Universal Beat
By Aeddey - AbbyEddey@yahoo.com 

                         *******************

Includes: The Muse
          The Nu
          Choices

                         *******************

RATING: R

WARNINGS: adult themes, raw language, minor character death, explicit 
sexual situations, violence

CATEGORY: Action/Adventure, Angst, Filk/Song, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, 
Series

PAIRING: Sam/Jack

SPOILERS: "Menace"

TIME FRAME: Events take place after "Menace."

SUMMARY: Ever wonder why O'Neill didn't just transfer Carter out of SG-
1 and get on with the romance?

     The Muse: O'Neill gets a gift and loses control.
     The Nu: Powerful forces unite to save O'Neill ... or is it to 
             sacrifice him?
     Choices: Jack loses his memory...Sam takes charge.

URL: http://www.geocities.com/slbenjamin/FANGATEHOME.html

DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of 
Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko 
Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only 
and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement 
is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the 
property of the author(s).

Copyright 2001


                         *******************

The Muse

A wall of sound -- intense and pulsing -- hit O'Neill's ears as he 
emerged from the vortex of aqua-tinted energy and his foot touched 
P3X531.  "One giant step for mankind," he mused, "this time to a beat."  
O'Neill didn't like it – well the music was nice and the scene 
stunning.  But, threat assessment and *any* form of communication were 
difficult and that made him nervous.  

Captain Samantha Carter, Teal'C and Doctor Daniel Jackson, coming hot 
on his heels through the Star Gate, were equally stunned by the sound.  
The Gate stood at one end of a large plaza, surrounded by buildings, 
according to the Mobile Analytic Laboratory Probe (M.A.L.P.) images.  
This was the first contact with the people here, yet the pulsating 
crowd ignored SG-1 and the belching Gate.  

The scene *was* stunning. The plaza was a mass of swirling color, 
silks, bejeweled arms and legs, swinging hair as the local populace of 
P3X531 celebrated... something... apparently.  

Colonel Jack O'Neill stuck a finger in the ear equipped with an 
earpiece and tried to pick out the sound of Carter's voice.  He knew 
she was talking.  Her lips were moving not three inches from his ear, 
but nothing... just lilting, rhythmic music. 

"It sounds middle-eastern," he thought and shifted to hand signals, 
effectively ordering SG-1 out of the plaza to seek a quiet location 
away from the pulsating color and sound.  "Weird how sometimes the 
M.A.L.P. missed these sorts of things," O'Neill reflected as something 
like a Kemence, a narrow bowed instrument, droned out an exotic 
undulating tune that filled his mind.  He liked it.  

"Nice counterpoint to the plink-plunking sounds of the Tari," he 
thought.  "Kemence?  Tar? I'm spending *way* too much time around 
Jackson!"

Teal'C took point, Carter and Daniel were in the middle and O'Neill 
brought up the rear. They hugged the buildings that lined the plaza.  
Normally, he'd see trouble a mile away from that position.  Normally 
there was something to *be* seen.  Not this time.

Even as the team moved away from the plaza and the Gate, the music 
swelled.  Everything *looked* normal, but O'Neill was finding it 
increasingly difficult to concentrate and he didn't really mind.  The 
sound was mesmerizing, especially coupled with the flashing colors of 
the dancing crowd and pulsing vibrations he could feel coming through 
his boot soles from the ground and moving up through his legs into his 
belly and chest.  It made him want to ... move...

Teal'c turned to see O'Neill standing stock-still, staring, far behind 
the rest of the team. When the Colonel started to move into the crowd, 
the big Jaffa instantly signaled to Carter, who turned and jogged back 
to the Colonel with Daniel Jackson tagging along.  

"Colonel?"  Carter shouted, first into his ear and then into her vest-
mounted microphone.  "Colonel O'Neill?"  O'Neill stared at her, 
squinting slightly as if trying to make out her words.  Already, Teal'c 
and Daniel were beside her. 

"I think we need to abort," Carter shouted first to an unresponsive 
O'Neill and then to Teal'c, who nodded his acknowledgement. "Grab the 
Colonel, something's wrong," Carter shouted, miming her orders to the 
rest of the team just to be sure.  Together they maneuvered O'Neill 
back to the Gate.  Daniel activated it, the wormhole formed, the 
liquid-blue energy of the Gate stabilized and they all stepped through.

The Star Gate wormhole to 'terra firma' was bone-numbingly cold.  Even 
after several years of gate-travel the cold remained impressive to all 
Star Gate travelers from the Star Gate Control.  Teal'c, who had joined 
SCG in order to liberate his home world of Chulak, seemed unaffected.  
But, trained as a Jaffa from his childhood, Teal'c was an exception. 

The effects of Gate travel wore off quickly on the other side, but 
suspended for a few moments the Team felt as if they'd never emerge 
into warmth and normalcy.  Then, it passed and they staggered through 
in a more-or-less controlled freefall from indescribable sensations of 
passage through a wormhole to drab familiarity of the Gate Room deep 
beneath Cheyenne Mountain Military Complex outside of Colorado Springs.  
Carter shook off the effects of the transit and turned to O'Neill.  He 
was blinking, shaking his head and had a finger in his ear, yawning 
broadly like an airline traveler trying to adjust pressure after a 
sudden descent.  "Colonel?  Are you OK?" she queried.  

O'Neill's clear brown eyes looked down into hers.  "Fine, Captain. 
Fine."  He seemed fine as General George Hammond, commanding General of 
the SGC, strode to the platform expecting an explanation for the 
aborted mission. 

"Colonel? What happened?" Hammond inquired.  

O'Neill turned and smiled.  "Why nothing, General Hammond, nothing at 
all.  We came, we saw, we conjectured."  

Hammond nodded, taking this for the usual O'Neill wit, and let it go.  
"OK, debriefing in 15-minutes, people.  We can get into details then."  

O'Neill was already moving toward the door.  "Yeah, he seems fine," 
thought Carter.  "It was probably a glitch in the communicators.  I'll 
check it out before the briefing," and she headed for Engineering.

Seventeen minutes later, Hammond sat drumming his fingers at the head 
of the conference table.  Carter, Jackson and Teal'c shifted uneasily 
in their seats.  O'Neill had not appeared.  

Captain Carter reviewed her report mentally.  "The communicators 
apparently failed on P3X531.  Upon examination her gear had checked 
out, as had Jackson's and Teal'c's. So," Carter deliberated, "the 
problem is likely to be in the Colonel's equipment."  

It made sense that the problem would be found there.  He'd been the one 
who seemed to experience most of the confusion.  She'd not been able to 
check it out because O'Neill had vanished right after they returned.  
She planned to complete her analysis by checking it after the briefing. 
A drumming sound brought her out of her contemplation.  It was the 
sound of an increasingly agitated General Hammond.  

Carter glanced at her field watch, "25-after the hour. Where was 
O'Neill?  It wasn't like him to be late," Carter thought. "Sarcastic, 
yes. Insubordinate? Sometimes.  Late? Never."

                         *******************

Peeved, General Hammond rose, stalked to his office and spoke sharply 
into the telephone.  Moments later an announcement rang through the 
SGC.  "Colonel O'Neill, please report to the briefing room.  Colonel 
O'Neill report to the briefing room, *immediately*."

Three minutes later, by Carter's watch, O'Neill burst through the door, 
red-faced and flustered.  "Sorry General," he muttered as he flung his 
lanky frame into his customary chair.  

Hammond glared at him and ordered Carter to proceed, "If you please, 
Captain."

"Sir, SG-1 experienced communications problems almost immediately on 
P3X531.  Colonel O'Neill directed us to exit the plaza by use of hand 
signals because our communications gear seemed to be on the blink."

Hammond looked puzzled.  "Why did you need the gear at all?"  

Before Carter could reply, O'Neill interjected.  "There was the most 
*amazing* music, General.  I've never heard anything like it.  It had a 
sort of middle-eastern flavor, but it was different somehow... The 
plaza was *filled* with sound and color and dance.  It was 
*unbelievable*."

Carter, Teal'c and Daniel stared as O'Neill rhapsodized.  "My God, he 
sounds like *me*," thought Daniel.  

O'Neill's eyes shone as he recounted the scene, "And the jewelry and 
attire of the local population was also very striking.  It seemed as 
though the entire event was choreographed, somehow.  It was very 
impressive... and really quite moving, Sir." 

While SG-1 had gaped at O'Neill, Hammond had grown increasingly 
furious.  Normally O'Neill was prompt, so he'd planned to let him off 
lightly for his tardiness.  But, now he was wasting more time with 
this... odd...joke.  

"This is *enough*," Hammond decided as he snapped,  "Colonel O'Neill, I 
don't usually mind your offbeat jokes.  I like a sense of humor in my 
commanders.  It is good for team morale and I find that people who 
enjoy humor are generally intelligent, sensitive and creative.  But 
Colonel, this is *way* over the edge!  You have crossed over from humor 
to ... I don't know what! I've had enough of it.  You will sit there, 
Colonel, and be *quiet* while Captain Carter completes the briefing. 
Then, Sir we will have a private conversation.  Captain, please 
continue."

Carter was blushing furiously for O'Neill as she continued.  "General, 
as Colonel O'Neill ... indicated... there was a lot of music and we 
were in the midst of a large crowd.  So, he ordered us out of the 
plaza.  On the way, however, communication became increasingly 
problematic.  The Colonel fell behind... and when I was unable to 
communicate with him, I pulled the plug on the mission.  We came 
directly back through the Gate.  Since our return, I ran several 
diagnostics on the gear.  It has checked out so far.  But... I still 
need to test Colonel O'Neill's communicator and earpiece."

Hammond's face darkened, "You already checked the others?" Carter 
nodded, "Yes, sir."  

"Then, why not the Colonel's, Captain?"  

Carter looked uncomfortable, thinking "this has *not* been a good day 
for Colonel O'Neill," she said, "Well, General, I missed the Colonel 
after we got back and there wasn't much time before the briefing, so I 
thought I could complete my analysis after I saw him here."  

"You *missed* the Colonel," Hammond pressed the matter.  He recognized 
all the signs of a subordinate covering for a superior officer.  "Why 
was that?"

"Well, I just couldn't find him..." Carter stated lamely.  "Dammit!" 
She thought, "I didn't want to say that."  

To her surprise, Hammond was looking kindly at O'Neill and asked him 
gently, "Where were you, Jack?"

O'Neill smiled as he answered.  "I went down to the Rec Room, sir.  
There are some *excellent* watercolors down there and I was checking 
out the technique."

Stunned, Daniel Jackson blurted the thought that was on everyone's 
mind. "I never knew you like to paint, Jack!"

O'Neill looked bemused.  "I don't."

                         *******************

Captain Carter and Daniel discussed the bizarre de-briefing as they 
walked down a maze of steel gray corridors toward Engineering.  Hammond 
had concluded by gently ordering O'Neill to the Infirmary, asking 
Teal'c to accompany him as a thinly veiled means of keeping O'Neill 
under observation. Teal'c was one of the few people at SGC who could 
take on O'Neill in hand-to-hand combat and win.  Also Hammond was 
confident that the big Jaffa would take special pains not to unduly 
injure his friend, if O'Neill's strange behavior became irrational or 
dangerous and required physical restraint.  It was a thought Hammond 
did not relish, but he was obliged to plan for all contingencies (to 
the extent possible in a facility like SGC). 

Carter intended to check O'Neill's gear. Given his uncharacteristic 
behavior, she realized she was probably *ruling out* a possible 
explanation rather than finding the source.  "But sometimes that's the 
best Science can do," Carter thought.  

Daniel Jackson walked alongside Carter on the way to his office where 
he hoped he could turn something up from Earth culture that might 
provide insights into the culture of P3X531.  He was rattling on about 
"The Muse" as he walked.  

"You see, Sam," Daniel expounded, "comparatively little ancient Greek 
music survives. Although the oldest examples date to the third century 
BCE, they are really fragments, at best. Most *complete* examples were 
composed in the Graeco-Roman period by Mesomedes, the court musician 
for Hadrian, who reigned between the years of 117 and 138, Common Era. 
Mesomedes was born in Crete but lived as a freedman of Hadrian."ii

Carter spun on Daniel, "What's the point?"  

Daniel blinked with surprise.  "Oh, sorry!  The point is, I think, from 
what we saw of the culture on P3X531 that there are likely to be strong 
connections between the people of that world and Earth culture at the 
time and location of Mesomedes."

"And why is that?" Carter probed, realizing that she could never 
concentrate on her own train of thought while Daniel needed to bounce 
his ideas off someone ... well, *her*.

"Well, it is still just a hunch, but there are characteristics of the 
architecture, the jewelry and even the words to the songs we heard that 
remind me of that period.  And if I am right and there is a connection, 
Jack's behavior *might* be explained by an ancient song, the 'Hymn to 
the Muse' written by Mesomedes.  The Greek translates something like 
this."  

Daniel cleared his throat and chanted,

"Oh Muse, Thou dear one, sing to me,
Commence and order my song.
Cool breezes blowing from Thy groves
In-spire my breast and rouse my heart.

Calliopeia Thou wise
Principal of the Muses delightful,
Thou too, wise mystery guide,
Leto's child, Thou Delian Paean,
Be propitious and stand by me." iii

Daniel concluded his recitation, looking expectantly at Carter.  
Getting only a blank stare, he tried to explain further, "'The Delian 
child of Leto' is, of course, the Greek God Apollo, and 'Paean' refers 
to Him as Savior."

As Carter continued to look mystified, Daniel realized his half-formed 
thoughts were not yet ready for prime time.  "Never mind, thanks Sam!  
I'll be back to you when I can actually explain this!" Doctor Jackson 
disappeared down the hall leading to his office, intoning the "Hymn to 
the Muse" under his breath.
Carter turned and continued toward Engineering. This was turning out to 
be a *very strange day*.

                         *******************

Teal'c sat contemplating his friend and comrade-in-arms.  After 
completing a physical exam at the Infirmary, Doctor Frazier had 
directed O'Neill -- and Teal'c as his keeper -- here to what she 
described as "an enriched creative environment."  Teal'c strongly 
suspected O'Neill was being studied like the creatures Carter referred 
to as "lab rats," but O'Neill gave no sign of minding.  It was curious 
to see O'Neill like this.  He seemed calm, *absorbed* in fact, as he 
focused on the task before him – applying paint to a clean, white 
rectangle of canvas.  Frazier, seconded by physicians and psychologists 
who normally dealt with battle trauma, family counseling or the 
occasional depression-case, watched in fascination.

Doctor Janet Frazier had known Jack O'Neill for more than two years.  
In fact, after adopting Cassandra -- a youngster O'Neill had rescued 
from a village destroyed by the Goa'uld -- Janet had relied on O'Neill 
as a surrogate father figure for her adopted daughter.  She thought 
back to their encounters off base.  O'Neill had played with Cassandra, 
including drawing, coloring and messing around with finger paints.  She 
didn't recall the results.  The point had always been Cassandra, not 
the art.  Certainly it had not been *anything* like this.  

O'Neill was poised over the canvas, concentrating on it like a predator 
stalking prey.  He was perfectly calm, even content, as his eyes and 
hands worked.  "The results are extraordinary," she thought.  Although, 
she'd had little time for formal art study, Frazier had dated an 
accomplished painter for several wild months as a pre-med student.  
From what she could tell, O'Neill was better, far better and he'd been 
working for – Frazier glanced at her watch – one hour and twenty-three 
minutes, not including the half-hour of art appreciation he'd spent in 
the Rec Room earlier that day.  What had happened to him on P3X531?

Jack O'Neill knew he was being 'observed' by the 'white-coats' and that 
Teal'c was tagging along as Hammond's generous attempt at a low-profile 
guard.  "Strange that I don't care," he thought.  Somehow what mattered 
at the moment to the exclusion of anything else was achieving the 
proper rendering of the light across the Temple of the Sun on P3X322.  
It had been breathe-taking when he'd seen it on a mission last month.  
He remembered the flutter in his heart as the light broke over the 
horizon, its rays catching in the towers of the temple like... "Like 
what?"  At the time he'd kept his emotions to himself and directed the 
mission as he always did with efficiency, recognizing that distractions 
might cost lives.  "Now, what would more white do along here?" He 
thought.

As hours passed, observers trickled away or fell asleep. Still O'Neill 
painted deep into the night, buoyed by a sensation of the images 
passing *through* him from ... somewhere beyond.  At other moments it 
was as if another force directed his brush or he would hear a small, 
quiet voice whisper in his ear.  Even Teal'c had fallen asleep, slumped 
on a stool in the corner, when O'Neill felt closure.  It was done.  He 
quietly placed his brush and paint on a table, stretched enormously and 
smiled.  "It is *well* done," the voice whispered. "Imagine that!" 
O'Neill mused.

                         *******************

In another part of the SGC, Doctor Daniel Jackson was hearing a small, 
quiet voice, as well.  It was telling him two things that he *really* 
didn't want to hear.  

First, his plunge into in-depth research on the worship of "The Muse" 
only strengthened his conviction that Jack O'Neill was in *serious* 
trouble, possibly possessed by some form of ... Jackson didn't have a 
term for the force, aside from those in common usage ... creativity, 
muse, inspiration.  From what Jackson could tell the force was not 
Goa'uld-based.  Nor was it any of the other parasitic or mechanical 
forms of control that SG-teams had encountered to date – Doctor Frazier 
had ruled out nannites and other electromagnetic devices that might 
have been implanted in O'Neill in the brief span when he stood apart 
from the rest of SG-1.  

That was the good news. 

The bad news was that all available information on the Muse indicated 
that it is a compelling, irresistible force ... of great power.  The 
story of "The Muse" in Earth culture was largely the story of brilliant 
lives destroyed – Van Gogh, Nietzsche... and O'Neill?  Daniel 
shuddered, recalling a quote from Aristotle; "There was never a genius 
without a tincture of madness." 

Second, the answer was not here on Earth.  Jackson heard the small 
quiet voice whispering, "You have to go back."

                         *******************

As dawn broke over the Colorado Mountains, Jack O'Neill sprinted along 
a trail to the summit where Cheyenne Mountain reached into the rarified 
air over 7,000 feet above sea level. His security clearance was intact 
and he'd left Teal'c slumbering deep in the bowels of the mountain.  
O'Neill felt alive and free.  He felt the wind on his skin, smelled the 
turpines emitted by the deep evergreen forests and, when he broke 
through the tree line two miles past the security gate at the end of 
the road, he felt he'd touched something sublime. 

There was a phrase, a scrap of melody working through his mind as he 
ran and a lightness of spirit that he'd never known in his adult life. 
The melody took shape and coursed in time to the blood pounding in his 
veins and the wind on his skin.  Something wonderful waited ahead, he 
knew, it called to him from the summit.  

                         *******************

When Teal'c awoke he reported O'Neill's absence to General Hammond 
immediately. "I have failed you General Hammond," he said with a 
respectful bow.  Hammond realized there was nothing to say to the 
Jaffa.  Any small words of comfort he could offer would only reinforce 
the failure and probably insult Teal'c's honor.  "It's my own fault," 
thought Hammond.  "Teal'c should have had backup." To the big man 
before him, Hammond snapped an order.  "Well, let's find him.  Have 
Carter check the computers, he must be somewhere in the complex."  
Teal'c bowed and left, honoring Hammond for understanding the code 
befitting a leader of warriors.  

At Teal'c's request, Carter quickly ascertained O'Neill's movements. 
"Let's see," his pass activated the door to his quarters at 0300 hours.  
Fifteen minutes later he entered the library where he... accessed the 
music library tapes – Leo Kottke?  After two hours his pass was used 
again to ... Oh-My-Gosh... Teal'c he's left the complex.  The computer 
shows he went through the last security gate, going up the Mountain at 
0513 hours."

When Teal'c reported to Hammond, there were some decisions to be made.  
First, O'Neill must be collected, preferably with a minimum of fuss.  
Second, Hammond needed a briefing from Frazier, Carter and Jackson on 
the results of their research.  Almost twenty-four hours had passed 
since O'Neill returned with his new passion for the Humanities.  
Hammond had a niggling feeling that, if this thing were to be reversed 
somehow, it would need to be soon.  The General thought a moment and 
ordered the remnants of SG-1 to the briefing room with a request to 
Doctor Frazier to join them there as soon as possible.  Hammond 
hesitated to send anyone but SG-1 after the Colonel.  Maybe he'd go 
himself, once he had things sorted out.  O'Neill would just have to 
look after himself for a while longer, while Hammond got the lay of the 
land.  

                         *******************

O'Neill stood on the knife-edge of the summit as morning washed across 
the mountain tops and sliced across the valleys below in long diagonal 
slices of gold.  As he stood, heart pounding in the cold mountain air 
there was a moment of ... "What?"  He couldn't say it with words.  He 
closed his eyes and grasped the moment.  He held it, captured it and 
then turned to jog back to SGC to find a way to make the music he'd 
seen.

                         *******************

Hammond had called together SG-1 and Doctor Frazier for an early 
morning meeting on O'Neill's situation.  They were gathered in the 
briefing room.  Everyone looked serious and a bit strained, in part, 
Hammond thought because O'Neill was not there to relieve the tension 
with a quip or a feeble joke.

"Colonel O'Neill has undergone a dramatic change in a very few hours," 
reported Doctor Frazier.  "That alone is cause for concern in a man in 
his position, of course.  In addition, I've reviewed the computer 
records of his activities.  He hasn't slept in 24-hours.  Research 
indicates that sleep deprivation of only a few days can result in 
psychosis and in a matter of extended deprivation can lead to death.  
Obviously, I will intervene if necessary.  Right now he is in his 
quarters."  Frazier steeled herself.  "General, I recommend that 
Colonel O'Neill be relieved of duty pending resolution of this ... 
condition or at least a better understanding of what has happened to 
him."

Hammond sighed and nodded, "I concur Doctor, with great regret. I've 
relieved Colonel O'Neill of duty.  I'd planned to stop by his quarters 
and talk to him about it.  He came back on his own?"  Teal'c nodded.  
"Well that's one less thing to worry about. So Doctor, what is our next 
step?"

"Actually, General, I think the next step should be left up to Colonel 
O'Neill," she replied.  Seeing that Hammond looked doubtful, she 
expounded.  "In some cases of obsessive behavior the patient 
experiences spontaneous recovery after a certain point of ... well 
'super-saturation' might be the word for it.  By allowing the person to 
complete the task he is driven to perform, the drive is sometimes 
satisfied."  

Hammond continued to give Frazier the fish-eye.  "What are the chances 
in this case?"  Frazier shook her head, "I have no way of knowing that, 
General.  I'm sorry."  Hammond had his answer.

"So we move to the next question.  What happened to Colonel O'Neill 
yesterday, people?"  Hammond looked from one face to the other.  Daniel 
shifted uneasily, so Hammond gave him an opening.  "Yes, Doctor 
Jackson?"  

"General, I think we need to return to the planet to find out *what* 
happened."  Carter had been sitting on her hands, but she's right 
behind Daniel on this idea.  "I concur, Sir.  I sent a MALP through 
this morning and the plaza appears quiet and relatively empty.  There 
are just a few passers-by, like the set of transmissions received 
before our mission.  Whatever was happening when we arrived yesterday, 
it seems to be over now.  I'd like to lead the team back to speak to 
those people. It might be the only way we will find out how to help the 
Colonel."

Hammond nodded. "Alright Captain, Doctor Jackson, Teal'c.  You have 
permission for a return mission to P3X531."  Hammond turned to Frazier, 
"Thank you for your insights into this problem Doctor."

Frazier interrupted, "Permission to go along, General?  I really think 
it might be something medical. Perhaps the locals have a way to treat 
it..."

Hammond nodded again, "Granted.  Bring back a solution, SG-1."

                         *******************

Carter wasted no time.  She rapidly assembled the team, including 
Doctor Frazier, checked over their preparations and advised the Doctor 
on what to bring and what might occur on the other side of the Gate.  
Within fifteen minutes, Carter had her team assembled in the Gate Room 
and the Star Gate was activated.  

After chevrons one through seven locked in place, the Star Gate belched 
a blue, swirling vortex of energy.  As soon as it stabilized, Carter 
led the team through.  As she felt the wormhole take her and fling her 
across the time/space continuum, she hoped she'd be wise enough to 
solve this puzzle.  Daniel's voice sounded in her ears, 'Calliopeia 
Thou wise, Principal of the Muses delightful, Thou too, wise mystery 
guide, be propitious and stand by me.' 

Carter emerged into a sunny day on the large, gracious plaza.  
Pedestrians were visible here and there about the space and it was 
nothing like the scene from the previous morning.  There was no music. 
Well, there was a snatch of a tune from somewhere, but it didn't seem 
to present any threat.  She checked her communication gear with Teal'c 
and Daniel.  Working.  After a glance at Doctor Frazier to make sure 
she'd come through without a problem, Carter squared her shoulders and 
surveyed the plaza.  Several locals were standing, staring at them.  
One, the tallest one, wearing flowing gowns of a filmy material, "a 
woman," Carter decided, approached.  

Carter led the team down the three steps from the Gate platform to 
plaza-level.  The tall woman walked gracefully to them, stopped and 
executed a deep bow from the waist. "Like a yoga stretch," Carter 
observed.  

"Kalim Era," she said as she straightened to her full six-foot-six 
stature, "Ime o Celeste."

Carter bowed (from the neck) and said, "Thank you."  

Daniel stepped in, bowing low, before someone was inadvertently 
offended by a mistake in protocol.  Speaking Greek, he struggled to 
match her alien inflections, "We are from Earth.  I understand you, but 
my friends do not.  Can you understand me?"

Celeste bowed her head slightly to indicate her understanding, so 
Daniel continued.

"We have come through your Gate seeking knowledge. I am Daniel.  My 
friends are Captain Carter, Doctor Frazier and Teal'c.  Will you teach 
us of your people and your ways?" 

The tall woman smiled warmly, "I am Celeste and this is the home of the 
Antonines.  You are welcome. I will teach if you will learn, all that 
is within my ability."  Celeste appraised the Team and proceeded, "You 
have come far and have much to ask, I see.  Come."  She turned and 
escorted the Team across the sun-soaked plaza toward a building at the 
other end of the space.

Inside, the air was cool.  The walls were light.  "Lumination or 
natural light?" Carter wondered. "Lighter near the top, probably a 
natural light source." 

"Like a museum," Daniel thought, "or a school."

"No apparent threat," Teal'c decided.  

Doctor Frazier's mind was still spinning from Gate travel and the 
sudden plunge into a thoroughly alien world.  Her disorientation was 
somehow made worse by the sense that, somewhere, she'd seen this all 
before from a different perspective, like the feeling you get when you 
walk the halls of your former grade school.

Celeste led SG-1 to a comfortable space that appeared to be a sort of 
herbarium.  A fountain at the center splashed lightly, the green of the 
plants softened and tinted the stark white marble walls with patterns 
of shadow and reflected color.  Bright cushions provided comfortable 
constellations of space for people to lounge with scrolls, apparently 
reading or writing, or gathering in small groups for discussions, or 
perhaps it was instruction.  At a signal from Celeste the team settled 
onto four cushions in a sunny spot of the room.  She gracefully settled 
on a cushion on a step that placed her slightly higher than the group 
before her.  

"Hmm," Daniel noted, "Several other groups are in this same 
arrangement.  Perhaps this is the form of instruction among the 
Antonines."  He was brought back to the moment when Celeste spoke.

"Begin."

"What is this place?" Daniel asked.  "This is our center of learning," 
Celeste answered.  Daniel rapidly translated her response and continued 
to act as interpreter, allowing the Team to communicate with Celeste 
through him.

"What do you teach here?" asked Carter.  "All things that are known and 
the inquiry into that which is not known," Celeste replied.

"Today your people teach and learn.  Yesterday they sang and danced," 
Teal'c said. "Why."

Celeste looked surprised, but not alarmed to Carter's relief.  "Today 
is a day for study and contemplation, yesterday was a day for 
inspiration."

"It looked like a very special day," Carter probed. "Yes," Celeste 
smiled.  "It was our Amusement."  

"Please tell us about Amusement," said Doctor Frazier.

"Amusement is a way for us to open the door to things unknown and ... 
welcome them into our place in existence.  We sing.  We dance. We 
ornament ourselves and show our appreciation of beauty, harmony and 
elation for one day in twenty.  It is a very special and important 
event."

Daniel takes a chance, "Because the Muse comes?"

"Yes, to a few of Antonines the Gift of the Muse is given."

"What is the gift?" Frazier asked.  "The Gift is an open door," Celeste 
replied enigmatically.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Daniel probed. Celeste paused for a 
moment of reflection, "The gift is different for each one Gifted.  Like 
a door, each person must pass through in his or her own way to a better 
place, a place of more perfect understanding."

"A *better* place?" asked Daniel.  "Yes, better, more clear.  It is a 
great gift and a great responsibility," Celeste solemnly explained.

"Why a responsibility?" asked Carter.  "The gift must be shared.  Those 
who are not Gifted, learn and grow through the visions of those who 
have passed through the door."

"What if the gift is not shared?" Frazier asked quietly.  This is the 
first question that has shocked Celeste.

"Why would a Gifted not share the gift?  Surely there is no benefit to 
withholding that which cannot be contained, the immeasurable, the 
infinite."

Frazier persisted, "But if a Gifted person were to *try* to withhold 
the gift.  What would happen?"

Celeste looks somber, "Pain, anguish, madness and death, I believe.  
According to our ancient scholars the Gift comes to us from the Muse.  
It is a gift to be cherished.  To scorn it would be blasphemy.  Such a 
Gifted would know the wrath of the Gods.  Such strange questions these 
are.  Why do you ask them?"

Carter glanced around the group, receives a slight nod from Daniel and 
a more urgent look from Frazier.  She speaks carefully.  "Celeste, we 
ask because we need your help.  Yesterday, during the Amusement we came 
through the Star Gate.  We came to greet your people and establish 
friendship.  We saw you dancing and heard your music.  One of our 
friends was with us.  Something happened to him.  He... is different 
now."

Celeste looks deep into Carter's eyes, "He is inspired?"  Carter nods, 
"Yes, you could call it that.  Since yesterday he has painted, read 
books on the Arts, learned to play the guitar and written poetry..."

"This is the Gift.  The Muse seeks out those to receive it during 
Amusement.  Your friend has been Gifted.  It is a wonderful thing.  He 
must treasure it!  Here, the Gifted spend their lives in celebration of 
the Muse, creating music and art.  They celebrate the Muse in their 
writing or in architecture or the making of other useful things of 
beauty and internal harmony."  

"Their *lives*," Carter asked with the sudden vision of Jack O'Neill 
living out the rest of his days in an artists' colony in San Francisco. 
"Samuels would *love* that," she thought and then shuddered.  

Colonel "Sparky" Samuels had an axe to grind with SGC, and especially 
with Jack O'Neill.  O'Neill was merciless to fools and Samuels was a 
fool of the first order of magnitude.  If Jack were to try to separate 
from the military, with what he knew, to live an *alternative* 
lifestyle as an itinerant artist, the military would not allow it and 
Samuels would have his chance for revenge.  

Hammond would do what he could, but Carter had no doubt what-so-ever 
that somehow, somewhere, someone would get to O'Neill and ... living as 
Celeste described was simply not an option.  There had to be another 
solution.

                         *******************

It had been an amazing mission.  The community of Antonines was among 
the most creative and well-ordered societies the SGC had encountered.  
The planet was beautiful, the climate temperate and the landscape lush 
and fertile with wilder areas visible a short distance from the 
village.  If not for O'Neill's predicament, Carter would have counted 
the visit to P3X531 as a potential blessing.  There was a great deal 
the Antonines could offer Earth, including a sophisticated view of 
creativity and its role in government, science and society.

Celeste was an obliging, no a *delightful* host.  She reminded Daniel 
of Miss Pierce, his Fifth-Grade teacher.  She had the same open mind 
and delighted in answering questions in a way that inspired the one who 
asked to think more deeply and, somehow, differently about the subject.  
He *loved* that about Miss Pierce and, by the end of their visit, he 
was a little more than half in love with Celeste, in a strictly 
Platonic way of course.

They had toured the entire City and seen the Gifted and their work in 
honor of the Muse in all its many forms.  There were statutes, pottery 
and other crafts, buildings and entire architectural areas devoted to 
the Muse.  They attended three performances – two musical and one an 
interpretive dance and theatrical performance.  The work was fantastic, 
even though Daniel was the only team-member who could follow the 
language.  The Gifted worked industriously, were honored and praised 
for their creations and were clearly the leaders of the Antonine 
culture and maybe even its government.  

"Pretty impressive," Carter thought as Celeste escorted them across the 
square.  She almost envied O'Neill.  What would it be like to be able 
to create such beauty, to transform the worldview of those around you?  
A little like her work in Physics, Carter supposed.  Her gift was a 
small one by comparison, but she'd begun to realize that perhaps she 
didn't need to pity O'Neill, just try to understand him and *help* him 
through that door to... no one knew.

By the time they returned through the Gate, Doctor Frazier had a 
working hypothesis as to how to proceed with the Colonel.  She would 
discover at the briefing that it was strangely consistent with the 
thoughts of Daniel Jackson and Captain Carter.  The simple truth was 
that, as lovely as life was among the Gifted on P3X531, O'Neill wasn't 
living there.  He was at Cheyenne Mountain, the most deeply classified 
and restricted area of the U.S. military, and he was in big trouble.

                         *******************

The trouble had started soon after Carter had led SG-1 through the Star 
Gate.  General Hammond had reluctantly dropped in on O'Neill.  Hammond 
had heard soft guitar music coming from the Colonel's quarters.  The 
soft strumming was comforting, somehow, to the distressed General.  He 
paused for a moment outside the door, put his aching head against the 
lintel and listened.  

"I never knew he had it in him," Hammond thought.  "All these years 
I've known Jack, I knew he was many things, but not this."  The music 
lifted his spirits and, as much as he hated to interrupt, Hammond 
knocked softly on the door.

The music slid to an upbeat stop.  "C'mon in," called O'Neill.  "Hey, 
General Hammond!  Is there something I can do for you, Sir?"  O'Neill 
seemed fine.  In fact, he was relaxed and smiling, happier that Hammond 
had ever seen him.  

"Jack, I need to talk to you."  O'Neill hopped out of his chair and 
swung it toward the coffee table.  "Sure, take a seat, General.  What's 
this all about?"

"Is there anything you want to tell me, Colonel?" Hammond began, amazed 
that he'd been standing here for more than a minute without O'Neill 
querying him about SG-1, the status of the mission or his own status in 
the SGC. This was not normal.  "No, Sir.  I've been working on this 
piece.  Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Sort of Colonel.  Jack, I've relieved you of duty for the time-being."  
Hammond felt his face flush.  Somehow he felt ashamed.  O'Neill had 
been 'changed' in the line of duty.  If he'd been shot, fallen off a 
cliff or suffered from battle fatigue O'Neill's record would be clean 
and he would retain his rank and full privileges, including that of 
command as soon as he was deemed able.  But... this was different.

O'Neill sat very still, looking at Hammond keenly.  "Relieved?"  

Hammond nodded feeling the flush again.  "Yes Colonel.  Jack, until we 
understand what has happened to you, I don't know whether you've been 
compromised, whether you are fit... mentally or emotionally.  You know 
the rigors of command better than anyone else I know.  You can't afford 
to be ... distracted.  It's not fair to you or your people to allow you 
to continue as a field commander, if you aren't up to it.  People could 
get hurt.  How would you live with that?"  

"Yes, Sir.  Isn't that pretty much the fate of every commander, 
General?  One day we are injured; we make a mistake; we get old.  We 
are replaced.  I understand," O'Neill said, examining the fingers of 
his left hand as he positioned them on the guitar frets.  

Hammond couldn't believe his ears.  O'Neill was 45-years old, 
aggressive and had, until now, been totally absorbed with his service 
to his country, the SGC and, specifically to SG-1.  It rocked Hammond 
to realize that maybe O'Neill just didn't care.  

"Are you going to be alright?"  

The General started as Jack broke into his thoughts.  "I should be 
asking *you* that, Colonel," and was astounded to see O'Neill smile and 
pick up the guitar.  

"Listen to this," O'Neill said softly and began an intricate rhythm 
that became a soothing jazzy something and then transformed into a 
passionately sad pounding and strumming reminiscent of Fado music 
Hammond had heard in Lisbon years ago.  He realized then that O'Neill 
actually *was* suffering, in fact as O'Neill played Hammond realized 
how deeply sorrowful his former I2C was at the loss of his command – 
his life.  Rather than put it into words, he'd turned to this... Gift.  
The General leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes and listened as 
O'Neill improvised and he was strangely comforted.

The spell was broken when an airman appeared at O'Neill's door with 
word that the General had a telephone call from Washington.  

Hammond stood, feeling a cold knot in his gut.  "God-dammit.  This had 
better *not* be about O'Neill or there will be *hell* to pay!"  

He thought furiously.  Hammond had long suspected that Colonel Samuels, 
no friend to SGC, Hammond or, especially O'Neill, had spies within the 
SGC.  Samuels had worked there briefly before his underhanded nature 
and shoddy performance had caused Hammond to single him out for 
removal, at O'Neill's suggestion.  Unfortunately, like so many 
sycophants, *Major* Samuels had powerful friends.  His ejection from 
the SCG had only been possible as a promotion to Colonel and posting in 
Washington, D.C. where he continued to be a pain-in-Hammond's-ass 
whenever possible, more often than not in concert with the more 
intelligent, if equally unscrupulous, Harry Maybourne.  

The General quivered with rage as he imagined some low-level staffer, 
or civilian contractor, rushing home last evening, dialing the phone 
and filling Samuels in on all the juicy details of O'Neill's 
misfortune.  

"It had *better* not be Samuels, by God, or I'll have somebody's guts 
for garters," he raged.  Then, realizing he was standing there 
glowering at the unfortunate airman, he ordered her to transfer the 
call to O'Neill's quarters.

Jack continued lightly fingering the guitar frets, working through some 
complex piece of fingering while they waited.  Hammond was expecting 
the call, but jumped when the phone rang.  O'Neill let him pick up.

"General Hammond."  Hammond stood suddenly.  O'Neill, watching from 
across the room didn't like the look on his face or the sound of the 
next few words.  "Yes Mr. President.  Yes, Sir.  I understand.  Good-
bye Sir."   Hammond hung up the telephone and stood for a moment 
contemplating what had just happened.  

