Captain Montgomery Ellis

Boulders shot by at an alarming rate and I needed to slow down or I'd never be able to stop. Switching from swimming to defensive drifting I pushed my feet and legs out before me. Using them to fend off the rocks during my journey to cover those 40 feet to where Lt. Van Sickle had been sucked under. As I came up on it, I reached out with both arms and attempted to claw a handhold onto that offending obstacle. My hands connected, but I could not slow myself as nails dug painfully into the unyielding slippery stone. The water sucked at my legs and pulled me into the small pocket of quiet water downstream of the boulder, twisted me around twice and spat me back out into the current, crashing me harshly off of yet another boulder. Recovering from what was sure to be a bruised shoulder, I shied away from the other rocks, unwilling to take another hit, time was running out and the distance was dwindling. There should be less than 600 feet of stream before it plunges over the cliff into the creek canyon, a free fall of close to 80 feet onto a bed of boulders the size of office desks.

Bouncing off the rocky bottom of the stream happened more often now, as it shoaled rapidly, signaling the approach of the jump off. The water would become shallower and speed up for that final leap. Sitting in the cushion of moving water I knew that the lieutenant had to find a purchase or be swept over the edge, or he already had. The water may be only four or five inches deep there, but if he were completely down it would just roll him over the edge. Just as it would me if I didn't gain some control soon.

Now, I had to think about my own survival, and ahead of me was salvation, a close group of boulders, providing a welcoming slack water haven. Awkwardly crabbing across the current, using hands and feet, I succeeded in getting sucked behind them and pulled my body upright. Draping myself across my rocky crutch I surveyed the field of partially submerged boulders, each progressively higher above the surface of the water the closer they were to the cliff edge, like a broken rank of troops emerging from a river crossing, making seeing difficult around their rocky shoulders. There... too near the edge, I could see him, clinging onto a rock that acted like it was a greased pole. Careful to keep my feet and advantage, I worked my way to him. Bracing myself against his rock I offered him a hand.

"Need a hand, sir?"

He had been so busy, preventing himself from slipping over the edge he hadn't noticed my arrival and flinching badly, a leg slipped over the edge, but was quickly drawn back. He looked up at me and grinned hugely, not fazed in the least by his proximity to the edge.

"Oh, yes, so don't want to go flying here."

He glanced down at that remark, as did I. It was a dizzying sight; the edge overhung the floor of the canyon here and straight down was the apex of a pile of round-shouldered lozenge shaped boulders. A log had broken its back upon the topmost one.

Lt. Eric Van Sickle

Seeing that broken log, I felt overwhelmed that Captain Ellis had risked his butt to save my worthless ass. Seeing myself broken below was too easy and way too close to reality. Yet, he had risked the same fate coming after me and I shivered at the thought of being so close to another failure. My failure to protect my people, or even myself.

From the look on his face, and the painful grip he had on my arm, I'd scared him. Well, I scared me too. And...

Crap. Jack. His eyes were open when I fell. He saw me go down. Damn. The man must be frantic with worry.

Reaching around, I gripped Monty's wrist where he gripped my upper arm, bringing his eyes up from our nearly shared fate to me.

"Colonel O'Neill?"

His answer was a tug on my arm to help me stand and pivot me around, and then he swung an arm around my waist to steady me.

"Didn't even get wet," he pointed upstream towards the FRED. Captain Marie Everett stood close to its canted shape, close in behind a supporting boulder, lessening the force of the water against her smaller frame. He pulled at my hip, directing me towards a group of boulders, towards the bank, out of the current, to safer ground. I was all for that.

PBX 123 was a warm planet, but this stream was cold and I shivered a bit. My eyes felt heavy, each footstep was like moving through newly poured concrete, and suddenly I was grateful for Monty's limping steadiness as I wavered across the slippery stream bottom. We both collapsed onto the small sand edge, free of vegetation, breathing heavily. Lifting and turning my head to glance upstream I saw Marie working her way across the turbulent current towards us, the sand against my face was warm. But her approach concerned me and I made to rise, even against Monty's restraining hand, firmly knotted into the fabric of my shirt, his attempt to keep me down, and resting no doubt. Only Marie's wave down curbed me, allowing me to give in to the fatigue I was now finding hard to ignore. Guilt flushed through me as the heat of the sand chased away the water's chill. My friend lay alone in the center of all that cold water as I enjoyed safety and succor.

That thought stirred me and I sat up despite Monty's attempts to prevent it, sitting I could better see the MALP, but refused to look at the source of my uneasiness. Instead I supported my head on my crossed arms, resting them on my drawn up knees, and waited, contemplating my current weakness. A touch on my shoulder alerted me to the fact that my eye had been closed for some reason. My guilt built once more as I realized that I had drifted off, if only for mere seconds. The first thing I saw upon opening my eye were two ridiculously small boots in the sand before me.

"Eric..."

"Why are you here instead of... out there?" I blindly waved a freed arm back in the direction she had come from, trying desperately to curb my anger, she wasn't to blame, nor did she deserve my childish behavior. Only I was to blame, I should be angry with me. And maybe I was?

"Simple, the FRED isn't going anywhere until we want it too."

Now that got my attention, not just her smartass tone, unheard of from mild Marie. But when I brought my one and only useful eye about my forearm and squinted at her, she sported a huge smirk. Wondering just what all the superior attitude was about I give her a less than intelligent reply. "Huh?"

"The wheel slipped, yes. But it slipped down onto another boulder. The wheel is a bit wedged, but not badly, so it's safe for the moment." She bounced once up onto the tiny toes of her boots, shrugged her shoulders with hands clasped before her. Looking like any woman that had outdone all the men in sight. Smug failed to describe it.

"The Stokes started to shift when the FRED slipped, is the Colonel alright? He... he saw me fall."

I really hadn't meant to wipe out that look and force concern onto her face, but I wasn't able to actually outthink my guilt, I was too tired.

"That explains his agitation."

"Agitation! Are you..."

Leaning forward, she placed a hand to my shoulder preventing any further movement without toppling her.

"Yes, I'm sure. I told him that everything was fine. You were fine. That I could see you. He probably won't even remember it. Relax."

"If he's upset... shouldn't someone be with him?"

