Chapter 13

Days passed and Jonny fell into a routine. He worked every day with Daniel, ate lunch with the team, minus Teal'c who was apparently off seeking information about Thoth. Jonny hoped he'd be all right, but Jack and Daniel seemed totally calm about it. He did some work with Sam, but he discovered something. He was a teenager. He thought he'd avoided that whole hormone thing pretty successfully, but when he was working alone with Sam in her lab, all he could think about how incredible it was to be alone with Sam. He didn't get anything done, and he felt like an idiot afterwards, so he'd decided to stick with working with Daniel. He just didn't know how to tell Sam why.

He'd written out all of the symbols from the columns that he could remember within the first three days, and Daniel had started working on the translation. Every so often, Jonny would have an inspiration and add in a new symbol, or Daniel would come to him with a list of possibilities that would jog his memory. It was appearing to be some kind of hymn of praise to . . . who else . . . Thoth.

Jonny wasn't working directly on it with Daniel for fear of tainting his memory with the context of the missing symbols. He wasn't even studying Goa'uld, for the same reason. Instead he was studying the Basque-based text Daniel had been working on. Daniel had suggested he try his own hand at translation and see how he fared. It was actually kind of fun.

Bandit hung around in Daniel's office with him, and when people came to visit, they almost always wound up scratching the little dog, which thrilled him to pieces. Bandit was having the time of his life. He hadn't been somewhere with so many new smells and so many total strangers who were friendly in a long time.

In the evenings he played games with Daniel, Jack and Sam, and some of their friends. General Hammond always stopped by to see how he was. Jonny felt very cared for. But he still wanted Race. And the general still reported failure on that score. They couldn't get the government to agree.

They'd brought a second computer into Daniel's office and put it on a small desk in a corner for Jonny. He had an internal e-mail account and access to mission reports and the archives of artifact images going back five or six years. It was an incredible wealth of knowledge in an area he hadn't ever explored, and Jonny felt like a kid in a candy store some of the time. But he got frustrated, knowing that it would be just as easy for them to give him e-mail access to Jessie and Race. They could even read the e-mail and censor it easily. He also knew that he could probably finagle it for himself if he tried, but that would be breaking trust with Daniel, Jack and General Hammond. Particularly with Daniel, because it would be under his nose. The archeologist might even get in trouble for it. Jonny wasn't to that point yet.

But enjoying himself also felt awful. He felt guilty, because his father and his brother were out there, who knew where, being tortured by aliens who controlled their bodies. He kept wondering what was happening to them, wherever they were. Had Thoth figured out that the Goa'uld inside Hadji didn't have complete control? What would the scholar of the Egyptian pantheon do at that point? He was reputed to have been a scientist of sorts, and the fact that no one here or among the Tok'ra had heard of a human successfully fighting a Goa'uld suggested that a scientist might find Hadji's apparent ability quite fascinating. What might he do to examine that?

The images that came to mind were horrifying, and they began to haunt his dreams at night. Both Jack and Daniel were becoming quite adept at waking him from nightmares without sending him into full blown panic, but because he knew they still didn't entirely believe that Hadji was in partial control of his body and mind, he couldn't bring himself to tell them.

He needed Race. He could tell Race anything. But the days went by and the people who decided who got which clearances showed no signs of relenting. And Jonny couldn't make his case to them in person. That was the hardest part of all. He wondered what would happen if he fell into some sort of deep depression.

Unfortunately none of the answers that came to mind would work in his favor. He didn't want to wind up on medication, or hidden away in some hospital somewhere.

He'd just have to keep working and hope that everything would turn out all right.

Jessie got up early Saturday morning and fixed breakfast. Her mother had been there for four days now, and despite the little talk they'd had, Jessie hadn't figured out how to patch things up with her dad. She didn't know how to apologize, and her mother wasn't helping much. She told her she needed to work it out on her own.

Her parents would be down in a few minutes, and she wanted to make a good impression on them. Like she was trying to make things better.

Eggs, sausage, pancakes. She balanced things as best she could, putting the browned sausage into the oven on low heat to keep them warm and leaving the eggs till last. She was frying pancakes when IRIS announced, "Motor vehicle approaching. License plate . . ." Jessie stopped listening and hit the remote to turn the TV to the closed circuit channel where IRIS was displaying a dark blue van with government plates. She saw the driver climb out and talk into the intercom. Her father must have intercepted the com, because she wasn't hearing anything. The driver was wearing green fatigues with Air Force patches.

