Fallen From Grace 3

Like Solomon

by Terry

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/ast/terry/grace03.php
Summary: Not supplied

Chapter 1

The ground is damp and icy, twigs and stones feeling like razors against my prickling skin as I crawl forward through the undergrowth. I am definitely getting too old for this shit.

Daniel's breath huffs up in clouds to my left, and two faceless soldiers shuffle along beside us, one to my right, the other at our six.

So much for team.

I knew that it wouldn't be the same; the new Stargate program, hell, the new Earth. We muddle through, but man, the winter was harsh. Food and medical supplies are scarce; countless others are being suckered into this cult, the one we are currently trying to infiltrate.

The Church of the Third Millennium seized its chance for power after we sent Apophis and Klorel packing. And what d'ya know; it's headed up by a Goa'uld too – some guy called Seth, who has apparently been quite happily standing in the wings for millennia. And who was to crawl out of the woodwork straight into public approval of this religion? One Senator Kinsey, freshly back from his holiday at the Beta site and now making his case as candidate for the presidency.

I've gotta give Seth points for cunning. His 'church' has a kind of Christian decency to the casual observer. These brethren are treated as monks, openly praised for their reserved, communal way of life. The image is kind of spoilt when you find about the stock-piling of armaments, the phenomenal amounts of money changing hands, and the shipment of tanks he thinks he's got headed his way.

I radio in to base, four guys scratching their collective asses round a jeep and two tents parked in a clearing a couple of miles away. Kawalsky is laconic; I can hear him shrug from here as he hunkers down for the long haul.

Daniel twitches his head, indicating the approaching perimeter guards. His irritation is almost palpable in the thin set of his lips, the narrowed eyes. Daniel; my lover, confidante, friend, life blood. My constant voice of conscience, thorn in my side and right royal pain in the ass. We've rowed more than we've agreed of late, and the reasons are obvious. Daniel is not a soldier. Daniel does not ever want to be a soldier, but dammit, that was exactly what I'm asking of him.

I nip a treacherous thought in the bud. Daniel makes a mighty fine soldier, actually, especially in too-tight BDUs. I bring my attention back to the incoming guards, gesture to the team, then take the guards out. The tranquilizer darts stand up bright red against the cream of their cassocks.

My team. Nothing like SG-1. Nothing.

My friend, the renegade Jaffa Nestor, now in the hands of the NID.

Hel, Asgard observer of humanity's progress, 'missing', apparently AWOL, the only sign of her continued presence on the planet the occasional glimpse of one or other of her two airborne surveillance devices, disguised, for crying out loud, as ravens. Instead, there is me, Daniel, and new two guys whose names I don't want to remember. Each time my attention returns to finding my lost team members, we're sent on a suicide mission.

We run towards the felled guards and strip them of their robes. Christ, but these guys are likely to freeze to death out here in this. I blow on my fingers and watch as Daniel changes and the other two pull the men away.

Men.

Well, boys.

Seth ruthlessly recruits from the youth; the disenchanted who were too young to assist in the defence of their nation, and from those active, but too late to help.

Spotty teenagers.

College football players.

Computer whiz-kids.

Well, scratch the 'active' with the last one, but you get the picture.

Young people with skills, or muscle. Or the impressionable.

Daniel mentioned the society bearing a striking resemblance to a hive, last week when he was still talking to me.

Daniel nods and stands to keep watch while I change.

And oh, ha ha, Daniel.

Daniel had chosen the robes from the taller of the two guards, which fit him beautifully, of course. He looks on beatifically, a dream in cream, his perfect face peeking from under the hood, the long flowing lines and sashed waist doing nothing, absolutely nothing to disguise Daniel's budding musculature. The way his shoulders, biceps and pecs have firmed and rounded with over six months of enforced manual work.

Which leaves me with Herbert, there. The robes are a good six inches too short. I look like an idiot.

I know my sexual frustration keeps getting the better of me, lets me get side-tracked. I have to keep mentally smacking myself upside the head. Why was it, with Sam, I happily went for weeks without when we were both rushed off our feet, but now, with monk-boy over there, anything over a few hours seems way too long. I look up at him. Ah, yes. That's why.

We set off again at a fast march, moving on and avoiding two of the inner perimeter guards. We have to move quickly now before the men we have stripped are discovered. Apparently, this will work. Intel says to gain kudos with Seth, any strangers apprehended at the perimeter are taken straight in and fresh guards sent out. The guards don't want their success shared or taken from them at the inner perimeter. It's one of the weak points of the system; young people engaged in constant one-upmanship, and something I'm all to keen to use against them.

We trudge through dirty mounds of old snow as the wind starts to pick up. The late afternoon sun slants through the trees, casting a pink glow on the deadness around us. Up ahead, the brooding white mass of the compound shines out, lights starting to appear in the windows.

"Okay, guys. Over here."

The two lieutenants, whatever they're called, stump over.

"Alistair," Daniel asks sweetly, "do you have the cuffs?" He looks round. "Simon?"

Both men passively put their hands out to Daniel. I can't help the irrational wave of frustration as the men calmly let Daniel cuff them.

Lucky, lucky bastards.

"Okay." Daniel smiles up at them, and the men take up position in front of us in preparation for their role as captured spies.

"Lead on, Macduff." I push Alistair in the small of the back maybe slightly harder than was strictly necessary and gesture towards the compound.

Chapter 2

The walk gives me plenty of time for my thoughts to wander. I have stuff to sort out and sort out fast, before this whole mess becomes irredeemable. Mess being the currently least objectionable way of describing my fucked-up relationship with Daniel. I think back to the start of it all, way back in December, when we were stuck sucking it up with the politicians.

"Is this your way of telling me that we're not going to make it home for Christmas?" whinges my pissy archaeologist, as I carefully tear into my folded newspaper to make another chain of little men to hang on the hotel room wall.

I'm feeling extremely guilty, so I pretend not to notice the way he perches on the end of his rock-hard, single bed.

The stick figures gust about in the draft from the ill-fitting door.

"Sorry." Like that's going to make any difference. Like I need reminding just how little influence I truly have here.

"I mean - just how long do we have to skirt around the issues? Kinsey's not going to back down one jot, and the likelihood of us finding out what the hell he's really up to is..."

"Slim."

"Practically non-existent. And before you say it, you do NOT make a good James Bond."

I shrug. "I try."

"You're tryING."

I concede the point.

"They seemed fairly tight-lipped about the NID's current actions, too."

"Mmm. No-one seems to have a clue as to whether Maybourne's in bed with Kinsey or not."

"Well, thanks for THAT visual."

"I'm just saying. Maybourne and the NID, they're asking too much."

"Yeah. And try as I can, I don't know how long I can hold these guys off for."

"They won't get Hel. Hel will bail long before that."

"It's Nestor I'm concerned about. You know what they said about wanting the symbiote."

"I know the phrase 'when you pluck it from my cold, dead fingers' came into it, Jack."

"I just don't know how long we can protect the guy. He just seems so..."

"He can look after himself." Daniel shrugs. "He's Jaffa."

"I admire your confidence in the man, Daniel, but without Bra'tac to hold him in check he is just turning into some kind of unwashed space bum. We need to get back."

"We can't." He blazes a look into my eyes. "We still have the damn symposium."

Ah. Oh. Shit.

"They cancelled."

"They WHAT?"

"The cancelled it. It's re-scheduled for the 27th."

"Bastards."

Not that Daniel had been actively looking forward to the linguistics symposium.

"We've got some budgetary crap instead."

Daniel's looked at me in many, many ways over the last few months, and I find that I like this way the least. He REALLY hates being left out of the loop. Or having his opinion ignored.

"They said sit it out. They'll reconvene on the 27th, and then we'll hopefully have something concrete to take back to the SGA."

If anything, his gaze gets even more flinty. He crosses his arms. "It's not like they actually need me here for the budgetary evaluation though, is it?" he challenges.

I gaze over at him. No, it's not. Though if he stops to think about this for a second he may just realise that I want him here. Me. I guess I should have asked first.

"No, it's not," I admit, finally meeting his gaze.

"You know they're stalling us. Keeping us away from base."

"Maybe. I'm paranoid too, you know."

"So, I am, in fact, free to go?"

The tension hangs between us, palpable and icy.

"If that's what you want, yes."

He stands and walks over to me.

"And you?"

"You know what I want, Daniel," I sigh.

"Oh, I know alright. My opinion hardly gets a look in, does it?"

I stand to meet him and grasp him by the shoulders. Mostly I love it when he gets like this, but usually it's all directed at someone else and I can just sit back and enjoy the fireworks. He knows I love it, which doesn't make this any easier.

"Jack," he threatens, "don't."

"Daniel."

I know I'm in trouble when I realise I'm focussing on the lips rather than the eyes. Lips that are becoming thinner by the second. Damn that kamikaze in charge of my libido. I'm worked up, he's worked up, we're both cooped up here for the foreseeable with frustration to get rid of somehow. So what if I happen to be of the opinion that sex with Daniel will solve just about all of my problems, and now might be a good time to put that theory to the test.

Daniel has issues on this subject. Hell, Daniel has issues on every damn thing. He complains constantly that we are failing to connect on an intellectual level. Patiently, he translates into Jack-speak, his opinion that I treat him like an ass on legs. It's true of course, though just what intellectual connection he expects when he stumbles into bed at one o'clock every morning is beyond me. At one o'clock in the morning, anyone stumbling into my bed is just an ass on legs in my book. And one o'clock in the morning is not a good time to receive an ultimatum. He's told me, quite pointedly, shape up or ship out.

"Sorry," I say again, as I let him go. He's right. It is time to shape up. I raise a hand to stroke his hair, but think the better of it. "Give me half an hour, okay?" I turn and walk out, leaving a bewildered Daniel in my wake.

It's a bum deal and a grotty hotel. Two days before Christmas, what are the chances of us being able to do better? Quite high, I fancy, if I am prepared to bankrupt myself for him. He's got me round his little finger, the bastard. No wonder I'm so tense. No sex for a couple of weeks is NOT helping.

In his capacity as Head of Administration, Daniel has instigated swingeing changes in the structure of the SGA. He has fostered links with a bewildering assortment of peoples and countries, and linguistically his output has been phenomenal. Even more amazing has been his talent for diplomacy. But I can tell he's not a happy bunny. Without the archaeology and anthropology, Daniel bores easily. World politics can hold his interest for a limited period only. Right now, what he wants more than anything is to be digging up shit somewhere hot. Not being stuck in some flea pit in Delaware. Unfortunately, I can't indulge him.

But... there's a place or two we spotted on the way over here that might help ease the tension a little. Maybe, if I really play my cards right, help get me back into the archaeologist's pants. Not like I have a one-track mind or anything.

I pay through the nose to keep him happy, and stop just shy of selling the odd kidney. When I make it back to the hotel in just under an hour, everything is deceptively calm.

Daniel lies on his bed, surfing through the TV channels, barely acknowledging my existence.

"C'mon," I mutter, grabbing hold of his stuff and starting to pack it for him.

"Oh," he says, as I drag him out to the hire car, and man-handle him inside.

"I don't suppose I get any say in where we're going?"

Shit, fuck, bugger and fuck. And did I mention shit?

"Shit."

I've done it again.

"Fuck."

"Is that all you have to say?" Daniel crosses his arms over his chest, stretches out his legs in front of him, which he also crosses, and shoots me a look which I could easily use to chill the beer I suddenly find myself so desperately needing.

"It's meant to be a fucking surprise. It's meant to be nice."

"Oh."

"You didn't like the hotel. I've done something about it. It's ALL I can do." Unfortunately, much as I hate to admit it.

"Riiight." He looks at me over the top of his glasses and settles down, arms just as rigidly locked as they were before.

"Christ."

I slide the car into gear and drive off. It doesn't take us long to get there, and I hop out of the car and grab our bags, leaving it up to Daniel to decide for himself whether he can be bothered to join me.

He slumps into the foyer just as I am finishing signing the registration card.

I'm not going to ask, and Daniel certainly isn't going to be over-eager with praise since I so obviously fucked-up in his eyes once again. I hope to all hell that the room is bloody worth it after all this.

