Complete
Action/adventure, drama
Set in Season 9

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 story follows from events in King Solomon's Naquadah Mines and Beautiful Dreamer. This is part one of a two-part fiction, continued in Extinction Events.

Acknowledgements:

Many thanks to my beta reader, Sarah.

Worst Case Scenario

Cincinnati,
Tuesday, 07:30 EDT

Agent Malcolm Barrett put his shoulder to the heavy door and forced it open. The buckled metal shrieked across the concrete floor. The top hinge snapped and suddenly the door swung wide and dangled loosely from the bottom hinge. A stink of decay and stale cordite smoke wafted from the dark space beyond.

"Ah...damn," Barrett muttered. He reached under his jacket and drew out his sidearm; at his back, Agent Brace already held a short, squat Uzi at the ready, Agent Todd carried a short-barrelled entry shotgun and Green had a second Uzi. It was an impressive arsenal, but Barrett knew in his heart that it was too late for weapons.

"Todd?" he asked. "What are we looking for?"

"Two scientists, three researchers and two agents," Todd replied. "And nine artefacts," she added defiantly. Barrett knew that she resented the attitude taken by some of his superiors that things were more important than people, but she was also a habitual rebel and would probably be disappointed by his lack of reaction to her minor insubordination.

"In pairs then," he ordered. "Watch out for booby traps, but I want a body count first priority; any injured go straight out to the ambulance. After that, we'll do an inventory of the artefacts."

Brace looked uncomfortable. "Sir, standing orders..."

"Artefacts don't bleed to death," Barrett reminded him, earning a nod of acknowledgement and even a brief, dour smile from Todd.

In the end, the order it proved to be unimportant. The seven bodies were identified as the staff of the research laboratory; none of them needed an ambulance. The two agents had each been shot several times in the chest and head; the research staff had been bound and then executed with a single shot to the back of each of their heads. There was, thankfully, no sign that they had been tortured.

Barrett's team scoured the lab and collected up all of the artefacts that they could find. Barrett looked at the collection with a heavy heart.

"Ah, damn," he muttered.

"Sir?" Brace asked. "It could be worse, couldn't it? We only lost one."

Barrett sighed. "That's absolutely the worst thing that could have happened," he told his partner. "Just one means that they knew exactly what they were looking for and that means that they had a plan. Green; contact the Director and let him know that we have a dropped ball."

*

San Diego
Tuesday, 07:15 PDT

Thea was by nature an easy-going girl, but she was beginning to lose patience with her brother. Until recently, they had got on as well as any brother and sister, but that was before. Not before Michelle, precisely, but before the 'issue'. Now all he seemed to do was bitch at – or about – Michelle and it was really getting on Thea's nerves. As she walked toward the bus stop with her brother and her foster sister, she let them draw ahead, just so that she could get a few minutes of quiet.

They were arguing, just as they always did. Thea had heard it so many times that she tuned out the cheap, cruel words, but she hated the very sound of their voices: Mark's brittle rage; Michelle's fierce pain. So she dragged her feet and let them fade into the distance as the gap between them grew. They stayed close together, of course, locked in orbit around one another by the gravitational force of their mutual loathing.

Thea was almost half a block behind the bickering pair when the van screeched past her and drew to a halt just in front of them. So engrossed were they in their arguing that neither Mark nor Michelle immediately reacted to this sudden arrival. Mark looked up as the side door of the van slid open, but Michelle seemed more than usually upset and she barely even responded when a man in a black mask sprang from the door and caught hold of her from behind.

"Hey!" With an angry cry, Mark grabbed the arm that held Michelle and tried to prise it loose, but the man lifted a hand to Mark's face and pushed him away. A second man jumped down and grappled with Mark as the first pulled some slender object from his pocket and held it to Michelle's face. Michelle's body went limp and a moment later she had been hoisted into the back of the van by unseen hands. Mark followed, still struggling, but held now by both masked men. He made a last, desperate attempt to pull free, but they hauled him forward and his head cracked hard against the frame of the door.

Mark disappeared, the door slid closed and the van pulled away with a squeal of tormented tyres.

Thea could only stare in horror.

*

Colorado Springs
Tuesday, 08:40 MDT

The UPS van drove up just as Sam Carter was heading for her car. The uniformed driver stepped down and walked towards her with a slim package.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Samantha Carter?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Special delivery, Colonel."

Sam frowned; 'ma'am', or even 'miss' would be more a more usual form of address from a delivery woman than her rank. Warily, she took the parcel and at once the woman turned and walked away.

"Don't you need a signature?" she asked.

"Not necessary, Colonel," the woman called back. She swung up into the cab and drove away before Sam, her suspicions hardening into certainty, could move towards the vehicle.

Sam glowered at the packet in her hand as though expecting it to explode, but had it been a booby trap then the woman would surely have made a greater effort to seem like a real delivery agent. Besides, real life assassins never complicated things; a bullet was still the surest way.

Carefully, Sam took out her pocket knife and slit open the flap. She pulled out a sheet of paper printed with a grainy, digital photograph; a small, heavy object remained inside. Sam's blood ran cold as she realised what – or rather who – the subjects of the photograph were.

With her legs growing weaker by the moment, Sam fumbled with the door of her Volvo and slipped into the seat. She took a moment to steady herself and then looked at the photograph again, before fishing the heavy object from the packet; it was a cellphone, and almost at once it began to ring.

"Let me speak to them," she demanded.

"Control your temper, Colonel Carter," a synthesised voice cautioned. "The children are still asleep. If you follow instructions, you shall be permitted to speak with them when they wake."

"If you hurt them..."

"Be silent and listen, Colonel Carter; you are in no position to make demands, let alone issue threats."

With an effort, Sam swallowed her anger. "Alright," she said. "You have my attention."

"Excellent. Your niece and nephew have not been harmed...yet." Sam's mind whirled on behind her shock: that pause, and the subtle tones of the voice, could never be created by a vocoder, this was a real voice distorted; a more sophisticated technology, which meant a more sophisticated kidnapper. "They will be kept safe so long as you obey instructions. You will make no attempt to alert your colleagues to their predicament or to track them; any such attempt will be punished by the death of one of the children."

Sam dug her nails into her palm.

"You will retrieve the artefact held at Area-51 and designated 118-71A. Once you have the artefact, we will contact you again with further instructions."

"But..."

"At that time, you will be allowed to speak to the children. You have twenty-four hours to begin making preparations." There was a click and the line went dead.

Sam slowly lowered the phone. Her breathing was slow and steady, but panic threatened to take hold at any moment. She fumbled with the cellphone, her thumb refusing to answer her mind with sufficient coordination to dial a number.

She gave a cry of frustration and the sudden release shocked her out of her fugue. With a shaking hand she set down the phone and retrieved her own. The speed dial seemed impossibly slow and her heart was pounding again by the time the phone was answered.

"Hi, Sam."

Sam swallowed hard and tried to sound calm. "Hey, sweetie. How's England?"

Cassandra laughed. That was good; it meant that she had not detected Sam's fear. "How the hell should I know? I'm in Wales."

"You're getting to sound more and more like Llew."

"His mom says I sound almost as Welsh as I do American sometimes. Anyway, speaking of Annie, I thought you weren't supposed to be checking up on me since she was here to keep an eye on us?"

"I know. I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Well I'm touched, but I am almost twenty years old," Cassie reminded Sam.

"And is that meant to make you sound more or less responsible?" Sam asked, but her voice cracked towards the end of the weak joke and it sounded even less funny than it had done in her head.

"Sam?"

"Give my best to Llew and Annie," Sam said, abandoning pretence. "And watch yourself, okay? Just...take care."

"Sam? Do you need help?"

"I'm okay," Sam lied. "But I'll be out of touch for a few days and I'd like to know you're being careful."

There was a long pause. "Alright, Sam," Cassandra said in a quiet voice.

Sam felt a lump rising in her throat. "You're a good girl, Cassie," she sighed.

"I'm alright," Cassandra replied in a self-deprecating tone. "Just...don't make me come after you."

"I'll try," Sam whispered. "I'll try."

*

Stargate Command
Tuesday, 09:35 MDT

"SG-11?" General Landry asked disbelieving.

"SG-11 are a specialist archaeological survey team," Daniel Jackson protested.

"Well, SG-7 or 18 then," Sam retorted. "Not SG-1, that's the point. We're down on numbers anyway, with Teal'c off doing the Jaffa thing, and I'm running a series of experiments at the Academy labs which are approaching a critical phase. I've identified a number of artefacts currently held at Area-51 which could be key to cracking the Lee-Ibsen transphasic energy threshold variance problem," she added in a hushed tone. "I don't need to tell you what that could mean."

General Landry raised an eyebrow. "Actually, you do."

"Well, ah...It would revolutionise our engine designs and allow the, uh, building of neutrino-ion piles similar in principle to those that the Asgard use to power their ships."

Landry nodded. "Alright," he agreed. "We'll roust out another team to join Colonel Mitchell on P99-25D. You finish your experiments and order whatever you need brought out from Area-51. Just make sure you file regular reports; I don't recall hearing anything of this before now."

"I...Yes, sir. I'll need to take my gear out to the lab at the Academy for a few days, but I'll have a preliminary report on your desk before I go."

 

Daniel followed Sam into the corridor and hurried after her. She was moving fast, apparently making every effort to avoid a confrontation. Daniel did not intend to allow this.

"Sam!"

"Daniel," Sam replied without turning.

"Sam! What is going on?"

Sam stopped and turned so suddenly that Daniel actually ran into her. "This is important, Daniel!" she snapped. "More important than some dusty old ruins on another planet. I have to get ready."

Daniel watched her go, too shocked to follow. After a moment, he turned and walked back to his office. There he sat down and tried to work, but found himself unable to concentrate. He was stung by Sam's rebuke, but more than that he was troubled. Her attitude reminded him of Jack's behaviour when he had pretended to betray them and that made his stomach growl with fear.

He rose and paced to and fro.

"Bad briefing?" Amy Kawalsky asked, putting her head around the door. She held a folder loosely by her side.

"Hmph." Daniel thrust his hands into his pockets and stopped in his tracks.

"Daniel?"

Daniel withdrew his left hand from his pocket, a piece of paper held between his fingers.

"What's that?" Amy asked curiously.

"I don't know," Daniel admitted. "I didn't put it there, so either someone else has been borrowing my pants..."

Amy held up her hands in denial. "Even a stalker has to draw a line somewhere."

"...Or Sam slipped it into my pocket when I walked into her."

"Why would she do that?" Amy asked.

Daniel moved closer to Amy and dropped his voice a decibel or ten. "Because she thinks she might be being watched, even in the SGC. And that means the Trust," he sighed.

"Aren't they dead yet?"

"It's like the hydra; cut off one head and another one grows back in its place."

"Yes, I am familiar with the legend," Amy assured him dryly. She held out the folder. "There's something I want you to look at," she said.

"Um, Amy..."

Amy rolled her eyes as she closed the remaining gap between them. "Look; this translation is kind of iffy," she explained, but as she raised the folder she snatched the note from his fingers and deftly unfurled it in the shelter of the translation notes. "You want everyone to see you reading this?" she whispered.

"And of course discretion is your motivation here, rather than a desire to read my confidential correspondence?"

"Secret notes aren't correspondence and...Good God."

Daniel turned his attention to the note. "Oh my God," he whispered.

The note read: M.II and M. kidnapped by Trust. Play it cool: Find them. Chicago 555-16812 for help.

"Who are M. and M.II?" Amy whispered.

"I'm not one hundred percent sure," Daniel admitted, "but I'd guess that M. is Michelle..."

"No!" Amy was horrified.

"And M.II must be Mark II."

Amy frowned. "Mark II of what?"

"Carter," Daniel explained. "Apparently the Carters don't do 'junior', so the younger Mark Carter is Mark II."

"Geeky," Amy declared, "but cute."

"That's what Cassandra says, certainly."

"So what do we do?"

Daniel thought for a moment. "I need to get away and see what I can do to help. I can't call from the base so..."

"There's a diner about five miles west," Amy told him. "Full of big, hairy bikers. A Trust agent would have to be absolutely certifiable to look for you there."

"Would I have to be certifiable to go there?"

Amy shook her head and slipped the note back into his pocket. "Just desperate," she told him. "I'll get some of the guys to help out and we'll make sure any Trust agents on the base think you're still here."

Daniel frowned. "Can you do that?"

"Remember that day last week when Lauren took off to run up to Denver for a last minute pre-wedding crisis?"

"No."

"I rest my case."

Daniel kissed Amy on the forehead. "You're a star."

"Just be careful," Amy exhorted him. "The Trust are dangerous; I don't want to have to bury you again."

 

The SGC was one of the most secure facilities on the planet, rivalled only by such places as Area-51 in Nevada, the Forge in Britain and the Pit in the depths of Siberia. There were only a handful of people who knew how to enter or leave the facility unobserved, but the members of SG-1 were among them. A number of incidents, from Footholds to Code Blacks to training insertions, had made it a matter of practicality for them to learn every way in and out of Cheyenne Mountain and every security measure protecting them.

On this particular day, Sam made no effort to avoid notice, but she carried with her a case which was impervious to the security x-rays. Of course the SFs at the gate checked the contents of the case, but they were not going to take too much care over the luggage of a known and trusted Lieutenant Colonel, which meant that the hidden compartment went unnoticed.

Daniel took a rather more drastic course. With a little help from Nyan and Lauren running interference, he managed to lose himself in the archive room, enter the ventilation maintenance system and leave the base via a circuitous series of crawlspaces and heat sinks to the main escape shaft. Halfway to the surface he did wonder if Amy had been messing him about by suggesting this route.

At last he emerged on the eastern flank of the mountain, oily and exhausted, and found Louise's battered old VW Bug waiting for him. A letter on the dashboard wished him luck in what Amy called his 'harebrained quest' and also contained directions to Mom's Diner on the Manitou Springs road.

*

Tuesday, 11:00 MDT

Daniel could see why no Trust agent would look for him at Mom's, but he could not for the life of him imagine what Amy might have been doing there in the first place. There was enough leather in the room to spook the most steadfast of cattle, much of it wrapped unflatteringly around too-sizeable beer guts and cleavages. A thick haze of tobacco smoke filled the air and the floor was sticky underfoot; Daniel hoped that the tackiness was only due to spilled beer. He was glad of the crawl through the guts of the mountain; the oil coating his clothing now helped him to blend in. The beer at Mom's was cheap, the food was cheaper and, to judge by the faces of the regulars, life was cheaper still.

Trying to exude strength and confidence, Daniel made his way to the bar. There were two barmaids, similar in appearance, but one pushing sixty, the other sixteen; the eponymous Mom and her granddaughter, Daniel guessed. It looked as though they had both scavenged their outfits from the wardrobe of the intervening generation.

"Hey, handsome," the granddaughter drawled suggestively. "What's your pleasure?"

"I'll have a beer," Daniel replied. "And do you have a phone?"

