Team, Part 5
 
“The sun sparkles every day, children play, children play. . . .”
 
“Kauket!”
 
Kauket looked across the rough-hewn table to Attila, who was already in his second host since they had escaped. Taking two hosts in a such a short time had been a strain, causing him to erupt in anger at the slightest provocation. She narrowed her eyes at him, containing her own anger. Did he imagine it was easy for her, still stuck in this child's body? Did he imagine that she enjoyed living almost as peasants on this backwater planet, ruling a mere handful of men?
 
Yet, she reminded herself, he was accomplishing what he had set out to, and she doubted another Goa'uld could have done the same. He had taken his second host soon after she had landed their simple ship miles from the settlement, and with the knowledge he had gained, they had acted. Posing as the host, he had approached the leader of this band of thieves and murderers and told him of the abandoned ship filled with all they had stolen from their nightmare prison. He enticed the man and his bodyguards and seconds to the desolate spot, where she and Serilipum awaited, he with the strange new weapon they had found aboard the station and she with a Jaffa staff—no hand device left behind on the station would fit on her tiny hand. The staff weapon was beneath her, but she found it strangely pleasurable to fire, as if the surge of power came from within her. And fire she had, putting a hole in the chest of the leader, even as he started to laugh at the sight of the small children with weapons.
 
Two of the body guards had reacted aggressively, and Serilipum had sent them both flying with his weapon. As they lay writhing on the ground in pain, Attila had drawn a sword from his cloak and run them through. And then he had allowed his eyes to flash. The remaining three men had cursed and dropped to their knees, prepared, no doubt, to die. Instead, Attila had told them to rise and had opened the ship to them, letting them know it contained only some of the riches they would acquire should they allow him to lead them.
 
The rest had come swiftly. “Create a vacuum of power,” Attila had explained, “grant new power to those who craved it, reward the rest beyond their dreams, show them the deadly consequences of refusal. It is a simple formula.” Of course, as she had predicted, allowing Serilipum to mete out the “consequences of refusal” had been most effective as well. They now had almost 30 men and women in their camp, and more were joining every day, bringing with them their odd collection of weapons and ships. . . .
 
“Sleepy, sleepy, now it's night, off to bed, turn out the light. . . .”
 
“Kauket! You are singing that infernal song again!”
 
Kauket paused in her thoughts.
 
“Am I?” she said, surprised.
 
Attila sighed impatiently. “Yes, you are.”
 
Kauket nodded, and sent a stab of pain to her host. The child screamed, then whimpered.
 
“Cease your crying!” Kauket ordered with her mind, and sent her the ugliest image she could find, the massacre of the village children of Lychine.
 
She felt the child retreat in fear.
 
“Grandmama? Poppy? Where are you?” she whispered, and then there was silence.
 
Kauket sighed in relief at the quiet in her head and took a drink from the goblet in front of her, savoring the sweet juice. When they had first arrived, there had been little more here than stale water and an intoxicant with a taste so repulsive—worse even than the swill the System Lords had forced on them those many years—that she would not let it pass her lips. Now, mere weeks later, they had sweet drinks, fine wines and food she could have only dreamed of as she had languished without a host, kept in that tank like some sort of pet.
 
Attila had saved her from that, and the starvation that followed. Letting her irritation with him go, she smiled. There might well come a time when she had to cross him, but now was not the time. “I apologize, my lord,” she said, more humbly than she would have once thought possible. Attila nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned back to the documents he was studying.
 
There was a knock at the door, which Attila ignored, so Kauket called, “Enter!” wondering what tedious dispute they were about to be called upon to settle. Angus, the first of these cutthroats to have pledged his service to Attila, opened the door and stepped in.
 
Attila looked up then and sighed. “Speak,” he said. “What is it now?”
 
“Sir,” Angus began, using the military form of address Attila preferred, “the scouting party to Hora is back with news.” Hora was the supposed ruling home world of Tereiatas, the planet they were on. While the Horan had left them alone so far, Attila knew that, sooner or later, the government would take notice of his small but growing criminal army, so he had begun sending regular scouting parties there by the Chappa'ai. Their purpose was twofold: to make sure there was no move afoot to interfere with his raiding parties, and to gather intelligence about the goings on in this sector of space.
 