The hotel is plush, seventies-style. Acres of dark wood, and rather too much in the way of maroon velvet, but it oozes clean good living. When I shoulder open the door to the room, there's a noticeable silence from behind me as Daniel cranes his neck to get a better view.

I think I did good.

It is a huge, huge room.

With a huge, huge, bed. A four-poster bed.

"Where're you sleeping, Jack?" yawns Daniel, as he pushes past me and spread-eagles himself all over it.

I make my way to the hospitality basket and uncork the bottle of wine. Daniel pretends not to notice, but I see him wrinkle his nose.

Five minutes later, I've unpacked our bags and am making myself comfortable in an arm chair. I'll give the boy a couple more minutes to crack before I offer him some wine.

I look up. I don't believe it. Daniel is fast asleep, the bastard.

Chapter 3

I scratch at the back of my head as I stand in the corridor waiting for an audience with Seth. I'm not even sure the guy has passed our message on yet, but it's no more than I was expecting.

Daniel is whispering quietly to Lieutenant Simon Astley and Lieutenant Alistair Fisher, and I watch has he slides a finger between the plastic strip he used to bind Astley and the skin on his wrist. Astley nods a quick thanks, and Daniel's eyes twinkle in response. I'm starting to not like the feeling I'm getting here. Glancing over at Fisher, I notice that he's studiously avoiding looking at the other two, which would kind of indicate that he thinks... he thinks that there's something going on between them. Which there is not. No way. No, no way Daniel.

There's a noise from behind and three girls saunter through, giggling. Seth's got himself a bit of a reputation in this arena, too. As well as a huge quantity of male guards inside and outside the compound, Seth has a huge swathe of concubines, all female. I'm actually quite torn between disgust, anger and jealously. I mean, how does the guy keep it up, even if he is a Goa'uld?

Intelligence has it that the guards inside the compound are all eunuchs, so I'm starting to think that maybe a career move for the lovely Lieutenant Astley may be on the cards. Snippety do-dah.

The girls stop and fuss at next to nothing on the wall beside them. Just flaunting it and flirting a little in this apparently safe environment. If Seth found out any of his men were messing with any of his girls... well, I'm guessing that the fallout wouldn't be pretty. I mean, if he'll neuter a guy depending on whether he wants him to work in or out of doors... It doesn't stop Fisher from grinning like an idiot, though, to which my darling Daniel just looks up at him and smiles one of those warm, heart-wrenching smiles. And he still has his hands on Astley.

The girls giggle again and move towards a door at the far end of the corridor, which magically opens at the same time.

"Seth will see you now," a stentorian voice directs us, and we follow the girls into a small but luxuriant reception area.

The girls flounce to one side of the room as we kneel before an empty throne. A rather ornate throne, all spangly and designed to impress, but empty nonetheless.

I hear a whooshing sound from behind us as transportation rings descend, and Seth makes his deliberately dramatic entrance. Oh, and I'm loving the guy already.

He pauses for a fraction of a second and a chant starts up.

"Seth is life, Seth is happiness, Seth is almighty."

We pick it up on the second run-though, as he walks through the throng to the throne.

"Seth is life, Seth is happiness, Seth is almighty."

He gazes over at all of us, arranging himself, allowing the women closest to him to lean in, start to pet him, kiss his hands, and generally attempt to pander to his every whim.

"Seth is life, Seth is happiness, Seth is almighty."

The surrealism of the situation, with us here in this old house with roaring log fire and all gets me to thinking of those TV shows in the seventies where a popular singer would have a studio 'home' set up, just so he could get away with crooning sappy songs about dogs called Blue or yellow ribbons tied around old oak trees. All Seth needs is the Arran sweater and for the throne to mysteriously transform into a rocker.

He balances one of his handmaidens on his knee and gestures imperiously at us.

"Well?"

He looks suspicious, and I can see a bit of a flaw in our plan. I'm at least twenty years older than the other guards, and Daniel, no matter how much he may look like a choir boy, isn't exactly a spring chicken.

I cough. "My lord, we, uh... found these guys..."

Seth cuts me short with an imperious wave of his hand.

"Stand forward."

We move forward, allowing him to examine us. He seems to scent the air for a moment.

"You lie."

"My lord?"

"You lie! I sense no Nishta in you."

I'm beginning to get a really, really bad feeling about this. I look over at Daniel who has that puzzled baboon expression on his face. Uh-oh. What the devil is this Nishta stuff?

I can't think of anything to say except "my lord?" as I stare up into Seth's face again. Green fumes start to ooze out of the Setesh staffs on either side of the throne.

The guards behind us surge forward slightly, and there is nowhere I can escape to. We're outnumbered, and I'm starting to think that maybe it was a really bad idea to cuff half of the team. I hold my breath for as long as I can, but it's no good. I have to gasp the foul stuff in eventually. Daniel is already heading towards the floor.

"So help me," I groan, "if I wake up and I'm singing soprano..." I feel my legs give out, and everything fades to black.

Chapter 4

My head swims as I dive in and out of consciousness, and before I can help it, I'm thinking back to Christmas again. It's a few days after, and we're back at the SGA, in one of the small cabins attached to the new complex. The cabin that we call home, and Kawalsky calls 'Married quarters'. The SGA, bless its little heart, now looks like nothing more than a glorified ranger's station, or a ski resort.

"He got the present, then?"

"Oh yeah. Hel too."

"What did he make of it?"

"Well, once I explained what a camera was for, Nestor was all for it. Last thing I saw, he was heading for the ladies' locker room."

"Well, we won't see him for dust."

"Spy camera. They won't see him coming."

"They might hear him though, at this rate."

Unfortunately, it wasn't the only thing I bought from the surveillance place.

I carry the ironing basket through to the bedroom and begin to put the clothes away. Daniel follows close behind, half ready to recommence the argument about what should and shouldn't be ironed, re boxer cotton shorts in particular, and his boxer shorts specifically. It makes him wince when I glide the iron over them, which makes me want to do it all the more.

I pick up his adorable pyjamas and shamelessly run a hand over the collar, which has been pressed to within an inch of its life.

"Hel didn't quite know what to make of her gift, though."

"I'm hardly surprised."

"Hey, at least it was useful. I toyed with the cheesy hockey-related gift idea but didn't think it would go down too well. You think I should have bought her clothes, maybe?"

Daniel refuses to rise to my attempt to sidetrack him.

"But a pen light, Jack? I know there was only one reason why you got her a pen light."

"Yeah. And I got that photo a whole lot earlier than I was expecting, too."

"It's not funny. I saw the poster you had made up. A stunt like that could seriously backfire. And..." he splutters, "she just let you. You should not have made her stand there with the damn light in the air just so you could make up posters saying 'E.T. go home'."

"Oh, relax, Daniel. She saw the funny side."

"You say."

I push a pile of neat washing over the bed towards him, and fight down uncharitable comments as he shoves them any old how into his drawers of the dresser.

He turns and fusses around in the wardrobe. He now has just enough clothes to last two weeks. And he's mad at me because I didn't think to get him a new sweater for Christmas. A new sweater like the one he got me. The one I don't like. The one that I am currently wearing because I am, after all, a coward. When all his clothes are away, he moves towards me and runs a long finger down my chest, lovingly, daring me to comment.

"It's hand-made Jack. It's a dying art, using that extra needle to put in the plait pattern."

Like I care. It makes me look old. Okay, even older. It's the sort of thing my father used to wear. Daniel's cable-knit sweater makes him look hot. Mine just makes me look frumpy.

I reach for him and turn him in my arms, surreptitiously trying to wrestle with the hem of the monstrosity as it struggles to writhe its way off of my body. I swear this sweater hates me just as much as I loathe and despise it. He falls back against my chest and lets me place a kiss on the back of his head. As he wriggles against me, the sweater falls finally into place and I start to heat up. Maybe, just maybe I could learn to live with it. If only it didn't itch so damn much.

"Mmm," Daniel hums. "You can still smell the lanolin."

"Huh? I beg your pardon?"

"Um." Daniel nods, agreeing with himself for some reason. "Yeah. Apparently, the wool from this particular type of sheep is better if it's used pretty much in its natural state."

"Do I want to know what you're talking about here?"

"Probably not." He chuckles to himself, and I am left with a profound and vivid vision of a host of cavorting sheep, having some kind of frat party, rolling around in the grass.

"I mean, I'm sure that they washed it and all." He chuckles into his chest, and I swear to myself that as soon as is humanly possible, I am going to take this sweater and burn it.

"I'm sorry you don't like your gift." I change the subject, making him squirm for a different reason. "I mean, I tried and all, and it took me an age to find..."

"I know."

"It's real, you know. Real antique."

"Yeah, I know."

And there was I, thinking that I had been so damn clever. Not just getting Daniel an honest to goodness antique as a Christmas present, but something he could wear, that was beautiful, that had the added advantage of being small enough for me to slip into my pocket so that I could present it to him on Christmas morning no matter where we happened to be.

"It's just not really my thing."

"Yeah, I know, you said."

"I mean, there is a lot to be said for the Romano-British stuff..."

"I know, you said."

"Its just..."

"It's okay, Daniel." I hug him close. So we've had a few glitches. How was I to know that my beautiful, sensitive lover was after all an eminently practical man, and when it came down to it, he'd actually want something he could use on a day-to-day basis rather than um... jewellery. I cringe at the thought a little. I mean, I'm supposed to be the hard-assed Colonel, here. And then I swan out and buy my lover a ring. A Roman intaglio with centurion, chariot and horses etched into jade, but a ring none the less.

I just thought it looked nice. That he would appreciate it like he does any other damn artefact. It didn't enter my head that he might think that I thought it was binding, or anything. Which was another great discussion in our hotel room that Christmas morning.

He turns around in my arms and I start to kiss him again. I stroke his face and feel disturbingly sappy. It's both a blessing and a curse when we hear the knock at the door. Hel breezes in, straight through into the bedroom. She looks agitated, and her glossy black eyes scour the room.

"Nestor has gone," she squeaks without preamble.

I let Daniel go. "What do you mean, gone?"

"Your NID. Four black cars just drove in, swept him up, and now he has gone." She gestures, a swooping gesture.

"You didn't try to stop them?" I feel the anger start to rise.

"I could not."

Daniel puts a steadying hand out to my shoulder.

"HE didn't try to stop them?"

"I believe, O'Neill, in your parlance, Nestor was 'stoned' again."

"Damn and blast!" Yes, he misses the company of other Jaffa, but even so.

"Jack?"

"Let me get to the phone."

"I am not sure that that will do any good, O'Neill."

"Oh no? Well, we'll soon see about that."

"The other man was there."

The other man. Apparently, the only human being that can send a shiver down Hel's spine, which is really saying something.

Harry fucking Maybourne.

"Shit. Let me get to the damn phone."

Daniel releases me, and I spend what seems like half an hour listening to elevator music while being put on hold. Daniel finds a sergeant and arranges a staff meeting, then frets while pacing up and down, and Hel just stands there. I get passed around various departments, but eventually my patience breaks, and I slam down the phone.

"Why? I mean, why?"

"O'Neill?"

"We had an agreement. They agreed not to touch the damn symbiote."

"That was not what they said, O'Neill."

"No?"

"No."

"Then what the hell did they take him for?"

"I believe, O'Neill, that they wanted to discover why he is unaffected by the Thor's hammer device."

"But they KNOW why."

"Yes."

"You told them why!"

"Yes."

"They know that it's been set up to only work against new Goa'ulds and Jaffa arriving on the planet. We had to do it for Nestor and any other Jaffa that decided to stay." I scrape my hand through my hair.

"Yes, I know."

"We had to do just in case there were any of these Tokra you told us about."

"Yes."

It was a calculated risk. One that we had to take, even suspecting that Seth was a Goa'uld, and not knowing if there were any more surprises like this in store.

"I mean, they KNOW."

"I do not think that they believe us, O'Neill."

"They do. It's just... Some fucking treaty this is turning out to be."

"Jack," Daniel's hand soothes me with a stroking motion down my arm.

"Do you know where they went?"

