Chapter 3

Natasha turned when a man ran into the room and stopped at the interpreter's desk. He pointed at Natasha and the man ran up to her.

"Natasha, Thomas just called. He has word about Michelle. He's on line three."

Natasha walked to a phone and picked up line three. "Thomas?"

"Hey girl!" Thomas said. He had a thick Bronx accent.

"Yes."

"I just caught the American's dialing one of our safe world addresses. Don't worry. I cut them off before they could even sneak a peak. Like that planet has a lot to sneak a peak at."

"Did you code the DHD to prevent them from dialing it again?"

"Yeah. It's locked tighter than a preacher's wife."

Natasha smiled at the American sense of humor, vulgar as it was.

"Dropped them a line too, just for the fun of it."

"Thomas!" she scolded.

"Don't get excited! I just left them a wrong number message. In Russian. That'll keep 'em guessing for a while. Oh, and I got some bad news. Been monitoring the lines in and out. That General Landry guy made a call the prez before they dialed. Seems that General O'Neill guy went all heroic and tried to stop our girl from going through the gate. Got himself sucked in right after her."

Natasha rubbed her forehead, her eyes starting to glow. "She shouldn't have gated from there."

"Yeah, cuz she should have tried to escape from them Tok'ra instead, Nat," Thomas sarcastically came back. "That would have worked. You know she had a better chance escaping the Taur'i."

"I know. All right. Send a message to the Nox. Ask Lya to go to the Taur'i in three days and tell them we'll have O'Neill home by days end. We can't dial out for a few days or risk detection."

"I'm on it, Nat. Ciao!" The phone went to dial tone.

Natasha hung up, looking around her. It was true that they had more important concerns, and with Michelle on a safe world, she wasn't their greatest, but she was her twin sister and she had worried about her for nearly five hundred years.


Something cawed loudly right outside the cave, dragging O'Neill from sleep. By the time he was coherent, the bird that was making the sound was gone. He tried to stretch, realizing how sore and stiff he was from sleeping in an awkward position. He guessed his age didn't help a whole lot with the agony he was in. O'Neill's eyes drifted to the cave entrance where dappled sunlight danced along the walls and dirt. The fire popped and his eyes slid toward it. He expected to find Michelle there, but her blanket was empty. He sat up suddenly, realizing she'd left him alone in the cave. O'Neill leaned forward, struggling with the rope binding his wrists.

The knots began to give and loosen. The fibers tore and peeled his skin, but he focused on his freedom and ignored the pain. His left hand suddenly pulled free. He swung his arms around, pulling the rope from his right wrist. With quick fingers he worked loose the knots of the rope tying his ankles together. Free, he hurried to the containers and rummaged through them. His hand stopped on the sheath of a military issue combat knife at the bottom of one. His head drifted up slowly. He heard footsteps approaching the cave and O'Neill pulled the knife from the sheath. He moved to the side of the entrance, waiting for Michelle to come in.

The brush rustled and she muttered a few soft curses. She came into the cave carrying three fish and a makeshift fishing pole.

"Wake up! Breakfast," she looked up, her words fading off, "is served."

O'Neill grabbed her from behind, leveling the edge of the blade on her throat. It was so sharp that it cut a fine line on her skin. A bead of blood ran down the blade onto her neck. She let out a soft cry of surprise, dropping the fish and pole.

O'Neill drew a breath to speak and was instantly distracted. She smelled of faded perfume mixed with the soft scent of pine. The surface of her skin was cool, but it was quickly warming under his hands. She felt so human. His distraction was disbanded when he remembered that under the skin was a monster. He couldn't trust her any more than the others.

"You're taking me to the gate and we're going back to the SGC."

"General, we ca—"

"No excuses."

She let him turn her toward the entrance and they pushed through the brush into the sunlight. O'Neill glanced around them at the tall pines that surrounded the cave. He'd half expected the place to be bare and stony, but the ground was covered with short grass and moss. Each step released the smell of fresh cut grass. O'Neil unwrapped his arm from around her waist, holding her arm instead.

"About the DHD, Gen—"

"I don't want to hear any excuses, Michelle. Just walk."

She heaved a sigh, continuing to walk. She shook her head a little.

"What?"

Suddenly O'Neill was on his back, with Michelle's knee pressed into his chest and the knife tip on his throat. Her eyes glowed brightly and her voice resonated when she spoke.

"I didn't ask you to be here," she told him, "I tried to let you go. You never told me why you didn't just let me go."

"You're a threat."

She backed away. O'Neill slowly got to his feet, keeping his eye on her.

"A threat? Not so much." The resonance in her voice faded with the glowing in her eyes. "Not that it matters. We can't get off this planet until someone comes who can fix the DHD, or something. We're stranded here." She turned, walking away. She paused only to stab the knife into a tree, glancing back at him. "It opened once while I was going to the lake. I got to it by the time it closed and nothing was sent through. I don't know what it means." She continued walking.

O'Neill looked at the knife. She left it as a test: if he grabbed it and attacked her, he didn't trust her, if he walked past it, he did. O'Neill followed her, passing the knife without a glance. After all, what proof did he really have she was a threat to him? Or Earth. Had they made a mistake in assessing who she was? O'Neill sighed. It was possible.

The walk was much shorter than it felt and the clearing the gate sat in came suddenly. The trees opened on a field of wildflowers that grew waist high. O'Neill jogged down the gentle slope to the DHD. Michelle followed after him, casually picking flowers as she passed them.