When she saw the gates open, she snapped the stove off and ran upstairs. She'd been writing a letter to Jonny, and unless they were delivering him home, which seemed unlikely, this was her first good opportunity to send it.

She slammed her door open and sat down hastily to scrawl a few words to close the letter, then quickly sealed it into an envelope and ran back downstairs where she grabbed a care package she'd had waiting for just such an opportunity. She reached the door just as her father opened it and hurried out. She followed him, noticing that he, too, had paper and a package clutched in his hands. Since he'd actually talked to their guest, she assumed this meant it was some kind of courier, like she'd thought.

The van wasn't even close to there yet, as they both should have known. The grounds were pretty large, after all. This left them standing, alone, in the front walk of the house, each of them holding a package and a letter.

"Good morning, Jessie," her father said.

"Hi, Dad. I . . . uh . . . I was making breakfast."

He half-turned his head to look at her, and she looked down at her hands. "Did you turn off the stove?"

"I did," she said, looking up, feeling nettled that he'd felt the need to ask. Some of that must have shown in her voice, because his jaw tightened and he looked towards the drive without speaking. She flushed and looked down again, not sure what to say.

It took five more minutes for the van to get there.

The driver got out and walked up to her dad, a dark blue canvas zipper pouch in one hand and a clipboard in the other. "Mr. Bannon, I have some letters for you and your daughter. I need you to sign for them."

"Of course," Race said, taking the clipboard.

"Please read the document before signing, sir," the sergeant said. "And make sure your daughter understands the conditions of accepting her letter."

Her father scanned the document and handed it to Jessie who read it quickly. She grimaced sourly. It was an acknowledgment of the secret nature of the documents they were accepting and a promise to keep the documents and their contents confidential 'until such time as they were de-classified.'

She shook her head. "It's a letter from Jonny!" she exclaimed. "De-classified?"

"Jess," her father said, and she subsided.

"Right, I know. I agree."

Her father nodded and took the clipboard back, signing the document and handing it to the sergeant, who handed him the canvas pouch. "Any packages or letters you might want to send can be placed in here."

Jessie looked down at her care package and up at the canvas pouch, which was big enough to hold a couple of hardcover books, but not much more. "It won't fit," she said. "Does it have to fit?"

The sergeant looked down at the tin foil and cellophane-wrapped bundle. "I think I can find something that will work," he said with a smile, then he disappeared into the van.

"I suspect that they are feeding him, Jess," her father said with a small smile as he looked at the package in her hands. It was seeming embarrassingly large all of a sudden.

"But they're not feeding him Mrs. Evans' food. Besides, it's a taste of home, right?" She looked up at him, suddenly feeling desperate need of his approval.

He nodded with a more genuine smile. "Yes, Ponchita."

The sergeant emerged with a larger pouch and she handed him her package and her letter. Race gave him his. The man tucked the pouch away in the back of the van and said, "We're going to try and make these deliveries as regular as possible. I'm ordered to be here next Thursday, and someone will let you know if that will be delayed."

"Thank you, Sgt. Thomas."

The man nodded and gave her a smile, then got back into his van and drove away, leaving the pouch in her father's hands. He unzipped it and pulled out two letters that were addressed in a familiar hand. They weren't sealed, she saw, and her father grimaced sourly. "Censors, how charming."

"Censors?" she repeated. "They're censoring his mail?"

Race nodded and handed her letter to her. "It's pretty normal in a classified environment," he said, sighing.

As he started to turn away, she caught his arm. "Dad?"

He turned back, and she threw herself into his arms. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry, I've been a jerk."

He shrugged and hugged her back. "It's in the past, Ponchita. Let's worry about the future."

"Breakfast!" she exclaimed.

"If it's ruined, it's ruined," he said, keeping an arm around her shoulder and leading her on to the kitchen. "We can clean up and start over."

She nodded, but when they reached the kitchen, they found that Estella had taken up were Jessie had left off. A pile of pancakes stood steaming on a plate beside the stove, and the eggs were scrambled in the pan.

"Was it a letter from Jonny?" she asked as they came in.

"Two." Her father squeezed her and looked down at his own letter. "One for each of us."

Jessie pulled away and went over to the table and sat down, pulling her letter out of its envelope. "Don't they take razors to these things when they cut them?" she asked.

