Sam had been furious when she'd found out the Colonel had sent Jonas off-world but made her stay behind. She initially hadn't been fond of Jonas, but over time he'd won her over.

"I don't understand, sir. You knew I wanted to go on this mission, but you said 'no'. Then you turned around and sent Jonas with SG-7. Why?" Sam had asked.

When she had first met Colonel Jack O'Neill, Sam had made a lot of assumptions about him, only to find herself forced to face the fact that she was somehow more prejudiced than he was.

Over the years, Sam had discovered several things about Jack. He was a competent leader, and had not obtained his rank through accident or making nice with his superiors. He'd earned every bit of it through dedication, hard work, and combat and leadership skills. Jack O'Neill was much smarter than he pretended to be, and Sam no longer believed anything he said or did was accidental.

Daniel had never let Jack get away with a thing. If Jack pretended foolishness, Daniel would pressure him. He would keep arguing, keep pushing, keep on his course until Jack finally admitted that he wasn't as ignorant as he was pretending to be. They had disagreed almost all of the time, and Sam had never seen two people who enjoyed it more. The fact that they refused to let each other live in denial was probably what had made them such good friends. Two stubborn, intelligent, opinionated people with opposing views had to either become best friends or kill each other.

Now Daniel was gone, and Sam felt as if he'd left her with the job of keeping Jack honest, not only with the team, but with himself as well. The Colonel, she knew, still didn't like Jonas, and took out his grief over the loss of Daniel on the young Kelownan without even seeming to realize he was doing it.

"Major Kofield's team needed a linguist," Jack had told her, "I let them borrow ours. Besides, he could use more experience in the field."

"I agree, but every time any team goes off-world?"

Jack paused, then answered, "It's not... every time."

"Maybe you better check your facts, Colonel," Sam said, "You've pushed him off-world at every opportunity. He hasn't had more than a couple of days off since he joined SG-1."

"Oh come on, Carter," Jack scoffed, "Daniel went off world with other teams all the time."

"In case you hadn't noticed, sir, Daniel always asked to go off-world, you never had to find excuses to make him go. Jonas didn't ask for this, did he?"

"Jonas is a member of my team," Jack said, "That makes it my job to tell him where and when he goes."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to burn him out and get rid of him. How many times have we gone on missions without him because you had already sent him off-world with another team?"

"Why are you so mad about this?" Jack asked.

"Why aren't you?" Sam shot back, "You know what overwork does. You know what burnout is. You've experienced it firsthand. Sir, if you don't stop doing this to him, you're going to break him."


Guf'yn, Day 1, 1100hrs

It was obvious that Major Kofield was far from thrilled at the unexpected arrival of the strangers. Jonas could hardly blame him. Kofield's team didn't initiate relations, their main purpose was study.

Captain Reiner looked more at ease than Kofield. Reiner was younger than Kofield, short and stocky, with blond hair and blue eyes. He was staunchly supportive of his boss. Reiner's main job was to make his superior and team look good. Usually he did this by offering his major advice, but the P90 he carried at the ready signified that he was just as prepared to lay down covering fire.

Just before the vehicle crested the rise, Reiner spoke in a low voice to Kofield, casting a significant look at Jonas as he did so. Jonas knew when he was being volunteered for something. He'd seen it happening enough lately between Colonel O'Neill and various team leaders to recognize it.

"Quinn," Kofield said, "You're our cultural expert. Think you can handle first contact?"

Calling Jonas a cultural expert was a stretch. Jonas had only made initial contact with a few people, and always with SG-1 to back him up. Still, SG-1 was an exploration team, it was in their job description to handle those uncertain first few minutes, hours or days of contact. And Jonas was a member of SG-1, the shoulder patch on his jacket said so.

Jonas felt nerves gathering.

So many things could go wrong. He'd only been in the field for a short time, but in that time he'd learned that there was a lot more to it than memorizing every note Dr. Jackson had ever written and then trying to emulate the man. He tried reminding himself that -to even read those notes- he'd had to learn a whole new language, something he'd done in just a few weeks. Kelownans spoke English, but their written language looked nothing like what he'd found at the SGC. Nobody had realized he couldn't at first read any of the papers put in front of him, he'd had to teach himself unaided. But learning a new language was essentially an academic matter. It was far different from interacting with strange cultures and people, trying to keep on top of customs and personalities and regulations all at once.