Attila said nothing and waited.
 
“The SGC . . . the Tau'ri we have spoken of?”
 
Attila nodded, and Kauket sat up straighter, or as straight as she could in the twisted child's body. She and Attila had both been astounded to hear that the humans they had left behind on Earth had risen so far that they helped to bring down the Goa'uld, and the two of them had begun to think that it would be among the soldiers of these people that Kauket would find a host suitable to her station and with the knowledge they sought.
 
“They are searching for you.”
 
“For me?” Attila said, his eyebrows raised.
 
“For all of you,” Angus clarified. “They apparently hope to . . . I apologize if this offends you in any way, sir . . . rescue your hosts.”
 
Attila's jaw dropped open before he remembered himself. “Rescue our. . . .?” He started to laugh uproariously then, obviously having never heard of anything so absurd. When he got himself under control, he turned to Kauket and gasped: “Let us invite them to try, shall we?”
 
Kauket smiled then also, knowing that, even as he laughed, Attila was devising a plan to bring the Tau'ri to them. Soon, soon she would leave this humiliating host behind and be able to rule at her mate's side, with dignity. You hear that, you miserable child? she taunted.
 
“Grandmama? Poppy? Hentik? Please come?”
 
 
**********
 
Ren Starat couldn't stop shaking. He tried to hide it for Belita's sake, but no matter what he did, the tremors ran through his body in waves. The woman, Vala, who had stayed with him while he was separated from the one who possessed him, said it would pass, that it was to be expected, that it was just “reaction.” He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he hoped she was right.
 
Colonel Carter told him that the “symbiote,” as they called it, was Tok’ra, not Goa'uld, and that its name was Amiket. It had been exiled a thousand cycles before for its love of Goa’uld extravagance and for its growing tendency to take over from its human host. Ren would have to take her word for it. The one who possessed him couldn't even remember its own name, and Ren had received only vague images of its past, most of them of torture at the hands of other Goa'uld. More than anything Ren had felt overwhelming waves of emotion: fear, remorse, despair.
 
Ren lay down on the bed in the room he shared now with Belita in the depths of this cheerless military base and wrapped his arms around his knees. Colonel Carter had said the other Tok'ra despised Amiket still, even after all this time, and would probably treat him as a Goa'uld, perhaps not even preserving his life. She had sounded sorry about that, even a little angry, but Ren couldn't find it in his heart to feel anything for the pitiful creature. He felt only relief that it was gone and hatred for what it had made him do to the only family he had ever really known.
 
Ren wished he could see the stars. He'd never been in a place where he couldn't see the stars. He was suddenly conscious that Belita was watching him, so he let his body uncurl and pretended to relax. He didn't want to worry her. Belita had always been more of a mother to him than his own ever was, and when he found out that she'd been rescued as well, he had felt joy in the midst of all his grief. Still, when he'd awoken on the Tok'ra base to see her sitting by his side, he'd been shocked. He hadn't expected her kindness any longer. He'd expected her to hate him.
 
And why wouldn't she? He had failed them all by being too stupid to recognize what the swarming, repulsive creatures in the tank were, for not warning Simis away when he’d followed the boy into the room. Even not knowing what the snakelike creatures were, he knew better than to be so careless. Yet he had allowed funny, endlessly curious little Simis to approach the tank.
 
It wasn’t until one of the things had leaped out and started to pierce the boy’s neck that the terrible realization of what they were had hit him. Ren had then run to his surrogate little brother as he lay writhing and screaming on the floor, and so made his second terrible mistake. Stupid; he was so stupid. He was still kneeling there at Simis’s side when there was a splash and an animalistic squeal, and he felt the terrible pain in his own neck, a pain worse than he had ever experienced, a pain that only grew as he felt the thing cut through him along his spine. He heard shouts and footsteps in the corridor, but he couldn’t move from where he'd collapsed; he couldn’t warn them. From the corner of his eye, he saw Simis rise and scurry out of sight. Then Rols and Hentik had burst into the room.
 