Then he straightened his uniform with a sharp pull, looked Jack 
straight in the eye and said, "Come with me, Colonel, please."

                         *******************

As he followed Hammond down the narrow gray halls of the SGC, deep 
beneath Cheyenne Mountain, O'Neill wasn't sure whether he was under 
arrest.  It was pretty clear that General Hammond had received orders – 
from the very top it seemed – and was prepared to act accordingly.  
O'Neill was not surprised.  More than once he had found himself at 
loggerheads with the General when they'd received orders that made no 
sense. The General had *always* done his duty and obeyed orders.  Well, 
there was that one time long ago when Lieutenant Hammond hadn't, but 
that was a long, long time ago.  

O'Neill considered his situation as the General escorted him... where?  
He didn't know but expected it was to the brig for the time being and 
then probably a military transport to D.C. where he'd be turned over 
for ... what?  Nothing good, from the dour look on Hammond's face.  

O'Neill's training kicked in – threat assessment.  What had happened to 
him?  Deep inside, he felt the same person he'd always been – well, 
happier maybe.  Yes, something had happened to him and he was 
*different* now, but not really, not deep down inside.  So, he was 
still himself, only ... It was like he had stepped through a door no 
one else could see and found himself with a new point of view, a point 
of view that appeared to be about forty-five degrees off from what 
everyone else perceived.  What had changed really?  

"I'm the same guy," O'Neill thought, "but I'm doing things differently.  
Two days ago, if Hammond had relieved me of command I'd have felt like 
my life was over.  OK, it still feels like he kicked me in the guts, 
but..." This was going nowhere. "OK. Take a different slant on this," 
O'Neill thought furiously. "What would I have done about it?  Two days 
ago, I'd be arguing with him, explaining his error, fighting for my 
life, threatening to resign.  Today, I played him a song.  Hmm.  That's 
different.  Really different!  Why?  What has changed?" O'Neill turned 
it over in his mind.  

"It feels like there is something new, inside," he decided.  "Whatever 
happens, I know it's there and ... no one can take it away.  *That's* 
the difference.  Doc Frazier had called it an 'internal locus of 
control.'"  O'Neill smiled as he replayed her concerned questioning of 
him. Everyone was pussyfooting around this *change*.

Hammond noticed O'Neill grinning and shuddered.  He would have 
preferred to have Jack in his face, shouting and complaining – that 
would have been far preferable to this passive acceptance.  He seemed 
untouched by the developments of the past half-hour.  Hammond had never 
known a military man who could smile in the face of such circumstances 
and, for the nth time in the past 30 hours, he wondered if O'Neill had 
lost his mind.

Hammond maneuvered O'Neill around the last turn in the hall and, to 
Jack's profound astonishment, walked him into the Gate Room.  Hammond 
turned quickly to face Jack.  His eyes were wide and a bit wild.  
O'Neill hadn't seen George like this since that time, years ago... 

"Colonel, it has been my extreme pleasure and honor to serve with you.  
I am hereby dismissing you from the service of a grateful nation."  
Hammond snapped a formal military salute, to the astonishment of the 
airmen and technicians wandering around the Gate Room, and O'Neill's as 
well.  Suddenly, Hammond had grasped O'Neill by his shoulders.  "Jack, 
you've been like a son to me.  The call I got was ordering me to turn 
you over to Samuels for ... study.  I won't do that Jack.  I wouldn't 
turn a complete stranger over to those people.  And... we owe you far 
too much to allow that to happen.  I'm sorry it has to be this way, but 
– Go – before they come for you, go.  Pick a place and go there.  I've 
got your back, Colonel."

O'Neill couldn't believe his ears.  "Go?  Dismissed?  What are you 
talking about, George?"  He raged.  "I'm not going *anywhere*.  If 
Samuels and his cronies want to make something of this, bring 'em on!  
You don't really think I'd leave you to handle this and *run*!"

O'Neill shook his head, anger turning to disbelief, "Geesh, a guy gets 
a little culture and all of a sudden people start treating him like a 
great big sissy!"  O'Neill laughed and Hammond, partly from stress as 
well as embarrassment at his rash behavior, joined him.  They were 
gasping -- weak-in-the-knees, bent-over – when Samuels marched into the 
Gate Room, flanked by another perennial trouble-maker, Colonel 
Maybourne. The duo walked primly up to Hammond and presented O'Neill's 
new orders.

"Colonel O'Neill, you are hereby ordered to come with me," smirked 
Samuels.

                         *******************

Samuels had intended to simply whisk O'Neill from the SGC to D.C. and 
away from Hammond's protective cover.  The General -- although foiled 
in his foolhardy attempt to rescue O'Neill and then simply face the 
consequences -- was not beaten yet.  

Hammond stood nose-to-nose with Samuels and Maybourne and directly 
ordered them to conduct their "tests", whatever they were, *here* at 
the SGC.  Hammond had been well-prepared for this contest of wills by 
past attempts by Samuels and his ilk to remove aliens rescued from 
other planets, and even SGC personnel.  Hammond used every trick and 
ploy ever placed at his disposal by his talented military staff, and 
then he invented several spur-of-the-moment gambits of his own.  In the 
end, he forced Samuels and Maybourne to accept the hospitality of the 
SGC.  They took over several unused sections of the facility, located 
near the Infirmary, rooms that had been outfitted for mass casualty 
treatment, in case the need ever arose.  

O'Neill was not happy to see Samuels.  He was even less pleased when 
Samuels's people had placed him in a stark isolation cell, strapped to 
a metal gurney.  But, lying there, staring at the ceiling, waiting, 
O'Neill smiled.  He was still tickled and deeply touched by the 
General's desperate attempt to shuffle him off to the Nox, or the First 
Ones, or wherever he'd chosen to go.  "When you're in the deep and 
muddy" O'Neill reflected, "Hammond's a good man to take your back."  

                         *******************

As O'Neill lied there, Samuels' medical staff poured over the records 
made by Doctor Frazier and others over the past 34-hours.  They noted 
the lack of sleep and the burst of creative energy, devised a 
hypothesis and started arranging a series of examinations and tests to 
determine precisely how O'Neill's brain was functioning and, then -- 
should he survive the tests -- physiological, cellular and sub-cellular 
research that would allow comparison of O'Neill's brain and nervous 
system to that of other geniuses -- Einstein, and the like – whose 
brains had been preserved in anticipation of a day like this, when 
military intelligence finally got hold of a real live creative genius, 
live at least for the time being.

By the time SG-1 returned through the Gate, Samuels was feeling very 
frustrated.  O'Neill had blown off most of the tests, preferring to 
surreptitiously scribble pencil sketches on the backs of the exams or, 
when threatened, to play connect the dots with the multiple-choice 
answer pad or use the answer sheets to spell out insults or crude 
limericks.  

However, the Muse occasionally visits even the most mean-spirited and 
Samuels had suddenly been inspired.  He met with his staff and directed 
them to take a new approach.  Rather than allowing O'Neill freedom of 
expression, why not conduct tests on his resiliency to *absence* of 
stimuli.  There was a robust body of military research into this area 
as a result of its potential for brainwashing and increasing 
suggestibility in prisoners-of-war.  Samuels smiled at the irony of it.  
That knuckle-scraping Neanderthal O'Neill suddenly finding himself with 
a gift, of all people.  Then, Samuels finding, almost as quickly, that 
the gift offered a means to finally humble that arrogant son-of-a-
bitch... and a path to so much more.  

"And, it's working," he thought, listening to muffled screams coming 
out of the isolation chamber.  "It's working just as I hoped.  I'll 
take out O'Neill and then use his destruction as a means to undermine 
Hammond.  Losing a national hero, under Hammond's authority, in 
Hammond's own facility!  Such irony."  With the General out of the way, 
the SGC would be open for Samuels to make his next move – another 
promotion, this time to General and Commander of the Star Gate Program 
at Cheyenne Mountain.

The first fifteen hours had not been too bad.  Typically subjects 
undergo Restricted Environmental Stimulation Therapy (REST) sessions 
from twelve to twenty-four hours for therapeutic treatment of 
behavioral disorders including drug addiction, alcoholism and nicotine 
addiction.  It had also seen some success in treatment of other 
obsessive diseases.  But the session had gone *way* past therapeutic 
levels.  

O'Neill had felt the first real rush of panic after thirty hours.  That 
had been late yesterday.  Of course, within the narrow metal cocoon 
that kept him isolated from light and sound at the precise temperature 
of his own body, O'Neill had no way to know *when* it had started, how 
long ago, or when it would end.  Without references to guide his 
starving nervous system, he was only aware of a moment that stretched 
to infinity.  Panic swept over him and crashed back again.  He was 
trapped in ... nothing.  To fill the void, he screamed, and screamed, 
and kept screaming, but heard no sound.

                         *******************

Hammond had searched desperately for the next step in countering 
Samuels.  Twenty minutes after SG-1 stepped back through the Gate from 
P3X531, he'd huddled with them to gain any possible insight into 
O'Neill's condition and the possible solution of the problem.  
Unfortunately, there didn't seem to *be* a solution.  

"The problem is, General," Carter repeated, "that the Antonines worship 
creativity and honor their artists.  When someone receives the gift 
Colonel O'Neill has received they don't cure it.  They celebrate and 
spend their lives in pursuit of creativity, teaching others and 
improving their society.  If I had been given the chance, I would have 
recommended sending Colonel O'Neill there as a... sort of ambassador."  
Frazier smiled, "I was thinking the same thing," and glanced at Daniel, 
who simply nodded.    

"He would not have gone," Teal'c stated grimly. "O'Neill is a warrior."

Hammond shook his head; "I should have ordered him there, under guard 
if necessary.  God knows what Samuels is doing." 

"Perhaps I can shed some light on that question, General," offered 
Doctor Frazier.  "My staff is pretty sharp.  I pulled them together as 
soon as I returned to learn what's happening here.  From what they 
could tell me, Samuels started with standard psychological testing and 
then, when Colonel O'Neill wouldn't cooperate, proceeded with extreme 
techniques, including REST."

"What is that Doctor?" Hammond asked.  He was tired and it sounded like 
a *good* thing.

"REST is Restricted Environmental Stimulation Therapy, General.  In 
short sessions it is useful for stress relief and in longer sessions 
for treatment of behavioral disorders, including addiction," Frazier 
explained.  

Carter noticed some reticence in Doctor Frazier's explanation, "But in 
longer sessions?"  

"Longer sessions could be ... well a form of torture.  Especially in 
Colonel O'Neill's state of hyper-creativity, an environment where there 
is no stimulation could destroy his mind," Frazier stated with a 
clinical coolness she didn't feel.

Carter spoke again.  "What is a therapeutic session?"  

"Anywhere from twelve to twenty-four hours," the Doctor answered.

"And when did they start?"

"I estimate it was about forty hours ago," Frazier said simply.

"That's it," Hammond snapped. "Teal'c get your staff weapon and 
organize Makepeace and his Marines, please. We are going in there and 
damned the consequences."

Frazier placed a hand on the General's arm.  "Wait, hear me out, 
please, General.  I have an idea."  

                         *******************

The Star Gate Program had not often encountered dangerous life forms, 
although it had had a few near-disasters involving nannites, plagues 
and other microscopic threats.  One of the dutifully recorded and 
little noted forms of life that had been encountered was a microbe that 
caused a rapid-onset course of flu-like symptoms.  It caused dizziness, 
nausea, intestinal distress and extreme muscle pain and fatigue.  The 
unfortunate members of SG-11 had first encountered it, returned through 
the Gate and promptly infected the entire facility.  Fortunately, like 
the measles, mumps and chickenpox, once contracted humans were, 
thereafter, immune to the nasty little bug. 

Doctor Frazier had been working with that particular strain of microbe 
because she'd been very impressed with the speed with which it had 
moved through the facility.  Also, she was concerned that it had evaded 
the standard protocols for detecting harmful vectors, such as this one.  
She'd recently completed growing one thousand culture plates, small 
glass containers of agar inoculated with the germ.  She had planned to 
use the cultured microbe in a series of controlled experiments to learn 
precisely how it moves and why it had been undetectable by the SGC 
biosensors.  

As she sat in the briefing concerning Colonel Samuels, it occurred to 
her that Samuels had never been exposed to this particular disease.  It 
was likely that none of his people had been either.  And she had so 
*much* of it in the Infirmary, just down the hall from Samuels and his 
staff... and O'Neill.

"General, remember when SG-11 returned with that flu-like disease from 
P1X999?" she began. 

"Yes, I could hardly forget it Doctor.  We were all flat on our backs 
here for a day and a half.  If it hadn't been self-limiting and of such 
a short duration, I'd have declared 'Situation Wildfire.'  Why?"  

Frazier said nothing.  She simply looked at Hammond, smiling slightly 
and raising her brows... significantly.  

"Oh!" Hammond caught on, "Doctor have you been working with that 
material?"  

"Yes General, I have been," Frazier answered meekly.  

"And do you have something to report?" he continued, playing his 
assigned part.

"Yes, General.  I regret to inform you that there was an accident in 
the Infirmary.  Some of the material was inadvertently released into 
the air circulation system.  I strongly recommend we flush the system, 
General.  Since we have all been exposed to the microbe there should be 
no ill effects.  But, you might want to order new arrivals under your 
direct authority off base for the next week, or so."  

Hammond is smiling and nodding.  "Right, consider it done.  And, you 
may begin your 'clean up' within 45-minutes.  That should allow enough 
time to remove SGC personnel.  And, thank you for your *honesty* in 
reporting this error, Doctor."

                         *******************

Samuels was enjoying a hearty dinner when he noticed a certain ache in 
his back.  "Working too hard," he thought, "but that's the cost of 
success."  As he tackled his steak, he noticed a funny taste in his 
mouth and wondered whether someone had been fooling with his food.  
"No, they wouldn't dare!"  

He dismissed the idea and turned to reading the reports coming in on 
O'Neill. "Hmm, blood pressure changes, brain activity spikes dropping, 
respiration was all over the board for the first day or so and then 
settled into a much lower, slower state.  Very interesting."  

Samuels rubbed his eyes.  "When this is over I think I'd better take a 
vacation," he thought.  "I'm more tired than I thought.  He took 
another bite of steak, chewed and felt... bad, all of a sudden.  

The meat suddenly tasted like a wad of wet paper towel in his mouth.  
He spat it out and stood to rinse his mouth when his gut twisted 
wildly.  "My God, they've poisoned me!" he thought as he reached for 
the phone to call his chief medical officer on the research team.  

As the phone rang, he began to sweat and felt a chill and the need to 
retch.  "Pick up, pick up," he ordered.  But there was no one in the 
Chief Medical Officer's office.  She was kneeling by the toilet in her 
quarters down the hall, wishing she were dead and fearing that she 
might soon be.

Doctor Frazier knew this bug ... intimately.  More intimately than she 
cared to recall, since she'd just released it into the air ducts 
feeding into the area controlled by Samuels and his crew.  Her oath had 
been "Physician, first do no harm."  But, in this case she was willing 
to justify the infliction of temporary, if acute, discomfort on a 
handful of people to save a life, especially the life of a dear friend.  

Besides, many of the people responsible for Jack had also taken an 
oath.  They didn't seem to remember that fact, while torturing O'Neill.  
"Well, they'll remember this, anyway," Frazier thought coldly.  She 
glanced at her watch and calculated the likely progress of the microbe 
through the human bodies she'd infected.  "Now's the moment," she told 
herself cheerily and strolled down the hall to pay a visit on Colonel 
Samuels.

Frazier knocked politely on Samuels' door.  "Colonel, it's Doctor 
Frazier, may I have a moment, Sir?  Colonel?"  She could hear a moaning 
sound from under the door and suppressed a smile.  "Sir, are you 
alright?"  

Frazier walked in, demurely, and knelt next to the prostrate form on 
the bathroom floor.  Samuels looked terrible. "Wonderful," she thought 
with glee as she reached for the phone and declared a medical 
emergency.  Soon, she would be able to reclaim O'Neill and immediately 
after that, Samuels would be under *her* care.

Frazier walked eagerly back toward the Infirmary, met Hammond and SG-1 
coming the other way and officially informed the General that an 
undetermined number of staff were 'down' with an 'unknown' illness.  
She recommended biohazard protection and continued to the Infirmary to 
mobilize her people.  "Those mass casualty rooms might come in handy, 
at last," she thought with a clinical coldness of a trained physician.

                         *******************

Teal'c led SG-1 into the bowels of Samuels's facility.  He was eager 
for resistance, hopeful that at least *one* of these ... "what was 
O'Neill's word for it? Geeks! If just one of these geeks resist, I 
shall take them apart."  Teal'c was disappointed to see they were all 
down or staggering out of his way as he jogged through the halls, 
looking for O'Neill.  Doctor Frazier had explained they would find a 
silver coffin-like structure, "much like a sarcophagus," Teal'c had 
reasoned.  Within, he hoped to find his friend alive and well.  But, if 
not, these *geeks* would know what it means to anger a warrior!

Carter found the silver shell and called out.  "Over here!  I got him!" 
She was working to release a series of clamps that held the long metal 
case together like an elongated shell of a large mussel. Daniel and 
Teal'c lent a hand and quickly loosed the cover.  With Hammond's help 
they removed it and found O'Neill within.  

O'Neill seemed dazed, but alive.  He moved his head, glancing from face 
to face.  His mouth moved.  Teal'c realized he was holding his breath.  
"Morning campers!" O'Neill said softly "Who's ready for a little hike?"

Before Teal'c could swing O'Neill onto his shoulders and haul him to 
the Infirmary, Frazier arrived.  She gently stopped him and asked him 
to help place the Colonel onto a gurney, instead.  O'Neil seemed tired 
and disoriented.  "His voice is strangely soft, like he has 
laryngitis," Frazier mused as she wheeled the gurney to the Infirmary.  
"Let's hope a sore throat is the worst of it." 

Approximately three hours later, Doctor Frazier had completed her 
preliminary assessment of Jack O'Neill's condition and also managed to 
deal with the fifty-or-so staff that had succumbed to the microbe from 
P1X999.  That was lucky, because just as she finished, General Hammond 
walked in and demanded her report.  

"How is he, Doctor?  Don't spare *any* details.  I want a full report 
on what has been done, the effects and his chances for recovery.  
Samuels is going to wish he'd never been *born* when I get through with 
him!"  

SG-1 stood mute behind the General.

Frazier paused, every eye was on her, "General, brace yourself. Colonel 
O'Neill seems to be... fine.  Colonel Samuels's staff did subject him 
to some bizarre tests.  I am able to substantiate that he underwent ... 
torture for lack of a better word and I will attest to that fact.  But, 
the Colonel is fine!  Aside from a sore throat – caused no doubt by 
screaming for several hours  -- and fatigue, and bruising from fighting 
his restraints, he's alert.  He knows who he is, who I am and where we 
are, as well as what has happened.  He is not showing any of the signs 
of psychosis that I would have expected from such a prolonged session 
of sensory deprivation." 

"And, here's the good news, General!  He's been pestering me about SG-
1, the results of the mission, how soon he can undergo evaluation and 
re-take command of the unit.  Frankly, General, Samuels may have 
inadvertently done Colonel O'Neill a favor! Remember, I told you that 
Restricted Environmental Stimulation Therapy is used in cases of 
obsession and addictive behavior?  Well, don't hold me to this but, 
just maybe, it could have undone whatever caused Colonel O'Neill's 
sudden onset of creativity."

Relief and frustration chased across Hammond's face.  Relief to hear 
that O'Neill was unharmed, might even be competent to return to 
command, and was eager to do so!  

"Sounds like the Colonel Jack O'Neill I'm used to having around," 
Hammond muttered with relieved pleasure.  

Frustration tinged the good news, however, because General George 
Hammond fully intended to have Samuels stripped of his rank and 
imprisoned, if not out-right shot.  He needed ammunition to do that.  
If O'Neill had so much as a *scratch*, Hammond could do it.  Well, the 
next few days would tell.  

General Hammond almost forgot to feel frustrated at the joy of seeing 
SG-1 fall back into step.  O'Neill checked out.  His skill with brush 
and paint and unnerving tendency to spout poetry had ceased as abruptly 
as they began.  He was prompt at briefings; he was on guard in the 
field and as acute a leader as he'd ever been.  Hammond noticed 
slightly less sarcasm than usual, but Doctor Frazier had explained that 
sensory deprivation, in small doses, was a treatment for stress.  
Realizing that O'Neill's snide remarks generally reflected the stress 
of command, Hammond marked the change as the only lingering effect of 
his ordeal.  

                         *******************

It was not generally known among SGC personnel that George Hammond 
enjoyed a fine glass of Kentucky Bourbon and that he occasionally 
shared this pleasure with Jack O'Neill.  Typically, the General would 
drop by after dinner for conversation about the command and a glass of 
the Colonel's fine sipping whiskey.  

Tonight Hammond felt the need, partly to apologize for removing O'Neill 
from command, or at least to make sure there were no hard feelings.  He 
strolled toward O'Neill's quarters allowing relief to creep into his 
mind.  Somehow things had turned out all right.  He would enjoy the 
next few weeks as he destroyed Samuels's career and ran down the last 
contacts he had within the SGC.  Yes, he would enjoy that a great deal.

As Hammond turned the last corner toward O'Neill's quarters, he froze.  
His heart pounded and the pit of his stomach clenched.  The gentle 
sound of a guitar, expertly played, floated softly from under O'Neill's 
door.  Hammond forced himself to knock.  The music stopped. "C'mon in," 
O'Neill called.  Hammond swung the door open.  There sat Jack O'Neill 
with a guitar across his knees and a mischievous grin on his face.  

"Care to hear my latest variations on Leo Kottke, George?" 

                         *******************

Notes on "The Muse":

i Tar is a plucked long necked lute of the 'Rabab' family, with a 
membrane as a soundtable, found in Iran and the Caucusus.  It exists in 
two forms now, the Persian and Caucasian.  The Persian Tar, which is 
the older of the two, is carved from a block of mulberry wood and has a 
deep, curved body with two bulges shaped like a figure 8.  The upper 
surface is shaped like two hearts of different sizes, joined at the 
points.  The long neck has a finger board, normally covered with bone.  
On the lower skin, a horn bridge supports six metal strings in three 
courses.  Movable gut frets divide the octave into 15 microtonal 
intervals.  The timbre of the Persian Tar is clear and resonant because 
of the delicate skin of lamb's foetus used for the sound table.  The 
strings are plucked with a brass plectrum coated on one side in wax 
(mezrab), making possible both subtlety and virtuosity in the playing 
technique.

ii Based on work by John Opsopaus, (c) 1995 
http://www.cs.utk.edu/~mclennan/BA/PT/BA/HM.html

iii From Hymnos eis Mousan (Hymn to the Muse) by Mesomedes transl. by 
John Opsopaus, (c) 1995 
http://www.cs.utk.edu/~mclennan/BA/PT/BA/HM.html

                         *******************
The Nu

Chapter 1

As Hammond turned the last corner toward O'Neill's quarters, he froze.  
The General's heart pounded and the pit of his stomach clenched.  The 
gentle sound of a guitar, expertly played, floated softly from under 
O'Neill's door.  Hammond forced himself to knock.  The music stopped. 
"C'mon in," O'Neill called.  Hammond swung the door open.  There sat 
Jack O'Neill with a guitar across his knees and a grin on his face.  

"Care to hear my latest variations on Leo Kottke, George?"

"What is this Colonel?" Hammond asked. "I thought you were cured of all 
this... creative energy!"

"Sit down, Sir.  You look a little shaky."

Hammond slumped into a chair, staring at O'Neill as if he had two 
heads.  Jack looked back, trying to appear normal and pleasant, but 
inside damned worried that his CO had caught him playing the guitar.  
Last time it had nearly cost Jack his military career and then nearly 
cost his life.

Hammond said quietly, "I just stopped by for a chat, Jack."

Jack set the guitar aside and fetched his bottle of Kentucky bourbon, 
poured and handed George a glass.  This was going to be a long 'chat', 
so O'Neill set the bottle within easy reach.

"I'm fine George.  I *always* played guitar," Jack began.

"You did?  No, Colonel you *didn't*.  There is no mention of it in your 
military file.  I've been through it, believe me I've been all through 
it and there is not a *mention* of guitar playing."  Hammond hung 
tough.

Jack shrugged, smiled and straddled a chair, leaning his chin on the 
chair back, giving Hammond what he hoped was an innocent, friendly 
appearance.  "Well, I wasn't any *good*. So I didn't tell anyone.  But, 
yeah, I played guitar most of my life.  George, think about it.  Where 
do you think I *found* a twelve-string guitar in the SGC? You know I 
never left the base after visiting ... Celeste's planet."

Hammond filled in, "P3X531."

"Yeah, P3X531." O'Neill finished and gave his Commanding Officer a 'ya 
see' sort of look. "I found it here. I played before. The guitar was 
*here* in my quarters, always has been."

Hammond took a sip of the whiskey. O'Neill could see he was 
contemplating what his 2IC had just revealed.  "But you didn't play 
like *this*, Jack."

O'Neill looked at Hammond and tried to think of another way to account 
for his astounding new ability, couldn't, gave up and grinned. "No.  
No, I didn't."  

Then he picked up the instrument, turned the chair around and sat 
fiddling with the strings and touching the frets.  Hammond watched and 
sipped, waiting for the concert that was clearly about to begin. His 
patience was rewarded by two hours of the most astonishing music the 
old man had ever heard. Being a Texan who'd lived from Austin to 
Zurich, Hammond had heard a world of guitarists.  O'Neill was simply 
out of this world.

As O'Neill concluded his serenade, Hammond emptied his glass and 
plunged ahead.

"Jack, I dropped by this evening to apologize to you.  I hope you know 
that I didn't want to relieve you of command, Colonel.  I know it hurts 
like hell, believe me.  I've been there myself. A military man doesn't 
ever forget or easily forgive a thing like that Jack, but I hope you'll 
forgive me."

O'Neill's sudden onset of artistic genius, a 'gift' visited upon him at 
P3X531 from a force called 'The Muse,' had been leaked to military 
intelligence. Almost immediately, NID took control of O'Neill and put 
him through a battery of tests, bizarre tests that amounted to nothing 
less than torture, trying to discover the source of his 'gift.'  

Through it all Hammond fought to protect O'Neill, first to prevent it 
his transfer, then to rescue him.  It was Doctor Janet Frazier who'd 
actually found a way, not Hammond.  In the end, O'Neill came through 
with no permanent damage and, through sheer luck, found himself 
relieved of the sudden creative genius, at least it had seemed that way 
to Hammond.  

Hammond had no choice really about relieving O'Neill. He'd clearly been 
altered by alien contact. He was not in control of his actions.  
Although it was only for a short while, although he was *required* to 
act, Hammond had been deeply ashamed.  The shame hadn't lessened in the 
weeks that followed. The General felt that O'Neill had every right to 
hold a grudge.  

O'Neill squinted at Hammond in a funny sort of way, like he was 
searching for words but couldn't quite find them.  Hammond knew 
immediately that O'Neill had forgiven him.  The Colonel was *never* at 
a loss for words if his Irish was up. 

The General waited another moment for him to find the words, and then 
threw O'Neill a rope, " Jack, we're okay, right?" 

O'Neill grinned and replied simply, "Yes Sir, we are.  Thanks for 
watching my back George.  More?" he asked holding up the bottle.  
Hammond nodded and settled back for a chat about all the mundane 
details of managing the SCG: off-world missions, alien cultures, 
possibilities of new technology and the ever-present threat of Goa'uld 
invasion.  

Hammond left the Colonel's quarters mildly tipsy and relieved of guilt, 
but far from content.  Earlier that evening as he'd walked down the 
hall toward Jack's quarters, Hammond had thought everything was about 
to be sorted out. Now, as he walked away, he knew there were still 
serious questions about what had happened to O'Neill on P3X531.

A small voice in Hammond's head whispered, "He has to go back."  
Hammond tried to ignore it, unwilling to send O'Neill to P3X531, 
fearful of what might happen there.  He could lose his 2IC forever to 
this ... force.  The voice persisted through the General's fitful 
sleep. "He has to go back." Hammond pretended not to hear.

                         *******************

Chapter 2

This time there was no belching Gate.  Celeste stood in her quarters 
and knew visitors would arrive and they did.  Small, child-like 
creatures with hair like multihued clumps of lichen simply appeared.  

Celeste smiled, bowed low from the waist and greeted the Nox 
delegation. "Kalim Era," she said as she straightened to her full six-
foot-six stature, "Ime o Celeste."

"Greeting Celeste, we are the Nox," replied a diminutive female. I am 
Ohper. We have come to ask your assistance.  You know the one called 
O'Neill?" 

Celeste inclined her elegant head in acknowledgement, "We know *of* 
him.  He is one of The Gifted."

Ohper's gentle eyes rested on Celeste for a moment. Then she smiled in 
a bemused smile and continued, "Yes, O'Neill is gifted and he is more, 
perhaps much more."

Celeste motioned to a collection of bright cushions arranged in the 
otherwise monochromatic room, "Please be seated and tell me." 

"O'Neill," Ohper continued as she sat, "is a human we encountered on 
several occasions.  At first we viewed the encounters as mere 
happenstance.  But, there have been repeated occurrences, too many to 
account for by chance.  A pattern emerges."

Celeste tilted her head to one side. "A pattern?" She murmured. 

"Yes," Ohper replied nodding her head as she held the last syllable in 
her slightly sibilant accent.  "Yessssss, a pattern." 

Celeste leaned toward her small visitor, "Tell me," she urged.  "Are 
there signs, portents?"

"Perhaps," the ambassador replied. "We cannot be certain, not yet.  It 
came to our attention that besides meeting the Nox, O'Neill has 
recently encountered Thor of the Asguard.  Now, O'Neill has been chosen 
by the Great Force, the force your people call The Muse."  

Celeste inclined her head in assent. 

"The Great Force has accepted him?" Ohper asked.

"*Chose* him, and *O'Neill* has in turn accepted The Muse," she 
replied.

"How do you know?" Ohper pressed.

"His friends told me all is well with him.  If he had tried to reject 
The Gift, he would already be dead," she answered.

                         *******************

Chapter 3

O'Neill sat in the dark, long after the General left, thinking.  He was 
of a mind to reach for the guitar again, but something he'd seen in 
Hammond's eyes stopped him.  So, he stretched out on his cot and tried 
to sleep, tried to ignore the impulse that kept after him to play.  He 
sat up, reached for the 12-string, stopped, then stood and pulled on 
his fatigues.  A song ran through his head as he strode down the empty 
halls of SGC – the lack of personnel the only clue that it was early in 
the morning, very early.

O'Neill walked toward the gym, figuring that a couple of hours of 
vigorous exercise would quell this feeling.  The sense that he should 
play, *needed* to play, had grown steadily over the past weeks.  He 
hadn't realized it, and therefore hadn't resisted it, until Hammond's 
unexpected visit.  The look on George's face told him it was time to 
give music a rest.

But now there was this song replaying in his head with ever growing 
intensity and he was starting to wonder if, in fact, there was a 
problem.  "Nah," he told himself, "nothing a hard workout won't cure."

O'Neill was at the corridor where he'd either turn right toward the 
gymnasium or left to the cafeteria, a path that would take him past 
Captain Carter's office, an office he begrudged her because of its 
proximity to food.  He glanced left, toward the cafeteria, thinking, 
"pie would be nice," and noticed light shining into the dim hallway 
from the Captain's office.  The Captain was either working late, or 
very early.  Intrigued, O'Neill decided pie *would* be nice and maybe 
he could entice his 2IC to join him.

He turned toward the cafeteria and as he passed the lab, leaned inside 
the door and observed Carter jotting notes, oblivious to his presence.  
"Morning Captain," O'Neill grinned.  "What 'cha doing?" 

He was rewarded to see Carter's large blue eyes widen in surprise.  
"Colonel O'Neill.  Good morning," she answered. "You startled me, Sir.  
Is something wrong?"  

O'Neill gave her one of his winning grins, "No.  Nothing's wrong.  I 
just couldn't sleep and thought I'd get some pie at the cafeteria.  You 
wanna come?"  He smiled enticingly – a 'Who can resist pie?' smile.

Captain Carter frowned slightly at the Colonel's grin and shrugged, 
"Sure.  I could use the sugar," she yawned, "and a cup of coffee." As 
she stood she suddenly stretched, "What time is it?"

"Dunno," O'Neill replied, distracted by the movement of Carter's long, 
strong body as she stretched unselfconsciously, "early, very early," he 
muttered. 

As they walked down the deserted halls, O'Neill glanced at Carter again 
and caught her looking at him curiously.  To fill the awkward space she 
asked, "So why can't you sleep, Sir?" Then stammered, realizing the 
possibly personal implications of her query, "if you don't mind my 
asking."

O'Neill frowned and gave Carter another slide-long glance.  Maybe 
*she'd* understand this.  She was supposed to be some kind of genius.  
At least she'd be a safer bet than Doc Frazier or the General, since 
she was under his direct command and he could order her to shut up 
about what he was about to reveal. So he explained. "There's this 
*song* going through my head.  Can't seem to shake it."

"Oh. When that happens to me I usually hum a few bars of 'Jingle 
Bells', the version by the electronic barking dogs.  Works every time." 
Carter answered. "What's the song?" she asked, curious to know her CO's 
taste in music.

"It's just a song, a piece of a tune, really.  I haven't named it yet." 
O'Neill replied and then saw Carter gape.

"An *original* song, Sir?" Carter exclaimed. "You mean you're 
*composing* music."

O'Neill frowned darkly at her outburst, even in the empty cafeteria. 
"Yeah, keep it to yourself Carter.  Would ya?  I just wondered if this 
ever happens to you.  You know, an idea is banging around in your head 
and you can't get rid of it until you work it out, until you get it 
just right?"

Carter grinned.  "Yes, Sir.  It happens to me all the time.  That's 
what I was doing in the lab.  I was noticing on our last trip through 
the Star Gate that there seems to be a slight phase shift depending on 
whether we are on the sunward side of the planet or ..."

O'Neill cut her off.  "Yeah, Carter.  Save the physics for work hours, 
would ya?  So, you're telling me this feeling is normal?"

Carter nodded. "Yes Sir. At least it is for me.  I think it happens to 
lots of people.  Are you telling me you've never had an idea before 
that you just *had* to act on – something that wouldn't let go unless 
you did something about it?"

O'Neill felt distinctly uncomfortable.  Carter was damned attractive 
and he was suddenly aware that he was sitting alone with her, talking 
about... "Well, *sure*.  I've had *those*, but they were always 
about... you know."  He took a bite of pie just to stop talking.

Carter's eyes widened a bit, but she recovered. "Sir, I meant an 
*idea*, not an *urge*."

O'Neill frowned at her, thought a moment and answered. "What's the 
difference Carter? Anyway, this feels more like an urge than an idea.  
Does it matter?"

Carter shrugged.

O'Neill continued, "So what do I do?"

She smiled, "Well if 'Jingle Bells' doesn't do the trick, I'd just go 
with it, Sir.  That's what works for me."

O'Neill shook his head. "Maybe, but Carter nobody's ever threatened to 
dissect you for it.  I think Samuels and his cronies were pretty 
serious about taking me apart the last time that I 'went with it.' 
Besides, I'm not sure Hammond can take another spurt of creativity from 
me.  At least not right now."

Carter considered her pie for a moment.  Thrust her fork into it and 
took a bite.  "So don't tell him." Then she grinned and continued. 
"That's what I do – Sir."

                         *******************

Chapter 4

General Hammond commenced the weekly briefing for SG-1.  He watched as 
the team filed into the briefing room and took their usual seats – 
O'Neill slumped kitty-corner from Daniel, Teal'c next to O'Neill, and 
Carter across from her CO.  All seemed normal until Hammond paused for 
a moment longer.  O'Neill, without realizing it, started rapping on the 
table top with his thumbs, a sort of syncopated rhythm Hammond easily 
recognized as the underpinnings of a song.  "Damn," the old man 
thought, "he's at it again."

Hammond cleared his throat and said quietly, "Captain?"  Carter nodded 
and proceeded with the briefing on their next objective, P2X124, a 
world they'd checked out with a MALP and found signs of industrialized 
society.  As Carter recounted the MALP data, Hammond glanced at 
O'Neill.  His thumbs were moving and, yes, so were the fingers of his 
left hand – still at it.  Hammond's heart fell as he realized he'd have 
to act, have to talk to Doctor Frazier, and have to confront O'Neill.  
"Damn it," the General swore to himself.  Why couldn't it have just 
ended happily, just ended simply, just once?

Carter finished her briefing quickly, aware of Hammond's inattention, 
aware that everyone in the room was listening to O'Neill's percussion 
solo -- everyone except O'Neill, who appeared totally oblivious to his 
actions and their effects on the rest.  As she concluded, the General 
politely thanked her for her work and, as she sat, he told SG-1 to 
stand down for the next few days.  Carter and O'Neill gaped, shocked by 
the announcement.  They'd been scheduled to depart for P2X124 in 45 
minutes.  But rather than explain, Hammond simply dismissed them.  
Teal'c took the news without reaction. Daniel smiled, thinking of time 
for reading and writing.  When they rose to file out of the room, the 
General asked Colonel O'Neill to remain.  

As his team filed out, O'Neill hung back, looking curiously at the 
General.  "What's up, Sir?" he asked. 

Hammond looked back, amazed.  "Colonel O'Neill," he began gently, "it 
seems that you are still – obsessed by whatever you encountered on your 
last mission."

O'Neill looked thunderstruck, 'How did you know?' was written clearly 
on his face.  He started to object, but Hammond raised a hand, 
silencing him.  "Don't bother Colonel.  I've made up my mind.  I'm 
ordering you to undergo a complete exam, physical and psychological.  
If you still come up fit for duty, we'll talk then.  Dismissed, 
Colonel."  

O'Neill blinked, opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, turned 
and walked silently out of the room.  Hammond noticed he was still 
tapping a rhythm on his thigh as he stalked out.   "Dammit," he thought 
again. "He doesn't even know he's *doing* it."

O'Neill walked toward the Infirmary.  He knew he should be upset.  On 
one level he was, he was furious.  He knew he should feel hurt that the 
General had again lost confidence in him.  And he felt that too, he 
really did.  But mostly, Jack felt relief.  Relief that he'd be left 
alone to ...  He didn't want to admit the rest: 'time to play.' The 
song was running through him and he felt strange excitement at the 
thought of time alone with his music, and that is what scared him, 
scared him *stiff*.  

