Chapter 2

Although Sandra had served with SG-3 for over a year, she'd never gotten over her awe at the sight of the Stargate cranking into action. The symbols on its outer face moved as it dialed and locked into place, then a whoosh signaled the formation of the event horizon of the wormhole that could transport living beings to hundreds of worlds all over the galaxy – in this case, P4X 621.

"SG-1; you have a go," General Hammond announced.

Clad in desert BDUs – they'd learned 621 was a planet with two suns – Teal'c and O'Neill made their way up the ramp, followed closely by Major Carter and Sandra. She stepped out of the wormhole, and looked around 621, or Rhiel.

"It's … quaint," O'Neill commented.

"Toilet," Sandra corrected.

O'Neill grinned at her then slid his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. "Kids; get your sunglasses on; the suns are coming up."

As Sandra did so, she could see several figures approaching them. "Colonel?" she said. "We have company."

"Friend or foe, Carter?" he snapped.

"Friend, sir; it's the Tok'ra," she said, heading for the middle-aged male who lead the group of newcomers. Sandra had heard of the Tok'ra, how they were a dissident faction of the Goa'uld, but had never met any before.

"Hey, Sam!" one of the Tok'ra said, enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug. Sandra didn't know why, but this Tok'ra looked familiar to her.

"Jacob," O'Neill said casually, but his tone displayed a deep affection and friendship for one of these beings for whom he had professed such disdain.

"Jack," the Tok'ra replied, sounding just like a regular human. Like other Goa'uld, they spoke with a weird inflection, but unlike the Goa'uld, they could shake off the parasite's influence. They claimed that they had a truly symbiotic relationship, but Sandra wasn't about to find out up close and personal.

The Tok'ra dipped his head to Teal'c. "Teal'c," he said. Then he nodded to Sandra. "Jack; aren't you going to introduce me to your new team-mate?"

"Oh, right," O'Neill said. "This is Lieutenant Sandra Ryan. Lieutenant, meet Jacob Carter."

Sandra clicked her fingers as the light flicked on. Whilst she was still at the Academy, Major General Jacob Carter, USAF, had given them a series of lectures. Although that was five years ago, he hardly seemed to have aged since then. In fact, in some ways, he looked healthier than before. "Pleased to meet you, sir," she said automatically.

He raised his eyebrows. "Sir?" He grinned at O'Neill. "She's definitely new to your team, Jack. None of you call me 'sir'."

"I was at the Academy while you were still in the Air Force, Major General," Sandra said. "Why on Earth would you want to leave that and have a snake stuck in your nervous system?"

"That's a long story, Lieutenant," Jacob said mildly and tucked his hand through Major Carter's arm. Of course. Another light went on for Sandra. Father and daughter. No wonder she'd been ready to explode at O'Neill's attitude during the mission briefing. "If you'll come with me, we'll ring down to the caverns. An old … friend's eager to see you again, Jack," he added with a hint of mischief.

Sandra shook her head as SG-1 and their Tok'ra escort stepped off the transport pad and the rings zipped back up into the ground above them. "Cool," she muttered. "Beam me down, Scotty."

They stood there as what seemed like hundreds of Tok'ra milled around, then a tall elegant woman stepped out of the crowd and headed straight up to them. "Colonel O'Neill," she said in the throaty voice of a Goa'uld, kissing him on both cheeks.

He dipped his head, although Sandra could tell he was startled. "It's … good to see you again, Grand Counsel Garshaw," he said.

She smiled slightlythen closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she spoke in a higher, more pleasantly pitched voice. "Greetings also from Yosuf," she said in the new voice. "We are pleased you have agreed to help us. Selmak" – she turned to Jacob Carter – "perhaps you could show Samantha the generator."

"This is Lieutenant Ryan; an engineer," O'Neill said now. "She'll help Major Carter with any repairs."

The Tok'ra female closed her eyes once more then spoke again; the Goa'uld now in control. "But of course," she said. "We are grateful for your assistance, Lieutenant."

"You're welcome," Sandra mumbled, unnerved by the abrupt transition between host and Goa'uld. She hitched her tool kit more firmly onto her shoulder then followed the two Carters down one of the long meandering tunnels.