"Usually," Race said, pulling his own letter out.

"Then either they didn't censor this, or Jonny managed to write the perfect letter." There wasn't any sign of cutting in the page she had in her hand.

"I'm suspecting the latter, Ponchita," he said as he scanned the first lines of his letter. "Jonny clearly knew he was going to be scrutinized and wrote carefully with that in mind."

Jessie nodded and looked at her letter.

Dear Jessie,

If I know you, and I do, you've been trying as hard as you can to figure out how to get me home. Let me tell you one thing. I've seen Bob, you know which Bob I mean, and I'm still not coming home. That should tell you something.

Jessie stared at that paragraph and shook her head. Her father noticed and said, "What is it, Jess?"

"He's seen the president," she said, feeling lost. "He's seen the president, and nothing's solved. That can't be a good sign.

Her father took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "No, it's not a good sign."

"But it's not the end of the world," her mother said firmly, placing plates of food in front of them. "Is it?"

Race shook his head. "No, Stell, it's not." He caught her hand as she started to move away. "Thank you," he said.

Jessie rolled her eyes at this extreme expression of appreciation for breakfast and returned to reading.

Don't try to look for me, you'll only get in trouble, and I'm okay where I am. I wish you and Race were here, but I am fine. Don't try to look for Dad and Hadji, either, there's no point. I know exactly what resources we have, and we don't have the ones you'd need to find them. I know how hard it is to do nothing, but there's nothing you can do. Just try to hold Race together, okay? I know he's got to be going nuts right now.

Jessie's eyes shot to her father's face. He was reading his own letter again, and she felt guilt wash over her. Here was Jonny asking her to take care of him, not knowing she'd been such a bitch. He'd be pissed if he knew. She gulped and looked down at the words, hoping her eyes would stay clear of tears long enough for her to read them.

So, here's one for the record books. I got hurt, and badly, so I don't get to play this time. I'm helping and watching from the sidelines, but my ankle is broken in such a way that I can't even have a walking cast. You and Hadji are always joking that since the corporation I seem to be made of steel, but I fell down and broke myself.

Now, for the serious stuff. This is going to sound completely insane, but if you see Dad or Hadji, I want you to run. I mean it. Run, don't walk. DO NOT trust them! If you can remember the time that Jeremiah Surd tried to brainwash you into trying to kill your dad, multiply it by about ten, and that's what you're dealing with. They'll seem like them, but they won't be them, and there won't be any way in hell you can get through to them. I can't tell you how or why this has happened, but you have to believe me, Jess. I've seen them both, and they are not the people we know.

I've told your dad most of the same stuff in the letter I wrote to him.

She looked up. "Dad, have you –"

"The stuff about Benton and Hadji?" he asked. "Yes."

"What does he mean?"

He shook his head, looking baffled. "I don't know, but Jonny's never been an alarmist."

"What does he say?" her mom asked.

Race bit his lip and then read aloud. "'If you see Dad or Hadji, DO NOT –' that's in caps and underlined," he said. "'DO NOT trust them. They aren't the people you know, no matter how much they act like it or look like it. There is something seriously freaky going on, and it's part of what I can't tell you."

Estella sat down and looked at Race. "That's a little alarming."

"It's a lot alarming," Jessie said. "He compared it to the time Surd tried to get me to kill you, Dad."

"Did he?" Her father's eyes narrowed. "May I see?" he asked, putting his hand out.

"I haven't finished reading it yet," she said, moving the letter closer to herself.

He nodded understanding and looked down the page in front of him. From this she deduced that he hadn't finished his either.

Thanks for the cookies and stuff, by the way. It was nice. One of my new friends likes the chocolate chip ones, you can tell Mrs. Evans that.

Oh, I just thought of something. If they let you send stuff, could you get my language books together and send them here? I want to check some stuff in a couple of them, but I'm not sure which.

Anyway, I'm still asking for you guys to come, but I'm seriously doubting that they'd let you. Maybe Race. Don't be mad if that happens, it's nothing personal. You know how adults can be about us. But I miss you, and I wish you were here.

Bandit is barking by my knee. He seems to think it's time for me to give him a treat. I'd better ask someone to get me some. Anyway, thanks for what you sent, don't get in trouble . . . don't trust Dad and Hadji.

Love,

Jonny

"He's really emphasizing that, isn't he?" her mother said, and Jessie saw that she was reading Race's letter over his shoulder. "'If you see Dad or Hadji, don't stick around,'" she read aloud. "'Get out of there. Don't fight them.' That just . . . don't fight them? To you?"

