppable.*

Tyn-hachen said, +There is another way to prevent the prisoners from revealing dangerous information. A more certain way.+ She projected the image of a zat'nik'atel. Her mental tone was terribly calm.

*We cannot kill them,* Nur protested. *Hathor would be furious. In seeking the perpetrators, she would harrow the ranks of the Jaffa. The punishment she would mete out would be unthinkable.*

+The blame need not fall on us. A suitable scenario could be easily devised. The attempted escape of three notorious and dangerous prisoners, some Jaffa guards in the right place at the right time, surprised and acting instinctively to protect their beloved goddess...+ Tyn-hachen's mental voice trailed off suggestively.

*The Tau'ri are our allies.*

+And what exactly have the Tau'ri done for us?+

A good point, Nur thought privately. In particular, these three Tau'ri had killed a number of Tok'ra operatives in the past, albeit unwittingly, when they destroyed Apophis's two motherships. Later, their leaders had ignored Martouf when he had tried to convince them to hand Apophis over to Sokar, and as a result had almost gotten themselves and Martouf destroyed. But they and their friends had done some good for the Tok'ra, as well. That helped balance the scales, at least a little. And there was another problem.

Nur said, *Samantha Carter was once host to Jolinar, and was kind enough to tell us of her fate. Selmac's host, Jacob, is Samantha's father. Do you want to explain to Martouf, Lantash, Selmac, and Jacob that we killed Jacob's daughter and Jolinar's former host simply because it was expedient?*

Tyn-hachen kept silent, though Nur could feel the host's simmering frustration. It was true that Jacob was Tau'ri, but he was only one host. No more had been provided. However, Martouf, Lantash, Selmac, and Jacob would take turns flaying Nur and Tyn-hachen alive for the crime of harming Samantha Carter. Besides, this act could help to strengthen the alliance. With good relations, the Tau'ri might even return the favor at some point in the future.

Nur said, *The Tau'ri are certain to attempt a rescue. In the process, they may well defeat Hathor's plans. They could possibly save us a great deal of trouble and effort. Have you not noticed how ruthless they can be?*

+Indeed, these memories of Hathor's prisoners have been very enlightening,+ Tyn-hachen agreed. +The Tau'ri are quite inconsistent in how they treat the hosts and slaves of the Goa'uld. Often they seem to have as little regard or concern as the Goa'uld themselves. This ability to turn their compassion on and off at will makes them quite effective, although somewhat unpredictable as allies.+ She sounded like she approved, at least of the ability to kill without remorse.

*It is war,* said Nur. *We behave no differently. As your suggestion about killing the prisoners demonstrates.*

Tyn-hachen displayed not the slightest trace of contrition. +If the Tau'ri fail to rescue their comrades in a timely manner, we will have to deal with this problem ourselves.+

*Yes,* Nur said, acknowledging the necessity. *But we must try this first.*

Tyn-hachen quieted and put forth no more arguments. Nur accepted her host's grudging acquiescence gratefully, and examined the schedules of the three SG teams. SG-3 seemed to be placed most advantageously for contact by the Tok'ra, with SG-10 as the best second choice, and SG-8 third. She nodded, packed up her schedules and blueprints, and eliminated all traces of incriminating evidence. Then she left Hathor's pyramid.

She opted not to use the tunnels she had created between the pyramid and the chappa'ai. They were for emergencies, a precaution in case she had to escape in a hurry. There was no sense in risking their exposure unnecessarily. She was high in the hierarchy of Hathor's tiny but growing personal empire. Even if the stronghold had been better guarded, under normal circumstances no one but Trofsky or Hathor would dare question her right to come and go as she pleased. She held her head arrogantly and moved swiftly away from the great, golden pyramid.

Soon the chappa'ai came into view. Nur walked toward the encoding device, careful to make her movements look purposeful and unhurried, as though she intended to use the chappa'ai on Hathor's business. Even though no one was assigned to guard this place, still there was the chance that she might be observed by a lackey on an errand. Appearances were important.

She punched in the code for the neutral planet of Xut, and waited while the chappa'ai activated. Her going to Xut would excite no questions in any observer who happened by. Many times Hathor had sent her there to obtain supplies, and Nur had often used those excursions to her own advantage. From Xut she could move on to a more anonymous world, and from there go meet with one of her Tok'ra contacts. She would provide the Tok'ra with all the information she had obtained along with detailed instructions, and let them worry about making contact the Tau'ri. She would return here, as circuitously as she had departed. With luck, she would not be gone long enough for anyone to notice her absence.

If things went well, within a day or two the Tau'ri would arrive to retrieve their lost comrades, and neither Hathor nor Trofsky would realize that Nur had ever even left the planet. On that happy thought, she stepped into the event horizon and started her journey.

