Monster

Rough
Drama
Set in Season 6
FR-T
Violence 

Disclaimers:

Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, The SciFi Channel, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is written purely for my own entertainment, and that of anyone else who may happen to read it. No infringement of copyright is intended. It is not intended and should never be used for commercial purposes.

The original characters, situations and ideas contained within this work are the property of the author.

Author's Notes:

This fanfic is a sequel to Out of Time.

All serial numbers have been plucked from the air as though by magic.

Acknowledgements:

I can not say thank you enough to Sho for her excellent beta reading.

Monster

 P35-91A – Ginnungagap

2 hours after the declaration of Code Black at the SGC

Major Philip Wilkes mounted the smooth bank of the hill. Not that it was really a hill; it was just a layer of earth that covered the downed spacecraft which had been his home for the past thirty years. The plan had been developed over that time, but none of them had ever really believed that they would go back to Earth; none of them had believed that they would ever leave the planet they had named Ginnungagap, after the primordial void of Teutonic myth. When the officers of the SGC had emerged, everyone knew the plan, but they had hardly been ready. They had been forced to hurry, evacuating the ship through the escape hatch beneath the lake and leaving only Wilkes – old, decent, harmless, solitary Wilkes – to greet the strangers, but it had worked, nonetheless.

Now there were another two-hundred pairs of hands. Now they had new blood and new technology; naquadah reactors, wires and solder to replace burned-out circuits, cables and energy buffers and capacitors. Now they could make the spaceship fly again and return once more to Earth, this time not as thieves, but as conquerors.

Below him, they waited; his old 'comrades' from the ship, largely co-opted into the hierarchy of the SS majority, and the newcomers from the League of Officers. Already, he could smell the problems brewing between them; national and ideological gaps aside, there were too many differences represented by the sixty years that separated the two groups and two hundred new officers was too many when there were no additional enlisted men. The women were the worst; he had realised that the modern armed forces had female command and field officers, but warned Captain Manners not to bring any with him. Manners had not listened; no one ever seemed to listen to Wilkes.

Except now. Now he was expected to speak; Obersturmbannführer Wenig had commanded it and Wilkes was not relishing the opportunity, for all its novelty value.

"My friends," he began, uncertainly. "We stand at the dawn of a new era. We are soldiers, but we will usher in an age of peace, because we see, not the differences between nations, but the similarities between people. Those of us here who are officers stand together as officers; the enlisted ranks are all of a kind. We have all seen war, we all know that, in war, we all too often find ourselves fighting the wrong people.

"No more. We all have our parts to play in what is to come and the success of our venture depends on each one of you playing your part."

"What about the women!"

Wilkes frowned at the speaker, Sturmscharführer Gottling, a thuggish lout who embodied all of the worst qualities of a warrant officer with none of the virtues.

"These women are officers," Wilkes reminded Gottling. "We must all remember that. Their service is not the same as ours, but they are officers, and true officers at that. We are all together in this."

There was a rumble of discontent from both sides of the crowd; he could already feel the alliance unravelling around him. He plunged on.

"We must work together to get through this! To get away from this planet, from that forest!"

The worked. The League officers reacted to his tone, the old guard by his words; they already knew about the forest.

"There is something in that forest," he said. "Something that has kept us trapped in our prison ship since our arrival; anyone who ever went into that forest has been killed and the last incursion resulted in the destruction of our camp. We lost dozens. We lost..." He tailed off, letting his horror wash across the crowd. "Stay away from the forest," he said again.

"Thank you, Major Wilkes," Wenig said. The Obersturmbannführer was almost a foot shorter than his subordinate, but it was clear who was in charge; Wenig radiated power and authority. "Not exactly the stirring eulogy I was hoping for, but your words of caution are well-given. My children!" he went on, dramatically. "We must begin our work at once. Major Wilkes will assign you to working parties; this ship must be operational in three days time. For the glory of our cause and peace for all time!"

In a few sentences, Wenig roused his followers as Wilkes never could; they punched the air and howled their approval.

Wenig turned to Wilkes with a smile that said 'remember who rules here'. "See that it is so," he ordered.

Wilkes inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Yes, Herr Obersturmbannführer."

*

P5G-991 – Getek

Code Black + 6 hours

Jack O'Neill followed Captain Amy Kawalsky from the Stargate; Teal'c came after and three burly marines brought up the rear. A road wound away over a line of low hills; on either verge, long grass waved in a tranquil breeze. Tall trees swayed gently.

"For a Gate-wise race, they don't put much security on their Stargate," Jack noted. "It's almost an open invitation to invade."

Amy chuckled. "Colonel O'Neill, I pity the poor bastard who tries to invade Getek," she assured him. "The lack of security probably is an invitation; a big 'come and have a go if you think you're hard enough to the universe'."

"They like to fight, eh?"

"Indeed," Amy replied. "It's...what they do."

"What makes you believe that they will assist us?" Teal'c asked, doubtfully.

Amy shrugged. "Well...basically I think they'll fight for us because they're mercenaries and I know they'll fight because it's an opportunity for a dust-up. The Jaffa are bred to fight; the Guyen-tor live for it. That's what gave me the idea, you see: We're facing a fighting force of genetically-enhanced super-warriors; I say, let's have some genetically-enhanced super-warriors of our own."

"Can we trust them?" Jack asked.

"I think so," Amy replied. "You can judge for yourself when we meet them."

Jack turned to the marines. "Stay here and guard the Gate," he said, "but don't get into a fight if you can help it. Let's not start a war or anything." He turned and led the way along the track; the UAV had revealed that there was a large settlement some twenty miles away. "Tell me again, Captain, how you think the scary bug-people can help us?"

"The Guyen-tor are not bug people," Amy corrected, patiently. "The trenoth are the bugs; the armour that the warriors wear."

"Making armour out of bugs," Jack sighed. "It's just not right."

Amy laughed. "They don't make it out of bugs; it is the bug. The living trenoth bonds with the warrior and they live and die together."

Jack's eyes widened in horror. "Eew."

"Weird or not, the trenoth is proof against most terrestrial armour-piercing rounds," Amy explained, "and it generates a powerful bio-electrical field which partially disperses electromagnetic, plasma and forced-energy blasts. The Guyen-tor warriors are conditioned to resist pain and neurological trauma, such as the effect of those sonic blasters, and they are fast and strong enough to face the enhanced warriors one-on-one."

"And what of the enemy's power of invisibility?" Teal'c demanded.

"There was something uncanny about Lohesh," Amy replied. "I don't think he'd need to see an enemy to kill it, and I think he had something of that same power himself. Anyway, we'll find out soon enough if they can do anything."

"I suppose so," Jack agreed.

"No, I mean we'll find out very soon."

Jack glanced at Teal'c and saw the Jaffa standing stiffly, his staff weapon halfway to the ready.

"T?"

"We are surrounded, O'Neill," Teal'c said.

Jack shrugged. "You're up, Captain. Try not to get us killed."

Amy took a step forward and raised her hands in a gesture of peace. "I am giving you greetings," she announced. "We are being warriors of the Tau'ri and we are coming in peace. We are seeking the family of a late warrior of the Guyen-tor, whose name is being Lohesh la-Harek."

"Kawalsky, why are you talking like that?" Jack asked.

"When in Rome, Sir," Amy replied.

"We're not in Rome."

"When on Getek?"

The grass on the right hand verge rustled and seemed very much as though it were holding a conversation of some sort. Jack could feel a great many eyes on him and his ears burned with the certainty that someone was talking about him.

After a long pause, the grass parted and a man appeared, holding a harpoon of sorts aimed at Jack's throat. Jack was fairly sure that he should have spotted the man sooner than he did and the effect as he stepped onto the road was less of a person emerging from the undergrowth than of a spirit materialising from the ether. The man wore a fierce, brooding expression and had an impressive physique. He had dark eyes and strong, handsome features.

"I think I like this place," Amy noted, trying not to stare.

"I think I like it as well," Jack agreed, as a woman appeared on the opposite side of the road. Like her companion, she was darkly attractive, in impressive physical condition and carried a harpoon.

"One among you is being Amy Kawalsky," the man said.

Amy inclined her head. "I am...being."

The man nodded. He exchanged a glance with the woman and they both lowered their weapons. "You are coming with us," the man said. "We are taking you to Sharne na-Nayk."

"Is that the town?" Amy asked, uncertainly.

There was a pause as the Guyen worked out Amy's unfamiliar syntax.

"The town where we are living is being Hasoth; Sharne na-Nayk is being my sister-wife," the woman said at last. "I am being Hayni na-Felwar," she added, "wife of Lohesh la-Harek and Telohs la-Harek."

"And I am being Telohs," the man added. "I am being the brother of Lohesh and the husband of Sharne na-Nayk and Hayni na-Felwar."

"Two husbands and two wives?" Jack whispered to Amy. "Is that normal?"

Amy turned and whispered back: "For civilians; warriors don't have the two-marriage limit."

"I may emigrate," Jack said. He turned back to Hayni and Telohs. "We are thanking you," he assured them, brightly.

The two Guyen-tor bowed, respectfully. "Please, be following," Hayni said. "Our house is being known for its hospitality. You will be enjoying it," she assured Jack, favouring him with a particularly inviting smile.

Jack smiled back, warily.

"I think she likes you, Sir," Amy noted, as Hayni turned away.

"She's married," Jack reminded her.

"She's half single."

"Her half-husband is seven feet tall and he is standing over there with a heavy harpoon," Jack replied. "Even half of him is more than enough husband to put me off."

He waited for Hayni to follow Telohs, then asked Teal'c: "Is there anyone else out there?"

"I believe so, O'Neill, although their powers of stealth are great. These are warriors of formidable skill."

"These aren't warriors," Amy replied. "They were never bonded with a trenoth; they're civilians."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. For only about the third time, Amy saw the Jaffa look genuinely surprised.

"That I just about get," Jack allowed. "What I don't understand is..." He stopped, uncertainly, as though not sure how to continue.

"Why they're naked?" Amy suggested, although it was not entirely true; each of the Guyen wore a jet bracelet around the right wrist.

"That's the one."

Amy shrugged. "It's a cultural thing. Besides," she added, eyeing the two Guyen-tor critically, "they do say if you've got it, flaunt it."

"I'm not saying the system doesn't have its up-sides," Jack admitted, "only that it must be tough to be a fat guy on Getek."

*

Stargate Command

Code Black + 7 hours

Sam was starting to go cross-eyed from staring at her computer screen, but she could not stop reading. As a scientist she found the logs of the crashed ship to be fascinating; as a decent human being, she found them horrifying.

"Anything good?" Jonas asked. He set a cup of coffee on the desk beside the laptop; Sam could have kissed him.

"It's incredible," Sam assured him, once she had taken a healing draft of sweet, sweet caffeine. "Inhuman, unconscionable...almost obscene, but incredible." She jumped the display to one of her bookmarked dates. "We translated the data using Dr Lee's automated lexicon, so the grammar is a little ropey, but it still makes for compelling reading."

"Specimen raids," Jonas said, scanning rapidly through the text. "They were gathering biological samples for...analysis and experimentation."

"They were pirates of a sort," Sam explained. "Genetic pirates, gathering samples for their patron."

"Who was...?"

"Nirrti," Sam replied. "There are dozens of references to her in the logs: Payments received, orders that she gave them and the captain's warped domination fantasies."

"You're sure you don't want me to go through these for you?" Jonas asked.

Sam chuckled. "I honestly don't know if you're being genuinely sensitive or if you just want to read the dirty diaries," she admitted, "which is a compliment, in case you weren't sure. But don't worry: Jolinar was quite a swinger in her time; very little shocks me anymore." She shook her head and brought her mind ruthlessly back to the topic at hand. "The makeup of the crew seems to have been mixed: A captain and almost fifty...well, whatever you have instead of sailors if you're in space; astronaut doesn't seem quite the thing. There were two dozen marines, then another dozen geneticists, all quite brilliant as evidenced by the fact that many of their experiments were successful."

"They were indeed," Jonas agreed. "Strength, endurance, invisibility."

Sam shrugged. "Actually, I was thinking of the fact that they didn't die screaming in agony. These pirates were rewriting their DNA; it's a miracle they survived, let alone gained on the deal."

"So what went wrong?" Jonas asked.

"Nothing," Sam replied. "If anything, it went too right. The last entry in the log is a record of an SOS message made by the first mate from the captain's cabin. Here; you can read it for yourself."

Jonas leaned over Sam's shoulder to read from the screen. "General alert from Genetic Survey Vessel Isthadi to all vessels. This ship has carried out surveying work on dozens of worlds and gathered numerous biological specimens of assorted species."

"That's not true, by the way," Sam interjected. "All of the subjects were originally human."

"At the ninth hour, ship's time, a number of these subjects, led by the subject designated as the Gamma Experiment, broke containment and attacked the crew. Attempts to regain control of the holding area have failed and the subjects have gained control of seventy-percent of the ship. The Captain is dead and the subjects will have gained control of the bridge within minutes. I have therefore disabled the bridge controls and set a collision course for the nearest planet. I will set this message to transmit continuously, so long as the systems remain intact. I caution all those approaching the planet to keep clear, for the subjects are more dangerous than you can imagine. This is the last signal of the Isthadi. Message repeats." Jonas looked across at Sam. "Well, he was right about how dangerous they are."

"There are only automated entries after that," Sam said. "They describe the ship entering the atmosphere of the planet, the subjects gaining control of the ship – despite the best efforts of the mate – and the crash landing. They show the stasis fields in the cells being activated for a short time to protect the subjects during the landing."

"Do they say how many?" Jonas asked.

"Not as such," Sam replied, "but only some of the cells were shielded and so we can make an estimate. This is the record."

Jonas studied the screen again. "Three hundred-and-fifteen shields activated, one remained active after the crash...one hundred-and-forty-three failed during the crash..."

"So those are probably dead."

"...leaving one hundred-and-seventy-four survivors, of whom we saw about thirty."

"Many of them may have died since," Sam noted.

Jonas paused. "What about non-combatants?"

Sam shrugged. "I would have thought that most of the subjects would be combat-ready," she noted.

"Wilkes might not care," Jonas noted. "He is obsessed with traditional class structures. Both of our countries still have substantial conservative elements who object to the use of...certain classes of citizen as soldiers."

"You think they were...insane?" Sam hazarded.

"Or, worse than that..." Jonas prompted.

Sam's face blanched and she turned to the screen. Quickly, she brought up a manifest of biological samples.

"Thirty-nine-to-sixty-one," Jonas said.

Sam tried to count up the numbers, but decided to go with Jonas' calculation of the ratio; it would take her several minutes to make the count herself and she had no doubt he would be right. "Which way?"

"Male to female," Jonas replied.

"So statistically speaking, those one hundred-and-forty-three would be...Fifty-six men and eighty-seven women. They could...Let's face it, these are human beings; they will have been breeding. But then...why wasn't there anyone younger in the group who attacked the SGC?"

*

Ginnungagap

Major Wilkes left the camp in the shadow of the downed ship and walked out into the forest, just as he had warned the newcomers not to do. Night was falling and there was a cool breeze through the trees, but Wilkes found no peace there. He was consumed by the threat of a schism among his comrades, by the enormity of their undertaking, and by the hate with which Sandra Dent now looked at him. For thirty years he had dithered over whether to release Sandy from her stasis field. He had wanted to do it, to see her move again, even though he knew that it was not his arms she would have fallen into. Now he was tempted to reinstate the field as she slept, so that she could never turn her eyes on him with such contempt again.

It was on the eaves of the wood that Lieutenant Ravens found him. He knew it was her without looking – he had made a point of familiarising himself with the scent and tread of each officer on his work detail – and so his gaze remained fixed on the shadows beneath the trees as she approached. He caught also the oil-and-friction scent of sharpened steel, but no tell-tale whiff of powder residue; she carried a knife, but no sidearm, which was perhaps foolish on an unknown world.

"Sir," Ravens said, warily.

"You should not be here," he warned. "These woods are forbidden, Lieutenant Ravens."

"You know who I am?" Ravens sounded flattered.

"I do."

She was not what Wilkes would have thought of as an officer, not because she was a woman – he would have followed Sam Carter if he had been required to – but because she had no authority in her. Sandy Dent was no officer, but she had more force of will than Ravens. The lieutenant was a pretty brunette with an infectious smile and a quick and agile mind. She was brilliant, undoubtedly, and would be an asset in restoring and maintaining the ship, but she was a technician, not a leader.

 "I thought that I would be safe if I went no further than you did, Sir," Ravens explained.

He turned and looked at her then. "Mine is a special case. I, and I alone, appear able to walk the woods at will; it is a useful gift, but I do not wish to test whether my grace will extend to a companion."

"Yes, Sir. I shan't do it again, Sir." There was a pause. "When we were told we would be entering Cheyenne Mountain, the last thing I expected was to be told not to go into the woods," she noted. "Not many woods in Cheyenne Mountain."

"None that I could see," Wilkes agreed.

"Permission to speak freely, Sir," Ravens requested.

Wilkes knew what she had come to ask. "Granted, but I do not command here," he told her with a sigh. "I can not control those men, only offer Obersturmbannführer Wenig my advice, as I advised Captain Manners not to bring any women in the force."

"We have earned our places on the force, Sir," Ravens insisted, her eyes flashing. "You must advise the Colonel to instruct his men to leave the women in my force alone, Sir."

Wilkes raised an amused eyebrow. "I must?"

"They are fellow officers and they are not receiving the respect that they deserve," she insisted. "I do not believe that I am speaking out of turn in saying this."

"Are any of them married to your male officers?" Wilkes asked. "Those officers who are present, I mean."

"Married couples are never assigned to the same force," Ravens replied. "I do not see what..."

"I suggest that you form attachments quickly, then, Lieutenant. Wenig will not recognise female officers, however worthy. I shall endeavour to see that you are treated with respect, but I very much suspect that if you are not wives, you will be whores."

"That is obscene!" Ravens exploded.

"I told Manners not to bring you," Wilkes repeated. Then he sighed, allowing the sternness to drop from his tone and bearing. "I am afraid, Lieutenant, that Wenig is as apt to listen to me as Manners was and – aside from the fact that women are not true officers in their eyes – these men have not seen, let alone held, a woman in many years. Restraint and discipline will not be foremost in their minds."

"There were no women abducted by the aliens?" Ravens asked, doubtfully. "I can't believe I was lied to by porn," she added, with false levity.

