Orpheus Ascending

Author’s Notes: I got the idea for this story in October, when little snippets of information about 2010 were posted to the Internet. I used a few of the details, but the rest of the story comes from my warped imagination. I’m sure the episode will be nothing like this, so consider it an A/U if you must. Huge thanks go to Ann, Beta Goddess, who encouraged me all throughout the creation of this story, and whose suggestions kept things much less confusing.

* * * *

Part 1: Eurydice’s Awakening

She’s got a little bit of something

God it’s better than nothing

and in her color portrait world

she believes that she’s got it all

* * * *

April 23, 2010

“So anyway, after I got things finished up at the lab, I was able to take a few days off. I’ll be in DC in a few hours, and I’m going to surprise Joe at the hotel.”

Through the video screen, Janet raises her eyebrows. “So you’re thinking about a romantic weekend after he’s finished his meetings?”

I smile, trying to hide my nervousness, and take a quick look at my watch to make sure that I have time to get back to the train. “Yeah. We also need to talk about a few things, and I thought it would be good to do it on neutral ground.”

Her expression is curious. “Neutral ground? Sounds serious.”

Nodding, I ignore my sudden chill. I think I’m coming down with something, but it’s not yet enough to send me to a strange doctor who probably has never dealt with a patient registered under those damned Naquadah laws. “It is. I’ve stopped taking my fertility medication, Janet. I just can’t do this anymore.”

She shakes her head, full of empathy. “I’m sorry, Sam. What do you think he’s going to say?”

With a hint of bitterness in my voice, I opt for the truth. “He’ll try and change my mind, of course. I’ve mentioned adoption a few times, but Joe really wants a child of his own.” I try and push down the resentment I feel towards him for that. Five years of marriage, and I’ve had three miscarriages, and given birth to a premature daughter. Even with all the advances in medical technology lately, there was nothing they could do for her.

“Sam, do you still love him? I know that something like this can be hard on a marriage.”

Quickly brushing my hair out of my eyes, I nod. “That’s the hell of it, Janet. I still love him like crazy. I just don’t know if that will be enough for him.”

“I know that Joanna’s death--”

I hold up my hand, and Janet stops speaking at once. She knows me better than any friend I’ve ever had, but on the heels of my decision that I’m sick of trying for a child, that’s one name I don’t want to hear. I don’t think I could bear it. “How’s Cassie doing?”

Janet smiles proudly, gracefully accepting my change of subject. “She’s having a wonderful time at Columbia. She tells me that graduate work is lots more fun than getting her bachelor’s degree. And there’s a possibility that she’ll get to go to P8X-987 to start doing research once the Environmental Commission declares it’s safe.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Cassie adapted to Earth easily, but I know she’s always been curious about the world she was forced to abandon. And who better to research a lost world than the last living member of its population? “Tell her I can’t wait until her visit later this summer, and I’ll call her in a week or so.” From the corner of my eye, I can see people beginning to board the train again. “Listen, Janet, I need to get going. Wish me luck, okay?”

“Always.” Her soft brown eyes are warm. “And if things don’t go as planned--”

“You might find me on your doorstep tomorrow,” I finish her sentence. “Maybe you’d better stock up on chocolate and wine just in case.”

“Will do. Call me later, okay?”

I agree, and we hang up. Shifting my purse on my shoulder, I walk towards the train, hoping that I’m doing the right thing.

* * * *

The desk clerk greets me with a smile. “Do you need a room, ma’am?”

Fumbling in my purse for identification, I shake my head. “No, thank you. But my husband’s staying here, Joe Whitby. He’s in room 247. May I have an extra key?”

The young man checks my identification card, then hands it back to me. “Sure, Doctor Carter. Would you like me to phone his extension and let him know you’re on your way up?”

Once again, I shake my head, taking the key from him. “No, it’s a surprise.” With another thank-you, I turn towards the elevators, hitching the strap of my overnight bag over my shoulder.

A few minutes later, I stand in the hotel corridor, trying to get up my nerve to open the door. My stomach is churning, and I feel a bit shaky. I can’t really tell whether it’s the upcoming confrontation or whatever virus I’m coming down with that has me in this state. But Joe is my husband, we need to talk, and I’ve missed him these last few days while he’s been away on business. For a moment, it feels like some odd recognition is prickling at the back of my mind, but I ignore it, and put the key into the lock.

Opening the door of the suite, I hear soft, indistinct voices. I hope I’m not interrupting anything crucial, but I’m already here. Raising my voice, I call out. “Joe? Where are you?”

“Sam?” From the bedroom, I hear his voice, and a clatter as he puts something down. He quickly comes into the main room, approaching me with a curious smile. “Sam! What are you doing here?”

I move into his warm embrace eagerly, bringing up one hand to brush back his short black hair. “I missed you,” I tell him, as his mouth comes down on mine for a sweet, extended kiss.

“I thought you were buried with work at the office,” he scolds me. “Are you playing hooky?”

I shrug. “One of our colony contacts couldn’t get us the shipment we needed to continue our research, so I sent most of the R & D people home on Wednesday, packed some stuff, and took the train here.” Shivering as he trails a quick line of kisses along my neck, I continue. “Who are you meeting with?”

He shakes his head. “I’m trying to convince Bob McCauley that he should accept Mahon’s offer, and we’re going over some paperwork at the moment.” I grin along with him, knowing that before another hour has passed, he’ll have finished up another successful recruiting job. “Why don’t you relax, and in a while we can go out to an early dinner?”

He takes my bags for me, and I move towards the window, appreciating the view of Washington, DC through the glass. With another quick kiss, he goes back into the bedroom, and through the door, I can hear a muffled conversation start up again.

Moving towards the bar, I find a glass and pour myself some ice water. After a moment’s thought, I open one of those tiny bottles of whiskey and add that to my glass, rather defiantly. God, I haven’t had a drink in ages. No alcohol, little caffeine, hardly any chocolate -- any number of things that weren’t supposed to be good for me while I was pregnant or trying to get pregnant. I take a sip of my drink and grimace at the familiar burn, then sigh. Who am I trying to fool here? If I’d been able to have the children we’d conceived, I would have sworn off any indulgences indefinitely. Taking another sip, I try and stay calm. This is not the time to get upset, although I’m sure there will be plenty of times for that this weekend. I am not looking forward to our conversation at all.

And that irritating familiarity is back in my mind, like a half-remembered song where you can only recall part of the melody, maddening in its elusiveness. Abandoning my drink on the bar, I pace back and forth, wondering what’s going on. After a few laps of the room, I realize that when I’m closer to the bedroom door, it feels stronger. Resting my hand against the door frame, I close my eyes, trying to place this sensation, this memory buried somewhere within me.

When I finally realize what’s going on, I lean against the wall, feeling truly sick now. That resonance, that realization as something in my physiology responds to someone inside that room. There’s a Goa’uld in there, and my husband’s with him. Obviously, I need to contact the Department of Security and let them know what’s going on, but what about Joe? I don’t have any weapons with me, and even though I’ve kept up my physical training after I left the Air Force, it’s been years since I’ve really needed it. Goa’uld are much stronger than unblended humans. We wouldn’t have a chance in hell if it came down to a struggle.