"I have Hugin and Munin in pursuit even now."

"Well, that's something, I guess. Anything else?"

"O'Neill?"

Sometimes I swear she is just being deliberately dense.

"Anything else we can do?"

"Not at this time, no." I may be in command of the SGA, but these days that's a grand total of twenty men. Hel at least skips meaningless pleasantries. She turns on her heels to go, and I follow her out of the door.

She disappears off into the night.

And that's it.

It's the last time I see her.

As her form disappears into the shadows, all I see is trees swaying in the breeze. All I hear is the leaves rustling. And then, a tiny, ominous click, and nothing more. I race out into the dark, but there is nothing to see. Nothing I can do. No one I can call. They've got me wrapped up tight and I hate it, hate the feeling of dread and impotence as it reaches out for me.

I look back towards the cabin, and see Daniel's figure silhouetted in the doorway. He fidgets, restless, undecided as to whether he should follow me out.

I shake my head at him. "Stay there," I say, and he sags. There's no need for him to follow. We have lost this round, and the cold anger I feel tonight will stand us in good stead for later. It has to.

He sees my expression and follows me wordlessly to the bedroom. I fumble around in a drawer and pull out the tiny tracking device, just one of the other things I bought in the surveillance store. His eyebrow raises as I pass in front of him to his nightstand and the ring that he has left lying there. He stands and watches as I stick it to the inside.

"Daniel," I hold it out to him. "I'm not asking you to wear this, but please..."

He takes it, nods almost imperceptibly, and turns and heads out. I hear the whispered, "I'm not your bitch to microchip, O'Neill," but he slips it into his pocket anyway.

Chapter 5

It's the itchiness of the cassock that wakes me, finally, from a dream where I'm struggling to escape from the Christmas Sweater of Doom. That and the slight young man leaning over me.

"Welcome, disciple," he intones, as he reaches down for my hand. "Do you feel strong enough to be in service of your god Seth?"

Strong enough? I feel wonderful. I feel like I could beat my chest and sing. I feel... hell, I feel like I'm back at high school again. I feel high as a frickin' kite.

As the man pulls me to my feet, I get a nagging sensation that something is not right with this scenario. I'm forgetting something... someone important. The warm and woolly feeling overtakes me again. Man, but I could conquer the world like this.

I'm led back to Seth's throne room, and spy another couple of faces I vaguely recognise. Seth hands out the weapons, and I'm given my duties for the day. It's not until I head off for my first watch that I note I'm in a different get-up to yesterday. This one actually fits. Since I've got all my bits I'm guessing that I'm deemed suitable for guard duty outside the compound. The exterior guards get long robes. The interior guards, the eunuchs, get shorter outfits over their pants.

And still I can't help thinking that there's something missing.

I team up with another guy, Tommy something-or-other, and we head off out. Again, we pass a gaggle of girls, laughing. Whispering together about a 'new toy'. Well, I couldn't be more delighted for them. I've got more important things to think about, though.

Two trips round the compound with Tommy fries my brain as he never lets up with the yadda about college football. Much as I love the sport, his obsessed drivel makes me almost pine for the lecture mode of... someone. Dorothy? Doctor Dorothy? No, not Dorothy. Damn, but it's gone again.

And so it goes. Four hours later, I'm back inside with a nagging headache and some crappy potato broth. Tommy looks at me with a glazed expression and places a hand on my arm. With a mouthful of soup, he picks up exactly where he left off. After about twenty minutes of daydreaming imaginative and messy ways to kill the guy and dispose of the body, curiosity gets the better of me. I've noticed that just about every woman in the place has joined a queue outside a door at the far end of the dining room, been ushered through, and has emerged a few minutes later looking kind of flushed. There's something odd going on in there. I cut Tommy short. Not with a rusty apple corer, unfortunately.

"What's going on through there?"

"There? That's Seth's private quarters."

"Really?"

I look on as another couple of women walk out, arm in arm.

"He's uh... a bit fast, isn't he, with those ladies?"

Tommy shrugs. "A bit fast? Er, yeah, I guess so."

Either Tommy is as naïve as he looks, or his sixteen-year-old libido doesn't have any problems with the concept of a three-minute quickie. Our god Seth gets through maybe fifteen girls in twenty five minutes.

As our break time finishes, the queue of women also dries up. A man shuffles out of the room, looking totally wiped. I start, my heart hammering against my chest. I know this man. God, I know this man inside out. Know him and love him down to the very soul. Daniel.

"Daniel!"

He doesn't hear me, just keeps on walking, over to the food counter, head down.

"Daniel!"

He wears the robe of a eunuch, but it looks like he's only just roughly thrown it on.

My mind is suddenly overwhelmed with images of another time, another place. This man forced to serve another god. Surely... no. No! It can't be. The same shit can't happen to the same guy twice? And what have they done to him? Have they...

"Daniel!" I yell, and I'm up out of my chair, rushing to him and making a grab at him. He looks at me, unseeing, and it takes several seconds for him to focus on my face. Heaven knows if he's actually heard my voice.

"Daniel!"

"J... Jack?" he enquires, swiping a weary hand at mine where it clutches my arm. "Jack, I'm tired, please just let me get some food."

"Daniel, what have they done to you, Daniel? Tell me they've not..."

He pushes past me. "Drop it, Jack."

What?

He picks up a tray and gestures towards an exceptional looking meal that seems to have materialised expressly for him. He smiles up at the server as steak, minted potatoes and fresh, crisp vegetables are doled out onto his plate.

What the fuck does a guy have to do to get a meal like that in this place?

He practically hip-checks me as he forces me out of the way so that he can get to a seat.

"What are they DOING to you in there, Daniel?"

The glazed expression shatters as he screws up his face in annoyance. He spikes a potato on the end of his fork and waves it at me. "I'm in the service of my god, Jack. What do you think I am doing? Pass the salt."

Fuck this. Yeah, we're here to serve Seth, but there are limits.

"What are you DOING in there, Daniel?" I rephrase, because I can think of nothing better to say, and dammit, the guy still hasn't given me a straight answer.

"Nothing I don't fucking want to do!" he spits back, shoving the potato entire into his mouth. "Now piss off," he mumbles, "I've got to keep my strength up."

I'm about ready to blow. I want to know what's going on and I'm bloody well going to find out.

Tommy starts to yank at my sleeve.

"It's time we were back out on watch."

"Like fuck it is." I throw him off. "What are you doing in there, Daniel?"

He growls at me. "I suppose you're not going to leave it alone until you find out, are you?"

"You got that damn straight."

"So listen up, Jack. I'm only going to say this once." The fork waves in my general direction yet again. "I am in the service of our god Seth. Our god Seth has a rather extensive harem. Our god Seth wants to ensure that his harem is kept happy and fulfilled. Keeping the harem happy and fulfilled keeps our god Seth happy. Gottit?"

"Got it... but..."

"Uh-uh." He stops me dead. He's not finished. "Our god Seth is wise and powerful, as you know." The fork stabs down, into the French beans, and returns to his mouth. "He has many people in his care. It leaves him with little time, to share his goodness, to share his love." He smiles, like he's just said the most wonderful thing. The effect is marred somewhat, partly by what he's saying, but mostly by the mouthful of beans.

"Which means?" Please, enlighten me here. I'm feeling more than a little dense.

"He requires assistance in maintaining the happiness of his harem..."

I splutter.

"Oh, not in the actual FULFILMENT of the joy that he bestows..."

Oh, what?

"Just in the initial stages, you understand. To ensure the receptivity of..."

I cut him short. I really, really don't want to know this, but I have to ask it anyway.

"He has you as the FRICKIN' WARM-UP ACT?"

Daniel looks mildly stunned. Like I've just committed the most colossal etiquette faux pas. He pauses with a fork half way to his mouth. Lowers it, and picks up his plate.

"Excuse me," he says, all politeness, but I have work to do." And he takes his plate and disappears with it out of the door at the end again.

I rise to go after him, but Tommy sticks his hand out.

"We REALLY have to go."

I look down at him and gulp a little, trying to get my breath back and some of the sense back into my brain.

"You don't want to know what happens to people if they are late out on watch."

He's right. I really, really don't want to know what happens to people who are late out on watch. Much as I hate it, I'm going to have to leave this until later. It looks like all the damage has been done for the day, after all. I can but hope. Seth can't be good to go again just yet, surely?

I trudge the perimeter with Tommy again for another four hours. It's bitter. There's only one thought rattling around in my brain. I have to get to Daniel and get out of here. Christ, I hope they've not... not cut him. Say it Jack, be honest with yourself. I hope he's not a eunuch. Not just for my sake. Seth may be a great and glorious leader, but that is just too damn much.

Chapter 6

I drift into an uneasy sleep, feeling disoriented. Something in me is fighting against this. I half-remember a thousand things; my previous life only seems to return to me at night. I'm in a staff meeting, shortly after losing Hel and Nestor. It's not paranoia that makes me suggest the scheme. Each SG-team member pairs up with one of the on-base staff. For just a few minutes each day, they're supposed to get in touch. Daniel promotes the idea as a way to relieve the tension and foster good relations between different departments, letting people air their concerns. I just see it as a way of keeping track of people in case they are kidnapped, brain-fucked or just plain go nuts. People begrudgingly agree, but easily 'forget' to keep up with it. Daniel loves it, and wants to make it the subject of a study on soldier/geek sorry, warrior/scholar interaction. Kawalsky nicknames it 'com-buddies'.

I'm roused by a crackling sound in my ear, startled into a sitting position. The noise doesn't go away. I stick a finger in my ear to try to relieve the pressure, only to hear a voice. A familiar voice. Kawalsky comes in loud and clear through the concealed earpiece, and suddenly I remember everything about who I am and why we're here. But... I have to wait before I can act. Tomorrow, after some proper sleep. Which now seems almost impossible. I envy the snuffles and snores of the men on the bunks all around me. It's getting on for two o'clock when I finally drift off, and even then it's into another fitful dream.

Daniel and I are together, and for the first time in a long while I feel content. Pleasure curls up through my stomach as I watch him studiously bent over the washing-up bowl.

"You know, I was serious about buying you an apron," I chuckle, placing my hands on either side of him and leaning forward to nibble on an ear lobe.

"You do that, Jack," he says, turning into me and rubbing his nose along mine, "and I will take the meat tenderiser and..." he rears up, grabbing handfuls of soap suds and rubbing them into my crotch.

"Why you little..." I start, but he's too quick for me, and flicks more foam into my hair before breaking through my grip and darting off to hide behind the couch.

"I can still see you, you know."

His laugh is low and dirty as I stalk him.

We chase some more, which just gets us all hot and bothered, and my chest is heaving as I finally pin him down against the cushions on the couch.

"I'm so glad I've got you," I whisper into his hair.

"And I'm so glad you're not the slightest bit sappy," he replies, stroking his fingers through my hair in turn. He places a foot on the floor, which just enables me to press my groin more firmly into him, and we fall into rocking against one another.

"Daniel, will you come to bed with me?"

It's been a while. A long while.

"Jack, remember what I said."

"Yes, yes I do," I coo. "You can call the shots."

"I mean it. I'm not playing any of your silly power games."

"Alright, alright already." Just, for crissakes, let me get off. Before I have to sneak off into the woods to relieve the pressure again.

Daniel takes me by the hand and leads me through to the bedroom. He stands at the foot of the bed, and crosses his arms.

"Right then, strip."

"Daniel?"

"Don't question me. I said strip."

"Uh... okay." I can do this. Sure, if this is his little game. I strip down to my shorts and stand in the middle of the floor, shivering.

"All the way." He points at the offending article.

"Mmm?"

"I said all the way." He's acting exasperated, but still keeping a very even tone of voice. "Jees, Jack, can't you just follow orders for once? Do I have to ask you twice every time?"

"No. No." I remove my shorts and stand there, naked. "See. No clothes." And I can't help but noticing that I'm the only one, here.

"Now, on the bed. Face up."

"Uh..."

"Jack."

"Okay." I climb into the centre of the bed. "Now what?"

"Keep still and shut up."

Well, that's kind of definite. Am I allowed to crane my neck and see what he's doing, though?