"I am sorry for your loss, Colonel," Garshaw of Belote said now. "Doctor Jackson was a learned man and a fine ally. We are the poorer for his absence."

At her sincere words, the hard angry lump in Jack's throat – the one he'd carried ever since Daniel's death – seemed to decrease. It was true; the galaxy was less without Daniel in it. "Thank you," he said. "And we're sorry for what happened with Martouf; but it was necessary."

"It was," she said. "As a Zatarc, he knew that he could not be permitted to live." She smiled slightly. "Lantash survived a while longer then died in one of your soldiers fighting the Goa'uld. It was the best end that we could hope for."

"I guess so," Jack agreed – there was no clever way to answer that statement. "Uh, I think I'll go see what Carter and Ryan are up to."

"Of course." Garshaw dipped her head graciously. "But you and your team will do me the pleasure of joining us for supper."

Despite the tone, it was an invitation not an order, and Jack smiled slightly. Garshaw's host, Yosuf, was much more timid than the symbiote, and that timidity had evidently won through. "I'd like that," he said.

Jack tugged at the brim of his cap – Garshaw's regal presence seemed to inspire that sort of behavior – then slouched off to find what he'd come to regard fondly as the 'geek patrol'. Although they could both kick butt with the best of them, get them started on some scientific principle and nothing short of a Goa'uld mothership could stop them. Take last night. After they'd returned from O'Malley's and had dressed their wounds, Ryan had asked Carter a question about subspace physics and how the wormhole really worked.

Carter – perhaps sensing a kindred spirit – had launched into a technical explanation that had rapidly left Jack behind. When he returned several hours later, they were still at it. He'd shrugged and sloped off to find Teal'c; see if he could persuade the big guy into a late-night boxing match. He'd been unsuccessful.

He set his jaw and approached Ryan, who was flat on her back and wedged under some piece of machinery. "Hey, Ryan; how's it going?" he asked.

"It's fried," came in muffled tones from Ryan. "A massive EM pulse knocked it out. It needs to be replaced. And we don't exactly stock Tok'ra spec parts in Logistics." With a grunt that sounded suspiciously like "D'oh!" and some muffled swearing, she wriggled her way out of the machinery, then paused as her tank top became caught in one of the workings and rode up her rib cage. "Damn!"

"Uh, Ryan; don't wriggle any further unless you particularly want to give me a peepshow," Jack warned, chewing hard on the inside of his cheek in order not to betray the laugh building up inside of him. For crying out loud; she was a colleague. She deserved their respect.

"Not bloody likely," the young woman drawled, her Louisiana accent becoming thicker. He'd noticed it did that when she was experiencing strong emotions.

He knelt down next to her and worked to tug the tank top free of the machinery. As he did so, his gaze was drawn to a number of odd puckers on the surface of her slightly rounded belly. Those were cigarette burns – as a former smoker, he had one on his left hand, and knew them for what they were. But how did she get cigarette burns on her stomach? "D'oh!" he grunted as the fabric gave with a little rip. "Sorry, Ryan, but at least you can come out now," he said. "You're decent.

"Cool," Ryan said, sounding somewhat breathless, completing her wiggling movements out of the machinery.

O'Neill automatically offered Sandra a hand as she rolled to her knees, and she flinched, hating herself for the knee-jerk reaction. When she'd been trapped under the Tok'ra machinery, he'd had the perfect opportunity to take advantage of her vulnerability, yet he hadn't. She put her hand in his, uncertain why she so liked touching him, and allowed him to draw her to her feet.

"Thanks, Colonel," she said, realizing that this was a man who'd never need to force an unwilling woman. He could have had more than his fair share of women, but according to Carter had only had one serious relationship since his divorce more than six years ago – a woman named Laira on Edora.

"You're welcome," he said, letting go of her hand. "Any idea where the two Carters are?"

"Looking for any equipment they can cannibalize, sir," Sandra responded. "This is pretty much buggered."

O'Neill grinned, flashing white teeth and great dimples. "You have an … interesting vocabulary, Lieutenant," he commented.

"My mother was born in England – she never really lost the accent or the slang, even after she married my father and moved to Louisiana," Sandra said.

