Jack O'Neill strode up the ramp toward the Stargate, noticing the silence that always fell as the team prepared for the trip through the technological miracle that would send them to another planet in a matter of moments. His team was long past being disoriented by the wild rollercoaster effect, but the simple awe of being on another world had not worn off. He hoped it never would. His eyes widened with pleasant anticipation as he reached the glowing blue surface of the wormhole. One small step for man, one giant leap --

"DOWN!" He screamed it, even as he took his own order and dove to avoid the crossfire clouding the air. He activated the radio on his shoulder with his chin, knowing the SGC would hear the word and the unmistakable sound of a warzone. His team had been right behind him, and there was little chance that they'd get the message in time to stay home -- not that they would, knowing their teammate was already under fire. But he had to warn the SGC. No one was expecting this; the now-burning MALP had gone through less than an hour ago and had shown an innocent pastoral scene, flowery field with a picturesque path winding away into the nearby woods. No time now to wonder how the greeting-card-worthy landscape had turned into a blazing battle in the minutes since.

"Enemies all around...battalion at least...no cover..." He automatically reported back to the SGC, bellowing to be heard over the screech of alien weapons fire even as he squirmed forward and left, pushing his own P-90 in front of him. He fired wildly, hoping that the deeper baritone of his weapon would make the enemy pause long enough for his team to not be caught standing upright in front of the gate. They would be easy enough targets lying down on the flat dais that held nothing other than the Stargate and themselves; standing up they'd have no chance. It worked; there was a sudden drop in sound and the fighters around the gate dropped back in separate waves. "Two factions at least...gate surrounded...possible artillery coming over hill..." he continued his report, knowing he was effectively telling Hammond and the SGC not to send reinforcements into this hopeless situation. They could never muster enough men in time to fight a battle this size.

He felt someone bump his right leg, but didn't dare look away from the enemy to check who it was. He had to trust his impression that the body was actively diving and not bonelessly collapsing. The Stargate closed with a whump that was barely audible over the renewed fighting. Teal'c slithered into view next to him, and he risked a glance back for the others. Carter was furthest away, sliding on her belly at an angle to the right that would get her out of range of the Stargate's flush when it reopened. There was an open flak-jacket across her lower torso and upper legs -- the guards in the gate room must have tossed theirs through to try to help. Daniel was between her and Teal'c, face screwed up in what Jack hoped was concentration and not pain from an injury. He, too, was blanketed by an open flak-jacket.

Jack realized they were dragging something. His ammo was nearly out; he spent the last of the clip and reloaded without looking at his hands, as he twisted to see what they had. He smiled. General Hammond would not have let the guards charge through into a warzone, but he did what he could. They'd done an emergency dismount of the machine gun that usually sat unobtrusively on its tripod in the corner of the gateroom and sent that.

Carter and Daniel pulled it forward, and she set to work prepping it. A practiced team could have it ready in 42 seconds; unrehearsed and under fire, she would probably need two minutes at least. Jack turned back to his own job, which was now buying her time. He, Teal'c, and Daniel fired rapidly at the closest fighters, trying to push them back. They returned the favor, of course. And they noticed Carter and her big black device. If the enemy factions had not been diverted by one another, the four people on the platform would have been shredded in seconds. Fortunately, the two sides spent most of their time firing at each other.

Jack, with his left side exposed, took a hit in the flank that knocked the breath out of him. He almost lost hold of his weapon. At least they were firing projectiles instead of energy weapons, he thought grimly. And aiming at the torso, which was sensible if you didn't know the enemy had the advantage of armor vests.

Jack heard a yelp in his earpiece, too high pitched to be the men on the team, and glanced over when he could. Carter had been hit, she lay half on her side to press her right arm under her body as she struggled to ready the machine gun. As he watched, Daniel frog-hopped and landed atop her, trying to protect her body with his own.

"No!" Jack and Teal'c both yelled. Valiant it may be, but it also raised him up all the more. Before they even finished the single syllable, Daniel, too, had been hit. He collapsed across his teammate. Teal'c pushed Daniel off of Carter, onto her far side where he could still shield her and the big gun. The archaeologist convulsed briefly, curling around his own weapon as pain flared, then straightened and began grimly to fire again.

