General Hammond's office looked like the soldier: massive, sparse, comfortable, no nonsense, and entirely devoted to business—except for the discreet picture of two little granddaughters with laughing eyes. A neatly framed certificate of commendation hung on the wall next to the window. After being in Hammond's office so many times, Jack O'Neill ought to remember what the commendation was for, but since so many of those visits were for issues weightier than past good deeds, he didn't.

No exception this time. It was a formal request, so O'Neill gave a formal salute with just enough sloppiness to it so that Hammond was aware that O'Neill knew he was not in trouble. Someone else was.

Hammond indicated the chair. "Sit down, colonel. How is Dr. Jackson?"

O'Neill sat. "Foaming at the mouth, ready to get out, sir." And back to work. And back off-world. Wants to prove himself, General. Again. Or should I say, 'over again'.

Hammond wasted no time coming to the point. "Colonel, there's been an incident."

"Sir?" Teal'c hadn't crunched anybody, had he? Thinking that the man was Daniel's prankster? Please don't let it be Teal'c. He'd had a hard enough time talking Teal'c out of the last—

"Dr. Anthony Himmelmann, SG-20's resident linguist, was killed in a motor vehicle accident last night," Hammond informed him.

"Damn." O'Neill was sorry to hear that. "I didn't know him well, General, but Daniel thought highly of him. Claimed he was as good as Daniel himself at translating Goa'uld."

"I wouldn't go that far, Colonel, but I agree, Himmelmann was a good man. His loss will be felt for a very long time. However, there's more."

"Sir?"

"Early indications are that it may not have been an accident."

O'Neill felt his blood ran cold. Who in the world outside Cheyenne Mountain would have reason to kill a translator? Especially a Goa'uld translator. "Are you ordering me to look into the accident while SG-1 is on stand down? It's been a while since I've done investigative work, sir."

"No, that's not why I've asked you here, colonel. I've assigned Lt. Baker of Security to review the accident report and make any inquiries that seem appropriate. I may be jumping at shadows, Jack. The driver of the other vehicle was a young mother and her infant. Not a very likely candidate for a Goa'uld assassin."

"Then why, sir, if I may ask, do you think that this may not have been an accident?"

"Because Lt. Yamamura was mugged last week, Jack. She's in a Denver hospital, in ICU. It's not clear if she'll recover, and if she does it will certainly be weeks and possibly months before she's capable of resuming her translation duties."

There were times when Jack O'Neill needed help in putting two and two together. This was not one of those times. "There are only four people on Earth that can read Goa'uld, and two of them are—were—Himmelmann and Yamamura. That leaves Daniel and Rothman. And Teal'c."

"There are very few people on this planet who are aware of Teal'c's presence, and I hope to keep it that way, certainly for the time being. Dr. Rothman is off-world at the Alpha site, and has been for the last month. In light of these recent events, I intend to leave him there indefinitely. In fact, I have ordered SG-3 to take up residence there as additional firepower. Do I make myself clear, colonel?"

"Completely, sir." You think that someone is targeting our Goa'uld specialists. "What about Daniel? Getting him off-planet might be the smartest thing to do. I can talk to Dr. Frasier—"

"I already have, colonel. Dr. Frasier recommends against any off-world assignments for the next two weeks. She also recommends against placing Dr. Jackson in any stressful situations for the same period of time. Since I have no intention of losing my best linguist to any potential assassin, I have ordered that Dr. Jackson remain on this base until we have cleared this matter up. Under guard. A discreet guard, but protected nonetheless."

"Sir—"

"Jack, I'm well aware that someone on this base has been playing practical jokes on Dr. Jackson recently. I'll be assigning a replacement for Airman Deavers to act as Dr. Jackson's assistant while SG-1 is off-world; the replacement's primary role will be to prevent any more of these so-called jokes as well as protect Dr. Jackson. Don't look so astonished, Jack. I have my way of finding out about these things."

"Yes, sir. I see that you do." He really shouldn't have been surprised. There was a reason that Hammond had made it to General. "Uh, off-world, sir? Without Daniel?"

"Other teams are without a linguist, Jack."

"Yes, sir. They're always trying to borrow Daniel."