Daniel reaches the nightstand, throws me a quizzical look and then retrieves a couple of ties and what looks like a couple of his old bandannas. I do a double-take. He actually has one of my air force ties there.

"Daniel?"

"Shut up, Jack. Don't make me gag you."

Oh, god. I thump my head back against the pillow. The thought of it. Man, in Cheyenne, no-one can hear you SCREAM.

I'm not sure at this point whether Daniel wants me to just lie here all compliant or to actually pretend to fight against it a little, but it hardly matters as the guy is all business and won't take any crap, and about ten seconds later I'm securely fastened to the bed.

"Now what?"

"Now what, indeed," he purrs at me and licks his lips. With a flourish, he waves another bandanna in my direction and proceeds to fasten it around my head, over my eyes.

"Daniel!" I yell. The bastard just giggles at me.

"Are you learning self-control yet, Jack?"

"Why you little..."

"Are you learning to let go yet, to give in... trust me a little? Trust my judgement?"

"Daniel, please."

"Tut-tut, Jack. Patience." He strokes a hand across my belly and I roar in disbelief as I hear him leave the room.

It's quiet. Too quiet.

As I become accustomed to the lack of stimuli, I hear the ticking of the bedside clock, the soft crackle of the fire in the next room. The sound of the fridge door being quietly opened and closed. There's a rustle as objects are moved; I'm guessing things are being placed on a tray. The clinking of glass. Sounds of a bottle of beer being opened.

The seconds stretch out, and I hear his footsteps returning. I feel the bed dip under his weight, and turn slightly as he leans over and places something else on the bed. There's a curious smell here now too. I catch the faint whiff of beer, and fruit?

"Fruit?"

"Mmm," mumbles Daniel. "I just remembered we didn't have any dessert."

Oh, yeah. I mean, oh YEAH. But... I'm not rising to it, aside from the obvious. It's his game. It's up to him to elaborate. I can wait. Honesttogod.

I hear the sound of cutlery against a plate, feel the bed gently rise and fall as the minutes tick by. Cutlery?

"Daniel?"

"Mmm?"

"What're you doing?"

"Eating."

"Eating what?"

"Eating dessert."

Just let me get free of these restraints a minute and I'll give him damn dessert.

"Daniel," I threaten.

"Cheesecake," he retorts, like it's the answer to everything.

"Cheesecake?"

"Cheesecake. Mmm."

"Daniel, you've got me pinned to the bed and you're sitting there eating CHEESECAKE?"

"It's very good cheesecake." Like that's a sensible and logical answer. "It's black cherry."

"Oh." I'm kind of stunned at this admission. I can't think of a single thing to add.

I hear him put the fork down.

"I thought I'd have a beer after."

"Oh, yeah?" I'm calm, truly.

"Mmm. I've got one of those Molsons here. You know, that type you really like. The ones you drink when you watch Kawalsky's 'Hockey Night in Canada' tapes."

"Oh, yeah?" And I try to keep the edge out of my voice, honest I do. But my secret stash of beer and my precious minutes watching hockey are kind of sacred.

"Mmm." I hear him take a swig. "Hey, not bad!"

"You said you hated the stuff."

"Maybe I lied."

"What?" Now that would be a first. I just can't see it.

"Maybe I did it to be polite."

"Oh."

He chuckles again. I hear him take a second mouthful and then he sweeps in over me, hands on either side of my head.

"Dan..." I start to say, and then his mouth is over mine in a cold, wet, possessive kiss, full of the taste of beer and want and him, god, of him. And black cherry cheesecake.

"Daniel," I gasp, as he reaches over, and I feel the bottle against my lips, teasing.

"Want some?"

I struggle to raise my head, and as my tongue sweeps out he takes the bottle away, takes another mouthful himself, and then is all over me, kissing me, punishing me with his mouth. He worries at me, pausing to drink, pausing to lick the beer over me. I'm cold and shivering, but hot where he touches me. One minute it's icy, luxuriant strokes from his tongue, the next, warm breath as he blows on me and makes the hair rise all over my body. I'm desperate to see his face, the intent in his eyes. He's fierce and I've missed this so much, missed it while I have been so busy pigeon-holing him to fit into what I THOUGHT I wanted; a nice, safe Daniel, secure in his place in my busy schedule.

It takes a couple of seconds to realise that he's stopped. He's moving down the bed and I moan at the loss of his weight on me.

"Danny."

And then he's back. The ice cold bottle rubs against my inner thighs and I yell and wrench myself up at the shock of contact. Wrench myself up as he heads down, down, down, with a mouthful of my special beer over my needy, needy cock, and Christ that's all it takes, and I'm coming, coming, coming...

And I wake up. And I'm coming. And I'm alone, and here, in a room full of strange, sweaty young men in Seth's compound. And I want to cry.

Somewhere in this building, Daniel is sleeping off a twenty-course, young hot totty appetiser. I feel duty-bound to rescue him. If we can take down Seth and free his disciples at the same time, so much the better.

Chapter 7

I'm pissy with Tommy when he snags me over breakfast and drags me off for yet another round of watch the perimeter. The most exciting thing that happens to us this morning is that we get to threat assess the shit out of an owl.

I take advantage of Tommy's toilet break to sneak back to the compound half an hour early. If Seth has a routine, and I'm sure he does if he's as busy as Daniel says, he'll be entertaining his harem in a little over twenty minutes. You've gotta love it; romance you can set the clock by. I'm pleased by the over-confidence that's allowed me to be alone wandering around this place with weapons; I was given a zat and an Uzi for this guard duty, and don't see any reason to shirk them off now.

The door to Seth's private quarters is open, and the room immediately within is empty. Unlike those Goa'uld mother ships, there's limited space here, with maybe forty-five of us all sleeping together in this one admittedly large house.

The room is maybe forty foot by twenty. I enter from the edge of one of the long sides, and there's another door at the far end of this wall, where I saw the women exiting from yesterday. It's a fairly boring room, with only one exception. He's obviously not gone in for redecorating much since he took over this place, and the room gives off an air of hunting lodge. There's a bed in the middle of the floor, which is kind of chintzy and looks distinctly unused. A door at the far end of the opposite wall opens into some kind of study, and I can hear people moving around in there, and the sounds of typing. Seth issues some kind of order, and I catch Daniel's voice in reply, before nimble fingers resume their tapping on a keyboard.

Which returns my attention to the other thing in the room. I've only seen one of these a couple of times before, but it's unmistakable. The sarcophagus sits with its lid open on the floor, looking fairly innocuous. I resist the temptation to look inside, and see whether Seth has gone chintz with the décor in there as well.

I sneak over to the office to listen in.

"I'm telling you, it's a philosophical device." Daniel, in lecture mode.

"No, no. It's real. I can feel it."

"You're still thinking in biblical terms – and I'm afraid that this just isn't it."

"You lie. This makes no sense. It says here he has two houses..."

"Yes, yes, but what you are failing to see here is that there are no references in THIS account to THAT temple. You are looking for something more akin to a laboratory. NOT the resting place of the ark of the covenant. Look." Daniel says, and I hear pages being turned as he takes the tone of voice that one would usually adopt when talking to a small child. If one had a death wish. "Your primary source material... er... here... is basically something suggested by Francis Bacon in the seventeenth century. THIS Solomon's House is an intellectual construct intended to examine the concept of science, used by the government to exploit nature for the betterment of man. It's just..." I can hear tapping.

"But I have this!" Seth is adamant, and I'm curious as all hell to find out what 'this' is.

"It's kind of sketchy. And I really don't have much of a frame of reference for this Nirrti."

"Imbecile!" Oh, way to go, Seth. Really get the guy on your side. "I have heard rumours..." Seth paces, sighing. "Enough. It is time."

Time to hide, and the options are fairly limited. There are some small storage cupboards high up on the walls, but no closets or swirly Goa'uld drapes. I can't exactly do the Abbott and Costello thing and disguise myself as one of his more unruly handmaidens, so this leaves the desperately obvious and totally impractical option of hiding out under the bed. The bed is quite high, with spindly legs, so the only way I'm not going to be seen from some angle or other is if I try to curl myself up in a ball in the middle. Or, I sigh to myself, if everyone else is far too preoccupied to look.

I slide under there, pulling the Uzi with me. It's not exactly perfect and there isn't a chance in hell that I'd be able to shoot it satisfactorily from under here, unless I was planning on taking on the cockroaches.

The sound of women's voices rouses me, and I change my angle slightly to catch a glimpse of them starting to line up at the doorway. Daniel moves across my field of vision, and starts to welcome them in, and on the other side of the room, Seth removes his black leather coat and slides into the sarcophagus.

From what I can see, it's a slick and well-practised operation. While Seth uses the sarcophagus, Daniel entertains two of the women. There's a lot of stroking and petting and flirting, not entirely on their part, followed by some fairly heavy-handed kissing and groping. And the little shit is quite obviously enjoying all the attention. Daniel's just starting to warm up nicely when the lid of the sarcophagus opens and Seth beckons the first two ladies over. Which leaves my significant other free to start in on the next two women that approach him.

I really try not to see what's going on in the sarcophagus. The angle sort of limits this, anyway. Whatever it is, and yes, I DO know, involves at most three or four minutes of groaning, with one of the women at the head end and the other somewhere in the middle. I'm equally distracted by what I can see the two women doing to each other over the top. Hell, if I'd just discovered the sarcophagus sitting here and had never heard of Seth Fargough, I'd probably be suggesting it myself. With Daniel and, uh... a cloned Daniel. Or two. But man, that stone must be hell on the knees.

Daniel finishes his petting of the second pair of women as the first set rise from the sarcophagus. The lid closes over Seth just long enough for the first pair to escort each other out of the room and the second pair to make there way over. Well, this at least explains a few things. How, for example, Seth manages to get through the lot of them every day without busting something. And why Daniel looked so damn weary. The poor guy is practically being groped to death.

When one of the next batch of lovelies decides to go straight for the kill and yanks up Daniel's robes, I decide that this thing has gone far enough. And SG-2 are nearby, waiting, expecting results. I fight the nagging voice in my mind that yells that we are here to serve Seth. There's only one person I have any intention of serving, in any way, shape or form, and he's standing six feet away with some floozy's hand down his pants.

As I slide out from under the bed, at least prepared to attempt to try to discuss this in a calm and logical manner, the woman gets one look at me and locks her arm around Daniel's neck. And then she's the one pointing a gun – a zat aimed right at Daniel's head.

Over in the sarcophagus, the action slows. I don't have long. I raise the zat and fire it at the woman. It hits her in the shoulder, and the charge skitters down both their bodies and knocks them out cold. Don't tell me how crazy that sounds. To prevent her zatting him, I zat him first...

Over in the sarcophagus, there's a screech and Seth rears up out of it, pushing the women out of the way. I fire the Uzi left-handed before he's got one foot on the floor, and as he stumbles the women scream and run for cover. As he steps towards me, the bullets impossibly digging into him with little effect, I'm wryly aware of how lucky I am. This, it would appear, is the one time he isn't wearing his hand device. The one time his personal defence shield would get in the way. I fire on him with the zat, too.

Time seems to slow as he grinds to a halt in front of me, then he slowly sinks to his knees, arms still outstretched.

"Jack... Jack." Daniel's shaky voice from the floor gets my attention, as the light in Seth's eyes fades. "The zat. You need to use the zat on yourself."

"What?"

I wrench my gaze away from my now dead god, as guards start to pour into the room. Daniel wrenches the zat away from the woman still curled on the floor, and as we both start to fire, a miraculous transformation occurs. The disciples of Seth stumble, shake their heads, and then they are with us, firing on their companions.

In five minutes, we've hit all the interior guards.

"Jack, I'm sorry," Daniel whispers, as he fires at me.

When I come round, I see it, finally. The blast from the zat has the effect of removing the effect of the Nishta.

"I've sent Simon and a few of the others off to zat the rest of the women," Daniel runs a hand through my hair, "and Alistair and a few of the other guards are calling in the watches from outside."

"Right, right."

I can't work out what's happened, but the tension between us seems to have evaporated. Maybe I should just let Daniel shoot me more often.

