Breath of the Ancients

by Lex

Huge thanks to Elysium for her incredible patience whilst beta-ing a complete novice.
Everyone please note, though, that any mistakes are mine alone. And so, on with the show...

Part One

Three men swiftly concealed themselves in the shelter of the forest as the normally dormant portal burst into life. They watched silently, apprehensive of what would emerge. A mechanised drone rolled through the rippling surface, moved a short distance and then stopped. The drone's attachments repositioned, paused, then rearranged themselves in a bizarre dance. The wind carried the device's gentle whirrs and beeps to their ears. After a while the drone ceased its motion and became quiet. The wormhole dissipated.

The men remained in position for a long time, neither speaking nor moving, relieved that the technology was obviously not Goa'uld. They watched silently as the portal came to life once more and four people walked through. They were dressed in all-encompassing grey clothing, and carried equipment of unknown purpose. These people did not stay long, fastening several pieces of their alien equipment to trees and walls. They then activated the portal a final time, took their drone and left the planet.

The three men waited. Eventually one of the men signalled to the others, and they silently retreated into the forest.

Daniel Jackson picked up the pages he'd been covering with notes, checked his watch and headed towards the briefing room.

"Ah, Dr. Jackson," General Hammond greeted him as he walked through the door. Daniel looked around at the rest of SG-1 already seated around the large conference table, slightly confused.

"Sorry, am I late?" he asked, shaking his wrist then looking back at his watch.

"Nope, you're bang on time for a change," O'Neill said, watching as Jackson put his pile of paper on the table and headed for the coffeepot in the corner. "Carter was about to tell us what fascinating things have been happening on P3X717 for the last couple of days."

Daniel sat down as Hammond nodded to the major. She activated a projector sitting on the table in front of her, throwing an image of several dilapidated buildings on to the wall. "Well sir, as you know we've had surveillance cameras trained on the area around the gate for over two days now, and we've seen no sign of activity. In fact, other than the odd animal there doesn't appear to be any sign of activity in recent months."

"What do you mean 'recent months'? Surely buildings take longer than a few months to get into that state," O'Neill queried.

Carter pressed the remote and the wall turned into a collection of graphs and charts. "Well sir, these UAV readings indicate there are other more recent settlements. Those have also been deserted, for no discernible reason. In addition there are indications that the Goa'uld were a major part of the civilisation, but there's no sign of them either."

"Uh, actually, that's not strictly true," Daniel broke in.

"What do you mean, Dr. Jackson?" Hammond asked.

"Um, I know the warning on the obelisk that the MALP pictures showed us initially are what stopped us from going to the planet, but I've been working on that and..." Daniel paused, frowning and shuffling through the papers in front of him.

"And..." O'Neill prompted.

"Oh, sorry," Daniel said, finding the elusive notes. "Right, well I was correct in that it is a warning. But it's a warning to the Goa'uld to stay away from the planet -- nobody else."

"So...what...the people on the planet thought that would work?" O'Neill shook his head, bemused. "They put up a 'no entry' sign and expected everything in the garden to be rosy? But, big surprise, the bad guys turned up after all and spirited them all away."

"No Jack, it's more complicated than that. I thought that's what it meant at first, but now I don't think that can be right. The warning actually refers to the planet being under the 'protection of the Ancients'."

"You're not saying the Ancients put that sign there? How could they -- they've been dead for..." O'Neill faltered slightly, "...a long time," he finished.

"No, I'm not saying that -- the warning looks like it was carved recently. Look, I don't know what the implications are, but something caused the Goa'uld to leave. I just think we should find out more about what happened, especially since there doesn't seem to be anyone else left on the planet. I mean, I know the Asgaard have told us the Ancients don't exist any more, but what if they're wrong? This could be an enormous opportunity to learn about the gate system and about the oldest civilisation that we know of in the galaxy." Daniel turned towards Hammond, an earnest look on his face. "General, I think we should at least take a look to see if we can find any more information."

Hammond was quiet for a moment. "Major Carter, what's your view on this?"

"Well sir, it sounds like an interesting possibility. I'm not saying the Ancients are alive, but this planet may hold some new information that would be worth investigating. The fact that we've only detected a very small number of human remains suggests the possibility that the inhabitants were either driven off the planet, or taken away by a more powerful force. We saw the Asgaard do that very thing to the Goa'uld and Jaffa ourselves on Cimmeria, so it's definitely possible. There could be any number of reasons for what's happened, including a weapon or potential new allies."

"Teal'c, do you have anything to add?" the general asked.

"I do not. I have not previously heard of the Ancients returning, or in fact of any species other than the Asgaard attacking the Goa'uld with any great success."

"Hey, I resent that!" O'Neill began, indignant.

Hammond ignored him. "So if this mission is going to go ahead, what precautions would you suggest major?"

Carter considered the question. "I don't think CBW suits will be necessary sir, since we found no evidence of any unknown agents. But I recommend we take them with us, in case we come across anything suspicious. Other than that, I think standard mission protocols should suffice."

"Actually, I disagree sir," O'Neill spoke up.

"Colonel?"

"I'd like to take another team with us. This whole thing feels wrong to me. It's not just the Goa'uld who are missing from this planet; if there is a possibility that those responsible may return through the gate I want to know about it. I really don't want to split the team up. If we're all with Daniel while he studies those ruins, then we're going to need someone else watching the gate."

The general nodded. "Take SG-10 with you. Unless there's anything else to add..." Hammond looked round the table expectantly, "SG-1, you have a go in 2 hours. Dismissed."

Jack studied his fingernails closely. Despite the potential benefits of this mission, despite the creepy feeling he had being on a planet that was doing a damn good impression of the Marie Celeste, despite the reasons he'd stated for bringing an extra team along, sitting around with Daniel while he worked really wasn't on his list of fascinating things to do on a rainy Tuesday. Not that it was raining. Or even Tuesday for that matter. In fact it was rather warm here on P3-whatever, and he and Daniel were both now down to t-shirts underneath the requisite protective vests. That argument had been fairly easy to win -- 'no Daniel, the only way you get to keep your vest off is if you go home and leave me to work on the translation'. As expected Daniel had grumbled a little, muttered something about joining a union and then forgotten all about the temperature as he lost himself in yet another obscure language. They had found a library of sorts in the ruined buildings, and Daniel had surrounded himself with a pile of books and what looked suspiciously like magazines. Jack wondered idly if they had Sports Illustrated.

He looked up as Daniel walked over to one of the walls, carrying an open notebook in one hand and tentatively feeling the surface of a mural with the other. "Whatcha doin'?" Jack asked.