After a few seconds frantic thought, I casually knock on the door. “Joe?” I call, praying that I don’t betray my fear. “Sweetie, I’m really sorry to interrupt you, but I need you to come out here for a second.”

The door opens, revealing my husband’s annoyed face. “Sam, this isn’t a good time.”

“Come out here,” I whisper, hoping he understands the unspoken plea in my eyes. Past the half-opened door, I see a tall blonde man standing by the window, looking at me with a cursory glance before he returns his attention to the papers he holds. “Please.”

“Excuse me,” he say politely, before stepping into the room, grasping my hand tightly. “Sam, what the hell is going on?”

I keep my voice low, leading him towards the door. “Joe, we have to get out of here, now.” I murmur, ignoring my initial urge to throw him over my shoulder and drag him out of harm’s way.

“Why? What for?”

Fumbling for the door knob, I try and contain my rising panic. “Joe, that man’s a Goa’uld. We have to get away, and contact the Department of Security right away! How the hell did one of them get onto the planet?”

Without batting an eyelash, and moving faster than I’ve ever seen him, he grabs my arms and calls out. “Bob! We have a situation!”

I freeze for a moment, not believing what I hear, and that instant of indecision gives him the momentum he needs to haul me back into the bedroom. Stupid, stupid, why didn’t I fight back? I know how to defend myself!

But now Joe restrains me roughly, none of his former gentle nature in evidence. The blonde man stands before me, holding a zat gun. The bathroom door opens, and two other people come out: one a stout black man, the other an older grey-haired woman. They, too, are carrying weapons.

Joe’s hands bite into my wrists in a wrenching grip, then he steps away, looking at me with contempt. “You just had to come surprise me, didn’t you, Samantha?” he growls coldly.

The blonde man shrugs. “We knew it was possible that she’d find out eventually,” he says dismissively.

“But the medication was supposed to prevent her from sensing you!” Joe protests, quieting down as the woman gestures for silence.

“We have contingency plans in place for this,” she says, talking about me as though I’m an object, not a woman standing before her.

I keep silent, my mind racing, wondering what happens next. They could easily kill me, and with a third zat blast, disintegrate my body so that no one would realize what happened. Speaking out won’t save me, and I feel an old familiar rage rise within me. Obviously, I’ve been a dupe in this situation, and I’m out manned and outmaneuvered. Helpless, which I hate. Better to hope they’ll delay killing me, and look for a chance to escape. Unbidden, a phone number comes to mind, one that was given to me on a postcard a few years ago, with no return address. I’d burned it, but remembered the number, and I knew who’d sent it.

Escape. I’ll do it eventually, because I don’t submit to the Goa’uld. I kill them.

The blonde man looks at me again like I’m a bug under a microscope, and raises the zat. “Pleasant dreams,” he says, and fires it at me.

* * * *

As I open my eyes, I hear movement in the room. The same woman from the hotel room points a zat at me, and motions for me not to move. Picking up a telephone, she speaks into it briefly. “She’s awake. They can come in.”

I push myself up to a sitting position, looking at my surroundings, and try to banish my throbbing headache. I’m in a windowless room, sparsely furnished with only a table and two chairs. If we’re still in the hotel, they’ve moved me. Standing slowly, I hold my hands out, trying to show that I’m not a threat.

The door swings open silently, and four people enter the room: Joe, still with that cold expression on his face, the two men from the hotel, and President Kinsey.

Shocked, I stare at this man, still lean and grizzled, who I last saw in person years before, when he was trying to shut down the Stargate program. It was he who finally broke the news to the public about the SGC in March 2003, and soon thereafter, he announced his campaign for the presidency. He won the election easily, given the public’s apprehension upon learning of life on other planets. Not that he’d have had a hard time anyway; after the disastrous election of 2000, quite a few Americans were fed up with President Bush before he was even inaugurated, especially when the extent of the vote-counting fraud in Florida became known. By the end of his first term in office, his vice-president had been indicted for taking bribes from most of the major industrial corporations. Finally, even his own political party wouldn’t nominate him to run for re-election, choosing instead to pick Jack Kemp as their candidate. After all, if good old Dubya couldn’t handle foreign policy worth a damn, how could he be expected to handle interplanetary policy? Kinsey won the election in a landslide, running on an independent ticket. Not that I voted for him. He’s been the driving force behind increasing restrictions on the military, and some of the more invasive registration laws that have slowly eaten away at individual privacy. Perhaps I sound bitter, but given that under the Naquadah laws, every time I go to the doctor a report goes into a file at the Department of Security, I think I’ve earned the right. The law supposedly protected citizens from the Goa’uld threat, but given that there are Goa’uld here, right now, it’s obviously been used to keep track of people like me and Cassie instead.

Scowling at me, Kinsey’s eyes flash gold, and it’s all I can do not to throw up. The Goa’uld have insinuated themselves into our government? Just how many of them are on Earth anyway?

The men in suits are obviously Secret Service agents, and one of them gestures at me angrily. “Kneel before your ruler, Ardak!”

I don’t bother to hide the contempt in my expression, but slowly do as they say, since if I don’t, they’ll force me down, and I need to be physically able to attempt my escape. When Kinsey was a Senator, he was a total ass, but even he doesn’t deserve this. On the other hand, he’s always been drawn to power. What if he was a willing host?

“Doctor Carter,” the president rumbles. “Much has changed since we last saw one another.”

“Indeed,” I reply coolly, allowing a hint of nervousness into my voice. “But you’re still a master of understatement.” He doesn’t reply, and we both slowly assess each other. I have to hope that he thinks I’m completely helpless, that the knowledge of Joe’s betrayal has beaten me.

Turning to glare at Joe, Ardak sighs in exasperation. “I am displeased. We had not intended for her to know of us until we were ready to make her a host.”

This time, I have to swallow hard to keep the contents of my stomach down, as Joe looks abashed, and starts to explain himself. “Yes, sir. I didn’t foresee the failure of the drugs which prevented her from sensing Goa’uld presence. Also, it appears that the drugs interfered with her abilities in childbearing. We’ll need to refine the medicine before releasing it to the general population.”

“Very well,” the president replies, glancing at me as though I’m a worm underfoot. “See to it that further experiments take place. Doctor Carter can be implanted as soon as a new symbiote is ready. When that happens, we shall have all knowledge of the Tok’ra that we have been denied. Perhaps we can even harvest her eggs, and produce a Harsesis.”

Horrified, I stare at Joe, marveling at what a good actor he’s been these past six years. “You’re not a Goa’uld,” I state, hoping to goad him into revealing more information.

Ardak waves his hand dismissively. “He soon shall be,” he promises. “Despite his mistakes, he has been our loyal servant, and will be rewarded as one of the children of the gods, with the power that he has earned.” Bowing his head reverently, Joe’s eyes light up in anticipation.

“Some reward,” I mock him, unable to stop my bitter words. “You think you’ll be getting a gift, but instead you’ll be locked inside your body, without any control whatsoever.”

The blonde secret service agent casually hits me across the face, and I catch myself on my hands before I hit the floor. “You know nothing,” he tells me smugly. “I, too, am a willing host. The rewards are greater than you could imagine.”

