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Runaway To Hell

Chapter Eleven

Veta removed the knife, wiping the blade clean on the now dead man's shirt. He'd never been one for small talk, giving his targets time to retaliate or plead innocence or pathetically beg for their lives. By his reckoning, if the person had screwed up enough that Veta had to pay a visit, then they knew damned well what they had done and what the consequences would be. He just moved in swiftly and silently doing what he had to do.

From his pocket he pulled out a palm-sized scanner. Studied the screen for a moment. A tiny blip was pulsing. He ran the scanner over the torso of the body with no change to the blip. Extended his scan to the man's legs. When it reached his feet the pulse sped up but it still wasn't as steady as it should have been. Slowly he waved the scanner away from the bed. The homing beacon led him to the closet. Opening the door, the pulsing blip solidified. It took only a few seconds for the security man to search the set of clothes hanging within, locating the tiny disc. Even though he had the proof of the man's idiocy in his hand he still couldn't believe Lucas had been so stupid.

Slipping the disc into his coat pocket, he sensed more than heard a presence behind him. Slowly he turned, his gaze going directly to the shadow in the alcove. Warily he met the woman's eyes, recognizing her for who and what she was. She took a small step forward. That she kept her hands by her side was the only reason Veta hadn't struck already. "Are you still going to honor the contract?"

Dark eyes flickered to the body. "It seems the Guild no longer has a client."

That didn't exactly answer his question. "His brother just inherited a fortune though he doesn't know it yet."

"His brother wasn't the client and I doubt that he would want the contract transferred." The representative of the Liquidators Guild let her amusement show. "I was sent to nullify it."

"Why?" Veta pressed. He wanted positive reassurance that Mahj'arc no longer was a target.

"Breach of contract." Slim shoulders gave a graceful shrug. "The client did not inform us that your boss had a Slayer of the Gods on his payroll. Had the Committee known that they would not have opened negotiations let alone accepted the contract."

Veta barely batted an eyelid, though he was shocked by the reference. His mind kicked into overdrive. She could only mean Myst. How did the Guild know her? Obviously they must have had an agent observing the assassination. But Myst had barely been recognizable beneath her robe with her altered appearance. They must have seen the rest of SG-1 who weren't in disguise, and assumed they were running with her rather than after her. All of those conclusions spun around one more important fact. This assassin had more information about SG-1, Myst's family, than he did. "Why would our...independent contractor...cause such concern?"

Another shrug. "Not concern...more a professional respect. The spillover of the Goa'uld into our quadrant has greatly diminished since the Slayers were formed. The Guild has no desire to stop that. The Goa'uld inconvenience business."

"How much would it cost for you to tell me everything you know about the Slayers?"

"The cost is dependent on how much you want it." Her reply was cool, though her mind was thinking how interesting the last few days had been. The Guild Committee was never happy to lose a member; it was generally bad for business when the assassin was assassinated so publicly. They had investigated but had been unable to identify who the mystery interventionist had been. Imagine her glee when a former associate from her early days had contacted her out of the blue regarding the botched assassination. Between the two of them, pooling what knowledge they each had, they had deduced that the woman was the newest member of SG-1, whose infamy was spreading throughout the galaxy, especially since they had dealt with Anubis. It had been a step up the Guild ladder for her to be able to impart that conclusion to the Committee. As a reward they had assigned her to nullify the contract. She had returned the favor to Boch by giving him a two hour window so that he could interrogate Lucas to get whatever information he required. For the barest of moments it did tweak at her conscience that she hadn't been able to honor that window, then the feeling was gone. Could she help it if the target's lackey proved to be industrious in the pursuit of revenge?

Veta slipped his knife into its sheath. "How about we negotiate a price in more pleasant surroundings?"

She gave a nod. Slowly gestured for Veta to move from the room ahead of her.

The security man gave a snort of derision. "Lady, do I look as stupid as the Lucas brothers?"

