Daniel squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell of Grant's house. He looked left and right almost furtively; a neighbour was twitching the curtains of the house opposite to see who was visiting. Daniel regarded door; he found the modern design of Grant's house garish and too extravagant for its suburban surroundings. At last the young lawyer opened the door and gave Daniel an enquiring look, raising two thin brown eyebrows until they were almost lost in the carefully groomed wave of dark hair covering his forehead.

"Hi," Grant said, a little shortly. He looked puzzled. "It's Daniel, isn't it? Sam's friend from work?"

"Uh, yeah," Daniel replied, "Can I come in?"

Grant looked even more confused. "Sure. I've got to go in a few minutes though. Want a beer?"

Daniel shook his head. "No thanks, I'm driving. I think you should sit down."

Something about the archeologist's uneasy manner eventually got through to the lawyer. "Is this about Sam?" He didn't sit down, but rested his hands lightly on the back of his leather sofa.

"Yes," Daniel said. "There really is no easy way to say this; she's listed as MIA. Missing in action, do you understand what that means?"

Grant looked thunderstruck. "Missing in action? How can she be MIA? She works in radar telemetry!"

"We believe she was hit by enemy fire along with Jack... uh, the Colonel. We're doing everything we can to try and locate them-" Daniel stuttered.

"Enemy fire?" Grant cut in, "Enemy fire?! Who was she fighting?"

"I can't tell you that, I'm afraid. It's classified," Daniel replied as Grant ran a distracted hand through his hair; somehow still managing to maintain his effortlessly well-groomed look.

"Uh," Grant managed, looking as if the bottom had just dropped out of his world, "I can't take this all in at the moment. I need to think about this."

Daniel nodded understandingly. "Here's my number," he said haltingly, "If you want any more information you can contact me on that. As soon as we know anything we'll tell you..."

"Th-thank you," replied Grant, showing Daniel to the door. "God, I never-" He shut the door before finishing the sentence, leaving Daniel out on the porch feeling incredibly awkward and with a nagging sense of guilt he couldn't quite pinpoint.

*



O'Neill awoke, his leg felt as if it were full of splinters. The ache had doubtless roused him. Besides him Carter was curled up on the dark floor, still asleep. She was shivering with cold, probably because she had used her jacket as a pillow for the injured Colonel. He raised himself up to his elbows with a wince and pulled out her jacket from underneath him. Shifting awkwardly onto his side he tucked it delicately around her shoulders; taking simple pleasure in watching her steady breathing, the slight flush of her face from her slumber. He felt a twinge of guilt as the remembrance assailed him; Carter was not his to ogle anymore when she slept, she belonged to another.

He turned onto his back once more, trying to ignore the growing pain in his leg as around him others emerged from sleep, muttering quietly to one another, snoring if they still slumbered. The noises were vaguely comforting, peaceful noises without a sense of panic behind them, just resignation. Perhaps it was an ancient tribal instinct, he mused, to be lulled by the sounds of the pack at rest.

The vibration of the ship which he had become used to in the past few hours suddenly increased; the hum becoming a whine. "Aw, Jesus," he muttered as the movement sent fresh waves of pain through his leg.

Carter sat up quite suddenly next to him, making him jump in shock. "Ah! You scared me then, Carter."

"Sorry sir," she apologised, rubbing sleepy eyes. "I think we might be about to land."

"Why?" O'Neill asked.

"The noise of the engines. It was like this when we took off," she explained.

"Oh," O'Neill replied.

Carter pulled her jacket on around her shoulders, breathing deeply, trying to locate the source of a pleasant and vaguely familiar smell, although not one she recognised. It appeared to be coming from her jacket. A neuron gave a fizzle and she made the connection; it was the smell of the Colonel, transferred while he had lain on her jacket. It was a comforting scent. She pulled the green material more firmly about her.

