Daniel folded his arms and glared mutinously at the Others.

“Explain why you won’t do anything to stop this.”

They blinked at him impassively.

“Oma learned her lesson,” he pressed. “And it would have been a little nice of you to actually tell her what lesson you wanted her to learn, instead of twiddling your... tentacles while all those inferior ‘lowers’ got killed by Anubis.”

“We do not interefere,” one of them finally said, even as many of the Others started to drift away.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Been there, done that, got the – well, actually, I didn’t get the T-shirt.” Daniel frowned a little at the memory of Oma’s perverse humor. “But Oma dealt with Anubis. All that’s left is what he’s already put into motion. So why won’t you stop it?”

Most of the Others had already returned to their newspapers and coffee. The woman who had spoken before regarded him coolly.

“Why are you still troubled by events of your past life?” she finally asked.

“I care about my friends!”

“You are dead,” she pointed out with infuriatingly calm logic.

“So what?”

“Most of your species no longer concern themselves with the living after death.”

Daniel snorted. “Most of ‘my species’ aren’t offered a get-out-of-death-free card, either.”

“That offer has been withdrawn,” she observed. “The one who made it is no longer available, and she has told you that there will be no further chances.”

“I’m not giving up,” he said stubbornly.

“Even though you are dead?” She looked almost amused now.

“From what Oma told me,” Daniel said, ignoring the question and the hint of mockery, “I can walk out that door and die. Or I can Ascend completely. So what’s to stop me from Ascending and interfering?”

She arched her eyebrows at him. “Us,” she said.

“A microsecond is all the time I’ll need,” he threatened.

She actually sighed. “Daniel Jackson...”

“What?”

There was no waving of the hand, no sudden flash of light, no sparkle or glitter or word of warning. Daniel simply vanished. The woman did blink for a moment as she halted the smooth flow of the space-time continuum for just long enough to allow two lowers on an inferior, mortal plane to stop a laughably primitive calculating device from detonating a massive explosive. She also allowed the faintest of smiles to curve her lips upward as she deposited Daniel Jackson in the place and time of her choosing. He would not acquire a “T-shirt” this time, either.

She turned to find the Others watching her with suspicion.

“You have interfered,” one of them stated, his tone just this shade of accusation.

“I have done only what is required for our own plane of existence,” she said calmly.

“Explain.”

“Did I interfere by returning Daniel Jackson to his mortal plane?”

“You did not,” the Other conceded. “Yet you also manipulated time and space for the lowers’ benefit.”

“It was for ourselves,” she repeated. “If Daniel Jackson had returned and died immediately thereafter, his residual memories of this experience would have enabled him to properly Ascend without assistance.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“With him as a full Ascended,” she noted, “our ability to monitor his subsequent actions would have been extremely limited.”

There was a second, longer pause as the Others contemplated a fully Ascended Daniel Jackson who could not be easily ignored, manipulated, or dismissed.

“Well done,” the Other finally said.

And if the woman noticed the slight shudder that he suppressed, she was wise enough to say nothing about it.

“The Orcs changed their minds,” Jack shrugged.

“The Orkuns seemed very eager to make the trade after your first mission to the planet!” the flunky snapped. “What happened now?”

“Couldn’t say, Major,” Jack said stonily.

Well, he could say. But he wasn’t going to tell this pompous windbag that he’d apparently mortally insulted the Grand High Poombah when he polished his dusty sunglasses with the hem of his T-shirt. If Daniel had been there to smooth things over, of course, they might have still managed to get the treaty signed; instead, they'd swapped escalating insults until their team had been rather forcibly escorted to the Stargate with no invitation to return. But since this selfsame flunky was the one who had expressly forbidden “Doctor bleeding-heart Jackson” to go along and jeopardize the mission with his “self-righteous prattling,” Jack didn’t really feel the need to explain himself.

“Toilet paper,” the man muttered again. “With clowns like O’Neill leading your teams, General, I have no idea why you haven’t blown up the planet before now!”

“We could try a local area for starters,” Jack suggested levelly. “If you’d care to volunteer as the target?”

“Colonel O’Neill!” Hammond snapped.

“Sorry, sir,” Jack said with reluctance.

He watched the flunky storm out of the office with a mixture of smugness and resignation. It was always fun to wind up the blowhards, of course, and this one had been even more annoying than usual. But he couldn’t help feeling a little irritated with himself – not so much for ruining the treaty, but for disappointing General Hammond and exposing him to further derision from the upper echelons.

