• SUMMARY: When the team visits a new world, they come back through the gate - with one of their own in grave condition.
• NOTE: Previously published at Foundations #1. Website: http://www.geocities.com/yumadesign/
• PG [A] [D] [HC]

"Damn."

Major General George Hammond preferred not to use profanity, especially when he was on duty, but it was times like this that made him utter that particular word.

"It's SG-1, signal confirmed." The young airman, his angular face illuminated by the computer console below, intently studied the myriad of information presented on the screen.

Hammond uttered no response. Colonel O'Neill's team was overdue by almost twelve hours. When they'd missed their scheduled return, the SGC had attempted to send a MALP through to ascertain the situation but instead found themselves with a flattened and non-returning MALP. Which meant one of two things – the gate was buried due to some disaster, or someone was preventing anyone from entering. Either option was not what Hammond wanted to hear.

Now SG-1 was returning via that same gate.

The chevrons on the massive Stargate in the embarkation room lit up one by one as they counted down toward the seventh and final lockdown. Armed guards quickly took position in front of the gate: standard procedure for team returns not on schedule. The infirmary was already alerted to the possibility of injuries, and medical personnel were on their way.

The vortex flared out, its violent blue flux immediately retreating to the gate where it stabilized into the flowing event horizon.

SG-1 came flying through the horizon moments later. Colonel O'Neill smashed into the ramp and rolled, slamming into the railing. He staggered to his feet, only to be knocked down when an object flew through the vortex and landed a glancing blow to his face. A second later Major Carter entered in a similar, ungainly fashion. A bloodied Dr. Jackson followed, landing on his knees next to her. He pitched forward like a felled tree to the steel grating beneath. Teal'c came through last and was the only one who was able to land on his feet, but then he instantly threw himself on top of the fallen archeologist when a barrage of weapons and other items flew through the gate.

"Close the iris!" ordered Hammond.

The huge iris instantly sealed shut, cutting off further retaliation from the unknown enemies. Several thuds smacked against the strong trinium-titanium circle.

O'Neill screamed for a medic as he crawled toward his fallen friends.

Damnit, thought Hammond, did Dr. Jackson have a bulls-eye painted on him?

"Will you sit down, Colonel?" The words came out harsher than intended, but Colonel O'Neill's constant pacing was wearing down more than the tiles on the floor.

Jack O'Neill, his brow furrowed in concern, glared at Hammond but reluctantly sat down in the briefing room, whereupon he began drumming his fingers anxiously on the top of the long burnished table.

"Any word yet from Dr. Fraiser?"

Major Carter was acting a little better but not by much. She hadn't paced the floor like an enraged bull, uttered barely perceptible imprecations under her breath, or scowled angrily for the last hour.

"She'll let us know as soon as she knows," said Hammond.

"What the hell is taking so long?" O'Neill glared at the door.

"Colonel O'Neill," said Hammond sharply. "Do you have a medical degree?"

"No."

Hammond leaned forward. "Then I suggest you let Dr. Frasier tend to Dr. Jackson. She will inform us the minute she knows more. It might help if you can shed any light on what happened."

The colonel swung his chair around to face Hammond. Anger cut deep lines into his face. "We don't know! One minute we arrive. The next minute those aliens snatch Daniel and lock up the rest of us. The next day later they toss us all back through the gate on our keisters!" O'Neill's face darkened. "And what they did to Daniel…"

Hammond felt for O'Neill; one of his command had been brutalized if not downright tortured by an unknown enemy. The general had rushed down to the embarkation room as medical personnel swarmed over SG-1. Jackson's skin was an unhealthy pallor marred by streaks of blood flowing copiously down one side of his face to saturate part of his uniform in a congealed mess.

Dr. Frasier had immediately run over to Jackson. The rest of SG-1 was on their feet, but the young man had been barely conscious, groaning in agony, curled in a fetal position. When Frasier's team began examining Jackson, he became violently ill, vomiting what looked like blood all over the doctor and the gate ramp. Frasier began rapidly barking orders and they quickly took Jackson away on a stretcher.

Hammond snapped his mind back, focusing on the present. The rest of the team had escaped basically unscathed, at least physically. O'Neill, Carter and Teal'c were all worn to a frazzle. Sleep deprivation and worry over Jackson's condition didn't help at all.

"Colonel, if you can start from the beginning."

O'Neill shut his eyes, put his face in his hands and began relating his report.

"PL4-6Z9."

Daniel Jackson frowned. He was deep in thought, scribbling something in a tiny notepad he was taking along on the mission. O'Neill wasn't sure why he was writing anything down because the archeologist tended to videotape everything that caught his eye. He wondered what nickname would be ascribed to this world. Daniel wasn't particularly fond of the drab numerical designations but he remembered them better than Jack did.

For once, they weren't entering the vortex to travel halfway across the galaxy to land in some wooded area that looked like a postcard from the Pacific Northwest. When the Goa'uld had seeded worlds, they couldn't exactly claim originality as one of their highpoints.

Daniel sneezed.

"I thought you took your antihistamines?" said O'Neill. The MALP's report had indicated some pretty high pollen counts despite the fact its camera had only seen the inside of a building.

"Oh, I did, but they take a while to kick in." Daniel replied with the tone of someone who was used to explaining the same thing over and over.

O'Neill ignored it. "Come on, kids. Let's go." He adjusted his dark blue cap and waved ahead.

SG-1 stepped into the blue void as casually as any person might go through a revolving door, yet a few seconds later they ended up across the galaxy on another world.

"This is fantastic!" exclaimed Daniel. He quickly dug a small camcorder out of his canvass bag and began filming everything around him like some star-struck tourist.

The signs were all there: bright eyes, curious glances and just overall bounding enthusiasm. Jack sternly pointed a finger at the scientist. "Now Daniel, don't go wandering off."

"There's so much here." Fortunately for Jack, Daniel stopped just yards away from the gate to examine a column with ornate markings.

"Wow, this sure makes up for PX9-8S1," muttered Carter. The major turned around, eyeing the structure surrounding the gate.

That had been one of the dullest and most perplexing worlds they'd visited. The room housing the gate was just one big drab concrete rectangle, which had four equally boring corridors leading off in different directions and then double-backed right to the gate room. It was weird. O'Neill had developed an overwhelming claustrophobic feeling that the walls just might squash in on them, and since there was nothing of any scientific curiosity, nobody complained when they went back to Earth.

But this world… It was the one time Jack wished he'd brought along one of those panoramic cameras and taken a picture or two. The MALP's feedback hadn't done this world justice. Ornate carvings covered each of the four huge walls making up what was almost a chamber. Even from the distance, Jack could see the carvings were inscribed with great care. The detail rendered was simply astounding and he knew both he and Teal'c would probably have to literally drag Daniel back through the gate if they ever wanted to get home.

The room itself was devoid of any furnishings except for six stone benches, all inlaid with etchings that resembled perhaps the various flora and fauna of the planet, none of which was readily recognizable. They fanned out from the gate in two semi-circles. What Jack found odd was they didn't face the gate but instead were directed towards a set of large doors across the room. There appeared to be no other entrances to the room. Light poured into the room from a skylight above. The beveling on the glass was astounding; literally hundreds of clear triangles scattered the light in wild directions on the floor below. Damn, he had to come back with a camera and capture some of this. It was amazing.

"What does it say?"

Daniel couldn't tear himself away from studying one of the six short columns to either side of the gate's ramp. "I have no idea. The language is totally foreign to me."

"Well, that's a first," muttered O'Neill, glancing at the floor. It looked like marble. Maybe it was. The gorgeous pattern of brown and white eddies reminded him of cake batter swirling about in a mixer.

"It seems well cared-for, sir." Carter came up behind him, and even she couldn't help gawking about like some first-time tourist at the Empire State Building. "This place is really incredible. I don't see any sign of decay. There must be inhabitants on this planet."

"The MALP didn't get past the doors," said Daniel, shifting to another side of a column.

"Well, then we'll have to go outside," said O'Neill, "that is, if you can pry yourself off the piece of concrete."

"It's more like marble, maybe granite." Daniel ran his hands appreciatively down the column, checking it out like a car buyer assessing a luxury vehicle.

The dual doors across the room suddenly swung open. A white light flooded the interior of the room.

"Whoa." Daniel slowly stood.

O'Neill felt every internal alarm go off. Three, if not four-dozen aliens clad in flowing white or purple robes poured into the room with alarming speed. If the Goa'uld had seeded this world, it sure as heck hadn't been from any DNA pools on Earth. The aliens were no more than four feet tall and slight of build.

"They're … sort of humanoid, sir," said Carter quietly.

"Ya think?" O'Neill wasn't a biologist, but the only resemblance to humans in the creatures in front of them was they had the requisite two arms, two legs, a torso and head. After that, he figured the similarity took a sharp detour. None of the aliens had hair. Instead, their heads shimmered with an iridescence that shifted in shades of blue as light from above struck them. The skin looked scaly, sort of like those stuffed knock-off-Beanie Baby toys he'd seen in the store a few weeks ago when he and Sam had spent a few hours with Cassandra at the mall. The mouth was small, like Thor's Roswell-alien type features, but the nose was more defined, but again, not human. The head was oval, and the eyes reminded him of a cat: no whites, just black elliptical pupils surrounded by a brilliant violet iris.

"Uh, Teal'c, you ever seen these guys before?" asked O'Neill very quietly.

"They are totally unfamiliar to me, O'Neill," came the dry response.

Oh damn. Daniel was about fifteen feet away from the rest of SG-1 and the gate, but it might as well have been fifteen miles. The aliens approached en masse, taking several steps forward till they were nearly nose-to-nose with the archeologist who hadn't backed up. A smart reaction if you wanted to show strength, but stupid if you didn't know what you dangers you faced.

O'Neill quickly glanced over his shoulder as did Teal'c. At least fifty more aliens, also clad in thin white or purple robes, filled the empty space behind the gate. Where the heck had they come from?

Daniel smiled pleasantly, despite the tense atmosphere. He raised his hand casually. "Hi."

Two aliens in front of him, one clad in white, the other purple, stepped closer and both emitted low clicking noises that sounded like light switches flicking on and off. They blinked their eyes rapidly.

"Um, my name is Daniel Jackson. We come from—"

The aliens, the whole kit and caboodle of them, started clicking emphatically.

"Fans of yours?" O'Neill prodded lightly. He tightened his grip on his weapon. He didn't like the feel of the situation at all.

"I … have no idea." Daniel was as confused as his teammates.

O'Neill watched in amazement as the aliens turned to each other, clicking and then uttering what sounded like Daniel's name, or rather a derivation of his last name, around the room. It was definitely creepy. The aliens abruptly parted, leaving open a pathway to the door. O'Neill wondered if it was for them, but then shot down that idea when two more aliens came from the corridor beyond the two doors. One alien was clad in a red robe with elaborate stitching running down the robe in bright green and yellow hues. The other alien, slightly smaller, wore a similar robe, although the shade was yellow with red and green stitching.

O'Neill realized then that they all pretty much looked alike, just like cats. And he couldn't tell them apart either.

The two aliens stopped in front of Daniel and studied him from head to foot. Despite the lack of eyebrows, the frowns which developed on their faces weren't exactly friendly.

Daniel smiled again, probably figuring what O'Neill thought: these were the leaders. So he began his introduction again. He didn't even get past his name when the clicking started up in sharp crescendo, echoing through the cavernous room.

The yellow-robed alien's eyes narrowed to near slits. It pointed at itself. "Aa-ken. Jek'son?" It waved its arms broadly toward the team and then at itself.

"No, no, I'm Daniel Jackson," repeated the archeologist, gesturing at himself. "This is Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter and Teal'c."

O'Neill waved a hand and smiled.

The aliens appeared unimpressed with his efforts. Instead, they stared with undisguised curiosity at Teal'c. Daniel noticed this as well.

"That's Teal'c, one of our team."

"Ack-a ue Jaf-ka," one alien uttered in low tones.

"Uh." Daniel turned to O'Neill. "I think they know he's a Jaffa. Maybe they've had problems with the Goa'uld."

"Yaka! Jaf-ka!" the yellow-robe alien shrieked. O'Neill had to stop himself from biting his tongue. The alien's tonal qualities were like fingernails dragged down a chalkboard.

"People, we've got problems," said O'Neill. They were literally surrounded, and although the aliens had presented no weapons or made any hostile moves, the team was outnumbered ten to one.

"No, no." Daniel faced the teeming sea of blue faces like a mouse stares at a hungry cat. "He's a good Jaffa. He doesn't serve the Goa'uld anymore. We're here on a mission of peace."

The red alien spoke again. To O'Neill, it sounded like they were attempting to repeat what Daniel had said. He could make out something that sounded like Goa'uld, and they kept repeating Daniel's name along with "Jaf-ka" and something that sounded like Kee-el-ee.

"Jek'son," the red clad alien repeated, pointing emphatically at everybody but Daniel. The archeologist shook his head and pointed at himself. "No, Jackson."

The alien persisted. "Aa-ken."

The yellow clad alien glared at Daniel. "Kee-el-ee re Jaf-ka!"

"Jackson," repeated Daniel.

"Aa-ken! Jek'son!" the red-robed creature insisted.

Even the archeologist's reserve of patience seemed to have run dry. He nodded, "Yes, Aa-ken. Jek'son."

The yellow robed alien abruptly stamped its feet and shrieked an unintelligible but painfully high-pitched series of words, then left the room in what O'Neill could only perceive was a major-class huff.