A husky chuckle escaped. "I already know that you're not. We have extensive knowledge of the Empyrean Loft's business." She held out her right hand in compromise. "I'll hold your knife hand and you can hold mine. We can walk out of here as two sweethearts. It's a perfect disguise for anyone who might be watching."

Not for anyone who knows me, Veta thought, but he gave a nod. As they left the rundown apartment side-by-side, his ingrained sense of fair play kicked in. "I suppose I should tell you I'm ambidextrous."

"So am I," she quipped then professional curiosity made her ask, "How did you locate Lucas the elder?"

"Probably the same way you did," Veta replied. "Man on the ground doing a lot of leg work. The Lucas brothers suffer from two genetic flaws. An unlucky hand at dice and stupidity. I knew one of the brothers would slip up eventually."

"Which one did for you?"

Veta gestured with his head to the dead man in the building. "Would you believe he still had his gaming chip on him? Of course we'd disabled it from our invite list as soon as we figured out who had hired the hit, but we can still track it. When I came to get a report from my man, Lucas lit up like a beacon as soon as my shuttle came into range. You?"

"The younger. He wasn't very discreet when he was bringing supplies." She brought the topic to more important things than a closed assignment. "Now, how badly do you want information on these Slayers?"

And so began a careful dance of negotiation. Had they delayed for but a few seconds they would have seen the subjects of their haggling skulk towards the building they had just left.

A A A

"I'm still working my contact for details on the target. All she would tell me is that he owns an exotic pleasure ship."

"That's pretty piss poor intel, Boch, for the price we're paying." Jack released the speaker button and waited for the reply.

"It's all a game, O'Neill. One wrong move and I wind up dead and I'm quite partial to living," Boch sniped. "And I'd bet my payment that what information I have is more than what you've got."

Jack wouldn't admit the truth to that declaration. "So you're just calling to gloat that you haven't even got a name for this ship?"

"I have the current location of the man who put out the hit." Boch didn't try to hide his smugness. "His name is Lex Lucas. He went into hiding after the botched assassination. I'm sending you the planet coordinates and street address now."

That's more like it, Jack thought, getting confirmation from Walter that the intel was coming through.

"I've been given a two hour window to pay him a visit before the Guild nullifies the contract."

"Starting from when?"

"Thirty-five minutes ago."

"And you're only telling us now?"

"I don't have a Stargate in my pocket for immediate transmissions," Boch drawled.

Jack glanced at Hammond, who was already reaching for the microphone to issue the order for the rest of SG-1 to immediately gear up.

"O'Neill, I consider this enough for your team to honor our bargain."

The team leader didn't hear him; he was bounding down the stairs heading for the armory.

Hammond responded in his stead. "It's not a done deal until we have the details of this pleasure ship."

"I put myself at great personal risk and expense to get that information."

"So it's no different from any other day for you. When you have the intel we need then we'll talk." The general gave the nod to cut off the transmission. He wasn't at all happy about the deal that had been struck. He understood why SG-1 was willing to accept such an open ended agreement that could have them doing practically anything, however he expected to have more solid intel before he'd let his primary team go to Boch's beck and call.

In less than ten minutes SG-1 was impatiently waiting for the Stargate to lock on the final chevron. The second the event horizon settled the team was walking through it.

"Oh come, give us a break," Jack groused, surveying the rabbit warren of streets they emerged in.

"Don't suppose Boch provided directions?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Nope. Okay, campers, let's spread out and start asking if anyone's heard of this street."

The four of them split up. After fifteen minutes of polite and not-so-polite head shakes from the citizens, Daniel finally found a little old lady who was willing to point them in the right direction. What seemed like hours but in reality were only minutes, they were climbing the stairs of a rundown three story apartment block.

"Not exactly the Ritz," Jack murmured, taking in the peeling paint of the halls. And from what they'd seen navigating the twists and turns of the streets, this place actually was a step up from the slums surrounding it. "You'd think if he could afford to put out a hit he could hide out on a planet with a bit of style."

"Guess he thought this would be the last place anyone would look for him," Sam replied.

"That's not a good sign." Daniel hid a sigh as they reached the top of the final flight of stairs to see the door of the apartment they wanted wide open.

