Author: Blaze

Email: blazing@SoftHome.net

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Double Secret, Showtime, Gekko and other folks none of whom include me. This particular arrangement of words in cyberspace, however, is mine alone. However, I not only release any and all ideas to the above mentioned entities, I outright encourage them to steal at will. Please, we'd appreciate it.

Summary: An alien world and strange goings on.

Author's Note: This piece is not precisely a sequel, but some of the emotional situations and conflicts are inspired by Shel's story, Where Angels Fear to Tread. You might want to take a gander to see what I'm thinking of for where Sam and Janet's relationship is during the period prior to the story. With permission.

Sweat trickling between full breasts. A rough tongue following the uneven path. The rhythmic sound of harsh breathing, driven by desperate passion. Janet Fraiser's back arched, instinct driving her closer to her lover, her free hand digging into thick blond hair, biceps and triceps knotting as she pulled against the manacle latched around her left wrist. A long chain linked the etched gold cuff to an identical gold manacle wrapped around Sam Carter's narrow wrist, while the chain was tossed over a bedpost, the position forcing a game of tug of war that Janet was nowhere near strong enough to win. She tried again to bring her arm down and blue eyes lifted, blazing in the thin light, while graceful hands slid over her skin with possessive intensity.

"I'll never let you go," Sam whispered, but there was frightening lack of familiar humor or gentleness in her voice and expression.

Despite her fear of what was happening to both of them, Janet felt her body respond to every touch and caress, unable to resist the reality of something she'd fantasized about for so long. "Sam, please--"

"Don't," the blond commanded with a note of arrogance totally alien to her normal disposition. She drew her mouth down the length of Janet's throat, teeth working against smooth skin. "Say it," she growled, fingers thrusting deep, the pleasure of the caress tinged with a flicker of pain, though it was a product of raw possessiveness and the need for dominance rather than cruelty. At least Sam's total lack of capacity for that hadn't changed.

"Terreis," Janet gasped in surrender, moaning low in her throat as Sam's mouth covered her own, the answering pleasure thick and terrifying. Her only thought beyond the demands of her own body -- this can't go on....

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

Janet Fraiser straightened, smiling at the small child staring up her with wide eyes. Back home, snow dusted the ground and the winds blew cold, but on this alien plain it was humid and warm enough that her uniform stuck to sweaty skin in uncomfortable places, leaving her wishing for the cool confines of the SGC. Despite her discomfort, she reached out to ruffle the child's pale, cornsilk hair, then nodded to her mother. The worried looking young woman swept the toddler into her arms and slipped out with a few heartfelt words of gratitude. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the help, but the locals had been scared since they'd begun accepting help from the SG teams, clearly afraid of punishment from the powers on high. Not that anyone associated with Stargate Command had quite figured out who that might be. Whoever they were, they seemed to be completely uninterested in the local population's health or welfare, though judging by the people's fear, they apparently demanded total fealty in return for their uncaring stance.

Janet sighed softly as she tossed the jet injection gun she'd used to give the child a much needed vaccination back into the open carrying case with a muttered curse.

"Is it really that bad?" Sam Carter questioned, ducking as she stepped inside the abandoned building that had been serving as the doctor's makeshift infirmary since she'd arrived several days before. O'Neill had settled on the location since it was close to the main encampment, but far enough that the locals would actually come for help. The fact that the walls were sturdy stonework and eminently defensible had doubtless also been a consideration, especially since he'd been firm about keeping a guard on the door any time Fraiser was there seeing patients.

Janet looked up and shrugged a little helplessly. "Surprised to see you here," she murmured. "I thought you were still trying to fix the water pumps."

Sam shook her head. "The general needed another strong back, so I relieved your guard to go help. I needed to get away from the problem for a little while anyway," she added by way of explanation at Janet's questioning look. She nodded after the woman and child who'd just left. "How's the girl?"

Retrieving the injector, Janet began breaking it down for storage with automatic skill. "Underweight, malnourished ... she's got a couple of nasty opportunistic infections and a probable calcium deficiency." She looked back at the blond in time to catch her flinch. "It's like everyone else we're seeing ... six months to a year of rest and decent nutrition and they'd be fine, but it's nothing I can fix with a few shots. Everything I'm doing is pure bandaid medicine to try and keep anything worse from happening while they're so weakened."

"How about the vaccine?"

"At least that seems to be working right ... We've had no new reports of infection and no bad reactions to the vaccine itself. With a little luck, that situation is contained." She sighed, fatigue, frustration, and bad sleeping conditions catching up with her all at once. Okay, so the medical team had figured out a way to stop the virus apparently running rampant through these people, a variant on smallpox that had apparently run riot through the local populace before SG-1 had discovered the situation and offered whatever assistance they could. That didn't change the fact that they were still in frighteningly poor health and scared of something though no one would say what.

Sam noted her depression with a worried look. "You okay?"

Another shrug. "I'll live. I just hate that there's so little I can do for them." She ran her bangs back from her forehead, where they were tending to stick in sweaty strands. "Any luck with the generators you found?" There was a city nearby, or more correctly, the remains of a city, the ancient walls crumbling around the few people who still lived there. The odd part was there were signs of considerable technological expertise, but any knowledge of how to make it work had apparently disappeared somewhere over time. Sam, however, had some hope of restoring some function to the section of the ancient system that was apparently designed to pump deep water to nearby fields, long since gone fallow. That might give the local farmers some chance at growing the food they were clearly becoming desperate for. She'd almost gotten it up and running before everything broke down again.

It was Carter's turn to shrug. "Had a little luck. I think it's doable. It's just that the system's so old and it looks like somebody's scavenged parts at some point, so I'm having to jerry rig things ... I just get one problem solved and something else goes wrong." She sounded as tired as Janet felt.

The two women shared a long moment of companionable silence, both drawing strength from their long-standing friendship. Their gazes met and held, a familiar sense of awareness arcing between them. More than friendship, if they were honest, though they'd long since agreed not to pursue anything else since that would have meant lying to everyone they cared for and risking their careers. However practical the decision, it had done nothing to change the chemistry that existed between them whether they wanted it or not.

Finally, Sam offered a wry smile, her expression tender as she reached out and tapped the newly silver cluster on Fraiser's collar. "I still owe you that beer, Colonel," she teased gently.

The doctor glanced down at Sam's fingers, a hint of a smile touching her lips. "I keep forgetting about that," she muttered.

Carter's smile broadened a tiny notch. "You've got to stop timing your promotions so they arrive during the busy season."

Janet managed a smile and a small laugh. "Sorry, we don't all have your knack for making sure everyone's schedule is free for a party." Carter's own promotion to lieutenant colonel had come some months before, during a down period for the team, and the celebration had resulted in more than a few hangovers, not the least of which had been Sam's own. The doctor's smile softened as she remembered the image the blond had painted on her couch after everyone else had left. She'd sat sprawled there, pleasantly tanked, singing a merry tune. It was the only time since they'd agreed not to let their relationship go any farther than friendship that she'd allowed that iron control to slip a little, smiling up at Janet -- who hadn't been a whole lot more sober by that time -- then reaching out and pulling her down onto the couch until they were sitting hip to hip.

Sam had leaned back into the cushions, her smile ironic. "So, is the silver pretty enough to be worth it?"

For a moment, Janet was lost in the confusion she'd felt in that moment, both understanding and not understanding her friend's poignant tone. Her drunken inability to quite put it all together had come through in her tone as she whispered Sam's name on a questioning note. "Sam?"

She'd never forget the quiet longing in those familiar blue eyes as Sam turned her way. "Giving up the only other thing I care about as much as my career." She'd reached out, brushing silky hair back from Janet's temple. "Hell, if what we're doing weren't so damn important, I think I'd chuck it all and go civilian." Another slow stroke through Janet's hair had wound up with Sam cupping the back of her head and they'd leaned close, breath mingling in the scant space still remaining between them. "I keep thinking maybe I can stop loving you, but I can't ... nothing's changed." The low, mournful whisper had left Janet's heart hammering in her chest, offering so many sweet temptations.

They'd drawn to within a hand's breadth before some small measure of sanity reasserted itself. "We can't. You know that." Her own voice had sounded shaky and uncertain even to her own ears.

"Just this once ... one little congratulatory kiss--"

"Except I don't think either one of us is going to be able to stop if we cross that line."

A long moment of silence had followed, then Sam's regretful sigh. "No, we couldn't." She'd staggered to her feet then, mumbling an exhausted, "See you in the morning," before stumbling off to sleep -- or not sleep -- in the guest bedroom, leaving Janet to her own lonely bed.

"Janet?" Sam's soft voice brought her back to the present. Dark eyes met Sam's paler gaze and she saw the other woman flinch ever so slightly at what she saw before dropping her hand to her side, straightening her shoulders, and resettling her feet. She swallowed hard, maintaining an iron lock on her emotions. "The guys and I figured we'd take you out for some kind of fancy dinner when we get back," she said softly, putting it all back on safe ground by including their ever-clueless chaperons in the discussion.

Pushing any dangerous emotions back into the safe lock box where they belonged, Janet offered a dry smile. "I'm not sure I can stand an evening of General O'Neill's whining if he has to wear a suit." She put added emphasis on O'Neill's rank before shaking her head, one sculpted brow rising. "And don't officers in other commands usually wind up with a few different duties when they advance in rank?" It had become something of a standing joke between the three of them that they kept receiving promotions right on schedule while doing exactly the same jobs they'd always done at the SGC. Sam couldn't guarantee it, but she was comfortably certain that Jack O'Neill was now the only one star general in the service who was normally in direct command of precisely three people -- only one of whom was even in the Air Force.

Sam grinned. "Not our fault we were perfect from the start."

Janet snorted softly and rolled her eyes. "Speak for yourself."

"Now, now," Carter chastised, her tone intentionally light. "Just because some of us were a little more perfect than others--"

Another annoyed snort interrupted the teasing. "Right ... perfect." Janet checked the serum vials to make certain they were properly tucked into their padded home in the hard sided case for the vaccine gun, then snapped the case shut, "Like when you oh, so perfectly got yourself turned into Wilma Flintstone and tried to molest General -- then Colonel -- O'Neill--"

Sam winced. "Okay, so that was a less than perfect moment," she allowed, playing along with the joke.

"Or how about that wonderful little device you helped bring back that oh-so-perfectly impaled self-same former colonel, and tried to take over the entire base--"

"Well, okay, less than perfect, but that wasn't my fault--"

"And then there was that perfect transference with the entity from outer space that left you in the computer system--"

"You shouldn't complain. I reorganized your files while I was in there," Sam riposted, eyes glinting teasingly. It was a game they'd played before

"I remember," Janet drawled. " I couldn't find the personnel reports for a week."

