Prelude:

The procession was as stately as any funeral could be. Somehow it seemed different because it was his funeral they were attending. He was surprised so many had turned out for it. Some he knew very well, a few he was sure had hated him, most he only knew in passing.

It was a pity it took his own funeral to show him just how highly he was thought of.

And he had no way of showing them his gratitude.

The priests carried his body to the Circle of Passage. The mourners bracketed them in two neat lines on either side. Two body lengths ahead, his mate and best friend led the procession, taking the place normally reserved for family.

It was a long walk from the village to the Circle. Some filled the time by singing the Chants of the Setting Sun while others talked amongst themselves. A few were as painfully silent as the priests, who would not speak in the presence of a body except to say the Rites. Despite the solemn cacophony, five lines of people never once wavered. He knew better than to think it was out of respect for the dead they were keeping company. Thanks to this new disease, they had all had far too much practice taking this trek.

He stayed in the front with his mate. Whenever she was around, the very male body he had worn felt both lacking and whole, an exhilarating contradiction he had delighted in. When she told him she felt the same way, they had started the procedures to make their feelings official. The disease had struck him down before they could finalize the joining. Despite what the records might say, everyone knew they were in love. He missed her terribly.

She will join him all too soon. Her gate was stiff and her fur limp. She kept leaning into his friend. He couldn’t tell if it was due to the disease, or her mourning, or…something else. It didn’t matter now, anyway. Their mutual best friend was strong and healthy and would outlive her as well.

He was almost glad the two would have little time together. Almost.

The group arrived at the Circle of Passage just as the sun met the horizon in all its auburn glory. Only a priest joined the stars after dark, and he had never had the will to be spiritual. The priests put their load down next to the device that would create the Passage. They formed a curving line around it. His mate and friend stood on either side of his body, waiting for the chore he had never been able to bring himself to do. Everyone else formed one great semi-circle around them.

He listened to the quiet symphony of hearts beating and lungs breathing, laced with the clear words of the Rites for the Dead. When the priests fell silent again, everyone took up the Chant of the Setting Sun.

He watched with renewed awe as the priests worked the device and the Passage was created. His two closest friends waited a moment for the outward stream to settle back – she almost buckling under his weight – before they fed his body to the liquid blue. The Chant ended with the last light of the sun, almost the same time his body disappeared.

He would not follow his body to see where the Passage led. He did not believe in ghosts. And despite the evidence to the contrary, he refused to believe he was dead.

Part 1:

There was something to be said about wandering around the halls at night.

Meandering journeys through nondescript walls? Or the aimless followings of a soul lost?

Daniel stopped himself and shook his head, mentally laughing at himself. What was that? Your try at poetry? He sighed and rubbed his face. He was babbling, he knew it. His mental brook working overtime. He could barely think straight, walk straight or talk straight.

The archeologist groaned. "I need some sleep," he whispered, unwilling to make any noise at 3 in the morning. Although there was only a skeleton crew wandering around the halls like himself, they were there because of their shift. He was there because he couldn't sleep.

Again.

Daniel mumbled to himself, wondering if this was really helping – further exhausting himself in hopes of collapsing back on his bed to sleep. He hoped so. Nothing else has worked.

His mind kept churning, raging here and there, sometimes forking off in odd directions, sometimes flowing backward to cover old ground. It was worse than wondering the halls. The rivers of his mind had fewer boundaries. How he longed for a brick wall, a damn to put a stop to his thoughts. There were times when placid, boring thinking could be beneficial.

Daniel took another step before he realized where his feet were taking him. He frowned at the briefing room. When did he take the stairs? He couldn’t even remember using the elevator. The last place he remembered wandering were the halls of the lab areas down on Level 23. He was even more out of it than he had originally thought.

His head drooped, following the slouch of his shoulders. Maybe he’d sit and rest his feet for a moment, then head back for his room. He would try to sleep again, or maybe just lay and give his eyes a rest.

Daniel stepped into the room, not bothering with the lights. Plenty streamed in from the embarkation room. He jumped when he saw someone standing by the observation window. The figure must have heard his muffled squeak, it turned around with a question in dark eyes.

Daniel finally got his mouth to work again.

"J-jack?"

"Daniel. Don’t sneak up on me like that!"

"I wasn’t sneaking."

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn’t."

"Yes, you were."

Daniel didn’t like the tone Jack had taken. It sounded almost as if he wanted a fight. He, on the other hand, just wanted to sleep.

Daniel crossed his arms and just shook his head.

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Then why didn’t you turn the lights on?" he challenged.

Daniel sighed. "Probably the same reason you didn’t."

Jack looked at him a moment, turned back toward the observation window. There was a very un-Jack-like slouch to his shoulders.

"Couldn’t sleep." Jack’s words were more confession than question.

Daniel took the quiet admission as tacit permission to stay. He joined Jack at the window. The Stargate dominated the room below. Once, the mere sight of this piece of alien technology had sent shivers of anticipation through his spine. It was the wonder of puzzles to be solved. And Daniel loved puzzles. Most of the time. Right now, though, the sight of the giant ring only made him weary. He didn’t even have the strength to wonder why.

Jack and Daniel stood side by side, alone with the thoughts of the sleepless.

"Is it possible," Daniel asked, breaking the almost companionable silence, "to get cabin fever when you can leave the cabin?"

"What?" The expression on Jack’s face said Daniel had lost him. Again.

Daniel’s eyes returned to the Stargate. "I need a break, Jack." He looked out the corner of his eyes to judge Jack’s reaction to his sincerity.

Jack stood very still and would not look at him. "You had plenty of time to rest the last down time we had. You were in your office all but one of those days."

Daniel wasn’t even going to ask how Jack knew that. It meant Jack had either been checking up on him, or he was feeling the same way.

"That’s not what I meant, and you know it."

"Yeah," Jack admitted gruffly.

Well, back to square one. Not quite companionable silence and a need for rest. Though sleep would be helpful, it had little to do with what Daniel was feeling. He needed some R & R, a change of scene, a break from life, a vacation. He was sure Jack would agree. If he could just find a way to say it.

Jack took a deep breath and grunted what sounded like an aborted sigh. "I’ll talk to the General." It seems Jack understood after all.

Part 2:

So, he was finally getting his vacation.

Daniel grinned at his surroundings. The straw colored, savanna like grass was shin high and didn’t irritate his allergies. The tall trees sprinkling the plain were not as sparse as they seemed to be; it was an illusion of space Daniel enjoyed. The wind was always gentle, despite the fierce noise it made with the help of the trees. The place was as different from any sandy dig or snowy mountain pass as he could possibly get.

Now, if only he could be alone.

Daniel looked at his companions with bemusement. Captain Cloy and Sgt. McGarrah had gone into soldier mode the moment they were clear of the Stargate. On the offensive, guns not up but ready should they need them, they scanned the area around them. There was little more than the expected tall grass, strangely flattened around the Stargate and in a path leading to the trees.

McGarrah took over the role Daniel and Sam shared of checking over the DHD. He found the symbols that would take them home and wrote them in a small notebook. Daniel hid a smile. He used to do the same thing, before figuring out that it was quicker, and safer, to commit them to memory. He joined McGarrah at the DHD to do just that.

Lt. Douglas took a cursory glance at his surroundings before directing his attention at himself. He held his hands out and wriggled each finger as if counting to ten. He grunted something, and took inventory of the rest of himself. Satisfied he had indeed arrived in one piece, Douglas joined Cloy and McGarrah in the visual sweep of the PJ4912.

Then there was Sgt. Murphy, the newest member of SG 7. He sat on the steps to the Stargate looking decidedly green and trying hard not to be sick. Apparently no one had warned him to eat light before going on a mission. Daniel took heart and handed him a packet of antacid. It usually helped when he forgot and ate too much.

Murphy nodded his thanks and downed them without water. Daniel found his own stomach roiling at the action.

"Ready?" Cloy looked at each of his charges in turn.

"Whenever you are, sir." Murphy’s words were steadier than his feet. He stumbled once, catching himself before Daniel did. Douglas and McGarrah looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Cloy didn’t look too pleased, but he kept his counsel.

"Let’s set up camp before the sun sets."

"Yes, sir." Murphy’s words were spoken softly, Daniel almost didn’t hear him. He gave Daniel a half smile and trudged after his team.

Daniel started to follow when he caught a glint out of the corner of his eye. He lost track of it for a moment when he turned to get a better look. He almost thought it was something reflecting off his glasses, except it was not close enough. Floating about chest high next to the DHD was a translucent, shapeless, colorless…blob, almost invisible in the clear day. Trying to focus on it gave Daniel a headache. It was like trying to focus on the shimmering cause by heat and gas fumes in the distance.

He barely heard his name being called as he watching the shimmering move lazily away. He slowly scanned the area for more. Finding nothing, he turned back toward the shimmering thing. Gone. He scanned the area where he last saw it. Cloy and two of SG 7 were standing in the distance. Murphy was approaching with a worried look on his face. And there was the floating puzzle, a reflection in midair, gliding into Murphy’s path.

Daniel opened his mouth to warn him, too late. Murphy walked into the shimmering thing with no ill effect, save for a very visible shiver.

"What’s the matter," McGarrah shouted, "someone walk over your grave?"

"More like through it," Murphy muttered, keeping his back to his team.

Daniel looked around Murphy but found no sign of the thing. Maybe the touch dissipated it?

"You okay, Doc?"

Daniel blinked. "What?"

"You look a bit… distracted," Murphy said charitably.

"Uhm…" Daniel shook his head and finally noticed the impatient looks on the rest of Murphy’s team. Uh oh, barely ten minutes on a planet, and he was already getting himself into trouble. "I’m fine." He looked around one more time. Nothing. "We better get going."

Murphy nodded and waited until Daniel had started before following. Daniel had the distinct impression Murphy was on baby-sitting duty. He almost laughed at the thought. He would have felt sorry for Murphy if he didn’t feel so annoyed with Cloy. How was he supposed to enjoy himself with people keeping a close watch on him? He couldn’t even wonder what was causing that shimmering effect without interruption.

He heaved a deep sigh which drew a puzzled look from Murphy. I will have my break, he told himself, and I will enjoy it!

* * *

Captain Cloy had chosen the spot for their camp based on information brought back from the previous expedition. A rock outcrop intersected a small river and curved back into the trees a short distance away. It was high enough to provide shelter from wind and weather in two directions, and a good start should they have to create a lean to. A handy landmark, it was only a twenty minute walk from the Stargate.

It took Daniel and SG 7 almost twice as long to reach it. The report failed to take into consideration the Murphy factor.

Murphy, who had started out bringing up the rear with Daniel, kept looking at the tree tops and the area immediately around him. Daniel had the impression he was looking for something in particular. Twice he fell behind, only to hurry to catch up. The second time, not watching where he was placing his feet, he tripped. Murphy not only fell, he brought Daniel down with him as well.

Douglas’s and McGarrah’s eyes rolled in tandem. Feeling embarrassed even though he was not at fault, Daniel hurried to his feet. Murphy was slower at getting up, his attention elsewhere. His grip on his weapon, Daniel noticed with a bad feeling, was tighter than it really needed to be. Being the newest member of the team would not account for Murphy’s nervousness. Murphy still looked ill. Daniel was certain it was something more than his stomach and the Stargate not agreeing with each other.

"Murphy," Cloy said warningly.

"Sir," Murphy acknowledged. His eyes never met his CO’s as they continued on.

The hairs on the back on Daniel’s neck itched. Murphy’s anxiety was rubbing off on Daniel. He rubbed his neck and picked up his pace, unconsciously putting distance between himself and Murphy.

Cloy apparently inherited the commanding officer’s sixth sense with his first command. He turned around and started walking backwards without missing a step. He spotted Murphy, who had fallen even further behind, eyeing the trees to his right.

"Murphy!"

Murphy’s head jerked around.

Satisfied he had Murphy’s attention, Cloy added, "There’ll be time for sight seeing later."

Murphy straightened a bit. "I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched."

Douglas shook his head in disgust. McGarrah looked as if he was trying not laugh. Cloy gave Murphy a long look, then shifted his grip on his weapon. It was something Daniel had seen Jack do often enough, a ready for anything stance without actually having the thing pointed at anyone.

The movement was not lost on Douglas, who instantly adjusted his grip as well. Murphy, eyes still locked on Cloy, looked both surprised and relieved.

Cloy broke contact by giving his surroundings a closer inspection. "Look sharp, folks." His conversational tone did not hide the order very well.

Daniel decided he liked Captain Cloy.

McGarrah, slow on the uptake, looked at his teammates with a puzzled frown. "What did I miss?" Daniel heard him ask Douglas as they started their journey again.

By the time they reached the little stream cutting through their path, Daniel had started to relax again. Murphy didn’t seem quite so nervous anymore. But Cloy was still on look-out ready mode. He paused at the stream, said something to Douglas that Daniel didn’t catch with the noise of his approach. Douglas nodded and crossed.

"Fish," McGarrah muttered longingly.

The fish wore pretty shades of blue and grey, all swimming upstream without much trouble. Daniel wondered if fish developed along similar lines on different planets, or if these had been imported from Earth.

McGarrah sighed. "I should have brought my fishing pole," he lamented while crossing.

Then it was Daniel’s turn to use the conveniently placed rock. No problem. He joined Douglas and McGarrah on the other side, and tried to ignore his stomach as McGarrah dreamed aloud about a fish dinner in savory detail.

Murphy started across and had the bad luck of discovering that their rock was alive and did not like being stepped on. Eight fleshy, equi-distant digits shot out and moved in tandem just as Murphy put his weight on its back. The turtle-like creature moved sharply to the side. Unbalanced, his arms pinwheeled, still he fell face first into the stream. The splash sent two fish into the air.

"Are you okay, Murphy?"

"Yes, sir." Murphy got to his knees and wiped at the water streaming down his face.

"Now that’s what I call fishin’!" McGarrah grinned as he scooped up the fallen fish and searched for a stick to carry them with. Daniel couldn’t help but laugh at the sergeant’s glee. McGarrah’s day had just been made.

Murphy sloshed out of the stream. He shook his weapon, as if it would help evict any water that had made its way inside. Then he shook himself with a body racking shiver. "Brrr. I don’t have enough fur to be taking swims like that."

Douglas and McGarrah turned as one to look at him. McGarrah’s expression said he had just heard something in a foreign language and hadn’t a clue what it meant. So he asked for a translation. "Huh?"

Murphy, looking chagrined, shrugged. "Its cold!"

McGarrah frowned. "Well why didn’t you say that in the first place?"

"I thought I did."

Daniel tried to hide his amusement. He could just hear Jack saying the same thing with an identical expression. Or see Teal'c raise those brows in a ‘I’ll never understand them’ manner. He didn’t hide his smile well enough. Cloy caught his eye and winked.

"The water feels like it just melted." Cloy, Daniel noted with envy, had the ability to turn his smile off. He shook first one water logged boot, then the other. He looked like a cat who had just found something unsavory on its paws.

"Did you know you look like a cat when you do that?"

Daniel jumped, startled by McGarrah’s words, eerily similar to his line of thought.

Murphy’s teeth clattered as he struggled to contain another shiver. Daniel had had his share of fully clothed dips to know the clothes didn’t help you stay warm after the fact. And certainly not with night falling.

Cloy noticed the motion as well. "The sooner we make camp, the sooner we can all get warm around a fire. And do away with those." His nose crinkled as he nodded toward the fish McGarrah proudly held.

He clapped Murphy on the arm. "Let’s get going," Cloy said with a nod in the right direction. "And McGarrah, you and your fish can cover our trail."

* * *

They made it to the rock sheltered clearing without further mishap. Cloy was pleased by the lack of grumbling as they gathered wood for the fire, and rocks to line it with. Murphy needed the warmth, and it was easier to set up tents by fire light than by flashlight.

McGarrah happily busied himself cleaning fish as Jackson assisted him in preparing dinner. McGarrah loved food, and if Jackson showed so much as a mild interest in it, he would earn himself a friend for life.

Murphy returned from changing just as Douglas finished the perimeter check. Douglas squatted next to McGarrah to warm his hands by the fire, and see if there was anything he could steal before dinner was ready.

Murphy froze, hands stopped in midmotion while buttoning his jacket. He looked first at Douglas and McGarrah gathered around the fire. Then swung quickly to look behind him. He didn’t find whatever he was looking for. He turned back to the fire, a confused expression on his face.

"Murphy?" Cloy didn’t like not knowing what was going on.

"Its back, sir," Murphy said reluctantly, refusing to meet Cloy’s eyes.

"I feel it too." Douglas’s quiet alto caused Jackson to jump. It was the first time Jackson had heard Douglas speak. Douglas, who could go for days without uttering a word, if you allowed him. And who also did not spook easily.

So they were either being watched, or this place was getting to everyone. Cloy did not like either option.

