At the urgent whisper in his ear from one of his assistants, Daniel ducked from the tent. Ignoring the guards posted at the entrance, he squinted into the blazing Egyptian sun scanning the dig site. He spied who he was looking for and angrily strode right up to the Jaffa. Grabbing the warrior’s arm he blocked the next blow aimed at a man on his knees. The cowering man’s face was bloody, one eye already swollen shut. "Jaffa, if you incapacitate my workers, then it will delay the translation our god is waiting for." His cold tone indicated that was his only reason for interceding.

"He is but one man of many." The Jaffa tried to break from the archaeologist’s grasp but couldn’t.

With his free hand, Daniel yanked the beaten man roughly to his feet and pushed him backwards so he was behind him. "This man happens to be an expert in the Ancient Phoenician dialect we are working on." He moved closer to the Jaffa, the hold he maintained on the armored arm forcing the warrior to step back. "If this translation is not completed by sunset, Ba’al will want an explanation. And I assure you I will tell our god precisely who is responsible for blinding the one person who can read the text."

There was a flash of fear in the Jaffa’s eyes at the idea of facing the Goa’uld’s wrath, then it was replaced by defiance. "Then he’d best get to it." He jerked his arm and Daniel released him.

Without responding Daniel spun on his heel and propelled the beaten man ahead of him in the direction of the main tent. As soon as the canvas flapped closed, the archaeologist’s grip softened and he gently guided him to a chair. "Sarah, keep watch," he ordered, already reaching for a bowl of water to clean the man’s wounds.

The curly haired blonde nodded, positioning herself near the entrance so she could peek through the thin slit.

"You’re Michael, right?" Daniel asked, wringing out a cloth.

The man nodded, his expression wary.

"So, Michael, what imagined indiscretion did you commit to get ‘punching bag’ added to your job description?"

Michael winced at the slight pressure of the cloth being wiped against his cheek. He was confused. The tender actions of Doctor Jackson now, was a total contradiction to the man he’d been outside, the man who was despised for being Ba’al’s lap dog. Cautiously he spoke. "Does there have to be a reason?"

There was a spark of humor behind Daniel’s glasses. "I suppose not." He finished cleaning away the worst of the blood and gently examined the puffy eye. "Doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage. You probably won’t be able to see out of it for a few days but it should heal up nicely." He spread some antiseptic cream over the red skin which would hopefully reduce the swelling. "Ideally an icepack should be applied, but ice is a rarity in these parts. Are you injured anywhere else?"

Unconsciously Michael’s hand lifted to his arm where Daniel had forcibly held him.

Blue eyes clouded over. "Uh…sorry about that."

"Bruises heal," Michael shrugged. "The Jaffa would have done a lot worse." He hesitated, trying to reconcile the Jekyll and Hyde nature of the man before him. "Why did you step in?"

Daniel didn’t answer, he simply concentrated on rinsing the cloth in the water that was now stained pink.

"It’s all an act, isn’t it?" Michael accused, something clicking in his mind. The harshness of the archaeologist’s actions outside had been a distraction to stop the Jaffa noticing that in hauling Michael behind him, Daniel had made himself a barrier between Jaffa and slave. "You’re not really the cold-hearted bastard everyone thinks you are." For a moment he thought Daniel wasn’t going to reply. When he did, Michael wished he hadn’t. The pain and guilt in his quiet words made his stomach roil.

"I’ve said ‘no’ to Ba’al twice. The first time, he killed a group of my…friends." Daniel shook the memory away, though that niggling question once again raised its head. How in God’s name had Ba’al known who Ferretti, Kawalsky and Jack were? Let alone have them captured and waiting as ‘leverage’ when Daniel managed to sneak through the Abydos ‘gate to warn there were more Goa’uld than Ra. "My parents had gone into hiding after that, and I figured with them safe Ba’al didn’t have a hold over me. The second time he sent a naquadah bomb to Chicago."

Michael sucked in a sharp breath. He remembered that seemingly un-provoked attack seven years ago, six months after the initial invasion when Ba’al had swooped in and brought the people of Earth to their knees, literally and figuratively. Thousands of people had died that day.

"As added insurance, Ba’al didn’t rest until he did find my parents, and now they are being held for ‘their own protection’," he spat bitterly, "in The Compound, with loved ones of the other people you have so aptly named ‘lap dogs’."

"Daniel protects those that he can, when he can," Sarah said softly, defending her one time lover. "He…we, are walking a very fine line."

Daniel changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on the reputation he had been forced to create. "How’d you end up here?"