* * * * * * *

Nursing a cup of bad coffee, Colonel Makepeace sat on the ground and watched the sun rise over the endless, flat grasslands. The haze of dust in the air made the colors brilliant and spectacular. Makepeace liked sunrises, and considered them one of the joys of taking the last watch of the night. While he found this sunrise pleasing enough, he couldn't say the same about the rest of this tedious planet.

P3X-254 was one of those unattractive worlds that SG-3 tended to draw for recon duty with depressing regularity. Its scrubby yellow grasses seemed to extend forever, without even a bush or tree to break the monotony. The animal life Makepeace had seen so far included alien versions of lizards and snakes, flying bird-things, prairie dog wannabes, and a multitude of insect analogues. Nothing to write home about, certainly, although the biologists back on Earth would probably give their eyeteeth to visit the place.

At least things were quiet here. Too often SG-3 found itself embroiled in firefights: with Goa'uld forces; on search and rescue missions for other SG teams; sometimes just with overly aggressive wildlife. Makepeace admitted that a calm mission was a nice change of pace, even if this planet was a bit too bland to suit him.

A gentle breeze stirred, making the dry grass rustle. The sunrise came to an end, its kaleidoscope of gold, orange, and red fading, replaced by pale blue sky. Makepeace tossed aside his cold coffee and got to his feet. Time to roust his men out of the sack and get moving. He walked over to the two silent tents. Obviously, his team wanted to sleep in this morning.

"Rise and shine, Marines!" he called, a little too cheerfully. "Everyone, up! Come on, we're burning daylight."

The tents emitted soft groans and subdued grumbling. Makepeace grinned, made some fresh coffee, and started breakfast. The smell of cooking food--even freeze-dried and reconstituted--would get his growing Marines moving faster than any orders or threats.

Sure enough, Lieutenant Razor appeared just a few minutes later. "Here, sir, let me do that," he said, crouching down by the portable stove.

Makepeace moved off and allowed his new second-in-command to take over the cooking duties. First Lieutenant Razor's youthfully naive appearance was deceptive; he'd been a Force Recon Marine for two years before he'd been promoted and transferred into the SGC, and had been on a number of covert missions.

Two more Marines emerged from the second tent: Gunnery Sergeants Danko and Pomerantz. Also former Force Recon, and their combined experience amounted to over thirty years in the Corps. Like Razor, they made a beeline for the food.

Makepeace considered his latest team. They were good men, their records spoke volumes about their competency and dedication. The only real issue he had with them was that they were so damn new to the Stargate program. Over the last few months they had gradually rotated onto SG-3 as needed to fill empty slots. Not all those openings were the result of transfers or promotions. Makepeace tried not to think about why the SGC needed replacement personnel so often, or about the latest group to go missing. Such losses were a hard fact of life in this business.

This was only the third time Makepeace had been out with this team, but partway into their first mission together he had known he could trust them implicitly. They were United States Marines. They all understood what that meant and what was required of them.

Razor walked over to him with a filled metal plate. "Colonel, I took the liberty of obtaining your mess kit from your ruck. Here's your breakfast, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Makepeace said. He took a bite of reconstituted scrambled eggs. More than acceptable. Razor was a pretty good cook.

Razor stood by, almost but not quite at parade rest. Makepeace took pity on him and said, "Excellent, Lieutenant. Carry on."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Razor returned to the stove and got his own breakfast.

Makepeace shook his head, still a little disconcerted by the caution and excessive courtesy with which his new men treated him. Quite a change from his last bunch. He understood the reason for their care: They were still figuring out what to make of him. In the real world (where sane people didn't believe in bug-eyed monsters and little gray men), full colonels did not routinely lead small, four-man ground teams. That was a job for noncoms and junior officers. He didn't worry much about it, though. If they were anything like his previous teams, they'd adapt soon enough. He'd just enjoy it while it lasted.

* * * * * * *

"Will you look at that?" Lieutenant Razor gawked through his field glasses like a tourist. "They go on forever."

"You can say that again." Makepeace was glued to his own binoculars. About a thousand meters away, the land turned dark with the shaggy, midnight-blue bodies of grazing animals. They stretched out as far as the eye could see, with great, four-horned heads and massive torsos, making deep-throated lowing noises. "Like the buffalo," he murmured. P3X-254 had gotten a lot more interesting today.

"Sir?"

"The buffalo of the Great Plains, before they were decimated in the 1800s," Makepeace said. "According to reports, the herds stretched so far they seemed to cover the entire continent. At least, it appeared that way to the observers of the time. Remember your American history lessons?"

"Yes, sir." Razor sounded subdued.

Makepeace repressed a sigh. "That wasn't a reprimand, Lieutenant. Just an observation. Lighten up."

"Yes, sir."

Pomerantz said, "There's no way around them, Colonel."

Makepeace had noticed that, as well. "Yeah, I know. Get some video footage, then we'll see if we can find an opening somewhere."