The quiet that had befallen them was interrupted only by the crackling of the fire. Douglas slowing stretched to a standing position. McGarrah did not move from his spot. For him, burning food was a blasphemy of the highest order. He kept one hand on his weapon, however, while the other turned the stick with the skewered fish. Jackson stayed crouched beside him, one hand straying toward the gun strapped to his leg. And Murphy looked at everyone with an expression of gratitude and worry.

Cloy motioned for Douglas to check the area back toward the river and for Murphy to take the woods behind the tents. They both nodded their understanding and quietly disappeared. Cloy warily eyed the top of the outcrop above them. He saw nothing but a dark outline against an equally dark sky. Just to be on the safe side, he even scanned that. A few clouds, a tiny moon, and a scattering of stars in an unfamiliar formation. Nothing new, and nothing that would cause the itch Murphy and Douglas shared.

An itch that was getting to him as well. A loud crack, and his head snapped down as his rifle came up. A cloud of sparks drifted up as McGarrah and Jackson backed away from the fire. Cloy shook his head. It was nothing more than wood snapping in the heat.

One of the floating embers reflected off of something in mid air. Cloy’s brows came down as he squinted at it. Something shimmered in the air behind Jackson and McGarrah, but he couldn’t quite make it out. The wind chose that moment to shift directions and blow smoke toward the two men. The shimmering brightened as a handful of sparks flew into it. Stifling a cough, Jackson scrambled to his feet. Before Cloy could warn him, Jackson straightened right into the shimmering thing. Jackson stumbled back a step, shivered, coughed once, and proceeded to shoo away the smoke that was suddenly determined to engulf him.

The wind shifted again and gentled into a soft breeze. The air around McGarrah and Jackson cleared. The shimmering, what ever it was, was gone.

Another crack to his side, and all thoughts of the thing disappeared as both he and McGarrah were pointing their rifles at Murphy. Feeling foolish, Cloy relaxed. Murphy had nothing to report. Moments later, Douglas had more of the same, plus some good news.

"Its gone," he pronounced with a small shake of his head. Murphy nodded his agreement.

It took the group a while to relax. They were all quiet as McGarrah served dinner and they each found seats. Douglas and McGarrah, as usual, crowded as close the fire as they dared. Jackson sat close enough for warmth and light, but far enough to avoid being smothered in smoke should the wind be fickle and blow his way again. Murphy sat a short distance from Jackson, finally getting the chance to finish buttoning up his jacket.

Cloy caught sight of a very unregulation shirt disappearing under the greens of his jacket. "Hey, Murphy," Cloy said with a grin. "Hasn’t anyone ever told you that red is bad luck in our profession?"

"What?" Cloy swallowed a laugh at Murphy’s bewildered look.

"You’re shirt," he explained with a nod in Murphy’s direction.

Murphy looked down at his jacket, frowned. "Oh!"

The man found a clue, Cloy thought wryly.

"Lucky shirt," Murphy explained before taking a bite. "This is good," he mumbled around a mouthful of fish. After he swallowed, he added to Cloy, "This being my first day out, and after that incident with the water, I thought I could use all the help I can get."

McGarrah snorted. Cloy shot him a warning look.

"Besides," Murphy went on, apparently oblivious to the exchange, "It was a gift."

"Girlfriend?" McGarrah chided, this time a good natured glint to his eyes.

Murphy, mouth once again full, declined to answer.

"Becky liked to make clothes for me," Jackson said softly. His eyes, though directed at the fire, had a distant look to them.

McGarrah’s brows went up. "Becky?" He asked solicitously. Everyone knew of Jackson’s search for his lost wife.

"First love," he muttered.

"Ah!" The fish definitely put McGarrah in a good mood. Cloy could almost hear him come up with a good tease.

Jackson looked down at his plate and blushed. "I didn’t get so lucky as shirts," he murmured. "Her neck was always cold, so she made scarves for me. In terrible colors."

That brought about an appreciative chuckle from all.

"All my first love ever made for me was hell," McGarrah announced. "So, of course, I asked her to marry me."

"Did she?"

"Naw. She wants to be the only one to give me orders."

"My first love is bossy, too," Cloy admitted.

"Did you marry her?" McGarrah ask.

"You might say that. It was the Air Force." This elicited a couple of groans. "My second love is the same way, but at least I don’t have to fill everything out in triplicate for her."

"Hear, hear," McGarrah toasted with a raised cup.

A sneeze interrupted Jackson’s chuckle.

"You alright?"

"Yes," Jackson mumbled in embarrassment, as he turned away to wipe his nose.

"May the wind change directions," Murphy muttered.

"Thank you." A pause. Jackson frowned, looked at Murphy who was busy with his dinner, then back at his own food. Cloy felt an odd sense of pride that one of his people would know some obscure phrase.

McGarrah looked from Murphy to Jackson and voiced the question on the rest of his team’s minds. "Say what?"

"Uhm, its a kind of well wishing," Jackson said with a sniffle. "Hoping that whatever irritated me went away."

"A ‘bless you’?"

"Yes."

"So why didn’t you just say ‘bless you’?"

Murphy shrugged. "I thought I did."

* * *

SG 7, Daniel noted, like to spread out more than SG 1 ever did. But that was okay. Right now they had all the space they needed, which was good. Daniel looked at each of them seated around the young fire. He refused to let their brooding silence get to him. This was, after all, his vacation. It just happened to coincide with the fact this was also SG 7’s getting-to-know-you run.

After the original team had been killed on Cassandra’s planet, a new SG 7 had been formed. They had been a five man exploratory team which had functioned remarkably well together. Until they ‘gated to a planet in time for a massive earthquake. They had lost their CO to a rock slide, and a second member of their team went missing on their way back to the Stargate.

Now their physical injuries have healed, and SG 7 was given a new member and a trial mission. Daniel knew he was there with the hopes of easing the transition. At the very least to give them something else to think about. Knowing Jack’s train of thought, one bored archeologist ought to be enough to keep two teams busy.

Daniel chuckled aloud at the thought. The noise brought a raised eyebrow from Murphy and a roll of the eyes from McGarrah. Daniel tried really hard to squelch his growing smile. No cultures, alien or otherwise, no sign of habitation, no artifacts discovered… And Daniel was anything but bored. Daniel decided that it was a good thing Jack wasn’t here; he would hold it against Daniel during some deadly dull mission.

Cloy made a show of looking at his watch. "Check in is due in half an hour."

The unanimous groans from the rest of SG 7 was so neatly choreographed, this time Daniel did laugh out loud. Cloy closed his eyes and shook his head. Well, at least his team agrees on something, Daniel thought as he volunteered for the chore.

He stood, stretched, and went to his tent for the flashlight, GDO and radio. Daniel made a mental note to himself to keep them on hand from now on. Jack would not be pleased if he learned how lax Daniel had gotten in just a few days out of his presence.

Daniel was surprised that Jack had made the plans in the first place.

It had been an odd request, really. The General had granted it somewhat reluctantly. After all, the Stargate wasn't supposed to be used frivolously. But Jack had talked him into letting Daniel go. And Daniel was glad for it.

The nights were warm on PJ4912, as were the days. There were adequate sounds to accompany the darkness, to soothe his soul. He needed a break from the ratrace that had become his life. Earth held too many unanswered questions. So did the SGC. He was glad for the relative solitude.

"You should have come along, Jack," he said aloud, gazing at the dazzling stars in the moonless night. He laughed to himself, grabbed a box of tissues and scribbled something on it, then headed for the gate.

He dialed Earth's number, waiting for the final glyph to engage. Laughing aloud now, he began to remove the tissues from the box. When the blue pool settled in the ring, he tossed it into the center, still smiling. Captain Cloy would not be happy to learn of his unorthodox way of checking in with the SGC. Oh, well.

From behind him the creatures of the night began a disquieting ruckus. He was going to have to catalogue when the wildlife did that. It was a little different from his normal studies, but it might provide a pleasant diversion.

Holding that thought, he began the long walk back to camp.

Daniel’s happy-go-lucky thoughts drifted away as the ruckus steadily became something significantly louder. It sounded like a cat fight, only louder and lower pitched. And far too close for comfort.

Daniel stopped. He swung the flashlight around, trying to determine which direction the noise was coming from. In the alien dark, it seemed to come from everywhere at once. That could have been due the sudden, mouth drying nervousness that gripped him.

Daniel took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. He could always radio Cloy and the others if there was something more to it than mere noise. He fervently hoped it was just that. PJ4912 lost its relaxing ambiance.

A twig-snap crack sounded to one side, unnaturally loud. He spun around. His flashlight gave definition to the vague shadow. He stared at the low bush, but nothing happened. Another snap behind him. Daniel found nothing when he shown his light in that direction.

The cat-fight growls suddenly went silent. Daniel held his breath. He listened to the eerie silence, wondering what had happened. Just when he was ready to berate himself for allowing the night to get to him, another noise started. A distant yet familiar squeal of stone scraping against stone, accompanied by a low rumble. Daniel glanced down at his feet, back in the direction of the un-shock-dampenered Stargate.

He froze, managing only a forced gulp. Daniel couldn’t see the Stargate from there, but he could see its effects. The trees between him and the artifact were lit with an eerie blue halo. Daniel incongruously wondered who had died. Several long moments passed before the alien light snapped off.

A hard knot formed inside. Either someone had just left, or someone had just arrived. Either way, they were not alone.

* * *

Camp was quiet that night. They kept the fire banked in case whoever had used the Stargate were Goa’uld or otherwise hostile. Without the light, the once soothing nocturnal noises took on a menacing quality, each strange sound becoming an unseen threat.

The tense night finally gave way to morning. They packed up quietly and prepared a round about trek toward the Stargate. Cloy wanted to scout the area for any signs of who the visitors might have been, and what they were currently up to. He did not think it wise, however, to retrace their path back. He would hate to run into a potential enemy using the obvious route.

They went away from the river, following the curve of the outcrop. Cloy speculated on who had used the Stargate. If it had been someone from the SGC, they would have radioed ahead and warned SG 7 that they had visitors. Though the Goa’uld were always an ugly possibility, Cloy could not think of why they would want to come here. There was no sign that they had ever bothered to populate the planet. And they had yet to encounter any signs of intelligent life that might interest them. But who knows, the Goa’uld could have been using the planet as a crop factory or strange vacation spot for all Cloy knew. Jackson had not seen who or what had used the ‘gate. Maybe the Rhi’tu had come to pay them a visit.

The trees started thinning, giving way to more of the local grass. He led them along the edge of the woods. The grass was too brittle, and they would leave a glaring trail, otherwise. Must have something to do with the time of year, Cloy thought. Maybe it was this area’s version of fall. If the grass was always this fragile, he could not see how they would have survived to grow so tall. Any good wind storm, or wolf with a decent set of lungs, would have long since toppled the entire field.

"Captain," McGarrah called lowly.

McGarrah silently pointed to the field. Two large, four legged creatures, with more than a passing resemblance to Earth cats, moved within the grass. They seemed to be playing, romping and chasing each other through plants that were nearly as tall as they were.

"Get down," Cloy hissed, belatedly taking in the possible danger from the wild life. The five of them dropped in tandem.

"Wonder where they’ve been hiding," Cloy muttered. They were the first signs of native life larger than birds and the squirrel sized tree creatures. Were they the ones who had made the trail from the Stargate? He didn’t think so. Though they made the grass sway, neither creature flattened the plants as they weaved through them.

"What’s wrong with the smaller one?" McGarrah asked. It did not move as smoothly as its companion, nor as quickly. Although Cloy could not detect a limp, it almost looked as if one of its limbs was not working right.

Jackson, staring at the duo wide eyed, spoke up. "She’s sick."

"He’s an anthropologist," Murphy answered as if that was explanation enough.

Murphy, eyes still on the animals, shrugged. "The study of man, or of ancient cultures," he muttered, "what’s the difference? It just means he knows people."

Douglas snorted derisively.

"These are animals, not people." Sometimes even Cloy couldn’t tell when McGarrah was speaking a shared thought or translating for Douglas.

"They’re people, too." Murphy gave a one shouldered shrug.

Cloy glanced back at he newest member of his team. Murphy’s assertion was spoken with confidence and acceptance, and not the least bit of awe.

Douglas’s face clearly said what he thought of the notion

"Those ...cats? People?" McGarrah sputtered after a rare moment of speechlessness.

"Sure they are," Murphy answered his teammates. Unlike the excitable McGarrah, he kept his voice low, so as to prevent scaring the objects of their discussion. "Alien, I’ll grant you that. But see that…"

His words were cut off by a loud, not quite roar from the more ambulatory of the two. It was staring straight at them, ears up and swiveled toward them. Its overlarge eyes narrowed, and the hair started to rise.

"Uh oh," McGarrah whispered, voicing everyone’s sentiments.

"Stay down and back away slowly," Cloy said softly, hoping the order was the right move to make. Must have been. The creature merely stared at them as the humans made their get away.

* * *

Daniel stared, open mouthed. They were beautiful creatures. Both had short, dust colored hair. His was slightly darker than hers, and she had a sprinkling of white spots on her coat. Their large eyes were brass and gold, and brighter, somehow, than an animal’s should be.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. They were playing, enjoying the autumn sun and each other’s company. They reminded him of lovers, keeping each other happy when no one else was around. The tug changed directions. For some reason the thought made him uncomfortable, even jealous.

"What’s wrong with the smaller one?" McGarrah’s puzzled question broke into his thoughts.

Daniel took in her stiff gate and not so easy movement. Wasn’t it obvious? "She’s sick."

It was almost painful to watch her move. Her hair wasn’t as shiny and mobile as it should have been. He could make out precisely which muscles the disease had already claimed. Too many. He bit his lip, wincing for her. There would be no pain in those areas, but there would be plenty from the stigmata of the disease and the knowledge of how it would eventually end.

She made him think of Becky, and he didn’t know why. Becky, who had always been vibrant, alive and so full of enthusiasm. This cat obviously didn’t have Becky’s red hair or any of her mannerisms, even if one could apply that human quality to an alien. Maybe it was because Becky had liked cats. She was allergic to them, however, and so could not keep them. Her passion was historical religion, and she loved pointing out the roles that cats had played in them. That was before she had left him for the closest friend he had at the time.

The male cat was tall and strong and ever vigilant. He watched even as he played. The love and caring was easy to see, but it took one who knew him well to see the pain he tried to hide. Jack would not show the weakness of grief to those he loved.

Daniel frowned, confused by the thought. Where had that come from?

It didn’t matter. The cat had noticed them. Playing protector, he warned the strangers away. Captain Cloy wisely took the hint and ordered them away.

Daniel was the last to leave. Absently rubbing the fingers of his left hand, he stayed to savor his last look. The male cat stared at him and growled softly. The message he conveyed was clear, Daniel wasn’t welcome there. Daniel let out a deep sigh. At least Becky had someone to look out for her, he thought incongruently as he followed SG 7.

* * *

Oh, wonderful, Cloy silently moaned to the sky. They had found another field of the tall grass They had no choice but to cross it and risk leaving signs of their passage. There were no more trees to use as cover on this side of the clearing, and it lay between them and the Stargate.

So did more of those cat creatures.

Cloy decided that if the powers that be wanted to delay them from getting home, they were doing a good job of it. He did not want to risk an altercation with the native life. Which meant they were going to have to wait until…

"Murphy!" He muttered, the name coming out in the same tone as a curse. Cloy could not believe his eyes. Murphy was playing with the cubs. Didn’t that idiot know they were wild animals? The mother was probably around there somewhere and who knew what her reaction would be to a human.

And they had more important matters to attend to. They still had not seen any sign of the people who had used the Stargate. It could have been Goa’uld, or it could have been someone else. Either way, they had no time to sit and frolic with the native life.

Now is not the time to get angry. The thought didn’t help much. Get angry later, when you can yell at him. Yelling was the only thing keeping Cloy from giving Murphy a dressing down then and there. He did not want to endanger his people by attracting attention, either from the wild life or those who used the Stargate last night.

Cloy muttered an insult to the powers that be for saddling him with Murphy. Then cursed himself for letting the man out of his sight long enough to get into trouble. Cloy unclipped the radio.

"Murphy!"

Murphy jumped. The ears on one of the cubs fell forward. It backed away from Murphy with a hiss Cloy could hear from his position. The second cub narrowed its eyes at the radio on Murphy’s vest.

Slowly, so as not to startle the cubs any further, Murphy reached for the radio. The second cub watched the human contraption with wide eyes. Cloy half expected it to pounce at any moment.

"Sir," he heard over his own radio. "Don’t scare the…"

A mighty roar interrupted the admonishment.

"Shit," Cloy murmured to himself. Here came trouble on four legs. It was another of the cat like creatures, much, much larger than the cubs. Cloy had the bad feeling he was looking at an angry parent.