"Well, according to these notes, there should be a..." Daniel stopped in mid-sentence, as he studied a small area of the faded artwork. "Okay, here it is so I just need to-" he glanced back at the notes, then pressed firmly on the wall before Jack could open his mouth to warn against the ill-advised action. There was the sound of a latch popping, and a section of the wall about a foot square swung open a fraction. Jack was across the room with his hand firmly on Daniel's arm just before the archaeologist's fingertips made contact with the newly discovered door.

"No you don't. Before you get your fingers chopped off by a quaint little alien booby trap Daniel, do you have any idea what's in there?" Jack asked, despairing that no matter what Daniel had learned in the past few years, 'look with your eyes, not with your hands' was clearly a concept that would be forever incomprehensible to him.

"Actually, yes. The person who wrote these notes explains that this is where they kept information hidden from the Goa'uld. They didn't say what sort of information, but I'm guessing it's something the author thought would be valuable in overthrowing whoever was ruling here. And without reading what's in there, that's all I can tell you." Daniel responded.

"So you're saying there's nothing in there but books?" Jack asked, doubtfully.

"Yes."

"Fine. I want you to stand well back and I'll check inside," the colonel waved him back as he spoke.

Daniel just raised his eyebrows. "So now it's not okay for me to get my fingers cut off, but it's okay if you do it?"

"Humour me, okay?" Jack insisted. Daniel walked back a couple of steps with a resigned sigh. Jack stood back himself, then used the tip of his P-90 to tentatively reveal the contents of the compartment. When there was no flash of light and no loud bang and no alien technology trying to suck his brain out through his nose, he moved in closer and waved his P-90 around inside the compartment. Satisfied, he turned round to find Daniel looking at him expectantly.

"Well?"

Wincing inwardly, Jack almost wished he'd been right for once just to keep the 'I told you so' out of Daniel's tone. "Knock yourself out. Another scintillating read I'm sure," he responded, strolling back across the room to lean casually against the wall once more.

Carter's voice over the radio rescued O'Neill from returning to his previous state of near-terminal boredom. "Colonel, camp's almost ready and it looks like the sun's going to set in about ninety minutes."

"Great Carter. Don't suppose you fancy taking a turn here while I whip us all up a gourmet dinner, do you?" Jack asked hopefully, watching Daniel as he laid his new discoveries out on the table, oblivious to the conversation behind him.

"We'll be finished here in about twenty minutes sir, so if you want to wait with Daniel..." Carter trailed off, knowing the response she'd get. They'd thoroughly checked out the buildings and their surroundings once they'd arrived and had found no signs of intelligent life.

"No, I think it's safe to leave him on his own for a little while. I'll join you in a moment, O'Neill out." The colonel pushed away from the wall and walked over to touch the archaeologist on the shoulder. "Daniel, I'm going to start dinner. Carter'll be here in about twenty minutes. Until then, do you think you can manage to stick with your books and not start poking other things that might look interesting?"

Daniel chose to ignore the last comment. "Jack, there's some really fascinating stuff here. Some of these papers are pretty old and-"

Jack held up his hands to halt the outpouring. "Daniel, tell us about it over dinner, okay?" Daniel let out his breath and nodded, already turning back to the table strewn with the secrets of this mysterious planet. Jack watched him pick up his pen and notebook again, then turned and headed out of the building towards camp.

Three pairs of eyes watched the older man walk away from the library, past several other buildings and onward to the temporary structures that the visitors had set up. They waited until he had moved out of earshot, then moved quickly from the cover of the trees to the building containing their lone target. They paused at the entrance. One readied a length of rope; another readied a weapon. With movements borne of much experience, they crept into the room.

Their target stood hunched over a table, absently rubbing the back of his neck. A neck which showed no sign of Goa'uld invasion. The leader nodded to the other two.

A noise behind him broke Daniel's concentration. He looked at his watch, surprised. Daniel started speaking without turning around. "Sam, I think I've found something that might help us understand..." he began. He frowned at his notes as he started to search unsuccessfully through the pages. Daniel startled as he felt an arm snake around his throat, and a hand close tightly over his mouth. The archaeologist dropped his papers, instinctively reaching up to try to break the constricting hold.

Part Two

"Daniel, are you in here?" Carter called. She looked around the unexpectedly empty room. "I know I took longer than I thought, but that's no reason to hide," she teased, a little uneasy at the lack of response. There were rows of bookshelves he could have ducked behind, but the room seemed far too quiet for that. The major thumbed the mike on her radio. "Colonel, you did say you left Daniel in the library, didn't you?" she confirmed. She bent down to pick up some of the papers that were scattered on the floor.

"Yes major, I did," Carter could hear the tinge of frustration in O'Neill's voice. "Daniel?"

She began to flick through the notes in her hand as she waited for an answer, apprehension prickling in her stomach.

"Daniel, where are you?" After a few more seconds of silence, O'Neill spoke again. "Carter, wait there, Teal'c and I will be with you in two minutes. And stay alert."

Carter swiftly levelled her weapon as the two men ran through the library door less than a minute later. "Any sign?" O'Neill asked, as he scanned the room.

"No sir. There were papers on the floor when I came in but I assumed they must have fallen off the table. Some of the piles are a little unstable, after all."

"Teal'c, go outside and see if you can track him," O'Neill said, trying to ignore the nagging little voice telling him that wherever Daniel had gone, he hadn't gone alone. Or voluntarily.

As Teal'c turned to go back outside, another voice came over the radio.

"Colonel O'Neill, we're under attack. They've got-"

The transmission ended abruptly. O'Neill's nagging voice crescendoed into a violent chorus as he sprinted from the room.

For the last minutes as they neared the Stargate, his abductors slowed, finally stopping completely amongst the trees. Daniel was panting due to the increased effort it took to move through the forest with his hands tied behind his back. He'd tried asking questions, but the men had threatened him with a weapon the first time, and hit him the second. He took the less painful option of staying quiet.

There were only two of them now. During their forced march one of the men had split off from the group. Daniel had no idea where he'd gone, or if he was going to come back. Not that one less opponent improved his chances of escape. Although Jack would be impressed that he was at least considering the odds.

The reason his captors slowed became clear as the Stargate came into view intermittently through the trees. Daniel's heart rate accelerated as he realised that SG-10 stood between this small group and their escape route. Perhaps that was why they'd taken him -- to negotiate the use of the Stargate? No, that didn't ring true somehow. They'd also taken some items from the library, including the books and papers he'd found in the hidden compartment. Which meant that those were their objective. But who would be in that much of a hurry for a few books? They could have waited until the SG teams were off the planet. He realised with growing alarm that these men must be planning to take him with them.

The leader of the group checked a small device strapped to the back of his hand. It could have been a watch. Or a compass. Or a miniature map. Or...Daniel halted his speculation. Sam would probably have been able to identify it in a heartbeat, but at least it didn't look to him like any kind of Goa'uld technology.