"Sure thing, sweetie," the girl replied, popping the top off a bottle of Budweiser. "End of the bar and round the corner."

"Thanks."

Daniel sauntered around the bar. The telephone was in a small alcove and, unfortunately, the alcove was filled up by a pair of intertwined bodies, a big man and a tall, gangly woman. They were locked in a passionate embrace; each time they moved their leathers squeaked against one another.

"Excuse me," Daniel called, politely.

The woman made a rude gesture.

With a sigh, Daniel tapped on the man's shoulder. The man disengaged himself from his partner and rounded on Daniel. A huge beard bristled madly and his eyes swam with drunken rage. He half-lifted his fist, but Daniel stood his ground and locked gazes with his opponent. The biker had a few inches on Daniel and was almost twice his weight. A few years ago he would have flattened Daniel and barely notice the bruises on his fist, but he saw something in Daniel's gaze that stopped him dead.

"I need to use the phone," Daniel said simply.

"Yeah. Sure," the man agreed diffidently. He left the alcove, dragging his puzzled girlfriend after him.

Daniel stepped in and lifted the receiver. He dug in his pocket for his card, but the phone was a fairly ancient, coin operated machine and he was forced to scrabble for change. He inserted a half-dollar and punched in the mysterious number from Sam's note.

The phone only rang once before it was answered.

"Nebet; My Lady. You need me?"

Daniel hung up the phone. With a click it swallowed his coin. A moment later the phone rang; he lifted the receiver as though it were a venomous snake.

"Who is this?"

With a dry throat, Daniel croaked: "Nefera?"

The line was silent for a long moment.

"Daniel?"

Amazingly, the Ashrak sounded almost as surprised as Daniel.

*

Mark II was lost. He could not remember where he was or how he had got there, he was just wandering aimlessly in a dense mist. From time to time a familiar landmark would swim out of the fog, but each time he tried to reach one of them it would vanish into the haze again. Once or twice he thought that he saw a figure moving nearby, but he could not reach them, any more than he could reach the landmarks.

"Hello!" he yelled, but his voice did not seem to carry. "Hello!" Even to him it sounded faint.

"Mark."

He turned in shock. Michelle stood by his elbow, but he had not heard her approach.

"Where are we?" he demanded.

"It's okay," she told him. "You're dreaming, Mark. Well...sort of."

Mark shook his head. "I don't understand. What do you mean 'sort of'?"

Michelle took hold of his shoulders. "Do you remember the van?" she asked. "The men who grabbed us?"

"No, I..." Mark gasped. "Yes! They did something to you; you collapsed."

Michelle nodded. "Chloroform or something," she agreed. "You tried to fight them and...and you got hurt." She lifted her hand and placed it gently on his forehead; her eyes brimmed with frightened tears.

"Michelle? What's happening?"

"You're not in a good way," Michelle explained. "You've been unconscious for...Well, I came round hours ago. I'm not sure what time it is; they took my watch. I'm scared, Mark," she admitted. "I think you're sick. I need you to wake up."

"I don't understand," Mark repeated.

Michelle took his hand. "Just come with me," she told him.

Feeling her hand tremble, Mark squeezed her fingers gently. "Alright," he agreed.

Michelle gave a weak smile and then began to lead the way through the mist. She moved with great confidence and it seemed to Mark as though the fog actually parted in front of her.

"Do you know where we're going?" he asked.

"I know. Look." Michelle pointed through the fog ahead and at once a long corridor opened up. At the end of the cloudy passageway was a shabby door, covered in peeling green paint. She tugged gently on Mark's hand and led the way to the door. The handle rattled loosely under her hand, but it turned and the door opened. The room beyond was dark and a smell of damp wafted out.

"I...I don't want to go through there," Mark told her. "I'm afraid."

She turned to face him. "I know, but you must. You have to wake up, however dismal the prospect. I...I'm frightened, Mark," she confessed, her tears welling up and running down her face in great, swollen streams. "Don't leave me in there alone."

Mark squeezed her fingers again. "Alright," he said.

Together, they stepped through the door. The room was dark and dismal. Two small, iron beds were covered with thin mattresses, a bucket stood ominously in the corner and the one window was covered by a heavy steel shutter. When he turned, the door had closed behind them and he knew that it would be locked.

"Turn on the light," Michelle said.

"I'm not sure I want to see any more."

"Please."

Mark walked across the room and flicked the switch.

 

Mark woke up. His head was pounding and his vision was blurred, but he knew that he was lying on a thin mattress, on a small, iron bed, in a damp room with steel shutters on the windows. Everything was as it had been in his dream.

"Mark?"

With an effort, he turned to look at Michelle. Her eyes were red from weeping and she looked utterly terrified.

Mark swallowed hard to wet his dry throat. "Michelle?" he croaked. "Where are we?"

He struggled to rise and Michelle stooped to support him. Once he was sitting upright, she turned away for a moment and then brought a plastic glass of slightly yellowish water to his lips. He drank gratefully, before repeating his question.

"Where are we?"

"We've been kidnapped."

*

Sam parked in the driveway and hurried into her house and down to the basement. Her home contained a few rather unique items, including the remains of a miniature Stargate in her basement. Many of the components had been removed for testing, but there was still a substantial lump of titanium, about a mile of heavy-duty cable and a powerful generator.

She opened her case, tipped the contents onto the floor and ripped out the hidden panel. Behind the panel she had concealed a zat'nik'tel, a Beretta and a pair of shock grenades, but she ignored these and instead removed a tool kit.

She checked her watch. If the NID acted with their customary efficiency, she would have to leave no later than sixteen hundred hours; it was now eleven-fifteen. That gave her a little under five hours to achieve a feat of engineering that had defeated the NID for fifty years.

"Easy money," she declared, and set to work.

*

Chicago
Tuesday, 14:45 CDT

Daniel decided that he would not ask Nefera how she managed to get a fake ID delivered to a drop box in time for him to collect an airline ticket to Chicago under an assumed name less than three hours after they had spoken on the phone. He felt that he would probably feel more comfortable not knowing.

The flight to Chicago was uneventful and in Daniel's anxious state it seemed to take hours. On top of his worry for Sam and for the children, speaking to Nefera again had thrown him utterly.

Nefera – or, more correctly, Mafdet, for Nefera was an alias, the name of the Ashrak's host – had once served Amaunet, the Goa'uld Queen who had possessed the body of Daniel's wife. She was trapped on Earth and had proven at least once that her loyalties now lay with her adopted home, but she was still a ruthless assassin, whose default response to most problems was to employ swift and efficient violence. The fact that her host was an Abydonian, and bore more than a passing resemblance to Daniel's beloved Sha're, did not help him to think clearly about her. And then there were the memories of the last time he had seen her.

In fact, the last time he had seen her had been at the Amahagger camp fire in the hidden valley of Kτr. What troubled him more was the memory of the time after that; after she had vanished from the fireside, when he had not seen her for the darkness and his own fear of what he might do if he looked at her. Daniel was just as afraid of what he would do when he met her again and he was not even sure what he felt as he anticipated the meeting.

"Are you alright, sir?"

Daniel looked up at the stewardess in surprise; he had not noticed her approach. "What? Uh...Yes, thank you."

"The seatbelt sign is on," the stewardess noted politely.

"Oh, right. I'm sorry." Daniel hastily straightened up in his seat and fastened the belt across his waist. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.

"First time flying?" the man in the next seat asked.

Daniel had to laugh.

 

In the terminal, Daniel looked around for Nefera, but there was no sign of her. At a second pass, however, he spotted a card which bore his assumed name, scrawled in thick marker pen. The woman holding the card was tall and rangy, with ginger roots just starting to show in her auburn hair. She smiled at him as he approached.

"Dr Smith?" she asked. She sounded English, but that meant very little; Nefera sounded English.

"Apparently."

"I'm Robyn Lockley; Ms Archer's personal assistant," the woman explained. "Ms Archer asked me to come and meet you. Do you have any luggage?"

"Not a thing." Daniel frowned, something in the name and the accent tugging at the edge of his memory. "You're not Timothy Lockley's daughter are you?" he asked.

"Actually I am. How...How did you know?"

"I met your father once or twice at conferences and he mentioned a daughter called Robyn," Daniel explained. He paused awkwardly. "He was a good man."

"He was a great father...but a lousy planner," Robyn replied. "He never looked ahead and when he..."

"I was sorry to hear about the accident," Daniel assured her sincerely.

"You and me both." There was a bitter edge to Robyn's tone. "It was a rough couple of years. Without Ms Archer, I don't know what might have become of me."

"I never saw her as a good Samaritan," Daniel admitted.

"I tried to help her out. She didn't need my help, of course, but she seemed impressed that I tried. She said it told her she could trust me. She puts a lot of value in trust."

"That she does."

 

There was a small, beige compact waiting in the short stay parking lot and Robyn drove Daniel to a garage beneath an office block in downtown Chicago. The elevator took them up to a foyer. One of the doors leading off this area bore the legend: Archer Retrievals.

Behind the door, a seedy-looking man in the final years of an apparently-wasted youth sat at a reception desk, speaking on a telephone in a voice that sounded as much like Cary Grant as the man did not look. He waved them through a second door.

"Arthur Soames," Robyn noted in a low whisper. "You're lucky he's on the phone; you've been spared a repeat performance of one of his limited stock of smartarse remarks."

Daniel began to answer, but as he followed her through the door he saw Robyn's boss sitting behind her desk and his voice died in his throat. He could not be certain whether time had mellowed the assassin's features or whether his memory might be playing tricks on him, but Nefera seemed to bear an even greater resemblance to Sha're than she had done the last time.

"Hello, Daniel," she said.

"Hello, Nefera," he replied, managing to sound more natural than he felt.

"Will you need anything, Ms Archer?" Robyn asked. If she was surprised to hear her boss referred to as Nefera, she did not show it.

Nefera shook her head. "Thank you, Robyn, no. You know what you're doing?"

"Yes, Ms Archer."

"Then be on your way. You're on your own recognisance unless I need you; let me know when you're done."

Robyn grinned. "Yes, Ms Archer," she said.

Daniel watched her go before turning back to face Nefera. "She likes to be trusted," he noted. "Like someone else I could mention."

Nefera smiled at that, but only briefly. "You said that Colonel Carter requires my assistance," she noted. "As much as I should enjoy merely spending time with you once more, I must first do all I can for her."

"Do you mind if I ask why?"

"I do not."

"Why?"

"Because I am her Ashrak," Nefera replied.

Daniel was literally speechless.

Nefera blushed. "I did not wish it, any more than she did, but it is how things now stand. I am pledged to serve her, body and soul, and my own desires and needs must be secondary to hers, else I am forsworn and I am nothing."

"I wish you wouldn't say things like that," Daniel told her.

"It is only the truth. Besides, so much of what I want I could not have, for all my efforts and my strength," she added sadly.

Daniel lifted his hand and reached towards her, but he stopped before he touched her; nonetheless, she shied away from his touch with uncharacteristic awkwardness.

"Sam's nephew has been kidnapped." Daniel sat back and cast his eyes downward, suddenly relieved to have something so pressing to discuss. "I don't know much about it; I haven't dared to risk calling Mark. All I do know is that they took Mark II and a girl called Michelle. Michelle was fostered by the elder Mark Carter, but she's also very important to Sam; perhaps more so than her nephew, even. Important enough that Cassie gets jealous."

"She must be very special," Nefera noted.

"So Sam tells me," Daniel agreed. "According to the little I could find on the news websites, the two children were snatched from the street. They missed Mark's sister, Thea, who gave an account to the police."

Nefera drummed his fingers gently on the desk. "Then first we must speak to the girl," she decided. She pressed a button on her telephone. "Arthur."

"What?" The voice was hard and surly.

"He has such a lovely telephone manner," Nefera sighed. "Arthur; book me a cargo charter for Daniel, myself and my car to San Diego. As soon as possible and don't accept anything later than two this afternoon."

"Sure. Whatever."

"You want to take your car?" Daniel asked doubtfully. "Wouldn't it be easier to hire one?"

Nefera shook her head. "I love my car."

"How touching."

Nefera grinned at him, then touched the button again. "Is Miss Lockley on her way?"

"Left ten minutes ago. She hasn't rung, so maybe she's managed not to forget anything this time."

"Very good." Nefera sat back. "We'll be ready to go in an hour," she promised. "Arthur is rude and impatient, but very good at his job. Once we have spoken to Althea Carter, we can set about tracking down these kidnappers. Don't worry," she added confidently. "We'll have the children back in no time. Well, at least before Colonel Carter is obliged to do anything foolish."

Daniel gave a sigh of relief. Somehow, Nefera managed to make him believe that the job was all but done.

"You know...they said you were dead," Nefera whispered. Her confidence seemed to crumble as she spoke.

"I could only really dispute that on questionable theological grounds," Daniel replied, "although I've been a bit more corporeal for a few months now. I did think about getting in touch but..." He shrugged helplessly.

"Colonel Carter told you that she met me at the...at the grave?"

Daniel nodded. "She, um...gave me the book."

"Ah." Nefera sat for a long moment, silently nodding her head. "And...Did you like it?" she asked. "Did you enjoy the book?"

Daniel blushed.

"You didn't read it?" Nefera looked crushed; Daniel felt dreadful.

*

Dreamlands, Nevada
Tuesday, 14:20 PDT

Agent Wells rapped on a hatch in the door of the secure storeroom and waited. After a long pause, the steel shutter slid away from a bulletproof window. The room behind the window was a small, cramped office, cluttered with papers and filing cabinets. A weirdly pale, bespectacled face stared out at him with an air of incomprehension.

"Hello?"

"Dr Peace?" Wells asked uncertainly. The woman looked more like a nervy grad student than a government xenotech expert. With her ashen skin and magnified eyes, she could almost be taken for a misplaced xenoform.

"Yes."

"I'm Agent Wells. Picking up," he added, when she made no reaction.

"You have a docket?" Peace asked.

"Well, no," Wells admitted. "My partner's bringing that down, but I thought if we got things going while we wait for..."

"Sorry. I can't release artefacts without a docket."

"I understand that, Dr Peace," he assured her. "But I'd appreciate it if you could get the artefact ready and packed, so that when my partner gets here..."

"I'm sorry. I can't access the archive store without a docket."

Phleps was taken aback. "You can't even access the store unless someone brings a docket?"

"No."

"So...What do you do all day?"

"I look after the archive," Dr Peace explained patiently.

"An archive you can't access."

"That is correct."

"You need a doctorate to do that?"

"Is there something else I can do for you?" Dr Peace asked.

Wells took a step back from the window. "Not right now," he said. "I'll let you know when my partner gets here with the docket. Sorry to waste your time."

Dr Peace leaned her elbows on her desk and rested her chin on her hands. "That's okay," she told him. "It's nice. I don't usually get to talk to people."

"Um..."

Perhaps fortunately for Wells, at that moment his partner arrived. Agent Cross passed the docket through a slot beside the window and Dr Peace reluctantly slipped out through a door in the back of her office. As he watched her go, Wells caught sight of a rumpled camp bed tucked away beside the door.