The whine rose in pitch as if the ship itself was crying out in distress, rapidly reaching the aural pain threshold as a sudden sensation of weight pressed all the prisoners to the floor. Carter was picking at the cut on the side of her face, not noticing the Colonel's pale face, eyes screwed up in agony for a few moments. She managed to reach out and touch his shoulder, with effort. "Are you alright, sir?"

"Just peachy Carter," he answered through gritted teeth, "Never better. Argh!"

His yell was echoed by others, mostly in shock, as the ship apparently landed with a lurch. The Colonel moaned, hands moving to clutch at his leg compulsively. "I think we've stopped," Carter whispered.

"Ya think?" he returned, the pain making him short tempered. "Help me up."

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea s-"

"God dammit!" His teeth were clenched in real effort now, the anger hissing through them as he sought to find the strength not to scream.

"- yes sir! Right away sir!"

On his feet, leaning heavily on the Major for support, he felt the pain lessen somewhat, although he was terribly light headed. Lights flickered on in the corridor outside the cells, pale human faces became visible. The bars drew back and a voice called out, hesitant but audible. "F-follow me! Follow us! N-no need to be afraid."

There was a general rush for the exit. O'Neill hobbled few paces trying to lean on Carter, not making very good progress. She grabbed his arm and pulled it around her shoulders, slipping her own arm around his waist. "Here. Use me as support."

O'Neill reddened slightly; he hated acknowledging his own weaknesses but there was no fight he could offer against the Major's plan and he accepted it without argument. They joined the end of a long line through a maze of similar looking corridors until suddenly there was light ahead, bright sunlight as opposed to the grubby, almost second-hand looking light of the space-craft.

They stepped out into open air, a chill wind turning their noises and fingers red as it roared through lofty trees visible over the top of a large grey wall, topped with what looked like razor wire. They had exchanged their cell for an outdoor compound, people crammed uncomfortably into an area far too small. The human noises, comforting in the large cells, now became oppressive; there was a baby crying loudly, shrill in the wind, small children were snivelling, men shouting and women standing pale faced, resigned to their fates. Both soldiers were glad of the press of the other against them, protection from the cold and comfort against the blank terror of the inhospitable waiting room.

Someone prodded Carter in the back. They turned, O'Neill hopping, to see a small man dressed in a black uniform of some kind. He was poking Carter with what was unmistakeably a weapon. "Injured over there," he said, pointing.

There was indeed a huddle of wounded shivering near a large door set in the walls. They limped over, more black uniformed people forming a wall between them and the general prisoner populous. Carter felt increasingly uneasy; her grip around the Colonel's waist became almost painfully tight.

There was the sound of scraping bolts and the door was pulled open. The purpose of the wall of uniformed men became apparent; they prevented the immobile injured being crushed as the prisoners rushed forward to try and move through the door. No one seemed willing to go first out of the wounded party.

Eventually O'Neill shrugged. "What difference can it make?" he asked, and they stumbled towards the door.

Stepping through they found temperatures on the other side uncomfortably warm, their boots clicking on polished black flooring again, the shuffle of O'Neill's one good foot sounding particularly loud. "This way," pointed another man in black and they turned into a narrow corridor, a tall door at the end. Carter pushed it open with her free hand.

Standing inside at the centre of a circular room was the most *alien* alien either of them had ever seen. Most species encountered had at least a vaguely humanoid look to them, very few if any had not been variations on the four limbed, symmetrical theme.

This one was different. It had six limbs: four set on the ground, two the equivalent of arms. All ended in three toes, those on the arms slightly more delicate than the feet, which closely resembled talons. After the initial shock at gazing on such a bizarre creature the mind's eye compared it to a legged snake, rearing like a cobra. The head had the same flat snout and well-spread eyes; as they watch a forked tongue flickered out from between long fangs. Along both of its sides was a row of spines, translucent skin stretched between the spikes that quivered as the creature breathed.

Carter heard the Colonel breath an obscenity as it fixed them with a beady yellow eye. He in turn felt her body stiffen with fear as someone entered the room behind them.