"Daniel, I think you'd better get over here," suggested O'Neill.

The young man shook his head. "Jack, I don't think they mean any – AHHH!!"

Daniel was suddenly knocked off his feet and lifted high over the heads of the aliens by dozens of thin hands. The mob aimed the flailing scientist toward the doors and the corridor beyond.

"Jack!"

"Daniel!" O'Neill's shout was cut off as bodies plowed into the back of his knees and knocked him off his feet. A smothering pressure enveloped and crushed him. Blackness consumed him, blotting out the all too real fear he was going to die.

"And you can't perceive of any hostile moves made on the part of your team?" asked Hammond.

O'Neill ran both hands through his unkempt hair. He rested his hands on the tabletop in clenched fists. "No. Daniel could barely get his name out before they attacked."

"And I don't think the mention of Goa'uld caused what happened," added Carter.

"Why is that, Major?"

Carter's blue eyes were troubled, as though she'd been given a critical puzzle to solve and half the pieces were missing. "They didn't attack Teal'c, sir. It was Daniel they went after."

"It is possible," spoke up Teal'c. "Daniel Jackson did initiate contact with the aliens, and in some cultures, the first one to speak is the leader."

"What? They beat the crap out of Daniel and then decided Teal'c wasn't a bad Jaffa and tossed us out?" snapped O'Neill.

"Colonel," warned Hammond.

"Sorry, sir." O'Neill sagged back into his chair. "None of this makes sense. They knock us out, then throw us out the next day, like we're unwelcome party crashers they didn't know what to do with?"

"I understand your concern, Colonel," replied Hammond. Unfortunately situations like this were a hazard of gate travel, and regrettably Daniel Jackson bore more than his share of injuries from those encounters. The remainder of SG-1 had hovered outside the infirmary, waiting anxiously for word on Jackson's condition, but news was slow in coming. All they knew right now was that he was alive but in bad shape.

"Is there any chance they aliens knew about the SGC?"

Carter shook her head. "If they knew who we were, they wouldn't have attacked us."

"Unless they were Goa'uld sympathizers," mused O'Neill darkly.

"In which case they would have sold us to the highest bidder," finished Carter.

O'Neill rubbed his weary eyes. "Oh yeah, there's that."

"There must be some reason Dr. Jackson was singled out." Hammond turned to Carter. "Is there anything more you can add?"

Consciousness seemed just above the surface. It was though she was being pulled down by a thick layer of molasses that kept her just out of reach of freedom. A leg moved, then another, but a weight pressed down across her chest. Carter groggily reached to see what was pinning her down.

She awoke with a jolt, eyes snapping open. She flung away the offensive item and rolled away quickly.

What the hell?

"Ow…"

"Colonel?" Sam crawled over to where Colonel O'Neill was lying face down on a pile of thin white sheets of some sort, just opposite from where she'd lain seconds ago. His face was scrunched up in obvious discomfort, probably because she'd half-wrenched off his arm before she realized it was his hand across her chest.

"Sir, are you okay?"

"Oh, just peachy," groaned O'Neill.

"Sorry about that, sir."

The colonel grimaced as he got to his knees. He rubbed his sore shoulder, apparently oblivious to where and upon whom he'd been dumped. "What?"

Maybe it was better if she didn't bring up just the particulars. "Er, nothing, sir." She glanced around quickly. The room was perfectly circular in design, and the ceiling met in the same design as the interior of a dome. A series of miniature skylights dotted the ceiling in a beautiful but exceedingly impractical design for escape. Even Cassandra, a child they'd rescued from an alien world, wouldn't be able to squeeze through the tiny portals that were at least eighteen feet above them.

"There are no exits, O'Neill."

Teal'c knelt on one leg beside Sam. "I have thoroughly checked the room. Our weapons and supplies have also been removed."

O'Neill nodded toward a small alcove in the wall.

"The 'facilities,'" explained Teal'c succinctly.

"Ah." O'Neill grinned with false cheerfulness. "We're moving up in our accommodations. At least we're not shackled and mining naqada."

"Indeed," concurred Teal'c.

Sam remembered that nightmare all too well. An easy trip to a simple world and SG-1 – except for Daniel – had been consigned to life imprisonment at hard labor because of a random act of kindness. Daniel had nearly been killed in an escape attempt and then cruelly addicted to the sarcophagus by the daughter of the planet's ruler. She'd fancied Daniel her future king.

"Uh, where are my boots?" O'Neill stared at his feet, which were bare. His teammates were also deprived of socks and boots.

"Unknown, O'Neill," said Teal'c. "They are missing. Also…"

The Jaffa held up the bottom of one of his feet. O'Neill frowned and turned twisted both his feet toward him in an awkward Lotus position. Sam checked the soles of her feet.

Everybody had strange symbols painted on their feet. A line of deep red slashed diagonally down the foot. Three shorter lines slashed horizontally across that line in the middle of the foot. Sam checked her foot. Thankfully it wasn't blood, but some kind of indelible marker that wasn't rubbing off.

"I have no idea what it means, sir," she said, anticipating the colonel's questions. "Daniel?"

"Daniel Jackson is not with us," said Teal'c.

Sam shot a worried glance at Colonel O'Neill, and their fears about their teammate and friend remained unspoken. Had Daniel been abducted by the aliens because they thought he knew something? Daniel would gladly do whatever he could to bridge peaceful relations between cultures, but what if they wanted more – what if they were aligned with the Goa'uld? What if they wanted the signal code to get through the gate to earth? Sam realized with horror that he had the GDO strapped to his wrist. He wouldn't willingly give up the code, but what if they tortured him?

O'Neill shook his head and glanced around their prison. "What's that?"

The colonel's query gratefully pulled Sam away from awful scenarios developing in her mind. Her eyes caught sight of something she'd somehow missed upon awakening. Besides the scattering of cloth that they'd awoken on, a circular tray with two bottles was situated at the other side of the room.

Teal'c brought the tray over and placed it down.

"Gee, refreshments?" said O'Neill sarcastically.

Each of the two bottles were dark green in color. Fat, bulbous bottoms grew up to lean necks that bent to one side. An ornate golden stopper with embossed alien inscriptions plugged the top. In the center of each cork was a brilliant red stone. The colonel arched an eyebrow. He uncorked the bottle and sniffed at the viscous contents.

"Yeeeuuu!!!!"

O'Neill coughed and made a face of absolute disgust as he held the glass bottle away. Sam had to see if it was that bad and instantly regretted her decision. Whatever was in the bottles smelled like Army boots dragged through a swamp.

"I'd rather be shot by a firing squad than drink that!" The colonel quickly re-corked the bottle.

"Perhaps on this world it is tasteful." Teal'c raised an eyebrow just a fraction. "But even I found the smell unpleasant."

Sam wondered briefly why there were only two bottles. Perhaps they were for herself and the colonel, as they hadn't seemed overly fond of Teal'c.

"Just what the heck are those creatures?" O'Neill placed the bottle back on the tray. "I mean we've been from one side of the galaxy to another, and the closest I can see is that they're distant nasty cousins of the Asgard."

"Sir, I wouldn't think they're any of the races aligned with the Asgard," said Sam quickly. "They seemed pretty quick to judge. Even the Asgard talked to us before making any decisions."

The colonel grabbed a bottle again. Sam was horrified he was even thinking about taste-testing the vile liquid. "Feels really solid. Looks like these will be the closest things we'll have to a weapon."

"Sir, I think there were at least eighty aliens in that room," said Sam.

"I believe the count ranged over one hundred," said Teal'c. "They were easily able to overpower us by the use of sheer number alone."

"I think I've got footprints in my back," complained O'Neill. He picked up the silver tray the bottles had been placed on. He rapped it with his knuckles. "I can take out two or three with one good blow."

Sam stared at the tray. "Sir, may I?" Puzzled, he handed over the tray. Inscribed in the metal were more of the ornate descriptions that had graced the gate room they'd arrived in earlier that day. The tray wasn't silver, but a heavy alloy of some kind and Sam could see precisely why the colonel valued it as a potential weapon.

"Any of that make sense?" asked O'Neill.

"No sir, not really. Daniel could…" Sam sighed. Yes, if Daniel were there, he might be able to decipher some of it. But he wasn't, and where he was and what was happening to him sent a cold chill down her spine.

O'Neill ordered her to try to decipher it as she was the only scientist he had left. Teal'c and the colonel spent the next hour fruitlessly trying to find an escape route. After running fingernails over nearly every square inch of the walls, the finally found what they believed were the seams to an entranceway. However, no amount of poking, prodding or pounding would open the door.

Escape was impossible.

The worst part of their imprisonment was the uncertainty of why they were captive. No one was coming to drag them off to interrogation, or even to come by to make threats. The hours had given her plenty of time to decipher the inscriptions, but none of them made sense. Some items looked like they might be words. Others were pictographs but of a culture that was so far removed from Earth that it was impossible to make heads or tails of it.

She studied the room, hoping for clues, but in complete contrast to the elaborate gate room, their prison was devoid of any detail. The walls were akin to smooth granite and just as hard. Faint blotches of white intermingled with the rosy quartz hue that dominated the walls.

O'Neill had taken to lying down on the floor on a pile of the scattered clothes and stared at the patterns in the ceiling. It was like lying in a field and watching the clouds float by and trying to see something in them, he'd explained. It gave your mind something to do besides getting totally stressed out by what you thought your captors would do to you. "They want you stressed, Carter," said O'Neill. "It puts you at a disadvantage and makes you more vulnerable. This keeps your mind focused, and when the opportunity for escape presents itself, you take it."

She'd had a taste of imprisonment courtesy of the Goa'uld, but only the colonel had suffered through four months in an Iraq prison after a botched mission. He didn't talk about it, but she knew enough about the Iraqi to realize it must have been sheer hell.

The hours stretched on, and the team realized when the sun began to set, that their captors weren't going to grace them with lights. Soon they were plunged into darkness. Even the tiny portals leaked in blackness. No light pollution on this world.

They couldn't stay awake forever. Teal'c volunteered to take the first watch. They would not be caught unaware should their captors decide to spring a surprise on them. Jack and Sam each grabbed a bottle, and decided to sleep far enough away from each other so they wouldn't accidentally bump into one another and then get clubbed with a bottle.

Sam finally fell asleep, although her dreams were plagued with worries.

Hammond pondered the information SG-1 had relayed to him. The entire scenario went against all the cultures they'd encountered in their journeys through the gate. These aliens were also one of the few definitely non-human in origin species they'd discovered. They all knew first contact with aliens such as these could be the most dangerous because of cultural differences, but nothing of what Colonel O'Neill and his team had detailed why'd they'd been subject to the treatment they'd received.

Only Daniel Jackson knew the truth, and at last report, he was in no shape to talk.

Major Carter shrugged helplessly. "They just left us in that room, and it was like they forgot about us, sir."

The phone on the table in front of Hammond rang. He listened briefly to the voice on the receiver. "Dr. Frasier is ready to see us."

Jack tapped his fingers nervously on the stainless steel counter, cursing the moment they'd stepped onto that blasted planet with its smooth marble flooring and intricate décor. He'd trade it all in an instant for a world populated with fir trees for miles on end.

A nurse informed them Janet would be with them in a minute which in Jack's estimation was far too long. The memory of being booted out of the infirmary still left a sore spot on his psyche. Only after hours had passed and the tension had abated did he realize he'd acted like a total jackass and deserved the treatment he'd received.

The medical team had whisked Daniel to the infirmary with frightening speed. Frasier began furiously issuing orders about Lactated Ringers and numbers and vague initials that all sounded alike but unfortunately were terms he was beginning to know all too well. The doctors were trying to get IV's established but despite his incoherent condition, Daniel was fighting them. Jack saw one of the doctors push Daniel down when the younger man tried to escape off the bed.

Something inside Jack snapped, and he charged forward.

"For God's sake! Hasn't he been through enough already?!"

"Colonel, we're doing what we can, please leave!" Janet didn't even look at him. Medical personnel began cutting off Daniel's filthy BDUs and tossing them aside.

"Oh God." Sam was beside Jack, watching in horror as Daniel's struggles weakened, and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

A nurse's apprehensive voice cut through the commotion. "B/P's 60 over 40, doctor."

"He's hypotensive. Get him on his side. Reverse trendelenburg. Stat!" Janet realized Jack and his team hadn't left. "Out. Now!" she ordered. When Jack didn't move – he couldn't; it was like being caught in some awful nightmare where his legs were frozen in some solidifying quagmire – Janet shouted something, and two large orderlies suddenly blocked Jack's view. The next thing he'd known they were removed from that section of the infirmary into another, where another set of medical personnel checked out himself, Sam and Teal'c.

Jack shook his head. He hated how the bad memories clung like glue to his waking thoughts. It was difficult to think about the good times when the fate of a friend's life hung in the balance.

The sound of footsteps drew his attention. He looked up, his jaw tightening.

Dr. Frasier approached the group, well aware of the tense stares directed at her. Her blue scrubs were badly wrinkled. Jack realized she wouldn't be in her normal uniform, not after… Jack tried to block the memories but couldn't -- Daniel writhing in pain, throwing up all over the place. He hoped to hell that hadn't been blood he'd seen splattered all over Frasier's legs. He'd seen enough wartime wounds to know what was – and wasn't -- survivable.

"He's alive."

