They had been separated as soon as they were taken into custody. Handcuffs secured their hands behind their backs. Manacles with chains that barely allowed them to take steps had been clamped around their ankles. Any attempts to speak to one another had resulted in being hit...the butts of the rifles the guards carried used as clubs. Nor were the guards particular about where those blows landed.

It was clear that their presence was a total shock to the people around them. Tied to chairs in laboratories and offices, it was just as obvious that those holding them knew of their reputation for escape. By keeping them apart, their captors erroneously believed it reduced the chances of any of the team trying to make a break for freedom. It didn't prevent the attempts. Nor did it keep those five individuals from being as annoying as possible.

When they had finally been taken, one by one, to be interrogated, the five teammates tried desperately to make sense of what was happening to them, telling their captors again and again that they were not from the reality in which they stood. Each of them asking...begging...demanding...to see or speak with General George Hammond; though their requests resulted in silence from their captors. Not understanding the reason that not one of the military personnel would look at them when the General's name was mentioned, they continued to make their appeals, until physical responses silenced them.

Teal'c had no chance to tell his teammates that one of his interrogators had made him undress, exposing the fact that he no longer had a symbiote pouch. An occurrence that the Jaffa feared had only heightened the amount of danger the team was in. They were taken to yet another area of the Groom Lake facility. The day just continued to get worse...

The main research facility in Area 51 had a plethora of small rooms used for individual research projects. Five had been emptied...desks, chairs, computers, shelves...anything and everything that had furnished the 'mini-labs', as they were referred to by those who worked in this particular section of the secret facility, was dragged into the hallways. One by one the prisoners were put into the small, bare, windowless rooms, the doors locked behind them.

They did not remain alone however. A fact that only confused the team further. Jack looked up when four beefy marines walked into the room. "Hello, fellas," he said cheerfully. "I was just about to order room service."

The first blow was unexpected. The second one he managed to avoid. The third, however, administered by a young man who had muscles on his muscles, threw Jack into the wall. Okay, he'd bet the farm that this wasn't a 'sanctioned' event. This was a blanket party. Sans the blanket. What the hell had his counterpart done to warrant this type of treatment?

Daniel was attempting to rise to his feet when the boot of the first man through the door caught him in the ribs. With a surprised cry of pain, he fell backwards. Managed to catch the second man off guard when he grabbed the boot aimed for his stomach, twisted as hard as he could. It was the only defensive move he was able to make. The beating didn't last long, just a few minutes. Long enough to leave him with dark bruises. But not long enough to be considered torture. When the door slammed closed, he leaned back against the wall, cradling a wrist he feared was broken. The fury in the eyes of those marines had been unmistakable. What the hell was going on?

Teal'c made no sound as the seven men swung their fists at him. The men were angry, and striking out not at him, but at what...or who...they thought he represented. He wondered just what had gone wrong in this reality, that the members of SG-1 were treated in such a manner...for he had heard Daniel Jackson's cry of pain as the door to his 'cell' opened, confirming that he was not the only member of the team being beaten.

Sam knew what was about to happen the minute that the door opened and five marines, all women, entered the room. It wasn't a hazing, like had occurred in the academy to several not so lucky cadets. She'd kept her head down, her mouth shut, and studied hard...and had thankfully been left alone. No, this was tantamount to a blanket party. Just like the beatings Daniel had endured. She winced when the first fist impacted on her jaw. And she fought back, until she was overwhelmed.

"That's enough!" a voice barked from the door. Casey struggled to her feet, her eyes blazing with fury, her hands curled into fists. She'd landed a few blows on her attackers, as the swelling eyes and bruised jaws attested. First that group of marines had come into the room...and...thank heavens that officer had heard her screaming...at least, she assumed that was what had happened. He'd stepped in, taken one look at the ripped BDU shirt on the floor, and ordered the men out. Then Curly, Moe, and Dipshit had shown up with two women she had tagged Thelma and Louise in her mind. No clue as to why everyone was so damned aggressive here.

"Get her ready to go," the man snapped.

"Just want you to know, I got dibs on this," 'Louise' sneered, grabbing Casey's left hand, thrusting it toward the captain.

The man looked at the wedding band and engagement ring. "You have no say in how or where her personal effects will be dispersed."

