She came to with strangers surrounding her, saying things like, "Emily, are you ok?" She didn't know who Emily was or why they looked so concerned. She returned their gazes blankly, trying to remember how she got there. She couldn't remember anything, now that she thought of it, but she didn't seem to care.

A second later, she thought that might be odd.

They helped her up from the floor. She must have fallen and hurt herself, she decided, and felt her head, absently, for any contusions. Nothing hurt except for a slight, dull headache. She felt pretty tired too, but none of that seemed to matter.

She felt like smiling, so she did.

Two men and a woman crowded her, scrutinizing her with a vibrating intensity, and four more people were on the other side of the room, standing, curiously observing. That was strange, she thought idly. The thought flashed through her mind that she might be the subject of some kind of experiment. This looked like some kind of laboratory. Instruments. Tools. Computers. Had they done something to her? Maybe they had hurt her.

Funny, she thought, it seemed inconsequential. Shouldn't she care more? She furrowed her brow and tried to think hard for a clue about what was happening, but came up completely blank.

Oh, look at that. It's raining outside.

One of the men grabbed her arm, gripping her painfully. He looked alarmed. His eyes were wide and blue. He demanded, "Emily, are you ok? What just happened?"

She shook him off and stepped back, prickling with a trickle of panic that was steadily growing. She realized her back was to a wall and she edged away from him, slowly and deliberately, saying, "I don't know who Emily is."

He followed her, holding up a hand, trying to placate her. Trepidation grew. What was this place? What had they done?

She warned him, "No, no! Get back. I don't know what you've done to me. I don't trust you."

Her eyes darted around the room. There was only one door. There were four people between her and that door—and they all looked freaked out.

"You are Emily," he said, but he didn't look very calm and she found that disturbing.

He kept trying to get closer, but she didn't want him to. Alarm seeped through her, tensing her limbs to run.

"It's me, Rodney. It's ok. We're going to get help now." He turned to the others and angrily barked at them to radio for a medical team.

Panic roiled, leaving no room for rationality. Her thoughts were turbulent and filled only with escape. They were distracted. She broke for the door. He tried to grab her as she sprinted past, but she pushed him back, surprised by her own strength. He hit the floor hard. She got to the door, but she didn't know how to open it.

Oh, crap! No knobs? She pounded it for a second, urgently whispering, "Open, open!" She could hear they were almost upon her. It opened. She was free, running blindly through a maze of corridors, none of which were familiar. There were strangers walking by and they looked shocked to see her running past, but no one tried to stop her.

She had to find somewhere to hide so that she could figure out what had happened, how to get away, or how to get help.

They were going to chase her, she felt sure.

She found an empty corridor and stopped for a moment, gasping for breath, trembling with the strain of standing still. She looked down at herself for the first time. She was dressed just like they were. It must be some kind of uniform.

She was clearly not a runner, she thought, panting. Her leg muscles burned and her breath tore at her throat. What else could she tell about herself? She frantically plucked at pockets, but found nothing—no identification, no money, just a rubber band for her hair. She pulled a strand of hair out in front of her eyes. Light brown curls. How could she not even know what she looked like? What had they done to her?

As her breathing slowed slightly she realized she could hear voices in her head, talking. They kept saying the name he had been saying: Emily. And also Dr. Freedman. They were also looking for a Dr. Freedman. Could that be another name for her? Could she be a doctor? She didn't feel like a doctor. She felt like prey.

She explored her head again, trying to locate the source of the voices. She found a small device on her ear and looked at it curiously. It trembled in her shaking fingers. It must be some kind of radio. It seemed impossibly small. It occurred to her that she might be able to listen to them, to use it to her advantage to elude them, so she put it back on her ear and tried to pay attention.

She heard the sounds of heavy boot-steps coming down the hall. Her eyes darted around, but there was nowhere to go and she couldn't go back the way she came—there were too many people down that corridor. She ducked her head and started walking, trying to pass as normal. She put all of her effort into making her breathing calm, so they wouldn't look at her twice. It was difficult. She was thrumming with fear. They were soldiers. Her eyes flared. They had guns. As they drew close, she furtively looked into their faces and saw recognition.