That brought a smile to Hammond's face. "Not as many as all that, Jack. The story of how Colonel Burberry returned Dr. Jackson to you keeps growing, as well as your response. And the other team leaders are listening."

"Oh. That. Right."

"Never underestimate the power of a good story, colonel."

"We came to an understanding, Burberry and I," O'Neill protested.

"And I hear it was a very good agreement," Hammond replied. "You'll notice that I haven't interfered. Yet."

"Yes, sir." O'Neill shifted uncomfortably. "Thank you, sir. Off-world, sir?"

"Have your team ready for 0900, colonel."

"They suspect, lord, but cannot find proof," the First Prime reported. "Rothman is inaccessible to me. Jackson is under constant guard, though he is not aware of it. The ploy with the coffee was successful. He has been grounded."

Teknet frowned. For the First Prime, it was as if the sun darkened over the world. "The off-world mission?"

"Worthless, as you predicted, lord. Photographs were brought back as well as some of the smaller inscriptions but they are of a vanished race. It is unlikely that there will be any information that the SGC can use against you, lord."

"Good." Teknet paused. "But Jackson continues to work?"

"Yes, lord, though slowly. His work is piling up as he recuperates. Dr. Frasier has been adamant about resting, and his assistant during the off-world mission was reporting to both General Hammond and Dr. Frasier on a daily basis. He is, however, coming closer to the information that you fear for SGC to have. I estimate that he will begin work on it within twenty-four hours."

"That must not happen, First Prime!" Teknet exclaimed. "We need to bring this to a close. Resolve this, First Prime, even if it means giving up the deception. It is my command!"

"I exist only to please you, lord!"

"What do you expect, Jack?" Daniel was tired, and cranky, and fed up with the same four walls around him. "I haven't been home in nine days. My mail is piling up, my fish need to be fed…"

"I sent Deavers to take care of it," O'Neill interrupted. "What's the use of having a personal assistant if you don't use him to take care of little details like this?"

"I want to go home, Jack!" It was little short of a wail.

"Daniel—"

"I'm seeing Goa'uld script in my sleep, and I'm thinking in Goa'uld in my dreams. I'm tired of it, Jack. It's time to switch to some good old Egyptian nightmares, like I used to have. I want to sleep in my own bed!"

"Think of how much work you're getting done—"

"Jack!" This one really was a wail. Daniel leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses back further on his nose. He folded his arms. "Level with me, Jack. What's going on? Why can't I get out of here?"

"It's only been a week, Daniel. Frasier said two."

"She said one. And she's been taking daily ECG's. My heart is fine. Not a blip in sight. If I can sleep in a bunk here in Cheyenne Mountain, I can sleep at home. At least at home I don't have to worry about someone short-sheeting the bed, or dumping maple syrup on my clothes." He looked away, arms clenched around his chest as though trying to hold himself together. "Frasier's running out of excuses to give me." Then he turned back to glare at O'Neill, the old sense of paranoia rearing its ugly head. "Somebody think I'm a security risk, Jack? Why me? Rothman gets to go off-world and then go home. Himmelmann gets to go off-world and then go home. Yamamura doesn't, but she doesn't want to. She likes sitting in a cubicle, pushing a pencil. Then she goes home. Why them, and not me? Haven't I proved myself?"

Oh, God, he doesn't know. Frasier's orders: nobody upset the boy genius with the heart condition.

Well, he's plenty upset now. And scared.

"Daniel," O'Neill started, and then hesitated.

"Tell me, Jack," Daniel demanded quietly. Calmly and rationally despite the fear. "Let me straighten out whatever it is so that I can get back out there. I can't find Sha're from in here." He pushed a single paper back across his desk. "I can't find Sha're by translating a Goa'uld shopping list. Especially one that originated on Earth by a minor system lord named Teknet."

Still O'Neill hesitated.

"Please, Jack."

O'Neill came to a decision. "Let me talk to a couple of people first, Daniel."

"Was it something I've done?"

"No." That answer came fast. "Daniel, it wasn't you. But…there are concerns. Concerns for the SGC, and your whereabouts are a part of it. The information isn't mine to share. But trust me on this, Daniel, it's nothing you've done. Or haven't done." There. That would hopefully give the man enough to chew on without giving away any state secrets. And reassure him that he wasn't to blame. "I'll talk to Hammond, and I'll see if I can break you out of here. Just hang in there, Daniel."