"Wasn’t fast enough to get off the streets during the last round up," he sighed. "I think I was brought in to help dig, but those tin men aren’t exactly a vine of information."

"Any chance you actually know how to read Phoenician?"

"The closest I got to ‘Phoenician’ is the Phoenix Coyotes," Michael quipped. When blue eyes blinked blankly at him he elaborated. "Ya’ know, as in the hockey team."

"Oh." Daniel nodded in comprehension; fought back the stab of sadness at the thought that Jack would have gotten the sport reference in an instant. "Well, now you’re our resident expert in all things Phoenician." Daniel walked over to the table that was strewn with books. "Here, you can start with this." He selected a well-worn book from the bottom of the pile and tossed it to him.

Michael opened to a random page and frowned at the unfamiliar squiggles of text. "Um…you don’t expect me to really translate Phoenician, do you?"

"Sure, why not?" Daniel shrugged. "Unless you’d rather be digging in the pit all day."

"Not exactly my idea of a good time."

"I have certain control over who works with me. Sarah and I can help you bluff your way until you learn the basics."

Michael couldn’t believe he had just been ‘elevated’ to one of elite staff just like that. "Er…haven’t you forgotten something?"

"Like what?"

"What about the translation Ba’al is expecting?"

"Oh, that." Daniel walked over to another table, this one laden with stone tables inscribed with a variety of ancient dialects that had been unearthed from the dig. He slid a typed report from beneath the largest of the slabs and passed it over to the bemused man. "The tablet’s been translated for a week now. I just forgot to mention it to ‘our god’ in my last progress report. I tend to get distracted easily."

Michael grinned at the innocent tone, briefly reading the concise notes that outlined the literal translation and the breakdown of the flowery script into layman’s terms.

Daniel’s returning smile faltered when his vision blurred. For a second there, he could have sworn he was standing before the Stargate, about to step through the rippling event horizon.

Immediately concerned by the sudden paleness of his skin, Sarah left her post from the tent entrance and hurried over to him. "Daniel?"

Daniel leant against the table, his knees strangely turning to jelly. "I’m okay," he assured. "Just been feeling a little off all morning. Must be the heat."

Sarah was unconvinced. They’d been working in this hellhole for weeks now and the scorching desert heat hadn’t affected Daniel before. "Maybe you should rest a bit." She turned her back to reach for the pitcher of water to pour him a cup. At Michael’s startled exclamation she spun back around, her mouth dropping open in shock at what she saw.

Daniel had his hands held out in front of him, twisting them back and forth, examining the strange phenomena that had beset him. His fingers seemed to disappear and then reappear with every movement, switching from solid mass to transparent and back again. "Well, isn’t that the strangest thing?" he commented absently.

"What’s going on?" Sarah asked fearfully. Whatever it was, it wasn’t confined only to Daniel’s hands. His entire body was blinking in and out of sight.

"I have no idea," Daniel replied, oddly calm as he watched his fingers dissolve like a mist, this time not reappearing. It occurred to him as his hands vanished that he should be feeling some sort of pain, but he felt nothing except a tingly numbness.

Sarah and Michael could only gape helplessly when a moment later the rest of Daniel vanished. For a split second they could see the outline of his body like the hazy shimmer of a mirage in the desert sun and then he was gone.

The doctor pressed his index and middle fingers to the man’s wrist taking his pulse, an action born from his internship forty years ago before they had machines to more accurately time heart beats. His human touch only confirmed, as he sadly knew it would, what the monitor was urgently beeping at him. Life signs, without any warning, had suddenly and inexplicably dropped to half the normal rate. After all these years of fighting the battle to live, his patient’s body was finally (and blessedly) giving up.

For over seven long years the doctor had monitored his patient, reading no signs of improvement; watched as almost daily, visitors slipped into the private room at the end of the ward to check on him, none more heart wrenching than the boy, now a man, who spent hours at a time by his father’s side. Only once in all that time had he heard one of the regular visitor’s slip up and mention his patient’s real name. He surmised that at one point, before Ba’al had taken over their planet, the young man must have belonged to the patient’s unit, because he had used his surname, O’Neill, rather than his Christian name.

A nurse appeared by his side, silently taking in the decreased heart rate, the drop in blood pressure, the sluggish rise and fall of the colonel’s chest as his lungs fought to draw in air. "Shall I contact next of kin?" she asked softly.

"No. I’ll do it." Gently he placed the dying man’s hand back beneath the cotton sheet. He waited until the nurse had left, then dialed the number he had committed to memory, knowing that it wouldn’t be answered. Rather his attempt to phone would be diverted to a message bank and forwarded on to another number unknown to the doctor. He expected a return call within a few minutes, if not from the colonel’s son then from one of the other men, and he decided to wait in the room keeping vigil.

