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I Was Blind, But Now I See 

Casey groaned when she saw the helicopter on the tarmac. She'd survived a trip to DC in one of the damned things. Flying a second time was merely tempting fate, she was certain.

"Casey, I need a layout of that compound," Jack said, as soon as they were airborne. The moment that the area had become a military 'destination', it had ceased being a simple farm.

With a nod, she accepted the pad of paper and the pencil. She quickly sketched out what she remembered seeing. "I'm not sure about distances," she said apologetically.

"Not a problem," Jack replied, giving her a wink. "This is enough."

"What room is the target in?" the Marine commander asked.

"Here," the slender blonde replied, pointing to a back corner of the square she'd drawn to represent the main structure of the house.

"It's possible that we'll run into some folks after the same thing we are," Jack informed the Marines. "We want the target alive and well. But if it looks like the bad guys are going to get him, we'll take him out."

Daniel blanched as he listened. They were talking about a man. A man's life. He understood that at times it was necessary to...distance...themselves from what needed to be done. He didn't think that this qualified as one of those times.

The flight was spent listening to Jack and Marine Major Darryl Donnigan plan the operation. Casey listened, understanding that the 'objective' was to 'capture' the 'target', and that they wanted said 'target' able to 'communicate'. Lots of gray in that area, she thought. A glance at Daniel's face let her know that he was as troubled as she was. And that, like her, he understood that in the heat of battle, it was often necessary to distance one's self from emotion. She didn't like it, and she suspected that her husband didn't either. But she understood.

"Jack," she said softly, two hours into the flight.

"What?"

"We're not going to make it in time," she said.

The older man closed his eyes, shook his head slowly. "How close?"

She shrugged. "I'm not certain. I...I think we might have a chance to...rescue...him. But it might not be easy."

Jack sighed. "It never is." The new information spurred more planning. "Radar?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you ID the target?"

She smiled. "Yes, I know what the man looks like." 

He grinned. Just like Danny. Insisting that none of them lose sight of the fact that a man's life was hanging in the balance. "Good. As soon as you see him, you call out."

She nodded her understanding.

A  A  A  A  A  A

The guards had been caught unaware. The two men had simply slipped in the back door. Where the intruders had come from, they had no clue. There'd been no warning. Not one of the motion sensors had alerted them. They dove for cover, called out to their companions, received no response, although that fact didn't surprise them. For the intruders to get to the house, they'd have had to take out the two roving teams that wandered the perimeter constantly. Both guards called out again, hoping that at least one of their companions would answer.

He awoke to the sound of shouting voices. Grimaced as he hurriedly pulled on his clothes. They were here. He had no idea how many, but at least one Enforcer was now on the premises. The damned door was locked, the windows had been nailed shut, not that climbing out of them was really an option, unless he wanted to risk jumping two stories. The chance of being injured was too great. He was left with nothing more to do than watch the closed and locked door. Wondering who would open it, Simmons' men, or Gold's. He examined the icy calm that settled over him. If he died today, well, at least he died a free man.

The two Brazilian men moved with the speed and assurance of training. They'd miscalculated the abilities of their intended victims, however. The two Americans hit the floor, rolled, came up with their weapons drawn. Surprised, the intruders hesitated.

"On the floor!" the first American ordered gruffly.

"I do not believe so," the older of the intruders replied, aiming his subcompact Glock 29 at the young guard. "You are holding a man who does not belong to you. Release him to us, and no one must die this day."

"I don't think so," was the cold reply.

"If you insist on this course of action, we will be forced to kill you," the Brazilian said, his voice silky smooth. "Why would you give your life for one that you don't even know?"

"Why would you?"

"Ah, well, you see, this man belongs to- works for my...employer. That is all that I need to know."

The American's didn't miss the 'slip'. 'Belongs to'? What did these guys think, that the man upstairs was a slave or something? They hadn't been privy to the interrogations; the hours of conversation between their 'guest' and the FCO. Didn't know that the man under their protection was considered even less than a slave...that his 'Master' viewed him as an errant 'pet'. "Well, my boss says he stays."

The second American frowned. Why hadn't these guys fired already? There was a reason they were hesitant...a reason they were holding back. He studied them. Tried to determine just what was holding the two men, obvious assassins, in check.. And whether or not they'd remain...indecisive...long enough for the relief shift to arrive.

