Day 1
Colonel Jack O'Neill was trying his hardest not to break the speed limit, but it was hard. He had, only fifteen minutes ago, received a message from General Hammond that something was not right. He had the sinking feeling that this concerned his team. Because of security, nothing specific could be said over the phone, just get there as soon as possible.
Fifteen minutes later, he screeched to a halt in the car park. Slamming the door behind him, not even bothering to lock it, he raced to the entrance way to the complex. He barely looked at the guard who checked his ID. Slipping into the elevator he made his long descent into the deep bowels of the mountain.
When he finally came out on level 27, he made his way to General Hammond’s office. He never got there as he found General Hammond and SG-9 sitting around the briefing table.
“General Hammond. What’s up?”
“Early this morning a group of Scientists led by Major Carter failed to return at the designated time.”
O'Neill managed to keep his face clear of any expression, while his heart and his stomach met in the middle of his body. Telling himself to remember to breathe in and out, he asked the obvious question. “Has a team gone in to find out what happened?”
“Yes, Colonel. SG-9 is just de-briefing now. If you will, please take a seat.”
Jack didn’t even think of where he was sitting, he just sat on the closest seat that he could find. Reigning in his caustic remarks, he waited patiently for what he didn’t want to hear.
“Major, please, proceed with your report.”
“Yes, sir,” he answered Hammond.
Turning towards Colonel O'Neill, he ran over what he had already reported to the General.
“When we arrived at PBX 253, there were no sign of Jaffa. Unfortunately, we found the scientists, apart from one of them, they were all dead.”
“Doctor Goren is now in critical condition undergoing surgery,” General Hammond quickly interrupted.
Jack began to feel the room start to move away from him, as he stared at the major, listening, but not listening to the words that he spoke. All he could hear in his mind was ‘all of the scientists were dead…all were dead…all were dead…’
“And Major Carter? Where is she?” At first he wondered who had spoken, then he realised that it was himself.
“We don’t know, sir. There was no sign of her.”
Immediately, the room began to move back into his vision again and everything looked normal.
“Did you look?” he asked accusingly.
“Sir, we looked everywhere. There are still two teams off world looking for signs of her. But we believe that she was taken through the gate.”
“What makes you say that, Major?” Hammond asked.
“From the signs on the ground, it looked like the Jaffa fired their weapons at our people from the direction of the Stargate, then turned and moved through. We could see foot prints that could be the major’s, but then we had walked over that ground, so we can’t be sure.”
A puzzled frown came across the major’s face, as he observed O'Neill. Who was bent over looking under the table.
“Colonel O'Neill. What are you doing?” Hammond queried.
“Sorry, sir.” O'Neill’s head popped up over the ledge.
“What size boots do you all wear?” He asked the major. “Because Carter’s feet are pretty small and as far as I can see your boots are all big. Have you measured the foot prints?”
“Actually, sir, we have. The lab has them now.”
Nodding slowly, Jack looked at General Hammond, “Request permission to help with the search, sir.”
“Colonel O’N…” Hammond stopped speaking as an airman came into the briefing room with a message, which he handed to the General.
All the members of SG-9 and Jack watched the general read the memo. Looking up at the men sitting around the table, he made an announcement.
“Doctor Goren has just regained consciousness and he knows where Major Carter has gone. Major, you and your team are dismissed. Colonel you’re with me.”
All six men left the room, SG-9 to the showers and General Hammond and Colonel O'Neill straight to the infirmary.
Doctor Goren was lying on one of the beds, with a large white dressing on his head. He was also heavily bandaged around his chest and abdomen. He was hooked up to several monitors and IV’s for pain control. The effects of the anaesthetic had begun to wear off.
“Doctor Goren, what happened?”
“General, they came out of nowhere. The death gliders, I mean they must have come from a ship. There hadn’t been any activity through the gate.” Then he spoke in a much quieter voice. “They took Major Carter, I got the address and then they shot us all - for no reason.”
“They don’t need a reason, they are Goa’uld.” Jack said harshly.
Doctor Goren continued as though O'Neill had never spoken. “They just killed everyone. The next thing I remember, I woke up here. No one else survived, did they, sir?”
General Hammond slowly shook his head. “No, son, but we have hope for Major Carter, with the address that you have, we can try and find her.”