He watched the monitor, praying that O’Neill’s life signs wouldn’t drop any further, at least not until his boy had a chance to say his final goodbye. The doctor’s breath hitched when for a second the zigzagging line flat-lined then resumed its half speed rhythm. When it did it again after a few moments, the doctor turned his attention to his patient. "Come on, Colonel, don’t quit on me just yet."

He reached for the call button to notify the nurses’ station but his hand froze midway as the comatose man seemed to disappear before his eyes. A moment later he was back again, making the doctor think he was hallucinating. His eyes darted back to the monitor. But if he was hallucinating then the machine was coincidentally malfunctioning, for it was beeping loudly at the anomalous readings it was receiving. The doctor focused once again on the colonel who now had taken on a ghostly appearance, his body transparent so the crisp whiteness of the sheets and pillow beneath him were clearly visible.

As though that weren’t shocking enough, the doctor gave an undignified squeak when the comatose man’s eyes popped open, his gaze lucid and alert landing on the doctor bending over him. The colonel’s mouth tilted into a crooked half smirk and he uttered a single word.

"Sweet!"

Then the astounded doctor saw the apparition that was O’Neill dissolve before his eyes. The high pitched panicked beeping of the monitor that was no longer reading any life signs grated on the doctor’s already shot nerves and he numbly hit the button switching it off. He jumped a foot when almost immediately the shrill ring of the phone erupted in the silence. He fumbled for the receiver, not entirely sure that he’d be able to speak.

"Doctor, what’s happened?"

He recognized the voice and he drew in a haggard breath. "Um…CJ, I don’t quite know how to tell you this…"

A  A  A

She slid from the bed, being careful not to wake the being that forced her to share his bed each night. She picked up the silken robe draped over the golden chair in the corner and after pulling it on and tying the sash securely, crossed the gaudily decorated room to the wall length window to look out at the rising sun. A tap at one of the many glyphs that lined the side panel and a portion of the ‘glass’ silently opened. She stepped out onto the balcony.

This was the one time of the day she had to herself. A few stolen minutes of privacy where she wasn’t on show dressed in scantily clad costumes, chosen by Him, that more often than not were transparent, giving her not an ounce of modesty; when she didn’t have to kneel by His side like a dog waiting to be patted by its master. And especially, didn’t have to use her telekinetic ability against whatever poor soul He decided needed punishment. Gods, the things He had made her do! The torture, the screams of agony, the futile begging for forgiveness, haunted her dreams.

There was a whisper of fabric moving behind her. "What are you doing, My Beloved?"

"Watching the sunrise, My Lord." She stayed facing the view. She didn’t know why she was in such a belligerent mood today, for it was just a day like any other, but she found herself asking, "Why don’t you ever use my real name? I will never be Your Beloved no matter how many times you make me fuck you."

Rather than being annoyed, he was amused. "Because, My Beloved, I do not care for the name Annika." He reached around her and slowly pulled on one of the tasseled lengths holding her robe closed. He let it drop to the floor and languidly tugged the robe from her body so she was standing naked before him. "I could ask the same of you. You have never once called me by my name."

She had long ago learnt not to cringe away from his touch, and even though it made her skin crawl she remained placid when his hand brushed against her shoulder and down her back to cup her backside. "You have not ordered me to, My Lord. And I only do as bid."

His eyes flashed gold in irritation. "Very well, from now on when alone in my presence you are to address me by name."

"As you wish, Ba’al." Annika couldn’t stop the mocking lilt.

The Goa’uld’s other hand squeezed painfully at her breast and he pressed himself against her. "You forget yourself, My Beloved," He hissed in her ear.

It didn’t surprise her to feel His erection in the small of her back. "Oh, I’m sorry, Ba’al, you didn’t specify what tone I should I use. Do you want me to say it all simpering and dulcet? Like this," she dropped her voice drawing out His name. "Baa’aal."

He heard the condescending inflection. "I want you to say it with passion and mean it." Ba’al gripped her around the waist, nudging her legs apart with His knee and rubbed His hardened shaft down the crack of her buttocks.

This morning screw had become a ritual with the Goa’uld, something that was done like clockwork. If she were lucky then He would be sated until sunset. If not, then at any point in the day she may be called upon to pleasure Him wherever He saw fit. More times than she could count she had been forced to give Him a blowjob in a room full of people or had her face pressed against an alkesh wall while He hammered into her. As humiliating as it was she could put up with it, for it meant that for those minutes Ba’al was focused on her and not on the other people of her planet; no one else was getting hurt. A harsh laugh passed her lips. "That is something that will never happen, Ba’al. Unless it is the passion of hatred, for that will forever live inside me."