Daniel indicated the mounds of papers that Deavers hadn't gotten to. If anything, O'Neill judged, the piles looked higher than before. "Be my guest. I'm not going anywhere," he added with an edge to his voice.

O'Neill entered Hammond's office to find the general entertaining a guest. General Hammond gestured to the small uniformed man standing at parade rest beside his desk. "At ease, gentlemen. Colonel O'Neill, Lieutenant Baker. Lt. Baker is the man I assigned to look into Dr. Himmelmann's accident."

"Sir." Lt. Baker saluted crisply.

O'Neill returned the salute, and followed it up with a hand shake. "Good to meet you. What do you have, lieutenant? And I hope it's something conclusive. I've got a certain civilian specialist that needs a break from this base."

Lt. Baker shrugged. "Not much, sir. As far as I can tell, both Himmelmann's and Yamamura's accidents were just that: accidents, with a scary coincidence in the timing. I checked out the driver of the SUV in Himmelmann's car wreck, and the woman is just who she claims to be. She's lucky to be alive. Apparently it was Dr. Himmelmann who lost control of his car and plowed into her."

"And Yamamura?"

"The Denver police are still hunting for her assailant. They've got a pattern going, so it's pretty certain that whoever did it is human. Just another scum on the streets, looking to take down a single person walking by for whatever they can get. They've been trying to catch this perp for the last three weeks. Lt. Yamamura was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the timing is all wrong for her attack to be connected to anything more serious. These muggings have been going on for at least three weeks before hers, and in a completely separate town from Himmelmann's accident."

But something that Baker said was niggling at O'Neill. "Back up a moment," he ordered, eyebrows crunching together in a frown. "Go back to Himmelmann. Where are you at with the accident? You said he lost control of his car?"

Baker nodded. "Yes, sir. The local Forensics unit did some measurements, based on skid marks and eye-witness reports. He lost control of the car and swerved into oncoming traffic. The woman in the SUV was the unlucky oncoming traffic. Himmelmann was killed instantly."

It clicked. "Why did he lose control?"

"Sir?"

O'Neill honed in. "Why did Anthony Himmelmann lose control of his car? What happened? Daniel has always said that Dr. Himmelmann was one of the most careful researchers he'd ever met. That should translate into driving a car, and you can check that with a review of his driving record. I repeat: why did Himmelmann lose control of his car?"

"Jack, he could have fallen asleep at the wheel," Hammond suggested. "It was night time."

"Eight o'clock at night," O'Neill elaborated. "Night time, sure, but not that late. Anybody do an autopsy? Was he drunk? Did he stop at a bar on the way home to the wife and kids?"

"No, sir. Alcohol levels were negative. Not a drop. I had them do a tox screen as well, just to be on the safe side, and that was negative also."

"Brakes?"

"No sign of malfunction, colonel."

"Tires?"

"Good tread. Two of them looked new." Lt. Baker shrugged reluctantly. "Sir, I'm willing to put more time into this if you want me to, but it looks like an unfortunate coincidence."

"Son, you've done a good job—" Hammond said, but O'Neill interrupted.

"Do a reconstruction on the tires," he ordered.

"Jack?"

Black Ops training came into play. Assassination was not something that Jack O'Neill would choose to do, but that didn't mean that he didn't know how to do it. "General, I'm not willing to admit that Himmelmann lost control of his car for no reason. Not yet, at any rate. He may have fallen asleep at the wheel, but I don't want to stake Daniel's life on that assumption." He thought for a moment. "How about this for an unpleasant scenario? Our assassin shoots out a tire on Himmelmann's car. Himmelmann loses control, and we are down one highly trained and irreplaceable translator. And no one would know the difference unless they went looking for a blown out tire with a bullet inside."

There was an uncomfortable silence as the other two digested his words.

"Lt. Baker." Hammond turned to the younger man. "How long will it take for you to find the answer to Colonel O'Neill's question?"

Baker tightened his lips. "Two days, sir. The Forensics Unit was getting pretty sick of me."