The leader turned to look at the second man. Still neither spoke, the lack of verbal communication beginning to grate on Daniel's nerves. The second man moved behind Daniel, put a hand over the archaeologist's mouth, and held a weapon to his temple. Of course, sometimes actions did speak louder than words. They began to move forward again, the second pulling Daniel to a halt about ten feet from the boundary of the forest. The leader crawled on his belly to a position right at the edge of the clearing. He checked his device again, then took aim.

Daniel began to struggle furiously as it dawned on him that these people had no intention of negotiating for anything.

Captain Fredericks unscrewed the top of his water bottle and took a swig, his eyes sweeping the dense forest in front of him. They'd been on this planet for about eight hours now, and as nice as the weather was, he'd have preferred something a little more interesting. Thinking back on the number of times they'd been in trouble and he'd prayed for a little quiet time, he could only assume the universe had been listening and this assignment was its way of answering. He smiled ruefully -- be careful what you wish for.

As if to prove it was still listening, the universe chose that moment to berate the captain for his fickle thoughts. Blasts of energy came simultaneously from either side of him. He spun around, dropping his water bottle as he brought his P-90 up. Banbury and Marks were down, either dead or unconscious, he couldn't tell. Major Raine scanned the forest to one side of the gate, leaving Fredericks to frantically search the trees on the other side. He didn't have to wait long. Two armed men walked out of the forest, one pulling a prisoner along.

"Sir, they have Dr. Jackson," Fredericks called out to his team leader, taking neither his eyes nor his weapon off the small group rapidly closing in on his position.

"Hold your fire, Captain," the major responded. "Colonel O'Neill, we're under attack. They've got-" another energy blast silenced him.

"No!" Jackson shouted, "Captain, behind you-" the warning came too late as the blow to his head brought Fredericks crashing face first to the ground. He lay still, his face pressed against the dusty ground, the pain in his skull too overwhelming to allow movement. He could hear the energy weapons firing again; he heard Dr. Jackson speaking; someone pressed the symbols on the DHD. As the Stargate whooshed to life, he finally had enough strength to struggle to his knees, bringing his weapon to bear on their unknown attackers.

"Let him go," he said quietly, the effort of remaining vertical making his head swim. One of the men raised an energy weapon. Fredericks had no idea whether any of his own shots were accurate as the energy blast found its target and he fell to the ground once more.

The men walked through the event horizon, dragging a disheartened archaeologist with them.

The journey that had taken more than thirty minutes that morning now took less than ten as SG-1 pushed themselves as hard as they could across the rocky ground, only slowing when they neared the Stargate. O'Neill signalled for Carter and Teal'c to flank either side of the gate, while he moved straight ahead. SG-10 were lying unmoving on the ground, leaving no clues as to what had happened here. SG-1 rapidly closed their formation without sighting the enemy.

"Teal'c, keep a look out for whoever did this," O'Neill instructed, jogging closer to the prone team. As he reached the marines, Major Raine began to stir, trying to sit up. O'Neill crouched down by the team leader, putting a hand on his shoulder. A quick once-over revealed no obvious signs of injury.

"Easy major, can you tell us what happened?" he asked, glancing across at Carter as she checked the other members of SG-10.

"Sir, I don't know who they were, but there were three of them. I don't think snakeheads -- they were dressed differently. They were armed with energy weapons, kind of like zat guns from what I could tell. We only knew they were there when they took out Banbury and Marks."

"Slow down, major. Take your time," O'Neill calmed the man.

"I was about to shoot when Fredericks called out that they had Dr. Jackson. I got on the radio to you and turned to take a look -- that's when I got shot." He put a hand to his head, his eyes screwing up with pain. "I don't know what happened to Dr. Jackson, sir, but I can make a pretty good guess."

O'Neill sighed, "You and me both." He stood up, holding out a hand to help the downed man. "Carter, how are the others?"

"Captain Banbury and the Lieutenant are recovering, sir, but Captain Fredericks has a deep cut just above his ear. I don't know if he hit his head when he fell, but whatever happened we need to get him back to the infirmary." She took the medkit from Fredericks' pack, and began cleaning and bandaging the wound.

"Right. So assuming these people took Daniel through the gate, I don't suppose anyone saw the symbols?" O'Neill said, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration.

"Sir, the cameras we set up are still running, it's possible we have the address on tape." Carter said, hope colouring her tone.

O'Neill thought for a few seconds. "Ok. Raines and Marks, help Carter get those cameras down. Banbury, dial us home. Teal'c, help me with Fredericks." The Stargate came to life once more as O'Neill lifted the Captain by the legs while Teal'c took his shoulders. As they waited for the others to return with the cameras, O'Neill looked back toward the camp where he had been worrying about nothing more serious than whether the macaroni and cheese would taste like chicken, less than an hour ago. //God, Daniel, what the hell is going on?// he wondered.

Daniel Jackson flew out of the Stargate and fell to his knees on the marble floor, unable to use his bound arms to retain his balance. He caught a brief glimpse of his surroundings before he was hauled roughly to his feet, hearing the familiar whine of Goa'uld transport rings as he tried to focus on a wall hanging off to his right.

Oh crap.

The empty room he was in flashed from view to be replaced by a new location, another armed man pointing his energy weapon in Daniel's direction. The man removed the archaeologist's glasses, and quickly shrouded Daniel's head and face in a coarse black something that bore an uncanny resemblance to an execution hood. A tight grip on his arms forced him to move. They stopped frequently, each time waiting for a few minutes before moving on. Sometimes Daniel heard footsteps pass; other times he heard nothing. He was bewildered -- were they hiding from someone? Daniel tried to keep track of the turns they made, but soon became confused as the men took him down a seemingly endless succession of what echoes told him were corridors. If they were walking in circles to disorient him, then they were doing an excellent job.

Daniel felt a breeze on his skin just before he was lifted bodily onto a flat surface, his knees pushed up to his chest, his neck twisted in an awkward angle. There was a loud thump and all sounds other than his own breathing became muffled. He tried to stretch his legs out but his feet hit an obstruction.

With a jolt he felt his container begin to move. His head bounced off the side of the compartment as he tried to brace himself against the vehicle's erratic motion. Daniel's sense of time was distorted by his discomfort in the small space, but he was sure they travelled for at least an hour before they finally stopped. He was dragged from the vehicle and forced to walk again. After his long immobility in the cramped vehicle, he winced as pins and needles attacked his shins.

Finally they came to a halt. He heard a bolt being drawn back and a door sliding open. The rope around his wrists was cut, causing icicles of pain as the blood rapidly returned to his hands. Someone spun him round, removed his vest and searched his pockets. Then a forceful shove in his chest launched Daniel backwards as the hands holding his arms abruptly released him. He landed jarringly in an undignified heap on the floor, hearing the door slide shut before the bolt shot home with a dull thud.