Casey jerked her hand back. She and Daniel had been running late...her fault for waking him up - her desire, her need for him pushing all thought from her mind other than satisfying that need. Not that he'd been complaining. He'd been quite cooperative, as a matter of fact, and had actually joined in with as much enthusiasm as he always had when he made love to her. They hadn't had time to stop by his office to lock the rings safely away. For the first time she realized that the rule regarding personal jewelry had less to do with 'recognition' by the Goa'uld, or any other enemy, and more about protecting those precious items from possible theft. "My rings stay with me, thank you very much!"

'Louise' backhanded her, sent her into the wall.

"I said that's enough. Get out of here!" the captain ordered.

The look he gave her let Casey know it wasn't out of concern for her that he'd given the order, or even stopped the beating she'd been enduring. He was following orders. It was as simple as that. She sighed. Well, it could have been worse, she supposed. She tried to move her jaw...found that the pain was damned near unbearable.

After another hour of questions, the team was bound, gagged and blindfolded. The beatings they had endured made being trussed up as they were more uncomfortable than normal. SG-1 was taken outside, a fact they were able to determine because of the heat, and led to a tarmac and a waiting Pave Hawk. It didn't take them long to realize they'd entered Area 51 when they'd been arrested. Now, it seemed, they were being moved. Leaving the mirror behind was not a good thing. The prayer in five minds was that they were on their way to Cheyenne Mountain. Hopefully they'd be able to speak to the General Hammond of this reality, and get the entire mess straightened out.

A  A  A  A  A  A

As soon as the helicopter had touched down, the team was again separated, and taken into rooms that were obviously offices. Jack studied the marine who stood at attention near the door. The young man had glanced at him several times, a sneer on his handsome face. Not normally the reaction that he received. Although it seemed to be par for the course here. Did he really want to know what had happened here to make SG-1 public enemy number one?

"Name?" The man asking the questions was a bureaucrat if there'd ever been one. His tie had been tugged loose. His sleeves rolled partway up. He looked like every low-budget television detective portrayed. The only thing missing was the cigarette smoke circling their heads.

When he and Sam and Daniel and Teal'c had taken that unexpected turn into the Twilight Zone, and landed in 1969, he'd been James T. Kirk. Which had been funny for a few minutes. Then he'd told the man the 'truth', and had become Luke Skywalker. He almost grinned. "Han Solo."

"Name."

"Obi Wan."

The interrogator frowned, but said nothing. "Name."

"John Crighton. I'm a test pilot."

Again a frown. "Name."

Okay, so the guy had watched Star Wars and Farscape. Should have figured that out...they hadn't gone back in time, just to another freaking reality. And Mr. Chuckles there was writing down every response. Jack studied the man for a moment. Wondered if he'd be locked away for schizophrenia or some such thing. That would not be a good thing. It would be difficult enough to get back to the mirror; having to break out of a mental hospital to do so would make that proposition all the more difficult. "General Mayhem." Okay, so he couldn't resist trying just once more to get the guy to crack a smile.

"Name?"

Absolutely no sense of humor. Was that a requirement for being the ass who asked the questions during an interrogation? Personally, he'd always found that a sharp wit and a quick comeback netted far better results. And this game was getting old very quickly. Maybe if he played along, the questions would change this time. He could always hope. "Colonel Jonathan O'Neill. Two L's. Same as before."

"How did you manage to get into the secure storage room at Groom Lake?"

"We were standing beside the Quantum Mirror, Skippy. Buy a clue," Jack said, heaving a sigh. He'd been answering the same damned questions for at least an hour. The idiot in across the table from him would write down his answers. Get to the end of the list and start the whole thing again. What was with this guy, anyway? Was he a total moron?

"What plans did you and your cohorts have for causing damage to the Groom Lake facility?"

Another heaved sigh. "We were going to tear out all the walls and put in a nice golf course. Lots of artificial turf."

The man glanced up at Jack, but said nothing.

"What happened to you during the mission of September nineteenth. To the planet designated as PR7 291?"

"Never heard of it. Never went on it. Mostly because I'm not from this reality, Skippy. You have the wrong Jack O'Neill. Check your notes, I'm sure I've said that before."

"Name?"

"Major Samantha Carter."

"How did you manage to get into the secure storage room at Groom Lake?"

