-1-
Of all the planets we’ve been to, whenever I broke the rules, I was the one who got into trouble.
This time it’s Daniel. And I knew better.
That slug of an overseer Haynen summoned me out of the mine, informed me that my insubordination did not go unnoticed. I couldn’t have cared less, especially since they let us go for the day as usual. I just wanted to get some sleep.
Now, outside, Gabreen catches up with me, says she has something to show me, takes me to the courtyard, warning me not to approach. We hide behind the upper walls. There in the center - tied like an "X" to posts embedded in the stones - is Daniel.
I start towards him.
Gab keeps me back, gripping my wrist. She says they gave him twenty lashes to keep me in line. They know we are here, that is what they do. Believe me, you would bring more misery upon him. He will be released by morning, a few survive. Then he the receiver and you, the lawbreaker, will be allowed time together - if only for the latter to witness the after-suffering, or jeyru, of the former. I have seen them left to die if the lawbreaker interfered. You would be locked away. Believe me.
Watching Daniel, I consider her words. His eyes are closed. He has horizontal streaks of blood across his body from his face to his feet where the switch has cut. One extends from temple to brow; I hope it hasn’t struck an eyeball. His legs are slightly bent, breathing strained. He doesn’t stir, doesn’t look anywhere.
I break away from her grip, saying I won’t wait that long, it could freeze overnight. I can’t leave him like that.
Taking the stairs, I run down along the walkway. The guards block my path, tackle me, escorting me to the miners’ quarters, a sword at my back.
I don’t sleep, getting in and out of bed, pacing. From the window, I watch the night shift shuffle by. In my mind, over and over again, I scan ways to get past the guards, remembering what Gabreen has said.
This night is seventeen hours long. Tonight, double that.
-2-
Haynen barges in. He orders me to pick Daniel up and report to work this evening - an additional penalty. I’ve always been a day slave. Not that it makes a difference in the darkness of a mine.
Gab arrives after him, carrying a tray full of cloths, several bottles of prepared water, meaning boiled, the way she knows we try and drink it. She also has salve in a ceramic jar which is for cleaning wounds.
I sprint to the courtyard. The guards don’t bother me; they let me go in. Daniel is as I’d seen him last. He turns his head, opening his eyes when I call his name. Good sign. Hang on, I tell him; I’ll have you loose in a minute.
I struggle with the binding on his left wrist; we aren’t allowed any knives. The cord is narrow and slippery, holds a tight knot, my fingers clumsy. There’s a wound in the palm of his hand which has bled on to the cord, staining it red from white before it dripped to the ground. I can’t grab the main strand to pull; I pick at it, cursing. The guards laugh. Bastards.
Finally, my fingertips sore, I loosen a loop, tug out the strand. Seeing Daniel’s wrist, I proceed cautiously; the binding has worn the skin. His hand twitches while I slip off the cord. He’s listless. I gently fold his arm over his body, then start at the second binding which takes longer to untie. Again I fold his arm over to rest. The ties at the ankles are not as tough being larger, bound over his boots which protected his feet.
Unfortunately, the lashes - it seems like over twenty - have sliced through a dozen places on his pants, the same above them. Red soaks certain spots: the chest, knees, and hips where they struck the most or more forcefully. I swallow my disgust, my rage, for Daniel’s sake, until I can get him back, make sure he’ll be all right.
He’s blacking out; I worry about shock. I call his name to get him to stay with me. It works. Get me out of here, he moans. I push him into a sitting position. He’s pale. Lifting him over my shoulder, I carry him back. It’s not a long way.
-3-
I lay him on his cot, feeling a dampness where his blood has seeped through my shirt. He pulls his head back sharply, laying it to one side, his hand moving to a slash on his throat, not quite doing so. No, I tell him, guiding his hand away, I’ll take care of that, I’ll take care of everything. Rolling up a cloth, I tuck it under his neck.