Weapons that had been drawn since they had set foot in the complex were now gripped tightly as the team cautiously entered the apartment. What they presumed would have been the living room had there been any furniture, was empty. They split up into pairs, Jack and Daniel taking the rooms on the left. The kitchen was clear and while Jack made sure there were no surprises in the cupboards and pantry, Daniel moved to the next room.

"Don't we still have a good forty minutes of our supposed window?" he called back softly to Jack.

"According to Boch," Jack confirmed, closing a cupboard on a small stash of canned and dried food.

"Well, I guess nobody told this guy that," Daniel sighed. By the time he had checked the closet to make sure no one was hiding inside, Jack had joined him and was staring at the body lying on the bed.

"I'll take a wild guess and say this is Lex Lucas. How inconsiderate of him to go and get himself nullified before we could have our chat." He noticed the blood on and around the body showed no sign of congealing. Tentatively he touched the man's skin. "Still warm."

"Sir, the window in the spare room has been jimmied open from the outside," Sam returned from the sweep of the rest of the apartment. Ignoring the stab of frustration and disappointment at finding their lead a literal dead end, she strode into the room. Just because they couldn't talk to Lucas didn't mean he wouldn't tell them anything. They would just have to get a little more creative. Began searching his body.

Daniel had the same idea. The closet hadn't been completely empty, there was a change of clothes hanging on the rail and the archaeologist started searching the pockets.

Jack was about to start a search of the room itself when he heard Teal'c call his name. He followed the sound of the Jaffa's voice to the bathroom to see him pointing his P-90 up at the ceiling. A roofing panel was slightly ajar.

The general nodded, also raising his gun, indicating that he'd cover his teammate while he checked it out. Teal'c silently climbed onto the washbasin, resting one foot against the wall for balance. Cautiously he slid the panel aside with one hand, keeping his gun raised. When there was no sign of movement from within, he peeked inside. The subtle relaxing of his shoulders told Jack that there was no threat inside.

Teal'c poked his head in deeper, something in the corner catching his eye. A patch of roofing tiles had been removed. His gaze dropped down to the fresh tracks in the dust, showing evidence of a body having slid through the crawl space. "There is a second entry point."

"Why would there be two points of entry?" Jack mused aloud, then muttered a curse as his mind answered his own question. There had been two 'visitors' to the late fugitive, working independently. Boch wouldn't give them deliberate misinformation, not when his payment was riding on the outcome. Which meant either the bounty hunter's contact had arrived after the mystery guest had killed Lucas or had been unable to stop them. "Crap. Boch didn't screw us."

Daniel, carrying a knapsack he'd found under the bed, raised a perplexed eyebrow at his friend's reaction. Out of the numerous things to be pissy about in the last few minutes, that option hadn't even made his short list. "Why is that a bad thing?"

"Because now I have to take back all the nasty things I was thinking about him," Jack groused.

"He's still a lowlife who would sell his own mother to the highest bidder, if that's any help," Daniel reminded. He held up the bag. "There are papers here, ledgers...I think they might be the equivalent of bank books and such. Looks like he just grabbed what he could without sorting them out before he went into hiding. I should be able to translate them. There's bound to be something that identifies his home. We can see if he has any relatives we can question."

Jack hid a grin. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the Daniel Jackson who drives me batty with his eternal optimism! For the last five days, since that cursed journal had been locked away and the hocus pocus dream, his friend had reverted back to his usual self, despite their leads having dried up until today. In fact he had noticed that all of them, himself included, were filled with a renewed sense of positive determination. "Sweet. Another lead to follow up."

"I scanned the room." Sam joined them, holding the atmospheric reader that was part of her standard off-world kit. "There are minute traces of the same energy signature from where the target transported from the planet." She also carried what seemed to be a crumpled newspaper, though the 'paper' looked more like plastic. "This was partly under the body. It’s too advanced to be locally made. I'd say it was from his home planet."

"Okay, let's head back home with our goodies."