She headed over to one of the other mysterious pieces of Tok'ra machinery. "Well, seeing as you're here," she added, dropping flat and wiggling inside the machinery," you can play nurse and hand me my tools."

O'Neill raised his eyebrows with a delighted grin and picked up her tool kit. "Okay," he said. "By the way, Ryan, we're having supper with Grand Counsel Garshaw tonight. Dig out your Class A's, kid."

"Yes, sir!" Sandra said, flinching as one of the exposed crystals flashed at her. "Whoa, trippy," she muttered, watching the pretty light show. "But, I have to warn you; you saw my 'best' clothes last night. I'm not the girly type."

"You don't say," O'Neill shot back. "Still, you can at least get the grime out from under your nails."

Sandra stuck her tongue out at him, but seeing as she was wedged under a large piece of Tok'ra machinery, it didn't have much effect on the irrepressible Colonel. Her relationship with this CO was much more comfortable than with Colonel Lightfoot in SG-3. He was a particularly humorless guy who seemed to think he was still a drill sergeant. O'Neill, by contrast, was funny, happy-go-lucky and pretty cool.

Jack slouched against the machinery, occasionally handing Ryan tools as she called out for them. Playing nurse, as she'd called it. She was a good kid and a hard worker. It looked like maybe his snide comment about 'lucky number four' at the briefing was actually coming true. And after delving further into her file, it was probably a good thing she'd requested a transfer from SG-3. Lightfoot was a good man, but he had no sense of humor, and no tolerance for Ryan's often irreverent and sarcastic comments that fell just this side of insubordination.

Jack had served under a guy like Lightfoot just before his promotion to Major, and that tour of duty had earned him most of the reprimands on his file. With time and patience, he knew that Sandra Ryan would make a fine officer.

"Ow! Damn it!" the mini Marine snapped as a piece of wiring fizzed.

If she lived long enough, that was, Jack added. "What happened?" he asked.

"Damn cable shorted out – right into my eye," the young woman said. "I can't see squat." Her feet scrabbled for purchase on the crystal formation of the Tok'ra tunnels and she wriggled out of the machinery. She got up, one hand covering the afflicted eye, and squinted up at Jack. "Is there anything in there?" she added, forcing the eye open.

He took her chin in his hand, and was surprised when she paled and stepped backward. "Quit wriggling, kid," he said. She stayed still, her nostrils flaring as he held her chin and peered into the afflicted eye. "Yeah; there's something in there," he added. "Come on, jarhead – it's time to see ol' Doc Fraiser."

"Nuts," Ryan muttered, brushing a knuckle across the tearing eye. "Okay, fly-boy – point me to the rings."

Sam and Jacob Carter entered the chamber. "Lieutenant; are you all right?" Sam asked.

"Yeah; peachy," the Lieutenant replied, winking furiously. "One of the cables shorted out. The Colonel wants me to go to the Infirmary."

Jacob Carter smiled slightly at her then spoke, his voice now containing that odd modulation characteristic of the Goa'uld. Selmak, then, Jack corrected. "You should listen to the Colonel, Lieutenant," he … she … it … said. "You would not wish to lose your sight due to an accident."

"You've convinced me," Ryan said. She dusted her hand across her face, evidently surprised at how much such a minor injury could hurt.

Sandra stayed very still as Doctor Fraiser probed at the wounded eye. She'd been given a local, but was still very aware of the q-tip going across the surface. "Ah, got it!" Fraiser announced. She then produced a tube of ointment and an eye patch. "You'll need to apply this every four hours for the next couple of days, and wear this patch."

Sandra took it, pulling a face. "Yo-ho-ho," she muttered glumly. O'Neill was going to have a field day with her.

"Now," the diminutive doctor insisted. "Or you'll stay here for the next two days."

Well, that was a no-brainer. Sandra pulled on the eye patch, her eye closing automatically as the view dimmed, and she looked around, amazed at how different everything seemed. "It looks … weird," she said.

"You'll have to be careful – your depth perception will be reduced somewhat," Fraiser added. "But you'll get used to it after a couple of hours."

Sandra slid off the bed. "Can I go back to work now, Doctor?" she asked.

"Yes, but take it easy, Lieutenant," Fraiser warned.

