Varayimshaeta's servitors escorted SG-3 through the complex and locked them inside a large suite of rooms that must have been intended as living quarters. The walls were tinted a vivid aqua shade. The floor was a deeper blue, and unlike the hallways it was plush and cushioned. Picture windows, made of a transparent substance that muted the harsh sunlight, framed a spectacular view of mountains and desert. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon, the scent just barely noticeable.

There was an abundance of furnishings in colors to match the suite. Their upholstery was soft and pleasant to the touch, but their unusual shapes indicated that they had not been fashioned with the human form in mind. They were longer, wider, and deeper than any chairs or sofas Makepeace had ever seen, with flat planes and curves in all the wrong places.

A quick inspection of SG-3's prison revealed no other exits beyond the door from which they had entered. They found no way to open the windows, either in the main chamber or in any of the side rooms, which was probably just as well, all things considered. The panoramic vista was so gorgeous because they were viewing it from at least a hundred stories above the ground. Forced to admit that escape was impossible, at least for the time being, the Marines returned to the large, central chamber.

With a weary sigh, Makepeace plopped down on what he thought was a couch and rested his head in his hands. His headache wore at him and sapped what little strength he had left. It was no fair, getting zapped twice in one day.

Johnson settled next to him. "You all right, sir?"

Makepeace lifted his head. His men were all watching him. They were probably afraid he'd start babbling nonsense again. He rubbed his temples, trying to soothe the throbbing. "Yeah. Just a headache."

"A headache?" Henderson asked.

"Nothing some aspirin won't cure. You wouldn't happen to have any, would you?"

Henderson shrugged in apology. "Sorry, sir."

"It's been a helluva day."

Andrews said, "Truer words, sir. At least those spheres—servitors—have left us alone for now."

"False privacy," Johnson snorted. "Ten to one we're being monitored."

"I don't take sucker bets, sir."

Makepeace chuckled. "You're a wise man." He leaned back on his elbows, but resisted the temptation to stretch out on the floor—the only flat surface available—and take a good, long nap.

Henderson said, "Well, here we are. Stuck." He exhaled. "At least it's not a dungeon or torture chamber or anything like that."

Johnson snorted. "Pollyanna. Look at it this way: We've been locked up by an unreasonable alien computer who thinks we're Goa'ulds."

"Worse, it thinks we work for fucking Sitala—the fucking goddess of fucking smallpox," Andrews moaned. "Man, we are in so much trouble."

"The goddess of smallpox?" Makepeace echoed incredulously. "There's such a thing? Which mythology does she come from?" He wasn't surprised by Andrews's knowledge. Everyone in the SGC who had any sense at all made themselves familiar with Egyptian mythology ASAP. Due to the Goa'uld, as well as all the other whack-job alien races who for some godforsaken reason liked to masquerade as Earth deities, a large assortment of pantheons had joined the required reading list. SG-3 had divvied up the chore, with each team member responsible for a minimum of three alternate mythologies. Their knowledge might not be particularly encyclopedic, but even basic awareness of various gods' names and traits could be useful.

Andrews replied, "She's a Hindu goddess, I think, or she's related at any rate. I recall something about her starting out as a Bengali deity, but I could be remembering wrong. Anyway, according to tradition, Sitala can both cause and cure smallpox."

"Can?" Makepeace asked.

"She's still worshipped in places on Earth, mostly in India, along with the rest of the Hindu pantheon."

"You telling us that this Goa'uld created smallpox?" Johnson demanded furiously.

"No, sir. She just gets credit for it." Andrews shrugged. "Then again, who can say? That Nirrti character was into germ warfare, remember?"

"Who could forget?" Makepeace muttered. The previous year Cheyenne Mountain had almost been destroyed by that memorable Goa'uld bastard. As part of a ruthless plan to destroy the SGC, Nirrti had wiped out a planet's human population with a plague, killed SG-7 in the process, and turned a little native girl into a living time bomb. Only through dumb luck had disaster been averted.

"Great, just great," Makepeace said, rubbing the back of his neck. Just thinking about Nirrti's tactics made his headache feel worse. "And Vara claimed this Sitala character worked for that monster." He propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. Doctor Jackson's protocols for making friends and influencing aliens didn't begin to cover this disaster.

"We might have another problem," Henderson said quietly, moving to crouch before Makepeace.

"What else?"

"Colonel, why are you so sure that Vara is an intelligent computer?"

Makepeace glared at him. "What else could it be? Nothing's alive here. Vara babbled about communications nodes being operational. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Actually, sir, it's not. It could be an alien concealing itself from us. Hell, for all we know, there could be a whole city chock full of aliens out there that we just haven't seen. Maybe they're hiding. Maybe they're invisible. Why not consider those options?"