Her dad was shaking his head. "If he said it, he means it. It's not code, it's not anything we have prearranged. And the government let it through, which leads me to believe that the threat is real."

"So someone's brainwashed Dr. Quest and Hadji?" Jessie said disbelievingly.

"I don't think it's brainwashing, Jess," her father said. "I think it is them, though. I don't know what to make of it, but the comparison he makes for my benefit is that doppelganger that came after us once from Zin, and how easily they all were taken in by him. If it was brainwashing, I'd think he'd have said something about what happened to you."

She shook her head. "But that doesn't make any sense. If you take both our comparisons to be valid, you've got someone who is them, but is pretending to be them at the same time. How does that work?"

"They may simply be comparisons," her mom said. "Don't over complicate things. It doesn't have to be that specific."

"I guess not," Jessie said, handing her letter to her father. "It's just my instinct to try and fit things together." She looked down at the food on her plate. "I'm not as hungry as I thought."

"Eat, young lady," her mother said sternly. "You, too, Race," she added. "You two are entirely too much alike."

Jessie glanced at her father, who had looked away from the letter to glower darkly at his plate, and at her mother, who was still bustling around the stove even though breakfast was done. "Mom," she said," I'll clean everything up later. Sit down with us."

When there was no immediate response, Race stood up, walked over and made up a plate for her. Then he took the utensils out of her hands. "Join us, Stell," he said, leading her to the table by the hand. She sat and they all started eating.

Silence reigned in the kitchen for several minutes, then Jessie couldn't stand it. "Why does the Air Force have him anyway?" she asked. "What's their interest in Jonny?"

Race shrugged. "I have a feeling that he somehow got into the middle of some military project or other, something that may not even be directly related to whatever's happened to Benton and Hadji."

Jessie shook her head, frustrated beyond words. She got up. "I'll clean up, but I need to go for a walk first."

They nodded and she left the house for the fresh air outside. She had to get away or she was going to start screaming, and there was no one to scream at here who deserved it.

Estella put a hand on his and said, "Race, what is it?"

He looked up with his best blank look. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I could see it when Jessie asked what the Air Force wanted with Jonny. There was something you were holding back. I don't think she picked up on it, but I've had a few more years with you as an adult. What is it?"

He pursed his lips and sighed. "Let's go somewhere else, so we're not as likely to be interrupted."

She followed him up to the room he used as his office on the second floor and he closed the door behind her. Flipping on the monitors, he set one of them to watch Jessie. With all the strange stuff going on, he didn't feel entirely comfortable with her wandering too far alone and unobserved.

Estella glanced over and her eyes widened. "Do you do that a lot?"

"Not normally, but with what's been going on . . ."

"Right . . ." She watched silently for a moment as their daughter wandered down to the edge of the water. "So, what is it?"

"This goes back a ways," he said.

She glowered at him. "I hate it when you start things like this, Race. What is it?"

He crossed his arms irritably. "When the corporation took Jonny, they gave him some IQ tests, and Benton sensed a surge of interest in Jonny afterwards that alarmed him. He mentioned it to Phil, and I'm not sure exactly where else it was mentioned, but I do know that during one of those standard tests the school system gives the kids to make sure we're teaching them adequately, a ringer was slipped in. They gave Jonny some decidedly non-standard tests, and not too long after that someone from the NID came around to ask for permission to work with Jonny."

"He's a teenager!" she exclaimed.

Race nodded. "They want to groom him. Those were the words Benton used at any rate. I didn't see them. The visit was nicely timed for when I was out of the house."

"Charming," she said. "And it's just Jonny they're interested in?"

"After some serious effort, Phil managed to get hold of the test results," Race said. "If Jonny ever reaches his potential, he'll be beyond brilliant, from the looks of things. Not in the same way Benton is brilliant, either. In the analysis, they called him an intuitive genius."

"Wait, and the government's got him now?"

Race nodded and she looked suitably appalled. "The one thing that's keeping me from going nuts is that Phil seems calm about it, so he must think that the folks who have him are okay."

"You don't . . ." She paused, looking uneasy. "You don't think that they grabbed the three of them to get Jonny, do you?"