You are a member of SG-1, Jonas. Act like it.

He forced himself to smile and nodded an affirmative to Kofield, and drew up the picture in his mind of Colonel O'Neill interacting with new people. The Colonel was often a bit sarcastic and even antagonistic, and Jonas didn't feel that he could do it effectively; but the important thing was that the Colonel was always either very relaxed about the whole thing, good-humored and even enjoying himself, or doing very well at pretending.

That was one thing Jonas knew how to do.

Ever since he came to the SGC, Jonas had been in an almost constant state of anxiety, and that was when he wasn't drowning in feelings of guilt. Everything about the strange new world he'd requested asylum on was a challenge for him, and nobody wanted anything to do with him. His first impression to all was that he was associated not only with those responsible for the death of Dr. Jackson, but was one of the individuals who had accused Jackson of sabotage, despite his being an eye-witness who knew the truth. After months as a pariah trying to learn how to fit in and make friends, Jonas knew he had mastered the ability to pretend to be okay when he was not.

The team lined up where they would be in view of the vehicle when it crested the rise. The only available cover was the ruins, and the team was positioned close to them, just in case the initial contact went extremely badly. That is, except for Reiner, who stood near the DHD. If things went from bad to worse, he was prepared to dial in the 'Gate address while the others did their best to lay down covering fire. If necessary, he would use the DHD itself as cover.

Glancing down the line, Jonas saw that all members of SG-7 had placed their fingers on the trigger guards of their weapons. Jonas himself wasn't carrying a P90. Up until recently, he had primarily used a zat'nik'tel and, before that, an intar. Now he carried an M9.

Jonas had been quick to see that SG-1 was a very physical unit, and that -if he ever wanted to impress them- he was going to have to learn to fight, learn fast, and learn well. He wasn't that good with a P90 yet, zats were easier to master. Just recently he'd graduated to using an M9.

Before he'd had any weapon's training, Jonas had been sparring with Teal'c. He regularly lost, but figured there was no shame in a former desk jockey losing sparring matches with a Jaffa warrior who had been the First Prime of Apophis.

Of course, all this training had led to an increased appetite. It had quickly become evident that -while he was human- Jonas' people had followed a slightly different evolutionary path, resulting in his needing more calories than the average Earth human. Jonas ate frequently and in quantity, and he was especially drawn to sugars, which formed a necessary part of his diet as it was not in an Earth human's.

Thinking about that reminded Jonas he hadn't gotten breakfast this morning. Colonel O'Neill had told him first thing this morning that he was assigned to the mission with SG-7; a briefing followed, then deployment.

"Never attempt diplomacy on an empty stomach," First Minister Valis had told him once.

Jonas forced himself to remain relaxed and still, remembering the first time an SG team had come to Kelowna. Jonas recalled that he'd been volunteered to conduct initial public relations (meaning a tour) then too. He'd been scared to death of being responsible for the first impression aliens would have of his world. He tried not to think about how badly that had ended.

He'd been selected primarily based on his ability to get along well with others. In other words, he could smile benignly when someone insulted him, laugh at jokes that weren't funny and generally make everyone in the room feel like they were smarter just by his being there. That in itself was a difficult skill to master, but even more difficult was also being obviously valuable and intelligent. He had not become a scientist or an adviser by feigning stupidity, he'd done it by proving he was brilliant. But he'd gained his position by being agreeable and inoffensive. It also hadn't hurt that some of his bosses on the way up the ladder had been women, who found him nice to look at and pleasant to speak to.

Be polite, but don't grovel, He told himself. You're not looking for a position, just building a bridge.

Yeah. A bridge someone else might have to cross later.

The jeep-like vehicle crested the rise and then came to a stop, and the driver stepped out.

She was quite tall, thin and seemed very white in the planet's strange light, but -at least upon first inspection- she looked to have had ancestors from Earth. Jonas almost immediately took in her extremely long white or light blond hair, which reached below her waist and was held back from her face and shoulders with a hair tie, her angular features, unusually small ears, the loose white clothing she was wearing with its shimmering metallic trim and the pale blue gaze she regarded him with.