"Thank God," murmured Jack.

"What's Dr. Jackson's condition, Doctor?" asked Hammond.

Janet glanced at the clipboard in her hand. Jack realized the diminutive physician always seemed to have that thing with her, crammed with papers with illegible notes scrawled all over them. And those files were usually on Daniel.

"To be quite honest, we don't know what happened to him. He appears to be stabilizing, but we believe he may have been poisoned."

A small gasp escaped Sam.

Frasier tried not to look grim but failed miserably. Lying wasn't in her nature. "We're treating him symptomatically. His potassium levels were dangerously low due to the vomiting, but he's on IV to rectify the imbalance. That as well as dehydration might account for the muscle cramps, but then again we're working with an unknown agent. The anti-nausea meds seem to be combating the vomiting."

Sam looked past Frasier at the entranceway behind her. The inner workings of the infirmary, along with Daniel, lay back there in the dim grayness. Jack heard hesitancy in the major's voice as she asked the question none wanted to ask aloud. "Was Daniel … tortured?"

"I don't know." Frasier brushed back her short hair in a tired motion. "For all we know, he could have sustained his injuries from falling down a flight of stairs. We put five stitches in his forehead; the wound was superficial and he shows no sign of concussion. He has a black eye but no damage to the eye itself. A shallow cut on his neck. He's got a number of bruises on his body, but again nothing severe."

"But?" added Jack.

"Our biggest concern is what he ingested. We pumped his stomach, and we're running extensive tox screens. We haven't detected any internal injury, and there are no telltale signs of Goa'uld devices or, well, Goa'ulds," said Frasier.

"Can we see him?" asked Jack.

"For a minute. Don't talk to him, don't touch him," cautioned Frasier. "He's hypersensitive to pretty much everything around him, lights, sounds, odors. Right now, he's pretty much out of it, but I don't want him getting agitated."

Jack rubbed at the ache settling into his forehead. He hated medical talk like that, mostly because it always foreshadowed worse events.

Jack and the rest of SG-1 nodded bleakly.

The infirmary was deathly quiet. Too silent. Like a morgue. Jack saw a hastily scrawled "Quiet!" sign on ruled paper taped to the wall. Some nurses worked off to the side, speaking in such hushed tones that Jack wondered if they really were talking at all.

The room had a strong antiseptic smell to it. So much for odors, but that was the unfortunate smell of medicine. Antiseptics, cleaning solutions, anything that would kill germs and preserve the life of the patient.

They found Daniel at the far end of the infirmary. A privacy screen isolated him from the rest of the infirmary, blocking off stray light. Sterile blue light bathed him. Someone had put a special bulb in the lamp above his bed. An ordinary bulb might be too much light.

Jack was struck at how vulnerable his friend appeared. EKG leads ran underneath the thin cotton hospital gown while the rhythmic beep-beep of the machine competed with Daniel's strained breathing. An IV with Lord knew what lead into his arm while a canula fed him oxygen.

A thin sheen of perspiration bathed Daniel, dampening his hair into an unkempt mess. Even in unconsciousness, the struggle against pain and misery was clearly played out on the younger man's face. The blood which hours before had drenched Daniel had been cleaned up, leaving a sickly pallor in its wake. Swelling marred the skin around one eye. Daniel would have an awful black eye by morning. The other side of his face showed a deepening bruise, and if Daniel awoke, the pain from his split lip would make itself known the moment he tried to talk.

If one of those damned blue aliens had been in front of him right now, Jack would have throttled it until it turned more purple than its robe.

A gentle tug at his arm pulled his attention away from the dark and foreboding thoughts. Janet gestured it was time to leave. Carter stood off to the side, her blue eyes glistening in undisguised worry over Daniel. Teal'c stoically watched the young man in bed. He rarely let emotions come to the surface, but Jack could see a tinge of emptiness, a hollowness caused because he knew Teal'c felt responsible for Daniel's safety, and he'd failed. They'd all failed. They were military, trained to fight and protect, and they'd been defeated by a bunch of skinny blue aliens, and Daniel had borne the brunt of that failure.

"When--?" Jack paused, stepping further away with the group and lowering his voice. "When will you know?"

Janet crossed her arms against her chest. "He was in severe metabolic acidosis, but I'm hoping the blood works will stabilize within the next twenty-four hours. When he regains consciousness, hopefully he can tell us more about what happened."

"So it's just wait and see?" said Jack.

"I'm afraid so, Colonel," replied Frasier.

General Hammond downed another cup of coffee. It wouldn't be so bad if it hadn't been his third cup of coffee that morning. SG-6 had returned from a mission just over two hours ago. At least they weren't jettisoned through the gate like trash going to the dump. The briefing had taken a little over an hour, which had also given SG-1 time to sleep in, get a decent breakfast and hopefully be in a better mood to finish their briefing.

SG-1 was a tight-knit group of some of the most eclectic individuals with whom he'd ever had the fortune to work – military, a civilian and an alien working side by side to defeat a common enemy. Despite their contrasting backgrounds and beliefs, they were the best team the SGC had to offer.

O'Neill and Carter had been unusually temperamental after coming back. Dr. Frasier equated it to stress and perhaps outside influences. All of SG-1 had commented on the 'annoying' high pitch vocals of the aliens. Dr. Frasier pondered if that pitch, for a long enough duration, hadn't produced the same negative results as when the team had visited the planet of strange mute white people and mushroom-like plants. O'Neill and Jackson had practically been at each other's throats that time.

SG-1, minus Dr. Jackson, returned to finish the briefing. The colonel now appeared more composed than before, though no less concerned about his teammate. He picked up where Carter had left off before the phone had interrupted.

"I wonder if starvation is one of their tactics." Carter pressed futilely against the door seam, resisting the urge to kick it, as she'd done earlier in the morning.

Jack clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to relax. "I think they're into psychological torture," he muttered. Sleep wasn't elusive; it was non-existent! Teal'c had taken the first watch, and Jack estimated he and Carter had grabbed perhaps half an hour of ZZZs before the noise began. At first he'd thought it was the droning of a mosquito near his ear, but the high-pitched sound had pierced the thick walls.

Carter's groggy voice cut the air. "What on earth is that?"

And that had been the last time Carter had uttered a truly civil word. The noise was aggravating, annoying, vexing. Any word to describe "it's driving me nuts" fit the bill perfectly. It was the aliens, raising a ruckus loud enough to wake the dead. Carter gave up developing any sort of scientific hypothesis after the first hour, likening the wailing and screeching – which at times almost achieved a rhythm but then broke down into an awful erratic screaming – as the worst example of karaoke ever inflicted upon mankind.

Fingernails run deliberately down a chalkboard for twenty-four hours straight was far more preferable. Jack had been ready to throttle every single little blue alien with cat eyes he could get his hands on.

And then the aliens had shown up.

Incredibly bright lights flooded the room. Jack shielded his eyes, realizing too late his mistake. The door abruptly popped open with a peculiar hiss noise and at least three dozen aliens in purple robes slid in. Their cat-like eyes scanned the room. They began jabbering away in that awful high pitch that made Jack wince when they saw the bottles.

The aliens charged into the room in a screaming mass that literally flattened Jack to the floor like a squirrel on a road. He heard a cry of alarm from Carter and a shout from Teal'c before they too were knocked to the floor. The mob circled and left within seconds like a destructive tornado. The door hissed shut, and they were again plunged into utter blackness. Nobody had been injured, except for minor bruises and some damaged egos from being trampled by a bunch of gawky little aliens. Nobody had been abducted either, but the bottles and the tray were missing.

"I hear something, O'Neill."

Jack let the misery of the past several hours drift away. He turned at the Jaffa's deep voice. The 'karaoke' had gone on for just shy of five hours after the aliens' intrusion. Jack had used the luminous dial of his watch to keep track of time. The aliens hadn't found the device to be of any interest. He'd rather give them the watch and get his boots and socks back. They were far more practical, especially if they had to escape.

The noise had left their nerves so shredded that no one was able to take another stab at sleep.

Jack got to his feet, hating the feeling of hard floor beneath him. You really couldn't make great distance running barefoot on marble.

The aliens would probably come en masse like a pack of wolves closing in for the kill. As much as he wanted to cave in a skull or two – and he knew that animosity came from lack of sleep and the headache he was sure resulted from the non-stop noise of the night before – he had to try a diplomatic approach. It might be their only chance to retrieve Daniel.

"They are outside the door."

Teal'c had such a simple way of summing up the situation, thought Jack. The obnoxious noise that had been echoing down the outside corridor – well, he assumed it was a corridor due to the way the sound carried – had stopped in front of where they'd found the door seams.

The door slid open with a rapidity that astounded Jack, and he jumped back, startled.

"What the--?"

A throng of aliens filled the corridor, crowding up against a pale tan wall opposite the door. Jack blinked, not sure he was seeing what he thought he saw.

"They were blue yesterday, weren't they?" Carter sounded perplexed.

Now they were green: light green, bright green, dark green. Some were even a bluish-green. Their eyes were still violet, but the pupils had expanded so large the black threatened to blot out the iris' color.

"El tllo's aalen susnow!"

Jack gritted his teeth. "Listen, we need to talk."

"I don't see the leaders," said Carter.

The red and yellow robed leaders were conspicuously absent. Only the purple robed aliens were present, and in Jack's estimation there were far too many of them, weaving back and forth in a peculiar manner that made Jack very uneasy.

The group charged forward. "Watch out!" yelled Carter. The warning came too late as the surge of smaller bodies quickly knocked each SG-1 member off their feet like pins struck by a well-aimed bowling ball. Jack tried to right himself, but the hands bobbed up and down like pistons as he was lifted off the floor. Several of the aliens cried out a series of screeching words, and the horde abruptly spun around. Jack yelped as his shoulder connected hard with Teal'c's knee. Within seconds they were traveling down the corridor like in a bizarre imitation of a wild carnival ride.

Jack tried to grab an alien, or to get a purchase on anything, but the erratic up and down motion and the multitude of hands that perpetually shifted and pushed underneath kept him so far off his balance he was lucky he didn't lose yesterday's breakfast.

The aliens abruptly stopped. Jack yelled in frustration as he was rolled hand over hand until he impacted hard on a marble floor. A second later he was knocked to the floor again when Carter landed on top of him. He pulled her out of the way just in the nick of time before Teal'c was unceremoniously dumped like trash on the steps.

The gate loomed ominously behind them. Jack didn't need a written notice to know they were being evicted off the planet. Several of the aliens clattered away and pointed emphatically at the large circular structure.

He was damned if he'd leave one of his team behind.

"Oh God." Carter's horrified whisper pierced the din.

Jack's blood ran cold. He didn't have to demand Daniel's return. The archeologist was slumped against the DHD's support column, a pale shadow of his former self. Jack had seen soldiers who'd gone through a firefight that looked better than Daniel. Blood stained a great deal of his uniform and face. The young man was barely conscious but in obvious distress from whatever brutality had been inflicted upon him.

The aliens became more agitated, pointing at the gate.

"They wish us to depart," said Teal'c.

"No problem," replied Jack. "Carter, you're closer. Please tell me Daniel's still got the GDO."

Carter nodded. Still on her knees, she quickly crawled over to Daniel. Jack watched the woman carefully remove the device from his wrist, wincing in horror when Daniel flinched at her touch.

The aliens surged forward, their incessant, foreign words escalating. Jack wondered if the aliens would push them into the gate's incinerating vortex. Not while he was still in charge of SG-1. His only problem was he had no idea how he'd stop them from doing something horrendous like that.

One alien took a step forward. "Alea dun craele!" It pointed in near exasperation at the DHD.

"Carter, dial us out – now," ordered Jack.

She punched the coordinates in quickly. The familiar blue vortex flared out and receded to a stable horizon. She hesitated, the GDO still in her hands. "Sir, what if this is what they want? To get through to Earth?"

That thought had weighed heavily on Jack's mind in the last few seconds. This would be their only chance to get home and get Daniel to much-needed medical help. If the aliens did rush the gate, did attempt to get through to Earth, he knew the armed soldiers at the other end would gun them down without hesitation. SG-1 might very well become casualties of friendly fire, but they had to take the risk.

"Do it."

Carter punched in the code.

"Teal'c, grab Daniel and – NOT AGAIN!"

The aliens had rushed forward, swarming over all of SG-1 in lightning fast speed. Jack tried to fight back, but there were too many of them. Suddenly he found himself flung into the gate's welcome blue flux.

Jack knew he wasn't accomplishing anything by sitting numbly at Daniel's bedside.

His report on the disastrous mission, what there as of it, remained woefully unfinished on the computer screen back in his office. He didn't care for computers, the hours spent staring at a glowing screen and then losing all your work when some damned fatal protection fault error or something zapped all your work. And what was he going to report? 'Aliens abducted me and stole my boots?'

Daniel would no doubt roll his eyes at seeing a scientific journey to another world trivialized into a tabloid headline. Jack would willing write that report, incur Hammond's wrath – not that he hadn't already done that with his previous behavior in the infirmary – just to get a response out of Daniel.

"How's he doing, sir?"

Sam and Teal'c had quietly entered the infirmary. For a face that remained relatively immobile – had to be some kind of Jaffa thing – Teal'c looked pretty concerned for Daniel's welfare.

Jack shrugged. "Janet said Daniel's blood works are looking better."

"She's having tests run on that 'stuff' too," said Carter quietly.