Sandra smiled as the bill of O'Neill's cap peeked around the open doorway. "You all fixed up, Ryan?" he asked, stepping into the Infirmary. His eyes widened. "Uh …," he began.

She fixed him with a glare. "Don't even go there," she commented.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Lieutenant," he replied innocently. "We'll stop by your quarters and grab your civviesthen head back for 621." He'd offered to accompany her back to Earth – even after a year on the Stargate program, that was such a trippy statement – as Carter was needed to continue the repairs to the Tok'ra equipment.

Jack stood outside the Lieutenant's quarters on Level 37, looking inside curiously. At first glance, they were just like any other of the quarters in the SGC – small and impersonal. Then he smiled at the large poster of Homer Simpson above the TV. "You're a Simpsons fan, too, Ryan?"

"But of course," she said, pushing a couple of items of clothing into a large bag, then tossing in soap, shampoo and a hairbrush. "By the way, I've got a bone to pick with you, fly-boy."

"Me?" Jack put on his best wounded-puppy look. "What did I do to you?"

The puppy look had no effect on her – he was no Daniel. "Yesterday's briefing made me miss the marathon," she complained.

"Well, aren't you lucky, then, that senior officers' quarters have VCRs?" Jack said. "I taped the whole thing."

"Dibs after you then," Ryan shot back with a grin, zipping up the bagthen slinging it over her shoulder. "Let's go."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack replied lightly, returning her grin. He'd never felt such instant simpatico with a team member – even his friendship with Charlie Kawalsky hadn't been this rapid – and he realized that they might just well have found 'lucky number four'.

Back at the Tok'ra base once more, Jack O'Neill was reduced to slouching against the wall, looking menacing. Of course, he couldn't beat Teal'c for passive terror inspiration, but six feet plus of an angry Colonel with a P90 was something that would stop a lot of people in their tracks.

Unfortunately, as he was surrounded only by his team and their allies, even the menacing act was wearing a bit thin. To put it bluntly, he was bored out of his gourd. He pulled at the Velcro covering his watchthen snapped it back in place. Several times.

"You appear bored, O'Neill." The big guy himself appeared almost out of thin air and raised an eyebrow.

"Yep," Jack admitted mournfully. "These milk run tech missions are all well and good, but where are some greasy-assed Goa'ulds when you need 'em?"

Correctly interpreting this as a rhetorical question, Teal'c did not respond. "I share your position, O'Neill," he said instead. "We are not scientists; we are warriors."

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "How're Drey'auc and Rya'c? You haven't mentioned anything about them recently."

"They are both doing well – Master Bra'tac continues to keep watch over them in my absence," Teal'c said. He never talked about it, but Jack knew it had to be hard on the Jaffa to spend so much time away from his family.

Teal'c lifted his eyebrow. "You do not appear to have had much difficulty in accepting Lieutenant Ryan's presence," he added a propos of nothing.

Jack would've gotten worked up, but he knew his friend was right. He'd been less than welcoming to Ryan's three predecessors – no matter how marvelous they were, they simply weren't Daniel. Trying to replace him was something for which Jack was not ready. But Ryan was very much her own person – a good engineer and a good soldier with a healthy dose of cheerful irreverence. "She's a good kid," he said now.

"From my point of view, she is a child," Teal'c said – at over one hundred years of age, that was probably true. "However, to any Tauri, she would appear to be fully grown." He peered down at Jack. "Yet you persist in viewing her as a child."

Jack shifted position and pulled off his cap. "She is a kid – still wet behind the ears."

"She has proven herself as a warrior for four Earth years – mere years should not define a person's soul," Teal'c said.

Jack grinned slightly, trying to disarm his friend. "Teal'c, old buddy – you're a good guy, and you kick ass with the best of 'em," he said. "But leave the poetry to the poets."

Sandra got up and stretched her legs to the accompaniment of stomach-churning cracks. She'd torn the cartilage in her left knee on her first mission with SG-3 – during a fire-fight with some sadistic little greasy-assed Goa'uld called Ba'al – and had been off the mission list for two months while it healed.

She patted the generator, which was now glowing gently with the newly installed crystals that Major Carter and Jacob … Selmak … whoever … had salvaged from a crashed Death Glider. "Just for the record," she said to Carter, "we rule."