Listening carefully, Daniel heard nothing but the sound of his own slightly panicked breathing. He waited a few minutes, then cautiously removed the hood and saw his blurry prison for the first time.

Without his glasses Daniel couldn't make out every last detail of his prison, but from what he saw he didn't think his glasses would make much of a difference. He was in a small, featureless cell, dimly illuminated by a light source somewhere near the high ceiling. Apart from himself there was nothing in the windowless room. The surface of the door was smooth, with no lock to pick. Not that he had the first idea how to do that anyway. Or anything he could use even if he did know.

He realised as he assessed his situation that he was hungry, but his captors had taken his candy bars when they had searched him and he had nothing left in his pockets to eat. He wore only his BDUs, t-shirt and boots, which had been adequate while working in the library, but in this stone cell he was beginning to shiver with cold.

Resigned to the fact that he would be here for a while, Daniel sat wearily against one wall, drawing his legs to his chest to conserve what warmth he had left. He rested his arms on his knees, finally laying his head down miserably on top. For the moment he had no plan, and so he resolved to conserve his strength for whatever came next.

Part Three

"We need a doctor here!" O'Neill shouted as soon as his feet hit the ramp.

"Colonel O'Neill, what happened? We weren't expecting you back for a couple of days," Hammond began, concern evident on his face. "And where's Dr. Jackson?"

"Daniel's been kidnapped, sir. We think he was taken to another planet. Carter has the cameras, and I'd like her to get started on finding some answers straight away." O'Neill responded, as he and Teal'c gently laid their burden on the ramp. "Where the hell are the medics?" he growled, just before two male nurses pushing a gurney ran into the room, accompanied by Dr. Fraiser.

"Colonel?" Fraiser queried, watching the nurses lift Fredericks onto the gurney.

"He was hit with some kind of energy weapon, along with the rest of SG-10. They're alright, but we think Fredericks hit his head as well. We don't see any other reason for him still being unconscious." O'Neill explained.

"Okay people, we'll debrief ten minutes after you're medically cleared. Major Carter, once you've been cleared, find out what you can from the cameras then join us."

It only took ten minutes for Colonel O'Neill and Major Raine to give their respective reports. Each man was succinct, only telling what he knew and what he had seen. Not that it amounted to much.

"Speculation?" Hammond prompted.

"Well sir," Raine began, "they brought Dr. Jackson all the way from camp without anyone seeing or hearing a thing. Which indicates that whoever they were, they were well trained."

"And at least this time they don't want to have him for dinner," O'Neill muttered under his breath.

"Colonel?" Hammond looked disapprovingly down the table.

"Sorry, sir." O'Neill said, slightly guilty.

"Do you have anything to add?" the general asked.

"I agree with the major's assessment. The men acted with purpose. They waited for me to leave the building before they went in, so I guess they were after Daniel. It's possible they took things from the library as well, but frankly I wouldn't be able to tell. We don't have enough information to show a clear motive. But if taking Daniel was their intention all along, then how did they know we would be there?"

It was obvious from his expression that question had already crossed the general's mind. Hammond was about to respond when Carter walked through the door. "Major, what have you got for us?" he asked.

O'Neill could see the news wasn't good. Carter avoided meeting his gaze as she responded. "We took a look at all of the cameras sir, and came up against the same problem each time. All of the tapes have been erased somehow, most likely by a strong burst of electrical energy."

"So we have absolutely no idea where they took Daniel." O'Neill spoke quietly, leaning back in his chair in defeat.

"It looks that way, sir. There was no way to recover the information. The evidence indicates that the men used their energy weapons on the cameras, and it effectively melted a lot of the electronics."

There was silence in the room for a while.

"There has to be some way of figuring out who took him and where they've gone. I mean, we're not completely certain they left the planet -- they could still be there, somewhere." O'Neill knew he was grasping at straws, but he wasn't ready to give in yet. Not even close to ready.

"I do not believe that is the case, O'Neill. There were four sets of fresh tracks leading through the Stargate. The SGC-issue boot prints were running into one another, indicating someone reluctant to go where he was being taken." Teal'c pointed out.

O'Neill looked at the general, "Sir, we've got to do something . We can't just sit here with our thumbs up our butts hoping they play nice with the archaeologist and send him home with a party pack when they're done."

"Colonel O'Neill, I'm well aware you're frustrated. I'm willing to listen to any reasonable suggestion at this point." Hammond looked at each of his people in turn. Only O'Neill's fingers drumming on the table interrupted the stillness of the room.

"There are a couple of things we could do, sir," Carter suggested. "There may be some clues back on the planet -- I mean we didn't exactly have the time to stop and look."

Before she could continue, Janet Fraiser walked briskly into the briefing room, holding a sheet of paper. "Sorry to interrupt general, but this is important."

"That's alright doctor. How's Captain Fredericks?"

"He regained consciousness about ten minutes ago sir, and the first thing he asked for was a pen and paper. He drew a Stargate address. It seems this is where they took Dr. Jackson." Fraiser put the paper on the table.

"Yes!" O'Neill exclaimed, relief flooding through him. He turned to the general, "Sir, recommend we send a MALP through to those co-ordinates right away."

Hammond nodded, "Assuming they're valid colonel. Be ready in the control room in fifteen minutes. Dismissed."

"Chevron four engaged." The technician called out. Carter watched the screen avidly.

"Chevron five engaged." Teal'c stared out at the gate room, not taking his eyes off the rapidly spinning ring.

"Chevron six engaged." This was it, only one more to go. It surely couldn't fail now? A quick glance across the room showed Major Raine tense up, not quite the image of an impassive marine.

"Chevron seven -- locked." O'Neill let out a quiet breath in relief.

"Send the MALP through," Hammond instructed.

The technician keyed some commands and the machine moved forward, pushing through the undulating blue surface. After several seconds an image of a large hall appeared on the monitors. Other than the DHD and some wall hangings, the chamber appeared to be empty.

O'Neill turned to the general. "Looks safe enough," he began.

"Uh, Sir," Carter brought his attention back to the screens. Three Jaffa had just run into the room. They were obviously none too impressed by the presence of the MALP. One raised his staff and fired at the machine. The picture wavered. He fired again.

"I thought you said the people who took Dr. Jackson weren't Jaffa." Hammond said, as the picture failed completely.

"They weren't sir," Major Raine said, surprise evident on his face.

"Well apparently they are now," O'Neill said, his sarcasm covering the fear curling in his gut.

"Teal'c, can you add anything?" Hammond asked.

"I do not recognise their forehead tattoos. However, if I were to study the markings on the wall hangings perhaps I could make a determination," Teal'c responded.

"Good idea. Major Carter, I want you to contact the Tok'ra. Give them the co-ordinates for the planet and find out what they know. Let them know it's not on any of our maps for gate addresses."

"Yes sir." Carter said.

"If there are no other suggestions...? We'll meet in the briefing room in one hour, SG-1." Hammond left the control room.