“Actually, sir, I don’t know the address.”
“What!” O'Neill leaned menacingly over him.
Hammond quickly intervened. “Doctor, you said that you saw the address before the gate shut down. What do you mean?”
“Yes, sir, I did, but I don’t remember the address, though I do remember writing it in my notebook. Do you have my things?”
“Yes, we have your things, but I don’t believe there is a notebook amongst them. It wasn’t listed amongst your possessions.”
By now O'Neill was looking extremely angry. “Sir, we have to go back and search the area.”
“Yes, I concur,” nodding to the sick man in bed. “Thank you, Doctor”
As they exited the infirmary, Hammond quickly gave his orders. “Colonel O'Neill, as soon as we have the MALP readings, you can take SG-3.”
“Yes, sir.”
A short while later, Colonel O'Neill, with SG-3, were waiting in the gate room. They were already geared up and waiting for the MALP readings to come back.
“You have a go, Colonel.” General Hammond announced from the control room.
Without hesitation, O'Neill led SG-3 up the ramp and through the wormhole. On reaching the other side, he looked around and waited for the rest of the team to follow. Once through, they immediately started a thorough search of the perimeter. Fortunately, it only took half an hour before one of the team members found the notebook. It was slightly damp, but thankfully still legible.
O’Neill barely waited for the marine to hand the notebook to him, before he started quickly looking through it. Finding an address written untidily on the back of the book, he then didn’t waste any time, dialling the address for the planet where Carter had been taken. The MALP was quickly organised to go through the gate. One of the SG-3 members had a screen set up, so they could see what the MALP could see. O'Neill tensely stood in front of the screen clutching the P-90 that was strapped to his chest. His knuckles had turned white with the pressure of his grip. The screen showed a leafy planet, and then a person walked in front of the camera, blocking the scene. Then, a curious face looked into the camera. With horror, O'Neill recognised the symbol on the Jaffa’s forehead. Baal. They watched as the Jaffa warrior stood back and lifted his staff weapon, armed it and fired at the MALP. Then the screen went blank.
‘Crap!’
The Stargate then, shut down.
“Quick, dial up home.”
“Yes, sir.”
Back at the SGC, General Hammond stood at the bottom of the ramp, as SG-3 followed by Colonel O'Neill, came out through the Stargate making the familiar plopping sound.
“What happened, Colonel?”
“Well, we found the address, but…” Turning his head slightly on its side, he grimaced. “…the MALP was destroyed as soon as it went through. They must have a guard at the gate. Permission to ready a strike team to go through, sir.”
“Permission denied. We cannot lose any more people; this obviously is a fortified planet.”
“Sir. With all due respect, I don’t thin…”
“Jack. I’m sorry, but it is not going to happen. It is too much of a risk. You know that.”
O'Neill clenched his jaw and stared at General Hammond.
“Go and get cleaned up and report to the infirmary. Briefing in one hour. You are dismissed,” he said firmly.
General Hammond watched Colonel O'Neill walk woodenly out of the gate room towards the elevators. ‘I know how you feel, Jack, believe me, I do.’ He thought to himself.
The following day, Colonel O'Neill was in the locker room getting ready for a routine mission. He had requested this mission. Recalling his conversation, he went over what had been said the previous day with General Hammond.
‘Request permission to go with SG-12 to PX-921, sir.’
‘SG-1 are on stand down, until further notice, Jack.’
‘I know, sir, but I need to keep busy. And these guys need a replacement for Major Harrington. It’s only a routine mission; we’ll be back by tonight. The mission would have to be aborted, if I don’t go.’
‘All right, you have permission.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
He hoped that General Hammond hadn’t got too suspicious, but he hadn’t stopped him yet. So, hopefully, his plan would work. He just wished that Teal’c and Jonas were not off world at the moment. He could do with their help. ‘Maybe just as well,’ he realised.
The three members of SG-12 were green. They had only gone off world three times before and the last time, their CO had been injured in an accident. Normally, Jack would not have enjoyed baby-sitting a bunch of green horns when going through the Stargate. But this was perfect. They wouldn’t be suspicious of his behaviour.