I stare at all of them, knowing what they plan for me, and feel myself withdrawing, shutting all my feelings down so that I can concentrate solely on survival. I’m a pawn to them, and they have total control at the moment.

Turning to leave, the president accepts the bows from his followers as his due. “Bring her to me after her implantation,” he tells them. “I look forward to learning her secrets.” My attacker follows him out the door.

Grasping my arm in a bruising grip, Joe pulls me to my feet, and kisses me roughly. “Now, my beloved wife,” he snarls, “let’s see about adjusting your personality. I’m going to like being married to you a lot better when someone else is in control of you.”

Pulling back, I wipe my mouth with one hand, not surprised when it comes back smeared with blood. I say nothing, and when he leans in towards me again, I spit in his face.

Again, he tightens his grip on me painfully. “I ought to beat you for that,” he tells me softly, his voice savage with hatred, “but I know that for you, having a symbiote will be worse than any torture I could devise.” Twisting my arm behind my back, he pushes me towards the door, his associates following.

So now we’re on the move. I only have a few minutes to figure out where I am and how I can free myself. Walking along the featureless corridor, my eyes flicker everywhere, finally alighting on an upcoming corner. If I can get close to the turn and stumble, perhaps I can--

Unexpectedly, a zat fires, and I hear my guards dropping to the floor. Joe’s body absorbs most of the blast aimed at us, but enough washes over me to knock me to the floor, although I remain conscious. Another shot kills him.

Before I can stand to run, a gentle voice speaks. “Samantha Carter. I mean you no harm.” Standing up, I turn to see the older black man smiling at me. “My apologies for the deception. I am Tok’ra.”

“An infiltrator. Of course.” Shaking off the residual pain from the zat, I stare at him for a moment, trying to place him, but I can’t think of his name. “Have we met?”

He shakes his head. “Jolinar of Malkshur was my dear friend, Samantha, but I have never before met you.” He smiles again, and draws closer towards me. “I have a message from your father. He is well, and sends you his love.” Placing one hand on my shoulder, he kisses my forehead, in a strangely familiar gesture. Perhaps he had a paternal relationship with Jolinar, but I don’t have time to stand around and figure it out. “Now, we must secure your escape.”

“Where are we?”

“In a government building close to the Vietnam Memorial.” He opens a door in the corridor, revealing a utilities closet, and removes a bag. Taking out a long black coat, he hands it to me, and I put it on, covering my bright blouse and skirt. Next, he hands me a heavy purse, and I sling it over my shoulder. “There are identity cards there for you, as well as a large supply of cash. Is there anyone you can contact?”

“Yes, I think I can call one of my former team members.” I just hope the number is still in service.

“O’Neill?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes.”

He smiles. “I was going to suggest that course of action.” Digging into his pockets, he pulls out a small note card. “If you cannot contact him, here is a local number for his organization. They will be able to help you.”

“I’ll need to find a pay phone without a video screen.” O’Neill’s organization? What the hell has he been up to since he cut and run?

“There’s one three blocks from here, near a battery station,” he tells me, handing me a zat. “I’m sorry I cannot do more for you, but you must leave, now.”

“I know. Thank you for helping me, I know it’s dangerous. What will you do?”

He gestures at the weapon. “You must shoot me, so that it looks as though you tricked us, and killed us making your escape.” He holds up his hand as I start to protest. “Ardak has a sarcophagus. He will revive me, along with these fools.”

My fingers itch on the trigger, as I’m sorely tempted to fire the zat at Joe again, disintegrating him. I hate the thought of leaving anything of him to be revived, but this Tok’ra must have his own agenda, or he would have done it already himself. “The Tok’ra despise the sarcophagus!”

“True,” he tells me sadly, “but in this case it cannot be helped. I hope that using it once will not harm my soul beyond repair. Now, hurry. Shoot me and go.”

Regretfully, I raise the weapon, aiming it at him. “I’m sorry,” I apologize, cringing as I pull the trigger twice. Then, I kick Joe’s body in the ribs viciously, wishing that the pain would stay with him past his resurrection. Looking once more at the Tok’ra’s body, I shake my head in disbelief, then run for the exit.

* * * *

Several cars are waiting at the battery recharge station, and no one gives me a second glance, although by now I’m sure that my escape has been discovered. Putting on a pair of sunglasses, I glance around me, not sensing any Goa’uld. Digging in the unfamiliar purse, I find a small pouch of telephone chits and insert one in the slot, dialing the number quickly.

“Hello.” The voice is unfamiliar and devoid of feeling. “Who’s calling?”

I swallow nervously. “This is Doctor Samantha Carter. I was given this number in case of an emergency. I need to contact Jack O’Neill.”

“Okay. You’re calling from DC. I’m connecting you to our people there. Just a second.” With that, I’m put on hold.

Fortunately, after only a brief wait, another voice speaks to me. “Doctor Carter. My name’s Harris. We’ll have someone pick you up. Where are you?”

“Conaway’s Recharge, near the memorial.” I glance at my watch as the man speaks to someone quickly. At least twenty minutes have passed, and Kinsey’s people have to be looking for me. “How will I know who’s coming for me?”

“You’ll know,” the man assures me, “I’ve sent out the message already, and one of our people is in your part of town. Start walking north. I’ll see you soon.” Before I can respond, the line goes dead.

My heart pounding, I quickly orient myself and begin walking up the street, hoping I’m not too conspicuous. In the manner of large cities, passersby ignore me, but I search each face, wondering how the hell I’m going to find Harris’s friend before Kinsey’s people find me.

A cabbie rolls down her window and whistles. “Hey, Snookums!”

Oh God. It can’t be this easy, can it? I turn, raising my hand to hail her. She pulls to the curb, and I open the door.

“You Doctor Carter?” she asks brusquely, looking about for people tailing me.

“Yes,” I reply, glad to sit down as she puts the car back in gear and starts driving. I’m shaking so hard, I feel like I’m going into shock.

“Okay. When we turn this upcoming corner, I want you to lie down on the floor. Sorry you won’t be able to wear your seat belt, but...” she shrugs, flicking on her turn signal. “I’ll get you where you need to go.”

* * * *

Part 2: The Road Between Worlds

A man can tell a thousand lies

I’ve learned my lesson well

Hope I live to tell

the secret I have learned

Till then, it will burn inside of me

* * * *

April 23, 2010

Vic looks up from the computer. “Hey, boss!” she calls out, and I put down my coffee and walk over to the desk. “There’s a package on the way for you.”

I give the message a cursory glance, then look at it more closely, then grab a chair. It’s been seven years, but I still wasn’t expecting this. “When’s the delivery date?” I ask, trying to keep a normal tone in my voice.

She runs a hand through her close-cropped hair. “No sooner than three weeks,” she tells me. “The underground’s gonna move her around a lot to throw her associates off the trail.” Turning to look at me, she smiles reassuringly. “It’ll be all right, Jack,” she reassures me. “Our people know their job. She’ll be safe, and she’ll get here in one piece.”

Harry has entered the room while we’re talking. “So Carter’s on her way?”

Vic nods, motioning him over to see the message. “Great timing, too, Harry. We got the latest set of files last month, and we can pick her brain on the possibilities.”