He waited. Smoked another cigarette. He really should give the damned things up. They were bad for his health. He snorted. If he died, if he died today, it wouldn't be because of the habit that he'd picked up from his Mas...from Timothy Fucking Gold.

He frowned. He could barely make out the sounds of voices...muffled, not shouting any longer. Had the Enforcer, or Enforcers, been successful? There had been no gunfire, but then, Mas...goddamn it! Timothy Fucking Gold! Timothy Fucking Gold! Those men who worked for Timothy Fucking Gold were well trained. They could kill quietly with their hands.

His hands were shaking now. He continued to stare at the door. Waiting. To die. Because they'd never return him to South America alive.

A  A  A  A  A  A

Her head hurt like a son of a bitch. She shouldn't have drank so much. She settled into the seat, managed to smile at the thought that her new employer had sprung for first class tickets.

She accepted the drink she'd asked for with a grimace. Downed it, ordered another. She wasn't due to meet her new boss until tomorrow afternoon. Plenty of time to sober up and deal with any residual hangovers.

The plane taxied, then rose into the air. She gulped back a gasp. She was on her way! To South America! She gazed out the window. Wondered if Mark would even care that she was no longer in the area...if he' even know. She'd made certain that all of their mutual friends were aware of the fact that she was leaving the country. Made a big to-do over the fact that she'd had to get a passport, complaining about the extra cost involved in having the paperwork 'rushed' so that she could leave Silver Springs within the month. She wanted him to...worry...about her. To miss her. Ignored the part of her brain that insisted that he never would.

She'd been surprised that her mother had managed to locate her. Had called to wish her a happy Thanksgiving. She absently rubbed a finger over her temple. The conversation had been stilted, and rather short, neither woman exactly sure what to say, both dancing around the things that they wanted to say, needed to say. She'd still been slightly drunk when she'd answered the phone, her first thought that it was Mark, hope flaring in her heart as she lifted the receiver to her ear with a shaking hand. She'd forgive everything, take him back, would try once again to make him love her. Bitter disappointment had flooded her when her mother's voice had echoed loudly in her ear.

She sighed. At least she wouldn't have to worry about talking to her mother again. Unless she initiated the contact, there wasn't much chance of the woman finding her in South America. Which brought a jumble of emotions. And that only served to make her aching head hurt worse. Why couldn't her mother have just left her alone? Why bother her now? After years of silence...why the sudden need to talk to her? Her condition prevented her from recognizing the fact that her mother was reaching out to the only person, the only real family, left in her life. Had she understood, her own anger and hurt over being abandoned would have made it easy for her to say what she wanted...needed to say. That it was too late. That the wounds ran too deep to heal. That she couldn't forget...or forgive...being left with grandparents who, in spite of their love, could never take the place of her parents. That her anger, her resentment were too ingrained in her to move past them. That the bitter woman she'd become was a direct reflection of what her mother, and her father, had done to her. Even if the wounds had been unintentional.

Another drink. She frowned. Wondered why the booze wasn't numbing her as it usually did. She closed her eyes. It was a long flight to Rio De Janeiro. There was nothing else to do. And perhaps it would help the hangover that plagued her.

A  A  A  A  A  A

"Walk away, gentlemen. Just walk away. You will live to see another day. We will take that which belongs to our...employer. No one needs to die," the Brazilian said again.

The second young American continued to frown. There was no reason for these men to just stand there. He had no doubt that if they could disable the guards outside, they could fire more quickly than he and his partner could. Had they been warned not to harm anyone during the attempt to...rescue?...the man upstairs? Was that the reason they refused to move, not coming any farther into the room? He wanted to glance at the man he'd worked with for two years; to see if his face, his eyes, would give him a hint on what the more experienced man was thinking. But he didn't dare take his eyes off of the slim man who stood beside the speaker.

"Not gonna happen," the first American replied firmly.

"I have my orders," the Brazilian said. "I must obey."

"Same here."

The tawny skinned man sighed. "I see that we have reached a stalemate. Tell me, my American friend, what shall we do to see an end to this most...awkward...situation?"