"I'm going to get rid of Seth's body," Daniel says, rising to his feet and striding across the room with a grim expression on his face. He zats it again, and the corpse is toast. I love Danny. He just can't break that Goa'uld-zatting habit.

"Did he... did he hurt you?" I follow him and pat him down, not caring whether he wants my attention or not.

He looks up at me with soulful eyes. "It's chemical castration, Jack. You won't be able to feel anything."

Oh.

"Oh, God, Daniel." I enfold him in my arms and force my face into his neck. There's a numbness with the rising panic that wells up within me.

He pats my back, dammit, trying to reassure me even now.

"It's okay, it's okay."

"No, dammit. It's not okay."

He pulls back and his expression floors me totally.

"I'll love you whatever, Daniel. I will always love you," and I want to make this better so please God don't let me put my foot in it right now, "but he had no right to hurt you. No right to do that."

This seems to do the trick. I hold him tight as he lets himself go and hugs me tight back. There's... no tears. Weariness, but no tears. He sighs.

"The injection, Jack."

"Mmm?"

"They said something about temporary effects. I think they're supposed to administer it once a month for the chemical castration to keep working."

"Oh. Oh!"

I gasp for breath. Some of that actually made sense to me. It still seems like a really raw deal. I can't help but pat him down again, just to be on the safe side. Astley interrupts me with a cough, and I release my hold slightly.

"I'll call the base, General. Let them know that the mission is a success. They can start to send the wagons in to collect people."

"You do that, Lieutenant. Kawalsky will be overjoyed to be able to get back to his hot tub."

"Shame we couldn't catch Kinsey at the same time, eh Sir."

"Yes. Yeah." Now there IS a candidate for castration if ever I saw one.

He disappears off, and we break apart to start to organise groups of the disciples and prepare them to leave.

It's only as the wagons start to roll in that I finally get hit by the clue bus.

"Daniel, the sarcophagus."

He doesn't waste my time with any 'yeah, what about the sarcophagus'. He smiles, reaches for a walkie-talkie and calls in the other interior guards. I guess maybe he's had a while to think about this too.

"Did it work?" I ask later, as I offer him my hand so he can climb out.

He refuses the hand and shrugs at me. "I don't know yet. I just feel wiped."

"I guess maybe we'll find out by tomorrow morning."

"I guess." He shrugs some more.

And that would be a nice surprise to wake up to.

As we sit in the back of the jeep on the way back, he places a comforting hand over mine.

"What I don't get is why the Nishta didn't have that big an effect on me."

Daniel smiles up.

"Maybe it's because you're an egotistical, single-minded homicidal maniac with a jealous streak a mile wide who would sell his own grandmother rather than give up one iota of his status as overbearing control-freak."

"Maybe." I shrug. The guy has me banged up to rights.

"Or maybe it's some hang over from your Special Ops days."

"Equally possible."

"You said something about resisting mind control techniques?"

"Yeah, yeah." I scratch my head. I do not want to start thinking about electrodes and testicles again right now. "Whatever."

"What do you think they will do with the sarcophagus?"

"Area 51 most likely. Though I have to say that I wouldn't have minded hanging on to it for myself."

"Oh, really?" He eyes me up and down, speculatively.

"Oh, yeah. I was thinking about turning it into a tank so that you could keep some tropical fish."

"You say tropical fish, but you're thinking bubble bath."

"Touché, Daniel."

Chapter 8

There's an ominous sight awaiting us on our return. An ominous, black, raven-shaped sight, covered in soot and sitting in the fireplace. It starts to cough, like the worst case of fur balls I've ever seen, and chokes up a small, shiny metallic object.

Nestor's camera.

The device is dirty and sticky, but I reckon we can still salvage the contents.

I'm sitting watching the video footage courtesy of Munin's video-playback interface when Daniel reaches over and cautiously hands me a beer.

"Christ," he says, narrowly missing spilling it down my front, as his eyes lock on the screen. He clambers over the sofa and slides in next to me.

"The camera?"

"Yeah, when this is done."

I nod.

"So, what have we got?"

"Well, it's some kind of hangar. I doubt if it's Area 51. Maybourne just wouldn't be that obvious."

Daniel nods. "You are positive that it's Maybourne?" He takes one look at my expression. "Any more clues?"

"Well, it's been three months since Nestor was kidnapped, right?"

"Mmm."

"But I think it's safe to assume that this footage was only captured in the last few days or so."

"Based on?"

"Based on the fact that we're only just now getting this film. And we have seen these guys around the place occasionally in the last few weeks, so I'd say it's fair to assume that they haven't just been hanging on to this for the hell of it."

"Okay, so where does that leave us?"

"Right. We know that wherever Nestor has been taken still has snow."

"We do?"

"Look at the footwear."

The probe pans around the base, incidentally taking in an airman who looks distinctly frosty.

"Plus there's an aerial shot earlier."

Daniel elbows me in the ribs, and I delicately lift my beer out of the way.

"Does that give us any clues?"

"Sparse flora. Very few trees. Low, grey metallic buildings and an airstrip..."

"Same old, same old..."

I resist the urge to elbow him back.

"But look at this..." I rewind the tape to the beginning and start again.

The scene opens on what appears to be a run-down old base. There's no other signs of air craft, just a very old control tower with the windows smashed.

"The buildings appear unused, but the strip is still in good repair."

"Private use?"

"Maybe."

The probe pans round the base, incidentally catching a shot of a jeep for a few frames.

"Damn."

"We should see if we can zoom in on that."

"Yeah, see if any of our boffins can get more detail."

"You mean Dr Morrissey?"

"Of course I mean Morrissey."

The raven zooms in and lands on the metal roof. Fleetingly, we get a shot of infra-red mode, then the angle changes dramatically, and we're flying straight down some sort of ventilation shaft to rest behind a grill.

The sound comes on suddenly, and we can hear the mumbles of echoing voices.

"I'll up the dosage again."

"Agreed."

Monitors beep softly in the background.

The view through the grill is of the top portion of a room. We can just make out two short, regulation hair styles. The voices continue, regardless.

"But after that, I'm at a loss really. We just don't have the resources."

"Mmm."

Munin takes off again, up the shaft and back out onto the roof, before zooming down another pipe and through into a hangar. This is where Daniel came in, with Frosty the Airman marching about.

"And we think this is Nestor here, based on the camera?"

"Yeah."

"What about Hel?"

"No idea."

"So do we have any idea where the other raven is?"

"No, though I wouldn't be surprised if it's been destroyed."

I tap the side of the beer bottle thoughtfully, which has gotten suspiciously empty.

The rest of the footage is unspectacular. Munin makes cosy with pigeons in the rafters, which ruffle their feathers suspiciously. A few minutes later, there's idle cursing from down below, and the airman takes the odd pot-shot to relieve the boredom. The video playback grinds to a halt.

"Camera?"

Daniel hands it over, and I take the nice little governmental toy and plug it into the back of the laptop. While the machine whirrs away suspiciously, I angle the screen so that we can both see. When all is said and done, there are six images, dark and blurry. Distinctly alien feet. Gurneys. Medical equipment.

"Sonofa..."

"He's there!"

"The damn smug, over-confident, self-centred bastard."

"They're in the same facility."

"The same, goddamn facility."

"So..."

"So?"

"So what next Jack?"

"You go talk to Doc Morrissey. We need to get a bead on this place."

"And you?"

"Well... I'll organise the rescue mission."

"With what?"

"I'm thinking..." I reply smugly, "that we have one huge, motherfuckin' ship, just sitting there." And blow me, if I can't feel the stirrings of a shit-eating grin waiting to plaster itself across my face.

Chapter 9

"They're just outside Toronto!" I yell, as I storm into the bedroom. It's six a.m. and Daniel is an amorphous blob under the covers. Much as I'd like some desperate make-up sex to see if the sarcophagus worked, even I'm rational enough to admit that maybe we should go and rescue our friends first.

It gets his tousled head out and blinking in my general direction, though unfortunately I can't wait for the full morning sloth routine when there's stuff to pack. We're out the door less than five minutes later. I shovel bread into my mouth with one hand even as I'm trying to fasten my seatbelt with the other.

"I take it you have a plan, Jack?" Daniel yawns at me, idly cleaning his glasses on his shirt. "I mean, the mother ship is in Egypt. There's got to be an easier, faster way of mounting a rescue attack than flying all the way out to Egypt, just so we can fly back here with the mother ship."

"I didn't say anything about flying to Egypt."

"No," he looks quizzical. "You didn't."

"We're not."

"Jack."

"Rings, Daniel. Rings." I make a loop with my finger, and instantly regret it as I have to jiggle in my seat to stop my pants from becoming too uncomfortable.

"Right. Rings. Rings?"

I tap the old noggin. "Seth had rings at his compound, right? No way our boys would have got round to dismantling those puppies, yet."

He smiles. "You're a sly, manipulative bastard, Jack O'Neill."

"Hey, I take pride in my work."

We swing by one of the other huts, and I lean on the horn. Kawalsky appears at the door, already putting on his jacket, closely followed by Astley and Fisher.

"Where's the rest of SG-2, Kawalsky?"

"Sorry, Jack. Mining survey, remember? You know, the one the pentagon has been having orgasms over for weeks. Poor guys barely got enough time to get clean." He shrugs.

"Can't be helped." Poor bastards. They'll be even more bloody tired than we are.

With a few words in the right places we can make it back to Seth's compound in about six hours. I can brief the others on what Daniel and I have learned on the way. Daniel waits until I'm strapping myself into the seat in the aircraft before leaning forwards conspiratorially.

"Jack, there's some important things I have to tell you about Seth that I learnt in his compound."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. We sort of got caught up in other stuff yesterday..." Daniel double-takes at Kawalsky's leer, and carries on regardless, "what with the raven and the camera and all."

"So? Spill?"

"You were right. He's definitely working with Kinsey."

"Yeah. Well, we knew that."

"Kinsey's got him working on a special project. If Seth had been able to track down something called Solomon's House, Kinsey would have supplied him with armaments. A LOT of armaments. Missiles, who knows..."

"So what is this Solomon's House thingy?"

"That's just it. As far as I can gather, it's just a red herring. I've got no evidence to suggest that it ever existed. It may even just be a ploy of Kinsey's to keep Seth strung along."

"Okay then, what's it supposed to be?"

"It's supposed to be some kind of government-controlled scientific Utopia, the goal being to keep order and harmony at all costs."

"How?"

"I don't know. Maybe some kind of drug."

"Like the nishta?"

"Yeah, but for the whole planet."

"Shit."

"Yeah. It certainly explains why Kinsey thought Seth was the man for the job. He had the power and the expertise."

I nod.

"But it doesn't exist."

"Kinsey thinks it does." Curiouser and curiouser. "You know how to work the rings, right?"

"I think so."

"Daniel."

"We've got to disable the other rings in the complex. I'm pretty sure I can do that from the office. Oh," he throws me a nervous grin, "and hope that there aren't any more that we don't know of."

"You're not inspiring confidence here, Daniel."

We have to stop throwing ideas around when we transfer to the helicopter. Even with the headsets, it's hard to come up with a strategy via shouting and static. We touch down a mile from the perimeter fence.

"Follow me."

Daniel is convinced, after a couple of days with his fingers on Seth's personal files, that he knows the base inside and out. I'm not so certain, but I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"The place should be empty, though, right?" Kawalsky is at my right shoulder, toting his MP-5.

"Yeah."

Daniel leads us unerringly to a manhole cover. "Okay?"

I gesture, we assume covering positions and I flip the lid, aim at the opening.

"Clear."

I scuttle down, closely followed by the others. It's an immaculate concrete tunnel, which leads us directly into a barren, circular chamber. And a dead end.

"Now what, Daniel?" I eye him, starting to feel snarky.

A series of transport rings descend over us, and carry us straight to the centre of the complex.

When they rise again, we're disoriented, blinking fiercely into the bright light in the central room in Seth's complex. I move towards the wall and gesture to my men.

There's an ominous rustling coming from the back room, and I guess the noise of our arrival has also alerted any interlopers that we are here.