"Everybody's a critic," Sam mock-complained, then offered a gentle smile, glad to see Janet's mood improved for the light repartee. Fraiser ducked her head in silent acknowledgment of the efforts to cheer her up, while Sam glanced at her watch, noting the time. Time to go back into professional soldier mode. Nightfall was roughly an hour away, and O'Neill had been very clear about keeping their people together once darkness fell. The terrain was rough and unfamiliar, and there were any number of pitfalls of long discarded civilization -- tumbled down buildings, old tunnels that were falling in, steep shafts that went down to old underground dwellings of some kind, and a dozen other things that could make wandering in the dark dangerous. "However, if you're finished here, I can give you a hand carrying any equipment back to camp."

"Now that, I could use," Janet said, sounding relieved at the notion of having help. As uncomfortable as her bedroll back at camp was, the notion of crashing for a few hours was very tempting indeed.. "Let me just--"

"Doctor Fraiser, Doctor Fraiser!"

Both women swung around as a local man came skidding into the room.

"Doctor Fraiser, " he said again, clearly breathless from running.

"Tecal, right?" the doctor questioned.

The newcomer nodded. "My son," he said quickly, clearly panicked. "He fell in the old quarry. He's not moving. Please, you've got to help."

Janet remembered the boy, maybe twelve and as full of energy as anyone she'd seen so far on the planet. She could easily see him climbing too high and falling. "Let me just grab my kit and we'll go," she said as she moved to put together what she thought she might need.

Sam frowned uncertainly. "Janet, it's going to be dark soon," she reminded her friend. Crawling over unfamiliar ground in the moonless night could get very dangerous if they weren't careful.

"I know, Sam, but if it's bad, we can't just stand here."

"Please," Tecal begged. "You have to hurry."

"Okay," Sam agreed. "But I'm coming with you," she added as she adjusted the shoulder strap on her MP5, so that the weapon was more easily accessible. Janet didn't argue, just continued packing equipment into a backpack with a noticeable red cross on the back. Sam toggled the radio on her shoulder. "General O'Neill, Carter here."

"What's up, Carter?" her superior's voice came back to her almost instantly.

"Local kid's had some kind of an accident. Fraiser's going to check it out, and I'm going with her."

Janet had finished gathering what she needed and was snapping a field case shut, while the boy's father fidgeted uneasily. "Please," he urged, "you must hurry."

The doctor nodded and glanced at Sam, who waved them on, taking up the rear as they exited the small building, her attention split between the trail and her conversation with her superior.

"It's gonna be dark soon, Carter. You want me to send somebody to lend a hand?" O'Neill sounded uneasy.

Sam glanced at the worried father. He was moving fast, clearly anxious to get back to his injured child. With luck, it wasn't too far, and they could reach the boy and assess the situation quickly . She knew O'Neill needed every available hand to splice a section of huge water pipe, and it would cost them twice as much time if they had to disrupt the process. "Not right now. I'll let you know if it looks like there's a problem."

"If you're sure...."

"I'm sure, sir." The most dangerous thing they'd seen so far were the tumbled in buildings and tunnels that made the landscape hazardous, and she wasn't too worried about those as long as it was still light. "I'll check in when I know what the situation is. In the meantime, we're headed twenty-two degrees West of true North."

"Understood," O'Neill said quickly. "Be careful.""Yes, sir," Sam signed off as they reached the edge of a scrub forest. She'd helped recon the area when they first arrived. The small, scruffy trees were spaced just far enough apart to make it impossible to see more than a few yards and ran right up to the edge of a deep, sheer sided quarry. The cut cliffs of the quarry revealed inky black, onyx-like rock that began only a few feet below the sandy topsoil. With a muttered curse, Sam picked up her stride, moving more quickly. When she was worried about a patient, Janet was amazingly capable of outpacing Sam despite the difference in height and stride. Already, the doctor was far enough ahead that she flashed in and out of Sam's view as she wended between the squat, broad leafed trees, following Tecal at a dog trot.

After several minutes at that hard pace, they broke through the trees where they abruptly ended at the edge of the quarry. Catching up with her friend, Sam scanned the area and saw the pathetically small figure lying at the base of the sharply cut cliffs, his body a limp sprawl in tattered rags. SG-1 had checked the area out on first arriving, so Sam knew where Tecal was leading them as he skirted along the cliff's edge. Stairs had been cut into the black rock, probably for the long dead workmen who'd once mined the place, and there were the remains of occasional posts along the cliff-side that had probably once stabilized some kind of handrail. The quarry wasn't especially large, perhaps half again as long as a football field, twice as wide and a little over a hundred feet deep, but there was something eerie about the inky black rock and the way it seemed to absorb any light that got near it. It didn't help that there were deep cuts and shallow caves all over the place where someone could easily hide completely unnoticed. Sam had hated the place on sight. "You sure this is a good idea," she murmured sotto voce to Janet.

The doctor's gaze slid over to Sam, her own unease easily visible to anyone who knew her, though no one else would have guessed, and shrugged. "Not a lot of choice." Like Sam, she had duties and responsibilities that she couldn't ignore.

"This way," Tecal said quickly and led them onto the stairs. As skinny and underfed as he was, he moved quickly and hurried them along.

The stairs were steep and high enough that it took some concentration not to slip, especially since there were precious few handholds a climber could use to stabilize themselves. Sam kept an eye on Janet as they moved, ready to offer assistance, since the other woman was small enough to have some difficulty on some of the higher steps, especially with the added burden of the medkit. Fraiser handled the climb with ease, finally dropping the last couple of feet to make a graceful landing at the base. She paused and glanced back at Sam, then took off after Tecal at a jog. Sam frowned, her pace a little slower, unease crawling down her spine as she took a moment to check out their surroundings. She knew it was just her own paranoia, but the place really did give her the creeps. It looked like something out of an old sci fi horror movie, just waiting for the monster to leap out and eat everyone in sight. "Oh yeah, Carter," she chastised herself under her breath, "thinking like that should really help the situation."

Sam was about fifteen yards behind Janet when the doctor reached the boy's crumpled body. He was lying at the base of an artificial cliff, only a few feet from one of the sharp cuts that took off into a tributary like canyon, though Sam had to squint to make it out against the black on black layers of rock. Tracking the doctor carefully as she dropped down beside the tiny figure and slung open the medkit, Sam skirted along the rough floor of the quarry only a few feet from the base of the canyon wall. Even from the distance, she could see her friend's automatic gentleness and the worried frown creasing her brow, and just barely hear her soft voice as she spoke. "Jelan?" Then something caught the officer's attention, a sound somewhere just off her right shoulder. She started to turn only to pivot back as she heard Janet cry out. The doctor was gripping what looked to be the boy's arm, holding it well above the ground, the child's position impossibly limp unless his bones had been completely crushed. It took Carter a moment to process that the "child's" body appeared to be nothing more than a bundle of rags, though she was already reaching for her MP5 with one hand and the two way radio at her shoulder when she saw a figure lunge out of a hiding place in the rocks behind Janet. She was just shouting a warning when she saw her friend's head come up, her expression torqued by surprised and fear.

"Janet!"

"Sam!"

And then she was grabbed from behind, something foul pinned across her nose and mouth. Her vision was already starting to spiral inward when she caught a glimpse of Janet struggling with an attacker, a rag held over her face, the crackle of her radio a strange background music to the scene as she felt someone grab for her gun. She managed to tighten her finger, satisfied by the sound of automatic gunfire as the MP5 sprayed a random array of bullets skyward.

"Carter, that sounded like gunfire...Carter! Carter!"

Dizzy and fading, Sam sank to her knees. She wanted to fight, but it was as though her muscles had turned to liquid. She lost her grip on her weapon as she began to sink into the spiraling vortex. She saw Janet limp in her attacker's arms, and wanted to make one last valiant surge, some part of her desperate to save her friend, but she had nothing left to fight with. O'Neill was still calling her name, his voice desperate, but she didn't have it in her to care anymore.

She caught a glimpse of a lean, pinch faced figure stepping into view and vaguely heard Tecal's voice, scared and breathy. "The outlanders as I promised you, m'lord. Now, please ... release my son."

The answer was disinterested and directed elsewhere. "See to the peasants. I want no witnesses."

Then the ground came up and the world went black.

Dreams, floating and strange, were a confusing plague. Unrecognized voices whispered familiar words with incomprehensible meanings.

"What about the other one?"

"So far, she's proven resistant."

"Then continue your efforts."

"I'm afraid I can't for now without risking damaging her. She needs time to completely clear the drugs from her system before we try again."

"I don't have time to waste on this."

"You'll gain nothing if she dies."

"Then do what you need to, but understand that I want her converted as soon as possible. I also gain nothing if she remains as she is."

She heard low groans, rustles and ruffles, her mind toying with images that she knew in her dreamstate meant something to her but like the words suddenly had no meaning. She fought to look through the fog and caught a glimpse of a limp figure being lifted from somewhere out of her line of sight. A gentle face was momentarily turned her way, the features unfamiliar though something in her strained against the idea, feeling that they somehow should have been well known to her. And then the dream slid on by and she was floating again as her subconscious surrendered to total unconsciousness once again.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

A sun brightened room greeted Queen Terreis of Arrathonea's languid efforts to waken from the comforts of sleep and dreams. Blinking sleepily, she ruffled her hair and slowly pushed upright, smiling ever so slightly as she noted the figure silently bustling through her room, her figure veiled by the gauzy curtains that surrounded the huge bed. Lips tipping upward in a smile, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and rose, gracefully exiting the fluttering drapes.

"My Queen," the delicate figure moving so quietly through the room spun, ducking her head and curtsying low. "I brought your breakfast."

Terreis nodded, crossing to pluck a piece of fruit from the tray and biting into the tart, sweet pulp hungrily. She stiffened ever so slightly a second later as slender arms wrapped around her from behind, and she felt the press of warm lips against her center back.

"My Queen is hungry this morning," her servant, Maya, whispered between delicate kisses across the brace of her shoulders. Her hands spread against the curve of slender hipbones, stroking soft curves through sheer fabric. "Perhaps for more than food?" she added, her tone lifting hopefully at the end. "You have time before you're due for your meeting with your ministers."

