Author's Note: Sorry about the false post earlier. I messed up and put the chapter to a different story into this one and had to delete it. Thanks to those who pointed it out quicker than I figured it out!

OOOOOOOO

"How are we doing?"

Sam looked over at the question. It was the fourth time Jack had asked her in the past ten minutes, but she could understand his impatience – and his concern.

"The modifications are easy, they just take time."

"But you'll be done by the time we get back?"

"Easily."

They still had many hours before they made it back to Earth, after all, and only three or four hours before they were done, even being as thorough as they were.

"Need any help?"

"Jack, if you keep pestering us, we're never going to get done," Jacob said, annoyed.

"Sorry."

He was, too, but he couldn't help himself. Instead of hanging out in the ring transporter area, he went to the bridge of the little ship and stood beside the chair Teal'c was seated in – wondering again why there weren't more places to sit.

"How's it going?"

"It is going as expected," was the reply.

"Jack…" Daniel said, looking over. "Pacing isn't going to get us there any quicker."

Jack scowled.

"I know."

"Then stop it."

Daniel was passing the time their trip was taking by going through his copious notes on the Ancient language. He wanted to make sure that when they reached this weapon, he'd be able to do his part – and that meant making sure that he was as adept with the language and nuances as he could possibly be. No matter what Ian had said, Daniel wasn't as confident as the New Yorker was that this weapon was self-evident. He'd just as soon be ready to do some translating.

Jack sighed, and flopped down on the floor beside the archeologist.

OOOOOOOOOOO

The attack was brutal in its efficiency, and terrifying in its swiftness. Before the jets that had been scrambled at three different military bases (one French, one British and one American) could even hit the air, the Death Gliders had come and gone, leaving the would-be defenders far behind them and only able to circle the French capital in an attempt to guard against a repeat attack.

Despite this, it could have been far worse than it actually was – although the news showed the flames of the embassy roaring out of control and repeated the videos of the people in the area running for their lives until it seemed that the entire country of France must have been under attack, instead of just one small portion in the capital city – the damage was minimal and the fires were quickly put out. There were videos – this time from cell phones and digital cameras – of dead in body bags, but there were no names given to these people – and the Americans in the embassy were quickly given a gag order and told not to discuss anything with the press.

By then, of course, it was far too late to keep the public from knowing what had happened.

World leaders – including those who were at the conference at Cheyenne Mountain – were instantly on the phones, calling their military advisors or their top generals and giving instructions for the deployment of military troops to control possible panicked riots and defense of the airspaces above their own countries. Hayes was just as busy as the others for a while, but the reports that were coming in were encouraging – although not all that comforting.

The people of the world weren't interested in rioting, for once. Instead, they were hunkering down. People across Europe headed en masse toward bomb shelters that hadn't seen such crowds since World War II, and the people in those countries without such bomb shelters were heading into nuclear shelters and basements, into hiding places with their loved ones in tow and radios in hand. Had it been war with another country – or an attack from one country on another, it might have been different, but none of them had any experience – television and movies aside – with attacks from extraterrestrial beings, and they were scared and in shock. For now – for the most part – they would wait and rely on their militaries to safeguard them.

Those that did try to riot or assemble were quickly detained by the authorities in their various countries and hustled to places of relative safety. When they tried to resist, it was simply pointed out to them that the last place they probably wanted to be just then was on the street in a large conspicuous crowd. Which tended to make the brighter individuals realize it was probably true, and that ended most of the resistance.

The world was waiting for someone to save them. The only problem was the vast majority of them didn't even know that it was possible.

"We've got to do something…" the Chinese ambassador said, sharply, when he returned to the briefing room. "My people are terrified."

"No more than ours are," Hayes said, soberly. "I'd address the nation, but the best guess from above is that the Goa'uld are probably listening in – and we can't let on that we're doing anything. That might force Anubis to decide to attack us and move to a different world and try for the Asgard again."

"So what do we do?" Weir asked.

"We wait," Hayes said. "And order those who are closest to our people to keep them safe until help arrives."

It was all they could do.

OOOOOOOOOO

"Oh, come on! You can't all be broken!"

McKay had every cover off every console in the entire control room of the Ancients, and still hadn't managed to get one to work for him. Frustrated, he was taking it out on the keyboard that was closest to him, tapping the keys with excessive force and barely able to keep himself from picking the thing up and beating it against the wall.

"Come on, you piece of junk! Just turn on for-"

A noise from behind him brought him up short, and he stopped in mid-sentence, feeling his breath catch in his throat and his stomach clench. He whirled, his hand going for the gun holster at his hip, and getting tangled up with one of the small pouches that held various other supplies that seemed to be everywhere on his vest and belt.

There was nothing behind him.

He looked right and then left, at the exits to the room, but everything was still.

"Just a figment of my imagination…" he said, softly, still looking around, nervously. "Maybe an echo of my own voice…"

And maybe not.

He reached for his radio.

"Lieutenant? Where are you?"

"Somewhere above you."

It was a measure of just how unsettled he was that he didn't even have a snappy comeback to that vague response.

"I heard something…"

"What?"

"Something."

"What kind of something?"

"I don't know. This place is creepy."

"It's empty, Doctor," came the reply. "You probably just imagined it."

"I didn't imagine it," McKay snapped – even though he wasn't positive that he hadn't. "Get back here, and I'll come with you."

"It'd be a waste of time we don't have. Just relax."

"Are you kidding? I'm in the middle of a deserted city a million light years from home. How am I supposed to relax?"

"I'm not coming back to get you, Doctor. Just stay calm and I'll be there as soon as I find a-"

"Get back here, now!"

There wasn't a response, though, and McKay wasn't all that surprised.

"Damn it." He looked around again, and now he did have his hand on the butt of the gun they'd forced him to bring. "I should have went with Carter's group and made Jackson come here…"