Wells shivered. "Creepy."

"I think she likes you, Joe," Cross drawled.

"I don't think she gets out much," Wells replied. "Or indeed at all. You hear stories about scientists locked away in the vaults just to keep them out of trouble, but...I just never met one before," he admitted.

Cross laughed. "If you know what's good for you, you still haven't," she suggested.

"You're a cynic, Suze."

"I'm a realist."

Dr Peace returned, carrying a black stone tablet, deeply engraved with a strange, unearthly text. She placed it on her desk. "Artefact 118-17A," she reported. She stooped and lifted a small trunk, opened it and deposited the tablet within. "It's a little brittle, so I'll put it in a padded case. Try to be gentle with it." She closed the case and withdrew a punched card from the lock. The card went into an envelope and the envelope disappeared up a communication tube on the office wall.

"The key card will be sent by special courier to your destination and returned separately when the artefact is brought back," Dr Peace explained. "The case can not be opened without the card; make sure that the recipient understands that, because any attempt to force the lock will set off the failsafe device." She placed the trunk in a cabinet beside the desk. When she closed the door on her side of the wall, another hatch opened beside the window.

Wells reached in and took the case. "Thank you, Dr Peace."

Dr Peace smiled at him. "I look forward to seeing you when you bring the artefact back," she assured him.

"Yes...Likewise," Wells lied.

The steel shutter snapped closed.

"You're such a tease," Cross accused.

"Shut up, Suze," Wells grumbled sourly. "Let's just take this damn thing to the SGC. The less time I have to spend in this basement with the local Morlock, the happier I'll be."

"And leave poor Dr Peace all alone? You heartbreaker."

"Shut up, Suze."

*

The fog began to close in around Mark once more, but Michelle seized him roughly by the shoulders and dragged him clear of it. As his head cleared, he found that in fact she had one hand on the edge of the bed and the other rested gently on his forehead. It did not look as though she had moved at all.

"What's happening?" he asked, his voice thick and slurred.

Michelle stroked his brow. "You're drifting," she replied. "I keep having to pull you back. I wish I could let you sleep, but I don't think you're supposed to, are you? Not when someone's taken a bump on the head."

Mark shook his head and his vision blurred; pain blossomed from the base of his skull. "Oh God," he groaned. "No; no you're not supposed to sleep with a concussion. Thank you."

"It's okay," she assured him. "I...I don't want to be left on my own here." She lifted the glass and gave Mark a little more water. "Do you think you can sit up?"

"With a little help."

Michelle slipped her arm underneath Mark's shoulders and once more lifted him into a sitting position. With some effort, they turned and she set him gently against the wall.

"Thanks. Again."

"It's okay," she said again.

"You, uh...You can let go of me now."

Michelle blushed and withdrew her arm. She sat down beside him and took a sip of brackish water to cover her awkwardness.

"So you said we were kidnapped," Mark said. "There was a van, wasn't there? It's kind of...hazy."

Michelle reached out for Mark's brow, but stopped short of touching him again. "I'm not surprised. That was a nasty knock you took. You shouldn't have tried to fight them." She paused before adding: "But thank you for trying."

"Why thank me?" he asked, confused.

"Because they hadn't tried to grab you when you tried."

Now it was Mark's turn to blush and turn away awkwardly.

The uncomfortable moment was broken by a rattle and a clank and the door swung open with a soft squeal of rusted hinges. A man entered with a tray; a second man stood behind him, blocking the door in case either of them should make a run for it. The first man set down the tray.

"Food and water," he said tersely. The food was as appealing as his manner; bread and thin, cold stew, with two plastic glasses of water.

"Why are you keeping us here?" Michelle demanded, with as much courage as she could muster. She sounded scared and miserable, but Mark was struck by the realisation that he could not even have forced the question from his fear-stricken throat.

"Insurance," the man replied. "You'll be well-treated; long as your aunt plays ball."

"Auntie Sam?" Mark asked, baffled.

"Enjoy your meal," the man grunted. "He walked to the door, but turned back for a moment before closing it. "And have a nice day."

The door slammed shut. Michelle began to tremble. Mark knew from experience that Michelle was a tough cookie, but that she could not bear to be teased. He lifted his hand and patted her gently on the shoulder. She turned to him with a slightly desperate smile.

"What do they want from Auntie Sam?" he wondered aloud.

Michelle swallowed hard. "It's her work," she replied. "They want something to do with the..." She broke off as though she had said too much. "I hope Thea's okay. They were probably after her really."

"Great," Mark sniffed.

"What?"

"Even a gang of kidnappers think you look like you should be my sister."

Although the tears still brimmed in her eyes, Michelle gave a snort of laughter. Mark took her hand and squeezed it gently.

"Thanks," she said.

"It's okay."

*

San Diego
Tuesday, 16:00 PDT

Nefera brought her car to a halt at the roadside. She had once named a sporty roadster as one of her great desires in life and it seemed as though literary success – Daniel had difficulty thinking of her as a New York Times bestseller, but he supposed it made about as much sense as people reading Dan Brown – had allowed her to indulge herself a little. Daniel was grateful to have arrived; the atmosphere had been tense between them throughout the trip. If her success as a writer had surprised Daniel, her sensitivity about it was even more startling. He had not expected her to be so hurt that he had never read her book and he found it hard to explain why he had never even attempted it.

The house was not familiar. Despite a number of invitations, Daniel had never managed to get out to visit Sam's brother's home and had in fact met him only once, at Sam's ill-starred engagement party. Daniel could only hope that the business of this meeting would lead to a happier conclusion.

It was Laura, Mark's wife, who answered the door. "Dr Jackson," she said. "I...We weren't expecting..."

"Can we come in?" Daniel asked. "We're here to help."

"I...Of course," Laura said. There was hope in her voice, but resentment as well; resentment that Sam's shadowy and secretive world had reached out to put its hands on her family.

"Thank you. This is Jane; she's a...friend of Sam's."

"Of course," Laura replied with a knowing nod. "Come through; Mark is with Thea."

 

Althea Carter pushed a mush of melted ice cream listlessly around her bowl with a spoon. The dessert was clearly not serving its intended conciliatory purpose.

"Hello, Mark, Thea," Daniel said.

"Dr Jackson," Mark replied. "So; the Air Force is sending civilians to clean up its mess now? Or is this a personal mission?"

"Personal," Daniel replied.

"This is Jane," Laura noted. "Sam's...'friend'."

"Ah." As his wife had done before him, Mark nodded as though he were in on a secret.

Althea looked up sulkily. "I'm not a kid, you know," she huffed, flying the face of the evidence. "I know Auntie Sam's a lesbo. That's why she dumped Pete."

Daniel fought to stifle a guffaw. He looked at Nefera, who simply raised an eyebrow.

"I'm...not that kind of friend," Nefera assured Althea, avoiding any other issues. She sat down at the table and scooped up a blob of ice cream on her finger. "I'm a detective. Sam's asked me to try and find your brother and your friend."

"Then this is about Sam?" Mark asked bitterly.

"I'm afraid so," Daniel admitted. "Whoever took Michelle and your son wants something from Sam. They'll keep them alive until she delivers, but..."

"You can't be sure they'll let them go," Laura realised.

"No."

"That's why we need to find them," Nefera agreed. "I can do that, but I need to know everything that happened; everything you can tell me, Althea."

The girl looked at her parents. Mark nodded once.

"Alright," Althea agreed. "But call me Thea."

 

Daniel sat at the kitchen table in the Carter house and brooded. Nefera had been gone for almost an hour now and he did not expect her back soon, but waiting was proving an agony.

"So, who is it you're worrying about?"

Daniel looked up at Mark. "How do you mean?"

"Well, I know I'm worried about my family: Mark and Sam...and Michelle as well. But who are you so worried about that you can't even think straight?"

"Was it that obvious?" Daniel asked.

"Only to a man going through the same thing," Mark assured him. "Laura and Thea tend to come together in a crisis, which is good...but with Mark gone it leaves me a little out in the cold. So is it my sister you're worrying for, or Michelle?"

Daniel shrugged. "Sam, certainly. We've been through a lot together the past nine years. I'm worried about Michelle, but I don't actually know her, so it isn't...you know. The same."

Mark nodded.

"And...I'm worried about Nefera," Daniel admitted.

Mark frowned at that. "Who is Nefera?" he asked.

"Hmm? Oh; Jane," Daniel explained. "She changed her name to sound more English."

"I guess I can understand that. So, if she isn't Sam's 'friend'...?"

"No! Not like that," Daniel replied with a blush. "She's...complicated. I think she has a lot to prove and I am worried that she'll get herself hurt trying to do it."

"Is that what she's doing now?"

"She's touring the local gas stations and truck stops, looking for any sign of this van. I don't doubt she'll find it, but I'm worried she'll go rushing off on her own."

"Trying to prove herself?"

Daniel nodded.

"I know what you mean. Michelle is much the same," Mark explained. "Since we took her in, she's been working overtime to try and be part of the family. We worked hard at it as well. I'm sure Sam didn't tell us the half of it, but she said that Michelle had been through hell and she so wanted to belong. That's why we decided to adopt her."

Daniel was surprised and it must have shown on his face.

"I know she's almost eighteen," Mark mused. "It is too old to adopt really, but it meant so much to her that we decided to do it. Unfortunately...

"Well, that was when Mark started to get...funny."

"Funny?"

"Until then, he'd been as keen as anyone to make her welcome. They're close in age, so he'd been looking after her at school. We thought he'd be all for the idea, but as soon as I suggested it he got angry. They've been arguing ever since; poor Michelle has been in tears over it, but he won't let up. I just don't know what to do"

Daniel shrugged helplessly. "I'm afraid I can't be much help. I used to lend a hand with my wife's nieces and nephews, but...Well, that was a very different culture."

"You're married?"

"Widowed."

"I'm sorry."

Daniel gazed out of the window. "It was a long time ago now."

"So...If you don't mind me asking, if you've been widowed for a long time, what is it that makes Jane – or whatever you call her – so complicated? A woman like that...most men could keep that pretty simple."

"Nefera..." Daniel forced a smile while he tried to think of an answer that involved no aliens. Fortunately, just such an answer came easily – and honestly – to hand. "She's my wife's cousin; some distance removed, but they look very similar."

"Like you said: complicated."

"Hmm."

"You want a beer?"

Daniel paused for a moment in thought. "Coffee?" he asked.

"Coming right up." Mark busied himself at the counter; when he spoke again he still had his back turned. "So you and Sam aren't 'friends' either?" he asked.

"We're friends," he corrected, "but just friends."

"And does she have a friend?"

"She has lots of friends," Daniel chuckled, "but no, no 'friend'. To tell the truth, I'm not sure she really needs a 'friend'. I mean, I think she'd quite like one, but she doesn't need it. That makes it hard."

"Oh?"

"Well, it's hard to be in a relationship where you're 'quite liked'," Daniel explained. "Well, that's how I feel about it anyway."

Mark nodded. "Poor Sam."

"She's pretty happy, as people go," Daniel assured him. "Most of the time."

*

Sam drove fast into the mountains until she came to a lonely stretch of road, well-suited to her purpose. She had no fear that she would miss her quarry; she knew the NID too well for that. They would send the artefact by car instead of plane so as to avoid attention and they would send it by one of a dozen routes between Area 51 and Cheyenne Mountain...all of which passed through one narrow stretch of road over the mountains. It was a weakness that had been pointed out many times; some day, the agency might change the practice, but it would probably take another decade or so to sink in.

Either that or for someone to do what Sam was about to do.

Sam parked among the trees where her car would be hidden from view. She checked her watch; by her reckoning she had an hour at most to prepare. She sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly as she steeled herself for what she had to do and then she popped the trunk and left the car.

She took a heavy semiconductor coil from the trunk and lugged it with some effort towards the road. "There has to be an easier way to stop a car," she grunted.

*

"You want my stale crust?" Michelle asked.

"I'll pass thanks." Mark dipped his crust into his stew and held it there. "It's going to take me about a week to chew this one. Next time we come on vacation, I say we take a different hotel."

Michelle chuckled. "You even want to go on vacation with me again after this?"

"Sure. Yeah. I'd like."

Michelle set down her glass. "I...I thought you didn't even like me."

"I like you just fine," Mark replied defensively. "I just think it's stupid to adopt someone who's as old as I am."

"So I'm stupid now?" Michelle retorted.

"I didn't say..."

"Because I want this, Mark!" she snapped. "If it's stupid to want Dad to adopt me..."

"He's not your father," Mark growled, adding in a mutter: "And you're not stupid."

"If it's stupid to want that, then I'm stupid," Michelle huffed. She twisted around and threw herself down on the bed. There was a dull thud as her head struck the bedstead.

Mark started to rise, but his head spun madly and he slumped back. "Are you alright?" he groaned.

"Yes!" Michelle sat up, cradling her bruised head. "Yes, I'm alright. For all you care."

"I care," he insisted.

"Then why do you want me not to have the only thing I really want?"

"Because..." Mark slumped back. He didn't say anything else and the silence stretched out to almost a minute.

"Why?" Michelle asked.

Mark didn't answer.

"Mark?"

Ignoring the ache in her head, Michelle stood and crossed to Mark's bedside. He had slumped sideways and his eyes were closed. "Oh no," she murmured. "Oh Mark, no." She laid her hand on his cold forehead and closed her eyes. Gritting her teeth she sent her mind out into his subconscious, to drag him back to the waking world once more.

*

Tuesday, 17:15 PDT

Mark and Daniel tried not to show how anxious they were when Nefera returned. To her great credit, she pretended to believe it.

"I need an internet connection," she announced.

"Uh...Sure," Mark agreed.

"Did you find anything?" Daniels asked.

"Burned out van," Nefera replied. "They dumped it about twenty miles outside of San Diego; set it on fire to get rid of any traces."

"Damnit," Mark muttered.

Nefera smiled at him. "Why 'damnit'?" she asked. She crossed to the table and took a laptop from her bag. "I said that they tried to get rid of all the traces, not that they succeeded. I already know where they got the van from – there are only so many rental firms that do a van that large and powerful – I know where they switched cars, I know where they got the gas to torch the van and if I can get the DoD satellite network online, I can look for a derelict with occupation."

"Derelict?" Daniel asked.

"A disused house. It'll be legally unoccupied and isolated and about fifteen miles away from where the van was dumped. Logistically there's only so far you can realistically go to dump your incriminating vehicle."

"You seem very familiar with this?" Mark noted. As he spoke, he proffered a network cable.

Nefera took the cable and plugged it into the laptop. "Thanks. And it's my job to know about this sort of thing." She looked up at him and smiled again. "I'm going to find them, Mr Carter," she promised. "And I'm going to bring them back, safe and sound."

"Thank you," Mark whispered.

Nefera's laptop flickered into life. "Alright," she said. "Let's see what we can find."