Rols shouted to Hentik to stay back, away from the Goa’uld. Hentik had come to him anyway and pulled him by his feet away from the tank. Finding his voice, Ren had tried to warn him away. “Stay away from me,” he had whispered. “It’s too late.” But Hentik hadn't run. Instead he had grabbed Ren by the shoulders and shouted, “Ren, we heard your screams. We heard Simis screaming! Where is he?”
 
Simis spoke up, then—“I’m here, Hentik. I’m here, Poppy”—and the boy sounded so much like himself, that Ren wondered if he might be all right after all. But suddenly, horribly, the one inside him spoke for the first time, and he knew with certainty that Simis would never be all right. “Not Simis,” the voice in his mind whispered. “Serilipum.” Ren could feel the creature’s terror as if it were his own.
 
The rest of it happened so fast. He heard Rols say, “Simis, no!” and there was a grunt and a gurgling sound, a crash of metal against the floor, and then a high, childish giggle of delight. Hentik cried, “Grandfather!” at the same time the child’s voice, no longer sounding like Simis at all, yelled, “Take him!” Ren felt his body rise, saw his hands grab Hentik and shove him toward the tank. Two Goa’uld leaped from the tank then, but only one hit its target—Attila, the creature inside him whispered—while the other dropped to the floor and flopped about like a beached fish.
 
He watched Hentik grab his neck and fall to his knees, staring in disbelief at Ren, the betrayal he felt showing starkly on his face, and Ren could do nothing but stare back. He struggled to say he was sorry, that it wasn't him, that he loved Hentik like a brother, but he couldn't force his lips to move. The Goa'uld voice in his head whispered it though, again and again: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I must, I shouldn’t, it's wrong, I must, I’m sorry. With the whimpering chant still filling his mind, Ren felt his head turn toward Simis, and it was then that he saw Rols, what was left of Rols, lying there in a widening pool of blood.
 
Remembering now, Ren put his shaking hands between his knees to still them. He tried to still his racing memory as well, but it was no use. The images wouldn't stop coming: He roughly grabbed tiny Palita and held her up to the tank so Kauket could take her; he helped the others, now in the bodies of his family, as they ransacked the station. Then, while they looked away, he slipped from the room, the fear of the parasite gnawing at his insides. Hide, hide we must hide.
 
The monster hid him in the waste unit, curled around the beheaded body of the man Ren had always wanted to call father. They stayed that way for hours, the blood and terrible stench soaking into his clothes, into his very skin. They stayed there until Ren thought, finally, that he would become as insane as the thing inside him.
 
“Rols, please,” Ren thought now. “I didn't mean for any of this to happen. Please forgive me.”
 
He must have spoken aloud because Belita rose from her bed and crossed the room to him. She put her hand on his trembling shoulder and said, gently, “It's not your fault, Ren. You can't blame yourself. I have had so much time to think and pray alone in this room, and I think I understand now that sometimes evil just happens. The people here, Daniel, Vala, I've talked to them. They understand. They have been taken themselves, or their loved ones have been. They have felt the pain and the guilt, and yet they have learned to live with it. We can not despair, Ren. We are family and we will get through this together.”
 
When Ren couldn't bring himself to answer her, she said, “I know this isn't your way, Ren, that you aren't a believer, but would you pray with me now? Would you pray with me for the children?”
 
Ren turned toward Belita and then sat up on the bed. “I would do anything for you, Belita,” he said. “You know that.”
 
Belita nodded at him and took his still-trembling hands in hers, and they both closed their eyes and began to pray.
 
 
************
 
Daniel listened with half an ear to his teammates. Too much time was passing. Each day made it less and less likely that Belita's grandchildren had survived, and soon, he knew, Landry would decide that enough time had been spent following up leads to nowhere, and he'd pull SG-13 off the search. They were already on their fifth trip through the Gate since they'd returned with Ren Starat just over a week ago, and they were all looking a little weary. Maybe they'd get lucky this time, though. This last sighting had seemed more credible than the rest: Some farmers on PX4-322—Cartinia—said they'd found an abandoned ship that matched Belita's description of their vessel almost exactly. . . .
 
