Jack O'Neill sat alone in the draughty cabin, the snow outside falling thickly again. During the day a team of workers had laboured to clear the track from Palace to village. It seemed as if their efforts were going to be wasted.
Carter was late back. More than late. All day he'd been wrestling with the remembrance of her asleep in his arms, barely able to think of anything else. And now she was very late back from the Palace. He ran a hand through his hair unthinkingly. He blew his cheeks up, hissing the air through his lips as he was wont to. He sighed with frustration at the his buzzing mind, full of thoughts all related to a single topic.
Carter.
He groaned, resting his head in his hands. "C'mon Carter. This is torturous. Anything you've got to say to me is better than just letting me sit here and stew, imagining what it could be."
As if in mocking response to his plea there was a knock at the door. He leapt up and fumbled it open.
In the swirling snow stood Carter, supported by the doctor who had once examined his leg.
"Christ," he murmured, catching the Major as she slumped forward as soon as the doctor unslung her arm from around her shoulders. He scooped her up in strong arms, knees trembling a little from her weight but holding her steady. "What happened to her?" His voice shook with barely repressed rage, and fear.
"She was punished. For what I don't know. I can fetch someone to help but if I do... well, you will be sworn to secrecy, understand? No going back."
O'Neill nodded his assent, more concerned with the well being of his 2IC.
"I shall fetch her. Until I return you must keep her warm and conscious."
He nodded again and kicked the door shut as the doctor disappeared back into the snowstorm. He gently deposited Carter on their bed, smoothing her wet hair down and gingerly touching the black-blue smudge that ran in a neat line across her forehead. Her wrists and ankles were chafed and bleeding, her lips crusted with dried blood. More blood frothed with every breath at the corners of her mouth, and her bloodshot eyes were wide and staring.
"Can you hear me Carter?" he said, touching her cheek with gentle fingers as he pulled off her outer layer of fur.
Her lips mouthed soundlessly.
"I thought you were avoiding me," he said, unable to think of anything else and knowing talking was the only way to keep her in the waking world. "I never thought you might be..."
He broke off, finding her hands with his and gripping her cold fingers. "S-s..r," she murmured.
"I'm here Carter. You've just gotta hold on."
"Cold," she replied, eyes rolling.
He hugged her impulsively, trying to massage some warmth into her shoulders. "Don't even think about passing out on me. You got that soldier?" He tried to inject an element of his old drill sergeant into his voice, but he was betrayed by his fear.
"Jack?" Her voice was faint, carried on a choking breath.
"Sam?" he quavered, fearing what the use of his first name could mean.
"Don't let me go."
He buried his face in her hair, holding her as tightly as he dared. "I would never..."
There was a sharp knock on the door again. O'Neill sprang up to answer it.
The doctor had returned, bringing with her an elderly lady, rotund in layers of matted fur. She kicked off her snowshoes and hurried over to Carter without a word spoken.
"What is her name?" she said suddenly in a clear and ageless voice.
"Uh, Samantha," O'Neill said, then corrected himself. "Sam."
The woman took Carter's face in her hands, forcing her to make eye contact. "Listen to my voice Sam," she said in the same even, powerful tone. Not looking away from Carter's bruised face she added. "You, man. Come here."
O'Neill did as he was instructed, kneeling next to the woman. "What?"
"Take my hand. When I squeeze, pull me away."
The woman gave her hand to O'Neill and closed her eyes, Carter copying the movement. O'Neill could *feel* a raw kind of power crackling in the cool air. All the tiny hairs on his body stood on end.
The woman squeezed his hand, so hard he winced. He pulled her gently and her eyes opened once more, pain etched on her face. Carter's eyes remained closed.
"Thank you Jack O'Neill," the woman said, standing up.
"How do you know my name?" he asked suspiciously, unwilling to stand up and leave Carter's side. Her breathing was more regular now. Reassured he glanced away. The woman was smiling, benevolent.
"She told me."
"Who, Carter?" he asked, feeling stupid even as he said it.
"Yes." She regarded him quizzically for a moment then added in an undertone inaudible to the doctor. "She would like you to know, I think, that she loves you very much."
"I... uh..."
"She would die for you." She gave him a penetrating stare. "And of course, you would for her."
"Look, just... who are you? And what's happened to her?" he said quickly, feeling colour rise in his cheeks and the faint squirm of shame in the pit of his stomach.
"My name is Harpala. I am a Seer."
"A what?" O'Neill responded, face openly displaying his frustrated confusion.
"Like what the Masters do," supplied the Doctor, "Only for good."
O'Neill raised an eyebrow, not quite willing to vocalise his disbelief. "Oh. Right."
Harpala's eyes turned once more to the sleeping woman, full of concern. "The bureaucrats have tortured her badly. Her mind was already full of concern, pain, guilt. She was not able to withstand the burnt of a full scale mental assault. No one in her position could. She is lucky to even be alive, yet alone to have kept her mind intact. A strong lady. I can see why you like her."