They continue talking, and I tune them out, letting their words flow over me in meaningless waves. Three weeks until I see her, until I have to tell her the truth. But she’ll be safe, at least until she gets here.

Vic cocks her head at me, and hums a tune, then sings softly. “Swing low, sweet chariot, comin’ for to carry me home...” At the incredulous look on my face, she cracks up, and swats me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry so much, it makes your hair turn grey.”

“Too late,” Harry mutters, joining in on her laughter. Like he’s one to talk, most of his hair is gone.

“Lighten up, Jack,” she tells me seriously. “Harris knows his stuff. She’ll just have to trust him, and she’ll be all right.”

* * * *

I pull the shapeless sweater over my head, my words muffled by the material. “So what next?”

Harris keeps his back to me while I change. “We’ve sent out a few operatives who resemble you, dressed in red tops and black skirts, like you were wearing. Hopefully, that will confuse Kinsey and his people long enough for us to get you out of the city. We’ve got a delivery going to Atlanta tonight, and you’ll be part of the cargo.”

I slide the sneakers onto my feet. They’re a bit big, but I can run in them if I need to. “Atlanta? Is that where Jack is?”

He shakes his head. “No, we’re going to move you around for a while before you meet up with him.” The resolute expression on his face tells me that this is as much information as I’ll get at the moment. “For now, if you can, I’d suggest you get some sleep. Are you hungry?”

“No.” As a matter of fact, I’m starting to feel really sick. It’s probably shock, but I can’t stop shivering, and my hands are itchy. “Wait a minute -- how does your operation pay for itself?”

“We have resources. You don’t need to worry about it, we’re not going to cut you loose to fend for yourself.”

Impatiently, I shake my head. “That’s not what I was talking about.” Quickly, I tug off my engagement ring, eyeing the bright diamond speculatively, then pull off the wedding ring as well. Holding them in one hand, I also remove my diamond earrings. “Here.” I hold them out to Harris. “You can use these. A repayment for your help.”

He looks at me in exasperation. “Doctor Carter, you don’t have to give those to me.”

“If you don’t take them, I’m going to throw them in the trash,” I tell him fiercely. I don’t want anything touching my skin that my husband gave me. “Take them.”

Reluctantly, he accepts the jewelry, then considers. “We could always pawn them in another state,” he muses, “and if they’re discovered, that might lead your husband to think that’s where we’ve sent you. Rabe!” he calls out to a man sitting and drinking a soda. “Take these and check them for bugs. Dismantle them if you have to.” The man nods, taking them, and leaves the room.

Just having the jewelry out of my sight makes me feel better. “So, is there some place I can lie down until it’s time to head out?”

* * * *

May 13, 2010

Shivering, I huddle into my nest of blankets and wonder how much longer this torture will continue. The darkness surrounds me, all-encompasing, and if some Goa’uld showed up right now, I might be tempted to tell them what they want to know if they’d just let me warm up first. The truck goes over a substantial bump in the road, and I pray that boxes don’t start tumbling on top of me. That would be an ignominious end to my career -- suffocated inside a trailer filled with canned goods.

If I concentrate hard enough, I realize that I’ve been on the road for almost three weeks now, never staying in one place for more than twelve hours or so. I still don’t have a clue where I’m supposed to end up, but I’ve developed a nice healthy sense of paranoia, thanks to almost being caught in Phoenix. They came within twenty feet of me, but either their own presence blinded them to mine, or they weren’t paying close enough attention to notice that one of my contacts had slipped out.

I rarely know what I’m going to look like from one day to the next. I’ve lost track of how many different colors my eyes have been, and how many wigs I’ve worn. Even though most of the time, I’m stuck in the back of a truck, just like now, my keepers have taken pains to alter my appearance in any manner of ways, from making me up to look like a frowzy old woman, to wearing a pregnancy pillow. That one really hurt.

When I arrive, I usually have just enough time for a meal, a shower, and a few hours of sleep before I get passed along again. The best way is to stay detached, to ignore the questions in their eyes, questions that they’re too well trained to ask. I did see one newspaper carelessly left out a few days after I fled Washington, and there was an article noting that Doctor Samantha Carter, formerly one of the top scientific minds at the Stargate Program, now head researcher at Mahon-Whitby Corporations, had disappeared. Police were investigating, and so far had no leads, although foul play was suspected. Joseph Whitby, my adoring husband, was offering a substantial reward for any news leading to my return.

Nice to know I’m worth so much to him.

Most of the time I just move along, feeling like I’m not really in my body, that this isn’t happening to me. That the past seven years didn’t happen, and if I close my eyes, I’ll wake up beside Jack, warm and happy.

My mouth is dry, I’m nauseated, and I can’t seem to get warm no matter how hard I try. And that irritating pins and needles sensation is back in my hands, despite the fact that they’re just lying in my lap. The only time I feel well is when I’m sleeping, and only if I don’t have nightmares. I never remember what they are, but I awaken so frightened, so certain that I’ll never be free of what Joe did to me.

* * * *

May 14, 2010

I blink my eyes in the sudden light illuminating my hiding place. Randall helps me up, then lifts me down from the trailer when my legs buckle from sitting for so long. Leading me through the warehouse, he takes me to an office, where my next contact is waiting. Slumping into a chair, I listen indifferently as he greets the young woman, explaining that I’m not much trouble at all, but he thinks I should see a doctor.

That gets my attention, and I sit up straighter. “No doctors,” I insist wearily. “I’m fine.”

“No offense, lady, but you look like hell,” Randall tells me bluntly.

“You don’t understand,” I say, starting to panic. “If I see a doctor, they’ll find me. It’s not like a doctor could do anything to help me anyway.”

They both scowl at me, exasperated. I’m supposed to be docile, to do what I’m told like a good little package. “We have a doctor within the local organization,” the woman explains. “You can trust her, she won’t turn you in. Let me see.” She flips through a few sheets of paper. “No good. Kathy’s out of town for the next few days.”

“Is there anyone else who could help her, Sharon?” Randall asks, revealing the woman’s name. I’ve quit asking my contacts who they are. I don’t really want to be able to implicate them if I’m caught.

She thinks for a moment, then nods. “Addison was a medic at the Stargate facility before Kinsey started down sizing the military presence there. He might be able to look her over.” She stares at me, daring me to challenge her decision. I just shrug and lean back in the chair, closing my eyes, and wonder if I’ll ever feel normal again.

* * * *

Addison presses his icy fingers against my throat, checking for swollen glands.

“How long have you been feeling this way?”

“About three weeks.” We’re still in the dingy office, and I’m impatient to be finished, ready to move on. Sharon let it slip that I’m in Michigan, and that my ultimate destination is Minnesota. I guess I’ll finally have the opportunity to see how big the bass are at Jack’s lake after all.

“What are your symptoms?”

“Nausea, chills, headaches...” my voice trails off as he tightens the blood pressure cuff. “You name it, I have it.”

He looks at me critically. I don’t think I ever worked with him -- most likely I’d already retired from the SGC before he even got there, but when Kinsey broke the news of the Stargate Command to the public, most of the SG teams immediately became well-known. Some of the press tried turning us into celebrities, with limited success. Daniel was able to use his newfound clout to get a job at Harvard, as the first professor of the Interplanetary Cultures Department. Most of us, however, tried to keep our lives as private as possible. Nonetheless, Addison’s probably seen pictures of me, and from his expression, I can tell that this is not how he expected me to look.