Wilkes smiled, grimly. "There were women, but they are...gone. They were in the camp when...When we learned to avoid the forest." He fell silent, then resumed speaking on his original tack. "If you do not wish to form attachments within your group, I can tell you which of the officers here will treat you well," he told her. "There is little more that I can do; not if you ever wish to return to Earth."

"And if we do not?"

"There are...options," Wilkes admitted. "I would not advise them, however; not if you can find a way to survive until the ship leaves."

Ravens gave a harsh laugh. "Well that's easy for you to say; you're not the one being told to whore herself – one way or another – to a total stranger. No offence to your comrades, but the only one here that I'd even think of bunking up with is you." She blushed and looked away. "I'm sorry, Sir. I spoke out of turn."

"You have also been neglecting to call me Sir."

"I'm sorry, Sir," she repeated.

Wilkes shrugged. "I find it rather relaxing, as it happens. I have been a stranger to strict, military discipline for some time and I find it ill-fitting now. As to the other matter, I am only human and a little flattery from a junior officer does not displease me." He paused as a thought came to him. At first he shied away from it, but there was an appeal which he could not deny. "I can do nothing for the others, Lieutenant Ravens, but if I tell the Obersturmbannführer that you and I are attached then you will not be troubled again. I am, after Wenig, the most senior officer here," he reminded her.

"Thank you, Sir," Ravens said, quite taken aback. "But I thought...Aren't you spoken for, Sir?"

"Spoken for?"

"The girl you carried back through the thing...the Stargate. I thought that you and she...?" Ravens blushed again.

"Sandy Dent?" Wilkes forced a laugh. "She is a prisoner...a corporal..."

"It was just the way you carried her. It didn't look as though..." Ravens fell silent. "I beg your pardon, Sir; you don't have to explain yourself to me."

That was certainly true and Wilkes wondered why he was so concerned to convince Lieutenant Ravens that there was nothing between himself and Sandy anymore. "We fought side-by-side once and I still respect her," he admitted. "But after all, what would a young girl like her want with an old man like me?" It occurred to him to wonder who he was, in fact, trying to convince.

"Well, you're a handsome old man who can uproot trees with his bare hands," Ravens pointed out. She flashed him a dazzling smile. "Speaking as your lover."

"Yes," Wilkes said, in as neutral a tone as he could manage. "Speaking as my lover." Like his comrades, he had not held a woman in his arms in decades and slowly it was dawning on him that this was why he wanted Ravens to know that his relationship with Sandy was over.

"We should...talk," Ravens suggested, coyly. "About just what that's going to involve." She took a deliberate step forwards, her head tilted slightly to one side.

You little vixen, Wilkes thought, approvingly. He raised an eyebrow. "And what do you want it to involve?" he asked her.

Ravens took another step forward, coming within arms reach of him. "Well, Sir," she said, archly. "You'll be doing me a big favour. It doesn't seem fair that you get nothing out of it." Another step and they were only a foot apart.

Wilkes gave a lazy grin. "You make a compelling case, Lieutenant Ravens," he murmured, soft enough that she had to lean forward to catch his words. "Please; do go on."

*

Getek

As it emerged, there were no fat people on Getek, or at least not in the town of Hasoth. Jack found that this cooled his desire to move to Getek. The town was a pleasant enough prospect for retirement, with green lawns, fountains, open parks and simple, yet attractive white-walled houses, but he had almost been looking forward to giving up the gym and letting himself spread a little when he retired. Here, even the elderly were ripped, pumped and toned; no wonder they all go naked, he thought to himself. He supposed that there were worse plans one could make for old age, but spending hours each day in training, just to get beaten up by someone's grandfather was not his idea of blissful retirement.

"I mean, would it hurt them to have a few sags somewhere?" he demanded.

"They're certainly a very fit race of people," Amy agreed. "in every sense of the word."

It was not the highly toned septuagenarians that put him off in the end, however; it was the warriors. The first that they saw were visibly human, but the armoured carapace of the trenoth still covered their heads and upper torsos and they bristled with razor-sharp claws. Two of these warriors clashed in fierce, hand-to-hand combat, the claws of their trenoths slashing out and cutting deeply into their flanks while four more warriors and a group of teenage civilians stood by. One of the civilian boys was chewing his lip in concern.

"Is anyone going to stop them?" Jack asked, worried.

"Oh, no," Hayni assured him, blithely. "They will not be causing each other any real harm; you are not fearing for them."

"I damn well am fearing! They're drawing blood!" Jack protested.

"Guyen-tor warriors are healing swiftly," Hayni replied. "They are being well in the morning and they are bearing no scars from such scratches. If one of them is seeming set on being a cause of severe injury to the other, there are being four more warriors to be restraining her."

"Why do they fight?" Teal'c asked.

Hayni shrugged. "Mostly they are fighting for to practise," she replied, "but also I am thinking that they are fighting over the boy." She motioned towards the concerned youth.

"The..." Jack was appalled and made no effort to hide the fact. "You mean those are teenage girls, tearing each other to pieces over a boy?"

"They are so being."

"Well he is very cute," Amy noted.

Jack shot his officer a withering glance, then moved towards the fight. Hayni caught Jack's arm as he started forward. Her strength was surprising; almost alarming, in fact.

"If you are interfering, they are killing you," she warned. She took his hand and clasped it firmly. "I am promising you, they are not being hurt. I am promising," she repeated, earnestly.

At that moment, one of the warrior-girls fell down. The other sprang towards her fallen foe and the claws of her trenoth closed on the other girl's head. Jack tried again to move forward, but Hayni's grip was like iron.

As quickly as she had struck, the warrior withdrew. The trenoth waved its killing claws in triumph, although it did not escape Amy's notice that the boy at once moved towards the fallen warrior and not the victor. Clearly this had not been a ritual duel for his favour, just a good old-fashioned cat fight with added battle-beetle.

"You are following," Hayni urged. Telohs had stopped and was looking back at them, impatiently.

"Sure," Jack agreed. "Thanks for your help, Teal'c," he added, sardonically.

"I have seen many warriors struggle to the death," Teal'c replied. "I know when a fight is in earnest and when it is not."

"Warrior children are being, naturally, far more dangerous fighters than civilians," Hayni explained, patiently, "but they are also being better protected and are healing faster. It is being quite forbidden, however, for warriors to be fighting with civilians. That would not be being permitted, Colonel O'Neill." She tilted her face towards the ground and cast her eyes up at him in a coquettish expression that seemed almost comical on a naked Amazon with a five-foot boar spear in her hand. "Or may I be calling you Jack?"

Jack glanced at the harpoon. It really did look very sharp. "Hayni," he said, tactfully, "you can be calling me anything you like."

The front door of the large house shared by Sharne and her spousal cluster led directly into the main room, an open, stone-floored space, two storeys high. The furniture would not have looked out of place in a nineteenth-century, American parlour. As the group entered, the lady of the house herself rose from a rocking chair to greet them.

In some ways, Jack considered, Sharne na-Nayk was actually less disturbing to look on than the warrior-children. As a mature Guyen-tor warrior, the trenoth bonded to her in childhood had grown to cover most of her body. Its carapace sheathed her limbs and torso in chitinous armour and, coupled with a crouched, wary posture and the sinuous, predatory grace of her movement, this meant that she was virtually unidentifiable as a human being. It was odd to see that inhuman form sat among such obviously human surroundings, but Jack found it far easier to accept a clawed, insectile alien than a human who shared her life with an exoskeletal symbiote.

 "Telohs, you are returning early!" The warrior-woman's voice hissed through the protective flaps of the trenoth's over-mandibles as she greeted her husband, but her pleasure at seeing him was clear. She laid her hands on Telohs' shoulders and leaned towards him, the over- and under-mandibles of the trenoth's jaw peeled back to reveal the pale-skinned lower part of a human face. Sharne bent to kiss her husband and the curving spines of the under-mandibles caressed his cheeks.

"Oh. My. God." Jack whispered.

Amy gave a very pointed cough. Jack had only seen Lohesh when he was dying; Amy had seen him fight and was not in a hurry to offend a fighting Guyen-tor. At present, Sharne barely seemed to have registered their presence.

Sharne broke from her kiss and the trenoth's jaw closed over her face. "Hayni," she said. Sharne nodded an acknowledgement, which Hayni returned more deeply.

"We are returning because we are bringing visitors, sister," Hayni announced. "I am being pleased to be presenting Colonel Jack O'Neill of the Tau'ri and his comrades; Teal'c ..." She paused for a moment, almost reverently, before adding: "And Captain Amy Kawalsky."

Sharne gave a rattling hiss of breath and inclined her head towards Amy. "Amy Kawalsky," she said. "You are being the comrade-in-arms of my late husband."

"So I am being," Amy agreed, mirroring the bow precisely. "Lohesh was being a fine warrior and a brave companion. I am grieving for his death, but I am rejoicing for the manner of his passing. His death was being valiant."

"I am thanking you," Sharne said. She laid her long, clawed hands on Amy's shoulders, then lowered her head to Amy's throat and inhaled deeply. "Please, be entering my home and sitting at my table," she went on, stepping back to include Jack and Teal'c in the invitation. "Be telling me what is bringing you to Getek."

"We've come to talk business," Jack said.

"We are having need of the skills of the Guyen'tor," Amy added.

Sharne nodded her understanding. "Then we shall be speaking of this business over the midday meal. As they have returned early from their usual duties in the pastures, Telohs and Hayni shall be preparing the meal."

"Warriors don't cook for themselves?" Jack asked, dryly, earning a sharp look from his subordinate.

The mandibles which covered Sharne's mouth rattled in a dry, susurrating laugh. "For ourselves, Colonel, but not for guests."

"Demarcation?"

"We are not having the skill," she chuckled. "Be sitting, please, and be explaining to me the tactical situation with which you are wanting our help."

Jack accepted the offered seat and produced a map from his pocket. He unfolded the map and laid it out in front of him while the others joined him. "This is the target area," he explained. "In the broadest terms, there is an enemy encampment around a downed spaceship; it is possible that there are weapons mounted on the ship, but most of it is covered by soil and turf. A large number of the enemy have been genetically engineered, possess great speed and strength and an ability to interfere with perception."

Sharne's trenoth rattled its claws against its carapace. "That is being a difficult situation," she mused. "You are staying and we are discussing this further; I am being interested. I must be asking, however, what is being the payment for our services. You are understanding that the Guyen-tor warriors are being professionals. We are choosing our assignments carefully, but we are fighting for remuneration."

Jack winced. He did not want to say it, but there had simply been no time to have any alternate payment released by Congress. "Salvage," he said at last. "You get the ship, if you help us. There is a condition: the SGC's engineers must be allowed to make a full study of the ship's systems before you take full possession, but they will also help your technicians to get the ship spaceworthy again."

A long, low hiss escaped Sharne's mandibles. Jack had no idea if this was a good thing or not; with her face entirely sheathed in the carapace of her trenoth, it was impossible to read the Guyen-tor.

"We can just go," Jack offered.

Sharne's hand snapped out to clasp Jack's arm. "No," she said. "As I am saying, it is being interesting. You are staying to eat with us and we are talking of specifics. Hayni."

"My sister," Hayni replied.

"Telohs can be preparing the meal," Sharne said. "I am needing you to be posting a notice in the square; I am needing to muster a felwar."

"I am doing so," Hayni agreed, "and if you are giving permission then I am placing my band on the post."

Sharne's posture stiffened and the hooked pseudopods that lined the back of her trenoth twitched. "I am not," she told Hayni. "Telohs may be setting his band where he is wishing, but you are remaining so long as I am doubting your motives."

Hayni hung her head. "Yes, sister," she agreed.

"What was that all about?" Amy asked.

"As eldest, I am being the head of our household," Sharne explained. "As muster-caller I am having the right to be rejecting any application to be joining the felwar, but Hayni is also needing my permission even to be applying." She held out her right arm; a bracelet, almost identical to those worn by the two civilians, but lapis lazuli instead of jet, hung there. "When a felwar is being called for, those who are wishing to be joining are placing their bands upon the post. Then the muster-caller is sorting through the bands and is choosing those who will be accompanying her. However, only the head of a household is having the freedom to be placing her bands wherever she is wishing. If Hayni is..."

Sharne was interrupted by a wailing cry from deeper inside the house, joined a moment later by a second cry.

"Be excusing me," Sharne said, quickly. With a slight nod, she rose from her seat.

There was a second floor gallery above the front room. Without even a glance at the stairs, Sharne sprang from a standing start and landed squarely on the gallery walkway without even touching the banister rail.

"Holy crap!" Jack exclaimed.

"These are indeed formidable people," Teal'c agreed.

Sharne disappeared through one of the doors on the landing. A few moments later, the second cry grew silent; the first took longer to grow still. Jack and his companions waited and, after a few minutes, Sharne emerged and walked slowly down the stairs. She carried a small child, perhaps a year old, under her left arm, while the hooks of her carapace held a younger baby tenderly against her body.

"I am asking your forgiveness," Sharne said. "With the death of Lohesh, his other wives are having no attachment here and so are passing to the households of their younger husbands. I am being younger than he was and I am having but one other husband, a civilian, now being dead. Since Jadil is being killed, it is being only the three of us here, with now five children to be caring for. The elder three children are spending this year in the mountains with my warrior sister, learning to be hunting; I am missing them of course, but it is easing my domestic burden."

Jack was shocked. "I do not wish to take you from your children," he assured her.

"Such our life is being," Sharne replied. "And only this one is being mine," she added, bouncing the larger child, gently. "Hayni is being the mother of the younger."

"Is that why you don't want her fighting?" Amy asked.

"It is not being so," Sharne assured him, "although it is being true that I am not wishing for the children to be losing both of their mothers at a stroke. But it is being the case that, since Lohesh is being lost, Hayni is not wishing to be living; I am not wishing for her to be dying, however. Until I am believing her cured of her malady, I am not permitting her to be fighting."

"I see," Jack agreed, with a sage nod. "And the fathers of the two children are...?"

The trenoth rippled in a shrug. "Lohesh and Telohs are being most alike in looks, even for brothers, and both are having opportunity to be fathering either child. We are giving the children the name of their grandfather, who is being most certain. This is being Biri na-Harek," she lifted her own child, "and Skarma la-Harek."

"So you use a patronymic, system," Amy realised.

"Where it is being possible to be judging the father's identity," Sharne agreed. "Many Guyen are bearing the name of Feda, which is meaning family."

"And felwar?" Jack asked.

"That is being a warband," Sharne replied, "a force of up to thirteen warriors and three times as many civilian militia. You are thinking of Hayni."

"Yes," Jack agreed, "but I'm not sure I want to know the answer. If na-Feda would mean that a girl could have been fathered by two or more members of a particular family, then na-Felwar...No," he decided. "I don't think I want to know."

"It is being no shame," Sharne assured him, "and I am hoping that you shall not be changing your thinking as it is regarding my sister."

Jack looked startled. "My...thinking?"

"She is liking you, Colonel," Sharne explained, "and you are liking her."

This was not a question and Jack did not bother to deny it. He might not have had time to develop any finer feelings towards Hayni, but that did not seem to be what Sharne was asking.

Amy stifled a laugh and leaned forward. "Sharne," she said, with a forced seriousness that slid easily into genuine gravity as she returned her mind to the situation on P35-91A. "Perhaps we should show you what little is known of the enemy positions?"

Sharne inclined her head in agreement. "Yes," she said. "The business of war should be being conducted before the business of family."

"Clearly you've never met my family," Jack declared.

*

Ginnungagap

Code Black + 15 hours

Sandy was getting rather bored of her cell. The forcefield had proven quite impenetrable and she was beginning to miss the oblivion of her stasis field. Sixty years had passed in a heartbeat for her; the past sixty minutes had been an eternity. One of the American officers had been set to watch her cell, but he had proven to be an extremely poor conversationalist.

After what seemed like an awfully long time, another officer, a woman, approached with a tray of food which was passed through a lock-chamber so that she had no chance to escape, even without her guard and his rifle. Sandy was too hungry to even care that she was eating the Xar's foul, tasteless fare; this was, after all, only her second meal in over sixty years. As she chewed the last of the synthesised protein block, she remember her last meal, taken at the SGC in the company of Jonas Quinn. It had been simple, but now she recalled it as a banquet.

"You can go, Wright," the newcomer told the guard. "I'll take the end of your shift before I start mine."

"Thanks, Ravens," the man replied. He shouldered his rifle and stomped off.

"Nice lad," Sandy commented. "Not the brightest, but he seems polite."

"Shut up!" Ravens snapped, angrily.

Sandy stood up and approached the force field. "You don't like me very much, do you?"

"You are scum," Ravens growled. "You lowered yourself to become a private solider, when you were born to the officer class."

Sandy shrugged. "It was the only way that I could fight," she said. "Besides, there is nothing wrong with a private soldier."

"Nothing at all," Ravens agreed, "if you are of that class. That is what my family have always believed; that is why we joined the League. That is why Wilkes found us."

"Yes," Sandy agreed. "I can see he would want someone who would buy into his cant without a fight."

"You have no standards," Ravens spat. "You think that you can do anything you like; you lower yourself, raise others and you would plunge the world into anarchy in the name of equality. You don't understand that equality doesn't mean that people are identical. Some are soldiers, some are officers, some are generals."

"Quality will out?" Sandy asked.

"Exactly! Or all will go to anarchy."

Sandy raised an eyebrow. "And these people agree with that?"

"Yes."

"Then...who is the most worthy among them?"

"Pi...Major Wilkes, of course," Ravens replied. "He is the one who led the break out, after all; the strongest of the adapted."

"And does he lead?"

Ravens laughed. "Is this supposed to make me question my cause? Major Wilkes has accepted his place; that is part of what makes him so fine an officer. That is something that a fool like you could never understand, throwing away your birthright and trying to be something you are not."

Sandy walked right up to the force field. "Have you ever served in a war?" she asked.

"Yes," Ravens lied.

"There is no order in war, social or otherwise," Sandy assured her. "Only chaos and confusion. In war, officers weep while sergeants lead platoons through danger and death and private soldiers save thousands by killing dozens. Believe me, Lieutenant; you would hate war. More than that, I do not think that you understand Major Wilkes as well as you think you do."

"You would say that," Ravens replied, acidly.

Sandy sniffed the air and cocked her head on one side. "Is that..." She gave a short laugh. "You haven't been reduced to wearing second-hand jackets already, have you?"

"No," Ravens replied, tightly.