Jack touched his sore bruised jaw. One of the many items that had been propelled through the gate after them had been one of those bottles of that god-awful liquid. Luckily it had struck him with a glancing blow or else he'd have had a broken cheek at the least. The bottle was so strong it just bounced its merry way down the ramp to the concrete floor beyond.

"Guess we're lucky it didn't spill in the embarkation room. Would have been worse than being skunked," he grinned lamely.

"Skunked?" questioned Teal'c.

"Yeah, you know, like Pepe Le Pew…" Jack shook his head. He didn't know if Teal'c had watched that on television. "A pretty nasty smelling animal."

"Ah." Teal'c arched an eyebrow.

The conversation dwindled. They'd all spent the morning debriefing with Hammond, and again, the session left them with more questions than answers, plus some problems. Jack couldn't disagree with Hammond: Daniel had been captive with the aliens for over twenty-four hours. He'd apparently been tortured if just looking at him was any indication. Had he divulged any secrets? The fact the team had been let go so easily was disturbing: had Jackson told them what they wanted? Or had they not gotten a thing out of him, and in that case, why weren't the rest of SG-1 interrogated?

Jack inwardly cringed at what would happen when the paranoid paper-pushers in D.C. caught whiff of that bit of news. They'd want Daniel off the team if they thought he was a security risk. Or worse, some yahoo like Maybourne would descend on the SGC to find out just what happened.

"Guys?"

Dr. Frasier had arrived, and he hadn't even heard her. She motioned them all away from the bedside. He'd neglected the don't-touch, don't-talk rule of the evening before, but their quiet voices hadn't seemed to disturb Daniel, who appeared trapped in a deep sleep.

Jack hoped it was good news. Janet looked, well, excited about something.

"And?"

Janet motioned the team away from Daniel's bed. "The lab's come back with some preliminary information on what Daniel ingested," said Janet. "It's organic in nature, but nothing like we've seen before. But it's poison." She shook her head. "I just don't know why it didn't kill Daniel."

"Don't sound so disappointed," said Jack tersely.

"I'm sorry." Remorse tinged her voice. "It's just that… by all rights Daniel should not be alive."

Jack sat down in a nearby chair. "That doesn't make any sense."

"They gave us those bottles to drink," said Sam. "Maybe they didn't know it was poisonous to us? Maybe it's not what Daniel drank?"

"No, we were able to match up what he'd vomited to what was in that bottle," said Janet.

Jack gawked in open mouth amazement. "What?? I know Daniel likes his coffee strong, but there is no way he'd willingly drink that!"

"Perhaps it was not willingly, O'Neill." Teal'c cocked his head. "The aliens overpowered us with sheer number. They could have easily done the same and forced Daniel Jackson to drink the liquid."

"It still doesn't explain how he survived," said Janet. "He didn't just take a sip."

He'd drunk a lot. Even Jack had seen just how much when Daniel had thrown up all over his rescuers in the gate room. He couldn't in a million years conceive of even the normally adventurous Daniel Jackson, at least when it came to food, chugging down that swill.

"We're running cross-checks." Janet's voice broke his dark thoughts. "It's possible Daniel has some immunity, maybe from his time on Abydos or… something."

"Yeah, something," repeated Jack. Thankfully 'something' was keeping Daniel in the here and now and not on a cold slab in the morgue.

"Janet!" exclaimed Sam.

Jack followed the major's excited gaze to the bed. Daniel was awake. Janet was already in the lead and at his side at the exact time the archeologist groaned in misery, rolled over on his side and hugged the pillow over his head.

Janet was in doctor mode, making sure Daniel knew who he was and where he was, but the archeologist wasn't giving any coherent answers, just groans of what sounded like agony. Janet tried to gently pry the pillow away, but he clung to it like a life preserver in a storm. His muffled words pierced the pillow.

"Let me die."

The words sent Jack reeling. What had those aliens done to Daniel??

Daniel curled up even further, trying to bury himself in the bed.

Jack approached, trying his best to convince Daniel he was safe and back on Earth, but the words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Not because of the pillow he clutched to his head, Jack thought grimly, but maybe because Daniel didn't realize where he was. Even Sam's and Teal'c's words seemed to do nothing more than agitate Daniel.

Jack never felt so helpless as when Janet sent them all away so she could conduct more tests to determine what was wrong with Daniel.

So loud. Everything was so loud. Why couldn't someone turn off that awful raspy noise that assaulted his ears and made his head throb even more than it had been for that last… How long had it been? He felt like he was down a deep well, dark and confining. Confusing memories bounced off those walls like ricocheting bullets. Torturous sounds surfaced in his mind like sharks circling a life raft, taunting him as they came and went beneath the surface.

A sharp memory of a mass of blue alien faces startled him. He opened his eyes to a deep blackness and the realization that he had a pillow over his head.

The infirmary.

The all-too familiar scent of detergents used on the sheets filled his nose, at once reassuring and on the opposite extreme, nauseating. The headache was never-ending, worse than any sinus headache he'd ever experienced. More like somebody had dropped a pyramid on his skull.

Memories came back… a sea of blue faces. Or were they green? Swaying, moving back and forth like reeds blown about by the wind. An awful high-pitched noise, screams – had it been his own screams he'd heard? Nausea, numbness, blackness. Just fragments, like pieces of an ancient wall that needed reassembled, but so much was missing, and he wasn't sure he wanted to remember it all.

The voices had gone, finally. He'd been positive he'd heard Jack. He'd known Janet had been there. Despite her best intentions, he couldn't find it in himself to cooperate. He just wanted the misery to go away and the longer she poked and prodded and asked questions, the worse he felt.

She'd finally left, saying something he couldn't concentrate on. He felt her touch on his arm, a prick, and then merciful blackness swept over him.

It would be a matter of seconds before the final chevron locked down and the wormhole was established.

The Stargate was a great device for cutting down on travel time. Of course, if the gate hadn't been invented or unearthed, they wouldn't have the possibility of potential interplanetary invasion dangling over their heads like some damned sword. Well, at least not that they knew of. Instead, they'd just worry about a stray asteroid crashing into Earth and wiping out half the population.

The blue vortex flared out and abruptly established itself in a shimmering pattern that always reminded Jack of a swimming pool lit at night.

Cavanaugh's team stepped through the light onto the sturdy steel ramp. No blood, no holes. They looked as though they'd just stepped off a bus, not as though they'd just made an interplanetary jaunt.

Jack wondered why SG-1 and in particular Daniel, seemed to run into trouble on their missions. Not that they hadn't had their share of duds: boring, dull planets with trees, trees and more trees. No intelligent life, no fantastic technology to bring back to say 'hey, we got something for the seven billion you invested in the SGC each year.' But Daniel seemed to be a magnet for trouble: shot with staff weapons, Zatted, abducted, even killed. If he'd been of the military persuasion, some of that might not have occurred. He'd been given weapons and survival training, but Daniel was still a civilian at heart, prone to try to rationally handle a tense situation with reason before weapon.

He was the conscience of the team. Jack remembered saying those words at Daniel's eulogy when they'd all thought him dead on Oannes. Jack had had concerns when the team first formed: two military mindsets and two scientists. At least one of the scientists was military, but Daniel… the only time he might think of military applications was when he started babbling on about historical military facts.

Jack would love to have heard one of those rambling monologues on ancient mythological figures, instead of the groans of pain he'd last heard uttered from Daniel's lips.

Janet had run more tests on Daniel. Nothing conclusive, she'd said, but at least there was no bad news. No organ damage, no perceivable nerve damage. Daniel seemed aware of where he was, but that was about it. He'd barely uttered five words since returning through the gate.

It wasn't what Jack or anybody else wanted to hear, but there wasn't much they could do about it.

To keep themselves busy and to try to help Daniel, both Sam and Teal'c were going through information on all known alien races. Even Teal'c had been at a loss to identify the strange but nasty little aliens.

Jack felt helpless. The scientific aspects eluded him, and he found himself being more of a hindrance than help with his team. He was used to going in and getting the job done, getting the answers. He hated the waiting.

He'd been unwanted down in one of the many specialty labs that had formed since SGC had carved out a niche in Cheyenne Mountain. Specialists always checked over everything brought through the gate before it all ended up at Area 51. However, this item wouldn't end up in Nevada unless the techies here got it working again. The aliens had returned everything with SG-1… weapons, backpacks… everything except their boots. It was too weird for words.

Daniel's camcorder had been tossed through the gate, smashing into several pieces when it impacted on the concrete floor. The tape had survived, but only marginally. It was glopped all over with that foul-smelling, red, viscous liquid Daniel had somehow drunk. A technical team was working on trying to salvage the tape, but offered no guarantee.

The paperwork never went away. The tide might come in and take some away, where it would be shipped off-base or filed away in its recesses, but then the tide would then return, dumping more paperwork on his desk. Hammond never envisioned when he'd joined the Air Force that paperwork would be his constant companion.

SG-1's situation was improving, if only marginally. Dr. Frasier felt that if the alien substance found in Dr. Jackson's blood continued to dissipate at its current rate, by tomorrow it might be completely purged from his system. It was a totally foreign substance, a poison of some kind, and nobody had any idea how Jackson had survived.

Colonel O'Neill had pondered perhaps Jackson had been given an antidote, and maybe that was the case. Nobody really knew.

All Hammond knew was if anybody tried to come through the gate from PL4-6Z9, they would end up a very big bug splat on the solid iris. Security codes had been changed. Jackson didn't have access to as much confidential information as say, Colonel O'Neill, but his knowledge of the Goa'uld, the Tok'ra, and even the base could have devastating ramifications if he fell into the wrong hands.

Because there had no alien attempts to access Earth's Stargate, Hammond had held off informing Washington of the current situation. The last thing anybody needed -- particularly Dr. Jackson -- was for some government idiot to arrive at the SGC with their own compliment of doctors and scientists to assess the situation. They'd all seen what a disaster that had been when Teal'c had been stung by an alien insect.

Yet as close to death as Dr. Jackson had been, and how dreadful he had looked upon returning to Earth, Dr. Frasier had confirmed his injuries were minor. Superficial. In all likelihood they wouldn't even leave scars.

So just what the hell had happened?

The phone call was a welcome respite from the day's events.

Daniel passed in and out of unconsciousness as the day slowly progressed into evening. Janet knew those periods of blackness were undoubtedly welcome to the young archeologist. His waking moments were consumed with a pounding headache that could only be equated to a major migraine. The only coherent question he'd been able to eek out was asking if the rest of SG-1 was all right. Once she confirmed all of them were fine, Daniel lapsed back to his silent mode and then finally, a troubled sleep.

Janet hoped whatever he'd ingested was the cause of the headaches and that they would soon abate. However, she still shuddered to think of what psychological damage he might have been sustained in those twenty-four unaccounted hours.

Despite SG-1's desire to stay with their friend, Janet had to order everybody out of the infirmary. Daniel needed peace and quiet. He'd been given a painkiller to deal with the headache, and so far he hadn't shown any adverse reaction and seemed able to sleep.

She picked up her pace toward the lab. Dr. Fredricks felt he had a breakthrough on the strange liquid.

The lab where various alien compounds were analyzed was a floor beneath the infirmary, but shared identical features such as concrete walls and stainless steel counters. Test equipment of various shapes and sizes lined the dark gray walls. She passed by a Far Side poster on the wall that had a humorous cartoon about aliens ear-tagging humans and dropping them off in fields. Apparently General Hammond never visited the lab as he probably wouldn't find that poster very amusing.

"Over here!"

Fredricks, a thin man with short blond hair and deep brown eyes, motioned her over to where he sat at a counter. Reports were scattered all over the stainless steel top.

Janet passed by several cages containing white lab rats that were either staggering around their cages, or lying in misery in the corner.

"I've been through Dr. Jackson's medical records," said Fredricks. "It took a while, but I've found the key."

Before Janet could even come closer, he came over to the cages, handing her some notes at the same time. "The liquid kills the rats very effectively; an excellent poison. Attacks the nervous system. It would have even killed a Goa'uld symbiote. However, using the information from SG-1's reports and what you provided me, I gave these specimens—" He pointed toward several cages with staggering rats "—a pro-rated dose of what Dr. Jackson had taken." He paused briefly, scratching at his thinning brown hair. "However, because we have no idea how much of the liquid Dr. Jackson actually ingested, I did several control groups."

Janet flipped through the report, scanning the equations and formulas and complicated verbiage that was readable to her due to years in medical school and subsequent years applying that knowledge. It couldn't be…

"Control A here was given an amount equal to what we assume he ingested, tracking what he vomited upon return to the SGC." Fredricks gestured and Janet's line of vision stopped at some rats. They seemed dazed and confused, wandering aimlessly around their tiny domain. A few seemed to fall in their tracks, unable to progress further.

"Control groups B and C were given increasingly larger quantities, and you can see the difference."

Janet had to force herself to stop staring at the printed words in her hands. Upon gazing at the other control groups, she just saw smaller, furrier versions of Daniel… the first group was going through the same misery he'd gone through upon arriving at the SGC. The last group was a dead ringer for what she'd seen not less than 15 minutes ago back in the infirmary.

"You're positive?"

Fredricks shrugged his shoulders. "These are rats, not humans, but given the facts in this case, yes, I'm positive."

"But it didn't show up in the tox screens."

"It didn't show up in our repeat screens either," confirmed Fredricks, "but… it shows up at a certain point." He brought out a sheet with detailed graphs and numbers. "It's at this point the metabolic process would have shown in our tests, but by the time you got Dr. Jackson, the compound had broken down and our tests were rendered useless."