“Anything you’d care to add, Colonel?” General Hammond drawled as his office door slammed shut.

“No, sir,” Jack confessed, wishing he wasn’t still standing at attention so that he could shuffle his feet just a little. “It’s just – well, you know me, sir!”

In other words, Why did you trust me to sign such an important treaty when you knew I would more than likely put my foot in it?

“Yes, Colonel,” Hammond said, his voice carrying a wealth of meaning. “I do.”

Jack stared.

Hammond swiveled his chair precisely thirty-eight degrees, which put his back squarely to the security camera mounted on the wall. Jack called on the training of years in Special Forces to keep his face straight and his gaze from flicking in the camera’s direction.

“The Orkuns use their sonar-based technology to rehabilitate criminals,” Hammond continued in a quieter voice. “But Doctor Lee has warned me that it would take very little effort to modify that technology to influence listeners through any medium that transfers sound waves, including telephones, televisions, or radios. I don’t think this planet is ready for mind control, Colonel – especially when that power will be in the hands of politicians with their own agenda.”

“Sir,” Jack acknowledged. He didn’t dare nod or shake his head.

“We walk a fine line, Colonel,” Hammond continued in that same soft, steely tone. “Orders can be morally wrong without being considered unethical. I couldn’t disobey this one and reject the treaty out of hand, but I could make sure we got the results we wanted. I picked the best man for the job to follow orders to the letter – without giving the wrong kind of people the power to influence the future of this nation and this planet.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hammond leaned back in his chair and swiveled it back to its usual position. “Dismissed, Colonel,” he said. “We’ll have a full debriefing from the rest of your team at 1800 hours.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack said again, snapping a technically unnecessary salute before turning on his heel and striding out of the office.

Once in the hallway, Jack allowed a huge grin to spread over his face. The maestro had pulled another fast one again!

It was too much. Too many... toos.

Too cold. He missed the comforting heat of Abydos, the warmth of the sun and sand and people. Instead there was cold, outside and inside – the freezing rain that rattled the windows, the echoing chasm of loss. The roaring fire in Jack’s living room couldn’t warm that pervasive, deadening chill.

Too quiet. Eight days of mourning on Abydos, and he’d never actually been alone in all that time. Now he huddled in isolation, and the distant sound of traffic and the other city noises only highlighted his own silence. His own heartbeat was too loud in his ears, his ragged breath an underscore to the threnody that sang in his blood.

Too adrift. On Abydos, he’d had focus – the wrapping of... her body, the ceremony, the little feather that drifted, soft as eiderdown, to touch lightly on the greened bronze of the scale. The formality of the days of mourning, with the comfort of ritual and measured gesture to keep him grounded. Here, he had only Janet’s cruelly kind enforcement of bereavement leave, which left him with nothing but empty hours of stagnant thought.

Too solitary. With Kasuf and Nau’wi and Ahrim and the others, he’d celebrated Sha’re’s fierce spirit with laughter and tears. They’d known her: the woman who inspired children to take up arms for their right to their own legacy, the humor and warmth of the proud, amused bride with her other-worldly husband. Here on Earth, no one knew her as anything but victim and quest object. They mourned his loss, but they didn’t grieve for her – Sha’re’s fire, her intensity, her love and her strength and her courage.

Too bereft. Everything tangible was elsewhere: her grave. Her father, her cousins, her still-missing brother. The little trinkets they’d owned, the home they’d shared together. He cringed, thinking with loathing of the double bed he’d installed in his apartment in anticipation of the day he and Sha’re would be united again. Now, he was afraid to sleep at all, dreading where his dreams might lead.

Too alone. Kasuf had listened quietly, and accepted. His teammates, on the other hand... Ribbon-induced hallucinations and near-death experiences, they said. A mind desperate for new purpose, their eyes added with patronizing sympathy. No starting point, no encouragement, no support for what they rejected and dismissed. He was left with nothing.

All those toos folded inwards on themselves, muffling his surroundings to a distant, empty roar. He was smothering under their weight, he couldn’t –

“Hey.”

Daniel blinked.

Human touch: the weight and warmth of the hand on his shoulder, the casual bump of elbows as Jack sprawled comfortably on the couch next to him. A stillness that was no longer echoing and oppressive, but a calm, companiable silence. A bottle pressed into his hands, wet with beaded condensation: a physical totem of friendship. And this was Jack – Jack, who had first stepped onto Abydos with him, and who also remembered the determination of the woman who had orchestrated their rescue and fought against Ra by their side.

Jack, who knew loss and loneliness... and was still here.

