Blood Ties

Chapter twenty-two

"Have a seat up here. This won't take long." The nurse patted the bed and handed Rebecca a Q-tip. "Just run this along the inside of your cheek, and then we'll do the blood draw."

Rebecca didn't bother telling him that she knew the procedure as well as he did. She'd ordered the test on others more times than she could count. Not because she'd needed the results to determine guilt or innocence-at least not of the crime under investigation-but because judges and juries needed physical evidence, something they could understand with the recognized five senses.

Pulling the stick from her mouth, she watched the young lieutenant, built like a linebacker but with a cherubic face made for Hollywood, drop the evidence that would incriminate her into a tube. He offered her a brief but genuine smile and took the tube away to someplace presumably less austere than the SGC's examination room.

The results were foregone; of that Rebecca had no doubt. She carried within her considerably more than the ATA gene. It was probably too much to hope that the escalating situation at hand would be resolved before Dr. Lam's biomedical staff ran the genetic assay. Of course, they'd more than likely end up running it twice, since the first result would prompt a double-take worthy of the Three Stooges.

The lieutenant returned carrying the collection of instruments he needed to take a standard blood sample-or maybe six standard blood samples. He set the tray down and placed a squeeze ball in her hand. "Regular blood donor, I take it?" he asked politely, tapping the veins in the crook of her elbow.

The tiny puncture scars were a dead giveaway. "Yeah." Which triggered a gut-wrenching thought. Was the Wraith ret rovirus only transmittable through the generations'? Or was it, like HIV and other retroviruses, stealthily capable of infecting a new host who'd been unfortunate enough to need a blood transfusion'? All these years she'd thought she was doing a good deed…

No doubt that was one of the many leads the medical staff was already investigating. She put it out of her mind and let her thoughts turn, as they so often had these past few days, to the past.

It had been easy enough to dismiss her childhood memories as ninety percent suggestion blended with years of work on one cult-oriented investigation after another. Certainly the FBI had never found any reason to suspect Rebecca's parents of having been part of Ninlil's loyal cadre of cambion. For one thing, the Bureau had been unaware of the Ninlil `cult's' existence until Rebecca herself had dug up a few references and written a report so spartan that it barely ranked as a memo. And the Bureau's meticulous background checks generally didn't flag a person as suspect simply because they'd been orphaned under circumstances that the county coroner had ruled `accidental.'

Rebecca had been only five years old when she'd gone to live with-or, more accurately, Social Services had dumped her on the front doorstep of-her only living relative, a widowed great-aunt related in some tenuous way by marriage. The Bible-thumping old biddy had promptly declared Rebecca demon spawn, because her parents had healed others by the laying on of hands, which her aunt had labeled as a way to steal their souls. That conviction had been augmented by daily lashings with a barber's strap, hours of Old Testament readings, and weekly dousings in holy water. By the age of ten, Rebecca had performed so many prostrations before the altar, begging for absolution for her wickedness, that she'd become personally acquainted with every threadbare stitch in the local church's miserable carpet.

The situation had only worsened when Rebecca had begun to give voice to her observations of the people around her. It had never occurred to her that her gift for identifying what motivated people, what secrets they hid, what pain they suppressed or diverted into their own pathological behavior, might be considered unusual. A few fights at school and even more trips to the principal's office for what her teachers had described as `spying' on their personal lives, plus the additional Sunday evening prostrations, had eventually taught her to hide her insights.

That was, until her old aunt, having scrimped every nickel and dime to send Rebecca to college, had died satisfied that she'd saved her niece from the fires of damnation. By then Rebecca had categorized her `talent' as just a knack, a lucky attribute of birth, like an artist's skill or musical genius. Her ability to climb inside the minds of others and understand what made them tick could serve her well in life.

A sharp prick drew her attention to her arm and resulted in a mumbled apology from the lieutenant, who genuinely disliked inflicting pain, even if only minor. She smiled her reassurance at him and watched the first vial fill. It was a familiar process, one she'd begun in college. Donating blood was such a small and simple way to contribute to society, something her parents had instilled in her: People will need your help, Rebecca. It was the clearest lesson she could remember receiving from them.

College had exposed her to a wider world, a place where she'd begun to understand that her skills could help people and that others like her existed. Profilers, they were called and, far from being evil, they quietly went about protecting those who could not protect themselves from human monsters.

Rebecca had been a superlative student, her achievements noticed by peers and professors alike, and she'd published several papers on serial killers and cults long before graduating. Working with the FBI had given her a world where she'd been respected rather than vilified for her talents, and so she'd found a home at last. Her aunt would have been pleased to see her take on such a righteous cause, a latter-day crusade against Satan's minions.

In truth, the old lady could never have comprehended that Rebecca's initial research into cults had begun as a need to piece together some of the fragments of her lost childhood. Contrary to her aunt's lectures, Rebecca's memories assured her that her parents had not been demonic monsters who'd brought a fiery death upon themselves by practicing their `witchcraft', but rather genuinely compassionate people who'd treated her and all those around them with love and kindness. During those first bleak weeks after their funeral, Rebecca had held a tight grip on those memories and on her mother's promise that she would grow up to be someone very special, someone who would one day not merely help people but `save the whole world.'