*

Cross was driving as the two NID agents crossed the mountains towards Colorado Springs. They had spent most of the trip trying to avoid the subject of Dr Peace, but eventually Wells gave in.

"Do you think that they really keep her down there all the time?" he asked.

Cross shrugged and tried to pretend that she did not care. "I try not to think about it at all," she replied. "But if they do...Well, that is just such a major piece of Congress bait that they must have a really good reason for taking such a risk."

"She's a ditzy girl with a melanin deficiency," Wells scoffed. "How dangerous could she be?"

"Well, she's smart enough to have a doctorate. According to some of my peeps at HomeSec, a brilliant ditz is pretty much at the top of the domestic threat tree. Nothing worse than someone who could unleash biochemical Armageddon without meaning it."

"I guess."

"Smart people are way more dangerous than tough people, Joe; that's why I'm scarier than you."

"Yeah, but I'm cuter and funnier."

"Dr Peace thought so. Although let's face it, she didn't have much to compare."

"Ha ha." Wells drummed his fingers on the dashboard. "How much riskier can it be, taking the damn things by plane?"

"You can only land a plane in so many places. And an NID car is more like a regular car than an NID plane is like..." The steering wheel jumped in Cross's hands. "What the hell?"

"Suze?"

"I can't..."

The car lurched sideways and plunged towards the trees. Cross stamped on the brakes, but the car barely slowed.

"Oh, hell," she muttered. "Oh...hell!"

Just before the car slammed into the trunk of a tree and the airbag slammed into his face, Wells was sure that he saw something shining and metallic concealed in the undergrowth.

As the airbags deflated, Cross fought for consciousness. She felt as though she had been punched in the face; beside her, Wells was very still. She groped for her sidearm with one hand and for her safety belt release with the other. The bushes beside the car quivered and a metal globe sprang into the air. Cross turned away and threw herself protectively across her partner's body as a brilliant flash lit up the woods and a shriek filled her ears.

 

Sam emerged from the woods, zat'nik'tel at the ready. She moved warily toward the car, but the two agents lay still. As she approached the tree, she felt the magnetic field from the superconductor coil tugging at her belt buckle. She paused and deactivated the coil by remote. The car, released from the magnetic hold, settled back a little.

Still the two agents did not move. Sam went closer and opened the car door with her left hand. She reached in and pulled the woman away from her partner; she slumped limply in her seat and her sidearm slipped from its unclipped shoulder holster into her lap. Sam retrieved the weapon and then walked around the car to relieve the male agent of his. Only then did she holster her zat, reach into the car and pop the trunk.

The case lay in the trunk, strapped firmly in place, safe and sound; better protected, perhaps, than the driver and passenger of the car had been. Sam released the straps and took out the case; her instinct was to open the case and make certain that she had her prize in hand, but she knew that the case would be booby trapped. With the key probably on her desk in the SGC, opening the case would be tricky, but not impossible. She could do it, but not here; not by the roadside and not with so much danger of being observed by a passing car.

Cradling the case as gently as though it were a child – and of course, it did hold the lives of two children – Sam made her way back to her own hidden car vehicle?. She stowed the case in the trunk, then as swiftly as she dared she retrieved the incriminating superconductor coil and shock grenade casing. The road was quiet, but at every moment she was convinced that someone would drive past and see the wreck. She did not feel safe until she was driving away, and that was the moment when she knew that she had to take the risk of incriminating herself.

She took out the cellphone that had been sent to her and dialled a three digit number. Part of her wanted to contact the kidnappers first, but she could not take the risk of any lasting hurt to the two agents.

"911 emergency," the operator announced.

"There's been a road accident," Sam began.

*

"How are you feeling?" Michelle asked.

"Worse," Mark groaned. "Sick. And I feel like my brains are trying to push my eyes out of their sockets."

"Oh, you poor...Oh, Mark." Michelle leaned her brow against the side of his head.

"Hey. When did you sit next to me?"

"You passed out again," Michelle explained. "I'm so worried about you."

"I'll be fine."

"You shouldn't have tried to fight them, Mark," Michelle sighed. "Not for me."

At that moment, the bolts were drawn back again and the door swung open again. Another man entered; one whom they had not seen before. He was tall and lean, with a dark, cruelly handsome face and eyes like flints. He wore a five thousand dollar suit with diamond-studded cufflinks and a diamond pin in his silk tie.

He looks, Michelle thought at once, like the devil.

The man took one look at Mark and turned to the guard at the door. "What happened?" he demanded, in a voice that brooked no hesitation.

"He, ah...He hit his head when we got him into the van," the guard replied.

"Who dragged him into the van?"

"I...um..."

"Who?"

"George," the guard admitted.

The handsome man nodded once. "Give me your hand," he said.

"Sir...?"

"Your hand."

The guard held out his hand. The handsome man caught hold of it, put his other hand over the guard's thumb and twisted sharply. There was a sharp crack and the guard cried out in agony. Mark's body jolted in sympathy and Michelle raised a hand to stifle a horrified gasp.

"They are no good to me dead," the handsome man said, clasping the guard's hand tightly. "George will be dealt with. Never try to conceal anything from me again."

"N-no, sir."

There was another crack; another cry. This time Michelle could not hold back a whimper and Mark gave a sharp sob. Michelle buried her face in Mark's shoulder; he put an arm around her and gripped her shoulder tightly. Neither one of them looked up until they heard the door close. To their horror, the handsome man stood inside.

"Well," he said. He reached inside his jacket and took out an ornate device of gold and precious stones. He slipped his hand through a loop on the device and held it up. He stepped forward and held the device just a few inches from Mark's head.

Mark flinched as the device gave forth a brilliant glow, but he felt nothing but gentle warmth and gradually the pain behind his eyes receded. Michelle watched in amazement as the bruise on his brow faded into nothing.

"There," he said. "That should keep you alive. For now."

"Who are you?" Michelle asked, her voice little more than a breath.

"That is not important," the man assured her. "All that you need to know is that I have the means at my disposal to do harm as easily as I just healed the boy's injury." He returned the device to his pocket and drew out a cellphone instead. "Now; you must speak to somebody." He pressed a button on the phone and held it out to Michelle's ear.

"God damnit, I didn't go through all this to sit on hold like..."

"Sam!"

There was a moment's pause. "Michelle? Oh, darling are you safe? Is Mark alright?"

"We're...alright," Michelle replied. "I think that safe would be too strong a word, but you don't need to lose any sleep over us yet."

"Do you know where you are?" Sam demanded.

"If I did, it wouldn't be safe to tell you. There's a man here and..."

With alarming swiftness, the handsome man reached out and seized Michelle by the arm, twisting it so hard that she was sure it would be broken, just like the guard's fingers. She cried out.

"Michelle...!" Sam's voice faded to a wordless buzz as the man took the phone away. He kept his grip on her arm and twisted harder. She cried out again.

"Let her go you son of a...!" Mark started to rise, but the man released Michelle and caught the boy by the throat. Again there was something more than human about the swiftness with which he moved.

"Control yourself," he cautioned with sinister calm. "Such language from one so young." He thrust Mark down and flexed his fingers angrily. He touched another button on the phone and then spoke into the microphone. "I take it that you heard the other one? The clock is ticking, Colonel Carter," he warned. "I will only bear the expense of keeping these two for a short time; be sure that you do not overstretch my patience. You have your instructions." He switched off the phone and stalked to the door. When he pounded on the panels, the guard opened the door to let him out, still cradling his injured hand against his body.

"Where is George?" he asked.

"In the lounge," the guard replied.

The handsome man nodded once. "Lock them in and follow me. I shall need someone to dispose of the body."

"Y-yes, sir."

The door slammed shut.

*

Tuesday, 18:00 PDT

Daniel was starting to feel dizzy from following hard on Nefera's heels. She was a true mistress of her trade and it was rather dazzling to watch her work, asking just the right questions at just the right places: 'did anyone come into the store and buy a lot of bread?', 'has anyone been asking after country retreats?', 'have there been many strangers in recently?' Most of the questions seemed utterly meaningless to Daniel, but there was method to her madness.

"Everyone needs food," she explained, "even when they are hiding out. They'll bring most things with them, but bread, milk, they have to be bought fresh and if there are several of them they will be buying in bulk; that gets noticed. That's why they will have tried to suggest that they are simply on holiday, or sent several different people on different days, but it is impossible to be entirely invisible on a world as crowded as this one."

"And what did you do on worlds that weren't this crowded?"

"I asked the slaves," she replied. "Slaves see everything and owe little loyalty to hard masters; if only you had them in this country."

"I'm willing to forgo the convenience," Daniel replied. "Did you learn anything here?"

Nefera turned and looked back at the store she had just left. "I think we have a winner," she said. She dug out one of the pictures from her satellite linkup. "There were four possible houses in the woods around here," she reminded him. "Now, they would have tried to keep away from their sources of fresh food to put people off the scent, but that can give you away as surely as shopping locally." She took out a pen and drew a circle on the plan. "They wouldn't be hiding out within ten miles of the store where they bought their milk." She drew another circle. "Or their bread. Or their toilet tissue." A third circle. "And there we have it."

"It's like a Venn diagram," Daniel noted.

"And only one house outside all of the circles," Nefera said.

"And that's our house?"

"Well...maybe," Nefera hedged. "I will know once I have done a little reconnaissance. We must find a quiet spot," she declared. "I have to change into something a little more conspicuous." She touched the starter and the car purred into life.

"Don't you mean less conspicuous?" Daniel asked.

Nefera turned to him and smiled.

*

Sam pulled up in the empty parking lot of a picnic spot, almost fifty miles north of Colorado Springs. It was surrounded by wooded hills; the perfect place for either a picnic or an ambush. She felt extremely weary as she climbed out of the car and fetched the case from the trunk. She set the case on a picnic table, picked up her tools and set to work on the electronic lock, carefully removing the cover and working the magnetic tumblers. Ordinarily she would have felt a tremendous buzz to be doing this, simply from engaging her mind and her skill against such a complex problem, but today her mind was elsewhere, the task seemed mechanical and her hands felt as though they belonged to someone else entirely.

At last the lock gave a soft click and Sam lifted the lid of the case. The tablet lay inside, untouched and utterly innocuous. At first its significance was as unclear to Sam as it had been to Agent Wells, but even in her abstracted state her mind could not help the way that it worked. It took a short while to penetrate the fugue, but after only a few moments the indecipherable script became clear to her.

"It's not script," she whispered.

With a scrape of sliding tyres, another car pulled into the parking lot and a man got out. There was no mistaking her contact; he wore a cheap, off the rack suit that did nothing to hide the bulge of the pistol under his arm and the mean expression of the professional bully glinted in his eyes.

"Step away from the case, Colonel," the man ordered.

He reached under his jacket and put a hand on the butt of his sidearm. Almost without thinking, Sam drew her own pistol and only by an effort of will was she able to hold back from raising it.

The man moved his hand slowly out of his jacket, glaring daggers at Sam all the while.

"There's no need for strongarm tactics," Sam assured him. Against every instinct, she holstered the pistol and held her hands up, palms forward. "Just take the tablet and let the children go."

"Step away," he repeated.

Sam obeyed, moving out of his way. He walked over to the case and lifted the tablet. "Thank you, Colonel," he said.

"Where are the children?" Sam demanded.

The man gave a nasty smile. "You don't need to worry about that," he assured her. He lifted his free hand so that he could speak into his cuff. "Take her," he ordered.

There was a pause.

"I said take her!"

Sam tensed. Even if he had not been slower that Sam, the man had the tablet in his right hand and would not be able to reach his pistol easily.

"Damnit, Strutter, what the hell are you...?"

A puff of dust exploded at the man's feet. He skipped backwards in fear as a second bullet struck the ground. A third smashed the windshield of his car. He turned and ran, scrambling into the car and fumbling with the ignition as Sam drew her pistol. The wheels spun and squealed, and the car shot backward. Sam fired three times, but the car swung around and sped off along the highway.

"Damnit!" Sam screamed.

*

"Thank you," Michelle said. It was the first thing either of them had said since the handsome man had left.

"Hmm?"

"Did he hurt you?"

Mark shook his head. "Not badly. You?"

"No. I mean, it hurt like hell, but no real harm done."

"I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault, and you stood up for me again. I...I wish you wouldn't."

"I'll try to remember that," he promised.

"I just don't want you getting hurt," she explained. "I don't even understand why you keep trying to fight for me."

He frowned and shook his head sadly. "Because I care about you, Michelle," he repeated.

Michelle had no wish for another argument, but she could not help herself. "So...why don't you..."

Mark clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, clearly finding it hard to find the right words. "I strike out a lot," he said at last. "With girls, I mean."

"But..." Michelle looked at him incredulously. "But you've always got on really well with girls."

"Really?"

"Well...what about Susan? Or Ellen?"

Mark sighed. "What about them?"

"You spend loads of time with them. They're always saying what a good friend you are."

"Yes," he replied. "A 'good friend', that's about right. Michelle. I've gotten used to the fact that the girls I really like always love me like a brother." He hung his head. "But you're the first one who ever tried to make it legally binding."

Michelle's mouth dropped open. "Oh. I...I thought you didn't like me."

Mark gave a sour laugh. "I like you, Michelle. I like you a lot. I just really, really don't want you to be my sister."

"Oh. You never said."

"You want to be my sister, Michelle," he sighed. "And we're teenagers. What if I had said something and it went wrong and you'd missed the chance to be adopted? I'm sorry if I've been a jerk about this, it's just it does feel like I've died and gone to my own special sub-basement of hell."

Michelle gave a frail smile and then she put an arm across his shoulders and kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just...I didn't know. I've led a pretty sheltered life."

He hugged her tightly. "Don't worry about it," he told her. "Let's just leave it at 'I care'. At least if we're going to die, we can try not to take too much baggage to the other side."

Michelle slapped him hard on the shoulder. "Don't talk like that!" she snapped.

"Sorry."

"You're not going to die," she told him. "I won't let them...Sam will find us."

"I hope you're right," Mark replied. "I really do."

*

"It would be safer for you to wait at the diner," Nefera insisted.

"No," Daniel insisted. "I'll wait in the car. You might..."

"Might what?" Nefera asked.

"You might need help," Daniel finished lamely.

Nefera slowed the car and turned to face Daniel. "Oh, Daniel. That is so sweet of you."

Daniel blushed. "Well, you're not superhuman, Nefera."

"Actually, I am, even if only by a little distance," Nefera reminded him. "But I thank you, Daniel. It means a great deal to me that...Well, let us leave it at that," she suggested. "If you must then you must. You can wait in the car and glower in impotent jealousy. You'll find a pair of glasses in the glove box."

"I have a pair of glasses."

"And wearing them, your face will be known to every member of the trust," Nefera reminded him. "Fortunately, however, it is remarkably simple to affect a change in facial features. There's a wig as well, and a false beard, although we don't have time to fit that convincingly."

"You brought a false beard just in case I insisted on coming along?"