After they had come through the gate, O'Neill ordered them to check the perimeter. All three were sent off together. He waited until they were out of sight and hopefully out of hearing and then started to dial the gate. As he stepped through the gate, he not only knew that there would be a very good chance that he would be captured, but he also knew he was saying goodbye to his career, but that was not important anymore. There was only one person that was important.
They had been waiting for him, of that he had been certain. As soon as he came through the Stargate, he was surrounded by Jaffa. The last thing that Jack wanted was to be held prisoner by Baal, but if he wanted to find Sam, he knew being dead was not going to help. So, reluctantly, he gave up his weapons. After being thoroughly searched and stripped of anything mechanical, including his watch and his jacket, they chained his legs together. This made it extremely difficult to walk, so he hoped that he wouldn’t have to walk far. They hooked his arms over behind a metal bar. Jack groaned inwardly as soon as he saw this device remembering being trussed up like this before. The leather strap that was fastened around his neck stopped him from moving his head easily. A heavy chain ran from the leather strap down and was fastened to the chain that bound his wrists, which were on either side of his body.
The rocky ground was hard to manoeuvre over so he stumbled and fell often. Jack had numerous cuts and bruises on his face and body, from when he made contact with the ground. Each time he fell, one of the Jaffa guards would roughly pull him up by the metal bar, putting pressure on his already aching arms and shoulders.
It was a hard climb and Jack was not given any food, water or rest. As they approached their destination, he could barely stand. He was exhausted, bruised and very sore. He also felt cold, even with the exercise of the forced march. By now, they were almost dragging him along by the rope that was attached to the leather collar.
Jack was hot and thirsty he knew that if he didn’t get some kind of liquid in him, he would suffer from serious dehydration. All he could see were the Jaffa in front of him and he had long since stopped taking any notice of his surroundings. Just placing one foot in front of the other, was a mammoth task. The first time that Jack found out that they were at the base of the steps, was when he tripped over the first one. Not being able to put out his hands to save himself, he smashed his knees, upper body and face into the unforgiving stone steps. Immediately, he felt the blood begin to trickle down from his knees, the material on his pants covering his knees, were now non-existent. His skin totally exposed to the rough stone. A Jaffa guard roughly pulled him up by the metal bar, until Jack was once again, standing. His nose and mouth hurt, he just hoped that he hadn’t broken his nose, as blood streamed down over his chin and fell to the ground. He cautiously felt around his mouth with his tongue, to see if he had dislodged any teeth. He felt relief when he found that they all seemed to still be firmly lodged in his now very sore mouth.
He was forced up these very steep stairs. They were wide so he was still surrounded by Jaffa. They were taking no chances that he might try to escape. Not that he had the strength to. The steps led up to a large building, which was covered in grime. With a closer look, he noticed the walls and the floor were made of marble, he realised now that was what the steps had been made of. They were cracked and worn with time and use, although he wouldn’t have noticed at the time even if they had been pristine. All he wanted to be able to do was climb up those infernal steps without falling on his face again. He was relieved to see that the marble floor was smooth, with no rocks that would jump out and trip him up.
“Hey!” He called out in protest, as one of the Jaffa guards pushed him along. The Jaffa’s reply consisted of a thwack across Jack’s back with a staff weapon. Crashing down, once again, onto his knees, he cried out as his upper arms took the brunt of the attack. By now, the Jaffa were losing patience with Jack, so two of them took an end of the metal bar each and lifted him off the ground. They literally dragged him through a door, into a medium sized room and dropped him onto the ground. Jack heard the click of the lock as the guards turned the key. Jack almost didn’t care anymore if he was locked in or not, as he lay face down on the cold stone floor. He didn’t move or even look around, as he was totally exhausted.
Time had not seemed to pass, but it must have, before they came for him, because the light seemed different. Once again, he was lifted up by the bar that still restricted his arms and pulled him into a hunched over standing position between the guards. The whole of his body screamed with pain as he tried to resist the Jaffa guards. The large Jaffa dragged him forcibly from his cell, along a hallway and out into the daylight. It was obviously early morning, as the sun was just rising. O'Neill shivered in the chill air, as a cool wind whistled through a gap in the large wall surrounding the castle.