Astley heads left, back to the corridor. Fisher checks the room, then heads with Kawalsky towards the right-hand door to Seth's quarters. Daniel follows close behind me as I head to the leftmost door. There's someone rooting around in the office alright; maybe more than one person. If there's men in here, I can't believe that they're the only ones in the complex. Can't believe that they've not heard us, actually. The door is ajar. We make our way towards it.

"It has to be here," an exasperated voice yells.

"I'm telling you sir, there's nothing." More rustling of paperwork.

"How about the computer. Have you checked there?"

A sigh. "It was the first place we looked, Sir. We've just got those funny looking staff things. And I can't figure how they work..."

"Dammit!" A thump of fist on desk.

I get that ominous feeling as the hackles rise on my neck. About the same time that Daniel also recognises that voice. Kinsey. We need to use those rings, pronto, and the way to disable the others is in that office. I'm sorely tempted to march straight in, guns blazing.

Daniel taps me on my shoulder and shakes his head. He gestures behind himself, and before I have a clue what's going on, he removes his jacket. He reaches up into a cupboard on the wall and pulls out a fresh robe, pulling it and the pants that go with it on over the top of his other clothes. I give him the thumbs up, as he twitches the hood to cover his face. Almost as an afterthought, he picks up his Beretta and secretes it in his sleeve. Then, wordlessly, he makes for the door and pulls it open.

"Oh!" I hear the soft exclamation from Daniel as he feigns surprise. "Gentlemen, can I help you?"

It's pointless wondering how news of Seth's demise got around so quickly. It was three o'clock by the time we were heading out yesterday, and ten by the time we got home. There's no way any of us has written a report so either we have a spy in our midst, or our transmissions are being intercepted. Or both.

I hear the indecisive tone in the voice of one of Kinsey's men; weighing Daniel's obvious bluff against the knowledge that they've been caught red-handed. "We're here to see Seth."

"I'm afraid that Seth has been unavoidably detained."

"Huh."

"Pretty quiet round here."

Daniel's voice confidently strides out again. "Yes. Our god has removed himself to his other palace. He has left but a skeleton guard here on duty."

"Right, right." Of course they're not buying it.

I'm wondering where this is all going, when I hear the click of a safety catch behind me, and the barrel of a gun is thrust behind my ear.

"Move," grunts a voice, and I'm forcefully escorted into the office.

"Ah!"

Kinsey looks up, recognises me, and an insincere smile splits his ugly features. Give it two seconds and they'll put two and two together and recognise Daniel. Daniel isn't going to take that chance. He reaches into his robe, pulls out the Beretta, and aims it over my shoulder.

"Don't make me do it, Alistair."

Realisation dawns as I recognise the voice of the man behind me. It's my last coherent thought as the gun crashes down against the back of my head and knocks me unconscious.

Chapter 10

I wake to the sound of Daniel swearing. He's hoarse, so chances are he's been at it for quite a while.

"They played us, Jack. Alistair's been working for Kinsey all along. Maybourne's in on it."

"Maybourne."

"Yeah."

I'd got the feeling something wasn't right on their very first day. When Hel and Nestor vanished from the team, both Astley and Fisher turned up too damn fast for comfort. And then, of course, on the way over, we'd discussed everything we'd learnt from the raven, the camera, and Seth's office.

I look round at our surroundings. Nice, tight cage, cosy. Daniel's cross-legged in the next cage over, Astley and Kawalsky are also caged, further on down the line.

"How'd we get here?"

"Turns out Maybourne's got more than our friends squirreled away on this air base."

"Maybourne has a goddamn set of rings?"

"Yeah. Those guys even knew how to use them. All that time, Maybourne's been sitting on a whole heap of stuff, and Kinsey just had to have a big enough bargaining chip to make giving up that information worth while."

"Us." I don't need to know how the transfer occurred. What I do know though is that Kinsey and his goons will be long gone.

I see the look in Daniel's eyes.

"Okay, you."

"It appears that they need my assistance in some translation work."

"Huh."

"Though I dare say they'd be pleased to have you out of the way, too."

"Hmppf. So where did they get the rings from?"

A voice calls from out of the shadows.

"Actually, that would be from you, Jack, thank you so very much."

"Explain?"

"That tel'tac you hobbled back in from your show down with Apophis."

"Ah."

"Didn't you even wonder what had happened to that? My, you are slipping." He tuts, humourlessly. "Of course, at some point, Kinsey and his men will find that the information that I have given them is next to useless without the key, but I will be long gone by then. Serves them right for trying to make headway on this project without me."

Daniel's interest perks up, and not for the obvious reasons, like where the hell Maybourne is going or what his plans for us are.

"It exists, then? Solomon's House?"

"Actually, your initial assessment was correct, Doctor Jackson."

Daniel looks up, only realising just now exactly how monitored our actions must have been over the last few months.

"It is an intellectual construct in that the House itself is a virtual one, housed over a variety of computer systems. You'd need to speak fluent Goa'uld, of course, to even start to make headway with it, and to have this." Maybourne holds up an oval, palm-sized device. "The key. My boys managed to piece together just enough of an interface over the last few months to start to unlock the code – and to prefabricate a realistic enough simulation to keep Kinsey's boffins going, with help from your spaced-out friend Nestor, of course."

"Why you..." I jump for the bars, which are unfortunately electrified. "Shit... ah!"

"The things that boy will do to get a fix..." Maybourne shakes his head, tutting again, before carrying on regardless, pacing up and down along the cages. "And he really DOES want a kitten, doesn't he?" Maybourne has picked up on the one thing Nestor always seems to talk about in his sleep. I've never heard him mention it while he was awake.

"And getting Kinsey's men out of the way clears the field enough to make headway of my own, with you, Doctor Jackson. Unless, of course," he looks over his shoulder "you'd care to try a few of the things dear Jack has been suggesting recently. Since he's so obviously incapable of keeping you in the way in which you're accustomed..."

Daniel stares him down, grinding his teeth. "What makes you think I'm going to help you, Maybourne?"

Maybourne strides over to my cage and pokes a kind of cattle prod through the bars at me. Which is unfortunately also electrified. Point well made.

"I have no idea, Doctor Jackson. Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement."

I flinch and seize as the shock crackles through my nervous system.

"You bastard."

Maybourne steps back, really just getting into his stride. I just wish he'd shut the fuck up.

"We've come to a kind of linguistic impasse, I guess you could say. It seems that the original technology was not, after all, of Goa'uld origin. Peel away the top layers, and there's a whole other language underneath. That would be where your friend Hel came in."

My fury is starting to reach new heights, and I can see Daniel is not faring much better. Behind him, I can just make out Kawalsky and Astley in their cages, getting restless.

"Of course, by the time we realised we needed her help, she had already undergone a somewhat intensive interrogation on several other matters. Before she died... the information we were able to gain... well, it's not been particularly useful to tell you the truth, suffice it to say that we believe it is in the language of the Ancients."

Before she died? I don't believe it. There is no way, not in a million years, that they would willingly dispose of a valuable resource such as Hel like that. God, I hope I'm starting to smell a rat. But... if anyone else can decipher this language, Daniel can.

"So, Doctor Jackson. What say you? Are you up to a little light reading?" Maybourne waves the cattle prod in my general direction.

"Eat shit and die, Maybourne."

Ah. It's going to be just another day at the office, I feel.

Maybourne raises an eyebrow, and trails his way down the line of cages, dragging the cattle prod across each bar along the way and raising sparks. He stops outside Astley's cage.

"Hello, Simon."

Astley looks up through hooded, blood-encrusted brows and doesn't say a word.

Maybourne viciously jabs the prod through the bars, straight into Simon's neck. Simon opens his mouth in a pain-filled gasp, but not a sound escapes his lips. The agony is clear on his face as he starts to jerk and contort, his brows creased, his skin becoming streaked with sweat and tears.

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop!" Daniel yells, starting to rise, before hitting his head on the bars and collapsing, breath escaping in a startled gasp as he catches the jolt from his own cage.

"Oh, if that's what you want," Maybourne doesn't even turn in his direction, just gives the prod another, vicious twist before removing it, letting Astley sink under his own weight, crashing and flinching from the bars on his way down.

Maybourne turns on his heel and heads back in our direction.

"Doctor Jackson." He raises a hand and snaps his fingers. Fisher appears from the shadows now, and strides meaningfully over to Daniel's cage.

"Daniel! Don't do it!" Kawalsky yells, echoing my sentiment.

"Charlie. Jack." He nods in our direction.

Fisher punches the button on some device he's got, and Daniel's cage flies open.

He gets out, stiffly, and holds up his hand to get Fisher to wait. Taking his time, Daniel removes the robes he acquired in Seth's compound. He gives the guy a little floor show, using it as cover while he folds the robes neatly and places them back in the cage, slipping something out of his pocket and into the pile at the same time. As he smoothes down the back of his BDUs he glances over his shoulder at Fisher.

"Is it me," he says, "or is it hot in here?"

Standing, finally, he carefully schools his expression and walks over to where Fisher and Maybourne are waiting.

"Shall we?"

Fisher shrugs and gestures for Daniel to walk in front of him as they leave the room. The glance Fisher throws at me over his shoulder is purely feral. So Fisher is right up there at the top of my list of people who are going to suffer a shitty death, right after Kinsey and Maybourne. And if he lays one hand on Daniel, I may just have to kill the bastard twice.

Maybourne grunts his satisfaction at us, and turns on his heel to leave.

I shout over at Kawalsky. "How's Astley?"

"Don't know, Jack. He's still unconscious."

"Alive, though?"

"Yeah, he's alive. Though I'm not sure how much damage that bastard did."

"No. Did you buy that story?"

"Which one?"

"The one about Hel being dead."

"Not for a second. I think there getting desperate."

"How come?"

"I think they're getting sloppy. Revealing their hand. I think they're running out of time."

I nod. "Could be. So what d'you reckon?"

"I reckon someone's onto their game."

"Do you think that anyone has noticed that we're missing yet?"

"Hard to tell."

Neither of us have been left with our watches.

"We weren't even due to get the mother ship over here until about now, I'm guessing, and who was expecting us there?"

I avoid Kawalsky's gaze.

"They did know that we were going to borrow it, right, Jack?"

"Er..."

"Oh, great," sighs Kawalsky, realising my plan had pretty much been to waltz in there and simply charm my way into borrowing it for a few.

"Just great."

"Sorry, Charlie."

"Okay. So who's going to miss us?"

"Aside from the rest of the staff?"

"Yeah."

"Er, well, my next call to the President is due on Thursday."

"A.M. or P.M.?" asks Kawalsky, facetiously.

"Sixteen hundred."

"So we could be here for forty-eight hours before someone even realises we're gone?"

"No! There's still the boffins on the base."

"Right." He stops to think about it, and smiles again. "Right. Dammit Jack. The whole 'com-buddy' thing?"

"Yeah."

He rolls his eyes at me. "No-one's been doing that."

"Astley has. Astley's teamed with the luscious Laura."

I hear the tapping of footsteps making their way back in our direction.

"Don't fool yourself, Jack," croons Fisher's voice. "No one's coming for you."

"Oh? How so?"

"I had the honour of telling our dear friends that you've called us all away on another mission."

That's when I realise that help is definitely on the way. Minutes away. Who would believe that I would allow Fisher to pass on that sort of message? I mean, there's sloppy, and then there's insane. And he's come in here for what? To silence us for good? Just needs to find himself some balls first? I still want to hear what he's got to say, though.

"Oh, really."

"Oh, yes. They all think that we're currently on a rescue mission to help SG-2. Some bastard told them that the mine collapsed."

Chapter 11

I feel it through the floor before I hear it. A deep, throbbing sound that reverberates through my bones.

"Jack? What is it?" whispers Kawalsky. A cough from Astley's cage shows that he is still with us. Fisher turns on his heel and marches from the room, as fast as he can manage without losing face.

"Not sure. With any luck, it's the cavalry."

The face that finally appears is a shock. Doc Morrissey and assorted admin staff. "We got here as quickly as we could. Er..." he shrugs, "hope you don't mind, Sir, there's a camera crew on the way."