She bolted again, running past them. They grabbed at her, shouting, and running after her, but somehow the adrenaline surge got her out ahead of them and she darted down a short corridor. They didn't shoot. Thank God they weren't shooting. She found another corridor that branched like spokes from a wheel. She picked a branch at random and tore down it, hoping she lost them there. There seemed to be nowhere to hide in this place. How could it be all endless corridors going nowhere? Suddenly she saw a door and went to it, touching it, quietly begging it to open. It did.

She stumbled inside. Lights came on in the room. She could hear voices in the hall. The door was still open. She silently prayed that it would close to conceal her—and to her surprise it did. She looked wildly around for a place to hide. It looked very much like the room she had just awoken in. Another science lab, she thought, with people as the subjects. Crouching behind a table of some sort, she pressed shaky fingers to her lips to still her ragged breathing, afraid it might be heard through the door.

Clearly no one was going to rescue her and how would she even know if they were? If she couldn't even recognize herself, how could she recognize help?

She pushed down the panic and focused on the earpiece. It was hard to concentrate. She thought it might help her elude capture, but it was all gibberish. They were organizing search teams and assigning sections of a city, but none of the designations they mentioned had any meaning to her. Then it occurred to her—if such a small piece of technology could transmit, like a radio, it might also be used to pinpoint her location. She couldn't take the risk. She took it off her ear and ground it under her shoe.

No one came into the room. Long minutes passed. She'd heard footsteps in the hall shortly after entering, but they hadn't come into the room. She sank wearily to the floor and weighed her options. There was a strong urge to lie down and sleep, now that she was calmer, but she couldn't give in to that. She'd be caught for sure and she didn't want to find out what they would do to her next. She wearily searched the room. There was no food or drink here, just dusty junk, and very little of that.

She uncovered some kind of console and suppressed a wave of hysterical laughter because it resembled some kind of musical instrument. It lit up under her touch, projecting a display on a section of the wall. It was a computer terminal, she realized. There were words there, on the wall. It took some effort to read them, but she was able to decipher it. She touched a clear key that she thought meant search and the display changed. She tentatively touched a few more keys, navigating toward a map. A snowflake-shaped diagram came into view with a small red dot, indicating where she was. Now the corridors outside made more sense. She studied the map intensely. She had to find her way to the edge of this complex, in order to escape.

Rodney picked himself off the floor, exclaiming, "Son of a bitch! What just happened here?" He glared at the remaining occupants of the room, who all looked stunned, and bellowed at them, "Don't just stand there, do something!"

He started for the door, limping a little because his left hip felt badly bruised, but Daniel was coming back in, made eye contact with him, and shook his head.

"Why didn't you go after her?" Rodney growled angrily.

Daniel frowned. "I did. But she was sprinting like a 16-year-old track star, Rodney. I couldn't keep up with that. I lost sight of her where there were several forks in the corridors. We'll need to send out search parties."

"Dammit! This never should have happened!" He took a menacing step toward Daniel and roared, spittle flying, "You better figure out what the hell that thing does and how to reverse it by the time I find her!"

He was seething. He turned away from Daniel before he did something stupid like punching him and stabbed at the radio on his ear, "Sheppard, come in!"

She studied the map as long as she dared. She had to get moving. It was only a matter of time before they started searching this area more thoroughly.

She went to the door. The damn things were such a mystery. She didn't know what made them open. It didn't seem to be motion. She touched it. It wasn't touch. Finally she whispered in frustration, "Oh, open already!" and blinked with surprise when it actually did.

She poked her head cautiously into the hall. It was empty. She took off at a jog. Her muscles were cramping with fatigue but she ignored that and pushed on. She had to make it to the edge of the complex. Occasionally she passed a window and ducked down so she wouldn't be seen. She caught glimpses of towers and spires against a leaden sky.

The architecture was incredible. Under different circumstances she'd want to take the time to appreciate it, she thought, and stopped for a moment, thinking. That was the first thought she'd had that revealed any kind of personality. But there was no time to think about that now. Her eyes darted up and down the corridor. The hallway remained empty and she pressed on.

After some time, she saw daylight at the end of the corridor and pushed herself as hard as she could to get there. It would be the end of the spoke, leading to the edge of the compound and hopefully to escape. As she took the last few steps, she stumbled and fell to her knees in shock. There was a breezeway, encircling the compound with plenty of large plate windows showing views of. . . water. . . in every direction. Ocean. Or some other large body of water. There was no land visible. She panted and looked around incredulously. There was no escape from here. Not even a boat in sight. She put a fist to her forehead and tried to think what to do next. Her only option was to follow the breezeway around the circumference to see if there was land on one of the other sides.

