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When Daniel woke that morning, he should have realized it was not going to be a good day. For starters, he’d woken up with a splitting headache. Not long after, he discovered he’d overslept, which forced him to miss breakfast and caused him to stub his toe on the closet door in his hurry to get dressed.
In his office, he’d spilled hot coffee all over his clothes and knocked over a pile of carefully arranged papers in his rush to find the appropriate folder for today’s mission briefing, and still he arrived late to the briefing. By the time Daniel took a seat he was sweaty, peeved, soaked in coffee and lightheaded, which he chalked up to the lack of breakfast.
“Now remember, as long as we keep our heads down and don’t attract attention, we should be fine,” said Jacob Carter, lacing his fingers together atop the polished surface of the briefing room table. “In order to rescue Itaresh from imprisonment, we’ll have to enter the Jaffa settlement of Akindra, charter a cargo ship and fly to the prison colony on Sindral, a moon located deep within Bastet’s territory.”
“Why?”
The question came from Jack, who had tipped his chair so far backward he was in danger of toppling over.
Jacob narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, why do we have to get a ship from some snake-infested town to rescue your man?”
Jacob’s head dipped down toward his lap for a moment. “Bastet’s people will shoot down any ship that approaches Sindral unless it bears either the mark of Kali the Destroyer or her own,” explained Selmak, taking control of the explanation. “The two system lords continue to share an alliance despite our attempts to turn them against one another. With any luck, this mission will accomplish that secondary objective.”
Luck, thought Daniel with an imperceptible shake of his head. Not likely to work out given the way my day is going.
“Then are we to pose as agents of Kali the Destroyer come to bargain with Bastet’s people for the Tok’ra prisoner?” Teal’c summarized.
“Precisely,” said Selmak.
Jack opened his mouth in a silent, ahh, and put down the pencil he was fiddling with.
“And you’re sure that Bastet’s people will allow you to take custody of the Tok’ra agent?” said General Hammond.
“We believe so,” said Selmak, “for the right price. We’ve managed to get a hold of one of the weapons of mass destruction that the Tollans built for Tanith. All but one were destroyed in the attack. We’re prepared to trade it for Itaresh’s life.”
“Won’t that give Bastet a huge advantage?” asked Sam, a rather horrified look on her face. Daniel didn’t think this was a great idea either.
“We’ve swapped its trinium with a sample that contains an impurity which will make the weapon unstable,” said Jacob. “It should explode before it ever reaches any target.”
Silence stretched over the briefing room while everybody digested this.
“Aren’t Bastet’s people going to suspect a trap?” asked Daniel.
“They shouldn’t,” Jacob countered. “I’ve put the word out that Kali wants serious revenge on Itaresh, enough to be willing to part with such a valuable prize.”
“No offense, but why do you need us?” said Jack, who had resumed twirling his pencil over nimble fingers.
“As you know, the Tok’ra have recently lost a great number of our people,” answered Selmak. “There are not enough of us left to mount a rescue. Time is of the essence; Itaresh is slated to be executed tomorrow.”
Jack nodded, now tapping the pencil in sharp little raps against the table causing blips of pain in Daniel’s head with every impact.
“I’ve got disguises for everyone.” Jacob was back in control again. “Daniel, you’ll be posing as a minor Goa’uld in Kali’s service. Teal’c will be your Jaffa – we’ll disguise your forehead marking. Sam and Jack will be human members of Daniel’s retainer. When we get to Akindra, I’ll charter the ship. From there, it’s a seven-hour flight to Sindral.”
General Hammond leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together and glancing around the room. “Thank you, Jacob. If that’s all, SG-1 you’re dismissed. You’ll leave for Akindra in one hour. Good luck.”
Daniel stood wearily from his seat, battling more throbbing pain in his skull and a severe head rush which caused him to grab onto the table to steady himself.
“Hey… you alright?
The stars cleared from his vision and Daniel saw Jack’s face swim into view. “Fine.”