"A camera crew?"

"It's the only way we could get here fast enough."

The CMO heads over to Astley as other members of staff make themselves useful with cutting equipment. I direct a team to start the search for Daniel and the others even as the camera crew come through the door.

They start to bombard us with questions as we are freed from the cages. Morrissey kneels down by Daniel's cage and retrieves his belongings. He lifts the robe and something glints in the lights that the camera crew have brought with them. Morrissey picks it up with a grin and hands it over. Its Daniel's jade ring, tracking device mangled.

"We had a deal," he explains. "When Daniel came to me with Nestor's camera... He did appreciate your suggestion, Sir, even if he wasn't too happy about the method." He gives me a searching glance, and I nod for him to go on. "We, er... sorted out a frequency for this thing. He told me, if ever the transmission were interrupted..."

I nod my thanks.

"Hey. Gotta look after my com-buddy, don't I?" Morrissey smiles.

"So let's go find him."

Morrissey hands me a gun and I turn and start for the exits. I pick a route with less evidence of through-traffic and Kawalsky and Morrissey follow. Behind me I can hear the sounds of various voices start to recede.

We find ourselves looking through a glass panel in a door into a warehouse stuffed full of packing crates and medical equipment. Daniel, Maybourne and Fisher are visible within. I'm just debating the best approach when Maybourne turns to Fisher and shoots him in the chest. I don't give myself time to ponder why. We attack now.

I burst through the door, gun pointed at Maybourne. Now, shooting him is actually not what I want to do - it'd be too good for him, but he doesn't necessarily know that.

"Ah, Jack." Maybourne smiles, and lowers his gun slightly. "Carry on, Doctor Jackson." His attention wavers slightly, and I hear a noise from the doorway which signals the arrival of the camera crew.

"Hello, Maybourne," I say, keeping my voice very even and pleasant. If this is all going to make headline news, I want to put on a decent show for the good folks.

Maybourne and Daniel have had scant minutes here, so I have no idea what he could possibly have him working on. Behind me, I see Morrissey start to carefully pick his way over to Fisher.

"Is it working yet?"

"I... er think so."

"So then, throw it over."

"Daniel?"

Daniel looks over and tries to tell me something with his eyebrows alone. Shame I have no idea what it is.

Maybourne waves his gun at Daniel, and Daniel throws an object towards him, which he deftly catches. "Good lad." He starts to back away across the floor, still aiming the gun and mindful of the packing crates.

I edge towards him, carefully, my left hand finding an object balanced on the top of one of the boxes. It's a screwdriver, and I pick it up. Not my non-lethal weapon of choice, but it could be a daffodil as far as I'm concerned and I'd still find a way to scare Maybourne shitless with it. I wave the screwdriver at him menacingly, stalking him. Amazingly he appears to quake a little.

Peripherally, I hear a clatter and the sound of a live broadcast. I can't worry about it. Maybourne flicks his gaze to the back of the room, towards something black and glistening. My breath catches in my throat as I realise what it is. This is what Maybourne wanted Daniel for.

"No way."

"Yes, Jack."

"No. You can't possibly have this. This was buried under Cheyenne mountain."

He raises his butt-ugly head and laughs at me. Actually honest to goodness laughs.

"You think that was the only one?"

We circle some more.

"Kind of you, Jack, to provide me with such a good team at the Beta site. I had quite a time, those few months, exploring with my friends." He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. "All those lovely cultures out there... just waiting to be... enjoyed."

He points the device in his hand at the mirror and it activates, then he roughly shoves the device into his jacket. I close in on him just as he makes a dive towards the quantum mirror. My fingers get a loose hold on his feet, and a soft 'oof' escapes him as he lands on the floor. Something makes an ominous cracking sound. He kicks me away and scrabbles pell-mell into the quantum mirror, which flashes briefly and de-activates immediately behind him.

"Jack!"

Daniel rushes over.

"He's got the key, Jack. He took it with him."

"Jack," Morrissey calls from the far side of the room, "Fisher's dead."

"Let's find Hel and Nestor."

We run through the reporters; surprisingly they part for us. Unsurprisingly, they follow us. We find the others in a room at the other end of the corridor, more of the SGA staff milling around. They've freed Nestor and he looks a sorry state, but Hel is still trapped, stuck in some kind of metallic device that just allows her head to poke out.

"Sir!"

"We can't get her out, Sir!"

"Let me have a look." Daniel bustles through and seconds later some sort of clasp releases, and the top portion slides away. He pulls Hel up to him, mindful of tubes that snake into and out of her body, and starts to work her free of them.

When he's done, he lifts her off of the flat platform and helps her feet to the floor. I move in closer to get a better look.

"Thank you, Doctor Jackson," Hel whispers to him. "General O'Neill, take my hand."

I do, and feel the old, familiar tingle in my stomach, that signals our transport to the Asgard mother ship.

As the light fades and our eyes adjust to the glare, we find ourselves on the bridge of the Beliskner. Thor turns quizzically towards us.

"O'Neill."

A single, slightly bedraggled raven sits on his shoulder.

"Hel, Doctor Jackson. It is good to see you again."

Half an hour later, and we've had a chance to wash and get something to drink. Thor points me towards some cool holographic thingy, and I report down to Kawalsky and Morrissey. With some satisfaction, they report that what few members of the NID remain have been safely carted away. Astley's already sitting up asking questions. Daniel joins me and some of the other Asgard in what I assume is Thor's office, or personal quarters, or both. It's white and sterile and speaks volumes about the social life of your average Asgard.

"Been to Ikea again I see," I say as I lower my butt cautiously towards the snug plastic chair, obviously designed for Asgard anatomy. Heaven knows how I'll be able to prise myself out of it again. Daniel leans towards me with a grin on his face and mouths 'wide load' in my general direction.

Thor gestures for silence and begins this rather strange debriefing.

It transpires that Hugin set off for the Asgard pretty much as soon as Hel was captured. Hell, how was I to know we kept seeing the same raven all the time? I can't tell them apart. Without Hel to operate various pieces of equipment, Hugin's own long-range transmission devices weren't up to the task of beaming all that information across several galaxies to where it could be intercepted by the Asgard. The device took what it saw to be the only sensible route. Flummoxed by our protocols and iris, it had a three-month flight to reach a DHD it could operate.

Heimdall looks shifty and mumbles something about Mark II probes. "From receiving the transmission to arriving here took us but four days," he murmurs.

"We are still engaged in conflicts of our own, O'Neill." Thor buts in.

"The Replicators?"

I don't want to break the guy's narrative, but they still haven't given us a clue what these damn things are, and a guy likes to know what's out there. There is some sort of glossy look passed between the Asgard around the table before Hel breaks the silence and gets us back on topic.

"Munin stayed with me, O'Neill, transmitting to the Beliskner in readiness for the time when it came within range."

"As soon as we detected Hel's whereabouts, we were able to direct the device to you with Nestor's camera, in order that you might rescue him."

"I'm not getting this. Why didn't you just send Munin to us months ago? We could have rescued you both within hours of you being taken!"

"We had become aware, O'Neill," says Hel, speaking very slowly, "that Maybourne had close links with members of your military. We were not sure the extent of these connections..."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud! You thought I might be IN on it?"

"That is not what we are saying, O'Neill."

It is what they are saying. And they have a point, given the way that we have all been led around by the nose recently.

"We were also concerned for your safety should you attempt to effect a rescue mission."

"So why didn't you just beam Hel out of there when you got close enough?"

"The medical intrusion, O'Neill. We were unsure as to whether it was safe to transport Hel directly from the device."

But they could have transported Nestor out, though, couldn't they.

Daniel looks thoughtful as the meeting grinds on and eventually draws to a close.

"Daniel?"

"Just thinking about Maybourne, Jack."

"Really?"

"And the quantum mirror," he elaborates. "I definitely heard something break when he fell."

"So he might be trapped? If the control device is broken?"

"Possible."

"I wish I knew where he'd ended up."

"Mmm."

"Imagine... the alternate Maybournes, in other realities. Forced to track down and kill his alternate selves in order to survive."

"There is a god. And hey, it'd give alternate versions of me a break, that's for sure."

Chapter 12

We piece the rest of it together after we get home. Maybourne had been quietly stockpiling stuff even before the war. The NID took advantage of every opportunity; technology brought through the gate from the original SGA missions always ended up at Area 51. They sampled all of it. When the Goa'uld attacked, Maybourne's contingency plan had them grab what they could and book across country even as Maybourne was packing for the Beta site. Secrecy being what it was, no one was sure afterwards what was supposed to be where, and the resources just didn't exist to check it out in any detail.

Maybourne found himself in an interesting situation. He was stranded at the Beta site with his box of toys left on Earth, and his resources dwindling fast. He did the only thing he could; started to sell out the highest bidder. And the Beta site was just jam-packed with interested parties. He had months to finalise a deal with Kinsey. Of course, enlightened to the prospect of alien, mind-controlling drugs while off-world, Kinsey didn't hesitate to offer his services to Seth on his return. After all, why settle for one theoretical, mind-altering drug when you could have another that worked, right now?

Fisher fed information back to Kinsey via Maybourne at first. It was lucrative, but Fisher got greedy and decided to cut out the middle man. On Seth's demise, it didn't take Kinsey long to hear when the coast was clear. With Seth gone, Kinsey could try to get his hands on some Nishta and follow up any leads he might have on Solomon's House at the same time. He arrived at Seth's compound an hour or so before Maybourne did. Shame we had to get caught up in the middle of it.

The next day I contact Kawalsky in Toronto, now happily bossing Morrissey and his men around in sorting through the wreckage. Everything's A-OK, as is the report from SG-2 I receive minutes later. The survey is proceeding famously. The reports on this new mineral look extremely promising. I promise them downtime.

Daniel saunters into my office. "Time to go home yet?"

I hang up on Davis and put the phone down. "Now, that's usually my line."

"Usually." He jiggles his hands in his pockets and looks around. "Any more word from the Asgard?"

"Yeah. All bad." I drag a hand through my hair. "Hel's going home. She's going to recover, then join their battle against the Replicators."

"Oh. I can't say I'm surprised. What about the Thor's Hammer device?"

"That's the other bit of bad news. They're going to adjust it."

"Adjust it?"

"Change it so that we can't have any Goa'uld, Jaffa or Tokra on the planet."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh."

"What about Nestor?"

I shrug. "He's gonna have to go. I've... er... I've not told him yet."

"Actually, I think it'll be a bit of a relief."

"Yeah. So." I pause. Most unlike Daniel to be in here. Much more likely that I'd go looking for him. There must be something up. "Daniel? Anything you want to tell me?"

"I just thought I'd come and tell you... that is, I've come to say... uh." He gestures with his hands and puts them back in his pockets again. "Doesn't seem quite so momentous now, what with the other news."

"Daniel."

"Meant to say earlier, but... you know."

"Daniel, will you just spill already?"

"The drug."

"The drug?"

"Seth's chemical castration drug. Just thought I'd mention. The sarcophagus worked. All better." He gestures again.

"Oh, that!" Oh yeah. Something is most definitely up. "Great! Great." I'm up and round the desk giving him a hug before I know it.

"So... I'll... er... just get on with some work and..." He gestures towards the door.

"Yeah, yeah..." I pat him on the arms, looking up to see the relief in the huge grin on his face.

"And I'll see you for dinner later?"

"Oh yeah. I will not be late. See. Head down now, getting on with stuff." I skirt back round to my desk and make an elaborate display of rifling through my paperwork.

"I'll see you later, Jack," he calls from the doorway.

I look down at my desk before his cough draws my attention back.

"Oh, and if you want something to take your mind off of things, why don't you ask Nestor where he hid that spy camera of his!" He chuckles as he disappears from view.

I hardly need more ways to get sidetracked. I've already got requests flying in from all over the shop to assist in the relocation of a couple of thousand ex-Seth-acolytes.