Stinging from what felt like a scolding, feeling much like a kindergartner that was very much in need of a nap, I exemplified petulant.

"Eric, he's fine. It was time for the next dose of morphine, so I gave it to him. He's asleep again. And the FRED isn't going anywhere until you two can lever that wheel up a bit."

"And neither one of us is going to be able to accomplish that without a breather. Working against that water was hard, so take five... Sir!"

Monty grabbed my poor abused shirt and yanked me down onto my back, with a helpful shove from Marie. Tossing both hands into the air in a gesture of surrender I relaxed.

"Okay, five minutes, no more."

***

Two seconds later, I was being shaken, and shouted at.

"Five minutes, we agreed -- five minutes!"

"Actually, it's been..." I could see Monty raise his arm to peer at his watch in my imagination. "One hour, and five minutes."

"I don't believe you." And with that I flipped away from him and borrowed into the warm sand, only to have someone tap on my cheek.

"Here, lunch." Marie. Yep, that was Marie's voice, and something was shoved under my nose, it smelled like ambrosia. But sleep was more appealing to me at the moment.

"Five minutes," I insisted.

"Don't think he's actually awake," Monty muttered.

"I agree, and so would the Colonel," retorted Marie, with a distinctly disapproving tone.

Colonel? Crap! I sprang upright, only to catch at my head as the world grayed out. A hand upon my arm steadied me.

"Hey, easy there Eric. No need to rush. Open those pretty green eyes and look." And I did, though it did take me a few moments to figure out where I was to look. I panicked a bit when the FRED failed to resolve in its place in the center of the stream. That's when Monty gently pushed a hand in front my face and pointedly popped out his index finger, my eye looked along it. Oh, there's the FRED.

"But... you two, alone... got it out," my confusion and disbelief was evident to even my sleep depraved brain.

"Sir, I'll have you know that I've been a Captain for a few years now, and can, on occasion, think my way out of a few sticky situations," huffed Captain Montgomery Ellis. "Besides, even if Colonel O'Neill was perfectly safe out there, we didn't like him being alone anymore than you did," he finished in a quieter voice.

"I felt the same," piped up Captain Marie Everett, "and Monty, being as smart as he is, will take direction from other, smarter captains, such as I." Smiled the ever-proud tiny -- in stature -- half of the present brain trust, "Besides, he had been dragging around the solution even before your swim." She pointed to a discarded stout, long branch, still damp, lying on the sand not far away.

"Are you going to say something Eric?" inquired Monty, nudging the MRE in the sand before me, setting my mouth to watering.

I shook my head in the negative.

"He IS smart," smirked Marie. "And just to keep you up to date, the Colonel's fine. No improvement, but no degradation in his condition as far as we can tell, either."

"But, we still need to get him home and you're the last item to pack," added Monty as he reached a hand down to me.

Quickly I met it, curling my good hand around his wrist and he gripped mine, and with a tug I was upright. Before me stood two people, who were becoming more than subordinates or teammates, but friends. Still it felt very strange to have these older, more experienced, ranking officers defer willingly to me. Strange wasn't all I felt. I really had no name for it, but I felt protected, wanted and needed by them. And that thought brought me back to Colonel O'Neill. He needed protection more than I, and was wanted, and needed by me.

With the turn in my thoughts I found myself standing over the man in question, he face slack in his drugged sleep. Little tremors moved along his legs and arms from time to time, as if he dreamed horrific dreams and his body's defenses were preventing him from physically escaping them. My maimed hand snuck under the loose edge of the silver thermal sheet, finding and squeezing his hand. Warmth, my two taped fingers registered it. But my mind took longer to note that I hadn't felt that sensation since the explosion, only phantom heat of the searing kind, until now. Just by his presence he was healing all that he imagined he had wrought.

So engrossed in this revelation was I that I never felt the hands urging me to sit on the FRED, or when it lurched into motion. I snugged up to the Stokes and its precious life, lost in studying his features, waiting, thankfully, in vain for the signs of discomfort. Unconsciously I must have felt the leveling out of our path, looking around I saw the bare grassy upland that would soon lead to another, much smaller, dry stream course. I knew that the gate wasn't far. Turning my face to the sky, I sought out the alien star that shone there. The tawny green of the sky had somehow become familiar. Welcome. I breathed in the air, scenting the breeze. When had this place become home?

Lt. Dennis Wong

As I had promised our young leader, I had kept watch on the one person who was a threat to his authority, and that of his foster-sire. She had been no problem as the others, much to my surprise, had taken up the same task, unspoken and unasked, each on their own. Over the few days of Lt. Van Sickle's absence, cohesion had occurred. 'His people' against her. She had few adherents to her opine that she should be in charge. Our time fell into an uneasy routine, continuing the tasks that had been mapped out by our missing leaders.

Dr Brent was the first to see our wandering teammates. Or, I should say 'hear.'

As was his wont, he was out on the knoll preparing, uncovering equipment and devising his exploration for the night. When he heard the distinctive sounds of the FRED, far, than near; he deduced correctly that the lieutenant was on the rubble ramp, descending. Brent called us on his radio and alerted us. So most everyone was there, on the knoll, when in the failing light the bedraggled group arrived. We were most tactile in our greetings, as would any pack upon the return of their Alphas.

Pleasure abounded that they had found our missing colonel, but not as I, or anyone would have preferred. Our little band of rescuers was exhausted, but most especially our commander, his occasional stagger proof of his condition. Immediately I attached myself to young Eric, but he just as swiftly pushed me toward the colonel, knowing I had the most medic training of the entire group. One had to know these things when in the middle of nowhere and my heritage demanded it, the Wongs had a proud and long history of Chinese herbalists and healers behind them. Checking the man I insisted that the lieutenant ride the FRED down to the tunnel entrances with the excuse that I needed information, which I received in plenitude. None of it sounded at all good, but I knew that only a doctor could tell for sure. This kind of injury was beyond my experience and expertise. I knew just enough to know such injuries were difficult to judge and hard to diagnose, he must be gotten to the SGC. I suspected that all was not as lost as it appeared with our good colonel.