"For all we know it was the Tok'ra that took Daniel," O'Neill said. "They've been acting mighty peculiar recently, and Anise did say she had the hots for him."

"Sir, that's really not funny," Carter pointed out.

O'Neill rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, I know. Look, let's get to work. The sooner we get the information we need the sooner we get Daniel back home."

The sound of the cell door sliding open roused Daniel from a fitful sleep. He climbed to his feet nervously, as a blond man walked in carrying a very welcome plate of steaming food and a mug. The man placed the meal on the floor in the centre of the room and stepped back, as if unwilling to be any closer to the prisoner.

Trying to ignore the armed guard standing in the doorway, Daniel licked his lips and spoke hesitantly, "Uh, thank you. For the food, I mean."

The man looked at him impassively.

"Where am I?" Daniel asked.

His visitor did not answer.

Daniel tried again, "Why have you brought me here?"

Nothing.

"Look, if you intend to keep me locked up in here, do you think I could get a blanket? It's pretty cold." Daniel rubbed his hands up and down his arms, emphasising his words. "You...don't understand me." The man turned to leave and Daniel raised his voice, "Does anyone around here ever say anything ?"

Daniel stood for a moment, staring at the closed door. A not unpleasant smell tugged at his senses, his stomach reminding him noisily how long it had been since he'd eaten. He picked up the plate and mug and sat back down.

The food appeared to be some kind of stew, along with a few vegetables and something else that looked suspiciously like his missing chocolate.

Daniel studied the offering carefully. What was it Jack said? In survival situations whenever food presents itself you eat, because you never know when you'll get the chance again. //Well that's optimistic Jackson. If they're bringing you food it's unlikely they intend to starve you//.

//Of course, it could be drugged.//

Daniel reluctantly put the plate on the stone floor, his hands and knees instantly missing the brief warmth it had provided. He hated this. Where was Jack when you needed him? Did this count as a survival situation, or was it what the military subtly called 'information extraction'? If it was survival then he could eat. If he was there to give away planetary secrets then he should probably go without.

His gaze slid back to the cooling stew. He was hungry. He really wanted to eat.

Forcing himself to study his fingernails to keep his eyes off the food, Daniel considered the two possibilities he'd just given himself. It struck him as unusual that he didn't already know what kind of situation he was in. He could have been brought here for any number of reasons, but his usual clues were missing. He hadn't been able to study his surroundings as he was transferred from the gate to this place. Nor had he heard anyone speak since arriving on the planet, which meant no hints from the language. And come to think of it, the group that had taken him hadn't spoken either. Maybe they used hand signals of some kind? But that wouldn't explain the precision of the attack on SG-10 at the gate. It's not like SG-1 could have carried that off without some kind of communication. And SG-1 were pretty good at what they did, even accounting for Daniel's less than military manner.

His stomach growled again. It was becoming quite insistent. Daniel ignored it and irritably pushed the precious warmth of the plate further away, keeping temptation at arm's length.

So, taking another page from the 'Jack O'Neill guide to getting out of tight spots', what did he know?

The facts weren't exactly going to fill a book. He had been taken from P3X717 by three men. From their clothing and weapons, they were probably around the same level of technology as earth. They hadn't acted like Goa'uld or Jaffa, but the use of transportation rings didn't bode well. There was also the possibility of more of Maybourne's people out there, but he was sure Jack had got the last of them. Hadn't he?

No, this had to be a case of mistaken identity. These people would realise soon enough that they had the wrong man, and they'd come and let him out. Or his friends would find him and rescue him, like they'd always done in the past. Daniel smiled to himself, resting his head against the cold stone wall. Jack would be feeling so guilty about not being there to save his team-mate, he'd likely be shooting his way through the gate this very moment. Closely followed by the rest of SG-1. Not forgetting Major Raine, of course.

Oh God, SG-10! Were they even alive? Those energy weapons looked fairly lethal, and he hadn't seen any of the team at the gate recover from being shot. Even if they were alive, none of them could possibly have seen the address for this planet. And the cameras had all been deliberately destroyed.

Nobody would be coming after him.

Daniel shook his head in disgust. There was no excuse to sink into despair. He needed to be constructive, to think of a way to get out of here himself. He needed to keep his strength up. He needed to eat! He glanced over at the innocuous looking dish. The steam had stopped rising from it a while ago, though it was probably still edible. Assuming of course it had been edible in the first place. Jack would probably torment him about it tasting like chicken.

The grating of the bolt drew Daniel's attention back to the door, and he stood warily as it opened a short way. Instead of the man returning to take his plate, a blanket was thrown through the gap. Daniel was stunned, barely noticing as the door closed once again. What had the man understood -- his words or his gestures? He cautiously walked over and collected the gift. It was surprisingly soft and thick, machine-made by the looks of things, and large enough to envelop him completely. He glanced back at the door, half expecting the bringer of this dark green luxury to change their mind and return. But all was quiet. As the meaning of this unexpected comfort sunk in, Daniel settled back in his regular position wrapping the material around him. He embraced the welcome warmth, picked up his plate and began to eat.

Part Four

Once SG-1 were settled back in the briefing room, Hammond began. "Major Carter, do you want to start?"

Carter nodded. "I finished speaking with Anise a few minutes ago, sir. She didn't have much information for us, but from what she said, it appears we're dealing with a minor Goa'uld called Hephaestus. Apparently he hasn't done anything dangerous for centuries so the Tok'ra haven't concerned themselves with him."

"Did they offer any help, major?" Hammond asked.

"Well, I did put the question to her, sir, but she said they had no one to spare to help us out at this time. She also said that the high council would not be willing to risk operatives moving against a Goa'uld who had previously not shown himself to be a threat." Carter finished.

"Well he's obviously a threat now," O'Neill said, irritated. "For crying out loud, can't the Tok'ra just help us out for once without there being something in it for them?"

"As far as we know, sir, the people who took Daniel weren't Jaffa, so we shouldn't rule out the possibility that this had nothing to do with the resident Goa'uld. There may be a second gate on P4Y149, or perhaps the Jaffa don't always guard the gate and the men managed to slip through unnoticed." Carter responded.

"Major Carter is correct. When a Goa'uld does not expect anyone except himself to use the Stargate, it is often left unguarded. Apophis used this to his advantage many times to defeat minor enemies." Teal'c said.

The general nodded. "Teal'c, do you know anything about this Goa'uld?"

"I do not. The name is unfamiliar to me. The markings on the wall hangings in the Stargate chamber were not Goa'uld symbols, and I did not otherwise recognise them. I have passed on the information to the linguistics team for further analysis. However, they were not confident of their ability to find an answer."

"Which leaves us right where we started. I'm not prepared to send in a team now the Jaffa have been alerted." Hammond said.