"Such insolence for so early in the morning," He purred, His finger looping beneath the collar around her neck and jerking it back to press against her windpipe. "How quickly you forget the lessons I have taught."

"Not insolence," Annika denied, the choking pressure against her throat making her voice ragged. "I speak naught but the truth, something you have commanded me to do. If I lie, your damned collar lets you know it. So I’m fucked either way."

"Yes, you are, My Beloved." This time He was mocking her.

Ba’al released His strangling hold on the collar and she sucked in much needed air into her lungs. Her gasp of pain was lost in the harsh breath as He plunged deep and hard into her unprepared well from behind. Annika automatically arched her back, moving her body in the pattern the Goa’uld preferred, pretending that she was turned on by the alien invading her. It was another trick she had brutally been forced to learn. The first few times He had taken her, she had lain there, defiantly remaining still and unresponsive to His touch, and strangely for reasons she couldn’t fathom, He had earnestly tried to arouse her. After the fourth time of her lying limp like a rag doll He had turned violent, and now Annika had become a master at faking it. She knew that Ba’al knew that every moan she emitted was not real. When He was in a particularly vindictive mood He would spend hours diligently coaxing her body to quiver with release, His eyes glowing with evil satisfaction at the humiliation that consumed her when her body’s automatic reaction to His stimulation made her cry out in a true orgasm. Always laughing at her self-hatred at her body’s betrayal.

It took only a few minutes for Ba’al’s hot seed to gush into her, then without further ado He strode back into His quarters. Annika picked up the robe, but didn’t put it back on. Her actions were now dictated by Him. If she covered her nakedness without His permission it could well earn her a beating. She watched from the balcony as He opened one of the hidden drawers in the far wall and perused the contents. He selected a creamy gossamer length of material and tossed it on the rumpled bed.

"You shall wear this today."

"As you wish, Ba’al." Annika moved to the bed and shook out the folds of the flimsy cloth. Of all the outfits that Ba’al had for her, this one was quite generous with the amount of material used, though it could in no way be considered modest. It had no seams rather it was a single strip, the main part of which wrapped around her hips. It was secured with a golden clasp, creating a long skirt with a split that left her leg bare as she walked, the rest of the material trailing on the floor behind her. There was an extra layer of cloth near the clasp as the ‘bodice’, which sat diagonally from her hip to the opposite shoulder, long enough for the tail to fall down beyond the back of her knees. It covered her breasts though there was not a second clasp to hold it in place. She would spend the day constantly making sure it did not slip off exposing her chest for all to see.

"You shall remain on the ha’tak this morning. Your presence is not required at Tur’el’ut."

"Yes, My Lord." She hesitated, adjusting the soft material on her shoulder. Dare she question the command? Tur’el’ut was the name He’d given to the primary dig site somewhere in Egypt that was currently occupying Ba’al’s time. He had over a dozen projects all over the globe that were unearthing artifacts and temples of Goa’uld origin, and she had been taken to all of them except for that one. "I find it curious that you have not asked me to read the auras of the workers at the site."

Annika wasn’t fooled. "I don’t think it has anything to do with the sun. There is something there you do not want me to see…" Her voice trailed off when the image of a man with dark blonde hair, bright blue eyes and glasses flashed in her mind. "Or someone."

Ba’al saw the projection of her vision above her head and quickly withdrew his hand from her.

"Touching someone with my gifts is a bitch, isn’t it?" Annika replied sweetly. "Who is he?"

"None of your concern," the Goa’uld growled.

"Now that’s a man who could make desire burn through my veins," she taunted, knowing the consequences of her jeer, was in fact counting on it. Instinct told her that she needed more information about the blue-eyed man and Ba’al was the only one who could provide it.

"Enough!" He roared, His hand swiping out to backhand her, the force of the blow making her fall to the bed.

Her violet eyes sparkled with triumph as another image flooded her mind. This one showed herself and the blonde man in the throws of passion. "Well, isn’t that interesting?" Her thumb wiped away the blood from the split lip He’d just given her. "Oh, I hope that premonition comes true."

Ba’al raised a fist ready to hit her again but He caught the gleam in her eye, daring Him to make physical contact with her. He lowered his hand and put some distance between them. "Beloved, you try my patience, but we shall…discuss…your intolerable disposition when I return." He swept from the room, giving orders to the Jaffa stationed at the entrance that she was not to be allowed to leave the room.