“Daniel? You with us?”
 
Daniel started and looked up. “Yes, Jack, I'm with you,” he lied. He'd have to ask Sam later if he'd missed anything important.
 
Jack narrowed his eyes at Daniel's answer, but decided to let it go. “O.K., then,” he said. “Any new business, or can we go get some jello?”
 
Teal'c smiled. “I'm afraid the jello will have to wait, O'Neill,” he said. “Fortunately, I believe the commissary has an unlimited supply.”
 
Jack gave a mock sigh. “O.K., Teal'c, what've you got?”
 
“I have not yet had an opportunity to investigate, but the Horan have contacted us concerning increased criminal activity in their sector and have requested our help. Apparently a new criminal element has been gaining power and influence at an alarming rate.”
 
“The Horan want our help now, do they?” Jack said. “And here I thought they preferred the Lucian Alliance.”
 
The Horan had settled planets over a vast and empty territory at the far end of the galaxy, a territory too big for them to effectively govern. They had spurned Earth's attempts at friendship and mutual trade, fearing that any relationship with the Tau'ri would anger the Lucian Alliance, which policed the sector in return for what Mitchell had called “most-favored-criminal” status. As long as criminal activity didn't get too out of hand, the Horan let the Alliance have free rein.
 
“How or why the Lucian Alliance has failed to stop this new threat and why the Horan no longer fear angering the Alliance by entering into a treaty with Earth are among the things I have yet to investigate,” Teal'c said.
 
“The Alliance must be profiting, taking its cut the way it always does,” Sam said, “and it must be enough profit to risk alienating the Horan. But that still doesn't explain why the Horan aren't worried that the Alliance will retaliate if they bring Earth in.”
 
“Perhaps the rise in criminal activity is disturbing enough to the Horan to make that risk worthwhile,” Teal'c surmised.
 
“Or,” Daniel said, thinking out loud, “the Alliance is playing both sides against the middle, as usual. It's profiting from whatever new group is out there, but fears that that group is growing too powerful. They might have given the Horan tacit approval to ask for our help, hoping that we can take care of the problem for them.”
 
“And how exactly do they expect us to do that?” Jack asked. “We're soldiers and . . . diplomats . . . not some kind of intragalactic police force.”
 
“The Horan have not made it clear exactly what kind of assistance they require,” Teal'c said. “However, Ambassador Desra did indicate that they may now be willing to trade naquadah and perhaps their shield technology.”
 
“We could always use another source of high-grade naquadah, General. It might be worth looking into,” Sam pointed out. “I'm not sure the shield technology is as good as anything we already have, but we don't know much about Horan technology, so I can't say for sure.”
 
Jack nodded. “Teal'c, talk to Desra; see if she can be a little more forthcoming about what they want in return and why the Lucian Alliance isn't helping on this one.”
 
“Do you have something to add, Daniel Jackson?” Teal'c asked. Jack turned to Daniel and saw that, sure enough, he had that look he got when he was about to make some giant intuitive leap that the rest of them couldn't follow.
 
“Sam, how far is Cartinia from the Horan sector?” Daniel asked.
 
“Cartinia?” Jack asked.
 
“Yes. PX4-322. The planet SG-13 is on now.”
 
“I'm not sure, Daniel. I can take a look. . . . If I may, General?” Sam said, standing up to walk behind Jack's desk.
 
Jack pushed his chair back, giving her access to his computer. “Knock yourself out, Carter.”
 
Sam punched a few keys on the keyboard, then scrolled down.
 
“Yes, there it is. You're right, Daniel. It would be only about two days' journey, without hyperdrive, from the outer planets of the Horan sector.
 
“And?” Jack asked.
 
Sam shrugged and looked at Daniel. “It says—these are your notes, right, Daniel?—it has only a small population, measuring in the hundreds, and the society is predominantly agricultural in nature. There's nothing about the Horan or the Lucian Alliance; otherwise I'm sure General Landry wouldn't have sent them out without backup.”
 
Daniel, who'd been leaning forward in his chair with his arms on Jack's desk, put his head in his hands. “Oh, I have a really bad feeling about this.”
 