I give him water, ditch his boots. His mangled T-shirt sticks to the wounds in spots. I wet the fabric first, ripping off what’s left, throw it away. The pants are harder but by rolling him sideways - apologizing every two seconds for the extra pain it causes - we get them off. I lightly spread a large piece of wrapping cloth over him from the waist down. Shaking my head, I shrink from the stinging sight. I kneel to tend him, my hate for his torturers locked inside a cage.
Beginning with his face, I wash away the coagulated blood from his forehead, eyebrows, eyelids and temples. He keeps his eyes shut while I smooth the wet cloth over, glad to find that the switch had cut between his eye and brow at the bone. The eye is intact. Your eyes are okay, I say.
Doesn’t feel like it, he replies, hushed.
Pouring trickles of water, I remove as much as possible of the blood that had run into his hair and dried. Because they’d beat him as they did on the ground, his injuries are on the front of the body and the underside of his arms. Several are deep: the one in his palm; the one on the neck, which edged near the artery; and one over a rib. They could use a stitch or two.
I am half done when he reaches out, grasps my sleeve, asking me to stop. In clipped breaths, he says, Please, leave it… I can’t…hurts too much.
God help us; I suffer with him, powerless against his anguish, cautioning that we need to finish. This godforsaken planet is not a place to get an infection.
Just let me rest a minute, he whispers, eyes puffy, brow wrinkled, maybe forever.
Breathe, I say, Like this, in through your nose, count to seven. Then out from your mouth, count down, 7…6…5…4…3… He follows my lead. After three inhalations, his brow unwrinkles a little.
I continue reluctantly, leaving the sensitive areas for last. Damn, I’m no nurse. I lift the wrapping cloth, quickly cleaning a wound at the groin, a couple on his thighs.
After finishing, I have a bloody pile of cloths. By now I am a nurse; I want to get it over with, leave him to recover. I take the salve and a clean cloth. Trying not to rub, I apply it gingerly, explaining how Gabreen brought supplies. Daniel copes, staying still, involuntarily flinching whenever it gets too bad, his eyes opening or closing depending on where I touch, on how much it burns. I think it is interminable for him. It isn’t over yet.
In a feeble attempt at distraction, I talk about the last movie I’d seen and the weather. He doesn’t say anything. He holds it in, an occasional groan escaping or a few mumbled words. I glance over; he’s staring at the ceiling, eyes watery, abdomen twitching, taking in deep breaths, swallowing hard between them. You okay? I ask. He wiggles a finger, sometimes not, tears streaming down to his ears.
I leave the sensitive parts again for last. Daniel throws his forearm over his nose and doesn’t put it down until I’m finally done with the salve. I wrap the wounds on his limbs and neck, covering the others with cloths. After that he kind of reminds me of the mummies he so faithfully studied.
You’ll be all right, I assure him, go to sleep, don’t worry about anything. Standing to stretch, I take my blanket to cover him as well as his own. I collapse on my cot to catch my heart, hear a faint thank you.
My hate resurfaces, expanding toward the bars of the cage.
I dry my eyes. Least I could do.
-4-
Daniel scares the shit out of me with his outcry, shouting at phantoms. He’s trembling, rocking, his hands clasped on his lap, eyes squeezed shut. I jump up, setting his head on my chest like I used to do for my son when he’d fall and sob, gasp for air. Daniel clings to me, clutching handfuls of my shirt.
Why Jack? he asks. What did I do?
My wall of composure crumbles, rage pressing against the bars.
I confess to him; it was me, my fault. I’d told the overseer to go to hell, hit him with the shovel. They’d stopped me. I thought that was the end of that. But this is a scary place, where they penalize the innocent for the sins of the rebels. I learned the hard way it is true.
I’m sorry Daniel. I swear to you, I won’t let them do this to you again. He weeps softly under my concern, nodding.