Carter finished, and a hail of bullets erupted from the machine gun. The enemy fell back, startled by the new development. Jack took the moment and began to scuttle towards the Dial-Home Device. Once he got to it, he could activate the Stargate and give them a path back home. He risked one glance back to ensure the others were angled enough to be safe from the wormhole's destructive flush.

Whoever these guys were, they were not stupid. They fell back away from the front and from Carter's side of the platform. But they also took the chance that she could not fire over Teal'c and they massed on his side of the platform.

The big man did his best, but with Jack now on the way to the DHD, he had no cover whatsoever on his left side, and was quickly hit in the legs and vest. All three continued firing, and the men started squirming backward so Carter could aim over a wider arc. She swept from side to side, keeping a large area free of enemy fighters. For whatever reason -- perhaps they thought he was running away, or maybe they were just more concerned with the firepower still on the platform -- there was little fire at Jack as he scrambled to the DHD. He reached up and started punching the symbols on it as fast as he could.

That definitely got their attention. He hugged the DHD, trying to use it as cover as alien bullets zinged past. The sixth symbol was near the top of the device. He pushed up on one leg to stretch for it, apparently losing the shelter of the DHD stand as he did. Something promptly ripped through his calf, making him fall. He paused long enough to blast a quick volley from his weapon, then gritted his teeth and pulled himself up -- he had to get that button. He cursed as the sharpshooter grazed his shoulder, and his hand jerked off the mark. It would be just too cruel to get this close and fail! He lunged forward, determined to finish, slapping the sixth and seventh symbols before his nemesis winged him in the same arm again. Fortune was on his side this time; when the bullet made him jerk, his nose smashed squarely down in the center of the device, providing the final signal.

The Stargate activated, it's blue flush never seeming so beautiful. Jack hurried back to his team as best he could with one leg and one arm damaged. Carter continued to lay down cover fire. Teal'c was waving Daniel through. Jack made it to Carter's side. He rolled on one side, grabbing the gun and trying to slide it toward the gate as she continued to fire. With his injuries, he could barely move it. He motioned and she switched activities with him. He fired, and she rolled three-quarters over and pulled with her legs and good arm. A foot at a time toward the gate and safety. Suddenly she moved faster, and he realized Teal'c must have grabbed her ankles.

Almost there! They were going to survive this hell-hole after all! He motioned Teal'c and Carter through while he kept firing. He wasn't sure whether he could keep firing if he was partly in the wormhole, but he did know the enemy could keep shooting the part of him that was still on their side. He kept himself completely on-planet as the others slithered to safety. As soon as they were gone, he'd back through, and they'd all be safe. Teal'c disappeared, then Carter was slipping through. When only her head and arms remained, Jack turned to follow.

It was a critical mistake. His shoulder moved higher than the gun, and was promptly hit again. He tumbled backward, away from the gate. The last thing he saw was Carter screaming, reaching desperately for any part of him, clawing as if she would come back for him.

Can't do that, he thought as he drifted toward unconsciousness. Wormholes are only one-way, and once you're in, you're in. You're the scientist, you should know that.

oOo

The tiny unmanned UAV plane zoomed through the wormhole the moment it opened. It shot high up into the sky on the other side, sending back confirmation that the battle still boiled around the gate. One circle to photograph all angles, then it switched to its secondary task. It swept low over the nearby woods, seeming to drop greenish spider webs in the treetops. The webbing caught in the branches, and the small cameras they held switched on. Weighted to be heavier on the lens side, gravity caused them to swing downward. Several showed the ground with fighters behind every tree, and a few hit branches and gave angled shots toward the main fighting or through the woods. Two were trapped facing up into the sky, and showed the UAV moving on to its third and final task; it deployed weather balloons to float high above where it could use minimal power to stay in the vicinity of the gate and provide radio contact.

oOo

General Hammond stood somberly in the control room as they opened the gate yet again. It had been two Earth days now, and each time they checked the cameras in the trees showed the battle continuing, day and night. They had also given evidence that both sides took live prisoners, marching or dragging them off through the woods, and raising hopes that Colonel O'Neill was alive. The UAV, with its high vantage point, showed two cities near the gate, separated by the woods.