“Hey,” Jack said again, without pressure, and Daniel felt his tense muscles ease, just a little.

Oh.

Once upon a time, he’d helped Jack find his way out of the toos.

Janet came back to Sam's bedside, still studying the chart she held in her hand. "Your blood work is good," she said encouragingly, without looking up. "And your body temperature is back to normal. We'll do some follow-up work over the next few days, and of course you'll let me know if –"

Janet stopped short as she finally looked up from the chart and caught a glimpse of Sam's anguished eyes. Sam quickly schooled her expression back into bland attentiveness, but it was too late.

"Sam?" Janet dropped the clipboard onto the side table and tugged the curtains shut around the bed. "Sam, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Janet. Really." Sam lifted her chin high.

"Talk to me, Sam," Janet urged, her voice softer now. "I can be your doctor, and offer you confidentiality. Or I can be your friend, if that's what you need right now. But please. Talk to me."

Sam stared down at her hands... and at the smooth skin above her right wrist, where the Atenik armband had clung until twenty-eight hours ago.

Janet followed her gaze, and sighed a little as she sat down on bed at Sam's side. "You don't have to be ashamed, you know," she murmured. "General Hammond was right when he said you were all acting under alien influence. The last blood work I took when you were wearing the armbands, before the three of you went through the Gate? The results were nearly as bad as Daniel's when he was addicted to the sarcophagus."

"It's not shame," Sam finally muttered, her voice barely audible. "Not for that, anyway."

Janet just waited.

"I miss it," Sam whispered at last.

"That's understandable," Janet said, keeping her tone mild and unaccusing.

"Not the strength or the power or beating up all the Jaffa, either," Sam added. She gave a miserable half-smile. "I mean, yes, it was great, but –" She swallowed. "The speed, Janet."

"The speed." Janet looked both enlightened and saddened. "Go on."

"There was suddenly enough time to do everything I wanted," Sam blurted. "I could read a book in seconds, I could type more than a thousand words a minute, I could write and work and think faster than I ever did in my life. And it was the greatest rush in the world."

She subsided a little, rubbing her left hand against her right arm. "I know it's stupid. And I want to kick myself for listening to Anise, and being so rude to you..."

"Under the influence, Sam," Janet repeated.

"It was a betrayal of trust," Sam said stubbornly.

"Fair enough," Janet agreed. "But it wasn't a betrayal in your right mind, Sam. I forgive you, all right?"

"It doesn't help." Sam rubbed her arm a little harder. "Because I still miss it."

They sat in silence for a while, sheltered by the curtain while the routine beeps and clicks and murmurings of the infirmary washed around them. Sam thought about the scream of engines in an F-16 diving towards the earth, the wind-induced tears in her eyes when she rounded a steep curve of the road on her motorcycle at eighty miles an hour, the free-fall not-here sensation of stepping across light years in seconds, even the pile of speeding tickets that she kept in a kitchen drawer. For three glorious days while she'd worn the armband, she'd had speed for the taking – all hers, without any artificial aid other than the armband herself. It was the deceptive gift of the monkey's paw, more cruel in having had it and lost it than if she'd never had it at all.

The world plodded, now. Even her blood seemed sluggish in her veins.

"You'll be allowed off-base in three days," Janet finally said. "My doctor's prescription, Major Carter, is a visit to the seediest bar that you and I can find and several large doses of alcohol."

Sam chuckled despite herself. "And when we've gotten over the hangovers?"

Oh, he wasn’t questioning that he really did know these people. The emotions he’d felt when he met them had been too overwhelming for that; his heart clearly remembered them, even if his mind did not. After the initial shock, he’d tried to sort the welter of confused sentiment into some semblance of order.

First there was Samantha Carter – Sam, she’d called herself. He’d felt comfortable with her, but there was also that wave of intense affection that had almost startled him with its intensity. He’d assumed those feelings were romantic ones, but her honest surprise at his question told him otherwise. The idea that he could be so close to a person – to all of them, actually – on a purely platonic level was intoxicating. That was what had really tipped the balance in his decision to go with them.