Retracing their steps they doggedly banished the knowledge that they had missed their interrogation by mere minutes, for either Lucas or the Guild agent who could have been just as useful. They had leads to follow up, and while it would take longer now, they were one step closer to their goal.

A A A

"Mahj'arc, will we be stopping anytime soon at a planet with a Stargate?"

He looked up with a frown at her strained tone. "We're picking up some supplies in about an hour. Is everything alright?"

"I...I need to send an urgent message." Annika twisted her hands together.

To Mahj'arc it looked like she was trying to hold herself down from taking flight. He didn't realize just how true that thought was.

It was taking every ounce of Annika's control not to astral travel to the SGC. She'd been meditating, a task that was becoming more and more difficult everyday, when she'd had a vision of one of the teams being killed in an earthquake. She'd gleaned enough to know that the mission hadn't started yet, but it had definitely been approved and a team would be sent unless she could warn them. "Will there be enough room for me to go down on the shuttle?"

"Shuttling is a little outdated," Mahj'arc said, reaching over to the locked drawer of his desk. He pressed his thumb to the tiny panel that was only programmed to respond to his and Veta's prints. When it opened he removed a flat disc the size of a dime. "We use beaming technology. It saves time and is more friendly on the back. The transport pad for the staff is in cargo bay three. To get back on the ship, all you need to do is give the disc a quarter turn and it will pick you up from any location within range. Just give me a moment to activate the disc."

"Thank you." She tried to quell the knot of anxiety that had formed in her stomach. "I'll only need to be there for a few seconds. Just long enough to dial a 'gate address."

He accessed the required program, allocating the serial number of the disc to her name, all the while watching her from the corner of his eye. She had been getting jumpier over the last couple of days and there had been a few times where he had seen a look of pure panic reflected in her eyes. Hesitated before handing the device to her. "You will be coming back, won't you?"

Her head nod was a little too slow for his liking. Searched for a way to make sure she did return. "The supply planet is a colony to Waldern." At her blank look he clarified, "Waldern is name of the planet where our paths met. If your team is systematic in their search for you they will have discovered that."

Annika's brow furrowed. It was a slim risk that anyone from the SGC would be there, but then what were the odds of SG-1 being on Waldern when she had been there twelve days ago? With how doggedly the death visions were haunting her, coming more and more frequently now, it was like a time bomb ticking down. She couldn't take the risk that the supply planet would be where the countdown finally stopped. "When will we be away from this sector?"

For the briefest of moments he considered lying to keep her on board, then dismissed it. If she caught him out, as she probably would, he had no doubt that she would be gone as soon as they docked on the supply planet. "Two ports from now. Tonight is the rescheduled stop at Waldern. Tomorrow we'll be docking at Feronia Prime. It's four planet systems away."

Her conscience wouldn't let her risk a team's life for the selfish reason of the remote possibility of her being caught. She'd dress in her disguise, and be on and off the planet in a few seconds…she'd be fine. But the SGC's probability of knowing of the supply planet also brought to light that she could no longer delay moving on. Annika was tempted to play on Mahj'arc's gratitude to switch the schedule around. He had repeatedly offered to give some sort of payment for her work with Sachee and for saving his life. And yet she couldn't bring herself to ask the question, no matter how strong the urge to leave was. "Feronia Prime," she repeated the name. It was unfamiliar to her and she had read pretty much all of the mission reports at the SGC. "I'll be leaving when we get there."

Mahj'arc studied her for a long moment. "There's nothing I can say or do to get you to stay, is there?"

She shook her head. "I've done what I can for Sachee, there's nothing more that I can teach her about her gift."

"Keep that," he gestured to the transporter disc. "If you ever need anything, or just want to stop in to say hi, use it. It'll start to pulse when we enter the sector you're in, when it becomes a solid light we're in transporter range."

"Thank you." Annika gave him a grateful smile then hurriedly left before he could see the tears that pricked her eyes. When she had abandoned her life on Earth, she had never expected to form any kind of relationship with anyone she came across, let alone the friendship that had developed with Mahj'arc, Veta and Sachee. She willed herself not to cry, cursing how emotionally unstable she had become. Any kind of emotion was getting harder and harder to control. Whether it be happiness or heartache, she was constantly on the verge of tears.