"Ah-ah!" O'Neill responded, cutting her off, "Bureaucrats? Torture? Why's she been tortured?"
Harpala studied him for a moment. "She'll want to tell you when she wakes. It's not my place to, and it will help her mind to heal. She's been sent inside her own head, reliving memories. Terrible memories. I've shown her the way back and she will come home to you. When she wakes, comfort her."
O'Neill sighed, knowing that no amount of repetition was going to allow him to understand what was going on. "Alright."
Harpala nodded. "Don't worry Jack. I promise that everything will start making sense soon."
She headed towards the door, nodding to the doctor.
"Who is she?" O'Neill asked the woman.
"Harpala is our greatest weapon, and the best kept secret of the rebellion against the Masters."
"What the...? Rebellion?"
"A cause to which you have now pledged your allegiance having met Harpala."
"Oh God," O'Neill replied, covering his eyes with his hand.
"I will leave you now. I will make sure you are not expected at work tomorrow. She will need your care."
"Thanks," he muttered as she let herself out. He took Carter's hand again. "Well Major, this is just peachy. I feel like I'm stuck in.... the Matrix or something... people talking about rebellions and Seers... and a whole bunch of other stuff not making any damn sense."
Carter sighed in her sleep, snuggling against his knees. He pulled the furs over her.
"You better have a damn good explanation for all this in the morning," he said to her sleeping head. There was no reply. He sighed and slid under the furs to lie next to her; like it or no the only way to keep warm was to share body heat. "G'Night Carter."
*
He awoke early the next morning, an untraceable pain in his chest forcing him from slumber. As he blinked awake the source became known to him; Carter was gripping the collar of his jacket so tightly she had pinched some of the skin underneath it. He tried to extricate himself without waking her up. Her grip lessened slightly but she would not let go of his jacket.
O'Neill lay still for a long while, simply watching her breathing and ignoring the growing pressure from his bladder to get up and disturb her rest. She stirred a few times, mumbling as if she were about to wake but never opened her eyes.
Eventually, just before his bladder actually exploded, she awoke.
"Sir?" she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
"I'm here Carter... just... give me five seconds..." He hurried off in the direction of the outhouse.
He returned, the pained look on his face replaced with one of concern. "How're you feeling?"
She smiled slightly crookedly. "Pretty bad."
"That woman, Harpala. She said you'd want to talk," he replied gently.
She nodded and then winced at the movement. "Yeah. Just not right now."
"You want a drink or something?"
"Yeah, that'd be good," she said, trying to inject some emotion into her voice.
O'Neill's eyes were brimming with a poorly disguised concern and she dared not meet them, not thinking she could face the hazel brown pools awash with a sympathetic kindness; pity even. He stared at her for a moment and then moved away to make some tea.
"A watched pot never boils," Carter said, half-amused after a few moments.
"My grandmother used to say that," O'Neill said, dragging his eyes away from the kettle. She met his eyes and looked away at once, somehow afraid at what she saw reflected in them. "You wanna try explaining now?"
She nodded again. "What do you need to know sir?"
"Everything," he replied, folding his arms.
"Didn't Harpala explain anything?"
"Oh yeah. Just not in a way I could understand."
Carter smiled. "Well it's a long story..."
"I've got plenty of time to listen."
*
She studied his face carefully, his frown indicating the somewhat erratic internal process of filing all the new information. "So..." he said slowly, "Basically this whole planet, the whole shebang, is run by a secret organisation called the bureaucracy, who noone knows about unless they're part of it, and Harpala is the leader of a rebellion against them."
"Yes sir."
"What's so special about her...? I mean she said some pretty weird stuff when she was here and I thought-- "
"She's a Seer. From the third planet. She's... kind of got the same sort of powers as the worms..." she said, trying to phrase the information so that O'Neill could understand it.
"Right. So that's how you told her my name?"
"Yes."
"And that's why she knew a whole load of... other stuff..." He blushed slightly despite himself.
"Yes."
"This place just gets weirder by the day."
"I know sir." She shifted position slightly and flinched with the pain that squealed in her lower back.
O'Neill shook his head. Whatever powerful or mystical forces were possibly at work here (not that he generally believed in this kind of crap, but Carter apparently did) his duty was clear to him. Carter was injured, how badly he wasn't quite sure. She had been tortured and whatever the method had been it was sure to leave some mental scars as well as physical. O'Neill had spent quite a lot of his career not quite understanding the technicalities of a situation but knowing damn well the human consequences. He was in many respects a better soldier than Carter, not being overly encumbered with intelligence but having more than his fair share of common sense. This situation, however bizarre, was not different from ones he had faced before, not when it came down to it.
*
Carter slept for most of the day, O'Neill plying her with food or drink whenever she awoke which she found difficult to keep down. The sun was presumably setting behind banks of grey cloud that promised yet more snow when there was a not-entirely-unexpected knock at the front door.