O'Neill picked up the pace, heading for Doc Frazier, hoping she could 
solve this mystery, hoping she could save him from this obsession, 
hoping she could somehow find a way to stop the music.  

                         *******************

Chapter 5

Klaxons screamed.  Sergeant Walter's voice echoed throughout the SGC – 
"Unauthorized activation, unauthorized activation.  Security to the 
Gate Room." Personnel scrambled to their battle stations, ready to 
repel hostile forces.

General Hammond appeared behind Walter, "Close the Iris, Sergeant," the 
General ordered.  

Walter tapped keys furiously, tried again, and shook his head.  "Not 
responding, General," he reported.

Hammond leaned to a microphone, "Prepare to repel incoming hostiles."  
The troops in the Gate Room assumed even greater readiness, staring 
fixedly into the whirling blue chaos of an incoming wormhole, rifles at 
the ready.

An instant later a small man with wild green hair entwined with vines 
and flowers, appeared on the platform.  Hammond called into the mike, 
"Hold fire.  Hold fire and stand down." The troops relaxed.  Then, 
Hammond punched a different button and announced, "Colonel O'Neill to 
the Gate Room," before striding resolutely to greet Anteaus of the Nox.

As Hammond approached, the small alien of untold power greeted him 
politely.  "General Hammond, I apologize for this unanticipated visit.  
Please may I speak to O'Neill?"

The General nodded, "Colonel O'Neill is on his way, Anteaus.  Would you 
prefer to join us in my office where we can speak in private?"

Anteaus lowered his head, indicating his agreement, and followed 
Hammond up the metal staircase two levels to the General's office.  
Hammond barked over his shoulder to the Sergeant, "Have Colonel O'Neill 
report to my office."

Anteaus hopped into a couple of telephone books stacked into one of 
Hammond's leather backed chairs and the General reminded himself to 
find a way to requisition a booster seat to afford visiting aliens 
greater dignity.  Anteaus spoke without delay. "General Hammond, 
O'Neill has been a friend to the Nox."

Hammond nodded silently, waiting for the shoe to fall.  

"It has come to our attention that O'Neill has encountered the Great 
Force."

Hammond frowned and repeated the phrase, "the great force?  I'm not 
sure I understand."

"Also called 'The Muse' by the Antonines.  I believe O'Neill recently 
visited their home world and was 'changed'," Anteaus elaborated.

Hammond sighed and decided to lay his cards on the table; the Nox had 
always been a benevolent race.  Anteaus had actually brought SG-1 back 
from the dead on their first encounter. "That's true. I thought he'd 
been cured of it.  Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that the 
Colonel may still be 'changed' as you put it.  I'm very concerned about 
him.  Are you here to help O'Neill?"

Anteaus stared at the General and said, "I am here to ensure *he* will 
help *us*."

At that moment O'Neill walked into the room, looking barely capable of 
helping himself, much less the Nox.  His hair had several extreme 
cowlicks and dark smears under his normally bright eyes told Hammond 
that the Colonel had not been sleeping.  O'Neill was, in fact, stupid 
with fatigue after yet another hard night.  Still he did his best to 
appear awake and fully functional, saluting Hammond, "Reporting as 
ordered," then turning to the Nox. "Anteaus!  What are you doing here?"

Hammond nodded to a chair, "Take a seat, Colonel.  Anteaus was just 
asking me about your encounter with the Antonines and how you are 
getting along.  I might as well give it to you both at once.  Colonel 
the results of your tests indicate you are exhibiting extreme 
obsessive-compulsive symptoms.  The disorder seems to express itself as 
..." Hammond glanced at a report on his desk and read aloud, "musical 
appetite of a highly aggressive nature." Doctor Frazier reports that 
you are not even aware of much of your behavior."  Hammond winced at 
the look on O'Neill's face at this last piece of news.  "Therefore, 
Colonel, I am forced to ...relieve.... What the hell?"  

Hammond had been looking directly at O'Neill when it happened.  Hammond 
saw the Colonel's hollow-eyed glare, as Jack realized he was about to 
be relieved of command for a second time. Then, nothing.  Hammond was 
alone.  The Nox had vanished and, apparently, taken O'Neill.  At least 
it looked that way to the astonished General.

Nanoseconds later, Jack found himself, still seated, at the base of the 
Star Gate on P3X531.  "What the heck?" he wondered aloud, looking 
about.  Anteaus was not there.  The plaza was empty.  He was alone. 

Jack sat another moment, waiting for a reception party, but seeing 
none. He stood and crossed the sun-drenched plaza.  A snatch of tune 
drifted on the wind from ... somewhere.  Jack listened and liked it, 
despite the gnawing fear in his belly.

At the far end of the plaza, Jack entered the shadows of buildings 
flanking the open area.  His eyes adjusted to the relative gloom and he 
saw he was at a small gateway; a gateway to a passage that connected 
the plaza to a private courtyard nestled within the building's core.  
He stepped through into an area of light and sound: wind lifted leaves, 
turning the small fruit trees from green to shimmering gold and back to 
green. A fountain plashed softly murmuring; sun dripped through the 
gilded leaves dappling the flagstones at his feet.  "Perfect," Jack 
breathed, "perfect."  

A tall woman stepped from the shadows,  "O'Neill," she called warmly, 
"Welcome at last to the home of The Muse.  I am Celeste.  I am your 
guide."  

Jack gazed at the tall woman, "at Celeste," he corrected himself.  
Celeste smiled a disarming smile. He started to smile back and thought, 
"Watch your back, Jack."  Then spoke, "Pleased to meet you, Celeste.  
What am I doing here?"

"I am your guide, follow and you will find what you seek, O'Neill," 
Celeste answered, then turned and walked away. Jack followed, his heart 
in his mouth, unsure what would happen next.  Celeste seemed gentle, 
welcoming, perfectly trustworthy, but his instincts were screaming 
"danger."  After all, this planet was where it had all started, this 
was the place where he'd been altered in some inexplicable way, a 
change that that led to his loss of command, had probably ended his 
military career.  As he followed Celeste, Jack vowed he would find a 
way to deny this *damned gift*, find a way to get back to normal, turn 
his back on this overwhelming obsession for music, a gift he never 
asked for and didn't want.  

Celeste led through the alcove to a path leading away from the plaza, 
toward the mountains beyond.  As they walked, Jack felt his fear fade.  
Suddenly, it was simply a beautiful day on a beautiful planet.  The 
air, like chilled Champaign, invigorated him despite the sleepless 
nights he'd spent in a private hell.  Green velvet fields spread away 
from him, populated with a sprinkling of healthy, hardworking people, 
people who straightened from their tasks to raise a hand in greeting to 
Celeste and to stare at her off-world companion.  

Gradually, the path led from the verdant fields into groves of 
shimmering aspens.  "Early successionals," Jack heard Carter's voice in 
his head.  She always assumed he was ignorant of anything scientific.  
Although he knew little about physics, natural history was a different 
matter.  A lifelong outdoorsman, he knew about trees, could name almost 
every temperate species, and most tropical species on Earth, knew which 
were edible, poisonous or good for making structures or weapons, and 
over the past months had begun to learn and name an ever expanding 
number seen only on other planets.  Passing through the quaking aspen, 
the path grew steeper and rocky. Celeste slowed the pace, picking her 
way carefully up the slopes that seemed to rear up before them.  Jack 
had no idea of the mountain's height; its peak was lost in clouds that 
clustered part way up the slopes, obscuring the upper regions. 

Celeste glanced over her shoulder and slowed her pace again.  Jack 
realized how beat-up he was from struggling against his 'gift' as she 
slowed so he could keep pace.  "Damn," he swore softly, smarting that 
it was necessary.  "This is not a good thing."

After ascending the slope for several miles, Celeste veered sharply off 
the path, entering the dark stands of evergreens now covering the 
mountain's midsection.  Jack followed, relieved that he no longer had 
to climb, his calves cramping and knees trembling from the effort.  
Small piles of rock marked the otherwise invisible trail she followed 
as they walked into the deep forest.  After another quarter of a mile, 
Jack heard water ahead.  As they broke through into a glade, he saw a 
small stream tumbling down the mountainside and off into space, 
cascading in a thin silver ribbon that ended at a roiling pool.  Beside 
the pool stood a small, cobble building the shape of a beehive.  

Celeste turned and spoke.  "You will stay here, O'Neill.  No one will 
disturb you.  We will provide for your needs.  Clearly you must rest 
and contemplate your gift.  When you feel strong again, send word and I 
will come.  We will speak of your future then O'Neill, not now.  Not 
yet.  For now, rest."  Then she simply turned and walked away.  

Jack watched her strong, slender back disappear among the great trees.  
Suddenly he was very tired.  The sound of the water pounded in his 
ears.  He walked to the stone hut, crawled inside and collapsed on a 
deep bed of sweet scented grass.  Within moments he was asleep.

                         *******************

Chapter 6

Hammond had summoned Captain Carter to his office.  As she entered and 
saluted, she thought the old man looked tired.  Hammond gazed at her 
for a moment.  "Take a seat, Captain."  She sat, waiting for an 
explanation.  It came in a brief summary of Colonel O'Neill's 
disappearance.

"Captain, I want you to take a team to the Nox home-world and bring him 
back, if you can.  Be diplomatic, but get it done.  The Colonel is in 
no condition to be out there.  I want him back here in one piece as 
soon as you can manage it.  Understood?"

Carter stood, "Yes, Sir."  She snapped a salute and left.  Carter 
walked down the hall. She juggled all the details of organizing a 
rescue mission.  She'd tap SG-3, with Teal'c and Daniel. That should be 
sufficient firepower.  Besides, she thought, it's not like we can 
outgun the Nox.  If they want to keep the Colonel, they will keep him.  
Success would depend on finesse, not firepower.

Carter called a pre-mission briefing for 22:00 hours.  Arriving early, 
eager to move forward, she watched the others file into the room and 
suddenly it struck her that Colonel O'Neill was really not among them.  
"We've got to get him back," Carter thought, "and it's up to me to make 
sure we do."  She plunged into the briefing, organized mission 
equipment and by 24:00 hours she was stepping through the Star Gate

In one step she passed through the event horizon and emerged on another 
planet, one covered with deep forests and, occasionally, visited by 
Gou'ald patrols.  She directed the team to fan out and move forward, 
away from the alien Gate.  No reason to make it more likely they'd run 
into trouble by hanging around the Gate.  Teal'c took point and Carter, 
for the first time, found herself at the end of the column, the 
position favored by the Colonel, the place where he felt he could cover 
everyone's lovely backside most effectively.  He was usually right.

As she trudged behind her squad, Carter calculated the Nox would know 
of their presence immediately. She was counting on it, counting on them 
showing themselves to her.  If they didn't... "Well, we will just have 
to worry about that *if* it happens," she thought aloud.  

"If what happens?" Daniel asked, dropping back to walk beside her.  
Carter felt better with him nearby, more like herself, less like a poor 
imitation of O'Neill.  

Ignoring Daniel's question, she said "Daniel, why would the Nox need 
Colonel O'Neill's help?  They are powerful, far more powerful than we 
are.  What could he *possibly* do for them?"

Daniel shook his head, "I don't know, Sam. What bothers me is why they 
came to ask for his help and then abducted him.  Where's the logic in 
that?"

"I don't know, Daniel.  Guess we'll just have to ask them, assuming we 
find them."  Carter answered.  

Daniel smiled at her.  "You'll find them."  

He said it with such confidence that Carter wished like hell she could 
feel it, too. "Yeah, I'll find them."

In the end, the Nox found them.  The team walked into a glade and there 
they were, ready to greet their friends from Earth.  In fact, it was so 
easy that Carter suspected the Nox had placed themselves in her path.  
Either way, as Carter walked toward Ohper and Anteaus, she knew it was 
time to get down to business.

Ohper smiled a child-like smile, "Captain Carter.  It is good to see 
you again." She said pleasantly.  Anteaus walked up and took Carter's 
hand in greeting.  

"Hi Ohper, Anteaus.  It's good to see you too." She hesitated.

"You have come about O'Neill," Ohper suggested.

"Well, yes!" Carter admitted, surprised the Nox would mention it first.  
"May I see him?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Captain, but he is not with us." Anteaus 
answered.  "We sent him away."

"Away?" Carter repeated stupidly. "Away where?"

"Don't worry Captain, your O'Neill is perfectly safe and soon I 
sincerely hope, he will be perfectly well." Ohper responded.  

"He's not 'perfectly well' now?" Carter shot back, forgetting 
diplomacy.  "What happened to him?"

"You know, Captain." Anteaus replied, frowning slightly at her lack of 
understanding, "you know.  O'Neill encountered the Great Force.  He's 
been touched.  Soon it will be time for his ordeal."

Alarmed, Carter almost shouted, "Ordeal!"

Anteaus and Ohper smiled beatifically, "His passage will save us all."

Carter shot a glance at Daniel, imploring him to explain this.  She 
received only a blank look.  Daniel had no more insight into their 
situation than she did.  "Great," Carter sighed, then plunged ahead.  
"Anteaus, please explain *why* Colonel O'Neill will save you, exactly 
*how* he will 'save you all'?"

Anteaus exchanged a meaningful look with Ohper, "Captain, please join 
us, be seated and we will explain everything."

Carter signaled for the team to set up a perimeter defense, in case 
Goa'uld forces should stumble onto them.  The Nox could vanish in an 
eye-blink, but she didn't want to have to count on their protection.  
Better to be prepared, she thought recalling her first mission to this 
planet, the mission where she had been killed, along with O'Neill and 
the rest of SG-1, only to be resurrected by the Nox.  She took a seat 
on a rude bench constructed of branches.  Anteaus and Ohper sat across 
the fire pit from her, holding hands like children.  Carter waited 
politely for them to speak.

Anteaus stood solemnly and in a Storyteller's voice, began to chant.  

In timeless chaos, time awoke, with striking of a primal stroke.
From nothingness order began, guide and goal of sentient hand;
On infinite struggle all depends, 'tween order and chaos, endless end.

In battle – turmoil cracks the calm, inspires creation's perfect dawn.
On sun, on Nox, on fading star, existence breeds in chaotic power.
On Nox, on star, on brightening sun, the warring gods create as one.

If warring ends, existence stops, Space unbends, destroying Nox.
If striving ends, existence halts. Time unwinds, destroying Nox.

Hear Before-time's shrieking null, know the nothing's endless pull.
Fear the chaos; praise its power, worship order, perfection's flower.

Carter sat puzzling after Anteaus concluded his 'explanation'.  His 
recitation seemed to clearly recount the Nox creation story, and 
foretell Doomsday.  Could it be that the Doomsday was no longer just a 
logical end point, but a real threat?
Carter stood slowly, still gazing across the fire pit into Anteaus' 
kindly eyes.  "I'm sorry but I don't understand.  Your story was 
lovely, powerful, but ... what does it have to do with Colonel 
O'Neill?"

Ohper cocked her small head and smiled, "Why everything. We learned, by 
our ways, that he had been touched by the Great Force when you visited 
the home world of the Antonines." 

Carter nodded, wishing they'd stop using the world "touched" to 
describer her Colonel.

"When we learned this, we looked into our hearts and discovered that 
there is more to O'Neill than we realized." She continued, "For 
example, he was born under a powerful sign on your planet, the dark 
planet Pluto.  This planet travels far, follows an erratic path, and 
draws others into the darkness far away from your natal sun.  Yet it 
always returns to the light, as O'Neill returns."

Carter shook her head, "I don't understand." 

But then she heard Daniel say quietly, "Sam, I do."

When Carter turned to gaze at Daniel, he looked worried.  "Daniel, 
what?" She asked.

Daniel glanced at her then leaned toward the Nox, "O'Neill has been 
touched by the sublime.  That makes him sacred." They nodded, smiling.  
"And the sacred person saves the rest of us through his ordeal," more 
nods. Daniel turned toward Carter, "through his *sacrifice*, Sam."

Daniel turned back to the Nox, "he is undergoing purification now?"

Ohper smiled, "Yes and when he is perfect, his gift will save us."

Carter's heart fell. They were not discussing the gift O'Neill had 
received, she realized, but rather the gift he was expected to *give*.  
Carter could imagine only one thing.

                         *******************

Chapter 7

Light years away, Jack O'Neill opened his eyes.  He smelled grass, 
sweet and clean.  It was cold outside, he could tell from his breath, 
but snuggled inside his mound of straw he was warm and content.  He'd 
rested for the first night in weeks, slept without dreams.  

Now he stretched slowly unwinding his long legs, carefully extending 
his arms in the strange dark space.  He sat up carefully, expecting the 
aches that dogged his waking each morning.  He felt surprisingly good, 
no catch in his right knee, no pain in his lower back. 

 "Sweet," he murmured and stood, stooping to avoid hitting his head on 
the low roof of the hut.  He emerged into a crystal blue day.  The 
rushing of water nearby drowned out other sounds and made him acutely 
aware of the call of nature.  He strolled a short way downstream and 
relieved himself, feeling his stomach growl, wishing he had a power 
bar, even an MRE. 

He gnawed a birch twig and rubbed it briskly against his teeth, 
enjoying the flavor, then stooped and raised a handful of water to his 
mouth, swished and spit.  The water was cool and sweet in the rapidly 
growing heat of the coming day.  The pool looked inviting.  

Jack glanced around. Celeste *had* said no one would bother him here.  
He unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off along with his t-shirt and bent 
to remove his boots and shinnied out of his pants and boxers.  He 
walked easily across the large flat cobbles to the water's edge and 
waded partway in, then plunged.  The cold water took his breath away 
for a moment until his skin went numb.  Then he felt only the smooth 
wash of water against his body as he swam toward the waterfall, dove 
down and under it and emerged in the niche behind the wall of falling 
water.   He clambered out onto the mist-slick rocks and sat watching 
the water roar past, shivering with cold and exhilaration.  A trout the 
size of a city bus cruised past his toes.  

Jack watched as the trout arched its torpedo body into the crashing 
water, probably to snag an insect, and then returned to its station 
just behind the falls.  It was a lovely, great brook trout.  He could 
see the pale green vermiculi across her broad back, the rose colored 
spots traced with blue halos, the white-edged fins.  "Perfect," he 
thought.

Jack watched her feed until he was shivering with cold and then 
rejoined her in the pool, swam under the falls and back to the shore.  
He emerged clean and refreshed.  He walked across the hot flat stones 
toward the hut where he'd left his clothes.  They were gone.  

Jack looked inside the hut, not there either.  Exasperated and more 
than a little embarrassed he walked back down the trail, but found no 
sign of clothing – not a stitch – no boots, no pants, no shirt.  
"Perfect!" he growled, stalking back to the hut.  

As he returned Jack noticed something that, a moment ago, had not been 
there – a small white bundle of cloth.  He quickly stooped and 
investigated, finding a tunic that reached to his mid-calf, a hooded 
cloak and a belt, all of soft, loosely woven fabric.  Too disgusted to 
bother with further searching, he slipped the tunic over his head, 
cinched the belt around his midsection and threw the cloak on.  It was 
warm and felt good against his damp skin.  "Celeste said they would 
provide," Jack muttered, "but I wish they'd have left my hat ... and my 
damned boots!"

He carefully examined the area for signs of who might have brought the 
clothes and where they'd come from but on the smooth, dry stone there 
was no sign of any kind, just his own damp footprints drying quickly on 
the warm stones.  As the twin suns rose higher, Jack felt increasingly 
hungry.  Barefoot he was unwilling to stray far from the stone beach.  
He leaned against the outside wall of the hut, listening to the roar of 
the falls, feeling the mist in the air, the heat of the suns warming 
the stones against his back. He dozed.  When he awoke, his stomach was 
growling. He smelled food.  Jack blinked and rubbed his eyes, wondering 
how long he'd slept, then put his hand down to rise and touched a 
wooden platter at his side.  

"Room service?" he muttered as he lifted the platter and sniffed.  It 
smelled good, like rice and lamb.  There was also flat bread and 
greens.  Jack didn't hesitate.  He was hungry and seemed to be entirely 
at the tender mercies of the Antonines.  He knew he wouldn't get far 
barefoot on the scree-covered mountain.  So there was no choice, 
really, but to relax and enjoy the solitude.  "Might as well eat it 
while it's hot," he said and took a bite of lamb wrapped in bread.

After consuming the last bite, Jack licked his fingers and decided to 
investigate how hot food had arrived halfway up the mountain.  But as 
he tried to stand an undeniable fatigue settled over him.  He struggled 
to rise, but couldn't.  "Drugged," he said.  "They must have drugged 
me," and toppled over on the stony shore.

Jack awoke in the dark hut and knew he was not alone when a form moved, 
blocking the light from the door.  He blinked, tried to clear his head.  
What had happened?  His mouth was dry and he felt hot.  He began to 
rise from the grass bed.  Firm hands pressed him back.  "Patience 
O'Neill," a voice said gently.  "You were more ill than we understood.  
I should not have left you here alone.  You are safe. There is nothing 
to fear.  Lay back. Rest." 

Jack gazed into the light from the doorway and saw a form slip through 
the low opening.  Was it Celeste? Her body arched as she moved through.  
Something in the swift motion reminded Jack of the trout he'd watched 
under the falls.  Somehow the two seemed the same.  But the connection 
made no sense and, as he struggled to think clearly, fatigue 
overwhelmed him. He drifted back to sleep, dreaming of swimming on a 
hot summer day in a cool mountain pool beside women as graceful and 
quick as trout.

When Celeste returned to the hut, O'Neill was asleep again.  Her 
watcher had summoned her immediately, at the first sign that O'Neill 
was unwell.  Celeste came immediately from her nearby camp.  They found 
him collapsed beside the hut, burning with fever.  Celeste's watcher 
helped her move him into the cool stone hut and then left to summon the 
Seer to aid him.  As Celeste waited, she prepared O'Neill for the 
ceremony to come.  

                         *******************

Chapter 8

Carter glared at Daniel, unwilling to believe.  "*Sacrifice*!"  She 
repeated, "What do you mean?"  

Daniel looked back evenly, "I think you know exactly what I mean, Sam.  
Maybe we should try to find him."

Carter nodded, "Right.  Anteaus, please tell us where you sent Colonel 
O'Neill.  If he can help you I am sure he will, but we have to find 
him.  Will you help us?"

Anteaus nodded, "Yes.  O'Neill should have friends beside him.  I will 
send you to him, to the Antonine home world."  Carter began to smile 
and then, realized she was no longer looking at Anteaus.  Instead she 
was in the plaza on P3X531, Celeste's planet.  Daniel was beside her, 
but Teal'c and the rest of the team were nowhere to be seen.  

"C'mon Daniel, let's find someone to ask about the Colonel," Carter 
said and strode across the plaza.  They heard a distant calling.  
Carter trotted toward the voices.  Daniel followed, urged on by his 
understanding of the Antonines' language.  The voice was calling out in 
Greek for the Seer, the community healer, to come to the aid of the 
visitor.  Something told Daniel that they were about to find Jack.

"Sam, they are calling for 'the Seer', the local shaman," he explained, 
"calling for the Seer to help their visitor." 

Carter glanced at Daniel and they quickly closed the distance and 
joined a growing crowd of Antonines.  Daniel asked about Jack, 'the 
visitor' and was directed toward a slender young woman.  Carter gave a 
nod to Daniel and he approached the woman and inquired about the 
Colonel.  

As Carter waited, she watched for someone likely to be a 'Seer' to 
appear, expecting it would be an older person, probably a man.  
Instead, a very young woman, almost a child, joined the group and was 
greeted with exclamations.  The woman speaking to Daniel broke away 
from him and went to the young priestess, bowed and stated her problem 
quickly.  Then the group turned en masse toward the mountains and 
walked swiftly away.  

"Daniel, what's happening?" Carter called.  

"They are bringing the Seer to Jack.  He's on that mountain somewhere.  
I didn't understand why, exactly."  Daniel replied.

Carter shrugged and jogged after the rapidly retreating crowd.  Daniel 
followed.  Carter called to Daniel over her shoulder as they closed the 
gap to the Antonines, "We're off to see the wizard."

The group did not order them away, so Carter fell into step at the end 
of the crowd.  As she walked, she spoke quietly with Daniel.  "So, 
we're going to the Colonel, you're sure?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure.  How many visitors can there be on a planet?  
Besides, whoever this crowd is taking the Seer to help, he's in 
trouble.  Wanna bet its Jack?"  Daniel asked trying to lighten Sam's 
back mood with a little levity.

Carter smiled politely and continued worrying.  This could be a wild-
goose chase.  They could easily end up at the hut of some other visitor 
and have wasted -- how much time would it take to ascend the mountain?  
Several hours at least, she knew.  Carter glanced at the horizon.  The 
twin suns were already well past their zenith.  On Earth they'd have 
maybe three hours to sunset.  "The Colonel had better not be very far 
away or we'll be hiking through the night," she said to Daniel as they 
walked.

"I was thinking the same thing, Sam.  In fact, I was thinking that 
shaman usually prefer to work at night, especially in front of a 
crowd." Daniel said raising his brows.

"What do you mean?" Carter asked, not liking the look on Daniel's face.

"Well," Daniel explained, "Anteaus and Ohper told us that Jack would 
'save them all'.  Now we are in the company of the local shaman, 
heading for what is pretty clearly the sacred place for these people as 
night approaches.  Sam, we should be prepared for an interesting 
evening."

Carter continued the thought, "We need a plan of attack if we walk in 
on the Antonines preparing to accept the Colonel's gift."  

Daniel frowned and added, "Anteaus said he should have friends beside 
him.  We are meant to be here for Jack." 

"God, Daniel, if these people are preparing to ..." Carter couldn't say 
the words.

Daniel could. "Offer a human sacrifice."

Carter nodded, "How the hell are two of us going to stop them?" 

As she walked into the evening, Carter raked her brain for a strategy.  
She found none.  She had no idea of where they were going.  When Daniel 
questioned the Antonines, he received vague answers, nothing specific 
enough to allow her to move ahead and mount a rescue.  Carter fingered 
her rifle. She was fully armed and so was Daniel.  If they had to... 
but there must be another way, something that would not require her to 
hurt these gentle people.  Carter stopped and reconsidered. These 
gentle people were about to *kill* Colonel O'Neill.  If necessary, she 
would do what she had to do to save his life.

As Carter and Daniel clambered up the slippery mountainside in the 
dark, a strange booming sound, almost a vibration, rolled down the 
slopes to greet them.  Something about the booming rhythm seemed 
familiar. Carter was almost certain she'd heard the syncopated beat 
somewhere... where?

Daniel touched her arm, "Isn't that the same beat Jack was tapping on 
the table at our last briefing?"

"Oh-my-gosh, that's where I heard it!" Carter agreed.  "Do you think 
it's the Colonel?"

Daniel shook his head slightly, "Not by himself.  There are about 
twenty drummers making that sound.  But it is definitely the same 
rhythm."

Carter pressed on, hoping to reach their destination, whatever that 
was, before the crowd.  Hoping that in the few moments she might be 
able to free O'Neill, or at least assess the need to rescue him before 
it became hopeless without firepower.

The pounding drums grew louder and faster, the intensity of them made 
Carter jumpy.  Her heart was beating faster than normal and she felt 
swept up in the booming that rolled through the darkening forest.  Then 
suddenly the crowd ahead of her turned off to the right and plunged 
into the forest depths.  Daniel touched her hand, "He should be 
somewhere directly ahead now.  Should we try to outpace them?"

Carter hissed, "Yes" and picked up her pace to a quick trot, swinging 
wide around the people ahead of them.  Daniel was beside her as she ran 
through the dark forest of giant trees.  Somewhere ahead the drummers 
beat louder and faster. She felt the drums vibrating her chest and 
belly as she ran toward the sound.  Then, through the trees she saw a 
brightening, like a bonfire.  She sprinted forward, her rifle at the 
ready, praying Daniel was still with her.  

She reached the edge of the trees peered into a small glade, a golden 
waterfall spilled down the face of the mountain, colored orange and red 
by the flickering fires of dozens of campfires.  And in the middle of 
the glade was a platform with a still form wrapped in white. "Daniel," 
Carter hissed as she stopped and crouched in the brush at the edge of 
the glade, "what is that?"  

Daniel looked a moment and said slowly, "Unless I am mistaken, that's 
an Alter."

Carter pulled out her monocular and peered at the structure in the 
flickering light.  There was a person on the platform, a man.  
"Daniel," Carter said breathlessly, "that's the Colonel."  She started 
forward but Daniel grabbed her and pulled her down just as the drumming 
stopped.  

"Too late," he hissed, "it's starting."

                         *******************

Chapter 9

Jack awoke from dreams of cool water and swimming fish and stared into 
a brilliant night sky.  A sea of stars overhead seemed to spill down to 
touch the earth.  It was like flying through the night sky, or falling, 
Jack knew both sensations very well from innumerable night missions and 
HALO drops. Still this was different, no airplane enclosed him; no 
parachute supported him.  He was swimming in a night sky awash with 
star-shine.  

A drumming pounded through his body, like the beating of his own heart, 
familiar, insistent.  It was the same scrap of tune that had plagued 
him for weeks, but now the music was right, in complete accord with his 
mind and body, in step with the Universe. Then inexplicably the drums 
stopped. It was as if his heart seized.  Jack cried out and an 
anguished screaming joined in from the surrounding stars.  

At the edge of the glade, Carter winced at the screams.  She hated 
bagpipes and there were at least fifty of the damned things filling the 
night with their nasal agony.  She raised her monocular and saw the 
Colonel move.  "Thank God, Daniel he's alive."

"Well, sure," Daniel replied reasonably. "A human sacrifice isn't much 
good if he's already *dead*."

"Oh, yeah." Carter answered, feeling stupid, but still wildly relieved 
to know O'Neill was still breathing, if only for a short time by the 
Antonines' evening programme.

Then the wailing bagpipes stopped and the drumming continued in an 
incessant rhythm.  The crowd parted and the young 'Seer' advanced to 
the Alter. Celeste stood.  She had knelt at O'Neill's side and now 
bowed low as the younger woman laid her hand first on Jack's head and 
then on his heart.

Carter tensed.  This seemed the moment when the blow might fall.  She 
raised her weapon as the young woman leaned over the Colonel, stroked 
his face and then bent low and kissed him deeply.  Carter watched 
transfixed as O'Neill responded.  He tried to raise an arm, but it was 
firmly bound to the Alter.  The crowd watched in silent anticipation.

Daniel leaned over to her ear and whispered, "I think Jack's drugged.  
And, I might have been wrong about the kind of 'sacrifice' involved 
here."

Carter shot him a glance, "Gee d'ya think?" before turning to watch.  
The young woman had finished phase one, apparently and proceeded to ... 
"Daniel, she's got a knife," Carter hissed as the Seer raised a long, 
thin dagger into the firelight. Carter snapped her rifle up to her 
shoulder and squeezed off a burst over the crowd.  The shots cracked, 
reverberating off the mountain face. 

The drumming stopped; the crowd turned and stared.  Carter charged 
forward, shouted, "Get back!" and waved her weapon menacingly.  The 
crowd parted allowing her to approach the Seer who still held the 
wicked-looking knife over the Colonel.  Daniel ran along behind her and 
kept trying to tell her something. He sounded upset, but Carter was 
concentrating on projecting force, focusing all her energy on showing 
such power that no one would dare challenge her right or ability to 
interfere.  She was facing down an overwhelmingly superior force. If 
the crowd realized that fact, all three of them would be at the 
Antonines' mercy.  

"Sam, they aren't going to hurt him!" Daniel insisted.

"Damn right they're not!" she snapped, "that one's got a knife and I'm 
not taking any chances.  Tell her to back off, Daniel!"

Daniel repeated her order to the Seer, who motioned Carter to come 
forward and join her at O'Neill's side.  In the flickering firelight, 
Carter couldn't tell whether the Colonel was dead or alive.  He wasn't 
moving.  

"Daniel tell her to release the Colonel," Carter ordered. She heard 
Daniel speak to the Seer, never taking her eyes off the knife in the 
young woman's hand. 

Daniel listened to the Seer's animated reply and translated.  Carter 
could tell from his patient tone he was trying to calm her.  He said, 
"The Seer says that Jack has not been harmed by her or any of her 
people.  But, she says, he will die if we don't let her complete the 
ritual."

"Is that a threat?" Carter asked urgently.

Daniel shook his head, "I don't think so, but it's hard to be certain.  
She's using formal language, probably because this is a very solemn 
ceremony. It makes it hard to grasp the precise intent. There is too 
little nuance."

Carter nodded and continued, "Tell her he must not be harmed and find 
out what she wants to do."

Daniel translated the question and listened again, then replied. "She 
says he will be 'liberated.'   Sam, even I don't like the sound of 
that."

Carter looked from the Seer's burning eyes to Celeste's. Celeste seemed 
almost willing to speak, if protocol hadn't prevented it. "Daniel, 
speak directly to Celeste.  Talk to her in English," Carter ordered.  

"Right," Daniel said bowing to the Seer and then turning to Celeste, he 
repeated the request that they release O'Neill and asked their 
intentions."

Celeste looked uncomfortable at being singled out to speak in lieu of 
the Seer, but listened and answered politely. "O'Neill came to us and 
was chosen by the Muse.  He is possessed of a very powerful gift.  We 
celebrate his good fortune, but have come to understand that the gift 
harmed ..." she paused searching for the proper words, "caused harm.  
This is not our way. It is not the way of the Muse.  This ritual is ... 
will relieve O'Neill's suffering, free him." 

Celeste concluded and smiled. The smile reassured Carter, more than 
words, that they meant no harm. Still the Seer held a knife and had 
been about to use it. 'For what?' Carter asked herself again, but she 
wasn't sure.  She hesitated for a moment, gazing from Celeste to the 
Seer and then to O'Neill lying so still.

In the flickering light, he looked already dead. She wanted to look 
away, not to ever see him like this. Despite months of dangerous 
missions together, or maybe *because* of the danger, Carter had never 
regarded Jack O'Neill as quite mortal.  Not until now.

Carter forced aside her morbid fears and made the call.  "Daniel, thank 
them for helping the Colonel.  Ask them to proceed and tell them I will 
stay here beside him. If they need convincing, tell them the Nox sent 
us to be by his side through his 'ordeal'."

As Daniel spoke, the Seer nodded, then stepped forward and the drumming 
began, softly at first, then growing louder and faster. Carter stepped 
back and stood at the head of the wooden Alter with Daniel at beside 
her. She felt her body shake with the vibrations from the huge drums 
invisible somewhere beyond the fire lit glade.  The beating went on 
incessantly as the Seer recited an incantation that Daniel didn't 
bother to translate.  

The Seer danced slowly around the Alter.  The blade gleamed in the 
dancing light as she weaved and bent to the drums.  At some invisible 
signal, the screaming pipes began again and Carter saw the Colonel pull 
against his restraints.  The Seer bent low over him, whispering and 
soothing him, then took hold of his hair and sliced a hank from the 
top.  Carter couldn't help but grin.  No one was likely to even notice 
the missing hair, not even the Colonel, given his usual scruffy looks. 

The grin froze on her face.  The Seer suddenly slipped the knife inside 
O'Neill's loose woolen tunic and, in one swift motion, sliced it from 
neck to midriff. Then the young woman straddled the Alter and O'Neill.  
She placed her hands on his chest, swaying and weaving, uttering 
unbelievably sorrowful wailing.  Carter's skin prickled at the sound.  

Suddenly, the Colonel's eyes opened. The young woman leaned down, 
placed her mouth on his. Then she pulled a cord at her waist and her 
loose gown fell away.  Carter heard Daniel's gasp at the sight of the 
reed thin girl.  Naked in the dancing light, the Seer slipped her hands 
under the hem of O'Neill's tunic and slipped it up, moving her hands up 
his bare thighs.  The crowd murmured in appreciation.  Carter saw the 
Colonel gasp and pull at his restraints, reaching for the girl, 
responding to her touch.  

Carter told herself this was not something she should watch, that she 
should look away, but she didn't. She feared for O'Neill's safety. It 
was her job to watch over him, no matter what her personal feelings, no 
matter what he was doing.  Besides, what he was doing at the moment was 
simply fascinating, like watching a car wreck in slow motion.  

The music, and the raw scene before her, was mesmerizing. "Daniel's 
right," Carter thought, "the Colonel must be drugged."  O'Neill showed 
no inhibition, just basic animal desire for the girl sitting astride 
his bare chest.  His skin glistened.  The Seer bent low. She pressed 
her mouth to his again. He responded hungrily.  The girl pulled away 
for a brief moment. Carter saw the knife flash as she cut the cord 
restraining one of his arms.  He immediately grabbed her and pulled her 
roughly down against his chest, her long red hair fell across him.  The 
drums and bagpipes raged.  

The crowd surged and swayed to the rhythms.  People began to dance in 
the same undulating dance Carter had witnessed on her first encounter 
with these people ten weeks earlier.  Suddenly the crowd pressed 
forward, blocking her view.  Carter lost sight of the Alter for what 
could have only been a few moments. Carter pushed forward against the 
crush of dancers and when she could again see the platform, it was 
empty. The Colonel was gone. 

The Seer stood alone on the platform.  The young woman began to sway 
and keen to the drumming which grew instantly stronger and faster, then 
the pipes screamed again and the Seer broke into a wailing lament that 
filled the glade with pulsating music.  

Where was O'Neill?  Alarmed, Carter pushed forward to find him. Then 
she saw attendants carrying a litter through the seething crowd.  He 
was there, on the litter, wrapped in a white robe.  They carried the 
Colonel directly to her and dumped him at her feet. Then, with a bow 
and brief word of thanks (probably) to Daniel, the men turned away and 
rejoined the crowd, unwilling to miss any more of the evening's wild 
merriment.  

Carter stooped. The Colonel was out cold: unconscious or asleep. 
"Probably drugged, like Daniel thought," Carter decided as she shook 
him, slapped his face gently. He didn't respond.  She felt his pulse, 
too rapid, but strong.  His skin felt strangely hot and dry under her 
fingers.  "Daniel, I think the Colonel is pretty sick," Carter spoke 
over the wild music that was rocking the night.  "He feels hot and I 
can't wake him up."  

Daniel bent over O'Neill and sniffed. "She drugged him, Sam.  When they 
kissed, I think she was drugging him.  I recognize the smell from ... 
research I did in Macedonia."

"So what do we do?" Carter shouted over the wailing pipes, "we can't 
just sit here and wait for him to wake up."