“You sure?” Jack knew him far too well.
“Got low blood sugar. I missed breakfast because I’ve had terrible luck all morning,” grumbled Daniel.
“Ahh. Good thing this mission doesn’t involve any gambling.”
Daniel made a noncommittal sound of agreement and left the briefing room to get some food, which banished the lightheadedness, but not the headache. Then it was off to his pre-mission exam and to his locker to gear up in the local garb of the Jaffa settlement, the first of the two disguises they had to wear. When he went to put it on, he realized someone had gotten the size wrong and the garment squeezed him too tightly around the middle. He sighed, tucking his glasses into a pocket and cursed his bad luck again.
By the time Daniel entered the event horizon of the active wormhole, he was already exhausted and uncomfortable, and his temper was on a very short leash. He followed the others toward the Goa’uld-controlled town of Akindra located near the Stargate on P4D-417.
The settlement was a dusty little town on the outskirts of Kali’s territory filled with shops and run-down buildings of a style that reminded him vaguely of the Wild West. Kali’s Jaffa patrolled the streets with staff weapons in plain view of the regular people, who kept their eyes and faces bowed and hurried along without lingering too long in any one place.
Daniel took in the bright sunlight and crowded, noisy alien street and felt his headache ratchet up a notch. He sighed, wishing he could put on his sunglasses to minimize the amount of light reaching his optic nerves. None of the locals wore glasses, so he had to do without.
“You okay?” questioned Sam, coming to walk beside him while he extracted some Tylenol.
“Yeah. Just a headache… oof!” Daniel nearly tripped and fell on a patch of downward-sloping ground and his foot sank into a puddle of smelly, squelchy mud. Daniel scrunched is face in distaste at his now-sopping boot. Damned bad luck.
At least Jacob chartered the cargo ship without incident. They boarded and stowed their gear while Jacob took the helm and got the vessel moving. Blue became black, signaling their exit from the planet’s atmosphere into interstellar space. Stars hurtled by as the ship picked up speed.
Daniel put on his glasses, took a seat with another resigned exhalation and stared out the viewscreen at the stars streaking by around them as they traveled through hyperspace. At one point, they rendezvoused with another Tok’ra cargo ship which delivered their altered Tollan weapon. It sat there ominously behind his chair, and Daniel hoped the thing wasn’t so unstable that it would explode if there was any turbulence.
“Don’t worry,” said Jacob, following Daniel’s gaze. “We’ll be fine as long as you don’t throw anything at it.”
Not long after they returned to hyperspace, Daniel’s headache began to intensify despite the Tylenol, making him wish he could lie down and go to sleep, but he was tasked with manning the tactical and communications array, and it was way too late to turn around and go home so Janet could scrub him from the mission.
Besides, a man’s life was at stake. Surely he could power through a headache, so he located some ibuprofen in his vest pocket. The fact that he had remembered to pack it felt like a stroke of good luck, and he smiled to himself before he swallowed the pills.
Several hours went by in which Daniel dozed in his chair, despite his responsibility, unable to help himself. He was woken by a sharp jolt like the craft was under fire. He blinked bleary eyes and peered out at space beyond, then at his flashing console.
They’d dropped out of hyperspace. Something large zoomed by emitting a blinding burst of yellow toward them. An instant later, the ship bucked. His guess was correct: they were in fact being shot at.
“It’s a mothership!” Jacob announced as the pyramid-shaped vessel made another fly-by. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s one of Olokun’s.”
“Who cares whose ship it is, get us the hell out of here,” shouted Jack while Teal’c manned the weapons – this tel’tak had apparently been modified with two staff cannons in the front. “At least this Tollan thing hasn’t gone nova on us,” he muttered.
“Hang on,” said Jacob, doing some fancy evasive flying, dodging the blasts as well as he could. The ship rocked and shook under fire. Teal’c scored some direct hits on the ha’tak, but it’s shielding was too strong and it came away unscathed.