In our exploration of the tunnels we learned more of the subtle systems that maintained its habitability. Warm air was utilized in keeping the levels as comfortable as possible, but there needed to be a large population to bleed the warmth from, only those first rooms to be serviced by the warming shafts seemed to get any at present. And it was to the warmest that I had already prepared to take the whole expedition. Medical supplies, food and bedding had been placed in anticipation of their return, an effort of unspoken alliance by all but Major Drake, who happily worked diligently on the task so forcefully given her by Lt. Van Sickle before he left.

There were many willing hands to do the work that needed to be done, Captains Everett and Ellis were diverted, fed and urged to rest within the chamber, while I and Captain Iron Horse dealt with the Colonel.

Eric sat slumped against the wall, a mug of hot broth clenched between his cold hands. Dr. Brent had taken my first intended place as his keeper and badgered him gently into imbibing of the warm nourishment.

The Colonel had been infused with four bags of fluid during his sojourn, yet his dehydration was advanced. Our supplies only contained another four bags and I intended to run two drips and force as much into him as possible using conventional methods. Giving O'Neill's body as much support as possible, giving him a fighting chance to heal himself, that was the best that could be done under the circumstances. All of us who had remained behind knew that Major Drake had not yet discovered a way to clear the Gate Canyon of the ocean it currently contained.

Lt. Van Sickle had sent word for Major Drake to report as soon as he arrived, but she has not shown herself. I did not really expect her to. While surveying the colonel I watched the lieutenant lose his battle to stay alert. Dr. Brent gently eased the already asleep young man down to the floor conveniently padded with blankets. He may be rather absent minded, but I think that is an act, because he masterfully steered our tired leader to his sleeping pallet with ease. I smiled my thanks as he grinned back at me after covering the boy with a blanket and from his stance he would remain to watch over him, leaving me free to examine my patient more thoroughly.

Both drips were installed and Tina Iron Horse was slipping water into O'Neill as swiftly as possible. The reflective thermal sheet was gone, as was the blanket that had covered him. And all the supplies packed around him were now stored with the other medical supplies. I reached down and methodically released all the straps that had held him safe. He was clothed in full BDU's and boots, all covered in sand, and both still quite damp. The possibility of the man chilling was high, but I was thankful that I had placed him nearest the warming vent, but not directly in its air flow, I would allow his clothes to dry as much as possible without allowing him to cool. Removing them was far too risky, further injury to his back would be a certainty.

Since hearing of his complaint of back pain and his inability to move his arms, moving him around for a complete survey was something I would not do. But there was much I could do. I needed to check his circulation into and out of those sturdy boots he wore and I could not remove. Using scissors I slit along his bloused trousers, using my fingers as a gage of the temperature of his skin, he felt warm, but not too warm, a good sign. Shinning a flashlight into the slit I visually checked the skin tone. Not too bad, pale and somewhat bruised at the top of the boot, where they had dug into his leg. Normal. Slipping my fingers to the inside of his ankle I felt the pulse there, repeating with the other leg, I found no difference. Both were strong and steady.

Not wishing to totally ruin any insulating value of the Colonel's clothing I moved to his waist and carefully removed his belt, a long task, one-handed. Then unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. Slipping my hand inside I pushed my fingers down until I felt his penis; I was searching for his femoral artery. In my blind, near grope, the organ reacted slightly to my unintentional nudge. This would not be a pleasant experience if the man had been awake, it is, after all a 'very' private area that I was invading, but I had to know. While holding the outside of his thigh awkwardly with my handless right arm, assisted by a knee, I carefully pressed my fingers into the soft flesh of his inner leg to gauge the pulse there. Both were steady and even. The presence of his testicles told me he was warm enough, or they would have attempted to withdraw into his body to preserve their precious genetic material, in the warmth that could be had there. Even in the heat of this world, he could be chilled, his blood volume having been decreased via extensive bruising.

While I had his trousers undone, I pulled his t-shirt up, away from his stomach and felt around his waist and into the small of his back, shinning a light there and peering through the mesh of the Stokes when I could. It is times like this that I am thankful that I'm left handed, but it is also the time at which my unreasoning anger simmers in my soul. I knew I was dealing badly with the lost of my hand, having that hand now would be a help, allowing me to minister more properly to this man. A man who certainly deserved better than what I could offer. So negative have I become. Recognizing this fault, I felt I should follow Eric's example, an example prompted by this same man. I must persevere.

I visually checked all I could, or felt as far as was safe. The flashlight had revealed dark, deep ugly bruising along the small of his back disappearing down to his buttocks and up along his spine as far as I could see. It worried me to see such a deep bruise; it needed to be packed with ice, something I didn't have. I hoped that the slow seepage had stopped, preventing further spreading and thus increasing his blood loss.

He was covered in bruises, but there was one, scant millimeters above his left nipple that must have been painful when it occurred. It was sharp, narrow and well defined, almost a cut in nature. And a puzzle it was, it was at least a day or more older than the others. Having heard of how he was lifted from the canyon helped to explain the long burn like bruises across his chest and under his arms, and no doubt his back as well, very regrettable to have had to resort to such a method of transport with a back injury, one which had worsened it. It saddened me to think what guilt our young wolf would undergo when he had the time and energy to review his actions in saving the life, but not the function, of his adopted sire. And knowing the sire, there too guilt would reside. I shook my head at the unhappiness that would exist in the future as I arranged the Colonel's clothing into a more seeming presentation.

O'Neill's exposed skin was red and raw; to this I applied an antiseptic to clean the damaged skin before smoothing on an antibiotic cream to keep it from drying out. The long, strong fingers of each hand bore the marks of his struggle to survive in the flood; gently I cleaned and anointed them. My grandfather would have declared them the hands of a great man, a leader; even the many times broken thumbs did not detract from their masculine beauty. I had watched those hands mesmerized, he used them to good effect to distract from his eyes, the one place his true self would sometimes shine from.

Captain Everett told me when he had last been injected with morphine. He would not awake for another two or three hours, if that soon. Then I would attempt to assess his condition closer with his help. He would know what and how much pain he was in. I could only guess from the range of injuries. Now all I could do is keep him warm, quiet and give him fluids. And with that in mind I took over the task of feeding him warm broth and allowing Iron Horse to escape from the sudden quiet here. All were asleep or watching others sleep. The watchers would soon filter away, back to their tasks, knowing this would be the best thing they could do for the lieutenant and colonel.