“Care to share, Daniel?”
 
Daniel looked up. “They're there,” he said. “Attila and the others are there.”
 
“On Cartinia?” Sam asked, surprise evident in her voice.
 
Daniel nodded.
 
“You mean instead of a trail, Mitchell's found the Goa'uld themselves?” Jack asked.
 
“Yes,” Daniel said.
 
“What makes you so certain that this is so, Daniel Jackson?”
 
“Attila found a place to start over, and he's already gathering his forces.”
 
Jack narrowed his eyes. “The new 'criminal element' that maybe even the Lucian Alliance is afraid of?”
 
Daniel nodded. “It makes sense. We thought we'd be looking for three dangerous but disoriented and lone Goa'uld. But Attila is a military genius and, I assume, as power-hungry as any other Goa'uld. He wouldn't have wanted to wait, in the same way that Hathor was barely out of the sarcophagus before she tried to create her new army. Attila has found a criminal class in a sparsely populated and barely governed area of space and promised them riches beyond their dreams. He's turning a rabble into an army.”
 
“But even if that's true, Daniel, why would he be on Cartinia?” Sam asked. “There's nothing there for him.”
 
“A base of operations away from the Alliance, perhaps?” Teal'c said.
 
“Could be,” Daniel agreed. “Or he flew Belita's ship there to set a trap.”
 
“For whom?”
 
“For us,” Daniel said, “the 'new power' in the galaxy.”
 
“Crap,” Jack said. “I hope you're wrong about this, Daniel. Because if you're not, SG-13 has just stepped into a whole load of trouble.”
 
 
*************
 
 
Cam and the rest of SG-13 stopped short when they came over the low rise.
 
“Well, I'll be damned,” Cam said. They'd actually found something. There, in the middle of what looked like a potato field, was a dull-gray, hexagonal ship. He'd begun to think that they were cursed to go through the Gate day after day only to tell the nice people on the other side that, no, they weren't looking for three un-Gou'alded old men, or no, they didn't mean a sailing ship. But here, if he wasn't mistaken, was Belita's little scavenger ship, in the flesh, or the metal, or . . . whatever, but here it most certainly was.
 
“Are we sure it's not a mirage?” Vala asked.
 
The field was small, maybe eight or nine acres, and well-tended. It stretched to some low hills in one direction and a woods in the other. At the far end were a few one-story wood-frame houses and a larger building he assumed was a barn. In the distance, past the houses, were more fields, a patchwork of green and gold that reminded Cam of his Kansas childhood. There was a slight breeze and the sky was a cloudless blue.
 
There was not a soul in sight.
 
Grogan turned to the two men who had met them at the Gate and escorted them here. They wore the plain woven pants and vests of the farmers of the planet. One man had graying hair, the other black, but otherwise they were alike enough to be brothers—or father and son, maybe, although the gray-haired one had an equally youthful face. They were both tall and thin, with dark, almost black skin, high cheekbones, thin mouths, and eyes that seemed to constantly squint, as if they'd spent too much time in the bright sun. They both walked with the same long but languorous gait, and neither had said more than two words since they'd introduced themselves at the Stargate as Thome and Gerid. Mitchell and Vala had done their best to draw them out, but the men gave new meaning to the word taciturn.
 
“Where is everyone?” Grogan asked, hoping to get at least one answer out of the men.
 
“Not here,” Gerid, the gray-haired man, replied.
 
Well, it wasn't much, but it was something.
 
“Who saw the ship land?” Cam jumped in, encouraged that one of the men had at least spoken.
 
“No one. It was found as it is.”
 
The four members of SG-13 looked to the relatively large ship sitting in the field not more than a stone's throw from the houses and then back at Thome and Gerid. The expressions on the two men's faces didn't change.
 
“We must go,” Thome said then. “The road back to the village is well-marked. You cannot get lost.” And then the men walked away, in the direction in which they had come.
 
“Hey, wait up there! We have to ask you some more questions!” Cam called after them. But the two kept going, not even breaking their stride, until they had disappeared over the next small hill.
 