Janet shook her head. She couldn't believe it but the facts had been checked and double-checked. She was relieved to know that Daniel would recover, but wondered what would happen when she broke this news to SG-1.

"He's WHAT?!"

The colonel's voice bounced off the walls and ceiling like a sonic boom.

"Colonel, please calm down," ordered Frasier.

"Calm … down?" mimicked O'Neill, eyes narrowing. "Daniel's hungover!"

"And lucky to be alive considering," retorted Frasier sternly. "If he hadn't been on a strong antihistamine, that drink would never have metabolized to alcohol. He'd be dead."

She should have seen it. He'd been hypovolemic as well as hypokalemic and hyponatremic. The headache, lethargy, the irritability, the metabolic alkalosis. Classic textbook symptoms of someone who had nearly partied themselves into the grave. Of all the people in Cheyenne Mountain, Daniel Jackson was the last person she'd ever envisioned in her infirmary with an alien-induced hangover.

O'Neill seemed to be at a loss for words but his face spoke volumes. Anger, even betrayal flashed across his dark eyes. He'd been tearing himself apart over a teammate only to discover that if Daniel just 'slept it off,' he'd be fine in a few days.

Janet glanced over her shoulder. Damn. The colonel wasn't known for tact, and his pretty brutal assessment of Daniel Jackson had drifted straight down the twenty feet to the bed where Daniel had heard it all. The archeologist had rolled back on his side and smothered his head with the pillow again.

"Colonel, this is a hospital and right now, you're not helping anybody with that kind of attitude." Janet crossed her arms against her chest defiantly.

The colonel glared past her, at the wall or at Daniel, she wasn't sure. Abruptly, he turned and left. Janet wished now he hadn't come down to check on Daniel at that exact moment, and that she hadn't given him an answer he obviously hadn't wanted to hear. She should have gathered them all in a briefing room instead. She rubbed at her temples. Now she was developing a headache.

Sam stopped in her tracks. The dull gray door in front of her lead to just one of many break rooms in the Cheyenne Mountain facility. A soldier clad in a woodland camouflage uniform left the room, presenting her with the opportunity she'd been seeking. As the door slowly swung shut, she saw the colonel seated at one of the drab rectangular tables. He slowly rubbed a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee between his hands as he exhibited an unusual interest in the vending machine across the way. While the colonel wasn't a health food nut, neither was he an addict of the candy bars and sweet snack cakes behind the machine's glass.

She adjusted her dark green uniform, and entered the room.

"Major." The colonel acknowledged her presence in an almost formal manner.

Sam grabbed the metal chair back. Normally she'd have sat down opposite the colonel to talk, but the memory of coming into the infirmary just as the colonel had stormed out, was more than she could take. Janet told her what the details of what had happened. Daniel refused to talk to anybody. Instead, he buried his head under the pillow again as he probably beat himself up mentally for what had happened.

Daniel wasn't just a subordinate to the colonel; the two men had an almost familial connection. They were friends and either one would give up his life for the other without hesitation. Only at this point in time, the bond holding their friendship together was strained.

"With all due respect, Colonel," said Sam. "That was a lousy thing to do to Daniel."

The cup stopped moving between O'Neill's palms.

"Been talking to Janet?" He looked up at her.

It was that look, the dark glint she'd seen in his eyes in the past when facing a situation he totally despised.

"Yes," she continued. "We have no idea what happened to Daniel."

"He's hungover," replied O'Neill. "It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out how that happened."

Sam wasn't sure where this was headed. Jack had never doubted Daniel, except… when they were stuck in a naqada mine, literally working themselves toward an early and miserable death because Daniel had become addicted to the sarcophagus. He couldn't honestly think Daniel had…

"No," she replied finally, "and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Daniel would give his life for any of us either."

The colonel remained quiet, staring at his coffee cup, lost in some deep, unfathomable thought he wasn't willing to share with her … at least not yet.

"I'm going to check on Daniel, sir." She turned and left.

He'd been on earth for over four of its years. In that time, he'd absorbed much of its culture. He could not pretend to understand it all, nor did he wish to. Although in some aspects Earth was advanced years beyond how he had lived on Chulak, Teal'c shook his head when he witnessed the insanity which overtook normal people when it came to such odd social phenomenon as 'Beanie Babies.' Daniel Jackson had attempted to explain modern society's obsession with collecting the most useless objects known to mankind, but even he seemed unsure of his own culture at times.

Only to a degree did Teal'c understand O'Neill's reaction to the news that Daniel Jackson was not dying, but instead was suffering the aftereffects of major consumption of a beverage that had turned out to be alcoholic.

He knew Daniel Jackson did not drink very much. On the occasions when SG-1 had been at barbecues at O'Neill's home, it did not seem rare for the colonel to drink several beers over a course of hours, but the archeologist could make one beer last an entire afternoon.

Yet on a mission they were all on duty, and drunkenness was not acceptable. It was that way on Earth and it had been that way when he'd been First Prime to Apophis. However, Daniel Jackson was alive only due to a chemical reaction from the drugs he regularly took to combat his allergies.

Teal'c had no idea how the young man had taken even one swallow of the vile substance. Many Jaffa he had once known would have spit it out and offered themselves up to more conventional torture than imbibe the liquid.

In the distance, Teal'c saw Major Carter and Dr. Frasier conversing quietly. He had been allowed to stay with Daniel Jackson because he had sworn not to pass judgment – as apparently Colonel O'Neill had done – and would not disturb the young man. Teal'c knew Daniel Jackson slept. Gone were the agitated motions that made the sheets ripple like waves on a lake when the young man tried to find some comfort. Instead, he slept quietly, his breathing slow and rhythmic.

Eventually, he would have to relinquish the pillow covering his head. Teal'c knew once he felt well enough, Daniel Jackson would face whatever had happened to him.

Major Carter came over. Lines of worry creased her normally placid features.

"How is he?" she whispered.

Teal'c quietly left his chair and stepped away from the bed. "He sleeps."

A tiny smile lit up Carter's face. "Janet thinks he'll be a lot better tomorrow morning."

"That is good to hear."

The smile left her face when the sound of footsteps interrupted the silence. O'Neill joined his team. He nodded his head toward the figure in the bed

"He is asleep, O'Neill."

"I'm going to stay with him a while."

Teal'c watched unusual expressions exchanged between O'Neill and Carter. "What?" said O'Neill. "I won't do anything stupid … again. Janet says she'll shoot me if I do."

Carter looked almost unconvinced.

"And if I'm going to make a total fool out of myself apologizing, I'd rather not have an audience," O'Neill finished.

"Oh." Carter seemed taken by surprise.

The colonel stuck his hands in the pockets of his olive drab pants. He stared at the floor, then the walls, almost fidgeting as he waited. His body language practically screamed "go!".

"It is getting late," said Teal'c.

"I'll see you guys in the morning," said O'Neill.

"If Daniel wakes up, just let him know…" said Carter.

"Don't worry, Major, I will," he promised.

He wanted to move, but his legs wouldn't obey him. They felt detached, numb, as though they were part of some statue he was sitting on. He knew his limbs were still there. He was sitting on them in a near Yoga position. It wasn't a foreign position; he'd often sat like that back on Abydos. But the company there had been friendlier, much friendlier.

The blue aliens lined both sides of the long table. Aa-ken sat to his right, glaring at him with undisguised hostility and worse yet, he still had that dagger in his hand. It was a good fifteen inches in length of what looked like polished steel, with one gleaming sharp edge. The backside reminded him of a fish's fin; serrated, with at least thirty-eight tiny points that would undoubtedly inflict vicious damage on anyone. Had he stared at the knife that long that he'd counted each piercing tip?

Time had just dissolved into a bizarre universe which seemed to follow no rules. He'd recalled seeing sunlight streaming down through the intricate pattern of crystal skylights embedded into the polished ceiling above. Swirls of color delicately mottled the stone. Layers of intricate pictographs and language rose in strange columns at strategic points located around the room. Even the long dining table, constructed of the same stone, had been painstakingly decorated.

And then darkness had claimed the horizon. The sun was gone, and Daniel didn't know where the time went, or what happened to the aliens. Gone was the sea of blue faces that emitted non-stop high-pitched chattering, only to be replaced by green aliens of similar persuasion with just as detestable table manners.

Aa-ken was at his side, a hue of green that any lawn care service would be proud of, that damned knife still in his grasp. He was laughing, or rather, shrieking amusingly at something.

We're not in Kansas anymore.

Isn't that what Jack would have said? He was forever quoting "The Wizard of Oz." He really had to ask Jack if that was his favorite film. He'd always liked the twister and was fascinated to discover later it had been made out of twirling cloth. Today's computer special effects just didn't have the same impact.

Someone bumped him. He nearly fell headfirst into the ornate plate and wondered what the deep red liquid was pooling in its shallow surface. The plate's rim was a glorious iridescent white, so shiny he could probably see himself in it. Images of alien language intricately adorned the two-inch rim.

A giggle escaped his lips. He didn't know why he found it so funny, but he instantly clamped a hand over his mouth, horrified he'd create some intergalactic faux paux and doom Earth to annihilation.

Where was Jack?

Where was he? How had he gotten there?

Someone bumped him again. A blue alien appeared to his left, tossing chunks of what looked like charred steak on everyone's plates. A thin slab landed on his plate, and he watched in vacant amusement as it slid across the thick red liquid.

No forks. They had big nasty knives but no forks. Daniel picked up the piece of meat, trying to focus his eyes on it, wondering why he found it so fascinating.

The squiggly lines were gold and raised, standing out in gleaming relief against the cooked flesh.

Daniel felt his throat close, a horrified scream denied when he recognized the emblem of that of Apophis's First Prime – an emblem that had once been on Teal'c's forehead.

Aa-ken's green hands with long, almost bony but incredibly strong fingers, grabbed him, digging into his flesh. Someone else took the piece of meat and aimed it for his mouth.

Daniel screamed in horror.

He yanked away, slamming into something solid.

"Whoa!" soothed a voice.

The hand pulled away and in seconds Daniel realized it wasn't alien. Human. Jack looked down at him, worry etched into his face.

"Daniel, it's okay," said the older man.

He was home and in the infirmary – again. He'd hit his back into the metal bed rails. He wasn't on some planet populated with aliens who wanted to…

Daniel grabbed the pillow and practically slunk under it, trying to shut out the dwindling vestiges of the nightmare.

"You okay?" Jack's muffled voice pierced the soft pillow's protective layer. "Damn, you're going to blow out Frasier's monitors," he joked feebly.

Daniel didn't need to hear the beep-beep-beep of the EKG machine. He could still feel his heart slowing down. The memories were clearer now, in all their glorious Technicolor. Daniel groaned in misery.

"Ah, well, guess I'm not a sight for sore eyes," said Jack. "Don't blame you."

Reality coalesced around Daniel. What?

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I was out of line," he continued.

Daniel opened his eyes, staring into the comforting blackness the pillow created.

"I guess I… that… hell, I don't know what I was thinking," confessed Jack dismally. "We thought you'd been poisoned and then Janet said you were hungover and I guess I just didn't want to hear that. Just made me remember Perkins."

Daniel blinked, not that it improved his vision any. The pillow blocked out light and noise that still irritated him.

Jack paused. "It was long before the SGC. It was a mission, let's just say, overseas. Perkins was a new man on the team. Well, he decided to tie one on before the mission. Didn't know that till afterwards. Big mistake. He nearly got us all killed."

Daniel didn't need any further explanation. He knew Jack had worked some pretty harrowing assignments in his time before joining the SGC, not that hopping through the gate was any picnic. A simple mistake through carelessness could easily cost an entire team their lives. It wasn't any different with SG-1.

Daniel really hadn't thought he'd get drunk on whatever he'd drunk. Really, really sick, perhaps and maybe he had. He had vague recollections of throwing up somewhere, but thankfully not on the aliens. Otherwise none of them would be back on Earth. The liquid had been disgusting, but he hadn't had any choice, at least none that he could see.

Jack tapped his fingers lightly on the pillow. "Uh, are you still with me? How about one finger for yes, two for no?"

It wasn't a difficult request. Daniel just didn't feel like opening his mouth. If he'd kept his mouth shut in the first place, he wouldn't be lying in a bed in the infirmary right now.

"Ah, okay," said Jack, apparently pleased Daniel had raised one finger.

"Um, Janet said that stuff is leaving your system pretty fast," he continued. "So you should be up and about tomorrow."

Up? Ugh. Daniel just wanted to stay in bed and not move. But he did feel better. It no longer felt like somebody was trying to split his head in two with an axe.

"I know you feel pretty crappy right now, I've been there myself, well, not really as bad as what you went through at first," said Jack. "But if you want to talk…"

It was tempting, but Daniel still didn't want to leave the artificial sanctuary created by pillows and sheets. And sooner than later, Hammond would want the full details of what had occurred.

"Um, I guess I should let you get some sleep." Jack sounded unsure. "But don't worry, it's not like you totally destroyed any chance of interplanetary relations."

Daniel felt his stomach flip-flop.

"Ah, that's one finger you're holding up."

Daniel could imagine Jack's brow drawing down in puzzlement and then dawning realization the archeologist had screwed up the mission beyond his wildest dreams.

He was shocked when he felt Jack gently grasp his hand. "Well, uh, we can talk about that later, ok? Just get some rest."