Rodney glared malevolently at the occupants of the archeology lab, filled with impotent rage. Sheppard was organizing search teams. Daniel was looking in the database, trying to determine what the device had done to Emily. What should he be doing? He stabbed a finger in the air towards Neumann. "You—keep taking readings from that thing until you figure out what it does."

He sank onto a stool. Why had she touched it? What had it done to her? It was clear she didn't recognize anyone or even know who she was and when she'd pushed him, he'd gone down like a stack of bricks. He didn't know she had that kind of strength in her. And Daniel was right, she'd been moving fast, incredibly fast. He shook off his fears and concerns and tried to think logically. She was running away, clearly didn't trust anyone. Where would she go? What would she do? Would she hide?

He stood up and touched his radio. "Zelenka, where are you?"

"Control room. I'm looking at internal sensors to see if I can figure out which little dot is her, like when we had Phebus and Thalen running amuck in the city."

"Got anything yet?"

"Not yet. The search parties are scattered and just beginning to search. It's hard to tell who is who yet. But I did detect, just a moment ago, that someone accessed an Ancient console in an unused lab on the northwest pier. That isn't far from her last known location. It might have been her. I reported it to Sheppard and he's sending a team there now."

"Good," he sighed. Maybe they were getting close to finding her. Daniel was approaching him hesitantly. He turned and barked, "What?"

"I know what it does," Daniel said uneasily.

Elizabeth came into the lab. "I've been listening to the radio chatter. They haven't found her yet. Have you made any progress at finding out what the device does?"

"Ah, yes," Daniel said. "But you aren't going to like it. This device, apparently, is. . . the Ancient version of. . . prison."

Rodney looked at him in disbelief, "What? How?"

"Yes, how?" Weir echoed.

"Well, rather than storing people in large facilities the way we do on Earth, the Ancients apparently stored a criminal's memories instead, rendering the individual virtually harmless and able to start life over as a productive member of society, with only the most fundamental knowledge of everyday life left intact—but all experiences, memories, recognition of others and themselves just wiped away, like a clean slate."

Rodney sagged onto a stool. "Oh, God. This can't be happening."

"The device was designed so that the suspected criminal wouldn't know that they were about to be wiped. Anyone in proximity experiencing intense emotions such as anger or fear would be drawn to the device and compelled to touch it. The jailers would just calmly stand by and watch. The Ancients didn't care for big scenes, apparently."

Daniel continued, speaking rapidly, his reluctant fascination with the device clearly evident. "Early experiments with this technology showed that the individuals undergoing the procedure often experienced an intense and potentially dangerous adrenaline surge immediately after being wiped. So, they incorporated some kind of brain wave modulator, that for the very short term, would induce feelings of euphoria—at which time they would put the individual in restraints or isolation until the adrenaline subsided. The individual's memories could be scanned for proof of guilt and then, if found guilty, the criminal would go through some kind of educational re-training program and be re-introduced to society."

Weir put a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "Can it be reversed?"

Daniel looked uncomfortable. "Yes. But that's where it gets hairy. The device itself will store the memories for three days before the memories start to degrade. But for longer storage, and to access the suspected criminal's memories as proof of guilt, there was a stone that fit in that indentation," he said, gesturing at the device. "All she need do is touch the stone and her memory will be restored."

Rodney groaned. "Let me guess—we don't know where that stone is, do we?"

Daniel pressed his lips together in a line and shook his head. "No. But we have some places to look."

Rodney looked from Weir to Jackson in dismay.

Elizabeth squeezed his shoulder and spoke to him gently, "Rodney, assign him a team to go looking for it. Who would be able to help him best?"

Rodney squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to think critically. "Ah, just take Neumann and Grasen. They're here. Zelenka can help once we find Emily."

Zelenka's voice came over the radio then, "Rodney, we've pinpointed her location. Sheppard has eyes on her now."

Rodney stood and looked to Elizabeth for support.

Elizabeth touched her radio and said, "John, be careful. She may be unpredictable. She won't recognize you and she's frightened."