"I'm not your friend," the guard growled. "One of two things can happen. You walk away, in which case I won't even report this little...conversation. Or you die."

"I think not. My associate and I will kill you before the message to fire can travel from your brain to your trigger finger."

"Think so, huh?"

"Please, do not test me. Take a walk. Do not return for an hour. And you will live." The Brazilian seemed to be begging the American guards to cooperate.

"Can't do it," the American replied. He flexed his back muscles slightly. There was only one option. He and his partner had to take these guys out.

The sound of two gunshots filled the air. Both Americans lay on the floor, eyes blinking in surprise, both looking down at their chests, where red began to stain their white shirts. Neither had even had a chance to pull the triggers of their weapons.

"You should have walked away," the Brazilian said softly. He aimed, and permanently ended the conversation.

The two men glanced around. They were halfway up the staircase when the sound of an approaching helicopter filled the air. They exchanged a worried glance. Their plan had been to take one of the vehicles parked just outside of the house. But that would necessitate finding the keys. Which meant searching the bodies of the downed American agents. They'd expected to have plenty of time in which to do so. None of the guards had lived long enough to have sent any messages, of this they were certain. So who was on the helicopter...that was landing in front of the house?

"Now what?" the second man asked.

"We must find a place to hide. If they have come to move the Board Member, we must follow," the first man replied.

"And how will we do this? Our own car is parked at the end of the road! We do not have the keys for any of the cars outside!" the second man hissed.

Sweat broke out on his forehead. The plan had been formulated in a board room. Deviation from the plan could mean failure. And failure meant death. He'd not been trained to do more than follow orders. There had not been time for contingency plans. Several ideas flashed through his mind. But years of being told what to do, step by step, made him hesitate. Just as he'd done when faced with the guards who'd reacted so quickly to the presence of his partner and himself.

"We must leave!"

"And you are willing to return empty handed?" he asked coldly. He hurried up the stairs. Three doors were closed. He tried the first one, found it locked. So was the second one. He could hear the shouting voices as the dead guards were discovered. There was no way to escape this house now. With a grim smile, he patted his partner on the back. Both men took off the large, onyx-stoned rings they wore. Twisted the top to the side. Put the tiny white pill beneath their tongues. They were dead by the time Jack and Major Donnigan reached the top of the stairs.

Casey took the man's hand between her own. "It's okay. We're not NID," she said softly.

"So who are you?" he asked warily.

"A friend. You have to trust me...trust us. We're going to take you away from here. Tem won't find you. The NID won't find you. I promise."

The gray haired man jerked slightly at the mention of the odd name. He'd heard Timothy Gold use the name on several occasions, although he was most certain that he'd not been meant to hear the words of determination, vowing that he'd rule the planet, that he was a mighty god. "How do you know that name?"

"It's a long story," she smiled. "We'll have plenty of time to talk. So, what's your name?"

He smiled. The beautiful young woman could charm the very birds from the trees, he was certain. "Dennis Ballard."

For one second an alarm bell rang in the back of her mind. But remained unrecognized in that moment. "Well, Dennis, I'm Casey."

"All clear!" a voice called out.

She could hear the discussion that was being held in the empty dining room. Just before images, and words, began to flash in front of her eyes. "Daniel?"

"What?"

"We have to leave. Now!"

"You heard the lady," Jack called. "Airborne in three!"

Dennis stared at the young woman. "You are the commander of these men?"

She giggled. "Hardly! The guy wearing his ball cap backwards? That's Colonel O'Neill. He's my...our CO."

"But..."

"She has an inside line on things," Jack grinned as he walked into the room. "Let's just say that when Casey says we should leave, we're smart enough to do so."

His eyes went wide. "You're...you're a seer!" Dennis gasped. He'd met a well-known American seer once, at some fund raiser or another. A convenient cover for a more clandestine meeting. The older woman had taken one look at him, and had literally run from the room. But the look in her eyes while she stared at him for those few brief seconds had been all that he'd needed to realize that she'd seen everything.

"Yep. Let's go. Before the second team gets here."

He frowned. Why would Ma...Timothy Gold! Timothy Fucking Gold! Why would Timothy Fucking Gold send two Enforcer teams after him? Unless...were there Board members working independently of one another? Were there two men, or more, trying desperately to curry favor with their Master?