Daniel felt the hand slip away, leaving him alone with his own dark thoughts. He smothered a horrified laugh with the pillow when he visualized Hammond's stunned face as he matter-of-factly explained that no one from Earth could ever step foot on PL4-6Z9 because of his actions.

The morning was starting off slow. Only one SG team was off-world, and they'd reported in with no problems. Unlike SG-1, they were getting along fabulously with the local natives, which was fine with Hammond. He had enough problems to contend with in his own little corner of Cheyenne Mountain.

Gossip spread like wildfire, and rumors such as SG team members getting drunk out of their minds was something that didn't come along very often. In fact, this was a first, and for some reason, SG-1 always had to be the team with the highest records of 'firsts.'

If anything, Hammond felt he was an excellent judge of character. He'd spent most of his life in the military, dealing with the best and the worst the government had to offer. Although initially he'd been unimpressed by Dr. Jackson when he turned up alive and well on Abydos, he'd come to respect the young man's sense of honesty and integrity. Jackson knew when to toe the line but also when to speak up. He didn't always do it at the wisest of times and had ticked off more than a few highly placed individuals, including Mayborne and especially Senator Kinsey.

Hammond checked his watch. It was five of eleven. Time to head up to the briefing room. Dr. Frasier had called him earlier. All of Jackson's tests had come back clean. Whatever he'd ingested was now gone from his system. Simple aspirin took care of the dregs of his headaches, and he was fit enough to do a debriefing. That is, if he would talk. Dr. Frasier was concerned the young man had barely said anything since coming back through the gate and was content to nod or shake his head in response to any query.

Everyone was already seated when he arrived. Teal'c and Major Carter sat on one side of the table, opposite O'Neill, Jackson and Dr. Frasier. She'd insisted on attending the briefing just to keep an eye on her patient, whom she hadn't officially discharged from the infirmary.

Jackson looked markedly better than the last time Hammond had seen him in the infirmary, hooked up to IV's and unconscious in a bed. Color that had leeched from his face from his ordeal had returned. The swelling around the cut on his forehead had vanished, leaving the wound to heal nicely. With luck, he wouldn't even have a scar. The bruising on his face had dissipated and, as Dr. Frasier had predicted, was only surface damage. It would have been noticeable much sooner had Jackson not spent the last couple days seeking refuge under bedsheets.

His deep blue uniform was, as usual, haphazardly set on the man. Hammond had long since given up worrying about precision military appearance in regards to SG-1, at least when no one of higher rank was visiting. The team had been to Hell and back – literally – in order to save Earth and if they wanted to be a little comfortable while on base, he wasn't going to begrudge them that small token.

Yet Jackson looked as comfortable as a man stuck in front of a firing squad with itchy trigger fingers. His teammates were fidgeting in their seats. O'Neill appeared distracted, doodling aimlessly with a pen on a small pad of paper while occasionally glancing at Jackson. Worry creased Dr. Frasier's petite features.

Hammond took his seat.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better, Dr. Jackson," he began. "I understand you've been told the rest of SG-1 suffered no ill effects from their imprisonment. We need to know what happened to you and anything at all you can tell us about the aliens."

Jackson glanced at Hammond sharply, and then back at the silver pen O'Neill was doodling with.

"Well, I… uh…"

This wasn't going well. Normally Jackson could talk the ear off any politician, detailing history, cross-pollination of ancient cultures, languages and more. He could even be obtuse, at least to the layman, but he did speak. This terse dispersion of a word here or there could have them there all week.

"We. Um, no…" Jackson frowned as he seemingly fought for the correct words. "They…"

"It's okay," encouraged O'Neill. "Maybe you can just—"

"Would you just stop that?" snapped Daniel, suddenly glaring at O'Neill.

Everybody was shocked at the outburst, and even Jackson seemed mortified at his abnormal behavior. "The pen. Could you just stop…?"

O'Neill was both confused and embarrassed. He put the pen and small pad in a pocket of his green fatigues. "Um, sure."

Jackson rubbed the heels of his palms against his forehead. "I'm sorry, it's just... I feel so edgy."

"It's just a slight withdrawal," said Frasier.

Oh Lord, not again, thought Hammond. He could see those same fears mirrored on everyone else's faces as well. His mind instantly tried to shove aside the awful memories of Jackson's addiction to a Goa'uld sarcophagus.

"Caffeine," clarified Frasier quickly, "or rather, the lack of it. You haven't had any coffee in three days."

Jackson still looked miserable at the thought, but everybody else seemed relieved to hear the simple explanation.

"Why don't you just start at the beginning?" suggested Carter.

The young man seemed to be seriously contemplating that suggestion. Hammond was worried just how far back Jackson would go. O'Neill seemed to have the same concerns.

"How about just when those aliens carted you out of the room?" suggested the colonel.

"Oh." Daniel looked relieved. "Sure, but I don't know if I can recall it all…"

The tension had been a tangible force in the air, not so much from the sea of dower aliens that was closing in around him like a high tide, but from Jack, who was warning him to step away. Daniel was sure he could reason with the aliens, but any further decision was taken away from the team when the aliens literally swept him off his feet and whisked him from the room.

He'd tried to get away; by grabbing at the doorframe as he went past, but he was pulled away. Another struggle just to be dropped to the floor so he could escape resulted in banging his face into a corridor wall. He was like a fish caught in a net; the more he struggled, the more entwined he became. He gave up and minutes later, after going down several long and winding corridors, he was dumped on a square cushion in front of a long table in a huge hall. Four aliens quickly removed his boots and socks and took away the items as though they were toxic waste.

Daniel righted himself quickly. Within seconds it was made very clear he was to sit on that cushion and not move. The aliens might have been diminutive, but that small size definitely belied the strength they possessed.

He tentatively rubbed at his sore cheek that had smacked into a corridor wall. Daniel was sure nothing was broken but was positive he'd have a nasty bruise the next morning.

The aliens seemed assured Daniel wouldn't leave his seat. They fanned out noisily and within seconds had all found cushions at either the long rectangular table, or several of the many oval tables that surrounding the larger table like moons orbiting a planet.

The yellow-robed alien that had thrown a fit and stomped off like a two-year old deprived of his favorite toy sat to his right. The red-robed alien took its place to his left, ignoring the other alien, which seemed to make it even madder.

It was a very uncomfortable situation, made worse when Daniel realized there was a plate in front of him, some bizarre utensils that looked more like space-age fondue forks, and no sign of his teammates.

Since all the rest of the aliens sported either purple or white robes, it seemed only logical the ones seated next to him were the leaders. Perhaps they might listen to reason, if only he could figure out their language.

He quickly surveyed the room and his 'hosts', trying to gather as much data as possible. One thing he had noticed before the aliens had taken their seats was none of them wore shoes. Their feet sported four long toes each, all of which culminated in dark blue nails. Perhaps SG-1's boots were an offense to these beings? That would explain the expressions of disgust when they'd looked at the team's feet in the gate room and why they'd practically torn off his own boots.

Many of the aliens were busy jabbering to each other. The purple robed aliens had taken the left half of the room, and the white robed aliens, the right side.

It had to be some kind of formal function. It seemed the only logical explanation. There were plates for food, utensils, and some weird glass tubes he thought might be goblets of some kind. If he didn't know better, he'd swear he'd arrived just as the proceedings were beginning, but why was he being welcomed – and the rest of SG-1 banished? He couldn't see them anywhere in the huge room.

"Aeee-ken-cha!"

It took all his willpower not to cover his ears. The red-robed alien had stood up and proclaimed those words so loud it made Daniel's ears ache. The rest of the aliens all stopped talking and stared in a reverent manner that made the young archeologist ponder if that alien was indeed their leader.

Daniel lost track of what was said next. It was too fast, and the tonal qualities varied so vastly it was impossible for him to keep up. In some respects it reminded him of various Asian languages, where it was not so much the word that was spoken, but the inflection in which it was said.

He stopped his musing when he heard his name, or rather how they tried to pronounce it, said several times. All of the cat-like eyes stared at him when the leader pointed a finger at Daniel. He noticed the fingers – all five of them – were long like the toes, likewise with blue nails -- and apparently quite dexterous.

"Ack-a ue Jaf-ka. Kel-ee arnah," said the yellow robed alien.

"Yaka," cautioned the red-robed alien.

"Aa-ken." The yellow-robed alien replied.

Names? The discussion between the aliens continued for another minute, and from the sounds of it, some sort of agreement had been struck.

It was quite unsettling when both aliens abruptly stared at him.

"Um," said Daniel.

The aliens blinked. He felt like a specimen under a microscope. Maybe he could try an introduction again. He gestured at himself. "Daniel Jackson."

The yellow clad alien – Aa-ken, if he understood what they'd said – let out a hideous screech which involved Daniel's last name.

He definitely wasn't getting off on the right foot with these aliens.

"Dann-eel?" asked Yaka, the other alien, the seemingly more reasonable one.

Daniel nodded. Fortunately that gesture seemed acceptable.

The aliens then went back to ignoring him, talking over his head – literally. The sea of other aliens, just moments before who had been deeply entranced by the ones on either side of Daniel, now seemed more preoccupied with their own conversations.

Whatever was going on, Daniel was part of it, but wasn't being allowed to participate. It was very frustrating, but he couldn't afford to ignore it. Teal'c, or rather, a butchered version of the word Jaffa, would crop up in the alien discussion at an alarming rate.

He stared at the ornate dish on the table in front of him. The foreign language of the aliens blended into the pictures adorning the dish's rim. The longer he stared, the more the apparent the images and their ominous meanings became to him.

Daniel swallowed nervously as a chill that had nothing to do with room temperature swept over him.

A glint of light flashed momentarily across his eyes, and he blinked, then stared in horror. Aa-ken held a huge knife in his hand. The blade was very sharp, a fact Aa-ken easily affirmed when he grabbed a small loaf of some kind of doughy bread and sliced it quickly into small pieces. Aa-ken smiled maliciously.

If there was ever a situation he had to talk his way out of, this was it.

"El-ken-en Jaf-ka," intoned Yaka.

Daniel shook his head. He noticed a whole group of new aliens, all clad in black robes, sweeping through the room and leaving large green bottles in front of all of the other aliens.

He nearly jumped out of his seat when a bottle was set down with a loud thud next to his place setting.

Daniel shook his head, an act that seemed to displease Aa-ken. He pointed at the alien, then at himself, in some horrific parody of a Tarzan movie with a 'me Tarzan, you Jane' type of primitive sign language, which he hoped would get his message across. One of Aa-ken's oval eyes twitched. Nervous? Upset? Homicidal? It was difficult to tell.

The two aliens exchanged a volley of bizarre words. Daniel hoped he understood their intent so he nodded. At least that seemed a somewhat universal gesture.

Aa-ken grinned. The alien's teeth seemed pointed, sharp. Did the Asgard have teeth? He couldn't remember ever seeing their teeth, or seeing them grin or smile.

Daniel was distracted from his thoughts when Aa-ken uncorked the large green bottle that had been set in front of his plate. A glop of the thick reddish liquid was poured into a twisted, tubular glass. Aa-ken downed the liquid in a defiant gesture. He set his glass down with an audible thump and glared at Daniel.

All of the aliens stared at him as the din in the room suddenly evaporated.

Aa-ken continued to fiddle with the large knife, which he gestured at Daniel.

Daniel stared at the bottle in front of him.

Sam frowned as Daniel's dialogue basically ground to a halt. She noticed that the colonel was doing likewise as he tried to comprehend just what Daniel had said – and not said – about the bizarre gathering with the aliens.

"You didn't willingly drink that stuff??"

Daniel shot a brief glance at O'Neill, who was trying his best not to look disgusted at the thought.

"Uh…" Daniel grimaced. "Yup."

O'Neill knitted his fingers together in a knot in front of himself, leaning forward on the table. "I know you're into this 'experience the culture' and 'when in Rome' stuff, Daniel, but didn't the fact that the stuff tasted like dead skunk give you a hint it might be hazardous to your health??"

"Uh, I really didn't have any other option that I could see," said Daniel

Sam could see why, even if the colonel didn't readily admit it. Taking your chances with potential poison offered a better opportunity of survival than having your throat slit ear to ear by some nasty little alien.

"Daniel. You said something about the plates?" she asked.

"I didn't have time to analyze their language, but they made ample use of pictograms on their, um, dinnerware."

Which obviously got him upset enough that he decided to acquiesce to the aliens' bidding, thought Sam.

"Apparently the Goa'uld, well, at least Jaffa, have visited their world some time in their past, and the aliens apparently … dealt with them."

The colonel perked up at this bit of news.

"The pictograms on the plates painted a pretty vivid picture of…" Daniel paused, brow furrowing in apparent thought. "Their strategy."

"Which was?" prodded O'Neill.

"They…um…"

O'Neill nodded his head, gesturing with hands for Daniel to complete the sentence.

"Ate them," finished Daniel.

Sam felt more than queasy. Ate them? Those tiny little aliens killed and ate Jaffa? Her eyes darted immediately toward Teal'c, who seemed the least disturbed amongst the group gathered around the conference table at this startling revelation. Even the general looked somewhat ill at the thought.

"Then why didn't they…?" O'Neill gestured at Teal'c.

"Well, you might say we sort of walked into the middle of a…"

Sam strained to hear the last words, which was nearly impossible as Daniel had bent his head down and put his hands over his mouth in some bizarre effort to stop anybody from hearing what he'd said.