"Sir, there could be another possibility." O'Neill said. "Carter, do you know where the planet is? I mean, geographically. Is it close to any of our allies?"

Carter nodded slowly, "I'd have to confirm it, sir, but I think it's fairly close to the new Tollan world."

"So, why can't we just ask them to lend us a ship? It's not like they'd be giving away their technology -- we'd give it back when we were done with it." O'Neill said, looking over at Carter for confirmation. "Assuming they're close enough for that."

"Yes sir, I think they just might be," she said, her eyes widening.

"Don't look so surprised, major, I've been known to have good ideas on occasion, you know." O'Neill said, a little miffed at her reaction.

"Indeed," Hammond said, without elaboration. "Contact Chancellor Trevell and ask her for help. If she agrees to the request then you have a go."

"Yes sir," O'Neill smiled, relieved at last to be doing something positive.

It seemed to Daniel that he had barely closed his eyes to sleep when several guards came noisily into his cell and roughly jerked him to his feet. He struggled unsuccessfully as they shackled his wrists tightly behind his back. The guards pulled him from the cell, forcing him along a few gloomy corridors and into a brightly lit room. Daniel saw nothing to increase his understanding of these people during the short journey, but this room was another matter. Here there were tables laden with papers; diagrams and writing on large sheets of paper covering the walls; shelves stacked with books and several small unfamiliar objects. And three people standing around one of the tables, apparently waiting for him.

He was brought to a halt a few feet in front of the group, the guards retreating a short way. Daniel waited, saying nothing. He recognised the blond man as the one who had brought his meal, but the taller stern-looking man and the dark-haired woman were new to him. They stood for a while, appraising each other, before the tall man addressed him.

"Daniel Jackson, we have a task for you."

Daniel's thoughts tumbled over one another. They spoke. They understood him. They knew who he was. His imprisonment wasn't mistaken identity. He felt panic crawling around inside him once more, and fiercely pushed it away.

When Daniel didn't respond, the man continued, "We have need of your skills. There are manuscripts we must understand, and our previous translator is no longer able to perform this task."

Daniel couldn't let that pass, "Why?"

A puzzled expression prompted Daniel to expand his question, "Why can't he complete the task?" He held his breath, quite certain he didn't want to know the answer.

"He was killed," the man stated, as if it should have been perfectly obvious. "You must replace him and complete his work."

"What's in those manuscripts that's so important to you?" Daniel asked, his gaze drifting over to one of the more colourful diagrams, part of his mind already distracted by the challenge of understanding it.

"That is not your concern. It is imperative you help us, imperative you complete the work as quickly as possible."

Daniel frowned and watched the group, trying to see what he was missing here. "I've been kidnapped, locked up and am currently handcuffed and under guard. Yet you talk about me helping you. Where I come from, help is something that's given freely, not coerced at gunpoint."

"Will you complete the task or not?" the man pressed.

"Is that all the information you're going to give me? You've got something that needs translating, and I'm here because -- what -- the last guy annoyed you so much he's dead now?" Daniel paused, becoming increasingly irritated at the audacity of these people. He took a calming breath and finished quietly, "No, I won't do it."

"Then you are of no use to us and you will be disposed of."

Well, that was blunt. Daniel fought to push his fear away, his heart beating erratically. Wasn't this the part where they normally threatened to beat him senseless? Did these people have no imagination? He avoided the man's gaze, trying to focus his attention somewhere, anywhere , other than on the person who could end his life here and now with a few words.

Getting no response, the man pushed again, "The choice is a simple one. Your reputation indicates you will help us." As if in reaction to Daniel's wandering eye, he added, "And there's nowhere for you to go."

Glancing around at the armed guards, Daniel could see his point. There was nothing to be gained in refusing the man's demand on principle alone. And, according to Jack O'Neill's prisoner's handbook, his priority now was to stay alive.

"Show me your documents," Daniel said, reluctantly lifting his head to face his opponent.

"So, you will help us?" the man confirmed.

Daniel considered his answer. If he said no, then apparently he was dead -- no second chances. If he agreed, then at least he had the option of lying about what he had found out, if he thought it necessary. And he had to admit he was intrigued -- what could possibly be so urgent in a set of old parchments?

"You've given me an ultimatum that no sane person would call a choice," he replied. "So, yes, I'll do what you want."

The blond man turned to the table and selected a piece of paper from a pile. At the expectant looks, Daniel walked over and examined the writing. After spending a few seconds trying to focus he shook his head; this wasn't going to work.

"I'm sorry, but I just can't see this clearly enough. My eyesight isn't perfect and I need my glasses or I won't be able to read anything." Daniel said, bracing himself for a potentially painful reaction to his words. Instead, the blond man reached into a pocket and retrieved Daniel's eyewear.

"Great, now if you could just..." Daniel shifted slightly, awkwardly twisting his bound wrists towards the man. The man turned him back and pushed the glasses onto the archaeologist's face. "Right. Of course." Daniel sighed and turned back to the manuscript.

It was obviously old, but Daniel had no way of telling how old. There were a few stains on the paper, indicating it had been kept in damp conditions at some point, but no other clues as to its origin. Only a few short lines were inscribed on it, and he recognised the language instantly -- the Ancients.

"Um, where did you get this?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"That's not relevant," the woman spoke at last.

"Well, actually it is. With historical documents, the context is often as important as-"

The woman cut him off impatiently, "Can you read it?"

"Yes, I think so," he studied the document. "It's a list. It just says 'two containers', or that could be 'boxes' I'm not quite sure, then follows on with 'a key', 'a warning' and 'a guard'. No, that last one is more likely 'a guardian'. That's all it says." He shrugged and turned back to the group.

The tall man looked beyond Daniel to the guards. "Return him to confinement," he said.

Daniel stared at him, confused. "What, that's it? That's all you wanted?"

"It is a beginning Daniel," the man told him. "We already knew what the manuscript said. And now we know you will help us."

Daniel's protest was ignored as two guards grasped his upper arms and pulled him to the door, away from the warmth and back towards isolation.

SG-1 waited in the gate room with the general for the controller to dial Tollana.

"Sir, we'll be able to relay messages through the Tollans while we're in transit, but once on the planet they think it will be too dangerous -- the communications might be picked up by the Goa'uld." Carter said, tightening the straps on her pack.

"And they've agreed to you borrowing a ship for the mission, colonel?" Hammond asked.

"They've gone one better, sir. They've given us a ship and a pilot. Of course, that's to keep us from discovering their superior technological secrets, but I can live with that." O'Neill said with a wry smile. "It's going to take two days each way to reach the planet, and I'd like to give us at least three days there to find Daniel and get him out."

"Have the Tok'ra given you any ideas on where to look?" Hammond asked, as the gate started dialling.

"No, they haven't. But apparently the Tollans have this great gate-detecting doohickey that we can use once we get into orbit, so we'll start there." O'Neill said.