In the past year the cohesion of the board had seemed to falter. As Mas...Timothy Fucking Gold! As that sick bastard had moved ever closer to the culmination of his plans, his...appetites...had grown more bizarre. Ritualistic sacrifices had been demanded...and made. He shuddered mentally as the details of one such night raced through his brain. He knew for a fact that Bailey was the CEO's most trusted servant, almost a companion. He also knew for a fact that Bailey had never been broken. He suspected that the gray haired servant had never been subjected to the 'training' that every other man in Gold's close-knit circle of employees had suffered. Once again the thought...the question...as to whether or not he was the only man on the Board who was sickened by what had happened - not only to each of them personally, but on that horrible, demented night - crossed his mind.

"Dennis?"

The soft voice, the soft slender hand that tugged at his arm broke him from his reverie. "Yes?"

"We have to go."

With a nod, he followed his rescuers to the waiting helicopter. Those beautiful green eyes were full of kindness. He knew instinctively that if there wasn't any other person on the entire planet he could trust, he could trust her.

Jack was frowning as the helicopter took to the air. "Did that seem just too damned easy to anyone else?"

Frowns flickered over faces. "Set up, sir?" Major Donnigan asked.

"Almost seems like it," Jack replied. He looked over at the youngest member of his team. "Case? Got anything for me?"

She shook her head. "No, at least, not right now..." The frown that had darkened her face became a smile. "Sometimes, the good guys get a little help," she said.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "You can't be serious! Since when would the Ascended break their own rules to help us?"

Casey giggled, shook her head. "Not the Ascended."

"Higher?"

"Nope."

He rolled his eyes. "A clue?"

"Closer."

"The Ancients?"

"Yep."

Jack was looking from one to the other. "I have no idea what the two of you are talking about."

"But I thought the Ancients were bound by the same laws, after all, they're ascended," Sam said.

The slender blonde nodded. "They've ascended, yes. But they aren't The Ascended. And, they've decided that we deserved a break...I guess. All I know is that they helped us. Not much...just tossed a few confusing thoughts into a couple of heads."

"The two men who took their own lives," Teal'c said immediately. 

"Enforcers," Casey nodded.

Once again Dennis stared at the young woman. How did she know about the Enforcers? "Those men were only one...type...of Enforcer," he said softly.

All eyes focused on him. "One...type?" Jack asked.

He studied the man who was in charge of his rescue for a few moments. "There are those who are sent out to bring in persons of interest. And then there are those who are used to...discipline...any of those pe...employees...who might need such...treatment."

"Bat-shit crazy," Jack muttered.

"Casey, can you sense why the Ancients would bother to help us?" Sam asked. If it was true that those on a higher plane of existence were helping them, there had to be a reason.

"Sorry, Sam," the young woman replied.

Dennis leaned back and closed his eyes. For the first time in twenty years he actually felt safe. He was asleep before he realized he'd relaxed that much.

A  A  A  A  A  A

She hadn't been prepared to see a uniformed chauffeur, holding a card with her name on it, waiting at the baggage carousel. She couldn't help but smile when the man took her bags, and led her to a long, black limousine. All of the doubts, the questions about the mysterious corporation vanished as she settled into the seat. A note was attached to a bottle of champagne. It welcomed her to South America, encouraged her to have a glass of the Dom Perignon, and enjoy the ride to her new home.

Sipping on the cold bubbly, she watched out the window with fascination as the city passed by. The signs were in Portuguese, but the city looked as if it could have been anywhere in the United States. The limousine pulled to a smooth halt in front of a modern glass and steel building that towered over its neighbors. At the very top was a sign that proclaimed it to be the home of Pyxis Enterprises.

She stepped onto the sidewalk, and was met by a smiling man wearing an expensive black suit, his gray hair perfectly coiffed.

"Ms. Ballard?"

Shannon smiled. "Yes, that's me."

"I'm Bailey. If you'd come this way please, I'll show you to your apartment."

"Apartment?"

"Yes, of course. Mr. Gold prefers that all of his employees be nearby. All of the executives who work for him, and their assistants, have apartments in the building."

She laughed. "How very generous of Mr. Gold."