Annika flopped back on the bed, her mind focused on the blue-eyed man. There had been fear in Ba’al’s black depths when she had had that vision. A fear that she had only seen twice before. Both had been in the first year of Earth’s enslavement. She’d had separate visions, just flashes really, of a blonde woman and a man with brown hair flecked with gray. They belonged to the Air Force, a captain and a colonel. She had the feeling that those officers and the blue-eyed man were connected but her gift had been annoyingly vague, giving no details as to how.

She led herself through a deep meditation, concentrating on the three faces. Meditating helped her to decipher her visions without Ba’al being privy to her conclusions. The images changed into pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. A five piece puzzle. Her own face came into focus in the fourth piece. The fifth remained blank. So, she was connected to these people too. She wondered who the last, unknown person was, and how a mere five people could be a threat to Ba’al. Annika added the question to the mental list she had created. She had so many unanswered questions…How had Ba’al known of her psychic abilities in the first place? On the eve before his takeover of Earth, he had specifically had her hunted down. How had he known that she had the ability of telekinesis, something she herself had had no knowledge of? It had never even crossed her mind that such a phenomena existed outside the realm of Hollywood.

Still ensconce in the meditation she didn’t know that her body had begun to shimmer, flickering like a holo-gram with a dodgy power supply. She was vaguely aware of a tingly sensation rippling through her, but still trying to call forth the image of the fifth person in her puzzle, she ignored it. Behind her eyelids a face began to take shape…a dark man, with a gold emblem on his forehead. A Jaffa was the…

Before she could finish the thought Annika vanished into thin air. The jeweled collar dropped to the bed sheets, the only sign that she had even been in the room at all.

A  A  A

"There. That should just about do it." Sam wiped a weary hand across her brow, creating a grimy streak above her eye. "Siler, boot her up."

The wiry man, who was just as sweaty and dirty, nodded and began tapping at the console. He scanned the complex series of symbols that began scrolling down the computer screen. "So far, so good."

The blonde clambered to her feet beside him to confirm it. Her face broke out into a triumphant grin when the computer finished its diagnostic and flashed on the monitor that all systems were at a hundred percent efficiency. "All done, with," she glanced at her watch, "three hours to go. Damn, we’re good!"

"You know," Siler darted a glance at the Jaffa in the corridor and lowered his voice. "Sometimes I think Ba’al gives us these tasks hoping that we’ll fail."

Sam agreed. They had been given a day to do a complete overhaul of the dialup computer, a job that the Goa’uld knew would normally take at least two days. Siler, herself and a dozen other people had worked through the night to get it done. "Well, this time we’ve been able to pull a rabbit out of our hat." She frowned at the console that controlled the Stargate, wondering for the umpteenth time why Ba’al bothered maintaining it. She’d been taken to another planet a few years back and had seen the smaller, more efficient device that dialed the planet address; a device that had not been found on Earth. Why didn’t Ba’al just take a dialing device from one of the uninhabited planets in the galaxy and install it here?

"Who knows why ‘Our Lord’ does anything?" Siler’s tone was dry.

"Sorry, did I say that out loud?" Sam shook her head. "That’s what sleep deprivation does to me. Time to hit the showers and then I’m off to bed."

"Sounds good."

The pair headed for the corridor, only to have the Jaffa block their path. "Our Lord requires an explanation for the haphazard power fluctuations."

Sam sighed. "Like I told you yesterday, and the day before that, I don’t know."

"You designed the program ergo you should know the reason."

"Fine," she responded shortly, trying to push her way passed the warrior. "Tell Ba’al that gremlins have infested the wiring."

The Jaffa grabbed her roughly by the arm. "Gremlins?"

"Nasty creatures that cause chaos and destroy everything in sight," she answered seriously. "Hmmm, kind of like you and your god."

His hand tightened painfully around her bicep. "Need I remind you of the consequences of failure?"

"Look, your can threaten me with killing the entire population of Earth and it won’t make a scrap of difference," Sam retorted hotly. "Humans need sleep to function properly and I haven’t had any for over thirty-six hours because I was doing a task personally given to me by Ba’al himself and not his First Lackey. If Ba’al wants a reason for the power fluctuations, that have had no adverse effects to the Stargate or the dialing computer, then he would have made that a priority over the routine overhaul. As it stands it can wait until I and my team have gotten some rest."

For a moment the two glared at each other, then the warrior pushed her away from him. "You have four hours to sleep, then you get back to work."

Without acknowledging the timeframe Sam strode down the corridor heading for the elevator.