He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or annoyed when they picked him up and threw him into the back of a horse drawn wagon. The ride was bumpy and it hurt his already aching body more, but at least he didn’t have to climb down, or more likely be dragged down those marble steps. The wagon wound its bumpy, rough ride down a narrow twisting track. O'Neill was lying face down on foul smelling floorboards. The pole that had his arms hooked over, which was behind his back stopped him from being able to move, or turn over. He desperately wanted to see where he was going. Realising that this was not going to be possible, he closed his eyes and managed to get some semblance of sleep before the journey ended.
O'Neill was rudely awakened when he landed face down on the cold muddy ground. His mouth felt dry and his lips were cracked and bleeding. The pain shot through his body, as the shackles were removed from his wrists and ankles. The sudden relief to his shoulders and arms caused immense pain. He tried to hold in the cry of pain, but was unable to stop the loud grunt, as one of the Jaffa kicked him in the side.
“Get up.”
“You could have asked nicely.” O'Neill quipped back at the guard, as he slowly staggered to his feet.
From lack of water and sustenance, O'Neill started to fall over, as his vision blurred and the surrounding buildings seemed to spin. The guards realising what was happening, caught him in time, before he hit the dirt. Once again, he was unceremoniously dragged along the ground and was taken into a long low building. Where they stripped him of his clothes and hosed him down, to clean all the mud and blood off him. How he managed to stay standing, even with using the wall as support he could never fathom. The walls and Jaffa dangerously dipped and swirled before his eyes. Fortunately, some of the water actually managed to get into his mouth, so he greedily drank in as much as he could.
He was dressed into prison garb and taken into one of the huts. Here, someone set down a bowl of food and gave him a blanket. Hungrily, he ate the sloppy food. It was quite a messy affair without a spoon. The food was like thin grey oatmeal. ‘At least I’m getting some liquid’, he thought to himself.
Curling up in his blanket he fell asleep, not worrying about tomorrow, letting that day take care of itself.
O’Neill awoke to a loud bell ringing through the camp. He could barely move and his stiffened muscles protested when he slowly sat up. Looking around the crude hut, he noticed many people dressed like him stirring. They were quickly rolling up their blankets and moving towards the door.
“Hey! Where’s everyone going?”
Startled faces turned around and looked at him, then ignoring him, turned back towards the door and left the hut. One man stayed, moved over to O'Neill and helped him stand.
“We are going to work in the fields. If you want to eat, you have to work.”
“Ok, I can do that.” Leaning lightly on the man’s shoulder, O'Neill lowered his head for a minute as he waited for the blackness to leave his vision. Shaking his head clear. “Whoa. Okay. Lead on, McDuff.”
“My name is not McDuff. It is Lorton.”
“Ah. Sorry, Lorton, you see McDuff is…oh…never mind.” By this time they had reached the doorway and O'Neill was able to walk unassisted. Though his body ached and he had a few unhealed cuts on his face, arms and knees, he was surprisingly able to move. He just hoped that he was able to last all day in a field, working.
There was a long line, leading out from another building. Hoping this was where he was going to get some breakfast, he was disappointed. All they were doing were handing in their food bowls and blankets.
It took thirty-five minutes to walk to the nearest field and twenty workers were counted off into the first field and thereafter every two or three minutes or so, another twenty workers were told to go into the field. It was forty-five minutes before it was O'Neill’s turn, he and his newfound friend, Lorton, were in the same team. They were told to pull weeds up out of the sludgy wet mud. It was hard going, as some of the roots went down deep. This was back breaking work and with no food in his belly, made it slow going for O'Neill. Nearing midday, they were allowed a break. There was water available for everyone, of which O'Neill drank as much as he could hold without making him vomit. He watched hungrily as his fellow workers pulled out some bread from their tunics and started to eat. Looking around, he could see no bread available for him.
“Lorton. Where did you get the bread?” He asked.
“You will have been given it yesterday evening, when you arrived.”
“Nope, not a crumb. I got some slop they called food in a bowl, but no bread.”
“That is strange, because everyone is given this bread and gruel when they arrived.”
“Well, I didn’t see any.”
“The idea is, that you get gruel and bread and that will last you the whole day. If you work you get food, if you don’t work, no food.”
“What if you are sick? I mean I saw many people who didn’t come today.”