Jack O’Neill had taken a little longer, because he kept feeling something was off – he was missing important cues, or perhaps he was misreading the man’s body language. O’Neill had clearly been disappointed that whatever he was expecting didn’t seem to happen. But the awkward dissonance only highlighted the unquestionable connection between them, and that was something he wanted to pursue and examine and find again. He wanted to hear the noiseless click of synchronization that he knew was somewhere just beneath the surface.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of Teal’c. He’d heard stories of Jaffa from Shamda’s people, and the odd, subconscious well of knowledge that persisted despite his amnesia had easily identified Teal’c’s forehead tattoo as belonging to Apep, or Apophis. But in Arrom’s – Daniel’s – mind, Teal’c wasn’t intimidating; he was strength, and courage, and support, and trust. The dichotomy intrigued him, and he wanted to discover what history they’d shared to inspire such emotion.

But now he was here, in a dreary, gray world of concrete and metal, much more than a wormhole away from the bright skies and fresh air of Vis Uban. And this was a place under siege: soldiers stationed in nearly every doorway, the slightly smothering feel of hunkering down to weather the storm. Bare pipes and heavy doors and strident sirens...

He hunched his shoulders. Yes, he belonged with Samantha Carter and Jack O’Neill and Teal’c. And even the healer had sparked an emotional reaction, one of reassurance and warmth. But this place was another question entirely. How could he possibly fit within this structure of stark lines and tension?

Then another man came into the room, and Daniel focused on those mild blue eyes, the stocky figure, the economy of movement. O’Neill had identified him when they’d first arrived, he remembered – just after he claimed that Daniel owed him “fifty bucks,” whatever that meant.

“That man? He’s General Hammond. He’s the commander of this facility.”

Now, Daniel watched Hammond, and felt a wave of reassurance flood his senses.

Because if Samantha Carter was affection, and Jack O’Neill was friendship, and Teal’c was trust, and the little doctor was safety...

General Hammond was respect.

This man commanded here. The bleakness and grimness and tension and menace were all under his direction. And the Daniel Jackson whose memories were still blocked had unquestionably respected General Hammond, and accepted his guidance and leadership. He didn’t know what Hammond had done to earn that respect, but the feeling was unmistakable.

If this man was in charge, Daniel suddenly knew, then he was safe here. And, yes, he belonged.

Daniel straightened his posture as the commander of the SGC approached, feeling his own mouth curve into a smile to match General Hammond’s own.

“Doctor Jackson,” the man said with a genial nod. “Doctor Frasier tells me that you’ve gotten a clean bill of health. Is there anything I can do for you, son?”

The man had all the arrogance and bad manners and immaturity of Rodney McKay.

And those were his good qualities. McKay, at least, came by his arrogance honestly.

Sam watched as Dr. Rudolph Trabenburg pontificated at length to the welcoming committee from P4X-037. He spoke loudly and slowly, which he apparently assumed would compensate for his inability to speak the native language.

She heard a familiar footfall, and then the colonel came to a halt at her side.

"Carter," he greeted her.

"Sir," she acknowledged absently, not looking away from the spectacle twenty meters away.

"Having fun?"

She did look away, then, to glance in his direction. His face was alive with humor as he watched her.

"Yes," she admitted. She waved a covert hand in Trabenburg's direction. "It's kind of like watching a train wreck in slow motion, actually."

"Now, Major," he drawled. "Surely you jest! I would be astonished to learn that Doctor Trabenburg failed to consult with you about the Doori."

"Prepare to be astonished, sir," Sam said lightly. "Trabenburg isn't exactly one for consultation."

He hadn't bothered to ask if the Doori could speak English.

They could.

He'd assumed, after one look at their simple homespun and leather, that they had no technological understanding.

They did.

Trabenburg was gesturing back at the Stargate now, his hands miming the kawhoosh. The Doori's poker faces were slowly morphing into incredulous anger, but Trabenburg was oblivious.

"He's trying to tell them about the wormhole and the apple?" O'Neill guessed.

"Apparently."

"You did mention in your briefing, Carter, that the Doori think quantum mathematics is kindergarten stuff?"

"They are definitely light years ahead of us, yes, sir," Sam said.

He gave her a keen look, then pretended that the pun had gone right over his head. "So, if he didn't bother listening to the briefing, he probably didn't read the report, either."

"No, sir, he probably didn't."

"Which means that Trabenburg doesn't know that Panni there," O'Neill nodded at the young woman standing directly opposite Trabenburg, "has earned the equivalent of three or four doctorates by our standards."

"Since he's trying to teach her how to work the DHD, I think we can safely assume that."

He rocked back on his heels. "Didn't Daniel say that the Doori intelligentsia tend to settle academic disagreements by brawling?"

Sam ducked her head a little to hide her smile. "Something like that, yes."

O'Neill eyed Trabenburg, who had barely fulfilled the minimum physical fitness requirements for offworld travel. "He's going to be kissing dirt," he predicted.

