Rodney McKay entered the room pretty much like he owned it and gave Jacob Carter a careless nod by way of greeting before he turned to address Hammond – ignoring Teal'c and Daniel both.

"Are you aware I'm supposed to be giving a lecture on testing the Theory of Relativity in Denver…" he looked at his watch, and scowled. "…twenty minutes from now?"

Hammond frowned.

"You know what's going on Doctor. We need you here."

"Well, be that as it may, there are several beautiful women in the think tank I'm addressing, and I have a pretty good shot at-"

"Doctor. All air travel has been suspended."

"No." McKay raised his hand. "All civilian air travel has been suspended. You could put me on a military plane and I might still be able to-"

"Doctor McKay. You're here. You're going to stay here. Now, what theories do you have about-"

"I don't want to be here," McKay said, annoyed and not bothering to hide it. "In view of the events of the past few hours, this is absolutely the last place I want to be."

"Why's that?" Daniel asked.

"Because the Goa'uld are obviously looking for the Stargate," McKay snapped. "And I'm pretty certain they're not going to simply wait for us to move out of the way when they find it. They're going to come through this mountain – or level it."

"We're fairly certain they can't locate the Stargate," Hammond said. "Or this facility."

"They have scanners," McKay said, as if talking to a child. "Sensors? Things that help them find things on the ground? And under it? They're going to find this place, and then they're going to-"

"We have a device to keep them from finding it," Daniel said.

McKay snorted.

"I doubt that."

"What kind of device?" Jacob asked, curiously.

"It's a cloaking device," Hammond answered. "Don't ask me how it works, Ian hooked it up to the computers a couple of weeks ago."

McKay shook his head, still unimpressed.

"The only thing that's going to save us if the Goa'uld come are the Asgard. Has anyone bothered to get hold of them?"

"We can't contact them just yet," Hammond told him. "But until we do – and we know what's going on – I want someone here with the technical know-how to deal with any problems that might come up."

"Where's Sam?"

"She was on vacation on the east coast. Now she's on the way back – but at least a few hours out."

"With O'Neill," Teal'c added with a dark look at the informal address McKay had used. He wasn't all that fond of McKay in the first place – and Teal'c didn't like the way he tried to get close to Sam every time he was near her.

McKay's expression became pained, but he wisely kept his feelings to himself. Teal'c was huge, and McKay was well aware that he wasn't a match for him. He was a lover, not a fighter, after all.

He looked at Jacob.

"What do the Tok'ra know?"

"About this?"

"No, about the weather on Mars! Of course about this. I assume that's why you're here? To report on the Goa'uld?"

Jacob frowned, remembering why he didn't like the guy – and he'd only met him once before.

"We haven't heard anything about any system lords who might be planning a run on Earth," Jacob said – more to Hammond than to McKay. "If we had, we would have said something."

Hammond nodded.

"I know that, Jacob." He looked at McKay. "Why don't you go unpack your bag, Doctor?"

McKay started to say something, but the general had the last word.

"Teal'c? Would you please show him to one of the VIP quarters?"

Teal'c didn't look any more excited than McKay did at that prospect, but he inclined his head a little in what was for him a bow, and stood up.

"I will return shortly."

OOOOOOOOOO

As flights go, this one was a good one. As far as the three pilots were concerned, that is. Their F-15E Strike Eagles had a range of 2400 miles fully fueled at a normal burn rate. Since they were kicking in the afterburners, though, they were consuming more fuel, and they required an in flight refueling somewhere over Missouri – which was handled by a KC-105 Stratotanker – a plane built by Boeing and used extensively by the Air Force for just these kind of situations. And many others. Since there weren't many other planes in the air – and no civilian planes to watch for – Jack and Major Copeland had no problem when it came to refueling. It was almost nice to not have to worry about other traffic, and Copeland couldn't help but be impressed.

"You guys must be something special," he said over the intercom to Ian, who was seated in the seat behind him.

Ian was watching the plane above them, his imagination having no trouble figuring out just how much aerial stress it would take to sheer off the wings of the aircraft that was now fueling them – which would, of course, send both the tanker and their fighter crashing to the earth in a fireball that would probably look incredible considering all the fuel involved, but wasn't something Ian wanted to see.

"Lieutenant?"

He tore his eyes from the tanker, and looked at the mirror that was placed in the front of the cockpit so the pilot and wheelman could see each other. Copeland was watching him, the dark visor on his flight helmet raised.

"What?"

"I said… you guys must be something special…"

Ian swallowed – or tried to. His mouth and throat were dry with fear, and his suit was clammy from nervous sweat.

"Why do you say that?"

"This is a lot of effort to get a lieutenant and a major somewhere," Copeland said. "I can understand the colonel – and maybe even the major, since they're married. But you're a junior officer…"

A very junior officer.

"Yeah."

"So what do they need you for?"

"I can't tell you that, Major."

"Why not? Classified?"

Ian shook his head, and looked back up at the tanker above them.

"Because if I open my mouth again, I'm probably going to lose my breakfast."

Copeland couldn't help the slight smile; the kid did look pale and slightly green.

"Forget I asked, then."

Chances are, he'd have to clean the cockpit, after all.

Ian nodded, and firmly set his jaw, and tried to forget how fast they were going and how many things could go wrong.