He heard John's voice, saying quietly, "Copy that."

It seemed like she'd been walking for hours. She didn't have much energy left and all she could see out the windows was endless, unrelenting water. Hope was starting to flag. At least this portion of the compound was unused or uninhabited. She was thirsty, but had no idea where to find fresh drinking water. She considered going back down one of the spokes toward the center, but discarded that idea as too dangerous. Better to stay farther away from discovery and keep going. That was the best she could do for a plan.

She decided to rest for a minute to regain some strength. She sagged against a wall, sliding to the floor limply. She pulled her knees toward her chest and rested her forehead there. What had happened to her? She tried to think it through logically, but the fatigue made it difficult. She was dressed like they were. He'd said he was going to help her. They'd all looked shocked and upset. Could it be that she had misinterpreted what had happened? Maybe there had been some kind of accident? The soldiers hadn't fired on her. That had to be a good sign. They could have killed her, had they wanted to. It was completely bewildering. She had no framework on which to base an opinion. What would have happened if she had trusted them? It was impossible to speculate.

She opened her eyes, ready to rise and move on, when her shirt gaped and something caught her eye, moving underneath it. It was a gold chain. She pulled at it curiously and found a small medallion swinging at the end. It was lovely, she thought, examining it. Then she turned it over and her breath caught in her throat. It was a small picture of the man who had grabbed her, who had said he would help her. Oh, no. Oh, God. He was someone important to her. Who could he be? Her brother, her husband? She didn't even know how old she was. Could he be her father?

She rose and tried to look for a reflection in the glass, but couldn't get more than the faintest impression of herself, which told her nothing. She struggled to make sense of it. She wouldn't be wearing a picture of someone who could hurt her, she was sure. These people must be her friends. She shouldn't have run from them. She groaned with dismay. She had destroyed the communications device and now her only choice was to turn back and accept their help. She wearily turned away from the glass and found there were men approaching her from every angle, holding weapons.

She swallowed convulsively and called out, "I won't resist. I'll come with you."

A man with dark, messy hair approached her warily. "Emily? Do you know who I am?"

"No. I don't. Please don't hurt me," she pleaded, taking a step back and bumping into the window.

"No one is going to hurt you," he replied calmly, still watching her carefully. "Lower your weapons," he commanded the other men. Then, he tapped his ear and spoke, "McKay, we've got her. We'll take her to the infirmary now."

She slowly removed the chain from her neck and outstretched her arm, handing it to him. "Will you take me to this man?" she asked, her eyes darting from man to man as they continued to close in on her, forming a protective circle she couldn't break.

He looked at the charm curiously, then shot her a quirky grin, snorting in amusement. "I will. But first we need to get you to the infirmary so we can find out what happened to you, ok?"

She nodded assent and he came closer, putting a protective arm around her and they started walking. The other men fell into step silently behind them. He shot her an uncomfortable look, "How are you feeling? You ok?"

"I'm exhausted. Thirsty."

He gestured for someone to hand him a water and she slaked her thirst greedily while he watched.

"So, it sounds like you don't remember anything?"

"No," she answered, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "Nothing."

"Well, that's ok," he said blandly, shrugging. "Once, I almost turned into a bug and they managed to fix me. You'll be fine in no time."

She furrowed her brow and looked at him, trying to determine if he was being serious. He seemed non-threatening and sincere. She would have to take his statement at face value for now.

"Who is the man on the charm? To me? Is he my husband?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, handing the gold chain back to her. "Well, he's Rodney McKay. He's a scientist. Really smart—too smart for his own good, if you ask me. And he's your boyfriend."

"Do you know him?" she asked as she replaced it around her neck.

"Yep. He's a member of my team. Gotten me out of more scrapes than I can count. He's a good guy. He'll figure out what happened to you and fix it." He sounded certain.

She held his gaze and asked the question that was gnawing at her, "If. . . if I have nothing to fear from you, can you tell me why you and your men were pointing weapons at me?"

A strange, chagrined look passed over his features. "Oh, well, these are just stunners. They don't do any real harm. You'd already gotten away twice, so we were just being careful. The safest place for you now is the infirmary until we can figure out what happened to you."

She wasn't entirely convinced and wondered what kind of dangerous place this was, that there needed to be so many soldiers carrying weapons around. Hopefully, those answers would come with time.