"If he doesn't buy a clue in the next thirty seconds," Sam agreed sweetly. Trabenburg's chauvinistic, patronizing attitude extended far beyond the Doori. He'd actually called her "little lady" when she'd tried to speak to him before the mission. "I don't think he will, though."

"Not going to try and stop it, Carter?"

"Oh, I could warn him," Sam conceded. This time she didn't bother to hide the slow grin that spread across her face as she watched Trabenburg condescendingly pat Panni's shoulder. "But then it wouldn't be as funny."

"There is that," the colonel agreed. He settled his cap more firmly on his head. "Shall we go and get a ringside seat?"

"Yes, sir!"

Teal'c walked steadily through the halls of the SGC, following the memorized map in his head. He had no particular destination in mind, but he felt it wise to familiarize himself with the facility. In truth, there was a certain pleasure in the simple ability to roam at will. It was only three days since General Hammond had dismissed his escorts and granted him free passage on the base. Despite the knowledge that he could not yet leave the confines of the SGC to see the rest of the world of the Tau'ri, Teal'c was fiercely satisfied with the trust he had gained thus far.

He paused at the elevators, considering. Their usage smacked of laziness, yet he could not wholly deny his secret delight at the casual use of advanced technology – something that the Goa'uld would deny the humans if they could. When O'Neill had shown him what to wear for their first mission off-world, and a watch had been so casually included among the gear, Teal'c had felt a vindictive pleasure at strapping the proof of Tau'ri defiance to his wrist.

Captain Carter's office was two levels above his current location. Perhaps she would not mind a visit from a fellow team member. He took his prized security pass out of his pocket and swiped it through the reader.

A short time later, he approached Captain Carter's office. The door was open, and bright light spilled into the hallway. He paused at the door, hands clasped loosely behind his back, and waited for her to acknowledge his presence.

She did not seem to realize he was there.

Frowning, he watched her. She was wholly absorbed in her work, but surely she had heard his footsteps? He had thought her to be a warrior, but she seemed too oblivious to her surroundings to have a soldier's true instincts. Did she automatically assume that she was safe, here in the depths of the SGC?

His frown deepened as he studied her bearing. Her concentration was clearly focused on the computer screen, but she did not seem capable of remaining still. Her head nodded regularly, and she frequently tapped her foot. As the minutes passed, he saw her lips move several times, but the soft sound of her voice, rising and fading in a regular cadence, was too faint to discern the words.

It was very strange. On their mission together, he had witnessed Captain Carter remain perfectly still for hours at a time as they spied upon a contingent of stray Jaffa. Why did she behave so differently now?

He was about to move away when she pressed a button on a small machine and rose from her chair. She turned towards the door and started, clearly surprised to see him. Then a smile spread across her face, and she removed a thick band of curved plastic from her hair.

"Hi, Teal'c," she said. "Don't just stand in the doorway. Come in! What can I do for you?"

"I apologize for disturbing you," he began.

"No, no, you didn't bother me." She placed the band of plastic on the table and laughed a little. "I didn't actually hear you at all."

He raised an eyebrow. "Has your hearing been damaged, Captain Carter?"

She looked surprised. "Oh, no!" She pointed at the plastic band. "I was just..."

He tilted his head, waiting politely for her to continue.

"Oh. Of course." She picked up the plastic band again. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. How could you possibly – I was listening to music, Teal'c."

He eyed the plastic band. "That does not seem to be a musical instrument."

"No, they're cordless headphones. They channel previously recorded music from..." She stopped. "Here. Put them on." She held out the band invitingly.

He took them from her dubiously. "How does this work?"

She opened her mouth to explain, then stopped. "Just put them on," she repeated. "Listen first, and then I'll explain."

His eyebrow arched even higher as he fitted the curved band onto his own head. He positioned the rounded ends over his ears, as he had seen Captain Carter wear them.

"I hear nothing," he said.

Captain Carter stepped back to her desk and reached for the small machine next to her computer.

Sound suddenly blasted into Teal'c's eardrums – the heavy beat of drums, the insistent rhythm of a stringed instrument, the lilt of a male singer. Never, in all his hundred years, had he ever heard anything even remotely like it.

Captain Carter laughed aloud at his expression. "Do you like it?" she asked, raising her voice to a near-shout to be heard over the noise.

Teal'c hastily removed the... headphones. "That is Tau'ri music?"

Captain Carter's smile faded a little. "Well, yes. One kind, anyway. There's all sorts, to suit multiple tastes and occasions."