I’m not sure he understands all of it, the pain re-invading while his panic passes. I scold him for messing up his wounds, have him lay back down. Looks like I’m a mother now, too. It takes him a few minutes to settle; he doesn’t seem to know where to place his aching arms. A chill runs through him. His forehead feels warm.
I redress the bandages, making him as comfortable as I can: another drink of water, my hand in his for awhile, pats on the head. Quiet, try not to think about it, think of something else. Think about how good it’ll feel to have coffee again, to read your books, to hike through towering pine trees on a clear day.
The night comes. Soon I’ll have to obey and leave, or who knows what they’ll do to him next. I sense him falling asleep - breathing measured, drawn-out, interrupted by jerking wrists, shoulders and legs as if he’s remembering how fiercely he’d wanted to get away, feeling the strikes of the switch on his flesh. I picture him going about his labor, keeping trouble at bay until the day I could devise an escape. He must’ve been shocked after they dragged him off without explanation, weighed him down, restrained him. He’d probably cursed them, fighting. Later pled with them, tried to bargain, calling my name - anybody’s.
I remain at his side until I have to leave. Holding his head, I speak straight into his face, make sure he knows I’m there. I’ll be gone twelve hours at the least I say, might be more; there’s food in our stash if you’re up to it.
He squints, mumbling: Have a nice day.
If he weren’t so bad off, I would laugh.
-5-
The room has been ransacked: My bedding thrown around, our single change of clothing stolen, our few dishes cast aside. The stash is gone too. Few places are suitable for hiding food, but I thought I’d found a good one in a tidy space under a stone in the floor.
Daniel says two strangers came in the night, their torch flickering. He attempted to call for help when one robber spread a hand over his mouth, keeping him down. Not much of a challenge in Daniel’s condition. It didn’t take long, the other found it, and they were gone. Shouting for help wouldn’t have brought anyone running anyway.
As a result, we have nothing to eat until the ration is distributed in two days. At least we have water because Daniel’s burning now; he needs it. I’m concerned when Haynen will come for him, expect him to get back to work.
I rush to shower in the cold air with my pants on - if you can call a wimpy waterfall in the middle of a public bath a shower. It’s enough to wash away the dust of the mine. The blood, however, is permanent, staining my shirt, my memories.
Brought back clothes for Daniel, traded my belt. Also my watch, a useless novelty here, which I’d kept in my hat. Got a pair of pants that’ll probably be too short if the size of the man who traded me for them is any indication. And another shirt. They’ll do when he’s better. He will get better.
Daniel needs to take a leak. I wrap a blanket around him - bandages falling off - helping him out of the cot. He can’t stand; his legs are weak, scrunches up his face at each attempt. Hurts like hell he says…Jack? He nearly faints, sitting back down until his vision returns, regaining his awareness.
Take it slow, I suggest.
After lots of small steps and grimaces, leaning on me all the way, we make it to the back. I turn away while he takes care of business. The blanket covers him from the chest down lest anyone pass by on a casual stroll in Paradise Lost.
Next time, he tells me, hand me a bottle.
I say You got it, but I’m not helping.
On our return, I feel another chill course through him. I change his bandages, a few cuts have leaked through the cloths. Later I’ll need to look for that bottle.
I fall asleep before he does, feeling guilty for it.
-6-
Haynen wakes me in the middle of the day’s rest by poking my side with his freakin’ poking cane. Someday I’m going to snatch that thing from him, ram it up his fundament to his core, his nasty, putrid nucleus. The rest of them as well.
My anger is a madness, buckling the bars of the cage.
He points at Daniel, jabs him with the cane, uncovering him all the way. The blankets fall to the sides.
I have to play it smart, squelch my contempt. Without provoking him, I have to convince him that Daniel’s not ready to work (unsaid: before he has to go back to washing their foul underwear), that I’ve learned my lesson. I bow my head, act as humbly as I’m able without gagging, restraining the madness.