The ha’tak fired again, and Jacob dodged, narrowly avoiding the incoming missiles. The back of Daniel’s neck prickled and he couldn’t help shooting distrustful glances at the unstable Tollan weapon behind him.
Then the enemy made a lucky shot and the console in front of Daniel exploded in a shower of sparks. The cargo ship gave an almighty lurch, and Daniel crashed hard into the damaged console. His head screamed bloody murder. Searing pain shot down his leg. He must have passed out for a few seconds, for when he came to, the cabin had gone dim and sparks flew from other damaged equipment.
“Shields are down!” shouted Sam.
That was bad. So was the blood that ran in alarming quantities down his thigh from a deep gash. His torn pants quickly became saturated with red. Daniel grew dizzy very fast.
Jack materialized as if propelled by a rocket and began to press hard on the wound with something - a piece of cloth, maybe - making Daniel yell and causing black stars to burst across his vision like fireworks.
“You alright, Danny?” asked Jacob from the helm, at the same time that Sam rushed over with the first aid kit in response to Jack’s directions.
Daniel let out a pained grunt, squeezing his eyes shut as his team mates worked to get the bleeding stopped and a bandage applied. The ship rocked with continued strikes from the staff canons of Olokun’s ha’tak. Teal’c returned fire while Jacob flew the ship in more complex maneuvers that made Daniel’s stomach threaten to rebel.
Daniel reflected on the irony of the situation. The headache he’d had was now a concussion thanks to the enemy Goa’uld. Bad luck achievement unlocked. If he hadn’t been in so much pain, Daniel would have laughed.
When Daniel’s leg wound had been sufficiently dressed, Sam started bandaging his head injury. Then Jack extended a hand to help haul him to his feet. Daniel tentatively transferred a minuscule iota of weight to his injured leg and summarily crumpled to the ground, groaning in excruciating pain and grasping the wound.
Never mind the concussion. Of all the bad things that had happened today, this gash in his leg was by far the worst. He couldn’t put any weight on it without enduring sharp, debilitating spikes of agony. How the hell was he going to walk anywhere? What a mission this was turning out to be!
“Daniel!” shouted Jack, “Buddy… you okay?”
Hissing through his teeth, Daniel tried to shake his head and received a severe admonishment from his injured noggin. “Uhhh… not really, but I’ll live,” he tried to downplay. “Y’know I’ve uhh… I’ve got a great view of all the dirt under here,” he said, going for humor while trying to banish the roaring in his ears. “Better tell whoever you rented this ship from that they should fire their cleaning staff.”
“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable, yeah?” said Jack, and with Teal’c’s help, tried to move Daniel to a place where he could lie down. They did not expect Daniel’s reaction, which was to scream and go stark white, nearly losing his meager breakfast and passing out in the process.
“Oh my God… Daniel, what’s wrong?” asked Sam in alarm.
“I think… I think there’s something lodged… in m-my leg,” he panted. A cold prickle of sweat slid down his neck as another wave of agony crashed down upon him.
Sam began to unwrap the bandage they had so meticulously applied. Daniel held back his cries as best he could until someone got him a morphine shot. His eyes fluttered closed. Once the drug took effect, someone, probably Sam, went poking around in his wound. Even with the morphine Daniel could feel it, though he only had the strength left to whimper.
He didn’t know how much time passed before he registered someone rewrapping his leg. It definitely felt better now and he blearily opened his eyes a bit to find Sam disposing of a bloody piece of shrapnel. He tried to say thank you, but the right sounds to form words just weren’t coming out, and he only managed something halfway between a grunt and a groan.
“How are you doing?” asked Jack.
Daniel managed to nod and raise one corner of his mouth in a poor facsimile of a smile before his eyelids flickered shut and he fell into a badly-needed sleep.
When Daniel awoke he felt significantly better. The wound in his leg still throbbed in time to his heartbeat, but nowhere near as badly as before, and his headache had even faded a bit. The enemy ha’tak was gone. The interior of the ship looked better – there was less broken equipment around, and the Tollan weapon was still intact. He soon realized his companions were arguing. About him.