"No, dearest; the beard is for me. In this case, however, I fear it might clash with the overall effect."

Daniel grunted in agreement.

"Do I look alright?" she asked.

"You would make a saint groan," Daniel assured her.

"You like it?" Nefera self-consciously adjusted the hem of her miniskirt. "I must admit I find it all rather uncomfortable. Everything keeps on riding up and I don't think my breasts have been crushed so badly since the last time I was pressed for witchcraft. Maybe I should have gone a size bigger on the blouse after all."

"It wouldn't have been the same," Daniel assured her, trying hard not to stare at the taught poly-cotton and the straining buttonholes.

"Evidently not." Nefera's smile was positively infernal.

Daniel tore his gaze back to her face; he hardly recognised her with so much makeup on. "But in answer to your question, no; I don't like it much. It's not...you."

"You mean you like...me?"

Daniel coughed awkwardly and fumbled with the catch on the glove box. "Oh!"

"Daniel?"

"The Trust have been infiltrated by the Goa'uld; they may be able to sense the naquadah in your bloodstream."

Nefera braked hard and pulled the car over to the side of the road. "Now you tell me this?"

Daniel reached into his jacket and pulled out a small syringe. "This is for you," he said.

"Darling! You shouldn't have." Sarcasm, as thick as treacle, dripped from her voice.

Daniel smiled. "It's a chemical inhibitor," he explained. "It will hide your naquadah trace from other Goa'uld without affecting your own abilities."

"I hope you're right," she replied, "because more than my life may depend on it."

*

"Who's there?" Sam called. "You can come down."

The trees rustled and a figure appeared at the top of a wooded slope. She lifted a rifle above her head and, holding the weapon aloft, made her way down the hill towards the parking lot.

"Who are you?"

"Robyn Lockley," the young woman replied. "Ms Archer sent me to keep an eye on you. She was worried they might try something like this; whoever they are."

Sam turned and stared along the road. "He got away," she muttered. "You should have shot him! Now he'll tell his bosses what happened and they'll kill the hostages."

The young woman flinched. "I...Shot him?" she asked, horrified. "But I...I couldn't."

Sam rounded on the girl in anger, but her words died on her lips. She must move well to have surprised a Trust sniper and she was a fine shot, but there was a quality in her eyes that Sam knew to be absent from her own; a softness that told Sam that the girl had never killed and probably never would. "What now?" she asked, rhetorically. "Do I just leave it to Ne...Jane?"

"Ms Archer said to take you to her at once if I were forced to reveal myself," Robyn replied. She took out a cellphone and held it above her head, squinting at the screen. "I can't get a signal just now, but she'll probably be somewhere around San Diego and we can get in touch when we're nearer to the airport. Ms Archer's secretary can get us on the next flight to...wherever we need to be."

Sam gave her a grateful look; she couldn't risk using her Air Force credentials to get a flight when she was supposed to be on study leave. "Alright," she said. "And if we can't get a signal, that might buy us some time because my contact won't have one either. I hope. Thank you, Miss Lockley."

"Just doing my job, ma'am. Now, I left the sniper tied to a tree and..."

"We'll call someone to pick him up," Sam told her. "Bring the rifle along for now, and you can drive. I have something I need to do en route."

"What's that?"

"I need to sleep."

*

Tuesday, 19:00 PDT

Fitzgibbon Lourdes – Fitz to his few surviving friends – was a man of low morals and lower cunning. He had few qualms about killing innocents and even fewer about kidnapping or injuring them. His only standard of behaviour was professionalism, which was why he had suffered so few pangs of loss for the death of George Tyler. Roughing up the boy had been unprofessional, the cardinal and only sin in Fitz's bible. Fitz was, in short, a perfect goon; amoral, obedient and unquestioning...so long as the money was right.

When he heard the engine at the front of the house, Fitz was keeping watch. He sat up at once, his attention seized by the tanned, miniskirted vision who swung herself out of the driver's door. He licked his thin lips as he moved to answer the woman's knock, although already a nagging frustration ate at him. His instructions were clear; the woman could not come in and he could not go out.

"Hi!" the woman exclaimed as he opened the door. "God, you don't know how glad I am to see a friendly face."

Fitz gave a wolfish grin; not many people would have described his face as friendly. "What brings a pretty thing like you into the big, bad woods?" he asked.

"I'm lost," she replied, with a big, goofy grin that told Fitz that she was used to people forgiving her for regular bouts of absentmindedness and outright stupidity. "I guess we took a wrong turning somewhere about five miles back, but we've been going up and down for hours now. We're trying to get to a little town called Redwood Creek."

"You are lost," Fitz chuckled. He leaned outwards to see who 'we' was and caught sight of a hunched figure in the passenger seat of the sports car, dark hair dishevelled and face half hidden by huge glasses. "Who's the stiff?" he asked darkly.

"My boyfriend," she replied.

"You have got to be kidding me."

The woman giggled and leaned closer to Fitz. "It's his car," she confided. "He's very rich...and very dumb."

"What a catch."

"I do alright by it," she assured him. "So, do you know Redwood Creek? I sure would appreciate it if you could help us out. Maybe you could swing by there yourself and I could show you how much I appreciated it." She licked her lips and winked conspiratorially. "And just how dumb he is."

"Fitz!"

Fitz grimaced and turned away from the woman. "What?" he demanded.

Steevis strode down the hall, caught Fitz by the arm and spun him away from the door. "Mac's in some kind of trouble," he hissed. "His cell is still on, but he's stopped talking. Bill's going to try and locate him, but meantime we're on alert. You got me?"

"Yes, sir," Fitz growled. He might hate Steevis' guts, but Steevis was the boss for a reason and Fitz was a professional.

"So get rid of the hooker and get back to your post."

"Yes, sir."

 

Daniel watched anxiously as the man came back to the door. His air of predatory flirtation had gone and Daniel reached down for his sidearm, fearing the worst. After a few moments, however, Nefera blew the man a kiss and started back for the car.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

Nefera nodded once. "They're all armed," she replied. "This must be the place."

"Yes."

"It's not all good news," she hastened to add. "they're in a flap about someone not checking in properly. They'll be on their guard and there's a chance they'll decide to kill the hostages and clear out. We don't have much time."

"So what do we do?"

Nefera started the engine. "I'm going to have to fall back on my strengths," she decided.

"Meaning?"

"I'll go in there and kill them all."

*

Sam dreamed.

She had been letting her lucid dreaming techniques slide over the past three years, but with a little effort she was able to shape the phantasmagorical world of her subconscious mind into a place of warmth and sanctuary. Outside her mind, time passed at its own pace; within, Sam could only wait and fret while the seasons turned about her. After what seemed years, there was a knock at the door of the little log cabin.

She opened the door and Michelle threw herself into her arms.

"You're alive," Sam whispered. "I was so afraid."

"I know," Michelle replied. "I'm so damned scared, but I don't have much time." She smiled with a hint of pride. "I wasn't even sure if I could find you so far away," she admitted.

Sam clasped Michelle's face between her hands. "That's my girl," she said.

Michelle blushed. "I was starting to worry. I've been trying every ten minutes or so; now that Mark's not in danger."

Sam gasped in alarm.

"He's alright," Michelle assured her. "They thumped him pretty hard, but...the boss here healed him somehow."

Sam gritted her teeth; that confirmed her worst fears. "Can you tell me where you are?" she asked.

Michelle shook her head. "But we're in an old house," she added. "There are at least three men here, maybe more, although the boss killed one of them for hurting Mark so badly. They're all pretty scary, but the boss is the worst. He's a cold, cruel man; I think he might be a Goa'uld."

"Very likely, especially if he used a healing device on Mark," Sam agreed. "Can you describe him? When he spoke to me, all I heard was a digitised voice; it might help me to know who we're dealing with."

Michelle laughed. "Oh, Sam. I can do better than that."

The air rippled and a figure appeared: tall, dark, handsome and ruthless.

Sam caught her breath in amazement.

"Yeah," Michelle agreed. "He'd be pretty cute if he wasn't such a vicious bastard."

"It's not that," Sam assured her. "It's...I know him. That's..."

The dream world shattered.

 

Sam jolted awake as Robyn shook her roughly by the shoulder.

"Wha...? What?"

"We're here," Robyn explained. "Our flight is in ten minutes, Cinders; we have to hurry."

"Right," Sam agreed. "Right. Leave the rifle in the trunk; I'll have someone come and pick it up."

"Sure."

"And why Cinders?" Sam demanded.

"You were talking in your sleep," Robyn explained. "Or rather, as you woke up. You said: 'must get to the ball'. Or something like it."

"Something like it," Sam assured her. "Definitely something like it."

*

Tuesday, 21:10 MDT

Mac's car had slewed off the road not far from Colorado Springs. Bill Riggs found him by tracing his cellphone, but it was really a matter of pure luck that no-one else had found him first. The windshield of the car had been shattered and Mac lay unconscious against the steering wheel; his cell had fallen into the footwell. There was blood everywhere. A cluster of pistol rounds had pecked at the seat backs and one of them had caught Mac in the shoulder.

The tablet lay on the passenger seat. Bill opened the door and retrieved it and then dialled Steevis' number.

"I've got it," he said.

"And Mac?"

"In a bad way," Bill replied.

There was a pause. "One moment," Steevis said.

The next voice was that of their employer. "Make sure that he does not talk."

"Sir?"

Steevis came back on the line. "You heard."

"But..."

"Do what you have to do and then get that tablet back to base. Don't make me tell you again."

Bill swallowed hard. "No, sir." He tucked the tablet under his arm and pulled on a glove. Carefully, he drew the pistol from Mac's shoulder holster and put it to the wounded man's temple. "Sorry, Mac," he said.

*

Tuesday, 20:15 PDT

"It's getting dark outside," Michelle noted, breaking another long silence. She had been lost in thought since being jarred from Sam's dreamscape, doing her best to distract herself from the danger that faced them by trying to digest Mark's bombshell. It had simply never occurred to her that he might not see her as a sister, so quickly had she come to regard him as a brother. From the first day of her fostering, he had been there for her; that was why his hostility had hit her so hard.

Thinking back though, for the first time she realised that she had no idea how a brother would treat a sister. She had become his foster-sister and she had just assumed that the way he treated her was the way that brothers acted. Certainly, he did not treat her the way he treated Thea; she had assumed that was because he was more comfortable around Thea, whom he had known all her life, but she began to see that it might not be so simple. Did that mean that she had done something to make him think that her feelings for him were more than sisterly?

Was it even possible, she wondered, that sisters did not feel the way she felt about him? Again, she had no real frame of reference. Dream relationships were no guide and the television was certainly no help. Could it be that she felt the same way about him as he did about her? She knew that she liked him, or had done before he started acting like an ass. He had a certain geeky charm, although he was awkward with people his own age and had yet to be truly comfortable with his rangy height, but was that enough? Certainly her school friends would not have thought so; after the training she had received to rebuild her muscles, she had proved a natural for the gym team and thus gained an immediate cool far in excess of his.

This, she decided, was not going to be easy. She needed to talk to Sam, which unfortunately brought her thoughts back to Sam's precipitous disappearance from the dreamscape and to her own current circumstances. She broke the silence to try and still her whirling thoughts.

"I had a funny dream," Mark told her sleepily. "It was about you."

Michelle blushed, not sure that she was ready for this sort of confession.

"It wasn't...like that," he assured her awkwardly. "I dreamed that you were here and I was trying to hold on to you, but you pulled away and shot off into the sky and went to this log cabin to talk to Aunty Sam. It was weird."

Michelle was quite taken aback. "You mean you..." She broke off, unsure what to say to him. If he could sense her dreamwalking it must mean something, but how could she explain that she could move at will among the dreams of others? If he had dreamed about her before, how could she have convinced him that she had had nothing to do with that?

She was dragged from her reverie by the sound of the bolts. She stood up and reached down for Mark's hand, suddenly sure that this was to be the last time that anyone would open the door. Mark caught her hand and stood beside her. When she shivered, he squeezed her hand tight; when he shook, she squeezed back.

It was the handsome man again, his face split by a grin and lit from within by a diabolic triumph. "It is done!" he declared. "Your aunt has done as we requested...up to a point. We therefore have no further need of you."

"So you're going to let us go?" Mark asked, his hand tightening on Michelle's.

The grin deepened.

"Take the boy outside."

"No!" Mark stepped in front of Michelle. "I'm not leaving her alone."

"How sweet," the man drawled, "but you will leave her." He snapped his fingers and two guards came forward to seize Mark by the arms. "Take him outside and settle him."

Now it was Michelle who cried out in protest, but the man swept forward and caught her by the shoulders. "Oh no, my dear," he whispered. "Your aunt has given me quite a bit of trouble, you see. I am sure that she knew that she would never see you again, but she must learn that defiance is unacceptable. I am afraid that you will not be returned in such good condition as your beloved."

"He isn't my..."

The handsome man clapped a hand over her mouth. "Well, he is most certainly not your brother," he teased. "My associate, Mr Lourdes, has rather a gift for...well, not torture or interrogation exactly; more...mutilation."

Michelle whimpered pitifully. "Please."

"Beg Mr Lourdes," the man suggested. "I believe that he enjoys it."

*

"Daniel!" Nefera hissed.

"What is it?"

Nefera rose from her crouch. She was dressed head to toe in dark grey and was almost invisible in the twilight. "I see movement. They have the boy. We must act now."

"I'm ready," Daniel assured her.

"Then be close behind me. You are to be a friendly face to the children and to keep them safe."

"I understand, although they know me about as well as they know you."

Nefera turned her head. Her eyes glittered darkly. "Tonight, I do not wear a friendly face."

 

Mark was dragged, kicking and struggling from the back door of the house. His guards flung him down a short flight of concrete steps onto the hard ground. He struggled up, but a pistol was levelled at his head.

Terror displaced all the fight in Mark's spirit and he shook uncontrollably. "Please don't do this," he whispered, hating himself for begging, too afraid to do anything else. "Please..."

There was no pity in the man's gaze, just coldness. The wind blew and shadows drifted across the guard's body. With a sudden abstraction, Mark fixated on the way the bottom of his tie drifted in the breeze, but the top was still, held in place by a long, barbed pin.

Slowly, very slowly, he realised that the pin was not a pin; it was a dart.

 

The handsome man allowed Lourdes to enter the room and then left, closing the door behind him. The feeling that the door would not be opened again would not leave Michelle, but now she found it oddly comforting.

Lourdes licked his lips. He reached into his jacket and drew out a long, narrow blade. His eyes gleamed with sadistic glee. If this was purely business for his master, for Lourdes it was clearly a pleasure.

"You're a credit to your profession," Michelle whispered. She tried to sound blasι, but her voice was little more than a croak.

"You're brave. That's good. You'll take a long time to break."

 

The guard fell to the ground. The crash of the impact was the only sound that he made.

"What...?" the second guard began, but then he too fell down, dead.

There was a rustling in the woods. A moment later a man crouched beside him and a grey shadow stood over them. He could make out no details of the second figure, but he knew that it frightened him almost as much as the handsome man had done.