Tough luck. Let him be on the run for three weeks and see how perky he feels.

“Any history of high blood pressure?” he frowns, looking at the pressure gauge.

“No.”

“What medications are you on?”

“I was taking fertility drugs, but I stopped a few weeks ago--” I stop, cursing myself for being a complete idiot. Joe and his associates admitted right in front of me that they’d been drugging me to prevent me from recognizing Goa’uld presence, but I’ve been so caught up in my plans for escape that it never even occurred to me why I might be sick. For the past few years I’ve been on all sorts of drugs, trying to carry a child to term, and slipping an additive into my medications wouldn’t have been hard for Joe to do. Before that, he probably hid it in something else. My toothpaste? The tap water? Who the hell knows? “I have reason to believe that they were tampered with,” I explain. “I must be going through withdrawal.”

His tanned face turns a bit pale. “Oh. That’s bad,” he says, grimacing at his understatement. “Even if I were a qualified doctor, which I’m not, I wouldn’t know what to do for the withdrawal unless you had a sample of the drug.” I shake my head, and he frowns with exasperation. “Any sweats, tremors, hallucinations, loss of appetite?”

“Chills and fever, no hallucinations, but my hands itch quite a bit.” I shrug. “I convinced myself that I had a virus, or it was just stress. I have been feeling very... detached lately, as though all this isn’t really happening to me. And I haven’t had much time to eat, since I’m always on the move.” Over the past few years, I’d gained about fifteen pounds, and my doctor had explained it was most likely a result of the drugs I was taking and the stress of trying to get pregnant. The extra weight is all gone now, and I might have even lost a bit more. I’ve just been so keyed up that I can rarely take more than a few bites of any meal.

He shines a light into my eyes and shakes his head. “Hmm. Well, since it’s already been three weeks, I can always hope that the worst of it is past, since there’s not much I can do to treat you,” he says fretfully. “I will get you a supply of vitamins and iron pills to help keep you as healthy as possible, under the circumstances. And even if you can’t eat, make sure you drink lots of fluids.”

Opening the squeaky office door, Sharon pokes her head in. “Can you finish up, Addison?” she asks. “We need to get going in twenty minutes.”

I look at him regretfully, wishing I had more time to talk. This conversation about my health has been the longest I’ve spoken to anyone since Harris sent me on my way from DC. But it’s safest if I’m not around these people too long, for all of us.

* * * *

May 16, 2010

“Hey.” Harry comes up behind me and sits down on the sofa. “We just got word. She’ll be here in another week.”

I keep staring into the fire, not looking at him. “Great,” I respond apathetically.

“What are we going to tell her after the debriefing?”

“The truth, I guess.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell that he’s frowning. “Is that really a good idea, Jack? It might just make things worse.”

The ache in my heart is overwhelming. But she needs to know why all of this happened. “I’d say we owe it to her, don’t you?”

After a long pause, he speaks again, choosing his words carefully. “No, I think she deserves some happiness again. The truth could keep that from ever happening.”

I turn to look at him, to engage in our eternal argument. “Harry, it doesn’t matter. If we succeed in what we’re working towards, none of it will matter.”

With a familiar look of disappointment, he stands up and turns to go. “But nothing’s changed yet, Jack. If you keep living like your actions don’t affect people...” he stops speaking. We both know each other’s opinions on this topic. Another debate won’t change anything.

“You sound like Vic,” I tell him wearily.

“Good,” he replies on his way out. “I happen to agree with her.”

* * * *

May 17, 2010

As Rob loads the backpack onto my shoulders, I brace my legs and pray that I don’t fall over. Fortunately, I don’t need too much in the way of supplies, and I used to be really good at roughing it. Here’s hoping the past seven years haven’t made me too soft.

“You’ll follow this trail,” he points to the map, “and you should stay pretty close to the river the whole time. Once you get to the waterfalls, the lake area shows up. There’s a contact point two miles before the trail hits the main road, so if you get there, you’ll know you’ve gone too far, okay?”

My hip pack holds an extra copy of the map and a compass. I have a water bottle slung across one shoulder by its carrying strap. In the pack, I have MREs, clean clothes, water purification tablets, and a one-person shelter in case of bad weather. And that’s the stuff I actually saw him put into the pack, so God knows how much more is in there.

I am really not looking forward to this part of my trip. So far, all I’ve had to do is stay quiet and be shuttled across the country, but Rob has decided the best way for me to keep a low profile is to hike for almost one hundred miles to my next contact point, especially since he can’t spare any of his people to escort me. I do my best to look healthy and chipper, certain that he knows I’m bluffing by the dubious look in his eyes. I can do this. I’m not going to enjoy it, but I can.

“Two more things,” he tells me, opening a drawer. First, he hands me a gun and holster, and I belt it around my waist. “There’s more ammo in the pack if you need it, and there’s some fake identification papers in your belt pouch.” Then, he hands me a small piece of paper, folded in two. Scrawled across the top in a familiar hand is simply, “Carter.”

Taking a deep breath, I open the paper, quickly reading the contents. “Hail, Dorothy! You’re almost home. Just follow the yellow brick road. See you soon, Scarecrow.”

Closing my eyes, I sigh. God, I hate that movie, and in the six months Jack and I were together, we must have watched it I don’t know how many times. The only good thing about it was that I’d sit on the sofa, Jack would rest his head in my lap, and it became a game to see how quickly I could distract him from the movie. Sometimes, I swear he put it in the VCR just because he wanted me to seduce him.

Banishing old memories, I glance at the map once more, then walk to the door of the ranger’s cabin. Rob waves goodbye as I set out on the trail. Five to seven days, alone with my memories, and this time I have to stay alert. I can’t drift off into wakeful oblivion, the blessed numbness that’s been keeping me together so far.

My hands itch, and I take a swig of water from my bottle as I turn the bend. The woods stretch out before me, and I step forwards, focusing on the upcoming ridge as my goal, concentrating on one stride at a time.

* * * *

Part 3: The Waters of Lethe

There is no pain, you are receding

A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon

You are only coming through in waves

Your lips move, but I can’t hear what you’re saying

* * * *

May 18, 2010

If I live through this hike, and I ever see Addison again, I am going to kick his ass into the next century. ‘The worst should be over.’ ‘You’ll be fine.’ Idiot. Idiot!

Last night, I stopped when the sun went down and I could no longer see the trail. My MREs tasted like ashes, which was an improvement over how they’d been in the past. Wrapped up in a sleeping bag, not wanting to risk having a fire, I was staring into the darkness when it all began. Chills, tremors, dry heaves. Again, I tried consoling myself that it couldn’t get much worse.

I was wrong.

Five minutes later, Joe walked up and sat down beside me. “Hey, Sam,” he said affectionately. “Did you miss me?”

Strangely enough, I didn’t jump up and try and run away from him. “Sure thing, darling. I always miss people who lie to me and try and destroy me. What the hell do you think?”

He shrugged, playing with a handful of leaves. “It wasn’t all bad, was it? I lied to you, and you believed it. You loved me. That’s why you’re having such a hard time with this. You can’t reconcile what you felt with what you now know.”