"Take a couple of our people. See if the extra help won't sweeten their disposition. If that doesn't work, pull the national security crap over them. I want this question settled as soon as possible. And assign another man to explore just who the hell might be wanting to dismantle the Stargate Command translation program piecemeal in a less than kosher manner. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir." Baker saluted himself out.

Hammond turned back to O'Neill. "Satisfied, Jack?"

"Not quite, sir. I've got a member of my team going stir crazy, and I've got to give him a break before he does something we'll regret. Request permission to take him off the base, sir? I promise he'll have a baby-sitter, either me or Deavers. Or both. Or more. We can take Teal'c along with us."

"Give Lt. Baker his two days, Jack. Then you can."

"I'm not sure that Daniel will last two days, General. Frasier's been pushing a lot of his buttons." As well as our unknown prankster. Nothing like a few practical jokes to make an insecure archeologist feel unwanted. O'Neill searched for an alternative. "How about Alpha Base? Good food, clean air, lots of SG types around..."

"Not a chance, Jack. Jackson and Rothman are the two remaining translators we have left. I won't have them in the same place where our hypothetical assassin can take them both out at the same time. I don't see how anyone could get back and forth between Earth and the Alpha Base, but there are a lot of things that I don't know."

"Then how about another world? P3-whatever? Something we've already explored, some place safe? Just somewhere that Daniel won't feel like a bug under one of Carter's microscopes."

"I don't have a problem with that, but you'll need to convince Dr. Frasier. Most of those 'safe' places don't come equipped with 911 services."

"Dammit." Carter rarely swore, but this seemed to be a fitting occasion. The little metal bauble that they'd picked up on their mad dash across P3X-6J4 still refused to cooperate, no matter what she did. She tinkered with this, and pushed at that, and still it refused to give up its secrets. She glared at the picture of the instructions that Deavers had hastily clicked. The photo was blown up larger than life but the drawings on the photo weren't helping and Carter's knowledge of Goa'uld written instructions was on a par with her knowledge of Swahili. For all she knew, that little squiggle on the bottom either said 'Kree!' or 'Have a nice day!' Of the two, Carter was more willing to bet on the former. "I can't even figure out what this thing is supposed to do," she snarled to herself.

What was the old line? When all else fails, read the instructions. Sam picked herself and the overblown photo up and headed out the door. Time to find the man who could read the instructions.

She found Daniel in his office, hunched over his desk and peering at some of the photos that they'd brought back from their most recent mission to PS-284—the one that Daniel had been about to go on before his graceless swan dive—trying to decipher the characters on the stones. That he'd made a fair bit of progress was evident by the number of sentences in English that covered the pages to the side. He looked up as she entered, squinting; he'd put his glasses to the side and his nose two inches from the photo.

He smiled in welcome. "Sam! Come on in. Bring me good news. Tell me that Jack sent you to say I'm getting off of this base."

Sam's own smile faded a trifle. "Sorry, Daniel, no can do. Wish I could. But listen, I need your help." She explained the problem, handing over the picture of the instructions that had accompanied her new toy sitting lifeless on her workbench. "There has to be an 'on' button, or something like that. Something that I'm missing. What does this stuff say?"

It didn't take long. In fact, it took something less than three seconds. Daniel replaced his glasses and peered at the writing, looking it over thoroughly. "Uh-oh. Sorry, Sam."

"'Uh-oh'?" she repeated. "'Sorry?' Sorry about what, Daniel?"

"You didn't miss anything. See this phrase here?" He pointed at something in red that looked unintelligible to the astrophysicist.

"I see it, but I don't understand it, Daniel."

"Let's just say that a rough equivalent would be…" he thought for a moment, clearly not wanting to hurt her but too honest to lie. "Sam, this thing was on its way back to the repair shop."

"Oh." Sam sat back in her chair. "But that doesn't explain why I couldn't fix it. I mean, I got power to go in—"

"Sam, the rest says that it was going back to the shop to use for spare parts. Nobody could get it to work. Junk heap time. Parts worn out beyond repair."

"Oh." One last forlorn attempt: "The Beaver said—"

"Sam," Daniel said gently, "this word, right here: 'broken'. This one, next to it: 'defunct'. This one at the bottom: 'parts only'. I'm paraphrasing, you understand, and leaving out the curses. Goa'uld tends to be a little pungent at times."