"Go on," someone whispered, apparently to Carter, "He wants to communicate with you."

As if in a dream she obeyed, removing her arm from O'Neill's waist and walking towards the alien. It cocked its head as if considering something, and the placed a clawed hand on her forehead.

The uniformed human who had moved forward to support O'Neill when Carter had walked forward now held him back as the Major screamed in agony. "What's it doing to her?" O'Neill bellowed over her wails.

"Communicating. Stand still, it will be your turn shortly."

Carter screamed until she was hoarse as she felt for the third time in her life the presence of something else inside her mind. The world became a series of fractal images. She could see *herself* screaming, the Colonel fighting to get to her, *and* the inscrutable alien face. She could feel its thoughts, cold and calculating as it trawled through her memories. Before her eyes drifted visions; she flinched as she relived various unpleasant experiences. Her screams ululated in anguish as the creature reached deeper into her mind, dredging up memories of torture that were not only her own but Jolinar's as well.

And then quite suddenly it retreated, leaving her almost alone in her own head. The pain became a mere prickling.

You have knowledge of the Stargate?

The voice was so sudden she cried out once more as the pain rose again; the image of the 'Gate flashing before her eyes.

"Yes!" she replied, "Yes, oh God, stop please!"

You can mend such a device?

The DHD. Some of the crystals shattered.

"Yes!" she repeated. "Please, stop, I can fix it. Stop! Please!! PLEASE!!" she begged.

Then that will be your purpose.

It let go of her and she fell to the floor, face wet with tears.

The Colonel broke free of restraining arms and limped towards the creature, snarling. "What have you done to her?!"

The creature regarded him for a moment and then grabbed his head, cutting into his skull with the sharp talons in its eagerness. O'Neill jerked and yelled as loudly as Carter had, feeling the same confusion and pain.

You are a warrior.

"Yes," he whispered in reply.

You can train men in combat.

"Yes."

That will be your purpose.

"No, I don't think so," O'Neill managed to reply, struggling to escape from the grip. "I won't help you enslave more people."

The ensuing pain was the most intense O'Neill had ever experienced in his life; it felt as if his head was splitting along the cuts inflicted by the creatures claws, rising in his chest to make breathing impossible. The creature spread wings previously folded along the length of its body, a frill extended around its neck and it hissed like a boiling kettle. YOU WILL DO AS WE SAY OR WE WILL KILL THE FEMALE.

O'Neill couldn't reply verbally, but the creature heard his angry response nonetheless and a harsh laughter echoed in O'Neill's brain. You think we will not kill her because we require her to fix out Stargate? You have a strong mind, I see. But there are many memories here buried deeply, memories you have no wish to see again. Do as I ask. No? Perhaps you require some more persuasion...?

O'Neill shrieked as the vision burst in his head. Carter raised her head muzzily to see him writhing through teary eyes. She wondered what he was reliving.

You will train men in combat.

O'Neill vomited with the combination of pain and remembrance. There could be nothing worse than watching one of the horrors of his own terrible past with no opportunity to look away or close his eyes; even if he did the vision would still play on, projected on the inside of his eyelids, it would follow him whichever way he turned his head...

"No."

There are other memories here. Far worse than that. TRAIN MEN.

"No."

His yells filled the room once more, punctuated with sobs this time.

Train them. I will stop this if you agree.

"No."

You leave me no choice.

O'Neill didn't scream this time; he writhed as if he was being electrocuted and when he did relax, twitching now and again spasmodically, Carter could hear him crying.

Train men.

"Okay," he whispered, "Alright."

The creature let go of him and he fell to the floor, curling into a foetal position and still sobbing. Carter grabbed his shoulder in a vague attempt to comfort him; human contact was sorely needed after experiencing such a brutal assault on their very consciousness. O'Neill didn't appear to notice.

Take them away. Feed them, clothe them and house them. The very best. They know what they have to do.