"Really? Only you smell very strongly of...someone else. That wouldn't be why you're in such a foul mood with me, would it?"

"Shut up."

"What did he do?" Sandy asked, gripped by a sudden and petty urge. "Call the wrong name at the critical moment?"

Ravens was silent.

"Ah." Sandy sighed and returned to her narrow bunk; as unpleasant as she found Ravens, there was no pleasure in mocking her. "I'm sorry," she said, before she lay down and put her head on the pillow. "Goodnight, Lieutenant Ravens."

Ravens sat her watch, scowling all the while that Sandy slept.

Code Black + 18 hours

One of the altered NCOs brought the message to the engine room: "You are ordered to report to the Obersturmbannführer at once, Major Wilkes."

Wilkes turned to one of the League officers on his work crew. "Carry on with the interface," he told the man, adding rather more speculatively: "I'll be back soon."

Obersturmbannführer Wenig had installed himself in the captain's cabin – the private cabin aft of the prison quarters, rather than the ready room forward of the bridge – and made himself as comfortable as anyone aboard the ship. The captain had acquired refined tastes while masquerading as a senior SS Officer and the cabin was well-provisioned with liqueurs, cigars and other luxuries. The cabin was also equipped with a cerebral resonator and, as the Xar captain had taken on human vices, so Wenig had succumbed to this Xar pleasure.

The resonator was a form of simulated reality, far more advanced than any known on Earth, which used a combination of drugs and electrical impulses to create sensations that seemed utterly real to the user. When the fine bands of the resonator were placed around a person's head, the user could be instantly transported to any environment programmed into the computer by the makers or the user. Wilkes knew that the Xar captain had painstakingly recreated a small nightclub in Tobruk, where a girl in a red dress sang the same four songs – one English, two Arabic and one German – over and over. The girl's face was indistinct and the strange angles of her body showed clearly that the captain's interest in her had not been physical; it was the girl's voice that he had laboured to capture.

Where the captain had sought to preserve a single moment of transcendent beauty – the voice of an angel, rising from the throat of a raddled torch singer in a smoky dive on the edge of a war – Wenig had used the device to chase his impossible dream. He had programmed the machine to simulate his conquest and dominance of the Earth and the creation of his perfect world. When the resonator was on his head, Wenig saw all the nations of the world transformed into perfect, ordered aristocracies and himself granted the power to preserve that order with a mandate from all of Earth's grateful citizens.

If Wilkes was disturbed by Wenig's fantasy of being the world's political overseer, he gave no sign. Wenig had, after all, forbidden others from using the resonator. Wikes, however, had defied that order during his many lonely vigils in the ship. Each year, in the summer months, the bulk of the command moved to a hunting camp in the south, leaving one of Wenig's command officers in sole charge of the ship. As only three men were so trusted, Wilkes had spent a lot of time alone on the ship and he had created his own programs to while away the hours, as well as reviewing his commander's construct.

Wilkes forced such thoughts from his mind as he passed through the outer cabin. Wenig's aide, Hauptman Julius von Eschenbach, stood as Wilkes entered. Von Eschenbach was the youngest of the altered crew, an officer cadet at capture who had been promoted to Hauptman only that day, in order that he be equal in rank to the most senior of the newcomers. Having spent longer in the stasis cells than most and enjoying – by all appearances – some manner of extended lifespan, he looked barely forty and was not, therefore, the most popular man on the ship, but Wilkes considered him a true friend.

"Be careful, Pip," von Eschenbach whispered, confidentially. "He's been on the resonator all morning and he's in a filthy mood. You know how he gets when he has to come down."

"I know, Julius," Wilkes sighed. He paused, quite willing to delay his interview.

"You don't look so good," Julius noted. "What's the matter? We're on our way home to glory, Pip and you made that happen."

"I know," he said again.

"I would have thought you would be happy. Especially after last night, eh?"

"I'm sure I do not know what you mean, Hauptman," Wilkes assured him.

Von Eschenbach chuckled. "Ah, yes; a gentleman never tells." He flashed Wilkes a knowing wink. "Enough said, but I will say that I have always admired your taste." He grinned. "And thank you, by the way, for putting a good word in. A very charming young lady paid me a most unexpected visit last night. If only the troops on the Western front had known how accommodating American girls could be, we would have been in the middle of the Atlantic before Churchill's Spitfires could leave the runway," he added with a bawdy laugh.

"You're an animal, Julius," Wilkes scolded.

"Yes," he mused, contentedly. "That is what she said."

Wilkes sighed again. "I suppose I'd better go in," he decided. "Wish me luck."

"I think you used that up last night," von Eschenbach quipped, "but good luck, Pip. And watch your step."

Von Eschenbach's warning was well-given. Wenig's mood was worse than usual and Wilkes could guess why. The Obersturmbannführer was mere days away from fulfilling his long cherished dream and the illusion of that success must not be satisfying him any longer.

"Herr Oberst," Wilkes said, with a smart salute.

"Major Wilkes," Wenig said. "Tell me, Major; are you having doubts regarding our course?"

"No, Mein Colonel."

Wenig sighed. "Sit down, Philip," he said. "I know we have to put on a good show of discipline for the new arrivals, but between ourselves there need be no change."

"No, Sir," Wilkes agreed, obediently. He sat down, but could not feel at ease.

Wenig gave Wilkes a penetrating look. "You have never questioned my decisions before, Philip," he noted.

"I have never had cause, Victor," Wilkes replied. "You have led this group wisely since the revolt, but since the arrival of the Americans you have been...different. You have always taken my advice seriously, even when you did not follow it; why did you so blatantly ignore my warnings regarding the SGC personnel on board the ship?"

"I ignored nothing," Wenig replied, glibly. "They resisted; we had no choice. Would you sooner we had sustained losses ourselves, when we are so few to start with?"

"They were scientists, Victor," Wilkes said with tension in his voice. "I have seen the world that we travel to; it is ruled by communications, not force of arms. We can bring this ship and all of its weapons to bear above the White House and it will do us no good if one word leaks out that we butchered a group of unsuspecting scientists."

"Who will believe it?" Wenig scoffed.

Wilkes sighed. "They have the ability to project cinematic images into every home via radio waves. Pictures and words, describing in detail what we did, can reach every person on the planet in hours, not days, and people will believe it. And there is another thing."

"Yes?"

"The people," Wilkes replied. "You recall that we based our plans on an estimated world population of two-point-four milliard?"

"Yes, yes; I know all of this. Philip, your concerns..."

"Six-point-two milliard!" Wilkes snapped. "Six-point-two billion I should say, as the American usage had been adopted worldwide. And that is another thing; we were rather counting on a major European power block, but there isn't one. If we are to gain support for our cause, we must consider a different social structure; one that suits our goals but that is more suited to a New World class system." Even as he said it, before Wenig's eyes clouded with rage, Wilkes knew that he had gone too far. Wenig was a volatile man since his alteration and Wilkes realised too late that he was too tired after the raid on the SGC and an evening of Lieutenant Ravens' company to handle him with his usual finesse.

"I will not dilute our great purpose!" Zelig roared. "These so-called officers of yours – including women – are pathetic. But they will learn," he assured Wilkes. "They will all learn. You are right; we had hoped for a European power base – a strong, German power base would have been ideal – but we shall prevail without, because our cause is right. It seems that I was correct, Major; you are doubting our cause."

"Never, Herr Oberst," Wilkes assured him. "I am merely being...cautious."

After a tense moment, Wenig's temper subsided. "Always so careful, Philip," he chuckled. "While the rest of us are basking in our glory on the united planet Earth, you will still be on the ship, checking the landing site for booby traps."

"Yes, Sir," Wilkes agreed.

"I will think over what you have said," Wenig promised, but as Wilkes left the office he saw his commanding officer don the resonator headset once more and knew that he had no intention of ever changing his mind on this matter. Wenig's goal was a world united under his own, benevolent hand and he knew no other way of achieving it than through the mechanisms of absolute empire. This was a goal that Wilkes had increasing difficulty in supporting; he wondered if any of the others felt the same way or if they were still in Wenig's complete thrall.

"Still alive?" von Eschenbach asked.

"Just about," Wilkes replied. He headed for the door, but stopped at the last moment and looked back. "Julius; what was her name?"

"Whose name?"

"The Texan. What was...What is Lieutenant Amberson's first name?"

Von Eschenbach laughed. "Sooenne. 'Ess-oh-oh-ee-en-en-ee, to rhyme with Cheyenne.' What about Lieutenant Ravens?"

Wilkes turned away, embarrassed. "I never asked."

*

Stargate Command

Code Black + 24 hours

Agent Dahl, a representative of the NID assigned to the SGC for the duration of the crisis, put her head around the door of Jonas' office and saw the Kelownan hard at work.

"Something important?" Dahl asked, although she knew it was not. Jonas' eyes devoured the parallel columns of text that scrolled up his computer screen, but his body language spoke of distraction and impatience.

Jonas looked up at the sound of her curiously light voice, which held an almost childish timbre that sat at odds with her serious expression. At a push, Dahl could be described as pretty, but the primary trait of her person was its blandness; she was a woman who drew little comment and was easily forgotten. Jonas prided himself on his awareness and memory, but even if he glanced away from her for a moment, he could not say for certain if her hair was dark blonde or light brown.

Jonas gave a non-committal grunt. "I'm rechecking the automatic translation of the ship's logs, but the software is pretty well developed for Goa'uld and that was what the Xar used for the ship's records. It's belt and suspenders really."

Dahl nodded her understanding. "We're questioning the prisoners," she said. "We were supposed to be bringing in two NID specialists, but they seem to have gone missing somewhere. Major Carter says that you are good with people, so if you fancy a break from the paperwork."

Jonas practically leaped to his feet. "Who am I talking to?" he asked.

"You and I will by talking to our genetically-enhanced Nazi," Davis replied. "Major Davis will be handling the second-string interviews of the League officers, with assistance from Major Carter."

"Lead on," Jonas invited. "Can't wait to get started."

Dahl flashed him a brief smile; it was almost a shock to see a smile on her sombre, unremarkable face, but she made the expression seem quite natural. "Thank you, Mr Quinn," she said. "Perhaps you can show me the way to the commissary; we'll get a coffee and discuss a few tactics before we start."

Sam met Major Paul Davis outside the interrogation room. He was as well-presented as he usually was, but under the starch he looked harried. Colonel Race had been called away, which meant that he was the ranking officer until Jack O'Neill returned or General Jumper, the Air Force Chief of Staff, could get away from the Pentagon to take charge of the crisis in person.

"You're sure you don't mind me taking you away from the analysis?" Paul asked.

Sam shook her head. "I'm not vital there," she assured him. "Dr Lee is trying to decrypt the compressed data files that were bundled with the SOS, but it's all number crunching at this point."

"Which would you rather? Good cop or bad cop?"

"I'd better do bad," Sam replied. "You're just too...cuddly."

"I can do the strongarm stuff," Paul protested.

Sam laughed. "Oh yes; Julia Donovan was quaking in her boots after your visit."

"Alright, alright," Paul sighed. "You're the bad cop."

Sam smiled. "Details?"

"Lieutenant Andrew Deane, USMC and NID, suspected Committee insider," Paul replied.

"Ooh! A man I can truly love to hate!"

Paul shook his head. "There's a nasty little gleam that comes into your eye whenever you get involved in intelligence work, Major Carter," he noted.

"Sorry," Sam said.

"Was I complaining?" Paul asked, innocently. Before she could reply, he grasped the handle and cracked open the door to the interrogation room.

Sam shot him a sour glare, but silently thanked him for giving her the anger she needed to get into character.

"Deane, A.G. Lieutenant," the man in the chair began at once. "United States Marine Corps."

"Lieutenant Deane," Paul began calmly, as he settled into a seat opposite the prisoner. Sam hovered at the back of the room.

Paul continued: "Perhaps you could tell us why you and your fellow members of the League of Officers, a group allegedly devoted to upholding standards of conduct among American military personnel, attacked an Air Force facility this morning?"

"Deane, A.G. Lieutenant United States Marine Corps. M3659203A."

"Help me out here, Lieutenant," Paul went on, "because I'm just not seeing the logic behind that action."

"Deane, A.G. Lieutenant United States Marine Corps. M3659203A."

"You're not a prisoner of war," Paul reminded him.

"Deane, A.G. Lieutenant United States Marine Corps. M3659203A."

"Andrew," Sam said, stalking forward. "I may call you Andrew?" Her voice was pleasant, but her eyes were like flints.

"Deane, A.G. Lieutenant ..."

"I'll take that as a yes," Sam went on, raising her voice slightly to drown out the smug monotony of his cant. "Now, the thing you have to realise, Andrew, is that your visit has been rather embarrassing for us. A successful incursion into this facility...well, you understand that everyone's a little shaken up."

"Deane, A.G. Lieutenant United States Marine Corps. M3659203A."

"Well, that's the thing," Sam told him. "You say that, but how could we know? More to the point...How will anyone else know that Deane, Lieutenant A.G., United States Marine Corps, serial number M3659203A was ever held here? We're a little behind on the paperwork; so far as anyone official knows, you could still be at home in bed; or on another planet, plotting insurgency." She smiled, coldly. "Or you could have been killed during the attack."

Deane, very noticeably, did not repeat his name, rank and serial number.

"You're right," Sam went on. "If you keep quiet, the worst we can pin on you is entering a restricted area. Court martial, imprisonment, but nothing too bad, I suppose; particularly for someone with your unsavoury contacts. Now I ask you: Is that fair?"  She turned to Paul. "Does that sound fair to you?"

"Five-to-ten seems pretty lenient for twenty-six dead," Paul agreed.

Deane flinched at that; the League strike force had used only tranquiliser guns in the attack; the wholesale slaughter of the survey teams would doubtless sicken them as much as it did Paul, but he had no time to mention that: Sam was in full flow.

"But of course, as no-one has yet reported you as captured, it would be easy enough for your body to turn up. Who would ever know?"

"You...You can't do that!" Deane protested. "The Air Force would never stand for that sort of conduct."

Sam beamed, brightly. "You're right again. General Jumper would never stand for that kind of behaviour."

Deane relaxed, momentarily.

"So, since he'll be here in two hours, that's how long you have to convince me to fill out an arrest report."

Deane turned white. When Dr Lee arrived at the interrogation room ten minutes later, the lieutenant was singing like a bird; it was only a shame – Paul considered – that Sam's bravura performance had been wasted on someone who evidently knew so little.

Sam closed the door behind her, leaving Major Davis to listen to Deane's pathetic, poor-little-rich-boy life story.

"He seems chatty," Lee noted.

Sam shrugged. "You know they say that an empty vessel makes the most noise?" she said.

"Yeah."

"Well, that is the noisiest vessel I've ever come across. All he really knows is that his area commander, Captain Manners, called him up with a line about the hour being nigh and he was on the move without stopping to kiss his wife goodbye. Other than that it's all been the overwrought biopic of a man wronged by a corrupt system."

"For which read: 'the system must be corrupt because I didn't get promoted sooner'?"

"Or indeed at all." Sam shook her head. "What have you got?" she asked. "Tell me it's better than that." She jerked a thumb towards the interrogation room door.

"Oh yes," Lee agreed. "This is gold, Major; a complete log of their genetic research."

Sam gave a low whistle.

"Oh, it gets better. We found out exactly what it was they were splicing into the subjects' genetic code." He handed her a printout.

Sam scanned the text for a few moments, then went back and read it through carefully; then she read through it again. "That's not possible," she said at last. "They couldn't source..."

"We did," Lee reminded Sam. "I'm not sure where from, but they acquired samples of Ancient DNA which they spliced into the subjects using engineered retroviruses, just to see what it would do."

"That doesn't sound like a recipe for success," Sam noted.

"Hilarity ensued," Lee assured her. "But the early trials showed that the results were best when the Ancient DNA was inserted in particular parts of the genome. They refined the techniques until they came to this shipment. The results were – to use their words – 'beyond all hope or expectation'; especially the Alpha subject, the first and most heavily altered."

"That was the one they were scared of?"

Lee nodded his head. "At first they thought that they'd hit pay dirt; each subject was assigned an estimated value for sale to Nirrti and – if I've got the exchange rate right – the Alpha subject was valued slightly higher than their ship."

Sam was astonished. "So what went wrong?"

"They got cocky," Lee replied. "They were so carried away that they tried...well, something else out on the Alpha subject; not sure what yet. There were side-effects. The subject was dangerous, uncontrollable; before the break-out they were considering destroying the subject and dissecting the body."

Sam shook her head. "So one of the men waiting for us on that planet is more dangerous than Wilkes?" she asked. "As if we didn't have enough problems."

"Oh, no," Lee assured her. "The Alpha subject wasn't a man. We also found out that the crew were so afraid of what they'd made that they isolated the stasis circuit for the Alpha's cell; life support could have failed and the power to the stasis field would not have been interrupted."

"Private Dent," Sam realised.

"Private Dent," Lee confirmed.

Sam nodded. "I need to finish up this interview, then I'll come along and have a look for myself."

"That'd be good," Lee agreed. "There're a lot of logs and we could use another pair of eyes."

"Then I'll be there as soon as we can get Lieutenant Deane to shut up."

*

Ginnungagap

Wilkes had grown used to long hours and he had the endurance to withstand them. Since his alteration, he had not slept more than four hours in a twenty-seven hour day, and often as little as two. With the arrival of the unaltered officers of the League, however, he had reorganised the duty roster to accommodate the needs of an ordinary human. Unfortunately, this left him with a great deal of free time to fill and he was not entirely surprised to find himself in the prison block again.

"Take a break," he told the lieutenant on duty. "Come back in ten minutes."

The officer nodded his acknowledgement. "Thank you, Sir."

Wilkes sat down in front of the force field.

Sandy lay on her bunk with her back towards him. "Hello, Major Wilkes," she said.

"Hello, Sandy."

There was a long silence.

Sandy rolled onto her back and turned her head to face him. "Did you come here with a purpose, Pip?" she asked. "Or is it just your turn to ogle the prisoner?"

Wilkes looked down at the deck, embarrassed.

"Why just look?" Sandy went on. "You sent the guard away. Who'd know if you slipped inside for a few minutes?"

"Sandy, don't..."

Sandy gave a harsh laugh. She sprang up and flung her abandoned plate at the force field. Wilkes flinched in spite of himself and half-rose from his seat.

"Do not treat me as though I was still your friend!" Sandy snapped. "You betrayed everything I thought we shared and I am your prisoner. If you want someone to talk to, go and talk to one of your Nazi friends."