Siler scurried after her. He waited until the lift doors had shut before speaking. "Jesus, Sam, what’s got into you?"

The blonde heaved a sigh, hitting the button that would take them to the twenty-fifth level of the underground base. "I don’t know. I just can’t take groveling to Ba’al and his goons anymore."

"Groveling keeps us alive," Siler pointed out.

"Alive yes, but we don’t have a life." She didn’t try to hide her bitterness.

Siler really couldn’t dispute that so he kept silent. When they reached the locker room he tossed Sam a towel, but paused in the entrance that led off to the men’s showers. He had a nagging question in the back of his mind. "Sam, you know what the cause of the power fluctuations is, don’t you?"

Sam cautiously poked her head around the doorway to make sure no Jaffa were in earshot. "I have a theory."

"Why haven’t you told First Lackey?"

"Because I need to come up with an alternate explanation to hide it," she whispered.

"Why? What do you think it is?" Siler matched her tone.

"It’s muted, but the resonance is identical to the Stargate at the moment the wormhole engages."

Siler frowned in confusion. "So it’s a malfunction with the Stargate, not the computer?"

Sam shook her head. "I don’t think it’s a ‘malfunction’ at all. The Stargate gives that power reading every time we activate it." The technician opened his mouth to ask the first question that popped into his head, but she hurried on knowing what it would be. "Even if First Lackey knew the first thing about how the Stargate works he wouldn’t notice the similarity because it’s hidden amongst the energy readings our jerry-rigged dialing computer emits."

Siler was still two steps behind the astrophysicist. "But the Stargate isn’t active when the fluctuations occur."

"That Stargate," she pointed to the floor indicating the stone ring levels below them, "isn’t active."

Comprehension dawned and he whispered excitedly. "You think there’s another Stargate on Earth?"

Sam nodded, her eyes sparkling. "Yep, one that Ba’al doesn’t know about and has the original dialing device."

"Who do you think has it?" Siler accepted the theory, for logically it made sense.

"I’m hoping our former colleagues." Sam referred to the armed services to which both herself and Siler had proudly belonged to before Ba’al had outlawed them.

Siler contemplated the implications of having human control of a second Stargate. Even if they were just using it to evacuate as many people as they could, it was worth the risk of trying to keep it hidden. Best case scenario they’d find allies willing to help overthrow Ba’al. Worst case, another Goa’uld was in control and was planning an incursion, and the people of Earth would be swapping one ‘god’ for another. "Between the two of us we should be able to come up with a red herring."

The former captain didn’t need to voice the warning that no one else could be brought into the fold to help them. If their deception were discovered, Ba’al’s punishment would be swift and merciless and wouldn’t be against Sam and Siler. If they were lucky ‘only’ their family and friends would pay the price. If unlucky…well, Ba’al had been known to wipe out entire cities on a whim. "If we can’t, then maybe there’s a way to block the fluctuations from showing up on the computer." Her last few words were muffled by a yawn she’d been unable to stop. She gave an apologetic smile.

Siler grinned back. "Four hours of refreshing sleep and we’ll be able to take on the world."

"Here’s hoping." Sam headed for the women’s showers, already undoing the buttons of her shirt.

Once in the cubicle she turned on the taps and while the waiting for the water to heat up, stripped off the rest of her clothes. Gratefully she stepped under the shower, letting the hot needles of water massage the tight strip of muscles across her shoulders and neck. Tension had become her constant companion since the day Ba’al had invaded the planet. Did she even remember what it was like to wake up in the morning without fear and dread and anger? Um…nope, she mentally answered herself. That was a long forgotten concept, right along with the terms relax, peace and freedom.

Sam rested her forehead against the tiles, fighting back the despair that threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn’t give up hope. There was always a way out of any situation, no matter how long it took. And that power fluctuation represented hope and had to be protected at all costs. She drew in a calming breath only to have her head spin. "Whoa." The blonde grabbed at the taps to steady herself, assuming her unbalance was due to pure exhaustion. After a moment her head cleared and she reached for the soap. Lathering the bar between her hands seemed to take an awful lot of effort, her limbs oddly heavy and lethargic. She concentrated on the simple task, keeping her eyes open, hoping the visual contact would keep her focused.

The first time her hand vanished she dismissed it as a trick, that her vision had blurred because of the water cascading down on her head. When it happened again, she muttered, "Man, now I know I really need to sleep." The next time, the bar of soap nestled in the flat of her palm dropped to the tiles when her hand became transparent, falling right through what should have been solid skin, bone and tendons. Too tired to be anything but aggravated at the bizarre event, she bent to scoop it up. "What the hell is going on?"