Harpala had returned with the doctor, smiling amiably. "Glad to see you awake Sam," she said, crinkling her eyes at the Major who was sitting, pale and bruised, on one of their chairs. Carter returned her smile.
"To what do we owe the pleasure?" O'Neill said, for once without a trace of sarcasm.
"You have pledged your allegiance to the rebellion by learning of the existence of our secret weapon," the doctor said earnestly, "And as such Harpala is here to teach you the ability to prevent the Masters from reading the secret in your very brain."
"Sounds like a neat trick," O'Neill replied.
"It is skill very difficult to master," the doctor informed him sternly. Harpala laid a gnarled hand on her arm. "Some acquire the skill more easily than others. However, it requires an open mind to have any chance of success."
This comment appeared to be directed at O'Neill who had the decency to look away. "I shall begin with you Sam," Harpala continued, unworried. She sat opposite Carter at the table, and placed her hands palm up on the scored wooden surface. Carter did the same.
"Close your eyes," Harpala instructed.
For the second time in as many days Carter heard the voice of the old woman in her head, bypassing her ears and seemingly being transmitted into her very brain. The principles of mental defence are simple. Application is the hard part. An intruder in your mind can never be insidious enough not to affect even the most psychically unreceptive, not if they enter your thoughts to the degree that they can read your secrets.
I understand.
Blocking their advances requires you to form a strong mental image, with enough root in reality to sustain the image for a given length of time. It has to be something that your mind can hold on to and withstand the force of an intruder trying to move through the image to what lies beneath. For you Samantha, I think that Jack O'Neill might be a worthwhile starting point.
Does it have to be a positive image?
Strength is key. But positive images are generally more suitable.
Okay... so I just, what? Picture something in my mind?
Try to visualise Jack, study every part of him. Remember something you did together or imagine something. I shall try to break through the image you create. Wait until you feel my presence in your mind before beginning.
Carter felt Harpala's presence leave her head and she opened her eyes. "Ready when you are."
For a moment nothing happened and then suddenly she felt the presence of Harpala behind her eyes, like an unscratchable itch. She tried to focus her thoughts on O'Neill, something positive.
She started with his hands. The long tapering fingers with neatly manicured nails had always impressed her. That a soldier should be so fastidious about the state of his fingernails was unusual and they were reliably short and clean; attached to brown fingers and strong hands. Callused palms like her own, the result of continually wielding a P90, working outdoors. He always wore those beads wrapped around his wrist, a present from a native on... oh, some planet they had visited nearly two years ago. They were red and marked the start of his forearms which...
She realised that she was alone in her head once more. She opened her eyes.
"Very good Sam! You are remarkably adept when it comes to the control of your mental processes." Harpala turned to Jack who had rolled his eyes. "You think you have not the mental discipline to achieve as well as Sam?"
"Carter's brain works a lot better than mine does."
"Perhaps," Harpala returned, the lie obvious in her eyes.
O'Neill sighed and presented his hands as Carter had. He closed his eyes.
You are a cynic Jack. Is it so unbelievable that I can enter your mind. You who have seen wonders beyond the dreams of any mortal man?
Cut the mystic crap and teach me what I need to know, he replied bluntly. Hey, he added, almost defensively, If I can't be blunt inside my own head where can I be?
Nowhere, agreed the Seer. You must think of something that you can focus on so strongly that I cannot penetrate deep enough into your mind to read anything you do not want to be read.
A happy image?
A strong one. A happy one is probably better.
Right.
Wait until you feel my presence in your mind before beginning.
O'Neill opened his eyes, crossing his eyes and scowling across the table at Harpala. "Ready."
She studied him for a few moments, hoping to catch him off guard when she entered his brain. He was wily, and as soon as she entered she was confronted with the image of a boy, his curtained hair rippling as he ran towards his father. The man picked the boy up, whirling him around and around, proud.
The image changed suddenly, to a hospital ward, a bed. Machines bleeping obscenely tubes and everywhere the taint of blood. At the centre of the medical horror-show the same boy lay, pale as death on the pale green hospital sheets. The machine stopped bleeping, emitting instead one long, drawn out tone. A man was weeping.
A raw hate seeped into Harpala and with some astonishment she realised that O'Neill was feeding back his own thoughts into her, a feeling of utter self-loathing and depression; a dark tunnel with no light and where not even death could bring release. She pulled herself away from his mind.
O'Neill looked pale in the gathering gloom, Harpala's skin tone almost matching his own. "Did you realise?" she said, trying to shed the terrible, hopeless feeling, "That you were feeding your visions back?"
"What?" O'Neill asked, his voice cracking slightly.
"Never mind," Harpala replied, waving her hand to symbolise he should forget it; but her dark face remained puzzled long after she had bade them farewell.