A tiny moan escaped Terreis' lips as talented hands smoothed around her body, stroking down her stomach and following the vee of her pelvis, fingertips drawing teasingly close to the ache suddenly flooding her body. "I do seem to feeling a little hungry," she admitted, her breathing growing heavier with every passing moment. Tossing the fruit aside, she pivoted, lifting an arm over the smaller woman's head, then settling it on her shoulder as her servant leaned fully against her body, arching up on tiptoe and tugging her head down until their lips met in a demanding kiss that didn't end until they were both breathing hard. Terreis straightened, blue eyes meeting her servant's bright, dark brown ones, staring deeply into their velvet depths, oddly comforted by the familiarity. At that thought, she frowned ever so slightly, something tugging at the edge of her mind along with the distant curiosity as to why she felt the need for comfort. Before she could muse on the strange thoughts, Maya's hands were sliding over her body, leaving heated trails of arousal in their wake, and reminding her of the ache burning in her blood. "Starving in fact," she breathed, working her fingers into the woman's waist length black hair, tugging her head up as she found her lips again, the need for anything but passion forgotten in the rush for satisfaction.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

Drip, drip, drip.

Janet Fraiser groaned softly, consciousness returning with the unpleasant awareness of a headache that throbbed in time with the steady splash of water falling somewhere nearby. She was lying on her stomach, body sore, throat raw as though she'd been breathing smoke. She gasped sharply, wincing as she drew air into lungs that felt like they'd been sanded from the inside out.

Then she opened her eyes and found herself fighting a clawing sort of panic when there was nothing but more darkness there to greet her eyes. Blind? She pushed up on one hand, barely feeling the pain that rippled through overstressed muscles as she passed her other hand in front of her face, desperately hunting for some hint of a shadow. Nothing but vague swirls that could have been the side effect of being in total darkness with eyes struggling to see, or being blind with a brain stripped of visual impulses and struggling to insert something to fill the void.

Drip, drip, drip.

Blind, her hearing seemed to become that much more acute and she concentrated on the tiny, rhythmic sound as she fought the raw terror, forcing the it down and focusing on learning more about her situation. She was lying on a narrow pallet, her feet bare against some kind of stone or cement, though she still had her fatigues on by the feel of it. She rolled onto her back with a groan, patting herself down to discover her belt gone and the cargo pockets on her uniform empty.

Drip, drip, drip.

Janet pushed to her feet only to nearly topple once again as her muscles reacted with all of the power of wet sponges. "Sam? Sam, are you here?" she whispered, her voice seeming loud to her own ears, though far quieter than the silence that answered back. She shook off some of the daze, forcing herself to move, carefully pacing the confines of her small prison, hunting for any sign of her friend and pausing only when she was certain she was alone. A moment later, she realized she'd found the drip by standing under it as water slid from her bangs and splashed onto her cheeks. It smelled clean, and she was dry mouthed enough that she finally tipped her head back and caught a few drops on her tongue. It was slightly musty tasting, but not foul and she caught a few more drops, wetting her mouth at least, before stepping away again and checking her surroundings a second time, hoping for some clue she'd missed the first time.

She was in a cell roughly five paces one direction and eight the other. The pallet where she'd woken sat in one corner and there was no sign of anyone else in the room, nor could she find any kind of indentation that might indicate a door. The walls were smooth -- metal or some kind of poured resin by her guess -- cold and faintly damp.

Drip, drip, drip.

Judging by the feel of the walls, the drip was probably from condensation. If they hadn't been moved offworld her cell had to be somewhere deep underground as hot as things were on the surface. Of course, if they had been moved through the gate, they could be anywhere.

Either way, God only knew what her chances were for escape.

She frowned, trying to remember the exact sequence of events in hopes of deciding whether the Goa'uld had been involved in any way. She had a sharp memory of the trick in the quarry; realizing that the boy's "body" was nothing more than bundled rags, and then seeing Sam attacked even as she was grabbed from behind, but after that there were a few moments of haze and then precious little until waking. Other than a few vague memories of strange voices, there was nothing. She had no way of knowing what had happened since those hideous moments when she'd slid into a black well. Janet snarled a low curse. A trap, and she'd been responsible for leading both of them into it.

Still, there nothing about the situation that suggested the involvement of any of the system lords. Their drugs tended to be far more sophisticated, not that they would need them to subdue two lightly armed humans. With their strength and healing ability, they could easily have taken she and Sam without cracking a sweat. That knowledge gave her some small hope that they were still somewhere fairly close to where they'd been taken and not in Goa'uld hands.

Feeling the cold, she rubbed her upper arms and stood, trying to come up with some kind of plan. She was still considering the problem when she heard the muffled rattle of metal on metal and then a flare of light from behind her. Janet spun just as a slot roughly a foot wide and several inches tall opened several inches off the floor opened in the wall opposite the bunk. She blinked against a spray of thin, amber light that seemed painfully bright to eyes adjusted to total darkness. Before she could move, a tray of some kind was shoved through, the contents rattling noticeably as it hit the floor, and then the trap door slammed shut again.

Janet blinked, the after-image of the trapdoor burned onto her retinas as she hurried forward and dropped to her knees. She found the tray easily in the darkness; what felt like a bowl of gruel of some kind, a piece of rough bread and a cup of room temperature liquid. Pushing it aside, she reached for the wall, hunting for the edges of the trap with sensitive fingers, but it was so precisely fitted that she couldn't feel them until she rubbed a fingernail over the joint. She traced the line with her thumbnail, envisioning its placement in her head, then moved on, rubbing lightly until she found edges roughly a foot and a half on either side of the trap. Ignoring the shakiness in her legs, she stood as she continued to trace the seams upward until she was comfortably certain it was a door.

Breathing more easily, the realization that there was a door -- even if it was firmly locked -- an odd sort of comfort, Janet leaned forward, resting her forehead against the smooth surface, the cool damp seeping into her skin. Some of her terror assuaged, her only thoughts were for Sam, worrying about the other woman and wondering if she was all right. She spread her hands against the smooth surface of the wall as if the tactile sensation could offer some clue as to where she was or where her friend might be. "Oh Sam," she breathed, "please be all right."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

Terreis stared at the complicated map laid out before her, noting the red marks that indicated heavy damage. She trailed a finger along a road so littered with red that it looked as though someone lost a healthy measure of blood. "Losses?" she demanded briskly of the men gathered around the table in the royal hearing chambers.

"Almost total," her senior minister, Valchon, responded. "Three villages nearly destroyed, two water plants disabled, four power plants disabled, this season's crops burned, the workers in the stone quarries slaughtered." His lip curled with distaste while the elegantly appointed men around him mumbled their disapproval of such brutality.

Terreis' traced the line of red on the map, mentally marking the damage as she noted the positions, her eyes glittering with barely controlled rage. "Why?" she hissed, the subtle tension in her voice the only overt sign of her deeply held anger. "What reason do that outlanders have for this level of destruction?"

"We know not, My Queen," Valchon answered, folding his hands together in front of himself, the muscles in his narrow face pulling taut. "We know only that they came through the Gate of Heaven and began destroying everything in their path."

Terreis shook her head, blond hair spilling around the narrow coronet the decorated her forehead. "There must be some reason," she whispered more to herself than her advisors. She studied the map, hunting for some kind of clue, but could find none. "They kill and destroy and don't even bother to steal."

"No, My Queen," Valchon confirmed. "They must be madmen ... bent on destroying anything that isn't their own."

The queen made an angry sound in the back of her throat. Her people were peaceful traders and farmers. They didn't even have much of a standing army to fight back with. "Do we know their current position?" she demanded, pinning Interior Minister Adlave in place with a hard look. He was in charge of the public works ministry, including the police, and had charge of what few defense forces they possessed.

He pointed at a red mark closest to the royal city of Marmax. "Here, My Queen," he said breathlessly, his nervousness showing. He patted at the sweat trickling down his hairline with an extravagant lace handkerchief. "They attacked the water and power station that supplies our own city. Thankfully, my forces repulsed them, but not before they did considerable damage. Our power and pumping capacities are dangerously low, which means we won't be able to care for the refugees coming in if we don't do something."

Terreis growled a low curse. "Get me the plans to the stations. There must be something we can do to effect repairs and increase their capacity." The thought of her people thirsty and starving for lack of services made her stomach clench with worry. It was something she could not tolerate. "Then order our defense forces to protect the city gates and bring any refugees inside." Marmax was walled. With limited forces, their best bet was to protect the city and their people. "We also need to find a way of either driving these outlanders back or making some kind of treaty with them."

"Their weapons outclass anything we have," Valchon snapped impatiently, "and their response to our every effort at making peace has been to slaughter the ambassadors we sent to meet with them." He slapped a fist into the map, expression blazing. "We must find a way to fight them."

Terreis nodded regretfully. Sadly enough, he was right. "First, we need to see to our resources ... then weapons," she said softly.

Valchon nodded and didn't argue, though angry tension remained in his expression. "Very well, My Queen." He snapped his fingers sharply. "You heard our queen, Adlave. Fetch those plans."

The junior minister nodded nervously and hurried out, reappearing minutes later with a bundle of dusty papers, some of them torn and ragged at the edges. Terreis noted their condition with a raised brow as the portly minister dumped them on the table and began shuffling through the stack. He tensed under her pointed gaze. "The ... uh ... the good copies were with the engineers that were attacked."

A frown drew the queen's brows together. "Our engineers were attacked?"

It was Valchon who answered. "Yes, My Queen," he said quickly. He glanced down at the plans then back up at her. "They were trying to repair the damage done to the water plant near Merring Vale in hopes of fighting the crop fires when the outlanders found them and attacked."

Rage flickered in Terreis' eyes before they briefly slid closed. One hand fisted tightly as she fought the anger, knowing that giving way to it now would do no good. "Were our people armed?"

The senior minister shook his head. "No, My Queen. They didn't expect to be attacked."

The queen slapped her fist into the table, knuckles radiating a flare of pain that did nothing to distract her from the hurt caused by the thought of her people being harmed. "Distribute what weapons we have to our forces," she instructed as she began studying the plans, already committing them to memory. As queen, she had training in every kind of skill imaginable in order to see to her people's needs, unlike these men, whose focus was primarily political. "I want armed guards on any work crews."

Valchon nodded to acknowledge the command. "We have only limited arms, My Queen."

She nodded, eyeing the plans, tracking the complex design of the intertwined power and water plant. "Once we've got repair crews started, we'll focus on weapons." She saw Valchon draw breath to argue and held up a hand. "If our people are dying of thirst and starvation, there's no use to having weapons ... and without power, no way to build them anyway." She leaned down, wiping the thick layer of dust away study the top drawing more closely. "Do we know where the damage was done?" she questioned, her attention focused on the plans.

It was Adlave who answered, "Yes, My Queen," as he leaned close and flipped through the multitude of sheets before yanking one out. He spread it out quickly, shaking hands making the ancient parchment rattle as he handled it, rubbing the dust away until his hands were grimy in an effort to please her. "Their weapons burst pipes here and here," he pointed at two separate lines on the diagram, "which shut down the third and fourth turbine and the attached cooling systems. Now, the turbines have frozen and we can't figure a way to get the lines spliced, then get them going, since each turbine supplies the power for its own water pump."