Wilkes shook his head. "They're not Nazis," he told her, "not anymore. Exposure to aliens changes a person's worldview, Sandy. It helped us to see our common ground. Obersturmbannführer Wenig certainly has more in common with me than he ever did with a thug like Vo..."

"Like Vogel," Sandy finished, suppressing a shudder. "Whatever happened to him, I wonder?"

"He was captured along with us," Wilkes replied. "His enhancement took very well; he was one of the most powerful of us."

"Was?"

"He was killed during the breakout. I killed him."

Sandy raised an eyebrow. "You, Pip? I should have thought that good order would be more important than personal dislike."

"He didn't deserve to live," Wilkes replied. "Not after what..."

"No!" Sandy snapped. "You do not make me your excuse! Not while I am in here, you don't."

"You don't have to be," Wilkes assured her.

Sandy laughed. "You're very magnanimous, Major. Surely I couldn't have a place in your glorious new order. I'm no officer, after all; I'm beneath you."

"You are not beneath me," Wilkes whispered. "I have never looked down on you, Sandy. How can you think...?"

Sandy shrugged her shoulders and kicked the plastic plate at the force field again. "We have nothing to talk about, Pip. I don't think you should come here again. Leave me to the likes of that charming Sergeant Gottling."

Wilkes stood up in alarm. "Gottling?"

"He seems as keen to visit me as you are," Sandy noted.

"Keep away from him," Wilkes warned.

"Why? He's my class, isn't he?" She flashed a cruel smile. "Or shouldn't a regular soldier aspire to a warrant officer?"

"If he tries to touch you, I'll kill him," Wilkes said.

"It's none of your business," Sandy told him, "and I'm sure that Marianne would agreed."

Wilkes was baffled. "Marianne?"

"Or maybe Mary-Anne," Wilkes shrugged. "I found her accent a little challenging and she wasn't in much of a mood to repeat herself."

Wilkes found himself rather speechless. "Who is...?"

"Lieutenant Marianne Ravens?" Sandy asked. "You do know her, don't you? I would have thought that you might have spent your off-hours with her rather than with me."

Wilkes closed his eyes and muttered a curse. He had grown so used to solitude that he had quite forgotten that there was somewhere he should have been spending his free time.

Sandy lay down and rolled onto her side, her back to him once more. "Goodbye, Major Wilkes; please don't come back."

*

Stargate Command

As had Sam, Jonas had been assigned as 'bad cop' for the interview, but he was finding it hard; not because he had any kindly feelings towards Jonathon Dent – or Johann Denk, as he insisted – but because he found it hard to moderate his dislike of the man to a productive level. Denk's arrogance was colossal and his endless rhetorical posturing was giving Jonas a migraine.

"The Xar thought that they were forging tools that they could wield at will," Denk announced, proudly, "but we were stronger than they believed. Their experiments only served to unlock the true potential of our glorious heritage. In the true, mythic mould of the ancient hero Siegfried, who slew the dragon for his foster-father and then escaped Regin's murderous intentions, those raised as pawns rose up and overthrew their would-be masters. So perish those who would play chess with the lives of great men."

Jonas shook his head as he tried to clear the threads of Denk's tortured metaphors. "So, you were pawns and now you're queens?" he asked, acerbically.

Denk spat something obscene in German and Dahl shot Jonas a worried look. She seemed to be rethinking her decision to involve him in the interview.

"What exactly do your comrades plan?" Dahl asked, calmly.

"Conquest," Denk replied, openly. "They will return with the ship and overthrow all of the corrupted governments of the Earth. A new age will dawn, wherein all persons will know their place and there will be no wasteful strife. The great will rule, the less will serve, and the unworthy will...be disposed of."

"And what about you?" Jonas demanded. "You seem to be deemed pretty expendable. After all, your good friend Major Wilkes left you here and took your wife instead."

Denk gave a short bark of laughter. "My wife? I have no wife; Sandra was just a silly chit I picked up to throw the security services off the scent. My heart was never in that match and I consider the authority that joined us irrelevant. If Pip took her instead of me, there must be some value to her; I can only assume that it comes from the Xar experiments, since she is worthless in and of herself."

Jonas clenched his fists under the table; his temples were throbbing now and he would have pleaded headache and left, except that he refused to give Denk the satisfaction. "Wilkes must have disagreed with you," he noted. "After all, he had an affair with her."

Denk chuckled. "Is that supposed to upset me?" he asked. "Would a man become jealous if his friend bedded the whore with whom he had spent the previous night?"

Jonas sprang to his feet, fists raised.

"Mr Quinn!" Dahl cried. She moved forward; Jonas tried to shove her aside, but she caught his arm and after a brief whirl of confusion, he found himself pressed face down on the desk with his shoulder trapped in an unbreakable lock. "Guards!" Dahl called.

Jonas managed to raise his head and look at Denk. Denk was grinning, unpleasantly.

*

Getek

Code Black + 27 hours

"Fascinating though this is, we're wasting time," Jack noted.

"We can't rush this," Amy reminded him. "The selection of a felwar isn't like picking a taskforce; it's a sensitive business. There are people who have taken Sharne as part of their felwars, people she owes for losses incurred or jobs cancelled, family obligations..."

"Honour is at stake," Teal'c agreed. "The process could not be accelerated without causing grave offence; those rejected must at least be seen to be considered."

Jack shook his head. "Sharne's in charge; why can't she just pick who she wants?"

"Because the Guyen-tor are having no standing army," Hayni replied.

Jack started, Amy almost jumped out of her skin and even Teal'c looked startled by the Guyen's silent approach.

"The director is agreeing to be opening the cover," Hayni went on. "If you are caring to be looking?"

Obediently, the three envoys turned and leaned over the railing at the side of the walkway. Only a few feet beneath them, a steel louver covered a great pit. Hayni had explained that the pit was twenty feet deep, but a geothermal sink descended almost a mile beneath that to tap into the heat needed to sustain the environment in the pit.

"I take it this doesn't open often?" Jack asked.

"Only when the collectors are descending to be gathering the trenoth for implantation," she said. "The director is only opening the pit now because you are being friends of Sharne; he is hoping to be persuading her to be taking him as her second husband," she added.

"Is he single?"

"He is having only one wife," Hayni replied.

With a deep, metallic rattle, the louver opened and the pit was revealed. A wash of humid air, ripe with the stink of decayed meat, wafted up at the observers.

"Oh!" Jack exclaimed.

"That is foul," Amy agreed.

For a long moment, nothing was visible in the pit save for a cloud of vapour, but slowly this cleared and Jack could make out chitinous, crab-like forms moving about on the rocky sides of the pit. A cluster of them had gathered near the side and were picking at the decayed carcass of a horse.

"Those are being the adult trenoth," Hayni explained. "They are living in this pit for all of their lives; only those that are being taken as larvae are leaving."

"The ones who are bonded to a warrior?" Amy asked.

"This is being so," Hayni agreed. "There is being one," she added, pointing.

Jack followed her finger and saw a creature that looked very much like a horseshoe crab. It lacked the prominent limbs of the adults and beneath its segmented shell it almost seemed to glide across the ground.

"Gross," Jack declared. "I think I've seen enough."

"I agree, Sir," Amy said.

Teal'c nodded. "I am certain that I have smelled enough," he assured them.

Hayni smiled. "Thankfully, once it is being bonded, a trenoth is drawing its nourishment from its partner. I would not have been wishing to be wedding Lohesh if he had been smelling of the pit." As she spoke the name of her late husband, a melancholy look came into her eyes.

"You okay?" Jack asked.

"I am being well," she promised.

Jack was not sure if she was speaking in the present or future tense, but if the former then he was fairly certain that she was lying. Perhaps because she seemed so vulnerable, he made no protest when she took his arm and leaned against his side.

"You are coming," she said. "I am showing you the monument of Natarn."

"Sure," Jack replied, suddenly aware that there was little chance of freeing himself from Hayni's implacable grasp now that he had allowed her to attach herself to him.

"Is this an offer which we could refuse, Captain Kawalsky?" Teal'c asked Amy. He was baffled by the declarative nature of Guyen-tor grammar and found it hard to tell an offer from a statement; they did not seem to ask many questions.

Amy shrugged. "Frankly, Teal'c, I have no idea," she admitted.

The first Guyen-tor had been created almost ten thousand years before by the Goa'uld Dionysus, whose mastery of genetic engineering rivalled Nirrti's, although his goals were quite different. While Nirrti focused on creating the ultimate host, gifted with preternatural powers, Dionysus used his skills to breed servants who possessed the primitive, instinctual strength that he prized. The Guyen-tor and their bonded trenoth were the ultimate fighting animal, so far as Dionysus was concerned; an unbeatable entry into the gladiatorial games with which so many of the Goa'uld amused themselves.

But he had made them  too good; too strong, too smart and, ultimately, unwilling to be sacrificed on the altar of entertainment. They had rebelled and escaped from captivity, fleeing to Getek, where they had held their new world against Dionysus' assaults until, at last, he gave up and left them to their own devices.

A monumental statue of Dionysus had once stood at the centre of the settlement on Getek, but the Guyen-tor had broken it off at the ankles and it still lay where it had fallen, massive and incorruptible. Over it stood a new statue; a colossal image of a Guyen-tor warrior, holding a speargun aloft in triumph.

"This is being Natarn," Hayni explained. "He is being the first leader of our people, founder of the settlement of Hasoth and liberator of the Guyen-tor. This is being many thousands of years ago," she added.

"A sort of Guyen Spartacus," Amy realised, "only without the crucifixion."

"How many Guyen-tor are there?" Jack asked.

"There are being almost one billion across the planet Getek," Hayni replied, "of whom one in every hundred is being a warrior. Hasoth, however, is being a special case. It is being the first line of defence at the Stargate and the place where warriors and felwars are being recruited. There are being only sixteen thousand Guyen in Hasoth, but one-in-four is being a warrior."

"How many warriors will Sharne na-Nayk be able to recruit for this mission?" Teal'c asked.

"Thirteen," Hayni replied.

"Is that all?" Jack asked, dismayed.

"She is being only a junior warleader," Hayni explained, "and as such she is not being able to be summoning more than a single felwar; thirteen warriors and three civilian militia to be supporting each warrior. You will be finding that to be more than enough, I am being certain. We are being stronger than you might be thinking, Jack."

"I'm sure," Jack allowed.

Teal'c allowed Jack and Hayni to draw ahead of him, then motioned for Amy to slow down as well.

"Giving the Colonel a little shoulder-time?" Amy asked.

"I wish to speak with you in private," Teal'c replied, seriously. "I am concerned about this plan."

Amy grimaced. "Yes, I've been getting that vibe from you. You don't seem to have taken to the Guyen-tor."

"I have not," Teal'c agreed. "I do not trust them."

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Pourquoi pas?"

"They were created by the Goa'uld for a single purpose," Teal'c explained. "They exist only to fight and to destroy; if we give them this spacecraft, we will be loosing a scourge upon the galaxy."

Amy chuckled. "They're Gatewise, Teal'c," she said. "They're already out there; dozens of races respect them as reliable mercenaries and honourable warriors.  Even the Goa'uld trust them, as far as they trust anyone who works for them."

"They are unnatural," Teal'c insisted. "Their bond with the trenoth..."

"Is of far less impact than that of the Jaffa and their prim'ta," Amy reminded him. "The trenoth is not intelligent; it is subservient to the warrior and responds instinctively to their needs and emotions." She stopped and laid a hand on Teal'c's arm, surprising herself somewhat with her own boldness. Since Daniel's death, Amy felt closer to Teal'c than to almost anyone else outside of her own family, but she still found him rather daunting to be around.

"Do you trust them, Captain Kawalsky?" Teal'c asked.

Amy turned to look at Hayni, walking arm-in-arm with Jack, then the other way, to look at a pair of young warriors walking across the square. Then she looked into Teal'c's eyes. "Yes," she said, firmly. "I trust them. They did once serve the Goa'uld as killers, but they have found their own honour and nobility; just like the Jaffa."

Teal'c nodded his head. "If you trust them, then I will trust them, Captain Kawalsky," he said.

"Well, remember that I also trusted Lord Yu's hitman," Amy joked, but despite this show of levity there was a lump in her throat. There were not many higher compliments in her world.

*

Ginnungagap

Wilkes was in the middle of a delicate piece of calibration when the ship's address system crackled into life. "Attention all hands; attention all hands." Wilkes was surprised to hear the coarse voice of Sturmscharführer Gottling in place of Julius von Eschenbach's cultivated tones.

"What now?" Wilkes wondered aloud.

"All hands are to report to the camp to witness punishment," Gottling finished.

"Sir?" one of the technicians looked to Wilkes to take the lead.

"Get yourselves down to the camp," Wilkes instructed. "I'm going to find out what's going on."

When Wilkes reached the outer office, Gottling was making himself at home behind von Eschenbach's desk. At the major's entrance, Gottling rose to his feet, but indolently and without respect.

"What is going on?" Wilkes demanded. "Where is Hauptman von Eschenbach?"

"The Herr Hauptman is under arrest on a charge of sedition," Gottling replied. "He has asked to speak to you before punishment is given and Obersturmbannführer Wenig has permitted this. He and the other prisoner..."

"Other prisoner?"

"...are on cell deck A, box 9."

"But what punishment?" Wilkes asked. "There has been no trial? If Julius is under a charge of sedition he has a right to a court martial."

Gottling laughed. "The Obersturmbannführer has suspended that right for the duration of the crisis."

"What crisis?"

"The crisis arising from the impending return to Earth," Gottling replied. "The Obersturmbannführer feels that this stage in the work is too critical for us to take any risks; he has assumed absolute authority and there will be no courts martial."

"But sedition is a capital offence!"

"So it is," Gottling mused. "If you want to speak to him, you had better hurry, before the Obersturmbannführer decides that he is tired of waiting."

"You're all heart, Gottling," Wilkes snarled. "I need to speak to Wenig first."

"Obersturmbannführer Wenig is busy," Gottling replied.

"I need to see him, Sturmscharführer Gottling." Wilkes leaned across the desk and locked his gaze to that of the big warrant officer. "Now."

Gottling's face twisted into a snarl, but when he spoke, in a low growl, he said: "Yes, Sir."

Julius von Eschenbach stood at ease behind the force field, facing out onto the walkway. His fellow prisoner had curled into a ball on the narrow bunk, her short, blonde hair glistening with fear-sweat. Wilkes dismissed the guard and waited for him to leave.

"What's going on, Julius?" Wilkes asked. "Wenig says that you and the lieutenant have been plotting against the cause."

"Pip..." Julius began, angrily.

Wilkes raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I don't believe it," he assured his friend, "but Wenig seems pretty convinced."

"He is paranoid," Julius replied. "He always was, but the last few days..." Julius leaned his head against the forcefield and turned to see if anyone else were listening. "If I had been on the assault mission, I would have stayed," he admitted. "Hidden out in the base, made my way out and...It's being this close to his dream, Pip; it's unbalanced him. Wenig, I mean. He's spent so much time creating his perfect return scenario in that verdammt fantasy world of his that the real thing has swung him over the edge. Anything that deviates from his perfect scenario drives him mad."

"So what happened?" Wilkes asked.

Julius looked back at Sooenne Amberson. "She did," he whispered, "or rather...Have you ever seen Wenig's resonator scenario?"

Wilkes paused for a moment, but he could trust Julius if he could trust anyone. "I have seen snatches of it," he admitted. "The broad strokes."

"Well I know the details," Julius assured him, grimly. "There's a girl in his fantasy; a blonde. She isn't the exact image of Sooenne, but close enough it seems. He tried it on, she said no; he pushed, she said she was with me...The next thing I know, we're both in here and Wenig says that we're going to die. He can't really be going to kill us, can he?"

"He can," Wilkes replied.

Amberson gave a sudden sob.

"Or to be more precise, I am," Wilkes added.

Julius was aghast. "What? You can't be serious."

"It seems that our friendship – and your request to speak to me – has brought me into suspicion in Obersturmbannführer Wenig's eyes. To clear myself..."

Julius swore, quietly. "I am sorry," he said. "You're a good man, Pip."

Wilkes closed his eyes. "I will do what I can," he promised. "Wenig has granted you a choice."

"I take it that neither option involves life?"

Wilkes shook his head. "Lieutenant Amberson," he called, "you too should hear this."

"Why?" Amberson grunted, without moving. "I'm dead anyway."

Julius gave Wilkes an apologetic glance. He moved to the back of the cell and laid a hand on Amberson's shoulder. She shrugged him off, but he placed it there again and kept hold of her until she rolled over to look at him.

Sooenne Amberson was a petite, attractive woman, although her face was currently blotchy with tears. Some might have thought her weak for her tears, but Wilkes was more insightful. Sooenne Amberson and her comrades had abandoned their homes and families to join the cause and all she looked set to receive was an undignified death. In the circumstances, Wilkes thought that he might well have shed a few tears himself. On the contrary then, Wilkes thought that Amberson was showing considerable composure.

There had been thirty women among the two hundred officers brought from Earth and they had been of all shapes and sizes; Wilkes could not help feeling that he and Julius had been the lucky ones and it worried him. For his money, Ravens was more attractive than Amberson and there was always a danger that Wenig's eye would turn to her next, whether he was dreaming of a blonde or not.

Wilkes watched as Julius gently coaxed Amberson out of her slough of despond. For several minutes, Julius spoke to Amberson in hushed tones, but at last they rose and approached the force field. Their hands were clasped tightly together and Wilkes envied them, despite the doom which hung over them. In the space of a night they had formed a deep, emotional bond. She blamed him for their predicament, but that grieved instead of angering her and the pain was his pain as much as hers. They were not in love, but after such a short time they knew each other, intimately.

Wilkes had had to hear Ravens' first name from a prisoner.

"What do you have to say, Sir?" Amberson asked, barely holding her bitterness in check. It was not hard to see that she blamed Wilkes, personally, for her situation and he could hardly blame her. He had, after all, been the one to invite the League to join the cause and he had also been the one to direct her – through Ravens – to Julius.

"The Obersturmbannführer has offered you a choice of deaths," Wilkes replied.

Amberson snorted. "That was worth getting up for."

"You can be hanged, publicly," Wilkes went on, "or you can take the walk."

"The walk?" she asked.

Julius shuddered. "What choice is that?" he demanded. "The walk would be...suicide."

"What is the walk?"

Julius looked at Wilkes in appeal. It took only a few moments for Wilkes to relent.