Lorton looked down at his bread that he was eating. He had already eaten half that morning for breakfast, as they walked to the fields. Quickly tearing off a small portion of what was left, he handed it to O'Neill.
“Here, Jack. Take this, or you won’t last the day.”
Jack’s first instinct was to grab it and start eating, as he was very hungry. But manners took over and he hesitated in reaching for it.
“Really, you need this. Take it.”
Taking the bread, he started to eat it, nodding his thanks. It wasn’t enough to satisfy his hunger, but he thought that just maybe, it would keep him going until the end of the day.
That night, he felt slightly better, as the gruel had somehow managed to fill his aching belly. Whatever was in that gruel seemed to be just enough to keep a grown man going, even if it did taste like sludge. The small flat loaf he had received, he had sequestered under his tunic, close to his body and laid down on it. He did not want it stolen as he slept. He was so tired he knew he would sleep soundly.
On the next day he realised that the slop that they had been served with didn’t last very long. He found the gnawing feeling of hunger an irritation while he was working in the field. There were two guys in the field and the only word he could think of to describe them was ‘bullies’. They somehow managed to take extra food from people, by pressuring them. When they had started on Lorton, O'Neill immediately intervened. Before they knew it, they were all four rolling in the mud fighting. O'Neill made short work of the guy that he was fighting. As his opponent dropped to the ground, O'Neill turned around to help Lorton, only to see the other man pull out a knife and drive it into Lorton’s chest.
“Nooooooooo!” He yelled and threw himself onto the man that had killed his new friend.
Just then, the Jaffa guards came up and pulled O'Neill off the man that had killed Lorton.
“Kree!”
O'Neill was dragged off the field and taken all the way back to the compound. There was a wooden wall with chains and shackles fitted to it. Pulling the battered man against the wall, they shackled his wrists tightly together behind his back. They also chained his ankles together. The chains ran through holes in the wooden wall and were fixed to the other side. They made a rattling sound as the slack was taken up and O'Neill found he had to crouch, as his hands were pulled hard against the wall. He tried to sit down, but pain shot up his arms, as they pulled against his shoulders into an unnatural position. He realised that whatever position he was in, he could not get comfortable.
O'Neill had tried to explain to the Jaffa what had happened, as he was roughly dragged back to the compound. But they either couldn’t understand or they didn’t want to. He saw the other prisoners come back from the field. He watched hungrily, as they received their food and blanket. He also noticed that there was no sign of Lorton’s body. He thought they had most probably buried him out in the fields. Then he saw one of the Jaffa hand some bloodied clothing over to a prisoner to put into storage. He realised that they were Lorton’s clothes.
Trying to squat, he found he couldn’t do that either. They had his wrists fixed in exactly the right position to produce as much discomfort as possible. Dusk fell over the camp. O'Neill’s arms were screaming with pain, his knees could no longer support his weight and he had lowered himself down into a squat. His knees protested at the strain they were under. Leaning his back against the wall put more pressure on his arms and shoulders. All night O'Neill constantly shifted his position, trying to relieve the pain.
The shrill bell jangled its way through the dawn air. Instantly, there was movement as the inmates poured out of the cabins. Not wasting any time, they didn’t want to miss getting in line for the work parties. O'Neill wasn’t quite sure how he managed to sleep, but he had. He couldn’t feel his arms or his legs anymore. Maybe that was why he managed to sleep. He couldn’t move. His knees were locked solid and his body leant sideways towards his right. He knew his arms were going to hurt like crazy when the circulation started up.
An ache moved up his belly, as the hunger caused light spasms inside his stomach. He hadn’t had anything to eat for 24 hours. He knew from experience he could go for many days without food, but without water was another matter. He hadn’t even managed to re-hydrate himself from before. A wave of dizziness, confirmed to him, his body was in trouble.
With a growing concern, he watched the other prisoners leave out through the gate.
“Hey!” He shouted. “What about me?”
A guard sauntered over to where O'Neill was restrained.
“Good, get me out of here. I need to go with the others…please?” He added reluctantly.