Now it was a waiting game.

Colonel Jack O'Neill

Ghosting around my feet and ankles, questing touches, moving upwards.

Keeping my eyes shut, I feigned sleep. Sometimes.... sometimes, they would just go away, to visit yet another prisoner, like me, but someone more awake and aware. Someone they could torment, rarely did they want to do more.

In the dark I breathed shallowly and prayed they'd leave me alone, and if they didn't, that they only wanted to torment. God, I never wanted to experience that again. How could I have reacted that way? How could I have felt pleasure from such humiliation?

A tug at my waist nearly broke me. I learned not to tie the knot to slow them down or stop them. Dealing with the knife they'd use and the extra bodies who wanted to play wasn't worth it. My defiance had been an open invitation to go beyond torment. I was defiant no more.

A hand groped between my legs. What was he doing? Counting? Searching like I had more or less than they? When it withdrew, I almost stopped breathing in relief, almost giving myself away and nearly died of fright when the hand returned. Along my ribs, under me to my back and butt, and... back to my chest?

None of them had ever rearranged the rags I wore to cover me. Never.

Fingers over my face, then each hand was picked up and caressed. I felt ashamed when it felt good, those fingers, soothed and calmed. This was the enemy!

Then... then, they were gone. No more touching,

I breathed as if asleep for a long time. They were gone. Carefully I rolled unto my side and clutched Charlie to my chest. They would never have him; I would protect him with my last breath.

Cradling the anchor of my sanity, I slept in that place that light never penetrated.

Major Sam Carter

"Teal'c, are you sure you can do this?"

General Hammond's question about what we would say to the Colonel if Teal'c were killed doing this rescue haunted me. And I knew just how badly the Colonel would take his friend's death, laying claim to all of the blame, as would Daniel for backing me up on this. The really painful part would be my absolution of responsibility in the orchestration of Teal'c's death by the Colonel himself. Knowing full well that I pushed for this, he would never blame me.

"Certain."

Teal'c was supremely confident, but he was always like that. It was I, who really needed to be certain. With the Colonel off world I was in charge and I was not losing anyone even to my own plans, especially a plan that might hold just a bit too much of my emotional investment in it. We may have agreed to put all those feelings back into that room, but could either of us truly do that? Was I being analytical enough to keep SG-1 alive and well, and still retrieve the Colonel in a similar state?

"Are you really, really certain? I mean... what I said to General Hammond wasn't exactly a lie, but..."

"MajorCarter, O'Neill himself instructed me in traversing water."

"Ah, you do mean swimming. Don't you Teal'c?" Daniel piped up, but his face seemed to have a doubt written onto it. Maybe he was thinking of that makeshift sailboat Teal'c had cobbled together a couple of years ago, saving the Colonel's life.

"Yes, DanielJackson, that was part of his instruction."

"Part..."

"Yes, do you not recall 'seal week'? "

"Ah, well... yes, but I don't... remember, or know what it means," puzzlement plain on Daniel's face.

"Daniel, the Colonel was 'invited' to Seal Week by the current head instructor. He indicated that he received in invitation every year, and this year it corresponded with some mandatory leave. He said something about needing to take them down a peg, show them just how Air Force Special Forces handles things. Isn't that correct?" I asked, turning to Teal'c for confirmation.

"I cannot say."

His answer surprised me. Maybe he was protecting the Colonel's privacy?

"Or won't say?" Interjected Daniel, before I could shake loose of my surprise.

"I shall rephrase; I can NOT say," Teal'c inclined his head in mute apology.

"Oh, yes! That makes a whole world of difference. Sam, he cannot say. In my opinion that means 'he cannot say.' " Daniel was a little irked by the answer, sometimes he had no patience when it came to the Colonel's right to keep his private life from us, from him; and could be just a bit childish about it.

Knowing Teal'c, he would not say more, so... "Okay, I get it. What can you say?"

"I was instructed on the use of a rebreather, free diving, snorkeling and diving at depth with different mixtures of air. And then was rated by the Seal's system of expertise."

"And that rating would be... and please, do not say 'you cannot say,' " Daniel huffed; still perturbed at not knowing what the secrecy was all about.

"O'Neill called it 'instructor rating.' "

"Holy Hannah," I blurted out, adding a low whistle after it. Impressive, very impressive. And as far as I knew totally without precedence in any military advanced special forces training. From no inkling to expert in one week.

"That sounds... good," Daniel, stated with a questioning voice, he had to be uncertain what that meant, but my reaction told him that it wasn't normal.

"I fear I somehow failed O'Neill in this."

Teal'c hated to disappoint the Colonel and I couldn't imagine that being possible, never would he express such a feeling in a training situation. Only when one of us did something dumb in the heat of survival would he, could he, express that. Usually a near death experience on our part would prompt that reaction.

"Teal'c how can you say that? It's the top rating."

"It is not, I failed to achieve the top rating." Teal'c sounded embarrassed and sorrowful at this admission of failure to achieve a physical goal; this from a man who could fight rings around all of us, including the Colonel. He was a tower of strength and grace, bundled with a gentle soul and keen intellect.

"But..."

"O'Neill holds a 'master instructor rating.'

"I... I didn't know that. I didn't even know the rating existed," I stammered out, racking my brain for such a rating and finding none.

"If I must fail, it is good to fail to such a warrior as he. And I did not wish to take the title from him in so doing. But I tried at his urging."

"I don't understand? Take the 'title from him?' " Daniel exclaimed.

"O'Neill said only one man may hold this title at a time. DanielJackson, he denies being given it, but the Seal's there insisted he held it. I believe that is why he urged me to take the title."

"I bet it's an honorary, unofficial title. And with this group, that wouldn't lessen the importance of holding it," I explained, totally awestruck by the thought, and thoroughly embarrassed by my assertion that I knew more than he. "If you are the runner up to that title, I should be asking you about how you want to approach this, not the other way around."

"This is a reasonable assumption."

"So..." prompted Daniel.

"MajorCarter, DanielJackson, if you would follow me, I have prepared for the trip. I wish your learned input."