The cub who had backed away from Murphy yelped and raced toward the larger cat. The second one whined over its shoulder. The adult rumbled, causing the cub’s fur to rise. It stood slowly, reluctantly, and backed up.

Murphy, Cloy was pleased to note, had the good sense to stay still. Unfortunately, he found there was another idiot in his ranks. Douglas chose that moment to come backing out of the woods, never once looking at the field he was walking into. His weapon was up and pointing toward the trees he’d just vacated.

"Douglas," Cloy hissed, willing the other man to take note of the wild animal. He had a moment to wonder what Douglas was pointing his weapon at before the big cat gave a deep threatening growl.

Douglas whirled toward the sound. The hair on the cat went instantly flat and its eyes narrowed. It sprang at Douglas.

Douglas fired off a shot that went wide seconds before the cat knocked him over.

Cloy was suddenly aware of too many sounds at once. The cubs screeched and fled. The big cat was silent once the attack began. Douglas never once screamed.

"Allen!" McGarrah shouted at Douglas. Both he and Cloy had their weapons pointed at the fray but did not fire for fear of hitting Douglas. And Murphy, of all things, growled.

Now Cloy couldn’t believe his ears. Murphy gave a credible imitation of the cat’s low rumble, then launched himself at it and Douglas. He slammed into the cat with enough force to knock it sideways.

Then all hell broke loose. More cats came out of the wood work, starting with the direction form which Douglas had come out of hiding. Cloy fired at their feet, trying to warn them away. It was as if the whole family had come out of nowhere. He had to turn in circles to keep them all at bay.

The sound of Murphy screaming almost drowned out the deep rumble from the cats they were suddenly surrounded by.

Douglas helped push with his feet as McGarrah tried to pull him away from the fray. Douglas kept his rifle aimed with blood slicked hands, waiting for a clear shot that never came.

Cloy fired at the ground near a couple of cats who were getting too near to them. He turned again. Where the hell was Jackson? He was a CO now, he wasn’t supposed to loose track of people during a fire fight. Or cat fight.

The cats near Douglas and McGarrah were getting brazen. He fired above them this time, and somehow managed to nick one in the tail. It yelped shrilly. Its companion turned its attention toward Cloy.

Murphy’s screaming stopped. Douglas let a round loose at the cat, careful to aim above ground, and hopefully above Murphy.

Cloy was distracted by a growl to his side. He turned, and suddenly found himself on the ground, a great weight on his back. Claws bit into his right shoulder. They felt like they ringed the paw. His right arm, along with his rifle, was pinned beneath him. He used his left hand to lever himself up, hoping to buck the cat. The weight shifted uncomfortably and another paw clamped down on his left elbow. It felt like teeth biting into his arm. Cloy was effectively pinned.

He could feel hot breath on his neck. Cloy was certain he was going to die. He squeezed his eyes shut. He did not want alien dirt to be his last sight. Another intimidating roar, and the cat’s head pulled away, leaving a cool spot on the back of his neck.

He heard huffing and the scrapes of an approaching cat who did not pick up its feet. Cloy hesitated, then opened his eyes, to meet into one big bronze eye. It nearly matched the color of the fur on the face. The head pulled away a little, giving Cloy a better view of its nose than he ever cared to get. Cloy noted inanely that it did not have whiskers. It grunted and stepped back.

The weight came off his back. Before he understood what was happening, his left arm was used to roll him onto his back. He did not have time to react as the cat who bowled him over quickly repositioned itself on him. Now claws drew blood just above his knees. The grip on his left elbow disappeared only to be bitten down on moments later. The cat bore more weight on the paw on his right shoulder than was necessary.

A large dirt brown face stared down at him. Cloy got his first good look at the creatures. The were so much like Earth cats that the differences were jarring. The complete lack of whiskers, for one. The pupils were as round as any humans. And the paws were all wrong.

The second cat nimbly lifted his rifle up and tore the strap off him. Cloy got a good look at the claws in the process. There were four, two opposing each other, just like a parrot’s foot. Although the last inch or two was thick, black, sharp claw, the lower portion of the digits were more like fingers – jointed, mobile and capable of fine manipulation. Now Cloy understood why his elbow felt like it was clenched in some animal’s jaws. It was in a hand-like grip with nails extended.

Cloy swallowed hard as the cat inspected the weapon with one paw. It held the muzzle pointed at his head. Thankfully, its questing digits stayed clear of the trigger. It carefully handed the weapon off to another cat and turned its attention toward Cloy.

It regarded him with first one eye, then the other in a bird-like fashion. Cloy was suddenly very certain he was looking not at a wild animal, but at an intelligent being.

It occurred to Cloy that he ought to say something.

"Uh, hello."

The cat jumped back a bit. Its ears flattened. Not back, like a terrestrial cat’s, but forward. If its ears had been any longer, it would have covered its eyes.

The one standing on Cloy growled. Gambling that it was not the leader, Cloy tried to ignore it and kept his gaze on the other cat. It huffed and walked off. Cloy craned his head to see where it was going, but could see little more than the tuft of its tail.

Someone muttered a curse from its direction. "Stay away from me!" McGarrah’s voice was high pitched and held a hysterical edge to it. "Go away!"

"McGarrah," Cloy snapped, hoping the unsympathetic tone would catch the sergeant’s attention.

"McGarrah, don’t move," he ordered, ignoring the warning growl from the cat pinning him.

That elicited a confused, "Sir?"

"And don’t talk."

He heard a swallowed snort and someone moaning, but no more protests. He wished he could see what was going on. Was everyone still alive?

A long, interminable moment later, the head cat returned. It growled a command, and the cat standing on him promptly jumped off. It shook itself and rubbed its paws in the dirt, as if to wipe something unappetizing away. Cloy was too relieved to be alive and moving to be insulted.

Cloy sat up slowly. He rubbed his shoulder and arm under the watchful gaze of Boss cat. When it made no move to stop him, he got to his feet.

The cats still encircled them, wariness in their gazes as they watched the humans. One stood by a pile of their gear. Without moving, he took a quick inventory. The cats confiscated all of their weapons. One radio was missing.

Douglas and McGarrah lay surrounded by three cats standing a little distance away. Both of McGarrah’s hand were fisted, and his eyes were squeezed shut. His breathing was heavy, but he didn’t move.

"You can get up now, McGarrah."

McGarrah flinched, slowly opened his eyes. He jerked to the side, earning a warning noise from one of his guards.

"Slowly," Cloy added belatedly. The cats seemed to have called a truce, and the humans would not survive if they broke it.

Cloy glanced at Boss. He took two slow, deliberate steps toward McGarrah and Douglas and looked back. Boss just watched him. Keeping his hands in the open in what he hoped truly was a universal gesture, he continued his approach.

By the time he reached them, McGarrah had made it up and was helping Douglas to his feet. Douglas grunted, clamped his jaws tight against the pain. He leaned heavily against McGarrah, and gave Cloy a curt nod that said he would live.

Cloy looked around for the others. There was a tight knot of cats where he had last seen Murphy. Cloy felt a lump form in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed once, then approached them. With a glance at Boss, they opened ranks to let him through. The tail of one flicked aside quickly to avoid touching him.

He found Murphy curled on his side in a semi-fetal position. Cloy could detect no movement or sound from him. And the odor of blood was overwhelming. Cloy took a breath and knelt beside him. There was no place to touch him without encountering the sticky red. A gentle pressure on the neck found a pulse. He moved his hand to Murphy’s side. There was a faint rise and almost undetectable fall as he breathed. Cloy sighed loudly in relief. Two cat heads turned to watch him.

Boss rumbled. One of the cats near him head butted Cloy’s hand away from Murphy. Cloy froze a moment. Deciding not risk a confrontation, he rose and backed away.

He watched, amazed, as a group of cats approached, carrying a roll of gold cloth between them. They set it down near Murphy and used their front paws – hands, whatever – to spread it out. Cloy had to swallow a protest when they reached for Murphy. They were excruciatingly gentle in rolling him onto the cloth. Four cats picked up the corners, put them in their powerful jaws, and pick Murphy up. They carried him a scant few inches off the ground.

"Wait…" McGarrah’s aborted cry went unheeded.

The rest of the cats formed two lines around them, leaving a narrow corridor between the team and Murphy. Boss yipped at them. Cloy gave it a look. So it wanted them to follow. Where? And better yet, why? Well, he wasn’t going to get those answers standing there. Besides, it wasn’t as if they had much of a choice in the matter.

He helped support Douglas as they followed the tails of those who carried Murphy. Douglas grunted once, and tapped his chest. Cloy looked down at the radio Douglas pointed at, still in its place on his vest. He pondered it for a moment, then gave a quick shake of his head. Douglas eyed him, then nodded agreement.

They couldn’t risk trying to contact Jackson. There was no telling how sensitive the cat’s hearing was. They might just give away his position and get him captured too. Assuming Jackson was alive and unhurt, he was their best chance at getting help.

* * *

Daniel stumbled along, paying little attention to where he was going. His thoughts wavered between fearing his odd thoughts and worrying about his hand.

He regarded his left hand closely. Somewhere along the way he had lost feeling in three of his fingers and a part of the fourth. Now he couldn’t move two of them and the third was stiff. He concentrated, again, willing them to cooperate, and afraid of what it meant if they didn’t. He managed to straighten the index finger, but it was slow going, as if he hadn’t used the muscles in a long while. The two following the index finger lay half curled, stubbornly ignoring his orders. He could not feel the touch as he used his thumb to push the fingers up. He watched in horror as they slowly curled back down of their own accord. Though he couldn’t feel the tip of his pinky, or anything more than pressure when he touched it, at least it moved when he wanted it to.

Daniel wasn’t sure what was happening, yet at the same time, he was certain of the signs. The strange knowledge scared him almost as much as the motionless digits.

He had caught the disease again. He knew this affliction intimately, yet had no name for it. He knew the progress of the disease with terrifying certainty. First there would be minor signs. The stilling of his hair. The numbness that preceded the refusal of first one limb to move, then another, and yet another. Soon the handicap of stiffened limbs would progress to bed ridden debilitation. All control of voluntary muscles would disappear. The disease would work its way from debilitating to life threatening. There would long stretches of unconsciousness, punctuated by sound and smell and the feel of pressure – all the things that could not be willingly turned off. Sometime after that, the paralysis would claim an important involuntary muscle, the heart or lungs, perhaps. And any attempt at resuscitation, he knew, would only be half hearted – a way to make the survivors feel like they had tried. They could no more stimulate the life giving organs into action than they could all the others that had frozen before them.

This disease always made good on its threat.

Daniel stopped to stare at the terrible sign of doom in the form of his left hand. He swallowed hard. This was just like last time. Only there never was a last time.

Daniel shook his head, trying to clear it of the contrary thoughts. It didn’t help. This had never happened to him before, yet he had clear flashes of memory. Of trying to pretend that nothing was wrong when the first symptoms started. The fear that the disease would make him even more of an outcast than he had already felt. The pain of the medical testing. The self denial of the pity he had seen in everyone’s eyes, even Jack’s. The only pity Becky possessed was for herself; she knew how this one ended. And there was the outrage at the speed at which the illness had progressed – only several months where it should have taken longer than a year. The betrayal he had felt at the end. He had been just as happy to stop breathing when Becky left with Jack.

Daniel groaned and squeezed his eyes shut a moment. Why was Becky wrapped up in all his thoughts? Though there would always be a special place in his heart for her, it had been ages since he had thought of her. She had been his first love, yes. But that had been years ago and he could safely say he was no longer in love with her. That belonged to Sha’re.

Finally, the silence of the woods penetrated his senses. Daniel looked around, blinking rapidly at his surroundings. The birds were silent for a change. Not even SG 7 was making any noise. Wait a minute. Where was the team? He turned a slow circle, finding no sign of them. Only then did it dawn on him that he had stopped walking at all.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose. What was going on with him? Please just let it be a nervous breakdown, he thought inanely. Because he was pretty sure he didn’t have Machello to blame if this were an ‘or something’. Daniel took a deep breath, willing the building panic to bury itself. He can worry about this later, when he got home. Maybe talk to Jack about it. Maybe not. Though Jack wasn’t so quick to assume the worst the last time Daniel’s knowledge had clashed with reality, Daniel wasn’t so sure that would be the case this time around. Not with the mood Daniel had been in before he left with SG 7.

"Some vacation," he muttered with a strangled laugh.

Daniel nearly jumped out of his skin when the radio he was reaching for came to life.

"Murphy!" Cloy’s voice seemed to echo around him. Then Murphy’s distracted voice reprimanding his Captain. "Sir, don’t scare the…"

Daniel stared at his vest. A growling roar had drowned Murphy’s words, then even that was cut off.

Children? Daniel frowned at his feet. How did he get that out of an animal’s…

"Oh, god," he breathed, as another thought pushed its way to the front. No. He shook his head, denying the idea. But the screams that reached his ears without the help of the radio was all the confirmation he needed.

* * *

Cloy was surprised to find the cats leading them back to the rock strip. But not so surprised to find the mouth of a large cave at its base. There were cats sunning on the rocks and field around the entrance, and a couple laying in the trees. It looked to Cloy as if a entire tribe was living here.

The cat in the lead bellowed something that sent everyone on the ground running, most away from the cave. The cat in the tree swung down, using its limbel paws to grasp a branch, hang a moment, then let go. True to form, it landed on all fours. It preceded the cats carrying Murphy into the cave.

The first thing Cloy noticed upon entering was how warm it was kept. Followed immediately by an odor, not unpleasant, that was vaguely familiar but which he could not place.

Just inside the entrance, McGarrah paused, causing Cloy and Douglas, still supported between them, to stop. His jaw dropped as he stared wide-eyed at the sand colored interior. His color almost matched Douglas’s – pasty and looking ready to drop.

"How could we have missed this?" Douglas breathed.

Aside from the fact that it was in an enormous cave? Cloy had no notion. The sand colored walls that crisscrossed around them were too straight and the angles where they met too precise to be natural. The cave had been used to shelter the surest sign of civilization – buildings. Cloy could see three such building from where he stood, and a fourth further on towering over them with a second story. He took a second look around and wondered if the cave was a natural occurrence or if it had been created as well.

The cats that had been surrounding them peeled off in varying directions. That left the one taking point, the four carrying Murphy, and Boss standing just behind them with an irritable tail. And the sight seers in the streets and peeking around corners.

Boss growled. McGarrah jumped, causing Douglas to groan with the jarring motion. Since none of the other cats reacted tot he outburst, Cloy assumed the demanding tone was directed at them. He gave McGarrah a look and nodded toward Murphy. He gently readjusted his grip on Douglas and started forward.

Douglas grimaced but tried not to make any sounds when Cloy started and McGarrah did not.

"McGarrah!" Cloy snapped.

McGarrah swallowed hard, looked guiltily at Cloy. He muttered an apology to Douglas as he helped the injured man along.

They were led into a building next to the tall two story one. Boss moved passed them to talk to some cats in the hall. They stared at the humans a long moment, standing utterly still. Boss’s tail thumped the ground hard and it hissed at them. They ran down the hall, took a left turn. The cats in charge of Murphy followed, at a slow pace, still careful not to jar the unconscious man.

They stopped near the end of the hall, just behind the cats carrying Murphy. The ones bearing the litter did not appear tired or winded as they held the cloth and its occupant off the ground.

"What’s going on?" McGarrah asked softly.

"Don’t know," Cloy answered in the same tones.

Boss apparently had the same question. It pushed past them, delicately side stepped Murphy, and half disappeared inside a hole in the wall. Its tail thumped again, then stilled. It backed out, its head lowered and its ears flopping forward but not quite flattened.

Moments later, a group of cats exited the room, one being pushed on a wheeled contraption with connections for various devices at the head and foot. The one on the gurney looked terrible, with scars its fur, tubes running off its body, and a bandage on its tail and at varying places along its body.

Cloy frowned. They were in a hospital. He hoped they didn’t intend to work on the humans. Though Murphy and Douglas sorely needed the medical attention, he was afraid the cats might cause further harm – intentionally or otherwise.

The gurney, its occupant, and attendants disappeared around another corner. From that same corner a few others appeared pushing carts into the room. When one stopped to gawk at the humans, Boss glowered and hissed at it. Hair half raised, it scampered inside.

Cleaning crew?

A short wait later, all but one left, taking their gear with them. The one who had stopped to stare remained to do something to a panel by the door. By this time, Cloy had warily maneuvered himself close enough to see what was going on.

A clear partition slid down from the ceiling without a sound. Inside, white mist flooded the room, giving off prismatic colors where it reflected the light from the hall. It swirled a few minutes, and started to turn transparent before it was sucked back up. Looker’s gaze kept sliding from the misting to SG 7. The room cleared and a buzzer somewhere dinged. Looker’s attention snapped back toward the door.