I shook my head, noticing vaguely how the moonlit shadows drifted through him, as though he were nothing more than gossamer. “I’ve been wondering...”

“What?”

“When we first met, when you recruited me for Mahon-Whitby... Jack had been gone for a few months, and all of a sudden I was being asked out to dinner by so many men that I could have eaten out three times a day.”

Maliciously, he smiled at me, and I shuddered, my muscles feeling as though they were being tied into knots. “You think it was all a setup?”

“Wasn’t it? Some plan to have someone, any one of your associates get close enough to me, to get me under control?” At the time, all the attention had been fun. I’d saved enough up that I could take my time deciding what job offer to choose, although the research position at MIT was what really had my attention. And I was still smarting over Jack’s vanishing from the face of the Earth. He’d told me that now that we were free from the regulations, nothing was going to stop him from being with me. We’d both retired from the Air Force, and he said he’d come with me anywhere. Then he disappeared.

All those men... none of them had gotten so close to me as Joe. He’d understood me, made me laugh, made me happy. He dangled my dream job in front of me, and I fell for it, and for him, hook, line, and sinker.

“You were a good actor, Joe. I believed you.” A brief flash of pain raced through my chest, stronger and more excruciating than the muscle spasms. “Was everything a lie, Joe?” I remembered him comforting me: after the miscarriages, after Teal’c left Earth for good, after--

Sadly, he reached out to touch my shoulder, but I felt nothing. “I can’t tell you, Sam. None of this is real.” With a final enigmatic smile, he stood up and walked away. I collapsed against my nice steady tree, and after another hour or so of tremors, I finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

Today my pack feels ten times heavier, and I trudge along, weakened both in body and morale. If these hallucinations continue, it’s going to get bad. Very bad.

* * * *

May 21, 2010

My head spins. Vision blurring in the sharp sunlight, I stumble towards an embankment, shrugging off my pack, and hurriedly spread out a blanket on which to lie down. Thankfully, I’ve begun recognizing the symptoms when I’m about to get sick, so I can stop before I get hurt too badly.

I’d been incredibly lucky the first time, already having stopped for the night. On the third day of hiking, I collapsed right in the middle of the trail, and when I came back to my senses, at least five hours had passed. My belongings were scattered all over the place, my hair was full of leaves, and there was dirt in my mouth. I still ached all over from the muscle spasms, but fortunately I couldn’t remember too much of what my mind had come up with to torture me. I vaguely recalled Martouf standing before me, his body broken and bleeding, asking me why I hadn’t saved him. For the most part, the hallucinations were hidden away in a fog of pain, and that’s how I preferred it. I cursed Joe and the Goa’uld for their machinations against me, threw in Jack for good measure, then gathered my things together again, grateful that no wild animals had decided to attack me while I was insensible.

So this time, I make sure that my gun is at the bottom of my pack, where I can’t easily get to it. Shooting myself or someone else while I’m hallucinating would be very bad. There aren’t any terribly sharp objects around me, and I wrap the blanket around my shoulders, trembling with the sudden cold chill that runs across my skin even as darkness descends upon me.

Later, when I open my eyes, still trembling, a young girl looks at me quizzically. Great. Just what I needed, to be discovered by someone else hiking in the woods. Maybe I can convince her to not say anything about the crazy woman she met today?

“You don’t need to worry,” she tells me solemnly, brushing her wavy blond hair away from her face. “I won’t tell anyone about you. I can’t.”

My mouth is parched, but I croak out the question nonetheless. “Why not?” And how does she know what I was afraid of?

She leans closer, her arms and legs just beginning to loose the baby fat of youth. She can’t be much more than seven. Why is she in the woods alone? “Don’t you recognize me, Mama?” Smiling, she presses a small cool hand against my cheek. “It’s me, it’s Joanna.”

Oh God, not this. I could take anything but this! Clinging to her hand, I know this isn’t real, but I’d give anything if it were. I struggle to sit up and try and draw her into my arms, to hold her again, to see who she’s become, but just as her lips brush against my cheek, she’s gone. My arms are empty, the sound of her voice echoing in my ears, and I don’t even try to hold back the tears.

She’d been so tiny, born too early, and the doctors couldn’t do anything for her. I just lay back in the hospital bed, exhausted from the long, futile struggle to stop my labor, holding her and wanting to keep time frozen; just make everything slow down and stop, so they couldn’t make me let go of her. I’d carried her so long, longer than the other babies who’d never made it past the first trimester. I stayed in bed, didn’t work, hardly did anything but think about how it would all be worth it once she was with me. Joe had curled up beside me; the two of us laughing as she fluttered against my skin, both of us so excited and hopeful.

Her eyes couldn’t open, and her skin was pale and translucent as a pearl. I never heard her cry, only her labored breathing as I held her close, wishing that she could understand that I’d never let her go, not as long as she was with me. Her tiny mouth gathered into a pout of disappointment, as though she was unhappy at being cheated of life, life that I couldn’t give her.

Women I knew told me that the pain and discomfort of pregnancy was worth it, that all the nausea and fatigue, and the agony of labor were forgotten once they held their children in their arms. I’d had the pain, but none of the payoff. My breasts would become sore, I’d vomit at the mere sight of certain foods, but then would come the cramps, the doctor’s visits, Joe’s assurances that we could always try again and that he loved me. Then came Joanna, when I lay in bed each day, certain that this time everything would be all right, exulting in my growing body, feeling cocooned away from the world. Nothing mattered but my baby.

When my water broke, despite all that the nurses had done to prevent it, all I could think of was that I’d failed again. I could travel to distant planets, kill Seth and Apophis, survive the dissolution of the SGC and abandonment by a man I loved. I could even conceive children, but I couldn’t keep them safe, I couldn’t give them what any other mother could. Labor was quick, too quick. Even though it hurt, I didn’t want it to end, because as soon as she was born, she’d start to die, and I couldn’t do anything to prevent that.

Looking up at the canopy of leaves, I know that she’d be one year and five months old today. I was only her mother for three hours, but I’ll never forget. The warm feel of her pressed against me, the incredible delicate softness of her skin. Joe’s arm around me as we sat and looked at her, waiting for the end.

Wearily, I reach for my water bottle and take a sip, then lie back down. It’s early afternoon, and I’ve been on the trail for five days. Pulling the blanket over my shoulders, I wipe my eyes and wish that I, too, were dead.

* * * *

May 24, 2010

I squint in the sudden brightness as Vic turns on the light. “Jack, it’s the middle of the night. What are you doing?”

I shrug nonchalantly. “Listening to music. Why ask a question when you already know the answer, Vic?”

Frowning, she sits in one of the soft chairs close to the fireplace. “You’re sulking,” she scolds me quietly. “The music is incidental. You’ve been on edge for the last week. So it’s taking her a little longer to arrive. She’ll be fine.”

“Shhh...” I raise my hand for silence, listening for that key moment when Orpheus turns around. He stands on the threshold of the Underworld, with only one more step before his reunion with his beloved. As always, he fails, and I know he always will, but I can’t help wishing that just once, the poor guy wouldn’t look back. That isn’t too much to ask, that there can be at least one happy ending?