“He’s in no shape.”
“We need him, Sam. He’s supposed to pose as a Goa’uld in Kali’s service, remember?”
“Let me do it, dad.”
“No, kiddo, you don’t speak Goa’uld.”
“What about you? Can’t you do it?” asked Jack.
“Sorry. I can’t set foot on Sindral. I’ll be recognized and the mission will fail.”
“WHAT? And you didn’t think to TELL us this before goin’ on this mission?”
“I’m sorry, Jack, I didn’t think it was going to be a problem. Look, Daniel’s tougher than you give him credit for. I have every confidence he’ll be able to do this.”
Daniel must have made some kind of sound, because everyone was suddenly at his side. “‘S goin’ on?” he asked blearily, squinting at them through half-lidded eyes.
It was Jacob who answered. “We’ve arrived. I’m gonna need you to use the comm to announce yourself whenever you’re ready. I’ll stay with the ship and work on making repairs.” He turned in his chair to face Daniel, paused, then asked, “You going to be able to pull this off?”
Daniel nodded, though he thoroughly dreaded putting weight on his leg.
“How ya feelin’?” asked Jack, trying to hide his concern behind a mask of indifference, but Daniel caught the tightening of his mouth and eyes that signaled significant worry.
Daniel licked dry lips and tried to speak. A canteen appeared, offered by Teal’c, to let him slake a powerful thirst. “Lil better,” he managed to say. “Still… I don’t think you want me on this mission.” He gestured sloppily toward his bandaged leg. “Very bad luck today.”
Jack patted him gently on the back in reassurance. “Unless you’re not feeling up to it…”
“I’m okay, Jack.”
The colonel helped Daniel out of his too-tight garment and into his second outfit in order to pose as one of Kali’s Goa’ulds.
“Ready, Daniel?”
Daniel switched on the Goa’uld voice synthesizer concealed within his clothing. His voice issued in a deep, foreign tone. “Ready.”
The Rings activated whisking their patterns down to the moon. When his atoms rematerialized Daniel found himself in a place that reminded him strongly of Netu, minus the heat. If anything, it was chilly, especially with his somewhat-revealing outfit. The blood loss he’d suffered probably didn’t help either.
The landscape was bleak and rocky. The worn sides of craters from old meteor strikes gave the place a very other-worldly quality. Daniel knew that this moon was too small to sustain an atmosphere, and they wouldn’t be able to survive without the dome-like forcefield that surrounded the area in order to make it habitable. The brooding darkness was befitting of a penal colony, he thought as he made his way toward the first pair of Jaffa guards standing silently at the entrance of the underground prison, along with a Goa’uld in Bastet’s service.
“Vel shak,” Teal’c greeted, bowing his head and standing just in front of Daniel as if protecting him, garbed in the armor of Kali and wearing a tight cap that concealed his forehead marking. Posing as human slaves, Sam and Jack bowed like Jacob had instructed.
“We have arrived to take custody of the Tok’ra traitor, Itaresh,” said Daniel in the Goa’uld tongue. “You will take us to him.”
The sound of his augmented voice gave him the shivers while he did his best to keep the weight off his injured leg without looking like he was doing so. He scratched surreptitiously at his arm. This outfit was the right size, but the fabric irritated his skin, and he could see the beginnings of a red bumpy rash forming. Damned bad luck.
“The weapon,” demanded Bastet’s Goa’uld.
Daniel pressed a button on the wrist device he wore, and the Tollan weapon appeared as a holographic image. “When the prisoner is in my custody I will deliver the weapon to you.”
After several tense moments, Bastet’s Goa’uld signaled the guards to allow SG-1 to pass. Daniel could feel their predatory eyes on them the whole way descending a sloping passageway that led into the bowels of the moon. Daniel dragged himself, one laborious step at a time down the long, dark corridors, aware of the fact that he couldn’t show signs of injury while they were still in sight of Bastet’s people.