Teal'c led us to a locked mission equipment staging room. It was here that a few days ahead of a scheduled mission the team would assemble all of the equipment needed for that mission. SG-1 rarely used these rooms, which had not existed when we first started our missions. Inside the room stood a table on which a single plastic storage box with a double door hinged lid sat. I pointedly looked around the room looking for more.

"Teal'c... ah, is there more?"

"No, there is not."

He stepped up to the box and began to lay items out on the table. Snorkel and dive mask. One 5-minute emergency oxygen tank/mask combo. Zat. Folded BDU trousers and shirt, not quite the right color. A pair of rubber slip-on shoes, looking like macho slippers. And a short pair of diving fins. One web belt.

Having drifted up to the table, I fingered the clothing, synthetic, thin and light. Probably fast drying and unable to absorb water and add weight.

"Going light Teal'c?"

With a ghost of a smile and incline of his head he pulled one last item out of the box. Probably the heaviest item of the lot, a fully waterproofed field communication base unit, about the size of a WWII walkie-talkie but much more powerful than the field communication radios from that era which took a man to pack it around. I knew the specs of this unit, it had the power to penetrate more than three times the depth of water it would need to establish communication on PBX 123. None of the handhelds on the planet had that ability and they had no base unit either, since the MALP was to have served that purpose. A now useless MALP.

"I have had many days to contemplate this mission."

"You do know what you're doing, don't you?" asked Daniel.

"I will not risk my life, I will be most careful of preserving it. Do not fear."

"Can you swim that far?"

"That is one of the few advantages I have over O'Neill," he brushed his hand over his symbiote pouch, "better buoyancy."

"You would have that advantage, the Colonel is a good swimmer, but too lean to do distance. His own muscles drag him down into the water," I mused aloud.

"When will this happen?" Daniel asked.

"General Hammond, took me aside after the briefing. In 24 hours. I wish it were sooner." I lamented.

"Why so long?" Daniel's concern at the delay sounded in his brief question.

"In 24 hours is a 12 hour period with no scheduled incoming or outgoing events. Between now and then it's very heavy traffic. He won't risk other teams while trying to get to the Colonel. When you get right down to it, they all could be bored out of their minds and waiting for us to make the first move. Totally safe and unaware that we believe they have a threat among them."

"Somehow I can't quite see that. Jack is never that lucky, he's a trouble magnet."

"I agree, but he also attracts the right kind of help in the nick of time. And from what Teal'c has told us, it looks like the Colonel has provided his own rescue on this one.

"Indeed," agreed Teal'c and Daniel nodded sagely.

I felt their confidence, but there was a seed of doubt there too. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were already too late to help the Colonel.

God, Jack. Please be all right, I don't know what I'd do if you didn't come back.

General George Hammond

After the fluke of the last recon I decided against another, mainly because if conditions had changed, we would have heard from the team there. Out of necessity I felt I needed to discuss the lack of knowledge regarding the current conditions on the other side of the Gate with Teal'c. Precautions needed to be taken; this was not going to be a reckless journey. The Jaffa agreed to approach the wormhole gently, and in such a way that he could cope with water or air being on the other side. It would not do to have him enter the wormhole near the top and find the water gone, that would be a bit of a drop.

To my great relief he and SG-1 were taking this little expedition seriously. Forethought was needed and injuries were something we didn't need. And hell, we didn't even know if there was trouble on PBX 123. This could well be a fool's errand. Lord above, please let this be just that.

So here I stood, Sgt. Davis was at the ready. Major Carter and Dr. Jackson stood to one side looking down into the embarkation room, watching Teal'c. The Jaffa stood barely behind the caution strip, swim flippers in hand.

With a nod of my head it began.

The roar and scrape of the great rings, as one moved within the other, was deafening. And to think that between those indestructible hoops of alien metal a few sheets of paper would be hard put to find room, their machining that accurate. The loud thuds and announcements of 'lock' at each chevron seemed endless, until:

"Chevron seven encoded, and locked."

KAWOOOSH!

Even as the billow of destructive energy retreated to become the deceptively benign brilliant blue pool of familiarity, Teal'c followed closely behind its recoil. My heart launched into my throat at just how close he followed, I knew, as did many here, that it could reverse direction at a whim and obliterate him. He stopped as that bubble sunk into the event horizon, pushing it in, past its passive position in the opposite direction and then rippled and roiled in the throes of rebound, he stood way too close to that unstableness to don his flippers.

Just when in all of that movement did the energy revert from destructive to harmlessness? I could not recall any mention. That thought sidetracked me for but a moment and I returned to follow the drama below as Teal'c positioned himself with his back to the active wormhole. Carefully he placed the facemask and snorkel in place; and then checked each item he carried by touch. We all could see him breath deeply and repeatedly, over-oxygenating his blood, preparing for the lack of air. Turning his head he checked his position to the event horizon, bent his knees, pulled his head into his chest, folded at the waist and tucked head and chest in close to his upper thighs. Then he toppled backwards, falling into the false water, and with a final push of his feet against the ramp, he entered the blue glow, as any diver would fall from the edge of a boat into the sea, protecting his facemask from the pressures of entry.

Only ripples radiated across the energy film from his passage.

We all watched the fading movement until the motionless restless blue remained, casting it's eerie light across the attentive faces of the SFs who stood guard before it.

I forced myself to breathe and imagined that at its rasp of passage through my throat everyone else began to breathe too.

Now, we wait.

Teal'c

Strange. After all of the hundreds of journeys through the Chaapa'ai, that this would feel so different and be so disorienting. A Jaffa is trained to adjust and to do so quickly, yet I twisted and turned, seeking up from down. My struggles were taking time. Time, I for some reason, felt there was little of. Unlike O'Neill, I hold a more tolerant view of the mysteries that the universe contained, a tolerance that grows with the wisdom and knowledge that my Brother's protection affords me. One cannot always touch, taste or feel all. My beliefs are different than even DanielJackson, he, like my Warrior Brother, places reasons into the tangible. But because of my very belief in Kheb I place some reasons into the intangible. When my heart tells me something I listen.

My heart tells me to hurry, that my Brother needs me, that his Son of the Heart needs me. If I am not to lose O'Neill, I cannot lose either. There is much of my Brother in Lt.VanSickle, I would see him survive and thrive. Perhaps, his example will enable O'Neill to attempt to take up family life again. It would be good to have a child of his body to watch over. A true O'Neill by blood. But if that were never to happen my Brother's choice is without question, Lt.VanSickle is now part of the blood debt I own my Warrior Brother. A debt that I can never pay, that all of my race may not be able to pay.