The Jaffa turned his head and watched the last of the prisoners hand in their bowls and blankets. Looking back at O'Neill, he tilted his head on its side and gave O'Neill an amused look. Reaching down slowly, he unlocked the shackles that bound O'Neill to the wooden wall. As soon as he was released, he toppled sideways onto the ground with a groan and a thud. By the time, O'Neill had managed to work some life back into his limbs the gates had begun to close. Pulling himself up against the wall, he staggered towards the gate. He was only half way across the compound and the gates clanged shut.
“Too bad, Tau’ri. You missed the work detail.” The Jaffa sniggered in his ear and sauntered off towards his quarters.
All O'Neill wanted to do was collapse where he stood, but pride stopped him. With faltering steps he went over to the tap where he could get some water. Turning it on, he sloshed water up over his head and drank greedily. His stomach gave another spasm. Drinking more water, he tried to alleviate the hunger pangs. Stopping before he heaved it up again, he leant his head on the wall above the tap.
“I have to get outta here.” He muttered to himself. Pushing away from the wall, he started to walk towards one of the huts. First of all, he had to rest his aching body. He would be no good to move quickly when he escaped, as all his joints and muscles ached with the pressure that had been put on them.
It was midday, when he woke up. A dragging ache was pulling at his insides. He knew this was the beginning of real hunger. He was onto his third day without any real food. He wasn’t going to count that bowl of slop that he had eaten two days ago. The lack of water was not good either.
Jack spent the rest of the day drinking as much water as his stomach could keep down and checking the perimeter. As far as he could see, there was no way out without the guards noticing. He realised the only way he was going to escape was when on work detail. But first of all he had to get some more food in his belly, he needed the strength it would give him.
The following morning, he stiffly uncurled himself from the crunched up position in the hut. He had been very cold all night. Fortunately, the night he had been punished had not been too cold, but now the nights were getting cooler. It had been hard to sleep with the cooler night and the growling stomach. He was in plenty of time to catch the work detail and watched hungrily as other inmates ate some of their saved bread for breakfast.
All through the day, he watched for any chance of escape. He worked out that half an hour before midday break would be the best time to try and escape. Most of the guards stopped to have their meal then, while a very light detail was left to keep the workers inline.
O'Neill barely tasted his food that night, as he thought about getting away the following day. He was marginally warmer through the night, as he wrapped himself up in the threadbare blanket. This night he slept all night without waking.
On the fifth morning since Carter had been taken, the sight that met O'Neill’s eyes, filled him with frustration. A relieving group of Jaffa guards had arrived. Apparently, they were new to the camp, so they were being shown the ropes by the present guard. That meant there was a double shift all day.
The whole time, Jack had been there, he had kept an eye open for Carter. But there had been no sign of her. As he was herded out with the other prisoners, he noticed with a sinking heart, several women being rounded up and taken through the ring transporter. Obviously, they were being taken back to the ship that was in orbit. ‘What if that has happened to Carter? I need to get on that ship.’ He thought to himself. Life was getting decidedly complicated.
Just before midday, he was surprised to see a large group of Jaffa being sent in the direction of the Stargate. From what he could gather, they were after someone who had escaped. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. He had spent most of his time avoiding the men that had killed Lorton, as they were always looking for trouble. Now, this was the time to see what they were up to. Moving closer to where they were working he watched for the right moment. It came, almost as though O'Neill had orchestrated it himself. The two men were trying to bully some extra food out of one of the inmates. As the scuffle started, O'Neill took the chance and slipped away into the trees.
It was hard going, with no footwear, his feet were getting cut and bruised on the hard ground. It was cool in the forest, even though he was running fast; he found he was getting cold. He wondered what would happen to the prisoners when winter came, as they were inadequately protected against the elements. Dismissing them from his mind, he continued towards the Stargate.
It happened without warning and he couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. He was tipped upside down, as he was pulled up by one of his ankles into the tree above. He had just walked straight into a simple trap. Before he was able to even attempt to release his ankle from the rough rope, he was surrounded by Jaffa.
“Hey, there. Can you get me down?” O'Neill gave them an upside down grin that didn’t meet his eyes.
Without saying a word, the Jaffa powered up his staff weapon. Closing his eyes, to the inevitable blast that would kill him. He heard the discharge pass overhead and immediately, he landed with a thud on the leafy flooring of the forest. They had cut him down.
“Not quite what I meant. But thanks anyway.”