"And this suits your taste?"

Her face was turning slightly pink. "I listen to rock while I'm working sometimes, yes."

He blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend. "A rock makes this music?"

"No, it's called 'rock music,' and –" Captain Carter sighed. "I think Daniel can probably explain better than I could." Looking thoroughly embarrassed now, she reached to take the headphones from him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

Ignoring her outstretched hand, he settled the headphones back over his ears and listened again. The words seemed nonsensical, for the most part; perhaps there was some cultural code that was needed to decipher it. But the underlying sense was clear: a fierce joy in life, delight in freedom, defiance against oppression.

He eyed Captain Carter. Slight in frame, frail by Jaffa standards, but possessed with the Tau'ri's determination for independence and spirit.

He took the headphones off again and offered them to her gravely, with the reverence that befitted this tribute to the people whose cause he had joined.

"You are correct, Captain Carter," he told her, inclining his head in a gesture of respect. "It suits you very well indeed."

Sam carefully closed the last panel of crystals, heaving a sigh that was part relief and part worry. After the nearly disastrous breakdown and the hasty jury-rigging of the engine just to get out of what her father called "the worst possible neighborhood" in space, she'd ducked back into the engine room to double-check that the crystals wouldn't fail again.

Everything seemed all right for now, but she couldn't stop the clock that was ticking down in her head, measuring the last breaths of oxygen that Teal'c and the colonel still had. The thought of not quite getting to them in time had her close to panic. They couldn't lose half the team to the petty, spiteful revenge of Apophis!

Dad will get us there in time, she told herself firmly. Or Selmac will. Between the two of them, we'll get there.

She rose to her feet and hurried back down the tiny corridor to join the others. The sound of their voices made her stop and listen.

"...and powerful Oz?"

It was Selmac talking with her father's voice.

"Jacob can't explain it?" Daniel sounded uncomfortable.

"He refuses to do so," Selmac answered calmly. "If anything, I would say he is somewhat – embarrassed."

Sam clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the snickers from escaping, and peeked around the edge of the door.

Her father – with Selmac currently running the show – sat at ease in the pilot's chair, looking up at a clearly flustered Daniel. Apparently, her teammate had never quite imagined that part of his duties as a member of SG-1 would be trying to explain Dorothy, Toto, and the Wicked Witch of the West to an alien symbiote living inside the head of a former Air Force general.

Daniel started to explain, his hands sketching patterns in the air. It was the first time since they'd boarded that he'd actually turned fully away from the viewport, and Sam suddenly found herself admiring the sneaky tag-team of Jacob and Selmac, who were doing a splendid job of distracting Daniel from his worry over the colonel and Teal'c.

"There are two versions, really," Daniel was saying. "L. Frank Baum wrote a series of fourteen or fifteen children's books about eighty years ago. The first book in the series was made into a classic children's movie. Most of the quotes and references that you'll hear – especially those from Jack – are actually from the movie, not the books."

"I never read them," Sam's father admitted, talking in his own voice now. "My wife –" He stopped, then added more slowly, "My wife read them to Sam and Mark when they were little, I think. I don't know if she read them the whole series, though."

"As a movie, The Wizard of Oz is a metaphor for finding happiness and contentment with one's own talents and surroundings," Daniel continued after a tactful pause. "The books were intended to be escapist fantasy – innocence and goodness triumphing over evil."

"Who is Oz, then?" Selmac asked as Jacob ceded the driver's seat again.

Daniel hesitated, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "In both the movie and the book," he said at last, "the Wizard of Oz is a man who is no more powerful than any other human being. He knows illusion, though, and he gives the appearance of having power."

"That sounds quite familiar," Selmac said dryly. "Jacob has said that your more modern literature is not steeped in the mythology generated by the Goa'uld, but your description of Oz suggests otherwise."

"Oh, I don't know," Daniel said with forced lightness, and Sam, still standing by the doorway, winced at the raw pain that she could see reflected in his eyes. "In the Oz books, at least, everyone gets to go home."

A sudden silence fell over the teltak at the leaden message in Daniel's words. Too many people, in their battle against the Goa'uld, never made it home.

And in less than three hours, they would find out if two more would need to be added to that bleak list.

"Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c are coming home, Daniel." Sam said firmly, her voice shattering the heavy atmosphere. "We're going to bring them home."

Jack stalked out of Daniel's office, muttering under his breath. So he'd dropped one eensy weensy artifact on the floor! It had only broken into three pieces. And it had been pretty ugly, too. Daniel had no right to kick him out for that, much less threaten to call security on him!