"Instead of public execution, you can accept a form of exile," Wilkes explained. "You can walk of your own accord into the deep forest."

"The deep forest?"

"Yes."

"The forest that you told us to stay out of, on pain of death?"

"Yes."

Amberson gave a laugh that was touched by insanity.

"There is no drop," Wilkes pointed out. "The hanging will be carried out by dragging; Sturmscharführer Gottling will do the honours and one of you will have to go first. On the few occasions when someone has gone into the forest...The screams are short."

Julius looked down into Sooenne Amberson's eyes. "I do not wish to watch you die," he told her.

"Food for beasts or fun for the ape," Amberson cackled. "What a choice."

"Take the walk," Wilkes advised.

Julius shook his head. "If we are going to die, I'm not afraid to do so in front of my comrades."

Wilkes leaned closer. "Take the walk," he said again, willing his friend to take his advice. "You know how little dignity there is in hanging, Julius; do not give Wenig that satisfaction."

"What if we manage to survive and leave the forest?" Amberson asked. "Is there a pardon, or is it not that simple?"

"This is not a trial by ordeal," Wilkes admitted. "If you should, somehow, escape the forest, I suggest you go far away and never come back."

Amberson looked at Julius once more. "I'll be damned before I dance for them," she declared, "even on the end of a rope."

Julius nodded his agreement. "Then we'll take the walk," he said.

"Thank you," Wilkes whispered.

*

Stargate Command

Code Black + 30 hours

Sam let herself into the observation room and found Jonas brooding; she had seldom seen such a glower on the young man's face.

"I thought you were still interviewing," Sam admitted.

"Dahl is still interviewing," Jonas replied. "She marched me out in a half-nelson twenty minutes after we started and roped one of the SFs in as second interviewer."

Sam was shocked. "Why...?" she began.

"I tried to hit the prisoner," Jonas admitted.

Sam was aghast. "What were you thinking?"

Jonas shook his head. "I wasn't. He was working on me, I'm sure of it; my head felt like it was going to burst and he was definitely ragging on me."

"What was he saying?" Sam asked, curiously. She had yet to find any effective way of teasing Jonas; he had always managed to grin through all of her gibes.

"He was insulting his wife," Jonas replied.

Sam had to check herself to realise what Jonas had said. "His wife? I could understand you going for him if he was insulting your wife..."

"I don't have a wife."

"...if you had one, but his wife?"

"Sandy was devoted to him," Jonas explained. "When she lost him, she lost everything, Sam. It would be bad enough just for him to have put her through that, but he laughs about her. Bastard."

Sam's eyes widened in shock.

"She deserves better," Jonas finished, quietly.

"This guy's really gotten under your skin," Sam realised. She turned her eyes towards the one-way glass and she froze. "Where is he?"

Jonas followed her gaze and winced as a lance of pain shot through his temples. "He's..." Jonas began to say, but then Denk moved.

To Sam, Denk was invisible. She saw a blur as he lifted the chair and broke it over the head of the hapless guard, but once this clue to his location was gone, Sam could not even see that much.

Dahl, just as blind, stepped backwards and lashed out in front of her. The blur appeared again as the NID agent was driven backwards into the glass wall of the interview room. The one-way mirror rippled and spiderwebbed and Dahl slumped to the floor in a boneless heap. The sight of the fallen agent roused Sam and she slapped her hand down on the alarm button.

"Jonas..." she began, but when she turned, Sam saw that he was no longer there.

The door of the interview room opened; a guard entered and was immediately seized and hurled violently across the room, slamming into the wall with a sickening crunch that Sam could hear, even through the glass. She turned to the emergency weapons locker on the observation room wall; it hung open and one of the pistols had been removed from its place. Sam grabbed the second pistol and a clip of ammunition and ran for the door.

Denk left the interview room, moving confidently, secure in his invisibility. He straightened his shirt, tucked his stolen pistol into the back of his belt, and headed for the Gateroom.

"Stop!"

Denk turned, slowly. "You?" he asked, astonished. His hand drifted towards the pistol and he focused his mind on masking the action from Jonas Quinn.

"Keep your hands where I can see them!" Jonas warned, steadying his sidearm with his left hand. His voice was choked with pain, but his hands were steady.

Denk's eyes narrowed and he poured all of his concentration into vanishing from Quinn's sight. Jonas winced in pain and clutched his temple. The man was sweating and Denk caught a strong whiff of his odour on the currents of the air conditioning; what he scented gave him pause. Jonas Quinn was not human; not quite; no more than Denk himself was human anymore. This might be why he was resistant to Denk's abilities, but it would not matter: Denk also scented fear on Jonas' sweat and he did not have a killer's eyes.

Pouring all of his energies into masking his actions, Denk ducked aside and drew the pistol. He knew that Jonas would not fire.

Jonas fired three times, hitting Denk cleanly in the chest.

Sam piled around the corner and saw Jonas standing over the fallen prisoner. Denk groped weakly after his weapon, until Jonas fired once more.

"Jonas?" Sam asked, taken aback.

Jonas turned around. He wobbled on his legs and slumped sideways against the wall of the corridor. "My head," he murmured.

Sam approached, took the pistol from his hand then laid a steadying palm on Jonas' shoulder. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Is he dead?"

"I think so," Sam admitted.

Jonas nodded. "Then I'm alright."

Sam wished she could say the same, but try as she might she could not convince herself that it was Denk's uncanny powers that had caused her friend to pull the trigger.

*

Ginnungagap

Code Black + 31 hours

Ravens had managed, with a little help from Wilkes, to get herself assigned to sentry duty at the Gate for the time of the 'execution'. The mood of the camp was subdued when she returned; the League officers were shaken by the death of one of their own, while the Altered were nervous at the prospect of stirring the rage of the forest's murderous denizens. Captain Manners met her gaze as she passed him and Ravens felt the strength leave her; her legs wobbled and it was only by a great effort of will that she managed to keep walking until she reached Wilkes' cabin.

Wilkes opened the door to her knock and she stumbled in, collapsing with great relief on the narrow bed. She felt sick to her stomach, dizzy and – worst of all – out of control. Ravens was a woman used to knowing what was happening in her life. She manipulated other people; they were supposed to be off balance, not her.

"Is it done?" she asked, although she knew the answer.

"The bodies will be gone by now," he confirmed. "I will check in the morning, but it never takes long."

Ravens shot him a hateful look. "One of those 'bodies' was my oldest friend!" she hissed.

Wilkes' eyes brimmed with tears. "And the other was mine," he whispered, hoarsely.

There stared at each other for a long moment. He stood by the open door and she sat on the bed; she could not find the strength to rise and he made no move close the door.

"Hold me," she said at last, hating the note of pleading in her voice.

"I wish I could," he replied, his words raw and heavy with need. "By executive order of Der Führer Edsel Wenig, all fraternisation between the officers and men of the Neusturmbann and their allies in the League of Officers is forbidden."

Ravens felt lost, her world spiralling even further beyond her control. It took her several moments even to begin to process what he had just said. "Der Führer?" she asked. "Neusturmbann?"

Wilkes sighed and pushed the door closed. "There seems little doubt that Herr Wenig is losing touch with reality," he admitted. "I should have seen it coming, but it is hard to wait so long for something and to then recognise that it is crumbling around you. Wenig lives in a fantasy world," he went on. "He has been dreaming of the day when he could return and bring order to the Earth for many years, and I think that each time he has played the scenario over he has dared to stand a little higher. Now he sees himself as the supreme ruler of Earth and – for all I know – the bloody second coming as well. It's enough to make one question one's devotion."

"It's not Wenig I'm devoted to," Ravens assured him.

Wilkes hung his head. "I wasn't talking about you."

"She was."

Wilkes looked up at Ravens, curiously. "Who was?"

"Dent," she replied. "I stood watch at her cell yesterday; she had a good night's sleep, then kept going on about how I wasn't really interested in the cause. I know you went back to see her again," she added. "I asked. I bet she told you I'd been there."

Wilkes nodded.

"Did she say I was using you?" Ravens demanded, letting an edge of angry hysteria into her voice.

"No."

Ravens stopped, denials dying on her lips. "Oh."

"She didn't have to. I already knew."

Ravens stood up, sharply. "How can you say that?" she demanded. Her eyes flashed with wounded dignity and outrage and glistened with just a hint of tears; it was, if she said so herself, a bravura performance. Alas, it appeared to be wasted on Wilkes.

"Much as I'd like to think otherwise, pretty girls don't fall over themselves to bed old men, however strong and handsome," he told her.

"Then why...?" Ravens stopped and blushed. "Oh. Right."

Wilkes smiled. "I like you, Ravens," he told her. "I was happy to help you out, especially since you did not seem to be after anything much more than assurance of survival." He approached and took her by the hand. "The other was an additional inducement," he admitted, "but I hope it was not all one sided."

"Oh, no," Ravens assured him, hastily adding: "You're not bad for an old guy."

Without releasing her hand, Wilkes settled beside her. "But this is not the cause that either of us signed up for and I fear that you may have allied yourself with the wrong man."

Ravens shook her head. "I like power," she admitted, "but I draw the line at pimping myself to the Hitler Youth."

With the speed of a striking snake, Wilkes lifted his hand and laid his fingers over Ravens' lips. "Do not speak such things so loud," he cautioned. "I will do what I can to bring Wenig back to his senses, but I do not know how many of the others will be with me."

"All of mine will be," Ravens whispered, "for what little that matters."

"It is worrying though."

"Worrying? I'd call it a lot more than worrying."

Wilkes shook his head. "Not Wenig," he said. "That is a lot more than merely worrying. I meant Sandy's percipience. Much as my regard for her may be, I am not blind to the fact that, although her intelligence is great, Sandy's knowledge of the world and understanding of people is pretty slight."

"I'm not sure where there's any room to worry about your ex-girlfriend's intuition when your erstwhile friends want to usher in the Fourth Reich!"

Wilkes closed his eyes and slipped his arms around Sandy, heedless of Wenig's order. "Believe me, Ravens," he sighed, "Sandy is something to worry about."

*

Getek

Code Black + 32 hours

Familiarity was not yet making the Guyen-tor warriors any easier for Jack to cope with. When he returned to Sharne's house, she had been joined by twelve other warriors and the fact that he had no difficulty spotting her in the mass of chitin was of little comfort. At first, each trenoth had seemed much like the others, but in just a few hours Jack had come to recognise that there was a great variation in the hues and contours of the hard, shining carapace, in the number and arrangement of the hook-like pseudopods which bristled the shell and the length of the claws which armed the symbiote's secondary limbs.

Sharne's trenoth was a dark, glossy green and its carapace was smoother than most of those in the room. Its mandibles were short, but the killing-limbs each sported a broad claw like a scimitar blade; a secondary growth spurred off from the base of each of the main claws. From what he had seen of warriors in training, those claws would be able to shear through stone.

The Guyen-tor massed in the main room of Sharne's house were battle-ready. The warriors carried an array of bladed weapons and spear-guns, clutched to their shells by their pseudopods. The civilian militia had donned clothing for the occasion, including armoured vests, helmets and weapon harnesses to carry their short-barrelled carbines and spare ammunition.

"The felwar is being complete," Sharne told Jack, triumphantly. "Forty-two are gathering in a handful of hours; oh, Colonel, we are not seeing a proposition being of such intrigue in some years."

"It is just the forty-two?" Jack asked. "And only thirteen warriors?"

Sharne inclined her head. "It is being a matter of tradition. Natarn was leading thirteen in the uprising that was leading to the freedom of the Guyen-tor and it is being a lucky number. As three was being the number of wives that Natarn was having, it also is being lucky in battle for each warrior to be taking three civilian militia to be supporting her."

"I hope it is being..." Jack closed his eyes and counted to five. "I hope it's enough," he told her.

"It is being," she assured him. "A full felwar is being a fighting force that is being without equal. So long as you are not wishing us to be doing all of your fighting for you..."

"Of course not," he replied. "The felwar will simply be the spearhead; an SGC assault force is being mustered on one of the more charmless planets in our catalogues. But there are several dozen of the enhanced enemy..."

"We are being sufficient, or we are dying," Sharne replied. "If the latter is being the case, then we shall be buying your escape with our lives, but I am not thinking that is being the case."

"Alright," Jack sighed. "I trust you to know your warriors," but he made a mental note to expect heavy allied casualties when he led the assault force through the Stargate.

"We are being ready," Sharne assured him. "I am saying goodbye to my husband and sister-wife, then we are leaving."

"Telohs isn't coming either?"

"I am asking him not to. I am not wanting to be leaving Hayni alone."

Jack nodded his understanding.

"Perhaps if we are surviving..." Sharne began.

"I'm not looking to marry again," Jack replied, hastily. "Nothing against Hayni, it's just...not our way. Not my way, anyway."

Sharne's gaze bore into Jack through the glassy cataracts of the trenoth's vestigial eyes. For a moment he was worried that the warrior was preparing to slice into him with the terrible claws which bristled on her carapace, but then she inclined her head. "I am understanding. I am being sure that Hayni is doing the same."

"I hope so," Jack replied.

"We go now," Sharne told him. "Battle awaits."

*

Ginnungagap

Sandy stared at her guard with an intimidating intensity. The young man could not meet her gaze, but nor could he look away from her. With her newfound sensory acuity she could smell the mixture of fear and arousal that gripped him, even through the ozone whiff of the force field. She shifted her position very slightly and felt every fibre of her body flex, tense and relax. She was keenly aware of her own muscles, of the blood pulsing through her.

She looked down at her own chest and saw a ghostly light burning there, throbbing steadily with her heartbeat. At every beat, waves of energy flooded through her; her skin crackled, sparks of sensation dancing up and down her limbs. She raised her head again and saw, to her astonishment, that a similar display of lights flickered beneath the skin of her guard. The air around him seemed somehow charged and alive with emotion; his state of mind colouring the world wherever he touched it.

"Incredible," Sandy murmured.

The young officer swallowed hard.

"I would not put too much trust in your so-superior masters if I were you," Sandy purred. She took a step forward so that now she stood within the field of light that she perceived around his body. Putting out a hand, she touched that aura and it rippled at her touched.

The officer shivered. "They're not my masters," he replied, without much conviction.

Sandy ran her hand through the glow of the guard's aura and lifted it to her face. "Are you so sure, Lieutenant Richard Borling."

Borling started. "How...?"

"You smell like a Richard Borling." Sandy tightened her fist.

Borling gasped aloud and staggered slightly.

"Open the force field," Sandy commanded.

"I...I can not..."

Sandy narrowed her eyes and tugged at his aura. How she knew to do this she could not fathom, but she could imagine Wilkes going through a similar process of self-discovery all those years before. "Open the force field," she repeated, firmly.

Borling took a step towards the controls, his hand outstretched.

A bitter smell cut into Sandy's nostrils; the air rippled with the advance of a new and powerful aura. Borling did not flinch, he never saw the massive figure that approached under the shield of extrasensory invisibility, but the psychic influence that he radiated made Sturmscharführer Gottling all the more visible to Sandy.

"No!" she cried, but it was too late. Even as Borling's hand reached for the panel, Gottling seized him by the throat and slammed him against the corridor wall with a sickening crunch of bone.

"No!" Sandy wailed. She was horrified by the brutality of the killing and even more so by her own culpability in the young lieutenant's demise. Now that she could see Gottling's will displayed in the air and compare it to Borling's, she could tell that the latter had been weak and easy to manipulate; he had been led here by stronger minds and now she had led him to his death.

"I think that from now on, only the elect should guard you," Gottling spat.

"Bastard!" Sandy roared, startled by the volume of her own voice. "I'll tear you apart you bloody, murdering thug!"

Gottling reached for the controls. "Perhaps you can try," he growled, drawing the dagger from his hip.

Sandy took a step back from the shield and flexed her arms. She set her feet apart and crouched; her eyes flashed like fire and her lips skinned back from her teeth.

The sturmscharführer froze, then stepped back. "What are you?" he demanded.

"Come on!" Sandy snarled; the sudden sharpness of Gottling's fear was like a drug to her, firing her brain with rage.

"Major Wilkes should have gutted you when he had the chance," Gottling opined, stepping back from the force field, alarmed.

"Finish his job then," Sandy challenged.

"No," Gottling replied. "No. You will not snare me as you did this puppy. The Obersturmbannführer will hear of this."

Sandy watched him walk away and forced herself to be calm. She could feel a new strength surging through her, but she knew that it would be wasted against the force field. She would have to wait if she wanted to try her newfound power against her enemies.

"Patience," she whispered to herself. "Patience." But it was so hard to be patient when she felt such hatred.

*

P9Y-566

Code Black + 35 hours

All in all, Sam felt, it was a pretty impressive bit of logistics. In a little under a day and a half, the SGC had gone from reeling in confusion in the wake of an attack to the final stages of preparing a counterattack.

The bulk of the assault force was culled from the garrisons of the offworld facilities, but the first line after the Guyen-tor spearhead was to be formed of SG units 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 and 12, Earth's most experienced offworld fighters. Having proven herself able to penetrate the enemy's uncanny powers of concealment, Amy Kawalsky would be seconded to SG-3; SG-1 would be counting on Jonas and SG-5 on the unnerving intuition of their commanding officer, Major Steven 'Daredevil' Parker.

The two Falcon combat UAVs hovered above the assembled force; their pilots, Lieutenants Frost and King, sat on the flanks of the force, upper bodies shrouded in their VR interfaces. They would be carried into the field in a pair of scout cars and these were not the only vehicles in the force; a squadron of five machinegun-armed jeeps would carry the SG teams through the Stargate at speed and then deploy to defend the beachhead and the pilots. This vanguard would be followed by a further force of infantry, comprising a mixed company of Marines and Air Force personnel from the alpha site garrison. A herd of FREDs waited to bring additional ammunition through behind the troops.

It was not on the scale of Operation Overlord, but it wasn't bad for thirty hours work.

The Stargate thundered and the event horizon disgorged Jack and Teal'c and Captain Kawalsky. The latter immediately headed for her assigned position, while Jack and Teal'c waited, almost as though blocking the line of fire to the Gate. It did not take long for Sam to see why.

"Holy Hannah," she murmured.

Jack gave a wry smile. "Now there's a blast from the past."

"I guess my memory was playing up," Sam said. "I don't remember them being quite so..."

"Alien?"

Sam nodded. "Did any of them know Lohesh personally?"

Jack gestured towards the leader of the Guyen-tor. "That's his wife. Well, one of them, anyway."