"Why not?" Daniel asked.  "It's a warm night.  I think he'll be fine, 
Sam," Daniel said, patting her hand. "If you want to do something, try 
giving him some water.  He's probably pretty dehydrated from.... Well, 
never mind.  Just trust me on this."

Carter touched the Colonel's forehead with the back of her hand. He was 
burning up.  She looked at Daniel again, but before she could speak, he 
smiled knowingly, reassuring her. 

"It's a perfectly normal reaction to the drugs, Sam. It will pass with 
time," he said again.   

Carter pulled her canteen off her web gear and poured water onto her 
kerchief. She touched it to the Colonel's forehead.  He stirred and 
mumbled something about fishing.  "What a fanatic," she thought smiling 
grimly.  By the time she'd dampened his mouth and forehead again, the 
cloth was dry. So she rewet it before wiping it across his hot neck and 
chest.  

As Carter worked, the drums pounded ceaselessly, in synch with her own 
pounding heart.  The hours slipped by as she waited for the Colonel to 
revive.  She drifted on the music, felt it inside her.  Early in the 
morning, she finally fell asleep.

                         *******************

Chapter 10

Carter awoke to a deserted glade.  The only sound was the rushing 
waterfall.   Daniel was gone; the crowd was gone.  She blinked and 
realized she'd fallen asleep and sometime during the night had laid her 
head on the Colonel's chest.  She tried to sit up, careful not to wake 
him, but his arm was around her, holding her.  Carter's heart was 
pounding at the idea she was in O'Neill's arms. Visions of the previous 
night filled her with rash possibilities.  She listened to his 
heartbeat, felt his chest rise and fall. It seemed like normal sleep.  
She pulled slowly away.  To her relief, the Colonel didn't stir.  

She sat a moment contemplating him.  He looked like hell. He was 
missing a hunk of hair, sporting a two-day beard and wore nothing but a 
white woolen robe.  At that moment, Carter thought he was far and away 
the most desirable man she'd ever seen.  She sighed and told herself to 
get a grip.  

Colonel Jack O'Neill had fascinated Sam Carter long before they met. 
She'd been intrigued by the notorious Colonel O'Neill ever since 
reading his mission report from the first Star Gate mission, the one to 
Abydos. So much so that she used her Pentagon connections to keep track 
of O'Neill.  Long before she stepped foot in Cheyenne Mountain, she 
knew the scuttlebutt on his ruined marriage, although she didn't 
understand the reasons until much later. She'd even made fair progress 
researching his pre-SGC career. Carter was impressed, from his high 
marks as a mere boot through his years of training and advancement, 
until the trail stopped cold when he entered special ops.  

Now the man slept beside her. At least she hoped he was asleep; if the 
drugs had a more debilitating effect, she'd have a helluva time getting 
him down the mountain.

Carter frowned and stared at the Colonel, his eyelids flickered 
slightly, as if in REM sleep.  "Probably a good sign," she decided. 
Then, without warning, he grabbed her wrist and said softly, "Where am 
I?"

Carter answered, "P3X531, Sir."

O'Neill grunted.  "Carter." Then groaned, opened his eyes and sat up. 
"What happened?"

She started to reply, then blushed at the thought of explaining. 
O'Neill saw her hesitate, realized he was naked under the robe and 
concluded the worst.  "Jesus, Sam.  I didn't... we didn't..."

"No, Colonel.  We didn't," Carter answered quickly to prevent further 
embarrassment.  "You did."

O'Neill stared at her a moment, his cheeks growing rosy under his 
stubble. "*I* did," he croaked. Carter nodded.  "With who, exactly?" he 
demanded, looking around for his alleged partner.

Carter opened her mouth to explain and stopped.  She couldn't find the 
words.  "Where the hell is Daniel?" she wondered wildly, willing him to 
appear and interrupt this horrible conversation. "*He* should be 
explaining last night's ritual.  It's *his* field of expertise after 
all, *he's* a man."

But Daniel had vanished, probably wandered off with the Antonines.  So, 
Carter thought a moment and spoke. "Sir, you were sent here by the Nox.  
We came after you and found you in the middle of a ... ceremony.  The 
Antonines drugged you and you were restrained on a sort of Alter.  
There was a young priestess, called a Seer, officiating and she had a 
knife.  It looked like she was going to use it on you, so I stopped 
her.  Then, after Celeste told us that you would die if we stopped the 
ceremony, we ... *I* decided to let them proceed.  Sir, do you remember 
*anything* about last night?" Carter concluded feeling O'Neill's eyes 
on her, feeling the hot flush creep up her collar.  

The Colonel shook his head slowly.  "I remember a trout, fish and 
something about women swimming.  It was summer, very hot.  The water 
was cool, but... then I was falling, or flying maybe and there were 
stars everywhere." He grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose, 
thinking. " I remember... music, electric guitars.  Jimmy Hendricks or 
the Doors, I think, and fishing.  That's it." O'Neill looked at her 
cautiously.  "What else was there?"

"Ask Daniel," Carter blurted, stood and walked away, leaving O'Neill to 
figure it out.

                         *******************

Chapter 11

Over the ridge from the waterfall, Daniel and Celeste listened to the 
chorus of morning birdsong filling the forest. As Celeste's guest, 
Daniel was enjoying a breakfast of lamb and flatbread. The two had 
talked most of the night and as dawn broke on the mountain Celeste 
suggested they retire to her camp, just upstream of the waterfall, for 
food and privacy.

Daniel took another bite of his sandwich, chewed and spoke.  "Was Jack 
drugged, Celeste?" He looked at his friend.  

She nodded, "Yes, Daniel. He was."

"Why?" Daniel asked.

"Your friend O'Neill was already very weak when the Nox sent him to us, 
far weaker than we knew.  I had hoped to accomplish his cure with time 
and solitude. I did not plan to perform the ancient rituals.  When he 
collapsed, I had to use the ancient rites.  It was the only way to free 
him quickly.  If I had delayed, O'Neill would have almost certainly 
died."

"Collapsed? Died?" Daniel repeated, shocked. "Jack was sick?"
"Not sick, Daniel, dying," Celeste repeated. "Fever burned inside 
O'Neill.  It was a sign of a terrible struggle within.  O'Neill had 
rejected the gift. His body was at war with his will, um, what is the 
word? His body was at war with his *spirit*.  Do you understand?"  
Celeste gazed at Daniel earnestly. 

This was important, Daniel realized.  He shook his head. "No not 
really.  Was he being punished by the Muse?"

Celeste thought a moment before answering, searching for the precise 
words. "Not punished, Daniel – consumed.  The gift is a great and 
powerful force.  But, O'Neill is strong-willed.  He chose a different 
path for his life.  His *will* is to follow the path he chose, 
regardless of the cost.  The Nox sent him to us when they saw that he 
had battled the gift and how he had already suffered." Celeste sighed 
and continued, "When I realized he was near death, there was no time to 
be gentle."

Daniel nodded, trying to absorb the idea that Jack had almost killed 
himself by battling his compulsion.  Somehow an iron will just wasn't 
obvious in the man, at least not immediately.  He seemed too casual, 
too easy-going. At least, unless you crossed him and saw that look in 
his eye, the one that said 'Don't push it; you'll lose.'"

Daniel nodded again and changed the subject.  Daniel knew it was not 
the time to think through Jack's propensity for 'do or die' situations. 
So he set aside that line of questions and moved on to other things. 
"Um, what about the Seer.  Why did she ... um ... have sex with Jack?  
Exactly what did that have to do with curing him?"

Celeste smiled.  "It did nothing for O'Neill.  It was simply the 
payment required by the Seer."

"Payment!" Daniel exclaimed.

"Yes, Daniel.  O'Neill came with nothing.  He had only the clothes he 
wore.  I offered these, but the Seer rejected them.  Fortunately, she 
had heard O'Neill is a tall man, a powerful man. She named him as 
acceptable payment of her price.  He had nothing else to give."

"But Jack didn't have a choice in the matter, Celeste.  Among our 
people, we *choose* to have sex, or not to have sex and we respect a 
persons' right to choose."

Celeste nodded quickly, "Yes. I understand. That is why the Nox sent 
you and Captain Cater to speak for him.  He could not speak for 
himself.  By allowing the ritual, Carter gave permission for the Seer 
to save O'Neill and, of course, to claim payment. You should explain to 
O'Neill that Carter saved his life.  You may also tell him the Seer was 
well-pleased."

Daniel had managed to keep a straight face until this last 
pronouncement.  "What?" he snorted, "I don't think I'll be telling Jack 
that!" Then seeing her surprise, recovered, "Oh, excuse me, Celeste.  I 
intended no disrespect.  It's just that we have certain ... 
proscriptions ... concerning 'sexual relations.'  We don't usually talk 
about them with other people.  The Antonines do?"

Celeste smiled broadly. "We enjoy 'sexual relations' very much, Daniel.  
They are an essential part of our praise and delight in the Muse.  The 
Seer, as a leader within Antonine society, is especially adept.  She is 
chosen for her position in large part on her aptitude.  Her praise of 
O'Neill is a great compliment. It may even form the basis for future 
relations between our people."

Daniel looked hard at Celeste. Did she intend the double meaning of her 
words?  He wasn't really sure, but her smiling eyes made him think she 
might.  He smiled back and moved on to the big question.  "Celeste, the 
Nox said Jack's sacrifice 'will save us all.' Do you know what that 
means?"

She nodded and smiled.

"Will you tell me?" Daniel asked.

Celeste gazed back at Daniel evenly and said simply, "That story is not 
yet written, Daniel.  I will tell you that the Nox believe that 
O'Neill's first loyalty, that which caused him to reject the gift of 
the Muse, is absolutely essential to their survival, and to ours as 
well.  O'Neill serves a greater force, a force whose time is upon us.  
As for exactly how he will save us, have patience.  For now, O'Neill is 
safe.  He is with you.  Leave the future to the future. It is enough to 
know he has an important destiny.  We all do."

                         *******************

Chapter 12

Daniel hiked back to the waterfall alone.  As he walked by the swift-
flowing stream, he was lost in thought.  "Destiny!" He couldn't get the 
word out of his mind, "destiny."  Soon he heard the roar of the falls 
and then saw the stream disappear down the sheer mountain cliff into 
the small, clear pool below him.  Sam was having a swim.  He saw her 
back flash in the liquid blue as she dove under the falls.  "I should 
have brought a suit," Daniel thought as he scrambled down the path 
beside the falls and walked the last hundred meters.  Jack wasn't 
around. "Maybe he's in the hut," Daniel thought. "Probably worn out," 
he laughed to himself.

Daniel called out, "Hello!" just to let everyone know he was back, 
stuck his head in the hut and collided with Sam. "My gosh! Sam! When 
did you come out of the pool?" Daniel blurted.

Sam just stared at him.  "I wasn't in the pool and where have you been.  
Do you know the Colonel has been asking me what *happened* last night!  
That is definitely *your*  area of expertise, Daniel.  So get in there 
and tell him, for crying out loud!"  As Carter stalked off, Daniel 
shook his head.  "I was sure you were swimming," he said and then 
ducked through the entrance to check on Jack.

"All things considered, Jack, you look okay," he said by way of 
greeting. O'Neill, with his missing chunk of hair and two-day beard 
glared from the gloom like a caged animal.  

"Get my clothes, dammit!" he growled. 

"Sam said you had a few questions about last night," Daniel continued, 
pretending not to hear.  He couldn't help but play adolescent games 
with O'Neill, at least until he saw his face.  There was that look. 

Daniel turned and ducked through the door, "Right, back in a few 
minutes," Daniel promised and stepped back into the bright sunshine of 
another lovely day on P3X531.  He started back up the steep path to 
Celeste's camp to retrieve Jack's uniform when he heard a call and 
turned to see Sam jogging to catch up with him.  

"I'm giving the Colonel his privacy," she said.  

Daniel laughed, "Good thinking, me too.  Until he gets a pair of pants, 
I don't think he wants either of us around."

They walked in companionable silence.  Daniel wondered what Sam thought 
about last night.  It had been unlike any ceremony Daniel had ever 
experienced. In his extensive travels before joining SGC he thought 
he'd seen nearly every tribal right the planet had to offer an eager 
student.  But before he could think of a way to ask Sam what she'd 
thought, they reached Celeste's camp.

"Welcome, Carter!" Celeste cried, waving as they approached.  "Daniel, 
I didn't think we'd see you again so soon."

"It's about Jack," Daniel began.

"He is not better?" Celeste asked.

"He's fine, I think, but grumpy.  He wants his clothes back, please." 
Daniel explained.  

Celeste's eyebrows arched. "Oh, of course.  In the excitement of 
preparing for the Seer, I forgot we had them.  One moment," and she 
disappeared into her tent.  

Daniel exchanged glances with Sam.  She looked equally nonplussed by 
the need to retrieve her CO's uniform.  As they waited, there was a 
stir behind them and, as if from nowhere, the Seer was there.  

The girl approached slowly.  She was dressed in a simple gown of 
unbleached wool and leather sandals; her long red hair in a plait that 
hung straight down her back. She stopped, bowed slightly and spoke in 
careful English.  "I come to make a pact between Terre and the 
Antonines." Daniel and Sam returned the gesture, bowing slightly lower 
out of respect to her station.

The girl slipped her hand inside the folds of her gown and pulled out a 
long knife, the same knife she'd used in the ceremony the night before.  
She stepped toward Carter and held the handle out to her.  "This is a 
gift ... for you ... for your trust last night.  Yesterday we were 
strangers, today we are friends, Carter."

Daniel nudged Sam in the ribs, and she smiled, bowed again and mumbled, 
"Thank you."

Daniel was about to give forth with a flowery speech about 
intergalactic friendship when Sam let out a whoop.

"Holy Hanna!" she cried, "Look at this, Daniel!"

The Seer smiled at the obvious excitement over her gift.  Daniel looked 
at the knife.  It had a long handle wrapped in leather, a slender blade 
so highly polished that it seemed to glow. "Sam," he said, "what kind 
of metal is that?"

Sam smiled brightly. "It's naquida! Tell her thank you, Daniel.  Tell 
her thank you, very, *very* much! Then ask her where it came from."

Daniel translated Sam's thanks and her question.  The Seer responded 
that the Antonines mined the metal from deposits in the valleys beyond.  
Seeing the excitement the news had generated, she offered to show them 
the mines.

Carter and Daniel accepted, "Yes!"

They left immediately.  When Celeste returned with O'Neill's uniform, 
Daniel and Carter were already gone.

                         *******************

Chapter 13

Jack sat in the darkest corner of the dark stone hut.  He glowered, 
waiting for Daniel to return.  "Where the hell is he?" Jack asked.  He 
itched from sitting in the hay.  He smelled like... like... well, he 
smelled like he hadn't smelled in a very, very long time, like a 
freshman after a keg party, a mixture of lingering drugs and sex.  He 
yearned to plunge into the pool just a few yards away, to wash away the 
physical evidence, but with Carter still out there somewhere it was 
*not* going to happen!  Jack would not risk running into her again, not 
in the buff, not after last night. Nope, not going to happen!

"Where in blazes is he?" Jack wondered. Besides his growing impatience 
for a pair of pants and boots, he needed to pump Daniel for specifics 
about exactly what he'd done last night.  He had no recollection, but 
there was plenty of evidence that told Jack that he hadn't conducted 
himself like an officer and a gentleman – starting with the way he 
smelled and ending with the look he'd seen on Carter's face.  Carter 
looked like she wanted to die.  Carter – who he'd seen face death 
without hesitation.  When he woke up and asked her what had happened... 
it isn't a pretty sight to see an Air Force Officer turn tail and run.  
"It must have been bad, so bad," Jack thought again, wincing at the 
possibilities. 

"At least it wasn't *with* Carter," he muttered.  "Thank God for small 
favors."  But who had it been? Someone called the Seer, the local 
shaman.  O'Neill shuddered at the thought of it, recalling how 
everyone, himself included, had razzed Daniel Jackson when he'd been 
presented with Sha'Re in front of the entire clan and several members 
of SGC.  O'Neill had joined in happily, hooting as Daniel and Sha'Re 
disappeared behind the curtain while everyone knew what they were up to 
on the other side! Jack had enjoyed teasing Daniel, enjoyed it very 
much.  

"Oh, hell," he growled, "this is going to be bad, very bad."

"Where the hell *is* he?" Jack wondered again, anxious to ask Daniel, 
to get the details clear in his mind so he'd be prepared for the feeble 
jokes and knowing nods.  So, he'd have time to prepare for when he'd 
face Carter again. "Oh, hell, maybe I'll just stay here and live in 
this damned hut.  I retired once, I could do it again."  Then he 
flopped back into the hay. It tickled him in a thousand spots, so he 
scratched and he waited for Daniel, who didn't come.

At that moment, Daniel was far upstream of the waterfall, and moving 
farther still.  The Seer had led them swiftly through the mountain pass 
and down the dry slopes of the leeward side of the mountain range, down 
toward a distant collection of buildings surrounding the naquida mine 
of the Antonines.

The mine was small. Only a few people worked there, apprentices of the 
artisans who worked the metal into ornaments, fine tools and other 
useful items.  As they walked, Carter asked questions of the Seer, 
using Daniel as translator.  The Seer answered promptly, pleased and 
proud to have a resource of such interest to off-world visitors.  
Carter learned that the Antonines had little use for the naquida 
because it was brittle and hard to work.  But in small quantities it 
was favored for its beauty and the sharp, durable edge it leant to 
tools and small weapons.  They had never learned how to work it into 
larger objects, such as shields or plows.

Carter and Daniel visited with each of the workers, saw their 
handicrafts and asked about their techniques and preferences for the 
refined metal.  Nothing looked even remotely like a weapon of mass 
destruction, to Carter's relief.  Within a few hours, Carter was 
satisfied that the Antonines had no idea of the power of the metal they 
turned into hand tools and baubles. 

She turned to Daniel, "We've got to tell the Colonel and then get back 
to the SGC."  

Daniel raised his brows, "Oh, yeah. Jack."

                         *******************

Chapter 14

Jack was still crouched in the hut when Celeste arrived with his 
uniform.  "O'Neill?" she called, "May I enter?"

"Who's with you?" Jack answered warily.

"I am alone," Celeste answered.

"Okay, sure. Come in, Celeste." Jack called out.  

Celeste slipped through the low entry into the dark interior.  
"O'Neill, why are you here? Are you unwell? It is a beautiful day out!" 
she asked.

"Are those my clothes?" Jack asked a little too abruptly. "Please," he 
finished.

Celeste smiled and handed him the bundle of green, "O'Neill.  You are 
well?"

"Yeah, fine.  Couldn't be better," Jack said, trying the change the 
subject.

"What is wrong?" Celeste persisted. 

Jack looked at her, saw only concern, and sighed.  "Sorry Celeste.  I'm 
not fine.  I did something last night, I can't really remember what it 
was, but I know it was bad.  It's got me down.  I shouldn't take it out 
on you, though I apologize.  Thanks for bringing the uniform."

"What did you do?" Celeste asked.

Jack felt his ears growing hot, "I don't know!" He almost shouted.

"Then why are you angry?" Celeste asked immediately, not letting up.

"Because ... because, I know I had sex with *someone* and I'm not sure 
who or why!" O'Neill roared.  Then he stopped.  "Celeste, I'm sorry.  
Please, just leave me alone for a while.  I'm not fit to be around 
right now."

Celeste gazed at O'Neill for a moment and placed her hand on his thigh.  
"O'Neill, last night someone had sex with you.  You were drugged.  You 
did nothing wrong.  In fact, you performed admirably."

Celeste considered the man before her. He seemed unduly upset, but she 
continued. "Would you like to know what happened?"

Jack answered softly, "Yes, please."

"Do you remember coming to us?" Celeste asked.

"Yes," Jack answered.

"What else do you remember?"

"I followed you here. I remember walking here.  I was tired and went to 
sleep.  Then in the morning I went swimming and fell asleep.  I ate and 
then I couldn't... Celeste, why did you drug my food?"

"Your food was not drugged, O'Neill. You were ill; Very ill.  When did 
you stop playing music," Celeste asked.

"A few days ago. Why?"

"Days?" Celeste asked.

"Maybe more," he admitted.

"It was difficult?"

"Yeah, it was hard." Jack answered softly, "I couldn't sleep. So when I 
got here, I guess I needed to catch up on my shut-eye? Is that what 
happened?" he asked.

"Not exactly.  The Antonines understand differently than the Tar'Re , 
O'Neill.  We saw that you were in danger. We knew you rejected the gift 
of the Muse.  That is blasphemy.  The Muse had claimed you.  You would 
have died if we hadn't helped you.  Did you know?" Celeste asked.

Jack looked startled, started to deny it and then said simply, "yeah, 
maybe."

Celeste smiled and asked, "Yet, you resisted."

Jack studied his bare toes and muttered, "yeah."

"Why, O'Neill?" Celeste asked. "

Jack shook his head. "It's hard to explain.  Celeste, I think ... I 
feel there's something else I *have* to do. It's not about music.  As 
great as it feels to play like ... like Leo Kottke, it's not the 
point."  Jack shook his head in disgust.

"O'Neill." Celeste smiled. "There is something. It's why I helped the 
Nox save you.  O'Neill, it's important, important to the Nox and the 
Antonines and to the Tar 'Re.  It became clear to us that you are not 
meant to worship the Muse.  Even before you came to us, you had another 
gift.  I don't know when or why, but a higher purpose had claimed you 
long ago. Somehow you understood that serving the Muse would jeopardize 
this purpose. You rejected the Muse. Doing so, you almost died."

Jack looked at Celeste for an uncomfortable moment and then asked the 
question. "So, what did I do last night."

"I found you collapsed on the beach.  I brought you inside and prepared 
you, O'Neill.  There was not time to be gentle.  I used ancient drugs 
to prepare you, powerful drug to open your spirit, drugs from recipes 
as old as Time.  It was necessary, if I was to release the gift 
quickly.   I hadn't planned to work so quickly.  I hoped to allow you 
time here to face your ordeal, to overcome it through patience and 
persistence.  But, you had already challenged it; you were losing the 
battle. It had gone too far.  I couldn't wait. So I treated you.  I 
didn't ask your permission; I simply acted to save you.  For that, I 
ask your forgiveness, O'Neill."  Celeste looked at Jack.

He saw her concern and felt anger melt away. "You helped me, Celeste. 
Thank you.  If you had asked me, I think I would have said yes. Forget 
about it, no harm done."

Celeste smiled enigmatically, "That's right, there was no harm done, 
O'Neill. But, I must tell you the rest. An ancient ritual was 
necessary."

Jack felt a chill trip down his spine. 'This is it – the bad news,' he 
thought as he asked softly, "A ritual?"

Celeste nodded and continued, "As is our custom: last night the drums 
called the Antonines. Our people came to this holy place from the City, 
from the fields, from the mountains and from the mines.  We carried you 
from this hut to the Alter. You were an offering to the Muse.  The Seer 
came, O'Neill.  While you were tied on the Alter, she laid her hands 
upon you. She freed you from your gift.  Do you remember?"

"I remember swimming with women, or with fish, maybe." Jack said 
slowly, remembering only disparate images. "It was very hot."

Celeste continued, "There was a price, O'Neill. You paid it."

Jack readied himself for the worst, "And, what price was that, 
Celeste?"

Celeste raised her eyebrows, trying to explain her reasons.  "I offered 
the Seer your only things of value, your clothing. She rejected them.  
That left only you.  After freeing you, the Seer claimed her price. 
There was no dishonor." Celeste concluded, "No harm was done, O'Neill."

In a rush the images took on meaning.  "Electric guitars and thousands 
of stars, and a girl, a girl with long red hair. I remember... Holy 
buckets! Celeste. I remember," he rasped, his face coloring deeply.  
Jack rubbed his eyes. He dreaded the next answer, but needed to know. 
"What do you mean 'placed on an Alter?'  Where exactly did I pay this 
price?" 

"On the Alter of the Muse, before the assembled Antonines.  The Seer 
took you.  You were restrained.  You needed her help and she claimed 
you as payment.  You had nothing else to offer." Celeste answered 
softly.

"Everyone saw." Jack asked.

Celeste nodded somberly.  "Your friends stopped the ritual, but I 
explained you would die if it did not continue. They asked only to be 
at your side."

"Daniel was at my side," Jack asked hopefully.

Celeste smiled, nodded and said, "and Carter."

Jack put his head in his hands and said miserably, "and *Carter*." He 
decided staying in the hut for the rest of his life wouldn't be long 
enough.  

Celeste waited another moment, contemplating O'Neill's distress.  He 
seemed unduly concerned.  Perhaps, she thought, he has promised himself 
to Carter.  Celeste paused another moment.  She was about to suggest he 
bathe in the pool, when he said, "At least I didn't have to hear it 
from Daniel.  Thank you Celeste."

Celeste smiled.  She'd noticed the rivalry between O'Neill and the 
younger man.  The men were different – one gentle, the other hot-
tempered, one intellectual, the other intuitive.  Yet, fundamentally, 
they were the same – in their drive to be the best, to achieve, in 
their drive to do good and make a difference. Hence: rivalry. 

Jack rubbed the salt and pepper stubble on his jaw.  He looked 
exhausted, Celeste thought. "How do you feel, O'Neill," she asked.  

"Beat.  Dirty.  But ... better.  All I need is sleep."  He hesitated 
and asked, "Right?  I *will* be able to sleep now?" 

"Yes," Celeste answered.  "There should be no more difficulty, but 
O'Neill the gift of the Muse is gone."

"No more guitar concerts, then?" Jack grinned sadly.

Celeste shook her head, no, and Jack continued, "I guess it's worth it 
to finally get some sleep. Thank you Celeste."  Then he cocked his head 
and asked, "Why did you and the Nox bother?"

Celeste smiled; she'd wondered when he would ask.  "I helped you 
because I felt responsible.  The Nox are deeply concerned about your 
gift."

"They are into guitar playing?" O'Neill asked, mystified. "Or I guess 
it would be more like they are *against* guitar playing?  I don't get 
it."

Celeste explained, "The Nox are concerned about your true purpose, your 
first purpose, the purpose that motivated you to reject the gift of the 
Muse.  It is that purpose the Nox sought to preserve. That is why they 
asked us to release you, O'Neill."

"Oh," Jack said.  He pondered a moment and asked, "What purpose is that 
again?"

Celeste smiled and touched Jack's arm tenderly.  "The Nox came to me 
O'Neill.  They knew you had been 'gifted' by the Muse.  They explained 
to me that your first purpose, your true purpose would war with our 
gift.  Some people can serve only one true purpose, O'Neill. You are 
such a one. Your service began long before you visited our planet.  The 
Nox promised to send you to me and asked that I help you."

Jack nodded, not really comprehending, but hoping it would come clear.

Celeste continued, "When you arrived, I brought you here in hopes of 
freeing you through gradual, humane treatment.  Unfortunately, there 
was no time for that. Fire of the battle already raged in you."

"Battle?" Jack asked.  

Celeste continued.  "There are two great forces, O'Neill – the Muse 
governs the path to creativity. Opposing the Muse is the 'Nu', the 
power that moves the Muse.  The Muse is the path to beauty, 
intelligence, order, grace and understanding, none of these things 
would occur without the Nu. The Nu is the greater, more basic force. It 
is prime force – it existed before Time was time, before existence 
itself came to be.  It moves creation.  It has many names; none truly 
describe it.  Perhaps it is enough to know it as *passion*, passions 
you've known: duty, justice, loyalty, love, but also fear, hate, and 
despair.  This terrible passion prods sentient beings from peaceful 
order to accept chaos and change, even to yearn for growth and 
discovery.  But you know these things, O'Neill."  Celeste fixed his 
gaze with her cool blue-gray eyes, until he finally dropped his eyes to 
the floor and nodded.

"This is the force you serve O'Neill. It is a harsh master.  Your path 
is not the path of the Muse.  That is unfortunate for you, personally.  
You will not follow a path of beauty and creativity. You must serve the 
fierce force of the Nu.  It is service dictated by your own passion."

Celeste paused and gazed at Jack intently for another long moment. "I 
told your friends that the gift of the Muse is an open door.  It is the 
Nu that opens that door to perfection.  Through the vision of those who 
pass through, you will transform existence. But, O'Neill, that vision 
is not for you.  It belongs to the Muse; it belongs to those who 
worship her.   But, know this," Celeste leaned forward, her eyes 
shining. "In serving, you open the door.  You are the engine by which 
genius blossoms and grows.  Your force drives others' to create. You 
are the mechanism of their opportunity, the sentinel who guards and 
watches."

"Watches after those who serve the Muse," suddenly Jack thought he 
might actually get it.

"Yes," Celeste smiled, rose and then stopped for a moment and then 
continued, "The Nox know this and want to ensure that you do not lose 
your way."

Jack smiled a grim smile. "I'm here to watch out for the eggheads," 
then he laughed softly, thinking of what might be ahead for Carter and 
Jackson. "The Nox shouldn't worry about me getting lost, that's pretty 
much my entire job description at the SGC." Somehow it all made sense 
now and he realized he'd always known he'd found his place in the 
Universe at the SGC; he just never expected the Universe to agree.

Celeste paused and then spoke in a confidential whisper, "O'Neill, heed 
my words.  You smell.  I will watch for Carter and Daniel.  Please swim 
in the pool. Cleanse yourself.  I will ensure you are not disturbed."

Jack grinned back at her laughing eyes, enjoying her sense of humor. 
"Thanks Celeste – for everything."  She rose and left and he lay back 
in the straw and gave her a couple of minutes lead, then followed her 
out into the brilliant day.  It was hot and the mist from the falls 
evaporated almost as soon as it touched his skin.  The rocks radiated 
under his bare feet as he walked to the water's edge, looked around, 
saw no one, and dropped the vile wool robe on the shore.  

Jack plunged into the pool. The icy water took his breath away, but he 
pushed himself in a fast crawl across the pool to the base of the 
falls, dove and turned and swam back to the shore pushing faster with 
every stroke.  He burst through the surface, gasped, and dove again, 
continuing to swim laps, cutting through the water, feeling it wash 
down his sides, flushing away all traces of last night's folly.  After 
several turns he slowed and eased himself out of the water, tingling 
and refreshed.  His lungs burned and his heart hammered from the 
exertion.  

He emerged pink and clean, his hair dripping rivulets of water that 
trickled down his neck and back.  He stood briefly in waist deep water 
and then waded to shore, grabbed his uniform and stood while the suns 
baked him.  He pulled on his shorts and trousers and considered 
toweling off with the stinking wool robe, decided he'd rather stay wet 
than touch it and, instead, sat with his back to the hut, barefoot and 
bare-chested in the heat of the Antonines' twin suns.  He felt warmth 
seep into him from the hot rocks under his back and feet.  He closed 
his eyes. Water dripping from his hair tickled his back and shoulders. 
He drifted to sleep, lulled by the roaring waterfall.

                         *******************

Chapter 15

Carter and Daniel returned from the naquida mine as fast as they could, 
keeping a brisk pace despite the rough terrain and uphill slope.  They 
covered the distance back in less than half the time they'd taken to 
arrive at a leisurely pace.  Carter insisted.  She knew she had to get 
word to the Colonel and General Hammond as soon as she was physically 
able.  Since the Nox had abducted O'Neill, he carried none of the usual 
field gear, making radio communication impossible.

Carter expected the Colonel would order them all back to the SGC 
immediately to confer with the General.  She was eager to begin 
analysis on the raw naquida ore in their heavy packs.  She was 
reorganizing her schedule mentally as she walked, when she suddenly 
realized Celeste was approaching through the woods.  Carter raised a 
hand in greeting, "Hello, Celeste!"

Celeste waved back, but didn't call out.  Instead she closed the 
distance in silence and when she was near said quietly, "O'Neill is 
asleep.  I promised him I would watch for your return."

Carter and Daniel exchanged a glance, embarrassed that they'd just 
abandoned Celeste and the Colonel without a word.  "Sorry about 
disappearing on you like that, Celeste," Carter said. "The Seer came by 
and one thing led to another.  She showed us the mine.  We've just come 
from there."

Celeste smiled, "And you found something important?" She could tell by 
the gleam in Carter's eyes that the naquida had intrigued her.  

"Yes, and we need to get back through the Star Gate to tell the General 
about the mine.  I think, if you are willing, he will want to barter 
for access to your ore."  Carter said eagerly.

Celeste smiled and said, "There is a problem, Captain."

Carter's disappointment was clear, "Oh?"

"Not about the ore, that is of no real consequence and, if it will help 
you, we can arrange to provide it to you," Celeste explained.

"Then what?" Carter asked, mystified.

"O'Neill is not able to return with you through the Star Gate, as you 
call it." Celeste said simply. "He needs to be here longer to complete 
his recovery. I need to be sure there are no lasting effects from the 
gift or any damage from the cure."

"The Colonel," Carter said softly, shamed that she had forgotten in her 
enthusiasm. "Of course."  

Carter turned to Daniel. "You take the naquida back to SGC and brief 
General Hammond.  I'm going to stay here until the Colonel is ready to 
travel and then, if you aren't back already, we'll see you at the SGC."

Daniel looked doubtful, "Are you sure I shouldn't stay.  This is your 
field of expertise, Sam.  Don't you want to get started?"

Carter shrugged, "There will be plenty of time for all that. First 
things, first: I'll look after the Colonel."  Carter had made up her 
mind and spoke to Celeste.  "Can one of your people show Daniel the way 
back to the City?"

Celeste smiled, "Yes, and I will arrange for help carrying the ore. It 
looks heavy." Then she spoke to Carter quietly, "O'Neill is still very 
weak. Let him rest, if he will. If he won't, please tell me.  I will 
arrange for it.  He is resting now by the waterfall.  Later I will send 
you food. If there is nothing else you need, I will arrange for 
Daniel's guide."  

Carter shook her head and watched Daniel and Celeste as they made their 
way back toward her camp, then she turned and walked down the steep 
trail to the base of the waterfall.  As she picked her way down the 
trail, she could see the Colonel leaning against the hut, asleep in the 
warm sunlight.  As she closed the distance she realized he was wearing 
nothing but trousers, and those were rolled up his calves. He looked 
like an overgrown kid, except of course for the traces of gray at his 
temples and the sprinkling of silver through his beard.  Carter 
approached the hut silently, enjoying the opportunity to see Jack 
O'Neill asleep, the chance to see his lean, well-formed body without 
any danger of him realizing he was being scrutinized.  

She grinned as she looked.  Jack looked almost respectable, despite a 
three-day beard.  His hair had dried in the inevitable cowlicks, 
perhaps more bizarre than usual.  The missing hank of hair was hardly 
noticeable.  She had an almost undeniable urge to ruffle the red-brown 
tufts.  The damp hair at the nape of his neck and around his ears had 
grown longer than usual and curled in tantalizing curls. Intriguing.

Sam gazed at Jack another moment and then reined herself in before it 
got out of control.  God forbid he should open his eyes and see her 
staring at him with what she imagined was an idiotic expression on her 
face, worse yet if he could read her mind.  She turned away and in 
absolute silence walked to the pool, sat on a massive rock at the 
shoreline and waited.  

It was a lovely day. Sunlight streamed through the giant columns of 
trees, making it feel like Sam was in the heart of a great cathedral.  
A trout fed in the pool on emerging insects.  She smiled as she thought 
of O'Neill's fascination with natural history. Now and then she would 
tease him, pretending that she didn't know he was a self-schooled 
expert in field biology.  He always listened intently when she lectured 
him on things she knew he understood far better than she ever would, 
such as aquatic entomology. Undoubtedly, if he'd been awake, he'd have 
said something about the proper fly to match the hatch. He would have 
snagged one and pronounced it an omega or sub-omega, a stonefly or a 
mayfly, or something else. 

Too bad he was still asleep. Carter glanced back toward the hut. His 
chin was on his chest and he was snoring, although she couldn't really 
hear it over the roar of the falls.  Every so often an emerging insect 
landed on his face and he'd brush it away without waking.  

Well, at least the trout were enjoying the insects.  In fact, they were 
having a feast.

The suns descended toward the horizon and O'Neill still dozed. Carter 
understood Celeste's concern as she waited for him to rouse and he 
didn't. "It can't be easy to sleep on a stone beach, against a stone 
hut.  But he's doing it. The Colonel must be beat," she thought. 

Three hours after she'd arrived, she heard him stir and realized it was 
because an Antonine was approaching with food.  She caught a whiff of 
roast lamb and warm bread on the breeze.  The young man quietly passed 
by O'Neill and brought her the savory smelling basket. "Thank you," she 
said softly.  The Colonel stirred again in his sleep. Carter didn't 
think he could have heard her over the sound of the falls, but an 
instant later he spoke.

"Carter, that you?" Jack said softly, his words slurred by sleep.

"Yes, Sir," she answered, as the Antonine ascended the steep slope.  
"You hungry, Colonel?"

"Starved," Jack answered opening his eyes and twisting his neck slowly, 
working the kinks out.  "How long was I asleep?" he groaned.

"At least three hours, Sir. Maybe more," Carter relied. "You were out 
when I got here. I guess you needed it."

She wished she could take back the last, innocent remark when she saw 
the Colonel's face.  He looked at her as if she'd accused him of ... 
she didn't know anything bad enough to account for that expression.  To 
cover, she continued, "Celeste said it might take a little time for you 
to rest up after the drugs she used on you."  Carter relaxed as she saw 
his face lift, she pretended she hadn't noticed any of it.  

Jack nodded. "Yeah, I haven't slept much in the past couple of weeks, I 
guess.  Now, it seems to be all I do." He groaned again and slowly 
stood and then arched his back.  "Carter, next time would you wake me 
up? I think I'm permanently crippled from sleeping on those stones."

Carter smiled, "Yes, Sir," and pulled two wooden platters out of the 
basket, set them on the boulder and served the lamb and bread.  Jack 
stopped complaining, walked directly over, sat and started eating 
without another word. 

They ate in silence for several minutes, side-by-side on the huge 
boulder at the downstream end of the pool.   Then Jack spoke.

"Carter, you did the right thing. I appreciate it."

Carter replied, "Yes, Sir. You're welcome." 

They ate in silence as Jack worked up to the next part. 

"Carter, I'm sorry you had to be there for... I'm sorry you had to see 
..." Jack stopped and looked away toward the falls, trying to find a 
better way to say it.

After a moment, Carter spoke. "Colonel, I saw a woman save your life. 
That's all I saw, Sir. I don't think there is anything to be sorry 
about.  It was my job to watch your back. That's all it was."

"Right," Jack agreed, still gazing in the other direction. "Thanks."