Terreis listened to his explanation, then reached for a pen and a sheet of paper from the stack on the corner of the table to begin jotting notes. "We'll need to assess the damage to the pipes," she began, "and then either replace or patch the damaged sections. Once that's done...."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

Janet was sitting up on the narrow pallet that served as her bed, her back against the wall, legs stretched out and crossed loosely at the ankles, listening to the steady, tapping drip of water as it fell from the ceiling to land in the empty metal drinking cup where she had placed it on the floor for precisely that purpose. It was part of the routine she'd developed partially as a matter of survival and partially as a means of keeping herself sane while dwelling in such total darkness. Without a watch or anything to distract her, she had no sense of time and precious little to keep her mind from conjuring any number of demons and terrors. She had scoured every inch of the room within her reach, sensitive fingers hunting for any weakness that might be exploited only to find nothing at all. A tray of food came periodically; twice a day by her guess at the way her stomach was growling, though it was getting harder and harder to be certain, since it wasn't enough to keep a body alive either way. She'd tested it all, tasting and waiting for a reaction before concluding it was okay. The water she drank first, then set the cup to catch the runoff from the ceiling, well aware that they weren't giving her even survival water rations. She'd had eight meals so far -- which meant she'd already spent something between four and eight days trapped in black tar. Already she could feel the weakness from lack of food and dehydration taking hold.

She'd heard a voice only once in that time; the first time the trap opened without a tray coming through, a rough male voice had demanded she put the empty things near the trap and back away, making it plain that until she did, no more food would be forthcoming. Shortly after, a fresh tray with the same contents had been shoved through. The one time she'd tried withholding the cup and trying to see through, the door had snapped closed again and hours had passed before she'd had another chance. Now she moved quickly when the trap clattered open, tossing back any water she'd gathered and shoving things forward. She'd tried to duck down and get a look at what might lie on the other side of the door but it was only open for second or two and her efforts to see had only resulted in blindness in the face of the seemingly bright lights. Likewise any efforts to speak or call to her jailers had been completely unsuccessful. They either didn't hear or didn't care. Either way, she was out of ideas.

Cursing aloud just to hear a voice, Janet threw her legs over the side of the pallet, standing easily, though there was a momentary sense of disorientation that bordered on dizziness. It had never occurred to her before just how thoroughly the human mind relies on vision to gauge even the most basic directions like up and down. In theory, it was all up to gravity, but she'd found that in reality, a mind stripped of visual cues quickly started playing tricks. She'd already lost her balance or wound up completely turned around several times, uncertain which direction the pallet or the door lay. Now she concentrated on the tiny sound of dripping water, startled to realize what a guidepost that small but consistent sound had become. She knew it was near the foot of the narrow pallet and closer to that than the door. It gave her a compass when the blackness closed in. If she closed her eyes and centered herself, listening until she heard it, she could figure out where she was fairly quickly and push the panic down through sheer force of will.

Orienting herself, so she knew where she was in relation to her rather limited landscape, she contemplated the placement of the trap door her food came through, mentally picturing it and calculating where she'd need to be positioned to have any hope of seeing through during the brief moment it was open. She needed to figure out a way to buy some time. She'd already tried to look through several times, but speed just wasn't enough to do the trick. She needed an extra second or two to give her eyes any hope of adjusting to the light that blared through the hatch, and even that was no guarantee. Her eyes were so adjusted to utter darkness that she might not be able to delay the trap long enough to see anything, but she had to try ... now, while she could still move reasonably fast, and while any information she learned might still make some kind of difference. At the rate her body was weakening from hunger and thirst, she wasn't sure how much longer she'd be up to making any kind of escape attempt. She was still praying that she might be able to learn something that would offer some hope, no matter how slim.

As little as it was, it was all she had left to cling to.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

Lost in thought, Terreis stood staring out at the city she ruled, the pencil and paper she'd been using to sketch out her ideas forgotten. She'd spent the better part of the day with her chief scientist, Lemier, and a pair of metal smiths who'd built the first prototypes of a simple weapons design that, once perfected, could be quickly and easily constructed even with their limited water and power resources. They weren't likely to be enough, and it would take time to build enough to arm all of their forces, but with luck, it would start turning the tide; buy some time so they could effect more repairs to the infrastructure and develop more weapons. Then maybe they could fight back in earnest.

She sighed heavily, throat tight as she considered the cruelties already inflicted on her people. If only she could have prevented it somehow. Her hand fisted tightly where she gripped the balcony railing. But the damage was done. Now, her only prayer was to prevent as much future damage as possible.

She was still contemplating the possibilities when she heard the soft pad of footsteps and realized she wasn't alone. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at the servant standing somewhat hesitantly in the doorway, a tray of food in hand.

"My queen," the maid said with a shy duck of her head as she held out the tray. "The cook thought you might like something to eat since you barely touched your dinner." She ducked her head again, the move spilling coppery bangs across her brows and momentarily shielding dark brown eyes from the queen's sight.

Terreis frowned, something tweaking her thoughts, though she couldn't quite place what. "Thank you," she said softly, her head tipping to one side as she considered the girl, trying to decide where she'd seen her before. She nodded to indicate a small table that sat near several chairs. "Just set it there."

The young woman did as told, then turned back, curtsying automatically. "I hope you enjoy, Highness."

An encouraging smile touched the queen's mouth. "I'm sure it will be excellent," she assured the young servant. "Please, thank the cook for thinking of me."

A frown touched the girl's brow as she stared up her liege. "You are the queen. What else would he think of?" she enquired with honest curiosity, while the queen found herself caught in a strange trap, frozen in place, something hammering at the back of her skull.

Pain flooded Terreis' senses, setting up a throbbing behind her eyes as images that made no sense overlaid themselves in her head, coming at her too quickly for her to decode their meaning.

"My Queen, are you all right?"

The worried inquiry broke the cycle, yanking Terreis out of her momentary paralysis. Blinking rapidly to clear her head, she nodded as she reached up to massage her temple. "Fine," she panted as the swimming sense of unreality passed. "Just a little...." She shook her head, now knowing how to describe what had just happened. "It's nothing," she said at last, dismissing the experience.

The servant continued to stare up at her though, a frown creasing her brow. "A vision," she said very softly, peering up into blue eyes with intense curiosity.

Frowning at the idea, Terreis shook her head. "It was nothing like that," she insisted instantly. "It was most likely just an idle fantasy ... nothing but the product of too much stress."

"They say your line has always been subject to visions, My Queen ... that it is why you rule ... you see your destiny, and know when to act." A worshipful smile touched the girl's mouth. "Which is why you will protect us all."

The queen's frown deepened at the faith she saw in the look directed her way, her mouth suddenly dry. "I don't deserve such trust," she rasped, thinking of all the lives that had already been lost, but at the same time unbelievably touched by the young servant's obvious belief in her abilities.

"Of course you do," the girl disagreed. "You are queen."

Such faith. The queen reached out, gently stroking the young woman's cheek, the softness of her skin making sensitive nerve endings vibrate with awareness. She trailed her fingers up, brushing silky bangs back to stare into innocent brown eyes ... and froze. Something ... wasn't ... right. "Too young," she breathed, barely even aware she'd spoken. Her hand dropped to her side, a sense of loss she didn't even begin to understand leaving her completely bereft of something she needed like air itself.

"My Queen?"

Terreis blinked, her frown deepening as she tried to understand her own thoughts. "Have I seen you before?" she whispered at last.

The young servant shook her head. "I don't believe so, Highness." She offered another small, shy smile. "I've only been working the palace a few days ... and then only in the kitchens."

"Right," the queen exhaled heavily, still struggling with the conundrum of her own thoughts when a shiver slid down her spine, and she realized they weren't alone. Her head swung around, eyes clashing with her lover's angry gaze.

"My love?" Maya inquired with a forced pretense of courtesy.

The young servant tensed, looking uncertainly back and forth between the two women.

"Go," Terreis dismissed the girl, and she quickly fled, leaving the queen and her mistress alone.

"She's very pretty," Maya said after the doors had closed behind the maid.

Terreis shrugged, turning and staring out at the city to gain a moment in an effort to sort through her jumbled thoughts. "She's a child," she dismissed, sensing Maya's anger.

"A very pretty child," her lover said, acid sneaking into her tone.

Glancing over her shoulder, Terreis shook her head. "Don't be foolish," she sighed, exhaustion making her more snappish than usual. "She just brought food."

Her handmaid glanced at the tray. "I see," she drawled, though there was a strong note of disbelief in her voice. "And did she taste as good as the meal she brought?"

The queen looked back, silently willing her lover to notice how shaken she was and offer some measure of support rather than jealous condemnation. No such luck apparently. "To the best of my knowledge, I'm not known for seducing the scullery maids and kitchen wenches," she bit out, glaring until she saw Maya flush, her eyes dropping away.

"My pardon, my love," the other woman apologized abruptly. "I'm sorry. I simply thought...." She trailed off. "Perhaps it's because I know how much a girl like that would give to spend even one night in your bed," she said at last.

Terreis shook her head, staring back out at the city. "You're the only one I've invited to my bed in a long time," she sighed. "I was simply speaking to the girl." She felt a hand settle lightly on her back, massaging as it slid up under her hair, brushing the back of her neck. "And I ... for a moment, it was like I was seeing someone else," she whispered, struggling to bring that phantom face into focus. The hand at the back of her neck paused ever so slightly, but she barely noticed.

"Someone else?" Maya questioned, her tone sharpening faintly. "Who?"

Her gaze distant, the queen nodded. "I don't know ... but it was ... so real...."

Maya gripped her shoulder, tugging the taller woman around until they were face to face. "Perhaps I need to work harder to steal you back from this phantom lover," she joked, though there was no humor in her eyes. Hooking a hand behind Terreis' neck, she would have pulled her head down, but the queen pulled back, shaking off the loose hold and blocking the hand reaching to caress her breasts.

"It was no lover," Terreis insisted, backing up a step, her eyes a little desperate as she struggled to understand. Or maybe it was a lover, she thought as a memory of warmth and belonging slid through her. She backed another pace, stopping as her hip hit the balcony railing. "It was ... confusing," she whispered at last, suddenly hesitant to discuss the images with her lover, uncertain why, but uncomfortable with the notion of sharing them.

Maya paused, then finally reached up, brushing a soft cheek with her fingertips. "You're too tired," she said at last, and slid her hand back into pale hair, stroking lightly. "You need to relax." Her smile turned distractingly sensual, while she smoothed her hand down the side of her lover's neck and along the slope of her shoulder.

