Part V

O'Neill stared at his devastated team in dismay. Clearly, they were all re-living the death of the unknown but much respected Dr. Jackson. And this was neither the time nor the place for an out-pouring of grief, not if they were to get out their present predicament. It was nettle he didn't care to grasp, but it had to be done.

"I'm sorry, folks, but you'll— we'll have to deal with this later," he said sharply, breaking into the strained silence and earning himself a fulminating glare from his second in command. The combination of pain and fire in her eyes took him aback. He suddenly realized that she was quite a woman. The sensation was like a coup de foudre.

~ My God, there was something going on between these two, and now I see why ~

O'Neill, his eyes locked on hers, was torn between guilt and admiration, - no, make that desire... ...and sparkage, serious sparkage. In the struggle for dominance, guilt won out.

~ No!! I cannot go there! Not now, not ever! That way madness lies... I've killed her man and taken his life. How can I take her as well and she none the wiser?! Aarrgghh! ~

"Sir? Are you all right, sir?" she was asking, the fierce look in her eyes replaced by one of concern. "It's been hard on all of us, you most of all."

He waved a hand as if swatting an invisible fly - or an unwelcome thought - and pulled himself together with an effort.

"I think you're wrong there, Major," he said awkwardly, looking at Tilk, "and I know it's difficult - very difficult - but we have to concentrate on the task in hand."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

Oh, blessed relief! She'd slipped back into prosaic mode. It was much less distracting.

~ Focus, Jonathan, focus! Need to know more about this D.H.D. - Seems to be a sine qua non for our escape... ~

Aware of the Major's watchful eye, he gently questioned Nyan about the photographs of the D.H.D. and its whereabouts.

"It was midway between the Stargate and the statue, sir," Nyan said. "There's a circular pattern on the floor, with a Greek 'key' design round the edge. The D.H.D. was standing in the middle of it."

"Yeah, I think I remember that circle. So the key's the key, hey?" O'Neill said flippantly, attempting to lighten the mood. "Any idea where it could be now?"

"Well, it can't have gone too far," Major Carter said, "and I don't think it can be cloaked, or we'd probably have bumped into it after we came down the steps."

~ '...bumped into it', not tripped over it? Must be a fairly big thing, then...~

"I think it might be lowered under the floor, sir, with a cap stone over it."

"Why would they do that, Major?" O'Neill asked.

"Well, as the Amazons seem to operate a slave society, including enslaving Stargate travellers, presumably it's to prevent them from escaping - a bit like a lobster pot, sir."

"Good point, Major. How long do you think it will take to find it and get us home?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I have no idea. Assuming it's easily accessible which, if the Amazons use their Stargate much, it should be, then just a matter of minutes."

"So it's mainly a question of finding out how to get at it...?"

"Yes, sir. Erm, sir, going back to the absence of C4, how are we going to get out of here?"

"Oh, that's the easy part, Major," O'Neill grinned. "Forget about what we haven't got and concentrate on what we have."

"The matter transmutation device," Tilk put in expressionlessly.

Oh, good, he was beginning to resurface and pay attention. That was a relief.

"Exactly!" O'Neill exclaimed in bracing tones, "We convert a small part of the door near the keypad into something we can easily break. We know the code. No problem! Then we sneak out under cover of darkness."

"Ah! If it's dark, how to we locate the D.H.D.?"

"Damn! There's always a catch and you just put your finger right on it, Major," O'Neill frowned.

"Oops, I forgot," said Nyan guiltily, "I borrowed one of Dr. Fraiser's pen lights a while ago, and forgot to return it. It's not much, but it might help?"

"Better than nothing, and there's always a chance that something useful will turn up along the way. So now, unless anyone has any more questions or obstacles to raise, all we have to do is wait..."

But of course, things seldom go according to plan.

Chapter 14 - Eat Your Heart Out, Mr. Cruise...!

The hardest part of The Plan was the waiting - waiting for the 'lights out' that would signal the end of the day and a reduction of the number of people in the building. It was very hard for the four active people to remain inactive, especially when the one thing uppermost in three of their minds was the loss of so close a friend. No one felt much like talking. Everyone just wanted to be doing something... anything... but their options were severely limited. The building tension was almost crackling through the rank air in the cell.

The door opened suddenly on the stifling silence. There was a collective intake of breath.

~ Oh crap! Surely they're not going to move us now?! ~

But O'Neill's fear was unfounded.

Outside, in the corridor, was an elderly slave with a food trolley. He was escorted by one of the faceless guards. She was carrying an automatic weapon, but casually, in one hand. O'Neill, sitting nearest the door, noticed the transmitter fastened to her chest like a brooch - presumably her first line of attack in the event of trouble. He looked from her across to Major Carter and back again, then at Tilk, beside him, who acknowledged the look with a raised eyebrow. Good...

Under her watchful eye, the slave removed four small packets of wrapped food and a large bottle of water.

O'Neill exclaimed, "Well, about time!" then breathed in sharply and grimaced.

He clutched at his chest and gave a strangled cry as the slave brought the meagre rations into the cell. The slave looked at O'Neill, hesitating, then at the guard for guidance. O'Neill, rocked back and forth, clawing frantically at his chest and throat with louder groans.

"Help me! For God's sake, help me!" he gasped, then pitched forward on to the floor.

