Prelude
The Gate was still.
He had activated the symbols on the Dial Home Device, or DHD, several times; but the Gate itself remained completely still, not a single chevron engaging.
Eight tries.
Silence.
He tried once more. Still, the result was the same . . . nothing.
Frustration was an emotion which, while he was intimately familiar with it, Colonel Jack O'Neill hated. He hated it because it signaled that whatever was being attempted was nearing the futility stage; and he refused to give up . . . no matter what.
Now was no exception.
When the Gate failed to activate on the tenth try, O'Neill sighed heavily and stepped away from the DHD. He considered kicking it, but decided against that in favor of keeping the bones of his foot in tact.
Sam and Daniel were the experts on these things! And of course, the O'Neill luck being what it was, the damned thing had closed after they had gone through and before he had reached it. And now it refused to be reactivated. If the reports had not already shown this planet to be uninhabited, he might have thought that someone else was controlling the Gate.
And maybe they were.
But that introduced a whole new set of questions and a whole new set of unknowns into his strategic thinking. And unknowns were as bad as the frustration of a moment ago.
Turning from the Gate itself, O'Neill started to sit against the DHD so that any potential attacker could approach him only from an angle he could see them at. He made it as far as a crouch before his vision dissolved into a haze of electrum light . . .
/ MOMENTS LATER /
"What is he, Ssendrriya?" The light was gone now, and he could see his surroundings.
The room was a construct of shining metals like a ship, but it was certainly not Goa'uld design. However, neither did it resemble anything he had seen on any of the worlds Earth's allies held. This was completely alien and new.
As was the young lady who had spoken.
She was tall by Human standards, standing eye-level with O'Neill's six feet of height. Her hair was a deep raven black; streaks of a deep, almost metallic blue drifted through it, giving it depth. Her eyes, shining with curiosity, were a shimmering metallic azurite color as was the cloak which she wore draped over her shoulders. Her voice was soft and musical. But she was staring at him as though she had never seen a Human before.
O'Neill tried to sit up, but he found that he could not move. Fear surfaced and expressed itself in a more violent attempt to break whatever restraint held him down, without success. He could not see what was restraining him, but that hardly mattered. He would not be held captive again! It was that simple! And the fact that he could not see the restraint only pushed him to fight that much harder.
"His species is Human, Koraes." Another female voice answered. O'Neill stopped for a moment, trying to pinpoint the location of the second person, but he could see no one else in the room with them. And that voice had seemed to come from everywhere at once. Likely, it belonged to someone observing from another room.
Now his training had been given a moment in which to kick in. His eyes narrowed, and he turned his head so that he could see the first being, identified now as Koraes. "Where am I?" It was a demand more than a gentle question.
She looked confused. "You do not know?" She queried, taking a hesitant step toward him. "How is that possible? You came by Gate." Her head canted off to the side slightly, vaguely like a bird who is watching curiously.
O'Neill grimaced. She made it sound like everyone who used the Gates had the same map. As though she had a complete map. Was it possible? Did this slip of a girl have access to a map of the entire Gate Network? And even more importantly, would she be willing to share it with Earth? And those were only the first questions to present themselves.
However, right now, O'Neill had more pressing concerns. Like . . . why was he restrained? Who was this girl? And how was he going to get out of here and back home?
"Yeah," he admitted after a second, "but I meant where am I now?" He corrected her misinterpretation of his question. After all, some time had obviously passed between the electrum light and now. He could be damned near anywhere by now.
Or was she saying that they were still on P3X-796? If that were the case, then it changed everything.
Koraes frowned. The Human must have been far more disoriented than she had thought. She took another step toward him.
"You have not been removed from the Gate World." She said softly. "You were simply Relocated to the Sector Post on that world." Her expression shifted to one of sudden worry; but her next words were not for the Human before her, but rather, for the Post's Artificial Intelligence, Ssendrriya. "Are you certain he was not damaged by the Relocation Matrix?"
There was only a slight pause as Ssendrriya scanned their guest thoroughly. Then her soft voice filtered over the well-hidden speakers in the room. "He is undamaged, Koraes."
Koraes blinked. "Then how is it he does not understand?" She was very confused now.
"Hey!" O'Neill protested. "He's in the room!" God, he hated when people did that! Even more with the added indignity of being held down, immobile.
She blinked again, and her metallic-colored eyes came back to him. Of course he was still in the room; she had not released the Restraint Field yet.
Her head canted off to the left slightly again. "Of course, you are. I did not intend any affront." She told him. "You are simply the first Sentient to come here since the station was abandoned." She stepped up to him, now only arm's reach from where he lay. "How is it you do not understand where you are?" She repeated the question she had asked Ssendrriya a moment ago . . . the question which had made him so distressed.
Oh, he understood just fine, thank you very much . . . now that she had told him that they were still on the planet. But in the SGC's dealings with the Asgard, O'Neill had learned that those Transport Beams could take a person off the planet and at least as far away as an orbiting ship. And given that he knew he had some time missing, the time it had taken to bring him here and restrain him, such a ship could have conceivably taken him a great distance by now. Thus his initial question.
"Got it." He told the young lady, suddenly feeling extremely tired. "Next question. Why am I restrained? I mean, it's not like I stormed the place, guns firing." Besides I doubt I could hurt her if I tried. Damn, Daniel was the diplomat, not him! Why did he always end up in these situations?
That was true enough. Koraes knew that much, even without touching him. So why was she so afraid? "Your intentions were not known at the time." She answered carefully. "And while I may believe you mean me no harm, I cannot take the risk. I am sorry." She reached forward as if to touch his arm but stopped short. She was alone here. And she had no doubt he was well-trained. He carried himself with the bearing of the Golds.
O'Neill could see the fear in her. He could also see the youth. And what had she said earlier? He was the first Sentient to come here since the Post was abandoned? Did he understand this correctly? Was she here alone? Then who was the other voice?
O'Neill frowned. "So I'm a prisoner here then? For how long?" This was so not good. And getting worse by the second.
Koraes hated this. She could sense his truth, that he would not harm her. But Security Regulations were Security Regulations. She looked away.
"I am sorry. I cannot release you until someone comes to evaluate you." She told him very softly.
"But you said that no one comes here. You can't just keep me here forever!" He protested, feeling that frustration resurface and shift itself into his tone.
"I have no choice." She whispered, turning and moving swiftly to the door. Once there, she stopped as it cycled open. "I will bring you food." And she was gone in the next second, pain flowing through her. She was too young to have to do this . . . to be forced to make such decisions. And she was tired of being alone here.
But the Universe had its own plans.
O'Neill watched her go and sighed heavily, letting himself fall back against the bed. "Just . . . perfect . . ."