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Title: Down Here Among the Wreckage
Author: Annerb
Summary: Five years ago, SG-1 broke in half. Two years ago, Earth lost. Today, there is one last chance to fix things.  But sometimes the pieces just don’t fit back together again.
Warnings: Mature for language, violence, torture, non-con, adult themes, and some temporal meandering.
Categorization: AU, H/C, darkfic, tragedy, and apocafic for flavor. Team, Sam/Jack.
A/N: Special thanks to la_tante  for the beta.

Part One: History
Prologue
Fragments
All Fall Down
Eight Weeks


Chapter 4: World on Fire

Jacob shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders to relieve the stiffness there.

‘You know I could-,’ Selmak starts for at least the twentieth time.

‘No,’ is Jacob’s just as predictable response.

Selmak sighs but leaves Jacob to his discomfort.  He’s been sitting in this chair for more than six hours straight now, making minor and superfluous corrections to their heading.  His ass is numb and his neck is protesting in at least six languages, but he refuses to let Selmak fix that.

He wants to be miserable, thank you very much.

He doesn’t need Selmak to tell him how illogical that is, either.

It’s been three days since Daniel and Teal’c showed up to tell him what they learned from the Jaffa Jatal. 

Imagining what Sam suffered had been bad enough even before he knew Jack’s place in this whole disaster.  But at least her disappearance made a hell of a lot more sense now.

While Jatal could not be convinced to give up any of his master’s secrets, such as the location of his planets or common flight paths for his ships, the Tok’ra did have some small amount of information on Anhur.  Which, as Daniel theorized, is probably how Sam knew where to go as well.  And why she had seemed so intent on coming back with Jacob in the first place.

He still thinks he should have seen that coming.

‘And if you somehow had, do you really believe you could have stopped her?’ Selmak asks.

God, he really misses being able to brood in peace.

Next to them, Daniel drops into the open seat, a food bar in one hand and a worn file in the other.  The few slips of paper within represent the minimal information the Tok’ra keep on Anhur.  Hell, Selmak’s first reaction to learning that Anhur had been the one to hold Sam and Jack prisoners had been, ‘Anhur is still alive?’

That’s how well known this particular Goa’uld is.  No one has heard anything about him or bothered to even check up on him in at least a decade.  Not since long before Ra’s death.

Daniel flips the much-reviewed file shut with a snap.  “Is there anything else you can tell me about Anhur?” he asks.

‘All yours,’ Jacob says, knowing Selmak’s been dying for company other than his for hours now.  He doesn’t really blame her.

“Not a great deal,” Selmak says, turning to look at Daniel.  “Just that he is a minor Goa’uld descended from one of Ra’s inferior breeding lines.”

Daniel leans forward, his forehead creasing above the frame of his glasses.  “Breeding lines?”

Jacob’s always thought that’s a particularly bizarre turn of phrase himself.  Like they’re referring to themselves as purebred poodles or something.

And just because he’s still annoyed and Selmak is trying to be so damn serious in front of Daniel, Jacob dredges up an image of his batty great-aunt Edie’s pink monster of a dog. Turnabout is fair play.

Selmak snorts internally but refuses to be derailed.  “Yes,” she says to Daniel. “The production of symbiotes among the Goa’uld is quite complicated and is strictly regulated.  Never more so than since Egeria.”

There’s an understatement, Jacob thinks.  Egeria proved that the Goa’uld were not infallible.  Subversion from within.

“I can only imagine,” Daniel says.  “But how exactly do they regulate reproduction?”

“Symbiotes are bred with their specific purpose in mind, whether they are meant to serve merely as prim’tah or if they are destined to one day be rewarded with a host.  While Jaffa and their prim’tah are the Goa’uld’s base of power, the reigning System Lords are still careful not to flood the galaxy with an excess of symbiotes capable of one day becoming rivals, not wishing for the increased territorial competition.”

“So symbiotes created merely for the purpose of sustaining Jaffa are somehow…inferior?”

Selmak nods.  “A Queen is capable of manipulating how much information and memory is passed onto her offspring.  As you recall, Egeria herself was able to produce symbiotes that were little more than empty husks.” 

“It must be a fine line between ensuring the survival of their race, and limiting growth.”

“Many Goa’uld find it necessary to have underlings to help maintain their borders.  Ra was particularly careful about which Queens his lines descended from.  Many of the more powerful Goa’uld System Lords were born of Ra’s mate Selkhet, but for many centuries he was also in league with Tefnut, a Queen of little power or significance.  It was with Tefnut that he created a line of purposely inferior, and therefore less threatening, descendents.”