A little needling of Carter would be soothing, he decided. His kids needed that extra bit of irritation to keep their blood moving and their brains firing. After the shouting match he'd provoked out of Daniel, the archeologist would be able to get in several solid hours of work. Carter needed the same treatment, or who knew how long it would take her to fix her current doohickey?

Decision made, conscience clear, Jack took the stairs two at a time, heading down three levels to Carter's office.

He adopted his Special Ops walk as he approached, because surprising Carter when she was in the middle of something delicate was always fun. He heard the gentle rise and fall of voices – both female, he decided, paying more attention to the tones than to the words. Ah, the Little Doc was there. He would get to annoy two of his favorite women at once. Sweet!

Then, as he entered the room, he caught the last half of Frasier's comment.

"...then they'd better start making babies."

"Say WHAT?"

The blurted, incredulous question destroyed any hopes of surprising the two women, but the twin spit takes, as both of them spewed coffee all over Carter's monitor, almost made up for it.

"Sir!" Carter choked, fumbling for a cloth to wipe up the spilled coffee.

"Making babies, Doc?" Jack demanded. "Sounds a bit against regulations, if you ask me!"

"No one asked you, Colonel," Frasier retorted.

"Well, I'm asking now."

"I'm afraid you misunderstood, sir," Carter said hurriedly, if politely.

"Yes, that can happen when you eavesdrop on other people's conversations," Frasier added pointedly. She didn't bother with the politeness, Jack noticed. Well, that was typical enough. He wasn't her CO.

"Oh, do explain." Jack couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face. This ought to be good! "I'm all ears, really."

Frasier cleared her throat. "Well, actually...."

"Ballistic Artillery in Basic Infantry Education Scenarios, sir," Carter said.

"Huh?" Jack blinked.

"Ballistic Artillery in Basic Infantry Education Scenarios," she repeated smoothly. "I'm sorry, sir, but I didn't choose the name. It's an acronym, sir. BABIES: Ballistic Artillery in Basic –"

"...Infantry Education Scenarios," Jack finished for her. "Yeah, I get it. Now what are you talking about?"

"P4X-003," Janet chimed in. Carter blinked once, then turned attentively to her CO. "Captain Carter and I were discussing the training exercises that the natives of P4X-003 – what did you say they called themselves, Sam?"

"Hm? Oh! Uh... the Gantans, I think, wasn't it?"

"Yes, that's right," Frasier nodded. "The Gantans. Anyway, their military wanted to consult with our medical department about the mounting casualties in their training exercises. I was just telling Captain Carter that they need to make sure their soldiers master the basics before trying more advanced scenarios – in other words, they'd better start with more BABIES if they don't want their trainees to get hurt."

She finished speaking and nodded firmly.

Carter nodded back.

Then they both turned to Jack and regarded him with a polite, interested air.

Jack wasn't quite sure what to say. It all sounded plausible enough – sort of – but it also sounded awfully contrived. He would really like to call them on it...

Except he hadn't really paid all that much attention to the planet designation that Frasier had reeled off, and the only other person he could easily ask about it was Daniel, who probably wasn't speaking to him at the moment.

He could always ask him later, though. Bribe him with some good coffee, and then casually ask about the – Gordons, wasn't it? Yeah. That'd work.

"Very good, Captain, Captain," he said at last, nodding first at Carter and then at Frasier. "Carry on."

He closed the door gently behind him and headed down to Level 25. Maybe Teal'c would be in a generous mood and allow himself to be annoyed for a change....

***

Sam counted to thirty under her breath, then dived for the phone.

"Daniel? It's Sam. The colonel might be on his way to you... Oh, you did? Smart man. Hah, yes. Listen, if he asks you about P4X-003 or the Gantans, stall until I get a chance to give you the whole story, all right? No, no, nothing like that. Janet and I will explain later. Over pizza, tonight? Oh, you'll bring Teal'c? Excellent! Great. See you at six."

As Sam hung up, Janet abandoned all control and dissolved into laughter.

"Sam," she wheezed, "that was brilliant! How did you make up that acronym on the spot like that?"

Sam, laughing too, saluted her friend with her empty coffee mug. "The same way you managed to spout off all that stuff about a planet that doesn't exist! I could barely keep a straight face."

"We did good," Janet chuckled.

"Yes, we did," Sam agreed smugly. "Now! Back to what we were talking about." She put the coffee mug down and leaned forward on her elbows. "So, the two episodes I missed on that mission?"