"Are you alright, Mark?" the man asked.

"I, ah...Yes. Are you...? Michelle!"

"Where is the girl?" the shadow asked.

"Inside," Mark said. "A room. A room at the back. Two...three...ah, no; two doors down from the back door."

The shadow nodded once and slipped some small object from its belt.

"What is that?"

"Implosion charge," the shadow replied. "Keep your heads down."

A muffled scream came muffled through the shutters on the rear windows.

The shadow lifted her hand. "Get down!"

 

Michelle recoiled, clutching a long, narrow gash on her forearm. She wanted to be brave, but there was no courage left in her. She had felt nothing at first, but then the pain had come, blossoming out from the cut even as the blood began to flow. She had faced horrors in the world of dreams, but physical pain was new and terrifying.

"Good scream," Lourdes said. "Now can we get a whimper?"

He lunged forward, leading with the blade of his knife...and he kept lunging. Drawn by an unseen hand, he lurched over her and towards the window, his face twisted in a cry of alarm that Michelle thought was silent, until she realised that in fact it had been drowned out by a thunderous roar as the window exploded outwards, into the night.

Lourdes crashed down onto the bed and struggled backwards. He dropped his knife and drew a pistol from inside his jacket.

Michelle curled up into a tight ball on the floor, her ears ringing from the blast, or unblast, or whatever it was. Her hearing only returned as Lourdes' pistol barked three times. Looking up, she saw a grey shadow lunge through the shattered window, roll across the bed and plant two feet soundly in the middle of Lourdes' chest.

Lourdes fell backwards and the shadow rebounded like a ball. It landed steadily on its feet and reversed its motion with impossible speed, snapping a kick up to Lourdes' head. The man fell hard and lay still, unconscious.

And the shadow scooped up the knife, knelt beside him and...

"Michelle!"

Michelle looked up, glad to turn her face to anything other than Lourdes' death.

"Michelle. I'm..."

"Daniel Jackson," she said. "I know."

"Quickly," Daniel called; Michelle noticed that he was forcing himself to look at her, not at what was happening behind her. "Up through the window; let's go."

Michelle tried to obey, but her limbs felt like jelly. "I...I can't. I..."

In a moment, there was a woman at Michelle's side. "Look at me," she said.

Michelle obeyed and the woman locked gazes with her. Her eyes were huge and dark and they regarded Michelle with tremendous gentleness.

"You must be brave," the woman whispered. "Go to Daniel. Go to Mark."

Slowly, shakily, Michelle rose to her feet. "What about you."

The woman stood. She was dressed all in grey and, with a start, Michelle realised that this gentle woman was the killing shadow.

"What about you?" she asked again.

"They'll come after you if they can," the woman said. "I won't let that happen."

Still dazed, Michelle scrambled up and out of the window. Daniel took hold of her and drew her through, settling her gently on the ground.

"What does she mean?" she asked.

Daniel put an arm across Michelle's head and drew her down. There was a bright flash and a hot wind rolled out of the window. "She's...very direct," he replied. "Come on; down here." He took her arm and drew her down towards the wall of the house.

"Shouldn't we run?"

Daniel shook his head. "The woods aren't thick enough for cover," he whispered. "Better to stay where we can see anyone leaving the house." He pressed her into a hollow beside the back door steps, where one warm body was already concealed.

"Mark!" she exclaimed.

Mark started up and pulled Michelle into a fierce hug. "Oh, thank God," he murmured. "Thank God." Michelle caught hold of him, squeezing him tightly to try to still her shaking.

Gunshots sounded within the house.

"Do you need to help your friend?" Michelle asked.

A man screamed, but the sound was swiftly cut off.

"No," Daniel said in a taught voice. "No...she's fine."

*

Robyn slid the car to a halt at the front of the house.

"Keep watch," Sam ordered her.

"But what if someone comes out?" Robyn asked.

"Shoot them," Sam replied, adding hastily: "in the legs or something." She drew her pistol and checked it. "Just don't let them get away."

"What if it's one of the children?"

"Tell them to keep back," Sam said darkly. "And if they won't, don't be afraid to knock them out. They might have been...brainwashed."

"Brainwashed?"

"Just trust me on this," Sam insisted. "I won't be long."

She opened the car door and made a dash for the front door. It was closed and locked; Sam fired three shots into the lock and then pressed herself back against the wall. There were no answering shots and after a few seconds Sam kicked open the door. The hall was empty, but there were sounds of a struggle further in.

Sam moved in cautiously and headed for the rear of the building. She passed a door and it burst open behind her. A man stumbled out, his eyes wild and panicked. He lifted a pistol towards Sam, but she stepped inside his reach and drove a solid blow to his nose with the butt of her sidearm. The man dropped hard, but a second followed right on his heels; the handsome man.

He looked at her with cold, dark eyes as gentle and merciful as a shark's. "Colonel Carter," he said.

"Baal," she replied.

She lifted her pistol fast, but she was too close. Baal caught her wrist with his right hand and placed his left palm on Sam's chest. A wave of force struck her like an air ram and she was hurled against the wall; her pistol skittered across the floor.

Baal gave a demoniac grin. "So, I shall not leave entirely without..."

The wall of the corridor burst outwards in a hail of brick and plaster. The Goa'uld looked up, his arrogant expression dissolving into astonishment. "Renenankh?" he asked.

A figure, shrouded in grey, stepped from the cloud of dust. She moved with an inhuman fluidity and her face was an impassive mask. "My name is Mafdet," she told him.

Baal turned and ran. Nefera shot him in the back, but there was armour beneath his suit and he kept on running; a second shot struck the door as he slammed it behind him. Nefera crouched at Sam's side. "Are you..."

Sam waved her to silence. "Robyn," she gasped. "Outside..."

Nefera sprang up and sprinted to the door.

*

Tuesday, 21:45 PDT

Sam leaned painfully against the wall. Her back was bruised from the impact against the wall and the front of her body had been pummelled by the compression wave from Baal's hand device. Robyn had been in little better state; Baal had flung her away as he fled and she had crashed through the trees and undergrowth. Nefera had taken the battered girl and gone to fetch her car, leaving Sam and Daniel to calm Michelle and Mark.

As it happened, Michelle was quite calm and she seemed determined to look after Mark herself.

"She seems to be taking this well," Daniel noted.

Sam shrugged. "Michelle has seen worse things than even you or I have ever had to remember in the morning. I think she was pretty scared, but it takes a lot to really rattle her. How about Mark?"

"Feels like he failed her, apparently. I told him not many people could remember how to get back to the room they were dragged from at gunpoint and it seems to have helped. So...What do we do now?"

"We have to catch Baal before he works out what to do with that tablet," Sam replied, "assuming he hasn't worked it out all ready, that is. We could tell easily enough if only we knew if any similar tablets had gone missing. Unfortunately we're a little short on resources just at the moment. Even if I haven't been identified as the terrorist who hospitalised two NID agents, we're both AWOL by now; bridges well and truly burned."

"Not all of them," Daniel assured her. He took out his phone and hit the speed dial. "We may not have official channels, but we still have friends."

"Kawalsky?" Sam asked with a smile.

Daniel grinned sheepishly. "Who else?"

"You're going to get that girl into trouble one day," Sam told him, "but not in the way she wants."

Daniel blushed. He drew breath to retort, but broke off before he could say anything. "Amy," he replied after a pause. "I..." He broke off again. "So, they figured out I wasn't there? Uh-huh." He listened for a long moment. "Look; can you do me a fav...Yes; another favour...I don't know; a hundred and eight?"

Sam grinned.

"You'll find that the NID lost an artefact earlier today." He paused. "That sounds like the one. Now, I need to know if anything similar to that artefact has...What? Well, how do you know already? Really?"

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"A nearly identical artefact was stolen from an NID secure lab this morning or late last night," Daniel replied. "Agent Barrett contacted you about it when he heard you'd asked for the one at Area-51."

Sam sighed in relief. "So, maybe they think that the same people took the second tablet?" she hazarded.

Daniel listened for a short while. "No," he replied. "The first tablet was taken by people who killed seven NID employees, five of them unarmed civilians; the second by someone who called an ambulance for two injured agents. And they identified your voice on the phone call."

"Damnit."

"Hmm?" Daniel listened to his cellphone again. "Yes," he agreed. "I'll let you know if anything else comes up. Thanks, Amy." He hung up. "Does that answer your question?" he asked.

"Sadly yes."

They turned as one at the sound of an engine, hands half-reaching for their sidearms, but it was Nefera's car, with the Ashrak at the wheel and her assistant beside her.

"Nice ride," Sam noted.

"She seems very fond of it," Daniel agreed.

The two women got out of the car, but Robyn seemed reluctant to move away from it. In the end, Nefera left the young woman and came over herself.

"How is she?" Daniel asked.

Nefera shrugged helplessly and looked back towards Robyn. "Bruised. A little shell-shocked. Robyn will recover in body, but she has taken a bad blow to her self-esteem. Her reluctance to kill has allowed two enemies to escape and left her feeling that she has failed both Colonel Carter and myself."

"Reluctance to kill is not a failing," Daniel told her.

Nefera smiled at him. "Would you tell her that, please?"

"What?"

"I can speak the words, but killing is so much a part of me that I could not make her believe. You believe and so you can make her see it." She looked at him in desperate appeal. "Please explain to her that she has not failed us and that I do not despise her. I should not wish to lose one whom I rely on so much."

"Actually, I think that's probably what she needs to hear," Daniel told Nefera, "but I'll talk to her." He half-turned and then stopped. "You did well tonight, Nefera."

"It is what I do," the Ashrak demurred.

Daniel shook his head. "I meant with Michelle. You showed her a friendly face after all. I'm proud of you for that."

Nefera watched him go and then turned to Sam. "You are very quiet, Nebet."

"I was pretty harsh towards Miss Lockley," Sam admitted. "I was scared and upset and...I wasn't exactly fair, perhaps."

"She mentioned as much," Nefera agreed. "That is one more reason why I wish Daniel to speak to her; he will make her understand that as well."

"You put a lot of faith in him."

"He puts a lot of faith in me," she replied. "More so than you, Nebet."

Sam blushed. "I called you for help, didn't I?"

"You were desperate," the Ashrak replied. "Besides, you did not trust me to see it through; otherwise you would not have ridden Robyn so hard."

"I just..." Sam's voice petered out. "He's more trusting than I am; he always has been."

"I know. It is why I love him."

Sam winced. "Still got it bad?" she asked.

"Did you know that he never read my book?" Nefera asked in return. "Never even looked at it."

"Well, I gave it to him," Sam assured her. "Maybe he just never got past the embarrassing inscription."

It was a sign of Nefera's increasing humanisation that she blushed at that and the expression skewed Sam's attitude towards the Goa'uld. Daniel had always insisted that Nefera was unlike other Goa'uld, but even when she had begun to trust her, Sam had never quite believed it. Now, she saw it for herself.

"What do we do now, Nebet?" Nefera asked.

"We have to find Baal and retrieve that tablet," Sam declared, "but we need to get Mark and Michelle to safety first."

Nefera nodded. "We should rest overnight. However desperate the situation, you all need sleep or you will be no use. I shall try to find out if the police have seen any sign of Lor...Of Baal."

"How...?"

"I have a scanner in my car," she explained. "If there's nothing there, I have some contacts I could try and..."

"How do you know him?" Sam expanded. "And what did he call you?"

"Oh, that." Nefera blushed again. "You will not speak of this to Daniel?"

"I promise."

"I was to him a handmaiden named Renenankh," Nefera explained. "I allowed him to seduce me, which was no great hardship..."

"Too much information," Sam interrupted.

Nefera smiled. "You did ask."

"I did ask. But you clearly didn't kill Baal."

"No," Nefera agreed. "I merely allowed him to seduce me in order to find my way close to his Queen, Ashtoreth."

"So, you wouldn't be his favourite person, then?"

Nefera laughed. "He issued a series of threats against me, the least of which was...well, anatomically improbable as well as hopelessly overwrought."

Sam chuckled, but Nefera suddenly became serious again. "May I ask a question, Nebet?"

"Only if you stop calling me Nebet," Sam replied. "Colonel is fine, or ma'am, or even Sam, but I'm not comfortable with that 'my lady' business."

Nefera inclined her head. "As you wish, ma'am.

"So, what's the question?"

"Why did you not tell me? Not about Daniel, I mean; I almost understand that. I know that...I know that he does not..." Nefera gave up and moved on. "Why did you not warn me that Baal was on Earth. You were not surprised by his presence. You knew that he had set up upon your world and you knew that my greatest fear was to be found by the System Lords. Why then did you not warn me?" She sounded hurt, as though she had been betrayed.

Sam hung her head. "I didn't want to have to tell you," she replied.

"That the System Lords were infiltrating this world?"

"That there are no System Lords anymore," Sam admitted. "The empire has fallen and fragmented; there are fewer than half-a-dozen major Goa'uld power blocks remaining and the bulk of the Jaffa have declared their independence. Baal is in hiding; he's made at least one attempt to establish himself here, infiltrating the business community by implanting various key figures, but mostly he seems to be avoiding the Jaffa. We believe that he may also have cloned himself at least once."

Nefera frowned. "Multiple Baals? That seems like a recipe for disaster, albeit a mildly diverting one. Surely the Goa'uld have enough trouble working with each other; how could Baal ever work peacefully with himself."

Sam shrugged. "I make no excuses for him; that's just what we've been able to work out."

The Ashrak nodded. "Baal is no fool," she admitted reluctantly. "After Ashtoreth's death he almost managed to capture me; he will be difficult to track down, but not impossible."

"Well, whatever we do tomorrow, I think our first order of business is finding somewhere to rest and eat."

"There is a motel not far from here," Nefera replied. "We can take refuge there for the night. Hopefully, I shall have some information for you by the morning."

Sam nodded. "You lead then," she suggested, "we'll follow in one of the pick-ups." She shook her head angrily. "I can't believe Baal stole my Volvo."

*

Tuesday, 23:12 PDT

After a large, if unpretentious, dinner scavenged from a corner store, Sam and Daniel got the children settled at the motel, while Nefera attended to her shaken assistant. Despite having spent much of the day in a drugged stupor, the two children were exhausted; Robyn was not much stronger.

"She is a brave girl, but not used to such exertion. I have been training her hard, but this was her first major assignment," Nefera explained. She had joined Sam and Daniel in the former's motel room for a council of war.

"She did well," Sam assured her. "I was hard on her for not shooting the courier, but only because I was afraid for the children. She saved my life and did a neat little number on that NID sniper. You trained her well."

Nefera smiled in pleasure. "It is gratifying to know that. I have never trained anyone before. I have placed her in a healing trance," she added. "When she wakes in the morning – late in the morning – she will feel better. I have explained that she is to take the children home and protect them. I hope that she understands this is not a gesture of any disrespect."

"What? The babysitting assignment?" Sam asked.