From its seated position, it touched the paneling in several spots. The door silently slid up. It rumbled something while looking at Boss, who repeated the sentiment to the cats holding Murphy. As they passed through the door way, they were sprayed by a fine white mist similar to what the room had been doused in. The cats bore the treatment without so much as a flinch. It started to bring Murphy back to consciousness with a whimper. The cats carefully laid their burden – cloth, human and all – on a low dais. Cloy supposed it was a cat version of a bed. As they left, they were again sprayed by the mist.

Boss growled something at them, they surrounded the rest of SG 7. Cloy looked at each of the guard cats, then returned Boss’s gaze. He didn’t need a spoken language to understand what it wanted.

"Okay, okay," he muttered. He moved back to Douglas, positioned himself to act again as a human crutch.

The mist was room temperature, and the source of the vague, though permeating odor he had detected earlier. Antiseptics and/or disinfectants. Can’t be a hospital without them, even an alien one. The misting was light, not enough to soak them, but it also burned a bit where it touched skin. And more where it touched wounds, from the look on Douglas’s face.

They settled Douglas against the far wall. It was painted with a beautiful rendition of the river and rock out crop, their camp site minus the camp.

"Captain," McGarrah whispered, his eyes on something behind him.

Cloy slowly straightened from getting Douglas seated and turned around. Boss and Looker had followed them in. Two of the guard cats stood just outside the wide door way. Looker moved uncomfortably close to McGarrah.

"McGarrah."

"I’m not moving," McGarrah offered unsteadily. His eyes followed Looker, and his fists were balled at his sides. But he didn’t move except to breathe. If McGarrah got any whiter, he’d be transparent.

Looker moved away from him and toward Cloy, its bronze eyes intent. Getting no reaction from him, it positioned itself immediately before Douglas and sat.

Douglas looked from it to Cloy and back again. "Does it want to be petted?" he asked shakily. The response got a nervous chuckle from McGarrah.

It looked him up and down and harrumphed something to Boss. Looker raised a paw, hesitated, then reached out to Douglas’s vest. It found the radio. Looker had apparently seen snaps before, or maybe the cats had an analog. Douglas held his breath as it undid the snap and snagged the radio with its four fingered paw. It looked at the radio quizzically, then handed it over to Boss. Boss took it with two whacks of its tail on the ground.

Looker stood and backed away. Douglas let out an explosive sigh of relief, loud enough to cause Looker’s ears to twitch in his direction. It didn’t turn back, however. Instead, it went to Murphy’s side and inspected him.

"Hey, Doc."

Cloy exchanged a look of surprise with Douglas and McGarrah. Murphy was awake.

"Hope you got some painkillers," Murphy muttered. "It didn’t hurt the last time I saw you."

Looker’s ears twitched. It backed up a step and sat. Looking over its shoulder to Boss, it let out of spat of what sounded more like grunts than growls.

"Yeah, water sounds good." Murphy interrupted the cats. He chuckled, then groaned. "Been ages since I’ve had a good drink."

Looker’s ears twitched and its eyes came back to rest on Murphy. It continued to talk to Boss.

Cloy took the opportunity to carefully inch his way to the other side of Murphy’s pallet. Murphy blinked up at him without recognition. With a furrowed brow, he turned to gaze at Looker.

Looker finally finished its yak and Boss slipped out of the room.

"Bandages?" Murphy asked, slightly out of breath. "Aren’t you going to patch me up yourself?"

Looker’s head turned so that it looked at Murphy with just one eye.

Murphy sighed and closed his eyes. "No. I guess not with way I look now."

Cloy stooped down to touch Murphy’s head. Was he feverish already? Possible if one could get cat scratch fever from an alien cat. However, Murphy’s skin felt clammy instead of hot. He wondered if the cats attempt at decontamination worked well, or if it worked on an open wound. Perhaps Murphy was having a reaction to it, getting his people mixed up with the cats because of it.

He glanced over to Douglas and McGarrah. Douglas was not having any problems keeping with reality.

Boss returned with several attendants pushing carts into the room. Everything on the carts was sealed against the doorway misting. They were pushed to the foot of Murphy’s bed and left there as everyone left. Boss and Looker paused outside to rumble to themselves. Looker did something to the paneling and the transparent door slid down, locking the humans in.

The cats outside deserted SG 7 to the room. Not quite ready to know what to think or how to feel, the team just looked at each other in silence.

Eyes still closed, Murphy broke the quiet with a complaint. "That stuff always makes my nose itch." He punctuated the remark by rubbing the offending appendage.

"It is irritating," Cloy allowed.

"Worse when your nostrils are pointed right up at the source."

The comment elicited a snort from McGarrah and a brief smile from Douglas. Maybe Murphy wasn’t as bad off as he looked if he was bemoaning a minor irritation when he had other issues that should have been shouting at him. It almost made Cloy feel better.

"Ok, you stay there and tell your nose to play nice." Murphy gave him a wan smile.

"McGarrah."

McGarrah’s eyes were on the transparent door and empty hall. Cloy thought he’d better give the sergeant something to do – keep him useful and help keep his mind off the cats that obviously terrified him.

"McGarrah!" He hated putting that tone on, but it seemed to be the only way to get through to the man.

McGarrah finally looked up.

"See what they left us," he nodded toward the cars," and take inventory of anything that might be useful to getting us out of here."

McGarrah didn’t answer but slowly pushed himself away from the far wall.

"And me?" Douglas offered half heartedly.

"You and Murphy can act as the peanut gallery this time around."

"Gee, thanks, Captain."

"Your welcome, Lieutenant," Cloy answered in the same tone.

Cloy inspected the room they were in, starting with the door. It was wide enough for three or four cats to enter side by side, which made sense if this was really a hospital. They’d need room for the gurney and aids and machines to pass through. It was also somewhat low. He would have had to duck his head to pass through. He could not find a handle or similar paneling that Looker had used to open it. The door was well and solidly closed.

Cloy slid his hand down the seams. "This is stupid," he muttered to himself. "What good is having a door on a room if you can’t get it opened.?"

"They looked us in?" Murphy actually sounded surprised.

"Yes, they locked us in," McGarrah said not very understandingly.

"But the doors are only used if…"

Cloy looked back, caught Douglas’s gaze. His eyes reflected the same this he was feeling, worry and confusion.

"Isolation," Murphy finished his sentence quietly. "For disease, or criminals, or dangerous animals." Judging from his tone, Murphy thought all of the above applied. Maybe it did.

"Well," Cloy said, uncomfortably, "we can’t get out from there."

"No," Murphy agreed.

Cloy turned back to the door. Ok, that was a no go. Maybe something with the walls.

He walked the perimeter, alternately running his hand along them and pounding. They felt like adobe stucco, only finer. The walls looked like compressed sand, and they were also very hard. There was only a dull thud when he pounded on them, and they had no give at all.

The ceiling appeared to made of the same stuff, but it was too high to reach, even using Murphy’s platform. Tubes and spigots sprouted from the walls near the ceiling. Cloy guessed the cats didn’t want the chance of anyone getting into the devices that doused the room with disinfectants. Perhaps they were too toxic when in such concentration?

Except for the painted wall and the tubing above, everything was the same sand color. He thought the color must be like white is to humans – neutral.

Cloy kicked the dirt with disgust. "Looks like we’ll have to dig our way out."

"Its only soft on top," Murphy answered.

"He’s right." Douglas motioned to his half buried foot. More of the hard sand-like stone was below.

Why dirt, he wondered. Wouldn’t that be, well, dirty? Unless the sterilization worked with the flooring too.

"McGarrah, what have you got?"

"Water."

"What?"

McGarrah lifted his hands in a shrug. "They left water, bandaides, and something that smells bad."

"Antibiotics," Murphy breathed. "They’ll bring more if we use it all."

So, the cats didn’t trust themselves to patch the humans up either, eh? At least they left the supplies for them. What ever was going on in those big furry heads, the carts said that they did not wish SG 7 further harm. Cloy hoped.

* * *

Daniel was out of breath when he reached the clearing. He had nearly lost his way when the screaming stopped and the shots ceased. Now, gasping for breath, he stared at the flattened grass and the two spots of mud on the otherwise dry earth.

It was a mistake, he wanted to holler. Cloy didn’t want any trouble from the denizens of PJ4912. He certainly would not have let anyone harm children. It must have been a misunderstanding. If he had only been there, Daniel could have told them that. Maybe even prevent the images that came to mind at the sight of the blood soaked ground.

But he had let his mind go in useless circles because of his hand. He had fallen behind and even stopped altogether. And now he was too late.

Daniel blinked at the clearing. No. He refused to accept the notion. Someone must have only been injured. They would have left the dead here. Why take the human dead to the Stargate? They wouldn’t do that, would they? Definitely not this early.

Stop it! One of these days his mind would actually obey his orders. It seemed that this would not be the day. Think straight! Right. And he needed to walk straight. And when he got back to the Stargate, he had damn well better talk straight.

He took a moment to get his bearings. There was a path through the grass heading back toward the outcrop. Wrong direction to go, unless they took SG 7 that way. But he was one man with something going wrong with his head. Daniel didn’t trust himself enough to think he could rescue the team on his own.

So that meant going the other direction. If he ran far enough, he should run right into the ‘gate. Daniel stayed in the field, ignoring the tall grass that kept trying to trip him up. He felt he needed a clear sighting of where he had been – this would be a spectacularly wrong time to go in circles.

He stumbled, caught himself, and stumbled again when he couldn’t control a cough. He took a moment to get control of his breathing before gaining his feet. Daniel nearly fell again when his right ankle twisted under him. He caught himself and took a cautious, testing step. He was fine until he tried to put weight on it, his foot tried to slip out from under him. He gently probed the ankle. Daniel doubted it was broken or merely twisted; there was no evidence of swelling and absolutely no pain.

Gritting his teeth, Daniel pushed himself to his feet and stumbled on. He tried to ignore the thought that the disease was progressing far too quickly. He didn’t have time to be going there again. He concentrated instead on hurrying to the Stargate and getting help. Before he really was too late.

* * *

"I should be dead."

"Don’t even talk that way," Douglas demanded.

"No, you don’t understand." Murphy looked at each of them in confusion. "Neither do I," he admitted. "But I remember dying."

Cloy exchanged looks with McGarrah and Douglas. "You’re badly injured in that attack. But you didn.."

"No." Murphy closed his eyes, exhaustion evident in his features. "Before... Before you came here."

"Say, what?" McGarrah muttered.

"He thought he was protecting the children, that’s why he attacked you."

Silence followed as SG 7 tried to understand what Murphy was telling them. Some of it made sense to Cloy. Protection seemed a valid, and understandable, reason for the attack. The creatures weren’t wild animals, after all. But this business of having died before… Sure, maybe if it was Jackson speaking. But Murphy?

Maybe it was the pain speaking. Cloy almost hoped so. He didn’t want to see his men in pain or sick, but either were preferable to the possibility of an illness of another sort. Cloy sighed.

"Look, Murphy.."

"No."

The firm, no nonsense denial caught Cloy by surprise. What was he ‘no’ing? He didn’t know how to respond to it

Douglas, however, had an idea.

"Who are you?"

An outrageous idea. If Murphy’s ‘no’ threw him, then Douglas’s question outright confused him.

"Huh?" McGarrah had the same nonexistent clue.

Murphy turned to stare intently at Douglas. "I cannot pronounce my name with this body."

"Do you know what those creatures are?" Douglas gestured vaguely at the transparent door.

"Those ‘creatures’ are my people."

"And the… cubs you were playing with?"

"Not playing. Talking."

"Talking?" Cloy parroted, his skepticism speaking before he could check it.

"I didn’t know them. I asked if they knew my children."

"You don’t have children." Cloy told himself to shut up.

A proud smile graced Murphy’s face. "I have four." The smile faded to worry. "My youngest is ill. He has the same disease I did."

"I don’t understand," McGarrah whined softly.

Neither did Cloy. How could Murphy’s voice contain such pure grief for a delusion? Could a fever make him believe he had children that much? Could infection make him feel such pain for a child that never was? Cloy shook his head. He was missing something important here.

Douglas and Murphy never broke eye contact. Douglas was catching that something he and McGarrah were missing. Cloy could see it in the intensity of Douglas’s gaze.

"Talk how?" Douglas broke into the pause.

Murphy blinked and frowned.

"Talk like we are now?" Douglas elaborated.

"Speech? No." One shaking hand touched his throat. "Words don’t come out right."

"Then how."

"I’m dead," Murphy started with an hysterical chuckle, "not stupid. I can remember how to write."

Douglas gave Cloy a quick glance. He had an idea.

"Can you do it again?"

"Yes." Pause. "Why?"

"Could you… write something to them, maybe? Tell them we meant no harm. That we need to go home."

Cloy studied the sand brown ceiling and mentally bit his tongue. Now half his team was acting crazy.

"Yes," Murphy breathed as the idea sunk in. "Maybe I am stupid."

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and rolled on to his side. Cloy winced at the grunts Murphy tried not to make.

"Whoa. Easy, there." He put a restraining hand on Murphy’s shoulder. "You’re in no condition to be moving like that."

"Captain. Sir."

Cloy braced himself for the argument he could hear coming.

"We should at least let him try. What’ve we got to lose?"

Cloy detested ‘what do we have to lose’ situations. He hated not having a better idea to try.

He helped Murphy to a sitting position. Murphy’s face was a master of contortion, yet he made no sound, as if being helped put an end to his voice. Half way to the door, Murphy’s working leg went out and nearly put them both on the floor. He muttered an apology to Cloy as he regained his balance. By the time Cloy got him seated leaning against the door, some of Murphy’s wounds had started to bleed again.

Cloy waited for Murphy to catch his breath before trying to attract the attention of their captors.

Two of the cat like creatures passed them in the hall. One stared at the humans the entire way. A gentle swat from its companion saved it from walking into a wall. He could just see a doorway down the hall with two tails sticking out.

Cloy took a fortifying breath and rapped loudly on the door. The two who had just passed sprang back into view. They stood well back from the door and stared wide-eyed at SG 7. The fur on the shorter one rippled spasmodically.

The relative lack of reaction irritated Cloy. Was everyone told to stay away from them, or something?

Murphy stared out the door with such yearning that Cloy felt bad for him, and wasn’t sure what he was feeling that way for.

"That one’s so scared he’s about to bolt any minute now."

"The shivering one?" Cloy asked the question to distract himself from the look in Murphy’s eyes. The intensity of it was as unnerving as the grief had been.

"No. She’s scared, but she’s still moving, sensing." Murphy was confident in his assessment of these creatures. "He’s the one who’s frozen. He’s not even blinking."

Blinking? The thing wasn’t even breathing. Scared, eh? An evil thought came to mind. Cloy put it into action before he could check the impulse.

"Hey!" he hollered, pounding on the door. Even Murphy jumped. "We want to talk to someone in here!"

The still cat jumped a foot backward. It opened its mouth wide, bearing sharp teeth. The otherwise menacing gesture was spoiled by the sound it made. Instead of the expected roar, it gave a squeaky hiss which had no more force than a kitten’s. If their situation had been different, Cloy would have fallen down with laughter. The cat ran, backwards, down the hall.

Cloy felt a perverse sense of satisfaction – served them right for attacking and scaring his people. It didn’t matter to Cloy if that particular cat had had any part in the incident or not.

The reaction of the other one could not have been more different. Its fur went still as it froze for a moment. Then every hair on its body stood straight up, giving it an almost comical, finger in the light socket look. Even its tail pointed at the ceiling, the tuft at the tip fanned out. Its ears flattened, folding forward to cover it ear holes. The tips of each ear touched the corners of its eyes.

This time the pounds and shouts brought more cats. The hall filled with them, crowding together against the opposite wall. No one ventured near their two legged ‘guests’.

The fur on most of the cats moved in uncoordinated patches. One stood nearly as frozen as the other had, only its tail twitched nervously up and down. A small one, only about the size of a dog, stumbled to the one with the puffed fur. Not taking its eyes of the humans, Puff-fur growled softly at the little one. Little One stopped, but did not move away.

There was something not right with the cub. One leg dragged when it walked. Its tail, though short, did not so much as twitch. The fur on one side hung limp, and the ear on the opposite side looked unnaturally flat against its small head.

A choked sob brought Cloy’s attention back to his people.

"Murphy?"

Murphy’s eyes were glued on Little One, sorrow shining through unshed tears. The cub gazed back, seeming the calmest of the whole lot.

"The child doesn’t have long," Murphy breathed.

"What?"

"He’s here because he has the disease. Soon he won’t be able to walk anymore. Then he won’t be able to move anymore." Bitterness laced Murphy’s voice now. "After that he won’t be able to live anymore."

Puff-fur’s hair flattened a bit. It stepped to the side and put itself between the cub and the humans. Cloy found the protective maneuver too human for his liking.

