STARGATE SG-1 29 Hall of the Two Truths by Susannah Parker Sinard Page A
Authors: Susannah Parker Sinard
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leaned in toward his other ear. “The Tau’ri have no answers for her. But that doesn’t mean they cannot yet help us — you and I, and those who understand that the peace you seek comes not from transcending to another plane of existence, but by assuring an end to the constant conflict on this one.” Aset stepped back, offering him a knowing smile. “It doesn’t mean running away from who we are, but embracing it — and assuring the success of one mighty enough to bring a final and enduring peace to the entire galaxy.”
Jenmar flinched. “You mean, a Goa’uld.”
“A peacemaker,” Aset insisted. “More powerful than any System Lord. When he comes to rule, I assure you, there will be no more wars. No more fighting. There will be peace — the very peace you are so longing for.”
Peace at the hands of a Goa’uld? The part of Jenmar that had been Tok’ra his whole life rejected such an idea.
But perhaps this was the best he could hope for. And if no planet ever again suffered the fate of Wasir, if no more Tok’ra perished fighting a battle that could never be won, then maybe that was not a bad second choice after all.
Jenmar straightened his back. “What must I do?”
“It’s quite simple, really.” Aset smiled. “Make a delivery to an old friend.”
She pulled a small wooden box from her sleeve and handed it to him. “This is a gift. Tell him it is a token of my good faith.” From a pocket she pulled a blue data crystal and held it up. “This contains my request.” From her other pocket she brought out a clear crystal. “If his master agrees to grant my request, then you may give him this.” Before he could take it from her hands, she pulled it back. “If he refuses, you are to destroy this. Is that clear?”
Jenmar nodded.
“I would do this myself, of course, but NebtHet has enrolled me in her little drama. So I am counting on you to be my wise and cunning representative.”
Jenmar accepted the box and slipped the crystals into his pocket with the orb. “Who is this old friend I am to visit?”
He did not find Aset’s smile reassuring.
“Oh, I think you will be in for quite the surprise.”
The planet was too warm for Jenmar’s liking. The heat and humidity pulled at his lungs the moment he stepped through the chaapa’ai. Neither did he enjoy the sight of a half-dozen staff weapons pointed directly at him. Still holding the small box, he raised his arms.
“I have been sent by Aset,” he called out. “My name is Jenmar. Tell Tanith I am here.”
Chapter Four
THE FIRST sensation of which Teal’c became aware was the hardness of the surface on which he lay. It pressed against his back without yielding and was solid beneath his head. It was also cold. He felt as if all the warmth from his body had leeched into it, as though it were sponge made of solid rock.
Rock. Now he recognized it. And with recognition came memory. A cavern. A Goa’uld. A zat’nik’tel. And pain. The pain of death. Because there had not been one zat’nik’tel, but two. And he had died.
Or not.
Cautiously he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His attire was unfamiliar to him. He wore thin linen pants and a tunic and upon his feet were strapped leather sandals. Little wonder he had felt the dampness so acutely.
The stone slab he had been laying on was in the middle of a large, empty room with a single arched doorway. Surrounding him were walls of great hewn stones. Their smoothness and precision showed evidence of having been fit together by master hands. Teal’c had seen such craftsmanship before. The palaces of the System Lords were similarly built, with the sweat and blood of many Jaffa slaves.
Teal’c tried standing. The room swayed for a moment but then righted itself. He did not recognize this place, although there was very little to distinguish one Goa’uld prison from another. But was it a prison? The archway marked the only way out, but he could see no door or bars to keep
Jenmar flinched. “You mean, a Goa’uld.”
“A peacemaker,” Aset insisted. “More powerful than any System Lord. When he comes to rule, I assure you, there will be no more wars. No more fighting. There will be peace — the very peace you are so longing for.”
Peace at the hands of a Goa’uld? The part of Jenmar that had been Tok’ra his whole life rejected such an idea.
But perhaps this was the best he could hope for. And if no planet ever again suffered the fate of Wasir, if no more Tok’ra perished fighting a battle that could never be won, then maybe that was not a bad second choice after all.
Jenmar straightened his back. “What must I do?”
“It’s quite simple, really.” Aset smiled. “Make a delivery to an old friend.”
She pulled a small wooden box from her sleeve and handed it to him. “This is a gift. Tell him it is a token of my good faith.” From a pocket she pulled a blue data crystal and held it up. “This contains my request.” From her other pocket she brought out a clear crystal. “If his master agrees to grant my request, then you may give him this.” Before he could take it from her hands, she pulled it back. “If he refuses, you are to destroy this. Is that clear?”
Jenmar nodded.
“I would do this myself, of course, but NebtHet has enrolled me in her little drama. So I am counting on you to be my wise and cunning representative.”
Jenmar accepted the box and slipped the crystals into his pocket with the orb. “Who is this old friend I am to visit?”
He did not find Aset’s smile reassuring.
“Oh, I think you will be in for quite the surprise.”
The planet was too warm for Jenmar’s liking. The heat and humidity pulled at his lungs the moment he stepped through the chaapa’ai. Neither did he enjoy the sight of a half-dozen staff weapons pointed directly at him. Still holding the small box, he raised his arms.
“I have been sent by Aset,” he called out. “My name is Jenmar. Tell Tanith I am here.”
Chapter Four
THE FIRST sensation of which Teal’c became aware was the hardness of the surface on which he lay. It pressed against his back without yielding and was solid beneath his head. It was also cold. He felt as if all the warmth from his body had leeched into it, as though it were sponge made of solid rock.
Rock. Now he recognized it. And with recognition came memory. A cavern. A Goa’uld. A zat’nik’tel. And pain. The pain of death. Because there had not been one zat’nik’tel, but two. And he had died.
Or not.
Cautiously he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His attire was unfamiliar to him. He wore thin linen pants and a tunic and upon his feet were strapped leather sandals. Little wonder he had felt the dampness so acutely.
The stone slab he had been laying on was in the middle of a large, empty room with a single arched doorway. Surrounding him were walls of great hewn stones. Their smoothness and precision showed evidence of having been fit together by master hands. Teal’c had seen such craftsmanship before. The palaces of the System Lords were similarly built, with the sweat and blood of many Jaffa slaves.
Teal’c tried standing. The room swayed for a moment but then righted itself. He did not recognize this place, although there was very little to distinguish one Goa’uld prison from another. But was it a prison? The archway marked the only way out, but he could see no door or bars to keep
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