"Nice job, Lieutenant," Carter responded. She looked at her watch, which had been re-tuned to reflect the diurnal cycle of this planet. "Better hurry it up – Garshaw's expecting us for supper in a few hours."

The last few hours spent with Jacob/Selmak had reduced her unease around this branch of the Goa'uld. But she was intimidated by Garshaw – the Tok'ra's name was practically a curse in certain Goa'uld circles – and the host was a tall and physically impressive woman. "Yes, Major," she said. "By the way, who's Jolinar? I've heard you mention that name a few times."

Sam Carter sighed. "During a rescue mission, I was joined against my will with a Goa'uld called Jolinar. I later learned that she was a member of the Tok'ra, but not until after she sacrificed herself to save me. She left me with her memories, and I still have a protein marker."

"But … I thought the Tok'ra didn't take hosts," Sandra said, backing up from Selmak. "They're always saying how theirs is a true symbiosis."

"And it is, Lieutenant," Selmak said now, with that weird glow in his eyes. "But Jolinar was on the run from the Ashrak – a Goa'uld assassin. She was desperate."

"If I hadn't been resisting her, I could have learned so much," the Major added with another sigh.

"Major; you can't be going off on the could'a, would'a, should'a routine," Sandra said. "You'll drive yourself nuts."

"Amen to that, Sam," Jacob said – geez, pick a personality and stick to it, would ya?, Sandra thought. At least Apophis and the other snake-heads only had the one personality – the host's was subsumed completely.

Carter shook her head and emerged from the funk she'd gotten herself into. She smiled at her father and Sandra. "You're right – both of you," she said. She indicated another piece of machinery. "Let's get back to work, shall we?" she added.

Sam Carter watched the newest team member as she worked rapidly at the machinery. Although Sam was a keen scientist and engineer, she didn't have the intuitive grasp that separated a good engineer from a truly gifted one.

Sandra Ryan was truly gifted – how she'd coped as a Marine for four years was beyond Sam's understanding. It was still regarded as the most 'male' of the armed forces, and for a girl as young and pretty as Ryan to have actually chosen that for a career spoke volumes for her character.

Even the Colonel seemed to be warming up to her, after the admittedly rocky start. Sam recalled that he'd been like that with her during their first few missions. He'd still been in a pretty dark place, although he'd hidden it with sarcasm and bad jokes, and had tended to keep people at a distance.

Sam Carter's feelings toward her commanding officer were … complicated. They'd admitted their feelings for each other more than two years ago during the Zatarc hunt, and had acknowledged that nothing could ever happen between them. Ignoring the fact that he was her CO, they were simply too different.

Besides, she was beginning to believe that she was jinxed when it came to men. First there had been her former fiancé, Jonas, who had developed a Messiah complex. He'd been killed when his former worshippers had turned against him and threw him into an unstable wormhole. Then there had been Ambassador Faxon – he'd sacrificed himself to prevent the Aschen from taking over Earth. Then the Tollan, Narim, who'd died during a Goa'uld attack on his home planet. And poor Martouf … captured by the Goa'uld and programmed as an assassin.

"Major; the transtator?"

There was an impatience in Ryan's tones that told Sam she'd been wool-gathering. "Oh. Of course," she said, dragging her thoughts back to the present. "You do good work, Lieutenant," she commented.

"I know," Ryan said matter of factly – there was no hint of self-satisfaction.

"Tell me, Ryan – what made you serve as a ground pounder? With your Academy scores, you could have gotten a good posting with the Corps of Engineers."

"And miss all this? Not in a million," Ryan said sarcastically, then laughed. "I can't regret my time as a Marine, Major – I learned a lot from them, and I'd like to think they learned something from me too. Besides, if I'd gone to the Corps, I'd never have gotten posted to the SGC. Being on SG-3 gave me the chance to do the two things I truly excel at – engineering and ass-whuppin'."

It was unusual to hear such single-mindedness in one so young – when Sam Carter had been 24, she'd been quite the party girl, frequently burning the candle at both ends. "So, what about guys, Sandra? Anyone special in your life?" she asked, handing the younger woman a bottle of water.