Some cats in the back started rumbling. Puff-fur glanced their direction and growled. One of the group left. The rest continued – Cloy supposed it was talking – to each other. The growling grew louder, less controlled, as if the discussion was turning into an argument. Puff-fur glared at the them and put an end to the distraction with a loud hiss.

Puff-fur finally approached them. Its big head moved to take in each of the humans, starting with Murphy and working its way around to settle on Cloy.

"Captain."

The voice startled Cloy. "What?"

"Writing," Douglas reminded him.

Murphy was already ahead of them. He scribbled lines into the soft dirt, muttering to himself. He stopped, cursed, and wiped it out with a shaking hand.

"Have to face the letters toward them," he explained.

Murphy leaned heavily against the door. It was not the spark of intelligence that brightened his eyes so much. Cloy fervently hoped this worked. He didn’t know how long Murphy would last without professional medical attention.

"Need four fingers," Murphy added, holding up his right hand and its two half curled, motionless fingers.

He grunted as he adjusted himself to ‘write’ with his left hand He put a similar marking on the dirt. It was much neater than before and turned sideways.

Puff-fur looked at it a moment. Its ears lifted to stand straight up. Its head turned to regard Murphy in a bird like manner, first with one eye, then the other. It lifted a paw larger than Cloy’s hand and scratched something into the dirt.

Murphy wiped the dirt clean and made new designs. It went on back and forth like that for several silent minutes. Murphy became ever more despondent, the cat thing became increasingly agitated.

Finally, the big cat put a halt to the proceedings by raking its claws through the dirt and the writing. Murphy closed his eyes in resignation.

"What’s going on?" Douglas asked.

Murphy snorted softly. "She thinks the words are a trick. She refuses to believe I understand what I’m writing."

Well, Cloy and Puff-fur agreed on one thing, at least. Not that it did them a lot of good.

Puff-fur turned its back to them and rejoined the group pressed against the wall. Little One continued to sit apart from its kind, solemnly watching Cloy look at it.

Cloy found himself wishing Shorty were here. She loved to chat and adored cats. This would have been the perfect mission for her. But she was lost somewhere on that damn planet, probably rotting under earthquake caused rubble like the one that had killed Colonel James.

The mental scolding didn’t help. It just changed the longing to Jackson being with them. At least that one was not impossible. Maybe the scientist, with all those languages rattling around in his head, could tell Cloy if there was any hope to what Murphy had tried. Or if it was really as ridiculous as Cloy thought it was.

Cloy sighed inwardly. Ridiculous or not, the cat things were intelligent creatures. And they were obviously prepared to ignore one of his people.

"Hey! Fur ball!" He pounded on the door.

Several in the group backed away. Little One didn’t even flinch, its eyes merely widened at Cloy’s noise. Puff-fur’s ears flattened again as it looked over its shoulder.

"Yeah, you," he shouted, giving the door an extra hard punch. "Come here. We need to talk to you."

Cloy felt foolish waving Puff-fur over and pointing at the ground. He knelt, drew a rough circle in the dirt and pointed at it again.

The cat deigned to take a closer look. It glanced at the circle, then regarded Cloy with each eye.

He wasn’t getting through. He searched the ceiling for inspiration. He was surprised to catch Puff-fur looking up as well.

Cloy pointed again at the circle. He drew a smaller one with lines coming off it; the best he could manage for the DHD. Then he pointed at himself, swept his arm to take in the members of his team, and ‘walked’ his fingers from the circle.

That got a reaction. Puff-fur’s fur rose straight up, its eyes narrowed. Its growl sent most of the contingent of cats running.

Cloy stood slowly. "Ok. I take it they don’t like the Stargate."

"Not the Circle. We use that."

Cloy watched the remaining upset cats and let Douglas take over the role of believer.

"They know how to work the Stargate?"

"Yes."

"So what’s the problem?"

"A fairy tale. There are no such thing as two legged creatures." Murphy apparently forgot he was a two legged creature himself.

The soft growling outside became louder. The hair stood up on all of the verbal combatants as their argument escalated.

Murphy, eyes still closed, grimaced. "She doesn’t believe in you. One wants to study you."

There was a choked off noise from the back of the room. McGarrah was uncharacteristically silent and very pale.

Being ‘studied’, with all the nuances of the word, did not to appeal to Cloy, either. The thought of being taken apart by aliens made him nauseous. It was bad enough being physically poked and mentally prodded by their own people every time they returned through the Stargate.

Puff-fur hissed and swatted at one of the remaining cats. They all left down the hall in a hurry, leaving only Little One behind. That one continued to stare at them.

"Ah, no," Murphy whispered. "They’re going to get…" he paused. "You would call her a political leader. She’s not friendly. And the head of this medical facility. I never met him."

Little One stumbled toward the door. It left a trail of gouged dirt behind it, a testament to its lame leg. Its nose touched the door before it abruptly sat. It titled its head to peer at Murphy in that curious bird-like manner. It made a noise that was more rough purr than growl.

Murphy opened his eyes to regard the small creature. "Yes," he murmured. He reached to the cleared dirt to draw a couple of parallel lines.

"What did it ask?" Douglas asked.

"He wanted to know if I have the same affliction he does."

Little One and Murphy regarded each other in silence for a moment. Then Murphy straightened, a new light in his eyes.

"Murphy?"

Cloy shared Douglas’s wariness. He wished he knew what Murphy was up to.

Murphy frantically scratched at the dirt. Twice he wiped the writing out in frustration. What finally came out was much simpler than what he drew for Puff-fur.

The cub cocked its head to a side and gave a low response.

Murphy smiled. "You do?" he asked excitedly. "Where? How far…" He stopped, suddenly remembering that Little One couldn’t understand his words. He leaned over and shakily scribbled more in the dirt.

"What’s going on, Murphy?"

"He knows about my youngest," Murphy said breathlessly. "He’s met my son."

A low rumble heralded Puff-fur’s return. Its fur was still fluffed out, and its tail thumped the ground nearly hard enough to be heard. Cloy had the distinct impression it was angry.

Little One squeaked and whipped its head around. In a whiny rumble-purr it seemed to be trying to explained itself. Puff-fur stalked over with another low rumble.

Murphy was definitely not happy with these actions. "Please," he murmured. He slapped the door and pointed down at his scribbles.

Puff-fur’s tail hit the ground with an audible snap. It growled, and picked up Little One by the scruff of its neck.

"No," Murphy whispered. "Please," he said, louder.

Puff-fur turned from them. Murphy managed to struggle up to his good knee.

"Murphy…"

"Stop!" Murphy shouted, pounding on the door even as he supported himself against it. "Come back!"

Puff-fur turned long enough to emit a deep throated growl that was in no way diminished by the cub held in its mouth. Cloy suppressed a shudder at the warning.

Murphy gave a soft cry and collapsed.

The cat turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving the humans resoundingly alone.

* * *

It shouldn’t have taken this long, Daniel thought when the Stargate finally came into sight. His lungs burned and one of his legs ached from taking the strain caused by hobbling on the other. The knee of his pants on the weak side had a tear in them from tripping one too many times. But there it was, the grey ‘gate standing out in the field of yellowed grass. Just waiting for him to make the last few yards.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw the cats standing in the field between the DHD and the ‘gate. They were the same two they had seen before… before he had gotten separated from SG 7. What were they doing here?

Daniel approached cautiously, limping as quietly as he could. They heard him anyway. The smaller stopped speaking and turned her large eyes on him. The other stood suddenly, looking as if he had just been caught doing something forbidden to him.

They allowed him to approach, doing little more than staring at him. They should have been more afraid of him. He was the alien here after all. She gazed at him with curiosity, he with caution.

Daniel reached the DHD and leaned against it, trying to catch his breath.

She squinted at him, rumbled a question to her companion.

"Activating the ‘gate," Daniel muttered absently. He stopped mid-press of the second symbol. Was he actually answering the cat?

Alarmed at his actions, she struggled to her feet. The male cat growled warningly.

"No." He pressed the third symbol. "I have to get help."

With the fourth symbol came excruciating pain.

Daniel’s hands flew to his head, the left flopping uselessly as he tried to press the scream out.

Of course he wasn’t dead.

But if he wasn’t dead, what was he doing at…

Getting help!

It was like doing battle with a terrified alter ego, only within his own mind. Daniel got the upper hand long enough to hit the fifth and sixth glyphs. The pain redoubled, adding to it a deep fear. His knees buckled.

Fighting the part of him screaming that to open the Stargate meant death, Daniel shakily pushed the last symbol for home. Squeezing his eyes shut, Daniel rested his head on his arm a moment before pulling himself to his feet.

Now both cats were growling at him. Jack declared him crazy and threatened him. Jack? Through the pain and the conflicting ideas, Daniel was not very certain of his own sanity.

Becky – was it really Becky? – reminded him that it was barely even noon, much less sunset. She was trying to talk sense into him. Right now, nothing made sense.

He slapped the crystal with his right hand. There, it was done. A few more minutes and he could get help. Of more kinds than one.

The grey stone started turning. Becky squeaked. Jack yelped and pushed her out of the way as the ‘gate came to life.

Daniel entered the iris code in a hurry. He didn’t want to stay here any longer than he had to. His head hurt too much. He hobbled toward the glittering pool of the event horizon, a portion of his mind reminding him again him that he wasn’t dead yet.

Becky yelled at him to stop. Then at Jack to stop him. She was horrified, believing he was trying to send himself to the next world while still alive.

The part of him that came with the blinding headache proclaimed that he was not ready yet.

Well, he was.

Daniel never made it. With the pale light of the Stargate as close as the platform, he was suddenly hit from behind. His chest impacted with the steps hard enough to knock the breath out of him. And the mental battle culminated with enough force to knock the consciousness from him.

* * *

"Incoming wormhole!"

Startled, General Hammond turned toward the window to the Stargate room. The next return was not due for another two hours.

"Do we have a signal?"

"Not... Here it is," the technician interrupted herself. "Its SG-1, sir."

"Open the iris." Not that he really needed to give the command. Her fingers were flying over the keyboard even as she informed him who it was.

Out the window, they watched as the iris slid open. Then waited, wondering if there was something wrong. Again.

Hammond glanced down at the technician, who gave him a nervous, if confused, smile. No one had come through the wormhole yet.

Minutes inched by. The Stargate deactivated. SG 1 never came through.

He stood a moment, holding his breath, hoping whichever of SG 1’s number had sent the signal would dial up and send again.

"Sir?" The technician looked up expectantly.

"Give them five minutes to try back. Then dial up P2J459. They’re closest to check in time."

"Yes, sir." She started programming the computers to be ready the second the allotted five minutes was up.

"Off world activation!"

Hammond checked the clock. A little more than a minute left.

"SG 1 signal, sir." The tech sounded as relieved as he wanted to feel.

"Open the iris."

"We’re getting a signal. Its Major Carter, sir."

"Put it up."

Carter’s face appeared on the screen with a smile. "Good morning, sir." Before she could go any further, Hammond asked if she had sent the stray signal.

"No, sir. Teal'c and I have been busy making friend with the natives." The amusement left her blue eyes as the unusual question sank in. "Why? What’s happened, sir?"

There was a heavy as pause after he filled her in. Frown lines creased her brow. He had definitely ruined her morning. "Have you contacted the Colonel or Daniel?"

"They are next, Major. Consider yourselves on standby."

"Understood, sir."

Contacting Colonel O'Neill proved to be ridiculously easy, despite the initial fumbling of his trainees.

O'Neill scowled at him from the monitor. "Has everyone else reported in?"

"No one has missed a check-in yet. I have already contacted Major Carter and Teal'c. They have no knowledge of the signal. And if it did not come from you…"

"That leaves Daniel," O'Neill finished grimly. "Sir, request permission to…"

"Granted." Hammond expected the response. "In the event that the signal came from Dr. Jackson and we can not establish communication with him or SG 7, I’ll expect you and your team to be ready to ship out with SG 3."

"Thank you, sir. O'Neill, out."

"Stargate deactivated."

Hammond stared at the empty the Stargate with a sinking feeling. He took a deep breath. "Dial up PJ4912."

As he watched the rings turn, Hammond spoke a silent prayer for the third time that the lonesome signal was merely a mechanical fluke and not soemthing worse.

* * *

Cloy paced the room, seething at himself and their situation. He kicked the door the third time he passed it.

Douglas looked at him sympathetically. "We’ll be alright," he said, "all of us." He sounded like he believed it.

"Of course we will." He hoped he sounded as confident.

He hated not being able to do something, anything, to get them out of there. He couldn’t find a way out of this room. He couldn’t communicate with the cats. He couldn’t keep his people together and well. He couldn’t even keep morale up. Some commander he was turning out to be.

Static put a halt to his steps.

"…ckson and SG 7 … lease …"

He turned around, looking for the source of the sound.

"…is … Command. Do you read?"

The faint signal was made even more so by the door and hall space separating it from its intended ears.

Cloy moved to the transparent material of the door, silently cursing the cats for taking Douglas’s radio when SG 7 was put into this room. He could just make out the door frame of the room down the hall. A cat emerged from it, stopped a moment to stare at the humans, the hair on its body raising. Its large eyes opened impossibly wide as it let out a loud yowl. It made a neat about turn that would have put the most experienced soldier to shame, then sped down the hall.

"Repeat ...gate Command to Dr. Jackson and SG…" Static sputtered, drowning out the rest of the message.

Douglas brightened, catching the implications of the transmission right off. McGarrah, on the other hand, looked confused.

"But its nowhere near our check in time."

Douglas frowned at him. "Don’t complain. When we don’t answer, they’ll know something’s wrong and send someone after us."

"Oh."

Cloy turned to watch the hall. He wondered what the SGC was calling for. A dozen possibilities ran through his mind, none of them good. They ranged everywhere from family emergency to national emergency, an attack of a new super bug to a Goa’uld attack. Whatever the reason, Cloy hoped the SGC would have time and people enough to send a team after them.

A group of cats crowded the door down the hall. Cloy could make out the rumps and tails of several bodies. The rumbles carried well as they talked amongst themselves. No doubt they were discussing how strange the human technology was, or wondering how they could fit a person into such a small box, or trying to decipher just what was being said.

Cloy sighed. There was another implication to the transmission – through exactly what had been said. The SGC was calling SG 7 and Dr. Jackson. Which meant Jackson never made contact with them.

Cloy looked at Murphy, exhausted, seriously injured, and still insisting he was something other than human. To Douglas, who would have been hurt worse if Murphy hadn’t tried that stupid stunt. And McGarrah, who’s color has yet to return as he kept himself as far from door and the cats as possible.

Jackson had better be dead or injured, Cloy thought angrily. If he found out otherwise, Cloy would personally throttle him for leaving them here.

* * *

Daniel woke to the quiet sound of people whispering around him. He could hear them talking, even make out what they were saying if he concentrated hard enough. In vain he tried to force his eyes open, but the lids wouldn't obey. He was aware of someone grasping his hand, squeezing it tightly. He tried to speak, but there was something in his mouth preventing him from doing so.

Someone sat on the bed beside him, radiating warmth to his chest. A hand caressed his forehead, no voice accompanying the gentle stroke. The cool cloth returned there. He was grateful for the touch. His body ached from disuse. Sha're? No, she didn't have the scent of lilacs in the springtime. Becky. Horror swept through his mind. Guillian-Barre. Again.

Becky! he screamed to whoever would listen, don't leave me! Please don't leave me!

The presence brushed hot and moist against his cheek, planting the softest of kisses there. She gripped his hand fiercely. The bed shook just a little with her quiet sobs, as she now lay over his still chest. Frantically he tried to force his body to react somehow, give her some sign he was aware and did not want her to leave. But it betrayed him. And he lay there, knowing her pain and unable to help her.

"Becky," came a soft, familiar voice. The pressure on his chest rose in response, but she still gripped his hand. "He may pull through this, he may not."

Jack? Is that you, Jack?

"You know what the docs are saying. You're still young. He'd want you to go out and do something with your life."

His hand was lifted to her face as the weeping began anew. Tightly she squeezed it, trying desperately to infuse a part of her life into him.

"Its been over a month. Its time for you to move on."

Shut up, Jack! Becky, please stay! Don't leave me! Not again!

The softest of kisses brushed his cheek once again, a hot tear falling where lips had once caressed him. One last fleeting brush of her hand on his forehead, one final squeeze of his hand. She placed it across his chest. He felt her rise from the bed, taking her warmth, her sustenance with her.

"Why don't we get some dinner?" Jack's voice asked. "We can drowned our sorrows together."

The quiet opening of the door was the only reply, briefly changing the pressure in the room, then returning it to where it had been a moment ago. The soft beeping of the machines around him were all that kept him company now. A tear welled in the corner of his eye, defying the disease which had so thoroughly destroyed the life he had fought so hard to build. It ran down the side of his face, unnoticed.