They would just have to keep trying, waiting for a break in the action. He had two teams ready on alternate shifts; when they finally opened the gate to a break in the action, the one on duty would be ready to go through immediately.

oOo

Keyna sat on his raised chair and watched as the fourth of the six prisoners allocated to him was taken away. There had been a time when he would have been given twenty or more after a significant battle. He was still the best trainer -- no other could convert a former enemy soldier into an obedient slave as quickly as he -- but the Forever Feud was taking its toll on both sides and the numbers were just not what they used to be. Nor was the quality. The one just removed was little more than a boy, and terrified; his spirit was half-broken already. It would not take much to crush him entirely, ready for re-building into a useful Mayra. Mayra, or Mayree in the plural, meant more than just 'slave,' it defined the former person as less than fully human, and helped to prevent the masters from sympathizing too much with a pitiful or pretty one.

He straightened as the door opened. Number Five might be at least a little more of a challenge. After finding themselves healed and captive, most huddled in despair as the realization sunk in that they were now Mayree. Some wept, or tried to take their own lives. This one had actually tried to escape the compound. He was being brought here immediately after his correction, so that Keyna could assess his reaction. For maximum effectiveness, a good trainer fit the lessons to the specific Mayra, and with the lower volume Keyna had time to be a very good trainer to each of his wards. If this one were cowed by physical pain, like the boy just taken away, that would be his assigned punishment for any failure. If not, then something else would be found. Every Mayra had something he would work very hard to avoid, and Keyna prided himself on finding the key to each one.

He viewed his new Mayra slave dispassionately. Clearly, he still had spirit. Even now, pinned by the enforcers who had just chastised him, bleeding and breathless, he glared defiantly up at his master.

So. This one liked a fight. Then he would have none. Keyna was not one to give a Mayra anything it wanted before it was earned. Perhaps the frustration and humiliation of being made to obey without physical force would speed this one's acceptance of his new status.

Keyna rose, noting that his imposing height atop the dais did not intimidate the Mayra, then moved with deliberate and threatening slowness down the three steps and across the short distance between them. He stepped close to the Mayra. He reached out a hand and the Mayra reared back his head, staring at him balefully. A bit of blood trickled down his face, adding to his fierce look. Keyna considered, then decided this Mayra would not be given even the appearance of having resisted his new master. The other Mayree, all of whom instinctively resisted their capture and training, would mock him for his weakness. It would be quite amusing, and rejection by his new peers might also help to break this one.

He gave a brief order, and another Mayra scurried out, returning shortly with a tray. Keyna made a show of mixing a liquid and a powder into a bowl.

"Can't have our new prize looking so sad and defeated," he said in a mocking tone. "Can we, Mayra?"

"My name is O'Neill."

The enforcer on the left raised a meaty fist to correct the insubordination, and Keyna saw the Mayra tense in preparation for the blow. He gestured, and the enforcer aborted the move in mid-strike. He turned back to O'Neill with the same mocking voice. "Is our new Mayra afraid?"

Jack ground his teeth in anger, "Like to see you go a round with these two gorillas." He jerked his arms to indicate the huge men who calmly pinned them.

Keyna raised an eyebrow. "Gorillas? Is that some kind of plaything?" He dipped a finger in the bowl, smeared some of the contents on a gash on the arm of one of the gorillas.

O'Neill watched, wariness turning to surprise as the cut healed before his eyes. Keyna noticed the reaction. This one must have been a poor man in his home city if he never had healing before. "You came to me with serious wounds. I restored you with this before you awakened," Keyna explained. He leaned close to the Mayra, looking him solidly in the eye, curious to see his reaction. "You realize this means I can have you re-injured just as badly anytime you displease me."

The Mayra's chin raised an inch in continued defiance, clearly trying to show his master that he was unafraid. He also swallowed, giving away that it was bravado not stupidity or disbelief.