The rest of the meal disappeared without another word. Both sat 
chewing, glad for something to do other than speak.  Wild visions of 
the Antonines' cure occupied both minds, but neither wanted to risk 
talking about it again.  Carter was especially glad. She was acutely 
aware that she sat beside a half-naked man, a man with a damned nice 
physique, a man she admired and had watched... "Don't go there Sam," 
she told herself, "at least not until I transfer out of this squad." 

Within a few minutes, the twin suns slipped below the horizon. Nearby 
night sounds filled the glade, over the ever-present pounding of the 
waterfall. 

"Time to turn in, Carter." Jack said, standing slowly. "I recommend the 
hut. The stones hurt." Then he turned away, grabbed his t-shirt and 
pulled it over his head, slipped on his socks and boots and strolled 
downstream, laces flapping, giving Sam some privacy.  

She stood, stretched and squatted at the water's edge.  She washed her 
hands and face in the stream, ran her wet fingers back through her 
hair, brushed her teeth and was ready to hit the sack.  She slipped 
into the hut, formed a bed of the sweet grass against one wall and 
tossed the rest into a crude bed for the Colonel along the other side.  
After a full day of hiking, she was asleep before Jack crawled through 
the entry.  She was already dreaming of what she'd do with an unlimited 
supply of raw naquida when he pulled off his precious boots and settled 
back into the straw.  

Jack snuggled deep into the straw to fend off the growing night chill. 
He listened to Carter's regular breathing across the dark hut and 
suddenly remembered how she felt lying beside him.  'Was it only this 
morning?' he wondered, recalling the joy and pure horror in his first 
conscious moments.  It had seemed exactly right for one brief instant 
before he was fully awake.  He hadn't felt the weight of a woman 
slumbering on his chest since Sara. 

'Don't go there, Jack' he told himself. 'She's not here for your 
personal pleasure.  She's a Captain in the US Air Force; she's under 
your command and besides all that she's a bona fide fricking genius.  
She's the only reason the Nox and the Antonines saved *your* brainless 
butt, so you can get her out there where she needs to go to save the 
Universe.  

Jack, still exhausted, realized he was probably facing another 
sleepless night.  He hunched over on his side, trying to block out the 
soft sounds of Carter, sleeping so very close. But, as he lay listening 
to her soft, regular breathing, the idea would not go away.  Or was it 
an urge?  Jack began to hum to himself, thinking,  "C'mon, Carter, 
prove you're a genius.  Let this work,' as he hummed 'Jingle Bells', 
the version by the electronic barking dogs, with growing urgency. 

Dawn approached and Jack was still wide-awake.  He had given up on 
humming hours before and resigned himself to just listening to Sam 
breathe. He was beginning to understand how much his service to the 
Nox, and the Antonines and the Nu might actually cost him.  

As the darkness paled slightly at the door to the hut, he rose silently 
and slipped outside to let Carter sleep.  A cloud of mayflies emerged 
from the pool.   Jack sat at the water's edge, pulled on his boots and 
knew Celeste was right; it was unfortunate for him, personally.  In 
fact, it was a disaster.  

As long as Samantha Carter was under his command, she was strictly off 
limits for Jack O'Neill.  Now, thanks to Celeste, Jack understood what 
he always knew intuitively, but never before put into words. Carter, 
that brainy blonde with the big blue eyes, would do important work 
somewhere beyond the confines of Earth, and Jack knew now for certain 
it was his mission to get her out there and back safely.  That meant 
she'd remain under his command, remain out of reach, until the job was 
done.

As mayflies dimpled the water, emerging for a single glorious day of 
reproduction, Jack envisioned his own immediate future and envied the 
emerging flies. For the foreseeable future, he'd just have to bury his 
feelings – or ideas, or urges or whatever the hell they were -- for the 
foreseeable future, maybe forever.  Jack rubbed his stubble, after 
three days already a respectable beard, and asked himself.  Why does my 
personal life seem to be a series of calamities, always going from bad 
to worse?  He slowly laced up his boots and gazed through the cloud of 
insects toward the falls.

From her station under the falls the brook trout gazed back and 
contemplated O'Neill.  The Seer had exacted her price from him and now 
the Muse would claim hers, as well.  In allowing Celeste to believe she 
had freed O'Neill from her service, the Muse had merely 'gifted' him 
once again, exchanging one gift for another.  But, it was a subtle gift 
this time, a small gift, a gift of cool water and feelings for a woman 
whose mind was as quick and supple as a trout, a woman O'Neill might 
angle a lifetime for and never catch.  

The Goddess snapped up an emerging mayfly, well pleased.  Let the Nu 
claim O'Neill's service, the Muse was satisfied to claim his heart and 
soul – for the foreseeable future.

                         *******************

Chapter 16

A couple hours later, Carter emerged from the hut. "Sir?" She asked, 
"You okay?"

"Never better, Captain," Jack replied from his perch on the boulder.  
"Watching the hatch -- mayflies; sub-imago.  I'd guess I could use a 
lemon dunn pattern..." He paused, turned his head and grinned. "How are 
you this morning? Ready to brief me on what you've been up to while 
I've been out of it?"

Carter laughed and said, "Sure.  Reverse chronological okay?"  To his 
nod, she continued eagerly, "Yesterday Daniel and I discovered a 
deposit of naquida.  The Antonines *mine* it, Sir. And, I think they 
will let us have some, too, maybe as much as we need.  I sent Daniel 
back with samples we collected to brief the General."

Jack nodded again. "So, what do you propose, Captain?"

"Well, we set up relations with the Antonines and start an extraction 
system, feeding it back through the 'Gate to the SGC for further 
refinement and research," she answered cautiously.  The Colonel had 
never shown any interest in the details of her research.

"Yeah? Then what?  Can you actually refine naquida yet, Carter. Or is 
that something you have to figure out?" 

"I need to work with a sample to know that, Sir. Each ore has it's own 
specific characteristics. But, from what I've seen at the mine, the 
Antonines are already refining it sufficiently to use it for tools and 
ornaments. I just have to take the next step to get super-refined, 
weapons-grade material."  Carter felt a little giddy, a combination of 
professional excitement and shock at the Colonel's sudden, close 
questioning on topics he'd never seemed to care about, aside from the 
final weaponry. 

"So what kind of a timeframe are you talking about?" he asked, 
squinting as if the answer mattered dearly.

"Well, days to weeks to develop the proper refining protocols. Then 
more time to bring it into mass-production -- maybe in a year, or two 
we can be producing naquida-based technology, including power-supplies 
and weapons." Sam stopped and smiled uneasily, "If I may, Sir? Why the 
sudden interest in the details. It's not like you."

Jack smiled what seemed like a sad smile and said simply, "Carter, your 
research means a great deal to me, much more than you know.  Keep at it 
and keep me apprised of your progress.  Now, let's get home, so you can 
get started. Get your gear together."  

He stood, took a last look at the falls and started down the path that 
would lead back to the 'Gate. "I'm still moving kinda slow.  Why don't 
you just get your stuff and catch up with me on the way down?" 

Sam watched the Colonel walk slowly into the woods. He still looked 
exhausted.

"That way I won't hold you back."  

-- fin --

                         *******************

Choices

Chapter 1.  Fools Rush

Jack ducked behind a wall in the ruined city, waited until he saw 
Teal'c raise his staff weapon to fire and dodged back into the open, 
racing across the kill zone as fast as his adrenalin-charged legs would 
move. He reached temporary safety at a second, smaller wall just a step 
ahead of a stream of energy weapon's fire.

He pressed against the cool, sandy surface of the wall, trying to make 
himself as small a target as possible.  Grains of sand trickled down 
the back of his shirt, sticking to his sweat-damp neck and spine.  
Adrenalin made it all register in exquisite clarity – the blue 
brilliance of the sky; the ripping of enemy fire chipping pieces from 
the wall overhead; his heart pounding in his ears; Daniel Jackson's 
voice calling out, "Sam! She's down."

Adrenalin catapulted Jack back into the open even before Daniel's voice 
faded, even before Sam's body tumbled to the ground.  Jack flung 
himself headlong toward her, lying maybe sixty yards ahead. 

Sixty yards, sixty long steps. They seemed to go on forever as Jack 
shifted from scrambling on all fours to running upright and, in a 
distance-eating dash, crossed that wide-open terraine.  No cover 
protected him now, just speed and the insane will to reach Carter 
before an energy burst stopped him.

Teal'c and Jackson improved Jack's odds.  The pair fired almost 
continuously, pinning down all but the most determined Jaffa as Jack 
made his mad dash, dragged Sam up and over his shoulders and staggered 
to the closest available cover, an inadequate pile of stone and rubble 
another thirty paces ahead.

Miraculously, he reached the pile of stones. He bent, lowering Sam to 
the ground, when the rubble pile suddenly exploded, blasted apart by a 
fierce volley of weapons fire.  Instinctively, Jack turned, stepping 
between the blast and Carter, shielding her, but at a cost.  Shrapnel, 
a wave of fractured stone, struck him. Jack fell.

Teal'c signaled to Daniel to follow and swiftly adjusted his position 
to command a clear field of fire across of the area separating the 
Jaffa squad from O'Neill and Carter.  He peered around a high wall, 
waiting and watching as several Jaffa appeared.  As Teal'c expected, 
they approached O'Neill, cautiously moving in to finish him.  Daniel 
fidgeted with his weapon, eager to open fire before the Jaffa reached 
his friends.  Teal'c waited, ensuring Jackson would not fire too early 
by holding out his hand as an unambiguous signal to hold fire.  

Daniel waited and watched Teal'c for a sign to fire. Teal'c seemed 
totally in control, confident and composed.  Teal'c counted the Jaffa 
that revealed themselves, as he waited, waited, waited just a little 
longer, to be sure all Jaffa had entered the killing zone.  The seconds 
felt like an eternity. Teal'c knew his friends' lives might be fading 
away while he waited.  Discipline stronger even than friendship held 
his hand, until the proper moment, the moment when he could ensure 
their rescue.

The moment came. Teal'c dropped his hand.  Jackson opened fire, 
spraying bullets into clusters of surprised Jaffa. Teal'c, more 
selective and far more accurate, fired his staff weapon with deadly 
effect, dropping one warrior after another as they ran toward the 
nearest cover – the rubble pile, O'Neill and Carter.

An instant after the last Jaffa fell, Teal'c strode across the corpse-
strewn plaza to where he could just glimpse O'Neill's tattered field 
jacket.  Jackson, moving cautiously, covered Teal'c's back.  But 
caution was unnecessary. All the Jaffa had either died or fled.  None 
resisted as Daniel rejoined the rest of SG-1.

"Teal'c, how bad?" Daniel asked. 

"I do not know, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c replied.  "We must reach the 
Gate. We must carry O'Neill and Major Carter. Are you able?"

Daniel answered soberly, "Sure Teal'c, if you can manage Jack by 
yourself, I think I can carry Sam. Let's check them over first, so we 
don't make things even worse by moving them." He looked down at Sam and 
Jack.  

Jack had covered Sam almost completely, so Daniel knelt beside him and 
touched his fingers to the left side of Jack's bloody neck where the 
carotid artery should beat.  "He's got a pulse." A rapid check revealed 
no obviously broken bones, but lacerations and a likely concussion.  
Teal'c shifted O'Neill and Daniel performed the same quick check of 
Sam. He found severe staff weapon burns on her back and shoulder, but a 
strong, regular pulse.  

Teal'c helped Daniel lift Sam across his shoulders. Then heaved O'Neill 
across his own massive back and trotted toward the alien Gate.  The 
distance hadn't seemed far when they strolled from the Gate in warm sun 
under a lovely blue sky.  Now, with a squad of dead Jaffa fallen around 
them and the possibility of more arriving, the distance seemed farther, 
much farther, as Daniel lurched forward with Sam's dead weight across 
his back.  But, somehow he made it to the Gate a few steps behind 
Teal'c. Daniel carefully lowered Sam to the ground and dialed home.  
Within moments SG-1 was through the Gate, spinning back across the 
space/time continuum, back to home and safety.

A few hours later, General Hammond sat at the head of the conference 
table, flanked by Teal'c and Daniel Jackson.  Colonel O'Neill and Major 
Carter had been removed to the Infirmary by medics. Major Carter was 
treated for staff weapon burns.  O'Neill was undergoing simple surgery.  
From what Hammond had seen in the Gate Room, their wounds didn't seem 
life threatening, not this time. 

Even so, the old man was concerned and it showed on his face, matching 
those of the two remaining SG-1 members.  Jackson looked especially 
despondent, and terribly guilty, Hammond thought.  Probably, he felt 
himself to blame. Jackson had requested this recon-mission to gather 
archeological data from P3X724.  Jackson didn't have the advantage of 
military indoctrination to shield him from unnecessary guilt, not that 
it had ever worked for Hammond, a veteran of more than three decades of 
service.

"What happened?" Hammond asked.

Jackson jumped. "It started without warning, General," he blurted.  

Teal'c bowed his head slightly, "I agree.  We arrived on P3X724. It was 
a peaceful, uninhabited location.  The town was mere ruins and there 
were no signs of recent human habitation or visitation through the 
Stargate.  Colonel O'Neill ordered me to take point. He brought up the 
rear, with Major Carter and Daniel Jackson between us, as is his 
custom."

"We walked for fifteen minutes toward an abandoned town at the end of a 
long open plaza that led away from the Stargate.  Major Carter gathered 
samples of the soil and was performing electromagnetic tests. Daniel 
Jackson was videotaping portions of a wall.  I assisted him. Then 
O'Neill called out.  He told us to take cover.  But we already 
understood because we could hear the alien Gate dialing in.  Someone 
was coming."

Jackson had listened silently, but suddenly added, "The MALP gave us 
away.  Jack had us under cover in plenty of time, but the MALP was just 
sitting there at the base of the Gate.  The Jaffa would have had to be 
blind to miss it.  They came through, saw it and came looking for us."

Teal'c nodded and continued, "O'Neill signaled for me to climb to the 
top of a collapsed building, the highest point in the area. He 
positioned Daniel Jackson and Major Carter at the base of the 
structure.  I ascended and O'Neill took position on the opposite side 
of the plaza to establish crossfire.  Unfortunately, the Jaffa leader 
ordered several Jaffa to ascend the same high point that I occupied.  
As they approached, O'Neill drew them away from us by running down the 
plaza.  I believe he was concerned that Jaffa might occupy positions 
near the gate and cut us off from our only avenue of retreat.  
Fortunately, his strategy worked.  They followed him. Major Carter 
moved to the other side of the plaza to re-establish crossfire."  

"When Jack doubled back toward us, we all opened fire and cut them to 
pieces," Daniel stated quietly.

"We were winning the battle," Teal'c confirmed, "and soon would have 
been able to withdraw, except Major Carter was struck by a staff weapon 
while repositioning herself to support the Colonel's extreme flank.  

"I saw Sam go down and hollered.  Jack heard me and went out after her 
across a wide open area, maybe twenty yards," Daniel estimated.

"No, Doctor Jackson, it was at least sixty yards, and then O'Neill 
carried her another thirty paces to safety.  That was when he was hit.  
The cover was not sufficient to protect them.  He placed himself 
between the enemy fire and Major Carter and was wounded."

Hammond had listened to what sounded like textbook O'Neill strategy, 
until Carter's rescue.  This was unheard of.  O'Neill knew better than 
to endanger himself that way.  The proper approach is to win the 
battle, then deal with survivors.  Teal'c and Jackson had just 
described one of the most heroic and wildly foolish maneuvers Hammond 
had ever heard.

Looking at Teal'c and Jackson, Hammond could not bring himself to say 
so.  Clearly, they both felt O'Neill had acted bravely. Hammond knew 
this was no time to criticize O'Neill.  

Hammond rested his elbows on the table and stared at his steepled 
fingers for a moment, thinking. Then said quietly, "Stand down SG-1.  
Consider yourselves on leave for the immediate future.  Dismissed."  He 
watched Jackson and Teal'c file out of the room.

"But, my God!  What was Jack thinking?"  Hammond thought. He feared 
that he knew *exactly* what Jack had been thinking. He didn't like it.  
No, the General didn't like it at all.

                         *******************

Chapter 2.  Banished

At what point did Hammond lose faith in his second in command?  He 
wasn't sure. He just knew he'd passed that point, as he listened to 
Doctor Frazier review the injuries suffered by Major Carter and Colonel 
O'Neill. Hammond's gut told him it was time to relieve O'Neill.   
Frazier's report convinced him that Jack had taken an outrageous risk, 
a risk that had nearly cost his life. Worse, he'd done it, Hammond 
strongly suspected, for a reason specifically forbidden by regulations 
– fraternization.  O'Neill was pretty clearly in love with his 
subordinate, Major Samantha Carter.  The Colonel had never let it cloud 
his judgment, at least not to Hammond's knowledge, at least not until 
today.

But now, the Colonel had several hundred stitches where he'd once had 
perfectly good skin.  Of more concern, he hadn't regained 
consciousness. Frazier reported he had a severe concussion. "So, this 
could still cost him his life, the damned fool," Hammond silently 
fumed.

If only O'Neill had come to him and admitted he could no longer work 
with Carter, told him he'd lost his objectivity where she was 
concerned, Hammond would have understood and helped.  Samantha Carter, 
brilliant and as fine an officer as any he'd commanded, would stir any 
red-blooded male.  Hammond could easily appreciate O'Neill's 
fascination with her.  In fact, Hammond had expected O'Neill to put in 
a request to rearrange staffing for months, well actually *years*.   
But the stubborn Irishman had hung tough in a clearly unsuitable status 
quo.  The result?  Sexual tension so thick that Hammond sometimes 
wondered how Teal'c and Jackson endured it, never mind Jack and Sam!

But no official word had come from O'Neill, the only person who could 
properly address the situation.  For Hammond to intervene would mean 
there was a problem.  SG-1, his top team, had no problems, officially.  
General George Hammond, fiercely proud of his people, would ensure that 
it remained ever thus.  For Sam to say anything would almost certainly 
end her career advancement, something she knew very well, as a female 
serving in a combat unit.  So, the ball stayed in Jack's court and he 
did nothing, until yesterday.  Then, instead of doing something 
sensible, the man had nearly gotten himself killed.

Hammond sat scowling across his desk at Doctor Frazier, who looked at 
him expectantly, "General?" 

Hammond suddenly realized she was waiting for his answer to a question 
he hadn't heard.  "I'm sorry Doctor.  I guess I wasn't listening to 
that last part. Please excuse me."

Frazier frowned slightly and repeated her last few ideas, "The point 
is, General, the damage is to the left temporal lobe, an area which 
controls short and long-term memory.  I am concerned that when Colonel 
O'Neill regains consciousness, he might suffer from memory lapses."

"Lapses? You mean he will be forgetful?" Hammond asked.

"No, General, I am concerned about how much the Colonel will remember 
about SGC and his life before he was wounded." Frazier stated bluntly.  

"Doctor, how can you predict such a thing?" Hammond responded.

"There is an extensive body of research on battle injuries like this.  
Areas of our brain serve as the repositories of memory.  Colonel 
O'Neill received trauma to one of these areas, the left temporal lobe 
to be precise.  It's the area responsible for short and long-term 
memory.  It controls aggression as well as personality to some extent.  
I'm not 100 percent certain that the Colonel will experience memory 
loss, General, but there is a very high likelihood. It's somewhat less 
likely but he might be ... different, more aggressive maybe even 
dangerous.  The Colonel could be a very different person from the Jack 
O'Neill we knew." Frazier sighed, "General, I won't know until he 
regains consciousness.  Considering the sensitive nature of the his 
work here, I thought you should be prepared for the worst."

Hammond peered at Frazier, "I'm not sure I follow you, Doctor."

"General, this presents an opportunity of sorts.  Before the Colonel 
regains consciousness, I recommend that you decide whether we should 
isolate him from classified information, including anything to do with 
the SGC."

Hammond stared at Doctor Frazier as the impact of her words registered.   
Before the General's steady gaze, Janet's stoic professional face 
crumbled for a moment. 

She blurted,  "General, I realize it sounds harsh, but would it be any 
kinder to let Jack know?  If the Colonel's injuries render him 
permanently unfit for duty, he could be a grave security risk.  If he 
remembers little or nothing and we ensure he learns nothing more, maybe 
redirect his memories to plausible explanations we'll considerably 
reduce the odds of a security breach.  We might also be helping Jack 
live a more normal life – one without secrets and regrets and security 
issues."

Doctor Frazier regained her composure and continued formally, 
"Therefore, I feel it is my duty to recommend that we place Colonel 
O'Neill in a secure facility off-base and, depending on the degree and 
extent of his memory loss, we restrict his access to sensitive 
information for the immediate future and, after we assess his recovery, 
maybe permanently."

Hammond blinked with surprise, "Doctor are you saying Colonel O'Neill 
will never fully recover?"

"No General, I am saying there is a *chance* he won't fully recover, a 
good chance.  The damage could be permanent. If it is, we can minimize 
a potentially serious security problem by restricting his access to 
'need to know' information," Frazer replied. 

Hammond shook his head, "I need to think this over, Doctor.  But, for 
the time being, there's no harm in transferring him to a different 
facility, as a precaution.  Ship him out tonight to... Where are we 
sending him?"

"Seattle," Janet answered simply.

"Permission granted to ship Colonel O'Neill to Seattle by the first 
secure transport," Hammond ordered.

"Yes, Sir."

                         *******************

Chapter 3. Freelancer

Three days after the incident on P3X724, Jack O'Neill opened his eyes 
and found he was in a small private room overlooking the Pacific Ocean.  
Like most patients his first thought was, 'Where am I?'  Unlike most 
patients his second thought was, 'Who am I?'

His physicians were under strict orders to allow no visitors, explain 
nothing to the man in room #313 and answer none of his questions.  
Instead he was left to stare at the ceiling and told that his name was 
Jack O'Neill, retired Air Force Colonel.

The cover story was that he'd been seriously injured when there had 
been a deadly error during a live-fire training mission.  Several young 
soldiers under his command had died, but Jack had survived. As a result 
of injuries, he'd been mustered out and shipped across country by a 
grateful nation for treatment in the military's best center for CNS 
therapy.  By retiring, O'Neill would be spared a Board of Inquiry, they 
said.

At first O'Neill believed them.  Why not?  He was hungry for 
information. His fresh wounds and countless old scars told an indelible 
story of service in a dangerous job, the details of which were 
classified, he was informed.  The thought that his error had cost lives 
felt right.  As he lay there, he tried to summon up the faces of the 
people he'd killed.  They were young faces, boys really, that he 
imagined.  Still he couldn't quite bring them into focus.  Instead he 
saw faces that didn't fit the story:  the laughing face of a nine-year 
old boy, a fierce black man with an inexplicable gold emblem in the 
center of his forehead, a geek in mid-sneeze and a smiling blonde woman 
at a chalkboard.  

And there were the dreams. O'Neill asked the physicians to cut back on 
his pain medications, complaining they gave him bizarre nightmares: 
dreams filled with aliens, horrible scenes of human sacrifice and 
violent death.  He woke from them panting from the exertion of battle, 
wild and fearful.  O'Neill downplayed the dreams, offered no details.  
Concerned that too much detail might cause the doctors to delay his 
release, or lock him up as a hopeless Section-8. In fact, they were 
very, very detailed, a combination of supercharged combat and, to his 
fascination, incredibly sexual situations with the woman at the 
chalkboard, situations that were somehow never quite consummated.  

Who were these people and what did they mean to him? O'Neill didn't 
know, but with no other lead, he concentrated on the faces, told the 
physicians nothing of his disparate scraps of memory and waited while 
his wounds healed.

                         *******************

Chapter 4.  Big Girls Do

In the days following Jack's sudden departure, Sam Carter alternated 
between crying fits and raging tempers.

Jack was just *gone*! Sent away and she was the reason.  No one said it 
aloud, but Sam felt it when she walked down the halls of the SGC, felt 
it from the strained look in the General's eyes whenever he spoke to 
her.  Gone, because of her.  The Colonel had saved her life and now he 
would pay the price -- alone.

Sam sat in her lab and stared into space. She had a million things to 
do, finally had time to do them while her shoulder healed.  Instead, 
she buried her head in her hands and didn't move.  She was too 
depressed to work.  Her shoulder hurt, her head hurt, her heart hurt.  

"What's the use," she thought again, as she'd thought more times than 
she could count.  She knew she had to pull herself together, but over 
the past three days whenever she tried, her frayed nerves rebelled and 
she damaged *another* expensive piece of research equipment.  So, she 
just sat.

Several floors away, General Hammond reviewed a third report from 
Sergeant Syler concerning repairs and replacement gear installed in the 
Physics Lab, he shook his head.  The General knew he'd have to do 
something.  If this went on, Hammond worried, Carter would probably 
find a way to blow herself up, and just might take the rest of the SGC 
with her.  Hammond called for Doctor Frazier to report to his office to 
put the problem to her.

At Doctor Frazier's rap on his door, Hammond replied, "Come in, 
Doctor."  As she took a seat, he continued, "Doctor, I'm concerned 
about Major Carter.  Is she recovering from her wounds satisfactorily?"

Frazier nodded primly, "Yes, General. Her physical wounds are healing." 

Hammond heard the unanswered question and asked it. "And how is she 
otherwise?"

Janet Frazier was Sam Carter's friend as well as her physician. She 
hesitated a moment and answered. "Not good, General Hammond.  I think 
Sam might feel she is somehow at fault for what happened."

This was as far as Hammond was willing to go.  He did not verify that 
Frazier was talking about Colonel O'Neill's wounds and subsequent 
banishment from the SGC.  Instead, Hammond nodded and made his request. 
"The Major seems to be distracted and that's understandable.  Have a 
word with her, Doctor.  Do what you can to let her know she did nothing 
wrong, has nothing to feel responsible for, nothing to regret."

Frazier smiled and said, "I'll try, General.  Is that all Sir?"

Hammond nodded, "Yes, Doctor, thank you."

That afternoon, Janet approached Sam gently to try to pry information 
from her about the turmoil she was feeling.  She found her in the lab, 
sitting, staring into space.

"Hi, Sam," she said cheerily. Carter just turned and stared at her, 
making no effort to hide her distress.  "How are you doing?"

"Okay." Carter shrugged, "Lousy. I don't know, Janet. Is this an 
official visit?"

Janet shook her head, "No, just a friendly visit.  You're doing well 
physically. There shouldn't be any scarring."  Carter just stared at 
her.

Frazier tried again. "Sam, you seem really sad.  Is there anything you 
want to talk about?"  But Sam wouldn't budge.  Jack had sacrificed too 
much for her to throw it all away in a moment of indulgent self-pity.  
"No, Janet," Sam replied. "We are all just worried about the Colonel. 
It's really hard. He's so far away." Aside from that simple, by-the-
books admission, Carter held her tongue and told her friend nothing of 
the pain that showed so clearly on her face.

Daniel tried too, with even worse results.  In a private moment in his 
lab, he gently pulled Sam into his arms and just held her.  Sam clung 
to him and wept bitterly. Then, suddenly, she pulled away and fled the 
lab, furious with herself and with Daniel.  How could she let another 
team member get close? What was she thinking?  If she kept this up 
every man on base would be marked for re-assignment.  Daniel blinked, 
shook his head and tried to go back to his reference books, but he 
couldn't seem to concentrate, either. Instead, he fretted over Sam and 
the future of SG-1 without Jack O'Neill.

It was Teal'c who finally reached her.  One evening in the mess hall, 
he approached her table in the corner and sat down without his usual 
polite request to join her.  

"Major Carter," he stated simply, "O'Neill was wrong."

Sam gaped at Teal'c.  He'd read her mind!  How could he know what she'd 
been thinking? That Jack had been crazy to sacrifice himself for her.  

"O'Neill was wrong," Teal'c repeated.  "He should not have run into the 
plaza to save you.  It was ill-considered."

Sam stared at Teal'c.  Suddenly, she wanted to argue, to explain, but 
she couldn't without admitting their secret.  She wanted to say that 
Jack cared for her too much. He cared so much that he would die rather 
than lose her.  She could hardly bring herself to think the words much 
less speak them aloud.  So, she simply stared at Teal'c, her eyes 
brimming.

Teal'c looked back at her briefly and then continued, "You have been 
hurt.  This is not the first time.  O'Neill could have prevented it by 
asking for your reassignment.  You are an indispensable scientist.  As 
a warrior, you risk injury or death in combat.  O'Neill should have 
realized that the best solution would have been to reassign you.  You 
would have been safe and he would not have found it necessary to risk 
his life to save you."

Sam swallowed hard, trying not to answer.  Her mind swam with a 
thousand retorts, but each fell short of her real feelings.

Teal'c took a bite of orange Jell-O and continued in the same matter-
of-fact tone.  "Now as a result of his foolishness, O'Neill has been 
banished.  We have lost a valuable commander.  If he were here I would 
tell him he was in grave error.  I would tell him that I am 
disappointed in his lack of judgment as a warrior and a leader."

Teal'c observed Carter as the emotions marched across her normally 
sweet face etched now with anger, sorrow, and reluctantly grudging 
agreement and then back to anger, not at Teal'c, but for the first time 
at Jack.  

Suddenly, Sam's face flushed with embarrassment. Teal'c was right, she 
realized.  Jack had it within his power to make choices that would have 
resolved their dilemma, but he'd opted instead for the status quo.  
Maybe he really didn't care.  "Excuse me, Teal'c," she said quietly and 
marched off to request a leave of absence.  

Teal'c watched her stalk off and smiled.  He had not forgotten how to 
fire the heart of a warrior.

                         *******************

Chapter 5. The Dark Side

Harry Maybourne paced the room, thinking.  He'd just heard disturbing 
news.  Jack O'Neill was cut loose.  Out of SGC, apparently.  The smell 
of curry wafted up through the floorboards.  "Why does every cheap room 
in DC have to be over a cheap restaurant?" Maybourne wondered sourly.  
He hated curry, hated Thai and Portuguese food.  There were no cheap 
rooms over steak places.  "Why is that?" he wondered briefly. Then sat 
and reviewed his data.

Jack was on the street, alone, in a vulnerable, soon to be *untenable* 
position.  Maybourne squinted down through his dusty window at the ram-
shackled Laundromat across the street. As people wandered in and out 
with their bundles, his mind was working.  

Another time, this news would have been cause for celebration.  Another 
time, but Harry sighed, not now.  Ever since the 'foothold' situation, 
Maybourne felt differently about O'Neill.  When Jack had thanked him, 
in front of Hammond and the rest of SG-1, even *praised* him, 
everything had suddenly changed.  It was like ... it was a feeling 
Harry Maybourne had buried, a forgotten feeling, a feeling he'd once 
had so strongly that he'd signed up for the military, signed on for 
black ops, a feeling of ... what? Loyalty? Service? He hadn't felt it 
in so long that he was incapable of recognizing it. 

To Maybourne, it didn't much matter anymore.  Long ago the point of it 
all came down to chits – who owed him, who he owed.  A practical man, 
Maybourne found the chit system let him keep things simple and clear in 
a complex, murky world.  

So, Harry chalked this feeling to 'chits.'  Jack had been instrumental 
in gaining his release from death row, maybe not on purpose, but 
still...  When everyone else turned their backs, forgot his name, 
O'Neill had come to his cell, arranged his release, trusted him.  In 
Harry's black heart, that meant he owed him.

Maybourne hadn't been part of the legitimate Intel community for many 
months.  He'd left the side of goodness and light, allied himself with 
the other side, but little had actually changed in his life. Even 
legitimate intelligence work is close to the dark side, too close for 
people outside the business to discern a difference.  Harry maintained 
most of his low-level contacts – those too junior to know he'd fallen 
from grace.  He still held vast information, still understood the 
System and knew its pressure points, knew them very, very well. 
Harry Maybourne's expertise told him that currents were already 
swirling around Jack O'Neill; the forces were assembling.  Moments ago, 
he'd had word that Jerome Makepeace was already taking steps.  Harry 
didn't waste time.  He put out the word for Makepeace to back off, 
stand down or face the consequences.  He let it be known that Makepeace 
was fingering the wrong rice bowl and had better steer clear. The phone 
rang. Harry picked up.

"Hello," Harry answered.

"Jerry here," Makepeace said simply. "We need to meet."

"Agreed," Harry replied. "Monkey cages." He hung up.

Harry surveyed the room, empty, except for the telephone and his notes.  
He tore the paper to shreds and flushed it down the toilet, yanked the 
telephone cord out of the wall and surveyed the room again.  Nothing to 
show he'd ever been here, like his life.  He wiped his prints off the 
counters, table, telephone, toilet and doorknob and pulled the door 
shut behind him using his shirttail. Carrying the phone, he skipped 
down three flights of stairs, slipped out the back door of the 
restaurant and, several blocks away, tossed the telephone in a 
dumpster, before doubling back toward the Metro.  He caught the yellow 
line to Metro Center, then switched trains taking the red line, the 
line that ran to the Zoo.  Harry left the Metro a couple of stops early 
and, after fifteen minutes of walking in the shady, residential blocks 
of Connecticut Avenue he crossed the street and entered the Washington 
Zoo.

Harry smiled benignly as he strolled along the cages. This could be an 
opportunity to make some money, he thought, as well as pay back Jack 
O'Neill.  He had his eye on atomic material that had recently come onto 
the market, available for a price.  Harry thought the stuff was 
undervalued and figured he might turn a healthy profit if he could 
swing the financing.  By sheer luck, he had just acquired off-world 
technology from the SGC.  It was technology sure to intrigue his 
contacts in the East – unbeatable technology that targets advanced 
societies; technology perfect for attacking the Western Devils; 
technology so powerful that it was rocking the Asguard back on their 
heels, if his sources were correct.

Harry indulged himself briefly and fingered the five plastic medicine 
bottles in his trouser pocket.  Each held a single metal plate.  Each 
plate had been smuggled out of the SGC by a separate operative, a 
person he'd assured was doing no real harm, since it took more than one 
plate to regenerate the bugs.  

Harry stood and gazed into the uncomprehending eye of a Gnu. It was 
batting black flies with its tail, shaking its head impatiently against 
the swarm. "Ugly beast," he observed to himself. Hammond had come close 
to loosing it that time. Too bad O'Neill had neutralized Rees, the 
robot that had created the Replicators.  "Too bad," Harry thought, 
"she'd have been worth even more than her toys."  But her toys were 
enough, enough to earn him money he'd use to move to an island where he 
could be totally self-sufficient, or maybe find a way to step through 
the Stargate to an off-world paradise.  He'd read about several ideal 
planets in SGC mission reports.  

Harry shook his head, impatiently, thinking of how naïve Hammond, and 
O'Neill, could be.  For military men they were unbelievably trusting of 
subordinates.  "Jack trusts people.  He can't seem to get over that," 
Harry thought as he walked on and paused again, this time at the 
panther cage.  The big cats were hiding. "At the bottom of it all, he 
believes people are basically good, basically honest, worthy of trust.  
And Hammond is twice as bad."  Harry, of course, knew better.  He'd 
known for a very long time not to trust anybody.  He knew for a fact 
that everybody will screw anybody, if the circumstances are right.  
Nobody out there looks after you, nobody.  

Bored with peering toward the dark entrance of the panther hut, Harry 
straightened and double-checked the surrounding area for his watchers, 
watchers he felt out there, knew he would never see.  Then Harry 
proceeded to the monkey house.  The screaming of the primates would 
cover his words from a system of parabolic microphones that he knew 
were mounted in trees every few blocks throughout the Nation's Capitol.  
Harry stepped into the cool, concrete stench of the primate house, saw 
Makepeace in front of the Great Apes display, and began to play the 
game in earnest, the game to save Jack O'Neill's life.

                         *******************

Chapter 6. Assignment O'Neill

General Hammond rubbed his eyes, rolled out of bed and scowled.  The 
General had slept badly again, tossing and turning most of the night, 
thinking about Jack O'Neill and his decision to send him to Seattle.  

By dawn the General was pretty sure he'd made a wrong call, partly 
because he'd felt betrayed by O'Neill and partly because he'd come to 
expect so much more from his former 2IC.  He'd expected too much, he 
decided.  He regretted his hasty judgment of O'Neill.  He also worried 
about the wisdom of setting a man loose with a brain full of secrets 
and no idea of what he'd once known.  It was a bad combination, a 
dangerous combination.  

He'd been the fool, the General decided over morning coffee, not Jack.

Late in the afternoon, the General had a rough plan in mind to deal 
with the O'Neill situation.  He asked his orderly to ask Major Carter 
to join him as soon as possible.  As he looked over the papers on his 
desk, he found her request for leave.  Well, her leave would have to 
wait.  Sam had a job to do first.

Within minutes Carter rapped on his door.

"Come in, Major," Hammond responded and smiled as she walked into his 
office, "Take a seat, please.  I have a request."

The General noticed Carter's tight-lipped smile, clearly she was 
nervous, probably expecting reassignment or anxious he would refuse her 
request for leave.  "Well, in a way that's about the size of it," 
Hammond thought.  "I'd better put her out of her misery," the old man 
thought and plunged into his plan.

"Major.  I am going to deny your request for leave.  I know it's been 
stressful coming back to work after you were wounded.  But, I can't let 
you go right now. I have an important assignment and I believe that you 
are the person best qualified to do it.  I do not want you to 
misunderstand. I am assigning you to temporary duty outside the SGC. 
Again, I stress, it's temporary and it's not because of any failing on 
your part, Major. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Carter replied bravely, not believing it at all.

"I know it's been hard since Jack shipped out.  He's doing well, by the 
way.  His doctors report that he regained consciousness a few days ago 
and is on the mend physically."

Sam frowned, something in her throat felt tighten, "Physically?" she 
thought, then not otherwise? "Sir," she asked, unable to form another 
word. 

Hammond looked at Carter's drawn face, questioning eyes, and smiled 
sadly.  "I'm afraid Doctor Frazier was right when she predicted he 
could have memory lapses.  The Colonel doesn't remember a thing.  The 
good news is he seems to be himself in every other way, there are no 
radical changes in personality, no hyper-aggression, at least not as 
far as we can  tell.  So, that brings me to your assignment."  

"Major, I was wrong to send Colonel O'Neill away alone.  I was 
concerned about security, but upon reflection, I believe it is a very 
dangerous situation for a man with his knowledge to roam about in this 
potentially vulnerable state with no one to cover his back.  Frankly, I 
am worried. I'm concerned that certain unscrupulous groups within our 
government, or even a foreign power, might learn of this situation and 
try to extract what the Colonel knows, or at least what he knew before 
he was wounded.  I need someone I trust, who knows the players and 
knows the Colonel to keep an eye on him.  Major, I want it to be you."