Makepeace was silent, unable to give a rational answer.

Henderson pressed, "Sir, is it possible... Well, that maybe when Vara got English from you, that you got some knowledge of Vara's? That there might have been an information exchange between you?"

Makepeace had been deliberately avoiding that idea. At the time, there had been too much pain for him to notice that the probe had been rifling through his brain cells. Then when it became apparent that Varayimshaeta had miraculously learned English, he'd been forced to accept the truth, that his brain had been scanned, his mind violated.

Now he was being forced to examine the distasteful idea in detail. Truthfully, he hated it; it increased his sense of violation. Bad enough that that thing had rummaged around inside his head and taken some of his knowledge without so much as a by-your-leave; the mere idea that it had left something of itself behind repelled him. If he were honest with himself, he couldn't deny his statements that Varayimshaeta was some kind of artificially intelligent machine were based more on blind conviction than any facts he and his men had at hand. He had no proof of his belief, no real, objective reason for it, yet he was utterly convinced it was correct. He just knew, and now that sense of knowing disturbed him.

"It's either that, or you've been watching too much Star Trek, Colonel," Henderson said, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

"I hate Star Trek."

Henderson smiled, but Johnson stirred uncomfortably. "Sir," the lieutenant began, "that thing was in your head... If it did something that's affected you..."

"I know. I've been compromised," Makepeace stated bluntly. "Who knows what it took from me besides English?" He rubbed his forehead. "Or what other little surprises it might have left hiding in the corners."

"Is it really that bad?" Andrews asked into the sudden gloom. "I mean, maybe all it wanted was English. It said all it wanted to do was talk to us. The colonel knowing it's a computer, well, maybe that's just a side effect, is all."

"Maybe," Johnson rumbled.

"No, that's a distinct possibility," Henderson said. "I don't think it got a complete, er, download, so to speak. Think about our conversation with Vara. Its English was stilted and clumsy. It didn't realize we're not Goa'uld. Hell, it didn't know the first thing about us. It couldn't have gotten much more than English from Colonel Makepeace, or it would have known all about our hostilities with the Goa'uld."

That sounded reasonable. Maybe there was light at the end of the tunnel after all. Makepeace asked hopefully, "And this weird feeling I've got about Vara being a machine?"

Henderson fidgeted. "It's not more than a strong impression, right, sir? You don't know anything more specific?" When Makepeace nodded, he went on, "Might just be something your subconscious picked up on during the contact."

"That's comforting."

"Sorry to be vague, sir, but this is way out of my league." He shrugged and looked thoughtful. "Vara did say that the power levels were too strong. I think maybe it had to stop the probe early, before it could be completed, to avoid damaging you any more than it did. Since it only seemed to get our language, it probably didn't get the chance to screw around with your mind. Probably there's nothing to worry about."

"Probably." Makepeace chewed his lower lip, resigning himself to the fact that he had become a potential liability. Well, so be it. Other people in the SGC had had their heads fucked over by aliens and alien machines. They had managed to survive the experience, get on with their lives, and continue doing their jobs. So now it was his turn. He'd just have to deal with it.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind protested: But it was never supposed to happen to me!

He smothered that plaintive, childish cry. Suck it up, Marine, he told himself. To his team he said, "Okay, fine, so life's a bitch. I'm stuck with it, I'll just have to live with it. We know about it, so it can't blind-side us. You guys are all going to have to keep an eye on me, though, just in case. If anything happens, or I start being...unreasonable... Johnson, you'll have to take over entirely. And Johnson, if things get bad, if I become a real danger..."

The lieutenant looked him hard in the eye. "Don't worry, sir," he said, acknowledging the unspoken request. "You go alien-crazy on us, Colonel, I'll take care of everything."

Makepeace nodded, closing his eyes with gratitude tainted by despair. Johnson had just promised to do whatever it took to prevent Makepeace from harming his team or his homeworld. Even if that meant killing him. The lieutenant would do it, too, if it became necessary—with no hesitation. Makepeace thanked God for Johnson's rare mix of pragmatism and loyalty.

"Of course," Andrews said, with forced brightness, "near as I can tell, all you officers are unreasonable an awful lot of the time. Half-crazy, in fact, and no common sense worth mentioning. Might be a pretty tough call."

"Oh, of course," Makepeace drawled, dryly.

"You'll forgive us, then, if we give you a little leeway before we decide to do anything too drastic. You get outta line, we'll try smacking you around a bit first, see if you come back to your senses that way."

Makepeace quirked an eyebrow at him. "How very thoughtful of you."

Johnson's grim expression lightened a bit. "Every grunt's dream," he commented with a smile. "Knocking a bird colonel on his ass. Gotta admit, the idea has a certain appeal."