Race shook his head. "I really doubt it. For one thing, that letter is genuine, and for them to get Jonny to write a letter like that, they'd have had to convince him of what he told us. He's not an easy kid to lie to. First, he looks up at you with apparent innocent trust, then he sees right through whatever you do try to say. He's incredibly perceptive."

"And intuitive," she added, nodding.

"So no, I don't think this was a deliberate attempt to get hold of Jonny. What I think, though, is that there are those who would consider it to be an incredible opportunity to get control of Jonny without any interference from his father or his brother. I don't know what that would do to him." He bit his lip. "For all his strengths, he's a pretty vulnerable kid, and with the undiagnosed PTSD plain to see in his records, they could manipulate him to a fare thee well." Estella raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the letter. "Not this quickly," he said. "And not like that."

"But you are his legal guardian," she said. "Don't they have to bow to that at some point?"

"I'm a bodyguard," he replied, shaking his head. "They could, with the right lawyers and the right judge, make mincemeat of my guardianship and yours."

"We got it legally witnessed," she protested. "Benton's lawyers are the best."

"And all they have to do is cry 'undue influence' into a sympathetic ear, Stell," he said. "I'm not kidding, it's as easy as that, and there have been people implying that I was playing that sort of game for years now." He shook his head. He'd had no idea that Estella was still so innocent where politics were concerned.

"But that would involve court visits. Someone would ask Jonny."

"And if Jonny said that he wanted me to be his guardian, don't you think any halfway competent lawyer on the other side would point to it as evidence of my influence?" She grimaced and conceded the point. "I can't win, Stell, not with the folks we'd be going up against. That's one of the reasons I've been playing it so casual. I don't want them to decide I'm a threat."

"And all of this over a fifteen-year-old boy."

"All of this over a fifteen-year-old genius who's got an educational head start on his peers that amounts to most of the race, and who's already experienced with the ins and outs of politics, the criminal underworld, terrorist tactics, ad nauseum. The only reason we don't have anyone else out here salivating over him is that the NID are keeping the knowledge very close to their chests because they don't want to be scooped by anybody else." He shook his head. "I hate to think what Zin would make of this information."

"Does Hadji know?"

Race didn't respond immediately, contemplating the sober young man, just days away from this eighteenth birthday now. "I think he suspects," he said finally. "We've never told him, if that's what you're asking." She nodded. "But I think Hadji may have known all along. He's a pretty sharp kid himself, and he thinks around corners. I . . ." Race shrugged. "I used to think Jonny would grow up more like me. He didn't seem to have the same . . . I don't know . . . whatever it is that Benton, Hadji and Jessie have that make them so obviously . . ."

"Smart?" Estella demanded sharply. "This isn't the 'I'm a dumb grunt' thing again, is it? Please tell me it's not."

He rolled his eyes. "It's not."

"Good, because I don't want to argue with you right now."

"Still, standing next to Benton, I –"

"Don't be an ass, Race," she growled. "Everyone feels that way next to Benton."

"The point is, I thought Jonny would be like me, not stupid, but not of Benton's caliber, but I think Hadji's known all along that his brother was more than he seemed. But then that's Hadji." He sighed. "They're just plain scary, taken together. Add Jessie into the mix . . ." He shook his head, glancing back at the monitor. Jessie had settled down on the beach, arms wrapped around her legs as she stared out over the gray water.

"Are you saying that your own daughter frightens you?" Estella asked, an amused twist to her lips.

"Of course not," Race said. "It's just . . . I don't know where she came from."

"If you start talking about your lack of brains again, I'll brain you," she growled.

He shook his head. "No, it's not that, Stell. I'm no fool. I couldn't hold my own as much as I do with Benton if I was stupid," he said. "I just . . . I look at me and I look at you, and, forgive me, Stell, but I don't see where she came from. We're both bright people, but she outstrips us both by miles."

Estella nodded. "I guess I see what you mean."

"But she's a more typical genius than Jonny . . . very focused in one area."

Estella gazed at the image on the monitors. "She'd tell us we were crazy if she could hear us."

"Maybe." He sighed. "But regardless, the NID are convinced that Jonny is the next white hope of the intelligence community and they want him to belong to them."

Estella looked unhappy. "And what can we do to stop it?"

"At the moment, not a damned thing." Race's hand clenched into a fist. "Not a damned thing."