Sam sighed. "I don't know how the Beaver could have missed all of this. Maybe he thought this page belonged to something else that we passed up."

"Doesn't this picture here at the top look like the thing you grabbed?" Then Daniel shut it down. He was getting awfully close to saying 'I told you so,' which would get back to Jack, the very man that he was relying on to spring him from Cheyenne Mountain. Annoying the crap out of his colonel was not the way to further Daniel's aims, and he was fairly certain that Jack only wanted to hear good things about an airman that he wanted promoted. He put on a conciliatory smile, bright and false and hoped that it passed muster. "I'm sure that the Beaver did his best. I'll work with him, and Teal'c will, too, and we'll teach him a bit more Goa'uld. You'll probably all be wanting to join his team soon," he added, hoping that Sam couldn't tell just how hard he was biting his own tongue in order to say that. "Jack did say that Deavers would be a man to get promoted quickly."

Sam wasn't fooled. The sub-text to the conversation was a lot clearer than the Goa'uld page she'd brought with her. "He's got a long way to go, Daniel. You've got a string of successes to your credit. His first solo venture he blew." She gestured to the photo of her toy. "Witness his mistake."

Daniel sighed. Someone did understand. "Thanks, Sam." He gave her the patented Jackson blue-eyed puppy look. "Are you sure you can't sneak me out? I promise, I'll come back just as soon as I've had the opportunity to breathe some un-recycled air." He sagged at her unspoken refusal. "Okay, okay. Just checking. Miracles have happened, you know, and more than once around here. Besides, I've got this incredibly fascinating translation to finish up…"

"Now say it like you mean it." Carter laughed sympathetically.

"I do mean it." Hah. "This one's from Egypt, one of the unnamed tombs. It's a list of Goa'uld weapons. I figure it'll come in handy when you're trying to figure out what to raid from whatever planet you guys are on—"

"—we're on, Daniel," Sam corrected gently.

Daniel acknowledged her words, even if it was getting harder and harder to believe them.

"No, Colonel O'Neill, I will not okay Daniel Jackson for an off-world mission. You appear to believe that these are sight-seeing trips to the local zoo with a first aid station on every corner. You don't seem to understand that Dr. Jackson is a patient under my care, and I need him where I can keep a close eye on him." Dr. Frasier glared up at him, hands on hips.

"Look, doc, he's going crazy," O'Neill wheedled. "I gotta get him off the base somehow. Hammond won't let him go into town; hell, he won't even let the man go home. Off-world is my only option." He played another card. "Doc, you said yourself that we shouldn't stress him. What do you think is going on inside his head right now? He's not allowed off the base; nobody will tell him why, thinking that it will upset him. Of course he's going nuts."

"I'm well aware of that, colonel. It was not my idea to keep information from Dr. Jackson." Frasier wasn't giving an inch. "I did give him anti-anxiety medications, especially yesterday when his heart was acting up."

"His heart acted up? Again?" That was news to O'Neill. "He didn't tell me that."

"That doesn't surprise me. And I'm sure that it won't surprise you when I tell you that he's refusing to take the anti-anxiety meds. Says that they muddle his thoughts."

"Oh." That deflated the colonel. "His heart acted up."

"Yes, and I doubled his dosage of the ACE inhibitor. That seems to have solved the problem, although I'm not happy with the side effects."

"Side effects?" O'Neill had a sneaking suspicion that he was rapidly losing this argument.

"Orthostatic hypotension."

Argument lost. "Ortho-who?"

Frasier translated. "Daniel stands up, his blood pressure sits down."

"Okay…" O'Neill drawled out the word. It was not okay.

"Put it this way, colonel." Frasier explained the translation. "Right now, until he adjusts to the meds, every time Daniel stands up, he gets dizzy. The effect will disappear eventually as he gets used to the dosage, but that hasn't happened yet. Tell me, does this sound like a man who ought to be off-world possibly facing a posse of natives that he needs to run from at a moment's notice?"

"Daniel didn't seem shaky to me, doc." Now that he understood what she was saying, O'Neill was ready to continue the argument. "A little flaky, but that's just Daniel."

"Did he stand up?"

"He's not that military, doc. Only the grunts stand when I enter a room, and that's just for formal occasions. I'm lucky if I can get them to wave hi. Ask me if I care."