Nefera looked embarrassed.

"She understands," Daniel said. "We had a long talk about ethics and the division of labour."

"You sound like you understand her better than I do," Nefera laughed.

"I know how it feels to be unable to play your part. I suppose I have become more ruthless over the years," he admitted, "but I am not sure that that is a good thing."

Sam clapped a hand to his shoulder. "You're still the best of us," she promised him.

"I shall second that," Nefera agreed. "Meaning no offence, ma'am."

"None taken. Now; we need a plan of campaign. We're basically outlaws and Baal must have most of the tablets by now."

"What do the tablets do?" Daniel asked.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted, "but they're Ancient-built devices, some sort of circuit boards. There must be a set of them, but I don't know how many. Daniel; did you get in touch with Kawalsky again?"

Daniel nodded. "She's tracked down nine similar tablets, four held by the NID, two by the British and one each by the Japanese, Chinese and Russians."

"And how many does Baal have?" Sam asked.

"All of them, it looks like."

"Great. What about Baal?"

Daniel shrugged. "No word from him as yet," he admitted.

"Nefera?"

Nefera looked down at her feet. "I am sorry, ma'am," she said, "but it seems that I may be...overmatched."

"Nefera?"

"I retain access to the remains of an impressive intelligence network," the Ashrak explained. "But I have tried to find information on the cover names that you gave me for Baal and...It seems that he has far greater resources than mine. My efforts have been blocked at every turn; all I have learned is that your car was found some thirty miles distant."

"Well, it's something I suppose."

Nefera coughed awkwardly.

"Oh, no."

"My apologies, ma'am."

Sam sighed. "It's not your fault," she said. "Although if you feel you have to make amends, you can help me to fill in the insurance claim. Alright; I guess we'll need to go official. I'll try and get to the Pyramid in New York and hand myself in."

"I'll get Amy to call Jack and let him know you're coming," Daniel suggested.

"Good thinking," Sam agreed. "We'd be in trouble if the world ended before the General even found out I'd been arrested."

Daniel grinned. "He is pretty insulated these days; all those secretaries and aides and assistants to get between him and the ground. Sounds like it's driving him nuts."

"It may be better to get in touch with him directly." Sam admitted. "I didn't really want to get him involved, not now his work is so political, but my best bet may just be to have him send someone to arrest me himself. What about you?"

"I have a few leads," Nefera assured her. "We can try to track Baal through those."

"Just be careful," Sam warned. "Baal is...Well, you know how dangerous he is."

Nefera nodded and glanced at Daniel. "I will look after him," she promised, to Daniel's evident embarrassment.

*

Michelle was not asleep, although neither was she precisely awake. After more than a decade spent in an induced dream state, she enjoyed many options denied to other humans on the sliding scale of consciousness. She could control her dreams as well as her waking body, sharpen her thoughts and senses at the cost of body awareness and physical coordination, and even send her mind out into the dreams of others. This last was what had kept Mark from slipping into a coma and it was what she now used in an attempt to repay the karmic debt that she felt was owing for her timely rescue.

Robyn Lockley's dreams were predictable, replaying the scenes of her 'failure' over and over again. Time and again, Baal emerged from the house and ran towards the car. Each time, Robyn stepped forward, the pistol in her hand, but from then on, things changed. Sometimes she barely raised the weapon, sometimes she actually fired it. Sometimes the Goa'uld was hit and killed, sometimes he killed her; most often she brought the pistol half way up, only for Baal to throw out his hand and unleash the wave of force that picked her up, tumbled her across the roof of the car and into the undergrowth.

Michelle recognised the pattern. She had seen many cyclical dreams and instated a few, plunging the subconscious minds of her victims into a loop from which they could not escape. Some of those victims had been held until they faded away; only years after the fact had Michelle learned that this fading indicated the death of the body of a person whom she had trapped in a perpetual dream. Perhaps if she could break Miss Lockley from this cycle, she would also repay some of the debt owed to those whom she had killed unwittingly.

She descended into the dreamscape and felt the gravel of the driveway beneath her feet. "Miss Lockley," she said.

Miss Lockley half-turned and Baal blindsided her, a knife glinting in his hand. Michelle flexed her will and the Goa'uld evaporated.

"What...? How?" Lockley asked.

"It's not real," Michelle explained. "It's a dream. Look, I can't make the fear and uncertainty go away; I don't have that kind of muscle on my own. But I think that I can help you to look at things from a different perspective."

"What do you mean?" Lockely asked.

Michelle smiled. "I'll show you."

*

There were a few details to work out, but Daniel and Sam were almost as tired as Mark and Michelle had been and it was not long before they called it a night. Daniel and Nefera left Sam's room and Daniel insisted – perhaps ridiculously – on walking Nefera back to her own room.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Nefera offered. "I am sure that what this motel has provided in the way of coffee will be vile, but it will have caffeine in it."

"Thanks, but the last thing I need is to be awake for longer."

"You could come in anyway."

Daniel felt a shiver run down his spine. In the half-light of the motel cloister she looked exquisitely vulnerable. She was not a tall woman and her body was deceptively slim; her face was set in an attitude of gentle invitation and there was a nervous glimmer in her dark eyes. Try as he might, Daniel could not help thinking of Sha're, sitting by the mortar and looking up at him with that same, forlorn expression.

"Nefera..." he began.

"You could come in," she repeated, "but you are not going to, are you?"

"No," Daniel agreed, the simplicity of the word belying the difficulty of the decision. "Thank you," he added, feeling profoundly grateful to her for allowing him to escape so easily. "Goodnight, Nefera. Sleep well."

"And you, Daniel."

Daniel turned to go, but Nefera softly called his name and he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

"Nefera?"

"I just wanted to know: how far did you get?"

"How far?"

"With the book," she explained. "How much did you read before you gave up on it?"

Daniel sighed. "I never even opened it," he admitted. "I like you, Nefera; even knowing what I do about your past, I can't find it in me not to. But I don't want to read about the things you did when you served the System Lords, in however fictionalised a form. I just couldn't face it. I was afraid that I might not be able to feel the same way about you afterwards."

Nefera looked astonished. "Oh," she said. "Then you never...Even the inscription?"

"There's an inscription?" Daniel asked. "You signed a book for me? When I was dead?"

Nefera looked away quickly, but not quickly enough to hide the flash of anger and pain; Daniel's laugh died on his lips.

"She did not tell me that you were dead; I learned that when I came to bring you the book and...visit you. Neither did she inform me that you lived once more. I think that she did not want me to come to you again."

Daniel opened his mouth, but could find nothing to say. He took a step towards her.

"Goodnight, Daniel," Nefera whispered, and she slipped into her room before either of them could say anything that could not be retracted.

*

Mark was not dreaming of anything in particular when Michelle found him. His mind was in the hazy netherworld between deep dreaming and wakefulness, running over the events of the day and throwing up various cryptically symbolic images to baffle and amuse future generations of psychologists.

"Mark," she called softly. She cleared what, for want of a better word, she considered to be her throat, and tried again. "Mark!"

Michelle.

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere; Mark had not yet placed himself within a dreamscape, there were only images.

"It's me," she assured him. She closed her eyes and once more exerted her will, forcing the ever-changing images to form into a coherent dreamscape. She chose an image that would be safe and comfortable; the playroom at the Carters' house, complete with the TV, DVD and games console that the three children shared.

The door opened and Mark came in.

"Hello," Michelle said.

"Hi."

"I need your help."

Mark frowned. "My help?" he asked. "What for?"

"I need to do something a little reckless," Michelle explained, "and I need someone to act as a point of contact; a beacon for me to come back to, in case I get into trouble. When I contacted Sam I almost got lost, but I could sense you waiting for me; worrying about me. I think if you concentrate on me, that will let me find my way home."

"I don't understand," Mark admitted.

"I know," Michelle replied. "And I think there are a lot of things that we need to talk about."

*

Wednesday, 08:15 PDT

Nefera had been talking on the phone for close to two hours, chasing leads and contacts and running into dead end after dead end. Amy had called three or four times to update Daniel on her abject lack of progress. Sam had been brooding over the fact that she did not know any of her colleagues and co-workers – aside from the rest of SG-1 – well enough to call them up and ask for unofficial help and waxed vocal about it when they met up for breakfast.

"You could ask Agent Barrett," Daniel suggested.

Sam shook her head. "He might help, but...there's just a whole world of complications there." She sighed. "Maybe I just don't have anyone I can call for help who won't ask me out to dinner. I don't know what it is, but this last year everyone just seems to think I have 'desperate single fortysomething' tattooed on my forehead."

"No-one knows you're fortysomething," Daniel assured her.

"You're so sweet."

Nefera thumbed off her cellphone and set it down with an impatient sigh. "Nothing!" she snapped. "I managed to connect a number of mercenary groups to one of your pseudonyms; Dr Simpson Price."

Daniel looked up. "And who is Dr Price when he isn't being a parasitic megalomaniac?"

Sam pursed her lips. "The MD of InfraStar Astrodynamics," she explained. "I remember we identified him – albeit rather tenuously – based on the profile you drew up for Earthbound Goa'uld."

"We have a profile?" Nefera asked.

Daniel laughed. "Not that you fit it," he assured her. "I identified about a dozen personality traits common to the System Lords and extrapolated the ways in which they might present themselves in a Terrestrial setting. I figured they'd be reclusive, but egocentric, so we'd be looking for someone who shunned publicity, yet cultivated a fanatical inner circle. They'd have knowledge, but no work ethic, so they would establish a research and construction infrastructure to do all the work for them. They'd have a controlling role that kept them out of the limelight, court the famous while avoiding fame, surround themselves with security arrangements..." He broke off.

Nefera reached towards him. "Daniel?"

"It's not important anyway," Sam interrupted; she knew that Daniel did not care to recall how far his profile had been informed by his dream of how he might act with the knowledge of the Goa'uld at his disposal. "What matters is that Price fits the profile: He appeared out of nowhere with new ideas that he immediately handed over to a cadre of researchers to implement; there are no photographs, but a dozen articles about his ground-breaking research were published by leading journals in the last six months; he maintains an inner circle of...well, according to reports from inside InfraStar, disciples isn't too strong a word."

"Well, now he is employing, ah...security consultants is the term on the paperwork," Nefera explained. "I have a lot of clout in that community and I have been able to track some of his employees to Beijing, Northern England, Cincinnati..."

"The places where the tablets were stolen," Sam realised.

Nefera nodded. "And the rumour now is that Price himself has disappeared while on a routine visit to his San Jose facility."

Sam cursed. "Then he's ready to do whatever it is he wants to do," she snarled. "And we...And I gave him the final piece that he required."

Daniel made a placatory gesture. "Let's not start flinging blame, and concentrate on working out where he's gone."

"Wherever he's gone, he's thinking about harps," Michelle announced, setting a dangerously full bowl of cereal on the table and slumping wearily into a seat. "I don't know why. Good morning, all."

"Good morning, Michelle," Sam replied. "Mark."

"Morning Aunty Sam," Mark yawned.

"Didn't sleep so well?" Daniel asked.

"Out walking," Michelle replied. "Mark was my anchor."

Mark choked on a spoonful of muesli. "I thought..." he began. "Wasn't that...That was a dream!"

Michelle frowned. "I thought I explained all of this," she said.

"Well, yes," he agreed, "but I thought the explanation was part of a dream. Unless I'm still dreaming."

Michelle shook her head.

"Then...That other dream..."

Michelle winked.

"Oh, God."

"Mark?" Sam frowned.

"I think...Excuse me." Abandoning his breakfast, Mark fled the table.

"Michelle?"

Michelle shook her head. "Later," she promised reluctantly. "Much later."

"What did you do?" Sam demanded.

"We just talked," she protsted.

"I mean about Baal."

"Oh. I went walking," she repeated. "Specifically, I went looking for Baal's dreams."

Nefera frowned. "I do not understand," she admitted.

Sam gave another weary sigh. "Michelle is psychic," she explained. "She has an ability to tap into the collective unconscious and view, or even manipulate, the dreams of others."

Nefera gave a sudden, ragged gasp and unconsciously drew away from Michelle.

Daniel laid a hand gently on hers. "Nefera?"

"Such power," she whispered, her eyes fixed on Michelle in terror. "What such a being could not do..."

Michelle stared at Nefera in amazement. "You mean you're...You're afraid of me?" She was incredulous. "Last night, I saw you kill a man. I heard you kill half a dozen men."

"But I could do nothing to resist you," Nefera breathed. "You...You are as a god indeed."

Michelle shuffled awkwardly in her seat. "'M not," she mumbled.

"Michelle is not a killer," Sam insisted.

Nefera opened her mouth, closed it again, and then said: "I am sincerely pleased to know it." She inclined her head respectfully towards Michelle, who blushed.

"So, what did you find out?" Sam asked.

"Not much," Michelle admitted. "He has a strong will and I just don't have the va-va-voom that I controlled when I was locked in the Cassasphere. Of course, on the plus side, I'm no longer suspended comatose in an isolation tank, so I guess I can't complain."

"Michelle..."

"Sorry, Sam. Okay, so all I could really do was watch; it was a bit of a mess of Freudian symbolism – the man has a serious cigar fixation – but in with all the flame and spears and heavy metal babes there was a great big open field, and a huge harp made of steel and flame. He was playing the harp and spitting off lightning like he was a Tesla coil." The girl shovelled down a last spoonful of cereal. "I...I hope that helps."

"I think it does," Sam assured her. "But now I think you should go and find Mark; make sure he hasn't run off or anything. You gave him quite a scare."

"Sure, Sam," Michelle agreed.

Daniel shook his head as Michelle hurried away. "That girl's a menace," he noted.

"She's more than that," Nefera murmured.

"She's not a killer," Sam repeated.

"Not like me," Nefera agreed, "but maybe like you..."

Sam waved the issue away. "Maybe," she allowed, "but that's a distraction. What's important is where Baal is, and I think I know."

"You know what the harp means?" Daniel asked.

"It means exactly what it says. The tablets are designed to form a circuit for controlling an energy field," she explained, "and for that you would need a transmitter of some sort; an antenna array to boost and direct the signal. Well, if I wanted to direct a powerful energy field across the earth, I know where I'd go."

"Where?"

Sam gave a wry grin. "Somewhere he can find an array of one-hundred-and-eighty antennae and a battery of instrumentation. The DARPA facility at Gakona, Alaska."

Nefera's eyes widened in alarm. "Alaska?" she asked. "There was something. One of my contacts was describing InfraStar; he said that they had several defence contracts, including one at a site in Alaska." She closed her eyes in thought. "The High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program."

Daniel groaned. "HAARP."

*

Wednesday, 07:30 AKDT
Alaska

Baal stepped from his car and gazed out across the great array; row-upon-row of towering antennae, thrusting up towards the sky. The primitiveness of the technology on display was almost an affront to the Goa'uld, despite the improvements made by his own technicians, but it was the best and most powerful instrument available to him.