"Yes, Sir," Carter said, nodding.

"Here are your orders and travel papers.  Your flight leaves for 
Seattle this evening.  Basically, your mission is surveillance, 
protection and assessment of the Colonel's recovery.  Use your own 
judgment on how you carry out these orders, Major, but tell the Colonel 
nothing of a sensitive or classified nature.  Do you understand?"

"I do, General. Thank you, Sir, for this opportunity.  I won't let you 
down," Carter stated as she stood to leave.

Hammond looked up at her and added, "Major, be careful.  He may not be 
the man we knew, Doctor Frazier tells me.  You will need to be on your 
guard.  But, when you speak to Jack, if it seems like it will mean 
anything to him, please give him my best and tell him he has a job 
waiting for him whenever he's fit for duty."

Sam smiled slightly and shook her head vigorously, "Yes Sir, I will, 
Sir." 

Carter went directly to her quarters, changed into Mufti and stuffed a 
few things into a gunnysack.  She left SGC with an airman, who drove 
her to the Denver airport in time to go through security and catch a 
commercial red-eye to the West Coast.

As she flew high above moon bright clouds, Sam worked and reworked her 
simple strategy.  First, she would approach the Colonel. If he 
recognized her, then her second step would be to determine how much he 
recalled of the SGC and inform the General, in hopes she could bring 
Jack home. If not ... she wasn't sure what the third step would be.  
But Sam had committed to enough missions knowing only the first two 
steps to believe that step three would present itself.  

The step that worried her was the last step. After she found Colonel 
O'Neill, then what?  What would she say to him about his foolish, 
wildly heroic rescue? What would she say to him about his refusal to 
make a simple change to free them from regulations and open the way for 
a normal life together?  She didn't know.  She knew she wouldn't know, 
*couldn't* know, until she saw Jack.  

Sam closed her eyes and tried to sleep, despite the fierce pounding of 
her heart.

                         *******************

Chapter 7.  Black Jack

Jack stared at himself in the bathroom mirror.  He'd figured it out, in 
part at least.  After a close inspection of the only record he had of 
his life, the impressive array of scars covering his otherwise fit 
body, it seemed clear he made his living in some very dangerous 
profession.  

As he examined the latest pattern of stitches snaking across his back 
and shoulders, Jack grimaced and said to himself, "What kind of fool 
chooses a life like this?  Look at yourself man! What can possibly be 
worth this?" 

Jack pulled on a robe, depressed by the sight of himself.  Was he an 
adrenalin-junkie, one of those nuts that crave danger?  If so, the 
evidence seemed clear that he was far from a master of his chosen 
profession.  Either that, or the world was at war.  Since the headlines 
for the past several days had focused exclusively on President 
Clinton's indiscretions, the chance of war seemed remote.

As he paced the room, Jack asked himself what he would do when the 
doctors finally told him to leave.  A small thrill ran down his spine 
at the thought of walking out the door of the hospital and not knowing 
whether to turn right or left.  Apparently, no one cared that he was 
hospitalized.  There had been no notes, no calls and no flowers.  From 
what the staff told him, he was single, retired, and all alone in the 
world.

Jack carefully lowered himself onto the bed, trying not to stretch the 
stitches, and was soon lost in thought.  He could do anything, or 
nothing. There was no one to please, no one to answer to.  Maybe he'd 
bike to Alaska, or try for bonefish in the Keys.  What a strange 
situation! Still, from what he'd been told about himself, he must have 
always lived this way.  So, why did it feel so *damned* strange?

O'Neill stared at the tile ceiling. He had asked himself that question 
a million times or more and never found an answer that felt right.  So, 
he gave up for the million and first time.  He closed his eyes, hoping 
the dream would come.  Maybe this time that blonde would finally be 
his.  As he felt himself fall into a light sleep, helped along by the 
pain medication that he couldn't avoid, there was a knock on the door.  

"Go away," he murmured, reluctant to delay his appointment with the 
woman at the chalkboard.  Then, O'Neill was suddenly awake, realizing 
that someone had come to see him, someone who might know him.  He sat 
up too quickly and felt stitches pull across the tender skin of his 
back.  "Damn it!" he swore and then called, loudly, "Come in!"

A puckish face peered around the door.  O'Neill frowned at the little 
man with slicked-back hair.  

"Hi, Jack.  How're you doing?" Harry Maybourne asked.

"You know me?" O'Neill challenged him.  The guy seemed a little creepy 
and instantly it made O'Neill ill tempered.

"Sure I know you -- Jack O'Neill!  You don't think I'd forget my old 
partner, do you?" Maybourne replied with a degree of familiarity that 
made O'Neill wince.

As Jack eyed Maybourne, he couldn't help but think, 'Geesh, what kind 
of a dirt-bag am I, anyway?  If I'm buddies with this guy, I've got to 
be a serious looser.' Then he continued aloud, "Look, my head's still 
scrambled.  Just who the hell are you?"

"Jack, how can you not remember?  Harry Maybourne, I'm your business 
partner!  Come on, the doctors gave me a call. I'm busting you out of 
here at last.  Time to get back to work, buddy!"  With that, Maybourne 
tossed a bag onto the bed and pulled out a pair of boots, blue jeans 
and a worn sweatshirt and threw them to O'Neill.

Jack stood for a moment considering this ordinary scenario, a scene 
that felt so *wrong*, then started pulling on the jeans.  "So what's 
the rush, Harry?"

Maybourne smiled, "Time's money, Jack! I'll fill you in on the way."

                         *******************

Chapter 8. The Tail

Sam exited the plane at the head of the crowd by elbowing her way 
through the tangle of passengers.  She jogged to baggage claim where 
she waited impatiently for her duffle bag.  Then jogged to car rental.  

Within a half-hour she'd parked near the hospital and jogged the half 
block in a light rain. Sam swore softly to herself as she approached 
the hospital entrance. Harry Maybourne walked out of the doors fifteen 
feet ahead of her. "Damn, I'm too late."  In Maybourne's wake came Jack 
O'Neill.  "Jack!" her heart called, but Sam clamped down her soaring 
emotions and fell in a block behind them as they turned left and walked 
through the picturesque drizzle of a weekday in Seattle. 

Maybourne and O'Neill were deep in animated conversation as Carter 
narrowed the distance.  Sam scowled to see the rain had soaked Jack's 
sweatshirt and jeans. She smiled thinly then as she overheard him carp, 
"Harry, don't I own a coat?" 

"Stop bitching, Jack." Maybourne replied. " I could have let you find 
me, you know.  But, then I don't have time to waste while you fumble 
around figuring life out all over again.  So, here's the deal.  You, 
Jack O'Neill, are not in the Air Force.  You never were, Jack.  That's 
a cover story.  You're CIA.  All those scars and broken bones, you 
earned those for the Company.  Me?  I'm CIA, too. Or I was.  Now days 
we are what are commonly called 'free agents'.  We work on contracts 
for the Company.  There is no regular paycheck, unless we hustle these 
days, Jack boy.  Does any of this sound familiar to you?  No?  Well, it 
doesn't really matter. I always was the brains of this outfit.  What 
you do just comes naturally, if you know what I mean!"  Maybourne 
laughed at O'Neill's dark expression.  Although from behind she 
couldn't see O'Neill glower at Maybourne, Sam heard Maybourne's 
derisive laughter and saw Jack's fingers flex slightly, a sure signal 
he was considering decking his companion.

Maybourne continued, "So you should be wondering about now something 
like, 'Why am I working for this worm?'  It's simple, Jack. I have the 
goods on you.  You screwed up a job about five years ago. Just 
smuggling information, but it turned rough and you had to improvise.  
I've got the evidence.  You work for me because you're one of those 
people who need to feel the sun on his face. That's the deal. Take it 
or leave it.  I want a decision now."

Suddenly, Sam saw Jack grab Maybourne by his shirtfront, lift him off 
his feet and slam him into the wall of a building.  His face close to 
Maybourne's, Jack roared, "*You're* blackmailing *me*? You think you 
have the balls? Well, *c'mon* you weird little snake!  Turn me in!  
I'll take you apart and not even break a sweat.  So, if you want a 
piece of this, just *try* messing with me, *Harry*!  Today's lesson?  
*I'm* in charge.  Now tell me what this is about, or lose a few teeth!"

Sam heard Maybourne squeal even from a block away, "Okay! Sure Jack! 
Whatever you say!  Let's get a drink and I'll tell you everything."  
Her heart fell as she watched O'Neill drop Maybourne and walk on.  As 
much as the Colonel had distrusted, even despised Harry Maybourne, it 
wasn't at all like Jack O'Neill to beat up a smaller man, a man who now 
practically cowered at his feet.  "Could he have changed that much?" 
Sam wondered.

She tailed them as Maybourne guided Jack into a small pub near the Pike 
Street Market.  She followed them inside, careful not to let them see 
her face.  As she slid into a booth, Sam considered her options.  She 
could simply walk up and ask Jack to come with her.  If Maybourne 
interfered she could take him out.  But, she had no way of knowing 
*why* Jack had accompanied Maybourne, whether he would recognize her or 
even trust her if he did, or if Maybourne had any backup. So, she 
ordered a diet coke, watched and waited.

The day progressed. Maybourne and O'Neill worked their way through 
burgers and then several pitchers of beer, seeming like old friends 
enjoying a reunion.  Sam sipped her third diet coke and observed the 
Colonel's body language, a language she knew well.  

Sam could see that Jack was cautious from his taught neck muscles, the 
way he leaned forward peering intently at Maybourne, the occasional 
unconscious flexing of his right hand.  At the same time, he sent 
Maybourne obvious, contradictory signals of friendship, nodding, 
smiling, and joking around, signals that would have fooled anyone who 
didn't know Jack O'Neill very, very well. "So," Carter decided, "He's 
playing Maybourne along.  Probably biding his time, gathering details, 
trying to figure out the game." 

Carter smiled up at the bartender as she came by, bringing her over to 
the booth. "You want another coke?" Carter grinned and blushed, "No, 
but would you do me a favor? Could you slip this note to the tall man 
with the graying hair in the far booth, if his friend ever steps away?"  
The bartender smiled, knowingly, "Sure sweetie.  There's a guy worth 
drinking diet cokes for!" she laughed and took Carter's message, along 
with a twenty-dollar bill, into her beefy hand.

Another hour passed before Maybourne felt nature's call and the 
bartender, good to her word, slipped O'Neill the note and pointed 
toward Sam's booth.  Smiling, Carter raised her glass of melted ice 
cubes and tried to look enticing.  To her dismay, Jack raised the beer 
he was drinking in reply, but didn't move.  "God, he has no idea who I 
am!" she thought desperately.  "He thinks I am trying to pick him up! 
How can I ever make him trust me?"

Before Sam could try a new strategy, Maybourne returned, O'Neill stood 
and accompanied him toward the door.  Suddenly, Jack stopped and 
trotted back to the bartender waving money for a tip, then leaned over 
to her and murmured something in her ear.  She replied.  Sam waited, 
watching him walk away without even a glance in her direction.  The 
bartender waddled swiftly over to her booth, smiling excitedly, and 
leaned down in a conspiratorial manner.  "The gentleman wondered if you 
would join him for a late dinner.  He wants you to meet him at 
midnight.  He asked me for a recommendation.  Honey, I told him the 
Pike Street Market Diner, it's the best place around. So, are you 
going?"

Carter smiled sadly back and shook her head, "No, I don't think so. But 
thanks." She left another large tip and walked out, hoping to tail 
Maybourne and Jack. As she walked away she heard the bartender call 
after her, "Then, do you mind if I meet him?"

                         *******************

Chapter 9.  So Close

Sam stepped outside into the gray of a dying day.  Maybourne and 
O'Neill were out of sight.  She picked one of three possible 
directions, guessing they wouldn't retrace their steps from the 
hospital. She hoped to get lucky, but luck didn't hold.  Despite 
doggedly quartering the area in ever widening quadrants, she never 
crossed their path.  

Sam walked through the evening drizzle. Her spirits sunk deeper with 
each soggy step.  Even now Jack might be in serious trouble.  Clearly 
his instincts were aroused or he wouldn't have disregarded her 
invitation. "Would he?" she wondered desperately. 

As midnight finally approached, she hailed a cab to the diner.  It 
dropped her at a brightly lit boardwalk paralleling the beach.  Even at 
midnight tourists and club-hoppers populated the area. Sam worked her 
way through the happy throng toward the water's edge where the cabbie 
told her she would find stairs down to the waterside restaurant.  After 
a brief search, she found a long narrow stairway. It led into the dark 
below.

Carter descended the stairs almost to the surface of the ocean itself.  
Smells of salt water and rotting seaweed told her she was very near the 
water. Cooking odors told her this was probably the right place.  It 
smelled good.  

She turned the dark corner, half expecting the Colonel to step out of 
the shadows, but no. Nothing. So, she went inside, took a booth and 
ordered the blue plate special – three kinds of seafood, tater-tots and 
coleslaw, plus pie.  The fish was fresh and perfectly prepared. The 
potatoes were surprisingly good.  She ate her pie slowly, stretching it 
out, watching the door for a sign of O'Neill. By 2:30 she was fighting 
sleep, drinking a third refill on her coffee and fidgeting nervously.  
'What had gone wrong? Had he changed his mind, or was he in trouble?' 
Sam didn't know and had no fallback plan.  So she waited.

A rough nudge against her shoulder awoke her.  She'd slumped against 
the side of the booth. The cook nudged her again, impatiently. "Hey, 
lady. You'll have to find someplace else to sleep, sorry. We closed a 
half hour ago.  I'm done for the night, so you gotta beat it."

"Did a man come looking for me?" Carter asked groggily.

"Naw, but if you go home, chances are he's waiting for you ready to 
make up." The cook answered cheerfully as he walked over and unlocked 
the door. "Come see us again real soon, no hard feelings, right?"

"Right. I'll be back tomorrow night." Sam said as she stood, stretched 
and walked out into the misty night.

"Where could he be?" Sam wondered and shuddered at the answer. 

"He's with Maybourne. He could be *anywhere*."

Jack winced as the truck jostled him against a bolt in the passenger's 
door of the flatbed.  "Cripes, Harry. Where are we going in the middle 
of the freaking night in the middle of the freaking forest?" he 
growled.

"Shut up, Jack." Maybourne answered. "I had to get you out of Seattle.  
I didn't like the company you were planning on keeping."

"What are you talking about," Jack answered innocently.

Maybourne just stared at him and shook his head.  "I know, Jack. So, 
don't try it again, okay.  There's more riding on this than you know. 
More than a roll in the hay is worth, so please just trust me on this."

The truck wound through forest lands East of Seattle for three hours, 
lurching over ruts and fallen logs, grinding up steep grades and then 
back down again.  At one point Jack heard a Spotted Owl, but nothing 
else to tell him where the hell he was or where he was going.  At the 
minutes dragged on, he closed his eyes and, despite the constant 
jostling, slept.

The truck finally bumped to a halt in the middle of what looked like 
endless forest.  A small, dilapidated cabin was the only feature in an 
otherwise unbroken expanse of trees.  Jack pulled the door handle and 
moved gingerly out of the cab, feeling the combined effects of the 
truck ride and his only partly healed wounds.  "Nice place, Harry. 
Build it yourself?" Jack asked.

"Don't try to bug me Jack. I won't tell you anything.  No, I didn't 
build it. It's a friend's, a long dead friend.  It's one of my bolt 
holes, if you must know. Come on. There's work to do." Harry pulled 
open the cabin door. There was no need to lock it in the middle of 
nowhere.

"So, what's this all about?" Jack asked for the umpteenth time as he 
walked into the single room and began rummaging through cabinets for 
something to eat, *anything* to eat.

Harry pulled out a map and a note pad from his jacket. "Look," he 
snapped impatiently.

Jack turned from his search to bend over the map spread on the table, 
leaning low to read it in the thin yellow glow of the kerosene lamp 
Harry had lit.  

"We are here, Jack.  Up here, there's a radio tower.  We're going to 
tap into it to send a little long-distance message. I need to arrange 
for an exchange in a few days and this seems like the best way to send 
a message and keep you out of sight at the same time.  All telephones 
and email accounts are monitored to intercept messages to the people I 
need to contact.  So, I figure -- hey, let Uncle Sam send it for me." 
Harry looked at Jack and saw no sign of disagreement, so he continued.

"You will infiltrate the compound and ascend the tower, see? It's right 
here.  At the top there are places to tap into the dish antenna and the 
power grid.  You'll use this box to do it. Then you just press the send 
button and the message goes out slick as shi..."

"What'll you be doing?" Jack interrupted as he picked up the black 
metal box, turned it over, fiddled with the single red button and four 
colored wires emerging from its underside, then gave it a vigorous 
shake.  

Harry snatched the box away.  "That's delicate electronics, Jack!" he 
barked.  "I'll be on the ground arranging for your escape. Okay? Cause, 
I can do it and you can't, *that's* why, if you were going to ask." 
Harry stated.

"Oh. Okay. What's my cut?" Jack asked.

"Cut? Zero." 

"Then. No."

"What?" Harry asked, shocked.

"No. Not going to infiltrate, not going to ascend, not going to press 
any send button. Sorry." Jack stated simply, without rancor.

"Twenty-five percent," Harry offered.

"Fifty," Jack countered, "or climb the damned thing yourself."

"Right," Harry nodded. "Okay. Any other questions?"

"Yeah, since we're partners and all, who are we meeting and what are we 
exchanging?" Jack asked.

"All in good time, Jack," Harry smirked. "All in good time."

"Sweet," Jack grumped. Then he brightened hopefully. "Got anything to 
eat, Harry?"

The next night, Sam tripped down the stairs toward the Diner at 11:15 
pm, too worried to wait until the stroke of twelve. If the Colonel was 
in trouble, she rationalized, he could arrive early.  Besides, she 
couldn't stand to wait another minute.  She'd spent the day discussing 
the situation with General Hammond and several others at the SGC, 
trying to come up with a plan, a way to track Maybourne's movements, 
any idea of where Jack O'Neill might go when he had no place *to* go.  
She'd had to hit the mute button on her phone more than once, during 
these deliberations, at the thought of the Colonel with no one to watch 
his back, no way to warn him to take care.  But, maybe, just maybe, 
he'd keep their rendezvous tonight.

She rounded the corner, "Jack?" Nothing. She walked into the Diner and 
smiled at the cook. "I'll have the special, please. And coffee."

"Right, plenty of coffee." The cook quipped, smiling back. "How's the 
husband?"

Sam slipped into a booth and replied, "He's not my husband."

"Oh, well. This is getting more interesting," the cook answered smiling 
lecherously.

Sam smiled back and asked, "So, he hasn't been here looking for me?  A 
tall guy, very fit, with graying hair, brown eyes?"

"Sorry, but there were plenty of chubby balding guys in here earlier, 
if you want to start playing the field."

Sam smiled and sipped her coffee, thinking, "So much for intelligence 
work," and watched the hands on the clock crawl toward midnight.

At midnight Maybourne and O'Neill were working their way up an unnamed 
peak in the middle of a vast expanse of national forest land.  It was a 
cool, dry night. There were no sounds -- not a car, not a plane, no dog 
barked, no radio played. There was only the wind as it sighed through 
pine boughs, the wind and their muffled footsteps on the deep bed of 
forest litter. 

Jack led the way.  He'd memorized the map and knew they would merely 
need to climb about a quarter of a mile. Then he'd leave Harry to 
arrange their escape and proceed alone, crossing a secure perimeter, 
taking care not to trigger any alarms. What alarms might be there would 
be something to investigate as he approached the objective.  

'Hopefully,' he mused, 'this is among my skills as a spook.' Harry 
seemed to think so, but Jack couldn't recall ever infiltrating 
anything.  It had him a little tense but, as he approached the 15-foot 
woven wire fence, it all seemed perfectly obvious: stay low; survey the 
area; locate the power source and isolate it; watch for mounds, bumps 
under the surface, wires, beams, anything metallic or too regular to be 
natural. Yeah, this just 'comes naturally,' just like Harry said.

Jack identified three systems, defeated them methodically and decided 
to climb the fence, rather than cut the woven wire mesh and try to 
squeeze his back through the stiff wire. He placed his fingers in the 
wire and hoisted himself up, feeling his back protest. But he kept 
going, pulling up with his arms and pressing the toes of his boots into 
the wire diamonds for leverage. In three moves, he reached the top, 
swung over and then let himself fall, landing soundlessly in a crouch.  

The tower stood three hundred yards ahead, across a wide-open, well-lit 
space of bare soil.  There was no cover and that worried him.  Jack 
stayed low, then dashed across the lighted space, feeling oh-so 
vulnerable, like a bug on a windshield, 'just asking to be squashed.'

But no alarms had sounded when he slipped gratefully into the shadow of 
the radio tower's footing, thinking, 'guess the O'Neill luck is back.'  
He pressed against the cool stone, his heart hammering from the 
adrenalin rush. Sweat trickled down the back of his shirt.  Suddenly, 
blood roared in his ears.  He closed his eyes tight, fighting the flash 
back, but the rushing grew, accompanied suddenly by searing pain in his 
head.

"Sam, she's down," a voice called.  Jack wanted to move, to go to her, 
but he fought the urge, breathing 'it's not real' between clenched 
teeth.  He endured the unendurable rush, crouched in the shadow, 
hearing the voice, seeing her fall, feeling his mind ignite with fear 
and anguish.  Then, it all just faded, leaving Jack trembling and 
soaked with sweat. 

"Sam," he murmured, "that woman in the bar; her name's Sam. Who the 
hell is she?"  The trembling subsided.  He leaned against the wall for 
another moment, concentrating on slowing his breathing, regaining 
control, then wiped sweat from his eyes and checked his gear a last 
time – black do-hickey, check; headlamp, check; wire cutter, check, all 
there.

"Okay," he muttered as he grabbed the highest rung he could reach on 
the ladder and doggedly started to climb the tower.  The blackness of 
the night actually made it easier, preventing the disorientation that 
occurred on high-tower climbs.  When a person sees clouds moving from a 
high tower, the brain is fooled causing an overwhelming sensation that 
the tower is falling.  High-tower workers occasionally fling themselves 
off into space in a bid to 'save' themselves, jumping from a perfectly 
stable tower that their brains told them was falling.  

Still, Jack took pains to lock his gaze straight ahead as he moved up 
one rung after the next.  The flashback was not a good sign.  Probably 
the concussion had triggered it.  He hoped it wouldn't happen again 
soon, at least not until he was back on terra firma.

Steady climbing brought him at last to the backside of a massive white 
dish.  He flipped on his headlamp, training its tiny light on the apex 
of the dish.  A bundle of wires fed into the thing from a tube of 
conduit, connecting the parabolic antenna to a communications center 
below.  Jack took a deep breath to steady his hands and calmly began.  
"Locate the wires; match them to the do-hickey, done."  He double and 
triple checked, ensuring that the wires were perfect matches.  Leave it 
to Maybourne to color-code it for him.  "Nice touch, Harry," Jack 
thought as he secured the box to the dish's superstructure and took out 
the cutter.  He carefully isolated the first wire, stripped it and 
connected the alligator clip to its match from the black box, then 
repeated the procedure with the second wire, third and fourth.  All 
set.  He snipped the wires in sequence, marrying the black box to the 
dish, without interrupting the connection to the communications 
equipment below.  He held his breath for a moment, waiting for any sign 
of trouble and then pressed the 'send' button. 

Suddenly, all hell broke loose below.

"Shit!" Jack swore fervently, "shit!" and flattened himself against the 
dark side of the dish.  "Shit! Harry, *watthehellyadoingmaybourne*?" 
Searching lights flashed across him and he clamped his eyes firmly shut 
to preserve his night vision, just in case he'd need to see in the 
dark, just in case the lights *didn't* find him, just in case he 
*wasn't* picked-off by military sharpshooters in the next five seconds. 

As Jack hung on with eyes closed far overhead, Harry flipped a series 
of switches, triggering claymores in the woods on the far side of the 
compound, explosions very like those of the security system Jack had 
defeated, a series of explosions leading away from the tower.  Harry 
peered into the night, as troops swarmed and then gained a sense of 
direction, moving off in an orderly mass to sweep the woods in the 
wrong direction, or the right direction, depending on your point of 
view. Harry grinned maliciously, "I am *so* good at this!"  Then he 
pressed a button on his web gear, "Jack," he whispered, "come in."

"Harry!" the radio hissed back at him, "what the hell was *that*?"   
Jack sounded pissed, Harry mused, 'Good.  Maybe this would convince him 
to lay off future attempts at freelancing, convince him it's a 
dangerous world out there.'

"Jack, that's what's known as a diversion; descend *now*. There are no 
troops, but there isn't a lot of time either, so move it, O'Neill.  I 
am on the west side of the compound. I'll find you, just head in my 
direction. Out." Maybourne clicked off the power to the radio, no need 
to listen to Jack fume. He'd heard it before, many, many times.

Harry watched Jack half-fall down the ladder, impressed at the old 
guy's speed.  He must have been one hell of a boot in his youth.  'Very 
impressive, Jack,' Harry thought as O'Neill dropped the last fifteen 
feet, landed in a panther-crouch and sprinted across the kill-zone to 
the fence, flinging himself up the wire mesh and over, to land hard on 
the other side and race to the cover of trees another forty feet beyond 
the fence.  Harry smiled and moved quickly to intercept him, suddenly 
concerned that he might not reach Jack before the old guy hurtled past 
into the wilderness.  "Can't have him running all the way back to 
Seattle," Harry smirked and flipped on the radio, "Ah, stop Jack.  I'm 
on an intercept. Just stay put and I'll pick you up."

"Goddammit, Har..." Jack's voice cut off as Harry flipped off the 
power. 

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered back. "Cry me a river, Jack."

Earlier that day the General had ordered Sam home.  General Hammond 
reluctantly decided that there was really no chance that Colonel 
O'Neill would return to Seattle and that their best hope would be to 
work through the NID to locate Maybourne. The General told her she was 
needed at SGC to answer some questions.  Sam had not exactly begged for 
more time, but she had asked for one more night. Hammond, sensitive to 
her feelings of guilt now compounded by this failure, agreed she could 
delay departure until morning.

As Sam turned the dark corner at the foot of the stairs and started 
toward the Diner, strong fingers suddenly locked on her arm.  She 
reacted instantly; raising her other arm and swinging her elbow back 
violently, aiming for her attacker's gut.  But the hand on her forearm 
pulled her off balance and she missed, connecting instead with ribs. 
She heard a soft curse and then strong arms enfolded her, strong arms 
and a familiar masculine aroma -- Jack O'Neill.  Sam stopped 
struggling; let Jack hold her, felt his heart hammer against her chest.  

"I know you," Jack said softly.  "I see you when I ... dream. Why?" Sam 
felt the warmth of his breath on her face, smelled intermingled scents 
of pine, sweat and the beer he'd been drinking.  "I know you," she 
answered softly, "Jack."  Before Sam could elaborate, Jack's mouth was 
on hers.  Yearning shot through her as he pressed against her, as she 
tasted him, inhaled him. Sam responded, pulling Jack close.  

Then, she pulled away for a moment of rational thought and whispered, 
"We've got to get out of here," kissing him again, urgently to 
reinforce the meaning of her suggestion.  Jack responded to the spirit, 
but not the words.  He pressed Sam back hard against a damp wooden 
piling. His mouth explored hers.  She felt his bristled cheek move 
against her face and brush down her neck.  His strong hands pressed 
against her, lifting her up against him.  

Raw emotion surged through her as Sam felt Jack's full weight against 
her.  At that moment, Sam would have done anything, risked everything 
to continue, to finally know what she'd imagined for so long, how it 
would feel to have Jack O'Neill.  

A sharp metallic click brought Sam suddenly back to reality. She felt 
Jack's back stiffen and he pulled away from her.  Then, she heard Harry 
Maybourne sneer, "Nice going Jack.  I let you out of my sight for less 
than an hour and you're already mixed up with the competition."

Sam suppressed her foolish pique at the interruption.  As Jack loosed 
his grip on her, she scolded herself.  "There are more important things 
to worry about than whether you'll ever, *ever* have sex with this 
man."  Part of her believed it.

Jack gave Sam a long, inquiring look and her heart skipped. He asked, 
"Competition, Harry?"

Maybourne continued, "Competition, Jack.  That's Samantha Carter.  She 
works for the other side.  She tailed us from the hospital.  You didn't 
think I saw you pass her the message in the bar?  Jack!  You really 
*don't* remember me, do you?  Otherwise, you wouldn't underestimate 
me."

Carter felt Jack's fingers close on her wrist as he stepped back from 
her and then pulled her into the light.  He looked down into her eyes, 
flirting. "Nice try, Samantha.  Too bad Maybourne tailed me again 
tonight. Otherwise, I think you'd have made my dreams seem tame."  
Turning to Maybourne, Jack demanded, "What competition, Harry?"

"Her full title is *Major* Samantha Carter, US Air Force," Maybourne 
elaborated.  "She works for a black section of the military, very, very 
black.  In fact, you might find it amusing to know she once worked for 
you, Jack, until she discovered our little deal.    She got you into 
this mess.  She's the reason your memory is Swiss cheese. I guess you 
really don't remember.  If you did, I doubt you'd still want to kiss 
her."

Sam just stood there, stupidly, as Maybourne wove his lies and half-
truths.  Her heart sunk, hearing him blame her for Jack's wounds, the 
same blame she'd heaped on herself during the past few days.  O'Neill 
turned and looked down into her eyes and, Sam felt certain, read guilt 
there.  His eyes grew hard, the fire that burned there a moment before 
turned to smoldering anger.

"C'mon, Jack.  Let's get her out of here," Maybourne said. "That is, if 
you're finished.  I'll fill you in on the rest on the way."

Jack started up the steps, pulling Sam along by the wrist. But 
Maybourne called, "Not that way, Jack.  Follow me," and he walked into 
the shadows toward the beach. O'Neill followed with Carter in tow, his 
fingers locked on her wrist.

                         *******************

Chapter 10. But So Far

Sam hunched against the gunwale of Maybourne's launch as the vessel 
sped through the dark, wet night.  She had no clue where they were 
going or why.  She only knew Maybourne was in a hurry to get there, as 
evidenced by the screaming of the ship's overtaxed engines.  

Maybourne had led them to the water's edge where a launch waited. It 
was small for an ocean-going vessel, but still tall enough to make it 
difficult to force an unwilling passenger aboard.  Sam made it clear 
that she was unwilling.  When Maybourne moved to force her, Jack 
intervened.  Then he'd climbed aboard and started to lift her into the 
craft, with one strong hand on her coat collar and the other reaching 
to grasp the waistband of her jeans.  

As Jack had reached for her, Sam saw him grimace and remembered his 
lacerated back.  She stopped fighting,  "Okay, okay! Just let me go and 
I'll do it myself," and scrambled up the side of the launch unassisted.  
Jack had given her another long, dark look, but said softly, "Thank 
you, Samantha," just before he handcuffed her to the anchor chain.  

Now, Sam pulled in her arms and legs, trying to retain some shred of 
warmth as Maybourne gunned the high-speed launch across open water at 
full throttle.  Wind and waves lashed across the prow, drenching her.  
They had traveled far off the coast, she knew.  What she didn't know 
was why.  

As she shivered and tried to find shelter against the ship's gunwale, 
Carter imagined the worst.  Maybourne would continue 'filling Jack in' 
with half-truths. She despaired, realizing Jack might easily believe 
him – a life of secrets, danger, violence, killing and dying.  It all 
would feel right, even if Jack remembered scraps of his life before 
P3X724.  If he believed Maybourne, would Jack ever trust her? 

Even more troubling, Carter wondered, should she trust Jack?  As she 
recalled how he'd assaulted Maybourne, Carter thought about General 
Hammond's warning that O'Neill might be a changed man, a dangerous man. 
The first morning, Jack *had* seemed different.  Carter trembled.  The 
Colonel had always been hot tempered, but there had been a certain 
humanity, a gentleness about him.  Was that part of Jack O'Neill 
erased? Perhaps, from what she'd seen, Sam thought the Colonel seemed 
more ruthless, definitely dangerous.  

Worry combined with the effects of cold and anxiety.  Sam tried to calm 
her raging emotions using meditation, as Teal'c had taught her. She 
envisioned herself surrounded by candles, sitting alone and calm, 
relaxed.  Unfortunately, each time she started to slip toward Kelnorim, 
she felt Jack's mouth again and the result was far from tranquil.  
Jack's behavior was different, *definitely* different.

As the boat plunged on across dark swells, Carter gave up on relaxation 
and focused instead on finding a solution.  If Jack couldn't trust her, 
so be it.  As long as she didn't have to kill him, she would do 
whatever else must be done.  As for Maybourne, she'd gladly put a 
bullet in him, somewhere painful, as payback, she thought, anger 
warming her stiff muscles and focusing her scattered thoughts.

After an hour running full speed, the engines dropped from a high-
pitched scream to a slightly lower register.  A moment later the whine 
of the engines dropped suddenly to a low rumble as Maybourne threw the 
launch into full reverse, churning the surrounding water white.  

The sudden deceleration threw Sam slightly off balance. She fell 
forward against ...  Jack!  He stood beside her in the darkness.  How 
long had he been there?  Sam wasn't sure.  Jack reached down and gave 
her shoulder a brief squeeze.  Her heart leapt.  Did he remember?  Did 
he trust her?  His touch was there, strong and reassuring, and then 
gone. It was all too quick.

Maybourne walked toward them and snapped an order at O'Neill.  "Bring 
her," he directed. "She's worth a year's pay if we work this right."

O'Neill did as instructed with no debate, further warning to Sam that 
Jack was far from his old self.  As she stumbled aft, she saw another 
much larger craft pull alongside the launch, a craft with a bright red 
hammer and sickle on its prow.  "Oh my gosh," she murmured, "It's the 
Russians."

Maybourne laughed at her.  "No Major, not *the* Russians.  Well, not 
officially.  It's a faction of the former USSR.  What with no pay, no 
rations and no officers, some of my former unofficial friends decided 
to embrace the free market.  International enterprise is the up and 
coming thing, you know.  All the business magazines agree!"  As 
Maybourne laughed too hard at his own joke, Sam wondered if the little 
spook had lost his mind.  Perhaps the rigors of life 'in the cold' had 
proved too much even for Maybourne.  

She had little time to feel sorry for Maybourne. He dragged her up into 
the second ship.  On deck, Sam moved around unsteadily, trying to work 
the kinks out her numb legs, trying to get the blood flowing.  As she 
rubbed herself and stomped her feet, she also peered into the dark, 
where she could just make out the outlines of heavy guns on deck.  
"This is a war ship," she realized.  Then, Maybourne shoved her toward 
one of the crew, an ugly little man who leered at her, revealing a 
mouthful of questionable dentistry, who escorted her below decks at 
gunpoint and locked her in an airless space that must have been 
designed as a waterproof gear locker.  At least it's dry, Carter 
thought as the heavy metal door swung shut. 

                         *******************

Chapter 11. Lovers or Friends

Jack stood at the rail, thinking.  A cold wind blew in his face, but he 
flushed as he felt that superheated wave of emotion rise again.  His 
heart pounded at the memory of touching Samantha Carter. "Who is this 
woman and what does she mean to me?" He could almost make the 
connections, almost.

Gazing into the dark, Jack struggled to remember, *had* to remember.  
It was vital and Samantha Carter was the key.  He'd known it somehow 
even before, even as he waited for her in the dark at the bottom of the 
steps, on edge, strangely eager, uncertain as to *why* he had to see 
her, uncertain as to how he knew she would come.  When O'Neill heard 
her step and felt her near him, he'd come so close to remembering. 

"I know you, Jack," was all she'd said, all she'd had time to say 
before he silenced her.  "Why'd I kiss her, why didn't I ask her 
something, like *how* I know her?"  Remembering how she felt, he could 
almost forgive his foolishness. Somehow as he felt her respond, his 
only thought was of pulling her down to the dark dry sand.  Even now 
that still made perfect sense.

In another moment, he would have. That, or it seemed clear she would 
have taken him there. Well, that would have been okay, too.  Too bad 
Maybourne had a gun.  Anything less wouldn't have stopped them.  Jack's 
temper flared as he stared out at the black swells, felt the ship lunge 
forward.  "*Damn* Maybourne."  So, the moment never came. Once again he 
hadn't acted on his passion for this woman, this crazy woman from his 
crazy dreams, this woman he didn't know yet somehow needed to 
distraction.  

Even so, Maybourne was too late. Her brief touch had triggered 
something.  Beyond raw chemistry, Jack felt a glimmer of memory, 
shadows of images.  Even as he'd pulled Samantha back into the light 
and gazed down into her blue eyes, Jack had begun to remember *some* 
things.  

The clearest images were merely bizarre dream scenes – impossible 
battles with aliens, Egyptian gods and ancient warriors.  He ignored 
these as irrelevant nonsense. But there were powerful feelings, 
astounding sensations of danger, devotion and the sense of ... 
something else that he couldn't ignore.  Though undefined, Jack felt 
sure that something very important was at stake, something involving 
his past, his future and Samantha Carter.  

Now, alone on the plunging deck, Jack examined his one clear 
conviction.  No matter the risk, he'd protect Samantha.  Every instinct 
screamed it.  

'If she's the femme fatale Maybourne claimed, she's an expert,' he 
thought. Maybourne had warned him she would attempt to manipulate him.  
Maybourne had put him on guard against these exact feelings. Even so, 
Jack just couldn't buy it.  The short, unruly hair, the masculine 
clothing, the direct, hungry way she responded to him, all this was 
incredibly sexy, but even Jack had to admit they were far from 
seductive.  Somehow Samantha Carter was simply too straightforward, too 
direct to be the duplicitous agent Maybourne alleged.  

Jack rested his head on his fists and stared into the blackness. "This 
is nuts," he thought.  "I don't know who to trust, a smarmy little 
spook who admits he's blackmailing me, or a woman from my dreams.  
Well, at least her eyes don't really glow!"  Then Jack made the call. 
"So, you don't know all the facts. Well, that's tough!  You probably 
never really understand half of what's going on anyway. Face it. You're 
not all that bright.  But, your gut works just fine, thank you very 
much.  So, stop trying to think this through." 