When finally they were alone, the others chatted softly, their voices echoing over the smoothed stone and dusty floor. Daniel didn’t speak a word. His mouth was clamped tight, compressed into a thin line, or biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.
Stabbing pain coursed down his leg and sweat broke out over his forehead. His skin itched in protest to the fabric of his Goa’uld outfit. Wetness trickling down his leg told him that the wound had broken open. His headache also began to grow worse, accompanied by nausea from the concussion. He stumbled. Two sets of hands appeared to support him from either side: Jack on his left and Teal’c on his right. He nodded in wordless thanks.
After what seemed like an eternity, a second set of guards came into view silhouetted against the flickering torchlight. Floating motes of dust swirled round armor-plated bodies and helmeted heads. Behind the guards Itaresh the Tok’ra sat calmly cross-legged on the floor of his cell as if he weren’t about to be executed in less than twenty four hours. He rose when he saw them.
“The prisoner,” Daniel demanded in the Goa’uld tongue, wishing he could make his eyes flash like a real Goa’uld.
After a brief hesitation, the guards opened the cell door and allowed Itaresh to exit. The Tok’ra eyed Daniel, Jack and Sam with obvious distrust, but joined them and began to move as they drew away from the now-empty cell.
Bastet’s guards stopped them. More Jaffa came from somewhere to surround the Tok’ra and the disguised SG-1. “My lord… we are commanded not to let you leave unless you give us the weapon,” said a particularly tall and muscular Jaffa, inclining his head at Daniel.
Daniel snarled and made a show of throwing out his chest the way all Goa’ulds did and tapped the appropriate buttons on his wrist device to let Jacob know he should Ring the weapon to the surface of the moon where Bastet’s personnel could take it.
“It is done,” Daniel told the Jaffa, who consulted with someone using a long-range communicator, and Daniel clearly heard them relay that they had received the weapon. “Now move aside,” Daniel commanded.
Long, tense moments ticked by. Then at last, staff weapons parted, armored bodies started to move slowly away. Impatient and hurting, Daniel was so damned uncomfortable he couldn’t stand it any longer, so he decided to ham up his act.
“Move faster, idiots!” he barked. “I am —” Daniel cut off sharply. “Uh oh.”
His voice synthesizer had malfunctioned right in the middle of his sentence, and just like that, their cover was blown. Bad, bad luck.
Everybody ran, feet kicking up silty dust from the floor of the cave-like passageway. Daniel struggled mightily with his injured leg, face grey with exhaustion and pain. The others tried to help him – even the Tok’ra agent, who had by now figured out that SG-1 were allies. Teal’c had somehow stolen one of the Jaffa’s staff weapons and began to fire from the rear of the fleeing group.
“Teal’c! Ahead!” Jack warned as the entrance to the tunnel with the first pair of guards and Bastet’s Goa’uld came into view.
Now pinned between two hostile groups, Teal’c was hard pressed to keep them from being incinerated by staff weapons or thrown back by the kara’kesh worn by Bastet’s Goa’uld. Thanks to Teal’c’s expert shooting and the acquisition of another staff weapon, they broke out of the tunnels into what passed for daylight on this tiny moon.
A glance around showed the Tollan weapon had been moved toward a bunker of some kind. A swarm of Jaffa and other personnel rushed toward the fleeing group, intent on capturing them.
Daniel locked eyes with Jack. He could see only one way out of this, one possible way that required a whole lot of good fortune and quick reaction time from Jacob. He ripped the useless Goa’uld voice emulator from inside his clothes, carefully feeling the weight of it in his palm. He swung his arm back, took aim and lobbed it straight at the Tollan weapon, though it had to be more than ten meters away, though the act of his throw seriously jarred his injured leg. There was such a low chance of hitting it, and with his luck today, it was likely he’d miss.