She ignored the silent mantra that was once again her constant companion, telling her to keep moving, and tried to logically reassess her conviction that Sachee really would be okay if she left. The last thing she needed was to have the guilt of abandoning another person who relied on her. Ran through the progress the young seer had made. Once again she thought how truly remarkable it was how quickly she had learned. One incident repeated in her head from yesterday.

Sachee had picked up on Annika's animosity towards her mother. That in itself wasn't surprising and thankfully the girl hadn't picked up on the reason for the feelings. However, when she had looked Annika directly in the eye saying, "Your sight is cloudy because of what things have happened to you," Annika knew she was gaining a firm grasp on interpreting her visions. There hadn't been an ounce of doubt in the girl's voice. It had prompted Annika to seek out Rinnie and finally listen to the explanation of the ‘affair’. It had turned out to be rape by blackmail. When Mahj'arc and Veta were just starting their business venture, they had a backer who had fronted the money for them to buy the ship and had opened the door to the clients with the big bank accounts. The backer had threatened to call in the loan and give Mahj'arc and Veta's names to the authorities if Rinnie didn't sleep with him. So she had had sex with the man until every last dime of the loan had been paid back. She in turn had then blackmailed the backer that if he ever set foot on the ship again, she would tell her husband what he had forced her to do. A few weeks later Rinnie had discovered she was pregnant and fear of paternity had kept her from revealing the truth for all these years.

Yes, Sachee would be okay dealing with her gifts, and more importantly she had a strong support structure that now included both of her parents to help her. Annika could leave with a clear conscience. She glanced at her watch; she needed to prepare her message to send to the SGC. It wouldn't do much to help the guilt she was feeling about her home, but at least it wouldn't make it any worse. Once that was done, she'd start working on a game plan on what she would do in two days. Started weighing the pros and cons of purchasing a ship. Something small but fast. That way she wouldn't be bound to travel just to the planets with Stargates. Her team wouldn't be expecting that...

A A A

Ferretti gave his head a shake. What the fuck are we doing here? They had been told to 'go forth and trade', not 'go forth and explore', which was SG-2's usual directive. They were a frontline exploration team...save the fair damsel, shoot and get chased by Jaffa, not 'I'll give you a buck for that hair do-dad'. He glanced around the bustling Mecca of stalls. And trade for fucking what? There was nothing here that they didn't already have on Earth. In fact what they had at home was of a better quality and a higher technology.

They had spent the better part of the day wandering the main part of the city. Shakespeare, the most diplomatic of the team, had tried in vain to open negotiations for the most useful item they'd found, which really only was a new variety of fruit. But the city folk had been standoffish to the point of being rude, the toffee nosed prats. The team had eventually set their sights lower by going through the seedier parts of town. The people and stalls here had more the look of traveling nomads, more often than not the patterns of their robes were dirt and stains of things Ferretti didn't even want to imagine. The only thing they had gained for their efforts was a new variety of rotten smells and a healthy appreciation for that wonderful invention called soap.

A breeze snaked between the people and the major wrinkled his nose. He'd had enough of this shit. "This is a bust. Brooklyn, hang a right and head back to the 'gate."

The captain nodded, trying not to gag as he caught a whiff of god knew what. "No arguments here."

The team picked up the pace eager to get to the cleaner part of the city and even more eager to return home. The street vendors disappeared to be replaced by actual shops, and the clientele were a bit more refined. Hardly anyone paid the strangers with the odd clothes any mind, busily going about their daily business. They were heading deeper down the street, when the wind carried more than a cool gust of air.

A sound that was more suited to the 'rabble' of the street market they'd just escaped than the 'refinement' of this part of town.

Ferretti stopped short. "Hold up."

The order wasn't needed, for the rest of the team were already straining to hear the sound again, heads cocked and eyes darting around the throng of people.