"Uh, Daniel, don't get me wrong, but I thought you said we walked in on a…" O'Neill grimaced at the thought. "… dinner."

Daniel didn't have to say a thing. The miserable look on his face said it all.

"It was a dinner?" Sam felt as perplexed as O'Neill looked.

"Well, some alien version," offered Daniel. "I think they thought Teal'c was a… gift."

O'Neill shook his head. "Well, that's a new one."

"I think they thought I was in charge of our group because--"

"--you spoke up first," finished O'Neill.

Daniel nodded.

"But that still doesn't explain why they let us all go," said Sam.

"Or how you ended up with all those injuries," added Janet.

Daniel pointed at his cheek. The swelling had diminished greatly, leaving a fading multicolored hue in its wake. "They kept knocking me into walls while carrying me. They wouldn't let me walk. They had this thing about my touching the floor with my feet."

"So why steal our boots?" asked O'Neill.

"Yours too?" said Daniel.

"Yeah," replied O'Neill. He grabbed a folder off the table and slid it toward Daniel. "And painted the bottom of our feet with some symbol. Still trying to wash the damned thing off."

Daniel studied the picture of someone's foot. He turned it upside down, sideways, and then shook his head. "I really don't know. I just remember bits and pieces after that."

"Do you remember how you got back to the DHD?" asked Hammond.

"DHD?" repeated Daniel.

"Obviously not," said Jack dryly.

"You were in poor shape when we found you, Daniel Jackson," said Teal'c.

"In the condition you were in, I seriously doubt you'd be capable of walking," said Janet. "We're lucky you're here with us."

Daniel offered a quick smile in her direction, obviously grateful for all she'd done to pull him through. Sam knew they all owed Janet a lot for saving their lives on far too many occasions.

Despite further prodding, Daniel wasn't able to construct a more coherent timeline of when he was apart from the rest of SG-1. Huge chunks of time might as well have been jettisoned into a black hole.

After another half hour of "maybe," "it might have, well, I'm not sure," and numerous other vague references, Hammond concluded the meeting, letting Daniel leave early as he'd developed a headache.

"Doctor, do you think he'll regain his memory of his time on PL4-6Z9?" asked Hammond.

Janet shuffled the foot photograph back into a manila folder. "It's very hard to tell," she replied. "Considering he'd basically suffered alcohol poisoning, it's a miracle he didn't suffer any major organ damage and that he's cognizant of his surroundings and who he is. You know whenever you take a drink, you're killing brain cells. He probably obliterated more than I care to think about, and it's possible that part of his short-term memory is gone forever. I do want to run more tests, make certain his long-term memory is intact and his short-term memory functions aren't damaged."

"I thought you ran all those tests?" asked Sam.

"Yes, MRIs, CAT scans, the works," said Janet, "but now he's awake, I want to just double-check."

"What? Are you saying he'll never remember anything from now forward?" asked O'Neill.

"There are rare instances of brain damage in which the individual retains all long-term memories, but is unable to retain short-term memory. If he reads a book on Tuesday, he wouldn't remember that on Wednesday, and so on."

O'Neill looked shocked.

"It's unlikely from what I've observed so far, but I want to make sure," repeated Janet. "We're dealing an unknown alien substance. We can never tell the long-term implications of exposure."

O'Neill leaned back in his chair, a small hiss escaping from his lips.

"What of the security implications?" said Teal'c.

Jack turned quickly toward the Jaffa. "What do you mean by that?"

"It is what General Hammond will ask," replied Teal'c. "I recognize the expression on his face."

Hammond nodded, perhaps uncomfortable the large man could so easily read his face, or that he assumed that countenance far too often with incoming SGC teams.

"Daniel wouldn't tell them anything," said Jack quickly. "And it sure didn't seem like they understood a word we said."

"Indeed," said Teal'c. "And they returned all our items."

"Except our boots," said O'Neill.

Sam pondered that topic. The aliens had to have some kind of cultural fetish about alien feet touching their floor. They walked around barefoot. Maybe shoes were forbidden? Or that particular ceremony forbid footwear?

"We don't know what happened to Dr. Jackson," said Hammond. "It's possible while under the influence, he divulged information."

"Daniel barely drinks one beer," countered O'Neill. "He probably passed out cold."

"Well, inebriation can make a person say something they normally wouldn't say," interjected Janet. "But we have no idea if he became drunk from ingesting the liquid, or passed out immediately, or suffered some other unknown effect. The process could have been different than with normal alcohol consumption."

"Well, we've changed the security codes, locked PL4-6Z9 out on the computer, there's not much more we can do," said Hammond.

But the unspoken words hung heavily in the air. Had Daniel divulged any secrets of the SGC, and how would Washington react when they received the reports?

Sam cast a glance at the door that Daniel had gone through just minutes before.

Would they let Daniel remain on SG-1?

Jack meandered down the dull gray corridor, realizing he was consciously slowing as he approached Daniel's lab. Two days had passed since Daniel had been released from the infirmary. After a barrage of more tests, Janet had given him a clean bill of health. The worries about his short-term memory vanished; for better or worse, he remembered everything after he woke up in the infirmary.

After that, Daniel had holed himself up in his office, trying to decipher the 'words' on the bottle that had been tossed through the gate after them. The contents had been drained out and were still under study in one of those labs somewhere beneath that Jack never visited.

Daniel was okay.

He was back to drinking black coffee and talking to himself or the computer screen. Unlike Jack, he was working on his mission report. Jack was holding off, as once he submitted his report, it went to Hammond, and once Hammond got it, it went higher, and then the fallout could begin.

Jack sighed.

He knocked on the slightly open door and then entered at Daniel's invitation.

"So…" Jack situated himself on the high swivel chair in the corner. "Any luck?"

Daniel pushed his glasses up on his nose. He frowned. "Not really," he admitted. "I mean, this language is totally foreign to me. It has no basis in Earth culture and doesn't seem to follow any parallels to the Ancients or Furlings or other languages we've encountered. Quite frankly, I'm stumped."

"You've only been at it for a day," said Jack.

Daniel sighed.

Jack felt bad. It wasn't often that Daniel exhibited defeat, but at the moment, he had a lot hanging over him.

"Hey, the lab guys figure they'll have tape ready for viewing any day now," said Jack cheerfully.

"If I'd had my camera they wouldn't have to do all that cleaning up." Daniel typed harder on his keyboard than necessary. "Erskine from SG-6 came by and borrowed mine the day before we went on our mission, and he never returned it. Just left that lower-grade tape version in its place. If he hadn't dropped his camera in that bog on PL3-285…"

"Guess it's a good thing."

Daniel looked over, puzzled.

"That camcorder shattered when it landed in the embarkation room," explained Jack. "Techies figure a digital camera would have been shot. Last I heard, they think the entire ten-hour tape was recorded."

"All ten hours?"

"In glorious Technicolor, we hope," said Jack.

"I don't remember what happened to the camera after they grabbed me," said Daniel. "For all we know, it was stuck taping a wall."

"I don't think so. It was pretty slimed when we got it back, so maybe they were fooling around with it."

"Maybe," agreed Daniel. He went back to studying the heavy bottle.

Not exactly the response Jack had wanted, but it gave him an opening nevertheless.

"Remember back in the infirmary, when I said it was like you ruined our relations with those aliens," said Jack. "You held up one finger, well, like you were saying yes. I've just been wondering…"

"Destroyed any chance of interplanetary relations, as I recall." Daniel drew his eyes away from the bottle, then sat down in his chair, fidgeting with a pen. "But I have this really strong feeling that I—that we can't go back there ever again."

"As if we want to go some place where Teal'c will get served up on a platter?" Jack replied. "I don't think so!"

"But their technology." Daniel looked up, indecision flashing in his eyes.

"I don't know about you, Daniel, but aside from being fastidious about floors, I didn't see anything positive about those little creeps."

"I…" Daniel paused, glancing back at the bottle. "You know, aside from…"

Jack waited, but the young archeologist seemed to have brain gridlock.

"What, Daniel?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I didn't say this before, because I can't figure it out, but part of me… I just have this impression the aliens were really good at something."

Jack held his tongue, despite the overwhelming desire to yell that the aliens were very good at torturing the rest of the SG-1 by locking them, never letting them know what was happening to Daniel, by doing whatever they did to Daniel, and being a total damned annoyance. And the worst was if that Daniel was right – they all suffered for nothing more than some kind of alien banquet!

Sighing, Jack looked away from Daniel, not wanting his friend to see the emotions flickering through his eyes. A glint in the trashcan caught his eye and he looked in.

"What the hell is this?"

Daniel glanced over at the beer bottle Jack was holding up.

"Someone's idea of a joke, I guess." Daniel shrugged. "I've tossed a few of them out. Word gets around, you know?"

"Juvenile sense of humor if you ask me," said Jack darkly. He dropped the bottle back into the can. Wasn't even a decent brand of beer.

"People will forget."

Daniel's tone was so matter-of-fact it made Jack cringe. Sure, people forgot, but in the meantime, it hung around. He'd seen the sideway glances some people gave Daniel when the archeologist wasn't looking, but perhaps in the greater scheme of things it didn't matter. SG-1 had been through worse, had weathered impossible and lethal situations and come through.

Yeah, it would all blow over.

Unless that videotape showed them something they didn't want to see.

Sam stifled a yawn. Word had come down that Hammond was holding a briefing regarding SG-1's last mission at 0700 hours. She'd showered, then grabbed a quick bite at the commissary but bemoaned the fact SG-7 had wiped out all the blueberry muffins just minutes before she got there.

Turning the corner of a drab corridor, Sam spotted Teal'c just a few yards ahead. She sprinted up to him, then settled into a comfortable pace as both SG-1 members headed toward the briefing room.

"I hear the tape is ready for viewing," she said.

"Indeed," intoned Teal'c. Sam marveled at the way the large man had of making a single word sum up the situation so well. It was just of the things that made him a good soldier.

"I was told by Sgt. Siler it could make a person sick to view it."

Sam stopped in her tracks. Was what was on the tape that horrible?

Teal'c stopped, his hands folded behind his back. "The sergeant indicated the image stabilizer feature must have been damaged."

Sam breathed a heavy sigh of relief and smiled. "Oh, that's all. He must mean you'd get seasick watching it."

"Seasick?"

"You get really queasy, " said Sam. "It happens to people who aren't used to being on boats. The actions of the waves going up and down affects…"

"I see," Teal'c nodded.

The pair continued to the briefing room, where a monitor and VCR were already set up. A short, thin man with reddish, short-cropped hair was busy explaining some of the technical aspects of salvaging the tape, and how it was now viewable. Before he left, he advised that due to liquid damage, there would be 'glitches.'

Sam sat across from the colonel. Daniel sat next to him. He was preoccupied with the yellow pad on the table in front of him. Leave it to Daniel to take notes of his own abduction. Sam flashed a reassuring smile at him when he looked up.

Teal'c sat down next to her, and Janet followed seconds later, sitting at the end of the table. General Hammond stood at the front, a VCR remote in his hand.

"Our technical people have advised me the tape from Dr. Jackson's camcorder is in the best shape they can possibly make it."

"This thing is ten hours?" asked O'Neill.

"The technicians reported the tape had run till the end, yes," said Hammond.

"We get bathroom breaks, right?"

The general's silent stare meant there would be no more wisecracks from that side of the table.

Sam shifted in her seat, wondering how comfortable she'd be in the chair after several hours.

Maybe if he put it to a vote, they could overpower Hammond and wrestle away the remote and then Jack would make excellent use of the speed search button to get them the hell out of what they were viewing.

The tape had started off innocently enough, with Daniel making a pre-mission statement of date, time and where they were going. Nothing exciting there, but Daniel perked up when the tape picked up at their arrival at PL4-6Z9. The camera lovingly panned over countless columns and walls of the alien writings, close enough and sharp enough that the data could be fed into a computer for analysis.

The tape then went into a fit of noisy glitches and hisses. That went on for several minutes until the camera was turned on again, rather abruptly as though someone had dropped it, and they were treated to a dimly lit view of something. A wall? A ceiling? The worst part was they could hear the aliens talking. That incessant, annoying keening sound.

Jack stared at his watch, hoping the next nine and half hours would speed by quicker than this nightmare. Maybe Daniel had been right; the tape was useless. Glancing to his left, he could see that even Daniel was bored of trying to figure out what they were looking at. Carter was tapping a finger anxiously on the table's surface. Probably a closet zapper, Jack surmised. Teal'c just looked stoic; he'd suffered worse torture at the hands of the Goa'uld… well, maybe.

Jack hoped that something showed up soon. If the whole tape was a wash, then a lingering cloud of doubt just might settle over Daniel.

"Whoa!"

No sooner than he'd made that wish, the video came alive. A loud crack filled the room when the camera struck a hard surface, then what looked like bony fingers half covered the lens until it zoomed in an enormous violet eye.

"That is one of the aliens," stated Teal'c.

"Ya think?" Jack's droll comment broke the silence.

The camera was tossed to another alien, resulting in a stomach-lurching vista for the humans. Another alien eyeball peered into the camera, but apparently not seeing anything of interest within the camera, dropped it on the table. The crash made Hammond visibly wince. Jack figured part of that expression was explaining the damage in a report to Washington.

"Can you back that up?"

Janet looked at Hammond, who held the remote.

"I need to check something out."