“Good followers, but not leaders in their own right?” Daniel guesses.

“Yes.  Anhur and others of his line were little more than vassals to Ra.  Any power or significance they had came from him.”

“So when Ra died,” Daniel says, “they became even less significant.”

“Yes.  It is probably why we heard nothing of Anhur’s capture of SG-1.  He has never been important enough to merit being spied upon.  He has been lucky enough to survive the chaos that descended after Ra’s death but still holds onto only a handful of planets out in the far edges of space.”

“But when he took Jack as his host…”

Selmak shakes her head.  “I doubt even O’Neill’s knowledge can salvage what is inherently a genetic ineptitude, though Anhur undoubtedly saw it as an opportunity to curry favor with a new Lord, perhaps in exchange for greater protection from his neighbors.”

“But you would have heard about it if he had, right?”

“That is correct.”

Daniel leans back in his seat, peering thoughtfully out into space for a while.  “Jatal did let slip that Anhur has recently suffered great losses.”

Jacob reemerges. “Maybe he’s so busy getting his ass kicked, he hasn’t had the chance to contact the System Lords.”

“But you do think this is where Sam’s gone, right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Jacob says, rubbing wearily at his neck.  “You guys have always been big on not leaving anyone behind, right?”

“Right,” Daniel agrees.

While it will take them over a week to arrive at the first of Anhur’s known planets, they have to assume Sam took the shorter, much more reckless path of dialing directly.  No one seems to want to speak the obvious truth, but Jacob knows without being told.  Sam has proven she is no longer thinking straight and, even worse, that she feels she has very little left to lose.

It scares the hell out of him.

As does the fact that there is very little chance they will reach her in time.

So Jacob shifts in his seat again, feeling a particularly nasty twinge in his back, and minutely fixes their flight path.

It’s all he can do.

*     *     *

It’s not until the third planet that they hit pay dirt. 

“Hey guys,” Jacob calls out.  “Get up here.”

They spent four days scouting the first system Anhur had been known to control at some point, slipping into the region under cloak and monitoring communications between the surprisingly frequent ships.  None of them belonged to Anhur though, and it seemed quite obvious that Olokun now ruled the system, having recently expanded outward from his neighboring territory.  They have to assume the two planets there were the two Jatal mentioned.

It took another few days to reach the second, even more isolated system.  Here it seems that Jacob doesn’t even need to bother with the cloak.  They have yet to see a single ship, or find any trace of habitation.

It’s only when Jacob orbits the fourth planet that he finally picks up signs of civilization, meager as they are.

“What have you discovered?” Teal’c asks as he and Daniel appear behind him.

“This planet is definitely inhabited,” Jacob says, beginning another scan of the surface.  “There’s a Stargate, and a few scattered pockets of civilization radiating outward from it.”

“Wait,” Daniel says, pointing to the screen.  “What is that? On the mountain?”

“I’m not sure,” Jacob says, maneuvering the ship into a lower orbit now that he’s fairly convinced there are no other ships in the area.

The clouds pull back slowly, revealing a lush jungle and the dominating mountain that overlooks the entire region.

“Jesus,” Jacob breathes when he gets his first clear view.

“Is that…?” Daniel asks.

It’s a mother ship, or at least it had been at one point.  Now it is little more than a broken shell, vast regions of the hull ripped clean away, interior chambers exposed to the sky.

“This damage is fairly recent,” Teal’c observes, slipping into the seat next to Jacob.

“How recent?” Daniel asks.

“Less than three weeks.”

They’re too late.  Much too late.

Jacob isn’t really sure what he expected Sam to have done, hadn’t allowed himself to think of things so concretely, but this…  God, what has she done?  How far has she gone?

“There is a small village less than ten kilometers from the ship,” Teal’c notes.

“We should see if any of the villagers are willing to talk to us.”

Either Daniel doesn’t quite get what this destruction might mean, or he’s doing a better job of clinging to unfounded hope than Jacob is.

He knows what this looks like: a suicide mission.

Jesus.

“Jacob Carter?”

He doesn’t respond, just lets Selmak take over, guiding the ship smoothly toward the village.  Lets her walk the distance for them, answer Daniel’s questions and deal with Teal’c’s knowing glances.