The wet streak on his face brought Daniel abruptly to consciousness. He blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Not a hospital room, the sky and grass showed a definite lack of a room of any sort. But it seemed that he really was alone.

He reached to swipe at the chilled reminder of the… what? Dream? Memory? It felt like an impossible mixture of both. It was certainly real enough to cause this evidence of pain.

The tear was forgotten when his arm did not move. Quelling a surge of panic, he instinctively switched to his right. The wriggling fingers before his face was proof that he had some command over his body. He rolled to his side and pushed himself up with the one hand to get a better look at himself and try to judge the extent of the problem. His left arm, its fingers loosely curled, flopped uselessly at his side. He lifted it with his right hand and pulled the arm out. There was no obvious injury and no pain, not even the pins and needles of an awakening limb. Yet it would not respond to his instructions to move it.

The change is happening too fast. Daniel frowned at the thought. What the heck did that mean?

He had lamented on the same thing before. The disease taking only months to ravish him where it should have taken over a year. An image from the maybe dream flashed into mind. In the dream he had felt so useless, so powerless to communicate his love and need. He had almost looked forward to the stilling of his heart when Jack took Becky away…

Daniel swallowed hard and tried to push the uneasy thoughts away. He tried instead to focus on his motionless fingers. The paralysis was progressing much quicker than before. Only his hand would not move when he had tried to dial home.

Home. Oh, god, he never made it to get help!

He pushed up with his right hand, putting his left knee under himself with the intention of standing. Halfway through the motion, he met large golden eyes. Daniel never noticed his arm loose its strength or meeting the ground again with a hard jar. He was transfixed by those beautiful eyes, that dust brown coat. He felt his breath leave him.

Becky.

She had come back to him.

* * *

There was no immediate sign of Daniel or SG 7. Not that Jack really expected to find them in the moments after exiting the Stargate, that would have been too easy.

The grass was trampled in a wide horse-shoe shape around the DHD and Stargate. Behind the ‘gate, the dry, yellowed grass grew high and unhampered. Jack remembered reading someone’s report speculating that some form of wildlife had caused the effect, as well as the path broken through to the trees. The author did not even try to wonder what the animals were doing congregating around the Stargate. Aside from the trampling and the near permanent trail, there had been no signs of habitation.

Jack wondered if SG 7 had been unlucky enough to find what the experts had missed.

Makepeace and his men fanned out, ready for the unexpected that did not come. The Marine glanced back at him, brows raised. Jack chose to take his silence as a professional curtsey. Although the missing were all members of the SGC, and hence meant looking for them with equal alacrity, there was a little more it than that. In this case, one of those missing was a member of his team. Though surprise, Jack was also pleased that Makepeace was affording him the lead without any hassles.

Jack indicated the Makepeace should take half of the combined team and scout the older trail toward the trees and where SG 7 was to make camp. He would take the other half and investigate the paths to the right.

They were ragged, not well used, as if somethings had decided to trudge out and beat their own path. And judging from the sharp smell of weed, he suspected that the damage had been recent.

The two new paths had started close together. He took Carter and followed one trail of broken grass, Teal'c and Johnson from SG 3 took the other, each searching for clues to the whereabouts of SG 7 and Daniel.

The trails spread apart as they walked, finding nothing useful. About five minutes out, the paths split sharply. Teal'c and Johnson were soon out of sight.

Their trail forked before long, one veering off the way they had come. Jack pondered the trail a moment, wondering if they had just started a wild goose chase. Unfortunately, other than the campsite and the conspicuously silent radio space, there was nothing else to go on to find out what had happened to their people.

"It will save us time to split up," Carter said, her words paralleling his thoughts. Jack didn’t like the idea, but conceded the point. They took a trail each, agreeing to keep in radio contact.

The one Jack chose to follow dead-ended not far from him. There he found Daniel, sitting half obscured by the tall, dry grass.

"Daniel?"

Jack approached slowly, sensing that something was wrong but unable to place just what. The fact that Daniel was alone contributed to his unease. There was nothing of interest in the field, save for some bushes in the distance and Daniel himself. The wind was still, not even insects interrupted the silence.

"Daniel? You okay?"

Still no answer.

The first thing Jack noticed when he was close enough to make out details, was that Daniel’s glasses were missing. His hair was a mess, looking as if it had not been cleaned or combed in days. His clothes were in a similar condition rumpled around his body.

A few wary steps closer, and Jack could saw what had Daniel’s rapt attention. A figure crouched in the long grass staring back at him.

Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Jack did a quick double check with the insane thought that there just might be a bear lurking about. This was definitely some sort of cat returning Daniel’s stare with equal intensity.

Its fur was several shades darker than the grass, speckled here and there with lighter spots, as if it had been sprinkled with bleach. The ears stood up right and swiveled toward Daniel. Its eyes seamed large for the body, and were a shade of summer gold no Earth cat had ever possessed.

Jack came no closer. He trained his weapon and eyes both on the creature.

"Daniel," he commanded, keeping his voice low and steady. "Back away from it… slowly."

Daniel continued to stare at the creature. Was that pain he saw in those blue eyes?

"Now, Daniel!" Jack hissed.

Daniel started. He looked at Jack with confusion, then back at the cat. His eyes widened, as if he was just now noting the danger. He swallowed hard and tried to get to his feet.

Jack’s attention wavered from the cat to his teammate. Daniel had managed to get to his knees without problem. When he pushed up from there, one foot refused to hold him. He fell to hands and knees… make that hand and knees. Daniel was also favoring his left arm. He tried pushing up again and failed.

The cat watched, its ears somehow managing to perk up more. It lifted its head from its paws and tilted it slightly to a side. Its body, however, remained relax. If it was tensed for a spring, Jack couldn’t tell.

Jack risked tuning his side to it long enough to help Daniel to his feet. Daniel had made it to his knees again, his left arm pressed against his side, when he looked up and paled.

"Jack, look out!"

Jack whirled around to see what he pointed at. Another cat, darker furred, bearing its teeth and running straight for them. In midmotion, it bunched powerful hind legs and launched itself at Jack.

Jack did not hesitate to fire off a shot. A circle of red appeared on the cat’s chest on the left side – the result of an unconscious aim to where the heart would be on a human. The cat never made a sound as the shot knocked it sideways. Its crashed hard on the wounded shoulder, its momentum causing it slide a bit. Jack kept his weapon trained on it as it came to a halt. It was so motionless Jack would have lost sight of it in the tall grass, were it not the bright splotch of blood and the darker fur.

He heard an almost human cry mixed with an inhuman growl. The hairs on back of his neck standing up, Jack turned to find the first cat snarling and ready to pounce.

Daniel stared at it, pale faced. "Becky, no," he murmured, but made no move to get up or protect himself.

He named the cat? The part of his mind with the eye for the absurd yammered inanely at Jack.

"Daniel, move!" Jack fired a shot just as the cat leaped. Its spring was awkward at best, and Jack only managed to clip a back foot.

The cat landed between Jack and Daniel, stumbled, growled, and leaped again. Before Jack knew what was happening, the air was knocked out his lungs as he found himself pinned between snarling fur and grass-prickly ground.

* * *

"I can’t move," Murphy whispered.

McGarrah bit his lip. Cloy didn’t protest as McGarrah helped Douglas to his knees and a little closer to their newest teammate.

"I don’t have long," Murphy wheezed, his eyes focused on the cats outside.

"Don’t say that!" Douglas demanded, leaning unsteadily against McGarrah.

If Murphy heard, he gave no indication of it. His attention was outside with their captors. "I just wanted to let them know," he muttered. "Its not a disease."

"Huh?" McGarrah eloquently voiced their confusion.

"They’re not dying." Whether Murphy was responding to McGarrah’s question or continuing his delirium, Cloy couldn’t tell. "The ‘disease’ is just a change, that’s all. They’re not dying."

"Neither are you," Douglas insisted.

Hazel eyes rolled to meet Douglas’s brown. They rested there a moment before moving to regard McGarrah and Cloy. Cloy wondered what Murphy saw before he closed his eyes on them.

"Its happening again," Murphy said, as if in explanation. There was no fear in his voice, only tiredness. "The paralysis, the difficulty breathing. If I stay…"

McGarrah sagged back, sorry resignation in his eyes. With the cat-things guarding them like they were, SG 7 wasn’t going anywhere. And Douglas’s grunt, Cloy was sure, was due more to that shared realization than the pain caused by McGarrah’s movement.

They were going to loose another one. First Colonel James and Shorty. And now Murphy. And they just got him.

Cloy shook his head. "No." No more.

"Sir?" McGarrah replied just as quietly.

Cloy shifted his grip from Murphy’s shoulder to his hand and gave it a none too gentle squeeze. He was going to get Murphy’s attention any way he could.

"Murphy! John, listen to me. You’re not going to die." Not on my shift, you won’t. "Not here. Got that, sergeant? That’s an order," he added in a sterner voice.

His best commanding voice elicited a soft snort from McGarrah and silence from its intended victim.

Cloy tried not to be angry with this man he barely knew.

"My.. mate… tried that tactic on me the last time."

Cloy jumped at the weakened voice. He looked up to find Murphy’s hazel eyes fixed on him. He squeezed Murphy’s limp hand, feeling some relief. He was still conscious, still with them. Also still delusional.

Murphy tried to smile. "He never knew that it worked. I must leave soon."

"Don’t…"

"Just promise me something," Murphy cut in. His eyes trapped Cloy’s. "He wouldn’t let the children see me. Now its happening to my youngest, and they won’t let me see him. Just tell him not to be afraid. Tell him its ok. I’ll be waiting for him."

"Murphy, don’t.." But the focus was already fading from his eyes.

"Its okay," he repeated.

Murphy took a weak, shuddery breath, blinked, then frowned. "Captain?"

That one word carried all the confusion and fear that had been conspicuously absent. Before he could wonder at the meaning, Murphy stopped breathing. His eyes rolled back and his body shuddered.

"Shit!" Cloy growled out, suddenly finding his hand in a vice-like grip.

"Captain!" McGarrah eased away from Douglas to help.

By the time McGarrah reached them, Murphy had gone still, his grip slack. Cloy sighed when he found the pulse.

McGarrah uttered a string of expletives. Cloy looked at him, shocked. He had never heard McGarrah swear before. McGarrah backed away from them, his eyes fastened on Murphy’s chest. With a sinking feeling, Cloy followed his gaze down.

A glow emanated from Murphy’s injured body. A faintly blue light, almost drowned by the brightness of the artificial light, lifted itself from Murphy’s body. Hovering scant inches from him, it coalesced, forming a ball of transparent electric blue. It wobbled, as if shivering, and brightened for half a second. With the dimming it lost its color, becoming a translucent ball that was hard on the eyes and which almost convinced the mind it wasn’t really there.

Cloy gaped at the shimmering spectre. He’d seen something like it before. He had thought it to be some strange reflection of the fire light which disappeared when touched.

"Dr. Jackson," he breathed.

"What?"

"One of these…"

Cloy met Douglas’s questioning gaze. He could see the connections being made written on his face.

McGarrah, ever clueless, asking "What the hell is going on here?"

* * *

Makepeace did not like what he saw.

The camp SG 7 had made was easy enough to find. Makepeace approved of its location. Sheltered on one side by a curving rock formation, and on the other by a swift moving river, it only left two sides that needed potential defense – from the tress and the sky. And from the sky they had some protection, as meager as it was, from overhanging rock, or even hiding under the trees.

He didn’t like the state they had found the campsite in. It had been neatly packed, the fire covered reasonably well considering the rather hard packed ground. There was no sign that SG 7 intended to stay here the allotted two days they had left. One of his people returned from scouting the woods with a bundle that didn’t belong there. SG 7 had stashed their gear there – tents, utensils, the bulky backpacks. Makepeace scowled when he heard the report.

The team, plus Dr. Jackson, where ever they were, were traveling light. Maybe they had the intention of coming back for the hidden supplies, maybe not. But they did not mean to be slowed down. They took all their ammo and weapons; they were prepared for a fire fight. But with whom? If there was a danger on this planet, why didn’t they report it back to the SGC? Unless they weren’t sure of the danger. Or they were on their way back to the Stargate when whatever happened had happened. Did somebody come through the ‘gate?

Makepeace looked at the scant evidence and made assumptions. If he were Captain Cloy and he knew someone had used the Stargate, he would not return by the same route he had taken to get to the camp site. He might scout to see what they were up to then report back. Since the river was not a viable route, he would stick close to the rock outcrop. No sense in getting yourself lost in the woods. And what amounted to a mini-mountain was an easy landmark to keep track of.

At least one of the missing party had made it back to the Stargate. As Makepeace led his men along the base of the outcrop, he tried not to wonder what had happened to him.

* * *

"Stop!"

Daniel could hardly believe he yelled that at them, as if this were some mere quarrel and both parties would understand him. He was utterly confused. Part of him knew the creature attacking Jack. A different part knew the creature that was fending off his love. The conflicting feels had one thing in common, to stop the fight before someone got hurt.

Daniel stood on his knees, his lower leg no longer holding his weight. He dragged the offending appendage as he moved to put himself physically between friend and mate. A stupid move, he knew, but the only one he could think of.

"Jack, Becky, stop it!"

Neither listened.

His ears rang with his screams, her growls, and Jack’s silence. Daniel was acutely aware of the cloying smell of blood. Jack’s curse stood out unnaturally loud as Daniel entered the fray. Suddenly he was knocked over. He felt a scrape of nails across his leg, then the pressure of two bodies making it difficult to breath. One body, Daniel couldn’t tell who it belonged to, squirmed and jabbed him in the stomach. There was a snarl too close to his ears for comfort, then a deafening blast.

And then? It was over. As fast as the lightning-like attack appeared, the creature was dead – warm, limp and bleeding out its liquid life no more than a foot in front of them. The crimson flow soaked into their pants and stained the dry savanna grass around their huddled bodies.

Nothing moved on that whole plain. Not insect. Not bird. And not man.

Daniel was aware of nothing save the wetness soaking into his clothing; the tightness of his held breath. There was no sounds around him and no sense of life.

... Ja'k? ...

Oh God... he couldn't hear Jack: his movement, his breathing, anything that spoke to him that his friend or love was still alive. All he knew was the weight of his friend's body over his, holding him down as Jack had tried to provide a wall of safety between Daniel and the beast.

"...haaaahhhhhhh.."

The gasp was soft and close... so close. Whatever chains that had bound Daniel broke free; his only thought to help Jack: save Jack, at whatever cost – be it his own life. He refused to accept the concept that the breathy rasp he heard so close to his ear might have been his friend's last breath.

It was hard to move out from under the body above him – he forced himself to stay away from the thought 'dead weight' – but it was the work of a few moments until he had Jack laid out on the grass, frantically searching the angle of his jaw for a pulse. His fear was so great it was hard for him to locate the notch between the two bundles of muscles.

Wait! He double checked. God, Yes. YES!! A pulse. Weak and somewhat erratic, but a pulse none the less. A quick pat-down proved that most of the bloody wetness of Jack’s BDU's belonged to the cat-like creature, not Jack.

He was alive and Daniel now had another reason to keep on living.

" ... Oh, God ..... Jack....." The young man scooped Jack roughly into his working arm, laying the battered, bloody head against his chest and enclosing Jack's upper body in his arms. They sat together like this for many moments. The only sounds were the wind drifting through the dry grasses and the soft sobbing of tears falling on a silent, upturned face.

There were long moments of not thinking, just feeling a sensation of great loss. Finally, the incongruity of the emotion sank in. He had no reason to feel so sad, as if he had just lost a great hope. Regret, or remorse, those he should be feeling. He was, after all the one who put his best friend and lover into jeopardy.

Daniel blinked hard. His lover?

A noise brought him back to his surroundings. He looked up to find Jack limping slowly toward him, a hole in his chest matting his tawny fur. Daniel blinked, looked down incredulously. No! Jack was injured, unconscious in his arms. That creature was approaching him. Him and Jack and Becky.

"Becky," he whispered.

She lay there, so still.

Down at Jack, so pale, blood leaking from various wounds. Daniel touched his throat, and lay a hand on Jack’s chest. The beat was steadier now, and chest rose with more strength. Daniel closed his eyes in silent relief. Jack would live. But Becky…

Daniel gingerly lay Jack down, taking care not to jar the worst of his injuries. He half crawled, half dragged himself to Becky. Even though she wasn’t far and he didn’t have to worry about pushing grass out of the way – the tumbling fight had flattened a small area around them – Daniel was nonetheless winded by the time he sat. The disease was taking its toll on his body.

A trembling hand, slick with blood, gently touched her head. He ran his hand between her ears. Her fur used to be softer and shinier. His jaws clenched. It hurt so much to see her like this.