Sam paled slightly.

"Relax," Jack advised. "She doesn't hold a grudge."

"So you told her I shot her husband?"

"A lot of people shot her husband," he replied. "And it's not like you killed him."

Sharne loped towards them. "This is being your force, Colonel?"

"It is."

The Guyen-tor nodded her head. "I am sending the militia to be joining the support lines," she told him. "You are agreeing?"

"Sounds good," Jack replied. "They're armed for a similar role to the marines."

"You are having maps of the engagement zone?" Sharne asked Sam.

"The best we can manage," Sam agreed, nervously. "We also know the full story of the ship."

Jack gave her a curious look.

"The crew conducted genetic experiments; they were largely freelance but on a long-term contract with Nirrti. They spliced Ancient DNA into the genetic structures of their captives. For decades the experiments produced nothing but dead prisoners, but they got better and better. In the end, however, they were too successful."

"Those they created to serve them rose up against them," Teal'c said, recognising at once the parallels with his own people.

Sam nodded. "Terrified of what he had created, the captain crashed the ship into the planet when the test subjects broke containment. Wilkes was the most successful of the male experiments and led the jailbreak, but it wasn't him that they were most afraid of."

"You say 'male' subjects?" Jack asked.

"Yes, Sir."

"Sandra Dent?" Teal'c asked.

"The Alpha experiment," Sam agreed. "This one took a while, but it seems that at one point they found a single sample of a retrovirus in a pre-Ancient temple which they believed would advance their work by centuries. They tested it on Sandra Dent, who had already been altered by the introduction of Ancient DNA. The effect was beyond their wildest expectations, but also beyond control; she almost destroyed the ship single handed, before they managed to restrain and sedate her and eventually locked her in an independent stasis field.

"The exact nature of her alteration was unknown. Wilkes and his fellow escapees clearly chose not to risk waking her at all. During the crash, Wilkes set the stasis fields to protect his comrades and then drop; there were many survivors and there should be more women. Something must have happened to remove them all."

"Or they're still there," Jack suggested.

"I don't think so," Sam replied. "There were no younger men in the attack; no sign that they'd been...breeding."

"Then what happened to the women?" Jack demanded. "Not, you know, that I'm saying that a woman has to breed."

"No, Sir," Sam grinned. "Truth is, we just don't know."

"What did our prisoner say regarding this matter?" Teal'c asked.

"We don't know," Sam admitted.

"Won't talk?" Jack asked.

"Jonas shot him dead."

Jack stared at her. "Jonas?"

"By all accounts, Denk worked very hard to piss Jonas off."

"But...Jonas?"

Teal'c seemed rather less surprised. "He is not Daniel Jackson," he said.

"Evidently."

Sam and Jonas had excelled themselves in mapping P35-91A. They had used survey data gathered by the Isthadi's sensors during it's initial and panicked approach to supplement the recordings of the UAV flights and the SG team reconnaissance reports and produced a detailed terrain plan of the area of engagement. Sharne regarded the map with an efficient, expert gaze.

"This is being the danger," she purred, indicating the long, narrow plain which connected the shallow dell where the Gate lay and the low mound of the ship. "The approach is being swift, but defensible."

"The ship has point-defence weapons," Sam noted. "If any of those are uncovered, that plain would be a killing zone."

"There are being alternatives," Sharne noted, "but these are being slower and more treacherous. Your warriors are dying if they are attempting the straight way, but they are being too weak to be flanking this enemy by the other paths."

"And the Guyen?" Jack asked, aware that his unit leaders were bristling at Sharne's words.

"We will be flanking the enemy while the infantry are making a great show of preparing to be advancing," Sharne explained. "We are being able to be moving with great swiftness across even this terrain to the left and to be doing so without our enemy hearing sight or sound of our motion. Our militia infantry are staying with you," she added. "Only the warriors are being able to be making this passage."

"We could make a flanking manoeuvre to the right," Major Parker suggested. "Not so fast, perhaps, but it would bring us closer to the ship; right on top of one of the uncovered hatches, in fact."

Jack studied the map. "Yes," he mused. "Yes; that could work. If the Guyen attack here, supported by the Falcons, the SG teams can attack here, under cover of the Guyen strike, and gain entry to the ship. Carter; if we get you in, could you stop the guns?"

Sam nodded. "From the bridge or the engine room," she confirmed. "Jonas and I..." She looked around for SG-1's fourth, but he was not there.

"He's...thinking," Parker noted. "Seems kinda shaken."

Jack nodded. "Carter; is he going to be good to go in with us?"

Sam thought for a moment, then gave a single nod. "Absolutely," she declared. "Either he or I could shut down the weapons, so if one of us goes fore and the other aft, we can double our chance of reaching a control panel."

Jack thought it over. "SG-12 will hold that emergency hatch against any counteroffensive. Units 2 and 3 will go forward with us," he decided, at last. "Teal'c and Jonas will go aft with 5 and 8; take good care of them, Major Parker."

"Yes, Sir." The commander of SG-5 paused for a moment. "Sir; the League used tranquilisers when they attacked us..."

"They won't be now," Jack replied, "and we can't be switching back and forth for the altered troops. Primary arms only."

Parker nodded his understanding. "Sir."

Jack tried not to look as though that bothered him as much as it did Parker. "Once the ship's guns are disabled, we can call in the main force to secure the area. We'll leave a squad of Marines, along with the scout cars and two of the jeeps, to hold the Gate; the remainder will secure the hatches and then, carefully, the ship itself." He paused a moment for reflection. "Sound like a plan?"

"Yes, Sir," Sam agreed.

There was a pause.

"It's your call, Colonel," Sam reminded Jack, gently.

"Oh," Jack said. "Just...used to having General Hammond around, I guess."

"He'll be back," Sam assured him.

Jack nodded. "So let's not have any more bad news for him when he is. Alright," he added, decisively. "I guess I have a go then."

*

Ginnungagap

Gottling's stint in Julius von Eschenbach's chair had been short lived; there was no-one in place outside the captain's cabin now and so Wilkes walked straight in. Wenig had the resonator on his head and his eyes were closed in a state of rapture. There was something almost obscene, Wilkes decided, about the sight of that vacant expression on the Obersturmbannführer's proud, patrician face.

"Obersturmbannführer?" Wilkes said, warily. "Sir?"

There was no response.

"Sir?" Wilkes asked again. He stepped forward and touched the switch on the desk which deactivated the resonator.

Wenig's eyes snapped open. His usually clear eyes looked rheumy and his gaze lacked its customary directness, but his anger was impossible to mistake. "How dare you?" he demanded, angrily. "Get out, Major Wilkes, before I have you shot!"

"No, Sir," Wilkes replied, his own anger rising. "You must listen to me. Major Carter wrecked the circuits on the last functional stasis field. I need to take a technician off the engine repair crews to patch it up and hold Private Dent securely."

Wenig leaped to his feet. "You disturb me for this? The girl is held in a force field; I will not have my glorious return to Earth delayed for this trifle."

"She is dangerous," Wilkes insisted.

"Then kill her!"

"No!"

Wenig frowned at his second-in-command and rose slowly to his feet. "You forget yourself, Major."

"We can not kill her, Sir. Besides the risk of lowering the force field, even for a moment, her DNA is the key to victory. We need her alive."

"There will be no delays, Wilkes," Wenig repeated. "Nothing will stop us and I have already given responsibility for keeping Private Dent safe to one who shares your concerns; Sturmscharführer Gottling. He will enjoy...looking after her, I think."

Wilkes' eyes flickered with suppressed fury. "I trust not," he murmured.

On arrival on the prison level, Gottling was horrified to find the cell empty. The guard was one of the elect, albeit only a private soldier, but he swore that he had seen nothing. Yet the simple fact was that the prisoner was gone.

"Open the cell," Gottling ordered. He drew his pulsar and held it ready. "Be ready to...Wait!" he snapped, just before his subordinate could touch the controls. "The field is still sound. She is still inside."

"But she is gone," Schütze Zerber pointed out.

"We can not see her, but that is not the same thing. A good effort, girl," he said, addressing the cell, "but you do not fool me. I will not set you free."

There was a flicker, then Private Dent appeared in the middle of her cell. "Worth a try," she shrugged. She had calmed herself, by sheer force of will, and her face was pretty and composed. It did not escape Gottling's notice that her hair seemed to have grown almost four inches in the past few hours, nor that her body had filled out well considering how little she had been given to eat. From borderline starvation, she now glowed with health and her arms were taut with muscle.

Dent gave a soft chuckle. "Come on, Gottling," she goaded. "You must be dying to know if you can take me."

"You have some power," Gottling scoffed, "but you are still but a girl. It would be unworthy of me to fight you."

Sandy narrowed her eyes at him. "Yes. I didn't think you'd like fighting a woman. You probably like them to struggle a little, though."

Gottling's eyes narrowed. "Your world is as dead as mine," he snarled, "but mine shall rise again and we shall burn the corpse of the Britain you knew."

"Not while I have my strength," Sandy promised. "Believe me Gottling, I will kill you first."

Gottling opened his mouth to retort, but found himself unable to meet her eye.

*

When the Gate opened, the garrison were on alert in seconds. A dozen weapons were raised and levelled at the circle of rippling light from which any enemy must emerge.

A UAV burst from the event horizon and three energy blasts cut into it before it had gone five metres. The guards began to relax, but the event horizon rippled again and an indistinct form darted to the left, out of the main line of fire. Blasts of energy stuck the horizon, the edge of the Stargate and the ground in the wake of the fast-moving shape, but none scored a hit and, after a moment, a second such shape emerged, already rushing right. More followed, racing around the flanks of the garrison.

When three had broken from each side, the first spear was launched at the defenders, felling the enhanced Hauptman who commanded the garrison. An energy blast at last cut into one of the attackers, but two more appeared to take his place. A moment later, the first of the Guyen-tor hit the enemy line and tore into it as savagely and unstoppably as the enhanced soldiers had struck the SFs at the SGC. Sharne's clawed limbs spread wide and plunged down and an SS Öberscharführer was first impaled, then torn limb-from-limb.

That was the only phrase Jack could come up with when he saw the remains of the Öberscharführer. He had never given the expression much thought before and he dearly hoped that he would never have cause to do so again.

"What have we unleashed?" Jack wondered, aghast.

"Don't feel too sorry for them," Jonas replied, bleakly.

Jack shot him a worried glance, but it was Sam who explained: "We helped with cataloguing the bodies of the survey team."

"Let's finish this, then," Jack said. "Two minutes!" he called to Sharne.

"Indeed!" the warrior called back. She inclined her head towards him.

Jack nodded in reply, then turned to his own troops. "SG Units with me!"

Wilkes was still in Wenig's cabin when Öbersturmführer Leibzig came running down with a warning.

"Shots fired at the Gate?" Wilkes asked. "Are you sure? There has been no alarm raised."

"I am sure, Mein Herr," Leibzig assured him.

"Impossible," Wenig scoffed.

"We'll see," Wilkes replied, curtly. "Come with me, Lieutenant."

Leibzig looked back and forth between Wilkes and Wenig. It did not take him long to make his choice. "Jahwohl," he said, saluting Wilkes. He turned and fled from Wenig's presence and Wilkes followed.

They emerged onto the hillside; Ravens was standing, staring towards the Gate through a pair of field glasses.

"Do you see anything?" Wilkes asked.

"Nothing," Ravens replied. "The Gate itself is out of sight, but there's no sign of anyone advancing on us."

"They wouldn't come straight along that plain," Wilkes noted, advancing to stand very close behind Ravens. She leaned back into him, very slightly.

"The guns are silent," Leibzig noted.

"Pass the word," Wilkes commanded. "Stand ready to repel attackers. Divert drive power to point defences."

"The Führer will not like..." Leibzig began, but Wilkes silenced him with a fierce glower.

"You made your choice," Wilkes reminded him. "The others must make theirs. Send the order and pray that it is carried out."

"Yes, Herr Major," Leibzig replied.

"I can see them," Ravens reported. She lowered her field glasses and turned to face Wilkes. "What will happen now, Sir?"

Wilkes averted his eyes and looked out along the plain. "They are massing for an attack," he noted. "I think you should go into the forest," he said.

"The forest?" Ravens' eyes widened in alarm. "What do you mean? If I go into the forest I'll be...I'll be killed!"

"Maybe," Wilkes said, evasively. "But..." He broke off and suddenly turned to face the hills to the left of the ship. "Do you hear that?"

Ravens' frowned. "Gunfire?" she asked, uncertainly.

Wilkes shook his head. "Music," he replied. "Wagner."

"Wagner?"

"The Ride of the Valkyries, if memory serves."

Ravens swallowed hard. "Then they're coming," she confirmed.

"You must go," Wilkes insisted.

"No," Ravens replied, unslinging her rifle. "Not if you're staying." She fought down a shudder of fear as the strains of opera drifted to her unaltered ears.

Wilkes closed his eyes. "Ravens, please. I'm an old man who doesn't even feel comfortable using your given name."

"There's no time anyway," Ravens noted.

Wilkes caught her by the hand. "Stay out of the way of the assault; some of the men may not distinguish between the SGC troops and the League. You can support from the rear, or take a unit to guard the rear hatch."

Ravens nodded her head in agreement.

"Take care of yourself, Ravens," he cautioned, raising his voice over the building volume of the music.

"It's what I'm best at," she promised him.

Wilkes watched her go for a moment, then turned to face the hills. He drew the heavy pulsar from his hip and moved towards cover as the music grew louder. He was glad that he had sent Ravens away; whatever was coming, the noise alone was starting to trouble the unaltered humans. Those nearest to the hills were covering their ears and moving nervously back towards the ship.

Wilkes reached cover just as the first of the Falcons breasted the nearest ridge. He recognised the UAV from his scouring of the SGC's database and knew its capabilities to be considerably greater than simply blasting out opera at a volume substantially in excess of the threshold of pain.

"Bring it down!" he commanded.

A second UAV appeared and Wilkes concentrated on that, leaving the other guards to deal with the first. It jinked and evaded, unleashing a withering barrage of suppressing fire in return. Wilkes exchanged fire with the device, but before he could shoot it from the air, a new threat presented itself, a company of half-concealed forms which poured over the ridge and rippled down the slope like an advancing heat-haze.

Wilkes fought down the urge to flee, headlong, from the nightmare that approached him. "To the hatches!" he bellowed, turning the command into a psychic signal that could be heard over – or at least in spite of – the blaring music. He moved backwards and fired at the approaching tide of chitin-armoured warriors as he went. "Back to the hatches! Don't meet them in the open!"

Even as he spoke, however,  half a dozen of the enhanced soldiers charged to meet the new threat and died in a flurry of blades and barbed claws. The enemy seemed unconcerned by bullets and only slightly inconvenienced by pulsar pulses. Leutnant Elze tried to approach under cover of his invisibility, but a hulking monstrosity fell upon him, untroubled by his psychic powers.

Sturmmann Richter, almost as large as Sturmscharführer Gottling, grappled with his opponent. He tore at its mandibles and thrust his knife into the creature's face, but four clawed arms snapped open and caught him in a savage, lethal embrace. The two powerful fighters fell, dead in each other's arms.

Wilkes reached the main hatch. "Fall back!" he ordered again. "Protect the ship! Don't try to meet them on their terms!" Slowly a handful of men began to follow his example; the point-defence guns on the ship began to fire, sporadically. Wilkes shook his head in frustration. "Nobody ever listens to me."

"We are being slaughtered, Herr Major!" Sturmmann Müller reported, joining Wilkes in the hatch.

"Keep them out of the ship," Wilkes commanded. "Hold the hatch at all costs; concentrate your fire on one alien at a time. I'll get the rest of those guns operating."

"Der Führer has ordered that all power be dedicated to making the vessel spaceworthy," Müller reminded him. "The engine crews will not divert power."

"Then I'll have to talk to 'Der Führer' himself," Wilkes announced.

*

Jack took his patrol over the hills to the rear hatches of the ship. Almost the entire length of the hull was exposed now, but the point-defence blisters were happily silent. Jack and Parker led the way to the hatch and, when the guns did not fire on them, signalled the remaining SG team members to approach. They lined up along the side of the ship – making sure not to touch the surface itself, wary of the electrical defence field – while  Sam set a breaching charge.

"Infra-red," Jack ordered, pulling on his own IR goggles.

The shaped charge punched through the hatch lock, blowing a hole from the outer skin to the interior, through which Jack was able to drop a smoke grenade. With the manual opening mechanism destroyed, the automatic systems took over; they sensed a breathable atmosphere outside and a rapidly thickening cloud of smoke inside and decided that the crew needed the fresh air. The hatch popped open.

Parker stepped up and threw a stun grenade into the breach. Following the detonation, Jack and Parker went in, followed by their teams. The IR goggles allowed them to see through the thick clouds of smoke; the handful of defenders had no such ability. When the smoke cleared, five defenders lay on the deck, surrounded by their own blood. Rifles, pulsars and sonic blasters lay unused.

"All League officers," Parker noted, darkly.

"Keep it together, Parker," Jack warned.

"Sir."

"We've got a live one!" Lieutenant Wayne reported. He was kneeling beside a dark-haired woman who was still breathing, but would not be for long; she had been struck through the stomach and blood was welling up between her fingers where she clutched the wound.

"Medic!" Jack ordered. "Lieutenant Stanis; get her stabilised if you can."

"Yes, Sir." SG-12's medic nodded her head, but she looked doubtful.

"If she lives, read her her rights; as few of them as she has left." Jack lifted his tac radio. "Hello Angel-1, this is SG-1-niner; status report on our party guests."

"The joint is jumping, 1-niner," Lieutenant Frost replied, "and the guests are going the distance, but the party has not been crashed; the hosts are still on the door. Angel-2 got her toes crushed in the first and has withdrawn to the side of the floor."

"Confirmed," Jack replied. He turned to his own team. "Hopefully, that means the enemy will stay tied up on the door while we take out the weapons; always assuming the Guyen don't manage to crash." He nodded to Major Parker, Jonas and Teal'c. "Good luck," he said.

"And you, O'Neill," Teal'c replied.

"Let's move out."

*

Wilkes burst into Wenig's cabin. Once more, the commander was lost in his fantasy world and Wilkes was disturbed to note that – for the first time in many years – he had also changed back into the full uniform of an SS Obersturmbannführer. Death's Head markings glittered at his collar and his chest was laden with the medals that he had once claimed to have discarded. Even after all that had occurred in the past few hours, Wilkes felt a deep sense of shock at the realisation that Wenig had been lying to him since the beginning.