Flinging out an arm, it impacts painfully with the metal of the now inactive gate. So easily I might have been sucked into its deadly surface. Despite my reassurances, this is still a reckless concern. My own words sour in my mouth, at my disregard for my safety; for I do not have the true right to risk my life, only O'Neill holds that. He does not know this and I would protect him from the knowledge, so I must foresee his thoughts in his absence when risk is involved. Even when my Brother is present I must divine this, I dare not tell him. He would deny my debt. To enable him to be true to his own inner guide and yet not betray my own, I have learned all that I can of his thoughts, to see how he would handle the risk.

I must confess that I have failed in mapping out O'Neill's thoughts to guide me through dangerous situations. My only salvation is that he urges me constantly to make my own decisions and to consider all parties in them, to see the opinions of others as much as is possible. He is adamant that I understand the consequences of every action. His very insistence tells me that he believes that he has made many bad choices and stands ready to accept all consequences of his actions. This is the part of O'Neill that I truly do not understand; he accepts blame for that which does not have a fortuitous conclusion, even events that he was unaware of or unable to affect a different outcome to. Just his proximity is enough to convince him that he should have done something to change the outcome.

He feels his perceived failures profoundly, deeply, never forgetting them. Constantly turning them over in his mind, restlessly seeking what he could have, should have done. It is this constant reappraisal that gives him the wisdom he denies, the wisdom that the Asgard has seen, and acknowledged, giving him, and only him their total trust. Yet, O'Neill does not trust himself. At the moment of decision his confidence is unshakable, later it is but an imagined gossamer.

Finally I find my equilibrium and stroked strongly for the surface, using the curve of the Stargate as a guide. Not once did I touch the horde of oxygen secured to my belt, pride of accomplishment suffuses me, as much as any Jaffa is allowed or capable of experiencing. My body rockets into the warm humid air, accentuating the coolness of the water, water that at my first touch had been warm as mother's milk compared to the sterile cold of transit. Dashing my hand across my eyes and blinking I can see a tawny green sky. Many skies of myriad colors have I seen in my life, but this has a golden hue that invites a feeling of peace and tranquility. A strange thought for a warrior? Those unfamiliar with warriors would think this, but such thoughts are not strange to O'Neill or others like us.

True warriors treasure peace and tranquility above all, save honor. For what is either without that. Slavery.

O'Neill freed me from that state, so that I in turn could free others. Now I fear for him and that fear gnaws at me as I strike out for the edge of this exceeding strange canyon.

Lt. Dennis Wong

" 'I don't care that he's back, even if he found O'Neill. He can damn well come to me, I'm on to something and I can't go running to a kid who's playing at being in command. I don't know what the Air Force had in mind with this FUBAR.' I'm certain that is exactly what she said," concluded Denise Kent. Her distaste of having been in the presence of Major Drake evident in her simmering words, she would not have gone within sight of the woman of her own volition. But having been hanging at the edge of those tending to our returned travelers she drew our young commander's attention. Only at this behest had she screwed up her courage and delivered the politely worded summons to report to him.

"And, this was perhaps... an hour ago?"

"Yes, I believe so, Dennis. I'm sorry, I was just so mad I had to clear my head. How could she be so... so..." our archeologist, and sometime linguist, struggled to find an adequate word. Sure proof of her state of mind. She was usually deft with words, producing an apt word for every situation.

"Combative?" I offered.

"Lt. Dennis Wong, you are entirely too forgiving of others. That is an extremely mild description of an out and out -- bitch," hissed an otherwise easygoing woman. To have her react in this matter should be more than adequate warning to others of the person she had just loudly and firmly defamed.

Reaching out I enclosed her shoulder with my only hand, gently squeezing, and smiled.

"Thank you Denise, I am sure that Lt. Van Sickle too, thanks you. I will ensure that the reply gets to him," I nodded my head in the direction of a mound of bedding near the stricken colonel, across the dim room. "Go, forget this unpleasant chore."

"I do have a section of the tunnels I want to check, but forgetting this will not happen. She needs taking down a peg or two. Let me know if you need anymore help. For him anything, even if it means talking to 'that woman' again."

At that declaration, she spun and sprinted down the dark corridor, back towards the common rooms nearer the upper entrances.

The major's refusal to come at command was a clear break of discipline. If this had happened earlier our lieutenant would have been in an untenable position, as the others may have followed her lead. Now, that could not happen as they had all given their allegiance to him. My gratification at her ill timing knew no bounds, if Major Drake had succeeded in breaking the legitimate, if somewhat unusual, chain of command, this mission would have truly been a 'FUBAR.'

Turning the unusual acronym over in my mind, as I returned to the colonel's side, renewed my amazement at the military machine that could so debase itself. Kneeling slowly, I then lay the back of my hand on the side of man's neck below his jaw, his skin reported only good news. From studying him I knew he was surfacing, with each breath he left behind the embrace of the narcotic, his pain and consciousness would both swell to awareness. His eyes even now moved restlessly under their protective lids, and huffing breaths would soon hold sound. Some innate animal sense caused me to glance up, my eyes captured by two slightly mismatched green orbs looking up at me; our young wolf had surfaced first.

"Lieutenant." Acknowledging his presence in word and deed, I bowed from my kneeling position as my grandfather had patiently taught me, giving our young cub the respect he was due, if not accept.

"Lieutenant, for a Swede of Viking portions you can act extremely oriental." Eric Van Sickle muttered as he levered himself up onto an elbow.

"Thank you. The Wongs have always prided themselves on excellent Chinese manners, even when the family member in question is an overly large, pale and blond lummox; with the grace of an ox."

"Strength of one maybe. You do the Wongs proud."

In mute acceptance of that pronouncement I dip my head. Flinging his blankets aside, Eric scrabbles over on hands and knees, headless of his own dignity, his eyeing of the Stokes' occupant during our exchange of words not enough to fuel his need to know. Soon, he kneels across from me, exhibiting a reluctance to reach out and touch the man who literally snatched him from an uncertain future. A man I'm sure is part of his destiny, as Eric is his.