Her hand swept right through the creamy cake. Recognition of the impossibility of what her eyes were showing her sent a jolt of adrenaline through the scientist’s brain. "Holy Hannah! Hey, Siler! Come have a look at-"

It only took a few seconds for Siler, who was just drying off, to come running into the bathroom at his friend’s excited cry, a towel hurriedly wrapped around his hips, glasses perched crookedly on his nose. "Sam?" He skidded to the only cubicle that had water running and flung open the door. The steam of the water fogged up his glasses and he fumbled to turn the taps off. "Sam, where are you? This is not funny!"

As the haze cleared, the former tech sergeant could only gaze around in bewilderment at the now empty stall. Ooookay, either Sam managed to squeeze down the plughole, or she has vanished into thin air. He didn’t think First Lackey would believe either of those theories. Right, gotta’ think of a logical reason… He had a whole three hours and forty-four minutes before First Lackey came looking for them. Sure, no sweat, a piece of cake…

A  A  A

"My Lord, the first contingent are cloaked and in position ready for your arrival on the morrow."

"Good work, Teal’c," Apophis praised his First Prime. "What of the second?"

"Minor repairs are still being conducted to the cloaks and shields, however they will be completed within the hour before we are in range of Ba’al’s sensors."

The Goa’uld nodded in acknowledgement. He thoughtfully sipped wine from a gold chalice. "Teal’c, tell me, what do you think of this Ka’laeti’is Ba’al has requested?" He referred to the commemoration summit that had not been performed since the days of Ra, but which Ba’al had decided to revive, and invited him and a dozen others to attend.

"I am suspicious of god’s bearing gifts." The Jaffa considered his words carefully. Apophis had oft sought his opinion on military strategy, however rarely wanted insight on another god’s motivation. "I believe your decision to send concealed troops in advance is a sound one. Lord Ba’al is…untrustworthy."

A humorless smile tilted Apophis’ lips. "All of my brethren are untrustworthy."

"Yes, My Lord," Teal’c gave a single nod. "However, Lord Ba’al is more so. His actions in the last few years have been devious, though for what purpose I cannot tell."

"You refer to Abydos," Apophis mused. It was a puzzle he too had yet to solve, though he would not admit that to the warrior before him, no matter how trusted his First Prime was.

"Indeed, My Lord," Teal’c confirmed. "He has not suitably answered how he knew of Lord Ra’s demise, nor why he forwarded on the knowledge to you rather than claim Lord Ra’s holdings for himself."

Apophis took the tone of teacher explaining to a student. "Ba’al knew what my response would be. Perhaps he hoped that the slaves of Abydos would destroy me as they did Ra."

"A plan that miscarried for you were able to resume control of Abydos with relative ease and doubled your conquests with the remaining of Lord Ra’s worlds."

The Goa’uld nodded, hearing the respect in his warrior’s voice for the accomplishment. "Yet it was a cunning distraction, for Ba’al was able to reclaim the First World."

"My Lord, forgive my impudence," Teal’c bowed his head in subservience, "but why is domination of the First World of such importance? There is no naquadah to mine, and it is only one small planet in an otherwise uninhabited system."

"The First World is the prize of all planets, for it is from whence the first of our worshippers were born." The alien refrained from mentioning that it was more a case of where the Goa’uld had realized their true and rightful positions as Gods. Ra, as the first to discover the versatility of taking a human host, had ruled the Goa’uld he had invited to share this newfound superiority, with an iron fist. And for a time the lesser Goa’uld had acquiesced out of gratitude for him finding a cure to the their species’ extinction. But it had not lasted long. Especially once the treasures left behind by the Ancient Ones had started to be unearthed. Then it had become a battle of wills and might between the Gods, of who could find, steal or hoard the most technology. While they had squabbled amongst themselves the slaves of the planet had banded together and revolted, forcing them from the planet. "It is the key to galactic domination. Much technological wealth remains hidden on that small planet."

Teal’c remained silent, contemplating his god’s words. He had a pretty good idea of what was coming next.

"Teal’c, alert the fleets to alter their positions from the defensive to the offensive. They are to wait until the performance of the Dor’maeti’us is concluded, to lull him into a false sense of security. Then they are to fire upon the primary bases Ba’al has set up on the First World."

"I shall relay the orders immediately, My Lord." The First Prime gave a sharp nod. "Might I suggest the reserve contingent be recalled from Chulak to assist? Bra’tac informs me the Jaffa there have finished their training and are hungry to experience battle."

Apophis agreed to the request. "My victorious retaking of the First World shall be a fine campaign to cut their teeth on." He flicked his hand in dismissal.