"Wenig!" Wilkes snapped, shaking the man by the shoulders. "Wenig, you bastard, talk to me!"

Wenig just grinned, inanely; a trickle of spittle ran from the corner of his mouth. Wilkes threw Wenig back into his chair and slapped him across the face; this achieved little except a slight lessening of Wilkes' frustration. He drew the pulsar from his hip and fired into the resonator's control console. He held the trigger down until the capacitor was drained, a seven-second energy stream melting every circuit and semiconductor. With his virtual reality feed unceremoniously severed, Wenig drifted back to consciousness. Wilkes' pulsar was aimed at his face; the weapon hummed softly as the capacitor recharged.

"What is the meaning of this?" Wenig demanded.

"Order all power diverted to the weapons," Wilkes snapped. He wanted to pull the trigger and destroy the man who had betrayed his trust, but now was not the time to muddy the waters.

"I am the commander here..."

"You are a useless, insane addict!" Wilkes accused. "Unfortunately, too many of our comrades still follow you. The order must come from you."

"This ship..."

"...will be taken if you do not act, now! Give the order, then get out there and join the fight!"

*

Sharne popped out of the cover of a boulder for a moment, then dropped back. She edged past her second in command, Vrelik, and scuttled to the far end of the boulder, readied her spear gun and stepped out. She aimed the weapon based on her split second observations of the enemy positions and her spear impaled one of the defenders in the hatch. Two others returned fire as Sharne ducked back behind her boulder.

"How long are you thinking that this rock is surviving?" Vrelik asked.

Sharne shrugged. "Long enough."

Even as she spoke, the boulder shuddered under a new assault.

"They are having more weapons that are functioning," Sharne noted. "This is becoming interesting."

"The infantry are not being able to be attacking while these weapons are firing," Vrelik observed.

"Then we are dying alone," Sharne told him.

*

SG-5 went through the door of the prison deck firing; the guards never stood a chance. One of the enhanced warriors did manage to charge them, evading the rifle fire, but Teal'c stepped up and dropped him with a powerful blow from his staff weapon. Not far ahead, one of the cells still had an active force field.

"Sandy," Jonas said.

Teal'c nodded once. "Major Parker; continue to the engine room."

"You heard the man," Parker replied, without hesitation. Technically he outranked Teal'c, but the Jaffa's position at the SGC was very complicated and also highly respected. The Marines moved forward, while Teal'c turned to cover the door behind them. Jonas ran to the cell.

"Hello, Jonas," Sandy said.

"Hey," Jonas replied. He moved towards the controls.

Sandy's head snapped up. "Gottling!" she snapped.

Jonas looked up at a soft, easily-ignored sound. He saw, dimly, the hulking shape of Sturmscharführer Gottling, standing between him and Teal'c. Then Gottling struck, slamming his fist into the back of Teal'c's head and knocking the Jaffa cold.

Jonas reached for his sidearm. He was not sure if he hesitated or if Gottling was simply faster than Denk, but this time he had no chance to fire before the enemy was upon him. Gottling lifted him up with one, meaty hand and slammed him twice against the force field; it felt like being beaten against a wall of electrified plastic.

"This is your rescuer?" Gottling taunted, pressing Jonas' face against the barrier. "He is more pathetic than you!"

Jonas could see Sandy, sitting in the cell. Her face flushed with fear and anger.

"Let him go, Gottling," she growled.

Gottling laughed and ground Jonas' nose into the force field.

Something deadly flickered in Sandy's eyes and she began to change.

*

"How's the patient, Stanis?" Major Liddell asked his medic.

"Dying," Stanis replied, disconsolately.

Liddell shrugged. "Better than her friends," he noted.

Stanis turned to face her CO. "I know we shot her, but it's still not easy..."

Liddell's eyes widened in alarm. "Look out!" he called.

Stanis turned back and sprang to her feet. Against all probability, the patient had not only recovered consciousness, but caught up one of the fallen weapons. Liddell was the fastest to his weapon, but before he could even aim, a sharp whine filled their ears and they fell, unconscious.

Ravens pressed her back against the bulkhead and pushed herself to her feet. There was a pulsar not far from her, but she left that where it lay. She dismissed the idea of making SG-12's incapacity more permanent; her comrades had fallen in battle and she was still not willing to execute an unconscious Air Force officer. She let the sonic blaster fall as well; she doubted whether she would have had the strength to raise it again.

With painful slowness, one hand pressed against her stomach to hold her guts inside, she shuffled along the companionway towards the intercom panel. She could feel the blood oozing through the cavities of her body and leaking between her fingers. Her breathing was laboured and she could taste blood in her mouth.

She half-fell against the intercom panel and leaned her head against the microphone. "General alert," she said, her voice a rough gurgle. "Rear hatch breached. Intruders aboard."

Her finger slipped from the transmit switch. She tried to put it back, but her arm would not do as she wanted. Her legs felt weak and she slipped slowly down the wall.

*

The alarms went off just as Jack reached the starboard control room door.

"Three-niner?" Jack asked.

"Ready," Major Warren replied. SG-3 had taken the other companionway to the port-side hatch.

Jack raised a hand and signalled for his team to stand ready. "Go, go, go!" He snapped.

Sam cracked open the hatch; Jack tossed in a smoke grenade, followed by a flash-bang. Sam pulled the hatch closed again until they had heard the sharp report, then they charged in, with SG-2 following. Jack and Sam split up to cover as much of the room as possible. Infra-red laser aiming beams cut through the smoke from both hatches. The bridge crew stumbled around, disoriented.

"Down on the floor!" Jack ordered.

"Get down, now!" Warren added. "Everybody, away from the controls!"

One of the bridge officers, although half-blinded, tried to reach for a sidearm. Warren swung his M4 like a club and knocked the man to the ground.

"Get down and stay...!"

A movement at the corner of his vision made Jack look up. "Head's up!" he warned.

Warren turned, but all he saw was a swirling in the smoke until the altered warrior struck. Warren fell hard. The attacker moved up to strike Warren's second-in-command, but even though Jack could not focus on his shape, he was able to see enough to track the soldier's movement. The P90 kicked against his shoulder; when the soldier fell, he was visible to all.

"Restrain the crew," Jack ordered. "Lieutenant Field, see to Major Warren; Carter, shut this vessel down."

*

Wilkes left Wenig to get ready and headed forward to the hatch. As he went, he noted that the lights were flickering; the ship was being powered down.

"Oh, Hell," he muttered, changing direction to make for the prison decks.

*

Jonas tried to convince himself that what he was seeing was due to his own oxygen shortage, but ultimately he had to admit that Sandy was changing.

At first she simply appeared to be angry; her eyes were wide, her nostrils flared; her face was red and she was hyperventilating. Then she began to froth at the mouth. She seemed to rise up to her full height, but Jonas knew that she had been standing straight up before; she was getting bigger. Her eyes bulged; her pupils burned. The seams of her shirt began to strain, hair sprouted from the skin of her neck and Jonas found that he could no longer deny that something uncanny was occurring.

"Was zum Teufel...?" the German murmured, releasing the pressure on Jonas very slightly.

The force field went down. Jonas suddenly found himself thrown forward to land at Sandy's feet. He rolled onto his back and saw the soldier draw his pulsar, but before the big German could fire, Sandy hurled herself on him. Maybe it was a matter of perspective, but she looked almost as big as Gottling and the force of her charge was certainly sufficient to knock the man off-balance and send them both back, over the railings and down fifteen feet to the bottom of the prison level.

Jonas gathered his wits and stood up. The lights had gone out at some point and in the dim glow of the emergency lighting he could only just make out that the railings had bent like wheat stalks when Sandy and Gottling had hit them. He could hear sounds from below; from their violence and energy, he did not think that either Sandy or the German had been killed by the fall. Warily, he moved toward the rail; the metal had been bent out of shape where the two fighters had gone over.

A sharp, agonised cry rose up from the depths; a man's cry. Jonas began to lean forward, but powerful arms yanked him backwards into the shadows of Sandy's cell. The darkness was broken by the flash of a pulsar burst and the control panel exploded in a confusion of sparks and a skirl of acrid smoke.

The scream came again, longer this time and ending in a gurgle. Jonas was held immobile, a hand clamped over his mouth; had he been free to move, he would probably have fallen to his knees in terror.

After a moment of stillness, a creature sprang up and vaulted over the railings, landing heavily on the deck. The creature was easily eight feet tall and – to judge by the way the sturdy walkway shuddered at its landing – weight more than half a tonne. It's massive, muscular body was covered in dense, grey hair, great fangs overlapped on either side of a blunt muzzle and its fingers ended in short, wickedly-sharp claws. There was something apish about it, and something lupine. If Jonas were pressed to find a name for it...he would have declined.

Jonas was a rational man and, as such, he could not have stood in front of his team and told them that he had seen a werewolf.

*

The boulder shuddered once more. Sharne could feel the heat of the blasts through the think curtain of rock that remained. She tensed to spring when the boulder was gone, knowing that she would have only one last chance to take any of her foes with her, but the shot never came.

After a long moment, she gave a hiss of triumph. "Yesss! Attack!"

With an exultant cry, the surviving Guyen-tor surged forward, eight warriors, killing-claws raised for battle. Valiant to the last, the enemy stood and fired as they charged; it was a brave, but futile attempt.

*

"Systems down, Colonel," Sam reported.

Jack nodded and lifted his radio. "Hello, SG-Strike-niner," he said, "this is SG-1-niner. You have a go. I say again, you have a go."

At the Stargate, Major Ridley of the US Marine Corps readied his rifle. "You heard the man!" he called back to his strike team. "Let's sweep 'em up!"

*

"Keep still."

Jonas felt a crawling dread in his stomach; the voice in his ear was that of Major Wilkes.

"Keep still," Wilkes repeated, in what could barely even be called a whisper. "If she hears you, we're both dead."

The werewolf raised its – her – head and sniffed the air. She drew in a whiff of the smoke from the shattered field controls and recoiled as though slapped. She shook her head clear, then began to move slowly along the walkway towards the forward decks.

Jonas realised that he was holding his breath and slowly let it out, knowing that the alternative was to continue holding it until he had no choice but to let out a ragged gasp that would certainly reveal his position to the werewolf. As it was, her head half turned at the soft exhalation, but some other sound, towards the prow, caught her attention and she loped away through the hatch.

"Oh, Sandra," Wilkes sighed.

"Sandy?" Jonas asked, unable to believe it.

Wilkes released his grip and Jonas turned. He was not entirely surprised to find that no-one was there. Jonas felt a pressure on his arm, as though of someone brushing past, and then he knew that he was quite alone. Clearly, Wilkes was much better at making himself unseen than Denk had been.

On the walkway, Teal'c groaned. Grateful of the distraction, Jonas pushed all other considerations aside and moved to tend to his fallen comrade.

*

Wilkes forced himself to run, although his feet wanted to drag. He did not want to face Sandy in combat – and not only because he feared what she had become – but he had a duty to try and contain the thing that he had set free. He could not, in good conscience, allow her to roam free on this planet.

It was easy to track her; she was not making any attempt at stealth. From the scrabbled claw-marks in the deck plates, it looked as though she were picking up speed and heading for the nearest exit; the emergency hatch.

"Ravens," Wilkes realised. He pushed himself to move faster.

At the hatch, he found the scene of slaughter; five dead and four unconscious. He spared little thought for the down airmen or the League Officers; he had eyes for only one of the nine. He dropped to his knees beside her and realised with a start that she was not dead.

"Ravens?" he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Sir." Her voice was thick and heavy from the blood that clogged her throat.

Wilkes gently pulled aside her jacket; it took only a moment to see that the wound was mortal.

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

"No."

"I can feel it, Sir," she murmured. "Please don't lie to me."

Wilkes stroked her face. "I'm sorry, Marianne. I was a fool to bring you here; any of you."

"We came of our own free will," she assured him. "Just...hold me, please. I feel so cold."

"That's shock."

"I know. Please."

Wilkes felt his heart twisted in the agony of indecision. "I can't," he whispered. "Sandy is out there. I have to stop her."

"Please," Ravens begged, her eyes widening in terror. "I don't want to die alone, Pip."

Wilkes looked down at Ravens and saw her heart open up before his eyes. He saw the fear that had dogged her life; the fear that she would always be alone, trapped in a prison of her own making, shielded from human contact by her own desire for power. The death of Sooenne Amberson had hit her hard; on this world, she had had no-one else. Wilkes was torn: he had to go, but he could not leave her like this.

Wilkes' gaze softened and he touched Raven's face with a gentle hand. "You won't die alone, Marianne," he promised her.

*

Vrelik drove his spear into the last guard with such force that the man was pinned to the bulkhead behind them. With a cry of triumph, the Guyen-tor sprang through the hatchway, only to be hurled back by the detonation of a grenade. He rolled to his feet, a little unsteadily.

A figure appeared in the hatch, small and unassuming in stature, but sheathed in an air of untouchable confidence. His face was a distorted mask of fury. "This is my ship," he growled. "My world. You have no place in it, abomination!"

Around them, the enemy were falling, caught between the warriors and the strike team moving up from the Gate, but Vrelik still felt a shudder run through him.

The man raised his arm; he held in his right hand a long rod and a light burned fiercely at the end of it. The make was unfamiliar, but Vrelik knew a plasma cutter when he saw one. He knew that such a tool was an unwieldy weapon, but one that would pierce his trenoth better than most weapons.

"Your followers are being finished," Vrelik hissed, more eager than he ever thought he would be to avoid a fight. Behind his back, his trenoth's pseudopods passed a throwing blade down into his waiting hand.

"I need no followers," the man declared. "I am Der Führer Edsel Wenig. I am a god." He flipped the switch on his cutter and the spark blossomed into a plasma flame six inches long.

Vrelik gave a hiss of battle-rage and his hand snapped out, sending the throwing blade spinning towards Wenig, but the man was no longer there. The self-styled god moved with a speed that was certainly inhuman – if not actually divine – and struck from the left, stabbing the plasma cutter at Vrelik's face.

Vrelik fell back and tripped. Wenig pressed after him. As his arms sought to break his fall, Vrelik's killing claws grabbed at the cutter, but their hard points slipped on the metal surface and with a tormented shriek the flame inched towards his face. His hand scrabbled for a weapon and found a rock; he hurled it at Wenig's face and was able to buy enough space to drag himself back out of range.

"You shall fall before my flaming sword, demon," Wenig ranted, "and all unbelievers shall share your fate!"

Vrelik spread his killing claws wide and lunged at Wenig. As he closed, Vrelik thrust between his claws with his long knife, aiming for Wenig's heart. The small man stepped inside the reach of the claws and caught Vrelik's wrist with a strength great enough to crack the trenoth's chitinous shell. The plasma cutter slashed upwards and sliced clean through both of Vrelik's left claw-limbs.

The trenoth screamed in pain and sent out a terrified pheromone signal. Vrelik tried to manoeuvre around to attack with his right-side claws, but with the left flank exposed, there was nothing to stop Wenig making a thrust to his side. Vrelik felt the cutter's flame pierce the trenoth's armour and burn into his flesh; the pain was beyond anything he had experienced in years.

"So fall all abominations," Wenig muttered. "Only the pure shall inherit the Earth."

Vrelik collapsed on the ground; the trenoth curled up in its death spasms, forcing his body into a foetal ball. Wenig barely spared him a thought; he looked around and located the next demon to meet their death on his fiery sword.

It was an easy choice; even as he stepped over the body of his first victim, one of the monsters – green and shiny like a beetle, but slick with wet blood – grasped Feldwebel Harman with its claws and cut him in half.

"Abomination!" he roared. The creature looked up, met his gaze and hissed.

Wenig charged. As he had done with the first demon, he used his mental abilities to throw an image of himself straight at the fiend, while he cut to the left. He sliced downwards with the cutter, but this abomination was much faster; it turned and blocked the cutter with its sword, then slashed a claw across Wenig's face. He staggered back, almost revelling in the unfamiliar feeling of shock as his own blood was spilled for the first time in decades.

"You are leading here?" the demon asked; Wenig was shocked to hear a woman's voice emerge from between the wildly masticating mandibles.

"I am Der Führer Edsel Wenig," he replied. "I rule in all places. You can not stand before me, dem..."

The creature attacked again, stabbing with a spear and a sword while her claws cut back and forth in a seemingly random pattern that could not be evaded so easily as the male's concerted assault. Wenig had no breath spare to speak; already he had betrayed himself by answering the creature and lost ground. He slashed wildly at her face with the plasma cutter to try and gain space, but the demon's focus was incredible.

Wenig was forced back, but he kept his head. Gradually, he was able to steady his nerve and study his assailant's fighting style. The demon's advance slowed and Wenig was able to press her back a few steps, before she changed her technique and came back at him. They fenced this way, the advantage shifting back and forth, for several minutes, before at last Wenig found an opening. The demon's foot slipped and she stumbled sideways. Wenig sprang forward with a cry of triumph and thrust the cutter straight for her heart.

The demon stepped back, her footing secure; she set two of her claws together then brought them up in overlapping arcs which cut through Wenig's wrist. He fell away with a cry of pain.

"You...You can not defeat me!" he cried, defiantly. "I am Der Führer..."

A sword and spear pierced his breast and silenced his voice for ever.

Sharne leaned down and snatched the Iron Cross from the throat of her fallen foe. "You are the abomination!" she spat.

*

Major Liddell woke up with a sore head and a squawking radio.

"...Sierra-Golf-12 are you there? Please respond."

Groggily, he sat up and picked up his radio. "Hello SG-1-niner, this is SG-12-niner. Sorry if you were worrying; we had a little...trouble."

"What's your status, SG-12?"

"SG-12 were...incapacitated." He looked around. "No casualties, however. Our patient is dead, though."

"Always looked likely," O'Neill sighed.

"Yes," Liddell admitted, "but...it wasn't her wounds that killed her. Not the bullet wounds, I mean."

"Then how did she die?"

Liddell turned away from the young woman's body. "After she put us down, it looks like someone came along and...and broke her neck."

*

Sandra Dent was lost in her own mind. The world around her was distorted; she could see things far away and in deep shadow, but fine detail eluded her; her head was awhirl with a thousand scents and sounds; the wind whipped through the fur which now covered her entire body; and the senses she still had no names for now made her head feel oppressively crowded.