"Oh, you pay rent. It, and what is considered to be fair for utilities, is deducted from your salary."

"Of course," she murmured, following the man to the elevator.

"There is maid service, you need only ring and make arrangements to schedule cleaning days."

"Wonderful!" No more cleaning toilets! God, she'd always hated having to clean the bathroom! Especially after Mark was finished! Hair everywhere, his towel lying in a sodden lump on the floor, piss all over the toilet and the floor around it. What a pig he'd been!

"Mr. Taylor would like to meet with you at promptly one o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Shall I send an escort?"

"Uh...sure...yes," she stammered.

"Very good. Someone will arrive for you at exactly twelve-fifty." Bailey led her down a hallway, the thick carpet absorbing their every footfall. "The staff kitchen is open twenty-four hours, you may call down for anything you'd like, a menu is in your kitchenette, or you may prefer to prepare your own meals. There are two lovely markets just down the street if you chose to do so."

"I take it that the cost of any meals I call for will be deducted from my wages?"

"Of course," Bailey smiled. He pushed open the nondescript door, which looked like every other door in the hall. The number was 2104.

She stepped into the beautifully decorated room. The furnishings were minimal, apparently it was acceptable to bring in one's own belongings. She wished now that she'd arranged to bring several of her favorite pieces, the antiques that she'd shopped for, hoping to make her suburban home just a tad more interesting than those of her neighbors. She sighed mentally. She could always buy more, she'd be making a sizable salary working for Mr. Taylor of Pyxis, Enterprises.

"The kitchenette is here," Bailey said, leading her through the large living room/dining room to a small galley kitchen. The refrigerator was short, a microwave sat on top of it. The single, square sink had drawers on either side of it, and a narrow range with three burners and a tiny oven sat beside it. The overhead cabinets were open shelves, and displayed a variety of crockery.

"It's lovely," Shannon said.

With a smile, Bailey opened the door at the end of the living room. Like the two main rooms, the bedroom had floor to ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city. A well appointed bath and walk-in closet completed the en suite. "Do you wish to have a maid unpack for you?"

"Oh, no, thank you."

"Very well. I shall leave you now, to settle in. If you need anything, just call. There is a list of relevant numbers beside the telephone," he said, pointing to the instrument on the bedside table.

"Yes, thank you." She was overwhelmed. She'd assumed she'd be staying in a hotel until she could arrange for an apartment, and find all the things she'd need to set up housekeeping. She'd closed up the house, not knowing for certain what she might want or need. What remained of her life with Mark was there, and her best friend Jenny was going to keep an eye on things for her, walk through the house every few days to make sure everything was all right. She'd sold nearly all of the furniture. But maybe she'd send for a few of the antiques she had kept.

"Have pleasant evening, Ms. Ballard."

"Yes, you too...um..." she blushed. She'd already forgotten this man's name! How utterly embarrassing!

"Bailey, ma'am."

"Yes, Bailey. Thank you. Have a good evening." She watched as the man smiled, bowed slightly, then let himself out of the apartment. She noted that the key had been left on the small table beside the door.

The first thing her eyes locked on was what appeared to be a liquor cabinet. She opened it, delighted to find it well stocked. Then frowned. No doubt every drop would be carefully monitored. And deducted from her wages. She closed it. She was still fighting a hangover. She decided to check the kitchen. Found both coffee and tea. Decided a cup of coffee would be her best bet. And since she didn't have a clue about the market, as of yet, decided to call down for her evening meal.

Unpacking hadn't taken long. She'd eaten alone, something she was quite used to by now. Something she'd become accustomed to doing soon after her wedding, if she was honest with herself. She stared out at the city of Rio De Janeiro. She was in South America. Working for a very prestigious and distinguished company. So why was she suddenly so terrified?

"Mr. Taylor?"

The man looked up, smiled. "Yes, Bailey?"

"Ms. Ballard has arrived. She's in her apartment now."

"Very good, Bailey, thank you. Is the Master available?"

"Not at this time."

"If you could let him know that I wish to speak to him at his earliest convenience, I'd appreciate it."

"Yes, sir, very good."