He glanced up and shot Jack a murderous look. Jack – the Jack on four legs, the one who was supposed to stand witness to their Joining, the one who pulled Becky away from him when he most needed someone near – glared back.

"You were supposed to take care of her!" He gasped after the shout. His chest refused to move in time with his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to control the spasms. It was happening again. Becky leaving him to die alone. A tear dripped from his chin.

He reached to rub the tiny bald spot on her neck. She had lost a nail’s width of hair there as a cub. For some odd reason it never grew back. Her neck was always cold around that patch. It was his favorite place to tickle her.

He touched the bald spot and felt her skin twitch. Daniel jerked his hand back with a sharp inhale that caused a fit of coughing. Once he got his breathing under some measure of control, he found himself being watched by one gold eye. It blinked.

"Becky," Daniel breathed in wonder. She was alive. Barely.

The eyes blinked again. One ear abruptly fell forward.

"No," he whispered to her, rubbing the base of the ear. "Don’t be afraid. Its me." He felt the hair try to quiver under his hand. Daniel’s heart fell. She didn’t understand.

"Daniel!"

Daniel’s head jerked up. He blinked twice and squinted at the growing crowd. Sam and Teal'c and someone he couldn’t readily place – was that one of Makepeace’s men? – were approaching warily. Teal'c had his staff weapon pointed at his growling ex-best friend. Daniel frowned uncomprehendingly. What were they doing here?

Sam and the man from SG 3 suddenly raised their weapons at something behind him. He turned awkwardly, breath hissing between his clenched teeth, to find a group of priests with a shroud bier between them.

No! They couldn’t have her. Becky wasn’t dead yet.

Daniel bared his teeth and growled as loud and menacingly as he could with the little breath he had. The priests, showing signs of confusion, stopped where they were and put the bier down. Everyone else, he noted with relief, kept their distance.

Ignoring the wary concern from the humans, Daniel turned back to Becky. "I’m here," he whispered, unable to draw enough breath to speak any louder.

Using his working hand, he gently lifted her head to his lap.

"Daniel!" Sam shouted in alarm.

He glanced up. Forgetting she didn’t know the words of this language, he growled at her. She started, took a step back and frowned at him.

Daniel panted and stroked Becky’s head between her ears. "I’m here, Becky," he repeated, willing her to understand his words. "I’m here." The fear persisted in her golden eyes.

He looked beseechingly at everyone in the crowd. They couldn’t help, they didn’t even understand what was happening. Neither did he. All he knew was that he needed to get through to her before… Before she moved on. Or he moved on without her.

He looked at the dusty ground. Murphy wrote to the cubs. He could write to Becky. He chuckled despite himself. One last love note.

Daniel carefully reached over her head and scratched his message in the dirt. It was hard; his thumb didn’t want to work and it took him a precious moment to figure out how to keep the index finger from joining in the rebellion. Done, he lifted her unresisting head and gently tilted it so she could read the words.

Her eyes were unfocussed and for one terrible moment Daniel thought she had died without him. Then those beautiful gold eyes blinked and stared. The fallen ear struggled to right itself and failed. Her eyes rolled up to meet his.

"Yes," he breathed, answering the question in her eyes. "It’s really me." He scratched as much in the dry soil.

She leaned her head back into his lap. He watched the questions form in her eyes, the confusion that finally cleared with belief.

"Its okay." He hoped she could read his eyes as well. He smiled at the lovely glow in hers. "I’ll be here."

The light slowly faded from her eyes. He knew it would happen, still it hurt something fierce to see the dullness.

Daniel heard the gasps from the audience of both species. A nervous growl sounded from behind him, echoed by a confused mumble from before him. His hand stilled on Becky’s head.

A faint blue glow cast silvered shadows on her fur. The amorphous light pulled up slowly, sparkling where it touched the hair. When it cleared her body, it pulled itself into a shimmering sphere, and brightened a moment.

Becky was free.

Daniel prepared to join her.

* * *

Sam couldn’t believe her eyes.

The Colonel lay in a small clearing of crushed grass, his clothes torn and bloodied. Daniel sat near him, a hand on the head of a large cat-like creature. Another of the cat animals stood glaring at them. Sam half expected it to attack. But it took one look at the staff weapon Teal'c had leveled on it and froze. Sam felt a shiver run down her back. It knew what a weapon was.

"Daniel."

Daniel’s head snapped up at the sound of his name. There was pain in his eyes, a look of utter loss. He looked uncomprehendingly at each of them.

Four more of the large cats approached from behind Daniel, carrying something between them. She and Johnson pulled their weapons up automatically. The cats stopped abruptly. Cats and humans stared at each other for a long moment.

Daniel turned stiffly and craned his neck to see what had their attention. Incredibly, he growled at them! The cats seem to take this as their cue to set down the cylindrical object they had been carrying.

They were at a standoff. The humans and Teal'c on one side, weapons up, not daring to move for fear of provoking another attack. Five large cats, one of them injured, watching the humans with narrowed golden eyes. And Daniel, the Colonel, and one apparently dead cat in the middle.

Daniel turned back toward the creature he sat next to. With his left arm hanging limply at his side, he cradled and lifted its head with astounding gentleness.

The injured cat’s hair stood up and it crouched slightly. Sam read this as ready to spring. Teal'c must have as well; the staff weapon powered up.

"Daniel!" Sam called warningly.

Daniel gazed up with a hurt animal look and growled at her. Sam frowned at the unexpected reaction, and took a step back. The hair on the injured cat flattened, as did its ears. It abruptly sat and whined.

Now Daniel’s attention was completely lost on the cat he awkwardly cradled. There was quiet as everyone, cat and human both, watched. Daniel spoke to the animal in a soft tone. A quick glance at the deepening frown on Teal'c’s face showed that he could hear what Daniel whispered, and he didn’t like it.

Daniel reached over the creature’s head, grimacing as if the movement brought him pain. His fingers raked the ground, then he turn its head to look at it. Was he trying to talk to the thing?

Seconds that seemed like an eternity passed by as Daniel gazed at down at the creature’s face. Then he closed his eyes. If the glimpse of pain was any indication, the animal had just died.

In death, it started to glow.

Johnson gasped. There was low level growls from the standing cats. The ears on the injured one lifted abruptly and twitched spasmodically.

The glow separated itself from the cat’s body, brightened, and lost its color. Sam nearly lost sight of it as it rose a few feet into the air.

Daniel gasped once, his eyes rolled up, and he gave a great shudder. He fell over, the head of the cat falling from his lap. Being the closest to him, Sam rushed to his side, heedless of the irritated noise from the foursome watching them.

A glow such as that which had come from the cat emerged from Daniel’s chest. She paused in touching him, not sure how the shimmering thing would react to her. It left Daniel’s body to join the other.

The balls twisted and turned around each other, seeming to dance in mid-air. They touched, flared, and parted. They moved across the field, pausing over the injured cat’s head. The hair on the injured cat stood straight up, its ears twitching wildly as it looked around itself for the source of its unease. It occurred to Sam that the animal couldn’t see the shimmering things. It almost hurt to focus on them in the sunlight, but the cat’s eyes never stayed in their direction.

The shimmerings didn’t stay to keep it company long. There was an almost joyous note to the sparkles rippling through their bodies as they at last sped off, taking turns chasing each other.

A similar reaction of raised hairs and twitching ears rippled among the foursome as the balls of sparkling light passed over the cats. Then they were gone. Sam couldn’t tell whether they had passed out of sight, or were finally drowned out by the sunlight.

Leaving Johnson to keep watch, Teal'c went to check on the Colonel. Sam laid a hand on Daniel’s face. His eyes twitched under his lids and his rough breathing started to slowly even out.

"Teal'c?"

"O'Neill will live. He is, however, in need of medical attention."

"Major? Teal'c?" Johnson stammered.

The injured cat crouched low, its ears half down, more crawling than skulking toward them. It watched the humans closely, pausing when Johnson pointed his rifle at it.

Sam glanced at Teal'c, who nodded slightly.

"Take it easy, Lieutenant. I think it wants to tend to its own." She caught Johnson’s eye to make her point. "Teal'c could use your help with the Colonel."

Johnson lowered his rifle reluctantly and slowly approached Teal'c and the Colonel.

Despite her earlier words, Sam kept her weapon on hand, just in case. Keeping an eye on the injured cat, she pulled Daniel away from the dead one.

The injured one pause as she did so. Still crouching, it covered the rest of the ground toward them. It nuzzled the dead one’s neck. When it received no response, it ran a paw over the body and keened. Sam noted the tenderness of the gesture and wondered if they had been mates.

The injured cat looked at Daniel, back at the lifeless body it still touched. Sam’s grip tightened on her weapon, but it made no move toward them. If anything, it seemed even further saddened.

Then it noticed the markings Daniel had scratched into the dry earth which Sam had half obscured when she moved Daniel. It studied them intently. It reached out to trace the gouges, and Sam could see that it had fingers. It started up the heart wrenching keening again as it looked at the dead one, at Daniel and back again.

Sam thought she read confusion in its eyes as it took in the humans and the four cats waiting on the sidelines. There was definitely intelligence in those big sun colored eyes as they rested on each of the injured and the one dead. Sam could see it trying to put pieces together, making a decision of some type. It sat abruptly and yowled in what Sam had no doubt was denial.

The four standing in the grass turned in unison to face the injured one. The injured one let out a series of growls. One of the four returned the volley.

Both Sam and Johnson brought their weapons up at the noise. The injured one ignored them and continued to growl. Finally, it dawned on Sam what was happening.

"They’re talking," she said, relaxing marginally.

"You’re kidding." Johnson looked nervously at the foursome and the injured one.

"No." Sam looked at everyone in the same manner the injured cat had just done. "I think we came in on the middle of a big mistake. And we’re both just now realizing it."

Teal'c glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

The ears on the one who had been answering the injured one fell forward. It turned and sped away, quickly disappearing from sight. Cheetah’s had nothing on these cats.

The injured one fired off more growls at the remaining three. Silently, and Sam thought, reluctantly, they picked up the object they had been carrying with a front… hand each, and started an awkward looking three legged walk.

"Johnson," Sam said warningly as the trio came beside the Colonel and Teal'c. Johnson’s knuckles were white from gripping the rifle too tightly, but he did not move.

The three cats set their burden down. One moved out of the way as the other two unrolled a piece of cloth the same color as their eyes. Sam watched, stunned, as four fingered pa… hands – they had to be hands, right? – expertly spread the material out. It turned out to be square, each side longer than the average cat body. Almost long enough for the tall Colonel.

Finished, the two moved to join their companion and watch.

For a long moment, no one moved. The injured cat growled something softly at them. The ears on one of the trio folded forward half way. When it became apparent the trio weren’t going to do anything, the injured one hissed at them. The ears of all three flattened, the tip of the middle one covering its right eye. With great reluctance, all three laid down.

Sam almost laughed at the absurdity of it. The injured one had just told them to be as unthreatening as possible. It followed its own orders and lay silently next to its lifeless friend.

Teal'c and Sam exchanged looks. From the height of his brows, Teal'c was having a hard time believing it all as well. She wondered if they understood the nod Teal'c gave the injured one before making use of the peace offering. He lifted the Colonel onto the cloth. It clashed miserably with red soaking the Colonel’s BDU’s.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, Teal'c stood, moved to Sam’s side, and lifted the unconscious Daniel. Sam and Johnson, following his lead with the slow deliberate movements, each took an end of the cloth and lifted the Colonel. Sam looked back once as they headed for the Stargate and home. The injured one still lay where it was, one hand resting possessively on its fallen comrade, as it watched them leave.

* * *

Makepeace resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. They were being watched. He could feel it. From the nervous lookings around of his people, they could feel it too. The noise of one of them bringing his weapon to bear caught Makepeace’s attention. He saw what caught the young marine’s attention, a large cat standing behind them. It did not appear to be ready to spring, indeed, it just stood and stared.

A rustle from the trees, and another weapon was aimed and ready. The cat that watched them from above was slightly smaller with dark patches of fur. Then another appeared, and another. Soon they were surrounded by the large creatures on all sides except the rock.

"Shit!" Someone muttered behind him.

That pretty much sums it up. Makepeace slowly scanned the area. His team was outnumbered. Why aren’t they attacking? Not that he was complaining, he didn’t think their ammunition would do them any good if there was a coordinated attack.

The crackling of his radio coming to life caused everyone to jump. Two of the animals growled and tensed, but did not move.

It was Major Carter. "We’ve found Daniel."

Makepeace slowly reached for the radio. A dozen pairs of gold and bronze eyes narrowed.

"Is SG 7 with him?" he asked softly, already knowing the answer. If they had all been together, she would have said so initially.

"No." Frustration echoed through the speaker. "He was alone. He’s unconscious and the Colonel is injured. We’re taking back to the Stargate now."

The cats stayed where they were, watching intently.

"What happened?"

"There was a… misunderstanding with the natives."

Makepeace narrowed his eyes at the radio, momentarily forgetting Carter couldn’t see his expression through the airwaves. She conspicuously did not say Goa’uld. "I understood there were no humans on this planet."

"No, sir. Not humans. These… people are…" There was some mumbling or something that he did not catch.

"Repeat, Carter. I didn’t read that last bit."

A sigh and a tone of reluctance. "I said they appear to be feline."

"Feline?" He mumbled, staring blankly at the surrounding cats.

"Yes sir."

Someone made a noise indicating exactly what he thought of that notion. Makepeace glared at him. Why the hell not, he thought even as his mind tried to balk at the idea. Aliens only looked human on Star Trek. They’ve already met one that looked like a snake and one that looked like vaguely like a giant spider, when you could see it at all.

He asked for an ETA to the Stargate, and requested that she send back a diplomatic team.

"Sir?"

"We’re making contact." Staring at the cats, he muttered, "Again."

Carter paused. "Understood." She added a "Be careful," before signing off.

A cat who shuffled its feet came a little closer.

Another with a bandage on its tail – was that really a splint? – growled and coiled to spring. The one who didn’t pick up its feet growled back, and the injured tail relaxed. Minimally.

"Hold your fire," Makepeace warned lowly, hoping to preempt any itchy trigger fingers.

The cat rubbed its paw over the ground, pulled it away without quite leaving the soil. Makepeace had the impression it was old.

Keeping his gun ready, Makepeace slowly hunkered down. The scratchings made no sense to him. But they seemed too complex to be mere ‘scratchings’. Either that or its claws were the oddest shape he could image them being.

Makepeace glanced back as his people. No one offered any suggestions. Then back at the aged cat who seemed to be waiting for a response. What the heck was he supposed to say?

Makepeace grumbled to himself. He wasn’t cut out for first contact situations. Or third or fourth, for that matter.

Well, he definitely didn’t understand their language, if that’s what it was. And he doubted they’d understand English. So maybe something simpler, like pictures? He smoothed the dirt out, drew a circle and hopped his fingers from it.

The cat’s ears fell half way forward. It looked at him out of each eye in a move more characteristic of a bird than any cat he had ever seen. It slowly scratched four lines into the dirt.

Makepeace furrowed his brow. Four? That could be a threat. It could be the number of claws it had on a paw, for all he knew. It might have just been stretching, except for the manner in which it waited, expectantly. So what did the four lines mean, he wondered. A number, maybe? Perhaps the missing people. Only there were five, SG 7 and Jackson. No, that wasn’t quite right. Carter had found Jackson. Maybe…

Not quite believing he was seriously considering this, Makepeace made a circle around the four lines, and walked his fingers back to the original circle.

The old cat’s ears folded completely forward, the tips nearly touching its eyes. One of the nearer cats mumbled, the old one growled back at it. Suddenly the humans were surrounded by a gut tingling rumble as the cats growled and hissed and generally made noise to each other.

Makepeace cautiously stood, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up again.

The old one’s hair stood on end as it gave the loudest hiss Makepeace had ever heard. The cacophony died as suddenly as it began. It grumbled something long and complicated to the others, looking at each of them in turn. When it had finished talking, the other cats, some with their hair on end, some with their ears flattened, all silent, disappeared into the wood work from whence they came. SG 3 was left with only the old cat for company.

It said something at them that sounded almost like a deep purr. It turned its back on them, leaving a trail where it did not quite pick up three feet. It pause to look over its shoulder and repeat the purr-like sound.

Makepeace shrugged and followed. He wasn’t sure what he and cat had just said to each other, but apparently they were going to get the grand tour. Thankfully with only one cat.

* * *

All eyes were on the shimmering glow hovering near the ceiling.

"What’s it staying there for?" McGarrah asked with a nervous hitch to his voice.

Cloy’s eyes narrowed. He thought he knew exactly what it wanted.

"Its waiting for us to get out of here," Douglas answered softly.

McGarrah gave a scared, derisive snort. He didn’t believe they would get out of this little cell or away from the cat creatures.