Inhaling to gather breath to explain that the colonel is awakening, the sound of a clearing throat interrupts. There in the hewn stone portal stands a figure, I am uncertain whom it is, but young Eric, even with only one eye sees more than I with two.

"Captain Elliott... Monty."

The figure limps towards us, slowly resolving into our familiar geologist, he awkwardly lowers to the floor, I oblige with a firm shoulder and a helping hand. This is a difficult task for him; Eric and I both give him time to settle.

"Lieutenant and Lieutenant," he greets, grinning at some inner joke before continuing. "How's the Colonel?"

His gentle laughing blue eyes joined those serious mismatched green and fasten onto mine. So, using that stored breath I explained what little I knew, suspected and feared. Their countenances sober, our young leader's nearly grave at my words. It is then that he finally reaches out to lay a hand lightly on O'Neill's arm, as if afraid he would hasten the man's awakening, not wishing him to experience the pain we all know awaits him. Yet... I sense that the contact is more to keep both in the here and now, to prevent either from slipping apart. The sight harrows my soul; a stealthy glance at Captain Elliot gave me the impression that he too feels something similar at the sight.

Now would be a good time to disrupt such a somber moment, something that could speed our injured colonel towards those with more knowledge. So, in an unseemly haste, for me at least, I delivery Denise Kent's report of her conversation with Major Drake and watched those eyes change from somber to flashing heat. The incandescent green flame of Eric's one organic eye would surely melt any stone that those whose contained ghostly blue flames could ever find. Yet, Lt. Van Sickle's voice never revealed the anger his eye did.

"She's gone too far."

Both of us latch onto him to prevent him rising. An awkward move on our parts since the Colonel lies between us. Captain Elliot nearly topples in his attempt, that move stills our young commander long enough for the man to speak.

"Sir... Eric!" The good captain fisted his fingers in the young man's shirt, trying to gain his attention. "Listen. Listen to me."

Reaching out I grip the arm holding Eric, seeking his eyes.

"Be aware of who is here, of what you do." When his fleeting glance fastens onto me I flick my eyes down to the Colonel, that is enough to deflate his youthful anger, born of exhaustion. Elliot grips him still, until he too is sure the Lieutenant will not resume his mission, then, slowly, he released the captive fabric, shaking his reddened hand to restore circulation.

"Sir, you're overly tired." Monty received a petulant glance; the green flames still evident. "Allow me to deal with this. Perhaps... perhaps, my being a captain will help." Receiving an even more virulent look from our commander, he rocks back a bit, shocked and somewhat disappointed, having expected a more reasonable response. I do not believe our wolfling is capable of that at the moment.

"You do Captain Elliot and yourself an injustice. Can you even stand? Will your wits be sharp enough to deal with someone who sees you as nothing more than an actor in a play, with no real power? What will you accomplish with this righteous anger? Anger begets anger. And how will that help this man?" Splaying my hand onto the chest of the man between us, I draw his attention to one of the true issues here. "Would not it be better to cater to her weaknesses than you own? Allow the captain to use the false honey of capitulation, enticing the fly into your parlor. You cannot force her to comply, but you can deceive her into it. What better way to deal with a deceiver than to use their own tools against them?"

My risk showing my own passion gleamed in the two faces before me. Captain Elliot assumed a stunned expression that melted into a plea aimed at our angry wolfling. As for the wolfing, his anger flared, then drowned in the ruddiness that built across his features before fading to a gray acceptance. He had not been recovered when we arrived on this world and too much has happened to drain what little reserves he had, if he were not careful, he too would leave this planet in a Stokes. I and perhaps many of the others would or could prevent that from happening. There is much we can do to ease his burden, allowing him to think clearer, to work on the true priorities of this mission.

"Accept my apologies, I... I'm sorry; blowing my cool isn't the solution. I can be such an idiot." His eye studied the floor, except for that one painful lock onto each of us, asking silently for forgiveness, that he plainly didn't expect. Oh, callow youth.

"Eric, if you were an idiot, you'd already be exploding in that witch's face. Don't be so hard on yourself. You're just tired. Let us help you. Stay here and rest, watch over the Colonel. We all know what needs to be done. We all know the stakes. Just because one of us IS an idiot doesn't mean the rest of us are."

"Will you entrust this task to Captain Elliott? Meanwhile I will visit with as many of the others as possible, informing them of this development. We must provide a united front if this does come to a confrontation. Alone, you would have little success with this person of small sense, but against all of us, she may, at least, not struggle as much against the inevitable."

Our colonel chose that moment to put sound into his breath, capturing Eric in mid nod, drawing him away from us. Regret was not felt by me, our commander had assented to our plan before being diverted. Pulling Captain Elliott to his feet, he reluctantly permitted me to guide him from the room. Allowing our two commanders time together. My last glimpse was of the younger leaning in over the face of the older, now where had I seen such a look of longing and love, as amber-brown eyes opened at last.

Captain Montgomery Ellis

My leg hurt. The stone floors of this mausoleum jarred it with every step, like self-torture. Yet I admired the feel and texture, the very sight of it. Yep, nothing like, stone love.

Lt. Wong and I were looking for Major Alice Drake, our structural engineer and so-called 'expert' on the way this place worked. At least she would have us believe that. She had not been where Denise Kent had originally encountered her, so we instituted a kind of grid search for the woman. So far we had talked to nearly every member of the team. The lieutenant had nearly finished consolidating them to Van Sickle's command. It really wasn't that difficult of a task. Though if this had happened right after we arrived, I'm sure the outcome would have been very different, much to our disgust.

Dennis was getting antsy, we both knew the Colonel was probably awake, and in pain. Eric is useless with a needle; most of us were in fact. Dennis and Marie Everett could handle them, but she loathed giving such strong drugs and would avoid it if possible, so Dennis was stuck with that. He'd have to return soon to administer the morphine. I knew that he hated the fact that he had to use it on a man who had gone to such lengths to avoid it, but he also hated to have the man in that kind of pain.

He was worried; I wondered what Dennis actually suspected of the man's injuries. I was fairly certain he would never get up again. It turned my stomach that someone like Colonel O'Neill would be lost to a world he had saved more than once. I had a bad feeling that without him, we didn't have a chance in Hell of surviving the future advances from some of the races we have already encountered out here among the stars. Let alone, our next encounter. Stumbling over something far worse than the Goa'uld was in the cards.

