The Stranger Within
written by Tiffany May Harrsch

 Back to previous part.

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

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

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

Talk straight?

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

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

Daniel finally got his mouth to work again.

"J-jack?"

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

"I wasn't sneaking."

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were."

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

Daniel crossed his arms and just shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah," Jack admitted gruffly.

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

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

L* L * L * L

So, he was finally getting his vacation.

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

Now, if only he could be alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You okay, Doc?"

Daniel blinked. "What?"

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

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

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

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

L* L * L * L

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

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

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

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

"Murphy," Cloy said warningly.

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

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

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

"Murphy!"

Murphy's head jerked around.

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

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

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

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

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

Daniel decided he liked Captain Cloy.

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

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

"Fish," McGarrah muttered longingly.

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

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

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

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

"Are you okay, Murphy?"

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

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

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

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

Murphy, looking chagrined, shrugged. "It's cold!"

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

"I thought I did."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

L* L * L * L

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

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

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

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

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

"It's back, sir," Murphy said reluctantly, refusing to meet Cloy's eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man found a clue, Cloy thought wryly.

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

McGarrah snorted. Cloy shot him a warning look.

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

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

Murphy, mouth once again full, declined to answer.

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

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

"First love," he muttered.

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

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

That brought about an appreciative chuckle from all.

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

"Did she?"

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

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

"Did you marry her?" McGarrah ask.

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

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

A sneeze interrupted Jackson's chuckle.

"You alright?"

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

"May the wind change directions," Murphy muttered.

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

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

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

"A 'bless you'?"

"Yes."

"So why didn't you just say 'bless you'?"

Murphy shrugged. "I thought I did."

L* L * L * L

SG 7, Daniel noted, like to spread out more than SG 1 ever did. But that was okay. Right now they had all the space they needed, which was good. After that attack of the willies the first night, it seemed they definitely needed time.

Daniel looked at each of them seated around the young fire. He refused to let their brooding silence get to him. This was, after all, his vacation. It just happened to coincide with the fact this was also SG 7's getting-to-know-you run.

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

Now their physical injuries have healed, and SG 7 was given a new member and a trial mission. The 'mission' was going as well as can be expected. Cloy seemed to be a competent commander. His people respected him, if not each other. Murphy was a bit of the shy sort, and McGarrah's teasing did not help the young man any. Daniel understood that accepting a new member into what had been a fairly tight knit group would be difficult. But he thought McGarrah, and Douglas by his expressions, was making it purposefully hard on their new comrade. There was either irreconcilable differences already making themselves known between them, or they were doing the make-it-tough-on-the-new-guy routine. Daniel suspected it was the latter, as well as McGarrah just plain being ornery.

Daniel knew he was there with the hopes of easing the transition. At the very least to give them something else to think about. Knowing Jack's train of thought, one bored archeologist ought to be enough to keep two teams busy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

L* L * L * L

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

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

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

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

"Captain," McGarrah called lowly.

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

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

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

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

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

"How do you know it's a she?" McGarrah asked.

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

"Archeologist." Jackson said nothing to McGarrah's correction.

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

Douglas snorted derisively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

L* L * L * L

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

L* L * L * L

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

So did more of those cat creatures.

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

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

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

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

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

"Murphy!"

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

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

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

A mighty roar interrupted the admonishment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It occurred to Cloy that he ought to say something.

"Uh, hello."

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

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

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

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

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

That elicited a confused, "Sir?"

"And don't talk."

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

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

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

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

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

"You can get up now, McGarrah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

L* L * L * L

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

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

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

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

This disease always made good on it's threat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

L* L * L * L

Continued on the next part...

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

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