"Is that a technical term, colonel?" the general asked, amusement on his face.

"Sir, the density of the naquada the Stargate is made of creates a unique electromagnetic signature when current is applied, such as when the gate is activated. The Tollan know how to detect this signature. Now obviously we wouldn't want to have to wait for a gate activation to be able to locate it, but the low level of energy constantly supplied to maintain the connection between the gate and the DHD should be enough to detect once we get close enough." Carter explained.

"There now, don't you wish you'd stuck with doohickey?" O'Neill asked, smugly.

They turned to the gate as the wormhole flared into life, settling quickly into the familiar pool of liquid blue.

"Good luck SG-1, bring Dr. Jackson home."

Daniel had been left alone for several hours now, which had given him plenty of time to think. And the only definite conclusion he had reached was that this forced isolation was designed to cement his co-operation. The drama that had taken place in the translation room had been exactly that -- a pretence laid on solely for his benefit. Daniel understood now that his captors simply wanted him to do a job for them, and they would not take no for an answer. There was to be none of the coercion he had anticipated; these people were playing by different rules. And now those rules were laid down, a single refusal meant the game would be over. Permanently. Of course, finishing the translation could easily lead to the same result, and he had no idea yet how much work there was to be done.

Daniel shifted uncomfortably on the hard floor, gathering his blanket closer around his shoulders as he continued his analysis. Although none of the other conclusions he'd drawn about his situation could be considered absolute, he at least had the makings of a reasonable working hypothesis. The actions of his captors as they'd brought him to this planet indicated they were not working for the Goa'uld. The transport rings had thrown him for a while, but the stealthy nature of the journey from the Stargate pointed towards some kind of covert operation. And so far in this building he had seen no sign of Goa'uld decoration of any kind. Which didn't, of course, answer the question of who they were, but at least he was fairly clear on who they weren't.

The issue of why he was here had at least been partially explained. How these people knew who he was and knew of his linguistic abilities was another matter entirely. The list of possible sources read like an A to Z of enemies of the SGC. Out there in the known galaxy were the many planets SG-1 had visited, some of whose inhabitants would be eager to share information for sufficient incentive. Then there were the system lords, who couldn't be ruled out as potential sources, even if none of them were directly behind this incident. Add to them the bounty hunters that Aris Boch had brought to their attention. And closer to home there was Colonel Maybourne, along with whoever he worked for higher up in the government. Which naturally now also brought the Russians into the picture.

Daniel shook his head in wonderment. How was it possible for one archaeologist to have such a long and distinguished list of enemies? He didn't know if the events of the past day meant he could add to that list, or if he was just being held by these people while he could be useful to them. Either way, he hadn't liked hearing the reason he was needed. He wondered what the last translator had done to upset his captors. Judging by the ultimatum given earlier, Daniel could easily believe it hadn't been a great offence. But there was another plausible explanation -- the man had been told to translate something that he didn't believe his captors should know about. And if that was the case, then it meant Daniel was in big trouble.

Part Five

O'Neill was pacing. And ranting. They'd been on this ship for just over five hours, and already he was fit to burst. The person who'd said patience was a virtue had obviously never spent time on a Tollan supply ship on their way to rescue someone who could already be dead. No, not just 'someone'. This was Daniel, the man who'd risked everything so that the Tollans could get to their new planet, back to their families. He'd saved them from a lifetime of imprisonment at the hands of Harry Maybourne, and they repaid him by loaning SG-1 a complete donkey of a ship.

//Of course, they wouldn't have had to loan us anything if you'd protected him like you were supposed to, O'Neill.// He thought, irritably. He turned his attention back to Teal'c.

"I was the one who insisted we take another team with us. I was the one who didn't think it was safe. And what do I do? I get complacent. Okay, so watching over Daniel when he's working isn't the most fascinating pastime, but I wasn't there to have fun. I left him." O'Neill stopped and stared at Teal'c, waving his arms in frustration. Teal'c waited for him to continue, a tolerant look on his face.

"And just because we took a quick nosy around and didn't see anything out of the ordinary, I grabbed the first opportunity to leave him on his own. Totally unprotected. I mean, he wouldn't hear a herd of elephants when he's in that 'ooh, cool, dead people' state of his, much less the covert ops team from hell. They must have moved in as soon as I was out of the way. They were watching us the whole time without me noticing. And I left him."

"You have already mentioned that several times, O'Neill." Teal'c stated patiently.

O'Neill stopped, surprised at the interruption. "What?"

"You have clearly stated the fact that you left Daniel Jackson alone on P3X717. Your guilt will not aid us in his recovery, and in fact diverts your attention away from finding solutions." Teal'c said.

O'Neill refused to be placated -- couldn't Teal'c see he was pacing? Wasn't it obvious he needed to get this stuff out of his system? Calming down was not going to help right now! "I don't know who to be madder at -- myself for losing him, or Daniel for being... Daniel. Don't give me that look, I know it's irrational to blame him for getting kidnapped. And I don't, really. But sometimes I wish he could be a little more..."

"Like a soldier?" Teal'c prompted.

"Exactly." Jack said, his gesture indicating the Jaffa had hit the nail squarely on the head.

"Daniel Jackson is not a soldier, he is a scholar. And that fact has ensured our safety on many occasions, O'Neill." Teal'c reminded him gently.

The colonel ran his hands through his hair, then locked them behind his head. "Right." He finally let his frustration go and sat heavily on a conveniently placed crate. "I just don't want him to be dead, you know? He's done that so many times, I worry that one day he'll actually make it permanent."

"It is most likely Daniel Jackson is alive. If the intention had been to kill him, that goal could have been achieved without taking him from the planet." Teal'c said.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, sir," O'Neill twisted round at the sound of Carter's voice. He wondered exactly how long she'd been standing there.

"No, it's fine Carter. What's up?"

"If anyone's hungry, Josim has said that -"

O'Neill cut her off, "I'm sorry, who?"

"The pilot, sir." Carter reminded him. "Anyway, Josim said there's a machine in here that heats food. And there are supplies in one of these cases. He'll come through to make dinner in a few minutes if now's a good time."

"Food -- an excellent plan. And speaking of plans... what do we know about this Goa'uld?" O'Neill asked.

"Not much I'm afraid." Carter said. "I brought a couple of Daniel's books to read up on the mythology."

"I don't suppose you've already read these books, have you?" O'Neill asked hopefully.

Carter smiled, "I've started, yes. Although the books don't exactly agree on everything."

"Just give us the Reader's Digest version," O'Neill pleaded.

"Right. Well the Goa'uld is called Hephaestus, and he was the Greek god of fire. He was apparently the son of Zeus, who was the ruler of the Greek gods. And he was thrown out of Mount Olympus by both his father and his mother."