“I will bring them back, Colonel Mitchell,” Kal'toc announced, and started to jog up the dirt path after them.
 
Vala grinned and Cam sighed. “Grogan,” he said.
 
Grogan gave a “Why me?” look, but said, “Yes, sir,” and started after Kal'toc. “Leave them be, Kal'toc,” he called. “We can't make them talk to us.”
 
The young Jaffa, who was at the top of the hill, stopped and turned toward Grogan and started, after a brief hesitation and a look back over his shoulder toward the departing farmers, to walk back down the path. Grogan kept moving toward him till they met at the bottom of the hill. Grogan said a few words to Kal'toc that Vala and Cam couldn't hear. Kal'toc nodded once, although he didn't look happy, and the two started back toward them.
 
Cam turned to look again at the ship, and at surrounding buildings and fields, all seemingly devoid of life, without even a dog or a chicken or whatever animals made this planet home. He was pretty sure he'd seen some mangy doglike creatures in the small village they'd passed through. That had been, relatively speaking, a bustling place, with maybe a dozen houses, a general store and what looked like a pub. The people they'd seen, men, women and children, were a heterogeneous bunch—tall, short, black, white and everything in between—in keeping with Jackson's report saying that they'd come from all over this part of space looking for a better, quiet life. Jackson had also taken pains to point out during the briefing that the settlers had also come to Cartinia to be left alone, and that SG-13 should expect the people to be peaceful but otherwise not overly welcoming.
 
But still, not even a stray dog?
 
As Grogan and Kal'toc came up to them, Cam said, “Anyone buying any of this?”
 
“Those men were not being truthful,” Kal'toc said.
 
“No,” Cam sighed. “They weren't. If, for some unknown reason, a Goa'uld lands a ship in the middle of your potato field. . . .”
 
“Losha,” Vala interrupted, scanning the woods and the ship for any sign of trouble.
 
“What?” Cam asked.
 
“It's a losha field, not a potato field. There's a big difference, you know.”
 
“Big enough to give a Goa'uld a reason to land his ship in the middle of one?” Cam asked.
 
“No, don't be silly, darling. It's just a vegetable.”
 
Cam sighed. Whether it was finding Ren or the nonstop effort to retrieve the kids, Vala was pretty much back to her old self.
 
“As I was saying,” Cam said, “if a ship lands in your losha field, you notice.”
 
“Maybe everyone was on vacation or something,” Grogan said. He too was alert to their surroundings. In the meantime, Kal'toc had turned and was covering their backs.
 

 
“City boy, are you, Grogan?” Cam said.
 
“Jersey suburbs,” Grogan replied.
 
“Well, trust me. Someone was here, and someone saw something.”
 
“You believe this to be a 'setup,' Colonel Mitchell,” Kal'toc said.
 
“I do,” Cam replied. “What bothers me is that it's such an obvious setup. You would think that one of the great military leaders in Earth history would be a little more subtle.”
 
“Unless that military leader just escaped from a looney bin,” Vala said.
 
“There is that,” Cam agreed. He took one more look at the idyllic farm scene, breathed in the earthy air and allowed himself a last, fleeting thought of childhood, then said, “O.K., either way, something is definitely hinky here, so we're heading back to the Stargate to ask for backup. While we're waiting, maybe we can find someone to tell us what really happened.”
 
He saw Kal'toc start to speak and added, “Voluntarily, Kal'toc. We're looking for someone who will talk to us voluntarily.”
 
Kal'toc nodded, obviously none to happy with the situation, and the four moved out. They walked silently, expecting trouble, but saw only birds and a few small, furry animals scurrying through the scrubby brush on either side of the path, and before long they were back in the village. The streets were quiet now, in contrast to the midday bustle of a couple of hours before, and they saw only two women walking together up the street and the man who was probably the owner of the store leaning against the wall outside. The mangy dogs were still there, though, two of them, hanging out in front of the “pub.”
 