O'Neill looked over the DHD, his gaze stopping on a spot that had been cleared of dirt. There was no symbol on it. He touched it and a light appeared under the key he touched. A lock on the gate lit up in response. O'Neill rubbed his fingers over the smooth metal of the key. He looked up when Michelle leaned against the DHD next to him.

"This key is blank."

"I noticed and I don't know much about these things — actually I've never even used one — but I'm guessing that they aren't supposed to be blank." She looked up at him. "Are they?"

O'Neill ignored her question. He pulled off his over shirt and cleaned off the rest of the keys. They were all smooth, blank metal plates. O'Neill looked up at the gate. He squinted. He walked to the stairs leading up to the platform, staring at the gate. Like the DHD, it was smooth with no design on it.

"I'd hoped I could open it to somewhere where they might know you, and get you back to Earth," Michelle said.

O'Neill turned, staring at her. She sat on the edge of the DHD, arranging the bouquet of flowers in her hand. He didn't believe her. This was an elaborate plan to get to him. It had to be. No goa'uld would ever get themselves into a situation like this.

"Who are you?" O'Neill said as he started toward her.

She looked at him. "Michelle."

"No. Who are you really? Why did you bring me here?"

"I didn't bring you here. You grabbed me and we fell into the gate. There was no bringing involved."

O'Neill rushed up to her, grabbing her arms. He pulled her off the DHD to shove her against it. She let out a soft cry, wincing.

"Let me go!" she yelled.

"WHO ARE YOU?"

"I told you!"

"Tell me again. You don't sound like a goa'uld, or act like one. The only thing that makes me think you are is the glowing eyes, but that's not even constant. Who the hell are you?"

"Michelle Russell. How many ti—"

"That's the name of your host."

"That's my name."

"No! You are not her! You are not human. You're a parasite, a worm. You take over people's lives and force them to do what you want. You make them a prisoner in their own bodies for hundreds of years."

"I don't do that."

O'Neill slapped her, knocking her off her feet. She turned her head, glaring at him with her eyes glowing gold.

"Answer me," O'Neill ordered.

Michelle slowly got up, keeping her distance. She was shaking; her hands were clenched in fists.

"I am Michelle, this version of Michelle. The Michelle that was in this body died ten years ago when the men beat her up. I don't take over people's lives. I never recall ever doing that. Every body I've ever had was like this one. Empty. A shell"

Michelle turned to leave. O'Neill grabbed her arm. Her answer wasn't good enough. She spun, punching him in the jaw. He fell back, his fingernails raking her arm as she pulled away. Michelle bolted, disappearing into the woods.

O'Neill laid where he'd fallen for a long time, watching clouds drift over as the pain eased away. And he pondered what she'd said. Did that mean her kind used corpses?


"Jack," a voice whispered.

O'Neill slowly woke up. He only saw the fire in front of him, and judging from how dark the cave was, it was night still. He closed his eyes, wondering where Michelle was. When he'd returned to the cave, he cooked the fish and sat outside whittle a stick all afternoon, but she hadn't shown up. When it became too dark to see he went back in and started a fire. He sat for three hours, according to his watch, waiting for her to come back. But there had still been no sign of her. He finally curled up in his blanket and went to sleep.

"Jack," the voice said again. "Help."

O'Neill opened his eyes again, this time sitting up. He was alone in the cave.

"Jack," the voice called.

It was coming from outside. O'Neill got up and started through the brush. His foot brushed something and he stopped. He knelt down, feeling the object. It was soft, fleshy.

"Michelle."

"Help," she whispered.

O'Neill had to feel his way along her body to figure out how she was lying, discovering she was lying on her side. He grabbed her arm and helped her onto her feet. She leaned against him, clutching his shirt to keep herself steady.

"What's wrong?"

"I was attacked."

"By what?"

"I don't know what it was. It was big, furry, lots of teeth and claws."

O'Neill slid his arm around her, feeling warm liquid smear across his arm. She limped beside him as he led her into the cave. In the light of the fire he discovered she had severe injuries, most of them to the bone. They gashed across her body, leaving the flesh hanging in strips like the cloth from her clothes. He pulled his hands back, staring at the red blood on his hands. Instantly his entire perception of her was changed. She was bleeding just like he was, and she may die – just like he could. Suddenly she wasn't a goa'uld, she was just another living being trying to survive.

"Lay down here," O'Neill said, motioning to a spot by the fire.

He eased her down, helping her lay back.

"Are there medical supplies in those crates?" he asked.

"Yes."

O'Neill rummaged through the crates, pulling out two boxes with red crosses on them. He went back to her and began cleaning and dressing the wounds. One eye was almost swollen shut, but she stared at the fire with the glassy look of shock.

"Michelle?"

She didn't answer.

"Michelle, stay with me."

She turned her head, looking up at the cave ceiling.

"What happened?" O'Neill asked.

"I was lunch."

"When did it attack you?"

"I left you at the DHD. I was coming back here, but I..." She closed her eyes, letting out a breath.

"Michelle, wake up. Come on. Stay with me."

"I was mad. I went for a walk."

"And it attacked you?"

"By the lake."

"Don't you know better than to wander around a strange world without your buddy?"

She smiled, briefly.

"Ah!" She tried to pull away from a wound he was cleaning with iodine.

"You have to hold still. Some of these are starting to clot."

Michelle closed her eyes. "It hurts," she whimpered.

O'Neill stopped, struck by the statement. He suddenly wondered if all goa'uld felt pain.

"Jack?" she whispered.

"Hm?" He continued bandaging the cuts.

She didn't reply. He looked up. She had lost consciousness. O'Neill continued bandaging her wounds.