Still without speaking they started to beat him with their fists and feet, where he lay on the ground.
The next thing that he knew he was in the compound with his arms stretched out between two poles. Looking up, he could see all the remaining prisoners that hadn’t gone on work detail. The guards had dragged them out to watch O'Neill’s punishment. This was not going well.
The rest of the day was a blur. Already weakened from lack of food and water, plus the beating that he had received, caused him to come in and out of consciousness all the time. They whipped him until he fell unconscious with the pain and then left him alone.
It wasn’t until the workers started to come in from the fields that they started to whip him again. He had no idea what time of the day it was. All he was aware of was the pain that tore across his back and shoulders.
The cold water that hit his body, shocked his system, he found himself shivering in the cold air. The pain started up again. He wanted to bring his hands over his ears to stop the loud rushing sound that battered his eardrums. He had lost the feeling in his arms and shoulders long ago. But the pain was all encompassing, as it covered his body completely.
It was now dark and he found he was shivering with the cold. O'Neill had completely lost all sense of reality. He could see Lorton watching him. He was standing in front of him, holding out his bread. Then he faded into Teal’c, who stood still as a statue. Not looking or speaking. O'Neill tried to call out to Teal’c, but no sound came from his mouth. Trying to relieve some of the pain, he levered himself up to stand. With a groan, he felt his legs give way.
Looking up again, it was now Carter, standing in front of him. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall onto his chest.
“Sir.”
Now, he was hearing things.
“Sir.”
‘Leave me alone.’
“Jack.”
Now that got him wondering, she never called him Jack. She was touching him.
‘Hey, this isn’t a dream!’
Jack felt the warmth begin to seep into his body, as Sam pressed up against him. His whole body ached and the raw flesh on his back constantly hurt with no relief from the pain. He heard her even breathing, as she fell asleep. He knew that Sam needed all the sleep that she could get, as tomorrow she would have to work. If she didn’t, they would both eventually die.
The following morning, Sam woke up to the sound of a large bell echoing around the compound. She was awake instantly and looking over at O'Neill, she saw he was already awake.
“Carter?”
“Hey, sir. How are you feeling?”
“Oh. Just peachy.” He started to lift himself off the floor, but collapsed back after only lifting his head up. “I don’t think I can go on work detail.” This had been hard for Jack to say. To admit to Carter, that he was too weak to help her or himself.
“It’s ok. Here.” She pulled out the small flat loaf and tore it in half and handed one half to O'Neill. “Sorry, I can’t leave anymore, but I will need this.”
O'Neill tucked the bread under his body and nodded his head slightly, he hadn’t moved from the position he had been in, when Carter had laid him down the night previously.
“You have to go, Carter, they won’t wait for you.”
Confirming that the bowl still had enough water for O'Neill, she got up and tucked the blanket around him.
“I mean it, Carter, they won’t wait. You haven’t got much time when the bell goes.”
“OK, are you sure you will be all right?”
“Yes. Now go.”
With reluctance, Carter quickly left the nearly empty hut, as most of the occupants had already left.
She noticed that the people waiting to go through the gates were handing in their bowls and blankets. But she had left hers with Colonel O'Neill. She just hoped this was not going to be a problem. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be, as they let her through with the others.
Keeping her head down, hoping that no one would notice her, she worked solidly. When they took the break at midday, she kept with the other women and ate her bread. No one spoke to her and she spoke to no one else. She knew that she would expect no help from O'Neill in the next few days. As far as she could see, all the women had male protectors of some kind. Not that she wasn’t quite capable of looking after herself, it just seemed that the women who were on their own got bothered. Not just by the inmates either, but by guards too.
That night, she was relieved to receive her food and blanket. Sam was hungry and was getting cold. Her feet already felt numb, caused by the cold wet ground as she trudged back with the others to the compound. As Sam walked towards the hut, the same Goa’uld guard came up to her again. Sam stiffened her body, getting herself ready to fight him off, but all he did was thrust more clean rags into her hand.
“Use sparingly.” He spoke quietly to her and then walked off towards the gate.
Clutching the rags to her body and balancing the bowl with her other hand. She moved with trepidation to the hut where she had left O'Neill that morning. Hoping that she would find him still alive.