They were just at the outskirts of the village, with a clear view of the Stargate less than a kilometer up the path, when they heard the familiar sound of the Gate powering up. It started to turn, and the first chevron lit up, then the second. “Heads up,” Cam said, unnecessarily. “Looks like we have company.” They spread out on either side of the road and took cover. Cam couldn't help but notice that the Cartinians who had moments before been on the street were now nowhere to be seen. Vala, who squatted next to him noticed as well and said, “Well, that can't be good.”
 
“Watch our six,” Cam told her and clutched his P-90 a little more tightly. He saw Grogan try to make himself a little smaller in the tall grass and trees they'd hidden behind.
 
The seventh chevron lit up, and the incoming event horizon shot out and settled back. And then . . . nothing.
 
“Colonel Mitchell,” Kal'toc spoke quietly into his radio. “The MALP appears to be moving.” Sure enough, the camera was scanning the area.
 
Cam let out a sigh and started to relax. “O.K.,” he said, “it's just the office calling. Keep yours eyes open, though. Something else is definitely going on here.” He stood just as the voice came through.
 
“SG-13? This is Landry. Do you copy?”
 
“Yes, General,” Cam said into his radio. “We read you. We were just about to call home.”
 
“We need you and your team back here immediately, Colonel Mitchell. We have some new intelligence that you need to hear.”
 
“Yes, sir. If it's about the location of our 'targets,' though, the information we received from the Cartinians was right on the money.”
 
“Return to the SGC immediately, Colonel. That's an order.”
 
“Yes, sir,” Cam said. “We're a little less than a click from the Gate. ETA twenty minutes. Over.” He turned to his teammates.
 
“I wonder what that's all about,” Grogan said, standing up and stretching the crick out of his back.
 
“No idea,” Cam said. “But you heard the man. Let's get a move on.”
 

 
Vala was still looking back toward the town, frowning. “They're coming back now, but. . . .”
 
Cam turned around to look. Where before the streets had been nearly empty and they'd been ignored as they walked through, there were now more than half a dozen men scattered about, all of whom seemed to be studiously pretending to ignore them.
 
“O.K., people, stay alert. I'm not liking what I'm seeing here. Let's try for double time.”
 
Before they could take more than a few steps, though, seven or eight children of all shapes and sizes came running out from behind the last house in the village and circled them, pointing toy guns and sticks and shouting, “Pow, pow!”
 
Kal'toc frowned at them and said loudly and sternly, “Children, you must play elsewhere!” Cam glanced back into the village and was relieved to see that none of the men had moved but were, rather, watching with what appeared to be amused expressions on their faces. He was about to tell Kal'toc to take it easy on the kids when he saw something that made his stomach drop. Grogan saw it at the same time, because he started shouting, “Down, get down, it's a trap!”
 
One of the boys was carrying something that looked very much like the unfinished pulse weapon Grogan had brought back from the space station, except that this one looked very much finished. Cam had time to see the grinning face of the one who held it and to recognize him from the copy of the picture they all carried. As he dove to one side, cursing loudly, the written words flashed through his mind: Think psychopath and sadist, and proceed accordingly.
 
 
************
 
 
Jack watched the relieved looks on his teammates' faces when they heard Mitchell's transmission come through. Sam smiled at Daniel and said, “Let's meet them in the gate room. With your permission, General?”
 
Landry nodded, and Daniel and Sam started for the door of the control room. Teal'c remained where he was, but he too allowed himself a small smile.
 
Before following Sam down the stairs, Daniel looked back at Landry. “Thank you, General,” he said. “It may have been a false alarm, but. . . .”
 
“It's O.K., Dr. Jackson. You made a convincing argument, and I'd rather be safe than sorry. And it's entirely possible that we were just lucky enough to catch them before the proverbial sh** hit the fan. There is a reason, after all, that they are called SG-13.”
 
Daniel smiled. “I won't tell Vala you said that,” he remarked and continued out of the room. Landry and Jack watched him go.
 
“You think he was wrong, Jack?” Landry asked.
 
“I don't know, Hank, but I wouldn't bet on it. I learned a long time ago never to bet against Daniel's instincts on these things.”
 
Landry nodded. “Walter,” he said, turning to Sergeant Harriman, I'll be in my office. Let me know when they're home safe and sound. Debrief in one hour. And keep me updated on the flooding on P4X-578. If the time table changes for getting those people to safety, I want to know about it. We can't afford to have three teams stranded off-world.”
 