I take off my dog tags. In my best delivery in their language (all I’ve learned over the weeks of imprisonment, which isn’t much), I proclaim that they were taken from the treasure of one of our kings; they bring fortune to the wearer.
He asks, Why are you here then?
I tell him it doesn’t work on people with…brown eyes. Can’t think of anything else.
He tosses it around, puts it on, leaves. It buys Daniel another three shift rotations off if we’re lucky. Haynen lies a lot. Don’t think he believes me either, just likes to see me squirm. Before those rotations are done, we’ll be out of here.
I cover Daniel back up, go to bed. He hasn’t heard a word.
-7-
There was a cave-in at the mine. I’m not needed tonight. They pulled out five dead overseers. It’s chaos until they get replacements. Daniel’s fighting an intense fever, sweating and shivering alternately. I’d like to take him to the waterfall. Don’t think we’d make it. I’m dizzy from lack of food.
Gab sneaks in, checking that no one has seen where she’s going. We’re not permitted to visit without permission, but attention is focused on getting the mine operational again. They need the fuel. How she manages I’ll never know.
She says I might be ordered to clear out rubble at any moment and the only reason I haven’t been is that Haynen seems to have forgotten my name.
Laughing out loud, she stops herself, focusing on Daniel. She sits beside him, easy not to jostle the cot. He opens his eyes slowly, the left one swollen. She speaks to him in her language. I don’t understand all of it; Daniel does. He smiles, raising his hand to hers. She pulls back the covers, lifts bandages and examines the scabbing stripes on his torso and legs. She talks to him once more, looks back at me, saying, You’ve done well.
Her face is serious. She strokes Daniel’s chin, puts a hand on his head.
Picking up a cloth, she folds it as carefully as you would the perfect gift, then wets it, places it on his forehead. He closes his eyes. She promises him: This will pass.
I believe her. She’s a better nurse than I am, too.
Use the salve, she advises, apologizing for not bringing a painkiller, a high cost in trade. Keep him still, reassure him.
Wish somebody would reassure me.
-8-
Received our ration today: breadstuffs with a tasteless broth hardly worth the drinking. But we do; it’s all there is. Daniel and I have lost at least ten pounds each so far.
Daniel asks for more water as I’m trying to find a less obvious place to hide food. You really should try to eat something, I urge him. There’s no reply.
He’s fallen into a delirium: tossing, turning, lucid one minute, babbling in several languages the next, kicking off covers, getting up. He speaks nonsense, asks for Sam and Teal’c, his dead wife. I think he knows where he is but is too sick to care.
At other moments, he’s so quiet I have to listen to know whether he’s alive, feel for his pulse. Twice he’s gotten out of the cot as I dozed, stumbled around the room. One of those times I sat him down, pulled those spiffy new pants on him. They barely reach his ankles, but they’ll do. Give the man back a semblance of dignity.
He didn’t need this, didn’t need to be treated like a menace to society. Neither did I.
I stay awake for hours to keep an eye on him, staunching the bleeding from aggravated wounds. Gab comes by with more water and salve. She thinks I should tie him to the cot for his own good and mine. I talk too much, must be losing it; I let it slip: We’re not going to put up with this any longer.
She instantly jumps to conclusions. Take me with you, she pleads.
No, wouldn’t be safe, too dangerous, I insist. Out of the question. She seems to accept it like she does most things, including the beatings.
Before she departs, I ask her, Why didn’t they make me watch?
She motions to Daniel saying, Is this not a greater torment? That you were not there to stop this? That you are haunted by your helplessness? How your mind of itself sees what he endured?
It makes perfect rotten sense.
The thought returns: I have to leave tonight; my vacation is over. The timing of Daniel’s turn for the worse is not good. Otherwise, the mine disaster would have been a good diversion.