Klorel did not have free run of the ship, but he did have limited access beyond the room he'd been assigned. Thus far Hadji had not been forced to hand over as much information as he'd have expected, because Thoth was spending a lot of time closeted up, doing some kind of research. He had instructed Klorel to engage in kelanir for an hour each morning, which he was doing. Hadji had figured out, after the first several times, how to piggy-back into the meditative state. He was having trouble absorbing the knowledge, but he thought that was in part because the method of storage was so alien.

So far all he'd really picked up was the structure of the Goa'uld mind. It appeared that there were, in essence, two minds. One was the individual's mind, Klorel's personality, specific personal experiences, and that sort of thing. It was very shallow, but Klorel was quite young. Hadji wondered if an older Goa'uld would have a deeper feel to it, or if that was as individual as it was with humans. The other mind was buried beneath even the subconscious level, and seemed to contain a vast wealth of information.

It was that information that Hadji was having difficulty gleaning. He insinuated himself into Klorel's meditative state yet again, attempting to penetrate into that deeper mind, hoping that would give him a clearer understanding of what he was up against.

Finally, he succeeded, achieving the level of meditation required to explore the knowledge in that hereditary memory bank. Instantly, repugnance and horror overcame him. He thrust his mind away so violently that it turned into a physical movement that catapulted him from the cross legged position he'd been sitting in onto his stomach on the floor where he began to convulse uncontrollably.

His guards entered the room and restrained him despite the spasms that wracked his body. They carried him to an ornate room he hadn't seen before, which seemed to serve as an infirmary. A man with dark kohl around his eyes examined him and gave him a muscle-relaxing drug that stilled the seizures.

"What seems to be the trouble, Klorel?" he asked. Hadji was unable to answer, predictably enough. The muscle relaxant was too powerful to permit him to speak coherently, which was probably fortunate, because he was having trouble stifling irrelevant emotional reactions at the moment.

All he wanted to do was yell at the man. "The trouble is that I am having convulsions, you idiot!" It struck him as an unhelpful thing to say, but the urge was overpowering. It occurred to him that Klorel would probably say just that, so it would probably go unremarked if he did.

The physician, or whatever he was, ran several tests on Hadji's non-responsive body, then placed a kind of filigree helmet around Hadji's head. Hadji could hear him fiddling with equipment beyond his head, but he couldn't turn to see what it was. After several moments, he said, "Go find my lord Thoth and tell him that there is something he should see."

Hadji wanted desperately to know what was going on, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't even consult Klorel, because the monster within still seemed to be deep in meditation . . . only it didn't quite feel like meditation . . .

When Thoth finally came, Hadji had begun to regain control of his body again. The drug was burning off.

"What is it, Tabeh?" Thoth asked.

"Look here, my lord," Tabeh said. "I have taken a scan of the –"

"I see." Thoth was silent for a moment, and Tabeh remained quiet as well. Hadji was just beginning to feel that he could turn his head to see them when he head footsteps approaching. He looked up into the eyes of the Goa'uld that inhabited his father's face. "Klorel, what happened?"

Hadji blinked. "I do not know, lord," he said.

"Do you not? Tell me how it began."

"I was entering into kelanir when –"

A hard hand interrupted him, striking his cheek and sending him rolling off the exam bed. He scrambled towards his feet, but the same hand wrapped itself in his hair and yanked his head back and his legs collapsed beneath him. "You are not Klorel," Thoth said with certainty.

"I am –" Hadji started, but Thoth tightened the hand in his hair and twisted his neck further. He broke off with a squeak.

"How have you achieved this, human?" Thoth demanded. "How have you done this?"

Hadji recognized that he could no longer pretend to be Klorel It wasn't working anymore, and it would only anger Thoth further. "I do not know what has happened," he said. His voice sounded harsh and desperate to his own ears.

"What do you recall?"

Hadji shook his head, and Thoth lifted him by the hair and threw him against the wall. His body slammed full length against the unforgiving bulkhead, and the relief work dug into him. He clutched at it to hold himself upright and turned to face Thoth. It was horrible to see that murderous anger in the eyes of his father.

"You will tell me what has happened or I will destroy you," Thoth said.

Hadji drew in a breath. Somewhere very high up on all of Race's lists of rules regarding what they were to do if captured was a one-word instruction: Survive. Getting himself killed now wouldn't save his father, and he had no useful knowledge that his father didn't also have. His death would serve no purpose at the moment.