Cloy heard noise muffled by walls and distance. Was that gun fire? McGarrah scrambled to his feet, color seaping into his face for the first time since they met the cats. He helped Douglas up, supporting the injured man.

Looker skidded to a halt outside their door. It was followed closely by a cat Cloy thought looked like Puff-fur, only without the puff. Its ears were flattened, and its large eyes narrowed. Whatever was going on, Puff-fur didn’t like it. Then Boss came into slow view, followed by the prettiest ugly sight he had ever seen.

"Colonel Makepeace!"

"Captain." A smile flitted on Makepeace’s face, too quickly replaced by the business at hand. "Is everyone here?"

Cloy did a quick glance around, as if to verify for himself what he already knew to be true. Douglas, McGarrah, an unconscious Murphy, and the shimmering thing…

"Everyone except Jackson."

"He’s been found."

Relief flooded through Cloy.

"I’ve got injured in here."

Makepeace frowned and gave a small nod of understanding.

"Better move away from the door. If I can’t get them to open it, we might have to shoot it in."

Cloy backed out of the line of fire without a word. He stared at the group of cats on one side of the door, and the humans on the other. How did Makepeace manage to get in here without getting attacked like they were?

Makepeace pointed at SG 7, then at himself.

Boss sat heavily. It drew a circle on the soil. Cloy was gratified to see he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t draw.

Makepeace smothered a sigh. Welcome to the club, Cloy thought, knowing how silly it felt drawing pictures to the cats. Makepeace knelt, indicated SG’s 3 and 7, and walked his fingers into the rough circle.

Puff-fur’s fur went rigid. Impossibly, its ears flattened even further. It uttered a deep, menacing growl. Cloy had no doubt that it was actually a growl this time, and not some form of speech.

Boss hissed, and Looker moved away from the two. Puff-fur continued its growling, never even looking at Boss. Boss uttered something at the top of its lungs.

Makepeace, and his men who had not already done so, brought their weapons to bear. Boss ignored them.

Murphy muttered something about trying to sleep. Wonderful time to wake up, Cloy thought toward the ceiling.

A group of cats weaved their way around the feet of SG 3, in a hurry but still careful not to touch the humans. Cloy recognized some of the guard cats from earlier. Boss had called in reinforcements.

More than one nervous man pointed their weapons down.

"Hold your fire," Cloy warned, momentarily forgetting who had rank here. Makepeace shot him a look, but did not belay his order.

Boss shot off some quick orders and the guard cats surrounded the still growling Puff-fur. Its eyes never left SG 3 as they hustled it away.

Boss talked to Looker. Looker manipulated the outside paneling. The door silently slid up. It watched both groups without blinking.

After a moment of silence, Boss tapped the circle it had drawn, as if to remind Makepeace of what he was supposed to do. Cloy looked from one to the other, and suddenly understood that Boss didn’t want the humans here any more than the humans wanted to be here.

Makepeace nodded once to Boss. He motioned his men in to help with Douglas and Murphy. One of them sneezed as he passed through the mist.

McGarrah and Douglas passed him, McGarrah with a look of utter relief on his face. Two of Makepeace’s men awkwardly carried Murphy out using the same cloth the cats had brought him in on. Murphy, not completely with them yet, was muttering about the waterbed swaying too much.

"Time to go, Captain."

"Not yet, sir."

"What?"

"I’ve got a promise to keep."

"To who?" Makepeace shook his head in a never mind fashion. "Doesn’t matter. It can wait till we get home."

"No, sir, it won’t wait that long." Cloy’s gaze was fastened on the shimmering, floating toward them at eye level.

Makepeace followed his gaze and gaped. "What the hell is that?"

"Long story. But it asked me to relay a message to one of its children." Cloy winced at how crazy it sounded, even to his ears.

The shimmering floated out the door, hovered over Looker’s head. Looker’s ears fell, it’s eyes darted here and there as it made a low noise. Boss stood, ears and fur twitching. Though both felt its presence, neither actually looked at the shimmering.

Makepeace and Cloy exchanged looks.

"They don’t see it." Makepeace stated the obvious.

The shimmering bobbed once, then turned down the corner. Cloy followed, careful not to step on any of the twitching tails. Makepeace muttered under his breath, notified his people of the delay, then trailed along.

Both Looker and Boss stayed near, despite their unease, but did not hamper the human’s progress.

They followed the shimmering through several halls and finally through a doorless doorway. Cloy ducked his head to pass through the mist, ignoring Makepeace’s mutter of disgust. He stopped short a few feet into the room.

For a moment he thought it was Little One laying on the pad, eyes closed and looking terribly limp. The shimmering hovered above the motionless form. As Cloy approached, he realized it was larger than Little One, barely a cub anymore. A prone as it was, it only seemed to be small.

Its eye’s were closed, and a tube ran from its mouth to a machine quietly beeping by its head. The half erect ear didn’t even twitch at the shimmering’s presence by its head.

Makepeace stood a respectful distance away, Looker and Boss standing warily by. Cloy glanced at them, at the shimmering, and sighed. He knelt next to the cub, hesitated, then reached out to touch it. Its fur was not as soft as he had thought it would be.

One of the cats behind spoke, it sounded like a warning. Cloy slowly pulled his hand away without looking back.

"I know you can’t understand me," he said, his voice low. He felt self consciously ridiculous. "But your… I guess she was your mother? She wants you to know she is here. Right above you, infact. She says not to be afraid. You’re not really dying. Just… changing, somehow. She says everything will be alright."

There. It was done. He looked at the shimmering thing. It hovered a moment, shivered, dipped closer to the cub, then zipped out of the room.

Cloy stood and moved to the door. He paused before passing through the misting to glance back at the dying cub. Looker was checking it over, pointedly not looking at the humans. Makepeace, brows creased in unvoiced confusion, slapped his back.

"Let’s go home, Captain."

* * *

Epilogue:

Two semicircles of people curved around the Circle of Passage and the activation device, preparing to say farewell yet again. A victim of misunderstanding, she died only a short time before the paralyzing disease would have claimed her. For that, there would be no hate for the two legged beings who had sped her fate. Only grief for one more loss among so many.

One thing set her death apart from the others that have frequented their people. It had forced them to learn that they were not alone, either on this world or in this universe. As many still deny this difficult lesson as those who found comfort in it.

He hovered near his friend, wishing his presence was less unsettling. His friend’s hair stood half raised and an ear twitched at random intervals. He was obviously distressed and yet he remained up front with the body of his mate. His closest friend would help her family bear his mate’s body into the Passage, as he had helped her bear him, putting his feelings aside this one last time for them both. The glow of his new form brightened slightly with pride.

His mate, not wishing to distress her family or friends any further, drifted behind the larger line. The Change, as he had come to think of it, was new for her. The reactions of the people to their presence was even more unsettling in this form than when they had both possessed bodies.

The priests finished speaking the Rites, and the Chant began. One of the priests lifted to the uncomfortable two legged position to press the sequence that would bring life to the Circle of Passage. His mate had always thought it was the most beautiful part of death, this Passage and the bearing to the next world.

He had never thought there would be a next world. But the two-legged beings, the ones who called themselves human, had come from another place. The man he had briefly shared a body with had seen many such worlds. Perhaps the place the dead go to would be as beautiful as the fields of home.

The other who had shared a body with a human for a short time would be staying behind. Like he did, she had unfinished business with the living. It was his mate’s opinion that the mother might stay even after her child completed the Change. He hoped so. It would have helped his transition if he had known he wasn’t the only ghost living on after the body had gone. Perhaps she and her child would still be around on the day their people finally acknowledged the Changed One’s existence.

The Passage settled into a vertical disc of shimmering glory. His mate bobbed forward, drawn by the beauty, the ceremony, and the short time they had left here. Though upset, she was trying to ignore the reactions caused by her passage. The bristling of fur, the nervous twitching of ears, the low whines of unease as the body reacted to a presence it could sense but not see. The humans could see them, but the humans had left to tend to their own wounded.

Together, he and his mate waited behind her family and their mutual best friend. Her body disappeared through the Passage, and the living stepped back. The pair of lovers brightened a moment in anticipation, then glided toward the Passage. Their shimmering merged with that of the Circle of Passage, and they were gone, to discover what life lay after the body’s death.

The Chant of the Setting Sun ended as the last rays of the sun left the sky.

Afterward:

(Or, Epilogue: Part II: )

Cloy sat between Douglas and Murphy, purposefully ignoring the conversation on the other side of the curtains. General Hammond had not been too pleased when he repectfully declined the assignment to reestablish contact with the people of PJ4912. At least he had understood. They were expected to act as a team.

Cloy personally would not have minded returning – under more pleasant circumstances. And Murphy was eager to get back on his feet and out again. He had spoken of what he remembered without any apparent hard feelings. Indeed, he was fascinated by the entire proceedings. Cloy thought Murphy would welcome going back just to be contrary.

McGarrah and Douglas, on the other hand, he was certain would not take the return well. McGarrah was unusually quiet anytime mention of the planet or the cats were made. Even now, he slouched in his chair more than was his wont, and his face was entirely too pale for comfort. All they were doing was visiting with Murphy and Douglas. Though Douglas seemed to have an understanding of the shimmering things that bordered on the supernatural, Cloy knew him well enough to tell when he was uncomfortable with a situation. When he started speaking for himself and McGarrah, rather than the other way around, it was usually a bad sign.

"Here, we brought something for you."

McGarrah tossed Murphy the package he and Cloy had brought with them. McGarrah was feeling a little more comfortable, Cloy was pleased to note. He was talking again.

Startled, Murphy fumbled the catch with his good hand. Cloy caught it before the box hit the ground and handed it back. He shot a warning look to McGarrah, who merely grinned and shrugged.

They patiently waited as Murphy opened his gift. He held it up with a bemused look. "A shirt?"

"Sure." Douglas grinned at McGarrah’s newfound enthusiasm. It was nice to see their spokesperson back. "We all pitched in. Had to guess on the size though."

Murphy looked as if he weren’t sure how to take the gift. But he was very polite about it. "Thank you."

McGarrah shrugged again, actually looking embarrassed. This was a first. Only Shorty ever got him embarrassed. "Well, we figured after the last one got ruined you’d need a new lucky shirt. I just hope its the right shade."

Murphy brightened and blushed, the color matching his new shirt. "Thank you," he said again, this time meaning the words. He grinned at them.

"Just do me a favor though," Cloy put in. "Don’t wear it on anymore missions. That kind of luck I’d rather avoid."

Murphy’s grin widened. "Yes, sir!" He snapped off a salute with the wrong hand. Cloy was glad the General was behind the curtain. Though he still did not have a full range of motion, he could move his right arm enough to give a proper salute.

Murphy struggled to lean forward, not quite masking the groan the movement caused.

"What are you doing?" McGarrah asked in alarm. He was half out of his chair, his face pale.

"Putting it on."

"Now?"

"Yeah. Nurse Clark’s due in any time now. I can use all the luck I can get.."

* * *

Jack looked horrible, but still better than Murphy. Both men must have been feeling well, however; they were joking with each other when Daniel came in to visit. He was saved from the embarrassment of having to apologize with an audience by the rest of SG 7. With a grin and a mumbled ‘excuse us’, Cloy drew the curtain closed between Jack and Murphy. Well, at least it gave them the pretension of privacy.

Daniel stood with his arms crossed at the foot of Jack’s bed. He felt he needed to apologize to Jack for the mess. Jack wouldn’t have been injured if Daniel had been able to fight the presence better. As it was, Jack had been lucky the female cat had been as ill as she was. Daniel doubted he would have survived the encounter otherwise. Now, if only he could get his mouth to work.

Jack watched him expectantly. Daniel opened his mouth, and sighed instead. "I brought cards," he said lamely.

Jack smiled but his brows furrowed. "Good. I would be bored silly if it weren’t for my roommate over there." Jack nodded toward the curtain.

Daniel pulled up a chair. He sat and shuffled cards, stalling until he could find the words he was looking for. He scribbled on the notebook he also brought along, and started passing out cards.

Jack’s brows went up. "Gin? What, hoping to beat me while I’m down?"

Daniel smiled faintly at the jibe. "No, I just didn’t think Janet would appreciate chess pieces all over her infirmary."

"Oh, very funny," Jack replied in mock unamusement.

Daniel picked up his cards and tried to ignore the chuckles from the other side of the curtain.

"Feeling more like yourself?" Jack asked, looking over his cards.

Daniel ducked his head. "Much," he murmured. "Jack, I…"

"Murphy told me what it was like for him." Jack spoke in tones low enough not be overheard by SG 7. He ignored his cards and instead studied Daniel. "He also said that when it got emotional, it took over his body. He couldn’t fight it."

Daniel wasn’t sure if it was an accusation or not. "I should have fought harder," Daniel said, his voice laden with self recrimination.

Jack snorted. "Has anyone ever told you are one very stubborn man?"

Daniel ignored the jab.

"I tried."

"I know."

Daniel looked at Jack’s sincere brown eyes, then unseeingly at his cards. Acceptance, assurance, belief – all of those filled those two little words. If there had ever been any blame on Jack’s part, it had long since gone. Still…

Jack jumped in before he could say more. "I, for one, am ready to get back to work. I’ve had enough with breaks to last me. You," he started suggestively, "still have time to see some sights, somewhere. I could talk to the General, maybe get you on with Ferretti for a couple of weeks…"

"No!" Daniel jumped in a little quicker than he intended. "Thanks, Jack, but I think I’ve had enough with vacations."

Jack chuckled, then groaned when the movement jarred tender areas. "That makes two of us, Daniel."

"Did I miss the joke?"

Daniel sat straighter.

Jack grinned at the new arrival. "General."

"Dr. Frasier has informs me that you will be fit active duty in a week or two."

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Was that a smile hiding on the General’s face? "I would like SG 1 to be part of the team to reestablish contact with the people of PJ4912."

The smile fell from Jack’s face. "With the cats or the other things?"

"Both."

Jack’s eyes narrowed. "With those parasites, too?" His expression clearly said what he thought of that idea.

Daniel frowned. Jack was acting as if talking to the shimmerings was as distasteful as talking to the Goa’uld. Daniel might have thought that way if he had known he had been sharing his body and mind with another being.

Now that Daniel had his mind to himself, and could experience his own memories without interference, he was not so sure. What he remembered was a being very much in love, and having troubles forgiving its family for the leaving it alone the last minutes before its change. He had trouble imagining a Goa’uld feeling the same way. Never mind that they Goa’uld knew exactly what they were.

It was pointed out in the debriefing that the shimmerings, what ever they truly were, did not have that luxury. The one that had melded with Murphy had honestly believed itself to be a mother of four. It remembered dying and could not understand its continued existence. The one that had hitched a ride with Daniel did not believe itself dead, but also did not believe in life after death. An interesting quandry to be in.

There had been talk of helping the cats find a cure, or at least a treatment, for the disease. But Cloy had pointed out the inconsistencies related to the shimmerings. He had suggested that perhaps they were the next step in the cats’ evolutionary process. Dr. Frasier had balked at the idea, claiming that that would be one hell of an evolutionary leap.

Cloy’s words echoed in Daniel’s head. "If they are parasites, they had been in those bodies from birth and don’t realize the cats are hosts even after they are forced to abandon the them."

"So what you’re saying," Jack began after the General filled him in on the speculations of the debriefing, "is that if we help them find a cure for this disease, we might really being killing them. Or, if these these things really are like the Goa’uld, they don’t it."

Daniel nodded.

"And you want us to go back into that mess?"

"Captain Cloy and Colonel Makepeace inform me that they are a technologically advanced race. How advanced could not be determined in their time in there. They might prove powerful allies against the Goa’uld."

"And we can use all the friends we can get," Jack muttered.

"Assuming they want relations with us," Daniel spoke up. Both Jack and the General gave him perplexed looks. "I mean, after what happened between us, they may not want any part of us."

"It will be up to you to determine if that is the case or not." The General glanced from one to the other. "That will not be until you are up and about, Colonel. Meanwhile, enjoy your rest." This was said with a pointed look at the cards Jack still held in his hand.

Jack grinned. "Thank you, sir."

The General paused at the edge of the curtain. "And Dr. Jackson?"

Daniel exchanged a quick glance with Jack. "Sir?"

"Tissue boxes are not an acceptable means of communication," he said with a stern gaze on him. "If it ever happens again, I will personally see to it that you go through complete training for every piece of equipment we have at this facility that is even remotely related to making reports. Do I make myself clear?"

Daniel ducked his head, avoiding the General’s eyes. He was afraid he might burst out laughing. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.

"Daniel?" Jack gave him an appraising look as the General left. "Tissue boxes?"

© February 14, 2000 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa’uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.

A thank you to Rowan, MoT, and Yuma for putting up the orphan scenes. I’m using all of them, even my contribution. My apologies for mangling/altering your scenes… Ivanova gets credit for the spell check proof typo’s you don’t see.