Makepeace couldn't help chuckling. He well knew the frustration of dealing with unfathomable and out-of-touch higher-ups. "You people are way too enthusiastic. Just try to make sure it's alien-crazy, rather than ordinary officer-crazy, before you go beating me into submission."

"It's a deal, sir."

"Good." Makepeace exhaled, relaxing his muscles, and the angry pulse behind his eyes subsided ever so slightly. It wasn't really that simple, he knew, but the implicit vote of confidence in his sanity and self control was reassuring. He didn't want to die just yet, especially at the hands of his own troops—and he certainly didn't want them to take on that kind of guilt.

He licked his dry lips. He was thirsty. How long had it been since any of them had had anything to eat, or even a drink? Too long, obviously. No wonder his headache was so bad. "I could sure use a drink of water."

"Forget water, I want to know where the head is," said Andrews fervently, clearly willing to change gears to a less depressing subject. "Nothing in these rooms looks the part, and I doubt you guys want me off whizzin' in a corner somewhere."

"That's important, too," Makepeace agreed with a laugh. Now that Andrews had mentioned it... He tried to concentrate on something other than floods.

Johnson stood up. "Hey!" he called to the ceiling. "Hey, you listening out there? We need some water."

"What are you doing, Lieutenant?" Henderson asked.

"Just trying to get someone's attention." Johnson shouted again, "C'mon, I know you're listening. How about some service, here?"

A soft, white glow emanated from one side of the room. In the corner on the floor a crystal disk glimmered, and above it the hazy, indistinct image of a male human formed. It was life-sized, and had the correct basic outline: head and torso, arms and legs, but no facial features or other details were visible. "You require something?" it said, in the same chorus of male and female voices used earlier by the column of light. Its words were quiet, their volume suitable for an enclosed space.

"Holy crap," Andrews said. With caution, he approached the projection. "What are you?"

"I am to provide for your needs. What do you require?"

"What the hell kind of an answer is that?"

Johnson crossed the room to join Andrews. "It looks like a hologram, like on Star Trek." He glanced back at Makepeace. "I know that because, unlike some people, I'm a dedicated viewer," he said with a glint in his eye. "I always figured it was a job requirement for working at the SGC."

Makepeace grinned.

Johnson reached an arm out toward the projection. His hand passed harmlessly through, causing only the slightest of ripples in the transparent form. "Huh. That was weird."

"Please state your requirements," the hologram said.

Johnson said, "We require water." He added, "And some food, too."

"Water and food?" The glowing male morphed into an indistinct female shape. "What are your life requirements for water and food?"

"Huh?"

Henderson ambled over. "I think it wants to know what we can eat and what might poison us." He addressed the image. "There is food and water we can safely consume with our supplies. Did Vara bring them here with us?"

"All of your belongings are here," the female answered.

That caught Makepeace's interest. Their weapons should also be here, somewhere in this city. That had possibilities, if they could manage to cozen some information out of this bizarre new toy. He pushed himself to his feet and joined his teammates.

The female morphed back into male guise. "Your food and water shall be returned to you."

"Why are you doing that?" Makepeace asked.

"Explicate query."

"Why are you changing form like that, back and forth from male to female?"

"Human form is the preferred mode for communication with humans," was the less than enlightening response.

Johnson said, "You had to ask, sir."

"Yeah, well, I intend to ask a lot more." To the hologram, he said, "What is Vara?"

It replied serenely, "Vara is Varayimshaeta."

Andrews looked annoyed. "Literal minded, isn't it?"

Makepeace persisted, "Explain Vara. Tell us about it. How much of this planet does it control?"

The hologram froze.

Johnson regarded the now static image. "I think you broke it, sir."

An instant later the hologram reanimated. "I am to provide for your needs. What do you require?"

"Ah, hell. Guess that information's off-limits to us," Makepeace groused. He switched topics. "Vara learned English from me, right? That's how you know it as well."

"That is correct."

"What else did Vara learn from me?"

The hologram froze again briefly, then came back to life. "I am to provide for your needs. What do you require?"

"Been here before," Johnson muttered. "Guess that's off-limits, too."

Henderson said, "Or it just doesn't know. It might not have access to that kind of data, especially if it's just, well, the local equivalent of a butler or something."

"A butler?" Makepeace groaned, giving up. "Terrific. Somebody else talk to it."

Andrews pushed forward, looking a little desperate. "Let's ask it something really important. Like, where the john is."

The image again changed to female. "Explicate: the john."

Andrews suddenly looked uncomfortable. "You know, ah, facilities."

"Explicate. What type of facilities are required?"

The Marines all looked at Andrews. "It's your question," said Johnson with a smile.

Andrews stared daggers at them, then turned back to the hologram and explained what he wanted in terms so clinical and exact it was frightening.