"Klorel never gained full control over my body," Hadji said. Tabeh was standing behind Thoth and his jaw dropped. The Jaffa all looked astonished. Thoth merely listened, eyes intent on Hadji's face. "We've fought almost constantly from the start. Control has gone back and forth."

"And in your fighting you dealt one another mental blows of some kind?" Thoth asked.

"No," Hadji replied. He was feeling decidedly different, almost as if Klorel was actually gone, though there was just the faintest sense of weight in his mind that he associated with the Goa'uld. "No, we just grabbed control back and forth. More like a game of keep away than a boxing match."

Thoth seemed to process this, and Hadji came to the sick realization that he was using Dr. Quest's mind as a sort of superior database. Finally, he said, "Then what happened today?"

"I'm not altogether sure," Hadji replied.

Thoth leaned in close, their faces bare inches apart. "Do not lie to me, boy. You are less to me than Klorel was, and he was little enough."

"You want information that I have," Hadji said. "Now that you know that Klorel has not taken over, I have no incentive to cooperate with him."

Thoth stepped back, his eyes grown calculating. "You do not know. You truly do not know."

"Know what?" Hadji demanded. "What don't I know?"

"Klorel is in a coma within you. The brain patterns from his mind are so faint they are barely discernible." Hadji gaped at him. "It is not a state that Goa'uld minds enter into. I had to find the word in your father's vocabulary. I wish to know how you have achieved this."

"Me too," Hadji said. "I have no idea. I –"

"What did you do?" Thoth demanded. "Or is Klorel simply too weak to control a human?"

"He controlled Skaara," Hadji remarked.

"How do you know that name?"

Hadji blinked. "Is it not normal for the host to know the Goa'uld's mind?" he asked.

Thoth turned to his Jaffa. "Bring him," he ordered, then he stalked out of the room. The Jaffa grabbed Hadji, who was in no state to resist them, and dragged him after their master in his stolen body. Hadji couldn't really gain his feet because he hadn't fully recovered himself, but they barely let his feet touch the floor in any case, carrying him along between them like so much baggage.

Thoth led them to the space he seemed to use as a research library and sat down behind his desk. The Jaffa forced Hadji down to his knees before him. Thoth was gazing at him thoughtfully, and Hadji didn't know what he could possibly be thinking. Fear threaded through his gut because he didn't know what to expect.

Finally, Thoth said, "How much the host knows depends entirely on what the Goa'uld allows him to know. What, exactly, did Klorel allow you to be privy to?"

Hadji recognized this as a time when honesty was the best policy. For one thing, he didn't know which lies would benefit him, so the truth was safer. "He didn't allow anything," Hadji said. "If anyone was allowing anything, it was me."

Thoth's eyes widened and there was a brief pause. "You hid your knowledge from him?"

"I hid myself from him entirely," Hadji said. "When you asked him questions, he had to ask me the answers."

"That is . . . hard to believe."

Hadji shrugged. "It is the truth. What good would it do me to lie about this?"

"I have never noticed humans to be logical creatures," Thoth observed. "However, your father is a man of great sense and practicality, and he sees you as a young man with a very level head."

Anger surged through Hadji, and if the Jaffa had not maintained their hold on his shoulders, he might have launched himself at Thoth. "Do not speak of my father!" he growled.

Thoth ignored both the outburst and the brutal efficiency with which the Jaffa subdued him. "So, if it was not a deliberate assault, how did Klorel wind up in this state?"

Hadji shrugged. "I was attempting to join him in kelinar, to see what knowledge it is he was attempting to assimilate. I . . ." He grimaced. "I panicked when I finally penetrated to that submind, and I . . . perhaps I trapped his mind there, or did some kind of psychic damage when I fled."

"You penetrated to the submind?" Thoth asked incredulously.

"And left as fast as I could!" Hadji assured him. "It is no wonder that you are all mad."

Thoth let the weight of his gaze rest on Hadji until he looked away. There was no profit in challenging the monster who held his father's body hostage to his will. "You intrigue me, boy. Can you tell me much about Apophis?"

Hadji blinked. "What do you mean? Is he not dead?"

"He is," Thoth said, smiling grimly. "And I know a great deal about him." Hadji gulped, alarmed. "That is why I ask. I wish to test this knowledge of yours. If I find that you have lied . . . let us just say that not only will I make you wish you hadn't, I will force your father to watch every moment of what I do to you."

Hadji glared up at the malevolent creature, but he had little choice and nothing to protect. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before telling Thoth everything he knew about Apophis.