"I'm not joking, colonel." Frasier stood her ground. "In my professional opinion, Dr. Jackson is not fit to go off world, or be in any situation where emergent cardiac care is not available. Now I'm sorry that General Hammond has ordered him not to leave the base, but that's not something that I have control over. I've offered him pharmaceutical assistance in getting through this; he's not complying with the regimen that I've prescribed. I can deal with him refusing the anti-anxiety medications, but he sits there and tells me that he's not drinking strong coffee when the evidence is staring me in the face." Dr. Frasier folded her arms. "Colonel O'Neill, Dr. Jackson has looked me straight in the eye and denied drinking caffeine-laced products when his adrenaline level is so high that he can't sit still. If he continues to behave in this fashion, I will have no other option but to ground him permanently. See if you can get that through his head, colonel."

Jack stared. "You're really not joking. This is not a 'dot the i's, cross the t's' sort of deal."

"Very real, colonel. He has to stop overdosing on caffeine, or I can't help him." Frasier flipped through the chart. "Very typical of a Type A personality, addicted to caffeine. He gave it up when I spoke to him, just before SG-1—minus Daniel—left on your mission, and he stayed clear for two days. The day after your return when I ran his tests there was clear evidence of caffeine ingestion, and I had to increase his dosages of the ACE inhibitors. These medications seem to have solved the problem for now, but unless Daniel gives up caffeine altogether, I am going to have to continue to monitor his heart on a regular basis. Colonel O'Neill, Dr. Jackson is burning himself out. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." But something still didn't ring true. And O'Neill mentioned it. "Doc, granted that Daniel is addicted to caffeine. But he's been adamant that he gave it up. Daniel is desperate to continue to go off-world to search for his wife, and I can't see him doing anything that would jeopardize that. He was—and still is—upset that someone is taking what he thinks is his place on the team. He's wrong, of course. No one can replace Daniel, but that's not what he's thinking right now. Doc, believe me when I tell you that Daniel has given up caffeine…" More thoughts crept around and shook hands. "Deavers talked about a de-caffeinated variety that he's been using…Then there's those pranks that somebody has been playing on him…And the caffeine level rose when we returned from P3-whatever." A light bulb went off in O'Neill's brain, and the last pieces started to fall into a sinking feeling in his gut. "Doc, if I bring you some of Deavers' specialty coffee beans that he brought in, can you test them for caffeine?"

"That's a little devious, even for Daniel…" Frasier's voice trailed off as the implications became clear. "Not Daniel. You think that Airman Deavers—?"

"One way to find out," O'Neill returned grimly. And who else would be in such an ideal position to pull vicious little pranks on Daniel? "I'm a suspicious little bugger, but that doesn't mean that the paranoids aren't really out to get me. What does Deavers gain by getting Daniel grounded?"

Frasier nodded. "A place on the premier SG team. Or so he may think."

"Without going through the usual chain of command and promotions. Let's go, doc. I think I want a witness for the coffee beans I'm about to snitch. In case this goes to a court martial."

"Yo! Dr. J! Let's go!" Deavers burst into Daniel's office, grabbing Daniel's coat and thrusting it at him.

"What?" Daniel looked up in time to snatch the coat out of the air. Papers flew. Daniel's face lit up. "You talked to Jack?"

"Yup. He said, and I quote: 'get Daniel out of this mountain before Hammond realizes what he's agreed to. I'll meet up with the two of you in one hour.'" Deavers gestured at the coat, shrugging his own on. "Get a move on, Dr. J., unless you want the MP's catching up with us." Deavers flashed a grin. "Unless you like it here underground?"

"I'm moving." Daniel jumped to his feet, only to sway unsteadily.

"Dr. J.?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay." Daniel clutched the edge of the desk, white-knuckled. "I'm fine. Just the damn drugs the doc has me on. I'm fine." He jammed his arm into his coat, hoping that Deavers didn't notice him continuing to lean against the desk. "Recreation now, Goa'uld shopping lists later." The dizziness passed as it always did, he swallowed hard to keep down the nausea, and then he stepped out. "Let's go. Now. Not later. Now. I believe you mentioned something about meeting Jack?"