"Typical Brave and the Bold stuff," Janet told her. "Donovan and Charity admitted to their affair, but Clement told Arabella that her long-lost daughter was involved in the blackmail attempt..."

"I think I'm missing something," Daniel muttered to Jack as he handed him a spare bandana.

"I wish I was missing the smell," Jack groused back. He knotted the bandana over his nose and mouth as a makeshift mask.

Daniel waved his hands in a gesture of frustration. "It just doesn't make any sense!"

"Oh, like the snakeheads need to be sensible!" Jack crouched down a little lower behind the boulder that offered them their only cover. "Why couldn't this Dumb La guy go with the good old-fashioned Egyptian shtick?"

"That's Damballa, Jack, and –" Daniel paused in mid-wave, looking thoughtful. "Actually, Haitian mythology fits the Goa'uld pattern a little too nicely. Damballa is associated with the snake. His wife, Ayida Weddo, is the 'rainbow serpent.' And the loa are supposed to, ah, possess a host when summoned, and the manifestation is traditionally pretty violent..."

Jack gave Daniel an incredulous look. "Tell me you're kidding."

Daniel gave a half-shrug in response. "Wish I was."

"Oh, for cryin'..." Jack risked a quick glance around their boulder, shuddered, and hastily ducked back. "They're still shuffling past," he said gloomily. "No sign of thinning out, either."

"How long do you think until they've left the area?"

"I haven't exactly calculated the average zombie MPH, Daniel. How should I know?"

"I'm not entirely sure they're really zombies, Jack," Daniel said, raising a cautionary finger. "Okay, yes, they seem a little dazed, and almost mindless..."

"Kinda gray in the face," Jack offered, his voice mockingly cheerful.

"That doesn't mean they're dead," Daniel snapped, a little irritated. "It could be illness, or body paint, or even the adapted skin color under this planet's purple sun!"

"Or an appetite for braaaaiiiins," Jack said.

Daniel glared at him. The bandana hid the annoying smirk, but Daniel could definitely tell it was there. "You do know that's a Hollywood corruption of an intricate folklore that traces back for centuries, don't you?"

"Tell that to the shambling masses, Daniel. And they stink."

"Hygiene might not be a privilege they have." Daniel huffed out an indignant breath and slumped back against the border. "It doesn't make any sense," he repeated, a little plaintively. "Jack, the 'zombies' of Haitian legend were slaves that were forced to work in the sugar cane fields. Now, that fits very nicely with the Goa'uld and their typical enslavement of the local populace. The idea that these... people are soldiers seems a little farfetched."

"Cannon fodder," Jack said dismissively.

"Brainwashed, unthinking slaves wouldn't even be good at that," Daniel argued. He took a turn at peering over the rock and froze, staring.

Jack, fiddling with the makeshift mask that helped filter out the stench of the shuffling locals, didn't notice. "Okay, I'll grant you that," he conceded. "What's the use of a footsoldier that who can't do anything but hobble along and moan about brains?"

Silence.

Jack glanced up. "Daniel?"

"I can think of one thing," Daniel said, his voice strangled.

Jack cautiously raised his head over the boulder and took a look of his own. "Ah," he drawled, his tone remarkably even. "Looks like Dumb La came up with a pretty good use for 'em, after all. Zombies as decoys. Sweet."

Daniel didn't bother to correct Jack's pronunciation this time. "How long until they spot us?"

Jack scanned the ranks of the well-armed, grim-faced soldiers who flanked the shuffling locals, heading purposely in their direction. "I'd give it, oh, maybe five minutes before they make our position."

Daniel swallowed, and gripped his pistol a little more tightly. "What do we do now?"

"Unless you want to introduce yourself, I'd say we should try and make it for the Gate."

Daniel took another quick look at the mumbling natives and the soldiers bearing down on them. "Sounds good to me," he agreed fervently.

Jack hoisted himself to his feet. "Took us forty minutes to get here," he said.

"We can make it back faster than that," Daniel protested even as he started walking. "It's not as if we don't have some incentive here."

"Oh, I imagine so." Jack considered. "Fifteen minutes?"

"Lazy." Daniel broke into a half-jog. "I'll bet you ten."

"Oh, yeah? What stakes?" Jack glanced back again, then waggled his eyebrows. "Oooh, we could bet that we don't –"

"Don't say not getting our brains eaten!"

"Spoilsport," Jack complained. "Okay, okay. More than ten minutes, and you buy the pizza tonight. Let's go!"