"The Quantum Mirror. We...that is, my teammates and I, aren't from this reality. If you just run a spectrum DNA analysis-"

"What plans did you and your cohorts have for causing damage to the Groom Lake facility?"

"We didn't have any plans to cause damage," Sam sighed. She was doing her best to remain civil. But answering the same questions again and again, her responses written down word for word each time, was starting to irritate the hell out of her. What was going on? "Let one of us speak to General Hammond, I'm certain he can-"

"What happened to you during the mission of September nineteenth. Planet designation PR7 291."

She closed her eyes. "We never went on a mission like that! We haven't been to PR7 291."

"Name?"

The Jaffa remained silent. Stared stonily at his interrogator.

"Name?"

"Where are my teammates?"

"Name?"

Teal'c clamped his mouth shut. He would not respond to questions he had already answered.

"Name?"

"Hmm...this time around, I think I'll go with Lucille Ball. She was a really great actress, you know. Great comedic timing. I really think that she and Desi Arnez truly loved one another, but his upbringing...that whole 'Latin men cheat and that's just the way it is' thing pulled them apart." Green eyes flashed with amusement as the man continued to write down everything she said. What an interesting report hers would be!

"Fairy dust. Sprinkled it on ourselves, wished to find the most screwed up reality we could, and poof!...here we are."

The man looked up from the paper he was writing on.

"Look, we both know that you know exactly what's going on. So why don't you just call General Hammond and we'll get this little misunderstanding cleared up, okay?"

"What plans did you and your cohorts have for causing damage to the Groom Lake facility?"

"Who wrote these questions? Kinsey? Because I know that slimebag is alive in this reality. I can sense him all over this mess. He's such a pain in the ass."

In spite of himself, the man's eyes jerked back to the seer's face.

"That's right. He's dead in a couple of realities. In our reality, a Goa'uld named Mehen took him as host. Rotten deal all the way around. I mean, I hate Kinsey, but I don't wish that on him. Of course, Mehen sure didn't get much in the bargain either, I mean, Kinsey is just an asshole, not much to look at really. Not in the best shape. Usually the Goa'uld prefer pretty hosts. Or handsome, if you'd rather, for the guys." Casey smiled smugly. "Of course, if you're not cleared for all of this intel, I'll have to kill you. But I promise, I can make it painless. Well, mostly. I'm still having trouble with a couple of mastaba moves."

"What happened on September nineteenth-"

"You know, no matter how many times you ask me that, the fact that we never went on that mission isn't going to change. That was around the time when we found that weird pyramid thingy. Turned out to be some sort of Ancient time device. Right after that we went on a mission to scout out Ares...twisted bastard. I shot him in the 'nads. Meant to castrate the bastard, but I'm not good with small, moving targets. I think it was around the first of October when we found out that Daniel was a father, except he really wasn't, because he was sterile when he was with the little girl's mother, who was a total bitch, by the way, but now he's not sterile thanks to a little 'gift' from the Beings on...hmm...I'm guessing the sixth or seventh level of existence. Which means I don't dare miss a Depo shot now-"

"Name?"

"Okay, how about...let's see...um...Princess Buttercup. Have you ever seen the movie 'Princess Bride'?"

"Name?"

"Doctor Daniel Jackson. Archaeologist, anthropologist, Philologist."

"How did you manage to get into the secure storage room at Groom Lake?"

"Look, we've covered this...again and again and again. We stepped through what we thought was a simple doorway, only to realize, too late it seems, that we'd stepped through a Quantum Mirror. Which had to be malfunctioning in some way."

"What plans did you and your cohorts have for causing damage to the Groom Lake facility?"

"Why in God's name would we want to do that? As I've asked several times now!"

"What happened on September nineteenth, during a mission to planet PR7 291."

Daniel sighed heavily. "We never went on a mission to that planet. If I remember correctly, about that time we found an Ancient device that we presume was used as teaching or learning aid...to monitor what the various deviations in the time line can cause. It was fascinating, but dangerous. Jack blew it up. Well, technically Teal'c did the actual blowing up. Under Jack's orders. To be honest, I really wish we still had it. Then if we'd seen this reality, we could have learned how not to screw up our own timeline."

"Name?"

He rolled his eyes. Tugged slightly on the cuffs that kept him confined to the metal folding chair. If he could break free, he'd knock the jerk across from him unconscious, just to get a break from the mind-numbingly repetitive questions. Just what in the hell did his interrogator want from him?