“You and your opera,” she mutters, rubbing her eyes. “What’s this one?”

I lean back against the cushions. “Orfeo, by Monteverdi. There’s another version by Gluck, but I like this one better.” She raises her eyebrows in curiosity and I chuckle. “Yeah, I know that doesn’t tell you much. Have you ever heard the legend of Orpheus and Eurydice?”

“No.” Well, that’s hardly a surprise. If it’s not a computer program or a weapon, Vic’s not likely to take an interest in it.

“Okay then. See, Orpheus was the best musician Greece had ever known, and he had everything a man could want, including his beautiful wife, Eurydice. Then she died after being bitten by a snake. But instead of accepting the fact that she was lost to him, he decided to change what had happened. He traveled to Tartarus, the Underworld, got past all the safeguards, and challenged the king of the dead to return her. He played such beautiful music that the king agreed, but on the condition that while they were walking back to the mortal world, Orpheus couldn’t look back. So off they went, Orpheus leading his wife back to a happy normal life, but just before he stepped out into the sunlight, he couldn’t wait another instant to see her. He turned back, and he lost her.” I clear my throat painfully and sigh. “He could have saved her, but he failed. So there was no bargain. Two more steps and she’d have been free, but instead he damned her.”

Vic raises her eyebrows. “Obviously you’re drawing some parallels here. It seems awfully presumptuous, though. Orpheus was a great musician, but I’ve heard frogs that sing better than you do, Jack.”

A bitter laugh forces its way past the lump in my throat. “True. Maybe I’ll go back to bed. Harry might have quit snoring by now, if I’m lucky. He just had to choose a headquarters with only two bedrooms.”

She shakes her head abruptly. “Harry’s not what kept you awake, Jack. You did it all by yourself.” Drawing her knees up against her chest, she rests her chin on them, grey eyes intent. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You’ve been living like your actions don’t matter, but you’re about to come face to face with someone who’s been affected by your decisions.”

I stare down at my hands, not daring to meet her eyes. “I did what had to be done. We all did.”

“Yes. But we knew what we were getting into. And not all of us tried to stop caring. Just you, Jack.”

She’s probably right. Why can’t she be wrong about something for once? God, she’s just like Daniel used to be, always so certain in her convictions, and despite the circumstances, she’s still found some measure of happiness. “Speaking of caring, when’s Paul due to arrive?”

“Five more days,” she smiles. “Hopefully Carter will get here before he has to return to Colorado Springs.”

“Yeah,” I snort. “Here’s hoping he brings more earplugs. The two of you make more noise than Harry’s snoring.” She just shakes her head at me again, then returns to her room, leaving me alone with my music, as Orpheus laments his foolishness, the doom that he brought down upon himself.

I left her, and her life went to hell. I could have saved her, I could have stopped it from happening, but I didn’t.

* * * *

May 28, 2010

With a final wave of thanks to Carson, I put the motorcycle in gear and take off down the road, glad to finally have the weight of a backpack off my shoulders.

I had finally stumbled to the rendezvous point yesterday, four days past due. I’d run out of food, but fortunately Rob had packed plenty of water purification tablets in my backpack. Carson had looked at me, trying to contain his curiosity, then took me to his home, where I showered and changed into a tattered pair of sweat pants and one of his old ZZ Top t-shirts. Being clean was a miracle that was only surpassed by the food he put in front of me. I was so hungry and shaky that I’d have eaten the foulest MREs without complaint, but instead was treated to a very nice plate of spaghetti, with fresh bread on the side.

As I wolfed down my food and got seconds of everything, Carson apologized for not sending anyone to retrieve me once it became apparent that I must have been having problems. His branch of the underground had been short-staffed, and he simply couldn’t spare anyone, which was why, when I made my last leg of the trip, I’d be driving myself. Fortunately, I was in a very rural area, and I shouldn’t encounter anyone until I reached Jack’s cabin.

I felt so much better for being clean and fed that I wasn’t fazed in the least. On the eighth day, the hallucinations had finally stopped, and although I still felt very weak, I was sure that was due to running out of food. After helping Carson wash the dishes, I stumbled towards the bedroom, muttering my thanks as I sank down onto the blissfully soft mattress.

When he awoke me once more, I was surprised to learn that almost eighteen hours had passed. It was still daylight, though, and he wanted me to leave in the middle of the night, telling me that I’d only need to go about one hundred and twenty miles, and there was less chance of being detected if I waited until about two or three in the morning. Once again, I ate a huge meal, then sat down and played chess with him, enjoying the fact that he was a formidable opponent. It was nice to have something as mundane as a game to occupy my mind. Then, I went back to bed, knowing that I’d have to get up again in about eight hours. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so relaxed since this nightmare had begun. I was almost home, almost ready to see Jack.

When the alarm went off, I arose fully rested, and changed into the dark clothes that were lying on the chair across from the bed. Once I was in the main room, Carson gave me new identity papers, a supply of cash, then drilled me on the specific directions of where I was going until I could have recited them in my sleep.

Stepping out into the early morning darkness of his garage, I almost started laughing hysterically when he showed me what I was going to be driving. An old motorcycle. Moving closer, I examined the familiar lines, the former glorious design covered by drab green paint, and a battery engine replacing the original. And yes, there was that tiny dent in the chrome that I’d never been able to get out, now matter how hard I worked at it.

About time I got Scout back, I thought wryly. Jack borrowed him for the weekend and I never saw either of them again. But I am going to have serious words with him over the way he’s treated my baby.

After assuring Carson that I did indeed know how to operate this vehicle, he sent me on my way with a firm handshake and pat on the back. As I smiled at him while putting on my helmet, I thought that I truly was beginning to wake up to the real world again, rising up from the horrors of withdrawal that I’d fought these past weeks. Scout’s engine gave out a reassuring roar as I headed out, the night air pleasantly cool against my face.

Driving down deserted roads, once again I have the opportunity to think, undisturbed. This time, I really don’t like what is running through my mind. I’ve come to realize that if Jack sent me his contact number a few years ago, and if the underground was as developed as it must have been to realize that the Goa’uld were on the planet, then people had to have known something about my circumstances. They must have known that I was unknowingly married to the enemy, yet decided that it wasn’t yet time to help me.

My jaw clenches as I think what I could have avoided, all the things that Joe and his cronies did to me. With every mile, I’m getting closer to the truth. I’m going to find out more of what’s been going on, and after I tell whoever’s in charge all the information I have, I expect to find out who made the decision that I’d be better off as an unwitting spy.

I’m close, so close now, and I’m afraid. I want to make everything right again, to eliminate the threat to Earth, and try and put my life back together again. I wish I could make the past seven years just vanish and start over again, but instead I’m just going to have to deal with things as they come.

A quick glance at my watch shows that it’s five-thirty in the morning, and the sky is beginning to lighten with the approaching dawn. Fortunately, a few miles later, I turn off onto the dirt road that will lead me to the cabin. Slowing down, I pay a bit more attention to my surroundings, noticing the abundance of trees, excellent for concealing signs of life. I’m so caught up in looking around, that when my hands and legs start shaking, I’m completely caught off guard. The engine sputters quietly as I cut the power and slide off, nudging the kick stand into place and removing my helmet. Crouching down, I lower my head for a few minutes and gasp for air, fighting the dizziness.