Collective breaths stalled in tightened throats. The broken Goa’uld emulator arced across the distance, and, in an incredible stroke of good luck that almost made up for the rest of Daniel’s day, struck the weapon head-on. A plume of fire bloomed in slow-motion. Daniel was already screaming into his wrist device for Jacob to Ring them out of there.
Dissolution of their surroundings commenced. Reintegration on the tel’tak prompted a multitude of relieved utterances. From the viewscreen a mushrooming ball of yellow-orange spread across the surface of the moon.
Jacob hightailed it out of there. “Good thing I finished fixing the shields while you were gone.”
Jack’s response was interrupted when a massive wave of pain struck, Daniel’s leg buckled and he proceeded to pass out cold.
Daniel woke up in the infirmary many hours later feeling fuzzy and disoriented, yet strangely comfortable with relatively minimal pain. Turning his head sideways toward the sound of voices, Daniel spotted his team and Jacob in conversation with Doctor Fraiser at the other side of the room, though he couldn’t see anyone’s faces too clearly without his glasses. He shifted, and coughed through a dry throat.
The conversation stopped immediately. Jacob smiled and waved at him from across the room, patted his daughter on the shoulder and left the infirmary while his team headed toward his bedside. They hung back while Doctor Fraiser checked his vitals and gave his eyes a thorough examination with the penlight.
“How is he?” asked Jack, who had naturally come as close to Daniel’s bed without actually getting in it.
“Not bad, considering,” said the physician. “His concussion is relatively mild, his leg is showing no signs of infection and his dehydration is being addressed with fluids. His pain is being managed well with medication.” She finished taking his temperature and put the thermometer down on the cart. “You’re a very lucky man, Doctor Jackson,” said addressed him, shaking her head, indicating his bandaged leg under the infirmary sheets. “Another inch, and you’d have nicked a major artery and bled out a lot faster than you did.”
Luck. There was that word again.
“W-what day is it?” Daniel asked Jack with urgency as Fraiser walked away.
“Daniel?”
“What day?”
“It’s Thursday,” said Jack, looking at him strangely.
Daniel relaxed back against the bed and closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted and still quite fuzzy, licking again at dry lips. “Good.”
“What’s this all about?” asked Sam, giving his hair a gentle stroke while Jack offered him a drink from the cup of water beside the bed.
“It’s not Tuesday. No more bad luck.”
“Shak’tar ben’way,” said Teal’c, to the confusion of everyone.
“T?”
“It means, ‘curse of the gods’,” Teal’c explained. “On Chulak, when one experiences many successive events that are not favorable, it is believed that the gods have put a curse upon him, and that he must work to lift it with brave words and deeds.”
“Well that’s… interesting,” said Jack, fiddling with a tongue depressor.
“It is merely a superstition, considering the gods were false. Nevertheless, I do believe you have lifted the shak’tar ben’way, my friend.” Teal’c inclined his head toward Daniel, who smiled back tentatively.
Jack put down the tongue depressor. “Well, I don’t know about any shake n’ bake, but that Tok’ra guy was real thankful to all of us for rescuing him,” said Jack.
“Shak’tar ben’way,” corrected Teal’c with a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
Daniel snorted. Some things never changed. Jack would always deliberately mispronounce things and Teal’c would pretend not to remember Earth-based colloquialisms.
“Alright, everyone out please. My patient needs to rest,” came Fraiser’s voice, ending the discussion.
“Sleep well, Daniel,” said Sam, giving him a quick peck on the cheek while Fraiser turned the lights down over Daniel’s bed.
“We’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe we can do a little gambling now that your luck’s come back.”
“Visiting hours are over,” said Fraiser pointedly. Sam and Teal’c wisely headed out of the infirmary.
“Gin, black jack, poker,” called Jack from the entryway.
“Shoo, Colonel.”
Jack finally skedaddled out of the infirmary.
Daniel chuckled and pulled the covers over himself and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure about any shak’tar ben’way or how good he’d be at cards, but he thought that whatever happened, he had the best luck in the world to be part of such a wonderful group of friends.
END