"How can I relax?" the queen whispered, staring down at her lover, willing her to offer some comfort. "My people are dying on all sides." The hand at her shoulder trailed down the slope of her chest, and she caught it in a harsh grip, pulling it away, impatient with the lust when she wanted caring and a sympathetic ear.

"My Queen," Maya gasped, wincing sharply. The queen loosened her tight grip but didn't let go, while her handmaid continued, "I simply wish to please you."

Terreis stared down at her lover, frustrated at her inability to understand that it wasn't lovemaking she wanted, but someone to listen and offer comfort. "You do," she whispered hoarsely, not wanting to hurt the other woman's feelings.

Maya rested her other hand on Terreis' chest, "Then let me take you away from all of your problems for a little while, my love ... then perhaps you can forget any visions ... and only see me when you close your eyes."

Refusing would have meant hurting her lover, and the queen had no desire to do that. Besides, even if it wasn't the comfort she would have preferred, it was what there was, and she needed to feel less alone in the world, if only for a little while.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

Listening carefully, Janet followed the sound of the slow and steady drip, finally crouching down next to it, her movements gingerly until her fingers touched the metal rim of the cup. Lifting it to her lips, she drained the contents of the cup, hoping the water would quell some of the hungry gnawing in her stomach. That done, she remained where she was for a long moment, wondering if she had finally gone a little mad. She'd been fed twice since forming her plans and had painstakingly counted droplets, using them to tick off the seconds. By her calculation it was getting close to time for another feeding. Shaking off any fears -- self-doubt was a luxury she couldn't afford -- she edged forward, struggling to keep everything laid out in her head, well aware that she was only likely to get one chance. She braced the tray in position, sensitive fingers sliding over the door until she felt the faint line that indicated the bottom edge of the trap-door, then remained like that, crouched and ready to move for what seemed like forever.

The temptation to move and relax stressed muscles was almost irresistible, but she was perversely certain that if she backed off for even a moment, she'd lose her opportunity, and she doubted she had it in her go through everything necessary to try again. Gritting her teeth, she shook off the pain and weakness, determined to stay right where she was as long as need be. Time passed -- she wasn't certain how much -- but she was still crouched like that when she heard the rattle of the bolt on the trap being thrown. Sparked into motion, she moved quickly, bracing her hand the way she'd planned, muscles quivering with anticipation, well aware she had to time things just right. She'd only have a moment or two to act, a few seconds while her captor was every bit as blind as she was, no more able to see into her darkness than she could see into their light. Her teeth ground together, eyes already stinging as the first flickers of light slipped through the expanding crack in the door. She tracked its progress by sound more than sight, holding the urge to act in check until the right moment, heart hammering so hard she thought it might just escape her ribs. Then it was time. She shoved hard on the tray, jamming it into place, the thin lip caught between the side of the opening and the door, then footed it there with her instep, keeping it locked in place as she kicked off.

She hit the floor on her backside, foot still braced against the edge of the tray, eyes squinted against the painfully bright flare of light. Something moved, breaking the beam, but her eyes were tearing too badly for her to make out any details. Something pulled on the tray, but she shoved that much harder, pinning it more firmly in place to resist the hard pressure. Adrenaline flooding her system, she twisted, trying for a better view, her eyes adjusting ever so slightly to the light; just enough to let her see what she was looking for. A very human hand gripping the edge of the tray.

Human, her captors were human.

She was still processing the information when she realized her jailer had reached through the trap. He slammed her foot aside with enough force to send runners of pain up her leg. Moving as quickly as she knew how, she twisted, catching a glimpse of his lower jaw while his arm was still thrust through the trap nearly to the shoulder. A hard yank and he freed the tray, then grabbed for the cup and bowl as well, pulling them free. Fully expecting the door to simply slam shut, she was surprised when a tray was thrust into the cell. It rattled as it hit the floor. No more than the span of a heartbeat later, the trap slammed shut, leaving her in the dark once again. She heaved a sigh, not of relief precisely, but something closely related to it. She hadn't seen anything that offered any immediate opportunity for escape, but any new information had become a desperately sought after commodity. If nothing else it gave her some distraction in the crushing boredom of her cell. Despite her best efforts, a familiar face appeared at the forefront of her mind's eye. "Oh, Sam," she exhaled. "Please be okay." She tried not to think about the other woman too much since it just made the fear that much worse. For the moment, there was nothing she could do for Sam and worrying about her wouldn't do either of them any good. Which was all very well and good to tell herself, but it seldom did any good.

Still lost in thought, she grabbed the bowl off the tray, draining the flavorless gruel in a few swallows. Bad smelling with the texture of well blended oatmeal, it tended to trigger her gag reflex, but she needed any liquid and calories she could get so she'd taken to just downing it as quickly as possible.

She was still going over what she'd glimpsed and trying not to think about her friend when the first wave of dizziness hit. At first she thought it was just the usual darkness triggered vertigo, and then one knee buckled. She hit the floor hard, her knee cracking against the cold surface. "What the...." Lightheaded, she blindly reached for anything that might offer some support only to unbalance herself instead. She hit the floor in a sprawl, a small cry escaping her lips. Even lying down the dizziness was inescapable until the floor seemed to drop away and she was falling....

And then real blackness came up and hit her.

Limp on the floor, she neither heard nor saw the figures that entered her cell moments later.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

Terreis nodded in satisfaction as she noted the guards -- newly armed with simple, but nonetheless deadly, projectile weapons -- that stood in place to protect the workmen struggling to restore the water system for the city. The design for the weapons was quick and dirty; the simplest thing she could come up with considering the limited supplies and manpower available after the recent attacks. But the tests had been surprisingly effective. If the outlanders attacked again, they'd find considerable resistance.

More complex weapons would come after water and power were restored. A faint smile touched her lips as she had some sense that they were making some headway on her strategy for driving the invaders back and restoring their home.

"Your plans are working, My Queen," Minister Valchon said smoothly as he stepped up beside her. "Our workers may now continue the repairs you have designed with appropriate protection."

Terreis nodded, a satisfied smile touching her mouth. Caring for her people was the single most important thing in her life. "This is only the first step," she said softly. "Once the water and power are working properly, then we can protect ourselves -- force the outlanders to either leave or make peace -- and rebuild everything they've destroyed."

Valchon smiled and nodded. "Indeed, My Queen. Your people owe you everything. Without your knowledge and leadership, none of this would be possible."

The queen offered a modest shrug, though bright blue eyes danced with pride and excitement at the changes she was seeing. "I'm simply grateful my meager efforts can help them."

"Indeed, My Queen," the minister said smoothly. "Your efforts have helped us all."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

Janet returned to awareness to find herself being dragged through a corridor of flickering lights, men on either side carrying her weight from under her armpits. She was still trying to get her feet under her when she heard a door opened in front of her. And then she was falling into darkness again, back into her cell she realized even as she pitched forward. Too weak to stand, she hit the floor on the other side of the door with a dull thud and lay sprawled helplessly, her stomach rolling with agonizing pain. Her body wracked by harsh spasms, she vomited up what little liquid remained in her stomach and lay helpless as the door slammed shut again. She had no idea how much time passed before she could move again. Enough for the trap door to open for her regular feeding. A half hysterical laugh escaped her lips as it struck her she was becoming like an animal in rattrap of a zoo, trained to react to the sound of the food wagon coming. Even knowing the danger that it was drugged, her body was so dehydrated that she grabbed for the food and water, drinking them down despite the remaining stomach cramps that left her uncertain they weren't going to come back up. Finished, she collapsed back to the floor and lay there, unmoving, as another meal and then another came. When she could move again, she fell once more into her perverse routine, pacing, eating, mind running in circles in an effort to find some means of escape. Until finally, another meal came, and she once again felt the swimming dizziness as her knees turned to jelly and her body seemed to melt away. She hit the floor hard, pain throbbing through her hands and knees.

"No," the doctor hissed even as the darkness came up and devoured her.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

Terreis flipped through the reports brought by her minister, a muscle pulsing along the sharp cut of her jaw as she saw the most recent figures from the outlying communities. "They're still hitting us," she hissed furiously, dangerous rage glittering in her eyes.

"Yes, my Queen," Valchon confirmed as he stepped forward. "We need more powerful arms. We've managed to repulse them at the repaired power and water plants -- though with high losses -- but with our current arms, any attempt to protect the smaller villages or independent farmers is still hopeless."

She turned away from the waiting men, peering out into a somewhat tattered royal courtyard, the plants rapidly regaining health now that they were getting regular water. It was a sign of how successful her efforts had been to restore the pumps and the power, since she'd insisted that only excess water be used for such frivolities. Her people's needs had to be seen to first. "Why?" she whispered to herself, wanting to understand what her enemy was trying to do with the unceasing attacks. Maybe if she could understand, she could find a way to stop it.

"They're simply madmen," Junior Minister Adlave insisted nervously, then glanced around himself as though those simple words might bring the savages down on his head, "just killing for pure sport."

"No," Terreis disagreed distantly, her thoughts still on what she knew of the situation. "There's a pattern ... there has to be...." She shook her head, mentally envisioning it as a puzzle that she could manipulate and test. But the pieces just wouldn't fit. "There's always a reason. We just don't know enough to know what it is."

"I would think the reason is unimportant," Valchon inserted, shaking his head as Terreis turned back to face her. "What we need to be focused on is finding ways to fight them."

"Bigger weapons will slow them down ... but we need to find a way to stop them permanently." Terreis growled a curse under her breath, hating that her peaceful world was forced to do battle this way. She would have protected her people from the need to get blood on their hands if she could have. "However, you're quite right," she sighed at last. "Until we can find a way to stop them permanently, we need to be able to fight them." She shuffled through a stack of designs she'd brainstormed earlier, pulling out a detailed technical drawing on it, and proceeded to begin making notes along the edges. "Have these delivered to Chief Scientist Lemier. This should give him enough to oversee building the prototype ... then we can put it into production once the next power plant is up and running...." She grabbed a fresh sheet of paper from another stack.

The ministers listened, watching closely as she made several more quick, but surprisingly detailed drawings, though her explanations meant almost nothing to them. Untrained for such technical matters, they could only nod knowingly and hope the machinists and metalworkers could understand what she wanted.

After the meeting was finished, Terreis offered her ministers an encouraging look, then slipped out.

Valchon stared after both women, a hint of a smile touching his mouth. His gaze dropped to the papers spread across the table in the meeting room. "Adlave, see that these are delivered to Lemier's laboratory," he ordered imperiously.

"Yes, sir," the younger man said quickly and began gathering things up even as the others hurried out. A moment later, he rushed out as well, leaving the senior minister alone in the meeting room.

Valchon did a slow pivot, his gaze thoughtful. Moments later, he looked up as he heard boots on the tile. "Well?" he demanded of the newcomer without turning.