The villagers speak some variant of a language Jacob doesn’t know and doesn’t bother to figure out.  He just stands by Daniel’s side as he quietly translates what the village elder says.

“They believed her to be a pilgrim come from a distant village for the seasonal offerings.  She was there two weeks before the great ship came.  She went into the temple,” Daniel translates, “and soon after the surviving pilgrims ran back into the village with tales of slaughter, of the God’s warriors…falling before her wrath.  She was adorned with objects of great power and seemed to understand the magic of the Gods.”

“That has to be Sam, right?” Daniel asks, turning to Teal’c for agreement.

Of course it is.  Do they know anyone else capable of traveling halfway across the galaxy just to blow the hell out of an insignificant Goa’uld?

The village elder continues, his gestures broadening and his speech picking up speed as a crowd gathers around them.  “Before the sun lay down on the horizon, the sky lit with fire and smoke, the very earth itself crying out, shuddering under our feet.” 

“And what became of Major Carter?” Teal’c asks.

Daniel inquires and the man makes a sharp horizontal gesture with his hand.

“None came again from that place,” Daniel translates, his voice faltering and Jacob thinks he might finally be getting the picture.  “Only ghosts remain.”

No matter who they speak to, the story is the same. 

The villagers talk to Daniel in hushed voices about the angel of death, how already the children are warned never to stray near the burned out shell. 

Haunted, they say.  Cursed.

By the woman with dead eyes who came and set them free.

*     *     *

Anhur sits in audience on his throne, the flickering torchlight glinting off the rich fabric of his robes.  At his feet, a wide array of the residents of Theradan kneels, preparing for their yearly offerings as the priests chant lowly in the background.

Tapping his fingers impatiently against the arm of his throne, Anhur scans the crowd, noting any humans who might have potential as good stock for more Jaffa.

His mind is far from the familiar cadence of the rituals, instead he plans his meeting with Tefnut for more symbiotes to replenish his dwindling stock, to rebuild his army.  She grows very old, her production dropping off dangerously, but Anhur hopes to not need her much longer.  Once his army has grown to reasonable numbers again, he will be secure enough to risk contacting Olokun for safe passage to the next meeting of the System Lords. 

If that meeting goes as planned, he will easily find a new Queen.  And so much more.

The details and plans twist about in his mind, running various permutations.  Despite the new options open to him, he still feels the unwelcome pressure of his desperate situation.  Olokun presses closer everyday, tightening the noose around Anhur’s neck.  Many things will have to go perfectly right for this to work, Tau’ri host or not.

He must not fail.

Sitting back in his throne, Anhur lets the obeisance of his followers soothe his fractured thoughts; lets the riches they offer him wash away his anxiety.  Everything will soon be as it should.

His mind thus occupied, it takes him far longer to pick her out of the crowd than it should.  She wears dusty robes, her face lowered to blend in with the other worshipping pilgrims. 

In fact, it is not until she stands that he finally sees her, the beige fabric of her cloak falling away to reveal a dark green garment crisscrossed with a small arsenal of weapons.

His Jaffa are similarly slow on the uptake, the first two falling to the rattling fire of her weapons before any think to lift their own.

The pilgrims scatter, screaming, adding to the chaos of the scene.  He loses her in the crowd for a moment, a few of them falling here and there in the crossfire, the Jaffa using them as shields, but even this does not slow down the onslaught of her attack.

Anhur watches her slaughter his few remaining Jaffa without compunction, bodies piling at her feet, a stray staff blast to her shoulder making her stumble, but not fall.  He feels exposed as his warriors’ numbers dwindle, realizing with growing trepidation that he probably shouldn’t have killed his twenty best Jaffa in a rage at her escape.

‘No shit, Einstein,’ his host spits, having crawled back out of his dark corner at her reappearance.

Anhur silences him with a well-placed lancet of agony, driving him back.  The host foolishly hopes she brings death, but Anhur knows better.  She is too weak.

Having killed all his guard and chased off the villagers, she at last turns her weapons on him.  His personal shield already protects him.  He knows she can’t hurt him, even if she wants to.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” he taunts, just to see the fire burn in her eyes.

He’s disappointed though, for when she looks at him there is nothing in her gaze but ice-cold certainty.

She lifts a strange contraption to her lips that his still-reeling host recognizes a moment too late.  Small darts penetrate the shield, imbedding themselves in his neck.  He feels the effects almost immediately.

As he stumbles to his knees, his last glance is of her bearing down on them.

He never factored her into his plans.

Fool.
 
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