After a couple of twitches and a final groan, he lay still. Carter had leapt to her feet and was giving an agonized appeal to the guard.

"Help him! You have to help him! He has a heart condition! His medication's in his jacket... If you don't treat him now, he'll die!"

The guard seemed nonplussed at first, then waved the other three to the back of the cell with her gun. She laid the gun on the trolley. Holding one hand over the transmitter, she went down on one knee beside O'Neill. She felt for a pulse in his neck. O'Neill seized her wrist. He yanked her forward off balance. The slave screamed and collapsed. Tilk pounced. In seconds, the guard was overpowered.

"Good work, team. Neat!" O'Neill approved.

He went out of the cell, manoeuvred the trolley inside and closed the door until it was just a little ajar. He didn't want to advertize that something was amiss. Carter was attending to the fallen slave who was still twitching.

"I'll see to him, Major. You change clothes with the guard - she's about your size. Tilk, check out the gun. See if it's like ours."

O'Neill regarded the slave. Here was a potential ally - and potentially useful. Once he'd stopped twitching, O'Neill explained to him in the Amazonian tongue what he was about to do, then neutered his dental implants. To prove to the slave that he was free of the wretched things, O'Neill had Carter hit the button on the transmitter. An initial look of horror changed into an amazed smile. He went over and kicked the unconscious guard. Major Carter had used some of her own discarded clothing to tie her up.

"Well, you look every inch an Amazon guard, Major, or you will do once you've got the helmet on," O'Neill smiled.

He considered the transmitter. He hadn't heard anyone else scream, so it must be very short range, or the signal was blocked by the walls somehow. Or they were the only prisoners in the place. Time for a chat with the slave while they tucked into some food...

Chapter 15 - Inside Information

O'Neill looked at the guard. She was still out of it - apparently. This was all to the good as there was no point in questioning her. She would give disinformation, just as he had. He'd never stooped to the level of torturing women yet and had no plans to start with this one. The slave, on the other hand, could be a willing source of much useful information, and might be helpful in other ways too.

O'Neill handed out food packages to his team, and included the slave. The slave seemed surprised, but once he was sure this was not a trick, he tucked in as if he hadn't eaten for days. O'Neill sat beside him, chewing meditatively on the tasteless fare. He was going to have to use the Amazon tongue, he realized. He'd hoped he'd never need it again, but he was now reaping one small benefit from the past appalling experiences. At least, after he'd told S.G. -1 that the language was similar to Greek, the rest of the team wouldn't freak at his proficiency in the language.

"So - what's your name, friend?" O'Neill began when the slave's food consumption showed signs of slowing down.

The slave looked puzzled. Oh great. O'Neill had assumed from the man's age - from his crushed and careworn demeanour - that he'd been a slave for years. Apparently this was not the case. O'Neill was just wondering if they had any languages at all in common, when the slave responded.

"Boryenka," he said distantly, as if striving to remember a fading dream. "Ye-es, Boryenka. It is so long since anyone wanted to know. I had almost forgotten..."

He spoke softly, his eyes filling with tears. O'Neill felt tears starting to his own eyes. He had a sudden feeling of empathy, kinship almost. He, too, had been wrenched from his own world so many years ago. In his case, though, it had been entirely his own fault. His life hadn't been easy since. Much of it had been damned uncomfortable, but at least he'd been free. Most of the time. This guy? O'Neill reckoned this was the first touch of kindness he'd felt for many a long year.

"I am so sorry to hear that, Boryenka," he said gently, making a mental promise that this would be his last day of slavery. "My friends and I are planning to escape from here, and we'd like you to come with us."

Boryenka looked terrified all over again.

"No! They'll catch us and then it'll all be much worse - much, much worse...!" he cried in great agitation.

"No - no they won't, Boryenka," O'Neill said earnestly, taking Boryenka's trembling hands in his own and giving them a comforting squeeze. "We're going to a place they don't know about - a place where they'll never find you - I promise - and you'll never, ever, be a slave again. It's just not allowed. We'd really like you to come along..."

O'Neill's reassurances seemed to calm Boryenka. He gave the slave - ex-slave - a little time to consider the possible change in his circumstances without further immediate pressure and relayed the substance of the conversation to the other three.

Returning his attention to Boryenka, he said, "I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill, but just Jack will be easier to remember for now. That is Major Carter..."

"He can call me Sam, sir," Major Carter put in, following that part of the conversation. She gave a reassuring smile, not wanting be associated in Boryenka's mind with his oppressors by reason of her gender.

~ 'Sam' is it? And Sam, not Samantha for preference. That's useful to know. ~

"...the big guy is called Tilk, and the little one is Nyan - but don't worry about it, you'll soon get used to us. And we could use your help, too, so you won't be in our debt."

O'Neill could see Boryenka wavering, looking from him to the inert guard and back to him again, and gave him a confident grin. Amazons 0, the Away Team 1 - gotta be good. Boryenka got the point and nodded. Now the debriefing could begin in earnest.

Soon, O'Neill had learned that Boryenka had been brought through the Stargate or Khosmopulon around thirty years ago, and had extensive knowledge of Amazon culture in general and the Asphaleia, or Security Office, in particular. By the time he'd extracted all the relevant information, he had a plan that was almost certain to work...