The interrogation lasted for a couple of hours. Actually, Daniel thought, the men who questioned him didn't seem to care one way or another about his answers. They had already determined he, and apparently his teammates, were guilty. Of what, he had no clue, and no one around him seemed interested in letting him in on what was going on...

Just before he went stark raving mad, another marine entered the room. He was jerked to his feet, and a blindfold placed over his eyes. Fifty-two steps and three turns later, he was shoved into a small cell. Well, he assumed it was a small cell. There was nothing for him to trip over. He'd paced the perimeter twice, shoulder to the wall.

A  A  A  A  A  A

Harry Maybourne was a man who had become an expert in protecting himself. He'd escaped from Federal prison, with a bit of help from one Colonel Jack O'Neill. He'd stayed free by protecting himself and his interests zealously. Even when he'd helped O'Neill and SG-1 again, he had still...and always...put his own safety first.

His time at 'home' hadn't been a pleasant walk in the park. He'd been just as terrified as the rest of the citizens of the country when a Goa'uld ship had been located by the Hubble telescope. Heading directly for Earth. When it had 'disappeared', reports filled the news that those who had examined the photos of the craft were certain that it had crashed somewhere. Two weeks had passed before that assumption had been proven wrong. At least for those 'in the know'.

He shook his head, downed the remainder of his drink. He'd damned near passed out when three people believed to be dead showed up at his apartment. Mostly because he still had no clue how the three had located him. He'd always been so careful...had always protected himself, hiding his identity in a web of deceit and assumed names.

He'd known Colonel Jack O'Neill, Major Samantha Carter, and Dr. Daniel Jackson from the moment they had become involved with the Stargate Program. He hadn't actually met them face-to-face until the program had been operational for almost a year. But he'd known who they were. Had watched them. Been on the opposite side when they took on the NID, their stance from the very beginning. In spite of that fact, he'd found himself called on by O'Neill, his expertise needed. At first, his only interest had been his escape from Federal prison. But that had changed as Jack had put his trust in a man he considered an enemy, in order to help General Hammond. In all honesty, Harry had been honored that the team, who so obviously disliked him, and distrusted him, would allow him to help them fight the bad guys. He'd proven himself to them. Even if they didn't like him, they had learned they could trust him. To have them ask for his help again hadn't been a surprise. The fact that they were alive to ask for it yet again...that was the surprise.

Being associated with the three survivors of SG-1 now, however, was an offense punishable by life imprisonment...or worse, death. The premier team of the SGC were now nothing more than wanted criminals. Harry trusted them a hell of a lot more than he would ever trust those who were in charge of the newly formed North American country. He understood why they'd reacted as they had. He had the 'inside' information that had been denied to everyone but those who had been there, inside the SGC when it had been shut down. Of those two hundred people, a mere handful were still 'free'. The others had been charged with various 'crimes against the peoples of the world'. General Hammond had been one of the first executed. For the first time since he could remember, his own personal safety had taken a backseat to what should be done...what needed to be done. Harry had quietly gathered information, including security taped footage that would prove just who was the true criminal. It was safely hidden away. When the time was right...

There were underground movements, all aimed at overthrowing the military government that had taken control; which was squeezing the very life out of the citizens it claimed to protect. Fifteen groups at last count, spread from the northernmost parts of Canada to the southernmost areas in Mexico. Harry worked for half a dozen of the groups, purely in a mercenary fashion, of course...or so he continued to tell himself, and those few individuals he associated with. But he'd been instrumental in encouraging cooperation between the various factions. Something of which he was privately very proud. He might have done the wrong things, taken the wrong path with the NID...he supposed the temptations had been too much...coupled with the idea that he'd been doing what was best for the country; now he was on the right side of the line.

The members of the revolutionaries were as varied as any other such groups in history. And used every means necessary to pass information from one small cell to another. The most favored method were the nightly news casts. What seemed to be minor traffic reports held a wealth of information for those who moved both figuratively and literally in the underground. It was a minor victory, and one savored by all of the freedom fighters...to use the very propaganda agencies that had once been free media...to spread their own messages. Messages that carried instructions. Encouragement. Hope.

Those facts made it necessary for him to watch the news every evening, as his contacts used locally produced commercials to request his presence. He glanced at the screen of the television above the bar. Nearly spit his drink across the table in front of him. Three very familiar photos were being shown.