"Unsuccessful again. For some reason, the other woman doesn't seem to be programmable."

Valchon did a neat pivot, eyeing the newcomer with an annoyed look, his gaze raking from the tip of the doctor's soft soled shoes to the top of his balding head. "You said she tested positive, Lemier."

"She did." Lemier shrugged helplessly. "I don't know why it's not working," he admitted, his tone defensive. "But we don't know much about this--"

"Then learn," Valchon hissed furiously. "And try again. I want her turned as quickly as possible."

"We'll have to wait before we can try again--" Lemier began, but Valchon cut him off.

"No. No more waiting--"

"But the process nearly killed her this time. She won't survive if we--"

"She might as well be dead to me now," Valchon snapped. "If she can't be turned, she's no use whatsoever."

"At least let me increase her rations until--"

"You said yourself that weakening her body might also weaken her resistance to the process," Valchon reminded the scientist with cold brutality.

"Yes, sir," Lemier allowed, "but with everything that's happened the outlander is dangerously weak. She's badly dehydrated and has lost considerable weight."

"What outlander?" a smooth voice demanded and both men spun, eyes going wide as they realized their queen had re-entered on silent feet. She looked back and forth between the two men. "I said, 'What outlander?'" Terreis repeated impatiently.

"My Queen," Valchon croaked, struggling to put a smooth mask in place, "I thought you'd left."

"I forgot something," she waved that aside, her focus on what she'd overheard. "Now what's this about an outlander?

A muscle pulsed in Valchon's jaw, while Lemier looked like a rabbit in the headlights. "Merely a prisoner, my queen, brought in by our men--" her minister began, but she cut him off.

"We've taken a prisoner and you didn't tell me?" she demanded angrily, unable to believe she hadn't been informed of something that important.

"My Queen--" Valchon began, his tone intended to be calming, but her expression only hardened with impatience.

"Answer the question." Her gaze flickered to Lemier, pinning him in place when he might have tried to slip out unnoticed. The outlanders were making war on her people. If they had a prisoner, she might be able to find some answers as to why. She had no intention of tolerating any delays.

"Yes, my Queen," Valchon said at last, "but she was brought in unconscious and in poor condition, so there was no reason to inform you, since she was not expected to survive." He nodded to Lemier. "We've had the finest physicians under Lemier's command working to save her so that she might be interrogated--"

"I want to see this prisoner now," Terreis bit out, her eyes flinty with resolve.

The two men traded uneasy looks. "As I said," Valchon began carefully, "she's in very poor condition. I think it would be best if--"

"Now," Terreis cut him off impatiently. She didn't care if the prisoner was comatose. She wanted to at least see the face of her enemy.

"My Queen," the minister began, "I can understand why you would wish to interrogate this prisoner, however, in the interests of your safety--"

"I thought she was at death's door," Terreis said sharply. Any risk to her life was far less than her people were facing every day. And she needed any clues she could get, no matter how small.

"She was, My Queen," Valchon said quickly, "and is still very weak--"

"Then I would think there is little enough danger, one easily contained by the guards--"

"One would think so, yes," Valchon agreed promptly, "however, in view of the fact that she was a party to the slaughter of civilians, and managed to kill several soldiers even as she was taken, I think it best--"

"Take me to her now," Terreis cut him off furiously, unused to any argument from her inferiors. "No argument. Take such precautions as are necessary, but I will see this prisoner." Her tone didn't allow for any disagreement. If there was a prisoner, she would interrogate that person or heads would roll. Her eyes blazed as she considered all of the destruction wrought by their attackers. Nothing would keep her from finding out how to stop it, and a prisoner offered some hope of new information that might help in that task.

Valchon stiffened, then drew himself ramrod straight. "Very well, my Queen," he said formally. "I'll arrange for a contingent of guards to escort you tomorrow morning--"

"Now!" she barked, impatient with any delays.

"Very well." Valchon straightened. "If you're to see her, you'll want to know the circumstances in which she was taken," he began, then used the journey to the dungeons to relate the brutal tale in great detail, the information stomach-turning in its ugliness.

By the time they reached the lower landing that led into the dungeons, the queen's hands were tightly fisted at her sides, barely controlled fury glittering in her eyes.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

Darkness, Janet mused as she sat with her head resting on her upthrust knees, the cloying, neverending darkness was definitely beginning to get on her nerves in a major way.

She laughed grimly, sounding slightly mad even to her own ears as it occurred to her what an understatement that was.

After the latest torture session, she'd managed to crawl over to the bunk and drag herself onto it, but if it had been a matter of life and death, she couldn't have moved any further. She could only stare, watching the strange, cloudy designs her eyes and mind created out of the utter blackness, and wonder how much time had passed since she'd been brought back. Perhaps as much as a day she thought, though as shaky as she was mentally, it would have been easy enough to convince her it had been only minutes ... or conversely, that weeks had passed while she sat there. Half starved, badly dehydrated, filthy, weak, and now poisoned into the bargain, she couldn't help but wonder how much longer she could even survive. They'd brought one of her water and gruel meals, but scared of being poisoned again, and still too nauseous too keep it down anyway, she'd simply ignored it. It had been taken away again some time later.

All she could really do was pray that Sam was in better straights. She would have done anything to spare the other woman her current predicament. "Oh, Sam," she breathed, then said a silent prayer. "Please be all right." And then she fell silent, not sleeping, but simply staring into the swirling darkness.

Her first thought when she heard the sounds was that food was being delivered. But the noises were all wrong; louder and deeper with a different rhythm than those involved in the simple opening of the trapdoor they used to deliver her food. Slowed mental reflexes were still decoding the meaning behind the differences when the heavy door to her cell was pushed open. Janet threw up an arm, eyes snapping shut against the painfully bright blast of light that entered her cell. "Wha'?"

Two men were on her in a moment, grabbing her arms and dragging her back against the wall, pinning her there like a bug in a display case. Still blinded, she tried to turn her head away from the painful brightness, but a hard hand latched onto her jaw, forcing her to face forward.

"Careful, My Queen," a man's voice echoed in her ears, the crisp tones oddly familiar, though she couldn't place it. "The outlanders have proven very devious and vicious."

She forgot all about him as a second voice reached her ears. "She barely even looks alive."

Shock burning through her, Janet slitted her eyes, blinking against blurring tears and painful brightness. "Sam?" Her voice came out weak and ragged, and she couldn't see more than shifting shadows against the lights.

"What did she say?" the achingly familiar voice demanded as the tallest of the shadows swept closer.

Janet swallowed hard against the sandy dryness in her throat as she stared up at the silhouetted figure towering over her, struggling to find well-known features in the hazy darkness. "Sam?" she gasped again, barely able to speak past the brutal grip on her jaw.

The shadow leaned closer, faint rises and hollows resolving themselves into familiar features. It was her. Janet was almost sure of it.

"What did you say?" Sam demanded, sounding not at all like herself.

At least not like she'd ever sounded when speaking to Janet, leaving the doctor to doubt her own judgment. Was she so desperate to see the other woman that her mind was turning a faint resemblance into something it wasn't? A gurgling croak escaped Janet's lips, but she couldn't get an answer out as the fingers on her jaw tightened, pressing into the soft flesh just below the edge of bone, cutting off her ability to speak.

Sam seemed to realize the problem because she spoke sharply. "Release her so she may speak."

"But, my Queen--" that first voice started to argue again.

"Guard, release your grip on her throat!"

And Janet's jaw was suddenly free of the punishing hold, though her arms remained pinned. Gasping for air, she hung weakly from the guards' tight grips and was still dragging air into oxygen starved lungs when Sam leaned down into her space, so close her breath touched Janet's face as she spoke, "Now, tell me what you said, outlander."

For a moment, Janet thought maybe she'd finally lost her mind, but her eyes were better adjusted to the light now and she could see that it really was Sam -- attired in long, formal robes, a gold and diamond circlet in her hair, but unmistakably Sam. As their gazes locked, Janet found herself expecting some kind of acknowledgment, something to let her know it was just an act, that there was some kind of plan to get her out.

But there was nothing. Intelligent blue eyes glared down at her with a level of outrage and disgust that bordered on hate.

"Answer the question, outlander," she rapped out furiously.

Janet frowned, shock adding to her confusion and making it that much harder to think straight. "What?"

"What did you say?" Sam repeated.

It was probably the dehydration, Janet decided in an odd burst of clarity, that was making it so hard for her to resolve everything into some kind of coherent assessment of the situation or even respond. "Sam," she whispered at last, silently willing her friend to recognize her, "I said, 'Sam,'" or at least her recognize her own name. Nothing. Not even the tiniest flicker of recognition showed in her eyes.

"What does it mean?" Sam growled.

"What does it...." Janet shook her head, unable to comprehend that her friend didn't appear to know her own name.

"Most likely it's some threat or insult, Highness," the supercilious voice that Janet was fast beginning to hate argued.

"No--" she started to deny the charge, but Sam cut her off instantly.

"Why?" she hissed as though she couldn't contain the question any longer. "Why are your people attacking us?"

Janet shook her head again, wondering vaguely if she really had gone mad and this was all some kind of hallucination. "...haven't attacked anyone," she denied the accusation as forcefully as she could. She wasn't prepared for the suddenness of the response as Sam's hand snapped out, the long, graceful fingers she'd admired so many times wrapping around her throat to slam her head back into the wall.

"Don't lie!" the blonde hissed, fingers and thumb pressing deeply into the underside of Janet's jaw. "You've come here and slaughtered my people. Now, why?! What do your leaders want?"

Gagging against the brutal pressure, Janet shook her head. "Haven't 'ttacked 'nyone. Came t' h'lp."

"Lying bitch," Sam snarled, shaking her like a rag doll until Janet cried out in pain, half afraid the other woman meant to kill her. The shaking stopped almost as suddenly as it had begun, and the doctor found her throat released from the punishing grip. Her eyes swept up as Sam straightened and stepped back a pace. For a moment, Janet thought she saw something shaken in the other woman's expression, but her look firmed into a mask of utter disdain and she decided she'd been imagining things. She stood stock still for several seconds, staring down at Janet as though she could look right through her. "She looks half starved," she said at last.

"Indeed, my Queen," the oily, arrogant voice murmured and a sharp featured man stepped into view. "She was taken in this condition," he lied.

Janet wanted to argue, but the words wouldn't come, and she stared helplessly up at Sam, her faith and hope visible in her eyes. For a moment, she thought she'd broken through whatever wall lay between them as Sam's head canted to one side, and a hint of frown touched her brow.

Unfortunately, her supercilious accuser spoke up again. breaking the momentary spell. "As I told you, she was captured near one of the burned out farms... doubtless her work." A soft snort. "The way they tortured and killed those poor people was beyond the pall."