It was her eyes that most intrigued him, for he could see even from a distance that her iris and pupil were not the same as his and the Earthling's. Rather than being circular, her pupil was very slightly oval, taller than it was wide. Her iris took up more of her visible eye than a normal Earthling's would. It was only a very slight bit of difference, but the effect was startling, at least for Jonas.

He had finished absorbing all this by the time her companions disembarked. There were three of them aside from her, all showing varying degrees of suspicion and fear. They were all taller than she, and she was several inches taller than Jonas. They were also all much fairer skinned than either Jonas or the members of SG-7, though some of them had darker hair and eyes than the first one did. It was she who moved forward first, seemingly more curious than worried about the strangers.

Jonas wasn't sure whether he should initiate the greetings or wait for her to do so. He didn't even know if she spoke a language he would understand. He found that he was staring at her eyes, trying to guess her emotional and mental state, trying to guess how best to interact with her. And she was staring at him, possibly wondering the same thing. It was astonishing how much that slight difference of eye construction affected perception; he couldn't even guess what she was thinking.

He found that deeply unsettling. Much of what Jonas had done during his life had depended on his ability to read people. He had to read not only the First Minister, but every boss he'd had before. He'd had to read his teachers, his fellow students and most of all his father. He had to be able to instantly recognize a person's mood, and act accordingly in order to get a job, keep a job, earn a promotion or just avoid getting himself into trouble. Now it was more important than ever.

Was she carrying a weapon concealed in her billowing pants or blouse? Did one of her companions have a weapon in their belt or behind their back? She didn't move in a military manner, she moved more like a dancer than a warrior, light and graceful and fluid. But that was no guarantee. Jonas struggled not to let his anxiety get the better of him.

Calling up his best diplomat's smile, he took a step forward and addressed her, because she appeared to be leading the others, or at least they were following her.

"Hi," Jonas began, deciding that raising a hand in greeting as O'Neill often did might be seen as threatening and so he didn't do it, "We... come in peace."

Her eyes widened when he started to talk, but otherwise she didn't respond. Had she understood him? She was looking him up and down slowly. He kept the idiotic smile on his face as his mind raced, trying to tell if he'd done anything wrong, what he'd done wrong, and how he could fix it. He saw no markings on her outfit or those of her companions or even on their vehicle that gave him much of a clue as to their origins, and just taking a stab in the dark about their language seemed ill-advised.

"We... uh, came through the..." he turned slightly and gestured, hoping she would supply him with her word for Stargate, if nothing else.

"Chappa'ai," she said.

"Chappa'ai," Jonas repeated.

The Goa'uld word for Stargate. From Dr. Jackson's notes, Jonas knew that most planets either forgot that name or changed it after the Goa'uld were overthrown or abandoned them. Dr. Jackson had devoted an entire notebook to the numerous different words various people used for the Stargate, if they had a word for it at all, which some did not. Jonas recalled the writings in that notebook now, and his memory told him almost no people used the term Chappa'ai unless they were Goa'uld or under Goa'uld rule. The single word unnerved him because of its implication.

"None have come through the Chappa'ai in a long time," she continued, and Jonas inwardly sighed with relief that she was only speaking very heavily accented English, "It was decided by the Community Directorate that it was no longer possible to make contact with other worlds."

"Oh... it's possible," Jonas told her.

"It would seem so," she remarked.

He still couldn't read her, even though she was talking now. He couldn't decide if she was being cold or merely cautious. Her tone of voice seemed caught between the two. She was almost hostile, but she could merely be afraid or startled by the presence of five strangers to her world. Jonas knew it was an important distinction; he needed to know which mood she was in to know how best to approach her and try to win her trust, and subsequently that of her people.

"Why have you come?" she asked.

Marshal fielded that one before Jonas could answer, "We came to study your world, in particular the light phenomenon. We've never encountered a sun quite like yours."

"Explorers?" the woman asked, her gaze flicking only briefly to Marshal before returning to Jonas.

"Yes," Jonas answered gently, "We didn't mean any harm."

She seemed to come to a decision, and made her introduction, "I am Ayelas. This planet is called Guf'yn, and I am from the city of Kiri."

"Jonas," he felt his smile grow more genuine as he let himself relax, though he stifled the desire to say where he was originally from, instead saying, "Earth."