Son of a bitch! If they'd been caught... Harry glanced around. Decided that he needed to get that group as far away from Colorado as possible. Because what wasn't reported was that the reason it would be a few hours before the team was taken before the Tribunal, was because they would be tortured for any and all information pertaining to their activities since their return, and the names of those who had helped them. He had no intention of being executed beside the fallen heroes!

Another thought pushed forward...there was no way that the three could have been apprehended inside the former SGC. There were guards who patrolled the perimeter of the Cheyenne Mountain compound. There were guards posted just outside of the massive door that closed the cavern rooms and the former missile silo away from the rest of the world. They had been captured elsewhere. Why the need to report that they had been inside the SGC? Would the populace be told the three had been trying to escape? Something was up. They had been arrested somewhere else...somewhere that the people in control didn't want the citizens at large to know about. Yes, indeed. Something was up. And he was going to find out exactly what that something was.

A  A  A  A  A  A

The door to the cell swung open. Two armed guards stood near the opening, P90's aimed at him. A third marine jerked him to his feet. The blindfold had been removed and his hands freed when he had been fed...he wasn't certain how long ago that had been. If one could consider a bologna sandwich being fed. His arms were yanked behind his back. The handcuffs were replaced none too gently. He was shoved forward, nearly tripped on the rough floor of the tiny room that had been his prison once his interrogation had ended. Daniel tried to look around as much as possible. Hoping to get a glimpse of his Wife. Or hear her voice. Or that of any of his teammates for that matter.

The hallway was narrow. His guards were taking no chances that he might try to take advantage of the situation. The one behind him had the muzzle of the P90 in his back. Daniel had no doubt that if he sneezed right now, he'd be shot. Another door opened, and he was led down a wider corridor. The setting was slightly familiar, but he couldn't place the building right away. Through a set of double doors, into a room that left no doubt as to where he was. The only question was...why?

The room was filled, not a vacant seat remained in the large courtroom. The wood paneled walls muted any sounds that might be made, and managed to make the large room appear smaller, more...intimate. The dark wood was also as oppressive as hell.

He offered a smile when Jack and Sam were brought in as well, the three of them led toward the front of the room together. Which, he thought absently, was really taking a risk on the part of the guards who escorted them. Apparently those in charge assumed that he and his teammates would try to avoid being shot, or placing one another in danger of being shot. Jack had managed to convey a simple message with his glance. Find out what's going on. He would signal when it was 'time to go'. If the Goa'uld couldn't hold SG-1, there wasn't a chance in hell that this group could do so!

Behind a long table at the front of the room, placed in the center of a raised platform, sat a general familiar to the three prisoners who were led in. Two others were well known to Jack. How they'd managed to acquire those seats was something he could only guess at. Shoved into waiting chairs, the manacles around their ankles chained to metal loops in the floor, their only hope of returning to their own reality was that this time they would be more successful in convincing those around them of the truth.

Murmurs broke out among the gathered observers when the tall black man and the slender blonde were brought in...wide-eyed stares greeted them as they followed the same path their teammates had just walked. Word had already spread about the fact that the black man had no symbiote, nor symbiote pouch. About the blonde, however, speculation ran high. There had already been whispers concerning what her interrogators had reported...that whoever she was, she too was a seer.

His heart lurched in his chest when he turned around. She had a black eye, and there was a bruise on her jaw that was suspiciously hand-shaped and so purple it was nearly black. But she was alive. He watched her as she stumbled into the room, shoved roughly by the guard behind her.

It was all she could do to keep from crying with relief when she saw him. His face was bruised, his eyes revealed the stress and worry they were all feeling. But his shy smile let her know that he was all right. His beautiful blue eyes lit up when she smiled in return.

As soon as the two newcomers were seated beside their teammates, the man in the center pounded a gavel on the wooden sound block, bringing the proceedings to order. He glared at the five people seated at the narrow table across the floor from him. "Master Sergeant, read the charges."

A man unfamiliar to the defendants stood to his feet. "In the matter of the North American States of Democracy against the individuals formerly known as SG-1, the following charges have been levied: Five counts of desertion. Five counts of dereliction of duty. One count of aggravated kidnapping in the first degree. One count of aggravated murder in the first degree. Seven counts of aggravated assault. Two counts of assault. Fifteen counts of brandishing a weapon. Fifteen counts of possession of illegal firearms. Ten counts of aggravated robbery. Three counts of breaking and entering..."