Danko hefted his rifle. "We could try scaring them away, sir."

"And get trampled? Supposedly, the ground rumbled when the Plains buffalo herds traveled from place to place. I'd rather not find out what chaos these would cause in a stampede."

"Yes, sir."

SG-3 got their video, pictures, and sound recordings, then got underway. They spent an hour skirting the edge of the herd, but the calmly grazing animals seemed endless.

"At least they're not afraid of us," said Pomerantz.

Makepeace nodded. "From the sheer numbers, I'd say they probably don't have any natural enemies to thin their ranks. I doubt they're afraid of anything."

"Do you think there's a way to get past them, sir?" Danko said.

"Maybe," Makepeace said. He considered the animals with disfavor. What if these creatures really did cover the grasslands here? Worse, what if they had moved in and closed off the way to the Stargate? In that case, would it even be possible to navigate through the herd? He did not want to find out. "This is not looking good," he murmured, almost inaudibly.

"Sir?" Razor said.

"Just thinking out loud, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

So far SG-3 hadn't found anything of note on this planet. There probably wasn't anything to find. Still, Makepeace liked to be thorough. He hoped the blue buffalo-things hadn't cut off the route to the Stargate, but if they had there was nothing to be done about it now. SG-3 would just have to cross that bridge--or herd, he thought with a smirk--when they came to it. "All, right, let's backtrack, try the other direction. If we can't find a way through these things, we'll head on home."

The men turned around. Makepeace didn't figure it was worth dodging the herd again, so they just cut across the grasslands in a straight line, angling slightly back in the direction of the Stargate. If they had to backtrack, they might as well shorten the distance they would have to travel when they decided to return to Earth.

After half an hour of trekking, Danko stopped and stared into the distance. He brought up his rifle. "Colonel, there's something moving over there, and it's not blue and furry."

Makepeace raised his binoculars. Through them, he made out three humans walking briskly in SG-3's direction. Two women and a man. The people were dressed in familiar, tan-colored clothing. "Take it easy, everyone. They look like Tok'ra."

"Tok'ra, here?" said Pomerantz.

Razor said, "I've never seen the Tok'ra before. What do you think they want, Colonel?"

Good question. Why the hell had they taken the trouble to track down SG-3 when they knew the gate address for Earth and had the means to identify themselves to get past the iris? Something smelled bad to Makepeace. He started walking toward the approaching trio. "Let's find out."

His team followed him. They had lowered their weapons, but Makepeace noted that none of them had put on their safeties or shouldered their rifles. Which suited Makepeace just fine. The SGC's first encounter with the Tok'ra--the Jolinar incident--had been ambiguous at best. Later on, his own first, personal encounter with the Tok'ra had been less than wonderful and tended to color his view of them. Intellectually, he understood the need for security, but first impressions were everything.

Still, the Tok'ra had tried to warn the SGC about the danger Sokar represented, and tried to convince Earth to return Apophis to that merciless System Lord. Their representatives would have died with Earth had someone at the Pentagon not finally bought a clue and allowed the SGC to send Apophis's body through the Stargate to Sokar.

These Tok'ra must have gone to a lot of trouble to find an Earth team. Whatever they had to say must be pretty important. He'd hear them out.

The woman in the lead stopped and raised both her hands, showing she was unarmed. Her companions followed suit. "Greetings, SG-3 of Earth, from the Tok'ra," she said.

Makepeace stopped about ten feet away from her. "I should ask how you know who we are, much less how you knew what planet to find us on, but I doubt you'd give me a straight answer. So what's so damn important?"

"We bear urgent news," said the woman. "About your lost comrades, Colonel O'Neill, Daniel Jackson, and Samantha Carter."

"SG-1?" Makepeace gaped at her, shocked. SG-1 had been MIA for over three weeks. After they had failed to return from their last mission, SG-3 and SG-7 had been sent out to search for them. They had found Teal'c lying unconscious and severely wounded near the Stargate, but there had been no sign of the others. Everyone believed they had been captured by an enemy force, probably the Goa'uld.

Unfortunately, after awakening from a three-week long coma, Teal'c had been unable to shed much light on his teammates' fate. He had confirmed that SG-1 had been attacked by Jaffa--Horus and Serpent gods, a combination Teal'c had found unusual. He hadn't had the slightest idea which Goa'uld those Jaffa had served, though.

Makepeace stared the Tok'ra woman directly in the eye. "So what happened to them?" he demanded. "Where are they? Are they captives? Are they even still alive?"

"They are alive," she said. "One of our agents reports that they are the prisoners of Hathor."

Makepeace closed his eyes briefly. Shit. He didn't like remembering Hathor. Probably every man who had been assigned to the SGC during its rocky first year of regular operations didn't like remembering Hathor.