With a dismissive nod, Taylor went back to the report he'd been reading. The Master had just placed him in complete control of the 'legitimate' side of Pyxis, and he was bringing himself up-to-date on all of the operations. The dozens of corporate farms were showing acceptable profits, and several of the experimental farming techniques were proving quite successful. The managers were confident that the new methods would make even private farms most profitable once again. Two new strains of wheat had been developed that were resistant to Fusarium Foot Rot and the much more common powdery mildew. Already several American farmer's co-ops were expressing interest.

Once upon a time he'd been a banker. With a nasty cocaine habit, and a quick pen. He'd cooked the books of one of the largest banks in Wisconsin before his creative bookkeeping had been uncovered. On his way to a medium-security prison for fraud and embezzlement, an attorney had shown up, and within hours he'd been on his way to an island off the South American coast. Oh, he had absolutely no memory of any of these things. But he was still...Taylor. He was intelligent. He was devious. He had little fear of the law. But he hated pain, would do anything to avoid it. And anything to indulge in his favorite past time. He'd been one of the easiest pets to train. And was the most fiercely loyal to the man who'd offered him the world on a silver platter in exchange for that faithfulness.

Whatever it took to please his Master, he would do, and do it gladly. When he stubbed his toe on the way to get a fresh cup of coffee from the pot on the table by the window, his groin tightened, his balls began to ache. He smiled. Later he would indulge. After he'd finished the report. The Master insisted that all work be finished before playing.

Bailey slipped into the room that he called his own. Shannon Ballard! God, she even looked like her father! There had been no possible way to anticipate that Taylor would move so quickly, or even be able to locate those who had once been the family of Dennis Ballard. If he'd known...he shook his head. Dennis was doing exactly what he'd been trained to do. When the time had been right, the signal that activated the deep subconscious 'trigger' had been sent. And Dennis had made his...connection...and then slipped away.

He sighed. It had been a long day. And he still had work that must be done. He stretched out on the bed. Closed his eyes. The fingers behind his head activated the feed that would send a false image to the security room that monitored him. For as long as he left the device activated, anyone observing him would believe him sound asleep on his bed.

Bailey had been surprised when the slender, dark haired man known to all as 'Master' had informed him that he'd be away for the day, and not back until late. He'd disappeared with two of his most trusted body guards.

For three hours the mild-mannered servant had fretted that he'd somehow been discovered. But when Taylor had called, requesting to speak to the man, he'd known immediately that Tem really had left the building. Where he'd gone, there was no clue. A phone call in the late afternoon had left him with instructions for later in the evening. Leaving him free to activate yet another sleeper.

He was well aware that his own 'training' had left its mark on him, in spite of the fact that he'd never been broken. For some reason Tem didn't want him to be just a mindless pet. Oh, not that any of his pets were actually mindless. Certain abilities, certain... talents...were carefully protected during the excruciating days of training. It was an adeptness that Tem had perfected over the centuries. The core personality of the men he...hired...was left complete. Just the spirit was broken, and then rebuilt. Memories were lost, but not erased. Eventually, when the ker'nish'ta was flushed from their systems, those neural pathways began to rejuvenate themselves. Bailey had no idea how the drug worked, or how the mind was able to repair itself after being subjected to the drug and the accompanying abuse. He only knew that it did. Oh, it took time. But the memories returned. There was no way to rid one's self of the 'training', however. No matter how one might try to fight that training. No matter how repulsed one might be, the training - so carefully undertaken - beaten into the mind by way of the body, remained wholly intact. And so it was, that his own body reacted when he opened the door and looked into the room.

Kinsey was asleep in his own bed. It was early, but no doubt the Master would wish to...indulge...as soon as he arrived, so he'd voluntarily chosen to rest. The silver haired man lay spread eagle on the bed, an erection waving in the air, evidence of the content of his dreams.

Even as he crossed the room Bailey struggled against the desires that flared in him. Desires that both appalled and enthralled him. Only one other man had affected him this way. And he was gone, free from this mad, depraved existence. Bailey knew himself well enough to understand that this existence had been all he had known for far too long. He'd been barely twenty years old when he became a valet for Tem. He'd lived this way for too long. Understood that he could never leave. But he could free those who...deserved...to be freed. And use those who would serve his purpose. Such was the man sleeping in front of him. He knelt carefully on the bed. It had been days since he'd given Kinsey the drug. He was certain that he'd seen flashes of awareness in those blue eyes. There had been no...setbacks. The former senator was as ready as he'd ever be. "Kinsey?"