Five pairs of eyes went wide, glances of total disbelief were exchanged, mouths dropped open in utter shock. What in the hell was going on? What the hell was the 'North American States of Democracy'? Every marine they had seen was still wearing the same uniform...although there hadn't actually been time to examine squadron patches very closely. Nor had they actually seen any other branch of the military represented...only the marines. An oddity that suddenly occurred to all of them, their exchanged glances confirming their paralleling thoughts. This was so not a place where they should be! "Excuse me," Jack said, attempting to rise to his feet.

"The prisoner will remain silent!" the general in charge roared.

Jack shook his head. "I've had enough of this crap. I don't know what's going on here, but you have the wrong people! Which we've been trying to tell you for hours now! The fact that we were grabbed by the Quantum Mirror should be a freaking clue!"

The marine guard standing beside Jack slammed the butt of his rifle into the colonel's stomach. Jack gave a grunt, air whooshed from his lungs, and his face went pale just before he dropped back into his chair. Okay, apparently this particular 'democracy' didn't worry about anything like the Geneva Convention; brutality seemed to be the accepted mode of operation. As he gasped for breath, four bodies rocketed from their seats in protest.

"You know we're not the ones you want," Casey said accusingly.

The general stared coldly at her. "I don't think there's a doubt in any mind in this room that you are exactly who we think you are."

"It's convenient to believe that, yes," she replied. "But you know it's not true." She cocked her head sideways. Nodded slowly. "Oh...Oh! I see. Yes, we are exactly who you think we are. We're an SG-1 team from-"

The general nodded, and one of the guards moved to stand in front of the slender seer. He pulled a device from his pocket...a red ball that had leather straps attached to it. The ball was forced into her mouth, so roughly that she cried out from the pain of having the rubber sphere jammed between her teeth, the rough treatment making her already aching jaw hurt all the more. The straps were buckled tightly behind her head, effectively shutting off any other protests she might make.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Daniel snarled. "You're scared to death to let anyone know you've screwed up! Do you really think that the people you're after would allow themselves to be caught so easily?" He grunted with pain when he was the recipient of the same treatment as Jack had received. Casey's green eyes blazed with fury.

Sam shook her head. "I don't know what's going on here. But I do know you're making a big mistake. If you're after SG-1, you have the wrong group. And the team in this reality won't be any more amused by this than we are. I think you've screwed up big time, and now you're trying to get rid of us to cover your own incompetence!"

Teal'c stepped in front of her, as much as possible, when the marine raised his weapon, intent on delivering a blow that would have no doubt rendered Sam unconscious. "I do not believe it would be in your best interest to proceed," he said, his voice low and full of anger.

"It doesn't matter what you think," the general spat. "The three of you have been convicted, in absentia, of these crimes. This Tribunal is simply a formality. We will hand down your punishment. I have no idea where you found these...look-alikes...but they will spend the rest of their lives in prison for aiding the most wanted criminals in the country."

"West, you were always an ass," Jack wheezed, still reeling with pain. His ribs had been broken during the blanket-less blanket party he had endured, and hadn't completely healed yet.

"Colonel, you are out of order!" General West exploded. "Cuff them into the chairs, gag them all if any of them utter another word!"

"You really don't want to do that," Daniel said menacingly. "If the SG-1 of this reality is out there, they'll just add this to the list of what's gone wrong. And they'll be sure to collect payment for it. After all, anything you do to us is exactly what you want to do to them. And since they're our counterparts, you know they'll be pissed off about what's happened." The buzz of whispered conversations filled the room.

The general glared, began to pound his gavel again, calling for order. "The visitors in this court will disregard the lies being told by these criminals," he shouted, determined to stop any speculation that the five people at the defendant's table were telling the truth. Too arrogant in his position of authority to realize that the damage had already been done, that there were already those outside of the courtroom, and the bases where the team had been held, who were whispering about the news of the Quantum Mirror and an SG-1 team from a different reality.

At least, Daniel thought wearily, he now knew what Casey's dream had been about. The night she'd had it filled his memory...