Ryan's shoulders tensed. "No," she said. "I've never believed that men are a necessary part of life. I can be friendly with them, but …". She shook her head and tugged the cap off the bottle. "I like my life the way it is," she finished flatly.

Sandra yawned as the afternoon drew on. She'd not had a chance to eat yet, and the pain-killers Doctor Fraiser had put her on were having a strong soporific effect on her.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant Ryan?"

The colossal Jaffa towered over her and she almost broke her jaw in the effort of hiding her yawn. "Yeah, peachy," she said. "I'm just tired."

"Then I suggest you take a break," the gigantic man said now, tilting his bald head toward her. None of the other Jaffa she'd met – okay, some she'd killed – had favored the chrome-dome look, and she was curious as to why he did. Somehow, though, she didn't think she was going to find out any time soon.

Another yawn escaped her. "Maybe you're right," she said. She grinned at him. "I don't think they'd be too impressed if I dozed off during the entrees."

"I share that belief, Lieutenant Ryan," Teal'c said.

With another grin – the Jaffa had no idea how much he cracked her up – she closed the panel on which she'd been working, then sat down against the cool crystal-like wall of the Tok'ra tunnels.

Within seconds, she was asleep.

Jack O'Neill – fresh from an argument with one of the more arrogant Tok'ra – stomped along the crystal tunnels to find Lieutenant Ryan, head slumped forward, fast asleep. Catnapping on duty? Where the hell did she think she was?

He stepped forward and put a hand on Sleeping Beauty's shoulder, intending to wake her – not with a kiss, but a push – when he found himself staring her zat in the face. "Hey!" he said, batting it away.

"Geez!!" she yelped, her face pale and her eyes huge. "Never sneak up on a ground pounder!" She got to her feet and holstered the Goa'uld weapon, her face now bright red.

Jack was about to apologizethen shook his head. "Why were you sleeping on duty?" he said instead.

"I woke up a couple minutes ago," Ryan said. "Who could sleep with you and Timan hollering at each other like that?"

Jack pulled off his cap with a reluctant grin. "Okay; I give," he said. "Whatcha doing?"

She peered at him suspiciously through her one good eye. "Do you really want to know, or are you only asking because you're bored?"

He pushed a hand through his hair in bafflement. "We haven't known each other long enough for you to know me so well," he said.

A curious shadow fell over her face and she smiled slightly. "I know," she said. "I don't mean to be impertinent or anything. There's just … I don't know …". She sighed and colored. "Never mind," she added lamely.

"Colonel O'Neill," one of the Tok'ra interrupted. "Grand Counsel Garshaw wishes to speak with you."

"Okay," Jack said, wondering what was on Ryan's mind. He'd never seen her so flustered. "See you at dinner, kid," he said offhandedly. "Be good, and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

A chuckle came from his nearest team member as she opened a panel. "You sure you want to give me that much latitude, Colonel?" she asked demurely.

"Pain in the ass," he grumbled affectionately, jamming his cap back on.

She beamed at him, causing him to catch his breath. "I do my best, sir," she said, tossing off a jaunty salute. "See you at dinner, Colonel," she added.

"That's what you're wearing?" Sam looked the younger woman up and down with an amused despair. "When the Colonel said Class A's he didn't mean it literally."

Lieutenant Ryan shrugged. "It's the only thing I've got that's good enough, Major," she said. "I've never been very glamorous."

Lips pursed, Sam surveyed her clueless young friend. Maybe she wasn't glamorous, but the potential was considerable. Sam had never subscribed to the notion that being in the military meant sacrificing one's femininity. "At least put some lipstick on," she said, "and I'll fix your hair differently."

Ryan twisted away. "I'm smart and presentable, Major – I can't pretend to be something I'm not," she said. Scowling at her reflection, she added, "I've had twenty four years with my funny face – I'm used to it."

For such a young and vibrant woman, she seemed to be a mass of insecurities, Sam reflected. She'd served with Max Ryan during the Gulf War and thought that the two couldn't be any more different. Whilst an easy-going sociable guy, Max Ryan was heartily insensitive to other people's feelings. How many times, Sam wondered, had he bruised his sensitive young daughter's feelings before she'd simply withdrawn?