Janet shook her head, words finally escaping her lips. "No," she whispered over and over, but the damage was done.

Sam started to lunge forward, hate in her eyes, one hand pulling back as if to strike, and Janet flinched from the expected blow. Her eyes closed against the sight, she didn't see Sam stop, only realized after a beat that the expected strike didn't make contact. By the time she opened her eyes, Sam had pulled back.

The blonde straightened, consciously calming herself, expression shifting from raging fury to icy disdain. "Obviously, she's not going to tell us anything today." She smoothed the glossy gown over her hips. Suddenly, she looked around the close confines of the cell, eyeing the sterile confines, her nose wrinkling at the smell of illness that was inescapable now that she wasn't so focused on the prisoner. "Make sure she's fed," she ordered simply. "I won't be accused of torturing prisoners." She glared pointedly at Janet. "We aren't the savages here," she snarled, sounding almost defensive. "Perhaps when you realize that, you'll answer our questions." With that, she turned to leave, moving quickly as though she couldn't stand to remain there any longer.

Janet felt as though someone had reached into her chest and ripped her beating heart out. "Sam, please," she called out without planning, desperate to reach the other woman and strip away whatever façade stood between them.

Sam froze, then did a slow pivot, a hint of a frown touching her brow as their gazes locked. For a moment, Janet thought she'd reached her, then Sam's gaze broke from hers to slide around the interior of the barren cell. "And get a light in here. I wouldn't even leave a chuloth in the dark like this." She swept out before Janet could draw breath to speak, closely followed by the arrogant rat-faced man.

Once they were gone, the guards released Janet and she fell forward, bent double, shock blinding her to everything but her own agony as she heard her tormentors leave. Sam hadn't known her. Something had been done to her. Either she was really a Goa'uld or there'd been some kind of brainwashing to make her turn on her own people.

And they'd tried to do the same thing to her, Janet realized in a rush as a few vague hints of memory came back to her. There had been drugs, whispering voices discussing her, arguing about something ... and then....

She shook her head, struggling to recover the memory, but it wouldn't come and just trying made her skull throb painfully until she had to stop. Exhausted, she sagged against the wall, slumping on the narrow pallet and curling into a tight ball, too weak to move.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

"Your Highness," Valchon's voice pulled Terreis up short, halting her rapid exit from the dungeons. She didn't turn back, just stood perfectly still, hands clenched together in front of her, her stomach still roiling with raw emotions she couldn't even begin to categorize; anger, disgust, hatred ... and pity.... "What?" she bit out without turning to face the minister.

"Shall I have the outlander put to death?" he asked briskly.

She looked back, anger darkening her expression. "I ordered she be given food and a light. Does that sound like I want her dead?"

He appeared faintly taken aback by the answer. "But, Highness, it's clear she won't answer your questions ... and she was a part of an attack on innocent civilians--"

"She didn't answer them today," Terreis corrected him sharply, her eyes hard. "But that doesn't mean we won't learn something from her tomorrow ... or the day after." She consciously quelled a dangerous swell of fury, refusing to allow herself to give in to such cruelty the way her enemy did.

"I see," he exhaled. "Shall I arrange for a royal interrogator to deal with her?" He ducked his head respectfully. "I can see that you get reports daily."

Thinking of the methods typically used by the interrogators, she shook her head, doubting the frail figure she'd seen could even survive that sort of treatment. "No," she dismissed that idea. "That would kill her." The woman was already in such poor condition it turned her stomach. If their enemy used their own so cruelly, was it any surprise they placed no value on their victim's lives? "I'm not sure how best to deal with her, but she's to be treated decently until any decisions are made. I won't see our people become like our enemy."

Valchon stiffened, but didn't argue, simply ducked his head in acknowledgment. "As you wish, your Highness. I'll remain here and see to it."

Terreis nodded, then gestured to her bodyguards and hurried out.

Valchon stood staring after her until Lemier stepped up to join him.

"We can try the process again immediately," the doctor began, but Valchon cut him off, his voice hard.

"No. She's been seen. She's useless now."

Lemier recoiled from the inference. "It was dark in there and she's in such bad condition. No one would ever--"

"It's too risky ... and you said yourself that the process isn't working on her." He glanced over his shoulder toward her cell door. "It's unfortunate ... but she'll have to be destroyed."

The cold way he said it sent a chill down Lemier's spine. He wanted to argue, but seeing the determination in the minister's expression, knew it would be pointless, so he simply stood mute.

"Our .... queen ... will wish to see the prisoner again," Valchon mused aloud, then speared the doctor in place with a look. "Which is why is must be done quickly ... tonight--"

"Sir, I--"

"See to it," Valchon snapped, impatient with the other man's reticence to do what was obviously required.

"B-but the outlander was to be her consort. I'm not sure how long Maya will be able to hold her attention. She was never supposed--"

"I'm sure Maya will be be more than capable of holding our queen's interest--"

Lemier shook his head, disturbed to see everything he'd worked for in danger of going up in smoke. "You don't understand. Samantha Carter isn't--"

"No argument. The outlander will have to die ... tonight," Valchon cut him off, his tone coldly practical.

Lemier swallowed hard, shaken to the core by the idea. "How?" he croaked.

Valchon looked thoughtful. "An escape attempt, I think," he decided out loud. "Have the guards on duty see to it ... then in a few days, reassign them."

"Rea--" Valchon turned a sharp look his way and Lemier gulped. "Understood," he croaked weakly.

"Good," Valchon said softly, his look sending a bolt of ice through Lemier's veins and leaving him to wonder if his head would be the next one on the chopping block. Sweating with terror, he wanted to make sure the other man believed he was loyal. "I assure you, sir, I will do everything in my power to see to the success of our efforts."

A chill smile touched Valchon's mouth. "See that you do," he murmured, then straightened his shoulders. "And now I must see to our ... queen." He smoothed his tunic and shot the cuffs. "I fear I may have ruffled some feathers," he looked annoyed at the prospect, "which will need smoothing." He looked at Lemier again. "Now, I suggest you see to your duties, Doctor, and I will see to mine."

He left Lemier standing there, his face pale, his hands trembling. Finally, he jerked himself out of the brief paralysis and hurried to find the guards who would be on night duty, eager to rid of the responsibility. Perhaps once they had their assignment, he could avoid thinking about his part in all of it. And stop thinking about what he was helping Valchon do to two women who'd come to his world only to help.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

Terreis stood watching the way the sky turned amber around the setting sun. The cup of calavier tea in her hand had started hot when she'd stepped onto the small balcony overlooking her courtyard, but was rapidly cooling, completely forgotten. A long day of efforts overseeing the newest weapons designs should have had her mind racing on new innovations that could make them more effective, but....

A pair of brown eyes kept haunting her thoughts. She closed her eyes against the memory of the prisoner calling out to her, the look in her eyes begging for something, something about them eerily familiar. Growling a curse under her breath, she dismissed that notion and any sympathy with it. She had no business pitying the woman, not when the outlander and her ilk had been busy slaughtering and tormenting her people. No matter how pathetic her condition, the witch had no right to any pity. None of them did. She didn't want the woman tortured, but it wasn't for her sake, it was because she didn't want to see her people corrupted in that fashion. A muscle pulsed in her jaw as she reminded herself of everything she'd seen and learned of what they were doing to summon her hate and banish any of the dangerous compassion. The outlander deserved her fate. In fact, after everything she'd done, she deserved far worse than her fate.

Which made it that much worse when she still couldn't rid herself of the memory of that last look or the frightened, hopeful timbre of the woman's voice when she'd called out.

She spared a glance over her shoulder long minutes later when a warm hand trailed up the graceful arch of her spine.

"My Queen," Maya drawled and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to her bare shoulder. When Terreis didn't respond to the sensual caress, she pouted playfully and arched up on her toes to blow in her ear. "You seem distracted, My Liege ... perhaps I need to work harder to earn your attention."

"No," Terreis sighed, in no mood for such coquettish games, "not tonight." She felt the woman at her back stiffen.

"You are distracted," Maya murmured after a beat.

The queen shrugged, feeling the need to explain in response to the accusing look thrown her way. "I saw an outlander prisoner in the dungeons...." She trailed off, amazed to find herself still shaken by the reality of being in the presence of one of her enemies ... and disturbed by the sense that the woman had expected something of her. It made no sense.

"Really?" Maya murmured, her tone odd. "Did you speak to this prisoner?"

Terreis shrugged, uncertain what to make of her lover's tone. "She refused to answer any questions." She paused, frustrated with the lack of knowledge, then growled a curse under her breath as she remembered her senior minister's preferred response to the lack of cooperation. "Valchon wishes to see her put to death."

"Ah," Maya exhaled. "When will the execution take place?"

Frowning, Terreis look back at her lover. "There won't any execution ... at least not for now," she said quickly. "The woman may have information about what's happening. It would be foolish to waste the opportunity to learn what she knows."

"The prisoner is a woman?" Maya murmured, something about her tone sending a prickle down Terreis' neck.

"Yes. She was involved in an attack on a farm."

"And is this woman beautiful?" Maya inquired, the question catching Terreis completely by surprise. It wasn't something she would have thought to consider under the circumstances.

Terreis' eyes slid closed as she summoned a mental image of the woman she'd seen in the cell. Painfully gaunt, her hair lank, filthy and smelling of dirt and illness, she was anything but beautiful. But those eyes, a tiny voice whispered in her ear even as she answered Maya's question, her tone annoyed. "Hardly. She's underfed, barely conscious, and I doubt a week's soak in a bath would get her clean." She purposely disparaged the outlander while avoiding any thoughts of that piercing, soul-stealing gaze.

"I see," her lover exhaled thoughtfully. "After everything our people have suffered, I'm surprised you didn't take revenge."

Terreis swallowed hard, remembering the way her control had slipped. She'd felt the prisoner's hammering pulse against her palm as her fingers had tightened on that slender throat, so angry she had been close to snuffing out that fragile candle. She'd seen the terror in dark eyes and felt herself on the edge of violence. It wasn't a point of pride that she'd come so close to doing something she found so repulsive. "I almost did," she admitted, her voice thick with shame.

"Really," Maya drawled, eyeing her lover in a way that made Terreis edgy for reasons she couldn't define. "Does that mean an execution would be redundant?" Her tone was cool enough to make the queen flinch.

"No," Terreis said instantly, sickened by her loss of temper. "I left orders for the woman to be cared for."

A dark brow rose high on Maya's forehead. "Planning on taking revenge at your leisure then?" she questioned.

The queen waved a hand to dismiss the idea. Punishment might be in order once they'd learned what the woman knew, but simple vengeance was pointless. "I need to know what she knows. I can't very well do that if she's dead."