"That is what I think it is, isn't it?" Ferretti whispered.

"Just to be clear," Dodger said. "No one from Earth has been here before, right?"

"Not as far as we know," Ferretti replied then his expression turned speculative. "No one officially has been here...but someone could have wandered through." He'd admit that it was pretty fucking thin that Cupid had happened to be on this planet at some point and yet that song...

"You think it could be Annika?" Brooklyn's voice was filled with the same doubt and hope of the team leader's thoughts.

"Where else would they have got an Earth song?" Nyan had learned that his adopted planet's music was quite distinctive. It could have been a fluke that another species had composed a melody that was similar but to have the same lyrics made the odds miniscule.

Brooklyn's eyes widened as a memory skirted his mind. "And that particular song, it has to have come from her." The word had spread like wildfire that Annika was being screwed with by some unknown being. Could this be a desperate attempt by Annika sending a coded message? With her hocus pocus anything was possible and he'd be buggered if he was going to ignore it, no matter how unlikely. The captain didn't need to look at his teammates to know they were on the same wavelength.

Dodger gestured with his head to the left as the sound came again. "Coming from that way."

Hearts thumping, the four men began heading down the lane, hoping to hear the sound again.

Another gust of wind and they caught the familiar smell of old beer emanating from a building on the street corner followed with a louder, longer warble.

"The melody's a little off," Nyan winced as the baritone voice hit an off-key note.

"It could be the rumors are true," Dodger whispered as they paused just inside the entrance of bar, scanning the inside of the darkened room that was filled with a haze of smoke.

"What rumors?" Ferretti asked, identifying the source of the tune. "Tall drink of water at the bar."

"That Elvis didn't die, he just returned to his home planet."

Brooklyn's snort of laughter caused some of the patrons to look up from their drinks to stare at the newcomers, but not their Elvis impersonator singing into his tankard.

The team approached the man, who only looked up when Ferretti sat down beside him. "Interesting tune you're singing."

"It's the song that sent me into rack and ruin," the man slurred morosely. "Damned, catchy thing...I didn't even stay for the whole show but it's just stuck in my head."

"And where was that?"

"On the Empyrean Loft." He gave a sigh at the memory. "The ship of untold pleasure where your dreams come true. The women, the food, the shows…it's just a little slice of paradise..." His next sigh was one of deep regret. "And can ruin your real life when you come back to reality. One night and I lost my entire fortune at the gaming tables."

"That's where you heard the melody?"

"Yep."

"Don't suppose you could direct us to where this Empyrean Loft is now, could you?"

"Nope, could be one of a trillion places...and it's by invitation only and they have the muscle to enforce it."

"How do we get on the invite list?"

"Need a personal recommendation...and one of these." He plucked a small disc from his pocket. "It lights up with a pretty pearly glow when they're in the area. The Empyrean Loft isn't exactly legal."

"Don't suppose we could convince you to part with that little disc?"

He shrugged. "It's no good to me anymore. They won't let me back on without at least ten thousand groniss in my pocket."

Ferretti gestured to the bartender, pulling out a small gold nugget they used for bartering purposes. "We'll pick up this man's tab."

The tender eagerly took the gold. The nobility were notoriously tightfisted when it came to paying their accounts. The gold would pay the bill and leave a tidy sum left over. He didn't exactly approve of the subject matter being spoken of a tad too loudly, but gold was gold. And from the nobleman's drunken declaration of being broke he doubted he would get payment any other way. He placed a fresh tankard on the counter.

"What else can you tell us about the Empyrean Loft?" Ferretti waved the ale just out of reach from their intoxicated 'friend'. "How often does it fly in?"

"Every moon cycle or so." He tried to grab the tankard but Ferretti still held it back.

"How do you know when it arrives?"

"The disc begins to pulse when the ship gets in range. When they’re open for business it's a steady glow."

"How do you physically get on it? Is there a pick up point or something?"

His head lolled back and forth in the semblance of a negative shake. "Twist it a quarter turn and they lock onto the signal and poof, you're in paradise."