Among the antennae, men with weapons stood watch; two people waited for him by the control building, a man in a white lab coat and a woman in a long gown of indigo silk. At his approach, the woman spread her skirts and dropped into a deep curtsey, bowing her head so that her blonde hair fell over her face.

"My lord," she said in an affected, husky tone.

The man stepped forward, all business. "You have the final tablet, sir?"

"Of course," Baal snarled, gesturing curtly for the man to go past to his car. "Is everything in hand here?"

"Everything, my lord," the woman assured him. "Your faithful servants control every part of the facility. The government scientists have been captured; the military presence is contained. The first seventy-one tablets are already in place; we have waited only for the final piece of the circuit...and for your presence, Lord Baal."

Baal approached and hauled her up by the hand. "You are a good and faithful servant, Professor Wainwright," he told her.

The Professor kept her eyes on the hand which held hers. "I live only to serve you, my beloved lord," she assured him. "I hope that my attire pleases you."

Baal chuckled. "It is most fetching."

"Long way from practical." The man in the white coat strode past, muttering under his breath.

Baal caught the man by his shoulder. "Dr Tarman, the Professor has no need of crude practicality." He released Tarman, touched his finger to the woman's chin and lifted her gaze to meet his. "Professor Wainwright is my most trusted and beloved servant. It is for others, less favoured, to labour. Now set the final tablet in place and initiate the first phase."

"Dr Price..." Tarman began. A sharp glower stopped him in his tracks, but he gathered his courage and began again. "My lord; the machinery here is utterly inadequate to your needs."

Wainwright turned towards her colleague. "We have discussed this!" she snapped. "It was agreed that the array was suitable."

"You agreed that the array was suitable," Tarman responded. "But even with the upgrades I have made to the generators and power grid, it is not capable of sustaining the necessary output for phase three."

"At phase three, the energy field will be self-sustaining!"

"The relays will melt; the field may persist, but without wave guidance..."

Baal released the Professor's hand to allow her to round on Tarman. She drew herself up full of anger and fierce pride. "If your work on the power systems is not up to scratch...!"

"My work meets all specifications; it is the specifications and your calculations that are flawed. At every step you have twisted the figures and manipulated experimental data to produce results that will flatter yourself, please Lord Baal and get you one step closer to his..."

With a cry of rage, Wainwright stepped forward and drove her fist into Tarman's throat; he collapsed with a gurgle and Wainwright stepped towards him, fists clenched. She looked ready to kill.

With a small smile playing across his lips, Baal stepped forward and caught hold of Wainwright, pinning her left arm against her waist and clasping her right wrist in a firm hand. She struggled for a moment to be free, before subsiding against him, her breath hissing hard through her teeth. Tarman gasped and wheezed, clutching his throat with one hand while the other clawed in the dust.

"Have patience, Professor," Baal cautioned. "Never be in too much of a hurry to dispose of a resource that may yet prove useful." He released the woman and stooped by Tarman; he held his healing device to the man's throat and exerted a little of his influence to mend the damage to his windpipe. "An accurate blow, however," he noted approvingly.

"Thank you, my lord," she panted.

"Tarman; you will go about your business."

"The program needs a custom built array," Tarman insisted stubbornly.

"I do not have the time," Baal replied, "nor can I divert the resources without attracting unwanted attention. But the Professor assures me that this facility will suffice, and you are not qualified to question her calculations; there are simply too many factors that you are not aware of."

Tarman glowered at him furiously. "Factors? What factors?"

"That information is not for you to know."

"I can not work in ignorance!" he protested.

"Oh." Baal shrugged as he stood. "That is regrettable. Professor."

"My lord?"

Baal stepped out of Wainwright's path. With a flourish he drew a slim-bladed knife from inside his jacket and proffered the hilt to her. "You may continue."

"I..." Understanding dawned slowly on the woman. "But I..."

"Professor?"

Wainwright swallowed hard. She reached out and closed her hand on the hilt of the dagger. Tarman was much slower to realise what was happening and his cry of protest was cut short by the blade.

"There," Baal purred. He held Wainwright with his gaze, gauging her reaction – physical and emotional – to what she had done. "That was not so hard, was it?" he prompted.

Wainwright wiped her blade on Tarman's shirt. "No," she replied blandly; she sounded almost surprised. "Not so hard."

"Such ruthlessness," Baal noted approvingly.

Wainwright's face was pale, but with an effort of will she stilled the tremble in her hand. "It is not the first time," she assured him. "I was with the Air Force for six years. I only entered academia full time when my commanders and I had a disagreement over a matter of ethics." She stooped again and picked up the tablet. "The things that he said," she added. "You know that I serve you faithfully; I have no thought of reward or..."

Baal laid a finger on her lips.

"Have my quarters been prepared?"

"Yes, my lord. And we have outfitted the mess according to your instructions."

Baal nodded once. "Good. Then find someone to dispose of the body and have one of your technicians put the tablet in place."

"I shall attend to the circuit myself," Wainwright promised.

Baal caught hold of her wrist again. "No," he told her firmly. "You will have another deal with it and then you shall attend me in my quarters. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord."

"What is your given name?"

Wainwright swallowed hard. "My name is Michaela, my lord. Mike for short."

"Henceforth, you shall be known Mikal-pene-Baal," he told her in a voice that brooked no argument. "I wish to be reminded of my old world and it suits you so much better than" – his lip curled in a sneer – "'Mike'. Now, do as I have ordered. Time may be even more of a factor than I had assumed."

*

Wednesday, 08:00 PDT
San Diego

Robyn Lockley looked positively buoyant, a far cry from the dismal being who had accompanied them to the motel. "Ready kids?" she asked brightly.

"Ready," Michelle agreed. "You look better."

"Advantages of a good night's sleep, I suppose," Lockley replied. "Everything seems better in the morning. If you've said your goodbyes then let's hit the road; we don't want to keep you away from home any longer than we have to."

 

Sam shut off her cellphone. "Alright," she said. "It's all set."

"We're no longer fugitives?" Daniel asked.

"You're not; provisionally at least," Sam agreed. "Once Robyn is underway with the kids, we're to go to Edwards Air Force Base, where I'll be arrested by Homeworld Security agents, who will take me under guard to the Pyramid."

"Charming."

"Best the General can do without getting himself reassigned and me thrown into the deepest prison on the planet," Sam assured him. "Apparently the Director of the NID is on his back as it is. Anyway, from there we can mobilise a strike force and monitor the situation via satellite. If we're lucky, the Daedalus will be on station before Baal gets too far with his plans and we can simply pick him off from space; if not...well, we'll cross that blazing inferno when we come to it. Anyway; you and Nefera are free to go, not having attacked any government agents recently, and the General's organised a fast transport to take you and the car to Alaska. Are you sure you really need the car?" she asked.

"We may need some of its customisations," Nefera replied. "Besides, it will get us from the airfield to this HAARP facility faster than any other land transportation on the planet and it shall do so undetected."

Sam shook her head in amazement. "Your car has a cloaking device?"

"Only a simple one to elude radar; it can not become invisible, but the engine can run silently and we will need the scanners, I think."

Sam nodded. "Well, I'll have to follow you, since it's only a two-seater, so you'll be at Edwards well ahead of me. Which is probably for the best seeing as I'm persona non grata." She hugged Daniel, then held out her hand to Nefera. "Good luck," she said.

Nefera took the proffered hand and bowed low to press her forehead to Sam's knuckles. "Ral tora ke, Nebet," she whispered.

Quite deliberately, Sam kept hold of the Ashrak's fingers and shook her hand firmly. "Take care of yourself as well as Daniel," she instructed.

"As you command, ma'am."

 

As they drove away from the motel, Daniel and Nefera sat in awkward silence. It was Daniel who spoke first, although he feared what speech might bring.

"Penny for them?" he offered.

"My thoughts are of little consequence."

"I'd disagree," he insisted. "I heard you crying last night," he added. "The walls of those motel rooms were very thin."

Nefera gave a weak smile. "I know. I could hear every word and...other noise from my neighbours of the other side."

Daniel returned the smile, but refused to be put off. "Why were you crying?"

There was a long, long silence. Trees and highway signs streaked past them.

"Nefera," he prompted.

"I do not belong anymore," she explained. She spoke so softly that her voice was all but inaudible above the roar of the engine, yet every word was crystal clear to Daniel. "I am an Ashrak; a hunter. I was forged as an instrument of death to serve the will of the System Lords and now...Now there are no System Lords, and no place for an Ashrak. I have nothing, Daniel; only a mistress who does not want me."

"You have Robyn," Daniel noted.

"Robyn?"

"The girl practically worships the very ground you walk on, Nefera. But she also told me that you are a great private detective. You have a thriving business, a valued role in the world." He placed his hand over hers on the gearshift. "And you have friends," he assured her, "even if not all of them knew how to contact you. That isn't nothing."

She looked at him through a veil of unshed tears.

"I've never seen a Goa'uld cry," he whispered.

Nefera sniffed and turned her eyes back to the road. "Nor shall you now," she assured him tersely, but she made no attempt to move his hand away from hers. "There is no time for tears."

*

Wednesday, 8:00 AKDT

Baal held out his hand and the newly-named Mikal set a cold glass between his waiting fingers. Baal sipped the drink and smiled in satisfaction.

"Come," he instructed. "Sit."

Mikal moved towards the couch, but Baal snapped his fingers and gestured for her to take a seat on the floor at his feet. She did as he wanted without complaint.

"There are few people on this world like you," he noted approvingly. "You have beauty, intelligence and strength, but also grace and humility."

"I was never humble before I met you, my lord," she assured him. "You are the only person I have ever recognised as my superior."

Baal chuckled. "I am flattered," he assured her. "Tell me, Mikal; your calculations are accurate, are they not? Dr Tarman was arrogant and disobedient, but he was no fool."

"He did not understand the mathematics involved," Mikal assured him. "I have spent a year studying the field equations that you provided for the energy barrier project and even I had difficulty with the math involved here. Nothing like this has ever been done before. Nonetheless, I am certain of my calculations; the field modulators will create their own containment and focusing systems; once the tablets begin to draw on the Earth's electromagnetic field, the sheer power involved will warp space-time, creating a gravitic lens, just like a supermass. The array will be destroyed, Tarman was right about that, but by then it will be meaningless; the tablets will be meaningless."

"What do you mean, the tablets will be meaningless?" Baal demanded.

"When I say that nothing like this has been done before, I mean that truly. This machine was only ever designed to work once. There are four phases of the process," Mikal explained. "In phase one, the tablets are used as frequency modulators to control the input to the antennae. In phase two, the energy is projected from the antenna array into the ionosphere; the tablets still act as a modulator in this phase. In phase three, the ionosphere above the array will become the primary antenna; the array will act purely as a relay between the tablets, the ionosphere and, of course, the focal waveguide," she added, taking his hand in a gesture of supplication.

"And then what?"

"And then phase four," she replied. "The field draws on the Earth's own energy for power, creating the gravitic lens to act as the antenna and the relay to the waveguide. All external paraphernalia become superfluous and are destroyed in the release of energy. Only the energy remains and the waveguide..." Mikal smiled beatifically.

"Perfect," Baal sighed. "You have done well, Mikal-pene-Baal." He stroked her hair with a proprietorial hand. "You have earned great favour, and lo, I tell you my great secret."

"My lord."

Baal smiled. He rose to his feet and held himself with infinite gravity. His eyes flashed with white fire. "Now," he said, his voice rumbling strangely. "You see me as I am."

"Oh my god," she gasped.

"Yes."

*

Wednesday, 10:00 PDT
San Diego

"Are you sure you won't come in?" Mark asked.

Lockley shook her head. "I've got a lot to do back at the office," she insisted. "I don't think Jane is going to be coming back for a while and I need to put this all to bed so I can put it out of my mind for a while."

Michelle squeezed her hand. "Take care of yourself, Miss Lockley," she said. "Thank you for everything you've done for us."

Lockley blushed. "I didn't do much; I just sort of muddled along and..."

"You saved Sam's life," Michelle interrupted. "Without that..." She kissed the young woman on the cheek. "You saved us all."

Mark nodded. "Thank you, Miss Lockley," he agreed.

Lockley's eyebrow twitched upwards. "Don't I get a kiss from you?"

Mark blushed and Michelle slapped Lockley on the arm. "You're a bad, bad woman," she accused. "But thank you again."

The two teenagers stood on the pavement as Robyn Lockley drove away.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Mark asked.

"I think so. I'll check up on her tonight."

Mark frowned. "That's just...It's kind of scary," he admitted.

"Oh."

"And kind of cool," he added. "It's just that any time I dream about you from now on..." He shook his head in bafflement. "It's very confusing."

"You know that I'm confused too?" she asked him in a quiet voice. "It's been a lot to take in, in a very little time."

"I'm sorry."

"No," she told him. "No, don't be sorry. I'm glad I know. It's a lot nicer than thinking you hate me. And for what it's worth, I promise not to go anywhere near your dreams except in an emergency. I've done enough prodding into other people's brains before...I haven't told you about my past, but it isn't pretty. It might just make you feel very differently about me."

"I doubt it, but if you want to tell me, I'll listen."

Michelle smiled. "Thank you," she said, "but for now we'd better go and talk to your father."

"What do we tell him?" Mark wondered aloud. "We talked – for want of a better word – a lot last night, but I don't think we actually reached any conclusions."

Michelle shrugged. "Then we tell him that we got kidnapped, but we're okay. And we can tell him that we are okay," she suggested. "That much I was pretty clear on."

"Yeah. And that'll make him happy."

"Later on...Later on I can talk about the adoption. About whether or not to go ahead with it."

"And will you? Go head with it, I mean?"

"I don't know," Michelle admitted. "I think that's going to take a whole lot more working out."

"My life was simpler without you," Mark sighed.

Michelle laid a hand on his arm. "Well...My life was simpler when I was suspended in an artificial coma, but it wasn't better."

Mark smiled at her. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "You're an odd sort of teenager, Michelle."

"I had a wacky childhood." She tried to stifle a yawn and failed.

Mark's grin dissolved into a yawn of his own. "Long couple of days," he agreed.

"Still, it's over now."

*

Wednesday, 17:00 GMT
Llantisilly

Llew Midhir started awake with a ragged gasp. The town square of Llantisilly was cheerful, warm and safe in the late afternoon sunlight, but he felt cold. He sat up in his chair and shivered.

Cassandra Fraiser looked over at him and smiled. "Sleepyhead," she chided, but her smile quickly faded as she sensed his concern. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Not...her?" She glanced uncomfortably towards the dig.

"No," Llew assured her, "but...something."

Cassie came over and crouched down beside him. "Tell me."

"It's nothing."

"I may not be empathic, but I can tell when you're not sleeping well, babe," Cassie assured him. "Something's been bothering you for a couple of days; why else are you falling asleep when there's work to be done?"

Llew gave a rueful smile. "It's nothing I can put my finger on," he expanded. "Just a feeling that something...something is going wrong."

"With the dig?"

"With the world."