Disclaimer: see chapter one.

Jet lowered the P90, but still holding it in his grip, asked her again if she saw anything. He could see the puzzlement cross her face, but again, she looked around, and turned back, and told him, once more, that there was no one there.

Jet was really confused now. How could he see the woman when Hex couldn't? Could he see the dead now, or was he seeing the past? Maybe they were intruders using some sort of stealth technology? But then again, why was it that only he could see the woman? He didn't really want to know the answer, he thought to himself, as he yawned slightly.

Other figures were appearing to him now. A guard over to his left, two to his far right. One was standing behind a container barely ten feet away from him. Their weapons were lowered, but Jet wasn't going to lower his until…

He saw Luke, Hex's youngest brother dart through the body of one of the soldiers, chasing after a runaway five year old.. The guard jumped and shuddered, and one of his hands seemed to pat over his body as though to reassure himself that he was still alive. The guard's face was pasty white, but Luke and the child were none the worse for wear.

He lowered the P90 now, his hand only loosely holding the weapon.

Hex was starting to pull herself together, he was aware of it, despite the shields he had put up, as they were designed to stop anything from coming in, only when he didn't want it.

She asked him, "What are we doing for tonight? We need a place large enough for everyone."

He thought the answer was kind of obvious, or at least it was to him. "Well," he drawled slightly, "if this is Atlantis", (the if was heavily emphasised, Hex could tell), the Pit and the Den should still be here. So we go there."

As Hex blushed slightly, she knew she should have known that, she was just having a blonde moment (even if she was raven haired). She asked him if all the crates had gotten through. She had been too preoccupied with healing Rean's wounds to count the crates. If they were damaged or missing… she didn't want to know the repercussions.

"If there were supposed to be fifty crates, then there were fifty crates." Jet had thought about teasing her, telling her that there were fewer crates than there were, but decided that she too worked up at the moment. Even he didn't want to deal with an erupting Mount Hex.

"Boxes?" she asked. "Forty-nine, of all shapes and sizes," he replied.

Jet started to get into command mode. He could almost hear the pathways shift from 'cool and calm' to 'cool, calm, and in the mood to give orders'.

There wasn't that much of a difference, he silently mused.

"Can you get Daemon and tell him to grab Micky and get him ready to go? I'll get Z, she's starting to wake up, I see, and could you get Marcus to carry Cas to the Pit?"

That was the difference between Jet and the other military people she'd heard and seen, Hex pondered, as she walked over to her slightly younger brother. Jet didn't give orders, he asked questions of people, asked if they wouldn't mind doing something for him, but everyone did them anyway. He was just that well liked and looked up to. She didn't think he even knew how much. Jet was a natural born leader, just like his parents.

Jet looked about the room as Hex walked away. His grip on the P90 increased, even though he didn't raise it, as he saw more people join the others on the balcony. A long-haired man with glasses, stood briefly on the balcony and exchanged some apparently heated words with a few of the others up there, before turning to walk down the main stairs, a scowl set firmly on his face, as though to reprimand him.

Just try, tough guy, he thought to himself, as the man walked up to him, his index finger on his right hand pointed, with the hand flailing about in the air, he could partially hear the man's complaints.

"Absurd." Yeah, well I think you're absurd buddy.

He could hear more now, though he wasn't sure he wanted to listen to it exactly.

"Can't be there." Well, I'm here mate, not quite sure how long I'm staying for though, let me crunch a few numbers, I'll get back to you with the dates later.

The P90 was now slowly being raised again, but soon after he dropped it. Shooting the smarmy git wasn't worth the ammo.

"Has to be a hologram." Well excuse me! I'm not a bunch of photons, you pig-headed idiot, and at least I have manners, so stop waving your finger in the air like a conductor.

This was the last one Jet heard for quite some time, because as the man approached, Jet side-stepped him, punched him in the gut, and hit him on the back of the head with his tightly clenched fist.

Jet looked around the room sharply. Good, no one had seen his actions, with what he was sure to be, at least to them, thin air.

He could also have sworn he heard someone say, "Thank God for small mercies."

Must have been hearing things.