Daniel sighed. Now was a hell of a time to figure it out. His eyes moved toward his Wife. Why hadn't she seen what was about to happen? The only time she didn't get a 'heads up', or a clear idea of coming events was when it involved direct danger to herself, or when...Well, shit. What is it that the team has to do now? Because as sure as he was sitting there, a reason for their situation had already been determined. Now the only question was whether or not Casey could discern exactly what it was that was supposed to occur, and what role SG-1 played in the whole thing.

A  A  A  A  A  A

Harry always had a briefcase full of usable, disposable...and stolen...cell phones. He grabbed one. Dialed a number that he alone knew about. Waited impatiently for an answer. Damn it to hell!

When SG-1 had contacted him, at first Harry hadn't known whether to be surprised or thrilled. The scars on Jack's face had made him flinch the first time they'd met after the team's mysterious return. Jackson's face was scarred as well. And the major...even now he shivered. Those sapphire blue eyes had looked at him...through him. As if he didn't even exist. And there had been pain so deep in those blue depths that it had made him physically step back. He had no idea what they had gone through. He did know that it had been bad...unspeakable. And that Kinsey had been responsible.

Dialing a different number, he was already driving toward one of his many hideouts. A series of old bunkers where WW II munitions had been stored after that war had ended. And had been added to again after a little conflict in Vietnam. Harry knew about the bunkers, a part of a base mothballed during the downsizing of the military by a former president, knew what they contained. Using skills he had honed over years, he had set up a trail of paperwork that declared the bunkers had been emptied. Even managed to 'lose' the location of the bunkers. There were munitions too old to risk using. But there were plenty of others that were very usable.

"What?" a voice asked.

"Trouble. Meet me at Uncle Sam's."

"Right."

"Locate our friends in the desert. I want the details. Anything that might be of use. Take it home."

"Got it."

Harry crawled into his van. Waited until he was on the freeway to toss the phone out of the window. After carefully wiping it off, of course. He'd do a bit of recon. And then take any action that might be...necessary.

A  A  A  A  A  A

"The prisoners will rise," General West intoned. "Colonel Jonathon 'Jack' O'Neill, Major Samantha Carter, Doctor Daniel Jackson, you have been found guilty of all charges, and are hereby sentenced to death by lethal injection."

Casey's muffled cry filled the air, she tried in vain to move closer to her husband.

Screams of fright filled the air when bits of plaster fell from the ceiling, dust swirling around the heads of the observers. The guards in the room were looking at one another in stunned surprise.

"Get them out of here!" West shouted. "Put them in the secure holding tank for now!"

Marines seemed to materialize from thin air, surrounding the team, one man working furiously to unlock the manacles that held the five in place. By the time he'd finished, the sound of gunfire was echoing in the hall just beyond the closed doors.

Pulled and shoved, the team was taken through the side door, into a narrow hallway. When two armed gunmen appeared, it was natural reaction for the team to knock the marines out of the line of fire, hurling their bodies in front of the men who were in charge of moving them.

A familiar face appeared in the fray as the team did their best not to be hit by the bullets that were flying between two obvious groups. When Daniel hurled himself against one of his guards, effectively preventing the young man from being hit and killed, the voice that went with the face growled at them.

"Have you lost your minds? Taken a damned morality pill or something?" Harry hissed toward Jack.

"Harry, what the hell are you doing here?" Jack asked wearily. He just did not have time to deal with a renegade NID agent. Who was supposed to be on some tropical island at the moment. He had to get his kids out of this mess so they could figure out a way to get home. Time was ticking for them, and they certainly didn't have enough to spare for this!

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? I've kept your asses out of the slammer and alive for six months now!"

Sam looked over her shoulder, focusing on the man who was both nemesis and ally. "You've what?"

Any answer Harry might have offered was cut off when another group of marines arrived. He and his men faded into the shadows, and seemed to disappear, making use of the backrooms that were, for the moment, deserted.

Shoved into a small, windowless room, the door slammed shut and locked from the outside behind them, the team stood and stared at one another. Whatever was going on, it wasn't funny...

The day had started out well enough. Routine mission, to examine what appeared to be an outpost of some sort. Photographs taken by the recon team had shown what at first appeared to be a mixture of Asgard and Furling cuneiform. Closer examination, however, proved that the writing had been a warning in both languages. Whoever had controlled the outpost was unknown.

Yep, it had started out to be such a good day...