Jack straightened resolutely and winced.  His back hurt.  The stitches 
pulled and he felt heat radiate from angry wounds. He wondered briefly 
how he'd manage to strip off the heavy sweatshirt he'd worn for several 
days straight, now drenched with sea spray. He was sure to open his 
wounds again. "Thanks, Harry.  You couldn't have brought me a shirt 
with buttons?" 

Jack turned away from the rail.  There was just one way to find out.  
He crossed the deck, descended to the mid-deck and went quickly to the 
locker, where he'd watched as she'd been locked away.  He spun the 
wheel, yanked open the hatch, reached down and, before she could 
protest, roughly pulled Samantha Carter to her feet and out into the 
hall.  

"C'mon, we're going to have a talk," he said simply.

Carter shuddered at his dark glare. Clearly, he'd believed everything 
that Harry had told him about her.  

Jack dragged her down the hall to an empty cabin, shoved her toward a 
chair and growled, "Sit." As she sat, he continued, "Okay, who the hell 
are you, lady?"

"I'm Major Sam Carter, US Air Force." She answered simply.

"What? No serial number?" Jack shot back sarcastically.  Carter saw an 
angry flush creep up his neck and fought to hang onto her composure.  
She'd always had a visceral reaction to Jack's tempers, always found 
them terrible, terrifying.

The Colonel leaned into her face and growled again, "Who *are*  you?"  

"Samantha Carter, Major US Air Force, serial number ..." Carter froze 
in mid-sentence as he slammed his hand on the table between them.

"NO!!" 

She felt his hot breath in her face. A sudden coldness shot up her 
spine. "He's totally lost it," she realized, gazing back into the 
Colonel's distended pupils, so large that his normally soft brown eyes 
were intensely black.  Carter knew then that, no matter what, she 
couldn't answer. General Hammond had made it very clear that she was to 
reveal nothing of the SGC, nothing of the Colonel's prior life ...  
nothing.  Now, she understood why.  

"No!" he repeated softly and turned away suddenly, flexing his right 
hand, "don't give me that crap. You know me.  I know... knew you.  You 
will tell me what I want to know, Samantha."  The Colonel spoke with 
soft, fiercely constrained fury, turned again and fixed her with a 
glare.  Carter swallowed reflexively at the implied threat and clamped 
her mouth shut.

"Who are you," he repeated.

"Major Sam Carter, United States Air Force, serial number 225-387-562," 
she answered softly.

He turned and faced the wall, "Okay, then who am I?"

Carter started to answer, hesitated and then clapped her mouth shut.

"Who *am* I?" he hissed spinning and bending low across the table, 
"who?"

As the interrogation continued, Carter forced her mind to slip away. As 
she watched him closely, she let herself go someplace safe.  He paced 
the cabin, demanded what she would not tell him, demands that sometimes 
sounded like pleas and other times like threats. But, as he stormed and 
threatened, she hung onto Hammond's command, "tell him nothing of a 
sensitive nature."  How could she tell this man he was Jack O'Neill, 
Colonel Jack O'Neill --  the first man to step through a wormhole to 
another planet, a man who lead off-world missions on a routine basis, 
her commanding officer, her friend. How could she tell that without 
disclosing sensitive information? She couldn't; so, she didn't. As much 
as she yearned to speak, to give him what he demanded, what he clearly 
needed, she gritted her teeth and remained silent.

A sudden crash brought her back to the moment.  To her shock, the 
Colonel leaned against the wall, the heels of his palms pressed against 
his eyes.  He gasped for air.  The table lamp was twisted on the floor, 
its bulb shattered.

Carter was beside him, "Colonel?" she asked.  "What is it, Sir?" 

He didn't answer, but the agony on his face, the tremors, perspiration 
and a sour stench of fear spoke volumes. Carter wrapped her arms around 
him and gently eased him toward the floor. "I'm here, Sir." She said 
softly. "You're okay," she soothed speaking meaningless words of 
comfort to a man who she knew couldn't hear her.

After some minutes, the Colonel seemed to come back.  The tension in 
his shoulders eased, the trembling lessened.  He leaned his head back 
against the wall with eyes closed. His breath still came in ragged 
gasps.  "Samantha," he whispered.

"Yes, Jack?" she answered.

"What the hell happened to me ... to us?" 

His troubled brown eyes opened, turned to her, pleading.  Carter shook 
her head and said simply, "I can't."

"I can make you," he said softly.

She smiled grimly and shook her head, "you can, but you won't."

The Colonel closed his eyes for a long moment. Then he stood shakily, 
pulled her to her feet and led her back to the locker.  Carter came 
close to explaining as they walked silently, hand in hand.  But, 
instead, she stepped into the locker and watched him close the door and 
lock it.

                         *******************

Chapter 12.  Comrades

Jack turned and walked slowly to his cabin, exhausted, and tried to 
sleep. After a couple of hours of staring at the ceiling, he gave up 
and went to the ship's cabin.  He found Harry standing by the wheel 
speaking some gutteral language to the sleazy-looking ship's Captain.  
A third man leaned in the corner.  He was in his late forties, early 
fifties.  He was muscled, fit.  He wore a buzz cut and had good teeth.  
Not a Russian, then.

"One of ours." Jack decided.  Jack felt the man's eyes drill into his 
back as he stood and listened a few moments.  Jack recognized some 
Russian words, but not enough to understand the conversation, so he 
turned away. "Harry, I'm going below. I'm beat." Maybourne glanced over 
his shoulder at O'Neill and waved. Harry was focusing on negotiations 
with the pirate at the helm.  As he left, Jack felt the man in the 
corner follow him with his eyes. Hairs on his neck prickled.  "He's 
going to be trouble," Jack thought.  

Jack descended the narrow steps.  As he reached the lower deck, he 
stopped.  He heard a sharp metallic tapping.  He stood for a moment, 
listening, and realized it was Morse code.  The sound came from down 
the hall, from the locker where he'd imprisoned Samantha hours almost 
two hours ago.  As Jack softly approached the hatch; the tapping 
abruptly stopped.  He waited and, sure enough, within a few minutes, 
the tapping started again.  He stood quietly, listening, deciphering 
the message.  

"Guess I haven't forgotten everything," he thought with a small rush of 
satisfaction.  It was an S.O.S. It continued with a brief statement of 
the ship's identity, approximate location and speed, an estimate of the 
size of the crew and its likely intentions.  Jack's satisfaction grew 
to delight as the code tapped out that Colonel Jack O'Neill, United 
State Air Force was among the crew and not to be harmed. Jack grinned.  
He had his answer.  Samantha had no reason to protect him, unless what 
Harry had told him was a lie.  

Jack rapped on the hatch and the tapping continued at a faster pace.  
"Good for you, Samantha.  Never give up," he said aloud as he quickly 
spun the wheel, unlocked the hatch, and pulled it open.  Sam peered out 
from the cramped space, blinking in the sudden light.  "Samantha, you 
alright?" he asked softly.

She smiled up at him, "Yes, Sir."  

Jack offered her a hand and almost lifted her out of the locker she'd 
crouched in for more than two hours.  Carter's legs had gone to sleep 
again in the cramped space.  She rested against him unsteadily for a 
moment, before pulling back a little. "I prefer that you call me 
'Carter' or 'Major.' Okay?"

Jack was still clasping her hand. It was cold and damp.  He looked down 
at the dirty, heart-shaped face, as she peered up at him though her 
bedraggled hair, and he smiled, "Carter?  Are you sure you want me to 
call you that?  Samantha suits you, Major. It's a beautiful name for a 
beautiful woman."

Sam looked up into Jack's teasing brown eyes and wanted to pull him 
back into the locker, dog the hatch and keep him to herself, forever.  
But as Jack gazed down at her, she smiled politely and said, "We need 
to talk about that, but not right now, Sir." Then she moved gamely down 
the hall, despite massive tingling in her legs and the skipping of her 
heart.

Jack followed, still smiling but suddenly sad.  

'Sir,' she'd called him.  It brought back more memories, some of them 
delightful but some painful.  

'Sir,' he knew it meant he could never take her the way he'd almost 
done just hours ago, he realized.  

'Sir,' it meant she looked to him for protection, direction.  It meant 
she'd do as he ordered, probably even die if he asked it. 

'Sir,' it meant she was his to command.  

'Sir,' it meant she could never be his to love. 

Jack felt ill as he jogged behind her.  He'd come so close to making 
love to Samantha, to 'Sam', his subordinate, someone entrusted to his 
care.  So close, even now he felt the rush of mad desire.  "My god, 
what do I do?" he thought wildly.  "It's against regulations.  Besides 
that, it's wrong, irresponsible, dangerous, not to mention against 
regulations."

But, as they rounded the corner and encountered the first surprised 
pirate, Jack forgot his worries in the all-consuming struggle to stay 
alive, to keep Sam alive, in combat against a well-armed, superior 
force.

Jack heard her charge forward.  An instant later Jack cleared the bend 
just as she disabled a thug almost twice her size.  Sam wasted no 
motion. First, she landed a violent kick to the man's knee.  He lurched 
forward in pain; her fist met his unprotected nose in a solid uppercut. 
The force of it carried thug backwards.  He landed hard. His head made 
an ugly thud on the metal mid-deck.  Then he was still.

Jack stood, awed.   "Nice job, Major," he remarked quietly. Then he 
moved up behind her and gently touched her back, just to let her know 
he was there.  Under his hand, Jack felt something firm, familiar.  
"You're wounded Major," he said in surprise, recognizing the feel of 
thick gauze under his palm.

Sam shrugged, "It's healing, Sir. It happened almost two weeks ago."  
Then she crouched and stripped the unconscious pirate of ammo, rifle, 
knife and radio, and his jacket. 

"I'm freezing," she explained as she slipped into the filthy jacket, 
handed Jack the knife, stashed the radio and ammunition and started on 
down the passageway.

"Almost two weeks ago," Jack reflected as he watched Sam sling the 
rifle over her shoulder, noting she'd slung it on the wrong side, "same 
as me." He quickly closed the gap to ensure he'd be beside her when she 
encountered the next thug.

As they moved on, heading for the wheelhouse, Jack asked, "Do you speak 
any Russian?"

"Yes, Sir. Daniel is teaching me," she replied simply.

"Good," Jack answered. Then, after a few more steps asked, "Who's 
Daniel?"

Before Sam could lie, they turned another corner and found two more 
pirates lounging against the bulkheads, smoking.  Sam covered the 
distance in a stride and struck the closest man in the face with the 
butt of her rifle, knocking him out.  Jack grabbed the second, smaller 
man by the collar, lifted him off his feet and slammed his head into 
the thick metal side of the ship.  

"Stick your muzzle in his face and ask him how many are on board and 
what the plan is," Jack suggested.  Sam complied eagerly, still peeved 
over her treatment at the hands of Maybourne and his motley crew.  

The man cowered before her and answered, shaking his head.  Carter 
turned to Jack, "It's not Russian, Sir.  He's speaking Norwegian."

"Too bad, I only speak Swedish," Jack quipped then blinked in surprise 
as Carter spoke sharply to the groveling pirate.

"Hvor er vi som drar!"

The man sniveled, "Vi seiler til North Africa."

Carter continued, "Hva er deres last?"

As the man answered, "vi smugler atomvåpen, atomvåpen og våpengrad 
atomstoff" O'Neill noticed she looked worried. "This is bad," he 
thought as she continued.

"Hvor mange er i mannskapet?" Carter demanded.

The pirate answered slowly, "tjue sjømenn, tjue pluss kapteinen og 
først make." 

Carter pressed him for more information, shoving the rifle in his face, 
"Hva er Maybourne's plan!" 

The man only shook his head and then began to plead with for his life, 
turning from Carter to Jack as he jabbered frantically, "Behag ikke 
skader meg!! Behag ikke skader meg!"

At her nod, Jack flattened him.

Carter explained as they continued toward the back of the ship. "Sir, 
if he was telling me the truth, this is a ship of smugglers, a crew of 
twenty, plus the Captain and First Mate, carrying weapons grade nuclear 
material, headed for North Africa." 

"He didn't know the specifics of Maybourne's plan, but it seems pretty 
clear that Maybourne is a go-between, probably making arrangements 
between these deserters and well-financed agents in Africa or the 
Middle-East."

"So," Jack quipped, "This time Harry's not in it for humanitarian 
reasons."

Carter grinned at this first glimmer of the old O'Neill wit, "No, Sir."

Jack smiled back, "So who's Daniel?"

They had reached the area one deck below the wheelhouse. Sam turned to 
him.  "Jack, there is something I want to tell you."  Jack felt his 
heart hammer as she gazed up at him. She didn't speak. She didn't have 
to, it was clear from the look on her face. 

Jack ran his knuckle gently along her sweet, grimy cheek, looked into 
her beautiful blue eyes. "Back atcha, Carter."

Carter's eyes shone and she smiled crookedly before lightly kissing his 
cheek. Then she froze.

Jack saw her eyes grow very wide an instant before everything went 
black.

                         *******************

Chapter 13. B.B.U.G.

Jack opened his eyes then closed them again. Splinters of pain shot 
through his head.  "Holy buckets," he moaned. "What hit me?"  He opened 
his eyes, blinked in the impenetrable dark and cautiously rolled on his 
side, trying to stand.  

"Samantha, Sam!" he whispered in the dark.  No answer.  He rubbed his 
eyes, held his hand before his face and wiggled his fingers, nothing.  
Either he was in total darkness, or he was stone blind.  He reached out 
into the void, feeling cool metal floor in all directions. "Sam," he 
hissed again, louder. No answer.

Jack eased himself to a sitting position, as the room plunged wildly.  
His head spun, or was it the room?  "God, what happened?" he mumbled as 
he groped right and left, finding only floor and empty space.  Slowly, 
fighting to not black out again, he rose to his knees and crawled 
forward, feeling only empty space ahead.  The room plunged and rose, 
but Jack persisted, moving slowly, reaching out into nothingness, 
moving again.  

"What is this place?" he wondered aloud.  He didn't let himself ask the 
other question, "Where is Sam?" but despair inside wailed, "She's 
gone!" Jack focused on the immediate task of groping forward. It helped 
hold despair at bay. 

Then his fingers brushed a cold, hard surface in front of him, a wall 
or a door, maybe.

His head throbbed. He was thirsty and the crazy shifting of the place 
made him yearn to lie down.  Still he worked steadily on – reach, 
touch, move, reach and touch, move -- exploring the surface in front of 
him. It was metal. There were rivets and seams.  He edged right and ran 
his hands across the surface, desperate to understand this place, 
praying for a hinge, a handle, a passage or a grate. Something. 

Finally, he rested and assessed what he'd learned.  "So, I'm in a dark 
place, the walls and floor are metal. There are four corners and there 
is no door, no grate. Great!" he thought as he slumped in the dark, 
"Now what?"  He wished Carter were here so he could order her to figure 
this out.  O'Neill wedged himself into the corner, closed his eyes and 
tried to sleep hoping rest would ease the throbbing of his head.  

As the ceaseless plunging rocked him against the steel wall, a rivet 
dug into his tender back.  He thought of Sam, her heavily bandaged 
shoulder.  "What happened to her two weeks ago? What happened to her, 
happened to *me*," he'd decided.  "It can't be coincidence," he knew. 
"And just *who the hell* is 'Daniel'?"  O'Neill wondered again as he 
drifted into fitful sleep.

As he slept the dreams returned, even more violent than before and 
intensely real.  The sky was brilliant blue.  He was in battle, under 
fire.  Energy fire chipped away bits of the wall overhead. He felt sand 
from the wall trickle down his shirt collar, felt it tickle his neck 
and spine. He saw the black man Teal'c raise his staff weapon and fire.  
Then he heard the geek call, "Sam!! She's down." 

In nightmarish clarity O'Neill saw Samantha struck by energy fire, saw 
her thrown forward by the force of it, saw her falling, falling into 
the dust. In an agony of slow motion, he ran toward her. He was 
desperate to reach her, but in the hellish dream, he couldn't move.  
O'Neill awoke and understood, "It *happened*!  It actually *happened*!" 

At that instant, painfully bright light blinded him. "Sam?" He squinted 
into the light.

"Oh! Sorry to disappoint you, Jack," replied Maybourne, "but Major 
Carter is... ah, let's say, 'occupied', shall we?"

Fully alert, O'Neill asked innocently, "What's going on Harry? 
Something hit me from behind.  Was it Carter?"

"Jack, don't bullshit me! Nice try, but I saw what you two did to my 
crew.  I also saw you with Carter.  I hit you, Jack. Believe me, I did 
you a favor.  The Captain of this ship wants to gut you like a herring.  
Lucky for you I was there. I convinced him you are valuable, far more 
valuable than the cargo he thinks he's carrying.  Between that cargo, 
Carter and you tossed in for good measure, Jack, I see a nice little 
island in my future.  Or, maybe I'll buy a place on that ship that just 
cruises International Waters, no extradition laws from there, you 
know."

As Maybourne gloated, Jack tested himself.  If he made a move, would 
his legs work, could he even stand?  He wasn't sure.  "What the hell, 
you only die once," he thought and swept his long legs toward the light 
in hopes he might kick Maybourne's legs out from under him.  Instead of 
connecting with Harry, he connected with a second man, a man who 
stepped aside and then swung. His heavy boot hit Jack in the stomach.  

Maybourne's voice continued through the red haze, "Jack, do you have a 
death wish?  They are looking for a reason to throw you overboard, so 
don't cause trouble.  There's only so much I can do for old time's 
sake. You know, Buddy?" Then, the light moved away as the second man 
snarled, "So, do us both a favor, Jack. Don't try anything."

Jack gazed up at it as it ascended along the wall of the room and 
disappeared.  "I'm in the cargo hold," he realized, "and there's the 
ladder."  Then he called out, "Thanks for looking out for me, Harry.  
Don't worry I'll pay you back some day, *Buddy*. I always pay my 
debts," he roared and heard the metallic clang as the hatch slammed 
shut over head.

As Jack huddled in the dark, he started to remember.  Teal'c, the man 
with the gold emblem and royal demeanor was his friend, his comrade.  
And then there was Daniel, Dr. Daniel Jackson. Of course, how could he 
*ever* forget Daniel -- allergies, glasses sliding down his nose, 
crumbing books and endless lectures about long dead societies? Daniel! 
"And to think I was actually worried about *him*!" O'Neill thought, but 
a twinge of jealousy lingered as he recalled Sam and Daniel together, 
their heads almost touching as they collaborated on some unfathomable 
science project. "Daniel."

Jack sifted the memories. Hammond's grandfatherly face, Jack knew it 
could beam or boom, as necessary.  Janet Frazier, Siler and the rest, 
they came back to him now en mass.   There were other faces, too, maybe 
not all human, but friends – Thor, Celeste, Jacob.  And, he knew, there 
were enemies.

"Okay," Jack reasoned as he crouched there, "I've got to get Sam and 
get out of here.  Whoever Maybourne has as a client, they can*not* get 
this information."  He knew Sam would hold out under questioning, knew 
he could, too.  But there are other methods, methods no one resists.  
Jack knew those methods, too well.  "I've gotta find a way out," he 
thought as he rose to his feet and made his unsteady way across the 
pitching hold toward the ladder.

Jack staggered to the place where he thought Maybourne and his muscle-
bound buddy had disappeared.  He reached high, feeling the walls, 
hoping to find the ladder despite the utter blackness and constant 
pitching that threatened to disorient him again.  Jack knew that every 
moment he risked losing his way; losing the tenuous fix he had on the 
way out.  "There," he felt it, grasped a rung and pulled himself onto 
the ladder.  It was difficult, more so because of the plunging of the 
ship.  "Must be a concussion, *another* concussion," he brooded, 
recognizing the pain, confusion, nausea and weakness, all too familiar 
to a man who seemed to always meet trouble head-on.

As he dragged himself up the pitching ladder, Jack tried to think of a 
plan.  "So what do I do when I reach the hatch?  I have no idea." But 
he kept climbing, hoping something would present itself.  He felt the 
ceiling loom above before he touched it. "There," he could feel the 
seams, the rounded corners of the rectangular hatch cover.  "No handle, 
no wheel. Sweet!" he swore softly as he rested.  Then he dragged off 
his belt, secured himself to the ladder, pulled a short-blade knife out 
of his boot and started tapping out a Morse code message. With nothing 
else to do, it couldn't hurt.  He hoped Carter would hear it, maybe she 
would respond, maybe she would find him.  

At the end of his message, O'Neill paused, placed his ear against the 
metal and listened, trying to hush his pounding heart.  He heard 
something, something out of place. Was that a message, or just the 
sounds of the ship?  "Let it be Sam," he prayed, "please."  Then he 
noticed something odd below. The darkness was split by a slim shaft of 
light falling from – "Where?"  O'Neill scanned the hold. Where was the 
light coming from? Then he realized it was coming from behind his head, 
not from the hatch, which was securely closed, but from a swiftly 
widening hole in the bulkhead.  "What the hell?" he wondered. Then he 
realized the ship was being devoured. "Bugs!"

                         *******************

Chapter 14. B.B.U.G. Sign

Left on his own for the first time in months, Doctor Daniel Jackson 
tapped his pencil against his teeth impatiently between sips of his 
first cup of coffee.  It was early, but Daniel was restless. As much as 
he'd yearned for time to read and write, now that he had free time he 
couldn't concentrate.  It always seemed to be this way.  Things were 
never quiet unless someone was hurt or missing, the worst possible time 
to grapple with scholarly research.  

Unable to concentrate on work, Daniel wandered from his office, through 
the halls of SGC, until he found himself loitering in the Physics lab, 
thinking of Sam, wondering where she'd gone, where she was now, if she 
was okay, was she safe or in trouble.  

Hammond had ordered her away, Daniel knew from mess hall scuttlebutt.  
Daniel also learned from Doc Frazier that Sam's assignment was to watch 
over Jack, during his recovery.  "That's like having a match watch over 
a powder keg, basic military intelligence," Daniel thought as he 
flopped at Sam's desk. 

What bothered Daniel, aside from the totally unsatisfactory dismantling 
of SG-1, was the fact that Jack had vanished from the hospital, long 
before his official release date. Then, three days later Sam went 
missing.  She had called regularly until the day the General ordered 
her home, but then never checked in again with the SGC, a gross 
violation of standard security protocol.  First Jack and then Sam had 
disappeared.  Coincidence? Maybe, maybe not, but Daniel Jackson didn't 
think so. Where human beings were involved, he simply didn't believe in 
coincidence, at least not until human folly and free will were excluded 
as far more likely explanations.

Daniel fiddled with the stuff on Sam's desk, worrying about her. "Hmm, 
what's this," he wondered aloud, lifting a file folder labeled SOSUS.  
As Daniel thumbed through it, a section on 'Cetacean Communication' 
caught his eye.  Intrigued, he began to read about the use of 
underwater microphones, originally a warning system to listen for enemy 
submarines.  Apparently, the SOSUS system -- short for SOund 
SUrveillance System -- also worked wonderfully for listening to other 
things, including whales and earthquakes.  Daniel read about its use to 
track whales and study their language.  Then he shuddered, remembering 
the last time Jack and Sam had been lost in the Antarctic, the time 
he'd only just managed to save them using seismic tracking equipment to 
locate the source of vibrations, the second gate Sam was trying to 
activate.  

"I wonder if that's why Sam is looking into SOSUS?" Daniel wondered as 
he thumbed through her notes.  "Hmm. SOSUS reads signals as low as one 
watt. That's pretty sensitive," Daniel sat with his head in his hands 
and scanned the entire folder of government printouts, charts and Sam's 
handwritten notes. It was a comfort to read her work, feeling like she 
could just walk through the door at any moment.  Daniel turned the 
page, scanning down the neat script he knew so well. Then he stopped 
and reread the parts he'd just skimmed.

"B.B.U.G.S. (Born By Unknown Generative Systems) produce a unique 
pattern of a wavelength and intensity sufficient to register on SOSUS.  
The limiting factor, of course, is proximity.  Detection would require 
BBUGS to pass within a few hundred kilometers of the SOSUS array."

Daniel quickly thumbed back through the file to a section of graphs. 
From his studies of human communication, he recognized the graphs as 
wave patterns made by various sounds.  There were several patterns – 
whale song, air guns, geological events and, of course, submarines.  He 
studied the whale patterns for a few minutes, marveling at the 
similarity to certain patterns in Vietnamese and Hmong, only the 
frequency of the sounds differed, really.  Maybe there's a paper to be 
written here, he reflected as he stared at the graphs.  He turned the 
page and saw a new type of pattern. 

"What's this?" he asked aloud, puzzling out the sounds that the pattern 
would represent.  "Hmm, it's got a solid periodicity, much too fast for 
geologic origin, but the power is too low for whales.  The air gun 
looks closest, but it wouldn't be a popping sound, more of a "crunch", 
maybe like walking on crusty snow."  Daniel smiled for a moment 
envisioning the United States Navy painstakingly tracking Jack as he 
walked across the snow from his outhouse to his cabin. Then something 
clicked.  Daniel's smile froze.

Daniel flipped the unlabeled wave graph over. Sam's neat block printing 
on the back of the page didn't identify the source, but did provide a 
date.  Daniel suddenly knew this was a graph of 'bugs', or rather 
BBUGS, as Sam had dubbed them. Sam, guessing that the Navy might have 
recorded the sound as an 'unknown', probably requested the graphs after 
Jack's encounter with BBUGS on a Russian submarine.  She was using 
SOSUS to listen for BBUGS, concerned that perhaps a second 'mother bug' 
existed or might have escaped.  Daniel sighed and leaned back in Sam's 
chair.  He missed her. Seeing the brilliant, important work she'd 
abandoned to baby-sit Jack, Daniel couldn't help feeling it was a 
waste, a terrible, terrible waste that she chose life in military 
service over pure scientific research, that she chose a life tagging 
along behind Jack.

"Don't even go there," Daniel muttered aloud as he stood to leave.  "It 
is none of your business. So *stop* it."  Then something in Sam's "in" 
basket caught his eye.  The edge of another graph, like the ones he'd 
been studying, peeked from among the three-part forms that still make 
the military function.  He hesitated, squeamish about reading Sam's 
mail.  Then he pulled it gently from the pile and plopped back into her 
chair.  It was another graph of the same 'unidentified' sounds; sounds 
he now knew were BBUGS. It was dated yesterday.

Daniel grabbed the SOSUS file and the new graph and bolted for 
Hammond's office.  Daniel burst in on the General, surprising Hammond 
and almost getting himself shot by the marine at the door.  

"What *is* this Doctor Jackson?" Hammond demanded, before saying "At 
ease Marine," to the soldier who held Jackson at rifle point.

"Sorry, General." Jackson apologized breathlessly, glancing at the 
Marine, "but I've really got to show you something!  I know where Jack 
and Sam are, or where I *hope* they are!  Sir, I was reviewing some of 
Major Carter's notes and realized that she has been using the SOSUS 
system as a surveillance system to try to verify that Jack destroyed 
all the BBUGS that were aboard Thor's ship and then those that infected 
the Russian sub."

"Yes, Doctor. I'm aware of Carter's work in that area.  I authorized 
it."

"It's brilliant, General.  But here's the thing.  This arrived today.  
Look at the graph, General.  It's almost identical to the graph Sam had 
identified as BBUGS sounds, Sir. General Hammond, it is dated 
yesterday.  If I am reading this right, and I am Sir, BBUGS are feeding 
somewhere near the Northwest SOSUS microphones.  General, Jack and Sam 
are missing.  What are the odds, Sir?"

Hammond stared at Jackson for a moment, forming the mental linkages 
that the younger man's agile mind had leapt past. "You can't be 
certain," Hammond began. 

"No, Sir, not certain." Daniel interrupted, "but General, those are 
BBUGS and we need to investigate.  I request permission to lead a team 
to look into this. I could use Teal'c and a, ah, a submarine, Sir." 

Daniel looked at the General as if expecting Hammond to hand him 
tickets or something.  Hammond stared back.  This sort of thing was 
usually handled by O'Neill or at least by Carter.  Hammond sighed and 
shook his head.  "Organize what you need scientifically.  Have Teal'c 
organize a squad.  I will arrange a flight to Seattle immediately and 
from there..." Hammond hesitated, "I'll get you the details in a few 
minutes.  On your way out, please send in my airman, Doctor."

"Yes General," Daniel said simply and sprinted down the hall toward 
Teal'c's quarters .

                         *******************

Chapter 15.  Battle of the B.B.U.G.

Onboard the doomed ship, Carter lifted her AK47 and released a short, 
controlled burst into a swarm of BBUGS advancing across the wall.  They 
disintegrated into a shower of metal bits that clattered as they hit 
the metal plating of the deck. "Like a hail storm," she thought briefly 
as she rammed another clip in place.

The men around her followed her example.  She led a team of pirates – a 
mixed group of Russian deserters, Norwegian sailors and others of 
various eastern and middle-eastern and northern lineages.  She directed 
their fire into the swarming bugs with controlled bursts, through an 
admixure of English, Russian and Norwegian.  Mostly they just did what 
she did, so she fired off another short, effective burst into the 
endless stream of BBUGS.  

Carter hadn't seen Makepeace among the crew.  He'd kept out of her way 
as she and Harry threw together a makeshift defense strategy.  
Maybourne had approached Carter in the early hours of the night, 
clearly desperate for help.  At first he'd refused to explain.  His 
questions, however, quickly let Carter understand he was interested in 
BBUGS.  She refused to speak to him, withstood his threats and ignored 
his bribes.  In a short time, he caved in and told her everything.  At 
first she and Maybourne were the only ones who knew his secret. Carter 
had asked to see the Colonel, but Maybourne refused, said he was still 
'out.'  Besides there was no time."

Now, a few hours later, it was obvious to everyone aboard that the 
'cargo' Maybourne and Makepeace were smuggling was more dangerous than 
'atomstoff' or even 'atomvapen'.  The cargo was far more threatening 
than the most deadly earth weapon.  The fools had a 'bug' aboard and 
where there is one bug, it was clear, there were soon more, many more.  

As another wave of BBUGS advanced, Jerome Makepeace slipped back from 
the firing line, turned and ran back through the ship to the cargo hold 
where he'd last seen Jack O'Neill.  It was time.  After 25-years of 
service, Makepeace had been broken, arrested and imprisoned, pending 
the death penalty for the crime of high treason.  It had only happened 
because of O'Neill, who had gone undercover posing as a disgraced 
traitor, a renegade, luring Makepeace and his partners from the NID 
into a trap. Forcing them to choose between the Asguard and life in 
prison on Earth, until the death penalty could be carried out.

But it hadn't turned out that way.  NID had connections and Makepeace 
had friends he hadn't known about, some in very high places.  After a 
few months, he found himself transferred, then in a minimum-security 
prison, then on work release and then suddenly free.  

As soon as he was free, Makepeace began to search for a way to get 
payback on O'Neill.  The chance came when he heard that O'Neill was in 
Seattle badly injured.  At first, Makepeace had planned to simply go to 
the hospital, walk through the door, find O'Neill and kill him, ideally 
with his bare hands.  It would have been great.

He knew now he'd been a fool to listen to Harry Maybourne.  The damned 
spook had convinced him he could avenge himself and cash in on O'Neill 
at the same time.  Maybourne told him he planned to abduct O'Neill and 
pass him on to people with money; people who wanted to know things.  
Makepeace considered himself a patient man.  He decided he could wait 
the days or weeks required to break O'Neill, as long as he could kick 
O'Neill's ass once and then kill him.

So, Makepeace had let Maybourne go stateside for the 'goods,' while he 
handled offshore arrangements.  Now wading through water up to his 
hips, Makepeace knew everything had gone to hell.  The ship was doomed 
and Makepeace wanted only one thing before the icy waters closed over 
him – to see O'Neill die first.  Maybe Jack O'Neill didn't remember, 
but Jerome Makepeace did.  That was good enough.  

                         *******************

Chapter 16. B.B.U.G.GED

O'Neill gazed down at the rapidly rising waters, then held his breath, 
dove and groped his way down the ladder to the bottom of the hold. As 
he pulled himself down, he prayed the bugs might penetrate the wall of 
the hold somewhere at the bottom, reasoning that anything made of steel 
would sink.

Moments after seeing the glimmer of light from above, O'Neill had tried 
to wedge himself through the gap the bugs had created in the metal deck 
overhead.  As icy water began pouring through the hole, signaling that 
the ship was sinking, he struggled harder, but the hole was too small. 
Even disregarding his tender back. O'Neill's shoulders just would not 
squeeze through.  

As the bone-chilling water crept up the rungs of the ladder, O'Neill 
calculated that he'd drown within 5 minutes, maybe less. As he watched 
in horrified fascination, more bugs crawled through the hole above his 
head and dropped down with small splashes. "So, where are *you* going?" 
he wondered.  

It occurred to him that they were probably seeking another path through 
the ship, or they might be *creating* another route somewhere below.  
With the water up to his knees and nothing else to try, he knew his 
best – his only chance was to find the bug's hole at the bottom of the 
hold.  As O'Neill dropped below the surface he whispered a brief 
prayer, "let it be a big hole, a *really big hole*."

O'Neill pulled himself down the ladder a dozen rungs, then hung 
perfectly still, trying to feel any movement around him, hoping a 
current might guide him.  Finally, finding nothing, he surfaced again 
and banged his head on the ceiling. "Shit, the air's almost gone."  He 
pressed his face to the ceiling and hyper extended his lungs several 
times, trying to fully oxygenate his blood, then held the last lungful 
and plunged as fast as he could to the bottom. 

There he groped blindly for any clue of a way out.  His lungs burned.  
As he felt along the base of the wall, where he reasoned the bugs had 
landed, he felt something brush his hand, then suddenly a sharp pain in 
his thumb.  One of the bugs had had attached itself to his hand.  Jack 
stifled a curse and fought the urge to pull away and surface.  He 
locked his leg around the ladder, pulled his boot knife from its sheath 
and poked it toward the bug.  The knife shuddered as O'Neill felt the 
mechanical creature release his thumb to clap onto the blade.  

He didn't worry about shaking the bug loose from the knife.  O'Neill's 
time was up.  His lungs were bursting. The blackness was tinged with 
red, a sure sign he was about to lose consciousness.  Fifteen feet 
under water and unable to locate an escape route, O'Neill concentrated 
on fighting the blackness.  He lost.  He felt the air rush out of his 
lungs and in an instant saltwater filled his mouth and nose.  He fought 
panic, but as cold water reached his lungs, he choked, breathed in more 
water, panicked and then felt rushing blackness overwhelm him.

                         *******************

Chapter 17. Enemies and Saviors

Makepeace stared at the water flowing down the hall.  The place was 
flooding.  O'Neill, locked in the cargo hold ahead, might have already 
drowned.  "That would be about right for how this operation has gone," 
the former Marine Colonel growled.  Still there was a chance. Makepeace 
had seen O'Neill come through time and again when no man should 
survive.  Maybe this time the luck of the Irish would be on Makepeace's 
side for a change.  He turned toward a ladder to the deck below.

As Makepeace descended the ladder, far aft, in the front of the ship, 
Carter ejected a spent magazine, slammed another in place and continued 
firing.  Harry Maybourne appeared beside her at the firing line as the 
humans advanced against the horde of mechanized creatures.  "We're 
running out of ammunition, Major," he hollered over the weapons fire.  
Carter shot him a glance.  If looks could kill, she wouldn't need any 
ammo, Maybourne thought ruefully.  

"So, I guess you didn't plan for this," she hollered back at him.  

Maybourne shook his head, glanced wildly around at the bugs, "No, I 
didn't."

More than anything else that simple admission scared Carter.  Harry 
Maybourne never told the truth, ever! Unless it just didn't matter 
anymore, Carter worried.  To get her mind off impending doom, she 
changed the subject, "Where's the Colonel?"

Maybourne shot her another rueful look. "There's no time, Major. 
Sorry."

Too busy to stop and beat the information out of Maybourne, Carter 
responded bluntly, "If the Colonel isn't with us, Maybourne, you can 
count me out.  You got that?"

"There is no time.  None of us will get off this ship if we don't stop 
these BBUGS," he responded, calling her bluff.  But Carter wasn't 
bluffing.  She stepped back and stopped firing.  The mechanized 
creatures advanced.  

Maybourne blanched and gave in.  "Okay, okay.  Follow me," He led her 
toward the hold where he'd left O'Neill minutes earlier.  As they 
approached the hatch, Carter gasped.  There was a hole in the floor, a 
hole far too small for a man to crawl through. Water was already 
flowing across the deck. The hold had flooded.  

"We're too late," Maybourne announced, stating the obvious.  "I'm truly 
sorry Major Carter. You probably won't believe this, but I swear I was 
trying to protect him."

Carter nodded, angrily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Yeah, 
nice job Harry."

Maybourne continued, "Remember Colonel Makepeace?  Well, Jerry is no 
longer on death row, Major.  My former associates got him out.  Jerry 
heard what happened to Jack and was coming for him.  Jack wouldn't have 
had a chance. So, *I* convinced Makepeace that I was going to use 
O'Neill as merchandise for my business associates in the former Soviet 
Union.  I offered to cut Jerry in on the deal and promised him O'Neill 
after my clients were finished.  I was setting Makepeace up, Major, 
trying to save Jack's life, and *yours* by the way."

Carter stuck the muzzle of her AK47 under Maybourne's nose.  "Nice job 
Harry.  Do me a favor and don't ever try to keep me alive again, or 
anybody I care about!" Then she turned and started toward the other 
hold at the far end of the ship, the hold that contained the 
'atomstoff', the hold the pirate crew was fighting to defend from the 
growing number of bugs, growing as they converted the ship into more 
and more bugs.

On deck below, Makepeace ran to the small hatch at the base of the 
hold, spun the wheel and jerked the latch back. Instantly, tons of 
water flung open the door, throwing him against the wall, then pinning 
him under a crush of water that carried him down the corridor.  

Makepeace kept his head up and found his feet quickly after the water 
receded and waded back to the hold.  He peered inside the dark space, 
stepped inside and almost fell over O'Neill's body, trapped against the 
low threshold of the hatchway, face down in the water.  Makepeace stuck 
a toe under O'Neill and flipped him onto his back, still cautious, 
expecting an attack.  But O'Neill was limp, harmless.  Makepeace 
reached down and felt for a pulse, then smiled viciously. "I knew I 
could count on you, O'Neill.  That-a-boy."  Makepeace grabbed the front 
of O'Neill's sweatshirt, pulled him up and over his shoulders, 
grunting.  "Let's wake you up, you son-of-a-bitch, so I can kill you – 
before we both drown."  Makepeace stepped out of the hold, staggered up 
the nearest ladder, moving away from the rapidly rising waters.