Making a difficult decision, I rip a few rags into long strips. They need to be secure, but not so firm they hurt. I bind him from the upper arms to the side-frame of the cot with plenty of slack. The last thing I want is for him to irritate his wounds further or to crawl off into the sunsets. I wonder if that will be enough. At the last minute I tie his ankles to the cot. I hope they hold. Frankly, I don’t think he’ll notice.
Before going, I alert Daniel by shaking his shoulder. He opens his eyes halfway. Do you know I have to go again? I ask, as though he were deaf, telling him I’d pushed my cot next to his so he can reach a water jar.
He stares at me, turns away, withdraws into his own world.
-9-
I hate worrying. It’s a waste of energy. Not that I have any.
I’ve stayed in denial all day, trying not to think about Daniel or what’s happened to the rest of my team. They’ve brought in extra people to help clear rubble. I watch the emergency crew as they drag by while we wait for instructions and oh god, It’s Teal’c, I say aloud, shutting up quickly before Haynen sends someone to beat Teal’c, too.
We don’t acknowledge one another. However, in the mine, I stand two men away from him, inching my way closer when the overseers are busy arguing with one another. I tell him about Daniel. He relates how Sam works in the harvest clearing weeds, picking crops. I’m relieved she’s alive, strengthened. Farming should be a cinch for her. Teal’c says he too discovered their rules of punishment, but it was not Sam they chose. It was an old man who had shared his rations with him. He languished for many days before dying.
Teal’c speaks to no one, fears talking to me. He’ll come over if he can manage it. We’ll make plans before light. This is the miracle I’ve been hoping for since we were brought here, since we survived the first weeks sick as dogs from the water.
I haven’t prayed a real prayer in ages; Daniel’s fever needs to break soon.
-10-
When I get back, Daniel is awake, asking: Did you really feel this was necessary?
I’m glad he’s somewhat pissed because he must be better to realize I’ve treated him like luggage. Shush, I declare. Save your volts, sorry about that. I release him, report what’s up, handing him water which he gulps in fervently. He’s been long hours alone, and the water on the cot had lost its lid and spilled.
He complains that his head feels like a train wreck, his body like it was run over by that same train on fire. I brief him on the plan which isn’t much of one really.
We have to try, he says, this is no way to live, it’s not living at all.
Then get well fast, I tell him.
I’m drained, don’t have the desire to eat, although I help Daniel drink the broth. I’m clumsy, can’t concentrate; the cup slips. He coughs when it goes down the wrong way.
I crash into bed. Can’t wait for breakfast. Pancakes with streams of butter and syrup. Daniel as well as he’s ever been.
In my dreams.
-11-
Within the hour, Teal’c appears. It’s tough to wake up enough to clear my head. It’s nearly suns’ rise (this planet has two, weaker together than our one sun alone). Seeing Daniel’s wounds, he asks him how he is. Daniel shrugs, sighs. Teal’c avers: You are resilient Daniel Jackson. He blinks, pulls up the covers. So much for conversation.
Teal’c will contact Sam tomorrow since he’s usually sent to pick up foodstuffs from the day’s harvest. The overseer of the quarry crew likes freebies. They favor Teal’c because of his ability to lift and carry a greater load than others into the carts. I don’t need to warn him, but I do: You know what’ll happen if you’re caught.
I know this, boasts Teal’c, in his usual way; Daniel Jackson has borne your thrashing like a warrior.
I should’ve been more careful, I admit. Should’ve tried for freedom sooner.
It is not your fault O’Neill, this system of justice is unfair, cruel as that of the Goa’uld.
But I’m in charge, supposed to be in control. I don’t mention that part to Teal’c though. Let him go on thinking of me as the Superman I am.
Right.
-12-
Haynen is approaching with his guard. I want to stand in the doorway, tell him he can’t come in, shove us around, bite me. My fists are ready, my body, my mind…
My lord, I tell him, Welcome. And my stomach writhes like a snake pinned by its head.
Daniel braces himself on an elbow, looking broken yet defiant. Bet you dollars to doughnuts you could take him, Danny.