With her sensual self so expanded, the intellectual side of her retreated; unable to cope, she hunkered down inside her psyche and hid, letting instinct and emotion guide her. She was confused and frightened, but instinct told her that there were those in the ship who would try to harm her. She could either fight them or run away, and although she could feel her strength, fear was stronger in her than rage and so she ran. She ran for the first scent of fresh air that came her way and then she ran away from the ship, away from the open spaces, towards the woods, where the trees would hide her shape and the multitude of animal life could mask her scent.

Once she reached the relative safety of the trees, Sandy slowed down and her consciousness drifted up to take stock of her situation. As she pattered to a halt in a clearing, she was dimly aware that she had run the half-mile to the forest at a pace which would not have shamed an Olympic sprinter, without even breaking a sweat. Her heart was pounding, but that was a result of the adrenaline pulsing through her system, rather than from exertion.

At some point, she had dropped to all fours and now it felt more comfortable to stay that way.

Before she could relax, a foreign scent impinged on her awareness. The scents of an alien forest were all new to Sandy, of course, but she was certain that there were some smells that should be there, and some that should not.

Sandy started off towards the strange scent, but she was distracted again by the sound of running feet. Fear rose up inside her once more, swamping her thoughts once more. She turned towards the sound and flexed her clawed fingers.

Wilkes reached the clearing and stopped, taken aback. "My God," he whispered.

Sandy growled and peeled her lips back from her teeth. She towered over Wilkes, but she smelled no fear on his sweat.

"Magnificent," Wilkes murmured. "But I can't let you run loose in this wood, Sandy."

Sandy began to pace around him. His right hand was out of sight, but the tang of bare, oiled steel tickled her nostrils; he had a drawn knife in his grip. She snarled.

"I'm sorry," Wilkes said.

Before he moved, Sandy saw the air around him go still, then boil with turbulence as a pressure wave built in front of his body. She knew that he was fast, but he still seemed to move in slow motion. Deep down, the part of her that still thought marvelled at the bestial roar which escaped her mouth as she moved to meet him.

*

Given the sheer volume of blood that had been splattered around the main hatch, there were surprisingly few casualties. The men and women of the League of Officers had been utterly unprepared for the appearance of a horde of armoured things and most of them had panicked. The Guyen-tor were savage in battle, brutally efficient and quite relentless, but they did not kill fleeing enemies, nor butcher those who threw down their weapons and surrendered. There were a number of bruised heads, several broken limbs and more than a few battered egos, but not many dead.

"You will all be taken back to Earth," Jack explained, "where you will receive food and medical treatment prior to your transportation to prison. Your courts martial will take place within the week; we don't like to leave these things sitting around."

"I would like it taken into consideration that my officers only used deadly force in response to an attack in kind," Captain Manners, leader of the League group said.

"So tell the judge," Jack advised. "Wrap 'em up Major Parker. Organise bearers for the wounded...and the dead. Then get them back to the Gate. I'd really like not to have to see their faces again."

Jack turned his back as the Marines escorted the prisoners away. Unlike some military officers, he had never really enjoyed violence. He recognised its utility and had often argued the necessity of military force with Daniel Jackson, but that was how he viewed it: necessary and utilitarian. Violence was not its own justification and a part of him would always hate it; being obliged to bring main force against his own countrymen – and women – had brought that home more clearly than usual.

Sam was standing beside the hatch and Jack wandered across to her.

"I've told Sharne you'll show them around the ship, Carter," he told her. "Is that okay?" he asked, uncertainly. She looked about as enthusiastic as he felt.

"Sure thing, Sir," she agreed, listlessly.

"You don't sound too sure."

Sam shrugged. "I remember how excited I was when we got here, but then...I remember how excited the others were. All of those engineers who died here, my friends and my colleagues. A few days ago I was worried we'd end up losing this ship like...like all the rest we've found. Now I can't wait to hand it over to the Guyen. I can hardly stand the sight of it, Colonel."

"I know what you mean," Jack agreed.

"How's Teal'c?"

"Physically fine, but you know how he gets when someone whips him in a fight."

Sam gave a small chuckle. "Yeah; I know how he gets."

"They found what was left of the guy who sucker-punched him," Jack noted. "One of the Guyen warriors went down to the lower decks to check the body; he came up looking rather pale."

"I'm not sure I needed to know that," Sam admitted.

Jack sighed. "Alright," he said. "I'll send Sharne over for the tour, then we can get the hell off this rock."

*

When Sandy learned to fight, it was Philip Wilkes who had taught her. Everything she knew, she had learned from him, but there had not been enough time for him to impart to her all that he knew about the fine and ancient art of violence. Even now, with her body swollen with inhuman power and moving at impossible speed, Sandy was not quite a match for her one time mentor and lover. At first, she seemed to be doing well, but while she pushed Wilkes back, he kept his balance and warded off her attacks, waiting for her to wear herself out.

It took a long time. With her newfound strength, it was almost half an hour before Sandy began to flag, but Wilkes might not be her equal in raw force, but fighting cautiously and defensively, he had the endurance to hold out that long. When Sandy's arms were burning and her legs felt like jelly, he was just finding his second wind.

Sandy lunged, trying to finish the fight while she still had strength. Wilkes ducked under her wild swing and rolled her over his shoulder. She fell hard and Wilkes was on her before she could recover. He pressed his knife up underneath her chin and braced both hands on the hilt for the killing thrust.

"I'm sorry," Wilkes whispered, looking down into Sandy's eyes. Then he paused.

Sandy did not stop to question her good fortune. Still running on instinct, she just acted, bringing up both hands and plunging her claws into both sides of Wilkes' chest. His eyes widened in shock; he coughed once, blood bubbling between his lips. The knife slipped from his fingers. Sandy withdrew her claws and Wilkes toppled sideways off her chest.

Slowly, Sandy dragged herself to her feet. She looked down at Wilkes body and felt a pang of sorrow and regret pass through her.

She lifted her head to the sky and howled.

*

Teal'c walked out to the edge of the woods when he heard the howl. He recognised the posts driven into the ground as warnings and went no further than the edge of the trees, but he stayed where he was, haunted by that cry. It was a cry full of pain, sorrow and loneliness. Teal'c recognised the sound, for it was one that he knew well. The cry of a creature alone in the world; of something unique in a homogenous world.

He stood, silent and still, while the sun went down, bathing the woods in golden light. Then, in the shadows of dusk, he saw something move under the trees.

"Who is there?" Teal'c asked. He drew the pistol from his hip. "Come out where I can see you or I will fire."

The something he had seen emerged from the shadows; it was a woman, grey-haired and handsome, with broad, powerful shoulders and fierce eyes. "That would be a trifle rash," she told Teal'c. She was dressed in a rough, homespun woollen tunic and trousers and heavy, leather boots; a knife hung at her hip and she carried a pulsar in her right hand. She looked at least seventy, but like Wilkes she still carried herself with an air of competence and strength. "You should always be sure of what you are facing before you start shooting."

Before he could ask what she meant, another shadow detached itself from the woods to the woman's left; this one was a man, dressed in the same fashion as the woman and with a similarity of features that suggested they were related. He carried a bow and had an arrow drawn to the string, as did the young woman who appeared on Teal'c's left. No others came forward, but Teal'c became aware that there were others beneath the trees; perhaps a great many others.

"Do you stay or leave?" the old woman asked, bluntly.

"We leave tonight," Teal'c replied. "Others will stay until the ship can be made spaceworthy."

"Will anyone else come?"

"Not that I am aware of."

The old woman nodded. "It is good," she said. "We have been alone for many years; I do not think that we wish to change that now."

"You are the others from the ship?" Teal'c asked.

"Those who did not share Wenig's dreams of conquest," the woman agreed. "Mostly we are those civilians who were taken by the Isthadi, and especially the women." She looked questioningly at Teal'c, then holstered her pulsar. When he did the same with his pistol, she motioned to her companions and their lowered their bows.

The old woman advanced and sat on the ground, indicating with a gesture that Teal'c should do likewise. He did so. The girl stood by, but the young man went back under the trees and returned with a satchel, from which the old woman removed two cups, a loaf and a bottle.

"I am Bianca. Will you take wine and break bread with me?" she asked.

"I would be honoured."

Bianca poured the wine – it had a potent aroma and tasted of berries, rather than grapes – and indicated for Teal'c to break the bread.

Teal'c chewed thoughtfully on his bread, swallowed and then spoke. "Why did the women leave?" he asked.

"Wenig felt that we should stay and breed with his officers," Bianca explained. "Even those of us – myself not included – with husbands at home, and so we decided to leave rather than become whores. Wenig would not have let us go, but with the assistance of a sympathetic officer, we were able to fake an attack on the camp in which we appeared to have been killed and our corpses taken to be eaten; he remained and spread the word of a terrible foe who lurked in the woods. None attacked us, and sometimes our friend would persuade Wenig to send those who displeased him to us instead of executing them. He thought that it was all the same, you see.

"Over the years we did breed," she added, "but only as and when we chose. Our numbers have grown and we know this forest well. You would not want to cross us," she added.

"I do not doubt that."

"We are not quite human anymore," Bianca admitted.

"No more am I."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "Anyway, we have no wish to return to Earth. We only wish to be left alone."

Teal'c inclined his head. "I do not think that there will be any argument," he promised. "You may wish to speak with those who remain, however. They are not quite human either; there may be common ground between you."

"Perhaps we shall," Bianca allowed. "Phaela."

This time the man stood guard, while the girl went back into the shadows.

"My granddaughter, Phaela," Bianca added. "My boy, Ardan" – she indicated her companion – "was born on the ship. His father must be dead by now, I suppose."

"I thought that you said that you were not married?"

"I wasn't." She sighed. "Poor Ardan; they experimented on him from the first moment he was born. When we crashed here, it was the first time he'd breathed fresh air. He's a good lad, though, and his Phaela's an angel."

As though on cue, the girl returned and set down a large, wooden urn at Teal'c's side.

"The officer who helped us was killed trying to protect us," she said. "Something was let loose in these woods and we must try to hunt it down. That is our concern, but we would appreciate it if you could see that his family were to receive his ashes."

"I shall endeavour to accede to your wishes," Teal'c assured her. "What was the officer's name."

"Major Philip Wilkes," Bianca replied.

*

Meanwhile, Jonas was sitting on the rear of the hill, staring out towards the mountains as the last light of the sun disappeared. His head was in his hands and he was looking at his feet.

A puff of hot breath touched the back of Jonas' neck. He looked up, right into the deep, black eyes of the werewolf. She looked almost like a real wolf now, just slightly shorter in the forelimbs, and much, much bigger. She was huge – six feet tall, nearly twelve feet long and easily a tonne in weight – but he had not heard a sound as she approached. Her face was inches from his, mouth slightly open and filled with long, sharp fangs.

Jonas swallowed hard. "Hello," he said.

The werewolf's eyes closed. For a long moment, nothing seemed to move, then at last, Jonas realised that she was beginning to shrink. The fur began to fall from her face, leaving her skin smooth and pale. In a matter of seconds, the wolf was gone and Sandy was in front of him.

"Hello," she replied.

There was another long pause, then Jonas blushed bright red. He stood up quickly, took off his jacket and put it over Sandy's shoulders. Then she blushed and pulled the garment close around her. She turned away from him and took a moment to put her arms through the sleeves.

"I'm glad you're bigger than me," she noted, tugging the bottom of the jacket down as far as it would go; somewhere around the top of her thighs.

"Your hair's grown back," Jonas noted.

Sandy put a hand to her head. "So it has," she said. She sat down next to him and drew her knees up to her chest. "I feel sick."

"It's over," Jonas told her, gently. "We can go home now."

She shook her head. "I can never go back."

"Of course you can."

"I can't." Sandy put her head between her knees. "Do you think that's it?" she asked. "I turn back into a human and I can go home? The changes that they made in me are still there. I can feel them inside me, Jonas. My senses and sharper; my instincts...You're trying to think how to tell me something unpleasant; I know that just from your smell and the way the heat moves under your skin."

"Under my skin?"

"Oh yes. I look at you and I see...whatever anyone else would see. But if I look harder I can see the heat of you; harder still and there's a sort of energy. If I stare for long enough I even start to hear your thoughts."

"Oh." Jonas blushed again.

"So you see, I can't go back. Even if it was only what I can see and hear and smell, they'd want to put me in a lab and run tests on me until the cows come home."

"Only if we tell them," Jonas pointed out.

"Jonas...I can feel the rage and power inside me. I changed back because I'm keeping it all in check, but if I were to lose my temper again then I would change back and...And I don't know. Maybe I could control myself, but maybe I couldn't." She looked hard at her hands. "I killed Pip. He came after me to stop me hurting any of the people in the woods. He tried to kill me, but he couldn't. He still loved me, I think, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. I didn't even hesitate."

"He would have done it," Jonas told her. "Maybe he didn't want to, but he would have done it. You had no choice."

"Maybe I should have let him kill me." Sandy paused. "Like you killed Johnny."

Jonas started. He gathered his composure quickly, but could not hide the fear that gripped him.

"You see?" Sandra asked. "If even you are afraid of me, what hope is there?"

"What are you going to do?" Jonas asked; he could not think of any other arguments.

"Go up to the mountains," she announced. "I'll spend some time getting to know my own limits; maybe I can learn to control it."

Jonas fought for something to say, but all he could come up with was: "Good luck."

Sandy smiled, then leaned across to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Jonas," she said. "For everything." She stood and began walking away from the ship.

"Wait!" Jonas called. "You'll need clothes, at least."

Sandy glanced over her shoulder. "No," she replied. "No, I won't." She turned away and began to run. After a few paces, her gait changed, and before she was gone from view there was no sign of the woman; just the huge wolf and the fluttering shreds of Jonas' jacket.

*

Next Day

SG-1 trudged up the path to the Stargate; the path they had descended so eagerly a few days before. Teal'c carried the urn, cradled in his arms and kept glancing back at the forest. Jonas kept his eyes on his feet until a lonely howl drew his gaze towards the mountains. He began to turn, but Jack put a hand on his shoulder and kept him moving forwards.

"She needs to be alone," he told Jonas, kindly.

"Colonel?"

"Come on home," Jack said. There was a long pause, then he asked: "You don't get out much, do you?"

"Not allowed," Jonas reminded him.

"Do you want to go to England?"

*

Knightsbridge

Jonas waited uncomfortably in a plush hotel reception room. It was not the kind of hotel where tourists came to stay, more the sort where people lived full time. He held a padded bag on his lap, in the sort of grip that indicated that the contents might be of great value.

"Mr Quinn?"

Jonas looked up. The speaker was a young woman with a narrow face and high cheekbones; she looked delicate, almost elfin, but her eyes – firm, blue and confident – were her grandfather's eyes. She wore a portfolio case over her right shoulder.

Jonas stood, shifted the bag to one arm and offered his hand. "Miss James?" he asked.

"Call me Pippa," she said, with a broad smile. She took the hand in a firm grip.

"I'm Jonas."

Pippa nodded. "We can get a coffee round the corner," she suggested. "The hotel puts up with a lot from the boss, but rather less from her staff."

"What is it you do?" Jonas asked.

"I'm a PA. You wouldn't have heard of my employer; unlike most PA's, I'm paid to keep her name out of the paper."

The left the hotel and walked down the street to an up-market café. The waitress seemed to know Pippa; when she brought the menus, she raised an eyebrow in Jonas' direction, then winked approvingly at Pippa as they ordered.

"Your mother was Molly Wilkes?" Jonas asked.

"Well, Molly James at the time, but Molly Wilkes at birth," Pippa corrected.

"And she was the daughter of Philip Wilkes?"

"We established this over the phone, Mr...Jonas," Pippa reminded him. "You said that you had something important that you wanted to give me; something that belonged to my grandfather?"

"In a manner of speaking," Jonas hedged. "I can't really explain how this came into my possession, I'm afraid. I do have a story I can tell you, but I don't like lying and I've never been very good at it. I...sort of work for the US military and we found this on manoeuvres. That's as much as I can say. Well; as much as I can say that's true."

"This was in Africa?" Pippa asked. "I know that's where Philip – my grandfather – was last stationed."

"I can't say," Jonas repeated. "It's probably easiest just to show you." He opened the bag and took out the urn.

Pippa took the vessel and studied it for a long time, then looked at Jonas. "Is this really..."

Jonas nodded. "There's no reason to doubt it. The locals held him in great respect," he added. "They asked that this be given to his family. We traced Major Wilkes' daughter and..." He stopped, sensing that he was approaching delicate territory.

"It's alright," Pippa assured him. "It's more than a year now and I knew it was coming. Mama's death was not sudden. You can never really prepare, but I had enough time to be as ready as I could." She set the urn down on the table and picked up her case. "My mother kept a scrapbook," she explained. "She spent years trying to find out what had happened to her father and collected everything she found in this book. When she found out that she was dying, she spent weeks getting it in order for me; in case I ever wanted to pick up where she left off. Would you like to see it?"

"Yes," Jonas decided. "Yes, please."

Pippa took out the book, a large, hard-backed album; old, but well-cared for. She passed it to Jonas and watched, with her chin on her folded hands, while he leafed through it. When he looked up at her, she smiled.

The book contained a host of documents: Letters to various officials – and even a few replies – copies of dispatches, the telegram which had brought word of Wilkes' capture. Most of these he had seen already, but they had obviously been precious to Molly James. New to Jonas were the photographs; Philip Wilkes, both with his family – mother and father, brothers and sisters, as well as his young wife and his infant child – and in uniform with his comrades. From the photographs of Stella Wilkes, it was clear whose delicate features were visible in the granddaughter. There were even photographs from Africa, showing his patrol, and in the corner of one of them...

"Odd to see a woman in a World War II field unit," Jonas noted, casually.

"Sandra Dent?" Pippa asked. "That's a whole other story, if you've got the time."

"I don't fly back until tomorrow night," Jonas replied.

"Maybe we could talk over dinner then?" Pippa suggested. "My treat?"

"Mine," Jonas insisted. "I'm on expenses."

Pippa laughed. "Your treat then," she agreed. "She was quite a fascination for me as a girl," she admitted. "Mama found out about her and I...I suppose I idolised her; a woman who was so determined to 'do her bit'. It all seems a little Jingoistic now, but she was a remarkable woman. When they were captured...She was mentioned in dispatches as a true hero."

"That she was," Jonas murmured.

"I beg your pardon?" Pippa asked, leaning closer.

"So was he," Jonas said. "Your grandfather was a hero."