I look over at the machine as a fax starts to come through from one of the news crews we met yesterday. It's a draft of an article modestly entitled 'How I saved the planet'. I whip it off the machine and settle down for a good read. It seems that Kawalsky has been busy making new friends. His dry humour is fairly apparent. Aside from us officially being heroes all over again, there's a blurry photo of me facing off against Maybourne with that screwdriver. The caption reads, 'General O'Neill knows forty-six ways to kill a man with a pencil'. My eye is drawn to a scribbled request in the margin asking whether I'd consider writing a column for one of their sister publications, a DIY magazine. I let the copy fall onto the desk, sit back in my chair and laugh.

The farewell party takes place a scant two days later. There are forty-two jaffa on planet Earth. Forty-two resigned faces that smile down at us from the ramp as we salute them and honour the contribution that they have made.

Six of the men have already found wives here. Two of those wives are pregnant. The women stand to one side, holding hands, before disappearing off into the belly of the mother ship.

It's a sad day for this planet, when we have to turn away allies. I doubt the sense of it, I really do. Nestor comes up behind me and claps me on the shoulder. We exchange glances, no words, then he makes for the ramp. On his other arm, a wicker basket swings dramatically.

"Shhh," he whispers down into it, and my curiosity piques. At the head of the ramp, he turns back to me, and reaches down into the basket. When he pulls his hand out, he waves a furry black kitten at me. He grins, then walks out of sight as the ramp begins to retract.

"We offered them the Beta site," I say to Daniel, standing close on my other side.

"I know."

"But at least Chulak was home for a lot of them... once."

No one needs reminding. No one needs to mention that I was responsible for the bomb that was sent through to destroy Chulak. Giving them the mother ship was the best I could do by way of compensation. At least we know where it is, with people who will be using it for the right reasons. Maybe one day when we have enough resources they will allow us to go back and study it.

Daniel slings his arm round me and we retreat to a safe distance as the ship takes off. Hel already stands poised to re-activate the Thor's hammer device, and I'm not sure I really want to be here for that, but I have no choice.

"Nestor's left an interesting report for you," Daniel distracts me. "About Solomon's House."

"Mmm?" I'm not paying too much attention as the craft starts to disappear through the clouds.

"There's definite evidence that another Goa'uld was involved."

"Here?"

He nods. "Someone called Nirrti. I've heard the name before, so..."

"So."

"Gotta be done, Jack. Got to turn this thing on."

"Yeah."

I nod over at Hel. She points some kind of wand at the hammer device, the crystal flares once, and she turns back to us.

"It is done."

Lord, save me from another round of goodbyes. I nod at her, and then she's gone too.

We're left here, in the centre of Bifrost Park, the rest of the SGA milling around off to one side, mindful of the space we needed for the mother ship. It's a beautiful day, like I don't need reminding, the first of April.

"I'm tired, Danny. Take me home."

"No can do, Jack. Finger food and medals, first. Finger food and medals."

I groan, as one might, with the prospect of themed vol-au-vents.

He slips his hand from my shoulder and takes my hand in his instead as we start to walk back towards the throng.

"I've been meaning to ask for ages, Daniel... this Solomon guy?"

"Yes?"

"Is this the same Solomon guy from the Bible?"

"Ye-ah."

We cast furtive glances at each other. I sense impending lecture-mode, and he notices obvious indifference.

"I've not read that in a long time."

"Excuse me?"

"The Song of Solomon."

Daniel looks at me askance. "Well, you've not been particularly religious in all the time I've known you."

"Yeah. But I seem to remember some good lines in there."

"Yeah, well trust you to remember the saucy stuff." He squeezes my hand companionably. "But if you think you can entice me into sex by comparing parts of my anatomy to a flock of goats, you are very much mistaken."

I'm not going to rush the guy. I'm sanguine. But later looks like it is shaping up to be good.

Chapter 13

It's early. I look over at Daniel, scrunching his face and trying to decide whether it's worth his while to wake up or not.

"You know", I whisper into his ear as I gently put down the bible, "there are a couple of lines in here that apply to you."

"Mmm?" he mumbles, not opening his eyes.

"His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend..."

One eye flies open and he gazes at me.

"Jack!"

"Daniel." I'm smug. I read the whole damn book this morning and made notes in the margin. I have some other quotes set aside for opportune moments.

"You... you... before coffee? How low..." he slaps me on the arm and then pulls his pillow over his face, groaning dramatically. I can just about make out his muffled words.

"Bastard. What have I said about sappiness before breakfast..."

I give him time to wake, slip out of bed and get the percolator going before heading to the bathroom. The machine hisses that the pot is ready just as I undo the bathroom door. I pour us both out a cup and take them back to bed.

He's not there.

I put the coffee down on the nightstand and lean in close to look at the note that's been left on the pillow. If I'm expecting some clever biblical retort, I'm very much mistaken. Two words. 'Behind you'.

I turn round as with a roar, Daniel launches himself at me from his hiding place behind the bedroom door, naked, magnificent and totally rampant. I'm quite successfully thrown onto the bed and wrestled onto my front. I don't put up much of a struggle. Much.

"Hey, what did I do to deserve this?" I ask, face mashed into the pillow.

"What? What did you DO? Mister sappy intellect?" He splutters.

"What? Me with a nose in a book first thing in the morning makes you go crazy alpha?"

"Well, duh!" He says from his vantage point straddling my hips.

"Well what d'ya know."

I crane around to look as he leans forward and over me. To reach for his cup of coffee.

"Daniel!"

"Well, it would be a shame to waste it."

I'm tempted to buck him off, but I know he'd spill the damn stuff and it'd not only scold me but mean I have to change the sheets. Anyway, I'm just too damn relieved that we seem to be okay.

"Thanks, Jack." A pause. "You not drinking yours, Jack?" he asks politely as he chucks the last dregs of it down and sneakily reaches out for my cup as well.

"Oh, no. You go right on ahead," I wave my hand at him in what I judge is a fairly friendly manner. I just want to see where this is all leading.

Instead of the anticipated coffee-drinking, he puts down his cup and slips hot dry fingers under the chain that holds my dog-tags. I feel his fingers curl round, slide forwards and back.

"May I?"

These... don't come off. I swallow. They haven't - not for a long while. My silence must be telling. He stills above me.

"Please?"

"Okay."

Amazing how you can not feel naked when you are naked, then something like this happens...

He guides the chain off over my head and on around his own neck. I'm mildly freaked for about two seconds until he leans forwards and starts to slowly lick around the edge of my ear. What is this obsession this guy has with my ears anyway? Not that I mind, I think to myself, as I feel my brain slowly start to drain away.

I find myself noticing the strangest things. The way the soft light filters through the window. The way the hair on his legs tickles against my sides. The soft clinking sound the tags make as they swing against his chest and then fall against my back.

He blows hot breath against my ear. I must have woken up. I can smell the coffee.

"Tell me."

Tell him what? That I love him? That I need him? That he'd better stop messing about and get on with it?

"Tell me-e-ee," he sing-songs, bouncing slightly.

"What?"

"What you want, Jack."

I sigh. "I thought you were the one in charge here?"

"Darn tootin'," he does some strange accent which fails to sound like anything in particular. "Heh, heh! Ride 'em, cowboy!"

"I think you'd better have that second cup of coffee."

"Weeell," he drawls, "if that's what you want, Jack. Don't mind if I do." And he does.

"Now," I say, patience starting to wear a bit thin, "will you either get off or fuck me already?"

"Don't you mean dismount? Or do you mean get OFF?"

"I know what I said."

"Tell me again. Tell me what you want."

"I want you to fuck me." No ifs, no buts. That'll do just fine, thank you.

"Again. Louder."

"I said, FUCK ME, DANIEL!"

"Well, since you ask so nicely."

He slides down and off to one side and I turn to watch him put the cup out of harm's way and futz about in the nightstand. I take the opportunity to reach for a pillow, and arrange myself, hopefully to his satisfaction.

I cant my hips up slightly as he reaches for my opening with lubed-up fingers. One digit enters me, rolling around and loosening me up. I sigh. This is so damn NICE. I can't tell Daniel that; he'd want me to say it was hot. It's not, yet, but we're rapidly getting there.

He pushes against me again.

"Is that two or three?"

"It's only two, Jack. You'll know it when it's three. How's it feel?"

Daniel's sounding smug. It's pretty bloody good.

"Mmm, oka-uh-HUH!" I yell as his fingertips acquire their target.

"Heh heh heh. Houston, we have lift off," he gloats into the back of my neck.

I sigh, contented. "Make up your mind, Daniel. Cowboy or Astronaut." Honestly, either's good.

"That depends, Jack, would you rather have a slow poke or a rocket?"

My attention slips as his tongue licks a spot behind my ear again. He wriggles against me, sliding his fingers in and out.

"Oh, shit, yeah."

I feel the sweat and stickiness of his erection hard against the back of my thigh. He twists his wrist.

"Three now."

"Oh, yeah."

"So."

"Mmm."

"You are so ready."

"Uh-huh."

"You are so gonna get it."

"So quit your yakking and get on with it."

He slaps me playfully around the shoulder with his free hand.

I feel him withdraw, and he moves away from me to grab a tissue. Before I know it, he's back with me, one hand on my waist, dick pressing between my cheeks.

"Are you going to just lie there, Jack?"

I pretend to yawn. "I thought I might." The effect is spoilt, rather, as I stifle a snigger.

"Bastard."

"Love you."

"Yeah."

He pushes his way in and I groan into the sheet.

"Mmm. Oh yeah."

"Yeah?"

He holds himself up against me, touching me to get me to move so that we are comfortable. As I grasp the edge of the mattress, he lies down fully between my legs and places a hand against my thigh, getting me to raise one knee slightly. Damn perfectionist.

I sigh again as he begins that slow glide. I push against him, willing him deeper, merrily gasping and drooling into the fabric beneath me, fingers curling into the sheet.

Daniel is glorious, picking up the pace and pounding against me.

"Jack. I can't reach you."

"It's okay." The light friction of my dick against the bed as he rams me up towards the headboard together with the stimulation I'm getting from within is doing just fine for now anyway.

"I WANT to!"

"Okay, okay. Jees." I lift myself slightly, feeling like I'm taking part of his weight into the bargain. His arm slips round my waist as his rhythm falters slightly. His long fingers take an almost punishing grip, and I have to bite down hard on my lip.

"Oh, yes," he moans, as he bites down hard on the junction of my neck and shoulder. His thrust powers me forward into his hand and I lose it, my come pulsing up over his hand. As I clench, he lets go with one final thrust, panting heavily against me, forcing us both down onto the bed. In his release he moans against me as we fall still.

In the silence that follows I feel the slick sweat on his skin against my back, the bones of his hand as he presses into my belly. His breath evens out. Shame it's starting to feel like I'm lying face-first in a swamp.

"Daniel."

He sighs, settling in for the night. "Mmm."

"Time to move."

Reluctantly he rolls off to stare glassy-eyed up at the ceiling.

I close my eyes and steel myself, then roll over and pull up the sheet before we can get cold. "Mmm. I could get used to this."

"I think that was part of our problem."

"Pardon?"

"Taking each other for granted. Funny, really."

"I don't get it." And I don't really want to analyse anything right now.

"I worked it out. Our problems. Kind of stemmed from being able to rely on each other. Knowing we could trust each other. What with everything else that was going on, it was so easy just to take us for granted and put the relationship second. It's just a matter of being aware." He turns to me, a tiny smile starting to form. "And, yes, I could get used to this, too."

"So be my guest." I move an arm to enable him to snuggle in close.

"It's a relief," he sighs. "I was wondering for a while there if I was going to have to break in a new colonel." He places a hand over my chest. "I had doubts, Jack. For a while there, I almost believed that you weren't treating me like an equal."

"We're... different, Daniel. But I never thought..."

"It's okay. I understand."

Equal? Us? If he thought for one second I don't value his opinion as much as my own... sheesh. And as for everything else he gives me...

"So... we good?"

"Yeah."

"On that subject?"

"Mmm?"

"Since we're doing the whole treating each other as equals thing?"

"Yes?"

"What say you hop out of bed and get me a cup of coffee? Some bastard seems to have drunk mine."

He looks over at me, pats at my hand and says, "yes, dear," before rolling out of bed and heading towards the kitchen.

END