"So, not a real family guy," O'Neill commented.

"No, sir. He was also married to Aphrodite at one point, and I read somewhere that the myths of Aphrodite and Hathor might refer to the same person." Carter said.

"Hathor? Are you saying this Goa'uld might want revenge for us killing his wife?" O'Neill asked, his mind already racing through the possible kinds of vengeance a pissed off Goa'uld could inflict on a defenceless archaeologist.

"I doubt very much he even knows Hathor came back, sir. Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything, just tell you what I know," Carter finished sheepishly.

"Is there anything else in there that might be useful, Carter?" O'Neill asked.

"There's not much here sir. We have to remember it's all just a collection of myths. I don't know how any of this relates to Egyptian mythology, or to reality for that matter. It's really Daniel's area." Carter finished.

"And he's not here to explain it." O'Neill added, flicking aimlessly through the pages of one of the books.

"If the system lords did indeed expel Hephaestus from their ranks, as Major Carter's research suggests, then it is possible he is awaiting the right moment to regain his power. The knowledge Daniel Jackson holds about the system lords would be most valuable in that endeavour." O'Neill snapped his book shut at Teal'c's comment.

"Well he'd be in for a surprise then, because Daniel's gonna tell him squat," he said firmly.

"As we are not certain who holds Daniel Jackson prisoner, such speculation is futile."

"I admit we don't have very many facts, but it's still wise to consider the alternatives," Carter argued. "It may save us some time once we reach the planet."

"And hey, on the bright side, it gives us something to do while we're stuck in here. I forgot to pack the cards." O'Neill said. He looked round as the door slid open and Josim walked in. "Ah, perfect timing. So what's for dinner?"

Daniel paced around the chilly confines of his cell, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders; he concentrated on keeping warm. He really hoped for another meal -- not to satisfy his increasing hunger but to supply some much needed heat. However, there'd been no visitors in the six hours since he'd returned from that initial meeting. The archaeologist was almost relieved when the guards finally came for him again.

He didn't fight this time when the guards fastened the cuffs around his wrists. The metal pressed uncomfortably against the bruises and rope burns acquired during his forced removal from P3X717. None of the guards spoke on the journey though the corridors. Daniel refrained from asking questions he knew they wouldn't answer.

The scene that greeted him as they reached the translation room was unexpected. The room appeared to have been sanitised for Daniel's use. The walls were now clear of diagrams, revealing a row of small windows just below the high ceiling, large enough to let some light in but too high for him to see what was outside the building. He saw a second door in the corner of the room that had presumably been papered over with diagrams too. A notebook and pen lay on the one remaining table, next to a single document. There was a high-backed chair placed next to the table, with the dark-haired woman sitting in it. She stood up as Daniel arrived.

"Finally," she said. "You will write all of your translations here. If you work to my satisfaction, you will be fed. If not then you will go hungry. You will complete that document by sundown, and will be brought another." She walked over to one set of bookshelves. "You may use these books if you require. There are journals completed by our previous translator, placed next to books and papers that they reference." She turned back to face Daniel. "Do you have any questions?"

"Uh, yes. How long is it until sundown?" Daniel said.

"Our measurement of time will mean nothing to you. Do you know how long it is since you were last in this room?"

Daniel automatically tried to check his watch, the ratchet on the cuffs tightening as he unconsciously pulled his arm forward. Frustrated, he thought for a second, "A little over six hours."

The woman looked at the device on the back of her hand, "In which case you have approximately three hours until sundown."

"Right. Do you think I could get something to drink while I work?" he asked hopefully. The lack of fluid had given him the beginnings of a thumping headache.

"Someone will bring water shortly. Anything else?" she asked impatiently.

"Yes. What's your name?"

The woman raised her eyebrows, obviously caught out by the question. "Why is that important?"

"Well, it's not very polite to start a conversation with 'hey, you'," he said, "and if we're going to be working together I'd like to know what to call you."

The woman stared at Daniel as if he were a peculiar new specimen she had under her microscope, then she turned and headed toward the second door. She stopped in the doorway as if making up her mind, then looked over her shoulder at the archaeologist. "It's Kalen," she said, then addressed the guards. "Remove his restraints and see that he works." She closed the door behind her, and Daniel heard several clicks as it was locked securely.

One of the guards came up behind Daniel and removed the cuffs. He carefully brought his arms forward and rubbed his sore wrists, then headed towards the table in response to the guard's gesture. He was getting used to the silent treatment from them -- it was kind of like dealing with Jaffa with the volume off. And thankfully, so far, they also had less of an urge to beat the living daylights out of him.

Daniel's initial appraisal showed that the document was several pages of closely written text. He realised with a sinking heart that this would take him a lot longer than three hours. He'd better get used to being hungry.

The man seated at the head of the ornate table could have easily been mistaken for a rich young socialite, but for his clothing and the piece of lethal golden jewellery he wore on one hand. Fraytov knew better. He had timed his arrival to coincide with the end of the evening banquet, hoping the satisfaction of a sumptuous meal combined with his news would bring a benevolent reaction. The aide moved towards the end of the table, then lowered himself slowly to one knee, his head bent in deference. He waited patiently for his lord to acknowledge his presence. The response was an unusually long time in coming.

"What news do you bring me, Fraytov?" Hephaestus demanded eventually, picking up his drink and settling back in his chair.

"My lord, ruler of all you survey, conqueror of the mighty," Fraytov looked up to see Hephaestus' eyes narrowing in suspicion, and he rapidly continued, "I have word from our operative within the resistance. They have found a replacement for Ronin, the translator. Furthermore, they believe they have found the documents that Ronin hid from your worship. The translator, I think his name was Jason-"

The Goa'uld interrupted his anxious aide, "How long until I have the answers I am looking for?" he asked impatiently.

"The operative believes that the new translator will take at least five days to complete the work. He has the knowledge and incentive to complete the task, but he does not yet know of the purpose. It is possible he will react as Ronin did," Fraytov finished carefully, afraid of the reaction his words would provoke. To his relief the Goa'uld simply nodded.

"We will let them continue as long as it is useful. If it becomes necessary to bring the translator here, then you will be responsible for ensuring I have the information I need." The Goa'uld smiled spitefully.

Fraytov swallowed hard, "Yes, my lord." He desperately wanted to leave the room, before Hephaestus decided to demonstrate efficient methods of extracting information on his increasingly nervous aide. As if reading his thoughts, the Goa'uld waved Fraytov away, returning his attention to his wine.

"For the moment, it is satisfying to know the resistance are working to bring about their own downfall."

Part Six

Kalen walked into the command room to find the others already there, Lor listening patiently while Haster tried to persuade him of the benefits of yet another covert attack. Haster paced around the room, his blond head animated, his hands sketching in the air to illustrate certain points. Kalen waited for Haster to finish before announcing her presence.

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