Hammond relinquished the device to the doctor and Jack groaned inwardly. Great! He was a master of zapping videotapes and he couldn't get the remote.

The tape backed up to the elliptical alien eye, then again, and Janet kicked it into slo-mo. "Look at that."

Jack had no idea why she was so intrigued by the eye.

"Looks like a cat," he said, adding, "an evil cat."

"Complete with nictating membrane." Janet actually went up to the monitor to point out the opaque membrane, which, even at a frame-by-frame search, went by incredibly fast.

"So?" said Jack. "These little buggers have some feline DNA in them?"

"We have yet to encounter any aliens quite like these," pointed out Carter.

"And if God is on our side, I hope to heaven we never do again." Jack folded his arms against his chest.

To Jack's surprise, Janet pressed the fast-forward key.

"Doctor…" warned Hammond.

"I think after viewing 18 minutes and 34 seconds of basically nothing, and being subject to that horrid noise, we can all agree we should try to find Daniel on this tape." Janet had a firm grip on the remote, and her finger was stuck on speed search.

There were murmurs of ascension from all of SG-1. Hammond finally agreed to the tactic.

Within minutes, they hit pay dirt when Daniel's face suddenly flashed across the screen. Janet rewound to the alien face.

"—that. Yes, if you wouldn't mind just handing it over here." Definitely Daniel's voice. Trying to be polite to a bunch of wretched little monsters.

The alien who'd been playing with the recorder vanished. The screen dissolved into a violent twisting motion until the camcorder stopped, smashing into something Jack couldn't identify. Jack thought he'd heard Daniel's voice amongst the alien chatter but he wasn't positive.

The camera was upended and SG-1 got an upside down view of Daniel Jackson. Jack twisted his head in an awkward angle, realizing that Daniel was holding his hand to a now-bloodied lip. The young man flashed one of those 'thank you for returning my camera but you didn't have to throw it into my face' smiles at the off-camera aliens.

The archeologist stared at the camera for a second, puzzled, then righted the camera. In an almost conspiratorial whisper, he leaned into the lens.

"This is Daniel Jackson of the SGC. Shortly after we arrived on PL4-6Z9, we were abducted by a large group of aliens. I don't know where Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter or Teal'c are, but I'm worried for their safety. These aliens aren't communicating in any language I can understand but if their pictographs are any indication, we're in deep trouble." The camera flipped around quickly with no consideration for whoever would be viewing the tape. Explicit illustrations on a plate filled the TV monitor's screen.

"Oh my God." Carter stared wide-eyed at the vivid detail of what the aliens did to Jaffa and, most likely, any Goa'uld.

"If we don't get out of here, Teal'c's gonna end up a Jaffa kabob," continued Daniel's voice.

Jaffa kabob? Jack mouthed incredulously at Daniel.

Daniel shrugged helplessly, apparently as perplexed as Jack was.

The videotaped image continued, changing angle. The zoom expanded until it was on wide-angle, capturing Jackson and both aliens on other side of him.

"I think this is some kind of ceremony. I'm honestly not sure, and trying to discuss it civilly may be out of the question." Daniel's image nodded his head a fraction to his right. "Aa-ken goes ballistic at half of what I say so for all I know I'm insulting him. The only weapons they've shown so far are knives—" The camera shifted ever so slightly to capture the wicked looking weapon that Aa-ken was toying with "—but their sheer number, there have to be at least two hundred of them in this hall, means they can take us down by just jumping on us."

As the camera swept slowly across a vast hall filled with a sea of blue oval faces, Jack turned to Daniel, who was staring at the video with his mouth half open. Déjà vu? Horror? It was hard to tell.

"You know, Daniel, you were dead-on there. I've got half a dozen footprints on my back from those things."

Daniel just nodded absently, and continued to stare ahead.

Yeah, nothing like seeing yourself on tape in a situation you couldn't remember, and dreading what might show up next, thought Jack.

"I'm just trying to go along with the flow, as Jack would say because I think it's the only way to get SG-1 back." The camera slowly switched view, panning down the long table until it focused on Daniel and his two alien companions. Jack noticed on the corner of the screen that Aa-ken was pouring himself a glass of that vile liquid. The alien put the tubular glass to its lips – which looked more like a slit, Jack thought – and sucked the liquid down. Jack didn't hide his distaste when he saw a deep-blue forked tongue dart about the bottom of the glass to get out the last few drops.

The alien placed its empty glass firmly on the table and glared at Daniel. "Chaa-ka," it grumbled, all the while fondling the large knife.

"Ugh." The Daniel on the videotape put the camera down, resting it against something so the entire view was now skewed at a 45-degree angle, chopping Aa-ken's face in half. No loss there, thought Jack.

Daniel poured himself a glass. "Chaa-ka," he repeated. He drank the liquid. No, it was more like he tossed it down his throat at warp speed, thought Jack, because it tasted that bad. Sure enough, Daniel's face scrunched up in utter distaste, but since this was Daniel, he did the diplomatic thing and did not throw up all over the table, which is what Jack was sure Daniel had wanted to do at that very moment. Daniel nodded his head toward Aa-ken, and then managed a raspy whisper. "It keeps him… happy."

Jack and the others could see what he meant. Aa-ken appeared rather smug Daniel was imitating him. The other alien off to Daniel's other side seemed almost bemused by the proceedings.

It vanished as someone grabbed the camera.

Daniel's strangled plea of "No, no, no, that's US government property…" faded away as the video once again turned into a noisy and topsy-turvy taping.

The picture abruptly stopped.

"Argh, this is Steven Spielberg on acid." Jack rubbed the bridge of his noise, fighting off a headache.

"I apologize, General." Janet laid the remote down on the table. "But I'm going to need some Dramamine to watch the rest of this."

"Can I have some?" chimed in Sam hopefully.

Teal'c just arched an eyebrow.

"Daniel?" asked Jack.

The younger man just looked dismal at what he had been viewing. "Maybe an aspirin, or three," he muttered, scrawling something on his writing pad.

The general permitted everyone a half-hour break, mostly because Janet said it would take that long for the Dramamine to kick in so they could all view the tape without losing their breakfast. Jack had to drag Daniel out of the briefing room. He wondered if Daniel was pondering speed-searching the entire tape during the time they wouldn't be there. That's what Jack would be sorely tempted to do, but he knew the curiosity wouldn't benefit anyone. No, Daniel probably just wanted to be alone considering it was him whose behavior was being vivisected in front of audience. Jack figured a little jaunt topside couldn't hurt, even if they just walked around the parking lot. A bright sun and some fresh air could shed a little perspective on an otherwise cloudy situation.

Daniel strayed over to an area of open grass and opted to just lie on his back and soak up some sun. Jack sat down near him, casting a glance over his shoulder. A security guard stood near the edge of the tarmac. Watching.

Jack shook his head. He absently plucked some blades out of the grass, and then looked up. The sky was a vivid deep blue, a distinct contrast to the dull gray walls beneath them in the Stargate facility. Flotillas of large white clouds drifted lazily overhead. Incredibly gorgeous – and one of the reasons why they went through the gate to face alien cultures. So they could just gaze up and enjoy the simple beauties of their planet whenever they wanted.

"Is he still there?"

Jack stared at the thin green blades between his fingers, idly comparing the two. "Oh yeah. It's nothing. Just standard."

"Security risk, right?"

Jack's preoccupation with the grass evaporated when he heard a tinge of self-doubt creep into Daniel's voice. He studied Daniel, who was still lying on the grass, his eyes shut. "You're not a security risk."

"Hammond didn't come right out and say it," said Daniel. "But I can't go off base until this thing is resolved."

Actually, Hammond did say that, thought Jack grimly. The general didn't like it any better than Jack did, but there were procedures and checks that had to be adhered to. Jack had made it quite clear Daniel wouldn't have give up any codes or SGC secrets, no matter what the aliens did to him.

"Maybe they tried to brainwash me," suggested Daniel.

Jack let out a short laugh. "More like brain-pickling. Just how much of that stuff did you drink?"

Daniel opened his eyes, watching a pattern of clouds shift by. "It's really weird. I watch myself on that tape, trying to remember, trying to stay detached about the whole…" Daniel waved an arm in frustration. "… mess. All I remember is snatches and just vague, you know, bad feelings."

"If that tape is any indication, you were outnumbered at least a hundred to one. I wouldn't even give Teal'c a decent chance with those odds." Jack looked at his watch. Just a few more minutes and they'd have to go back down into the depths of Cheyenne Mountain. "And I know those aliens weren't cute little E.T.'s. They treated the rest of us like pieces of luggage. Remember those old American Tourister ads with the gorilla slamming luggage all over the place? Well, that's what they did with us."

"Sorry."

"Not your fault," Jack said quickly. "Don't know how you did it, but you got all our butts out of there in one piece. But, I have to know just one thing."

Daniel looked at him seriously.

"Jaffa-kabob? Where on earth did that come from?"

A small groan escaped Daniel's lips before he sat up. "I think you're rubbing off on me."

Jack grinned happily. At least Daniel was able to see some levity in what had thus far been a total disaster. He patted his friend on the back. "Let's go back."

"Argh! Volume!"

A little green mute showed up on the lower left side of the monitor's screen. Hammond shook his head but didn't caution Colonel O'Neill one iota for his outburst. Sam certainly didn't blame the colonel. That screeching noise brought back bad memories of their captivity.

Janet readjusted the volume to a bearable level. Hammond ordered her to keep the mute selection on until they had a reason to hear something. Sam assumed the general was reacting to the aliens' off-key voices just as they had back on the planet.

"What on earth is that?"

Janet had just beaten Sam to that question. Everybody stared at the screen. Some kind of meal was brought out and placed on the table. Even though the camera didn't capture all of it, they could tell it was huge, like a hog, but with six blackened legs sticking straight up in the air.

"Yuck, roasted zarkrat," O'Neill said disgustedly.

"I am unfamiliar with that species," said Teal'c.

"Well…" drawled the colonel. "Neither am I, but I'm sure if you roasted one, it would look just like … that."

The camera swung toward Daniel again.

Sam knew it wasn't just Daniel the aliens were interested in viewing, but the two aliens that flanked either side of the archeologist. Perhaps they were the leaders. Daniel reached for the camera, but several bony alien hands materialized on-screen and swatted his fingers. Daniel yanked his hand away, shaking off the pain. "Ooo-kay. Have it your way."

Yaka squinted its eyes briefly at Daniel's action but did nothing else. Aa-ken was eyeing the main course. Sam could swear the alien was practically salivating at the sight of the charred thing.

A leg was deposited with a heavy clunk on Aa-ken's dish. The alien uttered a command. Daniel nearly jumped out of his seat when another ripped-off leg landed on his plate. Yaka received one as well.

"Oh, this is gross." Daniel became alarmed and quickly glanced at the two aliens, wary of retribution for his comment. None came. "Okay, no faux paux." He picked up his fork and poked cautiously at the gruesome limb. "I don't think this is... cooked."

Sam's stomach churned. Even though the camera didn't zoom in, it was evident to everyone that the unfortunate creature had been cooked at an extreme heat that charred the outer skin to a crispy black coating, while the muscle remained only partially heated. A mass of little sprigs of what Sam could only assume were torn tendons and blood vessels poked up through the burnt skin. At the other end of the limb were six stubby black knobs. Burnt-off toes or claws? Darkened, congealed blood oozed out of the burnt cracks and the torn end.

Daniel wasn't going to eat that, was he??

Aa-ken stuffed the foot end into his mouth, and then yanked it back in a decisive ripping action. Daniel winced in horror. The bone was totally devoid of flesh, almost as if it had been stripped off by acid. Aa-ken swallowed a huge chunk that visibly went down his throat.

"My God, they must have teeth like shark," said Janet.

"Please elaborate, doctor," said Hammond.

"Sharks have rows upon rows of teeth inside their mouth, so when they lose a set, another set moves in. Without teeth, shark would never survive," said Janet. "But in this case, it looks as though if the alien clamps its mouth down, it can literally strip all flesh off the bone."

"Just peachy." O'Neill looked ill.

Aa-ken viciously bit off a piece of bone and chewed it with gusto. Glaring at Daniel and his uneaten limb, he uttered some terse command. It was obvious what he wanted Daniel to do.

"I've very recently become a vegetarian," said Daniel. The alien remained unconvinced and squawked harshly. Daniel gestured at something out of view. "Uh, how about that? It looks much tastier." He smiled, but even Sam could see his nerves were definitely on edge.

Aa-ken and Yaka stared at whatever he had pointed at, then conversed loudly, not caring if their talking right past Daniel was giving him an obvious headache. Yaka nodded. Aa-ken almost seemed to laugh, then gave a command.

Someone removed the leg and something green landed on Daniel's plate.

"I think I can handle this." It resembled a large squishy green garlic bulb. Daniel prodded it with a finger; it jiggled, almost as if it were made out of Jell-O. Aa-ken resumed devouring the charred leg. Daniel looked directly into the camera. "From what I can figure out—" He pointed upwards. "--This race is called the Aal. Pronounced A-A-L. I think."

Daniel jumped when a half-eaten leg slammed down on his plate. Aa-ken pointed angrily at the bulb with the dismembered limb and then at Daniel.

"I hope this isn't poisonous."

Daniel shut his eyes, and took a bite out of the bulb.

Sam found herself holding her breath.

Daniel's eyes snapped open, relief evident as the tension evaporated. "It's