"When you were there last, did you happen to notice if there was a spunky little redhead onboard?"

"Lots of redheads, they pride themselves on having variety for every man's taste. I like brunettes myself, they've got one particular woman-"

"What about violet eyes?"

Blearily he considered that description. "Ooh no, I woulda' remembered a masseuse with violet eyes. Ya'd probably have to pay extra for her."

Fighting down the urge to thump the guy in the nose for talking about Cupid that way, Ferretti finally let the man have his drink and he happily began slurping it down.

Before they could ask any more questions, another man strode into the bar, bearing a striking similarity in facial features to the 'informant'. He muttered a curse when his gaze landed on the group at the bar.

"Should have known you'd be here." He strode up to them, his glare pinned to the drunk. "Haven't you caused enough disgrace to our family name without carousing like a peasant?"

The drunk seemed unfazed by the rebuke. "I was just telling these fine folk about the beautiful masseuses in paradise. Brother, join us and tell of your exploits with that buxom blonde you had last night."

"You told of the Loft?" His expression turned to one of horror. "For the love of the gods, do you want to ruin it for everybody? If Mahj'arc learns you're blabbing..." He cut off, realizing he was about to reveal more about the clandestine ship. He grabbed his brother by the scruff of the neck and dragged him out.

SG-2 watched their vine of information stumble out the door.

Shakespeare turned hopeful eyes to the bartender. "I don't suppose you know anything about this Empyrean Loft?"

The man warily shook his head as he wiped out a glass. "Only that it's out of anyone's league in this part of town. I'd be taking that pretty little disc and forgetting I'd even heard about it." His comment was directed not just at SG-2 but to all of the customers within hearing range.

"Why is that?" Brooklyn pressed.

The tender shifted uncomfortably. "Rumor has it, if you start poking your nose around asking questions you wind up missing…or worse."

Dodger was watching the door cautiously. "Boss, we'd better hot foot it before our friend lets slip he gave us the disc."

The major gave a nod of agreement, tucking the disc into his top pocket. "Just one more question," he said to the bartender. "Would you happen to know any other ports the Loft docks in?"

The man gave a resigned shake of his head that the strangers weren't going to take his friendly advice to leave well enough alone. "I'll send flowers to your widow."

SG-2 wasted no time in heading back to the 'gate, all of them keeping an eye out for the irate brother coming to chase them down for the 'secret' disc. When they reached the outskirts of the city without incident it was by unspoken agreement that they picked up the pace even more, eager to report their prize.

"Ya' think Annika's still there?" Dodger asked, in between jogging footfalls.

Ferretti patted the pocket where the disc was. "Fate would not have led us here just for us to find that Cupid has taken off again."

"How'd you figure that?" Brooklyn raised an eyebrow at the unusually philosophical attitude of his team leader.

"There have been so many false leads that have fizzled out that the odds say it's time for a winner." Ferretti could feel it in his bones that finding the disc was the start of the final race to get Cupid back.

Within minutes they were dialing the 'gate home. They barely waited for the all clear that the control room had opened the iris before they were striding through the event horizon. The team was trying to only be cautiously optimistic, however when they saw SG-1 just leaving the 'gate room having just returned from their own mission, their excitement bubbled over.

"Hey, Rock Doc!" Ferretti bounded down the ramp. "Does this sound familiar?" He took a deep breath and signaled Dodger who began whistling the melody. The major then launched into a loud rendition of Elvis Presley's 'No More', that really wasn't any more on key than the drunk they'd heard it from.

Daniel gave a bewildered nod, feeling a stab of melancholy at the memory of his wedding dance. "You know it does."

Brooklyn grabbed Nyan, dragging the Bedrosian into a comical reenactment of the tango. "We just had a drunk sing it to us!"

"He heard it on a gaming ship last night!" Nyan's voice seesawed as Brooklyn unexpectedly dipped him in line with the dance steps.

"And this little baby," Ferretti ripped open his pocket tab and proudly held out the disc. "Is your ticket on that ship!"

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