Dennis apologized profusely when he couldn't take it any longer. But I now knew where that witch was, Sgt. MacDowell had come stomping down a dark hallway, not even a flashlight in hand, startling us both when we happened by the junction with that hallway. An accidental meeting that fit our needs precisely. Sybil knew exactly where Drake was and that freed Dennis to return to the Colonel. The sergeant had to retrieve some potable lighting for the Major, but that wouldn't stop me from continuing on. From her simple instructions I just needed to go to the end of that dark hallway; Major Drake would be there, tapping a foot in impatience. Sybil said that Drake would have a long wait; she intended to have breakfast, lunch and dinner, since she had missed the first two at Drake's insistence.

Making my way down to the end, I found a blank wall, or nearly blank wall; a small black square hole snugged in the lower corner, it looked like it was a niche, small tunnel or crawl space. Sweeping the beam of my flashlight across the wall and even the ceiling, I wondered where Drake was. Then, I heard her.

"Come on you bastard, move!"

Freezing at the epithet, I surmised that she couldn't mean me and she sounded muffled. Like...

I knelt down at the black hole, shining the light inside, the dark depth of it swallowed the beam, but I could hear movement. And... banging. Metal on stone. And scraping.

"More. Damn it. ARRRG!"

Sounded like she was trying to budge the un-budge-able by any and all means at her disposal. I leaned against the wall one-handed; my fingers felt the heavy thud, long before it filtered up the shaft to the opening. Closely followed by:

"CRAP!"

Immediately followed by scuffling, then something long with a what looked like a shoe attached came skidding out of the opening, slid across the floor and clanged into the wall. Having sprung back to avoid the projectile I missed the cheek motion of the butt that emerged scant seconds after, followed by its owner, Major Drake. She hopped up to her one leg, groped for purchase, caught me in the chest and knocking me sprawling. Water began to shoot out of the crawlspace. The water became a torrent.

Drake staggered to a wall and began banging on it. Me, being butt down and hampered by my knee could only sit there as the water hit me square in the chest and pushed me down the hallway, I must have traveled a dozen feet when the water abruptly cut off.

Sitting in the rapidly draining pool of water, shocked into immobility by the suddenness of events, I dumbly watched as Major Drake hopped over to what turned out to be her artificial leg, miraculously still where it landed, despite the recent flood. She reattached the limb and stomped around adjusting it to her satisfaction before she actually noticed me.

"What?"

"What the Hell did you do?"

"Do? I fixed the problem." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a very small object, walked over, pulled up my hand, dropped something cold and heavy into it, closed my fingers around it's wetness and said, "And that was the problem."

She briskly strode up the still dark hallway, her flashlight swinging wildly from it cord attached to her belt. She bellowed Sgt. MacDowell's name every dozen feet or so, she continued like that until I couldn't hear her anymore.

"The woman's a damn lunatic," I exclaimed to the now empty corridor. Then I remembered my clenched hand.

Bringing up my flashlight I slowly opened my hand. There glinting in the strong light of its beam was a rudely crafted silver disk with a vaguely human profile fashioned on it. It was slightly bent, angled as if it had been caught or squeezed in something.

Looking around I noted all the water was gone. So why could I still hear it?

Unknown Assailant

Peering in from the darkened passage that shelters me, I see Colonel O'Neill. He is still within the heavily padded Stokes, swaddled in blankets. Lt. Van Sickle kneels next to him. Their low voices whisper to me from the far side of the stone vault that they occupy. Footsteps coming from the surface force me to run on silent bare toes to the next vault, to hide in the protective darkness of the unused space there.

My shroud of darkness remains intact, the steps do not bear a light, it knows an unwarranted comfort in this alien darkness. Once certain the steps had entered the room where my prey is, I cautiously slither back into the corridor, hugging the wall to listen outside the chamber, listening to better judge my chances of taking down those within.

The newcomer says he is here to administer pain relief to the Colonel and will leave shortly. This is good, only the two I seek will remain, one too injured to resist and soon to succumb to a narcotic. The other, my true goal, I can take by surprise and prepare the scene.

Long minutes pass, only the three within disturb the tomblike silence of this alien construction. Every movement reveals their position, every voiced word their plans. The newcomer prepares to depart; I ghost back to my sepulchral haven. When the retreating steps faintly echo back towards the others I emerge to approach.

The young lieutenant still kneels beside his colonel. But that voice is softly slurred with impending drugged sleep. Toeing across the floor I raise my weapon to forcibly impact it against the younger man's head. He sprawls across the older.

Using my knee, I push the body aside and then pin the older man firmly in place. His grunts of pain are interspersed with the other man's name, 'Charlie.' One handed I hold the syringe, using my teeth to uncap it. Pushing more of my weight onto the feebly struggling man I drive the needle home at the junction of neck and shoulder swiftly squirting the drug into his system.

I had not realized that these two where now so close as to use names other than those used with the others. It is a shame that I must do this, but I have little choice.

Teal'c

Something was wrong.

There would be no current in a pool and that is exactly what this canyon was, a pool. Yet, I had drifted to the right of my intended path.

Adjusting my direction I once again had the dark slot that held the ramp before me. Scant seconds later, I had drifted off course again.

Never had I encountered such a problem.

Stopping, I tread water, slowing pushing myself in a standing circle, checking in all directions for the influence that prevented me from reaching my goal. To the right of my path, in the direction of my enforced drift appeared my first indication of it. A series of black rectangles studded what should be a smooth wall; they appeared to extend below the level of the water.

A chance breeze carried yet another clue, stone scrapping against stone.

Facing the anomaly, I strained to hear, but my body sensed something other than sound. It felt a tug upon it, pulling me in the direction I did not wish to go. As I watched, as one, the dark rectangles resolved into gimbaled slabs of stone as light appeared on each edge, the slabs swung to a perpendicular position in respect to their previous position. The tawny sky of this world was plainly visible through the new openings.

The pull on my body increased, I began to stroke away from those suddenly ominous openings.

Yet, I was dragged towards them, I could not escape.

[see Chapter Fifteen]