Within another five minutes, I’m strong enough to walk, but I don’t trust myself to operate Scout. Grumbling, I place one hand on the handlebars, and start walking the motorcycle down the road. Hopefully there’s only another mile or so left in my journey, and if I push myself hard enough, I’ll be there before the sun’s completely up.

Soon my arms and legs feel like rubber, and I let out a string of muffled curses as I stumble painfully. Dark spots swim across my line of sight, and I turn a corner, seeing two people run towards me. If I could only focus, I could tell who they are, but if they’re not friendly, there’s nothing I can do to help myself. Damn you, Joe, for making me helpless.

“Carter!” a familiar voice calls, and I could weep with relief if only I could stay conscious. Through my blurred vision, I see his face nearing mine, eyes tight with anxiety, and a few more lines on his brow. “Vic, get the motorcycle!”

Blearily, I turn my head to see a tiny dark-haired young woman relieve me of my burdens. She grins at me quickly, and it’s so good to be around people who are glad to see me. With every second, I feel more and more like I’m home.

“Sam,” Jack murmurs quietly, wrapping an arm around my waist as I sag against him, too tired to talk or stay upright. “It’s all right, Sam, I’ve got you.” My eyes are slamming shut, the effort of keeping them open too great to continue, but I can feel him lifting me in his arms. “You’re safe now.”

* * * *

Part 4: The Price of Knowledge

My hands are tied

my body bruised

she’s got me with

nothing to win

and nothing left to lose

* * * *

May 28, 2010

When my eyes slowly open again, I have no idea how much time has passed. I’m in a narrow bed, warm and comfortable, and my first inclination is to turn over and go back to sleep, but I know that’s not going to happen any time soon.

“Doctor Carter?” a soft, low voice speaks, and I turn in that direction, propping myself up on one elbow. Across from me on another bunk, sits the woman I saw earlier. Like Janet, she’s petite and dark, although her hair is a dark brown rather than auburn. She can’t be any older than twenty-five, and she stares at me with a mixture of curiosity, friendliness, and wariness.

Sitting up, I swing my feet to the floor, and grab my jeans off the chair. “Call me Sam,” I tell her, tucking my shirt in and looking around for my shoes. “I was kind of out of it earlier. Who are you?”

“Vic Shaunessy,” she says, offering her hand. We shake, and she shrugs nonchalantly. “Actually, it’s Jacqueline Victoria, but having a Jack and a Jackie around here would be way too confusing. So... Vic.”

We turn towards the door, and step into the main room. A quick glance at the clock over the fireplace tells me it’s almost three in the afternoon. “So what now?”

A strangely familiar older man stands up from the couch. “Debriefing, Doctor Carter, naturally.”

I stare at him, studying his features. “Maybourne?”

He nods. “It’s been a while, Sam.” I can barely recognize him. What’s left of his hair is white, his shoulders are stooped, and he’s lost a lot of weight. He doesn’t look threatening at all, just a tired old man. But if he’s involved in whatever’s going on, I’d better get used to looking at him with suspicion, because I haven’t forgotten what he’s capable of.

Vic opens a door, revealing a set of stairs leading down into a basement. “I’ll go set up the conference room. See you in a few minutes.”

The outside door opens, and Jack steps into the room, wiping his hands on an old rag. “Good, you’re up,” he says flatly. “Time to get to work, Harry?”

Maybourne nods in assent, and heads for the stairs. I stop, staring at Jack. He tilts his head and stares back at me impatiently, waiting for me to speak.

At the moment, I don’t even know where to begin, so I settle for trivial matters. “What were you working on outside?”

“Giving Scout a tune-up.”

“Ah. Not a bad idea, especially since you haven’t been taking proper care of him.” Raising his eyebrows at me, he refuses to be baited, and so I continue, my voice rising with anger. “Damn it, Jack, you said you were going away for a weekend, and I never saw you again. And you took Scout. I loved that motorcycle.” He glares back at me, still silent and defiant. “Whoever converted the engine to electric did a shitty job -- it doesn’t run half as well as it used to.”

That finally breaks his silence. “I did the conversion,” he says testily.

“I figured as much,” I reply. “You never were as good at fixing up stuff as you liked to think. I’m not even going to mention that awful paint job.” I know I’m being petty, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen him. I still don’t know what’s going on, and I want to goad him into a fight, a nice nasty screaming match that will work off all of this tension that’s got me tied into knots.

He rolls his eyes, and grabbing my elbow, propels me towards the stairs. “Tell you what, Sam, after the debriefing’s done, we’ll fix it up as good as new, okay?”

Stepping down into the dim light, I snort. “What do you mean we, white man?”

* * * *

I push the latest dossier across the table to Maybourne, or Harry as he now tells me I should call him. “Okay, who’s next?”

Vic smiles and takes a sip of her coffee. “That’s the final one, Sam.”

I sigh in relief and take a quick gulp of water. The past few hours have been grueling. I’ve poured out every detail of my life for these three people to sort through. What seemed to me the most minor bits of information could send them off on a tangent for half an hour, persistently asking questions until they were certain they’d wrung every last bit of knowledge from me. Vic has been sorting through files, making notes, and compiling a rather intimidating stack of papers that I’ll have to read in the next few days. I’m getting closer to finding out answers, but if they’re done wringing me out like a sponge, I have a few questions of my own.

With an abrupt thump, I slam my glass back down on the table. “Good. Now it’s my turn. What the hell is going on, how long has it been going on, and who’s involved?”

Jack leans forward on his elbows and rubs at his forehead, wincing at the apparent onset of a headache. “Want to give it a shot, Harry? You’re the one who started all this.”

Harry shrugs, then nods listlessly. “About five months after the Stargate Program was made public, and before the Department of Security started regulating off-world contacts quite so much, I was contacted by an old acquaintance of yours, the Tollan Narim.”

Pushing back his chair from the table, Jack stands up. “Why don’t Vic and I go fix some dinner while the two of you talk about this?” After a moment’s thought, Harry agrees, and Jack and Vic head for the stairs, discussing the merits of spaghetti versus pork chops. They’re gone before I can protest that I’d like to hear more than one point of view, especially Maybourne’s, but I suppose I can always dig the information out of them later.

He leans back in his chair, carefully choosing his words. “I went to Tollana at his request. He presented me with a recording, and told me that it had been sent through their Stargate a few days previously. We played the recording, which set all of this in motion.”

“What was it?”

“The more relevant question would be, ‘Who was it?’” he chides me softly. “It’s a recording that I made... will make, I suppose I should say, several years into the future.”

I stare at him in shock. “What?” The corners of his mouth twitch, and whether it’s amusement or embarrassment is beyond me. “You must have been briefed about the dangers of using the Stargate for time travel! Didn’t you pay any attention to my report after the 1969 incident?”

He shakes his head, beginning to show the stubborn personality that I expect from him. “Sam, that recording will be made in the year 2018, and in that timeline, the Goa’uld have taken over completely! That version of me thought it was important enough to try and warn me, and for the past seven years, we’ve been slowly building our forces and trying to determine exactly when the infiltration took place so that we can stop it.”

I still can’t believe I’m hearing this. Wha