Maturity and a few undergrad courses in psychology had eroded those fragile recollections until Rebecca came to regard them as no more significant than any mother's hopes and dreams. The warmth of the memory, though, had never faded.

A siren blared in the corridor outside. "That's a regularly scheduled gate departure," the lieutenant assured her, the needle steady in his hand. "Happens several times a day around here."

Sure. Just your average commuter trip to the next star system.

The mere existence of the Stargate had exploded all the walls of logic she'd carefully constructed, all the academic safeguards she'd instilled in her thinking. It was only through her childhood defenses, the abilities she'd developed to hide her reactions to the bizarre and unthinkable that lurked in people's thoughts, that she'd been able to contain an almost primal need to scream. Nothing she'd ever witnessed-no gruesome crime scene, no rummaging around in the mind of a madman-had ever left her so traumatized that she'd locked up inside and been unable to speak… until the next shocking realization that Atlantis and indeed the entire Pegasus Galaxy were not metaphysical constructs of some cultists' minds, but real, tangible places.

But the bombshells hadn't ended there. While John Sheppard, whom she'd tagged as ridiculously well-grounded for someone whose formative years hadn't been any picnic either, had sat in the Gulfstream munching on an Oreo, the truth had come crashing down on her. A long-buried suspicion had suddenly resurfaced and demanded immediate attention: her parents' deaths, in the fire that had consumed their house while Rebecca had been playing at a neighbor's, had been no accident.

Sleep, when it had come as the aircraft carried them to Iraq, had been at once haunted and restless and cathartic. The scattered shards of her life story had been bonded together with peculiar and unpalatable truths. Upon waking, more disturbed and yet more refreshed than she'd felt since she could remember, she'd managed to construct a mask ofrigid professionalism and focus on the job at hand. Despite any genetic connection she might have to Ninlil-Lilith being a term she could no longer bring herself to use-Rebecca now knew without question that the two opposing groups intended two very different outcomes for humanity, regardless of the war with the On. She also understood that she had indeed been raised by her parents to help mankind, and whether she was truly human or something else entirely was not relevant to that fact.

The inevitable questions couldn't be ignored forever, though. What she'd said to John still stood. What did it mean to be human? He carried the Ancient gene, and he'd been fed upon-and restored-by a Wraith; she was certain of that, despite his transparent claim that he'd merely `witnessed' the act. One of his team members, a woman who would soon be arriving from the Pegasus Galaxy, had Wraith genes, while another was immune to Wraith feeding. And they were human-weren't they?

She'd never considered the very definition of being human to be up for debate before. Now she desperately missed the innocence she'd worn until this week.

The vials now filled with blood, the lieutenant apologized again and withdrew the needle. He deftly placed a cotton swab over the tiny puncture and taped it in place. Rebecca rolled down her sleeve and watched him label each vial. All in the name of science and defense. Ninlil might have lost her grip on reality, but her original goal had been to protect Ancients and humans from the Ori, and so she had created a form of human with the best possible combination ofAncient, Wraith and human genes. Did that make those, like Rebecca, who carried such genes, less than human… or more'?

"Agent Larance, please report to the briefing room," came a disembodied voice that she identified as belonging to Chief Harriman.

As was often the case in her line of work, the facts didn't matter. It was what people believed that drove them to act in ways that her textbooks and a hundred gruesome crime scenes had defined as less than human. What would the people of Earth believe if and when this truth was brought to light'? When the current crisis ended, where would it leave her and those like her'?

With a nod from the nurse to confirm that she was free to go, she eased off the bed just as Daniel Jackson strode in, a grim expression on his face. "We've just gotten confirmation from Dr. Lam in Germany," he informed her without preamble, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You were right. Using the enzyme test she's devised, Carolyn checked the bodies you were sent to investigate last week, the ones from the Munich sewers. They were victims of a succubus feeding-presumably a succubus, since the victims were all male."

He spoke so fast that Rebecca had to watch his lips to keep pace. No doubt he'd cultivated the trait in an environment where details were considered less critical than actions. She was about to tell him to slow down, but his next declaration struck with a force that robbed her of breath.

"Carolyn also confirmed that the same enzyme is present in a random sample of what they now estimate to be around two hundred bodies found a few hours ago in the Blaubeuren caves. The corpses they've pulled out so far all have had their hearts and livers removed."

Oh, hell. Until that moment she'd been operating under the theory that the term `Awakening' in the doctrine of the Lilith cult had been a reference to those who carried the bloodline, not something more literal. She swore softly, fighting the urge to throttle something-preferably herself. How had she let herself be so badly blindsided? Focused on her own starring and as-yet-to-be-disclosed role in this, she'd made the most fundamental of errors: an assumption. "Crap."