Slowly the eyes fluttered open. A smile covered his face at the sight of the familiar servant leaning over him. He wasn't allowed to speak. Not yet. But he'd become proficient at communicating with his eyes. He was eager, ready to greet his Master.

"No. Master has not returned yet." His body screaming with need, he took the man's hand and pressed it against his straining erection.

The hand began to caress the rigid flesh beneath the material of the pants.

Bailey moaned. "Yes, Kinsey."

Within minutes the servant was naked and kneeling in front of him. It had been a long time since he'd been in this position. He was certain of it. As he sank into the warmth of the body in front of him, images began to flash across his mind. Two young men. A young woman. Party. Yes, that's what it had been...a party. And it had been good, he could remember that, as well. Kinsey frowned, examining this...memory, even as his body led him through the steps that would offer his aching balls relief.

When it was over, and both men had showered; Bailey was once again wearing his impeccable black suit, the servant led the pet back into the bedroom. He began to spread oil on the man's body. His hand lingered, aroused. He stroked the quickly swelling flesh. "You must listen to me, Kinsey. Never, ever let them know that you suspect. Do exactly what they ask of you. Never forget that he is Master. Obey. Always obey. But listen. Remember everything that you hear. And when I ask, you will tell me all that you know. Do you understand?"

Breathing hard, his hips automatically humping the hand that caressed him, Kinsey nodded. "Obey. Listen. Tell you." His voice was raspy, the result of not having spoken in weeks.

"Tell only me."

"Tell only you," Kinsey repeated.

Satisfied that the trigger had been released, Bailey stepped away from the man. "Go back to sleep, Kinsey. This has all been a dream."

The man obeyed, stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. A dream. He'd dreamed about fucking Bailey! And it had been so good! It had felt so good to feel his aching cock surrounded by that hot flesh! Faces danced in his memory. He dreamed of taking that young woman...and her...brother. And a man named...Jimmy. Just a dream. Just a wonderful, exciting dream...

Tem returned to his apartment near midnight. Kinsey performed as always; ever eager to please. Satiated, the Goa'uld lay on the bed, smiling up at the ceiling. The surprise inspection of the 'secret' manufacturing plant had been a success. All was in readiness. He had stood on the tarmac, three dozen gliders lined up before him. They didn't have crystal circuitry, but he was certain that they would more than do the job for which they'd been built to undertake. Soon. Very soon. Tomorrow he'd be sitting on the pel'tak of his flagship. And he would announce to all that he, Tem, was their god. That they would kneel before him, and serve him, or die.

With a sigh, he reached for the phone. Bailey had informed him that Taylor wished to speak to him. "Yes, my pet?"

"Master! Shannon Ballard has arrived."

The Goa'uld sat up. "She is here?"

"Yes, Master. In her apartment. Do you wish to see her now?"

"No, I'll meet her tomorrow." No sense taking the chance the woman might try to get away. Which might happen if he were to...introduce himself...to her tonight, before the other Board Members were assembled. Her...introduction...to the Board needed to be done swiftly, or she'd never learn her first, most important lesson. "Call Ortega. Make certain that he is ready when the meeting is...concluded. Add an oral piercing to the list."

"Yes, sir. Right away."

He frowned. Someone must have walked into the room. Probably one of Taylor's little sluts. Not that he cared. The man could fuck as many young girls as he wanted. As long as he remembered just exactly to whom he belonged! "What time will you meet with her?"

"One o'clock."

"Bring her to the boardroom. Perhaps I shall sample her before we leave."

"Yes, sir."

"Is that all, Taylor?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

"Very well." He cut the connection. He was almost too excited to sleep. The next few days would be...grueling. He had no illusions that the Tau'ri of the First World wouldn't try to fight him. He was just as certain that he'd be able to subjugate them quickly. Allowing them to attack him, to make the futile attempt to destroy him would only hasten their capitulation. As soon as they realized that it was impossible to defeat him, their god, they'd all swear their allegiance to him. He was still smiling when sleep overtook him.

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