                         *******************

Chapter 18.  B.B.U.G. Bomb

A few miles East, Teal'c stood at the bow of a US Navy destroyer, 
gazing westward.  Moments before a blip had appeared on the radar 
screen, indicating a vessel north-by-northwest.  The vessel ahead was 
not under power, since there was no engine noise on the sonar.  
Instead, there were strange crunching sounds and the popping of small 
arms fire.  As the sonar tech described the sounds, Teal'c and Daniel 
exchanged a knowing glance.  It had to be BBUGS and, hopefully, Sam and 
Jack fighting them.

Their ship closed the gap. Teal'c left the control room and posted 
himself as lookout.  Daniel, fascinated by the electronic wavelengths, 
kept his post behind the radar man, where he could watch the various 
arrays.  Soon Teal'c raised the cry, "Daniel Jackson, I see a vessel 
ahead!"  

Jackson trotted out to join Teal'c at the bow. He heard the distant 
sounds of gunfire.  His heart rose in his throat, thinking of Sam in 
combat, hoping Jack was nearby.  "That's the ship, Teal'c," Daniel 
said.  "We should get ready to board."  

Teal'c looked at Daniel and nodded, "The troops are ready, Daniel 
Jackson, as am I."  

Daniel nodded and left quickly to get his own gear.  Within three 
minutes he was back on deck. As he headed toward the troops, he stopped 
in his tracks. Sam's voice came over a loudspeaker.

"Ahoy, US Navy vessel approaching, we have contagion aboard.  Do not, 
repeat, *do not* attempt to board us.  We are a plague ship and you are 
advised to veer off.  This is Major Samantha Carter, United States Air 
Force.  I say again, do not attempt to board this vessel."

The Navy Commander answered. "Understood Major Carter.  What is your 
condition."

Carter responded, "Condition classified.  Recommend you veer off, 
repeat veer off.  This ship is about to blow up."

Daniel was at the rail by then. He leaned forward.  Teal'c placed his 
hand on Daniel's arm, as if to ensure he wouldn't jump overboard.  "We 
will board, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c assured him.  Then, he turned and 
walked to the control room.  Daniel tagged along behind as Teal'c 
approached the Commander.  "We must board that ship, Commander," Teal'c 
said simply.  "We will take your small craft."  Then he turned on his 
heel and left the control room.  Daniel smiled at the startled 
Commander and said simply, "National Security," then left, too.

Teal'c issued orders and quickly organized an assault force from among 
the troops.  As the troops piled in, Daniel clambered into one of five 
small launches that were lowered overboard and sped across the rough 
surface of the ocean.  As the boats closed on the ship, he could see 
something was wrong.  The ship was listing to port.  It appeared far 
too near the surface.  Even as they approached the waves washed over 
the near side.  The ship was sinking.

Teal'c wasted no time boarding the crippled ship, ordering the launches 
to pull alongside her rapidly sinking side.  He ordered grappling hooks 
up the sides and was among the first five men to board.  Daniel 
followed, dragging himself up the rope as quickly as any of the others, 
driven by adrenalin that had coursed through him ever since he heard 
Sam announce that the ship she was on was going to explode.  

They heard the chatter of gunfire at the starboard side of the ship.  
Teal'c charged toward it with Daniel and the others at his heels.  In a 
few moments, they joined Carter and her pirate troops firing into 
hordes of BBUGS.  Teal'c and the troops opened fire.

Daniel ran to Sam's side.  "What's going to blow up? I mean, exactly?" 
he hollered over the gunfire, pulling Sam back from the front line so 
they could communicate.  

"I rigged a bomb in the hold behind us.  Maybourne was smuggling atomic 
weapons and a 'Mother Bug'.  The fool!  We can't let the BBUGS reach 
those atomic weapons.  God only knows what will happen if they get 
their teeth into nuclear material."  She fired another short burst at a 
cluster of BBUGS trying to flank the pirates.  "You shouldn't have come 
aboard, Daniel.  This ship is going down in just a few minutes.  I 
rigged it to blow when water hits it."

"It's in an airtight compartment?" Daniel hollered his question, 
leaning in so Sam could hear. "So the bomb doesn't detonate until the 
ship is underwater. 

"Yeah, I figure we could count on holding them back, abandon ship just 
as it is going down and then let the bugs chew their way through.  As 
they reach it, the water triggers the device, but by then it is 
submerged.  With luck, most of the atomic blast will be underwater.  
That will limit the risk of atomic fallout over populated areas, at 
least.  The longer we hold out the better our chances of success," she 
answered.

"Good," Daniel responded loudly.  "Where's Jack?"

Sam glanced at Daniel and her face told him Jack wasn't here.  Clearly, 
Sam thought he was dead.  Daniel nodded his understanding, but asked, 
"Where did you last see him?"

Sam answered, "Maybourne told me he was in a cargo hold at the 
starboard side of the ship. I made him take me there, Daniel.  It was 
the first section to flood.  The Colonel was locked in the hold.  When 
I got there it was completely flooded.  There was no way he got out 
through the hole in the deck plating, Daniel.  *I* couldn't get through 
that hole."

Daniel touched Sam's arm, gave it a quick squeeze and grinned.  "Sam, 
you do what you need to do here.  I'm going for Jack.  You know how he 
is about being left behind."  

Carter made a sobbing sound, bit her knuckle and said, "Yeah, the 
Colonel hates that," as she watched Daniel plunge into the rapidly 
advancing water and move down the hallway.  Daniel called, "He'll be 
between here and the hold. Give me 15 minutes if you can Sam.  If you 
can't wait, blow it."

As Daniel scrambled down the flooding hall, he noticed more BBUGS 
advancing toward Sam and her pirates.  They all seemed to be coming 
from the same general direction.  Making a basic assumption – that the 
bugs shared a common goal and weren't just fleeing before the advancing 
water, Daniel worked his way back along their trail, gingerly crawling 
through bug holes penetrating each compartment along the path.  As he 
advanced and the water grew deeper, his hopes fell.  Jack might not 
have made it.  The spaces were getting too narrow for Daniel to squeeze 
through.  The water was at his chest now.  "Let me find him, let me 
find him," Daniel muttered as he ducked under water to slide through 
yet another bug hole.  

As Daniel forced his shoulders through the passage the BBUGS had gnawed 
in the bulkhead, his hand touched something – a boot – Jack's boot!

Daniel grabbed the boot and pulled himself through the hole.  The leg 
felt limp and cold.  Daniel surfaced into a small flooded hold 
alongside O'Neill and found himself face to face with the former marine 
Colonel, Jerome Makepeace.  The holes had become too narrow for 
Makepeace to get through, so he'd decided this was as good a place as 
any to kill O'Neill. 

Surprised, Makepeace still managed to slam his fist into Daniel's face 
before he fully realized what happened.  The force threw Daniel back 
into a wall, but the water slowed him, saving him from a concussion.  
But the water also made it impossible to evade Makepeace in the 
confined space.  Makepeace advanced, grabbed Jackson by the collar and 
slammed him into the wall again, hard.  Daniel went limp and Makepeace 
loosed his grip, letting the scientist slip under the water.  

He turned, pulled his K-bar and advanced on O'Neill, who he'd strung up 
on a sprinkler-head like a side of beef. "Too bad you're not awake for 
this Jack," he snarled, "but we're out of time." In that instant, 
Daniel grabbed Makepeace by the pant cuffs and pulled his legs out from 
under him.  The marine fell. The K-bar turned and caught him in the 
chest between the second and third ribs.

Daniel surfaced, expecting a beating, and realized Makepeace was dead.  
He turned to Jack, still hanging from the sprinkler by his collar.  He 
wasn't moving, but his face was suspended out of the water. "Lucky 
Jack, very lucky," Daniel muttered as he felt for a pulse.  His hands 
were too numb from the icy water. He felt nothing.  The water was 
rising, the air space shrinking. Daniel was running out of time.  

He pulled Jack down and felt him slump heavily against him.  "Now what, 
Jack?" Daniel asked, slapping his face, rubbing it, trying to rouse 
O'Neill. There was no response.  Daniel wasn't even sure his friend was 
breathing – could he be alive?  There was no time to worry about that, 
if Daniel didn't move now, he knew, soon neither of them would be 
breathing.  

"How am I going to get you out of here?"  There was only one way, he 
knew.  So, Jackson took a huge breath, clapped his hand over Jack's 
nose and mouth and let him slip under the filthy water.  Daniel groped 
toward the hole. He knew it must be behind him, somewhere at the base 
of the wall.  It was impossibly awkward to drag O'Neill through the 
hole while struggling with his own positive buoyancy.  

Daniel fought his instinct to hold his breath. He released the air from 
his lungs, and sunk to the floor of the hold.  As he sunk, his hand 
found the top of the bug hole and he wriggled through backwards, 
dragging O'Neill into the compartment beyond.  After an eternity, 
Daniel burst up to the surface, sucked in a lungful of air and hoisted 
Jack's head and shoulders out of the water.  Jack didn't resist, didn't 
move, didn't seem to be breathing, but Daniel couldn't stop.  He moved 
to the opposite wall and repeated the process, muttering to O'Neill, 
"Just three more compartments to go, Jack, just three.  Hang on," as he 
dove under the surface seeking the next bug hole.  

Daniel noticed the water wasn't getting any lower as they traveled 
through the ship.  In fact, everything seemed to be coming back to an 
even keel, just about four feet below the waterline.  The ship was 
settling below the waves and soon she would slip under, pulling 
anything, or anyone, inside to the bottom.  Only before that could 
happen, Daniel knew, the bomb Sam had rigged would blow the ship, the 
BBUGS and him to bits.  Daniel kept moving desperately, ignoring the 
damage he was doing to O'Neill.  Jack wasn't bitching, so Daniel 
reasoned that he was in charge for a change.  Fortunately, the water 
actually sped him along, making it possible to move O'Neill with an arm 
locked under his chin.  

Daniel heard no other sound except his own labored breathing and the 
metal on metal crunching of the BBUGS. Then, suddenly, there was 
screaming from the ship as she shifted under the weight of tons of 
water penetrating her through the bug holes.  But throughout the 
struggle, there was no sound of gunfire.  "Good," Daniel gasped. Sam 
and the others had gone. "Good. It's just you and me now, Jack. C'mon, 
c'mon, let's go," he panted punctuating each word with another step 
forward.  "Not far now, not far at all."

Suddenly water gushed out with a sucking sound.  Daniel knew the BBUGS 
must have penetrated the wall and the ship was shifting as water rushed 
into the last dry hold.  It must have been a big space because water 
levels dropped quickly around him as he moved forward.  There was still 
time, but the rushing water was making it impossible to move forward.  
Furniture and gear fell, as the ship shifted suddenly. Daniel saw a 
life vest, grabbed it.  There was no time, so he wound the strap around 
his wrist, slung it under Jack's arms and stuffed the vest between 
them, just as a wall of water crashed down on them.  Daniel clung to 
Jack as the water knocked him off his feet.

Caught in the midst of rushing waters inside the ship neither Daniel 
nor Jack could have understood what happened. Those waiting in boats 
saw it clearly.  The front of the BBUG riddled ship reared up as tons 
of water filled her pulling the backside swiftly down.  As the front 
rose into the air, the ship fractured and bow split from the rest of 
the vessel, spilling weapons, furniture, life vests and other wreckage 
from her midsection.  Among the wreckage flung free were Daniel Jackson 
and Jack O'Neill.   

Teal'c saw them fall and directed his speeding zodiak directly toward 
them, ignoring the danger of his craft capsizing in the great wave 
created by the foundering ship.  The small craft shot over the wave, 
landed and Teal'c leaned far over and snagged the life vest in one 
fist, holding the edge of the boat with the other.  He dragged Daniel 
into the boat first, then O'Neill.  Daniel had locked his fingers 
around Jack's wrist so tightly that Teal'c feared he would break them 
as he pried them open.

From the other launch, Sam watched Teal'c pull Daniel and Jack from the 
water. She turned back to her responsibilities wordlessly, and signaled 
the boat crew to head back to the destroyer at maximum possible speed.  
The bomb could blow at any moment. She hoped. They needed to be as far 
away as possible.  

SG-1 returned to the Navy destroyer.  On board, they let the Navy do 
what it does best -- drive the ship.  Daniel was puking saltwater. Sam 
smiled with relief and took charge of documenting the details of the 
nuclear explosion.  Detonation finally occurred at 100 fathoms, deep 
enough to avoid contamination of the air.  The ocean water, of course, 
would be heavily contaminated, contamination that would spread with the 
currents and affect every creature that it contacted, pelagic fishes, 
algae, bottom-dwelling life forms and, eventually, humans who would eat 
the fish.  Carter sighed.  What else could she have done?  

While Carter was busy collecting data, Teal'c dealt with Maybourne and 
his pirate crew.  He ordered the pirates stripped and searched and then 
issued fresh clothing.  They were locked in the ship's brig.  

Maybourne, Teal'c dealt with personally.  Recalling the role Maybourne 
had played in past attempts to use him and O'Neill as human test 
subjects, Teal'c enjoyed the little man's discomfort as he told him to 
strip, had a military police officer search him, and then allowed him 
to dress.  Despite Maybourne's protests that he had been *helping* 
O'Neill and Carter, Teal'c sat him in a hard metal chair in the middle 
of an otherwise empty room, locked his ankles to the chair legs and 
handcuffed his arms behind him.  Teal'c then placed a gag in 
Maybourne's mouth and taped it firmly in place, for no reason other 
than the simple pleasure of silencing Harry Maybourne.  Solemnly, 
Teal'c informed him that he should be prepared to explain himself when 
he decided to allow him to do so.  Then Teal'c departed.  

As the sun set the destroyer completed its sweep of the area and turned 
for home. Teal'c walked toward sickbay, unmoved by the rose and violet 
sunset coloring the sea beyond the portholes.  He was concerned about 
O'Neill.  The Colonel had appeared quite dead when Teal'c had dragged 
him from the water.  Daniel had instantly gagged and begun to puke 
seawater, but O'Neill had not moved. Teal'c knew the medics would try 
to save his friend and sent up a silent prayer to the gods of warriors 
to protect O'Neill or, if his life was ended, to welcome him when he 
came to them.

But as he walked toward the Infirmary, Teal'c stopped.  He heard the 
unmistakable sound of Colonel Jack O'Neill cursing – cursing the 
orderlies, cursing the doctors and the entire United States Freaking 
Navy.  A rare and radiant smile lit Teal'c's face.  The adamant and 
creative swearing was a glorious and welcome sound.

                         *******************

Chapter 19. Friends or Lovers

A moment later, O'Neill staggered into the hall, barefoot, dressed in a 
sopping sweatshirt, carrying his boots and struggling to fasten his 
jeans with one hand.  O'Neill broke into a huge grin, dropped the 
boots, and grabbed the Jaffa by both shoulders, "Teal'c!  God, it's 
good to see you.  Hey, get me out of here, will you?  These guys do 
very weird things with thermometers, if you follow my drift!" 

Teal'c, uncomprehending of O'Neill's 'drift', blinked and stated 
simply, "We are on a ship O'Neill.  There is nowhere to go."

Jack shook his head and tried Standard English, "Find me a cabin, an 
empty cabin, before I kill a swabby."

Teal'c bowed his head slightly and lead O'Neill to his own small cabin.  
"I will use Daniel Jackson's cabin, O'Neill, while he is in the 
sickbay.  This was mine.  You can be alone here."  Then the Jaffa 
turned and left to find Carter.

Teal'c found her in the Control Room.  "Major Carter," Teal'c said 
quietly, "O'Neill is awake and fighting with the medical staff.  He 
appears to be himself."  Teal'c was rewarded with a radiant grin from 
Sam's freshly scrubbed face.

"That's great Teal'c.  What do the Doctors say?"

"They say nothing.  O'Neill left the sickbay after threatening to kill 
a swabby.  I offered him my cabin.  I believe he is there now." Teal'c 
stated simply, correctly anticipating Carter's reaction.
"Teal'c I'm just gonna check on the Colonel. Thanks," Carter said, 
giving him a quick squeeze as thanks for his unstated understanding.  
Carter sprinted down the hall; glad she'd grabbed a shower and a change 
of clothes.  

                         *******************

Jack had flopped on his stomach on Teal'c's bunk and tried to sleep. He 
should have been able to sleep immediately. He was exhausted, but 
everything ached from his toes to his hair. After a few moments of not 
thinking about the cold wet cloth of the sweatshirt against his hot 
back, moments that seemed like an eternity, his eyelids felt heavy, 
started to droop, and then ... Sam stepped into the cabin, smiling. 
"Colonel, you're okay!  You had us worried, Sir."

Jack sat up, surprised.  Before he could speak, she sat on the bunk 
beside him. He felt a nervous thrill. It turned to near panic as she 
gently lifted his sodden sweatshirt away from his back.  "Tell me if I 
hurt you, Sir," she said and, when she felt his back suddenly stiffen, 
asked, "Did that hurt?"

"No, *Major*," O'Neill responded bitterly, "but would you please stop 
calling me '*Sir*'?"

He felt her gentle pull as she guided his right arm from its sleeve, 
"No, *Sir*. I won't.  Why should I," she continued peevishly, "you are 
my commanding officer.  It's not like you couldn't change that, if you 
chose to, *Sir*."

Jack flushed at this last jibe.  Then Sam carefully raised the wet 
sweatshirt up over his left shoulder and eased his other arm from the 
sleeve.  He felt her eyes on him.  "There, did that hurt?" she asked 
again softly.

"Not as much as what you just said, Samanth... ah, I mean Sam.  Are you 
asking me to have you *reassigned*? Do you want me to let you *go* so I 
can ... so we can?" O'Neill had plunged into his speech angry, but then 
couldn't find the right words. He ground to an embarrassed halt in mid-
sentence.

He shifted uneasily as he felt Carter's gaze on his back.  She hadn't 
seen it before, but what was there to see?  He heard her sigh, "Jack, 
you were almost killed because of me.  *Of course* I want to be 
reassigned." 

Jack felt her touch and he turned to face her as she continued, "We 
could be together.  I wouldn't have to worry that you'll take another 
foolish chance to protect me.  Can't you see?"  Jack saw guilt and fear 
in her eyes, but couldn't think what to say, how to explain.  Sam 
watched him struggle and asked, "What?"

He looked down, "You won't understand."

"Just tell me, Jack," she insisted.

"I want to be with you.  But -- when I say 'be' with you, I'm not 
talking about making love. I want that; you know I do, but I want more.  
I want to be *with* you, to spend my days with you.  If that means I 
can't, we can't... Well, that's okay with me as long as we're 
together."  Jack searched Sam's face for a sign she agreed.  "It 
doesn't mean I don't want to, Sam.  I just want the rest of my life 
with you more, a whole lot more."

Jack searched Sam's face for a sign she understood.  He saw something 
else there instead – stubborn resolve.  He sat wordlessly as she gently 
lifted his sweatshirt up over his head.  She smiled and smoothed his 
cowlick.  "God, why is she so *damned* sexy," Jack thought, dimly aware 
of Sam's damp hair, the trace of diesel grease lingering on her left 
ear.  

Then Sam took his hand and lifted it to her chest.  Jack's heart was 
hammering. "Jack, you were relieved of command of SG-1.  Did you know?" 
Sam said softly. He could feel her heart pound through the cloth of her 
shirt.  

Jack nodded dumbly, "No.  Maybourne didn't tell me."  He felt the 
fullness of her breast under his hand.  Jack felt wild delight as Sam 
traced her fingers across his bare chest, then wrapped her hand behind 
his neck, and leaned forward, whispering, "You aren't my commanding 
officer, Jack O'Neill, not tonight. Tonight, I'm in command."
Jack felt her warm breath on his skin as she pushed him back on the 
bunk, felt a rush of desire. "Yes, Samantha," he breathed.  

Jack's eyes popped opened wide at the sound of a knock at the hatch, 
and a voice, her voice. "Sir, may I come in?"  It was Carter. He 
groaned, so much for the blonde at the blackboard dreams. "Sure, 
Carter," he groaned, "it's open." 

Sam stepped into the cabin, smiling. "Colonel, you're okay!  You had us 
worried, Sir."

Jack smiled grimly at her, but didn't turn over. "Yeah, Teal'c said."

Carter paused, staring at his back, and said, "Don't you think you 
should get out of that sweatshirt, Sir? It's soaking wet."

Jack looked over his shoulder and mumbled, "how, exactly. I don't have 
a knife on me and there are no buttons, Carter."

Sam smiled. "Well, I could help."

                         *******************

Chapter 20. Breakfast in Seattle

The next morning at breakfast, O'Neill joined Teal'c, Carter and 
Jackson in the Navy mess.  The ship had docked during the night, but 
their flight home was still being arranged.  So, SG-1 had time to kill.  

Jack walked jauntily up with a tray full of high-calorie food, plunked 
it into the middle of the table and sat.  "I'm starved.  I guess it's 
the sea air," he stated simply. Carter blushed.  "I've been thinking 
things over and, before I re-take command of SG-1, I want to ask you 
all something.  Am I stupid?"

Daniel choked on his milk, then recovered, "Pretty open-ended question 
there, Jack."

"Am I stupid to keep Carter in the team? I really want your opinions on 
this.  She told me yesterday that I took a risk in saving her that I 
shouldn't have.  She thinks she should be reassigned so I don't do that 
again.  Personally, I don't see it.  What do you think?" O'Neill turned 
to Teal'c.

"Major Carter is a valuable member of SG-1," Teal'c replied.  "Many 
times her presence on the team has saved us.  She has saved several 
worlds from destruction.  If she left SG-1, she would be assigned to 
research in SGC and she would no longer be available to assess problems 
and solve them off world.  I believe she is an essential member of the 
team and an important part of our success."  

The others gaped.  Teal'c had not made such a long speech since he 
tried to rally the population of Chulak in revolt.  

O'Neill turned a poker face to Jackson. "How about you, Doctor?" He 
challenged Daniel, "Any gripes with having to watch Carter's backside 
in combat?  You think, maybe, she's better off in a safe little 
laboratory somewhere?"

Daniel shifted uneasily, trying to maintain his outward calm.  Clearly 
Jack sensed his views – that Sam was wasting her talents in a combat 
unit – and was calling him on it.  On the other hand, Daniel got the 
message – he'd better not claim Sam wasn't up to the job, or shouldn't 
be expected to carry her weight in combat – considering Daniel's 
inexperience.  Certainly, Sam was far better equipped for combat than 
Daniel, and everyone knew it.  Daniel cocked his head and nodded, "Yes 
Jack, I do have a gripe.  It's not about Sam; it's about you.  What 
were you trying to prove on P3X724?"

Everyone at the table froze.  Although it was on everyone's mind, 
nobody expected Daniel to confront Jack with his foolish heroics.  Even 
Daniel looked surprised.  Jack was furious.  He carefully put down his 
fork and knife, too carefully as if concerned that he might use them on 
Jackson.  Jack glared at Daniel.  "Prove?  Nothing.  What's your 
point?"

The ball was in Daniel's court, "My *point*, Colonel, is that you 
demonstrated a complete lack of caution. Not that you ever are 
cautious, but this was over the top even for you, Jack.  And," Daniel 
was gaining momentum and losing his reserve, "And, as a result, you 
nearly got this unit busted up!"  

Daniel's jaw jutted out.  He was just asking for it.  Carter saw Jack's 
right hand flex, "He's going to swing on Daniel," she realized a split 
second too late.  Jack swung. His fist caught Daniel directly on his 
insubordinate chin. The bench flipped; the table tipped as Jack threw 
himself at Daniel, sending eggs, bacon, coffee and Teal'c flying.  

To everyone's surprise, Daniel scrambled to his feet and came back 
swinging ineffectively but with such wild fervor that one of his swings 
connected as Jack, his own anger spent, tried to hold him off without 
hurting him.  Daniel's flailing fist caught Jack in the nose.  He 
doubled over and then, in an instant, Daniel was on top of him, 
pummeling.  Moments later, Teal'c returned from the kitchen with a 
scrub bucket and tipped it unceremoniously over the scrabbling pair, 
bringing them back to their senses just as the MPs arrived to escort 
them to the brig.  

Throughout the infantile display of fisticuffs, Sam stood back 
embarrassed for her friends and mortified to be seen with the pair of 
them.  As the MPs exited the mess with Daniel and Jack in custody, 
Teal'c turned to her.  "Major Carter, it is a lovely day.  Would you 
care to show me Seattle?"  He asked politely.  Sam grinned, 
"Delighted."  They left the ship, left Jack and Daniel to sort 
themselves out with the US Navy.

In the brig, Daniel stormed at Jack. "What's the matter with you, 
Jack!"  O'Neill had slumped in the corner, nursing his nose.  "I'm 
slowing down, I guess," he grunted "or you're getting quicker."

Daniel grinned, "I really nailed you!"  Jack nodded, giving Daniel a 
thin smile, then sighed.  "Honestly, Danny, I don't know what's wrong 
with me.  When I heard you holler that Sam was hit, something snapped."

"What were you thinking, Jack?" Daniel asked.

" I didn't think – I just went for her.  I guess part of it is how I 
feel about Carter.  You know," O'Neill glanced at Daniel to see if he 
really *had* to explain.  Daniel nodded his understanding.  "But there 
are other things. When I was in Iraq, in 80-something, I found out what 
it feels like to be left for dead.  I didn't like it much."  

Daniel stared at O'Neill.  The older man was staring into space, 
clearly somewhere else as he spoke, "So, when one of you gets hurt, 
gets in trouble, I come after you. Maybe it *is* foolish, but I can't 
help it.  I can't *be* any other way."  O'Neill touched his nose 
carefully, "Am I still bleeding?"

Daniel shook his head.  As O'Neill talked, it occurred to him that he 
knew exactly what Jack was talking about, had felt it himself only 
hours earlier as he searched for Jack in the flooded bowels of the 
sinking warship.  "Yeah," he said quietly, "I know what you mean."  
O'Neill looked up, locked Daniel's gaze and spoke, "I went after Sam 
just like you came after me.  No different – At least I hope not, 
because... if you find me attractive..."

Daniel blushed furiously.

Jack grinned maliciously, "Because if that's the reason, I gotta tell 
you, as grateful as I am, Danny, I'm asking for separate cells."

                         *******************

Chapter 21.Choices

The sun shone beautifully on Seattle for once.  The air from the ocean 
made the city sparkle as if newly minted.  Teal'c bought a hat; Sam 
bought presents for her niece and nephew, as they sauntered without 
purpose through the many small markets on Seattle's waterfront. 

As they walked, they chatted about nothing in particular, but Sam knew 
Teal'c had something on his mind from his more-reserved-than-usual 
demeanor.  As noon approached, she found they were outside the small 
pub where she'd tailed Maybourne and O'Neill, "was it only two days 
ago?" Sam marveled.  

"Teal'c want to grab a bite?" Sam asked.  

"Yes, I am hungry, Major Carter," Teal'c responded keenly.

"Let's stop in here, the burgers looked good." Sam suggested entering 
the pub.

They sat in a corner booth and as her eyes adjusted to the mahogany 
gloom of the place, Sam grappled with a wave of opposing feelings: 
relief to have saved Jack, anxiety about the immediate future. Sam 
sighed unconsciously.  Teal'c glanced at her, knowingly.

"Major Carter, may I speak to you about O'Neill?" Teal'c asked, 
watching Sam's face.

"Teal'c, I'd rather not..." she frowned.  "I'm not sure what to say."

"I know what you feel, Major," he continued. "Everyone who knows you 
knows exactly what you feel.  Perhaps it would help to know what I 
believe." Teal'c looked at Sam steadily, waiting for her permission to 
help.

Sam sighed, "Sure Teal'c. Go ahead."

"You think you are at fault, that you caused this situation," Teal'c 
began.

Sam nodded.

"You are responsible, Major Carter, as is O'Neill."  Teal'c continued. 
"Each of us is responsible for our actions and the effects they have on 
others. It is a grave responsibility, but it is the price of 
friendship." Teal'c gazed at her evenly and waited for her response.

"But Teal'c, maybe I should make a change, try pure research instead of 
being on the front line.  It might be safer for everyone involved." Sam 
countered.

"If you were not on the ship, what would O'Neill have done about the 
BBUGS?" Teal'c asked simply.

"Blown the ship." Sam shot back.

Teal'c gave her an arch look, "How?" 

"He would have... He'd have... I don't know Teal'c." Sam stammered, 
"but he would have found a way!"

"That is correct.  I know O'Neill well.  He would have blown the ship 
and the BBUGS.  He doesn't understand about nuclear material, so he 
would have used fuel and the conventional explosives on board and would 
have blown the ship on the surface. There would have been massive 
nuclear contamination, I believe, as a result.  O'Neill and everyone 
else on board the ship would have either been killed in the explosion 
or would have soon died from exposure to nuclear fallout.  Do you 
disagree?"

Sam stared at Teal'c.  She couldn't disagree because she'd made the 
same assessment when reviewing her own options not twelve hours 
earlier.  "No, Teal'c.  I don't disagree."  Sam stared into her beer, 
avoiding her friend's steady gaze. "But, Jack might have found another 
way," she continued weakly. "He found ways before I met him."

Teal'c's gaze didn't waver as he continued, "He was not facing these 
decisions.  He was not battling alien forces. Major, I told you O'Neill 
should have had you reassigned. I was wrong.  Many times your knowledge 
has been the single factor that allowed SG-1 to prevail.  Many times, 
you have provided O'Neill with options he would not have had without 
your presence.  If you did not serve beside us, we would have died by 
now.  O'Neill would be dead already because he has often faced a choice 
between saving Earth and saving himself.  He is only alive because you 
have been there to offer him a third option, again and again."

"So you believe I should stay with SG-1?" Sam asked quietly.

Teal'c looked at her steadily and spoke each word with care. "I believe 
it is your decision, your choice, and that you will make that choice 
knowing that, whatever you do, it will affect the people who care about 
you.  Combat is dangerous and difficult.  Waiting and wondering is also 
difficult and there are other dangers when you let friends go into 
danger without you.  You must choose your difficulties.  The danger 
will exist, with or without you."

"Oh, my god, Teal'c.  Jack was right," Sam whispered.  "He was right."

Across the room the barkeeper lifted a receiver in her beefy hand, 
dialed the phone and in a hushed voice reported, "Maybourne failed." 

                         *******************

Chapter 22.The Third Option

General George Hammond glared into space, nodding and grunting into the 
telephone receiver.  "Yes, Sir.  Yes, Sir.  I'll see to it, Mr. 
President.  Yes, Sir." Then, Hammond placed the receiver gently back in 
its cradle and barked, "Send for Colonel O'Neill, immediately!"

The airman in the adjacent office dialed into the intercom system and 
his voice rang through the SGC, "Colonel O'Neill, report to General 
Hammond's office, Colonel O'Neill report to General Hammond's office 
immediately."

Jack had dreaded this moment, but his shoes were shined and his hair 
combed.  He was ready to face the music and he strode resolutely 
through the halls of the SGC toward the General's office.  The only 
question was which of the many infractions Hammond was going to focus 
on, or if in fact the General would take a comprehensive approach, 
perhaps an enumerated list, from number one through... O'Neill lost 
count as he turned the corner into Hammond's office and snapped a crisp 
military salute.

"Colonel Jack O'Neill, reporting as ordered, General." 

Hammond's face reminded O'Neill of sunset over Seattle, sort of purple 
with flashes of red and pink.  He gazed at O'Neill for a moment, a long 
moment that seemed to stretch into infinity as O'Neill held his salute, 
waiting. 

Hammond snorted, stood and snapped a return salute. "Colonel O'Neill, I 
don't know what to do with you.  You should be busted for your... You 
should be busted and you know it!" Hammond growled.  "I just spoke to 
the President of the United States.  He wants you *decorated*, you and 
Major Carter.  If I had my way..." The General turned a deeper shade of 
purple as his blood pressure rose and he barked, "Colonel, we need to 
have a conversation off the record."

Jack still stood at attention, "Yes, Sir."

Hammond continued, "be seated, Colonel." As Jack sat stiffly, Hammond 
continued. "First, I *can't* lose you Jack.  And, second, I *won't* 
lose Carter.  She has acted honorably throughout this entire... affair, 
but what about you?  Can you say the same?  I mean, what are you 
thinking, man?  She's your subordinate; she's a key part of SG-1.  You 
are treating her like... like..."

Jack volunteered hotly, "like a friend and comrade, General.  *Nothing* 
more. Nothing *less*."

Hammond glared at O'Neill.  "There's more to this and I *know* it.  You 
*know* that I know it!"

Jack's color rose a shade. His eyes, like shards of flint, fixed 
Hammond's ice blue glare.  "What are you accusing me of, General?"

Hammond blinked.  He still couldn't say it, wouldn't say it, even off 
the record. His mouth worked, but he couldn't find the words.

O'Neill pressed on, "I *love* Carter.  Is that what you're accusing me 
of?  Okay, it's true.  I would die for her.  So *what*!" O'Neill 
roared, lunging forward across Hammond's desk.  "*I love Daniel, too.  
And Teal'c!!  What do you expect, goddamit!  These people are my 
family, George.  You bet I'd die for them!  Wouldn't you!*"

Jack stood over Hammond as he roared, his eyes black with rage.  
Hammond, seated under him, stared steadily back into O'Neill's eyes.  
"Yes, Jack.  You know I would." He said quietly.  O'Neill broke eye 
contact first – embarrassed by his outburst.  

The General sighed and continued quietly, "Colonel O'Neill, you are 
hereby reinstated to your former rank and duties.  Dismissed."

Jack blinked, opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it clapped 
his mouth shut.  Instead, he assumed his former ramrod straight 
posture, snapped a salute and left without a word, his heart pounding.

Hammond watched him go.  Hammond didn't like the obvious choices to 
solve this thing – get rid of either O'Neill or Carter, bust up SG-1.  
The old man thought a moment and smiled. If those options were 
unacceptable, Hammond decided he'd just have to find himself another 
choice.  

He turned resolutely to a file folder before him.  It was labeled 
"Professional Development: Carter, S."  The General opened the file and 
began work.  If O'Neill wouldn't reassign her, he also would *not* hold 
back her advancement.  Hammond would see to that personally.  Soon, 
very soon, Hammond would promote Carter to Colonel; see her leading her 
own SG team.  She'd no longer *be* O'Neill's subordinate, no longer 
*be* his responsibility.  She'd be his equal, in time would probably 
would even outstrip the Colonel's own amazing career achievements.  

Hammond smiled. This was his way out of the dilemma.

Hammond enjoyed self-satisfaction for another moment before his florid 
face suddenly blanched. "Son-of-a-Horehound-in-Heat!" Hammond cursed 
softly in rich Texan tones at the realization of it. "That wild-eyed, 
crazy son-of-a...!"  Thunderstruck by O'Neill's audacity, Hammond stood 
slowly, reached for the phone to summon O'Neill back, stopped and 
suddenly sat.  The old man put his head in his hands for a long moment, 
and then laughed aloud. 

"That *devious* S.O.B!  He's *counting* on it!"

"Attention," General Hammond barked at the end of his brief speech 
commending Major Samantha Carter for her heroism and exceptional 
service and, briefly, noting Colonel Jack O'Neill's contributions in 
the recent battle against the Replicators.  Fifty airmen assembled in 
the Gate Room snapped to rigid attention in unison, the sound of their 
heels on the concrete making a single 'snap.'  Teal'c and Daniel stood 
at the front of the assembled troops, smirking, torn between the desire 
to tease their friends and fierce pride.

Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter stood, side-by-side,  in full dress 
uniform at solemn attention. Their gazes locked at a spot on the wall 
directly ahead of them, as the General somberly approached.  The 
General stopped in front of Carter and beamed at her for a long moment, 
before he draped a ribbon over her head with great ceremony.  

"Major Carter," the General rumbled quietly, "by order of the President 
of the United States, in recognition of your exceptionally meritorious 
service, it is my distinct pleasure to present you with the 
Distinguished Service Medal of the United States Air Force."  The 
General allowed a small frown to appear as he continued, "Major Carter, 
in recognition of wounds you received in service of your country in 
battle against the Goa'uld on P3X724, I award you with the Purple 
Heart.  Congratulations, Major Carter, and on behalf of the United 
States of America, thank you."

Sam smiled back at the General happily and shook his extended hand, 
"Thank you, Sir." Then she returned his salute.  

Then the General turned and stood before Colonel Jack O'Neill.  
"Colonel O'Neill," the General said simply, "on behalf of a grateful 
nation, and at the order of the President of the United States, I 
hereby award you with the Airman's Medal, for ..." the General paused 
and looked like he was about to choke on the words, " distinguishing 
yourself by your heroism in your voluntary risk of your life to save a 
comrade in combat." Hammond slipped the ribbon over Jack's head, 
glowering at him darkly.  "I also present you with the Purple Heart, 
Colonel.  This makes an even dozen, I believe, Jack," Hammond said 
softly.  The corners of Jack's mouth quirked, dimpling slightly as he 
struggled not to smile.  Hammond stepped back, snapped a salute, which 
O'Neill returned smartly.  

As the General turned on his heel and walked away, Jack stared straight 
ahead at that spot on the wall.  Then, suddenly, inexplicably, he heard 
it.  He was almost sure he heard it. Could he have possibly heard the 
old man right?  It had sounded like the General had said, "Watch it 
Jack, or soon *you'll* be saluting *her*."

His mouth tried to turn up and he felt a dangerous quiver under his 
belt buckle, threatening to turn into a laugh.  But, 'Naw,' he thought 
again, "can't be right. The General has *no* clue.  There's no way he 
said that, no way." 

Then Jack heard the General bark, "Dismissed!" and the assembled airmen 
broke ranks, hooting and clapping.  Through the congratulations and 
handshakes, Jack risked a glance at the General.  Hammond still stood 
at the podium, fixing him with a cold blue glare.  He *knows*, Jack 
realized in that instant.  Then, before he lost his nerve, he put on a 
wide grin and turned to Carter, grasping her shoulders warmly.  
"Congratulations, Major," he murmured as he gave her a brief, brotherly 
embrace, ending with a firm handshake.  "You keep this up and in a few 
months, I'll have to salute you."

Carter's blue eyes gleamed. "That's what the General said, Sir," she 
beamed.

"How 'bout that?" Jack grinned, not quite daring to look at Hammond. 

<end>