Keyna smiled. This one wanted to appear strong and brave; he would therefore be made to seem weak and cowardly. "You will find I am not so cruel a master as that. Especially to one so delicate."

He reached again into the bowl and turned to O'Neill, who held still - not that he had a lot of choice - and let him smear liquid on the cut on his head. The Mayra responded instantly to the burning, struggling furiously to get away.

Keyna waited till he stopped his vain efforts. "My, such a fragile thing you are! Still, we must do what we must do." He reached out with another finger full of the fluid. O'Neill recoiled. Or tried to.

"Now, now," Keyna mocked, "don't be such a baby!"

Despite his best efforts, Jack's arm was extended by the guard holding it. Keyna smiled and stroked the liquid flame on. And so it went, with pauses between to ensure he felt the full effect, until all of his wounds were healed.

"There now, all better." Keyna said patronizingly.

O'Neill, still trembling from the ordeal, said nothing.

"Clean him up," Keyna told the guards. "But be gentle, you can see how delicate he is."

The guards took him away, and Keyna turned. He wiped his fingers and dropped the cloth on the tray. It fell on the side of the bowl with the generous helping of salt mixed in. The side he'd used on the new Mayra.

oOo

Hammond stood watching from the control room, trying not to let his anxiety show. He wished he could be in the gate room itself, but that would be inappropriate. And unfair. The rescue team sent after Colonel O'Neill was returning under heavy fire; the lower officers in charge of guarding the gate room should not have to worry about protecting their General or listening for his orders over their immediate commander's.

They spilled through the gate in quick succession. First one man, crouched and dragging another's limp body, scuttled down the ramp and was taken to one side by a medical team. Then another flopped through with a grimace and slid himself to one side and half behind the gate, cradling his gun aimed back at it, ready to defend if needed. Another pair backed through, each with one arm around the other to help walk, and a weapon in their free hand. They swung to one side and knelt to be out of the way of the gate room defense squad, but also kept their aim on the gate. The last three backed through shoulder to shoulder, the one on the right gesturing for the iris to be closed. Every eye in the room stayed fixed on the gate until the protective cover was fully closed.

Colonel Wood spun sharply on his heel to confirm that the medical teams were on the way up the ramp to his injured men. He checked the three injured men still at the top of the ramp before stalking down it. The still-healthy pair who had backed through the gate with him needed no orders; they automatically split up and would stay with their injured comrades all the way to the infirmary.

Wood went to the last two of his men, the ones who had come through first. Blue had taken an unlucky hit under his arm, right at the small but undefended joint in his body armor. Winston knelt by his head, trying to look confident for his fallen partner, as the medics prepared to lift the man onto a gurney.

The doctor stood to speak to Wood. "We need to get a better picture of his injury, of course, but his vital signs are strong." She didn't have to explain. If his signs were still strong after being shot and then dragged home, he had to be in relatively good condition.

Hammond waited near the door, watching. He would see each man as he left the room, and let Wood have his time with them now. The Colonel's actions were sharp, his face set; he was clearly very angry. Wood nodded to the doctor, smiled encouragingly at Blue and Winston, then stalked over to where Hammond waited.

"How are the men?"

Wood's expression softened a bit; he appreciated that Hammond's first question was about his men and not the mission results or the still-missing officer. "Should be ok, sir. Blue took a bad hit, but the others are leg wounds." He glanced around the room, re-checking his people. "The enemy are fast learners, sir. Figured out that their weapons weren't penetrating our armor, and started trying to trip or knock us down instead so they could make a physical capture. We kept ahead of them despite some falls until Barnaby got hit on the bottom of his foot while he was getting up." The soles of the boots were not armored, just leather to make it easier to walk. "They combined tactics, sending a barrage of fire at the feet whenever any of us went down."

Hammond nodded. "Good job getting the team home, Ben."

Wood was looking past him at Blue, who was being rolled out of the room with Winston walking alongside.

"Do you have any news on Colonel O'Neill?"

Wood scowled furiously. "He gave the alarm and set the enemy on us!"

oOo

All the Mayree froze when Keyna's henchmen arrived at their enclosure.