Haynen circles the cot, sizing Daniel up like a dining room set on sale, and orders him back to work. Stepping up, the guard flings the blankets away.
The bars of the cage burst; my madness rushes forward. The guard is quick, jamming his fist into my gut. As I double over, Haynen grabs Daniel by the ear and wrenches him off the cot. He crumples to the floor. Haynen is relentless, hanging on until Daniel stands and braces himself on the wall. Kicking me aside with his foot, the guard takes over, seizes Daniel by the back of the neck, hauling him out the door.
I want to shout no you son-of-a-bitch, snap his filthy spine along with Haynen’s. Getting up, I bite my lips into silence, pounding my fist on the doorjamb while they drag Daniel toward the path. Showing from nowhere, Gab halts them, speaks to Haynen, averting her gaze. In a moment, the slug taps his guard on the wrist with his cane. As he lets go, Daniel falls to his knees. Gabreen leaves with Haynen, his slimy trail oozing after him. She never looks back.
I run to Daniel, get him inside. What’s going on? I ask.
She offered to steal for him he says, but I didn’t understand what.
Don’t think we’ll ever find out.
-13-
Daniel put his new shirt on by himself, grumbling about the high-water pants. I tell him: You’re lucky you’re not wearing a blanket-skirt right now. His fever has broken; he’s eaten solid food. The cut on his side is bothering him. He moves like he’s made of steel, stiff, slow. I tell him Try not to sneeze; he says Too late.
It’s a brief relief to know Daniel is going to make it. Escaping is my main concern at this point. Darkness will be helpful; it’s no guarantee. Teal’c has stolen fuel from the mine and hidden it in the tool sack. Carrying tools is another job he does as a beast of burden. That’s all he is to them. He’ll transfer it to the cart later. At the designated time, it’s going up in a blaze of glory next to the dry vegetation in the fallow fields.
He and Sam - cross my fingers - should be ready by the time I return. We’ll meet at the waterfall as soon as the alarm sounds. We’ll have to run all the way. The adrenaline in our veins will have to sustain us.
How’re you doing? I ask Daniel, You ready?
Don’t worry about me, he answers; you don’t look too good yourself.
He’s probably right. We don’t have any mirrors.
-14-
Gab is with Daniel when I get back from the mine shift. He’s on his cot. Can’t wake him no matter how firmly I shake. She says she found him like that. You’re lying I tell her, what did you do to him? What did you give him?
Take me with you, she begs.
I don’t have a choice, don’t have time. I offer a deal. All right, you awaken him, I’ll think about it. She takes a small bottle, pours oily stuff on to a cloth, holds it under Daniel’s nose. It rouses him like smelling salts; he begins to come around. She asks me to help sit him up, give him a drink to sip (an antidote, I figure), until he comes to his senses.
What happened? he asks, rubbing his head. I’m about to fill him in when the alarm goes off.
We rush out the back. Daniel is woozy, but holding his own. At the waterfall, there’s no room for TV reunions. We follow the riverbank down toward the gate, passing the city walls through an underground tunnel, taking out two guards. Sam dials an address we’d previously decided on; we can’t go earthside without a GDO. Anyplace but here.
Our destination planet is covered in daylight, warm, open. It’s over; we’re free. I can smell the coffee already.
Sam comments that Daniel and I could use a bath, cringes to see his battered body. We’re fine, I maintain.
Daniel says Speak for yourself.
And we have our TV reunion. It’s nice.
I ask Gabreen who she’s left behind, who will receive the lashes of the switch for the crime of her escape.
No one, she declares, because if I am not there to witness jeyru, what point is there in it then?
Why did I ask? I think, checking on Daniel, who’s collapsed to rest like everyone else.
I should’ve known better. I’m Superman; I know the rules of punishment.
Thanks to little helpers: Shane, Xena, Jamieson, PW, and Julie. It’s better due to you all.
July 31, 2001 © The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.