Teal’c rapped his fist against his chest in salute and strode from the room, the clank of his boots resounding loudly off the walls. He first informed the two fleets that their mission had changed from one of protection to an all out assault. Then he altered the frequency of the long range communication device to contact his home planet. While he waited for the Jaffa on Chulak monitoring incoming transmissions to fetch his one time mentor, he turned to the Jaffa in the room with him who had been standing post at the ha’tak’s Chaapa’ai. "Go, spread the word to the Jaffa on board. Tomorrow we take the First World in the name of our god."

The warriors hurried from the room, instantly obeying the man who was second only to their god.

Teal’c listened until their footsteps were just an echo before closing the chamber door and activating a proximity alarm set to a meter from the entrance. By the time he turned back around, the battle-scarred face of his teacher was looking back at him through the sphere balancing in the gaping maw of the Chaapa’ai. "Tec’ma’te, Master Bra’tac," he greeted.

"Tec’ma’te, Teal’c," Bra’tac responded, his gaze taking in at a glance the empty room Teal’c stood in and the anticipatory sheen to his former student’s eyes. "You have news?"

"The time has come, my old friend," he informed him. "We shall not have a better opportunity than this." He quickly outlined Apophis’s plan to launch an attack on the First World. "You and your ‘trainees’ are to join us for the battle."

Bra’tac couldn’t stop his smirk at the emphasized word; knew that Teal’c was not referring to the group of green young pups who had been recruited into service to Apophis and been left under his tutelage to become Jaffa. His ‘trainees’ were in fact seasoned warriors who had pledged themselves to himself and Teal’c, waiting for the perfect moment to strike out against the tyrannical rule of the false gods. "You are positive they all will be in attendance?"

Teal’c nodded. "All twelve have confirmed they will be present. Ba’al makes thirteen."

"And all in the same room at the same time."

"We can coordinate our attack to Apophis’s. Both sides will be focused on each other and our people can slip in and destroy the Goa’uld."

It pained both men to know that many of their kind would be killed during the fight, whether they be the Jaffa of Ba’al, Apophis or any other Goa’uld. Just as they knew that should they try to convert those same Jaffa, enlighten them to the fact that they were in the service of false gods who were nothing more than scavenging parasites, they would turn the blasphemous shol’va over to the Goa’uld. The rebels would however, try to spare any needless death to the Tau’ri, hence the reason why they were going to go in physically rather than an air strike with a bomb.

A shrill short beep interrupted them, alerting the two coconspirators that someone approached.

When the door slid open to reveal the Jaffa returning from their task, Bra’tac spoke. "As Our Lord commands, we shall leave within the hour."

The two friends tilted their heads formally in farewell, and Teal’c deactivated the sphere. He raised an expectant eyebrow at the men standing to attention.

"All Jaffa have been informed."

Teal’c gave a curt nod. "You would do well to attend a sparring session when you are relieved of duty, to hone your fighting skills. They will be needed before the sun sets tomorrow."

"Yes, Master Teal’c." Both warriors clanged fists to chests.

Teal’c strode from the room, intending to follow his own advice and put himself through a rigorous workout of Mastaba, for one could never be too prepared for combat. As he hit the glyph of the lift to take him to the converted flight deck that acted as the training room during extended periods in space, the prim’ta in his belly squirmed. There was little in the way of communication between the infant Goa’uld and man, but over the decades he had learned to identify simplistic base emotions that the prim’ta felt. Right now it was in severe discomfort, a sure sign that it was fighting an infection of some sort. Becoming ill was not an option for the warrior, not on the eve of the battle against their enslavement. Teal’c changed the destination of his descent to the living quarters. A session of kelnoreem should assist the prim’ta in the healing process and restore his strength.

Entering his private cell, he dimmed the lights and peeled off his armor. Dressed in only a loincloth, he carefully lit the candles dotted around the room then settled himself cross-legged on the floor. Gradually he cleared his mind, the ritual of the deep meditation as easy to him as breathing. Focusing on slowing his heartbeat he was unaware that his body had begun to flicker in much the same way as the flames of the candles around him. What he was aware of, was that his prim’ta, rather than being calmed, was becoming more and more agitated with every breath exhaled. The gold crest on his dark brow creased in concern. What malady have I been infected with that my prim’ta cannot heal? His muscles and joints began to tingle, followed by a heavy numbness. No! Tomorrow we take our freedom, I must fight…

The First Prime didn’t finish the determined thought, his body, mind and soul simply vanishing from the ha’tak in the blink of an eye.