"Mayra, come," they said, pointing to Jack.

He rose from his solitary place against the wall and went to them. No choice now, he reminded himself. Not any more. He would just have to be the perfect slave until he found a way out of this hell-hole.

They had him but good, this time, Jack thought grimly to himself. They demanded instant, total obedience or else they would... No, he wasn't going to think about what they would do, what they had done already to ensure his behavior. It would be so much easier if they would just hit him or something, instead of ... No, he reminded himself, don't think about that. Just do your job, soldier. Do what you need to do until you figure a way out of this. A way out for everyone, natives included. Trying to encourage himself, he reminded himself that if they truly believed him cowed, then his eventual uprising would be unexpected.

He followed the enormous men, Mayree themselves, out of the enclosure. They were there to enforce Keyna's will upon Mayra in training, with brute force if necessary. They were immense- the top of Jack's head didn't even reach the shoulder of the smaller one. Jack had resisted their discipline for days, even landed a few good blows as long as he evaded them, but as soon as one got a good hold on him he was finished. He supposed he should count himself fortunate that they limited their response to the letter of Keyna's command as they could easily pulverize him. He wondered briefly who had trained them.

Determined to avoid further punishment for his errors, he reviewed is his mind the things he had learned so for. Respond instantly to anything beginning or ending with Mayra. He would not be referred to by any specific name until he was considered fully trained. Do not respond to any comment, no matter how provocative or threatening, if the comment did not include the word Mayra. Keyna had already amused himself with this one before Jack caught on to the Simon-says rule. Do not look at Keyna unless directed to do so. Call Keyna by name every time he spoke to him. Well, he could call Keyna 'master' if he chose, but he would never choose to.

These were the only rules he knew so far, and they were hard won. Keyna would not tell him any rule until after he figured it out. Instead, there would be unexpected punishments, after which Keyna would ask Jack what he had done wrong. Only when Jack had the answer would Keyna confirm it.

He saw Keyna ahead and steeled himself for today's games. He did not expect any reward or relief for sounding the alarm on the rescue team yesterday. He could only hope that the heavily armored men had made it home safely, and wonder how Wood's mission report would read. He'd had no chance to explain his action; would the SGC even try to send anyone else? If they did, could they find a way to get him out? Or would they write him off as lost in action or, worse, as a traitor?

oOo

Keyna noted the change in the Mayra it and looked forward to a productive day. Now that he had found a deterrent that the stubborn Mayra would desperately try to avoid, it was simply a matter of time before he was driven to frustration, despair, and ultimately surrender.

He had known immediately that such a physical man would prefer physical punishment, something to be directly resisted. So he had given him none. The enforcers inflicted not an ounce more pressure than required to make him do what was required. Even the tasks set him were not physically challenging. He could sense the growing frustration, the need to take action, to lash out at some physical thing. He had even tested the Mayra with an outside task yesterday, one with no supervision the Mayra should have been aware of, expecting him to at least slack off and at most to attempt escape. To Keyna's surprise, the Mayra had not only obeyed his orders, he had raised the alarm when strangers approached him. The Mayra was intelligent; he had probably suspected the entire thing was a test, including the strangers. Keyna had more difficult things in mind for today.

As the day wore on, Keyna grew more and more vexed. He had been pleased at first that the Mayra was behaving himself. He had performed each of the increasingly disagreeable tasks with no hesitation. But he was simply making choices; selecting the assigned task over the punishment. That was fine to start with. He could be trusted to behave while he was watched, or if the results of his efforts could be measured. Such half-training, though, led to Mayree who had to be watched, who did things behind their master's back, who might refuse a difficult or painful command. Keyna turned out no such creatures; he prided himself on his work. His Mayree would not dream of disobeying or escaping. He knew; he tested them all to the limits.

This Mayra had taken the first step. Now he had to be pushed beyond. Keyna would have to find some intolerable tasks if he were to break the Mayra. Things that made him choose punishment instead, or at least hesitate to obey. Then force him to comply anyway, as many times as necessary until he no longer resisted. Only when he unquestioningly and immediately obeyed even the ugliest orders would he be fully trained.