"True enough," Maya allowed, then an ironic smile curved her lips as she considered Terreis thoughtfully. "Of course your ancestors would have gotten the answers they wished and taken revenge at the same time."

The queen's frown deepened as she flinched, not particularly liking the reminder that her line hadn't always behaved in a civilized manner where prisoners were concerned. "I doubt it," she dismissed to cut off that line of discussion. "Most likely they would have simply slit her throat."

"Your ancestors?" Maya mused doubtfully. "As I recall from my childhood history lessons, they were more creative than that." She offered a sly smile, eyes running over the queen with an assessing look. "Perhaps you should learn more about their methods."

Terreis shook her head. She knew quite enough about their methods and had no intention of implementing any of them -- even those the prisoner might survive. "I have my own methods," she dismissed the idea. There had to be a way that wouldn't involve torturing the woman; perhaps an appeal to humanity or some kind of bribery. She had several options before she lowered herself to more brutal methods.

Maya's brow rose as she considered the answer. "What if she defies you?" she asked practically.

"Then I'll find a way ... whatever it takes." The queen's knuckles whitened on the railing as she remembered the outlander's claims of innocence. That would not be allowed to continue. She had no intention of being denied any information that might protect her people. She was momentarily lost in thought when a hand trailed languidly up her arm, and she looked down at her lover, pulling up short as she saw the wolfish smile curving full lips.

"I can help you, you know," Maya breathed, her eyes gleaming with darkly predatory lights.

"What?" Terreis exhaled as though struck, not understanding at all.

Maya's smile broadened, and she reached up to trail her fingertips along the queen's cheekbone. "It would be the ultimate revenge on those attacking your people. Make use of one of their women as their soldier have doubtless used our own."

The queen's spine snapped ramrod straight, her eyes glittering with disapproval at the suggestion. "No," she breathed. "The only thing I want from her is information," she insisted, horrified by the very idea.

Lost in her own plans, Maya barely appeared to hear her. "But what better way to get it? It would mean pleasure for you and pain for your enemies," she murmured. A hint of an excited smile curved full lips. "And you'd be well within your rights," she pointed out, her smile taunting and tempting at the same time. "As queen, her body is your property in every respect ... to do with as you wish--" Dark eyes trailed over the taller woman. "And if not ... well..." she shrugged philosophically, "...you'd still learn her secrets."

"To do as you suggest," Terreis snapped, cutting her handmaid off, her voice icy with disapproval, "would make me no better than the outlanders."

"But perhaps you could make her your willing slave...." A wry smile twisted Maya's mouth, and she shrugged. "She'd probably fight you at first," she allowed, tongue trailing over her lips as though savoring the idea, "I can hold her down for you though ... in the interests of helping our people ... and she'd likely be grateful before it was over," she suggested. "It's doubtful the outlanders are any kinder to their own than they are to us."

The queen was silent for a long moment, sick revulsion making her stomach roll. "Stop this!" she demanded at last, sickened by the sudden burst of proposed cruelty from a woman who'd never shown any such inclinations before. "She's half dead ... my enemy and my prisoner ... not a prostitute to use for the night. I want to understand what she knows ... not...." she couldn't finish and stood staring helplessly at her lover.

Shaking her head, Maya reached out with one hand to draw a languid caress down the center of her lover's throat. "But perhaps you would understand her better if you had her spread naked in your bed ... begging for-- well, whatever you cared to make her beg for ... either mercy or release." She grinned suggestively.

Teeth clenched in anger, eyes blazing, the queen forced down the impulse to shake her lover in an effort to put a stop to the ugliness. "Stop this now," she growled impatiently, her tone raw. "I'm in no mood for it." She took a sip of her cold tea, pointedly ignoring the other woman. She wanted a little comfort and human kindness, not more ugliness. She'd overlooked several outbursts of temper and jealousy recently, but this was just too much.

A sneer twisted her lover's lips. "I thought you'd do anything for your people," Maya taunted.

Terreis glanced her over shoulder, glaring at the other woman. She pushed down the temptation to lose her temper, instead forcing a cold wall into place. Stress was making them all a little crazy, she reminded herself. Now wasn't the time to strike out at each other just to have someone to strike at. "I've a great many serious matters to consider."

"I believe I've just been dismissed," Maya sneered.

The queen didn't argue, simply took another sip of her tea, refusing to be baited into a fight.

"Very well." The brunette smirked. "My advice," she sniped after a beat, "drag her up here and take what you want until she tells you what you want to know." A disparaging look glittered in her eyes. "Prove you're willing to do anything for your people."

"I think you should go," Terreis hissed through tightly clenched teeth, blue eyes flashing angrily, barely able to believe what she was hearing.

She earned another smirk from her servant. "Of course, My Queen. Perhaps you'll be in need of my services in the morning." She put an unpleasant spin on the words.

A moment later she slipped out, and Terreis heaved a sigh, relieved to have her gone. She frowned, remembering the shy young girl she had first invited to her bed and trying to decide if the hardness was just since the tensions in the castle or if it was something that had been building for far longer. It all seemed so wrong ... as though it wasn't really Maya she'd been speaking to, but someone who'd simply taken her place. Which was insane. Shaking her head, she pushed her worries to the back of her mind. Contemplating her personal life would do her people no good. She had far more important issues at hand. She massaged her temple, trying to be rid of the violent headache suddenly throbbing behind her eyes. Her hands were trembling, she realized abruptly, as Maya's suggestions played and replayed in her brain despite her best efforts to push them aside. She couldn't help but remember the tattered, waifish figure she'd seen in the dungeons. The woman might well deserve any and all cruelties that could be visited upon her, but the queen didn't have it in her to sink to that level.

Besides, by the look of it, her own masters had already done far worse. A ripple of tension slid through the queen at that thought. The woman had seemed so small and delicate ... half starved and nearly broken, but strong enough in spirit that she'd still been fighting. Terreis shuddered with distaste, wondering how anyone could mistreat someone so badly. That the outlanders could treat the weakest among them so meanly only reinforced her outrage against their would-be invaders.

Which was the real problem, she reminded herself, their attempts to invade. The prisoner was of no real importance beyond whatever knowledge she possessed. Sighing softly, she went back over everything she knew in the hunt for answers, struggling to push aside the memory of near-black eyes as she considered her next step.

Despite her best efforts, her thoughts kept coming back to the woman in the dungeons as she tried to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. As she contemplated the problem, the sun fell beyond the horizon, the sky sliding from amber to rose, to blue, to black.

"Highness?" a deep voice interrupted her silent musing some time later.

She glanced back to find a uniformed guard standing in the entrance to the balcony.

"I noted your personal servant isn't here." He contained his curiosity, but it obviously took some effort. "I wondered if you wanted me to start a fire for you."

She frowned ever so slightly as it occurred to her that the air was getting chilly. The days were still hot, but with winter coming, the nights were getting steadily colder. The palace had ancient furnaces, but they weren't very effective and the fireplaces in the rooms produced far more heat. "You're new," she said softly as she set her teacup aside.

"Yes, My Liege."

"Your name?" she requested.

"Rubio, Highness."

"And would you know where the dungeons are, Rubio?" she asked, her expression distant as it struck her that she needed to see the prisoner again.

He frowned. "Of course, Highness."

"Good," she said decisively and did a neat pivot, "then let's go."

His frown deepened along with his confusion. "Highness?"

Blue eyes unfocused, her look once again becoming distant. "There's a prisoner I need to speak to." It was nagging at her, and she wasn't going to have any peace until she'd seen the outlander again. Maybe then she could exorcize the nagging inability to think of anything else for more than a few minutes.

"A prisoner?" He sounded very doubtful about the idea. "Are you sure that's safe?"

A dark blond brow swept upward in an ironic arch. "I'm sure you're capable of protecting me ... especially since this prisoner's half dead anyway." Maybe without Valchon and an excess of manhandling guards she could learn something.

"B-but, Highness--" the guard stumbled nervously over his words.

"Come," Terreis broke in, swinging on her cloak as she headed for the doors, forcing him to follow or be left behind.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

"Shouldn't you be with your mistress?" Valchon demanded of the woman draped languidly across his bed.

"Most men wouldn't be so eager to be rid of me," Maya complained through a playful pout.

A muscle pulsed in his jaw. "She saw the outlander today. That makes it even more important you be with her tonight." he snarled a curse under his breath. "I don't want her to have too much time to think about the woman."

"Well, since she sent me away, I'm afraid that's not an option." She offered a sultry smile. "Which leaves me free for other ... things." She toyed with the thick comforter on the mattress. "Like your bed."

Valchon growled a curse under his breath, impatient with her sexual desires when he had far larger issues to attend to. "My bed is the last place you should be right now. What if you were seen?"

"I wasn't," she assured him, then her mouth tipped up in a wicked smile. "I've missed you, and I trust you can keep me from screaming too loudly." Her smile broadened another notch as she eyed him speculatively.

A flicker of lust burned in his eyes, but he shook his head. "No more games, Maya," he snapped. "Go back to her now. Work your magic--"

"By playing the sweet, simpering fool?" the woman on his bed demanded bitterly. "While she lusts after every brown-eyed, red-haired scullery maid and kitchen wench who passes by ... not to mention the guest of honor in your dungeons?" She shook her head, dismissing the very idea. "Do you have any idea how boring her every touch is. It's a wonder I manage to stay awa--"

Her complaint ended in a strangled gasp as he crossed the distance between them, one hand flashing out to wrench her head back by the hair. His expression never changed as he leaned close to whisper in her ear. "I suggest you learn to enjoy the boredom then." He tightened his grip, twisting her head harder and drawing a gasp of pain. "Because if you are incapable of keeping our ... queen ... entertained, then you are of no use to me."

Maya whimpered at the pain, but still tried to argue. "She sent me away." She left out the way she'd taunted their 'queen' in hopes of satisfying her own sexual desires. Valchon wouldn't appreciate the way she'd allowed her own appetites to come to the fore, or the way she'd allowed her behavior to become overtly out of the range of the character he'd invented for her to play. He wouldn't understand the temptation to exercise her sexual power when she'd seen the lust in Samantha Carter's eyes at the mention of the outlander, or her need to prove her sensual power over a woman she didn't even want.

"Then I suggest you beg and simper your way back into her good graces ... then make certain the only thing she can think of tonight is what you can do with your mouth." He smiled then, a nasty, viperous expression that sent a chill down even his mistress' spine. He was, she realized in an instant, aroused. As she felt his hand tighten viciously in her hair and saw the promise of pain in his eyes, so was she. "However, I'm afraid she'll have to wait until I'm finished with it."

Maya simply nodded obediently.

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