"Why the hell did you screw around looking for us?" he asked. His voice sounded harsh, but he didn't care. "You should have taken this directly to Earth!"

"The symbols for the Tau'ri homeworld are well known to the Goa'uld," the male Tok'ra explained brusquely. "We cannot be seen using them at this time. The risk of such discovery is too great."

"Oh, but you're willing to risk being seen with us?"

"This is an uninteresting, anonymous world, all but forgotten by the System Lords and their minions," said the second woman. "The chances that anyone will see us together are acceptably insignificant."

Makepeace noted the unspoken implication, that the Tok'ra hadn't been willing to make the journey to Earth even from this nice, anonymous planet. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He hated to admit it, but from their point of view it did make a twisted kind of sense. The Tok'ra were primarily spies and infiltrators. They worked from the inside, gathering intelligence and conducting sabotage operations. Paranoia was their middle name. Since they had a well-placed agent to protect, of course they'd do their utmost to avoid suspicion and keep their hands clean.

"This discussion is pointless," the first woman said. "We have a great deal of information to impart, and time for your comrades runs short."

"Fine," Makepeace said. She was right; it wasn't worth arguing over, and it was wasting precious time. "So tell me everything you know."

* * * * * * *

After the Tok'ra briefed them, SG-3 spent the rest of the day hoofing it back to the Stargate. The Marines kept up a grueling pace, determined to reach Earth as quickly as possible. Makepeace now had reason to give thanks for the blue buffalo, rather than curse them for an impassable obstacle. The creatures had prevented his team from going too far afield. Even so, he knew SG-3 probably wouldn't reach the Stargate before nightfall.

The three Tok'ra had remained behind. Makepeace doubted it was because they couldn't have kept up. They simply wanted to stay as distant from SG-3 as possible, and didn't want to chance being seen with the Marines anywhere near the Stargate, even on this supposedly anonymous planet. No matter. Makepeace had all the relevant information they had been willing to provide.

Makepeace's rucksack now held the gate coordinates to Hathor's planet and blueprints to her base. According to those diagrams and other information the Tok'ra's inside agent had provided, an entire section of the pyramid had been converted into a replica of the SGC. Hathor obviously had one hell of a good memory.

The Tok'ra also claimed that Hathor's forces were still small, so the exterior of the pyramid was at present unguarded, and the inside only lightly guarded. No special armaments or fortifications had been mentioned. Details about the exact number of Jaffa presently in Hathor's service were sketchy. That was bad. However, just getting this much information out of Hathor's stronghold--not to mention actual, physical blueprints--without being caught must have required some serious contortions on the part of the Tok'ra's inside man. Makepeace gave the operative the benefit of the doubt and assumed that it had simply been too risky to send word of SG-1's captivity any sooner.

According to the Tok'ra, SG-1's interrogation had only recently begun. Apparently, Hathor had more subtlety than the rest of her misbegotten race. She had opted to try to trick SG-1 into believing themselves on a future version of Earth and willingly revealing information, rather than torturing them outright or turning them into hosts. How long she would continue using such benign methods was anyone's guess, but the Goa'uld that the SGC had encountered so far had never been long on patience. The sooner a rescue operation got underway, the better.

Dusk was deepening into night when the Stargate finally came into view. "Pomerantz, dial us home," Makepeace ordered as SG-3 came to a stop by the DHD. "Danko, send the GDO signal as soon as the gate opens."

Pomerantz started punching the glyphs for Earth. Makepeace took a moment to catch his breath and assess his team. They were all sweating and breathing hard, but their expressions showed their resolution and eagerness for action, a fierce desire to rescue their three lost comrades.

All his men were in superb physical condition and looked rock steady. A little rest, and they'd be good to go. Fortunate, since Makepeace believed that Hammond would want to mount a rescue mission immediately. Unless the month's schedule had changed drastically in the last two days, most of the SG teams were currently off-world, and Hammond would have to make do with whoever was available. SG-3 would undoubtedly be going into combat within the next twenty-four hours. Makepeace felt his adrenaline surge at the thought.

The Stargate exploded into shimmering blue life. Danko keyed SG-3's code into the GDO.

Makepeace said, "All right, listen up. If I know General Hammond, he's going to want to move on this information ASAP. You'll probably only have a few hours before we head out again, so I want everyone to hit the showers and the mess hall, and catch what rest you can. Be ready to be called up for combat at any time. The snakes won't keep SG-1 any longer than we let them."

He received an enthusiastic chorus of "Ooo-ah!" in reply, and didn't try to control the feral grin that came to his face.

Danko reported, "Got the all clear on the GDO. The iris is open."

"Come on, men, let's go!" Makepeace called to his team as he plunged into the event horizon. With a little luck and a lot of firepower, soon they would bring back three of their own.

*** End ***

Written April, 2004

Revised and posted August, 2006