“Yes, sir,” Walter said.
 
Jack pulled out one of the chairs at the console and sat down. He found himself about to spin himself around but thought better of it. Walter caught the aborted spin out of the corner of his eye anyway and grinned, although he was careful to keep his eyes forward.
 
“You are staying, O'Neill?” Teal'c asked, still looking through the window in front of him at Sam and Daniel as they talked down in the gate room.
 
“I thought I would,” Jack said.
 
“You were concerned for SG-13 as well.” It was a statement, not a question.
 
“Of course I was, Teal'c. I'm concerned about every team that goes through the Gate.”
 
Teal'c didn't reply, letting his silence speak for him.
 
Jack glanced at Walter, who was, in his own inimitable way, studying the readout in front of him and pretending he wasn't hearing a word. Jack knew he was, of course, but he also knew the man had never once repeated the often personal conversations he overheard in the course of his work.
 
“Yeah, well, I might be getting a tad bit . . . attached,” he admitted.
 
Teal'c gave a small nod, and Jack sighed. If he'd been this transparent when he'd worked black ops, he never would have reached his 40th birthday.
 
The twenty minutes passed, and then another fifteen. Daniel and Sam looked questioningly up at Walter, but he shook his head. Teal'c shifted his weight and looked at Jack.
 
“Walter,” Jack said, “please get General Landry back down here. Now.”
 
 
************
 
 
Cam came out of his dive fast enough to see Vala get thrown back, hard, and Grogan at her side trying to pull her out of harm's way. Cam brought his weapon up as he rolled, but he wasn't quick enough, and Grogan went down too and jerked spasmodically on the ground. Cam took aim at the boy, who was giggling madly, and as he put his finger on the trigger, he sent an apology out for what he was about to do, but there was no way he had time to pull his zat. A boy and a girl ran in front of him with their toy guns, and he cursed, jerking the P-90 toward the sky.
 
He became aware of Kal'toc's weapon firing repeatedly and the sounds of return fire, and he realized the men in the village must have joined the attack. Cam saw that he again had a clear view of the mad Goa'uld with the angelic boy's face as Serilipum turned his weapon toward Kal'toc, but as Cam started to pull the trigger, something slammed into his arm from behind, spinning him sideways toward the small house nearby and scattering his bullets through the air. He felt the pain radiating up from his forearm, but he didn't have time to think about it. The shot had come from behind him, and he rolled again until the porch of the house was between him and what sounded like a combination of staff- and gunfire from the village.
 
Sh**, sh** and double sh**, he thought. He ducked again as another staff blast hit the porch, and twisted around to try to see his team. Vala and Grogan were still down and Kal'toc was on his hands and knees struggling to get up. Serilipum stood next to him laughing and, before Cam could shout a warning, swiftly kicked the injured Jaffa in the stomach, causing Kal'toc to fall to his side. Cam saw red then. There was no way, no fu**ing way he was going to let some goddamned snake hurt his people any more than they'd already been hurt. He stuck his head back over the porch and fired toward the village and watched two of the men who'd been running forward go down and two others jump for cover. Not sparing a second glance for whatever other hostiles might be coming up from behind him, he leaped up to run for his team. He'd get to them or die trying.
 
But before he could make it all the way to his feet, a hand clamped over his mouth and other strong hands grabbed him from behind, knocking him off-balance. He kicked and struggled, but he couldn't get loose, and he found himself being dragged toward the back of the house and farther from his team. Cam pushed hard on the ground with his feet, throwing himself backward, and he heard a satisfying yelp from one of his captors, but the hold on his arms loosened only briefly before he was grabbed again, harder this time. His wound sent a bolt of pain up and down his arm, and he let loose a muffled yell into the hand that still covered his mouth. Then there was the sound of wood sliding against wood, and he was pulled over a raised opening until he was inside. A door shut, closing off the bright day, and there was nothing but darkness, his grunts of protest and the harsh breathing of whoever had grabbed him.
 
 
part 6 

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