"Yeah. The authorities also have confirmed that a large icon, two concentric circles bisected by an isosceles triangle, has been carved into the limestone structure of the cavern. Given what we know of Wraith hive behavior, this `Awakening' may be applicable to both the first generation of incubi and succubi as well as the bloodlines hidden in the human population." He gestured for her to precede him into the gray-walled maze, then turn right outside the doorway.

"I can't believe I didn't see that sooner." Rebecca ran a tired hand through her hair as she walked.

"Don't beat yourself up over it. I should have thought of it too. While you may be more familiar with the `cult,' the genuine alien context is still pretty new to you."

She glanced over at him as he fell into step beside her. "Charitable of you, Dr. Jackson, but that's no excuse. In my line of work you hit the ground running, no matter the circumstances. If you don't, more people die."

Pulling his hands from his pockets, he offered her a pensive smile. "I'm not a psychiatrist, but we hit the ground running over a decade ago and we haven't stopped since. Even so, good people, human and otherwise, still die. No one person can or should assume the blame for that. While we never forget our failures-and trust me, we've had some real showstoppers — we're still here, and we'll keep going."

If they can do it, so can you. Get a grip, and get past it now. She took a deep breath. "Okay, how old are the bodies?"

Passing a sergeant who carried an exceptionally large wrench, Jackson turned toward the stairs. "They can't be completely sure until they bring in a team that can reach the bottom of the cave where the rest of the bodies were tossed. From what they've been able to ascertain so far, there are two groups of victims. One has been deceased about two weeks and the other around four weeks, although it's difficult to be exact given the desiccation. It'll be a while, if ever, before they can ID all of them, but local authorities believe most came from Munich and Ulm. Based on a quick glance at dental work and other factors, the forensics team unofficially theorized that the majority were transients originally from East Germany or Russia."

More victims of economic and political fallout. "It tracks. Even now the Lilith are trying to keep a low profile."

"Were, you mean." Jackson shook his head. "Around 0300 local time, Blaubeuren villagers heard gunshots and cries from the area. Several local men went to investigate and found-well, they described it as a massacre." Reaching the top of the stairs, he paused and looked back at her expectantly.

As she took a moment to process that information, she realized something else, just as interesting: she was having difficulty assessing Daniel Jackson. Before now she hadn't really tried, but even a concerted effort got her nowhere. He seemed to carry an aura that rendered his mind impermeable. As if…

It hit her. Taking the offensive, she said, "You were Ascended, weren't you?"

His expression flickered briefly but settled on cool curiosity. "What makes you think that?"

"John mentioned a couple of the SGC personnel had `dipped their toes in that pool.' You seem to be the most likely candidate. So…?"

He shrugged with practiced nonchalance and kept walking. "Once or twice. Didn't really take to it."

"No, that's not it at all." It was a stab in the dark, but one based more on good old-fashioned psychology than any natural insight she might have. "You couldn't turn your back on humanity."

And suddenly, she felt her burden lessen ever so slightly. If there existed a definition of what it was to be human, that was it.

Jackson appeared taken aback by her remark until she continued, "You've very neatly defined the difference between the Lilith and the Ninlil. The ritualized removal of organs by the Lilith has been bugging me, but I think it's further proof that they're on the wrong track-that they've entirely misinterpreted the intent of the Ancient who created them and have instead evolved a set of behaviors peculiar to them. Once again, it doesn't matter what's real and what isn't; they're acting on what they choose to believe."

"I thought we'd already established that." He continued to look at her in a way that made her wonder if all her thoughts were on display for him to see. It was something she was accustomed to doing to other people; she'd never been on the other side of it before. To say it was disconcerting would have been a grave understatement.

She shook it off as they entered the briefing room. "You formulated a solid theory, Dr. Jackson, one I happen to agree with. This facet of their behavior provides proof." Catching a glimpse of the wormhole shutting down, she walked across to the window, speaking as she went. "The Watchers are the equivalent of high priests, and the first generation cambion must act similarly to those John described as hive keepers." The gate immediately began to dial again.

"That's what we think, too."

Rebecca turned to see General Landry, wearing a genial expression that told her more about the faith he had in his people than the man himself.

"We've just had further word from Germany," he added, coming up beside her to watch the chevrons lock into place. "The Army's Fifth Corps just arrived to secure the caves. They passed what they estimated to be about forty desiccated bodies in a group by the road, including the eight policemen who'd been patrolling the cave entrance. No symbols and no organs removed this time. I think it's obvious that we're no longer dealing with a handful of zealots."

Rebecca felt a new level of tension coil around her spine. "Abandoning their rituals is a signal that they believe such rituals are no longer necessary."

Daniel also moved to stand next to her at the window. "Which means they've found what they've been looking for."

"I think you're right, Dr. Jackson. This is the beginning of an outright war-one they're determined to wage whether the On are dead or not, because they want what was promised to them."

"And what would that be?" Landry asked.

The now familiar boiling cauldron shot out from the gate and settled with disarming speed into a rippling tranquil pool. On the other side, Rebecca knew, was the Pegasus Galaxy, teasing her with its proximity, urging her to run down to the wormhole and make her way home. She blinked away that distraction and replied, "Dominion over the human race."